Baker Peter just thought the cute older man who visited so frequently to his shop was just there to indulge in his sweet tooth when he was really there for Peter. Unfortunately each time he went there he couldn't manage to bring up the courage to ask Peter out and instead just kept ordering various cakes and sweet treats instead
There was a misconception about divorce lawyers when Tony was at law school.
His classmates at Harvard sneered at him whenever he took it as an elect, semester after semester. They thought that the money was in corporate, that the prestige was in finance, that the fame was in criminal.
Family law, they sniffed, was for silly little things.
Tony hadn’t given them any credit then, and he doesn’t give them any credit now.
Ask anyone. He’s the most renowned divorce lawyer in the country. He’s one of the wealthiest men in the state. He’s on more retainers than plastic on teenager’s teeth. Rich heiresses and paranoid old men, wealthy immigrants and not-so-idealistic trust-fund students know better than to enter into the law-binding contract that is marriage without Tony Stark ready and waiting in the wings to come and save them some day from utter devastation.
Sure, Tony doesn’t believe in love, how can he? With everything he’s seen? But he does believe in loss. He’s seen wholesome people lose their homes, seen kids torn apart by separation, seen ruthless, vindictive jerks - men and women- tear their partner to shreds for reign over the holiday home. For custody. For triumph.
Tony wears his tailored suits, and lives in his penthouse apartment looking over the city, he drinks expensive coffee and he sleeps on a thousand-thread cotton sheets, but he knows that the only thing a partner is good for, is one night.
Repeats? No thank you. But here’s his card. One day, when you make the mistake of falling in love (a temporary state) and divorce arrives (inevitable. Horrible) he’ll show up on his steed (a Bentley) and his sword and shield (a fountain pen and a stack of papers) and he’ll win.
Oh he’s saved tech-tycoons 50% of their business. They’ve repaid him with a few percent here and there, stakes and shares in stocks and bonds, and he has more money than he knows what to do with.
You’d have to be out of your mind to think he’d ever kiss someone on the lips and put a diamond on their finger, just to see them take half of it away in a few meagre years.
No thank you.
*
Tony comes back to New York after a month long holiday in India (what do you mean he networked and picked up a few new clients? Royalty looks ever so good on the old resumé, not that he’s needed one to get a job for a long, long time), there’s a new bakery around the corner from his penthouse.
He squints at it, trying to decide whether or not he’ll venture in tomorrow morning.
It’s called The Parker Place. It’s painted a sweet lavender, and there’s a chalkboard sign outside that says: We serve hot drinks too! with a smiley face and a heart. It’s nice and neat and-
“That’s been there for the better part of a year, dipshit. Nice tan.”
Oh. Maybe he should spend a little more time exploring his city. Tony turns with a smile. “Nat. You’re looking well.”
She is, but then again, she always does. Her hair’s pinned up today, and her pencil skirt and blazer are some sort of silky material that he wants to reach out and touch. But her stilettos are weapons, and he still has a bruise on his calf from when tried something. “I’m sure.” She rolls her eyes, “taking on your workload for a month didn’t have any impact on me at all. Not like I have my own case load.”
He hums around his smile, and nods at the bakery. “Any good? They serve coffee?”
“Pretty good,” she says noncommittally. “Though, I rate according to convenience and this is a little out of my way…”
“Why are you here? Not that I don’t appreciate the welcome party.”
She doesn’t give anything away- she has a brilliant poker face, like everyone in this game- but he’s known her for too long now. Over pizza and late nights studying for finals and Mock Trials with hang overs- “Rumlow called. Wants to hire you.”
Tony blinks in surprise. “I’m Kate’s retainer, she hired me years ago.”
“Rumlow’s offering triple. Fury wants you to switch.”
Tony scoffs at that. “I’m Kate’s. Besides, I can’t drop her without-“
“Fury can get you cause, Tony. Kate’s been taking Class B-“
“She has to,” Tony snaps, “married to that thing. Fury’s not my boss, Nat.”
