I want to _____ you... I want to meet you 😭 I want to go somewhere comfy, drink coffee/tea/eat ice cream and read with you, just utter softness lolol - peterbabytt (p.s., you are lovely, I’ve seen your account around on a lot of my mutuals accounts, I’ve seen some of your works and I love what you do 💕)
Aaaaah!! Yes please, I want all the softness you have to offer ☕️❤️ you’re the lovely one! 💌
synopsis: prince peter parker, 19, is set to marry princess morgan stark, 17, in an arranged marriage... it's not his fault her father is so devilishly handsome...
words: 1,525
warnings: light swearing
!!everyone featured in this fanfiction is 18+ unless specifically stated otherwise!!
i hope you enjoy 💓 feedback/constructive criticism is and always will be accepted, but hate will always be blocked
(by proceeding, you understand and accept the warnings previously provided)
“Your Majesty,” Peter lifted his gaze to the door of the library. Michelle, a young servant in the castle, was standing in the doorway. Lifting the edge of her skirt ever so delicately, she curtsied before Peter and his mother. “Your Highness.” Peter cringed. He knew she was being respectful, polite, professional before the queen, but as the two of them? Peter insisted she use his name, as he had a distaste for the formal tone.
“The Royal Family has arrived.” Oh, good... and here, Peter was hoping they had been run off the road on their way over. Peter glanced at his mother to gauge her reaction. Her features were soft and delicate, but he knew those eyes all too well. In her own mind, she had already debated how to cancel tonight’s dinner a thousand ways over, all with varying degrees of severity.
“Yes, thank you, Michelle. We will join you in the foyer in a moment.” She beamed. Michelle—MJ—nodded, curtsied once more, then turned to leave the library. The moment she was out of earshot, Mary turned to her son. “It’s not like we’ve had this planned for months already. You’d think, for the sake of the kingdoms, they’d be punctual.”
“Easy, mother…” He tried, resting a bookmark between the pages of his book before rising, stepping towards his mother, and offering his arm to her. “You’re too tense. I’m sure there’s… a decent explanation.” For their own sake, there’d better be.
They walked at an easy pace, a pace much slower than Peter was used to, and yet, even after arriving in the foyer, the two still had to await the arrival of their royal guests. And Mary was growing even more impatient as each second dawdled on by. Peter, on the other hand, had a grin resting gently over his features. Tonight was already off to… an interesting start, and if it continued in any similar manner, he knew his mother would call off the arrangement.
A part of the boy felt guilty for wanting this dinner to go awry, but was it really so wrong to just… not be ready? Everything seemed to be moving so quickly. He had only turned 19 a week ago, and he still felt as though he had yet to meet his own self. Sure, he had a bit of a grasp on who he thought he was, what he thought he liked, and who, for that matter… but even so, many things had changed throughout the span of a year.
He’d met who he thought was the love of his life, even despite the fact he knew his parents would never approve. In that moment, in the desperation to just be himself, he had prepared to lose everything he’d ever known, all for a chance—not even a guarantee—simply a chance to finally know who he was. He took a leap of faith and prayed to stick the landing. But he stumbled. And that terrified him—he had been so sure of himself...
Peter leapt from his bed, running a shaky hand through his mess of curls. He felt his skin prick with goosebumps, but from the cold or the fear, he hadn’t yet figured out. MJ was still on his bed, but she was now sitting upright, watching him with concerned eyes.
“Are you okay?” Peter couldn’t bring himself to form an answer. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, so he hid his face in his hands, took a moment to gather his thoughts, gather his breath… then, finally, sat back down on the edge of his bed. MJ scooted closer to the prince, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Peter?” It was then that he realized he hadn’t yet answered her question.
“I’m sorry, I… I can’t.” He trembled as he spoke, so MJ reached for the undershirt he had discarded only moments ago. He took it, but made no move to put it back on just yet.
“Peter, look at me,” MJ’s voice was soft, soothing, unoffended. He obeyed, and the hand that rested on his shoulder moved to cup his cheek. “It’s okay. This is a big step. We don’t have to do this tonight.”
“It’s not that…” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and it took all the strength in his body not to vomit.
“You can tell me, sweetheart… what is it?” The look in her eyes showed nothing but sympathy, nothing but love… how had he let himself get this far? If he had known from the beginning, he shouldn’t have brought her to his bedroom… shouldn’t have promised her something he could never give her… was it selfish?
“I love you, I do, just… not the way I thought I did.” The instant the words fell from his mouth, he wanted to reel them all back in, to ignore everything his mind was begging him to do—set everything aside and just give in. But he couldn’t bear the idea of lying to his best friend. To himself, he could live with… but MJ deserved so much better. “I’m sorry, that sounded… harsh.”
“It did, yea,” her tone was playful, but the smile never met her eyes. She was hurting, but she would never admit it.
“You deserve so much better than this…”
“Peter, there’s nobody else I want… I want you. I want to be with you. I want to make this work, and I know it’ll be hard, but I want to do whatever we can to make this work.” He tried to ignore the tears welling up in his eyes.
“I can’t lie to you, too.” A thick silence fell between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it come this far.”
“Peter, whatever you’re trying to get at, I’m not understanding.”
“I’m—”
“Her Majesty and His Royal Highness,” An unfamiliar voice drew Peter from his thoughts, and he had to force his eyes to focus. He hadn’t even noticed the gates had opened and the royals had been led inside. He glanced briefly at his mother to ensure she hadn’t noticed his trance, then adjusted his posture before—oh… holy shit…
The king that stood before him was easily not the king he had imagined. He pictured the man to be far less… sweet heavens and all things holy, was there even a word to describe this man other than purely beautiful?
He wore a deep blue suit that had been tailored oh-so perfectly for his frame, and his hair had been styled in a delicate wave. He begged himself not to reach out and card his fingers through it—it’d be a shame, afterall, to disturb such beauty. His beard was expertly shaped, sharp and clear edges defining his even sharper jawline. Peter couldn’t help but imagine how that very beard would feel between—
“I present His Majesty, King Stark—” The queen extended her hand, and he accepted it in his own, raising it gently to his lips for a kiss. Peter was enthralled—hypnotized by their curvature.
“It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, King Stark,” his mother spoke, and Peter nearly bounced on the balls of his feet, eager to hear the king’s voice.
“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Peter felt faint. “And please, forgive my informality, but call me Tony.” He turned to face Peter next, and he was almost certain, this time, that he would faint. He’d have absolutely no shame in it, either.
Tony, with a smile, extended his own hand to Peter, and it took every fibre in his being to keep his own from trembling as their palms connected. God, even his hands were sexy. Rough skin, calloused fingers, a warm embrace. Had he died? Was this Heaven?
“—and Her Royal Highness, Princess Morgan.” A beautiful, beautiful young woman with features to match her father’s. She wore a lovely black dress with a slight v in its neck, and her hair hung in delicate curls by her shoulders. Peter could easily admit that she was, indeed, effortlessly gorgeous. He only wished he could hold some sort of attraction to her rather than to her father…
It was customary that both families dine together before a decision on an arranged marriage was made, and Peter thought he would never again be so thankful for customs or traditions in his life, for this particular custom meant his assigned seat at the dinner table was right beside Sir Stark himself. The idea of it, at least to Peter’s own understanding, was that the prince would dine beside the opposing king so the two could get to know one another and bond before the father of the princess could make a decision on the marriage. And then, of course, the same way around for the princess and the opposing queen. Then again, of course, this could also just be a blessing in Peter’s favor.
