#( that finger gun moment was the best boss fight in history )

[missymurphy1985]

The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One

Warning - SMUT (eventually)

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.

On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.

Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.

"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.

"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"

"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."

"What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"

"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.

"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"

"To the Herald."

"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."

"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.

"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."

You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.

"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."

"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"

"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.

You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.

"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?

************************************************************

Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.

A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.

"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.

"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.

"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.

"Oh I'm sorry -"

"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.

Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.

"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes. Same year at school."

"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"

"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."

"I don't remember seeing you with him?"

"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."

"You and John were..."

"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.

Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.

"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.

"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.

"How did you know Jack?"

"We served together in France. Good man."

"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.

"Storm looks bad."

"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.

"Scared of storms?"

"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.

"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.

"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.

Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.

"Jack saved my life."

"He did?"

"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.

"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."

"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."

"What?"

"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.

"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."

"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.

"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"

"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."

"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.

You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.

"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.

He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.

"I don't want to impose Thomas..."

"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.

[potterandpromises]

15: “I will never stop fighting for you. I will never stop protecting you.” For garcy? If you want?

Also on AO3

By whatever official account Agent Christopher presumably keeps, the mission was a success. Overall, Flynn would have to agree. No one important to history died and no one important to him sustained any life-altering injuries. They are, still, well on their way to destroying Emma and her fractured Rittenhouse.

But, based on the way she avoids his gaze, and the horrible betrayed look he finally teased out of her while they were stuck waiting in the Lifeboat, Lucy disagrees. Absurdly, he doesn’t think it’s because she was kidnapped.

Which is a thought he cannot afford to dwell on, with all it’s damming and concerning implications. At least not until tonight, when he’s alone and staring at the celling.

The facts established and with neither of them having anyone in need of a prolonged greeting like Jiya and Wyatt do, Flynn and Lucy walk down the hallway together. Her current opinion of him is evident in her brisk pace and the stiff set of her shoulders.

The hollow in his stomach grows, but in a low voice he cuts to the point. “What’s wrong?”

She gives him a deeply unimpressed look. He gestures her into his room.

“Why did you do that?”

Flynn shuts the door. “What did Emma’s thugs say to you, Lucy?”

Her passionate resolve, which is translucent by the firmness in her gaze, dims a little, but only a little. She crosses her arms. “That Emma wanted to deal with me herself but that she’d probably kill them if they let me get away.”

“Which is predictable,” he says. “So I did what I had to do.”

She shakes her head, frustration blossoming like smoke. “Flynn, we made eye contact from across the room. I knew you were coming. I was expecting you to walk up and shove your gun into Joel’s back while I distracted David by pouring beer into his lap or something. And” —she points a finger at him, voice rising— “that’s all you had to do because shooting us there would have been suicide!”

“You—”

But of course she knows their names, she’s Lucy. She was with them for hours. She probably tried to convince them to leave Rittenhouse.

“You may be right.” He finds his voice, finds his argument. “But they were young, scared of their boss, probably trigger happy and badly trained. Making a scene was the best way to convince them not to shoot—“

“You pretended to be drunk, made up a story about an affair and then shot them both in the middle of a crowded 1870s tavern where everyone had guns so they wouldn’t have killed me there!” Her chest heaves and she blinks back tears. “And that is what you were worried about, right? me?”

Flynn sits down on his bed. Memory of Chinatown when he almost confessed, her dark eyes, his panic and her searching, fog his composure. He assumed she knew. They’ve never talked about it. He still hasn’t a clue as to an answer that wouldn’t almost kill him.

Lucy re-crosses her arms in a miniature self-hug, and looks him up and down, her fire extinguished. “You just agreed that shooting someone in a place like that is suicidal.”

“What I did was different,” Flynn says gently. “He pointed a gun at me first. The other guy reached for his. Everyone there could see that.”

With him sitting and her standing, they’re almost eye level. “You didn’t have to do that,” she points out.

“Apparently not.”

Her dress is ripped at the neckline. For a single moment, Flynn regrets nothing he’s ever done.

He looks away.

“You didn’t deny it,” she says eventually, quietly.

“Why would I deny it?” he says softly. Then, realizing how that could be interpreted by someone not actively thinking of how to explain his priorities without using the world love, he adds: “let me explain.”

Lucy joins him on the bed. Concern cinders on her face. “Things are going suspiciously well lately, as you know.” He gives what he hopes to be a reassuring smile. “Once we kill or capture Emma and take back the Lifeboat, our jobs will be over... and there won’t be a use for me.”

Evidently, this doesn’t clear up anything for her. She just looks confused, and more worried. Flynn silently curses himself. “Even if Agent Christopher lets me go, and I’m not holding my breath for that, I’d still be on Interpol’s most wanted list. I’d have to live on the run, and that’s not a life I want.” Flynn keeps going, despite her rising distress. “So if there’s danger, if a heroic sacrifice is ever needed in order to—“

Lucy shakes her head. “No.”

“No?”

“Flynn.” Lucy grasps his hand, then drops it as fest as she took it. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I know it isn’t what you want. But I don’t expect you’ll get a say.”

“You really don’t get it.”

“I understand perfectly,” he says, wills her to accept it, to leave him be. Although a selfish, foolhardy, hopeful part of him wants otherwise. “Life is unfair and I’ve accepted that whatever else happens, I’m always going to be branded a terrorist.” He looks up from the concrete floor and she’s ablaze. And sad. Maybe he underestimated her. Perhaps she really can burn a path through for him. Still, she’s one person, and he already grieved his future. Still, she wants to try.

But it needs to be said, she needs to believe it.

“I am not blaming you for it.”

She raises her hands as if to touch him, but thinks better of it. Touching him has never ended well for anyone. They hover, then curl into fists. She twists her whole body to stare at him more completely and they splay in front of her. Her fingers resemble slanted and bare tree branches as much as they resemble claws, as much as they resemble attachment.

“If I had to I’d argue your case non-stop.” It stings. It refreshes him. “And if that didn’t work I’d help you escape or— or fake your death or whatever you needed me to do.”

She deserves better then to fight for him, he knows that with every beat of his heart. Yet... it’s good to hear.

“I will never stop fighting for you.” Warmth licks under his clothes. He closes his eyes to preserve the closeness. “You’ll always have me in your corner, so quit acting like you have nothing to lose.”

His eyes flutter open. She’s still here; she’s all he can see.

“I know I have something to lose.” The bite in his voice surprises him. “And I’d do it again.”

She’s confused, sort of curious.

He knows what he’s about to say, owes it to her, doesn’t choose it, regrets it. “I will never stop protecting you.” He forces past himself, past her wide eyes, to at least not let it linger. “So I don’t regret what I did, okay?”

He stands, turns away and straightens his cuffs, then unbuttons them because that’s a far more normal thing to do with cowboy clothes at the end of a long day.

She stands and the bed frame creaks. He’s surprised it’s held him all these months.

“I meant what I said.” Her voice is gentle and unsteady. It’s both a reassurance and a request for reassurance. But it’s a request he can’t answer, because he lied. He knows what promises he can’t keep and he is a man of his word. He knows better now, really he does. He can’t possibly take it back. “If you want to talk to her together or get me to talk to her...“

“That’d be fine.” He barely registers what he’s agreeing to but it doesn’t matter. “You should see if the shower’s free.”

He can feel her watching. He remains steadfast and stiff as he undoes his last button and waits, not facing her. He can sense a joke about her sticking around to watch him undress, but he can’t find it.

“I meant what I said,” she repeats. “Flynn, are we okay?”

“Yes,” he says too quickly.

“Are you?”

Silence hangs in the air. It nips at Flynn’s still-clothed back. “Give it a few minutes.”

“Okay," she says finally, not unkindly. "Goodnight."

He can't manage to repeat the words, although she's patient. The door opens, then creaks shut.

Her absence fills the room. He uncoils a little. It is, somehow, harder to breath.

[fangirlings-things]

The Border Control Project [Part. 2]

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake x female reader

Summary: you're Tyler's next mission and turns out, you need him more than you want to

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: curse words, violence and mentions of kidnapping

Based on this imagine

Gif credit: @thoresque

A/N: thank youuu so much for all the feedback guys!! I was so happy to know that you liked the story so here I am with part 2, hope you all enjoy it!!

Part. 1

Theme song: Shameless, Camila Cabello

Right now I'm shameless

Screaming my lungs out for you

Not afraid to face it

I need you more than I want to

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

In a matter of five days, Tyler had learned a lot about that (Y/N) (Y/L/N). The file he had asked for had been delivered with not less than sixteen pages and a pen drive. There, the intelligence people had gathered everything they could find on social media and informations passed to them by the family. With that intel, he was supposed to know her even before he actually did. 

He found out that (Y/N) had been born in Chicago, on the 4th of July. The bloody fireworks of independence day were blowing up in the sky while her mother finally gave birth after a 13 hours labour. Through all her childhood, she went to private schools and had the best education a kid could possibly have. She graduated high school with excellent grades and went strictly to the University of Illinois at Chicago, to study History. 

She loved coffee and was fascinated by ancient artefacts and events. Her favorite movie was Star Wars. She was a great fan of Queen and even had a Freddie Mercury poster at her beedrom back in Chicago. Books were a passion of hers, she had read over forty at the age of 18, when other teens would probably be causing trouble around and getting themselves into the life of alcohol and sex. But that didn't mean that that girl didn't knew how to party as well. 

She frequently attended to parties, drank just enough to the alcohol in her system to make her happier and would dance through the night with her friends. Tyler saw some pictures and a video and in all of them, that girl seemed to have no worries at all. She smiled, laughed, passed her hands through her hair and closed her eyes to feel the beat of the music that was ringing in her ears. The thought that she might never smile like that again after what was happening, kinda disturbed him. 

It took some watching through surveillance cameras, intel and study of some rotes of the city, but the team Nik had putted up together called a meeting with everyone who was out after exactly a week since they had first gotten there. They had found (Y/N)’s location. 

She was being kept at a incredibly large house for Guadalajara's standards. That part of the city was one of the richest and yet, that place stood out.

With it's enormous extension, the odd distance from every other building in a raid of three miles, metal huge gates and the two heavily armed men guarding the way in, it pretty much seemed like a fortress. A place where important people would probably hide in troubled times. Although in that moment, it was being used by a total different goal.

Such goal placed Tyler just where he was, on the inside of an old '75 Chevrolet, driving smoothly and calmly while heading to the adress he had watched for a day and a half from the woods near by. He had gone there with questions, and came back with it's answers. How many men? At least twelve, plus the two at the gates. Who went in? Not a single soul. Who went out? Two men in a black SUV. Probably the driver in the front and the big boss, whomever that was, in the back. He didn't get a clear visual on any of them to get facial recognition. Which pretty much, pissed him off.

Tyler had gotten into his head that he wanted to figure out who was behind that shit. Who wanted to shut down the Border Control Project and had gone far enough as to kidnapp the daughter of the Senator. Nik had been right before, when she said that a lot of people could have done it. Dealers, traffickers, corrupted politicians, dirty cops. A bunch of them could go down with that project's approval. Whomever it was, the odds weren't good for (Y/N). But well, that's where he came in. To improve those odds. To fucking rescue her and get his money.

When Tyler made a turn to the left and the house he was going to invade showed up in his sight, he took a deep breath and instantly began to slow down the Chevrolet, making the velocimeter drop quickly, until he stopped right in front of the metal gates. 

"¿Qué estás haciendo?" the smaller of the two men guarding the gates was quick to approach the car with his ACR firmly between his hands, a stern expression on his face. 

What are you doing. Tyler putted on his face the best surprised and scared look he could, while taking his hands out of the wheel and then raising his hands in the air. He kept his bright eyes locked on the gun the man caried, trying to make him see the fake fear he was showing. 

“Salga del coche, cabrón!” again the smaller of the guards spoke up, just as Tyler reached for the window of the car that was closed. The fact for itself seemed to piss the guard off, because now from up close Tyler could see that his knuckles were white from gripping the ACR too tightly. “Vamos, vamos!”

“No habló español! No hablo español!” Tyler placed as much accent as he could on those words, eyes still on the other's gun. Get out of the car, of course he understood. But oh, he wasn't going to do that. Not before the other guard came closer as well. 

“Step out of the car” translated the taller man, doing exactly as Tyler predicted, taking a few steps towards the Chevrolet. 

Tyler nodded, keeping the frightened expression in his face. Slowly he opened the door and got out of the car, stepping in front of the two men with as much causality as he could with his hands in the air again. The smaller one kicked the door of the car closed and held his gun straight to Tyler’s face, as the taller one came even closer and analyzed Tyler up and down with a uninterested look.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” the taller guard asked, calm but yet, as dangerous as the other one. He had his hands on his gun, but just for protocol. His grip wasn’t that tight in the metal beneath his fingers. His mistake, Tyler thought to himself.

“My name is Jeffrey, I’m a tourist” Tyler said with the best worried voice he had, keeping his eyes locked on the one who could speak english. “I lost my turn on the road and don’t know how to get back to the city. Please, I just stopped for information”

The taller man squeezed his brown eyes, thinking about his words. Deciding if he should believe him or not. After minutes that seemed like hours, he bought the story and nodded for the other to lower his weapon. His second and last mistake.

Tyler acted like a lightning. Too quick. He elbowed the smaller one that was closer, kicked him in the legs and made him fall, hitting his head on the ground. Just before the taller one could grip his weapon firmly enough to shoot, Tyler grabbed it and took it out of his hands after throwing him a punch. Two shots, the taller one was gone. He turned around to shot at the smaller one and was surprised to see that he had already gotten up and charged forward, aiming the gun to his face again. Tyler pulled the trigger four times. The blood wet the ground and he was alone.

“The front gate is clear” he said, after pressing the wire in his right ear so that the team could hear him clearly. Leaning down, he inspected the smaller one’s pockets and after finding nothing, went to the other dead man and found the keys to open the gate in his back left pocket. The keys he had seen they use while he was on watch.

“Well done, Jeffrey” Nik’s voice seemed to come from inside his own head, like she was his consciousness. As he smirked for a moment for the childish thought, he couldn’t deny, that would be a good thing for him. To be rid of his bloody consciousness, if he had one at all.

“I’m going in” he twisted the keys on the gate and heard the lock click, opening. 

Instead of entering though, he stepped to the side and leaned against the big walls. As he expected, the men from inside had heard the gunshots and went to the gates. Now, they were stepping outside slowly, with their guns held high and strongly.

Tyler took a deep breath. Feeling excitement run through his whole body in the form of pure adrenaline, he started to pull the trigger over and over again.  

            • ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

You woke up to the sound of gunshots. Endless gunshots. They scared you and ringed in your ears as if they were coming from millimeters away. You thought if some of the men had began a fight between themselves. You had heard some of them arguing before, but they never got violent. Until now, anyway.

The idea that they could be distracted occurred to you and you found yourself realizing that that would be the best moment for you to escape. To try and get out of there without being noticed. Even the man that guarded your door, Juan, as you had heard other call him, was gone. Probably to inspect the origin of the firing.

Pulling against the restrains with enough force to scratch your skin you tried desperately to be free, not allowing yourself to make a single sound behind the gag. Oh no, you wanted them to continue forgetting that you were there and that you were now alone.

The gunshots stopped after so much time that now the sudden silence felt weird. The quiet made you panic, because you were very aware that your chance to escape was slipping away from you. Your only chance.

You started to scream from frustration behind the gag, crying and pulling so much that your arms ached and hurt as if they were being cut open. The door then was kicked open and that was when you really started to scream.

That man, you had never seen around the house you had been taken to. He was really tall, blond. Wore a blue shirt that had the same color of his eyes and old jeans. He was covered in blood. So much blood. In his face, arms, boots. Blood everywhere. The sight made you sick with fear. Was he the one sent to finally kill you? The moment he pulled out a knife from his waist, you got the confirmation you needed.

The tears wet your face and you made one last, useless attempt on the restrains. He got closer to the mattress, towering over you like a fucking building. You closed your eyes and took one last deep breath, finally accepting your fate as he kneeled on the floor beside you.

And then the restrains were gone.

Opening your eyes, you felt his rough hands touching your skin as he took the ropes completely out of your arms and then reached for your gag. Instantly, you kicked him in the legs making him fall on his side.

You ran out of the room, your hand flying to your own mouth and taking the gag out. You tossed it aside and forced your legs to work as without any orientation you tried to find your way out of that place. You ran as fast as you could, but you only made it to two corridors until you found yourself falling to the ground with a heavy weight upon your body. That man’s body.

You screamed and kicked, pushed and punched. Freedom was so close. You just had to…

“Stop fighting!” the man spoke for the first time, turning your body towards his and grabbing your hands when you tried to punch him in the face. He pressed your wrists with an iron grip to the ground. You continued trying to kick him, and that made his grip get harder. “Listen to me, (Y/N)! I’m here to save you!”

That made you go still. Frozen in place. None of the men there before had used your name. Never. You had the feeling that they didn’t even knew who you were. They were just tools, used to keep you under control under the command of someone much more important.

You stared into the man’s eyes, analyzed his expression. It was serious, dangerous. Some of the blood from his face fell on yours as you just stared at him and thought of the odds of him being actually telling the truth.

“If what you say is true then get the fuck away from me” you growled at him, every word hurting your throat as you spoke again after so much time in silence.

“Will you run if I let you go?” he asked fiercely, staring deeply into your eyes with such intensity that it made you nervous. Only when you denied with your head, he complied to your demand and released you, getting to his feet.

You got up slowly, without taking your eyes out of his for even a moment as you did. Your eyes went down to the knife that was back at his waist. You swallowed dry and tried to run again, but he seemed to have predicted that for the way he grabbed your forearm before you could get even a few steps away.

“Listen to me!” he grabbed both of your arms and shoved your much smaller body into the nearest wall. “Your father hired me! The Senator! I’m here to get you to safety but I cannot do that if you keep trying to run from me!"

“And I am just supposed to believe you?” you looked up at his face, the dry tears on your face now were mixed with blood you had gotten from him. “How can I believe you?”

“Your name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” he said firmly, his grip still firm. “Your mother is Eleanor and your father is Charles (Y/L/N)! You love coffee, you were born in Chicago! Your best friend’s name is Maggie! Your favorite movie is Star Wars and you study History at college! Your first cat was named Thomas, he died two years ago!”

You just stared at him in complete shock. It was true. Everything he had just said about you. He new everything. Stuff no one could know unless they had spoken to your family. He was telling the truth.

“Y-you’re telling the truth” you said in a weak tone, trying to wrap your mind around the fact. After such time being a prisoner, you couldn’t believe it.

“I am” he seemed calmer now that he could see you believed him, but his eyes were still dangerous. Still completely alert. “Now let’s go. We have to get out of here before whomever kidnapped you notices what I did and sends reinforcements”

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

tag list: @posiemax ; @annaallicce ; @alievans007 ; @imiiimargo ; @chickensarentcheap ; @fangirlsarah16 ; @innerpaperexpertcloud ; @ri-wantstorunaway ; @keikomia

[lesbianlotties]

Being with you (Makes the flame burn good) - The Old Guard (2020) - Andy/Quynh

They were somewhere in Italy. Somewhere beautiful, because Nicky always picked the best places. It had been six months since Nile joined them, since they left Booker, since Andy lost her immortality, and since Nicky and Joe started feeling more preoccupied than they’ve felt in centuries.

Then the fateful day arrived.

or, Andromache and Quynh are reunited, and it could have gone worse. X

They were somewhere in Italy. Somewhere beautiful, because Nicky always picked the best places. It had been six months since Nile joined them, since they left Booker, since Andy lost her immortality, and since Nicky and Joe started feeling more preoccupied than they’ve felt in centuries. Sure, every time they went into a fight it was a high-anxiety situation. Andy never let them get too relaxed and confident. There was always, always the fear that it would be the last time, that it would be their <i>time</i>. But still, jobs like theirs were over relatively soon. 

On the other hand, losing a friend that’s been with them for two hundred years, that took a toll on them. Also, suddenly finding themselves with a new friend, a young, intelligent and brave, but inexperienced and curious, <i>very</i> young friend that they felt immediately protective of, that was something new and exciting and kept them on their toes. <i>Additionally</i>, seeing their leader, the fearless, selfless, magnificent, almost too big for adjectives, their beloved leader suddenly mortal, suddenly fragile and… it was all… almost too much to bear.

To say they were all in an extraordinary situation would be an understatement. But they coped however they could. They had taken a job or two, because they seemed fitting and Andy insisted. Nobody could say no to Andy still. They traveled too, because there was so much of the world that Nile hadn’t seen and they were just realizing how fun it could be to introduce her to it all. They also rested. They took their time to relax and stand still for short periods of time. 

They stayed in safe houses like this one in Italy. There was a garden, and Joe would teach Nile how to cook everyone’s favorite meals, all in ways no chef alive would have thought of. There was a small library, and Nicky spent long hours trying to teach Nile a few languages, and then getting sidetracked telling her all their best stories. Meanwhile, Andy would teach her how to fight. They would train for hours on end. Andy was ruthless, sometimes too much. Nile would have complained if she hadn’t been aware of two things. One, the immense value of the lessons. She was learning more fighting styles than she could keep track of, all straight from possibly the best fighter still alive. Two, it mattered to Andy. 

Maybe Joe, Nicky, and Booker knew Andy infinitely better than Nile, after so many centuries together. But there was a chance that that same knowledge had made them immune to a few little details. Because Nile would stare at Andy with a clean, brand-new perspective, from a fresh pair of eyes. She wasn’t looking for the familiar signs of Andy when she’s mad, when she’s nostalgic, or annoyed, or tired. She looked at Andy as if she were any other person and she looked for little quirks and small reactions and somehow she knew, she got her. Andy found it all fascinating, terrifying, and a little embarrassing. But she understood that what little time she had, when compared to all the time she’s already had, there was no use in feeling shy. So, Andy let Nile get close. 

They trained and would fight for hours, but then they rested together. They would lay down in the soft grass, or they would sit side by side on the roof. The silence was welcomed, appreciated, and much needed. But it was not all just silence. Andy, Nile figured it out pretty soon, liked to listen to Nile’s stories, and Nile’s thoughts, and about Nile’s past. Luckily, Nile had made great improvements in accepting her new life, and she’d decided that she’d talk about her mother, her brother, and her past life as often as she felt like it, promising herself to never forget them. Sometimes, she talked to Andy about God, her God. Sometimes, almost every time, Andy would laugh. But afterward, more often than not, Andy would be quiet and thoughtful. Nile didn’t for one second think that Andy was considering the idea, but it must remind her something she liked to think about. So Nile let her get lost in those thoughts, offering company, being a friend, being a new addition to the family.

