#Silk is already in the background of the MCU

[zephyr-ro-emenki]

One thing the MCU hasn't covered in any shows or Comics is what happened during the Blip. All we really see of the Blip is the very beginning of the Blip, about 1 month into the Blip, and about a week or 2 at most before the end of the Blip. Everything else we know about the Blip is the aftermath of decisions made during the Blip becoming problems. There is an entire 5 years of anarchy and depression, hell maybe entire movements and wars, that may have occurred during those 5 years. And the Heroes that may have risen up during those 5 years, who we simply haven't seen in the main MCU because we haven't been properly introduced (or reintroduced) to them. An entire Generation of Vigilante's and heroes is out there in the MCU who were all probably in the background of the Final battle against Thanos, if they fought there at all, and we as an audience simply haven't met them.

And that's why I'm saying Silk is already in the MCU. And I'll use her as an example of how this can be done, and how marvel can have an entire movie trilogy set within those 5 years or a Silk Series.

Cindy Moon is a character that already exists in the MCU. She was a Acadec member alongside Peter, and she avoided the snap, so come Far From Home, she's already graduated and is in college. Now, during Infinity War, Midtown high was on their way to a field trip when Thanos's army appeared for the Time Stone and Peter had to Bail from the Bus. So, where could they have been going on a field trip to? I propose they were going on a field trip to the same lab where Peter got his powers, the same lab that produced the spider that Bit Spider-Man. Roxxon Labs. (Or Hammer Industries, now going by Oscorp, if you follow my logic in this post)

Now, with Aliens once Again attacking New York, nobody is gonna truly notice Peter is Missing, and so once the alien ship leaves, they can actually go on the field trip/Tour they had planned. And what Happens? ANOTHER genetically modified Spider, this time further modified, gets loose and Bites Cindy. Just like Peter, she'd initially assume it's a generic spider, go home, and then wake up the next day with new Spider Powers. And guess what? She's excited. Because she can reason out that a lot of these powers, powers she got from a spider bite, seem a lot like Spider-Man's powers. So now, she figuring out ways to reach out to Spider-Man and maybe have someone help walk her through these new and scary powers.

And then the Snap Happens, and her mom Dissipates into dust before her eyes along with half of New York, and half of all life.

Now, she's panicking and in need more than ever for Spider-Man to be there to help her out with her now Errant powers, uncontrollable because of her rampant emotions and grief. Because Spider-Man was sighted to have been hanging from the space ship when it was taking off. And Iron Man went up with him into space, so of course he must be coming back, right? Except reportedly, Iron Man returned on a different kind of smaller space ship with a blue person, and Spider-Man wasn't with him. Well, maybe Spider-Man truly wasn't on the ship and has just been on earth grieving the loss of loved ones. Except then 6 months passed, and he hasn't shown up. And then a full year passed.

And so one day, Cindy is faced with a moment to use her powers and stop a crime, but she doesn't. As far as she's concerned, it's not her job. Besides, it's a crime of Grief. And then one of her few remaining friends who didn't get snapped, Sally Avril, gets hurt/Killed by the Criminal she let go. And this is her true Uncle Ben situation. She's not letting New York Fall into chaos, let her few friends remaining possibly get hurt, all because she didn't act. New York Needs Spider-Man, but he's not here right now, so she'll take over his duty. Silk will take up protecting New York from itself in its Grief. She has this great power, and this is her responsibility.

But now you may be asking, where is Silk in the Modern MCU, and why didn't she appear in FFH and NWH? Simple. College.

Well, college is the surface answer. She's already graduated Highschool, and had Applied for college like a normal STEM Student does. And let's just say for example she got into MIT, so she'd be attending school in Cambridge. She'd obviously not be in New York when Peter would be. And sure, she could, and probably did, reach out to her old Pre-Blip friends, but it's been 5 years for her, and maybe 5 minutes for them, it's gonna be awkward to talk to them at first. And then there's also Peter being Outed as Spider-Man, and she could maybe reach out to him, but with all the hecticness in his life at the time, do you really think Pete would notice 1 message from an old highschool friend, who in his mind is probably gonna ridicule him as a criminal just like the rest of New York? Nah, he's not even gonna open it.

But what if she didn't go to MIT or an Out of State College, but is instead at ESU? Well, the post Blip Awkwardness and Peter ignoring messages would still apply, except there would be a new aspect. Cindy has quit being Silk because Spider-Man is back. He was New Yorks original protector. Their true hero. An Avenger! Meanwhile her? Silk? As far as she's concerned, she was just a band-aid. And so, she gives up on Silk because she doesn't think New York needs her anymore. But later on, she can meet Peter at ESU, and of course she doesn't remember him, but her Spider-Sense goes off, and points her to him. And her instincts as a Hero eventually override her view of herself as a Hero, seeing Spider-Man Struggling with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and maybe she can return as Silk to finally have that 5-7 year long overview meeting between Spiders. Maybe she can take some of that weight off his shoulders.

[olrinarts]

Ref Sheet and Background: the Lamb/Esriaal

long post ahoy! (i'm serious. stupidly long. do not click that readmore unless you wanna scroll for a while)

A note about AUs: All of my AUs can be considered to be within the same ‘universe-cloud’, for lack of a better word ('multiverse' has frustrating associations, alas. curse you mcu, lmao.) That doesn’t make them directly linked or in any way affect another AU, unless explicitly said to (see: constancy must transpose and chimes of bone in the at the root series.) Otherwise, each is a standalone AU, either diverging directly from the Base Lamb and Base Narinder’s story, or in some way reflecting/echoing it (see: ashes ashes, the yuri rock god AU.) Any completely unrelated AU to this universe-cloud will have it mentioned that it’s not connected.

Name/Titles: The Lamb, The Shepherd, The One Who Welcomes, Esriaal (private name) Base Age: 34 (age at which they were executed by the Bishops) Gender: N/A, agender. Always uses they/them. Race:‌ Sheep, fine wool

Background:‌

Esriaal was born to Verchiaal and Raqib, a recordweaver and a dyemaster of the South Anuran herd, around ten years after the prophecy about the One Who Waits’ promised liberator was made. The sheep were actively hunted, but still relatively plentiful, and their cultures and traditions were still in use/valued. Through their mother, Esriaal is a quarter leadersheep, a kind of sheep that are more independent minded in nature, as well as a role that requires training if pursued. Leadersheep as in the role are rarely shepherds themselves, but instead work to support their herd’s Shepherd. Plenty of sheep have at least a little of the blood, so Esriaal isn’t particularly unique in that regard. Esriaal was determined to become one, anyway, inspired by their own namesake, the first leadersheep (no relation.) Though they faced a lot of pushback from their own herd’s Shepherd, Artecof, Esriaal was an insistent little creature. When they were nine, their Shepherd finally gave in enough to send them to the North Anuran herd, to train with the primary leadersheep under that Shepherd, Harut.

Esriaal was exceptionally awful at the whole thing at first, but they were too stubborn to give up just because they were bad at it, and Harut had a soft spot for them and helped them outside of their lessons. By the time their training was complete, at 16, they’d managed to turn it around and become known as one of the more competent young leadersheep, as well as Harut’s protégé and apprentice.

The hunts from the Bishops’ zealots had grown much worse over the years, however, and it was shortly after returning to their herd with their parents that the South Anuran herd as a whole was wiped out. It was the biggest single loss so far, and Esriaal as well as a few others were the scant survivors. Their parents weren’t among that number. Harut, who’d been with them at the time and was the reason they’d made it out at all, kept them with him as the North Anuran herd intentionally splintered, in hopes of avoiding the South Anurans’ fate. It was at this point that the zealots began to hunt not only with blades, but with fire. The South Anuran herd was the first to be hunted in that way, but not the last.

Over the next four years, Esriaal and Harut did their best to help the North Anuran Shepherd, but there was little to be done; eventually there were so few flocks that they were forced to flee Anura altogether for Darkwood, joining the Deepwood herd’s flocks, much the same as the scraps of the other herds already had. It was in this attempted consolidation that the last of the Silk Cradle Mountains’ herds were wiped out.

In spite of Harut’s objections, Esriaal volunteered to be one of their flock’s ‘Sacrificial Lambs’ – it was their job to distract the hunters while the rest of the flock fled an attack, and then successfully escape and rejoin the flock when it was safe. Esriaal was good at it. Good enough that in the end, their flock was the last one standing, but that couldn’t last.

The ambush that wiped out the last sheep wasn’t one that any Sacrificial Lamb could have saved them from, and the only reason Esriaal was able to escape (or was even willing) was Harut’s plea for them to do their duty not as Sacrificial Lamb, but as a leadersheep – to preserve the memory of the sheep and not let the Bishops win. They fled while Harut bought them time, and then they were alone.

They successfully evaded the Bishops’ zealots for another fourteen years, never staying in one place for long, relying on their own skills and the kindnesses (or greed) of others. They might have continued to evade them, had they not met Yarlion. A brown goat (note: absolutely not THE Goat) who claimed to be from Darkwood. He successfully seduced the lonely Esriaal, and led them to believe there might be a way to safely escape the Lands of the Old Faith, and promised that someday they might even have lambs of their own. Yarlion then sold them out to the Bishops for an unknown price, and three weeks later they were sacrificed by the Bishops, and the events of the game take place. This is where the diverging AUs begin.

When initially resurrected, due to having lost their head and not all resurrections being clean and neat, Esriaal lost almost all of the details of their memory, though they retained broad strokes and certain kinds of knowledge that they seemed to have memorised. They couldn’t remember their name, however, and so chose to go by the Lamb rather than give themself a new name. (Diverging AU: untitled politific, where they do not lose their memory but still choose to go by the Lamb, concealing their retained memories.)

In a departure from canon, they are aware of the sacrifice that awaits them from the beginning, as for whatever reason the One Who Waits saw fit to inform them from the start that the ultimate cost of releasing him would require their sacrifice. The Lamb agreed to the plan, because it was a way to ultimately spite the Bishops – to take revenge for their people, then unleash the god the Bishops were so terrified of, which as far as they’re concerned is a worthy reason for sacrifice.

This is why the choice is between ‘yes’ and ‘absolutely’ – not because he was explicitly forcing them (though it’s not like they could say no), but because the Lamb had already made up their mind to do this. The only question was how zealously or cautiously they would do so.

Over the course of the game’s events and a span of around one hundred and twenty years, the Lamb grew close to the One Who Waits, though they were only able to reach the Below after a death or after a crusade. They became familiar with Aym and Baal, who admired the Lamb as an equal devotee to the One Who Waits and something of an older mentor figure, though the two cats chose to keep that to themselves and maintain their stoic personas. As for the Lamb’s personal connection with the One Who Waits, they were glad to be as close as they’d become, but wished they could know more about him/spend more time with him. Eventually, they realised they’d fallen in love with him. They weren’t actually alarmed by this, as it wasn’t going anywhere, and it didn’t change anything about the plan, so they never mentioned it.

One of two things then happens, after the demise of Shamura: either the Lamb fights the One Who Waits and wins (primary AU: constancy must transpose, where they claim the Red Crown), or the sacrifice is successfully carried out (diverging AU: chimes of bone, where they take possession of the Pale Crown.)

Other Notes: When in the Above (the world of the living), they are almost exclusively in their mortal form, save for when they get emotionally volatile and their godform begins to peek through. Their godform exists almost exclusively in the Below, the place between the world of the living and the Beyond, where the many afterlives coexist (as does the Last Peace.)

Their primary gimmick as a god is conditional omnilocation – when they die, every single person is met with an individual instance of the Shepherd that exists for no one else, all of which are identical to Esriaal themself, right down to the soul. Their other primary trait as a result of resurrection/eventual godhood is their soul’s insistence on being as close to a perfect ‘in-between’ as a Death for everyone, not only in terms of gender but in terms of physical shape. Esriaal has both sets of bits below the waist, to put it delicately, and their godform has one ram’s horn on their right and a ewe’s horn on the left. This happened primarily due to the symbolism of it, but it was also their subconscious fear of not only being the last of their kind, but of failing to change that with lambs of their own. This only comes up if/when there’s a spicy scene in a fic, and only applies in a fic where they’ve either undergone apotheosis or been resurrected at least once, but is otherwise just sort of a fact about them that they’ve decided to roll with.

‘Base’ Lamb The above backstory is almost always true in its entirety, with exceptions made for reflection AUs (such as ashes ashes, which takes place in a world where the Bishops were never crowned in the first place.) If a reflection AU is different enough, such as a different world setting entirely, then specific things are adjusted, but there’s always strong parallels, and the culture of the sheep/the basic facts about Esriaal’s identity are unchanged.

