Spitfire

Pairing: Peter Parker x Vigilante!Male!Reader

Requested: No

A/N: It’s a Marvel/DC crossover because I was watching the Flash, Joker would absolutely go on a chaos roadtrip to NYC, and because I said so. Just a heads up, this one turned out long (10 pages in google docs)

—–

“I dunno, Mr. Stark,” Peter spoke quickly, his voice being transmitted through the headset in his suit, “There’s been basically no villains at all for the past two weeks, hardly even the typical muggers!”

Tony sighed, voices echoing quietly in the background on his end of the call, “Maybe that isn’t a bad thing, Parker.”

“But, Mr. Stark-” Peter protested, slumping back against the rooftop that he’d perched himself on. He’d taken up residence when he realized that his rounds were going to be pointless once again.

“Look, kid, I’m busy.” The voices in the background of Tony’s audio had grown louder, demanding his attention, “Maybe that’s the next thing that you look into? Find out why all the criminals are vanishing.”

Peter nodded slowly, determination building, “Yeah! Don’t worry, Mr. Stark, I’ll get to the bottom of this!”

—–

“C’mon (M/N), you’ve got to have some sort of idea why the crime is disappearing!” Peter whined, looking across the lunch table at his tall (h/c) friend.

The other male glanced up from his food, (e/c) eyes meeting Peter’s thoughtfully, “Most of the guys on the team have been gossiping about some new hero making his way into the spotlight. I wonder if that’s why criminals are so few and far between these days.” It always kind of slipped Peter’s mind that (M/N) was on the football team, since he was basically the antithesis of a typical jock. He was intelligent, interested in superheroes and science, in addition to being physically fit. He was tall, well-built, and his hair was always perfectly styled, but he was constantly clad in nerdy t-shirts. He had only been at Midtown High for a few months but he was as popular as the people who’d been there for years, despite never trying to be. (M/N) (L/N) was a walking contradiction.

Peter’s eyes widened, “Really? There’s a new superhero in New York?” He leaned forward curiously, intent on learning as much as he could about this newcomer.

Ned, Peter’s best friend since childhood, cut in, “Totally!” He set aside the mini-Lego Death Star he’d been tinkering with as he spoke, “I guess he’s got like, fire-powers or something? But get this; he can fly.” At Peter’s unimpressed expression, he continued, “The dude has a pair of freaking dragon wings growing out of his back!”

Peter’s eyebrows shot upwards incredulously, “What?!”

“Yeah! People are calling him Spitfire since he can literally breathe fire,” Ned gushed, voice raising slightly as he grew more invested in the conversation.

“Really?” (M/N) snorted, “That’s what they’re going with?” He glanced apprehensively at the other people sitting near them, watching as his companions’ rising excitement caught the attention of other nearby students.

“Dude, that’s so cool!” Peter exclaimed, deep brown eyes gleaming excitedly. “I hope I get to see him in action one day.”

(M/N) sighed, pushing his food away as he stood, “Look, you guys can sit and talk about this Spitfire guy all you want, but I’m getting out of here. I’ll see you later.” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way out of the lunch hall.

Ned glanced at Peter once the (h/c) had disappeared, “What was that all about?” Peter shrugged, turning back to his food.

—–

Peter had done some research after learning about the new hero, so now, after he’d donned his Spider-Man suit, he was lying in wait for the appearance of the dragon-themed superhero atop one of the buildings the hero seemed to frequent. Most of the few photos that featured the masked hero showed him swooping from the very rooftop that Peter had hidden himself upon.

Peter’s legs had grown numb and he’d nearly given up when a loud thud echoed across the rooftop. His gaze jerked towards the source of the sound, eyes widening as they locked onto a tall figure holding a portly thug over the edge of the building, massive black wings unfurled slightly from his landing. “Where can I find your boss?” Spitfire snarled, gloved hand curled tight around the gang-member’s throat.

The man struggled limply, “I don’t know!” His hands scrabbled at the black-clad hero’s arm, attempting to free himself.

