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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

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this all takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: obviously a poly relationship, which includes kissing, domestic intimacy with all of them (not just with the reader, but not in-between Will and Ben because nope), mild sexual themes

summary: scenes at the beginning of making a house with five people feel like home

The manicured grass is soft where it peaked around the edges of your sandals. Hands running over the grooves of they key in your pocket, you gaze around the little front yard, mind conjuring daydreams that fit on the weathered porch of the house.

Two bathrooms will be enough right? Your thoughts are running - creating and erasing images of the future, trying to squish them like magic into the home in front of you. The yard is big enough to extend the garage and for plenty of home projects…

Across the fence and a long stretch of field, a woman is hiking her skirts up, making a beeline for you. The neighbor’s house is a considerable distance away, being out in the countryside, but she must have been watching your tour from her garden with interest.

The others had left moments before, Santi promising to come back whenever you were done. After weeks of looking at houses, it became a little ritual of yours, to spend a few minutes looking around without the clutter of wonderful distractions.

“So which one of those strapping young men is your beau?” She asks conspiringly, eyes gleaming. It catches you off guard – the lack of introduction, but she seems harmless enough.

Your smile is equally mischievous, and your head tilts a hair.

“Well, which one do you think?”

The woman considers, boot tip tapping away at her grass. You replay the moments she could’ve seen, which were few, wondering if you’d leaned in any particular direction, and wait.

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t got a clue,” her smile is wide, softer and more genuine than before - polite. “As long as you’re good neighbors,” she explains, “I guess I wouldn’t care if it was one or all of you next door.”

You smile, thanking her as salutations ring in your ears, watching with grateful eyes as she hikes back towards her home. Then you move, wandering through the empty rooms for long, quite minutes before you peak over the fence again. The woman had gone inside, and if you squint you can see who you think is her husband, sleeping with a dog on the porch.

In the other directions, there isn’t a house within a reasonable distance. A knot loosens in your chest, as an unexpected feeling of freedom from judging eyes blooms in its place.

When Santi comes back to pick you up, you take his hand across the console. His skin is warm, and his thumb automatically begins to gently move across your knuckles.

“I think it’s perfect, Pope.”

He looks at you curiously, minding his thoughts for a moment.

“Yeah, love?”

The sun was beginning to set, and you look at the peaceful little home in the rear view mirror, and smile.

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“We need to … break in every room.”

“I’m just saying -"

“Oh he’s talking about – wait are you really horny, right now?”

“There are boxes everywhere, idiot.”

You walk in carrying a single plant and a stack of pizzas and the conversation hushes.

“Ah – payment,” Frankie kisses your cheek, moving the plant by the window as Santi clears the table.

Someone makes a quip about it being Santi’s house and you wince, the utopia popping.

“We don’t get paid to move our own stuff, Catfish.” His dark hair is damp with sweat but he seems otherwise unaffected by the hours spent hauling. It was still surreal – that this is actually happening, that this unanimously became a long term desire.

He has the most money and Will has the best credit score, so they bought the house to save you all from questions. The movement isn’t lost on your Ironhead, and he rubs a soothing circle on your shoulder as he reaches for a plate. Of everyone, he was the one who most understood your anxiety – close proximity always led to arguments at first.

“You got lucky,” Benny takes the first slice, accepting a napkin for an additional piece. “You fell in love with a pretty good moving crew.”

“I think so,” you grin, trying to ignore your anxiety. He inhales the food, pulling you into his lap as he bickers with Will about whether or not more needed to get done today.

Eventually Frankie dictates that at the very least some cleaning should be started and the bedding should be unpacked for the evening. The agree with varying degrees of enthusiasm and after a handful of innuendos your loves begin to disperse, too dutiful to let work go unfinished. The bedframe practically builds itself, and a portable speaker makes Santi’s hips twitch as he floats through the half-barren rooms.

When Will rolls his eyes at Frankie’s choice of screw, you duck away, nerves thrumming.

And you wander around, fake cleaning, until you find your Benny clearing pizza plates. Even amongst boxes and bins and old blankets, he could be at a photo shoot. The evening light make his hair look like silk, and his eyes shine like he’s making you promises this very moment.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says, drawing you into his arms as your head tilts. “We spent years in bunks and tents, and we were younger then.”

