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khalixascorner · 2 years

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In The Depths

Summary: Meroctopus Tony just wants to have his own fry one day, but wants to ensure he has the proper mate to have them with. One day, merguppy Peter catches his attention and Tony decides that the merguppy is going to be his mate. Whether he wants to or not.

Tags: MerOctopusTony, Merguppy Peter, underwater au, Stalking Octopus Tony, Non-con/dub-conned into love, monster fucking,Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, naive peter, Oviposition, The author spent way too much time researching sea creature reproduction and it shows, the author has also never written said stuff before and it shows, hermaphrodite Peter, Mpreg, Pregnant Peter,Squid Beck in Ch. 2, The Author Regrets Nothing, happy ending guaranteed, Dark Tony, sorry if i forget a tag

Read on AO3 Here or read below

Art by the absolutely fantastic @sausageg

Tony first spotted the little merguppy with the pretty blue tail on one of his hunting forays. A school had been swimming above him and a guppy had lagged behind, bright blue fins standing out without the cover the school provided. One of the other guppies called out and the curly haired merguppy was quick to rejoin its school but had peaked Tony’s interest.

He finished hunting before finding the school again, on the watch for the merguppy with curly hair and the bright blue tail. It didn’t take long for the guppy to fall behind once again, his attention clearly caught by something on the ocean floor. Tony moved closer as he matched his color to rocks and coral surrounding him, intent on staying hidden from the guppy for now. The octopus had to bite back a chuckle as he saw the guppy pick up an interesting shaped shell and slip it in his bag before darting off to rejoin the school again.

This happened again and again, with the curious guppy filling his bag to the brim before following the school back to their home.

Tony continued to watch the guppy for days between his hunts, enthralled with the curious eyes and pretty tail. This, he decided, was a mate worth having. Someone with an actual intellect, that could give him offspring without dying and abandoning them like female octopi did. He remembered being a freshly hatched fry and watching his mother fade away to nothing in front of him, unable or unwilling to do anything to stop it. She had used the last of her strength to fend off a predator, leaving both her body and her foe’s for her children to consume. His father had never been around at all, having fulfilled his mating duties then abandoned his offspring.

Tony didn’t want that for his offspring. He wanted to stay around and he wanted their mother to be there too. Guppies, Tony noted to himself, gave birth to live young, and helped care for them as they taught them to school. Even more interesting was how his blue guppy’s school seemed to be completely hermaphroditic. The more he learned about his little blue guppy, the more perfect he seemed.

So Tony watched, and waited, and planned until finally the perfect opportunity came. His mate’s school had traveled further from their home than normal, which just happened to take them closer to his den. Tony was already carrying a supply of shells to lure his guppy with, so he swam close and dropped the first one. Then he swam a bit further and dropped the next.

He continued until he was sure it would be far enough away from the school that he could grab his guppy without attracting attention. Then he waited, trusting his guppy’s keen eye and curiosity to lead him to Tony.

Tony didn’t have to wait long either. The guppy was swimming from shell to shell, carefully putting them in his bag.

“Looking for these?” Tony asked, holding out the rarest shell he had found.

The guppy started, staring worriedly at the octopus but still swam closer, carefully taking the shell from the larger mer.

“Thank you, sir,” the guppy said. “I love finding the special shells, you know? Like, what lived in these and why are they shaped this way? It’s so fascinating.”

“It is,” Tony agreed, the guppy’s rambling only reinforcing Tony’s infatuation. “Just like you.”

The guppy jumped, looking at Tony with wide eyes and a pretty flush painting his cheeks. “I- ah, what?” the guppy asked, clearly confused and unsure. His warm earthy eyes dropped to the shell in his hands, though his eyes kept darting to Tony.

“You’re a very interesting guppy,” Tony said, pulling out a glowing lichen covered shell that he had meant to save for later. “Not many think to ask why things are or even what, but you, my precious guppy, look so closely at everything around you.”

Tony pulled the guppy’s hands into his and gently deposited the shell. Then he leaned in and stole a quick kiss to the cheek while the guppy was distracted.

“My name is Tony,” he said, letting a few of his tentacles trail gently over the guppy, spreading oh so tiny amounts of his poison so that the guppy would be more easily convinced to return home with him. “What’s yours?”

“I’m P-Peter, sir,” the guppy replied shyly.

“Well, Peter, I have many more interesting things back in my den, if you’d like to see them,” Tony offered, rubbing his tentacles on the guppy more, though still keeping his touch gentle and light. “It’s not far from here so you’d be back to your school in no time.”

Tony had no intention of letting Peter slip away if they proved as compatible as he thought they would, but the little guppy didn’t need to know that.

“I-I don’t know if I can,” Peter murmured, glancing around nervously. “What if I can’t find the school again?”

“Don’t worry, little guppy,” Tony repliedsoothingly. “I know my way around here really well and I’m sure I can get you home again if we need to.”

Peter knew he probably shouldn’t go with the stranger, but he was so curious and there was something just mesmerizing about the mer-octopus. He was handsome and didn’t trigger any of Peter’s flight or fight responses, so surely it would be ok to just take a peek.

With a shy nod, he followed Tony back to his den. The octopus kept brushing him gently with his tentacles but Peter thought nothing of it. His school would touch fins to confirm location and just stay aware of each other, and he assumed it was no different for the other.

By the time they reached the well hidden den, Peter was starting to feel a little off, but he brushed it aside, excited to see what the octopus wanted to show him.

“Here we go, Peter Pie,” Tony said with a flourish. Peter gasped as he looked around, seeing all sorts of shells and shiny bits decorating the den.

“This is amazing,” Peter said, darting from display to display before he caught sight of the fanciest nest he had ever seen. “You have a mate?”

“Yes, if he’ll have me,” Tony said, his voice husky. “I’ve been trying to court him though I don’t think he realizes it yet.”

“You should be more upfront then, at least that’s what my aunt always says,” Peter said, still looking around. “Sometimes they just don’t realize it.”

“You’re right, I should,” Tony said, swimming closer to Peter. “But I don’t want to scare him away either.”

“I’m sure as long as you’re gentle and honest, it’ll go just fine,” Peter said, finally turning to face Tony. He froze when he saw the dark look on the octopus’ face. “Tony?”

Nervousness finally bubbled in him as Peter floated backward, only to hit the nest.

“I’ve been watching you for a while now, Peter,” Tony said softly as he floated closer. “You’re so curious and intelligent, especially for a guppy, and still so kind too.”

Tony’s tentacles were touching him again, and Peter wanted to run but his body felt frozen. Tears leaked from his eyes only to be gently brushed away by Tony’s hand.

“Don’t cry, little guppy,” Tony said, tentacles grabbing more firmly even as he cupped Peter’s face in his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to claim you as my mate.”

Tony placed a gentle kiss on Peter’s lips, then deepened it, causing Peter to gasp as Tony’s tongue pushed into his mouth. His body was still frozen and his heart was pounding in his chest, but the shudder that came next wasn’t from fear. Tony’s tentacles were rubbing along him gently, teasing his sensitive skin with every pass while suckers would occasionally latch on. Then they slid down his tail, teasing at his fins. A warmth he had never felt bubbled in his lower half and he couldn’t help the trill that slipped free.

“That’s it, little guppy,” Tony soothed. “Just relax and let me help you feel good.”

Peter let out a startled yelp when a tentacle started rubbing over his dorsal slit. He felt something warm and slick touch him, but he couldn’t do anything but whimper and trill as his body was still frozen.

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“Shhhh, it’s ok, baby,” Tony murmured as he moved Peter into the seaweed nest.

He used a tentacle to spread more and more slick on the guppy’s slit before pushing just the tip into him. The merguppy was tight around his tentacle, but he simply lengthened it to slide in easier then let it thicken slowly as he stretched Peter. As the natural relaxants did their job, Tony allowed the tentacle to thicken more before starting to thrust it in and out, each time sliding a bit further into the trilling mer.

“That’s right, such a good guppy,” Tony cooed. “You’re taking me so well. Can’t wait to see you stuffed full of my eggs. You’ll make such a good carrier for them. Won’t abandon them or let yourself die after a single one like an octopus would.”

Peter whimpered beneath him, muscles twitching as he tried to fight the mild paralytic Tony had used on him.

“Please, Tony, please, it’s too much,” Peter cried as Tony pushed more of his tentacle into the boy’s slit.

“You can do it,” Tony soothed. “Just a bit more, little guppy. You can take it.”

Tony thrust in and out more firmly even as his other tentacles continued to touch everywhere he could reach. He leaned down and captured a budding nipple between his teeth, playing with the other with his hand as yet another limb teased at Peter’s lips before slipping in. His guppy groaned around the intrusion and twitched weakly beneath him.

Tony smirked, sucking harder and nipping at the nipple in his mouth before switching over to the over side. He kept the thrusting in the guppy’s mouth shallow, but in time with the thrusting in his slit.

Peter whined and trilled as Tony worked him up more and more. Tony noticed Peter’s fins fluttering and caught sight of what he wanted. His little guppy had a penile fin that would harden and excrete what he needed to fertilize his eggs, but Tony would have to catch it in and stuff it into Peter’s slit after the eggs were deposited. Luckily Tony had already prepared a tightly woven bag to catch it in.

A particularly hard suck caused Peter’s body to tighten around his tentacle, and Tony hurried to line his bag up with the fin he needed even as his tentacles picked up speed. He wasn’t close to completion yet but he would happily push his guppy past his limits. He could gather extra cum this way too.

Peter came hard around his tentacles, his whole body seizing tightly before the poor guppy passed out, overwhelmed by the pleasure Tony was showing him.

Peter’s loosened body allowed Tony to slip his tentacle in further until he found what he was looking for. As a hermaphrodite, Peter had the pouch for growing fry, even if it wasn’t necessarily meant for octopus eggs. Distantly Tony wondered if breeding his guppy this way would activate the latent genes. Then they could have a second batch of fry for their shoal that would have Peter’s eggs instead.

The thought of breeding Peter again as he fucked into the limp guppy finally pushed Tony over the edge. He pushed his tentacle as far in as he dared and let the eggs pump through it. Peter moaned around the thick tentacle that was still stuffed in his mouth. Tony didn’t withdraw it even as Peter’s eyes flew open and his body tightened around him, wanting his guppy to be full of nothing but him.

Peter tried to trill and cry but the tentacle stuffed in his mouth effectively gagged him. He watched in mixed horror and fascination as his scales bulged. Everything felt so full and just on the border of too much, especially with the thick limb in his mouth still thrusting gently in time with the even larger one in his slit.

Peter couldn’t help drifting mentally as his body was held in Tony’s tentacles, unable to move or speak. He lost track of time entirely, only coming back to himself when the tentacle in his mouth was finally removed. The one in his slit soon followed, and Peter sagged in relief. He still felt too full, but it felt more bearable with the thick tentacle gone.

“Shhh, you did so well, my precious mate,” Tony murmured to him, one tentacle petting his hair gently. “We’re just about done, and then we can rest properly.”

“No, please,” Peter begged, panic welling up in him at the thought of being filled any more. “I can’t.”

“It’s ok, little guppy,” Tony soothed. “Just this one last thing.”

Peter sobbed as Tony’s tentacles cradled him. It was loving and likely would have calmed him if not for the tentacle prodding at his sore slit. It pushed in, and Peter groaned in pain when it felt like something rough was catching against his rim. Then it slipped in and Peter felt the strangest sensation, like something warm was squirted into him, before the tentacle pulled back again. He almost relaxed only to tense when another tentacle pushed in. It wiggled around and there was a sharp pressure that drew a high pitched trill from him before the pressure faded and the tentacle finally withdrew.

Tony kept him cradled as Peter sniffed and whined.

“I’m sorry, little guppy,” Tony said as he rocked Peter, nuzzling his neck as he pulled Peter’s back against his chest, curling around Peter in the nest. “Just had to make sure they got fertilized and that they wouldn’t fall out before it’s time. I’ll pull the sponge out once they’re close to hatching and it won’t hurt you in the meantime, I promise.”

“Fer-fertilized?” Peter asked hesitantly, still not fully understanding what had happened.

“I put our eggs in your pouch,” Tony told him. “Then I collected your sperm to fertilize them with. I’m just making sure they fertilize properly now.”

Peter felt numb as the reality of the situation hit him fully.

“Our eggs?”

“Well, mine technically. Your carrier genes haven’t been activated so you didn’t have any,” Tony explained cheerfully. “If they do though, I’ll give you fry with your eggs too. Anything for my beloved.”

“What about my school?” Peter asked, already mourning the loss of his family and friends.

“You can go visit after the fry are born, of course,” Tony assured him. “I won’t keep you from them, although I hope you’ll help me build a shoal of our own fry.”

“You- you mean it?” Peter asked shyly.

“Of course, you have my word Peter,” Tony told him seriously. “As soon as the fry are old enough not to need you. We don’t want to risk them following you and getting hurt or anything though.”

Peter nodded along, his hand resting atop the bulge of his stomach. He wouldn’t want to endanger their young. Even though they were still eggs, he already knew he would love them. His brain tried to imagine what they’d look like and if they’d be more like octopi or guppies.

As Peter fell into hazy day dreams, Tony was making his own plans for their future. After all, it wouldn’t be hard to put a new batch of eggs in Peter while the fry were still little so that his guppy would never leave him.

#khalixa writes #nff #starker #tony stark/peter parker #mermaid au #nff starker #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw dark content #definitely mind the tags on works #sfsummerbingo22

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babybatscreationsv2 · 1 year

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Dumb Bunny Ch2 (of 3)

Marvel | Starker

It was an honor being invited to work with Tony in his lab, but Peter keeps making these little mistakes that leave him wondering if he's not cut out for it. When Tony downgrades him to the lab's maid, Peter realizes that maybe being smart just isn't for him. He's starting to feel dumber by the day after all.

Rating: Explicit

Fic Tag

Tags: @starker-oasis

Warnings and fic tags below

Warnings and tags: dubcon, mind break/brainwashing, dumbification, feminization, sim!Tony, degradation, dehumanization

Peter returned to the lab and put on his uniform. He took a look at himself in the mirror, at the ruffles and the lacy black panties Tony had pushed into his hands that morning. He looked... cute, honestly. It was growing on him. He hadn't really considered himself the feminine type, but Tony kept telling him he wasn't good at thinking. It kinda seemed like he was right.

Peter walked back out to the lab, hyper aware of the way his shoes clicked against the floor. Tony was hard at work, as usual. The sight of him made his heart flutter. He was dressed a bit nicer today, maybe for a meeting later. Of course, Tony was gorgeous in everything.

"What can I do today, Mr. Stark?" Peter chirped happily as he stopped at his side. Tony looked him up and down and smiled.

"You see this, Peter?" Tony stuck out his foot. He wasn't sure what exactly he was supposed to be seeing. "I have a meeting later and I'm sure you don't understand, but this is unacceptable."

