#pro starker

[snowstark]

i just want a badass assassin tony teaching newbie assassin peter how to be a bad bitch,,, is that too much to ask ???

[artemuerto]

The Thing that lives under the Bed AU or Shadows.

Note: Please, listen to a song Cat Pierce feat James Levy- Regret by almost the end.

This was not what i imagined happening but as Cat release this song i couldn't help but to sank in it and imagine as Tony would feel Peter as much as the angsty song tells you. And i know that by those last lines it could led to a tragic end for Peter, but is up to you to decided if Peter falls asleep forever to dream of Tony of if he ever blinks again.

I did call him sleeping beauty for a reason.

@starker-sorbet, @thestarkerisobvious, @starkerprince

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Startdust and Moonlight

Up to next morning, Peter didn’t feel tired nor restless, he imagined he had dreamed last night, however his mind was foggy and he couldn’t remember what his dream was all about. A sharp knock on the door alerted him.

“C’mon sleeping beauty, it’s time to wake up.” Groovy with sleep Peter marched to the bathroom and got ready for the day. His hair was suffering from a crazy case of bed hair, sticking all over the place as if somebody had played with it before he went to sleep; a distant tune rang beneath him making him blink fast trying to remember. Where did the music come from?

Once again, May knocked on his door, only this time, she appeared smiling at him offering a warm cup of coffee.

“You’re getting late for school, kiddo.”  Peter said his goodbyes running out of the apartment after kissing her cheek and stealing her breakfast.

Peter’s mornings were very similar and casual. Tones of boring classes, boring topics, interesting topics, horrible teachers and lots of screaming, whether is the Cafeteria flood with kids and hunger or the long hallways filling with swimming legs and rush breathes as more than one student seemed to late that day.

His one free period was usually taken by the library, on the days Ned and Gwen shared the same hours, they would stay together, eating snacks and talking about their days, their classes, the weekly gossip, dating and the walk of shamed to the principal’s office.

By the early afternoon, right after the bell rang and the students started to leave the school, Peter would take his time. The season was changing, the raging heat was slowly decreasing, although there was no obvious turning on the trees nor any sing of snow yet, surely autumn was taking his time to arrive. The sun still shined above their heads and painted the sky with blues and magentas reminding him of cotton candy on the Carnival.

Waiting for the subway wasn’t really a chore, at least not for Peter, sure May hated it on the rush hours when everyone was trap like a can of sardines, but even then for Peter was a whole experience. Low were the times where Peter would take a seat, and even if he got lucky he would prefer to give it away to someone who actually needed it. He liked to daydream about the lives of the people who traveled with him on short distances on the subway, where would they go? Where did they live? Did they like the subway like Peter or would they hate it like May? Would the people love being in such a restricting place or would they rather be on wide open spaces?

Like that foggy gray ancient mansion Peter used to visit when little.

Wait— what mansion?

Going into a tunnel with the flutter of passing birds, Peter closed his eyes and saw it. The long roads of ladders cover in dirt and dead leaves. The lonely looking mansion resting in dry land and open space, the bindweed created a slithering path that he wishes to dance upon. The creaking of leaves under his bare feet was a delighted sound as he danced an old tune in violin. Would anybody be there to dance with him?

The flashing light of warm sun brought him back to the present. The people around were unconcerned of his thoughts and soon one and another left their places by the time they reached their destination. Confusion clouded his mind, was it a dream? He could recall the fresh memory of a place he was sure; he had never been before even when the details were so firm in his brain. Perhaps he had seen it in class? History was never his forte but Peter could swear it was straight out of a Victorian novel, those which he and his classmate were force to read in literature and study their times in real life back in the 1800s.

Maybe, that’s what it was. A simple made of memory from a past class.

Peter went home without another thought feeling the soothing warmth of sleepy sun at the back of his neck, innocent to perceive the glooming darkness that soon came to follow.

That night the Shadow was small. The longing in their whole being was palpable but the Light was so bright and pure that they could not do much. They questioned what could have changed and what could have happened to their Master for him to be so different in a blink of an eye. Their eyes had not deceived them, Peter seemed happy, content, curious and joyful for the passing of nights where he could play with them, Peter went as far as dancing with them in their home and he looked so thrill; the Shadow thought they had found the one. But now their master was so gloomy, a pale shade of gray where not even his sight would light up the darkness.

What happened to master Peter?

They waited and hoovered, holding back and longing. They stood back until Peter came into his room.

*  *  *

Peter said goodnight to May with a long sigh, they were both tired after a long day and even when he had a pile of homework soon to become a mountain, Peter wanted nothing but to sleep and forget.

«What Master wants, Master gets. »

Under the covers Peter stayed wiggling his way into comfort, his puffy socks were on and his pillow was extra fluffy he felt swimming in the clouds, the air around him stilled. There was no rusting of wind or lonely dragonflies looking for their partners in the open, like a bubble of peace Peter was surrounded by calm and serenity.

Shadow peeked in curiosity ventured under the bed, slowly reaching the edge of its domain, they had never reached that far before, their limits were bound to the stretch of the bed and the cold floor beneath it. The Light had told them so.

«Impossible to go. Perish you will. Consumed and forgotten you be. »

The Shadow remembers those words, the words that left them powerless and lonely. Cast away in their home waiting, always waiting for someone who would come and dance once again. Fill their home with music and passion.

And surely he came.

Peter came stumbling around, touching the frozen walls of the mansion, painting marks of mist and fog, dark trails of obscurity where not even the selfish rays of light could reach them, the candles flickered, trembled in Peter’s passing. Peter was made to dance for them.

Thanks to Master Peter the Shadow could move, could walk and run, they could dance once again. So the Shadow would dance for Peter.

The roaming of music came in whispers. Peter wasn’t sure on how he knew but he was certain, soon he would be able to hear it all clearly. The shy notes sound peaceful and inquisitive, as if they were waiting for him. And waiting they were.

Bashful tunes came closer and closer, prompting him to walk freely on their soft rugs. Open doors greeted him but instead of the massive dance hall he was accustomed to see, his sight was different. A wide room with oval ceilings and spiders hanging from it with short flames of candles.

“Where am I?” Peter questioned. The flicks of darkness danced its way to him drawing snakes of forms to get his attention.

«Your room, Master. »

“My room?” The large bed was made, the bed post had creamy wavy curtains and nets with opaline wind chimes sparkling and giving light to the space.

«Yes. Yours. »

“How is this mine?” Peter came standing in front of the wavy shadow and extended his hand with clear intensions of touching but never being brave enough.

«His room. Happy Master. Room Master happy. »

Peter still didn’t understand how it came to be his. Who could have given him such room? Who lived in that place besides his friends. The friendly shadows that love to play and dance with him.  As if sensing his thoughts, the shadow beamed looking bigger than before, faster than before. The shadow circled him, surrounded him and for seconds Peter feared, were the shadows going to hurt him? The last time he was in that same position, not only him but his uncle was also hurt.

«No. Master, happy. Master, dance. Clothes for Master. And Master dance. »

The Shadows wrapped him in spirals of feathers, later on Peter could picture the difference, the difference between the regular darkness he knew and the absolute blackness that soon followed his eyes to the point where he couldn’t even see himself nor the palm in front of him. His body took another shape, long lost was the soft camisole he always seemed to have in that place and now, a fit white dress shirt, a high neck and a soft cravat was decorating it, resting in the middle a dime of gold. His slacks of a pompous fabric, but quite fit and also white trousers. And all that pristine beauty shined over a burgundy jacket brocade in gold.

He had no trench coat as the Shadow seemed no need for it due to of the extensive waterfall of tail from the vest. Peter could not believe his eyes as he moved and twisted and twirled within himself. A full body mirror came in view and Peter saw himself for the first time.

«Beautiful. »

Peter wasn’t sure who was talking but he recognized the voice from before. The other times he had been in the mansion, they were there with him, all the shadows and whoever talked right now. He took careful steps reaching the mirror, the person standing at his back was at the far corner of the room, so Peter was not able to see him yet, the soft light trembled and soon after died as the mirror broke in tiny pieces.

“Please,” Peter begged with shaky hands, trailing shattered pieces of glass, the Shadow feared he would hurt himself. “Please, don’t go.” Closing his eyes, letting himself be consumed by the lack of light, Peter begged. “Please, I just want to see you.” The Shadow smiled and all the lights came to life creating a path for Peter to follow.

“Dance with me.”

*  *  *

Everything is easy in the middle of the night Your eyes are stars, your skin moonlight But with the sun there comes the truth It bares the soul and wastes the youth

*  *  *

With each passing breath Peter could see him better. His hands were cold to touch, Peter’s fingertips reaching the man’s hands with care as he let himself be led toward the center of the room, spinning around in harmony and light feet, Peter’s still bare feet slid smoothly barely feeling the lack of warmth when his whole attention was placed on the man he had to know yet.

“What’s your name?” his curious eyes did not escape the handsome features of the person dancing, Peter was trying to remember. He needed to remember this person, he was sure, he knew him somehow but from where.

“Our always curious Master.” The man smiled all teeth white and shiny, causing a shiver down his spine as Peter couldn’t look away. At that recognition flashed past his mind and Peter came closer as possible. Was it the shadow? Were his friends? The man nodded short but sweet and with a change of tune made Peter take a turn and bubbles of laughter fluttered out of his pale lips.

“But what do I call you?” What to call them? They were his friends, but keep calling ‘it’ or ‘they’ felt odd in a passive way, like he long to connect with them in a greater level. A name could bring love; a name could bring pain but still gave the warmth of memories and knowledge. A named could give meaning.

“I had many names before.” The man explained. “But in here, in our home…” To make a point, Peter twisted once again and was brought to a tight hug. “Master can call us what he wished to.”

“Peter.” He stated. And the man tilted his head to a side in question, like that Peter could take in all the little details. Long, dark lashes outlining whiskey warm eyes that never seemed to miss him, a strong jaw with full lips surrounded by a trim beard, raspy and soft looking.

“My new name is Peter?” Peter wanted to laugh but snorted instead.

“It’s mine.” The music soon came to an end but neither felt like moving away. “My name is Peter.”

«Peter. »

The honey dripping feeling he got from a simple whisper made him shiver and his friend feared he would get cold. They, both, would find a fitting name.

*  *  *

Hours spent walking and moving, traveling around the open halls and still rooms. The shadow followed close aching to never letting him go. Bright chandeliers on top of their heads and dying candles alerted them it was time to go. The Shadow hurt in longing, he had his master, he had a name and his strength was coming back because of it; his master was right. With a new meaning he could live again, live above from the binding shackles of fear were no longer in his wrist, his Master had given them so much live and love.

The Shadow stood next to Peter as the boy sighed in deep sleep, with no one else around, he could drink in all beauty his Master is, was and it would be in all eternity. With his long curls expanding over the white sheets of the pillows, protected from cold in his comfort cocoon of blankets, the Shadow reached down to touch him, however froze in impression and fondness. Even in his sleep, his master called for him.

“Tony.” To Tony, Peter was made of stardust when his eyes sparkle and moonlight shine of all his pristine skin each time he dares to feel under his fingertips. Meant to guide his path in the sea of black that was his existence. For a short amount of time, faster than a blink, Peter saw him. His master saw him materialized in his world, not the realm of dreams and wonder and smiled at him, called for him. “Tony—” He didn’t have to hide anymore; he didn’t have to be afraid anymore. With one touch of his lips and his Master would be utterly and completely his.

Closing his eyes and holding a breath, Peter thought if that was what it felt like to be loved to death.

[artemuerto]

Based on The Thing That Lives Under The Bed because i trully loved the idea and the eerie feeling from it even thou is really sweet

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@starker-sorbet @thestarkerisobvious both your art and writing inspired my brain to this. It doesn’t make much sense thou (?)

Shadows

Basking in the warm candle light waddling in waves of whispers, Peter walked. His gaze was hook to the floor, distant figures and forms danced all around him, following a tune he could still not hear but his heart long for.

The echoes of his steps came soon and bathing in light, he was conscious of his body. His bare legs and shoeless feet, the smooth floor wasn’t cold but his felt chills down his spine even in the stillness of the room. An eerie  air surround him.

Peter was not scared. He was curious.

In his dream, Peter wore a camisole, a soft piece of fabric long enough to cover his hands and only showing his fingertips. The air was delicate and scent of wild flowers that made him feel heavy and lightweight altogether.

With a blinking game against his brain, Peter shortly after was capable of recognizing shapes beneath his cheeks.

The room wasn’t spare but his eyes yet fought to get used to the darkness. The absence of light cause him no trouble, in fact, lull him to rest and calm even standing up. With careful fingertips he reached for the closets wall going after the fleeting sway of candles and wax, founding now, colors in his eyes.

The room shifted for his view only, creating new colors and shades of lights.

Breaking the spell of sound, Peter saw himself fit to move, his wavy legs tingled after staying put even when he didn’t think it was that long.

Peter believed he was alone, but the increasing number of shapes close to his feet taught him otherwise.

Peter placed on feet after the other, walking around the enormous hall, discovering how the shadows seemed to dance with him and he laughed.

The shadow was glad to hear such a sound. Too long has it been since someone stood with him, for him, near him enough to lull him. To make them sing their lullaby. Oh, the shadows were static.

One by one, shadows came close, slithering their way inches from the living form in their domains. The boy laughed happy and clear as one of them tickled him in accident. Coming too close, close enough to touch him.

The lights were livid in rage and The Shadow drew back in fear.

The Shadow was taught not to touch, it could only hurt by touch— even when the boy laughed, they thought it was wrong.

Peter froze sensing terror in his body. Of what? He was not sure about, but an overwhelming sense of horror fill him as the shadow abandoned him.

“Wait—“ He wanted to say. “Don’t leave me.” His heart cried. “Come back.” His soul prayed.

He has never felt more alone.

The lights flicked in curiosity. Was the boy sad? Had they made him sad? The Lights didn’t want for the boy to be that way, they only wanted to protect him from despair.

Going back to low volumes, the Light allowed the Shadows to come back.

Peter felt a ghost brush down his lashes, sweet in abundance to make him smile. His friends were back. Serpentines danced around him, pushing him to the center of the room and teaching him how to dance. A slow tune began to play in his ears, a careful piano guide his feet and soon Peter lost himself in the music.

Moving and dancing, twirling and swinging. With open arms and reaching his the top to his fingers; the music picked his eagerness and turned faster. Bewildered and pleased, Peter danced now, feeling not alone.

An arm pulled him close, his hand was taken, leading his steps and making his clothes crumble in lines and bruces. The Shadow was there with him although Peter couldn’t see them.

The sun was rising behind his back deceiving his eyes, eluding the shadow from his eyes.

The tune came to and end. And Peter stood alone in the wide space as birds chirped outside the windows, making his eyes heavy letting him know it was time to wake up.

Peter didn’t know when would he be back, he only hope he could.

His friends were there and Peter didn’t want for them to be alone. He would visit again, Peter would stay in the Dark.

*  *  *

As Peter hid under the covers, chasing warmth, the shadows waited. Exploring the space under the bed, expanding its legs toward the floor as the lamp on the hallway was turned off. His body was dizzy and fume as fog.

It will take them time but they have waited, they have waited so long, so lonely. They have waited for their light and it was finally here. Their light would come to them.

The shadows would take their original form soon and soon after would present themself to light.

They would consume the light.

[sassy-starker]

i high key low key wanna write a fic where peter has ADHD. i actually have ADHD and i hyperfixate on stuff and it really affects me when people get annoyed when i ramble on about my fixation.

so, consider:

-peter rambling on to tony about his current fixation and then stopping and apologizing for rambling, but tony is like “no! i love hearing you ramble about things!” and it makes peter super happy

-peter fidgeting a lot and feeling like he’s weird for it, but tony reminding him that it’s okay

-peter having trouble paying attention when doing work and tony having to get him back on track

-peter forgetting he said something/told tony something already and tony reminding him (in a super gentle way) that he’s already said it

-peter forgetting to do things/grab things he needs to grab and tony helping to remind him and make sure he has everything.

-tony reminding peter to take his meds

in conclusion: starker with ADHD!Peter. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[artemuerto]

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Bambino

A Summer in Italy

Peter se perdió en la risa de MJ mientras Ned continuaba contando la historia sobre su última semana en total cautiverio. Los tres amigos habían pasado las vacaciones de verano distanciados y con una melancólica pena, siendo su último semestre juntos en la escuela, luego de aquellas solitarias aventuras, todos partirían en direcciones opuestas del país para seguir sus sueños. Él bebía a sorbos de su té frío en el pequeño espacio apartado para ellos. Peter venía frecuentando el mismo local desde que le encontró una tarde descuidado, confundido y preocupado por su obvia tardanza a la reunión del equipo de decatlón de su instituto.

Entrar en el local, pidiendo una lista de disculpas en forma de café una tarde lluviosa había sido uno de los mejores accidentes que podían haberlo sucedido en mucho tiempo.

Peter viró el rostro al escuchar como la puerta principal se abría y su respiración se entrecortó al reconocer el cuerpo que se asomaba curioso, de brazos junto a una mujer que parecía dedicarle toda su atención. Ned seguía contando su historia de cómo su abuela le había obligado a cuidar del perro de la familia —no era realmente una obligación, pero nadie quería expresar la obvia falta de decisión y poder de decir ‘no’. Ned nunca podía negarse a su abuela—. La garganta se le secó aun cuando no llevaba ni media bebida y el corazón se le aceleró de tal forma que creyó sus amigos podrían ser capaces de escucharle; un cosquilleo nervioso llegó a sus manos y se aferró al vidrio de su vaso para evitar ser detectado. Escondió la mirada casi con pena.

