for all my starker shit

peter: ʰᵒʷ ᵈᶦᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵘʸˢ ᵐᵉᵉᵗ

bucky: i ain’t talking ‘bout steve

peter: ᵇᵁᵀ⁻

bucky: stop.

peter: ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᵒᵏᵃʸ

“Hi! Were you interested in the internship position?”

“Actually, I’m interested in you, Mr. Parker. Or can I just go ahead and call you daddy?”

a.k.a the universe in which Tony is the teen and Peter is the grown man.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Can’t wait for tomorrow, Daddy. -TS

Peter groaned. A text shouldn’t make him this hard. It simply shouldn’t. But Tony had a spell on him which Peter could hardly explain, and it was driving him absolutely insane. Even if they had agreed that they would meet after class on Monday to discussthe possibility of this and where it could lead (Peter wasn’t going to go and just fuck his student like that!), it wasn’t like Tony had ever stopped texting him during the past week.

Peter found himself hard in the most embarrassing settings (i.e. during a dinner with May), and couldn’t find it in itself not to respond. The reason why was simple: he couldn’t get enough of Tony. Already. And yes, Peter knew this was a dangerous game, because he was the type to get attached real hard and real fast, and it would all go to hell when his partner wouldn’t be as serious as he was.

And could Peter really expect an 18-year-old to be serious about a relationship? Not really.

Peter reckoned he should have told at least Ned about this to have a second opinion on what was the best course of action, but he had not, mostly because he knew he would be told to just not engage in any of this. Or well, that would have been MJ’s first advice. Maybe not Ned’s, but still. Peter wanted to at least meet with Tony first before he’d decide whether or not to tell them.

I thought we agreed on you not calling me that yet. -PP

My bad. My apologies, sweetheart. -TS

You’re not sorry at all, are you? -PP

Nope. So, you all settled in at the hotel? -TS

Yeah, actually. I just arrived. -PP

And I also can’t wait for tomorrow. -PP

So, you wouldn’t be against meeting earlier, then? -TS

You mean before class? -PP

Something like that. -TS

Okay. Yeah. We can get coffee? -PP

Not sure that’d be the best idea, unless you don’t plan on sleeping. Which, I’m all for, by the way. -TS

What do you mean? -PP

Peter stared at his phone in confusion, unable to actually understand what Tony meant. People usually took coffee in the morning, yeah? Or did young people stop doing that?

But before he could see if he received a text back or not, he heard a knock on his door. Odd. He had not even ordered anything yet. Maybe he had left something at the front desk? In any case, Peter waited no longer to open the door, only to end up facing none other than…

“Tony?”

* Bratty! peter’s idea of fun being webbing Tony’s limbs to the bedposts and proceeding to edge the spread-eagled, blindfolded man mercilessly for the next few hours just because he’s in the mood

* Tony unable to do much else other than lay there and sob helplessly, raising his head weakly to see his baby boy’s nimble, slender fingers wrap themselves around his throbbing cock. Peter pumping his fist languidly, as though he has all the time in the world; trailing his fingertips feather light up the bulging vein on the underside of Tony’s cock to brush the pad of his thumb over the engorged head, which is by now an angry purple and leaking beads of pre-come

* Peter not being able to resist himself, leaning down to lap over the glistening head of Tony’s cock with kitten licks of his tongue. Meanwhile Tony’s screaming underneath him, utter filth spilling from his mouth as he feels the wet probing tip of his boy’s tongue dip into and run along the length of his slit before drawing back much too soon

* And he can’t see what’s happening, so every passing second is torture as he awaits Peter’s next move, breath punching violently out of him when velvet heat wraps blissfully tight around his straining cock, rhythmic suction making his hips buck upwards wildly. Tony can only imagine the pretty sight he’s missing out on– the boy on his knees, cheeks hollowed and lashes fluttering as he suckles around the cock in his mouth as he would a lollipop– and a low groan escapes him

* When Peter pulls off with a sloppy ‘pop’ the man nearly growls in protest, a feral sound that has Peter repressing a needy whimper of his own. Instead he moves to fondle Tony’s heavy hanging balls, wraps his sticky hand around the man’s weeping cock again– the girth of it so wide his fingers don’t touch– palm rubbing down the length of heated flesh in fluid strokes so to draw out more of Tony’s moans and hiss of pleasure

* He feels euphoric almost that he has full control over Tony now, and he can’t help but taunt “not so fun now huh daddy, when you’re the one being teased? When i’m the one who decides if and when you get to cum. D'you like my mouth on you daddy? I’ll properly suck you off if you beg me for it.”

* The slick obscene sounds of wet skin on skin is interrupted by a snarl of “That’s it, you little brat–” as Tony snaps his fingers, and a whirring noise is heard. Before Peter can even react something red and gold flies over to attach itself around the older man’s hand, and just as he dimly registers it to be the Iron Man gauntlet there’s a blast of repulsors, Tony breaking out of his bonds and tearing his blindfold off to pounce at the shocked boy

* In a matter of seconds their positions have changed, Tony pinning Peter down with a firm, almost painful grip around his wrists, his own arms caging the boy in; wide glassy eyes stare up at him, once cocky look in them faded away to one of fearful regret and undeniable lust– trembling beneath the crushing weight atop him, heart slamming against his ribcage erratically. Grinning down at his prey, Tony purrs, ‘How cute, the brat thinks he’s in charge. I don’t have to beg a slut for anything, baby boy, why should I? It’s pretty clear which of us is the most desperate here.“ He taps at Peter’s cheek, and the obedient boy opens his mouth on that silent command; Tony slides two thick fingers into the wet crevice, stretching those plush pink lips thin.

Tony notices movement out of the corner of his eye, sees Peter squirming and rubbing his thighs together, or trying to really, the bulge of his five-month pregnant belly making the task slightly difficult. He recognizes the vivid red blush resting high on the boy’s cheeks as more than the pinkish glow pregnancy has given his skin. Tony moves his hand from the feet in his lap to rest high on Peter’s thigh, rubbing the silky smooth skin lightly. “Everything okay, baby boy? Need something?”

Peter blushes harder at the amusement colouring Tony’s words, because he can fucking hear that smug smile, knows the asshole knows exactly what Peter needs. But he shifts closer to Tony anyway, unable to help himself because he’s so fucking horny. Being an eighteen year old boy in his second trimester of pregnancy has sent his already raging libido into overdrive, and all it takes is a brisk wind or a ten feet distance from Tony for his dick to start leaking, precome smearing the bottom of his protruding stomach.

But the pregnancy’s amplified all his senses, and he’s been sitting two feet away from Tony on the couch, gaze gravitating to the man’s gorgeous side profile every few seconds, catching whiffs of his sexy cologne, those calloused hands giving him one of the best foot massages he’s ever gotten, and the moment is a replica of the evening that got him this pregnant in the first fucking place. He looks up to meet Tony’s eyes, sees the man watching him with a borderline filthy grin on his face, dark eyes hungry. “…‘m horny, daddy.”

Tony arches an eyebrow. “Oh? And what am I supposed to do about that?” Peter whispers a response, too low for Tony to catch, so he tips the boy’s chin up with his finger. “If you want something from me baby, daddy needs to be able to hear you ask for it.”

“W-want you to fuck me, daddy.”

“Hm, daddy doesn’t remember teaching you to ask for something like that, princess.”

Peter whimpers as Tony’shand shifts closer to his aching cock, fingers running lightly up the underside before he’s pulling away. Peter whines, thrusting his hips up in an effort to chase after Tony’s hand before settling back with a little pout, recognizing the futility in his actions. “Beg, sweetheart.”

“Mm, fuck, I’m so horny, need you to fuck me daddy. Need it daddy, please.”

“You’re always horny for me, you little slut. That’s why you’re carrying my baby, because you spread your legs for daddy like a cheap whore.” Tony takes sick pleasure in watching Peter’s reaction as he cants his hips into the air again, nearly wailing when he’s unable to find thefriction he wants against the taut, smooth skin of his baby bump. “Aw, you need it so bad, don’t you baby boy?”

Peter whimpers helplessly, nodding his head shakily as tears pool in the corner of his eyes, the sensitivity of his erection becoming almost too much to bear.

“Well, come and get it then, baby.” With that, Tony lays back against the side of the sofa, casually, almost carelessly palming the bulge in his sweatpants. Peter shifts to his knees, one armunder his stomach for support and the other on the sofa stabilizing him. Tony discovered early on in the pregnancy that Peter liked to be cuddled, not coddled, and so he makes no move to help, simply enjoying the view as the boy’s movements makes his breasts and belly sway slightly. Peter eventually manages to position himself in his boyfriend’s lap, tugging down the pants and releasing the man’s hard length. Peter’s facing Tony, knows the older man likes to watch how his body and his bump move while he’s riding his cock.

He’s loose from their earlier fuck, can still feel the mixture of cum and lube in his hole, but he avoids sinking down onto Tony’s now leaking cock immediately. Instead he grinds his hips down in slow, filthy movements, savouring the feeling. Their cocks rub against one another, and Peter can feel Tony’s precome mark his belly as well, and Peter lets out a high pitched moan at the same time Tony growls.

Tony reaches for the teen’s breasts, roughly tweaking one nipple. The reaction is immediate, Peter throws his head back and screams, the pregnancy having turned the slightest stimulation of his nipples from blindly pleasurable to borderline torturous. “You said you were horny, sweetheart. Daddy decided to give you what you need, and now you need to take daddy’s cock like a good little slut before I get bored and decide to leave you here. Cocksluts who tease don’t get rewarded. You wanna come, baby boy?” The boy gives no answer, head still thrown back, eyes closed and gasping for breath, so Tony reaches out and pinches the other nipple, drawing a broken wail from the teen’s mouth. “You’re not doing very well at answering my questions today, angel.”

“Sorry, daddy, ‘m sorry. Yes, yes, I wanna come, need to come.”

“Hm, well you gotta work for it. Ride me, baby.” Tony punctuates the statement with a sharp swat of the boy’s ass, before moving to hold Peter’s waist as the teen reaches back and positions Tony’s cock against his entrance. He sinks down slowly, still not used to the length or girth even after all this time. Tony lets out a groan as his cock as the tight wet heat sinks down onto his cock, achingly slow. Once Peter’s ass is flush with his thighs, Tony massages the boy’s bump as Peter adjusts to the intrusion.

Peter recovers quickly, setting up a fast, dirty rhythym that fills the living room with the sounds of their fucking. Tony can feel the remains of their earlier fuck around his length, and it turns him on even more when he takes Peter like this, fucked full and dirty, stripped of any innocence he might’ve had from before he met Tony.

Above him, Peter gasps,Tony’s dick filling him up in all the right ways, stretching him wide and moving against all the right places. He can feel every ridge, every vein as he rides the older man’s perfect length. He bites down on his lower lip in an effort to mitigate the embarrassing noises that are escaping his mouth.

Tony reaches up, tugging the lip out of Peter’s mouth and allowing the boy to suck on just the tip of his thumb instead. He pulls it away after a few seconds, returning his hands to Peter’s hips. “Wanna hear all those pretty noises you make for me, princess. You only get to stay quiet when daddy tells you to be quiet, and right now I want to fucking hear you scream.”

Tony takes over from there, setting a brutal pace as he fucks up into Peter, the boy helpless to do anything but support his bump and lean an arm back onto Tony’s leg, trying to stabilize himself as best he can. Tony loves the little whimpers, the cute ah ah ah’s that fall from his boyfriend’s pretty pink lips. He shifts his hips slightly, knows he’s found his target when Peter does let loose a scream, and he moves faster. “Ooh, found your sweet spot, didn’t I baby? You wanna come for me?” He can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him at Peter’s frantic nod, but takes a few seconds to bat the small hand away when the boy reaches for his cock. “Did daddy say you could touch his cock? No, I don’t think so. But you can come for me, just like this. Don’t shake your head baby, we both know you can. My sweet, perfect boy, carrying my baby. I’m so happy you’re mine, Pete, you know that? You’re a slut, but you’re my slut. You spread your legs like a whore, but only for daddy. Daddy’s so lucky to have you, baby boy. Come for me, show daddy why he’s so lucky, show me what a perfect boy you can be. Paint your bump all pretty, baby, come.”

Peter comes so hard his vision blacks out on the edges. He vaguely feels like he’s falling, his back hitting the sofa cushions as Tony thrusts deep once, twice more before he rests flush against Peter’s hips, filling the boy up with another load. He collapses behind Peter, cock soft but still resting inside the boy’s entrance.

When Peter is six years old, he’s sitting on the living room floor, colouring with thick and chunky crayons, tongue poking out in concentration, when his forearm starts itching, unbearably. He pulls his sleeve up to investigate, pudgy, child-like fingers scrabbling at his skin, when he sees two flowers bloom across his arm, flowers he will later learn to be white chrysanthemums, representative of grief, of loss. A few minutes later, there is a heavy knock at the door, closely followed by May’s sharp cry and stifled sobs, Ben’s hand heavy on his shoulder. 

