#Stripping the most dangerous man in the Galaxy and making him beg. Making him kneel. Making him crawl.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

Now and forevermore.

DIN DJARIN. ┃ THE MANDALORIAN.

❝ words: about 2.6k

❝ warnings: nsfw, oral sex, unprotected sex, mention of bodily fluids, (spoilers of season 2 finale), softie din and fuck the canon, we love the Razor Crest.

❝ a / n: this work wasn’t supposed to be this long, but well… As always, feedback is appreciated!

Gif credits to the author.

MASTERLIST. ⎢ MULTIFANDOM TAG LIST.

When you found the Razor Crest at the spaceport this morning, you felt some tickles within your belly inevitably. You met Mando about a year ago in your first shift working for Peli in Tatooine and you could consider him as a friend since then. You have hadn't many talks, but he has spent more time watching you fix some parts of his ship than you can count; even, sometimes, he has brought you some presents from other planets from the Galaxy. Always followed by that little green creature, who usually ends up stealing your cookies. So you have been waiting for them the whole day until the night has fallen over the city.

After getting rid of all the excuses to stay a little more at the workshop, you have to leave to not arouse suspicion, much to your regret. And yet, you make a detour instead of taking the short way back to your home as every day. Walking slowly, eyes traveling all around. But nothing. The tightness in your chest grows as you reach your place, letting out a sigh whilst opening the gate to come in.

The lights switch-on as you walk through the small stoned hallway to the living room, stopping half-way when you notice a strange smoky smell. It doesn't disgust you, but it's not a scent you have smelled before in your house. On a defense posture, you grab the knife from the holster around your right thigh raising it to your eye level. Quietly, you stick your head out through the arched door to the kitchen. Hearing soft snoring coming from the living room, you try to keep calm, securing your fingers around the knife handle somewhat better. Following the noise, step by step, you can glimpse a man lying on the sofa in the middle of the gloom.

A forearm covers his eyes, but you're sure he is sleeping. It's unbelievable that someone breaks into your house to steal and he decides to take a nap. Narrowing your eyes to try to sharpen your vision looking for some weapons, you're almost on him. There's anything that could be a threat to your life, acting quickly to press the edged blade against his neck. The man snaps his eyes open. Two brown orbs that don't show surprise, nor fear. But relief in a fleeting sparkle that wrings your heart.

“If you move, I'll slit your throat”. You hiss nailing a knee on the edge of the sofa. “Who are you?”

He doesn't articulate a word. His face talks for him. As you study his thin lips, traveling your gaze slowly to the convex bridge of his nose, the pressure against his neck by your knife loosens. You are starting to feel as if you had seen this man before, but you don't remember his face, nor his clothes. Licking your teeth as your eyes fall on his, your left-hand lands on his chest.

“Man— Mando?” You ask disconcerted.

His fingers tour your forearm in slow motion to reach the handle of your knife, still close to his throat. He removes it from your hand to throw it somewhere on the floor causing a metallic noise, while his digits continue to your shoulder up to the back of your neck. You are not going to ask why he isn't wearing his helmet or his beskar. You are not going to ask about the little creature. You have heard stories, rumors about a Jedi and the Force.

He makes your lips crash before you can even assimilate his presence in your house, closing your fingers in a fist grabbing the fabric of his shirt among them. You're not disgusted, discovering so many emotions in the way his mouth devours yours. Fury and rage, loneliness and anguish. But hope and love. You can't help but gasp breathlessly when you need to break the kiss for an instant, not being able to open your eyes. You pepper his nose with sweet light touches, finally pressing your lips on his forehead. Just what he needed.

“I am sorry…”

“So am I”. He murmurs sinking his face into your neck, wrapping his arms around your middle-back.

“How can I help you? What can I do for you?” As your voice becomes lower, your tone turns more soothing.

“Could you…?” Feeling the hesitation through his throat, you cup his warm cheeks into your palms to force him to look at you under the gloom. “Could you love me like I do?”

You'd be lying if you say that that question has taken you by surprise. You know a lot about Mandalorians and, definitely, they don't act normally like acts with you. Without taking into account that he'd go anywhere, but he is there, urging you to sit on top of him a second before capturing his lips with yours. His hands start a slow dance down by your backbone, separating themselves to roll your shirt up over your head and toss it somewhere. Your mouths get clung to each other, as soon as he does the same with his, starting to feel anxious for feeling him skin against skin.

Securing your arms around his neck, Mando stands up from the sofa urging you to keep your legs wrapping his waist. Your lungs learn to breathe in sync before you reach your bed, not questioning how he knows where it is. You're too busy tasting his tongue playing with yours, tangling your fingers on his scalp —until you're interrupted when he stumbles, falling over the mattress. You giggle. So does he. And you can swear you haven't heard anything more wonderful in your short life. You could spend your time just hearing him laugh, not worried about if the whole space wants to fall apart.