El hombre permaneció frente a la caja registradora mientras la dependienta le tomaba la orden y ofrecía cordial conversación, al tiempo que su acompañante se distraía con la pantalla del celular. Peter observó como el hombre le entregaba un billete y con sonrisas cortas se despidieron luego de obtener su orden.

—Hey, Pete. ¿Estás bien? —MJ le miraba curiosa y giró el rostro tratando de encontrar aquello que el muchacho veía con tanta insistencia, más solo encontró distintos clientes entrando y saliendo de la tienda, además de finalmente prestar atención al ruido que se acumulaba debido a todas las conversaciones.

—Sí, sí. Estoy bien. —Dando un sorbo se abstuvo a extender su respuesta, y conociendo a la castaña, lo más probable es que no se diese por vencida para descifrarle.

—¿Y? ¿Qué tal tus vacaciones, Pete? —Peter regresó a la conversación, después de ver al hombre desaparecer entre la muchedumbre. Peter suspiró silencioso relajando los hombros y sonrió leve al recordar lo cálida que había sido su estancia junto a un familiar lejano.

El descubrir que May tenía un hermano secreto del que Peter no sabía nada, había sido una verdadera sorpresa, es decir, no que Peter no supiese del hombre, más bien era que no le recordaba casi en absoluto. Fotos fugaces descansaban en el closet, escondidas en una caja de zapatos; de pequeño a Peter le encantaba hurgar entre las cosas de sus tíos, solo para revivir memorias y si tenía suerte, terminar con historias nuevas, ya fuese sobre sus padres o de May y Ben. En ocasiones, le encontraba casi avergonzado en las esquinas de las fotografías, como si quisiese evitar se plasmado en la eternidad a toda costa.

La primera vez que preguntó por el desconocido, Peter tenía unos seis años.

—May, ¿quién es él? —Su tía permaneció en silencio un buen rato y por momentos el pequeño Peter creyó que no había sido escuchado; a punto de repetirse estaba cuando la voz cuidadosa de la mujer llegó a los oídos junto a una caricia en su cabello. Le estaba creciendo rápido.

—Él es Tony. —Peter asintió. Contempló la empolvada foto por unos segundos más antes de repetir el nombre del extraño, como si así fuese posible no olvidarlo.

Tony parecía ser más alto que su tía May, en las fotos se le veía esbelto más no fornido, brazos bien formados a causa del trabajo y el ejercicio ocasional, aunque discernía del clásico juego de abdominales que imitaban las revistas y los comerciales de televisión; por su vientre plano y tonificado se desdibujaba un diminuto y obscurecido camino creado por vellos hasta perderse en la fila elástica de su bañador.

En otras, aparecía con una copa de vino en una mano y un cigarro en la otra. El —para en aquel tiempo— muchacho le daba la espalda dificultándole la posibilidad de reconocerle, si bien, May le disipaba las dudas cuando Peter se mostraba interesado.

—Esta la tomamos en Italia. —May sonrió leve ante algún recuerdo alegre de su niñez y sus años siguientes, y Peter abrió los ojos sorprendido, él nunca antes había siquiera salido de la ciudad y ahora se enteraba que su familia había viajado inclusive fuera del país. —¿Te gustaría ir? —Peter asintió tan de prisa que su cabello se despeinó haciendo a la mujer reír. —De acuerdo. Iremos en las vacaciones.

Aquella promesa se vio opacada por el fallecimiento de su tío Ben.

* * *

Era ahora, diez años más tarde que la promesa en susurros se cumplía. May y Peter habían viajado a Italia a visitar el esquivo hermano mayor de la mujer como presente de graduación de Peter.

Sus ojos no daban cabida a lo que veían. Frente a él, como toda una visión, la Hacienda se extendía majestuosa, amplia y llena de vida con sus escalinatas cubiertas de hojas secas y un camino se flores se bailaba en el suelo al son del viento. Las altas ventanas abiertas, dejaban entrever juegos de cortinas airosas que se mecían con facilidad en la brisa mañanera, a Peter se le cerrarían los ojos en cualquier momento debido por el cansancio y al mismo tiempo no podía dejar de aspirar toda la estancia con admiración y un toque de temor. ¿Cómo era que él nunca antes había escuchado de la antigua estancia Parker?

Peter creyó ver una sombra moverse desde la lejanía, más se olvidó de su inquietud al escuchar como su tía le llamaba; había estado tratando de comunicarse con su hermano, pero no había caso, y ninguno estaba seguro de que el hombre estuviese en casa o al menos lo suficientemente cerca como para que les escuchase. May pasó la mayoría del tiempo en vuelo hablando de los recuerdos que tenía dentro de la casa y del hombre en cuestión. Sobre todo, de su hermano y su obsesiva necesidad por hacer y deshacer motores de autos antiguos y optimizarlos a su antojo. Peter sentía curiosidad por la ingeniería, pero su mayor interés era claro para la química, las ecuaciones y los elementos. Ocasionalmente arreglaba el reloj de la cocina cuando este decidía dar sus últimos cantos.

—¡Bella mía! —May corrió a los brazos de su hermano y juntos viraron en círculos. Peter les observaba casi indiscreto aun debajo de sus gafas de sol. —Siempre es un gusto verte, May. —El mayor sonrió amplio iluminando sus facciones, en lo que May se alejaba a duras penas para regresarle el gesto.

—Deberías ir a visitarnos, así me verías más seguido. —El hombre viró los ojos con burla, pero sin verdadero calor detrás de sus palabras, haciendo un pequeño sonido desconfiado.

—Como si yo dejaría el paraíso.

—Sí, este es el paraíso. —Le concedió May. —Y a este paraíso he decidido traer a Peter. —Su rostro se desconfiguró en sorpresa y buscó ferviente al muchacho. Peter se encogió de hombros al escuchar su nombre y se acercó casi con pena al hombre que desconocía.

—¿Peter está aquí? —Se fue acercando despacio al muchacho, que casi con pena se fue acercando hasta llegar cerca para poder detallarle aun cuando llevase las gafas. —¿Peter pie? —La mención del antiguo sobrenombre, reverberó recuerdos sepultados y le trajo una extraña sensación de alegría.

—Hola… —Finalmente se quitó las gafas de sol y antes de que pudiese procesar lo que ocurría, fue engullido por un abrazo cálido y apabullante.  

*  *  *

Las mañanas siguientes fueron de ensueño. Peter todavía no creía su vista, el espacio donde estaba ni todas las escaleras que debía tomar para poder alcanzar la cocina. Su habitación era fresca, la ventana se abría en totalidad hasta el suelo y con un pequeño balcón podía ver el jardín podado, los arbustos de rosas y las enredaderas que se escabullían por las paredes. Cada mañana —no sabía si era a causa del entusiasmo o de la diferencia horaria—, pero, cada mañana, despertaba a ver el alba. Se apoyaba sobre el barandal y dejaba llevar por el silencio, sintiendo la fría brisa debajo del cielo claro al que todavía le quedaban luceros de la noche anterior.

La primera vez que encontró a Anthony caminando al filo de la alberca, sus ojos se entornaron en intriga y por segundos se perdió en el brillo incandescente y naranja de la colilla de cigarro que descansaba en la mano del mayor. El hombre se notaba cansado, como si no hubiese pegado un ojo en toda la noche y eso era una gran deducción, tomando en cuenta que Peter no le conocía, ni podía verle lo suficiente desde la distancia. Así sería el aspecto del hombre.

Anthony se desplazaba lento, casi parsimonioso por los amplios pasillos vacíos y a pies descalzos. Fumó calmado y estático con la vista fija en el horizonte, Peter quiso llamarle, quiso llamar su atención y quizás compartir un plato de frutas en lo que el sol se asentaba en el firmamento, más la incómoda pena le engullía cada que intentaba acercarse al hombre, como un acuerdo tácito de su mente le impidiese establecer contacto. Contacto que Anthony tampoco intentaba establecer por sí mismo; de no ser por May, las horas en silencio serían tanto arrolladoras como escalofriantes. Peter en serio extraña a Ned.

Tony pudo sentir el peso que cuestionaba su presencia y sonrió para sí al encontrar el semblante adormecido de su sobrino, reposado por encima del balcón. Su pijama estaba descolocado, su camisa arrugada por el movimiento de la noche y los pantalones cómodos se mecían lento, detallando las líneas de sus muslos hasta volverse holgadas una vez que alcazaba detrás de sus rodillas. Hebras de su cabello cobraron vida en la ventisca fría y se sintió tentado a subir hasta su habitación para rodearle con una mullida sábana y protegerle del frío.

Peter salió de su ensueño y se sintió avergonzado de cómo había sido atrapado en su escrutinio silencioso, a sus mejillas subió el calor de un sonrojo y se encogió en sí mismo aferrando las manos al barandal. Tony le sonrió y llamó su atención en señas.

Peter alzó una mano lento, incómodo y aniñado.

