#angel!peter

stop stop stop stop stop stop that’s adorable sorin oml 🥺

you smile at him and say “you hug me with your wings too?”

im back y'all, enjoy

Tony slips between the billowing curtains, careful to make his arrival as silent as possible: there is an angel slumbering just a few feet away and God help whoever awakens them with anything less than a kiss and sweet murmurs.

Not wanting to be struck down by another celestial deity twice in a millennia, he carefully maneuvers around the scattered objects on the marble floor; a low table straining under the weight of scrolls, thick manuscripts and what honestly seems to be a stone tablet; a few chests clumsily tipped over, gold, silk and fragrance oil bottles spilling from them luxuriously. Surprisingly enough, Tony has to avoid staining four lace dresses thrown on the floor.

Poor thing. Any admirer of the creature basking inside this chamber should have known better. It's an insult to even suggest a holy being should disgrace themselves by wearing anything lesser than silk or pure gossamer. Ignorant gnat is probably swimming in the underground by now.

Still. It would be rude to tarnish a gift that isn't his to rip apart and incinerate. His lover would take pleasure in doing that himself. So he moves his body to the side, inhaling sharply when the wind shifts a garment closer to his dusty lower half. Oh, he'd get back at the wind god after this.

To honestly believe he's ancient and unable to persevere under the childish attack, how ridiculous. The offending yard and a half of pink lace (angels tended to take up more space than human minds could comprehend, but the ones who liked to roam the Earth often diminished their size; his paramour would never dress in something that large with an altered body. He's self conscious of his low stature as it is.) flies overhead and he muffles a snicker. Asshole wind god can't calculate how much strength to use.

Finally, he's at the bed. Home at last. And then the wind blasts through the chamber and he picks up the smell. Dried blood, decomposing flesh, something musky and tangible in the air. After that comes the sound. A deep rasp, powerful and similarly fear inducing as a lightning storm amidst the sea. It's a warning growl Tony had ignored, once, an uncountable number of years before. He counts them now, hastily and quickly, because surely his nemesis has grown tired and. Well. Not slow, but certainly slower in that long expanse of time. Just as he had. Fuck.

The beast appears, a vengeful mass of writhing smoke and viridescent ash hovering near the side of the bed he's currently trapped against. His lover disliked it when he brought war to the chamber, said it reminded him of harsher times and a dying Tony; he had left his knives and whip with his second in command, had gone so far for his beloved as to purge the poison from his body. (Listen. Listen. A shit ton of years past, a moron tried to eat him. Actually hoisted him on a spit before he woke up and strangled the fucker. So what if he has poison coursing through his veins to defend himself, it's not that nonsensical.)

From the grey and green smoke, a dark head emerges. And another. And another. And four fucking others and why hadn't his lover mentioned anything, why hadn't he warned Tony of the very amused looking, incredibly spiteful monster currently hissing at him? He has no arms here, the chamber's strongest weapon was currently dozing on a six feet wide bed, soft snores muffled against fluffy pillows. Oh, if his father could see him now, facing death at the hands of his enemy rather than bring his partner back from the golden fields of dreams.

Technically, he's facing the many headed beast in favor of facing his darling, a much more wrathful creature, but his father need not know that.

Death looms closer, is rearing its ugly heads and flaunting the seven inch fangs that will most likely shred him to pieces. There are ruby droplets splattered on the neck of the monster and ah, there's the ignorant admirer. At least he won't be devoured hungrily. Granted, he will definitely be devoured slowly and tortuously no matter what.

As his vision is swarmed by the huge monstrosity, Tony thinks of his beloved. Of his soft, brown hair. A little long, a little curly and always brushed aside uselessly. (There is one lock he particularly enjoys playing with because it never grows enough to be tucked back. It often annoys his lover, but he adores that stray curl.) Soft cheeks, tinted rosy during the chilly winters, a healthy tan when summer sweeps in. Lips softer and more colorful than a rose. Dimples. They appear and he's tripping in love all over, stumbling after his lover's affection just to see the two indentations on the side of his mouth.

His body is a masterpiece, graceful and as elegant as a star. Tony adores subtle, enjoys the fine curve of his paramour's neck, takes pride in making shapely thighs tremble beneath his worshipful mouth, is set on fire when the sweetest sighs and loveliest moans slip from bruised lips. All he needs in this life is to bring happiness to his companion. And, he supposes, he has, so death won't be a complete tragedy. Although, Tony would have liked to see his beloved's eyes one last time. They shone like amber, like the heady drink the humans call whiskey.

