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What does OTL mean?

That! The same as orz but with more intensity and emotion lol. Added the tears because this little dude is very sad. 

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Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man #313 (2018)

written by Sean Ryan art by Juan Frigeri & Jason Keith

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shipper: is creating content they enjoy, having a good time

anti: 

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y’all: peter was able to stop bucky’s fist in civil war bc bucky heard peter’s voice, realized he was a child, then weakened his punch bc he was so worried about hurting a child uwu

me, eating pistachios: y’all know peter can canonically lift up to 75 tons, right. y’all know bucky’s fist is easy as hell for peter to block, right. y’all know bucky didn’t know shit about peter being a child and was just shocked that someone was able to so easily block his punch, right. y’all know that, right.

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Reblog if

You are a starker blog and post/repost fanfic, those cute text shorts, fanart, etc

I need some more starker babes on my dash

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you’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by……. a shield to your goddamn chest that’s enough to probably break your sternum y’all thought this was lyrics fuck no this is S a l t about ca:cw

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A Love Song From Paris

Okay my starker babes, consider this idea tho:

💐Because of Ben’s death being a thousand times more gruesome and horrid than May and Peter would’ve ever wanted to see, the widow aunt obtains horrible depression and anxiety, almost always crying herself to sleep

💐It gets to the point that Peter raises himself and tries his best to raise May up too, in the process, but try as he might, the older woman only feels shame that her lovely nephew is the one suffering because of her

💐They get an offer, one day, from May’s oldest friend, Adelaine. The woman says there’s a soon-to-be CEO she works for that’s insterested in marrying poor, because of unknown reasons, and that Peter fits most of the things he would want, and if Peter got married to him, the walking-wealth would have no problem providing some money

💐Peter hates the offer, May hates the offer, but when they’re slowly getting more and more pressured to kick theirselves out their tiny home due to unpayed piles of rent, he eventually agrees, despite May’s worries

💐The day he’s supposed to meet his fiancée, though, Peter freaks out, packs his bag, and sprints off as Aunt May lives with MJ’s kind family, unaware of her nephew supposedly setting the deal straight and supposedly returning to May the day after to tell her about the arangements

💐Lost in Paris streets, as the boy didn’t explore the city all that well, being a simple homeschooled teenager (MJ’s mother is a homeschool teacher), Peter winds up hungry after the fourth day and stumbles at a simple yet grand house somewhere at the edge of Paris, judging by it’s acres and acres of gorgeous wild flowers and grass

💐There’s a butler that opens the door, surprised and a tad relieved, ushering Peter up a large staircase, past twinkling hallway chandeliers and into a very small office/room, where he sits at the main desk and pulls out a form

💐Turns out, the man’s master has been looking for a new maid, since he’s very adamant about getting one truly able to put up with him, and Natalia, his beloved and ex-maid (more like secretary, really, Edwin explains), had decided his ‘excentrics’ were getting to be too much for her

💐Peter takes up the job to be the new maid, and gets close to the very awesome four people living with Mr. Stark; Harley, the garden boy; Rhodey, basically best friend of the man and leader/supervisor of all the other staff; Pepper, the other best friend and witty-minded ex-maid now secretary-maid, like Natalia.

💐His ‘boss’ finally decides to show up at 4-fucking-am, waking up the whole house, drunk as fuck; singing loud, and Harley tries convincing his sleepy self to go meet the man, but he’s too sleep-deprived to care

💐Their first day in each other’s company, Peter chalks up Tony’s whole attitude to him simply being a rich asshole, which honestly wasn’t too bothersome, he’s heard about these types of guys from Ned, but then why does the man laugh humorously with Rhodey, help out Edwin, spend time with Harley, and smile so sweetly with Pepper?

💐Tony and Peter keep getting odd feelings that they might know the other from somewhere, slowly getting used to each other at such a pace it’d leave a snail impatient, and Peter decides it’s just funny hormones, but Tony digs a bit deeper

💐The boy is his finacée. The boy is his fiancée. The BOY is his FIANCÉE??????

