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buckyalpine · 1 year

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You had one job

18+

Bodyguard!Bucky x reader

Everyone who asked for this raise your hand. As expected, everyone’s hands are down. I’m sorry.

A lil angst, horny protective Bucky, smutty smuuttt, fluff, all that. Daddy kink, pregnancy

“Not interested” Bucky glared at Steve, shoving the file back across the table, shaking his head while the blonde smirked, skimming through the papers.

“Well you don’t have much of a choice; they requested you, not Mr. Stars and Stripes over here”

Of all jobs, the last thing Bucky wanted was to play babysitter for the spoilt daughter of Tony Stark, the face of Stark Enterprises though that was clearly just a cover for the underground dealings he had control over.

“I’m not taking a babysitting job”

“You’re not a babysitter for fucks sake, you’re her bodyguard and head of security for the family. You have military experience, they only want the best” Bucky’s boss walked out of the room without looking back, not giving the brunet a chance to argue back.

“You start next week”

*****

Don’t let her out of your sight

Don’t touch her

Don’t stare at her

Don’t touch her

Keep her safe

Don’t touch her

Those were the rules he was given as he walked out of Starks office, his jaw clenched as he made his was to the foyer of the mansion. Works of art decorated the walls, each piece different from the other, different from pieces he had seen in other homes-

The sound of heels clicking down the stairs broke him from his train of thought, his eyes flicking up to the latest job he was forced to take on. You wore a skirt and blouse, make up perfectly done, not a hair out of place, nails manicured, unnecessarily pretty.

You’d already gone though countless bodygaurds before, none meeting your standards, each getting fired for one reason or another. Unlike the others, Bucky only had so much patience.

“Miss Stark” Bucky hardly looked at you, staring past you instead while you walked by him, grabbing your bag and calling for your driver.

“Mr. Barnes” You nodded, making your way out to the car as he followed behind you, sliding into the car and keeping his distance. You didn’t speak to him the whole car ride, going about your shopping trip as if he didn’t exist. When you weren’t pretending he didn’t exist, you’d talk his ear off, your sassy banter seeing how far you could push him till you at least got a growl out of him.

He had to give you some credit. While he usually ignored you most of the time, you were intelligent like your father and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit intrigued by you.

Each day was the same. He’d accompany to wherever you demanded; shopping, brunch with your friends, dinners, oddly occasionally a few bookstores where you’d spend the whole day tucked away in a corner reading. The worst was when you wanted to go clubbing, your handsy friends ogling and eye fucking him the entire time while you continued to pretend he didn’t exit.

Again, he had to give you some credit; not once did he ever had to drag you out of the club, drunk and sloppy. Regardless of how much you drank, you always appeared stone cold sober.

Not once had anything happened for his presence to be needed. The most he had done in the past month he spent with you was carry your shopping bags and hold the door open. Aside from his name, he wasn’t sure you knew anything about him. What he didn’t know was while you didn’t look at him, you’d carefully studied him whenever he looked away from you.

You noted the way his blue eyes would always scan the room before you entered a building, marking all the exists. His hands would constantly twitch whenever someone got too close, his metal arm always tucked near the gun in his holster. His lack of patience amused you; always smirking to yourself at the way his jaw ticked when your friends got too close to him.

In all fairness, he was handsome.

As hell.

Between his short dark locks, scruffy cheeks and pink lips, you’d have to be blind not to see how gorgeous he was. Unlike your previous bodyguards, you were most intrigued by him, the only one who hadn’t spared you a second look, always keeping his eyes and hands to himself. He was also the only one you wanted to ride until the sun came up-

“You don’t speak much” You mused, looking up at him from your sunglasses while he sat across from you, scrolling on his phone. You both sat in the car on your way to a charity event you had to attend, representing your father.

“I was hired to protect you” Bucky shrugged, while you cocked your head wanting to prod at him more. “That doesn’t involve much talking”

“Shouldn’t you know more about the person you were hired to protect” You earning a grunt in response. “Might be difficult if you hardly look at me”

“I don’t believe speaking or looking at you are part of my instructions Miss. Stark” Bucky challenged while you smirked, his blue eyes locking with yours. There was something about you that made him want to take you over his knee, curious about how demanding you’d be if you were stuffed with his cock instead-

He broke his stare away feeling his phone buzz, opening the car door for you and letting you step out, trailing behind you. He spoke lowly as he answered the call though he was already dreading what it would be about, seeing Fury’s caller ID.

“You’re scheduled to travel with her next month”

“This is a waste of everyone's time” Bucky groaned, wishing he at least had Steve by his side to keep him entertained. “For fucks sake, all I do is follow her on shopping trips, this is what they hired me for?”

“Suck it up Barnes, Stark is sending you both over to some event he can’t attend, everything’s already been arranged” Bucky growled, cursing under his breath when he hard the call end.

A month later

“I’m sorry sir, there must have been a mix up in the bookings” The front receptionist gave Bucky an apologetic look while he shook his head, taking single the keycard to the hotel suite while you continued to scroll through your phone. You both made your way up to the room, your bags in his hand while you took the card from his hand to swipe the lock.

“What are you doing-” You shot Bucky as look as he followed in behind you, crashing onto the couch after setting your bag aside.

“They only booked once room and there's no others available, so here we are” He was in no mood to argue with you, already irritated over the fact that he’d have to spend the night surrounded by stuck up shady business men all night while running on 0 sleep. You stayed silent for a moment; it wasn’t like you had time to waste finding different sleeping arrangements, your fathers business always came first.

“You can sleep on the couch” You shrugged, grabbing your garment bag and locking the door of the master bedroom of your suite, deciding you’d deal with the hotel room mix up later.

Bucky splashed some water onto his face, thankful there was a second bathroom in your room as he showered and threw his suit on. He sat at the couch, reloading his gun, looking up when he heard the click of your heels on the tiles, approaching him.

For the first time since he’d started his job, Bucky struggled to take his eyes off you. You were in a long satin gown, the soft burgundy material wrapping around your body beautifully. The dainty straps of your heels hugged your ankles, his mind going rogue, thinking about how they’d look on his shoulders-

“Lets go” You gave yourself a once over in the floor length mirror while Bucky nodded, leading you to the elevators and down to the hall of the event. The sweet scent of your perfume evaded his senses as you stayed close to him, hoping he wouldn’t realize your stomach had burst into butterflies over the way he looked in his suit.

You made small talk with a number of people throughout the night but something was off. Bucky watched you carefully, noting the way you downed your third glass of champagne in the past few minutes, anxiety clouding your usual confident demeanor.

“What is it” Bucky whispered, while your eyes flicked to a few unfamiliar guests, which was unusual for such meetings.

“This is a private event” You murmured, nervously linking your arm with his, “But I don’t know some of these people, my father would have mentioned new guests”

Bucky silently nodded, slipping his hand around your waist, making his way towards the exit before the room went dark, a number of lights suddenly switched off. You gasped as a masked mad approached you, panic ensuing at the sound of bullets ringing through the large ballroom. Your eyes grew wide, recognizing the voice as the man tore the mask off, his burnt face a mess after he had already tried to touch you once before.

“Fancy seeing you here” Rumlow grinned, his cold knuckled fingers gipping onto his knife as he stalked over to you, determination written all over his face. “Almost had you once. Shame your father will only have you back in pieces-

Before you could do anything, Bucky pulled you out of the way, shielding you, the knife slashing across his shoulder instead. He hissed in pain, pushing you away just enough so he could push Rumlow down, cuffing him while a few of your families allies dragged him away.

You hardly had time look back while Bucky let out a pained groan teeth digging into his bottom lip, pain radiating through his shoulder as he grabbed you and pulled you close to his side, making sure the area was clear before taking you to the safety of your room. He ignored the shooting pain that pulsed through his body, slumping on the couch while you berated him about needing to go to a hospital.

“M’fine” He gritted out, while you shook your head, unwilling to take his brooding stubbornness if it meant he was going to bleed out in the hotel room.

“For fucks sake, will you stop being so stubborn for once and let me take care of you” You dragged him into the bathroom, shrugging his blazer off and unbuttoning his shirt, throwing the blood soaked material into a hamper that sat in the corner.

Usually Bucky would have protested, easily cleaning his own cuts and sewing himself up like he had done countless times before.

Except he was exhausted.

Before he could get another word in, you tugged his hand, leading him to sit on closed toilet seat, grabbing the first aid supplies he had in his bag. You threw your dress and heels off, quickly throwing on the first thing you could find in one of the bags, (his henley and his brief's) before rushing back to him and tending to his injury.

He was able to feel every cut and sting as you dabbed the alcohol soaked cotton on his gash, unable to ignore the way the pain radiated on his skin. He hissed, his body moving on its own, his hand slipping up your shirt, grasping onto your waist, gritting his teeth, squeezing your soft flesh, groaning. You felt your heart jump, ignoring the way it fluttered. Your eyes grew wide when he sucked in a breath, letting your shirt ride up and he rested his head against your stomach.

You continued to dab the bloody away, the sting only getting worse. He bit down onto your soft flesh, no longer in control of what he was doing, the pain felt white hot and the only thing that kept him tethered to reality was the softness of your skin.

His grip on your waist loosened as he let out a shuddered breath feeling you blow on his skin to soothe the sting before placing gauze on top to stop the bleeding.

“All done” Bucky pulled away, his eyes now locked on the indents on your skin of where he bit down onto you, a part of his mind wandering to how pretty you’d look if he marked you other places. He felt his face heat up, thanking you before getting up and leaving, the blood in his body now pumping other places.

The softness of your hands.

The sweetness of your voice.

A stubborn little princess, wearing his clothes, taking care of him.

“I’m going to shower” You interrupted his train of thought, leaving his bathroom to use the larger one in the room, your own body feeling like it was lit on fire. You loved the way his calloused hands felt on your body, gripping onto you, each of his pained groans made your heart hurt yet needy. Imagine how beautiful he’d sound if you were bouncing on his co-

You blinked, your fingers tracing over the indents he left on your skin as you stripped his henley off, cursing when you realized you’d taken his clothes instead of yours. While you hoped he wouldn’t have noticed in his state of pain, you knew he saw every detail.

Perhaps a cold shower would clear your head.

Bucky nearly growled as you emerged from the bathroom in nothing but a pathetic excuse for a towel while he stood half naked, grabbing his sweats to throw on before you came in to grab your own clothes.

“Forget your clothes again” Bucky smirked, letting his eyes rake up and down your body, unable to hold back much longer. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or the scent of your body wash. The little resolve he had was crumbling into a fine power when you stepped towards him.

You could feel your pussy already dripping, eye fucking him right back, curious to see how far you could push him. He always managed to ignore your teasing though today his eyes had lingered on you for a tad too long.

“Daddy said you couldn’t lay a finger on me” You cocked an eyebrow, dropping your towel to the floor, shamelessly letting him stare at your bare form, his cock leaking against his boxers.

“Not a problem princess” He smirked, tugging his boxers down, stroking himself in front of you. “He didn’t say anything about admiring his pretty baby, huh”

You whimpered while he continued to lazily stroke himself watching you, taking a few steps towards you while you backed yourself against the wall. Your eyes grew wide when he caged you against the wall, his hot breath fanning on your face.

“Daddy said-

“I’m your daddy now baby” He growled in your ear, throwing you over his shoulder, and tossing you onto the bed. Something else surged inside him. He hadn’t realized how much he actually cared for you until today. He despised the feeling he felt when he knew you were in danger, no one, absolutely no one had the right to hurt you.

Bucky didn’t hold back, fucking you with abandon, making sure you’d feel him for the rest of the week, pounding you into the mattress. He loved your desperate cries and whimpers, begging him for more, taking every inch of him.

“Daddy, harder”

“Greedy little princess aren’t we”

“Need it daddy”

“Daddy’s got you baby, just be a good girl and take it”

You loved the way he tossed you around, marking your body, your skin littered in bruises, his possessive words making you feral.

“You like when daddy bites you sweets? You like daddy losing control for the princess he has to protect?”

“Please Bucky, mark me up daddy!”

“M’the only man who gets to hear you scream like this baby, the only man who gets to mark you. I’ll fuckin’ ruin anyone else that tries to put their hands on you, you’re mine to protect, all mine”

He had you cumming all over his cock all night, his mouth filthier each time he had you creaming on his length.

“C’mon babygirl, one more, it’ll make daddy all better”

“C-can’t daddy!”

“Just one more to help me feel all better baby, please? Daddy’s cock hurts when his princess doesn’t cum”

The night ended with you cuddled up in his arms, the both of you insisting it wouldn’t happen when the next day. You tried to ignore the way you felt giddy around him while Bucky tried to keep his cheeks from going red whenever you were near him.

Although.

That night started it.

While neither of you spoke about any feelings that seemed to be brewing between you both, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

Bucky had a lot of self restraint for many things but you were a weakness. He fucked you in everyway imaginable; the back seat of the car, the changerooms, by the poolside, your bedroom, the kitchen, even once in the club bathroom.

What started off as a few hook ups turned into something more intimate. He snuck into your room more often, taking his time to feel your body under his, staying with you until the sun came up. He hadn’t been one to enjoy soft slow sex before but with you he found himself craving it.

“Missed you babygirl”

“Needed this”

“Fuck you feel so good baby, s’perfect my pretty girl, so good for me”

“Never wanna leave princess, wanna be like this forever”

Regardless of what he was saying in those moments, you both agreed there was nothing more. Its not like anything more could happen anyway, he was still your bodygaurd and its not like you could be together.

A few weeks later

He had been patient for long enough. This was the fourth time he heard you empty your insides, walking out of the bathroom as if nothing had happened. You ignored his stare, making your way to your bed instead, your stomach churning again.

“There’s something you’re not telling me” Bucky’s voice was low, watching you nervously fidget with your fingers, bringing your knees up to your chest, nearly curling into a ball. “I don’t know what you’re-

“Its nothing Bucky” You shot back, your frustration clouding overthrowing your patience. You fought back tears while Bucky sat by your side, clenching his jaw when you turned away from him.

“Don’t lie to me, you’re never like this”

You had avoided him for over a week, hardly leaving your room, leaving all his calls unanswered. You had refused to see him, deciding to stay holed up in your house so he wouldn't have to watch over you. You knew Bucky suspected something but how could you tell him this.

“You’ve been sick, you’re tired all the time, you refuse to let me take you to the doctors, you don’t even let me near you anymore, baby just-

“I’m pregnant” You sat up, bursting into tears, shuffling away from him, guilt and fear consuming you, “I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do, we didn’t plan this, I-I know you don’t want this, you were hired just to protect me, not have a baby, especially not with me-

“Hey, hey, baby what makes you think I don’t want this” Bucky quickly grabbed you, pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest. You trembled in his arms, shaking while he rubbed your back, tilting your chin to look at him.

“Bucky-

“Princess, listen to me, I want this with you baby” You looked away again, figuring he was saying that for your sake, “Sweetheart, look at me baby, please?”

He huffed at your stubbornness, moving you so you were pinned under him while he held off some of his body weight to keep from pressing too hard against your tummy. He rested his forehead onto yours, his eyes sincere. “I mean it. I want our baby. I’m more than happy sweetheart, there's no one else I’d want to have a baby with”

You whimpered under him, draping your hands over his shoulders while he rolled you over again, letting you lay on top of him. He stroked your hair, kissing you while rubbing your tummy, giddy excitement making him smile till his cheeks hurt.

“Y/n, sweetheart” Bucky pulled you closer to him, his hand firmly splayed across your tummy, nose bumping against yours, “I love you baby”

“You promise you want this James?”

“I want it all with you babydoll”

****

“Can-I have to tell you something” You stepped into your father office room while Bucky continued to remain a respectful meter away from you as always.

“That you’re in love with the man I hired to protect you” Your father cocked an eyebrow, his face unreadable while he stared at you both, your eyes growing wide, while his face remained unchanged. You silently nodded while Bucky took a step closer to be right by your side, relaxing a little when Tony didn’t put a bullet between his eyes.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes sir”

“You’ll take proper care of her?”

“Yes sir”

“You understand I’ll kill you right now you ever make her cry”

“Yes sir”

“Suppose it could be worse” Tony shrugged, shaking his head at the way Bucky looked like a lovesick puppy, his hands clearly itching to hold yours, his pinky discreetly linking with yours for the time being.

“Well-um-that’s not all?” You nervously fidgeted while Bucky bit back a smirk, though your father didn’t look surprised, shaking his head instead.

“For fucks sake, you had one job” Tony rubbed his temples, itching to throw a paperweight at Bucky’s head while he sheepishly smiled, moving his arm to wrap around your tummy. “I thought I told you not to touch her” Tony deadpanned while Bucky bit his lip, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Sorry sir”

Just imagine utter ridiculousness that ensues after. Tony is more than happy that your happy but he can’t help but grill Bucky every time he sees him doting on you, reminding him of how this absolute punk touched his princess.

“He had one job, just one job” He mumbles while watching Bucky feed you, the both of you cuddled on the couch together.

“C’mon, they’re cute” Nat snorts while Tony shoots her a glare, continuing to sip his whiskey.

“One job Romanoff, one job”

After your little one is born, Bucky is even more protective over you than before and Tony couldn’t be more proud over the person he hired to watch over you.

That doesn’t mean he’ll let Bucky live it down.

“One job Barnes”

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winterspiderpurrs · 5 months

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Prompt:

Where Tony and Peter meet because Peter runs the Maria Stark Foundation

Peter was reviewing the books, and the numbers just don't look right.

Peter was so focused on the good this foundation does he never realized the ties to the crime family.

But when it gets brought up to Tony. Well Tony gets mad.

1) His mother's organization was never supposed to be touched by his group - keep it clean

2) How come no one told him this cutie took over running it?

#writting prompt #starker #starker prompt #mob boss tony stark #mafia tony stark #peter parker x tony stark #winterspiderpurrs

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Everywhere You Go

Warnings: this fic includes implied noncon and coercion, mentions of crime and abuse, and explicit sexual content. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The day your husband is released from prison is the day it all falls apart.

Characters: Mob!Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

Note: This is my entry for @the-slumberparty Week One Writer’s Activity. My prompts were Isolation + Mafia. I included all three items.

So I kinda tried something new... let me know what you think.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like the boys love milkshakes. Take care. 💖

The screen flicks to black. You stand with your arm outstretched, remote still aimed at the television. Your heart drums behind your ears as the banner sticks in your vision. ‘Stark released on mistrial’.

The remote slips from your fingers as your arm drops to your side. It’s like you can see the air around you, feel it suffocating you as you breathe it in, as if you’re wading through muck. You turn and lean against the armrest of the sectional, hanging your head as you try to stop the spinning sensation.

You steady yourself and stand straight. You look down at the tremble in your hands. That you can’t stop. You go to the window and look out at the fading yellow grass and the peeling wood fence. This is supposed to be the end. It is supposed to be safe.

You tug the curtains shut and turn to lean against the wall. You hug yourself and stare at the rug’s edge, the slightly fraying fabric trims the worn wooden boards. You shudder and sink down to the floor, hiding your face in your hands.

“Girl like you deserves diamonds,” Tony’s fingers tickles your collar bone as he plays with the circle cut diamond, a weight reminder of his hold on you. “And every guy who looks at you, deserves to know who you belong to…”

Goosebumps rise as the shadow of his touch brushes over you with the breeze that slips in the open window. Your teeth chatter though it’s barely cold enough to be anything more than balmy. You drag your fingers down to your neck to make sure there’s nothing there. No necklace, no collar, no leash.

He’s gone. He doesn’t know where you are. You made sure of it. But that was when he was behind bars.

You can never be safe so long as he’s free.

A week passes without occurrence, assuring you that your paranoia got the best of you. The idea of Tony getting out is hardly comforting but you’re safe. You’re protected. You’re not alone.

You go about your usual routine. A breakfast of fruit and steel cut oats, a cup of espresso with a hint of cream. You watch the birds hop over the top of the fence and the bees buzzing around the dandelions.

You have walls, you have food, you aren’t in pain. You’re safe. You keep reciting that fact like a mantra. Safe. The word becomes gibberish the more you think it.

You retreat and rinse out the small cup and set it on the rack to drip dry. A simple existence. It’s all you ever longed for in that lonely house, adorned in gems, stuck in his trap. You never wanted any of that. Not even him.

You take the basket from beside the front door and pull it open, the warmth of the sunshine fading away as you stop short on the threshold. You look down at the long stems wrapped in a white bow. The peachy orange is the same shade as those you held on your wedding day. The basket blows out of your hand with the sudden gust that surrounds you.

You stare down between your feet at the dainty petals. It can’t be. Here?

You look out over the meadows, sprawling, lush, and green. Nothing but the ripple of the wind as it blows over the tall blades. You step back, leaving the basket to roll away and the flowers where they met you. You shut the door and lean on it, a hand on the wood as your heart hammers.

You need to leave. Now.

“Flowers,” Agent Rogers bends to scoop up the bouquet, “really?”

“It’s not a coincidence,” you insist, “I know I sound crazy but I also know Tony. Better than anyone. You know that too.”

“I can’t exactly tell the higher ups that you got some flowers. It’s not exactly grounds for relocation,” he turns the bunch in his hand and examines the white ribbon.

“Right,” you say, deflated, “but– you have everything. Go back in the evidence, check the wedding photos. Rosa Independence. A twisted joke, I know. He said he liked the colour.”

“The more I learn about the guy, the more I hate him,” he pushes his golden hair back and drops his hand, pulling back his sleeve to look at his watch, “gotta call it in. Probably won’t have a decision right away.”

You nod, uneasily shifting on your feet. You don’t know how long you have to get away. Maybe you’ll have to do it without him. Pack a bag and just go. Wherever you can.

“I’ll see if I can stay. Standard security procedure. No reason for us to take this too lightly,” he lays the flowers across the oak table that play centerpiece to the front room, “no one should know you’re up here. So, even if they’re not your husband’s attempt at reconciliation, they’re a very pointed statement.”

“Thank you, Agent Rogers,” you say breathily, “I’m sorry.”

“Doing my job, nothing to be sorry about,” he says as he pulls out his phone.

You give a half-hearted smile before he strides out. You sit inside as his low tones waft in but you can’t make out the words. You can’t focus enough to try as the curling orange petals mock you.

“I’ve been waitin’ all day for this, sweetheart,” Tony purrs into your neck as you feel the thorn stems catch on your dress. He leans you over the suede car seat as he nuzzles your throat and nips. Not even halfway to the reception and he’s got your veil askew, your skirt hiked up past your thighs. “I’m gonna fuck you just like this, every day for the rest of our lives.”

The door hits the frame and draws you back to the present. Agent Rogers tucks his phone into his jacket, “looks like I’m posting up here for the night.”

You nod, speechless as the memory lingers in the back of your head. You stand and cross the room, refusing to look at the table.

“Please, can you throw those away?” You eke out.

He’s quiet. You turn your head and watch from your peripheral as he nears the table and lifts the bouquet, the petals rustling softly. He looks at them and puts them to his nose.

“Sure,” he answers at last as he retreats with the long stems, “never understood why roses were seen as romantic. Too many thorns.”

“Kinda like marriage,” you scoff as you face him again, “thank you, Agent.”

“I’m gonna be here a while. Steve is just fine.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Steve says as you stare at the side mirror, watching the sun fade behind you.

“Yeah,” you say mindlessly and shift in your seat, “I’m sor–”

“Stop it,” he admonishes as he adjusts the air conditioner, “you’re sorry cause what? I chose to be in WITSEC as much as they chose me. I knew what I was getting into.”

“I know but I–” you swallow and rub your throat as it bobs, “I guess I’m sorry for a lot of things. I lived a long time with a man who took without thinking. By proxy, I did the same. I… was too afraid to do anything but let him.”

“The mistrial wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrug.

“It’s not. It’s the f– the bought and paid for judge sitting on the bench. You know Stark, he’s got hands in everyone’s pockets.”

“I know, but… I shoulda known better.”

“You did what you had to. That’s all we can ever do,” Steve says, “why don’t you turn on some music, gonna be a long ride.”

You clamp your lips shut and reach forward to flick on the stereo. You flip through the curated stations until you find a retro pop channel. No chance of AC/DC. His favourite.

You sit back and lean your elbow on the door and cradle your forehead. The skyline blurs by as you try not to think. That never works. It’s impossible. He’s always there, looming in the back of your mind. Just like he had for all those years.

“Must be hard,” you sit up, “doing what you do and having a family. I can’t imagine…”

He’s quiet as his eyes focus through the windshield and he switches lanes. His grip loosens on the wheel as he smoothly evens out. “Easy, actually, I don’t got a family.”

“Oh, well…”

“Don’t you feel sorry for me. I know you don’t have anyone either. I mean, I got friends, at least.”

You sniff and fold your hands in your lap. It was only ever Tony. You weren’t allowed to have friends. Friends were dangerous. Friends talked. He wasn’t stupid. Everyone was just playing politics, trying to take his throne. Did he ever suspect his own wife would turn him in to the DEA?

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve says as Cher’s voice drones sonorously from the speakers, “I mean, I… I guess I don’t know what I meant. I see all the guys I work with, they got wives they leave at home, births they miss, family dinners they’re never home for. I just don’t want all that. I don’t want anyone to let down.”