Then the fateful day arrived. 

The youngest of the group had retired to bed early that night, tired after another day of training, learning, and unexpected fun with her new family. This left Andy, Nicky and Joe hanging out by themselves in the living room of their temporary home. 

“Going to bed already?” Joe called after Nile’s retreating form in the hallway.

“Shut up, I’m exhausted!”

A series of chuckles followed, and then it was just the three of them. They’d grown to quickly enjoy Nile’s presence in their lives, but they couldn’t deny that they also appreciated that she represented a distraction from a series of things that deeply haunted them.

“You’re getting too soft with her,” Joe teased the man sitting beside him, playfully poking his torso with a finger.

“I am not,” Niky laughed fondly, knowing it was true. They were all developing a soft spot for the newest addition to the team.

“You are,” Andy intervened, lifting the bottle of beer she was sipping from in her friend's direction.

She was drinking less, lately. As she’d told Booker after his betrayal, they hadn’t been doing their best at managing their lives. None of them earned anything good by trying to numb it all away. Plus, under the scrutiny of Nile’s young and righteous eyes, she made it feel possible to redeem themselves. Plus, Andy wasn’t sure if she could be as reckless with her body anymore.

“I’m just the only one that has kept his manners after all these years.” Nicky’s comments made the others chuckle.

Joe stared at Andy then. Her eyes were still tired, always grieving, but her stare was clear, and she looked as relaxed as she was capable of, which wasn’t much but, it was something. “Admit it, boss,” he told her, “you like having the kid around.”

Andy took her time answering, lips turned upward slightly and she nodded. “Sure. Why not?” It was a good enough admission.

Then, for a moment, they were quiet. There was an infinite number of things to talk about, and an infinite number of things to stay quiet about. In the end, Joe and Nicky started joking about something related to Copley, and it had their leader happily chuckling along with their teasing. She appreciated the two men’s ability to pick up on the fact that she had enough deep conversations with Nile and sometimes all she wanted was to lay back and bask in the comfortable familiarity of millennia of friendship. That lasted a few more minutes, until Nile came back.

The young ex-soldier had gotten better at handling her nightmares, her dreams of the woman in the iron coffee at the bottom of the sea. She was familiar with the image, she knew the story, she learned how to wake up, calm down her breathing, and sometimes go back to sleep by herself without disturbing her friends. She had noticed how deeply affected Andy was about each mention of the dreams. But, this time, it was <i>different</i>, this time she knew she couldn’t, she seriously couldn’t deal with it by herself. She walked slowly, drowsily toward the living room. She stared at Andy, Joe, and Nicky, the most remarkable people she’d ever met and she felt a knot on her throat.

“Andy…” Nile started to say, fear and confusion clouding her voice. But she didn’t have time to say more. 

Andy had immediately been worried by the expression in Nile’s face, but there wasn’t any time for questioning. It was late at night, nobody knew where they were, nobody was supposed to find that house. Still, they all heard, clear as day, the sound of the iron gates of the garden being pulled open. In the blink of an eye, with perfected ease and speed, the three ancient warriors rushed to their front door, holding swords and guns and ready for an unexpected fight. At least, they thought they had been ready.

As soon as she walked out of the door, Andy felt her world come to a screeching halt, she felt as if the ground had given in underneath her feet. She stumbled and if it weren’t for Joe’s quick reflexes that held her up steadily she would’ve fallen down to the ground. If it had been just a dream, just an illusion, maybe some stranger that looked a lot like her, that would have been enough to shake Andy up, she would have gotten over it, but that wasn’t the case. Because the more she stared at the woman in front of her, the more she just knew it was <i>her</i>. The warm glow that came from their windows and the gentle but clear light of the moon were more than enough.

Andy could recognize that face anywhere. She’d seen her dying, and more times than she could count she’d seen her coming back to life. She’d seen her in paintings, sculptures, and in her own nightmares. She’d read about her in legends, myths, and history. Most importantly, she’d memorized that face herself, an impossible number of years ago. She knew every curve and crinkle in her skin, and knew the strength and ability of her muscles. She knew the feeling, the scent, the taste, she knew all of it. They fought together so bravely and loved each other so fiercely and still it hadn’t been enough to keep them together, to help Andy find her again. Now here she was. <i>Quynh</i>. The warrior. The Goddess. The obsession. The broken promise. She was all rage, regret, fear and grief, and all the emotions that dismally shadowed over the relief, the joy, the gratitude, and the love.

“Andromache,” Quynh spoke for the first time. Slow and deliberate after waiting five hundred years to say that one name.

“Quynh,” Andy responded in barely a whisper and nobody, none of them had ever heard her sound so fragile and completely vulnerable.

Quynh stared at her eyes and hated that they were so clear and watery they reminded her of the sea.

“I had hoped <i>so</i> badly for you to be dead. But now I know I had to find you alive, so I could be the one to find the way to kill you.”

Quynh’s firm and confident tone didn’t leave room for interpretation or doubt on her words. Andy, on the other hand, could do nothing but let out a feeble sigh. She took one step forward, but Quynh put up a hand to stop her from coming any closer. She stared at the group standing closely behind Andy.

“Hello… Nicolo, Yusuf… and a new one?” She had a hypnotizing voice that drew them all in.

“My name is Nile Freeman,” the youngest replied with courage that she wasn’t sure where it came from.

Quynh only nodded in acknowledgment, and continued, “Booker wanted you to know he would not break the agreement, and he stayed away. He let me find you myself.” As she finished talking, Quynh drew out a sword and added, “Are you not going to say anything?”

Andy’s silence unnerved them all. She looked almost in a trance, but there was no denying that in the first step she took toward Quynh that she was as strong and certain as they all knew her to be. “I searched for you for so long…” she whispered.

“I thought you would search until you died! I would have!”

“You don’t know that. It was impossible.”

“<i>We</i> are impossible! Yet here we are.”

As they talked, both were talking slow steps forward. At one moment, Nile tried to reach out to her leader, her friend, the most exceptional woman she’d ever met. “Andy, don’t…” she whispered. But she was stopped by the gentle hands of Nicky and Joe on her shoulders, stopping her from stepping into a fight that wasn’t hers to fight.

“You don’t have to do this,” Andy said. Her voice had regained some of its strength. She wasn’t scared. If anything, her body felt alive and electric at being at such close proximity to the woman that meant more to her than anything else in the world ever did.

“But I do,” Quynh replied. Her face was never still. It was obvious she struggled with keeping hold of her emotions. She was juggling rage, insanity, and something more tender and painful but unexpectedly warm. “I lost my mind, I lost my heart too. I lost myself down, down at the bottom of the ocean. Meanwhile, you-”

“Meanwhile I lost all peace of mind, broke my heart beyond repair, and lost all sense of self. I lost everything when I lost <i>you</i>.” At that moment, Quynh finally raised her sword, pointed it at Andy, but Andy didn’t back down or hesitate. She tightened her hand holding her awe, then she let it fall on the ground. Unarmed, somehow she looked stronger than ever. She kept going, moving forward, staring straight into the other woman’s eyes. “I had to learn, Quynh, that time does <i>not</i> heal all wounds. You have to actually do something to get them to heal. And I am prepared to do anything for you.”

Quynh took another step forward, her sword was now inches away from Andy’s face. It must have been something in Quynh’s eyes, a small twitch on her face, anything. But it let Nile know that it was now or never. “Don’t!” she blurted out, before it was too late and quickly say, “Don’t kill her! She’s no longer immortal!”

Nicky and Joe tightened her hold on her but it was too late, the words were out in the open. Andy closed her eyes and looked away, “Nile...” she said to herself, half touched and half annoyed as she often was by the untameable attitude of the young woman. 

“What?!” Quynh exclaimed.

For the first time, her hold on the sword wavered. For the first time since she arrived, she couldn't hold Andy’s eyes. She looked down, but her emotions still showed clear as day or her face or, more accurately, the storm of emotions she held inside. This wasn’t what she’d expected, this wasn’t what she’d hoped for. In all those years she hadn’t exactly considered this scenario. Did it make her job easier? Or was it the last thing she wanted? Did it <i>matter</i>? Quynh cursed and took a definite step forward, now the tip of her sword was tilting Andy’s brave and beautiful face up. It was now or never, and that was a first for them.

“Would you really, <i>really</i> die for me?” Quynh asked, and for a split moment, her eyes cleared. The fog of madness and resentment vanished. It was just the two of them together again. A question and a promise hanging in the air.

“Yes,” Andy replied without hesitating, “Even worse… I would <i>live</i> for you.”

Andy smiled. She genuinely smiled. And it was that little, almost playful smirk, that broke the other woman down. Quynh’s eyes darkened again. It was too much, the swirling of love and hate accumulated in her throughout centuries. She thrust her swords forward, and then just as swiftly she pulled it back, covered in her old lover’s blood. 

The second the blade went through Andy’s neck, Nile screamed. Nick and Joe felt something powerful deep inside of them crumble to pieces. It was a sight that wasn’t entirely new to them, but there was an added knowledge this one time that nobody had prepared them for.

Andy wobbled for a second, but before she could fall to the ground, Quynh threw down her sword and lunged to catch Andy in her arms. Now she was kneeling on the soil of an Italian garden under a clear night sky, holding the woman she loved for centuries, the woman she begged for hundreds of years, the woman she fiercely wanted to hate and kill and meet again just to see her eyes one last time, and she realized, this wasn’t what she wanted.

“My love…” Quynh whispered tearfully, “I had to… I’m sorry.”

Then there was a heavy silence starting to fall over them. Blood poured from Andy’s wound and she struggled to breathe, but she was relaxed. She was finally where she had so desperately wanted to be for so long, in her lover’s arms.

Nile, along with Nicky and Joe approached them cautiously. Nile fell down to her knees near Andy, feeling utterly devastated. Behind her, Joe rubbed his eyes with one hand, while with the other he held Nicky’s hand, whose head was resting on Joe’s shoulder. They all felt broken. The silence was unbearable.

That’s when Andy started coughing. At first, nobody even gasped, for fear that the smallest disturbance would take away the miracle.

“I’m sorry too,” Andy said, her voice was rough but she couldn’t stop saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Quynh watched in horror and delight as the raw, red wound in Andy’s throat slowly but surely completely healed. She tenderly placed her hand over it and even though she’d seen it happen thousands of times before, this time she couldn’t help but whisper, “How? How…” One of Andy’s hands moved over’s Quynh’s hand and maybe it was just a reflex but Quynh’s fingers curled over the other woman’s hand then it couldn’t have been just a reflex after the seconds passed and she didn’t pull away. Andy held Quynh’s hand tightly against her chest and smiled, because she couldn’t help herself.

“I really don’t know what just happened,” Andy said, and turned her head to look at her friends, “Didn’t I have to use a fucking bandaid last week?”

While Joe and Nicky laughed tearfully, Nile grinned, “I told you!” she said, because it was true. She had said it to Andy once or twice during one of their long talks after training, “Maybe you thought it was your time, but maybe it <i>isn’t</i> anymore! You still have more to give. Humanity still needs you. I need you! You have to- you have to train me, you have to lead us in these difficult times, you… you have some wounds that need healing before you go.”

That made Andy turn her head again to look up at Quynh, who still held her carefully in her arms. They met each other’s eyes and they found galaxies in them. There might not be time enough on this Earth for them to unravel everything their souls held, but it looked like they might have an opportunity to try.

“It would take you an eternity,” Quynh’s said with a trembling voice. She wanted it to sound like a threat. The hurricane of emotions inside her was back in full swing, she could barely hold them from spilling over. She felt furious and she felt insane and she wanted to be angry at Andy for surviving. She didn’t want to feel so delighted, didn’t want to feel whole after being reunited with her love, but she did.

“All the time I have is yours,” Andy answered, “I swear.”

Quynh wanted to stab her. But she didn’t have a weapon at hand. So, when Andy leaned in, Quynh did the second best thing she could think of, she kissed her. Nobody on Earth had waited so long for a kiss. It was the most painful and wonderful kiss. It was worse than a threat and better than a promise. They just knew that after that kiss their grief and resentment, their love and devotion were sealed forever. Now they truly will stay together, and they will heal together, and make amends, and fight together again. They will figure out how to love each other ardently again and forever. It will be just the two of them again… until the end.

[desiraypark]

When the Sun Sleeps in Canto Bight [5]

Previous Entire Work CHAPTER PLAYERS

The Knights of Ren: Ushar, Cardo, Trudgen, Ap’lek, Vicrul aka “Vic”, and Kuruk) Kylo Ren, Leader of the Knights of Ren Ruby Girard, The Beautiful Singer CHAPTER CONTENT N*FW -| Sexual content; mention of sex work; alcohol; language; back-story Additional Notes: Galactic Standard Calendar | 1920s Stockings, Tights, Nylons, Socks History by Vintage Dancer (scroll down to see how women of color (particularly Black women) wore their stockings) Word Count: 2,721

“I don’t get it. You fuck ‘em good, you give ‘em money and nice clothes—put ‘em up in a nice place, and they still aren’t satisfied. If I was a broad, I would be a-fuckin’ okay,” Ushar said, leaning back in a chair and smoking a cigarette. “She wants the ring, man. She wants the ring,” Cardo said. He was cleaning his gun. “Well, I’ve got a damn wife! Shit!” Ushar proclaimed. The Knights of Ren—all but Kylo, Vic, and Kuruk—were sitting in office of The Garden Lounge—their flagship establishment for over thirty years. It was a placed that lived up to its name: beautiful plant décor in the lounge; sky blue walls and plush brown carpeting—girls dressed in just enough to not be obscene, but just a little to remind you of “nature”, if you will. Vic was out front entertaining guests and Kuruk was manning the office. Trudgen was leaning against the teak-wood desk, downing a glass of whiskey, while Ap’lek was stretched out across the chaise. Finally, Kylo came in. 

“Evening, fellas,” Kylo said. “Evening,” they responded. “Where’s Vic?” Kylo asked as he sat behind his desk. “Minglin’,” Ap’lek answered. “Do you have your fuckin’ shoes on my couch?” Kylo asked. Ap’lek sat up and planted his feet on the floor. “Sorry, Boss.” “What’s goin’ on with the wife?” Kylo asked Ushar. He shook his head. “Wife’s fine. It’s the other one that’s bein’ a fuckin’ brat,” he responded.    “Why don’t you get rid of her?” Kylo asked, organizing things that didn’t need organizing on his desk. “Pussy’s too good, man.” The Knights chuckled. “Can somebody get—” Kylo started. At that moment, Vic walked through the door and left it open. Kuruk stood outside but stayed close enough to the office to hear what was going on. Vic sat beside Ushar, and Trudgen sat beside Ap’lek on the sofa. Kylo looked up at Kuruk and waved him in. “Come on in, Kuruk. Nobody’s gonna barge in here,” he said. Kuruk nodded, closed the door, and leaned against the wall beside it. “What’s goin’ on, fellas? Ap’lek, anything you wanna discuss?” Kylo asked. “Nope.” “I hear the Kesyk gang’s got a hold of some new toys. Automatic. Fast,” Cardo chimed in. “What makes ‘em special?” Kylo asked. “Faster. More precise. Lightweight,” Cardo answered. “Interesting. Look into it. How’s tricks?” “Steady,” Ushar answered. “The johns are startin’ to get a little bold, though. One of ‘em got a little rough with Hela and she cut him.” “Why can’t these bastards shoot their fuckin’ nut and leave?” Kylo asked. “How’s Hela?” “You know her. She’s cool but she said she’ll do it again,” Ushar answered. “As she fuckin’ should.

“Yeah, but--you think that would drive men away?” Ushar asked. “These fuckin’ johns would step over alligators to get some ass. And they know we’ve got the best fuckin’ girls and guys in Canto Bight. If they act like they have some sense, they ain’t gotta worry about nobody pullin’ no fuckin’ blades on ‘em.”

Ushar shrugged in reluctant agreement, and Vic smiled to himself. 

 The booze?” Kylo asked. 

“Booze is flowin’. Hearin’ more complaints from South Side, though,” Vic answered. “They still waterin’ the shit down?” Kylo asked. “No. This time they’re puttin’ in too much,” Vic answered. 

“People goin’ in for a couple of drinks and walkin’ out eatin’ the fuckin’ concrete,” Trudgen chimed in. He polished off his whiskey. “Fuckin’ idiots. I guess the only thing we can do is give them a fuckin’ recipe book or somethin’,” Kylo said. “Anything else goin’ on?” “Nope/No, boss,” the Knights said in unison. Vic cleared his throat. “There is one thing. Ren’s cousin reached out to me,” he said. “Sheev? That fuckin’ weirdo. What does he want?” “He was very vague. Said he wanted to discuss business and his “retirement”. Said to swing by the Death Star anytime. I was thinking Primeday? Around 2?” Vic suggested. “No can do. Got plans on Primeday. Centaxday. Afternoon.” Vic nodded. **********************

PRIMEDAY 

Kylo had spent the afternoon before dreaming up the perfect Primeday dinner. Everything usually closed or closed early on Primeday, so he had to think fast. Once he got an idea, he made his list and headed out to the markets—the butcher for lamb chops; the produce vendor for potatoes, mushrooms, lemons, and carrots. He’d even snatched a bottle of wine from the Garden Lounge’s inventory, and bought a chocolate cake from the bakery. Ruby agreed to be picked up at three. 

When Kylo pulled up at about 2:55, Ruby stood outside her building wearing another pink dress, blue baby doll heels, white stockings, and holding a white clutch in her hand. Thick curls peeped out of her white cloche hat. As she walked to the car, he climbed out and lifted his hands. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. Ruby froze. “What?” “You’re supposed to wait for me to come to your fuckin’ door,” he said. Ruby shook her head and kept walking, and he walked toward her. She looked him over—his tall figure dressed from head to toe in black: black trousers, black shirt, black vest, black oxfords. “I just thought it would be more convenient for me to wait outside for you,” she fibbed. Truth was, she didn’t want Crystal sizing him up and asking him questions. Kylo took her hand and led her to the car.  

Kylo had called Ruby’s building a dump. His building was nice, but so lifeless and empty. No art on the walls; no flowers. His own apartment was similar. Clean. Very clean and neat. But no art. No colorful accents to catch your eye. He had a gramophone but owned no records. At least he had a radio. After he’d poured her a glass of wine in his tiny kitchen, she’d taken it upon herself to go into the living room and turn it on. Then, she got a better look at the place—no pictures. Just a burgundy couch that appeared to never have been sat on and a dining table with only two chairs in the corner. “You gonna leave me in here by myself, Babydoll?” Kylo called from the kitchen. Ruby smiled and walked back into the kitchen. Kylo had taken off his vest and rolled up his sleeves. He was standing over his stove, putting potatoes into a pot of water. Then, he went into the icebox and pulled out a thick piece of brown paper—stuffed with something. Ruby leaned against the counter and watched him work, trying to bite down a smile. “Tell me about yourself,” he requested. Ruby took a sip of her wine. “You first.” She saw his chest rise and fall, trapping a chuckle. “What do you wanna know?” Ruby thought back to the things Crystal told her. Where to start? Why did he call himself Kylo Ren if he was a Solo? An Organa? She chose to point at the most intriguing target. “Did you try to kill your father?” she asked. Kylo dropped pieces of meat into a bowl he’d filled with water. “I didn’t try to kill him. We got into a fight. He was winning. I pulled a knife on him to scare him off.” Ruby’s jaw dropped. “Oh…” Kylo didn’t continue. “May I ask what the fight was about?” Kylo sighed. He grabbed a bottle of vinegar from his cupboard and poured some into the bowl. 

“I’d been out with some friends. Fuckin’ around. Stayed the night with some br--some girl--and didn’t come home until the next morning. I was 18. Thought I was a man. My dad wouldn’t let me inside. Told me I was falling to the Dark Side...that I needed to repent and start coming to sanctuary with him, yada-yada-yada. I told him to shove his sanctuary up his ass and we just started brawlin’ in front of the neighbors.” “So, you’ve always been a little smart mouth,” Ruby joked. Kylo laughed. “Not always. I was just tired of people telling me what to do.” Ruby put her wine glass on the counter, grabbed the edge, then lifted herself to sit high. Then, she yanked off her hat and fluffed her hair. “What did your mom have to say about all of this?” she asked. “She did what she usually did. Defended me in front of him. Because she hates him just as much as I do. But told me how much of a disappoint I was to her behind closed doors.” Ruby’s watched Kylo move about in silence--moving the meat around in the bowl. Everything was making sense. The typical tale—poor little rich boy, rebellious and angry. He glanced at her, then avoided her sympathetic stare--placing his eyes on the pot of boiling potatoes instead. 

“I’m sorry you went through that,” she said. He shrugged and washed his hands.

"Eh. I’m over it. It was a long time ago,” he said. He dried his hands on a towel, then poured himself a glass of wine. “Your turn,” he said as he poured. 

“What do you want to know?” Ruby asked, echoing him. “Tell me about your parents.” He rested his hip against the counter and took a sip.

“I think…my mom is essentially your dad,” she said with chuckle. “Everything is dark-sided to her. Singing about anything unrelated to the gods. The radio. Picture shows. Lipstick. She didn’t have to put me out. As soon as I turned 18, I was outta there.” Kylo listened to Ruby speak, but found himself getting lost in her--her hands that moved with every word she said; brown legs that lifted by the knee when the edge of the counter started cutting off her circulation. Even when she talked, there seemed to be a melody in her voice. She spoke highly of her father—apparently he was a laid-back and funny man—and she justified her mother’s puritan ways by admission of her being protective and caring. “So, mom wouldn’t think too highly of me, huh?” Kylo asked. “Oh, she’d probably melt into a puddle, she’d be so incensed,” Ruby said with a laugh. She guzzled the remainder of her wine. Ruby’s laugh made him smile. He tapped his fingers against his wine glass. “What does Ruby think about me?” he asked. A stillness fell over her. She stared at Kylo’s face—dark eyes boring into her; long waves draped over the side of his face as the result of a side part. Her eyes fell onto the stitches on his cheek, then back at his irises. “I think you’re impulsive and hot-headed,” she said. Kylo rolled his eyes and smirked. “…and passionate. Maybe even loyal...in search of something…” Potatoes began to knock against each other in the pot. Kylo stared into Ruby’s eyes, then at her painted lips. They parted just a centimeter, as though tired of being pressed together. Tired of not being touched. Kylo leaned in close and stopped. Ruby traveled the rest of the space and pressed her lips to his. He moved to stand directly in front of her and held the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as she rested her hands on his waist. He stopped kissing her but didn’t pull his face away. “You want me to stop?” he asked breathlessly. His heart was pounding and he silently prayed that she said “no”. “No,” she said. Kylo pressed his lips back against hers and ran his hand up her thigh. She held the back of his neck and deepened their kiss—pushing her tongue into his mouth. He let her tongue in, and the hand that was on her neck, moved up to grab a handful of her curls. Ruby moaned into his mouth and opened her knees. The feeling of Ruby’s knees moving against him made Kylo stiffen. His hand moved further up her thigh, and in between them. He slipped two fingers past the seat of her panties and rubbed them against her outer lips. Then, he rubbed his way to her warm core and pushed them inside. Ruby pulled her face away and rested her head against the cupboard. Her eyes were wide. “Your fingers are big,” she said with shock in her voice. Kylo smiled and kept fingering. He pushed her left knee open some more, then watched her face crinkle. She closed her eyes and bit down on her lip—allowing ecstasy to overtake her. Then, he stopped fingering her and bent at his waist. Just as he did so, the water on the stove began to boil harder. He jumped up—annoyed at the stove for doing its job—turned the burner off, yanked Ruby’s panties down, and put them in his pants pocket. Then, he pushed back the skirt of Ruby’s dress. She tilted to the left to lift the right hem, then tilted to the right to lift the left—revealing the hooked garters that pressed into her fleshy thighs and held her nylons up. She let the bottom of her dress bunch at her waist.

Kylo stared at her vulva—everything. The lips; the slit leaking from its top and probably down to her core with arousal; the brown rosebud that was fighting to be seen. Ruby pressed her palms against the counter and opened her legs more. Kylo smirked. “Anxious?” he asked. “Yes. I am,” she answered—breath loud, hot, and sure. Kylo bent at the waist and turned his body to the side. He dipped his head between Ruby’s inner thighs, and without hesitation, rapidly flicked his pointed tongue against her clit. Ruby cried out and grabbed a handful of his hair, moaning as he lapped her up. He didn’t abandon an inch of her—tongue venturing around, over, and inside of her—causing her to grind against his face. With a mouth full of pussy, he stared up at her, ego steadily growing with every squirm, every twitch of her brow and every bite of her lip. When he stuck his fingers back inside, she tightened her grip against his scalp and finally looked down at him. The sight of him looking up at her with darkened eyes made her own eyes close again, but he put space between his lips and her flesh. “Look at me when you come,” he said. A chill went down Ruby’s spine and she looked down into Kylo’s eyes. He inserted a third finger and massaged her walls as he sucked and ravaged her clit. Suddenly, he felt her contracting over his fingers. Her jaw dropped and a strained sound left her throat. Then, she let out an endless high-pitched moan and tried to pull away from his lips—but Kylo didn’t stop until his tongue absorbed the very last drop of her sweet cum. She fell backward and rested her head on the cupboard again—loud breaths filling the quiet of the kitchen. Barely giving her a minute, Kylo peeled her off the counter and tossed her over his shoulder—making her squeal as if she were on an amusement ride. He carried her to his bedroom and dropped her onto his bed. He pulled off her shoes, then pulled at the buttons of his vest. Ruby sat up, pulled her dress over her head, unclasped her bra, and tugged at the hook on her right garter. “Keep those on,” he said. He stared at her thighs and licked his lips.

Ruby moved her hand and fell back. She watched Kylo get completely naked. She barely got a good look at him before he was on top of her, planting kisses against her neck. He grabbed her right leg and pressed it back so that her knee was over her chest. Shortly after, she felt something warm and stiff rubbing against the outside of her core—it pressed into her, and the pressure sent a wave throughout her entire body. “Fuck…” they whimpered at the same time. Then, they chuckled. Kylo kissed her lips and inhaled her moans as he pushed more inches into her. He caught her grabbing the blanket in his peripheral, and slowly penetrated her until he couldn’t go any further. “You okay?” he asked. “Yes,” she strained to answer. 

He grabbed her left hand and placed it over the meatiest part of his waist. Then, he dragged out of her, and drove back in. He held on to her right thigh, the leg still pushed back, and dipped in and out of her—fast enough to please, but slow enough for the both of them to feel their lover’s every twitch and pulse, and grip and stroke.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 8: The Assistant

(from the Flatmate Trilogy: Two Hearts, One Home)

…in which Y/N helps out a friend, and Harry also helps out a “friend”.

Word count: 5k

Chapter 7: Brides War - Harry and Y/N are invited to two weddings at once.

Wattpad link

ANNOUNCEMENT: After this chapter and My Girl chapter 7, I’ll take a three-week break (this is why). I’ll still post blurbs and come back with chapter 9 preview on Monday, August 12. Thank you so much for giving me your time and patience. I love you all. 😅

.

.

.

"Guys, I think—"

"Stay out of this, Lou!" Y/N raised her voice and Louis immediately sat back down, his mouth snapped shut. He, Liam, and Trix hadn't seen Y/N this mad since that time they were in New York, and she found out Harry was sharing a room with his female colleague. Now they were married and Harry was his own boss, but the one thing that hadn't changed was him keeping quiet about another woman. She had held it in, pretending to be okay with Kierra being in their home, even just to give Harry the files he'd left at the office. But as soon as that woman was gone, Y/N completely exploded.

"Let me explain, please! I didn't lie to you!" Harry took a long stride to stand in Y/N's way before she could walk into their bedroom. He grabbed her hand, and she shrugged it right off, her eyes narrowed.

"You kept a secret from me! That's worse than lying!"

"Only for a day—"

"Because I just found out today! If she hadn't come here, who knows how long you would've kept this from me?!" She barked at him. A part of her knew it wasn't a good idea to be having this fight in front of their three friends. However, she was too angry to be reasonable here. "You made a vow and swore that you would always be honest with me, but you keep secrets from me again and again, and I'm sick of this!"

Harry was terrified. What did she mean by 'sick of it'? Of him not being honest or of them? Of their marriage? No, no, no, no, the voice in his head chanted, but right before he could come up with something smart to say, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"I just..." Her voice was softer and breathy. "I'm not mad at you because I think you're cheating on me. I'm disappointed because this girl you used to hook up with is now your personal assistant, and you didn't bother to tell me."

"You were stressed out with work and Layla's wedding, I didn't—"

"Stop!" She breathed, stabbing a finger at him. "Stop saying you keep things from me because that's what's best for me. It's not." He held his breath, his heart was thumping as he waited for her to say what he feared she would say.

And she did.

"If we weren't married, I would be packing my bags right now." Those words were as heavy as they sounded, like a weight hanging on his ribcage, and his limbs felt numb as she walked into their room and slammed the door in his face.

Sighing, he turned back to the others who sat quietly on the couch and stared at him with their mouths shut. He thought he should say something, maybe apologize for making them feel awkward, but when he parted his lips, a notification on his phone got his attention. It was a text from Niall.

⌲ Layla's pet: Whatever you do, do NOT tell her now.

"Sorry, guys, give me a moment," he told Louis, Liam, and Trix before turning away to type down his reply.

⌲ Too late. Y/N already met her.

⌲ Layla's pet: Shit...

⌲ Layla's pet: Does she know about the kid?

Harry muttered a curse word as he read those questions. The last thing Y/N had said to him before she stormed off were on replay in his mind, and he didn't want to think about what she would do if she found out about the kid.

.

.

.

"I read your resume, very impressive."

"Thank you, Mr. Styles."

"Just call me Harry." The man flashed his new assistant a smile and the way her cheeks reddened had him flustered as well. This was just as weird for him as it was for her considering their history together. But he believed they could always work it out professionally.

According to Kierra, she'd thought his father Devlin was still the CEO when applying for this job. That was a good enough reason for him to fire her already because she didn't even know the name of the man running this firm. However, if he'd done that, she would've had every right and mean to ruin his reputation. 'CEO of Styles Co. fired his assistant on her first day due to their history together' was the headline he wouldn't want to see. So maybe he should put his personal relationship with her aside and give her a chance. After all, she was only a probationary, if after the first month she couldn't do well on her job, he would have a proper reason to lay her off without having all guns pointed at him.

Harry began by talking Kierra through all the crucial tasks, responsibilities, and deadlines, and then asked her if she had any other questions before he let her go.

"Yeah, I do actually," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "How often do I have to work outside business hours?"

"Only in emergency cases. Why? Are there any problems?"

Her lips curved into a smile as she shook her head. "No, it's just, I have a five-year-old at home, but that won't be a problem, I promise."

"Oh, I didn't know you were married."

Harry didn't think too much when he said that, for he automatically assumed everyone had the same happy life as he did. It was only when the smile faded from Kierra's face that he realized how offensive that was. He meant to say something else or change the subject, but she spoke up fast, "I don't...don't know who her father is."

"I'm sorry." He frowned. "We don't have to talk about this if—"

"I had her when I was in uni," Kierra went on anyway, "and I took a gap year because of my pregnancy. That explained why you stopped seeing me on campus after we'd...uhm...called it quit."

Harry was speechless for a moment, he opened and shut his mouth several times before he began, "Kierra, I—"

"I'll send you that report immediately," she cut him off. Without waiting for his permission, she stood up and rushed out of the office as if to avoid more unwanted inquiries or even his sympathy. That was when Harry felt something wrong. The color drained out of his face as he sank back into his chair, breathing heavily. Was it possible for this to be just a big 'coincidence'? How was he going to tell his wife?

Was he going to tell his wife?

.

.

.

Harry usually prided himself on his composure. Even in the most stressful situations, he would be the calmest in a room. But this time, he had completely lost it. He had been pacing back and forth in front of Niall for fifteen minutes and he didn't think he'd be able to stop, not when his mind was racing at full speed now.

"I don't know why you're even freaking out, it's not like she said the kid was yours."

"That's why I'm freaking out, Niall! She doesn't know who the father is! That kid could be mine!" Harry cried out, gripping his hair. "We had sex many times, and she took a gap year after we split. Five years later, she showed up with a five-year-old. How could that be a fucking coincidence?!"

Niall nodded understandingly and exhaled into his fist as he thought for a while. "Uhm...didn't you always use condoms though?"

"I did, I wasn't stupid. But condoms are only about 85% effective." Harry stopped pacing and put both hands on his hips, his head hung low. "Fuck! I'm married and I still can't escape my past life. Nineteen-year-old me couldn't fucking keep his dick in his pants!"

"Wait, maybe you're right," Niall spoke, his eyebrows snapped together. "This couldn't be a coincidence, it's too perfect."

"Exactly!"

"No, listen, she's a fucking gold-digger!"

Harry's eyes darted up to meet Niall's, confusion crossed his face as he took a second to analyze those words. "What are you saying?"

"How can you not see that?!" Niall rose from his bed to grip his best friend's shoulders. "She heard about you taking over Styles Co., applied for a job in your company to make it look coincidental, and told you about the kid to make you think it's yours. A perfect plan!"

"She can't just...lie about something like this!" Harry scoffed and brushed Niall's hands off him. "That little girl is five years old, I could just ask for a paternity test."

"That's the problem. You can't, because she doesn't confirm that the baby is yours. You can't just be like, 'hey, do you mind giving me your child's DNA so I can have it tested to see if she's mine?' Trust me and ignore her, she knows what she's doing."

"But she's a single mum, she needs my help! I can't abandon my own blood and let Kierra raise her alone, Niall!"

"She doesn't need your help, 'cuz you know why?" Niall raised a finger, "that's not your business and that's not your kid, either. You're just being paranoid because you're afraid your past is gonna come back to bite you in the ass. But guess what? Kierra slept with a lot of people back then, for all I know even one of our professors could be the father."

"That's slut-shaming, Niall." Harry arched an eyebrow and Niall responded with a shrug.

"Maybe it is. But I mean, you were a slut, I was a slut, everyone was a slut in university! Well, except for Y/N—"

"Okay, stop." Harry squeezed his eyes shut and raised a hand. "Just...do not tell Layla, I'll figure something out."

"Why not?" Niall grumbled. "Unlike you, I tell my wife everything."

"Because your wife would either beat me up first or tell my wife, and right now I don't know which is worse! This news would break Y/N. She's been through a lot, I don't want her to overthink and worry more about this."

"So you're gonna keep hiding stuff from her?!"

That was one question Harry had been asking himself since his argument with Y/N this morning. He knew she'd blurted out those words in a moment of anger and probably didn't mean them. However, if the baby was his, and she found out from anyone that wasn't him, she would immediately make him sign the divorce papers and his life would be over. Even worse, it would damage her. How could he live knowing his poor decision five years ago ended up hurting her now?

Harry shoved his fingers in his hair, taking a deep breath. "I guess I'll have to tell her myself," he spoke after a moment of silence. "After I talk to Kierra."

Niall immediately reacted with a loud groan.

"Hey." Harry grabbed his shoulder, pointing a finger to his face. "You were the one who told me not to tell Y/N because it would hurt her."

"Yeah, but then I remembered how often you kept secrets from her. She was always the last to know, mate! If I did that to Layla, she would leave my ass without a second thought!"

"You don't get it!" Harry huffed, sounding so uneasy that he stumbled on his own words. "If...if...I mean...she's gone through a lot lately. She's becoming insecure again, and she has trouble sleeping at night, all because she found out she might never get pregnant. If I tell her I might have a baby with someone else from my past—"

"That's why she needs to hear this from you!"

"No, listen! We're not even sure if I'm the father. If I tell her now and it turns out not true then I'll hurt her all for nothing! I don't want to do this to Y/N. So...I can only tell her after I've talked to Kierra."

Niall sighed. He wasn't all in with the idea but he didn't have a better one either. "So what are you going to tell Kierra?"

"The truth. I'll ask her if she thinks I'm the father. If she doesn't, then we'll let this go."

"If she does though?" Niall mumbled and glanced up to look at Harry again.

"Then I'll tell Y/N." Harry nodded, his eyebrows furrowed. "We'll take a paternity test and...hopefully she won't leave me after...or before that..."

.

.

.

Y/N exchanged questioning looks with her husband as Trix pulled out a chair and joined them at their kitchen table.

"How are you? You were fighting the other day so...I'm here to check on you guys," said the pink-haired girl, but Y/N knew that wasn't why she'd come over. She wasn't as close to them as Layla and Niall and rarely paid them a visit out of the blue. The only explanation that made sense was that she needed a favor from them.

"How can we help?" Y/N went straight into the point. Trix seemed a bit startled, but Harry had that same attitude as his wife.

"It's okay, Trix. We know you're here to ask for a favor. Just tell us," he said calmly.

Trix was reluctant at first for she didn't know where to begin. After stuttering for a second, she finally released the words she'd come to say. "Y/N, could you...help me flirt with my fiancé?"

"Excuse me?!" Y/N and Harry said at the same time, their jaws dropped and their eyes widened at Trix. The shy girl was fidgeting with her yellow tennis skirt and seemed too afraid to even make eye contact with the couple.

"You're...you're only joking, right?"

"No, Y/N, I'm not." She shook her head fast. "He's been acting strange lately. He would look at the other women while we're out on a date and—"

"So you want me to put him on a test for you?" Y/N squinted her eyes and massaged her temple. "Trix...you're getting married to this man, and you can't even trust him."

However, Trix turned a deaf ear to her comment, clasped her hands together and put on her best puppy dog face to beg, "just please help me this once. I won't ask for anything ever again."

"This is fucking stupid. I'm not letting my wife flirt with another man just to prove he's not a cheating asshole!"

Y/N rolled her eyes as she heard Harry. "You don't have a say in this, and I haven't forgiven you yet," she said without looking at him, her eyes fixated on Trix who looked like she was about to cry. "Look, Trix, I want you to be happy, but I don't think this is a good idea. Besides, I can't...flirt, I'm very...awkward when it comes to stuff like this. I think you should ask someone else."

"You're the only one of my girl friends who hasn't met him!"

The silence sank in for a moment, this time, it was Harry who broke it, "actually, Layla hasn't met him." Both girls turned to him immediately. He went on, giving them a shrug, "I mean, she already disapproves of your engagement. So she's definitely going to help if it means she gets a chance to prove that she's right. You know, it's Layla we're talking about here."

"I don't want to ask Layla for anything," Trix asserted as her eyes narrowed. "If she gets to prove that she's right, then she'll be a bitch to me again. The last thing I want is to get shit on after finding out my fiancé isn't faithful."

Y/N took a deep breath and lifted an eyebrow at the girl. "Then I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"Fine. Thanks anyway." Trix exhaled as she stood right up and stormed out of their kitchen. However, it took her less than five seconds to rush back in, looking very distressed at this point. "You know what? Ask Layla for me, please."

"Already did," Harry smirked and showed them the text on his phone.

.

.

.

That night, when Y/N was out with Layla and Trix, Harry paid Kierra a visit.

She lived not so far from his block, in a small flat, even smaller than the one he used to share with Y/N in university. He hadn't told her he'd come, so when answering the door, she was slightly appalled.

"Is it an emergency?" She asked, and her worried eyes had him smiling. Shaking his head, he told her, "Y/N and I have a little present for your little lady. I was visiting a friend in this area so I thought I should stop by and give this to her myself. Do you mind if I come in?"

Kierra glanced down at the teddy bear in his hand. He could see from the look on her face that she didn't fully believe his reason. However, she said nothing, gave him a little smile and opened the door for him to enter. Her so-called flat wasn't so different from a dorm room. He had never seen such a small place with so much furniture; it was stuffy yet warm and neat. The living room was dimly lit with red and yellow wallpapers that were too loud for his taste, but the dark curtains and couches helped tone down those vibrant hues of the background. He was asked to sit down, and she excused herself to get her young daughter so he could finally meet her.

Harry's heart was pounding so hard that he struggled to breathe. With both hands linked together, elbows on his knees, he tapped his feet impatiently. One minute felt like the longest time he'd ever waited, but eventually, the bedroom door opened and walked out a chubby little girl. She had her mother's blue eyes, soft dark hair, and brown skin.

He was definitely not the father.

Harry felt as if his chest might exploded with elation as he breathed out a nervous laughter and gave the child a little wave.

"Say hello to Mr. Styles, Bonnie," Kierra said as she knelt down by her daughter, who wore a bashful smile while gripping the hem of her rainbow shirt.

"Hello, Mr. Styles." Bonnie batted her eyelashes, her dimples popped up as she flashed him a smile. "Thank you for the teddy bear."

"You're welcome, sweetheart. You can call me Harry," he said with a smile just as wide as hers.

"Hey, Bonbon, do you want to show Harry your teddy bear collection?"

"Wow, you have a whole collection?!" Harry's surprised face made the five-year-old giggle into her palms.

"I'll be right back!" She told him and hurriedly ran into her room.

That was when Kierra turned back to Harry. He was trying to figure out what to say when she sat down by his side.

"I know why you're here," she said, causing Harry's green eyes to broaden in disbelief. He gulped, his jaw tightened. He wanted to say something, but she took the words right from his mouth, "I don't know who her father is but I'm positive that it's not you, H."

A flush crept up on the man's face as he stuttered, "uhm...I...I'm sorry...I shouldn't..."

"It's okay." Kierra sucked in a breath, her lips pressed into a small smile. "I was acting quite shady when you asked me about her, no wonder you thought she might be yours. Guess I was just...embarrassed, getting knocked up at nineteen wasn't something I'm proud of, you know?" She laughed, shaking her head. "But honestly, I wish you were the father."

Her smile grew when she saw how flustered he seemed, so she patted him on the arm, laughing a little. "Sorry, that was too straightforward. But I've always known you'll be a good parent since the day you and I babysat my cousins together. You were so gentle with the twins and I remembered thinking to myself, 'shit, I'm falling for this guy, this needs to stop.'"

"Was that why you called it quit?"

Kierra nodded, smiling sadly as she changed the subject back to Bonnie. "I wish Bonbon had someone like you in her life. She asks me a lot about her dad. I mean, she's only five years old, and the fact that most of the other kids have both parents makes it hard for her to understand why she doesn't. She's shy and she doesn't have many friends but she's a good kid."

Harry quietly nodded and wetted his lips with his tongue. He thought he should come up with a more cheerful topic to discuss, but thankfully, Bonnie returned with her box full of toys. She giggled with excitement and announced, "mummy, you can be Wonder Woman. Harry, you like Batman so you can be Batman!"

"How do you know I like Batman?" Harry chuckled when he accepted the Batman doll from the little girl.

"I just guessed," she said, looking a bit confused when he buried his face into his palm and smiled to himself.

"What?" Kierra questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Nah, I just remembered the time Y/N gave me Batman socks on my birthday because she assumed I loved Batman." He chuckled, scratching his head awkwardly. "Sorry, that was irrelevant..."

"No, not at all! Uhm...you two are adorable," Kierra said with a smile, but Harry didn't look at her to see that she was only faking it.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, Y/N and Trix were on a mission. They were spying on Layla and Trix's fiancé, Grant from a far corner in the club.

Before coming here, Trix had insisted on wearing fake mustache and bringing newspapers to cover their faces with, but thankfully Y/N had talked her out of it so they didn't show up like two fools. Besides, the place was too crowded for them to be seen from all the way across the room.

Y/N had to admit that Grant was a good-looking man, nothing compared to her Harry, of course, still he was somewhat handsome. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and he wore glasses which made him look like a real-life Clark Kent. All Y/N knew about him, however, was that he was rich because he owned a bank, and his father knew Layla's father, so apparently, they would have a lot to talk about.

"She's recording everything like I asked her to, right?" Trix gulped down her drink while Y/N was biting her nails as anxiety was eating her up. She hated this, she hated going behind someone's back even though he might be a pathological liar and a cheater. The fear of getting caught made her heart clench, and she couldn't wait for Layla to find proof so they could get out of here. In the meantime, she thought about Harry to keep her composure. She was supposed to be mad at him, but Trix's not-so-little problem made her realize how lucky she was to have him as a husband. So after this, she would go straight home to cuddle him and forget this night had ever happened.

When Layla rose from her seat, Y/N and Trix sighed in unison as they assumed it was over, but then Layla picked up her drink and immediately emptied it on top of the man's head. His scream was so loud that all eyes shifted to them, so Y/N and Trix had to rush toward their table before things got out of hand.