There is no story to accompany the Base Lamb beyond their end-game sacrifice on purpose. The closest to a ‘base’ canon for them is the world of the comic fittings, as that one is largely nondescript about the actual way Narinder and the Lamb/Esriaal came to be in the position of Narinder as his mortal form as part of the cult and Esriaal as the Red Crown’s bearer. It focusses almost exclusively on the culture of the sheep (and some of Narinder’s base backstory, as well.)

[she-of-seidhr]

I have so many thoughts about The Rings of Power S2 SDCC trailer and some of the news that came out from the SDCC panel, but I am so unwell after watching it that I don't remember it all. Here's what I recall though:

The trailer is absolutely the best we've had of all their releases going back to S1. The difference is night and day. I like that this trailer has clear direction of what the general plot is going to be instead of just a bunch of clips that makes no sense whatsoever.

The Rhunic masks looked a bit futuristic to me. It reminded me of some background race in an MCU film, can't remember if it was in Thor 3 or Ant-Man 3, but yeah it looked a bit out of place and silly.

I really am quite puzzled at their insistence in dressing Gil-galad in gold hues when we have Pharazon and/or Sauron, or even the dwarves for that. I am hoping they are saving the silver and blues for the later seasons if we're not getting it now. That would look so striking since they went with the dark hair. Remember Thranduil's silk orange robe from The Hobbit? Now make it deep blue. Ah, a girl can dream.

I know this is a trailer so there's misdirection, but I wonder if that scene where Galadriel asks Elrond to promise he will not stop who I am assuming is Sauron is an indication that she's going to put up her sword (at least in S3 onwards) to do other things, bringing her closer to the Galadriel in the books in terms of character and also what we know she was doing during the Second Age. That will give Elrond and (as it should be honestly) Gil-galad the space to be the actual main protagonists along with the other prominent Second Age characters.

I wanted more of Cirdan instead of just a hand, and I got a different shot of his hand, this time going underwater. Exciting.

Entwives!!! I'm glad to see them featured, but I'm also terribly afraid they're going to show us how they were wiped out lost.

The Siege of Eregion looks fuckin' amazing. The shot of Sauron walking away with an explosion on the background? Sign me the fuck up.

Gil-galad's banners flying amidst the elven charge scene. Fuck me sideways.

Charlie Vickers was the best actor for me in S1, I have no doubts he will serve in S2. Owain Arthur, Charles Edwards, and Peter Mullan too.

I love Gil-galad to death but to be perfectly honest I kinda don't like how Benjamin Walker portrays him. That said, it definitely is also because of how he's being written. I imagine Gil-galad to still have warmth despite the burden of his position that has a 100% mortality rate.

Pharazon better not be fuckin' stabbin' that eagle.

Daniel Weyman's line delivery sounds so Ian McKellen, but I am still hoping he is a Blue Wizard. Then again, maybe he is just taking inspiration from the most iconic wizard portrayal we've ever had (that's not up for debate).

I know I said Robert Aramayo as Elrond is ok, but for some fuckin' reason I'm convinced that those curls is going to make him better in all aspects.

I love Elrond's hesitation about the Elven Rings because it deepens the mystery of just how much of everything we know so far has been by Sauron's design.

Really curious to see what Sam Hazeldine will bring to the Adar because he's got BIG shoes to fill. Joseph Mawle was born for that role. The subtleties and the quiet menace he brought to the Adar was just incredible.

Look, I like Tom Bombadil alright? But am I ever really hyped to see an adaptation of him onscreen? Not really.

Barrow-wights. Why, but yeah cool whatever.

I like that every ring has a different design and we're going to see all of them in their full glory.

Celeborn will show up, as he should. When and where, no idea but at least there's confirmation.

Glorfindel can show up. If I talk about this any more than I already have (although it's to my family members who don't give a single fuck about any of this), I would really start losing my shit.

Lloyd Owens who plays Elendil made some eyebrow-raising remarks in the SDCC panel in regards to Elendil and Miriel's relationship, so it has me worried about them going for a romantic route between the two. Theirs could be a story of friendship, loyalty, and steadfastness in the midst of all the unrest and danger, and it honestly cheapens the last scene they shared in S1, so I really hope they don't try any funny business with them.

Somebody did ask the showrunners if there's going to be LGBTQ+ representation which one of them answered along the lines of maybe we've already seen one. Is it really necessary? Is it really proper representation? Does it serve the story? There's so many additions to this series already that it's going to be one more thing that takes away from the lore characters who really should be the focus.

I know I'm still missing some shit, but yeah this list is long enough. Lots of good, maybe a little bad, but overall I feel good about this new season and I can genuinely say I'm excited again even after the meh that's S1. August 29 can't come soon enough!

[synthbug]

📌✨💢 for the hyperfixation asks ^_^

YIPPEEE THANK U GUYS FOR THE ASKS :3 LOVE AND PEAACE <33

📌How did you find your hyperfixation?

WELLL this is a little sillay story ^_^ for spiderman I had an entire character arc because I was introduced to it by my friend who was a huge fan of mcu spidey in 2018 and for SOME reason I decided it was cringe to ask more abt spiderman (I lost all my whimsy in 2018-2019) so I would deny liking spiderman WHILE dropping the least subtle hints that I wanted her to keep telling me more abt spidey. And well that did nawt work out</3 BUT BOOM !! NOW I AM SILLY AND WHIMSICAL AND I CONSUME LOTS OF SPIDEY CONTENT AND LOOVE TO TALK ABT IT ^_^ !!

if I could go back in time and tell my 2018 self 1 thing it would be to get some freaking whimsy and be silly with ur love for mlp and spiderman and whatever the hell and consume more content by urself<3 I am much happier now since I've embraced the silly :3 ALSO PLOT TWIST that friend only ever liked mcu spidey and after she dropped that interest I became the spidey friend for all my friendgroups so ! How the tables turn ^_^ ! And that's about it for interesting stuff </3 everythang else was cuz I consumed it from a young age :3

✨ what draws you towards your hyperfixation? what is interesting about it?

OHH YIPPEEE BABYYY I LOOVE SPIDERMAN FOR SO SO MANY REASONS ^_^ ONE OF THE LOVELIEST IN MY EYES IS THE COMMUNITY!! ofc firstly it's about what the character represents :3 how everybady has the power to help others and make a great impact in their own communities and can also do so just by being themselves <33 The community of fans all really love this idea and it is SO NICEYS !!! because they will show their love for the character by BEING NICEYS !! BEING KIND TO THEMSELVES AND OTHERS !!! like u know those people who dress up as spiderman and go to events to cheer people up and maybe even raise money for charity :] that's so everythang to me cuz its about helping others.. making others happy anonymously and getting joy from seeing others smile.. bwuh..

Personally Spiderman inspires me to keep my whimsy strong and to be the most niceys I can be to others :3 and their stories (ESPECIALLY E-1048 THE PLAYSTATION GAMDS) always make me smile cuz the in game communities and people are so loving and caring... and I think thats why It's one of my longest standing hyperfixes bcoz spideys are so so lovely and niceys which makes me happy and inspires me to be like that to make others happy too :]

Plus the diversity of spider people is so dear to me bcoz.. That's literally the manifestation of everyone around the world being like. Ohh I can be a hero and help people !! Just like spida man !! And it keeps that idea going stronger too cuz yeah peter parker already makes me wanna be niceys and help others but when i saw SILK... babygirl i dont even know u that well but oh my gosh... u look like me... THAT is insane it really hammers home that idea :3 ditto with most spideys having wildly different backgrounds, which is also cool and interesting bcoz u get to learn abt other cultures and other peoples stories thru spidermen ^_^ the character gives me so much joy and curiosity for the world and for others it's insane!!! Peace and love in the world :D

ALSO I GOTTA MENTION THE ART AND CREATIVE IMPACT FROM THIS COMMUNITY LIKE !! HAVE U SEEEN SPIDERVERSE !! HAVE U SEEN SPIDERMAN PS4 AND PS5 ... HAVE U HEAARD THE SOUNDTRACKS FOR BOTH!! Literally some of the most inspiring and incredible and just soul lifting art has come out of this community and inspired the rest of the world to keep its whimsy strong :] seriously the soundtrack esp for miles morales focused stuff is insane.. makes me feel so happy and inspired everytime ^_^ BOOM I COULD GO ON BUT YAA THATS WHY SPIDERMAN STAYS CLOSE TO MY HEART FOREVERR AND INSPIRES ME!!

💢 What do you NOT like about your hyperfixation? is there something you would want to change about it?

GONNA BE SO HONEST IM JUST A LITTLE GUY AND I LOVE EVERYTHING!! plus my hyperfixes are pretty niceys ,,, spidey, mlpfim, adventure time etc u really cannot go wrong ^_^ the only things I don't like abt them r the things purposely designed to make me dislike them. Like zephyr breeze and King of ooo, and even then it's cool cuz they do serve a purpose and tell important stories :3

Something I would have wanted to change abt mlpfim tho would be seeing chrysalis reform cuz honestly she was . Just being a mom :( she loved her hive and just needed to learn to accept that they really were healthier and happier when they evolved</3 Sawtooth waves on YouTube has an awesome video or two abt this and it's so real. Thorax was way too quick to try to convert all the changelings to adopt pony culture and i think chrysalis would have been a good mom and leader and an important piece of changeling culture if she reformed ^_^ bcoz all the other species have such cool cultures and changelings.. didn't really have any. Which makes sense but yknow !! A girl can dream :3

[silver-inked]

Ask game but not for a fandom and instead for the characters in your The Unboxing Intro fic? I know it's pretty much just Silk characters but since you combined it with the MCU versions of some characters I'm super curious :)

UNBOXING INTRO!!!!

The Inboxing Intro being the au it is means that these characters are a mix of MCU Spider-man and Silk comic canon. Here are the list! :D

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): Cindy Moon. She lives free in my brain. But I think you already know that one.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): Lola and Raff. I love the girlfriends. They are so fun.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): Abe. I just think he is fun. He has like five minutes of screen time in the MCU movies but I just think is is cool and he and MCU Cindy are friends. (I say so, and so does the movie I swear).

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): MJ. She lives in this au to create angst and conflict and I love her. She is living her best life at MIT and someone creating conflict in peoples lives and she does doesn’t know. I want her to be happy.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): Peter Parker and Cindy Moon. This whole fic is Cindy Moon tragedy and I am having a blast writing it. It does end bittersweet but mostly sweet. (I have a happier fic for her on the brain for once it’s done to. Peter is also fun to write, his post NWH angst potential and conflict is wonderful. I also want him to be happy but actions create consequences and conflict.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): idk if I have one for this fic. I guess I like Pokémon Dude, and he is obscure so I’ll choose him. Or Felicia Hardy, just because I think she is neat but has also committed crimes, she is a fan fav so maybe this doesn’t count.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): Morlun.

Thank you for the ask!!! Ahhh!! I had so much fun!! I love this fic.

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Belle Of The Ball: Dark! King! Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this my first ever proper dark fic and I’m so nervous. I finished it but my mind thinks it’s garbage. so I’m gonna post this now when I’m feeling a random spurt of courage and am confident in my work. So here’s my masterpiece, cookies.

This is for Dark!MCU  Festive Fic swap hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor  and @darkmcuficswap

My giftee is @hermesmaximoff Hope you enjoy it love!

Thanking @firefly-graphics for the dividers: both personalised and general.

There is also an amateur somewhat okay shitty poster I decided to make which is included at the end.  

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC CONTAINING DUBIOUS CONSENT BORDERING NON-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. LOSS OF VIRGINITY, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY, BREEDING KINK ALSO PRESENT.

Summary: Invited to the Royal ball by the benevolent monarch, you could barely control your excitement to visit the Capital. While you were busy admiring his prosperous reign, King Steve was quite occupied getting enamoured by you. As you try to fulfil the King’s demands, secrets find their way out.

CHARACTERS + GENRE: DARK!STEVE ROGERS X READER, SUPERNATURAL STEVE ROGERS X READER (read to find out what), ROYAL AU, HALLOWEEN THEME (I tried for the request, hope you do like it)

King Steve Rogers invites the princes and the princesses of all Kingdoms, near and afar,

To celebrate his several years of reign.

He requests thy kind and noble presence

At the joyous regale

of his auspicious ball

On the thirty first of October,

after sundown, in His Majesty’s finest castle.

Challenging thy with the unique theme of

A Halloween Masquerade Ball,

The King expects exceptional indulgence from all.

 The Most Grandiose Halloween Celebration is being organised with the spookiest of events within.

Come here if you dare.