“Fair,” you rub your upper arm as you glance at the rearview. For a moment, your eyes meet, placid but warm blue irises with a tint of green, “and I know you didn’t mean anything. I chose my path too. Tried to, in the end.”

It’s late. You’re restless. Like any night since the day you saw your ex on the news walking out of the courthouse. More so since you came to this new safehouse.

Maybe it’s the unusualness of having company or maybe it’s the circumstance. You’re hiding, as good as running from your husband. You knew you always would but it just feels so futile. Like you can’t get far enough away. Like there’s nothing that can hold him back, not a cell or the justice system.

It was like he always said, Tony Stark always finds a way.

You flip on the lamp as you enter the living room. The small apartment is unremarkable. You suspect that’s deliberate.

The blinds are always done and not much sunlight gets in. The place is a dour and grim contrast to your former abode. You miss the freedom of the fields and the optimism of the skies. Even if you had neither, the illusion was there.

You take the novel from beside the base of the lamp where you left it. You notice the spine is bent in a new place. You examine the curling corner of the cover, your bookmark exactly how you left it.

“Interesting story,” Steve says as he enters.

You pop your head up in surprise and rest the book against the edge of the table. Your coexistence grows easier by the day, the week, nearly a month now. His presence is comforting. If he left, you’re not sure you would stay. He kept your fear from getting the best of you.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you up,” you let go of the book and face him.

“I was awake,” he gives a slanted grin, “I was just sneaking out to… grab a book.”

“This one,” you push your fingertip to the cover. He nods guiltily.

You look over at the shelf against the wall. He follows your gaze and scoffs.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, “but none of those are holding my attention.”

You turn back to him. He’s in nothing but a pair of grey joggers, unabashed as the vee of his pelvis peeks out above the elastic and his muscular torso tempts your eyes. You focus on his face and grasp the book, sliding it off the table. You cross to him.

“All yours,” you hold it up to him, “I’m too tired to read.”

He gently brushes his hand over yours and takes the book. He’s close. Very close. You can smell his sweat beneath the dissolving layer of deodorant. You can even feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Night,” you catch a yawn in your palm and go to sidle past him.

“I could… read to you. I think I’m a bit behind but if you don’t mind a bit of backtracking–”

You look him in the eye, amused by the suggestion. He wants to read to you, like a child?

“You can close your eyes, listen,” he suggests, “might help you sleep.”

“You don’t have to do that, Steve, but I appreciate it.”

He nods and averts his eyes. His cheek ticks, “I… would you mind humouring me? I don’t know, this place, I can hear everything. I just need something to distract me.”

You smile, a small expression of commiseration.

“Sure, I… I think I need that too.”

You don’t know how it happened. The gasp that escapes you is as much from the realisation as the pleasure of the situation. Steve’s tongue glides up between your folds as you arch your backs, the sheets twisted around your body as you writhe. You bring your thighs up, clamping them on either side of his head as he coaxes to his whim.

Just like any other night, you sat beside him and listened to him read. Nothing very riveting, a novel about a man on the run. You slumped against his shoulder and his hand rested on your thigh before you succumbed to the tension. You didn’t think, you just did.

And there you are, puffing and whining as this man covets your body. As his hands explore your thighs and hips, gripping, groping, kneading, feeling everything with intense admiration. Your fingers twine into his golden hair, urging him deeper.

It’s been far too long since you felt affection. Well before your husband. The intimacy is nearly overwhelming, nestling along your eyelids and threatening to overflow as you bask in the fiery warmth. A man, this man, touches you like you are a true treasure. He doesn’t drag, and fling, and bend you like a toy.

You tug on his silky locks, moaning his name as he follows your desperate motion. His wet lips graze your stomach, smearing between your tits as he lifts himself over you. He hovers above you, his breath sweet with your flavour. You frame his face between your hands.

“Make love to me,” you beg, a ridiculous statement from a ridiculous dime store romance. But there’s no other way to say it. You want to be loved, not flaunted, not used, “please, Steve, I need–”

He crashes his lips into yours, humming as he swallows up your words. You feel his need, his desire, the same desperation coursing through him. You sling your arms around his neck and welcome him in. Even if it’s only convenient, you want to feel him. You want to feel everything he makes you feel.

For once, you get to choose what you want.

“Steve,” you croak as he opens the car door, shoving you in as the streets like gleam in your eyes, “where–”

“Be quiet and get in,” he orders as he ushers you into the seat.

The door snaps before you can say anything else. He quickly moves around the hood and gets in the driver’s side. He turns the key and the engine rolls over. He says nothing as he backs out, his hand on your headrest as he cranes to squint behind him.

He veers out of the lot and onto the street. You buckle your belt just before you can slide forward into the dash. You brace the door as he slows and steers neatly into a lane. You wipe the sleep from your eyes.

He sighs and pushes his head back, “we stayed too long… we… we were stupid.”

“Steve,” you sniff, “I know but…”

“It was nice,” he admits, “it really was but– Fuck, I could lose my job.”

“I’m sorry, Steve, I never should’ve–”

“I made the first move,” he clucks, “please, it’s my own fault. I just wanted it to last forever.”

Your silent as your vision blurs and you look out onto the street, the tall lightpoles bleary as your tears obscure them, “me too.”

“North. There’s a safehouse. That’s where they’re sending us. You.”

“What? Are you… are you leaving?”

“I have to. Orders. Procedure. I have to hand you off to a new agent.”

“Oh,” your chest pits and you hug yourself, “so this is goodbye?”

He frowns as yellow light flashes through the windows and illuminates his features. He grips the wheel and exhales heavily. His cheek dimples as he nods.

“We have leave to stop at a motel north of Cherrywood. We’ll say goodbye there.”

Steve takes the backroads. The trip is both slow and too fast. The end draws closer and closer with an inevitability that makes your heart ache. You don’t love Steve but you’ll miss his easy confidence and his warmth.

You don’t say much as the wheels roll on. You don’t know what to say. Your respite at the hotel only left you feeling worse. All you were losing was left back in that rented room. All that you’ll never know again. You know as well as Steve that this is a one way trip.

“Wilson’s a good guy,” he breaks the silence, “nice. Easy to talk to.”

He’s not you. The thought stays where it belongs as you lean your chin in your hand, “I’m sure.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“Mhmm,” you sit back and cross your arms, “where am I going?”

“Another safe house, I’d think. The less people know the better, right? That’s the order of things.”

“For how long?”

He shrugs. You scratch your neck as you stretch it. You’ve been in that damn car so long, every part of you feels compressed. You square your shoulders wide and push your legs out as far as they’ll go.

He falls back into his former lull, following the winding road between the dense crowd of evergreen. It’s oddly desolate. Even in daylight, the trunks are shrouded in blackness. You watch the passing of the great sentinels as they blur into each other, errant branches on the forest floor and twigs littered at the edge of the road.

You’re drawn from your mournful rumination of what you’re leaving behind and the mounting dread of what comes next. You look up as the tires slow and you see a dark vehicle ahead, at the dip of the next valley. Steve eases onto the brake as he pulls up, a man against the hood of an SUV waits in a dark blue jacket and sunglasses.

You look over at Steve. He gives a nod then glances back through the windshield, “Wilson.”

He doesn’t wait for you as he climbs out. You follow only after a minute, trying to gather a semblance of calm. You’ve done it before. You did it for years on Tony’s arm. You can do it again. Everything is fine. You’re fine.

“Well, here she is,” Steve announces.

“‘Bout time. I’m pretty sure I saw a bear waiting on your ass,” the other man, Wilson, comments.

Steve looks back as you linger by the car and waves for you to come forward. Reluctantly you drag your feet across the cracked tarmac. The other man flips up his sunglasses and considers you from head to toe.

“All yours,” Steve says coolly. His indifference stings. He’s acting, he has to.

The other man pushes away from the front of his car and nears you. You wince in surprise as he reaches to your belt. Before you can react, he has your hand and hooks a leather cuff around your wrists. He tightens the buckle and you try to pull away from him.

He jars you with a mean yank and twists your arm behind you. As he fumbles to secure your other wrist, you whimper, “Steve.”

Steve raises his chin, the sunlight reflecting in his crystal blue eyes. He turns to you and smirks, “that’s Agent Rogers.”

“What’s going on?” You struggle as Wilson latches onto the link between the cuffs.

“Protective custody,” Steve declares as he comes closer. You frown as you bat your eyes, an icy dagger sinking into your chest with each step, “doll, it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

The room is freezing. You don’t expect any different. It’s one of his warehouses. Wilson brought you there, left you on that metal chair, cuffs hooked around a bar along the back, one on each ankle, binding them to the legs. You shiver and drop your head, waiting.

You knew. You knew all along. From the day you walked into the police station. It could never work. You could never escape Tony Stark. He can buy anyone; you, Steve, Wilson…

A metal door rolls open loudly and clangs back into place. Footsteps echo across the concrete. As you raise your head, a shadow appears in the dim of the large door frame. A bulb above you hangs on wire, casting a sobering hue over you.

Tony steps into the umbrella of light and you sit back, raising your chin defiantly. It never does much to pout, to play nice. It’s too late for that now. You both know what you did.

He stops in front of you, pushing the bottom of his jacket back to rest his hand on his pistol. You watch the movement, thumb brushing along the butt. You take a breath, ready.

“Hi, Tony,” you look him in the eye.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he steps closer and brings his other hand up to cradle your jaw, pushing your head higher, “I missed ya.”

You laugh sharply, “missed you too.”

“You know, a man goes away for three years and finally gets free. He’s lookin’ forward to coming home to a warm bed, a warm woman,” his thumb caresses along your cheek, “then he finds his house as empty as his cell.”

“Let’s not do this,” you say, “get it over with.”

He tilts his head and his mouth slants. He sucks his teeth as his eyebrows rise in resignation. He sighs as he toys with your lower lip. You feel him tugging at his belt and brace yourself. You wait, expecting the kiss of the hard barrel against your temple.

A cold metal blade slides down the top of your shirt and slices through the fabric. Tony pulls back as he cuts to the hem, the fabric falling open. You cringe and turn your face away. He rescinds the knife and spins it in his hand.

“Honey, you’re home,” he says, “and we got some catching up to do.”

#tony stark #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #tony stark x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #one shot #drabbleshot #mcu #marvel #mob au #au #avengers #captain america #sam wilson #falcon #iron man

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monster-cock69 · 9 months

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mob boss tony who knows the chef at his restaurant does not fuck with substitutions finding out that there's a sweet kid who even the chef can't tell to fuck off

but yes i'm imagining it as something like "we don't have mac and cheese" ",,,please" "lemme ask the chef" and bam peter gets his mac and cheese

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #avengers #marvel #spiderman #prompt #someone please write this #iron man #mob au

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starkwub · 1 year

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(Tw: Starkercest)

Mob boss! Tony and his son, Peter (super out of the blue idea (considering I usually never write mob Au's), but figured I'd write it down ha!)

Just thought of Mob boss Tony allowing Peter, his prized possession son, go out on his own to live life since the boy had been harping about it for ages. Peter wanted to feel like all the other kids in his class. He didn't want body guards or exuberant allowances--nothing.

Tony of course couldn't say no after having done so for years-but that didn't mean he wouldn't be tricky about it.

Peter didn't have to know that he hired people to go to his house and be sketchy--knocking on the door at strange hours of the night or tampering with his window. Perhaps even telling the men to make creeping sounds within the home, just so Peter might feel more afraid of being on his own. He'd get people to stare at him on the streets, or following him after a late night shift at work in a dark hoodie with a jangling set of keys in their pockets so the boy would know they were there.

At first Peter wasn't all too fazed--thinking that it was just another one of 'dad's undercover body guards', but after a while--with his Dad denying the accusations and having not recognized any of the gruff and uneasy looking faced that met his gaze, the paranoia started to set in.

When it got to the point where Peter couldn't sleep for hardly a wink before startling at a creak in the floorboards or a brushing knock at his door--he did the only thing he possibly could think to do in that instance.

Call his Dad.

Sniffling, Peter grappled for his phone in the dark and clicked on his dad's profile, hearing the dial on the other end and then the un-familar beeping.

Why wasn't he picking up?. He always picked up.

It had been nearly 15 seconds before the beeping stoped and then came a sleep-laden voice on the other end.

"What is it baby? It's late, you should be asleep by now."

Peter shivered at the comforting voice and huddled a bit in the bed, pulling the blankets up and over top of his knees.

"Dad I.." He sniffled, looking worryingly at his bedroom door,

"I wanna come home. Just to visit--of course."

When his dad pressed on the topic, wonder why such a sudden thought had crossed his mind at three am, Peter just pouted and wrapped an arm around his knees tightly.

"Haven't seen you in a while s'all.." and suddenly his tone turned sour, "Why? You don't want me there?"

