Peter:

Angry Peter:

Evil Peter:

Female Peter:

I’ve been thinking about Wolf Spider recently and I’ve come to the headcanon that he has a lot more scars than Spider-Man does.

TW: home invading and mild mild mild knife play. 

It’s a dark and stormy night.

Isn’t that how the stories go?

The torrent doesn’t let up, and it beats angrily against the windows of Stark Manor. Tony’s nestled deep in the woods on the slope of the mountains,. On clear days you can see the landscape stretch to the edges of the earth. On dark nights like this, the storm feels worse than it would have in the city. On dark, endless nights like these, Tony reads books of the ancient world by the fire, and wonders whether somewhere out there- someone needs shelter from the rain.

The doorbell rings.

A flash of lightning.

Tony glances up from his book and his bourbon; the firelight dances across his face as he glances at the grandfather clock that tick tock tick tocks soothingly. It’s face is not so reassuring. II it reads, in roman numerals.

2 am. Who’s out and about in the middle of the forest on the side of a mountain in this weather?

Someone who needs shelter.

Tony rises slowly, setting down his book- carefully, so as not to crease the spine, as he walks out of his library and down the stairs.

The rest of the house is a warm glow, and it flashes silver and white every few moments as the lightning strikes pine trees deep in the alcoves of the forest.

Tony reaches the door, and pulls it open.

The frost and the wind and the wet strikes him immediately. He has to blink against its onslaught before he sees a- a young man. Maybe a boy, standing there, shivering, looking very small and vulnerable indeed.

“C-c-could I-I-“ he chatters, hugging himself, and Tony is struck by the honey eyes and the cream skin and he’s nodding, beckoning the fragile thing in- when something else jumps out and there’s red hot pain- and then nothing.

*

He’s not knocked out.

But he is disorientated enough that time seems to pass hazily and he sees colours and feels the bindings of rope against his wrists and ankles as the wind and the cold is shut out.

When he finally gets his bearings, he sees double for a few moments, before making out where he is.

He’s in his library.

For a moment, he wonders if it was all a dream. The fire is lit and roaring heartily, he’s warm and upright- but no, those are binds digging into his skin, and noises too.

Suddenly, a warm pair of honey eyes appears in front of him and he only barely manages not to flinch.

It’s the boy who knocked on his door.

He’s dry now. His hair fluffy and curly and he’s dressed in old furs he must have found in one of the guest rooms. “Hi!” He chirps, beaming, and he looks much less sickly than he did at the door. “I’m Peter. Here-“ he reaches out to dab at the side of Tony’s face and before Tony can recoil, he sees scarlet come away on the handkerchief.

He lets out a small moan of pain, and Peter- the boy/man with nice eyes and a gentle look, smiles sympathetically.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Peter seems reasonable, Tony thinks. His heart starts to pound. Death doesn’t have to be the endgame here. The boy’s not wearing a mask though, which is…problematic.

“Peter,” comes a snarl, and Tony looks up to see another boy/man. A few years older maybe. Broader, more muscular, the little shit who hit him, come striding over with a number of books tucked under one arm. He yanks Peter away by the wrist and Pter goes easily, a little smile on his face.

“Harley, look! He’s awake-“

“I told you not to get too close.” Harley snaps, his eyes hard, but his look protective. Tony tries to get as much out of the interaction as he can. Harley (and they’ve given their names away. Names and faces. Surely they mean to kill him?) towers over Peter, coarser and better equipped for the life they’re evidently living. Peter nods along easily, like he wants to obey, but he’s still holding the bloody handkerchief neatly in his palm.

Peter pouts, before giggling. “Did you find it?”

Harley softens, releasing him, and setting down the books on the bronze table. At least he isn’t tossing them into the fire, Tony thinks. Small mercies. “No. Bastard probably hid it under a false title.”

“What is it,” Tony begins, wetting his lips and trying to keep his voice from sounding so hoarse, “you’re looking for exactly?”

Both eyes flicker to him. Harley’s are light blue, but there’s no sympathy in them. Tony will get no aid from him. “You wouldn’t know, old man.”

Tony tries his bounds as discreetly as he can and tries to sound brave. “Try me. You break into my house, go through my belongings, don’t you think I deserve the courtesy?”

Peter looks between Tony and Harley curiously, before skipping off into the shadows of the library, evidently bored with this conversation. “Your house?” Harley repeats, amusement evident in his voice, and Tony gets the feeling that the boy knows something he doesn’t. “You just inherited this. This manor isn’t yours and these books aren’t yours either. There are secrets that your father hid that you will never even be close to fathoming. Understand?”

