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#ironspider fanfic

Eee, so this is definitely not as smutty as you probably hoped it would be, but thank you so much, I had a tonne of fun writing this and imagining different ways it could go 🥰 We so need more pet play in this fandom ❤
If you enjoyed this please consider giving it a reblog!

Lightly NSFW.

“Sit”. The word was accompanied by a downward hand gesture and Peter, who’d been mid-way through talking about his day, sat immediately, still happily chatting. “Stay” Tony added when he paused for breath, and Peter powered on through his tale as Tony began to move around, working on his latest big project. 

“He’s not a dog, Tony” Steve Rogers (and, seriously, how cool was that?!) frowned from the doorway, and Tony scoffed where he leaned over a rotary converter. 

“You think I don’t know that? A dog wouldn’t talk half as much” but he winked at Peter as he said it, and the teen flushed and grinned before he switched to telling them about winning top mark in the physics test. 

He didn’t really think about it until much later in the evening when Tony scoured his workbench for a tool he needed, spotted it on a rack across the lab and gestured to Peter then the tool, an idle and thoughtless go fetch passing over his tongue. 

He was halfway across the lab when he realised  the connotation the words had; the tingle they sent down his spine, and he was struggling to analyse it as he took hold of the tool and brought it dutifully to Tony, sitting on the stool besides him and studying him as he worked. 

Sit. Stay. Fetch.

He’s not a dog, Tony. 

The sudden mental image of being collared and leashed in Tony’s grasp, on his knees and wriggling in delight as Tony murmured good boy in his ear shot through him like a bolt of electricity and he gripped the edge of the table so hard it creaked threateningly, garnering a raised brow from his mentor (and sort-of-secret-boyfriend!!).

He wasn’t sure what to do with the realisation or idea, didn’t know how to deal with the surge of heat that went through him each time Tony uttered the relevant phrases, be it in the lab or the bedroom. 

Tony was less forthcoming with the specifics outside of the lab or in the presence of others, but here and there it slipped through like water, cracks he couldn’t plug fast enough. They were at a press gathering for the domineering tech brands of that years when Peter lagged behind in the crowd, distracted by a toddler who’d dressed like Tony, fake beard and all. 

Tony was midway through talking when he noticed the lack of chatter at his side and he turned, heart in his mouth for a moment before he caught sight of Peter. 

“Hey, shortstack! Come, heel!” He motioned for Peter to join them, a two-fingered beckoning somewhat like one would do to bring a dog to their side. Peter scampered after him without a second thought but Happy frowned as they stepped through the security, looking between them. 

“A little less Lassie and a little more official intern, boss” he suggested gruffly as they took their panel passes from the table. 

Tony cast him an unreadable glance from behind his shades and continued wordlessly into the panel room, a hand low on Peter’s spine. 

“Does it bother you?” Tony rumbled in his ear later, midway through an admittedly intense making out session in the penthouse, Peter perched atop his thighs and shuddering in his grasp when he rasped his stubble along his jaw. Peter paused in where he’d been moaning in his ear. 

“Does what?” 

“When I talk to you like that. When I tell you you’re a good boy or to do something”. Even as he said the words Peter twitched in his grip, and then the kid rearranged himself, slinking down until he was sat on Tony’s thighs before he ground forwards, dragging their hard cocks together.


Well then. 

“That’s something we should explore more of, sweet thing” he purred with a smile, nipping at Peter’s ear and relishing in the soft whine that followed.

25 notes · See All

I loved this one! Gosh, there were so many ways I wanted to take this. Thank you so much for the prompt, Non! I hope that this satisfies you. I was so tempted to make this a two parter 😅
If you enjoyed this, please consider giving it a reblog! 

TW: Mentions of grief | Grief processing | Allude to depression 

This time of the year always rolls around quicker than he can prepare for it. Her birthday is hard. Their wedding anniversary is harder. But this…The death date…It hits like a freight train, an unstoppable force of grief and nostalgia that if not for Morgan would render him useless. As it is, dates outside of Halloween, Christmas and her own birthday don’t really mean much to her at this age, so where he wakes up immediately wanting to go back to sleep for the next week, she wakes up and begins bouncing on his head, shrieking about cereal and flowers. 

“Wh’was ‘ah ‘bout flowers?” He grumbled, rolling away out of the danger zone of her spindly little legs. This was a day of shit-pot luck, though, and no sooner had he settled on his side away from her did a flailing elbow strike him across the temple. 

Flowers! You left a note on the fridge that said we needed flowers today” she chirped, planting her tiny hands on his bare shoulder and shaking him with strength no six year old should possess. When his brain had stopped rattling around like a marble in a bean can he grumped and groused his way into sitting upright, rubbing at his temples. 

After Morgan had gone to bed he’d stayed up, drinking the whiskey he’d promised himself he wouldn’t buy and looking at the photographs he’d promised he’d never unbox. It was the same every October 11th, a habit harder to break than being addicted to crack. It left him worse for wear each time, doubling his misery. 

“Alright, bug. Go make yourself cereal. Daddy’s gonna shower and get dressed”. Her bony little heel caught him in the kidney as she scrambled off the bed and he wheezed as he pulled himself upright, staggering into the bathroom. Not for the first time, he considered enrolling her in a martial arts class. She could be a champion by the time she was ten, if not just for the fact that all her opponents would be in the accident and emergency room.

Keep reading

62 notes · See All

Only one thing ever made Tony Stark think twice about fulfilling his full potential.
Two little words on the inside of his wrist, where his soulmark sits, ghostly, waiting for him to recognize his soulmate in some unredeemable way.
He always knew he’d hurt them. But when he discovers his soulmate is none other than the feisty little Spiderling swinging around his streets, he realizes things are a lot worse than he ever could have thought.

Notes: So this just hit me in the middle of the night while reading fanfiction and avoiding hw the other night. I’ve got several ideas for it going forward, so this isn’t a one shot, but with midterms right around the corner I can promise nothing. Sorry. But I love you all and I’m hoping to get the next part out soon. <3 Enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think!

This is unbetaed, so sorry for any mistakes.

Also, if anyone is interested, I realized while titling this that the song I took inspiration from is actually a lot more relevant to this story than I thought, and even more so the play itself. You can consider it the theme song for this story. The song is called “All That Matters,” from the Broadway cast of Finding Neverland. If you ever get the chance to see it, you most definitely should, or at least listen to the soundtrack. So listen to that if y’all get a chance, and do with that what you will.Okay, now enjoy! 💙

Only one thing in the world had made Tony think twice about fulfilling his full potential.

It wasn’t his friends. Or family — not that he really had any to speak of. Not his position at SI, not fear for his life, his work, his legacy, or anything of the sort.

It was the last thing someone would expect, honestly. Even for a man like Tony, an alpha with such power, who commanded such respect, had to have a soulmate. One he was expected to love, cherish, and yes, even a man like him craved that. He hadn’t met them yet, though, his soulmate, but the two words branding him, marking him with the words from his soulmate that will seal their bond, are there, have always been there, carefully hidden away from the public eye… and terrifying him in a deeper way than anything else could.

Please don’t.

Keep reading

35 notes · See All

Oh, honey 😔 I’m so sorry for your loss. I can absolutely put together a list of fanfiction for you and I hope it helps to soothe your mind a little. My inbox is also always open for whatever you need ❤

To Build A Road (That Leads to Your Heart) | @starkerscoop
Velvet Elvis 
Leftovers | @
Take Me (Off Speaker) | @starkerisendgame

I tried to keep them sweet and fluffy for you, I hope these help sweet Non. If anyone has any other fluffy, sweet fics to share please don’t hesitate. 

33 notes · See All

So you probably didn’t mean this as a prompt but my lizard brain sort of glued itself to cock worship and I kinda ran with it.

TW: Daddy kink | Breathplay if you squint.

Peter had many things he adored about Tony. An almost endless list, in fact. There was very little he disliked, aside from Tony’s blatant lack of self care, love and respect.

If asked, he’d wax poetic about Tony’s selfless heroism, the way he laughed and the way he looked in a tux. His frighteningly intelligent mind and his sassy jokes.

But they were all, to some extent, a lie.

Or at the least, a half-truth.

No. Peter’s true favourite thing about Tony - Not to sound shallow - Was his cock.

When Tony’s sex tapes were leaked; Peter nearly wanked himself into exhaustion. Took the day off sick to stare slack-jawed and drooling at the shaky videos. Not even the shame of finding out they weren’t consensually recorded wasn’t enough to drive him to delete them.

And meeting the man in person, well. Seeing the way that cock stretched his slacks, the slight jut in thr armour to encompass its mass comfortably…

Even Captain America had resorted to the odd polite cough to bring Peter’s eyes back up to an appropriate level.

The first time Peter had actually gotten up close and personal with it, he’d cried. Literally. Genuine tears had streamed down his cheeks. Tony had been horrified.

Of course, the horror had quickly vanished when Peter had forced himself down on it, inch by underprepared inch, too eager to wait any longer. Too desperate to get a feel of it.

It was a need that had never waned. Not even five months later, when they had tentatively and unspokenly gone from just sexual to something a little more…More.

“Je-esus, kid! Take a breath” Tony hissed above him, practically curling over Peter’s head as the boy hollowed his cheeks, putting a Dyson to shame.

“You are literally-” Peter let his teeth skim the smooth, slick tip. “-The only person who’d complain during a blowjob”. He punctuated it by letting his tongue press firmly into the leaking slit, tasting the pre-cum there.

“I can, when you won’t let me cum” Tony grumbled back, relaxing against the headboard, threading his fingers through Peter’s hair tenderly.

Peter supposed he had a point. Tony had been on the edge of cumming earlier, hips shoving his cock deep into Peter’s throat, right up until Peter had pinned them down, let the suction drop, wrapped his fingers tight around Tony’s base.

Peter couldn’t help it. He wasn’t ready for it to be over. Wanted Tony’s cock in his mouth for hours to follow. Wanted it choking him until Tony was desperate to cum, until he took matters into his own hands.

He licked a fat, wet stripe up the side, then the underside; the other side, laving the hard, hot skin like a cold ice-cream on a hot day. Kitten-licked his way up to the tip and sealed his lips over it, sucked hard until his throat ached with it.

“Peter - Peter, fuck. Fuck. That’s it, baby” Tony groaned, using the handful of hair he held in a tight fist to try and pull Peter down. Peter braced himself on his elbows, resisted.

He wasn’t ready to let Tony cum. Not yet.

The night had started off slow, lazy. Peter had kissed and licked his way down Tony’s stomach, had spent almost twenty minutes simply mouthing at Tony’s cock through his jeans.

Had crawled his way up Tony’s body, ground against him in slow, circular rocks until Tony’s grip went tighter, until he tried to fuck up against Peter’s ass.

And that had landed them here. With Tony so hard his cock was red, verging on purple, so strung out and high on the dragged out pleasure he was rosy cheeked and glossy eyed, chest heaving as he panted.

He suckled his way back down the underside, to the sensitive dip where cock base became balls, suckled here as he used his thumb to abuse the slit, felt Tony writhing beneath him. Coiled like a spring.

“God, that mouth. That fucking mouth. Daddy can’t look at it without thinking about those pretty little lips all stretched around his cock” Tony breathed, and Peter whined even though he saw through the attempt to get him to sweeten up.

Relatiating, Peter steadied himself and sunk down on Tony’s cock, felt the thick stretch of it forcing his throat open, cutting off his air. Suckled and gurgled around Tony’s dick as his breath became short and Tony’s hips bucked in aborted little jumps.

“You’re gonna kill me” Tony whined above him, eyes round and revered as he watched Peter’s cheeks go ruddy. The boy hadn’t even had his cock touched in an hour, but he looked as wrecked as Tony felt.

Peter truly seemed to intend on sending him to an early grave, because some gentle bullying found Tony standing by the edge of the bed, watching in rapt wonder as Peter’s throat bulged around his cock.

“Daddy’s little slut” he cooed affectionately, went to pull out when Peter’s body begun to convulse slightly. But hands found his asscheeks, gripped the meat hard and pinned him in place as Peter squirmed.

“Shit, baby. Baby, let me go. You gotta breathe. You ca-an’t” Tony’s words broke as Peter choked around him, swallowed, finally let him go as the boy gasped for air, hanging off the edge of the bed.

Peter didn’t really give either of them time to recover, drooling as he painted for breath, wrestling Tony back down onto the bed and diving straight back onto his cock with sloppy, loose sucks, more a wet space for Tony to thrust up into.

“You’d swear my cock was a drug and you’re an addict” Tony huffed, gripping Peter’s jaw to pull him off, fingers flexing at the pathetic whine Peter let loose at being denied.

“Can’t help it” the boy drawled in response, wrapping both hands around Tony’s cock and pumping him in slow, twisting strokes. “It’s so perfect. So big. It’s yours”. Fought his way back down to suck the tip like it was oxygen.

Tony could have cum. With his cock twitching a drooling pre-cum over Peter’s tongue, with his hands in the boys hair and pleasure now a raging inferno in his gut.

He was denied.

“Baby. Please. Daddy’s begging you” Tony whimpered, voice rough as Peter kept him teetering on the edge, grip flexing and tongue curling around his cock, breath hot over Tony’s hip.

“Mm” Peter mumbled around him, vibrations making Tony’s whole body seize. He felt like a live wire, electric and ready to explode, fingers twisting harshly in Peter’s dark curls. Peter swallowed him down again, not choking himself but constricting his throat around Tony’s cock, tongue pressed flat and warm, an extra friction on each thrust.

Tony could feel it. Building. Raging. Consuming. Tried desperately not to show it in case Peter stole it from him for a third time, bit his lip and let his head fall back as he rocked up in the slick embrace of Peter’s throat.

Peter must’ve known, though, because as Tony cried out and buried himself down Peter’s throat, the boy swallowed him easily, cheeks hollowed and eyes closed, squeezed Tony tight as cum flooded the back of his throat.

He was sloppy and sticky when he pulled out, slapped his cock a few times against Peter’s swollen, plum-shade lips with a lazy, worn out smile. “Daddy’s perfect little boy” Tony praised, cupped Peter’s cheek.

He let out a rough sound when Peter’s tongue licked up his cock, oversensitive and done for, but the boy was only cleaning up, licking and suckling gently until Tony was cleaner and softening against his jaw.

“You suck dick like you’ll die if you dont” Tony mused, hauling Peter up, over his body to snuggle, the press of the boy’s hard cock digging into his hip, though Peter seemed content just to curl against him.

“A dick like that deserved worship” Peter rasped, looking up at him with a dopey grin.

And worship Peter did. Every blowjob was like a prayer, leaving Tony almost too far gone to bury himself in the boy’s ass. Sucking him down until he was glazing over from oxygen loss; until the ache of his jaw was visible in the way he ground his teeth.

But Tony had never felt more loved or more worshipped than when he was two hours into needing to cum, helpless beneath his boy as Peter licked and sucked.

380 notes · See All

It’s Peter. It’s always Peter.

“When I dream…It’s you. It’s always you.”

Those round, adoring eyes the first time they met. His dogged determination to make Tony proud. The blatant joy in his laughter when Dum-E ran over Tony’s foot.

It’s always Peter.

“And I wanted you to be better!”

Fear. Pain. Betrayal. Terrified of losing what isn’t even his; so he runs. Phones Happy and tells him to raid a store on the way. Can’t face the destruction he’d left behind.

It’s Peter. Always.

Agony and anguish in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna go”.

No words for his Aunt. His friends. Only Tony. Sorrow breaking through the cracks in the pain; reaching for him as every atom tears itself apart and desperately tries to reform.

“I’m sorry”.

Tony should have said it back. Was too cowardly to ever say it; even before. Too cowardly to apologise for Halle. For The Vulcan. For every single time he let a little bit of the man Howard shaped him to be slip through.

Peter is dust before he can force the words out. Chokes on them. Can do nothing but stare as dust disappears into nothing, heedless of his own wounds.

Being stabbed with his own armour was nothing compared to the sensation of his heart exploding behind his ribs. Worse than the arc reactor. Worse than anything.

It’s Peter.

It’s always Peter.

His face on a hologram at the Compound. Tony’s biggest failure to date. Remembers the day it was taken; standing behind the camera as Peter pulled faces and cracked jokes.

“I lost the kid”.

It’s Peter in a photoframe. Grinning and care free. A fake internship. Tony has others, locked away. Can’t remember why he kept this one out.

Except he does. Because it’s Peter.

It’s always Peter.

“Well shit. I did it.”

Not thinking of millions, but one. One reason.

Aching and bloody, his energy failing because fuck. He can’t do this again. He can’t lose him again. Remembers soft flesh caving into ash.

It’s Peter.

If there’s one thing he wants to be the last thing he ever sees…It’s Peter.

We did it, Mr. Stark. You did it.”


Knows Peter will never know that it was never just a nickname. Never just a constant jab at his youth, but a claim. Mine.

Knows he’ll never get to tell him. Peter didn’t cry when he crumbled under Tony’s touch; but he cried now. Soul-crushing sobs, tears sliding between the warped metal and the charred flesh at Tony’s neck.

“To the next Tony Stark. I trust you. Knock ‘em dead”.

Because it was always going to Peter. Peter was his purpose as much as Iron Man. His destiny. It was never millions that made him roll that dice. Never millions that made him plaster the cracks between those who’d betrayed him.

Never millions that assured him it was finally okay to close his eyes. That he’d done the right thing; done all he could do.

It was Peter.

103 notes · See All

None of my business


Originally posted by tree-leaves-blue

Unacceptable – CapiPaleta

Steve se aferra con todas sus fuerzas a las muñecas del hombre de acero, agradece que las manos no le suden y que su ex no sea un rencoroso de mierda, porque mira hacia abajo y está seguro que la oscuridad lo mira a él también. No está seguro de en qué parte del mundo está, ni siquiera está seguro de seguir en el mundo.

Él es un veterano de guerra, por supuesto, pero nunca había hecho viajes interdimensionales, es más, estaba seguro que eso tenía más pinta de pesadilla que de misión de los Avengers. Porque nada de eso tiene sentido y había visto muchísimas cosas que carecían por completo de él, pero nunca a ese nivel.

¿En qué momento los renglones de Dios se torcieron tanto que llevaron a que un hombre como Loki engendrase una serpiente como esa? ¿Acaso nadie piensa que, genéticamente hablando, es imposible? Y eso que él no es precisamente sr. Ciencia.


Originally posted by damngoodname

¿O acaso es el resultado de los pecados de la humanidad? Y no confundamos, Steve, así como se ve, aferrado a IronMan, entiende por completo el amor entre hombres, ese no es el problema moral, es que fuesen hermanos.

Y no, no es menos grave porque Loki sea adoptado, incluso Steve podría pensárselo un poco más si hubieran cometido el pecado luego de saberlo, pero basta ver a la serpiente & al pequeño lobo, para entender que su relación incestuosa lleva más de un par de siglos.

Es decir, aún ellos mismos se creían hermanos. ¿Cómo, cómo? No creces mil y pico de años creyendo que es tu hermano, para que las hormonas te lleven por un camino completamente incorrecto en un par de siglos. Rogers pensó que Thor era un hombre con más autocontrol de sí mismo. Pero se equivocó.

Y no, no está bien. Por más que las largas, sensuales y sedosas piernas de Loki te hagan pensar lo contrario. ¡El incesto no está bien!


Originally posted by loptrlaufey

Un trueno le regresa al presente, el Dios más nórdico entre los nórdicos, está enfrentándose solo a un demonio con el poder de destruir la Tierra, escucha gritos, palabras sueltas de Thor que insisten en terminar con esa locura y volver a casa o algo por el estilo.

La voz impetuosa de la serpiente cimbra el espacio.  

— ¡Simplemente déjanos en paz!

Jörmungander se retuerce ferozmente y el Cap ve como Hulk tiene que aferrarse a sus escamas con los dientes, y aunque sabe que el hombre verde no tiene ni una pizca del intelecto de Banner, no puede dudar sobre su instinto de supervivencia ¿Acaso no huele el dulce aroma del veneno?

— Por más que lo odies, somos familia.

Thor nunca lanza su hacha, solo hace que sus rayos repten por la piel de la serpiente mientras se mantiene en el aire, Steve no tiene que ser un genio para entender que no quiere herirla en realidad. Le gustaría estar tan seguro de que lo mismo va para Jör, pero no parece ser el caso.

La bestia muestra sus dientes y, demonios, son enormes. La distancia que Tony ha tomado le permite ver el panorama completo y se jura no es nada halagador. Mira hacia arriba y el hecho de que su ex novio permanezca en el más poluto de los silencios, no hace más que darle escalofríos.

Luego ve un pequeño cuerpo escalando por la parte trasera de la cabeza de la serpiente, Steve, que ya es un hombre madurito, tiene que hacer un esfuerzo por enfocar la figura y descubrir que Loki ha subido con sus dagas hasta la coronilla de su hijo.

— ¡Nunca vas a ser nuestra familia! Papá no te necesita.

Steve está realmente confundido, aquella enorme serpiente hace reproches como un crío. Ve que aquella frase, dicha con odio real, deja inmovilizado al asgardiano rubio, quien en ese segundo de confusión es golpeado por la cola de Jör, el golpe es realmente intenso pues Thor choca contra las paredes que, ahora que mira bien, parecen también escurrir en el líquido amarillo. La serpiente presiona a Thor con su cola, Steve siente que ellos deberían estar haciendo algo, pero no sabe el qué.

— Eso es algo que tiene que decidir él.

Thor levanta la stormbreaker y la encaja en la pared para zafarse del agarre, luego lleva la electricidad por su cuerpo….

— Muy bien, estoy harto. ¡Cállense los dos! — Loki se impone en lo alto, no se parece en nada al tipo quebrado que llegó la noche anterior. Thor detiene sus ataques y se mantiene en el aire, Jör se tensa, el Capitán mira asombrado como humo verde aparece a los pies del pelinegro y como su capa se ondea imponente ¿Qué acaso Loki lleva efectos especiales para sus entradas? —  Tienes razón, Jör, soy un terrible padre y él un terrible espécimen asgardiano, pero hice todo esto para que volvieras a mi lado y ahora te vas a quedar quieto y me obedecerás.

La serpiente baja la cabeza, casi rendido, sus profundos ojos negros reflejan tristeza.

— ¿Podías hacer eso desde un inicio?

La voz de IronMan por fin vuelve a llenar el ambiente, Steve siente como es jalado por el hombre de hierro hasta donde está Loki.

— Este es el momento en que te callas y me ayudas a sujetar al niño.

Exclama el pelinegro.

— No pienso ir con Thor.

Bufa la serpiente, Rogers pone sus pies con mucho cuidado sobre la cabeza de Jör, mentiría si dijese que las piernas no le tiemblan un poco.

— No te estoy preguntando jovencito, es una orden.

Jör comienza a retorcerse, Steve se aferra con uñas y dientes a las escamas ¡Al diablo con el veneno! Él odia las alturas. Hulk por fin arriba al escenario, se lanza contra la quijada de la serpiente e intenta forzarla a cerrar las fauces.

IronMan utiliza los repulsores a su máxima potencia para empujar al animal desde el cuello contra la pared, en un intento más o menos efectivo para detener sus frenéticos movimientos.

— ¡Hey! Cuidado que me lo maltratan.

Steve rueda los ojos ante la voz de Loki, mientras se decide a ayuda a Hulk con el problema que representan sus colmillos. Pero mientras es zarandeado de un lado a otro, aprecia con perfecta nitidez como Loki levanta los brazos, sin mediar palabras con Thor, este parece entenderle pues vuela hasta él y le levanta tomándole desde la cintura.