It wasn’t until Peter felt a knee bump into his own underneath the table that he realized this was definitely a blessing in his favor. Now, of course, it could have been an accident, so, naturally, he brushed it off as one… the first time.
i had more i wanted to do with this one, but i couldn't find an ending that satisfied me lol i might do more with this later, i'll probably work on it a bit more, and repost later, but for now, here's this 💕
synopsis: a (very dark, and very depressing) soulmate au. every person bears a soulmark--a mark of their soulmate’s first touch. like birthmarks, a soulmark is a shade or two darker than the bearer’s skin tone. when the soulmark is touched by the bearer’s other half, the soulmark briefly glows a bright arctic blue hue before fading away entirely.
words: 1,239
warnings: hate and violence, use of homophobic slang and other swears, major character deaths (relatively graphic)
!!everyone featured in this fanfiction is 18+ unless specifically stated otherwise!!
i hope you enjoy 💓 feedback/constructive criticism is and always will be accepted, but hate will always be blocked
(by proceeding, you understand and accept the warnings previously provided)
Tony, a warlock in a tiny village surrounded by mountains and trees, bears two soulmarks, one hand upon either side of his neck, each creeping into the skin of his cheeks. The man has spent countless hours just imagining who would cradle his face in such a way, fingers so gentle, and so careful. He wonders… will they kiss him?
Peter, a practicing warlock under Tony’s guide, bears the soulmark of a hand across his left cheek. The boy has spent countless hours just imagining who would caress his cheek in such a way, fingers so soft, and so loving. He wonders… will they kiss him?
One night, unbeknownst to Tony of how his identity revealed, the people of his small village burst through the doors of his home, yelling and swearing, eyes full of ire and rage. The man at the front of the angry horde, Quentin Beck, tore the warlock from his bed and kicked him to his knees before binding his hands to the stick of a broom rested upon the warlock’s bare shoulders. No sooner was he hoisted to his feet and dragged outside to the village center where a large, wooden cross lay in the dirt. Fear bubbled in the Stark’s gut. He’d heard stories. Horrible, horrible stories, but he’d never imagined--
“Tony Stark,” Quentin shouted amongst the villagers, all of whom stood outside their homes to watch. “is a witch-- a warlock--a child of the devil Himself!” The horde screamed their insults, spit like fire as it sprinkled in drops over his skin. Tony met the eyes of no one.
From his open window, Peter (who had been preparing a spell he hoped would bring his village the rain it hadn’t seen in nearly a year) heard Beck’s voice echo through the dark of the night, and he was on his feet in an instant, not bothering to slip on shoes or don proper outerwear. He all but leapt from his stairs, bounding down the dirt road of his yard to the village’s center beside a drooping juvenile willow tree. In the dirt lay a wooden cross, carelessly made from what appeared to be the dead branches of a tree, and held together with nothing but rope. Fear bubbled in the Parker’s gut.
“Tony!” The boy gasped, pushing through the small crowd, but he hadn’t made it too far. Two men, both of whom Peter never cared to learn the names of, held him by the arms before he could reach the man bound to the broom.
“Peter, stay back!”
“He shall be punished for the crimes he has committed!” Beck demanded. “In the name of God, he shall be bound to the cross, overturned to hang by his feet, and lit ablaze!”
“No!” Peter managed to break free from the men’s grasp, his feet carrying him to the warlock--to his warlock--and for the first time, his hands reached for the prints on Tony’s neck. The soulmarks radiated pure warmth beneath Peter’s own fingertips, and Tony felt them tingle beneath his touch. In a moment of pure terror and bold confidence strangely mashed into one, Peter captured his warlock’s lips with his own.
A gasp rattled through the crowd, screams of disgust seeping through the throats of the many, and slews of insults passing through the gritted teeth of the rest. The soulmark upon Tony’s neck and cheeks glowed a dim icy blue beneath Peter’s own hands. A boy--a teen--a child--was destined to be the devil spawn’s soulmate. Quentin felt as though he would vomit.
A hand fell to Peter’s shoulder, gripping him by the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt, and he was pulled from the man he loved, the glow of blue on the man’s neck finally fading away.
“Peter…” A faint whisper fell from Tony’s lips, drowned by the foul words that filled the village center, all ranging from whore to faggot to far, far worse. Beck stood before Peter, held his hand high in the air, and struck the boy with such force upon his left cheek that he swore he saw stars glowing behind his eyelids.
Quentin and the village alike watched in horror. There had never before been record of soulmates who did not align, and yet, in this horrible universe, Beck found himself to be the soulmate of a faggot.