His chest was warm and you press your cheek to it, nodding. You hadn’t thought he had noticed, how anxious you’d been about the change, but you had been foolish. Even through his shirt, you can feel the thumping of his giant heart, steady as a drumbeat.

Replaying the evening in your mind, you let go of some of your worries, one by one, and he kisses the top of your head. It’s a thoughtful thing, and it never ceases to amaze you how easily he can wrap you around his finger.

“Ben?”

He makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and a grunt.

You pull his face down to yours, kissing him hard. It was a kiss that says you're grateful, and a kiss that says you love him for being… him.

He accepts it eagerly, and tiredness from the day long gone ad he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your lips. The world spins and you feel him shove something heavy off the couch before replacing it with you.

The cushions are dusty from everything but he makes space, and you stop caring as he moves on top of you.

The others would find you soon, their instincts kicking in, but you savor it. Benny, pressing into you, kissing you in the evening light.

The beginning of their conversation from earlier blooms in your mind and you grin as his lips trailed down your neck. It suddenly didn’t seem implausible that he planned this.

“Breaking in” aside, this was the first room you where you truly felt like this could be home.

You feel his hands gently replace yours on the zipper and you jump a little - he stands just outside the mirror reflection as you watch the skirts around your ankles. Behind you the big bed is made neatly, there’s a ridiculously large closet, and a tangle of phone chargers.

The bedroom: the place that set apart your home from others. The room that housed five individuals, a web of relationships, a miracle of mixed bodies and minds and hearts.

It looks big, behind you.

Warm, daft fingers tie the extra strings, a neat little bow hanging just between your shoulder blades. The silence is thick, weighted with adoration, but when he breaks it, it’s as if he can’t resist.

“You’re beautiful,” he moves closer, kissing your temple and drinking you in. Turning, your heart aches.

Will is in his dress uniform, crisscrossed with crisp lines and newly shined awards. His hair is lighter after the summer, and he tried to comb it neatly to one side. Compliments catch in your throat as you stare and he smiles, turning you gently so he can kiss you properly. His mouth tastes like mint and you can smell hints of his cologne lingering on his skin.

“Look at you,” you murmur, lips still brushing over his. Letting your hands wander over his face, smoothing his eyebrows, you feel almost in awe of him. Still, he flushes, pleased at your reaction.

“Thank you.”

His chuckle is warm, almost raspy as he tries to enjoy the quietness of your conversation, and he shakes his head. Really, you were sure he was thankful that he was been the only one free for your special evening.

“Thank you,” you correct him. “You didn’t have to do any of this.” The dinner, for your job.

In the mirror, he looked like diamonds and sapphires and gold. Will was like an action figure sometimes, solid and sculpted and stoic, but… he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

It made you blink, his eyes sliding over you, pupils just a little more blown than the lighting required - a gentle reset demanding your attention.

Looking back in the mirror for a moment, the room didn’t seem quite as big, or quite as revealing. It was comforting, how out of place the two of you looked, dressed to the nines because… this was your place. The softness surrounded by details perfectly woven into your life.

Turning, you slip your arms around his neck, gently musing his hair, and his eyebrows draw together, accepting, but confused.

And as you tuck your hand into his elbow and step into your heels, you resist the urge to thank him again.

“I like it better like this,” you admit, and he flushes again, beaming. Looking around, you realize you’re actually looking forward to coming home more than you’re excited to leave. It’s a new feeling, in this space with the four of them and it hits you, hard in your chest. Still, the man beside you is unwavering and you let the feeling consume you, knowing that you’re safe.

“Frankie, what is that?”

He flinches, nervousness cutting the excitement on his face.

“Rhetorical question,” Santi says, grinning at you. “He got it from a friend who was going to toss it out.”

It’s a hot tub, taking up a decent chunk of your back porch.

“If anyone can make it work like a dream, it’s Catfish.” Will’s tone is matter-of-fact, all honesty and pride.

Your sweet Francisco drops his tool and grabs your hand, his dark eyes big. “¿Cariño, por favor? From me, to you?” You can see his laptop up, replacement parts on saved tabs, and you tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He likes to have projects, needs to have somewhere to do things, fix things, create things. Maybe at one point it was because he liked the distraction, it was a … replacement coping mechanism, if you will, but it became his pride, to use his hands to improve your lives.

It doesn’t take long, two weeks at most, between his job and his loves, and his long list of honey-dos, but he does it.