With him settling himself better between your legs, the heat increases the temperature of your body, biting your bottom lip when Mando trails a path of wet kisses down your clavicle, leaving a soft bite in one of your breasts to steal you a needed moan. You don't know about how relationships work for the Mandalorians, but he knows exactly what to do to put you to beg for his touches. His opened-mouth kisses get concentrated all over your belly, while his hands make their way to unbutton your pants after looking at you to ask you for permission in silence. And you don't have to answer. You want him as much as he wants you. Heel against heel, you remove your boots to make it easy for him to pull down the rough piece of clothing.

Thereupon, Mando gets up from your bed to strip himself from the clothes still covering him. You haven't been with many men, but you can assure that he's the most perfect man ever. As he kneels over the mattress, he leans down to get rid of the thin fabric that covers his most desired treasure. Exposed to him, feeling the same sensation of trusting and loyalty mixed dancing all around your dorm, he lies down between your legs to place them over his shoulders. Spreading sweet short kisses on your inner thighs, weaving from one to the other, until reaching your warm core. As his left-hand stays on your pelvis to pin you to the bed, his two longer digits make their way to your lips. And you welcome them to suck both wet. His brown eyes are enraptured on how you lick and taste them, using them to please you when he knows you're ready.

Curving his digits and sliding them slowly into your soaked cunt, his mouth goes straight to your most sensitive spot. Mando plays with your clit using the tip of his tongue, swirling it masterfully, as his fingers drive you insane with a back and forth dance constantly. Soon, your moans fill the stance, feeling sparkles within your stomach when the pace speeds up. His fingers pound you faster, as he becomes more and more addicted to the pleasing vocals that escape your throat uncontrollably, whilst his lips suck and put some more pressure on your swollen pearl. For him, you taste better than water after a week wandering in the desert. Better than any food he has ever tried.

You can't help but tangle your hands on his smooth curls, trying to push him away the moment you feel you could fall to the edge. You desire him more than anything in this universe and you don't want to be the only one experimenting with such a pleasure. Mando raises his head. His lips shining impregnated in your delicious juices, as he licks them more than delighted, watching you breathless barely moving.

“Tell me what you want”. He hums with a husky tone of voice that could be your perdition, bringing back his mouth to your skin, trailing a path of kisses up through your abdomen.

“I want you”. You beg in an erratic whisper, placing your legs around his waist as he comes closer to lie on top of you. “I want you, Mando, now and forevermore”.

He flashes a smile at you, putting away his huge and anxious hands from your thighs. His left travel among your bodies, whilst the right lands on your throat to hold it tightly. You can feel his hardness dangerously coming to your center, as he urges you to tilt your head to a side so he can peck your jaw with sloppy kisses till reaching your ear.

“I want you to call me Din”. He murmurs causing you to gasp and nod with your chin.

And he doesn't give you time to respond, when —with a sharp blow— he buries deep inside you all his length. You howl his real name from the most recondite place of your guts, feeling fully filled. He's big. More than you could expect. And Din is extremely impatient for marking his territory in your body, for making you his, for showing you all the love and the adoration he has been dealing with since the very first moment he laid his charming brown eyes on you.

“Gar cuyir mesh'la”. Mando repeats once and again into your ear, as he waits for you to adjust to him. The last thing he wants is to hurt you, to feel uncomfortable.

You don't talk Mando'a, but you have heard some words here and there, so you understand what he is uttering with a sweet raspy voice as your nails continue scratching his back; studying every scar that covers his skin, wanting to memorize them, wanting to comfort him somehow. Placing your right on the back of his neck, you look for his lips feeling thirsty for his saliva again and making him know you're more than ready for him.

His free arm surrounds your waist, as his digits continue tangled to your throat, before starting to swing his hips. Din pulls his hard cock almost out of your wetness, just to thrust your body again. He has the imperious urgency for hearing you moaning his name, and you do. You do without the necessity of being asked for, while he digs himself among your legs once and once. At first, both wanted to take your time, enjoy every touch, every kiss (...), but the two of you know it isn't going to be possible as you feel the electrified pleasure running through your bodies like never before. No one —not in this planet, not in the whole Galaxy, nowhere— could make you feel this good.

“Din… Din… Oh, Din!” You cry out digging your fingertips in his skin.

He shoves his full hard length to your soul not showing any mercy to your body, sinking his nose in your skin to bite it, pull it back and suck it strongly. Mando has been craving you for months now, not being able to control his impulses, grunting in the almost forgotten language against your neck. The sparkles within your belly are turning into fireworks, as both can barely breathe submerged in a bubble of heat and satisfaction you can't explain.

Somehow, Din maneuvers your bodies to put you on top of him without breaking the connection. You place your hands on his warm chest, as his hands go to your hips to urge to bounce on him. He's trying to breathe through his parted lips, keeping eye contact, while uttering your name between wrecked roars. And you can't help but swing your body over his, arching your back to find more pleasure every time his twitching dick is dug into your wetness. Not knowing how much you can take without succumbing to the fire growing inside you, your dance skyrocketed.