Before the light of the soulmark could even fade, Quentin tangled a tight fist through the boy’s hair, holding Peter with his back to Quentin’s own chest, and marched the two of them to stand before the warlock. Peter cried in pain at the hand in his hair, and a blade was pressed to his throat to keep him quiet. Fear-filled gazes met.
“Any last words, lovers?” Quentin growled, his hold in Peter’s hair only tightening as the blade pressed harder to his throat, drawing the faintest line of blood upon his pale skin.
“Beck, he had nothing to do with any of this! Let him go!” Tony begged, but Peter…
“I-I’m sorry, Tony… I love you…” As the words fell from his tongue, a sadistic smile spread across Quentin’s lips.
“NO!!” Tony’s cry pierced the heavens as his soulmate choked on scarlet fluid, his shirt staining the same devastating hue. It wasn’t long before his limp body crumbled to the ground of the village center.
No sooner than the boy’s body hit the soil, and Tony’s shriek reached the sky, the wind began to rage, clouds rolling into the firmament.
“Bind him to the cross,” Quentin ordered over the warlock bellowing in agony.
“NO!!” A light sprinkle of rain fell to the earth, and a smile spread across Quentin’s lips, for the sacrifice of the faggot and, soon, his warlock, had pleased his God.
“Overturn,” Quentin ordered, and the people of the village aided to turn the warlock upside down.
“Peter!!” An earthquaking rumble of thunder crescendoed to the rhythm of Tony’s fury, and a flash of lightning struck just below his head. The wood was alight and the devil’s child was engulfed in flame, yet he cried in no physical pain. The fire that disintegrated his clothes, sizzled on his skin and consumed his entire being seemed to cause no pain at all. He cried for the pain in his heart.
The fire continued to swarm upwards, splintering through the dead wood until his entire body--head to toe--was ablaze. The village roared and cheered, smiles carved onto several faces. But when the warlock’s cries were drowned by the sound of buzzing and fluttering, every being fell silent and watched on.
Beneath the flame, the man’s skin blackened before exploding into an eclipse of moths. Terrified screams filled the village center, but the moths paid no mind to its inhabitants, they just… flew away, disappearing into the dark sky of the night. All was quiet… all was calm… for the moment.
Sheets upon sheets of heavy rain plummeted to the earth, dousing the fire and all persons around. Quentin watched through squinted eyes as each drop absorbed into Peter’s corpse, dissolving the body away until nothing remained.
And that… that is when the streets began to flood, for the mountains that had surrounded the small village since the beginning of time were a perfect bowl, almost as if they had been waiting for this very day. No man, woman, child or creature in that village was safe from the rain of the warlock and his soulmate.
~~~ fin ~~~
it’s dark... it’s depressing... i’ve always wanted to write something soulmate related, something relatively original, but... man, this was unexpected... it started with the idea that peter would be tony’s soulmate, but tony wouldn’t be peter’s. i didn’t know how i wanted to incorporate that, but... somehow, this was born? i’m not sure...
this is the first time in a long ass time i’ve been able to write something front to back without stopping. this took... maybe 3 hours to write? 3 and a half?
i’m oddly proud of it
(also, lightly inspired by the song The Village by Wrable)
synopsis: tony sees peter in public after years of not seeing one another
words: 1,684
warnings: light swearing, sad but with a happy ending,
!!everyone featured in this fanfiction is 18+ unless specifically stated otherwise!!
i hope you enjoy 💓 feedback/constructive criticism is and always will be accepted, but hate will always be blocked
(by proceeding, you understand and accept the warnings previously provided)
“Penny?” Time froze the very instant the name slipped through the air. Through the ribcage, the heart drummed its accelerando beat, drowning the ears in a nervous cadence. The name alone was enough to strike a fire in the gut, but the man who spoke? The fire swarmed up the walls of the belly and into the chest at the familiarity of the voice that rang through the atmosphere, smoke filling the lungs enough to cough out a scoff, turn on the heel and face none other than Tony Stark himself. Because of-fucking-course. “Oh, my god, it’s so good to see you,” He spoke with a genuine smile on his face. Peter just smiled, cocking his head to the side as ire danced through his eyes and on the curve and bow of his lips.
“Hmm, wish I could say the same,” Peter spat, to which Tony had the audacity to appear shocked. At what, Peter couldn’t tell—it could have been the snarky remark that took the Stark by surprise, or the droop in his tone over the years thanks to the regular doses of testosterone. Peter let the phoney smile slip away, eyes cold. “What are you doing here?”
“In public, you mean?” he replied, arms outstretched by his waist as he glanced around. “I came out to get a cuppa coffee, but… when I saw you, I…” Peter scoffed once again, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone as he turned to walk away.
“Hey!” Tony called after him, following behind him for a few paces. “Hey, where’re you going?”
“Are you standing over there?” Peter directed his attention to the end of the block, just a few stores down. Tony looked confused.
“No.” Obviously.
“Then that’s where I’m going.” He turned on a dime.
“Oh, come on, don’t be like that.”
“And why shouldn’t I be?”
“It’s been three years—” Peter’s eyebrows nearly met his hairline.
“I don’t care how long it’s been! You left me, remember?”
“Believe me, I remember, but can you at least give me a chance to explain myself?”
“Why should I care about anything you have to say to me now when you didn’t even listen to me when it mattered the most?”
“Because I know you, Pen. I know you like explanations, I know you don’t like to be left in the dark—I know you.”
“You don’t know me. You knew Penny. I’m not Penny.” When Tony said nothing more, Peter took the time to send his S.O.S. to MJ and Ned, who shouldn’t be too far now—MJ’s apartment is only about a mile or two away. But Tony, being Tony, didn’t like the silence that buzzed between the two.
“So… what should I call you?” Peter forced his laugh then, squinting at him with a grin.
“Cute.”
“Look, I… I’m sorry, I didn’t want—“
“I don’t get you!” The younger interrupted. “You held my hand with such pride when I was a woman... but when I asked you to call me Peter... you looked at me with such disgust—such disappointment and hatred.”
“Is that how you saw it? Disappointment? Disgust?” Tony looked hurt. “Pen, I—“
“You broke me. You single handedly shattered my heart into a billion unfixable pieces...” Peter felt his eyes beginning to tear at the edges, but he bit back what he could. A car horn honking pulled him from his rage—MJ and Ned in her Jeep to pick him up. “‘Sorry’,” he scoffed, shook his head, then turned to walk to the curb where his friends were waiting.
“Penny, wait, I—“
“Peter!” He shouted. “It’s Peter, not P-P...” he almost seemed afraid to say the name again. He hated the name. He turned, a grimace on his face, and reached for the car door.
“Peter... Peter, baby, wait!” Tony went after him, grabbed his hand, but Peter yanked it away. “I’m so sorry, Peter, I was an asshole to you and I know it, but please... let me make it up to you,” he said nothing as he stared coldly back into Tony’s eyes. “At least hear me out,” Pete bit the inside of his cheek in attempts to contain his anger, prevent the tears from spilling, and he trembled from head to toe. He glanced at his friends in the car, then spoke.
“You have 30 seconds.”
“Baby, please, that’s not—“
“29! 28! 27!—“
“I was an idiot!” Peter stopped counting. “I was an idiot...”
“Still are,” Tony gave a halfhearted smile.
“Very much so... you deserved so much better,” Peter opened the door then, lifting his leg to step into the car when—
“I was afraid!” Peter paused, yet again, then glanced over his shoulder in his general direction, but didn’t meet his gaze. Tony continued. “Peter, I loved Penny with every fibre of my being—I would have died for her. And when I met Peter... Penny didn’t stand a chance.”
“That literally made no sense,” MJ spoke. Tony wanted to glare at her, but his gaze was fixed on Peter.
“I was afraid of loving Peter more than Penny, and it seems selfish, but—Peter, please don’t go,”
“I’m done talking, Tony,”
“Then don’t talk.” Peter was sitting on the seat now, so close to closing the door, but Tony stood in the way. “Just… listen, please—I need you to hear this.” A silence hung in the air for a quick moment before—
“Pulling away in 3...” MJ began.
“5 minutes,” Tony pleaded.
“2...” Peter met Tony’s gaze and saw the desperation in his eyes.
