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#peter parker au
retro-memo · 7 hours ago
To Melt A Iron Heart: Chapter Two-Collison Course
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Hey guys, how's everything going? I hope you're excited because chapter is out. I actually planned to post this on Wednesday but lost track of time and by the time I got back to it on Thursday I read over it and went... Nah.
I rewrote the whole chapter from scratch. I hope I managed to improve it for you guys :)
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iwritedumbshit · 9 hours ago
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“I just wanted to be like you.”
“And I wanted you to be better.”
~click for better quality~
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winter-turtle · 10 hours ago
The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 31 - Winterturtle - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]
The finale
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iwritedumbshit · 13 hours ago
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
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 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8
"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."
"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'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."
"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."
"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?"
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.
"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?"
"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."
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.
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.
Peter could only close his eyes as a metal fist came crashing down.
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~Click for better quality~
Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8
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spideyanakin · 13 hours ago
Tom Holland Dating an F1 driver
Tom Holland x F1! Reader
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He would absolutely love the fact that you’re an F1 driver - Like he would be scared for your life sometimes but he never showed it, just because he knows you love racing too much and he couldn’t take that away from you.
The two of you met when he was invited to the Grand Prix
Like he would have already been crushing on you since you’re the only female driver in the champion ship - and let’s face it Tom loves F1
He’s like the biggest Y/n L/n fan in the world. He admires you so much and was so happy when you finally beaten Lewis Hamilton and ended up world champion <3
He didn’t know you yet when you did but his heart when ‘marry me please ur so awesome’
You were a fan obviously - you felt your soul leave your body when he followed you on instagram
That day at the Grand Prix - a little after you finished the race, you went to greet him he looked so cute in that pink Mercedes hat
Lando was already chatting with him and his brothers so you went to greet them and started getting all friendly rival with Lando which made the Holland brothers laugh.
Someone called the fellow driver so you were left alone with the boys. 
They all went in fan girl mode. Let’s face it almost all of them had a crush on you I mean the only female driver in the Grand Prix - which F1 fan who likes girls didn’t have a crush on you?
You got to talking and like you directly fell for each other; after that the rest was history. 
HE’D LOVE TO SEE YOU RACE. Like he’d be in the stands looking all excited with his pink Mercedes hat obviously because you’re sponsored by Mercedes
If he can’t see a race in person, he’d watch it live on his phone or TV where ever he is (no matter the time difference). And if he can’t see it live then he’d watch the replays - because he wants to know everything about how it went.
If he was there it would be kisses right before you get into your car and right after.  
If you get into an accident he’d drop all his work to come to see you / stay with you
no matter how many times you tell him you’re fine he won’t leave you alone.
He’d bring you everywhere with him until you can drive again if it was a big accident
Whenever you’re not driving you follow him everywhere.
Sometimes people would recognize you rather then him and he LOVES THAT SO MUCH - Like every time he’s like omg omg omg 🥺🥺 they recognize she’s such a queen 🥺🥺 and he’d gladly take the picture for them. 
Imagine the face of the fans when they realize Spider-man was like right there lmao - like they go home to their friends like ‘oh look who we met’ and they reply ‘oh was she with her boyfriend?’ - ‘Yeah a handsome brunette?’ - ‘Yeah why didn’t you take a picture with him, that’s Spider-man!’ ‘WE ASKED SPIDER-MAN TO TAKE A PICTURE?!’
Spiderman sticker on your car. Like he doesn’t care if you can or can’t have it, it will be on there.
Every time you either ended 2nd or 3th he’d pretend he’s mad at the drivers who are first. But it’s all friendly rivalry. 
He’d ask you to marry him after a race
the crowd went nuts when he did <3
All the drivers came to congratulate you after that, both for the fact that you won the race and for the fact that you were getting married
In the end Tom just loves his little F1 driver ❤️
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theravenclawlover · 14 hours ago
Welcome to the Industry of Porn
Paring: Avengers X Female!Reader
Warnings: +18, heavy smut, drinking, slight angst in later chapters, fluff if you squint, and my English as usual.
Word Count: 3,811.
Summary: AU where the Avengers are Pornstars. It’s pretty self-explanatory.
Chapter: 3.
Chapter Title: Shall we begin?
A/N: This part is where we get to see some more cameos baby. I swear, I still do not know what made me want to write an AU about the Avengers as pornstars, like the hell? Please, I have never not even in other fandoms seen anyone thinking about this idea which made me feel like a complete idiot at first. Now, I'm just here remembering what my seventeen-year-old self thought was somewhat cool shit. Also, let's pretend the people in the gif are actually wearing fancy gala dresses and tuxedos because I couldn't find anything.
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Mr. Dickenson had made it sound like heaven when he had told you about the offers that had been offered to you, but now as you read away the contracts you thought it was hell. You thought that it was going to be easy to understand guidelines and whatnot, but honestly, it felt like it was a lawyer's job to read those contracts. But Cassie helped you read them and gave you a rundown on what it said. After understanding what all three contracts entailed, Cassie and you did a deep search on the directors to see if you liked their work. Out of the three, one of them seemed to be more professional than the others. While all of them seemed like good directors neither of you could deny that the other two lacked the originality of the Russo’s. They were brothers and they seemed to have a knack for making amateur videos feel natural rather than tacky and cringe. Granted, most of the time it was because of the actors overexaggerating things, but the director could always ask to tone it down. You had only watched the amateur videos because you didn’t want to get your hopes up if you found out they worked for bigger companies. Cassie had made a face before saying that it was a ridiculous thing to do but promised you that she wasn’t going to look more things up.
After that, it wasn’t hard to make a decision, and it had only taken you the majority of the week you had been given. Cassie had told you that she had a good feeling about the Russo’s when you had asked her if you were picking the right choice. You nodded to yourself before calling Mr. Dickenson the next morning to tell him that you had opted to work with the Russo’s. He had been glad to hear the news and had told you not to sign the contract yet as you would be doing that after the meeting on Wednesday where the Russo’s were going to be meeting you. Then he reminded you about the nudes and you had almost groaned at the thought.
It was awkward. You had reminded Cassie about it, who, for some reason, was excited about it. She had rambled on about how she loved doing those types of shoots. You had forgotten that Cassie had done a project with some of the volunteers she had managed to scout around campus where they had to pose in the nude. She had done a wonderful job, but you reminded her that for the most part, they had been covering themselves with a satin sheet while you were to be completely exposed. Her spirits didn’t lower after that, and she was a sweetheart as she tried to make you comfortable to the best of her abilities. You had to admit that no matter how awkward it’d been, you felt good about yourself afterward.
By Wednesday morning you felt ready. Cassie couldn’t help but smile at the way you seemed to have a little more confidence about the opportunity you had been given by deciding to find a job in such a challenging career choice.
“Good morning, Miss Y/l/n. I’m guessing you’re here for your meeting,” greeted the secretary, Jules, as you and Cassie walked out of the elevator.
“Yes, I know we are a little early, but traffic wasn’t that bad this morning,” you said as you walked toward the comfortable chairs.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she said as she stood from her chair behind the counter, “come on, I’ll take you to the conference room.”
You and Cassie followed her into the room. It had a long table that could be used for a conference for more than twenty people.
“Now you wait here while I announce Mr. Dickenson of your arrival,” she said as she walked toward the door, “if you would like some light breakfast to be brought to you, just dial twenty-one and ask for the menu.”
She left after that and Cassie didn’t hesitate to grab the phone and dial the number. She ordered some fruit and waffles while you had opted to order everything that sounded good. Within ten minutes, a young man walked in with a food cart and situated it near where the coffee maker was set up. After he excused himself, you and Cassie ate in silence while you two waited for Mr. Dickenson and the Russo’s.
Five minutes after having used the restroom, the door opened to reveal Mr. Dickenson and two other men walk in.
“Good morning, ladies,” said Mr. Dickenson as he walked in. You and Cassie got up and walked toward the men as you both greeted them.
“These are Anthony and Joe Russo,” he motioned to each man as he named them. Then he motioned to you and Cassie, “and these are Y/n and her chaperone/manager, Cassie Ayers.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” both men said at the same time as one went for your hand to shake while the other one went to greet Cassie, and then vice versa.
“Likewise,” you both said.
“Come on, let us begin,” said Mr. Dickenson as he motioned to the seats. Everyone sat at one end of the table, ready to get everything in motion.
“I’m guessing you’ve read the whole contract,” you nodded at Mr. Dickenson, “which means there’s nothing much to go through unless you have any concerns and/or questions.”
“No, we’re good. It was pretty understandable,” you said as you sat the big thing in front of you and on top of your nude portfolio.
“We’ve been looking for new faces for a couple of months now, and when Jason sent us your portfolio we knew we needed to get you before someone else did. We are glad to hear you chose us,” said the man that had been introduced as Anthony.
“I don’t know if you got around to see who are some of the people we work with, but I have a feeling that you will be scouted by someone sooner rather than later while you do the small gigs we have in mind for you,” added the man named Joe as he smiled at you.
You smiled as well as you listened to them talk. Soon the conversation revolved around what you would be making as a starting point after they had gone through your photos with you. They told you which angles seemed to be the best ones for you, and while at it, Cassie got her fair share of compliments of her work. They had told you that for any M/F shoot you would get two-hundred dollars, for F/F a total of three-hundred, and for any threesomes, it would be four-hundred, while anything more than four people would go up to five-hundred. An extra hundred would be added to anything that was considered hardcore such as bondages and anything that included unconventional kinks.
After some more talking, you signed the annual contract and celebrated your official introduction to the industry of pornography.
Two Months Later
Oddly enough, you couldn’t be happier with your life choices. Soon after having signed with the Russo’s, within a month, you had managed to work up to ten different gigs. You had finally made enough money to afford going out without having to check your bank account to see you if could afford anything. Granted, you had to make a different account as your main one was under your parent’s name and they could see anything that got deposited. You were not about to tell them that you were a pornstar as well as a college dropout.
All your gigs were pretty standard, and once in a while you got to play a younger step-sister or naughty neighbor, and there’s that one time you had gotten around to play a shy secretary for a knack of dropping pens. You found it fun to play with other people, let yourself step out from your reality, and enjoy a good fuck every so often. You had gotten lucky, you knew that, as you hadn’t had the need to fake orgasms while you did your job. But there was the occasional one after already having had one where you needed to fake it.
But after every shoot, and after getting home, you would feel like crap about everything. Cassie was getting nervous as the days flew past as midterms had come around and you knew that sooner or later the holidays would come around as well, and you would have to face your parents. Your supposed graduation was only six months away and you had yet to tell your parents about your idiotic decision to waste every cent they had spent on your education. But all that guilt would go away every time you got another gig or whenever a new package arrived. The mail person probably could recognize you at random with the number of times they’ve seen you from dropping off something you bought online.
It was a peaceful Friday afternoon when Mr. Dickenson—who you now called Jason—had called you.
“Hello?” you answered as you muted your favorite show.
“Hey, could you come to my office tomorrow morning?” he said.
“Sure, everything alright?” you asked as you walked toward the kitchen to grab a quick snack.
“Yeah, nothing to worry about. The Russo’s and I need to talk to you and Cassie about an event that is coming up. Can you be here by ten? I have to pick up my mother after that, so it’s the only time it works for me,” he said in an almost sheepish voice. You smiled.
“Sure, don’t worry about it. Cassie might ask for your head on a silver platter, but I think I can calm her down with some coffee on the way there,” you said as you threw yourself on the couch again.
“Lord,” he huffed a laugh, “alright, I’ll see you both tomorrow then.”
You both said your goodbyes before he hung up.
Cassie had groaned when you told her about the meeting, the poor girl was exhausted, and she just wanted to sleep through the weekend before the next week came. You had only offered her a sheepish smile and the promise of iced coffee. She begrudgingly accepted as she went to bed early, so she wouldn’t be snappy in the morning.
“So, this supposed to be like the Oscars but with raunchy movies?” you said as you summarized the important event the men had talked about.
“To simplify it, yes, the Adult Entertainment Expo or AEE is based on the Oscars, but we are attending the after-party only, the show itself is not that entertaining,” said Jason as he sipped his hot coffee.
“The after-party is said to be better than the Golden Globes’ one, and that comes from the mouth of big celebrities that have gone to both,” said Joe as he stirred his lukewarm tea.
“That’s why not a lot of people get the invitation to it,” added Anthony as he finished his own cup of coffee.
“So, why are we talking about this? It’s not like we were invited,” said Cassie with a confused look. Her face looking less grumpy from what you had seen when she came out of her room earlier that morning.
“Well, you two might not be, but we are, and I think it would be a great opportunity for the both of you to be exposed to the people there,” said Jason as he looked at the both of you, “that’s the best place to find connections to get great opportunities, not to mention you might become close friends with a celebrity or two.”
“Y/n, I was wondering if you would like to attend as my plus one?” asked Joe with a sweet smile.
“Of course, I would love to. It sounds fun,” you said as you chuckled.
“And would you like to be my plus one, Cassie? The food is great,” said Jason as he looked over to the redhead. She smiled and rolled her eyes at that last comment.
“Sure, but if I see one of my celebrity crushes, I’m ditching you,” she said as she gave him a wink. Everyone let out a chuckle.
The meeting ended soon after as Jason had to leave for the airport to pick up his mom. Before he had left, he had told you both that Jules would help you out with the dress shopping the next day as she knew the places to look for the best dresses. He had given no room to oppose him, and like that, you and Cassie had spent all Sunday looking for a dress to wear the approaching Friday.
It had taken you most of the late morning and afternoon to find a dress that you both felt comfortable wearing. Jules had announced that morning that Jason was paying for everything either of you bought that day which had you looking at prices more than you did it when it came to your money. You had told her that he needn’t pay for anything, but Jules had been ordered to do so, which made you roll your eyes. Sure, the three of you had become quick friends while working together, but you still felt a little weird accepting the man’s willingness to pay for everything. What if you had expensive taste? His wallet would cry.
By the end of the day, you two arrived home with more bags than you could carry. Everything was set for Friday night, even the plane tickets to Las Vegas had been taken care of. Nothing could bring your or Cassie’s spirits down, not even the stupid voicemail her ex-boyfriend had left while you two were out had killed her high spirits.
The entirety of the week that followed was spent trying to find the right makeup look and hairdo. YouTube became your best friend that week, and so did that lady that was fantastic in the arts of makeup and hair. Compared to her, you were shit, even the way you applied mascara seemed heinous compared to her expert hands.
When Friday came around, and you two were in Las Vegas after taking an early flight, you and Cassie had taken the liberty of doing a small photoshoot at the hotel room while you two waited for the limousine to arrive later that night. By ten-thirty, there was a knock on your hotel room door. When you opened the door, Jason and Joe stood there with their fancy and expensive-looking tuxedos.
“Ladies, you both look devilishly good,” said Jason with a casual smirk.
“Thank you,” you both replied as you both rolled your eyes at the man’s antics.
“You two will definitely fit in with the crowd,” added Joe as he gave both of you a sweet smile.
You both proceeded to accept the helping hands they gave you both as the men led both of you toward the elevator and down to the awaiting limousine. Anthony was waiting inside with his date, the woman had introduced herself as Sandy. She also worked for the Russo’s, but you hadn’t had the chance to work with her. She was a couple of years older than you and was nice enough to reassure both of you that everything was going to be okay and that there was nothing to worry about but the flashing of the cameras that awaited by the purple carpet.
When the car stopped, you were able to hear the muffled voices of people shouting names as they asked people to look toward them so they could get better angles. That alone had your hands going absolutely cold from anxiousness, but you had no time to panic as the door opened and Jason climbed out first as he grabbed Cassie’s shaking hand. When it was your turn, you gave a deep breath before climbing out as you tried not to flinch from the flashes.
