#sigh I just need to watch the movie again and comb for more screenshots of his vest honestly

[ectogeranium]

my little monsters hyperfix came back, and I am once again combing the internet for pieces to make my cosplay of Maurice more accurate fjdkdkd

[starkeristheendgame]

Shameless IronFam type friendly violence and fluff? Don't mind if I do. As requested, cute w no smut. No TW bar possibly light, consensual combative training. I was also a massive noob and posted the original ask with like two words written so I'm so sorry but it's just a screenshot of the original ask 💔

Peter was used to unusual wake-ups. The Avengers Alert system blaring; people crashing through his bedroom walls; a Pomeranian that was actually an alien that had escaped the Guardians on their way to document it before returning it home.

The usual type of unusual.

Being slapped awake by a boxing glove was by no means the most unusual or unpleasant, but he still jerked awake with a yell, flailing for a moment before his senses stopped doing the tango and Tony's smug face came into focus.

"You didn't sense that coming?" Tony asked, clicking his tongue. Peter blinked.

"I was asleep?" He defended questioningly, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The boxing glove was red with a gold velcro band, and proclaimed S.I across the knuckles.

"Spidey-Senses? What Spidey-Senses? Get dressed. You have an hour" Tony announced before waltzing out of the room. Tony himself could be considered unusual, especially since coming into Peter's room wasn't exactly a habit. His mentor was actually the one that afforded him the most privacy.

Peter lay there for a moment, dazedly staring at the door before JARVIS piped up softly.

"Sir would like me to add that you are to meet him at the gym, and appropriate attire for training should be worn".

"Thanks, J" Peter murmured, and threw off the covers. He went through his usual morning routine, sans the shower because he would need one after 'training' regardless.

When he entered the kitchen, Steve Rogers was hunched protectively over a bowl of honey hoops, eyeing the kitchen around him warily and inspecting his spoon before eating.

"Morning, Queens" the Captain greeted him cheerfully, and eyed another spoonful before carefully chewing. Peter watched him for a moment before his gaze slid across to the other counter, where a micro sized Antman lurked, poised in a crouch.

"Morning, Captain Brooklyn".

Scott caught his eye and threw him a mock salute as Peter passed to get a Hot Pocket, and Peter snuck a waggle of his fingers in return, careful not to alert Steve.

So it seemed The Great Prank Wars bad begun again. Peter would have to remember to be on high alert.

"Off to do some training?" Steve asked after another wary bite, arms covering his bowl as his attention raised to Peter, who nodded cheerfully, though he looked a little puzzled.

"Apparently. Mr. Stark hit me with a glove then told me to get ready. I think maybe it's that boxing stuff that he and Mr. Happy do?" He hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, whatever it is, you'll do great. Clint says he can't wait to get his hands on you" Steve smiled reassuringly, and looked at his cereal suspiciously when his spoon wobbled.

Peter tried not to think of that in a sexual manner as he took his HotPocket and made his exit, not wanting to be caught in the cross fire of whatever cereal based war was about to initiate.

He ate his breakfast quickly, and sat on his phone for a while to get it digest. His fast metabolism meant it look half the time it would a normal person, and he was already warming up by the time Tony came sauntering into the gym.

Peter's throat went a little dry at the sight of the man in fitted, breathable gym gear, but he controlled himself with a stern internal talk, and greeted Tony with a broad grin, bouncing on his toes.

"What's first, Mr. Stark?" He asked, and the boxing glove smacked him in the face again.

"Hmm. Well I'd say your reflexes, but...Maybe someone like Clint would be better for that. We're gonna look at your combative style" Tony hummed, approaching and stooping to pick up the glove. Peter kept a wary side-eye on it.

"Swing out of reach lots, try to web them like burritos and try not to get hit" Peter responded confidently.

Tony blinked. Blew out a breath. "Oh, boy. And I made you an Avenger. Alright; let's start". Peter frowned but obliged as Tony guided him through a warm-up style workout, checked how he formed a fist and his stances.

"Well, at least you know how not to break your hand" Tony announced cheerfully, unaware of how Peter's cheeks burned as Tony cradled his fist.

"I watched a YouTube tutorial" he beamed, and Tony sighed again.

"Okay. So. Standard braced fight stance" Tony encouraged, and Peter hesitantly shifted into it, knees slightly bent and shoulder width apart, loose but resting a little on the balls of his feet, ready to move.

"Good start. You just..." Tony trailed off, reaching out and grasping Peter's hips gently. Peter blew out a breath but kept his expression schooled as Tony positioned him so his spine was a little straighter. "Getting there" the older man murmured, moving to his side, fingertips trailing slowly along his forearms to reposition them.

Tony smelled like fruity aftershave and coffee and Peter took a subtle breath, losing his concentration a little. "Okay. So this, here, is what I want whenever I ask for a 'one', okay?" Tony hummed, tapping at his temple, and Peter nodded.

And so it went. Peter practised his stances and his fist, and they begun a little on throwing punches before Tony called it quits. "Good job, kid" he breezed, clapping Peter on the shoulder as he passed and left the gym.

"No cool down?" Peter asked the empty room. When it didn't reply, he begun alone.

Tony didn't wake him up the next day, but he did accost Peter during brunch, slapping his hands down onto the table and making Peter jump, staring in dismay as his oatmeal flew from his spoon and onto the cabinet behind Tony.

"I wanted that" he pouted, and Tony gave him a look that was probably intended as apologetic, but fell a little short.

"When that's not gonna make you puke, but the gym. We're entering the next stage" Tony announced, before leaving like those mysterious characters in the movies.

Or Director Fury. He did that a lot.

Sundays were apparently days of rest, at least from Tony's training. The prank war had been in full, feral swing by Wednesday and the Avengers had suffered great damage.

On Thursday morning Clint had stepped into the common room and onto a hidden panel, and fell to his knees as a marble ball swung down and between his legs.

"Oh. Yeah. -10HP" he'd wheezed, before falling onto his face. Almost fifteen minutes later he was still there, and Steve picked him up by the back of his jacket, carrying him like a briefcase down to the infirmary.

Peter, a friendly natural, had only suffered salted cereal and frozen solid bedsheets so far. Training was always a neutral zone because of the ridiculous amount of skill and superpowers that made it risky on a general basis, and he and Tony had made leaps of progress.

Stances and fists were easy, and Peter already had a good foundation of fighting knowledge (even if most of it came from YouTube tutorials and trail/error). So the basics quickly became refining what he knew, and learning more about fighting on the ground, because admittedly Peter relied a little too much on his webs. 

“Wait. So...What is this supposed to do?” Peter asked, from where he lay half-suspended in the air, draped over Tony’s thigh. Being close to his mentor hadn’t gotten any easier, especially not when Tony was literally within licking reach for half of their sessions. 

“This” Tony responded simply, and Peter’s world spun in four different directions before he hit the floor, head an arm cradled carefully by Tony so the supposed face-plant and jarring neck and arm bend didn’t happen. 

“Oh” Peter responded, and tried hard not to puke. 

Three weeks later, and Peter and Tony were fighting. 

Well. It was a friendly fight, and the Prank War was officially over after the President of Uruguay got thrown into a conscious time loop portal by mistake. But their training had progressed and now they were actually sparring, trading hits and practising moves in turn. 

Peter was small, fast, and strong. Hard to catch and flighty. A colt, Tony called him, when Peter slipped from his grasp again. But Tony was quick too, strong, too, and had experience in combatives that Peter didn’t. More often than not, Peter found himself tripped up or caught out, walking straight into an open move that he hadn’t even realised he’d set himself up for or been unaware of. 

“You’re good, kid” Tony huffed, shifting free of the leg-lock Peter had him in, tossing Peter backwards as he rolled to his feet. They were working on tackles and holds today, and Peter’s libido was begging for reprieve. These past three weeks he’d been so affected by the training he’d invested in some soothing aloe gel. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You’re not so bad yourself” Peter grinned, and yelled when Tony did a move that didn’t seem physically possible, world spinning as they tumbled and rolled and...

