Hello! I'm just a small town gay™ living in Quebec's cutest town with my two cats, Feanor and Priscilla. In school studying Information and Library Technologies. Have a wonderful day!
I’m all for like, ‘bratty little-shit of a sugar baby’ Peter. But also like, give me ‘adorably polite sugar baby’ Peter who’s like the favourite of all the retail workers at these luxury brand stores cause sure, he can get his sugar daddy to get him whatever tf he wants with just a little look of his bambi eyes, but he’s also really nice and appreciative to everyone too and its such a breath of fresh air from the entitled snotty golddiggers that these shopkeepers all just favour him over all the other sugar babies who come traipsing in their stores (of course it also helps that Peter’s spending just blows everyone else’s out of the water cause his sugar daddy is Tony fuckin Stark but hey). Peter is just everyone’s baby okay and everyone loves him so much
A summer fling, Tony thinks, is just what he needs.
Sunlight streaks through the air, the air conditioning blasts cool gusts of wind onto flustered, heated, dripping skin.
Extremesis glints like gold in the summer light, his eyes like glass, and the people of New York are even less likely to meet his eye.
When he glides into his lab, his little ants scuttle into position, and Bucky salutes him in greeting, ever the soldier.
“Good morning, Sir.” Bucky nods, arm glinting, veins blue.
Is it morning? The heat is stifling. Summer tinges the sky with a late day hue. Tony slips off his sunglasses, smiles at his scared little recruits. “Morning, Bucky. How’d my little bees do last night?”
There are so many secrets still to human DNA. So many different configurations of Extremesis updates. His worker bees, his little ants, his little army of scientists that scuttle about his labs are- well, slaves is a term thrown around. Tony doesn’t like that. They’re his little helpers, his little bees.
They stand, trembling in line. Eyes smudged with dark rings from another all-nighter. He finds Peter, small, compact, beautiful, sun-kissed (how odd, Tony thinks; amused, has the boy been catching sunlight in his skin? Wandering outside? How quaint. How very Peter).
“Anderson success rate: 13%.” Bucky reads off the list. Anderson flinches. Tony tuts.
“Well now, that’s hardly promising. What was it last week?”
“15%.” Bucky says dryly.
Tony shakes his head. “That won’t do, will it?”
“Please, Mr-“
The guards come in, take Mr Anderson away for punishment.
The other recruits shake in the sunlight.
The other success rates vary but never impress him. How well Extremsis will mesh is a matter of science and guesswork, a pinch of luck, and-
“Parker success rate: 88%.”
The recruits seem to hiss in awe and jealousy and Peter bows his head.
Tony beams like the sun.
“88%.” He rejoices loudly, voice making them flinch. He claps, delighted. “My Peter, my prized Peter, 88%. See? It is possible. My precious Peter, he never lets me down.” Tony glides over to him, puts a large, dark hand on Peter’s slender neck. The boy swallows, Tony feels it, but he doesn’t flinch.
Tony smudges his thumb across that Adam’s apple. Wants to inhale the boy.
88%. Goddamn.
“Clever little angel,” Tony croons. “Pixie of the lab, Peter, weaving your magic again, hm?” He noses at the sharp jaw, Peter smells like suncream. Smells like dandelions.
“Riley success rate-“
“Bucky.” Tony growls, voice so cutting that Bucky pales, “I’m not finished praising Peter. Am I not allowed a moment to bask?”
Bucky takes a breath. “Of course, Sir. I’m sorry.”
“Good. Peter here is a fine example for the rest of you. Look at him.” Tony forces his fingers under Peter’s chin, makes him look up. The summer brown eyes are full of slyness. Danger. Insubordination. It makes Tony’s blood sing. He drags his fingers over those plush, wet lips. “Well done, Peter. You’ll be rewarded.”
A summer fling, Tony thinks, seeing Peter woven in the blankets of Tony’s immense bed.
He’ll keep Peter for the summer.
*
Summer passes.
The days cool, and so too should Tony’s affections, but they don’t. Peter flips the glass slide under the microscope, makes a note, and Tony watches.
“Come here, Peter.” Tony orders, trying to figure it all out.
Peter looks at him, huge brown eyes through lab goggles, and turns away. “I’m working.” A moment. Tacked on. Cheap. “Sir.”
Infuriating. Insufferable. “What’ll it take then, poppet? Come sit on my lap.”
Peter sniffs delicately, resumes working.
Anyone else would be dead. Anyone else would never take such liberties.
But it’s because of Peter that the next Extremesis update is ready to launch. Because of Peter that Tony’s own core is self-sustaining.
If Peter loathes him as a God, he shouldn’t keep bringing gifts to Tony’s altar.
“Peter.” Blue crackles around him. “Come here.”
