#starkersecretsanta

[peterparkerisababy]

Get You/Starker Secret Santa

@cammerel happy holidays, here ya go bb! hope you like it! 

@starkersecretsanta

WARNINGS: Mpreg, brief mention of abortion 

(Ignore the shitty title)

Peter woke up, with a soreness all over his body, in a strange bed.

He was confused for a couple of seconds, but he recovered as he felt the warm body spooning him.

He blushed all over, remembering how his previous night had gone. He went out to celebrate the end of the semester, and gone home with a really hot guy.

The person holding him started to stir, and Peter sat up and yawned wiping his eyes as he mumbled a bashful 'good morning'.

"Good morning, beautiful," a sleepy, familiar voice slurred, and-fucking shit.

Peter jumped to confirm his suspisions and Tony, the same man that he spent almost all of his time with and had a huge crush on, was cuddling him aftet a one night stand. Was it a one night stand? Peter hoped not.

"Oh, fuck," Peter gasped, and Tony-he'd dropped Mr. Stark after he'd practically moved in with him-chuckled.

"Nice to see you, too."

Peter blushed again, slowly relaxing.

"I'm-I'm uh, I'm sorry, I'm still a bit sleepy. Um...want me to make, like, breakfast or something?" He asked, not really understanding one-night stand protocol.

"That sounds great. I make an amazing black coffee, if you'd like," Tony joked, making Peter giggle as he slid on a shirt that stopped mid thigh.

He walked to the door and stopped short, staring at how huge Tony's house was. He'd explored every floor of the house except for Tony's personal floor.

"The upstairs kitchen is to your right," Tony called from behind him. And then, in a quiet, shameful voice, "Fri, cancel One Night Stand protocol."

Peter heard him and blushed (but to be fair, his senses were constantly at 11, did Tony honestly expect him not to hear him?) as he shuffled to the kitchen.

He went to the refrigerator and started to make breakfast, pushing the gradually-increasing insecure thoughts out of his mind.

"Hey, Pete, I'm real sorry, but I gotta go-are those eggs?" Tony asked, coming into the room in a suit and looking into the pan of food Peter had.

Peter nodded. "Just like you like them."

Tony stood there for a moment before he sat down. "I can be a bit late."

Peter brought him a plate of eggs, bacon, and slightly burnt toast.

"Petey, this is incredible," Tony praised, making Peter blush for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

They ate in silence, Peter wracking his mind for something to say.

Sorry about the toast.

This is a nice kitchen.

I love that suit.

Last night was the greatest time of my life and I've been dreaming about it all my life.

"Pete, I gotta go-um, meeting," Tony interrupted the silence, shoving his chair back. "Happy'll be back in about 30 minutes and he'll give you a ride. You can take a shower and steal some clothes, okay?"

Before Peter could really say anything, Tony was walking out, entering an elevator and disappearing.

Peter sat there, mouth dropped open, before he finally pulled himself together, slowly cleaning the mess he'd made cooking as tears started rolling down his cheeks. Tony had really slept with him and abandoned him.

As he cleaned, questions swirled through his mind. Was Tony coming back? Did he think Peter wasn't good enough?

Was this his plan all along?

Peter finished cleaning and laughed bitterly to himself. Tony had left him and Peter just cleaned his kitchen.

"Pete, you here?" Happy called from the elevator.

Peter's eyes widened. He ran to the bedroom and grabbed his backpack and some sweatpants, before he put on his web slingers and left through the window, too upset to care who saw him.

***

"Hey, Pete," May called, not looking up from her phone, having memorized Peter's footsteps. "What's wrong? I-"

May stopped mid sentence when she saw his face.

"Baby, what's wrong?" She asked, standing up. Peter walked a few steps forward and dropped into her open arms.

"Is it okay if... I don't talk about it?" He mumbled, voice cracking in the middle of his sentence. May frowned, gently leading them to the couch. She kissed his forehead and played in his curls, soothing him as best as she could.

She didn't even mention the hickeys.

***

Peter was studying for chemistry a week later when he felt it.

Something in his stomach stirred. It wasn't hunger, it wasn't sadness, it wasn't anger, it wasn't arousal, and it wasn't fear.

It was just...different.

***

Five weeks after that, he was sick.

It wasn't like any sickness he'd had before. He was glued to toilet and had thrown up everything he'd eaten, and even when he'd completely emptied his stomach, he was still there, dry heaving.

May entered the room with a cool washcloth.

"Sweetheart, you've been throwing up for a week," she told him, feeling his forehead. "You're clammy."

May's expression suddenly changed into a fearful one.

"Peter," she began, forcing her voice to be steady. "I need you to completely honest, and I'm not asking this as your aunt, but as a friend. When was the last time you had sex?"

Peter groaned, trying to remember. "Six weeks ago."

May's eyes widened even more, but she still tried to stay calm as she met Peter's eyes.

"Peter," she said, "you might be pregnant."

Peter threw up again.

***

We need to talk.

Peter sent Tony the message later that day, curled up in a blanket with a bucket in front of him.

He waited all day for Tony to respond, throwing up to keep himself busy, but he never did. So he sent a second message.

Can we meet up?

No response.

Tony?

Nothing.

Are you seriously ghosting me?

He wondered if he had been blocked.

He cried himself to sleep.

***

"Peter!"

Dr. Cho smiled as Peter entered her office a week later in a hoodie, followed by Aunt May.

"What's thi-"

"Can you be sworn to secrecy? Please?"

She laughed.

"Peter, I've known you were Spiderman for years, I think I can-"

"You can't tell Tony," May interrupted. Peter felt a stab of guilt, knowing that May thought that Peter was just scared of losing Tony's mentorship.

She frowned. "I'm sorry, but anything that happens with Peter has to be reported to him. It's the-"

"Fuck the Baby-Monitor protocol, Helen, you can't tell Tony," Peter pleaded. "Please."

Frowning, she nodded. "What's wrong?"

"I think I'm pregnant," he told her.

She drew a shaky breath, before she composed herself. "Peter, I really should-"

May gave her a look. Dr. Cho nodded again and turned to Peter, grabbing a cup and handing it to him.

"Pee in this and we'll go from there."

***

Peter was lying in his bed staring blankly at the ceiling.

They had driven back in silence, and the second they got home, Peter had gone into his room and shut the door.

Dr. Cho had determined that he was about a month and a half. She printed out an ultrasound for him that had a really small gray blob in the middle. The baby. His baby.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed right then.

Hey, Pete. We do have a lot to talk about.

Peter froze, thinking Dr. Cho had snitched on him, until his phone buzzed again.

Me leaving the other day was totally not cool and I was a huge jerk for doing it, and I apologize. I also shouldn't have ignored your texts, but I was really busy, thought I had responded, and forgot about it. I'm sorry about that, too. Could we meet up soon and work things out in person? :*

Was Tony sincere, he wondered, or was he just trying to get into his pants again?

He turned off his phone and cupped his stomach. There was a bit of a bump there, already, that could be played off as him not patrolling as much and getting a bit chunky.

Then again, Tony was a genius. He knew what pregnant people looked like. What if he'd, somehow, seen Peter and already knew he was pregnant?

What if he wanted him to get an abortion?

Peter's heart dropped at the thought. Did Tony want kids? He might not want to be bogged down by a 22 year-old and a baby. He'd probably make Peter abort it or set it up for adoption.

He pulled out his laptop and spent hours googling stories of abortion and adoption. By the time he was done, he had cried even more and sworn to not do either.

"I'm sorry,"  he whispered to the air, trying to steady his breathing. He inhaled shakily, then exhaled, slowly calming down.

He could hear familiar footsteps coming to his door, and then there was a knock.

"Come in," he called. May entered the room, holding her keys.

"I'm, um, going to get us some dinner. Anything specific you want?"

"Um-" If he was honest, he was even hungrier than he'd even been as Spiderman.

"Pizza okay?" She asked. "I know you've been talking about it."

He actually did want some pizza, really badly, to be honest. So he sat up, sighing.

"Actually, I do," he told her. He walked to her, leaning into her side. She pecked his forehead.

"We'll get through this, Peter."

***

"Guess those cravings have kicked in, huh?" May laughed, grabbing Peter's 7th empty pizza box. "Pineapple, anchovies, and syrup with on a pizza with no sauce." "Ugh, if I taste any marinara sauce I think I'll die," Peter groaned, before he pouted. "I'm gonna run to the store, want anything?" "No, not really," she replied nonchalantly. He grabbed his wallet and left.

At the store, he practically bought the whole snack aisle. As he walked out, he saw a bogo sale on photo albums.

He bought four, just to be safe.

***

"Peter, why did you call us down here on 'urgent notice' if you're just gonna mope?" MJ asked.

"We're worried," Ned added in a softer tone of voice, taking a bite of his pizza.

Peter sighed, sitting up in his seat. "I'm pregnant."

Ned choked on his pizza, MJ harshly hitting his back. He drank his soda and she let him go, turning to Peter.

"Pregnant?!" She yelled, catching the attention of everyone around them. "How?!"

"You know how," Peter attempted to joke, even though his face and tone were serious.

"Congrats, man!" Ned cheered, but MJ didn't let up.

"Who's the father? What are you gonna do with it? Is this a prank?"

"I'm keeping it, it's not a prank, and the father is...Mr. Stark."

Ned covered his mouth and MJ's eyes widened.

"Don't tell anyone," he begged. "Please."

He put his head in his arms, and MJ and Ned put their hands on his back reassuringly.

"We'll support you, Peter," Ned promised.

"As long as you name it after us," MJ teased.

Peter laughed weakly.

***

By month three, his morning sickness had barely decreased, he was always tired, and you could really tell he was pregnant. He went to Dr. Cho monthly, since she wanted to make sure the spider bite didn't affect the baby, and chose to keep the gender a secret.

He had transferred to MIT, changed most of his classes to online, and gotten an apartment where Tony would never think to find him.

MJ and Ned FaceTimed and texted him everyday, and they visited as often as they could afford, bringing him Spiderman themed baby clothes and toys.

May was still staying in New York, visiting as often as possible and sending him half of her paycheck each month. She would often talk about Tony, telling him how he would show up looking for Peter.

"He misses you, Peter," she told Peter as she cooked him some soup.  "You should talk with him. I'm certain he wouldn't fire you because you're pregnant-as a matter of fact, he could be a great figure in the baby's life."

Peter stiffened and his eyes opened. He sat up on the couch he had been resting on and decided it was now or never.

"Um, May?" He whispered.

"Hmm?" She hummed, stirring her food.

"That's the thing...Tonyismybaby'sfather."

May stilled at the stove, making Peter bite his lip nervously.

She turned to him slowly, an unreadable expression on her face before she sighed, moving the pot off the burner and grabbing two bowls and two spoons.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" She asked, spooning soup into the bowls. "I'm not mad, just disappointed."

"I thought you'd be super mad with me," Peter frowned.

"Peter...I know. I knew after you came home from his house with hickeys everywhere. I was just waiting for you to tell me."

He practically deflated, stress seeping from his bones and turning to relief. This pregnancy would be so, so much easier if he knew May wasn't disappointed or disgusted with him.

"So you're not mad?"

May handed him a bowl and a ginger-ale-the only drink, other than water, he could stomach-before sitting down herself. "Not mad, just hurt you didn't tell me. And I don't care for the power imbalance or the age difference-"

"I made the first move," he spilled, quick to remedy any of May's concerns. "And I'm able to get a good job without him. And if he ever tried anything bad, I'd stop him, you know that. But he wouldn't, Tony's an amazing guy-"

"But do you love him?" May interruped, staring into his soul.

Peter inhaled shakily, shocked, before he answered.

"I really do."

May smiled. "As long as you two love each other and you're happy...then I'm okay with it."

Peter grinned so wide he thought his face would crack, one of the many burdens on his shoulders lifting.

"There's a new Stranger Things, wanna watch?" She offered.

He nodded, glad to change the subject, and the two of them put their feet on the table and ate, relaxed, as the show played.

***

When he was four months, he was sitting in Dr. Cho's office, holding his stomach as he waited for another visit.

"I'm way too big for four months," he whined as Dr. Cho walked in.

"My favorite patient," she smiled. "This will be a short appointment, is that okay? Just an ultrasound."

"Okay," he smiled, getting on the bed.

Dr. Cho poured the familiar cold gel over his stomach, Peter barely flinching, before rubbing the wand and spreading it.

Peter beamed happily as the familiar blob showed on-screen. Dr. Cho was scanning the screen when her eyes suddenly furrowed and she added more gel. Peter's spidey senses shot to 100 as she peered at the screen.

"What is it?" He demanded. She ignored him, still watching the screen until her face broke into a smile.

"Peter, it looks like you'll be having twins."

"You're joking." Dr. Cho shook her head. "Twins? Really?"

He grinned so wide his face hurt, before he teared up.

"I'm happy, it's just these..."

"Hormones?" Cho finished. "I understand."

She handed him paper towels and cleaned up a bit as Peter composed himself. At the end of the visit, she had a conflicted expression on her face as she held an envelope. She finally thrust it into Peter's hands.

"He really misses you, Peter," she told him. "I've never seem him this upset before."

"I just-" he stopped, sighing. "I don't know if he wants us."

"Peter," Cho said, "I know Tony, and I know he'll be elated about you and your babies."

Peter tossed the envelope in his bag, nodding grimly to Cho.

***

By month six he felt ugly, lonely, and worried.

Because he'd been seeing news articles of Tony, and in each one, he was drunk and looked miserable.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when he was staying with May and Tony came over at 2 in the morning. From his room, he could hear Tony begging  May for information on him. 

"Please, May," he pleaded, "I haven't seen him in months. Nobody will tell me anything and I'm going fucking crazy. I just want to know if he's okay and what I did wrong."

Peter took a deep breath.

"May...let him in," he called out, after covering his midsection with two huge blankets.

Tony practically broke down Peter's door, freezing when he saw him. Peter's heart raced as he slowly bent down.

"Pete," he mumbled, trying to say something else, but stopping.

He suddenly pulled Peter into a tight hug, and Peter could tell he was crying by the way his body shook, and Peter slowly started to cry with him.

May came to the doorway, prepared to intervene, but Peter gently waved her away. She nodded, walking away.

A few minutes later, Tony sniffled and pulled away, looking at Peter with hurt, red rimmed eyes.

"What did I do?" He whispered when he was somewhat composed, and that made Peter start sobbing harder.

"Tony, it wasn't you," he cried, "it was me, I'm-"

He slowly, nervously pulled the blankets away and watched as Tony's eyes widened.

"You-you're-?"

Peter nodded, sniffling. "They're yours."

Tony froze, a fresh wave of tears pouring down his face.

"I'm so sorry," Peter mumbled, "I was scared you'd have me abort them, or adopt them, but I couldn't, Tony. I love them."

"Them?"

Peter nodded. "They're twins."

Tony's eyes widened and he cleared his throat, shocked and teary eyed.

"Peter, I hate that you thought I wouldn't want them," Tony told him when his voice had somewhat steadied, "and I hate even more that you hid it. I understand that you were scared, but, fuck-"

He looked away. "I thought you hated me."

"I thought you would've hated me," Peter admitted.

"I could never hate you, Pete," Tony assured him. Peter smiled before yawning loudly.

"I'm gonna go," Tony told him, "and I'll be back tomorrow morning. We can talk and I'll bring breakfast."

Peter almost burst into tears again. "Please don't go," he begged. 