The red-head looks bemused. “Technically-“
“I’m not dropping Kate. I want to put Rumlow in the ground. it’s about time they get divorced, he’s a fuckin’-“
“I know.” Nat cuts him off, softer. She shakes her head a little. “You’re a real softie, you know that?”
He bristles a little in offence. “I’m a shark.”
“Every other time you follow the money, but when you see a good person you go all warm-hearted and soft.”
Tony flips her the bird and heads into the lobby. He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck and decides to be especially vicious when it comes to destroying Rumlow. He wants blood. He’s a shark, not a softie.
*
The sight that greets him when he steps into The Parker Place on Monday morning is so fucking cute he nearly melts on the spot.
And then he catches himself, and he scowls and puts on his air of casual, charming, charismatic. His default setting.
Besides, it’s not that cute. It’s just a very handsome man with fucking fluffy Disney curls and big eyes at the counter, covered in flour, with a young girl- just as covered- with the same brown hair and adorable laugh, and they’re mixing a bowl of what smells like heaven.
It’s not cute. Not even when the man reaches over to smear chocolate on the little girl’s nose and she tries in vain to lick it off.
Not cute at all.
Instead, he busies himself with looking around the place. It’s nice. Airy and inviting. There are shelves of cupcake decorations and cake stands on one side, freshly made loaves of bread on the other. Behind fancy glass cases are doughnuts bursting with cream and an assortment of toffee pastries.
It smells phenomenal. There are sheets of freshly rolled dough on baking sheets ready to be slotted into the many ovens behind the counter. For now, though, the ovens billow out the delicious scent of vanilla and sugar.
There’s muffins, croissants and cake all lit up in display perches, chocolate sprinkles, vanilla sponges and sugar dusted cream-filled puffs. The small, silver bell above the door gives way to the sound and scent of happiness, sugar, and home-spun food.
Tony doesn’t even know where to look.
He’s the only person in the shop this early, and he glances up at the chalkboard propped against the wall and reads the drinks options in handwritten cursive.
Caley Coffee!
Tina Tea!
Hannah Hot chocolate!
Tony’s not so sure those are brands.
“Oh! God! I’m so sorry!” Comes an effusive voice, and Tony is suddenly wondering whether it’s the little girl responsible for all those exclamation marks.
Still, he can’t help but smile through his shark facade when the beautiful young man wipes his hands against the front of his blue apron and hops up behind the counter. Is he here all alone? No way he’s able to manage this workload. “It’s fine,” he nods, feeling a little off his game. He wants to be suave. Wants to wink and do a little flirting, because this gorgeous slip of a thing would be divine for a night-
But the man’s daughter is still avidly mixing the huge purple bowl dotted with flowers, and Tony doesn’t feel right flirting in front of a kid. Not to mention, the man’s probably taken. There’s no wedding ring, but the man’s covered in four. He probably removed it.
Not that marriage is a huge obstacle, anyway. They always crumble.
But Tony’s not about to violate one. “I’ll have a-uh- a Caley Coffee.” He says as he steps up to the counter.
His breath catches for a second. The man, up close, is even more attractive than Tony first realised. He’s not attractive, he’s beautiful. It’s a sort of beauty Tony’s never seen before, outside of twilight era, Hollywood movies. Fading starlets, a type of beauty he thought might have died out a long time ago, along with the black-and-white pictures his mom used to watch.
His eyes are honey, and his lips: strawberry. There’s a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, and his skin is like smooth cream.
He’s positively edible.
“Oh yeah,” the man blushes- fuck. That blush. Tony watches it hungrily. “Sorry about that, Hannah names all the drinks because she says everyone deserves a name.”
Tony can’t help but crack a smile. “Sounds like a smart girl.”
Hannah looks up from her bowl and beams. “I am a smart girl!”
“You’re just smart,” the man chuckles, effortlessly making the coffee without even having to look as he adds milk and sugar and creamer- all things Tony hasn’t asked for, but he’s not about to stop the man now. “Girl or not, you know that, baby.”
“Yeah, I know,” she nods, “I’m smart!”