Por un segundo Steve siente que está mirando una atractiva escena cliché de un manga shojo. Luego se repite que está viendo incesto y se le pasa la emoción. Loki se aferra al cuello de Thor, el rubio lo toma desde las piernas y lo sienta en sus brazos, como una princesa… una mimada y encaprichada, pero princesa al final.

— Amigos míos, sosténganlo bien.

Thor se eleva más con sus rayos y entonces Steve está seguro de hablar por él y por Tony, al decir que ambos se quedaron anonadados al ver a Loki sacar la gema del espacio. La luz cegadora cubre el luegar y de pronto Steve se encuentra cayendo al vacío.

Por el golpe, nunca jamás admitirá que se desmayó del puro susto, el Capitán se siente desubicado, está 100% seguro de que estaba luchando contra una serpiente gigante y que estar ahora en un suelo que parece concreto, no tiene sentido.

Stark, ya sin la careta de su traje, le extiende la mano, Steve la toma y sonríe en agradecimiento, el rubio puede jurar que ve una ligera sonrisa en los labios del ingeniero y su corazón se estruja un momento, luego mira a Loki, junto a él hay un chico de preciosos ojos negros y cabello del mismo color, tiene los brazos cruzados. Steve calcula unos 15 años, un jovencito.

Oh Dios.

Un maldito adolescente con el poder de destruir mundos.

¿Cómo iba a terminar eso?

— Bien Diva, ¿Cómo es que tienes la gema del espacio?

Tony se para frente a Loki, el asgardiano sonríe con esa mueca de locura que a Steve no se le olvida, se lleva una mano a la cintura y con la otra mueve su cabello hacia atrás.

— Fingí mi muerte hasta con el mismo Titán loco que ustedes no pudieron detener…

— En el primer intento.

Exclama Stark, como si su orgullo hubiese sido herido. El Capitán analiza los ojos de Tony y se pregunta seriamente qué piensa, al inicio pensó que estaba haciendo esto por solo compromiso como los guardianes de la Tierra, pero Steve ve un compromiso que no corresponde al papeleo burocrático de ser un héroe, ve algo de ilusión en esos ojos y se pregunta por qué.

— Esta es una simple piedra con parte del poder de la gema, imagínala como un pequeño frasco — Loki señala la piedra en su mano, es azul, de un azul brillante — Jör siempre fue muy grande y esta ha sido la única forma de hacerlo más pequeño.

— Cuando invadiste la Tierra… — Steve empieza a atar los cabos y aunque no piensa justificar la invasión a New York, tiene que admitir que el amor de los padres es algo que supera con creces cualquier otro amor, pese a que él nunca llegó a experimentarlo mucho tiempo con sus propios padres.

— ¿Por qué no me lo dijiste? — Thor ha caminado hasta el pelinegro y le ha tomado de los hombros, Steve ve el dolor, la decepción & el arrepentimiento en sus pupilas azules y su ceño fruncido, Loki se remueve incómodo —¿Por qué decidiste hacer todo tú solo? ¿No somos familia?

Un puntapié propinador por el adolescente, justo en la espinilla, hace retroceder a Thor. Jör sigue con los brazos cruzados, pero ahora se ha puesto en medio de Thor y Loki, su padre le mira con una expresión que Steve no es capaz de descifrar.

— ¿Será acaso porque tú me condenaste a este lugar? ¿O será porque en realidad no eran familia?

— Tu padre siempre será mi familia, independientemente de que seamos o no hermanos.

Jör sonríe de lado, una expresión clara de burla, se gira hacia Loki y se aferra a su brazo, aún es más pequeño que el pelinegro, apenas llega a su hombro, sin embargo, su verdadera forma da la vuelta a la Tierra. ¿Dónde está el sentido en esto? ¿El niño sabe que su padre es la madre de Fenrir? Neta, Steve piensa que nada está bien en el mundo. Esto es totalmente la degradación de la moral, del buen gusto, de la estética. ¡Es inaceptable!

— Bueno, es momento de ir a casa antes de que Odín se percate de que has desaparecido de su prisión. ¿Listos para el viaje de regreso? Hacerlo con mis poderes y la gema del espacio no es precisamente tan cómodo como los viajes de Strange.

Steve se acerca al Dr. Banner que, en algún punto de la caída, dejó de ser Hulk, pero al parecer el ambiente de la prisión no le ha sentado bien pues tiene una pinta de echar todo lo verde que lleva dentro en una arcada. Thor se coloca detrás de Loki y los demás le imitan, Tony se para detrás de él. Steve piensa que, si el viaje será pesado, lo mejor es conversar un poco, aligerar el ambiente.

No es que sean enemigos, es que simplemente, siente que las cosas siguen sin estar bien. Se gira para verlo a los ojos, Tony bosteza mientras mira derredor, Steve hace lo mismo cuando la luz de la gema en las manos de Loki empieza a brillar, no tiene tiempo de iniciar la charla con Stark, ante su asombro, un portal aparece sobre su cabeza. Es el portal del Dr. Strange, luego una telaraña desciende a una velocidad increíble, atrapa a Tony por la espalda y en un segundo el millonario desaparece de su vista por el portal que se cierra detrás. Escucha a Loki susurrar un “Ese sobreprotector…

Y luego el viaje más turbulento de su vida, múltiples luces, sentir que cae en una vorágine en espiral, y vueltas y vueltas. Más luces, gritos desgarradores, gente sufriendo en todas partes y a la vez en ninguna, su cuerpo rebota de un lado a otro, apenas puede enfocar a Banner para ver un espectáculo grotesco de aspecto verde y consistencia líquida.

I repeat, this is not a drill– Stephen Strange


Originally posted by marvelheroes

Stephen Strange no es un hombre que sepa mucho de quehaceres del hogar, ni como médico ni como hechicero se vio en la necesidad de limpiar para alguien más. Pero justo ahora se replantea lo complicado que es cuidar de otros seres humanos cuando estos no requieren asistencia médica.

Fenrir gira sobre su propio lomo en la mesa de la cocina, vuelta a la derecha, vuelta a la izquierda, saca la larga lengua que casi arrastra en la propia tabla de cortar. El Hechicero Supremo mientras tanto termina de limpiar el desastre que los barbáricos Avengers han dejado después de la fiesta.

Stephen hace un esfuerzo realmente noble en respirar y contar hasta diez para no darles manotazos con la capa a todos ¿Qué acaso no quedó claro con la pancarta que el festejo era para Loki? Todos, sin excepción, han comido y bebido del pastel y el té, sin siquiera importarles que el invitado no estuviese presente.

Fenrir bosteza y Stephen aprecia sus lindos y puntiagudos colmillos, el Hechicero se muerde el labio inferior pensando en todos los posibles escenarios que la mitología ha definido para el cachorro. Si está ahí, aguantando todo eso, es porque tiene una misión más importante que su propio confort. Se acerca hasta el cachorro y este se endereza en el acto, receloso.

El lobo no le gruñe, pero sus ojos profundamente verdes le miran con cuidado, temeroso y a la defensiva. Strange coloca su mano en la mesa, a escasos centímetros de la pata de Fenrir, el cachorro se acerca con un poco de cautela, olfatea y aunque no hace más, vuelve a recostarse, esta vez más cerca de Stephen.

El neurocirujano sonríe un poco. De pronto Natasha, la ex espía rusa, se sienta frente suyo, apoya su mentón sobre su mano y mira al cachorro con mucha ternura.

— Podría cuidarlo por ti.

— No.

Stephen no cuida las formas, la respuesta es rotunda. Hace un tiempo luchó contra Loki y perdió el manto de Hechicero Supremo, no tenía ganas de enfrentarlo en modo “madre enojada” por dejar que algo le pasara a Fenrir. El cachorro estaría bajo su única y exclusiva vigilancia mientras él estuviera a cargo. Natasha rueda los ojos y se mantiene en la misma posición, acerca una mano y toma de la pata al cachorro quien da un respingo, pero no se aleja. Stephen, además, no está seguro sobre el papel de la Romanoff, hasta donde él sabe, la mujer no tiene fama por su fidelidad.

Luego la voz de V.I.E.R.N.E.S irrumpe “Señor Stephen, el protocolo Dumbledore ha sido activado

El Hechicero mira a Natasha quien alza los hombros sin respuesta aparente, se gira a mirar al resto de avengers en el salón, Bucky mira televisión y ni siquiera se digna en girarse, la Bruja Escarlata atiende su celular sentada en las escaleras y Vision ni siquiera está en su rango de visión.

— ¿Eso qué significa?

Pregunta al cielo y se siente estúpido por no saber conversar con una A.I.

“Es un protocolo desarrollado por el Sr. Stark en caso de que la Torre quede sin protección, estoy programado para darle la toma de decisiones a usted, Dr. Strange, nombre clave Hechicitos”

Stephen tiene muchas preguntas qué hacer, incluida la parte en que su apodo no le gusta, primero ¿Por qué Stark finge no confiar en él pero le entrega el liderazgo de la Torre durante su ausencia? Que, por cierto, él ni siquiera sabía que Stephen estaría ahí durante esta misión así que es evidente el protocolo Dumbledore existe desde antes y eso, irremediablemente, hace sentir a Strange un poco especial.

Lo siguiente…

— ¿Por qué la Torre quedará sin protección?

“Es solo un momento, las defensas de la Torre se desactiva solo segundos en lo que SpiderMan entra por alguna de las ventanas”

Strange tiene recuerdos del chico, aunque hace tiempo que no le ve, le agradó, en su escaso rango de gente tolerable, un poco. Pero no entiende cuáles son las funciones del protocolo ni qué tiene que hacer, así que gira su rostro a la espía que sigue sin despegar sus ojos del bebé lobo.

— ¿El chico araña tiene autorización de entrar aquí? ¿Acepto?

Romanoff alza la mirada, tiene un poco el ceño fruncido.

— Al parecer Anthony confía más en ti que en cualquiera del equipo. Eso es molesto ¿Sabes?

— Yo no se lo pedí, ni siquiera lo sabía.

“La Torre quedará sin protección en 10 segundos…”

El hechicero mira por los enormes ventanales de la Torre y a la lejanía ve a un punto rojo moverse entre los edificios como si jugara en un columpio, incluso escucha gritos de alegría parecidos a sonidos incoherentes como “Yeii, wooooaaa, siiii… ¡auch!”

— Romanoff…

Exclama en un tono autoritario, la espía rueda los ojos.

— Claro que tiene autorización para entrar, el chico casi se la vive aquí. No sé si se da cuenta doctor, — Strange nota el cinismo en su pronunciación—pero V.I.E.R.N.E.S no le está pidiendo permiso para que Spiderman entre, le está diciendo que, si mientras se abren las ventanas, algo sucede… usted es el responsable.

Witzy Witzy, entrando al complejo por la ventana noreste

Los ventanales frente a él se abren, nadie en el complejo alza la mirada, es como si fuera una secuencia común pese que para él, que tardó un rato en lograr burlar la seguridad de la Torre, es un espectáculo extraño.

Un chico rebota literalmente de una pared a otra dando brincos como si la batería integrada estuviera sobrecalentada.

— ¡Hola gente!

“Hola Pete” responde V.I.E.R.N.E.S y Romanoff. El joven se alza la máscara cuando aterriza frente suyo y como si sus ojos chocolates fueran absorbidos por una fuerza más grande, se dirige de inmediato hacia Fenrir.

Strange actúa por inercia, toma al lobo y se lo pega al pecho ante la mirada atónita de Natasha y del chico arácnido.

— ¡Dr. Strange! — Peter brinca sobre la larga mesa y le abraza apenas cruza, dejando impactado al hechicero, gracias al cielo, su capa responde dándole un manotazo al joven quien de inmediato se retira — ¡Hola a ti también! Disculpe Dr, no lo había visto ¿Cómo ha estado? ¡Cuánto tiempo! Aquella vez no tuve la oportunidad de agradecerle, ya sabe, por proteger al Sr. Stark, sé que puede ser testarudo, pero no es malo por favor no se enoje con él ¿Por cierto qué hace aquí? ¿Es una emergencia? ¿El mundo se está acabando otra vez? ¿Dónde está el Sr. Stark?

¡Que alguien lo calle por favor! ¿No tiene un botón de apagado en alguna parte?

— Deja que el Doctor respire, Peter.

— ¡Oh lo siento! De verdad… la gente dice que hablo mucho, el Sr. Stark suele burlarse de mí diciendo que debería ponerme las telarañas en la boca ¿Pero sabe? ¡Duele mucho! No es que lo haya intentado, por favor, claro que no. Pero se pegan de manera especial, claro, yo las hice para que fueran resistentes… si no pegaran lo suficiente serían un fracaso.

— Entiendo.

Comenta a secas, mientras consigue volver a respirar, el joven lo deja sin aliento, aunque ni siquiera haya pronunciado más de dos frases juntas.

— ¿Puedo verlo? ¿Es la nueva mascota del complejo?

Pregunta el castaño mientras acerca su mano a Fenrir, el lobezno huele un poco su mano, luego lame uno de sus dedos y cierra los ojos para restregar su linda cabecita en la mano del chico. Srange siente que le sube un malestar por la boca del estómago, como agruras. ¿Cómo es posible que Fenrir sea más simpático con un recién llegado?

— Es el hijo de Thor

Contesta con el afán de incomodar al chico y presenciar su reacción.

— ¿El hijo del tío Thor? ¡Increíble! ¿Loki es la madre? ¡Dígame que sí! Oh eso sería fabuloso….

— Lo es…

Responde Natasha quien le mira anonadada, Stephen está seguro que tiene la misma expresión.

— Oh diablos, es que Thor me ha hablado mucho de él y Loki y yo sin querer terminé shippeandolos…

Stephen no va a preguntar qué es eso de ship ¿Ship qué? Da igual, no le interesa. No se va a poner a molestar a un chiquillo solo por eso. Fenrir empieza a moverse incómodo en sus brazos y estira sus patas hacia Peter, aunque el hechicero frunce el ceño y refunfuña, no se niega a extender al bebé hacia la araña quien feliz lo toma como si fuera un preciado tesoro.

— Loki es una madre sobreprotectora, por favor ten cuidado.

— ¡No es posible que confíes más en él que en mí! — reclama Natasha cruzándose de brazos y generando una mueca que helaría a cualquiera — Cuando Stark vuelva, si es que vuelve, tendrá una conversación seria conmigo.

— Pero agente, no puede ser tan dura con él, es decir, una vez ya le falló. — Peter se muerde el labio de inmediato y Strange nota que el lugar se tensa por un momento — Pero claro, tenía sus motivos ¿He dicho ya que el Sr. Stark es testarudo?

— Ay Peter, sé que lo admiras, pero ve con cuidado.

La mujer se levanta y revuelve los cabellos del joven mientras se aleja, Peter sonríe, pero Strange no siente que esa sea una mueca realmente honesta. El chico araña comienza a caminar y el hechicero le sigue por inercia en su afán de cuidar a Fenrir quien parece dormido en los brazos del muchacho. Sin pretenderlo acompaña a Peter hasta bajar unas escaleras y acceder a unas puertas de cristal, el joven coloca su mano en un escáner y abre la puerta de lo que aparentemente parece el taller personal de Tony, luego se gira a verle con esos ojos chocolate.

— ¿El Sr. Stark tardará mucho?

— Fue a una misión con los otros vengadores. Cosas de Loki.

— ¿Él estará bien? — pregunta mientras se recarga en el marco de la puerta del taller — Es un hombre increíble, pero al final, un humano. A veces me preocupa que se exponga tanto.

— Niño, venció a Thanos. Un humano normal, no es.

— Lo venció, pero no sabe cuánto pagó por ello.

