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copias-thrall · 3 years

Note

Something bad happens and Copia’s plans are ruined. He’s so pissed off he can barely control himself. You offer he can take the anger out on you. Hate-fucking ensues

Delightful prompt, nonny. 🔥

*hate sex; angry sex; rough sex; spitting; penetration*

Even if you hadn’t heard the stage whispers around the Abbey today, Copia banging around his office would be warning enough that he’s in A Mood.

You eke open the door to find papers strewn about his desk, books sprawled out like drunks on the floor, and his chair upturned.

The man himself is hunched over himself the sofa, his back heaving in rage.

“Papa?” you ask softly.

Copia freezes, then turns to you, smoothing down his ruffled hair before clearing his throat.

“Ah, amore. Perhaps not now, yes?”

You pick your way carefully through the detritus, as his eyes track your form the entire way. Even when you take his hand to kiss his knuckles, Copia’s body is still a taut wire, ready to snap.

“I am no good being around at the moment, amore.”

But you are not a fair-weather partner. You know some of Copia’s past lovers were in it for the favors or the infamy…but you’re here for all his moods.

“You’re angry about the—”

“Ai! Do not even speak it,” he hisses through cleaned teeth as his white eye flashes.

You touch his face to smooth away the anger, but—while he doesn’t flinch away—the sour look remains.

“Let me help, Papa.” You kiss his nose. “My Papa.”

He grumbles, but allows it.

“Oh? And how would you be doing that?”

You’re already tugging off your habit.

“You can use me to fuck it out.”

Copia goes as still as a predator observing his prey, even as his eyes take in the snatches of revealed flesh.

“Your personal stress reliever.”

You toss the habit to the side, now clad only in your underwear.

When you meet his eyes, he rolls his hand at you.

“Continuare.”

You reach for your bottoms, but Copia growls low in his throat and stalks over to you. He fists the fabric and jerks you into the line of his body.

“I have your permission to use you as I see fit?”

You press yourself into him and nip lightly at his throat.

“Yes, Papa. Use me hard.”

“Bene,” he rumbles.

And then he’s rending the cotton in two.

You gasp, but he’s already biting into your neck and raking his blunt nails hard down your skin. His one hand travels up to grip into the roots of your hair before he’s yanking your head back with a harsh jerk.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, and then he spits in your face.

He’s pushing your head back painfully as he smears it into your skin before shoving his fingers harshly into your throat.

“Your dare,” he hisses as you try not to gag. “I will show you who is in charge here. Who is Papa.”

His nails scrape your scalp as he digs his fingers into the hair at the top of your skull.

“On your knees,” he growls. It’s a command, but he’s pushing you down before you have a chance to comply.

Free from his fingers, you cough and wipe the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. When you look up, Copia’s face is twisted in hate as fumbles to undo his pants. You barely have time to admire the flush and fill of his hard cock before he’s ramming it down your throat, a hand at the back of your head to keep you in place.

“You will take it whether you like it or not.”

(You like it.)

He shoves it down as far as you can take it—and then some—and you choke and wheeze as you try to breathe through your nose. He grunts as his hips twitch into your mouth, his curls rubbing against your nose.

Your eyes are streaming, and you don’t think you can last much longer, so you tap at his thighs. He yanks you off his cock in a mess of spit and mucus, and you double over as you suck in air.

“You can dish it out but not take it, eh?”

When you lift your face to his, his expression is smooth—but his nose and lips twitch with restrained anger. One pointed boot comes up to push your flat with a press to your forehead. It smears down your face to press at the hollow of your throat.

“Are you chosen by the Olde One?”

You shake your head as much as you’re able.

“Are you anointed by our Dark Lord?”

Another shake, and he leans down, resting his arm on his thigh.

“Do you think I have this eye for shits and giggles, eh?”

He points at his blazing eye, and all you can do is stare at the fire in it.

“If you don’t know it, I will make you know it,” he hisses through clenched teeth at you.

Your body responds with a heated desire, and you wonder if he registers the flush of your skin.

Copia makes a growl low in his throat, and suddenly you’re being manhandled up and onto his lap.

“You will feel it when I fuck the sense into you.”

The first crack of his palm on your ass has you letting out a startled gasp. It’s followed quickly with another smack. And another.

And another.

He’s raining down open-palmed smacks on your bare flesh, and you’re letting out little hitched breaths while squirming in his lap at the stinging sensation blooming across your ass. Despite the sting, you’re leaking, and while your reflex is to jerk away from him, all you want is more.

“Oh, Papa!” you cry.

He mistakes your cry for one of mercy, and he rumbles as his hands grab at your burning flesh.

“Had enough, eh?”

Your response is to moan and press into his lap. His hand winds into your hair to yank your head back again.

“I’ll show you enough,” he breathes into your ear.

Copia slips out from under you, and you rub into his couch, leaving the evidence of your arousal over the soft leather.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” you groan because it seems like the correct thing to say.

(You're not sorry. Not at all. Copia can come get it.)

“Oh, I’ll show you ‘sorry’,” he snarls, and then he’s grasping you here and there to bend you over the back of the couch. When he kicks your knees apart with his own, you go easily, practically wiggling your ass at him.

You know he’ll like what he sees—even if you weren’t getting it from Copia on the reg, you love to play with your toys (and you love to play with Copia and your toys), so you’re open and ready for him.

Lube might still be seeping out of you from some earlier play.

When his blunt teeth sink into your raw ass, you do yelp, and that only encourages him to continue his bitey journey across each cheek. His hand comes up to fondle you as you jerk and gasp. The pain from his bites is only enhanced by the pleasure his hand elicits, and you pound your fist into the couch.

“Papa, please…”

His tongue slips across your throbbing skin—no doubt tracing the outline of his teeth—before the heat of him recedes. You don’t even have time to look over your shoulder before you feel the rasp of his pants and the bite of his zipper against your ass. Your back arches toward him, but his warm hand at the small of your back presses you forward.

“Now, for some correction.”

His fingers trail down your skin to your hole; there’s a slight pressure, and then a wet splatter when Copia spits. Moaning at the sensation of his fingers in you, you ooze forward more…and when he hits your sweet spot, you drool onto the leather.

Copia’s nails scrape across your heated flesh, and you gasp out an Oh.

“Mm…sí. You will feel every,” he rumbles low in his Mummy Dust register, “thrust.”

And then his lips are back to tickle your ear.

“And I want to think about what you did with every,” he presses into your sweet spot and you gasp.

“Single.” Press.

“One…”

Press.

“PAPA!”

He replaces the pressure of his fingers with the press of his cockhead, and then he’s pushing into you roughly.

“Papa what?” he growls as his hips snap into you and as his hand yanks your head once again back by the hair.

“I’m sorry, Papa! I’m sorry!”

You feel him acutely every time his hips slap into your stinging ass and the material of his pants rub against your sore spots; you throb between your legs with his every hard thrust into you.

Spreading your knees even further to accommodate the drill of his cock only has him snarling with more feral energy. The hand in your hair slips down to clasp at your throat, and his body drapes across your back as he fucks harder, faster, into your supple, willing body.

“I don’t fucking care,” he rasps, and then he’s pounding into you like he’s a fuck machine set to high, his hand shifting up to your face so he can shove his fingers back in your mouth. You moan and gasp around his fingers—the only other thing you can do besides just taking him.

At some point, he pulls out so he can rearrange you face down, legs together on the couch, but you submit languidly. He boxes you in with his arms and the pressure of his chest on your back as his cock treats you like his very own fleshlight.

“Take it…fucking take it, you stronza,” he wheezes into your ear as he presses your face down hard into the cushions.

You throb again, clenching around him, and he snarls, sitting up.

“This is not for you.”

When he pulls out, you whine at the loss, but then his hand is pushing at the nape of your neck, making sure you’re muffled by the couch.

You can hear the sound of skin on skin, and you groan right before the splatter of Copia’s cum hits across your back and ass; you jolt in surprise when he shoves his cockhead into you again. And then out.

And then in.

“Fuck you. Fuck you…fuck you…” he chants.

By the time he tumbles down on you panting at his release, you’re panting at your unsatisfied arousal. You let him catch his breath for a few beats before you speak.

“Papa?”

His hand comes up to clumsily pet at you.

“So good. So good for me, amore. Grazie.”

You wiggle around so that your front is pressing into his, and you apply little kisses to his collarbone as you grind into his leg.

“Papa…” you plead.

His hand strokes your hair. “Sí. Sí, amore.”

And then your eyes roll back as he goes about thanking you.

#asks #papa iv #gender neutral #hate sex #my writing #original post

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docholligay · 3 years

Text

In The Desert

My second of three eventual Passover fics, finally done, if literally nothing else. 4,500ish words, and I hope you enjoy it at least somewhat!

Moses never saw the Promised Land. He guided others to it, but he died before he ever set foot in that promised space, before he ever was allowed to know the feeling of safety and peace and home. To reach the goal he had longed for.

Mercy tried not to think too much on this, and told herself often that the Promised Land was only a place, and maybe it was Moses’ short-sightedness that did not allow him to see that the Promised Land was had while he wandered, in the arms of his wife, in the giggles of Jewish children knowing what it was to grow up free, in knowing that he had guided his people to something far more frightening but far greater. To inspire them to live a life of uncertainty, with great risk, but great reward. The Promised Land was where you found it, Mercy would say, often.

Sometimes she even believed it. This year was harder.

Was he ever resentful, she wondered, absent-mindedly setting the low table, for the punishment? That for one moment, he reacted in anger and bitterness instead of in patience and grace, that he lashed out, and so was barred from the doors of promise forever? Mercy thought on these things, and her own trespass against God, wondering which had kept her wandering all these years, without the promise she had so hoped for.