"Trix?!" Grant gasped when he saw his fiancé, but Layla didn't give him time to think. She picked up her phone and played the recording.

"I see you wearing a ring, are you married?"

"This one? Oh, it used to belong to my mother..."

"It's our promise ring!" Trix cried out as she held her head with both hands.

"...she gave it to me when I was little, now this is the only finger it still fits. But I love it so much I don't wanna take it off."

"It's a beautiful ring."

"Not as beautiful as you—FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Layla stopped the recording, her bright red lips curved into a smirk as she calmly put her phone back into her clutch. Trix took a step back into Y/N's arms, shaking her head when Grant tried to reach for her hands.

"Fuck off!" She shouted. "You're fucking your assistant, aren't you?! Your brother told me but I didn't want to believe it! Now I know who you really are!"

"He's what?!" Layla scoffed. "This motherfu—"

"Okay, guys, stop. He's not worth it!" Y/N pulled her best friend back before she could lift a hand. As Grant was still stuttering, Trix immediately took off her engagement ring and tossed it in his face. "Eat shit and die, you...ball-less pig!"

All these strangers gave Trix a standing ovation as she stormed out, followed by Layla and Y/N. The girls feared she might do something stupid, like running in front of a car for example. Fortunately, she just flopped down on the steps outside the building and burst into tears at once.

Layla and Y/N exchanged worrying looks with one another before sitting down by her sides.

"You should've let me fuck him up. I know Taekwondo, that should be a piece of cake," Layla told Y/N, who only shook her head fast.

"We could end up getting arrested, Layla. Trix deserves better than that, better than him." Then she turned back to the crying girl, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder. "You alright, Trix?"

Trix was still sobbing, however, she still answered with a solid nod. "I should've...should've listened to you guys. I was so stupid! Now you can say it, Layla..."

"Say what?"

"Say 'I told you so'."

Layla chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "I told you this wedding was a bad idea but only because I couldn't trust any man that wasn't Niall," she paused to look at Y/N, "and of course, Harry, Husband of The Year." Y/N giggled as her best friend went on, "but you were in love, you couldn't have seen the person he really was. So don't give that disgusting cunt any satisfaction by thinking this is also your fault. It's not."

Trix nodded fast as she wiped her smudged eyes with the back of her hand. "Thank you...for everything...for this, and...for helping me get my job. Gosh, I'm such a shit person....I'm sorry I tried to sabotage your wedding."

"It's fine. I was gonna leak an embarrassing footage of you at your wedding, anyway."

Trix and Y/N both gave Layla a horrified look, so the girl had to speak for herself, "that was a joke! Have any of you watched Brides War?"

"Anyway." Trix breathed out a laugh and finally stopped crying. "I guess I was just...jealous...of you and Y/N. You've been best friends with Niall since high school and now you're engaged. Y/N is Harry's first serious relationship and now they're about to have a baby—"

"Oh my God, what's with all these baby rumors?" Y/N broke into laughter. "I'm not pregnant, Trix!"

"My point is that," Trix pressed her lips into a small smile, "you have someone who loves and would die for you, and always be faithful and honest to you. When's it gonna be my turn?"

"Well, I didn't expect to marry the first man I fell in love with, but here I am." Y/N giggled as she opened her arms.

Layla immediately picked up where she'd left off, "trust me, Niall was a dumbass in high school, but now he's—well, technically, still a dumbass...but I love him, very much. So I believe love comes when you're not expecting it. You're a sweet girl, Trix. If even someone like me could be loved, I'm sure there'll be plenty of men who will fall in love with you. Then one day someone will show up and he or she will be everything you've ever wanted."

"Thank you. But right now I just want Chris Evans..." Trix mumbled, making her two friends laugh so hard.

"Who wants to go back to my place and watch The Avengers to fangirl over Chris Evans' sexy bod?" Layla quickly stood up and raised her hand as Trix and Y/N did the same. With an arm around Trix's shoulder, Layla pulled the small girl along as they headed back to her car, but Y/N stayed behind, eyes glued to her phone.

"Guys, wait, I got a text from Kierra."

"Why do you have her number?" Trix asked as she rushed back to Y/N's side, and so did Layla, who didn't understand anything.

"Who the fuck is Kierra?"

"Kierra Maxwell."

"Oh, I love her. We used to be drinking buddies," Layla interrupted Trix, but Y/N ignored that and explained, "she's Harry's assistant now, I saved her number just in case."

"Well, what did she send you? Did something happen to H?" Layla asked.

It was only now that Y/N opened Kierra's message. It was a short clip of Harry sitting on the floor and playing action figures with a little girl.

"You beat me again! This is so unfair!" He buried his face into his palms and pretended to sob, making both Kierra and her daughter burst out laughing. The little girl quickly climbed onto his lap, took his wrist, and pulled his hands away.

Smiling, she told him, "mummy cannot help you, Batman! She's on my side!"

"No, no, mummy is not picking sides. You're on your own, baby."

"Your mother's lying. She's on my side."

The video ended there, with Harry laughing with another woman and a little girl, like a happy family he might never have with her.

Y/N felt her whole body becoming paralyzed and she couldn't even open her mouth to answer when Layla asked, "did that bitch purposely sent this to you?!"

"Why is he at her place?" Trix tapped her on the shoulder, probably expecting her to know. Unfortunately, Y/N was just as clueless as they were. And that was the saddest part.

Harry had kept so many secrets and unintentionally hurt her over and over again, but she was the one at fault for believing he had already learned his lesson.

[charmandhex]

Dogs on the Moon

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, Magnus Burnsides watches as the false moon, Lucretia’s moon, approaches from his place inside the glass sphere. His pupils go wide as the sphere enters the moon, trying to see anything in the darkness of the space. Of course he doesn’t, one of two members (previously just him) of Tres Horny Boys without Darkvision.

As such, he’s blinking spots out of his eyes when the sphere emerges in the bright light of the hangar, and Magnus’s gaze alights on Avi, operating the cannons as per usual and looking surprised to see him.

Magnus is up and walking as soon as the sphere door opens.

“Hey, hey, Magnus, how are-” Avi starts as Magnus passes by him.

“Can’t talk now, Avi,” Magnus interrupts, jokingly brusque. “Important world-saving business, you know how it is. Weight lifting later though?” Magnus tosses the words lightly over his shoulder, already gone.

“Uh, yeah, hey, wait, where are you going?” Avi calls after him, but Magnus doesn’t answer and Avi doesn’t follow after.

He marches across the quad, hearing the summer breeze whistle through the trees and watching it sweep over the grassy field in waves. He high fives Killian and trades finger guns with Carey, wishing the couple congratulations (again) on their upcoming nuptials. But he doesn’t linger. He has somewhere to be. Obviously. That’s the whole reason he’s here.

Magnus continues on into the largest, grandest dome in the Bureau of Benevolence and doesn’t break his stride as the sound of his footsteps shifts from the muted trod against earth to the faintly echoing click of boots against marble.

Lucretia isn’t on the dais, not that he’d expect her to be. That’s not surprising.

Magnus makes it to the door at the end of the hall and walks to her office. No, unsurprisingly, Lucretia is working, as per usual. Or, she is, right up until Magnus gets to her office door and does what Magnus does best. Magnus rushes in.

“Lucretia Adventurezone,” Magnus booms, and the woman in question looks up from her desk, eyebrows already rising to nearly her hairline.

“Magnus. What. What was that?” She asks, completely nonplussed.

“It’s fine. I just needed a last name. Uh, don’t worry about it,” Magnus says, waving off the unknowable reference. “Anyway. What isn’t fine, Lucretia, is the state of dogs on the moon!” Magnus levels an accusatory glare at Lucretia.

As expected, she doesn’t shrink, meeting Magnus’s eyes with a level stare of her own. “Magnus. Dogs run off the moon. I have explained this to you countless times.”

“Two hundred twenty-five by my count, actually,” Magnus rebuts, thoroughly pulling a number out of the air, and Lucretia’s face breaks into a smile. “You have argued against fences. You have argued against leashes. You have argued against automated dog catching systems.” He counts off the arguments on his fingers. “But,” he says dramatically, raising a finger, “you have forgotten one important thing. And that thing, Lucretia, is domes.”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t forgotten domes, Mango.” And Lucretia gestures to the moon base at large around her.

“Lucretia. You are the most powerful abjuration wizard this or literally any other plane has ever seen. A god for gods told you that you did the most powerful shit he had ever seen.”

“Yes?”

Magnus nearly sputters at Lucretia’s nonchalance. “You could have just cast a spell on the moon base the whole time! No real fences, just a big magic fence!”

Lucretia blinks. “Oh. Huh.”

“Now hold on!” Magnus exclaims. “‘Huh?’ You never thought about it, not once, despite knowing that you are, like, a super good wizard and at no point had you been walking around with less than one-seventh of the Light of Creation. For years, Lucy!”

“Well... Listen. Magnus. I was preoccupied. Very preoccupied.”

“But dogs, Lucretia!” Magnus nearly whines. “Think of the puppies left in a box! Think of the mutts who need a home! Think of the dogs!”

Lucretia doesn’t say anything, just looks like she’s thinking. Magnus deflates a little. “Uh, anyway. You are also formally invited to the grand opening or sort of re-opening of Hammer and Tails. When I open it. At some point. You know, re-building an entire town and a carpentry shop and a school for dogs is not easy.” He emphasizes. “And, uh, you know, still keeping up with those Tres Horny Boys adventures. We went to a casino with Lup, and Merle cast fucking Insect Plague, and then we kicked Greg fucking Grimaldis’s fucking ass, but Lup didn’t get her $15 anyway, and we got into another battlewagon race, so Taako got another trophy for that, and I still need a battlewagon trophy because I have vehicle proficiency, and Cap’nport, oh Lucy, he doesn’t need money, he wanted help fighting ghost pirates, but don’t worry about it, and I drove the ship and Taako adopted a Kraken and all the Reapers showed up, lots of family bonding and shit.” Magnus continues rambling about some of their various adventures and branches into the wedding preparations for Carey and Killian.

As he talks, Lucretia sweeps all of her work to the side and pulls a fresh sheet of paper toward her, starting to quickly scribble something down.

“And then Carey was, like, I don’t know if I like chocolate or spice cake better! So I told her, just talk to Taako and Lup about doing both! Great plan, right, Lucretia? Lucretia?” Magnus asks again, half-concerned that Lucretia has opted to not listen to his rather extensive rambling.

Lucretia looks up. “Uh, duh. Of course, Magnus. More cakes are better. And. Um. I have something for you. Call it... call it a Candlenights gift. A little late for sure, but-“ she passes over the piece of paper.

Magnus looks down at the paper Lucretia had quickly filled with blue ink. “COUPON,” it reads in all caps across the top. “One dog on the moon, whenever user wants. Coupon limited to one Magnus Burnsides. Director Lucretia not responsible for providing dog leash or harness. Fence negotiable. Expiry: never.” Below the text there is a quick illustration of a cartoonish Magnus with a very happy dog in a baby bjorn.

Magnus looks back to Lucretia. She looks. A little anxious, surprisingly. “Lucy.”

“Oh, shit, bad idea? I thought with your history of back rub coupons, it’d be funny, but, uh, maybe not the best joke?”

Magnus initially doesn’t answer, just walks around the desk and tugs Lucretia up into a hug. “Best moon boss Candlenights gift ever,” he says, a little watery, because Magnus Burnsides isn’t afraid to admit that he can cry. “Better than two hundred gold pieces in an envelope.”

Lucretia laughs too, and there’s a small hiccup before she answers. “Not my finest moment, yes.”

It’s quiet briefly before there’s a small yipping sound from Magnus’s bag, the sound of a puppy just waking up. Magnus steps back, and Lucretia is smiling as he goes to the bag.

“So, will you be redeeming that first coupon now then?”

“Uh... probably. But. Lucretia. Meet Johann,” Magnus says, proudly, raising a tiny deerhound puppy, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Johann yawns. Lucretia reaches out her arms, and Magnus gives her first the coupon and then the puppy.

“All right. I guess we do have dogs on the moon.”

[papa-nikki-writes]

Rowvember day 17-Aware

Definition

1.having knowledge or perception of a situation or fact.

2.concerned and well informed about a particular situation or development.

Summary After Shea wakes up from her coma, she heads to the Streetfighting circle. Carlos told her to soak up as much info as possible? So that’s what she’s gonna do. She’s wake, aware, alive and pissed the fuck off.

Words 2,924

No matter how many years have passed, she knew that The Circle would remain the same, she needed that right now, seeing the corporate shell The Row had become had rocked her to the core and she was scared to see what had happened to the area first hand, to see what they might have done to the church.

         Some of the best days of her life lay with The Row, some of the most life changing events she had gone through were all tied to there, and maybe it was cowardice and fear that was keeping her away but she didn’t know if she was strong enough to handle the change when it felt like she had only been to her Row yesterday. Seeing the shell The Row had become only seemed to back up what Carlos had been saying: The Saints were gone. The buildings she knew were gone. But going there and seeing it would mean that everything she’d fought for, losing Lin, that had all amounted to nothing.

She only wanted to pretend for a little while longer.

          As she got to the back alley where the entrance lay, she noticed two men, one smoking a cigarette, the other eyeing her carefully as she approached, and she smiled, hoping they wouldn’t mind the bright orange jumpsuit too much, she couldn’t wait to see Alan, or even Luke, she just needed a friendly face right now. Instead of passing by, however, Shea was grabbed and slammed against the nearest wall, another indication that maybe things had changed even more than she thought.

“Ow! Hey what the fuck? I’m a regular!” she snarled, her cheek scraping against the brickwork as she struggled.

“Oh really, never seen you before in my life.” one said, as the other patted her down and found her two pistols.

“I don’t get it Mac, guns say pig, jumpsuit says convict, tatts say gang-banger.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and you won’t believe what else.” said not Mac, and she felt her hair being swept from her neck, probably to stare at the fleur-de-lis tatted there.

“Wow. Haven’t seen one of those in a while. How about you tell us who you are, little lady?” he asked, lifting her higher off the floor when he noticed her planting her feet ready to fight back, she changed tack, instead she threw an elbow out, catching the guard in the face so he dropped her. “Whoah, we ain’t going to hurt ya, just need to know who comes and goes now.”

“Touch me again and I’ll twist your fucking balls off!” she warned, her chest heaving, and she doubled over, lamenting how weak her body had gotten now, she used to be able to push herself for way longer than this, this was not good at all. What, she only had one good jailbreak in her now? What the fuck was this bullshit?

“Why don’t you ask Alan Carlisle?” she snapped, and she heard them fall silent, tension in the air before there was a beep.

“Er Boss? We kinda need you up here to deal with this one.” Not Mac said, “We got a fighter.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Shea replied, pacing back and forth on the spot. There was a few moments as they stood, staring at each other before they heard footsteps come up the stairs, and Shea turned to see who it was. Her shock was mirrored in his face as he laid eyes on her too.

“Shea?!” He asked, and a whole wave of emotions surged through her, relief, joy, fear and guilt, and she ran, throwing her arms around Luke’s neck, felt him freeze before lifting his arms to hug her back loosely, so Shea coughed and stepped back, feeling the awkwardness.

“Not gonna lie, I thought you’d be a little bit happier to see me than this.” she said, her heart sinking, in her world they’d fucked for the last time two weeks ago, but with five years in between, he’d have to have realised that it was for the best right?

         He stared at her, and he was just as handsome as when she’d left him, maybe even more so now, he’d had more tattoos done, and he had cut his long hair shorter, shaved at the sides, where his dark hair was starting to grey already and Shea liked, Shea liked way too much. He tore his eyes away to regard Mac and not Mac, giving a nod.

“I’m taking her upstairs, tell Jase to mind the bar.”

“Sure thing.” they answered, and Luke nodded again, before clapping a hand to his neck and grimacing as he cricked it out. He still did that apparently, one time he had cricked it without supporting it with his hand and had hurt himself for weeks after.

“Come on, and keep it down, my kids are asleep.”

“Kids?!” Shea blurted out before she could stop herself, and he turned and glared, “sorry.” she apologised, then followed him into the old shop above The Circle stairs.

       Well it wasn’t the old shop anymore, it was quite a spacious little house, with clean white furniture and greenery and by God, Shea didn’t belong here at all. She perched carefully on a sofa, and Luke disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with some clothes and throwing them at her.

“What are these?” she asked, and Luke crossed the room to his drinks cabinet, by the looks of things, seeing as though he poured a hefty whiskey and downed it in one, cringing.

“Clothes.” he said.

“Funny, you” Shea replied, rolling her eyes, “any excuse to get me naked, is that it?” she teased.

“Er no. Unless you want to forever wander in a bright orange jumpsuit?” he asked, then pointed at the third door on the right, “bathrooms there.”

“We could skip the bathroom and head to the bedroom?” she asked, still keeping the flirty tone, and Luke, now throwing down a second drink down his throat, choked. He wheezed and spluttered, and Shea moved to thump him on the back but he moved back and held his hands up, he turned the left one round when he’d calmed down, and there Shea saw it, the ring on his wedding finger. He was married.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry-is she-?”

“In that room there-yeah.” he nodded, pointing at the door he’d emerged from with the clothes and Shea hid her face with them, cringing hard.

“Fuck!” she whispered, though the swear lost none of the intensity.

“It’s alright….it’s not really your fault is it? If you could have come back before now...you would’ve come back?” he asked expectantly, and Shea lowered the clothes.

“Been in a coma until about...maybe three hours ago?” she said, and Luke sighed, looked at her and shook his head, close to tears.

“I can’t believe it.”

“What, that I wasn’t dead or I’ve just come out of a coma?” she asked, and she saw his eyes well up by the moonlight streaming in through the window.

“I lost you.”

“Wasn’t my intention.” she said, as if that helped.

“Well no, I don’t think you intended to get blown up on a yacht with Alderman Hughes, but it happened,” he replied, heat lacing his tone before he placed his face in his hands, “I’m not mad at you, by the way, it’s just that it’s been...difficult. I honestly don't know what I'd have done without Rach...sh-, she’s an angel.”

         He wasn’t looking at her when he said it, dragged his hands over his face and looked at anything but her, as if he was ashamed to even admit how he’d struggled, probably never thought he’d be able to tell her just how much everything had affected him. Fact was, back then, they’d never have talked like this anyway.

“Where’s Alan? Surely he’s been about?” she asked, and he froze again, and his eyes darted to her, and her heart jolted, she knew that look well, “no.” she denied it, shaking her head, saw Luke’s face grimace again and he promptly turned and marched back to his liquor cabinet as Shea struggled to process yet another hit to her emotions.

        She watched him for a few moments, before she couldn’t stand it anymore and hurried into his bathroom to get changed, flicking the light on and rushed to the sink, breathing fast and heavy, she fought herself for control, her fingertips white on the edge of the sink. She looked up, and caught her reflection in the mirror for the first time. And it was strange.

         She looked like herself, but she didn’t at the same time- she did look older- not hugely, but enough to make her stop and pause and stare. Her hair was too long, and uncared for,  the black waves a little bit feral looking, and her eyes were a little sunken in, making the amber truly stand out against the dark circles. Who thought that sleeping for five years meant you’d still look tired at the end of it? She tiptoed closer to the mirror, running her fingers over her face to reacquaint herself with it.

        She turned her head, her fingers continuing to trail downwards, over the fleur-de-lis on her neck before moving past her collarbone, pulling the jumpsuit zip down, seeing the raised bullet scar in between her tits. It was completely healed now, no longer red and angry. She touched her fingers to the scar too, she didn’t remember a time where it didn’t hurt to touch it, but here it was now, raised and bumpy and a shiny white, but physically not painful any longer..

          Sighing, she stepped away from the mirror and shifted out of the jumpsuit, and what she saw took her breath from her then too. Her legs were covered in gnarled, twisted skin, darker in some places and lighter in others. She raised her shaking hands and ran them over her thighs, and felt where smooth skin met burned, She sobbed before she could stop herself, but she had barely enough breath to sustain it so it came out as little more than a yelp before it died, and she covered her mouth, remembering that she was supposed to be quiet right now. Luke didn’t want her waking his wife and kids up too, and with good reason, she’d hide herself away too, what, with their history and who Shea was. She should be feeling lucky to be alive, but she didn’t know how any of this could be a blessing.

       There wasn’t any part of this that she didn’t hate, and tears fell and splashed on her thighs, and Shea, angered again by the state of herself slapped her hands on her legs, digging her nails into the flesh, or trying to- the skin graphs meant the skin there was tougher, so all that happened were the white indents her nails left. That pissed her off too so she balled her hands into fists and beat on her legs instead.

Bam

Hey you woke up, everything you know and love is gone, hope you’re over lin’s death!

Bam

Hey, you know like Lin’s dead? Alan’s dead now, and so might Johnny, who fucking knows?

Bam

Hey, why do you care your fuck buddy moved on, you ended it you stupid fucking cow.

Bam

Why did you even bother waking up? You knew you were on borrowed time since you left Lin like that.

Bam

And you know you fucking deserve all this too.

And Shea just wrapped her arms around herself and cried.

          There was a tiny knock on the door and she hissed back at Luke in reply, she was pretty sure it wasn’t any coherent language, but she figured that it’d convey what she needed it to do, and dragged the clothes on with intent. It wasn’t actually a bad fit, the clothes were worn, and old, Shea assumed they were probably Luke’s wife’s old clothes. A simple white vest top and some jeans suited her fine just now. Sighing and swiping the tears from her face, she turned to leave the room, ignoring the heavy feeling in her heart, or trying to. Luke waited outside.

“Are you OK? Were you crying?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You were crying though.”

“No, my old bullet wounds hurt, that’s all.” she lied, and the lie did nothing to ease the concern in his eyes, or the sheer disbelief. “What do you care anyway?” she asked casually, turning away from him to inspect the house, stopping to look at the picture of Luke and his family. Rachel was stunning, fiery red hair and dark eyes, looking into the camera with a baby boy sleeping in her arms. The little girl, she was no older than three, and looked just like her dad. Shea smiled at them, her heart melting.

“What do you mean, do I care, of course I do. We were messes back then I’ll throw my hands up and admit, but you didn’t deserve to get blown up, or put in a coma, but we told you didn’t we? We told you this gang shit would kill you.”

