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starkermeup · 2 years

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When there is only you Part 2

Part 1 AO3

Summary: Peter misbehaves and Tony punishes him.

Warnings: underage, dub-con, forced orgasms, aftercare

Peter wakes up naked, confused and sore. His body hurts and aches all over as he tries stretching. His jolts crying in pain by every move. He eventually gives up and spreads out flat on the mattress and it's not until then he realizes something is off. This was not his bed and he was naked, which was strange since he never slept in the nude. He opens his eyes to find himself in a high-end but unfamiliar bedroom. The room was spacious, with the queen sized bed in the middle of the room. The blinds were closed, making the only light coming from the night stand. He panics. Just how long has he been here? He looks around frantically, waiting for something to click and when it does, it hits him like a freight train. The bus stop, the limo, the coffee, the... Tony Stark.

This had to be a dream, a nightmare. Why would one of the most powerful men in New York lure him into his car? Why would Peter even fall for THAT? Sure it was true that Peter admired Tony Stark's work and thought of the man as a role model but that was no excuse. May has been telling him since he was a kid to never get into a stranger's car or in this case limo. God, she's probably worried sick about him. He felt so stupid.

He slides off the bed to the soft carpet, ignoring his screaming muscles and holds his legs for comfort. He closes his eyes, trying to calm himself down. Just then, Peter's eyes open, feeling something slip from his hole. His stomach drops as he slowly moves his hand between his legs and whimpers when he feels wetness. Oh. That's right, Mr. Stark brought Peter back here and forced himself on him. He felt his eyes begin to water, remembering the events that took place in this very room. The man on top of him, making Peter take everything he forcefully gave and Peter was helpless to stop him. He felt sick. How could he allow this to happen to himself?

The wetness was just cum, which Peter was secretly thankful for. He spots a tissue box on the nightstand and just as he is about to reach for it, the door opens. The teen snatches his hand back quickly, eyes darting to the door with instant interest.

Mr. Stark steps in and closes the door behind him. He's holding a tray but Peter can't make out what from his vantage point on the floor.

"Hello Peter," Tony says with a gentle smile, placing the tray down on an end table. "How are you feeling?"

Face to face with the man renders Peter speechless. He had so much he wanted to say, to ask, but nothing came out. He just stares at the man, who is wearing lounging sweats and a t-shirt. He never imagined he'd ever see Tony Stark dressing down. Then again, he never thought he'd ever meet Tony Stark and certainly not under these circumstances.

"I'm sure you're hungry, come over here and let me feed you," Tony says, patting his leg. Peter is hesitant, but he's scared and doesn't want to upset the man so he carefully stands up and makes his way over to him. He gasps when Tony forces him into his lap, Peter's bare ass against the man's clothed thigh. He felt beyond uncomfortable.

Focusing his eyes on the tray, Peter sees an assortment of fruits ranging from grapes to grapefruit. He would be lying if he said he wasn't hungry, he hadn't eaten since lunch after all. He reaches for a green grape when his wrist is suddenly yanked back tightly.

"I said I'd feed you," Tony states and Peter resists the urge to apologize. The man loosens his grip and picks up the grape. He aims it towards Peter's mouth. "Now open wide."

Peter does as he's told and is shocked and delighted by the juiciness of the fruit, so fresh and ripe. He's unable to hide his emotions on his face and Tony smiles at the display. "You like that, hm? I'll give you another."

Tony feeds Peter silently for a while, neither saying a word. Peter savors the taste of the fruit while Tony simply admires the adorable boy in his arms.

After swallowing the last grape, Peter looks at him and Tony is all ears.

"W-what time is it?" Peter asks.

"It's a little after nine. I didn't know how hungry you'd be. But if you're still hungry, I can whip you up something," Tony says casually and Peter is freaked about how calm he sounds.

"I-I wanna go home," Peter says looking towards the broad door, an escape.

Tony sucks his teeth, shaking his head a little. "I'm afraid I can't let that happen Peter, not yet at least."

"Why?!" The boy snaps, panicking once again, filling his body. "M-my aunt, she's gonna be worried about me! I have friends... s-school... I need to go home!"

Peter's crying now, hiccuping sobs while Tony attempts to soothe him, rubbing little circles into his back. The teen hates how he pathetically leans into it.

"I know baby, but I just got you to myself. I'm not ready to share you with the world just yet. You're mine, remember?" Tony explains and Peter cringes, memories of Tony saying it when he was balls deep inside of him.

"W-why did you take me?" Peter questions once his tears subside. "You're... a smart and rich billionaire, don't you have someone else you want?" The teen knew the man had the reputation of being a playboy, sleeping around with just about anyone, gender be damned. But the last he heard was Tony was involved with a woman by the name of Pepper Potts. Didn't he have her? Why did he want Peter?

Tony hums, stroking his fingertips on Peter's bare waist. "I saw you and I needed to have you. Simple as that. Call it an impulsive decision, wouldn't be the first." Tony explains like he was talking about an expensive watch, not a teenage boy and that ticks Peter off.

"Y-you can't just take me! That's kidnapping! I have a family and friends who will look for me! You can't do this!" Peter argues standing up to the man, glaring at him.

"I actually can and I will," Tony clarifies, standing from his seat, towering over the teen. "I'll set you free once I've had my fill of you." He caresses Peter's cheek and he shivers.

Peter's eyes fill with tears again, feeling empty at the man's words. Did Tony really lure him just to have sex with him? It would make sense, Peter supposes but the thought still hurts and makes him feel dirty. Like he was just used for his body and he hates that.

"The internship," Peter starts licking his lips. "I-It was just a trap, wasn't it?" He cringes at how childish he sounded. Of course it was a trap, he was so stupid.

Tony pulls Peter to his chest, holding the teen close as he pets his hair. Peter's too weak to even fight it, lets him. "Oh no baby. I meant what I said. I want you to intern at Stark Industries and the offer is still on table. That is, if you want it after this."

Peter looked up from his chest. "A-and what is 'this'?" He asks, scared of the answer. The man tilts his head and kisses Peter. The teen whimpers but the kiss isn't like the one from before. Instead, it was rather innocent, Tony simply pressing his lips firmly to Peter's. It almost felt nice despite the beard burn but Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of kissing back. It only lasts a moment anyway, Tony pulls back, kissing Peter's cheeks, forehead and then his lips again. Peter doesn't understand the gesture or the feeling it gives him.

"You're mine Peter and for the time being, you're gonna stay here," Tony says with a smirk on his face.

"Where is here?" Peter asks. By the looks of the room, he'd guess he was in a luxury 5 star hotel room. He felt very out of place and looked around, his clothing nowhere in sight. "And where are my clothes?"

"You're in my penthouse, top floor. This is the spare bedroom. As for your clothing," Tony's fingers traveled down Peter's back before groping the small mountains of meat on his ass, causing Peter to gasp. "I put them in the wash. I don't think you'll be needing clothes right about now anyways."

Tony's fingers find the teen's pucker and press inside. Peter keens around the fingers, still sore from earlier and grips the man's shirt tightly. "S-stop it, please." He whimpers but Tony just hums, ignoring him as he fingers his hole. The teen squirmed in his hold, trying to get away. He doesn't want this, not again. "I-I SAID STOP IT!" He shoves the man back with all of his strength, knocking him to the ground.

Tony is taken aback by the attack and Peter uses this as his chance to escape. He makes a run for the wide door he saw Tony come through only to find it locked.

"No no no no," He whimpers and bangs on the door in despair, of course Tony locks it. The teen turns around and gasps when he finds Tony inches behind him.

"I really wish you didn't just do that," Tony sighs gravely, staring at Peter with a dark glare. Before Peter knows it, he is getting forcefully yanked by his wrist, the man sliding him across the room as if the teen weighed nothing.

Peter tried struggling against it but Tony had an iron grip on him, making it impossible to pull free. The man tosses him on the bed and climbs on top of him, still holding his wrist. Peter looks up, seeing a set of cuffs connected to the headboard, and it triggers him to fight against it but to no avail.

"If you disobey me, you will be punished Peter," Tony says, locking the teen's wrists in. "I will not tolerate disrespect, understand?"

Peter looks down, reeling himself not to cry again, and doesn't want the man to see the emotions on his face. Unfortunately, Tony holds his jaw, forcing the teen to hold his gaze. "I said, is that understood?" He's staring down at Peter with a dominating gaze and for the first time, Peter is thoroughly scared of the man.

"Yes," Peter mumbles.

"Yes what?" Tony presses.

"Yes... Sir?" Peter tries, confused. Tony's face cracks and his threatening demeanor is tucked away as quickly as it came.

"It's so hard to stay mad at you," Tony smiles all soft again, gently caressing Peter's cheek. "You can call me Mr. Stark or Daddy. Though I prefer the latter."

"Mr. Stark," the teen says stubbornly. There was no way he was calling him daddy if he could help it. The man looked displeased with his response so Peter counts that as a small win.

"Right. So I was planning on giving you free roam of the bedroom and bathroom but after your little stunt, it is clear you can't be trusted so that's off the table." Tony climbs off the bed and opens the dresser drawer. Peter can't see what he is grabbing but his eyes widen in horror when the man pulls out what he was apparently looking for. "Now, you have to be punished."

In Tony's hand was a long red and yellow buttplug and Peter twisted in his confinements to get away as the man drew closer.

"N-no please! I-I'm sorry! Mr. Stark please!" The teen rambles but the man doesn't stop, spreading Peter's legs. He has the thought to kick Tony but is too afraid of what might happen to him if he does.

Tony presses two fingers into Peter, the teen pants. "Still filled with cum, such a good boy. It will go in a lot easier now." Tony nudges the tip of the toy against his hole.

"I-it won't fit," Peter tries but Tony just smirks at him, knowingly.

"You took my cock, of course this will fit," Tony says and shoves the buttplug in until the base is the only part out. Peter cries out at the sudden feeling of being filled. The toy was stretching him sore from Tony's previous fuck. "There we go, slipped right in."

Peter groaned around the toy. He was pretty confused on how this was a punishment. Sure the toy was uncomfortable but he could deal with it. That was until he saw Tony whip out a little remote and his fears were doubled. Without so much as a glance at the teen, Tony turns on the vibrations.

Peter's body jolted, screaming from the intense waves running through his body. He couldn't help crying out as the toy gyrated right against his prostate.

"T-too much!" He whines but Tony is unmoved, watching the teen kick his legs in an pointless attempt to get away from the vibrating. "T-take it out!"

"No baby. This is your punishment. Though, it looks like you're enjoying it." Tony flicks Peter's hard cockhead as the teen moans. He can't help it, he never felt anything like this before and his insides were on fire. Tony jerks his cock, hard and fast. Peter can't help thrusting upwards into the man's warm hand. He was so close.

"That's it, baby. Come for daddy," Tony hums and Peter can't hold back, eyes rolling and back arching as he blows his load over his stomach and chest. "Good boy."

Peter catches his breath, cock softening but the plug doesn't halt its vibrations, in fact they seem more intense than before. He cringes away from it, far too over sensitive but the toy continues to rock against that spot inside of him, making Peter whimper.

"It's too much-! Turn it off!" The teen cries, pleading with his eyes for the man to put a stop to it.

"You know I can't do that Peter. This is your punishment." Tony states and points between Peter's legs. "That is an Official Stark Industries plug with a power life of 10 hours and that's just how long we're gonna keep it in."

Peter stares back wide eyed, shaking in disbelief. "N-no please. I'm sorry Mr. Stark, don't leave me like this please?" He begs. "I'm sorry!"

"It's a little too late for that honey but look, your cock is already gaining momentum again. Pros of being young, hm?" Tony grabs hold of the boy's half hard cock, stroking it until it's fully hard again, as Peter keens under his touch. "I'm gonna check back with you later. Maybe then you'll learn to be a little more respectful."

As the man turns to leave, Peter grits his teeth, rage building in his body. "I HATE YOU!" He cries and the man stops short. The teen thinks for a moment that he struck a chord in the man, that maybe just maybe the man would see reason and realize how messed up this entire situation was.

Instead, he hits a switch on the remote, sending Peter's body jolting against the mattress. The vibrations are stronger than before and he can't hold back his screams from the pressure and pain.

"I will see you in the morning Peter." Tony says before leaving the boy to his punishment.

Tony wished it hadn't had resorted to this. Peter had displayed such well-mannered behavior in the limo and when he took the boy for the first time. Though, he supposes the last one can be blamed on the sleeping pills. Still, he had expected the boy to behave better. He hated having to punish his boy, especially after he just got him.

"Friday, show me the baby monitor."

"Right away Sir." The AI replies and instantly the screen shows a ceiling view of the bedroom housing Peter.

He hums as he stares at the monitor, nursing a glass of Scotch. He had left the boy alone for hours with the vibrating toy firmly inside of him, while he made himself busy with unfinished schematics. His alarm notified him that it was 6 am in the morning and Tony knew it was key time to check on the boy. Going by the live feed, Peter looked wrecked with his limp legs spread out on the mattress, weak whimpers leaving his bite bruised mouth. Tony grinned at the sight.

"Friday, check Peter's vitals." Tony commands, watching the boy breathe slow.

"Peter appears to be dehydrated. I'd recommend replenishing his electrolytes." Friday helpfully supplies.

"Thanks Fri." Tony says and stands up, he had to go see his boy.

When Tony arrives in the room, Peter fails to react, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in oversensitivity. As he draws closer, he sets the water bottle on the nightstand before looking at his boy. The baby monitor didn't do him justice, Peter looked beautiful. His face a hint of red with streaks of tears on his cheeks. His wrists were bruised and red, probably from Peter's jerking movements. Peter's little cock rested against his thigh, soft, drooling precum. The bedding between Peter's legs was a complete mess. It was drenched with cum and piss. His baby was drained.

Tony brushes his fingers against Peter's face and his eyes open slowly then wider when he realizes it's Tony.

"Hey baby, how are you holding up?" Tony asks gently.

"P-please M-Mr. Stark," Peter tries, throat hoarse.

"Look at you, such a beautiful sight baby," Tony cooes admiring how fucked out the boy looked.

