iamnotparticularlyproud

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

💫 when uncle tony comes to visit 💫

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

What's My Hand Without Your Heart to Hold?

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Feels, Emotional Sex, Mention of Alcoholism, Age Difference.

Word Count: 10,952

Summary: Peter Parker was deeply in love with someone who didn’t love him back.

Strangely enough, the place had a familiar ambience to it that Peter couldn’t quite shake. There were some old songs— not old , but timeless songs, ones that reminded him of his Uncle Ben, playing quietly in the background. The slow beat and the quiet chatter of the bar’s patreons mixed melodically, and it made the atmosphere perfect for a night out. Peter felt the strain in his shoulders melt away with each passing minute .

It felt good.

The diversity was another thing he appreciated.

Coming from New York, it wasn’t that much of a change. The city that never slept was diverse and unique in its own way, but it was busy, always in motion, and everyone had to always be somewhere— no one stopped to appreciate anything. Peter never did; he never had the chance to.

But here he did, so he watched and observed. He looked around, taking in the mismatched mix of people.

He saw a couple seated at the far corner of the bar, a dark skinned man with melted chocolate eyes leaning into another man; all he could see of him was the back of his shirt and the pretty shine of his fiery red hair. Further back was a boy around his age making out with a woman that could be the same age as his mother and two girls, blurring the lines between friendship and something more on the bar’s equivalent of a dance floor.

He loved it here.

In California, Peter felt accepted— free to embrace the part of himself he never got to accept.

It truly was a shame no one ever came up to him. Not that they didn’t want to, because they did. They all looked, especially the boys and the older men, eyes dark and endless and trained on him. Yet no one bothered to try and get a taste anymore, not after knowing who he was waiting for, not after figuring out who he was.

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[iamnotparticularlyproud]

Welcome back! I wanna share my personal head canon also a prompt for you: it took Peter a while to figure out his Peter tingle can sense when somebody wants to fuck him. Even if he sensed that around the most unexpected people all the time, like Flash, his PE teacher, or some villains he's fighting, he didn't think he would ever have the 'sexy' tingle when Tony Stark was in the same room.

I chuckled probably a little too hard at ‘sexy tingle’ but it is absolutely what Peter would call it! This isn’t smut based, I’m so sorry, but I felt like this prompt had major fluff/feels/crack vibes. I really hope this is okay and that you enjoy it! Major props for such a creative and possibility-filled idea! 

Getting bitten by a genetically altered, radioactive spider just kept getting weirder. And each time Peter thought that he was getting used to it, or each time he felt like maybe, finally, he’d discovered all of his abilities, something else sprang up and slapped him in the face. 

And to say nothing of actually learning how to use and balance the abilities he knew he had. His ‘danger tingle’ apparently took frequent pee breaks, because he could sense a bad guy lurking in an alley, but couldn’t send the very resilient apple that Aunt May lobbed at his head. 

And then came The Other Thing. 

It wasn’t really a tingle. It was more like a thrum. Bone-deep and reaching every nerve, almost like anticipation or excitement. It seemed to be completely and utterly random, and it infuriated Peter to no end. 

The sorta cute girl that stacked the shelves at his local small grocer set it off. The hot substitute tutor they had for PE when Coach Wilson sprained his ankle. Here and there on the streets in brief flashes. Peter tried his best to scope the scene each time, to see if he could spot danger, or if they were mutants or someone with powers, but...

Nothing. 

Worst of all, though, was Mr. Stark. 

It was constant, around him. Each time he was in the vicinity, that warming sensation flooded him, and it only made it that much more frustrating, because Tony being Tony meant it was next to impossible to try and find a connecting factor between them all. 

Anything that Mr. Stark was, the others weren’t. Except for the other Avengers. The thrum was less with them, but still existent. It made correlating the various people almost impossible. 

Until they started to correlate themselves. 

Peter was trying to figure out the difference between ‘ethnic taco seasoning’ and ‘blended taco seasoning’ when his senses gave a brief ping and a thrum, and someone tapped him on the shoulder. Peter turned to see the girl who stacked the shelves, and she thrust a piece of paper at him before running off. 

It was her number. 

And a week later, when Flash tried to start an actual fight with him on the grass; they were rolling around as Peter tried desperately to keep his powers to heel, and the thrum was almost a vibration when they came to a halt, Peter nearly punching himself in the face when he realised that Flash was hard against his thigh. 

Catching Mr. Barton’s gaze on the flex of his thighs, half-lidded and dangerous. 

Peter is in the lab when he makes the connection, head lifting with abject horror, holo-pen and thus the rest of his design clattering to the worktop with such sudden disturbance that two benches over, Mr. Stark jolted with a yell, jerk-reaction throwing his solder iron across the room. 

“The Hell, kid?” the older man grumbled, pushing off his stool to retrieve it before it burned another mark on the floor. Peter moved before he could even really permit his legs to do anything, and when Mr. Stark turned to find him mere inches away he jerked with another curse, solder iron brandished like a weapon. 

“Jesus Christ, kid!” the older man huffed, lowering the solder iron with an exasperated expression. Peter paid it no heed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to focus on comparing how Mr. Stark acted to the idle thrum deep under his skin. 

A thrum. A tingle. 

A sexy tingle. 

Mr. Stark was eyeing him suspiciously now, one brow lifting high when Peter rounded a pointed, accusatory finger at him. 

“You give me a sexy tingle!” he announced, and Mr. Stark looked more than a little mollified. 

“I’m... Flattered?”

“What? No,” Peter relaxed, dropping the finger and putting his hands on his hips as he tipped his chin up at his mentor. “A sexy tingle. You give me a sexy tingle, which means you wanna sexy... Me.” He finished lamely, realised he’d kinda mashed that sentence up a little, but hoping that it got through. 

Judging by the thing Mr. Stark’s face did, which happened to be the exact same thing it did whenever Pepper found out he’d done something she’d specifically warned him against, Peter wasn’t far off. 

Mr. Stark opened his mouth, closed it, frowned and scowled at once, and then moved to walk past Peter. Midway through his third step there was a soft thwip and he stumbled, head slowly looking to the side and down to see where his leg, from thigh to just below the knee, was stuck to the leg of a workbench. 

The look he landed Peter over his shoulder was not at all unlike that he had given him the first time they’d met and Peter had web-glued him to the doorknob. 

“Sexy tingle,” Peter insisted, erring on the side of desperate, because this was Tony fucking Stark. Peter’s hero since the first moment he’d ever laid eyes on the red and gold suit, and Peter’s crush since the first time he looked at Mr. Stark’s PlayGirl cover and popped his first ever stiffy. 

Mr. Stark’s expression pinched. 

“You really have to think of a different name for it, kid,” he sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. In his moment of distraction Peter walked closer, rounding the trapped man, who eyed him warily, like he was expecting Peter to whip out a nude and demand blackmail. 

“It means you like me. That you wanna... Be with me,” Peter murmured, confidence suddenly failing him. What if he was wrong? What if it was sheer coincidence, the others? But one look into Mr. Stark’s resigned eyes and he knew. 

“Of course I like you. You’re practically a younger, less dignified, less rich me,” Tony shot at him, tone jovial as though trying to sway the conversation to a lighter, more platonic track. Peter narrowed his eyes, then slumped. 

“So you... Don’t wanna? Me, I mean,” Peter flustered, hands gesturing wildly. The look Tony levelled him with was thoroughly judgemental. 

“I’m not used to this,” he excused miserably, and reached for a scalpel to free his mentor. As he stretched, a large hand wrapped around his wrist, pausing. 

“If it wouldn’t make me the worlds biggest creep, kid, I would,” Mr. Stark breathed, so quietly that Peter almost doubted he’d heard it at all. Peter couldn’t fight the dazzling smile that bared his teeth and made his cheeks dimple, so blindsided that Mr. Stark had to gesture to remind him of his previous task. 