Sitting in Canada with her small second Overwatch, the way forward had seemed so simple. She had escaped the bondage of loneliness, and now there was only to keep going, to increase that family around her, to grow in love, even to hope for that thing she had imagined might be lost to her for so long, something she hadn’t dared hope for. She loved her Overwatch family. She loved her wife. She loved for a child. Now she could see it all growing further away, a golden land that she, like Moses, would only ever see others enter.

Tears filled her eyes as she considered it, blurring the fork she set down on the table. The day was rainy and cold, even for the general London April, and it went all the way through her, darkening and covering any warm space she may have been able to find within herself.

It was a year of failures. The same ones, over and over again, of bodies as quarrelsome and betraying as the Israelites, of ground being lost and joy being further and further away. This was meant to be a day of celebration, of freedom, but it all felt so empty, the freedom of a stray dog without home or comfort.

There was a knock at the door, and Mercy stood up straight, adjusting her sweater and tucking her hair behind her ears. There was no reason to ruin the day for everyone else, even if she could not find the joy for herself. When one is happy, it is easier to serve God and your community, she had read, from some rabbi, somewhere, and she did not deny that this was true.

Why then, had God denied her so much?

“Ang!” There was a bright, high peal through the entryway as Tracer sat on the small chair next to the door, taking off her shoes slowly, “Sorry, took us a bit--”

“We’re on time, Lena.” Emily smiled as she hung up her jacket.

“Oh. Right then, me planning is as bang on as ever,” She laughed merrily, “Entirely didn’t assume I’d missed the mark, exacting as I am.”

“You’re early.” Mercy touched at the edge of the couch.

“Someone tell Fareeha, she’ll want to note this in the official Overwatch ‘istory.”

Emily took her shoes from her and set them in the rack. “She’ll only be telling you you’ve no excuse hereafter.”

Tracer shook her head and clicked her tongue. “Bloody fucked every which way, I am.”

Yes, Mercy’s mind answered, you are.

It’s clearly degenerative and aggressive, whatever got set off. The seizures will get harder to treat, and the tremor, not to mention we have about a whack-a-mole’s guess at what it’ll start going after next. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think it’ll affect her cognition, luckily. Or unluckily, I guess...

She heard Pradeep’s voice echoing in her mind, and did her best to shake it off. She hadn’t given up yet. Things weren’t so bad that they could give up yet. There was still a chance, however small, wasn’t there? Even if they could just arrest it, just stop it where it was--her eyes flickered to the brightly colored cane Tracer’s hand reached for, more commonly carried than not now--she could live out the rest of her life in relative happiness. She could see it, in her mind’s eye. That golden strip of promise just beyond the horizon.

But she hadn’t been able to touch it, no matter how many specialists she bullied into consulting with her. No matter how many papers she read. No matter how long she walked and how fervently she prayed.

“Ang?” she looked up, and realized that Tracer was now standing in front of her, a puzzled look on her face. “You alright, love?”

Mercy shook her head. “Of course, only I am lost in my mind. Tired, I think.”

Tracer looked at her for a moment in that sharp way she had, eyes flitting like a hummingbird across Mercy’s face, but she was saved by a knock at the door, and the further entrance of Dva and Winston, chatting amiably as Winston carefully sidled into the apartment, McCree a short but meaningful distance behind them.

There they were, an assembled party, still crossing the long desert, signs of promise beginning to pop up around them. Since the battle for London, the world had taken a different view of them, an altogether kinder one. Pharah had her office building, constructed where she had always hoped. McCree had gotten a pardon from Interpol itself. Tracer had been offered damehood, which she had rather aggressively rejected, and the Victoria Cross, which she had aggressively accepted. All of them where heroes worldwide, their work seen for the long journey it had been, and honored. Mercy should have every reason to be pleased.

Professionally, her life had never been better, or the way more clear.

“Angela,” her wife’s voice pulled her out of the thought, “the family, I think, is assembled.”

She said it with a half-smile as she looked over to the strange assembly that filled the room. Mercy nodded, and watched as Pharah walked over to the table she had built with her own hands, in the center of the living room. There was a bubbling sort of excitement among all of them, and why wouldn’t there be? It was the first Passover in Pharah and Mercy’s new apartment, the one built on the bones of the old. Life had been destroyed and life had been rebuilt into something more suited for them, something better. Renewal. Hope. Mercy could see it all, and reminded herself of it, as Pharah playfully bickered with Tracer before grabbing her by the armpits and thumping her to the floor, back up against the couch. The rest of them settled in their own spots, on the floor, looking over to Mercy from time to time.

A perfect Seder, with the people she loved, and yet her eyes wandered to the corner next to her seat, the one she hadn’t even realized she had left clear. There should have been something, someone, there this year. She had prayed for it, she had pleaded for it, she had given and fasted and hoped for it. And yet the corner stood empty. The promise was for other people.

”It’s not surprising given your advanced maternal age,” she said it gently, but Mercy still winced, “and...some of what you’ve been through.”

Mercy was not now, and had never been, ignorant of certain medical realities. Her entire life since she was a child, had been the understanding of such things, and the painful knowledge that very often what we wish was true directly contradicted what was on the chart. The doctor kept talking, and Pharah squeezed her hand.

Pharah. She’d offered to be the one to carry a child, despite it not being her immediate inclination. Mercy had never been able to find the words to tell her that she needed to be the one to do it. That she had lost her entire family all those years ago, and needed to be related to one other person on this earth, and to know that. Even she didn’t understand it completely, only knew that it had driven her onward. Only knew it kept her coming back to this office to be told that the best they could do was keep going.

The best she could do was ignore the chart.

She should have filled that corner with something other than her own empty hopes. She blinked back the bitter saltwater of her own affliction, and began to walk toward the table.

“Pesach is a story of the impossible,” she sat herself down next to Pharah, but just kept staring at the Seder plate in the middle of the table, “We were slaves. We could not be bringing forth our own freedom. Only God could do that, and there was no reason to believe he would be doing it at all. We had been in bondage for so long. There was no reason to believe God would be giving us the Torah. There was no reason...to believe that we would be here. No reason there should be any Jews left at all.”

Mercy wished one of them would stop her, that one of them would recognize the ramble for what it was was. Mercy barely understood it herself, and anger touched the edge of her mind as she considered all the things God had done but also all the things that he had chosen not to do. He had chosen to allow the Holocaust, and where had their deliverer been? He had allowed the Jews to be blamed and pilloried for the failings of AI technology, in both the fringes and, more quietly, in the larger community. He had allowed them to be shot while they worshipped, or bought groceries, or simply lived their lives. He had allowed Mercy to hear every suspicion and cruelty of the others in the labs and offices, who could not imagine the blonde, blue-eyed woman next to them could possibly take offense. And then, he had allowed Mercy’s house to be bombed, twice in her life, he had allowed her wife to be tortured, he had allowed Tracer to suffer, and he had allowed Mercy to remain childless.

“Why.”

The fifth question, left out of the Haggadah.

She looked around the table at them.

“Why did he save us? And then, sometimes, why did he not? I--” she shook her head, “am never understanding the reasons. Why. I am only always asking. Why.”

It was a why to God, for certain, for all the things she thought but good not bring herself to say, but a why to herself as well. Why had she stayed? Why did she pray every morning, why did she say Shema before she laid down at night? Mercy would have been the first to say that it wasn’t about God, but also she could not have answered what it was about at all. What did she find in her prayers and her study, knowing so keenly that God would not hear her, had not heard her cry for years?

Perhaps that was what drew the Jewish people together--knowing God will not listen, and saying the prayer anyhow. Knowing that to be a Jew was to live in danger, and to wander, but refusing to be anything else. To never stop asking, no matter how silent God became.

Even David, knowing God would punish him with the death of his child, had kept pleading, and fasting, and praying, to the very end. There had always been the chance God would turn back.

“We’re outmanned, outgunned, and those things can keep coming--”

“Didn’t say we was going to win did I?” Tracer’s eyes narrowed and her voice raised, pulling the attention of the room back to her. “Said we was going to fight.”

She looked out over the tightly assembled group packed into the room.

“Some of us will die today. Likely a good number of us. ‘E’s right you know. There’s no reason to believe we can take the advantage over them. Every reason to believe that London is going to be nothing but a pile of rubble and fires at the fag end of it all. But I,” She thrust her finger into her chest, “am not going to give over this city bloody quietly. It’s a part of me, innit? And we’re a part of it. Can’t untie the Oxtons and England, and I don’t mean the bloody Crown, and I don’t mean the bloody government, I mean England.”

Tracer paced across the top of the bar. “I am fighting for England, and for London, and what that is, is every kid running out the schoolyard, every pissed stumble ‘ome, every day of our lives, THAT is London. And England. We are London. We are England. Not anything or anyone official. Not Parliament. Not the fucking royals. You and me, and your dad, and mum, and this grotty little pub, and me footie team, and the greengrocer down the way, and Alfie’s flower stall, THAT is England, and I won’t let anyone, or anything, take this place I love, while I still draw a breath in this world. I won’t ever surrender. East End gets flattened, East End gets the worst of it, but we don’t roll over and give it up. We never ‘ave.”

She stopped for a moment, then nodded. “And I won’t start now. I can’t win, maybe. But I guarantee you, I can give them the worst day of their lives, and even if they stomp over these streets, they’ll remember my name. That’s what we’re fighting for. Not because we can win. Because we fight for what we are.

Mercy gave a weak chuckle and shook her head. “We are telling this story not to answer these questions, but to keep asking them. We are telling it, to give our own answers. God--” her voice caught, barely believing herself in that moment, “--God is revealing himself, in us, all the time. We, we are God’s hands, and God’s eyes, and...his words, when we remember. When we can be seeing the midrash in our lives.”

She took a deep breath.

“Tonight we remember that we are free. Tonight we remember the things that make us slaves.”

____

The smell of brisket filled the air. Pharah’s timing had become more and more impeccable over the years, throwing herself into the celebration of Passover, a love letter to her wife written with the greatest tenderness in pan sauce and flourless chocolate cake. Mercy had always, truthfully, questioned the wisdom of the most serious of plagues being recounted as they were on the edge of the feast. But perhaps that was the point of it. Perhaps it was about being kept waiting for your desires, your hopes. Perhaps it was about wondering if it would ever come.

“Aaron said to Pharoah, the worst would be coming. That God would take the firstborn of the Egyptians, but that the Hebrews would be spared, if they were marking their doors with the blood of a lamb…”

Sacrifice. Something always had to be sacrificed. A lamb. A child. A friend. Perhaps this had been her downfall, that she was unwilling to sacrifice anyone. She would never be Abraham, committing her dearest loves into harm. She wanted to save them all, and she had been punished for this disobedience, all those years ago when Overwatch fell. They had made something ugly of her love. Maybe God had seen her, and decided what the sacrifice would be for her.

Maybe God would take the firstborn, however Mercy felt about it.

It would be easy to blame God for that empty corner of her living room and her heart, for it was all within his power to give. But the things that happen to us are rarely laid at God’s feet alone, and Mercy imagined her own moments of frustration, of foolishness, and wondered, which one was it that had brought her to this moment? If she had wanted to have a child, why then had she spent so long pursuing her work, running through war zones and long nights in laboratories? She should have known there are some things which still have a time limit. She should have known there was no guarantee.

But if God had not wished it, why had he sent her Pharah? It was already to already believe her chance lost, but to show her that sliver of what might be, that green and verdant edge at the horizon of the desert, that was crueler still.

She understood why some of the Hebrews had returned to slavery. It was easier to never know what you were losing. What could be lost.

Tracer twisted against her back uncomfortably for a moment, but focused herself and shook her head. “I don’t understand why the first-born ‘ad to die, God being mostly angry at Pharoah.”

“It was no longer a warning.” Pharah took a sip of wine. “There had been nine warnings. It was a punishment.”

“‘Ardly seems fair to punish the lot of them for a bit of governmental wankery. Some ordinary Egyptian’s not keeping the ‘ebrews enslaved.”

“But I doubt they protested the murder of the Hebrew sons. It is a kind of blood for blood. That they had so many chances to avoid that is a mercy in itself, God would have been right to kill their children first off. Justice. ”

“No, isn’t justice. Revenge. Eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, Fareeha. Think you’d be defending your countrymen a bit more.”

Pharah smiled and leaned toward Tracer. “Some of us are not compelled to excuse our country’s imperialism, and violence.”

Tracer leaned back against the couch. “Alright, fair cop and well ‘it, but I am still right about the firstborn, Fareeha.”

Her own Hilell and Shammai, ever arguing, ever debating, ever loving each other. She had watched that grow and bloom, too, over the work of years, step by step as they wandered together through an uncertain land. She had doubted, when she first fell in love with Pharah, that anything other than the glue that was Mercy would keep them together, but that had been arrogance. Tracer was more loveable than she seemed at first blush, and Pharah more loving than most would have imagined, and the two of them had grown together, though never in quite the same direction.

Tracer was right, of course, that there was something unjust in taking something so precious, for a casual sin. Pharah was right, of course, that the sins of the community must be borne by the community, too, and that there had been so many chances to turn back. Did God ever owe them an apology, for such rashness? Or worse, for such calculation? It was one thing to act in anger, it was another to take something so precious so calmly.

Perhaps the worst of it was that he was not angry at Mercy at all. Perhaps it was only that simple, calculated punishment that led her to this day, to the taste of saltwater and horseradish even more bitter on her lips than she had believed possible. It purged her mouth of the sweetness of the wine and the richness of the meat, leaving only that acrid dryness in its wake.

Perhaps the worst of it was how angry Mercy was with him.

The plagues passed. Freedom was had, for some, but even as the meal passed in front of her, Mercy kept thinking only of her own bondage, of the unanswered cry to God. She saw it in the empty corner beside her, the shake at Tracer’s hand as she drew the wine to her lips, in the way Pharah had carefully assigned the seating and set the table, in the way Winston avoided her gaze as they spoke of Yocheved’s baby, in the way Dva spoke to her so gently. The way Emily looked at her and Tracer both.

In this victory of a meal, Mercy tasted only the failures of this past year. Miriam’s Well kept them alive in the desert, but Mercy began to wonder if it hadn’t been the bitter alkaline of survival, and not the sweet cool of living.

The blessing over the wine buzzed from her lips without a thought, and the door opened. Next to her, sitting at that empty corner, was Elijah’s cup. The cup filled with the hope and promise that some year, everything she had been waiting for would come through that door. The cup was an outstretched hand to God in the darkness, whispering about trust. Every year, she had held out that hand. She held it out after her parents were killed. Held it out after Overwatch fell. Held it out as she was in exile from the medical community. She kept looking ahead in the dark, trusting what she could not see.

She believed.

To believe in Elijah. To believe that hope could always walk right through the door, that it could sit at your table and drink your glass of wine. To believe that there was a chance to see the dream fulfilled, to touch your feet on that Promised Land.

Next year, in Jerusalem.

It was too much to ask. It was too deep a failure, this year, marked by all of her insufficiencies, unable to have a child, unable to save Tracer, throwing herself at these same things again and again, the outcome never changing. She’d gotten no closer to getting pregnant. Tracer’s health continued to deteriorate.

Not even taking the moment to excuse herself, Mercy got up from the table and ran into the small, tight powder room, the one Pharah had barely managed to niggle into the plans. She pulled herself into the bright white of that room, and she cried, and she cursed, in every language she knew, that God had kept everything from her, that God was punishing her for nothing, that God had judged her for her failings and ignored his own. She was angry. She kept that anger close to her like a flame, even as the immense darkness of her own sorrow crept in. She forgot there even was a Seder, in the other room, saw only the burning, everlasting bush that was her that was God that was the anger and love of all her people, all those years.

There was a knock at the door, and Mercy wiped at her eyes. Pharah had been so tender and good, through all of this, and the last thing she needed was--

“It’s Emily.”

Mercy had not expected that, and for a moment, it disarmed her so thoroughly that she opened the door.

There was nothing exchanged, for a moment. Emily would say that she was no great mind, and no great judge, and no great hero, comparing herself unfavorably to the company Tracer generally kept. She would say this never seeing her own gift for knowing the kindest thing to say, for looking at the faces of people as she did her class of children and opening her own heart to them.

“It’s just this year, Angela.” Emily nodded. “I know.”

It was not a question, nor a complaint, nothing but an acknowledgment of the thing that had been Mercy’s own plague, sent by God, or, at the very least, not evaded by him. Mercy nodded, tears still streaming down her face.

“Do you know Moses died, never seeing the Promised land? He was going through...and a mistake, meant God would never let him see it. He was kept from the promise of God.”

“Promised Land. I suppose it would be easy for a place you never see to be perfect.” Emily leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t know much about the Torah, of course, but I remember the story hardly ending with happily ever after.”

Mercy shook her head. “They were….argumentative, and lost faith, and difficult.” she sniffled. “But they were not in the desert.”

“It’s hard, to be Moses, isn’t it Angela? You go among people who don’t understand you, you try to lead them in whatever way you can, and for all that, you feel you will never find home. God barely listens to you, but you stay all the same. I think you’re brave for it.”

“I’m not--”

“Aye, you are. The moral compass for as long as I’ve known them, and for longer than that, I know. Lena and Fareeha would say so, as well.” Emily sighed. “This year has been forty for all of us, but for you I know most of all. But,” Emily looked back over her shoulder and stared at Tracer, “It’ll end, won’t it? Even Moses stopped walking.” She turned back around and wiped the tears from her eyes. “The Promised Land is just another beginning. But I don’t know the Torah very well.”

Mercy looked up at her. “You are knowing it well enough.”

“I’m sorry, about the baby. Cried over that myself, me and Lena never being able.” She sighed. “I just keep walking. What else can we do?”

“I’m sorry I,” Mercy closed her eyes, “I am failing you both.”

Emily put her arm around Mercy’s shoulder. “No. You could never. You’re taking us on the journey.”

“I should go back, to the table. I am being--”

“We’ll keep going, aye. Eventually, we’ll find the end of it, whatever that is.”

Hand in hand with Emily, Mercy walked back to the table. She was no clearer or calmer on the subject of God, of what he was denying her, of what he was denying all of them. But she saw the faces of her fellow travellers more clearly. It was not only Moses who made the journey. It was not only Moses who felt lost along the way, and it was not only Moses who died reaching for that unattainable goal, who strived and hoped against everything.

They were together. She did not find the Promised Land, but she found their hands in hers.

She poured the final cup of wine. All things come to an end. Even the desert.

#HON HON HON #The third one is The Promised Land and will theoretically be done someday ahah

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ironspiidey · 4 years

Text

Good Intentions

Hey dudes, so my MH has been awful lately and I’ve been struggling with alot. @cagestark was there for me these past few days and helped me feel so so much better.

I cannot thank you enough for letting me rant and not making feel dumb so as a thanks my brain created this.

WIS work in progress

"Anthony Edward Stark!" Pepper growls as she walks into his lab.

Tony ignores her and keeps soldering the circuit board

"Don't ignore me! I've had just enough of you." Pepper stops in front of him, tapping her foot in irritation on the tile floor.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it. "

"Tony."

"Okay if I did to it, it wasn't my fault. It was Rhodey's idea!"

"Don't bring my fiance into this. This is all your fault and your going to be fixing it. I was hoping without my help but at this rate your going to need me and Natalie and maybe even Bruce."

That made his eyebrows raise in curiosity " You and them? What the hell did I do?"

"This is what you did." Pepper tossed a StarkPad across the countertop.

Tony lifted his head and put down his tools as he pressed play on the video on screen.

"Brucie man I don’t know what to tell you. I’m a lone wolf and no cute, sweet omega will change that!" Tony took a drink of his scotch.

Bruce eyed him curiously for a moment "Not even your sweet, cute intern?"

Tony gave him a pointed look "I don't what it is about me and Peter but drop it. He's a kid. I’m supposed to be his mentor."

"Supposed to? So that means you DO have feelings for him. Nat owes me 20 bucks."

"You betted on this?"

"Not the point. So, you do have feelings for him?"

" That isn’t the point. Regardless of how I feel, even if I didn’t mentor him since he was 14, Peter does not need an old wore out superhero for a boyfriend."

"And now I owe Bucky 20. Tony, don't you think you should let Peter make his own mind up? He's not 14 anymore."

"No, you’re right. He isn't 14. He's 19. A college student. I only just convinced him to take his second year at MIT. If I say anything he's going to try and get back in NYU to be closer and the universe has done enough to stall and fuck with his future. Peter deserves the best and I sure as shit aint it." without another word, Tony downed what was left of his scotch and headed for the door.

"Tony you don't have to bolt out of the room."

"I do if you’re going to keep bringing up Peter because I'll be blue in the face until you get the fact it will never ever happen between us."

"I won’t say another word, just sit down."

Tony eyed him suspiciously

"What? Okay on one condition. You grab me a beer."

Tony rolled his eyes but walked over to the bar, pouring himself another then grabbing Bruce his beer. Just as he tossed it to the other man Natalie came storming into the living room.

"What the fuck Stark?!"

Pepper paused the video. "Get it now?"

Tony sighed "I don't know what you want from me Pep. You know as well as I do, I'm better off by myself."

"No. You’re afraid. Just like you were afraid of being happy with me. Then when you were afraid of being a father. Who helped you through that Tony?"

"Pepper..."

"Who was it Tony? Tell me."

"Peter okay!" Tony stormed off

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Pepper followed him "When are you going to wake up Tony? You've changed and become more of the decent man I knew you could be and as much as I am loathe to admit it, that is because of Peter. You have a chance here, to finally be with someone that is your equal and you’re going to ruin it if you don't get your head out of your damn asshole!"

Tony swallowed. "I fucking know okay? but just because Peter is great for me doesn't mean I'm great for him."

Pepper sighed "If you didn't make him happy, he wouldn't have been crying on Bucky's shoulder for the past week. If you don't do something soon, he may just sweep Peter up himself."

At that Tony's head whips around and gave Pepper a pointed look. "Your bluffing."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Why would I bluff about that? Friday? Can you project the living room feed from last Tuesday, around early evening?"

"Of course."

A projection appears on the left wall facing Tony of the living room of the Avengers wings.

"Good god Bucky. I was so fucking dumb."

"Peter no, not even close." Bucky walks over to the window where the younger man was standing. "Stark will always be Stark and if he isn’t ready for commitment that has nothing to do with you."

"But you weren't there. You didn’t hear him. How casual he sounded."

"Not that I'm defending him, but he didn't know you were there, maybe just maybe he was putting up a front to Banner?"

Peter sniffed. "I don't think so, Bruce isn't like that. He was annoyed that he was being pestered about us and made it noticeably clear it would never happen. So instead of being a stupid lovesick teenager, I'm a stupid lovesick adult."

Bucky squeezed Peter's shoulder. "Don't talk like that. You're not stupid. He is. You’re a catch Peter and if he can't see that well that's his loss."

“I don’t see how any of this-“

"Show us 4 days ago same room, same time." Pepper cut him off.

"God now he's ignoring me Bucky!" Peter paced back and forth across the room

"Will you please sit down? your making me nauseous." Bucky gestured to the couch across from the chair he was currently in.

Peter sighed as he practically threw himself down on the couch. "Ignoring me. Bucky he never ever does that. "

"Tony ignores everybody at least once a week."

"But not me." Peter pointed out. "He found out I heard him. he must have." Peter's voice started to break the end.

"Pete c'mon that's probably a coincidence."

Peter glared at the super solider "Yeah because Tony would randomly ignore me for the first time in 4ish years days after I heard him say he would never ever be with me no matter what."

"Now your exaggerating. Peter you guys were literally snuggling last week during movie night. He wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t interested."

"Well clearly not interested enough."

"Okay. Ready for the next one?"She asked as the clip ended.

Tony rolled his eyes "Haven't you shown me enough? I get it. Peter is hurting but that doesn’t change a thing."

"Exactly my point, this last one though, with any luck will pull your head out of your ass. Ready?"

Tony looked at her in confusion. "Fine."

"Okay Friday, show us Movie Night, 7pm."

"Okay guys ready?" Steve asked, standing in front of the room scanning to make sure everyone was here.

"No, Peter and Tony aren’t here yet."

"Yeah well it was about time that Tony would start ditching again." Clint said as he grabbed some of Nat’s popcorn.

"I'll go find Peter, one sec." Nat handed Clint the bowl and headed down the hall. Returning a few minutes later with Peter trailing behind her, looking for a seat.

"Don’t even think about it Peter." Clint grinned, stretching out like a cat on the sofa which made Nat roll her eyes.

"I can move him if you want Peter." Nat said, leaning towards his legs.

Before Peter could respond, Bucky padded the cushion next to him on the loveseat "C'mon over Pete."

Peter smiled and nodded, "Thanks but I’ll just sit by Buck." Nat raised her eyebrow but said nothing.

"Okay we good? Can we start?" Steve asked, started the movie and quickly sitting down when no one objected.

Bucky laid his arm down on the back of the coach, whispering something in Peter's ear which made him giggle. Peter looked to the door for a few minutes before his shoulders sagged and he leaned into the other man as he got comfortable. Smacking his flesh arm and gave him a look at whatever Bucky had said, his voice lower than the movie.

Tony squinted at the feed even after it stopped. After 5 minutes of him being silent Pepper spoke up.

"So?"

"Tony?"

"Tony!!" Pepper practically shouted

He shook his head and turned to her. "Uh sorry what?"

"Did that perhaps hit a nerve?"

"Nerve? No. "

Pepper just looked at him for a few minutes, it was clear he needed a few moments to process what he just saw.

"They use nicknames now?"

Pepper rolled her eyes "That's what your taking out of this?"

"Bucky never called Peter by anything other than Little Spider or Parker... And what’s with Peter calling him Buck?"

"Well I think its best I just leave you to brainstorm why your love interest is calling Captain Americas ex-boyfriend nicknames." Her heels clicking as she crossed the room heading for the elevator.

"Wait Pepper. What was the point? how is this anything to do with me?"

Pepper turned from her spot in the doorway “Well if you didn't hide out in here and yes that’s exactly what you were doing. Peter would have been snuggled up to you instead of the super solider."

"That’s what he was looking at, he was disappointed I wasn’t there!" By the time Tony spoke again Pepper was long gone and he was left to his own devices.

"Fri?"

"Yes Boss?"

"Lock down the lab, we need to work that last video and amplify the sounds while lowering the volume of the surround sound. "

"Activating Do not Disturb protocol, Keep current exception list of Ms. Potts. Rhodey, Mr. Banner and Peter?"

Tony sighed. "Since when have you referred to him as Peter? Who added him to the exception list without my permission?"

"Would you rather i refer to him as Petey? Petey Pie or perhaps Spiderling?"

Tony chuckled. "Peter is fine. How did he end up on the exception list?"

"As per my programming sir. The algorithms showed you and Peter have an active role in each other’s lives, physically and online. It was only fitting to add him to the list. Should I remove him now that its changed?"

"Changed? " Tony questioned his AI

"Peter has not been in the lab or Avenger corridors at the same time as you in the last week, you haven't contacted each other online either. There seems to be lack of interacting in the last week. "

"Who is on Peter's exception list?"

" Ms. Widow, Ned Leeds, Bucky Barnes and yourself Sir."

"Ms. Widow?"

"As per Peter's instructions I was to refer to his contacts as Ms. Widow, Ned Leeds, Bucky Barnes and Tones."

Tony felt a smile creep up on his face at Peters chosen nickname. "No nickname for the super soldier?"

"Negative Boss. Shall Peter stay on your protocol?"

"Yeah but change Rhodey to Platypus and Peter to Petey Pie. It has a ring to it doesn't it?"

"It does sir, very fitting for him. Shall I alert to Ms. Potts You’ve made progress?"

"Don’t you dare. Now back to amplifying the sounds excluding the movie please?"

"Yes sir."

#winterstarker #wis in progress #wis #pre wis #pre starker #tony is an ass #peter is sad #bucky gives good hugs #good intentions #fic for cage #cage is queen #fucking love her #fanfic #wip #wis wip #my fanfic #ironspiidey writes

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floatingpetals · 5 years

Text

What Have I Done? || Ch. 11

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst, super possessive Bucky, gets pretty dark

Word Count: 1800+

Summary: A bad break up between Bucky and his ex leads to a new friendship with the quiet tech he never had the chance to get to know. Relationships grow, feelings are caught, and boundaries are explored. Bucky thought he found his happy ending, but old memories haunt his future. He knows what he’s doing wrong, dangerous even, but he can’t help it. Can he fix the wrongs he’s done? -a requested story for @iheartsebastianstan

A/N: Aight, so this was actually going to be one long chapter to finish, however as I was writing it, I realized too much is happening and I didn’t want to overwhelm anyone. So I cut it and there’s going to be one last chapter after this before the epilogue. Another note, this could have some sensitive topics that some people might not like, but it’s nothing too awful? I don’t know, just read with a little caution cause it does get heavy in some part and probably a little ooc(?). Beyond that, I hope you all enjoy! Hopefully 😆

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Series Masterlist

“Steve?” Y/N croaked, hesitantly knocking on Steve’s bedroom door. Her throat burned and the tears flowed hotly down her cheeks as she frantically looked over her shoulder. She didn’t know who else to go to, who would know what to do. The sound of her heart pounding in her head drowned out the panic that gripped her heart, but only for so long. She was brought back to the sound of him moving around the room, Steve’s footsteps were heavy and swift before the door swung open.