"N-no more please," Peter gasps, voice raw and hitching on every word. He was so out of it, his poor baby.

"Shh, it's okay honey." Tony hushes him, reaching to undo the chuffs. "You completed your punishment."

Peter's arms fall flat to his sides completely numb and mewls when Tony finally turns the plug off. Tony carefully pulls the toy out and groans. Peter's abused, puffy hole was so inviting. His cock twitched with interest at the idea of sliding inside his boy easily as his hole hugs him snugly. Atlas, he shakes the idea away. Peter was too exhausted and Tony wants him to enjoy it as much as him when they fuck. Instead, he reaches for the water and looks up at the boy expectedly.

"Don't you have something you want to say to me?" Tony asks, keeping the bottle out of the fading boy's view.

Peter blinks a few times at the man, licking his lips, seemingly trying to remember what to say.

"I-I'm sorry Mr Stark," He pants out after a moment. "I-I won't do it again."

"And what is that?" Tony presses.

"I won't disrespect y-you again. I'm sorry, I'll be good I promise," Peter says, fresh tears sliding down his already stained face. It makes Tony's heart melt.

"Good boy," Tony cooes and carefully sits the boy up, feeding him gulps of water, which Peter took gratefully. "I don't like having to punish you, so don't give me a reason okay?"

Peter drinks down a chug and nods his head quickly. "I won't Mr Stark."

Tony runs a shower for the two of them, having to hold Peter's waist to keep the boy balanced while the man lathers his back in soap. Peter was mostly silent as Tony bathed him, only letting out soft breathes every once in a while. Tony didn't mind it, he loved having Peter complacent and behaving.

While they were bathing, Tony had the maid change the bedding in the guest room. He asked for the same sheets he had in his own room. Silk. Once they were done, Tony carried Peter bridal style back to the bedroom and placed him gently on the bed, drying the teen off.

He turns towards the dresser and Tony can see panic rising in Peter again. Shaking his head, he pulls out the fabric he was looking for. "You mentioned wanting to wear clothes. So here. It's one of my old tees." He tosses the shirt on Peter who looks taken aback and shocked at the same time. The boy looks the shirt over, eyes seemingly glued to the worn logo on the front.

"Go on, put it on," Tony urges but Peter seems unsure. "What's wrong? I thought you liked M.I.T. You mentioned before it was your dream school, correct?

"I-I do and it is but this is y-yours," Peter says and Tony smiles. His boy was so cute.

"I know but I want you to wear it," Tony comes closer, taking the shirt from Peter's hands and sliding his head through. "There, it looks perfect on you." He kisses Peter on the lips, then on his forehead and two cheeks. The boy leans into it but one look at his face can tell Tony it's because he's still exhausted from his punishment.

Tony lays the tired boy under the covers and Peter's eyes almost close right away. He looked adorable sleeping and Tony was tempted to climb in bed and join him. They both have had a long night after all, but he decides against it.

"Friday, let me know when Peter walks up." Tony says on his way back to the lab to finish his schematics.

Peter wakes up quite comfortable under the blankets with the heavy urge to pee. He adjusts his eyes and finds a door open. Figuring it to be the bathroom, he pulls the sheets back and makes his way into the room. He rests his head against the wall as he relieves himself, gasping from the raw sensitivity of his cock. Peter was glad the man at least unchained him and unlocked the bathroom door for the time being.

He looked around, finding the bathroom was just as luxurious as the bedroom. The finest marble tiles, high tech shower, and automatic flushing toilet. Images of Tony bathing him, his hands brushing over Peter's body in the very room came back to him.

Being trapped on the bed with that thing inside him rubbing against him, Peter generally thought he was gonna die and how pathetic would that be? Cause of death: getting fucked by a butt plug until he ran dry. It was terrible but being forced to pee on himself was a different level of humiliating. He felt incompetent, useless. He shivered at thought. He never wanted that kind of punishment again. Peter swears to himself to never make Tony mad again, even if it includes not trying to escape. The man said he was only keeping Peter for a little while, right? Maybe Peter could tough it out and just let the man do what he wants to his body. He shuddered. Whatever it took, he'd do it. He just never, never wanted to experience that punishment again in his life. On a smaller brighter side, He notes that his ass doesn't hurt anymore, only a dull ache in its place. Once he finished, he washes his hands.

He's still feeling tired so he climbed back into the bed. Peter had to admit, the silk sheets felt nice on his skin and sleep finds him before he knows it.

#i forgot to post it on here too #this fic was gonna be 3 parts but this chapter was getting to long so i decided to cut it up sjsjsks #starker #starker fic #my writing #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider

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adnauseum11 · 2 months

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Unexploded Ordinance (John Price x Reader)

You and John navigate the process of moving in together. John is pleased you are home.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex MDNI

If the end of this chapter feels a bit abrupt it's because I split it in two to keep it from being a ridiculous length. You can expect the next chapter to pick up where this one left off.

Still not completely happy with this chapter but in the interest of not circling the drain forever and moving forward I'm posting anyways lol yolo

feedback welcome!

When John hasn’t returned from his call before you are done eating your breakfast - and polishing off the last of the raspberries - you take yourself to the bathroom to shower. He’s waiting for you in the living room when you finally emerge, feeling a bit more like yourself. He’s clearly lost in thought, your hand on his shoulder finally knocking him back to the present.

John is easy to talk into moving more things today, on your impromptu day off. When you arrive back at the apartment, he checks the door before he lets you enter, satisfied it’s been undisturbed. You immediately bicker with him about your furniture and what pieces will stay or go. You can tell he’s pleased when he wins the debate between the couches, you being partial to your vintage re-upholstered and wildly heavy chesterfield sofa. It’s too short for John to lay down on, forcing him to bend his knees and isn’t very comfortable, truth be told. It’s a gorgeous deep green velvet that draws the eye but otherwise isn’t overly practical. You pout about having to give it up until he gives over on your books entirely. He’s consistently bitched about moving your personal library, filled with heavy anthologies from your university days. They’ve been dragged from pillar to post over the years and you’ve refused every less than subtle suggestion to sell them. He doesn’t even try to make you choose which ones to keep, sighing deeply in resignation and asking how many boxes you think it will take to pack them all. This earns him the hardest hug you can muster and a rain of kisses he has to crouch for, chuckling lowly.

You make a trip back to his place with your clothing, the colourful array of fabrics making John’s limited selections seem all the starker by comparison. It brings you up short, seeing your things beside his in the wardrobe. You get caught up wondering what the hell you are doing, agreeing to this. You don’t get very far in your spiral before John finds you, kneeling surrounded by folded t-shirts. You’re jealous of his ability to seemingly pick a course of action and execute it without the self-doubt that swamps you occasionally. If you hadn’t known him as long as you have you would say it’s something he learned in the military, but you’re pretty sure that’s all John.

His presence steadies you again and you end up making another trip to collect your hairdryer and various other products needed to make yourself presentable for work tomorrow. Most of your everyday use items and valuables are safely rehoused in John’s flat by the time you are ready to throw the towel in for the day. You agree to go to the pub around the corner for dinner, neither of you feeling like cooking. On the walk down, John’s big hand stays on your lower back, keeping you close as you wander down the street together. It’s quiet at the pub, early in the week meaning the clientele are mostly regulars. You get your choice of seats and John steers you to a booth against the back wall, tugging you to sit on the same side as him.