“Please and thank you,” you say, and when he kisses you, slow and deep and happy, you hear cheers and high-five and you almost can’t kiss him because he’s smiling.

And it takes awhile to fill, (Will thanking the stars that the water bill is reasonable,) and even longer to heat, and then it’s ready. The boys yank on swim trunks, thanking Frankie with enthusiasm, and you watch them sink into the steaming tub with as they sigh.

You have a bathing suit, of course you do, but you pull on one of his work shirts, knowing he won’t mind the chemicals from the water making the stains blur. And you pair of shorts you caught him watching your butt in, thinking of acknowledging his hard work in your own way.

The volume of your bodies makes it overflow, hot water sloshing onto the ground, but it’s bliss. It’s big, and they shout over the bubbles, talking excitedly about the future, and your heart feels warm in your favorite way.

The others leave early, taking loud laughter with them, and it leaves you and your Catfish. You let yourself float, moving right on top of him, and his hands grab at your hips, slipping and sliding over your skin as he kisses you once, twice. Slow.

It’s late – the stars stretch, there’s a bit of a breeze, and there’s not a light on for miles.

“You like it?” his voice is raspy, quiet, intense, but almost shy. Like if you said no it would break him in two.

“Of course I do, Frankie.” He looks pleased, hand absentmindedly running under his shirt and over your side. Even with the heat of the water, his hand feels like socks warmed in the dryer some cold winter morning. Comforting, maybe a little electric.

You let out a long, happy sigh, and settle against him, content to stay with him until you’re pruny.

“I think…. This is exactly what this house needed.” He starts a little, surprised, but it’s not an exaggeration.

There was always work to do and things to change, but it was the first time you looked out, and didn’t feel a twinge of fear, that anyone was looking in. It would’ve felt vulnerable, intimate to be so exposed, but… it was perfect, because he created it for you. Confidence and pride bubble around you, and Frankie’s eyebrows dip as he smiles – understanding.

“Yeah.” Its simple, not too hot, not too cold. Just… right.

It feels like… tar and lava, hot and dark and thick, bubbling and sticky and you want to punch something. Or scream, or cry.

Your Pope finds you standing rigid, smudges of flour on your skin and clothes, pans and spatulas strewn.

“Are we out of sugar?” To your credit, you try to keep your voice even, but he knows you better than that.

Santi shakes his head, plucking it from the pantry and looking guilty. Your mind pauses it’s rampage, and you wince, because you should be the one making that apologetic face, not him. Hot tears bubble in your eyes and you hate it, hate that they’re coming for what feels like no reason.

“Baby,” he says, tone pleading, setting the sugar down and reaching for you. The afternoon sun makes his eyes like rich, deep pots of gold, his hair somehow both soft and statuesque.

When he pauses, the tears fall against your will, just two thick drops down your cheeks. His hand encompasses your whole jaw, thumb gentle as it rubs away the saltwater, and he looks a tad helpless.

And there’s understanding in his eyes and through the blur you think maybe it’s pity. He stands, and your heart clenches, knowing he’ll go get Will, or someone because you’re being ridiculous but… he doesn’t.

You’re saying something about how the kitchen is wrong, how it’s been building for days, you’ve been here almost a week and you can’t fucking find anything. Panic and frustration locked horns in your chest and you couldn’t breathe and all you wanted to do was make something nice –

Instead, he’s pulling out things and piling them onto the floor in categories around you. It’s almost comical the stacks he makes but he seems determined and in your confusion the tears slow to a stop.

“Santi –” he hushes you. The cupboard doors hang open, and he guides you, lifting you up and up and into his arms. It’s solid and grounding, and he’s not as tall as the others and you needed him desperately.

And slowly, you begin to put things away where it makes sense, to you, and he helps. Not once does he argue with you, not even a moment when his dark eyebrows knit together in judgement. Dutifully he cleans and places everything just where you tell him, and you can almost feel the steam rising off of you as you begin to cool.

The final pile is a mountain of cloth, aprons and oven mitts and… something you’ve never seen before. Or actually, something you had, just not in your house. A set of hand towels you’d wistfully looked at awhile ago, before talking yourself out of the purchase. You had dozens at this point and didn’t need more but…

The man seating on the floor, folding them into perfect squares, is the answer to the question your mind produces.

You feel like you’ve been hosed down from head to toe, almost cold from the absence of frustration in your blood.

