Irondad Oneshots

you were my new dream

@TallStar27 and @Wisegirl38

PARKNER AU 

(I'm supposed to be writing Whumptober (I'm so far behind) but I thought of this and couldn't help myself. (and don't even get me started on how much homework I'm supposed to be doing right now) blah)

*

Harley's leg bounces underneath the table boredly. Tony shoots him a look of annoyance. A few Avengers are sitting around the conference table with varying levels of boredom on their faces. The meeting was supposed to start nearly an hour ago and Fury's still not here.

"You're not even a superhero," Natasha points out, not unkindly. "Why do you even have to be here?"

"I'll be taking over as Iron Man as soon as Tony officially retires-"

Tony rolls his eyes and cuts Harley off. "That's not true. Harley's my personal assistant. He's here to take notes and offer his expertise. He also helps in making your weaponry, and if he's here, he can plan any new weapons for our next mission."

They've met Harley before, plenty of times, but he's never bothered to come to meetings before and Tony's never referred to Harley as anything other than his kid or his mentee.

"I'm here for moral support," Harley reiterates. "Woo! Go Avengers! And all that crap."

Natasha cracks a smile at that.

"Mister Fury is on his way," FRIDAY pipes up. "Along with another person who is not in my system."

"Who?" Tony asks. Nobody knew Fury would be bringing a guest. "Find out who they are before they get here."

There's a long few tense seconds of silence, all of them leaning forward in anticipation.

"He does not match any facial recognition," FRIDAY says. "According to my sources, there is no match."

Everyone frowns at that. FRIDAY's normally able to find out at least the name of any face she analyses. And yet, this person doesn't have anything? Suspicious.

Nat's hand rests over the gun tucked against her hip and Steve's hands are clenched on the edge of the table. Tony has his fingers hovering over his arc reactor, prepared to suit up at a seconds notice, but then the doors slide open, and Harley's jaw absolutely drops.

A boy, Harley's age probably, maybe a year or two younger. He's tucked in an oversized baby blue sweater, a pair of jeans hugging his legs. A pair of gold-framed thick glasses sits on his freckled nose, big doe eyes sparkling behind them. He's got a little smile on his face, making the corners of his eyes crinkle adorably. His hands twist the hem of his sweater, curly hair falling almost into his eyes as he ducks his head and looks up through his long eyelashes.

Holy fuck, Harley thinks. He quickly shuts his mouth, worried he might drool all over the table.

He stands quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet as he sticks out his hand, throwing on a façade of confidence and arrogance.

"Harley," he introduces. "Harley Keener."

The boy blushes, a gentle pink touching his high cheekbones. It takes him a second of fumbling to get his fingers out from under his sleeve before he's taking Harley's hand in a gentle grip.

"Peter," he murmurs, voice soft and sounding like twinkling bells in Harley's ears.

"Well, Peter. It is very nice to meet you."

Harley holds onto Peter's soft hand for a second too long before he's pulling away and taking his seat, making sure to flash Peter a smile as he does so.