He questions your half-baked plan to quit your job while distracting you from giving an answer, his hand creeping over your thigh and shoulders, bracketing you against him. You finally cross your legs, pinning his warm hand between your thighs so you can formulate a coherent response. He presses a smirk against your temple and listens as you complain of your treatment this morning, and then just in general. You've had a volatile few days and vent your spleen accordingly.

He removes his hands from your body when the food arrives, creating a tiny sliver of space between you on the bench seat. John hums sympathetically at your complaints but finally convinces you to get through the rest of the week before you submit anything in writing, pointing out you should probably update your resume first at minimum. You grumble but reluctantly agree, his even-keeled approach to the situation a better tactic than your instinct for dramatics.

John’s level head only seems to extend to your choices because by the time you’re out the door and on the way home he’s truly unable to keep his hands to himself. Twice on the short walk back he’s pressed you up against the wall of a nearby building, his hands cupping your face as his eager mouth finds yours. You make out like teenagers until you can feel the cold creeping into the tips of your ears, a gentle push against his chest enough to back him off temporarily. You’re getting better at reading John in this state, how his eyes glaze with want and his focus narrows. You finally resort to threading your fingers with his to keep his hand from constantly drifting over your ass, wrapping yourself around his arm to make him behave.

You open the door using your key, John too preoccupied with working his hands under your jacket and shirt. His big body corrals you against him, kicking the door shut after wrestling you through it, almost not giving you time to get your key out of the lock.

“Fucking hell John.”

You breathe out as he spins you around, your arms going around his neck automatically. He kisses you hungrily, his palm cupping the back of your head. You feel the thump of the wall at your back, his hand leaving the back of your head to shove your coat off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it and push at the thick lambskin jacket he’s wearing, slipping your hands under it to grip his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, his lips finding yours again almost immediately. You can feel desire vibrating through his frame, his thigh working its way between yours. Before he can overwhelm you completely, you push back against his chest.

He's breathing hard, confusion mixing across his face as you flatten your palms against his chest and push, reversing your positions by backing him up against the opposite wall. You have to go up on your tip toes, gripping the back of his neck to tug him down to kiss you again. He’s got his hands full of your ass, too preoccupied to catch on to your intent until you're slipping out of his grasp, sliding to your knees in front of him. Your nimble fingers have his belt undone and his jeans open before he can process and stop you, hissing out your name as your fingers wrap around his twitching cock.

You smirk to yourself and wrench a deep groan from his chest as your lips close around the flushed head of his cock, your eyes locking on his face. His cheeks and throat are flushed with the same shade of red as his cock, his blue eyes now nearly black, his pupils dilated with desire. He looks so intense it sends a thrill through your belly that you’re capable of affecting him like this. You swirl your tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum and slide your palm up the wiry hair of his firm abdomen, pushing his shirt up.

John growls lowly, his fingers burying into your hair, gripping close to the roots. He doesn’t try to direct your movements, content to let you work him over however you see fit but the gentle pull on your hair sends flashes of sensation down your spine. The muscles of his stomach jump at the drag of your fingers on his cock as you squeeze the base, sucking on the tip deeply, making John’s fingers clench in your hair. You lift off him and press his erection against his belly, running the flat of your tongue over the underside before teasing his balls with the tip of your tongue.

That has John rocking up onto his toes, hissing your name again followed by a curse. You can’t stop the pleased smirk that slides across your face and wrap your lips around the tip again, focusing your tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside. You can feel his cock twitching, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter with a moan. You let his shirt drop and cup his balls, lapping at the tip intently.

That seems to finally push John beyond his limit and he firmly tugs your hair to pull you off him. Your scalp tingles and you hum in disappointment but John’s already got a hold of your arm, lifting you to your feet again.

“C'mere love, I want to be inside you when I cum.”

He growls lowly, making you shiver, backing you down the hallway to the bedroom with predatory intent. The look on his face makes your stomach quiver in anticipation, your insides going molten.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00

#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #john price cod #john price #friends to lovers #john price x f!reader #john price x you #moving in together #falling in love #fluff and smut #this work has smut

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saint-siren · 23 days

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A World For Her Alone | Sisyphus

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

cw (chapter specific): child neglect, very vaguely implied forced prostitution, death, abuse, poisoning, suicide, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, arranged marriage, infidelity

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: we take a brief intermission from claude's suffering to examine what the fuck is wrong with reader's family

author's note: me and my husband we're sticking together🎵

Claude lingered around your parents’ manor like a ghost after you died. In the middle of the night, every night, he found his way to your bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed you’d died in, remembering the shape your body formed in the sheets. The room still smelled of your blood and sweat, though the room had been cleaned up by the maids as soon as your body was taken out of the room. Your absence was starker than your presence. After the funeral, Diana expressed that she wanted to go home, heavily implying she would leave if he came with her but Claude was no longer beholden to her wants. He had no reason to care whether she came or went.

He was wielding grief as the knife he held up to cut deeper into himself in hope that if he only suffered enough, his hands would wash clean of your blood. But in the end, he had already decided to live, if only because he could do nothing else. Morbid thoughts plagued him, swirling around his head like unquiet spirits begging him to give in. He thought perhaps he should cause his own ruination and this time, live with it. He thought he should make for certain that both of your houses are set aflame and collapsing on top of the lot of you, to bury and burn your sycophant parents, his helplessly selfish wife and even his own child. He thought that nothing should be spared from complicity. He knew not anymore if he truly believed that it would save you, or if this was what some divine terror was willing him to do even still, but he began to long for punishment. It became catharsis, the thought of being punished.

He roamed through the house you grew up in, searching for any trace of you that survived, as if some inkling of you would help him to save what had already been lost too many times. Even so, it was automatic for him at this point, no longer even really a choice. He had no direction, only frantic need pulling him toward the doomed task. He was trying to get to the dregs of a goblet of wine which never ran dry, he kept drinking until he was sick but never satisfied, never finished.

Your parents’ manor was an eerie place, he’d always thought. Wind blew in from an opened window in the hall and the house seemed to breathe, and its hollow bones creaked softly. Despite her gentle ultimatum, Diana could not actually follow up on it, she must have known that but she believed better of him at the time and thought that everywhere she went, he would follow her like a lovestruck teenager again. There were things to be done at manor that she could not neglect as its lady even if he chose to neglect his own duties. She had come into her own as a marchioness, no longer the shy and unassuming lady that lay in bed sick day in and day out. She would not leave the territory without management though he knew she desperately wanted him to come back home. She seemed dazed to return home without her husband for that purpose, for the lament of a sister she had infinitely more right to grieve so egregiously. Even after all those years, the silly girl was only just beginning to grow aware of the disparity of marriage.

