Would you like to come for dinner?

Hello! I'm just a small town gay™ living in Quebec's cutest town with my two cats, Feanor and Priscilla. In school studying Information and Library Technologies. Have a wonderful day!

[sinditia]

I’m all for like, ‘bratty little-shit of a sugar baby’ Peter. But also like, give me ‘adorably polite sugar baby’ Peter who’s like the favourite of all the retail workers at these luxury brand stores cause sure, he can get his sugar daddy to get him whatever tf he wants with just a little look of his bambi eyes, but he’s also really nice and appreciative to everyone too and its such a breath of fresh air from the entitled snotty golddiggers that these shopkeepers all just favour him over all the other sugar babies who come traipsing in their stores (of course it also helps that Peter’s spending just blows everyone else’s out of the water cause his sugar daddy is Tony fuckin Stark but hey). Peter is just everyone’s baby okay and everyone loves him so much

[send-me-your-hcs]

[starkerforlife6969]

Starker - Superior Tony, Controlling Peter

A summer fling, Tony thinks, is just what he needs.

Sunlight streaks through the air, the air conditioning blasts cool gusts of wind onto flustered, heated, dripping skin.

Extremesis glints like gold in the summer light, his eyes like glass, and the people of New York are even less likely to meet his eye.

When he glides into his lab, his little ants scuttle into position, and Bucky salutes him in greeting, ever the soldier.

“Good morning, Sir.” Bucky nods, arm glinting, veins blue.

Is it morning? The heat is stifling. Summer tinges the sky with a late day hue. Tony slips off his sunglasses, smiles at his scared little recruits. “Morning, Bucky. How’d my little bees do last night?”

There are so many secrets still to human DNA. So many different configurations of Extremesis updates. His worker bees, his little ants, his little army of scientists that scuttle about his labs are- well, slaves is a term thrown around. Tony doesn’t like that. They’re his little helpers, his little bees.

They stand, trembling in line. Eyes smudged with dark rings from another all-nighter. He finds Peter, small, compact, beautiful, sun-kissed (how odd, Tony thinks; amused, has the boy been catching sunlight in his skin? Wandering outside? How quaint. How very Peter).

“Anderson success rate: 13%.” Bucky reads off the list. Anderson flinches. Tony tuts.

“Well now, that’s hardly promising. What was it last week?”

“15%.” Bucky says dryly.

Tony shakes his head. “That won’t do, will it?”

“Please, Mr-“

The guards come in, take Mr Anderson away for punishment.

The other recruits shake in the sunlight.

The other success rates vary but never impress him. How well Extremsis will mesh is a matter of science and guesswork, a pinch of luck, and-

“Parker success rate: 88%.”

The recruits seem to hiss in awe and jealousy and Peter bows his head.

Tony beams like the sun.

“88%.” He rejoices loudly, voice making them flinch. He claps, delighted. “My Peter, my prized Peter, 88%. See? It is possible. My precious Peter, he never lets me down.” Tony glides over to him, puts a large, dark hand on Peter’s slender neck. The boy swallows, Tony feels it, but he doesn’t flinch.

Tony smudges his thumb across that Adam’s apple. Wants to inhale the boy.

88%. Goddamn.

“Clever little angel,” Tony croons. “Pixie of the lab, Peter, weaving your magic again, hm?” He noses at the sharp jaw, Peter smells like suncream. Smells like dandelions.

“Riley success rate-“

“Bucky.” Tony growls, voice so cutting that Bucky pales, “I’m not finished praising Peter. Am I not allowed a moment to bask?”

Bucky takes a breath. “Of course, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Good. Peter here is a fine example for the rest of you. Look at him.” Tony forces his fingers under Peter’s chin, makes him look up. The summer brown eyes are full of slyness. Danger. Insubordination. It makes Tony’s blood sing. He drags his fingers over those plush, wet lips. “Well done, Peter. You’ll be rewarded.”

A summer fling, Tony thinks, seeing Peter woven in the blankets of Tony’s immense bed.

He’ll keep Peter for the summer.

*

Summer passes.

The days cool, and so too should Tony’s affections, but they don’t. Peter flips the glass slide under the microscope, makes a note, and Tony watches.

