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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

Note

If you are okay with it, I was wondering if you could do a body switch soulmate au. When you first make eye contact with your soulmate you switch bodies. You stay in each other's bodies for 24 hours. I feel like this could cause some shenanigans on both sides. Tony hasn't had to be taught anything in awhile and Peter doesn't know how to run a company.

I was a little apprehensive about this idea at first but honestly? I adore it. I am afraid, however, I took this away from the ‘humor’ pathway and plopped it straight down into ‘light angst’. Please accept my apologies for that - And I’d be happy to write something more lighthearted if this doesn’t hit the spot. Keeping your own emotions and mindset out of what you write is hard sometimes.

Slight AU in that they meet differently to CW.

TW: Light angst | Slight hurt

He was going to lose his fucking mind. He could feel each one of his IQ points disintegrating as he stared at the board (an actual digital board, what fucking year were they in? 2015?) and tapped his pen restlessly on the desk. He hadn’t been to school since he was eighteen. The last time he’d been in a classroom was January, giving a motivational speech to Princeton graduates.

He felt too small and too stifled and if this woman pronounced Epinephrine wrong one more time, he was going to launch his desk at her and snap that stupid board in half.

Because he could do that, now. Displays of sheer power. Because Peter Parker had been bitten by a genetically modified spider and Tony was currently occupying Peter’s body.

Soulmates were so, so overrated.

“Hey, wonder kid. Tap that pen one more time” the girl to his left whispered, and Tony shot her a cool side-eye. MJ quirked a brow at him, equally unimpressed, and nodded to the board. Tony scowled but knew the effect was ruined by the soft, pretty baby-face he currently wore. Curse Peter and his lopsided brows and his huge eyes. Curse soulmates for existing.

MJ was thus far the only one who’d noticed The Switch. It was only sheer coincidence that Peter and Tony both had brown eyes of a similar enough shade that the telling switch of eye colour between soulmates hadn’t given them away. MJ, however, was astoundingly attuned into her best friend, and it had only taken three minutes in her presence for her scowl at him and ask who the fuck was wearing her friend’s meatsuit. Tony had to begrudgingly admit that he could see why her and Peter were good friends. She’d looked unimpressed at his claim until he’d pulled out his (Peter’s) phone to show the frantic texts from that morning, and then she’d huffed, rolled her eyes, and dragged him to first period.

He thought lunch would be a reprieve when it came, but instead he found himself staring with growing dismay at a tray of food that he’d refuse even if he was a prisoner, blanching in disgust when a sloppy excuse for a mac’n’cheese was dumped into one of the slots. “I’m going to die” he complained, ushered along by an unsympathetic MJ. “This is cruel. This is inhumane. Dogs don’t even get fed this”.

“Yeah, well. You’re a billionaire, so. Put up or shut up. I have no sympathy for capitalist elitists”. And, wow, rude. But understandable. He sank down onto one of the bench seats and tried to stop his stomach from rolling at the way the meal wobbled when it was set down. He’d been poking at it for several moments, largely ignored by MJ, when a shadow fell over his table. He looked up and stared with disinterest at the sneering figure above him, before he sighed.

“Which one are you, then? Neb? Flake?”

“Flash” the form above him frowned, and Tony waved a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, whatever. Class killed off half my IQ points and I’m not wasting the rest on you. Off you pop”. He turned back to his pitiful excuse of a meal, prodding the macaroni distrustfully with his fork. The boy besides him gaped, flustered, before turning on his heel and stomping off. When Tony glanced up, the girl was looking appraisingly over her book at him.

“Maybe you should leave your balls behind. Peter could do with them” she noted, before dropping her gaze again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“How much money does he actually have?”

“Sir’s total net worth including assets, liabilities and investments are currently estimated at just short of a trillion, Mr. Parker. In terms of ‘real time currently’ Sir has £515,268,385,012 as of the current hour”.

Peter was gonna pass out. He was wearing the body of a man with five-hundred billion in the bank. He’d known Tony Stark was rich, obscenely and un-necessarily so, but that was a whole other level. Vaguely unsteady, he sank down on the plush couch, feeling a little green. It had already been a few hours since waking, but he had yet to get used to the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Stark.

“Does that bother you?” The artificial voice asked after a moment, sounding impossibly curious. Peter hadn’t thought AI of this level possible, but here he was, talking to a voice that was more realistic than some of the living people he knew.

“Its...A shock, I guess. I mean, it does bother me, I suppose. Nobody needs that much money. That much cold cash alone could eradicate homelessness in America. But...I don’t know. Its his money, he earns it. He saves the world and stuff. I don’t know how you could put a value on some of the things he’s done”.

The AI was quiet for a moment, pensive. “Sir’s ‘profession’ is high cost also, Mr. Parker. The worth of the Mark IVII alone is £6,000,500,000”. Peter thought about it for a moment, then gave in, humming softly. He supposed in that sense, having that much money kind of didn’t matter, then, when a huge chunk of it was consumed by saving the world. He’d seen how often that suit got dinged up, and had no doubt repairs and replacing parts was costly.

“Am I allowed to get something to eat?” He asked after a moment, stomach rumbling a little. He’d spent so much time this morning freaking out and being consoled by JARVIS that he’d missed breakfast and lunch had slipped him by.

“Of course, Mr. Parker. Several components of the kitchen are automated, but I am capable of guiding through any recipes or devices you are unfamiliar with”.

JARVIS had apparently activated something called ‘Romeo and Juliet Protocol’ when it had been revealed that Tony had been Switched, and a large majority of the Tower was closed off and protected. Peter couldn’t leave the penthouse and JARVIS had strict control of everything, even down to the doors. Peter was happy enough to just sit there and wait it out, though. As amazing as being here was, snooping was rude, especially when what he could find could potentially compromise the entire world.

He chose to make a simple, small sandwich which involved nothing more than a single knife and plate, marvelling at the giant fridge and the ridiculous amount of food within. Apparently Mr. Stark had a chef that stopped by once every other day with prepared meals, and was on-call for whenever he required a fresh meal without having to cook it. The produce was organic and far different to the sad, wilting lettuce that could be found at the local Cheap Fresh.

Technically, if it was plausible, when you Switched you were supposed to follow a specific protocol set up by the Government, but Mr. Stark had ultimately lost his entire mind at discovering his soulmate was fourteen and had immediately demanded Peter stay locked up like Rapunzel while he pretended to be him for the day to throw off suspicion. Peter couldn’t deny that had hurt a little, but he understood it. Soulmates or not it would be the scandal of the century - Tony would be called all sorts of things at best and investigated at worst, and the nature of their age difference meant a lifetime of interference and monitoring by the Government and protective services. He knew it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, to hide it from the world. Tony had suggested a private agreement, a ridiculous sum of money in exchange for Peter’s silence.

He realised he’d been staring morosely at his plate when JARVIS prompted him softly, and he sighed, taking a bite. There was no physical remote for the TV but JARVIS helped him to access a cache of movies and he settled on Inception, his weakness for Tom Hardy and Leonardo DiCaprio soothing the ache of his new reality.

“Am I allowed to ask what running a business is like?” He asked after a while, head balanced on his palm.

“In what regard, Mr. Parker?”

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’m fifteen. I don’t know how to run a company, let alone run a company and be a superhero. What kinda stuff does he do? Does he attend meetings? Does he fly around the world on company retreats like in the movies?”

JARVIS sounded lightly amused when he replied. “Sir has delegated much of the daily company operation amongst several trusted employees, but he is still the namesake, owner and CEO of Stark Industries. He does attend frequent meetings, but most of Sir’s ‘flying around the world’ is done for leisure or Iron Man related activity”.

“Sir spends most of his time in the lab, conducting important work for both his priorities. Sir also does a respectable amount of charity work, investment work and supportive work. I believe his latest venture is funding the entirety of MIT’s PhD graduate projects”.

Wow. That was...That would be a lot of money. And being supported by someone like Tony Stark was bound to be something to boast about, something that would fluff up your resume a little.

“Does he enjoy it?” Peter asked after a moment, fingertips raising absently to the arc reactor in his chest. It ached constantly, a low-level background pain that never quite faded out of touch, the odd sensation of a gaping maw in his chest something that had made him heave earlier that morning. Mr. Stark was tired, burnt out, but still going. It made Peter want to spend his twenty-four hours just sleeping, to try and soothe the man’s headache.

“Sir finds great gratification in his duties” JARVIS replied quietly, though he did not specify which. Peter gave a hum and succumbed to the desire to nap, curled up on the corner of the couch with Inception fading quietly into the background.

He ate again when he woke up, and blinked when he saw the time. Mr. Stark’s phone had been heavily locked down, but he could still access the message channel between this number and his own. The messages there were disheartening.

Told your hot Aunt I’m staying at that Nate kids house tonight. I’ll be coming to the Tower, but you won’t see me. I’ll stay on the level below.

Sorry, kid. Seeing someone else wearing me like a Givenchy suit is just too head-spinning.

JARVIS will keep you safe up there. We switch back at midnight, so try and get some sleep. You’ll wake up as yourself and I’ll get the plan in motion.

“JARVIS, when was the last time Mr. Stark cried?” He asked timidly, and the AI was silent for a moment.

“Four years ago, Mr. Parker”.

“Oh,” he breathed out, vision blurring. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m about to ruin that” and he let the teardrops fall.

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90minsofscreentime · 2 years

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In honour of @darker-soft-starker ‘s otherworldly fanfiction, here is the very first piece of art I’m posting on tumblr!