“That's it, cyar'ika…” Din growls, nailing his fingers in your hips a little tightly, closing his eyelids strongly, focusing on every move you do. “For all the stars… you're going to kill me… You take me so good…”

You can't even form a sentence with sense, leaning down to catch his lips with yours. He devours your mouth eager and hungry of you, tangling a hand on your hair to push you closer as he rocks his body in perfect harmony. Pearls of sweat start to appear on your foreheads, around your necks; the heat continues increasing by leaps and bounds, feeling your cunt clenching around his most sensitive skin almost suffocating him.

“I'm… I'm gon— Oh, Din… please”. You whimper while he nibbles your bottom lip, feeling the same shivers down his chest to concentrate on his lower abdomen.

“I got you, cyar'ika… I got you”. He simply murmurs brushing your lips with his.

With his arms wrapping your body, turning you back down, his thrusts become violent. Mando hits your anatomy ruthless and impatient for making you reach the longed-for orgasm, overstimulating your g-spot as much as he can. In a second, he suddenly steals the air of your lungs. He causes your legs to tremble, as you cry out his name surrendering your soul and body to the purest ecstasy you have ever experienced. Saying that he is satisfied with watching you stirring over the sheets would be insufficient.

Din lies on top of you, not stopping his rough lungs to your cunt, reaching your ear too easily. “I'm going to… make you feel even better”.

That isn't a promise. Is a fact.

He doesn't need much more to demonstrate it to you, spilling his seed inside your guts. Din presses his dick to your limits as strongly as he can, pinning you to the mattress with a wreck howl stuck on his throat feeling your fire burning him down. Reaching perfection. Feeling alive for the first time in too many years. Although he collapses over you, he doesn't lose the hold applied inside you. He needs to be right there for a little more. Connected to you.

While you try to come back to reality, he spreads gentle and exhausted kisses all over your collarbone and over every hickey drawn on your neck.

“Din…” You call him out of energy.

“Uh-huh?”

“How do you say I love you?”

He remains in silence for a second, trying to figure out why you want to know it, even if it is pretty obvious.

Tilting his head enough to lay his eyes on yours, he caresses the tip of your nose with his. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”. You reply then, doing your best to imitate the strange accent, causing him to chuckle.

“You need to practice”.

“Will you teach me?”

Hearing that question, knowing what you really want to mean, Din pulls his semi-hard cock from you making you moan somewhat low. As he lies on the side, he doesn't lose time cuddling you between his arms in holy silence. He doesn't need to reply, you know the answer.

From now and forevermore he is yours and you are his.

[victimofthemusic]

Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t) Pt. 5

Hey guys! We’ve almost reached the end and I’m so excited to get the last few chapters up. This chapter was inspired by Tom Holland’s adorable relationship he has with his dog, Tessa and a few other fics that I’ve read over the last couple of weeks. I have the outline for the next chapter so it should be posted in the next couple of weeks! Enjoy and thank you for reading (:

If you want to read the other chapters, you can find them here: Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, & Pt.4

~~~~~~~~~

“Peter, your mom and dad, they—“ Aunt May choked on a sob, her grip on his shoulders tight, “They—“

“They’re not coming back, bud.” Uncle Ben said softly, bright blue eyes filled with unshed tears and something tight wound its way around Peter’s heart.

“No, you’re lying! I want my mommy and daddy!”

“They’re gone, Peter.”

Gone

Gone

Gone—

Blood, so much blood. Peter looked down at his hands, the dark crimson staining his skin and dripping on to the sidewalk. Sirens blared in the distance, there was shouting, erratic heart beats, pained groans—

Uncle Ben

“Pete—Peter, I—“ A cough and blood spilled from his lips, slipping down his chin and Peter could only watch, helpless.

“Ben, please—please hold on—“

“Take care of May—“

“—I can hear the ambulance, just a little longer—“ Peter pleaded, tears blurring his vision and panic gripping his racing heart.

“—be…safe—“ Another cough, more blood, a wheeze.

He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.

Uncle Ben—

“No, no, no, please uncle Ben, please don’t go—“

Gurgling, more wheezing, even more blood.

“Sir, we need to ask you to move so we can help him—“

“—He’s going into shock—“

“—he’s not going to make it, he’s lost too much blood—“

“—I can’t find an exit wound, the bullet is still in there—“

“—Peter—“

“Uncle Ben, please—“

My fault my fault my fault—

“I told you, if you didn’t stop messing with my business, I was going to kill everyone you loved.”

The Vulture smirked as he held the gun to May’s head, his eyes dancing oddly as he watched her squirm and cry heavy mascara tears. She struggled against his hold, her dark eyes pleading with Peter.

Save me, save us.

But he couldn't move, his body was trapped underneath the rubble of what was the roof of the building. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe and he couldn't think clearly. His spidey-sense was going haywire, his body was alive with pain and he could taste the blood in his mouth.

“Peter—“ May begged.

The silver of the barrel glinted dangerously in the lowlight and Peter squirmed, crying out in agony as rebar stabbed him in the thigh—

“I told you, stay out of it—“

“Peter—

“Say goodbye to your aunt, Peter—“

“Peter please—“

“—I warned you—“

“Peter—!”

A gunshot and more blood—

“No!”

Peter

All my fault all my fault—

Peter—

There’s so much blood—

“Peter!”

His head was on fire, his senses in overdrive—

“Peter—damn it kid—“

A hand grabbed his arm and he cried out, fire coursing through his veins—

“Peter!”

Choking on a gasp, Peter opened his eyes to total darkness. His legs were tangled in the sheets and he could feel sweat-soaked state of his shirt clinging to his back. The back of his head was tingling, the hair on his arms standing at attention and he realized, as he tried to focus on getting air into his lungs, that he wasn’t alone and someone was talking to him.

“—you’re okay kid, you’re okay—F.R.I.D.A.Y. give me his levels—“

“—blood pressure is one-fifty over ninety, heart rate is at one hundred and fifty beats per minute—“

“Kid, can you hear me? It’s me, Tony, you’re in your room at the tower, in Manhattan, you’re safe, no one can hurt you—F.R.I.D.A.Y. hit the lights, level four, we don’t want to overstimulate his senses—“

Dim light filtered through the darkness and Peter felt something in his chest loosen at being able to see his surroundings. The familiar light charcoal walls, the blue of his bed spread, the giant IronMan poster hanging over his desk and Tony, kneeling on the plush grey carpet beside his bed, watching him with unconcealed concern and Peter’s gut twisted with guilt.

“Mr. Stark—Tony, shit I’m so sorry—“

“Pete,” Tony interrupted, voice uncharacteristically gentle, “it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but no words would come out. His mind flashed back to blood, all the blood, my fault, my fault, May screaming—

Something was in his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision and something that resembled a sob ripped itself from his lungs and made it’s way passed his lips. His entire body was shaking, his head was spinning and he could feel the bile rising in his throat, the lump pressing harder against his esophagus until he couldn't breathe. He bolted up out of bed, tripping on the bed sheets and ignoring the harsh cold of the tiled bathroom floor, he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up dinner.

Wave after wave of nausea hit him to the point where it felt like it was never going to let up. His brain was still swirling with the images of blood and death, the sounds of uncle Ben’s protests and May’s screams still playing through his ears and Peter prayed to anything or anyone who would listen to just make it stop.

A hesitant but strong hand landed gently on Peter’s shoulder, another coming to rub in between his shoulder blades as the vomit gave way to bile and his throat and stomach ached in protest of bringing up anything else.

When the world stopped spinning and the angry sea in his stomach settled, Peter lifted a weak hand to flush the toilet and pushed himself off of his knees to lean heavily against the sink. He rinsed his mouth out before he grabbed his Darth Vader toothbrush, wanting to rid his mouth of the horrible taste of stomach acid and half digested Pad Thai.

Peter ignored his reflection in the mirror as he wiped at his mouth and he could feel Tony’s concerned stare burning a hole in the back of his neck, but he ignored that, too. He could feel the fatigue in his bones, but his mind was too hectic to go back to sleep, his stomach lurching in protest at the thought of seeing more of—

“Peter,” Tony said, voice soft and Peter, startled, met his worried gaze in the mirror, “Why don’t you take a hot shower and change into some new PJ’s, okay? Meet me down stairs in the living room when you’re done.”

Peter nodded numbly, already stripping out of his sweat clothes. He fought against the anxiety rising in his chest at being left alone again and for a wild moment, he thought about asking Tony to stay outside the bathroom, just to have the comfort of knowing someone was there, in case something or someone wanted to get him at his most vulnerable. Like the time Peter snuck out of bed and into the living room when he was five and supposed to be sleeping. Aunt May and uncle Ben were sitting on the couch, watching Jaws and the next night, at bath time, Peter was terrified of getting into the water, images of a hundred foot long shark with bloodied jaws of his victims flashing through his little mind and Ben, bless him, stood outside the bathroom in case he had to fight off a shark for him.