The adrenaline you felt as you smiled at the cameras as they directed them to you and Joe was something else. You were new to this world, so it was no surprise when a couple of people asked Joe about who you were as he walked you down toward the building where the booming music was coming from.
Once inside, that adrenaline was completely different. The atmosphere was like nothing else you had ever experienced at a club. The music was good, the ambiance was comfortable, and the people looked like they had come out from magazines. As you walked down toward an open sitting area, you and Cassie couldn’t help but motion with your heads whenever either of you saw a familiar face. By the time you all had made it to an empty booth, you two had seen Chris Pine, Ryan Gosling, Megan Fox, and even Britney Spears was there.
And you both got to meet even more when some of them started to come over and greet the Russo’s like old friends as well as Jason. There had been no time to dance as the chatter had been more entertaining and so was the food, but before anyone could offer a chance to dance, a loud voice called the names of Anthony and Joe as it approached them.
“Tony Stark,” said Jason as he stood to shake the man’s hand, “I was starting to wonder where you were.”
“Couldn’t come sooner, you know with people always trying to catch a contract with me,” he said as he shook the hands of Anthony and Joe as they got up as well before offering the man a seat which he took.
As he talked about how he had almost gotten pinned down into verbally hiring someone, you had stared at the man long enough to realize that he had been the same man who Captain America had called ‘Boss’ the day Jason had decided to send out your portfolio.
“I’m guessing these two gorgeous ladies are your dates?” he said as he glanced at you both, “where is little Jules? I was hoping for that slow dance I never got last time due to the fact I couldn’t even see straight after that last tequila shot.”
“She’s with her boyfriend, they are celebrating their one-year anniversary,” said Jason as he nursed his drink. “This is Cassie, my plus one for tonight.”
Tony grabbed her hand and proceeded to plant a small kiss on the back of her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Cassie choked out a ‘likewise’ as she blushed three shades darker than her hair.
“And this is Y/n, my plus one, and our newest face,” added Joe as he noticed that Tony now looked at you.
He did the same thing to your hand which you had to admit was classy but because of the way he grinned, it also made the gesture naughty.
“It’s always nice to see new faces around here,” he turned to Anthony’s date, “no offense, Sandy.”
“None taken, Stark,” she said with a smirk and a roll of eyes, “did you bring someone with you or is it just you little gang of Avengers?”
“I did bring someone, actually,” he said as he turned his head back to the large crowd, “you remember my assistant, Pepper? She was talking with someone. But my ‘little gang’ as you called it is also here, but I think I lost them.”
Shortly after his response, a beautiful ginger came over to the table with a smile as she called Tony’s name.
“There you are,” she said as she grabbed Tony’s arm, “sorry for interrupting, I just needed breather from that crowd.”
“We were actually just talking about you, Pepper,” said Anthony as he offered some nuts to the woman which she happily took. But before the conversation could start back up, another voice called out the man with the oddly attractive facial hair.
“Tony!” called out a brunet man. Your eyes noticed how his left hand was covered by a leather glove. “We’ve been looking for you. This place can really be a maze when you’re trying to avoid people.”
Just as his face became clearer in the dark place, you noticed how behind him followed two other people. You and Cassie looked at one another as you both recognized the three people who had just arrived at your spacious booth.
“Looks like I was not the only one trying to avoid somebody,” said Tony with a guilty-ish grin.
“You would try to make a fast escape if those two girls from Brazzers were trying to talk your ear off about working with you,” he shivered as if he remembered something he hadn’t wanted to remember, “I’ve done my fair share of questionable acts for the camera, but last year they talked my ear long enough about things that still haunts my dreams.”
“Yikes,” said Tony as he moved to make more room for the three new individuals. “Well, guys and gals, you already know Jason, the Russo’s, and dear old Sandy, but these two beauties are Cassie and Y/n.”
The woman named Pepper introduced herself with a graceful smile while she sneakily pinched Tony’s arm due to his comment that he couldn’t help from making about how lucky Joe and Jason had gotten for the night.
“Hi, the name is James Barnes,” said the brunet man as he leaned over to shake a hand which oddly enough turned out to be a light kiss on the back of both your and Cassie’s hands, “Nice meeting you, ladies.”
“I’m Natasha,” said the woman who had arrived right after James had, “don’t let his suave nature confuse you, he’s an ass.”
The man grunted something as he ate a peanut. Natasha only gave him a side smirk before continuing.
“And this mass of muscles is Steve.” She motioned to the man that couldn’t look more out of place. He seemed to be at ease but whenever he glanced at the crowd, his eyes would widen as if he was freaking out. He gave both of you a sweet smile and he gave a nod along with a soft ‘pleasure to meet you both'.
You and Cassie tried your best to act cool and collected as you both got around answering questions about how you two found yourselves there. It seemed they weren’t used to seeing brand new faces that they saw themselves trying to actually converse with, so the night ended up being full of chatter, laughter, and creating memories.
Who knew that Jason would be right? That night in Las Vegas would bring opportunities for you and Cassie, and for the first time, the saying ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ would not apply to either of you.
If you want to be added, please let me know!
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cuddlemen0w · 14 hours ago
next part is coming up this weekend since it got 100 likes already which i'm very thankful for!! and i'm halfway done with writing it :)
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and yes.. the big failure is coming....
daily dose of failure part 1 (peter parker x reader)
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Oh Y’all Want Another Clip? Here You Go
Peter ran down the halls knowing if Mom saw him he would be grounded. Hell if Papa or Dad saw him he would be grounded but Peter had to get there before Morgan told on him for sneaking out again. In his defense, he wasn’t taking the death threat seriously. He just hated being coped up in the castle for too long. He knew he was five days from his eighteen but it still made life hard for him with just being a normal human and not a vampire. Harley and Harry who were the only other two that he knew that was going to be turned were already eighteen. It wasn’t fair in Peter’s opinion. Why he had to wait five days for a decision he made a year ago made no sense. It was vampire code though. Even Johnny wouldn’t help him though he told Peter that he wouldn’t be allowed to even if he could. 
Peter reached the hall where he knew the throne room was about to wait for Morgan when the doors opened and his Papa stood right there. King Tony Stark. 
“Shit,” Peter muttered. Morgan followed behind with a grin on her face as she saw Peter. He should have agreed to the deal. 
“Peter Benjamin Parker Stark,” Tony said. 
“Hey Papa,” Peter said trying the innocent act. 
“You know I thought you knew better but apparently you don’t,” Tony said. “I guess I will have to get more guards around your room.” Peter went to argue but Tony had his mind made up.
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Special Preview of a Fic I’m Working On
“We shouldn’t be doing this Prince Peter,” Johnny said using his title to remind Peter of his position compared to Johnny’s. Peter knew they shouldn’t but he looked at Johnny and saw that he liked Peter and Peter had feelings for Johnny. Why couldn’t they break some rules and fall in love? 
“No one would know,” Peter said.
“Someone might find out,” Johnny told him. Peter looked at him daring him.
“They won’t. We spend enough time together that no one would notice,” Peter said
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spideyanakin · a day ago
Dead Poets Society (Chapter 2)
Tom Holland x Reader
Synopsis - 1959, your grandfather being the headmaster of Welton Academy - an all boys Boarding School, wanted you close to him after your parents death. Forcing you to join beyond any rules to be a student there. Despite strict rules you still fell in love with one. But Tom seems to be loosing the will to live when his strict family forces their wishes on him. Can one amazing teacher change your lives forever?
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Chapter 2 - Carpe Diem
September 15
The year wasn’t so boring after all.
“What do you mean you went to see her at her school?” You stopped Sam as he darted from Tom’s room to his.
“An angel.” He grinned as he planted himself in front of you with a dreamy look in his eyes. “Love of my life.” He mumbled making you smile.
“Well, what did she say?” You bounced on your heels in anticipation.
“I don’t know.” He looked away and then back to you. “I didn’t talk to her.”
“What do you mean you didn’t talk to her!?” you punched his chest with the back of your hand, hating the ending of his story. “Why!?”
“Her boyfriend...” He slumped his shoulder and walked back to his dorm, lightly slamming the door behind him. As if on cue your own boyfriend arrived in a fury running in the hallway like a mad man.
“I found what I truly want to do!” He looked into your eyes before shoving a piece of paper into your hands.
“A Midsummer night's dream?” You raised an eyebrow as you watched him jump up and down on his bed. You shared a concerning look with Harrison. “What does it have to do with you?” You fought back a smile.
“They’re putting it on a Kingston Hall.” He replied/scream earning raised eyebrows. “Open Tryouts! OPEN TRYOUTS!” He shouted turning to you and moving his hands towards you like he wanted to just grab your face and kiss you but couldn’t. He huffed in frustration and made a full circle.
“I’m going to act!” He smiled with a dreamy look in his eyes. “YES! YES! I’m gonna be an actor!” You watched your boyfriend as his eyes filled with sparks. “I wanted to try this forever but my father wouldn’t let me!”
“Yeah, I remember when you wanted to try for the summer play last year.” You smiled in admiration, leaning on his doorway.
He looked at you like the world couldn’t get any better “For the first time in my whole life, I know what I wanna do. AND IM GOING TO DO IT! CAARRPEE DIEEEEEAM!” He screamed with a chuckle.
“Tom, hold on. What if your father finds out?” Harrison broke in.
“To hell with him!” You giggled, happy to see Tom happy.
“Yes.” He turned to you and huffed a laugh. “He won’t. First I need to get the part and then I can worry about him finding out.” He looked at you and smiled again. “If I don’t ask him, at least I won’t be disobeying him.”
“I’m happy for you.” you reached for him and squeezed his shoulder, the contact being short but sending shivers down both your bodies.
“No touching!” Harrison joked imitating your grandfather’s voice. You scrunched up your nose.
“Ew. Don’t do that again, Haz.”
September 28
“When are you getting the audition results?” You asked Tom as Sam took Harry's place in the middle of the circle.
“Next week.” He whispered back.
“My actor.” You ruffled his hair before pressing a kiss to his lips.
Sam cleared his throat when the kiss wouldn't stop. You both blushed with a light chuckle, resting your head on his shoulder to look at Sam who was ready to say his poem.
“Now" He stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. "In honor of my love for Chris.”
"Who I still haven't met by the way?" You raised an eyebrow. "I need to check if she's worthy of you."
"You'll meet her soon enough." He chuckled. "Anyways, I have prepared a poem.”
“Like the one you wrote for class?” Harry grinned.
“No.” Sam deadpanned before clearing his throat again, straightening himself, and opening the book of verse. “This one is from Romeo and Juliet.” He gave Harry a death glare.
“Well, c’mon do your poem.” You grinned, Tom wrapping his hand a little tighter around your waist.
“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Chris is the sun.” Everyone laughed at the name change, the vibration of Tom’s laughter making your heart skip a beat. “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she:”
You thought for a second as you heard Sam’s words. You lifted your stare to look at Tom. You couldn’t help but stare at him as the words of love escaped your friend's mouth. You loved Tom more than anything in the whole wide world, and nothing could alter that.
Right here, at that moment, you knew he was the one you were meant to spend the rest of your life with. The one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.
“Wait a minute.” Harry broke Sam’s speech as he watched you look at Tom with a love-struck expression. “Didn’t Romeo and Juliet get married like the second they met?” His lips broke into a grin.
“Yeah. They fell in love and got married right away. Why?” you replied.
“You two should get married.”
“What?” Both you and Tom turned your full attention to Harry who couldn’t stop smiling at the idea.
“It would be just the poets. There’s a village far enough they won’t know who we are, but close enough we can go by bike right now and come back before curfew. It's Saturday who cares if we leave campus? They have this beautiful little chapel. You guys should do it! Carpe Diem right?”
You blinked as his words soaked it.
“Make this Romeo and Juliet but without the death! Write your own story! Seize the goddamn day! Carpe Diem for Christ sakes” He continued. “The two of you love each other so much you would get married someday anyway!” You cheeks flushed at that comment. “Why not do it now!?” He aggressively banged his hands together to make his point.
You turned to look at Tom, he met your eyes for a slight second before turning towards Sam. “Give me the book.” He waved his hand and Sam handed it to him.
“What’s your favorite poem again? Some with the sea?” You didn’t understand what he was doing but you replied anyway.
“Yeah, Out of the rolling ocean the crow by Whitman. Why?” You looked at him while he flipped through the pages. “I think it’s page 289.”
Tom took your word and went to page 289 - indeed seeing the poem.
“Does anyone have a quill?” Everyone’s stare was glued to Tom who looked in a hurry. Harrison handed him his and Tom scribbled something on the neighboring page before ripping out the one with your poem on it.
“Tom, what the heck?” Instead of answering you, he stood up and walked to the other corner of the cave turning his back to everyone.
“Sam, will you help me with this?” Sam awkwardly nodded before trotting towards Tom.
Harry took the book from the floor and read what was scribbled. ‘Sorry if this page is missing, I needed something to propose the love of my life with.’ Harry shook his head and smiled.
“You son of a bitch” He chuckled and you looked at Harry in confusion. Before you could even grab the book and read it for yourself Tom turned around and stared down at you.
“Stand up.” He asked and you followed orders, dusting some dirt off your pants when you did. You looked at him up and down and noticed he was hiding the paper behind his back. “Y/n?” His soft tone echoed through the cave. All the boys stayed silent as they carefully listened.
“Yeah?” He took one of your hands in his free one, still locking eyes with you. He slowly got down on one knee and that’s when you realized what he was doing. The page was folded into a ring. 
He looked up to you with hope-filled eyes and started speaking again.
“To the one who took my heart,
I have loved you ever since I saw you,
as my love for you is as boundless as is It true.
Heaven is where you and I kiss each other,
So will you marry me?
And if you do agree,
I will be yours forever,
Dead Poet’s Honor.”
He squeezed your hand as he waited for your answer.
You took a second to really look at him. Taking in the sight of the love of your life. He looked gorgeous in the light of the moon. His messy hair and brown eyes sparkling. You thought about how literally 2 minutes ago you thought about the answer to that question and a huge smile painted your lips. You nodded as happy tears started coming to your eyes.
“Yes.” You blurt out jumping into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” You cried as you attacked him with kisses. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you did, taking in every second of happiness that this moment was bringing him.
“I love you so much.” He smiled before you crashed your lips to his again, smiling into the kiss.
He suddenly pulled away and grabbed your left hand, placing the poem ring on your finger. The whole cave echoed in claps and cheers worst than the time you had told Tom you loved him back, and the whole group started patting your backs.
Harry looked at his watch. "C'mon guys let's go!" He yawped with joy.
Tom locked your lips with his before picking you up bridal style. The cave still rang with chants and claps, and they didn't die out as you made your way back towards the campus.
He dropped you once you were back, and you all sprinted towards your bikes.
You all took random ones, Paddy almost tripping on one as the hurry got to him. You all started heading towards the road until an idea popped into your mind.
"Wait." you were almost out of the school's territory before you dropped your bike and sprinted towards the headmaster's house that was just near the perimeter.
They all watched you as you disappeared in between the trees, getting a glimpse of you when you climbed your window and stepped into your room.
You caught your breath before walking towards your closet, grabbing a chair on the way. You couldn’t remove the smile off your lips as you climbed on it and pushed out of the top shelf the huge Louis Vuitton Malle where all your mother's best belongings had been stored.
You opened it, taking in your mother's scent. It brought a sudden wave of nostalgia towards you as you sat on the floor and removed old photos that rested on top. You laid them on the floor of your room as you searched for the piece of clothing you wanted. You smiled when you saw the picture of your parents’ wedding that sat on a beautiful soft silk fabric.
