#innocentpeter
Reposting this *finally* after it’s sudden and inexplicable disappearance off my blog :(
Readhereon AO3
About this: same age Starker, high school AU. Bad boy Tony and goody two shoes Peter. Features: breathplay, daddy kink, smoking, mentions of drugs and alcohol, violence (not between Tony and Peter), and a homophobic slur. 8.9k.
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MJ stops talking in the middle of her sentence.
Ned, who has been dozing by her side for the last ten minutes of their lunch break, notices the silence and perks up, blinking sleepily.
“What is it?” Peter asks.
“Tony Stark,” she says. “He’s looking at us.”
All the breath gets sucked from Peter’s lungs. Suddenly his heart pounds. Is this what a heart attack feels like? He might be having a heart attack. The nurse who occupies a tiny room beside the counselor’s office isn’t going to be able to handle this cardiac episode. “What kind of look?” Peter asks. “Assess his look MJ. Does it say, ‘I want to pound your guts’? Wait, should I look? No—you should stop looking—”
“It’s a look Peter,” she says. “See for yourself.”
Anxiety wars with curiosity. Somehow, curiosity wins, and Peter (be cool, Pete, be cool and casual) glances over his shoulder. There’s nothing casual about the expression on Tony’s face. It’s apathetic, that’s true, but it is fixed and unflinching even as Peter’s entire lunch table stares back at him across the grassy quad. Around him are his friends—other seniors who have reputations for delinquency—and they laugh and joke raucously but Tony isn’t joining them at all. At the edge of his lips, a cigarette rests.
Peter swallows. Smoking on school grounds is forbidden.
MJ throws up both of her hands, mouthing What? She’s the only one with the balls to do that. Peter’s never heard of Tony Stark hitting a woman, but the true depths of the older senior’s depravity are unknown. Unfortunately.
Tony takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points with it.
“Oh my god,” Peter says.
MJ points at herself. Tony shakes his head, points again. MJ points to Ned. Tony’s eyes roll noticeably even from this distance. He points one last time. “He wants you, Petey,” MJ mutters.
Peter turns to her, glad Tony can’t see the expression on his face. He hopes it’s terrified—because terror is explicable at least. But god forbid the other boy see the pounding of Peter’s heart in his throat, the way his palms have started sweating, the nervous-anxious-excited energy that makes his stomach feel like it’s twisting inside out. “What does he want with me?”
“Maybe he wants to pound you,” she says flatly.
Oh goodness, someone get me some cold water because that was fucking hot