💐Peter manages to dodge every single plan Tony makes to get him to confess his last name, knowing this Peter could most definitey be Peter Benjamin Parker, and somehow doesn’t even notice he’s dodging, simply getting comfier with living at the household

💐Natalia comes back for a brief visit, apparently thinking after their harsh breakup that Tony still wanted to be friends with her. The man still acts whipped for her unconsciously, Peter feels ugly things tangle in his head. Then, he catches the woman interrupting her and Tony’s conversation to chat her boyfriend, openly ignoring Tony’s unamused form, smiling a tad lovesick-ish at every muffled sound of words Peter can over hear. An absoloutely unnecessary emotion clouds his senses, and Peter storms to the two, dragging away Mr. Stark.

💐Confrontations, confusion, chaos and drama ensue.

💐Peter feels the pure humiliation of falling in love with his boss, a man that decided not to tell him they were engaged, more than the steady thrum of elation at Tony’s return of his feelings, and attempts to race back to Aunt May

💐Love speeches under dusk’s light and Paris rain that could put the clichéness of The Notebook to shame, Peter eventually realizes they both truly love each other

💐Four years later, Peter’s engaged to some man May isn’t that comfortable with still, but it’s the man he’s completely screwed for. Four years later, Peter runs from home, only to say yes to his fella proposing by fields of flowers and sparkling fountain lights. Four years later, Peter looses himself in Paris streets, though his hand’s entwined with another’s, this time. (Four years later, Peter Parker decides maybe Peter Stark doesn’t sound all that bad.)

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(((um,,, I’m tagging @im-a-goner--foryou , @starkerdays , @peterscherry , @softstarker , @dontfoolurselff , and @itfeelssogoodmrstark because I need critisism from my favs badly and im not that sure about this au .^. )))

((((Oh I guess I should tag my best starker friends too haha; @freakoutrelaxrepeat and @tony-tops--btch :P))))

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Someone: “You don’t ship Peter and Tony, do you?”

Me:

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Does anyone else have that one friend whose sleep schedule is like an ever-evolving mystery? One day they’ll appear to be asleep for the entire 16 hours that you’re awake, but the next three they won’t appear to actually sleep at all. Sometimes they appear to be on Australian time, other times their schedule has adjusted to somewhere in the middle of the Pacific ocean. (I call this Cthulhu time.) You go a week without seeing them and you have no idea if they’re just really busy, dead, or if their sleep has simply synced up to the exact hours you’re awake and online. The only indication that they’re still in this mortal coil is vague posts about grocery shopping that pop up on their blogs at 4:12AM. 

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Somebody: U should rlly stop obssessing over Spiderman n Tom Holland

Me:

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Sometimes I think about the Tony that we had at the end of Avengers, smiling with his girlfriend in their tower after he saved New York from a nuke, building a new home base for the Avengers.

And then came the PTSD and the Maximoffs, Ultron and ‘together,’ the Accords and ‘did you know?’ and I think of the Tony we have now, sad, broken, tired. All his fault, always his fault, right, Stark? Still trying, but not with the effervescent drive of Avengers, but with the determination of a dying man.

And I hate it, but sometimes I think the Avengers were the worst thing that ever happened to Tony Stark.

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Daydreaming p.ii

I’ll Be Your Sinner (In Secret)

_______________________

This is the part, you've got to say all that you're feeling, feeling

Packing a bag, we're leaving tonight when everyone's sleeping, sleeping

Let's run away

I'll run away with you

'Cause you make me feel like

I could be driving you all night

And I'll find your lips in the street lights

I wanna be there with you..

•

•

•

The seventeen-year-old’s eyes droop the slightest bit as he tries to continue the focus aimed at his homework, listening to Mr. Stark’s soothing voice hum along to ACDC and somehow make the addictive rough beats sound gentle and sweet, unknowingly lulling his sleep-deprived Gen Z self. He cuddles deeper into the leather jacket his mentor had given him earlier, curling into himself and breathing in the home-y scent of hot coffee, despite the obvious fact it only adds to his sleepiness, and makes FRIDAY silently turn up the room’s heaters — bless her digital soul.