Peter gives him a long side-look. “Summer is over, Mr Stark.” He says. “Will you be sending me downstairs?”
No. Tony feels like a caged up lion. Wants to growl, wants to roar, he can’t figure out if Peter is an antelope or a Panther, curled up in the leafless trees, waiting to pounce.
He can’t leave Peter Parker in Fall. Not when his eyes match the amber leaves, not when he moves his hips with Tony’s, not when Bucky reads:
“90%.”
*
It snows.
Extremesis is being used by a record number of people.
Bucky tosses Peter onto the floor at Tony’s feet.
The boy looks up at Tony, split lip, snowflakes on his lashes, shackles on his wrists.
“He was trying to leave the tower, Sir.” Bucky says.
Tony sighs, running his fingers through Peter’s hair. “He has permission, Barnes. Did he not show you his pass?” He turns to Peter then, lifts his eyebrows, “Did you show Mr Barnes your pass, sweetheart?”
Peter grunts, wheezes, like he’s been punched. Tony frowns. “Tried to. But…” he shows Tony his shackled wrists.
Tony slices them them with his fingers. Peter gets to his feet.
“With Peter, Barnes, give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Tony can recognise a cliff edge. As he sits on the edge of the bed and watches Peter dab at his lip and tuck himself into a winter coat, Tony knows he is standing at the cliff edge.
It’s winter. Peter wears ugly scarves and drinks hot chocolate and tucks his cold feet into Tony’s knees.
If Tony doesn’t leave him now-
“Here.” Peter hums, passing a well-wrapped box over. It’s tied with a silver bow.
Tony stares at it, uncomprehendingly for a moment.
His storeroom is full of presents for Peter.
He opens this one.
They’re cufflinks. Designed like little double-helixes. There are blips in the DNA-
“Is that Extremesis?” He marvels, plucking one out and holding it up to the light.
“A molecular representation.” Peter confirms. “I know cufflinks aren’t that unique, but what do you get the man who has everything?”
He does have everything. With Peter here, still decorated with the remnants of New York snow, he will have a Christmas with everything. A winter with everything.
He’ll back away from the cliff edge in Spring.
*
Peter cleans dust off the TV in Spring.
He’s wearing hideous flannel and no shoes, Tony’s underwear, love bites on his neck.
He’s no worker bee. Tony can admit that. Peter is something else. Hisin a different sense. In a sense that doesn’t mean possession. Property. Peter is his- like he is Peter’s.
Is Peter a Panther? Does Tony control him? Does Peter love him? Fear him? Plan to kill him?
Peter meets his eyes. Tony remembers the boy he used to touch in line down at the lab.
88% Peter.
Such pride. In seeing one of his possessions do so well. What is that now? Four seasons later? It’s love.
Tony wants him. Would do anything for him. He’s tumbled off the cliff. He wonders if Peter knows-
“I want you to use Extremesis for good.” Peter says, smiling. “I want you to be Iron Man. Not Superior. I want you to be a hero.”
“Baby, I’m a god.”
“I don’t want a god.”
It stings. Tony snarls. He’s a lion-
“I want you to save people. I want you to be a hero, come back here and take me. I want the people of the world to love you. Not fear you. I want you to stop hurting them and start saving them.”
Tony laughs, but he’s afraid. Trembling. “You’re in the wrong business, sweetheart-“
“You’ll enjoy it. You love being worshipped, let it be for goodness.”
“I already have worship-“
“Tony.” Peter smiles, summer, fall, winter, spring, “I wasn’t asking.”
A lion master.
Tony goes to kiss him, but Peter turns away.
“For every life you save, the more of me is yours.” Peter promises.
Tony’s hungry.
Peter’s love is a gift. A reward. Tony risks his life to feel the rush of Peter’s affections on him once he returns. Peter is intoxicating, a drug, a rush- this must be what it’s like for those who had become addicted to the diluted Exteremesis.
Tony would do anything to get more of him.
And there are always people to be saved, and Peter always rewards him.
He becomes a hero, on an invisible leash, and Tony doesn’t notice when Bucky says:
“Sir, may I have the weekend off?”
And Peter says, “Of course, Bucky. See you Monday.”
When the lab turns its attentions to research and development, away from nano-tech and control, when the weapons division closes down, Tony lets it wash over him.
He has another summer, another fall, another winter and another spring with Peter.
“He took one look at him and instantly had to have him”
Don’t care what happens next just spoon feed me that raw possessive need, that craving for the one who is irritable, that willingness to do anything to have the one you desire
Mafia boss Tony sends his son Peter away at a young age to live with his aunt and uncle. Every month he goes to visit his son. Maybe he takes Peter somewhere nice like the movies or Central Park. Without fail, their nights together always ends with Tony balls deep in a sobbing Peter. A support check arrives for Peter the next morning.
buckytony, E, college au, pwp. Tony wakes up with Bucky’s cock in his ass and they fuck. that’s it that’s the fic.