The car door slammed shut and Tony watched as it drove slowly away. Peter, who had his hands buried in the sleeves of his sweater, one sleeved hand covering his mouth, was tapping his foot against the ground, a nervous tick Tony had remembered since the beginning, and refused to meet his gaze.
“Thank you,”
“You broke me.” Peter started, voice wavering just a tad. “You destroyed me—took away everything I cared about, everything I wanted in a relationship...”
“I know...” Peter caught his eyes then, dropping his arms to fold over his chest.
“No, I don’t think you do.” But the look Tony gave him, the look that won every time… Peter couldn’t convince himself that Tony didn’t know. “Start talking,”
“You mean the world and more to me, Pete,”
“Peter,” he corrected. “We are not friends—you call me ‘Peter.’”
“Peter...” he nodded, looked down and toed at the ground. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat first? Maybe a coffee, or a tea? We could sit down somewhere maybe a little more private,” Peter glared at him, eyes cold and furious. “Right...”
“Why did you leave me?” Peter asked. “I needed you—then more than ever before—and you left. Everyone I cared about was against me and I trusted you enough—out of everyone—to be there for me, and you turned against me, too,” he explained. “If it weren’t for MJ and Ned, I wouldn’t even be alive right now,”
“Peter—“
“Why did you leave?”
“I was afraid,”
“Oh, you were afraid?!”
“You didn’t let me finish...” Peter scoffed and tried to walk away again, but he only made it a few steps before he found himself turning around again to meet him. “Loving Penny was easy because it was traditional.”
“Are you fucking serious?!”
“I wasn’t afraid to love Penny, Peter!” He spoke over him. “Loving Penny was normal—no one could hurt us because we were just like everyone else. No one could come between Penny and me.” Peter looked confused. “When I held Penny’s hand as we walked down the sidewalk, when I wrapped my arm around Penny’s shoulders in a restaurant booth, when I kissed Penny goodbye before we parted—that was normal. No one questioned it. No one saw her and me as any different. But loving Peter?
“I would never be able to hold Peter’s hand as we walked down the sidewalk, I would never be able to wrap my arm around his shoulders in a restaurant booth, I would never be able to kiss his lips goodbye before we parted no matter how badly I wanted to, because him and I wouldn’t have been ‘normal.’ Him and I would have been in danger, because if they knew how head over heels in love I was with Peter—how much I absolutely adored you? They would have targeted you, and they would have hurt you and abused you to break me.” Peter didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that ran down his cheeks.
“Peter, baby, I can handle being a disappointment, being disowned and ridiculed and abused over loving a man—over loving you... but if they ever laid a hand on you? I couldn’t live with myself knowing that it was my fault you got hurt.” With a hesitant hand, Tony moved to cup Peter’s cheek and wipe away his tears, and if Peter ever asked him? Tony would easily admit that his heart swarmed with warmth when he didn’t pull away.
Peter let out a quiet sob and brought his hand up to grasp Tony’s tightly. The older placed a kiss to Peter’s forehead before pulling away, wiping at his own tears, this time, and untangling himself from Peter entirely. “I was wrong to do that to you.”
“Tony?”
“I was selfish and I thought I could protect you when I only made it worse,”
“Tony, baby, please, I know you didn’t—“
“I’m sorry,”
“It’s not your fault!”
“I’m so sorry,”
“No, come back!” His throat ached, but Tony wouldn’t listen. He just continued walking, wiping desperately at his eyes to dry his tears. So Peter ran to him. “Don’t you dare walk away from me,” Peter grabbed his hand, and that’s when Tony broke. “Look at me. Baby, look at me,” through tear clouded eyes, Tony’s eyes finally met Peter’s.
Without a single care or shame in the world, he kissed him with everything he had, and he held on tight. “Please don’t leave me again,” Peter whispered.
“I love you so much, Peter,” he kissed him again. “I never stopped.”
~~~~~
(in which Peter and Tony dated in high school, Peter came out as trans in high school, and Tony was afraid people would hurt Peter, so he broke it off. this fic is set after high school, as they are now adults and are seeing each other for the first time since their break up)