Somehow he felt it was hard for her to reconcile that she wasn’t a precious young lady anymore. Even as he was mired in a pool of half catatonic grief, she dared ask him to leave with her because she truly expected he would do so if she did. Had she not grown out of the habit of expecting to be near worshiped no matter what that her parents instilled her? He remembered how she was after your funeral, when he was sitting in the dark of a guest room. She had come to him, tried to hold him, to kiss him; believing all this would be a comfort and not a further indignity. She’d had arrogance enough to look hurt as he pulled her from him and recoiled from her touch. She must have still believed she was the cure to all ills because she was once more in a house where she was always treated as though she truly were.

He found his way to the library where you’d spent much of your life, if Felix’s word was truth. He brushed his fingers along the spines of the books, looking for the one that he left his missive in, the one Diana read and did not want understand. He searched through the categories of books that contained subjects you three would have studied together as he could not remember which particular book it was, but even after pulling all the books and flipping through the pages, he couldn't find the letter. He wondered if you had ever even set eyes on it once before Diana got to. Had it been your catalyst to run away? Had you read the note and understood that the effort of trying to be happy at his side was a fool’s errand? Was he again the cause of your downfall?

As he gave himself to thought of you, he continued looking through your family’s collection of books. It was all fairly standard and even a bit utilitarian, lacking any of the fanciful novels so beloved by many young nobles. He assumed if there were any, they’d be in Diana’s room because they’d be bought for and read by her alone. But there was something that struck him as he roamed around the shelves, his eyes scanning aimlessly for a book that looked as if it had been perhaps been misshelved. It was subtly tucked into the highest shelf but it still stood out to him eventually among droll guides, needlework books and encyclopedias emblazon with gold lettering. It was hastily bound looking more like a journal and it was worn, unlike the rich and well maintained leather of the other books and it was small, leaving a wide gap between the top of the shelf and the top of the book. Its spine did not read a title.

When he pulled the book, he understood what it was. Its title read “The Princess and The Knight,” signifying it was some common, tawdry romance novella. Still, he began to read it, the absurdity of its place in a house so heavy and serious intriguing him. Could this book have belonged to you? Could it have been an escape for you who was locked firmly out of girlhood when you were only just betrothed? When he’d read the title, his mind flashed with the memory of your face as Felix’s body fell into the dirt in front of you. He remembered how fiercely Felix had protected you even in this life. The rage and grief in his voice when he came for retribution. Though he knew you were ever dutiful and if there was love between you and Felix, it was never more than courtly, maybe you had seen this book and it had reminded you of some place where it could be more.

The story revolved around the love affair of a princess from a bloodline with an affinity for magic fleeing her country at wartime and being assigned a knight from the neighboring kingdom she sought refuge in. The two began a passionate and sanguine love affair in secret, all while living under of the tension of war and the threat of both of them losing everything to their love. But when the war was won, thanks in part to the wits of the two characters, and peace spread over the kingdom, she and her knight were able to be wed and live happily ever after. He had been searching for you in the pages, interpreting the knight and the princess, looking for traces of a love you might have had once. He had been looking for you so closely in every word that he hadn’t realized the grander scale of things until the end; when he flipped over the last page to read the epilogue, on the blank side of the page he saw a sketch.

The drawing was finely, intricately done in ink and resembled…Diana. The owner of this book had drawn Diana so vividly, yet there were a few differences in the likenesses of the two. This woman had long spools of curly hair spilling over her shoulders and a mole near her gently smiling lips. She was older than Diana must have been when the book was written. She looked like the heroine that had been described in the novel. For some reason, he found himself fixated not in awe or admiration but in mind numbing shock. He could feel the love that went into each stroke of the pen and a knot formed in his stomach the longer he stared. It was uncanny in a house like this, to find anything that should mark vulnerability or simple folly. He recalled an occasion where your father had gifted her a portrait he’d made of her and their daughter. Though two different mediums, the style looked so similar. From what Claude saw, it seemed that your father seldom made art of anyone but Diana. Your father surely had not been so passionate about a throwaway romance that he had ignored his bias and poured so much love into an image of the heroine.

The only one who could be so brazen as to have a romance novel among his books wherein which they lovingly drew an almost intimate image of a woman, worn with the spine slightly bent from being handled so many times— not even properly hidden away, would be your father. Your father who paraded his illegitimate child, born from a mistress. The revelation gave him pause. What did Claude truly know about Diana? He couldn’t remember having ever asked her if she’d known her mother because she so resolutely accepted the countess as her only mother. But this woman sketched onto the page of a well loved romance, was this her mother? She looked as if she could be. Portraits of Diana hung in exposed parts of the house, he did not seem to care that the custom of having an illegitimate child was to have them separate from one’s “official” family, to not love a child born of one’s own lust so openly. Even if one had a particular love of their mistress and child, he would simply put them up in a nice mansion close enough for him to come and go but your father had your mother raising his illegitimate child. He celebrated her birthdays lavishly and even allowed her to go to the academy. He absolutely refused to hide her, to show shame in her. So why was this woman Claude presumed to be Diana’s mother who was clearly beloved by him even now, shut up in the back of a romance novella?

A thought occurred to him then, that perhaps the otherworldly force pulling him into Diana, entangling him in her was not otherworldly at all. Perhaps it had not originated in him alone as some primordial curse formed around him before there even was a him. He thought of just how besotted he was with Diana the first time he met her in each life, how the greater part of him felt foreign. He thought of your mother’s unusually devoted love for a child that wasn’t her’s, a product of her husband’s disloyalty. Something inside him thought that the answer lay at Diana’s feet. In her very blood, he was convinced, was the answer.

Such a tenderly written romance, signed with a carefully drawn illustration of the woman who could be Diana’s mother. The part of “The Princess and The Knight” which struck him so was the bit about the princess possessing capacity for magic. It was not mentioned much nor utilized greatly in the plot but it made an impression. Magic users had decreased over the years, their powers waning until they were unheard of entirely. To anyone else who read the novella, it must have given the story to a bit of fantasy but to Claude, it was almost uncanny. He could not take it for an unassuming romance. To him, the story hid some truth under its veneer, for it was no coincidence that the princess resembled Diana so and that it ended up under the same roof as her, worn with years of eager hands flipping back over the pages. The princess’ power was never described in detail but if she were based on a real woman, then perhaps she had something to do with his situation.

He might’ve gone to Diana right then for answers but he feared his body might be taken over again at any time. He did not want to see her, did not want to feel the familiar paralysis of affection reaching up through his body. He did not want to see himself bed her again while the memory stood frozen in his eyes. Each time he saw her after he’d been set free, he’d worried that it would happen again. That his body would betray his mind and he’d never find anything of substance to end the cycle of misery the two of you shared. And he was committed to the task of trying, even if he could never succeed. He was ready to succumb to the greater sense of careworn madness he found in you.

He decided to explore the unattended corners of your home further, thinking there would be— must be more. If ever Diana’s mother had lived here, someone left a trace that he intended to find. He might’ve asked your father directly but as much as he was a lickspittle, something told him that your father would be afflicted by the same paralysis of mind that he had when he belonged to Diana. Unable to share the love he held for her but unable to hide it either, culminating in a pathetic sort of half-baked defensiveness. He wasn’t likely to get anything out of that, even you hadn’t been able to get anything out of him when he was like that. Worse still, he might try to cover up all that he kept that ever indicated Diana’s mother had lived there once, that she had a name and a face. And then what?