“Pete, you still functioning?” Comments Mr. Stark, amused when he turns from prepping their short dinner to find Peter slumping; nearly snoozing on the marble countertop.

He snorts in even more amusement as the younger practically jumps up, looking like a disgruntled puppy and whipping his fluffy head of wet brown curls back and forth. “I’m up, I’m up! Of course, sir!” Ever the fanboy trying to make a good impression, Peter even rips off the leather jacket, hastily folding it and setting it onto the seat beside him. “Do you want me to go home, now? That’s alright, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry for bothering you, I really was just on my way to Ned’s, but I- well, the spidey senses warned me not to jump into the puddle but I wanted to and yeah my common sense isn’t very sense-y, so I jumped and I slipped on the snap of something slippy in it, my clothes got drenched and I probably bothered you and Happy because you drove past, saw me, picked me up even if you didn’t have to, so I’m really thankful for that but now I’m all good and you’re offering dinner and I’m so sorry-“

Tony chuckles, freezing Peter instantly as the beautiful wheeze of breath washes over his whole body, ringing in his ears, heating him more than the leather jacket with inner cotton could ever. The chuckle eventually turns into sniggers, then laughter, until Peter’s beet red pouting at Mr. Stark gasping for air against the fridge, wondering what exactly was so hilarious.

“You,” Tony starts, “are fucking adorable,” he wipes away nonexistent tears of laughter, causing Peter to pout some more and contemplate whether he and Mr. Stark getting closer together was really a good thing or a bad thing.

(It was certainly giving him mental heart attacks, he could tell you that.)

The man turns up the heat for the pot of pasta, crossing what little space was between them to lean on the counter like Peter, but stood up, smiling at him. “You’ve been ranting a lot, these days, got lots on your mind, huh?”

Uh, yeah, I’m gay for you, his bothersome mind snorts unhelpfully. And I’d like it if you were gay for me too, as in, your dick in—

Alright, alright! Peter snaps at himself, I get it, now shut up, man.

“-asking if you’ve got any issues?” Tony questions, smile a little less ‘lol’ and a little more ‘¿¿¿???’ The confused grin has Peter grimancing, trying to come up with a sensible excuse for him loosing sleep.

You could tell him that you’re procrastinating with homework, staying up late to work on it because you watch funny videos on youtube! Brain Voice #2 supplies, he’d understand—

“I sneak out at night to do the do with MJ,” Peter blurts.

ABORT MISSION. ABORT THE FUCKING MISSION.

...Damn, sad to say I saw that coming.

Tony doesn’t hear the internal argument Peter’s having with his selves at the moment, instead smirking at the fact this teenage kid thinks he could out lie Tony with lying to Tony. “Yeah,” he drawls, “kid, pretty sure you’re not fucking Miss Michelle. Especially when you’re still calling sex ‘doing the do’.“

The man cocks his head to the side, eyes glittering. “But you could be material for sneaking out.”

“Huh?” Peter blinks, sipping the last of his coffee hurriedly so that he had nothing to spit out in case Mr. Stark surprised him.

He watches him shake his head, sighing but smiling. “Nevermind, you still do your best to follow May’s curfew, and that’s rare for kids your age, so I shouldn’t be bad influence.”

That rubs Peter the wrong way.

“Mr. Stark,” he rolls his eyes, “you’re hardly bad influence, I bet I’ve done things that would definitely shock you if you knew.”

Tony grunts, stirring the spagetthi sauce for them, eyebrows raised, “wow, sport, lemme guess, you came home a minute past curfew? Badass.”

Peter huffs at the mocking tone, standing to sway his way towards the elder, common sense definitely missing as he seductively trails his fingers up Tony’s exposed tan bicep, gently snuggling into him. Slowly, he whispers, “I could be worse for you, sir, I could.”