“We have been invited to a royal party! My day couldn’t have been better!” Your elder sister exclaimed, jumping quite unladylike in your chambers, as you went through the details of the venue. You chuckled at her antics, knowing rather well that she would be scolded if someone else was present. 

“Emma, Mother has to approve first. As Lady Ava always says, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“As if mother would really decline an invite from the King, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at you, not letting her enthusiasm die as you pondered over her words.

Your sister had a point though, the King summoning your presence was not to be taken lightly. The invitation came up handwritten in a scroll with the King’s wax seal atop it. It was placed elegantly beside a golden mask in a rectangular black box, that bore the Majesty’s sigil on the front.  

The theme of the ball wasn’t that peculiar if you reflected over it, the renowned monarch was also recognised for his distinct interest in eerie, unearthly beings. He was known for adventuring into haunted lands, mysterious manors and sinister soils, meeting up with people rumoured to be sorcerers and occultists.

Of course, the reason for his encounters was sometimes rumoured to be because of his familial distress, how he couldn’t find a mate to procreate with and conceive his own heir no matter what. Three females, who were pregnant with a progeny of his blood, none his wife though, had died during the first two or tercet months, reason unspecified why.  

Coming to You, you and your sister weren’t actual princesses, rather the daughters of one of the esteemed Ministers in the King’s cabinet. The benevolent King, however referred to the daughters of the town, more exactly, the Kingdom, as noblewomen. He held high reverence for the females and was the sole creditor to the improved condition of the women in this era. No matter how troubled his own life was, the King was the most merciful royal to be crowned to date, his people prospering under him.

Your sister nodded eagerly to your mother, drinking in her words like the fine tea you all had in the afternoons, while you just smiled at her advice.

 When you both met your mother for dinner, you were surprised to find her already informed about the invitation. Her conformity to the celebration astonished you even more, but Emma’s zeal was starting to rub off on you too by the end of the meal. 

Your mother continued, “Your father mentioned The Majesty is looking for a wife, quite possibly. He has been insistent in trying to get a successor the correct way this time, by courting the lady who piques his interest. Even though this might be a rumour, or some gossip spun by the ladies of the Cabinet, you both should try your best to be graceful and presentable. Among the hundreds of guests, he’d be having over, on the off-chance, if Gods allow, that either of you manages to entice him, it will only promise you the most pleasant of all forthcomings. It would also do me and your father some good, if you managed to find some other suitable bachelor, from a nice background to engage with.”

Your sister had always been one with the more overactive imagination out of you two, while you had been the more serene and poised one. When she’d be out playing with the children in your town, you’d be talking to the younger toddlers, drawing with chalks on the side. For every kid she splashed with water in the nearby sapphire river, you made tots flower crowns. These were the values you both grew up with, and these will be the values you’d die with.

After days of shopping velvet fabrics and silk textiles, and bothering your seamster to make sophisticated and stylish dresses, you both neared your day of departure. After some instructions to you both to represent your father and town well, your mother bid you adieu. It was nerve wracking to not have your mother by your side, for an event as big as this was, but since you both had passed more than twenty name days, you were expected to be proper, independent ladies. 

With a heavy heart and some self, positive affirmations, you and your sister embarked on the voyage, which was filled with her chitchat.

You only hoped that the gala was as exciting as your family made it out to be. That it was just a King trying to celebrate his sovereign with some western festival integrated together. That the event would not be as unnerving and creepy as the last line of his invitation made it out to be. 

For some unknown cause, it did not sit well with you. Your apprehensive intuition made you wary of the invitation for some reason, but you let your sibling’s zest take you over. What benefit would fretting get you?

The ball was far more pompous than anything you’d have imagined in your little head. All the ideas that Emma had come up with during your journey, to anticipate the extent of extravagance for the ball, were all exceeded with tenfold finesse. You had travelled to faraway, distant lands with your parents, but the King’s mansion, with all the festivity happening, was truly a sight to behold.

Entering The Capital had been the highlight of your excursion, you were sure earlier, but well you were proved wrong. Your father greeted you both when you had arrived, eager to see his angels after almost six moons, and had ensured you both got the best of the accommodations in the well-built, enormous fort. He introduced you to several of his comrades as well as their brooding, young lads and then, left you both to rest for the main event next eve. With two maids at your every beck and call, courtesy of your father, your time went smoothly and now you found yourself at the said Halloween themed celebration, staring around in awe of every little detail that had been so meticulously handled to make the event as dazzling as it was.

The servants were dressed rather ridiculously as cats, wearing some bizarre structure resembling cat ears, horribly short black dresses barely past their thighs and some whiskers draw using either coal or makeup, you weren’t sure. It was a poor attempt to make them appear feline. However, the food was as immaculate as everything else, entirely themed like only blood red wine, candied apples, chicken pumpkins, cheesecake brain, mummy muffins, some appetizer with bell peppers as jack-o-lanterns; these were the few that met your sights.

The hall was so grand, almost the size of three jousting arenas and playing fields combined with pillars having detailed architecture supporting the place. The walls were covered in scarlet, golden and black velvet drapes, the royal colours, and beautiful masquerade masks were pinned atop them, along the walls. Almost hundred round, white clothed tables filled the ballroom, with gold plated candlesticks and utensils upon them. The entire place had entertainers progressing around, the essence of it being magicians, clowns, contortionists, palm and tarot card readers. 

In the centre of the hall, was an empty space, reserved for the soon to be ensuing dancing. An orchestra on the side had beautiful instruments, playing soft melodies for now, reserving the upscale beats for later.

You had only read a few books on Halloween to be prepared but nothing could have geared you up for this. Your small-town self was gaping at everything with a childlike wonder while somehow your sister was quite composed and calm, somehow your roles had been reversed. 

Emma was wearing a blue gown, having several layers of nets and cloth, each a different shade of azure. She tried to dress as the mythical creature called mermaid, with crystal heels and a beaded neckline. Her masquerade mask had scales like fish, made using shining sequins. She looked so gorgeous, truly managing to look captivating.

You on the other hand were dressed like an angel, which you were against, finding it too mainstream and typical and wanted to dress like an enchantress with violet and jade colours, which your mother immediately negated. On demand of your sister, she let you wear a fluffy white ball gown, and had you made wings with dove feathers, an apparatus which was astonishingly light to wear. Using her art and craft skills, Emma made you a headband with two wires attached to a metal ring, shaped like an angel’s halo. The loop at top made of some special metal that glowed golden in the dark, making it look like a real, floating halo. Your mask had a fur lining on it, and silver sparkles were sprinkled all over you, with pretty makeup on your face, courtesy of your sibling.

The change in music brought you out of your reverie, as trumpets and harps began to hum, signifying the arrival of the King on the grand staircase. He had a crimson red velvet cape descending his broad shoulders, his tuxedo underneath could hide neither his long legs nor his bulging, protruding biceps. His black, shining shoes cost more than your entire apparel, you were certain. 

As your gaze ascended his masculine form, you were mesmerised furthermore with his high cheekbones, full lips tainted cherry pink, a Grecian slanting nose, sleek eyebrows, luscious blonde hair, a thick beard and the best of all yet, cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest you’d ever seen in the entirety of your small life. The ladies beside you, Emma included, had the same reaction whether they had witnessed his Highness before or not. Every female’s gaze seemed to flicker between his azure eyes and the Golden crown resting atop his blonde locks, flooded with rubies and emeralds and gemstones you weren’t sure your books had.

For a moment you felt his eyes land on you, which surprised you even more so, that you questioned yourself about it, but his cheeky grin and wink confirmed it, make you shiver involuntarily as heat spread through your face while a titillating stir ran through you, a first for you. His impeccably white teeth were clearly visible now, showing two elongated canines, which finally gave you a sense of his attire, paired with his blush lips, A Vampire.

He spoke a few words, eyes unsteadily wavering, observing different members of the gathering. He let the dances commence, partnering with his most suitable match at the festivity, the daughter of the wealthiest lord. After the first song was over, other couples joined alongside him while you stood at the side, observing everything. Only mere moments ago had your sister been courted by a young man, the two of them shooting each other coy glances since they had entered. 

A tap on your shoulder had you puzzled, you turned around focus landing on warm, brown eyes. You recalled him to be Lord Stark’s son, Peter, having met him yesterday at dawn. His familiar brown eyes gave you sense of comfort, which you liked, not being alongside Emma now.

“Shall we?” He asked, his cheeks ruby like yours were, as he extended the palm of his hand towards you. You giggled, smiling like a little babe who got extra cookies for dessert, and accepted his hand. Sauntering to the dancing arena, you only prayed to The Heavens above that Lady Ava taught you enough to embarrass neither yourself nor your guild.

Tracing his steps and following his lead, you did manage to dance without falling, which was a surprise seeing how spread out your wings were. You and him made easy conversation, about your hometowns and interests.  You saw your Father proudly looking at you and Emma, dancing with lads, you guessed, he approved of.

As the song ended and the orchestra played a transitioning tune between the melodies, a cough sounded beside you as you and Peter stopped. Your eyes widened as you nervously curtsied beside Peter, A ‘Your Majesty” falling from both your lips.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I share a dance with the most stunning dame here?” 

Peter politely stepped back, letting go of your waist, as The King’s wide stature more than filled his place. Your heart was beating rather loudly, blood pumping to your ears as you tried to make sense of what was happening. In your peripheral vision you could see the prying eyes of others looking at you both, ready to criticize you for one wrong move. Your father watched intently, a slight warning in his eyes to not mess this opportunity up while your sister comfortingly smiled at you. You tried to even your breaths and make sense of what he was saying, to not just stand and gape like a fool in court.

As the harmony played out, he swayed you around, lifting you up and twirling you around. Compliments spewed out from his lips, making you crimson like freshly ripened apples. You couldn’t keep up with your expression of gratitude through your words as he admired your eyes, your elegance and your ensemble which just couldn’t make him shift his eyes from you. 

After two songs had played out, he left as suddenly as he had come, with a promise to meet you later. You watched him dance with other maidens, who approached him when you were dancing together, entertaining every approaching lady like an excellent host.

You made your way to the side, hoping to get some liquor, or at least some fluid in your veins and not faint right there this moment. Emma came up beside you while you were having wine, and rubbed your back in a parental way. Her eyes communicated her understanding of how overwhelmed you felt at the instant. Her date and Peter soon came and kept you both company for the rest of the night. As duos danced and people got intoxicated, you had to call it a night on behalf of your sister, her incessant giggling make you worried for her inebriated self. 

You slipped her out before your father caught her and gave her a stern talking to and tucked her in her bed keeping a glass of water and some fresh fruits for her on the bedside wooden bench. You concluded retiring for the night yourself but only after assuring your father of your whereabouts and well beings. Before returning to the hall, you took off your wings and the halo, also opting to leave the mask behind as the fur tickled your skin. Your makeup hadn’t ruined in the heat of the hall, it was a miracle. You made your way to the Hall, hoping to find your father, assumingly drunk with all his entourage.

Two hallways before the decorated ballroom were you pinned to the wall, one hand of your attacker covering your parted lips while the other held your face delicately, with a lover’s touch. A split second was all it took for you to be immobilised by this man and another by your wavering form to recognise the cobalt blue eyes and blonde curls. When The King was certain you wouldn’t scream, his hand left your mouth slid upwards, mirroring his other hand, with thumbs in front of your ears and palms resting on your cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” You mumbled back, your voice somehow even lower, afraid for yourself and even more so terrified to offend him.

“Say, would you come for a while to my chambers, the view of the creek from my balcony is splendid.”

His choice of words gave you an option, but his eyes, almost hypnotically told you there was only one correct answer.

“You are the one, I can feel it.” He whispered lowly but your heightened senses gladly picked it up.

You meekly nodded, your inner self surprised at your body moving of its accord alongside him, as your mind started voiding of thoughts like reporting to your father, checking up on Emma. You felt like you were trapped in someone else’s form and fought with an invisible force to take over the reins of your own body.

You did not fail to notice the lack of guards outside the King’s chamber and how every entrance managed to open itself. The King wasn’t lying about the picturesque scene though, as you stood in the balcony, hair getting ruffled by the strong breeze that seemingly came from nowhere.

Your body stiffened as King Steve came uncharacteristically close to you and slid his hands around your middle, his nose nestled in your locks, inhaling deeply.

His lips descended your neck, laying feathery kisses on his path as you stood there, unable to even move your hands or turn around. This out of body sensation was broken when you felt intense pain on piercing of your skin where your head met your torso. You suddenly gained all wits and enough strength to flail your limbs around but all your might wasn’t enough to even stir the man from his task. Your throat couldn’t gather enough energy to scream, though you doubted anyone would come. You started getting light headed and only then did he stop, carrying you in his arms to his widespread four poster bed, mattress as soft as sponge and sheets as silky as butter. Too weak to fight him off, you harvested all your energy in staying conscious as your gaze danced around, trying to make sense of every object present but not awake enough to notice too many details. The wine you drank did not make it any better.

As you laid on the stranger’s bed, you felt his body sit beside you, holding your neck; leaning down, his lips meeting yours for the first time. You did not reciprocate, neither did you have the strength nor the will, while his tongue slipped inside your mouth, roaming around like a traveller in foreign land.

As the kiss drew on, you felt some energy sidle inside you, enough for your mind to function again but not ample enough to fight off the brawny thief who robbed you of your first kiss. King Steve broke off the kiss and connected your foreheads together, his indigo eyes turning black in want, leaving you a frightening and gasping mess.

He backed away, sitting more straighter now as his hand drew back from around your neck and slid along your stomach, nearing the most intimate part of your body, even though there were still layers of cloth present. His hands did not stop there, however, and made their way downwards only stopping at the hem of your gown and slipping inside.

You shrieked out suddenly, becoming aware of his intentions quite late and grasped his wrist that rested now on your knee. 

“Your Majesty, I……I can’t-”

“Do you wish to refuse your King?”

You looked down, caught in the dilemma of wanting your safety and offending him once again. Your virtue had to be preserved till marriage, your mother had taught you, but on the other hand, the King’s words were the law.

“Answer Me.” The King’s cold voice broke through your thoughts, not a shout but still scarier than a yell.“

Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in s-” You started tearing up, lower lip wobbling and body shaking at the thought of the future. You did not see this ending beneficial in any scenario. If you lost your virtue, you would never get wed but if you refused the King and he felt insulted, your family and your connections would be in the ruins, he held that much power over you.

Cradling your face with his other hand, he began again, “You think I’m not already aware, pretty one?” The man who was reprimanding you only few moments ago upon not answering him, had a smile on his face this time: not assuring or comforting, but malicious and sinister to its very core. “I could smell your untainted scent from my room, before even descending the stairs.”

“Your e-eyes..” You gaped again as colours morphed in his eyes, red now swirling around in the pools of darkness, his words lost on you as you felt your fear rising due to the inhumane action.

“For an intellectual, bibliophilic girl, you sure are oblivious, sweetheart.” He scoffed, looking unimpressed at you, “Come on, prove to me you aren’t heedless like the rest, draw the conclusion." His eyes held yours, again altering into hues of different colours, seemingly mocking you now. 

You don’t know how the thought jumped into your head, maybe because the two holes on your neck stung suddenly or because the automatically opening doors entered your mind, the contemplation that his fangs appeared so realistic and authentic the more you stared at them paired with the blood on his collar, not just the fresh red stain of your plasma but also the burgundy stain present there, giving his lips the cherry red shade you admired hours ago on his arrival at the event.

“This is not a co-costume, no-” You inhaled a quick breath, “you are a vampire.” Your face paled in realisation while he smirked proudly, tapping your knee in a weird, twisted form of appreciation.

“Tremendous, my dear. But only half, you see. My mother was one, yes, but my father, he gave me an even better ability, he was an Incubus.” You shuddered as the words sunk in, your only worry being staying alive now, when your life was in the hands of this sex demon, having the greatest of powers and strength. Your mind did not spend any time mulling over the existence of supernatural beings, only dwelling on possible escapes now.

“That is why even your untouched body couldn’t help but react to my form and it is also the very reason, that I can read what goes on in your mind, all your memories, your hobbies, every book you’ve read, your precious sister, Emma isn’t it? So please, do not even think about fleeing if you don’t want your family to suffer.”

The threat loomed in the air, nasty sobs wracking your body as his thumb came to wipe the tears off. His hands started undoing the lace on the front of your bodice as you sniffled. Managing to quieten down just a bit, you begged, “Please don’t do this, I’ll have nowhere to go if my family found about me partaking in this unholy deed before marriage.” You had little hope about him seeing reason but there was optimism nonetheless. 

“Darling, do not fuss that I’ll leave you unhinged and deserted after finding pleasure in your body, you are to be mine now. Essentially, you already are.” His lips claimed yours again as the front of your dress slackened, bundling around your waist.

You pulled back, surprised at his promise, “You mean that?” He nodded, coming to kiss you again. You turned so that his lips met your neck, tongue licking the salt residue of tears there. “In what sense?”

“In every sense you could think of and more. I’ll give you everything, make you my queen, would you like that?” He mumbled in your neck, tongue now soothing the two punctured cavities residing there.

You could feel yourself crossing your legs involuntarily, trying to caress the abrupt yearning in your intimate part, your underclothes dousing with wetness somehow. Steve smirked in your neck, sitting upright and playing his trump card.

“I’ll marry you and we’ll rule together with the plenty of successors you’ll give me. Won’t that make your parents proud? Isn’t that what your parents taught you? Catch the King’s eye?” You meekly nodded, his charisma of an Incubus winning you over. “I’ll make your father The King’s Hand and send your mother the finest of jewels and gems, satins and silks.” He looked over at your submissive form, looking at him with the innocence of a toddler, swayed by his promises.

“I’ll let your sister have a grand wedding with the man she dears. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and be my Queen, rule alongside me. So I ask, will you?” You cut him off, your lips pressing against his as you tried to mimic his earlier movements. He held your waist, surprised but pleasantly so, crushing the layers of the rolled top half of your dress underneath his hands. You had very little idea about what bedding someone meant but you had this primal urge to not have any skin of yours covered or untouched by him.

Steve shed his cape and threw every cloth on his torso away, almost as eager as you to get skin to skin contact. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up and sat you in his broad lap, not before sliding your dress all the way down. As he broke the kiss and took in your body, parts of you hidden under the smallclothes, he let out a growl that frightened yet excited you with another shiver down your spine. 

He made quick work of his bottoms, his cock standing and reaching his muscled chest almost and you gaped. Your sister, Emma had informed you of men’s parts being far much smaller than what you had just witnessed. His member stood erect and proud, glistening as he pumped it with his fist. His eyes drank in your surprise and trepidation, getting amused and turned on even more. 

You still laid stretched across the bed, legs straight ahead of you while your torso rested on your elbows, eyes wary of his every next movement.  He eyed your scantily clad body, gaze filled with lust and nothing more and climbed between your legs, one hand coming down on your waist while the other grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a possessive kiss, robbing you of your breath. Your mind was slowly registering the reality of it all, this was going to happen no matter what. You were going to sin by engaging in fornication. But is it really wrong if your benevolent king demands that of you?

His hand sliding from your face to your bosom distracted you from your chain of thoughts. He slid the cups of your garment revealing your nipples and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his other pinched the abandoned one. You didn’t know if you should be more surprised at his actions or the rush of the feelings that ran through you.

He slowly released your nipple and trailed soft kisses down your stomach to your most intimate part yet, kissing it through the cloth there. His delicate touch was abruptly contrasted with him grabbing the fabric, tearing it into two and revealing you bare. 

You closed your legs out of instinct but his heavily muscled hand took them apart in a single push. He eyed you with a warning, to not obstruct him anyhow anymore.

“Let me taste that sweet nectar of yours, sweetheart. I really want to find out if it is as addictive as my senses picked it up, as sweet as the aura that surrounds you.”

And with that he dove into your pussy, his tongue roaming your wet cavern. Neither did you understand what he spoke of nor had you sister told you about the activity happening right now. But all you could do was focus on the astonishingly pleasant shivers running through you as you had an out of the body, more accurately an out of the world experience. You had no sense of the time that passed and how long you laid there clutching the silk sheets letting out mewls. But out of nowhere, something in you snapped and all your energy left you. 

As your blurry vision cleared and your eyes found his face, he licked his still glistening lips, his beard moist and wet but erotically so. He dove right into kiss again and you tasted your own sweet nectar for the first time ever. His hand roamed your body, grabbing your curves and caressing your soft flesh. 

One of his hands made its way down furthermore and spread your fluids along your folds, and then lined up himself along your hole. With a sudden push, you felt yourself being full like never before, and a sudden pain hit you as your face visibly flinched. Steve swallowed your grunts of pain with his kisses and started rubbing your bud above your linked bodies. 

The shudder that ran through you once again made you incapable of thinking, the ache slowly subsiding behind the pleasure you felt. When your moans filled the air, Steve kissed your collarbones and sucked leaving bruises there, and started thrusting again. As his movements became faster and consistent, and his callused hands rubbed you and pinched your intimate flesh, you ascended to another world. Each action of his introduced you to a new star in the wide galaxy. The same unknown descended upon you again as something snapped in your abdomen and you experienced pure bliss. 

“Going to make you the mother of my children, you will carry my seed and bring the Kingdom several heirs. This time I’ll succeed, you will be mine, my Queen in every sense.” His words made you clench around him and that was all it took for him to achieve ecstasy as well.

Your head lolled and your eyes met his sweating frame lying across the silk sheets as a sinister grin adorned his face again, “I need to fuck a successor into you tonight, you ready?”  

[aenariasbookshelf]

WandaVision, episode 3

Okay, time for my weekly re-watch of WandaVision (because of course I devour the episodes as soon as they come out) to actually dive into some analysis and thought.  

*rubs hands together*

Welcome to the 70s.  I think I would have preferred a little more of the gritty 70s style over the sitcom one, but that’s absolutely my personal biases and my love of Life on Mars showing through.  Whoever did the music though (I think it’s the same people from Frozen, actually?) have totally nailed that Partridge Family mood with the opening theme song.

The house has been upgraded...and I’m not quite sure the interior matches the exterior any more.  Not sure if this is a deliberately “bigger on the inside” moment or just a change to meet the 70s aesthetics.

Okay, as my recently pregnant sister has filled me in, the fruit thing is actually still done.

Nerves of steel...well, he is a synthezoid.

Hedge trimming and a silk screened background.  Something’s rotten in the state of Westview, that’s for sure.

BILLY AND TOMMY. *incoherent screaming*

Did that screen glitch just then because Wanda was this close to realizing that she may have recreated this Vision out of memory alone?  And that handling that pain right then and there isn’t something she has space for in this created world of hers?  Definitely getting shades of “No more mutants” there for a moment.

One of the theories I saw about the commercials is that the two people in there represent Wanda’s parents, and the commercials are all about her trauma too.  This definitely seems to fit, the only way she can mentally process all of these events is to take herself out of them and gloss them over, put them into a shiny, artificial package where they can’t cause her pain because they’re just surface level things.

Hello not!Geraldine. I may be impatient, but I can’t wait until we actually see Monica Rambeau (and everything she implies) in action.

If the stork is called Bernard, I’ll...well, I’ll probably just look sternly at the screen.  From an analysis perspective though, if that bird is impervious to Wanda’s powers, I have to wonder if he’s coming from a power source that’s not Wanda.  Which definitely seems to lend itself to the theory that Mephisto is the looming, overarching bad guy of this series, if he’s pushing for those babies to be born to get those powers off of them.

I wonder if there’s going to be some sort of connection there being that Geraldine/Monica is the one to deliver the baby.  It seems like Monica’s got the biggest connection back to the real world at this point, so I wonder if there’s any meaning there.

I mean, if the Doctor there started humming Hotel California under his breath there as he’s talking about escape it couldn’t get more obvious about what’s going on…

And the real world starts bleeding its way back in with that mention of Pietro...oh, shit, Ultron.  It’s like you can hear the breaking glass in the background.

Still have no idea what Agnes’s agenda is, but I’m definitely starting to suspect henchwoman at this point.  And that she’s probably Agatha Harkness still.

THAT ASPECT RATIO SHIFT.

And the portal Monica got kicked through definitely looked like the static from a television screen.

I feel like I just have more questions than answers at this point.  Which is no bad thing, the mystery keeps me coming back week after week.  The impatient part of me wants more answers and wants them now though, lol.  But I feel like it’s becoming more and more clear that Wanda’s being manipulated from somewhere - 

(jfc Disney+, you have to put Age of Ultron as the next thing to watch after the episode ends???)

- Outside of herself, even though they’re absolutely using Wanda and her abilities and her trauma to have her create this world.  So we’ve got this mysterious baddie on one side, SWORD on the other, and Wanda in the middle trying to pretend she’s in the happiest place in the world while not acknowledging the fact that she still hasn’t recovered from so many painful incidences in her life.  And the pain may only get worse for her, if they follow through with some of the parts of the origin story of Billy and Tommy from the comics.  Though there’s a part of me that hopes they don’t follow the origin story to the letter, because of some parts that would be a little far fetched even for the MCU, and also just the ensuing pain for Wanda.