Después de desaparecer en su habitación sin mediar palabra, Peter se dio una ducha tibia, pidiendo a deidades desconocidas que se llevase consigo toda su vergüenza y sus actuaciones extrañadas, comedidas ante su tío. Se suponía eran familia, aunque cuando Peter no había escuchado del hombre nunca antes de preguntar por una foto.

May le recibió abriendo una botella de champaña y Peter se sobresaltó ante el ruido inesperado haciendo a su tío reír. Allí volvía el color a sus mejillas.

—No que me oponga. —Dijo el mayor. —Pero tú no eres de las que bebe en el desayuno May, así que, ¿qué estamos celebrando? —May sirvió las tres copas con semblante alegre. La mujer se veía radiante en su vestido amplio con pequeño estampado florar, hombros al descubierto y el sombrero que le protegía del sol ardiente, sus lentes de sol descansaban en el escote de su vestimenta.

—Celebramos que Peter fue aceptado en la universidad. —La pareja de hermanos chocó copas mientras Peter se quejaba por lo bajo tratando de restarle importancia al asunto.

—¡No, muchacho! —Tony posó una mano sobre su hombro y el calor de sus mejillas se extendió con tal prisa que le pareció preocupante. —Estás son cosas importantes. Estas son cosas que valen la pena ser celebradas. —Los tres ocupantes alzaron las copas y brindaron con alegría.

Luego del desayuno ameno y de insistencias de May a estrenar la alberca recién limpiada, Tony se sentó a su lado en una silla reclinable sin incrustar los pies en el agua.

—¿Y? ¿A qué universidades aplicaste? —Peter agradeció no ser capaz de encontrarle la mirada al mayor.

—Logré entrar a NYU. —Peter se sumergió en el agua al tiempo que May aparecía tras las puertas abiertas con un bañador enterizo que resaltaba su figura y se sentaba junto al hombre iniciando una nueva conversación ajena y lejana para sus oídos. Un extraño dejo de desasosiego se asentó en el fondo de su estómago, pero Peter no sabía qué hacer con él. Peter entendía en lo más mínimo las razones por las que comenzaba a comportarse tan extraño.

Por las mañanas despertaba todavía temprano y ya no podía culpar al jet lag, deambulaba por los pasillos vacíos de la estancia y contemplaba como el cielo esclarecía con suavidad. Escuchaba con atención los sonidos que avisaban el andar del resto de los ocupantes de la casa en pequeñas oleadas de vida. May abría las puertas y bajaba despacio las escaleras, las cuales se negaban a cesar de crujir sin importar cuantas veces fuesen reparadas; era casi parte del encanto en la reluciente madera.

El desayuno se preparaba sin prisa y a Peter le gustaba quedar sentado a los pies de las escalinatas desde donde podía ver el cuerpo menudo de su tía moverse con comodidad por la cocina y preparar el menú del día. Seguido le llegaban los pasos de Anthony.

Si bien, Peter ya no le encontraba cerca de la alberca con un cigarro en mano, todavía podía escucharle, relajado, a gusto y para nada titubeante mientras conversaba con su hermana de cualquier noticia leída en el periódico y agradecía silencioso la nueva taza de café cargado y recién hecho. Con algo de suerte Peter fingiría ser despertado por el sonido de la radio que encendida y en volumen alto llenaba la habitación de música que él no entendía.  

A media mañana Peter caminaba por los amplios rosales, divagaba por los caminos circulantes en diferentes direcciones, pero que siempre terminaban en el mismo lugar, el centro de un enorme laberinto y permanecía horas descansando en el suelo escuchando el rugir del viento al viajar entre las copas de los árboles. Siempre regresaba a casa con una corona de flores guindándole del cabello y que, para mucha desgracia, Tony siempre se ofrecía a limpiar.

La primera vez que sucedió, May estaba muy ocupaba para ayudarle. Era el turno de la mujer de preparar el almuerzo; Anthony se había enfrascado a realizar tales quehaceres desde que habían llegado, más la menor de los Parkers se negaba a ser consentida en demasía; era por ello que May se refugiaba en la cocina mientras Peter aparecía por el umbral de la puerta, tostado de sol, oliendo a verano y con una lluvia de hojas secas decorándole la coronilla.

—Estás hecho un desastre, Pete. —Peter rio a carcajadas y se meneó imitando un perro tratando de quitarse los restos de ramas y hojitas silvestres, él no podía dejar de admirar la grandeza del paisaje, el espacio parecía una postal de esas que siempre encontraban en los quioscos de la esquina cerca de casa o las pequeñas tiendas de souvenir en el metro. May le miraba con cariño y Peter continuaba hablando sin parar sobre todas las pequeñas cosas que había encontrado en sus exploraciones a los alrededores de la casa. Algún tiempo atrás ella había hecho lo mismo y de alguna forma se alegraba que Peter pudiese vivir de la misma experiencia. May pensó que quizás no hubiese sido posible, si las cosas hubiesen sido diferentes.

Tony se acercó a la estancia siguiendo el cuchicheo alegre del muchacho e hizo seña a su hermana a que continuase en silencio, escondiendo su presencia del más pequeño. Él no podía evitar ensanchar la sonrisa que surcaba su rostro al escuchar como el menor de los Parker hablaba con tal alegría de su propia casa, él hacía mucho tiempo que había perdido la alegría por estar encerrado en tales paredes, aunque estando cerca del entusiasmo de Peter, podía imaginar tiempos más alegres, como aquellos que compartió junto a su madre.

Peter se llevó un buen susto al girarse para alcanzar unas mandarinas en el refrigerador y encontrarse de lleno con Tony, quien, cruzado de hombros, apoyado en el umbral comía de unas uvas y le ofrecía las mandarinas que tenía en un plato.

—Vamos, muchacho. Yo te ayudo a quitarte las flores. —Peter permaneció en silencio y aunque pudo quejarse alejando que solo tenía que darse una ducha antes de la comida para quitarse los restos de sudor y polvo, permaneció en silencio junto a sus mejillas en rocío de calor. Anthony le siguió a su habitación y cruzando las puertas abiertas, Tony le llevó hasta la cama, haciendo presión en sus hombros para que tomase asiento y él pudiese peinarle con cuidado.

El silencio fue ensordecedor e inquietante. Si antes Peter no había parado de hablar más rápido de lo que sus pensamientos podían conectar por encima de su cabeza, ahora no era capaz de proclamar si quiera una sílaba y no sabía muy bien porqué. O más bien, no quería darle sentido a la razón.

Tony le acarició el cabello y le calló despacio con una cuidadosa disculpa cada que tironeaba de su cabello al encontrarse un nudo de tierra y sudor haciendo que Peter se quejase por lo bajo entre suspiros.

—Ya, ya. Ya está. —Tony masajeó su cabello y sin poder evitarlo, Peter soltó un grave ronroneo inclinándose hacia el toque, su madre solía calmarle de la misma manera. Él sintió el peso de la culpa asentarse en la boca de su estómago al ser consiente del disfrute que le ocasionaba escuchar tal sonido y en su alma se agudizó la necesidad de escucharle de nuevo, aun cuando sabía que no podía, ni debía ser posible. El verano desaparecería en un abrir y cerrar de ojos y Peter se iría con él.

May les avisaba que el almuerzo estaba listo.

Pronto después de eso, Peter se encontró compartiendo espacio con Anthony más de lo acostumbrado. Salía con May por un paseo al pueblo, compraban fruta, vino y pan, y Peter adoraba recorrer las calles diminutas y ataviadas de gente; siempre había algo nuevo que ver, así solo fuese un nuevo restaurante que le ofrecía una distinta taza de café. Los atardeceres junto a la alberca, el agua diáfana reflejaba en su iris tonalidades cambiantes que parecía opacar el destello de las estrellas que sobrevolaban el cielo aun aclarado.

Una noche sin poder dormir, bajó las escaleras en busca de un tazón de helado y se encontró a Tony recostado en un sillón.

El hombre leía junto a una lámpara y un par de velas en la obscuridad con una mullida sábana arremolinada a los pies del sillón, desperdigada por el suelo. Peter se acercó sin mediar palabra y tomó asiento al lado contrario, apropiándose del resto de tela y se terminó el helado. Tony nunca dio vuelta a la página.

—Háblame sobre mamá. —Casi con miedo, Peter le pidió al hombre en la obscuridad y no supo descifrar si su expresión era algo bueno o no. Tony no le regresó la mirada en seguido, se perdió por segundos en los recuerdos de su vida junto a María y Howard, que le costó enfocarse en los pocos recuerdos que compartía con Mary y Richard.

—��Tú mamá? —Peter arrugó el entrecejo confundido, ¿quién más podía ser? Por lo que asintió despacio y le sonrió de medio lado al hombro intentando convencerle sin palabras; lo que Peter no sabía era que Tony estaba dispuesto a darle todo lo que él estuviese dispuesto a pedir, aun cuando las razones fuesen desconocidas.