It’s overcast outside. Grey clouds. Leaveless trees.

Peter works up here, in Tony’s private lab.

Summer is over. Fall is here.

“Come here, Peter.” Tony orders, trying to figure it all out.

Peter looks at him, huge brown eyes through lab goggles, and turns away. “I’m working.” A moment. Tacked on. Cheap. “Sir.”

Infuriating. Insufferable. “What’ll it take then, poppet? Come sit on my lap.”

Peter sniffs delicately, resumes working.

Anyone else would be dead. Anyone else would never take such liberties.

But it’s because of Peter that the next Extremesis update is ready to launch. Because of Peter that Tony’s own core is self-sustaining.

If Peter loathes him as a God, he shouldn’t keep bringing gifts to Tony’s altar.

“Peter.” Blue crackles around him. “Come here.”

Peter gives him a long side-look. “Summer is over, Mr Stark.” He says. “Will you be sending me downstairs?”

No. Tony feels like a caged up lion. Wants to growl, wants to roar, he can’t figure out if Peter is an antelope or a Panther, curled up in the leafless trees, waiting to pounce.

He can’t leave Peter Parker in Fall. Not when his eyes match the amber leaves, not when he moves his hips with Tony’s, not when Bucky reads:

“90%.”

*

It snows.

Extremesis is being used by a record number of people.

Bucky tosses Peter onto the floor at Tony’s feet.

The boy looks up at Tony, split lip, snowflakes on his lashes, shackles on his wrists.

“He was trying to leave the tower, Sir.” Bucky says.

Tony sighs, running his fingers through Peter’s hair. “He has permission, Barnes. Did he not show you his pass?” He turns to Peter then, lifts his eyebrows, “Did you show Mr Barnes your pass, sweetheart?”

Peter grunts, wheezes, like he’s been punched. Tony frowns. “Tried to. But…” he shows Tony his shackled wrists.

Tony slices them them with his fingers. Peter gets to his feet.

“With Peter, Barnes, give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Tony can recognise a cliff edge. As he sits on the edge of the bed and watches Peter dab at his lip and tuck himself into a winter coat, Tony knows he is standing at the cliff edge.

It’s winter. Peter wears ugly scarves and drinks hot chocolate and tucks his cold feet into Tony’s knees.

If Tony doesn’t leave him now-

“Here.” Peter hums, passing a well-wrapped box over. It’s tied with a silver bow.

Tony stares at it, uncomprehendingly for a moment.

His storeroom is full of presents for Peter.

He opens this one.

They’re cufflinks. Designed like little double-helixes. There are blips in the DNA-

“Is that Extremesis?” He marvels, plucking one out and holding it up to the light.

“A molecular representation.” Peter confirms. “I know cufflinks aren’t that unique, but what do you get the man who has everything?”

He does have everything. With Peter here, still decorated with the remnants of New York snow, he will have a Christmas with everything. A winter with everything.

He’ll back away from the cliff edge in Spring.

*

Peter cleans dust off the TV in Spring.

He’s wearing hideous flannel and no shoes, Tony’s underwear, love bites on his neck.

He’s no worker bee. Tony can admit that. Peter is something else. Hisin a different sense. In a sense that doesn’t mean possession. Property. Peter is his- like he is Peter’s.

Is Peter a Panther? Does Tony control him? Does Peter love him? Fear him? Plan to kill him?

Peter meets his eyes. Tony remembers the boy he used to touch in line down at the lab.

88% Peter.

Such pride. In seeing one of his possessions do so well. What is that now? Four seasons later? It’s love.

Tony wants him. Would do anything for him. He’s tumbled off the cliff. He wonders if Peter knows-

“I want you to use Extremesis for good.” Peter says, smiling. “I want you to be Iron Man. Not Superior. I want you to be a hero.”

“Baby, I’m a god.”

“I don’t want a god.”

It stings. Tony snarls. He’s a lion-

“I want you to save people. I want you to be a hero, come back here and take me. I want the people of the world to love you. Not fear you. I want you to stop hurting them and start saving them.”

Tony laughs, but he’s afraid. Trembling. “You’re in the wrong business, sweetheart-“

“You’ll enjoy it. You love being worshipped, let it be for goodness.”

