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babybatscreationsv2 · 1 month ago

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Silk and Gold

Marvel | Starker

When a train robbery goes wrong, Peter takes the blame a man's death. Weeks pass while Peter hides out from Sheriff Stane and his men, but eventually it becomes clear that he'll never be able to go home unless he can get them off his back. Anthony Stark is notorious in the crime world and getting Peter out of trouble would be child's play for him, but he doesn't just give things like that away for free. Gold and silk mean little to a man who can take whatever he wants.

Rating: Explicit

Prompt fill for anon

Warning and tags below

Warnings/tags: romnoncon/coercion, humiliation, pain kink, first time, rough sex, face slapping, breed kink, size kink, minor character death, western AU

They knew the dynamite would give them away, they just didn't know how quickly the sheriff and his men would be on them. It took longer than Peter expected for the train to stop even as it crashed. It continued to skid an impressive distance, tearing apart the ground beneath it. Peter and his posse cheered as it finally came to a stop beside the blasted tracks. It was gonna cost the rail company a pretty penny to replace all of this. After they refused to hire Peter on for so many months and left him hungry and lost, he reckoned they deserved the trouble it got them.

Harry went right for the cargo while MJ went to fish the stunned conductor from the wreckage. He was banged up good, but alive. She tied his arms to his back and marched him away from the train in case it blew. Peter figured it was good for Harry to bring his wife along for jobs like this. Kept him righteous.

He joined his friend in the cargo car. Harry has the biggest smile on his face.

"Look at this! Nothing but fine jewelry and look!" He held up a sheer white scarf. "Silk all the way from China. Do you know what this is worth?"

"Hope it's worth as much as gold since that's what you promised me." Peter looked around the crates. They were chest high and stuffed to the brim with goods.

Harry scoffed and tossed him something. Peter caught it in his hands. The gold gleamed in the low sunlight. "A pocket watch? What's the point in making something like that out of gold?"

Harry laughed. "What you gotta learn, Pete, is that the people who have gold want to show it off. Leaving it in a vault for folk like us to break in and steal? Where's the fun in that? No, they want everyone to see what they've got and writhe with jealousy."

"Writhe?"

"Yeah it's like... squirming in pain. Writhe."

Peter nodded. He pushed open another crate and started digging in. Scarfs, skirts, watches, and necklaces all were stuffed into his bag. Then they heard MJ call.

"It's the sheriff! They're on us!" she shrieked.

They both jumped and ran to the door. Sure enough five horses were barreling their way. Peter looked for his own and found it far out of reach. If he whistled it would only reach him as the sheriff did. They might even shoot her down.

MJ appeared at the back of the train car, sitting atop her and Harry's horse. He climbed on behind her.

"Come on, Pete!" He offered his hand.

Peter looked at the horse, then back at the sheriff. She could handle the weight if only for a mile or two. They just needed to get away. He grabbed Harry's hand and jumped up behind him. He clung to his friend's chest as they both leaned in.

Bullets pinged off the metal of the train. Harry took out his gun and fired back.

"Don't hit them!" MJ warned.

"I'm not, I'm not," Harry soothed. "Just tryin' to keep them back."

"It's not working," she huffed.

Peter clenched his jaw. They were too heavy. The mare wasn't strong enough. The longer they drew this out, the weaker she would be. If he let go now, she might have enough in her for them to get away.

So he let go.

"Pete!" Harry called. He reached back for him, but Peter slipped back right off the horse's rear. Harry screamed his name.

Peter hit the ground and rolled as best as he could, but the angle was wrong and he still twisted his ankle. At least nothing felt broken. He sprinted for the nearby hills.

MJ turned the horse around. Peter waved her off, silently begging her to go. They'd follow the easier the target. Or better yet, they might split up. Either way, that horse was fast and she knew this area well. They'd be okay.

Peter could just make out her frustrated huff as Harry convinced her to go.

He kept running. A bullet struck the ground not far from his hip, but he didn't look back. There were two behind him, maybe three. They were gaining fast, aiming for his legs. But they didn't reach him before he reached the hills.

"Peter Parker! We know that's you, boy!" The sheriff called across the distance. "Stop now before this gets ugly!"

His anxious stomach didn't care for that idea, but he kept running anyway, right into the old mine shaft. It had been abandoned for only a few years now. The place was overrun with snakes and the miners had left after the third death. He couldn't be sure if they would follow him inside or that they wouldn't try to stake him out, but he couldn't outrun a horse.

The mine sloped down, blocking out the light from above. Peter slowed to a quick walk until finally he couldn't see past the end of his nose and he stopped. He squatted down in the dark and felt around in the dirt. His hands found the cold metal of an old mine cart. Careful not to make a sound, he crawled behind it.

"Parker!" the sheriff called as he reached the entrance. He heard one of the horses whinny.

"Careful, Sheriff. There's snakes in there. Horses can tell," one of his men said.

"The only snake in there is Peter Parker," he huffed. "And I ain't leavin without him."

Peter jumped as a loud sound came from not too far away. He felt the slightest tremble in the ground.

"What the hell?" someone said.

"Down there! The base of the mountain is smoking!"

"That damned Osborn. He set off an avalanche!" the sheriff said.

"What about the others? They could have killed them. They could need our help."

"Dammit!" They were quiet for a moment. "Alright. You stay here and wait for the boy to come out. We'll go and check it out. Do not leave until you have him. Ya hear?"

"Yes, sir."

Two horses galloped away. It was silent. Then he heard feet shuffling in the dirt and an irritated huff. Peter leaned his head back against the cart. No one seemed keen on following himself at least. He could rest for a few minutes. He hoped the others were okay. They'd probably done that for him. Too bad it would be for nothing if he couldn't get away.

He couldn't see any deeper into the shaft. There was only the light behind and slightly above him. He could feel a breeze coming up from below. Somewhere down there must have been a second entrance, but it was too dark to see and he'd never been that deep.

"Come on out already! We already know how this ends!" the man at the entrance hollered. "Either you get bit down there or you come crawling out and we drag you down to the jailhouse."

Peter didn't respond.

"Unless you've been bit already..."

He just breathed. Thinking. There had to be a way out of this. He'd done this plenty of times before. There was only one of them. The only problem was that Peter didn't have a gun. He didn't like the things. It seemed wrong to kill a man so impersonally. Killing shouldn't be easy. Not that he wanted to kill anyone.

He got an idea.

"Alright, you win!" he called up. "I'm coming out! Just don't shoot!"

"Why the change of heart?" he called back suspiciously.

"I heard something moving down there. I don't know what it is, but better a jail cell then a rattler!"

"Yeah? Come on out then."

Peter stood and shuffled his feet around in the dirt. After a moment he cried out.

"My foot! It's stuck! I stepped in a hole or something!"

"That ain't my problem. You got yourself in there."

"Please! There's something in here! I can't move!"

The man sighed. "Dammit... you better not be pullin’ my leg."

Peter stayed hidden behind the cart as he heard him approach. "Thank you! You're a good man!"

"Yeah yeah- holy hell..." the man stopped. Peter's heart sank as he heard it. A rattle.

"Aw fuck! You tricked me! You damned bastard! When I get ahold of you I'm gonna put on between your eyes and push right into the bottom of this mine. Stane won't know what happened to ya!"

"Shut up!" Peter hissed. "You're gonna piss it off. I didn't know it was there, okay? I was bluffing."

"You're a liar and a coward, Peter Parker!" The rattling stopped. The man took a step and it started up again. "To hell with this."

Peter flinched at the sound of a gunshot. There were two more. Then the man screamed. Peter closed his eyes. The gun shots stopped, but the screaming continued.

He peeked around the cart. He couldn't see much, just a shadow of something squirming. Slowly, he came out of his hiding place.

"You alright?" he asked.

The man sobbed.

Peter approached slowly. There was no rattling. No signs of any snakes. As he came close, he could see that the man was pale in the face. He clutched at his chest. There was a lot of blood. The thing had bit him multiple times on the legs and hands. As he came close, the man collapsed. He was still breathing, but he needed a doctor.

He could hear horses in the distance. There was no time for sympathy. Stane would find him and take care of him surely. He had to worry about himself for now. He'd be okay.

Peter ran from the mine. Behind him he heard the tell tale rattle, but nothing bit at his ankles. Lucky.

He found the deputy's horse a few paces from the mine. It must have balked when it heard the snake. It didn't mind Peter climbing onto its back and let him ride it back toward town. He rode for a while, sometimes doubling back, leaving a mess of tracks in the dry soil. Then he rode off into the pastures.