Tony smiled softly, happily, as he took off his socks, shoes, and pants, leaving him in his AC/DC shirt and boxers, crawling behind Peter and spooning him.

"Good night, Pete," he whispered, and Peter was out like a light.

The next day, when he woke up, Tony was still there. He smiled to himself, feeling a rough thumping against his side begin. He groaned, accidentally waking Tony up.

"Mornin', babe," Tony mumbled sleepily, "why're you squirmin'?"

Peter blushed at the rasp of Tony's voice and the nickname. "They're kicking me again, and it's always hardest when-"

"Kicking?" Tony interrupted, suddenly wide awake. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think about it," Peter admitted, which was true. May, MJ, and Ned all felt his bump anytime they saw him, so much so that he didn't think to offer.

Peter led Tony's hands to the small feet, who kicked faster.

"They really like you," Peter told him, astonished. "They've never kicked this hard."

"I have that effect on people," Tony joked. Then his face turned serious.

"Peter, I want to be a part of their lives," he said, "and if you would rather us co-parent, I am perfectly okay with that, but I would love for us to...get together."

"Get together? Like date?" Peter exclaimed excitedly, before he blushed, making Tony chuckle. "Yes, Tony."

Tony smiled, leaning forward and kissing him until May came in.

"I bought some lunch, you two slept late-"

She stopped.

"Am I interrupting something?" She smirked, hands on her hips.

"No," Peter grinned, leaning his head on Tony's shoulder. "What'd you get for lunch?"

***

Two and a half months later, Peter was in the hospital, cursing Tony for ever getting near him, and telling him to "go ahead and schedule a vasectomy, old man, because I am not doing this again-"

Until the babies came out. The moment he laid eyes on them, he teared up.

"I want more," he told Tony, who laughed in slight fear, remembering how he had been cussed out 30 minutes ago, until he saw them and yeah, he completely understood why Peter's tune had changed. They were perfect.

May, MJ, and Ned came right afterwards, bringing balloons and gifts and rushing to hold the twins.

"Oh, what are their names?" May cooed when it was her turn.

Peter and Tony exchanged a look.

"The boy is Anthony Edward, or AJ," Tony beamed proudly.

"And the girl is named Morgan May."

May teared up, looking at Peter.

"You mean it?" She whispered. Peter nodded, also tearing up (Cho had warned them of postpartum hormones, but it was a beautiful moment-everyone in the room got a bit choked up).

***

Tony and Peter got married when the twins were two.

When they were three, Peter announced he was pregnant again.

This time, Tony was the first to know.

[starkerforlife6969]

I’ll Be Home - Starker

@starkersecretsanta @lilsoshie For you <3 

The story starts when Soldier Tony comes home for a few days, and is introduced to the love of his life. 

TW: Mentions of war, overload of fluff, A/O dynamics, mutual pining

Happily Holidays, my dancing sugar plums! 

Tony remembers his first station. 

Just off the coast of Kuwait, he was a fresh recruit, eighteen years old and awkward with a gun in his hand.

Though the army is Alpha-only, Tony had never really thought he’d want to join until he finished school. He remembers that first year, remembers the fear, remembers the confidence building, remembers the shared-smiles of people in his platoon. 

Stephen had been his bunkmate during training camp, and the two have been inseparable since. Stephen’s an irritating, self-righteous ass, a damn fine medical doctor, and Tony would lay down his life for him. 

One night in February, fresh off the plane, their general hires out a bar and fills it with dancers and family and lays on a huge spread. Tony’s just about to treat himself to the most expensive drink on the menu, when Stephen taps his arm. 

“Anthony, I want you to meet my brother. General Rogers had him flown out as a surprise for me.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows, already a little bemused at the softness around Stephen’s eyes. He’s never seen that before. A gentle smile on the doctor’s face, relaxed in a way that’s impossible to be unless you’re home.

Out from behind the other Alpha, a little omega steps.

He can feel his lips part, feel his mouth drop open a little in awe. The omega is beautiful. Tony’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his whole life. He has dark hair like Stephen, but it’s all fluffy and curly. He’s tiny, with huge honey eyes and lips like pink oceans. 

Tony doesn’t know what love at first sight is. He’s never read about it in books, never known anyone who experienced it, never heard stories. All he knows is that the second he lays eyes on the boy, he can see it all. In a flash he sees a future of shared smiles and kisses, he sees a family of curly haired children and a dog running in with the paper in his mouth. He sees the boy in white walking down an aisle, a veil framing him in all his glory, he sees-

“Peter, this is Tony, he’s the most narcissistic, egotistical, brilliant soldier I know. I’m very proud to call him my friend. Tony, this is Peter, the best little brother in the world and Brooklyn’s finest obstetrician in training.”

Okay, Stephen’s gotta be pretty drunk to be this nice, but Tony doesn’t even have the focus to mock him for the sentimentality. Peter. Perfect, beautiful Peter Strange. He’s got the loveliest blush on his cheeks, ducking his head like he’s shy and Tony’s heart-

Peter holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he beams, a sunbeam, a fucking ray of sunshine- “and I’m not very good, Stephen’s the real doctor.”

Stephen scoffs in outrage and Tony grins, tipping his head.

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s quite clearly something special in your family’s genes.” Tony murmurs, feeling stupid even as the words leave his mouth. He can just picture this omega with babies now, babbling in his arms, babies with big eyes and soft skin and-

A woman from across the bar calls Stephen’s name and he wanders off leaving the two with each other. Peter blushes again.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Tony offers and Peter smiles.

“No, no, please let me buy you one. It’s the least I can do- thank you for-for your service, it’s- so- so brave-“

Tony laughs, feeling a little giddy. “I’ll have a beer. And I’ll get you a…” he glances at the drinks on the board. “A blueberry horizon.”

The omega hops onto a barstool and Tony slides in beside him. Peter nods delightedly. “Okay. Are they nice?”

“I think you’ll like it, I have an eye.” The alpha hums, “it’s very sweet. Like you.”

Another glorious blush.

Tony remembers that night. Eighteen years old and his first time back. He remembers talking to Peter all night, remembers them leaning into each other, feeling the heat of the omega’s body, he remembers Peter’s giggle, remembers steadying him when the two had gone outside for some fresh air.

He remembers the starlight in Peter’s eyes, and the flush across the bridge of his nose.

“I want you.” He’d whispered, drunk off alcohol and lust.

Peter had blinked up at him sweetly. “Want me to do what?” He’d whispered back, and Tony’s chest had clenched something fierce. 

“To…to take a walk with me.” He’d offered instead, holding out his arm like a gentleman. “To look at the moon with me.”

Peter had been speechless for a moment, looking up at him in wonder. “It’s like an old movie.” He’d beamed and Tony laughed. 

They’d strolled away into the darkness and by the time dawn came up, Tony was in love.

***

It’s been a few years since then. Tony’s twenty-five now, and his six-year contract has finally come to an end.

“You’re not gonna stay on?” Stephen asks in surprise, renewing his contract as a field medic for another five.

“Enough for me,” Tony murmurs, looking up at the moon the way he always does when he feels like he could finally get everything he wants. 

The problem with only being back in America a few weeks at a time is that over the past few years, he and Peter have only seen each other on a handful of occasions. They’re friends. Peter writes and sends care-packages to both his brother and Tony.

On average, Tony’s seen him maybe two days a year for the past seven years. 

Each time Peter is more beautiful. Last time was at a New Years Party, with Peter breathlessly regaling him with a story of a premature birth, hands moving expressively, as the two of them leaned against the railing on the roof and watched fireworks going in the distance. 

“I’ve missed you, Pete,” Tony had admitted, wincing at his own lack of tact. “I never get to see you.”

“Aw, Tony,” Peter had knocked their hips together, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. “I miss you too. But it means we always have lots to talk about when you’re back.”

They talk and talk and they have a good time, but there are topics that are never touched on. 

Tony’s never asked if Peter’s seeing anyone. Never broached it with Stephen either. It hadn’t seemed fair to express any sort of interest, to stake any sort of claim, not while he was away so often. The thought- the miraculous thought- of Peter liking Tony back, and then having to wait for him. To wait alone for a few days of snatched contact, to be lonely and unsupported and-

The thought was too agonising. 

So, Tony has waited and waited and-

“I want to go home. Settle down. Be around.”

Stephen smiles, pouring the both of them some bourbon. “Any idea where you’ll go?”

Tony takes the glass as it’s offered. “Brooklyn, maybe.”

Stephen chuckles in surprise. “Well good, keep an eye on Peter for me. He adores you, you know.”

Tony’s fingers tremble and he hopes it’s true. 

Stephen gives him a look then, curious and frighteningly intelligent, but he doesn’t say anything. They play cards and drink bourbon and Stephen accuses him of cheating.

At the end of the night in their bunks, Stephen talks into the darkness. 

“I’ll miss you, Stark. You’re…you’re like another brother to me.”

Tony says, “I’ll miss you too,” and thinks about what it might be like having Stephen as a brother-in-law.

He thinks it might be pretty great. 

***

As a young Alpha in Brooklyn fresh out of the army, he’s treated with a lot of respect. People nod at him, offer to buy him drinks and clap him on the back like he’s an old friend.

He finds a place to rent and gets a great deal even though he doesn’t need it. He’s got a lot saved up. His fingers itch to call Peter, but first he goes to a few job interviews. Tries to get a feel for living in the city and having his own space after so long of sharing and barracks. 

He gets the first job he applies for. It’s as a security consultant for a big firm. It’s good pay and the female Alpha who shakes his hand is no-nonsense and impressed with him. 

He buys himself a bed.

He spends a lot on it. It’s ludicrously big and the mattress is extra plush, queen, memory foam. He gets a fancy headboard and high-thread blankets. When he tries to sleep on it that night, it’s a little awkward. He sinks into the softness, feels unnatural. 

He tells himself he wants a change, but he’s lying. The bed isn’t for him. 

It’s for the softest, most beautiful, most deserving person Tony knows.

***

“Tony!” Peter cries, leaping into his arms in the March sunshine and clutching him tight. Tony lifts him clear off the ground: breathing him in. 

Tony’s in uniform. He feels more comfortable in it, but also, he thinks that maybe- maybe Peter likes seeing him in it. A few people on the street around them aww and applaud, but Tony has eyes for none of them. 

Peter’s in a bumble bee sweater and white jeans, looking so pleased to see him that Tony wants to- wants to make his move. 

But no. It’s not the right time. He’s just got back, he’s just moved to Brooklyn, he’s just started his job- it’s too soon. 

“Wow,” Peter murmurs, tracing his finger down the jagged line near Tony’s eye. His touch is like heaven and Tony leans into his caress. “A close call?”

“Real close.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.” Peter whispers, eyes huge, “and it’s very, very handsome.”

The scar had bled and bled and hurt like a bitch when it happened-

And Tony would do it again in a heartbeat, just for the way Peter wets his lips as he looks up at him. 

***

Over the next few months, things move slowly. 

Tony has a few bad dreams, writes letters to Stephen, and does his job. He buys more furniture, puts down more roots in the form of a real oak coffee table and a tv with cable. 

He visits Peter at the hospital he works at. He sees Peter as everything he knew he could be. Capable, brilliant, eyes flickering over information and reassuring to the pregnant Omegas. Peter’s hands are confident, assured, as they touch round bellies or squirming, wriggly babies. 

After his shift, they go and get lunch. 

“It’s like watching Stephen,” Tony says in awe, “you’re brilliant.”

Peter blushes and smiles, a classic Tony adores, and takes a bite of his salmon. Tony watches it go past his lips. “Well I think you’re brilliant.”

“And devastatingly handsome.”

“It’s devastating alright,” Peter teases. “So, what’s new? Have you made any friends in your building yet?”

Tony makes a face. “Why on earth would I want friends in my building?”

“Fine, Mr Grumps, what about…um…have you been…dating, or- or anything? Seeing someone?”

Tony stills, eyes flickering over Peter’s face trying to read him. What does that mean? But the omega looks carefully schooled, focused on his lunch. Is Peter asking as a friend? Or asking because- because- “I’m not seeing anyone,” Tony murmurs, waiting for Peter’s reaction. “Are you?”

“You’re- me? No, no…”

“No?” Tony hums, “no Alpha swept you off your feet?”

Peter’s honey eyes meet his. There’s silence for a beat, before Peter looks away. “Well, I mean- it’s just hard to find the time.”

“Is there someone you’re interested in?” Tony asks, voice a little too rough.

Those big, beautiful eyes keep looking at him, and then Peter’s pager beeps and they both seem relieved.

Tony finishes his lunch alone and tries to think. Maybe it’s time, maybe it’s time he made a move. He’s wanted Peter since that night in the bar. He’s back now, he’s-

But no. No, it’s not the right time and Peter’s right. The omega works so hard and doctors’ shifts are long and tiring and-

No. Not yet.

***

Peter’s apartment is all bronze accents and fluffy pillows. It’s near the hospital and has a pretty good view that makes up for all the sirens that go by. 

“I swear you’ve spoilt me.” Tony moans after he’s finished dessert. Peter’s cooking is phenomenal. After three helpings of spaghetti and chocolate brownie for dessert, he’s so content he could purr. 

Peter laughs, licking chocolate from his fingertips in a way that’s obscene. “I love watching you eat. I wish I could just feed you all the time, make sure you’re getting enough.”

It’s a very omega thing to say to an Alpha. Very traditional. Very domestic. Very intimate. What does it mean?

“It’s late,” Peter says, standing up and stretching. Tony can’t drag his eyes away from him. From the gorgeous figure he makes even in his frumpy green sweater with the floral collar and chocolate on his mouth. 

He pulls himself to his feet and reaches for his coat. “You’ve got an early shift-“

“No, I mean-“ Peter takes a step closer, swallowing hard, looking brave. “I mean, it’s late, you could…if you wanted, you could just stay over…”

Tony frowns, “what do you mean? The commute will be a bitch in the morning.”

Tony doesn’t understand when Peter looks embarrassed. “Nothing, no, don’t worry, I was just being silly, sorry.”

Tony doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like Peter looking awkward and humiliated. He feels like he’s missed something. “Pete?” He prompts gently, “are you alright? Was it a…was it a bad shift today?” That happens sometimes. Tragic things happen and Peter gets small and sad and needs someone to lean against for a few days, Tony gets that. “I’ll stay, sweetheart-“

“No, no, you don’t-“

“Hey, hey,” he collects the boy into his arms. “I’m here for you, okay? I’m here for you.” He kisses Peter’s temple: holds him tight. It takes a second, but eventually Peter relaxes into his embrace and they stand there, wrapped around each other.

Eventually they pull apart a little, and Peter peeks up at him.

Maybe now, Tony thinks to himself. Maybe this is the moment, maybe this is the right time-

But no. Peter’s had a long day and-

Warm and soft and perfect is the kiss placed onto the corner of Tony’s mouth. 

He’s so stunned that he can only stand there, unmoving, staring down at the omega in shock. 

Peter’s the colour of a rose petal, looking like the bravest thing in the world. 

Tony can’t even move. Does this- is this-

Peter stretches onto his tiptoes, hands still clutching Tony’s shoulders, and slower, much slower, presses another little butterfly kiss right onto the corner of Tony’s mouth.

He can hear his heart beating in his ears- is this- does he-

He’s hyperaware of his hand on Peter’s waist, one on the small of his back, of how they’re pressed together, of how perfect-

“Tony, I really like you.” Peter whispers, breath fanning over Tony’s face. “I was um…I was wondering if-“

“Yes,” Tony croaks, “yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyes.”

