One Shots feat. PJO, Irondad, and More!

NBA Finals

I was looking for something in an old notebook and found this fully written out, just never typed up. I didn't have time to go through and edit, it's kind of just a skeleton story without much detail, but I thought it was decent enough to share! Surprise! (Watch the video first if you haven't!)

Also, for the record, I have been pumping out words for the next chapter of Wanted- I promise I haven't abandoned it yet, haha!

How have ya'll been? It's been a hot minute. This year has been a full fever dream for me.

...

Pete tried to get over the initial disappointment of Mr. Stark not being at the party. he really did. He chalked up the heavy feeling in his gut to jealously or anger at the man, but he knew logically it was neither.

He couldn't be upset when he was surrounded by some of the greatest basketball players of all time, in Stark Tower. Tim Duncan was sitting next to him. Tim Duncan made small talk with him. Tim Duncan!! Not to mention that Magic Johnson had said hello!

So why was he so upset? He shouldn't, he knew that, and that guilt crept up the back of his spine. Mr. Stark had thought to invite him to this awesome party. If he wasn't having a good time, he was ungrateful. He didn't want to be ungrateful.

But as the party dragged on, he found it harder and harder to fake a smile for every introduction to faces he recognized and those he didn't. On top of the festering despondency in his stomach, the loud shouts of the company were just that- loud. His enhanced senses made the noise deafening and nearly unbearable when combined with the clattering of beer cans and glasses and chip munching on top of the basketball game blaring on screen.

"Peter!"

his eyes flew open at the sound of his name. He hadn't even known he'd shut them. He came face to face with the very unimpressed glower of Happy. He resisted the urge to scowl; he was still a little annoyed that he was forced to be the man's Doordash delivery guy for free.

"Think you can give Mr. Lasry here your seat, if you're not even going to watch the game?"

He worded it as a question, but Peter knew he didn't really have a choice. He nodded tiredly, rising to his feet unsteadily.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem, sorry," he muttered, stumbling away. He knew it was rude to not introduce himself, but he didn't have the energy.

It made him feel worse.

He carefully meandered through the troves of Mr. Stark's prestigious guest list. Those who weren't engrossed in alcohol, the game, or one another stared at him curiously as he walked by. He bristled when his hearing picked up the smug tone of some woman, saying, "Who's the kid? Stark's bastard?"

He kept his head down, his feet carrying him mindlessly. He didn't really know where he was going. The snack table, maybe- but he had tried that earlier in the evening and it had been packed with 'fancy food.' Shrimp. Weird chips with weirder sauces. A disturbingly green mash over some brown noodles.

He liked Doritos and bagel bites.

He just needed to escape, and in a haze he found himself in the elevator. His breaths were short. He'd grown claustrophobic after Homecoming, never wanting to feel trapped ever again. The density of people in Tony's tower had freaked him out.

Yeah, he reasoned. That's why he was holding back tears. Not because Mr. Stark had left him alone in a big room full of strangers. Not because he had been looking forward to watching the game with the man, because that would be childish. That would be stupid. Tony wasn't his friend, or parent or anything. He was Spider-Man's mentor, plain and simple. Why would he want to watch the game with Peter Parker? Peter had completely misread the invitation. It was fine. He was fine.