Once, when he was shy and his darling was unsure of his intentions, he had blurted out a confession under an apple tree, words spilling, spilling, going so fast that breath abandoned his chest.

"Your eyes are like star fire. Like the sun left the sky to shine inside you. It's amazing, something so beautiful I can believe in life again. How could I not when someone as lovely as you exists so gracefully?"

They had stood there, tree branches creaking overhead, leaves drifting down slowly and bees sluggishly swimming through the air in search of flowers and the ichor of life. His companion had blinked at him and then smiled, slow and sweet and pure. Whatever breath remained in his lungs was stolen, vanished without a trace. Tony had been a goner ever since.

He thinks of that time now and discovers that he is not afraid of death. After all, his lover could simply visit him in the fields of the dead, what, with being the Angel of Death, and everything.

The hydra leans back, prepares the killing blow and he thinks, Peter.

A whisper of movement, the growl of the beast; he's ready, he's going to meet his fate head on and not falter and-

A warm hand scoops him up. He tentatively opens his eyes, is met by a bleary pair much prettier than those this body has. There is amusement there, tangled with fondness and love. It's such a beautiful sight that he melts, sinks deeper into the cradle holding him up to Peter's pillow marked face. He always had a thing for his lover's hands; they could kill with just a hint of touch, but they only ever brought Tony to life.

"Anthony," oh, to hear that teasing sigh, to be given the gift of that music, "did you forget you were in your snake body again?"

Embarrassed, he dips his head, agile tongue flickering into the air to taste Peter's affection as a distraction from the flush valiantly trying to survive in his cool cheeks. The angel before him giggles, grins at him before stroking his scaly head gently.

"You forgot about your body and the fact that Milos here is, like, three inches smaller than you when you stand up?" Tony grumbles, slithers across Peter's wrist and forearm. His lover just sighs, rolls over in bed and lets him travel all the way up to the base of a long neck. He loves Peter's entire body, of course, but this is the perfect spot to settle into while he's in this form. Lightly, because it's rude to tease him, goddammit, he's the fallen angel, not a stable boy, he nips at Peter's hair, pulls at a few strands until Peter halfheartedly swats at him.

"Just because I can revive you doesn't mean I won't kill you, Tones. I've got a hundred," his beloved yawns, drags a blanket over the both of them, "and fifty four souls to pick up in the afternoon. I can squeeze you in among them and nobody would know." A lie, obviously. His best friend James would know. The rest is true, Peter would kill him if he called on him again while it was nap time, even if it was an accident.

Thing is, now that Milos is brooding in the corner of the bedchamber and some good ten feet away from him, Tony has no need to call on his angel. Why would he, when he's right by his side? Just as he always has. Just as he always will.

Size Kink! Angel Peter x Demon Tony for @the-mad-starker

Excuse the major censoring. Full NSFW can be found on my patreon if you’re interested in subscribing

The drawing was inspired by @yuihoshiart​‘s ‘guardian angel drawing

Angel!Peter and Lucifer!Tony

A gift to @an--errant <33

A medida que escribía, escuchaba la canción: May Angels Lead You In de Jimmy Eat World./Based on this song

*Prompt: “Un AU donde Peter es un ángel caído que no recuerda su pasado y Tony lo encuentra y se empieza a enamorar de él.”

@an--errant @alannablack725 @freakingfangirl

“Tony Stark era un imprudente.

Luego de la muerte de sus padres, algo dentro de él había cambiado. Ya no se sentía como el chico popular sediento de reconocimiento, no. Ahora que sus progenitores ya no estaban, se veía comprometido a cambiar, a madurar, así fuese a su propia manera.

Porque ahora más que nunca debía ser fuerte.

Sin embargo, Tony jamás supo que la fortaleza que tanto buscaba para él, jugaría alguna vez en su contra. Ya que había llegado al punto de haber permitido que su corazón estuviera dentro de una coraza, misma que ocasionó el endurecimiento de su corazón.