Peter makes the most adorable sound of delight, and kisses Tony right on the mouth.

He tastes of chocolate and love and Tony sees it all again. He sees the golden mornings and the crosswords in bed. He sees the dog coming into the kitchen with the paper in his mouth, he sees a future, his future, with the love of his life-

“Hey Tony,” Peter giggles, lashes all wet with tears, “I adore you.”

Tony lets out a sob and buries his face into Peter’s curls. 

Coffee tables and cable can go screw themselves. He doesn’t need roots to be tethered somewhere- with Peter, he’s always home.

***

On Christmas Eve, Christine and Peter are making mince pies and competitively quoting It’s a Wonderful Life, and Tony’s in the living room, phone to his ear.

“How’s Christie?”

“You just spoke to her-“

“How is she really, Anthony?”

Tony sighs. “She misses you, but we’ve got her, Stephen, don’t worry. She understands. It’s just hard.”

Stephen’s silent for a while. Tony wonders if he’s thinking about his contract. Stephen clears his throat: “It’s a squeeze the three of you in that tiny flat, when are you and Peter going to get a house?”

“We’re gonna start searching after Christmas,” Tony chuckles, “Guess what I’ve got Pete for Christmas.”

“Something ingenious no doubt. A framed photo of yourself?” 

“Ha ha. No, get this,” Tony drops his voice, “it’s a puppy.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Tony grins, “Rhodes is bringing it over tomorrow morning, crack of dawn.”

“Tony, he’s going to love it.”

“I know, right? Best-present-ever-sex is definitely on the table.”

“That’s my brother, Tony.”

“Not literally on the table, Christie’s here-“

“I’ve got you something.”

Tony laughs in surprise. “Really? How’d you pull that off? You didn’t have to do that, Stephen-“

“Shut up and let me tell you what it is.”

“Is it good?”

“Obviously. You’re going to feel bad about making sex jokes.”

“I’m excited.”

“Christie should’ve put it under the tree- in an envelope.”

Tony hums in surprise, looking under the tree where all the presents are. Sure enough, there’s a red envelope with his name on it. He examines it curiously. “What is it?”

“Open it, you moron.”

Tony rolls his eyes, balancing the phone in the crook of his neck, and opens it up. Inside is what looks like an old letter. He glances at it in confusion. “What am I looking at here, Doc?”

“It’s a letter Peter wrote me a very long time ago.”

Yes, he can recognise Peter’s handwriting now, doctor-scruffy with lots of loops. It’s very sweet. Tony gets the gist of the first few paragraphs. Peter asks if Stephen’s safe, tells him he misses him, how his studies are going and then- and then-

You might not remember but you introduced me to one of your friends when you were here last month. His name’s Tony. Is he single? He’s got the prettiest dark brown eyes and he was really nice to me and I was just wondering if he’d told you about me? We went for a walk and we talked all night. Do you think he might like me? Could you tell him I say hi? Don’t make me sound like a dork! He’s not like any Alpha I’ve ever met before. And mom said to call her! And-

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.”

“A month after we met- a month after-“

“Yes, Tony,” Stephen sighs, but his voice is fond. “I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you two pine for seven years. I thought you might like it. I don’t say it often, but I do love you, Tony. I’m very glad you’re with my brother. However, you do worry. You’re a soldier and you have a keen sense of time and when to do things, but you hesitated with Peter. I’m not sure why, maybe you thought he didn’t like you, but regardless, I think, in love, just doing what feels right is okay, from time to time. Especially with you and Peter.”

“Stephen…”

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

“I’m so glad I met you. You’ve changed my life.”

Stephen sniffles, like he might be crying. Tony calls Christie in, to let the two of them say goodbye, and heads into the kitchen.

Peter beams at him, flour on his cheeks. “George Bailey, I’ll love you till the day I die!” He quotes merrily, skipping over to peck Tony’s cheek, and Tony thinks about Stephen, and about love and about the puppy he’s going to give Peter tomorrow and the dog it’ll grow into and the kitchen they’ll have. He thinks about timings and all the waiting and the missed moments and then- he doesn’t think, he just does.

The first thing he says is: “I love you so much, Peter.”

And the next thing he does is get down onto one knee. 

--

merry christmas @lilsoshie your prompts were all equally amazing so it was really hard to choose, so I tried to merge a few of them together. I hope you liked this and that you have an amazing Christmas! All the love in the world1 

#starkersecretsanta2019

[peachbabypie]

Happy Secret Santa! — for @starkernova

You requested forTattoo artist!peter/florist!tony, maybe tony giving peter flowers:

Tony probably bumped into Peter and saw all the floral tattoos embedded on nearly every surface of skin on the toned muscles adorning two strong arms. Tony probably geeked over the specific flora species and Peter probably flirts back.

Peter probably invites Tony over for coffee and more plant chats, Peter probably pushes curls out to Tony’s face, and Tony probably winks when he leaves, knowing Peter is eyeing his ass.

Tony likes that Peter’s tongue peeks out the corner of his mouth when he’s concentrating on something, how he pins his hair back when drawing new designs for his clients, the way his forearms twitch when erasing, the way Peter’s thighs wrap around his hips.

Tony reveals that he’s a florist and Peter spends hours at his little bodega smiling at the flowers and how in his element Tony looked, dominated by sunflowers, brown wrapping paper, and twine. Peter likes pulling Tony close, kissing all the parts of his body. He really likes when Tony’s standing behind the counter, wrapping up a bouquet and Peter drops to his knees to give his boyfriend the blow job of a century. (Especially if the bell above the door rings and an unsuspecting client pops in while Tony’s cock is in Peter’s mouth)

Also Filling Starker Bingo: Happy Birthday // You’ll see the card in the flowers if you squint haha. Happy Holidays y’all!!!!

Thank you @starkersecretsanta for organizing! Super fun!!

[notcanoncompliant]

Flight (And What That Means To You)

Merry Christmas to @darker-soft-starker! <3

@starkersecretsanta

(I read your prompt and my brain took off, totally deviated from the rom-com feel, I hope you still like it!!)

warnings: mild violence, anxiety attack symptoms (kind of)

****************************************************** 

The Prompt:

Canon Divergence AU - Tony and Peter are neighbors. Tony is not obscenely rich, just a regular Joe, maybe a cop or something and lives across the hall from Peter's apartment. Peter is still Spider-Man and regularly gets caught by Tony limping back to his apartment bloody and beaten, peter gets stuck to his doorknob and there are a lot of awkward moments etc

And away we go...

******************************************************

Like many important things, Tony’s life resets with a ‘bang’. 

On his back, ears ringing, staring up at inky-grey smoke that eats up whatever view there had been of the stars, he takes ragged half-breaths and wonders if he’s done enough, if this was the right way for him to go. When his vision tunnels and his consciousness begins to recede, he still doesn’t have an answer.

*

You’re lucky. 

It’s what everyone keeps telling him. Lucky he was far enough away from the blast that he didn’t lose any pieces, lucky his vest held up just enough to keep the shrapnel from burying itself in his chest.

Lucky.

He might be, but it’s hard to feel it when he still hurts like there’s a baby grand parked on his ribs. Harder still when he wakes up, over and over and over, with the taste--the grit--of sand and copper in his mouth the echo of too-hot sun on his skin or the stinging, freezing cling of ice water on his face (in his mouth, his eyes, his stomach, his lungs--he can’t, he can’t, pleasenomorehecan’t).

It takes him four days to wake calmly enough he doesn’t bolt upright, doesn’t frantically pull off sensors and yank the drip out of his arm, doesn’t get held back down and sedated.

It takes four days for him to get his hands on a notepad and a pen.

When he does, he draws a metal behemoth shooting into the open sky.

He has no idea what it means, but he feels free.

*

‘Indefinite medical leave’ should’ve been a punch to the gut, a slap to the face. By the time they’d gotten around to giving him the mandatory psych eval, though (and it had gone as swimmingly as expected), he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks, and well-acclimated to feeling like he’d taken a fist to the stomach.

Before, he might’ve argued, fought, done his best to prove that he could still be an asset to the team, that his mid-forties are practically his prime, god damn it! 

He doesn’t, though. None of it seems as important as it used to.

Being taken off the force is the least of his concerns, not when the tug to vent the dreams (visions, almost) onto paper-canvas-something is so strong he shakes with it.

The dreams are wild. Vivid and jarring. He draws bits and pieces of them all. 

He’s got the time to do it, now. 

*

Rogers is the first to stop contacting him. Barnes follows suit. 

Clint hangs on a little longer, but ultimately stops coming around after the first month.

Rhodey doesn’t feel like a loss, for all that he and Tony have undeniably drifted apart. Rhodey’s got his family; Carol and the kids. He has time for coffee, for a quick chat sometimes. He doesn’t ask after the dreams. Tony doesn’t blame him.

Nat sticks around a little longer. Stops by every couple weeks. Comes in and drinks his crappy instant coffee and looks at whatever he’s working on. Sees him go from pencil sketches to paint. 

When she sees his latest piece, she arches a brow at him.

It’s a glove, she says, flatly. The hint of good-natured amusement sparking in her eyes is nice, even if it’s not enough to counteract the rest of her reaction.

She’s a better liar than the others, because she lies with her whole body, her whole self. It’s only because Tony knows where to look does he see the wariness in the way her glance keeps flicking back to the canvas, catching on the bronze shape, on the spots of bright color that contrast so sharply.

The visit ends more quickly than usual (and they were never long to begin with), the redhead gone after a well-crafted excuse and a lingering hug. Tony knows he’ll see her again, but it still feels like a goodbye, of sorts. 

He’s not bitter about any of it, doesn’t blame or begrudge his team for not staying; their jobs, their lives didn’t end when Tony took that blast, when a cut-and-dry shipyard raid (as cut and dry as any raid can be) went a little sideways.

And, if he’s being honest, the relative handful of times he’s seen any of them after his retirement (after four months he’s given up calling it ‘leave’, given up assuming he’ll ever even try to come back), there’s something hanging silently over them, dragging between them. 

The feeling of distance (and slight relief when they part) is mutual, Tony thinks.

*

There’s one constant, outside the dreams. One figure flitting in and out of the corners of his days, his nights, his mind.

His neighbor, Peter, is a mystery. A gorgeous, twenty-something, world-weary mystery who’s eyes flicker too sharply over the whole of Tony’s body whenever Tony opens the door to find him standing there at completely ridiculous hours.

(Not that Tony’s got a healthy circadian rhythm to disrupt, anymore).

It feels less like random kindness and more like he’s been assigned security detail, the kid’s greeting and polite inquiry--How are you today, Mr. Stark? (because he can’t get the kid to call him ‘Tony’)--accompanied by eyes moving too sharply over the whole of Tony’s body, checking for damage, before he’s off again to do whatever it is he does.

Tony’s not really sure what to do with it at first, how to respond. He’s not used to being watched over, is typically the one doing the watching, the protecting. It’s especially difficult the first couple of times, because the kid--Peter--always looks a little worse for wear; favoring one or more of his limbs, and at least one visible, fresh bruise, small scrape or cut marring his features.

He does him the courtesy of not asking about them, because Peter doesn’t ask invasive questions and obviously tries very hard not to look past Tony and into the apartment, important concessions to Tony’s privacy. It’s only fair to let Peter have his, feels like an even (if increasingly painful) trade-off.

He also doesn’t want to do anything to risk losing this. He’s glad his ‘detail’ keeps showing up. Keeps existing. 

*

After a while, it becomes routine. Once a day, Peter knocks, Tony opens, and they have their exchange. It’s...a spot of light in Tony’s world, even if it feels sort of heavy.

The lightness is due in part to the way that, regardless of apparent injury or hour of the day, Peter always offers Tony a genuine smile, even if it’s also quick or small or tired.

Sometimes, though, the smiles are more grimace than anything else. There are bands of steel behind those ones, and Tony wonders how (why) this kid got so strong, and why it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone telling him he doesn’t have to be. On those days, Tony thinks about inviting him in, offering to take a look at the injuries; he’s got first aid training and still keeps his own supplies in his place.

(He doesn’t ever offer to drive Peter to the hospital; the option never seems to occur to him until after Peter’s already vanished, down the hall or into his own apartment across from Tony’s.)

There’s something that stops him, something beyond the respect for Peter’s privacy. Something about the faint blush that appears on Peter’s cheeks sometimes during their short conversations, something about the way his own eyes sometimes drift over Peter’s form in return.

*  

He wonders, sometimes, what Peter would think of the paintings. 

He's imagined it a few times; showing him, watching him see them. He doesn't know if Peter's into art at all (not that Tony even really is, not in the technical sense), but it wouldn't really matter; Tony's fantasies don't usually revolve around the younger’s critique of his work.

More than anything, he wants to see Peter in his minimalist-but-cluttered space, sitting on his couch or leaning against his kitchen counter, propped against the windowsill, a mug of something hot in his hands and a truly relaxed smile on his face.

Sometimes the fantasies are less innocent, but...something in him just wants to see Peter safe.

*

“Okay, we need to talk about this.”

They’re standing in Tony’s doorway, another ass-crack-of-dawn ‘status check’, and there’s blood actually trailing down from Peter’s left sleeve, dripping off the kid’s fingers.

Peter fidgets in place. “...About what?”

In spite of his concern, Tony nearly snorts a laugh at the completely terrible evasion. 

He reigns it in, arches his brows. “You’re getting you on the carpet.”

The kid shoots a quick glance downwards at his hand, blanching slightly. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s--it’s really nothing, I just--”

“‘Nothing’ is a papercut, Peter,” Tony snaps. “Putting aside the bruises, fat lip, and the fact you’re obviously favoring your right leg, you’re standing here with blood running down your arm. That’s not ‘nothing’.”  

He’s tired and frustrated and afraid, finally venting these feelings after weeks of this, weeks of wondering if Peter’s just going to stop showing up, weeks of being on edge between visits even if they come like clockwork because he just can’t lose these moments, he can’t--and he doesn’t realize he’s moved forward into Peter’s space, how close he is until he finishes speaking. 

Peter’s staring at him with saucer-wide eyes, a pink stain on his cheeks, his slightly wheezing breath fanning across Tony’s chin.

Tony backs off quickly, hands in the air. “Fuck, I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay,” Peter says, and Tony watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. “You--I’m okay. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am. You don’t need to worry about me Mr. Stark.”

The determined set of Peter’s jaw is both compelling and frustrating, and Tony just barely manages to muscle back his urge to argue further.

“Just...I’m here,” he says, finally. “If you need to talk. If you need anything. Please.”

Something desperate and pained slashes across Peter’s features, and then it’s gone. The younger man nods, short and tense, turns and disappears into his apartment.

Tony stares at the closed door for another moment, before stepping out and shutting his own door, heading down the hall. 

Air. Air will be good.

*

Air is good. It’s always good. Always helps after the dreams, chills away the sweat, clears his head.

It doesn’t do quite as much, now, when his worries are linked to reality instead of a dreamscape, but it feels good nonetheless. 

He stands on the roof of the complex, high up, until the edge of the sky begins to change color. Like he does every time he comes up here, he thinks about his favorite of the dreams, the brief period when his nights were filled with the exhilaration of flight.

He hopes Peter has somewhere like this, that he has something good to return to, his own version of reaching the sky.

*  

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good..."