“I’ll be right outside Pete, nothing is gonna get you, you’re safe with me.”

Shaking his head, he mumbled for F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn on the water as hot as her code would allow her to go, the A.I. forever coded to keep his safety in mind.

He washed quickly, not wanting to be by himself for longer than he had to or to keep Tony waiting for too long. Stepping out of the shower, he toweled himself off and headed back into his room, shivering as his hot skin met the cold air.

He noticed the fresh pajamas laid out on his bed, along with the new sheets that were on his bed—they were blue when he went into the shower and now his sheets had IronMan all over them, in different stages of action and despite the nightmare still fresh in his mind, he smiled at Tony’s attempt at humor.

Shrugging into his new pajamas, he wrapped himself in his Star Wars blanket and made his way down stairs, where he found Tony waiting for him on the sofa with two steaming mugs of something in his hands and the opening scene of the first Star Wars movie playing at low volume on the giant flat screen TV.

Tony handed him the mug—hot chocolate—when he sat down and manifested a blanket for himself and another one of Peter, in case he wanted it. Peter took a hesitant sip from his mug and had to bite back a moan of satisfaction when the rich sweetness met his tongue and danced over his tastebuds. There was no way this was Swiss Miss.

“All the way from Belgium,” Tony confirmed his thoughts, taking a sip from his own mug, “It’s my favorite and way better than store bought, bleh.”

Peter huffed a weak laugh at Tony’s snobbish tendencies and took another sip of the delicious brew, ignoring the piping hot temperature because it was so so so good.

He snuggled deeper into the nest of blankets as F.R.I.D.A.Y. started the movie and all thoughts of the Vulture and Ben and May’s blood curdling screams drifted as he was taken to a galaxy far far away.

Tony wrapped his arm around the back of the couch and began playing with Peter’s shower dampened curls, running his fingers through it. A small smile found its way across his lips as Peter leaned into his touch, his shoulders relaxing further into his blankets, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him, sipping away at his hot chocolate.

Peter looked so small and vulnerable, wrapped up in Avengers themed blankets and sipping his hot chocolate from an Iron Man mug and it made Tony’s chest ache at the youth that radiated from the scene in front of him. Peter was just a kid, barely a teenager and he was already dealing with horrific nightmares that Tony himself was no stranger to. He had his own demons that preyed on his unconscious mind every night and he wouldn't wish some of things he saw on his worst enemy, let alone the fifteen year old kid sitting next to him.

Tony wanted to ask him what his nightmares were about, but he knew Peter, as much as he trusted Tony, wouldn't want to talk about it and burden Tony with his problems. Peter, because of his intelligence, was often treated with a level of maturity that didn’t match up with his age and Tony was no stranger to that. People forgot, often times, that because he was so smart, that he developmentally, he was still a kid. A stupid teenager with stupid teenage tendencies that, mixed with his scary level of intelligence, often times turned into disaster.

Peter had a brilliant mind and Tony could only imagine what his subconscious mind could conjure up to scare the kid so badly that he got physically sick from it.

A light snore broke Tony from his thoughts and glancing down, Peter was now snuggled into his side, dead to the world and holding his mug precariously in his grasp. With fond smile, Tony gently took the mug from his hands and placed it on the coffee table, making a mental note to grab it in the morning. Slowly, so he didn’t disturb the sleeping teen, he slid out from the couch and scooped Peter into his arms, ignoring the warmth that bloomed in his chest when the kid snuggled closer to his chest, his hand resting against the arc reactor as he dozed on, completely oblivious.

He made it to Peter’s room without a hitch—the kid was still snoozing away and Tony didn’t drop him, so he counted it as a win. He walked across the soft carpeted floor and carefully eased Peter down onto his fresh Iron Man sheets. Peter snuggled into the pillows easily enough, but when Tony tried to remove his arms from underneath Peter, a small frown caused a furrow to appear between his eyebrows, which gave Tony pause. Peter, as if he sensed his hesitation, rolled over on his side and snuggled back into Tony’s arms, his hand once again finding purchase on the arc reactor. The furrow between his eyes disappeared and he seemed to settle back into the pillows, his body relaxed and face smoothed back into the serene expression of one in the middle of a good nights sleep.

Tony hesitated, ensuring that the kid was settled and comfortable and asleep, before he tried to get his limbs back, once again coming up unsuccessful.

Because the kid adhered himself to Tony.

As in, he was stuck.

To Tony

Like the little spiderling he was.

“You don’t make things easy, do you kid?” Tony muttered, sighing as he weighed his options.

His back was already aching from being bent over this long and there was no way he would be able to do this for the next several hours or whenever the kid decided to get up.

He wasn't gaining ownership of his limbs anytime soon and if he tried, he’d probably rip his skin off and then he’d have to deal with the weight of Peter guilt for god knows how long. They hadn’t explored this particular enhanced ability too much, but Tony was sure without any sort of experimentation, this would not end in his favor if he tried to move and it’s not like he wanted to wake the kid up to ask him to kindly remove himself from Tony and give him the use of his arms back.

So that left Tony with only one option and that meant he had to roll Peter over, facing the opposite way and Tony crawled over him, holding his breath and praying that he didn’t wake the kid up. Finally, his body met the softness of the mattress and his lower back sighed in relief. He had to rearrange some pillows and adjust the blankets, but he settled, his eyes heavy, he watched Peter—the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, the small pout on his lips, the serene expression on his face as he dreamed (hopefully) better dreams. And the way his hand never left the arc reactor, it’s soft glow illuminating the room like a night light.

And that’s when Tony got an idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter trudged into the Tower, his back pack slipping off of his shoulder and landing haphazardly on the floor, but Peter couldn’t find it in himself to care. He face planted onto the couch, curling up into the fetal position and closed his eyes, sighing in satisfaction at finally being able to rest.

His nightmares had been getting worse, to the point where he didn’t sleep at night. He either stayed out late patrolling or caught up on his homework, choosing to do something more productive with his time than falling victim to nightmares.

And some nights, when it was really bad and homework and patrolling couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay, he’d web his way to the tallest building he could find and sit there and just listen to the city—sirens, clubs, taxis, car horns, chatter. His thoughts got drowned out by everything else going on around him and sometimes being up high, felt like it was the only time he could breathe.

“Kid, I know I’ve told you make yourself at home, but that doesn’t mean you get to just toss your stuff wherever you feel like—“

Peter groaned, opening a bleary eye to watch Tony nudge his backpack out of the way with his foot as he made his way over to the couch.

“”m sorry, I’ll pick it up later.” He muttered, burying his face back into soft cushion.

“Or you could pick up now, bring it down to the lab and get cracking on the homework I know you’ve got piled up in there.” Tony countered, sitting on the coffee table.

“It’s Friday and I’ve already finished all my homework last night.” Peter said, voice muffled from the couch cushions.

He could feel the weight of Tony’s stare as he shifted on the couch and Peter was avoiding looking him in the eyes, knowing the question that was on the tip of Tony’s tongue.

“That bad, huh?” He asked, his tone going from harpy to soft, gentle and it still made the guilt rise in Peter, knowing that Tony worried about his sleeping habits along with everything else he had going on in his life.

Peter hesitated and Tony sensed it, “Pete, you can talk to me.”

He was ashamed to admit it, but he felt tears fill his eyes. He was just so tired. But he was afraid, of closing his eyes, of seeing Ben die, all the blood and May and the Vulture—

“It always starts with my parents,” Peter began, voice thin, “I-I don't remember them much, but I remember the day they died—Ben and May, they sat me down and told me that my parents weren’t ever coming back. Even though I don’t remember them much, I still feel like there’s this loss? I guess is the best way. Like there was piece in my life where they should be and they’re not there anymore. It’s like a—a void?”

He can feel his voice get shakier as his brain goes over his nightmares that intertwine with memories and he feels like he’s asleep, trapped somewhere he doesn't want to be.

“I uh, I was there, the night Ben died,” Peter admits in a whisper, “I had just gotten my powers, I was scared and confused and I couldn’t tell anyone and we got into a fight and I ran away and Ben came looking for me and there was this guy who—“ Peter chokes on the words, everything coming out in a rush, “he had a gun and he had just robbed a liquor store and Ben tried to stop him and he got shot and I was walking home and I saw it and I couldn’t—I couldn't stop it. There was so much blood and he was dying and it was my fault. I shouldn't have ran away from home and if I hadn’t, he wouldn't have been there and he’d be here. There’s always so much blood, I smell it and I see it and I see him, drenched in it and there’s nothing I can do.”

Peter chokes back a sob, his hands shaking and his chest tight, “And then it’s the Vulture—he has May and he’s holding a gun to her head. He warned me that I should've stayed out of it, that I brought this on myself and I can’t move because there’s a building on top of me and I-I can’t get out, but he has May and she begging me to save her, help her and I can’t. He shoots her and I can hear her screams and there’s more blood and he’s laughing and so much blood and I—“

Peter’s babbling at this point, shaking with tears and he’s so tired, so fucking tired and all he wants is to sleep and he doesn’t know how to without the nightmares.

He doesn’t know how he ends up in Tony’s embrace, but one minute he’s sitting on the couch, crying like a baby and the next thing he knows, he’s being pressed into a warm chest, the edges of the arc reactor digging into his cheek. Warm hands are carding themselves through Peter’s hair and it’s so nice, to be held and just cared for. Tony smells like Tom Ford cologne and engine oil, the arc reactor is giving off a soft glow and he just feels safe.

He settles himself eventually, pulling away from Tony and wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He meets Tony’s eyes and half expects him to crack a joke to ease the tension, but he doesn’t. Tony looks tired too, but in a different way and it makes Peter feel guilty. He knows his nightmares have taken a toll on Tony’s sleeping habits, interrupting whatever sleep he does manage to get to comfort Peter through his nightmares.

“Pete, I know it’s not easy, to talk this stuff through, but it does help.” Tony said, ruffling his hair, “not talking about, not sleeping, it makes things a lot worse than they need to be and you know you can talk to me, whenever you need to.”

He cupped Peter’s cheek in his strong grasp, urging him to look up into his eyes and Peter complied, “I know what it’s like to relive the horrors of your past and the manifestations of what could’ve happened and I hate more than anything that you have to go through this, especially at your age. You’ve seen things that someone even my age should have to witness and I’m so proud of you for still trying to push through. You’re so strong, bud, but it’s okay to ask for help. Even with stuff like this, okay?”

