Whumptober/Inktober day 14: (Is Something Burning?)
Natural to do a TMA pic of Jon’s horrible interaction with Jude Perry. She ended up looking more like Daisy...ugh, but I tried lol. Just realized that Jonathan would probably be wearing his work shoes. So completely dressed down in whatever Georgie has to offer save for his damn wing tip dress shoes.
Ended up scalding my had once on boiling water, and it just ached right down to my nail beds. Every time my hand got remotely warm it just burned all over again. Kept icing in an effort to numb it and it went away in like a week so no harm. Also knew someone that had severe burns over 70% of their body, they would have to go into the hospital every day to break up their scar tissue, and it was excruciating.
I think the title really says all, here. About 2800 words, so this is decently lengthy. Very excited to have it done!!
Content warnings: branding, burns and general presence of fire, creepy whumper, fairly possessive here, noncon touching and kiss (nonsexual and only one kiss to the forehead)
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“I find it very important to mark what belongs to me, you know.”
Floyd swallowed hard and nodded, his eyes locked on the glowing metal in Percival’s hands as it pressed against a barrel lid. Flames flared up and elicited a hissing sound as it burned. He only held it for a few seconds before lifting up again, revealing the dark brand now impressed in the wood’s surface.
The metal was smoking when Percival laid it back down in Floyd’s hands, and he scrambled to bring flames back to his fingertips before it could scorch him. Each repetition took even more effort and energy, but he’d been able to consistently please Percival so far... except for his lethargy and subsequent punishment right after waking up, that was. His split lip wasn’t making it easy to forget.
“Getting tired?” Percival smiled over the branding iron, his eyes not unlike the glowing ones resting in his palms. The end of the iron was a curved figure eight, fluctuating in thickness, with two thin rods vertically splitting each half. The symbol of infinity, he mused, inhabited by the eyes of a serpent. Fitting.
“N-no, I’m sorry,” he said.
“Pay more attention. You’re doing such a good job so far, and I’d hate to see those hands of yours ruined by ignorance,” he chastised, and Floyd felt conflicting instincts of pride and shame rise in him. He felt worse for letting those words make him feel anything at all.
He nodded, watching the iron simmer in the flames for a minute or so before removing it and choosing the next barrel. Since some old ones were rotting through, he’d recently found new ones. Whether they were stolen or actually purchased, Floyd really couldn’t care less.
Percival had enlisted his help in lugging them out to the deck earlier, far too early in the day for his malnourished body to do such hard work. That’s what had earned him the punishment in the first place, and the dented end of the next barrel was further physical proof of his laziness.
The cool morning mist still permeated the air around them and made it even more difficult to call upon his magic. It clung to his skin along with the sweat when the brand swung back into his hands.
There didn’t seem to be a set reason for Floyd to participate in this anyway, other than to hone his skills. Percival told him he was convenient, but he found that hard to believe when even a small, steady fire could have been doing this job more effectively. He’d tried to bring that up before, but it only ever got him a slap to the face on a bad day or a patronizing chuckle on a good one. He didn’t argue very much against Percival anymore.
He didn’t do very much of anything against Percival anymore, come to think of it. Obedience was like second nature to him. It ran through the core of his very being, and whether or not that was beneficial for him became less clear every day. Following orders kept him alive safe. Being subservient allowed him more basic rights privileges. Playing his part let him bide his time until he made it out of this hell. But there were too many days where Floyd felt he wasn’t just putting up a front anymore.
“Benedict.”
He flinched, blinking.
“What did I just tell you?”
The end of the branding iron hovered just over his fingertips, the heat so close it nearly singed them. Floyd scrambled to call his magic back, sending sparks flying in his panic. Percival’s frown deepened when one hit his coat, glowing and sparkling before it went out. He let the full weight of the iron rest on his captive’s hands, watching them shake with adrenaline and exhaustion.
“Do it again and I won’t hesitate-”
“I understand, I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he insisted, not wanting to hear whatever threat Percival had to offer this time.
“...don’t interrupt me,” Percival sighed, shaking his head. “I was just considering rewarding you, too.”
