The beginning
It was supposed to be his time. Once a child turned thirteen, they were watched. By sixteen? Their position was decided and their fate sealed. It could happen at any time at that point. Anytime they could be taken; imprisoned before shelled off to their likely duty chosen for them. For Peter, it didn’t happen immediately. His sixteenth birthday came and passed, and despite being prepared for this very day nearly his entire life; nothing happened. No van came, no position was thrust upon him and no fate coarsed his path. Unlike his peers, he was granted those few extra years of freedom; to live as a child and enjoy the warmth of the sun without another's name brandished across his body in a claiming mark.
Only, he was chained down by a different duty. One bestowed upon him during a freak accident that left him with some sense of duty that ended with him climbing walls by night, and rescuing complete strangers for a small rush by day.
Still, no word from the government- despite May promising his time would come. Soon. It was always soon.
He figured, originally, that the papers were simply mixed up. That his day had came and passed and nobody retrieved little Peter Parker because the kid from that small, run down apartment in Queens simply hadn’t made it across their radar. He was a nobody; simply not meant to be taken into captivity and presented like a trophy or repressed down to a pillow princess.
He believed something to be wrong with him.
But then he felt it; the prickled awareness of another’s gaze casting snowflakes across his bare skin as he rushed through his clothing in a dark, dungy alleyway to wrestle on his red and blue suit. It was a silly costume he and Ned designed, a step up from his original onesie but still no where near practical given the red, cloth gloves and conforming latex that clung to his body like a second skin; adhered to his muscles to present every minute flex, but looking nothing more than a improperly dyed sex outfit where the material was unfortunately stained with red and blue.
It, however, was cheap and easily repaired or replaced and- which was the big advantage- didn’t limit his mobility.
However, it was that day- the one where he was already late to work at the corner convenience store where Mr. Dubal was sure to be impatiently waiting for him, a broom tucked beneath his arm to breath an air of annoyance and intimidation even if he was the sweetest man Peter has ever met. Hot headed, on the days such as today- but kind. He always slipped a couple dollars into Peter’s jacket each night, and on the days Peter seemed extremely lethargic, he was always given a styrofoam container of whatever street cart was posted outside their shop.
Peter often wonders if he was treated with such kindness because Mr. Dubal lost his wife and son in a car accident several years ago- and if there’s one thing about this ass-backwards world they live in, a do-over wasn’t possible nor plausible. They couldn’t turn back time, but Mr. Dubal sure acted like he was making a difference on those days when Peter would be bloated from too much food and unable to do his nightly duties outside of his simple little convenience store job.
Peter never corrected him.
He was returning from his single night class, expecting to go to work and be there for a few hours before he was finally able to go home and have a nice, relaxing bath in the too-tiny tub, with the too-old water heater doing no justice to the lukewarm water that barely soothed his aching bones, when his phone pinged with a notification from the police department.
He knew it was illegal- highly illegal, to monitor the police station and be privy to their business, but Ned insisted it would be helpful and beneficial so Peter allowed his stupidly insistent friend to hack into the network and keep him on a near constant loop of what was going on around him in New York.
Most days, it was too much. Too little. Too deadly. Too simple.
But that day, it seemed too inconvenient.
He was a college student ignorantly ignored by the government- a blessing to some, he knew, but a curse to himself; struggling to balance work on top of school, protecting his neighborhood while keeping his identity a secret,house-hold chores and other mundane things like social appearances and nights out with his friends who so rarely got that escape since they were busy with their own lifes. They, obviously, understood but it wasn’t fair.
And he couldn’t ignore the ping. A building was on fire with three reported to be stuck on the fourth floor, out of reach of the fire fighters.
They were, or would be to the public in tomorrow’s newspaper, classified as DOA. And Peter… he couldn’t just let that slide.
So, he abandoned his job (a consistent occurrence) abandoned his book bag filled with books that cost an entire month of May’s monthly rent, and pulled on his adult-esque sex suit that squeaked across his skin as it captured the precipitation that clung to Peter’s legs from the puddle he managed to topple knees first into a few minutes prior.
And it was just as he was pulling on his mask, a huge improvement to his previous cloth one that made it near-impossible to breathe in, when he was first aware of the sensation of being watched.
Of course, he thought it to be a bystander- a curious passerby who happened to glance down the alleyway and catch the half nude man-spider who was, allegedly, terrorizing the neighborhood and has been since he was just fifteen. But the prickling across his skin was too… tingly, too heavy to just be a vague warning. No, he was left with the distinct impression of being seen. And for more than just a quick glance from a stranger.
No, this was his first sign of hope. Perhaps he wasn’t forgotten after all.
Perhaps he had a future, afterall, a place to belong and a story to share with his friends during one of their monthly outings. Maybe he was just saved for a later date- for someone special.
It’s not like he wanted to become a trophy husband, or a prostitute owned by one of the city's most notorious club owners, but he wanted to belong. To not be looked at as a freak by his friends, his family, when he was part of the select few individuals who wasn’t chosen for something bigger, something better; something fulfilling. Mj always told him it’s because he was too special, what with his identity of Spider-man, but he knew better. Knew it was simply because he was overlooked, and that stung.
His entire childhood was filled with preparation for his role. He was groomed to be the perfect submissive; to bow beneath his partners will and divulge in their every whim. He was designed to pick apart their thoughts and understand their selective need of intimacy. He knew he would be perfect for his chosen role, even if he was spider-man. Even if he could lift buses above his head, and fling himself across the city with a single web. His body made indents in the ground at his very feet, and his skin healed as if it were never harmed.
He was durable, and that made him even more worthy- he swore it did.
~~
Unbeknownst to Peter, he wasn’t forgotten or overlooked. He was given a special level of attention not paid to even the most worthy of candidates. Once he turned fifteen, his situation evolved. He was no longer destined to hold a role in Desmond Huntington’s breeding camp. No, suddenly, he was something to be valued and feared. A dangerous asset that couldn’t just be gifted to the first individual.
No. He was watched, and his category was changed. With what they now knew, it was decided he was to spend his life as a Hunter; as someone who designated their life as a bodyguard, but many claimed that to be a waste of his talents. And then Nick Fury caught wind of his talents, and somewhere along the line Peter’s role was changed. Helped along the way by the man with one eye.
He was dangerous but his abilities far exceeded his simple mutated abilities; and it just so happened that Fury had an entire team of worthy-bachelors awaiting the opportunity to wed a person capable of reproducing. Peter was nurturing enough- submissive enough to make one of them happy, to be bred and offer their names a legacy. An heir.
These men were powerful and carried many different roles, titles; The World’s mightiest heroes, The Avengers- a band of misfits out on a mission to protect those incapable of protecting themselves. One thing they usually were not? Available. Given their titles, they were gifted the freedom to choose. To marry who they wanted; breed with the one they deemed worthy. A partner wasn’t thrust upon them. Their roles in society were ignorantly overlooked just because of their talents.
Until Peter came along. Then, suddenly, it was open season.
~~
He’d given up hope, but hung onto the cusp of believing something more still awaited him on the other side of his miserable life. Perhaps not a destiny designated by the Government, but something much larger than his little life.
And then, it happened.
His instincts were blissfully silent when he was snatched from his third period of the day, a black bag pushed over his head yet doing nothing to muffle his senses. Life hummed on around him, and it was the fact that he was taken in broad daylight with a hundred students there to act as a witness for his disappearance that gave him some mutated comfort.
Not exactly allowing him to relax, but enough that he didn’t go ape-shit and break the guy's hand who was gripping him a little too tightly by the back of his neck. They weren’t a threat, a real threat, and Peter allowed himself to be man handled as his excitement soared.
He wasn’t forgotten.
There he was, just two years after his sixteenth birthday, finally shoved in the back of a van that rocked over every bump they passed over.
He was taken to a facility just outside of City limits. It reeked of cleaner and stale air; heartache and fear palpable in the air as scared children were guided to their respected rooms and expected to blindly follow when they had no idea what future awaits them. The walls echoed with their despair, the floor ringing with the frantic steps of teens who attempted to run before they were caught and sedated.
Peter could feel their pain, hear their sobs, and all he could do was tuck his chin against his chest and hope the bag over his head didn’t come off because hearing it was one thing- seeing it?
He couldn’t.
For the first time ever, he was thankful for his extra two years. He couldn’t imagine what sixteen year old him would have done, if put into this position. Not with his abilities still so undisciplined.
His bag was taken off and he was thrown into a small white room with a single cot and no window, an outfit folded and sat to rest on the end of his bare bed. He was cleaned, examined, then dressed in the clothes they deemed appropriate- which were shapeless silk black pants, that looked like pajama pants, that flowed around his legs airly, and a button up, long sleeved shirt made up of the same silk material. It was the nicest thing he’s ever worn, and he knew immediately it’s because he was being presented.
He was to be a breeder, or a husband. Nobody was cleaned, examined and dressed in silk if they were being passed off to a prostitution ring or a Hunter.
No. His skin was scrubbed raw with lavender soap because he was intended to make a proper first impression on his future partner.
His stomach swooped at the idea. Excitement tinged with antsiness and nerves. However prepared he was for this, he never actually considered himself worthy enough to become someone’s arm candy.
Sleep never came that night.
The next morning, he was removed from his room at the sign of first light and as he was being led to another room- he couldn’t help but wonder how May was. The family was notified the day of their childs ‘abduction’ but they never actually got to say goodbye. Depending on who he was paired with, they may never get to.
May told him that when she was taken, at only fifteen years old, Ben was a breath of fresh air during those cruel times. He was older, more mature she claimed- calming and intelligent. She was lucky to be paired with him and she swore to Peter he would, one day, have his chance at happiness too. With government pairings, failures weren’t a consistent occurrence. All couples were put through a tight-knitted database and picked off of compatible attributes.
Failing simply wasn’t an option.
Happiness, however, wasn’t guaranteed, either. No matter what their computer screens said, not everyone was meant for the roles they were assigned to. May was meant to be a mother, but her story was too corrupt for Peter to ever know the true, in-depth details of what occurred during her time here, in this unknown location, placed so well it has managed to stay one of the most secure and hidden facilities for decades.
Wherever they were, wherever this top-secret location was, it was huge and it was beautiful. The paintings lining the walls varied in sizes and details, all looking expensive with huge marble statues of men and women lining the hallways- guiding their way like lit lanterns on a darkened path. Peter couldn’t imagine this place matching the stories from May’s life; the haunting tales Ben had spun when he was alive.
Blood. Fear. Betrayal. Corruption. Robbed of her life; her experiences.
This, here, was beautiful. Flawless to a point, even. An intricate, delicately designed system that had its flaws but somehow ran so smoothly for years. And Peter was ready to take on his role.
Each one of his step was echoed back into his body,
reverberating across his spine and chattering across his teeth as his nerves grew and his sweaty palms glided across his soft pajama pants. They passed a group of children, all in outfits similar to his own but white in color- and he knew they were destined to the same path as he was. Breeders. They all stood in a line, perfectly still and patient- solemn yet proper despite the baby fat still not melting from their young, innocent faces.
They were all still just children and by the months end, half of them would be pregnant.
He was led down several more corridors, all filled to the brim with silent children preparing to meet their fate- save for the one hallway that was filled with adult men and women, all dressed in suits with a very distinctive tattoos on their necks, brandishing their title visibly; a black arrow enclosed in a swirled circle.
The Hunter’s.
They were the physically superior group of individuals grouped together based on their physical attributes and intelligence. The ones too crudely cut to make it on Shields radar, still as fearless, maybe a bit more ruthless and cruel, but not as proper- yet weren’t gifted enough to cut it as a Recruit for any Superhero’s.
They designated their lives to protecting the elite, the people, and Peter knew if his real identity were ever found out, he would be put amongst them. Hunter’s weren’t allowed to reproduce or have children of their own, and Peter didn’t want that future for himself. He wanted a family; children, a partner. Not a meaningless life of protecting everyone, just to go home to an empty bed and cold food.
He purposefully bowed his head the second he recognized who they were, not wanting their stare to somehow lure him in and convince the bald-headed man guiding his way that they’d chosen wrong, and that he belonged amongst the emotionless, fearless men and women just a few paces behind them.
Up the stairs they went, which curled on for ages, and finally they came to a stop just outside a set of double oak doors. Peter was instructed to stay put and wait, close to the top of the stairs, while the bald man disappeared through the door with a finalizing click.
The morning light was streaming in through the two-floor panel windows that made the stark white decor of this section of the building look like the pristine interior of the most sophisticated fishbowl.
Alone and nervous, Peter rocked back on his heels and scrubbed the palms of his hands into his bleary eyes. He was clinging on the cusp of coherence, convincing his eyes to stay open just a little longer- just a few more minutes, until he met his partner or owner.
Since arriving here, he hasn’t allowed himself even the slightest second to wonder who he was paired with- if anyone. He may just be shipped off to a facility where he would be used to breed child after child to replenish their ever-dwindling supply of male breeders. They were a dying commodity, after all.
Whoever it was, they were obviously important and powerful, and the silk Peter rubs his hands down is proof of that. Nobody was treated to the luxury of a dressed up partner unless they were an elite. Black was their color, also, and Peter wasn’t sure how he didn’t make that connection before.
