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starkwub · 2 years

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(Tw. Starkercest and dark subject matters implied)

Turned into a bit of a belly kink thing too--but what of my content doesn't? XD

Apologies if the pacing feelings a bit strange at times—I wrote this before going to bed last night while listening to "memoir #2 - mayroosevelt" on repeat ha (good music, but always makes me think)

I proofread it aloud (changed a few small things) and put it through google docs squiggly line test—but alas some things may not be caught ..

I do hope you enjoy if you wish to read on :)

— — —

Snow fell at Peter's feet as he looked out over the white covered streets and trudged through side-walks.

His heart was heavy and his body felt as if there were shackles tied to it, and is nose ran as he stuffed his hands into the jacket he had taken from the rack--his father’s jacket.

He dared to key the car he saw parked in front of their apartment just because he knew who it belonged to. A woman--the woman that his father had been seeing for the past 6 months.

He'd invited her over, and when Peter had simply had enough of their lovey-dovey attitude, he'd offered to run down the road to get a few things--and he did--sort of.

Peter looked down at the plastic bag straps that were wrapped around his coat covered forarm, and gave the car beside him one last hate-filled glance before heading towards the door and up the stairs to where he knew he'd find the both of them.

He hoped he wouldn't have to walk in on anything..

See his father’s tongue down her throat or see her hand pressed up against his erection--it was all too much for him to bear right now.

Usually he could push past it, but he didn't think he could keep his tears under control this time--or maybe he was a bit worried they wouldn't come. That he would be stuck in a perpetual state of a void in his emotional output.

He kicked the snow off his soaked converse and announced himself clear as day--and was happy to know that he wouldn't be walking in on them making out on the couch or having sex over the counter.

He wondered if his friends also had regular thoughts of their father participating in sexual encounters, or if he was alone in all that.

From what he looked up, most people called them intrusive thoughts..some people blamed it on trauma. Some people just said it was a sin in and of itself and that he--or anyone else for that matter--deserved to be locked up for life.

A sick sick boy you are Peter, he thought as he put the grocery bag on the table.

"Peter?" He heard his father call from the other room--and upon putting away the last of the random items he'd gotten from the store, heard his name be whined out once more.

"Peeter.."

He walked across the kitchen to the living room to see his father staring right back at him with a smile. He had an arm around the woman of the hour, and the other was resting across his large-stuffed gut.

Must be drunk.

"Yeah dad?" He asked, quirking a brow.

The man pat the space beside him and motioned to the screen, "We're just about to put a movie on but we wanted to wait for you--"

We? Or just you?

Tell me--

"--so grab your daddy a beer and get your ass over here."

Peter's gut burned at the word--at the tone--at the simple command.

He nodded nonetheless though and did as he was told--grabbing his father two drinks instead of one because he was a sick minded boy, and flicked the lights off as he headed over.

He was soon stopped mid-motion though when his dad felt the wet of his hair--

"Peter! you're freezing cold--and wet.. god okay." and soon he was maneuvering out of the drunk woman's hold to pull at his shoulder--tugging him up and in the direction of his room.

"Dad what're you doing?--" he hurried out in a hushed tone.

"Getting you into something a bit more comfortable.. you're freezing Pete. Why did you go out there anyways? We had everything we needed."

Peter could hear the hint of confusion, and a bit of hurt if he were to listen really close--but simply shrugged and watched his father fumbling for his light switch.

Sometimes he was jealous of the kids that could hug their fathers without it being weird--and it wasn't like it was weird in a sexual way..it just..

Peter reached out and flicked the light on himself--his fingers brushing against his father’s making his skin suddenly burn (or was that the cold?).

No it was more than that..it always felt like he couldn't quite get close enough--or that he knew if he hugged for too long then maybe his father would push him away.

Maybe it was because when he was a kid he'd hug his teachers and they'd always give him a 5 second rule before pushing him away—leaving him to wonder why there was a limit.

Peter looked down at his hands for a moment, noting the red tint and the way they were stiff when he flexed his joints--but was suddenly surprised to see a t-shirt, boxers--as well as a pair of sweatpants entering his line of sight.

Tony was always so busy..always his father but never his dad.

Rolling his shoulders, Peter went to head towards the bathroom in the hall when he suddenly felt a hand gripping his bicep, keeping him in place.

"Just get ready here dummy--jeez." Tony muttered as he went to take a heavy seat against his cozy twin.

There were a few moments of hesitation on his part, but was calmed by the soft breathing of his father and the way he leaned back on the mattress--exhausted from the look of it.

His belly protruding up—and Peter’s mouth ran dry as he watched his father’s large, tan hand cascade across it.

"Something on your mind?" Peter dared to ask as he removed his wet socks and jeans first, "Work been hard?"

He bit back more of what he could add, waiting to see if his father wished to speak at all--or if he planned to keep it to himself like usual.

He knows he did it as to not worry him..but sometimes Peter thought it was worse not knowing as opposed to knowing because at least then he'd be in the loop about his father’s life.

Peter removed his t-shirt next, and cringed at how cold his skin was and how wet his hair had been from the snow falling before.

"Work's always a pain." Tony muttered, peaking Peter's interest immediately because by god he was talking to him.

"I've missed you too Pete.." He heard in a mumbled tone of voice, "Glad to see you back on your break."

Peter was just putting on a new pair of boxers after his nerdy t-shirt when he noticed his father looking at him from his propped up position--Peter's pillow now making for a good headrest.

There was a still moment where his father’s eyes ran over him as if he were a statue rather than a boy, but as soon as the gaze was noticed—it was fleeting.

"Help me up Pete." He murmured again, and Peter couldn't help but hurryingly comply.

It had been so long.. He was nearly 20 and it had been almost 6 years since his father had meandered into his room to simply have a bit of back and forth chit-chat.

Peter wished he could remember what happened all those years ago, but regretfully, nothing ever came to mind.

Peter took hold of his old man's hand and when he was up--Peter suddenly noticed he wasn't letting go. He watched as his father held a steady grip on his hand--doing nothing except for staring at it.

"D-Dad?" He whispered.

Silence once again followed, but as he was asked to help him up again--his fathers body nearly falling on his own, Peter noticed the melancholy in his eyes and the way his hair was a bit greasier than usual.

"I'll see you in there."

and before Peter could do anything more, he was once again, alone.

Alone--cold without the touch of Tony's hand on him--

Had he done something wrong? To not deserve more time--more attention--more affection and love?

Peter heard the faint mumble of a voice, but had otherwise tried not to think about the woman awaiting him on the couch that was accompanying his father..

He didn't want to think about her. All he wanted was the man--Tony--his father--

Flicking the light off a lot slower than he normally did, his bare feet padded down the hall to find that his father's face was the only one illuminated by the screen.

"Where's um.."

"I sent her home." His father said matter-of-factly.

What??

"But dad she's drunk--how--"

"Uber--a taxi--I gave her the money for it--and plus she's not that sloshed. She had a right enough mind not to argue with me about it which I think counts towards some level of sobriety when it comes to her."

"So often am I having to pry her away at night.." He muttered, seething under his breath as he popped a beer bottle open and took a long swig.

"But..the movie--she wanted to watch the movie."

Peter watched his father down a bit more of his drink before giving him a look--a stare, if anything.

It was cold in nature, but heated coming from Peter's perspective. His spine shivered and his gut was kicking itself as Peter forced himself to look away.

"Sounds like you wanted her around--"

"You want her around dad, and I..well.."

"Yeah yeah I know how it goes." Tony huffed out, patting the spot before him once more.

"Sit."

Sit? What am I, a dog?

Peter's steps were hesitant, yet quickened as he neared closer and closer to his father’s side.

He was warm and soft..a heavy presence beside him that nobody but him could possibly fill.

Peter looked over at him as the movie flickered to life and his father wrap an arm around his smaller frame--his large hand rubbing up and down his bicep.

It was a good movie--he figured it was at least as he watched some random car get blown up into a million pieces.

He wondered if, since his dad had gotten up and gotten a bit more to drink, he'd be able to get away with something.

To get away with..

well..

Peter's heart rate quickened its pace and his mouth seemed to water at the idea of wrapping his arm around his father’s gut.

Feeling the warmth..the strength..

feeling close.

He wondered how many problems would be fixed in his life if he wasn't afraid his father would think him a total weirdo for wanting some type of physical attention from him.

He used to get kisses goodnight and hugs after school--maybe even a high five or a fist bump when he'd done a real good job on a homework assignment.

Peter's eyes filled with tears as he felt his body pressed up against his father’s own--and as his head rested against the other man's chest--he wondered..

Just..

Peter heard the familiar clank of glass and the click of a hand-held bottle opener, and knew this might be the only chance he's got.

To touch him. Feel him..

Hold him..

With a hesitant hand and a shaking set of fingers, Peter let his hand roam across his father’s stuffed belly--

"Mmph.." He heard his Father grunt--his own hand suddenly patting Peter on the arm--

" A little lower would ya.." He murmured out--a clear slur evident. Peter felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants, and nearly pulled away--but upon realizing his dad..

"Be daddy's good boy.."

Peter suddenly fell lax against his father as his hand continued to rub across the tight old t-shirt--his fingers occasionally drifting over the line of hot, hair covered skin that peaked from where the shirt wasn't quite reaching.

Peter felt his father pull him closer after a few moments of rubbing, and when he felt a kiss being placed against his head--Peter gripped the shirt a bit, scared, exhilarated--and aroused all at the same time.

Please do it again, he pleaded within his brain, and when he did, Peter melted even more.

"Your daddy's a sick man Peter. Surprised you came back at all."

Sick?

"Sick?" Peter asked, suddenly a bit concerned, though he was quickly shot down with a chuckle from beside him.

"Sick in the head, Pete.." and he sighed then, Peter suddenly feeling the man squeeze him one last time before his body was shifting away.

Peter's eyes widened even more as tears began to rim the area making his vision blurred in the dark--

"Dad?.." Peter asked, voice nearly cracking at the word.

"I think it'd be best if we get on to bed.."

"B-But.." and Peter suddenly was met with the action on the screen that was still playing, though the volume was low, "but the movie--we can't not finish the movie."

"You finish it then--tell me how it goes in the morning." His father murmured before standing up and stretching a bit, hands filled with dark glass bottles.

Peter stared down at them before noticing the tent that was evident in the other man's pajama pants--it was clear even through the tears hazing his vision.

It was clear even through the thick darkness that surrounded them--and all Peter could do was sit there.

Sit, think--realize he wasn't the only one.

Realize he wasn't crazy--

Impulse is what coursed through Peter's veins as his heart pumped out pure liquid courage--

"Daddy d-don't go." Peter whined into the night--his hand wrapping around his father’s wrist with a tight, shaking grip.

"Don't leave me."

His father turned on his heel after a few stagnant moments of silence.

"Peter.."

"Please--please just sit down." He pleaded.

The man continued to stand, staring down at him and watching with his roaming eyes at the way Peter's free hand patted the space he'd once occupied.

"Hold me daddy..please just.." and suddenly his voice grew wet and his vision blurred even more.

What if he didn't listen? What if he left again like last time?

He didn't think he could handle another five years when one December evening he got this.

All of this--and for what?

Peter felt his body shake as a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around him--hands splayed.

"I-I think I'm sick too." He stuttered out past sniffling cries, "Daddy don't leave me alone."

Peter felt his body pulled against the other--and as he listened to the gentle hushing and felt the rubbing on his back begin, his father spoke.

"I could never leave you.." he muttered as his father’s hand ran through his soft head of brown, drying curls.

"I'm so sorry Peter.."

Sorry for what?

Making him sick?

Making him love his father the way nobody ever should?

Peter cried even harder into his father’s soft chest and figured he'd never say it was okay, but he also figured that forgiveness would soon follow regardless.

They were sick together now, after all..and they would die together too.

END

— — —

Golly gosh ha--anyways. I wrote this last night at a stunning 2:32 am so it of course got a bit angsty

It kinda felt like Peter regressed almost with the use of ‘daddy’ at the end—but who knows. Maybe he was just doing it to gain the attention of his father since he’d heard it a few times already that night :P

Hope ya'll are doing okay tho <3

#starker #ironman x spiderman #tony stark x peter parker #starker fic #starkercest #why is it always so late when I write this stuff #i have another one I wrote last week I believe but it’s pretty dark—#maybe I’ll save it for a whumptober prompt ha

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pleasetakethis · 1 year

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Chain Reactions

Written for the Fluffity Fluff Exchange 2023 on AO3! Reveals went live a few days ago but I’m wrapped up in some other exchanges at the moment and didn’t get a chance to post this.

Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8.3k Tags: Marriage of Convenience, Las Vegas, Sex Pollen, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Porn With Plot, Barebacking, Anal Sex Summary: Fury sent Tony and Peter to Vegas to intercept a dangerous artifact. Tony's only denied his feelings toward Peter for years, while Peter interpreted Tony's behavior as rejection. What could possibly go wrong with a marriage of convenience and a casino vault break-in? Read @ AO3

#starker #ironspider #starker fic #tony stark/peter parker #tony/peter #my first official foray into starker~#it's one of my favorites #i had a blast writing this #bri writes

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infinity-sansa · 8 months

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I'm experiencing an intense whiplash from a story that was just supposed to be a random prompt for last year's @tropetember at first and I don't know how to feel about it. What was just a simple hero changed into a villain for the plot is suddenly becoming an A/B/O story? WTF myself. I didn't sign up for that. Why. What am I supposed to do with this information now.

#my fanfictions #starker #WTF #I know I love my bottom!Tony but it's ridiculous #I swore to write only ONE Omega!Tony come on #I'm on chapter 7 btw

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somewhatclear · 4 months

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beating hearts

astarion/staeve | 500 words

Astarion swallowed one last time and pulled away, mindful not to rip more skin than he'd already injured, licking the wound to encourage clotting. He found Staeve smiling up woozily at him, his eyelids heavy and slow, his freckles and his scar starker against the pale complexion of the recently bloodless. “Oh, dear,” Astarion murmured, taking his chin between two fingers to pull him closer and to have a better look at his face. “You seem loopier than usual, love. Did I take too much?”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53434042

my friend jiiuu told me about this lovely headcanon of theirs about vampires having a heartbeat while they're feeding and i had to write this silly, fluffy thing while i struggled to sleep.

thank you @velnna for letting me play with staeve again.

#self #bg3 #staeve #baldur's gate 3 #tavstarion #staevstarion

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stinglesswasp · 1 month

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Hello, I read your recent mini comic... and I can’t understand how one of the phrases is translated "These tatties're pure boggin', I'd murder fer some proper tidy scran.." As I understand it, it’s not just English.. could you write this phrase in English?..

😂😂😂 I'm so sorry for the confusion, here it is in Actual English:

"These potatoes are absolutely disgusting, I'd murder for some nice tasty food.."

And a couple more translations in case others are mystified: "Good craic lads, I'm fair puckled" -> "I had a really good time lads, I'm exhausted" "Aye, got so blootered one Hogmanay I ran starkers through a buncha jaggies" -> "Yeah, I got so drunk one New Years Eve that I ran naked through a bunch of stinging nettles" (classic Soap) "You're off your trolley, mate" -> "You're insane, mate"

(Note: I just googled these slang phrases and it's not indicative of how I think these characters or British folks in general typically talk. Just having a wee bit of fun ☕)

#asks

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monster-cock69 · 1 year

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tony finding kid peter who was being experimented on after they raid a hydra base and taking him in but not really doing anything with him until one day peter decides to say fuck it and jumps his bones

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #someone please write this #prompt #iron man #spiderman #avengers #marvel #and then they fuck #and they were towermates #guys sometimes a post pops up in my notifs so I click it and BAM massive typo #why did no one tell me #but also thanks for not telling me

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graceful-starker · 7 months

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Tony the Friendly Ghost

Summary: Peter's house is haunted by a very friendly, very horny ghost.

Warnings: mild dub-con for a second there, Tony is a ghost, mild come inflation, mostly just an excuse to write ghost porn ngl.

Notes: Blame @the-mad-starker for this one, ngl lol. I might add more to this AU, but I wanted to get the first installment out on Halloween. Happy Halloween!

~~~

Peter isn’t crazy, okay? His apartment is just haunted. He doesn’t care that MJ rolls her eyes in disbelief or that Ned laughs at him for believing in ghosts. There’s definitely, 100%, for sure a ghost in his apartment.

Peter winces as his ghost moves his couch loudly, the legs screeching horribly against the floor and thudding into the wall. “Okay, that’s really unnecessary!” Peter yells, walking into the living room and putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t afford to leave, you’re stuck with me, okay? You don’t have to rearrange all my furniture in protest.”

He doesn’t get a response; he isn’t sure his ghost even can. He’s never seen it, never heard it. He can only see what it does to his home. So far, at least. The couch is pulled back from the wall and slammed back into it again.

Peter sighs in annoyance, cocking his head to the side and staring at the couch. “Whatever, it looks better there anyway.”

The couch skirts across the floor, back to its original position, and Peter rolls his eyes as hard as he can. “Oh, fuck you. You’re just being annoying for the sake of it now.”

There’s no response, and Peter puffs out another sigh. “Stop rearranging my furniture, we’re going to get a noise complaint.”

There’s no response yet again, and Peter hums and turns to go back to his room. “Thank you,” he mumbles softly. He opens his door and gasps. “You asshole!” he yells, looking at his clothes flying out of his dresser. “Stop that!”

His ghost doesn’t, so he angrily grabs a towel and slams the bedroom door behind him to leave his ghost to their temper tantrum.

He locks the door to the bathroom as if that will stop the ghost from coming in and turns the shower to be extra hot. He strips and puts his clothes in the hamper, grumbling to himself under his breath.

He takes perhaps the angriest shower of his life, scrubbing furiously at his body and aggressively lathering his hair. “I should have known the rent was too good to be true,” he mumbles to himself, getting out of the shower and grabbing his towel. He’s calmed down a bit, has resigned himself to his fate of refolding all his clothes.

He finishes drying off his hair and wraps it around his hips, looking up at the vanity. He blinks, cocking his head to the side. In big blocky letters, drawn out in the steam on his mirror, is TONY.

“Tony?” he asks, and watches it be underlined. “Oh, your name is Tony,” he mumbles. “That’s a nice name.”

He doesn’t get a response, and Peter hums in thought. “I’m Peter,” he offers, feeling a bit silly. But Tony started it. “This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, you know. We can get along.”

YES appears on his mirror, and Peter smiles at it. “See? This’ll be great.”

Tony likes to talk to him, Peter has discovered. He likes leaving messages on the mirror whenever Peter showers, likes to ask questions and get Peter talking for long periods of time.

It got to the point where Peter decided: why limit this? He buys three white boards, sticks them to the walls in his kitchen, livingroom, and bedroom. Tony is very happy with these purchases, and has a preference for the red marker.

Peter has decided that Tony is an asshole, but he isn’t all that bad really. He’s kind of sweet too, and a good listener. He cares about Peter’s life, asks questions about it and encourages him to talk about it to Tony.

As far as ghosts go, Peter is sure he’s lucked out.

Peter laughs as he reads the question left for him in the bedroom, shaking his head fondly. “No, MJ isn’t my girlfriend. And she doesn’t even believe me when I tell her about you, she’s a real asshole like that. She’s not coming over any time soon.”

MJ IS NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND?

“No, I don’t have one,” Peter says, shrugging. “I was dating Wade for a while, but we decided to just be friends instead.”

BOYFRIEND?

Peter frowns. “Oh, god, what time period are you from? I didn’t think to ask. People can do that now, it’s fine to be gay or whatever else now.”

NOT AN ISSUE.

“Oh, good,” Peter says, grinning at the board. “Because you’ve really grown on me, it would be a shame to find out my favorite ghost is homophobic.”

YOU KNOW OTHER GHOSTS?

Peter snorts, rolling his eyes fondly. He sits on the bed, crossing his legs. “Jealous?” There’s no response, and Peter giggles softly. “I don’t know any other ghosts, it was just a joke.”

I’M ALONE.

Peter frowns, taking in the words slowly. Tony must have been terribly lonely, before Peter came around. “Well, I’m here now. And you aren’t getting rid of me any time soon, we’ve already established this.” He tries to joke, but it sounds sad.

It’s quiet for a long time after that, the marker hovering in the air as if Tony is holding it limp at his side. Then the marker is placed down, and the door to Peter’s room shuts.

Peter sighs sadly, deciding to use the privacy while he has it; since Tony is invisible, he never knows for sure if he’s watching. He only knows if Tony does something like that; closes his door, or moves stuff around in another room.

Peter hums to himself as he gets out of the shower, drying off and wrapping his towel around his waist. His toothbrush is knocked over, and he looks at the mirror with a frown.

WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

“No where,” Peter says, turning and opening the door. “I just wanted to get clean.” He makes his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He opens a drawer in his dresser, before he looks over his shoulder at an insistent tapping noise. The marker is tapping against the whiteboard, and Peter sighs and walks over.

NO PLANS?

“Nope,” Peter says, turning back around. “Let me get dressed, we can talk-hey!”

Tony has ripped his towel away, throwing it across the room and leaving him naked. The marker is back on the white board, so Peter doesn’t know for certain where Tony is.

“Asshole,” he mumbles starting to walk towards his towel again. “You don’t-hey!”

Tony’s never touched him before this; it’s a little unsettling. Everywhere Tony touches him is extremely cold, and it sends a rush of adrenaline through him. One hand is wrapped around Peter’s wrist, twisting his arm behind his back and the other is on Peter’s hip. He’s bent over the bed, and the position brings a blush to Peter’s face.

“Hey!” Peter says, trying to wriggle free. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

Tony doesn’t. Instead, he moves his hand from Peter’s hip to his ass, petting at the flesh a couple times before spreading Peter’s cheeks apart.

Peter gasps and shivers at the feeling, trying to close his legs. “Tony! What are you doing?!”

Tony’s leg must go in between his, kicking his feet apart. Peter gasps and shivers, his legs shaking. Tony’s finger pets over his hole, and Peter whimpers.

“Tony, you can’t-you can’t! What are you-let me go, Tony!” Peter whines, trying to push off of the bed. Tony has never tried to hurt him before, not even when they weren’t talking yet and Tony was still trying to get rid of him. He’s more confused than scared.

Tony pushes his knee in between Peter’s thighs again, pushing up until his own thigh is pressing against Peter’s cock and rubbing back and forth.

Peter chokes and gasps, his hand clenching the sheets. “O-oh,” Peter chokes out, grinding down against Tony’s thigh. It feels so fucking wierd, so very cold but still so very good at the same time. Tony’s thigh rubs against him for a few minutes, and Peter continues to grind against it until he’s fully hard.

Tony pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, and Peter gasps. “Wait, don’t-oh god, oh,” Peter groans and pushes back into it, his cock leaking on Tony’s thigh. He can feel Tony’s cock hardening against his hip, and it’s so weird. This is so weird, he can’t even see Tony and Tony is about to-

Tony’s finger pushes deeper, and Peter whimpers. He can’t decide if he’s scared or not, can’t decide if he wants Tony to stop. He wants to tell Tony to wait, at least, to use lube. But then he realizes-

There is no friction. His hole is just stretching around nothing, there’s nothing really there.

“Oh, fuck,” Peter gasps, hanging his head and arching his back. “Oh, please, more. Tony, please.”

Tony pulls his finger out and Peter whines, but then he’s pushing two in. Peter’s head throws back, and he gasps loudly. Tony’s fingers start moving in and out of him quickly, already scissoring him apart.

Peter wonders if Tony can see himself, or there’s nothing there for him as well. If he just has a view of Peter’s hole being stretched around nothing, or if it looks normal for him. “Oh, fuck, Tony. Please Tony, please, more, I need-oh fuck, please!”

Tony lets go of his wrist for the first time since this started, pulling his fingers out abruptly. Peter whines at the loss, scared that Tony’s going to leave now. He worries himself for nothing; Tony simply picks him up and turns him around, and Peter lands on his back halfway up the bed.

He doesn’t like this position as much; he can see that no one is there. It’s freaking him out, making him think too much. “Tony,” he chokes, chest heaving. He gets up on his elbows, digging his heels into the bed.

Invisible hands push his thighs far apart, and Tony’s cock presses bluntly against Peter’s hole. It pushes and pushes, until it slips past and slides up Peter’s balls.

Peter gasps loudly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. It feels so weird but so good, and if he closes his eyes he can just pretend it’s fine. “Oh, fuck, Tony. Please, please fuck me, please get inside me, I want-oh my god!”

Tony had pulled his cock back to try again, pressing insistantly until the head finally popped past Peter’s rim.

Peter’s mouth falls open, and he has to fist the sheets to stop himself from screaming. It feels so fucking good inside of him, so incredibly strange but in a pleasant way. “Oh, fuck,” Peter gasps, sucking in a desperate breath.

Tony starts to slowly push forward, and forward and forward until Peter feels like he can feel it in the back of his fucking throat.

“Oh god, Tony, oh fuck, how fucking big are you?” He can’t see it, can’t know how much there is left to go. “Oh, stop, it won’t fit!” Peter cries.

Tony doesn’t listen, continues pushing in until his hips finally slap into Peter’s ass with an audible slap.

Peter groans loudly, his legs shaking, his chest heaving. “Oh god, Tony,” he gasps, opening his eyes and regretting it immediately. There’s no one there, there’s no body attached to the cock currently splitting him in half, no hands keeping his thighs apart. He’s just being filled up by nothing, his stomach is protruding with a cock that isn’t there.

Tony starts to slowly pull back out, and Peter watches in fascination as Tony’s head visibly moves down his torso. “Oh,” Peter moans.

Tony only pulls halfway out before pushing back in, his hips slapping hard against Peter’s.

“Oh, fuck,” Peter gasps, throwing his head back again as Tony sets up a brutal pace. He feels like he might actuall die, like Tony is actively fucking him to death. He’s so fucking big, and the pace is brutal, and he’s fucking Peter so hard he’s being pushed up the bed.

Tony’s left hand leaves his thigh, after moving Peter’s leg around to grip around his waist. Instead it presses down harshly against Peter’s stomach where his head reaches when he goes as deep as possible.

Peter moans, almost screams, watching his torso with dark eyes. It’s the only visible proof he has, the only thing proving that he isn’t batshit crazy. He’s being fucked by a ghost; a ghost hung like a horse besides. “Tony!”

Tony somehow speeds up, slapping his hips so hard against Peter’s that it hurts, and he knows he’s going to be feeling this for days.

“Please,” Peter moans, moving one hand to wrap around his cock. “Oh god, please, I want it. Please! Please Tony, please come inside me, I want it so bad!”

Tony’s right hand tightens on his thigh, enough that the skin goes white and he’s sure it’s going to leave a mark. His hips stutter, and he fucks into Peter a few more times before burying himself balls deep and grinding there.

It feels so fucking weird. It’s still cold, but it’s definetly real and wet inside of him. Peter’s eyes go lidded and he strokes himself quickly, enjoying the feeling of being stretched, of how deep Tony is, of being filled up.

Peter almost doesn’t notice at first, but Tony hasn’t stopped grinding into him and filling up for longer than a human would have. His eyes widen as it hits him, his hand stilling on his cock. “Oh, god, Tony?”

Tony pulls half out and slaps his hips back in, grinding again. The hand on Peter’s stomach leaves to start stroking Peter instead.

Peter’s stomach starts to distend, and his jaw drops as he realizes just how much Tony is filling him up. “Oh, fuck, Tony! Tony, it’s too much!”

Tony speeds his hand up on Peter’s cock, and Peter whines loudly. He finishes to the strange feelings, hands gripping the sheets desperately and head thrown back. He comes so hard that it hits his chin, and Tony wrings every last drop out of him.

Peter pants heavily once it’s over, groaning at the sight of his come painting Tony’s fist white. He can kind of see it now, see the outline. He already knew from the way they felt inside of him, but Tony’s fingers are thick.

He’s still buried to the hilt inside of Peter, and Peter whines as his stomach continues to grow. He feels some being fucked out of him as Tony grinds, and he’s so overstimulated at this point. “Tony, ‘s too much!”

Tony finally finishes filling Peter up minutes later, when Peter’s stomach is pudged and he looks like he has a small baby bump. Oh, and isn’t that a new idea? He grinds into Peter once more, keeping him plugged up apparently. He really wishes that Tony could talk to him.

“I’m too full,” Peter complains, nudging at Tony’s torso with his knee. “Get out of me.”

Tony pets at Peter’s stomach, and maybe he’s just as turned on by the sight as Peter is. Peter’s spent sock twitches, but it’s way too soon for him to go again.

“Tony,” Peter whines, clenching around him. “Out.”

Tony hesitates once more, but finally pulls out slowly. He leaves his head insides, teasing Peter’s rim with the widest part.

Peter moans at the feeling, before whimpering again. “Tony, please, it’s too much!”

Tony finally takes mercy on him, popping his head out but keeping Peter’s thighs spread open.

Peter whimpers, face red with embarrassment, knowing that Tony is staring at his hole. He wonders what it looks like right now; wonders how much of Tony’s come is leaking out of him, how gaped open he is.

He reaches around himself, ignoring Tony squeezing his thighs, and stuffs a few fingers into himself. Tony squeezes tighter, before finally letting him go.

Peter pulls his fingers out, eyes lighting up when he realizes he can see Tony’s come on his fingers. Physical proof of what Tony did to him.

He clenches around nothing, winces when he feels some more of Tony’s come slide out of him and onto the bed. “Fuck, Tony,” he whispers, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking curiously. It tastes about the same as normal, it’s just cold. A little gross.

Peter pulls his fingers away and gasps when Tony’s hand cups his cheeks, and he thnks Tony is kissing him because his lips are cold. He tries to kiss back, closes his eyes so he doesn’t feel like he’s kissing air. It’s much easier when his eyes are closed for his mind to accept this.

Tony finally pulls away, and Peter falls back on the bed with a final pant. “Fuck,” he whispers to the room.

Peter looks when at the tapping noise against the board, snorting when he sees it. “Now you ask?” he snarks, rolling his eyes.

CAN WE DO THAT AGAIN? Stays on his board, unerased, even the next time they do this.

#starker #my writing #fanfics

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cha-melodius · 3 months

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First off, NO I'm not writing another Nova, Baby sequel. But I am dredging up this banner because I am writing firstprince spies again. I blame this one on @dumbpeachjuice and also @everwitch-magiks for suggesting... well, just read it, I think you'll figure it out.

“There has to be some mistake, something else it could be—” “Touch him.” Alex actually takes the phone away from his ear and stares at it, like Nora will be able to see the incredulous expression on his face. “I can’t— I’m not going to fucking touch him, Nora, he’s barely conscious.” “I’m not telling you to grab his dick, idiot,” she snaps. “Put your hand on his face or something. If I’m right, just the skin-on-skin contact should help revive him.” This is insane. Certifiably, actually insane. And yet Alex’s feet carry him over to the couch, where Henry’s supine form lays nearly unmoving, the only sign of life the slow rise and fall of his chest as his labored breaths wheeze through his lips. His cheeks are vividly flushed, which is made even starker by how fucking pale the rest of his skin is. So sickly, deathly pale that it ties a knot in Alex’s stomach, no matter how much he doesn’t care for the guy. Henry doesn’t stir as he kneels next to the couch, nor when Alex puts a hand on his shoulder to try to revive him. Gritting his teeth, Alex takes a deep breath and reaches out to lay a palm on Henry’s cheek. Henry gasps, his pale eyelashes fluttering before his eyes shoot open and start roving wildly over Alex. It’s so sudden and startling that Alex tries to pull away, only for Henry to grab his wrist in an iron grip and press Alex’s hand harder against his face. They stare at each other for a beat, then another, then Alex experimentally swipes his thumb over Henry’s skin, brushing against the corner of his mouth, and Henry moans. “He’s awake,” Alex croaks in disbelief. “Nora, what…” He can’t bring himself to ask the question. Doesn’t want to hear the answer. “Oh, you’re gonna have to fuck him, little buddy,” Nora says matter-of-factly. “Good luck.” Alex hangs up the phone.

Thanks to @kiwiana-writes, @three-drink-amy, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @bigassbowlingballhead, and @heybuddy-drabbles for the WIP Weds tags, and to everyone who's been tagging me in the wip tag games for the last couple of weeks that I have not been responding to, including @porcelainmortal, @adreamareads, @suseagull04, @lfg1986-2, @itsmaybitheway, @magicandarchery, @getmehighonmagic, @leaves-of-laurelin, @indestructibleheart, @iboatedhere, @affectionatelyrs, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @firenati0n, @sparklepocalypse, @orchidscript, @14carrotghoul, @nocoastposts, @sherryvalli, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @maxbegone, @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, and probably others I'm forgetting bc I could only go back so far. Please consider this your tag back if you have not already done WIP Weds!!

Also tagging some other folks because why not, idc if Wednesday is almost over, share if you want! Time is fake! @clottedcreamfudge, @anchoredarchangel, @ninzied, @myheartalivewrites, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @historicallysam, @indomitable-love, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd and anyone else! Tag me!

#rwrb #wip wednesday #my wips #jesus it's been so long since i did one of these i forgot how i usually tag them #uhhh #firstprince spies #why not

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Drawn Together 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You wring your hands as you watch Steve drift along the other wall. The white tee shirt makes the ink on his arms seem starker as he has a thumb hook in his jean pocket, the other reaching to take an oval frame from the console table.

You squeeze your fingers tight, until they might crack, then release the tension along with your breath. He sets the picture back down and stands straight, looking around emphatically.

“Nice place,” he remarks as he faces you, “lots of space for you… and your… boyfriend?”

You watch him dully, “it’s nice.”

He is unfazed by your blunt deflection, “these old century townhouses, there’s not many of those left. I remember my mother lived in one. A few streets away.” He nears you and you brace yourself. He angles his arm towards you and shows you a banner that reads, ‘Brooklyn strong’.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” you lean back on your heel and pivot. “We should probably get started, we’re already behind.”

“You’re from Brooklyn too?” He asks as he goes to the bench.

“Grandparents lived here. They left me the place.” You take out a folder, the typical package you have ready for beginners, “we’ll start by tracing your hands.”

“Alright,” he stands close as you open the folder on the back of the piano. You turn and pluck a pencil from the jar on the shelf.

“It’s just… an exercise,” you explain as you hand him the pencil, “trace left then right and label them left and right.”

“Oh, wow,” he accepts the pencil, “this feels like grade school.”

“Hmm, well, yeah, my students are typically younger… my older students have a little more experience.”

“No, no, I’m excited,” he says as he spreads out his hand on the paper. His hand is huge.

You spin again and slip out another looseleaf and hand it over, “for your other hand.”

You set it down on the polished wood and he thanks you quietly as he focuses on following the outline of his long fingers. Looking at his hand makes you feel tiny. Your eyes scan the small stars on each knuckle, red, white, and blue. The ring finger is untouched.

He finishes the exercise and you go over the five-finger system with him. It feels so ridiculous. He’s not a child but you find it simple and easy. When you have that all done, you fold up the file and put it aside.

“Sit,” you gesture to the upholstery.

He obeys, looking down at the keys as he rests his hands on his jeans. You think about grabbing a stool as you consider the limited expanse left beside him. You can fit. You lower yourself and hit a key.

“We’ll go over the musical alphabet now, low to high.”

You sense his gaze, intent on you as you go through the usual introduction. You pause and have him repeat what you just did on the keys. He does it slowly as his arm presses to yours.

“Now from middle C,” you instruct and demonstrate. “You want your hands at middle C.” You raise your hands, “left: F-G-A-B-C, right: C-D-E-F-G. Thumbs together.”

“Right,” he does exactly as you say. He has good form as he keeps his hands on the keys but not heavy.

“Good,” you get up and take the metal TV tray from the small rack tucked beside the shelf. You unfold one and bring it around to his elbow. Your grandfather always had one open beside his leather chair. The paint shows the wear. “Now, we will go through a warm up and have you write it out.”

“Okay,” he watches you. His blue eyes are so brilliant and intense. You realise, he’s been looking at you for longer than you knew. You take the folder and open it up again. “I appreciate the patience.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” you spread out a blank sheet, “you’re much less fidgety than a six-year old.”

“I hope so,” he chuckles.

“So, our goal by the end is for you to play one song. Does that sound good?”

“A whole song?” He echoes, “uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Nothing too complicated,” you turn the folder to him and put the pencil across it, “so as we learn, we’ll write down what we play and this will help you learn to read music.”

“Right, let’s do the spider song as our warm-up,” you stand beside the piano. You can’t bear to sit next to him, not as you feel the sweat still speckling on your neck and beading under your hairline.

“Spider song?” He grins, “that’d be a good tat, huh? A spider?”

“Um, I guess, I…”

“You’re not spider girl, though,” he says, “flowers.” He glances over at the window sill then back to you. His eyes descend slowly and you struggle not to wilt. You feel like he’s looking right through you, “poppies.”

You nod and shift your feet closer together, “I appreciate the simplicity.”

“Ha, I can never keep a plant alive,” he snorts, “you must just have that gentle touch that helps them thrive.”

“Well, um, I think we should get started,” you cross your arms and stride behind him, going to the other side of the piano. “Middle C.”

🎹

The lesson is as successful as any other. You stand at the corner of the piano as Steve keys out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. He hits the last note with the same pride shown by the bouncing seven-year olds that perch in that very spot daily.

“Great. You got your first song,” you say, “there’s a print-out in the folder,” you point beyond him, “it shows the keys, I know it’s not the same but it’s a good way to practice position. You can use that if you want to practice between lessons.”

“Between lessons,” he pulls his hands into his lap, “does that mean I passed? I get to come back?”

“That’s up to you. If you really want to learn, you’re going to need to keep at it. Older students tend to take a little longer. Um, sorry, not to… I hope that isn’t insulting.”

“Nope,” he claps his legs and turns, standing from the bench. He pushes his head side to side and cracks his neck, “I’ve always needed a little extra love, you know? I can be a bit bullheaded. Sam says I got a thick skull.”

You know he’s trying to be friendly. There’s just something off. You still can’t believe he’s really there or that you let him in. To that point, you’ve been going through a routine, letting the steps guide you through. Now, you’re at a loss. There is no parent coming to usher him out of your home.

“I got the fee,” he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, “I guess I should’ve paid at the start.”

“No, uh, that’s fine,” you eke out.

“So uh, same time next week? Do you think maybe I could come back sooner?”

“Um, I’d have to look at my schedule. I’ll call–”

He holds out several bills and you accept them quietly. You always find the payment is awkward, even if it’s the whole point. You are offering a service, you deserve everything you earn.

“Great, I’ll keep my phone close.”

The silence rises to strangle you. You peer around, grasping the bills tightly. What do you say to make him go? It’ll be easier to tell him you’re at capacity over the phone but you can’t then. Not to his face.

“You know, I still didn’t get a good look at your piece. Do you mind?”

“What?” You look at him.

“Your ink,” he nods at your feet, “do you mind if–”

He doesn't finish his question as he bends to look at your legs. You sway uncertainly and turn, pointing your toe to present your ankle to him. You don’t know what else to do. He examines it and you wince as he reaches to touch the skin beside it.

“Sam’s a talented guy,” he drags his fingertips away and stands, “helps when you have a great canvas. It suits you, sweetheart.”

Your brows rise as you gape at him. You quickly snap your mouth shut and fold your hands together. Your heart is pulsing behind your ears. You need him gone. This is your space and he’s intruded for long enough. The lesson is over.

“Don’t forget your folder,” you flit away from him and fold up the file, “here.” You face him again and push it against his chest, “I have to clean up for my next lesson.”

“Clean– this place is immaculate,” he looks around as he clutches the folder by the edges, “I don’t think–”

“Please, I have a lesson to prepare. Don’t forget to practice.”

You take a step back as he gazes at you. Unmoving. You might be telling him to go but it’s entirely his decision. Your nerves ping at the thought that you could not make him go. That if he stays long enough, he’ll realise your lie. Your excuse. He is your only lesson that day.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he relents at last as he tucks the folder under his arm, “see ya next week.”

You’re paralysed as you watch him cross the room. He disappears down the stairs and you listen to the creak of each step. At the bottom, you hear him shuffling around and when you find the courage to go look down, the door closes behind him.

You hurry down the stairs and quickly twist the lock. You let out your breath and lean into the wind as you let out a shuddery breath. His scent lingers. You’ll have to open some windows and light some incense. Hopefully, you can forget all about him.

#drawn together #tattoo au #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #au #mcu #marvel #captain america #falcon #sam wilson

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starkerhowlter · 3 months

Text

Performative Dom

Ship: Starker Rating: E Contains: Language, Blowjobs, collaring, Lingerie, Dom/sub, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dubious Consent (But corrected by Tony to give Peter the right to consent), Objectification (Not by MCs), BDSM Posing, Collar pulling, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Peter Parker is 18, leashing Initial prompt: @starkerfestivals Valentine's Day exchange prompt 1: Peter is a sub but they won't let him go to college without a Dom sponsor. Tony thinks he's too brilliant for those dumb rules to ruin his life so he takes up the role only to fall in love with how beautiful Peter looks on his knees. Words: 5426 Summary: Peter needs a dom. And the perfect candidate is right in front of him. But what if they fit better together than either of them ever expected?

AKA: Five Times Tony realized this was a mistake, and one time he embraced it.

Gift for: @the-mad-starker

Read Below or on AO3

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY MADS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much for this prompt and for giving me the opportunity to write it! I hope you love it and I hope this does your prompt justice! Also I hope you love the bonus moodboard I custom built for you! A number of the images were made just for you ♥♥

Also also, hi Starker fandom! It's been a minute since I've been back! I've been on a "fandom tour of the world" recently and joined 3 fandoms since July. You haven't gotten rid of me yet!

This was edited by one of my fave humans @starkerkitty! Thank you so much, Jacy!! <3

note: any underlined words are links

The entire thing had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Peter bursts into the lab seething, and Tony's met with a fire he's never seen in the younger boy's eyes.

Tony's brow furrows as he kicks his feet off the desk, "Peter?"

"I thought we were past this as a society," Peter shouts, dropping the envelope on the desk in front of him. He continues pacing the length of the garage, stepping onto the walls to pace across the ceiling.

"What? Acceptance letters?" Tony smirks, raises an eyebrow and picks up the envelope. He pulls the paper out, reading. "’Dear Peter Parker, you have been accepted to MIT.’" Tony murmurs, "I mean that was expected..." He continues, "blah blah blah... Orientation is on Monday.. blah blah blah... ‘Unfortunately, we can't allow you to enroll in classes until you present a Dom to sponsor your journey with MIT to allow for you to be enrolled and to keep you accounta’-- Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me," he scoffs, tossing the paper on his desk. "They're really holding you from a degree because of *that*?! Just because of the little pink heart on your license?! Maybe I can call my associates, surely they know I'm the one who recommended you. They can't possibly be holding you for anything at all." He scoffs, "I'm going up there. If they want to play this game, we'll play this game."

"Or..." Peter starts, hopping down from on top of one of the server towers.

"Or?" Tony asks, arms crossing over his chest as he looks up at the boy.

"Never mind."

"Peter..."

He sighs, "I have a plan. But you... you have to trust me, Mr. Stark."

-----

"Peter, we can't do this. I mean, I'm all about fucking over tradition, but you do realize they do checks. And not just one. They do them throughout the entirety of your time in the program." Tony stares at the younger man from behind his sunglasses, frowning, "We can't possibly make them believe that I'm your Dom."

Peter's shoulders fall, "You don't want to..."

Tony scoffs, reaching over to clasp a hand over Peter's shoulder, "Now when did I say that? I'm just worried because you're just a kid. I don't want to be preying on you because you're vulnerable."

"You're not. You're just helping me to get into a prestigious university. Speaking of, we need to go get some supplies."

"Supplies?"

Peter shrugs and nods, "Y'know... A collar, whatever outfit you think fits your standards, Mr. Stark. If you feel it's appropriate, you can even pick it."

At the mention of an outfit, Tony's mind fills with images of Peter wrapped in ensembles of his dom's choosing. He considers a suit but settles for something more casual. And Peter in his mind looks stunning.

This is a mistake.

"Oh. We can uh... go tomorrow, deal?"

Peter nods, "Sounds good, thank you, Mr. Stark! Goodnight!" He skips out of the penthouse, leaving Tony alone with less-than-appropriate thoughts about his young mentee.

_____

There are a few times in Tony Stark's life when he knew he is well and truly fucked before the consequences happen.

This is one of those times.

Before him, Peter’s standing on a fitting platform presented for Tony.

"Now, Mr. Stark, what collar are you thinking for your sub? Have they earned a lock? Have they leveled up to a buckle, or is he still in training where they haven't earned more than a snap? As you know, your sub must earn a place beside you."

He allows himself a few deep breaths, glancing at Peter to confirm he's okay with this.

Instead of a nervous disposition, Peter looks almost comfortable. His eyes are glazed, lips parted as he waits for Tony -- his dom-- to decide what he's worth.

"I think he's earned a lock." Peter's chest shudders at the words and Tony smirks, "And let's put my name on it. He should bear my name since he belongs to me."

The worker nods, hanging on to Tony's every word. "Done! Give me just a few minutes to get the collar together for you. We can cut it today and size it so you can walk out with the piece before you leave the mall today!"

"Sounds good. I think my sub and I are going to do a few other errands but we will be back. If you wouldn't mind giving me a call?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark. I will start on your piece immediately." The worker takes the black metal card from him, disappearing into the back room to swipe it and get his receipt, but Tony isn't interested in the receipt.

He turns towards Peter, hands resting gently on his arms, "You alright, kid?

Peter nods, mutely, and takes Tony's hand. "Do we need to... show our status while we're in public?"

"It's probably a good idea. What are you comfortable wearing?"

"Whatever you'd like me to wear... daddy?" Peter tacks on the title as an afterthought and Tony fights the urge to react visibly.

"I think that they will believe us more if we put you in a lingerie set and then dress you in a nice outfit on top of it. We can pass it off like I picked the outfit to match your collar, and if you are comfortable, some harnesses latch onto the type of collar I picked for you. But honestly, it's whatever you--"

"Mister Stark? I apologize for the interruption. Here is your card back and your receipt."

"Oh! Thank you!" He takes the card, putting it back in his wallet before taking Peter's hand and leading him out of the shop.

Holding Peter's hand feels far more natural than it should as they walk through the mall. No one gives them a second look, and Tony wonders if they pass as a couple.

"Follow me," Tony states, leading him through the mall toward the lingerie store.

"Mr. Stark..." Peter tries, voice cracking with nervousness, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. If you aren't, we don't have to do this. But I will tell you from experience, they are going to want proof."

"Okay..."

----

This was a mistake.

Peter's standing in the middle of the store, surrounded by a rainbow of lace and tulle, and staring at Tony with wide brown eyes.

"What is the-- um--" His voice cracks and Tony's heart melts.

This was a mistake.

"How about we start you in a simple lace playsuit? Do you have a favorite color?"

"I... You should pick."

"Alright, deal." Tony approaches one of the racks, sifting through the outfits to pick out a couple of styles in various colors. "What do you think about red?"

"L-like Iron Man red?"

"I mean... If I'm going to be 'owning' you, it'd make sense to have you wearing my colors," he replies, "Just seems appropriate."

Peter nods and follows after him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets.

"Your clothes are in there," he states, pointing into the third fitting stall, pulling the purple curtain back. "I'll wait for you out here. If you feel comfortable, I'd love to see how you look in the outfits... baby"

Peter's eyes widen at the title, but he steps inside the booth before he can splutter out a reply and begins stripping off his hoodie and jeans, dropping them onto the gaudy cheetah print chair in the corner of the stall.

Tony hadn't held back.

The pieces before him held no semblance of modesty, yet would show off every curve and muscle of his body. One’s black and frilly, another’s pastel silk, and behind them is a hot rod red harness and lace playsuit.

"Holy--" He whispers, running his hand over the black, lace, off-shoulder negligee, pulling it gently off the hanger. The piece weighed next to nothing, but it felt like it'd shatter into a million pieces if he wasn't careful. He lifts it, pulling it over his head and down over his body.

It wasn't a piece of clothing so much as one long-sleeved lace sock, in Peter's opinion. The bottom of the negligee touched just beneath his ass, and the sleeves pulled down over his hands to leave just his fingers bare.

The lace covered nothing. His nipples and boxers were visible through the lace and at that second, he felt very, very exposed.

"M-Mr. Stark?" He ekes out, peeking his head out of the curtain, keeping his body covered.

"Yeah, Peter?"

"How's this look?" Peter pulls back the curtain, revealing his lithe muscular form wrapped in the delicate lace dress.

Oh... Tony fucked up.

The kid - the one he had told himself he wouldn't drool over - was standing before him in a skin-tight lace bodycon dress, and Tony wanted nothing more at that moment than to devour him.

"You look-- The lace and-- and your figure... um..." He clears his throat, "You look good. Can I see the next one?"

"Oh! Of course!" Peter replies, rushing back into the room.

Back in the room, Peter removes the lacy garment and picks up the silky one. It doesn't even make it off the hanger before it's dropped to the floor.

"No on the silk."

"No?" Tony replies from outside the door, "Just don't like the color or...?"

"Texture," Peter replies bluntly, picking it back up to hang it on the hook. "I can't do it."

Tony huffs what sounds like a laugh, "That's alright, sweetheart."

The title slips out, and the younger man blushes as he picks up the next piece.

On the hanger is a lacy bright red harness playsuit. Bands cross along the back and front, over where his midriff would be, and he shivers slightly at the intricacy of the piece. He steps into it, slowly pulling it up over his thighs, hips, and stomach, spreading the lace over his form.

He turns towards the mirror and the sight of himself catches him off guard. Peter's breathing hitches at the sight of Tony's colors, his red, stretched over Peter’s pale skin. His hands ghost down the front, and the feeling causes him to shiver.

"You okay in there, kid?" Tony calls, shattering the moment, "Didn't get tangled did you?"

"Uh... no!" He calls out, turning away from the mirror and towards the curtain. "Did you want to see this one? It's a bit... much isn't it?"

Tony gives an affirmative noise, and Peter pulls open the curtain, revealing himself to him.

"Holy shit..." Tony whispers.

"That bad?"

"Look at you..." He steps forwards, and reaches for his hips, but stops just a few inches shy. "I-- Sorry." Tony inhales and steps back. "You can uh.. get dressed. I'll meet you out front."

He is so fucked.

---

A few days later, Tony's sitting on the couch next to Peter, reading paperwork on his tablet. "Okay, kid, we need a game plan for this Thursday. I mean... how are we planning on convincing them?" He swirls the bourbon in his glass, sipping it slowly. "Are you just thinking you'll sit in my lap or was there something else you thought might work better? What's the move?"

"I figured I'd sit on your lap, um... maybe we can have me wear a button-down shirt so they can see the lingerie and collar you picked? Just... basically... um... what do people usually do?"

'Fuck.' Tony's brain unhelpfully supplies.

"They tend to use less... orthodox methods. Some bring their subs in on leashes or feed them from their hand, make them sit down on the floor at their feet... It really depends. All I know is that when the day comes, I need to know what program you are going into and why so that I can vouch for you. Because as much as I hate it... in that room, you have no voice."

Peter shivers at the implication and nods. "Noted. Would you like me to uh... put on the outfit again so we can practice? I don't think it'd do us well for either of us to be stumbling and shy the day of."

'Oh, fuck, please put the outfit back on...' Tony thinks.

"Good idea. I expect I will wear a usual suit, so there really isn't any need for me to change, right? I mean the entire thing is just a meeting. Nothing major. What's the worst that could happen? I mean, it's just an interview."

-----

This is a mistake.

Whatever they'd planned for, it wasn't this.

"M-Mr. Stark..." Peter whispers, eyes wide as he's led into the room, feeling small in the cavernous space. Their shoes thud against the floor as they walk, and he takes note of many famous art pieces along the walls as they're led to the office.

At the last second, they'd decided on a leash, and now Peter realizes that may have been a mistake. The skinny chain is connected to the D-ring of his collar, and the other end is held by a wrist strap in the same metallic red leather as his collar. The weight of the piece creates a heady feeling at Peter's core and he finds himself thinking of taxes, his grandma... anything to keep the bulge in the front of his pants minimal.

Tony pulls on the chain, leading Peter through the halls, following a woman with a tight black bun who's talking far too fast for Peter to keep up with.

"This school is one of the most prestigious in the country, you're not going to regret sending your sub here. We do offer a few check-in options if you want him to live on campus, but at the end of the day, it's about whatever works for you, Mr. Stark."

He replies with a simple, "As you know, I was a student here when I was younger. I think I want Peter here to have the same experience. Back then, we knew I was going to be marked a dom, just as my father was, and I didn't need any sort of sponsor. I'm not quite sure how this process works." Tony's entire being exudes confidence, and it puts Peter's racing heartbeat at ease. "Do you need to verify my 'status' or is that just understood?"

"I will need to verify your designation when we get to the office, but at this time it's not a major issue." She gives him a tight smile, not sparing Peter a second glance. "Oh, I should remind you, there will be a confirmation test before the meeting begins, will you be needing supplies for it or have you brought your own?"

Tony scoffs dismissively, "What the hell is a 'Confirmation test'? You don't believe that I own my sub? That's ridiculous!"

"I do apologize, Mr. Stark. We've had a recent spike in subs acting as doms to get into college or having others of different designations pretend to be their dom to try and bypass the system. Therefore we've had to implement a check. There will be an agreement signed by all parties present if you're worried about it being leaked."

Peter blanches at the concept, heart racing when he hears that others have tried and failed to do exactly as they are.

"Ah, that makes sense. We won't be needing supplies, my sub here is trained well enough to take it no matter how I give it." He shrugs, "Well then, where should we wait?"

"Just through here," she replies, ignoring the snark in Tony's voice.

He sends her a fake smile, pulling Peter closer to him to wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter's racing pulse presses against his wrist. With a whisper, he soothes Peter, "It's okay. I've got you, baby," putting on the facade of a doting dom, much to the woman leading them's approval.

"My dom is the same way when I get nervous," she muses mindlessly, opening a large white door to lead them into the office. "Have a seat over here." She leads him over to one of the plush velvet chairs sitting before a large wood desk, "Your sub can wait by the door."

Tony frowns, "Absolutely not, he stays with me. No questions asked." Unconsciously, his hand tightens around Peter's leash, keeping him close as though someone would steal him away. "He'll sit at my feet."

"If that's what you choose. Mr. Donahue and Mr. Arroyo will be in soon. Would you like any coffee while you wait?"

"I think we're alright. Thank you." She nods, leaving them alone.

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" Tony asks, helping Peter to sit comfortably on his knees by Tony's chair.

Peter nods, shifting slightly to ensure Tony's shirt parts over his chest to reveal the lacy bodice of the lingerie.

He runs his fingers through Peter's hair, "You look good. I don't know what this 'confirmation test' is, but we'll get through it together."

"I trust you. We can do whatever we need to to get through this. I want to go to MIT so bad, Mr. Stark..."

"I know, Peter, and I will do whatever I have to to make it happen. Even if it means lying to the panel at my alma mater." He smirks, ruffling the younger man's hair, "We will get through this... together."

Before long, the large door at the side of the room opens and two men walk inside.

"Good morning, I presume you're Mr. Donahue and Mr. Arroyo?"

"Yes, and is this..." He lifts his clipboard, "Peter Parker?"

At the mention of his name, Peter looks up from his place on the floor.

"Yes. We're here to get Peter set up in the program for biochemistry and chemical engineering."

The two suited men before them snicker, "That's quite the program... Are you sure it's for him?"

Tony frowns, chewing his cheek to keep from mouthing off and blowing it for the younger, "He's actually quite brilliant. But let's be honest, any sub worthy of me would have to be more than just a pretty face."

His words pinken Peter's cheeks, and he blushes, leaning against Tony's leg.

"If you're sure, we can progress to the next part of the meeting. Before that though, I have this sheet of terms and conditions for you to read."

The man on the left hands Tony a sheet of legalese.

It's a basic NDA, nothing he really needs to worry about because he's sure he could break it with a check and some lawyers if needed. Rolling his eyes at the places saying that he and his sub consent to the test, he moves to sign it, and then hands the pen to Peter, but notices at the last second there's only one line.

"Oh, we don't need his signature, your signature of consent is enough."

"Yeah, well I want his signature of consent next to mine." Tony glares, pointedly dragging the pen along the paper to create a line for Peter to sign. "Baby," he summons, snapping his fingers.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?" Peter replies, just as practiced, "How can I service you?"

"I need your signature on this NDA."

Peter obediently rises to his feet, leaning over the table to sign the paper.

"You don't even need to read it?" The man on the right asks.

"Of course not. If my Sir read it, I trust him to know what's best for me."

Clearly, that was the right answer, as Tony's hand wrapped around his hips, pulling Peter back to sit on his lap.

They hadn't discussed this.

Tony smiles softly at him, left hand running up his chest, and under the shirt.

Neither of the men before them seem bothered by the display. If anything, they're pleased.

"Before we begin, I need to see your IDs. Just to confirm your designations."

"Of course." Tony nods, pulling his wallet out to produce both of their IDs from the pocket they'd tucked them into the day prior.

The men look over their ID cards, confirming the black heart on Tony's and the pink one on Peter's. They hold them up to the light, confirming the words etched beside the icons aren't forged.

When they seem satisfied, they stand at the desk, handing Tony back the cards.

"Now, for the next part of this process, we're going into this room next door. There will be some equipment for you to use, should you need it. Essentially, we just need to see how you and Mr. Parker interact to confirm that you are actually in an agreement."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's go," Tony replies calmly, following behind them and leading Peter into the room as well.

---

The giant room is simple, with dark red walls and black wood flooring. There’s only a few pieces of equipment Tony's never seen outside of an obscure sex club he frequented in '05 in the room.

"When you're ready Mr. Stark." They take a seat on the black couch in the corner of the room.

Tony nods, "Alright. Peter, I want you to strip out of my shirt and head to the display platform over there." He unclips the leash from his wrist and the chain falls against Peter's front.

"Yes, Daddy," Peter replies obediently, unbuttoning the shirt the rest of the way and allowing it to fall off his shoulders. He folds the garment, setting it on the floor next to him. Silently, he steps onto the circular acrylic platform and waits at attention with his head down and arms behind his back.

"Inspection," Tony states, crossing his arms, and standing just off to the side of the stand.

Without a second thought, Peter raises his arms behind his head, spreading his legs to wait for his next command.

Tony walks behind him, circling the platform as the world shrinks to just them.

"Service."

He nods, dropping his hands in front of his crotch, patiently eyeing Tony for the next word."

"Good. Nadu."

'Fuck.' Peter thinks, dropping to his knees. He kneels back, spreading his thighs just enough to place his hands palms-up on them, eyes trained at the floor just before him.

It feels like the room has suddenly grown 800 degrees hotter as Tony watches the younger man drop to his knees from just his command. He fights the urge to respond. To go over and take control and ownership of Peter, but instead, he coughs and delivers the next command, "Collar."

Peter lifts his head, presenting his throat as though Tony were to place or pull on the leather wrapped around his throat.

"Humble."

He drops forward, chain hitting the ground with a dull thud as his nose touches the floor, arms sliding before him, and his ass pushed out into the air for Tony or any passerby to inspect him. It wracks shivers down Peter's form as he lays there.

Tony's eyes widen.

This was a mistake.

Had Peter's ass always looked that good in those jeans or was this position just stretching the light fabric over his form? He clears his throat, glancing over at the suited men writing notes in the corner.

"Ready position," he commands, snapping his fingers to grab Peter's attention.

Peter pushes up, pulling his hands back towards himself, sitting on his knees with his lips slightly parted. The chain of the leash runs down his body as Peter raises his gaze to just above where Tony's face would be if he stood over him.

The thought fills Tony's head with more visuals than he's prepared for, and he feels himself going lightheaded.

This was a fucking mistake.

"Last one, Peter..." he states, "Captured."

Gracelessly, Peter rolls onto his back, spreading his arms and legs to present his body to Tony, inviting him to take control. His breath leaves his lungs. If it weren't for the jeans obstructing his view, Peter's cock, hole, and balls would be on display for him.

Tony chokes out a simple, "R-Released." Clearing his throat, he adds, "Good job, Peter." He offers him the button-up from next to the platform, helping him put it on, but stops him before he can button it.

"Thank you, Daddy, I'm glad that I could please you."

He presses a gentle kiss to Peter's temple and reattaches the chain leash to his wrist.

One of the men interrupts the exchange, catching Tony's attention, "Well, Mr. Stark, I can say that we are thoroughly impressed with you and your training of your sub. If you wouldn't mind having a seat with us over here, we can sort out his schedule for this semester."

"Gladly." He leads Peter over, dropping into the white chair across from them, and pulling Peter into his lap.

----

Two hours later, they arrive outside with one sheet of classes for Peter to begin in a week.

"We did it!!" Peter squeals, wrapping his arms around Tony in a tight, celebratory hug.

"We did, kid! You are now officially a student of MIT," Tony replies, "Congratulations! Wanna head home?"

"Please..." Peter replies. 'Just a little longer.'

----

The air in the penthouse is thick as Tony drops his keys on the counter in the kitchen.

"Now what? I expect you want to change into something more comfortable?"

'Please do, before I eat you alive,' Tony thinks.

"Um... I thought..." Peter walks around the counter, standing before Tony, "I thought I might stay in this a little longer. If that... I mean... If that's okay?"

"Fuck, kid... Of course it is," he murmurs, hand reaching out and stopping just before Peter's cheek. Peter's breath ghosts across his wrist, crushing the last of Tony's reserve. He places his hand on Peter's jaw, running it down toward his throat.

They'd removed the leash once they'd gotten in the car, and Tony mourned its loss, but instead reached for the ring at the center of Peter's collar.

"Is this okay?"

"Please..." Peter whispers, eyes falling to Tony's lips before flicking back to meet his eye.

"Fuck, kid..." Tony grabs the D-ring with his right index finger, pulling him forward into their first kiss. It grows heated almost instantly, as Peter presses his body back against the counter, caged in by Tony's left hand.

Peter whimpers against his lips, licking into Tony's mouth.

"I've wanted this so badly... For so long," he murmurs, sharing breaths with the older man, "Please, Mr. Stark, let me have it?"

"Of course, you can have whatever you want, Peter. Anything." He kisses the younger again, reveling in the soft whines slipping past Peter's lips. "What do you want?"

"Can you... Tell me what to do again?" His voice cracks, nervously and Tony smirks at the sound.

"Of course I can. You can say stop at any time. I won't hold it against you and it won't affect me sponsoring you for college, okay?"

Peter nods, waiting for his first command as soon as Tony lets go of his collar.

"I want you to go into the living room, strip out of your outside clothes, and pick one of your kneeling positions. Either Nadu, Collaring, or your Ready position. I will be there in a moment. Also, you will call me ‘Daddy.’"

"Yes, Daddy." Peter rushes out of the kitchen, and into the den, stripping and kneeling in his ready position, just like he was trained. He watches the kitchen door, patiently waiting for Tony to come through.

Tony pushes open the door to the den, and there in the center of the floor is Peter kneeling in the Iron Man red lingerie Tony'd picked a week prior, waiting patiently for the older man to claim him for his own. The red elastic bands wrap diagonally around Peter's center, and the lace at his crotch and chest stretches over the skin perfectly.

He looks edible.

"Fuck, look at you..." Tony gasps. "I swear it took everything in me earlier not to step up on that platform and kiss you earlier."

As if imagining it, Peter shivers. Tony smirks, and runs his fingers through Peter's hair. "I have a feeling you would have liked it if I had, baby."

The title makes Peter's eyes widen and he blushes.

"Noted." Tony chuckles, "How far do you want to take this?"

"All the way. I just... I want your cock so bad, Daddy..."

"Fuck..." he groans, "Yeah, we can... we can make that happen. Fri, lock down this floor, make sure no one gets in."

"On it, sir," she replies.

"You have my full attention, Daddy," Peter whispers, shyly, "Do what you think I am worthy of."

"Honey, you've had my full attention since I put my name on your neck. And as for what you're worthy of? I think you've earned being spoiled on my cock until you're begging. How does that sound?"

Peter shivers and nods, "Please, Daddy... Make me yours."

He chuckles and unbuttons his slacks, watching as Peter tracks every single motion of his hands. "Desperate?"

The younger man blushes, and lowers his gaze to Tony's shoes, not replying.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

"Can we just... Can I--?" He raises his hands to Tony's belt.

"Fuck, of course you can, Peter." Tony nods, pulling his cock through the front of his boxers. "It's all yours."

Peter pushes forward, taking the tip into his mouth with practiced ease.

"Have you done this bef-- Oh fuck there..." Tony groans, hand falling into Peter's hair.

"Never kiss and tell, Daddy." He winks, licking along the side of Tony's length, sucking kisses into the skin.

"Fuck, Peter..." His hips jump when the younger man takes the crown into his mouth, sucking slowly down until he's buried the hilt of Tony's cock in his mouth. "How... did you... get to be so good at this?" His chest rises and falls as Peter watches through a hooded gaze. "You're so good for me, Peter..."

He pulls off, lips swollen and pink, "Say it?"

Tony runs his fingers through his hair, catching on the curls, "So good for Daddy."

Peter whimpers, taking Tony’s dick back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and suckling sloppily. Slowly, Tony's hips push back against his sucking, creating a slow rhythm.

"Can I fuck your mouth, baby?"

He nods as much as he can, dropping his jaw to allow for space.

Experimenting with a thrust, Tony pushes his dick further into Peter's mouth, reveling in the tight heat surrounding him. He pulls back, repeating the motion a few times, gasping when Peter's gurgles vibrate around his length.

Releasing his hold, he allows Peter to pull off and catch his breath, watching as the younger man wipes drool from his lips, and tears from his eyes.

"Again?"

"When you're ready, sweetheart. You're doing so good for Daddy, baby. I'm going to go a little faster."

As promised, he speeds his rhythm up, thrusting into Peter's mouth, each breath carrying a desperate moan. "Fuck, Peter..." He tangles his hands in Peter's hair, pulling Peter's head in an opposing pattern to his hips, "Just a little more, sweetheart... And then I'll make you feel good too."

"Don't... Don't have to." Peter croaks, pushing his hips down against the ground. "'m good."

"Are you getting off on this, Peter? Enjoying me using your mouth? You enjoy being used by Daddy?" Tony purrs, tangling his hands in Peter's hair, pulling him forward again, "Good. Because Daddy loves using your pretty mouth."

Peter whimpers, sucking Tony back into his mouth, licking the beads of precum off the tip and down the side. He shivers, fucking his own mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart... Can't... Can't fucking do that, I'm too close."

Tony swears he sees Peter's eyes sparkle when he says that, but he couldn't be sure. Not with his head falling back in a louder-than-necessary moan.

Peter shivers at the sound, and the vibrations of his own moans are what brings Tony over the edge.

He shouts Peter's name, bucking sloppily into his mouth, groaning loudly. "Fuck, so good for me baby... So fucking good."

Peter swallows around him, licking the remnants away, pulling off with a soft pop.

Tony tucks himself back into his boxers and sinks next to Peter, "God... Why haven't we done this sooner?"

Peter shrugs dazedly, head falling against Tony's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Peter, kissing him softly. The man tastes himself, and he smiles against Peter's lips.

"As for you..." he reaches down, slipping his hand into Peter's lingerie, and is met with a wet spot, and Peter's hypersensitive cock. "You-- You came untouched?"

"Mhmn.."

"Fuck, kid..." Tony gasps, "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Everything," Peter whispers back, nuzzling closer, feeling completely owned. Just as he should be.

Thank you so much for reading!!! Likes, Comments and reblogs are MUCH appreciated!

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #SFSecretStarker24 #shut up nika #nika writes

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