No, it was better this way. Better to find it all before he got the chance to hide any of it.

Your parents were still in the house, seemingly without intention of asking him when he was going to leave but there was still a bit of anxiety in the air when they entered the room. He could tell that they very much wished for him to return to their daughter and make her happy again as she was destined to be. It was awkward that their son-in-law had a longer bereavement than your sister did. But still being the cowardly sycophants they were, they could not ask him to leave for her sake—only “encourage” him by tossing out little updates on Diana. “Diana and our grandchild miss you very much,” “Diana takes ill so easily when she works so hard, we should hope you’ll be well enough to go back to her soon,” “Diana sends her love and wants you to know she’s there for your sake.”

Claude wouldn’t care if Diana’s life hung by a thread and he was all that could spare her, frankly and he brushed off all responsibility in favor of giving himself to his task. It was shameless, he knew, but he’d given up everything inside of the barren, hollow shell of his self to save you. It was a task that had already and would yet again supersede death, birth and the enveloping void he fell backward into each time his life was ended. He waited until they inevitably visited Diana, likely to calm her worries with lukewarm supplications about his grief, to go searching in the other parts of the house uninhibited. For, even if the servants were to tell their lord and lady, he’d already have looked through every corner he intended before they’d have a chance to move things around to better hide them.

He started with Diana’s old room. When he walked in, he was surprised to find it was left exactly as childish as it had been when she was only a young miss. Just the scent of the air turned his stomach, heavy and cloying with a pungent smell of medicine that was still sitting on her night stand in a small white bottle. He frowned as something fell clumsily into place. It hit him like the stray sour note of a violin. He recognized the bottle. Where did he last see this bottle?

For how preoccupied he was with the revelation taking slow form, he did not realize that Felix had entered the room until he heard the distinctive sound of a sword unsheathed. He did not turn.

“Felix.”

“Lord Claude,” Felix acknowledged, his voice struggling to keep its softness. “I might’ve known you’d be here. You truly cannot help yourself, it’s like a sickness.”

“Yes, it is very much like that,” Claude agreed easily. “But I’m not here for what you imagine I am.”

“I’m not so sure it matters, my lord.” Felix’s voice was flat.

“Nor am I. But I need you to let me live just as long as it takes for me to make sense of this.”

Felix went quiet for a moment but nothing about the situation made Claude think it was because the knight was going to hesitate. On the contrary, he was sure that his sword would swing just as neatly. “Do you know where I found my lady chained up, my lord? There are places, you know, that they bring women who had no other place to turn. You must know. You were at her side every night when we brought her back, you saw what toll it took. You saw what had been done.” Felix took a shallow breath. “You’re asking me to spare you so that you can make sense of whatever it is your farce of a marriage is built on? When my lady was given no such pardon? I know you’re the head of your house now, honored knight of the crown and you must think yourself above your treatment of others but I assure you, this will be the last time you ever assume so.”

Claude held still, his voice firm even as fear raged through his body. It was not fear for his life or of Felix’s wrath, it was the fear of failing, yet again, to make any movement in saving you. “I know how you think of me, Felix. I know that I have failed my wife. I know that I deserve to die here and now but even so, I can’t.”

“That is no problem, I’ll do it for you.”

Claude smiled joylessly to himself at the devout knight’s words. How could you have been judged so harshly in that life for wanting to run away with him when he so clearly had a loyalty akin to love for you? “You don’t understand. You cannot possibly. But answer me this, do you know who Diana’s mother is?”

The question puzzled Felix but he stood resolutely, ready at any moment to fell Claude’s head. “Everyone else in this household has care for Lady Diana. My duty was to serve my lady, I was the only one and I did not ever lapse. You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Felix, I do not ask for my wife’s sake. I know how this will sound but I’m trying to find out just what exactly it is that Diana holds over me and everyone else. I’m trying to figure out what exactly she is. You have seen it, haven’t you? The disparity between how people treat my wife and how they treat your lady. Do you think it natural to love a daughter born from an affair more than one’s own?”

He heard Felix laugh bitterly. “You believe her to be a succubus? Is that your excuse?”

“No. I believe her to be something worse.” Claude laughed as well, though his was more hysterical than anything. “She rules everything, Felix. Even in death. No, especially so in death. I have lived this life many times. I have died and returned back to the day that I first met her at the tea party. And when I do, I am taken over by her. It feels like love at first, it really does. But then intrusion. And then a curse. It is a cycle of death and resurrection, for myself and for the lady.”

Felix was silent and Claude continued on. “In one such life, she ran away with you, you know. It was raining the night we found you two. You were holed up in some abandoned cottage out there in the countryside, the one with the patches of white clover in the yard and a missing shingle on the roof.”

“What are you saying?” Felix’s voice wavered with near disbelief at the picture he painted but he held firm.

“My knights killed you where you stood and took the lady back to my manor. Your betrothed visited her. She had asked to speak to the woman who had been responsible for your death. She told me you two had planned to get married once the lady and I were finally married and settled in. She could not even mourn you properly because you were compelled to run away with the lady and killed.”

It is clear that Felix still thought Claude had lost his mind but what shocked him was the truth seeded into his madness. How could he have known the intimate arrangements of their betrothal and marriage when even their families had not known the cause for delay? This was not knowledge he could send an errand boy to fetch him nor an illusion he couldn’t hope to keep up, this was lived. It was memory.

“What does that have to do with Diana?” Diana was more likely a seductress than a sorceress in Felix’s opinion. Such a thing as a time loop, how could a girl so weak and childish create something like it?

Claude turned slightly, slowly toward him. “I don’t know yet myself. That is what I seek to find out. So that I can perhaps end it, for the lady at least. I don’t need anything Felix, not Diana, not my child, not my house. All I need and want is for the lady to stop suffering. I only beg you not to hinder me. When the time comes, I swear I will die on my own.”

Felix had no idea what to make of it all. Much of what Claude said seemed stilted, frantic and half thought. Yet he could not help but feel there was a certain sincerity to be had even in the worthlessness of Claude’s promise. And in any case, he was not entirely unfamiliar with the concept that Claude explained but all that it implied, he was not ready to believe. He sheathed his sword again finally and Claude turned to face him with the medicine bottle in hand. “Have you any idea why this would be in Diana’s room? It’s medicine that the lady took before.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “It’s used to treat severe infection. It’s not supposed to be used by just anyone who gets ill. Lady Diana should not have needed that medicine, it would take effect like poison if not administered to someone battling a harsh infection. The doctor sent one of the servants to fetch it in town.”

“Yes, but this bottle is dusty, it’s mostly emptied out and the liquid inside it has congealed. It’s been sitting here for years. The medicine inside is aromatic. It has a distinct smell, doesn’t it? The lady’s room still reeks of it even with the windows opened up. Every time I went into Diana’s room when we were young, I smelled it, I tasted it. That means she was not only taking medicine she did not need but taking it regularly.” Claude said aloud, more to himself than to Felix who had bristled at the way he implied he and Diana were. “Was she…ever even sick?”

