Thot Thoughts

Sorry for the wait, nonny. This ended up being a bit long and I lowkey want to make a part two because this doesn’t feel steamy enough. Idk, you let me know if I need to crank up the steam levels.

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On the Edge of Discovery

“Mr. Stark!” Peter called through the thick glass of the Tower’s lab, tapping rhythmically with one hand and clinging to the pane with the other. He tugged off his mask, letting the wind wisp through his slightly sweat-damp curls. Only a few moments ago, he was out on patrol but after stopping a bank robbery and keeping a train from careening off its tracks, the city had gone mostly silent. On days like this, he liked to visit his mentor. “Mr. Stark, are you there?” He started knocking again. “Hey! Mr. Stark!” Without warning, the glass shifted, slowly rotating inward and locking into place with a resonating click! Inside, Tony was hunched over his desk, tinkering with the Iron Man helmet. “Mr. Stark!” Peter joyously called out once again, pleased to be let inside as he climbed across the ceiling and lowered himself upside-down by a rope of web fluid. “Mr. Stark-”

Tony glanced up, face-to-face with the spider kid’s inverted visage. “Getting someone to scream my name that many times usually requires a bit more effort.”

Peter laughed as he flipped sideways off of the web, landing gracefully in the lab stool across from his mentor. “Sorry, sorry, I actually came here because I have a question for you.”

“Okay,” Tony raised a single brow, putting his screwdriver down and relegating his full attention to the kid. “Shoot.”

“So today,” Peter began, hands already gesturing wildly as he spoke. “There was this huge train – very fast, extremely heavy, tons of people on it—“

“Sounds like most trains,” Tony jested.

“—exactly! But this train malfunctioned. Controls? Useless. People? In danger. Train? It was flying off the rails, literally and figuratively.”

“This is some riveting narration, kid.”

“Thanks, I try,” Peter quipped, smiling when Tony smiled. “Anyway, I tried using my web fluid to slow down the train, which it should and kind of did, but the strands started snapping and I needed to use like half a cartridge to stop one train,” He stressed his point, dramatically holding up his index finger. “What if more trains need stopping? What if the sky opens up and aliens rain down from the great beyond on the same day? What if a cat is stuck in a tree, Mr. Stark? I’ll be out of web fluid before I know it!”

Tony snorted, reaching for his neglected screwdriver and easing back into his tinkering. “And I suppose you have a solution to this problem you’ve fabricated.”

“That’s rich coming from the king of fabricating problems,” Peter teased, leaning forward to observe his mentor’s skilled hands as they worked. “Exactly how many suits have you built now? Hundred? Thousand? Ten thousand? Stop me when I get near the right significant figures.”

“Watch it, kid,” Tony retorted, the subtle threat hidden just beyond his grin.

Peter gave a grin of his own, causally reaching inside the toolbox on the desk and handing Tony a wireless soldering iron, knowing from his observations that his mentor would need that next. “I need you to help me perfect the web fluid formula.”

“Perfect it?” Tony asked, taking the soldering iron with an impressed expression. “Alright, exactly how much perfecting does it need? It can stop a train. I’ve seen you pin Barnes and Capsicle with the stuff… hm, what about you? Can it stop you?”

Peter paused, brow furrowing, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Tony nodded as he concluded his soldering. “Then let’s get to work.”

*~*~*

“What’s wrong, kid?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrow but not bothering to glance in Peter’s direction. Instead, he kept his focus on the beaker, carefully mixing the viscous fluid so that it didn’t expand.

“I can’t move,” Peter whispered, more desperately than Tony would have imagined but he chalked it up to a general surprise. After all, this was the first iteration of their test fluid that actually managed to restrain him. “Mr. Stark...” The kid whined this time – definitely not just surprise. “I can’t move.”

Hi, and welcome to part two of my Thirst™ Series: Let’s Give Everyone An Undercut ft. Tony Stark. Also known as the Tattoo AU, where Tony survives Endgame and everything is fine.

+ I cannot thank @kayytx enough for the invaluable input that helped me work out what I wanted for Tony’s tattoos and all of the amazing ideas she gave me! Also special thanks to @gigacat, @teeveemuveefreek, and @spideypoolmymoonandstars for their terrific suggestions as well!

Others in the Tattoo AU: Steve Rogers | Bucky Barnes | Sam Wilson | Thor | Natasha Romanov | Loki

Bucky bent down, giving Tony a filthy kiss.

