#relatively sfw

[akinachiri]

once we turn 18 u ahould be afraid of what wil show up on ur dash.

[peterparkers7evilexes]

Day 28/?: Humiliation, stripping

Pairing: Starker (Peter Parker/Tony Stark)

Warnings: Blood, historical AU where Tony is a vampire king shh just go with it happy halloween fellow sinners 💕  

    The guards come for him the dawn after the full moon. They only tell him that he’s being summoned to the kingscourt, and ignoring May’s screaming, they drag him up the hill to the black castle. Peter turns and tries to tell her it’ll be okay, but he can’t form words past the lump in his throat. He knows he’ll be dead within the hour.

They haul him up the black stone steps, and as they progress deeper into the castle’s yawning, bleak halls, Peter can feel the very air around him growing thinner and colder. When they come to a set of crimson double-doors with wrought iron bars, he’s shivering and gooseflesh prickles his skin.

The two guards creak the doors open and drag Peter inside the kingscourt, throwing him to the stone floor. Peter stumbles to his knees, trembling and blue-lipped, and he raises his head, eyes wide in terror.

Deathly silence falls over the great hall as everyone stares at him. Flanking the dais, the King’s Council gaze sternly at him. The walls are lined with servants, a mixture of pity and scorn on their wan faces, and the Kingsguard and the nobles who’ve come to petition Stark avoid his eyes entirely.

The King himself is seated at his black throne at the center of the dais, a blinding splash of color in the otherwise dreary hall. He’s draped in deep red cloaks and his hand is lazily wrapped around a polished gold scepter, the end of which has been filed to a fine, knife-like point. His skin is darker, more flushed than Peter’s heard him described, and his sharp trimmed black goatee accentuates his strong jaw and full lips. Tony Stark is handsome, Peter thinks deliriously, and he realizes he’s been staring for far too long and quickly ducks his head, bowing deep from his position on the frozen stone floor.

“Bring him to me,” Tony drawls.

The two guards grab Peter under his arms and manhandle him to the front of the kingscourt, and a noblewoman who must have been mid-petition quickly gathers her skirts and makes way for them. They throw Peter down in front of the dais, and he quickly ducks his head.

He hears quiet footsteps, only audible for the stifling hush that’s fallen over the court as Tony stands and makes his way down the dais, stopping just in front of him. “You’re Peter Parker?” He asks, his low velvet voice suddenly much closer.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Peter says, blinking at his knees. He sees the point of the gold scepter enter his periphery, and the King raises it slowly, nudging the sharp edge at its end against the column of Peter’s throat. Barely daring to breathe, Peter raises his head as the scepter pushes his chin up until he feels the sharp prick of it resting at the top of his throat, and he’s staring into Tony’s coal black eyes.

“You’re the one who released my dinner,” he says, his voice low and almost bored.

Peter feels tears welling in his eyes and he angrily blinks them away. “Yes, Your Grace,” he says again. The point of the scepter pushes against his throat and Peter inhales sharply.

“Why?

“Your Grace, she wasn’t guilty of the crimes she’d been accused of,” Peter rasps. “It wouldn’t have been just to sentence her to die.”

“So you decided to take justice into your own hands?” Tony asks, a dangerous edge to his words. “You think you can alter the sentences I’ve passed down?”

“Your Grace, please,” Peter says, his voice breaking. He feels the point of the scepter break his skin and he sobs as a trickle of blood rolls down the column of his throat, warm and sluggish.

“We have a system of order in place for a reason, Peter Parker.” Tony pulls the scepter back and raises the end to his lips, licking Peter’s blood from it as his inky eyes flutter shut. “Virgin’s blood,” he notes with interest. He returns to his throne and lounges on it, crossing his legs like he’s at the theatre. “Strip him,” he orders the guards.

Peter yelps as an armored hand comes down on his shoulder and the guards yank at his shirt. When he protests and tries to push them off, he gets the flat of a sword sharp across his back and he cries out, falling silent as they tear his shirt to ribbons.

“And the trousers,” Tony says lazily.

“Please, Your Grace,” Peter tries again, sobbing as he gets the flat of a sword again to the backs of his thighs. When the guards are finished with him, he’s hunched in on himself, shaking and shivering as he tries to cover himself as best as possible, his clothes lying in tatters around him. He can hear the nobles and servants tittering among themselves, and despite how cold it is in the kingscourt, he feels like he’s boiling alive with the shame and humiliation.

“You’ll be happy to know,” Tony starts, “your friend is long gone.” Peter looks up, but the King isn’t in his throne anymore. Black smoke swirls in a thick coil around him like the debris of a hurricane, and Tony’s voice comes again, disembodied and surrounding him all at once: “So whether she did commit the crime, fortunately for her we have no way of gathering further evidence to the contrary.”

He suddenly feels his presence directly behind him, Tony’s cloaked frame materializing to cast a menacing shadow over Peter. He bites back a whimper and ducks his head again.

“Now, unfortunately for you, Peter Parker, I have no intention of wasting my men’s time hunting down a scrap of a meal. Which means the consequences fall to you.” Tony circles Peter’s hunched, naked body slowly, a predator surveying his next kill. “You understand, of course,” he says in a syrupy mocking tone. “What would the people think if I let a farm boy decide if my rulings were just or not?”

Cold fingers coil in his hair and Peter gasps in pain as he’s dragged to his feet, tears stinging his eyes. He’s excruciatingly aware of his nudity and he tries curling in on himself, but Tony yanks his hair hard until he’s whimpering and stretched on the tips of his toes, fully exposed for the entire kingscourt to laugh at.

But the King doesn’t seem to be laughing at him. The sclera of his eyes have turned black as his irises, drinking in the sight of him, and Peter shudders under his horrible gaze. “Divine,” Tony breathes. He tilts Peter’s head back, baring the long line of his throat and tracking the slow trickle of blood from where he’d pricked him with the scepter. He tugs Peter into his chest and as he lowers his mouth to his skin, Peter’s eyes roll back in his head and he clutches at Tony’s shoulders, overcome by a heady feeling like he’s drunk and half-euphoric all at once. The world shrinks down to the space between Tony’s arms wound tight around him, and all he can focus on is the cold, slick feeling of his tongue as it laps the drying blood from his skin in lazy swipes.

He forgets that he’s naked as his nameday in front of the entire court to see, can’t even register the soft moans that come unbidden from his mouth, can only think about how desperately he wants Tony to bleed him dry and use him--

“No!” Peter hears himself screaming. He convulses suddenly, coming back to himself. Still half out of his mind, he shoves hard against Tony’s firm chest, throwing himself backwards to the floor. When he blinks and sees the King’s glittering black eyes trained on him, hungry and intent, he scrambles to his feet.

Two sets of armored hands seize him around the shoulders again and he screams, kicking and flailing against the guards. Around him, the court averts their eyes, many of them shuffling away at the prospect of a feeding about to go violently wrong. Peter can’t bring himself to care though, all he sees is Tony standing over him, his pointed teeth gleaming in the low lamplight.

“There’s no need for that,” Tony says patiently, licking blood from the corner of his lips. He takes Peter from the guards and grips him by the throat, and almost immediately that same heady calm falls over Peter again. He struggles feebly against his hold, but this time Tony’s ready. He forces Peter’s head back and sinks his fangs into the soft skin of his throat, and Peter moans weakly, going boneless in his arms. Peter breathes shallowly as cold lips latch around the puncture site and Tony drinks long and deep from his throat, and all he can do is twitch his fingers around the King’s forearms as a pleasant haziness swallows his mind.

He feels a warm fur cloak being wrapped around his shoulders and then, all too soon, Tony is pulling back and licking red lips in satisfaction. Peter whines at the loss of contact, and he clutches at the King’s shirtfront, dizzy and confused as to why he’d stopped.

Tony looks almost fondly down at Peter with his human-like eyes again. “Take him to my chambers. And Peter? Don’t stray,” he warns, his words honey-sweet and dangerous.

Peter nods dazedly, letting the guards march him out of the kingscourt. He can’t imagine why he’d ever want to leave Tony’s side again.

   part two here

[peterparkers7evilexes]

Ok so it's 2 AM and my head hurts so this may suck. So like modern kingdom AU, so like Tony is King and Peter is the prince but they aren't related because Tony killed Peter's parents who'll he say were asses. But Peter 'Hates' him but is pretending because he's low-key petty™. So Peter seduces Tony (side note that Tony likes likes Peter lmao he has a crush) so they fuck It's now 2:45 fuck

This was giving me SUCH Sansa/Cersei vibes I had to take a whole ass day just to cool down lol FUC K ANON !!!!! Peter (and Sansa in all my hcs) are currently 18+ y.o

This takes place in the early 1900s, so there are guns but there is still monarchy, kinda Anastasia vibes if you get my drift.

Tw: mention of death and regicide

The castle was alive, even at night. Stark was hosting another party in the grand ballroom, so servants and drunken guests wandered the stone hallways freely, laughing among themselves. It was as good a cover as any Peter would get, and he seized his opportunity. Shrouded in a dark green cloak and carrying only a small satchel of the bare necessities, he slipped through the back halls of the castle, his heart hammering in his chest.

The main entrances were well illuminated with torchlight and Stark’s men flanked the double doors, so Peter snuck his way through the servant’s quarters, grateful that he knew the castle’s every pathway like the back of his hand. He clutched his cloak about his shoulders, freezing suddenly when he heard raucous laughter coming toward him. Peter slipped into one of the storerooms in the hallway, pressing the door shut quietly behind him and he held his breath, praying the sentries hadn’t heard him.

Once their footsteps faded down the hall, Peter crept back out, making his way through the castle’s winding back corridors. He hurried through the cold hallways and down into the wine cellar, knowing there’s a small tunnelway from the castle’s earliest days where they’d transport out rocks and dirt as they built the foundation. Peter used to play in the tunnels as a child before everything went to hell.

Too wary to light a torch, Peter braced his palms against the cool walls of the cellar, guiding himself through the pitch darkness by memory alone. Down here, everything was muffled and quiet, and he could no longer hear the raucous party above - he was so close. As his hands skimmed over old, rotting wood, Peter exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. His fingers searched for the tunnel’s rudimentary door (mostly installed to keep vermin out) and he tugged it open with a loud creaking noise. He pushed a searching hand into the crawlspace and - immediately, his palm connected with cold concrete.

Confused, Peter pushed harder against the unyielding wall, only a cold barrier where there should have been his escape route. “What?” He heard his own voice crack in panic and he felt for the door again. He must have made a mistake, perhaps the tunnel entryway was further down the cellar, surely he must have misremembered--

“My Prince.” A flint sparked and Peter turned around, shielding his eyes from the sudden flare of torchlight filling the black cellar. The King’s right hand man stood behind Peter, a somewhat pitying look on his face. “Tony said you’d be down here.”

Peter felt his heart plummeting. Illuminated by torchlight, the tunnelway was completely filled in with concrete. “Rhodes,” he said in a small voice. Rhodes took him by the shoulder firmly, but not without a sympathetic smile as he led him back upstairs. As they exited the cellar, Peter felt tears pricking at his eyes and he blinked them away angrily.

He was taken back to his chambers in the high East Tower, and Peter was unsurprised to see two of the King’s personal guards now standing in front of his door. “Is this really necessary?” He asked glumly.

Rhodes gave Peter another sympathetic look. “I’m afraid so, My Prince.” The guards opened his chamber doors, revealing the King inside, pacing back and forth. They nudged Peter into the room, and the door shut behind him with a solid thunk.

King Tony looked up, taking in Peter’s defiant eyes and the cloak around his shoulders. “You act like I’m holding you at knifepoint here,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “What were you planning to do once you got beyond the castle walls? You’re not exactly fit for life on the run, little bird.”

Peter huffed, tugging his cloak off and hanging it up in his wardrobe. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Stark.”