Los ojos de cachorro de Fenrir podrían ser menos conmovedores que los del muchacho que tiene enfrente. Aunque Stephen hizo lo correcto aquella ocasión, no supo más de los resultados emocionales de permitir que medio universo se desvaneciera, él no estuvo para saber las consecuencias, aunque las hubiera visto con su magia.

— Te preocupas demasiado por él, debes confiar.

— ¡Confío!

Contesta certero. A Strange le incomoda tanta confianza, también le incomoda que el mocoso, porque eso es lo que es con tan solo ¿Qué tiene, 16 años?, se pasee por ese complejo con tanta tranquilidad y pueda acceder a los lugares donde Tony solo deja entrar a los más cercanos. Lo sabe porque alguna vez la curiosidad fue más fuerte que él y echó un vistazo a su vida diaria.

No fue acoso, no. Nunca. Jamás.

Solo quería estar seguro que el hombre de acero seguía vivo luego de Thanos y el caos, que siguiera haciendo su trabajo sin meterse en problemas, que no lo involucrara en sus locuras y punto. Ninguna intención secundada. Y en ese taller solo entraban 3 personas además de Stark: Pepper, Banner y Rhodes. Amigos cercanos del magnate, que conocía desde hacía años.

¿Pero este chico qué? Strange recuerda haber tenido curiosidad sobre su relación en el pasado, en aquella nave en la que creyó que eran pupilo y mentor, pero que Peter se encargó de negar de forma rotunda ¿Entonces qué eran? ¿Por qué le preocupaba algo tan irrelevante como eso?

— ¿Quieres que veamos cómo están?

No sabe por qué, pero antes de ser consciente ha dicho aquello. No es que él quiera saber qué hace Stark ahora, si podrá hablar ya o si seguirá mudo. Solo quiere ayudar al muchacho, claro.

Ese muchacho que seguramente representa el lado paternal de Stark y que, de cierta forma, también logra mover la vena protectora de Strange.

Peter asiente y el hechicero abre un portal, al asomarse se da cuenta que el peligro ha pasado. Todos los vengadores forman una fila y Strange nota el descaro coqueteo del Capitán Rogers. ¿Quién diablos se piensa que es para intentar charlar con Tony? ¡Es el ex! Debe aprender su lugar…

Mira hacia el frente y ve a Loki dispuesto a realizar un viaje con la gema del espacio.

— Tenemos que sacar a Tony de ahí. — exclama en un hilo de voz, conoce a Loki. Seguro va a torturarlos en el trayecto. Loki puede cruzar dimensiones sin problemas, pero le encanta darle malos ratos a la gente que lo acompaña — Voy a ir por él.

Antes de que pueda levitar y alcanzar a IronMan, el chico a su lado que mira atónito la escena, dispara una red de telaraña y pesca a Tony por la espalda para subirlo con una fuerza increíble. Stephen ve en cámara lenta la cara de Stark cruzarse a centímetros de distancia cuando atraviesa el círculo mágico, el cual cierra por inercia una vez que ve al ingeniero caer sobre él.

— ¡Me has dado un susto de muerte, Strange!

— Que no he sido yo, ha sido tu pupilo. — Stark está demasiado cerca de su rostro, el peso del a armadura es considerable y sin embargo eso no es lo que hace que Strange sienta que el aire le hace falta, son los ojos profundos y marcados por los años los que le arrancan el aliento — ¿Podrías por favor, quitarte?

El hombre de acero se levanta mientras desaparece la nanotecnología de su traje, luego le extiende su mano, pero Stephen la rechaza y se pone de pie solo. Después se reprime ¿Por qué es tan orgulloso? Stark rueda los ojos y mira al chico a su lado.

— ¿Qué haces aquí Underoos?

— Pensé que podría necesitarme…

— No, si no te llamo es porque puedo arreglármelas solo.

— ¿Lograron su cometido? — Pregunta el mago ante la evidente falta de consideración hacia su presencia ¿Está pintado o qué?

Un estruendo en la parte de arriba del complejo los hace correr escaleras arriba para encontrarse con una escena bizarra, los vengadores en el suelo, hay algo verde y viscoso en el suelo que Stephen prefiere no mirar. Concentra sus ojos en el chico que se aferra a Loki. Muchas palabras van y vienen, Stephen no escucha mucho.

El Capitán se levanta y se refugia en los brazos de Bucky, el Doctor Banner desaparece tras las puertas del baño y Loki sigue refunfuñando sobre algo.

Escucha a Rogers negarse a algo, a Loki insistir y a Thor advertir, pero realmente no presta atención. Su mente está en otro lugar, pensando en demasiadas cosas que no tiene sentido preguntarse ahora.

— Pues consigue más gente, iremos por Hela ahora mismo.

— ¡Yo iré!

Exclama Peter aunque Stark le fulmina con la mirada.

— Iré también — reclama el mago, casi en un arrebato. Se siente estúpido ante el sentimiento de competencia que surgió de forma inesperada al escuchar al niño — En el infierno seré más útil que aquí.

Pasa algo más, Loki se acerca a Peter pero Strange no logra escuchar qué le dice, pues sus sentidos se concentran en los ojos color caoba del ingeniero que le miran de vuelta, el tipo sonríe y vaya que su sonrisa es cautivadora. No lo había visto con esa mueca antes.

— Si vienes con nosotros, por favor, no me vuelvas a hechizar o te irá muy mal.

La advertencia le suena deliciosa y Stephen quiere golpearse contra una pared por permitirse pensar eso.

— Bien, vámonos.

Afirma Loki.

— Peter no irá.

Espeta Tony, el asgardiano pelinegro rueda los ojos. Se acerca a su hijo mayor y le da instrucciones claras, el joven Jör asiente, pero no se le ve contento, aunque extiende sus brazos para cargar a Fenrir. Le dedica una mirada de odio a Thor antes de que este siga a Loki por el portal que ha abierto.

— No será tan peligroso, mi hija es un amor. Además, estará contenta al verme, no seas tan paranoico.

Thor sonríe mientras se lleva la stormbreaker al hombro y pone su mano libre sobre la espalda de Loki, quien se aleja en un desplante digno de una reina del drama.

—Si el mocoso quiere venir, pude hacerlo. No eres su padre para impedírselo, Tony. Hela nos recibirá muy bien.  

— Hablaremos de esto cuando regresemos, Parker.

El joven brinca de la emoción y Anthony suelta un suspiro cansado. La dinámica padre-hijo le resulta adorable a Stephen, aunque no lo diga en voz alta. Sin embargo, algo en el fondo de su pecho no se siente bien cuando spiderman le mira fijo antes de ponerse la máscara y seguir a la pareja de asgardianos por el portal.

— ¿Los cuidarás?

Romanoff se cruza de brazos.

— Solo por Fenrir, no por ti.

Exclama la espía y Stephen está contento con el trato. Así que camina detrás de Peter por el portal. El lugar al que llegan es menos adorable, nunca había estado en Hel. Es literalmente el infierno.

¿Por qué diablos olvidó que Loki siempre miente? No han dado ni siquiera dos pasos en ese lugar que huele a azufre, que se tiñe de un verde oscuro con un rojo enfermo y que asfixia con la sensación de muerte, cuando 2 demonios les reciben.

Si Hela estaba feliz de verlos, lo demostró de una forma muy peculiar. El ataque de fuego de ambos elfos gigantes que parecen hechos con lava, es irritante y agresivo. Loki camina hasta su lado, se acerca a su oído y susurra un “Este es tu momento de lucirte”

Stephen se queda en blanco. ¿Está siendo tan obvio? Y como si Laufeyson le leyera el pensamiento, le asiente con una sonrisa traviesa que le hiela la nuca.

IronMan está por elevarse en el cielo y acompañar a Thor que ya se encuentra lanzando truenos, cuando Stephen le pone la mano en el pecho.

— Yo me encargo, ustedes sigan.

— ¿Estás loco, Hechicitos? Estos tipos son enormes.

— Oh, Tony. Soy demasiado para ellos.

