Blame This Guy Named Tony For This Ok😭

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

Rare Variant Cover

Pairing: Jason Todd / AFAB Reader

Fandom: Batman (DC Comics)

Word Count: 3100+

Tags: SFW, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship

Synopsis: Your first meeting is inside a second-hand bookstore. Jason leaves the store in a rage and it’s all your fault.

You had been leaning against the counter with your arms crossed for over half an hour, silently following the young man with your watchful gaze. The first time he entered your store, he greeted you with a kind smile and you in turn answered with a typical friendly shop assistant's welcome. Since then he had been browsing through the rows and rows of books stacked in every nook and cranny of the room.

Most of the time you knew at first glance why someone entered your second hand bookstore and what they were looking for. It was a fun little game you played with yourself. What genre did they prefer to read? What kind of book did they want to buy? What were their favorite tropes?

Collectors looking for coveted first editions of rare classics; thrifty shoppers who wanted to experience exciting literature for a small price; walk-in customers who strolled into the store out of sheer curiosity after standing in front of the window for several minutes; library staff who tried to buy back destroyed copies of their inventory, even if they were long out of print.

After several years of selling books to avid readers, you were able to assess most of the customers who entered your store. This one was different. You just couldn't figure him out. This man looked like he could crush Superman with his thighs. He was wearing full biking gear sans the helmet, explaining the motorcycle in front of the store. He was about your age. Definitely not a teenager anymore, but it was hard to gauge exactly how old. Mid to late twenties, maybe.

He looked like a thug. Anyone would forgive you for your suspicion after he stepped into the store, clad in leather from head to toe. It wouldn't be the first time you had been mugged. It was Gotham, after all. You had seen your fair share of robberies. Why someone thought it was a good idea to rob a bookshop though, you still couldn't explain.

In the end it was the way the stranger handled the books, convincing you that he was most likely more harmless than he looked. Every time he pulled one book from the shelf, he supported the spine with one hand and turned the pages gently, cautious of never wrinkling the paper. Every single book was treated with almost loving care, as if they were living beings with heart and soul.

If he started a discussion about literature with you now, you would be convinced that this was a dream. A man this good looking sharing one of your favorite hobbies and appearing to be a gentle giant? Impossible, right?

So you should also be forgiven for your suspicious stares turning into rapturous glances.

His back was turned your way while he browsed through one of the shelves. The black leather jacket emphasized his broad shoulders. He turned to browse the shelf at his back, facing your direction once more, and you marveled at his face. Strong cheekbones and the chiseled jaw of a Greek god stood in stark contrast to full, soft lips and large, round eyes. The latter was the first indication that he was possibly younger than you had initially though. Perhaps in his early twenties?

You were aware that you shouldn't ogle your customers like this. But it was late, you were tired and there was a waking dream walking through your store. Of course you stared. Maybe you had fallen asleep on the counter?

"Excuse me?"

The voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up, somewhat taken by surprise. The handsome book lover was standing right in front of the counter. When had he come so close? The wooden floorboards throughout the store creaked, it was an old building. How had you not heard him move?

Had he caught you staring? You quickly put on your friendliest customer smile and asked, "How can I help?"

He looked at you intently for a few seconds, then returned your smile.

"Do you also sell international literature in their original language?"

His voice was pleasantly dark and raspy. A strong Gotham accent originating most likely from the poorest parts of the city. Customers from Park Row were unusual here. Your store wasn't located in the expensive districts of the city, but most Park Row residents wouldn't waste their money on public transport to shop here.

You knew the stock by heart, but it had been a long time since anyone had asked for non-English literature. It was less popular with most collectors. Another reason why the young man caught your attention. There was rarely an opportunity to sell the less sought-after items. An interesting change from your usual business.

"We have a small selection. Is there a particular language you're looking for?"

The man leaned against the counter and even through the thick leather of his jacket could you see his biceps flex. Be still, heart.

"I would prefer something in German. But French, Italian or Arabic would also be fine."

You tried to hide your surprise. Was he serious? Could he really speak all those languages?