He managed to hide out for a few days before someone spotted him and sent Stane after him. He couldn't go back to MJ's farm while Stane was looking for him, so he left town altogether. Only to find that the next town over had already been alerted about the train robbery. And not just the robbery, but the dead deputy, too. Sheriff Stane blamed him. Despite the obvious snake bites and the fact that Peter was far from a snake charmer, he was still wanted for murder. Everyone was looking for him and once he was caught, he'd be hanged. He had nowhere to run.

The golden pocket watch bought him a room and some food and the silence of a gruff old man who didn't seem to care who he was or what he was up to. Then he was on the run again. But he couldn't run forever.

That's how he ended up back home. He kept his head down. The brim of his hat shaded his face. His heart pounded. He'd heard word that the sheriff and his crew were out dealing with bandits down by the mill outside of town. Even if someone recognized him and wanted to turn him in, they couldn't. So long as no one wanted to take the law into their own hands. But it wasn't as if he'd hurt anyone.

He'd hear whispers in his travels about a man thought of as a king among criminals. He'd never met Anthony Stark in person, but he was notorious in his town. Despite being a gangster, the law looked the other way when it came to Stark. If only because he owned the only brothel for miles around. Others swore he'd saved all sorts of criminals from fates as grim as the noose. Appealing to Stark might just be his only chance.

Peter entered through the swinging doors. Inside seemed nothing more than a dimly lit saloon. A woman tended the bar. She was beautiful with a face caked in paints and powders and her hair done up in curls that fell around her round face. She smiled kindly as he entered.

"Can I help you, mister?" she asked sweetly.

Across the room, a man played a soft and soothing tune on the piano. A patron was asleep with his head down on a table and four empty bottles beside his head. Peter approached the bar.

"Yes, ma'am, I hope so. I'm looking for Mr. Stark."

Her smile fell. Her eyes ran over him coldly. "A boy like you?" she tsked. "What'd he rope you into?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing like that, ma'am. I just need his help."

She laughed bitterly. "Oh sure. I suppose you just need him to help you patch your momma's fencing." She rolled her eyes. "It ain't none of my business. I work up front so I ain't gotta know."

With her hands on the bar she looked at a door at the back of the room. "Let me just see if he's available, alright kid?"

"Thank ya, ma'am." Peter nodded his head politely. He leaned against the bar as she walked away. His heart raced. Sure, he was a criminal himself but that was largely out of necessity. He'd tried doing things the honest way. Stark was different. They said his father had been a gangster and his father before him. They were criminals before they'd even crossed the pond.

The woman returned to the bar. "He says he'll see you, but don't waste his time," she sighed. "He's been awful bored lately. Mind you don't piss him off. He'll take great pleasure in making you regret it. He might cure his boredom using you for target practice."

"Thanks." Peter swallowed, doing his best to shove his anxiety down with it. He walked past the bar and into the next room.

It was a large bedroom. As big as MJ's whole house. One massive bed sat against one wall along with a desk and a wardrobe. On the other side of the room was a couple of sofas in front of a fireplace. A man sat in a chair facing the door. On the table beside him was a book and a glass of whiskey with little more than a drop left at the bottom.

"Mr. Stark?"

"That's me," the man said. He crossed one leg over the other. His jaw rested against his knuckles as he examined him.

"It's nice to meet you, sir. My name's Peter Parker." He stepped forward and offered his hand, but the man didn't move so he let it fall.

"I know. Who else would be so desperate as to come to me?" He smiled. "I'm awful scary, ain't I?"

Peter smiled back. "You seem decent to me, sir. I hear you're someone to admire."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. They say you're brilliant. But I didn't come here just to flatter you, sir." Peter opened up his bag. He froze as Stark pointed his gun at him. "I'm not armed, I swear."

"You just show me what you got, nice and slowly."

Peter nodded. Shaking, he pulled a silk scarf from the bag. "See? I took a few things from that train a couple weeks back. It's all yours if you help me."

"You did an awful lot more than rob a train. They say that deputy died quite a slow, awful, death. A bit of silk can't get you out of the pinch you're in."

"I know that. There's plenty more. I went and buried it, but I'll show you where if you promise to help me. Please, sir."

Stark didn't look impressed, but he put his gun away. His eyes seemed to roam Peter's body. Perhaps he was bored already.

"Listen, I have tons more silk, just like this one. And jewelry, too. Diamonds and gold, a pearl necklace..."

Stark rose from his seat and walked towards him, one heavy step at a time, as Peter babbled. His voice trailed off as they were nose to nose. Stark lifted his hand slowly like you might around a stray animal. His fingers dragged up his throat and up to hold his chin. With the other hand, he took the hat from his head and tossed it onto the bed.

"Baby, I don't want your jewels," he purred.

Peter swallowed. "Then what..." He shivered as he realized. He couldn't mean that could he? But those eyes, those dark and dilated pupils. The way he looked at him with more hunger than he'd ever seen in a man before. Tony's lips curled into a lazy grin as he watched his face.

His hand slid along his jaw to the back of his neck. Peter stood frozen in place as Stark leaned in and pressed their lips together. He'd always heard it was bad etiquette to kiss a whore. It's too intimate. Save it for your wife, they say. He understood why now. Stark kissed like he was savoring the taste of him as if he were the finest wine or the juiciest cut of meat. His lips felt so unexpectedly plump and so enticingly warm. Then they parted so slightly and the tip of his tongue teased the seam of his lips. Peter sighed, longing and deep. Pleasure flowed like whiskey through his blood. It made him feel warm and hazy and found himself reaching for him, kissing him back with a hand on his waist.

When realized what he was doing, where he was, and why. He pushed him back, taking a step back, himself.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," he gasped, panic jolting through him. "I can't- I-"

"Do you want my help or not?" He looked at him, both eyebrows raised. His face was flushed. "I hate to ask twice."

Peter swallowed. He straightened his back. "No, sir. I'm sorry. I'll find some other way."

"Think you can bribe Stane with those pretty silks of yours? He can just take them off your corpse when they're done hanging you, sweetheart."

He took another step back. His heart pounded in his ears. "I'm sorry," he said again. Then he backed out the door. He ran through the bar and back outside.

The afternoon sun blazed against his face. He was still holding the scarf in one hand and people were staring. He stuffed it into his bag and hurried down the street. He had to find somewhere to hide for the night, get out of town in the morning. Maybe he'd be better off heading east. He could use the jewelry to buy a train ticket. He was mapping it all out in his mind, putting a new plan together when someone pulled a sack right over his head.

Peter lashed out, swinging his fists, but someone grabbed him around the middle.

"Just you hold still," they laughed.

"You ain't goin nowhere!" said another. They dragged him, kicking and fighting, down the dirt road. He couldn't see, but he felt it when his feet hit the wooden deck. They dragged him inside, out of the sun and into somewhere stuffy.

"Let me go!" he screamed.

"Alright, here ya go," someone mocked. He heard metal clanking. Someone yanked his bag off his shoulders and over his head. Then they shoved him.

He fell face first, catching himself on his hands and spraining his wrist. He yanked the sack off of his head and turned around to see three men slamming the cell door. They turned the key in the lock.

"You've got a lot of nerve comin' 'round here, Parker," one of them jeered. He looked scruffy and his clothes were spotted with sweat stains.

"Don't you know how much Stane is offering for ya? We're all takin’ our retirement tomorrow," another one said. This one had sun dark skin that was still peeling beneath his eyes. They didn't look any different than your average working men. They had a lot to gain from a bounty. He'd been an idiot to come into town.

"I didn't kill anyone! You're hanging an innocent man," Peter tried.

"That's too bad. We get paid either way. Doesn't matter what the sheriff does with ya."

"Are you sure?" One of the guys said. "What if he's really innocent?"

Another guy laughed. "Yeah, right. He'd say anything to get himself out of there."

The door opened and in walked Obadiah Stane. He smirked when he saw Peter in the cell.

"Nice work, fellas. Go and talk to Beck about your payment."

They hurried off without so much as a look back at Peter. Then it was just the two of them alone.

"Thought you'd got away with it did ya, Parker?"

"I didn't kill him. You know I didn't. You have to. You saw what that snake did to him."

Stane looked surprised, but Peter didn't buy it. "Snake? No, you hacked him up like the lunatic you are and dumped the pieces in the bottom of that mine."

"You can't do this! I'll tell the judge everything!"

"What judge?" Stane chuckled. "Don't ya know he's out of town? Been gone a week now already. Won't be back for a month or two. And I ain't waitin' that long. Not when I've got such a cruel, sadistic, killer on my hands." His lips spread into a wide, cruel grin. Then he burst into laughter so strong that he held his belly.

"Someone's gotta pay for this, kid. I ain't sorry that it's you. All you and those Osborns do is cause trouble. Only I can't bother them can I? The town'd have a fit if I messed with Norman's son. You, though, nobody will miss."

Peter swallowed. He was right. He should have thought about that back at the train. Not that he would ever willingly throw Harry to the wolves, but maybe they could have come up with a better plan. "What about the goods? All the jewels and silk that I took? I'll tell you where I hid them if you let me go."

Stane turned around and walked to the desk. He picked up Peter's bag and rifled through it. "There's more out there somewhere, that it?"

"I buried it."

Stane looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Now what would you do a thing like that for, son?"

"I'm not just gonna walk around with valuables like that on my person. I'm not an idiot."

"Aren't you just?" Stane chuckled. He patted the bag. "This'll do just fine. It's a steal for me either way. I get to hang the bastard that killed a dear friend and I get a couple of prizes."

"I didn't kill him, Stane!"

The sheriff shrugged. "It was your fault he was in that damned mine, wasn't it? Sounds to me like you killed him."

Peter clenched his teeth. There was nothing he could say and nothing he could do. He sat down on the bench against the wall. Stane left him alone. He kicked his feet up on the desk and took to reading the paper. He wasn't sure how he fell asleep, but a while later, he woke to the feeling of being watched.

The sun was low, now. Dawn or dusk, he wasn't sure, but it was dark. Stane wasn't at his desk, but someone else was looming outside his cell.

"Come to say I told you so?" Peter asked. He sat up on the bench and rubbed the sleep from his face.

Stark smirked. He leaned against the bars. "I didn't come to talk." He held up the key to Peter's cell.

Peter jumped up and ran to the door. "You're getting me out?"

"That depends on you, doesn't it? I know I said I hate to ask twice, but it's a damn shame to let such a pretty thing go without a fight."

Peter paled. He couldn't believe he was still asking, but dammit if he wasn't desperate enough now.

"What do you say, pretty boy?" Tony reached through the bars to pet the side of his face. Two fingers traced the shape of his lips. He had a curious look in his eyes. Peter watched him with a racing heart. Then those fingers pushed past his lips. He didn't know why, but he allowed it. He shivered when he tasted them on his tongue. They pushed back into his throat and Peter swallowed.

"Are you gonna be a good whore for me?" Tony whispered. He thought about telling him no, but the threat of the noose made his blood run cold. He'd do anything and he hated himself for it, but he would. Peter nodded, fingers still between his lips. "Yeah, you are. Look at you."

He took his fingers from his mouth. Peter swayed, off balance by the sudden movement. Tony unlocked the cell and stepped inside. Peter felt cornered as he approached.

"You ever been with a man, Pete?" Peter shook his head. Tony smiled. "Good. I like to play teacher."

Peter backed into the wall as Tony came closer. His fingers touched his lips again. "You seem like a smart kid. I bet you already know what a whore uses this for."

Peter's face grew hot. "Go on, sweetheart. What's it for?" His fingers brushed over his lips, tracing them in circles. Peter closed his eyes and shook his head. The back of Tony's hand battered the side of his face. A startled cry escaped him. His whole body tensed for a fight, but Tony grabbed him by the throat. Peter glared as Tony pried open his jaw and forced his fingers inside, stretching his mouth around four of them.

"What's this fucking hole for, Pete? Huh?"

Peter struggled. He tried to tell him to stop, but his mouth was stretched to its limit as Tony tried to fit his hand in wrist deep. He held it back as long as he could, but two of Tony's fingers brushed the back of his throat and he choked. Tony slapped him again.

"Come on, you're a smart boy." He jerked his arm back and forth like he was fucking his mouth with his fingers. His face was a mess of spit. As he tried to escape, Tony's hand left his neck to grab him by the hair instead. It was much more effective at keeping him still, forcing him to submit. When he stopped struggling, he realized it was much easier if he relaxed. He blinked back tears and looked at the man's face.

"That's a good boy," Tony cooed. "Tell me."

"For..." Peter tried to speak around Tony's hand. Smirking, Tony pulled his fingers out of his mouth and held his chin.

"For sucking your cock, sir."

"Very good," Tony purred. "You're gonna be a good student, aren't ya? You gonna make me proud?"

Peter blushed as he realized the man was waiting for an answer. "Yes, sir," he whispered.

"What was that?" Tony barely tapped his cheek, but Peter still flinched.

"Yes, sir," he said louder.

"Good boy. So where should you be?"

Peter's eyes widened, then they flicked to the floor. It wasn't that he'd thought he was joking, but if he had to go through with it, well, he hadn't counted on being an active participant in his own violation.

He slid down the wall to his knees. He stared firmly at Tony's thighs, hands refusing to move.

"Are you waiting for permission? We're well past that, cock sucker."

Peter pressed his lips together and swallowed down the insult. He focused straight ahead, pushing any singular thought to the back of his mind as he unhooked the man's belt. He slid it through the loops and unzipped his pants. Shame heated his skin, but still he wrapped his hand around Tony's cock and pulled it free, sliding his pants down just enough. He just had to get through this. Then he would be free. He started to pump his cock in his hand, breathing steadily, refusing to react. He could go back to Harry and MJ and finally take them up on that offer to be their farm hand. Even if it was a hand out. It was better than this.

Tony's hand connected with his face again. This time Peter glared up at him, body gone stiff on instinct. Tony grabbed him by the hair, capturing both of his wrists in one hand when he reached for his arm. He shook him, hair tugging at his scalp.

"You're here with me, kid. I don't want any glassy eyed 'close your eyes and dream of London' bullshit, you got me? If you're gonna do it, do it right."

"Sorry, sir," Peter cried. Tony let go of him. He was shaken. The fight fled his system leaving him docile, even tamed.

"Try again," Tony ordered.

Peter tried again, this time focusing on what he was doing. Shame twisted in his stomach like coiling snakes.

"That's much better," Tony praised. He ran his fingers through Peter's hair. "Open up, now."

He let Tony pull him in as he parted his lips. His cock was bigger than he'd thought, forcing him to open wider to take the head into his mouth. He shivered as the salty taste touched his tongue. At least it didn't taste too bad. He focused again before Stark could get mad at him again. He licked all around the head and traced the ridges with his tongue. He wasn't sure he was doing it right, but if he did a decent job, this could be over quicker. He tried sucking on it and running his tongue down the length. None of this seemed to get much of a reaction until he looked up. Their eyes met and he felt it as Tony's cock throbbed against his tongue. His hand tightened just a bit in his hair and he pushed into his mouth just a little bit more.

"Such a pretty thing," Tony sighed. With one hand he pet Peter's cheek. "You want to please me don't you? I can tell."

There was something to his words that made him blush. He tried taking more of him into his mouth, moving up and down his length, all while gazing up at him. It was embarrassing, but Stark seemed to enjoy it. He watched him with those dark, hungry eyes. Rich sighs and moans left his lips. Peter kept going, undeniably proud of himself as he puzzled out what the man liked. He didn't hate it. The friction, the fullness, it felt good. And he liked getting such reactions out of a man so powerful. A man with countless whores at his disposal, no less.

Tony grabbed his hair and stopped him. "Keep your mouth open," he ordered. Then he trust his hips, fucking into his mouth as if it were a cunt. Embarrassment burned even hotter under his skin. It was one thing to suck a man off, but it was another to have his mouth as if he wasn't even attached to it. But he sat, still and obedient, mouth hanging open. Drool ran over his chin and he ignored it. Tony's cock, forced open his throat, drawing obscene noises out of him, but only seemed to make Tony moan, so he didn't protest. He thought for sure the man was close to the edge, for sure it was almost over. And then he stopped and released him.

"Strip and get on the bed."

Peter stared at him for a moment as he tried to decipher what he was being asked. He wiped the drool off his face and stood. He yanked the laces on his boots and kicked them off. Then hesitantly, he started to unbutton his shirt until Tony smacked his hand.

"No. You can't please a man like that, sweetheart. You gotta work a little harder. Go slowly."

Face burning, Peter unbuttoned his shirt while Tony watched. "Good. Now let it roll off your shoulders. There now you can pull it off your arms."

Peter swallowed. The way he looked at him, at his body, felt violating. Almost more so than the way he'd brutalized his throat. He grabbed the back of his undershirt and pulled it over his head, going slowly in hopes of avoiding any more criticism. Right or wrong, Tony allowed it. He stood ogling Peter's toned chest down to his abdomen. His tongue slipped out, running over his bottom lip as he admired his narrow hips.

"Keep going."

He couldn't look at Tony, but he couldn't pretend he hated his eyes on him either. Coerced though he might be, the guy was still handsome, still powerful, still kissed as if he would devour him. He wanted that again.