Stephen mentiría si no confesara que sintió un vuelco en el corazón al ver como descolocó al hombre de acero, así fuese por un par de segundos en que le dejó sin habla. Strange conocía que el millonario era un playboy, un coqueto de lo peor, pero, aunque tuviera tiempo sin hacerlo, él también fue un hombre cotizado. Un seductor natural.

Sonríe de lado y entorna la mirada, puede que estuviese un poco oxidado desde que se volvió Hechicero Supremo, pero si lo deseaba, podía lucirse con Stark. Y, diablos, en esos instantes cómo quería hacerlo.

Se eleva en los cielos y se dispone a pelear, activa los anillos de Raggador, despacha a Thor y observa a todos continuar su camino. Utilizando las bandas carmesí de cyttorak termina el trabajo en menos tiempo del que creyó.

Aunque, cuando alcanza a Loki y compañía, se da cuenta que tal vez no fue demasiado tiempo, pero fue el suficiente para perder por completo la idea de lo que estaba pasando. Después de acceder a un alto castillo y atravesar un río de cadáveres, encuentra a Hela, una mujer hermosa vestida de verde de pie frente a su trono de calaveras, a sus pies está Thor, arrodillado.

Mira en distintas direcciones, ninguno de los presentes pretende detener eso, sea lo que sea. Tony niega con la cabeza y Loki luce preocupado, pero no se mueve de su lugar.

— Hijo de Odín, acepta el castigo que te impone la guardiana de los muertos.

Stephen queda atónito cuando la larga espada de Hela arremete contra el rostro de Thor, quien no exclama ni un quejido, la sangre se derrama a borbotones por su cara… ¿No que estaría feliz de verlos?

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Eeee, hiii M! Thank you so much for this. I was secretly hoping someone would give me an excuse to write something based off this 😂 Although now it makes me want to write that super sketchy Starkercest version I had in mind…
This is short and sweet, but I hope you like it anyway! 
Prompt based off this gifset post ❤
Please consider reblogging this if you enjoyed it! 


Peter agrees to go without question. In truth; Tony doesn’t even have to ask. One look into eyes that are a little too wild around the edges and the teen understands well the look of a trapped animal desperate for freedom. 

Aunt May is still on her honeymoon, the Avengers have re-building the Compound handled from here, and in less than two hours they’re packed into the non-sportiest car Tony owns, chewing tarmac in a random direction, bags in the trunk and 70’s Rock filtering through the radio. 

Tony looks tired. Always, yes, but more so these days. Older, too, though no less handsome. Idly Peter thinks that anyone who didn’t know them would presume they’re father and son or even grandfather and grandson and the idea makes him twitch in his seat, cheeks heating in a curious mix of thrill and shame. 

He doesn’t ask where they’re going. 

He doubts Tony would have an answer for him even if he did. 

The close-knit bustle of New York begins to smooth out gradually, like a pen running out of ink. Skyscrapers and chunky brownstones become detached houses and office blocks, parks and green spaces between each building. 

As the distance between civilisation grows, so too does Tony’s relaxation, shoulders dropping and breathing evening until he’s leaning back in his seat, gaze on the road ahead but no longer like he’s attempting to overtake the horizon. 

Peter decides that by the time they’re ready to come back; he’ll have made sure Tony doesn’t want to chase the horizon at all. 

Tony’s thigh is warm under his palm, solid flesh with just the right amount of give when he squeezes. Habit has his hand a little higher than strictly appropriate when someone’s behind the wheel, but.

“Everything will be okay, Tony” he assured, the most words either of them have spoken since Peter asked if he needed to pack a coat, shorts or both. He can’t help staring; watching the way the golden sunlight falls over Tony’s face and illuminates it ivory with the streaks of grey in his hair and beard. 

Wonders idly if Tony had been dyeing his hair before, or if there was truth to the saying that stress gave you more grey hairs. 

Tony glances at him briefly, somewhere between amused and like he might argue, so Peter tightens his grip just a little, slides his hand another inch higher until one of Tony’s hands drops from the wheel to snag it, interlocking their fingers and squeezing gently. 

“Let’s not risk that sentiment by letting that hand get higher while I’m driving” Tony allows eventually. Peter’s sorely tempted to say then find a place to pull over, but they have all the time in the world for that (he doesn’t know that, can’t after the likes of Thanos, but he hopes, he hopeshopeshopes) and so for now he turns back to the sunset stretching out in front of them and thinks about all the places they could go.

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Against my better judgement, my prompts are never closed! Thank you so much for this super sweet/angsty prompt, Nonnie! I realised after finishing this that I never directly included Peter asking for forgiveness, but I hope this feeds you just the same! ❤

TW: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Self-worth issues | Jealousy | Alcohol mention


Harley Keener is two years Peter’s senior and nicer than Peter could have ever imagined. When Tony had first started to talk about the ‘the first one he pseudo-adopted’ and how Harley had grown into more of a ‘mini me’ than he could’ve imagined, Peter had felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. 

What if Harley was better than him?

What if Tony liked Harley more?

What if, with Harley around, Tony didn’t want Peter around anymore?

He needn’t have worried, though. Harley wasn’t as ‘outwardly’ nerdy as he was, but he was more than happy to gush over the latest Star Wars LEGO offerings, and Tony snarked them both in equal measure. It was surprisingly like having another Ned around, and it took less than a week for Peter to feel stupid for having worried about his place besides the two of them. 

Tony even joked that Harley was the ‘prototype’ and Peter was the ‘updated model’, to which Harley had just rolled his eyes, knocked Tony’s spanner off the table like a cat and gone straight back to talking to Peter about ComicCon.

They became fast friends, and Peter supposed that was somewhat why he tended to forget there was a second person in the lab with them here and there, starkly (heh) reminded of it when Harley flopped down next to him on the penthouse couch one evening and said “so how long have you been in love with Tony?” 

He could have cried. The Avengers he was around almost every other day for the past two years brushed off his doting as a hero complex and ‘mentor crush’ and it had taken Harley Keener less than three weeks to call him out on its true nature. 

Keep reading

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The text comes at 5:15pm, unexpected and ominous as he scrolled idly through Tumblr.

[The King] Report to couch. [17:15]

Peter’s brows furrowed as he aat bolt upright, re-reading the message. Report to couch? He mouthed to himself, head tilting. Tony had never used the word ‘report’ before. Even when they were actually reporting back.

“JARVIS?” He asked the room.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?”

“Where is Mr. Stark now?”

“The penthouse common area, Sir”.

Hm. Ergo; the couch. Peter shuffled out of bed and slipped on a pair of Vans, padding out of his room and down the hallway to the indoor balcony that surveyed the lower portion of the penthouse. He could see the couch from there and he could see Tony and…Steve?

Peter’s heart plummeted. He tried to turn on his heel and creep back to his room. He could pretend he was asleep; ask JARVIS to lie for him. Tony was facing the opposite way and his hearing probably wasn’t that good at 46.

“I know you’re there, Parker” Tony called out, and Peter cursed softly. Far below, Steve snorted and promptly swallowed the sound. Peter turned on his heel and made his way down the sweeping staircase.

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Kinktober Prompt Fills #5: Sexting in Public

Click here to learn more about our kinktober prompts list!

Notes: This is a Fake text messaging fic to begin with! The last short bit is written 🥰🥰🥰

Warnings: Nff, sexting in public, daddy kink, light bdsm, dirty talk

Summary: In which Peter and Tony met through FetLife and have an… Interesting moment together.




Tony gasps as he bumps into someone. He curses under his breath. He knows very well that it’s fault to run into someone while texting, but that doesn’t mean the other person couldn’t have paid attention. He- Oh God.

“Mr… Mr. Stark?”

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Pairing: Starker
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 2668
A/N: This was written for the @starkerkink Kink Exchange, for @iammagicfishhook who asked for some monsterfucking. I really hope you like it!!

Tags/TWs: explicit sexual content, werewolf Tony and human Peter, werewolf sex, werewolf anatomy, belly bulge, knotting, rimming, bottom Peter

Read it on AO3 here!


It had taken them a little while, but they had finally figured it out.

Before they had gotten together, Peter had one day found out that Tony wasn’t like most people he knew. It had been entirely by accident, had happened only because Peter had been up later than usual working on a project. By chance, his extra sensitive hearing had picked up on something stalking the compound and he’d gone to investigate, only to find a large beast roaming the compound grounds.

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And the one time Peter was there.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter IIII | Chapter IIIII



Peter actually enjoys his job at the bar. It’s fun to study how all these people come in all stressed and sick of everything even remotely related to a life and watch as their shoulder sag and with each gulp of whatever alcohol of choice, the negative and tired mindset takes one step further away. Like alcohol is somehow a cure keeping the poisonous thoughts on hold for a few hours.

Well, that’s most of the business folks coming in on the weekdays anyways. Then there’s the cocky guys who think they can conquer the world, and somehow always end up the most beat up at the end of the night. Not that Peter minds, really. If they’re here, then he won’t have to chase them down the streets. 

And then there’s the very loud college students that stumble in on the weekends to celebrate whatever project or exam they’re done with. Peter wishes, sometimes, that he could join them. That he could let his body loose on the dance floor, and laugh along with whatever ridiculous joke Harry is telling. 

He doesn’t do that, though. He tries it a few times, but his metabolism does not agree with alcohol of any kind, it seems, and his senses don’t know how to handle the extra input, and the normally dialed up to 11 sensations is suddenly at least a 20. It’s not fun, and it ruins the whole point of relaxing and enjoying the night. 

Besides, he’s seen what booze does to People who use it to escape reality, and Peter is a little scared he’ll end up in that category if he doesn’t keep himself in check. It sounds amazing, sometimes, to not have the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

But as it is, he enjoys serving the people who come into the bar, give them a kind smile and offer small talk to the lonely ones. It’s nice, and so different from the usual adrenaline filled day-to-day life he made for himself, so he’s not complaining. 

He’s leaning against the counter, casually flirting with one of the regular day-drinkers (it’s good tips, okay? He’s a struggling college student, he’s allowed to be a little cheap.) When the door opens, Peter’s nose picks up the expensive cologne along with the fresh (as fresh as possible in the middle of Manhattan) March air that sneaks its way inside, messing with the warm, cozy atmosphere. 

He excuses himself from the tired-looking woman he’s been chatting with and strolls over to the newcomer, and picks up a glass of their most overpriced whiskey on the way. He hasn’t actually seen Tony Stark here before, but he’s read an interview or two about the man, and after he started his bartender career, picking up on people’s drinking habits became like second nature. 

“Welcome, Mr.Stark. Having a nice day?” It’s not necessarily a good thing that the Tony Stark finds his way into a hole-in-the-wall bar in the middle of the day on a Wednesday, but as long as he’s still able to take of aliens and terrorists so that Spider-Man doesn’t have to, he’s not going to judge. 

“Peter? What are you doing here?” He looks like this is the last place he’d expect to find Peter, but really, where else would he be? 

“I work here? If you can’t tell? Seriously, Mr.Stark, I’ve got a name tag and everything.” He points at said name tag and smirks at the confused look, feeling a little confident boost he didn’t know he needed.

“Shouldn’t you be in class? Or running around in tights? Jesus, kid, when do you sleep?” Peter snorts, and starts wiping the counter to have something other to do than look at the disapproving look across the bar top. 

“Not everyone’s a born billionaire, y’know.” He says and points a finger in Mr. Stark’s direction, but offers a smile, just to show that he’s really okay. Which he is. It’s not like Iron Man can do anything about he’s packed everyday schedule anyway. 

“I know, but you’re so young. You should be out having fun. Getting drunk and testing the limits of your body. Not working yourself to an inch of your life and sacrifice yourself for ungrateful New Yorkers every day. Seriously, kid. When are you going to live a little?” 

Peter looks over to the lonely woman at the other end of the bar and taps another beer for her and heads over to get some time to think about his answer. It feels like he’s had this discussion with the other man already. It may have been a couple of years ago, so maybe Mr. Stark just needs a refresher, but it sounds wrong that Tony Stark would just forget the first time he was rejected. Maybe his genius brain wasn’t able to process it?

“Here you go, ma’am. Let me know if you need anything.” She gives a grateful smile and nods, but doesn’t say anything, too busy gulping down the bitter drink. 

“Maybe when New York isn’t the training ground for super villains?” He offers to the billionaire, who hums in return into his glass, and Peter really wants to know what the man is really doing here. “Anyway, what made you come here? Sure there’s some better places for you to spend your free time?” 

He snorts, and scrunches his face a little. “No one expects me to come here, and my assistant won’t murder me for not being in the office if she can’t find me.” What a work ethic, Peter muses, but he’s at work, and doesn’t want to get fired for being rude, so he keeps his thought on the matter to himself. “Anyway, when are you off work?” 

“What? Why? Planning on kidnapping me today?” At least that gets a laugh out of him, even if it is a hollow one. 

“Nah. Buy you some food, maybe. Kidnapping isn’t on today’s agenda, either, kid.” 

“Good to know. I can buy my own food, though.” He’s not sure why he even considers saying yes to the offer, he doesn’t really like the man, and the years they’ve kind of known each other have not exactly been pleasant meetings. When Peter thinks about it, it’s actually mostly Mr. Stark showing up whenever Peter would rather not have him there. Like when he’s totally got the situation under control, and Iron Man messing it all up. Totally. 

Maybe it’s the way he’s sitting in the rundown bar drinking whiskey in the middle of the week, looking all miserable and lonely. “I’m off in two hours. There’s a Thai restaurant down the street that serves the best Tom Kha Kai.”

“Sounds great. I’ll meet you back here, then. Thank you for joining me.” He slips a hundred dollar bill over the counter and gets to his feet with a smile. Peter is ready to argue about the amount of money presented to him, because even their most valuable liquor doesn’t cost nearly that much, but there’s something that feels a lot like a brick weighing down his entire jaw, and he can’t get anything other than a stuttered thank you out of his mouth. 

He’s definitely paying for dinner, that’s for sure.

Mr. Stark shows up in a new suit when Peter comes back from changing out of his work clothes. It doesn’t look like they’re headed the same way, Mr. Stark in what looks like a million dollar light grey suit and burgundy tie, shiny shoes and perfectly groomed hair, next to Peter in his oversized, dark blue hoodie, old jeans, duck taped sneakers and curls sticking out in every direction. 

 "Uhm— you wanna head out first? So People don’t think you’re just picking up homeless people or something?“ He gestures to himself and offers a weak smile. Mr. Stark looks him up and down with a frown, and Peter suddenly regrets the whole thing.

“Yeah— no. We’re going shopping first.” Peter opens his mouth to argue, he doesn’t need new clothes. Mr. Stark just needs to learn that not everything is requiring formal wear. But the man is already walking out the door, so whatever Peter was planning to say is lost in his hurry to catch up with the man he’s supposed to have dinner with.

“Hey, wait up. What do you mean, shopping?” 

When Tony says ‘we’re going shopping’ it’s not a new pair of jeans or a new shirt or something like that. That, Peter could live with, somehow. No. What Tony means is ‘you need a new wardrobe, and if your new clothes (plural) doesn’t fit in your dresser, I’ll get you a new one.’ 

So Peter’s day shift at the bar ends with him face planting his bed, legs aching from walking around the city for hours (he’s not made for walking, okay? He made his web shooters for a reason.) his bedroom is filled with bags from so many different stores he’s never even heard of and there’s a new dresser standing next to his old one, and he has absolutely no idea how it got there. 

Oh, and the billionaire apparently refuses to be called Mr. Stark anymore. It’s Tony, to you. Or I’ll be forced to call you kid. And then there’s the privilege of having Tony’s personal phone number. 

If you ask Peter how he let all this happen… he’ll probably blame it on aliens or something. He doesn’t have a single clue. But he did enjoy their night out, surprisingly. Tony is actually not so bad when he peels off the public Stark persona. So, even more surprising, is that Peter agreed to hang out again. 

What has his life become?

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