Chapter Text
Peter Parker was whipped. Thoroughly, embarrassingly whipped.
And for two entirely different people, no less.
The first was Harry Osborn, his best friend since middle school—because despite popular belief, Ned was actually a high school addition to the lineup. Being into Harry made sense. They were the same age, lived in the same city, and didn't have a horrifying three-decade gap between them.
Which brought him to the second person: his mentor.
Look, it was questionable. Peter was nineteen, Tony was fifty, and the math was just plain awkward. MJ had flatly blamed the whole thing on a lack of a father figure, but Peter preferred not to unpack that particular psychological baggage. Besides, age gap aside, being with Harry was actually doable.
Choosing between them, on the other hand? Not easy. Especially not when Peter’s brain kept straying to hyper-specific, utterly unverified Stark Tower rumors. Like, had anyone else heard the one about Tony having a Prince Alb—
"Peter?"
Ned’s voice cut sharp through his internal spiral.
Peter flinched, blinking rapidly as the brightly lit classroom snapped back into focus. Right. He was standing at the front of the room. In the middle of a presentation. In front of twenty-five staring classmates.
Damn it.
"Um... I'm so, so sorry," Peter muttered, ducking his head to frantically scan the whiteboard behind them to remember what topic they were even covering.
"What's the matter, Penis? Not as smart as you thought?" Flash’s voice sneered from the third row.
"Flash," the teacher warned, using that tired, utterly useless tone that meant no actual discipline was coming.
Peter cleared his throat, forced his burning face to cool down, and finally launched into the rest of the slides.
Ten minutes later, he sank gratefully into his seat as the bell rang. His mind immediately drifted right back off the rails. Next period was chemistry—and Harry was in that class.
At least something about today was looking up.
"What the hell was up with you back there, Peter?" Ned asked under his breath the second they sat down.
Before Peter could open his mouth, MJ leaned over from the adjacent desk. "Probably thinking about his sugar daddies."
"What?!" Peter shrieked.
A handful of heads snapped in his direction, accompanied by an immediate glare from the teacher.
"What sugar daddies?" Peter whispered fiercely, leaning across his desk. "Plural?!"
"You know," MJ said with a light shrug, casually turning a page in her book without elaborating.
"No! No, I don't know!" Peter’s head whipped toward Ned, eyes wide with frantic desperation.
"Um... I think she means Harry and Mr. Stark, Peter," Ned offered, wincing slightly.
"What?!" Peter shrieked again—decidedly louder this time.
That was officially the last straw.
"Peter Parker!" the teacher snapped, the sharp crack of chalk against the board punctuating the yell. Peter flinched violently. "Is there something you would like to share with the rest of the class?"
"Um... no, sir," Peter mumbled, rising half out of his seat to duck his head in embarrassment. "I'm... sorry. I'll be quiet."
"One more sound out of you today and you're serving a month of detention. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," Peter squeaked, sinking back into his chair as the teacher turned back to the lesson.
God damn it.
Peter buried his face in his hands. He really, really needed to get his life together.
Peter was finally in his next class, though he wasn't sure it was doing him any good. He was currently sitting on the revelation that apparently half the school thought Harry was his sugar daddy. Seriously. How had that even become a rumor?!
They weren't even halfway through the period when Harry leaned over, catching his frantic expression. "Parker, you okay?"
"Yeah... just a headache," Peter muttered. That was believable enough, right?
"You're a terrible liar," Harry pointed out dryly. But to Peter's relief, he didn't push it.
They spent the rest of the class in silence until the bell finally chimed, signaling the end of the school day. Thank God. Last period was finally over, which meant—
Wait.
He had the "Stark internship" today.
Oh God. How was he even supposed to look Tony in the eye after everything MJ had planted in his head today?
"Oh, shit," Peter mumbled under his breath.
"Oh shit, what, Parker?" Harry asked, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
"I, um... just remembered an important math project."
"Don't sweat it. You're a nerd, you'll pass," Harry said with a smirk, though his eyes lingered on Peter with genuine concern.