El vacío que sentía Tony de manera emocional, era intenso. Y no lograba llenarse con nada, por mucho que pagara en burdeles y experimentara con cosas extravagantes en su cuerpo, nada le satisfacía.

No obstante, logró sobrevivir a causa del exceso de trabajo que él mismo se sometía. Día y noche, hora tras hora, logró sacarle provecho al legado de su padre, y de a poco logró construir su propio imperio desde los cimientos.

Ver y poder tocar cada uno de sus proyectos y logros era una de las pocas veces en las que podía sentirse vivo. Tony Stark era un hombre imponente, dominante. Y al convertirse en Iron Man, logró ser aún más admirado y envidiado por muchas personas. Los problemas emocionales que se habían acumulado a lo largo de los años, comenzaron a pasarle factura al Mercenario de la Muerte, llegando al punto de abrazar al alcohol como su única compañera y así queriendo olvidarse de todo lo demás.

Era un desastre para las relaciones. Sus amigos, sus verdaderos amigos podía contarlos con la palma de su mano. Debido a que Tony la había jodido en muchas maneras, su única relación amorosa más duradera había sido con su fiel asistente, Pepper Potts, y aun así Tony logró acabar con lo poco bueno que tenía, y lo peor del asunto era que esta vez no supo cómo. Lo único seguro era que se sabía culpable de otro más de sus fracasos.

No faltó mucho para que Tony quisiera acabar con su vida. Buscó varias maneras, incluso hasta fue creativo. Pero caramba, parecía tener tan mala suerte en la vida que ni siquiera podía acabarla de manera apropiada.

Una tarde en el parque, se encontraba caminando cabizbajo protegiendo sus manos del frío con su abrigo, aún no estaban en invierno, pero se encontraban próximos a esa estación.

Vio a lo lejos como una moto pasaba cerca de él, y Tony sólo dio zancadas con un único pensamiento en la mente. No obstante, no pudo llegar hasta allá. Porque una figura desconocida se estrelló contra él, y ambos cayeron en la grama con un golpe doloroso.

Cuando Tony recobró el conocimiento, se encontró con el par de ojos más brillantes y llenos de preocupación que jamás había visto en su vida.

—Tony, no puedes seguir torturándote así. Me haces daño verte de esa manera, creo que ya es suficiente.

— ¿Tú… quién eres? —Fue todo lo que pudo decir de momento. ¿Qué hacía este chico de blanco allí? ¿Y cómo era que lo conocía? ¿A qué se estaba refiriendo con hacerle daño? Tanta confusión de golpe hacía que la cabeza le doliera. Así que procedió a masajearse las sienes, y lo que vio le dejó paralizado en su lugar:

Un joven. Un chico joven se había puesto en su camino, su cabello era marrón y su piel era clara, mucho más clara que la de él. Lo que le llamaba la atención era la extraña vestimenta blanca que incluía unas extravagantes alas que llevaban el mismo color.

Cuando los labios del chico se movieron, sólo pudo captar fragmentos de la conversación.

—Así que te llamas Peter y no sabes muy bien quién eres… —Concluyó, luego de aceptar la mano del chico para levantarle, asombrándose de su fuerza para evitar que ambos cayeran.

Peter asintió, y comenzó a responder algunas de las interrogantes del hombre. Tony se sorprendió al enterarse que aquél muchacho era literalmente, un ángel caído del cielo. Notó con detalle que los rasgos de aquél rostro parecían hasta de otro mundo…

— ¿Entonces lo que llevas puesto no es un cosplay? —Inquirió petulante, nada más para salir de dudas.

Aquello pareció ofender profundamente al muchacho. — ¡No! ¡Soy un ángel de verdad, Tony! —Protestó, acercándose un poco a él. Pareció titubear un poco, pero al final decidió confesarle: —Te conozco desde hace varios años, aunque nunca supieras de mi existencia hasta ahora. Es más, creo que ni siquiera debería de estar contigo, va contra las reglas. —Bajó su mirada, como si aquél pensamiento realmente le doliera. —Bajé únicamente para evitar tu muerte, porque aún no es tu tiempo para abandonar este mundo.

— ¿Cómo…? —Empezó Tony, sin saber muy bien qué decir. Y cuando el ángel Peter le tomó de su mano, sintió como su corazón comenzó a agitarse.

—Tony, yo soy tu ángel guardián. He venido a salvarte”

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