By eight o’clock that night, Operation Sexy Tingle Mr. Stark was in full swing. 

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

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[iamnotparticularlyproud]

Mafia boss Tony begging to eat his baby boy out. A powerful man on his knees promising only the finest things to Peter, just to get a taste.

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

omg this is exactly the experience i wanted people to have!! i totally think the edit works best having read the fic already, i'm so glad to hear it's the exact experience you had 🥺

PPB Square: Free Space | @peterparkerbingo​ super inspired by guilty pleasure by @css1992​

As a broke college student with an unpaid internship, Peter starts a Just4Fans page to help pay for his tuition. After a year of hiding his side hustle from everyone around him and cultivating a sizable audience, Peter’s making more money than he ever expected - especially after a follower who goes by YKWIA starts tipping him a shit-ton of money.

- bingo card below -

Keep reading

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

Growing Wings.

READ ON AO3 For @starkerfestivals | Fill: Mafia AU “Don’t fucking touch me,” Tony snarls, grabbing Peter’s wrists to rip them off of him. “Then don’t fucking talk,” Peter spits back. Tony growls and shoves him back, but Peter just pushes right up against him again, getting in his space. He can feel his warm breath on his face as he snarls, “You think I wanna hear your fucking voice after you left like that? Tell me why I shouldn’t just punch your lights out right now." And ouch, that kind of hurts. Tony shoves him off, jeering, “Well, you wouldn’t want to break my nose, sweetheart, we both know how much you love my pretty face.” “Yeah, enough to want to spit on it, maybe.” S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t the worst place to work. Tony’s been there for a while now, and he gets along just fine. Then, he gets sent back to a world that he thought he’d never return to. I have now achieved a blackout, yay! Thank you to @vaguekiwi for beta'ing!

The barstools are mahogany. They blend into the red-brown wood of the bar, illuminated by the glow of lights behind the bottles. The people blend in, too—clinking glasses and flashing scars as subtle hands exchange wads of bills and tight packets of pot, mingling amidst the sharp smell of whiskey and beer between them; leather jackets that conceal switchblades and guns, hung on large shoulders and frames like bedsheets on a king-sized bed. It all paints a cohesive picture, barely anything out of place.

Except for the boy sitting at the edge of the bar. The Parker heir.

He barely looks legal. Pink cheeks, scruffy brown hair, and pretty pink lips sipping at his daiquiri. There’s a fat golden ring on his index finger. He’s dressed to fit in, but with his youthful face and frilly drink, he looks more like he’s wearing daddy’s clothes than anything.

Tony wants to ruin him.

He wants to grab him by the scruff and drag him down from the throne he’ll be stepping up to and pull him into a kiss, wants to feel the heat of his breath on his neck, wants to… buy him a drink.

“That one’s on me.” Tony pulls a chair out to sit next to the boy, and opens his mouth to order a beer when— no. “Sex on the beach,” he tells the bartender, and gets a weird look from the both of them, accompanied by a smirk lacing the boy’s lips. Otherwise, silence. He waits for his drink to be fixed before taking a sip from it, swirling the liquid in the glass loftily before saying, “Want a taste?”

“Not unless it’s from your mouth.” Parker’s voice is pretty. It reminds Tony of a mockingbird’s song, a sound of nature itself, with each word spilling from his mouth a pretty melody.

Tony lifts his eyebrows. “What, you don’t want a pretty babe to take home?”

The Parker boy pointedly takes a sip from his daiquiri.

Tony feels his lips curve into a smile. Okay. He gets it. He’s pretty sure he sees the other’s eyes crinkle a bit too at the corners. “Tony,” he finally says.

“Peter.”

As if he doesn’t know.

“Pretty name for a pretty boy. You got someone to take care of you, treat you like you’re a diamond?”

“I am a diamond.” Peter tips his head back to take the rest of his daiquiri into his mouth in one large gulp. “And I can find someone to come and make me shine whenever I want.”

“Lucky guy, finding a gem in all this dirt.” Tony keeps his attention on the ice cubes clinking in his glass. “Makes me wonder if that’s what you come here for.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter set his empty glass down. He swipes the tip of his index finger along the rim of the glass, then pops it between his lips to suck on it before turning to face Tony, leaning in. He lets his hands rest gingerly on Tony’s shoulder, just barely gripping as he breathes into his ear, “Why don’t we take this home, Tony?”

Tony likes the way he says his name.

He thinks he’ll like it even more when Peter’s moaning it.

He lifts his gaze to meet Peter’s. Peter doesn’t budge, only pulling back the slightest bit, nose a few inches away from Tony’s. Tony watches his eyelashes flutter with each blink. It’s like a swan taking flight, feathers fluttering in the air and daring Tony to reach up to snag one for himself—a keepsake, or a trophy.

His lips quirk up when Peter gives him a look, clearly saying, well? Tony licks the lingering taste of his drink away from his lips so he can replace it with Peter. “Think your father’ll approve?”

Tony knows he won’t. Peter knows that too.

Peter smiles. “We’ll just have to keep quiet, won’t we?” His hands slide down to fist the front of Tony’s shirt and pull him out of his seat by it.

Tony barely remembers to toss a wad of bills onto the counter before he’s guided out of the bar.

-- -- --

Tony’s in the process of sticking a piece of gum underneath the briefing table when the meeting finally ends. Fury talked for a painfully long time today. Tony’s pretty sure he even saw Rogers’ eyes close a few times, and everyone knows that if Rogers is dozing, the situation’s bad.

His left foot’s fallen asleep. He stomps it subtly a few times before getting up from his seat. The room’s clearing out now, agents talking to each other and chuckling as they shuffle through the doorway. Tony stops by the door, letting Rumlow pass through before turning to Fury, who’s now digging through a box of donuts.

“You know,” Tony says when Fury doesn’t acknowledge him, “might be good for team morale if you actually share your snacks with everyone. Oh, and you know what? We really gotta work on these outfit designs. I mean, how do you expect us to get the job done when half of us are fighting a wedgie?”

Fury’s quiet for a few moments, but it doesn’t faze Tony. Fury’s either astronomically loud or terrifyingly quiet; there’s no in between.

Finally, he speaks. “Found the meeting boring, Stark?” Fury’s eye flicks up to him as he takes a monstrous bite from the donut. It sends sprinkles raining down onto the table and floor for some poor janitor to take care of later.

“Always is, Sir,” Tony replies.

“I’ll always wonder why I let someone with the attention span of a goldfish sign up.”

“Maybe because this goldfish has brought the most innovative ideas you’ve seen in the past three decades.” Tony reaches to snag a donut from the box, but Fury slaps his hand away. It hurts.

“You know, I caught wind of something new today. Toomes.”

Tony blinks. “We don’t deal with people like him.”

He doesn’t deal with people like him. Not anymore.

Fury carries on like he hasn’t even spoken. “Word has it that the Toomes are deep in debt with the Parker family. The Parkers want to collect; you think Toomes is just gonna hand over a small fortune that easily?”

Tony feels his heart leap into his throat at the words.

Parker. Parker. Parker. He repeats the name over and over in his head, and realizes that he’s been silent for a second too long. Fury’s looking at him with a raised eyebrow as he takes a fierce bite from his donut.

“Probably not,” he manages, sounding as dumb as he feels.

Fury sucks sugar off of one of his fingers. “It’s allegedly reported that Toomes’ men are going in to get rid of their debt through unconventional means.”

“They’re not paying them off.”

Fury snorts. “Hell, no. They’re going in to get rid of the Parkers. Which includes our little asset, Rumlow. Member of the Parker family since before the boy even became kingpin, he’s been… interested in testifying against the family if it means he gets a lesser sentence to bite him in the ass later. He’s the weak link in the family, and we need him alive.” He dusts his hands off. “Barnes has already volunteered to infiltrate the Parkers at the higher levels, but we need more people to go in, hang around at their front and get them talking.”

