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golden-starker · 5 years

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“It needs to be bigger–better.”

The lights were too bright, almost blinding as Peter stood on his little platform, trying to make out Tony’s form on the other side. There’s a constant chatter of people around him, but he drowns it out to focus on his heartbeat. It’s a little too fast, and normally it’s from excitement. But tonight it’s all nerves, thumping heavily in his chest.

His lips and eyelids are caked in gold makeup and glitter, matching the golden leotard enclosing his body. It’s stretched to show off all his muscles, but all Peter can think about it how it probably shows his quickened breaths. Across the arena, Peter can make out the dark blue uniform that Tony wears, which he knows compliments his own with tiny gold stars. He remembers being fitted for his uniform, and the way that his eyes had met Tony’s for the first time that night.

“We’re losing customers, and that means we’re losing money.”

The music stars down below, startling Peter out of his thoughts. He counts quietly to himself before he jumps, hands closing around the bar hanging in front of him. His momentum pushes him forward, swinging towards Tony, who’s coming towards him in perfect unison. Peter lets go of the bar at the same time as he brings his legs up, doing a backwards flip in the air before he reaches out, catching onto Tony’s ankles.

Peter’s knuckles are white as he holds on, knowing he will leave more bruises in addition to all the ones he’d left at practice. He swings with Tony, letting his mind do the counting to prepare for his next move.

“Find a way to make it more thrilling.”

They swing back in the direction they came, and Peter uses his arm strength to propel his body up, letting go of Tony’s ankles a second too late. His heart jumps to his chest, but he’s quick to reassure himself that it doesn’t matter. He does a little twirl in the air, hearing the gasps and applause of the crowd, before he stretches out towards the bar.

His mind is screaming at him for the second he’s behind, but his hands are in reaching distance of the bar now. He tries to close his fingers securely around the bar, but it’s already swinging away from him. The one second he missed flashes before his eyes, his fingers unable to hold his weight as they slip from the bar.

Peter’s fallen plenty of times during practice, proof by the rope burns on his arms and legs. But the owner demanded a more thrilling show to entice customers to continue coming and seeing the dynamic duo, and he’d taken away the literal safety net. The ground rushes up quickly to meet Peter, and he throws his arms up in defense.

The ground is a solid presence that knocks the wind right out of Peter. He gasps for air, his arms crushed underneath his body as pain explodes down his front. Around him are gasps and a few screams, but his heart is beating so fast in his ears that he feels like he might pass out.

He’s halfway into oblivion when soft hands reach him. Even in the state he’s in, Peter would recognize Tony’s hands anywhere. They’re gentle but firm as they grab his shoulder, easing him gently to turn around. Peter can’t stop the cry that leaves his lips as his weight is shifted onto his arm that throbs like a jackhammer.

Tony comes into view quickly, his face a mask of worry as his hand cups Peter’s cheek. He’s talking, but Peter is half delirious with pain that he can’t make out his words. Tony checks him over quickly, and then he’s being jerked away by a bigger man in a suit. Peter recognizes him instantly as Obadiah, their boss. His face is red–almost as red as the tent–and he’s screaming at Peter. The noise hurts his ears, and he closes his eyes as if it would help.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

But when he opens his eyes, he’s on a scratchy cot, staring up at the red and white striped tent. He doesn’t groan like most people do waking up, but he lets his head roll to the side. Tony is sitting next to him, holding one of his hands between his own like it’s the most precious thing in the world. It only takes a second for one of those large hands to wander back to Peter’s face, holding it just as delicately.

“You okay, baby?” He asks, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently over Peter’s soft cheek. Peter lets his eyes close again at the feeling, melting into Tony and his soft hand. There’s quiet around them again for a moment before Tony’s hand finds its way to Peter’s silky curls. Peter hums quietly and lets his eyes open again, brown meeting brown. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”

“No,” Peter murmurs, squeezing Tony’s other hand, twining their fingers together. “I jumped late. My fault.”

Tony chuckled softly, but it came out as more of a choked sound, eyes swimming with tears. “Obadiah is pissed. He wanted to throw you out, but I wouldn’t let him. Not without Bruce fixing you up first.” He pauses, his thumb swiping across Peter’s forehead. “You broke your arm when you landed on it. A couple ribs, too. Bruce says you could be out for six months. I think he went to tell Obadiah the news.”

Peter let his eyes wander down to his casted arm for the first time, a displeased sound leaving his throat as he looked over the heavy cast. “Tony, I can’t- I can’t do my job with a broken arm. But I can’t… I can’t go somewhere else. Not without you.”

“Shh,” Tony murmured, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Peter’s forehead. “Don’t worry about that right now. I’m just so glad you’re okay. It was so scary watching you fall like that. We never should have let Obadiah take away the net like that.”

“But the people, and the money. We had-”

The door flaps fly open as Obadiah storms in, his face dark. Before either performer can say a thing, he jabs his finger in Peter’s direction. “You-” spit flies from his mouth as he talks “-get out.”

“Excuse me?” Tony responds faster than Peter can even sit up.

“I said get out. I don’t want you in my circus anymore. Six months my ass. We’ll be out of business before then!” His face is red with anger, and Peter cowers back on the cot. Tony stood in front of the other boy protectively, glaring back at Obadiah with enough hate to make the man flinch back just a tiny bit.