Peter unhooked his belt and pulled it slowly through the loops. He unbuttoned his jeans and slowly dragged them down to his knees before he let them drop and pushed them aside along with his socks. Then he stood, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his underwear. Bravely, he looked up and met Tony's eye before he pulled them down and added them to the mess on the floor.

It startled him how fast Tony moved and how violently he grabbed him. His fingers dug into his arms and his neck. Their mouths latched together. His back hit the wall, but he didn't care. Tony was kissing him, making him gasp for breath, making him moan when their tongues brushed together. He pressed in closer, pushing Peter harder into the wall. His thigh was against Peter's groin and as he moved, Peter whined, his cock hard and overstimulated by the rough texture of his still open jeans. His hand squeezed his throat. Peter felt like he was melting. There wasn't a thought in his head beyond wanting more.

When Tony stopped, Peter ached for him. "Get on the bench," he ordered. He let Peter go and took a step back. He watched him with predatory eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Peter swallowed. He slowly stepped to the side as he might startle a wild animal. He found the bench and bent over it, bracing himself on his arms. His heart raced. Surely it couldn't be that bad.

"Oh no, baby boy," Tony chuckled. "This is your first time. Lay on your back."

Face burning, Peter turned around and laid back on the hard wood. The bench wasn't long enough to stretch his legs out, forcing him to bend his knees. The embarrassment could have killed him. Tony looked down at him, ogling his body while he stroked his cock. He'd coated it in some kind of lubricant at least. It made a vulgar wet sound as he touched himself. Still it looked huge from this angle. Like it might truly break him in half.

"That's a good boy. I want to make this special for you, sweetheart. Just like a honeymoon." He stepped in between his legs and knelt on the bench. There was barely enough room for the both of them. Tony hiked one of his legs up and put it over his shoulder. Peter's hands went up to cover his face, but Tony pulled them back down.

"None of that. Can't have my beautiful bride hiding away." He winked.

A retort came to his tongue. Then Tony started to push his cock inside him and all Peter could get out of his mouth was, "Ah ah ah," he was split open.

Tony bent and captured his lips. Peter let him have whatever he wanted, following him in the kiss, entirely submissive to his whims. As easily as if he'd flipped a switch, he felt like he had no resistance left. He didn't know if it was the pain or the pleasure that had overwhelmed him, but he was done for.

Tony moaned against his mouth. "You like that don't you? I knew you would. I've got an eye for boys who need to be bred."

"Hurts," Peter gasped.

Tony chuckled. "Does it? Does it hurt, sweetheart? Or does it feel like the best fucking thing that's ever happened to you?" He moved his hip, just a fraction, but Peter wailed. It was good. It was so good. It burned and he felt stretched open and humiliated, but it felt so good. Blindingly good.

His cock just kept going deeper all while Peter could do nothing but moan in pain and pleasure. If you'd asked him, he would have sworn it was in his stomach.

"Look at that," Tony mused. "You're just the right size." He smacked his hips against Peter's ass. His eyes rolled back in his head and for a moment he saw spots. Peter gasped as his cock was touched. The shock of it made him half sit up, moving the cock inside him and melting his brain once again. Tony pushed him back down with a hand on his chest.

"Just relax, pretty boy. You're my playing thing now. I can touch whatever I want. Can't I?"

Peter stared up at him dumbly, words a million miles away. Tony's eyebrow twitched and he knew what was coming but he couldn't move to stop it. His hand struck his cheek. It brought him back to life, if only a little.

"Yes, sir," Peter gasped.

"Yes, sir, what?"

"You can... touch whatever you want... sir."

"That's a good boy." He leaned in closer, folding Peter in half. Peter's eyes widened and his lips fell open as he felt his cock go even deeper. It really hurt now and somehow he loved it. Somehow he wanted more. His fingers dug into the sides of Tony's jeans as he tried to pull him closer.

"You want to be full," he teased. Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm gonna fill you up right." His hand wrapped around his throat again. Then he started to move his hips. Peter didn't let go of his jeans though his grip was loose. That cock moving inside him was everything he didn't know he'd ever wanted. Whatever Tony wanted, he could have it as long as he kept fucking him. He'd take up walking on all fours and barking like a dog if he asked him to.

"You've got tears in your eyes, Pete. Did you find god hanging off my cock?" he teased. "You love it, don't you?"

"Yes," Peter gasped, only now, no shame followed the admission. He couldn't feel anything but pleasure. Greedy with it, he reached out and pulled Tony in for another kiss. He felt him grin against his mouth before giving him what he was asking for.

After a moment he stopped and grabbed Peter's wrist, pulling his hand away and pinning it beside his head. He grabbed Peter's hip with the other hand, holding him down as he fucked him hard, as deeply as he could get. Each thrust of his hips made him gasp, the sound of his own voice pitched higher each time, pleasure growing. He barely touched himself before he came, crying out, the sound echoing off the brick walls.

"That's my good boy," Tony purred. "You learn quickly don't you?" He moaned. He moved his hips faster now. It hurt as the pleasure of his orgasm faded, but just like the pain of his cock all the way in his stomach, it felt incredible. He only wanted more.

Peter whimpered, crying like an injured puppy, entirely shameless. He still wanted more. He needed it.

"That must hurt by now," Tony commented. "Don't tell me you like that, too."

Peter chewed his bottom lip. He didn't meet his eyes. Tony grabbed him by the hair, pushing his cock all the way in and holding him there like a fish on a hook.

"Tell me," he growled. He pulled so hard that his eyes watered.

"I liked it," Peter gasped. "I like the pain, sir."

Tony pulled harder and Peter moaned. "Fuck," Tony gasped. He let go of his hair to hold both of his hips. He fucked him like he wanted to snap his spine while all Peter could do was hold on. He slowed only enough to speak.

"Tell me you want me to breed you. Beg me for it."

Peter licked his dry lips. "Please, sir... breed me please," embarrassment broke his voice. "Please, Mr. Stark. I need it, sir." He wrapped his legs around the man's waist, caging him in. Moaning, Tony fucked him deep and finally came. Peter's eyes widened as he realized he could feel it. It was hot and wet and deep in his gut. He moaned and his own cock throbbed, begging for more. He stroked himself while Tony came inside him. When Tony realized what he was doing, he grinned lazily.

"What a little whore," he teased. "Keep going, sweetheart. Make yourself cum for me. Getting bred was more than you could handle, huh? Fucking cock hole." He grabbed him by the hair again and Peter moaned, cumming hard, his whole body shivering. He melted into a limp puddle beneath him.

Tony gave him another kiss. He almost wanted to cry as clarity returned to him. What the hell had he just done?

Peter cleared his throat. "Am I free now, sir? You'll get me out?"

Tony smiled. "Oh, you're free from the noose. I'll make Stane drop the charges against you."

Peter eyed him suspiciously. "What else do you want from me?"

"You're not finished with your end, Pete," he said as if speaking to a child. "That was just the trial run, sweetheart. I'm gonna take you somewhere nice and private for the real thing."

#starker #marvel #au fic #prompt fill #western au

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unsolicited-opinions · 3 months ago

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I'd like to attempt to describe why I think we keep hearing such bizarre and biased commentary from US liberals/progressives on Israel. I'm going to go over some things that #jumblr already knows, but I want this to be accessible to anybody who is interested. I'm not trying to excuse anybody's views or comments - I'm tying to remind myself that while there's no shortage of antisemitism in these voices, there's more going on than just antisemitism.

First, I think it is important to note that these comments are coming mostly from younger folks. These folks want to be on the Right Side of History, and I love that impulse.

They want to believe that they would have protested the war in Vietnam. They want to believe that they would have marched with Martin Luther King Jr- and I love that impulse.

They have been sold a story that this is a similar instance where one side is unambiguously an aggressor and the other side is unambiguously a victim.

They believe this, I think, for a few reasons I can understand. One of these is Hamas' use of civilian shields.

Sinwar (Hamas leader), his predecessors, his allies, and his eventual successors all know they're fighting two wars simultaneously. One is the physical war against Israelis, the other is the PR war fought for the hearts and minds of decent human beings worldwide. By placing all military assets behind/underneath civilians, he ensures that every Hamas material/military loss is a PR victory. This continues to be incredibly effective, and it's not a mystery why. Even those of us who understand this tactic, even those of us who have seen it repeatedly are heartbroken to see the harm done to non-combatants. When people who don't understand this tactic see the same images and videos, they are understandably horrified and want it to stop. It looks to them like soldiers indiscriminately destroying civilian lives.