This really has been a labour of love and if you haven’t read the fanfic that inspired me to draw this, then please, I’m begging you, either read it right now or put it in your bookmarks for later, because Ash’s work deserves all the love in the world and you will not regret reading it, my friend. 🌺

[Click for better quality ~]

P.s for those of you who noticed: I didn’t forget Peter’s lovely glasses, they’re just an absolute pain to draw- especially in profile- so uhhhh just pretend this is the part of the story where he wears contacts ☺️

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kater1n · 3 years

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Soulstain

Author’s Note: This fic is inspired by @sarcastich’s soulmate!AU prompt here and is dedicated to @starkerdestroyedmylifee as my first follower on Tumblr. I hope you both like it!

Warnings: accidental voyeurism, story typical violence, minor character death

You can also read it on AO3.

Peter doesn’t notice until he’s washing up and some of the splatters won’t come off. They’re small, faint, and look just like the acrylic paint he’s been using all afternoon. It’s not unusual for him to have rainbow flecks up his arms, ink between his fingers, charcoal smudges on his nose. Your stereotypical artist. But these won’t come off no matter how hard he scrubs.

Peter drops the nail brush in the utility sink, stunned.

It’s soulstain.

He’s only seen it on other people. You only get it after you’ve met your soulmate. Some people never get it at all. These splatters, whatever they are, belong to someone else. It means that the water still dripping down Peter’s hands is on someone else’s hands, too, right now, somewhere in the world.

“May!” Peter yells, voice cracking on the vowel.

He can’t believe this is happening. Peter doesn’t even know who it is or when it happened and he’s so excited right now that he might pass out.

May runs into the makeshift art studio they converted from the apartment’s laundry room. Her hair is half up, makeup partially on. She’s getting ready for another twelve hour graveyard shift at the hospital. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Look!” Peter shoves his hands in her face.

She takes an exasperated step back. “What am I looking at?”

“They’re not mine.” Peter breathes, lowering his arms to inspect the splatters again. They’re red, but soulstain always appears muted. Peter can’t decide if the color is more ruby or scarlet. He touches one of them tentatively. It doesn’t feel like anything. It’s just there. Existing.

Wow.

“Really?” May bends forward, squinting behind her glasses. “That’s not paint?”

“N-no. At least, it’s not mine. Maybe they’re an artist too?”

And wouldn’t that be something. Peter tries to imagine it, working all day next to someone, side by side, in this cramped little room while they create beautiful things together. Playfully flicking a watercolor brush at them and then darting away. Drawing lopsided hearts on their cheek with the leftover charcoal on his fingers.

Peter’s chest squeezes. He wants that. He wants that so bad.

May squeals and pulls him into a hug, dancing them around in circles. Peter laughs and pushes her away. He’s still wearing his apron and it’s always a mess after a session.

“I��ll get paint all over you.”

“I don’t care. This is so exciting!” May cups his cheek in one of her hands. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I don’t even know who it is.”

And he really doesn’t. No idea. It has to be someone he met today, but they could have just passed each other on the street when he went out to buy coffee. Over eight million people live in New York. It could be anyone.

May plucks a paintbrush from the bucket of clean water next to the utility sink. She presents it to him like a queen bestowing a sword to a knight. “Use this and ask.”

Tony hates blood. It’s sticky and hard to get out of your clothes and it smells. Usually he leaves extraction to Natasha, but she was unavailable. In Tokyo to deal with some Yakuza. So Tony had to get his own hands dirty.

The man strapped to the chair in front of him groans, head hanging limply against his chest. Blood and other fluids drip down to swirl into the rusted metal drain built into the concrete floor. Tony’s lip curls and he turns away.

“Take care of that.” He says to no one in particular, waving a dismissive hand. It’s not his problem any more. Someone else can deal with it. He doesn’t care who.

Pepper offers a rag when he exits the room. It’s damp. “And? Did you find out who stole the shipment?”

Tony wipes his hands clean as he walks, the sound of Pepper’s stilettos following him down the hall. “Justin Hammer, as we suspected.”

“He must be getting desperate to go this far. Do you want me to arrange a meet?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head, tossing the dirty rag on the ground. Housekeeping will find it later. “That’ll just tip him off.”

Pepper delicately steps over it without a word as Tony stabs the button to call the elevator. It dings open immediately. “So what’s our next move?”

“We make an example of him. I don’t want more shits like Hammer getting any ideas. It’s time to remind this city what it means when you fuck with the Merchant of Death.” Tony leans back against the elevator walls. They’re lined in velvet.

“Penthouse, sir?” JARVIS asks over the intercom. “My scans detect biological matter on your suit.”

Pepper answers for him. “Yes, thank you, JARVIS.”

Tony closes his eyes and listens to the elevator music on the ride up. It’s an instrumental cover of AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds. Tension radiates from his shoulders the whole way.

“I’ll wait for you here, shall I?” Pepper says when they arrive at the penthouse, taking a seat on the half-moon couch. Her laptop is already open and on and she begins typing without waiting for a response.

Tony stalks off to the bathroom. The shower is running and the room is full of steam when he enters. A fresh towel is folded on the counter next to a sweating glass of whiskey. Pepper really is worth the millions he pays her.

He strips and throws the whiskey back in one shot. The liquid burns down his throat, scrubbing him clean from the inside. He steps into the shower and lets the scalding water also burn him. Eyes closed, the water sprays directly onto his face, through his hair, and down across the scars crisscrossing his spine. A satisfied rumble vibrates in his chest.

Tony needed this. Next time he’ll just wait for Nat to come home. He’s never had a taste for hitting someone who can’t hit back. It feels dirty. Even if it is necessary sometimes.

He only notices the message when he pours soap into his hand. The words are small and carefully painted down the length of his forearm in neat cursive.

Hi, I’m Peter Parker. Who are you?

Tony blinks water out of his eyes and stares. This cannot be happening. He’s too old for this shit.

Pepper’s mouth falls open when he storms back into the living room, naked and dripping all over the marble foyer. Modesty is the last thing Tony is concerned with right now. She’s seen worse.

“Pepper,” He barks, “Find out who Peter Parker is immediately.”

Peter obsessively checks his arm the rest of the day. The only sign of his soulmate had been the rivulets of water that sluiced over his entire body right after he wrote the message, an echo of a shower. Peter watched in rapt fascination and bated breath, waiting for a response that never came.

He eventually forced himself to sleep, trying not to think about what the silence might mean. Hoping he’ll wake up to something.

He doesn’t.

In the morning his arm only contains the remnants of his own words. They flaked away during the night, littering his bedsheets with indigo paint chips. Peter swallows his disappointment. It’s bitter and tastes like rejection.

Maybe he should write a new one. Maybe they didn’t see it. Maybe-

Peter stops anxiously ringing his hands together in his lap. The sunlight filtering in through his bedroom window highlights a dark shadow on his knuckles. It’s mottled purple. Bruised. Peter rubs his thumb over the knuckle of his pointer finger, where the discoloration is the worst.

His soulmate is not an artist like him, then. That wasn’t paint sprayed up his arm yesterday. It was blood. His soulmate punched someone. Repeatedly, for their knuckles to look like this.

The concept should scare him, but it doesn’t. Not even a little. Peter just wishes he could help. It probably hurts.

The kid paints ice cubes across his knuckles. Tony watches them appear, one by one, while his hand grips the steering wheel of his Audi e-tron. They’re misshapen and partially melted. Realistic. He tries not to find it cute.

Pepper produced a file on Peter Parker late last night with only a confused frown. An adult by law but really just a kid, living in Queens with his aunt. Their age gap is laughable. It’s larger than Peter has been alive. And according to the file, he’s a good kid. The best. Impeccable grades with an even more impeccable community service record. An art prodigy.

Tony won’t go near that with a ten foot pole. Not even he’s that messed up. Tony would ruin him.

So he did the only sensible thing any man could. He locked the file in his safe, swore Pepper to secrecy on what little she knew, and drowned himself in whiskey. Covered the question on his arm and tried to forget Peter Parker’s pretty face. It mostly worked. Once Tony finally passed out.

He has nothing to show for it this morning, except for a foul mood and a fouler headache.

Something starts to form above the ice cubes, along his middle metacarpal. It’s an impression of lips, full and gently pursed into a kiss. As if to take the pain away from the bruising. Tony nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.

This kid is going to kill him.

He flips an illegal U-turn, ignoring the cacophony of angry horns. His meeting with Rhodey can wait. He needs to invest in a pair of gloves. Now.

It’s been two months. Every day Peter sends something new, nothing long, just a tiny snippet. He mixes up the placement and the media. Sometimes it’s a watercolor mandala on his thigh with a few encouraging words in the center like have a good day or thinking of you. Sometimes it’s ink doodles between his fingers, stick figures waving hello or shooting stars trailing behind make a wish.

And every day it’s the same. No response. Silence.

Peter eats a bit less, strains to smile a bit more, and perseveres. He has to. There must be a reason why they’re silent. Even if it hurts, even if Peter doesn’t understand it and his heart is a little broken, they’re soulmates and Peter has to remind them that he’s here. He’s not going away. He won’t.

He’s currently sitting on the bathroom counter in nothing but his boxers, painting a bouquet of wildflowers on the bottoms of his feet. They’re pressed together in the basin of the sink while Peter works. The stems run along the arches and broaden into blooms across his toes. The brush tickles, just a bit, and Peter struggles not to squirm. He’s meticulous, methodical. Doesn’t let himself think that this gift will probably go unanswered too. Because gifts should be freely given without expectation.

He’s so engrossed in the painting, humming a tuneless song to himself, that he doesn’t notice the soulstain until movement in the vanity’s reflection catches his eye. A movement that’s not his. Peter pauses mid-brushstroke and glances up. There’s a shadow of a hand sliding up his bicep, and then another gripping onto his waist.

Oh, no-

More soulstain appears. First a mouth and then what looks like teeth, nipping at the skin below his collarbone. Peter’s palms darken as his soulmate touches the other person back.