Peter nodded and Tony patted him on the back, standing up, “No science stuff today, you need sleep, but first, I need to show you something.”

Peter followed him down to the lab, ignoring the urge to fall over on the next available surface to finally succumb to the fatigue that was pulling at his eyelids.

“Now, as much as I would love to have sleep overs and be clung to like a Koala does a tree branch—,” Tony began, giving Peter a side eye.

Peter gave him a sheepish smile, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

“—I need my sleep too and you need to learn how to sleep on your own, because even though I don’t mind being your security blanket, there’s going to be times where I’m not available so—“

F.R.I.D.A.Y. opened the lab doors and Peter noticed two things.

The first was the labrador puppy sitting patiently on the lab table with a red bow around it’s neck.

The second, was that it seemed to be curious about an object lying next to him (her?), sniffing at it curiously and giving it an experimental lick.

“Hey, paws off the prototype mister—“ Tony said, rushing over to the work table and grabbing up the object that oddly resembled an arc reactor—similar to the one glowing in Tony’s chest.

The puppy merely blinked up at Tony, it’s tail tapping a soft beat against the metal lab table.

Peter was beyond confused.

“Tony, what—“ he began, looking from the puppy, to Tony, back to the puppy.

“Well, first off, congratulations, it’s a boy!” Tony said, scooping up the puppy and thrusting it into Peter’s face.

Big, brown, puppy eyes stared up at him eagerly, a pink tongue poking out from his mouth and aiming for Peter’s nose.

Peter was sure he was going to melt from the overdose of cuteness.

“Is he—is he mine?” Peter asked hesitantly, taking the puppy gingerly from Tony’s hands and cuddling it close to his chest. The puppy panted happily, lapping at Peter’s chin and wriggling in his arms to get closer, his paw resting on his chest.

“Yup, just picked him up from the shelter today—I went the adoption route, rather than the shop route—and he’s all yours. Don’t worry, I talked to May and she was up for the idea, even talked it over with your landlord, just in case. I’m paying for all the vet bills of course, but the responsibility—making sure it eats, sleeps and gets walked and all that jazz, is on you.”

Peter stared blankly at Tony, “You bought me a dog?”

“Adopted,” Tony corrected with a tut, “but yes, I did.”

Peter studied the puppy, who was now content on chewing on the draw string of his hoodie and he couldn't help the smile that graced his face if he tried. He had a dog. A dog. Of his very own.

His

“Tony—I—thank you, but why—“ Peter fumbled for words, glancing up at the ball of cuteness to look at Tony in disbelief.

Tony gave him a smile, giving the dog (Peter was really going to have to come up with a name), a pat on the head and he got a lick for his troubles, “I talked to Rhodey, told him you were having a rough time of it lately and he works with the VA and he told me about all the research they're doing into emotional support dogs for soldiers who come back with PTSD. Labs are supposed to be one of the top breeds and they ease anxiety, nervousness and they can even sense a nightmare and help you through it. This little guy was entered into the program and he proved to be a little to rambunctious for the discipline, so I gave the partnering shelter the program uses a quick phone call and well-ah.”

Peter stared down in awe at his new companion and couldn't believe that this adorable ball of cuteness was his.

“Rhodey is going to help train him up a little bit, but he’s going to sleep with you and hopefully, having his presence in the room will help ease some of your anxiousness to sleep and help with your nightmares but if it doesn’t—“

Tony turned to the lab table and handed what Thor, (Peter decided the puppy looked like a Thor) was about to use as a chew toy, to Peter, who shifted the puppy to the floor to take a better look at it.

It was an arc reactor, the same one that Tony had in his chest and it glowed the same soothing blue tone light that emitted from Tony’s, but it was little bit bigger and tapping it, a thinner beam of light filtered from the center of it and looking up at the ceiling of the lab, an image of the Iron Man helmet was projected onto the tiles.

“It’s a nightlight,” Tony explained, “I’ve noticed that the glow of the arc reactor is soothing to you, whenever you’ve had nightmares and I think it’ll help that, should this little guy fail at the one job I’m giving him and I’m not here, you have a light when you wake up, so you’re not in the dark.”

Peter was exhausted. That was the excuse he was going to use for why his eyes were watering for the second time in the last hour and not because Tony got him a dog that he loved, but also made him a night light in the shape of the one thing that calmed Peter during his worst nights. Something he’s never admitted out loud, but Tony figured out anyways.

“Tony, I—thank you.” Peter breathed, staring down at the nightlight and the puppy simultaneously and Tony waved him off.

“It’s no big deal, I just had to make a few tweaks to the program—I also made sure to add in the same feature my reactor has, just tap it and it becomes your suit. In case theres an emergency or whatever. Not that the tower will ever be attacked or anything, but it helps me sleep at night, knowing my suit isn't too far away from me,” Tony furrowed his eyebrow, “some have called that hyper-vigilance, but I called it being a good boy scout and being prepared, even if the experts don’t see it that way but I’ve never been one for soft sciences—“

Tony’s cut off abruptly when Peter wraps his arms around him and squeezes, to the point where Tony’s sure he’s cracked a rib or two but he can’t find it in him to care. He squeezes the kid back with just as much force, his heart warming at the thought of getting this parenting thing right.

“You’re the best, Tony, thank you.” Peter says as he finally pulls away, brown eyes shining with the upmost sincerity and Tony grins, ruffling Peter’s curls.

“Don’t mention it, kid, I just hope this helps.”