- angelic little Peter Parker never failing to show up at Mass every Sunday with his parents, always sitting on the few front rows, honey-syrup eyes always so bright and attentive as he listens to the sermons

- no doubt, he’s one of the most devout members of the church; other parents can’t help but have a liking for this good christian boy, always so polite to everyone and respectful to the men of the cloth, a shining example for their own unruly teenagers. So really, who can blame all the ministers and preachers for having an obvious soft spot for Peter?

- of course, what they’re all unaware of is just how much one priest in particular is interested in the boy– the truth of the matter was that Father Stark is noxiously obsessed with him, has been ever since he had first laid eyes on that halo of silken hair framing the boy’s face, sunlight colouring it a celestial gold that stole his breath away. Peter is utterly captivating, yes, but he’s also the epitome of forbidden desire: only sixteen- and by not only the rules of the law but also the word of god- out of limits.

- and yet Tony goes against his own morals and virtues every single time, lusting unabashedly over the sweet young thing seated on the front row with his small hands clasped atop his lap and those lasciviously pink lips mumbling around the hymn of the day. He’s always been terrible at resisting temptation, and Peter is a walking sinful fantasy. And oh, he understands that he should know better, choose to do the right thing; which certainly isn’t cornering the boy against the walls of the confessional and kissing him urgently, pinning those bony shoulders down as he finally tastes his raw desire– and oh, is it sweet.

- that is not to say, of course, that the priest does not feel even a sliver of remorse. The guilt is awful, burning through his veins and sinking heavy in his gut as he finally pulls back for breath and takes in Peter’s wrecked state, those soft pink lips of his now swollen and red-bitten, parting around harsh exhales of breath. Tony goes home that day to recite the act of contrition all through the night, Hail Mary’s echoing chillingly around his dark room.

- so imagine his surprise when he goes back to church the next day not to a restraining order and law enforcement authorities but instead a hopeful looking Peter seated, as always, in his usual spot right in the middle of the front row, cheeks flushing red whenever their gazes meet over the altar. The sermon barely reaches an end before the boy is slipping off his seat with a meaningful look thrown over his shoulder for Tony to follow him– and just minutes later the priest’s got his tongue shoved down Peter’s throat, bathroom of the church filled with the indecent sloppy sounds leaking past their joined mouths, the younger boy’s fingers desperately fisting into his robes to support himself. By the time Tony breaks their kiss there’s a thin tendril of spittle connecting their spit-slick lips and the bulges of both their crotches are much more noticeable

- tufts of hair falling messily into his glassy eyes, Peter grins up at him before dropping down to his knees in one fluid movement, and it’s only when he’s tugging purposefully at the priest’s robes that Tony finally registers that the boy has wanted this all along. That behind that innocuous little facade of his hides something wild and desperate and definitely not saintly, and the revelation of it all tears a guttural groan from the priest’s chest.

- “Father Stark,” Peter asks much too sweetly for someone down on his knees on the floor of a church bathroom, hands resting on the thighs of his Pastor and mouth level with the obscene bulge tenting the front of the other’s robes. “May I please suck your cock? Pretty please?”

- and damn it all, in that very moment Tony shoves all possible repercussions of this sin away from his mind, would have signed his soul away to hell without a second thought; who needs heaven anyway, when there’s an angel so willingly pleading for your cock? With a dark shudder and a blasphemous curse, Tony winds his fingers into those mussed curls as he shoves the throbbing length of his cock deep into Peter’s throat, fucking into that divine heat pulsing around him as he keeps the boy’s head in place, giving what the baby whore was begging for.

- if there’s one thing Tony’s learnt from this, it’s that looks can be deceiving– the boy might even possibly be hell sent, unholy in his ways. By the sixth night Tony’s already had him bent over the altar while he fucks into him from behind, the priest shuddering from the blissful wet heat clenched tightly around his cock and the lewd sounds from Peter; pleading cries of “oh Father!” and “more, fuck me harder, fill up my slutty little hole Father please, h-harder-!”

Peter, over the phone: Or what? You’ll spank me?

So he had a dream. It meant nothing, absolutely nothing. Because the whole ‘if you dream about somebody, then that means they thought about you before going to bed’ wasn’t real.

Yet Peter was invested.

When he woke up in the middle of the night with a raging boner, and pieces of scenes where Tony was picking him up from the floor and squeezing his ass, while they were making out, he knew he was fucked. He knew that the next day he was gonna get flustered before even entering the classroom.