“Best of luck to them.” Tony swallows and looks away furtively.

Fury makes a disgruntled noise in his throat. “Rogers will step in if no one else wants the gig—seems eager to, actually—but really, Stark, I’m bringing this up because I thought you might be interested.”

“Me,” Tony repeats, fighting back the urge to swallow. His mind jumps to skin on skin, fingers lacing together amongst soft silky bed sheets.

“Sure.” Fury shrugs. “You think fast on your feet, and you know how to get out of sticky situations if anything goes south. You know it’s not every day that I offer an agent a job like this—it’s your chance to prove yourself, Stark.”

Tony sucks the inside of his cheek.

“We only need someone to watch Barnes’ back, sit around the area and report back if there’s an issue. It should be easy for someone like you, just mingling with the associates of the family, indulging in their favourite hobbies, bonding, you know how it goes.”

Does he?

“I…” Tony trails off. His eyes flick down to the box of donuts, lingering there for a few moments. Fury actually nudges it open for him, like it’s positive reinforcement for considering the gig. “Can I tell you my decision tomorrow?”

Fury grunts.

Tony takes that as a ‘yes’ and hurries out before Fury can say anything else.

-- -- --

It still smells the same, Tony realizes. Leather and alcohol accompanied by raucous laughter and cigarettes and money. It feels the same, too. The barstools haven’t changed, except the leather is cracked now. He runs his fingers over it. It’s like a scar, if someone ripped off a wing and let the flesh mould over with new skin.

He orders himself a drink. The bartender makes quick work of it and Tony gives her a nod of thanks before taking it from her. At least it’s not the same bartender.

It only takes him a few minutes to empty the glass. He signals for another, then turns ever so slightly to side-eye the big hunk of meat next to him. It’s not a face that he recognizes, and he’s not sure if he’s more disappointed or relieved by that fact.

Probably relieved.

“Long day?” he sighs, knowing as soon as the words come out of his mouth that it’s a stupid thing to say. It sounds green, sounds like two suburban dads at the bar of a family restaurant.

Tony gets completely ignored for his trouble. Okay, fair enough. He’s gotten rusty—which is good, he reminds himself.

He needs another drink.

He downs it in a few big swallows, which catches the attention of a couple people in the bar. He gulps past the burn and it means his voice rasps a bit when he tries again. “I had a run last night up on 116th, got jumped by like, ten guys.” He hesitates before adding, “I think they were with Toomes or something.”

He gets a few more eyes, and some heads tilting in his direction. Okay, interest. No engagement yet, but that’s okay.

Tony’s grip tightens around the glass in his hand and he plunges ahead. “Heard they’re gonna take a run at us about their debt to—” don’t say his name, he could at least pretend that wasn’t real right now “—to the boss. Think your head’ll be one of the ones they cut off?”

That gets the big guy to turn to him, a scowl on his face. “Toomes would be lucky to snip even one lock of my hair,” he growls. And, admittedly, the man has great hair.

“Hey, new guy!” Five others have swivelled in their seats, and one has his eyes fixed on Tony. “Toomes really planning something against the family?”

Tony smirks triumphantly and motions toward the bartender. “I’ll tell you all about it, friends. Drinks are on me.”

-- -- --

Peter lets out a soft yelp as Tony practically tackles him onto the bed, dragging him into a kiss. Peter’s fingers fumble as he yanks off his jacket and shirt, moaning against his lips, and Tony helps him out of them. He hears the sound of Peter’s pants dropping to the floor and his lips part in anticipation. It’s exhilarating to take apart Peter’s exterior piece by piece to reveal what’s inside, to take it for himself and ravish it.

“That hurts, you asshole,” Peter laughs as Tony nips from his jaw to his collarbone. Tony ignores him, just sucking a mark onto the pale expanse of skin right above his collarbone, and then twisting to kiss Peter.

Peter gasps into the kiss, and Tony swallows his noises up hungrily like his life depends on it. Peter gives a small whine and pushes him. Tony falls back onto the bed with a confused noise, propping himself up on his elbow. “What?” he pants. “You don’t— is something wrong?”

“No, ‘s just—” Peter licks his lips, cheeks flushed bashfully now. “You still have your shirt on.”

“Huh?” Tony looks down and feels a small smile tugging at his lips at the realization that Peter’s right. “Oh.” He swipes his hair back with a hand, flustered, and Peter bursts into laughter.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Peter tells him teasingly, already reaching forward. He makes quick work of Tony’s clothes with clumsy, eager fingers, yanking and tugging at buttons and zippers before copying Tony’s actions from earlier, dusting a few kisses onto his jaw. Tony tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut again, settling back into that warm, fuzzy place in his head where everything he can feel and see and smell and taste is Peter.

Peter’s touches are more hesitant than his, less experienced, maybe. It makes him wonder if Peter’s ever really done more than make out with someone, or if he’s ever even been in bed with another guy.

His suspicions are confirmed when Peter pulls back the slightest bit and whispers, “Is this okay?” as he lets a hand slip down, eyes flicking up to his face uncertainly.

He’s younger than Tony; they’re both young, but Tony likes the idea of teaching Peter from scratch, moulding him from untouched putty to a sinning angel, claiming what’s his. He gives a small smile through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes, “you’re more than okay.”

It’s like the words settle the apprehension in Peter, because he relaxes, tense shoulders dropping in what’s probably relief. Tony doesn’t like the idea of Peter worrying when he’s supposed to be enjoying, so he just grabs him and flips him over, eliciting a surprised, “Oof!” from him. He grinds down on Peter, watching delightedly as Peter lets out an obscene moan, and he clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Thought you said we gotta stay quiet,” he whispers.

Peter licks the palm of his hand to coax it off of him. “We are quiet.”

“Not you,” Tony teases.

Peter scowls. “Fuck off.”

Tony kisses the pouty look off of his face. It slides away easily once his lips are slotted against Peter’s, wet and sloppy.

And then Peter surges up in a bout of energy, and Tony falls back with a surprised noise. “I wanna,” Peter pants as he dusts kisses on Tony’s neck, nuzzling and nipping, “I wanna— I want you to make me—”

Peter steals his breath from him with each kiss until his chest is tight and Tony has to push him away the slightest bit to gasp, “Your father— last chance to—”

Neither of them give a shit about Peter’s father. It’s foreplay at best, now. The thrill of getting caught, the feeling of ecstasy as they touch what’s forbidden, snagging an apple from the garden, it only urges them on like fuel added to fire.

“Still in the family, aren’t you?” Peter plays along, hands sliding down to Tony’s hips. “Least you’re not a fed.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he agrees breathlessly. “Least ‘m not a fed.”

And then he takes Peter for himself, drinking in every little noise he makes as hunger ravishes his body, basking in the dove’s pretty noises.

-- -- --

“Another one!”

They all burst into laughter as the big blond guy—Thor, apparently—smashes his glass on the floor of the bar. The bartender rolls her eyes. Broken kitchenware isn’t a scarcity with Thor around here.

Tony’s not drunk. He’s spilled a couple of drinks instead of downing them, and he’s been sneaking refills of water instead of alcohol when he can. And, he can hold his liquor well. He’s not willing to risk his job to indulge himself.

He has, however, gotten the others to drink their fair share. They’re red-faced and all they can do is roar with laughter. It reminds him of how he used to do this too, come into the bar and share a drink or two before rushing off to press his lips to fair skin as hands push through his hair. For a split second, he feels a pang of longing in his chest.

He instantly forgets about it when Thor claps him on the chest. “Our— Our heads!” he booms, then snorts. “Toomes better watch out; we could step on ‘im even like this, crush his puny skull with our boots.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” another guy snorts, elbowing Thor in the side. “Don’t you ‘member what happened last time? Parker had a nosebleed for days.”

The words make Tony jerk in his seat before he even realizes it, and then he turns back around. “Yeah, yeah, Rumlow better watch out, heard he’s a popular target,” he chuckles in an effort to regain his composure, lifting his hand to signal for another drink.