Tony coo'd and seemed to ruffle his bedding on the other side of the phone before speaking in a tone that Peter knew all too well.

"Of course I want to see you baby. Wish you where here right now so all you had to do was knock on my door, crawl into bed, and tell Daddy what's wrong instead of calling from a state that's a million miles away."

Daddy. Peter's heart thumped in his chest wildly at the honorific. It'd been so long..too long, since he'd heard it.

"It's not a million, jeez.." Peter retorted, suddenly remembering back to what it felt like to be with his Dad. His room somehow was always so much warmer than his own, and as he flexed his fingers to feel them stiffen from the chill, he sighed.

"I'll see you tomorrow then? I'm off with this weekend so I'll let them know I can't do any overtime."

"Mm.." Tony hummed, shuffling a bit more, "Alright sweetheart."

They stayed on the line for a few moments longer, and as Peter yawned, now letting his body slip back down to the crappy mattress, he breathed out against his phone.

"Want me to stay on the line?"

Peter nodded sleepily, knowing that his Dad couldn't see it, nor hear it, so he let out a muffled hum of his own, enjoying the subtle deep chuckle that came from his father's throat in response.

-- -- --

There can always be more, but I'm going to stop it here and count it as a win that I've finally written and posted something on here again XD I've been so enamored by the Harry Potter fandom as of late so my mind has taken to straying away from Starker more than usual

Hope everyone is doing okay! :)

#Starker #starkercest #Ironman x spiderman #tony stark x peter parker #starker au #mob boss tony stark

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abbatoirablaze · 2 months

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Deal With The Devil Master List

The five boroughs in New York City are run by the five families.

Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Thor Odinson, Clint Barton, and the most dangerous of all, Steve Rogers.

But that's just where the story begins.

With Steve Rogers. The loud-mouthed kid who's charming, witty, and beyond manipulative.

He knows just how to get what he wants. And after hearing about the newest reason that the boroughs are up in arms, he wants his cut.

Inez Stark.

No one knew that Tony had a younger sister, That is, not until someone from his inner circle let it slip.

Peter's out, because he's Pepper's cousin.

And with Steve, Thor, and Clint all vying for the chance to get into the alliance between Peter and Tony, they all want her hand in marriage.

Only, Tony knows that.

He also knows that he can't protect his baby sister anymore. He has to make a deal with the devil.

Too bad Steve's number 2, Bucky Barnes fell in love with her first.

Chapters

The Hobbit

Negotiations

Expectations

Fiances

The Bachelor Party

Like A Dog

What Family Is For

Know Your Place

Blindfolded

Cuck

The Meaning Behind 'I Do'

Sex On The Beach, And Blitzed On A Binge

Stay

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space-mermaid-writing · 1 year

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Final mood board for my IronStrange Mafia AU. Today I uploaded the last chapter of the series.

#IronStrange #Doctor Strange #Tony Stark #yay me #now I can start my next IronStrange series #did somebody say #arranged marriage AU?#Because I heard it #Stephen Strange #Iron Man #Mafia au #Ironstrange mafia #ironstrange mob

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authoressofdarkness · 10 months

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Fill: Mafia AU for @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo 2023

Mind the tags y'all! Pretty typical mafia AU bs below but I just want everyone to be safe. Read on AO3.

Peter can’t see anything when he wakes up.

Of course he can’t; what do you expect when you get hit over the head and abducted? He should know better. It’s not the first time someone has tried to use him against Ben, although it would be the first time they’ve gotten this far. Ben doesn’t mess around with his and May’s safety.

This time is different, though, and not just because of the fact they’d successfully abducted him and taken him to God only knows where. He can’t put his finger on why until a voice speaks from somewhere that sounds alarmingly distant, but the concussion he likely has is the least of his worries when he hears it.

“Oh, look. Sleeping beauty awakens.”

Peter tenses. It’s Tony Stark. He’s in deep fucking trouble.

It certainly explains how they got past the security that’s been not-so-secretly tailing him since the last incident, and also the fact that his arms are tied so tightly that they’ve gone numb. These are professionals. The mafia. Ben has been looking into Tony’s case for years, but Tony has never seemed to care before. Why now?

“Aw, look at that. He’s well educated, this one. You knew who I was as soon as I spoke. Your body says it all.” A hand brushes down his jawline, and he jolts a little. “You can talk. If I didn’t want you to, I’d have gagged you,” he continues nonchalantly.

Maybe it’s the fog or the dull throbbing he feels in his head, but it takes a minute for that to register and for him to realize that no, he isn’t gagged. He licks his lips, considering what to say.

“If you’re hoping I’ll beg, you’re wrong,” he says at last. “Ben will come for me like always.”

“You think so?” Tony sounds amused. It throws him off more than he wants to admit, but he presses on.

“I know so.” Even if he sounds more unsteady than he did a minute ago.

“That’s cute, sweetheart. Such confidence. But I have to say, I think Ben’s a little busy at the moment, doll. You might be stuck with me for a while.”

It’s the cool confidence in those words more than anything that makes him nervous. Tony has done something, and whatever it is, he’s sure it worked.

Peter’s heartbeat picks up. “What did you do to him?” he blurts before he can think better of it.

“Nothing, silly boy. Then he can’t do what I want him to. Just left him a little warning of what might happen to you if he doesn't clean up.” A finger brushes his cheek again.

The shiver goes down his spine before he can help it. Both at the touch, and at the threat. It’s obviously a thinly veiled threat. “I’m not afraid of you,” he tells him, trying for strong and confident, but that’s not how it comes out. More uncertain and wobbly.

Tony just chuckles. “You shouldn’t be. Not for that, anyway. If I have to kill you, I’ll just be supervising. My men are much more creative with making it painful and drawn out than I am.” He pauses, and the gentle touch on his jawline turns to a firm grip on his jaw. “Now, in between... that’s what you should be afraid of, because that’s all me, sweetheart.”

Peter gulps involuntarily. Okay, that’s scarier than he cares to admit. Tony has quite the reputation himself, and it takes a physical effort not to run through every story he’s ever heard. And there’s a lot; good, bad, scary, and of course downright hot.

He pushes the thoughts away. “Got special plans for me, do you?” He’s going for sarcastic, but then it also falls short.

Tony chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

The threat in the words is, again, barely bothered to be concealed. It’s dangerous and scary and yet somehow thrilling in the implication.

Peter flushes when he starts to indeed think of some ideas, and Tony’s chuckle only makes him turn a deeper shade of red. Then he releases his chin and steps away. Peter almost mourns the absence of his heat.

“Take him to a room and lock him up. I have to make some calls before anything else. Besides, I gave his uncle a day to respond before I show him how serious I am.”

They throw him in a room, cutting the rope on his arms and leaving him there.

Eventually the feeling comes back to his arms, even if it takes several minutes of shaking on the floor from the intense pins and needles sensation running through them. Then he pulls off the blindfold.

He’s just in a bedroom, he sees, when his eyes finally return to normal. It’s a surprisingly normal room — not an obvious cell, although there are no windows.

He climbs unsteadily into bed. There’s not much else to do. Even if he really thought he could make it out of this impenetrable house — which he honestly doesn’t — he’s fairly sure he’s concussed. His head is pounding so hard that standing is uncomfortable. If he’s going to try to escape, now isn’t the time to waste that opportunity.

Despite the conflict raging in every inch of his body, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he can sense immediately that he’s in a different place. Not only because of the difference he can feel in the sheets — rougher, obviously meant to be disposed of, not to be comfortable — but because of exactly how much difference he can feel. He’s been stripped down to his boxers. Fuck.

Once again, the first thing he hears is Tony Stark's voice.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, sweetheart.”

Peter ignores him, testing his bonds. His ankles are bound and spread wide. His arms, oddly enough, are not. He pushes himself into a sitting position and pulls off the blindfold, looking around and spotting Tony for the first time.

He’s shorter than he realized, he thinks, but still gives off the tall, dark, intimidating appearance. He radiates a charisma and sense of control that makes Peter’s hair stand on end because he knows it’s not the good kind. Yet it’s still damn attractive.

And alarming, because every other time he’s seen Tony Stark, while from a distance or on surveillance, he’s been impeccably dressed, the pure channel of that control. Now he’s dressed casually, in ripped blue jeans and a ratty band tee shirt that looks like it’s seen more years than Peter has lived.

The choice isn’t lost on him. The disposable room they are in, hella less expensive clothes than what Tony normally wears... It's obvious what’s happening next. His stomach clenches with fear that he swallows down. Panicking won’t help.

Tony must read the immediate panic on his face, because his expression softens, just a fraction. “Relax. We still have time. That’s why I let you wake up first.”

Let him wake up. They'd drugged him.

“How long was I out?” He needs to know.

Tony presses his lips together as if considering how much to tell him. “A while,” he says at last. “Long enough for your uncle to think he was going to get away with something.”

Peter swallows hard. He’d known that Ben wouldn’t give into whatever demands Tony had sent him, not right away, but the words still send a spike of fear through his gut. “What are you going to do to me?”

Tony shrugs, standing up. He grabs something off the table he’s been sitting at, and Peter realizes it’s a tray of... food?

“Right now, I’m going to make you eat, because you’re going to need it. Then we’ll get started.” He sets the tray on his lap.

Peter tenses, both at the closeness and his words. “Is it drugged again?”

“After, it might be,” Tony tells him, with a flippant honesty that takes him by surprise. “But no, not this time. I need you awake to film.”

“Film what?” Peter presses. He doesn’t want to know, but he needs to.

Tony takes a step away from him and heaves a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. Despite the severity of his words, the elder man's demeanor is a lot more casual than before. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’m not going to mutilate you. Not if I don’t have to. Hurting kids is hardly fun, you know. I’m not a psychopath, believe it or not.”

Peter frowns, not sure if he should believe that, nor why Tony would tell him that. He just nods and starts eating. Tony probably isn’t going to tell him anymore right now, and he's not sure he would like it even if he did.

He eats as much as he thinks he can stomach, then stops, pushing the tray away. Tony gets up immediately from where he'd settled in a metal chair in the corner to retrieve it.

Peter waits until he’s close, then lays a hand on his arm when he reaches for the tray. He feels Tony stiffen, but he’s not immediately batted off. “What?”

“Please tell me what you’re going to do to me.” He’s not going to beg, he’s better than that, but he will ask. It’s obvious how badly it’s getting to him, but when he looks up at Tony, the mobster doesn’t look amused like he did earlier. Just tired, maybe a little wary.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Peter hesitates. No. But he feels like he needs to know.

Tony just shakes his head. The hesitation is answer enough for him. “Then don’t ask.” He takes the tray and leaves.

Tony doesn’t return for a half hour or so. By the time he does, Peter has tried every thing to get out of his bonds unsuccessfully. He can’t even reach them, nor does he know what he’d do if he could. These are real cuffs, sized to him. Not ropes or a cheap pair of handcuffs.

If Tony was alerted to any of his attempts, he doesn’t seem to care. He walks right over and pushes against his shoulder. “Lay down.”

Peter makes a feeble attempt at resisting. “Why?”

“You know why. Lay. Down.” The words leave no room for argument. Then Tony adds, softer, “If I have to force you, this will be worse than it has to be.”

That much Peter knows is true, and he knows struggling will be futile, at least this time. So he lays down. Whatever he can do to make this as easy to get through as possible...

Tony cuffs his arms in and pulls the blindfold back over his eyes. Peter hears his footsteps move away, and the faint sounds of him messing with something from far away before he mutters, “Alright. Showtime.”

The seconds tick away as Tony returns to the bed, and Peter immediately tenses. He’s seen enough and heard enough about Tony to know how much this is going to hurt. He can sense the change in the man’s demeanor without him even opening his mouth. The casual clothes don't make him any less terrifying when he slips back into his more terrifying persona. Any warmth seems to seep out of the room.

Despite Peter's expectations, pain isn’t what comes next. A hand touches his chest, humming a little as it travels down, and then he feels the edge of his boxers being lifted. In the second it takes him to register exactly what’s going on, they’ve been cut straight down each leg.

Peter swallows hard. Fuck. He honestly doesn’t know if this is better or worse than the immense amount of pain he’d been expecting.

Tony chuckles, and it’s a cold, emotionless sound, so unlike how he’d spoken to him a few minutes ago.

“Such a pretty boy. You’d have made someone very happy someday. It’s a shame I have to do this. But you can thank your uncle for that.”

A hand runs down his chest again, fingers drawing slowly from his collarbone down to his nipple, rubbing a tight circle around it.

A gasp leaves Peter's mouth before he can help it. He can almost hear the way Tony smirks at the sound. “Easy, darling. We’ve barely started.”

Peter cinches his eyes shut, glad for the blindfold to hide it. Tony’s hand travels lower, nails gently scraping down his stomach, light enough to tickle but also leave barely-there marks. He squirms under the touch, eliciting another chuckle from the mobster.

