
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11802108.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Spider-Man:_Homecoming_(2017)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Parker/Tony_Stark, One-Sided_-_Relationship, IT'S_ONE-SIDED_-
      Relationship
  Character:
      Peter_Parker
  Additional Tags:
      the_underage_is_in_a_dream, but_the_dream_is_described_explicitly_enough
      that_the_warning_is_necessary, stay_safe_nyall, Wet_Dream, god_thats_such
      an_awkward_tag, vent_fic, Emotional_Manipulation, (in_a_dream), part_of_a
      series, stands_alone_if_you_are_good_at_inferring_things, otherwise_youll
      wanna_read_the_first_one_first, HEY_ALSO, the_dream_is_very_dubconney!!!,
      Bisexual_Character, Bisexual_Tony_Stark, Autistic_Character, Autistic
      Peter_Parker, Suicidal_Ideation, Internalised_ableism
  Series:
      Part 2 of no_no_no
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-14 Completed: 2017-10-27 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 3201
****** let's not get selfish ******
by CoralFlowerBad_(CoralFlower)
Summary
     “Why were you looking up fanfiction,” the word rolls off his tongue
     like an expletive, and you shudder, “at three AM? Fanfiction about
     the two of us, Peter, really, I know you want attention, but this
     just seems a little extreme.” You look back up at him to see that
     he’s watching you shrewdly, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you think?”
     (if depictions of emotionally abusive behavior are iffy for you, then
     you probably shouldn't read this.)
Notes
     the stunning weird sequel to the original awkward vent fic. still a
     vent fic. if youre looking for peter/tony that glosses over the age
     gap this isnt a fic for you.
     also even if i write more of this theyre never gonna fuck. or do
     anything like that. so if thats what youre wanting maybe just uhh
     quit here.
     one last warning before we begin: if you are triggered by depictions
     of emotional abuse or manipulation, this fic will probably be bad for
     you! please stay safe.
      
     epigraph_source
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                No no no, you know it will always just be me...
                                        
===============================================================================


The click of your bedroom lock makes you flinch. You should have noticed
someone coming, and it’s really weird that you didn’t. You must have zoned out.
And it makes more sense once you realise who it is; of course, he’s the only
one who can sneak up on you.
 
You look up into the eyes of Tony Stark, and immediately flush. His expression
is grave.
 
“Mr. Parker,” he says.
 
You nod, unable to bring yourself to respond verbally. There’s a weird
tightness to his movements as he takes a step towards your bed and holds out
his phone, which projects a holographic display into the air. His mouth twists,
and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. He isn’t pleased with you.
 
“Would you mind explaining this, to me?”
 
You squint and lean closer to get a better look at it, and quickly realise that
it’s your browsing history.
 
“That’s, uhh, that’d be my internet history, sir.” You look up to study his
face, which is inscrutable now, half in shadow. He catches you staring, and you
drop your eyes to the carpet.
 
“Why were you looking up fanfiction,” the word rolls off his tongue like an
expletive, and you shudder, “at three AM? Fanfiction about the two of us,
Peter, really, I know you want attention, but this just seems a little
extreme.” You look back up at him to see that he’s watching you shrewdly, one
eyebrow raised. “Don’t you think?”
 
You open your mouth to try to explain that you didn’t do it for attention, you
didn’t even know he was monitoring your internet, but his gaze morphs into
something more speculative than anything else, and you’re left gaping, because
you doubt you could think of anything more compelling than his eyes studying
you like that. Like you’re a painting in a museum.
 
“Close your mouth.”
 
Your jaw snaps shut, and you duck your head, cheeks burning.
 
“Mr. Stark, I-- I promise I wasn’t trying to, to bother you or anything--”
 
“Save it, Peter.”
 
His voice cuts across you like a door slamming shut, and you make a noise that
sounds almost like a sob.
 
The bed dips, and your head snaps up to look at him. There’s a hand on your
thigh now, and your heart is racing, and your anxiety is screaming at you not
to look down in case he lets go.
 
“S-sir?”
 
You can normally hear the whole city in here even when you’re deeply focused,
but somehow the only sound in the whole world is his heart beating as he purses
his lips and looks you over, eyes darting down and then up and then down and up
again. And he leans in--
 
“Down, Peter.”
 
His voice in your ear is heavy, and his tone is firm. You slide off your bed
without question to kneel where he’s pointing, in between his legs, and then
you look up at him.
 
“Mr. Stark?” you say, voice shaky, “Mr. Stark, why are you--”
 
“I hope you didn’t expect to get all of my attention, Peter.”
 