Can I just wrap Wanda up in a blanket at this point and cuddle her in the blanket fort?  That poor girl needs hugs and comfort at this point, and a chance to heal.  Not to be manipulated and screwed over again by the latest bad guy in the universe.

Next week: welcome to the 80s.  Now we’re in a decade that I actually lived through.  So this is going to get even more interesting than it already is. Be prepared for a lot of color commentary. ;)

[stovetuna]

Hi, I hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season first of all! Second, if you’re feeling it, maybe Blind Date AU for Steve and Tony? Ty!!💖

PEACHY!! of course, darling, anything for you. Setting this in an amorphous MCU timeline again because I’m working on stretching my 616 writing muscles on another fic ;) 

- - - 

Steve knows it’s going to be a long night the moment he receives a text from Natasha that simply reads: Carbone. 1800. Wear the blue shirt.He’s tried—countless times, in fact—to dissuade her from doing this. It’s been a running joke between them for years, ever since that first time in the back of the C-130. 

Too scared? 

Too busy.

It’s not that he’s averse to the idea of being with someone. Far from it—he craves exactly that in ways he can’t articulate, not to Natasha, not to Sam, not to anyone. Sometimes, not even to himself. But the idea of dating, especially being set up on blind dates, makes something twist and sour in Steve’s stomach. The thought of being pushed into something despite his wishes because other people think it’s what he wants, or that dating is something expected of the unattached, is deeply upsetting. 

Plus, his life is complicated enough as it is. Adding an unsuspecting stranger to the mix would only complicate more. And how would he explain it to them, his life? How could he ask for understanding when what he does is so outside the scope of the average person’s day-to-day reality? How could he ask anyone to wait up for him, not knowing if he’d make it back to them alive? In what universe would that be fair to a partner? 

It’s not. That’s the point. Nor is it the point that he’s been nursing a crush on a certain someone on the team for the past year, a man so far out of his league it makes Steve’s head spin. That’s just background noise, at this point, an asterisk at the end of a sentence: Steve Rogers is not interested in dating.* 

*Unless your name happens to be Tony Stark.

Steve’s fingers hover over the phone screen, deliberating in his head how to respond to Nat’s text. The way she’s written it is different from her previous attempts at matchmaking. No so-and-so from such-and-such is nice, you should ask her out. I met this random guy during a raid yesterday, I got his number for you. Want it? This one’s come to him like a gift of flowers, beautifully arranged and packaged, leaving no way for him to bow out of it without coming across like an asshole. 

He shudders to imagine what Nat would have to text the person she’s trying to set him up with if he did: sorry, Captain America is a huge wuss. Feel free to order something to go, on me.

On the one hand, she means well. She knows Steve is lonely for companionship in ways his friends and the Avengers can’t satisfy. She might even know about his crush on Tony and this is her way of trying to help him past it. On the other hand, Nat is a notorious troll, and she could just be doing this to him for laughs. But it has been a long time since he’s gone on a date, even if he does hate the practice pretty much on the whole. One more for the sake of a stranger’s feelings won’t kill him. 

Fine, he texts back, but you’re my sparring partner for the next two weeks. 

Natasha’s response is so lightning fast it would make Thor dizzy.  

Worth it. 

Steve wears the blue shirt. He also goes to the effort of ironing his black slacks and polishing his dress shoes, because he knows Carbone’s reputation as the kind of place one goes to make an impression and/or be impressed. Tony talks about it all the time. “Oh my God, Steve, their spicy rigatone alla vodka is so good, it’s actually sinful,” he’d told him once. Steve had watched Tony’s eyes glaze over and his tongue slowly slide out to lave his bottom lip, obviously salivating at the thought of some random pasta dish, and it had taken just about everything in Steve’s power not to launch himself across the kitchen counter and chase Tony’s tongue with his. 

“I’m sure I’ll try it at some point,” he’d replied instead, pinching his thigh hard enough to dissuade his blood from flowing further south. 

At 4:30, Steve looks himself over in the full-length mirror in his bedroom. The black jacket seems overbearing for early summer, and he wonders if it’s worth keeping on. Should he bring it just in case? Is the tie too much? It feels like too much, especially after thinking about Tony and his tongue. Now he’s hot under the collar, about to go on a date with someone else. Damn it. Steve wrenches the black silk knot loose and pulls the whole thing off. It goes on the bed, along with the jacket. He unbuttons his shirt to the clavicle and rolls up the sleeves. (Tony has visibly admired his forearms enough times for Steve to make a deliberate habit of it.)

But Tony flirts with everyone, Steve reminds himself, and then he’s out the door. He opts to walk across town and down 12th Avenue, what should be a long walk along the Hudson shortened considerably by his long legs and enhanced speed. It’s one of those beautiful New York days, long, late May sunlight lingering in the clear blue sky even as Steve turns the corner onto Thompson Street at 5:45. It’s breezy but not chilly, warm but not stifling. People are everywhere, happy, flushed and bubbling over with spring fever. Even the hardened locals aren’t immune to it—Steve spots a grizzled bar owner just down the street who’s leaning against an old brownstone, face tipped up toward the sky, lips pulled tight in a barely contained smile. 

It reminds Steve distinctly of Tony, how his eyes crease deeply at the corners when he grins.

You’re supposed to be nervous about this date, Steve reminds himself as he opens the door to the restaurant. He’s immediately enveloped in dark tones of bluish green and the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra. He’s early, but the staff brings him through immediately to an intimate but decently large corner table in the back. A waiter, bald-headed but sporting an impressive mustache and wearing the hell out of a purple three-piece suit, pours Steve a glass of champagne and another for his date, who’s starting to cut it close, time-wise. 

At 5:56, Steve glances at his watch and takes a sip of water, opting to watch the bubbles in the champagne glass rise to the surface and pop instead of drinking it outright. At 6:08, the same waiter refills his water glass. They make small talk even as Steve fidgets under the tablecloth. In all of his gearing up for this blind date, the thought had never crossed his mind that the other person might be the one to duck out. 

Averse to dating as Steve is, he can’t say the thought of being stood up on a blind date doesn’t sting a little bit, even as it drives home his rationale for avoiding the entire practice in the first place. At least he’ll have ammunition against Natasha the next time she tries her hand at matchmaking. 

By 6:20, the back room is filled and noisy with other dinner guests, many of whom are also on dates and are doing a terrible job of pretending not to glance pityingly at Steve and the two untouched champagne glasses on his table. Steve sighs and shrugs at the waiter (his name is Duncan, Steve learned during Refill Number Three), who’s come by to refill his water glass again. How many does that make? Five? Six? Duncan glances at the empty seat across from Steve and shakes his head.

“It happens,” he says, genuine sympathy (but mercifully no pity) writ large across his middle-aged face. “In any case, you probably dodged a bullet. Want something a little stronger?”

Steve remembers telling Tony he’d try the spicy rigatoni alla vodka if he ever came here. Reservations to Carbone are hard to come by, and he should seize the opportunity while he can, even if it’s bittersweet. “Thanks. That’s okay. I think I’ll just—”

A man’s flustered voice appears suddenly from behind Duncan, cutting through the noise, words spilling out in a rush. Steve notices heads whipping around to gawk, bug-eyed, at whoever’s just appeared.

“God, I’m so sorry I’m late, usually I’m never late to this kind of thing but there was a malfunction with the—with the thing, and…I…uh…”

The man’s words trail off as Duncan steps aside to let him through to his seat. Steve is standing—when did he stand up?—and realizes with a jolt (and an unmistakable, overwhelming ka-thump of his heart) that he’s looking directly at Tony Stark, whose face has gone an endearingly bright shade of red, almost the same shade as the armor. 

“Steve?”

“Uh,” Steve is too distracted by the furious blush currently working its way past Tony’s pristine white shirt collar to respond at first. “Hi, Tony. Wanna, uh, have a seat?” Nailed it. 

“Sure…” Tony sounds skeptical. That’s fair. He’s probably already sussed out that this date wasn’t Steve’s idea. 

Duncan, to his credit, says nothing as he fills Tony’s water glass. But Steve doesn’t miss the warning look the waiter shoots him as Tony tips his head back for a drink, or the way Tony’s face goes slightly pale as he sets the glass back down on the table, chastised. 

Once they’re alone, the other diners seem to quickly get over the initial shock of seeing Iron Man and Captain America on a date together and go back to their own meals. The air in the room is fragrant with the smell of four-star Italian food, but Steve’s stomach is too tightly wound now to appreciate it. 

Tony breaks the silence. He always was braver than Steve gave him credit for. 

“So,” he says, “Going by your poleaxed expression I take it you weren’t expecting me.”

It’s not a question. Steve laughs hoarsely. “Yeah, you could say that.” More like you’re the last person I expected but I am so fucking happy you’re here. He doesn’t say it, but at least Tony looks more relaxed now. Smiling, they both take a sip of champagne simultaneously.

“D’you think Nat and Clint placed bets on whether or not one of us would cancel?” Steve asks. Tony laughs outright. Not for the first time, Steve watches Tony break out into a smile and wonders if the heat he feels is a blush or the fact that looking at Tony when he’s grinning like that is like looking at the sun—bright and dangerous and so unbelievably warm. Steve takes another drink of champagne to calm himself.

“Well, since they know you and I are so stubborn we’d both rather show up for a pre-arranged blind date at one of the most-booked restaurants in the city than flake, I’d say the bet’s based on whether or not we appear in the communal kitchen tomorrow morning together or separately.” 

Steve chokes on bubbles. Tony laughs again. 

“Hickies optional, obviously,” he says gamely, winking at Steve, whose shoulders are creeping up toward his ears. “We could just muss ourselves up before we get home and they’d never know the difference.” 

“Tony, they’re literally professional spies. Of course they’d know.” 

“I have my ways, Cap. Do not doubt my ways.”

“I don’t doubt your ways, Tony,” Steve manages from behind the sudden tightness in his throat, “But we’re talking about Natasha Romanoff.”

“You mean the woman who almost gave you a hard-on when she kissed you on an escalator in D.C.?” 

Tony is still laughing gleefully (while Steve’s burning face is still buried in his hands) when Duncan arrives with two oversized menus. Steve waves at Tony when he offers to order for them, too embarrassed at having learned that Tony knows about the D.C. incident to speak for himself, at least for the moment. Besides, Tony knows everything he likes. (Well, almost everything.) 

They breeze past awkward and straight into comfortable after that. Tony apologizes for being late again and Steve shuts him up with bread. 

“Eat this and you can work it off with me later.” 

Tony waggles his eyebrows at him and says, “Promise, Cap?” with a gleam in his eye that Steve resolutely does not read into.

“In the gym, Tony.”

The food is delicious and borderline excessive, coming in wave after wave along with wine and bread and cheese and free courses compliments of the chef, and by the second hour of their meal even Steve’s increased metabolism is starting to feel sluggish. Of course, that’s when Duncan places a massive, beautiful, steaming bowl of rigatoni alla vodka on their table. The smell of it alone is enough to rouse him. 

“Holy shit,” Steve whispers as he ducks his head over the bowl to catch a bigger whiff of the red pepper-and-cream sauce, just loud enough he knows Tony will hear him. The other man giggles. It’s too fucking cute. Steve has to remind himself for the millionth time that this is not actually a date, because the words are right on the tip of his tongue.

“I told you!”

“Yeah, you did,” Steve answers, smiling at Tony as warmly and happily as he feels. This isn’t a real date, but he’s still having a fantastic dinner with his best friend and crush, so it’s a fun, memorable night for him either way. Steve dishes a heaping spoonful of rich, glossy pasta onto Tony’s plate first, too preoccupied to notice Tony glancing at his mouth before he takes another drink of light red wine (the price of which Duncan didn’t mention and at this point Steve doesn’t want to know). 

“I like the look you’ve got going on, by the way. Very devil-may-care. How long did it take you to decide against the jacket and tie?” Tony asks once Steve’s finished doling out pasta for himself. God, it’s so easy to laugh with Tony. The man is hilarious, sure, but little things like that—things that only Tony would think to ask Steve because they know each other so well and he likes making fun of Steve’s idiosyncrasies, likes making Steve loosen up and laugh at himself—make Steve feel like the champagne he drank earlier: bubbly, light, happy. 

He could spend five, six, ten more hours at this table. He could spend all of his time with Tony Stark and it still wouldn’t be enough. But there is only so much of himself and his time Tony seems willing to give, romantically or otherwise, and Steve’s made his peace with that. Mostly. 

It does help that Tony seems willing to give Steve a lot of his time anyways.

And no one—not even Tony—will know if Steve indulges himself by pretending, if only for a minute or two, that actually is a date.