"I can think of a few titles," you said, already going through the stock in your mind, and directed him to follow you with a quick wave of your hand.

The store wasn't big, but each of the shelves was almost bursting at the seams, filled to the top with books. It was no surprise that he hadn't discovered any suitable books during his foray through the store. You steered purposefully towards a shelf at the back of the store and pointed to a place slightly above you, out of your reach.

"Here are the non-English books we currently have in stock. I could get a step stool-"

You had already noticed how tall the man was, but now that he stood right next to you, with him being able to read the spines of the books you could barely reach, you truly realized his height. It should be intimidating, with him almost looming over you. You just thought it was hot as hell.

When you looked up to meet his eyes - blue-green like the sea and just as deep - you also noticed his smug grin.

You stopping in the middle of your sentence seemed to tell him exactly what you were thinking. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat. His grin only grew, showing a hint of teeth.

"Thank you, a step stool shouldn't be necessary," he said, amused, only slowly averting his gaze from your face to scrutinize the old books in front of him.

He stretched out his hand and ran a finger over the spines of the books. Every now and then he pulled one out before pushing it back in disinterest.

"Are you looking for a present?" you asked.

You just had to know. Maybe he wasn't interested in books himself and was just looking to buy a present. You hoped that he wasn't here for a present.

"No, I'm looking for myself."

The answer came after a brief moment of hesitation. He gave you a cold sideways glance, then turned back to the shelf. Any friendliness drained from his voice. Did you say something wrong?

"If you need any help, you know where to find me," you said, giving him a nervous smile and pointing towards the counter.

He met your eyes once more, it felt almost scrutinizing. Without his smile he was intimidating. Nothing hot as hell about a man that looked so annoyed, like he would curb stomp you the second you opened your mouth again. 

"Sure. I'll let you know if I need you."

Crude and tight-lipped. That was definitely the end of your conversation.

For the next thirty minutes, your full attention was almost exclusively on the stranger. Only when another customer had a question were you able to focus on you work. Every time he caught you staring, you averted your gaze in shame.

"I'd like to pay," said a voice to your right.

You flinched and your head jerked to the side. There was Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, standing right next to you. He had a look on his face that rivaled your annoyance-levels when you were just about to close the store and someone entered anyway. He placed a single book on the counter. You asked yourself once again, how he managed to approach you without you noticing. How did he manage to evade the squeaky floorboards?

With one hand on your chest, you laughed breathlessly. "What are you, a ninja?"

His cold expression gave way to the slightest of smiles. His change of mood gave you whiplash. What was his problem? Were you the problem? Maybe he just suffered from resting bitch face syndrome and his mood-changes only seemed so extreme because he had a wonderful smile?

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

You waved him off and scanned the book. Die Leiden des jungen Werthers. You had tried to figure out his taste in literature, but nothing about his person screamed Sturm und Drang to you.

"I always try to guess what my customers will buy. I was really unsure about you, but I certainly wasn't expecting this!" you said with a genuine laugh. The man was a real surprise. In a positive sense.

Instead of responding to your statement, the corners of his mouth turned downward once more.

"Do you have any older literature? First editions?" he asked. Hard change of topic, but okay.

You nodded in reply. Most of your books were on the younger side, but occasionally you came into the possession of older first editions. Not the kind of books you had to pay a fortune for, but expensive nonetheless.

"I have a few first editions, but I store them elsewhere. The storage conditions in this building are not suited for brittle paper. You can tell me if you're looking for something specific or give me your email address and I can send you a list of what I have. But first editions can be quite expensive, are you sure you're looking for something like that?"

There was no reply for a few moments after you finished your sentence. You looked up at the man, confusion written all over your face. Anger burned in his eyes. Surprised, you took a step back.

"What's your fucking problem? I don't understand you. First you stare at me like I'm trying to steal something. Which, okay, it's Gotham. I don't exactly look friendly. I can understand being cautious. But then you start to undress me with your eyes, only to call me stupid the next moment? Then you stare at me like that. Again! Following up with claiming I'm what? To stupid to understand Goethe? Laughing at me? And now you assume I'm poor. Why? Because of my accent? My appearance?"