Peter offered a strained, barely-there smile in return.
"Hey, whaddya say we head to my place today?" Harry suggested, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Catch up a bit?"
"Can't... I have the internship today." Peter tightened his grip on his backpack straps, suddenly wishing more than anything that he could just retreat straight home to Aunt May.
"Shame," Harry muttered, a subtle edge creeping into his tone. "You barely spend time with me anymore, Pete. Can't you just ditch it for once?"
"Of course not, Harry," Peter said, shaking his head. Ever since he'd gotten the gig at fourteen, he hadn't missed a single day. "I can't risk losing it."
"So what if you do?" Harry gestured casually, a half-playful, half-serious shrug. "I run Oscorp now. I could hand you a way better internship on a silver platter."
"Um... thanks, Harry," Peter said, stepping back with an awkward, apologetic smile. "I really have to run, though. See you Monday, alright?"
Before Harry could object, Peter turned on his heel and rushed toward the exit.
The drive up to the penthouse of Stark Tower had never felt so long. Every floor on the elevator digital display was just another second Peter had to spend trying—and failing—to scrub MJ’s cursed commentary out of his head.
Prince Albert.
Why had she said that? Why did he look it up on Urban Dictionary in the bathroom before leaving school? Why was he like this?
The elevator chimed, sliding open to reveal the glass-walled workshop. Tony was already there, hunched over a holoscreen with a soldering iron tucked behind his ear, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
"You're seven minutes late, kid," Tony said without looking up, tapping at a blue neon schematics board. "Traffic on the bridge, or did you stop to save a cat again?"
"Neither! I mean—traffic, mostly," Peter squeaked. His voice cracked mid-sentence.
Tony paused, slowly raising his head. He lowered his safety glasses to the tip of his nose, his dark eyes narrowing as he took in Peter’s twitchy, pale posture. "Right. And I’m a morning person. What’s with the face? You look like you just saw a ghost."
"I'm fine!" Peter said, entirely too loud. He practically sprinted to his workbench, grabbing the nearest tool—a blowtorch—and staring intently at an unpowered wrist gauntlet. "Totally fine. Normal."
Tony stared at him for three very long seconds, then set his glass down with a slow, deliberate clink. He walked over, leaning his hip against Peter’s desk and crossing his arms. Up close, Peter couldn't help but notice the small grey hairs around Tony's temples. Thirty-one year age gap, his brain helpfully supplied. Fifty. He is fifty.
"Put the torch down, Parker, before you set your eyebrows on fire," Tony said dryly, reaching out to tap the metal nozzle.
Peter dropped it like it was radioactive. "Sorry."
"Alright, spit it out. What happened at school?" Tony’s tone softened just a fraction, shifting into that protective, familiar rhythm that usually made Peter feel grounded. Right now, it just made his face burn hotter. "Did Flash say something stupid, or are you hiding something?"
"No! No, school was... informative," Peter choked out. He fixed his gaze resolutely on Tony’s chin, determined not to look anywhere lower. Or anywhere near his ears. Or anywhere, period. "Just... rumors. People talk."
Tony raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Rumors, huh? Let me guess. People think Spider-Man is actually a three-legged dog, or is there a hot new theory about me selling the Avengers Mansion to turn it into a Chuck E. Cheese?"
"Uh. No. Not quite," Peter mumbled, ducking his head to fiddle blindly with a screwdriver. "Just... weird stuff."
Tony chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Peter’s hair, completely oblivious to the internal storm destroying his intern's sanity. "Kid, if I listened to every rumor about me in the press, I’d believe I have five secret kids in Europe and a gold-plated submarine. Don't let it get to you. Now grab the wire strippers and help me fix this repulsor output."
"Yeah," Peter squeaked, pulling the tool toward himself and taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah. Repulsors. Science. Great."
He survived the next ten minutes in relative peace until Tony leaned over his shoulder to check his wiring.
"Not bad," Tony murmured, his shoulder brushing against Peter's as he pointed at the junction box. "Just tighten that silver ring right there—"
Ring.
Peter flinched so hard he dropped the screwdriver, sending it clattering across the concrete floor.
Tony stopped, blinking in absolute confusion. "Okay. That's it. What on earth is wrong with you today?"
"Nothing!" Peter practically yelled at the ceiling. "I just really love math!"
Tony slowly blinked, looking at Peter as if the kid had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Math. You're jumpy enough to vibrate through the floorboards because you love math."
"It's a very passionate subject!" Peter insisted, his voice pitching high enough to set off FRIDAY's acoustic sensors. He frantically dropped to his knees, diving under the workbench to retrieve the dropped screwdriver just to get Tony’s shoulder out of his direct line of sight. "Calculus. Linear algebra. Really gets the blood pumping."
"Right. Because nothing screams adrenaline rush like differential equations," Tony said, his voice flat with complete disbelief. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees so he could look under the bench at Peter, who was currently curled around a chair leg like a startled cat. "Come out from under the desk, Parker. You're not a ferret."
Peter reluctantly crawled out, dusting off his jeans and placing the screwdriver back on the table with exaggerated care. He kept his eyes locked firmly on the ceiling tiles.
"Look at me, kid," Tony commanded, though his tone was light, laced with that dry amusement that usually put Peter at ease.
Peter forced his gaze down, stopping strictly at Tony's nose. "I am looking at you. Sir. Mr. Stark."
"You're staring at my bridge of my nose," Tony pointed out, crossing his arms again. "Seriously, what kind of school rumor has you this spooked? Did somebody tell you I'm actually an alien? Or that I’m replacing you with a smarter kid from Brooklyn?"
"What? No!" Peter blurted out. "No, it's—it's not about the internship. It's just..." He swallowed hard, his brain wildly searching for an exit route while MJ's voice rang in his head: Sugar daddies. Plural.
"It's just what?" Tony pressed, stepping a inch closer. "If Flash at school is giving you a hard time—"
"They think you're my sugar daddy!" Peter squeaked out in one breathless, panicked rush.
The silence that followed in the workshop was absolute. Even the low hum of the arc reactor prototype seemed to stall out.
Tony didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared, his eyebrows slowly creeping upward until they nearly hit his hairline. "They... think what now?"
Peter immediately buried his face in his hands, groaning in absolute agony. "MJ said it! And then Ned confirmed it! Well, not that it was true, but that people were talking, and then Flash said—anyway, it's a whole thing, and I looked up the other rumor on Urban Dictionary, which was a massive mistake, and now I can't function, and I'd really like to drop through a trapdoor into the ocean right now."
Tony stayed quiet for three agonizing seconds before a sharp, startled bark of laughter escaped him. He clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late—he was wheezing.
"It's not funny!" Peter muffled into his palms, his ears burning hot enough to weld steel. "It's terrifying! You're fifty!"
"What? I'm Forty-nine for another three months, thank you very much," Tony wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he leaned against the workbench for support. "A sugar daddy? Me?"
"That's what I said!" Peter peeked through his fingers, seeing Tony practically doubled over with amusement. The crushing awkwardness began to ease, replaced by the familiar, ridiculous reality of his life.
"Unbelievable," Tony chuckled, shaking his head as he straightened up, though his eyes were still bright with humor. "Though I suppose I should be flattered. Half the city thinks I'm a recluse, but your high school thinks I'm paying your tuition." He tapped Peter's shoulder—a brief, familiar knuckle-knock that felt completely normal again. "Go take five, wash your face, and clear out whatever terrifying imagery Miss Jones put in your head. Then we're fixing this repulsor, alright?"
"Yeah," Peter sighed, the tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mr. Stark."
As Peter turned toward the workshop bathroom, Tony called out after him, his voice dripping with playful menace. "And Parker?"
Peter paused, glancing back. "Yeah?"
"If you ever mention the word 'sugar daddy' in this building again, I'm taking your suit away again. Now get out of here."