“Only a few seconds. Natasha did the lion’s share of the work picking the shirt out for me,” Steve replies, blowing gently on his forkful of pasta, saliva pooling in the back of his mouth as he watches the steam trail off it before taking a bite. “Why, do you think I should have kept th—oh my god,” he groans mid-sentence, eyes rolling up into his head. Chewing slowly, Steve claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd moan that threatens to escape him as bold, decadent flavors burst on his tongue. Tony was right—this stuff is sinful. 

Steve’s so wrapped up in the food he’s eating that he almost, almost misses Tony muttering Jesus under his breath. It doesn’t sound embarrassed or insulted. When he opens his eyes, Steve finds Tony watching him so avidly, it’s hard to notice anything else other than the way the man’s pupils have dilated considerably and is leaning forward, almost over the bowl. 

Tony licks his lips. Steve tries hard not to stare. 

“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle in an attempt to diffuse tension, “but that stuff is ridiculously good.” Steve’s really glad he didn’t wear the tie now, given how hot under the collar he feels all of a sudden. Tony’s looked at him a lot of ways, but never like that—like the only thing stopping him from launching himself across the table at Steve is the table, itself. “I can see why you’re always raving about it.” 

“Steve,” Tony says. He hasn’t touched his pasta. The fork is just kind of there in his hand, like he’s forgotten he’s even holding it. Steve looks at him again. 

“What? Did I get some on my face?” he asks, retrieving his napkin and wiping his mouth with it. Tony makes a rough, strangled sound in the back of his throat and, when drowning it with wine doesn’t help, puts his fork all the way down on the table and buries his face in his hands. 

“I can’t do this,” Tony whines. The conversations happening around them are loud, but not so loud Steve doesn’t hear him say it. The words cut him like a cold knife sharply through the middle. His head feels woozy, and not in the airy fun way it should be after drinking good wine for two and a half hours. How did things end up here so quickly? A minute ago Steve was having a religious experience and now Tony face is ashen and drawn. He looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Oh god,” Tony groans, “please, do not apologize. It’s me. It’s very much me.” 

This seems like a fork-down conversation. Steve places his on the table and tries not to glance longingly at the pasta on his plate. Steve knows when Tony is gathering himself to speak, which is exactly what’s happening now, so he waits  and doesn’t eat. He does take a drink, though. That much feels appropriate.

“Just so I’ve got it right,” Tony finally says after an unbearably quiet moment, a palm pressed against his own forehead, “you definitely had zero input vis à vis this whole blind date setup?” 

He’s deliberately not looking at Steve when he asks it. If Steve could put a word to his expression, he’d say Tony looks downright despondent at the idea, even if they’d already established earlier that yes, this thing was entirely Nat’s idea because she’s an unrepentant troll. 

The dissonance doesn’t make sense. But it does put hope in Steve’s heart where there wasn’t any before. 

“I didn’t,” he says, watching Tony’s face intently. He knows it so well at this point, he can tell when Tony’s smile is fake or real, when he’s wounded and won’t admit it, when he’s tired but can’t sleep. So Steve notices all too easily when the corner of Tony’s mouth dips down, a fraction of an inch of a frown, before he recovers with a laugh and claps his hands. 

“All good then,” Tony chuckles, but he won’t look Steve in the eye anymore. He picks up his fork and starts to tuck in, chewing so fast it’s like he’s racing toward a finish line Steve can’t see and doesn’t know how to keep from approaching, except—

“Why,” Steve blurts out, stopping Tony mid-chew, “were you hoping I did?” 

Tony’s eyes fly open but are heavily guarded when he looks back at Steve from across the table. No take-backs, Steve tells himself. 

Tony puts down his fork again. 

“What if I did?” he counters. 

“You can’t answer my question with a question, Tony,” Steve says, smirking when Tony’s expression flickers. 

“Watch me.”

“I am.” 

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

Tony huffs. Before he can cross his arms defensively, before either of them can think another thought, Steve reaches out with both hands, pulls Tony forward by the front of his too-nice shirt and kisses him, fast and firm and warm. The kiss is a point being made more than anything else, but a point nonetheless. 

Tony’s lips are yielding and taste faintly of wine and carpaccio piemontese. Kissing him feels more right than Steve could have imagined (and he’d imagined a lot, elaborately and often). One peck and he knows without a doubt he could kiss Tony for hours. But that’s all besides the point. The point is now, Tony knows. 

Before he can pull away and apologize (again) for his behavior, Steve feels more than hears Tony sigh against his lips. Then Tony tilts his head a fraction and suddenly Steve’s the one being kissed. Thoughts of anything alla vodka fly out of his head in a rush as Tony licks the closed seam of his lips and tongues him deep and slow when they open. Steve’s fingers are still grasping the front of the Tony’s shirt; he knows he should release him and stop this while things are still relatively PG. Instead Tony nibbles on his bottom lip and Steve releases that lewd moan he’d held back a few minutes ago right into Tony’s mouth. 

Steve has just enough brainpower left to remember that 1) they’re surrounded by onlookers, and 2) if they keep going like this, Duncan’s going to have to throw them out. Would that really be such a bad thing, his lizard brain supplies, unhelpfully. 

Decided, Steve lets go of Tony’s shirt with a gasp. They both fall back into their chairs with a whoosh. Between them, the steam rising off the rigatoni alla vodka swirls, disturbed by the sudden breeze, then continues curling lightly upwards like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Like Steve’s entire life wasn’t just irrevocably changed, upended, by a single kiss. 

Picking up his fork, Steve licks the taste of Tony from his lips as he looks across the table at his date and takes another bite of pasta. Tony looks back. He looks hungry. 

“What did I tell you,” Tony says when Steve moans softly again. This time, he doesn’t miss the way Tony stares lingeringly at his mouth like he wants another taste. “Sinful.”

- - -

Send me an AU prompt! 

[wazafam]

After Agents of SHIELD’s seven-season conclusion, WandaVision may have already introduced a perfect replacement, featuring Jimmy Woo and the Agents of Atlas. In WandaVision’s fourth episode, Jimmy Woo, the FBI agent who previously appeared in Ant-Man and The Wasp, returned alongside Monica Rambeau and Darcy Lewis to investigate the strange occurrences at Westview from outside the bubble of Scarlet Witch’s sitcom world. After the episode aired, director Stephen Sean Ford tweeted suggested Jimmy Woo should lead an X-Files type of show for weird cases in the MCU, which isn't a bad idea. WandaVision has set up a perfect premise with the investigation of CMBR, and it could lead to introducing Jimmy Woo’s Agents of Atlas from the comics.

Jimmy Woo has taken on a central role in several comic series, most recently leading a group of heroes called the Agents of Atlas. In more recent runs, Woo recruited many Asian and Asian-American heroes from Marvel’s roster, such as Shang-Chi, Brawn, and Silk, into his team at the Atlas Foundation, and heroes like Ms. Marvel also worked with his agents. The Agents of Atlas operated in a similar manner to SHIELD, and Jimmy Woo’s comic history could be an ideal lead-in to his future in the MCU, especially as WandaVision might set up the MCU’s next wave of superheroes. While an MCU version of the Agents of Atlas would be markedly different from the comics, the set-up is ripe for Woo and his team to become the new Agents of SHIELD.

Related: WandaVision Connects Scarlet Witch's Fake World To Agents Of SHIELD

While most of Marvel’s current and upcoming TV shows are developing toward major twists and theatrical releases, an Agents of Atlas series could take Agents of SHIELD’s place in exploring the smaller and weirder happenings in the MCU. The star-studded Disney+ releases only have so much room to dip into the expansive universe of Marvel comics as they build up the MCU’s newest phase. Agents of SHIELD worked as a story that operated in the background of the big events involving the Avengers, showing how SHIELD handled cases that didn’t make it onto the Avenger’s radar. An Agents of Atlas show could improve on that dynamic, giving the MCU’s events more real-world consequences.

An Agents of Atlas show could also be fully folded into the MCU. Agents of SHIELD had many connections to the events of the movies, but they were separated into a distinct TV arm of Marvel, unable to fully coordinate the series with the latest MCU developments. However, the new television shows on Disney+ are now completely incorporated into the rest of the MCU. Jimmy Woo’s team would be able to flesh out every twist and turn with cases that show how the MCU’s events ripple out into the rest of the world. With SWORD currently occupied with WandaVision’s potentially world-shattering events, the Agents of Atlas are an ideal candidate to handle the smaller-stakes weird occurrences.

An Agents of Atlas series with Jimmy Woo could improve upon the the formula Agents of SHIELD used to so much success. Woo could easily become the MCU’s next Agent Coulson, given that he’s already nailing the bantering, heartfelt role Coulson brought to his show. With the MCU’s events only getting bigger and more widespread as time goes on, Marvel needs a story about the everyday people caught in the wake. With Agents of SHIELD off the air, Jimmy Woo is in the perfect position to lead that story.

Next: MCU SWORD & SHIELD Differences & Similarities Explained

Marvel's Phase 4 Already Has The Perfect Agents Of SHIELD Replacement from https://ift.tt/3oDamoP

[mooncaps]

Silk’s Last Issue

Well first of all, I'm kind of shocked that I didn't know Silk was ending until I was actually reading the last issue. The internet usually manages to spoil me on those kinds of things.

Silk #1 (Feb 2015) was the first Marvel comic I ever bought in my entire life. I'm now reading six (er...five since this one's over) different Marvel titles and some selected crossovers/appearances. I probably would've found my way to Ms. Marvel even if I'd never started Silk, but it was easier to talk myself into reading two Marvel comics since I was already reading one.

I remember seeing a post on Tumblr about this new book called Silk that was coming out and I thought, "Well, I like the MCU. I liked the 90's cartoon and those Toby Maguire movies. I'm always down for cool female heroes. I'll pick it up and see if I like it." I was immediately enamored and only grew to love the character more as her story unfolded.

On the strength of her first five issues, I bought Spider-Verse (and Edge of the Spider-Verse...and that one issue of Spider-Man 2099 that didn't make it into either of those collections.) I don't know who thought organizing that Spider-Verse release like that was a good idea, but I hope they got yelled at by someone with a strong J. Jonah Jameson type of voice. Regardless of its chaotic organization, I did find the Spider-Verse event to be quite enjoyable, though not especially strong for Silk. Eventually I picked up the Amazing Spider-Man TPB that featured Cindy's first appearance, just for the sake of having her whole story.

As Silk went on, I bought every issue in both floppy and trade paperback. I bought the Spider(Fly) Effect (floppy and TPB.) I bought the Spider-Women crossover (floppy and TPB.) Now I can't help but wonder if I could have done more.

After David Gabriel's recent harsh remarks on the subject of inclusivity, I impulse-purchased all of the Ms. Marvel back issues that my local comic shop had and decided to host a giveaway on my blog. I find myself wishing I had done the same for Silk. The somewhat rushed feeling of Silk's final issue leads one to speculate. I hear tell that Silk performs pretty well and there are rumors that she may even get some kind of cameo in the new Spider-Man movie. I don't know what else the executives wanted, but I'm truly sorry that the Silkworms* weren't good enough for them.

*That's my name for the fanbase, though I don't think anyone else is using it. Marshmallows, Browncoats, Creampuffs, Silkworms. You follow? I'm happy to label myself as all four.

A heroine with anxiety issues, who befriends lesbians, uses a flip phone, and most of her interests are at least ten years out of date? You'd be hard-pressed to create a character that's more relatable to me. It was when the anxiety started to come up that I knew I would follow Cindy Moon until the end, even if I didn't realize how short of a commitment that was going to be. I'll always be grateful to her (and Robbie Thompson) for representing something that so many of us have to live with.

Will Silk (616) be carrying on at all? A new book? Appearances with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Back to Amazing Spider-Man? Can she join the Champions? Can the Protectors get an ongoing series? Or will Cindy just fade into the background for a few years until someone is ready to try again?

I was excited about Silk from the moment I heard about her. I'm always gonna be happy that I saw that Tumblr post and decided to give her a chance.

[atanih88]

FIC: Piece by Piece - Chapter 12 (Marvel MCU, Tony/Peter)

Title: Piece by Piece Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker Rating: Explicit Chapter: 12/13 Summary: Three years after the end of the Infinity War, the world prepares to celebrate its third anniversary of freedom. The world doesn’t realize that the heroes who fought for them are a little broken. But hey, maybe broken together, is better than broken and apart.

Notes: Written for Marvel Big Bang 2018 and originally posted on my AO3. Go there for full fic. Will be posting one chapter a day here.

CHAPTER 12

The gathering lasts for a couple more hours.

To Peter it feels like he’s standing on a precipice, the only thing keeping him from falling and losing his control is nothing but sheer will.