He slammed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Fuck you and your prejudices."

With those sharp words, he grabbed the book, left the store and rode off on his motorcycle with a roaring roar.

He left behind too much money for a single book and a trembling shop assistant. What the hell just happened? Well. Maybe Sturm und Drang suited the stranger just fine after all.

---

You were convinced that you would never see the literature-loving stranger again. Gotham was big and he would never voluntarily set foot in your store again. Still, you wished you had a chance to apologize.

You really screwed it up. At first, you didn't understand why he suddenly snapped at you, but it had been over a month since his angry escape and you had spent enough time thinking about that day. Your behavior, even if unintentional, had been an absolute disaster. He had misinterpreted your every question, your every action. You had never meant to offend him, but looking back, you could understand why he had taken it the wrong way.

And there he was. In a BatBurger across the street. He was sitting at a table with several people, chatting animatedly. You met him again by pure chance.

You could walk away. Let him enjoy the rest of the day with his friends in peace. He looked so happy, with a slight grin on his lips, leaning back and relaxing as he listened to the rambling tales of another black-haired man.

You should walk away, but your guilty conscience has been gnawing at the back of your mind for over a month. Even if he raised his voice at you, you wanted to at least try to apologize.

Your legs started moving without permission. You crossed the busy street and pushed open the door to the BatBurger before fear could catch up.

With sure steps, you moved towards the table. God, the people were all absolutely gorgeous. Did the handsome stranger only have even better-looking friends? A gathering of models, perhaps.

Halfway to the table, several people of the group lifted their heads to look at you. A mix of friendly but suspicious glances. The latter was the least you expected of residents of Gotham.

When the handsome stranger raised his head, however, his expression darkened abruptly. Understandable, but intimidating. You swallowed your growing fear and came to a halt in front of the group.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" you asked. A quick sideways glance at the other people at the table, "Alone?"

Everyone's eyes wandered back and forth between you and the man. The attention only fueled your nervousness. Instead of getting up and following you or telling you to get lost, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared you down with a cold gaze.

Even though he was sitting and had to look up at you, you felt tiny.

"Anything you want to tell me, you can tell me right here."

You swallowed, anxiety rising in your veins. All eyes were on you, scrutinizing you with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"I'm sorry!" you said in a firm voice, a little too loud for the small room. Before you could lose your courage again, you began your rambling explanation.

"I didn't understand why you were so angry at first. Honestly, I still don't quite get it. All I know is that I hurt you and I'm sorry! You have to believe me that wasn't my intention. The whole situation? A huge misunderstanding! Granted, at first I kept an eye on you because you looked like trouble and I've been mugged several times. So yes, that was a prejudice on my part. But after that, I was just trying to make small talk! I was staring at you because you're smoking hot and you like books. I thought I was dreaming. I mean, where else would I find a man like that? You're just totally my type and then I make such an ass of myself. I've been meaning to apologize to you since the incident and then I happen to see you just sitting here and now here we are. And, well-"

You looked around. Your heart was pounding in your throat. Everyone stared at you with wide eyes. A tall, black-haired man stifled a laugh, holding a hand over his mouth. A blonde girl inconspicuously held a phone above the tabletop and filmed you. The unknown stranger sat in his seat with his eyes wide open, mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what. The situation couldn't get any more awkward.

Throwing your last sense of shame overboard, you focus your gaze on the stranger. This was your last and only chance. What could possibly happen? He snaps at you?

"I owe you ninety-three dollars and five cents. That's a lot of BatBurger meals. Or a couple cups of coffee. Maybe dinner for two at a good restaurant? You could explain to me in detail all the wrong things I've said to upset you, so I won't say them again."

You felt the blush rise to your face, refusing to look at anyone else at the table except the handsome stranger. He, too, was bright red in the face, his lips moving as if he was trying to form words that just wouldn't come.

A few moments passed. Neither he nor his friends said anything. The entire room was silent. Your sense of shame won the silent battle. 

"Okay, got it. Sorry for the interruption!"