Pushing the pile to the side you climb into his lap, as determined as he was, and he looks surprised. It’s silly: sitting in your lover’s lap on the kitchen floor, but it feels more real than a movie. It’s your kitchen, yours and his, in this moment.

You kiss him, slow and purposeful and –

He knows you like the back of his hand.

You’re sitting on the bathroom counter distracting Santi as he shaves when Benny bursts in to tell you a story.

Will trails behind him, patiently waiting for his brother to take a breathe so he can set the record straight. Absentmindedly he weaves between them to pick up a fallen hand towel, passing it to Pope to wipe the shaving cream from his jaw. They share a moment and Benny’s story stutters out. Looking up from your nails you see Frankie leaning against the doorframe, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

There’s hardly room to move – and you couldn’t have it any other way.

His eyebrows are bent as he takes in the four of you, crammed into the spare bathroom, and Ben laughs.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk

for the poly frontier:

@grogusmum

#triple frontier poly fic #poly frontier #will miller x reader #santiago garcia x reader #francisco morales x reader #benny miller x reader #maybe i dont know people

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 32

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Summary: Stephen Strange being a grown-up. Reader being a grown-up. Kind of. Revenge plot starts now - don't be like the mercenary, don't threaten reader's family. Avengers being good.. bros? Good found family idk. More smut + plot coming soon.

The silence hung awkwardly over us. Stephen wasn't the one to wax poetics, usually, and I wasn't in the mood to do anything but curl up somewhere warm, chug a bottle of liquor and fall asleep. Sleep is like death without the committment and after my little outburst, I inwardly prayed and begged for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Instead, I was directed to sit and drink my tea by the sorcerer, who, by the way, was beginning to look like a kicked puppy.

It was starting to become unbearable. "I'm listening," I finally croaked out, shocked at how raspy my voice sounded. As if someone had forced me to choke on some nails - and I felt like it, too. My hands were shaking, all but spilling the hot tea onto them.

"Princess..." His mouth did the thing when he was worried, lips pursed, their corners upturned. "What we did was not... Right, you were drugged without your consent. I am sure Tony feels the same way."

My eyebrows rose, words bubbling up to the surface as I fought the urge to simply start calling Stephen some strong names. Had he been blind the whole time I flirted with him, had he not seen both me and Tony ogling him when we thought nobody could see? Every time I joked about the sexual tension between them - you know what they say, every joke has a little bit of truth in it.

Or maybe the sorcerer had used the incident as a convenient excuse for our little fuck-fest to be a one-time thing? I expected more, I won't lie, but I wouldn't put it above him. I knew all too well that some men tended to simply... Avoid.

I was angry, probably rightfully so, but it was not the time for me to comfort an adult man. My own life was going to shit, I had no mental energy to unburden his baseless guilt. It was selfish and it made me feel even more like shit, but it was as if someone had flipped a switch inside of me. I just didn't care about someone's heartbreak. I needed to solve another problem, a much bigger than a man that couldn't make up his mind.

I had to find that damn mercenary. It was the only real threat hanging over our heads; unlike any mission that I've seen the team go on before, they had thrown all the forces into catching the man that had gotten into their safe space, their home. That threatened to take what they thought as theirs. Long gone were the days of comfortable domesticity.

"Okay," I replied, nodding curtly. "I wanted it, if it helps any. I thought you were attractive the first day I saw you." I spoke bluntly, beginning to feel like myself more and more with each word that I spoke. "And again, no strings have to be attached. I'm sure Tony will understand it too, it's not his first rodeo."

Stephen's head shot up from where he was examining his clasped hands, to study me with furrowed brows. Cloaky moved where it was wrapped around me, attracting the sorcerer's attention - I, unfortunately, did not understand the Cloak's sign language and what it told Stephen remained a mystery to me. I was just delighted to be out of the cold and and wet clothes.

"I think you misunderstood me," Stephen eyed me with surprise. "I want more, but..." He trailed off, unsure. "I don't know. I'm surprised Banner hasn't gone green on me yet. I'm a doctor, I should have known..."

