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c-herondale · 1 year

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In TID Gabriel says that Gideon is an unsung comic genius and I think he 100% passed that on to Thomas.

That boy is the funniest mf in the series omg.

A child raised by him AND Alastair Carstairs? The comedic power it would hold.

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luna-almighty-god · 9 days

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from Twitter Suggestion : little drawing of Charles!

#drawing #my art #fanart #henrystickmin #tshc #charles calvin #the henry stickmin collection

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bluedelilah · 6 months

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How much love people have denied themselves through the ages because they believed they did not deserve it. As if the waste of love is not the greater tragedy.

#chain of thorns #cassandra clare #tshc #book quotes #tsc

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babybatscreationsv2 · 2 years

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The Scent of His Cologne Ch1

Marvel | Starker

When Peter was twelve years old he ran away from home. If only he would have known that he wouldn't see his father again for eight years. Now he's broke, living in an apartment the size of a closet and working three jobs to get by. When he meets a handsome stranger at his weekend job he thinks his luck might finally be starting to turn.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings below the cut

Warnings and tags: incest/incest kink, daddy kink, prostitution, mafia au, violence, murder, torture, hurt/comfort, angst but with an eventual happy ending

It was raining. He had been standing there, in the alley, for so long that the rain had soaked through his clothes, but that wasn't the reason he trembled.

Peter Stark, first and only son of The Tony Stark, had run away. Now it was time to face him.

He'd only been gone a few days. He had taken a couple hundred in cash and grabbed a hotel room under a fake name. It had been surprisingly difficult to find someone who was willing to take a bribe over the ID he didn't have. He was only twelve after all. Not old enough to get a hotel room. Even if everyone told him he looked older. Uncle Obediah said they were just flattering him. He said he looked like a baby chipmunk.

The back door to his father's 'totally legitimate' club swung open. Peter quickly turned away and looked for somewhere to hide. He wasn't ready after all.

"Peter," Obediah said. His voice sounded sad.

Peter slowly turned around.

Obediah sighed. "I hoped you wouldn't come home."

Peter shivered. "What... what do you mean?"

Obediah looked at him with pity. "Come see for yourself."

Peter let his uncle guide him into the building. He followed him through the halls which seemed to thump and throb in time with the house music on the other side. They stopped at the open door to the back room where Tony played cards with his friends. His heart fluttered at the sight of his father. He'd missed him so much. All he wanted was to be wrapped in his arms. He needed to hear his voice. He needed to hear him say that it was alright and he forgave him.

That's not what happened.

A boy about Peter's age with neat blond hair stood in front of Tony. He was smiling. Something no one but Peter ever did when they talked to the man. No one had the balls to look at that unforgiving smirk and smile.

Then Tony laughed. Head tossed back, eyes squeezed shut, laughed. Peter's stomach hurt.

Obediah squeezed his shoulder. "He's replaced you, kiddo. The minute you were gone he had another boy already lined up. They just got back from the shooting range."

"You mean-" Peter swallowed. His eyes burned and he ground his teeth to fight back the tears. "He wasn't looking for me?"

Obediah shrugged. "He sent Miller out after you."

Peter swayed, unsteady on his feet. Miller wasn't even a member yet. He wasn't one of the family. He wasn't ever going to be judging by how incompetent he was. Obediah righted him with both hands on his shoulders. "I didn't want you to have to see this. I understand now why you left. Some part of you must have known..."

"Known what?" He was cracking. So close to breaking as he watched his father stand and pat the other boy on the shoulder.

"Your father- well he likes your attention, Peter, but you're as replaceable as the partners he takes to bed. He can't help it really. It's just who he is. I know it must be hard, being his son, but the way he talks about you..." Obediah tisked. "You shouldn't have come back."