Still—Peter doesn’t want to rush it. Not because he doesn’t want to get Tony alone and find out where all of this is going to lead. But because this is something that might happen again for a very long time in the near future. So he pushes it away. Tries as much as he can to pretend that Tony isn’t on the other side of the room, tux jacket discarded, bowtie gone and hair sticking up at odd places from running his fingers through it too many times during the night.

Peter manages to put it in the back of his mind while he sits with Shuri at the table, listening to her talk excitedly about the latest advancements she’s made. It’s nice. It feels good to bask in someone else’s excitement, to share and learn new things and talk and enjoy each other’s company without the fear that any second might be the last one before they’re killed where they stand.

‘You should come visit,’ Shuri says, smiling, ‘I think we could have some fun experimenting with that web fluid of yours. I’d love to break it down and see what we could—sh’ Shining metal fingers curl over Shuri’s shoulders, drawing her attention away from Peter and up, to look at Bucky Barnes standing just behind her. ‘Sergeant Barnes?’ She reaches up to touch the metal hand with the tips of her fingertips.

Peter pauses with his bottle of coke halfway to his mouth and looks from one to the other. Oh.

‘Your brother asked me to come get you, we’re leaving.’

‘Oh, alright.’ Shuri stands, she smiles at Peter, holding out a hand to him. ‘Remember what I said. Come visit us—we could have some fun.’ She doesn’t notice that the words bring a touch of a frown to Bucky’s mouth. Peter does though.

Still. He’s not turning down this kind of opportunity.

‘Of course!’ He holds out his hand to her and is surprised and flustered when she holds onto it with both of her own and squeezes gently.

‘It was good talking to you, Mr. Parker. Keep in touch.’

‘I will!’

Bucky nods at him in goodbye and, hand resting on Shuri’s back, steers her towards her brother.

Peter sets down his coke and leans back in his chair with a sigh. He’s tired. But a good kind of tired. The murmur of voices around him and the low music playing in the background, something with deep notes and a rhythm that makes Peter think of the deep of night time, soothes him and he closes his eyes. Just to rest them.

Just for a second.

The fingers carding through his hair wake him up. Peter blinks in confusion, his eyes wanting to stay closed but he fights it.

‘Hey, sleeping beauty. Think you can walk to the car?’

Peter opens his mouth to reply but a yawn catches him and cracks his jaw wide open and he hides if half-heartedly. ‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Let’s go, party’s over.’

It’s true. While Peter had closed his eyes for a minute, the room has emptied out. The remnants of their dinner have been cleared away from the table and all that’s left are the drinks and mugs that had come with the tea and coffee that had been brought out some time after the fireworks.

Peter stands and stretches his arms up, lengthening himself until his body catches in that sweet tightening of muscles before releasing it and letting the looseness go through him. ‘Where’s May?’

Tony clears his throat.

When Peter turns around, Tony’s eyes snap up to his face. ‘She left.’

Peter blinks. ‘She left?’

‘Well, a more accurate description would be Thor offered to escort her home.’

‘Oh my god—’

‘Alright, alright calm down. It was strictly platonic. You were sleeping—‘

‘Yeah, she should’ve woken me up! Why didn’t she—’

‘Because you’re coming home with me.’ Tony’s got his hands in his pockets and is looking at Peter over the hardwired rims of his glasses. ‘We need to talk. Unless you’ve changed your mind about that.’

There’s no way Peter has forgotten anything. ‘Yeah, I—yeah.’ Peter wets his lips, mouth feeling dry. ‘Yes. I still want to do that.’

The night is cool as they wait for the car to be brought around. They stand side by side, shoulders brushing. The clouds have rolled out into the night, they drift across the sky with the push of the wind.

One of Mr. Stark’s cars is brought around, paintwork gleaming under the lights from the compounds. A steward steps out, still looking as crisp as he had earlier in the evening. ‘Mr. Stark,’ he says, opening the door for him. Peter’s already heading around to the other side.

Peter slides inside, the sharp nip of the breeze disappearing from his skin as he settles inside the custom made seats.

The second he shuts the door, all he can smell is Tony. Peter lets his eyes fall closed again and lets his head fall back on the headrest.

‘You okay?’

Peter opens his eyes half-mast. ‘Yeah.’ In the dark of the interior, Peter turns his head to watch Tony. The car comes to life around them. He can’t see Tony’s eyes. The light reflects off the lenses and half of his face is cast in shadow.

‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Yeah?’

Peter takes a deep breath, hands fisting in his lap. Despite the lead up to all of this, it feels like his stomach is being sucked up into his chest and he shifts on his seat. He doesn’t notice that he’s rubbing his hands over and over his thighs until Tony sends a pointed look his way.

‘This isn’t just me right? I’m not imagining—you’re in this too right?’ And it all comes rushing out of him because MJ is right. Peter has zero seduction skills and in the back of his mind, there’s a voice telling him that somehow he’s got this wrong. ‘Because every time we almost…�� Peter swallows. ‘You back away, like tonight and that time we went on a walk and—‘

The grip around his face is rough, cutting him off and turning his face.

Tony tastes like whiskey. Peter catches the flavour on his tongue. Tony’s hand is too tight on his face, digging into his chin and cheeks forcing Peter still for him as he rips any tentativeness out of the situation. Peter just grabs on, fingers scraping at Tony’s arms because the tux is fitted so perfectly he can’t even catch a handful of the material. So he just holds on and opens his mouth, eyes closed and groaning as Tony’s teeth scrape and catch his bottom lip, the sharpness of the pain making the pool of arousal low in his belly turn thick and golden.

By the time Tony pulls away, Peter’s aware of two things. One, he’s speechless. Like. There are no words. Because this is what people mean, this is what people mean when they say their mind is blown. Two, the pants Peter’s wearing are way too tight and his dick isn’t liking it in there much.

His head is empty and all he can do is stare at Tony, his lips still throbbing from the scrape and bite of Tony’s teeth.

Tony sits back and starts the car again. He doesn’t look away from Peter as he does it, a curl of satisfaction tugging at a corner of Tony’s mouth.

‘That answer your question?’

Peter just pulls his lower lip in with his teeth and nods over and over.

‘Good.’

~

The workshop is pitch black once the doors close behind it.

Peter doesn’t even get a chance to open the door on his side himself because Tony’s already there, door open, hand curling around Peter’s wrist and tugging him out of the car.

Peter’s heart beats like crazy and he can feel it in the beat of the pulse at his neck, at the way the sound around him seems to pulse with it. Only the emergency lights, their weak light just enough to add a touch of clarity, guides them to the stairs leading up to the main house.

With Tony’s hand locked around his wrist and his thumb pressed directly over Peter’s gland, Peter’s pants just get tighter.

The house is eerily silent around them, only the occasional squeak of Tony’s sneakers and the sound of Peter’s dress shoes echoing around them.

At one point Peter catches sight of a slinky shadow and mismatched eyes in the dark and has the brief clarity of thought to wonder if Alley Cat has been in the workshop again and followed them out, but then it’s gone when he realizes that they’re not going to his room.

Tony’s room.

They’re going to Tony’s room.

‘I really like the tux.’

The sound of Tony’s voice startles him. But then Tony’s stopping suddenly. The door clicks as it opens under the push of Tony’s palm and then Peter’s back is against it and the door slams shut under his weight. Tony’s hands slam down either side of him. What Peter doesn’t expect is for Tony drop his head down onto Peter’s shoulder and groan.

Peter sets tentative hands on Tony’s waist. ‘Mr. Stark.’

‘May is going to kill me. You know that right?’ Tony lifts his head. ‘This,’ he gestures between the two of them, ‘something like this will be all over the papers the minute they get a sniff of you spending more time with me than usual. You get that right? You’re a college student, you’re not gonna need that kind of—‘

Yeah. Peter really doesn’t care about all of that. He unbuttons Tony’s tux jacket and slides his hand up the smooth silk of the waistcoat inside.

‘Pretty sure I’ll be okay, Mr. Stark.’

‘Pete,’ Tony sighs, he pushes off the wall entirely and catches Peter’s hands in a gentle grip now, pushing them together and cradling them together. ‘Thinking you’ll be okay really isn’t gonna cut it this time—’

‘I want you.’ The words blurt out between them, clumsy and rushed and desperate. Because if he can’t make Tony understand him, Peter doesn’t get to have this.

Peter needs to have this.

‘I’ve wanted you for so long, but it was different before.’ Peter slides his hands out from Tony’s grip. ‘But Mr. Stark I—I, when I look at you, when I’m with you, I feel good. You make me feel good. I want this. So bad.’ He licks his lips. ‘Please.’

I can do this. I’ve got this. I can do this.

That’s the mantra in Peter’s head as he gathers what’s left of his courage and unbuttons his tux. His fingers fumble with the buttons but soon, the jacket falls to pool at his feet. He starts on the waistcoat next, eyes on his task and lip caught between his teeth because he can move trains and hold back giant aliens but suddenly, three little buttons seem like more than he can handle. But that too falls open and Peter shrugs it off.

‘FRIDAY,’ Tony snaps out, ‘lights.’ Then under his breath, ‘I need to see this.’

Light floods the room. The sudden blatant exposure slows Peter down but doesn’t stop him. He ducks his head, starts in on the shirt buttons.

‘Hey, Pete,’ Tony steps close, his fingers brushing against the flat of Peter’s stomach as he drags his shirt tails up, ‘eyes on me.’

Peter lets his breath out slowly. He hadn’t noticed the fine tremor of his hands but as Tony nudges them aside and takes over, he feels them now.

The cool air that washes over his chest and belly make him shiver. The snap and rough tug on his belt as Tony pulls it loose, makes him hard.

They’re so close now. Peter can hear every breath Tony takes.

‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Hm?’ Tony’s hands slow and he noses along the line of Peter’s jaw. He unbuttons Peter’s dress pants. But the zipper—god. Peter feels the zipper come down tooth by tooth against the press of his erection and he closes his eyes and prays that he doesn’t come the second Tony gets his hands on him.

Tony’s teeth close over Peter’s earlobe. Peter moans and clutches at Tony’s shoulders. Reminds himself to take it easy and not break anything. He never has before, during sex. But then he’s never been with Tony Stark.

‘Got something to say Pete?’ Tony says right into the shell of Peter’s ear and follows it up with a dip of his tongue.

Peter’s eyes squeeze shut. ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god,’ he whispers, digs his fingers in to the muscles of Tony’s arms. ‘Yeah so, I’ve never done this before.’

Tony stills against him. ‘Come again?’

Peter draws back, the butterflies in his stomach turn to something else as it occurs to him that maybe this might put a damper on things. He can’t quite make out Tony’s expression though. ‘I’ve had sex! I just mean—I haven’t—done, like, a lot. With uh, with guys. I mean, hand jobs, you know? And like, blow jobs but uh—I haven’t. But I want to! I really, really want to. Can we?’

Tony tilts his head back, eyes on the ceiling.

Then Tony grabs Peter by the hair at his nape and jerks Peter’s head back. He goes in for Peter’s throat, mouth all over it. He’s biting and sucking, plastering Peter back against the door again, using his body weight to hold him there although they both know that Peter can move him in a heartbeat if he wants to.

Hot hands push into his pants from behind, grabbing handfuls of Peter’s bare ass and dragging Peter until he’s straddling Tony’s thigh, rubbing Peter’s cock against the firm muscle. Peter feels the hot painful sting of Tony sucking hard on his neck.

He’s going to have marks. So many marks.

Peter sobs when the pull of Tony’s tongue stops and teeth, sharp and unforgiving tug at his skin.

When Tony finally draws back, Peter’s dazed, breath heaving, neck damp and sore.

‘You gonna take the rest of this off?’ Tony’s hands knead his ass, pulling him rhythmically against his thigh. Over and over.

Peter nods. He’s not sure he can talk.

He toes off his shoes, Tony allowing him enough room to do it before coming right back in again as soon as Peter’s shoes fall to the floor. His pants and shorts aren’t even all the way off. Peter can’t get them past his knees because Tony’s not moving his hands from his ass. And he doesn’t want to think about how stupid he looks right now because Tony doesn’t care.

Tony’s grip shifts to just under Peter’s ass cheeks and then lifts.

‘Oh, shit. Mr. Stark—’ Peter’s dick is pressed tight between their bodies, rubbing against his own damp skin and Tony’s clothes. Tony hasn’t removed one item of clothing yet.

When Tony drops him, Peter feels that oh-shit moment before the mattress absorbs his fall and he bounces. Before he’s even pushed himself back to sitting up, his pants and shorts are yanked the rest of the way off. Tony throws them over his shoulder.

