#starker: soft

[starker-sorbet]

⚘ Calliopsis ⚘ - symbolizes cheerfulness and love

Peter and Tony being soft and in love

[3xamenace]

eager

soft smutty starker // top!Peter x bottom!Tony

Peter's an eager lover, Tony learned quickly.

he's careful, of course, he doesn't want to hurt Tony (it doesn't really matter if Tony does enjoy a more painful sex). his are soft, taking time to make sure he's open and ready. Peter's far from small, the stretch's addicting. the eagerness coats everything, it feels like Peter wants to make him cum in one noght more than he did his whole life.

such a lovely thing, Tony thinks, Peter's a good lover. inexperienced as he is, it's so gentle and lovely.

Tony doesn't want to have anyone else in his life.

[professional-benaddict]

little!peter crushing on his new doctor stephen👉🏻👈🏻 the boy met him weeks ago for a check up and he is still drawing pictures for the doctor. peter even goes as far as to fake symptoms and pains for his daddy tony to take him to see ”doctuh ste-ben”🥰🥰🥰🥰

[spider-mancan]

just thinking about tony with a prosthetic arm after endgame and peter tuning it up when tony is too tired or the angle is wrong or when peter just wants to be close and doesn't know how to ask for something a little softer

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

still thinking abt that one starker fanfic...

it's been in my head for weeks atp and i just can't stop thinking abt it. it's so SAFDLAKSLDFJA

[waugh-bao]

Charlie on the Stones and their roles in the band (2014/video)

[definitelynottony]

@pretty-bratty that first night in Istanbul 🥹🫠🥴 omfg I'm so soft

Love the thought of Tony waking up after his first full night’s sleep in years thinking “wow, I’m waking up and it’s…. light outside?” and not understanding how he slept so peacefully, and then turning his head, seeing Peter fast asleep and remembering it’s the first night Peter slept in his bed and of course that’s why he slept so well because Peter is the most comforting, adorable person in the world and Tony will cherish him forever and 😭😭😭 I’m soft. I’M SOFT. Like Peter’s soft little curls 🥺🥺 and his puffy morning cheeks when Tony caresses them with pure adoration. TONY LOVES PETER SO MUCH I CAN’T-

[starker-sorbet]

Tony spending a soft and quiet morning in with his husband and their cat

Tony Stark This or That 2024: Soft domesticity for @thisorthatevents

card below

[spider-mancan]

thinking about tony waking up next to a sleepy peter. no other thoughts at this time.

[thegreenmetblue]

HAAAAAAAAAAA

[starker-raving-mads]

join our cult, its a starkercest one :DDD

Oh, I am fully enmeshed in the love of starkercest trust me~

[starker-sorbet]

Daddy Tony spending the morning with his little

[ricciardo133]

Winter Break 2025

maxiel, weight gain, body worship, pregnancy briefly alluded to

-

Daniel always loves the way Max looks during the winter months. As Max steps into Daniel's Monaco apartment, Daniel eyes the tight fit of Max's running shorts along his softening hips.

"So, you have new merch?" Max asks, oblivious to Daniel's ogling. Daniel snaps to attention and follows Max into the living room.

"Well, obviously. As your new sponsor, we gotta make a whole Verstappen collection," Daniel adds with jazz hands for pizazz. "And I wanted to get your approval before we send the designs to print and you're stuck wearing all this for a year."

"It can look like anything," Max says, unbothered.

"Oh, good. I'll tell them we're a go on the Enchanté-branded assless chaps."

Max laughs, eyes crinkling in mirth. "Yeah, perfect for Media Day. I assume there is a matching cowboy hat."

Daniel feels his cheeks flush, picturing Max actually wearing that combination and nothing else.

"Just try on the samples and humor me, Maxy."

Thankfully, he's now not the only one blushing. They've been friends for long enough to know how to edge the unspoken line without ever crossing it, neither ever making that final push to send them spiraling onto one side or the other.

"Yeah, alright," Max says. "I'll do a fashion show."

Daniel claps and leads Max over to the dining room table where an already-opened cardboard box holds an assortment of red, blue, white, and orange apparel. He holds up one of the pull-overs, assessing which to try first.

"They're just the rough drafts, so let me know if you think they look like ass."

"No, Daniel, they look very cool. I like the classic look. And the big "É." Very you."

Daniel feels his dick twitch in his pants, thinking of Max branded with his label, marked as his, for the world to see. He tosses the shirt into Max's arms and pulls out a pair of summery shorts to match. "Just give these a spin. I sent them your size, so they should fit."

Daniel has seen how deep the flush can go over the years, like an old-timey thermometer measuring of how flustered his younger friend can get. He bites his full lips as his neck turns pink.

"I, uh, might be a bit bigger right now. But they'll fit for Melbourne. I'll look better."

"You look great now, Max."

Max spins on his heels and into the adjacent half-bath, door closing, as if Daniel hadn't seen him almost naked before. Daniel sits on the barstool at the kitchen island.

Sometimes he hates gooning this fucking horny friendship line and wishes he could just buck up the nerve to say something. Anything. Maybe now that they're not somewhat teammates, it'd be okay? Or is it inappropriate for a patron to think about cupping their client's ass and spreading his soft flesh-

"Okay, remember, they'll fit better in a few months."

Daniel looks up and feels his body tighten as he takes in the sight of him. Max squirms in the pull-over, zipper done all the way up. The orange sleeves hug his full arms, and the white, soft fabric stretches tight along his chest. Oh God, his tits, Daniel thinks guiltily before trying and failing to think about the design aspect of all this and not how Max's soft stomach pulls the pullover's fabric taught. His fuller belly peeks over the top of the shorts. His hips, always seemingly begging to be held, curve and slope down to full thighs. Max shaved. His normally fuzzy legs smooth as he shifts his weight on one bare foot to the other.

"I know," Max says, voice nervy. "It happens every year. I'm on holiday, but I'll get better."

"Don't say that," Daniel gets up. He feels the line veering closer, like pushing too hard on a circuit he knows by heart. He stops just an inch beyond appropriateness. "You look great."

"Daniel." He can't parse the pleading note in Max's voice, something shaky.

"You always look so good this way," Daniel goes on, watching Max's big blue gaze get thrown in starker contrast as his cheeks flush again. Max even shaved his face. He looks so young, like when he was his teamma-

"Daniel," Max says again. "I just feel too big."

"You're perfect, Max. You normally don't wear these things zipped all the way up, though. More like this,"

The line. Daniel crosses it, fingers gently pulling the pull-over's zipper down at an agonizingly slow rate. He didn't realize Max was holding his breath until he shudders a shaky exhale.

"Does it feel good?" Daniel asks, hands trailing up the sleeves, feeling the soft fabric casing Max's biceps.

"Yes. It's good."

"And not too tight here?" Daniel lets his hands draw inwards along Max's chest. Seeing he's already blown past the point of no return, he lets his palms rest over Max's full breasts. "Is it okay?"

Max nods, fast. Through parted reddened lips, Daniel sees Max's perfect, glistening tongue against his straight teeth.

Daniel squeezes. Max keens, a note Daniel has never heard from the other man. He rubs, making gentle circles over hardening nipples.

"Oh, Daniel," Max whispers.

"Maxy," Daniel returns, hands trailing lower, feeling the full rise of his belly. "Breathe."

Max acquiesces, belly shuddering. Daniel relishes the soft, pliable skin below the warm fabric.

"You look so good like this, Max," he says, stepping even closer. He lets his gaze dip, feeling Max's head lower to rest their foreheads together as Daniel stares at his soft belly. He rubs gentle lines around it, dick hardening as Max lets his body go even softer. He could even look three months pregnant, how round and full he fills out the top.

Max whispers his name again and then again as Daniel pulls up the fabric and finally touches smooth skin and then once more as Daniel's fingers dip into the waistband of the shorts, exploring back as Daniel presses flush to squeeze his hands into Max's full, soft ass.

"You deserve to feel good," Daniel says into Max's ear, words falling on the red nape of his neck. "At every weight, you deserve to be so fucking worshiped, Max."

"Oh my God, Daniel."

Daniel squeezes again, more firmly this time as he traces up to hold his pillowy hips. They always look so bitable in his fireproofs, and now they're filling out even more in the too-tight shorts, begging to be gripped. To be used for everything Daniel has wanted for years.

"I know," Daniel says, suddenly self-conscious, "this is, uh, a lot."

"It's good," Max asserts, his own hands flying to Daniel's back as if to keep him in place. "If it's good for you."

Daniel snorts a laugh, letting his hips rut forwards. His stiff cock meets Max's soft thigh. Max whines.

"More than good, Maxy." He presses his lips into heated, soft skin at Max's shoulder. "You're perfect like this. So fucking perfect." He reels at Max pressing his own hard length into Daniel's hips. It's bliss. Max's body, warm and eager and full and, for now, his.

"Alright, so, should I try on the others?" Max asks, a gentle mirth in his tone.

"Yeah, let me help you take these off first."

[tubbytarchia]

Did the evil art style thing finally. Got a bit lost in the sauce

So idk if I hit all the marks lol but!!

Things I attempted to accomplish as suggested by my lovely followers: - Lineless (As opposed to lined) - Sketchy/sharp edges (as opposed to clean/smooth) - Hair without a defined shaped (as opposed to hair WITH defined shape) - Expressionless eyes lol (as opposed to expressive eyes, though I think the dead eye look kinda. works for this idk. This was the hardest one!!) - More saturated colors (as opposed to kind of pale/muted) - LESS saturated colors / darker colors Things I attempted to accomplish of my own initiative: - Drawing on one layer from start to finish (even when I switch styles I always utilize a bunch of layers) - Using a brush I don't/barely use (the default FireAlpaca brush lol) - Leaning more towards realism and accurate anatomy (as opposed to very cartoony) - Idk just kinda aiming for the opposite vibe in general. Helped by the sharp edges/starker and darker colors etc. No more soft huggable art. Evil art now Someone suggested I draw in a softer, more rounded style and I'm sorry because that just clashed too much with the other suggestions, and also I do think my art already leans towards that! But regardless thank you so much!!

[schrodingers-romy]

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.

[bits-and-babs]

This is only the first of what I hope will not be too many, but here we go! 🗝 Joel Miller + Country cowbow aesthetic. Because why not?! <3

⋆ 𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖

CountryCowboy!Joel Miller x f!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: soft af, made my heart ache, playful flirting, literally such southern stereotypes written by an English Woman. Dry humping. 18+ ya nasties!

summary: Retired Rodeo-Cowboy Joel Miller settles down on his ranch with his number one fan.

joel masterlist I| main masterlist |I follower celebration I| ask |I

“They’re more hassle than they’re worth, y’know?”

A smile pulls at the edges of your mouth the moment his complaints reach your ears. His gruff voice drips with sarcasm, but you keep your eyes on the horses that prance around the paddock. They lift their hooves with synchronised grace, performing a dance as they clopped across the dried soil.

“That may be,” you muse, brushing your palms over the planks of wood that contained the mares. They’re beautiful beasts, their coats shining beneath the sunshine that the rim of your Stetson shields your face from. “But they’re mighty fine.”

The mocking southern accent you respond with has Joel pushing his elbow into your side.

“Hey!” You burst into a fit of giggles, the laughter bubbling from your throat before you’re able to suppress it. When you look up, Joel’s face is flat, that typical ‘Clint Eastwood Stand-off’ vibe that he always emanates, but his eyes betray him. There’s amusement swirling in his deep tan-leather irises.

Joel rests his palms on the wood, too, casting his gaze over the field. He’s handsome like this, you think, the dying gilded sunshine painting his face golden. It’s clearly crawled under his skin, cheeks glowing a subtle pink with sunburn and making the greys of his beard starker amongst the brown. His matching salt and pepper hair is windswept from working all day in the summer breeze.

It’s ridiculous, you think. All these years together, travelling to rodeos and spending most of your time hiding behind your fingers when he wrestled steers, you still felt the butterflies erupt in your stomach when you looked at him. He’d since hung up his bulldogging boots, ‘far too old to be wrangling bullocks’, and had taken up a much quieter life breeding horses for racing.

“You know,” Joel smirks, not bothering to look at you when he teases you, “You’re always talkin’ ‘bout how pretty they are but spend all your time lookin’ at me.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, tearing your eyes away from him and folding your arms across your chest with an indignant huff. The rumbles of a chuckle reach your ears, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

“It ain’t so bad, you know,” he speaks softly, trying to ease your embarrassment, “It’s nice to know an old man’s still got it.”

You can’t stay mad at him for very long. That southern charm that effortlessly and unknowingly bleeds through each word works its way between your ribs and lassoes your heart with such ease. Again, you find yourself smiling, turning to look at him again. He’s unable to smother the grin that’s threatening to stretch across his lips, the edges of his mouth twitching.

“You’re not an old man,” you promise, reaching your hand across the small space between you. You hook your finger under the metal of his belt buckle and pull him towards you with a grin. He arches a brow at you pointedly, and you shrug with a grin. “Mhm, okay, maybe you’re a little old.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, watching you smooth your hands over his hips and waist.

“The kind of old that makes a man even more handsome,” you promise him, unable to look him in the eyes and choosing instead to drag your eyes over the tanned skin that glistens with sweat just beyond the collar of his flannel, “You age like whiskey, Joel.”

“Jack Daniels or Southern Comfort?” He asks, and you can feel his gaze dancing across your face, burning into your mouth and tracing your lips.

“Mhmm…” you hum softly, finally braving his stare and looking up at him. His eyes are dark with a rich need, hungering for your lips on his. “Redbreast.”

He can’t stand it anymore, you think, leaning down suddenly to press his lips to yours. They’re slightly dry from the heat, and you can taste the salt of his sweat. His body heards you against the fence, his work-worn hands dragging over your thighs and hips with a delicious hum that pools arousal between your thighs.

“Joel,” you breathe into his mouth. It comes out a little more desperate than you’d like, a little needier, but Joel doesn’t complain. His hands are hoisting you up, settled just beneath your ass, so your legs wrap around him.

“These fuckin’ jeans,” he huffs, frustrated when he lightly slaps your ass. Again, you’re laughing, knowing he hates them. They hug your figure just right, too tricky to get off in a hurry. “Just gonna have to make do, aren’t I?”

You’re unable to question him, to ask what he means, because he’s immediately grinding his hips against your own in a way that adds just the right amount of pressure to your clit through the seam of your jeans. Fuck, he’s rock hard beneath you, clearly turned on by your ridiculous teasing and the way you melted at the sight of him.

He swallows your moans with heated kisses, tongue dragging against your own. Fuck, his hands are squeezing at the flesh of your ass through the denim, enjoying the handfuls he steals.

It’s deliberate. The slow, heavy arcs of his hips when he grinds into you, focusing all the pressure on your clit with expertise only he could offer. He’d mapped out your body after all these years, the peaks and troughs of your structure memorised like the landscape of his ranch. Joel knew every pleasure point of your body, how to work them to his advantage and to your detriment.

“Fuck,” you whine softly, feeling him smirk into your shared kiss. Leaning your head back, you sigh when he pulls his lips across your jugular, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your pulse.

“Kiss your mother with that mouth, Darlin’?” He questions you, and you answer with a pointed, open-palm slap against his shoulder. He chuckles again, but responds with another heavy drag of his hips.

“Ohfu-“ you choke out, tears welling in your eyes. He just ruins you, just picks you apart and puts you together again so that all you can think about is the throbbing arousal that shoots up your spine.

“You gonna give it to me, Darlin’? Come on, Sugar. Come on,” he whispers to you, that gravelly tone sparking something honey-sweet inside of you. It’s not the lighting crack that he usually produces. No, it pours through you like molasses, slow and rolling and dripping between your thighs. A soft, drawn-out moan of Joel’s name pushes its way from your lips, and he praises you as your thighs squeeze him tight.

“Mhmm, Good Girl,” he hums, planting kisses along your jaw with a grin. “Don’t think I’ll have to work hard to wrangle you into bed, will I?”

He doesn’t.

END