You turned on your heel and left the restaurant with quick steps.

That was by far the most embarrassing thing you had ever done. A rejection wouldn't even be that big of a deal, but the embarrassment of being watched by an entire group of friends while getting rejected? Suppressing your tears, you tried to escape as quickly as possible.

You didn't get very far. Just a few buildings down the street, a loud voice called out behind you: "Hey, just wait a minute!"

You recognized his voice immediately and quickened your steps. Whatever else he had to say to you - it couldn't be good. Just a few seconds later, he passed you with a short sprint and came to a sudden stop in front of you. You had to halt in the middle of the pavement, earning a few rude comments from pedestrians in turn. The stranger snarled at a few of them, before turning to you, a concerned expression on his - sadly still extremely handsome - face. 

"Sorry. You just caught me off guard. Let's try this again, all right? My name is Jason. And you are?"

Confused, you look up at him. You definitely hadn't expected that. Hesitantly, you told him your name.

"Hi," he said, followed by your name. Each syllable carefully accentuated, as if he was trying to taste the letters. Your name sounded so enticing from his lips. The warm smile he gave you afterward made your heart flutter.

"I'm incredibly sorry for screaming at you. Whether I was right or wrong, I should never have raised my voice. I overreacted and took my frustration out on you. Totally out of character for me. I was having a bad day, you hit a few sore spots. I should have come by again to apologize, but I assumed you wouldn't want to see that crazy customer again."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, embarrassment written all over his face. You marveled at the splotchy flush on his cheeks. He was just as uncomfortable with the whole situation as you were. It was kind of endearing.

"So, getting back to your offer," he mumbled hesitantly, "a dinner to talk about everything would be good. Really good. Fantastic, actually."

Everyone had prejudices, you of all people knew that. Getting to know the handsome stranger would hopefully clear up some of yours. You were confident that your date would turn out just fine.

if being hard on yourself worked, it would have worked by now

Reading amazing fanfiction, then forgetting to bookmark it

Misdial; Redial - Billy Russo

Prompt: Wrong Number AU: Reader is going through hard times and her friend gives her number to a guy who usually helps veterans but won’t say no to a civilian. But instead of talking with a polite man named Curtis she ends up texting with a guy named Billy who’s incredibly witty, funny and maybe gets attached to her but doesn’t want to show his face. Prompter: Anonymous

So this is my 17k word oneshot because I got really inspired by this request. It took on a life of its own. 

Warnings: Discussion of past sexual abuse. Smut. Immediate angst after smut? I don’t know if that deserves a warning or not. Just be kind to yourselves darlings.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

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“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” - G.K. Chesterton

No but to be serious guys i didnt expect that movie to be that kind of good. I expected great fights. I expected complicated morals. I did not expect that movie to say i know everything seems hopeless but you dont get a choice, you have to try. I did not expect that movie to say when we are up against an impossible, unjust threat the only way through is freely given kindness and forgiveness. I did not expext that movie to say the real way villans win is by preying on those we’ve already decided are hopeless. I did not expect that movie to say we all have to believe we can get better. Please believe me we can all get better. Oh my god.

Turtles helping each other in times of need 

(Source)

Yeah, This Happened

IMAGINE: In this alternate universe, Avengers tower gains another superhero resident. Your first interaction with the teen arachnid doesn’t go great, but as time goes on, you find that he’s growing on you. An idea your dad doesn’t exactly agree with.  WORD COUNT: 2.7k  WARNINGS: Over protective Tony

"Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you to come down here?" You heard your father ask. Rolling your eyes, you make emerge from the kitchen.

"Mr. Stark, Miss Y/N has been on this level for quite some time now," JARVIS commented.

"Yeah dad," you add, pretending to pout. "You didn't see me come out ten minutes ago?"

You see your father grow red before shaking his head. "Shut up Y/N," he chuckled. Getting over his embarrassment, he pulled you into a side hug. "I wanted you to be the first to know-"

"Know what?" You quickly interrupt.

You had gained lots of Tony Stark's traits. Impatience was one of them.