No, no, no-

The wood handle of his favorite paintbrush snaps in half. The broken pieces clatter into the sink basin, next to his feet still covered in wildflowers.

The mouth slides lower, leaving a trail of coral lipstick, and bites again. And again. Hickeys slowly bloom across Peter’s chest. His eyes sting as he watches each appear. He can’t look away.

Please, no-

The hands caress everything in their path, leaving behind residue of a clear substance on Peter’s skin. Slipping lower and lower while all Peter can do is watch in mute horror. Until the shadows disappear beneath his boxers. Until that mouth is probably tasting Peter’s soulmate right now.

He whines, high and distressed. Shattered. He finally squeezes his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want to see. Doesn’t want to know.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. How long he waits for it to be over. He’s terrified of opening his eyes too soon and seeing it again. At least May is working another graveyard shift. If she found him, if she saw him like this, begging under his breath for it to stop-

Peter opens his eyes. The hands are gone. Only the hickeys remain as a reminder that it happened at all.

Relief washes over him, quickly followed by a wave of white hot fury. It floods his veins, straightens his spine. His jaw clenches so tight that it aches. Peter swipes a shaking hand over the bottoms of his feet, smearing the wildflowers as he coats his fingers in the oily paint. He drags it across his chest, over and over until he’s covered in a muddled mess of colors like a tragic Monet.

Then Peter finally let’s himself cry.

The messages stop. Tony shouldn’t miss them, shouldn’t want them back. But god help him, he does. They were the one spec of brightness in the never ending darkness of Tony’s life.

Sure, he might have taken them for granted at first. Hid them away under layers of clothing. Tried to pretend he didn’t secretly covet each one in the privacy of his bed at night and think about the person on the other end. Busied himself with publicly destroying Justin Hammer and anyone else associated with Hammer’s pathetic gang (it didn’t take long; Natasha and Pepper are nothing if not efficient). When it was over, when Hammer sniveled and swore retribution, Tony drank so much that he couldn’t think anything at all.

And then the messages stopped.

Tony knows why. Knows what he did. Knows exactly what fucking someone else would do to someone like Peter Parker. And he did it anyway. Did it on purpose.

Tony didn’t think he would regret it this much.

Peter picks at his food while MJ and Ned chat about college. Ned no longer has classes on Fridays (something about Professor Vanko disappearing a few months ago without notice and his university couldn’t find a replacement) and MJ is home for the weekend from MIT. They unceremoniously kidnapped him for dim sum the moment MJ arrived back in town.

“How’s the showcase coming along, Peter?” Ned asks around a mouthful of pork bun, shoving an elbow into MJ’s side when she mutters gross.

“Ok, I guess. It’s taking longer than I would have wanted.” Peter hasn’t been happy with any of his pieces lately. They’re not coming out right. They feel stagnant and stale and uninspired.

MJ tilts her head. “Isn’t it only a few months away?”

“I can’t wait!” Ned grins when Peter nods. There’s something green in his teeth, like a piece of bok choy or seaweed. MJ points it out with a grimace before Peter can warn him. Ned flushes and uses the camera on his phone like a mirror to remove it with a fingernail.

“May gave us advanced tickets. She said the gallery is already sold out.” MJ casually stirs her matcha milk tea with a compostable straw, swirling the yellow boba at the bottom into a miniature whirpool. “She also said she has an extra.”

Peter’s lungs constrict. He hasn’t told them, so he attempts to play it off. “May might bring a date.”

MJ stares. Her gaze is flat. Damn. He clears his throat nervously and maintains eye contact. He really, really doesn’t want to talk about this.

And then her eyes widen, shifting diagonal on his face. Ned sees it too. He quickly snaps a photo with his phone and shows the screen to Peter.

“What the heck is that?”

It’s blood. Dark and fresh, oozing from a gash that’s just split open along the top of his left cheekbone.

“I-it’s nothing.” Peter stammers, jolting out of his chair. “I have to g-go.”

He ignores their protests as he runs out of the restaurant.

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He’s noticed other injuries before. Like the bruises on his knuckles. Or the faded scars crisscrossing his back. Those were the worst. Most of the time they’re small, nothing serious. But the injuries occur often enough that Peter suspects his soulmate has questionable hobbies, a dangerous job, or both. And May’s a nurse. He knows what a graze from a bullet looks like.

Heart pounding, Peter ducks into an empty alleyway. He strips down to his briefs behind a dumpster, mindlessly tossing his clothes onto the ground so he can inspect the rest of his body.

Nothing. There’s nothing else. Thank god.

Peter’s knees are like jello. He’s been angry and jealous and confused but-

It appears so suddenly that Peter swears he can actually feel it. A hole punches through the front of his abdomen and out the back. It immediately erupts with blood, cascading down his hips and dripping off his knee like a crimson waterfall. Peter moans in alarm and covers the wound with both hands as if he can stop the bleeding.

For a moment Peter’s not sure what else to do. He just stands there, frozen and hyperventilating. Useless. His mind is vacant with panic. Then the blood begins to flow through his fingers and Peter realizes his soulmate must be holding the wound, now, too.

It spurs Peter back into action. He grapples with his jacket on the ground, frantically rummaging in the inside pocket to pull out the mini sketch pad that he takes with him everywhere in case he’s struck by inspiration. Attached to it is a ballpoint pen. His fingers tremble so violently that he can’t remove the cap, so he rips it off with his teeth.

The ink skitters and jumps across his skin in his haste to write, inconsistently flowing from the nib. There’s at least enough to form mostly legible words on the back of his hand.

Where R U?

Peter’s tries to keep his expectations low. They might already be on their way to the hospital. They might not even be conscious anymore. At least Peter knows they’re still alive. Soulstain disappears when you’re dead.

So he waits.

And waits.

Almost ten minutes pass before the first letter appears on Peter’s stomach, bloated and painted in his soulmate’s blood. It takes almost five more for the message to be finished. A location.

The breath Peter’s been holding surges out in a dizzying whoosh.

Peter is prettier than the photo in Tony’s file. He’s flushed and sweaty and real as he bursts through the back door of the pub that Tony is hiding in. His eyes are frantic until they settle on him, collapsed on the sticky parquet floor. Tony’s back is resting against the bar counter, suit jacket and white dress shirt hanging open over his chest. He holds a half empty bottle of Tullamore DEW in one hand and a lit cigar in the other.

If Peter is shocked to learn that his soulmate is both a man and a much older one at that, it doesn’t show on his face. He drops to his knees by Tony’s side, breathing heavily from exertion. “What happened?”

Tony’s wry isn’t it obvious earns him an unamused frown. Even that expression is attractive. Tony likes how the corners of his lips pull down and his nose crinkles. Despite his best effort, all it took was one minute in this kid’s presence for Tony to be summarily charmed.

Without asking for permission, Peter lifts up a corner of the bar rag that Tony doused in vodka and pressed against his abdomen. He winces at the sight of the jagged hole, even though Tony knows he’s already seen a mirror of it on his own body. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

Tony snorts and Peter’s frown deepens. His eyes are a warm, doe brown, reflecting sparks of gold when they catch the dim light leaking in through the boarded up windows. Tony turns away and knocks back a long pull from the whiskey bottle. It sloshes in his unsteady grip and some of it spills down into his neatly trimmed beard. Tony tells himself it’s the blood loss making him lightheaded.

“Ok, no police.” Peter mutters, replacing the rag over the wound. “What do you want me to do?”

Tony wants to invent a time machine and prevent this clusterfuck of a day from ever happening. Wants to jump Ivan Vanko before he jumped them. Wants to forget the memory of Maria Hill’s dead body crumpled in the street where he left her.

“Do you have a phone?” Tony asks instead. His is broken. It took the bullet meant for his heart.

“Um, yeah.” Peter digs a flip phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. They’re ripped at the knee and discolored with what looks like old paint. “Here.”

Tony dials Pepper’s number while puffing on his cigar. The smoke tastes like hickory and clove and adrenaline. She picks up on the third ring.

“Who the hell is this?”

Tony rolls his eyes. She must be terrified. She never swears.

“Relax, Nagatha Christie. I’m fine.” Tony pointedly ignores Peter mouthing you don’t look fine. “Come get me.”

He hangs up and texts her the address with instructions to bring Helen Cho, thumbs leaving bloody fingerprints on the keyboard. He thinks about wiping it off before handing it back to Peter, but decides it’s not worth the effort. He’ll buy him a new one. That brick dinosaur should have died in the Cretaceous Period.

“Make yourself comfortable. The cavalry will be here soon.”

Peter cautiously slides into position next to him on the floor until his legs are straight and pressed into the flesh of Tony’s thigh. His cheeks are flushed an adorable shade of pink.

Fuck it.

Tony slings an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. His smaller frame fits perfectly against Tony’s side, like a puzzle piece slotting home. Slowly, carefully, Peter rests his head on Tony’s bare chest, right over his heart. He sighs happily and Tony shivers.

They sit quietly together for a time, comforted by the sound of their own breathing. Tony lets his mind wander, as it often does. It doesn’t take him long to conclude that he will never let Peter go. He knows when to admit defeat. It feels a lot like love.

Peter’s curls tickle as he cranes his neck to look up at Tony’s face. “Who are you?”

Tony leans down to whisper his name against Peter’s lips.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #mafia!avengers #artist!au #artist!peter #mafia!tony #starker fic #soulmate!au

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muse-of-gods · 3 years

Text

Starker: Soulmate AU

Tony had dreamt about his soulmate all his life and he knew that the dreams would only stop once he met him. So ever since his mother told him the story behind the cute man that he never saw the face of during his dreams, he was waiting to meet him.

As time went by, however, the excitement turned into torture and he lost hope that he would ever meet the second half of his soul. Maybe it was all just a lie and the dreams were just there to mock him? Showing him pictures of lockers and school yards when he was well past the age of going to school.

But all of this was going to change when he gave a speech at a college and heard a loud gasp in the audience as he entered the stage. And the young man looking at him with wide disbelieving eyes was the boy from his dreams.

@starkerfestivals AUpril Event: Soulmate

#starker #ironspider #sfaupril #soulmates au #starker moodboard #myedits #this concept probably already exists #but i was inspired to this by the film the old guard

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iloveyou3thousand · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if you could do a Starker Werewolf au where Omega peter is from a different pack that left him to die in the woods and Alpha tony finds the omega bruised and battered well on a full moon run with the rest of avergers. Fluff insuses

Yuuuuuusss of course yes absolutely here it is

————————————————————————

The second their shift settled, the smell hit the entire pack, carried on the light breeze drifting through the woods. They all looked in the same direction, heads turning and noses pointing toward deeper in the dark forest, somewhere between the tall trees. They sniffed, collectively, and shared worried glances when it became apparent what that tangy, pungent smell was that accompanied that of a strange Omega.

It was blood.

Blood, and fear.

Tony was the first that took off running.

Naturally, the rest of the pack followed suit, the wordless decision that they were going to find this presumably injured Omega already made the second their Alpha took off.

The scent of the strange pack they assumed this Omega to be from had already filtered out from between the trees, which meant that there wasn’t a big chance they would run into other wolves. It also meant that the wolf whose scent they were picking up must have been left behind, and not as bait to lure in other wolves or other entire packs. It wasn’t a trap. It couldn’t be.

And if it was, Tony’s pack would be ready. But the scent of other wolves was too distant, aside of course from the one they were tracking now, and gaining upon rapidly.

There was no sound Tony or any other of the pack could pick up on, just the putrid smell of pain and suffering, and so Tony pushed harder, as the scent only became stronger the closer they got. Until they inevitably burst into what must have been the epicenter, and sure enough…

Among the leaves, lying against a large tree, was a small, light brown wolf. Tony stopped.

A pup, he thought immediately. But as he stepped closer slowly, he could see that he wasn’t quite as young as he first appeared to be, just…small.

A runt.

Tony trotted forward to assess the damage in the dark, approaching cautiously because although this wolf looked like he must have been a runt, and although he was clearly injured judging by the matted blood in his fur, he could still gather together protective strength and lash out. But the poor thing was breathing shallowly, eyes closed as if he didn’t even realize he was surrounded by a foreign pack. He should have been scared, or more scared than he already was, but it seemed he must have lost the energy to put up any defense.

The boy’s heartbeat was weak, slowed, his body limp on the ground. Tony could tell that he wasn’t going to have long, not if they stayed there. There wasn’t much of anything that they could do like this, with an injured, possibly dying wolf by their feet. But there was something about the boy that made Tony want to do whatever he could to help him. Something in the way he opened one eye and looked at him, in the way he whined softly, almost privately, as if just for Tony to hear.

With a lot of pain and effort, Tony forcefully shifted back into his human form, and was glad when the only other Alpha in their pack, Steve, shifted with him.

“This is going to hurt a little,” Tony murmured to the injured wolf, as he and Steve carefully scooped him up, and started carrying him back toward their cars.

It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes, but the journey back was exhausting. The wolf was heavy, even with Steve and Tony sharing the weight between them, and the effort it took to remain human when the pull of the moon was so incredibly strong just tired them out more easily. But back at the cars, they had what they needed. And so once they arrived, it began.

A blanket was spread out on the forest bedding beside one of the cars, upon which they lay the injured wolf. Steve grabbed their med kit, and Tony inspected the strange wolf’s injuries, discovering deep bite marks and lashes that were going to be tricky to treat.

He had to shave a lot of the Omega’s fur to actually get to the wounds, apologizing over and over again as he went. Of course the fur would grow back eventually and it was more important that these wounds were stitched up, but it must have taken a chunk out of the stranger’s pride. At least a little bit.

He lay still though, and Tony got to work as best as he could with the resources they had.

It would have been better if they’d been able to take the wolf back to the compound, but Steve and Tony didn’t even need to exchange a single word on the matter, knowing fully well that it would be impossible, and most of all, very dangerous. What if one of them shifted behind the wheel? No. That wasn’t an option. This would have to do.

Tony came away with bloodied, shaking hands, but once all the gashes and punctures were sufficiently stitched together and the painkillers Steve had administered were kicking in, the strange wolf seemed to relax at last. His breathing was still slow, but no longer shallow. His chest rose and fell evenly, signifying a gentle, deep sleep.

The exhaustion from the impromptu surgery had Tony shifting back into his wolf form automatically, unbidden, but he couldn’t say he minded. He could see, from the corner of his eye, that Steve had done the same, slinking off to go find his mate between the trees and get settled somewhere comfortable.

Tony couldn’t have left even if he wanted to. That poor Omega. He couldn’t begin to fathom why another pack would have attacked him like that, why they’d leave him to die, why they’d hurt him that badly. Perhaps he didn’t want to know. He’d have to see come morning.

For now, he knew that the boy needed as much warmth as he could get to get him through the night and help his body start to heal, and being exhausted made it that much easier to lie down next to the Omega, and cuddle up to him without putting too much pressure onto any of the wounds. He was going to keep him warm throughout the night. They had already come this far.

Tony woke up with one arm slung over a shivering stranger. His first instinct was to pull him closer, as they had drifted apart a little throughout the night. A cool back settled against his chest, and the shivering slowly subsided, paired with a pleased sigh. Tony didn’t realize what was happening until he woke up a second time, later, to shuffling around him.

His pack had returned from the night in the woods, and they were all quietly gathering their things, getting dressed and finding the breakfast they had left in large coolers in the cars, talking quietly among themselves.

Tony blinked his eyes open to the back of a head of blond hair, and it took him a second to recognize the color from the night before. So it wasn’t light brown. It was blond. He smiled tiredly to himself, sat up, and looked down at the still asleep stranger.

The stitches looked messy in the daylight, but they were relatively clean, and neat considering Tony had made them with little to no light, in the middle of the woods, with limited tools. With the help of his pack, they put the boy onto the backseat of his car, swathed in blankets and with water to drink and something to eat nearby just in case.

The boy slept the whole ride home, and only woke shortly before they were about to turn onto the compound grounds.

“Where am I?” A soft voice from behind Tony asked, and Tony looked over his shoulder to see the boy’s soft brown eyes had opened, and he was looking around a little dazedly.

“You’re in my car. I’m taking you back to mine, to get you looked after. You took a pretty big hit last night.”

The boy tried to sit up, but visibly winced. “Where is my pack?” Was the second thing he asked.

Tony didn’t like the answer he had to give, but he knew that he was going to have to rip that bandaid sooner rather than later. He didn’t want to prolong any pain or any useless wondering. “They’re gone, kiddo. They left you behind. They left you to die.”

The backseat was quiet for a few moments, and in the rearview mirror Tony could see that the young Omega was staring, just staring at nothing in particular, probably lost in thought. His expression was pinched, and he was sure that was because of the pain he was undoubtedly experiencing, be it physical or emotional. His pack had left him to die. That must have been a shock.

“I could have seen it coming,” the boy ended up murmuring to himself, though it was loud enough for Tony to hear in the front seat.

“What’s your name, kid?” Tony asked.

“Peter. I could have known. They never liked me to begin with. I knew they were planning something. They were always so…” he trailed off, and Tony didn’t like the look on his face when he glanced in the rearview mirror again. He looked so sullen, his lips pressed together and eyes on something outside the car window, as if he was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” Tony said softly but urgently, and he reached behind himself to offer Peter his hand, palm up, despite the awkward angle, “I know this is a lot to take in, and we only just met, but fuck those guys. Forget about them. I’m Tony, I’m the Alpha of the pack that found you, and we don’t treat our Omegas like that. I promise.”

Peter looked down at the hand, waiting so patiently, offered up for what seemed like nothing other than to comfort him. And so slowly, realizing that while he was hurting and while he’d just lost his own pack there was also someone out there who had picked him up and dusted him off and taken him in, he lay his hand in Tony’s, and was shocked by just how warm it was and just how inexplicably incredible it felt to hold it. A calm washed over him, a calm he didn’t think he’d ever felt before, and when he looked up he met the warm brown eyes of the Alpha in the front seat through the rearview mirror.

“You’re one of us now, Peter,” Tony promised softly, and gently squeezed the Omega’s hand, “Welcome to the Stark pack.”

#starker #starker fanfic #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #my fanfic #my writing #werewolf au #aus #abo #omegaverse #alpha tony #omega peter #hurt/comfort #fluff #teeny tiny bit of implied soulmate au too ehehe #Anonymous

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carelessannie · 3 years

Note

Starker + soulmates (Canon compliant first meeting would be nice but anything works 🥰)

Thank you for the prompt!! I’m gonna make it canon compliant... but maybe not what you’re expecting.

Based on that last scene in Spider-man: HC (like... I used the script...)

And I’m sorry.

Warnings: incomplete soulbond, referenced hurt, Tony’s crisis, SM:HC as a general tw

---

“That was a test, right? There’s, uh, nobody back there?"

Tony turns to look back at the press room, rolling his eyes at Peter’s innocence. He can still feel the straining press of the building, crushing Peter underneath. He still feels every hit, every slam of Peter’s back on the ground, the headache of a residual concussion, the rasp of his throat, choked with thick smoke.

And in front of him, Peter still smiles, tilting his head and rubbing at his chest subconsciously. Tony knows it’s the residual ache of the arch reactor in his chest that’s caused a nervous habit for the kid.

He smiles back, “Yes, you passed.”

They stand there, a few yards away, and Peter looks back to the exit nervously, “Should I...” his voice tapers off into an unspoken question, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to gesture towards the waiting car.

Tony looks to Happy, the other man just shrugging noncommittally. It’s his move, his decision. Every day, his choice to make. The boy in front of him looks to him as if he’s an angel, sent from heaven to nurture and guide and protect. And it’s the same look of hopeful despair every time Tony lets him down, fail him, because Tony is not an angel. Not by a long shot.

But in the silence, Tony thinks he might be able to pretend. Before he can stop himself, he’s opening up his arms, beckoning Peter closer. The look he gets in response almost knocks him over, even if Peter, sprinting across the floor and into his arms didn’t.

It’s an addicting feedback loop of skin on skin, warmth to warmth. Tony clutches him close. He can feel his hands in Peter’s hair, his fingers carding through and scratching behind his ears. Oh, dammit. Peter sighs into his chest and uses a bit of spidey-stength to hold him closer.

“I feel you,” Peter whispers, the words almost lost in the fabric of Tony’s jacket and shirt.

Tony huffs in Peter’s hair, feeling the slight tingling on his own head, “I know, kid. I think that’s how it works."

Peter shakes with laughter, tipping back his chin to peer up into Tony’s eyes. Tony smiles down at him, continuing to scratch and gently pull on Peter’s delicate curls. Both of their eyes flutter shut in pleasure, and he can feel Peter swaying in his arms.

He knows Happy's watching them, judging them, and pulls away, slowly sliding his hand away from the back of Peter’s neck. Peter looks up at him hopefully, blinking rapidly and shifting on his feet.

"Alright, skedaddle there, young buck,” Tony murmurs, trying to put on a mask of indifference, to show the kid exactly how much this can’t happen.

Peter’s face falls, all hope washed away and replaced with confusion, and then, even more devastating— resignation.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he whispers, rubbing again at his chest, "Thank you."

Tony watches him back away, scrubbing at his eyes and giving Tony a watery smile. Tony watches his soulmate walk away, a choice he made just a moment ago, a choice he knows he’ll regret.

Tony watches Peter skip out the door and sighs, “Yeah... thank you,” internally punching himself as he turns back to Happy, takes a deep breath, and prepares to face the press.

#starker #prompt fill #ironspider #tony x peter #drabble #who knows why this is so angsty I’m sorry #angst #soulmates #touch driven soul bond

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chokememrstark · 3 years

Text

Connected // Starker

Words: 2738

Warnings: Soulmates, Strangers, First Meetings

Summary: Everyone is born with a thin, red line around either their thumb or their pinky, but there is only one other person whose line they can see, besides their own. Their soulmate's. Tony hasn't found anyone with such a line in over fifty years and already gave up hope a long time ago, until one day he steps into Peter Parker's life and realizes his search is finally over. But for some reason, the joy he expected to feel isn't there.

Notes: For now, this is all, but I might write more for it in the future if I feel like it.

------

Tony lost his excitement over the fine, red line around his thumb years ago. At first he was just as happy about it as everyone else, even in college he still was, but as time went on, it began fading away slowly. Because no matter how much he tried to find the person with a red line around their pinky, he never managed to.

It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened, he often thought to himself. He enjoyed his freedom, his life, that he had no strings attached to himself, as they call it. But sometimes, especially after a few too many drinks, he began to wonder why he never found the person meant for him.

When he turned forty, Tony pretty much stopped looking altogether. Why should he keep getting his hopes up only to have them crushed again anyway? No, he wouldn't let this ruin his life or anything else. If it wasn't happening, he'd simply accept it and move on. No harm done.

At least he thought so before the day he went out to recruit Spider-Man. Everything went well, he charmed the aunt without any issues - not that it was hard, he knew how to wrap women around his finger - and then the door opened. With a smirk he watched the boy walk by and turn around to pull out his earbuds - and then his heart stopped.

There, around Peter's left pinky, was a fine, red line, just like the one around his own thumb. He pretty much froze in place and just stared at it until Peter lowered his hands again and unconsciously, he hid his own right hand so Peter wouldn't notice anything.

Continue Reading on AO3!

#starker #tony x peter #ironspider #peter x tony #myfics #soulmates au

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theginkosakata · 3 years

Text

Latin Starker Week

Dia 1: Almas Gemelas / Como te extraña mi cama

@starkerparadise

#Starker #Tony x Peter #IronSpider #starker week latina 2021 #soulmate au #young!starker #latinstarkerweek2021 #starker!moodboard #soulmate!au #ginko posts #starker week latin

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authoressofdarkness · 3 years

Text

Guide Me Safely To Shore (Chapter 4)

And then he’d apparently crashed through the side of Stark tower. Because this was the safe spot now, apparently, though he hadn’t consciously decided that. He hadn’t consciously decided anything, really. Instinct and subconscious had completely taken over. And apparently, they were still in control, because how the fuck else would he have ended up pulling Tony Stark into bed with him? Or begging him to stay?

Notes: Yeah, I’m still a dumb bitch who keeps forgetting to update here, so here is the link to this story on AO3, if you’re tired of waiting on me. Mind the warnings/rating, though.

Tony is so used to the way he wakes up screaming that he automatically assumes it’s him. So it takes a minute to process the facts; that yes, his heart is pounding; yes, he feels adrenaline, the familiar fight or flight reflex, coursing through him, but the pain, the memory of the nightmare, isn’t there. Just a warm body pressed up against him and breathing fast and-

Shit. It’s Peter.

He barely has a moment to register the fact that Peter is actually pressed up against him, that they’ve apparently gotten much closer through the night and that he frankly can’t believe the pressure of Peter’s body against his hadn’t fed into his own night terrors or caused him to wake up at all. But then Peter gasps and jerks in his arms again and he refocuses on the problem at hand quickly.

He lets go of the omega when he jerks, realizing his eyes are open, pupils blown wide with fear — an effect of the dream more than seeing him, he hopes.

For a moment, they’re frozen, just staring at each other. Tony feels the nearly overwhelming urge to reach for him, but he doesn’t, not wanting to scare him even more.

Finally, Peter refocuses a little, eyes flickering around the room again. “Where- where am I? What did you do to me?”

He makes sure to keep his voice soft and steady, not wanting to start him more. “Nothing, Peter. Do you remember crashing in through the side of the tower?”

His eyes go even wider for a moment. “I- oh my God. I didn’t mean to, I-“

He holds up a hand. “It’s alright. It’s already fixed. But you crashed in and passed out right around the time I got to you. I just took care of your injuries and cleaned you up as best I could.”

Peter just stares at him. His eyes are almost comically wide as he seems to try to put all of the details together. He looks around the darkness of the room again, then glances down at himself. “So… now we’re in your room?” he asks, tentatively.

“No. We’re in yours.” Another confused look, so he elaborates. “I started setting up a room for you after… the other day. I intended to put you to bed tonight and let you rest, but you wouldn’t let me go.” He lifts up his hand, showing him the ring of bruises around his wrist and pillow marks from where Peter had clung to it and subsequently had been laying on it for hours.

Peter flushes after a moment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” he murmurs, unable to meet his eyes.

“Hey.” They’d talked this long without him running or freaking out, so he takes a chance, reaching out to tilt his chin up. “Don’t be. We should just… get some more rest. I’ll leave you be, if you want.” He moves to sit up.

“No!” Peter’s body slams up against his chest, surprising him. “I mean… stay,” he mumbles, voice muffled by Tony’s shirt. “Please. I just… it hurts, Mr. Stark. I… I need you to stay.”

Tony wraps his arms around him, gently but firmly, pulling him tight against him. “Then I’m not going anywhere.” It’s a relief, frankly, to be given permission not to, because Tony feels the exact same way. He hadn’t realized precisely how much their separation was hurting him until the seemingly massive hole in his chest felt filled waking up next to him.

Peter just nods against his chest, arms tight around his back. The weight of the smaller boy is comforting, nice and warm and solid against him. Any worries he has of hurting him just seem to melt away with him so comfortably wrapped around him like this. How could he possibly have a nightmare with this sweet thing holding him tight?

