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im all yours ive got no control

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“Peter, we don’t mind you going on dates,” his dad, Tony, assured, “but it would certainly ease our minds if we knew where you were going and who you were going with.”

 Steve nodded earnestly in agreeance with his husband.

 “And what time. And how I get there. And why I’m going the places I do. And what we’re going to do. And-“ Peter let out an exasperated sigh, letting his hands slip off the edge of the dinner table and into his lap. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m not dating anyone.”

 “Then what are you doing trying to sneak out at nine o’clock at night?” Steve pushed. Again.

 “Nothing!” Peter said. Again. “I’m bored, alright? It’s the middle of summer and I’m tired of filing ancient study reports that JARVIS could do in seconds!”

 Tony narrowed his eyes, but his tone stayed sympathetic. “Son, it’s not safe for you to be out late by yourself and we- “

 Peter groaned and pushed away from the table, standing up in front of his disapproving fathers – them dressed in matching sleepwear and himself in an old Iron Maiden t-shirt, black skinny jeans and worn sneakers for, well, sneaking out.

 Face set in false annoyance, hoping to hide his fear of being caught out, Peter asked, “I’m almost eighteen! I’m not- You’re not- God! Can I just go to bed now!?”

 His fathers paused momentarily at the uncharacteristic outburst and turned to look at each other, before Tony declared, “I’m updating JARVIS to have him track you at night time.”

 “Tony!” Steve gasped.

 Peter angrily yelled out before slapping his hands on the table, real fury bubbling up, and shouting at them both, “Why do you have to be in control of me all the time! You’re only in charge of me because everyone else is dead!”

 Whatever true spark of rage existed had immediately been extinguished by instant regret at the look on both of his parents faces, because no matter the circumstances, they were his parents.

 The silence following his remark was loud. Loud heartbeat. Loud breaths. Loud shock.

 “I didn’t mean that- “he began.

 “Go to your room.” Steve dismissed, holding up a hand. “Now.”

 Head drooped and shoulders slouched, Peter left the bright kitchen and followed the hallway littered with happy photographs of the three of them all the way to his bedroom. He thought for a moment about slamming the door, but didn’t feel the anger in him to disrespect the silence like that again.

 What was meant to be an early night out for patrol out of true boredom, had turned into a shameful one sided shouting match. Peter wanted to kick his desk, to break his windows and to run back out there and unload all his stress onto his loving father’s. Instead, he cried.



 The thing was, Peter really shouldn’t have been caught those eight long months ago. He had altered JARVIS again when he first became Spiderman so that not only was his sleeping pattern a simulation of the real thing, once for, erm, privacy, but now for his entire absence, and with the second hacking the addition of masking any unusual activity Peter was up to (the whole not being where he was supposed to be six hours a day being the main one). As a side thought, he had also decided that JARVIS was to mask any blaring similarities between himself and what the Avengers unfairly called the “wannabe superhero” Spiderman, including very slight changes in one or the others height and weight.

 He couldn’t do much for his voice, but on the odd occasion Peter had actually come into contact with either of his father’s whilst being the vigilante hero, he had deepened his voice a notch, which probably wasn’t all that covert, thinking back on it.

 The one thing Peter hadn’t accounted for was his parents impromptu late night romantic stroll around the building which happened to coincide with Peter’s sneaking out of the front door, like he had done many times in the past, albeit usually a few hours later.

 The morning after, Peter had been given a much more emotional and compassionate talking to by his dad and papa, resulting in a lot of fallen tears between the three of them and a reassurance that Peter’s privacy would be respected, as long as he in turn respected their right to be concerned for his welfare by the fair exchange of questions and answers about his whereabouts.

Peter felt bad about lying nightly to them after he had promised he would uphold their trust on his side, and felt worse whenever he was injured and had nobody to rely on to come to his aid.

It was in the early hours of a brisk March morning that Peter found himself thinking back on the event sadly. The night had been extremely lacking in bad guys, and Peter’s stack of cheeky throwaway comments was overflowing.

He was perched on the edge of a tall apartment building when he heard a cry for his help.

Finally! he thought.

Quickly slinging to the source of the danger. He landed heavily in an alleyway where a tall girl in a frilly dress was being kicked and punch relentlessly by three thuggish men.

“Please help me!” she cried from the muddy ground where her blood ran.

“Hey! Over here, muffin heads!” Okay, maybe he needed to work on the quality rather than the quantity of his insults.

As the men stopped and turned to face the intruder, Peter was quick to web mouths, hands and feet together and to walls and floor. Overall, the fight took maybe twenty seconds flat.