Peter took a step back. He couldn't catch his breath. How could have gotten it so wrong? He thought for sure if he ran away his father would go crazy with worry. He'd hunt him down non stop. He wouldn't sleep. All he wanted was his attention. Proof that Tony cared about him despite always being so busy with work. Peter had thought maybe he'd just hidden himself too well, but the truth was that Tony had never tried to find him. He had come home afraid of his anger, but certain he would be relieved to see him. He clearly didn't care that he was gone. He was happy that he was gone.

"What do I do?" Peter sobbed.

Obediah looked down at him as one might a dead frog on their doorstep. "Here, kid. This was for poker night, but you need it more than I do. Just don't come back this time. My heart can't bare it." He handed Peter an unsealed envelope. It was stuffed full of cash.

Peter held it in his hands. He looked at his father. He had his arm around the boy's shoulders and was leading him from the room. Peter turned away and ran.

...

The small of freshly roasted coffee greeted Peter as he entered the cafe. He threw his wallet and keys in the locker and grabbed his apron off the hook. He yawned and stretched his arms high above his head. His back cracked and he couldn't help but smile. Finally. He'd been trying to get that spot to pop for days.

Gwen greeted him with a grumpy scowl as he came out from the back.

"Good morning, sunshine," he laughed.

"Shut your whore mouth," she grumbled.

"Careful. You'll upset Mrs. Brown." Peter smiled and waved at the gray-haired old widow who sat in her usual spot by the window. She had her coffee, but she only liked the omelets the way Peter made them so he got to work making her breakfast.

"I don't get why you're always so happy."

Peter shrugged. "When I'm not here I'm under seven blankets, reliving my childhood trauma."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Yeah well, I was promised I wouldn't have to work on weekends but your bestie took off with her boyfriend to get smashed on spring break."

"Ned isn't MJ's boyfriend, they grew up together."

"And if she was smart she would bag him before he gets that Oscorp job." Gwen pouted again. "I wanted that job."

"It's a minority position, Gwen."

"I know, I know. I'm not against it. They wouldn't hire me because of my record anyway."

Peter sighed. The criminal record that was his fault and that also haunted him as he hid underneath seven blankets. "I'm really sorry, Gwen."

She shrugged, but she wouldn't look at him. "It was worth it to get you out of trouble."

"And I'll keep trying to make it up to you."

She softened. "You don't have to."

"But I'm gonna." Peter grabbed Mrs. Brown's still steaming omelet and carried it over to the table. It seemed to take her a second too long to realize he was there. "Here you are. How's the coffee this morning, ma'am?"

She smiled. "Peter. It's lovely, thank you. And you're always so fast with my breakfast. Looks delicious, dear."

"Let me know if I can do anything else for you."

"Well I was looking for someone to help me rearrange my furniture this evening."

Peter grimaced. "Sorry, Mrs. Brown. I actually work a second job on Saturday nights. How about on Monday?"

"Alright. Monday then. Thank you, Peter." She smiled sweetly and patted the back of his hand where it rested on the table.

"You're too nice," Gwen scolded as he returned. "Stop letting people walk all over you."

"I know how to set a boundary when I need to," he shrugged. "It's just that Mrs. Brown doesn't have anyone. She's all alone."

Gwen frowned.

"What?"

"Is that how you feel, Peter?"

He wondered if she was right as he finished his shift. Loneliness was something he didn't think about. It hurt too much. Besides, how could he be lonely when he was never alone? His days were spent at the coffee shop among coworkers and their many customers. Evenings were spent at the only club in town that wasn't owned by the mafia: The Penthouse.

Despite its name, The Penthouse was a one-story building, if you didn't count the basement. The back door was guarded during business hours. Flash Thompson of all people was on the door today. Peter ignored whatever insult Flash threw at him as he let himself in. He was feeling down after what Gwen said and he wasn't going to let Flash make it worse. Despite Flash's bullying he'd have his back if someone tried to kidnap him on his way out the door. He'd already chased a guy off for him once. He was a jerk, but he had a good heart and Peter figured that was what really mattered.