You removed the picture, smiling when you saw it. The smile on your mother’s and father's face brought a feeling of pure happiness inside you. A sudden thought passed through you - you were going to get to live that happiness right now, with Tom.
That’s when you realized. Pictures. You at least needed someone to take pictures.
You jumped up and walked back towards your closet, fumbling with a few things before finally getting your hands on a camera. You dusted the lens and tried a picture, smiling when it got out in perfect condition. You got all your recharges and put them in your duffle bag along with the camera itself.
You walked back to the suitcase. Removed a few pouches, opening them to reveal the most beautiful pieces of jewelry. You’d just have to pick your favorite.
Finally, your hand landed on what you wanted.
The silky dress that was under the wedding picture. Your mother’s wedding dress. It was a simple dress but it was still the most beautiful one you had seen. You unfolded it and admired the hand-sewn details.
You didn't care if it fitted, but you packed it. You played around with all your jewelry collection until you made the perfect match. A necklace, pearl earrings, a beautiful shiny bracelet, and pretty hair clips. You even grabbed a bracelet that use to be your father’s for Tom.
You placed everything back in the Malle, and that’s when you realized there was something glued to the back of the wedding picture.
A transparent bag with two wedding rings. You didn’t think twice before taking them.
Your heart pounded with anticipation, a shiver of excitement passing through you when you jumped with the duffle bag on your shoulder, landing on the soft grass and running back towards the waiting boys.
“What's that future Mrs. Holland?” Tom wondered when he saw the bag over your shoulder, stealing you a kiss before you mounted your bike again.  
"Something - A surprise." He liked the sparkle in your eyes when you said it.
"And where's Harry?"
"He left too - said he needed to grab something."
“I can’t believe the two of you are getting married” Harrison grinned. "What would his parents and your grandpa said if they knew?” He let out a chuckle of disbelief.
“They won't” You bit your lip fighting back a smile. “We’ll make sure of that.” You nodded and looked left to see Tom staring back.
"I'm here!" Harry screamed sprinting towards you with his bag going up and down.
"What's this?" Paddy raised an eyebrow.
"You'll see."
An hour later and you all parked your bikes behind a beautiful little white stone Chapelle. You smiled, gripping the handle of your bag a little tighter.
“Wait, before we go in!” You zipped your bag open and fished out your camera. Waving it towards the boys.
“You’re a genius.” Harry’s face lit up.
“I brought enough recharges to make at least 60 photos.” You grinned as you showed them some picture paper packets.
Harry took the camera from you. “C’mon guys.” He waved for you to come into a group, Tom didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your waist as you did. Harry clicked a few selfie-like pictures, one with you and Tom kissing as they all made disgusted faces, another one where you all did funny faces, and a more serious one with a few smiles.
You took a second to look at the Chapelle. It was a beautiful place. It was very small like it could host a max of 20 people and the outside walls were full of flowers and leaves that had climbed all the way up the roof.
“Shall we?” You wondered, sharing a smile with Tom that made your cheeks warm up. You walked inside, and the calmness of the place brought a certain feeling of peace inside, easing all your nerves at once.
A priest was standing at the other end, fumbling with something.
“How can I help you?” He wondered when he lifted his head to see a group of 6 teens staring at him.
“Yes.” You took a step forward. “We’d like to have a wedding. Right now if it’s possible.”
“A wedding?” He looked at you for a second, his stare shifting to yours and Tom's intertwined hands “I assume it’s the two of you?” You nodded. 
“Aren’t you a little too young?” He wondered at loud and quickly realized with the look in everyone's eyes that there was no arguing. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” You squeezed Tom’s hand.
“Alright.” He shrugged and turned to his altar. “Do you guys at least have better clothes? Or will you get married in those school uniforms?” He wondered with a chuckle.
"I do." You unshoulder your bag.
"And I got this for you." Harry gave his bag to Tom. "I couldn't let you get married in these ugly, lives threatening clothes now could I?"
“Harry?” You opened the back door of the chappel only to reveal your head.
Tom was changing behind a screen and the priest was starting some preparations around the altar.
There was no one but trees for kilometers away, so you weren't scared to get changed outside.
“Yeah?” He wondered as he met your eyes
“Could you come here for a second?” you asked and Harry looked around, confusion written all over his eyes. When you didn’t get a response you continued. “I promise I’m decent.” You chuckled. “I just need to ask you something.”
Harry shuffled with his Welton tie as he trotted towards you. You opened the door, staying behind it until you closed it. He moved his head up to see you - freezing when he took in your appearance.
You had untied and brushed your hair, it fell perfectly around your face, making you look like a goddess. You were personally surprised the dress fitted so well. It hugged every part of your body perfectly. The skirt was loose but the top part hugged your stomach and chest. The short sleeves fitted perfectly and the way it looked on you made you smile. It was meant to be.
Harry continued scanning your beautiful figure as the jewels perfectly reflected on your skin. He had never seen you like this - he felt his jaw drop.
“First, will you help with the buttons?” You wondered as you turned around taking your hair in your hands, making sure it wouldn’t get in the way. Harry nodded, feeling every word stuck in the back of his throat. You chuckled at his silence.
“You- you look beautiful.” He mumbled when you turned around.
“Thank you. Now I have something to ask you.” You looked into his eyes, a pause falling as he waited for your question. “Will you give me away?”
“Oh wow." His eyes lit up when he realized what you were asking. "I would love to!”
“Thank you.” You brought him into a tight hug. “This means a lot.” You let out a wobbly sigh into his arms.
“Don’t worry it’s normal.” He smiled awkwardly patting your shoulder. “You’re my best friend Y/n/n - I’m not going to let you walk down the aisle alone.” He scoffed like it would be an insult to let you do that.
“Also.” You pulled away from the hug and got something from your bag. “I found this in my mother's things. If you could give it to the priest.” Harry’s face lit up when he saw the rings.
“I knew we were missing something” He clicked his tongue with a smirk. “This is going to be amazing.” He shook his head.
“Tell me about it.”
“Nervous?” Harry wondered as you blew an agitated breath, holding on tight to a small bouquet of wildflowers.
“A little.” You smiled. “Excited nervous.” You looked at the Chapelle doors.
You were all ready and Tom was on the other end of the aisle, waiting for you - with all the boys sitting on the edge of their seats in the front row.
Sam had the camera lens locked on Tom’s face eagerly waiting to capture his face when you entered.
“Alright.” You smiled and Harry folded his arm so you could hold it. “Let’s do this.”
The air got sucked out of your lungs right there. You looked down the aisle to meet Tom’s eyes. He did indeed clean himself up as Harry asked.
He looked beautiful, in a suit you had probably never seen him wear before. His hair might have still been ruffled from the bike ride but that didn’t make him look any less godly. Candles reflected in his eyes making them look like pretty pools of honey.
You could just stare at him all day - and it took everything in you to remember how to walk.
Tom could say the same thing. All the sudden he forgot how to breathe. He had never seen you in a dress before and you looked like the way people say Aphrodite look like.
All the boys were starstruck by you - envying Tom but without an ounce of jealousy in them. 
Harry gave you a quick kiss on the cheek as you let go of his arm. You stepped up and met Tom’s eyes from close. You could bet he was on the edge of tearing up - and so were you.
You reached for Tom’s hand you felt sparks fly when they met. As if it was the very first time you had ever held him. His skin felt warm on yours and you never wanted to let go.
The priests said a bunch of random words but you were too focused on looking at Tom to hear them - so was Tom. He couldn’t stop staring and you and both of you blushed under each other's glances.
“Does anybody oppose?” Sam stood up and you and Tom’s heart went at lightning speed. All the boys looked at him like he was a mad man.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t actually oppose.” He gave a sheepish smile when he saw the weird look everyone was giving him. Everyone blew a thankful breath.
“I just- I wanted to say that I’ve never seen any two people who love each other the way these two do, Dead Poets Honor.” He put a hand over his heart “Even my parents don’t have the same look in their eyes. I love you both of you so much and I'm so happy you found each other. And I hope that someday Chris will look at me the way you look at Tom.” You puffed out a teary chuckle.
You wiped your eyes at his words and so did Harry and Paddy who nodded along - emotions catching up with everyone. You mumbled a thank you before bringing your stare back to your fiance.
“Well, thank you for that gentlemen. Now,” He turned his stare back to you and your husband to be. “Tom Holland, do you take-”
“Yes.” Everyone chuckled.
“Sorry.” He grinned when the priest looked at him with playful anger.
“I’ll repeat.” He cleared his throat. “Tom Holland, do you take Y/n-”
“Yes.” Everyone giggled at Tom.
“Will you please let me finish?” This time he seemed almost angry and Tom looked at him with a cheeky smile. “Alright, I know we all know the answer to this but formalities." He shrugged. "Tom Holland, do you take Y/n L/n to be your wife?”
“Yes.” Tom took a step closer to you as he placed the ring that was once your mother's on your finger. "Dead poets honor." He smile.
“Y/n L/n” He turned to you. “Do you take Tom Holland to be your husband?”
“Yes.” You nodded fighting back a tear when you placed your father’s wedding ring on Tom’s finger. "Dead poets honor"
“Congratulations. You are now husband and wife... You may kiss the bride.” The priest smiled when he saw the way you and Tom and looked up from your hands to each other’s eyes.
Tom took a second to step closer to you, placing his hand on your cheek to wipe a falling tear. He took your appearance in and you did the same.
For a second you felt like the only two people in the world and nothing else mattered. You brought your hand to his chest as he suddenly leaned in kissing you like it was the last time your lips would ever touch.
He held your waist as the kiss deepened, and you smiled when you were brought back to earth with the numerous cheers and claps that echoed in the small Chappell. The boys cheered and sang like this place wasn’t sacred, or was suppose to stay quiet. It was the best moment of your life.
In this moment, you knew life was never going to be boring again. 
Taglist - @justifymyfeelings @slytherinambitious​​​ @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​​ @criminaly-supernatural​​ @trustfundparker​​​ @tomhollandreads​​ @prettysbliss​​​ @ksmy-99​​​ @sarcasticallywitty15 @bi-lmg​​ @nerdy-collector-festival​​ @lovely-blackinnon​​ @hunnybunimdun​​ @playnineteenfifties​
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peterbabytt · a day ago
young, lost sinner // starker
synopsis: a (very dark, and very depressing) soulmate au. every person bears a soulmark--a mark of their soulmate’s first touch. like birthmarks, a soulmark is a shade or two darker than the bearer’s skin tone. when the soulmark is touched by the bearer’s other half, the soulmark briefly glows a bright arctic blue hue before fading away entirely.
words: 1,239
warnings: hate and violence, use of homophobic slang and other swears, major character deaths (relatively graphic)
!!everyone featured in this fanfiction is 18+ unless specifically stated otherwise!!
i hope you enjoy 💓 feedback/constructive criticism is and always will be accepted, but hate will always be blocked
(by proceeding, you understand and accept the warnings previously provided)
     Tony, a warlock in a tiny village surrounded by mountains and trees, bears two soulmarks, one hand upon either side of his neck, each creeping into the skin of his cheeks. The man has spent countless hours just imagining who would cradle his face in such a way, fingers so gentle, and so careful. He wonders… will they kiss him?      Peter, a practicing warlock under Tony’s guide, bears the soulmark of a hand across his left cheek. The boy has spent countless hours just imagining who would caress his cheek in such a way, fingers so soft, and so loving. He wonders… will they kiss him?
     One night, unbeknownst to Tony of how his identity revealed, the people of his small village burst through the doors of his home, yelling and swearing, eyes full of ire and rage. The man at the front of the angry horde, Quentin Beck, tore the warlock from his bed and kicked him to his knees before binding his hands to the stick of a broom rested upon the warlock’s bare shoulders. No sooner was he hoisted to his feet and dragged outside to the village center where a large, wooden cross lay in the dirt. Fear bubbled in the Stark’s gut. He’d heard stories. Horrible, horrible stories, but he’d never imagined--      “Tony Stark,” Quentin shouted amongst the villagers, all of whom stood outside their homes to watch. “is a witch-- a warlock--a child of the devil Himself!” The horde screamed their insults, spit like fire as it sprinkled in drops over his skin. Tony met the eyes of no one.
     From his open window, Peter (who had been preparing a spell he hoped would bring his village the rain it hadn’t seen in nearly a year) heard Beck’s voice echo through the dark of the night, and he was on his feet in an instant, not bothering to slip on shoes or don proper outerwear. He all but leapt from his stairs, bounding down the dirt road of his yard to the village’s center beside a drooping juvenile willow tree. In the dirt lay a wooden cross, carelessly made from what appeared to be the dead branches of a tree, and held together with nothing but rope. Fear bubbled in the Parker’s gut.      “Tony!” The boy gasped, pushing through the small crowd, but he hadn’t made it too far. Two men, both of whom Peter never cared to learn the names of, held him by the arms before he could reach the man bound to the broom.      “Peter, stay back!”      “He shall be punished for the crimes he has committed!” Beck demanded. “In the name of God, he shall be bound to the cross, overturned to hang by his feet, and lit ablaze!”      “No!” Peter managed to break free from the men’s grasp, his feet carrying him to the warlock--to his warlock--and for the first time, his hands reached for the prints on Tony’s neck. The soulmarks radiated pure warmth beneath Peter’s own fingertips, and Tony felt them tingle beneath his touch. In a moment of pure terror and bold confidence strangely mashed into one, Peter captured his warlock’s lips with his own.      A gasp rattled through the crowd, screams of disgust seeping through the throats of the many, and slews of insults passing through the gritted teeth of the rest. The soulmark upon Tony’s neck and cheeks glowed a dim icy blue beneath Peter’s own hands. A boy--a teen--a child--was destined to be the devil spawn’s soulmate. Quentin felt as though he would vomit. A hand fell to Peter’s shoulder, gripping him by the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt, and he was pulled from the man he loved, the glow of blue on the man’s neck finally fading away.      “Peter…” A faint whisper fell from Tony’s lips, drowned by the foul words that filled the village center, all ranging from whore to faggot to far, far worse. Beck stood before Peter, held his hand high in the air, and struck the boy with such force upon his left cheek that he swore he saw stars glowing behind his eyelids.      Quentin and the village alike watched in horror. There had never before been record of soulmates who did not align, and yet, in this horrible universe, Beck found himself to be the soulmate of a faggot.
     Before the light of the soulmark could even fade, Quentin tangled a tight fist through the boy’s hair, holding Peter with his back to Quentin’s own chest, and marched the two of them to stand before the warlock. Peter cried in pain at the hand in his hair, and a blade was pressed to his throat to keep him quiet. Fear-filled gazes met.      “Any last words, lovers?” Quentin growled, his hold in Peter’s hair only tightening as the blade pressed harder to his throat, drawing the faintest line of blood upon his pale skin.      “Beck, he had nothing to do with any of this! Let him go!” Tony begged, but Peter…      “I-I’m sorry, Tony… I love you…” As the words fell from his tongue, a sadistic smile spread across Quentin’s lips.      “NO!!” Tony’s cry pierced the heavens as his soulmate choked on scarlet fluid, his shirt staining the same devastating hue. It wasn’t long before his limp body crumbled to the ground of the village center.      No sooner than the boy’s body hit the soil, and Tony’s shriek reached the sky, the wind began to rage, clouds rolling into the firmament.      “Bind him to the cross,” Quentin ordered over the warlock bellowing in agony.      “NO!!” A light sprinkle of rain fell to the earth, and a smile spread across Quentin’s lips, for the sacrifice of the faggot and, soon, his warlock, had pleased his God.      “Overturn,” Quentin ordered, and the people of the village aided to turn the warlock upside down.      “Peter!!” An earthquaking rumble of thunder crescendoed to the rhythm of Tony’s fury, and a flash of lightning struck just below his head. The wood was alight and the devil’s child was engulfed in flame, yet he cried in no physical pain. The fire that disintegrated his clothes, sizzled on his skin and consumed his entire being seemed to cause no pain at all. He cried for the pain in his heart.