“Rumlow?” An unfamiliar voice sounds and they all turn around.

It’s another face that Tony doesn’t recognize, and it makes him realize once again just how long it’s actually been since he was last here. He takes a quiet sip from his drink, and the guy narrows his eyes at Tony.

Maybe he’s been here too long. He wants to check his watch, but he refrains.

“Rumlow ain’t here,” the guy says. He doesn’t budge, preventing Tony from sliding out of his seat. “Boss sent him to Siberia two days ago. I would know, ‘m his partner.”

One of the guys snorts. “You sure, Rollins? Last I heard, you two went through a little break-up. Did he dump you, or was it the other way around, big guy?”

There’s a loud cracking noise, and the guy falls off his seat, clutching a bloody nose. “Jesus fuck!”

They have the attention of the whole bar now, and yep, this has officially gone downhill. Like, to the depths of the earth, to the underworld where Hades resides type of bad. Tony can feel the palms of his hands getting sweaty.

Rollins gives Tony a lingering look. “What did you say your name was?”

Fuck. And that’s his cue to leave.

He tosses a wad of bills onto the counter, then says, “I gotta get home.”

“He didn’t say his name.” It’s Thor now, staring at Tony with wide, suspicious eyes now.

Tony would rather not get into a fight with Thor, or any of the guys here, really. They’re all massive.

He needs to get the fuck out of here and go straight to Fury to ask him what the hell is going on, because what does Rolllins mean Rumlow is in fucking Siberia?

“You need to see the boss,” Rollins says, and that’s the only warning Tony gets before the front of his shirt is roughly snatched in a massive paw.

“Whoa, whoa, big guy, I’m sorry—my name’s Anthony Howard; didn’t mean anything by it; just heard stuff about Toomes. Look, I really do gotta get home—”

And then Rollins yanks, making him trip forwards, and then there are hands gripping his shoulders and his wrists are being yanked behind his back like he’s getting arrested. He’s dragged off, and he prays that whoever the boss is, it’s not him.

But he knows that it is, and there’s no way he can avoid it now.

-- -- --

Tony’s there when Peter’s father is gutted like a fish.

He wraps his arms around the boy, letting him scream and cry until he’s exhausted, throat raw and scratchy from how hard he’s worked it. His cries sound more like the shrieks of a crow by the end of it, and Tony runs a hand down his spine in an effort to soothe him.

“You’re okay,” he says, voice low, and Peter shudders and shakes his head in a small, jerky movement. He doesn’t believe it yet, but Tony knows he will be.

He doesn’t stop to wonder whether they’ll be alright.

He’s there when Peter steps up.

He’s there when Peter rules like the king he was meant to be.

He’s there when Peter ruthlessly rips off the wings of the mockingbird inside himself to lock them up in a cage and leave them to rot. He’s there when Peter transforms into an eagle, a bird of prey; he’s there when Peter stops singing.

Until one night, he’s not there. He’s slipping out of the compound, silent as a field mouse running away from an eagle under the gaze of the silver moonlight.

And he’s not there when Peter wakes up.

-- -- --

At first glance, Tony thinks Peter looks the same. But then he takes a second look, and he sees that he’s grown a bit taller, his face isn’t as youthful, and he has a small, healed scar on his cheekbone, just a faint white line. Most people wouldn’t even notice it, but it catches Tony’s attention right away, and he hates himself for it, hates that he has the memory of Peter’s face etched into his brain.

Peter’s men don’t even get a chance to say anything, because the moment Peter’s eyes land on Tony’s face, his lip curls up and he barks, “Out!”

They fumble for a moment, like they’re not sure whether they should be dragging Tony out of the room too, but when Peter’s scowl grows, they scuttle out with their tails tucked between their legs. Tony sneers at their backs.

Peter strides forward and Tony clenches his jaw in preparation for what he knows is coming.

The moment the door slams shut, Peter flies into action. He grabs the front of Tony’s shirt and shoves him against the wall.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Tony snarls, grabbing Peter’s wrists to rip them off of him.

“Then don’t fucking talk,” Peter spits back.

Tony growls and shoves him back, but Peter just pushes right up against him again, getting in his space. He can feel his warm breath on his face as he snarls, “You think I wanna hear your fucking voice after you left like that? Tell me why I shouldn’t just punch your lights out right now.”

And ouch, that kind of hurts. Tony shoves him off, jeering, “Well, you wouldn’t want to break my nose, sweetheart, we both know how much you love my pretty face.”

“Yeah, enough to want to spit on it, maybe.”

“You sure you don’t want me to be doing that to you? Wouldn’t get off on it, wouldn’t blow a load the moment I touch you? Happened way too much in the past, didn’t it? Don’t wanna relive those memories, honey? And this scar—” Tony reaches out, not even flinching when Peter tries to slap him away “—what happened here, huh? Fell off the swingset when Daddy wasn’t here to watch you?”

Peter pulls a face of disgust at his words, and Tony almost barks out a laugh, which would’ve incensed him more. It almost makes him wish he had; he knows how much Peter hates when he calls himself daddy. Almost as much as he hates being called kid.

Tony presses his thumb onto the scar when he gets no response, and Peter smacks his hand down to snap, “Just the result of the last guy who walked out on us. He came out a lot worse than me; should’ve done the same to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony lifts his eyebrow tauntingly. “Then why didn’t you, huh? Did I wear you out too much, princess? Didn’t have it in you for round two? Should’ve known; pretty little thing like you wouldn’t have been able to handle it anyway—”

Tony falls back with a grunt when Peter tackles him, hands flying up to wrench him off. Except now he feels lips roughly mouthing at his neck. And then Peter snarls, “Get yourself out of these fucking clothes, I fucking hate you, always making shit harder.”

“Then ask nicely, kid,” Tony bites back. Peter’s head jerks at the pet name, nostrils flaring, and Tony triumphantly shoves him off enough to yank off his own shirt. He stumbles with how hard he pulls, and then there are hands that are tugging too, helping him out of it, and he grunts, “No fuckin’ patience at all, should’ve known you’d be begging to gag on my dick before you even—”

“Shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up.” Peter throws the shirt behind himself before throwing himself at Tony again.

His nails bite harshly into Tony’s skin, making him hiss between clenched teeth. “Put those damn claws away, Christ.” He shoves Peter back again and they stumble together against the wall, then fumble for another moment as Peter wrestles out of his own shirt.

The moment the shirt drops to the floor, discarded like a feather floating to the ground, Tony grabs Peter’s shoulders and manhandles him over to his desk. He manages to get him bent over it despite the kicking and thrashing that Peter puts up, but Tony knows Peter, knows that he isn’t fighting as hard as he can, knows that he wants Tony to wrestle with him. There’s also no denying the fact that despite the years that have passed and hardened them both, Tony’s still larger and stronger than Peter, and Peter loves it. Tony can see it in his eyes; he’s practically feral every time he rests his eyes on Tony.

“Remember the last time we did this?” Tony laughs roughly, pressing flush against him as he bends over, caging him in with his arms. Peter snarls and jerks his head back, but Tony easily avoids it. He pinches the back of his neck harshly in reprimand and Peter chokes, straining against him. Tony lets him gasp and heave for a moment before licking a hot, wet stripe from his neck to his ear. “You think you can scream as loudly as you did then for me right now, sweetheart?”

“Over my dead body,” Peter gasps.

“Not the biggest turn-on.” In a lightning-fast movement, Tony rips Peter’s pants off. The button goes flying and Peter hisses.

“That was expensive, you asshole!”

Tony opens his mouth to snap back, but then his breath catches in his throat at the sight of the red lace. Peter’s face has gone a shade that’s equally as bright and he snarls in Tony’s grasp.