In the dressing room the gossip was abuzz. Peter laughed and nodded as was expected of him, but his heart wasn't in it. He was lonely. He was.

He looked at his face in the mirror. He'd covered it in silver dust that would sparkle under the stage lights. There was no time to cry about it. He had rent to pay. He couldn't bear living with a roommate and in this city that meant work two jobs or starve. Sometimes three.

Peter covered the rest of his bare skin in glitter. Then he went out to take the stage.

The Penthouse was the regarded as the best gay strip club in town. Or at least Peter regarded it that way. The boss wasn't too sleazy and he kept the pimps and drug dealers out. The one time a trafficker showed up Bruce chased him off with a Glock. They were kept safe and the pay was fair. Plus they got to pick their own music and that was way better than dancing to the Pussycat Dolls every night of the week.

Peter recognized his regulars in the crowd. He spent some time on stage getting them warmed up before he hopped down to work the crowd. A dozen laps and a whole lot of sweat later, he didn't have enough money for the month. Peter sighed as he counted it out. He'd been trying to start a savings account for so long and he still didn't have anything to put in it.The Penthouse was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was how he made ends meet. Even if that meant his whole weekend would be spent bone tired and grinding on married men. So long as the music made it impossible to think, he was golden.

The next night, The Penthouse was unusually packed. The boys in the dressing room all whispered rumors wondering what it was about. A CEO's birthday, the mafia come to take their club, a bachelor party? No one knew. Even the boss hadn't expected them. But when the music started and they started passing out big bills no one had any more complaints. It was amazing what a thong full of fifties could do.

Peter worked the pole, grinding and twisting. The men around his stage seemed to like his innocent coy act so he put it on. He looked just over his shoulder, fluttering his eyes, and when he came to take their cash he tucked his head down shyly. He took a water break and came back out to the floor. The lights were dimmer today. It was hard to see faces, but even low light caught the glimmer of jewelry and one man was decked out. His watch alone looked worth what Peter made in a month and he had a ring on every finger except the one that mattered. Peter licked his lips and crossed the floor to make his move.

"Lookin' for a dance, handsome?"

The man smiled. His eyes were all shadow, but Peter could see the gray flecks in an otherwise dark beard. He couldn't help it if it tickled his daddy issues.

The man held up a hundred dollar bill. "Show daddy what you got, sweetheart."

Peter's stomach fluttered. That had to be the hardest lap dance of his life. He was too turned on and it made him clumsy, but the man didn't seem to care. When Peter sat full on his lap and started grinding on his dick he passed him a bound stack of cash.

His deep voice purred against his neck. "Why don't you show me to the basement, beautiful? I have three more of those for you."

Peter almost moaned. This man had insane money and was hot as hell and he wanted to fuck him. He didn't think twice.

"Yes, sir." Peter slipped off of his lap and took his hand. It was hard not to pull him along at a sprint, but he had to keep the tension up, keep it sultry and enticing.

He pushed open one magenta painted door. The lighting was just as terrible here. The lights in the ceiling were all pink and they cast deep shadows everywhere. Perfect for privacy and setting the mood, but Peter did want to see this man's face. Then again, there was no way that he was as gorgeous as Peter was imagining.

A lot of clients preferred not to kiss him, but this guy took no issue with it. His mouth was on his the moment he turned around, kissing him so deeply that his legs felt weak, but a strong arm held him up.

His legs hit the bed and he was laid back onto it. The client leaned over him. Peter's head was hazy with the press of his lips and the smell of his cologne. All he could do was moan and arch into his touch. He kept telling himself that he needed to focus. He needed to take care of the client, but those hands felt so good on his bare skin, spreading apart his thighs, touching his hard cock through his g-string.

"Look at you melting," he purred with amusement. Peter licked his lips as he pulled back. His hand palmed his cock and Peter whimpered. "You're perfect."

Peter gasped, the words hitting just a little too hard. He needed it. He needed to be perfect for him. He'd do anything for it.

"What's your name?" Peter asked.

