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sky-is-the-limit · 1 year ago

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'I make guarantees.'

Phillip Graves x F!Reader

Summary: As a member of the TF141, it comes naturally to be aggravated by Phillip Graves. Pair that with every fiber of your body, mind and soul desiring him, and you have a ticking bomb ready to explode. Basically, porn without plot.

CW: Angry sex, jealousy, possessiveness, degradation, violent/explicit language, mention of blood (minor), unprotected sex.

WC: 4,712 words (oops)

Notes: I'm not a writer!

Phillip Graves was no ordinary man. He was the sort to blaze through your soul like a wildfire, allow you to feel the kind of passion and intensity you only find between the lines of a fantasy tale and then leave ashes behind, forever engraved in your skin.

As if sensing his gaze, you turned to look at Phillip. You only spared him a passing glance though, smirking just before turning back to laugh at a joke Johnny told, too crest for the other man's tastes.

This was the second mission where you had to collaborate with the Shadow Company for a more effective outcome, meaning you had to be in his overwhelming presence once more. Someone outside watching in would think that you hated each other, whenever you'd interact. You always tested his limits, toed every line that you could cross with every action, with every takedown.

Perhaps you did, deep inside. Hated him for igniting feelings in you so intense that would only resonate to you either banging your head against a wall or let him fuck you against one.

Phillip showed his interest straight away, from the very first interaction the two of you had during your first mission, his arrogance and cockiness oozing out of him as though he had no ordinary blood running through his veins. Pair that with the way he was talking to Johnny, the closest squad member to you, you had to turn down his advances, which unsurprisingly, hurt his fragile ego and ever since, all remarks exchanged between the two of you were like bullets destined to kill.

Once more, you found yourself in the common area of your temporary base, left alone to face him. Your leisure time of listening to Soap's silly dad jokes and good conversation over coffee was cut short when Phillip walked in.

Johnny did not have the patience to ignore him and his snarky comments that he had to physically get away from him, and you did not blame him one bit. Was it your pride or something else forbidding you from exiting right after?

''It's pathetic really.'' His posture was starker than usual, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips tight as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Though you had your back turned on him, you could feel his gaze devouring you whole.

The abruptness startled you, but keeping your composure, you set your coffee down on the table and turned to look at him.

''Your entire existence? I know.'' The words came out in a furious rush and you felt a bead of sweat drip down your back under your black shirt. It was a nasty habit, at that point. You couldn't even finish one argument without starting another and the one brewing was the second one that day.

''How you flirt with him to get my attention, Y/N.'' Phillip's voice was low and irritated, and it set your emotions ablaze, a roaring inferno within your mind.

“Of course, because it's always about you. I definitely talk to my squad member specifically to get your attention, silly me.'' The minute he walked in, you prepared yourself for this. It would be abnormal for an interaction between the two of you to not turn into an argument.

''He's so boringly predictable that I caught you looking at me at least 50 times. Go on though, I do enjoy the show.'' Arrogance was dripping off his tongue like second nature, along with that all familiar smirk that made your insides hurt.

''Don't you ever get tired of hearing your own voice, Graves? Or do you get off of ticking every box in the 'how to be a perfect narcissist' list?'' You shrieked, hating the way your voice came out your throat but the way in which he threw his shoulders back and laughed in a cruel tone made you see red.

Suddenly he was much closer, leering down at you. It wasn't clear to know who moved first, or who would next.

''Me? A narcissist? You're the one who wants every man's attention on you.'' He growled lowly and stood to full height, his demeanor making you swallow thickly as he loomed closer and stared you down. Out of habit you straightened your spine, lips curling back into a scowl.

''Shut your fucking mouth, Graves-" The blood running through your veins was pumping hot, you wanted to pour it out and paint everything around you red, so it matched the fury riding you with every word he threw in your way. Phillip's response didn’t ease you any.

''Is that what you did to earn your spot hm? Fuck your way to the top?'' His tone dripped with scorn as he responded to you, his words carrying an edge sharper than a sword.

''Say that again, Graves. I fucking dare you.'' Spitting the words with teeth bared, and fists clenched as you circled each other, you poked at his chest firmly, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips.

Your gaze met his with stubborn defiance, nearly ready to just explode and punch him. Maybe that would make you feel better, knocking some sense into his enormous ego.

There was nothing you despised more than another man undermining your career and progress, belittling you as if you were not greater than all of them combined when holding a sniper riffle in your hands.

What made it worse, was that you knew Graves was doing that to get a reaction out of you, to push your buttons without meaning a single word pouring out of his mouth. It was a facade, you knew that. The first thing he ever said to you, was to compliment your skills, which made his intention even more infuriating.

''You could try that with the Shadow Company next, I promise to give you a higher rank if you use that mouth-'' It was as though your hand had a brain of it's own, moving automatically with force to meet with his cheek and the corner of his mouth, leaving the tender skin red to the touch and the corner of his bottom lip reddening with drops of blood.

''Is that all you got?'' He mocked, his voice gravelly as his fingers wrapped around your wrist tightly, preventing you from moving an inch. Your anger dissipated in the favor of fear the very second you saw his expression.

You were volatile and explosive, but that's how you craved it, and even then, your desire to be fucked by him had trumped all your wrath, in fact, your rage had just heightened it. It was pure madness and the was no rational explanation to it nor that you cared to find one.

Glowering, hands itching to hit him once more, you turned on your heel, aiming for the door and intending to get black-out drunk with Simon as you assumed that he was downing his fifth beer by then, when he grabbed you by the back of your neck and hauled you against him.

You struggled, clawing and scratching his arms as they banded around you and held you trapped. He was chuckling in your ear, you could feel how turned on he was, and your inner voice was crooning that you got just what you wanted, but you ignored it. You wanted to fight yet your body had something entirely different in mind while a flow of slick started to soak up your panties as Graves pressed his manhood into you.

''You fucking-'' The thoughts running wild through your mind interrupted your own words, the ebb and flow of your gazes intensifying by the second though it felt like an eternity of his blue eyes piercing through your soul like he could sense every filthy fantasy hiding behind them. You didn't dare to move and in the end, you didn't have to.

You were both breathing heavily, tension wrought to the extreme as you were staring at each other, not really fathoming how you ended up like this. It was pure excitement, trepidation, like you were desperately waiting for something to happen.

This was the culmination of whatever instinctive, subconscious game the two of you had been playing from the very first mission you'd embarked on collaborating with him, a game of push and push between the two of you until the breaking point.

Graves pushed forward, his lips brutally meeting your own. He bit down on them, hard and cruel, loving the cry you whimpered out as he savored you whole. His hand moved from the side of your head to the back of it, tugging the hair there to tilt your head to his.

The agony was a pleasure as you reciprocated his intoxicating kiss, angry and violent as you teared at his lips. Your sharp teeth aggravated the wound on his lip, and you tasted blood on your tongue.

''Fucking brat-'' He instantly pulled back, his fingers grasping your jaw to keep you in place.

You shivered at his words, a new heat blooming over every surface of your body. Your cheeks tingled and you squirmed in his grip, squeezing your thighs together as you calculated your next move carefully.

"You're such a bastard!" You quirked your head as you breathlessly yelped, almost fearlessly before sliding your arms free of his hold and threaded them into his hair before pulling him in to capture another kiss, hotter and even more passionate than the last.

Phillip responded in an instant, letting his tongue slide against yours, hungrily whilst he tangled his free hand in your hair, gripping painfully, deepening the kiss, like it could be the last thing he ever does.

Your body seemed to burst into a flame of mingled rage and lust, and you knew he felt the same from the desperate, almost angry growl he made the sensation overwhelmed you both.

Sinking your nails into his scalp, you pressed your hips hard against his erection, feeling him gasp into your mouth before lifting his head to take another look at you, his fingertips never leaving your jaw.

Phillip licked his lips unconsciously as he stared down at you, but before you could say anything, he had brought his face once more closer to yours, his eyes half-lidded and full of desire.

''And you're a fucking slut.'' Once more your hand was lifted in the air, intending to slap him for a second time, but he caught it as it swung for his face and took hold of your other before you could attempt it again. With one swift move, he maneuvered your body around and pinned both of your wrists in a firm grip behind your back before your brain could catch up to what was happening.