Tony growls, gripping Peter’s hips in a bruising hold that has the boy whining softly, niping his ear before the former remembers fuck- he’s just a kid what are you doing?

“I meant going on a short late night road trip, Pete,” he tries to clear the rumbling of his throat, nudging Peter back.

The younger simply grins with youthful rose cheeks and touseled locks, looking all too accomplished by the little stunt he pulled, rocking back n forth on his heels and toes. “That actually sounds really fun, Mr. Stark! We should try that after dinner.”

“...I knew you wouldn’t say no to my awesome cooking,” Tony awkwardly jokes, light atmosphere returning and sweeping away the previous heavy beginnings of ‘Sex Haze’ that totally screwed the inappropriate thoughts of his mentee he’d tried burrying ages ago.

[~]

“I don’t think I can take anymore pop,” Peter hiccups as he chugs down another can of cream soda, giggling with his head propped nearly out of the open shotgun window. His fluffy hair whips around in the wind, brushing his face and simply causing Tony to appreciate the adorable beau beside him. The man speeds up, on the empty, no-cameras highway, winking at Peter. “Time to be cliché, go ahead.”

Carly Rae Jepsen’s Runaway is bursting into the night air and Peter’s eardrums, especially because everything’s cranked to eleven, but the boy unbuckles his seatbelt and throws away the can at some rando tree, drunk on sugar, since everything needs to be cranked to twelve, now.

“I’m a fucking adult!” He whoops, hands on the glass of the topless car, standing dangerously on his sock-covered toes at the edge of his leather seat. There’s a few answering crows that have good enough timing that make him giggle deliriously, Tony laughing along because this was incredibly awesome. Really, how did he not come up with this before? The wind rushes past his ears, blushing his cheeks and cooling the previous resting heat in him.

He looks at Tony, who’s already staring back, grinning, and blows him a kiss which he takes in hand and presses to his cheek.

(Maybe Tony didn’t want nothing sexual yet, but Peter’d be damned if he didn’t try his chick-flick-flirting.)

“Let’s run away,” the older starts lowly, tilting his head back to focus on Peter’s dazzling smile.

“I’ll run away, with you,” Peter sings aloud, throwing his hands into the air repeatedly.

Baby, take me to the ceiling

I’ll be your sinner in secret

When the lights go out

Run away with me, run away with me!

The seveteen-year-old can’t stop the adrenaline rush in his veins and the pure joy; pure sappy love in his head, thanking everything and everyone he’s fallen for Tony Stark, because the man, try as he does to deny and hide it, has fallen for him too.

That’s magic, if Peter would ever admit.

Not too surprising though; every moment he spent with Tony was magic.

This your chance, Peter, a voice eerily close to Karen’s echoes to him alone, kiss him.

He studies Tony’s sharp brown hair, saliva-wet lips, handsome goatee and strong form. He stares thoughtfully at those comfy arms that held him steadily when needed, at the hands that could put him to bed with one simple brush, and dopily sighs, a little too whipped for a spider-mixed-teen.

Yeah.

He’s thanking Tony correctly.

Sat down and silent, Peter leans onto Tony’s shoulder, ignoring how he tenses, lowering the radio’s volume. “Thanks for this, Mr. Stark, it’s helped me blow off a bit of steam from the whole MIT and superhero-ing stress.” He sees the clenched muscles of Tony’s arm relax, and runs his palm over them, just to enjoy the sight of those hard ridges stiffening.

“No problem,” Tony answers quietly, probably over thinking the situation like he always did, questioning Peter’s actions for hormones instead of actual crushing-flirting-trying.

“Can I ask for something, right now?” He breathes softly, enraptured by the moonlight on Tony’s face, petting the soft bristles near his cheek and on his chin.

“More cream soda?” His soon-to-be boyfriend jokes, and Peter can’t stop the high giggle that escapes him, because this nervous 48-year-old acted so close to his age it was honestly endearing. “No,” he sits up, wondering if fate put on Carly Rae’s song on purpose, cupping Tony’s face. “Kiss me, please.”