Floyd hated how he perked up at that. He focused hard through the last few brands, even as his magic weakened and failed him. The small burns on his hands stung as the last brand was finished.
“Very nice work,” Percival smiled, setting the brand aside to replace the lid on each barrel. “I think these can stay out here for now.”
Floyd breathed a sigh of relief at that. He was shaking all over already and couldn’t possibly lift one of those barrels, let alone the five he’d been forced to carry out.
Percival got to his feet, took the branding iron in one hand, and nudged Floyd with the toe of his shoe, indicating that he should stand as well. He did so slowly, legs trembling and threatening to send him tumbling back to the deck. His captor grabbed his upper arm to guide him, having forgone the leash that morning since most of the crew was still asleep, and those who weren’t were busy keeping the ship afloat. It seemed to be more for show than anything else, lately.
Floyd leaned into his support as they walked, grateful for simply being allowed on his feet. Too often after a hard session he was pushed to his knees and forced to ‘crawl if he’s so tired.’
“You’ve been doing so well lately, darling,”
“I... thank you,” he breathed. Percival didn’t just say things like that without a reason. It set him on edge and he felt his pulse jump.
“I mean it,” Percival insisted, “I really am proud of you. You’ve come so far.”
Floyd swallowed back the disgust that pooled tears in the corners of his eyes, nodding along with the words, fearing the cracks in his voice should he try to speak.
He’d come so far. He’d come so far from who he was working up to be, who he almost felt confident as, and now he was breaking in a different way... but it was the same, wasn’t it? Always keyed in to follow instructions, push himself until he physically couldn’t bear the strain, endure a punishment anyway, and crumble. He’d felt himself slip before and he could feel it again, but this time was so much worse.
“There’s one more thing I want you to do for me now. Then you can rest.” Percival opened the door to his room, and Floyd looked back nervously as he shuffled in.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Take off your shirt.”
He froze, eyes locking on Percival’s face, seeing the sincerity there, and slowly trailing down to the branding iron, still glowing faintly in his hand. No. He… he couldn’t be serious.
“Why-”
“I told you to take off your shirt, darling.” The warning in his tone was clear.
Floyd reluctantly slipped the light linen over his head, folding it and setting it beside him.
“Good. Now, go lay down on the table.”
His heart pounded in his chest. That was it. That was the only answer, wasn’t it? He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Despair and panic overcame him and he met Percival’s eyes.
“No- no, you’re… you’re not seriously-”
“I did say I find it important to mark what belongs to me, didn’t I?” Percival smiled, then, and oh fuck this was really going to happen.
Floyd clapped a hand over his mouth to hold in a desperate sob, but he couldn’t breathe. The mere thought of the brand pulled his chest tight with terror. Tiny gasping breaths fought to get past his throat as tears bubbled up and spilled.
“Please, please don’t- oh god- pl-lease!” Floyd choked on his pleas when Percival advanced on him, reaching for his collar. Without a second thought, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “A-anything else, please, please I can’t- I can’t- fuck-”
He squeezed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to see his tormentor approach, to try to hold back the tears spilling over something that hadn’t even happened yet--that couldn’t happen, he couldn’t handle this--and to pretend he was, dear god, anywhere else for even a moment. His arms flew up around his neck, around the collar so he couldn’t be grabbed there, and he hunched over his knees.
“Hey, don’t be like that,” Percival bent down and ran a hand through Floyd’s hair, not grabbing or pulling just yet. His tone almost sounded sympathetic over the amused laugh bubbling up from his chest. “You know there’s no way out of this. Honestly, I’ve had my heart set on keeping you since I first figured out what you were, but I thought you might need a little adjustment period before you were ready to accept that. They always do.”
Floyd shuddered, tears welling up and slipping out despite his best efforts. He’d seen the marks left on the barrels. He knew what that amount of heat would do to his skin. His side itched, the slight, nearly invisible scarring there a permanent reminder of that. But scalding water couldn’t hold a candle to red hot metal.
“Don’t be difficult,” Percival chided, reaching a hand to his chin and pushing it up. A guide. A warning. Floyd turned his head, pointing resolutely down to the ground.