“I already have worship-“

“Tony.” Peter smiles, summer, fall, winter, spring, “I wasn’t asking.”

A lion master.

Tony goes to kiss him, but Peter turns away.

“For every life you save, the more of me is yours.” Peter promises.

Tony’s hungry.

Peter’s love is a gift. A reward. Tony risks his life to feel the rush of Peter’s affections on him once he returns. Peter is intoxicating, a drug, a rush- this must be what it’s like for those who had become addicted to the diluted Exteremesis.

Tony would do anything to get more of him.

And there are always people to be saved, and Peter always rewards him.

He becomes a hero, on an invisible leash, and Tony doesn’t notice when Bucky says:

“Sir, may I have the weekend off?”

And Peter says, “Of course, Bucky. See you Monday.”

When the lab turns its attentions to research and development, away from nano-tech and control, when the weapons division closes down, Tony lets it wash over him.

He has another summer, another fall, another winter and another spring with Peter.

For that, he would do anything.

[batty4starker]

I will never be over the dark!fic trope of

"He took one look at him and instantly had to have him"

Don't care what happens next just spoon feed me that raw possessive need, that craving for the one who is irritable, that willingness to do anything to have the one you desire

[send-me-your-hcs]

[send-me-your-hcs]

Mafia boss Tony sends his son Peter away at a young age to live with his aunt and uncle. Every month he goes to visit his son. Maybe he takes Peter somewhere nice like the movies or Central Park. Without fail, their nights together always ends with Tony balls deep in a sobbing Peter. A support check arrives for Peter the next morning.

Oh fuck me I love this prompt. Ty anon

Warnings: Age unspecified Peter but IMPLIED very underage, incest, noncon, creepy dark bio dad!Tony, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

“You’ve grown.”

The boy sinks lower in his chair, attempting to hide behind the other side of the table. He still hasn’t looked Tony in the eyes once since he picked him up from the Parkers’. It goes beyond Peter’s regular shyness - the boy is fidgety, morose. A typical teenager, maybe. Except that he’s not.

When Tony gives him an impatient look, Peter meekly shrugs, responding without responding. He’s always been a very quiet boy, but the silent treatment is especially irritating. Tony takes a sip of his wine in an attempt to crush the feeling. Their visit’s only just begun. It’s too early to fight.

When the waiter comes to refill his glass, Tony says, “And one for him, too.” Peter looks up, shocked, adorably concerned, but the waiter doesn’t bat an eye as he fills the empty wine glass beside his iced tea. This isn’t the first time Tony’s brought his son here. Even if it had been, everyone knows they’d lose a lot more than Tony’s business if they dared refuse his request.

Peter stares at the glass once the waiter leaves. Tony smiles at him as he sips his own, but the boy’s gaze is fixated. “Drink up,” he orders softly, watching the worry deepen on Peter’s handsome face. He doesn’t move. “Drink it, Peter.”

The boy’s hands shake as he lifts the heavy glass to his lips. Everything about it reminds Tony how young his son is - the way his face scrunches up at the taste, the way he carefully lifts the glass by the bowl with both hands, not trusting himself to use the stem. The way his hands look terribly, unbelievably small, his fingers short and thin as they wrap around the wide bowl beneath the rim. He truly is just a little slip of a thing. Bigger than last month, sure, he’s at that age. But only just starting the long ascent into adulthood.

It’s only been a month since they last saw each other, but already, Peter’s hand-me-down clothes are fitting just a little better than they were before, not as loose and baggy around the ankles, not hanging as low down his thighs. The Parkers tried to dress him up, as they always do, but they seem to have some aversion to using Tony’s money to buy his son nice things. The button-up shirt and dress slacks they wrapped him in are clearly Ben’s, trimmed and hemmed amateurishly to fit tighter on Peter’s skinny body. Any charm the look has is only attributed to the fact that it’s Peter wearing it.

“Apparently I need to take you shopping,” Tony muses, mostly to himself. “Drink, Peter. We’ll have a different wine when dinner is served.”

Peter takes a long, deep breath through his nose and lifts the glass to his lips again, then steels himself and gulps the rest of the burgundy liquid down. Tony chuckles, pointedly not mentioning that the alcohol is going to hit him much faster now, and lets the boy go back to sulking, tense and silent, in his chair.

—

After dinner, Tony loads a wobbly, light-headed Peter into his car and drives him to the Hall of Science. Peter is a little more animated as they walk around and take everything in, but Tony suspects that’s mostly the alcohol’s doing. The boy still hasn’t said much and he shies away when Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders, flinching at the contact. Tony buys him a little souvenir at the giftshop and ruffles Peter’s hair when the boy mumbles a quiet thank you.

They don’t say a word on the drive to the hotel. Peter’s never once asked why Tony doesn’t bring him to the penthouse during their visits, and Tony’s in no hurry to tell him. If the Parkers have told his son what he truly does for a living, behind the scenes, Peter’s never acted differently for it. He’s still the same sullen little boy he’s always been.

The room Tony rented is a bright and vast penthouse suite that costs more money per night than the Parkers pay for their monthly mortgage. The California King bed stands in the middle of the main room like a centerpiece, drawing your gaze to it as soon as you walk through the door. Tony suspects that’s not the reason Peter hasn’t taken his wide eyes off it. He stays huddled in the foyer, fidgeting with the toy Tony bought him at NYSCI, looking terribly lost.

Tony pours himself a glass of scotch at the bar and pulls his tie free from his neck. “Come here, Peter,” he calls gently, watching the boy teeter and debate whether or not he should obey. In the end, he knows there’s nowhere else to go. He keeps his head down as he shuffles his feet forward into the room, like he’s dragging himself towards his father.

Tony sips his drink and looks the boy over. He’s growing up. Every month he gets more beautiful, his features filling out to define his gentle face. If he resembles anyone in their family, it’s Tony’s own mother, with that soft head of hair and big, dark bambi eyes.

He cups the boy’s chin, thumbing over his bottom lip. Peter’s eyes are already glazing over with tears. It makes Tony’s skin itch, all the little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Peter has always been so receptive to him. Always reacting. Feeling. Submitting.

He takes the back of the boy’s head to hold him still, grip tightening ever so slightly as he leans down and kisses him.

—

Harsh, labored breaths ghost over the pillows Peter’s face is buried in. Tony trails kisses over his shoulder blades, hips still gently rocking as he rides out his orgasm. Peter’s knuckles are bone-white as they clutch the sheets, strangling the soft material for all he’s worth.

Tony pants against his son’s back. The silky clutch around his softening cock is absolutely divine; warm and dripping wet where they’re still sealed together. Peter’s back trembles as he struggles to hold in his hiccuping sobs, making his tight skin dance across Tony’s lips.

“My good boy,” Tony sighs happily against Peter’s glistening skin. He kisses him again and grinds his hips against Peter’s ass, grinning when the boy whines and shivers. “Did you get off, honey? Did you come for Daddy?”

Peter gives him a stiff, curt nod, but when Tony wedges a hand beneath his hips to his pelvis, he finds his cock still hard, the tip leaking. He clicks his tongue in disapproval and wraps his hand around the boy’s shaft. “Peter. Why are you lying to me? It’s obvious you didn’t come.”

“I don’t want to,” Peter slurs into his pillow, pleading. “I just wanna go to sleep now, Dad, please.”

“That would be rude,” Tony scolds, pulling back so he can roll the boy over. Peter is quick to bury his face in his arms, trying to hide his tears, as if it’s the first time he’s ever cried during sex, and not the norm. “Let Daddy make you feel good.”

The whimper that leaves Peter’s pink little mouth when Tony swallows him down is gorgeous. He encourages Peter’s hips to rock upwards, rutting against his face, until the broken sobs turn to pleasure-filled groans. Tony trails his lips up to the head of Peter’s pretty little cock and back down, sucking hard, smiling when Peter’s hips stutter, his orgasm fast approaching.

He pulls back in time to let the boy finish all over his cute little belly. Peter’s labored breaths return to quiet sobs, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to pierce the skin. “Don’t do that,” Tony says, pulling Peter’s lip from his teeth with the pad of his thumb. “You’ll leave a mark, Pete.”

Peter drops his arms from his face. His eyes stay glassy with tears and glued to the ceiling as Tony wipes the come from their bodies with Ben’s old dress shirt.