"There there. I’ll get there eventually, sweetheart. Although I don’t know if you’ll like it when I do.” The fingers trailing between his hips pause in their descent. “Anything you’d like to say to your uncle before we get started?”

Peter licks his lips. “You’re not getting anything from me, Mr. Stark. Go to hell.”

Tony chuckles. “Fair enough.” He presses something hard and leathery into Peter’s mouth, and the younger man bites it automatically, wishing he didn’t feel grateful for it. At least he doesn’t have to worry about what he says now.

The mobster climbs on the bed and settles between his legs. His hands run up Peter's bare thighs, the motion soft but his palms rough and calloused against his skin. He’s surprisingly gentle, thumbs rubbing little circles against his hip bones as if to try to soothe him for just a second before one presses down, the other moving to wrap around his cock.

And fuck, he’s hard and he definitely should not be. By all definitions, he was hurt and abducted, and there’s no denying that this is rape. Or at least Tony intends it to be, but for some reason Peter isn’t entirely sure he doesn’t like it.

Okay, to say he’d always been fascinated by the mob boss would be an understatement. It was hard not to be, with Ben having spent so many years telling him about him, pouring over case files and trying his damndest to implicate him in something, somehow. And maybe Peter had started to join him with the intention to help. Up until now, he's convinced himself that was all his interest was about.

Now his own body was ousting him.

Ben wouldn’t see anything besides what Tony was doing to him. But both of them could feel it even before Tony starts stroking him with one of those calloused hands, and a nearly pornographic moan tears from his throat, barely muffled at all by the gag.

Tony strokes him agonizingly slowly, making him feel things that he absolutely shouldn’t. To Peter's credit, he really tries to keep from giving into the feeling, and it actually takes several minutes before his body really begins to betray him. When the pleasure starts to build and he feels the hand that splays over his stomach as if wanting to feel when his abdomen started to seize, he suddenly realizes what’s happening.

Tony is teasing him. He has no intention of letting him come. And this is Ben’s punishment, watching him be edged on camera.

So why the fuck does it feel so good? Why isn’t he terrified out of his mind?

He should be terrified. But instead, the only fear he feels right now is fear of Tony stopping. All he can focus on is the feeling of the hand on his dick and the nails tickling his stomach, muscles clenching, the pressure building until he’s so close, desperately trying to fight the hand that presses firmly down over his stomach when he starts trying to chase the pleasure himself and then-

He lets out a choked cry when Tony pulls away, despite knowing it was coming. Fuck, it was only one and he’s so hard it hurts.

Tony chuckles dryly, though this time he doesn’t sound very amused. “Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then louder, for the camera, "We’re only getting started."

Peter groans, unable to help himself. He tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes tight under the blindfold. It can’t get worse than this, can it? But he knows it can.

It gets a lot worse, apparently, because Tony apparently has no intention of keeping things informal. Maybe he’s just not too worried since he doesn’t intend to let Peter come, but Peter still doesn’t expect it when he feels something warm and wet wrap around the tip of his cock.

Tony Stark is sucking his dick. His first blowjob, and he won’t even get to come.

Tony’s mouth slides down his cock, and Peter groans again, writhing under him. The mob boss’s hands press into his hips firmly, keeping him flat against the bed as he hollows his cheeks out and sucks.

It just feels so good and so bad at the same time. He doesn’t know how to handle it. He writhes and moans and tries to arch, and the man above him makes sure he gets absolutely nowhere.

He hardly realizes how overwhelmed he really is until Tony pulls away and a choked sob tears itself from his throat. Tony makes a low, almost intrigued hum at the sound.

“There, there, precious. Don’t cry.”

He jumps a little when he feels those rough fingers brush his cheek, and realizes suddenly the blindfold is wet. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Just one more, this time,” Tony promises, voice low and throaty. “Then you can tell uncle all about it and we’ll call it a day.”

Peter's groan is his only attempt at a response. Tony runs his hands down his chest again, teasing his nipple for a few sparse seconds, just enough to make him whine a little, before moving all the way back to his hips.

“If you breathe, it’s easier,” Tony reminds, sounding almost pitying. “You should hope your uncle doesn’t go too long. Too much of this and you’ll be used to it. I could turn you into such a pretty little slut.”

Peter whimpers, tilting his head back. He wishes his cock didn’t throb at the words, the idea of it, but it does.

Tony chuckles quietly, apparently feeling it as he starts stroking him again. “You like that, baby boy? Does that turn you on? The idea of being mine? Being a slut for me?”

Peter groans, trying to squirm again. “Please,” he tries to say, but the gag doesn’t allow him to.

Tony gets the gist, though. “Please what, darling? Want me to keep you? Want me to do this to you all the time?” His voice is dark, dangerous, and accompanied by a gentle squeeze on his cock.

Peter moans, unable to help himself. Fuck, it’s hot and scary and intriguing and he should be so fucking scared, but then the elder man’s hot mouth is sucking at his balls and any thoughts of the threat melt away immediately, replaced by the feel of his impending orgasm, the blood rushing in his ears, and the sound of his own choked moans.

Tony pulls away again, leaving him straining against his bonds and moaning. Peter isn't even sure how long it takes him to settle down, but when he does, Tony leans over again, pulling whatever he’d shoved into his mouth as a makeshift gag out of his mouth.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Anything you want to say to the camera?”

Peter sucks in a greedy, unhindered breath. It takes a moment to register what Tony’s asking, but he manages to pant out, “Go to hell.” Only this time he doesn’t know who he’s directing it towards.

Tony just sighs dramatically, getting up and shutting off the camera. A moment later, he returns to the bed. It creaks as he crawls on the other side and settles beside Peter.

The blindfold slips up onto his forehead, and Peter blinks a few times. The world goes in and out of focus for a minute as his eyes readjust.

Tony is beside him. He presses something against his lips, and Peter opens automatically. He probably shouldn’t, especially considering what just happened, but he does.

As it turns out, it’s just a straw. Peter greedily sucks down a few drinks until his senses return enough, he turns his head away. “I don’t want you to drug me again,” he mumbles. If it is drugged, it's far too late now, but...

“It’s just water. Not drugged. Drink,” Tony orders.

Peter complies. He doesn’t know that he entirely trusts that, but he’s dying of thirst. He drinks the rest of the glass in a few swallows.

The automatic movement and the cold water calm him, as it’s probably supposed to. Tony releases the cuffs while he’s preoccupied, and takes Peter by surprise when he keeps a hold of his wrists and begins to rub the circulation back into them. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Does it matter?” Peter drops his eyes to Tony's hands, unable to look him in the eyes.

Tony releases one wrist to grab his chin, tapping his head up. The elder man's eyes are dark and serious. “Yes. It does.”

Peter closes his eyes. “It hurts,” he admits.

He hears Tony sigh. “Hurts less than what the guys thought I should do.” What he would have done to an adult, he didn’t have to say.

Peter understands it anyway. “I know,” he mutters. Is it odd that he feels grateful, in that respect? Probably not as odd as him being unable to decide whether he had actually liked any of it.

“If it means anything, I apologize. And if you want me to... I won’t make you suffer another day.”

Peter’s head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers. “What?” He knows he should think logically about it, that Tony can’t possibly actually mean that he would kill him, not with Ben’s job still hanging in the balance, but panic overrules his better senses for a moment.

Tony realizes instantly, gripping his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean I’d kill you. Christ. I was offering to let you come.”

Peter stares at him for a second. The hand on his shoulder feels unnaturally heavy. He slowly leans away, unsure. “You’re messing with me.”

Tony catches his chin, making him meet his eyes. “No. There’s no point. I’m not going to say I won’t have to tease you again if I have to do another, because I very well may. But I won’t make you sit like this all night.”

Peter wets his lips. His mouth still feels impossibly dry. “I... would appreciate that,” he whispers, lowering his eyes again. The offer is more than kind, all things considered. He can't fathom why Tony would actually do it, and he's still on the fence as to whether to believe him, despite the little seed of hope it gives him.

Something in Tony's face softens, just a little, at the quiet admission. “Ask me, then. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I assume we’re still talking about sexually.”

The elder man smiles, but it’s dry and humorless. He anticipates what Peter is thinking without missing a beat. “I’ll let you go when Ben does what he’s supposed to. That’s it. Unless you have a reasonable request in the meantime...”

“Clothes, maybe?”

Tony tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Maybe I can give you something. After. If you still want to come.”

Peter presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, all things considered. Maybe it only is because it’s a fantasy taken to a whole different level than what he ever could have anticipated. But it’s hard not to flush when he murmurs, “Yes, please, sir.”

At least it seems to affect Tony, too. He inhales a sharp breath. “It’s a shame. You would be such a pretty, trainable little slut too,” the mobster murmurs, and Peter jumps a little when he trails a finger down the line of his jaw. “I know I was teasing you earlier, but... you are very turned on. You really did enjoy that, didn't you?”

Peter turns even deeper scarlet at the question, if that’s even possible. “No. Yes. I mean– I don’t know." He may as well admit that much. Tony has already seen right through him.

Tony hums as if considering this. He pulls Peter's hands away from his face, his grip firm but not harsh. Peter's eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at him again. “But you want to come?”

“Please.” It’s okay to beg now that the camera is off, right?

Tony’s face flickers with bemusement, but if he’s thinking the same thing, he doesn’t say it. “How?”

“I get a choice?” Peter asks, wary.

Tony just shrugs. “Considering what I just put you through and likely will do again? Why not.”

Peter nods once, licking his lips. There’s an immediate answer that comes to his head, of course, but does he want to ask for it? Is he even capable of asking for it? He honestly doesn’t know if he can get the words out.

And should he? What if the camera really isn’t turned off? What if Tony is messing with him to hurt him more? But then, why would he? He has total control already. There’s not much point. Breaking Peter too much won’t do anything for him if he intends to let him go, after all. Ben could easily take back whatever it is Tony is making him say or do for him if he damages Peter too much.

Tony’s quiet chuckle is what jolts him out of his thoughts. “If that’s what you want, all you had to do is say so, sweetheart,” he says, and Peter’s blush colors his cheeks anew as he realizes he’d drifted off in thought staring at Tony’s mouth.

Well. At least he doesn’t have to ask now. Tony flashes him what can only be described as a wicked grin and moves to settle between his legs.

Tony runs his hands over Peter’s thighs again. The motion is light and gentle, this time, and Peter rests his head back, taking a breath.

But Tony isn’t going to just do this and let him forget exactly who it is between his legs and why. He presses a kiss to Peter’s hipbone, catching him off guard. “Was this your first?”

Peter watches him with cautious eyes, still unsure. “Yes.” If Tony's words during the video were anything to go by, he doubts it will surprise him.

Tony doesn't seem surprised, but he is quiet for a long moment. “Let me make it up to you, then. I just need something from you, first."

There it is. The catch he’d been expecting. He’s already cursing himself for being so gullible, wondering if he can really hold out another day for Ben when this one has already been a mixture of every fantasy he's ever had and also literal hell, and then-

“A kiss.”

That’s the last thing Peter was expecting to hear. "What?"

“You heard me. I want you to bring your pretty self over here and kiss me. Or let me kiss you. I’ll take either.”

“Why?” Peter can’t help asking. If he was confused before, he's even more so now. Tony must know that he doesn't have much to give him in return, sure, but a kiss was not the kind of extortion that he'd been expecting.

“Because I don’t want to take the choice away from you to do it, and I might have to later if you don’t. Besides, if I’m going to ruin you, I may as well do it completely.” Tony smirks, nails trailing, ticklishly light, down his stomach and onto his thighs.

Peter's muscles clench under the touch, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. It’s not as if it isn’t true. Tony just doesn’t know exactly how much he’s already ruined him, and the reality is that he's barely done anything compared to what Peter knows he's capable of. Hell, that just might be the problem.

“By that logic, are you going to fuck me, too?” The words come out before he can really think through what he’s asking.

Tony straightens a little, taken aback by the question for a moment before his expression smooths out again. “I… No. It would take a lot for me to get to that point,” he tells him, though the words come slowly, as if he is weighing their truth while he says them. “A wide variety of torture would come first, especially in your case. The assignment I gave your uncle isn’t that big of an ask. I’m not anticipating that happening.”

Peter lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed by the words. “Right.” He hesitates to ask, given Tony has already given him more than he was expecting, but… the elder man has hinted at it too many times for him to not feel the need to ask. “What are you anticipating, then?”

Tony's expression darkens. The bite of his nails suddenly seems to be a bit firmer on his skin, toeing the previously unnoticed line between teasing and pinching.

“More denials, probably. Ben will have responded to what happened by morning. I’m sure he’ll try to negotiate. I may or may not accept, depending on how what he says holds up to what my intelligence says.”