The (h/c) rolled his eyes, the light of the city making his eyes glow ethereally. “Why don’t I believe you?” He sighed, pondering the situation lightly, “Y’know what? I’m going to give you until the count of three to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t, well, the cops are going to have a fun time cleaning you off of the pavement in the morning.”

The thug’s eyes widened and he struggled harder, straining to get his feet back onto solid ground, “No, please!”

“One.”

“Please! I don’t know!” Peter could feel the man’s fear, frozen in place by the shock of witnessing a fellow hero threatening someone.

“Two.” Spitfire’s hold shifted, muscles in his arm flexing as he moved to let the man drop from the top of the skyscraper.

“Wait, wait! I’ll tell you what I know!” The thug blurted out, panic overtaking his features.

“Good.” A grin passed over Spitfire’s face and he set the man back on his feet on the rooftop. He stepped back, an eyebrow raising over the edge of his mask as he waited for the criminal to speak.

“The headquarters is down by the docks; if you’re going to find the Joker anywhere, it’ll be there.” The thug slumped slightly, his relief clear on his face at the thought that he wouldn’t be flung from the rooftop.

“Thank you for your compliance,” the winged male nodded slightly, turning on his heel and beginning to make his exit.

Peter’s eyes widened as the thug pulled a knife, lunging at the dark hero. The (h/c) let out a pained shout as the blade sunk into his side, his wings exploding outwards, slamming into his attacker and launching him away. The man was forced back the way he’d come, feet skidding at the edge of the roof and arms pinwheeling as he slipped backwards, over the edge.

The brunet gasped, his heightened senses allowing him to process the situation faster than an average person would’ve been able to. He darted out of his hiding place, rushing to try and save the man from falling to his death.

“Don’t bother,” The (h/c) groaned, wincing as he brought a hand up to the blade still lodged in his side, just under his ribcage. “At the force he got hit and the speed he’d have fallen at, he was dead when he hit the ground.” He turned, finally looking over his shoulder at the blue and red suited teen. “I assume you were there the whole time?”

Peter nodded, suddenly thankful for the way his mask shielded the way his eyes traced the attractive form of the dragon-themed hero. “Who was that? Why were you threatening him?”

The other male’s eyes rolled, gleaming (e/c) orbs revealed by the pointed eye-holes of his mask, “He was one of the Joker’s henchmen. He had information that I wanted and there’s no faster way to get information than threatening someone’s well-being.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, trying to place the voice belonging to the male in front of him, “Have we met before? You sound really familiar…”

The (h/c) shifted, hand curling around the hilt of the knife lodged in his side, “Doubtful; I feel like I’d have remembered meeting,” he grunted as he tugged sharply at the blade, yanking it free from his abdomen, “Spider-Man.” He rolled his shoulders, tossing the blood-covered knife to the side. “Whatever, I got what I needed.” He stalked towards the edge of the rooftop, massive charcoal-scaled wings flaring behind him, “If you need me, please hesitate to call.” He launched himself off the roof, allowing himself to freefall before his wings caught the wind and he soared upwards, disappearing into the dark New York City sky.

Peter sighed, disappointed that he hadn’t managed to find out anything about the new hero. Then his eyes locked onto the blood-spattered blade and a thoughtful grin took its place on his lips.

—–

“I’m telling you, (M/N), if someone had a pair of dragon wings sprouting out of their back, somebody would have to know who they are, right?” Peter complained dramatically, flopping back onto his bed next to the tired (h/c), a can of soda clasped in one hand.

(M/N) slowly rolled to face the brunet, “Not necessarily; what if he has a way to hide them?” At Peter’s puzzled look, (M/N) explained, “Spider-Man has his suit, right? But he’s not wearing it all the time, so what if Spitfire does the same sort of thing? Not like he can take them off or anything, but maybe he has a way of camouflaging them?”

Peter gasped, shooting upright, “That’s it!” He flung his arms outward, the soda splashing from the can and soaking the front of the (h/c)’s shirt.

He flinched from the cold liquid before letting out a pained groan at the sudden movement. “Shit,” he grumbled, forcing himself to his feet.

Peter shot to his feet, anxious about his friend’s outcry, “Are you okay?!”

