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babybatscreationsv2 · 2 months

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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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taruchinator · 1 month

Text

☕ Explicit Content

☕ 1.5k Words

☕ For the @starkerfestivals Valentine's Exchange!

There was always something about waking up next to Tony that made Peter's heart flutter.

Everyone knew Tony Stark was handsome. The silver fox was thirsted after by men and women alike thanks to his good looks and charismatic charm. But this right here, was a sight that Peter had all for himself.

A not-so-soft sensation suddenly rubbing against the brunet's thighs, which told him he was looking for something other than a comfortable body pillow.

Hey everyone! Alice here bringing you more Starker content! ^^

This is a little something I cooked last month for the Starker Valentine's Exchange which I'm super late on posting over here on Tumblr hehe.

Apologies to my giftee @starker-sorbet for being a bit late! I hope you'll still like it— I wanted to lean on domestic moments, but was also in the mood of smut, so I figured why not mesh them together~

There was always something about waking up next to Tony that made Peter's heart flutter.

Unlike his partner, the younger man was an early bird—sure, he'd spend time working on his inventions in the late hours of the night, yet for some reason his biological clock was wired for him to wake as soon as the sun started to rise. Which would probably be annoying for most people on their day off, but Peter quickly found the positive to this little quirk of his.

Shifting under the soft silk of their white sheets, the brunet sneakily placed an arm around the sleeping figure beside him, taking in the breathtaking sight with a soft smile.

The older man was snuggled against his side, with the stubble of his beard tickling Peter in the rhythm of his even breathing. The usual crease between his eyebrows caused by both dealing with the duties of Stark Industries and an Avenger was not present, showing instead an expression that could only be described as peaceful.

Almost vulnerable.

The first time he'd been treated to this sight was at the beginning of their relationship, when Tony invited him to spend the night and share a bed. “Just sleeping”, he'd clarified, to which Peter only chuckled and nodded over how cute it was for Tony to not dare rush him into anything.

The morning after, the brunet was starstruck after seeing the older man draped over him. After clearing out the embarrassment of it all, Tony had said that he must've felt safe in Peter's presence, which instantly melted the young Avenger's heart.

Ever since, he's been eternally grateful to his early morning habits that allowed him to admire the man he loved in his natural habitat.

Tony shifted again, this time pressing himself completely to Peter's side with an incomprehensible mumble, almost as if he was seeking the other's warmth. Yet based on the not-so-soft sensation suddenly rubbing against the brunet's thighs, something told him he was looking for something other than a comfortable body pillow.

“Well someone's feeling frisky…” Peter mumbled under his breath with a coy grin.

Morning wood was relatively common in their bed sharing experience, despite Tony's insistence in being ‘too old for it’ and how it ‘made him seem like a horny teenager.’ They usually never had time to address it—the life of a superhero left little time for oneself, let alone a partner.

But today was different.

No catastrophic incidents to follow up on with S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters and no pesky Stark Industries meetings where they had to sit for hours trying to explain what the Iron-Man suit was even for.

It was a day just for them.

With skillful movements, Peter slowly guided his hand under the covers and against the familiar feeling of Tony's clothed bulge. A soft sigh was heard and Peter couldn't tell who it came from. All he knew was that the member was growing harder and larger.

After wrapping his fingers under the older man's underwear, Tony let out a soft groan while wiggling himself closer, which instantly sent a pool of heat to Peter's core.

“How can he be so cute yet so handsome?” Peter couldn't help it—before he knew it, his other hand was moving under the comfort of his briefs and began teasing his outer lips in synch to his lover's stroking. He let out a low moan, praying to any deity out there that he wasn't being loud.

He was used to caring for his sexual needs on his own, thanks to the aforementioned lack of time that came with a superhero's life. It made the few moments they did have together feel much more special and meaningful.

“Hmm… Either I'm still dreaming or this is the cheesiest start to a porno…”

A groggy voice brought Peter back to reality, with a pair of lips he knew by heart meeting his own. Their kiss was sloppy, soft and sweet, with Tony humming into it which brought a smile to the brunet's face.

“For the record, it seems like you were having a fun little dream there,” Peter teased slightly, “hopefully I was in it?”

“Honey, you star in my dreams every night.” Tony said with affection dripping from his voice, which was only a bigger indicator that he was still waking up. He was much more lovey dovey in the mornings. Peter chuckled in response, pulling the man closer in both a hug and to get a better grip on his cock. “Well that makes two of us, I guess…”

“Nuh-uh. Enough of that mister, gimme.” The older man swatted Peter's hand away, and instead placed it around his neck as he maneuvered around to try and feel what was hidden under the young man's underwear. Peter knew he was already dripping, but it didn't it from being embarrassing. “Someone's all ready to go…”

“When you wake up to your boyfriend grinding against you can you blame me?” Peter's voice hitched at the new hand rubbing circles against his clit. He'd never understand how Tony could make him melt with a snap of his fingers.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, then.” A small smile crossed his features, which Peter gladly returned. After lowering both of their pants to each other's ankles, the billionaire began aligning himself to his entrance. With slow and steady movements, he was eventually inside.

Much less complicated from their first attempts, when Peter still had to adjust to Tony's size.

“Haa… you doin’ good?” The older man was in place, not daring to move until Peter said otherwise. He was always considerate that way.

“Y-Yeah. God, yes Tony, just move.”

And so he did.

‘Slow and steady wins the race’, so they say. The duo had never had time for that, though. Today however, it seemed like his boyfriend was on the same page as him when it came to taking it easy in their day off. Slow and almost lazy thrusts were what Peter received, and he didn't realize how much he needed a good release until now.

Kisses were peppered everywhere—his cheeks, his forehead, his collarbone. Pretty much anywhere Tony could get access to was fair game, and they all felt the same: warm and safe. Peter returned the affections as best as he could, but even in this slow rhythm they had going on, he was reaching his climax rather fast. Who could've guessed?

“Ngh… I'm close. W-Where do you want me, baby?” Tony mumbled close to his ear. Seems like he wasn't the only one at least.

“I-Inside. Inside is fine…” Peter moaned while pulling the other man closer to him, tugging gently at his hair as a somewhat lifeline.

Just like that, groans echoed across their bedroom, with the familiar feeling of Tony's warm seed filling up his insides. If this was a dream he certainly didn't want to wake up. Of course, that is until Tony decided to let out a yawn after their little session, which was just far too adorable for Peter to resist.

He reached for a tissue box on their nightstand and then turned upwards to the ceiling. “Jarvis. Can you get us started with some breakfast?”

The lights of their bedroom flickered to life, much to Tony's annoyance as he hid under the blankets. The comforting voice of the A.I. guarding the mansion replied. “Good morning, Master Peter. I will get started on that right away.”

“Thanks!” Peter smiled and the lights turned off, only for sounds to start coming from the kitchen as their meals were being prepared. “Well that was quite a way to start the day.”

“And it can continue to be wonderful,” Tony lifted his head slightly, not entirely sure if the lights would come back to spook him, “if we just stay in bed a little longer.”

“Haha! But don't you have that meeting—?”

“It isn't until after lunch. Now come and cuddle, you know daddy gets cold after we have sex.” Tony grumbled with a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it was clear that he meant no actual harm. Peter let out another chuckle in disbelief.

“Okay, yeah, I'm not calling you that. But I won't argue with free cuddles.” The brunet was quick to place his head against his lover's chest, feeling the warm sensation of his skin and arc reactor giving him life.

He'd never understand how he got this lucky. And to be honest, he didn't wanna dwell too much on it—He loved Tony and Tony loved him. That was all that mattered.

“Jarvis. Put a rain check for breakfast. Something tells me we'll be taking a little nap…” Peter mumbled only loud enough for the entity to hear him.

Breakfast in bed sounded much more appealing anyway.

✦ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬!✦

#my stories #starker #starkerfestivalsevents #tony x peter #peter x tony

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starkerscoop · 2 months

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Cupid Personified

Posting this for the @starkerfestivals Secret Starker Valentine's event.

For my giftee, @taruchinator :) I hope you like it!

Prompt: Peter is Morgan's kindergarten teacher and Tony is just smitten with the guy. Morgan, thinking she's helping her dad out, asks him to buy her flowers and chocolates for Valentine's Day, claiming it's for her classmates. Turns out the little devil just straight up walks to Peter and goes “my daddy thinks you're cute!” and hands him all the stuff. Embarrassment and shenanigans ensue, but yeah, wingman Morgan for the win. "

Tony slammed on the brakes, his hands tightening instinctively on the wheel as his car jerked to a stop. School drop-off was always challenging. How could it not be, when his eyes won’t stop straying? He averted his gaze from Mr. Parker, who was turning with furrowed brows, likely trying to figure out whose parent was incapable of driving in a parking lot.

He let out a heavy sigh once Mr. Parker returned his attention to the students streaming through the gates of the school. What was wrong with him? Pining after his daughter’s teacher like a fool. He wasn’t sure when exactly this obsession started; all he knew was that every time he laid eyes on Mr. Parker, his heart made a funny stutter and scared him into thinking it was failing.

“Daddy?”

The telltale wobble in Morgan’s voice was the only clue Tony needed to understand she was upset. Alarmed, he glanced over his shoulder to take in her watering eyes.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asked calmly.

No reason to set her off further. He’d noticed over time that she tended to base her reactions off his, so if he was worried, she would be too.

“We didn’t bring anything for Valentine’s Day,” she said anxiously. “Mr. P wanted everyone to bring something so we could have a party.”

Tony ran a hand down his face. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

He couldn’t count the number of times they’d run into the same issue with last minute projects that consisted more of his work than her’s.

“I forgot,” Morgan confessed, “but I didn’t mean to! Can you bring some flowers and chocolate?”

Tony checked his watch. He was already running late to a board meeting, why not make them wait longer? It was worth it to make his daughter happy.

“Go to class. I’ll bring something,” Tony said, watching her smile grow, “but I want you to tell me these things in advance from now on. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” she echoed. “Thanks Daddy!”

Tony reached over the console and helped her unbuckle her belt. He unlocked the car door and kept his eyes trained on her as she skipped towards the gates. She’d cheered up awfully fast for someone who’d been so downcast just a moment ago.

Interesting.

Once she made it safely through the gates, he left the parking lot and drove to the nearest store he could find. Once he went in, he took his time perusing the aisles, ignoring the judgmental looks he could feel being directed at him by others. He knew how it looked—like he was a bad spouse doing last minute shopping for his partner.

He picked out enough chocolate to send thirty children into a sugar high. He didn’t envy Mr. Parker, who would undoubtedly have to deal with more chaos than Tony faced as Iron Man. Tony sent him a mental apology as he paid for his armful of chocolate and flowers; he’d gotten one flower for each child.

After stuffing everything into his car, Tony made the drive back to Morgan’s school. He parked as close as he could get to the entrance and wandered in with his gifts back in his arms. He hastily signed in at the reception before making his way to Morgan’s classroom. He knocked on the door as a warning before stepping in.

The moment he went in, he realized that the knock was completely unnecessary, because there was absolutely no way Mr. Parker heard it. The children were already having fun, the Valentine’s Day party underway with music playing from the speakers as they folded bits of paper into hearts.

Mr. Parker had his back turned to the door. He was helping a boy make his heart. Tony caught Morgan’s eye and beckoned her over with a nod. She bounded toward him cheerfully, taking everything from his arms with a small “Thanks!” and marching toward Mr. Parker before he could utter a word.

Tony trailed behind her, laughing to himself at her determination. She tapped Mr. Parker on the arm, who turned to her with a kind smile, his eyes widening when he spotted all her gifts.

“My daddy thinks you’re cute!” she announced, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and suddenly it all made sense.

They didn’t have to bring anything. Tony’d always known that Morgan was observant, but he never thought his attraction to Mr. Parker was so obvious she could pick up on it, let alone act on it. He was briefly concerned about how well she’d played him earlier this morning with the fake tears, but that concern rapidly made way for embarrassment, which wasn’t an emotion he was used to having.

Mr. Parker’s cheeks bloomed. “These are very pretty flowers.”

They were. And Tony had bought thirty of them. How must that look to Mr. Parker?

“What can I say?” Tony asked, regaining his voice. “I like pretty things.”

He shot a wink at Mr. Parker, who seemed to turn impossibly redder. Morgan clapped her hands excitedly before jetting off to her friends, leaving them alone. There was something triumphant in her grin.

“Well, I…appreciate all of this, Mr. Stark,” Mr. Parker finally said. “Thank you.”

Tony waved off the thanks. “Please, call me Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Mr. Parker repeated, a bashful smile creeping onto his face. “You can call me Peter.”

Tony tucked his hands into his pockets. “Are you doing anything today, Peter?”

“You mean aside from watching a bunch of hyperactive kids?” Peter joked.

Tony laughed, tilting his head back. “Aside from that, yes.”

“I was going to binge watch Star Wars and drink cheap wine. I’m sure your plans are a lot more interesting,” Peter said.

Tony shrugged. “They will be if you allow me to join you.”

“Oh!” Peter’s eyes widened. “I’d like that. If you’re sure.”

His cheeks were turning red again, and Tony had to fight the urge to trace his thumb over them. He kept his hands rooted firmly in his pockets.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

#starker #ironspider #starkerscoopwrites #SFSecretStarker24

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sitp-recs · 9 months

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hi liv hope you’re well!!! i was wondering if you had a reclist for like wound healing / physical h/c ?? i looked through your masterlists and maybe i just couldn’t see it but ohhh i would love it if you have any recs for me :))) thank you so much have a lovely day xx

Hi anon! Ahh yes some good old whump 👨‍🍳 💋 it’s crazy to think I haven’t done a list for it yet bc this used to be my favourite Starker trope! My memory is not great (especially with long fics) but I think these might work. Oh and if you enjoy Dronarry I highly recommend Let Be, Let Be by @tackytigerfic :)

Operative by @shealwaysreads (M, 3.4k)

After the war, Draco finds himself in the familiar position of not getting what he wanted. But sometimes, what you need finds its own way to you.

A Noir Cliche by @shiftylinguini (T, 4k)

Draco is not a Healer. Harry doesn’t get hurt on purpose. They really have to stop meeting like this.

Case File #742 by @nametheshadows (M, 6k)

When Draco is thrown into the cell, he’s furious. When Potter gets thrown in behind him, he’s pissed.

Vale Sanare by RurouniHime (M, 23k)

Draco’s world gains a new component just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 34k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils. If you are triggered by infidelity, this is not the fic for you.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice by lettered (E, 54k)

Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

When Harry sustains an injury in the line of work, he no longer knows how to navigate the life he loved, and finds help and solace from the most unexpected source.

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 131k)

Draco Malfoy wouldn't go back to England for anything less than an exceptional case. Being asked to figure out why Harry Potter can't control his magic might be exceptional enough to qualify.

From Ashes by Caedes12 (E, 150k)

When Draco comes back for eighth year, he starts an unexpected friendship with Hermione Granger. Between his new friendship and his parents kicking him out of the house, Draco's life starts down a new path.

There Is Always the Moon by @firethesound (T, 159k)

Draco's life after the war is everything he wanted it to be: it's simple, and quiet, and predictable, and safe. But when a mysterious curse shatters the peace he'd worked so hard to build, there's only one person he can trust to help him. After all, Harry Potter has saved his life before. Now Draco has to believe that Potter will be able to do it one more time.

Bonus: art!

Sometimes it’s Now or Never by @bluebutter-art (T)

The aftermath of a messy Auror raid finds one Harry Potter at the doorstep of Draco Malfoy’s home. Who knew that a brush with death is exactly the push he needs to finally tell Draco how he really feels?

#asks #anon #drarry whump #physical h/c

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starkerfestivals · 11 months

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Starker Festival’s Summer Bingo 2023 Sign Up

Hey guys! It’s that time of the year again. We are extremely excited to announce the 2023 Starkerfestivals Summer Bingo Event!

Here is a link to the sign up.

As always, we are here to answer and all questions you may have about this event. Further information is below the cut. <3

General Info

The Starkerfestivals 2023 Summer Bingo will begin Thursday, June 1st, 2023, and run until September 30th 2023. Each participant will receive a personalized card with a 5x5 bingo of prompts.

You can sign up at any point before September 30th, but the event will start June 1st. If you complete the first bingo and want another, please feel free to sign up using the same link. If we do not get back to you with your new card within 24 hours, please send an ask or dm one of the mods.

Note: There are options to apply for NFF, FF, or a mixture of both. If you are under 18, we will only create FF cards for you. If you are 18+, feel free to choose which board you want.

Other Sign Up Info

We will start rolling cards out June 1st. If you signed up before or on May 31st, you should receive it by the end of the day June 1st. After June 1st, please give us mods 24 hours to get your card to you, but if it has been over that, feel free to dm one of us or send in an ask.

You can also ask us for a particular square to be replaced when you get your card if you don’t like the prompt, just drop us a message.

Rules

You can only have one card active at any time. You may ask for another card after you have won your old one. As if a new card, you should receive it within 24 hours.

As a participant, fulfilling prompts can be done at your leisure. We want everyone to have fun so whether you fulfill 1 or do the entire card, it's up to you! There is no obligation to "win" bingo but for those that want to go for it:

To "win", you will need to get five in a row via horizontal, vertical, or diagonal means. You can also win by getting the free space and all four corners. Finally, you can get a blackout by completing every square on the board. Visual examples:

Free space is free prompt choice. You can write or draw anything you like as a fill, just please make sure it follows the rest of our rules as they apply.

You must tag everything appropriately; meaning, make sure to tag every trigger/content warning correctly. If you're unsure whether or not something needs to be tagged, it’s always better to be safe than be sorry.

To have us reblog it, you can tag your work as #SFSummerBingo23 or @ us here. We should get to it within 24 hours; if we haven’t please feel free to dm one of us or send us an ask here. We won’t mind! <3

Collection for AO3 is also SfSummerBingo23

If you have any questions please feel free to ask us in our ask box here, or dm one of the mods. @graceful-starker @the-mad-starker or @starkersparks

#modpost #mod post #starker #starker event #SFSummerBingo23 #starkerfestivalsevents #starkerfestivals

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donteattheappleshook · 11 months

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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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#captain swan #cs fanfic #cs neverland au #cs neverland smut #cs smut #cs angst #cw violence #cw death #season 1 au #sort of

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professional-benaddict · 3 months

Text

Stephen's dislocated shoulder - part 3

brainstormings with @dumb-bitch-starker 💗💗

part 1 - part 2

Neurosurgeon Stephen, Peter, dislocated shoulder, surgery, recovery, hospital, whump, fluff

Then, another part of the recovery begins. After sleeping for a few hours, Stephen wakes up to his shoulder hurting. The nurses are running behind schedule and haven’t put up a new morphine drip to replace the one that is running low. But, Stephen knows the PIN code to override the machine. And he does exactly that when Peter is getting food in the canteen.

“Doctor Strange, did you override the pump?” A nurse asks sternly.

Stephen blinks blissfully.

“Maybe…”

“I know you work here, Strange, but you’re now a patient in this hospital. You have to let us do the work, or we could lose our jobs, yeah? What if you went into respiratory failure?”

Stephen brushes the nurse off.

During the night, Stephen is unable to sleep due to sleeping all day, so he overrides the morphine drip again. Just a little something to get him to sleep. But, it works a little too well and the monitors start beeping angrily. Peter wakes up with a startle, then it quickly turns into a panic when Stephen is asleep and the alarms are blaring. Two nurses rush in and Peter is told to step aside. The nurses shake Stephen awake and put him on oxygen.

“Stephen, you idiot!” The more senior of the nurses yells. “Your O2 levels dropped!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Get this off!”

“NO.” The nurses answer in unison.

Stephen gives Peter a pout, but the younger man just shakes his head.

After his little stunt with the morphine pump, Stephen’s surgeon decides he has to stay one more night in the hospital. It is safe to say the neurosurgeon is not happy with that.

“I was “Doctor of the Year”, valedictorian at Colombia and the man who single handedly discovered a new way to operate on previously inoperable brain tumours.”

“Yeah, and you still made the stupid decision of nearly giving yourself a morphine overdose! You’re staying!”

Peter snickers in the back, watching Stephen gawk at his coworker.

“Surgeons are the worst patients, you can say it. I know he’s being an asshole. You should see him when he gets a paper cut.” Peter sighs.

“Not helping!” Stephen pouts.

Luckily, Stephen manages to pull his act together and is free to leave the hospital the next day. He is very happy to be going home, to sleep in his own bed and have Peter for himself.

As dramatic as the hospital stay was, Stephen recovers quickly and his shoulder is nearly back to normal within three weeks. A few more weeks of physical therapy and he is back to work. The rest of the staff are very happy to have him back on the team. Although, at work he is now getting teased by his coworker surgeons and other staff. They all joke about how annoying he was while he was hospitalised. Stephen doesn’t let it get to him, but he does feel protective of Peter when they comment on how hot his boyfriend was.

“You know, everyone keeps talking about you at ortho. They say how hot you were and such.” Stephen muses one night in bed. Peter is scrolling on his phone while laying on Stephen’s chest.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it almost sounds like you were doing a strip show while I was under.”

“Maybe I did! I mean, how would you know?” Peter giggles.

Stephen knocks the phone out of Peter’s hand, making the young man yelp. Their little playfighting soon turns into kissing. And kissing… into something even more fun.

#my fics #spiderstrange #strangespider #peter parker x stephen strange #peter parker #stephen strange

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ao3feed-irondadspiderson · 7 months

Text

Safe place

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50368555 by TheRegularWriter Tony's safe place is under a car. Which might or might not be Peter's worst nightmare. Based on one of fotibrit's many Irondad prompts on Tumblr! Words: 1207, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Tony Stark-centric, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Platonic Relationships, Father-Son Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Panic Attacks, Trauma, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Mechanic Tony Stark, Author doesn't know shit about mechanics though, Nor cars. Lmao, I was too lazy to do research, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Based on a Tumblr Post, anti starker, Anti proship, Post-Movie: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50368555

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #iron dad and spider son #spider son #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark

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preromantics · 2 years

Note

What a cool idea!

Does this work for you, format-wise?

Starker + shenanigans

totally works as a prompt format, perfect!

starker, ~900 words, TW for underage drinking

"She-nan--" Peter hiccups partway through his third sounding out -- "e-gans. What a weird, what a word."

Tony pats him awkwardly on the back, the wide red palm of his suit probably coming down with too much force onto Peter's shoulder.

Peter looks up at him -- at the Iron Man suit -- with wide, earnest eyes. "Don't you think so?"

Tony doesn't answer as he shifts his non-virtual focus to the road, pushing 30 over the speed limit on the mostly deserted 3am streets, weaving around a few garbage trucks and taxis as he follows his suit's GPS on a map.

"I just wanted to get up to some shee-ana-gans before graduation, Mr. Stark," Peter says, and when Tony chances a glance Peter has his head bowed down.

He hasn't "Mr. Stark"ed Tony in at least a year.

Tony resists the urge to pinch his nose so he can keep one hand on the wheel of the car while the other uses his palmtech to make his suit pat Peter's back again. "Sure, kid," he sighs, "so you developed and distilled a superpower proof drink to get smashed alone on a roof in Queens?"

"Well, I didn't want to hurt anyone just in case," Peter says, managing to sound defiant about it, peering back up at the visor of Tony's suit.

ETA 5 minutes, Tony notes. "You could have at least come to the penthouse to get drunk safely, then," he says.

Peter gasps, far more dramatically than he would not under the influence of some chemistry-nerd concoction. "Definitely not there," he says, but offers no further explanation.

Slowly, since Tony had deftly landed the suit on the roof next to Peter after interpreting his drunk text for "halp" while also ducking out of a shareholder dinner, Peter has curled up closer and closer to the suit. His head is now resting under the glow of the arc reactor, and the screen with the suit's view in Tony's car shows Peter's hair lit up like a halo. He looks like he could fall asleep.

"Stay awake for me," Tony says.

Peter makes a soft noise that is definitely not an agreement.

"Why not the penthouse?" Tony asks, to keep him awake. He doesn't want to drag a passed out Peter into his car and then back to his lab for a bloodtest.

"Shenanigans would've been sooo much worse," Peter says, rolling the word shenanigans around in his mouth again. He's smiling up at the suit helmet now.

Peter is cute, drunk and cuddling the hard metal of Tony's suit, looking soft and small in contrast to it. (Tony does pinch the bridge of his nose at that thought.)

"Elaborate for me," he says, running a deserted red light.

Peter hums thoughtfully, crystal clear audio letting Tony know there is some grit in his throat, some deep soft tone that sounds too mature on him, whatever he's been drinking lacing it that way.

Peter sits up again as Tony watches, and pulls himself across the lap of the Iron Man suit, his knees straddling the thick metal thighs, his face just a little under the helm, face to face now. He's peering narrowly at the eyes, right in Tony's POV.

The little nano-drone providing the other arial feed of the roof shows the opposite view, the way Peter fits on the lap of the suit so perfectly, his arms coming up to twine around the neck. A little thought in the back of Tony's head makes his eyes catch on the red flashing dot in the corner of the screen that indicates it's recording.

"Obviously this, y'know?" Peter says, as if he's finishing a sentence or actually answering Tony's question.

Tony opens his mouth around a "what?" but Peter adjusts his position, his hips rocking, and cocks his head toward the helmet. The dual POV on the dashboard screens are too much to focus on while also focusing on not driving off the road.

"And I can't just jump in your lap, that's too much shenan-igans, obviously, but I guess I can sit in your lap," Peter says, a quick ramble, nudging his head into the Iron Man helmet.

"Ooh-kay," Tony announces, finally, finally parking alongside the building Peter is currently grinding into his empty Iron Man suit on top of, cutting Peter off around a new string of words that Tony isn't sure he wants to hear. (Right now, at least.)

He uses the nanotech hand and foot repulsers to head up to the roof, head a little buzzy. "Time to take you back home with me," Tony says.

Peter slides ungracefully off the lap of the suit and spins around to smile beatifically up at Tony. "Oh yes, please, sir, Mr. Stark," he says, sloppy around the vowels and enthusiastically breathless.

"Not like that," Tony says, offering an arm to help Peter up.

"Aww man," Peter says, and the way Peter sticks his bottom lip out in a pout of protest will remain seared somewhere in the dark recesses of Tony's brain.

Not like that this time, at least, Tony thinks, as Peter slides easily under his arm, his cheeks flushed with shenanigans and body over-warm through Tony's coat. Not yet.

#starker #prompt fill

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babybatscreationsv2 · 3 months

Text

Off Camera

Marvel | Starker

Peter really wants Tony's attention while he's working. He does his best to ignore him, but Peter is just too tempting.

Rating: Explicit

For H<3

Warnings/tags below

Warnings/tags: daddy kink, semi-public sex, teasing, orgasm denial, cock warming, face fucking, rough sex

Tony ignored the sight of Peter's pouting face around the side of his monitor. The faces on his screen discussed their current project back and forth, updating him on the status, always asking for more time and more funding. Which Tony was happy enough to provide. Peter was happy about none of it. They'd slept in and there was no time for a morning quickie before Tony's meeting. Hence the pouting.

"Daddy..." he whined quietly. Tony flicked his eyes at him in a silent warning. Peter blew air from his pouting lips and flopped back in the chair.

Tony kept his eyes on the screen. It was all the usual stuff. His staff were skilled and well compensated and it was rare anything of concern came up in these meetings, but the shareholders liked it when he was hands-on.

"Ahh..." A little gasp came from across the desk. Tony looked at Peter to see his legs were spread over the arms of the chair. He'd rucked up his stolen t-shirt and tucked it under his arms so Tony had a clear view of his gorgeous body and the hand that was rubbing his cock through his underwear.

He ignored him still. Peter's frustrated glare almost made him laugh. He tried to focus on the meeting, but every now and then Peter made a soft sound that pulled him away. Tony muted his mic to be on the safe side. He wouldn't put it past the little brat to start moaning directly into the mic.

It was an impressive few minutes before Peter pulled his cock out and started stroking himself. He was louder now and Tony could tell by the sound which whining little moans were forced and which were very much real. His near exhibition was turning him on probably almost as much as being as absolute pain in the ass was.

He let him go, watching from the corner of his eye. Tony could feel his control slipping bit by bit. He just had to hold out until his meeting ended, let the boy think he was unaffected, and then he'd punish the brat like he deserved. But he sounded so sweet. And the way he spread his legs wide, showing off that pretty cock and that tight little hole. His eyes darted away from the screen to get a better look and finally he snapped.

Tony grabbed the webcam from above his monitor and yanked the cable out. It clattered against the floor or maybe the wall he didn't care to look. He moved around the desk so fast Peter hardly had time to react and when he reached him there was fear in his big doe eyes. One hand closed around his throat and the other grabbed his forearm, pulling his hand off of his cock.

"Who told you to touch yourself, huh? Because it sure as shit wasn't daddy." He didn't waste time waiting for an answer, but he enjoyed Peter's fearful little mewl of 'please daddy, I'm sorry' while he unhooked his belt with one hand and pulled out his cock. For a second, a pleased little smile crossed Peter's lips, but he wiped it away. Not fast enough to avoid daddy's wrath.

Tony dragged him out of the chair to sit down in his own and shoved him down to his knees. Peter's mouth opened without question as he pulled him in and stuffed his cock down his throat all at once. He slapped his cheek as he struggled to take it.

"There. Now shut up and let daddy work." He looked at Peter and his pleading eyes. His mouth looked so pretty stuffed full like that. He let him take a breath before he turned his attention back to his confused subordinates.

"Sorry about that. Something's wrong with my webcam," he said with a laugh.

"Should we take a break?" someone suggested.

"No, no. Who needs to see my handsome face anyway, right?" The group all laughed. "Please continue."

Tony muted his mic and stared down at Peter's wide wet eyes. "Does it hurt baby? Too big for your little throat?"

Peter nodded his head, cock stuffed back his mouth.

"Good. It's what you deserve you impatient fucking brat."

Peter whined and Tony let him up to catch his breath. "Yes, daddy," he gasped. "I'm sorry." He took Tony's cock back in his mouth without being told.

Tony pet his hair. "You can't help yourself can you? You're only a cock hole. Must be terrible for you to sit there all empty."

Peter whined in what Tony could only assume was agreement. He hadn't thought through exactly what he intended for the little slut, but his mouth suckling on his cock like that was driving him crazy. And well, the camera was already gone.

Tony pulled him up from the floor. He turned him and pushed him down over the desk. Peter spread his legs before he could even ask. He rubbed a fistful of lube along his cock while he checked in on the meeting. He wasn't needed at the moment, but he still had a job to do. Two jobs really. Keeping Peter satisfied was a career in its own right.

As he pushed inside him, Peter gripped the desk, moaning and pushing up on his toes. Tony sighed happily. "We should have just done this from the beginning. My meetings would be much more interesting."

He moved his hips as Peter tried to speak and grinned when he whined instead. "You got what you wanted, sweetheart. Now keep quiet." Tony pushed his head down onto the desk and covered his mouth with one hand so he could unmute his mic.

The meeting was just wrapping up and there were a few questions for him to go over, opinions to give, before he could call it done. It was no trouble at all to fuck the boy deep and slow while he talked. When a few lingered in the call for some post meeting pleasantries, he stayed and chatted with the group about plans for the afternoon. Peter made tiny noises under his hand, but he kept perfectly still.

The call ended and Tony turned his attention to the pleading face beneath him. "Getting uncomfortable, baby? Need some attention?"

"Please, daddy," Peter begged, fluttering innocent eyes.

"You were a very good boy being so quiet, but I want to hear you now." Tony grabbed the back of Peter's knee and lifted his leg up onto the deck. He fucked him like he meant it now, all teasing done. Peter panted beneath him, moaning and whining, little whimpers escaping when he went too deep. He looked up at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, brain melted from being denied for too long.

It was impossible to last when he looked like that. All too quickly, he was cumming inside him.

Tony pulled Peter against him, keeping his cock inside his warm little hole as he sat back down. Peter twisted his head, searching for kisses that made him moan and his wet cock jump against his belly. A hand wrapped around it and Tony pulled it away.

"Daddy please! I need to cum," Peter said so innocently as if he didn't already know.

"What makes you think you get to cum after you acted like that?"

"Please daddy, please daddy-" Peter begged. His eyes squeezed shut in frustration.

"Shh," Tony trailed his fingers around Peter's open mouth. "You wanted to be played with so badly. I'll decide how I use you."

Peter whimpered.

"You just keep my cock warm until I'm ready for more. If you're quiet while I make some phone calls, I'll let you cum."

#marvel #starker #prompt fill

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starkerhowlter · 2 years

Text

Don't Pull Away

Ship: starker

Rating: M

Contains: mild angst, mentioned fantasies, tooth-rotting fluff, no smut

Initial prompt: @starkerfestivals summber bingo fill: headpats

Words: 1746

Summary: Peter loves Tony's hands in his hair. Tony loves having his hands in Peter's hair.

A/n: I know it's over but finally, my fourth work in the Starker Festivals Bingo is done! (I think I want to keep working on it despite it being over)

This was beta'd by the most gorgeous squishbean, @cozysafechaotic! and cheered on by my team on the Super Starkers server. Thank you guys as always for being your badass selves.

Read it on ao3

Tony notices the reaction immediately. One moment he's congratulating Peter on a job well done in the lab, and the next, the twenty-year-old intern's eyes are shining. At first, the older scientist couldn't figure out why until he realized his hand is still on Peter's head, fingers touching the soft brown curls.

"Good job, kiddo." He covers, removing his hand from the boy's hair, and placing them in his pockets.

"Thanks, Mr Stark!" He beams, "What should I do next?"

"I think it would benefit you to try and change the composition of the web solution powder to make it neater. Currently, the liquids aren't melding completely and it's going to harm the tensile strength in the long run."

"What should I use instead?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you. Why don't you try going to the chemical pantry and see if anything fits? I think that JARVIS has it cleared for you."

"Okay," Peter smiles and disappears out the door, leaving Tony with his thoughts.

"Fuck. J, can you play back the camera footage of that?"

"On it, sir." As soon as the man asks, a holographic footage screen appears before him. From this angle, he can see his hand brushing Peter's hair, and the way the boy's face lights up. "By the way, sir, Mr Parker's vitals spiked when you touched his head. I noted a spike in dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine. His heart rate also spiked."

"No way." Tony falls back in his swivel chair, fingers running through his own hair. "Hey, J? Start a new experiment page."

"Title?" The robotic butler replies, obediently clearing the screen.

"Sparkle Eyes." The inventor smiles to himself because the description is such a perfect explanation for how Peter's honey-coloured eyes looked.

"Creating..." The screen changes to a chart of graphs "Created. Added 3.25 megabytes of information to the experiment page."

"Perfect. Please keep updating it with each instance as they happen."

"Only in the lab, sir?"

"No, whole complex. But just with me and Peter. No one else. Stevo and Manchurian Candidate would skew the records."

"Noted. Beginning Sparkle Eyes program."

"Thank you, Jar--"

"How about this? Think silica gel would clear it?" Peter presents a jar of silica beads, proudly.

"It would dry it out more, so it's worth a try. You might have to add more of a liquid though to make it sticky again. Think of making bread or cookies."

"Noted. I think I'm going to try mixing it in over a heated burner, where it's hot enough to melt but not hot enough to smoke us out."

"Probably a good idea. Do you need to create a safe environment or does it matter?"

"I think since I'm burning it, it's not really a problem either way." He returns to his desk, taking the lid off the solution in the flask. Carefully bringing it to temperature, the bubbles in the solution dissipate. He mixes in the silica gel, watching it turn into the sticky solution he's hoping for. "Holy shit, Mr Stark!!! I did it!" Tony looks up from his work to find Peter, with his hands in the air, staring proudly at him. "I made the web fluid correctly!"

"Well go on then, test it! Dum-e and I will get you down if you get stuck." Peter nods, loading the web fluid into a capsule and into his web shooter. He aims for the wall, swinging to land on the concrete ceiling of Tony's lab.

"It worked! It worked!!" He cheers, pulling himself free from the webbing. He drops back to the floor, and Tony ruffles his hair again. He revels privately in the way that Peter's entire face tints a gentle rosy pink. He tilts his head slightly into the older's touch before pulling away completely. One of the sensors on the desk chimes, breaking the trance the two have created for themselves.

"We should... yeah."

"Yeah... You're-- You're probably right. I need to go and.... erm... tighten the bolts on my left boot. It's been giving me issues." Tony pulls away from the younger, watching him with curiosity. Peter runs his hands through his hair repetitively and Tony selfishly wonders if he's trying to recreate the feeling.

---

Peter scratches gently at his scalp, hoping for the feeling of the man's fingers to appear again. He can't explain it, but he craves the feeling of Tony's hand in his hair. Almost as though the presence itself is a physical manifestation of how proud he is of the boy. It's self-centred, sure, but Peter can't help but wish everything Tony does is because of him. He wonders if Tony has noticed the way the younger boy leans into his touch, and wonders if it would be odd to ask him to ruffle his hair. To allow the boy to lay his head on Tony's thigh and let him comb his mechanic's fingers through Peter's curls as they watch whatever 80s movie Tony picked out. He wishes he could tell Tony, but he can't.

---

Tony finds any way he can to put his hand in Peter's hair after that day. He tried to forget about it, sure, but the way the boy would follow his hand anytime he came near, as though he were a puppy waiting for a treat or a belly rub. He silently begs for it with his eyes and Tony wonders if Peter knows he's doing it.

---

Two months later, Peter has a boyfriend.

The two students come into the lab and the stranger smiles at Tony. The boy's got a kind smile, one that makes it clear why Peter fell for him. Peter waves and greets Tony with a cheerful "Hi, Mr Stark! This is Harley! I just brought him over to check out my chemistry notes. He thinks he has an idea of how to synthesize the formula. Don't worry about him exposing my spiderman secret, his dad works for you!"

"Ah, Mr Keener! I knew you looked familiar! I think you weren't more than a sprout last time I saw you!" Tony coldly shakes Harley's hand, the craving for bourbon stinging his throat.

Harley looks absolutely starstruck. They really are perfect for each other.

---

It's all well and good until Harley leans over and kisses Peter. Something about needing to go to work and that he will see him back at the dorms tonight. He pays it no mind until Harley's fingers curl into the hair on the back of Peter's head and pull gently. Peter gasps into the kiss, breaking it off before it gets heated, "See you tonight!"

"Love you too, baby," Harley calls, disappearing out the same door they came in. Peter blushes gently, leaning back over his work as though nothing happened.

'Baby.' The title sticks in Tony's head, Peter's reaction causing one of its own in Tony. It's quickly replaced by a small popup by Jarvis about the hair grab. He murmurs to himself, 'no chemical changes' and smirks. Harley is merely a stand-in and Tony's never felt more satisfied. He wonders what would happen if he were to pull Peter's hair and call him baby. Would Peter gasp just as prettily? Would it be prettier?

"Hey, Mr Stark?"

"What's up, Spiderling?" Tony asks, walking over to the desk where the boy is mixing more fluid.

"I was just wondering if you had any more gel capsules. I need to make more web pills."

"I can see what I have. Wait here." Tony leaves and the rest of the day is just as stiff as the stress in his neck.

It seems like just as fast as their relationship started, Harley comes around the lab and up in conversation less and less. Tony meanly wonders if it's due to his and Peter's closeness that Harley feels threatened. He wishes he could call Harley, or "Harls" as Peter calls him, and tell him to watch as Peter's eyes blossom in sparkles and color when his hand touches Peter's hair.

He hasn't seen Peter in days. Well, real Peter. Holographic Peter has been keeping him plenty of company from inside the Sparkle Eyes file. Why turn to porn when he could turn to a personalized collection of photos and videos with Peter melting at his touch?

Peter returns one afternoon, eyes raw and red. "Peter?"

"Mr Stark..." He approaches Tony and falls against him, arms wrapping around his neck, face hiding against his own arm. At that moment Tony forgets how much he hates touch, he wants nothing more than to hold Peter and ruffle his hair, kissing the tears off his cheeks. He raises his hand hovering just slightly over the boy's head, debating if it's appropriate to touch his young mentee. Before he can reply, Peter's hand is gripping his wrist, pulling it the last few inches to tangle it in his hair. His shoulders fall, fresh tears falling from his eyes.

"What's happened?" Tony asks, gently carding his fingers through the curls.

"H-Harley. He cheated on me! Again!"

"Again? This has happened before, Peter?"

"Mr Stark, first, it was Gwen, then Quentin, then he swore he and Harry were finished and he swore he didn't have feelings anymore for him. I trusted him, I let him back in, I took him back and then I walked in on them fucking in our dorm room. I'm so stupid, Mr Stark. I shouldn't have gone back to him. But I did because I'm dumb and desperate and--"

"Woah, woah, hey! You're not desperate or dumb. You're just a fool in love. Why it's with that idiot I will never know but you're not dumb. He is. Got that? Sorry, let me just..." He goes to pull his hand out from the boy's hair, expecting to gain some clarity. Instead of being allowed to break away, Peter nuzzles closer to him, not bothered by the metal of Tony's watch brushing his ear. "Peter?" The younger looks up at him, brown eyes sparkling, as he connects their lips.

"Don't pull away. Not yet," he murmurs, sharing breaths with Tony.

"I won't go anywhere, kid." Tony smiles, kissing him again. "I'm not going anywhere."

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Comments, and reblogs are very very much appreciated.

#shut up nika #nika writes #starker #tony x peter

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taruchinator · 1 year

Text

🌻 Teenage & Up Audiences

🌻 2.4k Words

🌻 Gift for @starksvinyls from the @starkerfestivals Holiday Exchange!

“Babe, you're doing the thing again.”

“Huh? No, I'm not!”

Tony Stark and Peter Parker found themselves settled in a small waiting room— an adoption center reception to be precise, with a mere door standing between them and a bundle of children happily playing whilst on their break.

Many years the couple had to be on standby on the waiting list, until one day they finally got the call.

HERE I COME ONE DAY LATE (or 2, depending on timezones) WITH MY STARKER EXCHANGE GIFT BECAUSE MY COMPUTER HATES ME AND LIFE HAPPENS 😭

Regardless! I'm happy to present this adorable little slice of life fic that was requested by my giftee StarksVinyls! They asked for Tony and Peter wanting to adopt a child, and of course that's something completely down my alley 💗

I hope that you enjoy, StarksVinyls! It was lots of fun to work on an adoption style fic for the first time, so thank you for the fun prompt and Happy belated Holidays! Also very sorry for this being so late 😅

“Babe, you're doing the thing again.”

“Huh? No, I'm not!”

At the start of their relationship, Peter was very vocal over the fact that he was interested in starting a family. Still, he was logical enough to understand that he wasn't ready at the time of his high school graduation, and wanted to focus first and foremost on Avenger work as well as University.

Tony was somewhat worried at first about them adopting— if only for his insecurities of being a good father figure— especially due to his own upbringing and lack of parental guidance.

Yet the more he thought about it, the idea of a fatherly Peter scolding a little kid for not doing their homework or causing havoc in the house was far too adorable to pass up. If there was anyone he was willing to settle down with, it would undoubtedly be the love of his life.

So after coming to an agreement, the duo signed to be on the waitlist for an adoption center near their home once Peter got his degree in Nanotechnology.

It was a process that was unfortunately held back by The Blip. Many years the couple had to be on standby, waiting until one day they finally got the call. Leading to them scheduling an appointment and having to use their non-existent vacation days to meet the child who would become their own.

Hence, their current whereabouts.

The brunette was fiddling with one of the zippers of his maroon jacket, a trait Tony recognized as the other's nervous tick. He immediately released the small piece of metal from between his fingers, instead choosing to focus on the front desk as he took a sharp inhale. “You think they'll let us in soon?”

Tony turned to look at the invisible watch on his wrist, raising an eyebrow with a smirk dancing on his lips. “I don't think any sooner from when you asked five minutes ago.”

Peter merely rolled his eyes at the comment. “Very funny.”

A chuckle escaped Tony's lips as he pulled the younger man closer, or at least as close as the chair's armrests would allow them. “Pete, you know I'm kidding. They're probably trying to get her back in her cell so we can approach safely.”

A small smile appeared on the brunette's lips, and the older man counted that as a win. “I just… really hope she likes us.”

Tony turned to look at his husband in fake surprise. “You're worried she won't like us? Iron Man and Spider-Man? Elite members of the Avengers? Earth's mightiest heroes? Technically also from the galaxy, so the title needs to be updated…”

Another smile, this time accompanied by a chuckle that had Tony's heart doing backflips. After all these years together, he still couldn't believe the effect this kid had on him. “I know she'll like them! I just hope she'll like Tony Stark and Peter Parker just as much…”

“I dunno about you, but I can guarantee she's going to love Peter Parker. Maybe not as much as me, but still a whole lot.” The billionaire replied as he placed a soft kiss over the other's head.

There was no doubt in Tony's mind that Peter would make a great father. He was caring, lovable and even strict when needed. At least that's what he gathered from all those babysitting visits he did for Vision and Wanda. Children were just pulled to him like a magnet, so there was no question that the little kid would want to talk to him.

Tony on the other hand, was still up for debate.

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Parker?”

A voice brought them back to reality, causing the duo to turn and face a middle-aged woman walking through the door with a clipboard in hand. “I'm sorry for the wait. She's all ready for you!”

With a quick nod to each other, the men stood from their chairs and followed the service worker into the other room.

The area was familiar territory to them, since they'd been in the facility many times over the last few years as they looked for the child they'd want to bring home. It was a large room filled to the brim with kids of all age groups and ethnicities, doing everything from playing to chatting to napping.

A few curious stares followed them as they walked by— some wary, with others being excited to see the duo again. Peter smiled and waved at each of them, bringing a warm feeling to Tony's chest.

“Morgan wasn't feeling up to playing today, so it took us a while to find her hiding in the library.” The service worker spoke with a hint of apology in her tone, to which Tony merely waved a hand in dismissal. “Kids will be kids. They'll try and rebel even at the weirdest of things.”

“You've got that right! Wish all of them just decided to go read books as a tantrum, though…” The woman giggled, and then turned to face Peter. “Which by the way, she already finished the ones you brought last time and was wondering when you'd bring more.”

At that statement, the brunette's face lit up as he squeezed Tony's hand with his own— a way he suppressed his excited stimming in public. “That's amazing! Those were all classics my uncle used to read to me as a kid. I'm glad she liked them!”

“Does the squirt know why we're here?” Tony asked the woman as they eventually found themselves at the entrance to the children's library. It was a small space, which was perfectly fine considering very few kids found themselves attracted to reading.

“Not really. I figured you'd want to give her the good news yourselves.” The woman smiled while handing over the clipboard she was holding. It contained the adoption papers. “I'll be honest with you, I was really starting to worry she'd never warm up to anyone until you two showed up…”

That only made the couple both happy and nervous all at once.

When they first came to the center, they were quickly questioned over the type of child they wanted— A boy or a girl? A baby or a teenager? Personality type?— Among many others.

The superheroes didn't really have a preference, which made the matching process a bit more complicated since that meant they had to talk to practically every orphan in the building until they found who they were looking for. And even though they met a number of promising and wonderful candidates, one of them stood out from the rest almost instantly.

A brunette eight-year old girl named Morgan.

When inquiring about her, the adoption center was quick to point out how she was a bit of a difficult case, mostly due to the fact that she never seemed to get along with either her peers nor potential families. She was a quiet child that liked to be on her own, stuck in her own little world.

To say the couple was intrigued would be an understatement.

It took a lot of effort from them— everything from being patient to being understanding of her interests— but the little girl they got to meet underneath made it all worth it. Kind and smart and honest. Someone the couple fell in love with, and decided would be the perfect fit for their new family. And after many months of talking and interacting with the girl, the duo finally got the green light to take her to her forever home.

But they wanted to give her a choice too, so they decided on this last visit in which they'd bring up the proposition.

Peter smiled with a gleam in his hazel eyes as he stared into the small room. “Morgan is a special little girl. She just needs love and attention, and we're more than willing to give it to her.”

Tony and the social worker exchanged a look, smiles adorning their features at the man's words. With a nod, the woman opened the door into the library and motioned for them to go inside. “Well, I'm sure she's going to be thrilled to hear that.”

Taking a deep breath, the couple took one final look at each other, until they finally went inside.

Finding the little one was easy with the room being so small. After looking around the corner of a large bookshelf, Morgan could be seen sitting on a blue bean bag. Her nose was buried in an encyclopedia that was definitely too hard for her to understand, yet she didn't seem to mind. Brown curls were sprawled in all directions as she tried to hold them back with a hair clip, a few strands still hanging loose.

Her expression was neutral as she read, but as soon as she heard approaching footsteps, her eyes peered over the heavy tome in curiosity. In an instant, she lowered the book to the side and smiled widely at the two males standing in front of her. “Mr. Parker! Mr. Stark! You came back!”

“Of course we did. Sorry for keeping you waiting, kid. Work delayed lots of stuff for us.” Tony replied with a small smirk plastered on his face.

Morgan blinked twice. “Avengers work? You said you were working on a new base when you came last time.”

The girl was sharp, and smart enough to retain even the smallest of details thrown her way. Some might find it weird— Tony and Peter found it endearing. The brunette male kneeled down to face the eight-year old. “Yeah, Tony and I had lots of construction to take care of. But the base is fully operational now!”

At that, Morgan's smile increased even more. “Really? That's so cool!” But as soon as the smile appeared, it was quickly replaced with a tiny frown that had Tony worry for a minute.

“What's the matter, kid?”

Playing with the hem of her skirt, the brunette turned to the side and spoke in a soft yet clearly upsetting tone. “Now that you have a base, you'll be going on missions more often. So… that means you won't be coming to visit as much, right?”

The couple turned to each other, wondering if now was an appropriate time. They'd planned to hang with Morgan for a while and only pop the question afterwards. But it seemed like maybe getting it over with quickly would be a better option.

With that in mind, Peter placed a tentative hand on the girl's shoulder, trying to get her to look at him. “Actually… that's kinda why we're here, Morgan.”

Without a word, the billionaire placed the clipboard on the girl's lap. Turning towards it, a few seconds passed in silence as she read the document in front of her. With confusion painting her features, she turned to look at the couple. “Adoption papers?”

“That's right.” Tony replied curtly.

Morgan cocked her head to the side. “Did you finally find a kid you want to adopt?”

“Yes we did, Morgan.” Peter squeezed the girl's shoulder gently, softness evident in his gaze. “You.”

A moment passed as the trio stayed silent, both Tony and Peter inwardly beginning to worry. Was it too soon after all?

Eventually Morgan seemed to break back into reality as her eyes widened in disbelief. Her eyes flickered between both men in confusion. “M-Me?”

Peter let out a sigh in relief. “Yes, Morgan. You. Tony and I have been talking, and you're one of the sweetest girls we've ever met. We'd be really happy if… if you agreed to be part of our family.”

“B-But… there's other nicer kids here. Normal kids.” Morgan protested as she continued fiddling with her torn skirt. “Also aren't adults allowed to take any kid they want without asking?”

“What you call ‘normal', I call boring.” Tony replied in a heartbeat, not about to let this literal child degrade herself like that. “And you're right. We could just sign these and take you to our house and you'd legally be our daughter. But we don't wanna force that. Not on you or anyone else.”

“What Tony's trying to say is, we want you, Morgan. But we don't want you to feel unhappy with us either. So… we're here to ask you. If you'd like to be our daughter?” Peter spoke in a hushed tone, almost as if he didn't want to frighten the girl away.

Morgan turned to both of them, the bewilderment never leaving her face. “I'd get to read more books like the ones you bring me?”

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at the obviously serious question. “I have a collection in mind that you'd definitely love. Unlimited access to it except during school hours and at night.”

“I could look at the Iron Man and Spider-Man suits?” Her voice dead serious once more.

“Kid, I could build you a suit of armor integrated into your pajamas.” Tony replied with a hint of pride in his voice.

“But he won't, because that's dangerous.” Peter was quick to intervene, causing Tony to sigh in fake disappointment.

“And…” Morgan finally let go of her skirt, this time placing both hands against Peter's who still remained on her shoulder. Her voice trembled slightly. “I'd get to call you… Papa and Daddy?”

Both men's breaths caught in their throats at the words. Tony remained as still as a rock as he could only find strength to nod at the girl's inquiry. Peter was quick to take action, the more emotionally driven of the two, and engulfed Morgan in a hug as silent tears fell down his cheeks. “Y-Yeah… Yeah, you could do that...”

Morgan immediately returned the embrace as sobs escaped her lips, yet a smile as dazzling as the sun was present through it all. The men could make out the tiny “Yes.” that reverberated against her hiccups, which only brought an even bigger warmth to their chests.

As Tony stared at the love of his life embracing their new bundle of joy, he couldn't help but think back on his life, and what he did to deserve such a beautiful family.

He might not feel ready for parenthood, but with Peter by his side and someone like Morgan to give his love to, maybe it wouldn't be so scary after all.

Speak of the devil, the little brunette opened her eyes to look at Tony, a smile still gracing her lips as she reached her arms towards him. “Papa!”

Now that was an invitation he couldn't refuse.

Once he had his family in his arms, he knew everything would be alright. This was just the beginning of their new life, after all.

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#marvel #starker #starkerfestivalsevents #SFHolidayExchange22 #my stories

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khalixascorner · 2 years

Text

Baby In Blue

Summary: Tony's having a bad day and Peter wears something pretty for him to make it better. For my SF Summerbingo Prompt Dry Orgasm, combined with Peter in a skirt request from the Super Starkers Server.

Tags: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Feminization, Feminine Peter Parker, Peter Parker crossdressing, Mild Painplay, BDSM, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Sugar Baby Peter Parker, Bondage but like bondage lite really, Peter dresses up pretty for his daddy and helps him relieve some stress, lots of smut, allllll the smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Mafia AU, mafia boss tony, kept boy Peter, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Still age difference though

Read on AO3

To @starkerhowlter for saying we need more Peter in a skirt, and to the Super Starker server for the encouragement.

Peter clutched the hem of his sweater nervously as the elevator rose higher and higher. Tony was working in the office today, and apparently it was going bad enough that he sent Bucky to bring Peter in.

The boy had been Tony’s pet for over a year now, handing over his freedom for safety. At least that had been the deal at the time. He had been homeless with no prospects and a handsy asshole who insisted on trying to put Peter to “work.”

Now, he was Tony’s spoiled baby. He wanted for nothing, was safe and warm, and got to go to school again, even if it was limited to online classes. In return, he doted on Tony and let the man use him however he pleased. Not that this was a hardship either. Peter loved how Tony made him feel, loved being dressed in nice clothes and then shattered to pieces under Tony’s rough hands and soft lips. Peter loved Tony too, not that he’d been brave enough to admit it to the older man.

Regardless, Peter was happy, but still nervous because today he had picked his own outfit and he wasn’t sure if Tony would like it. He had been shopping for something else when he had spotted the pastel blue sweater made of the softest material he had ever felt. It had taken an hour to put together an entire outfit, but Peter loved it.

The elevator finally opened and Peter followed Bucky through the hall until they reached the door to Tony’s office. Even with them closed tight, he could hear his lover shouting, and he shivered. Tony wasn’t gentle with Peter, per se, but he also tried to keep the ruthless side to his personality directed away. The few times he hadn’t, Peter had been left covered in bites and bruises, still satisfied but also wrung out. It always took him a bit to recover, though he never complained because Tony doted on him even more those days.

Bucky knocked, and Steve was quick to let them in, his face tight even as he gave Peter a small smile before turning and hurrying back into the large room.

“Boss, Peter’s here,” Steve said, cutting Tony off before he could start ranting again. Peter watched as Tony turned towards him, mouth already open to say something, and then froze.

Peter stood motionless under the intense gaze, watching as Tony’s eyes flicked up and down taking him in.

“Everyone, out. Now.” Tony ordered, voice low and eyes dark. Peter lowered his eyes shyly as everyone else scurried out, waiting for Tony to take command.

-------------

If Tony wasn’t so pissed off, he would have been harder than ever at the sight of his pet. Peter stood before him in a soft pastel blue sweater that was hanging off one shoulder, flashing just a hint of lace underneath. Along with the sweater was also the shortest pleated white skirt he’d ever seen. More white lace peeked out the bottom, drawing Tony’s eyes further down and to the lace topped thigh high socks. Lace ribbons twined up and down the entire length on both legs, ending in delicate baby blue ballet flats.

“You’re here,” Tony said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. He was fighting to keep his face neutral, to not let his irritation leak out.

“For you, sir,” Peter agreed, his voice hesitant in the face of Tony’s stiffness.

Tony stepped closer, trying to appreciate the treat before him. He felt his irritation fade slightly despite the unplanned interruption to an already shitty day. With a deep breath, he dragged his fingertips up along the stockings, just feeling the soft texture before sliding his hand up under the skirt. He grabbed Peter’s ass, enjoying the feel of the lacy panties the boy had worn underneath at least. He made a questioning sound when his hand slid further down and he realized the panties were crotchless.

“Feeling a bit needy there, Princess?” Tony asked, giving Peter a raised eyebrow as he ran his fingers over the boy’s hole before sliding them back around to cup the semi- hard little cock that strained against the panty’s front. “You’re all dressed up too. Is it a special occasion?”

Tony fondled Peter’s cock as he leaned forward, licking along the exposed strip of Peter’s shoulder. He knew he should be gentle but the porcelain skin taunted him, and Tony couldn’t help but nip and suck hard enough to leave a purple mark. Peter yelped, then moaned as his arms clutched tightly at Tony’s shoulders.

Tony grinned against the skin and stopped holding back, not pulling away until Peter’s neck was properly covered in his marks. He normally held back, worried he’d scare his pet away if he showed just what he really wanted sometimes, but Peter’s whimpers and moans just egged him on. They dared him to do more.

“Awfully brave of you to beard the lion in his den,” Tony whispered into Peter’s ear. Then he walked away, throwing himself onto the nearby couch and “Well, get over here. Give daddy a show.”

Tony leaned back, one arm stretched along the back of the couch and legs crossed as Peter walked slowly towards him, swaying his hips. The boy kept giving him shy glances which Tony gave dark looks in return, bringing a pink flush to Peter’s cheeks.

Tony let his legs fall open as Peter got closer, heat pooling in his stomach as the boy slid gracefully to his knees on the floor between Tony’s legs. The boy would have been a picture of innocence in pastel if not for the lace showing where the sweater fell off his shoulder. Instead, he just looked like an angel waiting to be debauched.

Peter ran his hands up Tony’s pant legs, reveling in the feeling of the soft fabric against his skin. He leaned forward, nuzzling his way up the older man’s thighs before burying his nose against his clothed cock.

“Don’t get daddy’s suit dirty,” Tony warned, sliding his hand through Peter’s hair and pulling warningly.

“Promise I won’t, daddy,” Peter said, nuzzling again before pulling away enough to undo the man’s belt.

He wasn’t coordinated enough to open Tony’s pants with his mouth, so Peter settled on running his hands teasingly over the area multiple times before finally popping the button and pulling the zipper down as slowly as he could. Tony didn’t say anything, though he never took his hand back out of Peter’s hair either.

Feeling mischievous, Peter leant forward again and licked at Tony’s cock through his underwear. The hand in his hair immediately tightened, and Peter whimpered, his hips thrusting uselessly against the air as his cock strained against his panties.

“Looking for trouble there, pet?” Tony rumbled above him. Peter looked up and shook his head, eyes as wide as he could make them.

“No daddy, sorry daddy,” Peter promised. Tony just huffed at him in disbelief.

Peter didn’t say anything, instead opting for a distraction by pulling the older man’s cock out. He leant over and kitten licked the top of the other man’s cock while giving him the most guileless look he could.

“Fuck, baby, you’re asking for it,” Tony growled as his hand tightened in Peter’s curls. Peter whined and caught the tip of Tony’s cock in his mouth to suckle on properly. “That’s better.”

Peter moaned as Tony pulled him further onto the man’s cock but he didn’t fight it. One of the first things he had learned as Tony’s pet was how to take the man this way, too nervous for anal sex but more nervous about not pleasing his new owner. It was a compromise that helped Peter learn to trust Tony, and Tony to learn Peter’s tells. Now, it was one of his favorite things.

He sucked and licked not caring when Tony would push further back, gagging him briefly before being pulled off the hard cock again. His eyes watered and spit dripped off his chin but he didn’t care so long as Tony was happy.

“That’s right, put that mouth to good use,” Tony growled. “Better than these other assholes I’ve had to deal with. Fucking Hammer always running his mouth and good for nothing.”

Peter whimpered and Tony just went harder.

“Cocksucker’s got nothing on you though, baby boy,” Tony said, holding Peter all the way down for a moment before letting him up again. “Prick just likes to stick things where they don’t belong intead of listening to orders.”

Peter focused on Tony’s cock, doing his best not to fight. Every time he dared to glance up, Tony’s eyes were fixed on him, dark and sharper than usual. Everything about Tony was darker than usual today though, and Peter refused to run from his master just because things were a little different today.

“Go ahead and get yourself wet for me, princess. Want you to mess that cute little skirt up,” Tony ordered suddenly, his voice enough to send shivers down Peter’s spine. He was quick to shove a hand under the skirt, though he didn’t bother pulling himself out of his panties.

It only took a few strokes before he was coming, moaning around Tony’s hard cock in his mouth and twitching as the pleasure wracked his body.

“Such a good slut for me, aren’t you, baby,” Tony said, pulling Peter off his cock enough to take in the absolutely wrecked look on the boy’s face. He leaned forward and used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe his face clean. “Get up here, I want more than just your mouth.”

Tony watched intently as his baby stood, still slightly shaky, but giving Tony a sultry look as he slid his hands up his own thighs, catching some of the skirt and flashing the front of the panties before letting the skirt fall but continuing up to grab the sweater instead. As Peter pulled the outer layer further up, Tony saw that the lace he had assumed was a bralet was actually a white baby doll with powder blue ribbons. The sweater dropped to the floor and Peter toed out of the flats. Then the boy climbed onto his lap, and Tony bit back a moan as he felt Peter’s warm skin contrasting with the wet panties underneath the skirt.

Peter moaned as he felt Tony’s cock through the slit in the panties, turned on by how dirty the whole thing was. He bent forward, catching Tony’s mouth with his own in a gentle kiss. It didn’t stay gentle as Tony took control, making Peter squirm with need again.

“Please, sir, please,” Peter begged, his voice wrecked. Tony grinned darkly in response and Peter shuddered in response.

“How could I not give my princess what she wants?” Tony asked, and Peter gasped as Tony’s hand found his already hard cock. “Why don’t you lift that skirt up for me so I can see what I’m doing, baby.”

Peter grabbed the hem and lifted it, feeling suddenly shy as he showed off the matching white lace and blue bows of the wet panties.

“Look at those cute little panties,” Tony said, tracing a finger along the ribbons. “I’m going to have to buy you new ones though, baby, because I’m going to ruin these ones.

Peter shuddered as Tony put his hand right over where Peter’s cock was straining against a large wet spot and started rubbing firmly.

“Don’t look away, baby,” Tony demanded, his heavy gaze and domineering attitude setting Peter on fire. “I want you to see me playing with you and see what your cute little panties look like stained with even more cum.”

Peter whimpered but kept his eyes open and skirt held up as Tony quickly brought him over the edge. As the aftershocks wore off, Tony dipped his hand into the panties and gathered up the cum, sliding his hand back instead to finger Peter’s ass.

“Gonna get you nice and wet for me, baby,” Tony murmured even as he pulled Peter forward and started nibbling at one of Peter’s nipples through the lacy babydoll. Peter couldn’t help pushing up against Tony’s mouth as the man teased him. It was lighting straight to his cock, and Peter loved it.

Tony knew Peter’s cum wouldn’t be enough to actually fuck him with, even with the two orgasms, but it was fun to torture his baby, sliding his hand to grab as much as he could and then stretching him with it. His own cock was hard as a rock, and Peter’s baby doll had two very dark spots over his nipples when Tony finally decided he could wait no longer.

He grabbed the lube that he kept tucked in the couch and popped it open, drizzling some on his hand.

“Hold yourself open for me, princess,” Tony ordered, even as he pushed first two then three fingers into Peter’s ass, carefully spreading the lube everywhere. Then Tony lubed himself up as well. They both groaned as Peter slid slowly down his cock, the boy’s ass tight and warm around him. Peter whimpered and moaned, gasping as Tony put his hands to work touching anything he could reach, reveling in the textures and softness.

“That’s my beautiful princess,” Tony murmured, grabbing Peter’s hips and starting to pull the boy on and off his cock. “Look at you, so soft and sweet just for me, aren’t you, baby? Gonna make daddy’s bad day better, huh?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Peter gasped out amid Tony’s thrusts. “Just wanna make you happy, daddy.”

Tony couldn’t hold back as he gripped Peter even harder, his fingers undoubtedly bruising the pale thighs as he pounded into the boy’s tight body. The stress and frustration of the day bled out as Tony came hard, buried deep inside his pet.

Tony eventually came back to himself to find Peter slumped over against him and a wet patch on Peter’s skirt. He grinned as he realized his boy must have come again.

“Hey, you ok?” Tony asked, running his hands gently through Peter’s curls. “I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, it was good,” Peter croaked even as he nuzzled closer in. “I hope you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Oh, I’m feeling a lot better, but I think I have a bit more energy to work off,” Tony said as his hands slid down Peter’s waist to his legs. Those ribbons were taunting him after all.

“Tooony,” Peter whined but Tony wasn’t listening. He stood and dropped Peter onto the couch instead, tossing off his jacket and sinking to his knees and gently picking up one of Peter’s feet.

