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obligatorynasty · 5 years ago

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I’ll Be the Fight to Your Flight, Baby. (Part 2)

Part 1: Here | Sequel: Here

Read on: AO3 | WC: 18k | Please excuse any typos.

Main Tags: BadBoy!Tony, SoftBoy!Peter, Highschool AU, NFF, TW:Mentions of Blood, TW:Mentions of Abuse, TW:Bullying, TW:Underage Drinking and Smoking, TW:Mild Homophobia, [see all tags on AO3]

~*1*~

Peter didn’t know how to feel.

When Tony threw the cafeteria doors open, the chatter of the room went silent. Though the whispers remained; all gossip about why the school’s most fearsome student was resting his arm around the most fearful student’s shoulders. It was strange for Peter to be the center of attention for something other than ridicule. Along with the shocked expression on Ned’s face, cliques of curious eyes glanced back and forth between the slew of tables. All looks filled with confusion and intrigue and – for a certain pair of brotherly bullies – absolute terror.

All the younger boy had to do was point. And he did, with a shaky finger and wary eyes, directing his unhinged – boyfriend? – to not only the guilty brothers’ table, but to Clint, Natasha, Bucky, and Sam’s as well.

“Is that all of them, baby?” Tony whispered, his face close enough that Peter could feel his warm breath tickling his surely flushed ear. The sensation sent chills down Peter’s spine – but in a good way – like the airy feeling he got in his stomach when Ned and MJ dragged him on roller coasters with giant drops.

Peter gave a demure nod, “Y-Yes.”

Tony’s wild eyes were breathtaking, especially paired with that mischievous grin and the way he cracked his knuckles like warning signs to his prey. Or the way he pulled off that signature jacket and draped it over Peter’s shoulders like he was staking his claim. Or the way he so nonchalantly quipped about not wanting to ruin the leather with some degenerate’s blood, so hold this for me, baby. I’ll be right back.

And Peter could do nothing but stand there – engulfed in the leather that smelled of cigarettes and pure, unfiltered Tony Stark – watching as the notorious bad boy reminded each and every student in the cafeteria of just how fearsome he could really be.

***

Tony’s rampage began with one stunned Clint Barton, ripped from his seat by a forceful grip on his collar. The irony of being thrown against the very spot he tripped Peter lost on him. Likely due to the wind being knocked out of his lungs as he careened towards the off-white linoleum tiles with a hefty thud and, subsequently, a symphony of startled gasps and excited chants of Fight! Fight! Fight!

Now, Clint wasn’t someone who would take a beating lying down. Peter had seen him fight before; win against people bigger than him and intimidate people smaller. So, when Tony dropped down and managed to get in three punches so quick and so forceful that Clint couldn’t react, Peter’s jaw dropped. Tony’s promise of not making it too bloody consumed by sight of Clint’s very bloody nose.

“What the fuck, Stark?!” It was Natasha – poor Natasha – trying to stand up for her partner in crime, not knowing she would be next on the rampage list. The second she stood from her seat, Tony released his hold on Clint’s collar, leaving it stretched out of place and watching Clint pitifully grasp his nose in pain. Then, Tony stood, facing Natasha head-on and flashing his smug, bad boy grin.

“What the fuck, Romanoff?” His words were laced with belittling humor and a wild brand of confidence that Peter couldn’t fathom.

“Don’t do that.” Natasha glared, her brows furrowing at Tony’s complete lack of fear towards her. “What the fuck did he do to piss you off?”

“He didn’t piss me off. Not directly at least.” Tony’s laughter was unnerving, “You see, your boy here managed to piss him off,” He pointedly said, as he gestured over to Peter, who was still standing by the doors with a bewildered look on his face. “And he belongs to me now. So, let’s say when he’s pissed, I’m just pissed by proxy.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath.” Natasha’s words were sharp, but Tony was sharper.

“Let’s ask then,” Tony leaned forward against the table, his palms down and his knuckles up like he was brandishing a bloodied sword, staring at Sam and Bucky with his intimidating glare. “Why don’t you two tell me, hm? Did Barton do something to Parker?” His question was brimming with venom, and thus, met with zero hesitation.

“Yes, he tripped him.” Sam stood, pulling Bucky to his feet as well and expressing so much fuck-this-shit-I’m-out energy that Peter had to stifle a laugh. “Me and Bucky are really sorry for our involvement in all of this, and we would very much like to keep all of our bones intact. Thank you.” Sam looked to Natasha, “Nat, you are on your own with this one.” With that, he was fleeing, towing Bucky behind him as they made their way out the cafeteria, muttering something along the lines of: People really out here fucking around with Tony Stark like he didn’t send just someone to the ER last year. What a bunch of idiots.

“Fucking cowards.” Natasha spat, rolling her eyes and giving an angry sigh when Tony smirked at her. “Fine!” She exclaimed, turning to Peter with forced sincerity. “Sorry,” She said flatly, and with a peeved grimace, before turning back to Tony with an expression that showed just how thoroughly done she was with the whole situation. “Happy now?”

But Tony didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned to Peter and smiled as he repeated Natasha’s sentiment. “Happy?”

Peter froze for a moment, his frazzled mind whirring into overdrive, trying to comprehend the weight of Tony’s question. It was like a wild animal asking the leader of its pack for permission to hunt. Like Peter’s answer was the only thing standing between Natasha and the full power of Tony’s wrath. So Peter nodded and mouthed a nervous, “Yes.”

“Wow, how lucky for you,” Tony said, giving Natasha a look so dark that it sent chills down Peter’s spine in the bad kind of way. “Don’t waste it, Red.”

Tony’s threat lingered in the way he carelessly stepped on Clint’s struggling frame as he made a beeline to his last targets: Thor and Loki.

“Don’t bring your violence over here, Stark.” Thor weakly warned, flinching up from his seat like a cornered animal, posturing in a final attempt to scare off its predator. His reaction was perplexing, especially since he was bigger than Tony. He seemed to have more muscles, more stature, more height, yet he still looked frightened. So, even though Peter’s natural response was worry, Thor’s fear and Tony’s unfazed smirk eased his concerns.

“I’ll bring my violence wherever I damn well please, Point Break.” Tony taunted, wasting no time in shoving both Thor and Loki’s lunch trays off the table, gaining him a resoundingly loud and drawn out Daammn! from the surrounding crowd of students.

Loki stood up next, posturing just like his brother, “You think we’re scared of you, Stark?”

“Oh, you will be.”

With that, Tony’s rampage continued. But this time, it was less controlled threats and more all-out brawl that summoned a flock of rowdy students, eager to watch the carnage.

Before the crowd grew, Peter managed to see Tony land two satisfying jabs to Loki’s face that left Thor scrambling to retaliate. It was all too surreal; the savage look in Tony’s eyes, the speed of his punches, the way he bobbed and weaved around his opponents’ hits like a trained boxer. All the people egging on the fight like spectators at the Colosseum; encircling them like Thor and Loki were the poor fools thrown into the lion’s den and Tony was head of the pride.

Soon, the fight was impossible to see. The students were so enthralled that they stood on tables to witness it. And Peter knew from the screaming and the general disregard for school policy that it would probably go down as one of those legendary Tony Stark fights. Peter’s body buzzed with curiosity. He wanted to watch too, but he found himself unable to move.

Remember, Peter didn’t know how to feel. His eyes traveled to Clint, struggling as Natasha helped him to his feet and clutching the spot on his abdomen that Tony used as a stepping stone. It was brutal, and Peter knew that. He knew he shouldn’t feel glad that Clint was hurt. He shouldn’t get excited about Sam and Bucky scurrying away like frightened mice. He shouldn’t enjoy the scared look in Thor and Loki’s eyes. He shouldn’t – he knew that – but he did.

Because Tony Stark was fighting for him, and that sort of thing just goes to a person’s head.

Peter was pulled from his thoughts by Ned, who was pushing through the crowd to reach his friend. “Dude! We need to go! Someone said Principal Fury was called.” He didn’t stop. He just grabbed Peter’s arm and dragged him through the cafeteria’s double doors.

The hallway was also beginning to swarm with students – kids leaving their classes in droves, trying to witness the fight for themselves. “Okay, so since when are you and Tony Stark friends?”

“Since like a half-hour ago?” Peter shyly admitted as Ned stopped with him in the hall, standing to the side so they didn’t get trampled by the rush of students.

“What?!” Ned practically screamed. “He’s beating the shit out of Loki and Thor right now.” He stressed, “For you, dude! For you! And you’ve only been friends for a half-hour?!”

“Actually, ‘friends’ might not be right either.” Peter nervously laughed, scratching the back of his head and giving Ned a guilty look.

“Dude, what happened?” Ned’s eyes went wide. “And please don’t say you sucked his dick for protection.”

“Whose dick are we sucking for protection?” It was MJ, exiting the flow of students, throwing her arms over Peter and Ned’s shoulders, interjecting on their conversation with her classic witty smirk.

“Tony Stark’s,” Ned laughed.

MJ joined the laughter, “Is that why Peter’s wearing this?” She tugged on the leather jacket still draped over Peter’s shoulders. “Did you swallow?”

“Oh my god! MJ! I-I didn’t s-suck his dick!” Peter’s face flushed red in his embarrassment. “I just- I mean, I guess…um- I belong to him now.” His voice cracked because that felt weird to say. He belonged to Tony Stark – someone that he barely knew – yet, instead of his usual urge to flee, his body craved to stay.

“I see,” Ned nodded. “First, the brutish show of strength, then-”

“The dick sucking.” MJ joked.

Peter crossed his arms, “No! I- He just- He made me cry – well, not directly – but then he patted my hair and k-kissed my forehead and, suddenly, I was just his, okay?”

“I think it’s romantic,” Ned nodded.

“I think it’s problematic,” MJ deadpanned.

Peter just shrugged, inching away from MJ’s hold. “W-Well, I think it’s my decision.”

“I’m just looking out for you, Pete.” MJ became defensive. “We can joke about sucking dick, but Tony Stark is fucking dangerous. We all know it. May I remind you that he broke that Hammer kid’s bones last year, he constantly skips classes, and he smokes.” She punctuated each point with a count of her fingers and ended her rant with a firm, “Say it with me: pro-ble-ma-tic be-hav-iors.”

“Okay, scratch the romantic thing,” Ned shook his head and stepped closer to MJ, physically signaling his position on the matter. “MJ has a point, dude. I’m on her side.”

“There are no sides!” Peter furrowed his brow and let out a frustrated huff. “You guys just didn’t see what I saw in him.”

“Dude, do you even hear yourself?” MJ rolled her eyes, “We’re talking about Tony – probably stabbed a guy – Stark. What could you have possibly seen in him besides gratuitous violence and penchant for starting shit?”

“I saw how kind he really is!” Peter exclaimed, furiously shaking his head, dismissing MJ’s level-headed red flags. Sure, Tony was violent, but somehow, Peter knew he must have a good reason for it. “I saw it, MJ. How caring he is. How he isn’t this fearsome bad boy everyone makes him out to be.”

And Peter’s sentiment was sweet – naive, but sweet – but, unfortunately for him, it was immediately undermined by one student’s passing words: Did you hear? Stark broke Loki’s arm.

“Hey!” MJ called out to the student. “Is that true?”

“Yeah, there’s a video and everything.”

~*2*~

After the chaos died down and students were herded back into their classrooms, Peter was sent to the Principal’s office. He didn’t know why – well, that’s not true, he had a guess – but he didn’t want to overthink it. Everyone was already looking at him funny. Whispering fables under their breath: That’s the kid that Stark broke Loki’s arm for. Wonder what he had to do to put Stark on a leash. Bet a little slut boy like him would put out for anyone. Shush! He belongs to Stark now. Don’t talk to him. Don’t let him hear you. He’ll sick Stark on you. Rumors were spreading. Fast. Painfully fast.

And the jacket wasn’t helping either. For a fleeting moment, the leather was comforting, but now, it just felt heavy. Yet, even as he ripped it off his shoulders, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind in the classroom. It was Tony’s after all. So, as Peter traveled down the hallway, he held the leather close to his chest.

The administrative office door was propped open, and the scene inside was shocking, to say the least. Sitting in a row of chairs, outside the Principal’s door, were a handful of Peter’s bullies; an annoyed Natasha, a bruised Clint, a bloodied Thor, and Loki, whose arm was tucked against his chest in a sling. Describing them as ‘pissed’ wouldn’t do their collective expressions justice, and – holy shit – did Peter want to run. But he couldn’t. So he stood by the door, clutching Tony’s jacket like a safety blanket. Awkwardly, and beneath the unsettling glares of his bullies.

As the minutes ticked by, Peter’s anxiety ran high. Principal Fury’s assistant was busy phoning a list of names – seemingly all parents arranging for their child’s pick-up. Peter wondered if he was on that list too? Did someone name him as the cause of the fight? Did Aunt May already know? God, he wanted to leave.

Then, Principal Fury’s door swung open and Tony stepped out beaming, despite the bruises on his cheek or the blood drying on his knuckles or the rip in his t-shirt. “Fury wants you next, Red,” Tony flashed the same unnerving smile as before. And, even though Natasha rolled her eyes, she still nodded to him before disappearing into the office.

Tony turned his attention to Peter next, “Hey, baby.”

Peter blushed at Tony’s nonchalant use of the pet name. He wasn’t used to it yet. In fact, he wasn’t used to Tony yet. In terms of confidence, Peter and Tony were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Tony knew what he wanted and expressed it, powerfully and without pause. Peter couldn’t even handle the pressure of wearing a jacket.

“Come out here for a sec,” Tony threw his arm around Peter’s shoulders and, despite Peter’s resistance or the protests of Fury’s assistant, he managed to lead him out of the office.

“T-Tony! Wait! S-She was upset. I should go back in.”

“She’ll get over it.” Tony shrugged and held out his hand expectantly.

“Um, right! Here you go.” Peter mumbled, glancing over the older boy’s battered hand before giving him the signature leather. “A-Are you okay? Your hands are-”

“I’m fine.” In one motion, Tony threw on the jacket. “I’m about to leave. Come with me.”

“I-I…um, but s-school isn’t- I was called-” Peter stammered, staring at Tony’s shoulders and the way they seemed broader in the leather. The jacket somehow perfected his strangely attractive – disheveled and slightly bloody – aesthetic, and Peter couldn’t look away.

“You were called? Oh – shit – I thought you were in there for something else.” Tony sighed, “Fury’s probably going to send you home too. I’m sorry.” Another rare Tony Stark apology.

“I-Is it because of the rumors?” Peter whispered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Rumors?” Tony’s brow raised as he placed a finger on Peter’s chin and tilted it upward to lock gazes. “What rumors?”

Peter gasped at the contact. Tony’s hand felt so warm – or maybe it was the heat flushing Peter’s face – he didn’t know, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he just let Tony touch him; let him idly drag his fingers across the length of Peter’s jaw; let him caress the underside of Peter’s chin; let him ghost his palm around the contours of Peter’s throat; anything. And judging by the satisfied grin that appeared on the older boy’s face, he was pleased with the pliant behavior.

“Don’t get distracted, baby,” Tony smirked, bringing his hand upwards to cup the side of Peter’s tinted face. “What rumors?”

Peter squeaked – yes, fucking squeaked – and who wouldn’t? Tony Stark was touching him and talking to him in that suggestive tone. And Peter didn’t think that simple touches like those could feel so good. Yet, here he was: feeling good. He took a shallow breath and answered, “P-People are saying that you- um… broke Loki’s arm for me.”

“What?” Tony’s grin fell, and so did his grip on Peter’s chin. “I did not break that bitch’s arm. He’d be in the fucking hospital by now if I did that shit.” Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I just dislocated it a little, then I put it back – sometimes I don’t even do that – but trust me, if I wanted it broken, it would be broken.” Then, he paused, his eyes gleaming with a chilling excitement and the corner of his lips mischievously turning upward. “Why?” He whispered, “You want me to break it?”

Peter didn’t know how to feel. The calm way Tony said that should have alarmed him, but instead, the younger boy found himself mirroring the older’s excitement. His mind wandering through the possibilities of playing gatekeeper for Tony Stark’s ferocity. His body buzzing from its inherent power because Peter was fucking tired of being bullied in the high school cesspool. So, of course, the thought of enacting that vicious power gave him a heady kind of rush, but still, it was scary.

So Peter resisted it, shaking his head, “No, I-I don’t think that would be okay.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” Tony shrugged and shoved his hands into pockets. “But my offer stands.”

Peter gave a small nod and a hesitant, “T-Thanks.”

“Anything for you.”

Peter blushed at Tony’s casual and blind devotion. He couldn’t understand it. How this boy whom he never spoke a word to could risk himself so readily, especially if it landed him in Fury’s office.

“Wait, so if Principal Fury isn’t sending me home for the rumors, t-then why-?”

Tony let out a spiteful tsk, “Fury’s got this zero-tolerance policy for fighting. Everyone involved is going home on a day’s suspension except for you Stark. You get a week.” He dryly mocked Principal Fury’s voice.

“A week?!” Peter repeated with a gasp. “That’s terrible.”

Peter was right. It was terrible. Who would protect him from the scourge of retaliation? Sure, his bullies seemed to fall in line now – with Tony’s threatening presence ever-looming – but what happens when he leaves? Peter didn’t want to think about it.

“Y-You can’t leave for a week.” Peter’s eyes burned a little, the fear of being without Tony’s protection slowly seeping out of him and thoughts of taking Tony’s offer seeping in.

“It’s whatever. Even if I was here, I’d skip the classes.” Tony smiled, gently bumping his hand against Peter’s arm. “So, come with me. I promised to eat lunch with you after I cleaned up the trash in there.”

Peter dropped his gaze again, twiddling his thumbs as his nerves bubbled over. “I c-can’t. I w-was called and I don’t- I can’t-”

“Fine, fine, don’t make that face.” Tony brought his hand against Peter’s head, softly carding his fingers through the curls in that same soothing motion as before. “Here,” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and handed it to Peter. “Give me your number. If you get sent home, text me and I’ll come pick you up. Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

~*3*~

Just like Tony predicted, Principal Fury gave Peter a day’s suspension. Mostly because he refused to name the bad boy as the instigator of the fight, which was already a strange ask. As Peter recalled, everyone had a video of the brawl. Everyone. Even Ned and MJ sent him clips of it. Yet, according to Fury, whenever someone tried showing the school faculty the video, their device would be wiped clean by some virus called ‘JARVIS’. So, without any real evidence, Tony was safe from expulsion.

After the meeting, Fury’s assistant called Aunt May. She was upset – and rightly so – promising Peter a stern talking-to, a loss of privileges, and an early curfew for the remainder of the week. Unlike the other parents, she was too busy with work, so she told Peter to walk home and think about what you’ve done, young man. And he guiltily agreed, knowing that Tony would be driving him instead.

With a quick text, Tony was on his way; k baby, b there in 5mins.

Even the way Tony sent messages made Peter feel anxious, and that anxiety followed him down the halls, to his locker, and finally to the front of the school, where Tony was parked and waiting. His car was just like him; sleek and dressed in black with tinted windows so dark that Peter had to be inches away to see inside them. It was expensive too; low to ground, sporty with shiny chrome rims, and branded with a luxury logo Peter’s never seen before. And anybody who was anybody would know that this car was a perk of being Howard Stark’s son.

“Hey,” Tony smiled as he rolled down the passenger side window. “You getting in or what?”

Peter blinked himself out of his drifting thoughts, “Um, y-yes! Sorry,” He mumbled as he fumbled with the car door, threw his backpack into the foot space, and slid into the passenger seat with little to no grace. Noticing the warmth of the car first, the faint smell of cologne next, and Tony’s soft eyes on him last. “Your car is- um, i-it’s nice!” His voice cracked and his gaze flickered around the car, symptoms of the nerves that swarmed his body when his eyes would meet Tony’s.

“Thanks. Stole it from my dad’s garage.” Tony’s honest laughter cut through the nervous atmosphere Peter’s mind was fabricating. “So, where do you want to eat? Pick anything. Let me treat you.”

Peter blushed, his arms instinctively moving around his body in a self hug to soothe his stress. “You don’t have to do that.” He whispered, shaking his head. “You already did a lot for me today, and I- um, I want to treat y-you!”

“Wow, Parker,” Tony raised his brow but grinned, “You want to treat me?”

“Yes,” As Peter’s anxiety eased, his words became clearer. “Anything you want – well, maybe not anything – I guess anything under thirty dollars would work. What would you like?”

Tony let out a light huff of breath that ended in a sly grin that was nothing if not suggestive. “I can think of a lot of things that I’d want from you, baby.”

Tony’s confidence was showing and, just like that, Peter’s stutter was back and paired with tinted cheeks and bashful eyes. His brain processed the flirting but left him without a coherent output, so he settled for a frantic and embarrassing, “I-I-I…um- I- w-what?”

“I can show you exactly what later.” Tony ended it there, seemingly changing the subject for Peter’s sake, but his flirty smile remained. “Let’s just grab some pizza and head to yours. That okay?”

“Y-You want to come over to m-my place?” Peter’s grip tightened at his sides as he rambled. “You wouldn’t like it- I mean, my room isn’t- I’m sort of a nerd, so- No one really comes over, except for Ned and MJ, but they know- I just- I don’t know if you would-”

“Peter.” The smooth way Peter’s name fell from Tony’s lips was enough to silence his apprehensive chatter, but the eye contact was what did him in. “Is that okay?” Tony repeated.

Peter nodded, “O-Okay, yes, but y-you have to leave before seven.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony jokingly said as he revved the engine and pulled away from the school. “But why seven?”

“Oh, um…my Aunt May will be home by then.” Peter sighed. “And she’s pretty upset, so I shouldn’t have company.”

Tony audibly tsked, “Why is she upset? It’s not like you did anything.”

“I got suspended,” Peter stressed, crossing his arms and averting his eyes. “I’ve never been suspended before, especially not for being a part of a fight.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony quietly said as he clutched at the wheel, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “You mad?”

“No, not really,” Peter shook his head. “Aunt May is mad – and I’m definitely going to get an ear full – but it was worth it. I think.” He explained, “Seeing you fight was- um, it was really cool, like watching a boxing match or something. You seem trained.”

Tony nodded, “Yeah, I kind of have to be.”

“For fights?” Peter questioned, his eyes drifting across the older boy’s scabbing knuckles.

“Yeah, my old man made me take up boxing when I was young.”

“He made you? Did you not want to?”

“It’s not that,” Tony shrugged, ending the conversation like Peter stepped on his toes.

Then, they drove in silence. An awkward and deafening kind of silence – filled with the hum of Tony’s engine and whoosh of the passing scenery – but deafening nonetheless. Tony seemed off, his lips pressed in a hard line and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The peeved energy radiating off the older boy made Peter feel tense like he was a sweater fraying at the seams. And, despite his best efforts, Peter couldn’t stop the way his body shook underneath that nerve-inducing pressure.

Until Tony clicked on the radio, that is.

Sounds of high tempo drumming, shredding guitars, and strong voices overtook the silence. It was rock ‘n’ roll, and it brought out a silly side of Tony that Peter didn’t expect. As they swerved through traffic, the older boy confidently belted out every lyric, passionately singing at the top of his lungs with a bright smile. Headbanging with each beat, turning to sing to Peter at every red light. One hand atop the steering wheel and the other emphasizing the emotion of the song through a mixture of air-guitar strums, fist pumps, and rhythmic taps on the center console. Needless to say, Peter was sent into a fit of laughter that melted his tension into nothing.

“What?” Tony laughed too. “You don’t like my music, baby?”

“I like it.” Peter blushed and shook his head, “Led Zeppelin is amazing.”

“Okay, excuse you, we respect AC/DC in this car.” Tony grinned, “I hope your pizza tastes are better than your music knowledge.”

~*4*~

As Tony parked the car, Peter’s heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. He wasn’t nervous at the pizza place, where Tony’s arm was draped over his shoulders as they ordered, or during the ride here, where Tony’s hand found its way to Peter’s knee. Yet, something about being outside his apartment building forced Tony’s earlier words to the forefront of Peter’s frazzled mind.

I can show you exactly what later.

With something like that hanging in the space between them, Peter didn’t know what to expect.

The smell of Tony’s cologne intensifying snapped Peter from his thoughts. The older boy pulled his key from the ignition and leaned across Peter to grab a cigarette pack from the glove compartment – and wow, he smells amazing, Peter thought as Tony hopped out of the car. The slam of the door prompting Peter to hastily scramble out of the car as well. He gripped his backpack against his chest with one arm and cradled the pizza box with the other, stepping out into the cool air.

“So, um, this is my apartment building.” Peter’s voice squeaked and he hated it.

“I see that,” Tony smirked, pulling a plastic lighter from his pocket to light a cigarette. “I’ll save my applause for the actual apartment.”

“R-Right.” Peter watched as Tony leaned against the brick of the building. He was handsome, even when inhaling death and sporting bloodied knuckles and torn shirt. “Um…T-Tony?”

“Yeah?” Tony asked as he exhaled a puff of smoke that quickly dissipated in the space around him.

“I- um, what do- are we- why did-” Peter mumbled, his mind cycling through mountains of questions he wanted to be answered but finally settling on, “Why me?”

“What?” Tony gave a perplexed smile as he took another drag and blew it from the corner of his mouth. “I told you already,” Tony took a final inhale of smoke, before flicking the cigarette against the concrete and exhaling a gray, “I like you.”

“B-But why?” Peter pushed.

“Does it matter?” Tony shrugged as he entered the building, stopping to hold the door for Peter, who frantically scurried inside.

“I-I think it does,” Peter added as he led Tony upstairs and down the hall, stopping by his apartment door to reach for his key, but he couldn’t quite reach it with a backpack and a pizza box to hold. “You said I’m yours but-”

Without warning, Tony dipped his hand into Peter’s pocket, slowly and with a gentle drag against Peter’s thigh. The younger flinched, the unexpected contact effectively interrupting all trains of thought, save for the one in charge of his blushing cheeks, and hitching breath, and tensing muscles. And those feelings only intensified as Tony hooked the keyring but left his hand lingering. Using a gentle touch to caress through the pocket’s thin inner fabric and stepping closer, pressing the warmth of his body against Peter’s back.

“You looked like you were having a tough time there, Parker.” Tony’s voice was close enough that his scent of smoke filled Peter’s senses. “Here, let me.” And, as Tony pulled the keyring out and unlocked the door, all Peter could do was grip his backpack a bit tighter and will himself back to a semblance of calm.

“Now,” Tony flashed a knowing grin. “What were you saying, sweetheart?”

And Peter simply shook his head because – fuck – being called sweetheart shouldn’t make his heart do that and it certainly shouldn’t make his dick do that. “N-Nothing, come in.” He whispered and practically dashed into the apartment, distancing himself from the captivating warmth of Tony’s chest.

The apartment was homey; perfectly sized for two with coffee table clutter, arrays of family photos adorning the walls, and faint aromatic remnants of Aunt May’s morning coffee and Peter’s accidentally burnt toast. To Peter, it was warm and familiar, but today, it lacked those relaxing effects because of one curious bad boy’s eyes surveying the space.

Peter placed the pizza box against the dining table, fetched two plates from the kitchen cabinet, and settled in a chair. “So…um- this is the apartment.”

“It’s nice,” Tony said as he gestured towards the photo wall. “My old man hates that kind of stuff.”

“Family photos? Same.” Peter smiled, a light laugh escaping his lips. “May refuses to take those down.”

Tony shrugged as he slid into a chair. “They’re not that bad. That one of you at the science fair is pretty cute.”

“Oh god, not the science fair one. ” Peter mumbled, tipping his face into his hands, hiding his embarrassment. “I looked so terrible that day. No one told me that my hair was sticking up like that.”

“The hair is the best part.” Tony laughed and flicked open the pizza box, grabbing a slice and slumping against the back of the chair.

“Okay, that’s enough about me,” Peter grabbed a slice as well, taking a tiny bite before continuing, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I d-don’t know.” Peter glanced at the photos again. “Have you ever done a science fair?”

Tony shook his head, “No, my old man says those are for kids that want to be placated by science, not challenged.”

“Ouch,” Peter jokingly remarked. “I’ve done the science fair every year since elementary.”

Tony laughed, “I’m unsurprised.”

“H-Hey!” Peter giggled. “At least I was doing something. What were you doing?”

“Nothing much,” Tony took a bite of his pizza and fixed his gaze on the floor. “My old man taught me lab stuff, I guess.”

“Lab stuff?”

“Yeah, like coding and shit.” Tony shrugged, “I don’t really talk about it.”

“Coding?” Suddenly, something clicked in Peter’s mind. “Did you code the JARVIS virus that Fury was talking about?”

“Virus?” Tony glanced up. “Is that what Fury called him?”

“Him?”

“Yes, him.” Tony rolled his eyes, but his expression beamed. “JARVIS is my AI.”

“That helps you not get expelled?” Peter smirked.

“He can do way more than that.”

And their conversation traveled from there. Over pizza slices, connecting on nerdy topics like programming JARVIS and the processing power of the Stark lab’s computer. And Peter, knowing the extent of Tony’s truant record, was pleasantly surprised by the bad boy’s brilliance. As their chat shifted to Tony’s delinquency, he talked fights, and scars, and riveting stories involving police stations. Then they tripped through favorite video games, books, TV shows, and movies. Peter explained why lego movies are worth the watch and Tony teased but promised to watch it with him but only if we’re eating popcorn and under a blanket, baby.

It ended once the clock hit five and the pizza box went empty and Peter’s homework could no longer wait.

“That’s fine.” Tony stood, grabbing the empty box and their two plates. “I’ve got this. Go start your homework.”

Peter nodded with a smile, “Thanks.” He grabbed his backpack and started toward his room, but panicked once he opened the door. The realization that Tony Stark would soon be in there hitting his peace of mind like a nuclear bomb. He threw his bag against his desk and tornado-ed around his room, cleaning up his embarrassment one neglected pair of floor boxers at a time. He didn’t need Tony seeing that picture of him at summer camp and he was sure his stuffed bear would forgive him for throwing it into the closet.

“Hey, I left the pizza box by the door, I’ll take it out when I leave so your aunt doesn’t suspect anything- what are you doing?” Tony paused in the doorway, shooting Peter a raised brow and an amused grin.

“H-Homework, obviously.” Peter nervously said as he shut his closet door and awkwardly crossed the room to sit at his desk.

“Is that right?” Tony repeated with crossed arms as he approached Peter, stopping just behind his chair. “Your desk looks awfully empty, baby.”

Peter shook his head, frantically grabbing notebooks from his backpack and placing them onto the desk. “I-It looks fine to me.”

“Sure, Parker.” Tony laughed and leaned forward to drape his arms over Peter’s shoulders, hugging him from behind. “Whatever you say.”

Peter flinched at the sudden closeness, his mind flashing back to his previous concerns about the speed of Tony’s affection. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“E-Earlier, I was saying that…um- you said that I’m yours, but what-”

“Peter, I like you.” Tony interrupted, gently tightening his embrace. “Simple as that. I fell for you today, and yes, it was fast – really fucking fast, I get it – but the point is that I fell.” He ended his sentiment with a swift kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Focus on that, baby.”

Peter cursed his body for its constant blushing and quickened heartbeats, but he smiled anyway. “O-Okay.”

After that, Peter did his homework in peace, while Tony resigned himself to the comfort of Peter’s bed, falling into a nap that lasted until the clock hit seven; lasted until Peter was whispering his name to ease him awake; lasted until they were hugging to say goodbye.

I had a great day today, Tony.

Me too, baby.

~*5*~

“I am so disappointed in you, Peter,” May shook her head as she stepped into her work shoes by the front door. This was her fourth parental lecture since yesterday night and it featured all the same points: Fighting? Really, Peter? Really? You’re lucky you got off with only one day of suspension. What were you thinking? You know better than this. No leaving this apartment, understand? I want you to do your chores and your homework and think about what you’ve done, young man.

“I know, May.” Peter nodded. “I messed up. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” May sighed, giving Peter a sympathetic smile as she pulled him into a tight hug. “Love you, and I’ll see you after work, okay?”

“Okay, love you too.”

With that, Peter was alone and turning around to head back into his room – resign himself to his punishments, do homework, think about what he’s done – but then, there was a knock. And, like any normal teenager, he squinted at the door as if it was his one true adversary, cautiously stalking towards it to peek through the peephole. Surprised to see, standing just beyond the threshold, a leather-clad Tony Stark.

Peter swung the door open, “W-What are you doing here?”

“Happy suspension day. This is a kidnapping.” Tony smirked, stepping forward to lean against the doorway. “Get your shoes, Parker.”

“My shoes?” Peter stared incredulously at the bad boy. “Tony, I have stuff to do- I can’t go anywhere- I-”

“Did you miss the part about the kidnapping?” Tony brought his hand up against Peter’s chin. “I’ll take you even if you don’t get the shoes, baby.”

Peter rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at his lips or the feelings that tugged at his heartstrings. “O-Okay, hold on.” He ran into his room, donning shoes and a warm baggy sweatshirt. He didn’t know where they were going – with Tony, it could be anywhere – but that was part of his bad boy charm.

“I got shoes,” Peter announced as he sauntered out of his room and back towards the front door. “Now, where are we going?”

“Kidnapped people don’t get those kinds of privileges.” Tony smiled, watching as Peter locked the front door before throwing his arm around his shoulders. “Just follow me.”

Peter let Tony guide him out of the building and to a car he didn’t recognize. A gray sedan with chrome rims and, when the front windows rolled down, it revealed a car filled with people he didn’t recognize either.

They were all teens but not from Tony and Peter’s school. They seemed different; richer. The guy in the driver’s seat was burly with a letterman jacket and an innocent face. The girl in the passenger seat had a perfectly pony-tailed updo and air of class that matched her cashmere sweater. The taller boy in the back was a lot like Tony, sporting a leather jacket and an inherent coolness that made his smile seem sly. The shorter boy wore glasses and a plaid button-up that reminded Peter of himself.

“Took you long enough.”

“And I’ll take longer next time if you keep that up, Happy.” Tony laughed as he opened the backseat door and slid in, motioning for Peter to sit on his lap.

“Y-Your lap?” As per usual, Peter’s voice cracked under pressure.

“Hurry up, new kid, either you sit there or I do.” The glasses-wearing boy spoke with a seriousness that compelled Peter not to dwell.

Peter scooted onto Tony’s lap and he angled himself so that his legs sat between Tony’s and his back was slightly turned towards the door. He tried his best to position himself – modestly? – and prevent any accidental touches, but then Tony’s arms were around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Happy tends to drive a little crazy,” Tony whispered, his voice only inches from Peter’s ear. “So I’ve got you.”

“O-Okay,” Peter blushed as he leaned against Tony’s chest, easing against the warmth and slowly inhaling the fresh shampoo scent wafting from his hair.

“So, are you going to introduce us or should we fend for ourselves here?” The boy with the sly smile spoke.

Tony laughed, “Peter, this is Happy, Pepper, Rhodey, and Bruce.”

“Did he kidnap you all too?” Peter jokingly remarked.

“Basically,” Bruce joined the jest. “A suspension for one is a skip day for all.”

“A Tony Stark creed,” Rhodey said and Pepper readily agreed, saying, “Did you know the T in Tony is the same as the T in Truancy?”

Peter giggled, “Is that true, Tony?”

“No,” Tony smirked, giving Peter a light squeeze that made the younger boy giggle. “They just like me so much that they flock to me. Anything else they say is a lie.”

And as Happy drove, there was more laughter, and faces brimming with smiles, and lighthearted jokes thrown back and forth. It was easy for Peter to find comfort in this space, even while sitting in Tony’s lap. In fact, by the end of the drive, he was leaning against Tony like he belonged there; like sitting in his lap was second nature.

Peter peeked out the window as Happy parked the car. “The park?”

“Best place to loiter,” Tony said as he opened the door. “And smoke.”

“Oh god, remember when we smoked in your dad’s lab?” Bruce rolled his eyes as he hopped out of the car with the others following suit. “That did not go over well.”

Tony shrugged. “Better than how shit with him usually goes.”

Peter tugged on Tony’s sleeve and whispered, “You two were smoking in the lab?”

“Tony!” Pepper gasped, “You didn’t tell him?”

“Full disclosure, new kid,” Bruce smiled as he pulled a vape from his pocket. “Me and Tony used to fuck – he’s got grade A dick, just so you know.”

Tony laughed and Pepper rolled her eyes. “I’m not as eloquent as Bruce, but Tony and I also used to date.” She pushed at Tony’s arm, “Tony should have told you before dragging you out with us.”

And Peter tried to play it cool. All shrugs and nonchalant expressions of how fine with it he was. Yet, as they began walking the path through the park, he couldn’t stop his mind from playing the comparison game. Pepper was beautiful – beyond beautiful – with long legs, poise, and an immaculate style that made Peter feel self-conscious his baggy sweatshirt. When it came to Bruce, confidence was in endless supply. He was shameless and, after just one conversation, Peter also found out how insanely smart he was. So, needless to say, Peter was feeling pretty low in the self-esteem department.

But leave it to Tony to turn that low into a high. “Walk with me?” He asked, but wasted no time in gathering Peter’s hand in his own. “You seem quiet now. Are the trees not doing it for you?”

“It’s not that. The park’s nice,” Peter shook his head and gently squeezed Tony’s hand. “I’m just too nervous for my own good, I guess.”

“That’s part of your charm, baby.”

Peter smiled, “I-I’m sure you’re just saying that, but thanks.”

“I mean it,” Tony brushed their shoulders together. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “I-Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” Tony explained. “You made a similar face yesterday too. So what’s wrong?” He smirked, the same dark and mischievous smirk as before. “Do I need to put someone in their place?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” Peter laughed and moved to walk closer to Tony. “But um…actually, now that you mention it, can you drop me off at school this week?”

“Sure, not like I’m doing anything. Why?”

“Safety?” Peter shrugged. “I think people might do something to me if you’re not there.”

“Oh fuck, right. I didn’t think about that. Hold up,” He stopped on the path, letting the others walk ahead as he pulled off his jacket and draped it over Peter’s shoulders. “Here,” Tony smiled and cupped Peter’s face in his hands. “Wear this and no one will fuck with you and, if they do, I’ll kill ‘em.”

Peter smiled, but before he could say anything, Tony was leaning in – and holy shit, it was a kiss lean! He panicked and squeezed his eyes shut, his nerves erupting as Tony’s smell got closer and closer and – oh – he kissed his forehead.

The moment was sweet, but quickly soured a random passerby who felt the need to yell faggots!

“The fuck did you just say?!” Tony went from zero to beyond one hundred, snapping on the random man without a second thought.

“You heard me.” The man challenged, “What are you going to do about, huh?”

And things happened fast. Too fast for Peter to process. One moment, the man was standing and the next, he wasn’t and Tony’s fist was the culprit. Again, it was an outburst of violence that left Peter not knowing how to feel.

“Tony!” Peter gasped and reached his hand out, grabbing at the fabric of the bad boy’s shirt in a weak attempt at holding him back. “S-Stop it!” He shakily said, watching Tony carefully as the man scrambled to his feet, running off as Happy and Bruce jogged back over.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, his face full of concern.

“Tony hit him,” Peter whispered as he slowly let go of Tony’s shirt.

And, before anyone could get another word in, Tony was walking off, fuming like a smoking gun that failed to kill its target.

“Tony, man, wait up!” Happy ran after him.

“Don’t mind him. He’s always like that.” Bruce bumped his shoulder against Peter’s. “Either you get used to it or you end up like me and Pep.”

“I don’t want that,” Peter whispered, his eyes locked on Tony and his fingers fiddling with the hem of the leather jacket.

“Don’t want what?” Bruce raised his brow. “To deal with Tony’s anger issues? Same.”

“N-No! Not that.” Peter shot Bruce a stern glance. “I don’t want to be like you and Pepper.”

“Oh, wow! Okay.” Bruce laughed, harder than he has all day. “I can see why Tony likes you.”

“At least one of us does.” Peter trained his gaze on the floor. “I still don’t understand why Tony likes me.”

Bruce shook his head, “Tony is fucking unhinged. He’s a vicious fighter; a delinquent through and through, but he’s also sweet and uncomplicated. If you’ve given him the space to be anything other than, well, that,” He paused, gesturing over to Tony, who was slumped against a park bench with a cigarette perched between his lips. “Then he’ll like you. ”

“What do you mean?”

“All Tony cares about is being understood, and if you’ve given him that, he’ll protect you. Violently protect you..” Bruce placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “The question is whether or not you can handle that violence.”

“He’s not that violent.” Peter pulled his shoulder away, stepping back, his voice becoming taut. “He protected me. He stood up for me.”

“Look, Tony empathizes with people who can’t fight back.” Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “And sure, at first, you feel like he fights to protect you; to keep all the bad shit away; to stop bullies, but then he goes too far. He loses control and expects you to be his limiter. He wants you to be the one who tells him when to stop and when to go, when to hurt people and when to spare them. I couldn’t deal with that shit and, after everything that happened with Justin, Pepper couldn’t deal either.”

“Justin?”

“Yeah, Justin Hammer, the kid Tony put in the hospital.” Bruce sighed, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the rest of the group were out of earshot before continuing. “Long story short: Justin used to hang out with us but, during some party, he touched Pepper while she was drunk. Pep cried about it and Tony lost it. The next day, he broke both of Justin’s arms, fractured a few ribs, and left blood and bruises everywhere else.”

Peter crossed his arms and spoke under his breath, “Sounds like Justin deserved it.”

Bruce audibly tsked and flashed a knowing look. “That’s why Tony likes you.”

And Peter didn’t know how to feel.

~*6*~

The school day was always the same for Peter – bus, class, lunch, class, bus – and peppered in there was always a good dash of bullying.

But not today.

No, today, he wore Tony’s jacket. It was big on him; the sleeves covered his hands completely, save for his fingertips that peeked out the bottom when his arms were at his sides. The black leather contrasted with his blue jeans and his plaid button-up, but today, he wore it confidently because it was Tony’s way of protecting him.

From the moment Peter got off the bus, the jacket was like a force field. Not only preventing the usual teasing and ridicule from the nameless students but also managing to stop repeat offenders like Flash, who glared at him like he was going to say something but turned the other way instead.

And, with the power of the jacket, came the slight ego boost. The unbothered gait into the school, the comfortable smile as he forged the crowded hallways, the lack of fear, even as he rounded the corner to find Sam and Bucky standing at his locker. They made eye contact and gestured for him to come over and, on a regular day, Peter would probably run and hide; try his best to avoid his locker until absolutely necessary.

But, again, not today.

Today, Peter strolled over to his locker without even an ounce of worry – well, his hands were trembling in his pockets and he was already biting the inside of his lip – but he liked to think he was projecting a calm demeanor. “Yes?” Peter spoke softly, trying to keep his voice steady.

“We wanted to…um-” Bucky looked to Sam.

“To say sorry for everything.” Sam finished Bucky’s sentiment. “And, if you’re interested-”

“Steve is having a party at his house on Friday night.” Bucky chimed in with a smile.

Sam nodded, “And you’re invited, Parker.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. He was invited to a Steve Rogers party? Him; a nerdy, skittish, bullied nobody, who could only ever dream of being cool enough to go to a fucking Steve – famously popular quarterback – Rogers party. Like what the fuck?

“Really? M-Me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, lightly chuckling at Peter’s reaction. “You can bring a friend too if you’d like.”

“You in?” Sam asked.

Peter nodded, his eyes still wide with disbelief but his mind chalking it up to the power of the jacket. “Yeah, I’ll… um- I’ll be there.”

“Great, see you later, Peter.” Bucky waved as he and Sam disappeared down the crowded hallway.

“Okay, but are you actually going?” It was MJ, leaning against the lockers with crossed arms and a doubtful stare.

“MJ!” Peter flinched at her sudden appearance. “You have to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

“Like this!” Ned screamed, making Peter flinch even harder. This time he dropped his textbook and clumsily spun on his heel to face the source of his terror, and it threw MJ into a fit of laughter.

“Dude!” Peter exclaimed with a big smile.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.” Ned grabbed the dropped book and glanced at MJ. “So, what are we scaring Peter for?”

“He got invited to a party full of assholes.” MJ pointedly said. “And he said he’s going.”

“A party?” Ned raised his brow, ignoring MJ’s concerns and shooting his best friend an excited look. “What party?”

“A Steve Rogers party.” Peter excitedly whispered.

“Dude!” Ned’s jaw dropped, “That jacket must be magic. Can I borrow it for the Calc test today?”

MJ rolled her eyes, “You guys are unbelievable.”

~*7*~

“Steve invited me to a party.” Peter rolled against the carpet, propping his head up against his arm and glancing up from his textbook. “It’s on Friday night.”

“Rogers did?” Tony asked, shifting against the sheets, peeking off the edge of the bed at Peter. “You going?”

“I think so,” Peter smiled up at Tony, idly fiddling with the pages of his notebook. “B-But I don’t want to go by myself.”

Tony smiled back, “Are you asking me out on a date, baby?”

“N-No,” Peter blushed. “Maybe.”

Tony smirked, “Well, I’ve got a thing on Friday night.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, my old man is holding this fucking investor event at our house. I’m not trying to piss him off,” Tony sighed. “So I can’t miss it, but I’ll show up at Rogers’ place after.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged, “We can just meet each other there.”

“Just don’t get too drunk without me.” Tony laughed and sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Are you done with your work yet? We should play some video games or something before your aunt gets back.”

“You know I can’t.” Peter lifted his notebook. “I have to finish this.”

“Let me see.” Tony tapped the bed beside him.

“It’s this one.” Peter shifted up onto his knees and put his notebook on the bed. “I’ve checked it over and over and I can’t-”

“You rounded wrong here.” Tony pointed at the paper. “Take the ceiling, not the floor.”

“Oh?” Peter squinted, his eyes scanning across his work. “Oh! That’s it! How did I miss that?” He smiled, fixing his mistake and looking back up to Tony. “Wait, can you help with this one too?”

“I mean, that’s just all wrong. Give me that.” Tony grabbed the pencil and started making corrections. “You need to make sure you use the right function here and don’t forget the extra square on this one.”

Peter laughed, “I’ve been stuck on these for hours and you finished them in two minutes.”

“It’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever. I really appreciate it.” Peter smiled, “I think smart Tony is the coolest Tony.”

“As opposed to what?”

“Naps-all-afternoon Tony?” Peter joked but gazed up at Tony with a look of concern. “Why are you always so sleepy?”

“I don’t sleep well at home.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony whispered as he brought his hand against Peter’s cheek. “I just sleep better here.” His hand moved to Peter’s chin, drawing a slow line from the spot just below Peter’s lip to the hollow of his collarbone. “Because the bed smells like you.”

“Tony,” Peter gasped, realizing too late what kind of position they were in. He was on his knees, and if he inched sideways, he would be between Tony’s legs. His face went hot and, judging by the smile that worked its way to Tony’s lips, his blush was apparent.

“Yes, baby?” Tony’s voice was full of tease as he brought his hand back up to gently tap his fingertip against Peter’s bottom lip. “You want something?”

“I- um…I-” Peter froze, watching with bewildered eyes as Tony leaned in – yet another kiss lean! So Peter instinctively tensed, his eyes flickering shut as his nerves took hold of his reactions once again.

And Tony stopped just before their lips touched.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Tony whispered, shifting upward to press a quick kiss on Peter’s forehead before pulling away. “Here,” Tony grabbed the pencil again. “I’ll help you with the rest of this and then we can play some games. Deal?”

“Deal.”

~*8*~

The next day was different.

Tony was quieter – angrier? – Peter couldn’t tell, but he knew it had to be caused by the small bruise darkening on Tony’s cheekbone. It was a rare sight; a mark on the face of the undefeated bad boy. And Peter wanted to ask about it, wanted to know if Tony was okay, but the silence was suffocating. In the car, the older boy didn’t say a word – no playful flirting, no rock ‘n’ roll jam session – just silence. So, Peter followed suit, letting his nerves go wild as they made their way to his apartment.

As usual, once Tony parked, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and got out of the car. Peter hastily made his own exit, keeping his eyes trained on Tony’s expression. The older boy wasn’t just quiet, he was outright irritable. That was made clear by the scowl twisting on his face. He was clumsier too, and frustrated with the smallest things, like accidentally dropping a cigarette into a sidewalk puddle or his cheap lighter refusing to spark. He was all huffs and grumbles and refused to say a word.

With a new cigarette perched between his lips, Tony furiously pulled at the spark-wheel. Once, twice, three times, but it just didn’t catch. Peter wanted to say that Tony could smoke in the apartment – Aunt May was bound to have a lighter sitting around somewhere – but the Tony’s furrowed brow and waning patience was just as suffocating as his silence.

So, again, Peter remained silent.

It was only after what seemed like the thousandth, or millionth, flick of the wheel that Tony finally spoke, or rather yelled. “Fuck it!” He exclaimed as he spiked the lighter against the sidewalk with enough force to shatter the plastic. The outburst made Peter’s shoulders jump and his gaze drop to the concrete.

“Let’s go,” Tony mumbled, paying Peter no mind and stuffing the cigarette back into the pack before stomping his way into the building.

This part was also very different. He didn’t hold the door for Peter. He didn’t pester Peter about having fun before studying. No video games, no TV, not even one of those intimate chats he loved so much. He just went right into Peter’s room, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed against the middle of the bed.

For a short while, Peter didn’t bother him. He sat at his desk, pulled out his notebooks, his laptop, and textbook, and started his homework. Yet, he couldn’t finish the first problem, or the second, or the third. His brain refused to focus because it was tethered to everything happening with Tony. All of the older boy’s sighs, the soft clicks of his tongue, the shuffle of his leather jacket against the covers as he tossed and turned. And, while Peter still couldn’t find the courage to speak, he couldn’t keep doing nothing either.

Tony needed him, so the homework could wait.

Peter slowly stood from his chair, careful to keep it from making noise as he approached the grumbling mess on his bed. His nerves were screaming, and his heart was beating so fast and so loud that he could hear it in his ears. And his hands were shaky, and his throat felt tight, and his mind taunted him with replays of Tony’s standoffish behavior; the silence, the irritability, the sudden outburst.

Yet, despite all that, Peter still scooted up onto the bed, sitting just below the pillows with the side of his thigh only an inch away from Tony’s hair. And wow – Tony’s hair – Peter has never touched it before, but he found himself instinctively carding his fingers through it. Gentle and soothing pats, just like Tony does to him.

And Peter watched with wary eyes as Tony flinched but immediately settled into the touch. That wordless way of relaxing was all the encouragement Peter needed. So, he continued, rhythmically dragging his fingers through the short locks and smiling as the older boy moved to rest the back of his head in Peter’s lap.

Peter kept his right hand in Tony’s hair, but placed his left against the older boy’s chest, idly drawing circles on his t-shirt. The moment was long, but Peter didn’t mind. He continued until Tony’s eyes were closed, and his brow wasn’t furrowed, and his scowl had gone away.

Then, Peter found his voice. “What happened?” He softly whispered, gently skimming his fingertips across Tony’s bruised cheekbone.

The question made Tony’s brow knit, but the soft caress of Peter’s hands relaxed it away. “My old man.” He paused, letting out another sigh, “He found out about the fucking suspension and the fight and he-” Again, Tony paused. “He just did what he always does.”

“What?” Peter’s eyes started to sting and his hands started to tremble, as did his breath, “Y-Your dad did this to you?” He could barely get the words out. His mind was bombarded with flashes of every moment where Tony avoided questions about his dad and his time at home. How could Peter miss those signs?

My old man made me take up boxing when I was young. My old man hates that kind of stuff. No, my old man says those are for kids that want to be placated by science, not challenged. Better than how shit with him usually goes. Yeah, my old man is holding this fucking investor event at our house. I’m not trying to piss him off. I don’t sleep well at home.

And it was too much, so Peter cried.

“Hey, don’t cry, baby.” Tony finally opened his eyes, staring into Peter’s teary ones and reaching up to castaway the wetness trickling down his cheeks.

“B-But he- To you, he-” Peter tried to hold back his sobs, biting the inside of his lip and training his eyes on the ceiling to prevent more waterworks. He was supposed to be comforting Tony, not the other way around. “It’s w-wrong. That he d-did this to you.”

“I know,” Tony hummed.

“He’s- He’s your dad. He should never do that.”

“I know.” Tony grabbed Peter’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“He’s supposed to care about you! He’s-!”

“I know.” Tony lifted Peter’s hand and pressed a kiss against it. “But it’s okay. Don’t cry about it. I don’t even cry about it.”

“Tony, that’s-” Peter shook his head. “Then I’ll cry for you.”

“Peter-”

“It’s okay to be scared, Tony,” Peter whispered.

“I- yeah, I know.” Tony nodded, gently squeezing Peter’s hand. “Thank you, baby, but let’s not talk about that right now.” And, for the first time today, he grinned. His voice was less somber; less grumbly; less full of frustrated huffs. Instead, it was more Tony or, rather, more flirty. “I don’t want to kill this mood.”

“This mood?” Peter let out a small breathy laugh and sniffled, “I’m ugly crying, and you’ve been quiet and angry all day. There is no mood.”

“Yeah, I know, but-” Tony paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words. “It’s just- you’re touching me and you don’t usually do that, so-” Tony laughed too, and it was just as breathy as Peter’s. “I’m – fuck, I don’t know – I guess I’m just excited?”

“Excited?” Peter repeated, and Tony answered by gesturing to the front of his jeans, where a clear bulge had formed in the black denim, right beneath the zipper.

Peter’s face went hot, and he stopped his touches because, suddenly, he was attuned to the mood as well. Not only that, but his mind – the same one that secretly admired Tony’s eyes, and Tony’s lips, and Tony’s broad shoulders, and Tony’s smell, and Tony’s everything – yeah, that mind – it made Peter’s own excitement start to stiffen. After all, he was alone in his bedroom – on! his! bed! – with Tony Stark and, fuck, he couldn’t stop glancing at Tony’s zipper. “I- You- You’re-?” Peter stuttered.

“Yeah,” Tony’s voice was more hesitant than usual. “Is that- I mean, are you… okay with it?”

Peter nodded, his flushed face getting redder with each little dip of his chin, “Y-Yes.”

“You sure?” Tony asked again, and Peter nodded again. His big brown eyes darting to his desk, and to his dorky posters, and to his messy bookshelf, and to literally anything else because any spare glance at Tony made his nerves erupt beyond his control.

Tony smiled as he sat up, moving to sit beside Peter and leaning so their shoulders brushed against each other. “I know you get nervous around me.”

“What?” Peter’s voice squeaked. “N-No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. So I’m just going to ask this time.” Tony gave a slight laugh – a nervous laugh, really – as he ran a hand through his short hair and made a look Peter could only describe as cautiously eager. “Can I kiss you, Peter? On your lips this time.”

And, again, Peter nodded because his words never worked when he wanted them to. His body was a bashful, shaky mess, but he was also excited so he shifted against the bed, facing Tony before closing his eyes. And he gasped when Tony’s hand cupped his face and gently caressed the space beneath his ear. And he couldn’t see when Tony leaned in, but he could feel the heated closeness and the warm breath tickling his lips and soft bump of Tony’s nose against his own. He could feel the way Tony angled their heads, each slightly tilted to the right. He could feel the experimental brush of Tony’s lips against his own, so Peter pushed, pressing their lips together in a tender first kiss.

It was sweet, not too wet or too dry, and full of emotion that could make hearts hurt. Peter could tell that Tony had kissed before because, when Peter thought it was time to pull away, Tony deepened. Sucking on Peter’s bottom lip, coaxing his lips apart. This was wetter, Peter thought, but he didn’t hate it. No, in fact, that earlier excitement was now fully hardened and pressing uncomfortably against his jeans. And the way Tony kissed him – now confident and brimming with passion – it didn’t help.

Then, Tony licked into Peter’s mouth, and Peter had to catch a sound in his throat. He didn’t know what the sound was – a moan, a whine, or, oh god, was it a mewl? – whatever it was, he stopped it. There was no way he was going to make needy sounds in front of Tony. He would die of embarrassment, he was convinced, but – fuck – Tony’s other hand was against his thigh now.

So Peter had to stifle another sound – multiple sounds, actually – as Tony’s hand slowly trailed upward. Dragging his fingertips against Peter’s inner thigh and stopping just before Peter’s zipper.

That’s when Tony broke the kiss.

Peter’s head was reeling, and his breaths were heavy because breathing while kissing was oddly difficult. And his face was all but boiling under his endless nerves, and the intensity of Tony’s gaze, and the arousal that bubbled at his core.

“Can I touch you here, baby?” Tony whispered against Peter’s lips. His fingertips grazing Peter’s smooth cheek as he squeezed the inside of his thigh.

And the sultry way that pet name rolled off the bad boy’s tongue sent a wave of goosebumps across Peter’s skin. It was all too much for the younger boy to handle – the kisses, the whispers, the touches – so, he gave in to his urges. “Yes,” Peter whined, all needy and high-pitched as he gripped at the bottom of Tony’s jacket like a lifeline.

“Wow, are those sounds for me, baby?” Tony playfully grinned, and pressed his hand against Peter’s zipper, happily watching the younger boy squirm beneath the touch.

Peter gasped, his body instinctively tensing at the spark of pleasure that rushed his senses. Sure, there were two layers of clothes between Tony’s hand and Peter’s budding erection, but it still felt amazing. He nodded as a desperate Mhmm fell from his lips and he used all his willpower to keep his hips from grinding up against Tony’s hand. “Tony,” Peter moaned, his half-lidded gaze bouncing between Tony’s hand and Tony’s lips.

Then, they were kissing again. It was deeper; eager; hotter and somehow, Peter found himself being pushed down by the strength of Tony’s hold. His back fell against the sheets and Tony hovered above him. Their mouths unbreaking as Tony’s hand worked at Peter’s jean button, and then his zipper, and soon, Tony was tugging at the waist of the denim.

The sensation of Tony’s trail of kisses from his mouth to his neck was one thing, but thoughts of Tony’s hand stroking him bare were enough to reduce Peter to a breathy, whiny mess.

Tony paused to kiss the spot just above Peter’s collarbone, sucking hard enough that a dark red mark was left in his wake. He pulled away, then, admiring his work paired the aroused expression on Peter’s face. He grinned, his voice playful as he whispered, “You like that, baby?”

Did Peter like this? Yes. He unequivocally liked this. He fucking liked this. He didn’t think the word ‘like’ could even begin to convey how much. So he lifted his hand from the sheets, bringing his fingertips to Tony’s cheek, down his neck, over the collar of his t-shirt, across his chest, and beneath the loose fabric of the bottom hem. He kept his eyes locked on Tony the entire time, watching the small hitched breaths and the barely noticeable flinches as he skimmed his hand up Tony’s shirt.

And just as Tony hooked his finger in the elastic of Peter’s boxers, and Peter parted his lips to answer, the sound of the front door opening rippled through the apartment.

“Peter!” It was Aunt May’s voice. “I’m home early! Are you here?”

Fuck, May’s back. A collective expression shared by both boys that killed any and all arousal.

“Yes! Hold on, I’ll be right there!” Peter yelled back, frantically adjusting his clothes and hair and – oh god – he smells like Tony and his shirt didn’t quite cover the hickey on his neck and why the fuck is May home so early? “What do we do?” He whispered in a panic.

“Relax,” Tony smiled, letting out a small laugh. “I’ll just go say hi.” He calmly said as he adjusted himself in the mirror before starting towards the door.

“W-Wait, Tony- I’m- I’m still grounded!” Peter whisper screamed, but that didn’t stop Tony from walking out into the living room, so Peter had no choice but to reluctantly trail behind the bad boy.

“Peter, who’s this?” May asked as she took off her jacket and shoes.

“I’m Tony, ma’am.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Tony Stark.”

May smiled and shook his hand, “Nice to meet you, Tony.” She said, flashing Peter an all too familiar you-are-in-so-much-trouble look.

“May, I-” Peter stepped forward. “I can explain.”

“Yes you will, but it can wait until later.” May crossed her arms, “Now, young man, what on earth happened to your face? Sit down,” She guided Tony to a dining chair before disappearing into the kitchen and emerging with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel. “Here, hold this against it.”

“It’s nothing.” Tony shrugged, taking the ice bag with a thankful smile.

May propped her hand against her waist and nodded, “Well, if nothing keeps happening, you come and tell me. Understood?”

“Um-” Tony looked taken aback but, despite his confusion, he nodded, “Okay, yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, and you’re staying for dinner.” May smiled as he turned to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I want to get to know my nephew’s boyfriend.”

Peter blushed, “May!”

~*9*~

“Dude, are you sure you’re allowed to be here?” MJ asked as she pulled the car against the curb in front of Steve Rogers’ house. “It doesn’t look like your kind of thing.”

MJ was right. The bass-heavy hitlist was loud enough to hear through the glass of the car window. The lawn was littered with red cups, silver cans, and cars parked carelessly on the grass. Partygoers loitered on the front porch puffing smoke that reddened the whites of their eyes. This party was a far cry from the small movie nights Peter shared with best friends.

“I was invited, MJ.” Peter rolled his eyes, shuffling begrudgingly in the passenger side seat. He knew what she was asking – will you be okay here, Peter? “Tony is coming too, so I’ll be fine.”

“Of course he is.” MJ sighed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “But he couldn’t spare some time to bring you here himself.”

“He had something to do with his dad.” Peter dropped his gaze into his lap.

“That doesn’t excuse him,” MJ’s voice was firm, unmoving. “And let’s be honest here. You wouldn’t have been invited if he hadn’t brutalized half of the people in there. Bullies don’t become friendly after being put in their place. They become vengeful. He should be in there with you now!”

“MJ, I’ll be fine!” Peter snapped because, even now, he didn’t know how to feel. Tony was violent – he understood that – but he couldn’t stand the constant reminders. “Stop talking about Tony like that!”

“Like what?” She challenged. “Like the guy he is. A violent, privileged asshole like the rest of them, who fights people for no reason, and who’s probably just using you fo-!”

“MJ, stop! You don’t get to talk about him like that! You don’t know him!”

“Oh?” MJ tilted her head and scowled. “And you do? After one fucking week? You think you know him?!”

“Yes! I do!” Peter nearly screamed. “And if you can’t trust me on this one, then just fucking leave!” He threw open the door, moving to get out.

MJ’s face softened and she reached to grab his arm. “Peter, wait! I didn’t mean-”

“No!” Peter put his hands up, silencing her completely. “You don’t get it, MJ!” He paused, biting the inside of his lip, holding back his anger. “You just don’t.”

“Fine, you’re right.” MJ sighed, squeezing the steering wheel and letting her head fall against the headrest. “I don’t get it! I don’t understand why my best friend, who was being tortured last week, would start hanging out with his torturers!” She sighed once more, her hands falling into her lap. “But I do trust you, dude, so I’m sorry. I’m just worried. Something about this whole thing seems off.”

Peter mirrored his friend’s sigh, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. It’s just a party and, like I said, Tony will be here soon.”

“He better be.” MJ nodded. “Please be safe.”

“I will.” Peter stepped out of the car, flashing a bright smile. “And I’ll be sure to prepare a full report on the inner workings of a Steve Rogers party. Tell Ned.”

MJ laughed, “You tell him, dork.”

Peter joined the laughter, his anger nowhere to be found in the lighthearted exchange. “Thanks again, MJ, for the ride and the worry.”

“Anytime, dude. Call me if you need me.” With that, MJ rolled away, leaving Peter to fend for himself in the unfamiliar landscape of a high school party.

Peter ascended the porch stairs. The front door wasn’t locked or pulled shut and, even if he knocked, he knew no one would hear it over the music pumping from inside. So he took a deep breath and entered the fray. The house smelled of beer breath and fruity vapor laced with the pungent undertones of high-inducing grass. It was dark and foggy and significantly hotter than the brisk outside air. The main entrance was packed with people chatting in groups. Nobody familiar, but the litany of eyes sizing him up said that they knew exactly who he was.

Panic hit quicker than Peter thought it would as he politely excused himself through the crowded hallway. His unmistakable nerves rattling through his body with each careful step. Eventually, he made it to the kitchen, where the only light poured from the dim yellow bulb illuminating the stovetop. The beer smell was stronger here, so was the presence of variously sized glass bottles filled with brown and clear liquids.

“Parker!” It was Sam’s voice. “You made it!”

Peter spun on his heel. Emerging from the crowds was a very stumbly Sam Wilson, who reeked of beer. Behind him was Steve, whose hand was resting against Bucky’s waist.

“H-Hi!” Peter blurted out. “I… um- I just got here.”

“Are you the kid everyone’s talking about?” Steve asked, stepping forward and throwing his other arm around Sam’s shoulder. “Stark’s new owner?”

“I guess,” Peter nodded. “B-But I don’t-”

“Have you had a drink?” Steve asked. “You should have a drink.” He turned to Bucky, pressing his forehead into Bucky’s hair. “Can you get him a drink, babe?”

“Sure.”

And, within minutes, Peter was cradling a beer. The condensation left his palms wet and the taste left his expression in disgust. Beer was nasty, but Steve, Sam, and Bucky were compelling and their ability to attract an audience was even more so. They rallied cheers and chants of chug, chug, chug as Peter downed his first beer ever. The rush of being the center of attention outweighing both his clear mind and the terrible wheaty aftertaste of beers two and three.

It was when Bucky poured the shots that Peter finally asked for a break, but again, they were compelling. So just this one shot, Peter, and then we can go play some games with everyone. The vodka was lava down his throat, warming his body and adding to his haze. With Steve’s hand patting his shoulder and Sam’s impressed look because – damn, Parker can actually hold it down – Peter didn’t mind the teeth-numbing lightheadedness or the floaty instability.

After Sam grabbed a full bottle of vodka and Steve took a case of beer from the fridge, Peter was whisked away. Towed along by Bucky as the group pushed their way through the hall and into a room away from the crowds; Steve’s room.

But inside was a nightmare.

Sitting around the room – some on the bed, some on the floor – with drinks in their hands and smirks on their faces were Peter’s bullies; Clint, Natasha, Thor, and Loki.

“Hey boys,” Natasha greeted them with a smile.

“We have the re-up.” Sam joked as he took a spot on the floor, pouring vodka into Natasha and Clint’s cups as Steve handed beers to Thor and Loki.

Peter froze and yanked his hand out of Bucky grasp, his fight or flight instincts screaming at him to turn and leave. “I-I shouldn’t…um- I can’t be in here.”

“Wait a second, Peter.” Bucky placed a hand on Peter’s back, stopping him from leaving and guiding him to a spot on the bed beside Natasha. “They have something to say.”

“Yes, we apologize, Parker,” Thor said, tipping his head and raising his plastic red cup. “We were out of line that day.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “My brother and I regret our behavior.”

“Yeah,” Clint nodded. “Same here, Parker.”

“It’s the same for me, Peter.” Natasha placed her hand on Peter’s back. “I hope you can forgive us.”

Peter was baffled. Even in his tipsy haze, he could see how unexpected this was. His eyes wandered across the group; the gentleness in Natasha’s eyes, the seriousness in Clint’s, the lack of spite in Thor and Loki’s. They seemed genuine? It was strange. “Is t-this why you invited me?” He asked, glancing over to Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “These guys wanted a chance to apologize and we-” He gestured to Bucky, Sam, and himself. “-wanted to hang out with you.”

Peter let out a small laugh, feeling less resentment than he thought he would – maybe it was the buzz of alcohol – he nodded, “Okay, yeah, I’ll forgive you.”

“Fantastic,” Natasha smiled and clasped her hands together, “Now, let’s play some games.”

The first drinking game was simple. A word game that punished those who fumbled their answers and Peter was good at it. The unopened can of beer he held onto was proof of that.

The next game was more of the same. Never Have I Ever in a room of people who have done it all. Peter won by saying he never had a threesome, which took out Sam, Bucky, and Steve all at once. It was funny; in fact, it was hilarious. He found himself giggling with Natasha like she wasn’t the girl who would trip him in the halls. He was bantering with Clint like he was never hurt by him before. He was cracking jokes with Thor and Loki like they never teased him. He was comfortable in a room filled with people he thought he hated and he couldn’t help but laugh.

During the third game, Peter drank half his beer, but Steve and Bucky had it far worse.

“Guys, I have to tap out.” Steve groaned, falling back against the bed. “I’m drunk drunk.”

Bucky laughed, his voice slurring as he crawled to lay beside Steve, “If you’re drunk drunk, I’m drunk drunk drunk.”

Steve joined in on the hysterical laughter. “Well, if you’re drunk drunk drunk, then I’m dr-”

“Okay, you’re both pretty,” Sam interrupted with a smirk. “If they’re out, I’m out.”

“That’s fine,” Natasha shrugged, standing from the bed and gesturing for the rest of the group to follow. “Come on, guys, let’s go play some more in the other room.” She grabbed Peter’s hand, guiding him to his feet. “You too.”

And Peter followed them – Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Loki – to another room across the hall; a guest bedroom, perhaps.

“Hey, Parker,” Thor spoke, his voice a bit taut. “Is Stark coming?”

Peter nodded, still fiddling with his half-empty can. “Yes! He said he would meet me here.”

“I see,” Thor nodded as he bumped his elbow into Loki’s side. “Then maybe we shouldn’t play this game tonight.”

“Or maybe you should stop worrying, brother.” Loki snapped.

“What game?” Peter squinted, holding up his beer can. “Another drinking game?”

“Yeah, another drinking game.” Natasha placed her hands atop Peter’s shoulders. “Trust me. You’ll love this one.” She smiled, taking Peter’s can away and placing it against the dresser as she guided him to the closet door. “All you have to do is go in there.”

“What?” Peter scratched his head. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Again, Natasha smiled. “We’ll explain the rules once you’re in there.”

“O-Okay,” Peter mumbled as he took a step into the closet, letting Natasha close the door behind him. It was a walk-in closet that was dark and empty, save for the few boxes stacked on the top shelves. “Alright, what are the rules?” He yelled through the door, but no response. “Hello?” He yelled, but again, no response. He jiggled the doorknob; locked. “Hey, guys? Are you there?” He knocked on the door this time. Still, no response but he did hear whispering.

Stark is on his way. This is so stupid.

Suck it up, brother. Stark nearly broke my arm.

And he fucking stepped on me.

Sit out if you want, Thor, but we’re doing this.

“Guys, I don’t like this game,” Peter spoke through the door, trying to maintain his calm but his palms became clammy and his fingers started to tremble and dread crept its way up his spine. “Can you guys just let me out?” He bit the inside of his lip. “Please.”

Peter flinched when the door swung open. A glimmer of hope rippled through him but it was quickly overshadowed by the dark expressions on Loki and Clint’s faces. Chills ran through him next as his body screamed, Flight. Now. And he tried running between them, tried slipping through their bodies, tried escaping but he couldn’t. Clint grabbed his arm and yanked him into the closet, holding him still despite his frantic thrashing. Loki taunted him – Serves you right, Parker – the merciless laughter burning Peter’s ears. Natasha played lookout, her smile was replaced with a scowl and her words a spiteful: This is what you get for sicking your dog on us, Peter. It was when Loki punched him that his urge to run morphed into an urge to survive.

This wasn’t the first time Peter’s been beaten up. The first was in middle school when Flash punched him hard enough to break his nose. So, when the punches continued, Peter knew to turn his head with them and relax his jaw. The second time was during a spring break school trip when he was pushed onto the ground and kicked hard enough to fracture a rib. So, when Clint threw him against the carpet and the sting of kicks burned at his sides, he used his arms to shield himself.

Peter learned from these experiences to tuck his head, bring his knees to his stomach, endure. But it hurt; more to his pride than to his body. And the laughter was louder, especially when Peter opened his eyes to see their smug grins searing into him. How could he be so foolish? How could he trust them? How could he forgive them?

When it was over, Peter was crying and no amount of biting his lip could stop it. He clenched his teeth and scrambled to feet, and didn’t bother to look back as he sprinted out the door.

Even in the party-fueled frenzy of the hallway, Peter didn’t stop running. His body buzzed with an intense need to put as much distance between himself and his bullies as he could. His eyes were burning from all the tears. His heart hurt and his mind was filled with flashbacks of every single time he endured their torture.

So Peter ran, and the only thing with the power to stop him was the sturdy chest of Tony Stark.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice cracked, his hands cupping Peter’s tear-stained, bruised cheeks. In the soft glow of the porch light, his eyes were a blend of rage and concern. “What happened to you? Who did this?”

Peter sobbed, clutching his sides where his skin felt the most tender and dropping his head against Tony’s chest. As the tears waterfalled down his cheeks and his frame trembled, he cursed at himself. “I’m such an idiot, Tony. I-I shouldn’t have come. I’m-”

“It’s alright.” Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, surprised when he winced. “I’ll handle it. Just tell me who did this to you.” He brought a soothing hand to Peter’s hair, gently threading through the curls despite the anger quaking through his body. “Please. Just tell me.”

Peter could barely get the names out through the tears, but once he did – a shaky Clint and Loki did it – Tony’s whole body tensed and his expression was overcast by a bloodthirsty cloud. His wild eyes were just as breathtaking, but there was no mischievous grin. Instead, his lips were pressed into a hard line, scowling with the rest of his face as he cracked his knuckles like he was loading a gun. And the way he pulled off that signature jacket and draped it over Peter’s shoulders was more cautious, showing his control even as he walked through his fiery rage. There was no nonchalant quip, no fanfare, just a firm voice saying hold this for me, baby. I’ll be right back.

This time, however, Peter didn’t just stand there. He followed Tony inside, leading him to the room where it all happened, wanting nothing more than to see that notorious violence turned on his cruel bullies.

The collective look of shock was satisfying, but the way Tony gripped Clint’s collar, yanking him to his feet and punching him in the jaw, was even more so. The punches continued; rapid hits to the face that happened within seconds of entering the room. Blood started dripping from Clint’s nose and mouth, and before anyone could say anything, Clint was falling limp against the carpet.

“What the fuck, Stark?!” Natasha screamed, moving to put herself between Clint and Tony, trying to stand up for her partner in crime.

Tony grabbed her by the shirt as well, “Did you hit him?”

“What?” Natasha snapped, struggling against the hold. “Let me go, you fucking psychopath.”

But Tony’s grip only tightened, his eyes conveying a murderous energy. “I said, did you hit him?”

Natasha froze like a deer in headlights, “No.”

“Then stay the fuck out of my way.” Tony spat, pushing Natasha aside and delivering a sharp kick to Clint’s torso before turning his attention to Thor and Loki.

“Don’t bring your violence over here, Stark.” Thor weakly warned, flinching just like before; just like a cornered animal.

“Don’t be afraid of him, brother.” Loki stepped forward between Thor and Tony. “If you touch us again, Stark, then we won’t be so nice to your plaything next time.”

“Next time?” Tony repeated with a balled fist and a menacing expression. “You should worry about your own fucking next time.” Then he continued, grabbing Loki by the collar and landing the same kind of rapid punches he used on Clint. These, however, were focused on Loki’s eyes that swelled and turned dark red as Tony unleashed hell through his fists.

Though, Loki didn’t just take it. Even in his arm sling, he threw his own punches and shoves. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t enough. Tony tackled him to the ground, his onslaught unceasing. That is, until Thor stepped forward to try and stop him.

Peter wouldn’t have guessed that Tony carried a knife. Yet, as Thor moved forward, Tony pulled the butterfly knife from his pocket, flipping it open and pointing it at Thor like a promise, not a threat. It was enough to make the whole room hold their breath.

Except for Peter.

No, Peter knew it was time to intervene. Time to tell Tony to stop. Time to be the limiter. Time to step forward, place his hand over Tony’s, and ease the knife away because it’s okay Tony, let go, give this to me, let me take this.

And the weight of the knife was easier to bear than he thought.

“See, Stark? That’s why you can’t have playthings. They hold you back.” Loki laughed despite the blood dripping from his nose, or the press of Tony’s knee on his torso, or the shocked expression on his brother’s face. “Honestly, what a fucking bitch you are.” Loki taunted.

Break it.

“What?” Tony asked, his eyes flashing to Peter, who didn’t realize he said that aloud.

“I said, break it.”

And the sound that followed was gruesome. A chilling snap from the leverage Tony gained in pushing Loki’s arm backwards across his knee. A clean break, paired with screaming, cursing, and a litany of uncharacteristic tears from a pair of brothers. Then, a coherent threat from a fed-up boy who stutters too frequently. “Touch me again and I’ll have him break the other one.” A promise dipped in venom and punctuated with the tip of the blade poised just inches away from Loki’s face.

This time, Peter knew how to feel.

His eyes traveled to Clint, struggling as Natasha helped him to his feet. It was brutal – Peter knew that – but he was glad. Glad to see that Clint was hurt and Natasha was scared. Excited by the blood and bruises created in payback. Enjoying the scared look in Thor’s eyes and the pain in Loki’s. It was wrong – he knew that – but he didn’t care. He let himself feel it this time.

Tony took back the knife and pocketed it before taking Peter’s hand in his own. “Let’s get out of here.”

Peter let Tony lead him out of the house and into the car, where they sat in silence for as long as it took Tony to calm himself. It wasn’t awkward or deafening or suffocating, it was just peaceful silence and Peter found solace in it too. A moment to reflect on the dark part of himself that bubbled over amid the alcohol-fueled confidence and the vengeful pain of his assault. A moment to notice he wasn’t crying or trembling. A moment to realize that he threatened Loki; that he chose fight, and it worked.

It was a satisfying moment.

Tony, on the other hand, seemed to take on Peter’s nerves in full. His breath was heavy with sighs and his hands were shaky as he frantically wiped the blood that stained them into the black of his t-shirt. “I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have- fuck, I did it again. The fucking knife. I- Are you mad? Please don’t be mad.” He dropped his head in his hands. “I couldn’t stop myself. I just- I was so mad seeing you crying and I- fuck, Pep and Bruce were right about me. I’m-”

“I’m not mad, Tony,” Peter whispered as he reached his hand out to card through Tony’s hair.

“But I-?”

“You fought because I let you fight.”

“But that shouldn’t be your responsibility, Peter. Bruce hated me for that. I can’t-”

“I’m not Bruce.” Peter was firm. “I’m not Pepper either.”

“Peter-”

“Everyone keeps telling me about how violent you are. How you’re this dangerous bad boy that I need to steer clear of, but they’re wrong.” Peter grabbed Tony’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “When I look at you, I see a sweet misunderstood guy who drives me home from school, helps me with my homework and does the dishes after dinner. The guy that sings in his car and worries about his friends. The guy that chooses to use his strength to protect the people he cares about.”

“Peter, that’s nice, but-” Tony paused, inhaling a deep breath. “It doesn’t change the fact that I can never control myself.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m yours, but you’re mine too. I’ll control you.” Peter squeezed Tony’s hand. “And, yes, breaking someone’s arm is bad – really, really bad,” Peter giggled. “But I’m worse for asking you to do it. I’m worse for liking it.”

“You liked it?” Tony smirked, holding their interlocked hands up so he could press a kiss onto the back of Peter’s hand.

“Y-Yeah, it’s weird.” Peter blushed, averting his gaze. “I’m weird.”

“You’re not weird, baby,” Tony whispered against Peter’s hand. “I liked seeing you too. Seeing you threaten the trash like that,” He smiled, pressing kisses down Peter’s wrist. “Seeing that knife in your cute hands,” His final kiss was wetter. “And seeing that look in your eyes when you did it.”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat, “Um…we s-should- let’s go back to my place.”

“What about your aunt?”

“May is out on a date. She’ll be gone for most of the night.”

~*10*~

When Tony and Peter entered the apartment, the atmosphere between them became torrid. Each interaction heated by the thoughts of what they went there to do. Kicking off their shoes with flushed faces, stripping off their jackets with lingering eye contact, walking down the hall in a suggestive silence. Their already rapid heartbeats ramping into overdrive as they breached the threshold into Peter’s room. The only light pouring from a small lamp on the desk and illuminating their excitement for each other.

Peter was nervous, but Tony was brave. The bad boy sat against the edge of the bed with a tantalizing smile dancing on his lips as he looked Peter up and down like a meal; undressing the younger boy with his eyes like a man starved. He licked the length of his bottom lip and grabbed the hem of his black shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, letting the fabric pool against the floor. “Come here, baby.” He whispered, holding his hand out.

And Peter stepped towards him slowly, taking in the captivating shirtlessness and the unmistakable arousal it caused. He slid his hand into Tony’s, allowing the older boy to pull him closer, guide him to the space between his legs. It was there that Peter’s body buzzed with desire. All of the thoughts whirring through his mind painted over by his lust for Tony Stark.

Tony placed his hands against Peter’s thighs first, dragging upward over the dips of his waist and underneath the bottom of his shirt. Freely dragging his palms across the smooth skin, but stopping when Peter winced.

“S-Sorry,” Peter mumbled, his hands ghosting over his waist. “I’m just- the bruises are still tender, so-”

Tony shook his head, “Don’t apologize.” He whispered, keeping his eyes locked on Peter’s as he pushed the younger’s shirt up and pressed a kiss beneath his belly button. “I’ll be real gentle for you, baby.”

“Tony,” Peter nervously gasped, the simple kiss sending fiery tingles throughout his body.

Tony smiled, one hand caressing the back of Peter’s thigh, the other tugging gently on the fabric of Peter’s shirt. “Can you take this off for me?”

“Okay,” Peter whispered as he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, jostling his brown curls as he dropped the shirt against the floor. His creamy skin was splotched in dark bruises that ran down his arms and sides. And with once glance at himself, he gave a quiet laugh, “It looks worse than it feels, I swear.”

Tony’s expression turned somber, “I’m sorry for not being there.” He said, pressing more gentle kisses against Peter’s navel, carefully outlining one of the bruises.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Peter placed his hands in Tony’s hair, dragging his fingertips to the nape of his neck and leaving them resting on his shoulders. “Don’t apologize.” He smiled, his face a rosy pink as he lifted his knee, swinging it across Tony’s lap and sliding downward. “Can we- um… kiss again?”

As Peter straddled him, Tony inhaled sharp because he could feel the brush of Peter’s zipper against his own. He wrapped his arms loosely around Peter’s waist, dipping one of his hands in the younger’s back pocket and positioning the other on the side of Peter’s thigh. “Yeah,” He breathed out as he eagerly leaned forward, pressing their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss.

Peter moaned into it, dropping his weight until the space between their chests was nonexistent. His hands naturally threaded into Tony’s hair and his eyes fluttered closed as he succumbed to Tony’s practiced kissing. Letting the older boy’s tongue dip into his mouth; letting his teeth softly pull at his bottom lip. The moment felt electric, especially when Tony’s hand moved up his thigh, cautiously skimming across the tender bruises and stopping against his nipple, rolling it beneath his fingertips.

Goosebumps rushed across Peter’s skin at the touch. He inched back, breaking the kiss and staring down at Tony’s hand like it was magic. “That feels different when you do it.”

“When I do it, hm?” Tony flicked the soft nub, watching with a playful grin as Peter flinched. “You touch yourself here, baby?”

Peter nodded, his hands gripping at Tony’s shoulders as the pleasure pooled, causing his erection to stiffen painfully under the restrictive denim.

Tony scoffed as he pinched at the nipple hard enough to pull a surprised gasp from the younger boy. “Use your words, baby.”

“T-That’s not fair,” Peter dropped his head against Tony’s shoulder, hiding his surely red face. “You said you’d be gentle.”

“That was gentle, sweetheart.” Tony pressed a kiss against Peter’s neck. “I could’ve been much rougher.”

“Rougher than that?”

“So much rougher than that,” Tony whispered against Peter’s ear.

Peter shivered and turned his head to whisper back, a low and fervid, “Can you show me?”

And without warning, Tony clutched the underside of Peter’s thighs and stood, lifting the younger boy, who gasped in surprise and reactively locked his legs around Tony’s waist. Then, Tony turned and slowly lowered Peter against the sheets, positioning himself between Peter’s spread legs. “Let’s start by getting rid of these.” He said as he popped open the button and zipper and tugged, pulling the jeans and boxers together.

“B-Both?” Peter’s eyes when wide and his hands shot down to cover his now freed erection.

“Yes, both.” Tony gave a soft laugh as he finished pulling the clothes off, tossing them aside. “Move your hands, baby. Let me look at you.” And Tony watched intently as Peter moved his hands away. He watched as Peter’s chest flushed just like his face does. Watched the cute way Peter’s erection twitched in the open air. It was a fucking mouth-watering sight.

As for Peter, his mind brimmed with want, and nerves, and Tony. This was his first time being completely bare in front of someone else; someone whose half-lidded eyes were intense with longing and whose fingers were making their way to his mouth.

“Open,” Tony commanded and Peter obliged, parting his lips and letting the older boy’s fingers slide into his mouth. “Good, now suck.”

And Peter did; closing his lips and sucking, massaging the pad of his tongue against the two digits. He tried to keep his eyes trained on Tony’s but sometimes they would wander downward, across the contour of the older boy’s muscles and – fuck – suddenly, Tony’s fingers pushed deeper, probing the back of his throat, making him cough.

Peter’s hands shot up, pulling Tony’s fingers from his mouth. “W-What are you doing?”

“Showing you how deep I want to shove my dick.” Tony grinned as he nudged his wet fingers against the head of Peter’s erection, mixing the saliva and pre-cum before smearing them down the shaft. “That okay, baby?”

Peter breathed a harsh, “Y-Yes.” A wave of pleasure rocking through his body at the touch. His hips jolting upward and his head lolling back against the pillow, moaning as Tony began his torturously slow strokes.

“You look so fucking hot, Peter,” Tony whispered, leaning down to lick Peter’s nipple; kiss it, roll it between his teeth. “Looking like you’re about to come when I’m barely touching you.”

Tony’s compliment went right to Peter’s head, adding to the pleasure tightening at his core. If he was honest, Tony was right. Alone, he usually got there fast but, with Tony, he was getting there at light-speed. Already teetering on his edge from the blend of sensations. He was one quick stroke away from spilling all over, so he moaned a shaky, “I am.”

And nothing prepared him for the abrupt lack of touch and the intense desire it left in its wake. Peter’s hips flinched upward, chasing Tony’s hand as it pulled away, leaving him in a needy haze. “What- why did- no, Tony, I was there- I-”

“I know, baby,” Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “But you don’t get to come until I say so.”

Peter whined, pouting up at the older boy, with distressed and horny eyes, “Can you say so now?”

“Fuck, you’re so cute,” Tony smiled and sat up, shifting his weight to his knees. “But not yet, sweetheart.” He whispered as he undid his jeans. His toned body flexing in the dim light as he pushed his jeans and boxers down slightly, freeing his hardened length and nudging it against Peter’s.

Peter had to actively prevent his jaw from dropping. Tony’s dick was big – actually, bigger – it made Peter’s length seem small. It even felt different; it was thicker, harder and, maybe his feelings and arousal created bias, but to Peter, Tony’s dick was fucking perfect. A shiver ran through his body at the thought of it in his mouth.

“Having fun?” Tony interrupted and Peter froze, blushing when he realized that he’d been grinding his hips up, desperately rubbing their dicks together from the moment they touched.

“I- um.. s-sorry, I-” Peter stammered, bringing his hands up to hide his embarrassed expression.

“You, what?” Tony laughed quietly, ghosting his hands across Peter’s thighs. “Speak up, baby.”

“I- I just- I wanted to touch it,” Peter muttered through his hands.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m going to let you touch it all you want.”

Then, Tony repositioned them. He stood and guided Peter to lay with his head tipped backward off the edge of the bed. The bed’s height was ideal for this, he thought, as he aligned the head of his erection with Peter’s lips. “Open,” Tony commanded but, this time, Peter hesitated.

“Tony, I’ve never- Just- go slow, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony nodded, gently brushing his fingers against Peter’s cheek. “I’ve got you, baby.” He smiled when Peter parted his lips, “Good, now take a nice deep breath for me.”

And Peter did; inhaled deep as Tony pushed forward, pressing his dick into Peter’s mouth until it couldn’t go any deeper. Peter gripped at the sheets and squeezed his eyes shut, listening to the pleasured groans that fell from Tony’s mouth. And even though Peter was struggling to hold his breath, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

Tony pulled out slow – a string of saliva connecting the head of his dick to Peter’s lips, dripping against Peter’s face. “Breathe,” He whispered and watched Peter’s chest expand before pushing forward again. This time, he went even deeper, pushing passed the back of Peter’s mouth, causing a small bulge to show through his neck.

Peter coughed, his drool spurting out around Tony’s dick as he reactively pushed Tony’s hips away. He gasped and coughed again, turning his head to let the excess saliva drop against the floor.

“You okay?” Tony asked, dragging his hands through Peter’s hair. “Was that too much?”

“No,” Peter turned his head back. “I want it harder.”

Tony’s breath hitched, “Yeah?” He squeezed his hand, grabbing a tight handful of Peter’s curls, making the younger boy whine. “You want it harder, baby?”

As Peter opened his mouth to answer, Tony was pushing forward again, quicker than before, plunging deep enough to see the shape of his dick in the contours of Peter’s neck. And he held himself there, indulging in the pleasure of the younger’s fluttering throat, before pulling out half-way and pushing back in. He repeated this in quick succession, occasionally pulling out fully so Peter could catch his breath.

“This hard enough for you, sweetheart?” Tony teased, keeping his dick plunged inside so all Peter could do was moan around it.

And Peter loved it. The feeling of being used and the sounds of Tony’s ecstasy. He thought it would be difficult – controlling his breath while having a dick shoved down his throat – but once he fell into a rhythm, it was easy. And, soon, Tony’s dick was at its thickest, pulsating and leaking pre-cum. His orgasm was close and the way he talked about it made Peter feel hornier than he has in his entire life.

“I’m going to come all over you, baby. You want that, hm? God, you’re so fucking perfect, Peter. Look at how well you’re taking me. You’re so good, baby boy. Fuck, keep your mouth open for me-”

Tony pulled out as he came, groaning deep and shooting lines of cum against Peter’s open mouth and chest. And Peter’s never tasted cum before but he swallowed it like it was nothing, his throbbing arousal completely overshadowing the gravity of the situation.

“Tony, me too. Please.”

“Of course, baby.” Tony smiled, shifting their positions so Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed and Tony was on his knees between Peter’s thighs.

Peter’s whole body shook when Tony started sucking. The pleasure hitting him like it was a tsunami and he was the beach. The way Tony dragged his tongue against the underside of the shaft made Peter’s nerve endings tingle with fiery sparks of euphoria. And when Tony bobbed his head low enough to take it all, Peter swore he fell into delirium. “Tony, I’ll come- I’ll- I’m-!”

Yet, just as Peter took a step towards orgasm, Tony stopped. He gripped at the base of Peter’s length, viciously yanking him back to the edge, preventing his climax for the second time that night. But before Peter had time to complain, Tony was pulling him down and pinning him against the side of the bed.

Tony stared into Peter’s eyes and started stroking again, “Go ahead, baby, you can come.”

Peter immediately averted his gaze, unable to handle the embarrassment of suddenly being so close. “But Tony, I-”

Tony scoffed and lifted his idle hand to the underside of Peter’s jaw, forcing the younger’s eyes back to his. “It wasn’t a question, baby.” He whispered, squeezing his fingers against the sides of Peter’s throat, “I told you to come.”

So Peter came; a breathless scream falling from his lips as a tremor shook his body and his cum oozed all over Tony’s hand. It was an overwhelming pleasure – nothing like anything he’s felt on his own. And as he floated down from his sweltering high, Tony released his throat and leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah, that was amazing.

“Yeah.”

And for a while, they stayed there, bodies pressed together in a content embrace, sticky from their passion and audibly panting from their ardor, but content nonetheless. Basking in the feeling of their intimate moment; an exchange of sweet nothings, a soothing caress, a medley of soft giggles. A litany of playful kisses, a cascade of fingertips carded through messy hair, a breathtaking empathetic chemistry. All topped with promises of tomorrow and the days after, where they belonged to each other.

The relief I felt after finishing this is insurmountable. Apologies for being a flaky hoe, but I hope you all enjoyed the read. Leave me a comment or feel free to hop in my asks. Let me know how I did.

Shout out to my muses: @ultimatelyshippingthegays @benhardysdrumstick ❤️

Thank you for the amazing ideas. A bitch did her best. Love you all!

EDIT: Read the sequel here.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #badboy!tony au #obligatorywrites #please excuse any typos

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kaen-ace-of-diamonds · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming

Word Count: 6,800+ (chapter 6) [AO3]

(chapter 5) (chapter 4) (chapter 3) (chapter 2) (chapter 1)

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: one-sided Emerald/Cinder

Characters: Cinder Fall, Salem, Tyrian Callows, Emerald Sustrai, Mercury Black

Summary: Making it out of Beacon alive turned out to be the easy part of the whole disaster.Returning home in agony and shame, learning how to take the first steps forward into living in this newly broken state...that, Cinder has decided, is definitely going to be the hard part.

Warnings for implications of abuse and graphic descriptions of injury.

~0~

“Does it get your blood boiling, does it make you see red?

Do you wanna destroy it, does it get in your head?

'Cause it gets my blood boiling and I'm coming unglued

It would hit you like poison if you knew what I knew.”

- Angry Too, Lola Blanc

~0~

After so many months, Cinder was beginning to feel a nervous shake in her stomach every time she turned the corner and saw the door to this training chamber.

Ridiculous, really, she chided herself. It wasn’t even as if it were an intelligent human opponent she was facing, just a pack of the same Grimm she’d been exterminating ever since she was old enough to hold a blade. It didn’t matter how many there were. Power would always triumph over everything else, up to and including a beast’s instincts.

But then again, there were far more frightening things in this world than the Grimm.

Salem had nothing to say to her as she opened the door and stepped inside. What had at the start of this new wave of training been reassuring smiles and instructions, had now faded into a cold glare. A warning to prove herself for another day.

Her beloved bow and arrows still wouldn’t come to her, which twisted her heart every time she tried and failed to get them back. And even if she did, it would be another trial entirely to relearn how to use it sans binocular vision. A small, bitter voice at the back of her mind told her it wasn’t even worth it to try.

However, a single sword was getting easier to form with every attempt, and the one that molded itself into her hand now was like a slab of molten rock. It didn’t feel the same as Midnight, which she had been unshakably confident would never break. This one felt somehow incomplete. It was narrower than before, with far more visible imperfections and cracks running through the surface. And if one perfect sword was unachievable, then two was entirely out of the question.

Cinder did not like to have Emerald’s voice running through her head as well as talking her intact ear off, but she could still hear her infuriatingly gentle reminder, One step at a time.

So she would make this do for now. She had no choice.

She brandished the sword before her, and braced herself. Mere moments later, the shadows began to move.

The clicking of claws and gnashing of teeth followed soon after. A small pack of Beowolves stalked towards her in a semicircle, surrounding her. She hadn’t had to fight down her fear of death like this since she was a child...

(“Feel nothing,” rumbling in her ears as the hilt of the knife slips around in her small, sweating hand, shaking more than ever. She tells herself it’s from exhaustion, but the eyes boring into her always know better. “Fear nothing. You’re still too weak to matter.”)

She grit her teeth, burningly aware of the scar on her face. It had taken years for her to understand. But he was wrong. She did not fear. She was not small. And she was not weak!

Heedless of danger — for nothing could be more dangerous than the eyes boring into her back — Cinder threw herself into the fray with a vicious slash of her blade. The Beowolves howled with hunger and fell upon her, all six of them. She couldn’t take her eyes off their claws, long as her arrows. A chill settled in her gut that hadn’t in years: the one that chased away all thoughts of battle and replaced them with those claws curving underneath her remaining eyeball to tear it out and blind her completely.

(“ — no point in keeping broken tools. If you’re no longer useful, you’ll be thrown away.”

“Like they threw you away?”

Her heart leaps into her throat, afraid that she’d blurted out too much. But the mouth twists further, into a sickly smile.

“Exactly.”)

She was no longer the refuse of Mistral’s underbelly. She was more than him, more than all of them, like he’d wanted but never believed.

Just a few months ago her flames had been second nature to her. Now, to swing her arm and bring a swath of fire with it was like pulling teeth. Well...her arm worked just fine, more or less. It was this thing stuck to her that was holding her back. She swung and clawed back, as she weaved her way around the thrashing limbs and snapping jaws. Her heart pounded, to flood her veins so strongly with adrenaline that she barely felt it when they tore her dress and grazed her skin.

She felt nothing. She feared nothing. Her determination to kill, the wrath that spurred her forward, were all that mattered.

It was as natural to her as breathing, why were only these pathetic spurts of flame coming out now, after everything she’d done?!

Even now her attacks still hit more often than not; she wasn’t entirely broken. But still it took her what felt like an eternity to do what once took only minutes. She stood like a cornered animal at the side of the room, as the final Beowolf advanced on her, growling and slavering. It wasn’t like the Wyvern, or any other Grimm. It did not see her as a hand of its master, or as one of its own. Only as prey. A worthless little thing to be slaughtered and tossed—

(“Alone now, girl?”)

The beast surged towards her, towering over her, gold shining from its faceless head as the giant hand reached for her — no —

Hands —

Blade —

Claws —

Her blood hasn’t spilled yet but gods, she can smell his, sour and heavy, filling her nose and polluting the fresh air, and that’s what she’ll look like, they’ll rot together, if she doesn’t do something right now!

A sharp white point starts to dig under her skin, snapping her back into the present with a gasp. Why had she been reaching for Scorching Caress when the blade was in her hand? This wasn’t — she wasn’t the one who —

Sunlight and wind were worlds away. Everything now was darkness and smoke and how long had she been frozen, her shoulder swelling and burning? She didn’t have time to consider it. Before she knew it, fire was flaring from what felt like every pore in her body, beyond any semblance of her control despite the arm she had thrown out in front of her much too late.

The Beowolf didn’t have time to howl as it burned away, scraps of filmy black floating into the air before disintegrating. Cinder heard it anyway, in the ringing of her ears in the newly silent room.

As she crouched there — like a cowed animal, the small rational part of her sneered — she realized several things in rapid succession. She realized that she was frozen, unable even to tremble. She realized that a thick, warm drop of blood was trickling down her good cheek, her depleted Aura delaying in patching up the claw graze beneath her eyelid. And she realized that the narrow place around her left shoulder, where flesh met Grimm, was a ring of searing pain. The only reason the arm hadn’t dropped limply to her side like the rest of her was —

Her gasp of horror came out sounding more like a cough, but it seemed to burn her throat all the same. The arm was rippling, stretching, elongating and springing off like the branches and twigs of a dead tree. Every muscle in her upper arm felt ablaze, and her mind raced trying to remember her lessons, what to do to make the Grimm inside her bend to her will instead of letting it run free and wild on its own.

But she couldn’t, her head was too full of glittering gold and burning, burning silver to fit a single other coherent thought in.

And then there came a different kind of burning, a cold and ice-white burn, and all of a sudden she felt as if her entire limb was shriveling, sucking itself inward. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but the pressure and the wrongness of the sensation took Cinder’s breath away and nearly doubled her over. A soft, disappointed sigh came from just above her shoulder, and without thinking about it she went utterly still.

“Cinder. Did you listen when I taught you how to control your gift?”

Her instinct, shamefully, was to cringe. But she fought it — her master was not the sort to be sated by groveling — and turned to look her in the eyes as she nodded.

Salem fixed her with a glare that would shrivel lesser humans like weeds in frost. “Then why do you continue to let it control you?”

Cinder did not whimper as her master’s claws retracted from her skin, their tips thinly lined with blood; after all her treatment sessions, she was used to it by now. The Grimm in her was cowed back to its proper shape and size, but she could feel its roots buried deep in her muscles and nerves. It was a part of her now, it would obey her like any other part. It should obey her...

“You already know, don’t you? You still dread it.”

She swallowed hard, uncaring of the twinge of pain it still caused her throat. Sometimes she truly hated it when her master was right.

“In the spawning pool, while it was bonding with you, it communicated with you, didn’t it?”

Cinder startled badly. It was only a vague memory now, like a childhood nightmare. But still, it had happened, and she was glad for the concrete confirmation. She nodded.

“I told you before I put you under what was in there: everything a Grimm is. Hunger, desperation, fear...the things that were buried deep inside you and that now have been brought to the surface.”

Cinder had to try very hard not to stare. So that was why...

“You must be better than that part of yourself. If you’re not, after all the time and effort that’s been put into you, then at best you’ll never unlock the Maiden’s true power again. At worst, the Grimm will realize it’s the dominant presence in your body, and consume you from the inside out.”

There was a stirring from deep in her muscles, right around her shoulder bones, that felt almost spiteful. As if it were agreeing. She remembered when just the thought of rage and vengeance would bring tongues of leaping flames to her fingertips, warm her like boiling water from the inside out, the Maiden’s power surging up at her command. Now, she could practically feel it being quenched the instant she tried to let it loose. It was the closest she had come in seven years to feeling helpless again...

Without Emerald there to translate for her, it took a painfully long few seconds to choke out, “I...will...m-ma’am.”

She could have sworn she saw a smile ghost across Salem’s face. “One more question, Cinder. Do you think you’ve earned your voice back?”

Cinder didn’t enjoy feeling as if she was now the one having a carrot dangled from a string in front of her face. And she especially disliked that she didn’t have to think about the answer: not what she thought her master wanted to hear, but simply what was.

“...No.”

“Very well, then. You are dismissed.”

With a bow, Cinder made her exit. Now that she could walk unassisted again, she appreciated the long and thankfully lonely walks around the castle. She thought she had learned as a child never to take a single thing she had for granted, but after this, the lesson was burned into her like any one of these scars.

Now the immediate question was: where was she going?

Before heading to her training session, she had instructed Emerald and Mercury to go to the castle library and get some research done for her, but she was hesitant to go join them just yet. The weight room appealed: her muscles still weren’t in one hundred percent fighting form, and a few runs through the basics she’d perfected years ago, and had no chance of screwing up, might make her feel better. Exhaustion was no excuse to avoid training...but it wasn’t exhaustion that made her decide against it. It simply didn’t feel like enough.

Going back to her room to rest wasn’t an option, either. Sleep had never been much of a respite for her, but she hadn’t had such constant nightmares since...well. And this time they came twofold. Gold and silver, gold and silver...

Both her fists clenched tightly; it appeared she and the Grimm were of one mind about one thing only, and that was the thirst to kill. She envisioned sinking her claws into Ruby’s flesh, the optic nerve tearing free, soft tissue shredded with a swipe of her fingers. Like the gold before it, the silver would be drowned in blood, and the girl’s scarless body ruined until even her sister couldn’t recognize her. Justice for her own body at last; she would never trust anybody who said that justice and vengeance weren’t exactly the same thing. All that was left was how to achieve it...and for that, she could not be caught off guard again.

Fortunately, she already had the spark of an idea. She just needed information, more relevant than what she had gathered from her spying at Beacon.

And unfortunately, there was only one person she could go to about that.

Cinder bit back a frustrated growl and made a sharp turn, towards the other side of the castle.

~0~

Tyrian didn't think he was ever going to get used to this.

It certainly wasn’t the worst part of the whole disaster, but the nagging feeling of being off-balance just wouldn't go away. Perched on a wide spike jutting out from the castle’s surface, he could feel how his whole center of gravity had shifted just from losing part of his tail. He had never used to wobble up here, never feared that he would fall.

Now, though...

Carefully, so as not to lose his balance, he brought what remained of his tail out in front of him, grimacing at the leaking blood and venom that still stained the thick bandages on the stump. He knew that the others wouldn’t notice or care, but whenever he moved, he felt as ugly and ungainly as a one-winged bird, flying helplessly in circles.

It hadn’t had to come to this, had it? What more could he have done, what must he remember so that he would never again fail his queen so shamefully? Would he have to change his fighting style to compensate for the loss of a stinger? What was —

All right, what the hell was that incessant thumping noise behind him?

He turned and looked below him to see Cinder standing by the large window he’d climbed out from, glaring up at him and banging impatiently on the outer wall with her gloved hand.

Tyrian’s face broke into a grin. “Why, Cinder, how long have you been there?” he called down. “If you wanted to get my attention, you should have said something!”

He didn’t understand why the girl made such a fuss about being rendered essentially mute. As she demonstrated now, she could still perfectly communicate ‘I’ll kill you’ with only her remaining eye, and really, wasn’t that all anyone could ever need?

Despite her clear irritation, she was now gesturing insistently for him to come down to her level. Well, considering how, whether she’d wanted to or not, she had watched as he was humiliated before their queen, Cinder was perhaps the last person he wanted to interact with at the moment. But, on the other hand, the sooner he gave her whatever she had come for, the sooner she would go away and leave him alone.

So, he stood up, darted forward, and leaped from the spike, front-flipping twice in mid-air before landing hard in front of Cinder. (He managed to land on his feet well enough, but hoped that the way his legs quivered wasn't noticeable.) Before, this would be the part where Cinder would roll her eyes and call him a show-off. Now, she just gave him an unimpressed look.

“Well, then, what is it you want?” He glanced around the hall, and realized that the little green-haired girl was nowhere to be seen. “And where's your pet rat?”

Cinder made an indignant noise and pulled out a small notepad, with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. With some difficulty, she balanced it on her new left hand, which Tyrian couldn't see underneath that huge sleeve, but which seemed to be remaining stubbornly stiff. And with her decidedly smoother functioning right, she started to shakily write something out.

Tyrian snickered. “Look at you, you’ve managed to get some of those fingers working! What an amazing accomplishment!”

She ignored him. After a moment, she held out the notepad for him to read: Tell me about your fight with Ruby Rose.

Any happiness Tyrian had gleaned from mocking her dissipated. “You get right to the point, don't you?” he drawled, narrowing his eyes. “Have you come all this way to gloat?”

No, for once I’m taking the high road. Cinder paused, then wrote some more. You weren't really doing it for my sake, but I appreciate your ‘eye for an eye’ offer. But you understand how I can’t exactly go out and take a tail for you. For a number of reasons.

“Yes, that is rather unfortunate. It would have been an interesting little experiment had I succeeded, though, wouldn’t it? What would happen to you, I wonder, if we stuck one of those precious silver eyes in your empty socket? I ought to bring it up to our dear doctor, don't you think?”

Cinder grumbled unintelligibly: clearly, the idea of such a replacement didn't appeal to her. She has to have changed since the fall of Beacon. Tell me what she looks like now.

“Why do you need to know that? You think she’s undergone as drastic a transformation as you have?”

It’s part of my training. I won’t hold back when I’m killing her. That should be enough for you.

“Hmph. You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands of your superiors, you know,” Tyrian reminded her, crossing his arms and pointedly looking away.

He didn’t know how Cinder managed to make a cough sound so annoyingly high and mighty, but she did. The trademark smirk didn’t help either, as she gestured with the notepad at his poor bandaged tail: Superior? You?

“That’s right. My failure, though tragic, has left my body largely in one piece.” His goddess’ displeasure had cut far sharper than the little rose’s scythe, but Cinder’s loyalty did not quite go that far. “And my priority above all is making up for it. Where do your priorities lie, dear sister? Do you wish to further our cause, or only yourself?”

Cinder grit her teeth. Good luck, then. But that has nothing to do with this.

“And why should I help you with anything? Consider yourself lucky that I’m taking time out of my busy day to speak with you at all.”

With a disgusted noise and a roll of her eye, Cinder wrote for a very long couple minutes, while Tyrian waited. Technically, he didn’t feel the need to tap his foot impatiently, but oh, how he did love that growl of irritation the action elicited from the back of Cinder’s throat.

You can’t tell me you don’t want to see that girl beaten and bloody. Broken beyond repair, while we recover. Move on with our lives, while hers ends here. You know more about what that might entail than I do, don’t you?

“Oh? Don’t tell me you intend to go against our lady’s wishes by actually killing the little flower?”

Aggressive scratching of the pen. You can end someone’s life without killing them. Trust me.

“And you’re satisfied with that.”

Being captive here would be a fate worse than death.

“You really think so?” he prodded further, fighting valiantly to repress his grin.

Whatever Salem wants her alive for—

Oh, he couldn’t help it any longer, he burst into a fit of giggles. “How did you manage to infiltrate the academies with such terrible acting, little stepsister?”

Cinder nearly cracked the pen in half. She bared her teeth, hissing through them, and took a threatening step forward. Tyrian’s eyes were drawn to her fingers and the way they twitched, straining for fire and barely achieving sparks. What a far cry it was from when she had first won the Maiden powers, raising and commanding powerful flames as if she’d been born doing it. How awfully sad. How funny.

“I would love to help you, Cinder, you know that. But in order for me to do that, you’re going to have to be a little more honest with me. Why do you actually want my help? What’s so important about hearing this, of all things?”

Why do you care? Cinder wrote, pen tip threatening to pierce the pad. The details don’t matter so long as we get what we want.

“Oh, there’s no fooling me, dear sister. You have something in mind, and I think you ought to share it with me if you want to get anything out of this conversation. If not...” He gave her a dramatic shrug. “Well, then I suppose you’ll just have to get used to being left in the dust by the privileged few, after all.”

Before she could do anything but look outraged, he spun on his heel and started away, idly waving his tail as he went. Most people, he assumed, would have left it at that, deciding that they’d thrown enough fuel on this fire for now. Tyrian was not most people.

“My, what would your father say?”

The reaction was as immediately explosive as raw Dust. Tyrian felt the heat washing over his back even before he saw the fire.

He whipped around to see Cinder much closer than she had been a second ago, having clearly just caught herself while lunging for his throat. Flames flared from her eye, poured from her hand, and spun in a furious wheel around her feet. He could feel the sparks flying off of it, catching him in the neck and chest, and grinned.

“Oh, what’s the matter? Daddy still a sore subject?”

Cinder glared absolute murder at him, and a series of awful hissing and rattling noises came up from her throat, like a snake about to strike. Even without speech, the message was crystal clear: Not my father. Not from you.

Perfect.

“I have to say, it’s been a long time since you wore your heart on your sleeve like this, sister. I’d say...what, seven years?”

She ground her teeth harder, plainly regretting being fifteen and far easier to trick into letting slip her deeper vulnerabilities.

“You surprise me. If I had brought up your little family just a few months ago, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. But now...what’s made you so sensitive? Something remind you of him?”

Cinder looked at him suspiciously, sensing that he already knew. Very astute of her; he would never taunt somebody with a question he was not certain of the answer to.

“When you can, you really need to tell me exactly what it’s like down there in the depths of the spawning pool. I hear it has such sights to show you. All the things you like to think you’ve already overcome and put behind you.”

Her lips pulled into a stiff, crooked smirk as she picked the singed notepad up off the floor and scrawled, ink bleeding through the paper, I bet you’d love to relive how you got those scars on your chest, wouldn’t you?

Tyrian’s tail stump twitched, and his eyes narrowed. She clearly thought that two could play at this game. Well, she was sorely mistaken.

“I’m not ashamed of any of my scars, Cinder. Can you say the same?”

Her smirk broadened, but she was...shaking her head? The much-abused notepad burst into a high flame in her hand, and it stayed burning that way even after the paper was ashes on her glove.

What a confusing girl. No matter, his guesses were usually good.

“You will one day? How optimistic. Tell me, when?”

If she tapped at that glass mask just a little more aggressively, it would probably shatter. Not that it could do much more damage to that half of her face, but still. The fire in her fist burned even brighter.

“When you get your precious revenge? How lovely. I’ll be waiting with bated breath for your next riveting performance. And I suppose I can give you the little leg up you need from me. If you fall again, it won’t be my fault, after all.”

Cinder continued to glare, and he could picture her new claws flexing hungrily inside her billowing sleeve. But that was all: with a sharp nod, she turned and started away, considering their business here finished. Tyrian wasn’t quite satisfied yet.

“Let’s just hope that when you finally face your little Huntress in battle, you’ll have more luck than Daddy did with his Huntsman.”

Cinder whirled back around blurringly fast. A truly feral growl ripped its way from her throat, and though she was visibly fighting to keep from flying at him again, her eyes burned murderously. She could only make a harsher rattling sound instead of words, but in their place, fire poured from her mouth, gleaming off her bared teeth.

Tyrian quirked an eyebrow, still snickering. He wondered if that was the look she had worn as a child, hands about to be filthy with blood.

This was certainly more like the Cinder he had known for so long, the one who had swapped barbs with him and shown off her new powers the same way she had the day before she left on her long mission. And yet, even with all that fuel, she still couldn’t quite bring her fire back the way she used to. It was almost a shame.

“What’s the matter, little stepsister?” He leaned forward, tail reflexively curling upward. True, it was no longer intimidating with its end blunt and bandaged, but it was just second nature. And they both knew it was far from his only strength. “Itching for a real fight? I have to say, I don’t know how well that will turn out for you. As we both have wound up with handicaps, I see no need to go easy on you.”

Cinder kept up the growling for a few seconds more, then broke off into a frustrated huff, her shoulders sagging as the flames went out. It looked like it was physically painful for her —and, Tyrian realized, it probably was — but she surrendered the bout to him and wrenched her body around, stomping back off down the hall. Rage still radiated from every inch of her, from her frizzing hair to the downright aggressive clack of her heels.

When she was raw and irritated like this, it was so easy to poke her into an entertaining rage, and he hadn’t seen her in such a fun mood since she was a teenager. Whatever she wanted with the information he had to give, only time would tell if her plan would work.

It was no real concern of his, anyway. Perhaps if the troublesome girl still failed to live up to Her Grace’s expectations, it would start to redeem him somewhat in her eyes.

Giggling to himself, Tyrian spun on his heel and bounced cheerfully back out the window, swishing his tail in a far more jovial manner. It was like when Her Grace sent him out as her liaison with the sects of Grimm worshippers, scattered out there in the shadows of Remnant: conversing with the less fortunate never failed to make him feel better about himself.

Back and forth his tail swung, slower and more purposefully this time, and he made his way to the edge of the crystal spire with far better balance than before. He supposed that only time would tell whether Cinder’s stability would improve as well.

For now, he decided, it would be home life as usual: skulking in the shadows and waiting for the next bit of fun to arrive, before he had to leave again on his endless duty.

~0~

In hindsight, Cinder thought, she should have expected to walk away from this conversation seething, no matter how calmly she had entered it. Tyrian could be perfectly tolerable when he felt like it, but in the past few months he had made himself just as unbearable as Watts. She had hoped that being beaten and mutilated just as she had would humble him somewhat, but apparently no such luck. Perhaps it was the ability to speak that made all the difference.

Well, no matter. She would get what she wanted out of him, and that was what counted, she had to remember. She could not be mired in her own self-pity any longer: she was one step closer to grabbing a rope that would pull her out of it, that she would climb back where she belonged with. Now she could, for a while, put her teammates out of her mind.

It was a ten-minute walk from Tyrian’s chosen brooding spot to the fortress’ library. When she pushed open the heavy door, she had barely taken a step into the cavernous room before Emerald’s head popped up from behind the huge book she was perusing at a nearby table.

“Cinder!” she said brightly, sitting bolt upright.

She flipped over the book and left it on the table, heedless of what it might do to the spine, and darted out of her seat and over to her leader. Cinder’s leg had healed and she hadn't needed help to walk in weeks, but Emerald still felt the need to hover over her anyway, just in case of a relapse.

(Of course Emerald would never say it out loud, but Cinder could tell: Salem’s method of healing was not one she trusted at all.)

Cinder had been doing her best not to mind, which she had to admit had gotten much easier as she gained more and more of her autonomy back. But still, she was glad that Emerald didn't try to touch her as she walked her to the table. She didn’t think that she quite needed to have her chair pulled out for her when she got there, but she wasn’t going to complain.

Emerald did seem to be put in better spirits by Cinder’s presence, but she still let out a huff as she sat back down in the wooden chair.

“This whole library,” she groused, “this whole gigantic library, and only four books on sign language!”

“Well, actually...”

The two of them looked up (and up) at the towering bookshelves next to the table. Against one of them was laid a long wheeled ladder, and twenty feet high on that ladder was Mercury, pausing from pawing through the books to smirk down at them.

“We've only looked through half a row of these.” He waved his arm around at the dozens upon dozens of rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, and his voice echoed in the cavernous room. “We still have the rest of this freaking place to hunt through!”

Cinder rolled her eye. Maybe the library could do with some reorganization, yes. But if a little bit of frustrated searching was the price to pay for unrestricted access to the collection her master had been patiently putting together for millennia now, then she didn't think it was anything to complain about. She caught Mercury’s eye and pointed emphatically to the chair next to Emerald.

“Fine, fine...”

Mercury gave himself a strong push on the ladder, zooming on squeaky wheels down to the end of the row and leaping off the top. Rather unnecessary, Cinder thought, giving him a supremely unimpressed look as he made his way over to them.

“So,” he said, flopping down in the chair and immediately leaning it back onto two legs, arms behind his head. “This is going to be a fun time. Does anyone remember any of the stuff Neo used to do?”

He glanced at Cinder, who shrugged. She’d reasoned back in Vale that she wouldn’t be working with Neo long enough to justify the effort of learning to understand her completely, so she hadn’t bothered to pay too much attention to the sign language that the girl had been trying to teach them. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see her again for any further conversation. She suspected that the Fall of Beacon had gone even worse for Roman and Neo than it had for her.

From the blank looks Emerald and Mercury gave each other, it appeared that they hadn’t been paying enough attention either.

“Okay. So we know nothing. Great start,” Mercury said flatly.

“That’s not true! Remember, she did that spelling thing with her fingers? We can start with that, can’t we?”

Cinder tried to answer properly anyway, lifting her hand and twisting her fingers into what she recalled of the fingerspelling alphabet. It was about the only part of the language she did remember, and only because an increasingly exasperated Neo had resorted to spelling things out when her temporary teammates couldn’t understand her words. Closed fist with the thumb outside, A. Flat hand, thumb inside, B. Curved hand, C. D...

She narrowed her eyes at her hand, as if it were to blame for her lapse in memory and would reveal its secrets if she just glared it down.

“The D, it’s like this, right?” Mercury put his pointer finger and thumb together, holding it out to her sideways.

“No, no, like this,” Emerald said, putting her middle finger and thumb together with the pointer sticking out. “That’s D.”

“What? No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

One hiss from Cinder nipped their argument in the bud. With her good hand — it was still hard to think of it as her human hand — she flipped back several pages in Emerald’s textbook and pointed.

“Oh.” Mercury blinked. “Point for Emerald, then. It’s kind of cheating to look at the answers, though.”

“It’s not a test. We are all just learning this language together. Wasn’t it you who said learning was fun?”

“When do we learn the swears? Neo taught me the swears but I forgot.”

“That’s not in the book, Merc!”

Cinder tapped the thick pages with her knuckles, pointedly glaring and making the next letter sign with perhaps more aggression than was called for.

“Okay, finish the rest, we got it...”

The rest of the section went by with few hitches. Cinder found it much more palatable to remember that it was just learning a new language, instead of relearning how to talk, of all damned things. It was...surprisingly calming, as well as interesting. This, however, only lasted until they moved on to the Basic Words and Phrases section.

Mercury thumped his chest with a flat palm and tapped both his middle and pointer fingers together — My name is... — and then looked over to Cinder and tilted his head in concern. “Uh...you think you’re gonna be able to do the rest of this okay with, um, your little buddy there?”

Both of them went tense in their chairs, as if trying not to flinch away, when Cinder shrugged her sleeve back and lifted the Grimm arm. She experimentally flexed the long-clawed fingers. They were stiffer than she would like, and still felt like whatever was inside the limb was actively fighting her when she tried to move it. It would be difficult to bend them to her will...but not impossible, she decided. Fine motor control practice, and all that.

It took her several moments longer to do it than it did Emerald or Mercury, but she managed to perform the signs properly with both hands: My name is Cinder. She peered over at the book —Emerald helpfully turned it around so she could see more clearly — and added a slower, careful I learn MSL with both her arms.

Emerald watched, copied her movements. “It took some digging, but we found an Upper Mistrali dialect book and a Lower Mistrali one, a Valerian one, and one with lots of dialects from all over. I wanted to focus on Mistral, but maybe the variety will help?”

Cinder nodded. Even after getting her voice back, it could come in handy to be able to communicate nonverbally when necessary...when they were back out in the field together.

Emerald and Mercury weren’t specifically trained for stealth missions like she was, but they could learn. Though the element of surprise regarding their Semblance and prosthetic weapons, respectively, had been spent, they could still be plenty useful. She could keep them by her side until the day they eventually exhausted their usefulness, however far in the future that ended up happening.

It might even never happen at all, it occurred to her, and the thought brought a small smile to her face. Perhaps they would stay following at her heels for the rest of their natural lives, existing only for her use.

Emerald blinked, hands pausing mid-sign. “Cinder? What is it?”

Cinder glanced at the book once more — yes, she was reading it right — and her smile broadened. She rested her head in the Grimm hand, and she pressed the fingers of her human hand to her lips and then extended them towards Emerald, locking eyes with the girl as she did.

As expected, Emerald startled and went wide-eyed, and Cinder could almost imagine a blush on her cheeks. “Uh...”

Mercury looked puzzled for a moment, then squinted at the book and sighed. “She’s not blowing you a kiss, Emmy. She’s saying ‘thank you.’”

“Oh! Thanks for...helping you? With this?” Cinder tapped the book and nodded, and wanted so very badly to laugh at the way Emerald’s face lit up. “Don’t worry about that, I’m happy that I can do this for you!”

Emerald subtly bit her lip to keep herself from rambling on further, as she used to do very early on, but Cinder still knew her well enough to hear the unspoken I would do anything for you. Now that she had her attention, Cinder checked the book again, looking to see how to construct the sentence she wanted.

Before she found her answer, her eye landed on another diagram, and stuck there for a moment. Without thinking about it, her hand rose to copy it...but stopped as her fingers brushed up against her throat, before it could say father.

They faltered there for just a second, and she swallowed against them, remembering another pair of hands around her neck: warm and rough, fingers interlocking, so much stronger than her...

No. This was her hand, his no longer mattered. She gave herself an imperceptible shake, and focused her attention back where it needed to be. The first word, naturally, was easy enough.

I...

Cinder pointed to herself with the Grimm hand while rifling through for the rest with her human one, so as not to shred the pages in her claws. This chapter didn’t seem to tell her any way to say she had something, so she ground her teeth in annoyance and went ahead even faster to the nouns section. And...there, that would work. She laid a flat palm on her chest, then pressed the tip of her pinkie finger to her forehead and pulled it back out into the air again.

My idea.

“Your...I know it was your idea, but —”

Ugh. Cinder cut her off with a frustrated shake of the head. “N...n-new.”

“Hey, I thought this was a no-talking game,” Mercury said with a smirk. Cinder didn’t think that hissing and slashing a clawed finger across her throat was an official MSL gesture, but it got the message across perfectly clearly anyway.

“You have...another idea?” Emerald guessed. “Do you want us to put the books away, then?”

Cinder groaned again. This was going much less smoothly in real life than it had in her head. She searched through the book again: this was going to take so many words to explain...

#rwby #cinder fall #emerald sustrai #mercury black #tyrian callows #rwby salem #team wtch #kaen's fics

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medfangs · 5 years ago

Photo

live by the shadows

prince aerin x mc

word count: 2k

angsty fic based on theories i’ve seen around reddit about the prince possibly getting corrupted by the shadow court in future chapters.. it hit me with inspiration so i banged this out. this is gender neutral and basically inclusive to all races and weapons so yeah! hope you enjoy!!

The lake had an effect on you, that’s for sure. Colors hazing and scents dizzying (the good kind, the kind that leaves you feeling a mouthful of static, a buzz that spreads and warms as it leaves your body through every small crevice). You could blame this on that, sure, you could also blame this on the rose-tinted glasses you wore miles before you came here. But you won’t. Because not even the others—Mal with his being streetwise, Tyril and his perception—could have predicted this.

Prince Aerin stands bleeding tendrils of shadow. His eyes are glazed over with a murkiness one of his kind should never be caught in, and they stare in no particular direction. He senses your party with a deeper perception, one indiscriminate and sharp. And then he lashes his dark tendrils at each one of you.

“Hey!” Imtura snatches a tendril mid-air and crushes it within her palm. Her muscles pull taut with the action and her nostrils flare as she glares down at the lost prince. “Is this the best you’ve got? My mates slay leviathans as a pastime!”

The other party members wrangle with their own tendril in the meantime, faring from Nia’s impromptu light defenses to Tyril’s practiced swordsmanship. Even Prince Baldur carries his own weight, landing multiple blows with his bow and arrow. You swing your own weapon just in time to save yourself from Aerin’s attack. Just barely—you’re too shaken up by the prince’s transformation and stagger when the shadowed limb falls to your feet. It gives him just the opportunity to thrust another attack right towards you.

It whips around your wrist and drags you through the forest’s floor.

“Kit!”

“Help!” you cry out, the shadow searing your arm with piercing frigidness. When you grasp onto it with your other hand, you’re met with a bitter emptiness. It weighs heavy and collapses in your chest like you’ve got the whole sun to carry on your shoulders. And then, you feel him. You feel the resentment, the self-pity, and an anger tasting like vengeance. Then you feel something foreign, sinister, and deeper, manipulative.

Duke Erthax.

He’s got a grip on Aerin like a vice, of his emotions and sorrow, and places it all in his fist of power. It’s in that you sense a weak spot, a vulnerability, that is neither yours nor the Duke’s.

You’re thrusted back out when you find yourself flat at Prince Aerin’s feet, his blank stare meeting yours. You hear the cries and growls of your party. Beasts have sprouted out from hidden parts of the forest, gnawing on Tyril’s armor with decaying fangs. Imtura punches through one, two, and guards Nia behind her back as she summons her magic. Mal and Baldur have teamed up, mowing down animals near and far with their bows and daggers. Baldur turns to keep a hateful eye on his brother. The latter pays him no mind.

He grabs the front of your clothing, pulling you up to meet face-to-face. He's glazed with sweat, cheeks blotchy and the veins along his face have grown black and bulge with strain.

“Aerin,” you cry out before you can stop yourself. “Don’t do this.”

Hearing you speak his name does nothing for him. His eyes seem to look past you, and his mind elsewhere. Of course, you’re not foolish enough to believe that. Especially with deathgrip he has to keep you upright—your feet has given out on you. Your back hurts. Your skull throbs. And frankly, you just might piss yourself.

Even more so now, when Prince Aerin opens his mouth and out comes—not his voice. It’s a voice that speaks so deeply that it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere further inside Aerin.

“Finally,” he drawls, and the edge of his lips twitches slightly. “It is only the beginning but it feels as though I have made it.”

“H-huh?” you attempt to stand but his strength forces you down.

“Every single one of you have minds so weak it is no wonder you crave a hive to follow,” he grins, “a king here and a God there? Look where that has brought you all! Have you no agency to be your own ruler? If you must insist, I will be your monarch. ”

His words sting, though you know it shouldn’t. You have no idea who’s even talking, the Prince or Duke? At this point, either title spells ruin for you. But you cannot take any chances.

“Aerin,” you grunt, “This isn’t you! Don’t let him take over. You can defeat him.” Something in his expression changes, softens, and then hardens, and with a stronger grasp and stone-cold face he spits, “No! I have no reason to do away with what fills me with life, one I had chased all my life. Now, it is here, in me, and all I have to do is get rid of you.”