—Mary era todo lo que pudiste desear para tu mamá. —Tony dejó su libro a un lado sin importarle no llevar consigo un marca libros para no olvidar el último párrafo que había leído. Y pasó el resto de la noche contándole a Peter todos y cada uno de los recuerdos que tenía de Mary.

Desde como la mujer le había ofrecido su primera comida casera en mucho tiempo, hasta las peleas absurdas sobre su vestimenta y las reuniones aburridas de trabajo. Mary reía alegre y cantaba en la ducha muy temprano, tan alto que le despertaba, aunque en realidad no le molestaba; Tony simplemente había olvidado lo que era convivir con otras personas. Había pasado demasiado tiempo solo. De tanto en vez, hablaba de personas que Peter no conocía, ni había escuchado antes, pero que sonaban interesantes a sus oídos. Peter daría lo que fuera por conocer a Jarvis. Peter no recordaba demasiado de su vida en la casa de sus padres, sus primeras memorias siempre venían del apartamento en el que Ben y May vivían al momento en el que Peter fue a vivir con ellos, aunque no pasó demasiado para que decidiesen mudarse a un lugar que les acomodase mejor.

Peter resistió la tentación de preguntarle a Tony por Anthony. Es decir, por qué nunca antes había escuchado de él y cómo era posible que estuviese dispuesto a recibirles el verano entero, aunque cuando él no tenía la más mínima idea de quién era y él si parecía conocer a Peter —si no era que las extrañas vivencias que compartían él y May le estuviesen engañando—. Él escuchaba atento y desconocido como los mayores hablaban de él con un dejo de alegría melancólica. Sí, Peter quería saber, pero tenía miedo de preguntar.

*  *  *

Una tarde soleada y de viento fuerte, May caminaba por las calles hasta que dio con un pequeño puesto que vendía flores. Con un pequeño aviso hecho a mano y pintura reciente, la mujer se acercó a preguntar por el precio de un ramillete. A Peter le encantaría tener y un ramo de flores frescas en su habitación y un par de velas de recuerdo. Rentó una bicicleta y comió melocotones jugosos manchando parte de su blusa por accidente. Habían pasado años desde que había visitado la ciudad y sus recuerdos no eran del todo agradables, pero el ser capaz de imaginar a Peter junto a ellos, caminando los pasos de su adolescencia, descubriendo los mismos recovecos y maravillas que ella vio tanto tiempo atrás, aligeraba la carga de sus hombros. Siempre se preguntó qué sería de Tony.

Había sido una sorpresa encontrar a Tony cargando a Peter en brazos en dirección a la habitación del más pequeño y le siguió de cerca. Peter cabeceaba de sueño y cansancio más se negaba a dormir, parecía quería seguir escuchando historias de quienes fueron sus padres. May sintió arrepentimiento de nunca antes haberse sentado con el muchacho y rememorar cuentos de su niñez, de no ser por una foto olvidada, May quizás no volvería a tocar el tema de María y Richard aun cuando ella apreciase tanto al hermano de Ben como a su esposa.

Richard había sido un gran hombre, con grandes sueños y grandes ilusiones. Corazón noble con una tempestad indetenible e ideales. Mary era su complemento. Tierna, dulce y comprensiva, se acoplaba a las metas de Richard y le alentaba a seguir aun después de las adversidades, una vez que Peter llegó a sus vidas nada podía ser capaz de opacar la luz de sus vidas.

Y luego decidieron ir a Italia por negocios.

En Italia conocieron a un magnate y su familia. Los Stark era conocidos, poderosos y adinerados. Howard se rumoraba era un genio, pero con un carácter de los mil demonios capaz de espantar al mismísimo Santo; María, hija debutante de familia en sociedad y rostro de distintas obras caritativas, posaba a su lado con orgullo y olvidaba las faltas de su pronto a ser esposo. Anthony era un joven problemático y retraído, no hablaba más de lo necesario y cuando lo hacía mostraba su ingenio a través de insultos, que, si no eras cuidadoso, ni siquiera los notarías, pero la vil intensión estaba allí.

Los Stark y los Parker no tenían nada en común.

Por lo que meses después, cuando los Parker regresaron a la ciudad de Nueva York, el no solo encontrar a su sobrino, sino también a un muchacho junto al umbral había sido una verdadera sorpresa para May. Ben escuchó a su hermano con atención y no dudó dos veces en abrirle los brazos al muchacho promesa del que tanto había escuchado. Convivir con Tony había sido un giro de ciento ochenta grados. Y el cambio más radical se lo había llevado el muchacho en cuestión.

Mary una vez incluso le encontró con Peter en brazos. El pequeño Parker comenzaba a gatear y se divertía con el toque suave y afelpado de las alfombras que decoraban los suelos, Peter estaba decidido a encontrar a su padre e iba directo a la cocina, más su atención se vio enfocada en un interruptor eléctrico que estaba al descubierto. Tony cruzaba el pasillo y cargó a Peter con prisa llevándose un bien susto.

El pequeño en sus brazos que pronto alcanzaría los tres años de edad, se sorprendió al ser desviado de su objetivo y clavó la mirada en el muchacho que le alzaba en brazos. Peter gorgoteó confundido y bostezó luego de tanto trabajo, se abrazó al muchacho y cabeceó derrotado. Tony no tuvo la absoluta idea de que hacer.

May se reía siempre al escuchar tal anécdota. ¿Quién hubiese creído que ese muchacho desconfiado y asustadizo que cargaba a su sobrino, sería el mismo que le llevaría, de cuenta nueva, en brazos a su habitación y contarle historias hasta caer dormido?

*  *  *

Y desde aquel día, Tony fue incapaz de dejarle ir.

*  *  *

Peter comenzaba a crear una pequeña rutina en su día a día, y las tardes parecían hacerse más largas y placenteras en la compañía de Anthony, quien ahora se sentaba a su lado en las sillas reclinables junto a la alberca, pelaba mandarinas y las dejaba limpias en un plato para que él las pudiese comer y en las noches obscuras de luna nueva, Peter podía ver el leve esplendor de los cigarrillos, oler el tabaco que viajaba en el aire y escuchar al hombre hablar tranquilo, despacio y relajado de anécdotas en tiempos pasados, más alegres, más felices.

—¿Los extrañas? —Tony le cubrió con un mullido cobertor al tiempo que Peter escondía los pies e intentaba mantener el calor gracias a sus calcetines.

—Todos los días. —La honesta respuesta le sorprendió, aunque no estaba del todo seguro el porqué, Tony jamás le había mentido, aun cuando May siempre estaba allí para rectificar detalles a los que Anthony le encantaba agregar dramatismo. La simpleza le dejó sin aliento y Peter no pudo evitar que escurridizas lágrimas se asomasen por sus pestañas. Él también los extrañaba y ni siquiera les conocía.

Tony se alarmó de encontrar el rostro desfigurado de Peter en tan tangible tristeza. E hizo lo púnico que se le ocurrió por impulso. Le dejó sentado sobre su regazo y le rodeó casi por completo con los brazos mientras aceptaba el rostro del muchacho esconderse en la calidez de su cuello.

—Yo también los extraño. —La voz ahogada del menor le estrujó el corazón de maneras Tony no sabía eran posibles en él después de tanto. Peter lloró en silencio, solo escapaban de sus labios pequeños suspiros de cansancio y angustias antiguas que él creía habían sido olvidadas. Quizás, en realidad, nunca terminabas de extrañar a alguien.

Tony le acarició el cabello de manera rítmica, en círculos, jugando con su cabello y pronto sintió como la fuerza se fue alejando de los músculos del menor, dejando su cuerpo vencer ante el cansancio finalmente. Peter cayó dormido, arrullado entre los toques del mayor y la acompasada respiración que mecía sus cabellos lento y resoplaba en sus oídos.

Despertar estando todavía en el amplio sofá de la sala, le extrañó, le costaba enfocarse y podría jurar que parte de su cuerpo estaba completamente entumecido, Tony intentó moverse y al fin pudo reconocer lo que le mantenía estático en su sitio, Peter permanecía todavía dormido, acurrucado en su pecho, con el rostro levemente virado en su cuello haciéndole cosquillas cada que suspiraba ahora que era capaz de notarlo; Tony sintió pena de tener que despertarle, a él le hubiese gustado simplemente cargarle a su habitación, como tantas noches anteriores había hecho, pero dudaba tener la fuerza necesaria tan temprano en la mañana y con medio cuerpo en estado desconocido. Lo mínimo que podía hacer era encontrar otra posición que le permitiese quedar sentado en el sofá y le diera algo de libertad a sus manos.

Peter arrugó el entrecejo ante el movimiento y le costó enfocarse, los ojos cansados y algo rojizos todavía le impedían ver bien lo que tenía enfrente, o a quién.

—Buenos días, Bambino. —la voz rasposa e inesperada del mayor, le sorprendió y debido a la cercanía, era imposible negar el escalofrío que le hizo arquear la espalda y hundirse en la calidez que representaba el otro. Tony arqueó una ceja desvergonzado, sin poder siquiera esconder su interés, aun cuando Peter se negaba a devolverle la mirada y murmuraba un «Buenos días» ronco y adolorido.