“Ohhh,” Tony says, beginning to laugh, and it sounds mean, which only serves to aggravate Peter even more. “This is why you were fighting so hard, huh? Little prissy Parker, wearing fuckin’ panties like you have someone to strut for?”

“Shut. Up,” Peter grits out.

Tony grins, feeling a sadistic little ball of heat furling in his gut, and he leans in to breathe, “Make me,” before cracking a hand down on his ass. The sound is loud, ringing throughout the whole room, and Peter keens. He’s pushing back against Tony like he can’t help himself now, spine curving nicely in a way that makes Tony want to kiss every inch of his body.

Tony slots his hips against his ass, grinding down and letting out a low growl in his throat. “That’s right. That’s fuckin’ right. Can’t make me, can you? Bet’chu wanted this so badly, can never help yourself, can you? C’mon, little mockingbird, admit it—it doesn’t feel as good when you’re on your own, I get it, I—”

He does get it. He’s forgotten how good they are together, and years apart only riles him up further, gets him wanting more, more, more. He knows Peter feels the same, and now, he wants to hear him say it.

“Tell me you want this,” he growls, and Peter jerks in his grasp. “Tell me,” he repeats, cracking a hand down on his ass, “you want this.”

“Fuck off,” Peter grits, but Tony can hear it, the desperation and arousal in his voice.

“Tell me you want it, let me fucking hear it.” He brings his hand down in earnest, making Peter gasp. His ass turns a dusty pink as he jerks and whines in his grip. Tony can see his cock growing harder by the minute, encased by lace. “C’mon, lemme hear it, what’s the matter, kid? Cat got your tongue? No point in hiding, you know, we know you want it, probably been waiting for this moment for years now. Bet you put fuckin’ panties on every day hoping I’d see them.”

He punctuates his words with smacks, hand cracking loudly and ringing through the room, and Tony bites out, “C’mon, sweetheart, you being shy ‘cause you don’t want me to fuck you? Or are you still thinking about that time I nearly let you fuck me? That was a fucking mistake, wasn’t it? You got a hungry fuckin’ hole, you think your dick would’ve lasted more than a minute in my—”

“I want it!” Peter finally gasps, tears in his eyes. “I want it, I want it, I want you to fuck me, I want your hands on me, I want you to fucking take me, take me, fuck me—”

“Fuck!” Tony sees red. He fumbles with the zipper of his pants, yanking it down as fast as he can.

“Jerk,” Peter pants. “You’re a fucking asshole, bastard, selfish piece of shit, cock-sucking fed—mmph!” He chokes when Tony slaps a hand over his mouth.

“The mouth on you, kid, Christ!” Tony pulls back, then tears off his panties with his hands. Peter jerks from his position, rearing up again, but Tony puts a stop to whatever he’s about to do by shoving him back down with a grip on his neck. He roughly makes Peter turn his head, then mocks, “If you can’t learn to say nice things, then you shouldn’t say anything at all.”

Peter doesn’t fight him—as much as he expected him to, at least—when he balls the panties up in his hand and stuffs them into his mouth. Tony laughs when Peter’s face flushes, and he taunts, “Can’t even spit and snarl like you want to anymore, can you?” Peter jerks in his grasp again, and Tony bites his shoulder in reprimand. “‘s okay,” he says against his skin, grinning, “I gotcha.”

He brings his hand down on his ass again, admiring how pink it turns, and then starts roughly opening the drawers of his desk. His other hand is gripping Peter’s wrists behind his back, pinning him down. Peter’s breathing is raw and heavy in his throat even with the garment in his mouth, but there’s no denying how hard his dick is, and nothing delights Tony more than that.

“Lube,” he mutters impatiently under his breath, digging through the drawers. “Don’t tell me you don’t have fucking lube.”

Peter makes an indignant noise that Tony disregards.

When he finds it tucked under a stack of envelopes, he rips the small packet open. He presses his lubed fingers to Peter’s hole, and Peter jerks, then pushes back against him.

“Fuckin’ hungry for it, aren’t you?” Tony mutters as he works a finger in. “You know what hasn’t changed? How tight your fucking hole is.”

Peter moans behind the panties in his mouth, thighs shaking as Tony works him open. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either—just the way Peter likes it.

Tony’s pumping three fingers in and out of his hole by the time Peter makes a muffled noise. It sounds suspiciously like, “Hurry up,” but he can’t know for sure, and he doesn’t care to know either—Peter would kill him if he stopped to ask. So he just pinches Peter’s cheek, making him groan, before straightening.

He spits in his hand and brings it down to his cock, pumping it a few times. Peter twists to look at him, eyes blown and heavy, and Tony smirks. “Cock-drunk little thing,” he drawls, seeing the spark that ignites in Peter’s eyes at his words.

Tony squeezes Peter’s hip as he presses the head of his cock to his hole. It slips in easily, rim fluttering around him, and Tony hisses out a small, “Shit,” before pushing in slowly.

Peter gives a muffled moan, just taking it, and Tony pants, “Good boy,” before he lets his hips roll.

It’s slow at first, but then they pick up the pace once Peter starts making little noises in his throat, even pushing back to meet him halfway. It’s heaven to Tony, to feel Peter all around him like this, even more so when he gets to grip his hips and mark him up.

“You know,” Tony pants after a while, fingers digging into Peter’s skin hard enough to bruise, “it’s almost too boring with you so quiet. Maybe I should just—”  He reaches out, and takes the panties from his mouth.

Peter’s moans and gasps fill up the room immediately, and Tony gives him a sloppy grin in return for the glare he gets. “There we go. But I don’t want to just carry this, so let’s…” He stuffs the panties into Peter’s hand, then guides them down to his dick. “I want you to wrap your filthy panties around your filthy cock and make a fucking mess of them.”

There’s no hiding how turned on Peter is by that; his eyelashes flutter and his lips part in a silent moan. Tony snaps his hips up, and Peter moans, jumping into action. “I fucking hate you,” he pants, even as he follows Tony’s order.

Tony laughs and gives one of his cheeks another spank. “I know,” he grins, then lets his hips pick up the pace. He digs his nails into one cheek, and Peter moans so loudly that he’s pretty sure the entire fucking room shakes. “Sing any louder than that, ‘n you’re gonna have people comin’ in to see you fuckin’ impaled on my dick, crying like a kid who just found his lost stuffie,” Tony taunts in his ear.

Peter gives a snarl, but there’s no real fight in his body; he just wants Tony and they both know it.

Tony closes his eyes, head lolling back and lips parting as he works his hips fast until he’s pounding Peter’s ass hard enough to jostle his whole body. Peter mewls, fumbling as he jerks himself off, still gripping his panties in a vice-grip, and the mere sight of him nearly tips Tony over the edge.

“So— fucking— filthy—” he gasps, bending over to press as flush as he can against Peter, skin on skin, damp with sweat. He mouths at his neck and shoulders, trying to take every inch of Peter that he can.

“P-Plea— O-Oh, god, fuck, fuck—” Peter whimpers, and the sound goes straight to Tony’s cock.

Tony hisses, “Fuck, ‘m gonna—” before he interrupts himself with a loud groan that rips from his throat, raw and heavy. He lets his hips slow as he rides through the wave of ecstasy that crashes over him, only pulling out once he gets too sensitive.

Peter’s a mewling, sweaty mess over his desk, fingers scrabbling to grip something, anything. Tony slides a hand through his damp hair to pull his head back and places a hand over Peter’s, which is still working feebly over his own cock, and he says roughly, “Lemme help, kid, can’t even do it yourself, can you? Too dumb to even think, shouldn’t have expected so much from you.”

Peter keens at the words, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s drooling on his desk. Tony lets his strokes quicken, the lacy fabric of the panties sliding wetly over the head of his dick, and Peter lets out a breathy moan. “I— I— P-Please—”

“No one’s stopping you, baby, c’mon, lemme see it.” Tony leans in and licks a wet, broad stripe between his cheeks, tasting himself mingled with the taste of Peter, and then Peter’s coming with a loud wail.