“I’m going to give you a little extra this month,” Tony says as he tosses the filthy shirt away. “I want you to use it to buy something nice to wear for next time. Don’t let May talk you into buying something big enough to grow into - I’m going to give you extra for a tailor, too. I want you to see one before I pick you up next month. Got it?”

Peter says nothing, his gaze still stuck to the ceiling. The goddamn silent treatment. Tony snaps his fingers in front of the boy’s face and says, “Pe-ter. I’m talking to you. Did you hear what I just said?”

A shiver wracks the boy’s body. He turns his wet-eyed gaze back to Tony’s face and nods, sullenly.

“Good. And you’re going to be a good boy and do as Daddy says?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. Then another nod, Peter’s lips parting so he can softly mutter, “Yes, Daddy,” before closing his eyes and turning away.

[starknakedsluts-deactivated2024]

Drunk Nights and Bad Decisions

buckytony, E, college au, pwp. Tony wakes up with Bucky’s cock in his ass and they fuck. that’s it that’s the fic.

Light filters through the curtains, splicing across Tony’s face. It jerks him awake, and that’s his first sign he’s not safely ensconced in his own dorm. Blackout curtains cover his windows end to end, a ‘Tony Stark Essential’ Rhodey had said, when he put them up. Tony gets him a ridiculously overpriced, obnoxiously sweet caramel concoction from Starbucks every morning to convey his undying gratitude.

Point is, he’s spent the night in a stranger’s bed. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Tony goes to turn, intending to bury his face in a pillow and fall back asleep, but that’s not quite what happens. Instead, the dull ache at the base of his skull sharpens to a clear pounding, making him groan aloud, the beginning of what feels like the worst hangover he’s had in a long time made worse by the sunlight piercing his eyes.

But even with the force of his headache, his focus is quickly diverted to the burn and the stretch in his ass. Tony goes from half-sleepy to wide awake in seconds, clenching instinctively around the half-hard length buried inside him. It’s only then that he notices the press of a warm body behind him, breath hot against his neck. He wiggles back into the heat unconsciously, hips undulating as arousal makes its way through him like a tidal wave. It’s brief, fading in the face of his hangover, and he whimpers, desperate for something to make it better.

“Hey, hey,” comes as a soft soothe behind Tony, gentle, the voice raspy with sleep. It’s whispered against the sensitive skin of his nape, inducing a full-body shiver. He clenches, unbidden, around the cock inside him, and it’s instinctive, the way the guy’s hips drive forward, brushing against Tony’s prostate. He mewls, high and desperate in the back of his throat. “Shhh, shh, ’s alright, ’m sorry, you’re okay.” A hand pets heavy across his waist, soothing. “Fuck, my head’s pounding. Go back to sleep, sugar, it’s too early for this shit.” The guy shuffles closer, enveloping Tony in heat, nosing into the nape of his neck.

Tony thinks they should probably drink some water, take an Advil—get that cock out of his ass. But the guy’s warm, and comfortable and he’s absolutely fucking exhausted, so he makes a soft noise of acceptance, lulled back asleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest pressed against him.

Keep reading

[dille-dille]

Pick your favorite

[vulpesarctica]

*mad scientist cackle*

Behold! Fire Nation-military firebender Anakin! Complete with on-brand facial scar.

[pakchoys]

hello... zuko here.... but i guess you probably already know me.... sort of...... uh,

[mayormaynotbegone]

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

[turnipoddity]

their favourite romantic tv show is hannibal

[itsjaskier]

jaskier would absolutely thrive on tiktok and you cannot change my mind:

playing various instruments

sneaky shots of geralt being soft

dramatic pov videos

insult war series with yennefer

general fashion critiquing

comedy skits ft. ciri

mini vlogs of his feral lifestyle

sassy replies to weird comments

straight up roasting valdo

l i v e s t r e a m s

[olocennes]

a concept: everything in the the witcher universe is the same but,,,, hear me out,,, geralt has fangs

that’s it, that’s the concept

[send-me-hcs]

For the one sentence thing: It was wrong, Peter was his son.

ty for sending this. man i’m such a goblin

Send me a sentence, I’ll write a fic

Warnings: obviously, incest.