The car stops.

Peter’s heart stops in anticipation.

Tony shakily exhales, closing his eyes, but not pulling away Peter’s lax hands. “Pete-“

“Hold onto me,” he pleads in tune to the song, pressing their foreheads together. Tony told him it was time to be cliché, and he was gonna be as cliché as he could be, right now. “I never wanna let you go,” the whispered truth pulls Tony’s arms to wrap around him, and Peter’s heart speeds again. He almost sobs in relief, that his fella doesn’t casually reject him as usual. For some reason, spidey senses were telling him this was the last chance he had to confess.

The man’s thumb brushes his exposed hipbone gently, breath smelling of coffee and mint in an oddly addictive mix, over taking all of Peter in a way that was so Tony he wanted it candled and burning in his room forever.

“You have to be sure you want this,” Tony mumbles, croaky with something just as pleading as the former, “I don’t know what I’d do if you pull away- Peter, fuck, this is so fucked up.. I’m ruining your life-“

“Ruin me,” Peter laughs, light and floaty, “you ruin me instead, I love it, I love you.”

The kiss that follows is so innocent Peter wants to giggle and cry at the same time, brief and gentle but so, so worth every painful awkward moment between them. It has him shuddering and begging internally for more, yet he just beams at the moment, the first peaks of sunlight poking at his closed lids, Tony’s laughter stuck on replay.

“I love you shouldn’t be said before the first date, kiddo,” he chuckles, sounding high as well, almost glowing. “I think we did this whole thing backwards.”

Peter snorts, pecking him shortly on the cheek, cuddling him like he’s always wanted to, “not really, it’s not completely backwards until you fuck me before we get to the first date.”

“You little shit,” Tony chokes, flicking his ear, only earning a playful kiss to his finger.

It’s the happiest Peter’s felt himself be in weeks, and that’s amazing; Tony’s amazing.

(What he doesn’t know is that this wouldn’t just be the first, but also the last time he’d get to run away from the world with Tony.)

•

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•

(With their packed schedules, and brief meetings, Peter doesn’t get to drive freely with his lover even once after their sole time, and the last time he sees the savior of his childhood — his Tony — is on an alien planet, when the world turns to gold.

“I’m sorry, I love you,” he wanted to sob.

“I’m sorry,” is all he gets to say.)

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:)

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you hold your child as tight as you can. [then push away the unimaginable.]

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Daydreaming p.i

(I do adore)

—————————————-

Every thing you do

It sends me higher than the moon

With every twinkle in your eye

You light a match that sets my heart on fire

When you’re near I hide my blushing face

And trip on my shoelaces

Grace just isn’t my forté

But it brings me to my knees when you say

Hello, how are you? My—

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“-darlin’? Pete? Are you okay?”

Peter whirls around from day dreaming, wide eyes locking with the enigma-like being sitting on the edge his balcony, face cupped in his hands and bright with a grin of seemingly permanent smugness.

The older (waaaaay older) man looking younger than the youngest teachers at his high school but way hotter, is dressed in normal red cotton pyjamas that're obviously handmade, hat tilted on his wild chocolate waves brushing across his dark lashes and forehead.

He tilts his head downwards, failing to control the automatic blush that slaps him everytime Tony smiles at him, snuggling further into his duvet and trying not to think about how he's only wearing an oversized tee and short underwear in front of his inappropriate crush. Tony doesn't badger him to talk, though, used to the 'social awkwardness' (read: in-love-attitude) of Peter, simply hopping off the balcony to plop face down onto Peter’s comfy bed, starfished and relaxed.

He faces him, one eye opened and lips still upturned.

“You ate more jalapeños? Really? You should prob’ly stop, your face is always red almost every time I visit and it’s getting worrisome,” he jokes.

Peter blinks, shakes his head and awkwardly scoots further up, shrugging nervously, betraying flush simply deepening. “W-What can I say? I like spice,” the boy mumbles the lie like the shy liar he is. “Anyways, what’s the reason for visiting this time, Mr. Stark? Hunter’s ‘racism’ towards us mortals annoying you again?”