Wind. Reddish puffs of dust in the air, unnaturally colored sky--everything is wrong, everything is ending, failure, failed, no--

"I don't wanna go, please--I don't wanna go!"

He can't lose him, he can't lose the kid--it's his fault, Tony's fault--he shouldn't have been here, he shouldn't have--

Tony bolts upright, gasping past the taste of dust in the air--gritty on his tongue, in his throat, burning his eyes.

With a clumsy, half-conscious drive, he drags himself up off the couch to the easel, practically throwing the painting of the glove (gauntlet) to the side and slapping a blank canvas up.

He doesn't start this one with a pencil sketch, no swipes of graphite or charcoal. The paint ends up on his bare hands, coating his fingers, and then he's frantically tracing and contouring a face, neck, shoulders, craggy grey rock and more of that reddish dirt--shades of beige and brown, orange and red and blue, grey and black twisting (crumbling) away.

Time is nothing, a non-entity; all Tony knows is the need to touch, to hold, to stop the inevitable--

When it's finished, the energy drains with disorienting suddenness. It's difficult to keep his arms extended, so he doesn't; he pulls them towards himself, hunching over with a sob and burying his trembling, paint-tacky hands in his hair.

The dreams have only ever been abstract; images in a mental blender. Vague human shapes and random objects, landscapes--weird, vivid amalgamations of feelings and colors and sensations. Tasting the dirt, feeling the loss; those things are par for the course.

But none of the people in them have ever had a voice; no one has ever said a word.

He couldn’t make out clear features of the face, even staring head on...but the voice that still rings in his head sounds a lot like Peter’s, and now that the frenzy is over, it’s almost paralyzing.

After an indeterminate number of minutes, the dream fades in the way dreams do, and he uncurls with a heaving sigh and stands, drags himself to the kitchen counter to make coffee.

He's already painted it out, it’s usually enough, but when he sits back down in front of the easel, he feels sick, anxious. His hands are unsteady, knuckles white where he grips the handle of his mug, the liquid inside it rippling slightly. 

Patches of the paint are still shiny-wet on the canvas, and part of him wishes it would stay that way, something about the wetness making it seem alive. It's blurred, as though he’s looking at the image from behind frosted glass, but there’s an obvious shape, the body of the owner of that heart-rendingly familiar, rasping voice. It's faceless; a kernel of (relative) normality he clings to, so he can try to convince himself this painting doesn't feel like the manifestation of his greatest failure, of a grave error that doesn't really belong to him but still spreads, aching, behind his ribs.

He's sore everywhere--his shoulders and neck from being hunched over, his arms from being held aloft for far too long. His hands ache, too, and they’re dry, paint cracking and peeling in an ugly neutral blend of the colors he'd smeared on his fingers.

He showers, manages to get the paint out of his hair. 

But he can’t watch as the color flecks and melts (disintegrates) from his hands and disappears down the drain. 

 *

Every day.

Every day for the last four days. 

The dreams and the art are a cycle: he dreams, he draws, he gets a few days respite while he finishes the piece...and then he wakes again from a new nightmare or dreamscape and starts over. 

He’d finished the first painting the same day...but he keeps having the same dream. Keeps hearing Peter beg to stay, keeps feeling the body in his hands crumble away to nothing. The taste of dirt in his mouth won’t leave, isn’t touched by coffee or food. He’s got five variations of the same painting piled in the corner of his apartment, and he’d been sure that if he doesn’t do something, he’s going to live the same horror over and over and over.

So he’s doing something.

He’s maybe ending this vicious repetition, but he’s also making up for the way he’s been ending their conversations more quickly, the way he’s been holding back and hiding, pretending he doesn’t see the flicker of hurt on Peter’s face when Tony’s the one who evades, bids farewell and closes the door.

He’s the one knocking, now.

“Mr. St--Tony?”

Seeing Peter like this--standing there in a t-shirt and boxers in the doorway of his apartment, less bruised than normal, looking confused and alive, he looks amazing--blows whatever plans Tony had away, ash on the wind. 

He doesn’t think, just sighs Peter’s name and pulls the younger man forward into a tight hug, buries a hand in his hair, presses his face in the softness, too, everything in his head spinning with relief and joy and a painful kind of apology--

--before he notices how stiff Peter’s gone in his arms. 

Probably because, in the months since they’ve been doing this, they’ve never actually engaged in physical contact...or had a real conversation beyond the single argument those days ago. Peter doesn’t know about the dreams; he doesn’t know anything, and Tony must seem like he’s having a mental break.

Before he can make himself let go, though, Peter’s arms snap up to wrap around him, tight, so tight it makes Tony’s ribs ache.

It ends too soon, Peter pulling away to stare at him with suddenly wet, red-rimmed eyes and hope so sharp it hurts to look at.

“Are you--do you know? Do you remember?”

Cold trickles down Tony’s spine.

He knows, without a doubt, he should. He should remember, and he doesn’t. It feels like another failure that he can’t say ‘yes’, that he can’t bring himself to answer that hope with something other than tense silence.

His heart breaks when Peter steps back after a few seconds, looking embarrassed and a little panicked.

“Never mind, I’m sorry--”

“Wait, no,” Tony blurts, barely resisting the urge to pull Peter back in. “Don’t--Look, I can’t...I don’t know what you’re talking about, but maybe you could tell me? I just…” He sighs, frustrated at himself, at the feeling that he’s missing something huge and that huge thing is Peter-shaped

“I just need to be around you for a little while,” he finally says. “Is that okay?”

He’s sure he’s going to get a door shut in his face; Peter’s expression is torn, aching, and Tony wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.

But he’s lucky. 

“Um, yeah,” Peter says carefully after another long moment, something like resignation coloring his tone. “Come in, please.”

*

The layout of Peter’s apartment is a mirror of Tony’s, but significantly less cluttered. Pretty minimal, actually, less like a choice in aesthetic and more like he’s only just moved in: a futon and a desk for furnishing, a small microwave and coffee pot on the counter, no pictures on the walls or taped to the fridge. 

Tony’s not judging, can’t; he’s never lived particularly extravagantly either, and his studio only looks lived in because of the art supplies taking up a good third of it. 

As for the lack of personal touches, of photos, memories...If anything, it makes Tony feel a further sense of closeness, of camaraderie. He doesn’t have pictures up either, not anymore; can’t look at the ones of he and the team, of he and Rhodey through the years. Not since everything changed.

The futon draws his gaze, again, still pulled down flat, like Peter’s just woken up, or had just laid down for bed. Tony stares at the pillow and rumpled, pulled-back comforter, and feels a twist of guilt (not enough to leave, but it’s still there).

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Peter’s saying as he closes the door and moves to stand a little off to the side. “I wasn’t expecting company at...um. Whatever time it is.”

Cracking a joke would be ideal to diffuse the tension, or maybe even giving a generic, polite response (‘it’s fine’, ‘I don’t mind’, or, ‘you have a lovely home, literal man of my dreams’), but when Tony pulls his gaze from the futon, Peter’s lips are curved in a tight smile, his stance awkward, yearning, like he’s trying not to approach Tony, but he wants to.

“Can I touch you again?” Tony asks. 

He realizes how it sounds as soon as he’s blurted it out, and as he watches Peter blush, lips parting in silent surprise, he wishes he meant it that way; that he was only trying to finagle his way into further messing up Peter’s bedspread, wanting to touch for a reason so mundane as arousal, instead of out of the powerful desire to reassure himself of Peter’s continued existence. 

Before he can apologize or rephrase, he’s got an armful of shaking, but warm and solid, Peter.

Peter’s face--his cheeks, his nose, his lips--are warm, pressing into the bare skin at the junction of Tony’s neck and shoulder, a sensation that takes Tony’s breath away more so than the return of the tight bands of Peter’s arms, one low around Tony’s waist, the other angled up between his shoulder blades. 

Fabric tightens across his shoulders and a little at his neck, like Peter’s gripping a handful of his shirt, and Tony feels more than hears the younger speak. 

“Yes, please. Touch me.”

Tony swallows thickly and hugs Peter back. The ‘thank you’ is burning in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out...so he lets it. Breathes it strained and hollow into Peter’s hair, the kind of ‘relieved’ that hurts so much worse before it gets better, and Peter shivers in his hold.

It shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t feel better to hold Peter, this virtual stranger, than it does to even think of being near his family, his old friends (his other friends, other; they’re not gone, they’re just...distant--not gone, not gone, not wrong), but it does. It feels right, in a way nothing else seems to feel anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say, “I’m so sorry, Peter, I’m sorry…”

He’s sure he’s holding on tight enough now that it has to hurt, but he can’t make himself stop. His hand ends up back in Peter’s hair, fingers twisting into the soft brown curls, his other hand gripping at the back of Peter’s thin, worn t-shirt, and suddenly he needs more. Needs more proof, needs more confirmation that he’s not dreaming, that Peter’s not going to crumble apart in his arms. He’s just not sure how to say it, if he can--

He flinches when he feels Peter shift, feels him nosing at his throat, feels lips parting.

“I miss you,” Peter whispers, ragged and strained, breath warm against Tony’s skin, and it doesn’t make sense, but it does.

*

The fading bruises on Peter’s skin taste the same as the pale, unblemished places, are just as soft when Tony’s lips and tongue brush over them, and this isn’t what he’d meant to do, but it’s what’s happening now and neither of them appear inclined to stop it.

They should be talking; Tony should be wondering about the question Peter asked when they hugged for the first time. He should be panicking about how Peter apparently knows him enough to mourn him (he’d said ‘I miss you’ the way Tony talks to his mother, like he was talking to a gravestone) even though Tony had definitely never met him before he left the force, before the dreams. Would’ve remembered a face like his (an everything like his, really).

But they’re not talking. Instead, he’s tangled with Peter on the futon, dragging his lips from bloom to bloom of fading green-yellow-purple down Peter’s torso, his scalp tingling with every reflexive tightening of the fingers in his hair, the disbelief and awed arousal on Peter's face as much an aphrodisiac as the taste of his skin, the texture of it under Tony's hands.

Every motion feels like something slotting into place, the restless places in Tony's mind settling a little further, the empty spaces filling with heat and emotions too big for how little he really knows this person--this beautiful, strong, wonderful being.

Tony’s not panicking. He’s not wondering. He still doesn’t know how this is happening, still doesn’t know Peter beyond the last few months, barely knows him now, but nothing has felt this easy, this right, in a long time.

When Peter spills, warm and liquid, over where their hands are wrapped together around their twin hardness, Tony swallows Peter's soft gasp, kisses him and groans Peter's name as he finds his own release.

*

There are things he needs to say, things he needs to show Peter, the way he knows there are things Peter needs to show him, tell him.

The enormity is there, a strangely relieving weight, blanketing as they sink into each other in soft, post-coital haze.

It's complicated. It’s bigger than the dreams, bigger than anything Tony can fathom.

But when Tony fades, curled together on the futon, Peter's head under his chin and one of Peter’s hands resting on his sternum…

He dreams of flight.

***

[addisonacres]

Insecure: A Starker Secret Santa Gift

For @starkerotic. Not sure where you are in the world but here it’s already the 24th. I hope you enjoy! @starkersecretsanta

Prompt: peter is going away for MIT. tony is... he wants peter to enjoy college life, but he and peter are still very new and, as much as his ego hates to acknowledge it, he's insecure; peter will be meeting more and more people and tony is happy for him to make friends, he is - but... harley keener becomes a regular mention in their nightly phone calls, and tony can't help but to worry. (no infidelity, just insecurities.)  

Tony stood in the doorway to Peter’s small bedroom in Queens and watched as his young lover tried to cram another tin of the horrible dry cookies that May had made him into his suitcase. Peter wasn’t packing a lot of unnecessary items since MIT was only a couple of hours away after all, but even so, he’d taken a few things of comfort. May had baked for days, and Peter had watched on in dawning horror as she had packed up tin after tin of her goodies. As terrible a cook as May was, Tony had no doubts that Peter would eat every last cookie and brownie, simply because he missed his aunt. He wasn’t so sure about the hoodie of his that he spotted before the suitcase lid had been closed - he’d like to think that Peter would wear it at every opportunity, possibly not wash it for as long as he could to keep the faint scent of Tony’s cologne for as long as possible, but maybe Peter wouldn’t miss Tony as much as he would miss Peter.

It was odd to think that Tony was the more insecure one in this relationship but he was fairly certain that that was the way the cookie crumbled.

They’d not been together long, only the few months since Peter had graduated from high school. They’d had a glorious summer together and Peter had proved that he wasn’t as shy in the bedroom as he was in everyday life. Tony had had many fantasies about his protege, and most had revolved around taking Peter apart and piecing him back together again, using every trick that he knew to make Peter a squirming, mewling mess of post coital bliss, wowing his lover with his experience. To say that it hadn't quite gone down that way was an understatement. Peter was confident, determined, and almost cocky in the bedroom, making demands and expecting Tony to carry them out. Of course, it wasn’t a hardship for Tony, but it had had him on the backfoot the first time or two, and he’d even been a little shocked by Peter’s kinkiness. Both of them switched, neither preferring to only top or bottom and so they enjoyed taking it in turns, but when Peter had shot his load deep inside Tony only to drop down and then suck it out of him, Tony started to realise that perhaps he was in over his head. Peter might look like an angel, but in the bedroom he was definitely an incubus. 

Peter was also insatiable, and Tony had been pushed to his limits. He wasn’t twenty anymore and he had difficulty getting it up more than once a day. He’d had to get creative to keep Peter satisfied, who if he got his way would ride Tony’s dick from sun up to sun down. Tony had absolutely no problem with sucking Peter to completion anytime his own cock didn't want to come to the party, but his knees were another matter entirely. After the first time or two, he began to subtly lead Peter to the couch, or to the bed, or (when pressed) at least to the very plush rug in the living room. Luckily, the few times that Tony simply didn't have the energy and just wanted to lay there with Peter in his arms and hold him, Peter hadn’t seemed to mind. He knew it was a blow to his ‘playboy’ persona but luckily they’d kept their relationship out of the public eye so at least the tabloids wouldn't have a field day if they found out that he couldn’t keep up with his young lover.

His young, insatiable, sex craved lover who would be heading off to a campus full of other young, insatiable, sex craved youths…

Tony tried really, really hard not to think along those lines but Peter had made it clear that he liked sex, he liked a lot of sex, and suddenly Tony wasn’t going to be around to give it to him. Their relationship was still new, so new in fact that they hadn't exactly had any talks about being exclusive or anything. To Tony it was a given - the days of his aversion to commitment were far behind him, but Peter had never really specified what they were to him. Yes, he’d had a crush on Tony for years, and he'd jumped at the chance to have more with him, but as Tony had come to discover, he really didn't know Peter as well as he thought he had. Peter hadn't been a blushing virgin when they’d gotten together, wasn’t naive and innocent. Given how confident he was in the bedroom, knowing exactly what he liked and not being shy about getting it, Tony really didn't want to think about how many people Peter had been with in the past to gain that experience. He didn't judge Peter for having numerous sexual partners (he’d be a hypocrite if he did after all) but he did worry that Peter viewed their relationship slightly differently to how Tony saw it. If he wasn't emotionally constipated, he’d talk to Peter before he left but it was too late for that now. The suitcase was zipped, Peter was looking around the room, scanning for anything he’d left behind, and there was a knock at the front door that indicated that Happy was ready to drive Peter over to campus.

“This is it then,” Tony said, somewhat redundantly.

Peter nodded and then crossed the room, hugging Tony close. “I miss you already,” he said, then tilted his head, demanding a kiss.