How could he possibly stay awake, seems like the better question. Within a few minutes, he’s out like a light again.

~~~

Peter doesn’t last long, either.

He doesn’t know what possessed him, honestly. He doesn’t remember consciously deciding to come to the tower. He barely remembers patrolling, just the getting hurt and the sensation of panic, Spidey sense telling him if he didn’t get out of that situation right now something horrible was going to happen and that he needed to get somewhere safe , and then-

And then he’d apparently crashed through the side of Stark tower. Because this was the safe spot now, apparently, though he hadn’t consciously decided that.

He hadn’t consciously decided anything, really. Instinct and subconscious had completely taken over.

And apparently, they were still in control, because how the fuck else would he have ended up pulling Tony Stark into bed with him? Or begging him to stay?

When he woke up screaming, the response had originally been at the visions of the nightmare, the green and orange still flashing behind his eyes. But the terror lingered when he realized that there was another villain entirely laying right beside him.

But then the initial panic faded, and his own body returned to betraying him. Panic and relief somehow flood him simultaneously when Stark says he’ll leave, and he opens his mouth to agree, though that’s not what comes out, and curse this fucking bond . Like the pain and physical illness that have tormented him this week haven’t been enough.

And yet there’s none of that now that Stark is pressed up beside him. In fact, he falls back asleep easier and rests better than he has in… years. Since Ben’s death, at least. Saying this week is hardly sufficient, considering he barely slept at all, and the trend of horrible sleep has been happening forever, now.

Surprisingly, though they sleep straight into the morning after that, Peter wakes up first.

For a long moment, before reality comes rushing back, it almost feels… good. One of Stark’s arms is securely wrapped around him, keeping him close, and Peter has nestled into his bare chest in his sleep. He’s warm and solid and his scent is just so nice up close like this. Relaxed and protective and strong and just pure alpha -

And shit. Peter's eyes flutter open and he moves to stretch automatically before realizing his legs are wrapped tightly around one of Stark's, hips pressed right up against him. He can feel Stark’s morning wood pressing against his stomach, almost terrifyingly large, and firm against him in a way he can’t ignore. And apparently, his body can’t, either, because when he shifts again, he can feel that he’s not entirely unaffected either. Between the effect of the bond and their time apart, and the fact that his body knows this is his soulmate, that he’s warm and comfortable and safe, even if his mind isn’t quite convinced of it… well, maybe it was only to be expected, but he is soaked. And scent aside, if the dampness he can feel on his thighs is any indication, there won’t be any hiding it when Stark wakes up. It isn’t exactly being contained.

Peter swallows thickly and lets out a shuddering breath. Fuck. What is he supposed to do now? Lay here, pretend to be asleep, and see what happens? Or does he risk trying to move and clean up before Stark wakes up, and maybe wake him sooner in the process?

Too late. He should have realized Stark would be a light sleeper. His squirming around had caused Stark to start to as well, and he must feel the same thing as Peter, because he hears his breath catch as the movement stops abruptly.

It’s silent for a moment, and Peter just hides his face in his chest, unsure what else to do. Then, after a moment, Stark’s voice: “Peter?”

Cheeks flaming, but knowing he’s been caught, Peter tilts his head just enough to peer up at him. “Uh…”

Stark’s face is only inches above his, close enough his warm breath causes the curls on Peter’s forehead to flutter. He can smell it, too, though even his morning breath isn’t that bad — and it’s completely overpowered by his scent, anyway, as it continues to grow stronger, arousal and curiosity and something that might even be nerves and resignation mixed in. To his horror, Peter’s seems to grow stronger in response as well — fear and arousal and growing emotions of curiosity and desire all in turmoil.

Again, the silence stretches for a long minute as they seem to search each other’s faces — Peter almost desperately, and Stark seeming to be calculated but undeniably curious.

Finally it’s Stark who breaks the silence. “I’m… I’ll leave,” he says shortly, looking away as he starts to sit up a little.

The words spark panic deep in his chest again, though he tries not to show it. Yeah, he’s terrified, that much is undeniable. But he doesn’t want to go back to feeling the way he did the week they were apart. He could barely function. And it’s going to be worse now that he’s been so close to him, he’s sure of it.

“You’re going to leave me like this?” The words come out quietly, tentative and scared, but he forces himself to speak all the same. “Is that my punishment for leaving?” Why does he sound so small? Why does he shrink in fear even talking to him out of the suit but still feel so safe laying beside him?

The nerves that feel like they’re gripping his chest are all the worse for the fact that he isn’t that far off from what could be true. He knows enough to know that the moment their marks changed color that he became Stark’s. Not even the law could come between them, and Stark is the law, now, so even more so than anyone else, he’s completely at his mercy. He could do whatever he wanted to him and no one would care. Even if someone did, they couldn’t do anything.

And, yeah, the fact was, scared or not, he’d been an asshole the last time they met. Their fight and everything that occurred before they knew they were soulmates could be excused. But after… Stark is well within his legal rights to punish him. Even if there was someone to enforce them on him, they wouldn’t stop him.

Stark stops, letting out a little breath and looking down at him. Confusion is the prominent emotion in his scent, now, though the arousal is still undeniable. “No. I hadn’t intended to punish you for leaving. I’m sure the bond did enough of that,” he says gently. “I just meant… I won’t stay, if you don’t want me to. I’m not going to force you into anything just because our bodies respond naturally to each other.”

“Why not?” Now Peter is confused. And yeah, it’s a dangerous question, but he just doesn’t understand. Tony Stark is supposed to be a monster. This behavior, none of it, none of their encounters besides the first, add up to what he’d expected and been so afraid of. “I mean… you own me now, don’t you? You could do whatever you want.”

“I can do whatever I want. That doesn’t mean I have to. And it’s all the more reason I don’t need to rush it,” Stark answers. He sits up completely, running his hands through his hair, but doesn’t move to get out of the bed. Peter doesn’t move, letting his arms and legs fall away but staying there flat beside him. “And believe it or not, I don’t take pleasure in forcing anyone to do anything. Especially things that should be pleasurable for you.” He shakes his head. “Why does it matter? Do you want me to punish you?”

“No- I mean, I don’t know, I just expected it, I guess.” Peter looks away. “You have good reason to. Past aside, I haven’t been… good this past week.”

He sighs. “I let you walk away, Peter. I told you, I’ve no desire to keep you here against your will.” He pauses, glancing back down at him. “Why did you come back? Last night? And why didn’t you just come in the open balcony door, for God’s sake?”

Peter blushes again. He has no recollection of an open balcony door — or anything else, really. “I… I don’t really know. I was scared and kinda on autopilot. It just… happened. I didn’t even really realize it until this morning.”

“That’s the bond at work, then.” Stark gnaws on his bottom lip, eyes far away for a moment, and then refocuses. “You were scared and hurt. What happened?”

Peter swallows hard. He doesn’t like to talk about what he does as Spider-Man, and telling Tony Stark of all people… this morning really can’t get much crazier, can it? “I… do I have to tell you, sir?” he whispers, tentatively, avoiding his eyes.

Stark draws in a little breath. “No. Not right now, at least.” He tilts his head, looking down at him. “Look, I just… do you want me to leave you alone? I can let you get cleaned up and make breakfast and we can pretend this didn’t happen, at least the… messy part. I really just want to talk without you running away, Peter. Everything else is up to you right now.”

The right now doesn’t slip his notice, but for the first time, his stomach flips with something like excitement as the possessive words, instead of immediate fear. There’s a little of that, too, but not quite as intense as before. And it does make him feel better, a little bit, but…

He’s just never been so wet like this before. He can’t fathom being left like this. It aches for fuck’s sake, in a way he can’t even begin to place or imagine having to deal with for however long it takes.

He swallows again, audibly, throat clicking as he looks up at Stark, who’s still watching him intently, waiting for an answer. “I… we can talk, I promise, I just… I’m really wet, Mr. Stark,” he whispers, tentatively, face flushing red again.

The alpha’s pupils flare at the words, but he doesn’t immediately say anything, to his credit. “I can take care of that, Peter, if that’s what you really want. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to. No punishment here, one way or the other.”

“Even though I deserve it?” He bites his lip.

He tilts his head a little. “Yes… unless you really want me to punish you.”

Peter looks away. “I don’t want you to be mad at me later,” he murmurs, unable to meet his eyes. He’s well aware of exactly how much trouble he’s caused. And getting it out of his head is going to happen… probably never. “I know I deserve it. I’ve done a lot of things. You have a lot of reason to be mad.”

Stark considers him. “I’m not mad. You do have a long list of discrepancies, though, I will admit, and I would like to discourage you from doing anything like that again… but, for right now, let’s shelve it, yeah? If me punishing you would make you feel better, then we can talk about it, after. Over breakfast. Yeah?”

Peter just nods. He can’t pretend he’s not still scared of it, of him, but he’s kept his word thus far, so he agrees. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t do that right now. Come on. You’re my soulmate. You can call me by my name.” He reaches out, tilting Peter’s head up towards him when he shakes his head, years of instincts telling him not to. “You can do it. Say my name, Peter .”

The way he says his name sends a tingle down Peter’s spine and tickles his wrist. He shivers and bites his lip nervously. “Tony…”

The alpha smiles a little. “Good boy, Peter. What am I?”

“Alpha…” Just saying it makes him relax a little. This is his alpha. His body knows that, if nothing else.

“Good boy. Now tell alpha what you want.” Those eyes, so bright and unnaturally blue, flash, pinning him to the bed with a look that makes his breath falter a moment.

“Alpha… want you to… um…” He stops, squirming and biting his lip. “Want you to help me. Please.”

“So polite,” the alpha cooes gently, smiling a little and running a hand down his chest. “Help you what, omega?”

Peter shivers again, at the touch and at the sound, the way Stark- Tony pronounces the word, like his tongue is stroking it, almost obscenely. The thought makes his face flush bright red. It only reminds him of his needs, and he can’t bring himself to say it. “Alpha, please… I… it’s dirty… you know…”

“I do know, Peter, but I want to hear you say it. Ask me for it, omega. Tell me what you want. There’s no shame in asking alpha to fulfill your needs.” He waits, looking down at him.