“Of course she was. Perhaps madame gave her the wrong medicine. She would not have poisoned herself, far be it from me to defend her but she did not desire to be sick. She seemed to envy the lady for her health, as she saw it.”

“…it was the lady’s mother who administered this medicine?” Claude questioned as new pieces fell together in his mind.

“I only know that the madame came to Lady Diana before bed to give her medicine. I do not know that it was that medicine, I did not see it.” Felix paused. “What is the significance, my lord?” He asked, annoyance creeping into his tone at the extensive talk of Diana.

“I intend to find out.”

He had wished to creep into the madame’s bedroom quickly and easily but the door was locked so they’d needed to fetch the key. Claude was shocked at the amount of sway he had over the servants of a house he was not a part of for the head maid simply handed over the key when he asked for it, albeit hesitantly as though she thought she might be scolded for doing so. When he took in the room, it was tidy and rather plain by aristocracy standards. The room seemed to have a chill about it, there was a draft somewhere that made it feel colder than the other rooms.

He began to pick carefully through her things, looking in every corner of the room for anything hidden. It was all mundane, droll and typical until he reached the last drawer of a dresser that was locked. Sure enough, nine bottles of unopened medicine neatly lined into rows of three. When he tried to pull the drawer out all the way and see what more he could find, it was caught on something that had been pressed against the top. Claude reached in to feel for it and pulled down what looked to be a simple leather bound, worn and yellowing journal.

Immediately he began to read. He was a bit startled at himself when he realized that he was eager to read the contents of his mother-in-law’s mind. He wanted to know how she saw you. How she justified treating you the way she did to uplift a child that was not her’s. A pitiful part of him just wanted there to be reason. He wanted cause for the rift in the relationship. He needed to believe there was a because to your suffering.

But what he read was not as he suspected. In neat, small lettering on the first page, it chronicled her life back to when she had been perhaps 19 years old but it was dated some ten years later. A reflection on her younger self written seemingly less as a journal and more a memoir.

“The princess had always been so gracious a mistress that even her tasks sounded like gifts.

When it was her time to return to her duties in her own kingdom, she resigned to it with great grace. However, she understood that the opposite would be true of her beloved knight. This fragile man only smiled in her company, protected her with wild fervor and once told her that he felt divinely guided to her. That to him, she was the symbol of god’s forgiveness and in serving her, loving her, he saw his life’s purpose. Oh, the princess lamented to me how dark a life her knight had lived, how the blood he shed as a knight haunted him with guilt. How his father had been of a violent sort in his efforts to transform his only living child into a knight of some worth to bring more prestige to their house and in his efforts to vent his own turmoil over his wife taking up with men of far more money, status and legacy than he. Her knight resembled his mother and so became the target of the ire he could not give his wife for the great protection being a mistress to such men afforded her. His mother knew what his father did, she did not care so long as it were not her. My heart came to soften for him too, the more she told me.

He had been a quiet man, shy and quite unknowingly sweet for his reputation as a ruthlessly skilled knight. He opened up to my princess like a flower toward the sun. He loved her so madly that she knew even though it was inevitable, he never intended to be where he could not protect her and stand at her side. The princess feared that their duties as princess and heir to a county respectively would give way to the knight’s devotion. She feared he’d kill himself trying to reunite with her or simply deteriorate under the burden of his own isolation but her own life was dedicated to more than just one person. It was her nation, her home of people waiting to see her return that she could not abandon. So in her stead, she asked me to stay in the kingdom and marry him. To give him a countess and to keep watch of him for anything he might do to interfere in both their duties.

It was a great honor she had given me entrusting someone so precious to me and given me a title higher than that I had been born with, I still feel that way now but I was foolish then and I did not understand the nature of what I was being asked to do. Nor would I until after it was already done.

You see (and it does, still pain me to even write such a silly thing), I did, at the time believe that I would become close to my husband. I viewed it as a matter of course, for I was far from a home I could never return to and he had no one. We were, for each other, the last traces of the princess. Though I could never think to hope for the kind of love that he gave to the princess, I believed that commonality could be nurtured into love or kinship. I wished for someone to turn to as my heart was sinking faster than a stone the longer I spent from my home. I believed it would happen. I believed he would become someone to lean on.

Though the first months of our marriage were cold, I managed to coax him into trying to have children as was our duty. I saw this as progress both in the way of our relationship as well as keeping him from the princess. I viewed even our coldness then as a sign of something beginning. It was only once, afterward, I think he worked very hard so that I would not ask him to do it again. But even so, I found that I was with child soon. I was a stupid girl then, I believed a child was what we needed to grow closer. I brought this news to him with a smile, I must have looked like an idiot.

My husband’s expression, I can never forget it. He was horrified at this revelation. He looked at me as though I’d announced a death. He looked at me as though I had wounded him. Then his beautiful eyes sparkled with unshed tears and his expression reverted to a weak, helpless smile as he said all the right things in his wavering voice.

It was then that I realized he would never love me. He was horrified at having a child with me, it was sheer terror and dread on his face when I told him. Perhaps he thought that I would not become pregnant at all, he would have preferred it that way. I hadn’t the relationship with him to truly comfort him, to know intimately what he feared about my child. I was useless in that way.

Through the following months, my apprehension was near unbearable. I kept feeling my stomach sink in dread, I kept waking up thinking that I would be home. I kept thinking that I had done something irreparable but I could think of nothing which was actually within my control. Therefore, when I finally gave birth, my relief that it was done with was greater than my joy. But that was alright with me because I had intended to deal with things in my own way."

From there, she went on to describe her rigid attention to being a diligent countess for a few droll pages. But at last, Claude came to another thing of significance. Your father had been summoned to court for political matters regarding the civil unrest which had not been quelled with the end of the war. Your mother could not follow him and leave a newborn alone so she had no choice but to simply trust in your father. She would come to regret that.

"My princess appeared like a bolt out of the blue months later. She was dressed as a peasant and had a somewhat bashful smile on her lips. Although I had missed her, all that I could think in seeing her was, "She should not be here."

But we brought her to the study so that presumably, she would tell us why she had returned when she had surely sworn that she could not. She took off her cloak and then I understood without her needing to tell me. I saw a little bump on her otherwise thin body and I was overcome. When my husband had returned to court, he had not been officially permitted to see my princess but they had met anyway and she was now with child. She had waited until she was just about to start beginning to show in order to take leave from court on the pretense of recovering from illness at her villa in the countryside.

I had been given the task of minding him but I had clearly failed. I should have gone with him no matter what. I should have taken the chance and left my child so that I could have prevented this. But my princess looked at me as faultless and took my hands in hers to assure me that she regretted nothing. She comforted my husband who apparently also knew nothing about this pregnancy until then. She knew his fears like the back of her hand, she knew exactly how to soothe them as I hadn't. He did not even have to speak. She simply knew.

Until then, I had not known that my husband dreaded having children for fear they would be cursed and afflicted with the same moral decay that his own parents had; and because he feared that having a child would bring the same thing out of him. Even if I had known, the princess was the perfect one to comfort him. She asked him if he believed a child born of her could be wicked and of course, he said no. She spun such sugary images of their child together for him with her eyes shining with joy. She told him that their child was special, that she did not fear him becoming a parent like his own because their child would change everything about being a father for him. It surely helped that my princess was glowing as she said such things, that the excitement radiating off of her grew stronger with each passing moment. He could not deny her, could not bring himself to contradict her words because he would always believe in her even if he did not believe in himself.