Tony brushed their lips together, feeling a little better about Peter’s declaration. “I’ll call every night,” he promised, “and visit as often as I can.”

Peter smiled but they both knew that the visits wouldn’t be as regular as they wished. Having Tony Stark turn up in the dorms would be a surefire way to expose their relationship to the world and Peter didn’t need to spend his first year at MIT fighting off the paparazzi. “I’ll visit too,” he promised and this was more realistic. Besides coming back to see May, Peter also had his Spider-Man responsibilities to uphold. They’d announced that Spidey was now an official Avenger and would be away on missions for them to explain away his absence from Queens, but Peter still wanted to patrol when he could. 

“Peter, it’s time to go,” May called from the living room where she was chatting to Happy.

“I’m coming!” he called back, but then turned back to Tony and kissed him one last time. The kiss was deep and filthy, with a lot of tongue and teeth, and it left Tony panting for more. Peter grinned at him as they broke apart, his eyes darting down knowingly to the tent in Tony’s pants. “Just to remind you what you’ll be missing,” he said with a wink, and then turned, grabbed his suitcase and headed out of his bedroom.

Tony trailed behind slowly, watched as Peter said his goodbyes to May and offered a halfhearted wave as Peter and Happy left. By unspoken agreement, neither he nor May went down to the street to watch solemnly as the car drove off - they didn’t have much but they wanted to retain the small shred of dignity that remained.

Several minutes went by as they both just stared at the closed door, feeling empty and lost. Finally May turned to Tony and sad, “I need a drink. You want one?”

He glanced at the clock on the wall which hadn't even hit 10am as yet. Shrugging, he said, “Sure, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” and then they proceeded to drink two bottles of wine before lunch.

oOoOo

“Are you all settled in?” Tony asked, drinking in the sight of Peter’s face on the screen.

“Yeah, didn't take me long to unpack. I headed to the info fair they had and checked out some of  the robotics groups but they’re leagues behind what I’ve been working on with you.” Peter pouted and Tony wished he could kiss it off his lips.

“Maybe you should join one anyway? You might teach them something.”

Peter shrugged. “I guess. I’m just wary of getting involved in anything that I can’t commit to if I’m spending every free weekend and holiday back in New York.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat at that, suddenly overwhelmed with happiness that Peter was looking forward to being home so much. He knew he was pathetic but since no one else had access to his inner thoughts, no one else had to know. “Your first lecture is tomorrow, yeah?” It was a moot question as Peter had had his schedule for two weeks now and Tony had memorised it.

“Yep, then a lab after that. I’m looking forward to it.” Behind Peter the door opened and Tony just caught sight of a tousled head of dirty blonde curls before Peter cut the video feed on their call. “Sorry,” he whispered, “my roommate is back.”

“That’s okay,” Tony assured him, wishing that they didn't have to hide but not ever wanting to put Peter in the spotlight before he was ready. “You get along okay?”

Peter made a small sound that was the vocal equivalent of a shrug. “I guess.Too soon to really tell.”

Knowing that it was hard to talk with someone in the room, Tony decided to wrap the call up. “Okay, baby, I’ll let you get back to it. Have fun tomorrow.”

“I will. Talk tomorrow?”

It warmed him that Peter seemed just as eager to keep in touch. “You bet. I’ve got a few meetings during the day but you can text whenever you want and I’ll phone you when I’m home.”

“Can’t wait. Bye then.”

He fought the urge to sign off with an I love you, knowing it was too soon, even if that’s how he felt. “Bye, Pete,” he said softly instead. The call disconnected and Tony felt bereft. He went into the bedroom, flopped onto the bed and pulled the pillow that still smelled like Peter close to his face, hugging it tightly. 

It was a poor substitute but he eventually fell asleep with the pillow hugged to his chest.

oOoOo

Tony soon learned that the roommate was called Harley Keener. He was doing Mechanical Engineering and had one class that overlapped with Peter’s Chemical Engineering course. He was three months older than Peter, had a younger sister, and his dad had skipped out on the family, leaving his mom to raise them alone. During one phone call Tony had overheard Harley speak as he entered the room and he’d heard a southern twang, with Peter telling him later that he was from Tennessee. 

At first Harley was only ever really mentioned when their calls were cut short by him returning early to the dorm. Tony had his schedule memorised like he did Peter’s and knew that Mondays from two till four and Thursdays from three thirty till five were the best times to catch Peter alone. They’d taken to having hurried phone sex on these days, propping their phones in front of them as they watched the other jerk off, the need to reach out and touch Peter through the screen almost overwhelming Tony. 

The third weekend, Peter came home and between meals with May, patrolling the neighbourhood, and long, frantic sessions in the bedroom, Peter hardly mentioned his roommate. The next time he came back, two weeks later, he briefly mentioned that Harley had gotten a Lego Starship Enterprise and after a lengthy debate over which was better - Star Trek or Star Wars, he grudgingly allowed Peter to help him build it. Tony was happy that Peter had made a friend, since he’d been gutted when he’d watched as Ned and MJ had left for different universities across the country. As he knew intimately, phone calls and texts were a hollow way of staying in touch and he knew that Peter missed his friends. Tony got F.R.I.D.A.Y. to run a background check on the Keener kid and when it came back clear, Tony was able to relax a little and be happy that Peter had someone in his day to day life to talk to.

That happiness faded a little as time went on as Peter began to talk more and more about Harley and what they’d gotten up to. When three phone calls had gone by and all Peter had said was “Harley this” and “Harley that”, Tony began to get worried. It was clear that Peter had really connected with this kid, which was great on one hand, but on the other, it simply highlighted everything that Tony wasn’t.

Peter was young and enthusiastic and energetic, and Harley seemed to always be with him as they studied in the library, or checked out a frat party, or spent an hour at 3am in the middle of the week, hyped up on caffeine and energy drinks, seeing if it was possible to swing the swing in the playground around the frame 360 degrees. 

Tony was old and sarcastic and could spend a whole week in his lab without coming up for air. Sure, he was Iron Man and he was fit for his age, but there was always going to be ‘for his age’ tacked onto descriptions like that. He still had all of his hair but it was definitely turning more silver now and he found that seeing anyone with a head full of sandy curls triggered a bout of anxiety that made him gasp for breath and have to sit down. 

It was five months in that Tony began to have actual suspicions and not just insecure worries. By now, Peter had a routine. Every second weekend (the one that lined up with May’s weekend off work) he would come home, arriving in the evening on Friday and not heading back until late Sunday night. He, Tony, and May would have dinner on Friday night, then Peter would come back to the Tower with Tony and they would spend every minute together, meeting again with May for brunch on Sunday. It was even common to see Iron Man patrolling with Spider-Man, so intent was Tony on not missing out on spending any time with his lover. Peter never seemed to mind - in fact, the times that he and Tony swung/flew through the buildings of Queens always seemed to energise him and on more than one occasion he’d not even waited until they were home, just pushed Tony into some out of the way place on a rooftop or in a dark alley before dropping to his knees. 

Tony cherished their weekends together and so it was like a slap in the face when he got a call on Friday afternoon from Peter, telling him that he wasn’t coming back this weekend.

“I’ve got a big project to work on for my Differential Equations course - we’ve had to partner up for it and it’s worth thirty percent of my grade so I don’t want to phone it in.”

Tony knew that that was the class that Peter shared with Harley and with a sinking feeling he asked, “So, who did you partner with?”

“Harley, of course,” Peter answered, his tone indicating that Tony was daft for even asking, like there was no possible alternative. “He’s heading off to visit his family next weekend so we need to get a start on it now.”

“Right, well, of course, your studies come first.”

“Thanks, Tony, I knew you’d understand. Enjoy your weekend.”

If it had just been that, then maybe Tony would have been able to brush it off. He’d not really expected Peter to come visit the following weekend since May had her shift at the hospital but he was guttered when he called Peter like usual on the Friday night to find that Peter wasn’t in his dorm - instead he was in some tiny town in bum-fuck nowhere Tennessee, visiting Harley’s family with his friend.

“I’m sure I mentioned I was heading down here this weekend,” Peter said when Tony asked why he was there. “Harley’s mom has been wanting to meet me for ages and the last time she came up to campus I was with you. They’re all so nice, they’ve made me feel very welcome.”

“Well, that’s good. I hope you have a nice time.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” Peter paused and listened to someone hollering in the background. Tony’s eye twitched as he recognised Harley’s voice. Peter’s voice became muffled as he covered his phone with his hand but Tony still heard him say, “No, it’s nothing important, I’m just finishing up, then I’ll be there.” Then he came back to Tony. “I have to go, dinner’s ready.”

They hadn't even been talking for two minutes, but apparently he was ‘nothing important’. “Oh, okay. I guess I’ll speak to you tomorrow then.”

“About that, I think we’re going camping and reception here is a bit shitty so I don’t know if the call will come through. Try though, but if not, I’ll talk to you when I’m back at school.”

Tony did try to call the following day but didn't get through. He tried again on Sunday and it simply rang out. He began to come up with all sorts of theories as to what was keeping Peter so busy that he wasn’t answering. By Monday he knew that Peter would be back at MIT but by then he was too busy feeling sorry for himself and couldn't be bothered making the call. He holed up in his lab but couldn’t stop himself from checking the time every ten minutes. 2pm, their regular call time came and went, but Peter didn't call. It was rare that he called - it was generally Tony who called him to keep Peter’s phone bill down, but in the past if Tony had been ten minutes late to call because he was stuck in a meeting, Peter would ring. 

Half past two came and went and soon so did 3pm. By now Tony had given up on Peter calling, and he hid his phone on the other side of the lab so he wouldn't give in and call Peter. He knew that he was being childish and stubborn but he needed proof that Peter still cared about him, that it wasn’t always Tony making the effort. He was first and foremost a scientist and theories required evidence to prove them. His main theory, that Harley had become something more to Peter, that he was sleeping with him, would be hard to prove without Peter admitting it, but Tony figured that it wouldn’t hurt to begin distancing himself before their relationship officially ended. He wasn’t one to fling accusations and have dramatic confrontations - those hurt too much - so he’d begin to withdraw, put some space between Peter and his shattering heart so when Peter finally broke up with him, he might not be entirely broken. 

By the time the sun had gone down and Tony still hadn't heard from Peter, not even a text message, he hit the bar in the penthouse. F.R.I.D.A.Y confirmed that Peter was on campus, that he’d been spotted on several CCTV cameras heading to and from class which laid to rest the small possibility that he’d been injured somehow and was in hospital. His conscience was clear to get completely and utterly plastered and he drank most of a bottle of whiskey before he passed out on the sofa in the living room.

He was woken early the following morning by his phone beeping and he peeled open a crusted eyelid to peer at the screen. It was a text from Peter.

I fell asleep yesterday afternoon, sorry :( Talk tonight?

Tony wanted to ignore it, but his stubbornness was weakened in his hungover state and he replied back with a simple, Okay.

Classes didn't finish until late on Tuesdays so Tony waited until 6pm to phone Peter. He was breathless when he answered, but sounded enthusiastic enough. “Hey, Tony! Sorry, I had to speak to my lecturer after class and had to run to get back in time for your call.”

Tony didn’t point out that a cell phone could be answered anywhere or that Peter rarely got breathless from running, his Spider DNA leaving him in peak physical condition. He also tried hard not to listen for any noises in the background, unsure if he could handle the sounds of Harley in the room. “That’s okay. How was class?”

“Same old same old, really. There’s not much to tell you, except that I miss you.”

“Figured you’d be too busy to miss me,” Tony said, and couldn't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. 

“Tony, of course I miss you,” Peter exclaimed. “I’m sorry we didn't get to talk over the weekend, but that’s just made me miss you even more.”

He sighed and tried to stop from making a complete fool of himself. “I miss you too, baby.”

“I can’t wait for this weekend when I get to see you. Got, I want you so bad.”

He was weak but couldn’t help but ask, “Really?”

“You have no idea how much, Tony. I’m going to climb you like a tree the second I see you.”

He was reassured by this up until he phoned on Wednesday and a voice that he’d only ever heard in the background answered the phone. “Peter’s House of Pleasure, if it fits, he sits.”

Tony froze. “Excuse me?” he choked out when his voice finally worked again.

In the background, Tony heard Peter whining and there was the sound of a struggle. Harley laughed and asked, “So, who is this? Peter has you down as Iron Man so you’re obviously a fan of Tony Stark. Is this the Ned I’ve heard so much about?”

“Ned is listed in Peter’s phone as Chewie,” Tony almost snapped. 

He distantly heard Peter say, “For fuck’s sake, Harls, give me my damn phone!”

“Nah, not yet, I wanna know who it is.”

“If you don’t give it back right this instant I’m changing you in my contacts from Kirk to John Archer.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Harley sounded shocked.

“Watch me,” Peter threatened.

“Eh, you gotta get your phone back first.” Harley teased, and Tony heard more struggling, and some giggles. “I gotta figure out why you’ve named this guy Iron Man, I’m on a mission.”

Tony had had enough. “Because I am Iron Man,” he snapped and then turned on the front facing camera. A moment later the camera on Peter’s phone flickered to life as well and Tony was assaulted with the view of Harley sprawled out on Peter’s bed, Peter’s arms wrapped around him as he tried to grapple the phone back from him. Harley’s mouth dropped open in shock as he saw Tony on the other side. “Holy fucking shit, you’re Tony Stark!”

Tony smirked at him cruelly, hoping to overwhelm the twerp with his fame. “The one and only. Now, if you would kindly give Peter back his phone, we were discussing our plans for the weekend.”

The phone was shoved back to Peter who pulled away from Harley and gazed at Tony through the screen, cheeks bright pink and hair tousled. “Hey, Tony, sorry ‘bout that.”

“You call him Tony?” Harley squawked in the background.

Peter’s eyes darkened. “Would you just fuck off, Harley and let me take this damn call?”

Behind Peter, Tony saw Harley stand and head for the door, waving over his shoulder. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Tony asked mildly, not wanting to give away how much it had hurt to see the two teens entangled on Peter’s bed, even if there was a remote possibility that it had just been innocent friendly wrestling.

Peter rolled his eyes. “He’ll just be shitty that he didn’t know that we knew each other. He likes to think that he knows everything about me but really, he hardly knows me at all.”

Carefully, Tony asked, “Do you want him to know you better?”

Now, Peter’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Tony shrugged, going for nonchalant but knowing he missed it by a mile, all of his insecurities showing on his face. “You two seem pretty close is all. You have a lot in common, and seem compatible, he’s your age after all…”

“I can’t believe...you actually...fuck, Tony…” Peter shook his head. “No, you know what? I refuse to have this conversation with you over the phone.” And he disconnected the call.

Tony spent a long time just staring at the blank screen, feeling sick to his stomach. This was it, he just knew it. The next time he saw Peter it would be so he could be told face to face that they were over. The best thing he had ever had in his life and it was slipping through his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or throw up so he settled instead for drinking heavily since that way he’d probably end up doing both.

He was on his third glass of scotch when he heard the familiar sound of repulsors and then a large clunk. Curious, he staggered to his feet and looked outside to the large landing pad and saw Rhodey crouched down in his landing pose. He straightened and then Tony saw Spider-Man clinging to his back. He’d climbed down by the time Tony made it to the door and he was in time to hear Peter say, “Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime, kid,” Rhodey replied. “Talk some sense into him, yeah?”

Peter was looking directly at Tony when he responded. “I’ll try but I think he’s being stubborn.”

Rhodey snorted. “Yeah, he gets like that.” Then with a burst of his lower repulsors, he was taking off into the night, leaving the two of them alone.

“What are you doing here?” Tony blurted, unable to stand the assessing look that Peter was giving him.

Peter stared at him a little longer and then shook his head. “You are such a fucking idiot,” he said and then closed the distance between them and pulled Tony into an embrace.

“What does this mean?” Tony whispered when he finally forced himself to pull back so that he wouldn’t have time to get used to Peter’s warmth before he lost it entirely.

“It means,” Peter said slowly, “that for all your genius, you have no fucking clue.”

“Yeah, still not really making sense,” he admitted.

Peter sighed. “Let me spell it out for you then. I love you, Tony, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I am not sleeping with Harley, or anyone else for that matter. I want you and only you. Making sense now?”

“But, last weekend, and today, on the bed…”

“For the love of all that is holy,” Peter muttered, his words almost inaudible over the sound of the wind on the landing. “Look, let’s go inside so we can talk, okay? You probably need some water too, since you’ll have a horrible hangover in the morning if you don’t.”

“I was kind of drinking my sorrows away,” Tony admitted in a small voice as he followed Peter inside.

Heading straight for the bar to fill a glass with water from the pitcher there, Peter glared at him. “I would like to point out that these are imaginary sorrows.”

“It didn't feel like it to me.” Tony’s voice cracked a little bit and Peter’s expression softened.

“Here, drink this and then come sit down.”

Doing as he was told, Tony drained the glass and then joined Peter on the sofa. 

“Tony, last weekend I went camping with Harley’s family. I spent most of the weekend giving his little sister piggyback rides through the woods and helping his mother cook. He’s my friend and I like spending time with him, but that’s all he is.”

“So you really don’t want him that way?”

“I’m not going to lie - I do find him attractive, but I find pretty much all of the Avengers hot as well but that doesn't mean I want to have sex with them. Harley knows that I’m seeing someone, but I haven’t told him who since we agreed to keep it quiet. I trust that he can keep a secret so if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell him that it’s you that I’m seeing. Hell, come up to campus and visit me and you can meet him! I’ll be happy for you to make a few possessive displays of affection if it’ll stop you worrying.”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “Does that include me pounding you into the mattress and then coming all over your ass as he walks in the door?”

Peter gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, that might be taking it a little too far.” His voice dropped lower and he leaned in to purr into Tony’s ear. “But there’s nothing to say that we can’t do that right now.” He nipped at Tony’s lobe. “Come on, Tony, want you so much, want you to mark me, claim me as yours. What do you say? You up for it?”

Tony wasn't one to turn down a challenge and it turned out that he was definitely up for it. Twice in fact.

[speckledcoffeecups]

L’angelo Piccolo

A fill for the @starkersecretsanta from the prompt:  Chef Peter and Critic Tony whom hate each other in real life because of  awkward misshaped cute meet incidents (maybe like peter got the last wedge of cheese and Tony wanted it, they run into each other literally at the subway and loose all their groceries, Peter accidentally runs over Tony with his bike feel free to make your own) but food critic tony loves chef peters food and peter loves Tony’s critiques and writing. Enemies to lovers!  

Gifted to @peachbabypie

Words: 7384

Tags: Chef Peter, critic, Tony, enemies to lovers, past harley/peter

Peter had had enough with this week. First, his bike was stolen from outside his apartment, and no one had their security camera running, when in reality he knew that Mrs. Romaro was lying, because she knew the one time he accidentally took her newspaper inside and not his. After that fiasco, he got the wrong coffee order, which never helped anything, and then he came to work only to learn that Tony Fucking Stark was visiting tonight. 

Most people would be absolutely pleased at having such a renowned critic in their restaurant, but Peter? He was livid. He wanted nothing to do with Stark. He was pretentious, with his stupid leather shoes and his whole holier than thou attitude. He was a food critic in New York City. There were a million other people just like him. 

Read more Here

[peterparkerstarker]

Ice Blue

My gift for @understarkercover for the @starkersecretsanta gift exchange. I really hope you like this! 

Post-Endgame, Peter is 18 and has spent every waking moment trying to find a way to get Tony back. He finally settled on building a portal to find a Tony from another world in the multiverse, Earth-616 to be exact, but things don’t quite go according to plan.

((I had accidentally written a much longer dub/noncon ending because I didn’t remember at first that it’s something they didn’t want. I may eventually post that, but I wanted to be super respectful of their wishes and cut that ending for this iteration of the fic. I decided to leave it much more open ended in this version))

cw/tw: starker, Peter is 18, angst, fear/anxiety, Superior Iron Man, kiss

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It had taken him weeks to get it right. So many perfectly good bananas wasted for the cause. He’d needed something living to test out the portal, and May had just bought a whole bunch of them, so they seemed like the perfect test subject. 

Now, though, staring down the face of this long, ebbing tunnel, he regretted his decision not to do a little more testing. See, the thing is that Peter hadn’t actually tested it on something that wasn’t just peel and potassium. And he was suddenly realizing the myriad of things that could, and probably would go wrong.

Ned had encouraged him to try it on one of the science department’s lab mice, but Peter couldn’t bear to see them locked in their cages, so how could he even think about sending a helpless, defenseless creature into a portal of his own making? He shuddered at the thought, wiping back tears. He didn’t know if they were for the mice, for Tony, or maybe even for himself. He didn’t have time to think too hard about it. He knew he’d lose his nerve to step through if he did.

See, the thing about bananas is they have no real way to return to this dimension, so he could only hope they’d made it through safely. If his calculations were correct, and they usually were, he’d be stepping into an alternate dimension, one that Dr. Strange visited often, Earth-616 he’d called it. 

Dr. Strange had said it was almost entirely like their own universe, save for small details. Clint was apparently blonde and had an over-fondness for purple, which Peter could hardly imagine. And Dr. Strange had mentioned one time that Tony’s eyes were blue, not brown, but he was still the arrogant asshole they all loved.

Blue. Peter had fallen asleep every night since the battle dreaming of blue eyes. It wasn’t his Tony, he knew it wouldn’t be the same, but he had to try. If this Tony was anything compared to Peter’s, he had to fucking try.

And according to Dr. Strange, 616 Tony was still alive and annoying the fuck out of him every time he went to visit that universe. Peter had grasped on to any small details about Earth-616 that he could, eager to gather information, but also trying his best to not seem too desperate. 

Thankfully Dr. Strange was too preoccupied with an ancient text he’d been spending weeks decoding to really give Peter too much thought. He’d answer Peter’s questions distractedly, and then shoo him away, vexed that this one book was giving him so many difficulties.

Peter had collected all that info, created a unified plan based on some old arc reactor teleporter plans he’d found in Tony’s lab, and thus the portal was built. A few weeks spent fine tuning his calculations, and he was finally going to take the plunge tonight.

He shivered, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders and steadied himself, trying not to freak out about what he was about to do. 

Don’t think about how this is really stupid and you might get stuck there, if you can even get there, and that if your math is even one millimeter off you could get spliced into a trillion pieces and oh my god I missed that one question on the Calc test last week. What if I made a mistake on this? Nope, nope, blue eyes. Just breathe and think about blue eyes. Blue eyes.

And with a shaking breath, Peter crossed into the unknown, vanishing like a blip in the night.

--------

Brightness. It was almost blinding compared to his dim bedroom back in Queens.

He didn’t know where he was, but it certainly wasn’t his room back home.

Blue eyes, that’s what he’d been thinking about as he crossed over. It was certainly possible that intention could play a factor in the math of multiverses. Had his preoccupation with that one thought altered the portal?

But no, he realized, his eyes finally focusing enough to take in the world around him. He was in a room, bright white and sterile, a clean off-putting design that felt alien. Everything too pristine, untouched.

He looked around for some sign of life, some indication of where the hell he’d ended up, but saw nothing besides modern uncomfortable furniture and a white, perfectly made bed.

But just as he was crossing to the door, something caught his eye, a math textbook from 2 years ago that looked oddly familiar, tucked under the bed. He pulled it out, immediately recognizing the crumpled corner from when Ned had dropped it out his window as a joke gone too far. It was his… but why was it here?

This must be his room, Peter realized. The portal wasn’t made to travel you to another location, just another universe. 

But why was it so... different?

Peter heard a ringing, a low dulcet chime coming from a stark white phone sitting on the dresser next to the bed. Extremis Industries, the brand label proclaimed. The caller ID said Tony.

He stared at it, transfixed in horror and glee, still too shocked to process it all. Tony was alive in this universe. He had to answer.

“H-hello?” Peter stuttered out, mentally kicking himself for sounding so childish on the phone.

“Peter, I’ve been waiting a long time for you to arrive.” The voice was lower, smoother and more silky. But it was, unmistakably, Tony.

“Tony! Oh my god, Tony it’s really you!” Peter felt tears welling up, willing himself not to let them fall.

Tony let out a laugh, something deep and more biting than the Tony he knew, but he brushed the thought aside as he launched into a rambling explanation of what had happened and why he was here. This Tony seemed all too aware of what Peter was saying, as if he were merely humoring Peter’s explanation, but Peter didn’t care. He was just so glad to be able to talk to Tony again.

Before long Tony was offering to send over a car to whisk him back to his offices, where they could talk in person. Peter eagerly agreed, desperate to see Tony, to hug him tight. He tried not to think about all the other things he wanted, things he’d never had the courage to ask for with his Tony. Maybe he’d be brave enough with this one. Maybe this Tony would want all the same things he did.

Within 5 minutes a buzz alerted Peter to the sleek white car waiting on the street for him. A stocky driver ushered him out of the apartment, which was an equally sleek white building, no longer the brownstone he knew so well. He vaguely wondered where Happy was, and why the streets looked so… dirty in comparison to the clinical design of his building, but before he could really process it, he was whisked into the back of the car, and the too-dark tinted windows obscured his view.

He settled into the back seat, trying hard not to fidget, thinking through everything that had happened, everything he wanted to say, trying to shove down the delicious excitement of maybe, this time, finally having the relationship with Tony that he wanted, not just a student learning from him, but an equal, a peer, a lover. He shivered, the thrill of kissing him, touching him, fucking him, running through his mind. Maybe this time things could be right.

And then before he realized it, they were stopping in front of a massive building, looming like a warning in the back of his skull. Dr. Strange had said there were only little differences in this world, hair color and little personality traits. But this world seemed so different. Too different.

He shoved those thoughts down once more, choosing instead to focus on his goal. Tony. Blue eyes. This was all happening so fast, too fast, but he didn’t want it to stop. So he had to keep moving forward.

An elevator, sleek doors closing soundlessly, and suddenly he was soaring a thousand feet in the air, his stomach dropping as the floors raced past, too fast for his mind to process. 

With a quiet ding, the elevator stopped, opening onto a seemingly empty hallway. White and modern and empty, not unlike his room back home. It felt cold, lifeless, and Peter felt himself growing even more nervous as he made his way down the hallway.

Just as he was wondering where to go next, a figure appeared. White armor, with black undercasing and an electric blue glow radiating from it. The man turned, and he saw it was Tony. Or at least this universe’s version of him.

Without thinking, Peter ran to him, held him tight and finally let the tears he’d been holding onto fall, sobbing into Tony’s chest. He was taller than the Tony Peter had known, more muscular too, it seemed. But he held Peter tight, like his Tony would’ve, and in that moment he didn’t care that things were so different, because Tony was the one constant, the thing in his life that would always be the same, right?

Joy turned to confusion as Tony ducked his head down, grasping onto Peter’s shaking chin, holding him steady as he kissed Peter. He didn’t know who this version of Tony was, but he was just so grateful to have some iteration of Tony back in his life.

“You’re here now, safe with me, and you’re not going anywhere been waiting a long time for you to show up,” Tony said with an icy glint in his eyes. 

Peter swallowed and nodded. This may not be the Tony he wanted, but something was better than nothing, right? He sure hoped he was right. 

[five-stages-of-gris]

My secret Santa for @peterparkerisababy! I had so much fun combining two of the prompts you proposed and I hope you like it as much as I do! Thanks so much for @starkersecretsanta to organize this!

[cherriontop]

In Your Arms

Here’s my piece for @speckledcoffeecups for the @starkersecretsanta 

Not my best work, but I tried to follow the prompt the best that I could. 

Desperation. Something post endgame where Peter is like I just want Tony back/better, and when he finally gets him (or SIM) back he’s like clingy and desperate to simply be around him.  

Tags: Peter’s age is not specified, a little canon diversion, light mentions of Tony’s injuries (nothing graphic)

Word count: 1,177

Peter only stirs when he’s jolted lightly by laughter. He hadn’t been aware he’d fallen asleep until his eyes cracked open and he returned to the land of the living. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how little sleep he’s gotten over the last three days. But he’s still angry with himself when he turns his head slightly and spots Tony, laughing at something someone said or did. His eyes are bright and full of light, and it’s such a relief to see him conscious that Peter almost forgives himself for missing the moment Tony woke up. 

Around them in the room is the whole team, and they’re all breathing lighter than Peter’s seen them since the battle against Thanos. But none of them look as joyful as Tony does, sitting up in the bed against a mountain of pillows, his arm wrapped around Peter’s body, holding him close. 

Peter’s eyes wander to the stump at Tony’s other shoulder where his other arm used to be. Even though he’s had three days to adjust to it, Peter isn’t sure he will ever be used to it. 

Peter doesn’t notice he has eyes on him until he lifts them, a blush spreading across his face when he catches Tony staring at him. There’s a curl to the corners of his lips, but Peter is more interested in the life he finds in Tony’s eyes. The last time that he witnessed them had been on the battlefield, post snap. They’d been cold and unfocused, almost glazed over. Peter had been so sure he was going to lose the love of his life. 

But now here he was, alive and well, staring down at his boyfriend. 

“Hey, baby,” he greeted softly, pulling Peter closer with the arm around his body. There’s a brief press of lips against his forehead, then there’s a hand cupping the back of his neck. “It was a nice surprise to have you in my bed again when I woke up.” In his chest, Peter’s heart aches, and he pulls himself up enough to press his lips firmly against Tony’s, both hands coming up to grab onto Tony’s face, mindful of the bandage over the burns off to the side. 

“I love you,” Peter breathed the moment they pulled back, ignoring everyone else in the room in favor of his boyfriend. “I love you so much. I’m so happy you’re here.” The smile that Tony had been fighting broke out onto his face, making Peter’s heart skip a beat. 

“I love you, too. More than anything.” 

“If the doctor didn’t explicitly say no sexual activities, I’d tell you two to get a room,” Rhodey snickers from the bedside, a fond smile betraying his words. Peter’s cheeks heat briefly, but he just presses himself into Tony’s neck. “Anyway, now that you’re awake and got to see everyone, we should all probably get out and let the doctor come check you out. Make sure you’ve still got all the brains up there.” 

He taps gently at Tony’s forehead, earning a snort from the man and Peter’s pretty sure he’d get a swat on the arm if he had an arm on that side. The Avengers begin to file out of the room, and aunt May, who was there more for Peter than Tony, patted her nephews leg. “Come on, buddy, let’s go. Give the doctor and Tony some room.” 

The thought of crawling out of the bed and leaving Tony’s side has him whimpering, his hands grasping tighter to Tony’s hospital gown. “No,” he protests, curling up tighter against the other man. As if Tony is having the same thoughts, he pets down Peter’s spine with gentle fingers. 

