Peter is the owner of a lovely little Coffee Shop and famous billionaire/ironman tony stark is his regular costumer.
Oooh man I went lowkey wild with this one I love coffeeshop AUs. Hope you enjoy c:
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The very first time he comes in everybody recognizes him immediately. It’s busy with people coming and going trying to get their caffeine fix before work, and although most of the people’s eyes are on their phones, he doesn’t go unnoticed, and whispers start up before he can even make it to the counter.
Peter is helping out front to get through the initial morning rush hour, working the till with a beaming smile, but because he’s busy punching in orders he doesn’t see him until he’s right in front of him.
Their eyes meet, and it’s as if the both of them are taken aback for a second, before Peter can flash him a warm smile and asks him what he can do for him.
He doesn’t stick around for very long, and Peter figures he’s in a hurry to get out, even if it’s possible he didn’t necessarily have anywhere to be. Peter wouldn’t want to stay in a crowded coffee shop where everyone is staring at you and whispering behind their hands and probably taking sneaky pictures over their toffee nut lattes.
The morning staff doesn’t stop talking about it until they leave their aprons in the backroom for the afternoon workers. And even then the gossip passes on to those starting their shift late.
And, in all honesty, Peter feels a little proud.
He knows that it’s probably a coincidence that the Tony Stark came into his shop, and he’s aware that it doesn’t say anything about his management or his products or the atmosphere in his shop until someone actually starts to come back regularly, but still. It’s like he’s been visited personally. By a celebrity!
Peter hopes that he’ll find his way back to his café some time, but he also feels like the chances of that are pretty slim. About as slim as the chance was that Tony Stark would one day walk into his shop and order one of his coffees from a blend he’d so carefully selected and perfected and maybe even think, by the time he takes his last sip; ‘huh, that was pretty good coffee’.
When Mr. Stark shows up again a few days later, Peter starts to think that maybe the odds were in his favor after all, and the chances of all of that weren’t as slim as he thought.
MJ is at the till and Peter is in the back when Tony gives his order, and since it’s past the morning rush and it’s now a lot quieter, MJ is also the one to make him his coffee.
Peter has just loaded up a tray with freshly baked triple chocolate chip cookies and steps out into the shop behind the counter, setting the tray down to slide it into the glass display case. When he looks up and notices the familiar man on the other side of the counter waiting for his order, he smiles at him.
“Good morning Mr. Stark,” he greets him pleasantly, and the man looks up as if shaken from his thoughts, and one corner of his mouth ticks up when he sees Peter.
“Hi. Morning. Are those made in house?” He points at the tray of cookies with the pair of sunglasses in his hand that probably cost more than Peter’s rent.
“Sure are. Just in the back.”
Peter likes it that way. They bake whatever they can in the shop so that it always smells like something fresh. They started doing that just with the cookies, but the more customers came up to the staff complimenting them on the smell, the more they strived to put out homemade products. Now, depending on the time of day you come in, you’re met with new scents every time. In the morning it’s usually the pastries and cookies, the latter of which need to be refilled when the morning rush has gone. Then in the afternoon, the pies are prepared to be baked at night, and Peter will usually throw a tray of brownies in the oven, and cakes depending on how many slices have been sold. Then toward closing time Peter finishes up with the pies, and prepares several batches of cookie dough.
It’s a lot of work throughout the day, and they’re constantly busy, but it’s rewarding when someone specifically asks for Peter, and compliments him on his products.
Thankfully he has great staff that help him day in and day out, so he’s never left to do the work alone. Without them by his side Peter probably would never have been able to fulfill his dream.
Tony’s coffee is done, and he puts his sunglasses on before he picks up the cup.
“Smells great,” he says, and Peter has to fan himself with his oven mitt when the other man is safely out of the door and down the street.
“Smells great,” he mimics to MJ, who just fondly rolls her eyes at him.
After that, Peter is hopeful that he’ll come around again. At some point. There’s no pattern in when he’ll show up, but Peter is almost always there anyway, so when Tony makes another appearance he’s right there once again.
It seems that Mr. Stark is slowly finding out what times are safe for him to drop by, because it’s quieter again, a little later in the afternoon and after the lunch crowd has come and gone. Peter is working the front while newbie Harry is sweeping tables.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark,” Peter greets him pleasantly.
“Hi,” Tony takes off his sunglasses and peers at his nameplate, “Peter. I’ll have your finest Americano please. Just a medium.”
Peter picks up a cup and writes the man’s name on it, sneaking in a little heart instead of the O of his name. Can’t hurt, can it? He probably gets those kinds of things all the time.
“So are you the Peter that owns this place or do you just so happen to be a random Peter coincidentally working at Peter…Peco… I’m sorry what’s this place called again?”