Tony posó un beso libre sobre la coronilla del muchacho y Peter finalmente le encontró la mirada sorprendido ante la acción, de cuenta nueva a sus mejillas se les sumó el cálido color de rosas. Armándose de valor desconocido, Peter se inclinó lo suficiente como para rozas los labios pálidos y resecos junto a la mejilla del hombre y sonrió avergonzaba y feliz.

—Buenos días, Tony.

*  *  *

Ned había escuchado antes parte de la historia, es decir, era él con quien Peter compartía sus dudas sobre la desconocida figura que reinaba en sombras las fotos familiares y él no tenía algún nombre por el que reconocerle, pero estaba igual de perplejo que MJ al final del relato, sobre como Peter parecía tener familia en otro país.

—¡Nah! Parker, estás mintiendo. —Bromeó MJ y pronto la conversación se volcó en planes de fin de semana y advertencias de no olvidar las video-llamadas semanas una vez que Ned y MJ regresasen a los dormitorios de sus respectivas universidades.

Peter regresó al departamento y May sonrió alegre de verle, haciéndole entrega de una pequeña postal.

—Tuvo que irse de repente y no me dejaba llamarte para que supieras que estaba aquí, quería que fuese una sorpresa. —May parecía culpable de que Peter no hubiese podido encontrarse con Tony por muy efímeros momentos que eso significase: él ni siquiera se imaginaba que el hombre pudiese estar en la ciudad, mucho menos el país. Lo que Peter no sabía es que Tony viajaba constantemente a causa del trabajo, solo que antes no había tenido razones por las que detenerse en Queens.

—Está bien, May. —Peter tomó la postal y se encaminó a su habitación. —Le escribiré algo también.

Sentándose en su cama comenzó a leerlo que el hombre tenía para decir junto a una hermosa foto de su patio trasero y un plato de mandarinas, esas que Peter solía comer.

[sassy-starker]

i’ve had a starker fic with witch!peter in my drafts for so long and so i’m working on finishing that shit and i’m actually really liking it so far. expect that in the next week or so :)

[sassy-starker]

Running

A Starker Drabble

There was something oddly therapeutic about running away, about knowing that nobody has any clue where you are, about having no idea where you’re headed. Nobody on the street pays attention to you, because you’re just another stranger heading somewhere— heading nowhere— and nobody gives a shit about you or your life. There’s nothing significant about you, no feature that makes you stand out amongst the crowds as you wander through the towering building and blinding lights of New York City in the nighttime. There was— is— something therapeutic about running away, and Peter Parker knew that.

It wasn’t anything important; he wasn’t on the run from a terrorist organization or a life of crime or his debts to the mob. There was no reason for him to run, for him to think about getting out of New York and never returning. He shouldn’t be running, shouldn’t be leaving, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stay after he’d found out. When he walked into his apartment and found out that Quentin was cheating, he didn’t think about his options. His first thought was simply:

Run.

It was dumb, and he knew that. He couldn’t just run away from his apartment, from his home, and never face what had happened. He should go back and sit down with his boyfriend— ex-boyfriend?— and talk about it, but the more he thought about turning back, the more unappealing it sounded.

So, instead, he walked, head down and hood pulled up, along the dark streets of the city, ignoring the world around him, and the world ignored him right back. He had no clue where he was going or when he would stop running. He had his phone, a charger, fifty bucks, and a small container of chocolate hearts that he’d bought to give to Quentin when he came home that evening after work.

Coming across the stairs leading to the subway, he went down, the sound of his sneakers tapping against the concrete drowned out by the sounds of the city. Making it to the bottom, he jumped the gates, a skill he’d had extensive practice at as a teenager. Finally, he stood at the bottom, waiting for the next train to come.

The station was empty, the tunnels eerily quiet with only the faint sounds of the world above drifting down, muffled by the amount of space between him and the city. It was calming, in a way, just like running, with nobody there to stop him, no person there to tell him to turn back. He was in control, he could go anywhere.

He could go nowhere.

He heard the train before he saw it, the deafening sound of it coming down the tracks echoing through the tunnels. The glare of the front lights made him squint his eyes a little, but he didn’t turn away.

When it came to a screeching halt, the doors slid open with a creak. He stepped into the cart closest to him, which was nearly empty except for one man sitting in the corner looking down at his phone. Peter sat down on a seat about in the middle of the cart, across from the doors he entered through and a little to the left, so he was in the same half of the car as the stranger.

The runaway didn’t pull out his phone or close his eyes, instead staring straight at the windows across from him and watching the concrete tunnels and blazing orange lights go by.

Nobody got on at the next three stops.

Peter could feel the other passenger sneaking glances at him, but said nothing and didn’t spare him a look, sitting unmoving as he continued to just stare out the dirty windows.

Another stop went by.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked.

The brunet startled a bit and turned to look at the man, who was gazing at him with eyes full of what appeared to be genuine concern.

“Yeah. Why?” Peter replied, tone turning

slightly defensive, but a voice crack betrayed his assurance of being okay.

“You just looked like you were disassociating and I didn’t want you to miss your stop or anything.”

“Well, I’m fine, so you don’t have to worry.”

“No offense, but that sounded so fake that I’m only worrying more.”

Peter sighed, closing his eyes and running his hands down his face before opening his eyes again and looking back to the man.

“I’m just having a rough night,” he admitted with a shrug, hoping he could leave it at that.

“I figured. Not many people are riding the subway this late because they’re having a great day.” His voice was slightly humorous, but there was still that tone of concern underneath. The brunet found it almost endearing how much this stranger seemed to care about him.

“Well, wouldn’t that mean that you’re here because of a shitty night too?” Peter shot back, praying it would shift the focus off of him.

“I am,” the man confessed with a slightly sad smile. “How about this: if I tell you why I’m here, will you tell me why you’re here?”

Peter mulled over it for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons. The logical part of him said that he shouldn’t even be talking to a random man on the subway, as you never knew who you could trust in New York City, but his curiosity wanted to find out why this stranger was here. Eventually, he came to a decision.

“Sure. What could go wrong?” Peter told him with a shrug, trying to act uninterested. “Why are you on the subway at two am, talking to some random twenty-two year old?”

“I’m a businessman and my assistant got pissed at me because I might have ruined a deal for the company I work for and I couldn’t sleep because I was so worried about it.” The sentence came out easily, no hesitation in the man’s voice. It was obvious to Peter that he was telling the truth. “Now it’s your turn.”

“I came home from a late shift at work and found out my boyfriend of two years was cheating on me,” Peter confided in the stranger, voice quiet and tone sounding almost embarrassed.

The man paused, simply staring at the brunet with a concerned face, looking even more worried than before.

“I’m really sorry. Being cheated on sucks.”

“It’s okay. I just didn’t know what to do and all I could think of doing was running, so here I am.”

The car stopped at the next station. Nobody got on.

Tears slowly started to leak out of Peter’s eyes and he didn’t realize how much he had wanted to cry until that moment. Still, he began to furiously wipe them away.

“Sorry. I sound like such a baby.” The tears wouldn’t stop falling.

The man got up and walked over, careful to keep his balance as the cart rocked back and forth on the tracks. He sat down near Peter, one seat between the two, enough to be close, but also enough so the brunet didn’t feel trapped by him.

“You don’t sound like a baby. Being cheated on feels awful, and I know that from experience. I don’t know why you would think that it’s dumb to feel upset over this.”

“Quentin, my boyfriend, I mean, he always told me I was just being dumb when I cried over things, and I am. I’m being a baby over this whole thing. Instead of facing him, I just ran away.”

The man sighed, eyes gleaming with sorrow and a controlled rage.

“He sounds like a dickhead.” That got a light chuckle out of Peter. “You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to feel emotions. The fact that you’re emotional over him cheating on you is completely normal. He’s a manipulative asshole for making you feel like you can’t be mad at him.”

“You really think so?” The absolute hope in the brunet’s voice was heartbreaking, so full of innocence and wonder.

“I know so.”

The cart fell back into silence for a few moments as it came to a stop at the next station. Nobody got onto the cart.

“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” the brunet introduced himself, deeming the stranger trustworthy.

“Tony Riggs,” the man replied, lying through his teeth about his last name. After all, his company didn’t give a face to the name of their owner, and he wasn’t about to give up his identity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” There was a soft smile on Peter’s face.

“You as well.” Tony matched his smile.

The cart came to a stop at another station and Peter gave a small sigh.

“I should get off. I need to go somewhere. I hope I see you again, Tony.” He stood up and walked off, leaving the man, who was in a bit of shock as the brunet walked off abruptly.

Tony was a moment too late to stand up and call after Peter, but the brunet was already gone. He didn’t know where the boy had come from or where he was going, but he did know one thing.

He wanted to meet Peter again, and he would go to the ends of the earth and back to see that soft, rosy-cheeked face and puppy dog brown eyes once more.