"Just call me daddy."

Peter bit down on his lip. This guy was gonna make him cum way too fast. He pulled him into a lingering kiss before crawling out from under him. He went to the nightstand where a basket of lube and condoms waited. As he turned back he caught sight of "Daddy" sliding off his jacket. He watched intently as he rolled up both of his sleeves.

"Bring that here, sweetheart," he called. Peter shivered. He wasn't supposed to get this affected by the clients. He didn't hate the sex typically, but it was more just part of the job. In all fairness, the guy was practically romancing him with how he pressed him into the bed and kissed him as he slipped the condom on.

Peter's legs were spread, wide, begging. His g-string tossed aside. Daddy took the invitation to squeeze himself inside. He was big too. Not so bad it hurt, but just the right size that Peter was helpless to put on any sort of performance.

"You're such a pretty little thing aren't you?" Daddy purred. "Listen to you whimpering."

Peter blushed. He usually toned down his whining. Sometimes clients complained. Daddy kissed his neck and he gasped. He reached up and put his hands on his shoulders.

"Daddy," he moaned.

"Is that the spot, baby?" He rolled his hips, nudging at that spot Peter barely remembered existed at this point. Was he really getting paid for something that felt this good?

"Yes, daddy please."

Daddy kissed him again. "You're so sweet. I'll have to come back for more of this. A man could get addicted to a pretty thing like you."

Peter whined and daddy pushed in deeper, filling him up until he groaned and his nails dug into his back. He was so big and when he moved, oh god, when he fucked him- he never wanted it to end. All he could was hang on and stare up at that shadowy face. He could make out a beard, dark eyes maybe, some gray in his hair. He could have been his father. It made him feel guilty, but the thought of being fucked as if his dad actually wanted him, as if he cared about him.

"Can you cum for me, sweetheart? I want to hear you."

Peter slid his hand down between them. He was pretty close already. He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked it while daddy fucked him stupid.

"That's it. You sound so pretty, baby. Cum for me."

Nails biting into his shoulder, screaming up at the ceiling, Peter came. Daddy kissed his neck and a moment later he was cumming too.

He would have gotten himself a condom if he'd known he was going to end up cumming like that. He'd made a mess of the poor guy's shirt, and after he'd fucked him so good too. He tried to apologize but daddy just laughed.

"It's a compliment, baby. Don't worry about it." He cleaned himself up with a towel and came back with another one for Peter. He took it from him quickly before he could make this encounter any more intimate.

Daddy picked up his discarded jacket from the end of the bed. Peter caught the gleam of a gun in the low light. Then he took out another three big bands of cash as promised. He set the money on the bed next to Peter. Then he bent down for a last kiss that made his stomach flutter.

"Thank you," he said.

"Any time," Peter stuttered. This guy was unreal. It almost made him jealous to think he was this sweet to the other guys, but he snapped himself out of it real quick. One good fuck was no reason to go getting all heart-eyed.

Peter picked up the money as daddy left the room. Each was a full band of hundred dollar bills. He flipped through the bills searching for some kind of trick, but no. They were all hundreds. He grabbed his g-string and all but ran back out to the floor. He ran around the bar and grabbed the pen beside the cash register.

"Everything okay, Peter?" said the bartender who's name was also Peter, but he was older and taller with a sort of goofy smile.

"Yeah, yeah just uh-" Peter swiped the pen across the bills. He twisted and turned them in his hand checking over every inch. He couldn't find a single fake. Not one. They were either legit or really well made. He looked up at the room. A couple of guys at the bar were staring, but daddy was long gone. He looked at the other Peter. The other Peter looked at the four full bands in Peter's hands.

Forty-grand. He just got paid 40-grand.

#marvel #starker #inc*st #mafia au #au fic #hurt/comfort #tshc

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faceyourfear · 2 years

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what do you think is Terry's best or favorite memory?

He doesn't have any?

Or maybe it was the summer of 1958. He and his Mom had left the family Estate to visit her parents. His grandfather whom he had just met for the first time, took him fishing in a lake. His grandmother showed him how to bake the family's traditional soda bread. It was there he found the meaning of belonging to a family that respected tradition.

Returning home, he had to forget everything he felt with that side of the family. His Mother's family.

So it's strange, but the next time he feels that same connectionwas with Kreese in Vietnam. Returning in USA, after being released, they decided for a roadtrip. That's his second favourite memory. Those days they saw rural America. Right before he continued with his education...

So it has to do something with family or Kreese/Cobra Kai because he connects those with legacy. His legacy.

Also, let’s be honest, if Barnes had won in 1985, those momths playing Daniel would have been a good memory.

#TSHC

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thirstghosting · 1 month

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"mm, tshc, hmm. well. people can't be trans *this* way with *these* pronouns because then it would be impossible to generalize them on even a lexical level"

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dubcvapor · 1 year

Video

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telnews-in · 2 years

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TSHC Result 2022 - TS High Court JA, Steno, Typist Merit List

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vunusuhigaj · 2 years

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lvciethorn · 2 years

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+ HEADER & ICONS Lucie Herondale

twitter (@lvciethorn)

ART @NicoleDealArt

[ PSD Color - Roses by wrendee ]

Don't claim as your own.

Please fav or Reblog.

Don’t manipulate my work.

Thank you! ♡

#lucie herondale #herondale #lucie blackthorn #blackthorn #the mortal instruments #the infernal devices #the last hours #chain of thorns #chain of iron #chain of gold #shadowhunters chronicles #tshc #cassandra clare #tessa gray #will herondale #icons #header #twitter #Twitter Icons

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babybatscreationsv2 · 2 years

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The Scent of His Cologne ch3

Marvel | Starker

When Peter was twelve years old he ran away from home. If only he would have known that he wouldn’t see his father again for eight years. Now he’s broke, living in an apartment the size of a closet and working three jobs to get by. When he meets a handsome stranger at his weekend job he thinks his luck might finally be starting to turn.