~~~~~~~~~

It was a late night in the work shop for Tony, he was working out some kinks in the software for Peter’s suit and adding some new upgrades he’d thought of in the recent months and he wanted to surprise Peter with them when he woke up in the morning.

He’d sent the kid to bed hours ago, despite the complaining and the pouting—all on Peter’s end and even though Tony wanted him here with him in the lab, he was trying to be good at this parenting thing and that meant curfew’s and rules and boundaries. At least that’s what the parenting books said.

Tony stretched, his lower back popping back into alignment in the most satisfying way. He had reached his limit of what he could do, it was up to F.R.I.D.A.Y. to finish inputting all the changes and Tony found himself wanting to check in on Peter.

“What’s the time, Fri?” Tony asked as he headed out of the lab and into the elevator to go up to the penthouse floor.

“3:26 am, boss.” She replied back dutifully.

“And how’s underoos doing?”

“Mr. Parker is currently in R.E.M sleep, his BP is one-forty over eighty, body temperature is one-oh-one point six, pulse rate is steady at ninety five beats per minute—“

“I didn’t a whole med report F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Tony said with a roll of his eyes as he made his way down the hall way towards Peter’s room.

“Of course, boss, my mistake. Should I make a change to my code to respond with a open ended and general statement such as ‘fine’ or okay the next time you ask about Mr. Parker’s well being? Would that suffice your curiosity?”

Tony didn’t know where he’d placed the sass level last when he updated the A.I.’s code but he knew for damn sure it wasn't at one hundred. He didn’t dignify the sassy A.I. with a response, choosing instead, to let it go ignored and check on Peter himself.

The door was cracked open, so Thor—Tony rolled his eyes at the name but after living with the overenthusiastic lab the last couple of weeks, he couldn't deny that Peter had chosen a rather fitting name for the dog—could get in and out of the room if he pleased, but Tony had never seen a more devoted animal in his life.

Thor and Peter had taken to each other right from the get go and at this point, they were inseparable. While labs were generally friendly and loved affection from anyone, there was no denying that Thor clearly favored Peter over anyone in the room. He followed Peter around the tower like his own shadow and never left his side during the night, which caused DUM-E to work over time to get rid of certain stains out of the carpet. And Peter was just as enamored by the puppy as Thor was with him—it was a match made in heaven.

Peeking his head into the doorway, Tony couldn't help the smile that graced his lips at the sight before him. Peter was sprawled out in his bed, covers half kicked off, Iron Man pajamas in full view and snoring away. Thor was in an equal state of comfort—his little body splayed out on the other side of the bed, head rest on Peter’s out stretched hand and snoozing away next to his owner. The arc reactor nightlight was on display on Peter’s night stand, the Iron Man symbol floating on the ceiling like a reminder that no matter what, Tony was always there for him and his heart warmed.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., take a picture and archive it, I need to send this to May.”

“As you wish, boss.”

Just as Tony turned to go back to his room to finally succumb to the fatigue he could feel starting to creep up on him, Peter made a whimpering noise and in a flash, Tony was back in the doorway, poised to wake the teen if need be. But before he could, he heard the telltale sign of sheets rustling and then the sight of a little yellow head popped up from his resting place. Tony watched as Thor scurried over to Peter, climbing up his body and finding a place on his chest, sitting down right over his heart. He began licking and pawing gently at his face, urging his human to wake up from whatever scary thing was causing him discomfort. After a moment, Peter seemed to settle back down and Thor watched him closely before he, too, settled back down. Rather than moving back to his original place, he curled up on Peter’s chest and his big eyes caught Tony moving back out of the door way and his ears perked at the intrusion, but he didn’t move from his distressed human.

Thor stared at Tony and Tony stared right back, caught in a Mexican stand off with a four month old labrador puppy.

Tony cracked a smile and nodded to the dog, “Good boy, Thor. Keep watching over underoos and keep him safe, okay? And if you need to, come get me, you know where I sleep.”

Tony turned back into the hallway, but stopped himself and looked back over his shoulder at the dog that was starting to doze off again, but perked back up at Tony’s reappearance.

“—and if I catch you chewing on my favorite Gucci slippers again, we’re gonna have to have a talk, okay? They don’t make them anymore and I know I’m a billionaire and Tony Stark, but lemme tell you, getting Gucci to bring back an old style is damn near impossible. Saving the world is a piece of cake compared to that, capisce?”

Thor simply blinked slowly up at Tony, before he shuffled around so his head was now nestled into Peter’s shoulder and his butt was facing a rather affronted Tony.

Canine or not, Tony understood the gesture for what it was.

He just got told to kiss a furry ass

“You’re lucky Peter likes you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you guys for reading and please feel free to let me know what you think (: