#blushing-starker

[definitelynottony]

Daddy OMFG stop embarrassing me with your gifs and tags and ugh!!!

It's my job as your Dad, kiddo. And I take my job with pride.

[rainghosted]

Just some physical touch with Starker

Peter never really noticed how much he craved touch until Tony came into his life, not as Iron Man, not as the genius-billionaire Avenger, but as the man who reached for his hand first without hesitation.

It started small, fingers brushing in the lab as they handed each other tools. The way Tony would gently knock his shoulder into Peter’s when he made him laugh. Casual, effortless, simple. But over time, it grew.

In Public

Tony Stark was a man who didn’t shy away from attention, but when it came to Peter, his touches were softer, more grounded.

They’d be walking through the Tower or a crowded gala, and Tony’s fingers would instinctively find Peter’s.

Sometimes, Tony would rest a possessive hand on Peter’s lower back while guiding him through reporters or agents. Other times, when Peter looked a little tired or anxious, Tony would slip an arm around his waist, keeping him close, steadying his steps without saying a word.

Once, at a fundraiser, Peter had been overwhelmed by the press attention and flashing lights. Tony had leaned over, whispered, “Deep breath, babyboy,” and slid his hand into Peter’s, squeezing just enough to ground him. Peter held on like it was a lifeline.

In Private

That’s where the touches bloomed into something richer.

Peter loved how Tony’s hands always found him, whether it was a lazy Saturday or a post-mission wind-down. Tony would come up behind him at the kitchen counter, arms snaking around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

“You’re warm,” Tony would mumble, and Peter would lean back into him with a soft smile.

At night, Peter fell asleep best with his head on Tony’s chest, the gentle beat of his arc reactor humming beneath his cheek. Tony’s hand would play in his curls, sometimes trailing up and down his back.

On couch nights, Peter often found himself stretched out with his legs tangled in Tony’s, his back against Tony’s chest. They’d watch movies, half-paying attention, more focused on each other’s touch than the plot.

And Tony?

He always touched with purpose. A hand over Peter’s as they worked in the lab. A soft brush of knuckles against his jaw after an argument. Fingertips dancing along Peter’s thigh when they sat too close during team meetings.

Peter would blush. Tony would smirk. And neither would move away.

After a Bad Mission

Peter had come back with bruises. Nothing serious, but enough to have Tony pacing.

When Peter finally returned to the Tower, sore and exhausted, Tony didn’t speak. He just pulled him close, arms tight around his shoulders. Hand buried in Peter’s hair. Foreheads pressed together.

They didn’t need words. Peter’s slight tremble and Tony’s steady grip said everything.

“You always hold me like I’m going to break,” Peter murmured.

“No,” Tony whispered back. “I hold you like you’re the only thing I can’t afford to lose.”

And When the World Went Quiet.

It was late. Rain tapped at the windows, the city muffled in a dreamy hush. Peter stood at the glass, watching the skyline in Tony’s oversized hoodie, hair messy from sleep.

Tony came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, burying his nose in his neck. They swayed gently, no music needed.

“I missed you today,” Peter whispered.

Tony held him tighter. “I missed you every minute.”

From hand-holding in public to chest-to-back hugs in the privacy of their room, Tony and Peter didn’t need grand gestures to prove anything.

And the way their hands always found their way back, whether lost in a crowd or lying in silence—said more than words ever could.

They had each other.

[ricciardo133]

Winter Break 2025

maxiel, weight gain, body worship, pregnancy briefly alluded to

-

Daniel always loves the way Max looks during the winter months. As Max steps into Daniel's Monaco apartment, Daniel eyes the tight fit of Max's running shorts along his softening hips.

"So, you have new merch?" Max asks, oblivious to Daniel's ogling. Daniel snaps to attention and follows Max into the living room.

"Well, obviously. As your new sponsor, we gotta make a whole Verstappen collection," Daniel adds with jazz hands for pizazz. "And I wanted to get your approval before we send the designs to print and you're stuck wearing all this for a year."

"It can look like anything," Max says, unbothered.

"Oh, good. I'll tell them we're a go on the Enchanté-branded assless chaps."

Max laughs, eyes crinkling in mirth. "Yeah, perfect for Media Day. I assume there is a matching cowboy hat."

Daniel feels his cheeks flush, picturing Max actually wearing that combination and nothing else.

"Just try on the samples and humor me, Maxy."

Thankfully, he's now not the only one blushing. They've been friends for long enough to know how to edge the unspoken line without ever crossing it, neither ever making that final push to send them spiraling onto one side or the other.

"Yeah, alright," Max says. "I'll do a fashion show."

Daniel claps and leads Max over to the dining room table where an already-opened cardboard box holds an assortment of red, blue, white, and orange apparel. He holds up one of the pull-overs, assessing which to try first.

"They're just the rough drafts, so let me know if you think they look like ass."

"No, Daniel, they look very cool. I like the classic look. And the big "É." Very you."

Daniel feels his dick twitch in his pants, thinking of Max branded with his label, marked as his, for the world to see. He tosses the shirt into Max's arms and pulls out a pair of summery shorts to match. "Just give these a spin. I sent them your size, so they should fit."

Daniel has seen how deep the flush can go over the years, like an old-timey thermometer measuring of how flustered his younger friend can get. He bites his full lips as his neck turns pink.

"I, uh, might be a bit bigger right now. But they'll fit for Melbourne. I'll look better."

"You look great now, Max."

Max spins on his heels and into the adjacent half-bath, door closing, as if Daniel hadn't seen him almost naked before. Daniel sits on the barstool at the kitchen island.

Sometimes he hates gooning this fucking horny friendship line and wishes he could just buck up the nerve to say something. Anything. Maybe now that they're not somewhat teammates, it'd be okay? Or is it inappropriate for a patron to think about cupping their client's ass and spreading his soft flesh-

"Okay, remember, they'll fit better in a few months."

Daniel looks up and feels his body tighten as he takes in the sight of him. Max squirms in the pull-over, zipper done all the way up. The orange sleeves hug his full arms, and the white, soft fabric stretches tight along his chest. Oh God, his tits, Daniel thinks guiltily before trying and failing to think about the design aspect of all this and not how Max's soft stomach pulls the pullover's fabric taught. His fuller belly peeks over the top of the shorts. His hips, always seemingly begging to be held, curve and slope down to full thighs. Max shaved. His normally fuzzy legs smooth as he shifts his weight on one bare foot to the other.

"I know," Max says, voice nervy. "It happens every year. I'm on holiday, but I'll get better."

"Don't say that," Daniel gets up. He feels the line veering closer, like pushing too hard on a circuit he knows by heart. He stops just an inch beyond appropriateness. "You look great."

"Daniel." He can't parse the pleading note in Max's voice, something shaky.

"You always look so good this way," Daniel goes on, watching Max's big blue gaze get thrown in starker contrast as his cheeks flush again. Max even shaved his face. He looks so young, like when he was his teamma-

"Daniel," Max says again. "I just feel too big."

"You're perfect, Max. You normally don't wear these things zipped all the way up, though. More like this,"

The line. Daniel crosses it, fingers gently pulling the pull-over's zipper down at an agonizingly slow rate. He didn't realize Max was holding his breath until he shudders a shaky exhale.

"Does it feel good?" Daniel asks, hands trailing up the sleeves, feeling the soft fabric casing Max's biceps.

"Yes. It's good."

"And not too tight here?" Daniel lets his hands draw inwards along Max's chest. Seeing he's already blown past the point of no return, he lets his palms rest over Max's full breasts. "Is it okay?"

Max nods, fast. Through parted reddened lips, Daniel sees Max's perfect, glistening tongue against his straight teeth.

Daniel squeezes. Max keens, a note Daniel has never heard from the other man. He rubs, making gentle circles over hardening nipples.

"Oh, Daniel," Max whispers.

"Maxy," Daniel returns, hands trailing lower, feeling the full rise of his belly. "Breathe."

Max acquiesces, belly shuddering. Daniel relishes the soft, pliable skin below the warm fabric.

"You look so good like this, Max," he says, stepping even closer. He lets his gaze dip, feeling Max's head lower to rest their foreheads together as Daniel stares at his soft belly. He rubs gentle lines around it, dick hardening as Max lets his body go even softer. He could even look three months pregnant, how round and full he fills out the top.

Max whispers his name again and then again as Daniel pulls up the fabric and finally touches smooth skin and then once more as Daniel's fingers dip into the waistband of the shorts, exploring back as Daniel presses flush to squeeze his hands into Max's full, soft ass.

"You deserve to feel good," Daniel says into Max's ear, words falling on the red nape of his neck. "At every weight, you deserve to be so fucking worshiped, Max."

"Oh my God, Daniel."

Daniel squeezes again, more firmly this time as he traces up to hold his pillowy hips. They always look so bitable in his fireproofs, and now they're filling out even more in the too-tight shorts, begging to be gripped. To be used for everything Daniel has wanted for years.

"I know," Daniel says, suddenly self-conscious, "this is, uh, a lot."

"It's good," Max asserts, his own hands flying to Daniel's back as if to keep him in place. "If it's good for you."

Daniel snorts a laugh, letting his hips rut forwards. His stiff cock meets Max's soft thigh. Max whines.

"More than good, Maxy." He presses his lips into heated, soft skin at Max's shoulder. "You're perfect like this. So fucking perfect." He reels at Max pressing his own hard length into Daniel's hips. It's bliss. Max's body, warm and eager and full and, for now, his.

"Alright, so, should I try on the others?" Max asks, a gentle mirth in his tone.