And Tony ended up above him, braced and with Peter’s legs caught and trapped, one arm held fast by the wrist and twisted a little, so he was sort of like a pretzel. It seemed tight and impossible and Mr. Stark was right there above him and. 

“Aw, fuck” Peter whined. Tony grinned, kept his grip steady and adjusted his knees so he was firmer, steadier. Peter felt trapped and tangled and held fast and Tony gripped him, let him squirm and writhe but didn’t give him any room to make a real difference. 

“J, start the timer. You got twenty seconds to get outta this, any way you can” Tony breathed. Peter squirmed. Wriggled. Even ducked his head to try and bite Tony’s arm, but the older men jerked him taut and held him fast, and even Peter’s semi-free leg couldn’t get anywhere. 

And Tony was still above him, so close Peter felt a little cross-eyed looking at him. He was a little sweaty and his mouth looked plush and inviting, and Tony was grinning at him so softly and breathing in short little pants and. 

Peter kissed him. 

A plush, firm press of their mouths, desperate and sweet, a perfect fit despite the clumsy start. Tony’s lips were soft, with the slight ridge of a scar, his stubble prickly on the corners of Peter’s mouth. 

Peter pulled back. 

Tony hovered above him, eyes mouth and mouth slack. It took Peter a bare few moments to realise that his grip had also gone slack, and he jerked, throwing Tony sideways and pulling his leg free, rolling with him and grappling the lax body until it was Peter on top, but he wasn’t pinning him. 

They lay there, breathing heavily and staring, and it felt like all time had stopped, lost in the amber swirl of Tony’s eyes until a shrill sound had them both jumping, Peter’s knee hitting square between Tony’s legs and Tony’s own knee landing heavy at Peter’s kidney. 

Groaning they fell apart, clutching their injured areas as the alarm cut off and into nothing. 

“Good thing I’ve technically got you as an heir. I think you just cut off any other chances” Tony wheezed, and Peter pushed himself up onto an elbow, one hand hovering regretfully over Tony’s hip. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry! I didn’t - There was nowhere else for my leg to go! Is it...Bad?” He asked, and winced when Tony shot him an evil side-eye. It took them both almost a full ten minutes to get from floor to elevator, and from elevator to infirmary, where Tony sat on the edge of a hospital bed, thighs spread and ice-pack pressed gingerly to the crotch of his sweatpants. 

“Well. I guess you got out of it” Tony spoke after a long pause where they sat quietly, staring at their respective spots on the floor. Peter gave a weak smile, fingertips absently rubbing at his mouth. He’d kissed Tony Stark. The Tony Stark. 

Peter Parker had kissed Iron Man. 

“Stop smiling like that” Tony grumped, and Peter tried to oblige, but the smile felt encompassing. “Seriously. You look like the Joker if Disney designed him” Tony groused, but Peter could only duck his head to try and hide the stubborn grin. 

“I really feel like we should talk about it. But talking is...Not my fortè. At all. Steve makes a good middle man. You could talk to Steve. And then Steve would have to talk to someone else because if he tries to talk to me I might punch his pretty teeth in, but - Peter. What are you -?” 

Tony didn’t get to finish, because Peter leaned down, catching his mouth in another kiss. Shorter, more chaste, and infinitely mindful of Tony’s tenderness. 

“I don’t wanna talk to Steve” Peter mumbled, and Tony let out a slow, steady breath. 

“Good”.

They stared at each other for a little while longer, before Tony sighed and slumped. “We’re gonna have to talk about this, kid. I’m supposed to be an adult. Fuck. I am the adult. I’m the fifty year old adult. I’m basically your Grandfather”.

“Well...I always used to say ‘It’s Daddy, not Grand-Daddy, but...I can make an exception” Peter grinned, and Tony threw the ice pack at him.