     The fire continued to swarm upwards, splintering through the dead wood until his entire body--head to toe--was ablaze. The village roared and cheered, smiles carved onto several faces. But when the warlock’s cries were drowned by the sound of buzzing and fluttering, every being fell silent and watched on. Beneath the flame, the man’s skin blackened before exploding into an eclipse of moths. Terrified screams filled the village center, but the moths paid no mind to its inhabitants, they just… flew away, disappearing into the dark sky of the night. All was quiet… all was calm… for the moment.
     Sheets upon sheets of heavy rain plummeted to the earth, dousing the fire and all persons around. Quentin watched through squinted eyes as each drop absorbed into Peter’s corpse, dissolving the body away until nothing remained. And that… that is when the streets began to flood, for the mountains that had surrounded the small village since the beginning of time were a perfect bowl, almost as if they had been waiting for this very day. No man, woman, child or creature in that village was safe from the rain of the warlock and his soulmate.
~~~ fin ~~~
it’s dark... it’s depressing... i’ve always wanted to write something soulmate related, something relatively original, but... man, this was unexpected... it started with the idea that peter would be tony’s soulmate, but tony wouldn’t be peter’s. i didn’t know how i wanted to incorporate that, but... somehow, this was born? i’m not sure... 
this is the first time in a long ass time i’ve been able to write something front to back without stopping. this took... maybe 3 hours to write? 3 and a half?
i’m oddly proud of it 
(also, lightly inspired by the song The Village by Wrable)
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iwritedumbshit · a day ago
Comfort in My Shadow
Chapter 4: Uninvited
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 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8
Peter didn't really wake up the next morning, because he hadn't really fallen asleep last night. He'd been incredibly tired, but his hair hadn't been able to lay flat and he hadn't been able to block out the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of Mr. Fowler's closet. He'd been it the entirety of the day and even throughout the night when Mr. Fowler stomped into the room and passed out on the bed. The lilting stumbles in his steps made Peter think he'd been drunk and had likely forgotten about the kid trapped in his closet.
So he hadn't really slept, but his eyes had been closed--the darkness of his eyes was better than that of the closet--until the door had finally swung open, allowing Peter his first full breath in almost a whole day. The dankness of Mr. Fowler's room was a thousand times better than the closet. An arm had grabbed his own, pulling him roughly to his feet and out of the closet. His legs had ached with the disuse, but he'd stumbled to his feet nonetheless.
"Are you going to talk back to me again, son?" Mr. Fowler had asked, a horrible pleasantness to his voice. Peter had shaken his head. Something had been shoved into his hands, and he'd fumbled only to realize it was his wallet. "There. The card doesn't work anymore, so you can have that piece of shit back. Now get out of here."
"O-okay. Thank you," he'd said, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom that he'd been deprived of for almost twenty-four hours. Once he'd finished and washed his hands, he'd searched through his wallet.
His few crumpled bills had been taken, but the pictures stuffed inside had been left alone, and the black card had sat crammed in a pocket. He'd grabbed it with fumbling fingers, brows furrowing. It didn't work anymore? Had the man maxed it out? Peter had swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about what the hell he'd bought to do that. Probably a lot of alcohol had been his guess.
He really, really hoped that Mr. Stark couldn't see his purchases.
After a quick shower, in which he'd had to sit down his vision had swam so much, he'd rushed out the door with his beaten up backpack swinging off of his shoulder. He knew he probably should have stayed to check on the other kids who'd had to listen to the fight last night and might need help with homework, but the teenager couldn't stand to be in that house for any longer. Everything smelled like Mr. Fowler's awful closet and he just needed to be out in the bright Sunday sun. He wanted to find just a little comfort in his shadow that he'd been deprived of the night before.
So he'd changed into his suit and swung around for most of the day, flipping for some overly excited middle schoolers and directing an old man from Ukraine visiting his son who lived in Harlem and ignoring the pain in his stomach. When there was a lull in the late afternoon, he strung a web between two buildings and just did as many daring flips and handstands as he could. It was a feeble attempt to distract himself from the events of the past few days.
Hits and threats from Mr. Fowler were nothing new, in fact, they were a staple in the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but last night had been different. He'd never been trapped like that in the group home. He'd always had a lot of free reign as long as he operated within the curfew and got his chores done, but yesterday was like someone had flipped a switch on that, and he was still reeling from the terror.
Or that could be the hunger eating through his stomach. Peter stopped flipping on the web for a moment, instead laying down and balancing himself on the thin string as his stomach growled so hard he flinched. He wouldn't even be getting anything today. When did his grounding end again? He was pretty sure it was Thursday, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Fowler extended it after last night. Maybe he could stop by Ned's and get a granola bar or something.
The teenager looked down at the ground to stare at Mr. Stark's shadow, blinking as he realized it was no longer clothed in normal attire, or a sharp business suit, but rather the larger outline of what he could now identify as the Iron Man armor. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man must be doing. Probably something really important.
Peter sighed, moving to sit up, when a sound made him pause. He cocked his head before finally turning in the direction of the mechanical whine to make out the Iron Man suit flying towards him.
He tried to feign disinterest, laying back down on the web and placing his hands underneath his head as the suit landed on the nearest building rooftop and Mr. Stark stepped out, but Peter couldn't lie to himself about how excited he really was to see the man.
"Hey, Mr. Stark," he greeted from the web.
"Hey, kid."
"Um, thanks for the letter." Please don't ask about the card. Please don't ask about the card. "Are you sure about the phone, though? I mean, that thing looks like it could cost as much as a house."
"Keep it, kid, I gave it to you for a reason," Mr. Stark said, waving him off. Peter watched him warily as he sat down on the edge of the building, shuffling nervously. Peter smiled to see the man very clearly out of his element, as if he would let him fall anyway. "So, how's your day been?"
Peter shrugged. "Fine."
"No hangovers or anything?" Peter froze. "Can you even get drunk? Cap can't."
The teenager hesitated before answering. It was either 'I bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card' or 'My foster father bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card.' He wasn't sure which one was better, but there didn't seem to be much to win from lying, not that there was much to gain from telling the truth either.
"I don't know," Peter responded honestly as he sat up on the web to stare at the shadow on the ground. The imitation felt more comforting than the real thing at that moment.
"You don't know? You bought three hundred dollars of pure liquor."
"Three hundred--Oh, jeez. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."
Mr. Stark blinked at him for a second before his gaze softened.
"You didn't buy any of that stuff, did you?" Peter shook his head. "Who? Andrew Fowler?" A moment. A nod. "Okay, I'll just deactivate that card and give you a new one."
"No, it's fine, Mr. Stark," Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie pocket and showing him the black card. "He gave it back. I think he was annoyed that it was, like, maxed out or something."
"Well, it is most definitely not maxed out--there's a lot more than three hundred on that, kid--but I'm glad you got it back."
There was a minute of awkward silence before Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter.
"So, no tower yesterday?"
Peter suddenly remembered the little note at the end of his letter. He shrugged bashfully, mumbling, "Yeah, sorry, uh Mr--Mr. Fowler kept us pretty busy yesterday. Chore day, so."
"Wanna stop by now?"
Peter looked up at him in surprise. It was a wonder this man didn't hate him yet. The foster parents Peter had before Mr. Fowler had gotten sick of him pretty quickly, or just hadn't been very attached in the first place, while the majority of his teachers regarded him with either pity or disdain at his situation and record. As far as Mr. Stark knew, he had an accident-prone, snotty teenager as a soulmate whose favorite pass time was to be a juvenile delinquent.
And yet, the mechanic regarded him with a soft smile. A little strained, but welcoming nonetheless. It unfurled something in his chest.
"Yeah!--I mean, sure sure, that'd be fun." Mr. Stark gave him an amused smile as the teenager stepped off of his web and onto the roof of the building. With a quick glance and a rare smile, Peter leaped off the roof, enjoying the way Mr. Stark yelped in surprise. Peter called, "Beat you there!!"
He did not, in fact, beat Mr. Stark to the tower. To be fair, the man was in a suit that flew faster than a jet and Peter was only propelled by physics and muscles.
The teenager watched from a short distance as the Iron Man suit paused in front of a higher point in the tower, faced him for a moment, and then dove through the window. He raised an eyebrow, but doubled down in catching up to the man, only barely managing to swing himself high enough so that he wouldn't have to crawl his way up more than a couple of stories.
Finally, just a few minutes later than Mr. Stark, he rolled through the window and landed hard on the floor just a little unsteadily, not that he cared in the slightest. There were much more interesting things to care about in that moment.
"You like it?" Mr. Stark called from across the lab. Peter nodded dumbly, staring, widemouthed, at the state of the art equipment decorating just about every inch of the room. There were cases of Iron Man armor lining the walls, robots rolling around--he managed a laugh at one with a dunce cap sweeping the ground with a broom inefficiently--and tables filled with projects Peter couldn't even begin to dream of. "You can take your mask off here, kid. No one's going to see you."
Mr. Stark's voice pulled him back to reality, drawing him further into the room hesitantly. He glanced at the man, but realized dimly that his spider sense had finally calmed down. This wasn't the danger he'd felt after being fished out of the lake, or the feeling that had been following him since, it was a normal calm mixed with just a hint of nerves.
He tugged his mask off.
Mr. Stark stared at him, a soft look on his face, before finally tearing his gaze away when Peter shuffled uncomfortably.
"Sorry, kid," he apologized. "Didn't mean to freak you out. Just..."
"Just what?"
"It's just nice to see you, Peter."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he just offered the billionaire a strained smile and stepped over to the desk the man was standing at. He felt more than a little out of place, but his curiosity overwhelmed his discomfort as he glanced over a shiny metal case held lightly in the billionaire's hands in interest. Mr. Stark tapped it when he caught the boy looking.
"This, kid," he said, sliding it over, "is for you."
Peter caught it effortlessly, his fingers light and hesitant as he glanced from it to Mr. Stark, his head down.
"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark. You already--"
Mr. Stark interrupted by reaching over and pressing something on the case. It sprang open, spooking Peter enough for him to take a step back but holding his attention as he caught sight of the bright red fabric. The eyes were what really caught his attention, looking unreasonably cool and intimidating. Peter mumbled, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."
Mr. Stark chuckled. "Good thing it's yours."
"It's--" He gaped at the man. "Mr. Stark, I really can't accept--"
"Too bad," he interrupted. "It's a gift and it's rude to turn down a gift. So, there's a bathroom right over there if you want to try it on. Give it a whirl?"
After a moment of hesitation, he closed the case, thanked Mr. Stark, and headed to the bathroom to change.
When Peter stepped out of the bathroom in the new suit, Tony couldn't help but frown. He covered it up as quickly as possible, but the sentiment still remained as his eyes roamed over the kid. He was muscular, sure, but he was so thin that it practically hurt. The teenager's ribs were practically there just for him to count and worry about. He filed it away for later as Peter turned to look at him, the mask's eyes narrowing.
"Looking good, hotshot," Tony said. "How's it feel?"
"It's awesome, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, his hands held out in front of him as he tapped the webshooters. "It smells like a new car!"
Tony couldn't help his laugh. "If you think that's cool, just wait. Friday, Babysitter Protocol."
"Babysitter--" Peter cut off with a confused yelp as his suit lit up blue, the AI in his suit supposedly greeting him. The kid cocked his head. "Oh, hi. Nice to meet you too."
Tony turned away, letting the kid and the AI get acquainted as he pulled out his phone and ordered a few pizzas. Five might be enough. Steve had always eaten a lot, and even if he didn't manage to burn through the best pizza in the city, the kid could definitely use leftovers. He entered the order and shifted back to observe the kid again.
"--uh, Liz? No, no, that's weird. How about Karen?" A moment as he waited for a response. "Fun. Nice. Cool, this is so cool."
Tony smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid. His soulmate. His little shadow. 
Peter turned to look at him after a few minutes, muttering a quick goodbye to the AI--Karen, he guessed--before tugging the mask off again. There was a hesitant smile tugging at his thin face. Much too thin. How many pizzas would it take to get the kid back to even a semi-healthy weight? Probably way too many.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I really can't thank you enough."
"Please, you can thank me by not thanking me. Pepper says my ego's already a little off of the charts." Peter laughed and Tony couldn't help his grin. "Wanna stay over for dinner? I ordered pizza."
Peter hesitated, but after a moment he answered, "Alright," which was so much better than the kid regarding him defensively or looking like he was constantly on the edge of running away again. And, as it turned out, Peter fit more easily into his life than he could have thought.
In barely thirty minutes, the kid was sat beside him at a desk filled with vials of web fluid and pieces of Iron Man armor, an old, frayed hoodie of Tony's slipped over the suit, and a stack of freshly baked pizza laid out in front of them. Peter sat in the chair next to him as the mechanic ran through the schematics of his suit, hanging on every single word.
"...most of the framing is between the protective layers of your suit, completely waterproof by the way, if you ever get yourself into another lake. You also have a parachute if you pass the three thousand feet threshold."
Peter glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "There's a parachute in this thing? How?"
Tony tapped his back where he knew the spider logo was. "A magician never reveals their secrets."
"Did you compress all the air out of it? Or build it into the wiring on the patch on my back somehow?"
"Both are true." He took a bite of pizza. "You're pretty smart, huh?"
Peter ducked his head with a shrug. "Sorta. I can figure out chemistry, but that's about it."
"I don't believe that for a second, but we'll stick with the modesty for now." Peter huffed out a laugh, spinning the hologram of his suit and staring at it in complete adoration. It dragged a smile onto Tony's face.
Peter had a sort of ruggedness to him, a desperate scrappiness, but it was embarrassingly easy to see that that wasn't all there was to the teenager. His rambles were fast and excited, his scarce smiles adorably bright and always lighting up his doe eyes. There was a kind of spark to Peter that Tony couldn't explain, and, though he was sorry that the kid was saddled with him, he couldn't have wished for a better soulmate.
Apparently, five pizzas ended up being a great number, because Peter ate everything Tony offered him. He was practically a human garbage disposal, though much more polite. Tony was glad that the kid was filling up, but it made him seriously question how much he was getting at that group home. After letting the kid get comfortable for about an hour, he voiced it.
"Do they feed you where you live, kid? I swear, you just put down over ten thousand calories."
Peter paused on the slice he was eating, swallowing before putting it back on the plate nervously, and Tony immediately regretted ever opening his big, fat mouth.
"Yeah. They--Mr. Fowler feeds us fine. Just, enhanced metabolism, so." He shrugged. It was said so nervously that it felt like an outright lie, but Tony left it alone.
"Okay. Good to know. Just make sure to use that card whenever you get hungry, kid. I'm not having my soulmate starve."
At his mention of being soulmates, Peter glanced over his shoulder to stare at their shadows. Right now they almost looked like their own shadows, mirror images of each other, but if you looked hard enough you could see the slight difference in hair texture and the distinctive widths of their shoulders.
"It must've been weird," Peter said. Tony glanced at him in confusion. "Not having a shadow. You didn't get one until I was born, right?"
"Oh. Yeah," Tony agreed. He swallowed as he admitted, "Thought I was broken for the longest time. It was the best day of my life when your tiny little baby shadow appeared at my feet... What about you? Always had a grown man following you around, huh?"
"That sounded creepy, Mr. Stark." Tony just grinned cheekily. "It was nice, actually, always having you there. Like--like a guardian or something."
"And now you've got the real thing." Peter rolled his eyes and Tony pointed at him. "Ah, there's that good ol' sass I was looking for. I was afraid I'd lost it."
"Uhuh. You're kinda weird, Mr. Stark."
"Right back at you, little shadow." Peter smiled at the nickname before glancing out the window where the sky was a deep russet red. "Time for you to head out?"
"Yeah. I've still got some homework to do."
The two stood up and walked over to the window. Peter moved to take the hoodie he'd been wearing off, but Tony stopped him. "Keep it. I've got plenty."
"Oh, thanks, Mr. Stark."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm so generous. Have fun with the suit, kid, I'll see you soon."
Tony paused, looking over at the kid who had only just begun to pull the mask over his head, hopeful eyes staring at him. He desperately wanted to tell the kid he'd pick him up from school tomorrow so that they could hang out in the lab again, but he knew he genuinely didn't have any time. He'd been putting off packing for a few too many days.
"After we move. I'll pick you up from school on Friday. We can go explore the compound together. Sound good?"
Peter nodded. "Yep. Real good, Mr. Stark."
"You can call me Tony, Mr. Parker," he joked.
Peter pulled the mask down and jumped out the window with a call of. "See you Friday, Mr. Stark!"
Tony's shoulders shook with laughter.
Friday. Peter couldn't wait for Friday. With a burst of excitement and energy he hadn't had in a while, Peter flipped in the air and let out a WHOOO! only catching himself at the last second before flipping back up.
"Wow, this suit is so intuitive!" he exclaimed, shooting another web.
"I am glad you think so, Peter," Karen responded, shocking him so bad he nearly let go of his web. Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten he had an AI now. Man, Mr. Stark was so cool. "I am currently taking feedback for the suit's systems in case anything needs to be changed on Friday. Would you like to rate the suit's webshooters?"
"Oh, full eleven out of ten, Karen. It's great."
"Thank you for the feedback, Peter, I have sent a note to Mr. Stark."
"Oh." Peter blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that, Karen."
"Why not? He has asked for feedback."
"No, it's not--" He cut himself off, sighing as he flipped himself into a large arc. "I just don't want to bother him. He's already been so nice to me."
"Mr. Stark has asked for feedback, Peter."
"It's not the--it's not the feedback, Karen," he tried to explain.
"I do not understand."
He spluttered and then sighed, waving it off. "Whatever. It's fine, Karen, just forget it."
"Of course, Peter. Would you like me to show you the quickest route home?"
Peter hesitated. He did have a lot of homework to do, and Eric probably needed help with his reading, but he had to swallow down fear at the thought of being in the same room as Mr. Fowler again. It was irrational--it was so stupid--and Peter knew it, but he couldn't stop the way his hands seemed to shake and his entire body quail.
"Actually, let's take the scenic route. Really test out the suit, y'know?"
"Of course, Peter. Planning now."
A blue line appeared on screen, leading Peter back to the group home. He muttered, "So cool."
Spider-Man was only halfway back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, finally across the bridge and back into his home territory, when his spider sense went off again. He immediately glanced down at his shadow, which had lengthened as the sun set, for some kind of comfort or guidance. But of course, there wasn't one. It was just a shadow.
A little put off by the shiver that had run down his spine, he attached himself to the side of the building, staring out over the street. Nothing too out of the normal. People hurrying on the sidewalk, cars honking down the street, and shadows following along aimlessly.
"Karen. What's going on?"
"What do you mean, Peter?" the AI asked.
"It's just--there's something wrong. Maybe--" At a second shiver up his spine, Peter turned to look at where his senses were directing him at the ringing of a bell.
It was a small bodega, its door swung open as two men stepped inside in unreasonably thick coats for the warm weather. He narrowed his eyes, and the suit zoomed in with him, scanning the men before they disappeared through the door.
"What's the time, Karen?"
"Alright, we're good then. Plenty of time." He swung over to the bodega, attaching himself to the wall above the door, out of sight of the occupants inside. His senses had yet to calm down, so he assumed that he was right about this being a robbery. "Ready to test out the suit, Karry Berry?"
"I am always ready, Peter."
"Y'know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."
"Does that mean I should assign you a nickname too?"
"Definitely! Think about it for a moment and get back to me after we do this," Peter exclaimed in an excited mumble, straining his ears to hear whatever was going on inside. There was the tense calm of nothing for a moment, and then a shuffle and a squeak followed by a spike in his senses. He muttered to himself. "Finally."
He kept his ears strained on the actions going on inside, dropping down in front of the door quietly to watch what was happening. There was a teenager at the register, her hands fumbling with the register while the two men from earlier in their dark coats pointed shotguns at her. He could see tears streaming down the girl's face, clearly terrified.
Peter crept forward, picking up on the muttered conversation inside.
"--just open the register, keep it quiet," the closest man said in a raspy voice. "Hand everything over nice and quick."
"It's--it doesn't open," the girl cried. "It doesn't open unless a purchase is made and--"
The man flinched forward. "Do I look like I care? Just open it!"
Finally having heard enough, Peter placed his fingers against the door and pulled it open as quietly as possible.
Peter froze. Heads turned. Curses flew.
The superhero darted forward as the gun pointed at him, firing a shot that missed him completely as he dove behind a grocery aisle of gummies and pregnancy tests. Bodegas really were something. Peter crouched down, muttering under his breath, "Fuck that stupid bell."
"Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your predicament?" Karen asked.
"What? No! I can deal with this, Karen, just watch."
"I like the new look," came the voice of the man that had shot at him. "New government sugar daddy or something?"
Peter blanched. "I really wish that that would stop being people's first assumption. People can be platonic y'know!"
There was a scoff and the sound of something warping. Peter's eyes narrowed, peeking around the grocery shelf and then immediately ducking back. The man, the one who hadn't shot at him, had pulled out a large and glowing weapon that looked incredibly similar to the one that had been at the ATM robbery. Man, he was getting really sick of those things.
The teenage girl had looked okay, shivering behind the desk and thankfully not making any moves to alert the police, as far as he could tell anyway. The last thing he needed was cops showing up in such a tense situation. And his first time using the new suit! That would be just plain embarrassing.
"Platonic or not, I don't give a shit," Normal Gun Man said. "A new look isn't going to change your situation. So either come out, or we shoot you."
"I don't know if you can shoot me while I'm back here soooo."
There was a click and a squeak. "Yeah? What about her?"
Okay. So that was a little different.
Without hesitation, Peter stepped out from behind the aisle shelf, his arms raised half-heartedly in the air. The two men had ski masks over their face--not quite as fun as the Avengers masks, but it'd do--but he could still see the honestly nervous smile of the man holding the gun. Clearly he hadn't expected the arrival of Queens favorite vigilante.
"Good to know that you can comply," Normal Gun Guy said. Alien Gun Guy had the weird blue gun pointed at Peter, but the shotgun was still directed at the worker. He chose his target.
"Not really."
With a flick, he webbed the shotgun and slammed it into the wall. There was a startled scream at the same moment his hairs stood on end. Peter only managed to jump forward before he was encased in a blue light that gave him quite possibly the worst headache of his entire life. He hated the feeling of that stupid thing. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt like something out of The Incredibles. Like Syndrome and shit.
"Ugh! This thing is so weird!" Peter complained in a warped yell. Alien Gun Guy gave him a brutish look and then swung him through the window.
Peter grunted as he crashed through the window, wincing at the clinking shatter of glass that broke under him, but, surprisingly, none of the glass managed to grab at him and slice through his skin, even as he was shot across the street from the force of the alien weapon, only stopping when he thudded against the wall. He groaned as the air was forced out of him.
At least the suit had kept him from getting cut.
"Ugh... The hell." The teenager shook his head, forcing himself back to his feet, clinging to the wall for just a moment as he blinked out dizziness. Remembering himself, he turned back to the bodega across the street, panicking when his head pounded. That wasn't from being hit, that was his spider sense.
The men ran out of the door, hulking along a cash register and a handful of cigarette packs, but the teenage girl had yet to leave and his head only pounded harder. Spider-Man dashed across the road, leaping through the already broken window, his breath catching as he caught sight of the purple thing sitting on the ground in the middle of the bodega. It whined, louder and louder.
Bomb. Bomb!
Peter's head shot around so fast he physically winced, but he caught sight of the teenager behind the counter. Working on instinct, he jumped over the counter as the whine reached its apex, wrapping his arms around the girl and pushing himself between her and the bomb. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth.
The world shook and she let out a surprised cry into his shoulder but didn't let go. Peter barely managed to hold down a whimper of fear. Be brave, be a hero. Be brave, be a hero. He could do it. He was fine.
He was fine.
Peter blinked his eyes open, moving carefully to peer over the counter.
"Dammit," he muttered. The rest of the windows had shattered, and just about every product in the store had been knocked back and now littered the ground. A tile fell from the ceiling, making him tense his shoulders. They'd gotten away. Some hero he was.
"I have a nickname for you, Peter," Karen said in his ear. He frowned in annoyance. Well, he had told her to tell him once the situation was over.
"Great," he snapped, stepping over the counter, his boot crunching on the glass. "What is it?"
"...Okay that's actually pretty good."
After double checking that the cashier was alright, Peter had fled the scene, cursing himself for how bad it had gone. Nobody had died, but that wasn't really the standard he was looking for. If anything, he'd really just made everything worse. Stupid, Parker, stupid!
The teenager sighed, dipping into the dark alleyway where his backpack had been left earlier. He grabbed it from under the crate of boxes where he'd hidden it, pressing the spider emblem on his chest, allowing the suit to cascade off of him. Frustrated, Peter ripped the mask off and untangled himself from the fabric at his feet, stuffing the items in his faded blue bag and jumping back into his own clothes, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him.
He pulled the bag over his shoulder and buried his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets in the direction of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys. His brows were furrowed and his face squished into a deep frown. He couldn't believe he'd been given a superhero suit by literally Iron Man and he'd screwed it up immediately. He chittered nervously at the thought of Mr. Stark seeing what had happened at the bodega and realizing just how shit of a superhero his soulmate was.
As he was debating the likely-hood of Mr. Stark taking the suit back and never talking to him again for his screw up, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, Peter pulled it out to find two texts waiting for him. One from Ned and one from Mr. Stark.
He clicked on the one from Ned first. The text app opened up to show Peter a grainy picture of him in his new suit followed by Ned's message of 'Excuse me??? tf is this?? tell me everything rn or im going to die'
Peter smiled faintly, making a mental note to call his friend in a few minutes. With a deep breath, he clicked on Mr. Stark's message.
Mr. Stark: I saw the news. You okay?
Peter blinked. He wasn't mad? He chewed on his lip as he sent a response, 'All good. Sorry I freaked you out.' 
Mr. Stark texted back almost immediately, 'No problem. Just glad you're good. Text ya later, kiddo.'
And that was that, Peter supposed. nothing, really. He'd expected a lot more resistance or opposition from the billionaire, but he wasn't mad that he hadn't gotten any. He was about to call Ned when his phone buzzed again.
Mr. Stark: 'P.S. You can talk to and text Karen through your phone. Knock yourself out, Peter-butter.'
Well, that was embarrassing. But still kinda cool.
With a shake of his head, he finally dialed Ned's number. His friend only picked up after two rings with a breathless greeting.
"Yo, what the hell is up with that suit? Did Mr. Stark make it for you? Are you super hero buddies now!!? Officially his sidekick!!?"
Peter smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he stopped at a streetlight. "Yeah, Mr. Stark made it for me. It's cool right? It even has an AI!"
"It has an AI!!? Please, please, tell me you'll let me look at it."
"Duh. Yeah, you can look at it. We can go to your house after school." Peter thought for a moment, thinking of the alien weapons. He'd messed up today, probably disappointed Mr. Stark, but if he could take the whole operation down... "Besides, I need your help with something."
Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8
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toomanyrobins2 · 2 days ago
drunk on indigo skies: coming May 14th
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Summary: Y/N “Indigo” Phillips had dealt in secrets her whole life. Working for Tony Stark at 16 and then falling in love with his son was never the plan. She also never expected that five years later, she’d be leaving Peter in the middle of the night with just a note on the dining room table. Now, she has to return to the Three Families as their whole world continues to be threatened by a dangerous rival.
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Content warning: Mentions of alcohol abuse, sex, violence, murder
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// 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 //
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superherotiger · 2 days ago
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My Greatest Creation Is You (Android Spiderson AU) // Ongoing One-shot Series
Main Series:
Give Him the Life, That I Couldn’t Give You: (Tumblr) (Ao3)
“Please don’t take him from me,” Tony whispered, voice breaking like fragile glass. “Please Jarvis, don’t take him… I’d do anything- anything… please…”
'And I would do anything for you, Master Tony…'
Inhaling sharply, Jarvis hardened his resolve from the overwhelming panic moments ago and said evenly “I cannot disobey your father’s orders, Master Tony. It would be wise to pack young Peter’s necessities now.”
An agonised cry became muffled into his back, and it took all of Jarvis’s will power not to break down right then and there. But he had to be strong. For Tony, and for Peter.
Seventeen year old Tony Stark is faced with the horrifying reality that his father is going to take his new-born son Peter away from him by morning, but there has always been someone in his corner, and Jarvis is determined to keep father and son together.
Time Just Stops
Runaway AU tag
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superherotiger · 2 days ago
Tumblr media
My Greatest Creation Is You (Android Spiderson AU) // Ongoing One-shot Series
Main Series:
Dreams of the Dreamless: (Tumblr) (Ao3)
Peter didn’t dream like normal people.
No, his dreams were different. Memories as clear as day brushing against each other and leaving the imprint of something new. Something not quite real, but not quite fake either. Like he had become an audience member to a scene he had previously been the star of. They were a strange phenomenon, these dreams, but something that Peter had found himself enjoying more and more as the weeks went by.
And maybe that was the worst part, because Peter knew that he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t be able to enjoy it; shouldn’t be able to remember it; shouldn’t be able to have it in the first place.
Because Peter -like all androids- shouldn’t be able to dream at all.
Android Spiderson AU tag
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iwritedumbshit · 2 days ago
Comfort in My Shadow
Chapter 3: You Oughta Know
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 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8
Tony dropped down onto the grass near an empty playground just by the water, laying Spidey on the ground gently before breaking his way out of the suit. The mechanic kneeled beside the teenager, grabbing his wrist and tearing the webshooter off of it. He pressed two fingers against the boy's wrist, sighing in relief when he could make out a surprisingly strong pulse. The relief only lasted for a moment before he moved onto the fact that the kid still wasn't moving.
Hesitating for only a moment, he reached for the mask.
A hand shot up just as his fingers brushed against the fabric, slapping his own hand away sloppily. Tony didn't mind, only letting out a sigh and sinking back onto his knees in relief as Spidey sat up, coughing so hard his whole body shook. The kid tore his mask up to his nose to throw up mouthfuls of murky water before settling back onto his elbows and pulling the mask back down harshly. Tony resisted the urge to pat the kid on his back, instead keeping his hands wrung and watching the vigilante sharply.
He coughed, "Uh, hey, Mr. Stark."
"Hey, kid." Tony offered him a smile. "Jeez, I leave you alone for one day and you almost drown. I think you're more danger prone than me, if that's possible."
"Yeah, you'd be surprised," Spidey said, sitting up farther before freezing and turning to regard Tony suspiciously. "How did you find me? Did you put a tracker on me or something?"
"No. No, kid, I didn't, I promise. My AI's been keeping an eye out for you, and she seemed to think you were in trouble."
"You're spying on me?"
"No, not--I'm not spying on you, kid," Tony rushed to assure. He paused and then conceded with the decency to shrug in embarrassment. "Okay, sorta maybe. Yeah. I'm kinda spying on you, but I also just saved your life, so."
"I had it," Spidey muttered, but it was ruined by another cough. Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "I did! At least, until that vulture guy showed up."
"Vulture guy?"
In a flurry of words, Spider-Man explained, and Tony was happy to listen. He was happy to hear anything the kid was willing to say to him, even if it began with him stalking out a weapons deal and ended with a man with metal wings grabbing him out of the air.
"--and then he just, he just, like, swooped down like a monster and he picked me up and, uh, he took me up, like, a thousand feet and just dropped me!"
Tony shook his head, wishing desperately he could see beyond the suit at any injuries the kid may have as he reattached his webshooter. He did seem okay though, if a little thin, if the way the soaked suit practically hung off of him was anything to go by.
"What were you thinking?" Tony asked, unable to keep the scornful fear from his voice.
"The guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons that I've been seeing. I gotta take him down!"
"Take him down now, huh? Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing."
"The Avengers?"
"No. No, no. This is a little below their pay grade," Tony explained. Spidey's eyes narrowed at him. "Look, forget the flying vulture guy, please."
"What? No! He's putting weapons out on the street, my street, I've gotta keep looking for him."
Tony pursed his lip, resisting the urge to argue further and wrap this kid up in bubble wrap. He relented, for the time being. "Fine. I won't stop you."
"Not like you could anyway."
"You're meaner than I remember."
"Yeah, well, get used to it I guess."
"Does that mean I get to hang out with my soulmate from now on? Possibly know their name?"
Spidey froze, staring past Tony in a tired manner. He slumped down onto the grass dramatically. "What time is it?"
"You're not gonna run out on me or anything are you? Or if you do, can you at least leave something behind for me? Like, a boot maybe?"
"Are you calling me Cinderella?"
"Sure. Cinder-kid. Cinder-whatever-your-name-is."
Spider-Man turned his head to glare at his persistent fishing. "I'm surprised you don't already know."
"I've got a list. Twenty-eight kids so far."
"I'm not a kid," he mumbled. Tony smirked.
"Nice try. I know your birthday." Spider-Man groaned. "Still no name?"
A moment. "Ben."
"There's no Ben on the list," Tony answered immediately.
"What, you just have that memorized?" When Tony didn't answer, save for the raise of an eyebrow, the kid groaned again. "If I tell you my name will you please tell me the time?"
Tony checked his watch. "8:17."
A very long, very tense moment before finally, "Peter."
"There's no Peter on the list either."
"Then your list sucks." Tony stared at him. "I'm not lying, you just need to be better at being a detective."
After a moment, Tony accepted it, though he didn't completely believe it. "Fine. Nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Tony."
"Yeah, I knew that."
"Are you always this mean or are you just in a bad mood?"
Peter ducked his head guiltily. "Sorry. Just kinda hungry. I didn't--uh, I didn't eat dinner. Yet."
"I can fix that," Tony said, holding out a hand. Peter stared at it for a moment before hesitantly taking it and allowing for Tony to pull him up. Both of them glanced at where their shadows switched. Peter tensed before tearing his hand away and shoving it in his pocket. Tony tried to not let his hurt show.
Peter let out a groan of annoyance, distracting Tony from where he'd been staring at the switched shadows to look at the kid, who had pulled out a phone as wet as it was cracked. The billionaire grimaced just looking at it.
"Yikes. If you need to call your parents, I have my phone with me."
Spidey winced. "No, uh, it's fine. Just, ah, I left my friend at a party, he's probably wondering where I'm at."
"Okay. If you're sure," Tony said. Peter nodded. "So, dinner?"
"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. I've got to get back to the party. My friend's mom is picking us up in an hour."
"Then, can we talk?" Peter dug his boot into the ground in such a childish manner it physically hurt. He clearly didn't want to talk, but that didn't stop Tony. "Here and now would be preferable."
"About what?" the kid rasped.
"A few things. The fact that we're soulmates, why you got involved in this, why you run around as a vigilante in the first place--"
"--I literally told you last night--"
"--and why you ran away yesterday," Tony finished, ignoring him.
"I have a curfew."
"What's your curfew?"
"Ten," Spidey muttered.
"So you were already late. If you'd waited a little bit longer I probably could've explained to your parents why you were late."
Spidey's head shot up, eyes narrowing. "That I was out being a vigilante?"
"That you were meeting your soulmate."
"Oh. That." The boot scuffed against the ground again, and Tony tried not to let his sullen voice get to him. "I don't think he would've cared."
That sounded horribly wrong to Tony's ears. He asked incredulously, "Your dad wouldn't have cared that you met your soulmate?"
"He's not my dad."
"Who do you live with then?"
"Group home," Peter answered with a shrug. "Our curfew has no exceptions, so."
Tony hesitated. "Peter, can you take off your mask?"
"I mean, why not? I already know your name and birthday. I can find you pretty easily."
"I'm okay, Mr. Stark. I'm good. Besides, I should be getting back to my friend, so."
Peter moved to walk away, but Tony grabbed his arm hastily, desperate for this not to be how his first real meeting with his soulmate to go. Peter flinched immediately, and the mechanic let go as the kid stumbled back. That horrible suspicion in his chest only grew.
"Sorry," Tony apologized as Peter continued to stare at him. This wasn't going how he had envisioned at all. Soulmate meetings were usually thought of with an air of overwhelming happiness, maybe a few shed tears and a lot of hugs. But all Tony had was a first name, a smattering of depressing facts, and the knowledge that this kid didn't want anything to do with him. "Not an Iron Man fan, huh?"
Peter shrugged, but Tony noted it as a small victory that the tension leaked out of his small frame. "Thor's actually my favorite, so."
"Well, as long as it isn't Mr. America, then I'm good." There was an awkward silence only broken by the mechanical whir of Spidey's goggles as he glanced to the side, clearly searching for an escape. Tony bit down a sigh. "Go back to your party, kid. I'll see you around?"
"Sure. See you around, Mr. Stark."
Well, he didn't sound completely miserable about it, so Tony counted it as a win. He watched as the kid swung off of the trees back towards the neighborhood, a hint of hope warring with his hurt. Only once the hood slipped off of his shadow did the mechanic start moving again, stepping into the suit, which lit up as he fired into the sky.
"Okay, Fri. Find me a kid named Peter born on August tenth, 2001 with all the earlier guidelines."
"There isn't one, sir."
Tony thought for a moment. "Oh! Remove siblings as a statistic, look for one in a group home instead."
"One match."
"Save it to the file. I'll check it out when I get home."
  Toomes stared at the retreating figure of the Iron Man suit, his mask highlighting the flying hunk of metal before he turned away to stare at the playground where he and Spider-Man had been talking. Peter, apparently. Stark's soulmate.
He'd have to be careful, very careful, about how he played this.
Adrian had been set on flying away immediately after dropping the vigilante so that he could chew out Brice for being so reckless, but the sight of the Iron Man suit dipping under the water had stopped him. What the hell was the billionaire doing near his house? It had made him wary enough for him to dive down and perch a football field's length away, allowing for his helmet to pick up on the two's conversation.
That decision had probably been one of the best ones of his entire life. The kid was clearly very insistent to go after him and his business, while Stark not so much, but that didn't stop the fact that Peter was clearly desperate to take him down and had Iron Man even more clearly wrapped around his little finger. That was dangerous, and it was bad for business.
After checking once more that Iron Man was no longer nearby, he shot back up into the air towards his warehouse as he made a note to put Mason u[ to finding out who this Peter-kid was and he searched through multiple names in his personnel, looking for the best to keep an eye on the kid. No one was going to mess with his business. With his family.
"Alright," Tony said as he entered the lab through the window, stepping out from his suit and back over to his desk. He grimaced at where the web fluid had exploded over the desk while he'd been gone. Hopefully that would fizzle out in an hour or two. "What have you got for me, Fri?"
A screen popped up immediately, and Tony was shown his first true glimpse of his soulmate's face. His heart tugged both at the adorableness of the kid pictured in front of him and the fact that he was seeing the kid for the first time through a screen. He shook it aside, taking in the kid in front of him.
The yearbook photo left the smile hilariously forced but no less adorable, especially with the way the kid's eyes read embarrassment and boredom in only a way a teen's could. His hair was tamed down generously for picture day, but a few stray curls forced their way loose. Somehow, he was exactly what Tony had imagined.
"Okay. Full life synopsis. Let's go," he ordered the AI.
"Peter Benjamin Parker was born on August tenth, 2001, to Mary and Richard Parker, both head researchers at Oscorp before their deaths in 2006 in a plane crash. Guardianship was transferred to Richard's brother and sister-in-law, Ben and May Parker. They were killed during a mugging six months ago."
"Yikes, kid. Not a super easy time for you, huh?" Tony glanced at the picture of the kid again. "Where does he live now?"
"At the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys under the guardianship of Andrew Fowler."
"Pull up his file. Any records of abuse or illegal activities?"
"Fowler has two DUI's from when he was nineteen and twenty-three, but nothing else. Nothing unusual about him, boss."
Tony hummed, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. After all of Peter's little flinches and shakes, he was still skeptical, but with nothing to prove, he left it alone. For now.
"Mr. Parker does, however, have a record."
His head turned. "He does?"
"He does." Multiple files were shoved in his face. "Nothing serious, sir, but he has multiple accounts of sneaking out and degenerate behavior. Smoking, loitering, and two misdemeanors."
Tony hesitated for a moment, but shrugged it off. He was a kid who'd had a rough life, and, really, Tony had done some similar shit when he was the kid's age, and the sneaking out could be easily waved off by Peter's vigilante actions. He moved on.
"How's the suit coming along?"
"Trials are finished and ready for 3D printing. All that's left is the fluid, boss."
Tony glanced at the table still completely covered with the white formula. He grimaced. "We'll deal with that later. Go ahead and print the suit, and I'm gonna need a couple of things before we completely shut down for the night."
I, Peter thought, am an idiot.
After returning to the party, he had changed back into his regular clothes and managed to draw Ned out from the crowd, who had been more than a little confused at his dripping wet hair and slightly bruised face.
"Dude," Ned had asked. "What the hell happened? What happened to the plan?"
"Sorry," Peter had muttered. "There was some weapons dealers. They got the drop on me and dropped me in the lake. And, uh, I met Mr. Stark again."
Ned had gasped. "Really!? Oh, my gosh, is he here? Can I meet him?"
"No, he left, Ned. He saved me actually."
"This is the coolest! You're superhero buddies!" He'd gasped again. "Oh, my God! Are you Iron Man's sidekick?"
"What? No, Ned. I'm not his sidekick." I'm his soulmate, which was honestly worse. Peter would be a better sidekick than a soulmate. "It was probably just, like, a favor thing since I saved him yesterday."
"Super. Hero. Buddies."
There hadn't been any arguing with Ned, he'd been too excited. But, thankfully, the arrival of Iron Man had distracted his friend from going back to the party and they'd called his mom so they could leave early. Not ready to take anymore chances that night, he'd asked Mrs. Leeds to drop him off right at the group home. Mr. Fowler hadn't been there when Peter had tiptoed through the door, so he'd just slipped up the stairs and taken a hot shower, not even bothering to try and take something from the kitchen. He didn't have the heart for another strike.
His spider sense had been going off the entire time, just like it had when he'd been talking with Mr. Stark. It had prevented him from falling asleep that night, thankfully it had been a Friday. But the fact that his senses wouldn't calm down, even now on Saturday morning, was more than a little concerning. Was he dying? Maybe it was the lack of food? Or were his senses trying to warn him about Mr. Stark?
That was the worst thought of all, but it'd popped into his mind whenever he'd caught sight of his shadow while he was eating breakfast the next morning. Everyone in the group home was at the table to watch his nervous jitters as he tried not to look too starved while eating his cereal. Tim and Eric had glanced at him a lot, clearly desperate for him to play some games with them today. The other two younger boys, Aaron and Juan, were much more calm, staring down at the table in an attempt to not draw attention to themselves. Though Jeremiah was winning that competition.
Mr. Fowler sat at the head of the table, a plate of eggs and bacon sitting idly in front of him as he rifled through the mail with annoyed mutters. The man had a lot of junk mail--seriously, he had more magazine subscriptions than Peter could count--so the boys could usually tell when he finally stumbled across something he liked in the mail. His muttering would pause, the rifling would stop, and he would hum in approval before setting the piece of paper aside. This morning, he found something he clearly didn't care for.
Mr. Fowler's muttering paused, the rifling stopped, and Peter waited for the quiet hum, but instead there was a displeased grunt. Heads turned as the junk mail smacked onto the table and a vanilla letter stood out in Mr. Fowler's hands with large letters scrolled on the front of it. Peter's name sat scrawled on the corner.
"Who the heck is 'TS?'" Mr. Fowler asked, glancing at the letter again. "With no return address?"
Peter panicked, almost choking on his off-brand Cheerios as he searched for an excuse that wasn't as flimsy as a feather.
"It's, uh, a pen pal. Thing."
Sure. Not flimsy at all, Parker.
"A pen pal?"
Peter nodded. "Yep. Um, through--through school. It's new. And we deliver them, by ah, ourselves. I delivered mine yesterday, so, no return address?"
"Fun... What's their name?"
He took another bite of his food to stall, mumbling through the soggy cereal, "Tony."
"Smart." Mr. Fowler glanced at him. Idiot, idiot, idiot. "Yeah. Tony Smart. He goes to Bronx... Anyway can I have that letter please?"
With a grumble, Mr. Fowler tossed the letter on the table in front of Peter. He quickly pocketed it, finishing his cereal as fast as humanly possible and placing it in the dishwasher. He passed by the table, promising to help the other kids with their dishes and their homework, before walking out the door and sitting on the steps outside the small and rundown building, ignoring the way his senses were still going off.
Peter muttered confusions under his breath as he pulled the surprisingly thick letter out of his hoodie, turning it over in his hands once before finally ripping it open. There were four things inside. He grabbed the letter first, unfolding it to read the loose lettering scrawled inside.
  Dear, Mr. Parker,
Letters aren't really my thing. I'm more of a talker, as you may have realized last night, so I've left a new Starkphone in the envelope to replace the one you broke last night. For talking. And whatever the hell teenagers do with phones too.
  Peter blinked, narrowing his eyes and his chin dropping as he fished the phone out of the envelope. It was horribly expensive under his fingers and he immediately flushed as he thought about how much it must cost. He didn't think it was even on the market yet. He shook his head and blinked furiously, returning to the letter.
  I've also included a Stark Industries badge that will get you into the tower for the next week or so until we move to the compound. You'll receive a new one once badges are printed for the Avengers Compound. My forehead of security will be very excited to be on the job. There's also a credit card connected to my account if you're ever in trouble or in the mood for something to eat. Of course, I don't know what your schedule is, but call me whenever, and you're always welcome in Casa de Stark.
P.S. Stop by the tower if you can today. I've got a surprise I think you'll like.
  Go to the tower? Peter glanced around the street nervously. He guessed it couldn't hurt, as long as he got all his Saturday chores done first.
After a moment of hesitation, the teenager folded up the letter, stuffing it in his pocket before turning back to the rest of the contents in the envelope. Like Mr. Stark had said, there was a Stark Industries badge, with his embarrassing yearbook photo and his name printed in bold letters, and an ebony credit card that practically gleamed even in the weak light of the gray day.
"The hell..." he muttered, staring at it. He didn't even want to begin thinking about how much stuff he could buy with this thing. The thought made him nauseous, and he moved to stuff it in his pocket as well, when he paused. His pocket was a horrible place to put this thing. He didn't plan on using it, but he'd have an actual stroke if he managed to lose it, or worse, if someone stole it. Mr. Stark already didn't seem overwhelmingly thrilled to have a snotty kid as his soulmate, no need to disappoint him further.
Peter went back inside, placing the card in his thin leather wallet that he kept in his bag, clipping his badge to the backpack, and then stuffing the letter underneath his mattress. Before he went to move back downstairs, his stomach rumbled and his eyes strayed back to the card. Mr. Stark had said he could use it whenever...and it wasn't like snacks were going to drain his account or anything. He bit his lip, forcing himself to turn back around and down the stairs. He wasn't a charity case, and he wasn't going to just abuse Mr. Stark's money like that.
The teenager shook his head as he hurried back to the common floor to begin cleaning up the kitchen as he tried not to think about how hungry he was going to be tonight. Only breakfast was allowed when grounded at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, so tonight was going to be so much worse without a school provided lunch. And falling asleep last night had been almost impossible thanks to the gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach. Whatever. He'd figure it out somehow.
Cleaning the kitchen didn't take very long, both him and Jeremiah burning through the dishes and putting away food in less than ten minutes while the younger kids sat silently at the table, trepidatious noses stuck in books, though they'd been allowed a moment of calm reprieve when Mr. Fowler had stumbled upstairs for a few minutes before plopping back downstairs into his usual seat. Once the two were done, Jeremiah went to take out the trash while Peter stepped over to Mr. Fowler, who was just finishing scribbling on a thin piece of paper.
"I expect the receipt as usual, Parker. Not a penny missing." The man thrust the list in his hand along with a wad of tightly wrapped cash that Peter accepted more than a little nervously. Mr. Fowler was very particular about his money. "And don't forget to check the eggs to make sure they're not broken."
"Yes, sir," Peter nodded.
"And take the others with you. I need a few hours of peace."
"Yes, sir," he said again.
He motioned for the children to grab their bags from the hooks by the door while Peter dashed up the stairs and back down again with his own. He never left home without it, and the kids needed something to hold their stuff. Not that he would mind carrying a couple of books, but they had to carry all the groceries back, so the more free hands the better.
The ragtag group bounced onto the cracked sidewalk, the kids waving goodbyes to Jeremiah as they headed off towards the nearest grocery story. There was some excited babble as they all crowded around Peter, words tumbling from prepubescent lips as they all finally got their chance to inform Peter of their very eventful week. Mr. Fowler was never very excited to have the kids talking all at once. It disturbed his constant hangovers.
"One at a time, one at a time," Peter said with a reluctant smile. The chatter died down. "Youngest first."
Eric grabbed Peter's hand in response, the nine year-old babbling away about something new he'd learned in class and something funny his friend had said on Monday that he'd been waiting all week to tell Peter. Next was Juan, who had similar tellings, but the teenager responded just enthusiastically as he did Eric until they went all the way through the stories and ended up at the cheap grocery store.
Peter stopped them before going inside. "Rules?"
"Don't touch anything," all four chorused, continuing down the list. 1. Don't touch anything. 2. Stay by Peter. And 3. Hold your buddy's hand the whole time. Once they'd repeated them all, Peter nodded and led them inside.
The teenager tried his best to get everything on Mr. Fowler's list quickly, but refused to not double check for the cheaper brands that Mr. Fowler was always so insistent he buy. It irked Peter off, especially since grocery money came from the state and not the man, but there wasn't anything Peter could do without getting another strike, so he grabbed the blandest cheerios and the most unhealthy oatmeal and placed them in the basket in annoyance, doing his best to avoid any aisle with some kind of bright sugar. He still caught the other kids looking at cookies and cartons of ice cream longingly though.
Finally, after an agonizingly long time, they were all checked out and laden with groceries as they headed down the sidewalk back to the group home. There was more chatter from the kids as they pointed at fluttering pigeons and scurrying rats. There was even a parrot at one point that Peter was sure someone was looking for. He'd check around online later and see if he could give someone a tip about the scarlet bird that's shit narrowly missed Eric.
All was going well until the chime of an ice cream truck began down the small neighborhood street. Feet stopped and heads turned as the bright pink vehicle stopped in front of a group of clamoring kids. Peter could practically feel their want for something other than the same breakfast and dinner they got every day. Their most interesting meal was usually their school lunches, which was honestly more pitiful than anything the teenager could ever dream of.
Peter bit his lip as he stared at the ice cream truck and then sighed, setting down his groceries and opening the pocket of his backpack where he'd placed his wallet earlier. The wallet that now had a shiny black card connected directly to a billionaire that could give these kids a fun morning for once.
The wallet that was nowhere to be seen.
"Fuck," Peter muttered.
Eric gasped, pointing at Peter who was now practically tearing apart his backpack looking for the thing, panic rising in his chest. "Peter said a bad word!"
"Shit," Juan said in response. There were some giggles from the older kids but Eric gasped again. Peter ignored them, strangling in a reluctant breath as his hands finally stilled after coming away with nothing.
How the hell had he lost it? He'd had it for barely an hour! Think, Parker, think. It had been in his bag, he knew that. He'd put it in the second lowest pocket of his backpack, which he'd left upstairs. All the boys had been at the table, and Jeremiah had been cleaning the kitchen with him the entire time. Had someone stolen it at the store? It was possible but unlikely, what with his spider sense and the fact that four kids who'd grown up in New York's foster system paying constant attention to him. So how could it have--
Peter paused, bringing his hands up to cover the bottom half of his face as he clenched his teeth harder than he remembered having ever done before. Mr. Fowler had gone upstairs. And Peter's story had been complete bullshit. He must have found his wallet and taken it upon seeing the shiny black card just perfectly poised for the taking.
His legs stiff with terror, Peter stuffed everything he'd taken out of his bag back into it haphazardly, zipping it shut so harshly the tab ripped completely off. He grunted, throwing the piece of plastic to the ground and clutching his groceries back in his hands before stomping off. The kids stumbled after him once they'd realized he'd begun to move.
"Peter!! Wait up!" Tim called.
Peter forced himself to pause for them, but continued on the moment they were caught up to him. He tried to calm himself, but he couldn't stop the way his face contorted and he seethed in fury. He didn't give two flying shits about the crumpled bills in his wallet the man had taken, or the few personal items he'd kept in the wallet from his late uncle, but he was horribly angry that the man had taken something that was barely even Peter's.
There was no way in hell the teenager was going to explain to Mr. Stark that the card had been stolen from him not even a day after he'd gotten it. There was no way in hell was Peter going to explain that he, an enhanced that had just touted last night that he could take on the flying vulture guy, that he couldn't stand up to his foster father. Mr. Stark dealt with aliens. Peter could deal with Mr. Fowler.
His steps faltered.
He could. He could do it.
As he later found out, he couldn't.
Peter crept up the stairs of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, having already set all the groceries he'd had on the kitchen counter for the other kids to put away. He tried to keep the shaking from his fear, unsure if it stemmed from fear or anger, but he was largely unsuccessful as he stalked past the kids' rooms and approached the one at the end of the hall.
As far as Peter knew, no one had gone into Mr. Fowler's room before. There usually wasn't a point. The man kept such meticulous track of his belongings that it was impossible to take something without him noticing sooner or later, and, not only that, but Peter was used to the click of a lock sliding shut whenever the man left his room unattended or went to sleep for the night. It left the teenager facing the unknown as he finally stepped in front of the door that was, in that moment, bigger than anything he'd ever seen.
He took in a shaky breath. Maybe this was a bad idea. The ringing of fear trembling up and down his entire self told him so.
But the anger wasn't completely overridden by the fear, and Peter was full of bad ideas anyway, so he raised a fist and knocked rapidly. There was no response, so Peter knocked again, just as forceful as last time but now more hesitant.
With a horrifying shiver down his spine, the door swung open. Peter swallowed but refused to take the step back that he desperately wanted to as Mr. Fowler towered over him. The smell of alcohol wasn't any kind of freshly strong like it had been a couple of nights ago, which was the only thing reassuring about the moment.
"What do you want?" Mr. Fowler demanded.
"My wallet." He willed his voice not to break.
Mr. Fowler's eyes narrowed as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What?"
"My wallet. You took it and I want it back."
"It's my house, so it's my wallet."
"No it's not! It was my uncle's!" he protested.
"Oh, and was this your uncle's too?" The shiny black card was pulled out his pocket as Mr. Fowler flashed him a toothy grin. Peter's hands twitched with the need to reach out for it, but he kept his fists balled at his side. "Lying to your foster father now, huh? That was a nice little letter under your bed, too. New sugar daddy or something?"
Peter blanched, but then his face turned ghostly white. His voice was a horrified whisper. "You took my letter?"
"Under your bed? Really? You didn't even try, son!" Mr. Fowler taunted, pulling out a piece of crumpled paper and forcing it into Peter's hands. He tore it open, but the paper was so wrinkled he could barely read it anymore. "So, Tony Stark? I don't know if you sucked his dick or something, but I'm sure this card has plenty for me to use if it's connected to his account."
"What? No! That doesn't belong--"
He was cut off by a hand tugging a fistful of his hair. Peter winced but refused to let out a yelped cry even as he was dragged into Mr. Fowler's room. It wasn't much, he realized as he peered through squinted eyes at the bedroom. It was somehow grimy and tidy at the same time, with dust and dirt covering just about every corner, but his belongings were neatly lined and organized on the desk and bedside table. The only other thing that screamed about Mr. Fowler's uncleanliness was the bottles littering the floor that Peter had to fight not to trip over, made only harder as the fist let go of his hair and slapped him into the nearest wall.
"Now listen here, you little shit," Mr. Fowler started, cornering the scrambling teenager as his voice boomed so loud that surely all the kids downstairs could hear him. "I clothe you and house you and feed you, and I will not tolerate your levels of disrespect when you do nothing but run around like the little ungrateful shit you are! Anything you earn while under my roof belongs to me!"
"No it doesn't!" Peter found the courage to shout back. Mr. Fowler blinked in scowled surprise. "And you barely do any of that shit! I had these clothes before I got here, and you barely feed me! You barely feed any of the kids down there!! What the hell is wrong--"
His face stung with the slap that met it.
He grit his teeth, blinking away angry tears. It didn't hurt, it didn't hurt. He was Spider-Man. Being dropped into a lake had hurt, this was nothing. He couldn't really be hurt while he had these powers. He couldn't.
"SHUT UP!!!"
Peter cowered.
"You know nothing about what you're talking about, son," Mr. Fowler breathed, stalking forward until his face was only inches from Peter's and there was nowhere left to run. He scrunched his nose and screwed up his eyes, holding his breath against the man's stale breath as he turned his face away to stare past the man's shoulder. "Whatever you think, this is my house, and I took you in after your last foster parent got sick of your teenage horseshit. Sneaking out wasn't tolerated there, just as much as disrespect isn't tolerated here. So I think that's another strike, don't you? Or a good enough recommendation could get you to a juvenile detention center instead."
"No, please--"
The hand was in his hair again, tearing him forward with a pained wince and forcing him through the door. When Peter smacked up against the wall, he realized it wasn't the door to the hallway.
Scrambling, he swung around just in time to see the door slam shut and then click with the eerie noise of a lock, leaving Peter in the dark closet that was full of nothing but the stench of dirty clothes piled around his feet and the clinking of dusty bottles. He swallowed, wishing desperately he didn't make such stupid decisions, that he'd just kept his head down and forgotten about it and--
"Stay nice and quiet, and you'll be let out soon," Mr. Fowler called before the sound of the door clicked shut and the groaning of wood told him that the man was walking away.
And Peter was horribly alone.
  Tony glanced between the metal case sat on the table and the window displaying the New York night sky one last time before sighing and stepping off of the stool, Peter's shadow following him. He hadn't been Spider-Man all day, so Tony had no idea what could be holding him up. The kid hadn't texted at all either, though he was sure he'd at least set up the phone already.
Nervously, the billionaire tapped his fingers on the table, one of the last pieces of furniture that had yet to be packed on his floor. He'd delivered the letter himself, clearly addressed it to the kid and everything, but maybe he hadn't gotten it? Maybe it had been a little sketchy for a kid to get a letter with just initials on it and no return address. But he couldn't have gotten in trouble for anything like that, right? And Peter's foster father didn't have anything bad surrounding his name...
With a tired sigh, he asked his AI, "Anything?"
"Mr. Parker has still not entered the building."
"A few blocks out?"
"He does not appear on any security cameras." A moment. "It is past ten, sir. I do not think he is going to come."
"Keep an eye out for him, just in case." He continued to tap the table with a thoughtful hum. Just to double check. "Has the phone been activated?"
"Yes, sir. It started up this morning."
Okay, good, so he had gotten the letter.
"And the card?" he asked. His AI paused, and something hard settled in his stomach. "The card, Friday?"
"It has been in use multiple times since this morning." Tony blinked. That was something of a surprise, but he couldn't say he was disappointed. The kid looked like he could use a good meal or two. He took his jacket off, moving towards his bedroom.
"Great. Glad it's being put to use."
"Three hundred dollars have been spent on alcoholic beverages."
Tony froze where he stood, suspended in a feeling he couldn't even describe. Disappointment? Terror? Hurt? He stared down at the curly-haired shadow, eyes narrowing as he gaped at it. He hadn't exactly pegged the kid as someone who would buy boatloads of drinks, and he didn't even know if a fake ID would work for the kid. He looked all of twelve.
"Cut off the card until the next time I talk to him."
"Yes, sir."
"And track his phone. Where the hell is he right now?"
"His phone's location relays that he is in his foster home."
And that was that he supposed. The kid couldn't buy anymore alcohol and there wasn't anything Tony could do without talking to him directly.
Tony stepped into his bedroom, slipped into some old pajamas, and flopped onto bed with a twist in his gut. Something just felt wrong, and it was more than the kid buying alcohol that likely would barely affect him anyway.
His mind racing, Tony turned restlessly under the covers as the lights shut off around him. Peter's shadow disappeared, the room going with it, and when Tony blinked again, he found himself in complete darkness only broken by the shifting of clothes, the clink of bottles, and the sniffles of someone coming off of a breakdown.
He blinked back awake, sitting up and reaching for his phone. He scrolled through it until he found Peter's number and hit call. It rang. And rang. And rang.
"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Peter Parker! I'm busy right now, I guess, so call me later, and yeah! Have a good day! Oh! And leave your message after the beep! BEEEP!!"
Tony didn't know whether to laugh or not.
Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8
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blindingdutchy · 2 days ago
lamentation | THREE
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{peter parker x fem!reader AU}
based on All the Bright Places by Jennifer Niven
word count: 3,310
warnings: depression, anxiety, grief, mental illness! descriptions of injury/blood/gore! angst
18+!!! minors stay away!
Peter Parker: are you okay??
Peter Parker: (Y/N)?
Peter Parker: why aren't you at school? please tell me you're okay
You shut your phone off and buried your head under your pillow again, wishing for nothing more than to go back to sleep and escape life completely. All weekend long, and especially all morning, your phone had been ringing non stop with texts from Peter Parker. As much as you wished you could say you hadn't read them, you had.
You'd read them all almost as soon as you'd received them, but you just couldn't bring yourself to respond. You didn't need friends. You didn't want friends. Peter Parker was not your friend, and you were determined to keep it that way. No matter how hard he tried to force himself into your life, you were not going to let him in; you couldn't.
You couldn't let him in and risk getting hurt again, and today was yet another painful reminder of why. It was her birthday. At least, it would have been if she weren't dead. If you hadn't put her in the wrong place at the right time, ending her life and ruining yours forever.
For one tiny moment after you woke up, one minuscule fraction of a second, you forgot the importance of the day. You forgot what made the day different, and you forgot that your sister was dead. Or, rather, did you forget you ever had a sister at all? Had--that was the word that made you weep.
That fleeting moment of ignorance was the exact reason why it should have been you and not her. Surely, she never would have forgotten your birthday, or you, or your absence. She never would have looked at the date and even hesitated in remembering what the significance was. Always the better sister, the better person, the one who deserved it all.
Since that moment you had not left your bed, and Peter's latest slew of texts forced you to look at the time and acknowledge that hours had passed. It was lunch time, hours and hours since you'd awoken, and you had not moved even an inch. Everything felt too heavy.
The air felt too thick, gravity too strong, your body made of stone; you wondered if you were even able to move. Of course, you had shut your phone off so clearly you could move, but you didn't want to. It was so hard, so unbelievably hard to move. Why did everything have to be so tough?
As you laid there, staring at the blackened void of the backs of your eyelids because you just couldn't shut your mind off, your thoughts wandered through all the darkest places. Would she have been ashamed to see you like this? Would she have been disgusted with how you were acting, the person you had become?
God, why couldn't you just shut it off? Why couldn't you just make it all stop? That was all you wanted anymore. You wanted the thoughts, the feelings, the memories, everything, to just go away. You wanted to just exist in the empty void that only came about when you were sleeping. The space where your senses were gone and it was just you.
Or, maybe, you didn't want to exist at all. That wasn't to say that you wanted to die, even though you did, but rather that you just wanted to cease to exist. You wanted to never be, to never have been. It was complex thought that was equally as heavy and taxing to ponder.
Would that have made a difference? Would she have lived if you had never been around, never been alive, to lead her down all the paths that lead to that moment? If you hadn't existed, she wouldn't have been in the park at that perfect moment. If she, by some mystical force, had been there anyways, she wouldn't have lingered behind to save you.
Everyone's lives would have been so much better without you. Your parents wouldn't have had to work so much to afford everything for you and your sister. Your grandma might have lived longer, not having to exert herself so much to watch after the troublesome child that you had been. Maybe the butterfly effect of your lack of existence would have reached so far that the world would generally be a better place, too.
You barked a laugh at the thought, your voice hoarse from dehydration and lack of use. How pathetic it was of you to think you had so much of an impact! You surely were not so important that you changed that much about the world.
"(Y/N), honey?"
The world got a little heavier at the sound of your door creaking open and your mother's soft, hesitant voice. When you didn't respond, nor even move a muscle, she sighed, "(Y/N), you need to eat. I made some soup, I'll even bring it up to you if you want."
Despite the fact that you didn't feel hungry in even the slightest capacity, your stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food. "Okay." you whispered, and when the door clicked shut again the silence was overwhelming.
She would have been so disappointed in you. You knew just how much you worried your parents with every passing day, and as much as you wanted to be better and make them feel better, you just couldn't bring yourself to care. You couldn't bring yourself to care about your wellbeing or how all the things you were doing, or not doing, affected your parents.
Caring wasn't easy anymore, and it felt foreign. You were so bogged down under all the baggage on your back, on your shoulders, and on your head that you couldn't expend any of the energy required to do so. If you did, if you tried, you'd surely have collapsed under the weight.
Your mother came back and left once more just as quickly, sighing quietly as she tried and failed to rouse you from your bed. You'd remained silent through the creak of the door, the soft clatter of the bowl and spoon being placed on your nightstand, her soft breathes of disappointment, and the click of the latch as she left again. You even held your breathe, so immersed in listening to all her little noises that you forgot about the air you needed to live.
When your mother returned to your room later that day, though it felt like seconds for you, she ripped the blankets from your body and blinked down at you tearfully. "You didn't eat." she stated simply, gesturing to the still full bowl of soup that was now ice cold.
You blinked back, though the tears in your eyes were due to the sudden burn of being open rather than emotion. The numbness had creeped in at some point during the day, and you couldn't feel a thing aside from empty. She waited there for a long, pregnant moment for you to respond, but you had no words.
What were you meant to say? You could hear your sister's voice scolding you for ignoring her, but you just couldn't think of the right thing to say anymore. "Get up, (Y/N). Dinner is getting cold and you're going to eat with us, even if I have to drag you out of this bed myself." your mother finally demanded.
Weakly, you clambered out of your bed and followed her downstairs. She tried to hide it, probably for your sake, but you could see the pleased smile on her face as she finally got you out of your bed. You wondered what it felt like to smile anymore. Could you smile anymore? You'd tried a few times, but it always felt awkward and forced and never looked quite right.
"She lives!"
You grimaced, your version of a smile, at your father's bland attempt at humor that earned a warning glare from your mother. Yes, you lived, and that was the problem. You didn't want to. You shouldn't have. It should have been her coming down to dinner to celebrate her birthday, not you trudging to the table to try and ignore the party that should have been taking place.
She would have been nineteen. Would she have liked college? Would she have found a cute college boy to date, maybe have brought him home to meet the family on her birthday? Your mother made her favorite food, a family recipe, and you pretended you didn't notice.
It didn't taste as good without her around to gush over it in anticipation. You'd never been much of a fan in the first place, but as a little sister it was your duty to love everything your big sister did. Food included, and you'd eagerly sucked down that casserole for years and claimed it was your favorite too.
"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere!" your mother announced, wiping her hands on a napkin as you choked down the last pea on your plate.
When she returned a few moments later with a large chocolate cake in her hands, a cold sweat blossomed over your body and you stiffened. "What's that?" you demanded, staring wide eyed at the all-too-familiar cake incredulously.
It was a rhetorical question. You knew exactly what it was, but you were horrified to see it. She'd made her famous chocolate cake, the same cake she'd made every year for your sister's birthday because, like the casserole, it too was her favorite.
Was this some kind of sick joke? Why did she make a cake? Your sister was gone, and there was nothing to celebrate. If anything you wished to still be hidden away under your blankets, moping and wishing for peace. Yet, here was your mother, placing the cake down on the table with a sheepish smile and watery eyes.
She stared at the cake, avoiding your eyes as she sniffed, "I just... I thought that maybe this would make it feel like she's still here. I just wanted a little bit of her to make the day a little less sad."
"She's not here, Mom." you snapped, "She's not here, and this isn't going to change that."
With a loud screech from your chair that scraped across the floor, you bolted away from the table and back to your room. God, why are you being so horrible? She's just trying her best, you don't have to be so hard on her... Your sister's voice echoed in your mind, rattling around your skull so hard you swore you could feel your teeth chatter.
She was right, and you knew it. You knew you were being unfair, cruel even, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't help the uncontrollable guilt that seeing all your sister's favorite foods brought creeping back over you. You couldn't help the bile that steadily rose up your throat at the thought of her, the sight of her ever-present empty chair.
You couldn't help any of it. The anger and guilt was too much to bear, especially as you heard your mother's choked sob echo from the dining room all the way to your bedroom. You'd done that. You'd made her cry with your selfish contempt. You were truly the worst.
Collapsing back onto your bed and burying yourself under your blankets, you smothered yourself with your pillow until it felt like your lungs were going to explode. The tears never came, though you wished for them desperately. You felt like crying, you wanted to cry, but you couldn't. You were all cried out once more.
A loud knock on your window startled you awake, and you blinked in surprise at the pitch darkness of your room. You couldn't remember falling asleep, but that was fairly typical anymore. When you don't dream, there's never really much to differentiate between wake and rest. It was always just like blinking your eyes--one moment it was one day, and the next it was another.
Time moved pretty strangely ever since the incident, you'd discovered. Sleep made time seem longer, more impactful, and without it the days all blurred together. Another knock caught your attention, followed by another, before there was a steady rapping at the glass pane that made you furrow your eyebrows.
You clicked the power button on your phone only to huff when you remembered you'd shut it off, and turned to face the window. A shadow passed before it and your heart stuttered frightfully. Another knock, another shadow, and you were surprised you hadn't peed your pants in fear. There was someone out there.
A head popped up over the windowsill, falling heavily against the glass with a loud bang that made you jump. "What the--Peter?" you gasped, your eyes slowly adjusting to the dim lighting until you could make out the familiar suit of Spiderman.
What the hell was Peter doing at your window, and why was he still dressed up in his stupid costume? Begrudgingly, yet secretly curious, you creeped out of your bed and opened the window with furrowed eyebrows. "Peter, what are you doing here?" you whispered, but he didn't respond.
Well, he didn't respond with words. He groaned, a strange gargled noise like he was trying to talk through a mouthful of water, and his head lolled to the side weakly. Prodding his shoulder, he nearly tumbled to the ground until you caught him awkwardly and strained to keep him upright. "P-please, help." he gasped.
Your heart was racing, and your mind was moving nearly as fast with a million questions. How the hell did Peter know where you lived? Why was he at your window? What was wrong with him? Why did he think you were the person to help him? Why, what, why, how, all the questions remained unanswered.
It was a great struggle to drag Peter through your window, a task that was done without much help from the surprisingly heavy boy who leaned nearly all of his weight onto you. You did it, though, and bit back a scream when you pulled your hands away to find them covered in blood. As you stared at the dark, red stains on your flesh, the smell of it hit you and your head was spinning.
Blood, and a lot of it. Immediately your mind brought you back to that fateful day, images of your sister's lifeless form flashing before your eyes and blurring the world around you. Your breathing grew shallower, and just as the tunnel vision started to encroach, Peter garbled, "Please, (Y/N), you need to help me."
He weakly slapped at his chest until his suit deflated like a balloon, peeling away from his body like a loose tarp that was easily pulled away from his skin. "Oh, my god!" you wailed. His body was riddled with cuts, scrapes, and bruises galore. You wondered if any of his skin remained unbroken, because everything was black, blue, and red.
For the first time in what felt like forever, your fight or flight switched gears to fight. You weren't entirely sure why, because you were crying and holding back vomit like your life depended on it, but you raced around your room to gather anything you could to staunch the bleeding. Every breathe you took overwhelmed you with the smell of blood, that familiar metallic scent of iron or pennies, but you couldn't breathe through your mouth.
If you opened your mouth, you were surely going to lose all the food you'd eaten for dinner. All you could think of was your sister. You thought of what she would have done, and you knew that you were making the right choice in helping him. She would never have left him to fend for himself. Most of all, though, you thought of your sister and how you hadn't stopped her from dying, and you couldn't do that again.
You couldn't let another person die as a result of your actions. You couldn't, and you wouldn't. So, you worked hard and fast through all your crying to patch Peter up as best as you could. Nothing needed stitches as far as you could tell, but nearly every inch of his skin was broken with some form of scrape, scratch, or cut.
It was messy, and by the time you finished you were pretty sure you had more of Peter's blood on your skin and clothes than he had on himself. He was asleep, or unconscious, you weren't entirely sure. What you were sure of, though, was that the sun was rising and he needed to leave. You needed him to get out, both for the sake of your mentality and your parents'.
So, you jabbed your fingers into his shoulder and hissed, "Wake up!"
He awoke frantically, his eyes snapping open and his body lurching upright as he looked around in a panic. "Get away--(Y/N)? What... What am I doing here? Where am I?" he stammered, slumping back onto the floor with a wince as he continued to scan his surroundings in confusion.
"You're in my bedroom, Parker, and I don't know why. You showed up covered in blood and begging for help." you grumbled in annoyance. "You need to go. It's almost morning."
He blinked in surprise, glancing out your window to see the early hints of dawn on the horizon. "I, uh, I'm... I'm sorry. I don't remember coming here." he mumbled, "Woah, did I hurt you? Oh my God, I hurt you, I'm so--"
"This is your blood, Peter." you growled, cutting off his frenzied rambling as he finally caught sight of the red stains all over your body. "Get out."
He stared at you with parted lips, eyes wide with panic and apprehension. "Are you crying?" he finally asked, his voice timid.
It took you a moment to realize that, yes, you were in fact crying. You hadn't realized that the tears were still flowing from your eyes, but as you did the adrenaline wore off and you choked out through a sob, "Get out! Get out of here, Peter!"
Without the adrenaline pumping through your veins to keep you grounded, the emotion of the entire situation caught up to you. All the fear, anguish, guilt, and anxiety--it all washed over you in an instant and you were losing it. But, you were also angry. You were angry with Peter for putting you in that position.
You were angry that he'd show up, barely alive and begging for your help, when he knew somewhat of what you'd been through. He knew, at the very least, that your sister's death was on your hands, and he put you in a position to put another name on that list. Most of all, though, you were angry that already all of your worst fears were thrown in your face.
Peter wasn't your friend, but some part of you wanted him to be, and already you were faced with the prospect of him dying and you being helpless to stop it. Why was the universe so cruel to you? Were you cursed? It was all a sick, twisted joke, and you wanted no part of it.
"(Y/N), what's wrong--"
You cried, "Just, please, go. I'll see you at school, okay? Just go!"
And, after a moment of hesitation, he went. He climbed out of your window from where he watched you for another minute longer, clearly unwilling to leave you alone in such a state. Peter watched wordlessly as you fumbled to close and latch the window, until you shut the curtains and shut him out again.
Peter Parker: i'm so sorry
Peter Parker: please be okay
Peter Parker: i better see you at school tomorrow or i'm coming back to check on you
Peter Parker: or today i guess
SERIES TAGLIST {ask to be added}:
@msmimimerton @zendayasfwb
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please give the college crossover au headcanons (if you want to ofc) im very curious
Yeah of course! Here’s random stuff about it:
Random Shenanigans:
The first time Percy made blue mac and cheese, Peter looked ill. But then he tried it, and now the whole gang usually has blue mac and cheese at least once every two weeks. (Percy moreso)
The boys have definitely had the “what’s your weirdest near death experience?” 3 am conversations before. They all disagree about who “wins” (and they all pick someone other than themself). 
When Astrid comes to visit (because she and Hiccup are doing the Long Distance Thing), she and Annabeth are very fast friends. 
The whole gang freaking love Sally Jackson when she comes to visit Percy. She brings blue cookies every time. (It also makes Peter Parker and Danny Fenton feel Kinda Weird but they eventually learn to process why and it gets Less Weird) 
Every time one of the Avengers comes to visit Peter is An Experience for Everyone. 
There’s a bit of time where Percy will mention something about the Manhattan Battle and it takes everyone else a minute to realize he’s not talking about the Chitauri Attack. 
That Angsty Stuff Tho:
All the boys deal with nightmares. Percy and Peter deal with them more often and more intensely than the others, but they all struggle with it sometimes. 
By senior year, they all learn each other’s like... trauma anniversaries. Not the nitty gritty details, but just they Get It.
Around the same time every year, Percy and Annabeth are by each other’s sides like glue for around two weeks (the Tartarus anniversary). 
The boys learn that Peter struggles on the yearly marker of the Blip (like, everyone does in some way but Peter has an especially rough time because it’s the anniversary of the fight with Thanos and Tony’s death).
 Hiccup kind of retreats into his own on the anniversary of his dad’s death. 
Danny usually gets a little aggravated and aggressive around the anniversary of him getting Ghost Zoned. 
Likewise, the girls learn how to help each other (especially MJ and Sam helping Annabeth around the Tartarus mark.
One time, Peter asked Percy about his camp necklace. Specifically the bead with all the names. Percy told him pretty much everything. 
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