"Yeah, let me help you take these off first."

[starkerobsession]

yeah honestly I can’t think of an explanation for Happy’s behavior in that scene at the end of homecoming that ISNT him being completely aware that Tony is going to jump Peter the second they’re alone lol. I have no idea why he’d be so reluctant to leave and giving Tony those looks if he just figured Tony only wanted to get an innocent “I’m sorry and proud of you kid” dad speech.

other highlights of that scene for me are Tony looking super smug as he offers Peter the iron spider suit (his “yeahhh give that a look” and his little satisfied smirk as he watches Peter’s reaction, he wants to be this twink’s sugar daddy so bad omg), the way he’s completely thrown when Peter turns him down, how unsure but intrigued it makes him (he literally bounces on the sides of his feet, it’s so cute, Peter has this genius billionaire superhero basically blushing giggling kicking his feet), and then the lip licking as he watches Peter walk away of course.

I don’t understand the acting choices in this scene if they weren’t going for some intentional subtext here tbh

ALL OF THIS 🥵🥵

It’s probably one of the most tangible Starker scenes in the entire MCU.

I also like to imagine that the reason Tony was so distant with Peter during Homecoming was because he knew he’d end up with the kid in his bed if he got close to him. It was his attempt to “be good”, but in the end he was just like *fuck it* because the kid’s been so desperate to please him, he deserves Tony to give him the night of his life for it.

[starker-raving-mads]

Tony in the streets, Mr. Stark in the sheets.

I just need more fics where Peter continues to call Tony ‘Mr. Stark’ in bed. It’s a vibe.

[starkercreamery]

Build your own Starker Fic 🌟 based on:

birthday (peter)

birthmonth (tony)

zodiac sign (trope)

phone battery percentage (dynamics)

🕸️ Birthday 🕸️

1-3 Doctor Peter

4-6 Trans Peter

7-9 Spider man Peter

10-12 Whump Peter

13-15 Femme Peter

16-18 Fairy in Disguise Peter

19-21 Werewolf Peter

22-24 Actor Peter

25-26 Professor Peter

27-29 MIT Student Peter

30-31 Lawyer Peter

🤖 Birthmonth 🤖

January - Highschool Tony

February - Iron Man Tony

March - Actor Tony

April - Werewolf Tony

May - King Tony

June - President Tony

July - Tony needs a Hug

August - Alien Tony

September - Superior Iron Man Tony

October - Professor Tony

November - Down and Out Tony

December - Divorced Tony

🌷 Zodiac Signs 🌷

Aries - Secret Relationship

Taurus - Single Parents

Gemini - Friends to Enemies

Cancer - Soulmates

Leo - Domestic

Virgo - Set in the Another Universe

Libra - Sugar Baby

Scorpio - Creature Fic

Sagittarius - Fake Dating

Capricorn - Omegaverse

Aquarius - Heirs

Pisces - There's only One Bed

🔋 Battery Percentage 🔋

1%-10% sunshine x sunshine protector

11%-20% cocky flirt x angry blushing mess

21%-30% big + soft x tiny + scary

31%-40% bad boy who's in love the nerd x nerd who thinks bad boy is a bully

41%-50% tsundere x in love and won't hide it

51%-60% excited cutie x low energy but would do anything for cutie

61%-70% 24/7 horny x super shy

71%-80% angry boss x clumsy assistant

81%-85% both are completely unaware that they're practically dating

86%-90% exes to lovers

91%-95% lovers to enemies to lovers

96%-100% mutual pining

[snogfairy]

Could you do 19 for ineffable husbands for the one bed prompts?🥺

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Angel, we could easily miracle another bed. Might be a bit tight, tiny room and all, but we're--" Something Crowley discovered at the very back of Aziraphale's eyes made him stop. It looked a little like disappointment.

"Yes. We could. But... do you want me to stay?"

"Oh." Crowley turned towards him, and he didn't even need to take a step. The room really was tiny. "Angel," he drawled, leaning in a little closer. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

Aziraphale lifted his nose. "Well, I could also go back down and ask the receptionist to clear up the mistake, maybe another room will miracuously have become vac--"

"No, no." Crowley lifted his hands. "You can stay."

Aziraphale waited.

"Okay. I want you to stay."

"Well - okay." Aziraphale smiled a happy little smile, accompanied by an even happier wiggle of limbs. "Great!"

Looking at the angel like that, Crowley wanted to wiggle right out of his own skin, but stayed perfectly still. One of them had to keep their composure. That's how they worked: like a seesaw, one stoic and repressed, one forward and daring and carefully enthusiastic. They took turns.

Except lately they didn't really have to. Only, old habits were hard to kick - although Aziraphale currently was trying very valiantly.

Crowley almost suspected he had booked the tiny room with one bed on purpose. Well - he knew. But admitting that...

He'd rather play along. It was fun, in a way.

"So, which one of us gets the bed then?"

He watched Aziraphale's face fall in real time.

"Oh. I... I hadn't thought of that." He straightened, visibly trying to recompose himself and the situation. Then he caught the twinkle in Crowley's eyes, and relaxed back into his comfortable body. Crowley watched him thinking, envisioning the gears turning in his cloudy head. "Well... lately, you know, my back has been acting up, the corporation might be wearing out, haha, funny thing, did you think it possible? So. I would, if I were honest, rather prefer the bed. However, I would simply hate for you to sleep on this horrible carpet floor." Aziraphale made a face, trying to downplay his obvious, nervous scheme. "Imagine how many people... no, out of the question."

Crowley shrugged, trying to keep the demonic grin off his face. "Fine. I'll take the walls. Or ceiling. I'm not picky."

Aziraphale almost groaned: he could see it in the way the corners of his mouth pulled his lips into a thin line. "Crowley, I'm trying--" He gnashed his teeth.

Crowley was feeling bold. The angel might as well have started begging at this point. "Trying what, angel?"

"I. Just." Aziraphale's shoulders slumped. Success. Surrender. Aziraphale fixed him with his eyes, blue and intense and suddenly so enlightened. There was intent in them. And Crowley thought maybe his cheeky demeanor might come back to bite him, as it usually did. He'd pushed, and Aziraphale had caved. Now he was looking at him openly, without their easy pretense. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

"S-sleep with you?" Crowley echoed dumbly. The images that slipped unbidden into his mind made him blush, and the angel promptly followed suit.

"Lie with me," he tried to correct, only that didn't help at all. "I mean! I mean... not biblically? No... intercourse."

"Intercourse?!"

"No intercourse!" Aziraphale actually clutched at his face and hid behind his hands. He actually groaned, this time. His face stood in ever starker contrast to his white hair.

"Aw," Crowley croaked. It was an attempt to defuse the situation, only he hadn't really delivered. It sounded suffocated, like a dying tealight.

"I mean, I'm not saying I don't want-- I would very much enjoy-- I'm just saying we, you don't have to-- Oh, bother. Oh, I'll go down and ask for another room."

Aziraphale started for the door, but Crowley stopped his embarassed flight out of the room with one hand to his chest, looking anywhere but his face.

"Wait. I want to."

"You want to?"

Crowley thought he could actually feel the angel tremble beneath his hand, but maybe it was only the air drawing into his ribcage. The tone of his voice held too many emotions at once for Crowley to disentangle them all.

"You want to... uh, sleep with me?" Aziraphale asked faintly.

A hundred meanings for this single word, and yet the answer was so all-encompassingly simple. "Yes."

"Yes..." Aziraphale slowly looked at his face. Hopeful, careful, maybe a little hungry.

Crowley tried a grin, and felt relieved when it stuck to his face and took hold. "Intercourse or no."

Carefully, Aziraphale began to return the grin, but stopped halfway and settled on a wide smile instead.

"Great."

"Great?" Crowley slid his hand down Aziraphale's chest until it dropped, and took a step back. Aziraphale wanted to sleep with him - wanted Crowley to sleep with him, too. And they both thought that was great.

Life on earth really was great, these days.

"Yes."

"So you want to start right now?"

"Excuse me?"

"We could go to sleep right now. Together."

"Crowley, it's 11am."

"So?" Crowley walked him up against the door, and thought that if they were sleeping with each other, sooner or later but today, no matter what kind of sleeping, they might as well try their hands and lips again at the kissing thing they had recently discovered for themselves.

Aziraphale let him proceed, and their lips touched with soft enthusiasm. Perhaps they even tasted a little anticipation on each other's mouths.

Then Aziraphale's stomach rumbled. He pulled back with a sheepish smile.

"It's 11am," he repeated, "So I'm hungry."

"Then we better get you fed." Crowley smiled lavishly, though he had been perfectly content to make a meal of the angel's lips. "Don't want you fed up."

"You certainly don't," Aziraphale agreed. They shifted against each other in what little space they had, until they both faced the door. "I feel like a big, hearty breakfast. And then, perhaps, to digest... a little nap?"

"Mh. Nap. Nappy nap. Sounds heav- sounds ni- yeah. Let's do that."

"Care to join me?"

Crowley already held open the door.

"Always, angel."

[graceful-starker]

Sex Toys

Summary: Toni introduces her girlfriend Penny to one of her toy boxes.

Warnings: Genderbend, exploring with sex toys.

WC/Rating: 4092/E

Notes: I thought this prompt (Day 31- Sex Toys) would fit perfectly with my gender bend square on my bingo! Also @the-mad-starker this one is for you boo <3 This turned out so much longer than I planned ;-;

~

Penny has enjoyed their sex life so far, more than that even. She thinks it’s perfect; she’s never before been with someone who was so sexually compatible. Every single time they have sex, which is a lot, she leaves feeling like that was the best sex of her life. She can hardly remember what an orgasm without Toni’s influence feels like, but she knows it’s boring in comparison. 

Toni, however, will not settle for best. She wants to ruin Penny, ruin her for anyone else, ruin her for anything that isn’t given by Toni. And so far, she’s succeeding. 

Penny can’t even get herself off anymore, not by herself. Which she doesn’t really mind, because there aren’t a whole lot of opportunities for her to be horny without Toni being able to fix it for her. 

All of this to say, Penny nearly faints when Toni opens the box, which is well used yet new to Penny and Toni’s relationship. 

“That’s…the first box?” Penny squeaks, leaning away from the box as if the contents will reach out and bite her.

Toni smirks, that familiar sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, kid,” Toni says, leaning in and kissing her shoulder. “This is the ‘ease Penny into it’ box. I have a whole playroom filled with boxes and other toys.”

Penny swallows thickly, leaning back into Toni’s chest. It’s terrifying, the idea of Toni having not only more toys than this, but more intense toys that Toni deemed too scary to start Penny off with. A whole room dedicated to sex; Penny should have known honestly. “W-what’s wrong with what we do now?” Penny asks, voice shaking. 

It’s not that Penny is a stranger to toys; she has her own favorite vibrator at home, and even a dildo in her dresser. Not to mention, Toni has already used a few different vibrators and dildos on her, and she even introduced Penny to the strap on. (Maybe Toni has more strap ons, Penny is suddenly very sure that Toni would not limit herself to just one harness). But this box, and the idea of more boxes; it’s a lot to take in all at once. 

“Nothing,” Toni murmurs, directly into Penny’s ear just to feel the younger shiver against her. She gives Penny’s ear a gentle kiss, before licking along the shell. Penny’s breath leaves her in a gasp, and Toni smirks. “Just limited. There’s a whole world of ways to play you haven’t tried yet. Don’t you want to explore it?” Her voice lilts teasingly at the end, and Penny is helpless against her beautiful, sexy, perfect lover. 

Penny reaches out with a shaky hand, fingers wrapping around the absurdly large dildo in her hands. Or, she assumes it’s a dildo; it isn’t human. She’s had sex with a man before, and she’s seen porn; this is absolutely not a human penis. “What even is this?” she asks, voice weak and shaky.

She feels more than hears Toni laugh against her neck, and watches as Toni’s thicker fingers join her own on the toy. “It’s called a dragon dildo. They have all sorts of shapes and sizes, you know. Even animal ones.”

Penny startles, almost dropping the toy if it wasn’t for Toni’s grip on it too. “What?!” She hisses, scandalized. Her cheeks are red, and she just knows Toni is loving every second of this. She’s said in the past that she adores when Penny blushes, and she proves it again by sighing and rubbing her lips softly against Penny’s burning cheeks. “Why?”

“Why not?” Tony whispers, moving the dildo onto the dresser and digging through the box some more. “What do you think of this one?”

“Why is there a bunny on it?” Penny asks, running her fingers over it. She blushes harder as Toni switches it on and it starts to vibrate. “Oh, fuck,” Penny whispers, realizing where the bunny goes now. “Fuck, this one-this part goes inside? It’s so big!”

Tony snickers, turning it off and pushing it aside too. She kisses behind Penny’s ear and rummages through the box again. “That one is called the greedy girl,” she says, almost like it’s an afterthought. “It would be big. Oh, you’ll love this one,” Toni says, pulling out what at first looks like a unicorn toy.

Penny quirks a brow, taking it from Toni and looking it over. “A unicorn?” she asks, confused. Toni lets her turn it around, and Penny gasps loudly as she looks at the mouth. “It has a tongue!” she yells, and Toni giggles behind her. Toni takes it again and pushes the toy’s mouth against Penny’s still clothed crotch, directly over where her clit is hidden. “O-oh,” Penny whispers, realizing what the tongue will do.

Toni hums happily, throwing that one to the side and pulling out what are surely two medieval torture devices. “These go on your nipples and vibrate,” Toni hums, holding them both in one hand in order to use the other to pinch at Penny’s left nipple gently. 

It still makes Penny gasp and jump slightly, and she rubs her legs together without realizing it. “Toni,” Penny whines, leaning back more heavily into Toni’s front. Those arms Penny loves so much abandon the toys to wrap around Penny’s body, holding her close and kissing up and down her neck. 

“We can try as much or as little as you want. And we can take our time exploring, no need to dive in head first,” Toni reminds her, squeezing Penny tighter to her. 

Penny is, despite her hesitation, absolutely throbbing between her legs. Her panties have to be soaked by now, and it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t exactly what Toni wanted. “You can use a few of them on me,” Penny agrees softly, despite the shakiness still remaining in her voice. “I think-I think it might be easier if you surprise me with them,” she thinks out loud. “In-instead of telling me. I think the…the expectation is causing the…”

Toni isn’t playing fair. One hand has slipped under Penny’s shirt, and is rubbing small circles around her nipple. On top of this, her teeth are starting to gently scrape over her neck, and Penny honestly didn’t stand a chance. 

“Fuck, Toni, please. Please, I want you so bad right now,” Penny whines, rubbing her legs together on purpose now.

Toni hums, grabbing a handful of Penny’s breast before squeezing it more roughly than she normally would. It causes Penny to whine and press more firmly against Toni’s front, and Toni’s lips twist into a smirk. “Strip for me then, beautiful.” 

Penny almost falls when Toni backs away, but catches herself before she does. She gives herself a second to breathe, before she turns to eye Toni wearily. When her girlfriend only widens her smile and quirks a brow in demand, Penny licks her lips and starts to strip. 

Sometimes she likes giving Toni a show, likes to watch those deep brown irises slowly get swallowed by dilating pupils; but she doesn’t have the patience nor the confidence right now. Instead, she twists her shirt off and throws it onto the dresser before dropping her jeans. She’s out of them in record time, a feat she’s very proud of considering how tight the jeans are that Toni keeps buying her. 

She hesitates when she’s down to her bra and panties, watching as Toni starts to look through her box and make decisions. Penny is grateful for the moment to collect herself, and takes a few steadying deep breaths before unclipping her bra and tossing it to join the rest of her clothes. Her panties follow before she can change her mind, and she scoots herself back on the bed so she’s resting against the pillows against the headboard. It’s easier to start sitting up and move to laying down when Toni is above her. 

Toni hums when she has her selections, putting everything else away and carrying the chosen toys to the bed behind her back. “Close your eyes,” Toni purrs, and Penny is helpless but to obey. She hears the toys be deposited next to her, hears Toni quickly shed her own clothes, and feels as the bed dips with Toni’s weight. 

Soon Penny feels Toni sitting in her lap, her hands automatically resting on her girlfriend’s hips to keep her there.

Toni chuckles softly, and the dark tone makes Penny shiver, “Good girl,” Toni purrs, and accidentally unlocks a new kink in Penny. Penny feels her jaw drop and hears herself suck in a sharp breath. “Oh,” Toni says, delight evident in her tone. “You like being good for me, baby?” Toni asks, her hands rubbing up and down Penny’s arms teasingly. 

Penny whimpers softly, biting her lower lip and furrowing her brows. Toni is always doing this to her, is always making her feel both adored and mocked in the same breath. It’s as if everything Penny does delights Toni to no end, like the older woman is constantly as surprised by Penny’s actions as Penny is by Toni’s. 

Toni hums at the lack of answer, wrapping her fingers gently around Penny’s wrists and pulls them up to her mouth to give each a gentle kiss. Then she moves Penny’s arms above her head, crossing one wrist over the other. “Scoot down the bed for me, but keep these here. And keep your eyes closed. 

Penny takes a deep breath and obeys, feeling Toni lift her weight up but not move away. She scoots down until she’s flat against the bed, her wrists crossed above her head. “Like this?” she has to confirm, wanting to behave.

“Perfect,” Toni praises, and rests her weight back down so her ass rests on Penny’s stomach. It’s here that Penny realizes she’s still in panties, and a shiver runs through her again at the realization that she’s naked and Toni isn’t. “Now, be my good girl and stay still. And keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open.”

Penny sucks in a breath through her teeth, clenching her fists but refusing to move them. Fuck, how did it take so long to realize she has a praise kink? 

The next thing she knows, Toni’s lips are on hers, and she tries to raise into the kiss. Penny is convinced Toni has magic kisses; everything else disappears when those thick, soft lips rub over her own. The way Toni sucks Penny’s lower lip in between her teeth, teasingly biting just enough to make the feeling apparent but not hurt, makes all of Penny’s anxiety dissipate. She never feels more wanted and adored than when Toni’s tongue worships her own, when it curls gently behind her teeth and lathes over the roof of her mouth. 

What could have been minutes or days later, Toni pulls away and hums in satisfaction. “God, if you could only see the way you look right after I kiss you,” Toni sighs lovingly, fingers gently rubbing over Penny’s cheek. “I want to make you feel so good that you forget everything except my name,” Toni says, as if that isn’t the hottest thing Penny has ever heard. 

“Please,” Penny responds, starting to wiggle under Toni’s weight. “I want you!”

Toni scoots down Peter’s stomach until her clothed crotch rubs over Penny’s exposed clit. It causes a hiss to escape Penny’s mouth, and her fingers twitch with the urge to touch her girlfriend. “You always respond so beautifully when I touch you,” Toni says, rubbing her hands up Penny’s stomach until she can grope Penny’s tits in both hands. 

Penny whines at the grip, trying to rub her clit into Toni’s ass. “C’mon!” she complains.

Toni chuckles again, before leaning down and sucking one nipple into her mouth while massaging the breast tissue. Her other hand moves to pinch and roll Penny’s nipple between her fingers, getting it hard and erect.

Penny gasps and whines, throwing her head back into the pillows. It’s difficult to fight the urge to watch, to fight the urge to touch Toni. She wants to tangle her fingers in Tony’s pretty hair, pull her closer to her chest and force more of herself into Toni’s mouth. 

Toni is relentless though; she rolls Penny’s nipple between her teeth, biting just on the edge of pain, before soothing it over with the flat of her tongue. Then she switches, tugging and rolling at the abused nub with her other hand and taking the other nipple between her lips.

“Fuck!” Penny gasps, squirming in a way that tests Toni’s balance. “Fuck, please, it-it hurts but it feels good at the same time!” 

Toni pulls back enough to laugh breathily, causing Penny’s nipple to pebble at the wash of air. “You haven’t felt anything, yet,” she teases darkly. She pulls away from Penny’s chest, ignoring the complaining whine from her girlfriend, and reaches for the toys. “Tell me if you don’t like this,” Toni demands, waiting for Penny to nod.

“I promise!” Penny says, eyebrows furrowed. “Please, get on with it!”

Toni finally takes mercy on her; or, maybe mercy is the wrong word, since it’s even more tortuous than Toni’s mouth. Something cold and rubber pinches at the erect nubs Toni worked hard to get ready. The feeling is both really fucking good and really fucking weird. Penny has never felt something like this before; just on the edge of being painful but so, so stimulating that Penny doesn’t even care. 

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, biting her lip to keep more moans and whines from escaping. 

Toni makes a happy noise, thumbs gently rubbing over the clamped nipples. “So fucking pretty,” Toni whispers, almost to herself, and sits back on Penny’s thighs to better enjoy the view. “I love your tits,” Toni sighs wistfully, and it almost makes Penny laugh; if she wasn’t too wound up already, she might have. 

“Can I look yet?” Penny asks, because she wants to see the adoration on Toni’s face.

“No,” Toni says, a teasing note to the single syllable. “I’m not anywhere close to done with you.” She scoots further down, and spreads Penny’s thighs so she can fit between them. 

Penny feels a blush paint her cheeks red, knowing her dripping pussy is exposed to Toni’s hungry gaze now. Toni pushes her legs even further apart, almost uncomfortably so, and squeezes Penny’s thighs. “I love every part of you,” Toni corrects her earlier statement, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of Penny’s inner thighs. Penny’s leg jumps under her touch, and Toni grins. “I would devour you if I could.”

Penny whines, clenching around nothing and pulling her legs as far apart as she can without them burning–being Spider-Woman has a lot of benefits, including flexibility. “Please, Toni, please touch me!”

Toni laughs meanly, squeezing at Penny’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. “I am touching you, sweetheart.”

Penny sticks her tongue out at her lover, and gasps as Toni pinches her. “You know that’s not what I mean!” she whines.

Toni hums in agreement, before running her fingers teasingly up and down Penny’s thighs. “A or B?” she asks.

The question confuses Penny enough that she almost blinks her eyes open. “What’s A and what’s B?”

“Not telling,” Toni says, leaning down and licking at one of Penny’s trapped nipples. “A or B?”

Penny whines, fighting the urge to rub her legs together. “B?”

Toni grins against Penny’s breast, kissing the flesh once more before pulling away. “Stay still, and keep those pretty legs spread for me.”

Peter blushes heavily, biting her lip to keep from doing something stupid like beg. 

Toni puts something back in the box, and then her left hand is back on Penny’s right thigh. It rubs soothingly up and down, distracting Penny from what’s to come. “Good girl, stay just like that. So pretty, so gorgeous for me.” She uses her right thumb to rub into Penny’s slit, feeling the slickness there with a shiver of her own desire.

Penny gasps, biting harder on her lip and fighting the urge to moan. Fuck, she’s so fucking wet and Toni has barely touched her. She wants so many things at once; she wants Toni’s thick fingers deep inside of her, she wants Toni’s tongue on her clit or fucking deep into her, she wants Toni’s strap-on, wants that silicone cock fucking her better than anyone else ever has. Anything, anything from her girlfriend.

Toni answers her silent plea, but not in a way Penny expected. “You’re so wet for me already, I can feel how much you want me,” she practically growls, before the thumb slides up to rest just above Penny’s clit. Something cold and rubber rubs along her slit instead, gathering up her slick and using it as lubrication. 

“Fuck,” Penny gasps, before biting her lip again. Toni squeezes her thigh again, and Penny throws her head back. She’s so wound up, she feels like if Toni breathed on her clit she would come. “Fuck, please, what is that?”

Toni growls softly, twisting the toy so that it’s fully covered in Penny’s desperation before slowly sliding it inside. 

Penny winces at first, but then she slowly starts to gasp and groan the further it slides into her. She doesn’t remember any of the toys looking this big, but it slowly starts to spread her open wider and wider. The toy is slender at the top, and she thought she could handle that. But it’s getting wider and wider, and Penny whines loudly as the base finally presses against her and she can feel Toni’s fingers against her lips. “Oh my fucking god,” Penny gasps out.

Toni kisses Penny’s hip, twisting the toy inside of Penny. “Do you like the way it feels?” Toni asks, teeth scraping the skin under her mouth.

Penny nods frantically, almost reaching down to touch herself before she catches herself. Her wrists slam back into the pillows above her head, and she clenches her eyes shut tightly. “Fuck, it’s so big!”

Toni worries a hickey into her skin, and waits a few seconds before pulling it out and gently pushing it back in slowly. She uses her other hand to reach up and splay over Penny’s stomach. “You’re taking it so good, baby. Being such a good girl for me. You’re taking everything I give you, aren’t you? Just to make me happy, right? So good for me, listening to all of my directions. Keeping your hands up there, keeping your eyes shut tight. You’re such a beautiful, good girl for me.”

Penny whines at the praise, clenching around the toy. Her legs are shaking with the effort of keeping still, the muscles jumping under the skin. A thin layer of sweat has started to build on her skin, and Toni licks away a bit from her thigh. “Please, Toni, I want to see now. Please?”

Toni hums in thought, before twisting the toy again. Now Penny can feel a small nub on the base, which rubs into her clit when Toni pushes it as deep as possible. “Open those pretty eyes for me, then,” Toni whispers into Penny’s thigh.

Penny does, blinking away the light before her eyes snap down to her girlfriend. She almost comes on the spot. Toni is so fucking beautiful right now, with her lips skating over Penny’s skin and eyes alight with lust. The toy is an offending neon shade of pink, but Penny doesn’t care; not when it rubs into her clit and against her spot at the same time. 

Further up her body, Penny finds the nipple clamps snug against her chest. They look so pretty there, and Penny has to admire the way her tits look when they’re decorated like this. She used to be self-conscious of the way they looked, how small they were compared to everyone else her age. 

Toni has done a fantastic job of literally fucking the insecurity out of her.

“Fuck, Toni, I’m so close,” she whines, flicking her eyes back to Toni’s. Toni grins feral back at her, moving the toy out just enough that it’s no longer against Penny’s clit and causing the younger to cry out in complaint. 

“Yeah?” Toni asks, her thumb moving along the bottom of the toy. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” She flips some switch and the toy starts to vibrate. 

Penny’s eyes roll into the back of her head as Toni fucks the toy into her again, and the vibrations are directly on her clit and against her spot. Her chest starts to heave, and it pulls at the clamps, but it only makes it better. She’s never felt so much at once in her whole life, and her whole body is on fire with the blazing lust it all causes. “Toni!” She cries out, and whines when Toni pulls the toy almost all the way out.

Toni hums and sucks another mark on the inside of Penny’s thigh. “Do it, my love. Come for me.” As she says this, she shoves the toy hard and fast as deep as it will go, causing the vibrations to be exactly where Penny wants. Her mouth latches onto Penny’s thigh, sucking another bruise, and her free hand goes up to gently yank on the chain connecting the clamps.

Penny doesn’t remember what happens after that; the pleasure over takes her, the fire spreading all over her body and imploding from her core out. Her pussy clenches rapidly around the truly giant toy, and her breath stops in her chest. Her vision whites out, and she’s pretty sure she hears herself rip the pillows under her grip. 

When she comes back to herself, her pussy is still randomly clenching around the toy despite it being turned off and dragged half out of her. There’s an undeniable wet spot under her ass, and Penny would be embarrassed that she squirted if Toni wasn’t looking up at her with an awed expression and eyes completely black with lust. 

“Fuck,” Toni whispers, pulling teh toy out and throwing it on the other side of the bed. She gently pulls the clamps off, discarding those as well, before devouring Penny’s mouth in a starving kiss. 

Penny whines into it, wrapping her legs around Toni’s hips and her arms around her shoulders. She gasps for air as Toni pulls away to bite and lick at her neck. “Fuck, Toni, please! Please, let me touch you.”

Toni pulls back, chest heaving. Penny’s eyes are drawn to the beautiful way her tits sway with the motion, still covered by her red bra; which Penny is only just now seeing as she had been forcing herself to keep her eyes closed the whole time. Her eyes snap back up to Toni’s face when she starts talking. “Touch me,” she commands.

Penny grins and moves her hands down to grope at Toni’s chest through the bra, eyes glazing over as her thumbs rub the nipples through the fabric. She allows herself to keep playing with one handful, while the other sneaks down Toni’s body and slips under the waistline over her matching panties. “Come here,” she whispers the request, and Toni moves up Penny’s body.

Penny sighs happily, moving her hand away from Toni’s bra to grope at her ass instead, making Toni groan in appreciation. Penny moves two fingers easily in and out of Toni’s pussy, elated by how wet she is just from watching Penny. She uses the heel of her hand to rub into Toni’s clit as she does, leaning up to capture Toni’s lips again.

It takes a surprisingly short amount of time to make Toni fall apart, and her chest falls to Penny’s as the orgasm overtakes her. Penny moans at the sight, keeping her fingers scissoring Toni apart and her hand rubbing Toni’s clit through the after-shocks. 

Toni finally lets her hips fall, and Penny gently removes her hand from Toni’s panties to grope at her ass with both hands. She waits for Toni to look up before moving her fingers to her mouth and sucking Toni’s wetness off of them.

“Fuck,” Toni hisses, pushing Penny’s fingers away and reclaiming her lips. 

Penny hums happily when they pull apart, loving the weight of Toni pressing her into the bed. “That was very, very good,” Penny whispers, making Toni grin happily. 

“Just wait until you see my other boxes,” she teases, and Penny bites her lip. It’s going to be a long night, she’s decided.

~

[muse-of-gods]

When Omega Peter comes home, the most gorgeous rose bouquet he has ever seen is sitting in front of his apartment door. Between the flowers he finds a small card saying 'For my little spider', but there is no indication about who the sender might be. Peter immediately notices a very distinct smell on the card and his instincts tell him that the flowers come from an Alpha. And though he can't quite figure out who the smell belongs to, it feels very familiar to him.

The thought keeps Peter up all night, texting with Ned and MJ and speculating about his possible suitors. But when he finishes work the next day, he still hasn't figured it out. That is until he enters Tony's lab to work on his suit in the evening and sees the Alpha standing there, focused over a hologram. The smell hits Peter and he feels stupid for not figuring it out right away. But maybe the possibility of his childhood crush sending him a courting gift on Valentine's day has just been too far fetched?

Peter tries to compose himself and takes a deep breath, which is a mistake because the Alpha's smell is messing with his head. "Thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful", he finally mutters, to which Tony turns around with a smug smile on his face. Peter will never not be affected by the confidence the Alpha oozes.

"I'm glad you liked them. I wanted to ask you out properly yesterday because it was Valentine's day, but Pepper forced me to do boring company stuff all night. So... can I invite you to dinner today? I booked a table in my favourite restaurant for us if you want." Still completely overwhelmed and now properly blushing Peter only nods, a big smile forming on his face.

~•~•~○~•~•~•~○~•~•~•~○~•~•~•~○~•~•~

This is my Valentine's gift for @the-mad-starker for the @starkerfestivals Secret Starker Valentines Event! ❤ I hope you like this little snippet of Peter receiving roses from a secret admirer ❤

[babybatscreationsv2]

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.”

[aei-ro]

Hey guys :)

Just a post to say I have updated a good few chapters on Keep the Body. Gonna be honest I think it is a load better than Anatomy of a Duel (so much better that I’ve taken a lot of the original elements of KtB and am writing an actual book lol) but maybe not as popular because of the harrianthe being the only ship in this one. (And maybe the fact that aoad is already like novel length).

I still love this toxic mess with my whole heart.

First chapter under the cut so you can try before you buy go to Ao3

She hadn’t meant to kill him that way.

The scalpel was in her coat. The ligature was in her bag. The syringe was already prepped, taped to the inside of her wrist like a secret. But something had broken—something in him, or something in her—and now his blood was soaking into the manicured grass, thick as syrup, almost black in the moonlight.

Ianthe slid into the stream with the kind of grace she reserved for autopsy tables and church pews. Her hands found his jaw with terrible tenderness. She didn’t like how his eyes had stayed open. She didn’t like how his mouth had fallen slack, like it was still waiting for an answer.

“Shh,” she whispered, though he hadn’t asked a question.

The branch was still wedged through his ribs. Bark scraped bone. The current lapped at his ankles. She held his head underwater, soft as a lover, until the bubbles stopped. Then longer. Then longer still.

When she let go, something in the air shifted.

His chest shouldn’t have moved. His skin shouldn’t have bloomed. But there it was: a livid flush rising across his breastbone, like capillaries bursting in a posthumous blush. Veins threaded with something silver. His blood swam dark and sluggish into the stream, and the stream swirled back.

Ianthe stared. She knelt there far too long. She touched the bruising with bare fingers and tasted copper on the back of her tongue.

When she finally stood, her knees ached. Her hands shook. She was grinning.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus moved like a shadow someone had sharpened into a person. All black—shirt, coat, slacks, boots. Her hair was cropped down so close it made the angles of her face look even starker, and her eyes, always a little too deep-set, burned with the kind of concentration that made people forget how young she was.

No one stopped her. No one smiled. The smart ones didn’t even make eye contact.

Sublevel One was colder than the upper floors. Not temperature—tone. Everyone stationed here dealt in the dead: bone analysis, dental records, genetic forensics. You either had the stomach for it or you didn’t, and Harrow had never once flinched.

Her office was halfway down the corridor, tucked between a case review room and an evidence cataloging chamber. The door had her name etched on a cheap brass plaque, but most people just called it the crypt.

Inside, it was dim. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, flickering in one corner like they were afraid of her too. Shelves sagged under the weight of reference tomes and annotated casefiles. There were bones on every flat surface: a mandible with the teeth still intact, half a pelvis in a shallow tray, vertebrae stacked like towers mid-collapse.

Her desk was a chaos of scanned reports, microscopy printouts, and folders marked DO NOT DESTROY in three different pens.

Harrow set her bag down and stood there for a long moment, breathing in the quiet. There was a comfort to the clutter. A stillness. She could pretend this place had always belonged to her—that she hadn’t inherited it by outlasting someone else.

She didn’t know about the body yet. The new one.

The one waiting on Sublevel Two, fresh from a park in the Third, tagged for analysis. The one that would arrive on her table by tomorrow at the latest.

For now, the bones she had were silent. And she liked it that way.

Ianthe Tridentarius looked like the ghost of a girl who’d died beautifully. Not quite sick, but styled that way—skin pale with undertones of something terminal, like her blood had learned to keep secrets. Her cheekbones were carved high and cruel, her mouth was always a little too amused, and even in the shapeless sheath of her lab coat, she moved like someone who expected to be watched.

The gloves fit like skin. The mask hung loose around her neck. Her hair, twisted up in something that may have once been intentional, left a few pale strands to ghost around her face like static.

She was brilliant, of course. Devastatingly so. The kind of brilliant that made supervisors look the other way and internal affairs forget her name.

She stood now over the fresh arrival—tagged male, early thirties, found face-down in the streambed of a public park in the Third. D.O.A., trauma unknown, death certificate unsigned.

The corpse was already half-open.

Babs leaned in beside her, peering with his usual mix of admiration and vague queasiness. Naberius Tern was a vision: tall, golden, all charm and zero tact, the kind of man who thought a good hair day made him immortal.

“Heart’s weird,” he said, because subtlety had never been his strong suit. “Looks like it… what, seized mid-beat? That’s not standard, right?”

“No,” Ianthe murmured. She didn’t look at him. “It isn’t.”

She prodded the tissue with the tip of her tool, eyes hungry behind the glass. The organ was stiff—tight in a way it shouldn’t be, post-mortem. And there was something else. Something faint and glimmering beneath the surface of the skin. The capillaries hadn’t ruptured—they had twisted.

“Could be district contamination,” Babs offered, in that blithe way that made her want to lobotomize him just a little. “The Third’s water’s full of runoff, right?”

“Yes, darling,” she drawled. “So is your mouth.”

He grinned. “And yet here you are, still letting me breathe your air.”

“Momentary lapse.”

She reached for the bone saw, slow and reverent. Her hands did not shake.

The heart had spoken. She intended to listen.

The ribcage peeled back with a sound like unwrapping a gift. Wet, sticky, intimate. Ianthe moved slowly, reverently—one hand guiding the retractor, the other steadying the tissue with a precision that bordered on tenderness.

The heart sat nestled in its cradle of bone and tension, marbled with lividity, the muscle puckered tight in a way she’d never seen before. Too rigid. Too perfect.

“Wait,” she murmured, frowning. She leaned in, magnifiers adjusting with a click. Her fingers paused at the apex, then slipped gently beneath the muscle.

Something sharp caught her glove.

She held her breath and pressed again—carefully now, precisely—and lifted a sliver of dark, water-slicked wood from where it had embedded into the anterior wall of the heart.

It hadn’t splintered. It had grown in.

Around the fragment, the flesh had hardened—not scarred, not rejected, but adopted. Calcification spiderwebbed from the puncture, delicate and crystalline. Beneath the halogen lights, it shimmered faintly gold.

Not normal. Not remotely.

Behind her, Babs said, “What the hell is that?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t even blink.

The gold veining didn’t look vascular. It didn’t trace natural lines. It spiraled outward like a glyph—no, like a reaction. Like the body had tried to encase the foreign thing, not to destroy it, but to preserve it.

“Babs,” she said, still not turning. Her voice was low. Careful. “Label this a cardiovascular anomaly. Send a sample upstairs for comparative analysis.”

He hesitated. “To Harrow?”

A pause. Then, softly:

“Yes.”

It was a test. A message in a bottle. A beginning.

Ianthe slid the shard into a dish like it was something holy, and smiled without showing her teeth.

She hadn’t thought much of Harrowhark Nonagesimus at first.

Another twenty-something prodigy in a precinct full of them—sharp, severe, maybe a little too morbid to be well-adjusted. The kind of girl they all were, once. Ianthe had clocked her as soon as she’d arrived: all-black wardrobe, no small talk, the posture of someone who had something to prove and no interest in proving it to you.

But then she’d watched her work.

Not just work—watch. The way Harrow looked at the dead wasn’t professional, and it wasn’t prurient. It was reverent. Hungry, even. She looked at bones the way saints looked at relics. She catalogued fractures like they were scripture. Ianthe had stood behind the glass wall once, unseen, watching as Harrow turned a half-skeleton over in gloved hands like she might kiss it.

That was when the feeling started.

Not attraction. Not really. Not then.

It was recognition.

Because that skeleton—Harrow’s long-running side project, her unsolved darling—was one of Ianthe’s. One of her first. A crude piece, by her current standards, but still hers. The cuts had been too deep, too curious. She hadn’t known then what she was making, only that it felt like the closest thing to prayer she’d ever touched.

And Harrow had noticed.

She’d studied those cuts obsessively. Had notes. Diagrams. Questions. The bones had been scored in angles that should’ve been unreachable. A blade too thin, too clever. The marrow exposed in elegant, impossible slivers.

To most, it would’ve looked like savagery.

To Harrow—it looked like meaning.

And Ianthe fell. Not all at once. Not even in a way she understood. It was slow. Rot-soft. Sweet. It happened every time she passed Harrow’s office and saw her hunched in thought. Every time she glimpsed the girl’s pale hands sifting through boxes of bones like she was asking them to speak. Every time Harrow tilted her head at the skeleton and whispered, what happened to you?

I happened to you, Ianthe thought. And you loved it.

She started sending more bodies upstairs.

Not many. Not often. Just enough.

She wanted to see how long it would take Harrow to find the patterns.

She wanted to see if she could.

And more than anything, she wanted to know what it would feel like to be seen—not the mask, not the lab coat, not the precision, but the art beneath the blood. The shape of her real self.

The more Harrow studied her work, the harder she fell.

The sample arrived in a plain gray tray with a single tag attached. Harrowhark Nonagesimus didn’t even glance up when the courier set it on her desk—her hands were deep in documentation, her desk a graveyard of open folders and scattered bones. She didn’t look up—until she saw the name on the slip.

Unidentified Male. Third District. CV Anomaly. Attn: Nonagesimus.

That got her attention.

She peeled the tray open like she was uncovering a relic.

Inside, nestled in a shallow petri dish, was a fragment of something that should have been wood—but wasn’t. The splinter was thin, almost surgical, slick with dried blood and ringed in a crown of calcification. Gold shimmered faintly along the edges, spiderwebbing out like veins in marble.

Harrow stared. Once. Twice. She read the intake notes attached. Her fingers tightened on the clipboard.

Calcification intruding on heart tissue.

No prior cardiac history.

Organic fragment—origin unknown.

Anomalous visual properties.

She didn’t write anything down. She didn’t take her coffee. She didn’t so much as lock her office.

She threw on her lab coat—black, fitted, no name on the breast—and left at a near-run.

No elevator. No time.

She took the stairs two at a time, the sound of her boots echoing sharp off the concrete. Sublevel Two was colder. Brighter. She didn’t mind.

Something was happening down here, and it had chosen her to see it.

Ianthe heard the footsteps before she saw her. Sharp, certain, descending fast—no pause at the elevator. No hesitation.

She smiled.

“Harrow,” she murmured, voice like a prayer she didn’t believe in. Then louder, without turning, “Babs. Out.”

Naberius Tern looked up from the computer monitor he was barely pretending to engage with. “Out? What, now?”

She rose from her lean over the body in a slow, fluid motion—catlike, regal, terrible. Even under the lab coat, she moved like someone who belonged to no one and nothing.

And still, she towered.

A head taller than him, at least, with eyes like frostbite and posture like a guillotine mid-swing. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

“Out,” she said again, with the same finality as a scalpel through soft tissue.

Babs stared. “You’re not even—what is this, some weird rival necro thing? Is she—”

Ianthe didn’t answer. She just looked at him. One slow blink. That peculiar silence of someone thinking very dark thoughts and deciding not to act on them.

He rolled his eyes, too pretty to know better, and threw his gloves in the bin with theatrical disdain. “Fine. Keep your little bone date. I’m going to the break room before the coffee dies.”

He left, muttering. The door hissed shut behind him.

Ianthe turned back to the table. Back to the corpse. Back to the thing she had made—accidentally, yes, but made all the same.

Then she waited.

The door slid open without ceremony.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus stepped through, lab coat stark against her skin, black boots clicking sharp on the tile. Her expression didn’t shift. Not at the smell. Not at the light. Not even at Ianthe.

But Ianthe saw it anyway.

She saw it in the way Harrow’s eyes locked on the body without hesitation. Not revulsion. Not concern. Curiosity. She didn’t blink as she approached the table—just moved closer, slow and direct, until she stood over the open chest cavity.

And then she looked.

Not at the face. Not at the blood. Straight at the heart. The calcification. The faint shimmer curling around where the splinter had been.

The silence stretched.

Ianthe didn’t speak. She wanted to see it—that moment. The precise second Harrow saw what she saw.

There.

A breath—not held, but slightly altered. A minute narrowing of her gaze. The kind of reverence people reserved for holy things.

And there it was again. That flicker.

Not excitement.

Recognition.

Ianthe felt it like a shiver in her ribs. Felt her own pulse kick. This wasn’t an ordinary case, and Harrowhark Nonagesimus knew it.

“I want the full body file,” Harrow said softly, her voice smooth as sealed glass. “And the rest of the tissue samples.”

Ianthe tilted her head. “Of course you do.”

Harrow’s eyes flicked toward her then—brief, sharp, not unfriendly. Just measuring.

But Ianthe was already smiling.

She’d seen enough.

Harrow didn’t wait for permission. She was already pulling on gloves, already reaching for the retractor with the calm of someone whose hands never shook, not even for the dead.

She peeled back the rib cage farther, inspecting the angles with a quiet precision that left no space for commentary.

Ianthe didn’t offer any. She leaned back against the counter and watched.

The calcification glittered faintly under the overhead lights. Gold and bone. Tissue and something else.

“This isn’t post-traumatic,” Harrow said at last, almost absently. “It’s not healing. There’s no collagen buildup. No fibrosis. No inflammatory response.”

She touched the edge of the hardened spiral, careful, reverent. “It’s not rejection. It’s incorporation.”

She stepped back just slightly, tilting her head.

“Bone doesn’t form in soft tissue without intent,” she said. “Not like this. Not here.”

Ianthe felt it like a breath caught at the edge of her teeth. A low hum under her skin.

“I can isolate osseous fragments,” Harrow continued. “Run them against known pathologies. Maybe late-stage myositis ossificans—but it’s not acting like it. And the shimmer—”

She trailed off. Looked again. She didn’t say it, but Ianthe saw the glint of hunger behind her eyes.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Harrow murmured. “It shouldn’t be here.”

And that was it. That was the moment.

The anthropologist. The pathologist. Fields that touched, yes, always—they passed case files back and forth, borrowed tissue, consulted when necessary. But they didn’t mix.

Not like this.

Not bone inside heart. Not shimmer threaded through sinew. Not whatever this was becoming, curling at the edge of science like a question that refused to die.

Ianthe felt something tighten behind her ribs—something like triumph. Something like longing.

Just like me, she thought. Just like us.

A body becoming more than it should be.

Beautiful.

[snowbazzledestielshipper]

This either ends with a fist or a kiss

An excerpt

Summary: Simon and Baz agree to a truce and a fake dating plot (Baz’s idea), to undermine the Mage and a new magical weapon that he plans to use on the old families, but when they go home for winter break, they are met with an icy attitude and understandable distrust from Malcolm. They decide to leave and head for the Pitch summer home and get swept up in the magic of the winter hols. Will they be able to stop the Mage in time and gain the trust of Malcolm and the rest of the families before it’s too late? And will Penny ever be looped in?

Tags: Fake dating, getting together, canon divergence, smut, winter romance, cozy adventure, mystery, minor political intrigue, canon typical violence, canon typical vampires, they were roommates, penny gets left out but I promise it isn’t on purpose, swearing, proposal, not all tags here are featured in the excerpt,

Simon

The bastard fainted.

I don’t know if he was angry, mad, or both, I don’t even know why he was still in here, but I stepped out of the loo, thinking I was alone, and Baz was suddenly on the ground!

I gasp and move over to his side.

He hit his head on the way to the floor, and it’s bleeding slightly. His nostrils flare wildly, but at least that means he’s breathing. I sit on my feet, pick up his head, and place it on the end of my knees, cradling him.

“Baz? Baz, wake up! What’s happened?”

He flutters his eyelashes with a flair of dramatics that I’ve come to expect from him.

“Simon, next time you decide to step into a room starkers, would you please give a warning?” He opens his eyes completely, and then blinks a few times like he’s trying to wake up from a dream.

I wasn’t even starkers?

His eyes meet mine and his mouth falls open slightly, and he has a weird look on his face.

“Baz, you’re bleeding, can I help you?”

“I suppose, but please put on trackie bottoms.”

We both blush and I scramble off the floor, dropping his head and sending it banging on the floor again.

“Fuck!”

“Ow! What the hell, Snow?”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry Basil.”

I shift from side to side, not knowing what to do as Baz shakes off the presumable dizziness and gets up unsteadily.

I grab the trackie bottoms from my suitcase after making sure Baz is steady, and pull them on quickly, before taking him to the loo to bandage his head. I seat him on the toilet and get to work.

“How do you know how to do this? I thought the nurse always patched you up after our fights and when you get back from missions.”

“I get into a lot of scrapes during the summer. Usually other children ganging up on me because I’m different. There’s no one to patch you up in care.”

“Oh,” He says quietly. “I’m sorry, that sounds lonely.”

“It is a bit.”

“Stay with me this summer, no more care homes, food when you need it, and I promise to patch you up after I’ve bullied you.” He smiles softly, but I can’t tell if he’s serious.

“Baz,” I warn. He must have banged his head too hard, he isn’t making sense. He’s looking at me, softly!

“I’m serious, Snow.”

“I’d like that, but your parents don’t like me, you don’t like me.” I finish off the bandaging, it wasn’t a huge cut, but it needed to stop bleeding.

“I may hate you, but I don’t dislike you, Simon.” There’s a sparkle in his eye, and something else.

“Sure, you’ve been bullying me because you fancy me, and I’m the queen mum.”

He blinks, looking shocked and starts blushing to his ears.

“Baz?”

“Hm.”

Then three things happen at once; I realize how close we are, Baz stands, trying to leave and brings us closer, and I realize that, holy shit, Baz wasn’t lying or acting or even taking the piss slightly. He doesn’t hate me, I think he’s in love with me.

I spin us and pin him to the wall, we’re even closer.

“Simon-”

I don’t let him finish, I kiss him gently, insistently, just like I’ve wanted to. Hopefully like he’s wanted me to.

He kisses back, keeping pace at first, then speeding it up until it’s desperate, never losing the gentleness somehow.

He pushes me back, until I’m pressed to the bathroom counter, never breaking the kiss.

Why would we?

Air, I need air, I haven’t taken a breath in a minute. Fuck.

I pass out this time, my lungs giving out, my brain starving for oxygen, my heart beating wildly for so so many reasons.

Baz

He passed out.

Simon Snow is at my family’s summer cottage, passed out because we were kissing and he forgot to breathe.

I catch him as he’s falling and shift him to the floor, settling his head into my lap.

We’re mirroring earlier when I was in the same position.

I kiss his forehead, chuckling as he blinks awake.

“Hello, Snow.”

“Basil, were we…”

I freeze.

“Yes.”

“Good. Thanks for saving my head.” He grins. It’s one of his chosen one, Simon “Sunshine” Snow smiles. The kind that have never been directed at me. “I wish I could have saved yours, I’m sorry about that.”

“Simon, you are amazing.”

“No, I’m the worst. I couldn’t even save you from the floor.”

I kiss him.

“Simon, you could never be the worst.”

“Let’s go to bed, Baz.” He changes the subject.

I let him get away with it and nod, not trusting my words.

“Baz? If it wasn’t obvious before, I fancy you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Snow? When did you know? That you fancy me?”

“I’ve been hiding from myself. You called me Simon earlier.”

“No I didn’t. How long has it been?”

“Years.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You could have told me. I was hiding it from myself, so I didn’t know, but you did. We could have been doing this much sooner.”

I wish we could have. I don’t think we would, though.

“You would have punched me.”

“I would not!” He protests.

“Simon, we’ve been antagonizing each other since we met. You would have thought I was taking the piss.”

He sighs.

“Basil, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have, but I have a hard time believing anyone could love me. I haven’t had anyone other than Penelope tell me that.”

“I do. I have.” I pause to gather myself. “I love you, Simon.”

“I do too, to you. I just can’t say it yet, but I will.” He stumbles over the words, like we’re in class and he’s casting a spell. These words are more magic than a spell though.

He’s so lovely. I want to kiss him.

I can kiss him, so I do. Slowly, I explore his lips, and he matches my energy. It feels almost holy, like walking into Notre Dame.

A shiver runs down my spine and I yawn, accidentally breaking the kiss.

Tomorrow I will wake up in his arms.

Tomorrow he will still be mine. I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted and it feels unreal.

Thank you so much for reading this little tidbit, I hope to have the full fic up by end of February at the pace I’m currently going, but who knows what might happen between then and now!

Come find me over on Ao3 at Snowbazzle_Destiel_shipper, where I have been writing since 2016!

I have a few other Snowbaz fics up currently, several more to come, just shy of 20 for supernatural, and a few other various fics I’ve written over the years!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowbazzle_Destiel_shipper

[campy-mccampface]

you should tell us how you see the loons since you are their #1 fan...

BAHAHAHA YOU’RE SO RIGHTTT.

Dave: “Where will I do my synchronized swimming?!” *Ping Pong pats his back as he sobs* (“It’s No Picnic” Season 1 Episode 4B)

God, I love these nerds. Well, one thing’s for sure: I consider them separate characters. It’s not like The Lemmings in canon where they’re interchangeable. When I write their Bus Pass bios, they’ll each be getting their own. For now, though, I’ll do a little rundown of tidbits for each. I have much, much more in store for these beanpoles than what’s below. I’m a simple bird: I see secondary characters, and I project onto them and make them mine.

Dave Loon

—Canonically he’s the more sensitive of the two brothers. Headcanonically I make that difference even starker: Ping Pong is the kind of nerd you simply can’t win against, while Dave falls apart at the mildest pressure. Love that for him.

—In the show, we’ve seen he’s a grandma’s boy and I really really like that because I was too, haha. (She’s getting a blog tag. Nana Loon. I’m sure I’m not done with writing her.) That sort of implies he prefers her over his parents, but I wouldn’t say so. He loves his parents. (Also it’s. Hilarious how Ping Pong knew they came from eggs and Dave didn’t. I consider that another sign of his higher maturity.)

—Dave and Ping Pong are the only scouts who can fly, emphasis on ‘can.’ Dave haaaates flying, it makes him so nervous (but what doesn’t) and he only ever does it when Ping Pong’s flying with him. If not, he’s completely grounded.

—Dave has a huge crush on Lazlo, (who clearly feels in the same way in return, see the episode “The List,” which lives rent-free in my noggin,) and because it’s Dave he’s a huge mess about it. He blushes, he stammers, he shies away, usually hiding behind Ping Pong’s back, the latter of which is a reflex for him in most situations anyway. (Also, because this is a Joe Murray cartoon, in his worst moments Dave will at times spontaneously burst into flames, with no ill effects. No one considers it novel or dangerous. It’s just a thing that happens, like your shoe coming untied.) Ping Pong loves them together, and because he’s a big brother, gives Dave lots of friendly teasing about it.

—Dave’s the younger brother, hatching a few minutes later. Nonetheless, they’re called ‘Dave and Ping Pong’ collectively without variation, presumably to be in alphabetical order.

—Dave’s the more passionate of the two about journalism. That’s not to say Ping Pong doesn’t love it; he really does, but as they mature, Dave’s the one who retains his interest while Ping Pong pursues another avenue: music. But he especially liked it when it gave him something to play at with his little brother. (Dave would gasp at the insinuation this was all just ‘playing.’)

—In my wife💛 and I’s Future Au, which we call “Refried Beans,” Dave and Lazlo marry and set to living year-round in the attic of Scoutmaster Lumpus’ cabin. Dave works for the Prickly Pines newspaper, and Lazlo is now Scoutmaster’s Assistant, while Slinkman is now Scoutmaster. Lumpus is retired but still lives in the cabin too, and they’re all joined by Jane, and her presence is the only thing keeping Lumpus from going axe-murderer at the fact he’ll never, ever escape Lazlo.

Ping Pong

—As I’ve said, his real name in my headcanon is Bruce. This is hardly ever used. There’s a reason he became Ping Pong but I’ve yet to decide why.

—Ping Pong is the more mature of the two canonically. Headcanonically he’s unstoppably stable and unflappable. You can’t bully him and get anywhere without him turning your namecalling back on yourself and more cleverly. You can’t beat him in a fight. You can only make him feel endangered after everyone else in the room feels endangered first. This first came about out of necessity to toughen up to defend Dave, and it then became further ingrained because Ping Pong’s the biggest smart alec in the Western Hemisphere and he gets a kick out of being able to sort you out while reading his book at the same time. He’s like if Yakko Warner had feathers and legit booksmarts on top. (What a powerful creature.)

—In the “Radio Free Edward” episode, we get a passing line that he intends to play classic rock for the camp’s radio station. I’ve decided to run with this and say classic rock’s his passion and true calling. He becomes a legit star in short order by his late twenties in my au and it just never goes away. If I had to describe his singing voice, (and you’d never expect him to have it, and I find that hilarious,) it’s like Bruce Springsteen, Angus Young, Rod Stewart, Rick Springfield and Freddie Mercury all had their vocal chords fused in a laboratory. It’s insane.

—I think it was “Beans are from Mars” where the show erroneously calls Dave, Ping Pong and Edward cabinmates? I’m gonna do a Bob Ross, call that a happy accident and say it was true… for like two weeks. But what a formative two weeks. Edward I guess had had enough of the Dungs and demanded new cabinmates. So he went with the Loons and because Samson’s unlucky, he went with the Dungs. (I think he and the Dungs get called cabinmates that episode too.) It was during those two weeks Edward decided he’s head over heels for Ping Pong, (but he won’t admit it, being Edward.) Ping Pong is completely wise to this, not that Edward knows, and really likes toying with him. And mercilessly snarking and outwitting him. Then he starts crushing too. (I like to think their little picnic with Dave in “Snake Eyes” was basically a first date.) Then of course they switch back to their usual cabinmates, but there’s been a sea change where they’re no longer just two guys who like talking smack to each other. And by the time of Refried Beans, (basically the present,) they’ve also gotten married. I’ll save the details on that for now. It’s a doozy.