You gasp at his words, and then his hand is on the back of your neck all of a
sudden, you don’t remember him putting it there, but as your eyelids flutter
you struggle for words and finally manage to choke out,
 
“Sir--”
 
“I could ask you to do anything, isn’t that right,” he says, “and you would do
it.”
 
Your mouth opens before you come up with anything to say. His eyebrows twitch
upwards in an are-you-serious sort of way, and you swallow and look back down,
ashamed.
 
“This is pathetic, kid.” His voice isn’t harsh or mean, just exasperated, which
is almost worse. He shakes his head like what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you-you-
troublesome-child.
 
“I-- I know, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry,”
 
“You’re sorry,” he repeats, rolling his eyes. “Right.”
 
You whimper as his fingers take hold of your hair, and a shiver runs down your
spine. Everything is so intense now; he’s touching you, he’s touching you, he’s
touching you.
 
“The thing is, Peter, I don’t believe you.”
 
You choke on a sob, and then just hold your breath so you won’t start crying,
because with Tony Stark, looking cool is more important than oxygen. You can’t
bring yourself to look at him; he sounds so...
 
Disappointed isn’t even the right word, because that implies emotional
investment on his part. He sounds like he doesn’t really care, like he’s just
annoyed to have to spend time on this.
 
“Sorry, sorry, really, I’m--”
 
“Prove it.”
 
You nod wordlessly, and unzip his fly as you try to calm down. It’s not
working; your hands are shaking, and your breath comes in quick gasps.
 
And then your hand is on his cock and you’re trying to figure out exactly how
to do this, because fantasising is one thing, but this? This is for real. You
look up at him uncertainly, and his expression is impatient. Your cheeks heat
up, and you look back down.
 
“Mr. Stark--”
 
“What now, kid?”
 
You swallow the bitterness and shrug.
 
“Nevermind.”
 
===============================================================================


You wake up feeling sick to your stomach, and roll over onto your side to curl
up in a ball. As you hug your knees to your chest, you feel a few tears
slipping out of your eyes, and mutter a cuss word under your breath. You don’t
want to be turned on right now. This is messed up.
 
You feel like he’s right, though. Like even though he never said outright that
you’re a burden he wishes he never tried to shoulder, you can tell it’s true.
You get into trouble too much.
 
It was a dream,  you tell yourself.  Just a ridiculous dream.
 
You’re anxious now about what the real Tony Stark would think if he knew about
you looking up fanfiction. Would he confront you about it? Would he expect an
apology? Would he shove you to your knees and make you prove you meant it?
 
You shudder, and immediately suppress that line of thought. If you start hoping
for it, that’ll leave you vulnerable. You have to actually speak out loud to
remind yourself this wouldn’t be a good thing,
 
“He’s a middle-aged adult, he could fuck me over so easily and if he’s
interested that means I gotta get the fuck out.”
 