So, he was pulling a me and wallowing in pity. Is this really how pathetic I looked when I used to mope around the house earlier? No wonder my mother thinks I'm a baby. "Stephen, I'm really not in the mood to listen to bullshit. I wanted it, you wanted it, great, we can move on. Because with everything that has happened to me, I really have no energy to convince you I like you even while sober when you're sabotaging yourself." Sure, I might have ripped off the motivational speech from a self-help book my mother used to have laying around. My patience was wearing thinner with each second. "There, I said it. I like you, my boyfriends like you, you're welcome to the club if you decide to believe the fact that I am telling the truth." And if he wouldn't, well, I could get over it. I was planning to never act upon my feelings for both Tony and Bruce, it hadn't been as hard as I thought it would be. Especially with me being busy enough to just ignore the feelings.

At some point, I had grown attached to Stephen. Perhaps, if I and Tony hadn't decided to mess around with the sorcerer at the party, my feelings wouldn't have bloomed into anything more than physical attraction. Murphy's law had a particularly strong affinity on me, I noticed, because over and over I found myself falling head over heels for emotionally unavailable men. It worked out with Tony, which wasn't as surprising as one might expect, considering we're two halves of a whole idiot, but then Bruce also decided to pucker up - Stephen was bound to be the rock that I trip on.

Or not? Soft lips pressed against my forehead, beard hair softly tickling the tip of my nose. I was pressed against a solid chest, surrounded by warmth and comfort. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot," Steph whispered, voice quivering.

"Well, it's not like this... Relationship... I've got going on is something commonplace," My arms wrapped around him, a deep sigh relaxing my body into his. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It wasn't right."

Stephen chuckled, all but pulling me bodily into his lap. "Don't worry, Princess. I deserved it." As he spoke, the Cloak carefully unwrapped itself from me, drifting away with a parting pat on my back. "Now what happened with your parents?" Large palms pushed the hair out of my face, stormy blue eyes looking at me with worry.

"I should probably assemble all my significant others for this conversation," There was little enthusiasm in discussing the incident. I was an adult and had enough money to get by for a few months, at least until I could patent one of my inventions. I had plenty of knick-knacks that should be able to interest buyers, that much I knew, and while the legal side of the process was a blank slate to me, I knew I could be charismatic enough to have someone work it out for me.

"I don't think I'll be able to take Steve seriously when he says 'assemble', now," My third boyfriend chuckled, which - wow, I didn't have boyfriends and now I had three? Should I be considering opening a factory or something? Stephen adjusted his hold on me. "Let's go, I'll portal us in."

"My car's out there with all my stuff. I'll have to drive," I protested but made no move to get out of his lap.

"Tony is a billionaire, he can pay someone to retrieve it," Shrugging carelessly, he produced a golden circle of magic, the common room couch in plain sight at the other side of it. I heard voices and then Clint's head peaked through, a curiously tilted eyebrow morphing into full fledged face of confusion upon seeing the two of us.

Yikes. I had forgotten about the state of my dress and the bruise on my cheek. "Hey, bird. I need a drink," I said the first thing that popped into my mind, causing both Clint and Steph to laugh as the sorcerer carried me into the tower through the portal.

"I'm starting to think you go out there and look for trouble on purpose," The archer sighed, pulling out his phone and texting rapidly. Mine vibrated, too, once he was done, which meant he'd called for a family meeting. Blergh.

In no time, Tony appeared, dark circles under his eyes and yesterday's shirt on, towing a worried Bruce behind him. One after the other, the Avengers tickled in, looking restless and exhausted. Loki's frown was well on its way to becoming a full sneer.

"Talk, please," He requested, eyeing me with concern.

"Good news is I got our rogue wizard back," I poked Stephen in the chest. He was blushing. "Bad news is my mother threw me out and my father didn't pick up the phone, so technically I'm homeless and parent-less," I decided that spitting out straight facts was the easiest way to go about it. I mean, there was no good way to tell what I just told them.

The storm that I anticipated didn't appear. Just a lot of disappointed sighs all around, especially from Tony, who looked twenty years older after I'd confessed to the current state of my affairs. "You're not homeless, you live here," He pointed out, rubbing his face and muttering some very strong words under his nose. Particularly, the expressions involved my mother and various methods of fornication.

"We got your back, doll," Bucky nodded, coming over to wrap me in a gentle hug. He was like a brother from another mother to me at this point, kind and goofy and sensible. "I would propose to teaching that harpy a lesson but I think she's beyond it."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Loki mused suddenly. "If I recall correctly, your mother was against your career of choice, which is idiotic. Science is a noble and prospective path." The Asgardian, too, gave me a hug.