“What if he still refuses?”

“Don't worry about that right now." It's not a reassuring answer.

“But–"

“I said we’ll worry about it then,” Tony responds, cutting him off. His tone is sharp, and Peter is still struck with a sudden fear that maybe he’d pushed his kindness just a little too far, overstepping the boundaries that were never defined but had to be there. "I don't like to repeat myself Peter. If you're looking for promises, I can't make any. Situations like this can change with the snap of my fingers." The implication isn't missed on Peter, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it when the other man continues.

"Now–" Tony grips his cock suddenly, making him jolt a little at the pleasant-painful touch. “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

The words, combined with the touch, make his cock throb. It's a distraction tactic, but an effective one, throwing him completely off the topic. “Yes, please.” Peter's words are barely a whimper.

“Then shut up before I fill your babbling mouth with mine,” Tony mutters, but before Peter can respond or even apologize, Tony's lips are wrapping around the head of his cock again and everything he might have been going to say is lost.

Tony’s mouth is hot and wet and frankly more amazing than he imagined, even after the half-assed first blowjob. His tongue slides against the underside of Peter’s length, pressing gently in all the right places to make him cry out and convulse under him. The addition of being able to see him do it is almost enough to make Peter blow his load immediately, but he tried to hold off. This is not an opportunity that he wants to waste, after all. If this isn't enough to satisfy him… well, he's going to be hurting for it tomorrow, that's for certain.

Between his newness and his hyper arousal, it still doesn't take very long for Tony to make him come. Tony’s mouth moves from his cock to attend to his balls, one hand still stroking him repeatedly, and even with his eyes squeezed closed, that’s all it takes for him to come with a strangled yell, spilling all over Tony's hand and his own stomach.

He’s vaguely aware of Tony dropping his cock, the feeling of the mob boss’s calloused hands smoothing from his hips down to his knees, straightening his cramping legs from where he'd been pulling on the ankle bonds unwittingly. Then he’s leaning forward, and Peter exhales the little air he has left in a soft moan as Tony’s hot tongue smooths against his skin, licking the expanse of his stomach clean.

Their eyes meet again for a second, and Tony licks his lips.

“It really is a shame I have to give you back." The mobster's voice is deliciously throaty, an unwelcome reminder of what they've just done. His eyes are nearly glowing with what Peter can only describe as malicious intent. "You’re such a delicious little thing. I’ve been needing a new slut for a while now, and you’re just my type.”

Peter's stomach clenches at the words, more than a small dose of fear and something he doesn't want to name twisting inside his gut, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s growing half hard again between them.

“But Ben would really have to fuck up for me to do that,” Tony continues, almost thoughtfully, as he gets to his feet and moves to fix Peter’s bonds. Peter lets him, almost in a daze from this surreal experience. Or maybe dissociated is the better word.

"Who knows. Maybe God will smile upon us, hm?” And with that, Tony flashes him a wicked grin and leaves him alone in the room.

~~~

It’s the next day before he sees Tony himself again.

Someone comes in and shoves a tray of food in his lap, untying one of his hands so that he can eat, and then disappears again.

Despite the crazy way this has gone suggesting otherwise, this isn’t the first bad situation he’s been in. It’s never been this severe, of course, but he’s certainly been tied up before, and Ben has made sure he can get out of most bonds, given proper time. It's all too easy, once he's left unattended, for him to get his other wrist and then his ankles free.

Well, maybe not all too easy. His food is cold by the time he gets completely free, and the room is barren and cold and the only exit is locked from the outside, but... well, he doesn’t have to spend the night in that uncomfortable position. No one else comes in, and whether they know he’s free from his bonds or not, he doesn’t know, but they leave him alone.

Until the next day. The door to his weirdly big cell bursts open suddenly, startling him awake, and Tony Stark stalks in, gun in hand and eyes glowing with ire.

Peter is on his feet almost before Tony orders him to get up, and he barely makes it a step back—his self-preservation instincts kicking in far too late—before Tony has reached him, grabbing his arm and dragging him out with a grip that verges on dislocating his shoulder if he pulls against it. He's still completely naked from the night before.

Now that the door is open, Peter can hear the commotion outside. Fighting. Yelling. Gunshots. And they’re heading right for it.

“Mr. Stark-“ he starts, uncertainly, but a look from Tony silences him. This is not the same man that was patiently taking care of him last night. That is long gone now.

Peter isn't sure which version of Tony Stark was the facade, but he's smart enough to know that now isn't the time to try to find out. His mouth snaps closed as soon as Tony looks at him.

“Shut up and do exactly as I tell you, or someone who doesn’t have to is going to die."

Peter doesn't need any more convincing.

He lets himself be dragged into a deserted meeting room– not far from the gun fight that's happening elsewhere in the house, judging by the echoes that are still bouncing around the hall, but in a space it hasn't reached yet. Tony shoves him onto his knees on the floor, settling in a chair.

“What are we-“ Peter tries, earning another cold side eye from the mobster.

“Waiting.” Tony sheaths the one gun he was holding in his belt and grabs another seemingly from nowhere, rubbing the barrel with his shirt for a moment before appearing satisfied. “Any more questions?”

Peter shakes his head mutely, leaning his head against the front of the chair and waiting.

The first time the door opens, it’s just two of Tony’s men. Peter startles so much that he almost jumps to his feet, but Tony's hand clamps on the back of his head, keeping him down. It’s obvious based on the way they’re dressed and the weapons they carry — and the lack of them being pointed at Tony — that they work for him, and that they knew he was in here.

“How many are alive?” is the first thing Tony asks.

“Most of them. There’s always a stray bullet or two, but I don’t think any of them are definitely dead. Not if we vacate in the next fifteen minutes, anyway.”

“Well, he better get his ass in here soon, then,” Tony says, mildly, as if the lives of the men outside are of no consequence to him. Of course they aren't. What were you expecting, Peter?

Peter swallows down his rising questions. He wants to ask who they’re talking about, what’s going on, but he knows it won’t be taken well if he does. He has a feeling even if the mild version of Tony Stark he was treated to yesterday actually exists, he would never show it in front of his men. He has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what's about to happen, anyway.

The men take up their places, and while he doesn’t exactly relax, Peter lowers his head again. He was told to wait, so that's what he does, steadying himself as best he can with deep, meticulously counted breaths.

Tony's grip relaxes on his head, but the hand stays in his hair, toying with his curls. Though it's almost calming, it also feels downright possessive.

The next time the door opens, he never gets to lift his head. Tony’s hand, which had drifted down, stroking long lines along the back of Peter's neck, fists into the fine hair at the base of it, keeping his head firmly down. Peter can see the gun on Tony's knee in his peripheral. That alone is enough to keep him from moving.

“I was beginning to think they’d killed you, despite my orders,” Tony says, fingers drumming almost lazily on the barrel of the weapon right across from Peter's head.

“You knew we were coming.” Ben’s voice pierces something in his chest. He’d suspected, of course, but hearing and knowing were two different things. “How?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out. Although I have to say, it was ridiculously predictable, especially for an officer of your caliber.” A backhanded compliment, Peter recognizes, but one that does nothing to diffuse the situation, nor does he think Tony intended it to.

“So." Tony's tone is too casual for their situation as he carries on. "Your men are nearly all injured, most of them probably close to dead, or at least equal in uselessness. You’re here. What you’re looking for is right here.” He tugs Peter's hair, yanking his head back hard enough to make him hiss. A tap on Peter's cheek with the barrel of the gun is enough to keep his eyes on him instead of drifting, like they'd started to, towards Ben. He finds Tony's dark eyes are alight with amusement and something much more dangerous. “Unfortunately I’m not very inclined to give him back to you now.”

“Let him go, Stark,” Ben snaps, and he knows from experience the way Ben looks right now, even with his gaze locked on Tony's; the way the muscle in his jaw is jumping with anger, body tense, a coil ready to spring from his place across the room. “It’s over.”

Tony laughs. It's nothing like the teasing laughs at Peter's expense last night. No, this sound makes every hair on his body stand up. “Is it? Really? If it’s over for anyone, it’s you, Parker. We had a deal. You broke it. This is what you get. Speaking of,” he adds suddenly, looking down at Peter again with those too-dark eyes, “We also had a deal, that I so kindly let you off of last night because you were too wrecked to hold to it. I think now would be a good time for you to own up to it.” The barrel of the gun he’s brandishing idly brushes his cheek again. “Don’t you think?”

Peter gulps, mind immediately set to racing. Fuck. What deal did they make? Had he said something last night in all his horny haste? Or maybe there was a conversation that had happened while he was drugged and he didn’t remember it?

Tony grins a little at his confusion. Ben tries to step forward, an argument ready to leave his open mouth, but Peter seems a dark haired man behind Tony step forward and cock a gun at him, freezing him in place.

“A kiss, Bambi,” Tony reminds, voice quiet and yet still carrying that dangerous edge. “You owe me a kiss.”

Oh. That. He can’t believe Tony let him forget, but then... did he really forget? If Tony remembered and knew about this, was he just waiting for this moment to collect? Or was he really just now remembering?

It didn’t matter. The comment on the way here about people dying made sense now, as it was obviously meant to. If he didn’t cooperate, Ben would die. Simple as that.

He starts to raise himself up, only to be pushed back to his knees by Tony.

“Oh, I changed my mind, sweetheart,” Tony drawls, an absolutely feral grin turning up his lips. “You’re going to kiss me, yes. But not on the lips.”

The innuendo sends a thrill down his spine, a mix of terror and nerves and something that could have been excitement or something else he was better off not naming-

“Move,” Tony orders, his voice cutting into Peter’s thoughts.

“Haven’t you already hurt him enough?” Ben snaps, and Peter risks a glance over to see him being held back by one of Tony’s men, nearly frantic in trying to get to him. “Leave him alone. I told you, it’s over. Even if you somehow make it out of here, they’ve got you for felony kidnapping charges at the least. You’ll be hunted-“

“What else is new,” Tony mutters, dismissive. He uses his grip on Peter's hair to make the boy drag his mouth along the inside of his thigh, clear up and over the bulge in his pants, then holds his head there. “Make a decent effort, Bambi, or next time it will be the gun,” he whispers for only Peter to hear.

Peter can barely nod against the grip on his hair. He feels like everyone in the room is watching as he slowly opens his mouth, tongue moving from the button of his pants all the way down the line of the zipper. He nips at the zipper piece, tugging it as hard as he dared with his teeth and looking up at Tony.

Tony just smirks back at him, eyes wicked and almost consumed by black pupils. Without taking his eyes off Peter, he says, “You might be right, Parker. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about. It’s not just over for me.” He lets go of Peter’s hair and shoves him back. “Up. Let's go.”

“No!” Peter looks toward the cry to see both men holding Ben back. “Peter! Stark, you can’t-“

Ben never gets to finish. One of the men takes out a gun, and before Peter even has time to panic, whips him across the face with the butt of it. Ben drops to the floor like a stone.

Tony turns to Peter with that feral grin, hooking an arm around his waist and pulling him in, kissing him for real. His tongue traces over Peter’s lips, which part automatically, then dips into his mouth, tasting and claiming.

He kisses him until Peter is panting and weak at the knees, and Tony’s arm is about the only thing keeping him on his feet. Then he finally pulls away, grinning, and tugs him toward the door. “Let's go, Bambi.”

~~~

Peter doesn’t get a chance to resist.

Tony has a firm grip around his waist and is tugging him out of the room before he’s even had a chance to recover his breath. He manages to get one last good look at Ben — breathing, he’s sure of that much, at least — and then he’s being dragged out.

Out of the room, out the back door, and into a car. Tony shoves him in the backseat and slides in beside him. Almost before the door has completely closed, the mobster has taken his wrists and cuffed them behind his back. He barely has time to wonder where in the world the cuffs came from before Tony has slid off his tie and is wrapping that around his eyes.

“What-“ He tries, but Tony cuts him off.

“Until we get to the jet, you can’t see anything. Secrets to be kept and all that. And no, don’t bother bombarding me with questions, because I either don’t have or won’t give you the answers right now.”

Peter frowns. Considering everything that just happened, he’s fairly sure asking a few questions should be justified. “Why do I have to be bound, at least?” It comes out much shakier than he intended.

Tony chuckles, pulling him against his seat. The sound isn't as hair raising as it was a few minutes before, but its still tinged with a manic, dangerous sort of joy. “Oh. Those are partially because you’re a flight risk, and partially just for fun.”

“For fun?” Peter repeats. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the flight risk comment. It seems stupid to. Even if he was inclined to try anything right now — which he isn’t; he needs way more information to try anything than what he has — he’s...naked and cuffed up in the back seat of a mobster’s car, with no idea what state he’s even in. What would he even do if he made it out?