“Petercolator,” Peter explains with a grin as he punches in Tony’s order and gives him his total, “It’s from the word percolator, which is an old type of coffeemaker.”
Tony hums thoughtfully as he drops his change into the tip jar.
“Oh—and to answer your question, I suppose I am the Peter from Petercolator, yes. Not just a Random Peter. Although maybe I should look into hiring more Peters. Really make it our trademark.”
“Go for it. Really lean into it.”
Peter slides Tony’s cup of coffee across the counter and chuckles.
“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for any applicants called Peter.”
“You do that.“ Tony flashes him an actual, honest-to-god wink, “See you later, Petercolator.”
Peter watches as he leaves. No one is ever going to believe that Tony Stark just said that to him.
Peter falls ill with a cold and has to stay home for a few days. He doesn’t want to infect anyone else and he definitely doesn’t trust himself around the food when he’s all sniffly and sneezy. He keeps in close contact with MJ, one of the managers who makes sure everything runs smoothly when the owner is away, and gets two texts he’s not sure he believes during the week that he’s at home.
One reads that Tony Stark came by the shop and asked for him, curious if he was in the back, or…? MJ gladly informs Peter that she’s convinced Tony looked disappointed when she told him Peter was sick.
The second one explains how Tony came by another couple of days later, and asked how Peter was doing, if he was feeling better yet.
MJ knows that Peter has had a crush on the man since he was little, and Peter is convinced that she’s just using that knowledge against him now, teasing him when there is nothing he can do about it. She’s just feeding into his obsession. Probably trying to get back at him for all the times he’s put her on the early shift.
When he gets back he jumps right back into the middle of things. He’s still recovering from his cold and therefore gets tired pretty easily, so he lets his colleagues handle things in the front while he keeps to himself in the back, working through batches of whatever it is they need. He’ll make it a short day, stay as long as he can, and then he’ll go home to rest again. The evening shifts aren’t usually as busy as the morning ones anyway.
He’s just restocked their display with a load of seasonal apple cinnamon muffins, crouched down to be able to reach the lower trays, when a face pops up on the other side of the glass that says; “You’re back.” Peter nearly startles and sends the last muffin tumbling to the ground, but he catches it in time. Unfortunately, he catches it a little too firmly, and his thumb is pressed right through the middle, stuck in the gooey apple filling of the muffin.
He pulls a face but smiles when he straightens up and looks at Tony on the other side of the counter between them, who has the decency to look sheepish a little, at least.
“I’ll pay for that,” he offers, gesturing to the muffin.
“Why?” Peter asks, sounding amused, “Are you going to eat it?”
Tony seems to calculate his next move, before stretching his hand out over the counter, wiggling his fingers at Peter. Peter doesn’t quite believe him, shakes his head just a touch, but when Tony wiggles his fingers more insistently again he can’t do anything but slowly put the muffin down into the other man’s waiting palm, extracting his thumb almost pointedly at the last moment.
Peter’s thumb comes away sticky and covered in cinnamon and the muffin has never looked more unappealing, but Tony Stark sets his cup of coffee down to free up his other hand, and casually peels off the paper muffin cup, calculates his angle for a moment, and then takes a big bite.
Peter watches with something of a muted horror, his jaw slack and mouth open as if he’s halfway to saying something but has changed his mind at the last second.
“Mhm. Not bad,” Tony says when he’s swallowed his bite. There’s crumbs on his lips and Peter wishes he could look away as the man licks them off. “How much do I owe you?”
Peter gives an exasperated chuckle. “It’s on the house, sir.”
“Huh. How generous. Anyway, I just wanted to say I missed you.”
“Yeah, I missed you. You were gone, right? Sick.”
“Oh! Yes, yes I was. For a few days.” Peter is too dumbstruck to be able to really say anything else. MJ had been telling the truth? He almost can’t believe it. Not that she doesn’t always tell the truth but she sure has a way of making things out to be better than they are sometimes. She is just about as good at that as she is at making things out to be far worse than they really are. Or at pretending that everything is fine when everything clearly isn’t. It’s a gift, honestly.
“Right, well. Glad you’re feeling better.” Tony reaches for his coffee again, and lifts the hand with the disastrous-looking muffin as if in greeting, “Thanks for breakfast.” And then he walks out again, leaving Peter with a feeling like something equal parts wonderful and bizarre just happened.
Occasionally, Tony comes in and sits down. He’s usually busy, Peter assumes, with work and being a billionaire and everything. Peter can’t imagine what that must be like.
But sometimes Tony comes in and sits down, and those are honestly pretty wonderful days. He drinks his coffee from one of the many cute mugs Peter has acquired for the shop, reads the paper, or taps away at his phone. He only sits down when it’s really quiet though.
It makes Peter wonder if sitting down in his shop is the only moment of reprieve he gets in his busy life, or if he has time to find peace elsewhere, too. He kind of hopes so. Peter is heavily biased though.