"What is, sir?"

Tony chuckled softly. "No, you don't get it do you? How precious."

Peter's face heated. Was he really that dumb? He didn't even know what he'd missed.

"I need you to shine my shoes, sweetheart. I can't go anywhere looking like this."

"Oh! I know how to do that. Is there polish in the cupboard?"

Tony just kept looking at him with that condescending smile. Embarrassment ate at his stomach. Maybe he should just stop talking.

"No, sweetheart. Let me show you. Get down on the floor, on your knees." Peter sank slowly to the floor. He looked up at the man, curious and confused. "Good. Now bend down and put your tongue on my shoe."

He was still so confused and Mr. Stark had to be playing a trick on him, but maybe this was the right way to do it. How would he know? He was always getting things wrong.

Peter bent down low and ran his tongue over the toe of Tony's shoe. "Like that, sir?" He looked up at him. Were his eyes always that dark?

"That's good, Peter. Good little bunny. Keep going."

The praise warmed him up. He bent back down and ran his tongue all over the leather. It didn't taste great, but it wasn't terrible either. Besides, it felt so good to do what he was told. He kept going until every inch was shiny then started on the other shoe. He felt almost hazy when he was done. Warm and cozy and when he looked up at Tony all he wanted was to please him.

He reached down his hand and pet Peter's cheek. Peter put his hands on Tony's thighs. He felt a little unsteady, but happy and tingly even. "Look at you. You want to do something else for me?"

Peter nodded eagerly.

"Of course you do." Tony's thumb ran over his lip and Peter opened his mouth to suck on it. "I've got something else to put in your mouth."

He pouted as Tony took his hand away to pull open his belt. He sat up a little straighter, watching, waiting. He whined, noticing how tight his panties had gotten against his cock. The lace made rough friction when he moved. Peter rocked his hips and moaned, his eyes fell shut. A tap against his cheek stopped him.

"None of that," Tony said. "Concentrate. You only have so many brain cells."

Peter whined and turned his attention back to Tony- no to the cock in his hand. Big and hard and just right for his mouth. He sat up and took it between his lips, sucking like he did his fingers.

"No no, just lick it. Like a dumb little puppy," Tony said. "That's a good boy." Peter looked up at him, face burning red. He licked the head of his cock with big sloppy licks. It felt so silly, but also really hot.

Tony groaned. "You're so fucking stupid, look at you. Like a trained animal."

Peter really did feel dumber by the second, but the way it turned Tony on made it too hard to resist. He let his brain turn off, melted away. He just licked and sometimes stopped to suck, whatever felt the sloppiest and the sluttiest. Then Mr. Stark grabbed him by the hair and Peter opened his mouth wide. He stayed limp and open mouthed while he pulled him down, forcing his cock into his throat. He barely even gagged, he just let it happen.

"Such a good hole. This is what you're best at. Being a cock hole."

He really couldn't think. Everything was cock in this mouth and the way Tony pulled him up and down on it like a toy. When he choked on it Tony moaned and kept going and Peter let him, pliant and empty headed.

Tony pulled him all the way, forcing his throat open. His lungs started to burn, but he could feel Tony's cum running down his throat and all he could do was swallow. When he pulled back out Peter stared up at him with glassy eyes and his mouth hanging open.

"Give it a kiss," Tony said. Peter leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock. Tony pet his hair. "Good bunny." He smiled and leaned into his hand. "You sit right there while I finish up."

Tony turned back to his work. Peter stared up at him for a long while, unable to do anything else. He felt so fuzzy and good, but his cock was hard and aching. After a while he found himself squirming, whinging quietly, unable to figure out what he needed to do to help himself.

Tony sighed and looked down at him. "You love being a stupid little toy don't you? You're that turned on? Come here then." He patted his leg. Peter crawled towards him, placing himself half under the desk. Tony grabbed his hair and dragged him where he wanted him while he whimpered. The toe of his shoe pressed against the bulge in his panties. Peter gasped and spread his legs wider, pushing his hips down against it.

"That's a good boy. You can rut against my shoe until it's time for me to go, but no cumming. We don't have time for you to clean it up."

Peter whimpered, but he couldn't stop himself from obeying. He humped the man's freshly shined shoe and buried his face against his thigh. It felt so good, so mindless. Mr. Stark even reached down and let him suck on two of his fingers and it was like heaven. He sucked and humped and moaned happily. His legs started to cramp, but he didn't stop. Not until Tony pulled his fingers away. He pouted and looked up at him.

"Such a needy little thing," Tony purred. "I do have a meeting to get to and I can't send you home like that, you'll get lost at the very least. Come on, then."

Tony reached down and took his hand to pull him up. Peter followed along where he was led. They left the lab and stepped into the elevator and went up. Peter watched the numbers pass in confusion. Where were they going?

The doors slid open and they stepped into Tony's personal apartment. A mansion among New York apartments to be more honest.

"You stay here and behave yourself. Watch some tv. No touching that cock you understand me? That's mine."

Peter nodded, but he didn't really understand any of this. Tony was what? Keeping him? He didn't hate the sound of that.

#starker #marvel #dumb bunny #sim!tony #dumb!peter #au fic #dark fic

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secfics · 8 months

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my favourite starker fics, part 1

hi. for my first reclist in this blog, i put together my personal favourite starker fanfics that i re-read again and again. in no particular order and with some cw/dark themes here and there, here they come:

�� maybe different, but remember; by RoamingSignals (@spider-mancan), E, 18k, 2/2 chapters

Peter is working at Delmar’s, sorting out tabloids on the rack in the front, and he sees Tony’s face plastered everywhere and then Peter is reading words and then he can’t read anything because he’s crying and his shaking hands rip the magazine in half.

Tony Stark…alive.

He saved the world, saved Peter, and Peter never even got to thank him. Not that it matters now. If Peter was a factor in Tony's decision to snap his fingers, Peter will never know. No one will ever know, because Peter fucked up and now he doesn’t exist.

• touchpoint; by RoamingSignals (@spider-mancan), M, 57’6k, 2/2 chapters

Peter lost a lot of things in Boston. When he lists them out, they fit in the margins of his napkin; his career, his degree, his motivation, his boyfriend, and himself. Not in that order. Not all by mistake.

“You’re just a secretary.” Tony tuts.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a secretary,” Peter says. “Your old secretary is the CEO of SI, these days.”

“Pepper Potts is the smartest woman I’ve ever met,” Tony agrees. “And she never let anyone call her ‘just a secretary.’”

• scaling the walls; by Starker1975 (@starker1975), E, 42’6k, 13/13 chapters

Peter is tired of crushing hopelessly on Tony, so he decides to create an online dating profile to meet someone new. Neither Peter (Webster01) or his strange beau (Mark70) have pictures on their bio. They decide to keep it that way so they can focus on bonding over things besides appearance.

Meanwhile, Tony decides to start spending more time with Peter because people always become interested as soon as you try to move on...

• fucking if; by Graceful_Starker (@graceful-starker), M, 9’7k, 2/2 chapters - cw: implied non-con, not between starker

Peter and Tony in a beginning phases relationship. Then the snap. Peter coming back to Tony, Pepper and Morgan.

• revelations; by Anonymous (#author has already arranged a ride to church trust me), E, 126’8k, 19/19 chapters

“I still don’t get it,” Ned says. “How you just... keep being ordinary in spite of all the craziness you’ve lived through. You were in space. You helped Iron Man save the universe. And nobody knows it was you.” His tone softens, becomes almost sad. As though he realizes that what he’s saying is so completely alien to him that he will never be able to understand this part of Peter’s life. “Peter, don’t you want people to know you for who you are?”

An AU where they get the Gauntlet off of Thanos that first time, on Titan.

• closer to a prayer; by LearnedFoot (@learned-foot), E, 17’4k, oneshot

“I think I’m dying.”

Peter stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, blinking. It feels weird to say it out loud.

In which Peter's powers turn against him, Mr. Stark is back and suddenly acting kind of weird (and by weird he means flirtatious), and it’s all a lot to handle at once.

• stuck; by Heathertastic (@heathertastic), E, 5’4k, oneshot - cw: Accidental Penetration

Tony and Peter get stuck together in a closet the size of Peter himself- and yeah, it’s basically porn without plot.

• Give Me Your Wallet (And Your Watch); by airebellah (@airebellah), M, 30’5k, 10/10 chapters

It was pushing midnight when Peter sent a text to his friend Ned asking for help with a chemistry problem. I know I'm doing something wrong but I can't figure it out, he wrote. He received a text with a picture of the solution. The elegant script should have been the first clue; the fact that it was on the back of a napkin the second. But he was tired, and failed to notice such details.

You misplaced your decimal when converting degrees to Kelvin, came the reply. Rookie mistake.

Gee, thanks, Peter replied with a roll of his eyes. Anything you need help with?

Yeah, who the fuck am I talking to, exactly?

• covet; by Anonymous (#author has already arranged a ride to church trust me), E, 33’9k, 5/5 chapters

Peter has a new boyfriend. Tony starts drinking again, for unrelated reasons.

• uranium heart; by spqr, M, 11´3k, oneshot

It’s probably better, Peter thinks, that he doesn’t know who his soulmate is. He wouldn’t want to lie to them about Spider-Man, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell them the truth, either. Not when he knows it would make them a target for every villain who wants a piece of him.

When he has enough free time to feel sorry for himself, he thinks about how lonely he is and how much he wants someone to talk to--just talk to. But he doesn’t really have that much free time. And anyways, there are thousands of lonely people in New York. Peter’s nothing special.

• another life; by InColor (@incolorwrites), E, 9’3k, oneshot

Tony comes back to a world where everyone's moved on without him.

Peter helps.

• secret santa, baby; by orphan_account, E, 17´3k, 5/5 chapters

Tony never intended to become Peter's Secret Santa. He just sort of stumbles into it. But now that he is, he's going to take advantage of it. Tony's got one week to spoil the kid, one week until Christmas. He just has to make sure that his secret stays secret.

• your thoughts are my desires; by Sparcina (@zsparz), E, 6’2k, 4/4 chapters

Peter doesn't know that Tony can read his thoughts.

Alternatively: Tony gets intimately acquainted with Peter's fantasies feelings.

• peter parker, sexter extraodinaire; by Sparcina (@zsparz), E, 7’5k, 4/4 chapters

Apparently, sexting Mr. Stark by accident is a thing Peter does now. While touching himself. And Tony... Well, he probably shouldn't fantasize about Peter, but the kid's just too damn attractive and brilliant for his own good.

• just for tonight; by keenwonderlandcollector, M, 31’1k, 10/10 - cw: incest/father-son incest

While out at an exhibit, Peter gets into an awkward situation and pretends that Tony, his father, is actually his boyfriend. Tony goes along with it, and Peter soon finds himself enjoying it a little too much…

• from the bounty; by feyrelay (@feyrelay) & natureboy, E, 31’8k, 3/3 chapters

Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

(20k words of food erotica foreplay and 13k words of porn)

• better than; by unsettled (@unsettledink), M, 40’6k, oneshot

Maybe there isn't really a fixed point where it starts, where any of it starts, nothing Tony can point to and say, there, there is where I made my mistake, there is where I could have stopped this, there is where I can stop it from happening again.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been something Tony tried to stop.

(or: the one where Tony is going to be responsible for once, okay? He is!)

• worth the word; by unsettled (@unsettledink), teen and up, 5’4k, oneshot

Valentine’s Day is not Peter’s favorite holiday by a long shot. And it’s not just because he’s a little jealous of everyone else showing off gifts from their partners.

But it’s still really nice that an unknown someone sent him a gift this year. Or two. Or— okay, this is getting out of hand.

• above and beyond; by unsettled (@unsettledink), E, 12’8k, oneshot - cw: incest/father-son incest

Trans Peter telling his dad that he’s never had an orgasm. And Tony eating Peter out until the boy’s oversensitive and crying out “dad” as he comes.

• still use work; by LearnedFoot (@learned-foot), E, 6’5k, oneshot

“In the spirit of scientific discovery,” Tony adds.

“Yeah, the spirit of scientific discovery, exactly.”

Or: Peter has a problem. Tony attempts to solve it. To be helpful, obviously. That’s the only reason.

• a familiar stranger; by Starker1975 (@starker1975), E, 132,1k, 21/21 chapters - cw: incest/father-son incest

Peter's tired of being single, but online dating scares him, so he creates a fake profile to scope out the playing field before fully committing. He isn't sure what to think when he sees his dad's profile on the app.

hope you like them as much as i did!

#starker reclist #check the tags #starker #starker fic #starker fic rec #starker fic recs #favourite starker fanfics

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starkerfestivals · 2 months

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StarkerFestival's Extended AUpril!!

Hello everyone! Thank you to all the participants that joined us for our Valentine's Day exchange! We still have a few posts we're waiting on to close the event and once we have everything collected, we'll have a master post for the gifts.

Meanwhile– Us mods are extremely excited to announce our newest event! We are calling it Extended AUpril, and I believe we may have done something similar in the past.

For AUpril, we have made 2 community 4x4 bingos. The bingos will last all three months, and are light and dark themed. (Note: The prompts are themed this way. You do not have to do angst for dark prompts and fluff for light prompts. Feel free to be as creative as you want!)

Duration: This event will start today and last until the end of May.

Reminder: There is no obligation for these community bingos. Do them all, do exactly one prompt--it's completely up to you! Just make sure to tag properly.

Other Events:

March - There will be a list of 7 prompts dedicated to Omegaverse week (info post will be tomorrow). While it is a 'week,' this event will last the entire month of March.

Edit: This event is now live Here!

May - Mer-May week to be posted in May! Again, although it is a week's worth of themed prompts, it will last the entire month of May.

Below the cut are the written versions of the prompts.

Extra rules:

In order to get it reblogged, please @ us here, and feel free to use these hashtags! #StarkerFestivalsEvents , #SFAUpril24.

Crossovers are allowed and welcome for all prompts! Some of the prompts themselves are cross over prompts, please feel free to do so!

Edit: 1 prompt per content created. Multichapter fics can claim 1 prompt/chapter. Ex: One shot and moodboard = may claim up to 2 prompts)

You only have to complete one card to get a 'bingo.' We only separated the light and dark prompts for people who prefer to avoid angst! A bingo is four in a row for this event, meaning horizontal, vertical, or diagonal.

Tag every trigger appropriately, as always.

Have fun with it! This is to encourage AUs, not any specific prompts. Feel free to take it in any direction you want to.

Happy AUpril everyone!

Light Bingo AUs:

Royal

No Powers/Modern

Coffee shop

Education (Teacher, High School, College, etc.)

Celebrity (Actor, Singer, Streamer, etc.)

Artist/Author

Fix-it

Librarian

Star Wars

Magic (HP, Realism, Fantasy etc.)