He shoves you out of his reach then, and you tumble to the ground on your back. He brandishes his sword and you only have enough time to gather your bearings. You scramble to parry his attack, rolling away from him—and closer to your party—and prepare yourself to defend against him. The others struggle with their own demons. Imtura fails to connect her fists to the monsters all while skeletal beings evade Tyril’s sword with slight maneuvers, his blade slicing through the empty gaps of their ribs.

Aerin, or more appropriately Duke Erthax, seems to have already lost his interest in you, instead moving towards the most prominent figure in his life—Prince Baldur. He struggles pulling back the string of his bow, the blood and sweat making the thin string slip piteously from between his fingers. Nia and Mal handle the heavy work, but even then Nia’s light could merely be described as mingling with Aerin’s shadow magic. None of them are ready enough to take on the corrupted prince on their own, so it’s up to you to mitigate that.

You jump before the prince and call out to him, blocking the blow of his sword when he swings and lock him there long enough to conjure a plan.

You know this isn’t him. You think you know this isn't his fault. When the Duke snuck up on him, you have no idea, but it had to be within a short timeframe, definitely no longer than the time you’ve spent with him. The Duke must’ve caught him when he was vulnerable, but—

—you’ve also caught him when he’s been vulnerable. His past words resound in your head. Then it clicks.

“Aerin,” you say steadily. “This isn’t what you want. You’ve never wanted to become a ruler. You’ve always been aware of the setbacks that came with it. You’ve always had your own goals—one separate from your brother’s, one that gave you friendship and freedom. Listen to me, Aerin, you can be free!”

The prince sways in his steps, a quick contemplative look that’s gone the moment it arrived. He hardens again, though softer than before. He swings his sword blindly, missing you by a mile. He seems to recognize this, because he calms himself before diving again. You don’t want to hurt him, not when he’s like this, so you try your best to dodge and deflect him.

Suddenly, he speaks up again, hollowed. “All my life I have lived underneath the thumb that is Baldur’s power. The greater of two.” He glances at Baldur, and with a gleeful smile he watches his brother struggle against his monsters. “Now, I finally know what it’s like to be inside his princely, polished shoes. And it is so, so satisfying.”

“No, it isn’t,” you yell. You land a light blow to catch his attention and continue, “You know what is satisfying? Our night at the lake. When we sat and looked at our reflections in that glowing water. The way we both felt that coolness on our skin after we took the stress off each other’s shoulders. The knowledge that we shared. That my brother can be saved. That you can be saved.”

Prince Aerin stands there stunned. His sword shudders weakly in his grip. The darkness around him seems to lift, or at least reflect the light that bounces off the forest’s walls. You seem to have touched him.

Your name falls from his lips faintly, and then he’s curled onto himself. He drops to his hands and knees and heaves painfully, until finally, “You know nothing. None of the knowledge I shared is true, you naive fool.”

“You don’t truly think that,” you say. Cautiously, you kneel at his side, far enough to defend yourself if he tries his luck. “If anything, you’re the fool, Aerin Valleros.” He whips up, tense, shocked, and angry. But then it melts into sadness, confusion, and even more so, disappointment. His chest grumbles, so deep and low you feel it vibrate the ground where you kneel. “I am, aren’t I.”

His voice holds none of the reverb it previously did. No more of that spacious emptiness.

Neither of you move in that moment, though you watch the way his back rises and falls with every deep breath he takes. The cries of battles behind you begin to settle, and from the corner of your eye you see a finishing light burst from Nia’s hands. You rest a hand on Aerin’s shoulder. He looks up, broken.

“Need help?”

“As always.”

You pull him to his feet. He coughs embarrassedly once you’re eye-to-eye (or almost, anyway). Up close, you can still see the straining in his face, his bloodshot eyes, and the grayish tone of his veins. His fist is clenched at his side and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows repeatedly and that’s when you realize he’s still fighting. Not your party, but himself, and Duke Erthax. The realization makes you spike in empathy—suddenly you’re flushed with his strain as well. You step back and he smiles coyly at you.

“Well—"

Then his eyes are wild with panic, the darkness around him coils violently and in a flash, and you can barely process what’s in front of you until you hear a telltale pew! and your vision is clouded by an inky miasma and when you blink you see—

Oh, no.

—An arrow lodged deep in the crux of Aerin’s chest. His fist is wrapped tight around its shaft.

You stumble back, looking into his eyes and following his gaze to his brother. Prince Baldur lowers his bow and stands with haughtiness, as though it isn't a fatal blow he just delivered, but a bullseye.

Your party shares a collective gasp.

“Prince!”

“What’d you do that for?!”

“Your own brother!”

The fallen monsters seem to come alive, for just a second, before crumbling back to the floor. And with a thump, Aerin follows, too. His tendrils shrivel up and shadows bloom alongside blood on his chest, billowing once before waning. He fights with all the life he’s got left, his expression taut and fists curled, but the essence Duke Erthax gave him seems to have been his only life source, so when his darkness fades completely, so does he.

What you’re left with is the shell of a person, in more ways than one. No one dares to break the silence. Only the pristine sound of nature may speak. Till Prince Baldur, like most of his affronts, calls the attention back to himself. He approaches Aerin’s body stoically; no grief, no sorrow, and definitely no remorse. He kneels down, one hand resting on his knee, the other coming down to rest on Aerin’s shoulder. He rubs it, gently, brotherly. It's almost a warm sight, if only you refrain from acknowledging what happens before and after.

“What a shame, you are. Born in my shadow, raised in my shadow, and, unfortunately, you had to die in your own shadow. Think that’s just the life you were made for.”

He turns to your group, frozen in fear and disgust, and slings his bow over his back. "Now, shall we venture onward? I reckon Undermount isn't much far from here."

#playchoices #blades of light and shadow #prince aerin #prince aerin x mc #aerin x mc #aerin valleros #playchoices art #playchoices fanart #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanfiction #bolas #bolas aerin #blades of light and shadow art #blades of light and shadow fanfic #bolas art #bolas fanfic #my art #my writing

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realfuurikuuri · 5 years ago

Link

MissingArm!AU Chapter 4: I Would Give You Until The Count of Ten, but I Can Only Count To Five

Side note: I’m bad at basic math and it turns out the last chapter was mislabeled for Tumblr. Whoops. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Alright, back with a new chapter. A little later than before, but hey what the heck can you do. Regardless, I think this one is pretty fun. I’ve figured out how to put that banner at the top of things (turns out you hit share on Ao3, who woulda thought) which makes these post look way smoother than before. The song rec this time is A Left Foot Trapped in A Sensual Seduction (which the weebs among us will remember being Alucard’s theme from Hellsing). As always check out @spookylovesboba she’s great, and enjoy the chapter.

Direct Link to chapter 4 on AO3: XXXX

Chapter below the cut

Badgerclops ran through town tired and short of breath, wondering where that feral cat bastard went. Sweetipies turned their heads when they saw Badgerclops him.

“Does Mao Mao have the hose again,” one asked.

“Is Muffin giving out free samples, again,” asked another.

Assholes.

Badgerclops stood on top of a park bench, turning his hand into a megaphone. “Mao Mao,” he called out. “Mao Mao! Mao Mao!”

God, he felt like a green plumber looking for his brother in a haunted mansion. Badgerclops chuckled a bit at his own joke. Maybe he should have said hotel instead of a mansion to make it more current. Badgerclops stopped examining the intricacies of his own comedy when he noticed Pinky waking up to the table with a suspicious jar of mayo in his hands.

“Goss,” Badgerclops said.

“Me or the mayo?”

“Both. Get out of here, Pinky.”

“What are you doin?”

“None of your business.”.

“Are you looking for Mao Mao?”

“Have you seen him?”

“No.”

Badgerclops shot the jar of mayo with his arm cannon. Seeing Pinky mourn did brighten his day a little. Not enough. He still needed to find Mao Mao.

“Hey! Get off of me!”

The noise snapped Badgerclops out of his thoughts. He panicked. Was it too late? Had Mao Mao already done something he’d regret? Badgerclops hurried in the voice's direction, already making plans for a quick exit. He'd already made their packs. Even a third one for Adorabat in case she was brought along, although he doubted they’d keep her. Maybe they’d ditch her at the castle? Badgerclops slapped his face and shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to be stressing about that. Now was the time to find Mao Mao.

Badgerclops rounded the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t Mao Mao. It was just Rufus getting harassed by some dog. Why was Rufus still here? He should’ve skipped town ages ago.

“Hey!” he called out nearly making Rufus jump out of his own skin.

Rufus pushed the dog away from the bouquet and snacks that the dog was after. “What do you want,” he sneered.

“Okay, one: rude. Two: don’t be so rude to the guy who can throw you in jail, Three: you don’t ask me what I’m doing; I ask you what you’re so what are you doing?”

Rufus pushed Badgerclops' finger away. “I’m visiting my friend that the blasted sheriff put in the hospital!”

Oh right, the raccoon. Kind of cute that he was still waiting for his friend.

Not cute enough to keep Badgerclops from picking the fox up and shaking him like a can of soda.

“I don’t care about your friend! I’m looking for Mao Mao! Have you seen him?”

“Mao Mao? You mean the black cat?”

“Yes!”

“The one wearing the red cape?”

“Yes!”

“Carrying the golden sword?”

“Yes! Yes! For the love of God, yes! Just tell me where he is!”

“Alas, I haven’t seen him anywhere,” Rufus said with the smarmiest of smiles.

“Okay, you know what,” Badgerclops said, setting the fox back down. "I’m trying to keep someone from being murdered and ya'll are being, like, super ungrateful.”

The dog barked in protest.

“Yeah, that includes you.”

Badgerclops picked the dog up to pet it while he thought. The dog was a milky brown Shiba-Inu. Nothing notable aside from the fact that it had a sword on its back and a necklace. No. It was an amulet around its neck. Badgerclops didn’t pick the dog up just to look at it, he wanted to know who it belonged to. Where in the hell would a sweetipie get a dog and why hadn’t he seen it before? To Badgerclops’ dismay, there wasn’t any address stamped on the collar, but there was a name: Bao Bao .

Badgerclops rubbed his eyes and read the collar again. It still said Bao Bao.

He grabbed Rufus by the collar and used his jacket to wipe at the collar until it shined. Surely enough, it still read Bao Bao.

What? What? This dog was Bao Bao! A dog! A fucking dog! What the shit? Mao Mao described him as an evil barbarian with enough guile to pose as a hero and the psychopathy to abandon a kid whose arm was crushed by a rock! Not a dog! Not a fucking dog!

Badgerclops rubbed his temples, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He should have expected this. He was the most overdramatic motherfucker to ever motherfuck, but damn dude. Whatever he resolved to accept that Mao Mao’s worst enemy was literally an animal. He just needed to kick the dog out of the valley and wait for Mao Mao to calm his tits. No, that wouldn’t do. If no one caught Mao Mao he’d definitely kill someone.

Badgerclops pushed the dog into Rufus’ hands. “Take this dog and get him out of the valley. I don’t care how it gets done. Just do it,” he ordered.

“What? I’m going to visit my friend and besides I don’t have to do anything you say.”

Badgerclops pointed his arm at Rufus, letting it shift into the high powered cannon. “C’mon just take the dog away, you know, before someone gets hurt.”

“Alright just don’t shoot me! I don’t wanna be shot!”

“There we go. Now get out of here before someone -and by someone I mean you- gets messed up.”

Badgerclops watched Rufus turn away to finish his task.

Thump!

Badgerclops stopped.

He turned around just in time to see a black blur with a streak of gold.

It was Mao Mao!

Badgerclops swung around brandishing his arm, opening his eye, taking careful aim. The window was more narrow than a pinhole. He watched and waited. He watched Rufus see the sword and scream in terror. He waited for Mao Mao to swing his sword with all his might.

Now!

Badgerclops let loose a net. The wound-up ball slowly spread out, snagging Mao Mao out of the air, pinning him against the wall. Badgerclops ignored Mao Mao to put his fingers to Rufus’ neck. The fox's eyes had rolled back, and foam had gathered in the corners of his mouth;The look made Badgerclops’ fur stand on end. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his brow when he finally felt a pulse. The fox was definitely not fine, but he wouldn't die anytime soon. Although, the scare shaved years off his life.

Once was done with Rufus; he had to deal with Mao Mao.

Mao Mao strained against the net fruitlessly. Bao Bao looked up at his old friend, shivering, ears folded back with tail between its legs. Mao Mao probably couldn’t even hear the dog’s whimpers. He screamed at the top of his lungs. It was had no expletives. It had no threats. It only had a long, grueling explanation of his pain.

Badgerclops reached over, petting Mao Mao behind the ears. “Alright dude, let’s just chill and- “

Mao Mao quickly snapped at Badgerclops’ hand. His teeth clanging against the steel. “C’mon dude, don’t do that. I don’t want to schedule a trip to the dentist.”

He let go of Badgerclops’ hand with a huff, but he still had that dark flame burning in his eyes.

“Badgerclops,” Tanya said, dropping down from the rooftops,” Is everything alright?”

“I’ve got things all tied up,” he said pointing to Mao Mao who didn’t find his joke amusing.

Tanya faced Mao Mao with a sullen look in her eyes. She reached out her paw to wipe a tear from his eye. Mao Mao shook her comfort away with an angry grunt. “Oh, Mittens,” she quietly cried. Tears began to fall down the Tanuki’s face, but Mao Mao didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You should probably take Bao Bao and go before-”

Badgerclops was interrupted by a screeching roar echoed throughout the kingdom. Badgerclops facepalmed his own stupidity. He was so focused on the Bao Bao part of the message that they completely forgot about the monster. He could see the smoke, hear the screams as it rampaged.

“Tanya." He gave a slight nod of his head," where's Adorabat?"

“I left her at the house.”

Damn the fact that she was a responsible adult. She shouldn’t have to see this, but he did wish she was here. He and Tanya were the only ones who could fight; the dog was a maybe, and Mao Mao was still in the net.

“You think we can take it?”

“I… don’t know. Maybe?”

Fantastic. The moment he thought he had things under control they go right back to shit.

Badgerclops didn’t know how he knew to turn around. It was instinct. He saw the wall behind Mao Mao began to crack and crumble as the monster charged through. The beast was large, green and scaly, like a snake with four legs. It moved like one too. Delicately turning on a dime, clinging to the side of a building while it stared them down.

His small hope that the beast would leave them alone was squashed when the monster saw the amulet around Bao Bao’s neck.

It lunged forward. Mouth open to show a wide maw. In a narrow alley like this, there was nowhere to run. It could probably get them all in one quick gulp. Badgerclops supposed such a terrible end fit such a terrible day.

A naïve thought.

Mao Mao stepped in front of the beast, sword on his back to block the teeth, heels digging into the ground as he forced the charging beast to a slow stop. Tanya, Bao Bao, Badgerclops, and the Mao Mao stopped in sheer confusion and awe. The monster didn’t hesitate. Its tail lashed at Mao Mao from the left, ripping at his skin like a whip. The tail lashed Mao Mao from the right, forcing him to stagger.

The third strike whistled through the air, barely blocked by Mao Mao’s sword. The next lash came with enough force to knock Mao Mao of balance despite blocking it. He parried the next strike, yet it still sent him cartwheeling through the air.

The second his feet touched the ground he was off. A black blur with a streak of gold. The gold cut the tip of the beast tail causing the monster to howl in pain before being silenced with a plunging attack through its skull. Badgerclops hates to admit it, but the bastard cat carried the sheriff's department.

He pulled his sword out of the monster and hopped down off the corpse. He dragged his sword on the ground behind him as he walked forward. His movements were smooth, flowing like a steady stream. Despite wearing an inviting smile, the dark flames in his eyes were raging like a wildfire.

Tanya stepped in front of him before he could get any closer. “Stop. Just… for the love of god stop, and let the dog go.”

“You’re right. I just want to... apologize to Bao Bao. Wish him well,” Mao Mao said with an almost cartoonishly large and toothy smile.

“Do I look some fucking clown to you? I know you’re lying! Just put the sword down and let the dog go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to say apologize to my childhood friend-”

SMACK!

Tanya interrupted Mao Mao with a strong slap across the face.

When he turned back the smile was gone; the dark flames still burning.

“Move,” he commanded.

“Why do you have to be like this,” she asked, her voice rising in pitch. “Can’t you just let things go? Whatever Bao Bao -this dog- did to you is in the past. It already happened and you can’t change it!”

“I know nothing can change it. I don’t expect it to. I’m not trying to change anything. I’m just trying to do some justice,” he said with a voice as cold as stone, “so, I’ll tell you once again: move.”

“No!”

Mao Mao didn’t hesitate to push past her, knocking her to the ground while he brought his sword down. Bao Bao quickly hopped out the way. Mao Mao followed the dog close behind, stabbing down over and over again, the calm facade splitting at the seams as his frustration grew.

“I’ll kill you,” he screamed, finally cornering the dog. He raised his sword up as Bao Bao looked up in terror.

Badgerclops grabbed his arm before he could finish. “Calm down! He’s just a dog-”

Mao Mao spun around, dropping the sword, tears welling in his eyes. “That dog ruined my life !”

“He did this! ” He pulled back the cape to reveal the stub of his left arm.

He picked the sword back up, raising it high over his head. “And I’m going to do it to him!”

Tanya was quick.

In a puff of smoke one, Bao Bao turned into thirty. In the second that Mao Mao stopped in confusion, she dashed forward, snatching the real one away before Mao Mao cut the horde into bits.

“Bao Bao,” he screamed,” get back here!”

Badgerclops tackled him to the ground before he could give chase. “Bao Bao! Bao Bao!” he screamed and screamed until his voice went hoarse.

* * *

Mao Mao lay in bed at HQ with his blanket tucked over his head. He felt like shit. Stopping the monster’s charge wore down the flesh on his feet to the bone, despite the monster's teeth stabbed seven holes into his back, one dangerously close to his spine, but the physical pain didn’t matter much. It was his feeling that were tearing him apart. It was one part burning rage; another part nauseating shame.

He heard footsteps approach. It couldn’t have been Adorabat cause she liked to fly (where did she go); they were too heavy to be Tanya’s (not like she wanted to speak to him anyway), so it had to be Badgerclops.

“How ya feeling,” he asked.

Mao Mao let out a small grunt.

“Camille said you should be fine. Just take it easy. Don’t try to jump around or anything.”

He made another small grunt.

“You feeling okay?”

Mao Mao nodded from under the blankets.

“Good to hear. Just get some rest, man.”

“What about Bao Bao,” he grumbled out. His throat was still raw and sore from all the shouting.

“Tanya took him with her.”

Mao Mao let out a shuddering sigh.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Mao Mao nodded more forcefully this time.

Badgerclops scooped Mao Mao up into his arms. Cradling the bundle of blankets and clutching him close. “Listen, I know we all have our issues and hangups, and I know this day has been hard for you-”

“You don’t.”

“Hm?”

“You don’t know how hard it's been for me! I hate- hate - that dog. He’s everything wrong with me! I wanna wring his stupid little head from his silly little body!” Mao Mao choked on his words,” I wanna- I wanna…”

Badgerclops pet him behind the ears,” what do you want?”

“...I want to be alone for a bit.”

“How about this,” Badgerclops said,” I can take Adorabat camping for the weekend? We’d be back Sunday. You’d have the house to yourself. How does that sound?”

“Yeah,” Mao Mao slowly nodded,” Yeah, that sounds nice.”

#fanfic #mmhoph #Mao Mao #Badgerclops #Adorabat #Tanya Keys #Pinky #Rufus #Ho boy this is long #I'm hammering this poit in but I mean it #check out Spookylovesboba #She's funny #She does fanart #makes funny videos #she's great #MissingArm!AU

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twobitmulder · 5 years ago

Text

Heroes vs Dracula

Since it’s October and I haven’t done anything but outlining for weeks, I thought I’d do a quick scene from my old “MCU but its Victorian public domain characters” idea. In the interest of not just novelizing the scene with a name swap I changed some stuff around. I don’t normally put narrative writing on here, but since it’s not really a fully fleshed out original story like the stuff I’ve been outlining, nor is it anything approaching a full fanfic, I thought I would put it here.

Central London was a pockmarked battlefield. The Tripods formed a wall—an honest to God wall—across the horizon. Somewhere, dim in the back of her mind, Mina knew they were metal shells. The invaders were creatures like the Count, tiny weak flesh and blood things that hid in their war machines, but looking on them, tentacles writhing they might have been creatures from the deepest parts of the ocean or the nightmares of a madman.

The Count stood before them, clad in plates of the same impenetrable brass colored metal. He flashed his fangs at Mina and her companions. The wounds on her neck burned. On her left Adam rolled his massive shoulders. His sallow face was set in a feral grimace.

“Let’s kill him properly this time.”

Mina hefted John’s curved knife in her hand. The three of them could do it. They had strength and speed. All they had to do was sever the head from the shoulders and maybe with him gone, the Tripods would follow suit.

Ash rained down and Mina knew it was folly. Even if they defeated Dracula there was no defeating his army, and there was no getting close to Dracula with his Tripods watching. It was over. They were alone. The schoolmistress with the neck wound. The Alchemical Man. The Great Detective.

“It has been many centuries since I knew the thrill of conquest.” Dracula’s voice carried across the no man’s land that separated them. “Thank you for reminding me of my greatest joy.”

Mina started forward and the others followed in lock step. The guns on the Tripods hummed and started to glow. Maybe Adam would make it through. If just one of them got to Dracula it would be alright. Holmes limped beside her. The only mortal man among them. His friend’s sword cane gripped tight in his fist. The guns came about. Mina felt the hairs on her neck stand up. The air tasted like copper. This was it. Dead before they even struck a blow. Still they marched.

Dracula raised his fist and the glow of the Martian cannons dimmed ever so slightly. There was a tremor, and, though Mina might have imagined it, the Lord of Vampires looked scared. The ground cracked between them and a mass of stone rose to just about waist height. The sun, still blotted out by the clouds of smoke, seemed to shine upon it all the same. A sword, in the Roman style, stuck up from the rock.

Mina looked to Holmes. “Is it…?”

The man who was never surprised looked shocked. “The hour of greatest need” he whispered. “But no Arthur to wield it.”

When the ground had settled Dracula’s eyes fell on the sword. His thin, crimson lips split into a wicked sneer.

“No savior? Your legends betray you.” He raised his arms. “Come, strike me down if you dare.”

“Sod it” Mina felt her incisors threaten to burst and grow into real fangs. “Let’s end the f--ker.”

The three of them broke into a run. Mina’s legs carried her with the swiftness of the dead. She reached the count first and slashed at the Count’s head with Johnathan’s Kukri. The Count bent at the middle, pulling his upper body out of the path of the blade, which whistled harmlessly through the air. Still Mina pressed on. She fought with the speed and ferocity the Count had granted her when he tried to steal her soul. Slowly, inch by inch, the Count gave ground.

Then it was Adam’s turn. The Alchemical Man, last son of the House of Frankenstein swung his powerful arms at the Count, pummeling him to a degree that no mortal man could survive. But the count was not mortal. He took the blows, barely moving under the weight of Adam’s fists until…as Adam slowed, the Count lashed out and caught his arm. Using Adam’s own momentum against him he flung Adam through the air. The giant’s body sailed over no man’s land, landing in a heap at the base of the stone.

That was when Mina saw him. Broken and bloody, dark hair falling all across his grease streaked face. He looked like a great bird of prey that had been mangled after colliding with a mountain side. He clambered onto the rock and wrapped his spindly fingers around the hilt of the Roman sword. Dracula’s sneer faded and the ice in Mina’s veins began to crack.

There was no rage on the Great Detective’s face, no grin of triumph. He was all grim serenity. Mina doubted he even realized what pulling the sword meant. He was a knight, and there was sword and a dragon to be slain. As the blade slid from the stone Holmes’ body began to straighten. The wounds looked less severe. The limp was gone as he leaped off the stone. He pulled Adam to his feet and joined Mina before the count.

Now Dracula’s looked properly pissed. He drew his own sword from its scabbard and snarled like an animal.

“Your flayed skins will be my tapestries. Your blood will fill the moat of my stronghold. Your—”

Something crackled in Mina’s ear. It was the radio device Challenger had built to communicate with them…so long ago, before the tripods had landed, before Dracula had secured his victory.

“Misses Harker.” Mina’s breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be. “Sorry we’re late.”

The clouds parted and Mina’s heart soared. There was a wall—not of Tripods but of familiar faces. It was…It was everyone. Challenger marched at their head, clutching the device of brass and wire that he had said would scramble men’s bodies, discorporating them so they might travel great distances in the blink of an eye. Behind him two Thunder Lizards roared, feathers bristling. Mina caught site of Challenger’s daughter and the reporter Malone on saddles atop the beasts. More mounts crested the hill, elephants in elaborate armor, and the boy from the jungle, Mowgli astride the head of herd. Lord Roxton and an assortment of soldiers, brandishing shiny brass rifles, Challenger’s designs. Loveday Brooke, Lestrade, Hopkins, and the women of Scotland Yard. The Doll Woman. The Egyptian witch. Then, atop white steeds—Mina’s heart soared—Johnathan, Arthur, Seward, and Quincey. Behind them Van Helsing, Carnacki, and Dr. Silence. Lucy, dark haired and pale skinned, flanked by two other vampire women, the Karnsteins. The Warriors of Maple White Land and the Emerald Army of the Otherworld formed ranks. A Tripod moved too close and one of the Thunder Lizards took its leg in its jaws and wrenched the thing to the ground.

“Sorry we’re late” Dr. Watson called from beside Challenger. “Had a devil of a time gathering the cavalry.”

Holmes’ face melted at the site of his friend. Mina clapped him on the shoulder. Dracula’s face shook with rage and—Mina was sure this time—fear.

Mina flashed her fangs. “The game’s afoot.”

Adam pumped his fists. “Follow your spirit, and upon this charge—”

Holmes raised the sword. “Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George.”

#Dracula #mina harker #Sherlock Holmes #frankenstein #Victorian Literature #MCU

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jungnoir · 6 years ago

Note

hai i love ur works it makes me cry most of the time and maybe I did pulled out my hair once or twice reading but through it all I love it rlly. This sad turd wants to maybe send a req for a kun fic bc u seem to hv not done it yet. Any genre or storyline of ur choice I'll take it hehehe if you want ofc no pressure or anything like I'd love it bUT srsly no pressure ILY

of goats and prophecies;

qian kun | “Oh calm down, it’s just an ancient glowing sword. Nothing to be scared of.” ⇢ gods and immortal warriors and goats falling from the sky… and kun wants to share a few choice words with whatever entity that made him a part of a prophecy to kill a demon king. fantasy!au, kinda medieval!au, reincarnation!au if you squint. | 2.2k words. | fluff, hints at reincarnated lovers, humor.

a/n: I’ve actually been in a kun mood lately so!!! here u go. I wrote this during church service (sorry jesus but anon was just too cute and convincing)

When Kun had woken up that sunny November morning, he was fairly certain of how his day was going to proceed. He’d fold back his bed sheets, serve his ailing mother the last of the oats that he’d gathered at the supermarket a few days ago, and go out into the field to tend to the farm. He’d fix the slop for the pigs, milk the cows, collect the chicken’s eggs, rake out the small stables, and by early afternoon, he’d take what he could to sell at the town market. It was never too much, but it was enough to keep himself and his mother alive, and that was enough. Life just scraping by was mediocre, but if he could just stick to his routine, he could continue to live it without any hiccups.

But oh, oh, he couldn’t have been further from right. All of this was completely unintentional, and he’d been saying that several times to you since he’d stumbled down that (literal) rabbit hole chasing after a disobedient goat, but you were fairly confident that meeting him was fate. Destiny. “Prophesied by the gods”, or what have you. The goat in the tomb with you also just happened to be a messenger from Zeus himself, apparently.

No matter what you were saying, you surely didn’t sound like you were of this world.

“I’m t-telling you,” Kun just barely manages to stammer though his words, though you seem as if he’d said everything crystal clear, “you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Yet, if that was true, why did you continue to ignore everything he said?

Deeply sighing (and what did you have to sigh for, exactly? He was in far more disarray than you right now!), you sit up more from the stone coffin you were once sound asleep in, dust swimming around you at its first disturbance in 10,000 years. Or so you said. “And I’m telling you, boy,” the way you pronounce the last word makes him frown in contempt, “that no average human can just fall from the sky and wake me. You are very clearly the servant boy I requested upon my awakening.”

“I’m not!” Kun whines. The goat bleats nearby, munching on some of the grass that had obscured the hole they’d both fallen in through. The animal is calm, as if he hadn’t just been the reason why Kun was now trapped in a tomb with a crazy warrior wielding a- “Gods! What the hell is that?!”

You stop your descent from your coffin, meeting his eyes with curiosity, “What the hell is what?”

Kun had at first thought the shine from your coffin was from the sunlight gleaming on your tarnished metal garb, glinting in his eyes like the jewels that adorned the necks of royals, but now he could see it much more clearly through his anxious haze. There was something else in that coffin, something he couldn’t see pressed up against the stone wall as far from you as possible (which wasn’t much, given the modesty of your tomb). It shined with a white light that rivaled the moon. It didn’t seem to faze you at all. “That! The thing that’s- that’s shining! In the coffin!”

You follow his eyes back to your coffin as if you’d what he’d meant, your hand dipping inside to retrieve whatever was giving off the light. Kun clings closer to the cold stone.

In your hand, you brandish a stunning broadsword. Its blade is incredibly sharp, he can tell from even where he is, and it absolutely glows. It doesn’t glow even from sunlight because its not anywhere in direct contact with it… it does it all on its own. The handle is something else to behold as well, a matching silver to your armor that glints like pearls and diamonds. He wonders how it manages to stay so bright even when you are covered in a layer of dust, hair matted and untamed from god knows what that had been scrambling around in here for the last 10,000 years. Still… you don’t look that bad for someone supposed to be dead.

Almost like you’d heard his train of thought, you turn the sword over in your hand until the point is focused on him and you begin to move forward. A surprised gasp leaves his lips but his knees are locked; he can’t run!

Despite the threatening look of the sword up close though, you don’t look like you’re ready to plunge it into his chest. You stop some six feet away from him and turn the sword sideways so that the edge of the blade is pointing parallel to him. The light from the sword shines on his face and illuminates your own. He swears he sees little blue wisps rising from around the weapon as you steady it, “Oh, calm down. It’s just an ancient glowing sword. Nothing to be scared of.”

Kun laughs humorlessly, jagged fingernails digging into the rock behind him. Momentarily, he dreams that he can melt into it and disappear. “You’re holding it awfully close to my person…”

You smirk, “I wouldn’t kill my servant boy.”

There you go again! “Why do you keep calling me that?”

You lower the sword until it’s standing up at your side, casting an otherworldly glow along the ground. It illuminates your features much better than the minuscule sunlight let in by the hole he’d fallen through. Despite the dirt on your skin, it does nothing to mar your strong features. You’d told him that you were a warrior of the gods, but he didn’t actually begin to believe it until he saw you like this.

You were also attractive, he might say. Maybe. It could just be the lighting.

“Weren’t you listening before? When I told you who I was? (Y/N), the great warrior of Orepus, prophesied to come back from the dead in 10,000 years to vanquish the evil demon possessing your king-“ “Yeah, yeah, I got all that,” Kun’s interruption makes you huff, “but you never really explained the whole servant boy thing.”

You pout in a way unbefitting of a great, supposedly immortal warrior, but it somehow fits your personality well anyway, “The priests who laid me to rest explained that when I would come back, I would need a companion. Someone who would be undoubtedly submitted to me in all matters so that I might properly carry out my duty. You are the boy, for that someone would be the one who would awaken me… and you did.”

“Technically, it was the goat.” Kun mutters, before his eyes narrow in, “and what? Submit to you in all matters? How broad is all matters?” He wouldn’t admit to it either, but a faint blush was beginning to spread to his neck at the possibilities. Goodness, he really needed to get out more.

You seem to know where he’s going with it because your smirk comes back, your form happily caging him in some as you walk forward, “The terms are negotiable.”

Kun places a hand to your shoulder, meaning to stop you where you stood, and for the first time since he’d been down there, he makes actual physical contact with you. Granted, it’s not skin to skin, but something… changes in Kun at that moment (even your taunting words leave his mind).

In his mind’s eye, you stand there, in all your great glory, shining like your sword as you slay monsters left and right. He is in silent awe of your power and almost pulls his hand back away from you, but something tells him his vision would cease if he did.

Instead, he subconsciously pulls you closer, mouth agape as he visualizes the moments from your glory days to the very rainy night when you were buried. Candlelight fought the rainwater to light the violet sky, and songs chanted in the olden language were sung by the hundreds- no, thousands of people at your funeral. From what he could make out of some of the words, they were all… parts of your story. You really were a divine entity to those people, and you were their only hope for this prophecy. The prophecy to kill Zirzirath, the demon you’d locked away 10,000 years ago in hopes that it would stay, only for him to return once more and take possession of the current king.

His king, the man who was the reason for the shortage in food and the crumbling economy of the kingdom, the man who was the reason that proper medical care was not being given out to the less fortunate and why Kun’s mother was practically on her death bed now as she was. The gluttonous king chose to take everything for himself and to feast on the agony of his people, but it was no doubt that a mere human could never have such power, even one as great as the king. Kun always knew other factors were at play, but only when you’d told him a demon was behind it did it really begin to make sense.

Kun reluctantly pulls away when the vision ends, his eyes refocusing in on you. Your own are wide, gauging, “What did you see, boy?”

“I saw… everything. The prophecy, your fighting, everything.” His voice is but a whisper but the words carry in the tomb like he’d shouted them. “And I heard about me… in the songs they sung… a-at least I think it was about me. They kept mentioning your companion, the only one who could wake you.”

You nod, backing away some, “It’s true. You’re not the first to stumble here, boy, but you are the first to wake me. Why do you think the entry is covered in grass and not stone? Many have tried to do what you didn’t even mean to, and all of them met disaster because of it.” When Kun gives you a horrified look, you clarify, “Only the ones who meant harm.”

“…can you stop calling me boy? I’m… I’m a man, you know. And I have a name.”

“My apologies, what is your name?”

“Kun.” He says, trying to be confident. Your eyes widen a bit and you… you seem to smile. It’s tiny, quickly gone, and strikes a chord within Kun. “W-What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” you say, sounding too afflicted for it to be nothing, “I just… when I was alive, I knew a boy named Kun. He and I were… very close. I never saw him before I was buried, didn’t get the chance. It was urgent I go when I did.”

Kun knows his name is not that special in the kingdom, and probably so 10,000 years ago. But when you tell him this, the pieces of him that still doubt all of this to be true shatter altogether. The odds that you were close to someone with the same name as him so long ago, only to find him again like this (or rather, he find you like this) felt too coincidental to be coincidence.

And the way you study him afterwards, as if seeing him in a different light, doesn’t bother him as much as it might’ve ten minutes ago.

“As much as I’d love to be your companion, I have my mother to take care of. She is incredibly sick and needs me to care for her constantly. I can only tell you what I know and send you on your way.” Kun says, rather melancholy all of a sudden. Despite the shock and information overload he’d received in the little time it took for him to chase a runaway goat into a pit and awaken an immortal warrior, he had always been practical. Family first, always. This warrior would just have to fight their battle alone.

You hum, pondering. A minute goes by before you speak again, “As much as I should be replenishing my power instead of lowering it, a good night’s rest will surely help me sleep off the effects.”

“The… effects?”

“The gods prophecy clearly states that you are to help me, be by my side till the very end, and this means that any obstacle in the way of that coming to pass will be remedied by the gods. Not only do I have my god-given strength, I also can be a miracle worker if need be. That means…” You clear your throat under Kun’s heavy, confused gaze, “…the gods shall allow me to heal your mother. Whatever ails her, it is but a spec in the eyes of the gods and will be wiped clean in a breath.”

Okay, now this was starting to sound really enticing.

“If you can heal my mother… I will swear my life to you.” The sheer determination in his voice both shocks and excites you, setting you going like a rolling stone.

You immediately grin and swing your sword up and onto your shoulder, chuckling, “My, my, sounds like we’ve got a deal, Kun. I think I’ll like you.”

Kun shuffles from side to side and prays, prays, prays to the gods that this isn’t all some illusion his malnourished mind is warping to keep him sane. He prays that this is real, that you can do what you say, and that you really can end the king’s tyrannical reign.

But first… “So… how do we get out of here?”

You look up at the hole in the ceiling before hissing under your breath, “Gods, you’d think they’d leave me a ladder or something. What kind of underground tomb is this?”

The goat bleats in protest.

#kun scenarios #kun imagines #kun au #kun fluff #kun x reader #qian kun #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct au #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct #majwrites

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 5 years ago

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Isaac and the Angel - Chapter 18

Read on AO3

Israfil and Isaac arrive with a bolt of lightning and a shower of sparks in the parking lot outside the nearest restaurant Isaac was able to locate on his phone. A glowing sign with rounded letters shines through the dark like a beacon promising warm food at reasonable prices. Israfil isn’t quite sure what an IHOP is, but it seems promising. Perhaps it’s an extension of the company that makes the iPhone. Or perhaps they specialize in cuisine featuring hopping animals—he could go for a nicely cooked rabbit right about now. Either way, he’s excited.

Isaac staggers away from the angel, seeming very disoriented and a little queasy. “That’s how you travel?” he manages hoarsely.

Israfil shrugs. “It’s the quickest way to get around. Even if it is a little unsettling.”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.” He eventually finds his balance and straightens up. “I don’t know if I’ll even be able to eat after all that.”

“Oh, quit whining, it wasn’t that bad.” Israfil begins to walk towards the mysterious and alluring IHOP, but some invisible force seems to hold him back. He stops. An eye flutters open on the back of his right hand. It swivels around in the socket, searching for something outside of Israfil’s field of awareness. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Isaac tenses, having noticed Israfil’s change in mood. “What is it now?” he asks warily.

Israfil says nothing. His ears prick up as he catches the almost imperceptible sound of static in the air. “Isaac,” he says steadily, trying not to betray any sign that things are amiss, “Go inside. Keep your eyes open and your mouth closed. I’ll meet you in there.”

“But—”

“Go,” he commands. Isaac does as he’s told, albeit reluctantly, and disappears into the restaurant. The air grows hot and humid, thick with a sharp, vaguely herbal scent.

Rows upon rows of eyes ripple open across Israfil’s body and he sees a figure appear in the shadows behind him. Israfil reaches out, summoning his spear into his grasp in a single swift motion. He whirls around, coming face to face with Raphael.

He can almost feel his heart break all over again.

Humanity looks good on Raphael. His skin is now olive in color, though the warm light shining through the restaurant windows highlights its almost yellow undertones. His hair is done in messy brown curls that fall just below his jaw. He is dressed in a pink and blue striped collared shirt that hangs loosely on his frame, and a pair of dark orange pants. His violet eyes are fixed on Israfil’s face.

Raphael smiles. Israfil has never actually seen him with a mouth before. It’s a little… disconcerting. “Hey,” he says, choosing to speak in his typical fashion rather than utilizing the orifice in question.

Israfil exhales a soft sigh. “I thought I had more time,” he murmurs.

“Efficiency has been up fifteen percent since you left,” Raphael says brightly.

“You mean since I was banished and you tried to kill me?”

He shrugs with one shoulder. “Semantics.”

Israfil tightens his grip on his spear. “I take it you’re here to finish what you started.”

Raphael feigns a pout. “Well, I was hoping we could catch up first,” he jokes.

Israfil does not laugh. “Cassandra told me what you did, you know.”

His face falls. He sets his jaw, his gaze stony. “You know fortune telling is forbidden,” he says sternly. “Only God can know what the future holds.”

“Perhaps,” he says, “but They don’t have a monopoly on the past.” He feels something like a sob well in his throat. Suppresses it. “How could you?”

“I just did what needed to be done.”

The sob dissipates as white hot anger bubbles up within Israfil. “You poisoned Their mind against me,” he snarls. “Accused me of treachery and dissent. Argued for my dismissal.”

“It was for the good of Heaven,” Raphael says, his tone betraying no emotion.

“It was for your own gain!” he snaps. “You wanted power and status and access, and I was in your way. So you preyed on God’s fear of a second rebellion, and Their fear of Lucifer’s influence, and you had me thrown out so you could take my place!”

“I deserved your place!” Raphael bellows. “Heaven was in ruins after the schism and I’m the one who’s getting it back on track. I’m a more capable liaison than you ever were.”

The assertion is scathing and Israfil growls low in the back of his throat. “You are greedy and selfish and you have no idea what it means to serve our God.”

“Our God is weak!” Raphael screeches. Car windows shatter as the sound reverberates through the parking lot. “And you made Them weaker! You did nothing to guide Them after the war. When we needed Them most, you failed to remind Them of Their purpose—of our purpose!” He flings an arm out to the side, his curved scimitar materializing in his hand. “We had no chance of surviving, of triumphing over evil with you at Their side.”

“I was doing my best,” he chokes out, the weight of Raphael’s accusation settling in his chest. He never thought he failed in his duty to God. But now he realizes that, even though he did honestly do his best, perhaps his best just wasn’t good enough. “I did what I thought was right, just like you. You can’t fault me for that.”

“But I do,” he says. His limbs begin to elongate as his body slowly grows to its full height. His humanoid visage melts away, replaced by eight cold eyes. Two sets of black wings unfurl from his back as his skin returns to its natural lilac color. His scimitar is engulfed by Holy fire. With a low hum, his halo appears above his head, glistening even in the darkness.

“Take your form and fight,” Raphael hisses in their native tongue. “Unless you’d prefer for me to kill you quickly.”

Israfil grits his teeth as his own body begins to change. He, too, grows to his full height until he is at eye level with his opponent. He watches as the dark brown of his human skin drains away to reveal the smooth, midnight blue skin he knows and loves. He brandishes his spear in front of him, readying a dagger to summon if need be.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly. “You saw to it that I’ll never return to Heaven. You could just let me go, let me have a life. You don’t have to fight me.”

“No. I don’t have to.” Raphael raises his sword, flames flickering and curling around his blade. “I want to.” And, without another word, he launches himself at Israfil.

#isaac and the angel #my writing #writing #creative writing #angels #fallen angels #original writing #original story #original characters #oc #not scriddler #i don't know if i proofread this or not OOPS

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disasteralex · 7 years ago

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voltron + vine/memes pt 2 (feat. klance)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

whenever lance does something stupid pidge swivels around and looks into a fake camera like she’s on The Office. it usually has something to do with keith

lance, sweating as he watches keith take down three sentries in the span of two seconds: “jesus christ that’s jason bourne”

pidge: Office Stare

shiro secretly has a super dark sense of humor and can never let the other paladins know about it

pidge: “self-care is drinking two red bulls and staying awake for 20 consecutive hours” lance: “self-care is fighting sendak behind a denny’s”

shiro, under his breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose and fights the dual urge to laugh and also lecture them on better habits: “self-care is yeeting myself out of the airlock”

coran: “self-care is wandering straight into a pack of yalmors and getting ripped to shreds” lance, horrified: “... good... try, coran?”

((bonus: keith: “self-care is fighting zarkon on the astral plane” lance, with tears in his eyes: “keith, my young padawan, i’m so proud”))

once, after allura pulls a drill and makes them all get up at the ass crack of space dawn, lance turns toward shiro and asks him how he looks so awake this early

shiro, in a monotone: “i’ve been dead inside for fifty years”

shiro also has a soft spot for drew gooden’s “road work ahead” vine because he’s a twenty-something Dad

whenever lance catches pidge doing something weird, he whistles the x-files theme song. once he caught pidge and keith dead asleep behind the couch in the common area and it scared the shit out of him, so now he does it to keith, too

shiro tries not to laugh, but one time he catches keith sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night and slowly whistles the theme down the hall. keith isn’t amused

whenever lance gets flustered he “coolcoolcoolcool”s himself into oblivion

one day keith is hardcore training like the badass he is and suddenly pulls his shirt up to wipe his face

lance, one eye twitching: “coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool”

hunk and pidge roll their eyes in perfect unison

he also does this the first time he sees allura fight and dissolves into a state of utter awe

pidge: “what’s wrong with you” lance: “i think i met god” pidge: “cool. what does she look like?” “ethnically ambiguous” (a la b99)

once pidge accidentally consumes space alcohol (they were at a celebration or something and someone handed her a drink and by the time shiro realized what was going on and shouted “PIDGE--nO--” from across the room it was too late) and is drunk and tired enough that she agrees to help lance act out some of her favourite vines

near the end, pidge is holding keith’s marmora blade to act out the “bitch i hope the fuck you do” vine when shiro walks in and hurriedly tries to hide it behind her back

shiro: “katie, what do you have” pidge, making a mad dash for the door: “a kNIFE” “NO”

shiro is in full frantic mother mode. lance, hunk and keith are all on the floor laughing

this becomes one of keith’s favorite vines

one night when lance is having a Crisis in the castle observatory keith walks in and lance high-key panics and blurts “hi welcome to chili’s!!” before hightailing it out of there in shame. keith doesn’t know what he did wrong

bonus: pidge somehow overhears or finds security tapes of the incident and will never let lance live it down

pidge has woken everyone up with a rickroll at least once. thankfully, keith was with the blade at the time, or someone may have been stabbed

after pidge and matt have reunited and fought the bounty hunter, matt crouches down into a squat, brandishes his staff and screams “don’t fuck with me! i have the power of god AND anime on my side! AHHH!” pidge cries and laughs at the same time

matt and lance don’t really get along at first because lance feels like he’s being forgotten by the Science Pals and is insecure

then, before voltron goes on a mission, lance is trying to get everyone’s spirits up and ends his pep talk with “what team are we?”

matt, without missing a beat: “W I L D C A T S”. they immediately become friends and Partners in meme

lance, pidge and matt vs the rest of the castle’s level of Done: an unstoppable force vs an unmoving object

matt: “do you ever think about the fact that the galra are basically just giant alien furries” lance, wide-eyed: “oh my god you’re right” (pidge is on her laptop, slowly whistling the x-files theme)

the next battle, lance’s war call is “yiff yiff, motherfuckers”. shiro has never been more disappointed in him

pidge: “you: the galra. me, an intellectual: purple space furries”

pidge, holding up a random object at the space mall: “look dad, it’s the good kush” shiro, reluctantly: “this is the dollar store how good can it be”

pidge, hunk and lance have definitely sung “you are my dad! you’re my dad! boogie woogie oogie!” to shiro in perfect harmony

shiro pretends he’s annoyed, yet deep in his heart, he is very touched that his space kids consider him a father figure but he can never let them know

alternatively, when kuron shiro is mean to lance: “you’re not my dad! ugly ass doo-doo head”

in the first fight after keith rejoins voltron, lance is fighting two galra soldiers at once when he suddenly screams “I’M A BAD BITCH YOU CAN’T KILL ME”. when keith looks over his bayard changes into the sword and lance cuts both soldiers in half

keith has never been more attracted to someone in his life

sometimes keith accidentally quotes a vine at the blade and the blade members will just stare at him blankly. he misses his team

you can’t tell me at least one of them hasn’t said “vrepit suh, dude” at some point

#voltron #voltron: legendary defender #klance #voltron headcanons #klance headcanons #vld #volltron shitposts #voltron shitpost #vines #voltron vines #headcanons #klance hcs

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saijspellhart · 6 years ago

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ML Fluff Month 26: Please

<<Previous ~ Next>>

Read it on AO3

This is part of a collaboration between: @saoirse7ilysi, @yamina20-blog, @ao3bronte, @aknazer and myself in celebration of @miraculousfluffmonth!

26: Please (Adrien/Nino)

Summary: Nino is a dragon-slayer and Adrien is a sexy dragon.

Nino fell to the ground gasping. His lungs aching for air, and every intake of breath straining his chest muscles.

This was it. This was how he would die.

A long shadow fell over him, toxic green eyes boring into his soul.

In all his years as a dragon-slayer he had never begged for mercy. He had always been the champion, the victor. The one that triumphed over mere beasts. To fall this far... how did it happen?

The green-eyed devil slithered ever closer, it's lips peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of fangs, small and sharp as knives, meant for cutting flesh and rending it from bone.

One out-stretched arm came for him, retractable claws bared at the ends of giant cat-like paws.

He couldn't take anymore, he would rather beg for mercy then continue on as this foul creature's plaything.

"Please!" Nino gasped, kicking bits of treasure and attempting to crawl away. "Please stop!"

His cries fell upon deaf ears, just as dragon paws descended upon his torso.

"Adrien! No!" Nino screamed as he began writhing in the gold again, laughter exploding from his chest against his will.

The dragon was relentless, knowing just how to manipulate his claws and toe-beans to tickle the dragon-slayer, rather than maim him.

"Say it!" the dragon snarled.

"Alright! Alright!" Nino shrieked, clawing at the gold but feeling the coins ultimately give under his hands. "We go! Wegowegowegowego!"

The dragon released him, settling back on its haunches in victory and howling a thunderous, "Yesssss!" It was enough to shake the ruins, and make the pillars tremble.

Ashamed and exhausted, Nino collapsed into the gold, two seconds from sobbing. His lungs struggling to push and pull air, and his heart hammering around his ribcage like a smithy.

"This..." he puffed, "is going... to end very... badly."

"Don't be such a pessimist," said Adrien. He stretched his large body out across the piles gold next to Nino and began rolling around, displacing large quantities of coins.

"Dude, someone needs to counter balance your unyielding optimism." Nino sat up and began picking gold coins from his pauldrons, and anywhere else the coins had decided to go. When he shifted his hips he felt some things move that shouldn't ought to be moving like that.

Swell, they're in my pants too. He eyed the large golden beast next to him, and tried to discreetly dig coins out of his crotch.

Luckily Adrien didn't notice, too busy basking in his victory.

"So what's the plan, bro?" He dug the last coin from his pants and hurled it at Adrien, catching the dragon in the ear with it. "The moment we enter a human town, with you looking like... this," He gestured to all of Adrien, "they are going to brandish sword and pitch fork, and if they don't chase you off, they will kill you. Worst case scenario, I'm forced to kill you."

"You wouldn't kill me~" Adrien sang, rolling on to his back and curling his head around to give Nino a big pair of kitten eyes.

"I don't want to kill you, but you'd put me in a position where my only choice would be that, or face execution."

Adrien rose off the ground to his full height, which actually wasn't all that large for a dragon. He was only the length of two horses, not counting his serpentine tail, and as a quadruped he didn't stand much taller than one horse. Although if he stood up on his hind legs he was towering.

He was sleek and feline-esque, with lithe toned muscles under beautiful golden fur. No wings, or spikes, or horns, Adrien was the most beautiful and beast-like dragon Nino had ever encountered, and it would've been a damn shame of slay something so majestic.

Adrien was also the friendliest and most naive dragon that Nino had ever encountered, which led them to their current predicament. Adrien wanted to go see a human town... full of humans.

"This," large claws thrust themselves into Nino's field of vision, showing off a large black Damascus steel band.

"What's this?" Nino didn't dare touch it in case it was cursed, or enchanted. He glanced between the band and Adrien who was grinning widely.

"It's an enchanted ring," he explained. "Some rings grant power, invisibility, or invulnerability. This one will make me appear and feel human."

Nino stared down at the black band dubiously, "that is no ring, bro. That's like a bangle, or a circlet."

Adrien stuck out his tongue, and wrinkled his snout. "It's not meant for humans, it's meant for dragons." And with that he slipped the band over the middle toe on his right paw.

At first nothing appeared to happen, the ring was a little big on Adrien, and wasn't suited for feline paws anyway. But after a minute, the swirling pattern on the ring trembled, and came alive.

Where Nino had expected some flashy glow of bright white light, instead he saw bubbling black acid, it seemed to ooze up from the ring and crawl over Adrien's fur. It enveloped the dragon's body like some nightmarish horror, and ate away the dragon's size and shape.

Nino had no words, he honestly feared for his friend's life. And if he hadn't been scared into a state of paralysis he might've thrown himself on the dragon and ripped the ring off its paw.

Adrien didn't make a sound, the acidic bubbling black covering his body never made a sound. Smaller and smaller the dragon's form shrank, until he was shorter than Nino, and quickly enough, the black ooze bubbled itself out and evaporated into thin air.

All the golden fur was gone.

Well most of it.

It was reduced to an unruly gold mop on the top of a young man's head. ...And also his crotch.

Nino swallowed, and tried to keep his eyes above the belt. Bringing a whole new meaning to the term, cash and prizes.

Skin, pale, perfect, creamy skin, like the fresh cow's milk delivered to his doorstep every morning. Swooping aristocratic nose, lean but lithe body, and thighs... thighs for days.

Look at his face you heathen! Nino dragged his eyes back up to meet Adrien's cheerful and hopeful expression. Beautiful wheatgrass green irides blinked back at him under full blonde-tipped lashes.

"How do I look Nino? Am I human enough now?" And when he opened his mouth and spoke, there were fangs.

Nino swallowed... painfully. "No-not quite."

Adrien frowned at that. His neat blonde brows stitching together in frustration. He turned and marched across the gold, giving Nino an eyeful of his exposed backside.

Oh god, even his ass is perfect. He could feel his skin growing hot under all his clothing and armor, and hoped to god his dark skin color concealed the blush that was surely erupting all over his cheeks.

Adrien bent and collected a polished silver mirror from the hoard and stared into it.

"Well, I don't see what the matter is, Nino. I look human to me." He came marching back to the dragon-slayer, eyes glued to the mirror in his hands.

"Humans, don't have uh... sharp teeth," Nino fumbled, trying to look anywhere besides the very naked male in front of him, and failing.

Adrien pulled back his lip with a finger, and ran a long tongue over his canines. "It's not so bad."

"You also have pointed ears, slitted pupils, and claws, Dude. You have claws."

The former dragon inspected his hands, holding them up to admire the little pointed claws on the tip of each finger. "All the better to tickle you with." He grinned impishly.

"No bro!" Nino yelled. "Humans don't look like that!"

All at once Adrien's expression fell, and he crumpled in on himself like a wounded animal. Where once there had been pride and confidence, there was suddenly modesty and shame. His arms crossed over his naked torso, clutching his shoulders.

"Am I hideous?"

Hell no! and Nino realized a dragon would have no understanding of human beauty standards. Looking different to Adrien would translate as looking ugly.

"You-you're handsome, just different," Nino tried to explain.

"Am I too different?"

"Nope!" He squeaked. "You'll be fine. We can make this work."

"Really?" Adrien looked up at him again with hopeful eyes, and Nino found himself nervously adjusting his spectacles.

"Yeah, can we just... maybe get you some clothes, Dude? A shirt, some pants, shoes, maybe some gloves. You'll be looking fine—human in no time."

"Oh I got clothes covered," He winked playfully and Nino. "I have chests full of human clothes. It's one of my favorite things to hoard."

Regretfully Nino watched Adrien march off across the gold, once again giving the dragon-slayer a full view.

Oh god, I'm gay now... He tried to remind himself that Adrien was actually a dragon, a big furry, beast-like dragon, with claws and teeth, and a luxurious tail. Nino swallowed and his throat felt tight and dry. And... I'm also a furry. Or was he a scalie? How did one classify in this situation? Adrien may have been a dragon but he definitely didn't have any scales.

"Hey Nino!" Adrien called across the room, from the other side of the hoard pile. "What dress should I wear? I have this pretty red one with lace and corset. But I also have this lovely green one. It's got trailing sleeves and ruffles!"

It took longer than Nino would have liked to make the gears in his head switch from introspection to what ever the hell Adrien was going on about.

"I'm rather partial to ruffles," he added.

Finally Nino's brain registered what Adrien was attempting to wear. Ears burning hotly, imagination running wild with mental images, Nino bit the inside of his cheek and started over the mound of gold. Hoping beyond hope that Adrien didn't take notice of the problem in his trousers.

"Do you have anything besides expensive dresses?"

Tomorrow @ao3bronte will be treating you to the prompt Post-Akuma Comfort.

#mlfluffmonth #adrino #ninoir #adrien agreste #Nino lahiffe #sexy Nino dragon slayer #sexy dragon adrien #Saijspellhart writes #fanfiction #fanfic #miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir

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shewhowantsmouseears · 7 years ago

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The Son Of Scheherazade, 9

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Welcome to the "breather" arc, a filler meant for hilarity before we dive back into the plot. Donald's reaction to Panchito's and Jose's... enthusiasm is kind of like one of those anime cliches where the girl becomes so embarrassed she runs away with her hands on her face. Embrace popularity, Don.

Another anime cliche I had in mind was with Minnie and Lotus Blossom - you remember those old-school anime where rival girls would fire lightning from their eyes? Poor Mickey.

For those not in the know, Lotus Blossom is a comics-only character. Sometimes friend, sometimes foe, always a pain in the butt.

Summary: With Mickey's confidence at an all-time high, he's about to learn arrogance has its price. He's also about to have his first date... but it's not with Minnie!

Mickey would never call himself a patient person, but he was currently waiting calmly in front of Clarabelle and Horace's room with a smile on his face. Panchito and José were at his side, struggling to be as composed as Mickey was and failing, judging by their incessant tapping of feet and fingers itching on Panchito's guitar. Minnie was napping in her lamp – at least, that's what Mickey assumed she was doing, since he didn't see any other purpose for being in there. He definitely wouldn't have guessed Minnie was rolling around trying to handle all the confusing feelings and questions swirling around in her mind.

“Almost done!” Clarabelle's voice called out from inside. “Why, you won't even recognize Donald when I'm done with him.”

“It's not that big a difference, for crying out loud,” said Horace, who was no doubt earning a smack from his wife. Donald could be heard chuckling quietly, which made Mickey pleased beyond measure.

Ever since Donald had first climbed onboard, he had followed Mickey around like a baby bird imprinting on its mother. Mickey hadn't minded at all, happy to show Donald all around the ship and properly reintroduce him to everyone. Donald had been nervous to express any of his natural feelings, out of fear for his powers, but with every passing day he allowed more and more of his real self to emerge. It had finally culminated in him timidly asking Clarabelle for a favor, which she cheerfully obliged.

“And...there! What do you think, Donald?” Clarabelle asked.

A moment of silence followed, and then the doorknob twisted. Donald opened the door and stepped into the hallway, revealing the “big change” - Clarabelle had snipped away his ponytail, and smoothed down his feathers, giving him a much more humble and natural look. It highlighted all the other changes that had taken place since his arrival – the bags under his eyes were gone, and now his stomach was fuller, since he'd been given proper meals and attention. Mickey mused that Donald now looked more like a handsome prince than he did when he thought he was royalty.

“What do you guys think?” Donald asked, scratching his cheek shyly.

“It doesn't matter what we think,” Mickey replied, a hand to his heart. “What matters is what you think, Donald! This is your life now, after all.”

Donald took a moment to consider this, and nodded. “In that case...I like it! I kinda feel more free. Like a burden's off my shoulders! And I'm going to wear different clothing too! No more tight, frilly, fancy stuff! I'm even going to choose my favorite color and everything. I'm a whole new man!” He proudly put his hands on his hips, ready to strut his stuff, when he realized Panchito and José were staring at him dumbly. “...What's with them?”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “Probably something very silly. Watch yourself.”

Panchito suddenly slammed his hand downwards, creating a loud chord with his guitar, then pointed up in a dramatic fashion. “José!”

“Panchito!” José called back, holding his umbrella out in the same manner a knight would brandish their sword.

“Long have we searched this world for the very thing that has been missing from our souls!”

“Yes, we who are two, we have been incomplete! But we could not tell what we lack!”

“But you who understand me so deeply, you now know what I know, and so you know now!”

“I know now and now know more than anything else I ever known!”

“Can you put a name to this feeling in my heart, the one that calls out in this moment?”

“Of course I can, for I feel it in the very depths of my soul! Say it, my friend, say it!”

Donald was about to ask what in the world they were going on about, when Panchito latched himself onto Donald's left arm. “This can only be... love! Our third caballero!”

José snatched the right arm. “Love and love only! I implore you, dear Donald, to be with us forever and ever!”

Donald's entire face began to redden, and the sunlight that was pouring through the windows began to intensify to a blazing degree. “Wuh-wuh-WHAT ARE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT?!” Oh, this was the feeling called embarrassment.

“I think they like you,” Mickey said mildly, by now used to the bird's bizarre antics.

“We love him!” Panchito agreed, pressing his cheek to Donald's. “Come, we shall drink and be merry and make you a part of our life forevermore!”

“We shall sing songs and dance and introduce you to everything about this world we live in!” José took the other cheek. “We shall be your constant companions, your loyal servants, your wingmen! … See, it's funny, because we're birds.”

Donald, who had never heard a genuine compliment in his whole life, was wholly unprepared for the instant adoration thrust upon him. He covered his face with his hands and ran down the hallway, with the two nutjobs giving chase. “WAUUUUGH!”

“Look at how fast he goes, José, already bragging about his superior speed!”

“Praise be unto Donald, for he is mighty and amazing in all he does!”

Horace finally poked his head out of the doorway. “Oh, that's going to be fun to adjust to.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mickey chuckled nervously, unsure if he should help or not. “Well, at least they won't constantly be asking for stories from me anymore.” He had been delaying that every chance he got, knowing he had nothing in his head that could compare to his mother's marvelous imagination. “I just hope Donald's emotions don't crash the ship before we land. How long until we reach Khade Town?”

With the crew having to adjust to another member, especially one with potentially destructive powers, Goofy had deemed it necessary to make a stop at nearby town to get extra supplies. “Should be less than an hour!” the captain himself declared, walking down the hallway, having just barely dodged the parade of birds that were now running up and down the ship. “We should be done in a day or two, maybe even shorter if we don't run into any distractions.”

“Like Mickey picking up another friend,” Clarabelle continued, giving Mickey a small smirk.

Mickey crossed his arms defensively. “It's not my fault we keep running into people who need our help! Besides, Minnie and Donald are going to help us out in my journey to get my parents back. Maybe we could even find another helpful person in the town!”

“Look kid,” Horace walked out of the room. “I'll admit, so far your knack of chronic hero syndrome has worked out for the better... but it's not always gunna be that way. Sometimes we can't save everyone, and sometimes not everyone deserves saving. You gotta be ready for people to take advantage of that big heart of yours.”

“I think I can take care of myself pretty darn well.” Mickey turned his head away. Shoot, he'd already been in some epic battles and used his strength and smarts to get out of them. He could take on any challenge that headed his way! And even better, his victories had nothing to do with him being the Son of Scheherazade. His heart would never steer him wrong! He was the hero of the story, and the hero was always right!

“We shouldn't run into too much trouble,” Goofy interrupted, trying to stop an argument from occurring. “It's a pretty small town... the only notable thing about it is a shrine to some gods from the north. Other than that, it's your average, run-of-the-mill kinda place. So we probably won't find anyone in life-threatening danger or folks with magical powers or villains with evil schemes to take over the world.”

“Boy, wouldn't that be nice,” Horace groaned.

“Don't be such a coward, Horace!” Mickey held his chin up, and began to head back to his room, full of confidence and swagger. “We can take on anything that comes our way! I ain't afraid of anything!” If he had heard this line of dialogue from one of his mother's stories, he would have immediately assumed that the hero of that tale was going to eat his words by the story's end. But now Mickey was drunk on his own spirit, unable to conceive his own failings. He was the hero who rescued the genie, who freed the prince of storms!

What could the world toss at him that he couldn't handle?

~*~

The ship “landed” a few miles outside of the town, anchored in by small rocky mountains. Once again, Pluto stayed behind to guard the ship, and the rest of the crew was split into groups. Panchito and José insisted on showing Donald around, and Donald allowed it if they stopped singing for several seconds. Goofy, Clarabelle, and Horace would be the second group, and Mickey and Minnie would be the last group – although Horace objected to this, insisting Mickey should stay with him, due to his attitude.

“I don't need a babysitter,” Mickey insisted as the groups walked into town, the birds already going in a different, loud direction. “Tell 'em, Minnie, didn't I do great at Donald's kingdom?”

Minnie gave him a curt look. “Is that a wish?” She had quickly settled back into her snide routine, not wanting to entertain the warm, weird thoughts the last adventure had brought her. Okay, so, Mickey was a decent enough fellow, but that just meant his darkness was hiding deeper than most people's did. He was not an exceptional, extraordinary being. Sure, maybe he was the tiniest bit clever, and perhaps the smallest bit generous, but in the end he would be the same as all her other masters. Not that she cared when this happened. Because she didn't. At all. Just like she didn't care how much Mickey was so-called “in love” with her, which he wasn't, he just liked her looks, and not her personality, because genies don't have personalities, they are tools, and so by that logic, Mickey didn't really love her and so Minnie really didn't care SHE ABSOLUTELY DID NOT CARE SO STOP TALKING ABOUT IT.

Mickey rolled his eyes, oblivious to Minnie's inner nonsense. “Thanks, Minnie.” He would have explained further, but his big black ears picked up an odd sound.

It was something the others didn't pick up on, especially Horace. “Kid, I'm just trying to look out for you.” He closed his eyes, drawing upon years of experience. “You've been cooped up in a palace all your life, so you don't know the cruelties of the world! In a year's time, I bet you'll be thanking me for all my help. All you have to do is... he ran off while I was talking, didn't he.”

“Yes, yes he did.” Minnie pointed to the cloud of dust that had once been Mickey.

“Kid's gunna age me twenty years,” Horace groaned.

“Aw, let's just go shopping like we planned!” Goofy insisted. “We gotta buy some lemons so we don't get sky-scurvy.”

As Clarabelle yelled at Goofy for the tenth time that sky-scurvy was not something that existed, Minnie took it upon herself to look for her wayward master. What had distracted him?

The rapid sound of footsteps, that's what – Mickey had weaved himself through an open alleyway, and that's when he caught the origin of the sound. Three burly, tall, masked men were chasing a young woman who was carrying a wrapped bundle in her arms. Startled villagers ducked out of the way, frightened by the display.

“Get back here!” One of the men shouted, full of anger and spit. “There's nowhere you can run!”

Mickey instantly decided he knew what was happening – those three bullies were trying to rob that woman! So much for peace, quiet, and boredom. Looks like it was time for the Son of Scheherazade – no, Mickey the Hero, to write another exciting chapter! He looked around the area, trying to think of a solution – as much as he wanted to leap into the heap of battle, he didn't like the odds of one against three. The entire group was coming up, and if he didn't act fast, they'd all pass him.

What could he do, what could he use? He quickly surveyed the area – a humble food market, full of yummy fruits and vegetables, such as bananas, apples, and oranges – round oranges! Mickey ripped off a satchel of coins from his belt. “Hope this'll pay for everything!” He shouted to the shopkeep who had probably hidden inside by now, and he tossed the satchel inside the building – before taking out his scabbard and hacking away the legs of the fruit stand, causing it to crack and break, sending the oranges spilling into the street.

The timing had been perfect – the woman managed to avoid the spill, but the three men now found themselves tripping and rolling over the mess beneath their feet.

“Hey!”

“Whoa!”

“Dude, I JUST washed my robes this morning!”

While they tried to regain their balance, Mickey dashed ahead to the woman's side, having an idea for one more trick. “Here, this way!” He grabbed her wrist, which is when she finally noticed him, giving him a surprised, puzzled expression. He pulled her into another alleyway, spun her around, dipped her low, and took off one of her pointy yellow sandals, and then chucked the shoe across the street. Once the action was done, he held up a finger for silence, while the woman blinked at him. Mickey would later realize she had been awfully calm all the while.

The trio of attackers managed to finally find their footing, catching up to the alleyway. The leader of the group stopped them, pointing at the shoe. “Look! She must have gone this way!”

“Excellent finding, bro-ski. Don't worry, we'll find her!” said the smallest of the group.

“Only when we find ourselves, can we find another,” said the largest of the group.

They then took off ahead, believing they were right on their victim's tail. Mickey waited until he could no longer see them to let go of the girl – to be frank he wasn't sure how much longer he could have held her, given that she was two heads taller than he was. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he could get a good look at her.

She was a pretty thing, he supposed, the kind of prettiness that other men would find beautiful but simply not Mickey's type. Her long black hair was tied up in a high ponytail with bright orange flowers, and a pair of golden earrings hung in round circles, rocking back and forth whenever she moved her head. Her deep blue top had yellow lining, exposing her pale arms that apparently could carry heavier things than one would think, given how large the bundle in those arms was. Her blue dress had noticeable slits that revealed shapely long legs. Curious dark eyes studied him, and she finally smiled, curling a lose hair behind her small ear. “You saved my life!”

Mickey placed his sword back in its scabbard. “Aw, it was nothing.” He replied with a puff of his chest. “It's just what us heroes are made to do. Are you all right?”

“I am now, thanks to you.” She held the wrapped bundle close to her chest. “I was trying to get my precious family heirloom home, when those thugs corned me! I thought I was a goner until you arrived! May I know the name of my brave hero!”

“I am Prince Mickey, the Son of Scheherazade!” Mickey only realized what he'd said when it was too late, and he resisted the urge to slap his forehead. “But... uh... just 'Mickey' will do.” Shoot. He was so conditioned to that title it came out as natural as breathing.

The woman's eyes took on an intense glitter. “Prince?” she repeated, before putting the heirloom on the ground and bowing low, hands on the ground. “I am not worthy to be in your presence, your highness.”

“What?!” Mickey jumped, and then raced over to grab her hands. “No, no, stop that! It's not like that at all! You don't have to do anything like that! I just wanted to help you, I don't want any special treatment.”

“Please forgive me, then... I have never been with someone so important.” The woman didn't pull her hands away from Mickey's. “My name is Lotus Blossom. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?”

“I don't need any kind of payment, really!” Mickey now tried pulling his hands away, but my, she had an awfully tight grip on him. “Listen, Lotus, if those guys are still out and about, maybe I should walk you home so they can't get their hands on you.”

“Your generosity truly knows no bounds, Mickey. But now I carry a burden with me, if you can't allow me the simple act of returning a kindness. How will I sleep at night with this guilt? Can't I be allowed one simple thing?” She raised a hand to touch his cheek, leaning in and lightly whimpering.

“Ah... well...” When she put it that way, it did seem harder to deny her. “I... I guess if you really want to, it'd be rude if I said no. Doesn't have to be anything big, though.”

“Oh, thank you, your highness!” Lotus suddenly threw her arms around Mickey, drawing him close to her plump chest. Mickey jerked, but he didn't want to insult her by backing up. His cheeks burned, and he tried to patiently wait out the hug and praise, eyes darting around for a proper place to rest his eyes. Like the sky, or the walls, or Minnie -

… Or Minnie standing in the alleyway staring at Mickey as he was pushed into the bosom of a pretty woman.

“NOTWHATITLOOKSLIKENOTWHATITLOOKSLIKE-” Mickey yelled loudly, his words so smashed together that no one understood what it was he was trying to say, jumping backwards and landing on his butt. Forget Mortimer the Magnificent or Donald's storms, this was as close to death as he ever felt!

Lotus frowned, and then looked in the direction Mickey was flailing at. “...Can we help you?” Her sweet voice now turned sour.

Minnie looked at Lotus, looked Mickey, then back to Lotus. “I was merely searching for my Master, and I have found him. That's all.” An average onlooker wouldn't have noticed the fire in Minnie's eyes or the aura of wrath all around her, but Mickey sure did, and he hoped one of the laws the genies had to follow was to not murder their masters. “Come, Master, we should return to the duties the Captain gave us.”

“Uh,” said Mickey, which for the moment all he was capable of saying.

“Right now?” Lotus put her attention back on Mickey, taking his hand with both of hers. “But I haven't properly thanked you yet! And what about those vicious men who are after me? You said you would help me.”

“Uh,” said Mickey again.

“My Master has his orders to follow, and can't afford to waste any time helping every single person he meets.” Minnie began to walk towards Mickey, and grabbed his other hand. “I'm sure this woman can find her own way home. She is an adult, not a child.”

“Uhhh.”

“Why yes, I am.” Lotus smiled, with a hint of fang to it. “Are you saying you're an adult too? I'm surprised, since you certainly have the body of a child...”

“UHHH.”

Now Minnie was glaring hellfire at Lotus and got it back in turn. “My looks have nothing to do with my Master returning to where he is supposed to be!”

“If he really is your master, then he should be able to make his own decisions, shouldn't he? You sound awfully bossy for a slave.”

“And you sound awfully attached for someone he just met. Why can't you find someone else to take you home?”

“He saved my life, of course I trust him!”

“He saves everyone's life, that's what he does!”

“Why don't you back off, tiny?”

“WHY DON'T YOU BACK OFF?!”

“WHY DON'T YOU MAKE ME?!”

Mickey had finally gathered enough bravery and strength to whistle high enough so both women stopped. “Listen... I have no idea what you two are doing, but that's gotta stop.” He cleared his throat, starting over. “Yes, I do have duties to fulfill, but Lotus Blossom was in trouble. I can't ignore people when they need help! And she says she won't be comfortable unless she repays me. So I'll take her home, and then she can repay me, and then I'll return to my duties. Everyone okay with that?”

Minnie “hmph”ed, but then glanced away. “...I suppose it is a matter of honor.”

Lotus clapped. “Wonderful, we're all in agreement! And I know exactly how to repay you, your highness! It will be something you and I both enjoy! And it's the only thing I want to give you, so you can't say no.” Was it Minnie's imagination or did this sound rather planned and rehearsed?

Mickey merely nodded. “Sounds fair. So, what is it?”

Lotus took Mickey's hand again for a big squeeze. “A date!”

“... A date?” Mickey repeated in disbelief.

“A date?” Minnie repeated in equal lack of belief.

“A date!” Lotus finished, now standing up and gathering the heirloom into her arm. “Oh, it'll be so much fun! We'll have a great time together! A hero and the damsel in distress he saved, together... isn't it romantic?” She then paused in her glee, noticing Mickey wasn't celebrating, and she eyed Minnie suspiciously. “Unless you two are...?”

“Oh, no, uh, she's, no.” Mickey fumbled, airily trying to gesture what he himself was barely figuring out. “She's... well... my friend? I mean, we've never... you know...?”

“I must say, that is a relief!” Lotus chirped, giggling. “There are some truly despicable masters out there.”

“NO, NO! I would never do anything like that!” Mickey said realizing what she meant, and then felt he just had to add, “I don't think I would be comfortable even kissing Minnie now.”

Now, Mickey was still trying to work out the tricks and oddities of romance. So he was fairly clueless why Minnie's jaw had dropped and she looked ready to either burst into tears or strangle him. “Comf...Comfortable?” She said shakily, her body twitching, fingers clenching. “You think the idea of kissing me is uncomfortable?”

Mickey blinked, knowing he was digging himself deeper yet unable to understand why he had the shovel. “Well, sure. Wouldn't anyone feel that way?” Lotus Blossom grinned, enjoying the show.

“Youuuu...” Minnie stretched the vowel out, shaking harder with anger. What happened to the dopey, goo-goo-eyed boy who had been drooling over her when she was on stage? Was she that repulsive now that she was a genie? What was so uncomfortable about kissing her?! Had he been uncomfortable when she kissed him on the cheek ages ago? NO SIR, THAT STUPID BOY HAD ENJOYED IT! “You, you, you...” She sucked air in through her teeth, her tail curling up behind her. “Well... I'm SO SORRY that I make you so UNCOMFORTABLE, MASTER!” Mickey had never heard her shout so loudly, and was literally floored, reeling on his back. “DON'T ALLOW ME TO MAKE YOU ANYMORE UNCOMFORTABLE! ENJOY YOUR DATE!”

Minnie then stormed off, her feet stomping so hard one could swear she was leaving footprints that would last a lifetime. Fine! FINE! Let him have his fun! He really just was like all the others! Let that harlot take him so they could cuddle and coo and KISS and have COMFORTABLE kisses! What did she matter? She was only a genie, and genies weren't supposed to entertain any thoughts about their master besides sheer obedience. It was her own fault for feeling this way.

As for Mickey, he still laid there, trying to process everything. “...Wha'happen?” he mumbled, as if he'd been run over by a wild stampede of elephants.

“I'll show you the way home!” Lotus took Mickey by the hand and began to drag him away, not caring if he ever got up to walk. “Then we can plan our date! I simply can't wait!”

Then Mickey thought the one thing no hero in a story should ever think – At least it can't get any worse.

#disney #fanfic #the son of scheherazade #mickey mouse #minnie mouse #donald duck #goofy #clarabelle cow #horace hosecollar #panchito pistoles #jose carioca

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