He’s staring at Peter, dragging his gaze over Peter’s legs and zeroing in on Peter’s cock, arching and swollen pink, head almost touching the skin just below his belly button.

Tony starts stripping.

Peter shifts his legs restlessly. He’s acutely aware of the weight of his balls and the tight hole just beneath them. He has the strongest urge to touch himself, to feel the phantom touch that Tony’s giving him with eyes alone.

So he does. Face burning, Peter braces himself up on one elbow. Uncertainty makes him rest his hand on his stomach for a bit, feeling his body quivering under his own touch. And then focusing on the way Tony freezes with his shirt half off, he gets that last bit of courage and wraps his hand around his own cock.

‘Oh man,’ his head drops back and he can’t even stroke himself, just holds the heavy weight of his own cock in his hand, can feel his thighs trembling with the need to just stroke hard and fast and come all over himself because then he’d get to do it all over again until he got Tony in him.

‘Jesus, kid. Keep going.’ Tony’s voice rasps over Peter’s senses and he doesn’t even have to look up. Just does as he’s told.

He slips his own touch down further, cups his balls, rubbing his fingers, pushing into the space between the sac and biting his lip to keep from yelling out in pleasure.

And then he reaches below. He feels the soft whorl of hair there, just a dusting of it over his hole. It’s dry and tight under the pad of his finger and he swallows, thinking that it’s not going to work this way. But the thought of Tony breaking him open—

His dick twitches and drools out a bead of come.

‘A warning. Keep doing that and I’m not sure you’re gonna be able to walk tomorrow.’

Tony’s hands are big on Peter’s thighs. They’re not gentle either as he grips the inside of Peter’s thighs and shoves them apart.

Peter throws an arm over his head and forces his eyes open.

The thing about Tony Stark is he has a sort of timelessness to him. Peter knows he keeps himself in shape. He’s seen Tony jogging, boxing in the ring, lifting—fighting, building things with his bare hands. So it’s no surprise that every part of Tony is toned. Peter wants to touch him all over. But that’s cool because Tony gets lower, lying down over him, goatee scraping Peter’s skin as Tony’s hips lodge between his legs, forcing them open wider. The head of his dick, hot and hard and velvet soft bumps against Peter’s balls.

It works for Peter, he just lifts and folds his legs around him, bringing him in tight.

The look Tony gives him is amused. ‘Not going anywhere. But I like this flexible thing you’ve got going on. Let’s test it out, shall we?’

‘Wha—‘

Tony grips him beneath his knees and pushes his legs back, Peter’s thighs pressed back until they’re nestled against his flanks. The position splits his ass open and bares it to the light in the room and Tony.

‘Hold them there,’ Tony murmurs, absently. When Peter does what he’s asked and holds his own legs in place, Tony spreads his hands over Peter’s ass.

Nothing has ever prepared Peter for the sensation of a tongue spearing into his ass.

He yelps, one of his hands slipping to slap down on Tony’s shoulder hard enough to make the other man grunt into Peter’s ass. But Peter’s mindless. ‘Oh G—Mr. Stark—‘

Tony lifts away long enough to look down at Peter’s sweating face, mischief shining in his brown eyes. ‘Tony,’ he corrects, ‘I think we’re at that point now, don’t you? We can explore your daddy kink later.’

Peter groans and drops his head back. ‘I don’t have a—oh, o-oh man, Mr—Tony!’

Tony spreads him as much as he can, thumbs digging cruelly either side of Peter’s hole, using them to aid in prying him open and tonguing him there, the slippery muscle of his tongue making Peter give, laving the tight ring of his hole with spit and soft licks and sucks that have him bucking up and abandoning holding a leg in place to start rubbing mindlessly at the head of his own dick, spreading the moisture down until his hips are bucking up and Tony has to pin him down by the hips.

His moans echo in the room, husky and broken and desperate. His belly is a mess and his dick is starting to hurt, Peter’s resorted to keeping his hand wrapped tight at the base by the time Tony lifts his head. His face is flushed, his eyes shining and his lips look as swollen and wet as Peter feels down there. His hole feels sloppy and open and yeah sure, he’s had fingers up there before—mainly his own—but this feels—different.

‘God, you’re stunning.’

It makes Peter smile. But it promptly vanishes when Tony dips his head back down and gives the head of Peter’s dick a lick. And that puts Peter back in the right mind space to cry. Except Tony’s biting his way up Peter’s body. He bites, sharp and wicked, down on Peter’s right nipple and a tear trickles down Peter’s cheek. Or maybe it’s sweat. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He wraps his legs back around Tony’s waist as Tony rests a hand on his throat and slams his mouth down on Peter’s.

Peter can taste himself. And if someone had told him he’d be doing this, he might’ve scrunched up his nose and thought about it being something he would absolutely not want to do but right here, right now, it’s the most amazing thing ever and he reaches up to grab on to Tony’s face and kisses him back harder, rolling his hips up to feel Tony’s dick sliding along his wet crack.

Tony fucks his tongue into Peter’s mouth and then pulls away, hissing, to rest his forehead against Peter’s. ‘Fuck. Fuck.’

‘What? What is it?’ Peter’s heart is pounding.

‘No condoms.’

Peter blinks. ‘Uh—you don’t—you don’t have any?’

Tony closes his eyes and groans, rolls his hips against Peter’s ass making both of their breaths catch. ‘Kinda been going through a dry spell lately.’

‘Oh. Um. Yeah. So I don’t have any either.’ Peter swallows and urges Tony to look at him again, fingers stroking over Tony’s goatee, Tony’s hair, rubbing over Tony’s lips. ‘Are you safe?’

Tony’s eyes narrow. ‘If you’re—‘

‘Tony,’ Peter snaps out, not in the mood for this shit right now, ‘I don’t go around being unsafe, okay? I barely even get to do it enough to worry about not being safe. But I always am. But I trust you. And I want you in me,’ he’s going to be embarrassed tomorrow, thinking about how close his voice came to a whine at that point, ‘and if you tell me you’re good, then you’re good. But you have to trust me too. I’m not just saying this because I want to fuck. I’m saying this because this is you and —and—‘ he huffs, drops his head back against the pillow.

‘Shit,’ Tony sighs, ‘okay. Okay. And as touching as that was, we’re still having a safe sex talk when all of this is over.’

Huh. Peter feels the beginnings of a grin stealing over his face. ‘But you’re not saying no.’

‘No. God you’re a pain in the ass.’ Tony pushes himself up to kneel between Peter’s legs. He reaches to the bedside table and Peter sees him yank open the top drawer. He doesn’t take too long. Finding the lube in Peter’s drawer would’ve taken forever.

The bottle makes a soft thud as it lands next to Peter.

‘You sure you’re good with this?’

Peter nods. If he nods any harder his head might come off. ‘Yes. Yeah, please.’

The kiss Tony gives him then is different. Small, soft, lips clinging, Tony combing Peter’s hair back from his face. It ends on a gentle nip to the corner of Peter’s mouth and then pulls back. The snap of the lube bottle being opened echoes in Peter’s ears. He watches Tony pour the translucent substance onto his hand and then work it over two fingers.

Tony braces himself back over Peter, slots his hand between Peter’s legs and rubs the remainder of the lube over his hole, his crack, his balls. He wraps his hand around Peter’s cock and gives it a tight long pull before dipping his hand back down and this time, he presses the tips of two fingers to Peter’s hole. Peter catches his breath, feels his whole body react to the presence of that touch there.

‘Push out,’ Tony says and presses his fingers in.

Oh.

Oh.

Peter’s held still by Tony’s weight on him. He swallows and reaches his hands up, pressing them up against the headboard for extra leverage.

‘Try not to break it or anything,’ Tony says, and his expression seems to be saying this is a joke. But it doesn’t come out that way. Not when every part of Tony is tense now, as tense as Peter as fingers slide up inside him, making a space in him that’s not used to having anything there. It burns a little, but it’s not as bad as Peter thought. As Tony moves his fingers inside Peter, he rubs at his perineum with his thumb and Peter’s not sure if he’s going to survive this.

When Peter’s rocking back into his fingers and mouthing at Tony’s arm where it’s braced next to him, Tony pulls them out.

Little drops of sweat run down Tony’s stomach, disappearing into the short hair at the base of his dick. Tony’s dick is maybe shorter than Peter’s, not by much. Peter’s not thinking straight right now so he doubts his measuring abilities are up to scratch. What he can see for sure though, is how thick it is.

And Peter wants to see it go in.

Tony takes himself in hand, rubs the head of his dick against Peter’s hole and just seeing it almost breaks Peter apart. Tony glances up at him. ‘Alright?’

Peter bites his lip. He nods.

And Tony presses in.

Tony’s hands framing his hips, index fingers sliding into the creases of his thighs and thumbs pressing into the tops of his ass hard enough to hurt. The blunt pressure inside him is breathtaking and Peter’s breathing through his clenched teeth, brows pulled together as he tries to breathe. It hurts. Fuck it hurts but he still wants it. He doesn’t realize he’s got a hand out, flattened to Tony’s chest, that he’s panting hard as his body tries to cope with the massive intrusion.

‘Are you gonna do it? Or are you gonna make me take it?’

The words shoot through him and Peter groans. His dick, which had begun to go soft as soon as Tony started pushing in for real, twitches at the words because the image that cuts through the haze of burning discomfort is too hot not to.

Peter’s ass speared on Tony’s cock while Peter lies there, taking it.

The thumbs digging into Peter ease up and start smoothing over his sweaty skin, over and over, little strokes that after the first few start to end on the fingers tucked between his groin gently encouraging Peter to tilt his hips, enough that he feels his hole give and let in more. The noise he makes sounds alien, like he’s being choked and wounded all at once.

‘Fuck, kid—easy,’ Tony hisses. His face is scrunched up, teeth gritted, like it’s hurting him too. Maybe it is, the fit is so tight Peter’s amazed Tony can move inside him at all.

‘Sorry—I can’t—‘

Tony reaches for Peter’s cock. Peter almost cries when he feels that hand, slippery with sweat and lube wrap around his cock and begin to stroke. His hips hitch and he feels Tony’s dick slide in another inch. It burns. But at the same time the slick slide mixes with the pleasure from his cock being milked in long sure strokes that match the tiny thrusts of Tony’s hips against him.

‘That’s it,’ Tony whispers. The thrusts of his hips get stronger, forcing a little more in. ‘That’s it,’ Tony groans, head dropping, face hovering above Peter’s. He begins to work his hips properly and Peter feels he difference.

‘Oh man, oh man, Mr. St—‘ Peter chokes, forgetting how to breathe on the next thrust. Because that’s it. Oh my god that’s it.

Peter arches, mouth open on a silent moan. Tony’s balls press tight against his ass, his thighs spread wide around Tony’s hips, his ass spread wide on Tony’s cock. He’s digging his fingers into Tony’s chest, right above his heart.

Then his face is being taken in Tony’s hands and soft kisses are brushing his face everywhere. It’s only when Tony presses those kisses to Peter’s eyelashes that he realizes his eyes are wet.

‘Fuck,’ Tony sounds so reverent, ‘that’s so good. That feels so good.’ Tony sounds like this is hurting him. He pulls out, making Peter gasp at the friction but stops before leaving Peter completely. He pushes back in, forces the air out of Peter’s lungs.

And it still hurts.

But the pleasure edges it all out.

Yeah, this is good.

‘Yeah. I like this,’ Peter says.

Tony chokes out a laugh, shakes his head. And then he starts to fuck him.

Hard.

At some point, he sits back, takes Peter’s hips in hand and starts nailing his prostate on every thrust. His hands grip Peter tight and Peter loves it. Because he’s strong and he can take whatever Tony gives him and he wants Tony to know that. He wants Tony to lose himself in him, to lean on him, to take from him.

His hole is sore and it stills feels like he’s being rammed, his insides sensitive from the penetration but his dick is so hard it hurts.

’T-Tony, m’close—I’m close,’ he groans.

‘Yeah?’

And then he does something Peter isn’t expecting.

He drops his weight onto Peter, grabs Peter’s wrist, he grinds his dick in deep, slams his mouth down over Peter’s web gland and sucks.

Peter’s not sure. But he thinks he blacks out for a second, because when he opens his eyes a few moments his later, his chest hurts and the sounds he’s making are like sobs and there’s come splattered all over his stomach and chest. His body jostles as Tony fucks into him, head down, hips pistoning in and out of him. Tony gasps when he comes. He gasps and fists Peter’s hair, bringing Peter’s mouth up so he can gasp into it, and bite at his bottom lip as he spills inside him, hips slapping hard against Peter as he wrings out every last drop, until eventually he’s just a hot and heavy damp weight covering Peter head to toe.

That’s how Peter falls asleep.