Nice Peter self-congratulated.

“Here,” he began towards the girl, “let me- Deadpool? What are you doing, dude? Seriously, again?”

“Hey Spidey!” chirped the certainly not girl, but most definitely frilly-dress-over-the-top-of-his-costume wearing older man. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

Peter groaned as faint police sirens became louder and the police radio in his ear told him help was on its way to arrest the attackers. Attackers which could very easily have been fought, or killed, by the big, burly, widely grinning Deadpool.

“C’mon.” Peter sighed, extending a hand upwards and one to Deadpool, still sitting on the bloodied ground.

Instead of firmly grasping his hand however, Deadpool merely turned it, leaned forward and pecked the back of his gloved hand with his mask covered lips.

Peter sighed again, louder before he grabbed Deadpool’s hand and webbed them up and away from the three men in the alley and onto a rooftop a few blocks away.

“Why were you letting them hit you, Deadpool? Why are you in a dress? Why are you getting so close to my face? Stop.”

The bigger man stopped where he was, but sniffed loudly, and exclaimed, “Is that David Beckham’s scent? Twinsies!”

Peter leapt back a step as Deadpool lurched forward, and frowned at the pout it got him.

“Them. You. Dress. Punch. Why?” he asked dryly.

“Are you broken? Twinsies!” Deadpool cheered. “But for real, you’ve been ignoring me! Baby, I don’t know if I could have handled a night longer without seeing your beautiful face! Face, mask, whatever. Shut up! Shhhhhh!”

“I’ve been busy.” Peter lied, ignoring what he knew to be a conversation with voices the other man called boxes. “Lots of bad guys to deal with.”

“And yet you never want to deal with me, no matter how bad I am!” Deadpool winked. “But truly! I’m just asking to suck you’re dick, and proper use of your in Microsoft Word 2011, is that too much to ask?”

“Yes, it is too much.”

“Really? You’d think Bill Gates would care more about his products.”

“No I mean about sucking my dick.”

“Oh, we’re talking about your dick? My favourite thing! Apart from that pert little butt of yours! Mmm I’d like to sink my teeth into that glutinous maximus! What? No, I’m not going to bite his calves, too. Oh, actually you make a good point. Okay, so in order of things I’d like to do to you, first I’d need six metres of rope – yes, metres! Metric just makes sense, the author says so and the reader does too! I need a small bucket of sparkly lubricant-” Deadpool rambled.

“Stop!” Peter whined. “I have to go.” Peter lied again, reaching for a nearby taller building.

“Wait! I’m sorry!” Deadpool cried. “Please, just stay for a bit longer! You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a sidekick, and I wore my best dress!”

“Look, I can – wait! I’m not your sidekick!” Peter said, an apology muddled up in his sudden but only very slight outrage.

“You’re smaller than me?” Deadpool replied as if it were obvious.

“I would win if we fought! I have super strength and webs and I can stick to walls!” The competitive nature of an eighteen year old boy sneaking out easily from Peter’s carefree façade at Deadpool’s comments.

“Yeah, but…” Deadpool paused. “I mean you’re like twenty-four, one of the youngest super anything’s in the Marvel universe.”

Peter paused, as he realised he may seem more mature than he first thought. “The what universe?”

“Nevermind. Just… Do you want to get a beer or something? I mean I can’t get drunk but back in my whippersnapper days that’s what all the kids would do to get a real relationship in the works! Even if that relationship is just a friendship and less of a ship than a bromance. Which is cool! I’m not looking to get serious you know! I’m just a boy… Standing in front of a boy… Asking him for a bit of casual alcoholic beverage bondage. Wait, no. Bonding.” The muscular man babbled.

“Jesus, okay, fine Deadpool!” Peter huffed, feeling his face burn the longer the merc he had a slight crush on continued.

And that’s how Steve knew the next day that Peter had snuck out again. Because not only was he staying home from school, he was still a bit drunk at nine in the morning, only a few hours after having run into Deadpool.

“Peter, what have you done?” Steve laughed.

“Papa it’s cooooool. I’m fiiine. I went out with a guuuy. Now I need sleepy-byes. Byyyye.” Despite being the slightest bit tipsy, Peter at least had the sense to hide his costume and change into his pajamas.

“A guy?” Steve asked, slightly shocked. Not that he was angry, he was literally married to a man, but Peter had only recently been talking about girls like MJ and Gwen with no mention of a guy.