"If you'll be quiet, I'll tell you," your dad continued, leading you to the window. Reaching the glass, he carried on. "We're going to have a special guest over."

A snort escapes you.

"More special than a 96-year-old super soldier. Or more special than a Norse god who likes pop tarts?"

Tony gently smacks the back of your head. "No, but he's just like us. Special." You groan, pushing him off of you.

Another guy? This was just getting stupid.

After Pepper left, it was just you, Natasha and Wanda around the Avengers Tower. Males around here had you at an advantage. Another dude was just going to ruin that.

"If he can keep out of my room, then I'll be okay."

A blur of red and blue shoots down from the ceiling. A gasp leaves your lips as a slim figure shoots out a thick rope-like cord. As it attaches from the hangars, the colored form made sure it was stable before quickly flipping upside down.

"What are you hiding in your room? Drugs? Alcohol? Secret Candy stash?" It asked curiously, it's tone full of playfulness.

As the cable gently swung the red and blue figure closer, you prepared to smack it in the face. Somehow sensing this, the masked thing caught your fist mid swing.

"You're a feisty one," it commented, laughing at your behavior.

As you go to cuss him out, Tony claps his hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing it as a warning. "Get down, Peter."

'Peter', hearing his name, groaned but complied to the demand. Flipping backward, he landed perfectly on both feet.

"Is that even legal, Mr. Stark?" He asked, crossing his arms. "You can't just reveal my secret identity! That's against the rules!"

"Hey stupid," you responded, interrupting your father. "I know more heroes than you'll ever meet. I'm sure you won't change that."

"Knock it off," Tony commanded, hiding his smirk. No matter how stern he tried to be, his 'cool dad' persona always won the best of him.

"Y/N won't tell anyone. But that's not what you should be worried about." Looking up, "Those webs better be gone next time I'm in this room. I didn't pay good money to have spider-butt silk hanging from my ceiling."

As he goes on to say more, his trusty phone rang. Exasperated, Tony picks it up.

"Great," he sighs. "Steve says he might have found Bruce." Glancing between you and Bug-Boy, he groans. "Y/N, do me a favor and show Peter around the Tower. I'll be back soon."

To clarify that was that, the billionaire walked out. Rolling your eyes, you turn to your guest. Noticing that he was covered head to toe, you cross your arms. "You can change. It would be a little weird of you to wear your suit 24/7,"

"But my identity..." Peter trailed off. It was obvious he was new at this superhero thing.

"You'll be fine. It's not like Iron Man is going to spill the beans... Again."

Offering more encouraging words, you finally convince him enough to remove the mask.

When the fabric is removed, you're surprised. Peter looked... Gentle. He seemed innocent. He couldn't have been much older than you, and you were only sixteen.

Was this guy a real superhero?

Blinking rapidly, you smile weakly. "Just follow me," you tell him, gesturing with your hands. "I'll show you your room."

"Sounds good," Peter replies, giving you a toothy grin. As he walks your way, something hits him. I mean really hits him.

You can't help but laugh as Peter peels off a duffel bag from his face. "I almost forgot about that," he stated, laughing as he did. "But then it hit me."

Shaking your head at his pun, you wave him over. "Let's go."

As you lead him to his assigned room, he can't help but strike up a conversation. "I never got your name," Peter noted, shouldering his bag. He looks away for a second to tuck away his mask, but quickly averts his attention to you.

"It's Y/N," you reply, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "So, your name... Is it just Peter or are you too cool for that?"

"Parker. It's Parker." He states proudly. "What about you? It can't just be Y/N, no matter how pretty of a name it is."

Pretty? He thought your name was pretty?

A blush covers your cheek as you approach Peter's door. "It's Stark." The teen freezes as he stares at you.

Great, now he was going to think you were just another snobby little rich kid.

He eyes you up and down before cocking his head. "But... You look so different from Mr. Stark. He's... Well, him. And you're just... Really pretty." Your blush worsens as you look down.

"He's not my biological dad," you explain quietly. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “He adopted me a few months after I was born. I took his name and that was that."

It's quiet.