But it was also his fault, because he knew how weak he was for the man, yet he kept finding excuses to try and talk to him. Homework, a test, a question about a project. Whatever he could think of.

And when the next day he was finally in front of the man, the pulsations that he could feel in his pants weren’t normal. His own dick was so hard he could hear his heartbeat from his fucking boner.

“Mr. Parker, are you alright?”

Peter realized he was standing in front of the class, while everyone was seated, and he rushed to his seat with his notebook carefully and strategically placed on top of his boner.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, you can start”

“Why thank you” answered the teacher, then winked at the big. Everyone laughed. It looked like Peter wanted to give permission to Tony, as if he was his boss.

Peter knew he wasn’t, and if he was honest with himself, he would let Tony be the boss any day.

While the man was preaching something about how important space was, Peter was lost on his profile. He was so perfect it almost seemed surreal, like he wasn’t there, but still on the dream.

The painful hardon he still couldn’t shake off confirmated that he wasn’t in one.

“Mr. Parker?” He heard a second time that day, and when his mind finally came back to earth, he realized the bell had rang and everyone had ran out, Peter being the only one left. “You’re extremely zoned out today. Rough night?”

The way Tony said ‘rough’ made Peter tingle all over. He wanted Tony to do another rough things to him.

“I-I… um, yeah… I had a dream”

“A dream?” Repeated Tony, almost shocked at the vague answer the student had given him. “Why would a dream be something bad?”

The words made Peter’s brain wonder back to the scenes and suddenly, he let go of his book and it hit the floor, revealing the extreme situation on his pants, making Tony’s gaze immediately be distracted by the scene displayed there for him.

The man wasn’t stupid. He knew -he noticed- how Peter looked at him. And by the unusual and very bad timing boner, the dream had probably been about him.

“Was it… a special kind of dream, Mr. Parker?” Asked tony as he impulsed himself from the table and started to walk towards the boy, his face darker than usual, something along the lines of desire running through the teacher’s veins as he spotted the innocence, neediness and vulnerability of the boy.

Peter couldn’t help but gulp. How could he not when everything he had ever wish for was happening?

“Was it… dirty?”

Peter blinked several times. Why did Mr. Stark just said that word in that specific way? It made every single hair on his body stand.

The lack of answers made the teacher kneel, and before Peter could protest or say anything; really, Tony’s hand was in Peter’s crotch, squeezing lightly. Peter could barely breathe.

“What- what are you…” He started, but the minute Tony’s hand somehow undid his belt and it slid down his pants, grabbing something sacred, Peter didn’t care anymore.

Peter wouldn’t been more annoyed by the fact that Tony seemed unbothered and uninterested if he wasn’t so turned on.

“I thought you were a good boy. Good grades, good behavior, and now… you’re having wet dreams?” He muttered, giving Peter a particular hard squeeze.

Peter was going to come just from that. He had come several times for far less just thinking about the man talking to him, let alone touching him.

“I don’t- I don’t control my dreams… ah, ah, sir” Peter moaned, throwing his head back slightky, not knowing how to physically react to the weird thing that was happening with the door unlocked.

“Well, you better start doing that, or else I’ll have to punish you”

Was this a dream? This was everything Peter ya ever wanted. Everything.

“Sir, please, I-“

“What even are you asking for, sweetheart?”

Peter shrugged, too sensitive already to answer such a complicated question. The pressure was building strong and firey in his belly and right when he felt like he was going to explode, Tony stopped.

“No! No, no, please…” begged Peter, taking Tony’s hand and moving it towards his crotch, desperate for some friction, for some release, for having a release by Tony’s hands.

Tony leaned in and whispered slowly: “You wanna come, baby?”

Peter felt like he could come just by the pet name, but he held it in for his own sake, then he nodded, a huge bump of saliva trying to go down his throat but it being too dry.

He was desperate.

“Then pay attention to my fucking class, Peter”

And the man kissed Peter’s cheek, then stood up, took his things and left, leaving Peter alone there, fly open and boxers stained with precum, as the bell rang strong in his ears.

🎁 ⛄ Happy Xmas 🎉 🎄

I saw this and immediately thought of it as a Prompt: Newly presented omega bb Peter getting examined by Doctor Stark? 🤔👀

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Once upon a time, I had a medkink and wrote exactly this prompt with 3 chapters and 1 still left to go. 4 years later, this gif woke it back up 😂

This boy doesn’t even need dog ears to be a literal puppy. Bless him. 🐾