Both

—They’re from Canada originally but moved with their family, including Nana Loon, to Southern New York or Connecticut at a very young age. They’re both also fluent in French. At camp, they like to tease Edward by pretending to talk about him in French, which he doesn’t understand, when they’re actually discussing the weather or licorice ropes. (Later on, Edward likes when Ping Pong speaks French. Like, embarrassingly melting like butter on a freshly baked baguette. Ping Pong finds it funny. But what about Edward doesn’t he find funny, I ask you.)

—Their parents are also nerds. Go figure. Their father is a professor at a college, (I haven’t decided what he teaches,) and their mother is a semi-famous novelist. She knitted them the turtlenecks they received in “The Big Cheese.” Lumpus does indeed confiscate them for fishing pole cozies, but Mrs. Loon wrote a strongly worded letter threatening to mention his misgivings at her next book release. In the end, the Loons got their sweaters back, Larry his sneakers back, etc.

[maukree]

Day 29: Peter/Tony - Hair-pulling

Slowly, the kid stirs. His nose wrinkles, his lips twitching, and Tony smirks. Eyelids flutter open, those long lashes casting shadows on perfect cheeks. There’s a moment where the kid’s eyes are unfocused, blinking rapidly as he comes to. Tony moves the coffee cup just a bit closer, and the kid’s nose twitches again, followed by a small, almost inaudible moan. He looks like a kitten waking up from a nap, stretching his arms out and blinking in confusion. It’s almost disgustingly adorable. Finally, his gaze lands on Tony, recognition dawning in those brown eyes. There’s a second of what appears to be a momentary panic, but that morphs fairly quickly into a blush, which Tony finds both a good sign for himself and a bad one for his HR department.

Rating: Mature-Explicit Wordcount: 8.5k

Bingo fills and cards under the fold

Peter Parker Bingo: SWF N1 - A Mystery @pparkerbingo Starker Festivals Summer Bingo: B1 - Slow Burn @starkerfestivals

[saltuary]

The collar was handcrafted from the finest, buttery soft leather. Elrond would not want to hurt Faramir's neck with a collar too coarse. He had it dyed ink black, to create a starker contrast between the leather and the gleaming white gems that adorned it. They reflected light in a myriad of colours. Each time Faramir moved, his neck glittered like the stars. Elrond presented the collar to Faramir as a gift, enjoying the blush that painted those noble features when he realised what he was beholding.

The Half-elf was most satisfied by how it looked, and when he first enclosed it around Faramir's neck, he had made sure it was comfortable and not too tight. He had taken precise measurements beforehand. "Even if you may enjoy the tightness now, it is not supposed to feel uncomfortable," Elrond had smiled, knowing what he had in store for his beloved. He was not very experienced when it came to this and was excited that they got to explore it together.

For at the front of the collar was a silver ring and attached to it a leash, made of the same smooth leather. The Elf-lord gave it an experimental tug and watched the ring rise with the motion, as well as the flexible leather bend, allowing the handsome Son of Gondor to be coaxed and pulled, without causing lasting harm. "It is still bearable, yes? You let me know if it is not," Elrond demanded gently. "Remember, this is not about pain to your neck." Considering Faramir had a penchant for punishing and tormenting himself, Elrond hoped he made himself clear. He placed a kiss to Faramir's bare shoulder for good measure.

When Faramir had gotten used to the sensation of wearing the collar and having the leash pulled at, Elrond had the Man hold the end of the leash himself, like prey that offered itself willingly, and rounded him to admire the naked view, moving elegantly like the panther that was about to devour him. Elrond then reached out and had Faramir hand him the leash, having him offer himself yet again. He waited for any protests or rejection, giving Faramir one last chance to end this.

When no rejection came, Elrond offered him a gleaming smile, anticipation clear in his adoring tone. "Get down on your hands and knees." The sight of Faramir obeying took Elrond's breath away. This was not about debasement or humiliation. It was about trust, about enjoying the sight of a beautiful man and his bare body. It was about granting Faramir the opportunity to cease thinking and just immerse himself in their shared lust. Elrond watched each powerful muscle ripple and shift beneath pale, scarred skin. Faramir was a masterpiece in motion as Elrond began to lightly tug at the leash and make him crawl towards him, where he was standing, still fully robed.

When Faramir reached him, Elrond could not help but to get on one knee and kiss him deeply. He poured his love and want into the kiss, and his elation at being so fortunate to call this breathtaking man his. One hand still held the end of the leash, while the other cupped a bearded cheek with tenderness. When Elrond broke the kiss and gazed into Faramir's dove-grey eyes, his own were dark pools of endless desire. "You are doing so wonderfully, melmenya. You are divine. You take my breath away."

This was a different kind of beauty. The stars were far away, and Faramir was here, with him. His skin was hot and his pulse fluttering under Elrond's reverent touch. This beauty was tangible and each scar was no blemish but rather an adornment and proof of a life well lived. Elrond pitied anyone who would never get to enjoy this magnificent sight and at the same time he guarded it like a territorial dragon, unwilling to share even a single glimpse.

Upon the spread of a chamber floor pooled with moonlight and shadow, Faramir knelt. About his throat, the collar coiled – snug, but merciful – as though fate itself had reached out to touch him. Its presence was no cruelty. Not iron chain, nor the shackle forged in the heat of his father’s disdain, but a circlet wrought with reverent hands, dyed black as pitch and set with pale stones – stars that shimmered with every shift of his breath, as though the heavens themselves stirred upon his pulse.

It was beautiful, and terrible, and tender.

He had blushed fiercely when first he beheld it. Not from shame, but from the unbearable intimacy of the gesture. For what did it mean, to be given such a thing? A gift so deliberate, so precise in its placement? It meant he had been seen, that he was known.

Elrond had spoken softly then, his voice the rustle of gold-leaf pages, a warmth beneath winter silk. He had promised the collar would not harm him. Faramir, long-schooled in the art of bearing discomfort in silence, had not trembled at the warning, but at the understanding. The Elf-lord had measured more than the curve of his neck – he had taken stock of pride and sorrow alike, and chosen to cradle, not to conquer.

The lead stirred against his hand now, coiled like a black serpent of polished hide. Its end was his to offer or to keep. Faramir, who had bowed before stewards and kings, who had knelt before grief and expectation, now lowered himself not for penance, nor for duty, but for love. If there was surrender in it, it was the surrender of something precious – a pearl gleaming in bruised and weathered palms.

Elrond moved around him like dusk. Silent-footed and deliberate, the whisper of his robes a kind of summer nightsong. He took the leash from Faramir’s hand, their rite sealed in silence.

Behind the veil of arousal and submission, thoughts fell still. His mind, ever churning, finally quieted. In this moment, he lived and died on the word of Elrond. He obeyed, lowering himself onto his hands and knees, the muscles in his back shifting beneath the pale banner of scarred skin. His heart thundered with the rawness of his exposure. There was no sword, no shield, no title – only the body that had borne the weight of wars and too many long, loveless nights.

The tug was gentle. Not a jerk, but a beckoning. A tide drawing him deeper. He crawled not as beast, nor captive, but as lover.

Each shift of limb was an act of devotion as he followed the swaying hem of Elrond’s robes. That the Elf-lord remained clothed only deepened his aching want. The fabric was a veil, not a barrier, while Faramir’s own body was bared not to shame but to admiration. Quiet though he was, his eyes betrayed him – dark, steely, adoring – and his arousal arched stark and solemn, begging silently for touch.

Elrond brought him to a halt. Then – ah, then – he knelt.

Those fine robes pooled around him, his mouth finding Faramir’s in a kiss not of command, but invitation. It poured through him like cathedral light. One hand remained upon the leash, the other cupped his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as though Elrond meant to memorise the exact angle of his surrender.

When the kiss broke, Faramir beheld a world remade in Elrond’s gaze. Desire burned within it, tempered only by devotion. Love of a sort that did not flinch from blood or ruin.

“You are doing so wonderfully, melmenya. You are divine. You take my breath away.”

Faramir’s eyelashes fluttered shut. A breath escaped him – soft, wordless, pleased. Divine? He, the second-born, the less-loved, the half-made? He, who had drowned want beneath duty?

Now, he was adorned not in armour but in love’s regalia.

The collar glinted at his throat like a constellation. Elrond’s hand was warm on his face. The leash lay slack between them, loose with trust. In that fragile, fevered moment – between breath and kiss, between hand and offering – Faramir found himself not diminished, but claimed. Chosen.

It was the sense of belonging he had chased all his life.

“Annon anim naid bain,” Faramir whispered.

[spider-mancan]

for the three sentence ship thing: starker + discreet ❤️

"Mr. Stark, we can't--oh god, you need to stop!"

"What?" Tony asks, sliding his hands down the flat of Peter's stomach while helping him adjust the waistband of the slacks he's getting tailored. He grins over Peter's shoulder at their reflection in the mirror. "Never been to a tailor? It can be a bit overwhelming the first time."

Peter blushes a very pretty pink and can't help but lean into the press of Tony's hands. He looks, visibly distraught, towards the man bustling about with pins and a tape measure. "I thought you...we really can't!"

"Don't worry." Tony smiles sweety, helping Peter tuck the cashmere sweater into his new slacks with a practiced, lingering hand. "They can be very discrete."