“Don’t worry, he’s fine right where he is. Not bothering anyone,” Tony assures, shooting May a smile that must be convincing because she leaves without further complaint. When they’re left together in the room, Tony nuzzles his face into Peter’s curls, letting the silence linger before he breaks it. “Not too fond of leaving my side, hm?” Peter briefly feels ashamed of himself, but Tony continues before the feeling sinks too far. “Don’t worry, I’m feeling quite the same. Can’t imagine having you too far from me.” 

“I’m having a hard time believing that five years passed while I was in that stone. Especially when this still feels right.” Peter’s fingers trace over the lines on the hospital gown, keeping his eyes down. “When I came back, I was a little worried that maybe you had moved on, especially when Doctor Strange told me it had been five years. All I could think about was getting to you, to see you again, even if you were over me.” 

When he does finally bring his eyes up to Tony’s, the other man’s are misty and a little heartbroken. “As if I could ever get over you,” Tony scoffs, pressing a hard kiss to Peter’s forehead. “You’re all I could think about. Hell, I figured out time travel for you. You mean everything to me.” 

Peter lets out a breath, tears bubbling behind his eyes. He knew based on the other Avengers that Tony’s love for him hadn’t dwindled, but to hear it coming from the source eased the ache in his chest. For the first time since he came back, he felt like he could breathe. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered, leaning up to let his lips press back against his boyfriend’s, cupping his face again tenderly. 

“And I love you so much.” 

The moment was ruined when the door opened, and a nurse stepped in. To her credit, she was looking down at her clipboard and not at the two of them. But when she came to the bedside, she offered Tony a pleasant smile. 

“Mr. Stark,” she greeted, then turned her attention to Peter. “Hey, sweetie, could I ask you to get off the bed? Just for a few minutes while I check him over.” 

Peter’s already shaking his head before she can finish speaking, the thought of being even an inch apart from Tony sending ice through his veins. Luckily, Tony answers for him, insisting that he can be examined just the way he is. 

Reluctantly, the nurse begins her check up, starting with his head. Peter watches patiently, a little anxious to hear from the doctor that his boyfriend is doing good. As if sensing the fear, Tony turns his attention to Peter, squeezing him gently. “So, looks like I’m going to be in need of a new arm, huh?” Peter gives him a forced smile and nods his head. “Y’know, it’s a good thing I know exactly how to make things like that. Shouldn’t have any trouble making myself one.” 

Peter breathes just a little easier when Tony distracts him, letting his body melt into Tony’s side. “Yeah? Is there any room for me in that lab with you?” 

Tony huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to Peter’s temple. “Of course, baby. Who else is going to paint the red and gold stripes?”

[disaster-dan]

For Your Sake

Happy gift to @sticklerforstarker, I hope you enjoy this Rhi!! I barely posted this do not worry it is here!! This was for the @starkersecretsanta and wow this was a joy to be part of <3 Await a moodboard because I say so <3

Warnings: violence, implied non-con, age difference, underage Peter

Words: 3k

Things were just better- by a cinch. Peter no longer struggled as much. He fussed, whined, but it all leads to one thing: his submission.

Peter stopped struggling not because he had finally fallen or grown to willingly submit to the man. God, never. Peter stopped struggling when he accepted the fact that his fights and protests  were useless. Fighting always ended up with bruises, too hard bites, hands tied, face pushed into the mattress as Tony roughly fucked his ass and the stinging pain lasted days. So he gave up struggling. That way Tony was sweeter on him, took his time (or didn’t) when preparing him, actually using lube, touching him and forcing him to at least go through an orgasm.

Peter know what to do when he found himself on the man’s bed. Undress, lay back and spread his legs and jerk himself in the process. Or when Tony wanted him on fours- on his knees, ass in the air, face and shoulders on the mattress and beautifully arched. Tony liked that better.

Peter was past the phase of trying to escape. It was no use just like struggling was. It led him nowhere. It led him somewhere worse. Peter was already surrounded by enough dangers in the claws of Tony Stark. Getting a gun shot right next to his temple as a lesson from his last attempt to escape, Peter swore to never be the cause of his own death.

“P-papi?” One of the few (not few) rules Peter had to comply when he was with Tony, calling him those names. ‘Daddy’ was one of them, ‘Tony’ if the billionaire was in a good mood. ‘Papi’ was common.

“Yes, baby?” Tony responded, a voice so soothing. A voice that belonged to a man with a corrupted heart and mind. A man that had no soul. A damn monster.

Peter breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He was held by Tony in a spooning position, Peter’s slimmer frame was well held over by the older man. He prayed he didn’t upset Tony. Because upsetting Tony was bad. And Peter didn’t want to be bad when he knew what that entailed.

“Baby, what do you want to say?” Tony asked, demanding his words.

Peter didn’t shift to look at him. He stared ahead, eyes on the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to do it?”

“What, baby?”

“It.”

“I don’t like playing these games, Peter.” Tony suddenly tightened his hold around Peter’s waist, making the boy gasp. “What?”

“Ar-are you going to k-kill me?” Peter whispered, trying to remember how to breathe and feeling his heart on his throat.

Tony stopped breathing for a moment. His mind went blank at the question and froze.

Are you going to kill me?

The words buzzed inside Tony’s head like a mantra, chanting and echoing. He had almost forgotten. The promise he had made Peter, before he made Peter his he had already put a death brand on him. It was a threat, a threat that Tony’s lips spilled as a promise. A swearing. An oath.

You’re nobody’s but mine. And if you think you can go cry out for help, just know that you’re already dead.

‘After I’m done with you, I’m going to dump your whore body in a river. Just like I did with your uncle.’

Peter nervously awaited a response and he didn’t feel the goosebumps roam along his skin. His brows knitted deeply worried, because Tony might kill him right there and then like he said but the thought of it just shook the sanity Peter was just barely grasping. Maybe Tony was waiting for Peter to lose it? It’s been a few well months since Peter had been slept without a nightmare chasing him, and every time they just got worse. And he had fallen to accept his fate, sane people kept fighting. Right?

When was the last time he saw his school grades?

Tony doesn’t have to say anything before he feels Peter tremble under his arm and comes to realize the boy is crying. Tony can tell he’s trying to keep himself quiet and it hurts him to hear the sobs that choke end at his throat. The way they lay, Peter is pressed against Tony’s chest, facing away. Tony could just barely see his eyes red and the heavy sad tears flowing down from his eyes. Too pretty eyes. Eyes they shouldn’t be crying. Eyes Tony has made cry many times before. It feels different this time, seeing those tears. And it isn’t a good different.

Peter’s pale shoulders linger with hickies and bite marks, his arms bruised by the man’s strong hand grips. And Tony likes looking at what he leaves behind.

Tony doesn’t say anything as he raised a hand and runs his fingers along the marked skin, making Peter further coil into himself, trying to suppress his wrenched cries. They’re swallowed sobs and sniffing now, but it still hurts.

Peter ultimately falls asleep, his face is red, the pillow under his head has a small damp spot from his tears and Tony loves watching him breathe soundly. He hates himself knowing he got to that point in the first place. Tony wasn’t supposed to care or feel anything for his boy. That was not at all what he intended. Peter wasn’t supposed to somebody, he was supposed to be a bait, a hostage, a toy. And not even Happy, Tony’s best worker, was able to warn him about a potential catch.

Tony Stark didn’t feel anything, feelings in his type of field was only a threat. Men in the field had their own things to watch after, Tony specially bore down on no families, no lovers, no special people, having someone with that type of importance could be used against the person, leverage. Tony had not intended to suddenly care for the boy he only used to fuck down on and occasionally show him off.

He sat Peter on his lap during meetings, often he cooed him at the other man, booming on the skills of his perfect body and mouth. Peter just sat quietly, patient, tried not to flinch when Tony suddenly gripped his jaw or gripped his groin to play with. He behaved. Tony enjoyed.

Tony didn’t do anything with Peter’s sleeping form but admire for a few moments longer, pale smooth skin, marked, beautiful, delicate. Tony was well aware of his youth, that only drew him closer. Happy snapped at him about not the fact of Peter being a hostage (he could care less), but on the fact that Peter was a fucking minor. The search for him would be berserk for months. Tony didn’t give a flying shit, Peter was his, he owned Peter, no witty-ill cop would be able to even go near them. Tony Stark was who Tony Stark was, everyone knew that.

It was well past ten, Tony had to run a few check ups that day, it would be packed. Usually he left Peter in his room. Even alone Peter couldn’t escape, he proved it himself. But a few hours alone in that room he would not mind, just as long as he didn’t have to bear with Stark’s claws on him for a while. Just a while. Food was brought to him, he had the TV with every streaming service he could think of, a nice bathroom within the room, a window that no way in hell opened. He didn’t mind being inside that room. He minded it once Stark stepped inside.

Tony didn’t wake Peter. He carefully pulled himself from the expensive covers and bed and went ahead to get dressed. Expensive suit, expensive ties and shoes, entirely finished with his shades, Jarvis offering him a British robotic Good Morning, Sir.

Tony through the day couldn’t buzz off Peter’s question. Would he kill him? When would he kill him? How would he kill him? Would he even kill him?

“These two were seen contacting outside dealers from our circle, Sir.”

“Send the Red Squad to see what that was about. Contact Barnes, make their bodies disappear.”

Tony had a way or two of going about things.

“Romanoff’s report is here.”

“Results?”

“Pictures of dismembered bodies, she’s left in a hard drive and-” the man slightly flinched back and Happy rolled his eyes. “She left you the ring finger, Sir. With the ring.”

“Send the woman a gift, I don’t care what.”

It was hours of that, in different locations. His phone vibrates with his butler sending him updates on Peter, Tony too had a recording cam in there. He liked rewatching certain nights. The angle was spectacular.

But his butler called and Tony sighed.

“We talked about Peter acting up.” He snarled to the air, his glasses technically were a phone.

“Yes, Mr. Stark. I’m aware. But that is not the issue. He is not acting up.”

“What is this call for?”

“He is not eating, Sir.”

“Why isn’t he?”

“Not sure, Sir. He has not been doing much.”

Tony waved away a worker and his eyebrows bore down. “Has he picked up the phone?”

“Had not even looked at it.”

Tony hung up and again a heavy feeling settled on his chest. Fuck not again. Tony breathed in deeply and sat back on his seat. This kid was waiting to get killed, or kill himself. And Tony didn’t like that it bothered him.

Before Happy could draw him from his thoughts, Tony snapped his fingers and everyone drew their attention.

“Okay. Put this on hold. Everyone else do what does not need my assistance and the roles I gave.”

“Tony?”

“Take me home, Happy I have to do something.”

Tony might be regretting what he was going to do. But it might just be the trick. He was not surprised when he found Peter curled into himself, seemingly showered and changed, eyes on the door nervously. He probably didn’t expect tony him to arrive that early. It was still two in the afternoon. Tony usually got home by nine, earliest.

Tony settled on the doorway, composed patiently and threatening as ever it made Peter rigid and mouth drain. He hated the past few months. He had seen hell. He had seen it all. And that face had burned into his mind.

“Get ready.”

“Is there a meeting?” Peter asked, as tony expected him to dress in certain attire for those meetings. He hated it.

“Just pull on a jacket, come on.” He walked over and Peter by then learned how to not react and Tony kissed him. He was pliant and didn’t pull away until Tony had done so first. “We got things to do, Happy’s waiting.”

In the car, Peter forced his muscles to relax when Tony pulled him close next to him, a strong arm around him and weapon hidden under the treasure of clothes. Tony didn’t seem upset, he wasn’t unbuckling his pants for Peter to please him while they arrived to their destination. It was the worst thing, specially when Tony was on the phone as if Peter wasn’t there or when Tony had those very important guests. He still remembers the satisfaction both men, Tony and Steve Rogers, shared as they watched Peter nearly choke on the thick member and chin dripping with spit and release. Tony’s glasses were also recording to make it worse.

Tony chattered, Peter had to fill in conversation and not upset him. Because that was bad.

“So that is taken care of. What do you think Romanoff would like?”

“I don’t know. Maybe like a nice necklace?”

“Probably something that's been in an exhibit would be nice. That woman is the definition of mystery.” To which Peter quietly nodded in agreement. His eyes downcast. Maybe that was the day Tony pressed a gun to his head. “Steve and Bucky are invited to dinner next week and you’ll meet their own boy, did I mention they have their own now?”

Great. Another missing person.

“I didn’t know.”

Minutes later, Happy is pulling up to a sign Peter had not seen for what felt like years. It was a fucking McDonald’s.

Peter looked back and forth from McDonald’s, Happy and Tony, all the way around. Happy was no help and Tony wasn’t giving him any clue. Was Tony really going to shoot up a McDonald’s? Business? There?

“We’re here.” He said. And the face that beamed on Peter’s sorrow face Tony wishes he could see it all the time. Actual color came to his face and genuine expression made his brown bright eyes go wide. God, he looked like when Tony was younger and excited over his father’s tricks. Peter just looked like a literal child excited over fucking McDonald’s. Peter hardly felt his legs as Tony and him walked to the doors. And the warm air that hit his face and the scent of grease and nuggets and fries was what Peter felt was heaven in hell.

There were people around Peter, kids, women, men, teens, all of which Peter could run to for help and watch as Tony’s men wipe them all out of their lives. He instinctively closed into Tony’s side. In line his eyes scanned the top menu like it was treasure and his mouth just couldn’t stay closed. Tony’s mouth quirked a small smirk at Peter and then he came up to the counter.

“Cheeseburger meal. Pull the onions.” He said very straight forward. His stature didn’t fail to make someone’s hands tremble. The young lady at the counter nodded without a word and clicked into the screen with shaky fingers. Peter didn’t even notice his turn until Tony’s gentle hand nudged him . The room spun.

“I uh...twenty piece meal.” he said quickly. “And...and a…” Peter looked at Tony astonished and filled with wonder. “Daddy?” he whispered quietly enough for only Tony’s ears. Was Tony really letting him?

“Go on. I don’t order your meals.”

Peter quickly nodded and lowered his eyes from the girl. “A big mac.”

Suddenly Peter didn’t feel trapped in that moment. And Tony noticed by the small shine in his eyes as they sat down and waited for their order. It was a long time since Tony had seen that look. It lessened the weight in his chest.

Tony actually got him McDonald’s. And Peter was outside. What happened? Whatever it was, Peter was extremely glad for that. Maybe Tony killed someone important and was in a good mood. Right? Peter thanked whoever or whatever it was which was a horrible thing to be grateful for. Peter munched down on his meal with delight, responding to Tony’s chat with the utmost respect he could offer that day.

“How are the fries?”

“Amazing.” Muttered with food Peter, nearly making Tony roll his eyes because his chefs cooked things a thousand times more delicious than fries. Tony grinned with pleasure regardless. But Peter slowly raised his eyes and spoke shyly. “Did you like your cheeseburger, D-daddy?”

“Cheeseburger a cheeseburger. I enjoyed it, baby. Thank you for asking.”

A moment later, Peter had finished the last nugget, sharing thoughtfully with his captor and both downed their drinks. It was time well spent and Peter couldn't help but be grateful for once. He forgot the question that nailed the sane nerve in his mind. A moment later, Tony was directing them into the car and Peter sighed sadly when he slipped back into his seat. It was a good hour while it lasted. Now home to please Tony in ways he didn’t want to please him. Damn.

“Happy I’ve got another location.” Tony’s voice boomed, and Peter settled himself back under Tony’s arm. He looked with longing at the restaurant, again an invisible rope around his neck and fuck he really did not want to cry.

“Where to, Boss?”

“Central Park.” To which Peter and Happy both looked at him with shock. Happy through the rearview mirror and Peter turning to face him. Tony shrugged at both of them. “Drive.”

“Boss.”

“I didn’t stutter, Happy.”

“You’ve got an entire hostage in the car.”

“And I’m a billionaire mafia king. Drive.”

Fifteen minutes and the beautiful social park came into the car’s windows and Peter wanted to scream in delight. He wanted to cry. To laugh. The park.

“Happy you got my back.”

“Always.” Tony opened the door and slid himself out. Peter stayed in place, staring at the view beyond the car. Wow.  “We don’t have all day. Get out.”

“Yes, Papi.” Peter hurried and without ease slid himself out and right close to Tony, as taught. Tony slipped his shades on and waved at Happy. And then they walked. And oh god Peter was stepping on grass. Grass. And the sun was hitting his face and it wasn’t the warmest season yet there was still leaves falling but what the hell the free wind blew his curls and made him inhale deeply. There were people with dogs, their kids, lovers, there were squirrels damn it. Squirrels.

“Oh my god.” Peter breathed and Tony looked at him, muscles pulling a slight smile on his handsome face.

“Wanna go play in the leaves, bambino?”

Peter looked at him, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Can I?”

Tony kissed him again and Peter pressed himself close.

Anything you want. “Of course.”

They walked a bit longer until they found a place far enough from the public eye and with leaves of different shades everywhere. Tony was a grown man, he didn’t have time or energy to roll around in the damn leaves. He sat by a bench, the silent gun pressing into his thigh and Peter followed as well, uneasy and excited.

“Daddy-”

“Go play.” Tony said, sitting back carelessly. “We’ll be here a while and chef’s got a disciple meal going we need the appetite for.”

Peter nodded and to Tony’s nod, he made his way to the grass and laughed to himself.

He picked the leaves with his hands and let them fall. He picked them up again and he admires the lines and creases and their colors before throwing them in the air. He felt - nice. Tony watched calmly, watched the blush in Peter’s face heat up and the unconscious grin on his face. His hair managed to catch a leaf or two, his eyes nearly glowed. If Tony didn’t know any better, Peter looked ...happy.

He smiled and giggled to himself as he continued to pick up the leaves and fly them about.

Tony didn’t like feeling. He shouldn’t be feeling in the first place. Now here was, heart picked by thorns and about to explode. This feeling he wished he could stop, even if it meant for a wide metal rod protecting the entirety of his heart. Fuck. For Peter. He had entirely forgotten he was going to kill him and the deed sounded despicable and impossible now. He couldn’t just kill Peter. He wouldn’t either. If he had meant it, Peter’s body would be somewhere and gone for good. But Peter was not gone, Peter was alive and well and every night on his bed and served to his every need.

He almost regret having even captured Peter in the first place. Peter free was all shy bright smiles and blushed cheeks.

Peter’s audible laugh ripped Tony from his crisis and the man smiled warmly.

Peter. Peter was alive and well. Nobody else had to know that.

Peter was his, and that was all that mattered. 

@sticklerforstarker <3

[cammerel]

The Wendigo

Here’s my submission for the @starkersecretsanta, been a busy day but I wanted to get it out. My gift was assigned for Dryce, or @less-than-wholesome-shipper, I hope you enjoy, I hope I did the request justice.

The Prompt was: Tony's Winter Holiday vacation was getting kinda boring so he pushed to go search for the elusive Wendigo that supposedly lurked in the snowy mountains nearby. What he finds instead is a young boy who was believed to be lost for years. Now if only the crew would stop disappearing, Tony could write this trip off as a success.

Word Count: 6.5k

Fic is up on AO3, over here.

[starkersecretsanta]

Who: You!

What: An event for Starker authors/artists to participate in a Secret Santa. This event strives to encourage giving during the holiday season!

Where: This blog, @starkersecretsanta

When: The full schedule is posted here.

“But seriously, how is this going to work?”

On the sign up form, you’ll be typing in three (3) prompts/requests you’d love to have written/drawn. Once sign-ups close, you will receive an email saying who you are writing/drawing for and their 3 prompts/requests. You get to choose which prompt/request to write/draw! (Note: Unlike an exchange, the person you’re creating for will NOT be creating for you. It’s a total surprise!)

SIGN UPS ARE HERE!

Rules:

Please, for the love of god, don’t be vague with your prompts/requests. (Bad example: Highschool ABO AU. Good example: Alpha Tony and Omega Peter. Peter is from a neighboring private school, while Tony goes to the town’s crappy public school. They end up going to the same party, where Peter passes out on the couch. Tony brings him home, and they start flirting with each other. Or, Bad example: Tony and Peter in Cinderella. Good example: Peter dressed in Cinderella’s ball gown, dancing with Tony dressed as the prince. *Describe outfits and details.)

MOOD BOARDS ARE WELCOME! (With writing, of course.)

There IS a word count! As much as I want this to be stress free, I want everyone to get a piece that’s decently long and full of effort! For mood boards + writing, 800 word minimum. Just writing: 1,000 word minimum. (If you are a little under, I won’t come after you. You’re encouraged to go over!)

For art, your drawing needs to be COLORED! It’s really hard to monitor the amount of effort put into a piece. Keep in mind things like if you’re drawing traditional, don’t draw on lined paper, make sure you can scan and send what you draw, stuff like that. (Digital doesn’t apply to those examples.)

Don’t be vague with your triggers! No one can read your mind.

If you are a minor, you cannot request or create NSFW content. Super sorry, I just want to play it safe.

Try to stay away from extreme gore and extreme kinks. I know it’s personalized, but the amount of people who don’t want to write/draw blood and guts is pretty high.

Please do NOT sign up if you don’t know if you’ll be able to create your piece in time. As much as I want everyone to participate, if someone drops out during the event, guess who has to write the fic? Me. If ten people drop out 2 weeks before it’s over, I have to write ten fics!  

If you have any questions, email me at starkersecretsanta@gmail.com or DM me.

I hope you all can participate!

(This is my first time doing anything like this, so please be patient ☺️)

( @readysetstarker @cherrypeter @sideeyedkinks @disaster-dan @understarkercover @starkerchemistry @cagestark @starkerforlife6969 @darker-soft-starker @boilmyoil)

[areluctantsblog]

The Heart Benefits Of Exercise

My @starkersecretsanta gift to @seldom-seen-kid written to the following prompt:  Personal Trainer Tony and Gym Newbie Peter. Peter can hardly keep it together watching Tony demonstrate different exercises and lift weights. Tony is very much aware of the effect he has on his trainee, and after a session, Peter begs to be shown a whole different array of exercises. NSFW.

Merry Christmas, dear, and thank you for your patience with you lousy Santa. I hope you enjoy your gift.

Read on ao3

[stqrker]

Starker Secret Santa

This was my first ever time participating in one of these, and I got the lovely @heyimstarker :)

I chose the prompt: "coffee date, Peter and Tony being all cuddly, and maybe someome has a whipped cream mustache "

I hope I did this justice, since I'm not the best :) x

( for @starkersecretsanta as well )

[cagestark]

The sheer restraint it’s taking to not post my @starkersecretsanta fic tonight..

[starkersenses]

What I Want For Christmas

For @cipherstarker on this year’s @starkersecretsanta

Merry Christmas!!

Summary:

Weathered mob boss Tony Stark does not expect to find his muse through a misdirected text. But he finds the young boy on the other side of the line every bit endearing and pretty.

As he learns that Peter Parker is every bit a young hero in the making, can he keep his secret intact or will he have to risk losing Peter forever?

Read in ao3

Excerpt:

Tony Stark has only two things on his mind that fateful Tuesday night.

One of them is that he’s meeting the Russians tomorrow morning. The other is that it’s been a while since he’s had sex.

Tony Stark, notorious kingpin of New York, known by all those seedy and decrepit, unknown by those who remain in the light, away from the sewers and the bad news, sits patiently awaiting his second in command’s text. He’s in his Stark penthouse, gazing directly through his sunlit windows. The penthouse sits beside direct view of the ocean, on the edge of a cliff. It would be an understatement to call it large--it resides over ten acres of land--and it would be an overstatement to call it cheap in Tony’s terms. He’d handed over the money without a blink of an eye, glass of red wine in hand and a gold calligraphy pen in the other.

He’d signed his name with a flourish and smirked as the previous owner was dragged out, paid close to nothing but a debt of half a million forgiven. It was a done deal, and that was that.

Tony Stark sits on the small table staring out the sunset. The tiled floor is sparkling clean, set in a minimalistic pattern that he’d had a famous designer create all the way from Italy. The pattern provides a stark contrast to the mahogany coffee table, where Tony sits alone, tapping his foot against the floor. His phone sits beside him, beside his porcelain plate.

There’s a sudden vibration, and the phone hits the corner of his plate with a tap.

Tony sets dark eyes on the screen for a mere second. He grabs it, but he turns when he hears Happy enter.

“Sir,” Happy says in greeting. “Good evening.”

Tony sits back on the chair, and he can’t help the snicker that leaves his lips.

He’s been waiting to see Happy close to three hours.

“Any updates?” Tony asks, knowing very well that if there had been something wrong, he very well would have heard about it hours ago.

Happy is standing stiffly by the doorway, awkward in his penguin suit.

“The Roman statue you ordered was shipped less than an hour ago,” Happy tells him, clearing his throat directly afterwards. Tony grabs his bottle of wine, unable to help the smirk on his lips.

“Good,” he says smugly while he starts to pour an inordinate amount of wine right to the brim of his glass. He stops right at the top, where the liquid trembles for a spare second in fear before taking its place.

“Don’t forget to place it right at the entrance,” Tony orders, unable to help himself.

“Of course, sir,” Happy says. “There’s not one person that will be missing sight of it.”

Tony snickers one more time before he brings the wine glass to his lips.

He’d had it stolen from one of his rivals, who’d had stolen it from an art museum in turn. He’d make damn sure that no one that didn’t know about it.

“Is there anything else?”

Happy shakes his head.

“No, sir,” he assures.

“Good,” Tony answers, taking another sip from his glass and eyeing the steak he’d had made just before his trip downstairs. It sat in front of him, waiting.

Tony waves Happy away dismissively, and the man leaves without a word.

Tony remembers the notification he’d received on his phone and turns his phone around to see the message.

“Hey,” the text reads, and Tony scrunches his eyebrows. “It’s Peter.”

He almost chokes on the wine as it seems to go sour in his mouth.

He’s pretty damn sure that he hadn’t given his number to anyone named Peter.

He only had five people--people that he could count on one hand--who he’d willingly given his personal number to. And they were exclusively the only people that he’d resolutely handed his trust to.

This wasn’t it.

“How did you get this number?” Tony types, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard.

Three typing bubbles popped up in quick succession, barely a second after he’d sent the text.

“Ned gave me this number,” Peter sends.

Tony’s eyebrows furrow even deeper, a crease forming between them. Tony’s thumbs floated over the keys.

Some other bubbles popped up before quickly being replaced by another reply.

Tony’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Did you know that a cloud can weigh more than a million pounds?”

Tony stares at the text, not typing one word as he sees more bubbles popping up in quick succession.

By now, he’d figured out what was the issue here. And it wasn’t that somebody had betrayed his trust or hacked his phone.

“About 1.1 million pounds, actually,” Peter sends. “A single cloud.”

Tony lifts his phone, making up his mind. He’s going to type. He’s not sure what at that point, but he isn’t allowed too much time to ponder on a decent response.

“If you calculate the water density and multiply it by its volume that’s what you get,” is the text that is sent by the so-called Peter.

“But it can still float at that weight because the air below it is even heavier,” Peter sends directly afterwards.

“Just in case you were wondering,” is the last thing he sends.

Tony had figured out almost immediately that this was an error, and error is not something that Tony is usually greeted with. Especially recently.

But this was a real nice treat.

“I wasn’t wondering,” Tony finally sends after a long moment of silence. “But thank you for the random, unneeded trivia.”

The person on the other side of the conversation is undeterred.

“On the contrary,” says the ball of spunk, “How can we go along in life not knowing this very important part of life and science?”

Tony stares down at his Stark phone and very much squints at the screen.

“You have the wrong number,” he finally types down after about five minutes of staring.

“This isn’t MJ?” the person asks.

“No,” Stark sends.

He pauses for a moment, unable to help himself. As he usually does.

“Is there really someone that would find any of your trivia vaguely funny or interesting?”

Tony smirks down at the phone when no response comes back for a while.

The cream plate sparkles ivory underneath the golden lights above Tony’s head, and he lifts his knife and fork, placing his phone beside him once again. He only manages to place a miniature cut on his medium rare wagyu beef before he’s interrupted.

“Rude,” Tony’s phone vibrates.

Tony raises a dark, thick brow, large eyes focused on the small screen beside him as it glows valiantly with subsequent texts.

“There’s a McDonalds in every country but Antartica,” he reads.

Then.

“Frostnip is what you call the stage before frostbite.”

And then.

“A duel between three people is a truel.”

Finally.

“You can report spies in South Korea if you call 113.”

Tony puts down his utensils, wiping his hands haphazardly on his napkin before placing it beside his plate.

“This isn’t how flirting works,” he sends.

He keeps his phone in his hands and sees the bubbles pop in and out.

“I’m not flirting,” the new text reads.

“Your desperate attempts to impress say the contrary,” Tony retorts.

“That sounds like the opinion of someone who is either used to fighting or flirting or both at the same time,” the person on the other side of the line comments.

Both of Tony’s eyebrows are raised, his skin stretched enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if they disappeared behind his fringe.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Tony snarks back, and the phone pings with another text, this one from Pepper. Tony dismisses it, waiting for Peter’s reply.

His phone pings again, and he notices Pepper asking him if he’d eaten yet. Tony glances down at his uneaten food.

He pulls down the notification and types out a no.

He quickly moves back to open the text conversation for the unknown number’s response.

“Flirting was the first thing you thought to mention,” Peter says.

“So I’m betting my money on you being the flirt.”

There is a small pause.

“You know,” Tony reads. “That thing with Freud… Projection?”

“I’m not the one trying to flirt by giving useless facts,” Tony sends back quickly.

Tony puts his phone down in an attempt to eat his food again, but his eyes keep flitting back to the phone beside him. Innocuous yet now full of possibilities.

Tony picks it up quickly when it pings, only to see that it’s Pepper.

“No to the food or no to the Russians?” she asks.

Tony opens the message to view the conversation fully.

“No to the food. Yes to the Russians,” he sends after prompt consideration.

After still not seeing a response from Peter, he puts down the phone resolutely. Considering himself the victor, he eats the rest of his meal in peace.

It isn’t until he’s in bed, an hour after his meal and a half hour after getting ready to go to sleep, his phone pings one more time by his drawer.

Tony frowns, scooting over the edge of the bed to snatch his phone and open up the screen.

“Sounds like something an intergluteal cleft would say,” the text reads.

Tony Stark, feared mob boss and even more notorious weapons dealer, stares down at the phone in his hands in intrigue, his mouth agape. His eyebrows now for sure disappearing behind his fringe.

He goes to sleep thinking about the person behind those juvenile message, very resolutely trying not to think about the fact that he’d very bluntly called him a butt crack.

Continue reading in ao3