(M/N) nodded, digging through his backpack for a clean shirt. “Yeah; it’s no big deal, I’m sure I’ve got a clean- ahah.” He tugged out his football jersey and dropped his backpack, stretching back to his full height. He reached to the bottom hem of his shirt and tugged it up over his head.

“You and I both know that’s not what I-” Peter’s voice caught in his throat as his eyes came into contact with (M/N)’s bare back. As any normal teen’s would’ve, Peter’s eyes traced the defined muscles of his friend’s back, freezing when they caught on the massive tattoos spanning the (h/c)’s shoulder blades. His dark eyes widened as he realized the shapes defined by the midnight-dark ink, the joints of the batlike wings extending up to the upper curve of his shoulders and the lower points trailing down past the taller teen’s waist. “When, um, when did you get those done?” He asked quietly, mind still stuck on their previous conversation.

The (h/c) paused briefly, swearing under his breath as he turned to face his friend, “About eight months ago.” He forced the clean shirt on, tugging it down sharply, but not before Peter’s eyes caught on a healing wound on his side. Right where Spider-Man had seen Spitfire be stabbed.

Eight months. Before he’d moved to New York and before Spitfire had made his first appearance. “Hey, shouldn’t you be at football practice right now?” He asked suspiciously, eyes still trained on the injured area.

“I’ve been dismissed for the time being; sprained a muscle in my side and can’t play until it heals.” He flopped back down on Peter’s bed, wincing a little as it pulled at the wound before turning his attention back to his phone.

“Yeah? Was it really sprained?” At his accusatory tone (M/N) turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow warily at Peter. “Or was it cut?”

(M/N) pushed back to his feet, towering over the brunet, “What are you implying, Peter?” He grumbled, anxiety building low in his stomach.

Peter swallowed nervously, intimidated by his friend’s sudden defensive behavior, “I’m implying that I don’t think a torn muscle leaves a stab wound,” he bit back determinedly, hoping that his theory was correct.

The (h/c) huffed, tired of his friend’s accusations. He rolled his eyes, turning away and grabbing his bag as he moved to the door, “Whatever, Parker. I don’t feel like being interrogated today; I’m out of here.” He’d barely gotten the door cracked open when a string of web hit it, forcing it closed again. (M/N) turned, intelligent (e/c) eyes narrowed as they flicked from the webbing back to Peter. “You were there. That’s why you know what happened.”

Peter sighed, lowering his wrist and eyeing the webbing still clinging to the doorframe, “Well, I can’t exactly deny it after that, can I?”

(M/N)’s shoulders dropped, resigning himself to the situation. “And I guess I can’t either.” He chuckled bitterly, taking his seat at the foot of Peter’s bed. “You have questions, I can tell; you’ve got your scientist face on. Ask away.”

Peter sat down in his desk chair, trying to figure out where to start, “How- how did this happen?”

The (h/c) sighed, “It started before I moved here; back when I lived in Central City. It started when Star Labs’ Particle Accelerator exploded. I was working at an animal rescue that was pretty close to the initial blast radius. The energy wave caught a set of loose wiring and the building went up in flames. I was trying to get the last of the animals out when the ceiling crumbled.I was trapped in the reptile section and the smoke was making it hard to breathe. Eventually, I lost consciousness,” (M/N)’s eyes were troubled, distant as he reminisced. “When I woke up, I felt different; stronger, more at ease. The fire was still raging around me, but now it couldn’t hurt me. The smoke was just as natural to breathe in as oxygen, the fire brushing against me didn’t burn.” His eyes hardened, meeting Peter’s, “When I walked out of the rubble people looked at me like I was a monster and I don’t blame them; I must’ve looked like a demon, what with the wings and the flames around me. I didn’t understand what had happened, so I left. I flew off and never looked back.”

Peter crept closer, placing a soothing hand on the (h/c)’s shoulders, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve gotten over it, I guess.” He shrugged, “Any other questions?”

Peter paused, hesitant to ask what he really wanted to, “Could I see the wings?”