You shut your eyes and just listen to the city, the cars and shouting even
though it’s very late at night. The city never sleeps. You doubt that you’ll
manage it either. Oh well. It’s not like you expected to anyway. Just the fact
that you managed to sleep long enough to hit a REM cycle is a surprise to you.
You roll over to face the door, and don’t even bother to correct yourself when
you notice that you’re wishing the dream was real.
Chapter End Notes
     please comment if you liked this! im considering writing more; i have
     some dialogue kinda mapped out (actual dialogue that's not just a
     dream? in my story? it's more likely than you think) but i just want
     to make it clear: if i end up polishing that up, this story still
     will not include any peter/tony thats not one-sided.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter by CoralFlower, CoralFlowerBad_(CoralFlower)
Chapter Notes
     warning for mentions of suicidal ideation, internalised ableism
He shows up in your room, he’s there when you get home, and you stop dead in
your tracks. He’s sitting on your bed, and he gestures at you to come in. You
do, and he stands up to shut and lock the door behind you.
You’re hyperaware of how shaky your voice is when you ask him,
“You... Is this actually real? What are you doing here?”
He cocks his head just so to the side, still standing between you and the door-
- there’s always the window, though-- and asks,
“I get doubting it the first time, but why would you think that now? Especially
with every other time you’ve seen me since then,”
“What, thrice?” you bite out, bitterly, and glare at the floor. He heaves a
sigh, and continues.
“As for what I’m doing here, we found something, ah... worrisome in your search
history,” you make a mortified sort of choking noise, “and before you freak
out, we aren’t looking at everything, just watching for phrases that indicate
self destructive behavior.”
You frown.
“You mean--”
“Yes, I do mean.”
“That was-- that was just-- I wasn’t gonna do anything, besides I already know
I can’t fucking die from this shit--”
“Do you kiss your mother-- fuckin’ gorgeous aunt with that mouth? And yes, you
can die, Mr. Invincible Teenaged Spider Boy. What I’m worried about is how you
think you know this.”
His gaze is piercing, and his expression is severe. This is the most serious
you think you’ve seen him, except possibly the last time. You swallow weakly
and look away.
“Can I phone a friend?”
He sighs heavily.
“Talk to me, Peter. There’s something going on, isn’t there, something I don’t
know about. Something that explains both the searches about,” he gestures
instead of saying it out loud, and you grimace at the weirded out look on his
face, “and this... this whole doubting reality thing you apparently have going
on.”
You swallow.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
He sits down beside you on the bed, and you flinch, but he doesn’t touch you,
just says,
“You can start with the second question if that’d be easier for you.”
You avert your eyes, and mutter,
“I’ve been having dreams.”
He pauses before answering.
“...Dreams?”
“...about you,” you admit, voice barely louder than a whisper. You chance
looking at his face, and see his eyebrows shoot up. You flush.
“What sort of dreams?”
You don’t say anything, instead just avoiding eye contact and trying to stop
blushing. You’re pretty sure he infers what sort from your embarrassed
behavior.
“Oh. Wow. God, damn.”
You nod, still unable to look directly at him, and he takes a deep, shaky
breath and mutters damn under his breath once more. He gets up and opens the
door, leaves it open, and doesn’t sit back down. He leans against your
bookshelf instead.
“...You know this isn’t-- I don’t feel anything like that towards you. At all.
I might be bi, and I get that we get a bad rap from the media, but I’m not a
pedophile. And this,” he gestures between the two of you, “is never going to be
like that, because that isn’t what you need from me and honestly, Peter, that’d
be fucked. Not because we’re both men, mind you-- though of course it’s alright
if you aren’t, you know, a guy, after all, you can be spider-woman or spider-
person if that’s what feels right to you--”
“I know! Okay, I know all that. I just... I want you to notice me anyway, it
feels like you don’t want me around at all, like I’m just some... some big
regrettable mistake.”
And there it is. You’ve said it now.
“Peter--” he starts, but you shake your head at him. You can feel tears in your
eyes. Fuck.
“No, really, say it, don’t just lie. You regret this, don’t you, you wish you
never brought me to Germany or, or anything. Any of it.”
He swallows, and looks away. There's three heartbeats of silence that seem to
stretch on for minutes before he finally says,
“Okay. Yeah, fine. I regret bringing you into this.”
You nod, and look away, already opening your mouth to choke out an acceptance,
because you knew, you knew this would be the end.
“But,” he says, “but. That’s not because of you, Peter. It’s because I can’t
handle this. I’m not good enough at having my act together to-- to be an
effective mentor. I should be paying more attention, I should be here for you
to talk to before it gets to the point where you’re having a crisis about the
whole superhero thing and looking up ways to kill yourself. You’re a good kid,
Peter, don’t you ever think it’s your fault I made a bad choice.”
And that’s... it, you’re crying and rocking back and forth in a way you haven't
done in quite a while. He puts a hand on your shoulder and you make a weird
noise and brush him off. (It still feels bitter in your chest, being a bad
choice.)
“Oh, damn, Peter... Are... Are you gonna be okay? What can I do here?”
You shrug, but really you just want him to go away.
“Should I get your aunt,” you shake your head, “I think I should get your
aunt,” he stands up and takes a step towards the door, and you grab his wrist.
He stops, even though you’re just a scrawny kid and he could pull away and keep
going anyway. You pull out your phone, navigate to an emergency meltdown chat
app you downloaded months ago when someone else needed it, and one-handedly
type out,
Hey just because I’m being distressed in a way you don’t get doesn’t mean I
can’t get calm again on my own. Quit panicking it’s not helpful