These optics are made starker by Israel's unquestionable material and military advantage. Young Americans see Israel as powerful, Hamas as weak, and want to root for the underdog, assuming that Underdog = Good Guy.

Racism in Netanyahu's government ensures that Israel loses this PR war

Israel, Israeli international media, and Israel's international allies are not effective at explaining this tactic and are not effective in expressing their shared horror. The efforts to make this case convincingly are rendered nearly impossible by the fact that Netanyahu's coalition government includes theocrats and racists with track records of dehumanizing Palestinians, Arabs, and Muslims. That's the government giving orders to the IDF. Can we really be surprised when folks in the west see a connection between anti-arab rhetoric and violence which harms Arabs?

Israel's failure to remove these people from government is a tragedy. There seems to be no shortage of Israelis who detest Netanyahu and who protested his attempts to subvert the judicary to erode minority rights and to make it harder to fight his corruption- but there are still too many Israelis voting for parties in his coalition. I say this relating to the pain that the Israelis I know feel about this. I'm similarly humiliated before the world as an American in that nearly half the US electorate is okay with Trump, a racist, a rapist, and a demented demagogue who takes great pleasure in smashing democratic norms and coarsening/corrupting political life. The Israelis I know feel similarly about Netanyahu.

If I feel like it, I may continue this later. I would like to talk about semantic drift and the misapprehensions around terms like colonialism, zionism, genocide, and ethnic cleansing.

Again, my goal here is to remind myself that despite the abundant antisemitism in the comments of many young Americans saying profoundly stupid things about Israel, they are motivated by more than just antisemitism, and that antisemitism is not their primary drive.

Understanding the roots of their views may help identify ways to help remedy and mitigate rising antisemitism.

#jumblr #Israel #Palestine #Netanyahu is a momzer #Gaza

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horizon-verizon · 21 days ago

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GRRM masterfully intertwines their Targaryen women’s personal struggles with the larger theme of intergenerational trauma, particularly around women of power being either exalted or demonized, depending on how they fit into the agendas of men. It’s not just about individual characters like Rhaenyra or Daenerys—it’s about how their very existence, and the existence of their foremothers, reflects cycles of trauma that have been passed down within the Targaryen family for generations.

The idea of Targaryen exceptionalism—the notion that they are “gods above men”—adds a fascinating layer to this. Women like Rhaena, Alysanne, and Aerea are taught their whole lives that they are extraordinary, able to command dragons and defy the usual limitations of society. But the harsh reality is that this exceptionalism only extends so far, and when it comes to gender, they are still bound by the oppressive rules of patriarchy. As you pointed out, no matter how powerful a Targaryen woman might be, she is still subjected to the same expectations and limitations that society places on all women. This is especially apparent when we see how they are denied the privileges that their male relatives take for granted—whether it’s being sidelined in succession, forced into marriages, or vilified for their ambition.

Rhaena Targaryen’s story is particularly telling in this regard. She had all the makings of a powerful Targaryen: she rode Dreamfyre, was the first grandchild of Aegon the Conqueror, and should have had autonomy over her own fate. She was a person with some of the highest potential for greatness in ASOIAF. Yet, despite her dragon and her lineage, she was still forced into a marriage with Maegor and eventually pushed aside in favor of Jaehaerys. Her gender determined her fate more than her birthright, and that is a tragedy we see repeated throughout Targaryen history. If Rhaena had been born male, her story would have been entirely different, but as a woman, her power was constrained and her choices were dictated by men.

Alysanne Targaryen, while often viewed as one of the more empowered Targaryen women, also faced limits despite her influence. She advocated for reforms that benefited women, like the abolition of the First Night and the protection of women’s inheritance rights. Yet, even she could not sway Jaehaerys when it came to critical decisions, like the succession. Her daughters, despite being princesses of House Targaryen, were subject to the same patriarchal expectations of marriage and childbirth, and Alysanne’s heartbreak over their fates highlights how even the most powerful women cannot escape the trauma of being female in a patriarchal society.

Aerea Targaryen, perhaps the most tragic of the three, serves as an even starker reminder of this. Her decision to seize Balerion and fly away was an act of defiance, an attempt to claim the power and freedom denied to her as a young woman. But the horrific consequences of her journey—her body physically ravaged upon her return—symbolize the ultimate cost of challenging the gendered structures that confine her. Aerea’s fate, like those of so many Targaryen women, reflects the danger of trying to break free from the roles that society, and even her family, imposes on her. Despite her bloodline and the power of her dragon, she was still a victim of the same forces that diminished her foremothers.

These patterns of trauma and repression don’t just affect the individual women—they become part of the larger narrative that defines House Targaryen. The lives of women like Rhaena, Alysanne, and Aerea contribute to a broader cultural mythos where female power is either exalted or demonized depending on how it aligns with male interests. Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne is undermined by the propaganda that paints her as unfit simply because she is a woman, while Daenerys’s story is filled with echoes of these earlier women who sought power only to be punished for it. The same patriarchy that diminished Rhaena, Alysanne, and Aerea laid the foundation for the later conflicts that would tear the Targaryen family apart, from the Dance of the Dragons to the eventual fall of the dynasty.

Ultimately, GRRM’s depiction of Targaryen women is a powerful critique of how patriarchal societies simultaneously elevate and destroy women of power. For all their greatness, these women are still trapped within cycles of trauma, repression, and violence that transcend their personal struggles and become integral to the history of their house. This cycle continues right up to Daenerys, who, despite being House Targaryen’s last hope, is subjected to the same forces that destroyed her ancestors.

The Targaryen women embody this tension between exceptionalism and oppression, and their stories are a reminder that even the most powerful bloodline in Westeros cannot escape the brutal realities of gendered violence and systemic trauma.

Take notes, all!

#the targaryens #westerosi society #asoiaf asks to me #westerosi history #westerosi women #targaryen women #asoiaf fav posts #agot #asoiaf #asoiaf writing #fire and blood writing #fire and blood

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nymph0puppp · 7 months ago

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Please help me find this lost fic

It was a highschool au where like all the ships or at least most of them are together. Like starker and Stucky and Peter casts like a spell to get tony back and Wanda knows and in this new universe none of the avengers know about thanos or anything that has to do with the og universe. Eventually new tony gets old Tony’s memories back and things from the og universe start to happen like Afghanistan and the whole “make me weapons” thing.

Tony and Peter go through a lot of difficulties with their relationship but they get married in the end and it’s kinky and they find out that Peter can have kids

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #highschool au #avengers highschool #peter parker x tony stark #thor x loki #tony stark x pepper potts #alternate universe #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky

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peterstrk · 11 months ago

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SCREAMS WERE DRIPPING WITH PAIN BUT THE VOICE DID NOT COME OUT OF MY MOUTH so hard to explain but the pain had covered my judgment all I did was freaking scream but useless sounds were not leaving the chain I was shouting and pleading for people to hear but nothing came out I was gagged in pain.

Peter Parker ladies and gents, even after weeks became months and months became years he never managed to let the pain of loss of Mr Stark leave him. He wonders he never ever will…

#everything can be starker related🤫#starker #tony stark #idk what this is #spiderman #starker fic #ironspider #the pain will never go away but it will eventually turn to an apathy

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spideyslag · 3 days ago

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Around the, say, 43rd or so time I heard Merry Christmas, Please Dont Call I got the the idea in my head for this complicated starker exes AU (because as we all know by now I love a past starker fic) which involved (this is so complex I saw it in my mind im so sorry) Tony and Peter having been on the same incredibly popular TV show in Peters youth/adolescence (some kind of syndicated family sitcom type, think Sarah Lynn and Bojack) and with a lot of ambiguity of the early, very young years, in Peters teen years its pretty obvious there's an element of inappropriateness and likely/implied/maybe explicit grooming there. (I never sorted out the relationship between their characters, but father-son is a possibility) As Peter reaches adulthood this reaches the precipice of Tony leaving his wife to be with and eventually marry Peter in his early 20s. (And of corse the media doesn't see it as concerning as it is)

Of corse, the marriage was built on the rocks and was never going to last, and ends pretty fast and hard. Which was the vibe I got from Merry Christmas, Please Dont Call. Peter, the first Christmas after the divorce, angry, rightfully bitter, but most of all plain old tired.

I saw this fic as a kinda artsy, creative project which kinda weaved three storylines; the grooming (them on the TV show, the behind the scenes interactions, other peoples thoughts and feelings), the troubled relationship, and the aftermath. the aftermath I even though about constructing as a kinda tell all documentary type thing.

I considered the idea of Peter being in a new, much more peaceful relationship. it's clear Peter is not who he once was, but he is trying to have a peaceful, safe life now and heal. I really considered this new relationship being A) co star from a project he was In during the marriage who Tony hated at first sight for being handsome and kind to Peter (who hated Tony, too, but hid it better), or, even being a costar from their show way back when who always felt uncomfortable with Tony and Peters relationship, but kept contact with Peter over the hears (sure, half the cast did too) to keep an eye on him. Him not loving how him and Peter fell into something together once they were both adults but still struggling to see himself as better than Tony. I was thinking either Stephen or Bucky if I went with the second, Steve or Bucky for the first.

Anyway, I say all this because there is no chance I will write all that before Christmas and I wanted to get the idea out into the world.

#starker #ex starker #winterspider #spidershield #spiderstrange

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preromantics · 10 months ago

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(had to google common kinks because my brain is dead lol sorry)

But

Starker + voyeurism?

Starker + anonymous sex

Oooh let’s try anonymous (errr kinda I took it to a glory hole place)!

It started as a joke. It was definitely a joke.

Someone — Peter can’t even remember, because Thor and Bruce had reverse engineered some long lost Asgardian hard liquor and gotten every person in the compound, enhanced metabolism to Actual God to regular human totally shitfaced — someone had complained about the lack of sexual partner options available to bonafide superheroes.

Peter is 97% sure he did not make the original complaint, but less sure if he privately or verbally agreed with the overall sentiment.

Anyway, someone had complained.

Tony, who fell on the human spectrum of easily-shitfaced-from-Asgardian-jet-fuel but also on the unfortunately superhuman liver side, had indulged his one social drink and promptly disappeared to the lab.

A few hours later, the assorted and still standing heroes of Earth had been led on a little drunken excursion by Tony to the compound sublevels. The group arranged a wobbly and cheerful single-file line ordered by height and wove through the gym and past the boxing rings to the locker room style communal showers.

Peter, who did not have the advantage of height compared to the collection of his coworkers (friends?) who were still standing, had been one of the last to see what all the parading had been about.

The last shower stall had been partitioned into two, with shiny new floor to ceiling doors.

The new middle partition — proudly gestured to by Tony in his best Vanna White impression — sported a single hole in the wall.

“This dial here can adjust the size to your�� needs,” Tony was saying, giving a practical demonstration of the lever that opened and closed the hole like the aperture function of a camera lens.

Peter would’ve taken notes, but the rush of the alcohol and the implications and the Tony of it all caught up and deafened him with white noise.

—

So, it was a joke. 30 or so assorted superheroes, Avengers and otherwise, knew that a gloryhole existed in the communal showers on level B8 of the compound.

Theoretically, any of them could use it.

Peter wondered obsessively if anyone had tried it, joke or not.

He found himself lingering after a hard workout or training session, eyes closed under the spray of one of the normal shower stalls, and senses on high alert for the echoey pad of footsteps to the end of the room.

Eventually his curiosity graduated and he found himself walking down to the partitioned and private stalls, too. Ostensively just to look. Just to see if one door was closed and not the other. Just to see if anyone might be paying attention and follow him down.

Not that Peter would use the hole with anyone. Probably.

He wasn’t even sure what side he’d pick, or what he’d do — again, not that he was thinking about it.

He absolutely, definitely did not let his exploration take him into the farthest side, the door shutting with a final-sounding soft close clink, the lighting going dim in the stall.

A small green light, unobtrusive but obvious once you knew where to look, had startled him. Occupied.

(He definitely did not enter the little stall five more days in a row until on the fifth he gathered the courage to drop to his knees to asses the height of the hole relative to his mouth and fiddle with the adjustment knob.

Tony was, if nothing else, always the perfect engineer.)

Peter was hyper-aware when he was sharing a workout with anyone else. Waited to see if they’d follow him into the locker room.

Sometimes they did and he showered knowing someone else was a stall away. But no footsteps ever wandered to the end of the line of shower stalls.

He wasn’t disappointed, exactly. It was just. Whoever had complained that superheroes couldn’t get laid easily was speaking the truth.

Occasionally he would be working with Tony in the labs, on the rare occasion they were at the compound at the same time, and find himself wondering if Tony remembered the superhero glory hole he’d created several floors below him.

He’d wonder if Tony ever tried it.

He’d wonder if Tony ever thought about Peter trying it. If he’d seen Peter stumble away from the drunken group field trip presentation with blotchy red on his cheeks.

He’d wonder if Tony knew the height was perfect for the distance from Peter’s knees to his mouth.

He’d wonder if he was going a little crazy about the whole Glory Hole Joke.

“If I sit in this chair for another minute my back is going to spontaneously throw itself out,” Tony announces from his lab bench.

Peter smirks at him, sparing a glance up from his pipette and beaker. A quip is on his tongue, the perfect time for an old man joke, but the words die in his throat.

Tony is stretching slowly from a sit to a stand, arms over his head, faded t-shirt scrunching up under his armpits to reveal a few inches of soft belly skin dusted with hair.

“Gonna go get a workout in before lunch. Dinner? Midnight snack? Honesty no idea where we’re falling in the meal spectrum right now.”

Peter swallows around his dry throat. “Dinner,” he says, though he also has no clue what time it is. “Probably.”

Tony jerks his thumb toward the elevator across the room. “Maybe I’ll see you down there,” he says.

It sounds so casual. Maybe he will. Peter wants to die a little with how much he wants to see Tony on Floor B8. A little further past the gym than Tony has in mind.

“Maybe,” Peter agrees, turning back to his pipette, which he’s pretty sure has been steadily dropping too much of the base into his reactive acid this entire time.

Peter spends 10 minutes cleaning up his lab bench and another 5 staring blankly at the elevator doors.

The cheerful and non-descript elevator AI asks him what floor he wants three separate times. Peter is glad it isn’t FRI or KAREN. They’d have called him out by now.

“B8,” he says.

He walks out of the elevator with purpose, resolved to head to the rowing machine and get a pre-dinner workout in with Mr. Stark, shake off his nervous and pent-up energy until it’s sweat out of his system.

There’s a small snag in his plan. Tony is running on the omni-directional treadmill, back to Peter. He has Starkphones in, completely sound proof.

Peter licks his lips at the sight of the sweat on Tony’s back, the way it causes his shirt to cling to his spine.

He makes a split second decision, borne maybe of too many late night fantasy scenarios to count. It’s easy to walk past the treadmill and cross to the other end of the facility, past the boxing rings.

It’s easy to walk down the line of shower stalls, the overhead lights pinging on instantly as he walks further and further, steps getting quicker.

It’s — it’s not perfectly easy, he has to stop and take a breath before he walks into the farthest partitioned side of the glory hole. But then it is done: the door softly closes, the little green LED flicking on, and all Peter has to do is sink down to his knees.

All Peter did was walk across a room but his heart is beating wildly like he just went stealth mode on a dangerous stake out.

The reality is Tony didn’t notice Peter even enter the gym. He might finish his workout and go up to his own expansive compound rooms to shower. He might shower here, the echo of water driving Peter insane with mental images, and never even glance down to see the subtle green light.

He might see the green light, know that Peter is there, and leave anyway.

Peter bangs his head softly against the wall, nose catching the human-sized opening awkwardly, and resigns himself to letting his legs go numb from the knees down while he waits with all his hope in his throat, anyway.

A soft noise, the woosh of the main locker room door, makes every hair on Peter’s arms stand up.

He swallows, pitching forward in his enclosed stall as if that will bring him closer to the source of the noise.

It could be someone else, though Peter has no idea who could be on the weekend roster.

There’s a rustle of clothing he barely needs to strain to hear. The soft thump of something hitting the ground. The hiss of the pipes, not on a human frequency, before the spray of the water gushes out of a distant shower head.

The shower is over quickly, Peter notes, though time has gone soft and slippy. He closes his eyes.

Footsteps. Toward him. The slight air sound of a door opening. The well-known click of the private stall door shutting.

Oh, god. There is someone across from him. Peter forgets to breathe for a second entirely and has to fight from making a sound as he chokes between two inhales.

He can no longer distinguish the small noises from the rushing in his own ears.

The first movement in the hole nearly startles him; just a play of shadows as someone gets ready on the other side.

Then: a cock. It slides through, half-hard, resting thick and plump along the bottom edge of the hole as it passes through. The owner of the cock feeds it all the way, the fat head bending downward and then bobbing up. Toward Peter.

Peter inhales; the scent is clean and his lungs struggle to fill all the way. He rocks forward, drawn to the half-comical, half-arousing reality of the anonymous cock through the hole.

Is it really anonymous? Statistically, Peter thinks it should be Tony. He was in the gym. Would he know it was Peter on the other side? Tony invited Peter down to workout, so the odds were decent the other way around.

Tentatively, Peter darts his tongue out to lick across the head of the cock. It’s flushed darker than the root, and the salty sweet of it blooms on Peter’s tongue.

He may have just licked Tony Stark’s fat cock head for the first time. The idea of it thrills Peter to his bones, his own cock throbbing against the zip of his jeans.

There’s a chance it isn’t Tony.

Peter licks a bolder stripe across the head, swirling around the ridge. His saliva glands are over active, he’s practically drooling already at the idea of this.

There’s a chance it’s someone else. Peter may never even find out.

His cock twitches at that, too. Fuck. He wraps his lips around the entire head, drenching it with his own slick excitement as he opens his mouth up further and slides down several inches in his eagerness.

He gags, pulls back, and returns immediately.

The man on the other side of the wall is silent, but a slight bang against the wall — the slap of someone’s hand to the partition, as if Peter’s already doing such a good job they can’t help it — makes Peter shove more of the warm cock between his lips to muffle any of his own noises.

If he moaned, he’s sure someone could pick out the octave of his voice and just know. They’d know Peter is twenty seconds into this and already drooling for it.

Tony would know for sure. The thought makes Peter palm his own cock, wishing he’d thought to unzip his jeans while he waited, but not wanting to stop to focus enough to do so now.

He would’ve felt so pathetic, waiting alone, pants undone and cock half-hard with anticipation. Now, he’s stuck curling his fingers against the denim of his fly and worrying he might leak precome through his briefs and jeans by the end of this.

He tongues along the bottom vein of the cock in front of him, marveling at the weight of it and at the stretch of his lips around it as they drag slickly up and down. The angle is decent, but still strange, his neck stiff as he tries to bob back and forth to take the entire thing.

The cock in his mouth is definitely fully hard now, pulsing and flexing against Peter’s tongue, the tip bursting an addictive drop of precome every few passes. The taste is such a contrast to the soap-clean skin of the length that every taste forces Peter to swallow back a moan.

His nose mashes slightly against the wall when he focuses enough to take as much as he can down his throat. It feels deliriously good, a sense of terribly slutty pride coursing through him every time his nose hits the partition over the hole.

He’s slid all the way down when the owner of the cock abruptly slides back out.

Peter’s mouth opens around an unvoiced protest, barely catching a whine from spilling out before the cock slides back in, fucking back between Peter’s parted swollen lips and down his open throat.

He does moan at that, deep and hopefully muffled by his mouth full of cock.

Peter catches on quickly: he can keep his mouth open, his forehead and nose pressed hard against the wall, and the stranger on the other end can simply fuck his mouth.

It’s so simple to stay still, dragging his tongue back and forth and dragging his hand over his own trapped cock while he gets efficiently face fucked. It’s almost dream-like, two pinpoints of focus — the stranger’s pleasure and Peter’s pleasure — taking up all the space in his brain.

A hand slaps the wall on the other side again, harder this time, the cock in Peter’s mouth tensing and pulsing before his throat is coated with come.

Peter comes in his own pants, hips frantically bucking as he swallows down several continuous seconds of anonymous come. He bangs his head on the wall, hard, trying to balance and keep his position at the same time.

When the cock slides out from between hips lips, dragging and lingering on Peter’s bottom lip for a moment before disappearing, Peter falls back against the tile and inhales sharply.

He waits for the click of the door on the other side of the wall and for the padding of the feet to disappear. He doesn’t even have the mental energy to try and figure out if he recognizes the sound and weight of the softly echoing feet.

He forgets about dinner, peeling himself off the floor eventually and floating all the way to his room.

In the morning, Peter is slow to rise, feeling heavy-limbed and not awake enough to revisit the previous night.

When he finally manages to roll out of bed and head to the communal kitchens, the line of Tony’s back at the breakfast bar greets him first.

Peter flashes to the sweat-soaked gym shirt from the night before and swallows around a suddenly dry mouth once again.

“Hey shortstack,” Rhodes calls from the other side of the counter.

Peter gives him a tired salute, covering for his slight startle, and heads for the fridge behind Tony.

“You two see any ghosts while you were rattling around this place all by your lonesomes last night?” Rhody asks.

Peter just catches himself from overpouring his orange juice onto the counter as the dots connect in his head. He never did look at the weekend security roster.

Surely Rhody can’t mean he and Tony were the only—

“Ghosts? No, just me and Pete, who ghosted me for dinner.”

Tony turns and grabs the freshly poured orange juice glass from Peter’s hands, catching his finger tips as he pulls it free and sparking heat up Peter’s fingers in return.

“For me? You didn’t have to,” Tony says, catching Peter’s startled glance with a too-wide smile.

He takes a wide gulp, only breaking eye contact to turn around and set the glass down.

Tony slaps the counter with a small, satisfied groan. “Delicious,” he says brightly.

Rhody rolls his eyes and turns back to his phone and eggs.

Peter stands still. The slap echos over and over again in Peter’s head as he flushes. Oh.

——-

WELL I said I was going to answer these on my phone and I did. Oops. Will edit and whatever on my computer tomorrow hahaha.

#starker #ask box fic #whoops this is like 2700 words lol #will clean up and probably thrown on AO3 tmmrw #prompts open :)

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jeannereames · 2 months ago

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The Popular Vote Still Matters

Sure, the US system with its arcane Electoral College determining elections makes it SEEM like the popular vote is unimportant.

It isn't.

First, it underscores the divide between the electoral college and the Will of the People, which has been getting ever-starker since the 1990s. That in turn might (eventually) lead to the dismantling of the E.C.

Second, it's incredibly important in the face of claims that voting is fraudulent. When trying to steal an election by saying elections in a handful of states have been interfered with, having a large difference in the popular vote makes that argument more difficult.

So whether you're in a Red State where your vote "won't count," or you're in a solidly Blue State that doesn't "need" your vote...

VOTE ANYWAY. Regardless of the electoral college, we must make this election a popular vote landslide for Harris/Walz.

#US Elections #Popular Vote importance

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nikathesiren · 5 months ago

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Ok so just a funny idea: imagine if after Johnny and mer! Gyro met it takes Johnny a very long time to realize that Gyro is actually a merman 😂

Every night Johnny wheels his way over to shore onto the pier, staring out at the evening sea and wistfully mourning his broken dreams. And also every night, Gyro comes to the surface under cover of darkness, marveling at the beauty of the surface world while keeping hidden from humans.

One day, both of them come onto the pier on the same evening and Johnny realizes there's someone in the water. They get into a little conversation before Gyro departs. Both of them feel quite lonely, so they start meeting over at the pier more regularly every night, getting to chat and gradually coming to enjoy each other's company and gaining each other's trust.

It's dark out, so Johnny doesn't really see much, but he does eventually start to question, "wait a second, what are you doing out in the ocean late at night anyway? And how come I've never seen you get out of the water? You're not...naked down there are you?" Gyro just laughs it off and Johnny thinks "yeah, he's definitely starkers out there, who am I to judge."

It isn't until some time later that Johnny invites him over to stay at his place for the night during a cold spell, since the water would be very chilly that night. Gyro is like "Well, since we've known each other for quite a while, I have a secret I have to tell you." Johnny is like "We'll talk about it once we get inside, we don't want you to freeze out here or catch a cold!"

To his surprise, he notices that Gyro is crawling as he makes his way to Johnny's house. Johnny winces in sympathy, knowing what it's like to struggle without his chair. "Oh, he's also disabled like me, he can't walk. Is that the secret he wanted to tell me? No wonder he came to bond with me, we're the same all this time."

Only to realize, upon seeing Gyro in the bright lights of his house, that they aren't alike at all.

"OH MY GOD! GYRO, YOU'VE GOT A FREAKING SHARK SWALLOWING HALF OF YOU!"

"No, no that was what I wanted to tell you. That 'shark' is my tail. I'm a merman."

And at that point, Johnny just faints from surprise right on the spot. 😂

HAHAHAHAHA, I thought about this kind of scene at some point, taking advantage of the fact that mer!Gyro is usually hiding from humans behind some rocks at the shore, but the way you described everything is cute and hilarious, and I love it ❤️ I'm sure everyone will love reading this, too.

#askbox #my headcanon #jjba #jojo part 7 #steel ball run #gyro zeppeli #johnny joestar #gyjo #alternate universe #merman #SBR merman AU #thank you anon for this one lmao

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thenationaltreasuregazette · 1 year ago

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Really?? Nicolas Cage and the Art of Weirdness

It’s kind of strange that Nicolas Cage is the star of National Treasure, right? Tame, family-friendly Disney flicks aren’t exactly his brand.

While the casting still strikes me as an odd choice sometimes, I am eternally, supremely, primordially grateful that he took the role of Ben Gates.