“You can hardly blame me, princess,” Tony teased as he nuzzled Peter’s ankle, then started nibbling his way up the boy’s leg. “Look at these beautiful presents, all wrapped like it’s Christmas.”

Peter squirmed but didn’t yank his leg away as Tony kissed and bit his way to the top of the ribbon. When he reached the top, he grabbed the end of the ribbon with his teeth and pulled slowly until the bow came loose. Tony pulled at it, intentionally trailing the ends along Peter’s thigh and calf as he unwound it. Then he slowly pulled off the tall socks, nipping and kissing.

The other leg was given the same treatment, and Tony took great pleasure in how red Peter went, blushing under his tender touches.

“What to do now?” Tony asked, though he already knew exactly what he intended to do. Those ribbons would be perfect for tying Peter up and putting him on display.

Peter could barely breath as Tony picked up the ribbon again, his mind already guessing where Tony was going with it. This wasn’t the first time he had been tied up, and there was something so sensual but also reassuring to Peter to be at Tony’s mercy like that. If only because he knew the older man would always take care of him.

“Give me your hands,” Tony commanded, and Peter obeyed without hesitation even as his breath hitched in anticipation.

Tony bound his wrists together, then wound the tails of the ribbon up his arms in a mimicry of what had been on his legs earlier. A little on each shoulder held the ribbon ends, keeping it from slipping apart.

The second ribbon was wrapped around his neck and tied in a large bow with the tails hanging down his front.

“So pretty for me, wrapped up like it’s my birthday,” Tony murmured, as he climbed on top of Peter, pushing his hands above his head and caging him in on the couch.

“Not Christmas, sir?” Peter teased breathlessly, basking in the heat coming off of Tony’s body.

“Nah because then everyone gets presents. I like birthdays better since it means I can be a selfish asshole and no one says anything,” Tony quipped back, nipping at Peter’s neck.

“Pret-pretty sure no one says anything to youuuuu,” Peter couldn’t stop the long drawn out moan that slipped out as Tony latched on to the most sensitive part of Peter’s neck.

“Not if they want to live long,” Tony muttered darkly, causing Peter to shiver at the promise of violence. It was quickly tucked away though, and Tony shot him a salacious grin. “You know what I want?”

“More sex and Hammer out of business?” Peter hazarded, given that today’s stress came from the most recent round of irritation caused by the empty headed man.

His answer startled a laugh out of Tony, and Peter’s heart warmed at the sound. When Bucky had shown up at the mansion, he had been so worried that the day was going to be an utter disaster. If Tony could laugh like that though, then just maybe they could salvage it.

“I definitely wouldn’t say no to Hammer not being a pain any longer, but no, in this instance I was thinking how my cute little princess ruined her panties and I haven’t seen it properly. So you’re going to stay just like this for me and not move,” Tony instructed as dropped one last kiss on Peter’s lips, then sat up. He settled himself between Peter’s legs, in easy reach but far enough back to get another eyeful when he flipped Peter’s skirt up.

Peter wanted to move. To squirm or at least try to hide away, still embarrassed by the fact that he loved this, not just what Tony did to him but the soft clothes and gentle pet names. But he wouldn’t, because Tony had told him to stay, and Tony owned him in all the ways that mattered.

“So very perfect for me, aren’t you?” Tony asked as he watched Peter struggle. The boy clearly wanted to move, but every time he twitched or tried to move, he would catch himself.

Tony palmed the soft cock tucked into the wet, ruined panties and squeezed it gently. He fondled it with one hand while the other aimlessly pet up Peter’s leg and then down again, teasing but never going where Peter really wanted.

It was a slower build up this time, with Peter having already come twice, but Tony almost enjoyed it more because of that. He nipped and sucked dark marks on the inside of Peter’s thighs, pulling more gasps from Peter as Tony stopped trying to hold back.

“Tooony, sir, please,” Peter pleaded breathlessly, and Tony took dark pleasure seeing the boy come apart for him. He’d always known Peter had submissive tendencies but this was the furthest he’d pushed him, and the boy seemed to be slipping right into the role.

Finally though, Peter was hard again, and Tony pulled the panties down just enough to let the kid’s cock spring free. Tony took a moment to appreciate the picture, with Peter flushed and his little cock laying against white lace.

Then he bent over and took Peter’s entire cock into his mouth. Peter made a choked noise and his hips tried to shoot up but Tony had anticipated it and had Peter’s hips pinned with his arms. He pulled off, shooting the boy a grin, and then dived back in, this time using one hand to finger him while the other held him still.

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Peter was a wreck and he knew it. Tony’s mouth was heaven and hell to his oversensitive body, and he didn’t know how he was going to come again for the man, but he knew Tony would accept nothing less.

Tony was focused as he worked Peter over, not stopping to talk or tease, but instead pushing him toward the edge relentlessly. Peter gasped and his hands scrabbled against the couch as he tried to find purchase despite his lower half being pinned.

“Please, please, please,” Peter whined, unable to even form a sentence but praying that Tony knew what he was asking for.

Whether he took pity or whether it was just what he wanted so he gave it to Peter anyway, Peter wasn’t sure, but the next thing he knew, his body was seizing up around Tony’s fingers. He was so sensitive that it was nearly painful, and he sobbed as his body slumped against the couch.

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Tony pulled Peter into his arms, settling them both more comfortably but leaving Peter’s arms bound. The younger man dozed in his arms while Tony just soaked in the warmth of Peter’s body against his. He could really admire how gorgeous his pet looked, now that the edge of the day was finally draining. Tony knew he’d still have to fix the mess waiting for him, but he could afford another 30 minutes with his pet first. After all, he needed to let him recover enough for one last round.

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Peter woke to the feeling of Tony’s fingers inside him again, and he groaned when he realized his cock was being fondled gently as well.

“I can’t, please,” Peter whispered, tears filling his eyes. Already his cock felt sensitive, right on the edge of pain.

“One more, baby,” Tony growled, and Peter whined in response. Then he was being lifted, only to be laid out across Tony’s desk on his stomach, hands still tied in front of him. “You’re going to give me one more, and you’re not leaving until you do.”

Peter sagged against the desk, letting his body slump as he felt Tony push into him. He’d never get tired of feeling so full or the way Tony’s heat warmed him to his core. Even as exhausted as he was, it felt so good, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

“That’s it, baby,” Tony murmured, his hands running along Peter’s sides and back. “Just take what I’m going to give you. And then, when it’s time, you’re going to come for me too.”

It felt impossible, and yet as Tony pressed into him slowly but deeply, Peter felt the tingling warmth start to build again.

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Tony knew it was a lot, to draw four orgasms from his pet in such a short time, and yet he was determined to do so. He watched closely as Peter went from accepting but drained to squirming on his cock again, chasing release without even realizing it.

“That's it, pet. Keep going for me,” Tony said, finally picking up his pace. His hands slid underneath Peter’s legs, changing the angle and letting Tony get even closer. He stopped holding back and started pounding into Peter.

Peter gasped and tried to find something to help steady himself with but Tony didn’t let him, yanking him back onto his cock again.

“Come on, princess, come for daddy,” Tony encouraged. “You can do it.”

As he spoke, he grabbed some lube and got his hand wet, sliding it around and loosely holding Peter’s cock. Peter jerked against him, hips stuttering as he thrust into Tony’s hand a few times before tightening around his cock.

Tony groaned and kept chasing his own orgasm as Peter’s muscles tightened around him. Then he was coming, buried deep in his pet.

When he came back to himself, he realized Peter had passed out from that last round. A quick glance showed the kid had also come dry.

“Come on, princess,” Tony said, his voice finally gentle again. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

Peter barely noticed as he was pulled off the desk and carried back over to the couch. Tony carefully unwound the ribbons, dropping them to the ground. Then he pulled the ruined panties off and added them to the pile. He grabbed a warm washcloth from his private bathroom and cleaned the kid up as best as he could before draping his suit jacket over Peter to keep him warm. He then rolled up the soft sweater and tucked it underneath the younger man’s head.

“Sweet dreams, Princess,” Tony whispered, then set about making himself as tidy as he could.

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Bucky almost froze when he walked back into Tony’s office. Only years of masking his reactions kept him walking forward as if nothing was wrong.

Peter was curled up on the couch, his sweater tucked under his head while a suit jacket was draped over him like a blanket. Tony, meanwhile, was sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up and a neutral expression on his face.

Bucky bit back a swallow and followed Steve and the others over towards the desk, doing his best to ignore the sleeping kid. Who was covered in purpling bite marks and still had tear tracks staining his face. And who had clearly been used roughly before being left on the couch with only a jacket to cover him if the clothes laying around everywhere were any indication.

Tony gave all of them an unimpressed look, and Bucky understood. They had gone behind his back to bring Peter in, after all, with Steve making the call after Tony had threatened a massacre. Peter had come willingly enough but despite their relationship, Tony had always kept Peter separate from the worst of his temper, and from the office in general.

“Let me make myself very clear,” Tony finally said, his voice dark and dangerous. “My pet is off limits. You don’t take him anywhere or do anything without my explicit permission. And if you feel the need to hide behind him just because I’m pissed, then find a new boss.”

“Understood, Boss,” Steve replied, Bucky’s voice chiming in as well. None of them had guessed that he wouldn’t hold back on the kid, given how much he seemed to treasure him. It was a grave miscalculation, and Bucky was berating himself for underestimating how far his boss would go. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

#khalixa writes #starker #nff #tony stark/peter parker #mafia au #sfsummerbingo22 #mind the tags

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