“Yes. Fun. As cute as I’m sure you would be writhing around and hanging on me would be, I much prefer it when you’re still for me.” The mobster’s hand lands on his thigh, making him jump. “You being restrained and squirming for me has to be the cutest thing I’ve seen in a while. I think I’ll quite enjoy having you as a pet.” A hand wraps around his still exposed cock.

Peter stiffens, feeling his body start to respond to the touch almost instantly.

“Mr. Stark...”

What can only be the elder man’s mouth touches his shoulder, hot and wet, pressing kisses along and up it until he reaches his pulse point, sucking at it. Peter tamps down on a groan.

“Can’t wait to mark you all up,” Tony purrs. “As soon as we get to the safe house... fuck, baby, I can’t wait to make you scream.”

It’s hard to think with the elder man’s hand stroking his cock slowly and deliberately, the hot words and his mouth moving along his body. He tilts his head, baring his throat to him almost automatically, unable to help himself.

On one hand, the idea terrifies him. Being permanently separated from Ben and May, being Tony’s permanent... plaything. But on the other hand, Tony’s hands and mouth are warm and sending electricity along his body, and he can’t help thinking that maybe it won’t be so bad. Especially if there's any of the Tony that had visited him last night buried under this terrifying exterior.

“You’re hard as a rock, pretty boy,” Tony whispers against his skin. “Did you like being dragged around naked for everyone to see? Being forced to kneel, to use your mouth just for me, right in front of your uncle? When we get on the jet, you’re going to do it for real while I have my meeting. Suck me off nice and sloppy and loud, the whole time we’re there, in front of everyone. What do you think of that?”

That sends a shiver coursing through his body. The degradation and the absolute ownership in every word and touch is straight out of his deepest fears and his darkest desires.

“What if I say no?” His voice is weak and hoarse, even to his own ears. As the words leave his mouth, his hips squirm against the elder man’s touches.

“What if you say no?” Tony chuckles again, right by his ear. “Who told you that you get to say no, baby boy? You could try. And I suppose I could rape you until you couldn’t walk or talk and you’re so broken you don’t resist anymore. Or, if you really irritate me or I really don’t feel like fighting with you, I could sell you to someone who really doesn’t give a shit what you say. Or let the men use you for torture or target practice. Your uncle would be plenty horrified at that, I’m sure. Or...” Something cold and metallic touches his thigh, then trails up his body, pressing just insistently enough against his lips that he opens his mouth before he could think better of it. And he does think better of it, but not before he hears the safety click off and realizes that he just let Tony Stark slide the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

“I could just kill you,” Tony finishes, his lips brushing hotly against Peter’s ear. “Whenever or wherever I feel like. I could kill you right here, but-“ he’s still stroking the boy’s cock, and Peter’s hips twitch and buck against him now. “It’d be a shame when you’re just so close to changing your mind, isn’t it?”

Peter had frozen against him sometime after he’d heard the safety click off, and even the dull pleasure of the man stroking his cock can’t quite overrule the spike of fear and clarity that hit him when he realizes Tony’s handgun is nudging the back of his throat.

Tony nuzzles his throat, turning the gun to create gentle friction inside his mouth. “I’m going to let you think about it until we get to the jet,” the mobster whispers against his ear. “Why don’t you come sit in Daddy’s lap now-“ the hand drops his cock and wraps around his waist, tugging his back firmly against Tony’s chest. "-and you can just hold my gun for me while you think about it, hm? But in the meantime, naughty little pets don’t get to come, so... may as well close your legs for now, sweetheart. I’ll have them wide open when we get there either way.”

The gun presses insistently at the back of his throat as Peter curls up in the man’s lap, head lolling back against his shoulder. The words may as well have been burned into him. None of this is about Peter; it’s about hurting Ben. Revenge. Tony wants what will burn Ben most, and he’s inclined to agree that escaping the country with him and knowing that he’s being kept as Tony’s personal plaything is probably what will upset Ben most. At this point, killing him would be a reprieve, and they all know it. Whether it’s one any of them want for him... well, he really doesn’t want to die, even if he knows it might be better for him.

So Peter stews over the words and doesn’t try to resist, knowing that in itself would be taken as a decision. And when Tony nuzzles his neck and orders him to suck, to practice for giving him head as if his life depends on it, because it just might, he does.

He sucks and licks at the barrel of the gun in his mouth, tongue circling the barrel and tickling the underside with the tip of it. He can taste the metal and gunpowder and idly wonders if that’s even safe for him to consume, but it’s too late now.

Tony continues toying with and turning the gun in his mouth until they arrive at their stop. By the time they do, drool has started running out of the corners of his mouth, and his jaw aches from both the tension and the position of having sat there the whole time.

Tony pulls the gun free of his mouth and holsters it without even wiping it off, and then scoops him up. Peter doesn't try to wipe his face but closes his mouth immediately, trying to work the stiffness out of his jaw before Tony makes him follow through on his threats.

The air is cold when they step outside. In all reality the temperature really isn’t all that bad, but, well, he’s still completely naked, so... it feels very cold.

Tony carries him for an indeterminate amount of time before he’s hit with a blast of warm air and, shortly thereafter, set on his knees. Soft murmuring around him alerts him to the presence of Tony’s men surrounding them, and the realization of exactly how public his degradation is sends a shudder through him.

He feels the light press of Tony’s knees against his shoulders and knows the mobster is getting comfortable above him. He sits there for several minutes, waiting, when he hears the click of the safety on the gun again. He jumps when the still-slick metal brushes his cheek.

“Time to make a choice, Bambi." Tony's voice is soft, the closest thing to gentle it's been all day. “You can rest here on your knees and keep quiet with my cock until daddy can get you somewhere and spread you out, or you can call your aunt and say goodbye and take a short trip outside with one of the men. Choose wisely.”

Peter gulps. He isn’t stupid; he knows exactly what the second option means.

He doesn’t want to die. He isn’t anywhere near desperate enough to say he does, not yet. And if he really becomes that desperate later... well, the men will all still be carrying guns later on, and there’s plenty of ways he could act out to end up getting killed, should he really decide he prefers that.

So he swallows, trying to wet his throat that already feels like sandpaper, and opens his mouth after only a moment of hesitation. He hears Tony chuckle quietly, feels the gun brush across his bottom lip as if considering it anyway before the mobster draws it away.

“Excellent choice,” Tony purrs, sliding the gun into his holster and gripping his hair. He lets himself be guided up on his knees, the cold press of Tony’s zipper against his cheek before he’s unzipping it and something hot and firm slides between his open lips.

“Someone get me earplugs for the boy. I don’t want him listening in while we talk business just yet.”

There’s some quiet muttering, and a moment later, something soft presses against one ear, then the other.

Silence prevails as his mouth is guided further onto Tony’s cock, and there’s literally nothing else for him to focus on besides the task set before him.

Peter closes his eyes under the blindfold and tries to make himself relax. It’s hard, impossible, even, to push the situation itself to the back of his mind, but at least it’s easier to pretend it’s just him and Tony again when he can’t see or hear anyone else. He can feel the mobster's hand still tangled in his hair, holding him there, firm and unyielding. Right now it’s still, simply keeping him there, not allowing him to pull off but not forcing him to do anything more than be.

That's where he stays for the next several hours, nothing but the endless dark and silence, and the hot, overwhelming presence of Tony Stark – the prospect of life with him, at least for the considerable near future, making everything feel so much heavier – lingering over him, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #my writing #sfsummerbingo23 #bingo fill #mafia au #mob boss tony stark #stockholm syndrome #tw: kidnapping #police officer ben parker #tw: dubcon #dubious consent

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Repeat After Me | Oneshot

(Tony Stark/Reader, Soulmate AU Canon Divergence 'Mob AU')

Summary: You're thriving in Loki's Empire as the most respected smuggler out there. You earned that reputation by remaining neutral, traveling between the city-states run by powerful Magnates like Loki's thrall Tony Stark in NYC or the relocated Wilson Fisk in Miami. It's lucrative business, but the real reason you have to stay moving is written on your arm.

Length | Rating: 3,635 | T (for language)

Notes: Set ten years after Loki successfully mind controlled Tony Stark and took over the world in 2012. My tongue-in-cheek take on a mobster-style AU, series potential if folks are interested.

THIS IS MY VOTE FOR 'SOULMATES' IN ROUND 1 OF TROPE MADNESS 2023 which is run by @thestanceyg! (note: also posted on AO3, same title tho!)

Also written for @caplanbuckybarnes's Three Words Challenge, using 'Don't look back.'

Tags: @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starksbf @tiny-anne @starryeyes2000 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft

Repeat After Me

You might be the only person who has both soulmate Words written on your body.

Repeat after me: don’t look back.

At first, you’d found them comforting. After all, they’re predictable in a way almost no one else’s Words are: if you’re right about them, it means you can choose whether to speak those fateful Words aloud. Then Loki came with his Chitauri army, and everything changed.

It’s been ten years since Lord Loki became the ruler of the world; ten years of societal restructure and bleak acquiescence. It turns out that humans are well adapted to be ruled, just as he’d said-- but perhaps not quite in the way he’d intended. Everyone has figured out their own way to survive, whether it’s in one of the densely populated city-states, the agricultural backwaters, or the uneasy suburban sprawl that straddles both extremes.

You’re one of the few who can travel easily through all three, and you pride yourself on that. Pre-Empire, you’d been a top exec at a shipping company, and your talent for managing large egos, ability to memorize maps, and knowledge of machinery was easily translated to a life as a smuggler. Your top rule? You do not take sides. Ever. It’s what made you successful, what kept you alive.

And no one knows the real reason.

“Zephyr, how long before you head out?”

You’re half-in, half-out of your truck, the open door heavy on your ass thanks to all the armor plating. “Weather looks like it’s gonna hold for another hour and a half, I was thinking forty-five minutes?” you guess, squinting up through the tint on the upper part of the windshield.

“Got time to meet with a potential?” Karl laughs at your obvious groan, adding, “Fancy suit says D.C., maybe New York. Probably shouldn’t risk skipping.” You trust your second in command, even if you don’t want to take his advice. Karl Mordo is pragmatic, honest, and a baronic pain in your ass sometimes.

“Fuck. Okay. But I’m going right now, before I de-grease for the trip.” You hop down and hold up your dirty hands, wiggling your fingers.

“What if they’re from Stark?”

You clench your jaw. “His people should know better, even after two years. We just did Fisk a favor, maybe he’ll remind Loki’s strongman that there’s a reason he relocated to Miami.”

Karl nods and heads back to the house, and as soon as he’s gone, you hold still and count to ten to calm your breathing. Tony Stark rules the northeast with a literal iron fist, and no one’s sure whether the mind control has turned him cruel or he’d been released years ago and just likes it. Only people Stark trusts have been close enough to know for sure.

Despite your reputation for neutrality, a few years back he’d sent his clever and ruthless ex-turned-CFO Pepper Potts to ask you to spy on some of the biggest players on the Eastern Seaboard.

It had been the first time you’d gotten close enough to see the electric blue of Loki’s mind control first-hand. Her threats had been articulate and terrifying, but your response ended up having a lasting effect on the way Lord Loki does his business. Word is that the emperor includes additional spells and enchantments to prevent a simple blow to the head from releasing a thrall and undoing years of work.

You still get messages from Potts, filtered heavily by word of mouth, through the Resistance.

When you get up onto the porch, you note with approval that someone’s already gotten the burly, suited visitor some sweet tea. He turns around, and your heart sinks as you recognize him from news articles. Tony Stark’s sweet-faced associate, Happy Hogan.

“Zephyr, is it?” he says warmly, reaching out a hand to shake. You offer him your left hand, and he immediately grins. You wear a binding on your right forearm, and it’s basically an open secret that your Words are there. Words you’ve made very clear you intend to remain a secret, on pain of death. “We have a job for you.”

“That’s truly unfortunate,” you say with a smile. “Your boss burned that bridge years ago. All I have is my integrity, I’m sure you understand.” Leaning up against one of the porch pillars, you send all of your anxiety to your legs, to hold you up and maintain the illusion that you’re not distressed. “Since you’ve come all this way, I can offer to connect you to one of the reputable smaller orgs.”

“Interesting you mention integrity. Did you know your right hand man is a known member of the Resistance?” Hogan’s tone is light, almost teasing.

You do your very best not to react, but on its face, you doubt the accusation. Karl had come to you deeply disillusioned by the Resistance, after working with them openly for a year, spending double that in prison, and being released with an interdict that prevented any employment but fieldwork. By the time you brought him in, he was full of quiet fury and determination to survive. The money you spent to clear his interdict was some of the easiest you’ve ever spent.

“I assume you have newer information than 2013?”

