Superfamily One Shots

"This one fucking sucks"

**Request for Blah0Blah0Books where Tony gets Peter a personal trainer. Things don't exactly go to plan, but then again, when do things for Peter ever go to plan? Enjoy!!**

Tony was stressed. It wasn't uncommon for him to be stressed, sure, but there was a special stress that came with his son. Peter was, to put it lightly, one of the most self-sacrificing people Tony knew, and he worked with a team of superheroes who's job it was to sacrifice their lives for others, but Peter took the cake.

"I think I want to get Pete a personal trainer. It'll be good for him, yeah?"

The billionaire glanced around the room, looking for someone to back him up.

"I don't think he needs one," Natasha said honestly, shrugging her shoulders. "He's a superhero."

Steve snorted. "A superhero who gets hit more times than any other superhero I've ever met."

Tony pointed at the blond man excitedly. "Exactly! That's what I'm talking about! He needs some real training! Did you guys know he's never actually had training?"

"I don't see how training is going to help him," Wanda chimed in, her eyes focused on her chipping nail polish. "If you're worried about him getting into fights and getting hurt, just take his suit! We all know that'll stop him." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm and false enthusiasm.

Tony's face lit up red. "Okay, yes, I'm sorry, we've been over that. But right now, I'm just thinking that a personal trainer might make him stronger, ya know? Give him a bit more to use when he's out there."

Sam shrugged. "If you're that concerned, you can always use my trainer. Or, my old trainer, I should say."

"Oh," Tony was pleasantly surprised, and his eyebrows were high on his head. "Can I have the number?"

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Peter shifted his weight between his feet. He was meeting a new trainer today, someone his dad had brought in for who knows why. I mean, it was someone Sam had suggested, so it couldn't be too bad, but a trainer?

"Parker." An older man, probably in his 40's, came into the gym. He wore short, buzzed hair, and had a well groomed patch of facial hair. His eyes were piercing and cruel, making Peter feel uneasy. His spidersense tingled at the base of his neck, a bad sign for sure.

"I hear you're a newbie. No training at all. Lets just see where you are, okay? Something easy, something a baby could do. Let me see 5 laps, and then we'll do some punches."

Peter nodded, not daring to say something that might upset the already harsh man. He jogged the laps, unsure of how hard he should go if this was just a warm up.

"Slow," the man remarked when Peter came back around. "You've got weak legs."

Peter furrowed his brows. "I thought this was a warm up."

"Yeah, a warm up, not a stroll in the park. You're not too good with instructions."

The teen didn't bother saying anything back, he knew it would only lead to more fighting. Instead, he headed over to the punching bags that his Uncle Steve used sometimes, knowing that it would be the next thing the old man asked him to do. He aimed a few warm up punches at the bag, jabbing and hooking along the side.

"You've got terrible form, kid, jeez."

Peter gritted his teeth, anger boiling up inside his body. Who was this man to say that? Was he out fighting every night? Was he risking his neck every day for complete strangers.

The man stepped forward as Peter was about to send a right hook at the bag, grabbing his arm roughly and jerking it into a new position.

"There," he said, moving his hands down to Peter's knee and pulling hard. He shifted the teen's weight, pulling him into an uncomfortable stance. "Now you might be able to do some real damage."

Peter's nostrils flared as he took deep, calming breaths, but all he could think about was punching this stupid man in his stupid, smug, shitty face. He threw a punch.

"Aw, that was cute. Now actually try, and don't give me some shitty slap like a sissy this time."

Peter bit back a response as the elevator dinged.

"How's it going?" Tony asked, typing on his phone.

"Your boy here needs a lot of work, Stark."

Peter snorted. "This man is the worst person I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

"Excuse me?" The trainer turned, face turning more and more red as he huffed. "You little shit! I'm taking a lot of time out of my day to help you learn how to fight, since I can tell by the look of you, you're the school's punching bag. You're such a brat! A stupid, scrawny, useless brat!"

Peter balled his fists, looking over at his dad, who was zoned out on his work.

"It's not my fault you've got terrible form! Not my fault you're a lazy little idiot!"

Peter finally lost it, spinning on his heels and landing a hard, clean punch to the man's nose. A sharp crack echoed through the room. Blood spurted between the man's fingers as he grasped his nose in pain, yelling in anger.

"You're fucking insane!"

"How's my form now?" Peter taunted, turning back to his father. Tony, who had just looked up from his phone at the sound of the wicked crack, was staring at the teen with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"What the hell was that for, Bambi? What's going on?"

"I need a new trainer," Peter said simply. "This one fucking sucks."

"Language."