Tony gave Peter a wry look, his blue eyes gleaming in interest. “That’s no way to address your King,” he said, taking a step toward Peter. “This is the third time in a month you’ve tried to sneak off into the night. Doesn’t make me look very good, you know.”

“Go on then, hang me,” Peter said sullenly, lifting his chin. “Or better yet, why don’t you call on your guards and have me shot by firing squad? Gun me down like the rest of my family.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Tony’s face. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

Peter sat down heavily on his bed, his eyes drifting to the window. “No, that wouldn’t be very politically strategic,” he agreed. “But it wouldn’t look as bad if I threw myself to my death, would it.”

“Stop that,” Tony said harshly. He strode to the bed, standing imposing in front of Peter as he surveyed him. “Do you want me to move you from your high tower? You keep acting out like this, I’ll have to imprison you.”

Peter let his gaze drift back to Tony and he smiled wanly. “What am I if not your prisoner?” He asked, parting his knees minutely. The King stepped between his thighs, his eyes darkening as they to Peter’s lips.

“You’re a hostage,” Tony corrected him gently, tracing the pad of his thumb slowly over Peter’s lower lip. “There is a difference.” Peter laughed scornfully at that, turning his face away but Tony cupped his jaw in his palm, firm and unyielding. “You may hate me, but I don’t intend to mistreat you, little bird. Try as you might to goad me into it.”

“No, that's not like the benevolent King Stark, is it?” Peter laughed again, a cold, humorless sound. “No mistreatment here, if you don’t count all the murder and the kidnapping of a fourteen-year old.”

Tony’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening around the side of Peter’s throat in a threatening gesture. “My men told me to kill you,” he reminded Peter flatly. “They would have had your head mounted on a spike with the rest of your lineage if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh!” Peter blinked in mock surprise, giving Tony a dumb look. “I forgot, My King, that you spared me out of the kindness of your heart.”

Tony barked out a laugh at that, the tension cracking as he gently pet Peter’s cheek, condescending and fond all at once. “Well, maybe then. But now you’re more of a headache than a benefit to me, aren’t you?” He sighed, almost talking to himself. “Why do I keep you around these days?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Peter said, his words barely audible as he lowered his head and sucked the tip of Tony’s thumb into his mouth. He hated that he still wanted him, hated that he could wake from nightmares of the invasion and still be aching hard between his legs for the King.

“Let me know if you find out, won’t you?” Tony asked softly, tilting Peter’s face up before he drew him into a hungry kiss, consuming him and chasing away all thoughts of escape.

[fabukujaku]

(neko-no-sasayaki) Never could Ryuu resist such an offer of giving a kiss to his Beloved Peacock. This time he was going to leave his mark on him for others to see. Ryuu reached up running his nails around Ruri’iro Kujaku’s soft and delicate neck ” How can someone not resist this soft and tender skin ” Ryuu leaned forward and started to kiss Ruri’s neck smirking knowing they were only Ryuu held the beautiful peacock close to him smirking as he started to kiss his neck a bit more rough but not too rough. soon enough his tongue found his way onto Ruri’s neck sliding it up and down licking at the same spot where he kissed him on the neck ” Am i being too rough for you? Would you like me to keep going? “

Ruri tried to breathe evenly as he drew long white hair between his fingers, head tilted back involuntarily for better access. Those lips, that tongue, teeth, oh gods, he was good at this. The proud creature just couldn't help emitting a soft whine from deep in his throat, immediately blushing at the lack of self-control, trying to gather his composure but Ryuu wasn't making that very easy. Next, a satisfied hum, a sigh, arm hooked over Ryuu's shoulders to bring him in closer. He was kissing hard, yes, but the question, was he being too rough? just struck Ruri'iro Kujaku as funny. No, no, he was not being nearly rough enough. But he couldn't just come out and say that. 

Running his nails up the other's back, not quite hard enough to hurt, Ruri managed to maneuver himself until they were face to face. He had to catch his breath; a smirk pulled at his lips, which he pressed against Ryuu's, only pulling away to answer, honey-sweet, running a finger down the neko's jawline, "Of course I do. Just remember not to leave a mark or you'll be punished~"