Aged Up/Down

Angel/Demon

Lesbian Starker

Decorator

Soulmates

Cottage/Countryside

Dark Bingo AUs:

War/Military

YA Distopia (Hunger Games, Divergent, etc.)

Criminal

Superior Iron Man

Supernatural (Ghost, Vamp, Alien, Were, etc.)

Firefighter

Game of Thrones

Detective

Apocalypse

Break Up/Make Up

Blood

Lovers to Enemies

Stockholm Syndrome/Kidnapping

Historical

Hospital (Staff, Setting, Sick, Diagnosis, CI, etc.)

Mafia

#starker #starker event #SFAUpril24 #starkerfestivalsevents

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 11 months

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Omfg congrats on the 2222! I’m sure many more to come!

Alright , hear me out. This idea consumed my brain the entire weekend.

AU Stripper!Frankie

I know, kinda out of character for him, but I can’t help it.

I recently « stumble » upon Magic Men of Australia on tik tok and instantly my mind went to Frankie.

Reader could be at his show and he chose her to come up on stage … after that , you write what you want .

What do you think Cee ?

Sweet anon - I am saving the best for last! Ngl, I might have drooled several times while writing stripper!Frankie. I might also have blacked out when I first saw your ask, thank you for sending in this delicious request. I hope you enjoy this cheeky oneshot, because 1.4k does not count as a drabble 😂 This reminds me of my dearest LJ's @prolix-yuy SW!Frankie universe, do go read it if you haven't yet!

Frankie Morales x stripper AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1460 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, bachelorette party (mis)behaviour, mentions of food

Okay, this is definitely not your scene.

The said scene being a rowdy bachelorette party in an intimate, soundproofed room draped in plush dark velvet and deep-seated sofas, disco lights pulsing in time with the booming bass that shakes your bones.

And oh, and there’s a half-naked stripper gyrating to the music. Obviously.

Not that he doesn’t look good doing it. He absolutely does, and not in that chiselled, perfectly sculpted way you imagined all strippers would look like. He’s hot in a realistic way, if that makes sense - his arms are strong, his chest is broad and firm, but there’s just a touch of softness to his tummy that makes him human.

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen a naked man. Heck, who are you kidding, when was the last time you even saw a topless man?

But he might as well be completely starkers. The shorts he’s wearing are glorified panties, paper thin, and they do nothing to conceal the fact that he’s hung. You can see the whole business, front and back. For someone as well packed as he is between the legs, his behind is endearingly flat, but mercifully, it doesn’t seem to compromise his balance in any way.

The lean muscles in his arms flex and roll when he locks his hands behind his head, thighs bulging with corded muscle as he plants his feet, and then he thrusts - his bulge swinging heavily, defying gravity.

He’s got to be half-hard, at least. There’s no way he’s that big standing at ease, so to speak.

Of course, the girls are going wild. They’re screaming and hyperventilating, Cosmpolitans sloshing over manicured nails and staining their dresses as they throw dollar bills at him. He obliges, crawling onto the couch on all fours so that they can tuck the cash into the waistband of his shorts, copping a feel as they do.

Frankie doesn’t mind it. He plays along, grabbing the bride-to-be’s wrist after she smacks him on the ass, shoving her back into the couch before clambering over her. Getting onto his knees, he dances right in her face, grinning when she squeals and reaches around his waist to grab both his ass cheeks as he rolls his hips.

His eyes slide over to you, sitting a polite distance away as the other girls crowd around him, getting close and personal, not wanting to miss out on the action.

You, on the other hand, look like you’d rather be curled up in the far corner with a book and a warm drink. But he can tell that you’re trying your best, sipping away at your cocktail (with an endearing wince that you try to hide when you swallow), and bobbing to the music even though you’re clearly feeling out of place around your more outgoing friends.

Being the quiet one out of the guys, he gravitates towards your energy.

Frankie always makes sure all of his customers have a good time in his session and that no one is left out, but he also wants you to be comfortable. Quietening his hips, he hops off the couch, taking two steps towards you, watching as your eyes widen, as if you want to bolt.

One corner of his lips inching upwards, he unfurls his fingers towards you, and the smile widens when you fit your smaller hand in the heart of his palm with a shy one of your own. Pulling you gently onto your feet, he surprises you with a firm tug next, spinning you around with your back to his chest.

You smell sweet, like shampoo and soap. Not letting go of your hand, he puts his other one on your hip, and you instantly stiffen when your friends screech in excitement, obviously not used to being the centre of attention.

Hooking his chin on your shoulder, he sways you to the music, his hips snug against yours. He feels you inhale sharply when his breath skims your skin, the shiver that goes through you unmistakable. He revels in your reaction, far more real and intimate than your friends’ drunken wandering hands.

You slowly thaw in his arms, the tension easing out of your shoulders where the straps of your pretty dress sit, and he knows that you don’t mean to tease when the swell of your ass brushes his front, bolder as you move your hips to the beat.

When the song draws to a close far too soon, he turns you around, wrapping one arm around your waist to dip you backwards. You let go of his hand to grasp the back of his neck on reflex, and he takes the opportunity to glide one palm up the smooth expanse of your leg, before hitching it around his waist.

He sees more than hears the whimper that slips past your lips, and he may or may not be half-hard when he presses his hips between your thighs.

As your friends holler and wolf-whistle around you, he holds your gaze, not missing how your pupils blow wide in the flashing lights.

Then you duck your head, and he lets you go, the bride-to-be demanding his attention.

You happily fade into the background again, but he catches the way your knees buckle when you wobble on your heels back to the sofa.

You’re fucking adorable.

The guys are tallying the tips for the bookkeeper in the break room when Pope comes in with a phone in his hand. ‘Fish, one of your customers left this behind. Do you know whose it is?’

Tapping on the lock screen - he sucks in a breath when you appear, posing with a big golden retriever. Your face is turned up into the sun, eyes closed in mid-laugh as the dog licks you on your cheek.

With a grunt, Frankie gets on his feet, a dull ache in the small of his back, which always happens when he thrusts a bit too vigorously. Tucking the phone safely in his pocket, he grabs his jacket and strides out, not seeing the guys looking curiously after him as he tosses over his shoulder, ‘Send me her address, Pope, I’ll drop it off.’

You jump when your laptop wakes up with a shrill ringtone. Clicking the green button, your best friend’s voice comes through the speakers.

‘Hon, the strip club just called. You left your phone there.’

With a groan, your palm meets your forehead in a smack. ‘Oh shit, it always happens when I drink! Should I go pick it up, or -’

‘Don’t worry, I gave them your address.’

‘Wait, what? You gave them my address?’

‘Relax, they’re strippers, not serial killers.’

You shift your feet nervously. ‘Do you know who’s coming?’

‘The one who danced for us today, you lucky bitch.’

Your heart almost leaps out of your mouth as you panic. ‘What the - but I’ve taken off all my make up and I’m not wearing a bra, and I got fucking chili on the stove -’

Your doorbell rings, and you whisper, ‘Shit, he’s here!’

‘Say hi to the hottie for me, babe! Night!’

Padding on bare feet towards the door, you take a deep breath, and reach for the knob.

Warm brown eyes meet yours, but not before they dart over your wet hair and pyjamas. You cross your arms self-consciously, knowing that he must have caught a glimpse of your nipples under your thin sleep shirt.

He smiles, handing you the phone. ‘Glad I caught you before you went to bed.’

Jesus H. Christ. It really is a blessing that you didn’t know what he sounded like when he had his clothes off -

You barely manage to squeak, your cheeks heating up. ‘Thanks so much for bringing it by, it was so clumsy of me.’

He shrugs easily, his gray tshirt bunching with the movement. ‘Happens. You’ll be surprised what people leave behind.’

‘What?’ you prompt, curiosity piqued.

‘I don’t strip and tell,’ he winks. ‘I’m Frankie, by the way.’

A handshake seems redundant after your close encounter earlier, so you give him your name and a smile. You admit, ‘I almost didn’t recognize you.’

He taps the beak of his cap. ‘It’s the hat.’

‘I like you better with clothes on,’ you blurt out impulsively, the alcohol still running thick through your veins.

He chuckles. ‘You might be the only one.’

He glances over your shoulder, breathing in the smell of simmering beef mince and tomatoes. ‘Are you cooking chili?’

You bite your lip. ‘Guilty. Case of midnight munchies.’

‘It smells delicious,’ he compliments you, lingering by the doorway and making no move to leave.

Emboldened, you ask, ‘Do you want some? I made way too much, as usaul.’

He grins, and it goes straight to your head. ‘I’d love to.’

#fuckyeah2222sleepover #frankie morales oneshot #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales

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starker-sorbet · 1 year

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After one too many missions with avoidable casualties under Roger's 'skillful' leadership with the ever annoying placation of 'You can't save everybody Tony' cause Tony and Peter to finally decide it's time for a change in the Avenger's roster. A permanent one.

And so the pair put their plan into motion to destroy their fellow Avengers. With Peter in place to monitor the Avengers as they go about their day while Tony spends his time taking over the compounds defences in preparation for them to make their move, all that's needed is for the Avengers to be in one place together so that Peter can lock any doors behind them and let then to the compromised defences and newly reprogrammed iron legion eliminate the lot of them.

Without Tony and Peter having to even lift a finger against the Avengers themselves. Simple and easy to write off their deaths as collateral damage due to a new villain in town. Such a same Tony and Peter weren't there but were on a date at the time, but as Rogers says 'You can't save everybody'.

#starker #villain au #villain tony #villain peter #dark tony #dark peter #dead avengers #or soon to be dead anyway #moodboard #my moodboard

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ursafootprints · 6 months

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One of my favorite things about Starker as a ship is how many angles there are to approach the ship from! We've got:

Light: minimal to no age-gap angst or drama, no one has a major issue with the relationship, healthy relationship, usually of-age Peter

Gray: moderate to heavy age-gap angst or drama, other characters concerned about the relationship (or it's expected that they would be,) may or may not be presented as ultimately healthy but it's at least a consideration to the characters because they'd like to be healthy

Dark: we all know what darkfic is lmao. Your grooming fics, your villain AUs, most Starkercest though some of those can ride the gray~dark line, outright unhealthy dynamics or your unrepentant characters/settings where the question of "healthy" doesn't even enter into the equation, etc. etc. etc.

They are all beautiful flavors and I've written for all of them, but I'm curious about y'all! Obviously the lines here can be a bit blurry/subjective, but in general if you had to choose:

#starker #polls #now that the poll has gotten off the ground and I'm not worried about influencing results:#I genuinely enjoy all of these flavors but gray is the juiciest to me #esp. for plotty stuff though my taste can run darker for PWP and short plotty things #like I'd classify YNYD as gray and my Starkercest as dark!#but I live for everyone being emotionally conflicted and having to navigate a billion different emotions and dynamics #so even with darkfic I prefer Still That but on the outright unhealthy end #I read and enjoy darkfic that's full unrepentant and gleeful in its darkness but writing-wise I wanna Grapple #and then I love reading light stuff but most of my ideas in that area are like. post-YNYD stuff haha.#so still attached to that gray-er base!

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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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khalixascorner · 2 years

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A Debt Paid in Soul Part 2

Summary: Tony fully intends to go to the Parker residence simply to claim his latest acquisition, one Peter Parker. When he finds out Peter is in fact his soul mate, things change in ways Tony couldn't have planned or expected. Not that he's complaining. Instead of just another worker for his clubs, he found a smart sexy omega that he's going to keep for the rest of their lives. This is an omegaverse hybrid mob au with a different bingo prompt per chapter.

Tags: Mafia AU, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Hybrid AU, Serval Peter, Black Tiger Tony, Dub-con first time, Soulbonds made them do it, Lots of spice and smut, Some fluff too, Dark Tony Stark, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Intersex Omegas, Tony is not a nice person, except to Peter, mention of sex work, Human Trafficking, In that tony makes people pay off debt while working for him, and some of those people work in sex clubs, Size Difference, Tiny Peter, Large Tony, Mild milk kink, Breeding Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, stuffing kink, Size Kink, Tony loves how huge his cock is and making Peter take it, Nipple Play, I don't know, theres lots of omegaverse typical sex tropes, eventual kidnapping and rescue,mild angst but always with a happy ending

Read on AO3 Here Part 1 Here View Art Here

Fill for O4- Size Difference

The soul mark on Tony’s hand was burning again as he carried the omega into the penthouse. He’d never heard of a bond mark growing after the initial touch, nor it causing pain when consummation was delayed, but his thin bracelet-like mark had turned into a glove while the thin collar like band on the kid had thickened and become an elaborate choker. Keeping the marks touching had lessened the pain but he couldn’t do that while carrying the omega, and the thought of anyone else even briefly touching his omega made his blood boil.

Peter whimpered again and Tony picked up his pace, not even bothering to take his shoes off. When he finally got to his bedroom, he gently dropped his omega on the bed, then tore his own clothes off as fast as he could. A quick look at the bed showed the omega had followed suit, though he was struggling with his shirt. Tony stepped over and pulled the last piece of clothing off.

“Alpha, alpha, it hurts, please need you,” Peter cried as he fell back onto the bed.

“It’s ok, Omega, I’ve got you,” Tony soothed as he crawled on top of the tiny omega. He slid his right hand behind Peter’s neck, cupping it gently and easing the burning while his left hand slid down to feel the omega’s wet hole. It was so tight, and Tony groaned. “You’re so small even here, ‘mega mine. But don’t worry, you’ll like it when I split you open.”

The kid keened as Tony slipped the first finger in. It was so wet inside of the omega but also tight, and Peter cried out as Tony slid a second finger in. He wished he could take his time and do this properly. He’d eat his mate out then stretch him on toys and fingers while making him come again and again until he was nothing but a pliant hole beneath him to ease the stretch.

“Ah-Alphaaa please,” the omega whined beneath him. “It hurts.”

“Shhh, it’s ok baby,” Tony crooned as he claimed Peter’s lips, distracting him with kisses and licks. Then he slid down just far enough to take the Omega’s nipples in his mouth, nibbling and sucking first one side then the other. Peter gasped beneath him and writhed beneath him as Tony kept going until he felt the Omega clench around his fingers.

“Alpha!”

“There you go Omega,” Tony rumbled, nuzzling Peter’s neck and helping him ride it out with firm pumps of his fingers. As soon as he felt the Omega’s body relax, he slipped the third finger in.

“Too much,” Peter whined weakly, but Tony just shushed him again.

“You can take it,” he said firmly. “This body was made for me, and that means you can take it.”

Peter huffed and whined but didn’t argue as Tony pushed his fingers in and out, trying to gently open the omega up. The burning in his hand was getting worse though, so he slid down Peter’s body and took his cocklette into his mouth. It wasn’t much of a distraction given that the omega was still spent, but it was enough for Tony to force a fourth finger in.

Tony took in Peter’s flushed body as he speared it on his fingers, tears running down the omega’s face as he whimpered and cried out when a thrust would be particularly deep. However his cocklette was already showing interest again, and not once had the wetness lessened.