When Peter is fourteen years old, he sees his uncle fall dead on the pavement right in front of his eyes, shot through the chest by a common street criminal. He died trying to protect someone else. Peter sees everything, feels the choking grief close in his throat, feels that burning, itching on his forearm. He doesn’t need to look down to see that the two white chrysanthemums have become three. 

When Peter is fifteen years old, he walks into his apartment and sees his hero, Tony Stark, sitting on aunt May’s ratty old couch, eating her horrendous walnut date loaf. He almost passes out right then and there, especially when the incredibly handsome older man quirks an inquisitive brow, and in that deep, honey-smooth voice that so far Peter had only heard through the distortion of speakers, greets him with an ‘Oh, mister Parker.’. There was nothing Peter could do to soothe the flaming itch spreading its way across his right bicep, and moments after Mr Stark left he was slamming the door to his bedroom, pulling up the sleeve of his sweater. A blue tulip, a declaration of love, interwoven beautifully with a flaming pink aster, a reminder to be patient. 

When Peter is sixteen years old, he dies in his lover’s arms. Neither of them know, of course, and each is certain their love is unrequited, but Peter feels Tony’s pain in his chest, feels the man’s tears as he sobs and begs and realises that he doesn’t want to die. Suspended in this timeless universe, where everything is nothing and he feels lost and helpless and longs for something, there’s a familiar burning itch that spreads itself up his ribs, across his stomach, more intense than anything that had come before. He’d look if he could, but he can’t, though it doesn’t matter. He knows that it’s a beautiful maze of honeysuckle and ivy, devoted affection, bonds of love, endurance, faithfulness.

When Peter is eighteen years old, Tony Stark saves his life. As he feels himself being dragged out of the nothingness, he feels as if he’s being crushed, exploded, as if every cell in his body is being destroyed and reforming, and it’s the most pain he’s ever felt. He screams, screams until he can’t breathe, and then he’s in Tony’s arms, and the pain disappears. Tony is crying, sobs racking his body as Peter clings to him, and he feels Tony’s fingers tracing the flowers blooming over his neck, too high for Peter to ever hope to be able to cover them. Primroses, eternal love, wrapping their way around tender and delicate skin. Tony’s whispering into his neck, I love you, never leave me again, I love you so much, I need you.

When Peter is twenty-three years old, he marries Tony Stark, the man who broke his heart and stitched it back together through muffled confessions and devotions and painful, painful love. The wedding is obnoxious, flashy, everything about Tony that Peter loves and hates in equal measure, everything about Tony that Peter wanted to call his own. As he walks up the aisle on May’s arm, sees his fiancé stood at the altar looking so gorgeous that Peter’s breath caught in his throat, an itching wound its way around his wrist, down his hand to come to a stop at the tip of his ring finger. Peach blossoms, long-life and bridal hope, intertwined with beautiful sprigs of lavender, the ultimate devotion. He reaches the altar, noise rushing in his ears until all he can see is the happiness radiating from Tony’s face, the way his lips form the words ‘I do.’, the way tears shine in his eyes as Tony slides the wedding band over the winding flowers. 

honoured that you sent this to me because holy shit it’s so good——

peter and tony know each other through a mutual friend, but are hardly even acquaintances. in truth tony had always wanted to get to know peter better, but peter was in his late 20s while tony was in his 40s. had tony just been pursuing a friendship this would have been fine, but peter was so bright and beautiful that tony knew he would probably want more. which is why he’s nervous upon finding out that peter has made an appointment with him, because he wants his first exam to be from someone he knows. peter is embarrassed about being a virgin and about how long he’s avoided the gynecologist. tony is warm and welcoming and sensitive about peter’s situation and is respectful of his identity. he takes some time to explain what they’ll be doing for the pap smear. explains how he will lubricate peter, open him with a slightly heated speculum (cold ones are no good, tony says with a wrinkled nose and peter giggles nervously), then swab his cervix. peter looks nervous to say the least, and tony feels for the kid. this isn’t the first trans patient he’s had and won’t be the last, and they’re always stressed out about their exams to say the least. he assumes that going to the gynecologist must already be hard on peter’s dysphoria, he doesn’t want to make this any worse.

tony: but

tony: you’ve been to space. youve seen the earth. you Know its round

Peter: Tony, we’ve been having sex for two years now

Tony: so?

Peter: that’s- that’s gay. We’re having gay sex

Tony: