#i almost made this more angsty and grosser

[risingsouls]

R: The Lost Chapters: 1

[I’m not stalling writing the Android Saga what do you meeeean.

You’re half right. I need to go rewatch it and I haven’t felt up to it. BUT it’s also because I’ve had this idea swirling around in my head about Nabooru meeting the rest of the Cold family while working for Frieza so. Here it is. I’m sure I butchered King Cold and Cooler, but lbr. We have so little to go on, that I think I at LEAST did a passable job of writing two assholes :3

ANYWAY. I’ll be posting this on my writing blog with the rest of my bullshit.]

Dinner

The entirety of the atrocious day followed the deranged script of a fever dream that commingled her past and present into a horrific nightmare.

It began with Zarbon entering her quarters unannounced (“A perk of my status. In case of emergency,” he informed her), sent by Frieza to ensure her appearance not only met his day to day expectations but exceeded them for the special occasion of dinner with his father and brother. The general nitpicked every aspect of her person, from her ponytail needing to be an inch higher and shifted very slightly to the left for symmetry and picking more “palatable” shades for her makeup to directing her attention to her armor being slightly askew and one of her stockings rolling at the top. Unlike the maids tasked with helping her dress for her first formal event at Hyrule castle, he at least didn’t suggest she “lighten” her complexion or cover her accent.  The only points to his credit she would allow him. 

Their trek to meet Frieza and Dodoria at the ship’s gangplank was filled with the same types of warnings she heard from the servants or, to her greater annoyance, Ganondorf: do not speak unless spoken to. When you do speak, keep your responses short and remember your manners, or whatever excuse you have for them, and then forget them because they’re probably not good enough. Make as little eye contact as possible unless you have been addressed then be sure you make eye contact. Mind your posture, but don’t be too prissy about it; acting too uptight could be considered an insult, as could seeming too relaxed. Don’t brag too much even if presented with the opportunity. Compliments go a long way, but don’t come off as insincere. No sudden moves. Use your passable beauty to your advantage and smile.

Unlike in Hyrule, these she didn’t once consider breaking to appease her rebellious nature and remind her hosts her people would not be controlled as well as they thought. Not when they could kill her with as little as a flick to her forehead.

The interior of the Imperial Palace combined the regal opulence of Hyrule Castle with the pristine yet cold, technology-based motif of the bases dotting the empire and the ships used by those it employed. Stunning but intimidating, like the barest breath would bring it toppling down. Two stiff guards stood at every door, only bending deep at the waist and mumbling a greeting to Frieza as they passed by. Their footsteps made no sound on the plush, royal purple rug beneath their feet that ran all the way to a large pair of doors at the back of the hall, where two figures, one gargantuan and the other miniscule in his wake, stood awaiting them.

"Ah, father! My dear brother! How wonderful it is to see you!" Nabooru followed Zarbon and Dodoria and sank to one knee, head bowed low. "I do apologize for my tardiness. There is no rest for an emperor, as you both well know."

"It is of no consequence, son, despite Cooler's complaints," King Cold drawled. When the other two generals rose to their feet, she followed suit. Frieza's father and the retired emperor indeed towered over everyone present, and Nabooru marveled at how his height rivaled if not surpassed Ganondorf's. He wore a cape draped over the shoulders of armor that surprisingly matched the design of a mere soldier. Horns jutted from the white armored flesh surrounding his head like a helmet, the deep blue dome at the center of his cranium shining in the light overhead. He shared his son's piercing crimson gaze.

Had Frieza not called him brother, Nabooru never would have pinned the elder Cold sibling by sight alone. Though he shared their crimson eyes, that was where the physical similarities stopped. He lacked the horns and armored skin around the wrists and ankles as well as his father's bulk, but that did not take away from his menacing presence.

"Come along then. Our dinner should be ready shortly."

The second he turned to the door, a pair of servants bustled over to push them open, sure to bow deeply as the king and princes walked by. A long table cut the opulent dining hall in half, only the seats at the far end set for the meal. Tubes of colored light lined the walls at intervals and stretched toward the high, pointed ceiling, the shades shifting within the confines. A dazzling chandelier hung over the center of the hall. Paintings of previous Cold rulers hung in the gaps between the tubes. As she observed each one, she certainly saw the family resemblance in each one to varying degrees.

Dodoria remained at the door while Nabooru joined Zarbon at the table. She pulled out Frieza's chair while Zarbon poured wine into the emperor's glass, taking a sip before setting it down before him. They bowed and backed up a few steps. Close enough should they be needed but far enough back to allow the servants room to attend to their tasks and show respect for their betters. A blonde general followed the same routine across the table behind Cooler.

"Ah, I always feel such elation when the three of us find the time to come together for a meal," King Cold said at last. He tapped a utensil on his glass, and servants poured out with platters of food from doors hidden by large statues in the back of the hall. "It brings back memories of when the two of you were children."

"Feeling sentimental, are we father?" Frieza drawled, taking a swig of blood red wine. "I hope you didn't invite us to inform us of some staggering news of your poor health and impending death."

To Nabooru's surprise, the king wore a mirthful smile and laughed. "Such wit you have, Frieza. I've always admired your cut throat tenacity and ambition."

Cooler seemed far less impressed, alabaster brows low and obsidian lips downturned. "Too bad, Frieza. You will have to wait longer for our dearest father to pass and you inherit the factions remaining in his control."

"Come now, Cooler. If you intend to be bitter throughout the entire meal, I would prefer you excuse yourself."

Cooler's gaze narrowed slightly at his sibling across from him, and Nabooru could picture the smug smirk Frieza wore. However, he bowed his head to his father. "My apologies, father. It will not happen again."

"Excellent. I will be merciful as I know you've been dealing with some troubles in a few of your quadrants that have likely put you more on edge than usual." He tipped his glass to his lips, the cup seeming far too small in his large hand. "Perhaps you and Frieza could discuss it after our meal concludes. He has made large slides with more rebellious factions of late. He may have some pointers for you."

"I would be more than happy to impart my wisdom to you, dear brother."

Cooler's muscles tensed. Nabooru was surprised he didn't break the utensil in his hand. "I would welcome his suggestions."

"Wonderful. Now…" Cold turned his attention back to his younger heir. "I see you've brought a new guest with you?"

"Don't flatter her, father," Frieza replied with a chuckle. "Guest is far too generous a term for my new general." He waved a hand. "The aesthetic nature of my retinue felt...off. Unbalanced. Nabooru fixes that very well. Not to mention she has proved quite obedient and useful when she puts in a little effort. Zarbon and Dodoria have no doubt been a more favorable influence on her than the Saiyans."

Nabooru clenched and unclenched her hands behind her back, struggling to maintain an otherwise unbothered demeanor. The difficulty of it only exacerbated when Cold added, "Is she your new pet project, then? A replacement for Vegeta?"

Frieza mulled over his response as he chewed whatever delicacy he forked into his mouth. "In a way, I suppose. I hadn't given it much more thought. She shows potential." He swallowed. "I wouldn't call her a replacement, however. Vegeta still has much he could learn from me."

"Well, she is at least far easier on the eyes than the monkey prince. Or any other of his barbaric race," the king said with a wicked chuckle. "Where did you pick up this sparkling diamond?"

"A planet called Hyrule. An undiscovered gem until recently," he answered with haughty disinterest. "Rich in resources, and her race is one of warriors. Similar to the Saiyans, only they're all female save for their king and far more refined culturally, though that isn’t saying much. Still quite backwards and behind the times. I aided her race in conquering the planet and in exchange they oversee the planet for me and, as insurance, I added Nabooru here to my ranks."

That was at least for my skills, she thought bitterly, twisting the end of her ponytail in her fist behind her. If pretending to need to find the bathroom or throwing up in her disgust at the current vein of conversation wouldn't get her killed, she might have made a beeline for the doors.

A notion further clipped as King Cold rested his chin in his hand, attention set firmly on her. She made eye contact for only a second before bowing her head, blood boiling as she felt his gaze still glued on her. Her certainly eyed her as if she were a twinkling, precious gem.

"What did you say her name was? Nabooru?" 

"Yes, father."

"Very good. Nabooru, would you do me the honor of taking the seat next to me?" She forced her shocked expression back to one of neutrality before lifting her head again. Crimson gaze still on her, he waved a hand. "Cooler, please move down a seat to make room for our intriguing guest."

Cooler's jaw tightened, and energy crackled for just a moment around him. He did not protest and moved his plate down a spot, shifting into the chair behind it. His tail slammed the ground behind him as he did. King Cold gestured to the abandoned seat with a flourish. "Sit."

Stomach churning and nerves next to shot, Nabooru bowed low. "It would be my honor, your majesty."

To keep from garnering suspicion, she rounded the table at the opposite side of the Cold family, allowing them to keep their eyes on her all the way. She skirted behind Cooler's general and lowered herself into the seat with a gracious nod. As many diplomatic feasts as she attended with powerful men of Hyrule, with their judging or lecherous stares, their upturned noses and prejudices about her and her race, she would take that over the unease and discomfort she felt seated at the table with the most powerful and merciless  family in the empire. One wrong move, and it would be her head on one of those platters, though as she tried to remember Zarbon's advice, she could have mistaken it for her scouter being on the fritz for his words came through her memory as static.

Smile. That she remembered. And so she did.

"Tell me about yourself, Nabooru, and your home planet."

She took only the barest second to search his face for motive, but all she found was a predatory gleam in his blood red eyes and an easy, unbothered smile that, when she glanced to Frieza, she found mirrored on his son's onyx lips as he sipped his wine. Unreadable, and she didn't know if he looked at her with disdain or true interest. If he wanted to listen to her tale, kill her, or, with how he stared like the nobles of Hyrule, fuck her. Maybe it was all three. She wasn’t even sure if Arcosian anatomy allowed for the last one, but it did little to soothe her.

"As Lord Frieza stated, I came from a planet called Hyrule from a race of warriors called the Gerudo," she started. Zarbon's words slowly made headway in her consciousness, and she reminded herself to keep it short and not to brag too much. "I served as our second in command before I was graced with the honor of joining your son's army."

"Ah, that would explain why he chose you from the rest of your clan, then," Cold affirmed, "is that right, son?"

"Yes, father. The soldiers training them to utilize ki reported she was impressive and learned quickly. Her rank helped, even if it was to an unrefined race like her own."

Nabooru swallowed her biting retort, ensuring her smile did not falter. Speak only when spoken to. He didn't say anything about ripping horns out of heads…

"They had no knowledge of ki?" Cold turned back to Nabooru. "I suppose it's not unheard of, but at least three quarters of the universe's armies use and are aware of its utilization."

She nodded. "Lord Frieza said it best when he mentioned that our planet was...quite behind much of the universe. In that regard, technologically. I don't believe there was much study into what lay beyond our planet's surface, either." She felt sick as she added, "If not for his decision to train and aid us, my people would have been killed. Slowly if not outright. Our enemies far outnumbered us, a gap no amount of skill we possessed as warriors could close. Ki gave us more than enough of an edge, I imagine."

King Cold clicked his tongue. "Frieza, you didn't allow her to stay and witness her people conquering their enemies? What a pity."

"If I may." Cooler injecting himself back into conversation surprised everyone, and Nabooru was almost afraid to turn to give him her attention. His ire wafted from him in distressing waves. Cold nodded. "Thank you, father. Tell us what being a second in command to the...what did you call your race? The Gerudo? What did that position entail?"

"I acted as leader in the event of the king's absence," she began. What felt like a snake coiled around her right ankle. She cleared her throat to camouflage her surprise when she realized it was no serpent but Cooler's tail. "I also acted as an advisor to the king and a general of our army as well as head of our Elite."

The last syllable came out half an octave higher and accompanied by a snap as Cooler's tail squeezed her ankle with crushing force. Pain ripped through her from the site of the break and the continued pressure on it. Not the worst pain she had ever felt, but it made it increasingly difficult to maintain her smile when a grimace wished to overtake it.

"Intriguing." Cooler's tail constricted tighter. Another snap and flare of pain. None of the parties seemed bothered by it. "It seems you found a well-rounded brute this time, Frieza. A far better base to work with than your Saiyan pet."

"True, brother. If I could merge the two, taking her experience in leadership and combining it with Vegeta's raw power and ruthlessness, I truly would have the perfect general." He sighed. "But I take what I can get in this lowly universe. She can still be molded into something close."

Cooler squeezed again, and Nabooru dug her nails into her thighs. Finally, he released her. She didn't need to look to know her ankle was shattered. "And with more reason to remain loyal to you, with that magnanimous decision of yours to rescue her race. They'll sing your praises for eons to come. Isn't that right, Nabooru?"

She relaxed and focused on the task at hand. On not being killed for making a face. Though she clued in on his words. More reason to remain loyal than Vegeta...Was he confirming the prince's suspicion about Frieza's involvement in the betrayal and destruction of the Saiyans? "That is correct, your highness."

"A marvelous addition to your posse, to be sure," King Cold rejoined. "More proof that the spoils of our conquests are not always drenched in blood or brutish warriors looking to make a name for themselves or foolishly dethrone our family. Some simply wish to show their gratitude to their benefactors."

The urge to vomit returned, but instead she simply flashed the king and his younger son a charming smile and a bow of her head. The image of demure fealty. It worked in Hyrule, and both conquerors seemed satisfied with her display. Benefactor. Gratitude. For being made a slave to the whims of a violent and tyrannical emperor who would kill her and her people for her slightest misstep. She was more grateful for her busted ankle.

"Perhaps once she has worn out her usefulness to me, I can gift her to you, father," Frieza suggested. "Since you seem so fond of her."

"So thoughtful, Frieza. I believe she would make a fine addition to my royal company."

"Very well. For the moment, I need her to aid me with keeping the monkeys busy and on task, but once that is no longer a necessity, we can see about her transferring here."

Nabooru's heart sank straight to the pit of her stomach. Helplessness stoked her rage, but reason quelled it to a dull roar for the sake of her life. To them, she was no more than a commodity to be passed around like a child's toy. Bent, used, and, once she broke, tossed aside and destroyed. She had no agency, no say in her future. With such a promise, her chances of ever seeing her home again dwindled further than ever.

More than ever, she manifested, pleaded with whatever god would listen, for Vegeta's and Nappa's success on Earth. Only with Frieza's defeat would she ever see her people again.

The rest of the meal continued without returning to her as a topic of conversation and no further bodily harm to her person. She maintained a docile and delighted presence despite her inner torment and the usually horrendous topics they discussed and dubbed “the business.” When she left the hall with Dodoria (Zarbon and Frieza would remain at the palace for the night while Nabooru and Dodoria returned to the ship to check on the crew and prepare for their leave the following day), it took significant effort to mask her limp. But her failure to do so piqued Dodoria's curiosity and annoyance. Citing it as a training injury, he scolded her for not taking care of it before and sent her to the medical bay. He promised that she would be making the time up to him by taking on some of his duties over the next week. She didn't argue. She was simply glad she wasn’t asked to spend the night warming anyone’s bed.

Healed and finished with her appointed tasks and the extra drudgery Dodoria added on, she returned to her quarters well into the night. The increasingly frigid temperatures of the planet crept into the ship, though, despite her disdain for the cold, she hardly felt it as she fell onto her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, tears of rage flooding her gold eyes. It was nothing new, but her blood boiled with indignance, shame, and the further shredding of her pride. Her heart broke in fear for her future and with the helplessness of her situation. She was disposable and unappreciated. Another number, another cog. As easily replaced and shoved elsewhere as the next person. She had no value. No worth. No agency. And she could do nothing about it. If Frieza wanted to hand her over to his father to serve him instead, whatever that would entail, she would have no say in the matter unless she wanted to worsen the situation or be killed. She could be abused and belittled, killed by his kin or anyone else, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. But the worst of it all was that she could do nothing about it. She wasn’t strong enough to, even if her people’s fate wasn’t on the line. Trapped between obligation to the Gerudo and self-preservation.

The Gerudo. The only thing that kept her from succumbing to madness or offing herself to preserve her pride. How she missed them. She missed the Saiyans, too. Raditz, who she would never see again. Nappa. Even Vegeta. Her fingers twitched at her side, and she considered swiping her scaouter off her dresser where she dropped it and calling her former comrades, just to hear a remotely friendly voice. Nappa’s likely. Vegeta still refused to speak with her if he didn’t have to.

Instead, she yanked the pillow from beneath her head and screamed into it until her lungs gave out.

#fic: recruited the lost chapters #:: nabooru ☀ #*sad trumpets sounding* #the cold family is awful #to each other and everyone else #idk if cooler would BE that petty #but u no #i almost made this more angsty and grosser #because idk ever since i first saw him #king cold gave me those creep king vibes #like not only his he a merciless killer and conqueror #but he likes the finer things and the pleasures of life more than his kids #especially now that he's retired #BUT i decided to keep it out becuase this was ick enough

[weirdsideblog]

Hello! How would it play out (in the same timeline as your three part story) if Tony had to eat Peter again, but this time, had to act like it was dangerous in order to protect him?

Oh what an angsty idea!  Thank you for this!  The greatest struggle of a vore writer is figuring out “when the heck would they even need to do that?” but I think I have a decent explanation, hopefully this is what you meant.

Naturally this is still safe vore, but as the ask says, there’s a lot of talk about unsafe vore, as well as an evil character threatening it, so if you’re very squeamish about that, take care.  As always, not St*rker

Tony’s head ached. That was the first thing he registered. The second thing was that he was lying on a cold concrete floor, surrounded by concrete walls and a concrete ceiling, a cell of some kind. The third was that he was alone.

He couldn’t remember what had happened or how he’d gotten here, but he knew he’d been with Peter. At least he was fairly sure. Now Peter was nowhere to be seen. Tony flexed his stomach, just to check if he’d tucked him away without remembering it, but there was no Peter there either.

That could mean a number of things, and he told himself not to panic yet.  It was possible that his memory was wrong and Peter hadn’t actually been with him at all.  Or he could have escaped and might be planning a rescue. There was a good possibility that whoever had kidnapped them didn’t want them scheming together about how to escape, and was simply holding them separately, too.

Or Peter could be dead, but Tony instructed himself strictly not to go there.

He looked up quickly when the door opened, and his heart lurched. Two men, armed with guns, flanking a taller man with graying blond hair came into the room.  He recognized them.  It would be hard not to, after the narrow escape he and Peter had had before.

The blond man held a jar, with a tiny figure huddled inside.   They were still all the way across the room, but there was only one person it could be.

“Hello Stark,” said the man with the jar, and he came close, close enough for Tony to see Peter, who had scrambled up and pressed against the glass like he could force his way through. “I believe I have something of yours.”

He had to be careful now. Show too much attachment, and they would surely use Peter against him even more. Show too little, and they might decide he was useless to their cause and get rid of him. Tony said nothing, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Peter’s scared face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen the boy with you before. I know you work together.”

“We do,” Tony agreed. They could have that for free; it was no great secret anyway.

“I’m sure you remember when you escaped from us last month?”

Tony certainly did. They’d used a shrink ray on Peter then, too, and Tony had been so desperate not to allow him to be captured like that that he’d swallowed the kid whole. And now he had been captured like that anyway, just as Tony had feared.

“You’re lucky you got off so easily,” he said, forcing himself to look up from Peter. “People who try to kidnap me have a history of getting much worse.”

“I’m sure.” The blond man laughed. “But surely you won’t blow us up when I have this?” He gave the jar in his hand a little shake, and Peter lost his footing and stumbled.

“Ideally, no.” Tony watched Peter again, so tiny and vulnerable, and out of his reach. The kid had made it clear he had not enjoyed being eaten, despite knowing he was safe, but Tony wondered if he might want to be hidden now. Tony himself certainly did. “What’s the idea with having him so small,” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“I thought this little intern could serve as a visual aid,” said the man. “You see, there you are. Tony Stark, Iron Man, top of the world, and people like me—we look like this to you, don’t we?”

Tony knew to let him have his monologue, watching Peter in the jar he held up, trying to think.

“You eat up dreams, you eat up lives, and they’re nothing to you. Why should they be, when you’re the man at the top? One might say you’re top of the food chain.”

Under different circumstances, Tony would definitely have laughed at that choice of imagery, but when the person talking about eating people was a possibly-unhinged stranger holding a tiny Peter, dread settled into his heart.

“People like me, we’re just like him to you, aren’t we?” The man gave the jar another little shake. “Bite size.”

Tony stopped breathing.

“I’d certainly love to take the illustration one step further.”

He started to unscrew the jar, and Peter scrambled against the side.

“No!” Tony started forward—the only thing keeping him in place before had been he unspoken threat of harm to Peter if he moved, but now—

“Come any closer and I drop him.”

There it was. Tony froze.

“As I was saying...” the man tipped the opening of the jar over his hand, and Peter only just managed to stay inside.

“I get your point.” Tony clenched his hands at his sides to keep them from shaking. “No visual aid needed.”

“Just to be sure.” The man tried to get Peter out of the jar again.

“Stop!”

“Hmm.” Mercifully, the jar was turned upright again and the lid screwed back on. Peter curled up at the bottom, arms wrapped around his head like he could shield himself. “I’d hate for such a perfect snack to go to waste. Maybe you could help me prove my point instead.”

“I-“

“Catch.”

Tony reacted just in time to catch the jar and its tiny occupant, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He withdrew against the wall, holding the glass with shaking hands.

“It’s me or you, Stark.”

Did he mean... Tony couldn’t believe their good fortune, but he made himself look horrified anyway.

“You would be more fitting, but I’d be happy to assist if for some reason you’re not willing.”

“What the hell do you think I am,” he snarled, practically vibrating with the need to do exactly what was asked of him.

“It’s nothing you haven’t done before. Just more literal this time.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll take him back, then.”

“No!” Tony clutched the jar to his chest, flinching when one of the other men pointed a gun at his head.

“I don’t think I made myself clear,” said the blond man. “You have three options. Eat the boy, give him to me, or die, and then I can eat him anyway.”

Tony was still. He had never wanted to swallow anyone more than he did right now, but he had a role to play. He was conflicted, after all, he was scared, there was no good option (ha!) and he needed to sell this more than he’d ever sold anything in his life, and he’d sold a lot of things. He looked at Peter in the jar and his scared face, and could only hope the kid was just playing along, too.

“Well?”

“He’s just a kid. Whatever you have against me, he’s got nothing to do with it.”

“That doesn’t sound like one of the choices I gave you.”

Tony made a great show of swallowing hard. “I can’t...”

“Then I’ll do it,” said the blond man, almost cheerfully, and now Tony really did feel sick. “Say your goodbyes.” He chuckled. “I doubt you’ll be one to mourn him for long.”

Peter’s mouth moved, saying what Tony guessed to be “Mr. Stark?”

“Wait.” He wrapped his hands around the jar as fully as possible. “Wait, I- he stays with me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a very great comfort while you’re killing him.”

Tony said nothing. He wanted to get Peter out of the jar and gulp him down immediately, safe from anyone who wanted to hurt him, but the version of himself he was playing at the moment wouldn’t do that. He did tip Peter carefully out of the jar (he went readily) and hold him securely in his hands instead.

“You’re going to swallow him alive,” said the man. “More fun that way. If you try to put him out of his misery first, my man will shoot.”

If this was different...Tony tried not to think about that. Peter would be safe, so there was no need to think about what he’d do if he wasn’t.

“Don’t make me do this.” Please, please, hurry up and ‘make’ me do this.

“If you waste another ten seconds, he’ll be mine.”

“Kid…”

Peter was shaking in his hands. Surely he knew. He’d done this before, he had to know. Tony prayed his terrified expression was just him playing his own role. Playing it very well, too.

“Ten,” said the man, starting to count down.

“Mr. Stark?”

What would he say? What would he ever say, if this was real? Peter was staring at him, holding on tightly to his finger, his little chest heaving. (Please be acting, please be acting, please be acting.) Then he burst into tears. Tony’s heart sank.

...

Tony was a good actor. At least Peter hoped he was. Otherwise, he was so screwed.

It wasn’t hard to play along. Peter felt too small and helpless anyway, and he’d just had a complete stranger threaten to eat him multiple times. Unless there was something he didn’t know, he was about to be safe, but he was also about to be eaten anyway, and a little reassurance that the two weren’t mutually exclusive would be nice.

Experience told him he’d be fine. (Experience telling him he’d survive getting eaten, who’d have imagined it?) He’d done this before, after all, and been completely fine. He would have liked to hear it from Tony’s mouth himself, but surely, surely he’d be fine.

“Ten.” The blond man started counting down to when he’d take Peter away and then he wouldn’t be fine, and Tony just looked at him.

“Mr. Stark?”

Peter didn’t know what he wanted, besides Tony in general. He certainly didn’t want to be eaten by him, safe or not, but he definitely didn’t want the other man to get him, and he just—just—just started to cry, apparently. Great.

Tony smoothed his hair with the lightest fingertip, and that was good, that was nice, and then the blond man reached the end of his countdown and Peter shrieked as the world swooped and he was shut quickly inside Tony’s mouth.

That was gross. He’d forgotten how gross it was. It was even grosser when Tony’s tongue (dear God, he’d forgotten about that, too) moved under him, nudging gently at his chest, and maybe it was supposed to calm him down, but he just tried to hold it off. Tony thankfully got the hint and stopped.

Outside, they were demanding Tony swallow him, or they would shoot. His breath whooshed in the back of his throat, sometimes catching like he was going to cry, and he really was great at this acting stuff. Hopefully. Ninety-five percent certain. Maybe ninety.

Peter guessed he’d find out soon enough. At any rate, it was probably polite to make sure he went down (he shuddered) as easily as possible. He uncurled himself and stretched out, with his legs pointing toward Tony’s throat, and waited with his heart pounding fit to burst.

It happened all in a flash. He was squeezed against the roof of Tony’s mouth, a muscular ripple rolled over him, and his heart dropped into his toes. He twitched once, starting to fight, but he forced himself still again. It was Tony, and he was eighty-five percent sure that meant it was okay. And struggling wouldn’t save him anyway.

Everything around him lurched when Tony coughed, probably only slightly, but it was a massive sound to Peter. Before he had time to wonder if he’d hurt him somehow, an especially tight ring of muscle rolled over him and he tumbled into Tony’s stomach.

He’d forgotten just how gross this was, too, how slimy. He scrambled, completely disoriented in the pitch darkness and the slippery slime and the soft, yielding walls, fighting panic. (It was Tony, it was Tony, he was supposed to be safe here. Hopefully.)

“No!” Tony cried out, and Peter was thrown to the side with a sickening squelch. “No, you can’t!”

“Mr. Stark!”

He was struggling with someone, pleading with them, what were they doing to him? Peter was helpless.

Whatever was going on ended quickly, for better or for worse, and Peter tried to get his bearings again. Tony was coughing like he was going to throw up, but Peter stayed put. He hoped that was by design. Still, it sounded pretty painful, and he ventured to touch the wall of the stomach and just… pet it lightly. He couldn’t explain it, but it seemed like the thing to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked as soon as it was done.

Tony didn’t answer, probably still being watched.

“Mr. Stark? Cough once if you’re okay.”

Tony coughed, very deliberately, and Peter breathed again.

“I’m like, mostly sure, but I’m okay, too, right?”

Tony coughed again.

“Okay. That’s- that’s good.” Peter leaned against him. “I thought so, but I wanted to make sure, cause, you know.” 

He shivered a little. If this was different... well, it wasn’t.  Peter tried to put the thought out of his mind. He was safe. Tony wasn’t going to kill him, or have to know that was going on and be powerless to stop it, and-- Peter squished himself against the wall. It was Tony, and he was keeping him safe.

It felt strangely familiar. Tony’s heartbeat, his breathing, the warm softness that almost seemed to cradle him, slimy and disgusting as it was. Peter found himself relaxing slowly. It was scary to be this small, and it was nice to be held by someone he could trust, even in such a weird way.

Just like the first time he’d been here, it was almost nice, once he got over the fact that he’d been eaten alive. Everything around him was Tony, and in addition to being just… really weirdly awesome, it was a very safe feeling, being kept securely inside his mentor like this. He was also very much trapped here until Tony chose to release him, but that added to the feeling of safety too.

He smiled. No way was blond guy getting him now.

…

Peter knew. Thank God, he knew he was safe.

Tony curled up on his side, difficult now that they had tied his arms behind his back, but he was harder to observe this way. They were probably going to leave him alone for a while now, to think on his guilt and…well. Best not to think about what this could be.

Peter snuggled up to him, quite safe, and so trusting, too. Tony curled around him, even though he was already around him anyway, and held perfectly still to feel his every tiny movement. After some time, Peter went very still and relaxed, and Tony suspected with no small amount of awe that he might be asleep.

He made a point of breathing more slowly so as not to disturb him. All the while, his mind raced with half-formed plans of how they might escape again.

Eventually, Peter stirred, and squirmed a bit. “Mr. Stark?”

“Right here,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone who might be spying on them to hear.

“Just making sure.”

They both jumped when War Machine crashed through the ceiling.

#v.ore #v/ore #soft vore #safe vore #protective vore #g/t vore #marvel vore #avengers vore

[hyunjin-bun]

The  Good Mistake {Bokuto x Akaashi and Kuroo x Kenma}

synopsis: Where Akaashi and Bokuto have to come to terms with how they feel and Kuroo and Kenma have to discover their feelings.

pairings: Bokuto x Akaashi and Kuroo x Kenma

genre: FLUFF! (or at least trying to be) crack (but like it wasn’t supposed to be that’s just what happened) mutual pining.

warnings: swearing that’s it i guess? (🚩for this chapter there’s a slight panic attack at the end.)

note: Chapter 5 finally..🙌 slighly angsty again but it’ll end happily I promise, and with the way this is going I might end up making it 7 or 8 chapters when my original idea was going to be just 6 but hey ho I’m excited and I hope you are too😄

If you’d like to be tagged just send me an ask (or a message if you feel to awkward with asks cos same👀💛) Enjoy!💕

Reaching Out

They had watched a total of 4 movies and saved a horror for last since it was becoming evening and the best time to watch a horror movie is at night. Or so Kuroo thought. He liked horrors and watched them regularly with Kenma. 

It’s just that sometimes they could get too scary for his liking or just straight-up gory. It was one of the scary ones they were watching tonight and Kuroo found himself flinching every time he heard a screech or saw a shadow in the film.  

The last scene was especially terrifying and he practically jumped. He heard Kenma let out a small snicker next to him, if you could even call it that, it was basically a soft huff of air but Kuroo knew the meaning behind it. “Oh shut up that was scary.” He said as he nudged Kenma’s side. 

Kenma hid it well but he agreed with Kuroo that it was quite scary. He wasn’t a fan of movies that took place underground, and with things that reminded him of the falmer in Skyrim, just grosser, made it worse. Yet he kept his composure a lot better than Kuroo.  

He was a big baby with things like this and Kenma revelled in being able to handle something Kuroo couldn’t, among other things. He smiled to himself while Kuroo snuggled closer. He side-eyed Kuroo and noticed that even though he was scared he was still very interested in the story. 

The dedication of this man made him all warm and fuzzy on the inside even if it was just while watching a movie. He let Kuroo snuggle up to him and it actually made up for the breakdown he had earlier.

When Kuroo had asked him if he was okay earlier he got really scared. The last thing he wanted to do was have to unload his feelings onto Kuroo directly after crying. Yet Kuroo stayed, probably expecting him to talk but even though Kenma didn’t say a word he still stayed. 

He was the most amazing friend anyone could ask for. Kenma tried to imagine what it would be like to be able to be his boyfriend. He couldn’t, he didn’t have the right words to describe how amazing that sounded.

At that moment he thought, fuck it, and put his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. Kenma felt him tense up just a little bit and he almost pulled away thinking he’d overstepped it but in a split second Kuroo relaxed. He stayed like that until his eyes started to feel heavy and he struggled to stay awake and eventually he lost the battle. 

Kuroo felt his face fire up completely when Kenma put his head on his shoulder. He thought he was going to explode when he heard soft little breaths coming from Kenma. Oh my god, he’d fallen asleep on his shoulder.  

Kuroo had recently noticed something about himself during the long hours of working through the countless cases. He missed Kenma, so much. And he’d realised some feelings popping up whenever he looked at him. 

It almost felt the same as when he would go into a volleyball game in high-school or when he stepped up to the front of a courtroom to plead someone’s case. It was butterflies.  It just added extra fire to how much he missed him

This movie-night finally gave him some time to be with him but he wasn’t expecting the guy to fall asleep on his shoulder. Kuroo was starting to get tired too and the movie was finishing up so he decided to take advantage kind of. When Kenma slept he slept like the dead. 

There was no waking him up once he fell asleep so he decided to carefully manoeuvre Kenma into his arms and picked him up to move him onto the bed fully. Kuroo moved the desk back to its original spot and went back to the bed and laid down next to Kenma facing him.  

This allowed him to observe Kenma. He’d done so in the past but not this freely. He had to stop himself from reaching out and running his hand down his face. He looked more peaceful while asleep than when he looked awake which is saying a lot since he looked high most of the time. Eventually, he fell asleep alongside the boy for whom his feelings were growing intensely.  

When Kenma woke up he looked at the clock on his wall and saw it was about 1 in the morning. He got a bit of a fright because when he opened his eyes he saw Kuroo lying close next to him so without waking Kuroo he got up to boot up a game on his pc and opted for headphones so he wouldn’t make too much noise. 

He tried to remember what happened after put his head on Kuroo’s shoulder but as usual, once he falls asleep he down for the count and doesn’t wake up till his body decides its time.  

He opened his game manager and decided on Overwatch and sunk into the game quickly. After about 2 hours of that, he wasn’t feeling especially tired but he had a headache and decided to go back to bed. 

He crawled under the sheets next to Kuroo. He decided to reach out and touch Kuroo’s cheek very lightly just to see how it might feel. His skin was so soft under Kenma’s fingertips; it was enough to send a jolt of surprise through his spine.  

Kuroo squirmed slightly and moved onto his stomach causing Kenma to pull away quickly but Kuroo was faster to open his eyes and caught as Kenma’s hand started to move away. 

Seeing the look of surprise on his face he pulled up to lean on his elbows, “Kenma what’s wrong, are you okay?” Kenma looked at his hand which he had let fall next to him in the space between him and Kuroo, “I-I’m fine.”  

His hand was shaking. Why was his hand shaking? He started to panic a little. What if Kuroo noticed? What if he asked enough questions to get Kenma to spill what was on his mind? 

Noticing the slight distress coming from Kenma, Kuroo slid closer to him and took his hand, “Hey, hey Kenma it's okay. Don’t worry it’s okay.” With the sudden close contact Kenma practically burst into tears and pulled closer to Kuroo.  

Kuroo took this as a sign to wrap his arms around the crying boy and just hold him. He put his hand in his hair and quietly whispered into his ear, “It’s okay Kozume.”

He continued to hold him as the boy in his arms sobbed. The feeling made Kuroo’s heart clench, “Just let it out, Kozume. You know that if you need to talk just come to me and even if you don’t want to talk just know I won’t force anything out of you even though I really want to know what’s happening with you when you say you’re fine. Because I can tell you’re not,” Kuroo had tears forming now because he hated seeing his best friend in such obvious turmoil.

He held him until Kenma stopped crying and his own tears dried up. He realised only after the whole ordeal that he was holding Kenma close to his chest and felt his soft breath on his throat. 

He cared so much for Kenma and was starting to realize it was growing stronger with every passing minute. He didn’t just want Kenma to be his friend anymore, because he wanted him to be his and his only.  

Tagging: @gabbywubby  @shou-kunn @super-noya @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @pudding-head-kenma @thirsthourdemon @thesecretlifeoflilly

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu fanfiction #Kuroo x Kenma #Kuroo Tetsurō #kuroken #Kenma Kozume #i nearly cried writing the last part damn

[humansunshineao3]

Fighting the Good Fight [Ch. 1]

Alec Lightwood just wants to run his Institute in peace.

This is the story that could've unfolded if Jace didn't exist.

Rating: General Audiences (may change later)

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, Clary/Izzy

Tags: Jace doesn't exist, transgender alec lightwood, retelling of the TV show.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I might update the summary because it's TRASH lmao

#recastjace #firedom

Oh also, Alec is transgender in this fic, but he's already out, so if you're looking for angsty coming out fic, you're looking in the wrong place!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode One: The Mundane Who Sees

Alec hated shapeshifter demons more than anything.

He had battled worse evils, grosser creatures, more irritating foes, but nothing made him quite so anxious and angry as having to hunt down a shapeshifter demon.

This one had been easy to track; so far it hadn’t clocked him, and hadn’t bothered to change its shape. Alec placed himself at a fruit stand, tucking his hand into his pocket as the demon approached and making a point to look at the dodgy-looking pineapples in the box in front of him. He felt cold, letting the demon pass behind his back, but the second he spotted it again out of his peripheral vision he was after it once more.

Alec snarled under his breath as he noticed the demon walk into a woman, changing shape effortlessly into a perfect likeness of her, clothes and all. He gritted his jaw against the wave of rageful jealousy that welled up in his stomach.

If only it were that easy.

“Careful, big brother,” Izzy soothed, appearing next to him, “you’ll give yourself stress lines.”

By now Alec must have been conditioned to relax in Izzy’s presence, because he felt his shoulders ease the moment she fell into step besides him. “Stress lines are the least of my worries. The demon just went into the warlock’s club, big surprise. You go round the back, I’ll go in the front. Hang back.” He ordered, adjusting his bow on his shoulder.

He kept an eye on Izzy as she strutted off around the back of the club, and didn’t notice the mundane until he literally almost mowed her down.

“Hey!” She yelped, and Alec’s head shot up, lip curling as she looked right at him and said, “could you watch where you’re going?”

Alec narrowed his eyes at her. “Weird,” he muttered, before turning on his heel and jogging into the club. His rune was definitely active; none of the other mundanes noticed when he brushed up against them.

Huh.

The redhead mundane was soon forgotten as he walked into the nightclub. He wasn’t a fan of crowds; he didn’t like people pressing against his chest, their confused looks when they felt the give of his binder. His throat closed up at the thought, and he ducked his head, using his heat vision rune to find the demon in the confusion of the room.

As he got closer, he noticed the circle runes on the necks of the two men meeting with the demon. Alec swallowed hard, wishing that it wasn’t so loud so that he could hear what was being said. After a few moments, the demon walked on towards the back of the club, and Alec swerved round the warlock that owned the place on his way to intercept the shapeshifter.

When he reached the back room, Izzy was already dancing on a platform, swaying her hips to tempt in the demons. Alec smirked; demons were predictable, and they flocked to her like moths to a flame. The only one that hung back was the one who’d transformed into a girl outside, and Alec wandered over to her, pursing his lips and trying to act casual.

“So… Heard you were dealing in mundane blood…” He had to sort of yell over the music, so it wasn’t as smooth as he’d hoped. Still, she seemed to take the bait.

“Why? Looking to score?” She purred, looking him up and down, her hand coming up to touch his shoulder, and Alec choked on his own saliva.

“What? No!”

“What do you want, shadowhunter?” The demon asked, her eyes settling on Alec’s quiver.

Alec straightened up a little. “I want you to tell me who’s buying from you.”

“You’re outnumbered here,” she pointed out, glancing to the side. As he followed her gaze, Alec realised that the demons who had been watching Izzy had now turned to look at him.

He smiled. This? This, he could deal with. “I like our odds.” He heard the unmistakeable sound of Izzy’s whip uncoiling, and quickly notched an arrow.

“Watch out!” He heard someone scream, and then he was being knocked to the ground by that damned mundane from before. Alec shoved her away, leaping to his feet in time to land an arrow into the demon closest to him.

“Get out of the way, you fucking idiot!” Alec hissed as the mundane staggered to her feet, pushing her behind him as he started firing arrows off at the demons. There were too many of them, and without a vantage point it was proving difficult to keep them off himself. He grabbed for his seraph blade and spun into action, cutting demons down left, right and centre.

The mundane wouldn’t stop fucking screaming.

“Here!” Izzy tossed the mundane a seraph blade like she’d somehow be able to wield it, and honestly, for a moment Alec was distracted because as the mundane’s hand touched the handle of the blade, it shone brightly.

What the fuck?

“Alec!” Izzy screamed, and he turned just in time to get smacked across the head by a demon. He grabbed for his blade desperately, wincing at the sound of the demon’s gross quadruple jaws snapping above him. When he turned back over, armed with his blade, the demon was disintegrating, and the redheaded mundane was standing over him, looking traumatised.

Alec hurried to get to his feet, running his hand through his hair. “We need to get out of here before more come along.” The demons had been dealt with for now, but it was only a matter of time before their friends came back from the bar. “Anyway, you should probably come with us, you…”

The mundane was gone.

“Alec, we need to find her, she’s a liability. If she tells anyone what she saw…”

“They’ll just think she’s drunk,” Alec shrugged, collecting his arrows where they lay scattered on the floor.

Izzy glared at him.

“You…” Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “You think she’s cute, don’t you?”

“I’m just saying I should follow her home,” Izzy sighed, tugging Alec from the club by the crook of his arm. “It’s not like I’m needed at the institute right now. I can talk some sense into her… She is one of us.”

Alec pursed his lips, considering it. “You have four hours. Either bring her back to the institute or let her figure it out on her own, got it? You’re not leaving me with all the paperwork again.”

“You got it, big brother,” Izzy beamed, going on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Love you!”

“Love you,” he grumbled, wiping the lipstick from his cheek. He shifted his neck from side to side, hissing a little at the way it made his binder tug painfully at his ribs. It had been eight hours since he’d put it on, and now that he wasn’t on red alert he could feel the strain on his lungs.

He really needed to get home.

It seemed like every time he took a step towards his room, someone came up to him with a problem. Alec was panting by the time he shut his bedroom door behind him, hastily yanking his shirt off over his head and slithering out of his binder. He gasped for breath as his chest fell free, wincing as he massaged his sore ribs. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he grabbed for the nearest t-shirt and pulled it over his head, sliding into the chair at his desk.

“Alec? Have you got the report yet?” Raj stuck his head around the door, and Alec rolled his eyes slightly.

“I literally just sat down. Give me half an hour, alright? I’ll bring it to your room.” He murmured, not turning to look at the disdainful look that Raj was no doubt shooting him. The click of the door told Alec that he was gone, and his shoulders sagged, grabbing a report form from his desk drawer and clicking his pen a few times as he thought back over the night’s events.

On his way back from Raj’s room, he spotted Izzy carrying the redhead mundane from before over her shoulder, looking ruffled. He sighed, and headed over to them, meeting her eyes.

“Got Princess Peach then, did you?” Alec asked, leaning around to see that the mundane was knocked out cold. “What happened?”

“I had to save her from a demon,” Izzy shrugged, mischief shining in her eyes. “She swooned and fell right into my arms. Works every time.”

“Pretty sure that was the venom, but whatever you need to tell yourself.” Alec snorted, holding out his arms.

Izzy smiled at him in thanks, handing over the mundane’s floppy body. Alec carried her bridal style to the infirmary, Izzy stretching out her arms as she walked next to him. They got some odd looks, but Alec was used to those, and instead used the time to scrutinise the mundane’s face, looking for familiar features. Surely she must have some relation to someone…

Perhaps he should send a fire message to mother.

He wrinkled his nose, dismissing that thought as soon as it occurred to him. No, he’d deal with this mundane himself.

She came round almost as soon as Alec set her down on the bed, and he huffed. Obviously. She sat straight up in bed, headbutting Izzy right in the face as she sank down onto the bed. Alec snorted.

“Ow,” Izzy said, looking down at the mundane with cautious curiosity.

“Wait… I don’t know you.”

“I’m Isabelle,” Izzy explained, “Lightwood. I’ve never met a mundane who can see through our runes before.”

Alec sighed, unable to stop himself. Izzy had an unfortunate habit of falling for straight girls, and he could just smell the heterosexual on the mundane. As the mundane spluttered and demanded explanations, Alec patted Izzy on the shoulder.

“I’m going to go and lie down, alright?” He said softly, and she nodded, not taking her eyes off the mundane girl. Alec blinked at her a few times, shaking his head a little as he walked away.

This could only end badly.

“All I’m saying is that there’s no such thing as new Shadowhunters. She must be lying.” Alec insisted, allowing Izzy to latch onto his arm a few hours later, once Clary, the mundane, had gone back to sleep.

“We can’t just assume that she’s lying, big brother. That would be rude.”

“Who said I wasn’t rude?” Alec retorted. “I’d rather risk my manners than the safety of this institute. If she can’t tell us who she is, she needs to leave.” He stopped short in the corridor. “Don’t you find it weird that she showed up and just ruined our biggest mission yet? Isn’t that a weird coincidence?”

Izzy sighed. “You’re so paranoid.”

“I have reason to be,” Alec grumbled, putting his hands on his hips. “That girl is going to be nothing but trouble, I can feel it.”

“Relax, big brother. I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.”

Alec looked away at the window, and back at his sister. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The smile Izzy gave him made him feel like she wasn’t listening to him, and he rolled his eyes a little. “Oh, come on, she’s cute.”

“That’s why she worries me. You don’t know how to say no to a pretty face.”

Izzy laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist. He begrudgingly hugged her back. “Thank you for looking out for me, big brother, but I can handle myself.”

Alec watched as she more or less skipped away to see to Clary, feeling her excitement through their rune. His eyes slipped closed.

Christ.

He mentally reminded himself to order extra ice cream for when this inevitably blew up in his little sister’s face.

“Oh.” Alec turned to leave, only to find a mundane standing right behind him. He looked around wildly, eyes going wide. “How the hell did you get in here?!”

“You were talking about Clary. Are you going to kill her?!”

The mundane was cute enough, Alec supposed. Round glasses and a light jacket. He looked like a strong breeze could blow him over. Alec folded his arms.

“I don’t kill mundanes,” he pointed out. “But you need to get out of here. This isn’t a place for a mundane.”

“Simon!” Clary appeared behind him, and Simon rushed past him, wrapping her up in a hug. “Thank God you’re here, this place is crazy.”

“I tried to explain to her what a shadowhunter was. Apparently she called for back-up when I left her alone earlier,” Izzy muttered, going to Alec’s side.

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as the two mundanes yelped at each other.

“We need to go and find Luke.”

“We can’t trust Luke!”

“You’re one of us, Clary,” Izzy soothed, taking her elbow. “I know you can feel it. Your skin took the runes; you’re a shadowhunter.”

“You runed her?!” Alec shouted, eyes bugging out of his head. “She could have turned into a forsaken! Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

Izzy looked a little sheepish, but she shrugged him off. “She didn’t.”

“Clary, you don’t know these people,” Simon pointed out, “they’re dangerous.”

Clary looked between the two of them, then at Alec, stricken.

“If you took the runes, we need to find out who you are,” Alec insisted, though the words almost physically pained him. This was going to be such a headache to report to the Clave.

Clary swallowed hard. “I want to find out who I am.”

“Peachy,” Alec tutted, “but your little mundie friend needs to go.”

“No way, I’m staying with her!” Simon insisted, grabbing Clary’s arm.

Alec and Izzy exchanged a hopeless look.

“Fuck it, I’m going to bed. Wake me if the mundane gets killed by the wards.” He waved over his shoulder to Izzy, smirking as he heard Simon start to splutter.

Next Chapter 

#writing #fighting the good fight #transgender alec lightwood #alec lightwood #shadowhunters fanfic #shadowhunters fanfiction #ftgf verse #content