matching tattoos

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a/n: lmao sorry pals this is what happens when people say I write too many happy endings


"Mr. Stark? Is that.. a tattoo?" Peter grinned, looking closer at Tony's arm.

A small, faded treble clef was visible just over Tony's forearm, hidden by the crook of his elbow. Tony rolled his eyes but held out his arm.

"Got it in college. Surprised more people don't notice," Tony said shortly.

"That's cool," Peter said, pulling away after getting a better look.

"When you're older, maybe we could get matching tattoos," Tony grinned, going back to his work.

Peter huffed a laugh. "Yeah, maybe. One question though..."

"Yeah?"

"Why a treble clef?" Peter asked curiously.

"Well," Tony looked up. "My mom played piano. Taught me a bunch about it. She always said music was a language that only special people could speak, so when she passed I got a tattoo of a treble clef. I don't know, guess I thought maybe the people who noticed would be the kind of people my mom would be proud of me for talking to," he said thoughtfully.

"That's..that's really nice, Mr. Stark. Has it worked for you?" Peter wondered, looking at Tony in awe.

"Well, I'm talking to you right now, aren't I?" Tony gave Peter a smile and went back to work, leaving Peter in an emotional daze.

2 Years Later

Peter walks out of a tattoo parlor, holding his arm close to his chest, he pulls away and looks at the small circle on his wrist. An Arc Reactor, coloured in shades of blue and grey. He sighs and walks to the direction of the compound.

He finally gets there, and sits down next to the statue of Iron Man.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," Peter says softly. "I turned eighteen today."

"Remember when you said we would get matching tattoos?" Peter smiles. "Well, um... I did it for you."

"You said you got a tattoo of a treble clef because the people who would notice would make your mom proud," Peter started, picking at the grass. "Well, I hope to make you proud with any thing I do next, Mr. Stark. You were always my hero. I had the best time of my life getting to know you."

A tear rolls down his cheek, hitting the dirt. He looks up at the statue.

"In a way, we do have matching tattoos," Peter said, wiping away tears. "Because they're both about something we care about," he explains quietly.

Peter sees people walking towards him and he stands up, walking away from the statue before anybody can say anything to him.

He never regretted getting his tattoo. No matter what anybody ever told him.

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