I wasn't crying! There were ninjas, in the vents, cutting onions! "Stop it guys, I'm gonna cry. I already look like shit!" The protest was silenced by Bruce's lips on mine, his tiny smile briefly covering my mouth with tenderness. After that, everybody somehow decided it was their job to try and make me cry; like a bad bitch, I resisted, but eventually broke and started sniffling when Tony began rambling about building me my own lab and Wanda offered to help me decorate my new apartment.

No matter how much my mind screamed at me to refuse, I forced that noise down. Fighting against myself, accepting help despite feeling unworthy of it - it was probably the hardest thing I've done in my whole life.

Bruce volunteered to carry my prone body to Tony's bedroom which was quickly becoming the master bedroom for the three of us - ever since the incident, both of my scientists stuck close to me whenever possible, aggressively cuddling me whenever they decided it was time to get some sleep. Which wasn't much these days, if I was being honest. Persuading Bruce to stay with me was a novelty - usually he didn't resist, but that time, I had to repeat myself multiple times that the team could handle business even without him being present.

I had my ulterior motives, of course. Tony and Stephen needed to talk. I only hoped their egos wouldn't clash without me to mediate - having two boyfriends start a fight wasn't something I wanted to experience. I had zero experience in those matters and had no idea how to manage all that. Are there handbooks for polyamorous relationships? I stuck a mental post-it note inside my brain to check it out.

I fell asleep with Bruce wrapped around me and woke up in the same position, having been too exhausted to move even in my sleep. Voices, rough and quiet, were the first thing I heard upon syncing my brain into a resemblance of a working order, instantly recognizing Stephen's deep baritone and Tony's teasing drawl.

"Expect either Reindeer Games or Kim Possible to come and terrify you," My engineer didn't sound particularly ecstatic. His voice came from somewhere around my feet; the hand wrapped around my ankle, thumb gently stroking the skin, must've been his.

"Duly noted," Stephen's reply was equally sarcastic, sounding a little closer. The warmth coming from my side was him. I could smell the faint spices that surrounded him, smell that I'd come to associate with the Sanctum.

Bruce snored away, not a care in the world.

My body, on the other hand, felt rested for what felt the first time in years. A pleasant ache in my muscles had me begrudgingly squirm out of Banner'd grasp, shamelessly pushing up into Stephen as I stretched with a juicy yawn. "What's poppin'?" I rubbed my eyes, finding the men awake looking at me with fond amusement.

"Just watching," Tony smiled, causing me to giggle at his accidental meme-ing. Was it even accidental? I refused to believe that a man well versed in IT was oblivious to meme culture.

Stephen, on the other hand... "We've discussed some things, wanted to talk to you too." His hand stroked my hair, face expression soft unlike anything I'd ever seen him have. "But you were sleeping. So cute."

Me, cute? There was a puddle of drool the size of a dollar bill on my pillow, I was pretty sure some of it had even gotten in Bruce's hair. Banner's sleep was quiet except for every five minutes when he'd let out a snore with a force somewhere between a Mack truck and a whale in mating season.

Cute, sure.

Bruce groaned, a tell-tale sign of him waking up. I met his eyes, brown, shiny, a narrow edge of green around his irises. Huh. Do I have three boyfriends or four?

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #stephen strange x you

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sweetsickcherry · 5 years

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Do you think you could write more sugar daddy Tony and sugar baby Peter? Pretty please

Darling anon, I hope you like this.

Peter is the ultimate Sugar Baby, but very reluctantly at the start.

cw: daddy kink; sugar baby kink; power imbalance kink; manipulative tony; wealth kink; d/s; naive but fiery peter.

Peter is ecstatic when Tony finally gets home from a long day of meetings. He’s only been gone for 12 hours, but Peter missed him so much he ached. Peter meets him at the doorway to kiss him before Tony’s even kicked his shoes off. Has his arms looped around Tony’s neck, whispering, “Missed you,” against his cheek as Tony laughs and carries him into the kitchen.

It’s moments like this that are the best. The little homely moments. When Tony’s heating leftover pasta up and shovelling it into his mouth straight from the pan because he always forgets to eat during the day, while Peter sits cross-legged at the table frowning at the equations in his copy book. Knowing soon they’ll kiss on the couch and go to bed early to cuddle.

The domestic bliss is shattered later when Tony says, “We’ve been invited to the opera next week. Jansen’s coming over on Friday afternoon for a fitting.”