It started as a joke.

It was just a stupid, stupid joke. He didn’t mean it. It was like an instinct, how he made snappy, clownish remarks as soon as he felt cornered. Like a squid shooting ink - protective, defensive. He certainly wasn’t expecting the woman to take him seriously, and he sure as hell wasn’t expecting her response.

“Please tell me there isn’t a sixteen year old kid I’ve never met waiting in the car.”

“Actually, he’s seventeen.”

Mary Parker looked good, considering he hadn’t seen her in almost two decades. Still though. It never boded well when old flames showed up at his door unannounced. Tony choked on his spit at her reply and almost went ass-over-head down the stairs. “Please. Please tell me you’re not serious.”

She was still beautiful, even as she glared at him. “His name is Peter. He’s a junior at Midtown Technical High School. He’s seventeen years old, and he’s your son.”

A perfectly neat, shiny plastic file was handed to him. Tony didn’t like being handed things, but she caught him off guard. He opened it. A court order for a paternity test peered up at him, right above a pinned polaroid picture of one Peter Parker.

“My husband’s passed away, Tony,” Mary said, urging. “We need the money.”

Yeah, well. That was usually why people came to his door, wasn’t it?

Tony stared at the photo in his hands. He looked like his mother. The same soft, wavy hair. Same peachy tone of skin. Same round cheeks.

But his eyes. Dark and bright all at once, thick, full lashes on the bottom, an amber hue around the irises. Those were the same eyes that had been staring back at Tony for forty-eight years.

His stomach was burning, suddenly. Tony swallowed down his dry throat and snapped the file shut.

“You can have your paternity test,” he said. “But I want to meet him.”

—

“Tony, this is Peter. Peter, this is Tony, your...your father.”

He didn’t know why he thought it would be easier to ignore in person.

It was much, much worse.

—

The paternity test checked out, of course, to no one’s surprise. Tony cut Mary a fat check for seventeen years of unpaid child support and was prepared to call it done.

But when his phone rang and Peter’s carefree, innocent face flashed across his screen, Tony found himself throwing all sense of self-preservation out his two-hundred-story window and accepting the call.

“Hey, um,” Peter’s shy voice filtered in through the speaker. Tony leaned back as far as his office chair would go, slipped his eyes shut. “It’s Peter. Parker. Your, uh...look, I was hoping we could...could we talk? Please? If you have some time?”

Hang up, the higher part of his brain begged, the only one with a shred of common sense. You’ve bought them off. The deal is done. Hang. Up.

“Sure, kiddo,” Tony said instead, ignoring the part of him that felt like screaming. After all, he’d shelled out the money for them, hadn’t he? If he was going to pay to have a son, he might as well reap the benefits. “Why don’t you stop by the tower sometime?”

“Great,” Peter said, his voice soft and smiling. “I’d like that.”

—

Turned out, Peter just wanted to get to know his idol-turned-father.

And really, where was the harm in that? (You know exactly where.) Tony had a son he never knew about, it was natural they’d be curious about each other. He invited the boy around, and Peter’s little visits quickly went from a monthly to a bimonthly to a weekly to a multiple-times-a-week thing. Each time, Tony told himself this was perfectly okay, that it was harmless, that it was safe.

Each time, he lied.

—

“We can’t.”

Tony had never begged so hard in his life. He had never begged so hard for something he didn’t want as hard as he was begging now. Peter’s hand was smooth and warm, pressed against his chest above his hammering hummingbird heart. Pressed between the open buttons of his dress shirt. A few feet away, their dinner sat in scattered Chinese takeout boxes, forgotten.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, with all the confidence every in-over-his-head, seventeen-year-old kid possesses.

But it wasn’t. It was not okay. It was wrong - Peter was his son. His teenaged son. If there was any word to describe what was happening now, okay certainly wasn’t it.

“Peter...”

“I want this,” the boy said. He leaned in again. Tony didn’t push him away, though he should have. “And I can tell...” His lips, Jesus, so smooth, so fucking soft, grazed the frantic pulse in Tony’s throat. “...That you do, too.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?” Peter asked, sounding like he genuinely didn’t know. But he was smart. He was a smart kid. He had to know. “Give me one good reason.”