“Yeah!” Peter exclaimed, slapping his father’s cheek lightly and holding his warm palm there. “He’s actually really nice! But people don’t like him because he’s a bit odd. Odd. Oddoddoddoddodd- “

Steve smiled before tucking his son in like he hadn’t in years. Then he froze with amusement slipping away. “Wait, you’re drunk? You’re eighteen! Oh, no. Tony…”

Peter lifted his hand and put his entire hand over his father’s mouth. He felt like the healing factor was already clearing his mind, but his words didn’t reflect it. “Doesn’t have to know. He’s not here and everyone knows you’re the chill dad. Aren’t ya, Stevie?”

Steve stood up and turned away, beginning to quirk a smile again. “You. Are. Dead when your dad gets home.”

“Nuh uh.” Peter replied from his cosy cacoon. “You’n’me are gonna have a wee chat and sort this out when I wake up because there is no way I’ll let dad find out who this guy is.”

“Is he a bad influence or something, Petey?” Steve wondered, figuring he might get an honest answer from his son whilst he was still out of it.

“Maybe, but I just don’t want dad to scare him off.” Peter yawned. “He doesn’t exactly know who I am just yet.”

Steve was shutting the door as he began to think harder. “Okay, baby. I’m going to check up on you in a couple of hours, then we’ll chat.”



Oh, fuck. Oh, man. Oh, bother. Not only have I told my father I have a crush on a guy, I did it whilst drunk. Peter thought in his dark room at 1:27 p.m. Not only that but I have a crush on Deadpool. Oh, God.

“So,” said Steve from his spot at Peter’s desk a few feet away. “Want to talk about it?”

Peter sat straight up in bed and looked directly into his papa’s eyes. “Papa, I am so unbelievably sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out and drank anything, I know how bad it would have been if I was caught by police or something for you and dad’s reputation. I’m so, so sorry.”

Steve smiled again at his bed rumpled son. “Peter, I know that we said you need to be honest with us, but you’re an adult who can go out by yourself and it was a bit unfair of us to be so strict with you just because you were still technically a child.”

Peter swallowed as he waited for the next part.

“You think we care about a bit of underage drinking? Yeah, a little bit. It upsets me that your first time, or, well, what I assume is your first time, being drunk was away from home, late at night, with another man that we don’t know, but honestly it’s a bit hypocritical of me!” Steve laughed as he stood up and went to kneel by Peter’s bedside. “I do worry about you but I also know you’re a very smart young man, and wouldn’t do these things unless you yourself felt safe.”

Peter allowed himself a minute breath before replying.

“I don’t want you to think I’m a bad son.” He choked.

“Oh, Peter,” Steve sighed, embracing Peter. “Nobody thinks that of you. We all just want you to be safe, and to make safe decisions.”

“Even dad?” Peter asked quietly.

“Of course! Don’t ever doubt how much we love you, son.”

“We’re family.” A voice spoke from the door, making the father and son detach to look at their loved one. “I obviously want to strangle this kid for leading my son down a path of drinking before it’s legal, but that would be a bit hypocritical of me.“ The trio smiled. “I wonder what you do can shock us now? All the big ones are out of the way; sneaking out, underage drinking and homosexual tendencies.”

The fathers laughed as Peter squirmed.

You have no idea he thought.








“I don’t know, I just expected something different. Like George. Or Jonathan.”

“Do I look like a Jonathan?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I? Haven’t seen your face.”

“Nor have I seen yours. But I mean, does a Jonathan have as much sexual magnetism or vocabular finesse as moi?”

“Mmm,” Peter hummed, “Maybe not. Do I look like a Peter?”

Wade’s mask eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Peter? Suits how young you are. It’s cute.”

“Shut up, I’m manly.” He huffed.

“Mmm. Maybe not.” Wade laughed.

Peter scoffed and shoved Wade’s shoulder a little from where he knelt next to him laying down on top of a beautifully gardened rooftop with his hands pillowing his head. Peter skittered his hand down the other man’s chest until it rested low on his stomach.

“Peter?” Wade asked quietly.

Peter’s eyes flicked up from where he had been watching the line of hard abdominal muscle build strong pectorals and defined V to frame Wade’s torso.

“Yes, Wade?”

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes, Wade.”



Tony tutted from his spot at one head of the kitchen table, eating a plate of low-fat bacon, JARVIS prescribed.

“What, dad?” Peter asked tiredly, having spent very little of last night out patrolling but instead making out with his boyfriend of close to three months.

Tony lifted the Daily Bugle from the table to pass to his son. “Junk but still unacceptable.”


Peter felt his low-fat bacon making an escape out the way it came at the picture showing Peter in costume pressed against a dark alleyway wall by his boyfriend, masks both only raised to allow their impromptu make out sessions.

His eyes skimmed the short paragraphs proclaiming that he and Wade were no-hopers because they were together, among other things.

Peter couldn’t stop from blurting out, “That is so unfair! He’s- They’re both good people!”

“Hey, hey! Peter it’s okay! We know that!” Steve calmed, softly rubbing his son’s shoulder.

“Well, Spiderman is alright but- “

“Tony! Not helping!”

“My boyfriend’s name is Wade.” Peter finally decided to say, staring at his empty cup.

A pause.

“That’s a good, strong name, I reckon.”

“Tony, why!?”

“What else am I supposed to do!?”



“Sir, I’m going to ask just once more if you could please cease what you are doing as it interferes with Mister Stark’s intention of my being.” JARVIS politely asked Peter as he tampered with his coding. 

“JARVIS, trust me, Mister Stark doesn’t want to know about this.”



“Wade, please shut up!” Peter pleaded, sweaty and naked as he was, he knew what his boyfriend was doing would spell disaster.

“Baby boy, oh God, oh please, fuck yourself on my dick just like that. Just like that baby, you’re such a slut for me.” Wade rushed out, absolutely not shutting up.

“Shhhhh!” Peter pleaded in a whisper, slapping his hands over his boyfriend’s mouth

A sound from outside his locked door actually made Wade halt.



“Yeah, dad?” Peter called, trying to ignore the way Wade had started slowly circling his hips beneath him.

“Are you okay?” His dad hesitantly asked.

“Yeah, dad, I’m fine.” Peter called back, silently mouthing at Wade to stop, even going as far as to clamp his legs down on his partner’s waist, but unfortunately making him release a muffled but load moan from underneath his fingers instead.

“Oh!” Tony yelled, having heard him. “Oh! Um!”

“Dad, just go away!” Peter yelled as Wade began to feverently slam into him, the flush of embarrassment nowhere near the flush of arousal that shot through him.



“We’d like to meet him.” Steve asked calmly, through the iPhone screen.

“No.” Peter replied, equally as calm. Or as calm as you could be halfway across the city with a backpack of hastily packed clothes and an almost empty box of condoms.

“Why not?”

“It’s not important.”

“Peter, your father is making another deathray.”

“Okay, cool. You’re not meeting him.”





And of course, that’s when all hell broke loose.

With the number of aliens streaming through the portal over Central Park, it was difficult for Dr Banner to close it before changing. It was hard for Natasha to stop from having her head caved in by brutish, lizard-like adversary. Almost impossible for Iron Man and Captain America to handle by themselves.

“Spidey, looks like this is your special day!” Peter’s father called as he hovered over the building Peter was perched from, Deadpool behind him. “Honorary Avenger?”

“Only if Wade can come.” Peter asked immediately.


“Deadpool, I mean.” He answered, realising his mistake too late.

The very powerful, very angry, and apparently very confused father tilted his head, his mask coming away.

“Peter!?” Tony bellowed.

“Dad! Aw, shit is that you? I had no idea!” Peter fake laughed momentarily before literally sprinting away. “Wade, RUN!”

“Mr Iron Man, Stark, dad? May I call you dad?” called Wade, “Focus on the aliens!”

He yelped as Tony streamlined for his head.



What a sight they must have been, sitting around a table of a half crumbled Mexican restaurant, eating soft shell tacos, one with excitement, one with fear, two with barely contained fury.

“Papa,’ Wade asked as he reached for his sixth taco, “I thought you were the chill dad?”

He yelped as Steve streamlined for his head.



SO, maybe Peter conceded looking at his cocooned boyfriend and webbed together parents this could have been done better.

“Okay, well,“ Peter started, clearing his throat, “Dad, papa, this is Wade, my boyfriend. He is also Deadpool. And I am also Spiderman.”

“Mister Stark,” said the reinstalled JARVIS in Tony’s helmet which lay on the floor, “I would just like to say that I did try multiple times to make you aware of what was occurring.”

“How do you figure that, JARVIS?” grunted Tony.

“Every Sunday I prepare your Alphabet Soup, in which I had realised was the only way I could spell out the truth. Every Sunday, you stirred before looking.”

The awkwardness following THAT must have reignited Wade’s flare for being the literal worst person ever.

“This is the worst possible way this story could have occurred.” Wade tutted. “Let’s all continue to have better plots in other AUs.”

Steve and Tony glared at him, as Peter shook his head and muttered, “Wade, that isn’t helping…”