Tony could watch them all day.
“So, are you new around here?” The man asks, handing Tony his coffee and ringing it up. It’s cheaper than Tony thought, so he pulls out a few extra bills to put into the tip jar.
Tania the tip jar, according to the label.
“No, no, I’ve been away. I live just around the corner.”
“Must do something fancy,” the man teases, taking the money. “Suit like that.”
Tony tries not to preen. “Lawyer.”
“Oh god, Hannah-Montana,” the man whispers, aghast, and the brunette’s head snaps up immediately, already giggling at her father’s antics. “An actual shark has walked in here and you didn’t warn me!”
“A shark!” She squeals, looking at Tony with enormous honey eyes, “you’re a lawyer! Lawyers are sharks in snappy suits, and they snap snap snap and give law suits!”
Tony’s cheeks ache a little, from how hard he’s smiling.
“You’d be amazed at the sorts of things they have in story books now,” the man teases apologetically. “I hope you have a good day, Sir!”
He can’t help it. It slips out. “Tony.”
The man goes that lovely pink again and nods shyly. “Peter Parker.”
*
There are a few reasons Tony can’t get The Parker Place out of his head.
For one, that coffee was goddamn fantastic. Sweet and high quality roast, an exotic, but homey flavour- he’s craving more.
Second, Peter Parker.
Maybe even Hannah, a little.
He never thought being a shark could make a kid laugh, but hey…he hadn’t hated it.
It’s only the first in a series of blows today, but Rumlow buckles like a baby calf. Kate stares at Tony; tears of hope and gratitude in her eyes, and Tony ignores Natasha’s knowing look from the back of the court room, and wraps the woman up in a hug.
Divorce cases rarely see the inside of a courtroom when Tony’s working them. It’s normally huge meeting rooms in sleek offices, with glass tables and leather seats and gorgeous views.
It’s elegant, and sometimes there are vases full of honeysuckle on the table and it doesn’t look like a place where people sign their love away.
Tony knows better, of course.
*
When he goes into The Parker Place on Tuesday morning, it’s to get some coffee. Definitely not to try and find out whether or not Peter’s attached.
When he steps inside, however, Peter and Hannah aren’t there. Instead is a friendly looking guy in a Hawaiian shirt with a huge grin. “How can I help you today, Sir?” He beams, and Tony wonders whether this bakery has some sort of magic power. Everyone here is obscenely happy.
There are a few other customers milling about, considering the different cakes in the case, and he orders his coffee, trying not to feel the sense of longing that permeates deep into his core.
The coffee’s still excellent though.
*
Stane isn’t a great lawyer, but he gets under Tony’s skin. Rumlow did a smart thing hiring him.
As he heads home on Tuesday evening, a light drizzle hanging over New York, he’s surprised to see the lights in The Parker Place shining brightly; a radiant gold in the otherwise murky, lightless street.
He’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
Inside, everything’s spick and span. The counters gleaming and wiped down, and Tony can see Peter fiddling with something on a baking tray.
Tony opens the door. The bell dings, and Peter looks up.
“Tony,” Peter sighs happily, “I hoped we’d make a repeat customer out of you! But it’s always hard to tell, you know? There are so many places just like this in New York.”
“Your coffee was amazing.” Tony manages, and it’s not as subtle as he’d have liked, but it makes Peter blush again.
“Thank you, please- um- sit, I’ll be with you in a second, I’m just trying to finish these scones before tomorrow.”
Tony sits on the pale blue wooden chair and feels all the stress of the day leave him. He watches as Peter squirts gooey filling into each puffed shell; watching as they fatten up happily, and he tries for the love of god, not to get an erection. He clears his throat, “so where’s Hannah?”
“In bed, thank goodness,” Peter laughs, and Tony takes him in- there’s a few dark circles under his eyes, his hair’s a little frizzy and his sleeves are starting to come down. It’s the end of a long day. He gestures to the ceiling, “and I’ll be able to hear if she gets out of bed. Thin floors.”