Peter freezes, mid-way through digging a spoon into a new tub of Ben & Jerry’s.

“Since when have we been invited to the opera?”

“Since about three hours ago.”

“Tony, do I have to? The fitting I mean?”

Tony doesn’t look at him, just continues scrolling through emails on his phone.

“Yeah baby, you do.”

“But…”

Peter kicks his legs out petulantly where he’s sitting on the kitchen counter, the open pint of Ben & Jerry’s momentarily forgotten.

“But what? You want to go in your NASA t-shirt and jeans, is that it?” Tony says a little sharply, as he types out an email one-handed.

Peter frowns, bottom lip sticking out.

Tony could be cruel sometimes, especially when he was tired. Usually Peter would curl around him and say something like, “Why so prickly, Daddy?”, peppering kisses along his jaw until Tony would melt in his arms.

But the thought of seeing all those people, the ones who cut through Peter and his clothes, like he’s just Mr Stark’s new boy toy, makes his blood boil.

“I have plenty of clothes! I don’t need any more. What about that polka dot thing you got me two weeks ago? That looks like a swimsuit from the 1920s.”

“That’s summer wear, baby, you know that. We need something season appropriate.”

“Tony, it’s the first week of September. It’s not even cold yet.”

Tony finally looks up from his phone, snapping the case against it. Peter flinches slightly at his dark look.

“We talked about this, Peter. You wanted us to go public with our relationship. And that means coming with me to these events and looking the part.”

“You wanted to go public, too!”

Tony’s gaze softens. He sits back in his chair, surveying Peter’s pinched brow. How small Peter looks in his tiny shorts and oversized Stark Industries tee.

“Yeah, baby, I did. I do. But there are expectations I need to meet. Pepper might be CEO, but I’m still the face of the company and I need to do these things. And I want you to be at my side.”

“But only if you dress me up like I’m a Barbie,” Peter snaps.

“What is this? Lay into Tony hour? If you can’t be mature enough to have this conversation, then maybe you should take a time out and we’ll come back to it later when you’ve stopped being such a brat.”

Peter seethes. It’s moments like this that he feels like a stupid 15-year-old all over again. Not Tony’s partner. When everything they’ve made together suddenly means nothing, and he’s just a boy being berated by his idol.

“If you want maturity, maybe you shouldn’t date a college student,” he says quietly, grabbing the ice cream and jumping down to head to their room.

He thinks Tony might stop him, that he’s about to feel a hand close over his thin wrist, or a sharp “where the fuck do you think you’re going?” but Tony lets him go. And Peter knows it’s dumb but he feels himself start to cry.

Tony gives him 45 minutes to sulk before coming to find him. Peter stares at his book resolutely as Tony leans in the doorway to their room, watching him.

“You like the ice cream then?” He nods towards the half-eaten tub on the bed next to Peter.

Peter nods stiffly. Tony knows Peter has a sweet tooth and keeps the apartment stocked with ice cream, cookies, frozen waffles and pancake mix all for him.

“What flavour this time?”

“Red velvet with cream cheese swirls.”

“Iron Man colours. I approve.”

Peter can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Tony always had a real talent to make everything about him.

“I wonder what Spider-Man’s flavour would be,” Tony murmurs as he comes closer, sliding his tie off his neck. “I’m thinking strawberry cheesecake to complement his suit.” He plants one knee on the bed. “Or maybe it could be a Peter Parker flavour. The fluffiest angel food cake you’ve ever had.”

Before Peter can respond, Tony has jumped onto the bed and pulled Peter into his lap. Peter squeaks, tries to elbow him in the ribs and knock him off, but Tony cages him in with his arms. He huffs a quiet laugh into Peter’s neck when he refuses to look at him, then scratches his stubble along his throat. Peter bites back a moan, but can’t stop the tilt of his head.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, angel,” Tony nuzzles against his throat. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

“It’s nothing, forget about it.”

“I said tell me, baby. Tell your mean old Daddy everything.”

“Just didn’t know I embarrassed you so much,” Peter mutters, picking at a loose thread on the pillowcase.

“Darling, you don’t.”

“If you wanted someone beautiful you should have stayed with Ms Potts. Or dated that actress everyone was obsessed with.”