Fuck, of course.
He gasps, eyes widening as panic sets in. He was going to an Elite.
The doors opened a second later and the bald man returned, face pale. “Peter Benjamin Parker,” the man began, voice shaking and Peter immediately straightened his spine that was turned into a live wire by his anxiety. He only ever heard his full name when May was mad at him. “Beyond that door sits your husband- a man who is to be approached with caution and respect. I need not to remind you that you were chosen for this role for a reason. You are to obey your husband, and do as he says and as he pleases. If, within the first month, he so chooses to exempt your contract and decides you are unworthy of him- then you will be sent back to this very facility before being transferred to a local prostitution ring. Have I made myself clear?”
Relief floods his body- it was a man. Not that he didn’t like women but he couldn’t picture himself being in a relationship with one- erm, ever?
Peter nodded, once, afraid his voice would fail him now when he needed it the most. He was to be wed off to a man- an elite man, and it took everything in him to tame the bubbling excitement stuck between his clavicles, inflating there like a balloon filled with hot helium. He thought himself to be forgotten- and now he was being delivered the most honorary title one cold ever hope for?
He’s never allowed himself to even dream of this possibility. If anything, he thought he’d wind up with some man or woman who worked some low end job. A person of his rank, considering he didn’t come from wealth or a name worth remembering.
His silence was met with a curt glare. “I expect you to address your husband with words- not head gestures.”
“Yes sir.” Husband. Butterflies swarmed Peter’s stomach, barely manageable.
“Good.” with a self-pleased smile, the bald man steps back and gestures towards the closed doors.
With one last deep breath, Peter pushes them open and nearly trips on the lips of carpet on his way in.
He rights himself, flustered by his trip up, and comes face to face with hard, distant brown eyes that scream of the worlds secrets, yet shutter stubbornly to hide all Peter sought out in the simple gaze. “Hello,” the man- that man, this man- not possibly the man Peter is here to meet, says, hand extended to Peter out of politeness and with a shortcuritcuting brain, he can't seem to command his limbs to obey his thoughts.
He stands stupidly, mouth clamped shut and eyes wide because holy shit- this is Tony freaking Stark. The man who was taped across his bedroom walls during his childhood; the man he worshiped before he could even form a single word properly. A man who he studied day in and day out for years, the logic behind his science, before Iron-Man was even a thing.
And now, his childhood fantasy- obsession, stood before him so expectant and all Peter could manage was an open-mouthed smile.
Tony’s lips curl in a smile and he retracts his hand, Peter’s embarrassment palpable or so he imagines. “I see they didn’t warn you of who I was before throwing you in here, did they, kid?” his hum vibrates down to Peter’s toes and he suppresses a shutter. He shakes his head no, and Tony’s smile deepens. “Didn’t think so. They like to throw fresh meat out to the sharks. They get off on your fear,”
“Tony,” a soft voice warned gently from the corner of the room and Peter whipped his head in their direction, finding it to be none other than Pepper Potts sitting on the window seat overlooking the entire forest encircling them. Seeing she caught Peter’s attention, she stands and smoothes her skirt. “Hello, I’m Pepper-” she approaches him with a cautionness that leaves Peter with the impression that, once upon a time, she stood exactly where he stood. Understands what he is feeling right now. “Tony’s designated babysitter.”
“I wouldn’t call you my babysitter,” Tony argues, “Maybe my nanny, but babysitter makes you sound like a pedophile considering we’ve-”
“Okay!” Pepper cuts him off with clapping hands, startling Peter, “I need a moment to speak with my child, Peter, excuse us.”
Pepper jerks Tony towards where she previously stood and despite their hushed whispers, Peter can still hear them;
“Totally not appropriate to discuss our affair whilst in the middle of meeting your fiance.”
“Fiance?” Tony snorts, “Please, Pep, he’s a kid. I have hair on my balls older than him.”
“You agreed to this, Tony- quite acting like a child and discussing our sex life. He’s already scared enou-”
Peter, with warming cheeks, zones out on a patch on the floor imprinted with the leg of the couch, meaning they just recently rearranged the room, and intentionally ignores anything said further because he definitely wasn’t supposed to hear any of that.
Reeling, he stumbles over to the couch now facing the southern wall, and leans a single hip against it for support without actually sitting on it- wanting to remain respectful and professional even if his jelly knees were quivering.