Warnings below

Peter skipped out on the club the following weekend. He didn't need the money and he didn't want to risk his father showing up again. He stayed home, under his blankets, crying. You would think after eight years it wouldn't hurt so much, but the fear, the betrayal, the abandonment, they were all still there. He barely ate anything. He didn't leave his bed. He just cried it out until it was time to return to the cafe. On Monday morning, Peter left his apartment and put on his usual smile. He was going to make the best of today just like he did every day. Just like he had made the best of everything that had come before. But there on the curb in front of his building was a shiny black omen on doom. His smile faded away. Happy Hogan stepped out of the car. He held his hands out in peace. "It's just me, kid." He walked around the car. The pain in his eyes broke Peter's heart. He stood there and let Happy come to him. Strong arms wrapped around him and he fell into his chest. "Happy," he sobbed. "It's okay, kid. You're okay." Peter wrapped his arms around him. He almost smiled. He wasn't as big as he remembered. Happy used to look like a giant to him. Now they were about the same height. "I can't believe we found you," Happy sighed. "I'm sorry it took so long." Peter sniffled. "It might have helped if you'd actually looked." Happy pushed him back with his hands on his shoulders. His expression was stunned. "If we actually looked? Peter I was out all night looking for you. One minute past curfew without hearing from you and I was out searching. I didn't come back until almost noon the next day and that was only because Tony threatened me. He said I wouldn't be any good to you if I didn't get any sleep. We both regretted me coming back at all. What if a minute more out on the street would have been enough to spot you?" He shook his head. His eyes teared up but he sniffed and straightened up. "Where have you been, kid? Tony said something about a strip club?" He raised his eyebrows in a scowl. "You're not being trafficked are you? You can tell me. I'll make them regret it." Peter laughed. "It's nothing like that, Hap. But, you said you looked for me?" "Yeah. Of course I did! Are you kidding? I can't believe you just asked me that. Of course I did. Me and nearly all of the boys. We were out searching for weeks. Tony- your poor father. He wouldn't eat for days. He lost so much weight he looked like a corpse. We had to threatened to call a doctor." Peter shook his head. "That's not true." Happy sighed. "Tony said you wouldn't believe me. He said you were too angry and hurt and I don't blame you. Of course you would be, but I'm begging you, kid. At least let him explain." Peter stared at the sidewalk. It still hurt so badly, but what Happy said didn't make any sense. He saw them. They were practically celebrating that he was gone. Tony was happy. He had been laughing. He hadn't wanted him. "You really looked for me?" Happy's frown deepened. "Tony wants to explain it all to you himself. I shouldn't say anything, but since you're still not convinced... it's about Obediah." Peter was stunned. "What about him?" "I promised Tony I'd let him tell you. He said he wanted to put all of the pieces together before he made any decisions." "Happy, what did Obediah do?" Obediah was a friend of Tony's father. He had been loyal to the family for over fifty years now. When he told Peter that Tony didn't want him, he had believed him without question just as his father had and his grandfather. He didn't want to hope that Obediah had lied, but if there was any chance that Peter could have his dad back... he couldn't resist. Happy stepped back. He grabbed the car door handle and pulled it open. "Come home and get your answers." ---------- Peter texted Gwen and let her know he'd be late. She chewed him out for it, but he just apologized and turned off his phone. He didn't need anything else to worry about. His mind was already too busy. They pulled into the garage beneath Stark Tower. Happy parked next to the elevator. No less then ten of Tony's people stood guard. One of them ran to get Peter's door. "Welcome home, Mr. Stark," they said. "Thank you," Peter said, but it didn't feel right. He wasn't really a Stark anymore. Yet, as he stepped into the elevator next to Happy, he was home. As he watched the numbers on the display grow Peter's throat began to feel thick. At least Tony wasn't at the club tonight. He wasn't sure he could handle seeing it again. He avoided the street it was on like the plague. He didn't feel angry this time. Just scared. What if he was wrong? What if he got rejected again? He shouldn't have come. It wasn't worth the pain. "I can't do this," he breathed. Happy put a hand on his shoulder. "Your father loves you, Peter. That might be hard to believe right now, but you can trust me." His words didn't stop him from feeling sick. He felt terrified. As if he were running for his life but he was standing still. Happy's hand stay on his shoulder and Peter focused on that. He trusted Happy. Happy would keep him safe. He always... almost always, had. Peter swallowed back his tears. He could face his father with tears in his eyes. He wasn't a kid anymore. It was time they talked like men. The elevator stopped at the top, but the doors didn't open until Happy punched in the code. It was still the same. Peter's birthday but backwards. His dad had come up with that when Peter started taking off on his own. Well, when he thought he was going on his own. Later he found out that Happy followed him everywhere. He had only ever stopped because Peter made him. Guilt twisted his stomach. Happy must have been worried sick when he took off. The doors slid open and Happy stepped out, but Peter hesitated. "Hey, Happy?" "Yeah, kid?" He looked over his shoulder. "I'm