"I think that was really cool of him," you hear Peter comment. Looking up, you see the teen looking at you with a knowing look. "I know how it feels. Being raised by people who aren't your actual parents. But sometimes, it's all for the best."

Softly smiling, you nod. "I couldn't have said it better." The two of you smile at each other before you remember what you were supposed to be doing.

"This is your room," you abruptly state, shaking your head. Carefully opening the door, you motion to him to walk in. Once he does, you follow suit.

"You've got a standard double bed," you point out. "Over there, you have a closet. There's a compartment where you can store your suit." As Peter looks, you open another door.

"This is your personal bathroom. It's your job to keep it in clean. The shower is seven feet by ten, so it’s comfortable. The toilet is... Well, it's a toilet."

Explaining a few more things, you find nothing to talk about. "I guess that's it," you admit. The window catches your eye and you jump up.

"How could I forget about the view!" You exclaim, rushing to the glass. Peter quickly drops his bag before walking over. Pushing away the bland curtains, you show him the scenery.

"This is one of the best rooms. You always have a perfect view of the sunset and the moon looks so bright. You'll love it."

You don't see Peter looking at you. You're oblivious to the way he stares.

"I already do," he whispered.

A few minutes later, you go to leave. Peter had been at your heels until you stop him. "Aren't you going to change?" You ask him curiously. The guy was still in his suit.

"Oh!" He cried, looking down at his attire. "Almost forgot. I'll be out soon."

As he turns around, you quickly catch his attention. "I have to ask," you admit, "but what are you supposed to be? Bug-Boy?"

Peter turns around and grins.

"I call myself Spider-Man."

-

You and Peter got along well. Maybe it was the age similarity? Or your mutual love for comic books? Whatever it was, you were glad for it.

"Did you grab the popcorn?" Peter shouted at you. Clutching the bowl of popped corn, you hurry to the large living room.

How could I forget action flicks?

A couple weeks after Peter had settled in, he suggested having a movie night. You quickly agreed and assigned a random night. Saturday was quickly renamed 'Movie Day'.

Peter quickly grabbed the remote, using his special webbing as you prepared to sit down. "You almost crushed the remote," he complained, holding it close to him.

"I'm going to crush you if you don't stop with the damn webbing," you told him. "You never get all of it and it leaves a nasty mess. It's weird to touch it."

"It's a part of me Y/N," Peter complained. "You can't diss it."

Rolling your eyes, you lean into the couch. Tossing a few popped kernels in your mouth, you laugh. "I should be glad it doesn't come out of your butt. 'Cause that would be a horror movie right there."

Peter laughs as he grabs a handful of popcorn and throws it at your face. He can't help but make a face.

"You love me," Peter chuckled.

Hiding your rosy cheeks, you snort. "Sad thing is, I'd love you even if you shot spider silk out of your butthole."

Amused by your comment, Peter pulled you in closer. "JARVIS, can you dim the lights?" He asked politely.

"With pleasure, sir," the A1 replied, following the command.

Taking the remote from the undercover superhero, you quickly put on the movie. Tonight, it was an action/comedy. One of your favorites, actually.

"We're watching (Favorite Movie)?" You ask Peter. He knew how much you loved it.

"I think it's a good movie," He blubed, thankful that the lights were low. Now you couldn't see his tomato-like face.

Taking his word, the two of you watch the movie in content. After the credits roll up, you yawn.

"That was a great movie," you tell Peter. You found it interesting he never let you go throughout the film.

"It was," he agreed, staring at you. This time, you were aware of his burning stare.

"What are you looking at dork?" You ask him. His dark brown eyes never left your E/C ones as he leaned forward.

"You."

Your breaths mingle as you too lean forward. Just as you're about to meet, the lights suddenly turn on.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Tony demanded.

One hand hovered over the light switch while the other reached into his pocket. He pulled it out to reveal a gauntlet he had been tinkering with. Letting it pulsate, he motioned for the two of you to separate. Both you and Peter are hesitant, but do so, anyway.

Sliding his sunglasses to the bottom of his nose, your father turned to Peter.