As I touched on while discussing Abigail’s Accent, National Treasure isn’t a film with a lot of subtly or nuance. At least, it wasn’t going to be until it slowly morphed throughout production, as giant collaborative projects tend to do.

Just like Diane Kruger brought nuance and depth to the role of Abigail Chase through both her acting choices and the presence of her accent, Nicolas Cage transformed Ben Gates from a generic action-adventure hero into something far superior: an awkward, obsessive forty year old man.

To fully appreciate the Nic Cage of it all, let’s begin with what the role looked like before he signed on.

More ↓

For those unfamiliar, there’s a version of the National Treasure script available online that’s dated from the month before Cage signed on as the lead. It’s hugely fascinating in the ways it’s the same as, and also wildly different from, the finished film. You can read more about it here.

Age

The first major effect casting had was changing Ben’s age. In the 2003 script he’s introduced as

…intrepid explorer BEN GATES(late 20s, strong family resemblance)

Obviously Nic Cage was not in his late 20s in 2004. Born in 1964, he was 39/40 when the film shot and 40 by the time it came out.

We know from Ben Gates’ drivers license that his character is supposed to be 39 in the first film, as his birthday is shown as May 1965. Why the one year difference? Hollywood is allergic to people over 40. Next question.

So, Ben went from a 20-something to a (basically) 40 year old man. And that changed the story in a few subtle but important ways.

First, it makes Ben’s quest take on a different flavor. To be in your late 20s and still chasing a pipe dream is not that unusual or socially unacceptable. People in their 20s do stupid, impulsive, risky things. They are socially ‘allowed’ to be a mess. At 40, not so much. Ben’s peers have houses and families and kids who need to be taken to soccer practice.

This makes a difference to me because it emphasizes the desperation of Ben’s quest, and his absolutely unwavering belief in the treasure. It also paints a starker contrast between Ben and his father, because when Patrick was 29 he was still gallivanting around treasure hunting too. By the time Patrick was the age Ben is now, he had disavowed treasure hunting and “grown up” into a normal life. But Ben just won’t let go. The older Ben gets, the less hope Patrick has that he will eventually grow out of it. At 29 that kind of hope would still feel possible for his son. At 39, it probably doesn’t.

Hotness

I’m so sorry that we have to talk about this, but we do.

Ben Gates was clearly written to be played by a hot young actor. That’s hot as in popular, and also as in sexy.* A typically implausibly fit and handsome leading man. This is evidenced not only by his age, but by the two (2) shirtless scenes written for Ben in the 2003 script.

Ben Gates is supposed to be hot.

And Nicolas Cage is...I'm not going to say "not hot," lord knows I'm on the being-normal-about-that-old-man webbed site but sex appeal not the primary reason you cast him.

What Nic Cage is know for is being weird.

*I’m aroace and vaguely sapphic, help me I don’t know what I’m doing here.

Weirdness

Weird. Eccentric. Zany. Over-the-top. Melodramatic.

These are the qualities Nicolas Cage is famous for, but they aren’t qualities the role of Ben Gates necessarily calls for. In fact, too far in any of these directions, and the performance could push an already implausible movie over the edge into farce. We wouldn’t take Ben or his quest seriously enough to get invested in the story.

But Nicolas Cage knew that. For as absurd as the iconic “I’m gonna steal the Declaration of Independence” line is, it's the premise that's ridiculous, not the performance. This isn’t the place to find one of Cage's signature zany performances. Search any number of "Craziest Nicolas Cage performances" lists and National Treasure won't rank. He tones it down enough that Ben feels like a rather grounded person in an over-the-top story.

However, he doesn’t tone it down completely, and that is so important.

The little places where Cage lets a hint of his signature weirdness flicker through round out Ben as a character, and give him more (or at least a different flavor of) nuance than he might have had in other hands, particularly if he were cast and played as a typically suave and macho leading man.

Case Study (Cage Study?)

Let’s look at this line from the 2003 script. This is what the FBI has to say when they’re searching Ben’s apartment.

AGENT JOHNSON Profilers say we're looking at an adult male, a loner, has a high IQ but has never been able to hold down a job, is socially inept, has probably written numerous letters to the White House expressing antigovernment sentiments. We're expecting him to contact us shortly with ransom demands.

This line is supposed to show us how off the mark the FBI is in their theory. The joke is that they’re all wrong about Ben.

Except, are they?

In this version of the script, every one of these items after “adult male” is incorrect.

Ben’s not a loner; he’s been working with Riley for 7 years.

He hasn’t not been able to hold down a job, he’s been salvage diving and treasure hunting consistently.

He’s not socially inept; he’s a ladies man. We hear multiple references to past girlfriends, and of course there’s Patrick’s assumption that Abigail's pregnant.

And obviously he hasn’t expressed anti-government sentiment and has no plans to ransom the Declaration, even in exchange for his own freedom.

What I want to argue here is that with the casting of Nicolas Cage, most of these false assumptions about Ben became true, at least a little bit. Of course there were many forces at work shaping the final tone and content of the film, but all of them—writing, directing, acting, costume design, etc—became oriented around fitting this character to the man playing him.

Loner

In the final film, Ben is a bit of a loner. He doesn’t seem to have known Riley for that long, and he immediately gets betrayed by the only other person he’s close to. His status as an outsider is emphasized by the fact that he and his family have been ostracized from the historical community.

In the 2003 script, this element isn’t present and Ben gives a fake name for other reasons. We also meet his landlady, whom he’s very kind to, and hear about at least one former girlfriend. In short, we get a sense of the web of people in Ben’s life outside of the treasure hunt. In the final film, Ben is seemingly much more isolated.

Job

We also get no evidence about Ben’s job. The 2003 script makes multiple references to Ben working as a salvage diver, which might not be what he hopes for, but it is a clear profession. In the final movie we only get reference to Ben being trained at the Naval Diving and Salvage Training Center, which implies that he’s qualified to work at a salvage diver, but gives no indication that this is what he regularly does for work.

We also have Patrick saying:

PATRICK I have a job, a house, health insurance. What do you have?

The contrast makes it clear that Ben doesn’t have any kind of consistent job. Now, my guess is he does still work salvage jobs in this version, and that’s how he affords his apartment and the other things he needs to keep treasure hunting, but it’s never directly mentioned.

As to why he doesn’t hold down a job, the obvious answer is that it would interfere with his relentless pursuit of the Charlotte and the Templar Treasure. It makes sense that he simply chooses not to keep a consistent job because that’s not compatible with his goals. However, I want to raise the possibility that Ben would struggle to hold down a job even if he tried. If, say, he needed some expensive new diving equipment and took a several months long “normal” job in order to afford it, I think he’d be constantly distracted by the treasure and might quit and/or get fired the next time he needed to dash off on a lead.

Socially inept

Likewise, in the final movie, Ben is charming and clever and all the things a leading man is supposed to be, and also awkward and fairly socially clueless.

On the Charlotte he seems surprised that Ian and his guys turn out to be armed criminals, so either he was so desperate for resources and support to continue the hunt that he’s in denial or he’s very bad at reading people. Or at least, very bad at reading Ian. Maybe both. (There’s also the matter of his very poor attempt at bluffing in this scene.)

He’s awkward with Abigail in their meeting in her office, and even more awkward giving the toast. She even points out to him that he says the poetic things that are on his mind even though most people know they're not supposed to do that.

Then of course we have the “cavalier in my personal life” exchange, which I plan to dig into in depth at a later time, but for now let’s leave it at: Ben is not always on the same page as the people he’s in relationships with.

And there’s the very strange reading of the line “really?” after Ben and Abigail survive the collapsing staircase sequence. He’s amazed that he’s met someone who would also prioritize a historical artifact over personal safety, and he delivers the line just…weirdly.

Conclusion

He’s weird! (affectionate)

Ben Gates is a weird guy!

By the final film, Ben Gates had become a hybrid of the thing he was always supposed to be—a suave, swashbuckling hero—and the thing he was not supposed to be—a weirdo outcast on the fringes of society.

To draw a comparison to another popular Disney adventure flick that came out the year before: Ben was supposed to be the Will Turner of National Treasure, the hunky young underdog who always gets the girl. By casting Nicolas Cage and letting him bring a little history and a little weirdness to the role, Ben Gates ended up edging just a liiiiiiittle bit into Jack Sparrow territory as well.

He occupies both spaces, and I think that duality serves to deepen his character and make him far more interesting than if he was a straight-forward action-adventure hero.

Hooray for weird middle-aged men.

#the national treasure gazette #national treasure #ben gates #nicolas cage #national treasure meta #articles

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