He shoots strings of white over their hands and his panties, now completely ruined and sloppy, and he gives up—gives in—entirely to let Tony jack him off through it, coaxing whines and whimpers out of him.

“F-Fuck,” he gasps after a few moments, squirming to get free, and Tony cracks a hand down, keeping him there until he’s begging incoherently, blathering for Tony to fuckstoppleasekeepgoing oh god—

Tony falls back onto the floor, completely exhausted as the weight of what they just did slaps him in the face, and Peter follows suit, collapsing on top of him.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the sound of their breaths coming in rough gasps. Erratic exhales fill up the space between them, and Tony closes his eyes as Peter turns his head the slightest bit. He starts kissing his way up Tony’s body, from his knee to his hip to his chest and his neck.

When it slows to a stop, Tony lets his head fall to the side and is shocked to find Peter’s eyes damp and glossy. “Baby,” he whispers, feeling himself go cold. He’s only ever seen Peter cry once before. “What’s wrong?”

Peter’s eyes fall shut and he shakes his head. The silence stretches out longer and Tony’s fully convinced that he’s lost his voice when Peter finally speaks. “Stay,” he croaks. He reaches out and finds Tony’s hand, then grips it tightly. “Don’t leave me.”

Not again, are the unspoken words, and Tony knows it.

Tony looks down at him to meet his shiny brown eyes, full of longing and sadness and hatred and anger and happiness and resignation. He reaches out, placing a hand on Peter’s cheek, and Peter shudders and presses into the touch.

“Baby,” he breathes. His mind feels like it’s gone blank, save for the thought of Fury, and Toomes, and S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s an agent. He’s not part of… this, anymore. He can’t be.

A tear trails down Peter’s cheek, dripping onto the crook of his finger, and Peter turns his head to smudge it. But before he can, Tony pulls back, then grips his face with both hands to pull him into a kiss. It’s a clumsy one, full of wet gasps and pained noises, before Peter kisses back, pressing closer and closer until he’s toppled over Tony.

Tony keeps his eyes closed, even when Peter pulls back, lips ghosting over his. Peter falls onto his chest, mouthing desperately at his neck, fingers lacing through his own to squeeze tightly. Tony can feel his wet cheeks pressing against his jaw.

Peter finally pulls away, and Tony opens his eyes. “Stay,” Peter whispers again, and Tony swallows over the lump in his throat. He looks down at his hand, uncurling his fingers, and sees a familiar golden ring resting in his palm. His breath catches in his throat, and he squeezes his hand into a fist tightly, feeling the gold warm up at his touch.

And then he knows he’s made his decision—or maybe there was only ever one right answer.

“Okay,” he says, and Peter falls back onto him, a silent sob wracking his body.

Tony wraps his arms around him, holding him tightly, never wanting to let go—and he doesn’t.

The feeling of holding so Peter closely is accompanied by the decision that he’s going to grow a pair of fucking wings, if only to take both him and Peter elsewhere, away from any place that isn’t just for them.

He should have known he would end up back here. He was always going to end up back home.

-- -- --

“You passed with flying colours, Stark.” Fury doesn’t even look up as he addresses him. He’s too busy making his coffee. Tony thinks he goes out of his way to never look anyone in the eye. “Makes me wonder where you learned all these skills. It’s not every day we get an applicant like you.”

Tony doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his chin.

Fury’s eye flicks up then. It’s just the slightest bit unnerving. It feels like he can see right through him, see everything that he’s been through, see where he’s come from, see the dirt and blood that remains underneath his fingernails no matter how much he scrubs them under the faucet. He wonders if the bitter smell of leather is still stuck to him, coiling through his hair to settle down like a snake in a nest. He wonders if it’ll ever leave him, wonders how many baths and showers it’ll take for him to rub himself raw, clean.

“It’s not an easy task to commit to S.H.I.E.L.D.” Fury takes a sip of his coffee and saunters closer. Tony doesn’t move. “You leave everything behind and give it all to us. S.H.I.E.L.D. can give you what you want, but in return, we demand loyalty.” He’s standing right in front of Tony now. They stay like that for a few moments, before Fury asks softly, “Are you a loyal man, Stark?”

Tony lifts his chin. “Yes.” His voice doesn’t shake, and he holds Fury’s gaze. His fingers curl into fists, and he waits with bated breath.

Finally, Fury holds a hand out, and says, “Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D, agent.”

Tony takes it, grips it tightly, and gives a jerky nod to seal his fate. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s home, and he’s never going back.

Tag list: @sinditia @darker-soft-starker @starkeristheendgame @thegreenmetblue @momodashii @peterrparrkerr @tnpt @blazingparker @carelessannie

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

the banter?? the characterization??? tony’s inner AND outer commentary???? alkjdlksj im dying, this is the ship i never knew i needed but now i can’t live without it 😣

also i simply cannot get over these parts:

“Tony wondered if this is what is was like to meet the closest thing to a clone of himself. If Bruce Wayne was the darker-clad version of Tony Stark, the same man but for the costume he wore to punch criminals in the face.” this is exactly what struck me after reading this post!! they’re such similar characters but their differences really contrast the other and tbh i want them to fuck about it 😳

“Peter’s flustered indignation wore a fissure in that seamless front, dragging the barest genuine reaction forwards kicking and screaming.” Peter being able to get a sexy billionaire all hot and bothered just by being hot and bothered himself is, like, my favorite trope in starker and apparently just a thing i really really like 🥴

and how they talk about sharing Peter right in front of him 🥵🥵 not me getting all flushed irl while reading that part 🙈

“It should figure that the only thing you’re capable of sharing is sex.” AHHHHHHHH no commentary just had to scream

and GOD that ending line drove me crazy, i can't help but think of all the different ways their night could go 🥵

The IronSpider and The Bat

In which Tony takes his shiny new protegè to his first Gala to break him in and discovers he isn’t the only older billionaire with a heroic alter-ego that Peter is starstruck over.

TW/Tags: Light jealousy | Fluff | Established relationship | Humor 

“And this is the heir to Stark Industri-” Tony blinked at the empty space he was gesturing towards, which should be occupied by a starry eyed, teenaged, secret superhero. 

And which was hereby empty.

“Where the Hell…?” he twisted to scan the room, finally zeroing in on where Peter was using the buffet table as a poor excuse to stare slack-jawed at…

“Over my dead body,” Tony barked, spine straightening. He left his conversational partner without so much as a by your leave, shortening his strides the closer he got. Peter was hard to sneak up on but when he was distracted it became marginally more achievable.

The man Peter was staring at the way a lion eyed a fresh-cut steak was tall, dressed in a suit as obnoxiously expensive and well-cut as Tony’s own. He was well groomed and was undoubtedly packing at least twelve different weapons. 

He was also annoyingly handsome. Loathe to admit it, Tony had eyes. Working ones.

“Well, well, well.”

Once Peter had peeled himself back off the ceiling he rounded on Tony with startled, wide eyes.

“Oh, don’t even,” Tony hummed when Peter’s mouth opened, swinging an arm over his shoulders. “I know we agreed on the occasional dally but really, Peter. Eye-fucking someone right in the middle of the ballroom? Have you no shame?”

Peter’s cheeks burned pink and he closed his mouth, risking another sneaky glance at where his paramour was politely fending off an elderly woman, her hand just a little too suggestive on his hip. 

“How about we do our duty as superheroes and go save a poor civilian, hm?” Tony murmured, delighting in the way that Peter shivered as he set a hand in the small of his spine, guiding him across the room. 

Keep reading

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

I saw you talking about IronSpiderBat in the tags and I do have this longer piece 👉👈

me on my way to read this fic like:

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

"Oh, wow." Peter blinked. "That's Bruce Wayne."

"I'm not sure how I feel about this, for the record," Tony cut in, nose scrunching. "My boyfriend - who's been hero worshipping me since he was six - asked me to meet another man for his birthday."