“I’m-” he started roughly, swallowing tears and pride, ”I know that. I already know I’m- I’m yours. So, you don’t have to- to mark me to make me understand.”
He didn’t have to look up to know that Percival was beaming. Floyd’s skin tinged red with shame.
“Oh, that’s- I’m flattered, buttercup,” he breathed, practically glowing as pure ecstasy flowed through him. “If I’d known this is what it would take to make you good… but even then, if you accept that you really are mine, then you should have no problem letting this happen. You should be honored that I adore you so, Benedict.”
He bit his lip. This time when Percival reached for his chin, Floyd raised his head.
“Open your eyes.” They peeled open slowly, drying tears sticking to his lashes. The fond smile shining down on him made him want to close his eyes and never open them again.
“Get up.” Thin fingers pushed between arms he hadn’t even realized he’d loosened, hooking into the loop at the front of his collar. Either he got up, or Percival forced him to anyway. There wasn’t a choice. There had been none to begin with. He’d known that from the moment he refused, hadn’t he?
“Walk.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t willfully submit himself to this. To bear the mark of his captor that would surely never fade for as long as he lived. How long…
Floyd planted his feet, even as he was pulled forward by the hand on his collar. The metal rod of the branding iron swung, smacking hard into the small of his back, pushing him forward with a strangled gasp. He walked, then, unsteady and shaking on his feet.
“Get on the table.” He rested a trembling hand on the wood, feeling the ridges underneath his fingers as he tried to convince himself to follow the command. It would be easier if he did what he was told. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. But he knew the mental burden would never ease.
A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, gather his fading strength, and heave himself up to sit on the edge. The hands guided him to sit fully on the table, a palm on his chest pushing until he laid on his back, shaking against the hard surface. Percival reached under his collar to clip it to a small loop in the wood. When his hands were guided over his head, he only held them resolutely by his sides until he saw the iron raised, poised to strike.
Floyd’s throat tightened with the straps that fastened around his wrists, squirming against their hold and breathing in whistling, whining breaths. Straps held his ankles and he twisted against them when another looped over his abdomen. They were too tight, but anything holding him still at all was too much to stand by then.
Percival stood over him, and Floyd saw excitement blazing in his eyes. A sense of deja vu washed over him, the same feeling of overwhelming fear and vulnerability as when he was first laid out on this table: the first time he felt his magic as Percival’s forcefully tore it out of dormancy.
“Now…” Percival had both hands on the branding iron as he raised it up, hovering the end over Floyd’s hands, just close enough to brush them with the slowly cooling metal. It took him a moment to remember what it meant, but Floyd gasped and sobbed when he realized.
“No, no I won’t, you can’t make-”
“Oh, but I can,” Percival grinned. “Go ahead and do what you need to, or I’ll make you.”
Floyd couldn’t tell if it was the exhaustion of having spent so much of his energy doing it over and over again or if he simply couldn’t force himself to heat his own brand, but no fire sprang to his fingertips. Percival sighed, reaching a hand out to skim over his skin and press in on the underside of his right arm.
Power shot between them, painfully so, and Floyd shouted as his palms sparked, blazing hot with raw magic. He clenched up, instinctively resisting the invasion, but couldn’t stop it no matter how hard he tried. It was wrong, and an unnatural coolness ran deep to his core, but he could do nothing to stop its path to the carefully crafted metal.
Seconds blurred into minutes and it felt as his body was taken from him. More of Percival’s magic ran through him than his own and everything it reached was foreign in a way that it had never been before. His magic wasn’t his own, nor had it ever really been. It was all so violating until it was simply numb and chilling.
Finally, it stopped, but the sensation lingered. Floyd was almost relieved until he remembered what came next.
“No…” he whispered, heart seizing up in his chest when he saw the brand glowing even hotter than he had heated it before. The orange was so bright it was nearly white in some areas, and when he blinked it still lingered in his vision, flashing in the darkness. Permanent. Permanent.