"So Parker," Tony said calmly. His glove crackled as he flexed his fingers. "What were you planning on doing?" As the teen stutters, your dad raised his hand, silencing him. "'Cause it looked like you were just about to swap saliva with my kid. Care to explain?"

"It was my fault dad!" You quickly blurt. "I was encouraging him and-"

"Y/N," your father interrupted. "Don't you dare try to defend him. I know how guys think; I AM A GUY!" His face becomes a dark purple as he continues to scream.

"DO YOU REALLY THINK I AM GOING TO FALL FOR THE CLASSIC IT WASN'T HIS FAULT?!"

Taking a deep breath, Tony seemed to calm down.

"What do you intend on doing with my child, Parker?" He asked slowly, letting the repulsor's light glitch.

You knew what he was trying to do. You've seen your father do the same imitation technique on other people before. He'd bring out a piece of the suit, show off its abilities and use it to intimidate his guests. With his glove, he would scare Peter by threatening to use it on him.

"D-Date them, sir..." Peter mumbled, keeping his eyes locked with Tony's. He ignored your shocked gasp as he locked his jaw.

"And what would you do if you dated them?" Your father asked, rolling his wrist.

"Make sure they were happy, sir," the teen replied. "I'd do anything to keep them happy."

"And what would that include?" Tony questioned further. "Please enlighten me on that." You watch him raise a dark brow.

Peter finally tears his eyes away from your dad and swallowing harshly. Deciding, he looks at him once more.

"If Y/N would take me, and found that they were unhappy, I would strip myself of Spider-Man and devote my time to them. If they found themselves no longer interested in me, I would leave, no matter how much it broke my heart."

If looks could kill, Peter would be six feet under.

"I don't believe you. No one in their right mind would give up something as great as power as this."

You saw the teen clench his jaw as he looked towards your dad. You could almost see the pain emitting from him as he replied.

"A good, no- Amazing man once told me that with great power comes great responsibility. Power means nothing to me if I am not worthy of it."

You see Tony's harsh gaze soften as he continues to scrutinize Peter. Rolling his eyes, he lowered his hand. "Fine, I'll allow this," he grumbled.

As he walks away, your father looks back once more. "Hey Pete," he called. "You mess up, and I'll tell your Aunt May what you really do in your free time."

When your father leaves, for good this time, you turn to Peter. "That was really... Stupid," you admit, leaning towards him again. "But, I'm glad you did that."

"I am stupid," the brunette replied, also leaning in. "But I'd fight for anything that I know is right."

"Oh? So I'm the right choice?" You ask coyly.

"I don't know. Why don't you show me?" The two of you are so close. Just a little more.

Something whistles over your heads, causing the two of you to look up. An Iron Man helmet hovers in the air, its eyes glowing fiercely.

"Dad," you whine.

"Hey, I said I'd allow the two of you staying in the same room together. I didn't permit any kissing." The helmet shook again as it leaned closer. "This is the only way I can watch you two without invading your privacy is this. SO SUCK IT UP!"

This dad was no longer laid-back; he had to fight off guys with a metal bat. A bat that was wielded by him in his suit.

"Can we at least cuddle, sir?" Peter asked.

The left 'eye' of the mask flickered uncontrollably as it zooms over to Peter's face. "Just cuddling?" Tony demanded.

If he were here in person, spit would be flying.

"Yes, sir. No inappropriate touching. Just talking and hugging."

"Is that even okay?" You heard your father whisper. He must have thought he had turned off his microphone. "Why didn't I pick up that parenting book when Y/N was a kid? This would be so much easier..."

Hearing him fight with himself more, your father finally cleared his throat. "I'll permit that too."

Happy, you and Peter sit closer. Grabbing a spare blanket, the teen generously covers you before taking you in his arms. Feeling comfortable, you relax into his hold until a certain noise catches your attention.

Looking over, you see the mask only a few inches away from your face. What really surprises you is the extra ten staring down Peter.

"That's a little too much, don't you think?" You tell one mask.

"You can never be too careful," Tony replied, his voice multiplied by the speakers.