GayShipsNeverSink

(change my mind)

[stevebucks-archive]

The Bar Scene

okay okay, I know every Stucky shipper is familiar with this scene, but I’ve decided to investigate in furthur detail.

So the singing stops as Peggy walks in, looking as gorgeous as ever, eyes only for Steve

Bucky’s immediate reaction is a clenched jaw

and a balled fist.

I’m not saying he’s jealous or anything but of course he’s fucking jealous.

At first glance, people may think that Bucky is jealous that Peggy isn’t paying attention to him, but I don’t think so.

Peggy proceeds to talk to Steve and

need I say any more about this?

At the end of the scene, Bucky makes a “joke” which I think was meant to disguise what he was really feeling. When Steve turns away, he makes this face:

And to finish up, I’d like to talk about the song that was playing right before Peggy walked in: “There is a Tavern in the Town” (thanks to brxkenbucky​ I was able to look into this). Now I know it’s difficult to hear the song in the scene, but if you look up the lyrics you’ll see that some of them are:

“He left me for a damsel dark, damsel dark // each Friday night they used to spark, used to spark // and now my love who once was true to me // takes this dark damsel on his knee”

Very fitting, right? And remember that songs played in movies are chosen specifically to suit the scene. Everything is intentional, just like every reaction and facial expression.

I’m just going to leave this here, take from it what you will.

[mixedfangirlsblog]

I'm screaming like a goddamn lunatic. Marvel, you fucking heartbreaker😑😖

[cagestark]

Hi, I have a prompt request? Maybe like Fae peter? And tony accidentally stumbling into a fairy circle and meeting peter who’s very curious about tony because he’s human.

I don’t think you understand. I could write books on this. Thank you so much.

-

“I need to piss,” Tony states to a dozen drunken cheers. The party has devolved by now, though the fire still roars with upcoming college graduates pulling all manner of flammables from the woods around them and tossing it into the flames. Empty bottles crack in the heat, cast away by drunken hands, and Tony is no less drunk than any of them. 

He stumbles away from the crowd around the fire and disappears into the treeline, shivering once away from the blaze of the fire that has cooked him. It’s a testament to his intoxication that he must only plan to step far enough away from the party to urinate in peace, but suddenly he finds himself falling in love with everything he sees: trees with arms full of hopeful buds, reaching out to each other overhead, a stream that wets his boots when he walks through it, the stones round and smooth and perfect for skipping. When he comes across the clearing, lit only in moonlight, he realizes he can’t hear the sound of the party at all anymore. 

Curled up in the grass is a boy, maybe a man, though a young one certainly. He’s pale, silvery in the moon, curls dark and riotous, a crown fit for a prince. His hands are long-fingered and placed palm-to-palm, cushioning his head where he rests in the soft grass above the circle of foxglove plants. Tony creeps closer and stands, listening to the silence of spring just born, a season not yet prime for the chirp of crickets or call of cicadas. The boy’s mouth is soft and parted, his lashes long and dark.

From this distance, Tony can’t tell if the boy is breathing. He must be one of theirs, a friend of a friend that Tony doesn’t know, come out into the woods to piss just like Tony has only maybe too drunk to find his way back. Tony steps into the circle and kneels in the soft grass, putting a hand just in front of the boy’s face and sighing in relief when he feels warm puffs of breath. 

“Hey,” Tony murmurs, putting a hand on the kid’s bare shoulder. The skin is soft but cold, too cold. He shakes gently. “Hey, are you okay?” 

Bleary eyes open and grow wide. The boy sits up, Tony’s height but no taller, thin and willowy all over. “Oh,” the kid says. “What are you doing here?” 

“That’s my line,” Tony replies. 

“I’m right where I’m meant to be,” the kid replies. He sits up, and the grass beneath him isn’t rumpled at all in the shape where he lay. Tony blinks, trying to sober himself. A smile creeps across the boy’s face, and the moonlight plays tricks on Tony’s eyes and makes him think those teeth are just a hair too long and sharp. “Oh, you’re very handsome, do you know?” 

“I do know,” Tony says. “But thanks for saying it anyway. Should we go back to the party?” 

“The party is here,” the boy says dreamily. “Why not stay?” 

Tony hums. He sits cross-legged, feeling no urgency to return to his friends. “Maybe you’re right. You know, you’re very handsome too.” 

“Am I?” he asks, delighted.

“Yes. A little underdressed, I think. Aren’t you cold?”

“Oh, cold all over,” the boy says. “Inside and outside.” 

Frowning, Tony kneels up to peel the hoodie from his body. The boy watches with thoughtful, wary eyes. When Tony hands it to him, he takes it with the utmost caution, lifting it to his face and inhaling deeply. He glances up at Tony, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What is this?” he asks. 

“A jacket for you. It’s too cold to not have a shirt on.” 

The kid’s face softens into something tender, though the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones are loathe to display it. With movements graceful but slow and maybe a touch unsure, he shrugs his willowy arms into the sweatshirt. It dwarfs him, especially when he pulls up the hood over his curls, hiding his fingers in the sleeves and asks, “How do I look?” 

“Warm,” Tony says, smiling. 

Reaching out, soft fingers touch Tony’s cheek. “You should go back to the party,” the boy says, soft and sad and sweet. 

“Should I?” Tony asks, feeling a little like he’s in a dream. The boy reaches out and coaxes Tony to walk backwards on his knees where he still kneels, walks him back and back until he’s outside of the circle. For a moment, Tony aches to step back in, to curl up in that soft grass and sleep among the dirt, curled around this handsome, strange boy. But the moment passes. He really should get back to his friends. Standing, Tony says,” Alright. See you there. I want that hoodie back, by the way. Promise you won’t steal it?”

The kid’s lips part, a long breath slipping from beneath them. At last, he nods. “Alright. Promise. Go on then. Go straight back.” 

-

Peter watches the human disappear through the treeline, makes sure that the path in front of him doesn’t twist and turn and mislead, before he lays back down among the soft grass and breathes in the scent of the clothing he’s donned: earthy smoke, human sweat. Fingering the soft fabric, he frowns, knowing that this isn’t the last he’s seen of the human boy. 

A fairy promise is as good as guaranteed, and Tony will be needing back his jacket. 

[mixedfangirlsblog]

Adorbsss

[starkerisendgame]

Mirror Image

The boy in the chair was not Peter. Or rather - It was Peter, just not their Peter. As it turns out, Doctor Selvig had been correct. Doors opened from both sides, and portals were the science-magic version of doors. 

They had opened a door to another reality, and the reality reached through, dragging Peter across and stepping through in his wake. That had been all the strength their attempt had to spare, and the portal had promptly collapsed. 

Sitting across from them, was a boy with Peter’s face. An almost exact twin, barring the fact that this boy was even paler. An almost translucent white that seemed to bring out the fact that his eyes were like arctic ice. Eerie in a way that made Tony uncomfortable, should he connect with them for too long. 

This Peter had scars, too. A jagged, vertical one down his throat, and one on the rise of his cheekbone, stretching up towards his right temple. What looked to be a handprint was barely visible under the shirt, fingertips reaching across his left collarbone. Tony felt sick staring at them. 

There was another two fundamental differences in this Peter, too. He somewhat had a version of the Iron Spider, except…It lived within him. Activated as his call and stemming from a sickly familiar blue glow, visible under the shirt fabric. 

This Peter had a reactor. 

Icy eyes blinked demurely, and Not-Peter cocked his head with a pitying look. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, almost seductive. “Look familiar, Mr Stark?” and when he lifted his gaze, the smile was sharp, more a dangerous baring of teeth. Tony ground his teeth, jaw ticking. 

It was Peter, but it was all wrong. This Peter fought like a cornered animal, rabid and out to kill. At Tony’s side, the Winter Soldier slowly slid his tongue over his bleeding lip. hand pressing gauze to the puncture wounds at his side. Tony couldn’t help reaching up, fingertips barely skimming the outline of his own saving curse. 

“He gave it to me” Not-Peter continued, eyes fixed on Tony with a lethal, gleeful stare. Tony couldn’t help jerking, looking up at the boy. Was he a boy? It was hard to tell. He seemed young, but hardened. More muscular than their Peter, and a little taller. He? 

Not-Peter practically purred, a vicious smirk settling on his mouth. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know, do you? See, there isn’t just a me, back there. There’s a you, too”. Tony stepped closer, shoulders squaring. If there was a him in this other world, then Peter was safe. Right? The hope and relief must have been open on his face, because a bitter, crushing laugh broke his thoughts. 

“Well. Not a you exactly. Although you have his face. His name. No…This Tony Stark is a God among men. He perfected Extremis, and he conquered that pathetic little planet. They all bend the knee to him. And your soft, sweet little version of me? He’s going to eat him alive”. It tapered off into a snarl at the end, and the only thing that stopped Tony surging forwards was the Soldier’s hand on his chest, immovable and solid. 

“Leave us” he spoke quietly, almost a whisper. But Not-Peter’s head tipped again, a challenging mix between a pout and a smirk on his face. Tony sucked in a breath, turned and looked into the steady, grey eyes of his companion. After a moment, he jerked himself from the grip and turned away, hands shaking as he left the confined lab. 

Within it, the Soldier tossed aside the gauze and pulled a chair from a nearby workbench and drew it back-first in front of the other-worldly boy, sinking onto it with spread thighs, arms resting over the ridged back. Not-Peter looked delighted, eyes blatantly roaming the body on display, the metal arm that tapped its fingers in an idle pattern. 

“Now you...He would like you. I know the look in those eyes” Not-Peter purred, flirty and low. “Although…The arm. He’d want to make some adjustments to that. He likes to improve his toys”. The Soldier cocked a brow, unimpressed, but interested none the less. From what this boy said, his reality’s version of Tony was evil. The villain, not the hero. 

The boy’s lashes fluttered as another sonic pulse wracked his body, followed closely by a minor electrical one. A hasty set-up, designed to contain the metal coursing through his body. Not enough to kill him, but enough to take away the chance of him breaking free. 

“Our Peter. Where did you take him?” He asked after a moment, his own head tilting as he waited for the boy to recover. He had deduced fairly quickly, that regular torture would not work on this other Peter. The boy had been broken as many times as the Soldier had, and was beyond the reach of typical pain. 

“You so rudely interrupted my time with him. I had to give him something to entertain himself with whilst I investigated” Not-Peter shrugged, looking idle and unconcerned. Their Peter was with the evil twin of Tony, then. That meant their timescale for fixing the portal was now on a strict limit, if the form of the boy before him was anything to go by. 

“Tell me about him”. 

Not-Peter looked almost dreamy, exhaling a soft sigh and squirming amongst the heavy restraints. “Mr. Stark is a Deity. He’s not like this pathetic copy-cat. He’s Superior. And I am his. I was like your Peter, once. Soft. Delicate. Weak. But he was kind enough to perfect me, the same way he brought himself above everyone else. He is a King”. His voice was a mixture of fierce, soft, proud. 

So this…’Superior’ Tony had taken this Peter on as a…Project? Pet? Undoubtedly, they were either together, or this Peter idolised that Tony to the point of wishing they were. He reached out, tapped a metal finger harshly to the reactor with a loud clang. The boy stiffened, snarling at him with bared canines. 

“And torturing you. Modifying your body. Breaking you open to force all these little bits of himself inside. That’s his love?”. 

The low smirk, the sharp gaze. Defensive, offensive. It was enough. Regardless of if his Tony loved him, this boy loved his Tony. The Soldier hummed thoughtfully, pressed against the reactor before taking his hand away. 

“He will come for me” Not-Peter rasped, looking gleeful. Vengeful. “He will break yours, first. Will make him cry, and scream. Make him beg. If he survives, he might be lucky. He might become like me. Although…You should hope he doesn’t. I don’t like to share”. 

The Soldier looked thoughtful, hand raising to tap the reactor again, tracing the light pattern visible through the thin, dark shirt. “Your Stark. Does he know how to inter-reality travel?” The boy looked rueful. 

“He was just beginning to toy with the idea. After all, why rule just one world, when you could rule them all?”. So. Evil Tony did not know how to open the portal. At the least, it kept them safe from the man invading, before they were prepared. But it also meant the only hope for Peter lay at their own shoulders. 

The Soldier rose gracefully, keeping touch with the pulsing reactor. The boy watched him carefully, following his movements as he shifted around his chair, placed a boot between the boy’s thighs, and promptly kicked him over. He moved swiftly, pressed his foot to the boy’s stomach without gentleness, and ducked down, grasping the ridge of the reactor. 

“Do you think I am like him?” He asked softly, meeting the sharp, hateful gaze from behind strands of dark hair. “He broke you. Bent you. He made you cry. Scream. He made you beg. Do you think the blood on our hands is the same?” He asked, locking his grip.

The boy almost spat on him, a sickening smile spreading. “You can’t hurt me. You could never hurt me as he did”. It was as far as the boy got, because the Soldier pressed his hand to his ribs, and begun to slowly, steadily, pull. The boy was still baring teeth, but the fury in his eyes had lessened, replaced with something almost wary. 

“What are you doing?”. 

The Soldier did not answer. Simply enforced the connection between metal, pulling slowly, but steadily. Skin begun to falter against the grip, and the steady fury begun to bleed away from the boy’s eyes. From wariness to realisation, to cold resolution. 

Skin tore and the boy’s breath staggered on his inhale, eyes widening. “You are bent. But still breakable” the Soldier noted, pulling harder. The metal jostled, flesh coming apart around the pull of metal. Wet blood begun to soak the material, and the Soldier felt the reactor slide upwards. The boy whimpered, but the steely gaze remained, tinged with fear as it was. 

The Soldier let go, pulling away and pulling the chair upright as he withdrew. “I will break a piece of you, for every mark that Stark’s boy returns with” he promised, leaving the room. Tony was a breath around the corner, looking sick and resigned. 

“Did you hurt him?”. His voice wobbled, thick with sorrow. When Tony looked up, his eyes were raw with unshed tears. The Soldier frowned slightly, looking down and flexing the fingers of his metal hand. 

“He is not yours. And he is not above pain. In his reality, you are the villain. A perfected form of Extremis has allowed you to dominate the world in his reality. That boy is his…Plaything. But they have yet to create a portal, which means we have the upper hand”. 

It was no consolation, and the Soldier knew the implication that his words held. Their Peter was not safe there. Least of all in the hands of Stark’s alternate self. The proof was in the boy they had left behind. 

“If you two are in that reality, there stands a good chance that we may come up against other people we know there. People like me. And there’s a large possibility we aren’t good there, either. I will get the others together, bring them up to speed. You should go back to the original blueprints of the portal”. 

The Soldier moved off, and then it was just Tony, shaking against the wall and doing his best not to think of the boy with Peter’s face, just a thin layer of concrete and glass away. He knew he should walk away. JARVIS could keep an eye on the boy, and the Tower was one of the most secure places in America. If needed, Barn Doors Protocol could be activated. 

Except. 

He found himself stepping through the doors, shuddering as glacial eyes fixed onto him. Not-Peter’s head tilting slowly, and a cross between a smirk and a pout quirked his lips. “Awh, now isn’t this just adorable?” He murmured, lounging where he was tied. Tony’s jaw ticked and he stopped, scowling. 

“Tell me what is going to happen to Peter” he demanded after a moment, approaching warily. Not-Peter’s lips tipped into a sharp grin, and he shrugged lightly, tipping his head to look casually around the room. 

“Mm, hard to say. Daddy’s never exactly predicable”. 

Daddy. 

Not-Peter’s gaze flicked to him, as though knowing Tony had tripped over the word, and he simpered, licking slowly at his canines. 

“He could be dead already. Daddy doesn’t have much patience. Or maybe he’s lucky, and he’s gonna end up just like me. Or perhaps….Perhaps Daddy enjoys having another broken little thing with my face. Perhaps he’s enjoying hearing my voice begging again”. 

“And if he likes it enough…Your precious little knock-off could be getting pounded into the wall as we speak”. Tony stiffened, leaning close, and Not-Peter was practically grinning now, eyes laser focused. “Does he beg for you, you weak little copy? He’ll beg for Daddy. Does his tight little ass milk your cock, hm? Daddy’ll split him in half. He’ll never be tight again”. 

Tony struck him. He didn’t mean to, and even Not-Peter looked surprised for a moment, blinking slowly before turning his head, now outright delighted. A sliver of wet, pink tongue dipped into the slight break of skin at the corner of his mouth. 

“Does that piss you off? Knowing your wet piece of ass is gonna come back all sloppy and used? Or are you worried Daddy’ll ruin him forever, huh? Worried you’re gonna get him back and all he’s gonna want to do is crawl right back to-” Not-Peter’s voice cut off as Tony gripped him by the jaw, drawing their faces close together. 

“Do you think your version of me would still want you, if you came back all sloppy and used? Do you think he’d keep you around, if he knew you bent over like a good little slut for the ‘weak’ version of him?” Tony asked after a moment, forcing himself to say the words. Forcing himself to steel his voice. 

There was something akin to startled fear, just a brief flicker, that crossed Not-Peter’s eyes. It was enough. Tony forced himself to smirk, slow and cruel. 

“Mm. I’m not so different in another universe, then” he remarked, pushing away Peter’s jaw and standing, giving the boy a crude, cold once-over. Then he turned away, striding for the door. The sound of Not-Peter’s thrashing and howling followed him the entire way out. 

[mixedfangirlsblog]

fucking perfect

[starkerchemistry-deactivated202]

Assistance Required

Peter hurries through the mall, weaving through the crowds, around slow children and sickeningly sweet couples strolling hand in hand, dodging piping hot travel cups of hot chocolate and oversized shopping bags.

Stupid move, coming Christmas shopping by himself.

He glances over his shoulder. Fuck. Right behind him.

Dumber still that he’d come to the very mall Quentin worked at. MJ’s never gonna let him live it down.

He spies H&M up ahead, quickening his steps. It’s a reasonably big store, from what he remembers – easy to get lost in.

Striding through the open doors, Peter’s eyes widen in panic, heart hammering in his throat as he takes in the open layout. There’s nowhere to fucking hide.

His eyes dart around, frantic, desperate. He lands on the sign for the fitting room, breathing a sigh of relief. Not a moment too soon.

He all but runs over, too scared to check how much progress Quentin’s made in catching up to him. There’s no attendant waiting when he makes it inside, and he can’t afford to wait for one. Rushing to the room at the end he throws the curtain back, tugging it into place quickly before tucking himself into the corner, closing his eyes, head tipped back against the wall as he catches his breath.

“Think you missed the occupied sign there, doll.”

Peter wrenches his eyes open, face to face with a man so handsome his heart stutters before picking up again. He’s a masterpiece, a pinnacle of human perfection – deliciously tall, muscly and broad with the sharpest jawline and fullest lips Peter’s ever seen. Shirtless – and fuck, those pecs – belt hanging open, pants unzipped to show off the bulge underneath-

A cough.

Peter flicks his gaze back up, blushing hot when he meets icy blue eyes glinting with amusement, lips twisted with an air of self-satisfaction of someone who’s used to being drooled over. When an eyebrow arches he snaps out of it, tripping over himself to explain.

“My, my ex- he works here. Made the mistake of passing by his store, he… hasn’t been taking the break up too well. Had to hide.”

Handsome guy raises both brows. “Yeah? How long you been broken up?”

“Two, no- three months?” The guy’s glower makes Peter wince.

“Sounds to me like your ex just needs to be taught a lesson.” Peter’s gaze flickers briefly to the guy’s clenching fist before darting back to his face, shoving aside the burst of arousal at the murderous expression on the beefcake’s face.

“No that- that’s really okay. I was just wondering if you’d maybe, I dunno, just pretend to be my boyfriend? So he can leave me alone?”

Before Muscle Man can respond the curtain rustles, and they turn around to see another man enter.

“Okay, so I grabbed the medium babe, although personally I think you should take a page out of Steve’s book and start wearing your shirts two sizes too small, so I grabbed an extra small as well- oh, hey there, sweet pea.”

Peter promptly chokes on his tongue when he takes in the man – average height, taller than Peter but nowhere near as tall as his boyfriend, leaner too, wow that size difference must be delicious, with a gorgeous goatee framing the prettiest lips, brown eyes filled with amusement. They’re a happy couple, apparently.

Peter leaps away, putting as much difference between him and Mr. Beefcake as possible, flinching when the guy pipes up behind him. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not the sweet pea in this equation?” he asks, dry, and Peter flushes, magnanimously stepping aside to allow Bambi Eyes – wow, bubble butt – to sidestep around him, sidling up next to his apparent boyfriend. Bubble Butt leans up, pecking Beefcake on the lips, short and sweet.

“Don’t be jealous, handsome, you’re still the sweetest pea I know. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?”

Keep reading

[mixedfangirlsblog]

cute awkward peter😄

[starkeristheendgame]

Inspired by a prompt I am currently in progress with. Neighbours/no powers AU. A senseless, shitty drabble while my kneecap aligns.

Voyeurism and shameless smut.

Peter isn't exactly sure when his new neighbour moved in. All he knows it that somewhere in the midst of Mr. and Mrs. Goldsworthy leaving and his frantic chemistry studying, a Greek God decided some quaint little apartment in Queens was the perfect place to settle down.

Peter first saw him on a dreary Tuesday, gaze bleary and running on bare fumes, his brain pinging around his skull like a Windows error log. He's lifted his gaze, desperate to see so.rthing that wasn't the chemical breakdown of ammonium thiosulphate.

For a brief moment, he'd actually thought he was hallucinating. Last time he'd raised his head the window opposite his own had been bare, naked, empty. Now, red curtains hung thick and tied aside with gold rope and tiny little metal sculptures lined the inner ledge. Behind those, a figure passed, paused, gestured, then moved on.

Peter checked the date and time on his phone.

Huh.

"Interesting" he rasped, then cringed and went to get himself a glass of water.

The next time he saw his new neighbour, he actually saw his new neighbour. One minute Peter was trying to work out if the 5th sculpture from the left was an arm or a cock, and the next a tall shape was waving at him slyly. He jolted, dragging his gaze from the vague shape to look up, and.

Oh.

New neighbour was hot. Peter didn't exactly have a HD view, but he could see broad shoulders and dark hair, a jaw sculpted by carefully groomed facial hair and dark, dark eyes.

The figure lifted a flexed arm and pointed, then pointed to the sculpture, before mouthing carefully and with great exaggeration; arm.

What was Peter supposed to do to that? He sat, blinking dumbly across at Greek God Man, who waited a few seconds before smiling at him again, and disappearing from view. Peter continued to stare, until his stomach cramped and the need for food drove him down to the kitchen.

Hot Greek God Neighbour, as he was now officially known (at least, to himself, Ned and MJ) and Peter begun a sort of odd...Presence in each other's lives. Peter spent most of his life at his desk, which was by the window for the light, and Hot Greek God Neighbour apparently spent most of his life wandering the house naked.

Well. Shirtless, or in a towel. Often in tiny tank-shirts that basically meant he was shirtless. It took Peter a while to realise that the room he had a view into was a study if sorts, or a workshop. The man could often be seen polishing or tossing tools around.

On several occasions, Peter saw actual spark showers.

Once, the man had walked in wearing nothing but a towel, and had stood at the window, talking on the phone while absently realigning the figures. Peter had tried not to stare. Really. But the guy had fitted LED bulbs and now he really did have a HD view of abs.

Hot Greek God Neighbour Guy had looked up, directly into his eyes. Peter had been so surprised that he'd stabbed his pencil down into his paper, flinching as the charcoal tip shattered. The man had simply smirked, slow and devilish, and winked at him before turning away, striding out of the room.

A month passed. Their apparent similarity for being nesting creatures meant they had yet to meet outside of staring through windows, but that was fine by Peter. Mostly. It meant that at the least, he couldn't make a fool out of himself literally face to face with him.

Peter's sleep schedule had suffered over the past few weeks, in part due to his studying and on the other hand, due to relentless dreams about stubble burn and large hands. Dark eyes and messy, dark hair. A voiceless body that pinned him down and took.

Tonight wasn't anything remotely sexy, just Peter tossing and turning like a beached fish before throwing himself upright with a frustrated whine. He was lucky in that it was a Friday night, and he could have the Saturday to mope in bed and nap.

Familiarity drew him to the window. It took him a long moment the realise the golden glow that bathed his desk was not from any of his own lights, but from the apartment opposite. When Peter looked up, he damn near died.

Hot Greek God Neighbour Guy was leaning against the window, apparently naked, and stripping his cock like a machine. He was leaning against the glass with his shoulder, head down, mouth open on a spineless moan as his fist flew over a thick, long shadow. Peter gripped at his desk with white knuckles, eyes wide and breath frozen in his lungs.

Fuck.

He should look away.

His neighbour shifted, head falling back and hips jerking forwards as he touched himself, an artful form framed by window-pane. Peter could feel his own cock give a feeble twitch, peeking up the more he watched.

Fuck. He could see the vague shape of muscles. The long curve of his cock. The strands of hair that stuck in wild directions where the man tugged at it, fucking into his fist with renewed vigour.

The man turned again, facing the window, and Peter nearly killed himself on the edge of the desk as he flew downwards, but he needn't have risked it. The man didn't look up, head bowing in pleasure, palm flat against the glass. He didn't stop.

Slowly, so slowly, Peter stood. His mouth felt dry. His heart vest so fast it hurt. And yet...He couldn't look away. No amount of feeling like a dirty old pervert was gonna make him miss a second of this real life porno.

Peter's fingers flexed at his thighs, contemplating planing his own cock, when Hot Greek God Neighbour looked up.

All Peter could do this time was freeze, horror seeping into his bones. The man's hand stuttered over his cock, surprise fresh and rich on his face, before it morphed into something dark and dirty. A sultry, sly, predatory smirk as he shifted, leaned closer, hand speeding up.

"Fuck" Peter announced to his empty room, and a genuine grin broke the smirk temporarily. Peter gripped at his desk so as not to touch himself, watching as the man's mouth parted in pleasure, their gazes locked as he worked himself.

Hot Greek God Neighbour shifted again, head ducking briefly before he looked up, fixed that dealthy gaze on Peter, body locking and hips shuddering into the tight embrace of his fingers as he came, intense gaze broken after a few seconds as he sunk into the pleasure, head dropping and shoulders slumping.

"Fuck" Peter repeateded.

After shaking through an intense orgasm, the man sloshed gracefully against the window, head tipping to eye Peter with lazy amusement. After a pause, he raised a sticky, white-dripped hand and pointed downwards, then spread his fingers to hold aloft five with a sly smile.

Five.

Number five.

Hot Greek God Neighbour raised an eyebrow at him, hand drifting down to wrap slick fingers around his softening cock, and Peter turned to bolt for his door so quickly he slammed his knee into his desk, going down in a flurry of limbs and curses.

When he crawled back up, the man was laughing, head tossed back and fingers still wrapped around his cock.

Hot Greek God Neighbour's actual name was Tony Stark, and the up close and personal, ultra HD version of the window event was far, far better.

[starkerchemistry-deactivated202]

flawlessly written as always

[mixedfangirlsblog]

gorgeous piece of ff

[sunflowerstarker-deactivated202]

first place prizes

inspired by @send-me-hcs‘ post, where peter wins first prize at the science fair and tony fucks him wearing nothing but his gold medal

contains: anal sex, barebacking, praise kink, seriously its a lot of praise, light choking/breathplay, peters age not mentioned, tony being proud of his boy, making verbs out of words that shouldn’t be verbs

—

When Peter had announced during their weekly lab session that he was going to take part in the science fair that year, Tony had raised an eyebrow. 

“Little below your paygrade, don’t you think kid? I mean, with half the stuff you’re making with me you could probably get a Nobel prize, not least first place at a science fair.”

Peter had shrugged at that. “It’s tradition! Me and Ned do it every year. We got second place last year, but I know we’re gonna get first this year.” And then, almost as if he could see the cogs turning in Tony’s brain, “No helping us. We wanna do this ourselves, we don’t need you turning up and billionaire-ing the whole thing with your fancy tech.”

Tony had pulled an exaggerated, yet offended face at that. “Hey! Is it my fault if I want to see young prodigies like yourself flourish in the scientific field? I could give you any hunk of junk from here and it would get you first prize no problem. Even if it doesn’t, I’ll just buy first prize for you.”

“No, Mr. Stark! No helping. None at all. Let me and Ned do this ourselves, please?” 

Tony had taken one look at that puppy dog face and sighed resignedly. “Fine. No helping. But, uh, “billionaire-ing”? Is that even a word?”

“It is now. I made it up. It’s a word. Call the Oxford Dictionary people.”

“Whatever you say, kid.”

Keep reading

[mixedfangirlsblog]

ANOTHER AWESOME WORK😙

[umbrellanumber5-deactivated2021]

.

.

In case you missed this heart warming exchange

[mixedfangirlsblog]

Too pure for this world

[nohaijiachi]

This is what I think every time I watch this scene lmao 

[mixedfangirlsblog]

gdm Aziraphale

[nohaijiachi]

The adventures of Crow-ley and Aziradove! (went to a museum of zoology yesterday and all the taxidermy birbs gave me silly ideas lmao) 

Part 2 - part 3

[kingpepperony]

Auditions for Dolittle

[mixedfangirlsblog]

This is HILARIOUS OMG MY HEART💔

[uhnoobuhs-deactivated20221109]

I have this head canon where Tony usually only refers to Peter by using endearing pet names like: sweetheart, baby, honey, darling.

And he only uses Peters first name when he’s upset or mad.

So when Tony goes a whole week without calling him any pet names, Peter is so worried that he’s done something so wrong that Tony will end their relationship.

When Tony comes home from a business meeting, tired and in a bad mood. Peter is sitting in the living room, wearing an oversized MIT hoodie and boxers, legs drawn up to his chest, hair messy and hiding his face.

“Hey Pete.” Tony said, distracted with undoing his suit tie and taking off his dress shoes.

Peter felt down right nauseous, Tony called him Pete. They were as good as over. He should just start packing his stuff right now.

“We need to talk.” Peter bit his bottom lip and blinked several times to control his emotions, he was so close to tears.

“Yeah, sure. What is it Peter?”

Peters bottom lip trembled with the effort to contain his emotions. All he wanted was to be Tony’s baby again, his sweetheart.

“What did I do, why are you mad at me?” Peter tighten his hold around his legs using them to further hide his face.

“What are you talking about?” Tony sounded concerned and confused.

The older man took off his suit jacket and sat down a few inches away.

“Hey, look at me.” Tony used his index finger to lift Peters chin.

“It’s nothing. Forget it.” Peter felt panic coursing through his veins. Tony was going to end things. He was probably trying to think of a way to let him down easy. Peter couldn’t go through this.

“Not so fast, Spider-Man. Tell me what has you so upset.” Tony was now invading his personal space, pressing his forehead against Peters.

“It’s stupid. It’s just. Y-You’ve stopped calling me sweetheart or baby. I-I feel like you’re going to break up with me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you worry, baby.” Tony cradled Peters face in both of his hands, before peppering kisses on his face and lips.

“S-So you’re not breaking up with me?” Peter crawled onto Tony’s lap and hid his face against the mans chest. Caressing the arc reactor with his finger tips.

“Honey. You can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ve just had a rough week.” Tony wrapped his arms around Peters waist and held him firmly in place.

“I’m so in love with you, darling. I’m sorry. Fuck. you’re shaking.” Tony buried his face against Peters curls and murmurs terms of endearment till Peter calmed down and fell asleep in his arms.

[mixedfangirlsblog]

💔💖

[ewbenedict]

So this just happened on my dash and I am SCREAMING

[ftfhal]

Here to see the Queen?  Oh apparently yes.

[the-doctors-sexiest-companion]

This needs more notes, like NOW.

[sherlockedcarmilla]

Ha! If the shoe fits…

[mixedfangirlsblog]

The one with the MINOR position in the british government?

[spideyjlaw]

# we’ve all been there

[starkeristheendgame]

The Starker group chat is the best worst influence so here’s some size kink ✌Not completely canon in that there’s no Civil War, Tony just wants to keep this crazy kid safe. It doesn’t quite go how he expected it to. 

Dedicated to the trash can that is the Starker chat, all the dumbass antis watching it like a Jeffree Star palette release and all the funky little fellow trash bags below that got my fanfic urges raging harder than a puberty morning boner. 

I high-key hate this so expect more size kink in the future to make me feel better. 

TW: Mild choking | Size kink | Slight D/s | Under-negotiated kink (but consensual) | Breathplay if you squint

@lesbianstarker @cherrypeter @the-mad-starker @lover-starker @starkerintheparker @sunnystarkerr @chi-the-queen @salmonmander

Tony Stark.

Tony. Fucking. Stark.

Iron Man was sat on his couch. Eating walnut loaf. Chatting to his Aunt, like he was an Uncle or family friend swung by in their way home.

Peter nearly dropped the DVD player, jaw dropping as he screeched to a halt on the hideous green carpet. He could feel his stomach twisting, his braincells running around and screaming and his heart thumping at his ribs like a racehorse.

He couldn’t throw up in front of Iron Man.

“Uh…What? I mean, hey? Hi. Um-” He cut himself off with a huff, blinking at the way the corner of Tony’s mouth curled up into a sly, well hidden smirk.

“Oh, Mr. Parker” he greeted smoothly, as though only just noticing the fact that Peter had arrived. Tony’s head lifted and tipped, eyeing him across the room with an amused, knowing gaze. Peter had to force himself to relax his grip on the player when it gave the faintest of creaks.

“Hey! I’m - I’m - Hi. Mr. Stark. Peter. I’m - What are you…Why are you here?” He staggered out, arms falling as he tried to compute the fact that Iron Man was sat on his couch.

And Iron Man looked good.

He was wearing a sharp cut, fitted suit the colour of charcoal and his fluffy, dark hair swept across his head. His voice was a silken purr and the only thing out of place was the angry, black eye when Tony turned his head fully.

“"I was just waiting for you, actually. You’re late. Thankfully, your gorgeous Aunt here had some delicious walnut loaf to keep me occupied” Tony drawled, fingers dipping the slice of loaf in his grasp. It was almost enough to make Peter laugh.

Tony was either an amazing actor, or his life experiences had burnt off his tastebuds. Aunt May’s walnut loaf tasted like if you’d scraped the burnt oil off a pan, ground some walnuts into it, spat on it, fried it a little, then rubbed it in dirt. Regardless, Aunt May giggled like she was 12 and nursing a crush, waving a hand to dismiss the lie.

“Uh, Mr- Mr. Stark. What are you doing here?” He managed to wheeze out, still unable to tear his gaze from the way the man eyed him. Cocky. Amused. Daring.

He knew there was only one legitimate reason that Tony Stark would be sat on his couch.

Fuck.

Was he in trouble? Was this a threat? A cease and desist? Had he accidentally hurt someone? Oh my god.

“I figured it was about time we met” Tony replied evenly, and Peter’s heart plummeted. Oh god. He was right. They were gonna take him away. Aunt May would know. Peter was going to jail and -

“You’ve been getting my emails, right? I’ve been signing them personally. And writing them. Y'know, about that grant you applied for?”

Tony winked once with his left eye, then with his right, out of sight of his Aunt, who twisted to Peter with a star-struck expression.

“You never told me you applied for a grant!” She beamed, and Peter balked. He didn’t even know he’d applied for a grant. How could he tell her about something he didn’t even know he’d done?

“The grant” he replied weakly, trying to prod his brain into functioning. “Right. Yeah”.

“Look at him. So star struck he’s forgotten why I’m here. The September Foundation, darling. You applied. I approved” he announced, like it was a thing Peter should have known, like he’d forgotten his keys on his way out the door.

“The - The Foundation. Of course, yeah. I applied for that” he agreed easily, folding his arms. Was this code? A cipher for hey, I know you’re Spiderman. I’m here to lock you up forever.

“How come you never told me you applied for a grant? Are you entering the ‘keeping secrets’ phase?” Aunt May huffed at him, but she didn’t seem angry. How could she be, sat next to the richest and hottest man in America?

“I - I just…Surprises! I know you love surprises. And I wanted to…I figured you’d be proud…So what exactly did I get approved for?” He quizzed, turning his gaze back to Tony, who was watching him the way a lion might watch a trapped antelope.

“Well, Mr. Parker. That’s why I’m here. You applied. I approved. That’s means we’re in business. Together” Tony said pointedly, eyeing him over the rim of what was probably the ugliest coffee mug in history.

Yeah. This was definitely not about a grant that Peter never applied for.

“This date loaf is something else” Tony remarked, waggling the slice that had exactly one bite taken out of it. “I can’t decide if it’s the baking, or the fact it was made by an insanely hot woman”. Aunt May went scarlet and grinned at him, and Peter had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and blanch. He couldn’t decide what was worse, his hero and crush lying about date loaf, or his hero and crush calling his Aunt hot.

“Mrs. Parker, do you mind if I have some time with Mr. Parker, to discuss the finer details?” Tony remarked, glancing across at May with a sweet look.

“It’s just Ms. I’m not married” Aunt May corrected, but he suspected Tony knew that, and he was assured when Tony gave her a wicked smile. “Well, my day just keeps getting luckier” he purred, rising to his feet.

Peter’s disgust at the blatant flirting was almost enough to distract him from following the unfolding rise of Tony’s body.

Almost.

And not nearly enough to have his breath hitching when his gaze trailed past a long, trim torso to land on an unmistakable bulge. Peter nearly went a little cross-eyed, caught between horror at the thought that Tony Stark was hard over his Aunt, and the low spike in his gut at the sight of the impressive bulk.

“Mr. Parker” Tony crawled with slow, knowing amusement. Peter forced his gaze upwards, swallowing thickly at the way Tony quirked a brow at him. “Perhaps somewhere more…Private?” He suggested, and Peter’s knees almost buckled.

Keep reading

[mixedfangirlsblog]

just some starker loving here. emphasis on the loving aspect 😍

[fictional-downey]

I still wake up, every morning, missing Tony Stark.

[heartbreaknow]

To be honest, the thing I’ve been kind of struggling with about Tony being dead is that now, all the happy endings don’t feel happy anymore. Every fantastic, nail-biting close call, where genius, luck, and sheer determination get him through, now just feels like a reminder that eventually none of it will be enough. Every happy ending is just a beautiful, fleeting stop on the road to the actual end, which is sad.

Now, I watch the first Iron Man, which is such a shiny, optimistic, epicurean beginning, and I feel wounded, because maybe Tony doesn’t die when a shrapnel blast scatters holes of light into the back of his Humvee, or when another blast scatters shards into his chest, but there’s death up there on the tracks ahead. He can’t see it, but it’s there, waiting for him all the same.

The funny thing is, that’s life. It always ends at least kind of sad, because it always ends. We shouldn’t allow the sadness of it ending to nullify the happiness of it being. Pretty sure there’s an Intro To Philosophy class out there which could teach me that. But it’s hard to appreciate it sometimes.

And maybe, too, it’s just that Tony Stark - in the spirit of many idols and heroes and father figures - seemed like he would never really die. He was too vital and passionate and determined. He would not stop for death; death would stop for him and he would win death over with his ingenuity, wit, and ridiculous sunglasses. 

We all know that’s not how reality works, but it was a story - a story about superheros - so maybe it could work that way for him.

And I find myself wishing it had.

[starkerintheparker]

…….. you really had to go there

[mixedfangirlsblog]

...And I was feeling so good today 😿

[squided]

WHEN WILL PEOPLE FUCKING REALIZE THAT

MEN

ALSO

ARE

GIVEN

UNREALISTIC

EXPECTATIONS

DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA

HOW IMPOSSIBLE IT IS

TO LOOK LIKE THIS???

IT’S 100% FUCKING ILLOGICAL TO EXPECT MEN TO HAVE THIS RIPPED SIX-PACK ABS AND BE SKINNY AND HAVE PERFECT SKIN AND FACIAL COMPLEXION!  MEN ALSO EXPERIENCE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE WITH OUR BODIES ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME.

[squided]

I’m bringing back the REAL post.  For those of you who care enough about how body image issues effect BOTH MEN AND WOMEN and how ignoring men with eating disorders or who have depression or deep insecurities because of their body image is not just ignorant, but it’s horribly insulting.  Making fun of this post means you are telling men who feel degraded that they should feel bad about themselves and that they don’t mean anything.  For everyone who reblogged the posts that made fun of this original post, shame on you.  I’m very disappointed.  Please share the original because this is an important issue.

Also raised to my attention is I neglected to add people of color to this post, I am sorry for my negligence so I shall add bonus images here of unrealistic expectations for men of every race, I chose Men’s Health Magazine because it’s extremely popular in telling men how to look:

[emile8]

No, guys, you don’t understand. I just got so relieved seeing this original post again that I nearly cried.

[nicthefanboy]

Bless the blog that brought the original back!

[safety-officer-barto-deactivate]

Here’s the original post without some of you asshats changing the pictures

[ladywordfighter]

This is actually the VERY FIRST TIME I’ve seen the original post, which goes to show how quickly people turned it into a joke. I confess that I did laugh at some of the absurd replacement images in the other versions, and I feel guilty for that now because I, like many, was missing an extremely important message.

To all of my male followers who struggle with self-esteem: I support you too. Even though I’m really quiet and have a bad habit of going weeks or months without posting, I WILL be there for you if you come to me wanting to talk or just vent. That’s a promise.

[xxleondraxx]

Another thing to note that in all, ALL, of those pictures the men are actively flexing. And often such defenition for shoots is exaggerated by dehydration, airbrushing and photoshopping. That chiseled look isn’t a look you can acheive at rest without literal implants. Here are 2 examples of flexed vs relaxed:

And you know what? Dollars to doughnuts none of the above muscular looking guys are as strong as these men:

These are strongmen. These are the bodies of men that train for strength, not defenition. These guys can practically lift cars and drag trains.

So men of the world that get depressed about not looking like you just stepped off a magazine cover, relax. You don’t have to look like that. You are handsome, beautiful and fantastic the way you are.

[randomslasher]

To all my beautiful boys <3 Please read and heed. You’re amazing, and you don’t have to look any particular way. This goes for transboys too. You’re handsome no matter what!!!

[sea-anon]

This is so important!! Like my dad looks fat but he’s mostly super strong

[ender-w-deactivated20190416]

its posts like this that make me wanna keep on living and still feel a little good about myself

[smooththegoofyshark]

6 pack abs are out, viking/barbarian bodies are in

[heathersobsessers-deactivated20]

Guys, you’re beautiful or handsome, whichever you prefer no matter how you look and I’m so sorry that anyone ever told you or made you think that you weren’t.

[threecapybarasinatrenchcoat]

GOOD POSITIVITY POST. YOUR BODIES ARE ALL AMAZING AND VALID BOYS

[mixedfangirlsblog]

BODY POSITIVITY FOR ALL SEXES☝

[superhusbands-superfan]

Just re-watched Civil War

And had a very sad realization (shocking? Not a bit)

Mid-fight with Steve, FRIDAY says “You can’t beat him hand-to-hand,” and Tony replies, “Analyze his fight pattern.” And then we actually *see* FRIDAY run the analysis in real-time. I’m talking:

Analysis of Steve’s fighting form and the shield,

an in-depth scan of the suit, and finally

Analysis of the literal impact force of Steve’s hits. 

You could read into this in a lot of different ways. But I’ll tell you what it meant to me. 

It meant that in every interaction Tony could conceive of with Steve, in every contingency Tony ever thought through, in thousands of possibilities Tony Stark never once thought he’d have to fight Steve Rogers. Not seriously.

He didn’t have a plan for it. He didn’t have a preset protocol for FRIDAY to call up. Not even close.

Because ready-for-everything-always Tony Stark — the creator of the Iron Legion; the maker of Veronica and the Hulkbuster; the guy who installed an instant kill mode in Peter’s suit; the guy who slept with his suit at his beck and call every night for months; the guy who has been thinking about Thanos since before he could put a name to the imminent threat he foresaw; Tony my-middle-name-should-be-paranoid (with good reason) Stark — never once considered that he’d be up against Steve Rogers. 

I think that’s heartbreaking. And it says a hell of a lot. 

[mixedfangirlsblog]

Not sure if I reblogged this angsty take on CA:CW.😢