Hogan pulls an envelope from his lapel pocket and hands it over. Inside is a set of pictures showing Mordo speaking with and shaking the hand of Steve Rogers, the most wanted man on the continent. Karl’s hair has only been in that particular style for a few months.

You hand them back, keeping your hand steady. “If you can point and shoot pictures, why not point and shoot that particular problem?” The question is important to your public front, but you also want to know what kind of answer you get, whether it’ll be something you want to pass along.

“One step at a time,” Hogan says, walking over to you. He stops only inches away, a physical power play that masks the psychological threat.

“Which step are you on?”

“The one where you come with me to speak to Stark in person, or we reveal how thin your claims of neutrality really are.”

You nod as though you’re considering it, then say, “What if I dismantled everything and moved to Arizona? Started over.” It’ll sound like a joke, but you’ve considered it. You want nothing to do with Stark.

“You’re welcome to make that decision after the meeting.” The guy’s so confident he slides his hands into his pockets, fully relaxed except for the way his pulse is jumping in his neck. There’s zero chance that Hogan’s anxious because of you, so that means it’s important to his future that you leave with him today. If you have to, you’ll use that.

“You act like meeting with Stark won’t destroy my reputation just as much as your false accusations would,” you point out.

Happy Hogan shrugs. “Stark is prepared to offer you one alternative. Meet with him or give us a credible way to contact Pepper Potts.”

You want to swear under your breath, but instead, you channel all your frustration into a single act of defiance. Lifting your grease-stained right hand, you press it right in the center of his chest, fingers spread so you get his white button-down and both lapels.

Then you shove, letting your hand slip against the resistance he immediately puts up to avoid moving backwards and show weakness. You would have expected anger, maybe even to be thrown to the ground, but Hogan just chuckles. It’s dismissive, diminishing, and does nothing to lower your level of fury. Especially not since he’s got you over a barrel.

You push past him toward the house. “I’m sending Mordo with my load. Your guys fuck with him and I’ll tear down every fucking thing you’ve built or die trying.” Given the clout you’ve accumulated in the last decade, which one depends on whether the emperor is in town to shield his pet Avenger or not.

You hadn’t told Hogan you’re coming with. You both know you have to.

The flight to New York City is stressful, but most of that is because you know how much effort and care it takes to maintain a fleet of airplanes. Now that flights are nearly all restricted to just the Magnates, you doubt the due diligence of their maintenance teams. This is reinforced when you land and walk down a presidential-style rolling staircase instead of into the abandoned airport. It’s hard not to think of what air travel could do for your business. One flight would take so much food from one place to another-- but the safety margins are horrifying.

“What’s with the face?” Happy Hogan asks, after the two of you get into the waiting limo.

“Just imagining how much work it would be to get an orange to Maine nowadays.”

“You don’t have to live in Georgia, you know. The offer’s always open.”

“Fuck your offer, and fuck you,” you say coolly, crossing your arms and looking out the window. There’s a non-zero chance he’ll kill you, but you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that might just carry the kind of irony that would make even a man as powerful as Tony Stark cry. It’s the reason why Hogan wants Potts back, the reason she won’t go, not while he’s in Loki’s thrall.

Midgard hadn’t been interesting enough for the trickster god. No, he’d grown bored by the way most of his new subjects had responded to his rule. Too many of you had accepted that you weren’t strong enough to resist him, and so, with the power granted to him by the staff he always carried, Lord Loki had bestowed each soulmate pair on the planet a random power set.

Pepper Potts and Happy Hogan’s version had been the ability to detect lies.

Tony Stark’s inability to find his soulmate had been newsworthy before the attack on New York, but now that he’s the de facto ruler of the place, his search has become an obsession.

It’s the reason you live in Georgia, the reason you wear the distinctive binding around your right forearm, the reason you’d balanced yourself on the knife-edge of neutrality instead of choosing a side that’s not Stark’s and then leaving yourself vulnerable to being discovered.

Stark’s Words are well known: ‘Don’t look back.’

Ironically, you don’t think he has connected your well-known quirk about protecting your forearm with his soulmate search. He wants you because Lord Loki wants Pepper Potts’ lie detecting powers, and Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff’s soulmate bond is keeping her hidden. Karl Mordo has forsworn his connection to the Mystic Arts, but a man will do many things to prevent his own death, including oathbreaking, so instead of putting pressure on him, they’ll put pressure on you.

And somehow, you’re going to have to resist without speaking a word.

The car is underground when it stops. You nod at Hogan in thanks for his hand as you exit the vehicle, and he cocks his head to the side and looks at you.

“Passive resistance, eh? Good luck.” He leads you through a warren of hallways, stairwells, and locked doors. This display of strength is clearly designed to intimidate and/or give you time to think and fear what comes next, but you wonder whether it’s annoying to Hogan. Undoubtedly he’d be taking the short way if it weren’t for this task, and that kind of time-wasting adds up.

Sure enough, the last leg of the trip is an elevator ride. The doors open out into the wide expanse of the penthouse, a rich space with wall-to-wall windows looking out over the city. A man in a well-fitting white suit walks out from behind a bar area, and you recognize him to be Tony Stark himself. Instead of a tie, the signature blue of his arc reactor glows against the buttons of his shirt, and as he approaches you, you see that it’s matched by the blue tint of mind control in his eyes.

That knowledge is dangerous; already, this man’s leverage over you has doubled. You wonder what you’ll have to promise to get out of here alive.

Tony Stark stops a foot away and looks you over. His brown-blue eyes linger on your right arm, and as you’d planned during your pseudo perp-walk, you shift into a challenging pose, popping your hip out and lifting your chin. Stark’s lips curve into an appreciative smile. It’s attractive, he’s attractive, and you’re annoyed that you’ve even noticed. Everything about him exudes the confidence of a man who is never challenged, and that’s always been your catnip, your kryptonite. You love to bust egos, it could even be said that you live for popping that bubble. This man might be the first one you’ve ever met whose arrogance is well-deserved, though, and that could be a problem.

He gestures, and behind you, Hogan answers.“No weapons that we found, multiple scans.”

Ah, so the many doorways and long hallways had more than one purpose, you think to yourself. Well played. You stay still and expressionless as Stark looks you up and down, eyes lingering on your chest and your arm. He lifts his glass in an appreciative salute before finishing off his drink. Something about the way his throat works makes you feel the burn of the alcohol in your own chest.

“What’s under the armguard?”

“A nasty burn. Sunlight makes it worse.” It’s the truth-- you’d tried to burn off the words as soon as you’d heard about Tony Stark’s search for his soulmate. The magic of the mark protects it, so all you’d managed to do was destroy the skin around it, causing a wound that never fully healed. The vambrace you wear is for concealment, yes, but it’s also there to keep the damaged skin protected and dry. You turn your head and direct a grumpy look at Hogan. “To be honest, this whole meeting could have been an email. What is it that you two want?”

Before you can stop him, Stark steps forward and slides his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes. With a fierce, determined expression, he says, “Repeat after me: don’t look back.”

You can feel the strength in every single aspect of the man, voice, personality, grip, but that just fuels your need to fight back. With all your might, you manage to shake your head just enough to convey your refusal.

Tony Stark’s expression lights up. You realize your mistake immediately: if it didn’t mean something, if the words weren't important, you would have had no trouble repeating them. A million impossible escape routes spill out like marbles in your mind, scattering every other thought.

“Go on, Hap. Keep this to yourself for now,” Stark says. The triumph in his voice is as frightening as it is sexy.

“You got it, boss.”

You fight back a strong feeling of desperate inevitability. Really, your only hope now is to wrench free and follow your contingency plan: to say the words and play them off, avoiding the physical contact that reinforces the bond. If you can convince this man that you planned to trick him into thinking you’re his soulmate, you might still get out of here with your free will intact.

That’ll be easier to do without Hogan there, so you force yourself to remain still. Stark sweeps a broad, warm caress along your neck with his thumb, and god, it’s been so, so long since anyone’s touched you like that. There’s something insidious about it, like some part of you is already lost to him if you enjoy it even a little bit. All you can do is close your eyes, clench your fists, and wait.

The elevator doors close, and Stark starts pulling his hand away, stroking your neck possessively on the way. You do your very best not to like it. In truth, Tony Stark the billionaire, Tony Stark the Avenger was absolutely your type. You imagine that after ten years of mind control and cruelty, there’s probably little of that man left.

“You might as well say it,” he tells you with a smug little quirk in his voice. You open your eyes to see that Stark’s headed back to the bar. “Got a favorite drink?” You shake your head. “You strike me as a Tequila Sunrise type. Fun to look at, goes down easy.”

You cross your arms and glare at him, but it was a cute line for such a tense situation. Wrong, but cute.

Stark gestures to you with the Tequila bottle. “So, what, did you think you’d just stay quiet and run back home to Georgia? Happy says it didn’t take much persuading.”

You smile at him, but not warmly. One thing you hadn’t considered was that Stark might be pleased, might be looking forward to the other… perks of having a soulmate. That might make him more inclined to be kind to you, at least until you try to bluff him. You can use that.

“Don’t think I can’t see how furious you are, little one,” Stark purrs. “I’m still figuring you out, but I’ve had a file on you for years. You want to know what people say about you?”

He rests a large hand on a folder you hadn’t noticed before, pushes it across the bar in invitation. You shrug and turn your head to look out the window, the picture of indifference. You hope it pisses him the fuck off.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s all trash now anyway, now that you’ve met with me.” Stark holds it up. “They’ll never trust you again.” He tosses it behind him. When it strikes the wall, the many single pages that made up the bulk of the file fly out around him like some kind of monstrous confetti, to the accompaniment of breaking glass. You wonder how many bottles he just wasted, whether they’re even replaceable in this brave new world you’re all trapped in.

You nod, feeling the weight of the coming moment. Mentally you gird yourself, but physically you try to adopt an attitude of casual discourtesy. You want Stark to hate his soulmark, to hate you, enough to send you away or destroy you.

Anything, anything but touch you again.

Letting out a sigh, you spread your hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture and say, “Don’t look back.”

The words strike him, so much so that he chuckles ruefully on an indrawn breath. A bitter disappointment sweeps across his face before it hardens into anger. You're grateful; you'd expected something-- a thunderclap, a rush of adrenaline, a gust of magical wind, but there’s nothing to indicate that you’ve both said the Words. Maybe, maybe, you can get out of this, if you’re careful. If you’re just the right level of heinous bitch.

“Did you practice that?” Stark finally says. He walks out from around the bar, and you take the opportunity to make your way over to the window, the picture of unconcerned, unattached, unbothered.

“What do you want, Mr. Stark?” Shit, your voice is shaking.

“I want a challenge,” he snaps, his voice closer than you expected. He’s just a foot away, and you can’t hide your shock fast enough. “You think that file was just for show? I read the whole thing.”

“Then you know I don’t want to be here. I have a business to run, a business you’ve fucked over with--” you back away in the guise of making a dismissive, furious gesture; “--whatever this is. What do you want, so I can get the fuck out of here?”

“What’s wrong, pet? Foot caught in a trap?” he asks, tone suddenly gentle, soothing. You scoff, turning on your heel to stalk away from him--but Stark reaches out swiftly and catches your hand in his.

A jolt of pleasure-fueled electricity floods you with an almost overwhelming need for closeness, companionship-- to be known. It's as if until this exact moment, you’d been empty, and you gasp, screaming against the sudden, insidious desires that have cropped up in your mind.

Oh god, no, this is too much, this is--

What you don’t expect is for Stark to answer.

Oh FUCK yes, telepathy. My second favorite superpower, right after flight.

You snatch your hand away and fall back onto the window, eyes wide. Stark shakes his head almost imperceptibly, then throws both hands in the air as if in disgust.

“You really had me, but there’s just… nothing. I should toss you off of the roof, you know that, right? Faking soulmark words? Ballsy.” He twitches his lips as though he can’t decide whether to be angry or not, and steps closer. “Hold out your hand?”

There’s vulnerability in his expression, something you hadn’t at all expected to see, but you are still reeling from what had passed between the two of you. Tony Stark is one of the smartest men on the planet, and certainly one of the most ruthless. He’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants-- and it’s well known that every inch of his penthouse is under surveillance, not to mention whatever Lord Loki has monitoring his most powerful thrall.

Just like the words written on both of you, neither of you can look back.

Sullenly, you lift your hand, and immediately, Stark engulfs it in an angry grip.

Okay here’s how this is going to go: Do as I say, and we can keep this our little secret. Resist me and I’ll tell Loki I’ve finally found my soulmate. Believe me, you do not want anything to do with what he has in store for us.

Possibly TBC if there's interest...

#threewordsforcaplan #trope madness 2023 #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark imagine #tm2023 #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #tony stark fic #tony stark fanfiction #soulmate au #canon divergence #mob au #but only if you squint #tony stark x f!reader

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