Tony nods, because Harley looks a little manic. “So, you’re going to search the manor, take it, and go? That’s it? And I won’t even realise it’s missing, so- no harm no foul, right?” He thinks about the pain blossoming on his head, and winces just a little. If this was all they wanted, why not come when he wasn’t home? Or do they know him so well to know he never leaves? That he’s so scared of the outside that he shelters and stocks up and-

Harley leans back, shrugging. “If you let it be that easy, it’s that easy.”

Tony doesn’t believe him. But he has the sneaking feeling that Peter does. Peter probably thinks Tony’s going to be let out of this alive, but Harley must know better.

The blond shrugs again, before disappearing into the library to keep checking.

As soon as he’s gone, Peter reappears.

He’s just as pretty as he was before, and this time, he’s holding a silver dagger.

Tony stares at him. Peter smiles, impish and adorable, and completely wrong and he trails the fine blade point across his own cheek. “You know what I think?” Peter whispers, and Tony swallows hard. That’s the decorative blade set on the bookcase in the smaller, no less grand, section of the library. It’s just a decoration, probably not even that sharp, probably- Peter leans in, and his sweet breath fans over Tony’s face, “I don’t think Howard hid the book in the library.”

Tony wonders what it is they’re looking for exactly. But he goes with it. “No? The library’s a pretty ingenious hiding place.”

Peter smiles, his nose scrunches just a little and it wouldn’t look out of place in a Hallmark Movie. “It’s too obvious. Anyone with half a brain cell would think the library,” his voice drops a little, derisive in tone, “of course Harley thinks he’s a genius coming up with it. Idiot.” He rolls his eyes.

Tony doesn’t know what’s happening. He wanted to get Peter on side, play them against each other, but the boy is offering himself up in a way that’s too obvious. And there’s the fucking knife-

“Your dad spent a lot of time in this library, I bet,” Peter muses, and idly traces the blade across Tony’s bound forearm. It’s gentle. Feather soft. Just the way he was doing to his own face. Tony tries not to move, but he also tries not to show any fear.

He remembers his father. He remembers the library door always being locked as Howard holed himself up inside. It’s why Tony spends all his time in here now. “Yeah,” he croaks out, “he did.”

Peter beams at him, and reaches over to kiss his cheek like Tony’s just performed a new trick. “Good,” he praises effusively, and Tony tries not to keen (god, what’s wrong with him? Is he this desperate for approval, that-) “Where did Howard spend no time at all? What was a room in the house you never saw him go to? Or a room he seemed to just hate-“

The memory that’s triggered is one Tony hadn’t even known he’d remembered. It’s of Howard, sneering at Tony and his friends as cigar smoke fanned out around them- 16 and pretentious and playing billiards and poker with rules they didn’t fully understand-

“The billiards room,” he whispers, and Peter’s eyes light up. The fire dances in his irises.

“Your house is just like a game of Clue,” Peter giggles, and then he’s using the dagger to slice through the ropes like butter, and tucking it into the pocket of the fur coat.

He takes Tony’s hand and threads their fingers together, pulling Tony up out of the chair. Tony can’t find his voice. He can’t find his words. But suddenly Peter is pressed up against him, warm and tempting when he- when he shouldn’t be, and those lips are whispering into the shell of his ear-

“Show me where the billiards room is,”

Tony nods uselessly.

He doesn’t know if this is part of the game, part of the elaborate plan, or if Peter really is planning a double cross here. He doesn’t know if this is his chance, or the end of the line.

But Peter’s hand is warm and confident, and for the first time, for some unfathomable reason-

The storm doesn’t seem quite so scary. In fact, with Peter and his knife and the fur coat- he thinks maybe he’s found a protector. And there’s a lot Tony needs protecting from. 

Moon Fever (10-part series) by mytimehaspassed

[30,612w | Mature]

Derek moves into Stiles’ old house on a Monday.

Note: Stiles is a ghost in this one, but I don’t mean it to be a pun when I describe the way this is written as ‘haunting’. I love the natural integration of Stiles’ memories from when he was alive and descriptions of Scott are another highlight.

The brunt of the Sterek relationship occurs in the first part, which can be read as a stand alone, and the rest expands into an overarching plot and the introduction of other characters.

Peter plays the long game by HurrahForSmut

[2314w | Not Rated (but I’d go with Teen)]

She’d almost forgotten Peter, which is always a mistake.

Rec’d by a kind anon!

Note: This one involves major character death, so I won’t blame you if you pass it by (I don’t tend to read it either, but I received a rec and gave it a shot!). I’m a big fan of fics where Peter is evil and twisted beyond the typical creeper-lurking-in-the-corner, and it’s beautifully written, almost poetic. Prepare for the shivers the last line will bring!

Remember: the fluff tag is always waiting for you if you need it when you’re finished! ;)

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Everyone:

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