Concern clouded Steve’s face at the sight of Y/N standing in front of him, with her arms wrapped around her waist and tears staining her cheeks. With a quick look down both sides of the hall, Steve dragged her inside the room and locked the door behind them. He ushered her to the edge of his bed and went to grab a box of tissues. Y/N sniffled a soft thanks and dabbed her cheeks.

“What happened?” Steve asked warily, grabbing his chair desk to sit in front of her. Y/N struggled to answer, the whole reason for her being here was still fresh and raw. It was still jarring how much he changed, how dangerous he had become. He wasn’t the same Bucky she first fell in love with.

“I- I don’t know.” Y/N held in a sob, her chin quivering as the emotions came rushing back to the surface. “Somethings wrong with Bucky. I- I don’t know what happened.”

Steve’s back straightened at the mention of his friend. He had noticed the change in Bucky when it came to Y/N, both the good but sadly the bad. Recently, he was akin to a wild animal that was incredibly possessive of its territory. It had only been about two weeks since the incident in the gym and Bucky seemed to have progressively grown worse.

“What happened Y/N?” Steve pressed, needed to understand what caused her tears. She clenched her eyes shut and took in a shuddering breath.

“It was in the lab. I went to go talk with Tony and one of the lab assistants needed help with something. I didn’t think anything of it and went to help. I-Nothing happened.” Y/N whispered, trembling when the sound of Bucky snarl repeated in her mind. “He was so angry. He just started threatening Rob, told him to that I was his a-and that he’d snap his neck if he-.”

A sob tore from her lips and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Steve inhaled sharply and pushed off the chair to sit beside Y/N and wrap his arms around her shoulder. He leaned her against his chest, tightening his hold while she sobbed into his chest. He murmured soft words of reassurance to Y/N while he was trying to imagine what could have possibly pushed Bucky over the edge like this. It was so unlike him to act this remarkably out of character.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else. I’m so sorry,” He whispered, hopelessly watching as Y/N broke down in his arms.

He had no idea where this was coming from, what could have possibly set his best friend off like this. This wasn’t a one-time occurrence; he had seen his fair share of Bucky practically baring his teeth at anyone who dared to get too close. A dangerous look would pass over his face if they ignored his warnings, his steely eyes watching the person leave as he if was considering ways to tear them to pieces for defying him. It had even gotten to the point where the rest of the team was walking on eggshells around Bucky and Y/N, wary about setting him off. Steve had kept a close eye on him, hoping it was just a momentary lapse in behavior and it would straighten out eventually once he realized Y/N was there to stay. Clearly, this was much bigger than Steve could ever imagine, and it wouldn’t simply change overnight.

Y/N tried to calm her sobs and trembling but now that she was able to let everything the past few weeks out. She kept it all bottled up inside, worried that maybe she was doing something wrong to cause him to act like this. Today was the breaking point. Seeing his lips twist into a savage snarl as he stood over Rob as he cowered made her blood run cold. The sight of the ferocity and murder hardening his eyes made all the hairs on her arms and back of her neck stand on end. Combined with his feral hiss as he jammed his metal finger against Rob’s chest and threatened him harm if he came near Y/N again, it was too upsetting. She had to run and find someplace to hide from his threatening form.

“Breath,” Steve urged gently. He passed another tissue and helped her sit back. Y/N nodded sharply, blowing her nose in the tissue and grabbed another to wipe up the tears. She hated how weak she felt, how this had brought out the scared little girl inside her.

She still couldn’t believe it. This was Bucky, her Bucky. The same man she cradled when his heart was shattered and stomped on. The same man who would hold her so tenderly and whisper soft sweet nothings in her ears in the early morning before the busy day. He was so sweet and caring, even with all the pain he had endured he still managed to be incredibly gentle with her. She had his heart and he had hers. Or so she believed. How did things become so twisted and backward?

“What do I do, Steve?” Y/N croaked, her sobs dwindling down to broken whimpers. Steve frowned and looked at his hands. He honestly had no idea. How did one go about bringing volatile behavior to an already unpredictable person? When he or Y/N tried to explain in the past, Bucky didn’t want to hear it in the slightest. He was ready to fight and keep her all to himself. It didn’t matter who stood in his way, he would tear them apart without a moment hesitation.

“I don’t know,” He sighed sadly. “I honestly don’t know. This isn’t like him though. I’ve never seen him so angry and possessive. It’s almost like…”

He trailed off, realization slowly dawning on him and he inhaled sharply.

“Like you’re his mission.”

Y/N froze, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. That couldn’t be it, could it? He wasn’t the Winter Solider. They took out the trigger words so there’d be no way for him to go back. His behavior was different. He was aware of what he was doing. He wasn’t mindlessly following orders and an empty shell.

“No, think about it.” Steve turned to face Y/N. “He’s suffered some pretty serious trauma from Vivian, it pretty much ruined him and his self-confidence. It set him back, even further than when he first came to the compound. And then you came along and helped him reset. You put him back on the right track, you helped him become more confident in himself.”

“But how does that make me his mission though?” Y/N asked skeptically.

“Because you’ve become his everything. Really, I guess you’re more like his trigger. Haven’t you noticed how he only gets that way if anyone gets too close to you? He snaps into this state where he’s ready to take anyone down, no matter what the cost is and no matter who the person is” Steve explained. “It’s like he’s letting his fear of you leaving him or someone taking you away from his control how he acts. Yes. This isn’t him being the brainwashed assassin that Hydra created. It’s more like some strange hybrid of the Solider and himself.”

“Yeah, but…” Y/N started to argue, slowly seeing how it could make a little bit of sense. The Winter Soldier was known for how calculative and methodical he could be in missions. He was a shadow, quiet and swift. No one could tell what was going through his mind at any given moment. However, he did have moments where he was ruthless and vicious, not caring if it hurt others in the process. The only difference is with Bucky now vs then, he had emotions overriding his thoughts and mind. He wasn’t blank.

The crap Vivian pulled had pulled on him was like a vice, and he was letting his insecurities override his rationality. Even though it still didn’t totally line up, it still made sense to a degree. He was scared she would leave him, and the dormant instincts of protecting they had drilled in his head kicked in. She hadn’t realized how bad this had become and how dangerous the entire situation was. Y/N knew it was serious, but not this serious.

“Captain Rogers.” FRIDAY interrupted their epiphany, causing Y/N to nearly fly out of her skin. Steve bit the inside of his cheek and scrubbed his hand down his face.

“Yes, FRIDAY?”

“Boss needs you at the hanger. King T’challa and his sister will be here in five to speak with you both.” The AI responded. Both Y/N and Steve shot each other a confused look.

“Did he mention why they’re here?” He asked.

“No, just that they want to speak with you after they land.”

Steve inhaled deeply, clenching and unclenching his fist. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t mind such an unexpected visit from them, however, right now he didn’t want to leave Y/N alone. Not when she was hurting and needing support.

“Go ahead.” Y/N urged gently. “I’ll be okay. I probably should take a minute to wrap my brain around this alone.”

“Are you sure?” Steve turned to her and frowned. She nodded and looked down at her hands.

“I’ll be okay. Really. I just… I don’t want to go back to my room right now.” She murmured softly. Steve mulled over his options before finally giving with a heavy sigh.

“You should probably stay here. I don’t think Bucky will think to look here first, so it might be best.” He reasoned. He slowly rose and stared down at Y/N as she sniffled quietly. “I’ll make sure FRIDAY only opens for me. Try not to worry too much about everything right now. When I get back we’ll figure something out. We can’t let things keep escalating the way they are anymore though.”

Y/N agreed and nodded, reaching for the tissue box once again. Steve hesitated a moment before he walked over to his shoes to slip on.

“I shouldn’t be gone too long. I’ll tell FRIDAY to let you know if anything changes.” He said and stopped at the door. Y/N sent him a tight-lipped smile and waved her hand.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you get back.”

With a sharp jerk of his chin, Steve shot her one last glance over his shoulder before he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. Making sure he told FRIDAY to keep his room in lockdown until he said it was clear, Steve made his way to the hanger with his stomach in knots. Both his best friend and his close friend were hurting. And he needed to figure out a way to fix this.

NSFW Tag: (Open- MUST BE 18+, NO EXCEPTIONS)

@cherrynat / @221bshrlocked / @theapologies / @lusts-of-the-flesh / @rowencarter3 / @littlehellflame / @buckyb4rnacle / @diinofayce / @sincerelymlg / @punkrockhippiefromthefourties / @slytherinlifeislove / @moderapoppins / @nirinael-the-rising-demon / @girlwhoisfearless / @whatisanniedoin / @xxashy999xx / @cinema212 / @sergeantjbuckybarnes / @lokigodofsasss / @myforeveryoungblog / @serpentbaby / @palaiasaurus64 / @electra-hxart / @libbymouse / @disaster-rose /

What Have I Done Tag List: (CLOSED)

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Let me know if I missed you, the strike means I can’t tag you for some reason.)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel #fanfic #winter soldier #what have i done ch 11

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sassy-starker · 5 years

Text

Moonlight And A Guest

This is a continuation of Talk Too Much, which was my first starker fic! This ended up being much longer than I thought it would be, but I like it a lot. Thank you all for your patience while I get into the swing of my classes and getting used to college!

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: use of the word ‘p*dophile’ and physical bullying

+++

Peter and Tony had been dating since Peter’s seventeenth birthday, in love and as happy together as they could be, but there was one problem.

Nobody knew they were together.

Okay, that was an extreme statement. Rhodey knew about them, of course, as Tony had immediately run to him after Peter had left and told him everything. The colonel, of course, was not surprised in the slightest, but happy for Tony nonetheless.

Still, nobody knew except for Rhodey and the couple was beginning to get anxious. They knew Peter would get shoved into the spotlight and the two would get ripped to shreds by the press for their age difference. Tony didn’t want that for his young lover but knew it was better than someone dropping an anonymous hint to a magazine and the whole thing being turned into a scandal that it isn’t. So, they decided that they were going to slowly tell the people closest to them and wait until Peter was done with high school to tell the entire world.

They decided to tell Pepper first.

+++

Peter shivered in the cold January air as he dashed from the car Happy had picked him up into the side entrance of Stark Tower. Even with his sweater, coat, scarf, and hat, he felt like he was going to contract hypothermia. He cursed his inability to thermoregulate as he stepped out of the cold and into the warm building.

“Hello, Peter!” FRIDAY greeted cheerily as the boy stepped into the elevator. “Boss is in the lab and Colonel Rhodes is in the living room. Boss wanted to know if you wanted Chinese or Italian takeout tonight and said that he wouldn’t take ‘I’m fine with anything’ as an answer.”

Peter laughed at that.

“Tell him I’d like Italian,” he replied to the AI. She gave him her assurance that she would tell him and the elevator fell quiet, soft music playing. The elevator stopped and Peter realized that it wasn’t the floor for the lab. He opened mouth to ask FRIDAY what was happening, but the doors opened and revealed Pepper fucking Potts before he could say anything.

“Peter!” Pepper exclaimed, walking onto the elevator and standing next to him. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Ms. Potts,” he replied shakily, his nerves about telling her of his and Tony’s relationship returning. “How are you?”

“I’m doing fine,” she told him, “but you can just call me ‘Pepper’. We’ve known each other for over two years, Peter.

“Uh, alright, Pepper.”

They fell silent, Peter staring down at his shoes and Pepper looking at him with concern.

“Are you okay, Peter? You seem nervous.”

Peter was saved from having to reply by the elevator dinging to signal that it had reached the lab. He thanked every Norse god he could think of for the mercy.

“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine! See you later, Pepper!” Peter shouted awkwardly as he quickly exited the elevator and walked through the glass doors to get to the lab, shutting it behind him and immediately locking it.

As the elevator doors closed and it started to keep moving, Peter fell against the door to the lab and leaned his head back on it, hands coming up to rub at his eyes in exasperation and embarrassment.

“Everything okay, love?” Tony asked him softly, standing up from his workstation and making his way over. Peter let his arms fall back down by his sides and opened his eyes, pushing off from the door to look at his boyfriend.

“I’m just . . .” he started but trailed off, shoulders sagging and looking down to the floor. Tony moved closer and wrapped his arms around him, letting Peter bury his head into the crook of his neck. He rubbed soft circles on his lover’s back, knowing what calmed him down.

When Peter finally pulled away, he started rambling. “I’m just nervous about telling Pepper and I don’t know what her reaction will be and I ran into her on the elevator and it was really awkward. What if she hates me after we tell her? Would you break up with me? I don’t want to ruin things with your CEO and it could just fall apart and I wouldn’t want to drag you down and it’s just really scary and I’m just . . . worried.”

Tony pulled him into another hug, holding him tight. Tears began to slowly leak out from Peter’s eyes, Tony being able to feel them as they stained his shirt, not that he minded at all.

“Pete, sweetheart, she’s not going to hate you,” Tony comforted him, resting his chin on Peter’s head. “And even if she did, I wouldn’t leave you because of it. I get that you’re scared, and I am too, but I would give up everything for you. If she doesn’t like you, us, then it might be awkward when we’re working together, but I would give up the entire world for you. I would sacrifice the entire universe.”

“Besides, it’s not like I could ever hate you,” a voice said from the doorway. Peter and Tony quickly separated and turned around, only to see Pepper leaning against the doorway with a smile on her face and holding up her keycard to show how she got in. The younger wiped away his tears as he stared at her in shock.

“It’s . . . going to take some getting used to,” she admitted, pushing herself off of where she was leaning and walking forward to stand right in front of them, “but I think you two are perfect together, though you’ll probably give me a good amount of PR headaches once you announce it. Still . . .”

Pepper paused and looked at Peter with a sincere look of care in her eyes.

“I could never hate you, Peter.”

Peter rushed forward and threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, a huge smile painted across his face. Pepper was a bit taken aback, but still hugged the younger man back with just as much emotion.

They stayed like that for a few seconds before Pepper looked up at Tony and motioned for him to join the hug.

“Okay, okay,” Tony relented and put his arms around the two of them in a loving hug, a smile across his face despite his exasperated tone.

“We’re a family,” Pepper said into the embrace. “A weird, strange, insane family, but a family nonetheless.”

Peter felt warm inside.

+++

They decided their safest bet was to tell Ned and MJ next.

+++

‘You can do this’ was the text Tony sent when Peter told him that he was going to tell his friends during lunch in the library.

P: can I though?

T: Stop being an edgy gen z kid and go tell them

P: okay, okay. I love you

T: Love you too

Peter trudged to the library, trying to delay having to tell his friends. Seemingly too soon, he found himself in front of the doors and knew he couldn’t prolong it anymore.

Peter took a deep breath and pushed the doors open, walking in and heading to the table that he and his friends always sat at. It was hidden away in a secluded area of medical books that nobody actually cared about, which made it the perfect spot for them to hang out in.

When Peter got to the table, Ned and MJ were already there, Ned scrolling on his laptop and MJ buried in a book. He sat down at his usual chair, gaining their attention. Ned pushed his laptop aside and MJ lowered the book a bit, just enough to see him.

“Took you long enough,” MJ jabbed, but Peter knew she didn’t actually mean it.

“Yeah, dude. What took you so long?” Ned added on without a greeting.

“Well, I was, uh,” Peter stammered out, wondering how he was going to phrase his words.

“You were what?” MJ questioned, closing her book and setting it down on the table. Ned leaned forward in interest while she gave Peter a suspicious look.

“I’m dating someone!” Peter blurted out, intimidated by their staring.

“Dude! Congrats!” Ned cheered, holding his hand out for a fistbump, which Peter returned, of course.

“I’m impressed,” MJ told him with a slightly less cold look than usual.

“Who is it?” Ned asked with excitement laced into his tone and a smile painted across his face.

“Well, the funny thing is, uh-” Peter started but was cut off by his phone, which he had set on the table, buzzing with a text. He reached for it, but MJ grabbed it first. Before Peter even had a chance to say anything, she read off the message.

“‘Meant to tell you that I added a heating system to the suit since you can’t thermoregulate and it’s getting cold out,'” she read off of his screen, eyes squinting at the message. Both Ned and Peter opened their mouths to talk but were cut off by another message.

“‘Which you should’ve told me about earlier because you nearly died and scared the hell out of me.’”

Another message came in.

“‘You’re gonna kill me one day, babe.’”

And one more.

“‘But I love you. I’ll see you this afternoon.’”

Peter, finally coming out of his shock, snatched the phone away from her and shut it off, slipping it into his backpack and avoiding eye contact with his friends.

“Holy shit,” Ned whispered in amazement, staring at Peter.

“Holy shit is right,” MJ added with disbelief laced into her tone. “Like, I could guess Spider-Man, but, holy shit, dating Tony Stark? I don’t . . . what the fuck?”

“Haha, uh, yeah,” Peter chuckled awkwardly, looking up at his friends and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kind of a . . . thing and I was going to tell you guys today, but you sorta found out on your own, so . . . now you know, I guess.”

Silence filled the space in the little area, nobody daring to break the silence between them.

“How long have you guys been . . .?” Ned asked, trailing off at the end.

“Dating? A little over a year. We got together on my, uh, seventeenth birthday,” Peter told him with a small shrug.

“I would make a sugar daddy joke,” MJ chimed in, still staring at her friend with wide eyes, “but I’m too in shock to think of a good one.”

“Fair enough.”

When Peter got to the tower and Tony asked how telling his friends went, he simply replied, “Not the worst, but probably the strangest.”

+++

And then they were up to the person that scared Peter the most: May Parker

+++

“Nope! I can’t do this! Let’s save it for another day!” Peter exclaimed, hand hovering over the handle to the car door.

“You specifically told me to not let you chicken out of this,” Tony told him in amusement, trying to hide his own worry, “so you’ve gotta go do this.”

“And I’m also going to forever curse my past self for saying that,” Peter replied, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes, shoulders sagging.

Tony put a comforting arm around him and let Peter rest his head on his shoulder, knowing physical touch would help the boy calm down. He knew he was right when Peter let out a sigh of relief and leaned into the touch.

“It’s gonna be okay, love,” Tony assured him softly. “I’ve got you and I’ll be beside you the whole time.”

“Okay, let’s do this,” Peter said after a few moments, lifting his head up and turning to the car door. He hesitated as he went to open the door, but did it after a second and climbed out, turning around and watching Tony do the same.

Tony closed the car door behind them and followed Peter into the apartment building. They walked up the stairs, both grateful that they didn’t run into any of the neighbors, as it would be difficult to explain why Peter was just hanging out and talking to Tony Stark, world-famous billionaire and superhero.

When they reached Peter’s apartment, he slowly pulled his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and walking in, Tony right behind him. They immediately saw May pulling something out of the fridge, back toward them.

“Oh! Hey, Peter! I was just-” May stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Tony standing behind Peter with a slightly nervous smile on his face. “Oh, uh, hey, Tony. Come on in. What do you need?”

“We need to talk to you,” Tony simply told her, trying and failing to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

May looked at her nephew, who nodded and motioned toward the couch. Slowly, she shut the door and made her way to the chair by the couch, hesitation in her every move. Peter and Tony walked over and sat down on the couch and May noticed they were sitting slightly closer than she thought people usually would, but just chalked it up to her making things up.

“What��s going on?” she asked, gazing looking from one to the other suspiciously.

“Well, Aunt May, I, uh, well, we . . .” Peter started, stuttering over his words and looking to Tony with worry. Tony met his gaze with one of assurance and comfort. Peter put his head in his hands for a second before meeting his aunt’s gaze and blurting out, “Tony and I are dating.”

Silence fell over the room for a second as May tried to process what Peter had said. Her nephew was looking anywhere but at her and Tony had a comforting hand on his back.

“Well, I, uh, wasn’t expecting that,” May admitted, eyes slightly wide and a bit of shock on her face. “I thought you were going to say that you had to go on a dangerous mission or have an STD. Wait, you don’t have an STD, do you?!”

“No!” Peter shouted, flushing with embarrassment. “I don’t have an STD!”

Tony could barely hold back his laughter at the whole situation, but May must’ve seen enough amusement on his face to say something.

“I’m expecting it to stay that way, Stark,” she told him with a cold glare that intimidated him like no villain could. “Be good to my nephew.”

“I promise I will, Ms, Parker,” he replied seriously. “There is no other way I would want him to be treated.”

She was satisfied with that answer.

+++

The next time someone found out, it was an accident

+++ “How are we going to announce it?” Peter asked Tony, half asleep but still a bit worried.

It had been a week since the two had told May about their relationship and everything was going well. Peter had been allowed to go to the tower more since they told his aunt because she knew what it was like to be young and in love.

Currently, the two were the couch in the penthouse living room, a movie on in the background. Peter had his head in Tony’s lap and the older was running his fingers through his younger lover’s soft hair. Peter was leaning into his touch and letting himself get lulled to sleep by the gentle movements.

“How do you want to?” Tony replied, looking down at Peter.

“I don’t really know how someone would announce anything to the world,” Peter admitted with a small smile. “Should we have a press conference?”

“Too stuffy. And bright. And loud. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever want to go to a press conference again.”

“You say that as if you wanted to go to any press conference in the first place.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting attacked by the one person who I thought I could trust!” Tony exclaimed in feign offense and got back at Peter by tugging a bit at his hair, knowing it would rile him up.

And, as expected, Peter gave out a moan. He quickly brought a hand to his mouth to stop it, cheeks turning red in embarrassment. Tony grabbed the hand, though, and pulled it away, kissing each of his knuckles one-by-one.

“I wanna hear those beautiful moans, baby,” Tony told him a sultry voice, which only made Peter blush more. He yanked on his younger lover’s hair again, a bit harder this time, and Peter moaned louder.

Peter sat up from where he was laying and swung a leg over Tony’s lap so he was straddling him, faces close together. Tony made the move to put their lips together, sweet and passionate against each other.

Tony grabbed Peter’s ass, squeezing it and making him gasp. The older used it to his advantage and moved his tongue into his lover’s mouth, not even having to fight for dominance. Peter began to slowly move, grinding their cocks together slowly with friction building up. They pulled away and looked at each other with loving smiles before putting their foreheads against each other. Tony grabbed the hem of Peter’s shirt and started to pull it up when the elevator dinged, letting them know someone was there.

Peter scrambled off Tony, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch, and sat down next to the man, twisting around and looking at who was there.

It was (some of) the Avengers.

The fucking Avengers.

As in, Peter’s childhood idols, the Avengers.

Peter chose to blame Loki for this one.

Peter and Tony stared at them for a while in shock while three of the four Avengers gave them the same look in return, especially to Peter. The two lovers were still panting slightly, but their breaths were slowly returning to normal.

Surprisingly, the first person to speak up was Peter.

“And, yeah, no. I’m too gay for this shit. Not today, Satan. I’m going to the lab,” Peter announced with an exasperated tone. He stood up, Tony getting up, too, and walked past the Avengers, who had stepped out of the elevator and into the room, to get to the hall. As he passed, he muttered, “Hey, Nat.”

“Hey, Pete,” she greeted back with a teasing look. “Congrats on the relationship.”

From down the hall, they could hear Peter shout, “Shut the fuck up!”

Natasha and Tony looked at each other for a second before laughing, leaving the other Avengers confused.

“I’m sorry, but who was that?” Steve asked the question that everybody was wondering.

“Yeah, I thought you didn’t do flings anymore, Tony,” Sam added on.

“Wait, you think Peter’s a fling?” Tony questioned, slight confusion on his face.

“Well, yeah,” Sam told him, confusion on his face, too. “Is he not?”

“He’s my boyfriend! We’ve been together for over a year!” Tony exclaimed with an offended tone.

“He seems familiar,” Bucky chimed in, “like I know him from somewhere.”

“That’s because you do,” Natasha told him, making everybody look over to her. She looked over to Tony to get confirmation to tell them, to which she received a nod. “He’s Spider-Man.”

“What?!” Sam exclaimed while Bucky just had a shocked look on his face.

“How old is he!?” Steve interrogated Tony, remembering how young Spider-Man had sounded at the airport. Peter’s voice had, of course, gotten lower over the years, so it wasn’t as young-sounding now.

“Eighteen,” Tony told him.

“Tony, he’s a child! You can’t be dating him! This is ridiculous! What type of person are you?! You’re disgusting!” Steve shouted at him, barely stopping to breath.

“Steve-” Tony started.

“No! You can’t defend yourself here! This is irresponsible and wrong!”

“Steve, let up, man,” Sam told him, trying to get the man to stop shouting at the billionaire.

“Are you trying to defend him, Sam?! He is dating an eighteen-year-old!” Steve yelled at his friend.

“Steve-” Tony tried again, hurt written all over his face.

“Don’t even start with me, Stark! You can’t-”

“Steve! Stand down!” Bucky shouted at his old friend, staring him directly in the eyes.

“Bucky, he’s a p*dophile! He-” Steve began but was cut off by a knife whizzing right by his face, almost close enough to cut him but narrowly avoiding it. Before the knife could lodge itself in the wall, it was stopped in midair. When everybody looked over, they saw that Peter had caught it and was staring Natasha dead in the eyes.

“Violence? Really, Nat? I thought you were better than this,” he told her in a serious tone, but you could see that he was joking by the way his eyes sparkled.

Natasha laughed and walked over, Peter handing the knife back to her. She gave him a light punch to the arm, Peter lightly elbowing her in response.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I think you are the only one who could act this way to Nat and not get killed,” Tony told Peter with a smile.

“You’re right,” Natasha replied with a tone that showed that it was a warning to them.

“Mr. Steve Rogers, I see your concern,” Peter said formally with a cold note in his voice, stepping away from Natasha and toward Steve, “but I can assure you that I am able to make smart and rational decisions for myself, regarding my schooling, future, and love life. If you don’t like Tony and I being together, then feel free to fuck off, because you aren’t going to change anything.”

The room fell quiet, everybody looking between Peter and Steve, who were staring straight at each other. Steve was debating inside his head as he looked at the younger man, who was giving him a solid, cold glare.

“I suppose,” Steve muttered, breaking the silence, “that I could try to put my thoughts aside right now and trust you both as adults who can make reasonable decisions and will continue to see your relationship to try and understand it.”

Peter began to smile, proud of himself for getting the man to trust them as adults. Tony gave Peter a loving look, which the younger returned, and Sam and Bucky were riding on the wave of pure relief that Steve was at least trying to trust the two. Natasha gave a small smile, tucking her knife back into her belt.

+++

“Would you trust me to make it a surprise?” Tony asked Peter.

The two were laying in Tony’s their bed, Peter curled up against Tony with his head in the crook of his neck and Tony’s chin on top of Peter’s head. They were close together and warm in the large bed, just talking.

“What do you mean?” Peter questioned, voice muffled by the position his head was in.

“Like, I’ll find a way to show that we’re dating by randomly showing up to hang out with you or pick you up or something,” Tony explained. “Then, regular people will see what happened so nobody can make assumptions right off the bat and we can get amateur video footage to show what happened and stuff.”

“Mmm,” Peter hummed, thinking about it. “This is probably the dumbest thing I’m ever going to say, but I trust you.”

+++

“And the theme of this year’s prom is . . . Moonlight And A Guest!” the student president announced over the speaker system. “So, get ready, seniors, for the biggest night of the year for you! Everybody gets a plus one and tickets will be going on sale this Friday! See you at prom!”

The classroom filled with chatter, but Peter really paid no mind, instead listening to Ned try and work out a plan to ask Betty to prom. MJ was buried in a book, as always, and Peter wasn’t sure if she would even consider going to prom. He never really knew with her.

“Penis Parker!”

Peter groaned internally and turned around to face Flash.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll understand if you want to sit this party out,” Flash told him, leaning his hands on Peter’s desk to tower over him. “After all, it’s Moonlight And A Guest, and I don’t think you could even get your mom to accompany you. Oh wait, she’s dead anyway!”

“Flash, you can’t even get in a relationship that lasts for more than two and a half weeks, so I don’t think you have the right to give me advice on love,” Peter shot back. He immediately regretted it, though, when Flash gave him a look that told him he would pay for it later.

“I guess I’ve rubbed off on you,” MJ said once Flash had walked off.

“Yeah, I guess you have.”

+++

Peter had hoped that he could run from the school building as soon as the final bell rang in order to avoid Flash, but got held back by his teacher to discuss his absences, which meant he was one of the last people left in the school who wasn’t in a club.

Defeated and knowing his fate, Peter trudged to his locker to grab what he needed to bring home. He pulled out his textbooks and a couple binders and went to close the metal door, but was stopped when it was slammed shut for him. He looked over and saw Flash and his posse of rich kids and dickheads.

‘How are they the most popular kids in school?’ Peter wondered as he looked at them. His thought process was interrupted, though, with a punch to the face that sent him back into the lockers that were already barely an inch away from his head. He got another punch to the cheek and then one more to the nose and he could feel blood start flowing from it.

A punch to the chest knocked the air from his lungs and left him vulnerable to attack. A punch in the stomach and a kick to his right leg sent him sprawling to the floor. And so the attack continued on.

Peter left the school forty-five minutes after school ended, but not without a slight limp, dried blood around his nose, and bruises all over him.

‘Come on, man,’ he thought to himself, ‘you’re Spider-Man. You should be able to handle a couple of high school bullies!’

Peter’s mental berating was brought to an end when he entered the car with Happy and shut the door behind him.

“You’re forty-five minutes late! Where the hell were-” Happy cut himself off as he looked into the rearview mirror and saw the state Peter was in. “What happened?”

“Nothing important,” Peter assured him, but his voice cracked. “It looks worse than it is.”

“It sure looks important,” Happy told him with a disbelieving look.

“I’m fine, Happy.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me about it,” Happy said, starting the car, “then that’s okay, but you’ve gotta at least talk to Tony.”

Begrudgingly, Peter nodded his head in affirmation and they began their drive, Happy not putting up the partition the entire time.

When they arrived at the tower, Peter got out and thanked Happy, limping slightly to the side entrance and entering Stark Tower.

“Peter, you appear to be very hurt,” FRIDAY said with concern in her voice despite the fact she was an AI. “I suggest you get medical assistance.”

“I’m okay, Fri. No need to worry,” he assured, but it wasn’t very convincing.

When Peter exited the elevator, he immediately saw Tony sitting on the couch, scrolling through something on his Stark Pad, obviously absorbed in his work. When he began to walk forward, though, the man looked up with a smile.

“Hey, love! How was your-” Tony started but cut himself off once seeing what Peter looked like. He got up and rushed over, checking the younger man over and trying to assess the damage.

“Pete, what happened?” he questioned gently, looking up to meet Peter’s eyes. The younger man, though, kept his eyes focused on his shoes.

“It’s nothing,” Peter told him. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony called out, not believing Peter, “give me a scan and assessment.”

“It appears Mr. Parker has several bruises, a dislocated shoulder and had a bloody nose,” the AI informed him in an almost sad tone.

“That doesn’t sound fine to me,” Tony told Peter, gently taking his lover’s hand and leading him over to the couch. “What actually happened?”

“Well, they announced the theme for prom, and it’s Moonlight And A Guest, so everybody gets a plus one. This kid, uh, he’s been . . . bullying me, I guess, since the beginning of high school. So he made a joke about me having nobody to go with, said I probably couldn’t even get my mom to go with me and then . . . uh . . . turned it into a joke about how my mom is dead.”

“Peter, I-”

“That’s not the end. I shot back at him about how short his relationships are and how he can’t give me advice about love, so he and his posse, uh, well . . . yeah, and now I’m here.”

It became quiet between the two. Peter looked down at his lap, embarrassed, but Tony grabbed his hand and held it tight, not letting him go.

“Let’s get you patched up.”

+++

Peter wanted to leave the prom the moment he entered.

Moonlight And A Guest was held in a fancy venue not too far from the school. It was an old warehouse that had been bought and remodeled to be made into a venue for weddings, bar or bat mitzvahs, and, apparently, high school proms. The floors were concrete and there were pipes on the ceiling, but they hung stars from the pipes and had put in tables, chairs, and a bar. It was only serving non-alcoholic drinks, obviously. The real drinking was reserved for the after-party someone would throw at their house, usually a rich kid.

Peter hated the suit he was in, and the music, and the lights, and all the people. It felt miserable, but he didn’t want to miss out on prom. He was sitting on a plush couch in the very back of the venue, MJ sitting on the other end and reading a book. Ned had disappeared to dance with Betty, meaning Peter was practically alone. Plus, Ned was his ride, so he couldn’t really go anywhere without him.

Most of the songs were pop and rap, as it wasn’t a big slow dancing event. It was a high school prom after all. Peter was cursing himself for not bringing earplugs.

Peter was distracted from his misery by a text.

T: How’s prom?

P: awful

T: I’m sorry, love

P: it’s not your fault. it is kinda my fault for coming

T: Well, it might not be completely terrible

P: it already is

T: You just gotta get into it! Go request a song or something!

P: fine, I’ll go request a song, but that’s as far as I’m going for prom

T: That’s something at least!

Peter got up and tucked his phone into his pocket, pushing his way through the boards of teens to get across the venue and to the DJ, who was an actual professional hired by the prom committee.

“Hey, man!” the DJ greeted over the music. “You got a song request?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter replied. “Bloom by The Paper Kites.”

“Got it, dude!”

Peter took a deep breath and began walking back through the crowd. He was about half-way through when his phone buzzed with a message. He pulled it out of his pocket, not pausing in his movements. When he looked at the text, though, he froze and confusion washed over him

T: Where are you in the venue?

P: what?

T: Where are you in the prom venue?

P: I’m in the middle of the crowd????

T: Got it

That’s when people started going silent in the room, looking toward the door. People noticed others going quiet and saw what they did, a ripple effect going through the crowd until they were all silent and facing the door, the only sound being the music, which had also been quieted.

Peter turned and looked and was met by the sight of Tony Stark.

His boyfriend was dressed up in a black suit with the purple tie Peter had given to him as a present. In his right hand, he was holding a corsage of white roses that had been delicately placed together just right.

Unphased by all the staring, as he had gotten used to it after spending his entire life in the eyes of the press, Tony began to walk straight through the venue, the crowd splitting for him like he was Moses at the Red Sea.

Everybody watched in confusion as Peter didn’t move for Tony, instead staring him straight in the eyes with an amused look on his face. When Tony saw Peter, unmoving and looking close to laughter, a giant smile painted itself across his face. He walked up and stopped right in front of Peter.

Those who weren’t already recording the entire thing pulled out their phones to do so.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at a huge conference in Japan right now?” Peter asked him with a teasing smile. His peers watched the two, confused as to why Peter was just talking to Tony Stark like it was nothing.

“Pepper let me leave early,” Tony replied.

“Did she now?”

“She did! I told her what was going on and she let me come back!”

Peter paused, smile fading away and being replaced with a mix of shock, confusion, and joy.

“You told Pepper that I was going to prom and she let you drop everything to come back to New York for it? You went all that way for me?” Peter asked him softly.

“Of course I did,” Tony told him, taking Peter’s hand and lifting it up to put on the corsage. People were beginning to whisper, wondering what the hell was happening and why Tony Stark was at their senior prom and putting a corsage on Peter Parker.

“That’s a fifteen-hour flight and possibly lost business because of you leaving a conference, Tones,” Peter chided but looked down at the corsage for a moment before looking back up at Tony lovingly.

“What? Did you think I was going to leave my boyfriend hanging at his senior prom?” Tony questioned with a joking smile.

The whispers grew louder and were full of questions without answers. People who had their phones out were even more focused on filming the entire interaction. Nobody was noticing what music was coming on until Peter spoke up again.

“This is the song I requested,” he pointed out quietly, pointing upwards to motion to it as the soft guitar intro played.

“In that case, may I have this dance?” Tony asked, offering his hand. Peter laughed and put his hand in Tony’s, letting his boyfriend drag him into a slow dance.

In the morning when I wake

And the sun is coming through

Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness

And you fill my head with you.

“Why are you really here, Tones?” Peter asked quietly as they danced, making sure nobody could hear them.

“You really wanna know?” Tony replied in a whisper

Peter nodded.

Shall I write it in a letter?

Should I try to get it down?

Oh, you fill my head with pieces

Of a song I can’t get out.

“There are a couple reasons,” Tony admitted. “I wanted to announce our relationship and thought this was a romantic way to do it, I wanted to show up that kid who beat you up, and . . . I wanted to be here at your prom. This is the most romantic thing a high school kid can go to, and I wanted to give you the real experience of going with a date.”

Can I be close to you?

Ooh-oo-oo-ooh, ooh-oo-oo-ooh

Can I be close to you?

Ooh-oo-oo-ooh, ooh-oo-oo-ooh

“You really wanted all of that for me?”

“Of course, love.”

Can I take you to a moment

Where the fields are painted gold?

And the trees are filled with memories

Of the feelings never told?

“Pepper is going to kill you,” Peter told him, bringing his voice back to its normal volume.

“She said I could go!” Tony defended, spinning Peter around.

“Yeah, but it’s still a complete PR nightmare. Romantic? Yes. But the press will be all over it, tabloids will make it out to be terrible, and stocks will drop.

“I don’t care about all of that as much as I care about you.”

When the evening pulls the sundown

And the day is almost through

Oh, the whole world, it is sleeping

But my world is you

Tears filled Peter’s eyes as he thought about how Tony would give up the entire universe for him and knew that he would do the same for Tony.

“I love you,” Peter told him simply, but it was full of emotion and compassion.

“I love you too,” Tony responded. “I love you more than words can say.

Can I be close to you?

Oh ooh ooh, ooh ooh

Can I be close to you?

Oh ooh ooh, ooh ooh

Can I be close to you?

Oh ooh ooh, ooh ooh

Can I be close to you?

Oh ooh ooh, ooh ooh

Can I be close to you?

Ooh, ooh

As the song ended, Tony and Peter leaned forward and shared a kiss. Short and sweet, but a kiss filled with everything they had.

“You wanna ditch your senior prom?” Tony asked his boyfriend.

“Is that even a question?”

+++

‘Tony Stark’s New Boyfriend?’

‘Who Is The Mysterious Peter Parker?’

‘Tony Stark Crashes A High School Prom’

#starker #tony stark/peter parker #starker fic #starker fanfiction #axiwrites #pro starker #prom #im proud of this

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