“Peter, you have it all wrong,” Tony says softly, nosing the edge of Peter’s jaw, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind his ear. “The clothes don’t make you beautiful, sweetheart. But they’re expected in the circles I’m in. You know how much I love you just like this.” He presses a hand against the worm cotton covering Peter’s stomach. “My soft, sweet honey boy.”

Peter flushes at the pet names; always does.

Tony’s thumbs his chin around to make Peter look at him, their noses touching.

“Is this pink little pout for me?”

He kisses it then, and Peter sinks against him, sighing softly when Tony’s arms tighten around him, the wet tip of his tongue teasing Peter’s mouth.

They part when Peter lets out a moan.

“It’s not all bad, is it?” Tony whispers, a small smirk on his face. “There are things you like being dressed in.” His eyes trail over to the box at the foot of their bed. The one where they keep Peter’s jewelled collar, plus his harness and toys.

Peter flushes darker, feels the heat in his cheeks bloom red.

“I do like that stuff. When it’s just us. But those people, Tony, they all look at me and it’s so hurtful.”

“Fuck them. You’re radiant.”

“I don’t know…”

Tony cuddles him closer, squeezing his arms around Peter.

“Come on, do this for me. Make Daddy happy. You want that don’t you, sweet thing? Don’t I give you everything you’ve ever wanted? All you need to do is give me this one little thing in return.”

That’s how Peter ends up in the fitting that Friday, being pulled and prodded as Jansen drapes swatches of fabric over him. Talking animatedly about his fashion house’s new Fall collection as Peter tries to keep up, moving his arms and legs dutifully when Jansen tells him.

Tony watches from his place on the couch, legs spread, a glass of scotch resting on his thigh. Lazily trailing his eyes over Peter’s half-naked form.

“I want something sleek, Jansen. Dark. But still romantic. I want him to look like a fucking woodland fawn.”

Jansen ignores Tony’s language, and nods enthusiastically.

“Of course, Mr Stark. It won’t be hard, with your boy’s stature and dreamy good looks.”

Peter blushes. Your boy. Something about the way Jansen talks about Peter like he’s not there, with the way Tony’s watching them, makes him feel light-headed. He meets Tony’s dark look, how he never breaks his eyes from Peter even as he lifts the scotch to his mouth, and he feels hot all over.

“He’s a beauty, isn’t he? He asks Jansen, still not taking his eyes from Peter.

“Oh yes. Your taste in all things is impeccable as always, Mister Stark.”

Peter wants to bite back that he’s not a thing, and Mr Stark doesn’t own him. Instead he blushes even harder, trying to ignore the way his dick is getting hard, how Tony’s words and heavy gaze make his entire body prickle.

“Just be careful, Jansen. Peter’s skin is very sensitive,” Tony smiles, knowing exactly how affected Peter is by all of this.

Peter throws him a mean look and Tony chuckles against the rim of his glass.

Afterwards, Peter sees the note that Jansen left and his eyes almost pop out. It’s an order not just for one outfit, but for coats, pants, shirts, jumpers, scarves and gloves. Entire matching sets and one pieces, just for Peter. He thinks it might be more clothes than Peter has ever owned.

“Tony, you’ve pre-ordered their entire Fall catalogue,” he breathes.

“Hmm?” Tony hums, half listening. “Oh, that? If you’re going to have one piece you might as well have them all.”

“Tony, it’s too much.”

“No,” Tony says slowly, like he’s breaking down a particularly hard equation. “It isn’t.” He pulls Peter against him, the ferocity almost making him stumble.

“When will you learn that I’ll do anything for you,” he says, and the raw honesty in Tony’s voice makes his skin thrum. “Anything for my pretty boy, pretty baby, my little prince.”

Peter melts at that, eyelashes fluttering. Feels himself go again; head floaty, dick stupidly hard. He’s still mostly naked, and he wonders what he looks like pressed up against a fully-dressed Tony. The feeling only intensifies when Tony grabs his chin and kisses him roughly, his beard and mouth rubbing him raw where he stabs his tongue inside him. Peter slumps against him, almost falling, but Tony grabs him tightly. Your boy echoes in his head.

Tony breaks away, making Peter gasp. He tries to follow his mouth but Tony stops him with a quick, firm tsk.

“Now, tell me what you are.”

“Your… sugar baby,” he whispers, face hot, legs trembling.

Tony smiles, shark-like.

“That’s right.”

#starker #ask #my writing #starker mini fic #sugar baby peter

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