"Five," Peter corrected absently, gaze raking over the other sharply attired billionaire with the kind of look a cat got right before it caught the mouse.

"You know what, nope. I've realised you definitely have a type and I don't like it," Tony announced decisively, jutting out his chin.

"We're having birthday sex later, you'll get over it," Peter dismissed, waving a hand at him before extending it forwards. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Wayne, Sir."

"Uh, excuse me, I'm the charming billionaire you call Mister," Tony interjected on a mutter, scuffing his shoe against the polished tiles.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Parker," Bruce answered, eye sparkling.

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

Okay gather around kids. We’ve discussed the sugar daddy/sugar baby trope, we love it, we eat it up— that’s a fact. Now, let’s consider this: May didn’t raise a rude boy, she raised a gentleman. Peter is polite, he’s sweet and respectful, defiantly is a gentleman. Tony, used to people going out with him for his money, paired with the logic that a) he is the older between the two and it just seems right that he pays and b) he is richer with no room for comparison and Peter is literally a struggling student, was fully expecting to be the one who always pays for their dates and outings, everything really. On their first date, he pays and doesn’t bat an eyelash— it’s second nature by now. When Peter asks him out for their next date, to a fancy restaurant more Tony’s scene than Peter’s, he went ready to pay for their meal. Imagine Peter handing the waiter his credit card and Tony being so shocked by the action that he doesn’t even reacts, completely shuts down and just gaps speechless because no one has ever paid for him— ever. Whenever he went out regardless if it was with friends, dates, business partners– he always paid. When Peter pays he is so taken aback that he doesn’t know how to react.

Now discuss, what’s your take on this?

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

because of this fic my crops are flourishing and my skin is clear 😳 I wonder what would happen with a full fic... no pressure or anything but it might cure my hypertension 🤔

hero worship !! preferably starker bc that just fits

READ ON AO3 For @peterparkerbingo | Fill: Adopted Fic premise was @carelessannie’s idea, thank you bb!! <3 i’m also making this omegaverse; hope you don’t mind, anon! I really, really want to write a full fic for this — maybe in the near future?

Tony’s done a lot of things in his life, but he’s never expected to feel like a cornered wild animal by none other than a shitstain like Senator Stern. It’s revolting, really. But there’s no way in hell Stern’s gonna let it go: the great Iron Man, saviour of all, NYC’s superhero—of course he has to be rewarded.

He just wasn’t expecting them to come to his penthouse at one in the morning to drop off a pretty omega who’s only wearing panties.

“What,” he says, appalled, “the fuck is this?”

The guy looks up at him with his dead, beady eyes as he nudges the boy inside. He looks exhausted. He has to be, if this is his job, Tony thinks scornfully.

He leaves without a word, the door falling shut behind him, and Tony’s left staring at the boy, who’s still on his knees with his wrists tied behind his back.

This is a disaster.

“Do— can you get up?” he asks dumbly.

The boy blinks up at him. “Yes, alpha,” he says, “but ‘m comfy here.”

Of course he is.

Tony doesn’t even know what to say to that. He’s a bit freaked out, in all honesty. So, he tries, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter, Sir. Peter Parker.” Peter’s chest is rising and falling, quickening with each breath he takes, and he adds, “You’re Tony Stark.” He ducks his head, flushing. “It’s— ‘m really honoured to be here, alpha.”

Oh, god.

“Honoured,” Tony repeats slowly, then runs a hand down his face. This is fine. It’s fine. He can handle this. He’s been through worse. He can take care of it. He looks down at Peter, who’s still looking up at him, beaming. “Let me take you home. C’mon, I have some clothes that might fit you.”

Peter’s smile immediately drops into a frown. “Home?” he echoes, eyes wide. “This— this is home, alpha. I don’t understand.” He looks close to tears, the entire hallway filling up with the scent of distressed-upset-sad omega.

“Okay, okay, that’s— alright, we can talk about it. Just, c’mon, kid, off your knees.” They have to be hurting. His floor is marble, for fuck’s sake. “We’ll move to the couch, okay? Let’s go.”

Peter blinks up at him wetly, then follows him. He shuffles on his knees, and after some futile coaxing, Tony gives up entirely and lets him. He sits down, expecting Peter to follow him, but the kid just remains on his knees and bumps his forehead against his knee in a fond gesture, lingering there for a moment to breathe him in. Tony watches him, then tentatively sets a hand down on the nest of soft brown hair.

Peter’s pretty. He has to admit it, in any other circumstance, he’d be bending him right over to see just how pretty his moans and whines are.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s like adopting a new pet, except this isn’t some mutt or some tabby cat, it’s another human being who’s been sent to worship him for his heroic deeds.

The silence is awkward, at first.

Tony tries to fill it in by prodding him with questions. After a decent conversation (read: interrogation), he quickly finds out that the kid’s a recent high school graduate with no living family members, which leaves him to be, according to Peter, “a little orphaned omega runt.” And to top it all off, he signed up for this program (Tony sneers at the word) to pay for his tuition.

“I’ll pay for it,” Tony says instantly, the moment Peter tells him. “You can leave this— thing. Hell, I’ll even find a place for you to live.”

Peter just blinks wetly up at him, looking distressed, then asks softly, “I can’t stay with you?”

Tony stares down at him, captivated by how teary he gets, so quickly. He looks… really pretty when he cries. He has to pinch his thigh to stop his thoughts from going there. “I… you can, if you want,” he eventually says, even as his entire brain screams, “This is a horrible idea,” at him. “But— I don’t— look, I want you in this situation because you want to be in it, not because you need… money.”

“I do want it,” Peter says tearfully. “I was— I just want an alpha. And I’ve found one, now, ‘m not a runt anymore. And it’s you, Mr. Stark. I—” He breaks off, flushing.

Tony’s intrigued. More than he should be. “You what?”

“I’ve always wanted you,” Peter whispers, voice cracking, and he goes a deep shade of red. “Just— you’re Iron Man, and all the Stark tech and— and I went to the Expo when I was a kid, once, I saw you for a moment there, but— but now I— I’ve found you.”

God.

They’re quiet for a few more moments. And then Tony completely switches the topic. “You like tech stuff, kid?”

It turns out that Peter’s not just pretty, but he’s smart, too, when he’s not reduced to basic omega nature—he laps up information about the arc reactor and nanotech really fast, even asks questions and counters some of Tony’s arguments.

And then he throws Tony off for what seems like the fifth time that night by saying, “Alpha? Can I— can I please suck you off tonight?”

Tony chokes on the water he’s sipping and Peter blinks, patiently waiting for him to regain his composure before adding timidly, “I’d really like to have you in my mouth.”

“Oh my god,” Tony says, voice strained. His dick should not be getting hard. Fuck. “Kid, I—”

“Please,” Peter says, eyes wide and pleading. It’s a beautiful sight.

Tony wants to say yes.

He really, really wants to say yes.

He shouldn’t.

But he does.

“Yeah,” he breathes, the word coming out in one huge, guilty exhale. “Yeah, kid.”

He watches Peter’s nimble fingers fumbling with his pants, pulling them down and letting his cock spring free, tongue poking out wetly between his pretty pink lips, eyes flicking up to his face as he gags himself on his dick like he’s grateful for it.

Peter worships him, and Tony lets him.

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

AAAAAA TYSM OMG 😭😭😭🥺🥺

PPB Square: Free Space | @peterparkerbingo​ super inspired by guilty pleasure by @css1992​

As a broke college student with an unpaid internship, Peter starts a Just4Fans page to help pay for his tuition. After a year of hiding his side hustle from everyone around him and cultivating a sizable audience, Peter’s making more money than he ever expected - especially after a follower who goes by YKWIA starts tipping him a shit-ton of money.