Tony glances up in surprise. “I didn’t realise you lived- above.”
“It’s a nice little apartment,” Peter nods, dusting the scones with flour or sugar. “It was a big risk moving here- I had to sell the house, but…” he nods, a content smile on his face. “It was the right thing to do. We’re- we’re doing okay.”
Tony wants so much he aches. “Hannah’s mom…”
“Oh no, it’s-“ Peter huffs out a small, sad laugh, “it’s complicated.”
Tony wants to brush the sadness away. Wants to feel Peter’s cheek under his palm. “I’m a smart guy,” he offers.
“Well my- my parents died when I was really young, I don’t even- remember them, but my Aunt took me in. She raised me, and then a few years ago, she…she fell in love. They had Hannah, but-“ Peter turns, sliding the tray into the fridge and hiding his face. “They passed away, and- now Hannah’s mine.”
The sense of loss hangs heavy in the air, and when Peter turns around- he’s smiling again, like everything’s okay.
“We’re happy,” Peter whispers, “it was- hard, but we’re…” he gestures to the shop and the pastries and the smiley faces drawn on the chalkboard. “She’s my little girl, and we’re gonna be okay.”
Screw one night, Tony thinks, speechless. What about the rest of our lives?
*
“Well what are you doing, little miss?” Tony grins, sitting opposite Hannah as she scrunches her face up over homework.
She looks up at him, eager for the distraction. “Daddy said if I finished all my homework, I could have a peanut butter cupcake.” She pouts, looking down at her work. “But this is hard. Mr Lo made it look easy, but it’s not.”
Tony clucks sympathetically, before looking over her little work sheet. He shakes his head fondly. “You are damn smart, sweetheart. Every single one you’ve answered is right.”
She perks up at that, looking down at her work with surprise and renewed enthusiasm. “Really?”
“Ya huh.”
She races through the last few, and bar one silly mistake, finishes it all. She scampers off into the kitchen, and returns triumphant, with a peanut butter cupcake in one hand, and a mini pancake in the other.
Tony takes the pancake eagerly and they both chew in contented silence for a moments. “You always such a nerd?” He asks conversationally, and she giggles.
“Daddy says we’re equals pequels.”
Tony hums thoughtfully around his delicious mouthful. “How’s that?”
Hannah licks all the icing off her cupcake. “It means- if I don’t do homework, daddy can put me on the naughty step. And if daddy says a bad word, I can put him on the naughty step. We’re a demo-cacy. And and, if daddy knows more, I should listen to him as much as I can, like with boring stuff like-“ she looks a little sulky, “playing with fire, but if I know more- daddy tries to listen to me! Like, on how pirates speak, or or what flavours taste best in a cheesecake!”
Tony chuckles. “That’s quite a modern take on parenting. I approve.”
He looks up when the last rush of customers leaves, and finally Peter’s free. He’s covered in edible glitter and a light sheen of sweat, and there are a few diced rose petals still on his fingertips as he comes over and ruffles Hannah’s hair. “Hannah-Banana, eating that peanut butter cupcake, I can only assume…?”
“All finished, daddy-doughnut!” She chirps, and Peter kisses her with sticky lips.
Then he looks at Tony, a little shyer, a little braver. “I’m closing up soon, Tony, maybe…you could come up? For tea? And danishes?”
*
“I’ve put on at least five pounds since meeting you.” Tony grumbles, squinting at himself in the mirror, even as he takes a huge bite of one of Peter’s raspberry cream danishes. The flavour bursts across his tongue, and Peter laughs, coming around with a tray of tea.
“You’re as dashing as ever, Tony, and I think you know it.” He teases, as the two of them sit down.
Tony watches Peter take a long, deep sip, the smell of jasmine tea in the air, and he wants.
“I don’t…” Tony croaks, when Peter meets his eyes, and everything is there; exposed, between them. “Love is…”
“Very real,” Peter promises, gesturing to Hannah’s bedroom.
Tony sighs. “That’s a different kind of love, Peter. That loves never goes away. Romantic love…it fades. Always.”