“Hold still unless you want to mess it up and go through this all over again,” Percival warned, tracing a figure eight over his chest with one finger and drawing a shiver from him as he cried. That’s where it would go. That’s where it would always be. His mind raced, trying to find any way to get out of it. Maybe…
Floyd focused and gathered what magic he had left, attempting to push it towards where Percival had traced, to use his power to combat the flames. It wasn’t much but- he froze when he felt the hand slide up to his collar, the unmistakable sensation of the restrictor turning on, leeching his magic, and leaving him empty.
“Oh, Benedict, you shouldn’t have even tried.” Percival clicked his tongue, wretched, condescending, false sympathy dripping from his lips.
Both of his hands gripped the handle of the branding iron, positioning it straight above Floyd. He willed his breathing to slow, for his chest not to heave and bring him even closer to the fate slowly closing in on him, but it didn’t matter in the end.
No unending second or stuttered heartbeat lasted lasted long enough to stop the iron from finding his skin, pressing down, tearing a startled scream from his throat that opened into a wail at the pain that seared into his chest, radiated out through everything around it- he ran out of air but he couldn’t breathe in, every breath choked out in a desperate whine.
His eyes were wide and unseeing, and everything reeked of fire and ash and his own burning skin, and oh, oh fuck, and why wasn’t it gone why was the iron still there, still digging in still burning still burning-
Floyd gasped when it pulled away, screaming and pleading with every breath he heaved in for relief that wouldn’t come, coughing and shuddering and crying outright, writhing against the bonds even as the brand flared with pain.
“Shhh, it’s over now, shhhh,” Percival carded a hand through Floyd’s hair, slick with sweat, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Floyd turned his head away, struggling even harder against the straps still tethering him to the table.
“No, don’t move just yet. I’ll let you see how it looks before we bandage it up, I promise. It’s… you’re just... stunning,” Percival smiles. He smiles, staring at the burned emblem on Floyd’s chest, and it’s a smile of pure, unrestricted joy. He could have sworn he’d seen tears glittering in Percival’s eyes before he blinked them away. “You’re mine. And now everybody else will know it too.”
When a night out goes drastically wrong, Pepper realizes that she and Michelle lead a similar life.
AO3 Link
Pepper adored Peter.
She had since the day she met him.
She constantly thanked him, silently, and sometimes, to his face, for being a part of their lives.
Even when he was gone, for those five years, his impact, lived on.
They wouldn’t have Morgan, if Peter hadn’t taught Tony, at the right moment, that he could step out of Howard’s shadow and be a good dad.
Having Peter back, made everything fall together, perfectly, for the first time.
Hand-in-hand, with Peter, came Michelle.
Peter’s everything, his partner in crime, and somebody for him, to effortlessly tease Tony with.
Pepper loved her too, and the influence she had on Peter, she seemed to be helping him overcome hurdles that no one else could.
A double date sounded far fetch, at first, but Michelle proposed it, and Pepper finalized it.
They made quite a team.
An old theater was showing a highlight of Charlie Chaplin’s movies.
All four of them liked old movies, which made for the perfect night out, where superheroing duties took a backbench.
Pepper skipped through the foyer, leaving Tony at the desk, to check in their coats “Hey.” She laid her hands on Peter and Michelle’s shoulders, “If I were you two, I would have asked to sit far far away from us.”
Michelle snorted a laugh, “Why?”
Peter frowned, tilting his head, to his shoulder, “Is this about the Charlie Chaplin look-alike competition?”
Michelle grinned, ear-to-ear, “The what now?”
Pepper waved her hand dismissively, “My husband claims that he won a Charlie Chaplin lookalike competition.”
Tony appeared beside her, “I didn’t claim anything,” He chipped in, “It’s true.”
“Oh, my God,” Peter inclined his head, pressing his hands together, gesturing them towards Tony, “You literally wouldn’t shut up about it last night, it’s why I volunteered to carry Morgan to bed.”
Tony’s jaw dropped, he made an act of raising his hand, to his chest, “I’m offended, kid.”
Peter narrowed his eyes, “Also, I looked it up last night, and there were zero results.”
“Nobody knew it was me,” Tony raised his shoulder in half-shrug, “I used a pseudonym.”
Pepper pulled on his arm, “Oh, look, we can sit down now.”
They all started walking into the theater, in an orderly fashion.
Tony leaned forward, “I’m gonna find the photos later.”
Peter turned, keeping his arm linked with Michelle’s, “So, Friday—"
“Friday has nothing,” Tony sang, “Like, I said, nobody knew it was me.”
Pepper shook her head, with a laugh, “We get it.”
“Should we get—” Michelle and Peter spoke in unison, “—Popcorn?”
They acted normal because it happened all the time.
They were the definition of cute, Pepper was sure.
Tony leaned in, whispering in her ear, “How adorable.”
She gently nudged his foot, with hers, “Leave them alone.”
Tony clapped his hands together, “I’ll pick us up some popcorn, you lot can go and find our seats.” He shuffled away, quick on his feet.
Pepper took a seat, on their aisle, leaving the space between her and Peter free, for Tony. She buried her hand in her pocket, to check if May had messaged her with any questions about Morgan.
All she'd been sent was a selfie of the pair watching Finding Nemo.
She sent back a couple of heart emojis.
Peter and Michelle’s gentle chuckles caught Pepper’s attention. The duo were holding hands, muttering among themselves, desperately trying to conceal their laughter; Peter was red in the face, and whatever they were discussing, had brought tears to Michelle’s eyes.
Pepper smiled, they were truly infectious, and she couldn’t get enough of them.
Michelle had become a vital part of their everyday lives, rather fast, but Pepper would have it no other way.
She saw the way they looked at one another, the longing stares, and the soft smiles.
They’d fallen hard.
Something, Pepper once did, twice a day, with Tony.
It took them a while, to make it work, but it did.
Pepper saw herself, in Michelle, which was good, on some days, but heart-breaking on others.
Peter and Tony’s lives weren’t exactly normal or easy.
Pepper kept Michelle as close as possible because she understood the hardship of being hopelessly in love, with someone who laid down their lives, for the greater good, every other month.
They were on the same page.
Tony tiptoed over, holding two buckets of popcorn, “Here we go.”
Peter and Michelle sang, through a laugh, “Thank you.”
When the movies started playing, the audience went silent, but Pepper still caught the pair sharing little anecdotes, trying not to burst into hysterics.
An hour in, Michelle sat up, looking around.
Tony spoke, in a hushed tone, “What’s up?”
She turned, “I’m trying to work out where the toilets are.”
Tony pointed, “By the entrance, on your left.”
“Thanks, Stark,” She kissed Peter’s cheek and hopped up, “I’ll be back.”
Tony leaned over, whispering something in Peter’s ear, the kid’s cheeks turned a new shade of red.
He jokingly slapped Tony’s arm away, “Shut up.”
Pepper rolled her eyes, “Stop messing with him.”
Tony held out his hands, with a shrug, “May said I can.”
Pepper looked past him, to Peter, “Don’t worry, honey. He’s got no leg to stand on.” She chuckled, “I’ve got plenty of embarrassing date night stories.”
Tony sighed, head in his hands, “Pep…”
She winked, “I’ll tell you later.”
Peter laughed quietly, hanging his head.
A few minutes passed, and Pepper allowed herself to be drawn back into the movie.
She didn’t notice something was up until Tony’s tone switched.
“Kiddo, you okay?”
She spun her head, fast.
Peter was sat up straight, his eyes wide, and his leg mindlessly bouncing.
She raised her voice, “Sweetheart?”
Before Peter could answer, the piercing sound of a fire alarm filled the room, and the movie was stopped.
The lights came on, and an usher shouted, “Everybody make your way to the fire exits, as fast as you possibly can. Thank you.”
Everybody shot to their feet.
Tony tapped his watch, “Friday, report?”
“A fire has started, in the attic, and is spreading quickly.”
The usher yelled again, this time, more panicked, “Quickly, please.”
“MJ—” Peter shot up, looking around, “Can you see her?”
“The toilets are right next to the exit, buddy,” Tony reassured him, “She’s probably already outside.”
“I’m not sure—"
Somebody screamed, “Get out now!”
“That escalated—" Tony reached back, grabbing Pepper’s hand while gripping tight onto Peter’s shoulder, he pushed, making sure Peter didn’t freeze.
Pepper knew, for a fact, that Tony made contrasting promises.
It was an issue, with him.
He made one, to Peter, that basically meant that if it ever came down to it, Tony would have to save May, Ned, or Michelle, before Peter.
The other was one he made to Michelle, promising that he’d pull Peter, out of a fight he couldn’t win, even if Michelle’s life was on the line.
Tony could never win.
Peter kept shouting, over the chaos, “MJ!”
A crowd swarmed, at the exit.
Somehow, they were pushed to the front of it.
Peter held up his arms, screaming, at the top of his lungs, “Stop!” He waved his hands, signaling nearby people, “Stop moving!”
The urgency, in his voice, seemed to resonate with everyone.
A support beam, from the ceiling above them, collapsed, crashing to the floor.
Tony pulled on Peter’s shoulder, “Holy shit.”
The crowd moved again, leaping over it, as smoke started to envelop them.
A lady, in her forties, tripped, landing among the stampede.
“Hey,” Peter helped her onto her feet, “You okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” She rushed, into the bustle, that was moving outside.
Pepper lost sight of everything while moving from the building to the street.
The sounds of sirens were already echoing, in the distance.
She shouted, squeezing Tony’s hand, “Tony, you got Peter?”
“Yeah,” Tony breathed, “I’ve got him.”
The crowd began to separate, giving Pepper room to see.
Peter was leaning up, to look across the herd, “MJ?!” He yelled, “MJ?”
Nothing.
Peter turned, eyes filled with tears, “She’s not here.”
Tony’s face fell, “Pete-“
Peter rested a hand on his chest, “I know she’s not..."
“Kid—"
“I gotta—” He pulled his hand free, and before any more words were spoken, he sprinted back, into the burning building.
Tony shrieked, “Peter!” He spun to meet Pepper’s gaze, “What do—”
There was a deafening creak from inside.
Pepper’s lower lip trembled, “Oh, God—"
“Hey!”
Tony snapped his head back, a momentary look of relief, on his face, “Jones—”
Michelle charged, out from the side alley, “Hey, I’m—”
“MJ!” Pepper wrapped an arm around her, “We were so—” It dawned on her, she shot a look to Tony, “If you’re here, then Peter—”
Tony titled his head to his shoulder, a silent apology, as he let go of her hand and charged inside.
Michelle yelped, “Oh—”
Pepper held her tight, muttering under her breath, “Come on, come on—”
Another spine-chilling thud, came from inside, as the building fell apart.
“I—” Michelle cried, “He—”
Pepper whispered, “It’s okay…”
A figure emerged through the entrance.
It was Tony.
His face was covered, in patches of soot, and his hair, full of ash.
Dangled over his shoulder, was Peter.
Pepper’s stomach leaped into her throat, as she tightened her hand around Michelle’s hand.
She breathed a sigh of relief, when Tony smiled, with a nod.
Michelle pulled free, rushing over, “Peter!”
Tony lowered Peter onto his knees, rubbing circles against the teen’s back, “There you go.”
Peter coughed, “I need to find—MJ is—”
Michelle knelt, pressing a hand, to his cheek, “Right here, loser.”
He wheezed a laugh, “MJ—"
She leaned up, kissing his curls, “You’re an idiot.”
No, he’s your idiot.
He smiled, “You’d do it for me.”
“Yeah,” She tugged him into a hug, nestling her head, on his shoulder.
Tony moved over, locking an arm around Pepper, “Hey.”
She pulled him close, “Hey.”
Pepper knew it wasn’t normal, to be so accepting of these situations, but after fighting aliens, it was a walk in the park.
Michelle helped Peter to his feet.
Peter rubbed a hand, over his cheek, “That was fun.”
Michelle barked a laugh, pressing her head against his bicep, “Same time next week?”
Tony inhaled a cackle, “I’m thinking takeaway?”
Pepper nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”
Tony motioned aside, “We should get going.” He took out his phone, “Everybody is probably freaking out already.”
Pepper looked up.
Peter was whispering in Michelle’s ear again, and they were giggling to themselves like nothing had changed.
Say what you want about young love, Pepper knew that Peter and Michelle were the real deal.