Notes: this was slightly inspired by this short fic by @birdycurtains and partly by a story of me talking to a stranger on the subway who was very nice to me and helped me through some shit. i’m open to writing a sequel to this if y’all want!

Tag List For All Fics (let me know if you would like to be added/removed!)

@darkerstarker @dim-ships-johnlock @ashleybeattie @haylove5

[firefandoming]

Daddy!Tony x Soft!Peter for @peterparkerbabyboy

[firefandoming]

Starker Porn AU for @peterparkerbabyboy

[firefandoming]

Teacher!Tony x Student!Peter AU Moodboard for @peterparkerbabyboy

[harmonystarker]

So... I've been watching a lot of those #NakedChallenge videos and I've only been able to think of Tony doing the same with Peter.

LMAO, I think Peter's reactions would be, in that order:

[snowstark]

I see that you're taking prompts.. it's gross and dreary where I live, so how about same age Starker as summer camp counselors?? I need those boys in sunshine! -sweeterstarker

for @sweeterstarker :)

i’ve never written anything like this before so i hope i did it justice!! 🥺 tysm for the prompt and soooo sorry for taking such a long time!!

The squeals and giggles of children was like music to Peter’s ears. Well, most of the time. It was more like the seven gates of hell when he was tired or nursing a headache.

He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention and called out, “Gather around, kids! There’s no time to waste!” He watched with a fond smile as the kids gathered, giggling and whispering to each other. “Has everyone put on sunscreen? Have everything with you? Remember, we can’t come back for at least two hours!”

“If you need to use the restroom, now’s the time!”

Peter turned and couldn’t suppress his grin when he saw Tony walking up, shouldering a large bag with a water bottle in his other hand. “That includes you too, Pete.”

The kids giggled at Tony’s playful jab and Peter good-naturedly rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I’ve already gone. You too, Tony? Wouldn’t want you to pee your pants. Again. We have a long hike planned ahead.”

Tony grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief in the sunlight. As some of the kids ran off to the restroom, Peter took the time to admire his co-worker. He made a show of letting his eyes roam up and down, from Tony’s hair and all the way down to his toes. Tony had always had such pretty eyes, Peter thought. Doe eyes. Fucking adorable.

It was almost as if Tony knew what Peter was thinking. He probably did; Peter knew how much he sucked at being subtle. Tony let himself wander closer to Peter, casually and slowly, until he leaned forward and breathed into his ear, “Compose yourself. You can wait.” He sounded amused, but the way his eyes dropped to Peter’s lips and lingered told Peter that he was equally as hungry to smash his lips against his there and then.

When they noticed the kids were beginning to get impatient, Tony smiled and pulled back as if nothing had happened, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Let’s go, everyone! Make sure you have water with you!”

Peter was so fucking thankful he had chosen to wear a loose pair of sweats today. As casually as he could, he added, “Stay with your buddies!” He knew there were two more counsellors who would stick near the back to make sure no one fell behind, but he wasn’t willing to risk anything, especially not the safety of the kids.

The hike wasn’t as painful as he’d originally thought it would be. Or maybe having Tony next to him was what made it that way. They kept up a good conversation, though Peter could practically taste the tension between them.

It wasn’t until they reached the halfway point Peter overheard some of the kids complaining that they were hungry. Chuckling under his breath, Peter blew his whistle to call for everyone to stop. Adjusting his cap with a hand, he said, “How does a snack break sound?”

There were minimal complaints at that, and even those died down when the counsellors handed out oatmeal raisin cookies. It was strange; it seemed that all of the kids in Peter and Tony’s group preferred oatmeal raisin over chocolate chip.

Suddenly, Tony said loudly, “Pete, will you help me throw these wrappers out? Over there.” He pointed to a secluded area.

Peter frowned in confusion. They could easily just throw them out—oh. He nodded eagerly, too eagerly, and practically ran past Tony. He heard Tony’s footsteps behind him; and when he was sure they were completely hidden, Peter spun around, grabbed Tony, and pressed his lips against his.

Tony let out a small little moan that told Peter he had been dying for this. The wrappers fell to the ground, crinkling whenever they stepped on them while kissing, tasting each other, wanting to memorize it for eternity.

Eventually, Peter pulled back for breath, cheeks flushed and feeling lightheaded from that wonderful, pleasurable high Tony always gave him whenever they kissed.

Peter reached down and felt Tony; he was hard, harder than Peter had ever felt him before. When Tony leaned in for another kiss, Peter pressed a finger on his lips, holding him back, and Tony’s eyes fluttered open, almost pleadingly. Peter smiled at that. “They’ll start asking where we went.”

“Let them,” Tony practically whined. “Who cares?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Our boss?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fuck him.” He grabbed Peter’s wrist and pulled it away before kissing him again, making a pleased noise when Peter gave in, letting him dominate the kiss. Then, Tony pulled back slightly, pressing his forehead against Peter’s and whispered, “The sun feels great.”

Peter laughed breathlessly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, it does.” But you feel better. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss—

Tony kissed him again and Peter grinned inwardly, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck.

Goddamned mind reader.

[firefandoming]

Yet more for my Fae!Peter AU✨✨✨

[firefandoming]

Rainbow Starker/Rom Howney Edit

🌈 ❤🧡💛💚💙💜🌈❤🧡💚💙💜🌈

[artemuerto]

Selfish— or Part 2 of another Mob Boss with another moodboard.

original moodboard here

Part 1: On a Whimp—

Read on AO3

Selfish—

He rose up still drunk on sleep. Peter wasn’t used to yet but enjoyed it anyway. Whether was dark and warm past midnight or the early cold mornings, he found peace in it.

Shoeless feet brushed gingerly on the soft rug while the small click of oxfords were heard in the room. The door opened to the spacey bathroom and Peter was soon surrounded by floral essences of Lavender and Lillies.

A smooth and caring touch was left in his hair and Peter couldn’t help but sigh lovingly, not in all his short time living this live he could get used to the alluring promises of forever.

Mister Stark was still on his working clothes. The only clear difference of his appearance was the lack of a tie and the golden twins at his sleeves, in fact, the white of his sleeves were now slightly pink and splashed over, rolled up so Peter had a view of his bare forearms and the pulsing veins flooding with rage.

He wanted to comfort while the other man had other plans. Striping Peter from his nightgown in sweet touches. First the silky pristine top, the spaghetti stripes rolled down his shoulders bringing tickles and making the boy chuckle loud enough to be heard in the room. Stark leaned over to smell the scent of apples from Peter’s hair and a tint of his own shampoo; Peter started to crave his smell the nights Tony spend too long out from the state.

“Mister Stark—“ Peter tried again to gain his attention but the man shushed him sweety with a kiss on his forehead, a silent order to let him be. Both would find peace afterward. Peter nodded wordlessly and took a step forward. Stepping on Stark’s shoes, Peter went up to his fingertips by the time Stark sank his fingers on the hem of his frilly shorts and pushed them down.

Peter hid his face in the man’s neck feeling shy.

“You’re Perfecto, Bambino.” Stark praised him and reassured him. To him Peter was an angel.

His underwear for the night were simple white panties that hugged his cheeks to roundness and was soft to his fingertips, he almost felt disappointed at the lack of sweet patterns, feeling accustomed to the tiny details the made the clothing purely Peter.

“Grazie.” Stark felt his heart soared in a sense of pride as Peter talked, the boy had taken a liking for learning Italian so he could understand Tony at random times when the words would escape him.

The undergarments went down and promptly Peter was moved to the bathtub.

The water was warm but he still felt the change in his skin giving him goosebumps, Tony had him siting at his chest so Peter couldn’t see his face. Mr. Stark’s hands went to his hair, getting it wet and ready enough for shampoo. Peter melted under his touch trusting him with his soul, the man would never hurt him.

He lashes became sparkly with water as Stark cleaned him and only then Peter notice the different coloring he was sitting on. Long lost was the clear and bubbly seam of water, left only a not so strange but still not familiar pink hue. Mister Stark had his hands dirty.

The man was kneeled in front of Peter, his gaze was still dark and controlling and now the Peter knew what to look for, he could see the lonely drops of blood under his nails.

Peter turned to face him and taking his rough hand in his, the boy cleaned Stark earnestly and was rewarded with a slow smile.

No. Peter wasn’t used to be awaken at odd hours, hours where mr. Stark would have been working. And that meant, screaming, threatening, hurting and punishing other people, people who deserved it.

The hours where the man was drained to exhaustion and one of his ways to coping with the murder thoughts was to touch him, to bath him and clean him as if that way the man stripped down his own sins.

And Peter would gladly drink them all only to see the man smile again.

Tony wrapped him in a fluffy towel and carried him to his room. Out were expose three different pajamas Peter could choose from before going back to sleep. Tony was going to dressed him careful and thoughtfully, spread him in his sheets and let him take as much space as the boy wanted, which usually meant staying nested near his body even when the bed was big enough to fit four to five people.

Peter let the Mafia Lord rest between his legs and hugged him to his chest, he would never say it aloud but he worried for the older man. An older man carrying the weight of the world in his shoulders ready to do the impossible for his family and the people he cared about. Peter was lucky to be one of those now.

Tony could drown in his need for revenge, pride and lust for blood anytime, but one look at Peter and everything else would ease into background. Tony wanted only to see Peter.

Tony wanted to give him the world.

And of that meant tearing the world down. So be it.

—

‘Jasmine’ was still the same but also different. Soon the place had become a safe space now that they knew they could trust each other.

Stephen was always glad to see Peter once again even by the hand of Stark, but soon any dark thoughts were forgotten with one of Peter’s smiles.

Bucky saved him a place next to the bar, Peter no longer was a simple ornament, a pretty bird to fawn over. Now, he mixed and served next to mr. Barnes with the only unusual outcome of having pats on his head by the people who knew him.

Natasha was delighted to see him again. Gushing how much ‘Jasmine’ wasn’t the same without his lithe flower. The woman was there for business, someone had required her services and she had to touch point. Get to know her client even before considering the offer.

It was a really good fucking offer.

Peter giggled attracting some attention. Some expected, some unwanted; he had grown up accustomed to the demeaning stare and bland comments about his mere existence. How much he was nothing but dirt underneath their shoes not even worth cleaning.

He never really paid attention. Peter knew he was in safe hands, Dr. Strange —as he liked to refer himself— never left him out of his sight, Bucky was near him all times and misses Romanov tucked him under her wing before he was even conscious.

He was in safe hands.

Now, to those hands, he could add some more. A pair of hands that he could love, caress and admire.

Tony’s hands were made of iron. With a clenching fist and a deadly grasp, everybody feared for his life pending within those hands. Anyone but Peter.

Bucky let him know it was time for him to serve drinks at the upper state. The hidden floor used only in special occasion.

His shiny shoes squeaked against the floor forgotten to the soft lullaby of music, a tray rested on his hand, careful walk and timid steps leaded him behind a heavy curtain and wood double doors.

Knocking smoothly he waited for instructions.

Mr. Rogers opened the door for him, nodding in silence Peter greeted the man and gazed over the room to know their occupants. Dr. Strange was sitting far from the window, legs crossed in a comfortable sofa, mr. Rogers kept his place close to the door. There was a man sitting on the other sofa next to Strange, a man he didn’t know.

The unknown face was serious. Short and well-kept hair, the beard wasn’t long but thick, Peter question if it would feel as smooth as Mr. Stark thrim one underneath his hands however any second thought was soon forgotten as Mr. Stark himself caught his attention.

“Please, come in.” Peter held his need to smile feeling pleased and after a second or so, left the tray in the table by the man.

“I gotta say, this was not what i expected.” Said the man as Peter served four cups of tea in pearl white cups decorated with hand painted drawing of living flowers. Peter kneeled fully in the soft rug and for moments his movement was in doubt, had he understood wrongly? Those were not his orders?

Strange came forward and patted his head to ease his worries.

“I know it’s unconventional although I personally taught Peter the art of Japanese tea parties and is as important as the discussion we’re having.” Peter nodded along the doctor’s words and continued to serve each cup with care and love.

Peter felt the weight of a stare, so curious as always, he looked up thinking he was going to find Mr. Stark eyes but instead he took in a pair of interested piercing blue eyes.

“How silly of me—“ Mr. Stark roamed shortly as Peter walked to give Steve his cup. The smiled grateful, they had been drinking most part of the evening and his stomach was glad of a changed. “Please, let me introduce the new member of the Stark Industries.” Tony circles his desk and stayed on top of it with a loose grin between his lips. “Quentin, meet Peter.” The boy stopped his actions to stand and come closer to the man whose eyes sparkled with an upsetting glamour.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Quentin smiled with a short nod and repressed a twitching eyebrow from going up in interest. So this was the mysterious boy he had heard before.

A well-hidden boy who had stolen Stark’s heart. Some say the man let the boy rule on top of his shoulders.

Well, at least the boy was easy on the eye so he could sympathize with the older one.

“Peter, this is mister Quentin Beck.” Peter grinned looking pleased like a cat who almost got the cream and went back to attending the men around him. Now going step by step on what he was doing and why. Strange looked proud.

“Usually the head of the family would be the last person to be serve.” Stealing a amuse smirk to Mr. Stark, Peter went up to the man and left his cup untouched on the desk. “But today we are here to celebrate you Mr. Beck.” Quentin wasn’t going to lie, he felt a tingle of arousing glee at being addressed in such ways by the little beauty.

The sound of pouring tea was heard with such clarity that Quentin should have been more worried about it rather than staring at Peter as the boy opened the kettle’s lid to extract fresh petals of flowers and served them gingerly.

Steve look at his empty cup, did he just—?

“Tonight we honor you with a special infusion to make you feel comfortable.” Peter placed the cup in the man’s hands and waited for him to drink bits. The soft and sweet floral scent had a taste of honey. “We have to treat you like you are...” Quentin finished his drink in short soundless sips. “The man who’s trying to steal from the Stark Family.”

Beck’s eyes went wide and his hands trembled slightly, short after his heart started beating fast and his breath was unable to even out. One of his bands rose to his neck useless. The cup rolled down the carpet.

Peter caught Tony’s eyes almost guilty.

“I’m sorry.” Cleaning the rug was going to be a pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Steve will take care of it.” Speaking of Steve—

The poor man was petrified in his place, his eyes never leaving the lifeless corpse of Beck laying in the sofa, from outside nobody would have thought the man was dead, only comfortably sleeping if you didn’t notice the lack of movement in his chest. Steve has also finished his drink and sure was waiting his turn.

Peter moved closer to Steve and took both of his hands into his own.

“You’re okey, Cap. Nothing is going to happened to you.” The man released a heavy breath he didn’t know was keeping in and his legs failed him for seconds, leaving him kneeling in front of the boy with his forehead against the soft clothed tummy. “I would never hurt you, Cap.” Steve laughed in guffaw and finally relaxed his shoulders.

“Please, don’t ever do that again, Boss.” He was talking to Tony but gazed up to find Peter. “It’s not good for my health.” Peter giggled in content and caressed the man’s hair as an apology.

Mr. Stark moved from his seat and thought what to do now.

They had work ahead.

By the time Jasmine was close and the body was being moved Peter came close asking for time to see the man better and touched his beard. With a displeased disappointment he realized it was not even close to the feeling he had when closer to Mr. Stark.

Tony lifted a brow questioning and Peter shrugged.

“It doesn’t feel the same.”

“To what?” Peter hugged himself to Tony’s waist and hide a shy smile.

“To you.”

Peter watched as the body disappeared in Bucky’s hands.

“They should know better than to touch what’s mine.” He breathed easily as all trail of Quentin Beck began to erase there in the middle of nowhere, hidden in open landscapes.

Back at the manor Peter stood half naked, only a robe covering his body as Tony applied lotion to his legs.

“And tell me master Peter. What’s yours?” The tint of amused sarcasm was not invisible to Peter and for moments he had the decency to look embarrassed, his cheeks lighting up in color. “The money? Or is it the gun? Are they yours baby?” Tony left the robe on the floor and started to slowly dress the boy in delicate silk shorts.

Peter rose up to his tippy toes and hugged Tony by his shoulders.

“The money is yours. You made it. You earned it. You bled it out.” Peter wanted nothing more than kiss the man in his arms. “Your guns are yours, your designes, your ideas.” Tony held the boy closer and kissed his neck. Peter standing on the bed while he stayed with his feet on the ground, the boy seem taller. “You wanted to know what’s mine...”

Peter could have said so many different things. Jasmine, the club. The house Strange had given him, the car Natasha gifted him for his birthday, so many other material things he had over the years. Yes, Peter had other things but worth killing for was only one.

“You. You are mine. And I won’t let anyone take you from my side.” Good answer.

If Peter was selfish for wanting to hurt anything or anyone who could take Tony away.

He was a madman willing to destroy the world only to see him happy.

“Don’t touch what’s mine.” Said the clever boy once pointing a pristine gun to a man’s forehead once and pulled the trigger the second Tony was to his side.

[sassy-starker]

Out of context lines from Jupiter:

-“He groaned as he flipped through a legal document, trying to figure out why he even owned the company at this point.”

-“Yeah, sure, Tony Stark was a genius superhero with a shit ton of money, but Peter himself was a genius superhero with no money, so it didn’t really matter.”

-“‘Shhh, you’ll hurt Pluto’s feelings’”

-“‘Peter,’ she whispered dangerously, ‘you have ten seconds to tell me why the fuck Tony Stark is in my doorway.’”

-“‘Fuck up his entire life for me, would ya?’”

-“‘You don’t get to talk. You’re practically the king of nerds!’”

-“‘Are . . . are you asking if I’m a sugar baby?’”

(don’t be fooled. Jupiter is extremely angsty, but it does have a happy ending)