“Okay,” Peter murmurs, his honey eyes sad, “I wouldn’t know anyway, right? I’ve never had it.”
“Me neither,” Tony whispers.
*
On a sunny Saturday morning, Tony pinches his nose and looks through the annulment contract, Peter’s slicing peaches, and Hannah’s playing with a complex looking forest set.
“Have some eclairs, Tony,” Peter urges sweetly, setting down a heaped tray. “You worry too much, you’ll win like you do every other time.”
“I don’t know,” Tony sighs, reaching for the chocolate coated deliciousness. “Both of them are vicious- they’re tearing each other apart.”
Peter brings over another plate- this time, topped with gooey, chocolate chip cookies. Hannah comes racing over to grab three. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be solved with a bit of sugar and some maple syrup.”
Tony feels reluctantly fond. “Peter, property division is a little more refined than that.”
But of course, as he chews, he wonders.
*
Susan and David pause when they walk into the meeting room in the sleek office building among the New York sky rises.
Tony grins winningly. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says as he beckons them in, “it was a colleague’s birthday and there were left over cookies.”
“It’s not- a problem.” Susan chokes, as the two of them enter the room. She sits down stiffly, eyes on the heaped stack. The room smells of melted chocolate. “We actually-“ she gestures to David awkwardly, “we met in a cooking class.”
David nods, looking anywhere but Susan. “First week was desserts.”
Susan stares at her nails. “I burnt mine so badly, but David, he…”
“Swapped ‘em. She was so worried the teacher wouldn’t like her, like we were kids.” His laugh is wet.
The two people in this room are human. The ones who were in here last week, fighting for custody over the house and the dog and the garden shed tools- those were animals. Tony gestures for them to sit, and as soon as they do, David bursts into tears.
“Have the fucking house,” he whispers, so quiet Tony almost doesn’t hear it.
Susan wipes her black, mascara-coloured tears. “He’s your dog.”
*
“Daddy told you,” Hannah laughs, decorating her cupcake with blueberries. Tony hoists her into his arms and tickles her till she cries mercy.
Peter comes out of the kitchen, covered in custard and bread crumbs, and Tony crosses the bakery floor-
And kisses him.
*
Peter’s skin tastes like sugar- it never fades, but Tony’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth.
They fit together, slot in a way Tony never expected.
He loves Hannah fiercely, is overwhelmingly protective, and understands his work a little better now. Love is strong, but it’s balanced on life and circumstance, which is weak and flimsy. Sometimes love falls and cracks.
“I love you,” Tony whispers, as he and Peter snuggle in bed. They’re in Tony’s apartment- they’ve just christened his kitchen- baking wise, and Hannah is fast asleep in one of the guest rooms.
Tony’s childproofed the shit out of this place. He can feel Peter’s smile curve along his shoulder, “love you too,” he says, muffled.
But Tony means it more than that.
So, the next day he comes in, and hands Peter the annulment.
Peter looks down at his hands- covered in clumps of dough- “as romantic as legal documents are, handsome, I’m-“
“I’ve signed it already.” Tony breathes, “if we ever divorced- you’d get half my money- I’d be entitled to nothing. I wouldn’t take anything from you. It’s all yours.”
Peter blinks. “Tony, we haven’t even-“
“We will,” Tony blurts, feeling unhinged and desperate, “I’ll end up baking you some disgusting cupcake, but you’ll eat it because you’re too lovely to decline, and then you’ll find the ring I put into it, and we’ll get married and then life will fuck us, Petey, and then we’ll divorce and-“
“Oh Tony, Tony,” Peter cries, rushing around the counter to gather the older man into his arms. He gets raw dough all over Tony, but Tony doesn’t care. Just leans into Peter’s embrace as the younger man peppers his face with kisses. “You’re such a romantic skeptic, I can’t deal with you. I love you, and I will love that proposal, you glorious man.”
Tony gazes down at him, tears in his eyes, “but what happens when-“
“When life tries to fuck us?” Peter whispers, twining their fingers together, and he smiles. “We’ll fuck it right back. I promise.”
From anyone else, Tony wouldn’t believe it.
Right here, he does.
*
“Bet you never thought you’d see the day, huh?” Tony mutters, adjusting his bowtie.
Hannah’s in a frilly white dress, tossing rose petals into the air.
“Actually,” Nat grins, fixing his bowtie for him, “I saw it coming a mile away.”
*
He loses his fear somewhere along the way.
Between school runs and tantrums, between the highs and lows of Peter’s business as customers come and go. He loses his fear somewhere along their cotton anniversary. Somewhere around Peter burning casserole for his special birthday surprise dinner and the fantastic make up sex on Egyptian threads.
He loses his fear even when faced with the never-ending line of couples wanting to hire him. For the gold diggers and the sunset clauses and the genuine destructions of love.
He loses his fear because he comes home every night to Peter. To Hannah.
Peter crawls onto his lap in the middle of Aladdin and stretches out against him like a cat. “Let’s go on holiday,” he says around a yawn, “I always wanted to go to France.”
“I’ve gone a few times,” Tony hums, carding his fingers through Peter’s hair, “I’ll take us. You like the sound of that, Hannah?”
She gives him a thumbs up, eyes on the movie.
He’s gonna see her grow up, Tony realises. He’s going to drive her to college with Peter, sit at her High School graduation and cheer embarrassingly loudly.
He’s going to go grey and Peter will find him even sexier than he already does. Peter’s going to get better and better and better at baking.
Tony’s going to spend the rest of his life this happy. This in love.
The truth hits him, and the fear leaves. It evaporates.
He’s home.
“You love me,” he breathes, alight with certainty, and Peter snorts.
“Only a lot.”
“I will never divorce you.” He vows, speaking of a future certainty that he always warns his clients against. Breaking every rule he’s ever known. He was trembling at their wedding- even though he loved Peter with everything, he was still so scared of the transience of their love-
Now he knows.
“Good, good,” Peter says around another yawn, “I’ll never divorce you either. You’re my Tony.”
His Tony.
It’s all he ever wants to be.
Hannah notices the cuddling and leaps onto the couch with them, and Tony holds them close and is content.
Peter is the kind of baker who makes everything weeks in advance and shrieks it's for christmas when anyone makes a move towards the kitchen despite they've just had thanksgiving and it was milk for cereal, Uncle Peter, not the stollen. "Stollen? Who said there was stollen? Like I'd make stollen for you little ingrates" but of course there's stollen, and Mary Berry's Christmas cookbook with checkmarks as he works through it every year. Talia had to put another freezer in.
I love it! And how hard would it be to hide food in a house full of hungry little werewolves with growly little stomachs? You can bet that the freezer has so many padlocks on it! Peter sleeps with the keys on a chain around his neck.
I love the idea of Peter as a baker who loves baking things, but hates the people who buy them. - That's Peter's whole approach; people love it. His bakery is called "Misanthropic Desserts" and at first, people wonder if it's just a gimmick until they meet him and are like, "nope, this is for real." It's the place to go for cakes frosted with black flower designs, sugar cookies that spell out "I hate you" or "Leave me alone," and super garlicky rolls so no one wants to talk to you after you eat.
My image search led me to The Bold Bakery. I think Peter would take his cue from cakes like these:
Everybody thinks Cora is like the Grinch on Xmas, but she bullies everybody to bake cookies and decorating the house. At which not Peter bc he has no eyes for sparkles and is banned from the kitchen, but derek is an good assistant.
I want to tie this into the earlier baker!Peter headcanon. Peter is a fantastic baker, but Cora refuses to let him into he kitchen because nobody wants Christmas treats that look like this:
Peter hates all holidays! All the pies and cakes people want from his bakery, don't they have own oven? \sarcasm
I love the idea of Peter as a baker who loves baking things, but hates the people who buy them. And holidays are the worst! Alia actually has to send the kids to work behind the counter, because Peter can’t be trusted not to burn down his own bakery just to stop people coming inside to buy things.