(M/N) nodded slowly, tugging his shirt off again before moving to lie down on the bed, resting his head on his crossed arms. His brows furrowing as he concentrated, tattoos shifting and dancing across his skin, slowly tugging upward and outward, away from his skin. The wings lifted from his shoulders, midnight-dark scales winking into existence as the appendages stretched into existence. The wings flexed as far as they could in the small room before curling inwards to sit, folded, against (M/N)’s spine.

The brunet stepped closer, craning his neck to get a good look at the way the light glimmered across the scales, a few gleaming sliver in the fluorescence. “Can- can I touch them?”

(M/N) froze slightly, “Um, I guess so. Just be careful, okay? They’re a little… sensitive.”

Peter nodded, slipping onto the bed next to his friend and extending his hand slowly. He placed his hand gently on the wing, a ways below the joint and near the edge. (M/N) tensed and his wing flexed slightly under the brunet’s fingers, the cool scales sliding easily against his palm. Peter pressed his hand down more firmly, exploring the wide planes of scales and flesh before him. (M/N) let out a slight grunt under him as he touched the place where a wing met his shoulder and Peter froze, hoping he hadn’t hurt his friend. (M/N) shifted lightly, forcing his wing back against his hand. Peter grinned, applying more pressure and watching as the (h/c) relaxed. The brunet paused as (M/N) let out a soft churring noise, his chest rumbling gently under Peter’s touch. He smiled, happy that his friend was so content.

A loud chime rang out through the room, both boys jerking in surprise. Peter’s gaze locked onto the source of the noise and he slipped off of the bed to go retrieve his phone. “It was just Aunt May asking if I needed anything from the store.” He sat back beside the (h/c), watching in fascination as his wings melted back into their tattoo form, their bulk vanishing as he sat up and tugged his shirt back on.

“Well, now that you know my dirty little secret,” (M/N) teased, finally turning back to face Peter once he was sure that the tattoos were securely covered. “Now what?”

Peter shrugged, not entirely sure where to go from there. “Wanna watch Jurassic Park?”

(M/N) laughed but agreed, never someone to have been able to deny Peter anything.

—–

It was nothing out of the ordinary for the boys to curl up together while watching a movie, what was abnormal, however, was the look that (M/N) got in his eyes when Peter laid back with his head on the (h/c)’s lap. His eyes grew soft, admiring the way Peter’s soft chocolate curls flopped just over his eyes and the way he was so focused on the movie. (M/N) grinned softly, appreciating the way the brunet was so relaxed around him.

Peter glanced up, having sensed the (h/c)’s gaze, “What’re you looking at?” (M/N) shook his head in amusement and Peter gasped dramatically, a chuckle escaping him. “How dare you not tell me!”

Before he even realized what he was doing, (M/N) had leaned down and pressed his lips to Peter’s. The brunet froze, shocked, and (M/N) pulled back, the weight of what he’d just done fully hitting him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” He jolted into motion, scrambling out from under Peter and to his feet, rambling as he snatched up his backpack and made his way to the window, “I shouldn’t have done that; I just ruined everything. I’m so sorry, I’m just going to go; you can just pretend that that never happened, okay?” He sighed, slipping through the window frame and out onto the fire escape before allowing his wings to flare outwards, “I’ll see you around, Peter.”

He was gone before Peter could say anything to stop him.

—–

Days had passed in a blur since the kiss and Peter had still yet to see (M/N). He hadn’t been sitting with Ned and Peter at lunch, he wasn’t showing up to their shared classes, and he’d even been missing football practices. Even his alter ego had gone silent; there hadn’t been any sightings of Spitfire since that night, not even any of the typical signs of his presence.

He was worried about his friend (or was he his boyfriend now? Peter wasn’t quite sure anymore) and (M/N) had shut his phone off, so he couldn’t even text him to talk about what had happened. If he’d started getting careless when he was Spider-Man, Peter didn’t feel like he could be blamed, however that recklessness was exactly what had gotten him into his current predicament.

He’d been facing off with some weird guy in a purple suit with his face painted in clown makeup when all of a sudden the guy had launched a bomb at him mid-swing. The bomb had exploded into a net upon contact and Peter found himself free-falling, for once unable to stop himself as he quickly approached the unforgiving asphalt. His eyes squeezed closed as he got too close to impact, trying to brace himself in vain.

Suddenly he found his descent halted and his eyes shot open again, a disbelieving smile forming when he recognized the black suit and shining scales of his friend, one of his hands clutched tight to the crossties of the net as he dragged him away from the ground and back up to the rooftops. (M/N) set him down but didn’t land, “Get yourself out of there; I’ll hold off Joker and we’ll stop him together.”

Peter found himself nodding as the (h/c) soared back down toward the street level, where he could hear the sounds of fighting ensuing. He tore his concentration back to the present and began to squirm his way out of the netting, quickly moving to rejoin the fight as soon as he’d managed to free himself.

As he swung back in, he managed to time his entrance perfectly to web one of the clown’s- Joker’s, if (M/N) was right- web bombs and toss it back at him, grinning victoriously under his mask when it burst and caught the Joker inside it.

“Gotcha now,” he heard (M/N) grin, swooping down to grab the net by part of its interlocking chains with its captive inside it before Joker could move to free himself. He quickly flew higher, until he was certain that the Joker wouldn’t move to free himself lest he fall to his death.

Peter quickly scaled the side of the building until he was at roughly the same height as the dragon-themed hero. “What now?” he called over the sound of the rushing wind and the beating of wings.

“Now we wait for Batman to show up,” (M/N) huffed. “I’ve got a call in with some contacts who know him, and they say he’s on his way. Shouldn’t be long since Gotham’s just across state lines in Jersey. Twenty minutes, maybe?”

Peter’s brows furrowed nervously as his gaze flickered between his friend and the villain held captive below him. “Can you hold him that long?”

“I’ll be fine,” (M/N) huffed, wings flapping hard to keep both of them aloft. “Just, uh, talk to me for a bit? Distract me so I’m not thinking about it.”

“O-okay,” Peter said, mind reeling as he tried to think of something to say. “Um, a-after this, would you, uh, w-would you want to go to a m-movie or something?”

(M/N) laughed, shifting his grip a little, “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

“I-I just-” Peter stammered, “You said to talk and that’s what I thought of first!”

(M/N) opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted by the Joker, calling up to them from the net, “My God, if I had known I would have to deal with kids having a sexuality crisis and their terrible flirting, I would’ve just stayed in Gotham and dealt with Batman and his Robin-of-the-week!”

(M/N)’s eyes narrowed, visibly unamused. He locked eyes with Peter for a moment before releasing the net and letting Joker fall. He gave it a second or two before diving after him and catching the criminal once more, “Got any other funny jokes, clown boy?” he grumbled.

“Nope, I think I’m good,” Joker said, clinging tightly to the netting with a startled expression.

“Right answer,” (M/N) growled, resuming his previous altitude and looking back to Peter. “By the way, I’m definitely up for a date if you are.”

“Absolutely!” Peter agreed, suddenly very glad he was wearing a mask so no one could see just how wide he was smiling or the blush he could feel warming his cheeks.

A relieved sigh came from the net and when the heroes looked down, they found the Joker fixated on the sleek black car speeding toward them. “I never thought that I would be gratefulto see Batsy.” The car skidded to a stop below them and the driver stepped out, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked up at them.

“Give me five minutes,” (M/N) said to Peter, before tucking his wings and diving toward the Batmobile.

As Peter watched, (M/N) handed the captured Joker over to Batman (BATMAN, holy crap that was so cool!), exchanged a few words with Gotham’s protector, accepted a small slip of paper from him, and then spread his wings again to take off. Oh his way past Peter, he held his hand out, a wide smile crossing his lips as Peter leapt from the building and took it, allowing himself to be whisked into the sky by the dragon-themed hero.

Flying was almost as big of a rush as swinging through the city, but being like this- held close, wrapped in his arms like he was precious cargo- with (M/N) could beat both. Even if they were just going to the movies, he knew this was a memory he wouldn’t give up for anything.