sorry." Happy looked into his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded. "It's okay, Peter." He followed Happy out. The doors rolled shut behind him. Every step forward he took was heavy and slow. Then he was in the den, standing in front of the electric fire place, surrounded by modern furniture whose coldness was broken up by family photos and the red and gold painting over the mantel. Tony stood tall in the frame with Peter in front of him. His head only came up to his chest. Tony's expression was strong and protective while Peter smiled with shining innocence. The the painter had captured them in that moment so perfectly. Now it just broke his heart. He hoped it hurt every time his father looked at it. Finally he let his eyes move down to where his dad sat on the couch. The glass in his hand was empty, like he'd drained it and then forgotten. Like his guilt was too distracting. "Peter," he said. Peter closed his eyes. He'd missed his voice. He really had. Yet, it sounded so familiar. Peter cleared his throat. Then he sat down on the loveseat opposite his father. "Happy said I should hear you out. So, here I am." Tony nodded and sat forward. He put the glass on the stand beside him. "I'm sorry, Peter-" "I don't want to hear it. Just tell me what you needed to tell me." Peter glanced down at the floor. Maybe he wasn't strong enough to face him without crying after all. He nodded again and took a breath. "The night you disappeared, Happy called me. He said you were gone and he couldn't find you anywhere. I assume you remember, I had a meeting that evening at the club. You had asked to come along, but I was always afraid things would go poorly and you would get caught in the middle of it. I would do anything to keep you safe, Peter." He paused, but Peter said nothing. His eyes were pleading. "As soon as Happy called, I sent a group after you. I called your phone a dozen times and when you didn't answer I sent everyone. I ran home but you weren't there and you'd left your phone. I knew wherever you went you didn't want to be found." Tony swallowed. His hand scratched against the leg of his pants. "I was out all night. We all were. I must have threatened half the city, but we couldn't find any evidence that you were kidnapped and no one had seen you. Obediah suggested that you must have ran away. I knew he was right, but I couldn't believe it. I couldn't understand why you would do something like that." Peter looked away. His face burned. The only answer he could give was so childish, but it wasn't his turn to talk. He wanted to hear the story. "I went home as the sun came up. We kept searching the next day. I had people out looking twenty-four-seven, but I knew we wouldn't find you until you wanted to be found. You're my son after all," he smiled. "Then I was back at the club for dinner with Fisk and his family before they left town. It was agony, sitting there laughing with Fisk's son while you were still missing, but my only hope was that you would come home." His voice broke and his eyes began to water. Peter couldn't remember ever seeing his father cry. He almost stood up and went to his side. "Then Obediah came in. Just after Fisk left. He said you were dead." Tony sucked in a breath. "He said he found you, but he was too late. He said that he saw you get shot. And your body fell into the river. We searched for days. We never found a body. I go out there every so often as if you might wash up on the bank some day. But here you are, alive. Perfect." "You thought I was dead?" Tony nodded. "I've been mourning you this whole time. When I found out you were working at the Penthouse I couldn't believe it. I thought you must have been trafficked and Obediah was in on it, but Bruce swore to me that you had come to him." Peter nodded. "I did. I needed the money and I'm a good dancer." His dad's face turned red. Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm an adult now. I can do whatever I want." "Of course..." Tony swallowed. After a moment he recovered from whatever thought had set him off. "Why did you run away, Peter?" Peter stared off at the wall. His eyes stung as the memories came back. He'd expected to have this conversation so long ago. "I felt ignored. You kept pushing me away. You said you wanted me to take over the business some day, but when I tried to get involved and make you proud you kept shutting me down. I thought that if I ran away you would search for me. Then I could see how much you cared, how much you loved me, and I would feel better. But when I came to the club to find you, Obediah stopped me." Tony straightened. His expression hardened. It made Peter shiver. He knew that look. Obediah was still alive, but he wouldn't be for long. Most importantly, it was a look that meant his father truly did love him. That Obediah would die slowly and painfully for keeping them apart. Good. "He told me that you weren't looking for me. That you had only sent some rookie after me and everyone else was home. Then he took me inside. It must have been during your meeting with the Fisk's. I saw you with Richard. I didn't recognize him. You looked so happy with him and after what Obediah said it was easy to believe you didn't care about me." "What did he tell you?" His throat felt thick. He struggled to get the words out. "That you weren't looking for me because you had already replaced me." "Peter, I could never replace you. You're my whole world. You always have been." His eyes welled with tears. "Come here, Peter." Without hesitating, Peter stood and threw himself across the space and into his father's arms. His hold was tight around him, squeezing him to his chest. They both sobbed, agonized by the years they had lost.

#marvel #starker #mafia au #hurt/comfort #angst #inc*st #tshc

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