He pulled his fingers out, unable to wait any longer. The alpha used the slick on his hand to wet his cock before lining it up with Peter’s cunt. Then he pushed in slowly, groaning as he went. Peter cried and tried to pull away, but Tony’s hand on his neck kept him from moving as he pushed further in.

“That’s it baby, deep breaths,” Tony said. “You’re gonna take the whole thing, fill you up till you feel it in your throat. Fuck, you’re so tiny but you’re still gonna take my cock like the Omega you are.”

Peter whimpered, his ears still flat against his head but didn’t fight as Tony kept going, rocking his cock in and out of the omega’s tight body, pushing it a little bit further each time. He bent down, kissing along the kid’s neck before delving into the warmth of his mouth, taking every whimper and whine as he did.

“Alpha, please, no more,” Peter begged when Tony was barely half in. “I can’t take more.”

“Shhh, you can baby,” Tony murmured. “You were so tight just around one finger and now look. You’re so full of me, bet you can feel me touching every inch inside of you. But you gotta relax babe, deep breaths and relax so I can get the rest in and fill you up properly.”

Peter shook his head, crying harder even as he tried to take gulping breaths. Tony continued to rock into him gently, his hand sliding to gently massage the base of Peter’s tail. The Omega shuddered and Tony could feel some of the tightness relax, so he did it again, working the base of the tail while kissing Peter senseless.

“Look at you, hanging off my cock,” Tony crooned as he bottomed out. “Stuffed so full just like you were meant to be. When I breed you, I’m gonna lock you tight with a proper knot, and then you’ll really be full. Gotta get you loosened up a bit more first though. Don’t want to break my mate.”

As Tony spoke, he started pulling out just enough to rock back into the omega. The tight heat around him was amazing and everything felt a million times more sensitive. People always said the sex was better with your mate but Tony hadn’t believed it. Now though, nothing and no one would ever compare to the warm wet heat of his omega coupled with the sparks that ran along his skin and down his spine. Their scents hadn’t blended yet, but already Tony was sure that he would develop a Pavlovian response to his omega’s unique scent given how mad just a taste was driving him.

***************

Peter couldn’t believe how full he felt on Stark’s cock. It was like being split open and yet the longer the alpha filled him, the more the fire in his body built. Pain faded to need and pleasure until he was putty in the alpha’s hands. The alpha’s words just sent more shudders through Peter and he whimpered as he exposed his neck in an attempt to draw the alpha’s attention back to it. The alpha laved at Peter’s scent gland, nibbling around it and sucking dark marks anywhere his mouth could reach even as he kept up the tiny thrusts with his hips.

“Alpha, alpha please,” Peter begged, though he wasn’t even sure what he wanted, he just knew he still needed more. The soul mark still ached and he was so stuffed but it still also wasn’t enough. Tears slipped free, and Stark wasted no time in licking them up before returning to his neck. “Alphaaaaa.”

“I’ve got you,” Stark promised, picking up the pace with his hips. Peter tried to help, but the angle was bad and he cried in frustration at the lack of further stimulation. He needed his mate, and he needed him now.

*******

Tony saw the omega’s attempts to meet his thrusts, saw the aching need still on his omega’s face and felt the kid’s body heating up underneath him even as it relaxed its tight grip ever so slightly. With a groan, he pulled out all of the way and flipped the omega onto his stomach. It took a little shuffling but soon he had him bent over and presenting. Tony couldn’t help but stroke at the base of the tail a few times, drawing garbled moans from Peter, before moving it to the side.

“Such a pretty omega, and all mine,” Tony said, finally thrusting back in and drawing a punched out sound from Peter. “Yeah, you’re so beautiful, so fucking gorgeous like this. Look at you take it. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You were made for me, after all.”

Peter let out another choked off moan as Tony thrust into him again and again with deep hard strokes. His hand was burning again and he realized he had taken it away from the boy’s neck in order to hold his hips tighter and pound him harder.

“Fuck, the things I want to do to you, just want to wreck you,” Tony growled, draping his body over Peter’s back and snaking an arm around so that he could bring their soul marks back together. He let some of his weight fall forward as his other hand slipped under Peter. Tony had originally intended to play with the omega’s nipples but as his hand slid along Peter’s belly, he felt a bump. “Oh fuck, can you feel that? So fucking tiny that I can feel my cock inside of you.”

Tony pulled his arm back to help brace as he started fucking into Peter harder without letting go of the omega’s neck.

“Fuck– so sweet for me, aren’t you, taking everything I’m giving you,” Tony murmured as he nibbled at Peter’s ear. “Why don’t you be a good boy and slide that hand of yours down your stomach, so you can feel just what I’m doing to you.”

Peter whimpered but listened, and Tony would swear he could feel the pressure from the boy’s hand as he pushed against the bulge.

“That’s right, baby,” Tony groaned. “Play with alpha’s cock like a good slut. No wonder our soul mark is a collar for you. Gonna teach you so many fun ways to play and put you on your knees for me. Won’t even have to spend the money on a collar because you’re already wearing mine.”

Peter suddenly tightened around him, and the pulsing of the omega’s cunt around his cock coupled with the scent of sated omega pushed him over into his own orgasm. He made sure to bury his cock as deeply as he could, feeling his knot swell and lock them together. Then Tony bent over, finding the scent gland on Peter’s neck and biting it hard enough to break skin.

The bond snapped fully into place, and Tony would swear it was almost a physical thing with how quickly it slammed into him. Peter’s emotions bubbled against his, filling him up until he couldn’t tell where he ended and where Peter began. Tony wasn’t sure how long they were locked in the feedback loop caused by the coupling, only that when he finally could feel his body again, his knot had already slipped out and he had collapsed beside his omega. Peter was tucked tight up against him, back pressed firmly against Tony’s chest even as Tony’s arms held him tight.

“You alive, kid?” Tony asked, one hand casually petting Peter as he waited for the kid to respond.

“Noooo,” Peter groaned and Tony couldn’t help but chuckle as the omega huffed at him.

“Pain at least stop?” he asked more seriously. His hand was still itching, like the mark hadn’t fully settled, and he wondered if they’d need to go again to tame the sensation.

“Yeah, it feels funny but it doesn’t hurt,” Peter replied after a moment.

“Here, turn around, let me try something,” Tony said. Peter did as he was told, and Tony placed his mark against the kid’s again. Both of them sighed in relief as the last of the sensation let up.

“Better,” Peter sighed, sagging into Tony’s arms.

They both lay there as the bond finally settled and they were finally able to relax. Tony was half tempted to doze off, but his mate seemed to get antsier as the bond settled rather than calmer.

“Hey kid, what’s got you so wound up?” he finally asked, unable to take the buzzing in the back of his head any longer.

“Wh-what’s going to happen now?” Peter asked quietly. Tony sighed. He had been hoping to put off that particular discussion for a little while longer.

“You’re my soul mate, kid, which means you’re mine,” Tony said, his hand running through Peter’s hair gently. “I know it was a bit of a rough start but you don’t have to worry about it now. I’ll have your stuff brought over and-”

“I just want to go home though,” Peter interrupted, his voice pleading.

“Look, Peter, I know this wasn’t ideal, and I know you probably had different expectations about how meeting your mate would go and who they would be, but we’re stuck together,” Tony said firmly, his grip on the omega’s neck tightening slightly. “And if the initial reaction is anything to go by, you’re going to need to stick especially close until it fully settles.”

“What about Aunt May?” Peter asked, and Tony bit back another sigh at the boy’s dejected look.

“Once you’re settled and we’ve established some ground rules, you are welcome to have her come visit you,” Tony said, placing a kiss on Peter’s forehead as he did. “And when you can be away from me without either of us suffering for it, then you can go visit her too as long as you take a guard. Our home isn’t a prison, omega mine.”

Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but the exhaustion brought on by such a stressful day seemed to have finally caught up with him. The little omega reluctantly dropped the topic and curled tightly into Tony with a huge yawn.

“Sleep now, Petey-Pie,” Tony said gently. “We’ll figure it all out later.”

#khalixa writes #starker #nff #omegaverse #mafia au #alpha tony #omega peter #dark tony #mind the tags

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babybatscreationsv2 · 2 months

Text

On Call

Marvel | Starker

Peter works nights as an EMT and he's seen a lot of things, but Tony Stark is something new. Ever since he was dragged out of that fire and into Peter's arms he just hasn't been able to get him off of his mind. Despite that Peter's pretty sure that Tony is into some shady stuff.

Rating: Explicit

For H <3

Warnings and tags below

Warnings/tags: Mafia au, blood, violence, murder, emotional trauma, alcoholism

Peter watched the fire spread across the upper windows of the townhouse. It burned fiercely across the upper floors and the kitchen. The living room hadn't yet been touched, creating an anxious arch of destruction. He bounced on his feet, waiting for the firefighters to start pulling people out. The minute one emerged carrying an unconscious man, Peter bounded into action. The man was laid on a gurney and loaded into the ambulance.

"He's breathing. No sign of burns," Peter commented to his partner.

"Pulse ox is low," Ned added as he checked his vitals, but Peter was already prepared with oxygen.

"I've got him. If he's not burned, there's someone else inside for sure," Peter said. "Fire like that doesn't just happen."

Ned nodded and jumped out the back to help the next one. Peter kept checking on the patient. He looked good all things considered. The only injury he found were a couple of bloody knuckles. He held one hand in both of his, looking it over. Those knuckles were pretty calloused. As if they were used to being broken and bloody. Was there a fight before the fire started?

The man woke up coughing, choking on the smoke in his lungs. He grabbed the mask from his face and ripped it off before Peter could stop him.

"Woah, easy- you're safe! You're okay," Peter soothed.

The man looked at him with wild eyes. "What the-" his words were cut short by more coughing. Then his eyes seemed to focus on his environment. He settled against the gurney and put the mask back against his face.

"That's it." Peter patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll get everyone else out."

The man scoffed, almost laughing, but he said nothing. He startled when Ned climbed back inside, but he relaxed again when he saw his face.

"MJ's crew has the other one," he said to Peter. "Sir, were there only two of you inside?" he asked the man.

He pulled the mask away from his face. "Is he alive?"

"I need you to answer the question," Peter said gently. He shivered when those dark eyes flicked back his way. The man nodded and settled again.

"Good. We should be clear to head out soon," Ned said. He made his way up to the driver's seat.

"Don't worry. Your friend is in good hands."

A smirk played on his lips that made Peter shudder.

"I'm Tony," the man offered his hand. He was staring almost too intensely.

"Peter." He shook his hand.

"Accidents don't happen to people like me, Peter. I'm grateful you made it here in time."

"Thank your neighbors for calling."

Tony grinned. "If only they'd mind their business." He put the mask back on as the engine started and the ambulance moved out onto the road. The siren blared overhead. Peter watched the man in the gurney for signs of distress, but if anything he seemed peaceful. He held the mask against his face as if he couldn't bear the straps around his head, but at least he kept it on. Peter had argued with plenty of patients about this before. Tony's words rolled around in his mind.

The police would ask later if he'd noticed anything odd or if Tony had said anything and wasn't sure how to respond when they did. A statement like that could have been a confession as much as it could have been dark humor.

The siren stopped and they parked at the emergency room doors. Ned and Peter helped Tony out. A nurse led them through the halls into a prepared room. As he helped Tony transfer into the hospital bed with a hand on his arm and an arm around his back, he felt the man lean into him. When he looked up his face was a little too close. He turned his eyes away, blushing, but he thought he saw the man smirk.

"You're a good guy, Peter," Tony said, as he settled in. He brushed off the nurse who flitted around to take his vitals.

"What about me?" Ned joked, but Tony ignored him. His eyes were only for Peter.

"Stay that way," he said with a wink.

All Peter could think to say was "Yes, sir."

The incident lingered in his mind for a while, but as busy days came it finally drifted from his thoughts. Only to come rushing back as he sat in the back of an ambulance, stitching together a stab wound. His sleeves were soaked with blood and he was pretty sure some had slipped into his gloves at the wrist.

"We can't keep meeting like this," Tony grinned with bloody teeth. There was blood everywhere. Not all of it his. In fact, Peter was pretty sure the only blood that was his was the stuff pouring out of his gut.

"How do you get yourself into these situations, Tony?" Peter kept his eyes on his work, but he could see the man watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Don't you worry your pretty head about it," he said. He sighed and laid his head down. "You're pretty good with your hands."

Peter laughed. "You sound a bit delirious. How are you feeling?"

"Eh, I've been better. Maybe you can help me out with that."

"I'm happy to help." Peter finished the stitching and gently cleaned the skin once more. It was pretty neat for an emergency job. He spared a glance at Tony as he finished up.

"You sure I can't start the truck?" Ned called from the front.

"How about you go keep watch if you're so antsy?" Tony yelled back.

Ned stepped outside muttering under his breath, "Keep watch?"

Tony turned his attention back to Peter. "Come with me when we're done. We'll go get breakfast."

Peter laughed again. "I think that's the blood loss talking, Mr. Stark. But I'm glad my work is appreciated."

"I mean it, Peter." His voice was so serious that Peter turned his gaze from his clean up to the man's face. "Anything you need, just ask. I'd be dead twice over if it wasn't for you."

"I-" Peter blushed. "I'm not the only one here you know. Someone else could have patched you up."

"Someone else would have given a more damning statement."

Peter turned away. He was right. He hadn't told the police everything Tony said after the fire. He wasn't sure why. He supposed he just didn't want to be involved. And the other guy survived. Mostly. He passed a week later in the hospital, but surely if Tony meant to kill him he would have died in the fire right?

"I think you know exactly what I'm capable of," Tony spoke softly. "And I think you know you could use someone like me on your side. Don't be afraid to ask, sweetheart."

After a moment, Peter turned back around. He put on a professional smile. "Thank you, sir. You're very kind. Let's just get you to the hospital."

"No more hospitals," Tony groaned, already sitting himself up.

"Whoa, hey! Yes, hospital," Peter put a hand on his shoulder to push him back down. He was surprised to find how easy it was. "You lost way too much blood."

"Not this time," he sighed. "Thanks for the help, I'm sure you boys know where to send the bill." He pushed himself up again. This time Peter helped him to stand. Watching the man sway on his feet made him nervous.

"Please, Tony. Let me get you some help."

"You're all the help I need, sweetheart." He grinned. "Don't worry. I've got someone to drive me home."

"Just promise you'll go to the hospital if you aren't feeling any better by the morning."

"Not happening, Pete."

"Fine," Peter sighed. "Give me your phone."

Tony blinked at the order. Then after a pause he pulled a cell phone from his jacket. He unlocked it and handed it over, watching with eyes that were much too curious.

Peter typed his name and number into the contacts. His thumb hovered for a moment, curious about the dozen text messages in the notification bar but he locked it and handed it back.

"There. If you won't go to the hospital, please just call me. I'm not a doctor, but I'm better than nothing."

"Yeah you are," Tony grinned.

The sound of tires crunching as a car slowed down on the street found them. Peter peeked out the door. "I guess that's your guy?"

Tony looked out beside him. "That's my guy," he confirmed. He patted Peter's shoulder. "Get out of here before the other guys show up."

Peter climbed out the back to help Tony down. "What other guys?"

"The ones who won't give a shit that you were just doing your job."

Dread piled on to the already growing pit in his stomach. Yeah, he knew the sort of things Tony got up to. He didn't have to be told. He watched his friend load Tony into the passenger's seat and pulled out onto the road. Then he finally let Ned start the truck and get them away from the crime scene. The police could deal with whoever was in the car that pulled in after them.

Peter kept his phone within arm's reach at all times. A few days passed without him receiving the call he was waiting for. To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. Sure, Tony was obviously a criminal and probably a murderer, but he was so interesting. And besides, Peter's life was far from sunshine and rainbows. He didn't mind a bit of darkness in a man. But that was probably the trauma talking.

After three days of no calls, Peter went home tired and grumpy. He tiptoed through the front door and quietly took off his shoes. The light from the TV flickered. An ad for prostate medication played.

He went to the kitchen to reheat some old take-out that was about a day away from becoming questionable. A spoonful of too hot fried rice was in his mouth when his uncle called his name.

"Peter! Out late again?"

Peter swallowed. He took a deep breath, eyes closed in silent meditation. "I'm working nights now, remember?"

"Are you getting smart with me? Do you know who the hell pays the bills around here?"

Peter bit his tongue to keep quiet, because yes he did know. Because everything but the apartment was billed to his account. Because he switched to the night shift because it paid two dollars more an hour. Because that extra two dollars was the reason they had anything in the fridge besides beer.

He took his food and crossed through the living room.

"Where are you going? I'm talking to you- fucking spoiled disrespectful- you're lucky May's not here to see this shit-" Ben rambled, never finishing even one of his half drunken thoughts.

Peter closed the bedroom door and locked it. He swallowed down the urge to soak in his misery and went to the desk instead. Medical books mocked him with failed dreams of becoming a doctor. EMT training was cheaper. It meant less time in school. He could get a real job faster. No more all day classes and all night working the convenience store counter. He just wished Ben hadn't lost his mind when May died. He wished she were here to see him trying to help people the way she always did. Despite what Ben said, Peter thought she would be proud.

He shoveled in his food until the container was empty then he dropped it on the floor next to an overflowing trash can from all the other nights Ben had come at him this week. Peter dropped into bed and checked his phone one last time before falling into a dreamless sleep.

Peter woke at noon to a car alarm down on the street. He groaned and covered his head. He didn't dare look out the window. Then he heard gunshots.

Groaning once again, Peter dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on some fresh pants and looked outside, still hooking the button. There was a body on the ground. Sighing, Peter grabbed a jacket, his phone, his emergency kit and left his room.

"Where the fuck are you running off to now? Lazy piece of shit- can't even look after your own home- you too fucking good for it with your fucking medical degree-"

Peter slammed the apartment door and jogged to the stairs. There was the sound of glass smashing behind him. Not the first time Ben threw a bottle at him. Hopefully this time he remembered it was there before he stepped in it.

He ran down to the street. At the door, he peeked out, crouching low. He hadn't heard any gun shots in a while. Still, he kept his head down as he jogged across the street. The man laying on the sidewalk was still. His skin was cold. He wasn't breathing. Peter sighed. Another senseless death.

"Help..." a groan came from the alley nearby. A man was sitting on the ground, back to the wall. His hand was pressed tightly against his abdomen, covered in blood. Peter to him and crouched at his side.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He pulled his phone from his pocket, already punching in the numbers. Then someone took the phone from his hand.

"He'll be alright," a voice said coldly over his shoulder.

Peter looked up. "Tony? What's going on?"

It all happened faster than he could blink. Tony raised the gun in his hand, a gun Peter hadn't even noticed. He aimed it at the man's head. Then he fired. Gore exploded onto the wall. Bloody flecks hit Peter's side. In shock, he wiped the blood from his cheek.

"What..." he gasped. He couldn't process what he'd seen. Then Tony grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet. He dragged him down the alley.

Peter looked back at the body. At the man he'd meant to save. Behind them followed two more armed men.

"Tony," he tried again to find his voice. "What's going on?"

"I got somebody who needs your help."

"That man-"

"He's nobody, sweetheart. This is more important."

"But..." Peter shuddered. That had happened. It did. It happened. He'd watched Tony kill someone. He should have been screaming for help, but he was paralyzed and if he were being honest, he liked Tony enough to give him the benefit of the doubt even now.

He let Tony pull him along and out onto another street. Another armed man stood by a car with tinted windows. Tony barked at him to open the door and all but shoved Peter inside.

Laying across the seat was a man with curly dark hair piled on top of his head in a bun. He was in a similar state to the man Tony had killed. Blood covered his stomach, his hands, one of his legs.

"Hey," the man smiled. "You are real pretty, aren't you?"

Tony leaned in the door. "Can you fix him up?"

"I don't know. I can try." Peter opened up his bag and started pulling out supplies. "I suppose this is a 'no hospitals' situation?"

"Always."

"Got you to go once."

"I was delirious. You got everything you need or what?"

"It's not ideal, but as long as it's not worse than it looks I think I can handle it."

"Perfect. We'll keep watch. You're on a timer, kid."

"What?"

"Well I don't think you can stitch him up in a speeding car so let me know when he's ready to move."

Tony closed the door, leaving him alone with the bleeding man. He gave Peter a little wave and a grin.

"I'm Bucky."

"Peter," he answered. He would be stunned if this wasn't exactly the way Tony behaved while Peter patched him up. Were all of his friends like this?

Bucky hissed and groaned while Peter put him back together, but he was an overall well behaved patient. There were so many scars on his skin when Peter wiped away the blood. He was clearly no stranger to bullet holes and stab wounds. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure his left arm was a really wall made prosthetic. The guy was a human pin cushion.

He pulled out three bullets and stitched up the holes. The guy looked pale by the time he was done. Peter took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Listen. I don't know exactly what the deal is here, but you've lost a lot of blood-"

"No hospitals, kid. If I need blood that bad, we'll figure something out."

"What happened when Tony went to the hospital?"

Bucky scoffed. "Too many cops. Too many questions. And Toomes's boys showed up just as we were dragging the guy out of there. He could have been killed."

Maybe it was overstepping a little, but either this guy didn't know how little Peter knew or he just liked the sound of his own voice. "He probably shouldn't have set a man on fire if he didn't want to spend time in the hospital."

Bucky laughed. "He had it coming. It was impressive how long the bitch made it. Scrawny little guy, ya know? We almost thought he was gonna survive."

There must have been something on Peter's face, shock, horror, or maybe disgust, because shut his mouth then. Then he narrowed his eyes. "You a cop?"

"What? No-"

"They why are you fishing?"

Peter put his hands up innocently. "I was just curious. Tony doesn't talk much."

"He doesn't talk for a reason. And you know what they say about curiosity." Bucky huffed. He looked him over before seeming to settle on what to say next. "Tony really likes you, kid. But don't think he won't dump you in the harbor if you become a problem."

Peter's stomach dropped. Of course that's how it was. He could have guessed if he'd thought about it. Tony was dangerous, he'd known that from day one. And yet, he was offended by the idea that Tony would think about hurting him. It was silly wasn't it? To think a guy who would shoot a dying man in the head in broad daylight would be gentle with him.

The door opened behind him and Peter jumped. Light poured in. He hadn't even realized how much the window tint blocked out.

"How's he lookin'?" Tony asked.

"He'll be fine." Peter turned and stepped out of the car. He grabbed his bag, now stained with blood and slung it over his shoulder. "Keep him hydrated. I gotta get ready for work."

He brushed past Tony, that knot still hard in his stomach. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he turned around.

Tony's eyes were so big and brown. "Thanks," he said.

Peter softened. "Anytime."

He took the long way home to avoid the crime scene Tony had left behind. Though as he stood outside his apartment he realized he didn't have it in him to walk past his uncle for a few more hours of sleep. So he walked to the rescue station. Things were quiet enough to grab a nap before his shift.

Peter found himself checking out the window for Tony every now and then as days passed. He still hadn't gotten calls or texts. Maybe Tony didn't like him that much after all. Maybe all the adrenaline made him flirty. He'd thought he'd done his best to put it all out of his mind when he got a call from a blocked number.

"Peter? Is this Peter?" a frantic voice said as soon as he answered. He barely had time to be disappointed that it wasn't him.

"That's me. Who-"

"You the EMT that looks after Tony?"

"I guess so. It's kinda-"

"I'm texting you an address. Get here quick." The caller hung up. Within seconds there was a text containing an address and a blood type. Peter's first thought was 'why the hell is this man always bleeding out?' his second was 'how the fuck am I gonna get blood?'.

That wasn't something they just kept at the station, but there was always some at the hospital and he was pretty sure he knew where they put the stuff that was due to be tossed. No one would notice it was missing. The only problem was, he didn't exactly have a car. Did he take a cooler full of blood onto the subway or ask Ned for a favor and hope he didn't ask too many questions?

"So what's all the blood for?" Ned asked not thirty minutes later.

Peter kept his eyes on the GPS. "Friend of mine?"

"A vampire friend?" Ned teased.

Peter sighed. "I almost wish."

"This about that guy who's super weird and doesn't like me for some reason?"

"What? Tony totally likes you!"

"I don't know about that guy, Peter."

"All I know is that he's hurt and he needs help."

"So he should have called 911 like a normal person."

"I don't think he's a normal person, Ned. He's like-" he stopped himself. "Let's talk about this later actually."

It was an uncomfortably silent ride from then on. The address Peter was given led them to a part of the city Peter had never even seen before. They pulled into the driveway and were stopped by a massive gate. It opened after only a second or two and they carried on. Ned gave Peter a look and all he could do was grimace. At the end of the drive was a house that was incomprehensibly massive. A car was parked, crooked, near the front. As if someone had pulled up in a hurry.

Peter jumped out as Ned stopped the truck. He carried his bag up the steps, noting the dried blood in his path. Someone opened the door for him as he reached it.

"You the guy?" the grumpy looking man on the other side asked.

"I'm Peter," he answered. "Where's Tony?"

"He's this way," the guy turned to lead him through the house. "Who's that guy?"

"He's Ned. He's with me."

"This isn't a plus one situation. Ned stays in the foyer."

Peter looked back at a confused looking Ned. A couple of Tony's armed friends looked very concerned about following this guy's orders. He gave Ned an apologetic smile before he hurried along.

"I thought I'd taken care of it, but he just keeps losing blood," the man said. "I can't tell what's wrong with him. I swear he's delirious. Thought he was gonna shoot me."

"What? Seriously?"

The man huffed. "That's Tony for ya. He likes to point his gun at things that annoy him. He's a good guy though." He pushed open a door and there was Tony.

He was propped up against the pillows in bed. His skin was way too pale. There was blood on the blankets, the pillows, the carpet.

"Holy shit. What happened?" He rushed to Tony's side. His hands were on him, checking him over before the man even spoke.

"I knew you'd come." Tony grinned. "I'm fine. Don't let Happy worry you too much."

"You look awful."

"I've had worse than a bullet in the arm. I'll live."

"Yeah, that's why you're ice cold," Peter scolded. He helped Tony sit up and found his back bloody. It ran from his shoulder. "You pulled your stitches."

"Thought that might be it," Tony laughed.

"See, I told you. Should have let me fix it."

"If you come near me I'll shoot you." Tony pointed a finger.

Happy threw his hands up in annoyance. "Fine, let your little twink do it. Don't ask me for shit, Stark." He stomped away, but he lingered in the doorway. "Just shout if you need something, kid."

"You bet," Peter answered, but he was distracted with Tony's injury.

The room was quiet for a moment as Peter fixed the mess that was Tony's shoulder. He needed more than stitches at this point, but he knew better than to mention a hospital.

"I'm sorry about the other day," Tony said quietly.

"It's not your fault your friend got shot."

"I meant the other guy."

"Right." He hadn't forgotten, but he'd done a good job of not thinking about it.

"You must see a lot if that didn't send you running.”

"Gotta say that was a first for me."

"So why are you here?"

Peter hesitated. He focused on his work for a minute. "Maybe there's something wrong with me."

Tony laughed gently. "You? You run yourself ragged looking after everyone else. Yeah, there probably is."

Peter laughed. "Fine. I'm crazy."

"I hope there's more to it than that."

Peter swallowed. He hid his smile behind Tony's back. "Should there be?" He snipped off the end of the stitching and reached for a bandage, but he gasped when Tony grabbed him. He pulled him in front of him where he could look him in the eye. Then his eyes wandered and Peter's heart sped up. For a long moment, Tony's gaze lingered on his mouth.

"We should finish up," Peter whispered. Dark eyes met his. And then Tony pulled him down to him. When their lips met, Peter melted, but Tony went rigid like he wanted to pull him in closer, take hold of more of him. He took the weight off of him, leaning with his hand into the bed instead, but Tony only pulled him back in. He worried for his shoulder, but Tony wasn't complaining. At least not for a long minute when finally the pain made him grit his teeth.

"Let me help you," Peter breathed against his lips. Tony slowly loosened his grip.

They were quiet. Peter found a bottle of pain meds on the nightstand and Tony swallowed two with argument. Peter finished cleaning him up then looked at the cooler of blood wondering just how necessary it was. They would have everything on the truck to get him hooked up.

"I'm fine, Pete." Peter looked at him, sitting in his bloody sheets.

"We really should clean all that up."

"It's my own blood, it won't kill me."

"Yeah well..." Peter took a look around the room. "I can't just leave you like that. Gotta make sure you're okay. Maybe I'll just crash on the couch."

"Most of the bed's still clean," Tony said. He gestured to the other half of the bed that hadn't bloodied up.

Peter blushed and then he kicked himself for even thinking it. "Well..." he chewed his lip. "Just to keep an eye on you."

"Of course," Tony agreed, but he looked excited.

"For medical reasons."

"Exactly." Tony nodded his agreement.

"Let me just uh... text my ride." Peter turned away and took out his phone. He frantically explained to Ned that he should leave a few things in case of emergency before heading home. Then he silenced his phone to ignore the seven million questions he knew were coming.

He settled into the bed next to Tony. The space looked so much wider from where he had been standing. They were practically touching. He should move over, give the guy some space, avoid laying in the blood puddle and all.

Then he looked at Tony. "Tony... I meant it. I'm just staying to look after you."

"Mhm." He nodded. "You know what's really great for pain relief?"

"Tony..." Peter tried to sound scolding but it was difficult when he wanted to laugh.

"If you make me come to you. I'm gonna pull my stitches again. The choice is yours."

Peter laughed. "I guess I don't have a choice if I want to take care of that arm." He moved in closer while Tony watched him with a grin.

"Atta boy."

Peter leaned in for a kiss. Something about Tony's recklessness only excited him when it should have made him wary. He leaned in closer, pushing Tony back until he was laying properly in the pillows again. Then he swung a leg over his waist. Tony's good hand rested on his hip, but it wandered down to his ass as they kissed.

He didn't mean for things to go further than that, but he couldn't stop himself from rubbing against Tony's hip. Tony groaned against his mouth.

"You'd better not be teasing me, sweetheart."

Peter rolled his hips more purposely. "Does it feel like I'm teasing?"

"Fuck," Tony moaned. He tipped his head back against the headboard. "Wish we could do this properly."

"I think we can manage." Peter reached a hand down between them and found Tony's cock, hard in his boxers. The man stared at him, open mouth, breathing heavily. Peter slipped down the bed, pulling back the blanket in his lap. Then he pulled down Tony's boxers.

He looked up at him as he slipped his cock into his mouth. Tony made a strangled sound before relaxing into the bed and letting Peter have his way. He could feel the way Tony struggled to be still. He felt powerful, holding the man at bay with nothing more than the threat of disappointing him if he pulled those stitches again.

Peter sucked him off while his hand slipped down between his own legs to take out his cock and touch himself.

"Fuck. Come up here, sweetheart. I gotta touch you."

"But your arm-"

"Come on, Pete," Tony pressured. Peter could see just how much he was holding back like he might pop at any second. He did as he was told and crawled back up to straddle Tony's hips. "That's so pretty, baby."

Tony's hand wrapped around his cock. Peter grabbed the headboard, gasping then whining, while Tony stroked him.

"Take your clothes off."

Peter jumped up from the bed at the order. For a moment he felt shy about being watched, but Tony looked so hungry for him as he stripped away layers of fabric. He watched his face as he dropped his clothes into a pile and climbed back onto the bed.

"Lube," Tony said. He pointed to the drawer beside the bed. Blushing red, Peter grabbed the handle and pulled the drawer open. There was a lot more than lube in there with instruments ranging from a vibrator to a glock. But he grabbed the lube and let Tony take it from his hand.

"Grab the headboard," Tony ordered. Peter obeyed, happy for the support when Tony's slick fingers went searching for his hole. He pushed a finger inside him and Peter gasped. He moaned, rocking against Tony's hand. Another finger pushed inside him and he moaned. He looked down and shivered to find Tony watching him.

"Please..." he breathed.

"Just making sure you're ready, sweetheart."

"I'm ready Tony, please."

Tony's fingers left him to slick up his cock instead. Then Peter was finally sinking down on Tony's cock, moaning as it filled him up. He kept his grip on the headboard while he rode him. Tony's hand slid up his thigh to find his cock.

"That's a good boy. That's perfect, baby," Tony encouraged.

Peter only panted and moaned, determined to make Tony cum before he did. He moved faster and slower, figuring out what Tony liked, watching for the way he moaned and his eyes darkened like he was thinking about flipping him over and finishing the job himself. Until finally the man was babbling an endless stream of mostly swears as he grew close.

"So fucking good baby," Tony groaned. "Feel so fucking good on my cock- you were made to ride me. I'm gonna fucking cum in your fucking hole- shit- is that what you want, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, Tony, cum in me," Peter answered.

"Fuck- that's a good fucking boy," Tony moaned. His hand slipped from Peter's cock to his hip, holding him tight while he came. Peter shivered, whimpering at the hot wet feeling. He stroked himself, nearly cumming until Tony pushed his hand away and finished him off himself. One of his hands slipped from the headboard to grab Tony's shoulder as he came, back arching and toes curling. And adding to the sticky mess that was Tony's entire body at this point.

He was in haze as he laid down beside him. He stared at Tony in disbelief of it all until the man kissed him and chased away his racing thoughts. They weren't exactly cuddling, but the look in Tony's eyes was so much more affectionate than he might have expected.

"You're an excellent nurse, Pete," he said. They both laughed. "However can I repay you for all of this, anyway?"

Peter waved his hand. "Don't worry about it."

"No, I'm serious. Whatever you need, just ask. Money, hired guns, you name it."

Peter snorted. "Guns? What, you wanna kill someone for me?"

"Just say the word, sweetheart."

Peter sighed. He looked up at the ceiling. Tony did have an awful lot of money. And power. What would he do if he had those things? "What I need is for my uncle to get help. Go to rehab or something. And I need a cheaper apartment."

"Done."

"Just like that, huh?" Peter looked back at Tony. He certainly didn't look like he was joking.

"Are you doubting me? I've got people. We'll get your uncle to a doctor and then you can move in here."

Peter laughed. "The sex was that good, huh?"

"I could use an in-home doctor." He shrugged and then winced. "Look how often you gotta save my ass. You'd be doing me a favor."

"You're serious?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

"Alright." Peter laughed. "But ask me again in the morning so I'm sure this isn't the painkillers talking."

Tony laughed with him. "You got it, sweetheart.”

#marvel #starker #mafia au #prompt fill

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donteattheappleshook · 11 months

Text

Not Broken At All Chapter 15/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

CONTENT WARNING! This has the hunt which includes lost boys (kids) being killed and while it's brief, it's a dark scene. There's also some gore afterwards and violence (again against lost boys) referenced off-screen. If you're at all uncomfortable you can DM me and I can let you know which sections to avoid. I had a few people review it and tell me it's "dark but not too dark" but better safe than sorry. And hey, there’s also smut to make up for it.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘 and thank you @kmomof4 for being a fantastic beta for this chapter! 💕💕

*****

Part 15

She can still feel the burn of his kiss - her kiss - on her lips when the moon hangs high above the Jolly. She’s been watching it, tracking its slow climb across the sky since she came out of the forest to find Will waiting on the shore - Wendy having taken the dinghy and leaving them stranded. Emma was almost relieved that she wasn’t there, that she didn’t have to explain why she was standing there alone, why Killian wasn’t with her. No matter how angry Wendy was at her Captain, she would have noticed. Will, on the other hand, was too fixated on the sea, on the ship rocking rhythmically against the waves to notice. But the way he watched it, as though it were miles away and not metres, betrayed what the longing in his eyes was really for.

She’d suggested they swim, the ship not far and the water most likely clear of vindictive sirens. Mostly she’d just wanted to get that look off of his face, to stop feeling the guilt that accompanied it. They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. He didn’t put up an argument. Will only shrugged dismissively, looking back out to the ship and wading into the sea.

It’s been hours since then, hours of waiting and staring out at the dark water, searching for any movement in the dimly lit night. She can feel the cold breeze seeping through her thin shirt, chilling her skin and sending a tremor through her bones. But she can’t go below deck, can’t leave her spot by the railing. Not until she sees some sign, any sign that she didn’t just send him to his death to protect Henry. Henry, who's still out there, who’s waiting for her to come get him, who may already hear the Lost Boys’ cries.

It’s late, the moon already growing dimmer against the lightening sky. Will had come up some time ago, only sparing her a passing look before finding a spot far enough away that they wouldn’t feel the need to speak. He’d gone straight below deck once they’d climbed out of the water, his small plea of ‘Wen, please’ carrying over to her in the silence. The nights are always so quiet here, the sea soundless against the ship, the wind not stirring in the trees. It’s wrong, and unnatural, this island not a place rooted in reality, the piercing wails of the children in the jungle starker against the silence, echoing over the sea.

Emma casts a glance over at Will, leaning over the railing, looking out at the water rather than the beach, though she imagines he’s not really looking at anything at all, and wonders if he can hear them. He’s never said. Only that Wendy did. And now Killian is out there risking his life to make it up to her, to atone for the daughter he left behind by making sure she doesn’t lose the man who stayed by her side. Because of her. Because she begged Will to go, begged anyone to go and do what she couldn’t.

Daylight begins its slow crawl over the night sky and still there’s no sign of Hook, no sign of Wendy since the forest. She doesn’t hear Will cross the deck until his arms fold over the railing beside hers, his shoulders tense as he leans heavily on them, his question leaving him in a heavy breath.

“He went, didn’t he?”

Emma nods, fingers pressing into the soft wood beneath them. But he’s not looking at her so she lets out a small ‘yeah’ and watches his jaw clench, teeth pressed together as anger and relief war on his face.

“Bastard.”

“How far is the camp?”

Will gives a small shrug. “It moves. But it can be found if you know what to look for.” When she doesn’t answer he finally turns his head, just a fraction and she feels his gaze from the corner of her eye as she goes back to watching the beach. “He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?”

“The man’s bloody impossible to kill. Trust me,” he insists. “I’ve tried.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He sighs when she doesn’t answer. “Pan doesn’t want him dead. He never has. He enjoys torturing him too much.”

“What if he changes his mind?” Especially if he catches him trying to meddle in whatever plan he has for Henry.

“He could,” Will acknowledges. “But he expects Hook to try and stop him. It’s all part of the game.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“Everything is a game to him. Sometimes… I used to wonder if he even knew what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t. Not until…” The little girl he brought to Wendy. “He’s a child. Everything, this whole island, his hunts and his raids and his conquests, it’s all make believe, one big, never ending game.”

Emma doesn't know which is scarier, the thought that Pan is a monster that murders and maims and torments without remorse, or that his acts of cruelty can be carried out without care, without any true understanding of consequence - for fun. How many times as a child did she play cops and robbers? How many times did she and the other children in homes sword fight with sticks and cardboard tubes, laughing while they ‘killed’ one another. Because it was all just make believe.

Her thoughts are cut off by a slow roar of something in the trees, the dull, faraway sound carrying over the water. Will looks out at the sky, suddenly alert and she follows his gaze, the sun just breaking over the horizon. “It’s starting.”

It’s shouting, she realizes, a low rumble of a battle cry making its way towards the beach. “The hunt?”

“Aye.” The voice comes from behind them, Wendy having finally emerged from her cabin, staring out towards the shore. There’s a moment where she takes in Will standing beside her, frown pulling at her brow before relief softens it. But her gaze snaps back to the beach, eyes wide, brow marred again. “Where’s Killian?” The question is sharp, an order. But neither answer. She knows. Wendy rushes to the rail, looking frantically out over the water as though she could see him through the jungle. “Bastard.”

It takes her a moment to school her features, to regain control of herself, hands still clenched into fists against the edge of the Jolly. But once she does, she slips back into the role of the fierce pirate captain Emma met that first night - the one that ended a deathmatch with a single word. “Ready the crew” she tells Will. “Be sure they’re prepared to take on the wounded. And no one,” she adds, tone commanding and almost frightening, “no one is to leave the ship. Is that understood?” The question is directed at her.

“I-”

“If you go on that beach, you’re signing your death warrant. You’re to stay below deck,” she orders. “Understood?”

“I’m not staying below deck if Henry comes out of that jungle,” Emma argues.

“Killian is taking care of Henry. If Pan sees you you’ll be putting both of them at risk. You’ll stay below deck, Emma,” she repeats. “That’s an order.”

“Let me help. I can -”

Before she can finish, she’s being lifted off her feet, a small nod from Wendy to Will, some unspoken command and suddenly she’s tossed over his shoulder and letting out a cry of protest as she’s carried below deck.

“What the- Put me down!” she snaps, but Will and his stupid, freakish strength holds her steady, the arm across the back of her thighs vice-like.

“I swear to god, you better not lick me again while you’re back there,” he warns.

She gives a hard elbow to his ribs in retaliation, the small grunt he lets out immensely satisfying before she’s being dropped on her ass, the damp room one she doesn’t recognize, and a lock clicks into place. It takes her a second to register where she is.

“You’re throwing me in the fucking brig?” she demands, fingers wrapping around the solid iron bars. “You can’t be serious.”

“You're part of this crew. You don't follow orders, this is what happens,” Wendy tells her before heading back towards the deck. “You’ll be let out when it’s over.”

“Maybe,” Will adds with a mirthful smirk that makes her wish he was close enough to hit again. But the door slams shut between them and she’s left alone with her outrage.

The shouting is getting louder now, the sun climbing quickly - too quickly - into the sky. She can distinguish words now, cries of ‘get them’ breaking through the hollering and the cheering… and the screams. The first one she hears- sudden and sharp and cut off in an instant- sends her heart dropping into her stomach. She hardly has time to let the dread take over before another takes its place, this one worse, drawn out, fading into a whimper, small and heartbreaking and horrible. It’s followed by cries of victory.

Reaching for the bars on the small window of her cell she hoists herself up onto the small bench, just able to look out if she holds her weight up, standing on barely touching tiptoes. She wishes she hadn’t. The beach is a bloodbath, bodies strewn out across the sand, dead, or soon to be. They’re too far for her to recognize any, but they’re all so small, narrow shoulders and lanky limbs. Any one of those bodies could be Henry. Every single one is a child.

Emma nearly falls off the bench, barely managing to land on her feet as she doubles over, emptying her stomach on the floor of her cell. It doesn’t stop, the chaos on the beach echoing in the small room, screams, cheers of triumph, the slice of metal and the batter of arrows falling over one another until they all fade into the endless din of battle.

She can’t bring herself to look again, sitting with her back to the horror, hands over her ears as she tries to drown it all out, stuck and helpless to do anything about it. It’s not Henry. Henry’s not there. She needs to believe that Killian got to him in time, that he stopped him from being a part of it. Those aren’t his cries of pain she’s hearing. That’s not him celebrating. Henry’s not there. She repeats it, again and again, curled on the floor, trying to block out the horror. They were right. She wouldn't have been able to stay below deck- either above or below. She wouldn’t have been able to stay off the beach.

It goes on for ages, growing in volume, the Lost Boys riled up more with every fallen victim. She could almost believe they were playing, were it not for the crying, the pleas for mercy. Then, almost as quickly as it started, the sounds begin to quiet. She hears a flurry of footsteps thundering onto the deck above her head, hears the muffled shout of Wendy ordering her crew to aid the survivors.

The mayhem on the beach finally settles, the slashing of swords and the cries dropping one by one until there’s silence. And then there are only hoots and hollers echoing across the shore - a celebration. Someone is congratulating them. She doesn’t have to guess who it is. She’ll recognize that twisted, childlike voice for the rest of her life.

It’s over. It has to be. Please let it be over. There’s no more clash of swords, no more wails of pain and death and she can almost breathe again until she hears it. A single, sobbing whimper from the shore, a cry of “mama” that burrows itself deep, echoing through her. There’s another. And another. And it’s the worst sound she’s ever heard, worse than the Lost Boys at night - children crying for their mothers.

She’s on her feet before she can think, yanking at the goddamn padlock on her door, clawing at it and shouting with rage when it doesn’t give. She doesn’t have anything to pick it with - no tools, no pins, not even a goddamn pen to break apart. Fucking pirates knowing better than to leave anything within reach that could help her break out.