Peter gulps. Unable to look at him, he grabs the pillow Tony had slept on, hugging it to his chest and breathing in the lingering calm scent to steady himself and let him hide his face. Then he blurts, as quietly as possible, “Please, need you to touch my pussy, alpha.”

He hears Tony purr in response. “Good omega, telling alpha what you need. Touch your pussy, hm? Like this?” He feels the hand slide under the over large shirt he’s wearing, calloused and warm as it presses against the soaked material of his panties, cupping him. “Is this what you want?”

“No, sir, please…” Peter whines into the pillow. Of course an alpha like Tony Stark would want to tease, want the control and to make him tell him everything when he’s undoubtedly smart enough to figure it out.

“Please, what, then, omega?” Tony’s eyes are on him, he can feel it, but he doesn’t look at him, even as the fingers stroke over the wet material, tracing the line of his slit, and his hips squirm in response. “You want me to take them off? You asked for touch, not skin on skin. You want alpha to finger you, is that it?”

Peter whines again. He doesn’t want to say no and risk Tony stopping, but that’s not what he really wants. “I- if you want, but I…”

“Yes…?” he prompts. “What do you want, Peter? Tell your alpha. If it’s not my fingers…”

“Don’ wanna say it…” Peter whines, hiding his face in the pillow. He hates to admit that this whole thing is making him so much wetter, even if it’s frustrating.

“That’s okay. I’ll just sit here and play with this while I wait, hm?” He feels two fingers pinch his little clit through the panties, rolling it between them.

“Ah!” Peter’s back tries to arch off the bed, but the other hand is there, just above his hips and splayed across his stomach, stopping him. “Oh sir, please, ugh- I just- just want your tongue!”

It stops, and the hands lift away. “Oh, my tongue touching you? You could’ve just said so, sweetheart.” Something warm and soft pressed against his thigh — a kiss. Then hands are at his hips, peeling the panties down and off, and a moment later, on the inside of his sticky thighs, pushing them open. Peter bends his legs automatically, but doesn’t look up.

He feels the bed shifting as Tony gets in position, and his breath hitches, but he still doesn’t lift his face from the pillow. His hips twitch a little as the first warm breath of air touches his inner thigh, and he holds his breath, but then — nothing.

Tony’s voice a moment later explains why. “Peter. If I wanted to not see those pretty eyes, I’d have blindfolded you. Can you look at me?”

Peter jolts at the words, the idea of being blindfolded apparently going straight to his core if the rush of slick is any indication. He doesn’t really have much access to porn, as it’s considered distasteful for omegas, though all of them have to touch themselves occasionally, if they don’t have an alpha by the time they start their heats. Still, of course he’s had fantasies, and he’s heard of it, though he hasn’t expected it to be such a turn on right now. They always scared him more than anything.

Still, he lifts his face from the pillow, nervously biting his lip as he looks down at him. Tony’s eyes are a deep blue, dark with arousal, face just inches from where he wants him most.

Holding eye contact, Tony kisses the inside of his thigh, making him shiver. He smirks. “Is this what you want? You want my tongue in your little pussy?”

Peter’s breath hitches. “Yes, alpha, please ,” he breathes.

Tony flashes a dangerous grin, and then he’s leaning down, and oh , fuck- conscious thought goes immediately out the window. The way the alpha’s tongue feels, touching him there , and he’s all wet and so sensitive, and fuck. It’s so different from touching himself with his fingers to get through his heat.

Tony’s tongue is wet, in a different way from his slick, and the way it feels, is just so different from the press of a finger; it’s firm but soft, longer than his own fingers but not Tony’s, from what he’s seen, and God suddenly he can’t wait to find out how those feel, thick but flexible and wet but warm and oh fuck the way it just felt on his clit-

“Alpha!” Peter keens, unable to help himself. The words are torn between a moan and a sob. It’s just too overwhelming for him. Of course he’s had an orgasm before, but it’s never come close to feeling like this, and he’s not even cumming yet. His legs shake around the alpha’s head as his hips start to squirm instinctively from the intensity. “Please, alpha, please !”

All he gets in response is a growl that goes straight through him, and then hands wrapping around his hips, pinning him in place. He can’t help the moan that tears out of him again at the realization that he can’t move now and the feeling as the warm tongue keeps moving, teasing him for what seems like ever and lapping up all of his slick before going up and up and just attacking his little bud relentlessly. He barely tolerates a minute of it before he’s cumming, crying out loudly, hopelessly overstimulated with tears streaming down his face.

He must dissociate for a minute, drifting in the pleasure, because when he comes back to, Tony is sitting beside him, gently wiping him down with a warm washcloth; first his face, then between his legs and down them, touch so light so not to hurt where he’s still sensitive. He’s shushing him gently, too, murmuring something, but his hearing hasn’t come completely back online yet for him to understand. It takes a moment for it to, but he slowly tunes in to what the alpha is saying.

“-alright, yes, see, all clean now… nice and clean… breathe for me, Peter, and calm down some, hm?” He seems to realize suddenly that Peter’s eyes have refocused and he’s actually listening, and he stops. “There you are. Are you alright? You dropped off there after you came.”

Peter blushes a little. “Yeah, I, uh… overstimulation. It happens a lot.”

“Does it, now?” Tony sounds bemused, like he’s trying not to laugh at him.

Peter blushes deeper. “Not- like that. I just… my senses are dialed high all the time. If I get too much sensory input of any kind I can just kinda… power down for a minute or two.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Interesting. I didn’t know that,” he says, sounding actually surprised.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me yet,” he murmurs, cheeks still red as he moves to get up.

“I guess so,” Tony agrees. He stands up behind him. “Would you like to go get some food?”

Peter glances back at him, then looks around the room, humming a little. The mention of food has his stomach growling. He hasn’t eaten in hours, which means his stomach is… severely unhappy with him. Even if it wasn’t, he’d probably have to agree. They can’t avoid talking forever, especially after… that.

“Uh… yeah. Food would be nice. I just… can I get some pants, first?”

Tony blinks, like he hadn’t considered it. “Oh yeah. There’s some clothes in the dressers that will fit you. Go ahead and get in something comfy. I’ll just... wait outside.” He walks to the door, stepping out and closing it behind him with only a cursory look back.

Peter moves slowly to the nearest dresser, gnawing on his bottom lip. This room is larger and so much more grandiose and furnished than he’s used to, so it takes him a minute to find what he needs. In the end, he manages to find some clean underwear and a pair of pants. He keeps the alpha’s shirt on. He’s not cold enough to want something heavier and it smells good.

When he’s done, he stands there for a minute, soaking it in — and psyching himself up, to an extent. There’s no going back, now, but he can still be nervous, right? He doesn’t know whether it’s really reasonable or not, now, but he still is.

Oh well. It’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t face it. And the idea of leaving again now is too painful to even consider.

With these thoughts in mind, he makes his way to the door. Slowly, so slowly, bracing himself for the deep dive, he opens the door.

“Alright. I’m ready.”

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ironstrangeao3 · 10 months

Text

Iron Queen

by Padfootette

Summary: While being held hostage and tortured in Afghanistan, Antonette Maria Stark, or Toni, finds out she's pregnant once more causing more worries on the eccentric billionaire. Will the childhood sweetheart, husband, and father to her beloved twins Peter and Katherine Stark-Strange, Dr Stephan Strange, be able to pull her through her severe PTSD?

Will the turmoils that Toni and Stephan will face in the coming years enhance their relationship as soulmates, or will it cause their romantic relationship, and their longterm friendship to crash and burn? And allow an old friend who loves Black panthers, and is her second soulmate, worm his way fully into her heart?

Disclaimer: I do not own marvel I only own my OCs and changes to the plot.

IronStrange and eventual Iron Queen (Tony and Stephen and T'Challa) relationship.

Stephen Strange/ Toni Stark: T'Challa relationship (Stephen and T'Challa are HER soulmates, not each others).

Words: 2144, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Female Tony Stark - Character, Peter Parker, Original children of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, T’Challa, Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Happy Hogan, Hope Van Dyne, Carol Danvers, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, Ho Yinsen

Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Tony Stark/T’Challa, Stephen Strange/Tony Stark/T’Challa

Additional Tags: Female Tony Stark, IronStrange, Iron Queen, Iron Maiden - Freeform, iron woman - Freeform, Pre-Iron Man 1, Soulmates, alternative universe, Tony Stark is a mother, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, IronLad - Freeform, Ironspider - Freeform

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48492943

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #fanfic #ao3

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ao3feedtonytchalla · 10 months

Text

Iron Queen

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3iWwdLv

by Padfootette

Disclaimer: I do not own marvel I only own my OCs and changes to the plot.

IronStrange and eventual Iron Queen (Tony and Stephen and T'Challa) relationship.

Stephen Strange/ Toni Stark: T'Challa relationship (Stephen and T'Challa are HER soulmates, not each others).

Words: 2144, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Tony Stark/T’Challa, Stephen Strange/Tony Stark/T’Challa

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3iWwdLv

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #ironpanther #tchallaxtony

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

Note

Soulmate AU where Peter's soul words are like, "How you doin'" and Tony's words are "Not interested". Peter's in a bar and Tony walks up to him and says "How you doin'" and Peter throws back his shot of whiskey and just says, "Not interested," and then it just clicks at the same time for both of them. Peter looks at Tony and Tony looks at him and Peter says, "Well, maybe I am interested."

I received a second ask which is I think the beginning of this one, so I’m going to answer the two as this post and pray I’m not shorting someone!

Set around the A1 era but Peter is a spritely young lad seasoned with his powers and sick of soulmates and Tony is a thirty-something superhero equally unimpressed by the whole shtick. I hope I did this justice!

TW: Daddy kink | Grinding | Dynamic imbalance | Undernegotiated but consensual kink

Tony Stark was a man who had everything. Who had always had everything. A luxurious home, more money than he knew what to do with, expensive cars, expensive girls. A family name worth the Earth. All he had to do was speak his name or snap his fingers and people would bend over backwards to please him.

Which made his soul-mark all the more utterly infuriating

Not interested.

It was written in an inelegant scrawl, the r lopsided and the N curled on the tips. It lay like a brand on the inside of his bicep, taunting him every time he looked at it. And he looked at it often, especially as he grew up and got better looking; especially when people begun to play at being his soulmate in the desperate hope he would fall for them.