“You’re not going to fire Peter. The only reason he’s hurt is because you took away our net for the sake of money. This is your fault,” Tony argues, posture rigid and challenging. Peter carefully reached out with his good hand to fist the back of Tony’s uniform, bunching the material between his fingers. He can’t see Obadiah with Tony standing in front of him, but he can certainly feel the anger in the room, and he’s glad it’s not aimed directly at him.

“My fault?” The man practically screams, stepping forward until he and Tony are practically nose to nose, jabbing his finger into Tony’s chest. Tony doesn’t even so much as flinch. “He’s the one who can’t do his job right and now I’m losing one of my top performers and a bunch of customers!”

“You’re not going to fire him.”

Tony’s voice is soft compared to Obadiah’s, an almost eerie calmness taking over. It only seems to anger the man more, and he shoved Tony forcefully out of his way. Peter squeaks when Tony tumbles to the side with the force and he’s left with Obadiah in his face, grabbing the front of Peter’s leotard in both hands and yanking him closer.

“You’re fired,” Obadiah spits, only seeming to take pleasure in the way Peter cowers back. “You hear that, you little shit? You’re done here.”

“Get your fucking hands off him,” Tony snarls, jumping to his feet quickly and shoving Obadiah away from the other boy. Obadiah stumbles a little, but he doesn’t retaliate. He’s already got his point across. Tony comes back over to Peter, checking him over briefly to make sure he was okay before he looks over at his boss. “I quit.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Obadiah has a different expression than anger. Shock is written clearly on his face, and he almost seems frozen in place as Tony helped Peter to his feet, gently leading him towards the tent’s entrance.

“You can’t-” Obadiah sputters, reaching out and grabbing Tony sharply by the elbow. “You can’t quit! You’re the main attraction!”

Tony yanked his arm back, glaring daggers at the man as he continued to usher Peter out. “I can quit, actually. You just fired my only reason for staying.” Tony glances back at Obadiah one last time, and the baffled and frightened look on his face was worth it as the tent flaps fluttered shut.

They’re ten feet from the tent when Peter speaks up. “Tony, that was awesome! I can’t believe you quit for me. Why would you do that?”

Tony smiled, dropping an arm carefully around Peter’s shoulders to pull him closer into his side. “Because I love you, baby. You’re everything to me.” He glanced over at the other boy just in time to see the scarlet blush take over his cheeks. “Besides, Obadiah sucks.” Peter huffed in agreement, and Tony laughed, kissing the top of his head. They didn’t talk about where they would go now, or how they would get there, because for a few short minutes, they were freer than they’d ever been sailing through the air.

Beautiful moodboard that inspired this story was made by the wonderful @spiderboyspice who allowed me to write this piece.

#starker #mcu #marvel #tony x peter #circus #hurt peter #tw// broken bone

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golden-starker · 5 years

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knight!tony, prince!peter

warnings: dark!tony, kidnapping, kind of implied non-con, peter is 20, stay safe beautiful people!

The King's youngest and favorite son, Peter, has been kidnapped

So he calls out for the best and bravest knights of the country to come and save his son from the enemy's hands

The not so reputable knight Tony takes on the task, promising the king to find his son, and the king is sceptical, but he has no better choice; no one else seems up for it

And find him, Tony does — but he never said anything about returning him.

Because as he walks into the dungeon where the boy is held, he sees him, chained up and dirty, eyes red from crying all the time, looking so so desperate and then so fearful when he sees Tony, his pretty eyes welling up once more, and he starts begging, falling to the floor, "please don't hurt me!" — Tony knows he can't give this find, this treasure, away ever again.

So he coos and steps closer, his boots scratching the gravel underneath his feet, and watches with delight as Peter tries to move out of his reach but is stopped by his chains.

He bends down so he's almost at the same height as the young prince and gives him the softest smile he can muster up, and he sees hope bloom in those innocent eyes.

"Good to see you, young prince," He says in mock-surprise and keeps staring into those beautiful doe eyes. Peter gets uncomfortable and looks away, so Tony grips his chin and forces him to keep looking until the boy starts squirming, the flicker of hope burning out again.

So Tony puts on a nice facade again, muttering some excuse and freeing the prince from his restraints. He puts him on his horse and leads him to his own castle ('because the royal family lives too far away', he says, 'a day's journey isn't enough to reach your castle, young prince.').

He brings Peter into a beautifully arranged bedroom and the boy is too tired to notice that there are no windows and that there's a big lock on the only door and he falls asleep right away, which gives Tony plenty of time to chain him to the bed so he can't leave.

The next morning, he checks up on the boy and finds him sitting on the bed, scared and betrayed, not daring to say a word. Tony sits down on the bed's frame much like a father who says goodnight to his son — and he, too, says nothing, just stares at Peter silently for a while.

Peter whimpers a confused question, but Tony doesn't even listen, too busy with his own excitement of unabashedly admiring his newest and by far prettiest conquest.

"I was going to return you to your daddy, you know," Tony muses. "But you're too much of a reputable trophy to throw away like that. Don't you think?"

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