Tony Stark stood just inches away from him, with his ex-whatever scolding him like he was a two year old child and Peter felt dizzy.
He knows that waking up is inevitable. He’s going to go to sleep in this dream, and wake up back in May’s run down apartment with the whistling furnace and luke-warm water. The only problem is, he didn’t want to wake up.
Accustomed to a life that wasn’t his came with startling ease, and he doesn’t understand how he managed to grasp it so quickly- only having been presented with it. It was too good to be true and if this was reality, not some concoction cooked up by his sleep deprived brain- then he wanted it. So bad it scared him.
It was Tony Stark- of course he wanted him. Even if he was younger than the man’s testicle hair.
After a few more seconds of really bad whispering, Tony turns to the side and eyes Peter for the slightest second, but doesn't actually move or approach him. “You got a name?”
Peter swallows hard and looks down at the floor, intimidated to no ends but also aware of what’s expected of him. No eye contact. Do not speak unless spoken to. Respect. Respect. Respect. “P-Peter, sir,” he whispers, tacking on the name for further flattery. Men of Tony’s standing appreciated being called things of similar relation to make them feel powerful and authoritative. In control.
Tony rolls his eyes, leaving Peter feeling like he’s done something wrong, and whispers something to Pepper Peter can't hear over the thundering rush of blood pounding through his ears. “Keep the formalities to a minimum, kid. I’m your fiance,” he says the name with such distaste, and Peter wonders if he willingly agreed to the role, “not your owner.”
“You’re right, sorry si- Tony,” Oh, and that felt so very wrong. To address Iron-Man by his first name. Oh, no. No. Peter wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon.
Tony curled two fingers over his shoulder as he passed by Peter, and the boy took the silent command for what it was and silently began to follow him. “I’m supposed to read off some long list from their rule book. You aren’t allowed to speak unless spoken to, you’re supposed to address me as sir or master- yadda yadda yadda. Simply put, I’m supposed to remind you of everything you lost when these creeps threw you into the back of their nice little van- speaking of, isn’t that against the law? I’m sure it is. Throwing kids in the back of your van?” Tony shakes his head and clicks his tongue, jogging down the stairs with ease, “Only if you’re not a legal pedophile, I forgot. Of course our men in suits get away with it. How old are you, anyway.”
Peter wasn’t sure what the fuck he was rambling on about, but it made his nerves lessen tremendously, even if the name ‘kid’ did make him feel small and inferior. “Eighteen, sir.”
Tony whirled on him so fast that Peter ran smack into him, and to save him from falling Tony caught Peter by his elbow and held on tightly. “What have I told you about that?” he asked from between clenched teeth, eyes narrowed, “Call me Tony or don’t call me anything.”
Peter nodded, but hadn’t the opportunity to say anything before Tony let go of his arm and spun around- picking their previous conversation back up with ease, like nothing had just happened. “I knew that. Good for you, being an adult and all. Real proud,”
Was he- he sounded sarcastic? Which, okay, was much better than his flare of anger from before but Peter was genuinely confused and lost. He may not have been terrified, but scared was a good description of his reaction to Tony’s burst of anger from a simple name. Men in these arrangements were horrible and scary, and Peter knew Tony to be one of those things. He was known as the merchant of death previously, and Iron-Man now. A man of both positions didn’t get there without being scary, but even now Peter could tell Tony wasn’t horrible.
Or so he hoped.
As a kid, Peter had been obsessed with Tony’s mind and all of his scientific discoveries. Then, it transitioned into an obsession of Iron-man. It flared hot again when he was first bit by the spider, and The Avengers first banned together. But the man's public image was sure to be different from his real image. His personality was guaranteed to be smoothed and perfected for the public's sake. Airbrushed for the snowflakes.
Eyes were on them, around them- people surrounding them and whispering and Peter was only made aware of this the second he deterred his thoughts from obsessing over who he was paired with and the possibility of conflict in their future. Every single person in their immediate presence were watching them- him, Tony as the man led them outside and apparently it was an occurrence meant to be gawked at.
It wasn’t everyday a man of Tony’s social standing was married off in an arrangement, after all.
“They’re staring at you,” Peter whispered, just loud enough Tony could hear.
“Trust me,” Tony said over his shoulder, not stopping in his steps forward, “they’re staring at you.”
And Tony was right. They were watching Peter. His every single movement. “W-Why?”
Tony turned around, mastering the act of walking backwards, and hid his grin as he rubbed his finger across his bottom lip. “What can I say? Black looks good on you.”
~~~