She pulls the heavy leather boot from her foot, the heel solid and adorned with metal. It’s flimsy and awkward but it’s all she’s got and she reaches, arm scrapped raw by the stripped bars as she tries to get any force behind the blow. Reaching for the padlock, the angle awkward, and hitting it again and again, she curses when she hits it hard enough to knock the boot out of her hand, fingers aching where they still connect with the iron.

But she doesn’t stop, not so long as she can hear the kids crying from the shore. She may not be their mother but she’s a mother and she’s getting to that fucking beach. She yanks off her other boot, trying again, hanging on so tightly this time that her knuckles go white. Emma’s not sure how long she tries, how many times she brings the heel down on the lock, her skin damp with sweat, her shirt bloodied where the bars scratched her.

“Come on you stupid son of a bitch.” She’s tired, her arm aching, fingers bruised, but there’s a fury in her, a rage that builds until it feels like it will burst out of her. And then it does. She smashes the lock again, a spark of light flashing when it makes contact, bright enough that she has to shut her eyes. But when she opens them, the lock is on the ground, broken in two.

The cell swings open easily as she runs for the deck, yanking the door of the brig open only to crash into a figure on the other side. Fingers and metal wrap around her arms as she tries to push past him, shouting obscenities and shoving at him. But he doesn’t move, his grip tightening until she hisses, flinching, skin scratched raw beneath his hand and he lets go.

“Swan.” The name is what snaps her out of her panic. Her name. The one only he calls her - the one he promised not to let her forget. She looks up at him, finally realizing that it’s him, that he’s there and alive. The blue of his eyes, sad and anxious, shines even in the dim light of the room. “It’s over.”

She hears it then, the absence. There’s no more noise, no more screaming, no crying, the awfulness faded to nothing, the only sound the creaking of footsteps above them and her own ragged breathing. Her hands slide over his chest, pulling back enough to look for any sign he’s been hurt, that he didn’t come back in one piece. She searches his face, remembering the way she’d first found him, battered and bleeding, but those wounds are long healed, no new ones in their place and she sighs gratefully.

“Henry?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t there. He’s safe.”

She nearly gives into the sobs that are trying to spill out of her, too full of anguish and fear and relief to keep them from overflowing. But her hands find the sides of his face, rising on her toes to capture his mouth with hers. She’s cried enough today - cried enough every day since she got to this stupid island, since she lost Henry to it. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. Her tears serve no purpose. They won’t keep Henry safe - but Killian did. Killian kept him safe.

He lets her kiss him, lets her slide her fingers into his hair, lets her seek his tongue with her own and keep him there with a death grip on his collar. But when she presses herself closer to him, seeking more of his heat to warm her frozen skin, more of him to fill the ache growing inside of her, he pulls back. He watches her carefully, searching for something, maybe remnants of the wine or that the events of the last hour haven’t completely destroyed her.

But Emma sees it then, the same exhaustion she feels darkening his eyes, pulling at the lines of his brow. The mask of resilience and unflinching coolness in the face of everything that’s been thrown at them slips, and he lets her see the suffering she knows is reflected back at him. She doesn’t know how long he’s been on the ship, how much of the massacre he had to watch before he came to find her - how many times he’s had to watch it before, just as powerless as she’d been to stop it.

She opens her mouth to say something, to ask him those very questions, but his lips crash down over hers before she can get the words out. The force of it sends her stumbling back and he follows, kiss hard and demanding, the door slamming as he kicks it shut behind him, and he leads them both across the room until her back collides with the bars of the cell, knocking the wind out of her. He swallows the sound she makes, tongue sliding over her lip in apology before pushing its way into her mouth to taste whatever he can reach, whatever he can take.

He kisses her with the same desperation she feels - for all of this to be finished, for the horrible feeling and memory that’s sunk its teeth in to be drowned out. She understands. She doesn’t want to talk either. This day - the last hour alone - all she wants is to forget it. Just for a little while she wants to forget every wretched thing about Neverland and lose herself in the one person who’s helped her survive it.

Emma shoves at the lapels of his coat, pushing it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor with a heavy sound. His lips find her neck as she reaches for his vest, fingers fumbling on the buttons when he works a mark into her collarbone and tugs her hair loose from its messy knot. Far more adept, even with only one hand, her borrowed vest is opened and tossed unceremoniously aside before she’s managed to undo all his fastenings, Killian pulling her shirt over her head almost frantically.

She cries out when his mouth closes over her breast, hot and wet, tongue rolling over the hardened peak while his hand finds the other and he turns her into a panting, whimpering mess just like he’d promised to in the fae woods. When she hisses out a warning ‘Killian’, his lips start a path down the length of her stomach, dropping to his knees, shucking his vest and shirt.

The look he tosses up at her, checking before his hook tugs at the laces of her stupid, inconvenient pants, sends heat burning in her stomach and wetness pooling between her thighs as he yanks the heavy fabric down her hips. Desperate, wrecked, the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black, heavy-lidded and full of shameless want and dirty promises.

“Fuck.” Her hands find purchase in his hair, stumbling back, hardly stepped out of the leather before his mouth is on her, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing her against the bars once more. The rough iron scrapes at the bare skin of her back, but she doesn’t care, not with the way he’s sucking at her clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves and growling into her skin when she bucks into his mouth.

He presses his brace across her hips, holding her still as he eats into her, fucking her with his tongue and nothing about today matters anymore. Nothing feels real apart from his mouth between her thighs, the scrape of his jaw rough against sensitive skin. She whines at the push of his fingers inside of her, pleasure tightening in her stomach, the anticipation building in every muscle, the promise of release and fucking ecstasy just out of reach.

“Please.” The word escapes on a whimper, wanton and desperate, and then he’s moaning against her, teeth scraping sharply against her clit, making her cry out and her hands fist harshly in his hair when he pulls it into his mouth, fingers curling in time with the pulse of his tongue against her, his lips around her, and then she’s shattering.

She barely manages to catch her cry of release between her teeth as her whole body shudders and it escapes as a muffled sob in the dark room. But Killian doesn’t relent, egged on by her coming apart on his tongue, working her frantically, drawing out the aftershocks until they start to build to a new height altogether. She’s about to fall again, so close to the edge, but she pushes at his shoulders.

“Wait.” He only resists for a second, eyes dark with hunger when he looks up at her, but it’s the small hint of desperation, the unbridled abandon emanating from him that makes her remember that he needs this just as much as she does. That he’s been through as much as she has. And it’s not the first time for him. She can’t imagine living through today again and again for centuries. It’s no wonder he found solace wherever he could and with whoever he could in this horrible place. She’s been living a nightmare for a week. He’s been living it for lifetimes.

Emma joins him on her knees, not caring about the dirt and the damp as she pulls him to her, mouth finding his easily. The way their lips move against each other is familiar now, but no less heated as his arms come around her waist, pressing heated skin to heated skin, hand snaking up the length of her back to tangle in her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck.

She explores the length of his arms with careful fingers, muscles hard under her hands from years at sea and endless fighting. She feels the rise and fall of scars across his skin before dragging her nails down his shoulders, leaving her own mark and feeling the bite of his teeth against her lip. Her fingers move to his chest, sliding through the coarse hair and finding the evidence of years spent in bloodshed. The gasp he lets out when she rakes them over the flat of his stomach to his hips is choked and she ducks her head, lips leaving his to trail the length of his jaw, tongue sliding over the spot below his ear he can’t seem to leave alone.

“Emma…” It’s a plea and a warning and a question all in one as she pulls at his laces. The feel of him straining hard and hot beneath her palm only urges her on as her mouth explores the taut line of his neck, leaving a mark on his collarbone to match the one he gave her.

He hisses out a word that isn’t in English but she’s almost positive is a curse when she slides into his leathers, fingers wrapping around his cock and running her hand over the hard length in rough, purposeful strokes. She touches him the way he’d touched her, urgent and desperate and aware that they’re on stolen time, revelling in every sound and unconscious thrust of his hips she draws from him.

His grip on her hair becomes vice-like, tugging her head back enough that he can taste her neck again, mouth and tongue sloppy between the small growls and sharp breaths he lets out hot against her skin. The drag of cool metal over her nipple makes her falter in her rhythm. He does it again, circling the hardened peak with the sharp tip of his hook and she releases him altogether, desire burning impatient as she pushes him back to sit on his discarded coat.

Killian takes hold of her hips as she climbs into his lap, settling a knee on either side of him before taking his cock in hand again and sinking down over the length of him. His muttered ‘bloody hell’ reverberates through her as he holds still, straining as he gives her a moment to adjust to the size of him, the burn and the fullness that turn to heat and want, and she needs more.

When she rocks her hips over his, they both let out a groan at the drag of his cock- so fucking perfect inside of her. Emma braces her hands on his shoulders so she can move over him, desperate to find that toe-curling pleasure he gave her again.

His fingers dig into the curve of her ass, rolling and guiding them into a rhythm, hips rising to meet her every time she takes him in again, refusing to be a passive participant as she rides him towards their release. His hook and mouth are everywhere, touching and tasting, finding the places that make her tremble, bearing down relentlessly when the curl of his tongue or the scrape of his hook causes her to cry out and soon she’s right on the edge again, lips pressed hard together against the moans of encouragement and of his name that want to fall from them.

His hand releases her, letting her keep their pace, change it how she wants, and his fingers trail over her hip, ghosting over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. His thumb slides between them, finding where they’re joined with practiced ease and circling with every roll of her hips until she can’t keep quiet anymore, hands gripping madly at his back, teeth biting into his shoulder as she tries to muffle her cries.

He presses harder, circling faster, murmuring filth and praise into her ear and holy fuck she doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked so properly in her life - every inuendo and brazen conquest on the island entirely justified. There are no thoughts left apart from how badly she needs to come, all senses muted, drowned out by the overwhelming build, the delicious drive of his cock inside of her, thrusting harder, deeper.

His mouth nips at her ear, begging her to let him see her fall apart again, telling her how good she feels, how he wants to feel her shuddering around him, how he wants to come inside her. And then there’s nothing but ecstasy, nothing but fire and release as she comes apart at his hands.

She’s still shaking when he rolls her onto her back, braced on his hooked arm as the other slides under her knee, spreads her wider for him, fucking into her wildly, harder, deeper, chasing his release as fervently as she had hers. The grind of his hips, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts sets off another wave of lust in her, begins another rapid climb as he takes her, using her however he wants, building on the high of her orgasm before it’s faded and sending her over the edge again.

The sound he lets out when he feels her coming once more, feels the dig of her nails in his back, is almost feral. Her name is a curse and a plea as he pounds into her until he goes rigid under her hands, pulling out and spilling himself hot on her stomach with a moan muffled against the crook of her neck.

There’s nothing but the sound of their breaths, heavy in the stillness of the room, the chaos of the deck far away above them as they lay still tangled in one another for a moment, drawing out the feeling of relief as long as they can, hiding from reality for just a little longer. Here in the dark with the weight of his body still over hers and the gentle hum of her skin, the heaviness of her limbs, it’s easy to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It's too soon when she feels him shift, the press of his lips to the hollow of her throat before he lifts his head, reaching for something in one of the many pockets of his coat they’ve sprawled out on. How he knows where anything is in the (she suspects) dozens of secret compartments that may or may not be magically hidden is beyond her, but he pulls out a handkerchief - dark like everything else he wears, but fine like everything else as well.

Tracing it gingerly over her stomach, he begins to clean the mess he made of her, erasing every trace of him from her skin. Emma takes it from him when he’s finished, sitting up to take care of the rest when she feels the brush of his fingers over her shoulder, tracing lines down her back with a furrowed brow and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“What?” she asks, voice raw and rough from exhaustion.

His knuckles ghost feather-light along her back again, her skin burning slightly under his touch. “You’re hurt.”

There’s a bit of guilt in his expression as she turns to try and look over her shoulder, to see what he sees, the marks probably left on her skin from the iron bars. “I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he’s tracing the cuts on her arm now, ones that are definitely not his doing. “Those are technically Will’s fault,” she tells him casually, still pissed at her friend for tossing her in here, and he raises a brow at her blasé shrug. “Just if you were looking for an excuse, is all. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to defend my honour or something.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement. “I think you’re plenty capable of defending your own honour, love,” he tells her, brushing a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder. She watches him fight a smirk out of the corner of her eye. “There’s a bottle in my coat,” he says then. “If you don’t mind.”

Emma looks down at the heavy leather she’s still sitting on, the Mary Poppins bag of coats, and raises a brow at him. “You’re kidding right?”

Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh - the one she’s come to consider her own - he reaches over her, digging into one of the infinite pockets and she tries not to let him see the way her breath catches, heat burning low and slow everywhere he’s nearly touching her.

She could lean forward, just a fraction, and press her lips to the spot behind his ear, see if he’d say her name again in that shaky, pleading way he had before. If she kissed him now would he press her into the floor again, drag his tongue over her skin and make her fall apart with mouth and hand and cock? Would he let her do the same to him, let her bring him over that edge with her mouth on him, while she rode him?

Get a grip, she scolds herself when he finds what he’s looking for, pulling back to face her. She hopes he can’t read where her thoughts had strayed, can’t see the evidence she’s sure is written all over her, you literally just came three times. It’s just Neverland, just like it had been when she’d kissed him in his cabin and had been ready to let him fuck her on his desk where anyone could walk in (and had). It has to be - because if it’s not and it’s just him, then this could become a problem really quickly.

If Killian does notice though, he doesn’t say anything and her own spiralling thoughts are halted when she sees the bottle in his hand, the water swirling of its own volition, a pattern that has no ties to the world around it.

“Is that water from the spring?” she asks hesitantly as she watches him pour some onto another bit of cloth, one that looks like the same kind of bandage she’d made for him.

“Aye.”

“You’ve just been carrying that stuff around? Might have been helpful when you were stuck in that hospital bed.”

Another exasperated look. “I filled a bottle when we arrived - It doesn’t work in your realm. Thought it might come in handy. And look, it has.” She has to fight a laugh at his snark; he’s been spending too much time with her. “Now are you going to let me help you?” he asks, what was obviously originally a kind gesture now spoken with a familiar sigh that makes her catch her amusement between her teeth even as she nods and turns her back to him.

“How did you find out about this stuff?” she asks when his hook brushes her hair out of the way over her shoulder - mostly to distract herself from the feel of the metal against the nape of her neck, remembering it other places.

His tone is solemn when he answers though, cloth not touching her skin as he hesitates. “When I first came here… my brother was poisoned - dreamshade.” Brother? The water is cool against her back, his touch careful. “Pan showed me the spring.”

“The water saved him?”

The length of his pause makes her wish she hadn’t asked. “For a time.”

“He drank it.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t answer and her heart breaks for him. “And Pan let you leave.” How many people has he lost - how much pain has he suffered at the hands of the cruel people who took them from him? “Why did you come back?”