Light filters through the curtains, splicing across Tony’s face. It jerks him awake, and that’s his first sign he’s not safely ensconced in his own dorm. Blackout curtains cover his windows end to end, a ‘Tony Stark Essential’ Rhodey had said, when he put them up. Tony gets him a ridiculously overpriced, obnoxiously sweet caramel concoction from Starbucks every morning to convey his undying gratitude.
Point is, he’s spent the night in a stranger’s bed. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Tony goes to turn, intending to bury his face in a pillow and fall back asleep, but that’s not quite what happens. Instead, the dull ache at the base of his skull sharpens to a clear pounding, making him groan aloud, the beginning of what feels like the worst hangover he’s had in a long time made worse by the sunlight piercing his eyes.
But even with the force of his headache, his focus is quickly diverted to the burn and the stretch in his ass. Tony goes from half-sleepy to wide awake in seconds, clenching instinctively around the half-hard length buried inside him. It’s only then that he notices the press of a warm body behind him, breath hot against his neck. He wiggles back into the heat unconsciously, hips undulating as arousal makes its way through him like a tidal wave. It’s brief, fading in the face of his hangover, and he whimpers, desperate for something to make it better.
“Hey, hey,” comes as a soft soothe behind Tony, gentle, the voice raspy with sleep. It’s whispered against the sensitive skin of his nape, inducing a full-body shiver. He clenches, unbidden, around the cock inside him, and it’s instinctive, the way the guy’s hips drive forward, brushing against Tony’s prostate. He mewls, high and desperate in the back of his throat. “Shhh, shh, ’s alright, ’m sorry, you’re okay.” A hand pets heavy across his waist, soothing. “Fuck, my head’s pounding. Go back to sleep, sugar, it’s too early for this shit.” The guy shuffles closer, enveloping Tony in heat, nosing into the nape of his neck.
Tony thinks they should probably drink some water, take an Advil—get that cock out of his ass. But the guy’s warm, and comfortable and he’s absolutely fucking exhausted, so he makes a soft noise of acceptance, lulled back asleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of the chest pressed against him.
0because anon reminded me about this Tony/Bucky/Peter bunny, inspired by the fantastic moodboard by wandering-night19, in which Bucky has stockholm syndrome and snatches Peter for Tony
*
The boy is soft. That’s the first thing Bucky notices. The boy is soft and bright - he sparkles, glimmers, the way Bucky knows he used to.
The boy’s soft and bright, and it makes something inside Bucky itch.
*
The boy lives in Bucky’s building. The building he was banished to when he became too big and ugly. Hard and dull.
The boy lives in Bucky’s building, so they see each other all the time. At least, Bucky sees the boy, and more frequently than Bucky expects, the boy sees him as well. Sparkles and grins and says, “Hello, Mr. Barnes!” He doesn’t seem discouraged when Bucky says nothing back.
The boy’s name is Peter.
*
Peter likes to talk. To make conversation. Bucky scares most people - they don’t look at him or stop to chat.
But Peter. Peter isn’t afraid, or offended when Bucky doesn’t speak. He just…chatters. He chatters and sparkles and glows, pink in the cheeks, orbiting Bucky like the moon.
So Bucky knows Peter is 14 and lives with his aunt - just his aunt. He knows Peter likes science and tech, that he has one best friend, and wants to work for Tony Stark some day.
The boy is so soft. Bucky doesn’t touch, but the boy looks so soft.
So soft and so shiny, it just isn’t right.
*
He doesn’t plan it.
Bucky acts on impulse, an overwhelming impulse. Peter’s soft and bright, he’s 14 and loves science, he’s pink-cheeked for Bucky and admires Mr. Stark. It builds and builds and he doesn’t even notice until one day he slips a needle under Peter’s soft, soft flesh and carries his limp body away.
It’s borne of impulse but also practice. So many soft, bright boys who cracked under the pressure. Not like Bucky. Bucky hardened. Bucky’s shine came off. But Bucky didn’t crack or chip or shatter.
He became of use. Repurposed, put away on a dark lonely shelf, but not discarded.
*
Bucky knows how this works. He knows the codes to the mansion and its basement, knows to strip the boy bare and chain him while the drug keeps him under.
He knows not to touch. That part was never told, only known. But Peter was his choice, Peter was special.
Peter is just as soft as Bucky hoped. His cheek, his lips, his hair.
Reluctantly, Bucky seals that pretty mouth with duct tape. Then he sends a message.
Coffee shop AU + SIM Tony? Local barista Peter Parker gains the attention of Tony Stark himself and doesn't regret a thing, even when he's isolated from all his friends and family and forced to be Tony's little hole to use anywhere anytime.