Tony rolls his eyes, sitting up while his shadow plays with the music box on Peter’s bedside, bathing in moonlight looking so handsome without notice. “Stop with the Mr. Stark bs, kid, I told you that the first day you called me like that, it’s dumb, I’m your fella, not boss,” he starts, not even noticing the little puff of swoon that slips out Peter’s mouth from having Tony call himself ‘his fella’ even if he meant it as a friend. “And yeah, those douchebags really won’t stop scrambling past my home howling and cackling about the island being ‘pig-free-paradise’. It’s bothering me and the lost boys.”

A little pause, and Tony lights up, digging into his pocket to shove a folded piece of paper into Peter’s palms. “By the way! Harley wrote something for you, since he’s the only lost boy you’ve met, and Pep put a spell on it that won’t let me read it until you read it, ‘cause she knows me too well,” Peter awkwardly smiles, “but yeah, it’s for you. Read it!”

The boy primly and gently flips the letter open, smoothing the pads of his pale fingers over the words written in funny home-made ink.

Dear Pete,

Heya! How’s London for you? I heard the fog’s still foggy as ever, and that Ms. Mary died a few weeks ago, so I’m really sorry for that, but I couldn’t comfort you earlier because Tony can’t come through the portal everyday, as you know.

Skipping the sad stuff, coz I don’t like sadness-

Peter laughs under his breath at the seven-year-old’s short topic changes, unaware of two adoring eyes following the shake of his body when it moves during his hushed giggles. Unaware of Tony’s face cupped in his work-roughened hands grinning dopily simply because of Peter’s smile.

-and let’s talk about good stuff! Pep found this really pretty girl that washed up in Neverland, we named her MJ! She’s really witty and sarcastic and I think she’s your age, but we don’t know if she’s like us.

A female ‘lost boy’ . . . ? Peter blinks. Now that’s confusing/interesting.

You can’t tell Pepper, if you ever meet her, but I think she’s real whipped — that’s how kids say in love these days, right? — for MJ.

Besides that, nothing new’s happened, and the truth is, I was gonna write this note to talk to you about who Tony likes, but I get off track a lot, haha!

Tony, he- likes someone?

Peter glances uneasily at the man scolding his own shadow for messing up Peter’s wonky alarm clock, heart squeezing at the thought that his nonexistent chances with this amazing immortal are now practically less than nonexistent, and wow this is a whole new level of sad.

He likes- drumroll please! You~! *insert me laughing* Yeah, probably not a surprise, Pep told me you two were already dating, but I wanted to tell you just in case because I know you two are really stupid.

Hope the next few weeks are better than the last,

Harley :D

Tony snorts from behind him, and Peter whirls around, face the color of hot cheetos powder, clutching the note to his chest. He’s so, so close to Tony, and it doesn’t help his heart rate to slow one bit, only speeding up the constant ‘lub-dub, lub-dub’ of it. The immortal has his chin on Peter’s shoulder, pouting at the letter’s ending sentences.

“Harley’s getting rude, didn’t even let me confess by my own words.”

Peter’s breath hitches, and Tony snuggles closer, pulling him into his lap.

“You . . . Like me?”

“Duh.”

The man — who’s only known Peter and vice versa for three months — grins at him, tugging at his oversized tee. “By the way, I totally knew you didn’t like jalepeños from like- the fifth visit. I snuck some in your bread and you tried hiding it but I saw you chug a whole jug of milk in the kitchen.”

Peter whines in annoyance, yet turns and koala-hugs his boyfriend (—holy shit this is awesome—) because Tony could literally kidnap him and fly him to Neverland and he’d still adore every little thing about him.

When Tony returns to the lost boys with a lovesick smile on his face, Harley doesn’t comment, but smugly grins as he gets handed ten sand dollars from a grumpy Pepper and five from an amused Rhodey.