“Because I was a fool, looking for revenge against the Crocodile. Sometimes I wonder if he knew - if he showed me the dreamshade because he knew I’d return for it one day. He has a way of seeing people, finding the parts they don’t want seen, and using them to get what he wants.” She wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that whoever he thinks Pan saw in him isn’t who he is. But she can’t find the words, all of them sounding like platitudes. He misunderstands her silence. “Henry’s far stronger than I was, love. He won’t give in so easily.”

Killian presses the cloth to her back again, meticulous in his task and she wraps her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. “What did you say to him?”

She can feel the tension radiating off of him, matching it immediately. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I couldn’t risk him seeing me and knowing you were here. For all he is, Henry’s still a child, and little boys can’t keep secrets.”

“So what did you do?”

The way he clears his throat is almost indecipherable, his hand going over the same spot by her shoulder again and again, the scratch definitely gone by now. “Pan’s camp is always moving, but he also always sets it near a body of water, usually a stream.”

“Why?”

The cloth slides over her skin slowly, buying time, avoiding looking at her. “For the Lorelei.”

Emma whirls on him. “What?”

“Calm down, love,” he says softly, trying to get her to turn back around. “The sirens are his messengers; they relay his desires and bring him news of any stirrings on the island.”

“Killian. Did you send fucking Ianeira to him?” The mermaid who’s apparently so fond of drowning and eating humans.

“No.” She breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. “...Ianeira has a daughter.”

“What?!” That’s not any better.

“Swan.” He gives up his task for a moment, finally looking at her. “Do you really believe I’d have sought their help if they posed any threat to Henry? The Lost Boys are off limits to the Lorelei, and they’re on our side, bound by a bargain you made.” Her shoulders relax a little, still not happy about it. “The girl is hardly older than Henry in appearance. I thought she would have a better chance at getting through to him. The Lorelei can be…”

“Fucking terrifying?”

“Aye,” he nods. “She drew him from the camp and passed on our warning - that he can’t trust Pan, no matter what he says, that the hunt tomorrow is real and Pan would try and make him hurt the other boys, that if he did… he would never be able to leave Neverland.”

“Is that true?” Emma tries to keep the tremor out of her voice as she turns away, resting her chin on her knees. She doesn’t want to see his face when he answers. She'd rather be able to believe him if he lies.

“I don’t know,” he admits, drawing the healing water over a mark by her spine. “But we won’t find out, aye?”

She nods, halfheartedly. “And you’re sure he wasn’t there?”

“I watched the camp from the treeline all night and into the morning. Your boy resisted Pan’s manipulations. He’s stubborn, like his mother.” She shoots him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and he smirks. “It’ll serve him well here. I kept watch until it would have been too late for him to join. I told you, love, he was far away from all of it.”

“But you weren’t.”

She feels his sigh hot against her skin. “I took a shortcut back to the ship. I couldn’t risk Pan wondering where I was when they reached the beach…”

Emma nods. “Today was -” She doesn’t have words for it.

“I know.” She feels the backs of his fingers ghost over the nape of her neck, brushing away hair that hasn’t fallen, thumb tracing along her nape. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

She nods again - she wouldn’t believe him if he did - and tightens her arms around her knees, banishing the memories that try to creep in, wanting to stay here where they don’t exist for a little longer.

“So Ianeira has a kid.” He doesn’t comment on her change of subject, only hums. “She doesn’t really seem the motherly type.” And then thought suddenly strikes her. “Is she…”

Killian laughs. “Mine?” It’s not that ridiculous. He might have accidentally boned all the mermaids in Neverland. He could have dozens of little merbabies swimming around. “No, Swan, sirens don’t reproduce. They’re born of chance and magic, and very rare.”

“What about all your ‘creative’ encounters?”

“Those are… recreational.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Of course they are.” She doesn’t have to see his smirk to know it’s there, hook looping around her arm, tugging it gently free from its death grip around her legs so he can tend to the skin she marked up in her attempt to escape. The water stings slightly, the cuts deeper there, the cloth no longer as cold. “I can’t believe she let you use her daughter,” she admits. “She was so protective of her sisters.”

Killian hums in agreement, “It took some convincing.”

“Did it?” She doesn’t think she’s ever failed so spectacularly at sounding indifferent.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, lips pressing to the back of her shoulder before he rests his chin on it. “Jealous?”

Emma scoffs. “Yeah, right. You wish.”

He’s quiet for a moment, her teasing not returned and he takes a slow breath in, lifting his head to look at her, the weight of his gaze enough that she twists to meet it. His exhale is warm against the curve of her neck, the sincerity in his eyes stripped bare, holding her captive with their intensity. “Perhaps I do.”

She swallows, heart racing at his confession. Because that’s what it is, a confession of intentions, of feelings she’s not sure she can face - his or her own. He’s watching her, waiting, that openness, the little bit of hope she can see breaking through absolutely terrifying. It’s one thing to find comfort in each other after a tragedy. But this, what he’s so clearly asking, isn’t something she thinks she can give.

Her tongue runs over her lips, mouth suddenly dry, the motion drawing his attention and breaking whatever that was that just passed between them. Her voice is tinged with gravel when she tells him, “I think you’ve got enough jealous creatures on this island for one man to handle.”

Emma sees the barest hint of disappointment he lets slip and makes herself ignore it. “You make me sound like quite the scoundrel,” he smirks, reaching for his discarded shirt and draping it over her shoulders. “I assure you I can only devote myself to one woman at a time.”

She raises a brow at him, pulling the shirt closed around herself, feeling less vulnerable than she had a moment ago and she thinks maybe he’d known. “There were three fairies throwing themselves at you yesterday - four,” she corrects, having forgotten the handsome gold-hued man. She thinks she sees the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks beneath the cocky shrug.

“That was Solstice. It doesn’t count.”

Emma rolls her eyes, pointing out for the second time, “How convenient.”

A thud from upstairs draws her attention, followed by a shout of pain, and she hears Will cursing. Stay bloody still, damnit. When she looks over at Killian, he’s watching the ceiling too, whatever lightness he may have held onto for a moment now gone.

“We should get up there,” she says, not looking forward to whatever devastation awaits them on deck. There’s no lesser horror. Either many survived and there’ll be dozens of wounded and traumatised children awaiting them, forced to join a life of being hunted by Pan forever, or there won’t be - and the beach will be littered with bodies.

“Aye,” he agrees, standing and finding his pants, tugging the leather over his hips as she does the same. She’s lacing them up when she notices his attention.

“What?”

“You’ve got my shirt.” She looks down at the soft black fabric he’d wrapped her in, then at the bloodied white shirt in his hand. “Not that you don’t look quite fetching in it, love, but unless you want Wendy and Scarlet to know -”

Emma snatches her shirt from him, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Turn around.” The look he gives her tells her what she already knows, that she’s being absolutely ridiculous, but he just gives her an amused little smirk before doing as she asked. It’s not that she thinks Will and Wendy don’t already know, or that she’s oblivious to the fact that he’s already seen everything, but preparing to walk into a tragedy after they’ve been hiding down here, selfishly pretending it wasn’t happening, sends guilt churning in her stomach.

When she’s dressed, hat tugged low over her head to try and hide her face from the new boys, she lets him turn back around, tossing him his shirt and waiting until he pulls the heavy leather coat back over his shoulders. “Ready?”

No. She nods.

The scene is worse than she imagined. She’d been prepared for the blood, for the pain and the chaos as the crew do their best to tend to whatever injuries they can. There’s buckets of bloodied spring water, discarded bandages stained red, former Lost Boys shouting and struggling against the holds the pirates have on them as they try and heal them. They’re still the enemy, she realizes. They may have just been nearly murdered by their comrades but until this morning, the Jolly was enemy territory, and now they’re being held captive.

What she hadn’t been prepared for were the ones who weren’t injured, who weren’t fighting, the ones sitting along the side of the ship, knees curled tight to their chests and hands over their ears as they stare at nothing with eyes that aren’t seeing.

Killian moves quickly, hurrying over to where Will is trying to hold down a boy who looks about twelve while Wendy attempts to reset his leg, broken with an arrow pierced through the bone. He takes the boy’s shoulder and arm so Will can do the same, both pressing down on his torso until he can’t move - Emma looks away but she hears the crunch of bone and the scream nonetheless.

“Hand me some bandages.” It’s not until Wendy shouts her name that she realizes she’s talking to her, the boy still fighting, though he’s growing weaker now. She scrambles to grab some from one of the buckets, bringing them to her. The captain begins wrapping the injury with soaked bandages, the arrow that had pierced him used as a brace, and the kid’s eyes fade in and out of focus, finally shutting as he passes out.

“A little help!” one of the pirates calls, struggling under the weight of a boy only a few years younger than himself. A stain of dark red blood is blooming on his stomach, soaking through his leather vest and Emma doesn’t freeze this time, running over and looping the kid’s other arm over her shoulders. They set him down against the mainsail, Emma watching as the pirate, barely more than a teenager, pulls open the boy’s shirt.

“What happened?”

“Looks like a rapier,” he answers, inspecting the gash, blood flowing freely from it. “Gimme a hand,” he tells her and grabs the kid’s shoulder so they can turn him over. “Dammit. It’s gone right through him.” Emma doesn’t know much about medicine but she does know that without treatment, a stomach wound is basically a death sentence.

“Can you do anything?”

“Nothing good,” he sighs under his breath. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bottle like the one Killian carried and uncorking it. “Listen, mate, I can make this better okay?” The boy glares at him, face pale and clammy, distrusting. “If you drink this, you’ll live. If you don't, you're gonna die.” Emma’s thrown by his bluntness, by how calm he is despite being so young and she wonders how many hunts he’s already lived through. The boy continues to glare, looking away from him, rejecting the offer. “But if you do - hey,” he snaps, grabbing the kid’s chin and making him face him. “You’ll never get to leave, okay? You’ll be stuck here. Forever. And it fucking sucks here once you’re out. But you’ll be alive. And you’ll be one of us.”

“Can’t you just give it to him?” Emma demands, a second away from snatching the bottle and forcing it down the dying teenager’s throat.

The pirate shakes his head. “Captain’s rules.” She wonders which captain.

The boy still looks resistant, like he’d rather die than become a pirate than switch sides, regardless of what Pan’s just done to him. But then he starts to cough, a fit that takes over, the rough sound gurgling and wet as blood begins to drip from his lips and he turns panicked eyes on the pirate. The older boy nods, handing him the vial, but not letting go yet, waiting until the kid meets his gaze. “Never,” he reminds him. “You’ll never go home, okay?”

Emma watches him nod, bring the water to his bloodied mouth and drink, wincing and coughing as he tries to swallow, finally managing to get some down. They wait, a few long, drawn out moments, before the pirate looks at his wound again and Emma watches in amazement as it begins to close, blood flowing backwards along his torso in streams, pulled back into the tear in his skin.

The older boy pats his shoulder. “Try and get some rest. That’ll still hurt like a bitch for a while.” And then he’s gone, moved on to the next injured Lost Boy, and the next.

When everything is over, wounds bandaged, survivors counted, bodies laid carefully on the deck, a strange sort of silence settles over the ship. It’s not the silence of Neverland, that unending, eerie quiet, but the silence of dozens choosing not to speak, unable to speak in the wake of bloodshed. A crew member is cleaning the deck, the oldest here by far in his mid twenties, gaze somehow both unbothered and far away as he mops up the blood that ripples with the whim of the spring water spilled on the wood. Will is over by the side of the ship, talking to some of the boys who won’t speak, who don’t look at anything, voice falling low and gentle on deaf ears.

Wendy and Killian are with the dead, placing coins over their eyes and wrapping their bodies in sails. She can count five, five who made it to safety only to die on the bow of the Jolly. Emma stares out at the beach. There were far more than five out there. A few hours ago there were at least a dozen Lost Boys left out under the hot son. Both are gone now.

Sometime, in what’s been both the shortest and longest day of her life - the sun setting before it had managed to reach its highest point in the sky - Pan and his crew must have come by to collect their dead. Or perhaps something else took care of them, she’d seen shadows on the beach as darkness settled. Though what or who those shadows belonged to she couldn’t tell.

Killian had explained, as she’d helped to place a boy gently on a stretch of canvas and sew the fabric around him, that night always came quickly after a hunt. “There’s always a celebration for the victors.” Wendy had said the word with so much disgust it made Emma’s stomach turn. “They feast and fly and dance around the fire, bragging about their conquests.”

“Did you ever-” she started, but stopped when the woman’s face darkened, regret and anger. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re children,” is all Wendy gave in answer, casting a look towards Will, still trying to reach a boy, shaking and huddled by the helm. “So were we.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy, the sound of footsteps above her making her jerk awake - boys who’d refused to take a bunk below deck, still not willing to accept their new fate, their new role on this island. Voices set her heart racing, forgetting every time that the hunt is over. The crying tonight is louder than it’s been since she arrived, and the sounds of celebration carry over on the water.

She wants to go up there, wants to help them in a way she couldn’t this morning. But she saw the way they looked at her on deck, anger and hatred and fear. She’d be no comfort to them, not as a pirate. She could as herself, as a mother like ones they keep calling out for even now. Little boys can’t keep secrets. Emma’s shared her secret enough on this island. She can’t risk it without knowing they’re allies.

Knowing that doesn’t make it any less horrible, doesn’t make the guilt any lighter or stop each wail from piercing through her chest. And it doesn’t bring sleep either. She hears the door to the room beside her open quietly and shut with a click, hears the muffled voices, one hissed anger and the other gentle compassion, back and forth until they both go silent, finding comfort amidst the chaos.

It makes her want to cry, to let her own tears join those she only hears because she’s always been alone, because she’s always been abandoned - time and again. That may be the worse part, the small, selfish part of her that couldn’t help but understand their sorrow. She’s never lived through anything like they just have, but she knows that betrayal, the heartbreak of having trusted someone so completely, only to be cast aside. Alone again. Always alone.

“Emma?” He’s not asleep when she sneaks into his cabin, pads across the small space to his bed. He’s half sat up, hand reaching instinctively for his sword at the first creak of the door opening, but his brace and hook are on the small table beside him, blunted arm and chest bare, sheets pooled in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

She tries to answer, all of her explanations feeling weak, and her words get caught on a shaky inhale. She doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead she closes the rest of the distance between them, climbing carefully into the bed beside him and sliding beneath the covers. He tenses for a moment when she curls herself against his side, head resting tentatively on his shoulder, but then he softens, letting out a breath and sinking back against the pillows.

His arm hovers, hesitating before wrapping around her. She brings her own hand to his chest, focusing on the feel of the dark hair beneath her fingers rather than the way her hands still shake, listening to the rise and fall of his breaths rather than the sobs upstairs she can’t escape, and the steady beat of his heart as she tries to forget all the ones that won’t beat again.

His lips press to her crown, not quite a kiss as he speaks against her hair. “Sleep, love. Neverland can’t find you here.”

******

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