MJ teases him about it more and more. Ned is in on it as well now, which means he practically never gets a moment of rest, because if MJ isn’t in then Ned usually is. It’s like they plan it that way, to keep Peter perpetually tortured – even though that’s not possible because it’s Liz who makes the schedules.
It’s nice to be able to see Tony sitting down and enjoying his mid-morning coffee, or his afternoon fix, or occasionally his nightly dose just before they close up shop.
Peter also notices a pattern that when he’s baking another tray of brownies, Tony usually sticks his nose into the air while he’s in line, and then decides to have his order in.
He has no idea if it has anything to do with each other, because Tony never actually buys a brownie, but he can’t help but wonder.
Ned and MJ are convinced that whenever Peter’s not looking, Tony is keeping an eye on him. Naturally, Peter doesn’t believe it, although sometimes he’ll think he catches him looking when he peers over his shoulder or peeks through his lashes. It’s silly of course, because someone like Tony would never even notice someone like Peter, and yet it makes Peter feel warm in a way no one has in a very long time.
It’s about an hour from closing time when Tony has been sitting in his usual spot, nursing his usual coffee, and MJ corners Peter before he can go out and take stock of their inventory for the night.
“You need to go give him a brownie,” MJ says urgently, as if they’re talking about a matter of life and death, not chocolate cake.
“What?” Peter asks confusedly.
“You need to go give him a brownie, on the house, and write your phone number on the napkin.”
Peter shakes his head vehemently when he realizes what MJ is trying to do. “No. Nuh-uh. Not happening.”
“Peter,” MJ groans, “If you don’t do it then I will, but if I bring it he might think it’s my number on there. You have to do it. Now’s the perfect chance. We’re literally empty, you’ve been drooling over him for ages, I’m pretty sure he comes in just to see you…”
Peter shakes his head again.
“Fine, then I’ll do it. I’ll just tell him it’s yours, and that you’re too much of a coward to come onto him even though he’s clearly been coming onto you in his own…peculiar way.” MJ has a look in her eyes that tells Peter she’s dead serious. So now he has two options; he can either do it himself, or MJ can do it for him. Either way, Tony Stark is going to end up with Peter Parker’s phone number alongside a freshly baked brownie, and he might never come visit Petercolator again.
MJ follows him closely as he goes to grab a napkin and reluctantly writes down his cell on one corner, as if she doesn’t trust him to do this himself. Granted, if MJ wasn’t watching him so closely he would probably find a way out of this. Peter scoops up a brownie square from a cooling rack and places it on the napkin next to the phone number, then he deposits both onto a small plate.
His heart beats furiously in his chest as MJ physically pushes him toward the door into the shop. Tony’s still sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the corner of the room the furthest away from the windows, looking intently at his phone.
“What if I accidentally interrupt something important?” Peter whispers.
“He’ll probably think you’re just as important. Now hurry up, I wanna go home.” She hisses back, and gives him another push.
Peter nearly stumbles over the threshold. It catches Tony’s attention, and for a moment they just look at each other. Peter flashes a quick smile, which the other man returns.
Shit. Okay. Now or never.
Peter approaches his table and puts down the brownie in front of Tony, who looks up from where his gaze had gone back to the phone for a minute, gaze inquisitive.
“It’s on us. They came out of the oven when you walked in, so they’re still warm. I thought you… Well you seem to always like the smell, so… Um. Enjoy, Mr. Stark.”
Peter hurries back and all but dives into the backroom, eager to be out of Tony’s direct line of sight. He takes a deep breath and gives MJ’s proud smirk an unimpressed look.
“I’m putting you on startup shift for the rest of the week,” he says when his heart has stopped beating like it’s trying to break out of his chest.
Peter won’t listen to her protests.
He refuses to come out of the backroom again until Tony is gone, afraid to meet his gaze and recognize that he’s found Peter’s phone number and that he doesn’t know what to do with it or doesn’t want to do anything with it.
They close up shop and Peter clears out Tony’s table, taking his empty cup of coffee and the empty plate, belatedly noting that not only the brownie is gone, but the napkin as well.
He tries not to think about it.
Tony Stark has his phone number but he tries not to even acknowledge that fact.
MJ leaves a little early when all her chores are done, and Peter does his last rounds, turning off the lights and activating the alarm before he steps out onto the street and locks the door behind him. As he turns the key he wonders if he’ll ever see Tony again after this. He wouldn’t be surprised if he never showed his face again.
His phone buzzes, and he tucks his keys away before he reaches for it, wrapping his scarf a little tighter around his neck.
He has a text from an unknown number.
Peter nearly forgets how to breathe for a moment.
I think it’s time I pay you back for all those complimentary snacks. How’s dinner sound? I know just the place.