- bingo card below -

Keep reading

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

MEH IM A STARKER ANTI THAT GOES OUT OF MY WAY TO WHINE ABOUT A SHIP I DON'T LIKE INSTEAD OF JUST STAYING OFF THE TAG AND IGNORING IT LIKE AN ADULT ((was that good?))

Alright so you know how teenagers fucking suck at having sex because they have no experience? (Soz @ any of y’all teenagers reading this, you suck at sex, just letting ya know, it will get better dw)

So Peter just… thinks that sex is supposed to be bad. He has had sex with a few people before, and it was all the same as it is for him and his boyfriend. His boyfriend doesn’t stretch him properly, he finishes really fast, and if he finishes before Peter, he doesn’t try to help him get off. Peter is usually in pain and ready for it to be over anyways, so he rarely gets off from there. This relationship lasts for several months, and while Peter doesn’t realize it himself, Tony notices Peter becoming progressively… whinier. And a little bit snappy. And, even though Peter has always been known to stare at Tony with heart eyes when he thinks he can’t see him, Tony notices the innocent nature of his stares becoming… less innocent.

Tony finally does something when he actually catches Peter’s eyes, hungrily looking at him, lip caught between his teeth. Peter immediately snaps out of it and looks away, pretending to get back to the homework in his lap. Tony grabs the book and tosses it onto his work bench, a little surprised to see the erection that it was hiding.

From there, if you think about it, the next logical step was for them to end up upstairs, mouths moving easily against each other. It is fine, Peter reasons to himself. They’re not having sex. It’s just kissing. His boyfriend has kissed other people before, too, they’re teenagers, what sort of faithfulness does he expect?

So when Tony’s stubble scrapes his neck, and a bolt of arousal shoots through his body, it doesn’t take much for Peter to explain away the hickey being sucked into the skin. It’s fine, it’s just a hickey, a little fun, no big deal. When big hands go for his belt, it is pretty easy to absolve himself of guilt. Some groping isn’t cheating, right?

The blood rushing in his ears and his cock standing painfully erect in his underwear make it hard for him to think of anything else, so when he finds that he and Tony are completely naked and Tony is swirling a lubed finger around his hole, there really isn’t any question as to whether or not this is okay. Peter simply braces for the pain.

Tony presses his finger in gently, carefully thrusting the digit a few times. He can tell that Peter is tense, so he kisses along his pale thighs to distract from the sensation. When Peter starts to relax, Tony adds a second finger. He takes his time here, scissoring his fingers. Little noises of pleasure are bubbling out of Peter’s lips, his hips pushing down onto Tony’s fingers, his chest rising and falling quickly. Tony smirks, asking slyly, “All good?”

Peter nods fervently, rasping out a, “Good, good-“ just in time for Tony to find his prostate. Peter gasps sharply at the feeling, grinding himself down. “Again, do that again!”

Tony does as he is told, easily locating the soft space inside Peter that has him arching off the bed, babbling Tony’s name. He can’t help but murmur, “Your boyfriend must not do this enough.”

“He hasn’t- he’s never-“ Peter tries, but when Tony adds a third finger and drives them into his spot at full force, he can only manage to sob out a, “Close-close!”

Tony is less than surprised, easily twisting his fingers over Peter’s spot. It is only a few seconds later when come spurts over Peter’s stomach, Peter all but screaming. Tony props back on his haunches, watching Peter catch his breath. “You need to stop?”

“Please don’t stop.” Peter growls, pulling Tony down onto him to capture his mouth again. When Tony’s cock slowly sinks inside him, not only does it not hurt, it feels /fucking fantastic/. Peter is soft between them, but he is still begging for each new thrust.

By the time Tony starts to get close, Peter is getting hard again. Tony, being a gentleman, murmurs, “M’gonna come before I can get you there again, is that alright?”

“Yeah, m’used to it.” Peter says through little gasps, not noticing Tony’s quirked brows. He moans when Tony’s hips stutter, and Tony comes inside him with a groan.

Tony pulls out carefully, watching with furrowed brows when Peter stands up. “Where you going?”

Peter gaps his mouth, his breathing still whispy. “Gonna go clean up? I gotta finish my homework before I go home…”

Tony makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, dragging Peter back into the bed. “We clearly aren’t done yet.”

“You don’t have to-“ Peter starts, but the sentence is cut short by a gasp. Tony’s mouth is on his cock, hot and wet, and Peter thinks he might see stars as Tony starts to move up and down his length.

Tony can’t help but smirk at how quickly Peter is returning to the edge. His hands fly down to grab his head suddenly, trying to pull his mouth away.

“Gonna come!” Peter warns, twisting his hips as he tries to pull himself from Tony’s mouth. Tony’s arm pins him down at his lap, and he bobs his head more forcefully.

Wet heat gushes over Tony’s tongue, and he pulls away carefully, smiling down at a panting, blushing Peter. “Was that okay?”

Peter swallows and nods, his voice shaky as he says, “The best I’ve ever had.”

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

PPB Square: Free Space | @peterparkerbingo​ super inspired by guilty pleasure by @css1992​

As a broke college student with an unpaid internship, Peter starts a Just4Fans page to help pay for his tuition. After a year of hiding his side hustle from everyone around him and cultivating a sizable audience, Peter’s making more money than he ever expected - especially after a follower who goes by YKWIA starts tipping him a shit-ton of money.

- bingo card below -

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

Winterspider, fluff?

READ ON AO3

Bucky walked into the room, saw Peter hanging from the ceiling, and stopped dead in his tracks. Eyebrows shooting up, he tossed his shirt onto the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you doin’, sugar?”

Peter beamed. “Hanging upside down from the ceiling.”

“Clearly,” Bucky drawled. He stepped forward, tilting his head up to meet Peter’s gaze, and said, “You gonna tell me why or am I gonna have to tickle you?”

Peter pouted. “That’s cheating.”

“And you're gonna fall soon,” Bucky retorted. “And when you do, you’ll expect me to catch you.”

“You’d do it anyway.” Peter sniffed. “‘m trying to kiss you, Bucky!”

Bucky let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, are you now?” Grinning, he tilted his head back further. “And just how do you plan on getting a kiss from me?”

Peter’s eyes flickered with mischief. “Catch me.” That was the only warning he gave before he dropped from the ceiling, falling right into Bucky’s arms with a rush of breath leaving his body.

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky swore, uprighting him onto his feet. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Language, language!” Peter gave him an affronted look. “Now shut up and kiss me, I’m lightheaded.”

“Spoiled brat,” Bucky muttered, pulling a face of irritation, but he leaned right in to let his lips slot against Peter’s without a moment of hesitation.

send me a word + ship!

[iamnotparticularlyproud]

The fall wind is nice where it ruffles through his hair, where it animates the branches of the overhead bur oak, the sun peeking through the dancing leaves. It’s nice when it carries over the scent of soil and Peter’s sweat, everything suddenly seeming like a quiet, bucolic oil painting.

“What would you want to plant if you had your own yard?” Tony queries, closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation of Peter gently stroking his bare shoulder.

The man is quiet for a while before he answers, lips smacking. “Hmm…a fig tree, I think.”

“A fig tree?”

“Yeah.”

“Why a fig tree?” Tony queries, feeling himself drift off. “S’it the wrinkly, ballsack appearance?”

“Nah,” Peter says, raking his nails down Tony’s arm. “It’d just be nice, y’know. You could plant it right outside your kitchen window and in the summer we could could make fig jam. Maybe sell it at the farmers’ market.”

“I do like fig jam,” Tony agrees. 

“I know you do.”

He doesn’t say how much he likes the sound of Peter’s vision of their future or how a small part of him settles when the images play unbidden in faded technicolour. Without asking to proceed, his heart latches onto the syrupy visions of weekends together working in the garden, standing side-by-side at a market stall on Sundays.

“Tomorrow,” Tony says. “We should go pick one up at the nursery and plant it. If you want.”

Peter kisses his hairline. “I really want.”

They do.