He had all that, and presumably, his soulmate had not even a spark of interest in him. It had gnawed at him like a starving wolf throughout his teens, wary of anyone who opened their mouth in his direction. And when he became an attractive, wealthy older man, and when he became an attractive superhero to boot. Iron Man. Someone wasn’t even remotely interested in Iron Man.

Steve had given him an amused and sort of smug look when Tony had revealed the white mark on a drunken team bonding night. No doubt the man knew how such a line would mess with Tony. Tony only wished he could give the man the same shit, but Steve’s soul-mark was a dark black, the colour it turned to when you met your soulmate. One James “Bucky” Barnes, who was so sickeningly in love with Steve that it often warranted fake gagging until they toned down the puppy eyes and kissing.

Being Iron Man didn’t exactly help the whole soulmate thing, either. Not that the soulmate issue wasn’t a smooth sea to begin with. They were a bit of a shit-luck-dip, really. You could be born in the entire wrong lifetime. You could be ninety by the time your soulmate is born. You could meet your soulmate in just enough time to watch them wither away.

Soul-marks were a pale, lifted white until you met your soulmate and spoke their words. Then, it would burn and slowly darken to black to signify you’d met The One.

At cresting thirty-two, Tony knew his soulmate was alive. Somewhere. The other delightful thing about soulmates is the Universe didn’t exactly plop you down in the same house. The majority of people died having never met their soulmate. Tony knew his soulmate was alive because he had a mark. Those too late got the job of watching their soul-mark fade from their skin.

And there Tony’s sat, pink-white and mocking him with every passing day.

Not interested.

It’s what he wished he could say, when his phone rang with Director Fury’s number and the sky begun to rain aliens. Looking up at the giant alien-crocodile-snake thing, all he wanted to do was throw in the armour and become a sheep herder or something.

Half of New York has been unceremoniously remodelled by the time Loki is a wheezing half-corpse two foot down in his kitchenette floor, and Schwarma turns out to be vaguely disappointing.

All in all, he needs a whiskey. And a strong one. In an unfortunate trend that seems to be set on denying him all his wants - The Tower is officially on lockdown while SHIELD begins the frantic clean-up attempt. This apparently extends to even him, the man who’s name is literally emblazoned across the building.

Or, was.

Looking up at it now, all that remains is a slightly jagged A.

Huh. He has to remodel now anyway; maybe a logo change might not be so bad. But that can wait, because between the aliens and Steve fucking Rogers and the aliens, a strong whiskey was the only solution. So Tony tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks and turned on his heel, picking way along the rubble-littered streets. Still deserted, now that SHIELD had taken over.

Some four blocks down, a SHIELD agent comes striding past, clutching a tiny Yorkie to his chest. The Agent side-eyed him as they passed each other, as though unsure if he should be letting an Avenger just stroll away, but Tony waved a hand at him. “Double the animal rescue efforts and put my name on the bill. If you happen to find a particularly vicious dog - Or even a cat, really, do be sure to stuff it in Captain America’s mailbox” he hummed, whistling cheerfully as he continued on.

The first bar he came across was a total dud, half-caved in and void of any signs of life. Unperturbed, Tony continued onwards and soon found a second, only slightly scathed. Entering the building it became clear he was not the only one who had settled on the notion of a stiff drink.

Sat at the bar, was a smaller male, with a mess of dark curls and a flannel overshirt that had been torn open, bloodied at one side. Skinny jeans once black were now a brown-grey with dust. The guy didn’t turn around the check him out, just knocked back a shot and poured another from the bottle at his side. Next to that was an empty tumbler, with what looked to be a $20 inside.

Tony gave a soft huff, but he supposed that for once, he didn’t exactly have a choice in going somewhere else. So he smoothed down his hair and sauntered up to the bar, leaning one elbow against the murky wood. A glimpse of the guys face nearly had him sliding straight off it in surprise.

A little battered or not, Bar Guy was attractive. He had a little button nose and a sharp jaw contradicted by slightly round cheeks. From the side his lashes seemed endless. A little disarmed but not deterred, Tony flashed a wry grin and in best Joey Tribbiani accent, greeted him with “Hey. How you doin’?”

And he honestly wasn’t flirting. At least, not with any real intent. Pepper often said that Tony would flirt with a potted plant if he thought it would gain him anything; and he supposed she wasn’t wrong. Bar Guy stiffened a little, shoulders hunching, and he poured a generous slug of whiskey into his glass before he knocked it back with a grimace, not even looking at Tony.

“Not interested” the boy replied blandly, though not cruelly, turning away from Tony to slide off his stool. Tony opened his mouth to crack a joke, or make a witty remark, but he never got that far. His arm begun to tingle, and then it burned slightly, and his gasp was mirrored by the guy opposite, who staggered and clutched at his thigh.

The burn abated back to a tingle, and then to nothing, as though it had never happened. Tony didn’t need to check his arm to know that the mark would be a deep, semi-sheen black.

The guy whipped around, and his already wide eyes went near cartoon comical when he realised exactly who was stood opposite him; exactly who the Universe had plucked out of a hat for him. Tony could only offer a wry, grim smile in response. He felt sick. He wanted to run away. This was it. God, he couldn’t do this.

“Mr. Stark” the boy honest to god squeaked, and it was enough to have Tony’s mouth curving with a little more sincerity. The boy straightened, gaze sweeping him without an ounce of subtlety, and then he coughed. “Okay. Uh. Maybe a little interested” the boy murmured, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Only a little?” Tony asked, but it was teasing as he slid into a stool, took a $20 from his pocket and added it to the tumbler before he took the whiskey and the boy’s glass, pouring himself two fingers. What a story. He saved the world from aliens, flew a nuke into space and found his soulmate on the hunt for whiskey.

“So. Aliens” he huffed, knocking back his drink. The boy slid back onto the stool besides him and took the glass and bottle, knocking back a shot of his own.

“Aliens” he agreed sombrely.

An hour later and Tony learned his soulmate was called Peter Parker and he loved strawberries but was allergic to almonds and he went to community college because he couldn’t afford MIT and he stared at Tony’s mouth for the entire time he spoke. Peter asked to see his soul-mark, shy and a little tipsy from the half-bottle he’d sumped, and Tony unbuttoned his shirt enough to wriggle around, presenting the inside of his bicep to Peter, who leaned forwards like he was honest to god going to lick it.

“Now yours” he managed, after Peter’s eyes had trailed it (and his chest) for the ninth time. Peter blinked up at him, slow and half-cocked, before he nodded slowly, sliding off the stool to knuckle his belt. He squirmed his jeans down taut, milky thighs that Tony wanted to bite, before hopping effortlessly onto the bar, spreading his thighs enough that Tony could see his own messy scripture down the inside of his right thigh.

Tony shifted off his stool, leaning forwards and between Peter’s legs as much as his bunched up jeans would allow, staring at it. He loved it as much as he ached over it; because how cruel was it, to throw him at a boy like this? He leaned closer though, breathed hot air over it and was absolutely aware of the way Peter’s boxers lifted a fraction.

“Tony” the boy croaked, voice strangled as his hand fell to Tony’s shoulder. Tony was leaning closer, closer, until he could press a firm kiss over the dark ink. He didn’t know why, he just…Wanted to. Wanted to drink in the way Peter’s breath hitched and his hips jerked. Tony pulled back.

They’d just met. Hell, the kid might even have a partner waiting for him at home. Soulmates were never the end all of your life. Howard and Maria had never been soulmates but they’d lived and loved together until Howard had driven his Bughatti into a tree in the dark of a winter night.

Peter’s whimper had him glancing up, taking in blown pupils and flushed cheeks. The boy bit his lip before heaving a breath, fingers digging into Tony’s shoulder. “Fuck. You’re - You’re so hot. You can’t do that. You can’t make me want you like that” the boy mumbled, head shaking even as he tugged Tony closer.

And, well. Tony had never been the golden boy. Rules were meant to be broken.

Peter tasted like wet and whiskey and something a little sweet, like he’d been eating candy. His hands fell to Peter’s hips, digging into the skin above the waistline of his boxers as he kissed him, licked into his mouth and swallowed a muffled moan. Peter’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck, drawing him closer until Tony couldn’t go any further because Peter’s tangled legs stopped him.

“Fucking Hell” the boy grunted, leaving Tony long enough to kick off his sneakers and to simply shed his jeans, right there on a bartop in the middle of Manhattan. Tony cursed as slender, long legs spread for him, until their half-hard cocks squeezed together and punched a whine from both of them. Peter was the first to grind forwards, sloppy and without finesse as they kissed again, a slick slide of tongue that ended in a help as Tony bit down on Peter’s bottom lip, dragging him closer by the waist.

“If you - If you stop now I’ll kill you” Peter panted against his mouth, rocking forwards against Tony’s Gucci slacks. Tony couldn’t resist a cruel smirk, drawing his head back to gaze down at the debauched boy.

“I thought you said you weren’t interested?” He asked, arching a brow. The demeanour slipped when Peter drove a hand between them, grasping Tony’s cock through his trousers and squeezing enough to have his hips stuttering forwards. “Daddy doesn’t like to be teased” he growled, surging forwards to cup Peter’s jaw, to kiss him bruisingly as one hand went to the boys wrist, coaxing him into stroking Tony through the fabric.

Peter mewled beneath him, fingers curling and stroking around the shape of him as he rut forwards against his own forearm, nipping at Tony’s tongue gently. “Anything, fuck. Just - Don’t stop. Don’t stop Daddy, please. Please don’t stop” he begged, brainless except for the pleasure. It was a look Tony liked; a lot.

Tony pushed Peter’s arm aside and grasped him by the asscheeks, hauling him against his hips as he ground forwards, fingers dipping between those plump cheeks and straining the fabric to brush against the rose of muscle between them. Peter moaned blatantly into his mouth, hips jerking forwards. “Please” the boy begged again, grinding against him with desperation.

Tony obliged, kissing him with renewed effort and keeping their cocks flush together through their fabrics, a heavy grind that lasted only minutes before Peter was crying out, arching into his body as he came with a half-scream of “Daddy!”

His thighs squeezing Tony’s hips and their cocks squeezed tight together pushed Tony over the edge, cum flooding his silk boxers as he muffled his own pleasure into Peter’s shoulder. Fuck. They’d just done that. Right there.

He begun to laugh. Against his chest Peter made a questioning sound, hands petting at his shoulders.

“So,” Tony drawled, lifting his head to gaze into Peter’s eyes with amusement. “Are we leaving that bit out of the ‘how we met story?”

Peter smacked his shoulder with the empty whiskey bottle.

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