Head shaking, arms straining as you tried to break out of his hold, huffing and giving in when he only held onto you tighter, walking both of you closer to the wall, pressing your front hard against it. Panting, furious, your heartbeat thundered somewhere in your throat. The Commander's form was a solid taut weight caging you in, imposing, all muscle, a hard line of his desire against your lower back.

''Someone needs to fuck that attitude out of you, Y/N.'' The words made your toes curl and your hips arch, betraying how desperate you looked, splayed out on his command center for his pleasure. The side of his face was so close to yours that you could feel him breathing down on you, his lips at the shell of your ear.

The other hand that wasn’t currently wrapped around your wrists moved to hold your jaw, squeezing tightly to the point of discomfort.

Briskly, he released your arms, spinning around to pounce on the man before you and quickly pressed your back against the wall once more so you can be chest to chest.

''And that's gonna be you, Graves?'' You met his fire with your own, staring unflinchingly into the heated pools of stormy sea. The question was as close to begging as your pride would allow.

''No one else can. No one else can fuck you the way you deserve but me, soldier.'' He stated, face lowering to yours and his tone low and menacing, the promise of retribution sent shivers down your spine.

The grotesque snarl of words should have made you put him in his place, despise of the outcome. Any other day you would have, but instead, your body had different plans.

''Is that a threat, Commander?'' You croaked out, a smirk settling on your face. How you managed to still be coy in a situation where you knew you had no power was insane and the look on his face confirmed it as his fingers around your jaw grew tighter and you winced in pain.

''Oh, I don't make threats, Sergeant. I make guarantees.'' There was that deep chuckle again. The one that vibrated up his throat until it bubbled out to bless your ears and slither goosebumps down your spine.

Darkly, he challenged your moral compass that was screaming for you to get away from his intoxicating presence. The smirk formed on his lips was wicked, provocative. The prey was finally caught.

''Let's see how far your arrogance can take you then, Commander.'' With a hint of sarcasm, you challenged him back, deliberately imbuing his title with a sensual cadence. His skin was flushing to you calling him by his rank, a blotchy red slowly encroaching from his throat to his cheeks. It was an interesting kind of power to have over someone.

For a few seconds he just stared you down, eyes adapting the darkest shade of blue. The sensation simmering down in your abdomen was quickening the pace of your heartbeat trying to burst out of your ribcage in a mingle of fear and arousal. It was taking over every single nerve in your body and there was no way of stopping it, not that you desired to.

With a quick use of his brute strength he hoisted you up, having you scrambled to wrap your legs around his waist while his hands moved to your ass to hold you up.

''You won't even comment on the fact that someone could walk in right now and see you in such a mess, Y/N?'' Phillip murmured gravelly, his lips biting the soft skin of your throat intending to break the skin as he was backing you closer to the table behind you, quickly hoisting you to sit on it. He settled between your legs, hands gripping just above your knees.

''God, you must be so fucking desperate for it, huh?'' He was right, of course. The possibility of someone walking in was more than enough to let shame start creeping in your system and yet all it took was one look at his face. The way the moonlight was shining through the window to define his cheekbones even more, experience visible through the wrinkles decorating the corners of his eyes as they stared into your soul.

''You're taking your sweet time with this, Graves. I'm starting to think that you're all bark and no bite.'' You can’t help the smug smile that spread across your lips as you saw the flare of anger flash in his eyes, finding the way he was so quick to be irritated, quite fascinating.

That little defiant glint still sat in your eyes, and he was absolutely determined to remind you who was in charge by the end of the night.

"Oh, I'll show you how I bite.'' He growled, thrusting his clothed erection against your center, a loud whimper escaping your lips to the friction.

Gasping, you felt his lips leaving a wet trail down the length of your jaw before he settled in the hollow beneath your ear, an erogenous zone he’d discovered, devoting his attentions there. All your body could do in response was cling to him, mewls and sighs falling haphazardly from your lips.

“I dream about your cunt,” He stated, lifting his head up, smoldering eyes locked on yours as your elbows struggled to keep your balance against the wooden surface.

"How it feels. How it looks. How it tastes. I dream of fucking ruining you till you can't move to save your life." Every filthy word out of his mouth was a direct attack to your throbbing core as he maneuvered your hips upwards to yank the fabric of your jeans down to your ankles, legs exposed to the cool air of the stone room. Your gaze followed his, eyes glued hungrily on the obvious wet spots in your panties.

''Fuck- Do it then.'' Clearly, you weren't thinking when your mouth formed the words, "Fucking do it, already-" But it was spoken harshly between the ragged breaths of your desire, and it was all the invitation he needed.

"You're not the one who gets to make commands here," He growled, taking a sinful pride in the drawn out whimper that he had dug out from you.

''Pathetic.'' And so he lifted one of those large hands to your face and pressed his thumb into your mouth, the pad of it resting on your bottom row of teeth as he dragged your jaw down, forcing your mouth wide open.

Trembling with a sudden onslaught of unexpected arousal at having someone else's fingers between your lips, feeling the flutter in your soaked cunt again only this time it was more intense, fiercely with your legs shaking to the sensation.

Your hands moved on their own as Graves' thumbs pressed deeper into your mouth, gliding and pressing at your tongue as you slid them down the length of his body, feeling every defined muscle underneath his blue shirt, going lower and lower, until you were curving one palm around the shape of the Commander's cock confined within his dark shaded jeans.

Impatience took over you, lifting the hem of your shirt, hastily tugging the fabric up and throwing it to the side and before you could touch him again, his hands were at your sides, sliding over the mounds of your breasts and then there was another tug and a louder ripping sound as he teared your bra at the front.

His own pupils, now blown with a heated desire, locked into your glazed expression. Having his fingers toy with your mouth earlier had already caused a small string of saliva to run down your chin and he couldn't help the smirk starting to flicker onto his lips. He had barely started to touch you and you already looked all sorts of fucked up.

Your outrage couldn't even register before his warm mouth was on your skin, sucking at your nipples, pinching and biting and rubbing the soothing pad of his thumb over each one after any rough treatment. The chill of the night air was an electrifying contrast to the warmth of his mouth and hands as you were openly moaning and writhing to the way he massaged and teased every inch of nakedness before him.

''Me or you?'' You hum innocently to his previous remark as you pressed your palm against him, stroking the long line of heat firmly, and he hissed as his hips bucked forward just as desperately, his hands suddenly coming up to catch both of your wrists, bringing them down to your sides, the grip just tight enough to sting.

Indignation flashed in those midnight blue eyes. There was something off from his normal heated gaze. This look he was giving you was more than just argumentative, more than just fired up. It was absolutely primal. The heat had shifted. While usually he was more reminiscent of a volcano during an eruption, now he seemed to be the moments before, it was a slow heat. Dangerous.

"I'm not in the mood for games.'' Graves breathed heavily, bending over you to nip at your lips before hearing the sound of his belt touching the ground to finish what you started, freeing himself.

You couldn't tear off your eyes from the obscene sight in front of you as he took himself in one hand while the other came to rest high on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your core, tantalizingly close. He stroked himself once, twice, pressing himself against you and pausing for a moment, just long enough for you to grow restless.

He sighed, the sound more like a growl than anything, steam escaping from his nose.

''I should've done this a long time ago.'' He ripped your legs apart, tugging onto your dripping underwear until it was on the ground, grunting as your slick coated his fingers before he rubbed his cock against your entrance. Every part of your body tightened, a bare spark of pleasure almost exciting you when his cockhead scraped your clit.

You couldn't believe that someone you absolutely despised was giving you some of the best pleasure you'd ever felt. Wanton moans fell from your lips as he jackhammered your cunt. His hand tangled in your hair and yanked your head back.

''You like that hm? You like being treated as a little slut?'' His voice was raspy and full of lust before he pushed forward, drawing all air from your lungs with a loud yelp as he buried himself deep inside you.

''Commander-'' Despite your efforts, the call was loud, urgent. He didn’t start slowly. He was rough, punishing, desperate, taking you with everything he had, as though he was claiming you right where anyone could walk in to see it.

Phillip sped up his pace exponentially, sweat breaking out across his forehead. ''Answer me-'' You became a boneless mess under the power of his ruthless thrusting, slamming into you with such force that you were sure there would be bruises where his hip bones met yours tomorrow.

''Fuck- Yes, damn you!'' You mewled loudly, then covered your mouth with one hand, fearful of passersby. He pulled your hand away, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes as he took you against the shaking table.

''I can tell by the look on your face." He said gruffly. ''You can’t get enough of me can you?'' You placed your forehead on his shoulder, embarrassed to look at him.

''Look at me, Y/N.'' He said in response to this. You slowly looked back at him. ''Good girl.'' He muttered, grabbing your hips and pounding into you.

His hips bucked slowly, riding his twitching length inside your warm folds as he withheld his own noises. ''Beg for it, go on." He gave a firm, sharp smack to your ass, gripping on it tightly whilst using the sound to hide the low groan he released.

He didn't want to hold back any longer, but he refused to let you have your way, especially when you were already so close to come undone under his touch. Your dripping cunt was leaking onto him with every deliberate thrust, letting him glide in and out with ease.

He hunched back over you , pressing his chest down onto you as much as he could without breaking his hold on your arms. "Fucking beg-" He gave a feral groan before sliding out of you without the intention of going back in. A strangled whine escaped you, once again, jerking your hips back against him, trying to provoke him, to get him inside, get him to continue, anything. He refused to relent.

"Whimpering doesn't count, doll." He whispered against your ear. His tone is hard, unyielding. Prick.

His stubbornness was torturous for the both of you. It was a battle to see who could break their composure first and he was about to go fucking berserk. Eventually, you lost it. It wasn't until he had pulled back and dragged his tip to the entrance of your sopping cunt once more that he finally heard you gasping a loud breath as he slowly prodded against the heat.

"Please- Fuck, just- please!'' Your desperate response seemed to please him enough, the sudden build-up of pressure and heat in your body was allowed to be released as his length was quick to plunge into your body, sending the entire table to lurch backwards slightly.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were obscene, not really caring that the two of you were doing such a private thing in a place that anyone could walk into at any moment.

He was not gentle, or tender but you hadn’t expected Phillip fucking Graves to be that. His thrusts came fast and hard as he took his pleasure cause that was what he thrived in. Take and take and take, though you gave gladly, growling out praise in ragged whispers that you couldn't barely grasp.

You grabbed tightly onto his shoulders, screaming out in delight as he fucked you into you in a brutal. You felt your legs tingle and your mind go numb. All you could focus on was the warm feeling in your stomach, the bundle of nerves within you going crazy.

The hot tears continued to pour down your cheeks with each merciless thrust ripping through your body as your teeth pierced the soft skin of your lip, the taste of iron touching your taste buds whilst the wet slaps of his body against yours filled the room, accompanying the pain shooting through your core.

''Crying? Is this too much for you, baby?'' There was sarcastic, mock-disappointment in his tone, the repetitive press into you and the wonderfully satisfying stretch of his cock only deepening the catharsis of the intimacy you were sharing with him.

He grabbed your hips and started pounding you with newfound vigor. You could feel yourself clenching around him. It wouldn't be long before you peaked. You dipped a hand between your legs and started rubbing your clit, willing the moment to come faster. You closed your eyes and sighed, both in pleasure and exasperation.

''Too good- Commander-'' This time, you needed no further prompting and there wasn’t a single hint of brattiness in your tone as you submitted to his request fully, whining for him. Waves of ecstasy pulsed through your body, overwhelming you. Noises you didn't recognize poured out of your lips as your body began to spasm and convulse around him.

''That's my fucking girl.'' His last words came out in a rough growl as he pulled out of you again, before thrusting back in, so hard that you started seeing stars and shriek with pleasure.

The room was filled with your sounds, no longer able to control the moans and whimpers that left you as pounded into you, white dots clouding your vision to your orgasm overwhelming your body hard, shattering as he thrusted and swirled, setting off a wild pulsing in your clit that triggered your insides, and you came all over his cock with a scream followed by a shudder of shaky breath.

Graves kept his ever-the-rougher pace, holding you tighter and tighter, but you felt the slight stutter in his hips that suggested that he was close to his own climax. He started gasping out sentences, heavy statements that surmounted to desperation. ''You're mine, fuck- all mine-''

You could feel yourself growing light-headed in the best way as his embrace restricted your breathing to a further degree, and you gasped sharply as he said your name, the syllables transforming into a vicious growl just as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to draw blood and deep enough to make you cry out in pain.

Cleansing, freeing pain, the kind that purged every transgression you knew you’d enacted against him, and him against you.

He followed shortly after as he began to shake subtly, his movements sporadic and wild as he lost control of his body. You surrendered yourself to his control as he pumped aggressively into you, dictating what he needed from your body as he arrived upon completion whilst tightening the grip on your hair almost painfully as he emptied himself inside you.

The weight of his body collapsing against you felt almost comforting in that moment, gasping and absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles into your scalp where he’d just been tugging your hair by the roots.

''So..'' he started, his voice strained and weak. ''Learned your lesson yet?'' Cocky bastard.

You chuckled quietly, and you could feel him smile against your skin.

''Think I might need a few more lessons, Commander.'' Shamelessly, you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up as he lifted his head to take another look at you.

''I might have to thank the fucking Scot after all.''

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totallynotashieldagent · 3 months ago

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Kinktober - Hate Fucking

Pairing: Hal Jordan/Reader

The slap that cracked across his face shocked his system.

“You almost got us killed with your showboating!” You screamed. “I’m reporting you to Batman- I’ve HAD it with your absolute bullshit!”

“You did not just fucking slap me, princess-” Hal growled, twisting your wrist back. “I saved your sorry ass.”

“I had it under control!” You snapped at him.

“Like hell you did!” He pushed back, crowding your space until he was pressed against you.

“Fuck you, Jordan.” You glared venomously, taking steps back until you tumbled backwards into a random empty room.

“You know what, pretty? Why don’t you fuck me yourself?” He spun you around, your face against the wall. Punching the door button to lock you both in, engulfing you in darkness.

“The fuck are you doing, Jordan?!” You hissed, trying to push him away but it just ended up you grinding against his bulge.

“You heard me, princess.” He growled against your ear. “Fuck. Me. Yourself.” His ring glowed and you found yourself pinned against the wall with his constructs.

“Let go!” You gasped, hating how his stupid ring made everything so powerless.

“Ah- ah- ah-” He laughed, his uniform disappearing, leaving him starkers. “Behave or that mouth will go to good use-”

“You put your dick near my mouth and I’ll bite it off.” You warned, masking how your underwear was already soaked through. The bound wrists were to your liking. You did that usually with partners. But he didn’t need to know that shit.

You could feel his constructs undoing your uniform slowly. Your thighs were squished together to keep some form of dignity intact. You were not going to let this asshole know that you-

“Fuck you!!” You snapped again.

“I’m getting to it, darling.” Hal chuckled, his palms groping and kneading at your ass. “You, since the day you joined the League, I’ve wanted to fuck that attitude out of you-”

“Ever since I joined the League, I’ve wanted to cut your throat-” You struggle against the construct.

“Stop fighting it, sweetheart. They don’t call me the greatest for nothing. My constructs aren’t-” He boasted and you grinded against him, his concentration breaking for a moment, the constructs faltering. You used it to your advantage, breaking free and elbowing his nose as hard as you could.

He dodged the strike, grabbing your arm with a snarl. “Playing dirty, are we?” He twisted your arm behind you and instead of a pained gasp, you moaned. “Well, well, well- I knew you liked it rough.” He laughed against your ear. “You’re such a brat because no one’s ever fucked you right, hm?”

You jerked your head back to headbutt him but he dodged it too. It wasn’t riling him up anymore. It was just turning him on. And not that you’d ever admit it, you were enjoying it too. For the first time, you were fighting and the other person was able to keep up.

“I’ll give it to you like you need it, princess.” Hal licked your neck. “I’ll give it just how you need it.” The empty room glowed in green hues as a table breathed into life and he pushed you over onto it. “Last chance, honey-” His hand was skillfully undoing the zippers and buttons, hovering now on your underwear’s waistband. You knew you could stay stop and it would stop. Hal wasn’t the guy who would push after he was denied but-

“What? You a coward too now?” You goaded him.

“You’re such a fucking bitch-” The smack that came down made your body shiver and your thighs clench. His hand was large and calloused and he hit hard enough that you felt the recoil across your body. You felt the breath get knocked out of you and shudder when he kneaded the tender flesh. “Now, will you behave, pretty thing?”

“Fuck. You.” You bit out. In hindsight, not the smartest thing to say. Because the second spank that came down was harder. You yelped, trying to push away but his other hand held your wrists tightly at the small of your back.

“As you wish-” Hal laughed, a pair of green scissors cutting away at your underwear. “Oh- So wet? All for me? I’m flattered-” His fingers teased at your folds roughly.

“H-Hal-” You choked out but his middle finger was already knuckle deep.

“What was that, princess?” He leaned over your body. His hard cock against your ass. “You have to use your words.” He mocked.

You clenched your jaw. No way in hell were you going to tell him that his finger felt good. That he was curling it the right way. You breathed through your nose, your forehead against the table, concentrating to not- to not- to not-

“Oh god-” Oops- It slipped out. You were on your toes, legs were shaking, his thumb was brushing ever so slightly at your clit and you hated that you wanted more.

“No, no, no, no-” Hal laughed, removing his finger and sucking it off. “You’re gonna hold it until I say you can cum. Got it?”

“I’ll cum when I feel like it!!” You argued, trying to pull away from his tight grip.

“Keep squirming.” He rubbed the head of his cock against your dripping cunt. Slowly, teasingly, almost mocking you. The head just almost at the entrance but not quiet. “It makes me want to fuck you harder.”

“Big words for a man who won’t ev- AH!!” The words get lost in your throat in a cry of pain and pleasure as he plunges in fully. A string of curses left him and you. He stretches you to the brim, no longer holding your wrists, just the flesh of your ass. So tight, you know it’ll bruise later but god he felt so good.

“Jesus, princess-” He groaned, “If I knew your pussy was this heavenly, I would’ve pushed your buttons sooner.” He started to move. But soon enough, his slow, measured thrusts turned harder, rougher and more erratic. His blunt nails dug into your ass as he moved faster, and all you could do was hold onto the table with desperate needy moans, trying to catch your breath.

“Hal- I’m-” You tried, your legs were shaking so much. You were sure your toes would be blue with how long you’d been on them.

“Not fucking yet-” He growled, another harsh smack! connecting to your ass followed with a massage. It just made you wetter.

“Go to hell.” You moaned, holding the table so hard your knuckles were losing blood flow.

“Yeah? I’ll meet you there-” He laughed, rutting into you with a merciless pace, holding tightly to you. The recoil against your hips was harsh and you gasped every time his cock hit your g-spot so perfectly.

You were biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. Trying to control your noises as much as possible. The man did not need a bigger ego. He did not need to know that he could really back up all his bravado and ego with-

“Fuck- You’re squeezing me up, sweetheart. Gonna cum for me already?” He pistoned harder and you finally couldn’t help it. The sound that escaped you could’ve put a pornstar to shame. Hal groaned, his grip tightening, more curses falling from his lips.

You knew you were close. You were trying so desperately to hold off. To not give him that satisfaction. To make him live with the fact that he didn’t make you cum but it was getting harder and harder to do. Especially when a construct glowing green hand snaked around and started to rub at your clit. You cried out in pleasure again, the coil in your stomach so taut, you knew it was going to snap soon.

“Come on, pretty thing- I wanna hear what you sound like when you let go-” He groaned, his pace starting to falter just a bit. He wanted to cum, so badly, but heavens above he’d rather throw himself into the sun than finish first.

“Fuck you, Jordan!!” You screamed and came hard. Squeezing everything he was worth, your thighs shaking, your back arching as the pleasure cut through you like never before. You hated it, you hated how fucking good he felt and how amazing he made you feel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” He whimpered as his pace became erratic, shooting thick ropes, filling you so much that your needy, swollen cunt dripped to the floor.

He slumped on top of you, both of you breathless and boneless.

“So, still wanna report me, sweetheart?” He asked after a few beats of silence.

“Yes.” You mumbled, your pussy still throbbing around his cock.

Kinktober 2024.

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #kinktober 2024 totallynotashieldagent #hal jordan #hal jordan x reader #hal jordan smut #smut #dc #reader insert #green lantern hal jordan #green lanter corps #green lantern #Y'all I had SO MUCH FUN writing this asshole

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awesomelly · 2 months ago

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There is something I need to get off my chest in the Nimona fandom:

I dislike the depiction of Ballister being a subservient, emotional and fragile man, especially when in comparison to Ambrosius who is often pictured as the manly protector and voice of reason in their relationship - both in pre-canon and post-canon fanfics.

This isn't correct. I have to state it that way.

Let me explain:

The basic principle of a good narrative is to have people/characters act opposite to their nature. That means to put those characters in situations where they are forced to adapt and overcome obstacles, otherwise situations wouldn't be obstacles if it was easy.

And this is true for both Ambrosius and Ballister in the movie as well.

As you can see even in this tiny glimpse of the scene before the knighting ceremony (where everything was still sorted and their lives were still adjusted to their characters), you can see how Ambrosius is the one fuming at Todd's teasing. And Ballister is the one who stops him with a simple gesture and a slight headshake no. In the lair scene and the innocent's wall Ballister even corrects himself for repeating Nimona that Todd needs a good punching, so that scene above must have happened more than once beforehand during their time as squires - Ballister is the one with a straight determination, a cool head and a reasonable attitude while Ambrosius is righteously emotional at the provocation of his boyfriend.

Ambrosius proves his righteous and emotional character trait by forcing Ballister out of his brooding and trying to lighten him up by goofing around. Don't get me wrong, I love this trait of Ambrosius, and it gives us a perfect insight how the relationship works; apparently very well in their different ways of calming their nerves:

Another proof is the way Ballister ascends the steps during the knighting ceremony. He is determined despite his nerves whereas Ambrosius whoo-hooed at the spectators and then at Ballister after he is knighted. Again, a perfect opposite of reason (Ballister) and emotional outlet (Ambrosius):

And then everything goes to shit. This is where the story begins - can begin in the first place, actually.

Ballister's and Ambrosius' controlled lives crumble to dust and they are faced with exact opposites: Ambrosius is forced to take the role as a leader and a cool-minded persecutor of the man that he loves. A starker contrast is nearly impossible. And we can see an exposure of his true nature during the scene in the carriage with the Director, where he loses it in his mind but has to (and succeeds!) in suppressing his true emotions.

He even succeeds while he is facing Ballister but the struggle in his face is visible:

Ballister, on the other hand, loses his focus and goal in life in one single strike (literally). He is badly injured and still manages to hide, take care of his wound, and build himself a functioning prosthetic. He is on edge, worsened by the fact that a kid rampages in his life that has an overflow of emotions and attitudes. Ballister is forced to accept his new role and has to cope with a variety of very difficult and deep emotions. This is hilarious and fun, of course, but why is it that way? Because it is the exact opposite to his nature.

During the movie, depths of his character get exposed that would normally never come to the surface. That does not mean that Ballister isn't per se emotional or sometimes silly but the large mimics and gestures of him during the movie are a sign of his absolute overextension:

Both their characters are developing in this movie. Ambrosius becomes responsible without losing his sunny nature while Ballister breaks old habits of keeping to himself to become more expressive without losing his autonomy and his integrity. He is strong because of his fears and pushing through it with bravery, he is independent because he develops a deep connection to Nimona and ultimately saves her from herself, and he is manly because he shows his emotions with such intensity during the movie.

In summary: You need characters to face difficult situations because that's how character development is possible at all! It's the same thing in real life.

So, please understand that a superficial view on the pairing just does not suffice. Especially considering Ballister. And no, a simple hand placement, the crook of an eyebrow, or a slight difference in height does not depict who is top or bottom in a relationship!

I want you to know that every headcannon and alternation of the original canon is absolutely fine bc everyone deserves to build their own headspace, but please don't project anything ooc on these characters when it is a dysfunctional power play or a degradation of one character.

Thank you for reading! I am open for discussion!

#nimona #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #character analysis #narrative #character development

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lovelystarkersworld · 23 days ago

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i always think about Tony and Peter desperately trying to hide their relationship from the other Avengers, scared of how'll they'll react. The only one who actually knows, the only one they've told, is Rhodey because he confronted them after they'd only been together for a week--Tony could never hide anything from that man.

And it works for a while, no one really suspects why Tony always wanted to be the one going on missions with Peter or why he got so upset when Peter, someone with insane regeneration power, ends up hurt or why Tony seemed to always hold back too much when sparring with him. They just assumed the older man was being protective over Peter, they all were!

It wasn't until they arrived early from a day off. They should've expected something was up, Tony had given them his card and told them to 'have fun'. When they walk in, chatting loudly, they hear a moan coming from downstairs. They pause their movements, almost as if to test if they heard correctly and they did, soon after another loud moan is sounding.

And they honestly assumed Tony had brought someone home when they weren't paying attention until Peter is walking up the stairs from the lab with a dazed look in his eyes, hair a mess, lips puffy and red, and marks lining his neck. He stops in his tracks and looks at everyone with wide eyes, "H-how long have you guys been here?"

Steve is the first one to speak up, immediately asking Peter is he was okay or if Tony had put him up to this. He wouldn't hesitate to defend Peters honor. And then it's Natasha and Bruce, standing behind Steve in agreement--willing to all fight for the young boy. It wasn't in a malicious way, they cared for the older man, but they needed to make sure that the younger wasn't being taken advantage of.

And then Tony trails up the stairs, whistling away, and he's stopping in his tracks like everyone before him when he spots the scene in the main room. The Avengers basically surrounding Peter like a bunch of birds around food, all talking over one another until they noticed Tony's presence. Then everyone was staring at him, waiting for an explanation.

He would be fighting for his life, assuring them that it was Peter who pursued him! He didn't even want this to begin with! He had denied his feelings for months, years even just for Peter to lay it on thick and seduce him into bed where Tony couldn't hold back on his feelings anymore.

But it's not until Peter is vouching for him, clearing the older man's name from any nasty accusations that they all back off a little bit. Though they didn't let him off the hook that easily, making both of them sit down and explain how and more importantly when this began.

Then Rhodey walks in with a bowl of cereal and is just like, "You guys didn't figure it out immediately? They spend every minute together? Are always touching in one way or another?"

It only took about a week and a half before everyone is cooing at how happy Peter seemed to be around Tony and they quickly noticed how much the older man coddled him, loved him. He would buy him anything he would even glance at, kiss his cheek whenever he so pleased and it had everyone playfully gagging.

And when Tony gets down on one knee, it's in the middle of one of his parties with just his friends surrounding them. He had practiced his speech a billion times and was basically sweating through his suit. Everyone is cheering loudly, drunk off their minds from liquor. Even Steve was drunk, Thor had brought some more Asgardian alochol.

They are all so excited to see Tony and Peters love story blossom into something beautiful.

idk just thinking about protective avengers who become #1 starker fans

#ellie's writing #starker #ironspider #starker fandom #tony stark x peter parker #tony x peter

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kimberbohwrites · 3 months ago

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Can I request a drabble where Rolan overheard that gn Tav genuinely thought Rolan still hates them but just learnt to tolerate them? When in reality, he's been in denial about his crush on them for the longest time but accepted it recently 🤣

First of all— I am sorry that this took so long for me to get to. I rarely find time for asks and it took me awhile to get to this one— some of these I just needed more practice for tbh. I am striving to be better, however I am incredibly busy at work so I cannot promise you I always will be. Instead I promise you that I will always try to make your ask worth the wait.

Words Yet Unsaid

Rolan x Reader, SFW, only lightly edited

Word Count: 1214

Tags: Misunderstandings, fluff, and love confessions

Rolan sits down in front of you with a huff. There is a flush about his face that is so… him. The color on his cheeks paints a starker backdrop for the freckles that dot his face. Despite your so-called nerves of steel you cannot help but quickly glance away from the sight as your heart began to race in your chest.

The silence stretches and you look back across to find him nervously studying the wood grain of the table between you.

Sensing your gaze, he straightens up and clears his throat. He smoothes the simple but well-made dark blue tunic he’d worn with the tight leather breeches you could not help but notice as he’d joined you.

The color he’d chosen suited him well. Distracting you almost as much as the way his bottom and thighs had looked, no longer hidden behind the wizard robes. This was the first time you had ever seen him in at the tavern in casual clothes — sharp as these were.

The Elfsong Tavern was usually a good place to identify oneself as a great and powerful archwizard. But instead, he’d chosen to dress up and blend in with you. But why?

You tried not to let the racing of your heart, and the flush of your cheeks hide you from the cold truth that Rolan had never liked you. You were certain that this meeting he had arranged through Lia, was some sort of attempt at arbitration of your longstanding feud for the sake of his siblings.

Truth be told you had never wanted to fight with Rolan. It just happened every time you two had interacted since the very first time you’d crossed paths in the Druid’s Grove. That ire had only grown through the experiences that followed in the Shadow Cursed Lands and even when you’d slain his corrupt master and ended his apprenticeship abruptly.

So much pressure had instantly been thrust upon him, becoming master of the tower and archwizard of Baldur’s Gate so suddenly. Of course he’d be frustrated further by you.

Despite your best attempts to avoid him, your friendship with his siblings had caused you to repeatedly cross paths. It had been months now since the restoration of the city was considered complete, after you had ended the crisis. You’d attempted to returned to a normal life.

It was simple and gratifying, but something was missing.

“Thank you for joining me here this evening, you look lovely”

His tone cut through your thoughts; it sounded warm but a quick glance to his face revealed that warmth didn’t reach past his words. He looked… uncomfortable. Like your presence somehow pained him.

Tears sting in your eyes as you clear your throat and quickly stand.

“This was a bad idea.”

He opens his mouth, and his hand moves across the table like he’s reaching for you. Before he can form a word you continue.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time, I can tell this isn’t something you want to be doing”

You turn quickly to leave before he can say anything and before the tears you feel welling up are too much to hide. Your stride is quick and sure across the familiar boards of the tavern and out on to the streets that raised you.

The cool night air of the city was an immediate balm for the panic that had caused you to flee the tavern. All you needed to do was avoid Rolan for the rest of your life now, great.

You groan as you continued down the dark and empty streets. All of this weighs heavy on you but it becomes unbearable when the low roofs of the houses and shops fall away. As the street spills out into the open area which reveals Sorceress Sundries and the large structure which you knew was the point of travel for Ramazith Tower — the massive and beautiful wizard tower Rolan now called home.

It is as if the weight of the massive structure itself is on you now and you are stopped in your tracks. It’s then you hear your name called and the sound of someone running after you in the dark.

“Tav, wait! Please!”

You turn quickly to see Rolan sprint after you, still somehow looking perfect in his nice clothes despite the struggle of catching up to you. You glower momentarily at the thought that he will apparently always be gorgeous. Typical.

He catches up to you, huffing and puffing as his tail lashes out to steady him while he catches his breath.

“Why would you run after me?” You say with a whisper and you take a step closer to him, unsure if you’re needed to render aid for the struggling man.

“I… I’m sorry… I don’t hate… you… Tav….” He puffs out the words as he catches his breath.

Your blood runs cold at the words. It’s like you can feel the night breeze itself move through you.

“Rolan…”

You don’t know how to continue, and it gives him the opportunity to catch his breath and explain himself further.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have tried something so public to talk, Lia warned me, she didn’t say you’d run but…”

He sensed he was rambling and shook his head as if to clear it and start over. Your breath caught when his jaw tensed, the perfect bone structure always so eye catching, so hard to resist.

“I needed to tell you Tav, I don’t hate you. I… I overhead you talking to Cal and Lia about why you keep your distance when they invite you for dinner. I.. I should have apologized better — after all we had gone through—“

“We should have found time to talk…” You add

He takes a step closer to you, as if drawn to you and this time you don’t run.

“Why… Why would you run after me Rolan?” You ask

“Tav…”

“Why do you even care now?”

You can’t help it. The tears that had threatened you earlier, now spill down your cheeks as you pepper Rolan with questions.

He closes the distance to you quickly, his hands on your cheeks. You barely register the softness of the pads of his thumbs as they brush the tears away from your cheeks before you are swept away by the feeling of his lips, crashing into yours.

Your breath catches in your throat. You can’t help but moan into the kiss as his body presses firmly to yours.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to yours and you feel his tail coil around your thigh. Keeping you flush with him as he speaks.

“Because, Tav… I love you. I think I have always…” He gasped as if the realization fully dawned on him as he spoke, “I think I have always loved you.”

You kiss him now, no words on your tongue could be sweeter than to feel his lips against yours once more.

There would be time for words but for right now you wanted to keep kissing the wizard and so you do.

Under the open skies and the stars that shine each night over the city of Baldur’s Gate, wrapped in the strong arms of the man you loved, you kissed him with all the passion of the words in your heart yet unsaid.

#holy rolan empire #rolan nation #rolan brainrot #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan x tav #rolanites #rolan fanfic #rolan x reader #rolan x you #rolan romance #tav x rolan #baldurs gate rolan #rolan empire #rolan fanfiction

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schrodingers-romy · 3 months ago

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Diner Vignette [Usagiyama Rumi x Reader]

Pairing: Usagiyama Rumi x GN!Reader Word Count: ~800 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: A soft little moment at a late-night diner

Warnings: none afaik, some kissing i guess, just some sweet vibes

Notes: i've wanted to write some fluff with my wife for a long time! (also the comment i make about soft teeth grinding being a sign of contentedness from rabbits is true! however, loud or very insistent grinding can be a sign of pain or distress, so if you're unsure which your rabbit is doing please record a video and show it to a vet to be safe <3)

The city lights filtering through the raindrop-slick window reminded you of an abstract painting, all rounded smears and bubbles of color. The soft, dreamlike quality of the view only cast the sight of your girlfriend sitting across from you in even starker relief. Your sleep-heavy gaze brightened as you focused on her.

Rumi was still in her hero costume, fresh off patrol when she met you at your favorite diner. She was a little late, because she ran into some trouble that day; evidence of which was present on her face in the form of small butterfly stitches running across her split eyebrow. When she had bounded into the restaurant, twenty minutes late and damp with the night’s first traces of rain, you had taken care to press a gentle kiss to the wound. Even though you knew she was impossibly strong, you still felt the constant itch to comfort and care for her every miniscule injury. (She had laughed when you doted over her after she simply stubbed a toe, but she didn’t push you away. She didn’t need your care, yet she basked in it all the same.)

Her tardiness worked in her favor somewhat, anyways. By the time she slid onto the bench across from you, there was already a fresh plate of waffles sitting on the table, ready for her to devour. Your own food was sitting in front of you, untouched, until Rumi arrived. (When you told her you were waiting, she let out a small huff and then insisted on feeding you the first forkful, as a sort of wordless apology, though you hardly were starving in the time she was absent.)

Now, she was happily plowing through her food, blueberry syrup smeared across her lips in a sticky purple gloss. Rumi tried hard to swallow before she spoke, a rare instance of politeness, but sometimes she forgot in her haste to tell you about her day. (You were a little disgusted with yourself that you found her garbled speech endearing.) You listened intently, chin in your hands and elbows propped up on the table, your own empty plate pushed to the side. You had already offered up your own meagre tales from the day, but you were tired, and the prospect of listening to your girlfriend was infinitely more appealing than talking yourself.

After the last forkful of waffles disappeared into her mouth, Rumi made to wipe her face with a napkin. You reached out a hand to stop her.

“C’mere,” you said, voice a little slower and softer than normal. Rather than leaning across the table, she got up and joined you on your bench, sliding close enough that your thighs were pressed warmly together. She was uncharacteristically quiet, and her ruby eyes watched you curiously.

You didn’t give her a verbal reply, instead closing the distance between you two and pressing your lips together.

Rumi’s lips were tacky with sugary berries, and she tasted like them, too. As you melted into her, you thought that the kiss would have been sweet without them, anyways.

It wasn’t an efficient way of cleaning her face; in fact, you really just made more of a mess. But she giggled at your antics, when you broke apart, and snatched her napkin to gently wipe your own face clean. So, it was more than worth it.

“Did you miss me today, sugar?” Rumi purred, teasing.

You tsked. “You’re more of a ‘sugar’, with your sweet tooth,” you replied.

“Ah, you see, that is precisely the reason why I picked you. Because you’re so sweet.”

“Says the sweet talker. You sure you’re not tasting your own honey, bunny?”

You both blinked at each other for a moment, before bursting into simultaneous laughter.

“That was all so cheesy,” you wheezed.

She was no better, cackling so loudly it echoed in the bare diner. “We’re both so tired, aren’t we? Our minds have gone loopy!”

The both of you continued to break out into scattered giggling fits, leaning on each other for support as you steadied your breaths and rode out the waves of amusement. Eventually, the true tiredness won, and Rumi’s head began to rest more heavily on your shoulder.

You reached one arm around so you could run your fingers through her hair, as her carmine eyes fluttered shut. A soft teeth-grinding noise drifted from her, something she once told you was a rabbit’s way of showing contentedness. You smiled at it, shifting so you could press your mouth to the crown of her head, a subtle kiss.

You knew that soon, you would have to dart your way through the still pouring rain, back to your apartment. You would have to peel off soaking clothes, then take a warm shower together that you would both be too tired to make heated, before you could finally stumble to bed.

You didn’t dwell on any of that, however; you savored the moment, holding your love close to you as the dreamlike patterns of lights outside flickered across the rain-frosted glass.

#usagiyama rumi x reader #bnha x reader #rumi usagiyama x reader #mirko x reader #miruko x reader #mha x reader #mirko fluff #usagiyama rumi fluff #usagiyama rumi #rumi usagiyama #bnha #gender neutral reader #reader insert #romy can write

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starker-sorbet · 2 years ago

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The moment Tony saw his baby brother, carefully swaddled in their mothers arms he knew they were soulmates. His first look into Peters eyes filled Tony's world with colour and he knew that Peter himself would never know a world in grey-scale.

Sure he knew his dad was worried about what this meant, Tony had overheard him talking with Jarvis behind a closed door but that didn't matter to him. Tony had his Peter and he would do anything for him and would gladly defend Peter from anything that would hurt him. So his dad didn't have to worry because Tony was there to protect them both.

They were simply meant to be.

@starkerfestivals Starkercest Winter Bingo fill: B3 - Meant to Be

card below

#starker #SFStarkercest23 #meant to be #brothers tony and peter #soulmate au #seeing in colour for first time #kid tony #baby peter #moodboard #my moodboard #tw:incest

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babybatscreationsv2 · 2 months 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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thestarkerisobvious · 6 months ago

Text

Starker

(okay I swear i started to write this out as a one-shot and what is it now???? This is JUST the first chapter. I hate you brain. Anyway enjoy.)

Tony’s mouth was warm and greedy and skillful and everywhere. His hands on Peter’s ass gripped hard enough to leave bruises and he clung to Peter like a drowning man. And Peter…

…Peter could hear the air conditioner. He could hear the lights they had accidentally left on three rooms down. The walls in Tony’s bedroom were getting too close again and if Peter didn’t call this to a halt he’d be smelling concrete dust again dammit…

Tenderly he pushed Tony away. Tony went willingly, even if his face was full of disappointment. Peter, however, was grinning. He was grinning from ear to ear. Even with the claustrophobia kicking in… that too-close too-much sensation that came when Tony’s body had been too heavy and too on him (but oh dammit he LOVED it when Tony’s body was on him) that would quickly make sex turn from Something Enjoyable into Something To Be Endured… even with the faint smell of concrete dust haunting his brain… still Peter grinned.

“Do we need a break?” Tony asked, sounding breathless. He was used to Peter needing time-outs during sex, encouraged it even, but was confused by the happy look on his lover’s face.

Peter made a moaning noise that could have meant anything. He didn’t WANT Tony to stop - didn’t want it at all. But his spider-senses were overwhelmed whether he liked it or not. He still had his hands on Tony’s body, even as he kept his own body away.

“Want a drink?” Tony offered, and that was normal. To stop in the middle of sex and do something else entirely - make a snack in the kitchen, have a discussion about which Avenger was the most obnoxious that week, or even go to the lab to tinker. Completely naked, of course. And, yes, sometimes those trips to the kitchen devolved into Peter being banged into the stove. One memorable trip to the lab resulted in Peter being bent over a holotable and the holotable breaking. Although the majority of their mid-sex breaks weren’t that expensive.

But that’s not what Peter wanted now. Dammit, Tony had been making him feel so good just now. Had been eating him up like a feast. Like a man who had been starved to death in the desert. Peter really, really didn’t want to stop.

They could have dealt with the Spider-Sense-Overload another way - Tony was certainly always up for Peter riding his cock - but even that didn’t sound sufficient.

Which was why Peter stood up from the enormous bed and, taking Tony by the hand, coyishly led him out of the room.

“I think… I think I want you to do it to me on your sofa.”

#Starker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #established relationship

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forasecondtherewedwon · 6 months ago

Text

Emotionally Stabled

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: E Word Count: 3144

Summary: Jane goes to have it out with her husband. To have something out. There's definitely a reason she hunted him down, but, stumbling upon him bathing, she can't quite remember what it was. Or; Guildford and Jane get a little more time in the stables before the sun rises.

When Jane sags against the post, she feels herself, for once, about as useless as a wife is meant to be. She feels stupefied. If her husband didn’t have water in his ears, he’d probably hear the dumb, animal thud of her lousy, shameless heart. But he’s wet. Soaked. Hair plastered to his head as he lifts his arms again to slick it back. The movement sets off a cascade of tensing muscle: his hands spread on his glossy hair, his firm-looking arms, the jumping landscape of his upper back, the shivery twitch of his tapering lower back. Guildford shifts his weight and Jane feels faint at the sight of the squeeze of muscle in his backside. She absentmindedly runs a fingertip below her lower lip, checking for drool.

She was in bed with this man. Next to him. She rubbed her legs vigorously against his, pretending to fuck. She wonders how on earth anyone believed them. Who, really, could writhe between the sheets with Guildford Dudley without making a sound? Jane’s nearly moaning where she stands, hypnotized by the shine of moonlight on his naked body.

Though she knows, distantly, that she came to the stables with something to say, it’s eluding her. She wonders if, when she does speak, she should remain limp by this post or go towards him. Probably the latter, but she has little faith that her legs won’t wobble in the attempt. Maybe if she’d had a few minutes to actually lie down. Properly lie down, because she has been horizontal rather a lot today, considering how much has happened. She collapsed during the ceremony, was restrained on a table for a dubious medical examination, participated in the aforementioned fake fuck, and yet none of these things were restful. None of them provided the strength she didn’t realize she would need for accidentally walking in on her starkers new husband.

If only that damn dressing room’d had a chair.

That was it! That was her complaint: he left her shut inside the dressing room! Swine! But Jane’s ire can only put up a half-hearted fight against the paralyzing murk of her lust. Her eyes continue to rove over Guildford as he turns partway towards her and she nearly gets a glimpse of… But no, not quite.

What’s he done to require bathing anyway? Were those brief minutes in bed with her enough to befoul his person? Is he trying to wash the whole horrid day from his skin? Again, she is deeply offended, even if it doesn’t show on her slack-jawed face. It isn’t her fault that they’re married. She had the least say of anyone. Maybe she was naïve to think that, once they were alone, the alliance they forged beneath the sheet would continue to flourish. That they could endure this thing together without one of them running away and getting dirty or sweaty or... something… and leaving the other one trapped!

No. This is just too… Jane has to put her foot down. Her foot in its fine, thin slipper. Her foot at the end of her weak-kneed leg.

She shouts at him as she stumbles inelegantly forward, berates him for his neglect, calls him names. At least, she’s pretty sure she does. She kind of loses focus; after turning towards her, he reaches for a cloth with which he presumably intends to cover the parts of himself she’s just been exposed to for the first time, but before he can secure it around his hips, he’s shouting back at her, the cloth clenched in his fist.

Jane’s never been yelled at by a naked man before. She tries to keep as tight a hold of her point as Guildford has on that cloth (and a ridiculously small cloth anyway, even if he had gotten it wrapped about him—bloody short-sighted to bring something that small to dry himself with—if he’s going to wash up in the stable, he could at least come prepared), but it’s a challenge.

Her distraction makes her more generous in their shouting match than she means to be; she lets him get away with interrupting her, lets her voice trail off so his can rise above it. The most she can really trust herself to do is fix an annoyed expression on her face.

Even that might be failing.

Her gaze keeps dropping from his contemptuous eyes to more welcoming sights. Somehow, she’s tottered near enough to see the individual, gleaming tracks of water droplets as they navigate the planes of his torso. They disappear into damp curls, hair so dark it might be black, and glisten. The contrast against his member is mesmerizing. His angry words are blunted by the heavy breathing coming from her mouth.

Too late, Jane realizes he’s trailed off. Her gaze snaps up to find Guildford watching her, watching him. Time to say something biting to regain the upper hand.

“You learned Latin in a ditch and you bathe in a barn?”

Perfect.

But he’s just staring at her steadily. He starts to cover himself at last and her gaze immediately drops to follow the motion. This makes the expression on his face—when she forces herself again to look up there instead of lower down—a rather smug one.

“I didn’t think you wanted to—”

“I don’t.”

Guildford’s continued grin says he doesn’t buy her adamant denial. Yeah, neither would she. The heat is absolutely radiating from her cheeks. He does her the conceited kindness of holding the cloth in front of his hips to block a select piece of her view, likely knowing it only makes her want to look more.

“The marriage was arranged,” he says with a calmness she couldn’t possibly muster.

“I know.”

“You tried to feign the Affliction to get out of our wedding.”

“I remember.”

“After we got through the bedding ceremony, I pretty much thought that was going to be it.”

“So did I,” Jane admits.

Guildford’s mouth falls open in apparent surprise—at her honesty? At the fact that this might be the first time she’s actually agreed with him?

“I came here to shout at you,” she feels the need to say.

He gives her a gentle smile that catches her further off guard.

“You’ve done that.”

But you’re not leaving, is implied.

Jane seems as incapable of retreat now as she was of standing upright on her own a few minutes ago. Actually, her unreliable feet trip towards him a few more steps. She remembers the days when it was her head that guided her feet, not the opposite.

Really, it should be Guildford with the advantage, despite his nudity. He’s larger than she is, visibly stronger than she is (Look at his face, she reminds herself), and these are his stables, at his home. Why, then, does her nearness seem to make him nervous? He’s a rake! Shouldn’t that make him invulnerable to one inexperienced young woman? But Jane sees Guildford swallow, and observes the way his eyes are now having trouble staying trained above her shoulders. She’s still in a state of undress, dressed for bed beneath her flowing robe—bed bed, not sleep, displaying a length of leg meant to incite a specific reaction. The kind of reaction that gets a marriage consummated. The kind of reaction that might be occurring behind that little cloth if the odd manner in which Guildford’s now holding it slightly away from his body means anything.

He clears his throat like he’s trying to regain command of himself, and possibly of her too, but it’s no good. She’s seen through him. What decides it for her—what makes Jane brave—is the glint of Guildford’s wedding ring. If they can fake it together, maybe they can do it for real together too. Holding his eye, she slips the robe from her shoulders. It lands on dirt and straw. She doesn’t care. She’s once again the most naked she’s ever been before this man, and he’s more naked still. His fortune, her rank, none of it matters. Jane may be the King’s cousin, but she’s also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, trying to communicate with her eyes how badly she needs him to fuck her.

“Unless you want that to be it,” she just barely gets out, close to a whisper.

Just as soft, he says, “I don’t want that to be it,” and it’s possible angels sing.

She goes to him, and he receives her, damp hand on the back of her nightdress to clutch her close. Her chest heaves as they pass a handful of seconds motionless in one another’s arms. Then they kiss, harder than she expects. Jane is grateful they didn’t do this in front of their wedding guests after all because she whimpers. Loudly. Thankfully, Guildford reacts by whipping the cloth to the ground so he can gather her close with both hands.

Jane’s eyes fly open; she can feel him. There! Poking against her with only her dress in the way, stuck to his skin and steadily moistening. As far as anybody knows, she’s felt this and more already, but she hasn’t, and it’s new, and she’s still staring wide-eyed at the face of the most desirable man she’s ever met (not that she gets out much) when his brow furrows as he kisses her. And that might be the most attractive thing he’s done yet: want her back.

Slinging an arm around the back of his neck, she steps out of her slippers, almost sliding on the wet dirt. Jane digs her toes in. This is the water that ran down his body while she spied on him. It’s touched more of her husband than she has, though she plans to rectify that. Her other hand goes to his backside. She squeezes her eyes shut to savour it. She might squeeze her fingers a little too.

Guildford huffs against her lips, his hands groping over her hips to pluck at the white fabric that’s plastered to her skin. Jane experiences a fairly significant case of nerves as he draws the garment over her head, but he greets her bared body with a look of unmistakable admiration, and she is reassured. His hands return to her hips, then one lifts to hover at her center. His raised eyebrows ask the question, a dip of her chin gives the answer, then he’s cupping her there.

He tries to start kissing her again as his fingers begin their exploration, but standing on slippery ground with her legs apart while her husband traces lightly across her engorged clitoris is already a lot to ask, and she has trouble concentrating on making her mouth respond.

Guildford notices and asks, “Would you prefer a bed?”

Jane’s hands smooth over his shoulders as she replies, “Not that one.” She means the one all those people stood around, laughing and gawking, cheering and too drunk to doubt their weak pantomime. She’s not eager to return to that bedchamber, where they would never really have privacy, since a servant could stroll right in, or someone like Guildford’s repellant brother could listen at the door. At the moment, she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to associate that room with much besides stress and humiliation. Even the crackling inferno of lust she feels for her husband might not be enough to smoke those bad feelings out. That can’t be the first place she ever takes Guildford inside her. It just can’t. She’d do it anywhere else. She’d do it on—

“The floor!”

Guildford looks at her doubtfully.

“You realize,” he says, “that would mean you could never make another joke about ditch Latin or barn bathing? You’ll always be the girl unvirgined in the dirt.”

Jane glances around them.

“There’s also straw,” she points out.

She just wants him to say yes. To say anything affirmative, or suggest a better option. It’ll have to be close by though, because the thought of putting her nightdress back on after Guildford peeled it away so sexily makes Jane feel profoundly awkward. Despite her mother’s assumptions, she isn’t clueless about sex. Not the mechanics anyway, nor the multitude of ways it can affect a woman—ways that require herbal treatment. But the rest of it is something of a mystery. The romance, she supposes. Of course, Jane knows romance doesn’t always have to be part of it, but she’d like it to be, here, with her wet, beautiful husband.

“Could we make a compromise and say… your robe?” Guildford nods at where she dropped it, steps away.

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind—” she begins, trying for blasé.

But he says, “I would,” with a tenderness that prevents her from going on.

Instead, Jane goes to the robe and gives it a flick to spread it out flat. She sits. He crouches. When she parts her knees and eases onto her back, he stretches over her. It’s cool on the ground, but soft on the robe. Guildford stares down at her as his hand strokes up the nape of her neck, fingers burrowing into her hair. With this hold on her, he starts to kiss her again, and this time, all her attention is on kissing him back.

His skin is still wet, but that isn’t why Jane shivers. Once she has her hands on his chest, her thighs instinctually closing around his hips, Guildford sneaks a hand down to continue what he barely began while they were standing. Her next response is a broken gasp into his mouth. She feels his smile as he repositions his lips on her throat, and she doesn’t mind it. His touch between her legs is careful but not hesitant. She supposes she is being quite encouraging. After the initial gasp, she offers him a bouquet of sounds: of relief, of surprise, of need. His fingers manipulate her with the same accuracy and self-assurance she saw him demonstrate throwing knives. The thighs that clamped around him now fall apart again just as naturally. It’s something visceral, something to spur him on when the words won’t come.

He nips lightly at a straining muscle in her neck—another new sensation for her, and a reach towards control for him as his fingertips glide lower. She wonders which of them the circles he draws around her entrance is meant to tease. His breath is humid on her neck as he works a finger inside of her. Jane makes a noise she’s terrified is too grunt-y, but he seems to like it, judging by how he tilts his hips to press his hot erection against her thigh. Guildford crooks his finger and rocks his hips at the same time and, ah, she understands where his mind has gone.

Then, there isn’t much more thinking, only movement, the increasing pace of his finger—then pair of fingers—to match the hungry roll of her hips. She can hardly lie still when he starts driving his fingers in and out of her body, that little scoop against her front wall when he’s deep. She’s not the only one losing herself; Guildford abandons her neck for her breasts, sucking and biting until her hips leave the ground. In a haze, she watches him: his bowed head, the shifting muscle in his shoulder, the sheen that isn’t water on her thigh where he rubs himself.

When the pleasure peaks, he removes his fingers to keep massaging her on the outside, his member replacing them in a jerky advance that prolongs her bliss and seems to nearly kill him. That’s what his face says when Jane forces her eyes open (when did she close them?) to observe the unfurling course of events. With weird delight, she finds herself being as tender with him as he was with her, meeting his rakish reputation with sweetness. She caresses the face he’s lifted from her breast, running a finger over his lower lip. He groans, eyelids flickering. She tightens her other arm around him—not to restrain his thrusting, but to luxuriate in the feeling of all those parts of his body that captivated her under the stream of water working in concert at a different task.

Jane can tell Guildford’s getting close to achieving the same feeling he just gave her. She anticipates a grunt of some kind followed by him collapsing on top of her. He shocks her by withdrawing instead, reaching for his manhood, pumping the ruddy length in his fist with an aggression that elicits a moan from her. Once more, he watches her watching him. He opens his mouth and seems about to say her name when—

She’s startled again when the spatter hits her skin, and then her husband’s collapsing on top of her. There, she thinks, rolling her eyes and patting him on the back. I know something of the world.

When Guildford raises his head to meet her eyes with his dazed ones, he asks, “Was that alright?”

Begrudgingly, she finds it endearing. She brushes his hair back from his face, touching him like a wife might in a marriage where they wanted it, wanted this, wanted each other.

“It wasn’t nearly as bad as I imagined it would be,” Jane allows.

“Bad?” Guildford stiffens and pushes up, frowning. “You were imagining it would be bad? That’s why you stood there staring at me for ages before you collected your wits enough to announce yourself?”

“You knew I was there?!”

“I have excellent hearing.”

She’s irritated and muddled and embarrassed. Somehow, she feels tricked, though she’s the one who was spying on him.

In response to his superior look, Jane sputters, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I figured you were concentrating and didn’t want to interrupt your fantasies of… disappointment.” He’s smirking. “They must have been thorough.”

She turns her face pointedly away from his amusement, but Guildford chases her mouth. The second he kisses her and she’s powerless to do anything but return it, her rickety lies fall through completely.

“Fine,” she says, while he hovers over her, “I enjoyed it.”

“Effusive praise.”

“I might be more loquacious if I couldn’t feel your seed drying on my stomach.”

“Oh.”

Impressively recovered, Guildford springs to his feet and offers Jane a hand, bringing her up after him.

“I know just the thing,” he says.

She takes a few unsteady steps (oh, she is feeling what just happened between them), then realizes his plan. Her husband douses her before she can wriggle from his grasp, tossing the pot back into the trough of water with a laugh. Gasping, Jane casts a glance around for that wretched cloth, but can’t spot it. She has nothing but vengeance in mind when she decides to press herself against him to wipe the water away.

Only vengeance.

That’s all.

#my writing #My Lady Jane #MLJ #Jane Grey #Guildford Dudley #Jane x Guildford #My Lady Jane fic

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