Tony gulped. He didn’t want to say the real reason. The real reason was too real. “I’ve never been with a...another man.”

Peter snorted, like he was offended. “Really? Because you were pretty vocal about your various boyfriends in the nineties.”

Christ, this kid. Of course he read the articles. Articles written a decade before he was born. God, Tony hated these fanboy types. “You’re too young, Pete.”

“I’m seventeen,” the boy countered. He looked up and met Tony’s eyes. This close, Tony could feel his breath ghosting over his throat. He gulped nervously. “Seventeen is the legal age of consent in New York. I’m old enough.”

“You’re...” Tony started, stopped, hesitating. He’d run out of excuses. The only one left was the one that had a real chance of putting a stop to this, and he’d held onto it for as long as he could. “You’re my son. We can’t. I’m your dad, Peter.”

Peter smirked. Somehow, Tony felt like he had just stepped into a well-laid trap, inadvertently sealing his fate.

“Well, then.” The boy leaned up until they were eye-level, pressed their chests flat together, making Tony shiver. His breath smelled sweet, exhaling gently from those soft, petal-pink lips, but Tony couldn’t look away from those eyes.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I guess I don’t need an excuse to call you daddy, do I?”

And then he kissed him.

[pretty-well-funded]

0because anon reminded me about this Tony/Bucky/Peter bunny, inspired by the fantastic moodboard by wandering-night19, in which Bucky has stockholm syndrome and snatches Peter for Tony

*

The boy is soft. That’s the first thing Bucky notices. The boy is soft and bright - he sparkles, glimmers, the way Bucky knows he used to.

The boy’s soft and bright, and it makes something inside Bucky itch.

*

The boy lives in Bucky’s building. The building he was banished to when he became too big and ugly. Hard and dull.

The boy lives in Bucky’s building, so they see each other all the time. At least, Bucky sees the boy, and more frequently than Bucky expects, the boy sees him as well. Sparkles and grins and says, “Hello, Mr. Barnes!”  He doesn’t seem discouraged when Bucky says nothing back.

The boy’s name is Peter.

*

Peter likes to talk. To make conversation. Bucky scares most people - they don’t look at him or stop to chat. 

But Peter. Peter isn’t afraid, or offended when Bucky doesn’t speak. He just…chatters. He chatters and sparkles and glows, pink in the cheeks, orbiting Bucky like the moon.

So Bucky knows Peter is 14 and lives with his aunt - just his aunt. He knows Peter likes science and tech, that he has one best friend, and wants to work for Tony Stark some day.

The boy is so soft. Bucky doesn’t touch, but the boy looks so soft. 

So soft and so shiny, it just isn’t right.

*

He doesn’t plan it.

Bucky acts on impulse, an overwhelming impulse. Peter’s soft and bright, he’s 14 and loves science, he’s pink-cheeked for Bucky and admires Mr. Stark. It builds and builds and he doesn’t even notice until one day he slips a needle under Peter’s soft, soft flesh and carries his limp body away.

It’s borne of impulse but also practice. So many soft, bright boys who cracked under the pressure. Not like Bucky. Bucky hardened. Bucky’s shine came off. But Bucky didn’t crack or chip or shatter. 

He became of use. Repurposed, put away on a dark lonely shelf, but not discarded. 

*

Bucky knows how this works. He knows the codes to the mansion and its basement, knows to strip the boy bare and chain him while the drug keeps him under. 

He knows not to touch. That part was never told, only known. But Peter was his choice, Peter was special.

Peter is just as soft as Bucky hoped. His cheek, his lips, his hair.

Reluctantly, Bucky seals that pretty mouth with duct tape. Then he sends a message.

And he waits.

[demons-sing-me-to-sleep]

Coffee shop AU + SIM Tony? Local barista Peter Parker gains the attention of Tony Stark himself and doesn't regret a thing, even when he's isolated from all his friends and family and forced to be Tony's little hole to use anywhere anytime.

Warnings! Dubcon in a sense, dark/not good Tony, extremis made sex toys, coercion

Fic under cut

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[unclebenwasasocialist]

[adhd-tea]

TONY AND PETER MEET IN A COLLEGE BAR AU PART 3/?