You hold the phone out, and he takes it. You let go of his wrist. His eyebrows
go up, and you brace yourself, because you know what he’s about to say even if
you don’t want to hear it, Great, I brought a-- you don’t let yourself even
think this word-- along with me to save the world, or something similarly
disparaging. You wish you could feel things the normal way.
He sticks the phone back in your face and you take it automatically.
What do you need that’s different from what I’m used to?
You rock faster, but a little bit more in a relieved way now, and clumsily type
out,
Can you just go
He’s a lot better at words when he types them instead of talking, you notice.
More concise, anyway. More proper sounding. It’s weird and sort of unsettling.
You add,
also you type really different from how you talk and it’s weird
He snorts softly at that, when you hand him the phone.
You type pretty different too, kid. I’ll go. Be safe.
You nod without looking him in the eye. He leaves.
You know he’s not really leaving you alone, not after the conversation you just
had; he’ll be watching to make sure you don’t jump out the window or try to
drown yourself in the bathtub. But this way you don’t have to face him; you can
pretend that conversation never happened. You think you’ll do so.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     this chapter is heavily based on me about a month ago. its weird cus
     i wrote peter as suicidal a couple days before i realised that i was
     too
     (im doing way better now, im enthusiastically glad to be alive.)
     warning for: disordered eating, vomiting, references to another dream
     (if i missed any warnings please let me know!)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You dream about him again. You’re halfway to the bathroom before it hits you
but then you’re too busy throwing up to berate yourself for it.
By the time you finish you can barely remember it. You know he was taunting
you, derisive, the opposite of yesterday night. You know he made fun of you for
your little crush. The exact words are fading pretty quickly from your mind,
but you’re pretty sure he called you pathetic.
You don’t think you could sleep right now even if you wanted to. Your stomach
is tying itself in knots, and everything in you feels weird and shaky. You get
out your phone and see the time, 4:30 AM, and decide that it’s not worth
sleeping anyway.
You still feel nauseous at breakfast time, so you skip it and head out the
door. You don’t eat lunch; you forgot to bring your own and you feel like if
you buy lunch something bad’ll happen.
You aren’t really sure what happens in class after lunch except that your phone
buzzes with a message from Tony telling you to text him if you need support for
anything. Like you’d ever bother him with any of that.
You bring your dinner up to your room, citing homework you have no intention of
doing and a need for quiet that hasn’t actually been satisfied by moving to
your room since the Incident. In other words, you lie because you don’t think
you have the energy to chew and swallow food. And it’s pathetic.
A headache starts pounding away at your brain, making it impossible for you to
parse individual sounds, so you flinch hard when he suddenly opens your door, a
look of concern on his face. He says something that you know has to be words,
but you can’t get any meaning out of it.
“What?”
He repeats himself, but you still can’t figure it out, so you furrow your brow
and settle on a shrug in response.
He frowns, and looks at you confusedly. You shift, feeling pretty
uncomfortable.
He says more things, and you just stare at the wall trying to force your brain
to catch the words. It makes your headache worse.
Finally he gives up on verbal talking and hands you a water bottle, which you
stare at kind of blankly. You’d like to sleep, maybe, or something.
When was the last time you ate?
Your phone buzzes with the message. You look down at it and shrug.
Please drink some water
You shake your head, and type in your passcode to reply,
can’t. food is a Bad and i can’t handle swallowing a thing??
You feel your cheeks start burning at the way you phrased it, because your
grammar is real weird right now, and he heaves a sigh and texts back,
Did you have another dream?
You pause for a long moment, probably confirming it better than a response
would’ve, and then delicately shrug.
Do you want to talk about it?
you called me pathetic
You type it out and send it before you can change your mind, and he winces when
he reads it.
You aren’t pathetic, Peter.
You swallow when you read it, and blink rapidly to try not to cry. It
absolutely does not work. And he’s still typing.
You’re doing the best you can in an impossible situation, that’s the opposite
of pathetic. Peter, you’ve been forced to deal with things a kid your age
shouldn’t have to face. None of your peers are going through this, with all the
pressure to save the world. You’re having a hard time because this situation is
bad, not because you’re bad.
You sob, and hug your knees to your chest.
thank you
It’s really no problem. Please drink some water. I see you have a plate of food
up here, can you try and take a couple bites of that for me?
You shrug, and pick up the water bottle to uncap it, and when you raise it to
your lips intending to take a sip and almost chug it instead, you realise how
thirsty you are. The food looks a lot more palatable when you lower the water
bottle, though you still feel sort of sick to your stomach. Maybe you can have
a bite or two.
You look up at Tony Stark for a moment and then look away. He looks concerned,
but not angry, so that’s probably good.
“...think you could talk now?”
You flinch when you realise he’s saying something, and shrug reflexively, then
think better of it and shake your head.
Please eat some food. It doesn’t even have to be healthy, okay?
You shrug again, feeling kind of ridiculous about shrugging so much. He sighs.
We’re gonna get you through this, Peter, I promise.
You don’t respond, but you feel a tear run down your cheek as you look at the
wall. You want him to mean that.
Chapter End Notes
     please comment if you liked this! i dont have plans to write more but
     i might if enough people want it. it sort of depends on my mental
     health tbh
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