It went unsaid that the princess would be entrusting the child to the both of us. I had much apprehension about taking care of two babies rather than one and the secrets to be kept piling up above me but I could not complain, it had been my job for years to make everything work. I could not stop then when my princess needed me most. In any case, her presence in the manor brought life to a place that had become so eerie to me. She was the only flame in the dark and we were huddled around her, trying to preserve an ounce of warmth within ourselves. She was joyful through her pregnancy, she could not stop talking about the baby she was to have. The more she chattered, the more excited I became too as though I had any right to be. This was true of my husband too, who tentatively felt the kicks of his child and smiled, genuinely smiled as the princess did. I could see that he loved that child.

She slept in the master bedroom with him, after he left each day, I went in to help her get ready for the day. It was though I was still her maid and I suppose I wanted to be, would rather be that than a wife. But I could not bring myself to complain. I was not unlike my husband, I viewed my duties to the princess as somewhat sacred. I was as honored as I was anxious to raise the child.

On the day Diana was born, my husband was at my princess' side the entire time, as though he could protect her as her knight again. I could only marvel at him. When I had given birth, he stood at the foot of the bed stiffly and asked me what I intended to name our daughter, if I was alright and then told me that if I needed anything to have the butler prepare it at once. After Diana was born, my princess was still beautiful, perhaps even more so in her vulnerability. She held the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, close to her chest as my husband looked down at the both of them with sheer joy. It was as though all the happiness in the world existed between those three. My Diana had been born out of love and so it was easy to love her.

I left my own daughter to the maids in favor of caring for Diana when the princess rested. Her little ruby eyes and her head of soft blonde hair captivated me. Each coo or cry had my focus in a fraction of a second.

I had not yet considered the greater implications of her birth until my princess brought it to me. Diana had been born with an inordinate affinity for magic. The princess, as a member of the royal family had the capacity of a mage, it was kept secret through the death of magic that through her bloodline were those capable of miracles. I only knew after years of my proximity to the princess. This child, born in the time of civil unrest, when the queen had not yet been blessed with a child and the civil war had still bitterly divided the houses, was capable of being seen as a potential figurehead that could be used as a pawn in a new round of rebellion.

It was for me and my husband to put her above all things. Above even our own child. That, to me, went without saying for I did love Diana as my own daughter. But the princess knew that anything could happen and she used all of the strength of her magic to cast a spell over her that would be held with Diana's own great magic. My princess nearly expended all her energy to do so. Magic, she had once told me, was seen as a weak form of power because it relied so greatly upon emotion. It was the transformation of want into will. I knew not the details of the spell which bound my mistress' daughter. All my princess said was that her precious Diana would live happily, that for all the odds against her, she still had odds in her favor."

Claude felt numb as he turned the pages. He was in shock, suddenly the environment of the room felt too harsh and stimulating but he was glued to the journal. He could not dare stop reading it no matter what truths arose. So he flipped the page and read every single entry even as his hands trembled.

From then on, it was Diana, Diana, Diana. With each entry, she recorded a measurement which he assumed was the amount of medicine administered and her symptoms. She fretted over whether it was right to give her more or to give her less. She wrote about denying Diana's requests to go outside, to go to the theatre, to do much of anything besides stay in bed. It chilled him to the bone but more than that, perplexed him. He was staring at a page where your mother had seemed to write sloppily, hurried and anxious when he heard a voice.

"Lord Claude?" It was your mother, standing in the doorway.

He looked slowly up at her, at a loss for words and unable to reconcile the cold mother she was to you with her joy at being Diana's proxy mother. Unable, still, to understand why she was poisoning the daughter she loved so much.

"My lord, you should not be in here," she said softly but in her blank expression, it was apparent that she knew what he was there for. "It will look strange to others, for you to do something like this."

"You poisoned Diana," He was keenly aware of how delicately she was trying to dance around this subject but he was unwilling to indulge her.

Your mother did not even blink. "You must understand me, Lord Claude. Please understand."

"What is there to understand? You neglect your own daughter and fawn over your husband's illegitimate daughter only to poison her."

Your mother shook her head slowly as if she could not believe what he was implying. "I love that girl," she said, moving deeper into the room and shutting the door behind her. "Diana is my little princess. She is my only daughter."

A rush of rage ran up his body, carrying an unbearable desire to hurt her. "She's not your daughter at all. She's the daughter of a woman far more beloved than you."

But your mother could only smile helplessly. "Yes, but even so, she is my daughter in heart. You must trust me when I say that Diana was hopeless before."

"Hopeless?" His brow furrowed and a cold feeling creeped up his back, extinguishing his fury and replacing it with a kind of fear for the woman in front of him. "She wasn't hopeless, she was able to wed me, to live happily." He said it not as a defense of her but as an accusation.

"That poor girl. In the first place, she already had a weak constitution, because her magic was stronger than her body but it was the perfect excuse to keep inside and away from the eyes of those who would want to hurt her. But it was my eldest daughter who kept planting false hope in her. She even sent Diana before my husband to beg him to let her go to the academy because she knew very well he could not say no to her." There was venom in her voice, a sneer on her face. Claude rose to stand slowly, not knowing what he was going to do.

"He cannot say no to Diana because he loves her so, no, he loves her mother so," she sighed. "All the other one did was cause troubles. Diana had already given up but she roused such hope in the girl, false hope, cruel hope. If she had not been able to marry you...I do not know how we would have protected her. If my daughter was still alive, everything would be ruined. It was you who saved her, my lord. That is why I beg of you, don't judge me. You know that Diana is special. You must know."

"I did not want to save her, she did not need to be saved."

She remained with that pitiful smile on her face. "My husband is weak to her. He will...he will never forgive what I've done to our- his little princess. He won't understand. He will think that I have killed my princess. You know, he almost sees them as one in the same." She reached onto her desk, picking up a letter opener. "Diana will be hurt if she knows. I ask that you let the girl live her life believing as I told her. She deserves that much. I let her believe what I did because it was in her best interest. Please take care of her."

Before he could react, your mother plunged the sharp end of the letter opener into her throat.

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl@s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire @mvoonxlightv @noisyenthusiastface @coldpeachkitten @brightykitten @worstliving

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic

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spider-mancan · 1 year

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Prototype Protocol

Prototype Protocol - Chapter 1 - RoamingSignals - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

Tony Stark isn't good, despite years of trying. When the multiverse dumps a younger Tony into their laps, Tony is split between solving the problem and protecting Peter's virtue. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s eyes are wide and unassuming and Tony is a bad man. “I’ve been handling you for years. I can handle him just fine.” “I’m sure you can,” Tony's throat is really dry, for some reason. “I trust you.” He just doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t trust himself at all.

#starker #ironspider #starker fic #a tale of two tonies #ITS HERE #there will be 8 chapters #the first six are written and five are edited #fingers crossed!!!#considers

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secfics · 9 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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