“I’m not dead yet.” Shea replied, she felt like shit, so she had to be alive somehow, she stopped at another picture, this time one of her, Alan and Luke, Alan in the middle with his great big smile and twinkling green eyes, the old scar running down his face from a knife fight with the Carnales’ own Victor Rodriguez. Guy was a tough bastard, but he was getting on in years, and Shea wondered if he’d gotten into one fight too many. She touched her fingers to the photograph wistfully, and Luke moved to the side of her, to see what she was looking at, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, “How’d it happen?” she asked, and Luke tilted his head to one side and sighed heavily.

“The Sons of Samedi. They came to The Circle one day, demanding protection money, Alan refused and they hacked him to death with machetes.”

“What.” she asked, shocked. “Gangs don’t interfere with The Circle.”

“You did.” Luke pointed out. “I think that’s what attracted the Samedi in the first place.”

“How can you pin this on me?!” she spat, and Luke shrugged.

“You built up a reputation, trouble was, you were no longer there to reinforce it, and therein lies the problem of everything. Whether you like it or not you shifted the balance so much it took three more fucking gangs to move in to even cause the amount of destruction you did on your own.”

“That’s not fair.” Shea growled, and Luke shook his head,

“Point is, this is where we are now. We warned you, and you didn’t listen, Alan died because they knew about his connection to you, and you weren’t here to fucking save him.”

“I was in a coma!” Shea hissed, it was difficult keeping the argument on the down low, and anger burned through the blood in her veins, and Luke nodded as though that were obvious.

“Exactly! This is the thing with this gang shit, it seeps into everything else around you, everybody else suffered just because you went on this self righteous crusade with Julius Little. Do you think Alan wanted to see you beat up as much as he did? Do you think his heart didn’t break when you told him what happened with the Rollerz? Not even nearly fucking dying could get through to you.”

“We had to take the city!”

“Well congratulations, was it worth it?”

         Shea stared at him, only becoming aware of her tears when they were rolling down her cheeks, and he closed his mouth and looked away, tears rolling down his too.

“If that’s how you really feel, then why the fuck are you helping me out?” she asked, and he looked back at her, swiping at his eyes.

“Believe me, everything was telling me not to. Those little humans in there depend on me to keep them safe Shea, I’m daddy. And I can’t put them anywhere near danger, and you are danger Shea, you have a target on your back. When the news breaks that you’re alive every gang fuckers gonna be pointing their guns at you and everyone around you.”

“Then why fucking help me then?”

“Because I don’t know if you’ve realised Shea, but you have nothing. Nobody’s waiting for you in that church-”

“Then if that’s your attitude then I’m going to make this real easy for you Luke.” she cut across him, she’d heard enough, she knew alright? She fucking knew and didn’t need anybody to tell her that. She shrugged dramatically and turned on her heel to leave, wrenching open the door.

“Shea-” Luke called after her, and Shea stopped and backed up a bit,

“Just be there for your kids Luke, you’re right, they need you.” she said before she closed the door and headed back into the night, feeling like she really needed a fucking drink right now. A drink and a cigarette.

    Dawn was rapidly approaching, painting hues of reds, purples and blues as birds chirped overhead. There was only one place that she knew nearby that would still be open. And so she headed straight for TeeNay, it was a strip club yes, but at least it was somewhere warm she could sit for a while as she tried to figure out what to do next.

[malereader-inserts]

Power Move

Fandom: Gotham Pairing: General & Male!Reader Summary: There’s a power move in Gotham that everyone is willing to find, luckily, you know how to hide and hide well. Word Count: 1,856 Request: “Can you do one for all of Gotham and one for Jim Gordon and Edward Nygma? “ A/n: I will be doing Jim and Edward request later, don’t worry I haven’t forgotten!

“Who in the god’s name is (Y/n) (L/n)?”

Nathaniel Barnes slams the Newspaper onto Bullock’s desk as Jim looks over his partner’s shoulder, reading the headlines. 

“Innocent kid that got sucked in the world of crime since he’s got no family left,” Harvey read, “I mean he’s barely legal, seventeen and he’s the key, the power that people like Cobblepot, Kean or even Tetch would want, hell, even Valeska if he was alive.”

“Do we know where he is?” Jim asked as he recognised you, of course, he does.

You’re his sister’s only child. Her pride and joy and before he was deployed he was the greatest uncle a kid could have, to quote you. Then, years past by and he hadn’t heard a word. Though, he felt guilty, not once had it cross his mind to even to attempt to contact or find where you were.

He didn’t even know you had become orphaned. His sister, dead, this was the first time he was hearing this. He though his sister and the family moved away to get away from Gotham. He wouldn’t blame her, all she ever wanted to do was to protect you. 

“Nope, last seen like a year ago,” Harvey informed, “No one knows where his base is, so it’s a race to get to him.”

Jim hummed as he sat down at his desk, “Well, what are we going to do? There is no possible way we can find him, Gotham is a big city and with no leads - he could be anywhere.”

“We need to find that kid and protect him,” Barnes stressed out as he rubbed his temple, “I will bring hell to Gotham if any of those slimy bastard get a hand on him.”

Jim agrees but he knows that it won’t be Barnes getting a hold of you, it will be him and he will ruin anyone like Oswald or Barbara get a hand on his nephew. Barnes stalked away to his office as Harvey sighs, leaning back on his seat, reclining it slightly.

“You know, Penguin has the upper hand as of now, he’s got capos, spies and hitmen around Gotham. Not to mention he has the freaks on his side.”

“But, Nygma’s plan to eliminate Oswald might be greater than his hunt for (Y/n),” Jim theorized, “Get Nygma to take out Oswald, that’s one less.”

“True, but, Tetch might be in Arkham, but there is no doubt that he would have hypnotised some innocents to find (Y/n).”

Jim runs his hand through his hair, he wonders where he can find you without Barnes or Harvey finding out.

“I have to find him.”

Oswald smacks down the newspaper onto his desk as he leans against the desk with his fist. Victor raised his non-existing eyebrow as Oswald takes a heavy sigh to calm himself down. Oswald stands up straight as he tugs down on his suit jacket and pulls down the sleeves, staring at the hitman and the red hair woman.

“No offence, boss, but the boy hasn’t been seen for a whole year and just now he reappears, that picture is barely looking like him!” Victor inputted as Oswald closed his eyes before opening them.

He knows Victor was right and he was losing options in a way to take back Gotham’s underworld. All he needed was Barbara Kean and Edward Nygma out the picture and he can be the crime kingpin he has been trying to get back.

But, that move required a power move in this intricate game. He needed you, he doesn’t remember much of you since he’s spilt with Fish or Sal but he does remember you wandering into Fish’s bar with a sly grin at the age of thirteen. He’s watched you in and out until you disappeared when you were sixteen.

Victor was well acquainted with you, you often visited the Falcone Mansion out of Gotham. You had a charming smile and battered your eyelashes to get your way. He admired your courage to play with fire, but he was impressed that you can make a small bonfire spread to cause a city to burn. You were manipulative, a liar and you knew exactly what game you’re playing.

If anything, Victor knows you will not be owned. You will not be restrained. You will pick your players, your opponents and Gotham is the battlefield. You’ll string along new sets of people to run your Gotham. Last time it was Falcone, Mooney and Sal. All he knows, your limit to string people in unknown - he won’t be surprised that you’ll play five, ten people, just for your personal gain.

He has to give credit when it’s due.

Admittedly, he was afraid of what you can do and what you can become when you grow older.

“I know, Zsasz, but what else are we going to do?”

“We still have Bridget and other Victor-” Ivy interrupted as Oswald flickered his eyes to her, “They’re much powerful against Nygma and the rest.”

“I guess so, but that doesn’t find us a way to find (Y/n), we have no one to look for them,” Oswald pursed his lips as he flops onto his chair, “Victor and the Zsaszettes cannot scour out through the whole of Gotham - this city is too big.”

Victor and Ivy give each other a glance, Oswald was right, them two were as desperate to find you. Oswald knew that he wasn’t the only person who would look for you, he knew that his competition was just as determined to find you and also be careful that the GCPD is going to put you in protection.

“Well, what do we do?”

“I’m confused, why is this kid so important?”

Edward sat awkwardly between Barbara and Butch, his eyebrows furrowed and his glasses halfway down the bridge of his nose. Barbara shrugged her shoulders as Tabitha looked confused.

Edward was still getting into grips of his new criminal agenda so he hasn’t been able to read a book of the history of criminal lords of Gotham. All he knows from news outlet on the television that you have been recently spotted and suddenly Gotham is under a blanket of uneasiness. When the four of them were watching the television and your picture had appeared on the news. 

The first thing that Ed thought was you were young and could shift Gotham into a riot. The second thing was that he needed you on his team. 

Barbara watched interest, there was a feeling of somewhat familiarity. There was a spark in your eyes that felt nostalgic to her and that smile in your picture was similar to someone she had once associated herself with. 

“This kid is important because he’s the only one that strung Falcone, Fish and Sal all at once to play his little game. He controlled Gotham through them, making them fight and have them gun down each other as mere entertainment for the kid. He was thirteen when he started,” Butch informed, heaving a heavy breath, “That kid can snap his fingers and the whole of Gotham will bend to his will.”

“It’s his eyes,” Barbara looked at the paused screen, squinting, “There’s something about it that I know of.”

“So, you’re saying that he’s dangerous?” Tabitha wondered, “He’s a kid, a boy, barely an adult - those eyes? Innocent.”

“That’s what makes him the best.”

The four turned to look at the television as Tabitha unpaused the screen. The spokeswoman genuinely looked fearful, paranoid as she wasn’t in the comfort of the news building - afraid you’ll be out to hijack the news outlet for your amusement. 

“And he’s what we need to take down Oswald?” Edward asked, there was excitement in his tone, “Then we better start looking for him.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“I do love a good riddle!”

“I’m taking an hour personal leave,” Jim grabs his jacket as Harvey almost splits his coffee all over him, “I’m going to pay my respects to my sister.”

“You have a sister?” Harvey asked as he stood up, watching his friend swing his coat on himself, “Sorry, I mean, do you want me to come with?”

Jim fixes the collar of his coat, sighing, he shakes his head, “No, I’ll be good, thanks for the offer though.”

Harvey tightens his lips has he pats Jim on the shoulder, “Alright, I’ll see you later.”

Gotham’s weather was a drab, always grey skies and barely any sunlight. It’s constantly cold, it’ll be a miracle if there was a heatwave. Raining a lot, so it was no surprise that Jim was driving in the rain. Parking the car outside the gate, he takes a moment to himself, he holds a lot of regret and guilt on his shoulders.

He should have written to you more, he should have put you at the top of his priority list. The rain was slowly subsiding when he decides to get out of the car. He doesn’t know where to start to look for his sister other than walking to his dad’s grave. 

He clutches the last minute flowers in his hands as he nervously looks for his sister’s name. He doesn't know what he was expecting other as he finally stops when he finds what he was looking for.

Jim lets out a shaky breath as he reads the stone. His eyes lingering on the date of death. He kneels and finds to see fresh flowers resting against the stone. Hesitantly placing his next to it, he leans his right hand against the stone. 

“I’m gonna find him, sis, I’m going to look after (Y/n).”

He stands up straight as he noticed someone else on his left, he spares a glance once then looking away before his mind processed what he had seen. Snapping his head back he meets your eyes.

“Uncle Jim?”

“(Y/n)?”

You smiled brightly as you practically slammed into him for a hug. Jim stumbles back but there was a chuckle, as he wraps his arms tightly around you. Afraid that you would slip away or this one horrible nightmare. 

Slowly parting ways but your hands still gripping the under of his upper arms, Jim looked relieved to see you. You grew taller, perhaps taller than him.

“You’re looking like a man, not that little boy I used to see.”

“Time changes people,” You shrugged.

Jim looks back at the grave before looking back at you, “I’m so sorry, (Y/n), I didn’t know - I should have looked for you when came back.”

“Uncle Jim, it’s fine, I’ve got you now,” You smiled softly with innocent eyes gleaming back him, “I found family!”

“Yeah,” Jim sighs out happily, “You’ve got me now.”

He engulfs you into a hug again as you dropped your smile into his shoulders. Those innocent eyes looked bored as you rolled your eyes at his happiness. However, the facade returned when you once again parted the hug.

Everything was running as it is supposed to be. 

You have your first puppet, now, you cannot wait to watch the city burn and point fingers.

[ethompson928]

We are Bulletproof (BTS GANG AU) Chapter 33

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Park Jin Young walked confidently from his car.  He immediately locked eyes with Namjoon as he approached the group.  The steely determination never wavered as the internal fight for dominance began.  Both men remained silent as they sized each other up and down and weighed up their best options.  At present Namjoon had the winning hand and Park Jin Young had willingly stepped into the lions den with nothing more than the clothes on his back and his radiating confidence.  

A silent stand off.  There was nothing but mere silence bar the gentle breeze that was flow past at random intervals and the gentle rustling of leaves from a nearby tree that homed several birds who chirped at intermissions with each other to create a backdrop soundtrack to the intense meeting.

"Mr Kim."  Park Jin Young was the first to break the ice and placed his hands behind his back, his posture straightening and a slight smile graced his lips as he did so.  

"Park."  Namjoon replied, there was an evident history between the two.  No more words were required as the two familiarised each other from previous endeavours.  "You have my money?"

"You return my daughter."

"Funny." Namjoon laughed as he glanced at the young girl beside him who was switching her glances between her father and the man who held her hostage, not daring the hold either gaze for too long before settling her eyesight to the ground momentarily.  Namjoon then continued to speak bringing his gaze back to the main focus.  "You left your family, for what 'their protection'" at this he mockingly held up his hands and air quoted his words.  "Poor sweet Allie here had to grow up without a father, not understanding why he left.  But yet at the slightest hint of danger and once you discover she's with us, you finally take interest and send your little work lackies, who, let's face it, were actually quite a challenge for us.  I admit that, unlike yourself, Park Jin Young, I appreciate talent where I see it.  Little Allie had talent, once we got past her flaws and insecurities, but she ruined it for herself.  It's a shame, she had so much potential and was a cracking shot.  But alas here we are.  Now, where is my money."

Park Jin Young did not flinch at the accusations.  He knew Namjoon was bating him, but he wasn't one to give up.  This was a game to him as much as it was to Namjoon.  He just needed to get his daughter away so that she wouldn't end up as collateral damage.  "My boys have learnt from the best.  JYP Enterprises has been raising the best contractors for years.  We work for the good of our country, taking out gangs like yourself who mean to do harm.  Naturally, it means we have targets on our backs, but my teams have the experience to deal with it.  Funny isn't it."  He mocked in turn.  "I was the one that ordered them to take her.  I do apologise for that by the way.  Granted I may not have been the best father figure in life nor do I hold a standard office job to bring home the bacon but I have done nothing but support my family for years.  I've made sure they have been safe, enough money and are suitably well looked after.  Then I learnt about her disappearance and it just so happened to be at Seokjin's club.  There was no coincidence in that.  So I sent the boys to do a little digging.  They discovered your hideout and began to learn about your daily routines.  I even have some secret agents working on the inside, so when I heard from my dear friend Park Chanyeol"  at this he knocked on the hood of his car.  "That you turned up to his boss' casino, sending Allison in as bait, and infiltrating the casino because you had a hunch it was them.  Clever I admit."  While he spoke the car door opened and out stepped Chanyeol himself, he held a bright silver chrome case and walked to stand beside Park Jin Young, the briefcase easily passing hands.  

"Hiya kid."  He smiled, moving his unkempt curly hair out of his eyes and passed her a small smile.  Allie lightly acknowledged him by nodding slightly.  

"That's when I began planning to get her back.  Granted, our first attempt wasn't as successful.  Now here we are.  So I have your money, and you have my daughter."  Jin Young finished, lifting the case to Namjoon's eyeline.  

Namjoon "tsk'ed" in annoyance.  He was irritated and Allie could feel it as it radiated off of him like heat.  His fingers were twitching, it was clear he wanted a fight.  But he had the money dangling in front of him and this was his end goal.  The money and the power.  

"Jin...the money."  Namjoon ordered.  Jin moved forward, straightening his own suit and walking to meet Jin Young in the middle of the confrontation.  The case was passed to him and he nodded in acknowledgement before placing the briefcase onto the hood of the car.  He quickly unlatched it and opened the lid.  He observed the money and fingered through it, his posture hunched over as he checked it for authenticity.  

"It's all here."  Jin confirmed as he locked up the case and took it back to his side and held it in a clenched fist.  

"I honoured my end of the deal.  Now it is your turn."  Park Jin Young commented, gesturing his hand to Allie who stood awkwardly to the side as she watched the events unfold.  Namjoon looked once more at Allie.  He took her arm once more and went to escort her back to her father.  But something in him clicked, as quickly as it started he pulled Allie into him and held her close to his chest in a tightening grip.  One arm restricting her movements and the other pulling a gun from his pocket and holding it against the side of her head.  Allie let out a terrified whimper as she felt her cold metal make contact with her skin.  

"Now what did I say Princess.  You talk without permission and you are dead."  He whispered into her ear.  As Park Jin Young and Chanyeol were quick to point their own guns at Namjoon.  He spoke loudly to the two men across from him.  "Shoot me and your precious daughter dies, right here with me."  It was a stalemate.  "Now princess, you've done everything I have needed you to do.  You've been a good little girl and now I have no use for you."

A grunt got itself lost in her throat as she tried to shimmy her way out of his grip but it was too strong.  The adrenaline was kicking in and all she could hear was her own heartbeat.  Behind Namjoon, Hoseok went to rush foreword his eyes full of shock, but he was pulled back by an arm.  It was Jungkook, he gently shook his head, but his own eyes were full of worry.  There was no point in them blindly rushing in, lest they wanted to make the situation worse.  

"See, I always win."  Namjoon called out loud for everyone to hear him.  In her own struggling Allie thought briefly back to her fighting lessons with Jungkook.  She had been in this position with him before.  She would only get one shot and this and if she didn't get it right, she would be dead before she had a chance to breathe.  She feigned that she was pulling at Namjoon's arm to try and relieve pressure as his titan strength hold across her chest, but in reality she was trying to get her arms in underneath his.  She tried to control her breathing and waited for the opportune moment.  "You never should of trusted me.  I'll do anything to win."  Namjoon smirked, Allie heard the gently click to the hammer get pulled back.  It was now or never.  

She threw her body weight forward, pushing her arms and using the momentum to push her lower half back into Namjoon, then using the velocity to propel herself forward out of his arms and onto the ground.

As she hit the floor with a sickening thud, she whipped around to face Namjoon as a gunshot rang out through the air.  

[cruzrogue]

Worth Fighting For

#Fictober19 @fictober-event

————————————————————————

for fanfiction:

Prompt number: Prompt:28 “Enough! I heard enough.”

Fandom (AU if applicable): #arrow fanfiction #olicity

Rating:PG13

Warnings/Tags: exes clashing with one another

Roy Harper makes an appearance

Summary: Oliver vs Laurel (defending himself and his team) Very AU

Notes: Dedicated to Bluedove who supplied earlier prompts to Fighting Words (ch6) & Fighting Actions (ch20) This is for you… Worth Fighting For... Hope you like it. To everyone I hope you enjoy. Thank you!

~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~sp@ce~~~~~~****~~~~~~~~

Worth Fighting For on A03

There has been a delicate air of balance amongst the team members slowly building up. Between Ra's al Ghul, the surge of criminals trying to make their name in the city, and still figuring out the deal with Sara’s death. With Laurel Lance in the mix there is a sort of resentment that’s creeping among the morale within the foundry walls. The lawyer still hasn’t found her niche within this group and now seems to belittle Roy who is trying his best not to snap. His annoyance best used to go out on patrol or beefing up on his training. He misses Oliver’s sister so when Laurel speaks to him in a matter-in-fact tone about knowing Thea so well it just pisses him off to no end.

Case and point is what she is doing right now. She’s sitting on a stool looking at an array of gizmos Oliver is working on. Little trick arrows that he and Felicity have measured and designed to fit properly. None of them yet properly tested. He’ll be doing that with Roy later on.  

“Does she know?”

Roy hitting the Wing Chun Dummy one last time before turning his attention to Laurel. “What?”

“I said, does she know?” Roy not having the slightest clue to what she is talking about gives her a blank stare. His thoughts turn to Felicity who he’s been hanging out with. She’s cool. Like a sister cool. “How dense are you?”

“Lady, I’m about to lose it if you don’t get right to the point. Are we talking about Felicity?” He’s in love with Thea and as much as he enjoys her company she’s already spoken for. She’s great in the sister role. Loves her to death. “Because I don’t get what you are hammering about?”

“Thea, but wait you hang out with Felicity? Oliver is okay with that?”

“Seriously? What is your problem?”

“Here I thought your every waking thought was on Ollie’s sister but…”

“Hey! Don’t go there!” He’s seriously giving her a scowl. She just smirks. The boy just admitted that Felicity isn’t so squeaky clean. She raises her hand to signify she’s done. Felicity not only has the eye for her new boss but spends her extra time with Roy. How convenient? How this girl got all these guys eating out of her paws.

“Actually I was in the midst of asking does Thea know of you extra activities?” Making sure to point to the arrows.

“No. Oliver isn’t keen on the idea.”

She just is bemused. “You’re really allowing the brother of the girl you supposedly love from the truth from a man who has perjured himself, cheated, and killed.”

“He has his reasons.”

“That’s it. You’re just going to allow him to dictate how you live your life?”

Roy grumbles lowly at her. He doesn’t need her to point out anything. He understands Oliver’s reasons after joining the crusade sometimes keeping people in the dark keeps them safe. He understands from John at least that Laurel finding out was never the intent of team arrow. Instead of Laurel trying to help people in a courtroom she’s here bothering him.

“You looked smarter than that.”

“Really?” He shakes his head. “Your using psychology on me? I’m out of here.” He grabs his jacket and books it. Leaving Laurel to just sit there and look at the empty foundry.

This is the first time that’s she’s really down here alone. With no other member of this ragtag group. She decides to really take stock of the place she has been hanging around more frequently as to show she isn’t going anywhere.

Its crazy how much work it seems it takes to make arrows. She gets the gest of why he uses that form of weaponry even though John using a gun seems more likely a better bet. She’s seen the petite blonde using this section it seems its her domain. She doesn’t like that this techie even has a domain. She learned her lesson to not underestimate Felicity. It seems the petite has a meaner streak. Sitting in the woman’s chair she takes the vantage point of what Felicity gets to see and notices the salmon ladder that Oliver always seems to not do when she is around.

She is about to start the middle computer when she hears a voice from the staircase, “I wouldn’t touch her babies.”

Her fingers pull back and she glanced at the computer monitors. “Oh God, she probably even named them.” Laurel looking disgusted.

“She might have but that is her story to tell. Why are you down here? Specifically, why are you in Felicity’s domain?”

“I was actually taking a look around everything and landed here. It is the focal point of the foundry.” She actually never really thought about it before but Felicity is the center of the crowed basement of Verdant.

“We don’t touch the computers or servers down here. Not without some sort of approval.”

“You are pulling my leg.”

“No! These aren’t your standard computers anyhow.”

“Wow! She really makes herself be indispensable. No wonder you guys bow to her.”

“Felicity isn’t like that and you know that well enough. The woman knows she’s smart but she is also humble.”

“What she stopped telling you she’s a genius?”

“As much as I’ve refrained from telling her I’m an archer. We both know each other.”

“She really has you wrapped around her finger.”

“She’s wonderful, she’s kind, she’s a real asset to the team. She’s just someone… She’s just special.”

“You sound like you were trying to sell her. Now that she is only your friend.”

“Her safety, happiness means the world to me. Even if I can’t be the one, I want her happy.”

“Yet, you say your friends but she barely has time for…” Her hands scope the foundry as she finishes, “For any of this.”

“She’s busy. She needs to work. I understand that.”

“Though she used to follow you around at QC.”

“Well we worked together. She would have been a better C.E.O.”

“Yea, I bet. Then the money would have trickled down into her pockets.”

“I’m not as rich but I still have plenty of money.”

“Well maybe that is why she isn’t here.”

“You know she’s at her job.” He gives her a funny look. “It is working hours. Unlike you I suppose she doesn’t make her own hours.”

“Are you inferring to something?”

“No, not at all. I don’t have a nine to five job so I can’t begrudge anyone.” He just shrugs.

“I was just pointing out that now that you need her the most she’s shacking up with someone who can buy her stuff.”

Oliver takes a deep breath he is actually expecting this from her. Felicity is a grown woman who isn’t bound to him. He is pushing the woman he loves away and as much as its making him miserable it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Felicity to be happy. If Ray can give her what he surely lacks comfort, stability, and it pains him to say it but if the man can love her right he isn’t going to begrudge that relationship.

“Oliver she is a teammate. I admit she’s really good at this tech stuff but she’s doesn’t really know you. Like I do.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Deep in my bones I know that there is nothing that truly stands between us.”

He closes his eyes. This moment couldn’t get any worse. He’s losing the woman he loves. Seemly has a woman he can’t ever shake off. He knows there is something off about his sister. Ra’s al Ghul is a tremendous opponent. The SCPD is out to get him. Life just sucks all around.

“Laurel, I’m not into you.”

She shakes her head slightly amused, “Oliver, you know you need me. I’m the fixture in your life that has always been constant. It’s fate.”

“I really don’t know what I need to say or do for you to understand I’m not that guy. You aren’t in love with me.”

He gets taken aback when she screams at him. “You don’t know what you are saying!” Her finger points at him her voice rising in pitch, “I’m the woman who has been there for you. Always there. Don’t you dare tell me how I feel. You’re the one who doesn’t know how to feel.”

“You are right.” He pauses, “I don’t feel anything for you.”

“You lie.”

“I really don’t think we should…”

“Shove it! You and your indecisive tendencies to never commit. I feel pity for her thinking you’d…”

“Don’t!”

“Don’t what? Talk about how much of a jerk you are? You left with my sister. Disappeared and have the gall to waltz back and now decide what others can and can’t do?”

“If that is the case you wouldn’t be here. Your sister loved you. You have no idea the savagery outside these foundry walls. I get you’re mad at me. I can live with that. That is my guilt to carry.” With the look she gives him he continues, “I don’t love you Laurel, not in the way you deserve. That I will not apologize for… Ever!”

“You have got to be kidding me?”

“No. I beyond serious. If you want to stay. Fine stay. Just know that there is nothing between us but some past history that doesn’t define me anymore.”

“You are going to stand there and once again lie to my face.”

Oliver now beyond annoyed, “That’s the thing Laurel. I’m not lying, for once hear me tell you at face value that I’m totally over any semblance of an us.”

“Its because of Felicity, right?”

His hands go to his head. This woman is unbelievable. When it comes to him her brain short circuits. Then again, she always was around for the prestige and now that he doesn’t have the wealth, he hoped she’d move on. Finally letting him live his life unattached to a Lance.

“Laurel, let it go.”

“Like I let Tommy go?”

“I just can’t with you!” He just wishes she would stop. Tommy is dead. There is enough guilt to go around. She has her own demons to deal with and he told her he was done chasing after her. He meant it. It doesn’t mean he can’t be cordial because like she stated they had history but more important he wants to do right by Sara’s memory. “I really can’t. I can’t be any clearer that there is no us. I can’t be any clearer that you trying to walk in your sister’s shoes won’t end badly for you.”

“You just hate that I’m excelling in boxing under Wildcat’s tutelage and that Nyssa is showing me some moves.”

“Do you even listen to yourself?”

“How am I different than Roy? Or John and Felicity?”

“You know darn well John’s equipped and Felicity stays behind the scenes and yes you do have some parallels to Roy. The difference is Roy isn’t charging against league taught Merlyn. Like you insanely did. He could have killed you without blinking an eyelid.”

“Well he didn’t.”

“I don’t know his reasons nor do I care. You’re just lucky to be alive until the next villain.”

“Then train me like you are doing with Roy”

“No! Roy needs an outlet.” Oliver not moving in his opinions. “You need to step back and go back to using that law degree.”

“Like I said, you think you can make up the rules and every one follows I’m not like that I will honor my sister.”

“Fine, you are going to do what you want anyways. Sara’s sacrifice created the Canary Mantle, the discipline, attitude, honed skills from surviving which she had to do to stay alive.” He doesn’t need to add the obvious that some midnight boxing classes won’t cut it. That her pompous living style is far from reality of what’s in store. That he’d have his team and himself look out for her because Felicity would never let them live it down. She may have a chip with Laurel but she’d always do what is right. That is what being heroes is all about.

Laurel isn’t done yet, “Enough! I heard enough.”

Oliver not backing down is about to add more choice words when both Oliver and Laurel turn to Felicity that has both her hands on her hips.

“I heard more than enough! Both of you step away from this space or…” Looking at Laurel first, “I will knock you to kingdom come and don’t even try my patience.” Then looking at Oliver, “You better have more than a pint of ice cream to calm me down. You know exactly how much these babies cost and how much blood, sweat, and tears I’ve given to them.” Without any words both Laurel and Oliver move out of the designated Smoak space. “Now we are all adults here. We have a common goal. We don’t always have to like each other but let’s get something straight.”

“Felicity?” Oliver tries to interject.

Just as Laurel says, “Get what straight?”

“You want to be a part of Team Arrow?” She hears Oliver deject that team name but she doesn’t really listen or care right now to that objection. “Then figure how to work with us and not against us. We aren’t into power plays. We are a family...” She takes a moment to gaze at Laurel. For once the woman is taking in what Felicity is saying. Somewhat amazed that Laurel hasn’t said a word, she adds, “Worth Fighting For.”

That was the last time that there was a big riff with Laurel versus each member as they began to synchronize as a team. The Canary title changed as Felicity dubbed her the Black Canary, sweet homage to the original.

Nothing is ever simple in the lives of vigilantes there are always highs and extreme lows and somewhere in the middle there is a mending road that the past can stay there and a future of promises can make its footing. The old script that time changes things moves them all along. Some people believe in happily ever after. The notions that heroes deserve to flourish. Well in this case, Oliver Queen gets the girl. John Diggle gets to add two more little ones to his family. Laurel Lance is finally happy with her life choices. Roy Harper loves being an uncle with Thea by his side. Felicity Smoak loves bossing people in her own company… Unfortunately, she gets bossed at home by a few prodigy fair-haired angelic offspring that are more like their dad each coming day as archery truly is becoming a family trait.

[thewritewolf]

Inseparable Chapter 14: Sick Day

With Marinette sick at home, it's up to Adrien to make sure his friend is doing okay.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

@ladynoirjuly2019

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Adrien grabbed his bag on his way out, sparing only a yearning glance at Marinette’s empty spot. Apparently she’d gotten sick with something and had to stay home, which would be bad enough on a normal day. What sucks even more is that today Ms. Bustier gave them free time to work on their project. With Nino and Alya pairing off to do research in the library, Adrien was left alone again, naturally.

As he stepped out of the classroom, Nino collided with him and wrapped an arm around Adrien’s shoulder. “Hey, dude! So I’ve got some good news…”

Adrien grinned, his friend’s enthusiasm proving contagious. “Yeah? Lay it on me.”

“I know you were super bummed Marinette didn’t show today, but my girl Alya was just telling me that you could head over there to visit, no problems! It wasn’t anything serious and the worst is gone, so you’re in the clear.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother her. She probably wants some time to herself.” He fiddled with his ring, uncertain as they walked through the school’s doors. “Right?”

Instead of an answer, Nino laughed knowingly and patted his back. He sighed when Adrien kept staring blankly at him.

“Listen, dude. Just trust me on this, okay? Marinette will be thrilled that you visited. If you can get some work done while you’re at it, double win, right?”

“Well… If you’re sure she won’t mind…”

Nino lightly punched his shoulder. “That’s the spirit, dude!” He backed away from Adrien, finger gunning all the while. “Good luck, man. I wanna hear all about it later.”

Adrien gave an awkward smile and waved, not sure about what Nino expected to happen. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of the Gorilla, who was holding open the door to the car.

“My schedule is clear for today, so… I was thinking of visiting a friend? If that’s alright?” He gripped the strap of his bag nervously. Knowing his bodyguard would have to report this to his father he added an excuse that Gabriel would approve of, “We have a project that we need to work on.”

The Gorilla grunted.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. She just lives over there.” He pointed across the street to the bakery. “I can call when I’m done.”

The Gorilla turned to look at the bakery for a few long moments before nodding and grunting again.

“Thank you! You won’t regret this!” Adrien dashed across the street and ducked into the bakery before the Gorilla changed his mind. Immediately he was immersed in the delicious smell of fresh bread and pastries.

“Oh, hello dear!” Sabine smiled at him as he approached the counter. “Alya mentioned you’d be stopping over. Study partners, hm? I’m sure you two get to spend a lot of time together. Do you remember where her room is?” He nodded as the bell over the door ran behind him. “Good, just make sure you knock first.”

As she greeted her newest customers, Adrien slipped into the back and headed up the stairs.

----------------------------

Marinette was feeling better - admittedly not at her best, but certainly better. In all honesty, she had gone to school in worse shape before, but if she thought this was just a mundane illness then she wouldn’t have stayed home. But waking up to stomach cramps right after something as weird as a power swap with her partner? That left a lot of unanswered questions, questions she had hoped to get answers to today.

And she would have gotten those answers if she hadn’t somehow forgotten that her parents could be overbearing even at the best of times. While them rushing up to make sure she was alright every time they got a break in the bakery was endearing, it made transforming and finding Master Fu impossible. Instead, she just had to while away the day doing some work on different projects she had laying around. At least the day hadn’t been wasted and she could relax a little as she ignored the fading stomach pain.

...Or at least she could until Alya texted her, asking questions about designs. Some prodding later and Marinette discovered that Ms Bustier had given them hours of extra time to work on their projects. Time that she could have spent with Adrien. Time that he ended up spending working alone.

She vented about it to Alya, who started asking her wildly irrelevant questions like, ‘are you contagious’ or ‘are you feeling better.’ The conversation ended with a cryptic, ‘You’re welcome.’ After that, Alya stubbornly refused to respond - Marinette was sure she was probably canoodling with Nino somewhere.

Marinette had to adjust her assumptions when she heard a knock at the trapdoor leading into her bedroom. Maybe her best friend had decided to pay her a visit after all. It was only after she shouted for the person to come in did she remember that Alya almost never knocked.

Adrien rose into her room, his eyes glancing around the handful of posters on the walls. She’d taken many of them down already, but even so she winced a little. Not that he didn’t already know about them, but it still felt private. Those thoughts were quieted when his eyes landed on her and he smiled, bright as the sun. Despite her shock and lingering worry, she found herself smiling dumbly back.

“Hey, boss,” he said with a wink that caused her heart to flutter. “You look like you’re doing better. Well, not that I saw you being sick or anything, but you don’t look sick. Not that I’m calling you a liar! But, uh, you look… uh, nice,” he finished lamely, rubbing the back of his neck.

She looked down at her old pajamas and big T-shirt, felt her hair still up in a messy bun. It didn’t feel like she looked nice. “Th-thanks? So, um… did you want to work on the project or something?”

“Oh, that reminds me!” The lingering awkwardness vanished as he became consumed with excitement. He took a seat on the chaise next to her and pulled his tablet out from his backpack. “Look what I found today!”

She gingerly took the tablet that he shoved toward her and skimmed what was on the screen. It was a scanned newspaper article from about ten years ago. Her eyes widened as she realized it was about a pair of vigilantes in Paris that ran across rooftops and seemed to have superhuman abilities. As she read on, she was a little disappointed that they were apparently more known for just… running around and having fun rather than fighting crime. No wonder she was only hearing about them now - they didn’t do anything!

“Do you not like it?” She looked up to see Adrien looking like a kicked puppy. She rushed to console him.

“No, no, it’s fine, really! I’m just disappointed they weren’t more, well… heroic. That’s all.”

He nodded along. “Yeah, I get that. It’s the most concrete proof of French superheroes, though. And in Paris, no less!”

“Do you want to see if you can find out more about them? I have a few leads I wanted to follow on some people from history that I can look up.”

“Sure!”

He looked down at his tablet, eager to get to work. Marinette allowed herself a few moments to watch him and enjoy the situation before reluctantly turning her attention to the project.

-------------------------

Adrien looked up when he heard Marinette hit her head softly against her table. “Um… are you okay, boss…?”

“None of them!”

“Huh?”

“I had five leads and I can’t say with any certainty that any of them could have been superheroes. The hero part, sure. But I can’t prove they have super powers. The closest I can get is that Joan of Arc is similar to Ladybug, but even that is more of a gut feeling than anything else.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “Well, I’m kinda the same boat too since I haven’t found anything else about this mysterious duo.” Shaking his head, he added, “Not even a picture. Apparently there had been a good one, but some private collector bought it or something.”

Marinette reached past the platter of goodies her parents had brought them half an hour ago, and grabbed her glass of water. “Do you think we’ll be able to do this project?”

“Of course!” He gave her his best winning smile as she raised the glass to her lips. “I know it looks bad, but I believe in you, Marinette. You’re awesome!”

The praise didn’t have the effect he was aiming for since, in her surprise, she spat out the water and ended up with a soaked shirt.

“Gah!” She stared down at herself in a panic before wrapped her arms around her. “Uh, Adrien, could you go downstairs for a minute while I change?”

There was such misery in her voice that his surprise was quickly swapped out for sympathy and understanding.

“Sure. I’ll just… be downstairs then.”

With an iron will, he avoided looking at her soiled shirt as he left and closed the trapdoor beside him. He took a seat on the stairs and pulled out his phone to pass the time. Nino had sent him some texts over the past couple hours that he’d been ignoring in favor of studying. He didn’t feel very motivated to answer him since they were just questions clearly authored by Alya, snooping into what Marinette and him were doing. He’d be glad to tell him if anything besides working had happened, but…

He heard Marinette’s voice from above him. “Okay, you can come back in now!” The trapdoor opened and Adrien started walking through as Marinette continued. “So we aren’t having much luck with our project so I thought we could maybe do some movies. How does that sound?”

“That sounds grea-” Adrien trailed off when he saw what she had changed into, much to Marinette’s confusion. After all, it was only a too-large Jagged Stone t-shirt.

A limited edition shirt that Adrien had gotten months early.

For Ladybug.

[dlwritings]

Focus on Me | Peter Parker

masterlist found here

pairing - Peter x Stark!Avenger!reader word count - 2,192 warnings - torture  A/N - I wrote this for @ruckystarnes 2k challenge! | prompt “Hey, hey, don’t look at them. Look at me, okay? Just keep looking at me. It’ll be over soon. Keep looking at me. C’mon, focus on me.”

summary - All you wanted was to be a part of the team. A real part of the team. When you and Peter decide to take a chance and go off on your own, things don’t go the way you planned.

It was around the sixth blow to your body that you finally understood why Tony was so against you becoming an Avenger. In that moment, a pantsuit and office work sounded pretty nice, all things considered.

Flashback about six months and you knew you wanted -no, needed- to join the superhero business. Your dad had been doing it for over ten years, and you wanted in. You were sick of standing on the sidelines, watching him come home battered and bruised. You wanted to help. You were strong. You trained with Natasha whenever you got a chance, and you were smart. You mimicked bits of your dad’s Iron Man suit sketches, evaluated and analyzed the benefits of the rest of the teams’ gear, and created a suit of your own. If Tony hadn’t been so pissed, he would’ve been impressed. The material of your suit was more similar to that of Captain’s, but had bells and whistles like guns and blasters built in easily accessible spots. It actually functioned quite a lot like Scott’s or Hope’s, but without the shrinking technology.

The minute Tony found out you had a suit, he blew up. He gave you the longest lecture in the history of lectures on the dangers of the business he was in and how, if he could go back in time and change his life so that this wasn’t his fate, he would.

“That’s bullshit!” you had shouted at him. “You love being Iron Man, and you know it! You love the team, you love saving lives, and you love making these suits!”

“But if I could trade it for a normal life, I would!” he said back. “That’s what you’re not understanding. I may like the life I have now, but I will always want the life I can’t have. That’s the life I want for you. Can’t you see that?”

“I can see that,” you sighed, “but you don’t get to decide what life I choose. I’m 19, and this is what I want. I don’t want MIT, I don’t want pantsuits and office work. I want to be like you.”

This was probably why you got along so well with Peter.

Peter idolized your dad even more than you did which, at times, you didn’t even think was possible. Despite the ups and downs of their relationship, Peter would always see Tony as a father figure. Tony was very protective of you both, which made for a pretty awkward situation when the two of you started dating. Tony didn’t know who to give a talk to first, and he didn’t know who to watch more carefully. On one hand, Peter was a hormonal teenage boy. On the other hand, you were your father’s daughter. It was Tony’s biggest nightmare.

After a few months, things started to calm down. Tony was more comfortable with your relationship with Peter, and he was even adjusting fairly well to your joining of the team. There were rules for both situations, sure, but you understood their need and respected them. Tony only wanted what was best for you. And what was best for Peter. For the most part, you were really good at not breaking the rules. Doors stayed open when you were with Peter (except when no one else was home), and you always stayed by Natasha’s side during missions (except when she ordered you otherwise). It would’ve made sense if the first big rule of your dad’s that you broke was regarding Peter, like having wild, raging, unprotected, teenage sex (Tony’s words, not yours). Instead, you opted to test the waters on a mission.

It shouldn’t have been that difficult. All you needed to do was break into a terrorist’s headquarters and kill the man who had been murdering politicians across the country. If you were lucky, you would find the unique weapons he had been using to do so. You were ordered to stay with Nat, as usual, but she seemed to be holding her own, and you wanted to press on. When you rounded a corner in the facility, you ran into Peter. The two of you progressed through the building on your own, trying to find your way to their command center where you knew the murderer to be.

Unfortunately,  you never made it that far.

The two of you were ridiculously outnumbered. You knew Peter was strong and was good with his powers, and you and your suit could work wonders, but it wasn’t enough. Not only were you fighting strong men with big guns, but it seemed the terrorist had connections with Hydra, because you recognized a few of their agents as well. You were no match for them. One hard blow to the head, and you were out cold.

When you woke up, you were dangling by your arms from a chain in the ceiling. You lifted your head slowly, feeling like it was full of a thousand cotton balls. You saw Peter hanging beside you. You tried to call out Peter’s name, but your voice came out weak. After several attempts, you finally said it loud enough for him to wake up. He looked startled at first, his mask not protecting his face. When he finally looked at you, his face dropped. “Are you okay?” he asked immediately.

“Yeah,” you lied. “Are you?”

“M’ fine,” he said. He fought against his restraints which only caused his body to wiggle foolishly in the air. “We’re gonna get out of this, okay?”

“I know,” you said back, though your voice shook. Before the two of you could begin to formulate a plan, the door to the room you were in burst open, and three men walked in.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them taunted. “Thought you’d never wake up. Was a little worried. The boss wants you two alive.” Neither you nor Peter said anything, and one of the men walked up to you. He brought his face dangerously close to yours.

“You’re a pretty one,” he said, bringing his hand up to stroke your cheek. “Hard to believe you’re Stark’s kid.”

“So this is Stark’s kid,” another man said. He made his way over to you as well, circling you and eyeing your body predatorily. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Don’t touch her!” Peter suddenly snapped. The three men turned to look at Peter, almost as if they had only just seen him in the room. One of the men walked over to Peter while the other two stayed by your side. You hated the looks on all of their faces.

“And this is the spider kid,” the man said to Peter. “What, is she your girlfriend?”

“Keep your fucking hands away from her,” Peter spat. You knew he should’ve kept his mouth closed. Showing them vulnerability would only egg them on further. You felt one of the men trail his fingers up your leg. You bit your lip to stop from crying.

“You don’t like it when we touch her like this?” he asked, bringing his hand up to your ass and squeezing it. Peter fought even harder against the restraints, which just made the men laugh. “Ah, don’t worry. We won’t make a move on your girl.”

That was the first time he punched your stomach.

“We’re just going to beat the living shit out of her,” he laughed. The man who was still standing by Peter punched him, too. “And we have to keep it fair, so you’ll get just as much.”

“Why are you doing this?” Peter choked out.

“Because,” the third man said, “we need your team to come back so we can kill them. We figured holding you hostage is quite the incentive.”

Second blow. The cheek.

Third blow. The jaw.

Fourth blow. The stomach.

Tears were falling from your eyes and you couldn’t help but whimper. When one of the men used his knee to administer the fifth blow (the stomach), you finally cried out in pain. Every time you looked at one of the men, the fear in your heart grew.

Sixth blow. The rib.

“Peter,” you cried, fighting against your restraints and feeling them dig into your wrists. You looked between all three men, waiting for one of them to make the next move.

“Hey, hey, don’t look at them,” Peter said suddenly. “Look at me, okay? Just keep looking at me.” You turned your head and looked at Peter. You could tell he was trying to stay strong for you, and your heart ached because of it. “It’ll be over soon. Keep looking at me.”

Seventh blow. The jaw.

“C’mon, focus on me,” Peter pressed. “(Y/N), I swear on my life we’re going to make it out of here.”

One of the men threw another hard punch to Peter’s rib, causing him to groan in pain. Tears were falling from your eyes steadily, and your lower lip shook. Peter was the one who felt worse. His wounds, he knew, would heal quickly. Yours, on the other hand, would take time. A lot of time.

You heard bone break on the eighth blow. The rib.

That was when the door burst open, and the three men were shot to the ground. One shot, you noticed, was from an arrow. Through your tears, you could see Clint and Natasha rushing over to you and Peter, quickly getting you down from your restraints. The minute your feet touched the ground, you collapsed. Your ribs felt like they were on fire. Peter was by your side instantly, propping your head up against his leg. “You’re okay,” he said, stroking your hair. “I’ve got you. We’re gonna go home now, okay?”

“Pete, are you-”

“I’m fine,” Peter said instantly, cutting Clint off. You were in too much pain to really notice that Peter was equally as battered and bruised as you were. Despite your agonizing pain, you were able to make it to the quinjet. Peter wanted to support you, but Natasha insisted on doing it, noticing Peter’s body was in no position to help yours.

Once you were all properly bandaged up in the medical wing, Tony stopped in. “(Y/N) (Y/M/N)-”

“I know, Dad,” you sighed, closing your eyes as to not roll them at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left Nat, and Peter and I shouldn’t have gone on our own. I’m sorry.” Tony sighed and sat on a chair beside your bed.

“If I ever lost you, kid,” he said softly, “I don’t know what I would do.”

“I know,” you said again. “I really am sorry.”

Before Tony could say anything else, the door opened, and Peter walked in. He looked embarrassed when he saw Tony sitting beside you, but Tony quickly stood up from the chair. “Kid, what are you doing out of bed?” he asked Peter. “You should be resting, too.”

“I know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I just, I wanted to come see (Y/N).” Tony clearly fought back an eye roll and stepped aside so Peter could enter the room.

“I guess I’ll leave you two,” he mumbled. “You can’t very well make babies in the state you both are in.”

“Challenge accepted,” you joked weakly. Your dad just rolled his eyes and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Immediately, Peter sat on the edge of your bed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry we got captured and I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“Pete,” you said, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek, “I’m just as much at fault as you are.”

“I hated seeing you like that,” he said. You could see tears in his eyes, and you wiped one away as soon as it trailed down his cheek. “I hated the way they looked at you and touched you and hurt you. I couldn’t do anything about it, I just had to watch it. I thought I was going to lose you right in front of me.”

“But you didn’t,” you said firmly. “I’m right here. We made it out, just like you said we would.”

“I just hated the idea of, of you dying before-” He cut himself off with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head.

“Before what?” you asked, your hand now dropped and holding his. Peter looked at you and placed his other hand on your cheek.

“Before I told you that I’m crazy in love with you.”

You smiled softly, happy tears coming to your eyes. Peter leaned close to you and pressed his lips to yours, rubbing his thumb in small circles on your cheekbone. Your kiss was slow and meaningful, filled with more care than any kiss the two of you had shared before. When you finally parted, you scooted over on your bed to make room for Peter to lay beside you. He did and, while it was a tight fit, you laid your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. When you looked up at him, you smiled.

“I’m pretty in love with you, too.”

[blancheludis]

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 13/?, Words: 72.592

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

It turns out that Pepper has already been notified of what happened. Tony is too tired to ask whether it was JARVIS or Happy or someone at the hospital. He is just glad that he does not have to come home to an empty penthouse where he would have to be alone with his thoughts.

Pepper is pacing when the elevator doors open to let Tony out. When she looks up and recognizes him, relief spreads from her in waves. For a moment, they simply muster each other, looking for wounds or obvious signs of distress. Tony does not like that Pepper is here instead of safe at home but the sight of her has a feeling of warmth settle around his shoulders.

Time starts moving again, and Pepper hurries towards him like she needs to touch him to makes sure he is real.

“Tony,” she says, and the world already feels much kinder with her looking out for him. “Are you all right?”

A grimace spreads on Tony’s face, which might be what stops Pepper from pulling him into a hug. He wants to be disappointed but shrugs it off. She is here, that has to be enough.

“I’m – no,” he admits. He thinks he has never been less all right. “But I’ll be fine.”

That is what he does, going forward no matter what happens. Putting on a smile and making sure nobody sees him break. That might be the best and hardest lesson Howard taught him.

“How could this happen?” Pepper asks, taking on an urgency that has Tony wincing. It is his fault, after all. He could have stopped this from happening, could have kept Happy safe. “I’m sorry.”

Shaking his head, Tony pulls his shoulders back, standing up as straight as he can. “It’s all right,” he says, his firm tone making up for what he lacks in conviction.

“Tony, it’s not –” Pepper interrupts herself, likely realizing how little words will help at this point.

She finally steps forwards and simply pulls Tony into her arms, standing strong where he sags slightly into her warmth. The world does not seem as harsh when he has someone else helping to hold him up. He has not even noticed that he does not feel safe in his own skin before.

Tony has the best of friends. Pepper, who puts up with all of his shenanigans, his unreliability, his inability to stick to his friends. Rhodey, who has kept him sane and whole since MIT. Happy, who did not have to adopt the maniac billionaire hiring him on a whim.

They are his family. More so than Obadiah. The betrayal still hurts, but he is not alone, does not have to deal with this on his own.

They stay like this for some minutes until Tony feels like he can hold himself together on his own again. When they part, Pepper squeezes his shoulder in an unspoken promise of being there for him whenever he needs her.

Tony feels like he can breathe much easier again. There is still something he has to deal with, though.  

“JARVIS,” he asks as they walk off towards the living room. “Where is Obie?” He keeps his voice strong, fights the urge to leave this problem for the next morning.

“He is not currently in the tower,” JARVIS answers. He sounds disappointed as much as angry, as if he would have liked nothing more than to test just how far the in-built security measures in the tower would allow him to go. “He left a few minutes after you.”

Perhaps Obadiah was not so sure his plan would succeed then, or he was smart enough to realize he needed to get out of the way of Pepper and JARVIS until Tony was dealt with and he could take over.

“He’s gone,” Pepper adds, looking like she has overturned every desk in the tower as if Obadiah is the kind to hide underneath them. “I’ve asked his assistant but he doesn’t know anything.”

Tony squashes the instant relief blossoming in his chest. He does not want to come face to face with his godfather no matter that he has to at some point.

“Take a look at his schedule,” Tony orders, although he is sure that will not reveal anything. Obadiah has not left the tower on official business, he is running away.

“Nothing in there, sir,” JARVIS says.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Tony is torn between wanting to lie down and to storm off and do – something. He could go through Obadiah’s office himself, could work out what allies he has and who he would likely depend on to disappear. There has to be something he can find and use.

The solution might be even simpler than that. Tony nods, ready to throw himself headfirst into disaster, and says, “I should probably call him.”

Absolute silence falls for a short minute, in which Tony is convinced this is the way forward. Obadiah is too proud, too used to being in control to not pick up if Tony were to call him, especially since he is supposed to be dead or captured right now. It will be a painful conversation, but one that can help them if Tony plays his cards right.

He should have known that blurting out this idea within earshot of Pepper would not end well.

“Or you can do the sensible thing,” she snaps turning on him as if she is prepared to physically hold him back, “and hand your evidence over so the police can do their work.”

“He was willing to spend five million to have me killed,” Tony says, although he is already faltering.

Pepper is right. Going after Obadiah will just make things worse. Obadiah probably counts on Tony being stupid. They have known each other long enough that Obadiah is aware of all of Tony’s weaknesses. He has nurtured them, too, all these years.

“One more reason to stay out of the way,” Pepper says, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. Her touch is light, even though she looks like she would want to dig her fingers in to keep him in place. “You should - You’re not going to do anything stupid?”

Tony almost laughs. When has he ever not done something stupid? “I promise,” he says nonetheless. “I just need to find out where Obie might have gone. I’ll stay safe, I won’t go after him.”

Pepper does not believe him, but Tony does not quite believe himself either. Within a matter of days, everything has changed. Tony’s trust has been shaken, his worldview has been upended. He needs to figure out how to go on from here, even though he barely manages to stay on his feet, much less take the first step.

Tony ushers Pepper out not long after that. He makes sure someone accompanies her home and stands guard outside her apartment. While he does not want to think that Obadiah would target his friends, he will not take any chances either.  He has underestimated his godfather for long enough.

---

Alone in his bedroom, Tony does not think he can sleep. He reaches for his phone, half-expecting to find a dozen missed calls and messages from Steve. Instead, there is just one.

Please tell me when you made it home.

Considering their history, this is almost dismissive, and Tony does not believe for one second that Steve is calm about what happened. For one, Tony’s arm is burning with an intensity that has nothing to do with the lingering effects of the crash. He also knows Steve a bit by now, can almost feel him pacing in their base, agonizing over every minute of silence.

It is not Tony’s job to reassure a mob boss, whether he is his soulmate or not, but he finds himself pulling up Steve’s contact nonetheless. He tells himself it does not mean anything, that this is more the bond’s doing than his own choice. Things will not go smoothly, and Steve is not entirely an ally, but Tony feels he does not have to pretend with him, if only because Steve has already seen him at his lowest.

Steve picks up before the first ring is over and that, in itself, is a relief.

“How are you?” Steve asks, sounding breathless. “Are you hurt?”

Natasha surely reported everything to him already, so he should know that Tony is all right. Physically at least.

“I’m fine,” Tony says, aiming for a dismissive tone but it falls flat.

Now that he is talking to Steve, it does not seem like such a good idea anymore. They are constantly moving in circles while Tony wants to leave all of this behind. Weapons and traitorous godfathers and soulmates he cannot trust. He is stuck, though.

“Natasha says your driver was hurt?” Steve continues hurriedly. “Is he –”

“Also fine,” Tony replies, feeling slightly mollified that Steve would think of Happy too. This way, it seems like this is not just about them being involuntary soulmates. Everything’s –”

“Not fine,” Steve finishes for him when Tony trails off, and Tony does not correct him. “Someone tried to kill you.”

There it is again, put so bluntly. Steve does not manage it in as calm a tone as Natasha did, however. The traces of panic in his voice coalesce into something almost physical. Like Steve is as pained by the fact that someone actually went after Tony as Tony is by the revelation that his godfather is not holding back anymore.

“Well, they didn’t,” Tony says. His voice sounds strange. Still miffed that Steve had him followed, and stricken that it was needed. “You made sure of that.”

Steve hesitates for a minute, growing quiet enough that Tony fears he might have hung up. Then, though, he exhales loudly and Tony is not sure why is relieved at that.

“I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for that,” Steve says but sounds cautious.

Tony does not, but this is still easier to concentrate on than the memory of their car spinning out of control and Obadiah’s voice calling this is not over in the back of his mind.

“Tell me, did you send Barnes after me too?” Tony asks, his tone sharp although he wants to stumble over the name. “And Barton? Because I’d feel so very protected if you did.”

His sarcasm echoes, even while he remembers staring into the darkness of the street, wondering who else was lurking there, friend or foe.

He is not sure what to think about Barnes and Barton. He is afraid of their fists and their anger, and that their policy appears to consist of punch first, ask later. When Natasha offered to kill Obadiah, Tony’s first instinct had been to say yes, picturing Obadiah being taken down, wishing to get a hit in too for all these years of lies. Does that not mean he is just as bad as Steve and his friends?

What if Happy had died in that car? What if Obadiah had touched Pepper? What if his weapons had torn down Tony’s home and family, and he had years to nurse that grief into anger?

The part of Tony that is not curling up in pain still wants to take down Obadiah. He wants to ruin his name, destroy his life, make sure he will never get back any kind of standing where he can hurt others. That is just another scale of beating someone up. That Obadiah is actually guilty of these crimes does not make it more justified.

“Bucky wants to apologize,” Steve says, pulling Tony back to the present.

The abrupt change of topic renders Tony speechless. At least that is what he tells himself so he does not have to admit that Steve’s sheer audacity to bring this up now has him reeling.

“Not going to happen,” Tony says shortly, secretly relishing the way this has his anger flickering back to life. He is sure Steve did not plan for that, but it pushes Tony out of the pitiable whirlwind of coping with Obadiah’s actions.  

“He’s –” Steve tries to explain himself, but Tony is not ready for that. Especially since he has just thought that Barnes and Barton’s reaction was not that incomprehensible.

“Drop it, Steve.” Tony wonders why he thought it would be a good idea to call Steve. He does not want to argue, yet that is all they ever do. He is not in the mood for forgiveness either.

Perhaps Steve feels Tony’s current susceptibility, or he is simply too stubborn to give up, but he naturally does not drop the topic. “I’m not saying this because he is my best friend or because I expect you to fall into each other’s arms –”

“How generous of you,” Tony drawls, and feels a little bit more alive again at least. The worst thing that can happen to him now is apathy.

“But he’s a good person, and it eats him up that he hurt you like that,” Steve continues, sounding desperate enough that Tony believes him. “He just wants to tell you that.”

Tony can imagine how that conversation would go. He would clam up, pull up his masks, and destroy whatever goodwill he gathered with the Avengers with a few pointed remarks. That is if he even wanted to play nice with them instead of keeping as much distance between them as possible.

Keeping these thoughts to himself, Tony asks, “What? Because you’ve got evidence now that I wasn’t the bad guy?”

He does not need to see Steve to know he is frowning in that way where he is not pleased with where the conversation is going while not knowing how to redirect it.

“He’s been the first of us to see sense, except for Bruce,” Steve argues. He even remains calm about it. “He’s been hurt before, badly, and it didn’t matter whether you were guilty or not, he regrets that night more than anything else.”

Tony is not sure what to say to that. Steve sounds like he believes what he is saying, but Tony does not know Bucky Barnes. He does not know any of them apart from the arguments he has had with Steve and the more amiable conversations with Bruce. He cannot make sense of any of them.

Even if he knew them, even if he knew without a doubt that Barnes regretted that night, could he forgive what happened? It was such an act of directionless violence, following no other need than the one to push down one’s inner bitterness and hurt someone with whatever methods available. Tony is sure that, in that warehouse, he was not a person to them, just an abstract concept of all their pain made flesh. He pities them for it, but that does not mean he can forget it.

“What about Barton?” Tony asks in a cutting tone. That is what he does when he does not know how to go on, he lashes out. “I’m sure he’s desperate to grovel before me too.”

“Clint is complicated,” Steve says with a sigh, sounding like he, too, has some problems with Barton. “He feels guilty too, though. I just don’t think he’s ready to say it yet.” Yet or ever, Tony thinks but allows Steve to keep talking. “He hasn’t followed you because we knew you wouldn’t want him close. But he’ll protect you, same as all of us.”

That is not as reassuring as Steve wants it to be. “What if I need protection from you?” Tony questions and means it. He needs to know that Steve will truly back off if Tony wants him too. Not this half-hearted dance they have kept up until now.

“That would be Bruce’s part,” Steve answers. More quietly, he adds, “And mine if you’ll let me.”

Tony does not know how to take that. The soul bond inside him hums, almost content with where they are going. He is in no position to make any decisions now, emotionally banged up and his ability to trust all but shattered. He wants to believe this feeling inside him just as much as he does not want to put himself into somebody else’s hands.

“Tell Barnes to send a text if he’s serious,” Tony finally says, extending an olive branch, because it will surely be better to garner some more goodwill. “I’m sure you shared my number with all your buddies anyway.”

Getting a new number will not take any effort at all if it becomes necessary.

“I didn’t,” Steve says firmly to Tony’s surprise.

“A postcard is okay too,” Tony replies, too tired to think about semantics. They have found him once, they will be able to do so again. “The tower is hard to miss, even without an address.”

“Is that a yes?” Steve asks, unable to take what he is given but always wanting more.

Tony thinks about talking to Barnes and realizes he would still prefer that to seeing his godfather again. “Just keep Barton away from me.”

“I want you to be safe,” Steve says, not clarifying what he means with that. Considering that they are mostly getting along at the moment, Tony is willing to leave it at that and give Steve the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m trying,” Tony replies, smoothly changing the topic. The Barnes tangent might have been a distraction, but Steve is going to want to know about Obadiah and why Tony let it come so far that he got another hit in. “We’re handing over the evidence in the morning. Then it’s up to the authorities to find Obie.”

There is a pause at the other end, then Steve asks in a strangely choked tone, “He’s gone then?” It is a mixture of worry and anger and determination that Tony does not know what to do with.

“Right before he sent an assassin after me,” Tony says, baring his teeth at the empty air in front of him in an attempt to act nonchalant. It barely resembles a smile. He used to be better at fooling people – and himself. “At least he’s stopped trying to look innocent.”

It is ridiculous to try to find a silver lining about this whole business. There is no way to make this any less damning or less painful.

“He will be found,” Steve all but promises, and Tony is just glad that he does not say that the Avengers will find Obadiah. That might solve a lot of his problems, but Tony has to face Obadiah again, no matter that he does not want to. Emerging from this without another, entirely too visible crack will be hard enough.

This is the point to end the call. Tony has said everything he wanted to say and some more. He is not sure how to feel about Barnes or what he might still need from Steve, but his hand stays up and keeps the phone against his ear, refusing to hang up. He cannot even blame it on the arm with the soulmate developing its own mind, because he is holding the phone in his other hand, pressing the soul mark against his belly as if that is going to dampen the sensations from it.

“How do you do it?” Tony asks before he knows what he is doing.

Asking questions he does not know what kind of answer to expect to is a dangerous thing. Especially where emotions are involved, whether they are fully his own or not.

“Do what?” Steve asks with obvious trepidation. He, too, knows that Tony would have normally hung up at this point. It should be counted in Steve’s favour that he is as nervous about it as Tony himself. It is Steve who initiated all of their previous contacts, so Tony’s sudden proactiveness is strange to the both of them.

“How do you go after your criminals without seeing their human side behind that?” Tony is grasping for straws to explain his restlessness. “How do you hold on to only the bad things people did while ignoring the good?”

Good is naturally a matter of definition. Looking back, every interaction Tony ever had with Obadiah appears tainted, driven by Obadiah’s greed and his wish to get the next figurehead of Stark Industries under his thumb. It was ridiculously easy to gain Tony’s loyalty. A few kind words, a smile, some encouragement to keep Tony building. Shame pools in Tony’s chest as he has to admit how gullible he was. Perhaps still is.

“Guilt and innocence do not work like a scale,” Steve answers after some hesitation. “You can’t just erase the bad.”

It is as generic an answer as Tony has feared he would get. Worse, it is the kind of thing people tell themselves to be able to sleep at night, knowing deep down that what they are doing might not hold up against a thorough moral questioning.

“So everybody who has ever done mistakes is doomed?” Tony asks, even though he is not in the mood for an ethical discussion. He just wants to calm his mind a bit without knowing how.

“If they don’t feel guilty about it,” Steve says slowly, clearly not knowing where this is going. Tony does not know either, but he does not want to be alone with his thoughts right now.

“Guilt can make up for crimes but reparation cannot?”

It becomes obvious then, that they could be talking about wildly different things. Tony might have started this to try and figure out what to do with his godfather, how to deal with this betrayal despite years of encouragement and aid before that – even if those were their own form of manipulation.

The same questions could be asked about Steve, who allowed Tony to be hurt, or the Avengers, whose entire line of business leans towards being shady, no matter their intentions. It could even apply to Tony himself, who was blind for so long as to what is happening with his weapons. Not knowing something is hardly an excuse when it should have been his job to know and stop it.

“I don’t think it can be called reparation if you do it without feeling remorse for what you did,” Steve says, and Tony has to give him credit for taking the matter seriously. They both have more important things to do on a night like this than talk philosophy. “You can’t make up for something if you don’t think it was wrong. Doing good things shouldn’t be calculated.”

Guilt is such a fickle thing, though. It is entirely subjective and in no way a guarantee that one will not repeat their mistakes. Tony does not know what to do with his guilt to keep it from swallowing him whole.

Taking a deep breath, Tony asks a question he is not sure he wants to hear the answer to, even while thinking he has known it all along. “Do you feel guilty for how we met?”

Without any hesitation, Steve answers, “Every day.”

Tony does not know what to say, does not know how to feel when, in the safety of his mind, he admits that he might believe it. That will only lead to him needing to make more decisions, to him needing to treat the future as something already close enough to touch, and he is not ready for that.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Tony says, nearly overwhelmed by a new wave of tiredness. He might still not be able to sleep, but he at least feels ready enough to try now.

There is a slight pause that Tony is sure means that Steve will fall into another speech about how Tony needs to stay safe, asking what he is going to do and whether he will stay in contact. Another barrage of apologies.

In the end though, Steve just says, “Goodnight, Tony.” With a click, the call disconnects.

Putting down the phone on his nightstand, Tony lies down, making himself small beneath his blanket, and tries to not think of godfathers or soulmates. He sleeps.

---

When the call disconnects, Steve keeps the phone against his ears for long minutes, trying to make sense of what might be going through Tony’s head and how he is feeling about it.

Ever since Natasha reported in the attempted hit on Tony, Steve has been restless, only held back from rushing out by Bruce, who talked him out of doing something stupid, and Clint, who ventured out to go to Natasha’s aid.

It is a relief to know that Tony is safely at home, but this entire business is far from over. The guy going after Tony was not an amateur, but he was not the best either. Considering how seldom Tony steps out of the tower these days, the would-be-assassin messed up his chance by not going in harder, by trying too hard to make it look like an accident. The next person Stane hires might not do that mistake.

Steve hates that he is thinking that way. This is about Tony. His soulmate. A man he wronged gravely. It is not his place to protect Tony, but Steve feels responsible nonetheless.

Getting to his feet, Steve knows he needs to do something if he does not want to go crazy. That Tony all but started a discussion about morals with him is a clear sign that he is not all right. And who would be? His godfather is out to kill him, his company has to be cleansed and rebuild, his soulmate is the kind of person that makes it unlikely there will ever be peace between them.

Perhaps he should find Bruce and ask for help about how to go forward. That would be the more sensible approach than to exhaust himself in the gym.

Walking out into the hallway, he does not get very far, stopping at Bucky’s door, which is propped open. Things are still awkward between them. They will get through this without doubt, having been friends for too long to give up on each other now.  

Steve knocks lightly on the door before stepping in. Bucky sits at his desk, a book in hand, which he lowers upon recognizing Steve.

“You look upset,” he says by way of greeting, no judgement in his tone, although everything they have done lately could be judged unfavourably.

Steve takes his time to answer while he makes his way over to the bed and sits down on the edge. Tony is almost more of a sore subject with Bucky than it is with the rest of them. Perhaps Steve should refer Tony to Bucky the next time he wants to talk about guilt and doing good.

“I talked to Tony,” Steve then says but trails off when Bucky’s expression becomes harder, less open.

Bucky looks down at his book as he puts it down on the desk, taking the time to arrange it neatly. “That is apparently all you do these days,” he says, his tone carefully flat.

Irritation flares up inside Steve. Considering that he would have liked nothing more than to rush out the minute they learned about Stane, and even more so since the assassination attempt earlier, he thinks he is handling this quite well.

“All of you told me to back off, and now it’s somehow wrong?” Steve questions, tired of never getting anything right anymore.

“You’re not backing off, though,” Bucky argues immediately, eyes piercing into Steve. “You have him shadowed, you constantly call him –”

“Tony called me,” Steve cuts him off. He is equal parts miffed and mollified at the way Bucky perks up, visibly surprised.

“What?”

When they were younger, Steve was used to being underestimated or dismissed. He has proven himself since then, most of all to his friends. This constant doubt between them, the tension in the air, feels like acid against his skin. They are a team, till the end of the line. Sometimes, it feels like they have reached that end.  

“When did I turn into the bad guy here, Buck?” Steve questions, voice turning out more desperate than planned. “I thought we were on the same side.”

In front of him, Bucky deflates. He still holds his shoulders in too tense a line, but his expression slackens into something tired and doubtful.

“I don’t even know what side we’re on anymore,” he says quietly and does not mean it as a jab against Steve. Everything that has happened over the past weeks is catching up with them. Getting hired to steal from Stark, which stoked all their old anger and hurt Unleashing said anger only to push them farther down that spiral of doubts. Learning they were wrong and not knowing how to deal with it.

If he was feeling more comfortable in his own skin right now, Steve would have tried to reassure Bucky. As it is, they are both feeling adrift.

“Well, Tony called me,” Steve repeats as if that is going to make either of them feel better. At the very least, it gives them new things to plan for. “Stane is gone. He slipped Clint when Natasha called him for help to deal with the attacker. Tony does not know where he is either.”

Bucky nods as if that is not an inconvenience. They knew it would not be easy to get Stane once he was given some room to wriggle himself free, but Steve still regrets not needling Tony into acting sooner. It would have led to more tension between them, but at least Tony would have been safer.

“Is he all right?” Bucky asks, although they both know the answer.

Even without hearing Tony’s voice just now, Steve can feel the grief radiating through the soul bond, the feeling of being lost.

“I told him that you want to apologize,” Steve says instead of reiterating feelings they are both too familiar with.

That was another mistake, however, judging on the way Bucky’s eyes narrow as he glares. “Steve,” he barks, the name alone an admonishment. “I said I would like to if it were feasible, but considering the way we met it’s better if I keep as far away from him as possible.”

It might have been bad timing, that is true, but Tony needs more people in his corner, and the Avengers can be just that if only they could put aside their differences to deal with the matter at hand. Steve is not naïve enough to believe that everything will be all right just like that, but they do have a common enemy right now, and Tony’s well-being is a top priority to him.

“He didn’t say no,” Steve offers but drops his gaze when Bucky’s glare gets worse.

“That means he didn’t say yes either,” Bucky replies in a sharp tone. Somewhat calmer, he adds, “We need to leave him alone.”

That is what they have been saying from the very beginning. Bruce and Bucky and even Natasha. How can Steve let go of this, though? Tony is his soulmate, but there is more to it. It is the bond promising that they will fit in with each other, but it is also an ingrained part of what makes Steve human that he needs to make sure he did not leave Tony worse for wear. He does not want all the interaction he ever had with Tony to end up doing him more damage.

“I can’t,” Steve says, unsure how to put these feelings into words. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t just let him go. Even less now than before. He’s in danger.”

Knowing that Tony is out there is like an itch between Steve’s shoulder blades that he cannot reach but refuses to leave alone all the same.

“Do you know what your problem is?” Bucky asks, going from tired to angry too quickly to see. “You think that bond of yours means you have some kind of right to him, that he’ll have to forgive you because you’re meant to be.”

That is not what Steve feels. This is not about ending up with Tony anymore but about keeping him safe. He feels everything Tony feels, no matter that it is dampened and blurred. Tony’s restlessness sits under Steve’s skin as if it is his own.

Steve is not going to argue that things are as they should be. None of this evolved naturally – but soulmates as a whole are not natural. This is not a matter of choice. It was thrust upon the both of them and now they have to make the best of it. For now, that is looking out for each other.

“You don’t know how it feels,” Steve tries to explain, despite the futility of it. “It’s always there. I can’t leave Tony alone when some part of me is always reminding me of his existence, always pulling me towards him. This is not love, it’s just – sheer need. I can’t –” He breaks off, does not look up from his arm. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Why?” Bucky asks, voice sounding dangerous, causing Steve’s head to shoot up. “Because someone blew my arm off before I could meet my soulmate?”

Nobody knows whether that will keep the soul bond from forming. Steve almost constantly feels the words on his arm, but the bond has settled right in his core too. The arm is nothing but a display of the words, not the anchor necessary for the bond to take hold. Bucky remembers his words, and his match likely still has their words too.

Steve understands the sentiment, however. Losing the words is like losing a part of the future. Even though not everybody meets their soulmates, as long as the words are visible, they know someone is out there for them. They have grieved the loss of that before.

“Because you haven’t met them,” Steve says firmly. He has not meant this as an insult. “Because your head is still your own.”

When Bucky scoffs, it becomes obvious that they are not going to agree on this topic. Not now, and perhaps not ever if Bucky never meets his soulmate.

“Our heads haven’t been our own since the first time someone shot at us,” Bucky argues. He is not completely wrong about that, but this is a different kind of madness. “That’s not what I’m talking about. People used to praise you for your ability to strategize. Well, I think you’ve never been this stupid before.”

True enough, Steve has never felt this much out of depth. It is not even for the obvious reasons. Tony is a billionaire, a business man, a genius. He can build things with his hands that Steve does not even begin to grasp. Their cultural and intellectual differences alone would make this difficult. Yet, they will likely never get a chance to try to navigate that, thanks to Steve messing up before they even met.

“This is not about any possible relationship with Tony,” Steve insists and means it. “This is about him being in danger. You can hardly expect me to turn my back on him while his godfather wants him dead.”

Bucky nods, although it is not fully a concession. “If he never wants to talk to you again, you have to give him that,” he says, his tone very matter-of-fact, although that does not make it hurt any less. “We assaulted him, broke his bones and threw him out like trash. You turning all cocky on him afterwards didn’t help.”

Steve knows that. They have talked it through. When he lies awake at night and has stopped worrying, he cannot think about anything else.

“What if he never calls again?” Steve asks and barely recognizes the voice as his. It is too small, echoing with desperation.

Bucky meets his eyes unflinchingly, leaving him no escape. “Then you’ll have to live with that.”

That is the whole ugly truth. And yet. “I don’t know if I can.”

Sometimes, when the soul bond is quieter than usual, Steve wonders if it would be so bad if they went their separate ways. He has not been lacking anything before Tony was thrust in front of him. He was happy, had a goal in life. Why should he not be able to return to that?

He probably has to and he will manage it, but the way there will be long and hard. People have gone mad from losing their soulmate. Never meeting one’s soulmate at all would be kinder than to be rejected by them, even if Steve brought it down on himself.

“Well, I’m pretty sure Tony cannot imagine living with you,” Bucky replies, not unkindly but with a firmness that is not to be denied. “It’s up to you to decide whether you want to put your own needs over his. I mean, that would just continue the trend you set.”

Steve winces, dropping his eyes to his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, wishing Tony could hear it too.

With a sigh, the hardness drains out of Bucky, leaving him to look simply tired once more. “I know you are, Stevie,” he says. “We all are.”

Being sorry will not make anything right. Keeping Tony alive and giving him space might. There is nothing else to do but try.

[trashmagines]

You’re Awful, I Love You: Jason Todd x Female!Assassin!Reader (P.3 Final)

TrAshy Says: The riveting conclusion to YAILY. Like movies, nothing will ever top the first post, but I hope this is just as good. Also, y’all know I had to sneak the title in there somewhere.

Warnings: Gun mentions, blood, violence, drugs, swearing

It’s safe to say that staring down the barrel of a gun wasn’t how you originally thought you’d be spending your evening. Then again, you hadn’t planned to be kidnapped either.

“Whoever this guy is, he’s not new. Drug dealers just don’t pop up and suddenly gain control of every major city block.” “The operation needs to be shut down quickly. His distribution infrastructure has already doubled. Things are getting out of hand way too fast.”

Bruce and Jason had been having this back and forth for about twenty minutes. Some new hotshot had begun flooding Gotham with a synthetic super drug, with one of the major side effects being immediate cardiac arrest. Seven people had already been found dead, and the number was steadily increasing if the various news reports were any indication. 

You’re sitting at your desk in the Batcave, only half-listening to them as you clean under your nails with your pocket knife. The information they’d been providing hadn’t been useful enough to get any solid leads; at this point you were chasing a ghost.

“Y/n, did you hear me?” “I’m sorry, what?” “I said I have a name.” “Oh, well do tell.” “Ian Durand.”

You’d turned to face your computer screen, hands ready to tap away at the keyboard, but as soon as you heard the name, your hands dropped into your lap and you stilled. 

“Y/N?” “That’s highly improbable; are you sure you got the right name?” “Yeah, clear as day.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed as you typed away, visibly shaken by all of the very recent activity that flooded the screen. Ian had plenty of aliases, but when his picture popped up, your gasp caught Bruce’s attention as well.

“There’s no way...” “Y/N, what is it?” Bruce asked, rounding the corner of your desk to stand behind you and read over your shoulder. “Ian Durand should be dead.” “What makes you say that?” “I’m the one that killed him.”

You now have both men’s undivided attention, and you sigh before revealing the history between you and Ian.

It had been a little over three years ago when you’d met Ian, and the both of you had been instantly attracted to one another. Honestly, he’d seemed perfect for you; he wined and dined you, took you on outrageous impromptu trips, and made you sure you felt loved every waking moment you two were together. He let you know that money was no object, that he only wanted you to have the best, and for six months you were in love and living an amazing life.

The one thing Ian never talked about was his job, which you found slightly odd given his work schedule. Sometimes he’d stay busy for weeks and you rarely saw him; other times he was always available, ready to take you anywhere you wanted to go or do anything you wanted to do. It was minor detail, and given your choice of profession, you couldn’t really confront him as it would have been hypocritical. 

Seeing his name pop up on your hit-list had come as quite the shock.

Using various methods and connections, you were able to find out who Ian really was and how he’d actually acquired all of his wealth. 

“He wasn’t just some dealer, he was the boss, and he was into a lot of other disgusting shit I’d rather not talk about.”

Jason and Bruce could see that just from reading about Ian’s plethora of dealings on the screen behind you. 

“I can’t believe you were in love with a guy like that.” “I didn’t know; sue me.” “Y/N, Ian is very much alive and is now in Gotham. Did you or did you not fulfill that hit?” “After everything I’d found out, I was more than happy too. He’d come over to celebrate our six month anniversary and I shot him in the chest three times after dinner. He was dead, Bruce. I swear.”

The three of you leave the conversation at that and decide to reconvene in the morning when Bruce and Jason weren’t running on very little sleep. Of course, Jason had no intention of falling asleep right away, and you were now laying in his arms, the both of you naked and panting slightly. Sex with him was always mind blowing and served as an amazing distraction, but you couldn’t shake the thoughts running through your mind afterwards. 

“You’re all tensed up, what’s wrong?” “I really thought I’d gotten rid of him; there goes my one hundred percent clear rate.” “We all have off days.” “True.”

Jason kisses your chin before looking down at you, but your gaze is far off.

“You’re not worried about your stats.” “Jason, I don’t use aliases and I haven’t exactly been lying low since I’ve been in the city. Ian has connections just like I do; what if-” “If you think that for a second I’m gonna let that bastard get within a hundred feet of you, you don’t know me very well.”

A rough hand on your cheek makes you look up at the young man hovering over you, and you smile as he connects your lips together. Jason’s tenacity is one of the many things you love about him, his ability to make you feel safe being a close second. 

In Jason’s defense, it hadn’t been Ian that had come after you.

Not directly, anyway. One minute you were loading grocery bags into the backseat of your unregistered car, and the next you were blindfolded and bound in the trunk of another. When the blindfold was removed, you found yourself in a warehouse, the most cliche of kidnapping locations, staring down the very man you didn’t want to see.

You’d just wanted a nice homemade meal.

“Do you know how much it hurt, Y/N? How betrayed I felt?” Ian asks, towering over you. “I’m sensing some hostility. In hindsight, while catching you off guard at our anniversary dinner was the best course of action, it was kind of low. I apologize for that.”

The butt of Ian’s pistol connects with your jaw, but the pain is delayed given the blows you’ve already sustained. You spit some blood on the floor and laugh wryly. 

“Definitely sensing some hostility.” “I was in love with you. I trusted you and you killed me.” “Yeah, about that, how are you still alive?” “There are forces at play that you have no idea about. Unfortunately, you’re not going to live long enough to find out what they are.”

Ian raises his gun, the laser sight pointing at your forehead, dead center. Dying at the hand of your probable zombie ex-lover wasn’t an ideal way to go, but you’d made peace with death soon after fulfilling your very first hit. Right as he pulls the trigger, a black wire wraps around his wrist and yanks it back. The bullet that would have ended you only grazes the side of your head, and you turn to see Batman and Robin standing a few feet away. 

“Now that is no way to treat a lady.” Robin quips. 

The fight that ensues is rather short lived, with Ian’s men getting their asses handed to them and Ian himself getting both of his arms broken by your masked boyfriend. After making sure everyone is truly down for the count, Bruce alerts the police and Jason releases you from your restraints.

“Worst date night ever. You owe me for saving your ass.” “Whatever, Todd. And you love my ass so stop bitching.” “Let’s go you two.”

The three of you load into the Batmobile, and Bruce speeds off towards the manor. Jason addresses your wounds after you both shower, breathing a sigh of relief that you weren’t hurt too bad. 

“He was just trying to be intimidating. It didn’t work, but he tried.” “Can you even be intimidated?” “Nope.”

You climb into your shared bed first, Jason hot on your heels. He pulls you to him, close enough so that your back is pressed firmly against his chest. After securing his arm around your waist, you lay one of yours on top of it and interlace your fingers. Just as his breathing begins to even out, you lightly squeeze his hand to keep him awake a little longer.

“Hey, Jason?” “Mm?” “Thanks for coming to save me.” “I always will. You’re awful, but I love you.”

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 35: Brainstorming

Becoming The Mask

Bold italics are trollish.

"The Ghost Council is pleased Bular's dead, and they said it's a good time to strike against Gunmar, but supposedly, conventional methods won't work, so I've been advised to ask my mentors. Blinky, AAARRRGGHH, thoughts?"

"No poison," said AAARRRGGHH immediately. "Built up resist-dances."

"Much of Gunmar's personal history is shrouded in legend," said Blinky. "Supposedly, even the Sword of Daylight was unable to wound him when he battled Trollhunters in ages past."

"Well, he can't be immune to actual sunlight, right?" said Toby. "Or else he'd've been able to go after humans in the daytime. You said he couldn't do that, right?"

And he wouldn't care one way or the other about the Eternal Night …

"We're not letting him out of the Darklands to test that," said Jim.

"No, but you can get UV and full-spectrum lightbulbs at the hardware store," said Mary. "My stepmom's got a bunch set up in spotlights for her indoor plants. Put one in a flashlight, I bet you could at least hurt a troll."

"And once he's gone, we can get Enrique back?"

Jim managed not to roll his eyes at Claire's one-track mind.

Be nice, he reminded himself. Wanting the Familiar back could just as easily have been how Mom reacted. It could still be how Mom reacts.

"I might have some reference books in my library which could be of help," said Blinky. "Along with something of yours, Jim, which I'd prefer you take with you when you leave."

"This is Bular, huh?" said Toby. "I can't believe you brought his head back with you."

"How else was I supposed to prove I'd killed him? After Vendel found out about me, I couldn't know how far or fast he'd spread the word, and if he hadn't kept my secret nobody would've trusted me not to just … lie."

"So what are you gonna do with it? Seems a bit heavy to hang on the wall."

"Aha! Here we are." Blinky drew their attention to the study table. "Gunmar's origins. At the beginning of our histories, trolls lived below ground, unaware of the world above, while humans lived on the surface, oblivious to the world below. Eventually the two species discovered each other and … clashed, each wanting to claim the full world as their own. Blood was shed. Wars broke out."

He flipped through a series of pages, showing a crystal growing dark veins, crumbling to pieces, and a shadowy troll climbing from the remains.

"Our first Heartstone rotted from within. And from it, Gunmar was born."

"… Well, that's obviously propaganda," said Jim. "Rewriting his backstory to make him look like some kind of magically-created 'Chosen One', so he's more impressive to his allies and unnerving to his enemies." He frowned, conceding, "Unless budding off the Heartstone is how trolls are normally born. In which case it might just be exaggerated to make the timing more symbolic and make it look like he was born full-grown."

"You don't know where baby trolls come from?" asked Mary. "But … you are a troll."

"I've also never needed to know that stuff."

Blinky had all six eyes on Jim and his mouth slightly open.

"We'll … come back to that later," the librarian said after a moment. "The point is that a fragment of that Heartstone supposedly still exists, known as Gunmar's Birthstone." He pulled another open book over the illustration of Gunmar. "There is a legend of three stones, the Triumbric Stones, which are tied to Gunmar's life force."

"That still sounds made up," said Darci, putting her hand on Toby's shoulder as she leaned over him for a better view. "I mean, I know magic is real and all, but, 'three stones magically connected to the bad guy'?"

"Classic quest set up." Toby might've been agreeing or disagreeing with Darci's point; Jim couldn't tell.

"What are the other two?" said Claire. She squinted at the runes. She was on the other side of the table, so from her perspective they were upside down. "The Birthstone … the Killstone … and the … I don't know that last one. I mean, I see the 'stone' suffix but I can't –"

"Eyestone," read Mary. "Ew. Is that literally an eye?"

"Gunmar lost his right eye in the challenge fight when he took over the Gumm-Gumms," said Jim. "It's probably that."

"Indeed." Blinky tapped the paper. "An indication that Gunmar can be wounded, a symbol of his origins, and a remnant of his first kill."

"And Merlin found these?" When everyone just stared at him, Jim remembered he hadn't actually told them that part. "Deya – I think it was Deya – when I was in the Void, she said Merlin supposedly found a way to kill Gunmar but hadn't told the Trollhunters what it was."

"Merlin dead," said AAARRRGGHH. "Lost."

Blinky sighed. "AAARRRGGHH is correct. If Merlin truly did possess the Triumbric Stones, they may well be found in his tomb; whither no written record, nor anyone living, knows the way."

"So we're going on a quest to find the lost tomb of the wizard who made Jimbo's amulet?" said Toby eagerly. "Find the tomb, find the stones, beat Gunmar, get Enrique back."

"Uh, no." Jim scowled. "Switching the Enriques back has nothing to do with whether Gunmar's still alive … Okay, it does a little, but that's not the sole factor. I'm not ousting another Changeling just because Claire's mad at me."

"Also we don't actually know Merlin has these stones, or if they're real," Mary cut in before Claire and Jim could start fighting again. "But speaking of other Changelings, what if you asked Mr Strickler about these magic rocks? If you guys have been working for Gunmar, I'm guessing some Changeling at some point looked into the guy's weakness … you know, to 'protect' him."

Jim would have interrupted her right away, and probably proven her theory, if it hadn't taken a moment for his brain to reboot.

"What makes you think Mr Strickler's a Changeling?"

"He accepts any lame excuse you try on him, he or someone who looks exactly like him has been teaching History at our school for at least as long as we've had yearbooks, and one time I eavesdropped on you guys and you mentioned the Heartstone. Plus the way you froze up just now, and how nervous you got the first time I asked if he knew you were the Trollhunter."

"Is 'Strickler' not the name of the Changeling who came here with you last week?" asked Blinky. Mary shot finger-guns in Blinky's direction.

"I didn't know that part till just now but I'm counting it anyway."

"Boss?"

Jim's voice, on the other end of the phone line, was very small. Walt had a vision of the boy in his troll form, crouching with his ears pinned down and tail curling under him.

"I messed up."

Walt's hand tightened around the phone. Was Jim hurt? Dying? Had Otto set a Stalkling on him?

"Your cover's been compromised. It's contained!" the boy added hastily. "I – They're not dead but nobody's left, and I – Is anyone with you right now?"

"I can speak freely."

There was a rush of static, perhaps a sigh.

"It's the four humans I told you about before. Plus the, ah, old acquaintance of yours and the fellow historian we met with last week."

There was a less-clear background voice, telling Jim he could just use their names, to which Jim countered that cell phones could be tapped and recorded and now the speaker's voice would be on that recording if there was one.

"Perhaps it's best if I come to you and we speak in person," Walt suggested.

"… You remember where the door is."

Despite, or perhaps because, he was being escorted by AAARRRGGHH instead of the Trollhunter, Walt made it to the library without any gnomes being thrown at him this time.

"Mr Domzalski. Ms Nuñez. Ms Scott. Ms Wang." He nodded politely to each of his student. "I imagine this comes as something of a shock."

"Not really," said Claire.

"Once we knew about Jimbo, you were kind of obvious," said Tobias.

"Even before we knew the Changeling part," added Darci.

"Were we also right that you know about the Triumbric Stones?" Mary shocked Walter to the point of having to sit down.

"The term is … familiar."

Walt had been in charge of destroying any works referencing their power and locations, after all.

Previous Chapter (Jim gets called out on how creepy the farming-humans plan is.)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (The Janus Order has the Eyestone)

In canon, Blinky's knowledge of the Triumbric Stones is separate from the discovery of the poem about where they were hidden. After reading the poem, he analyses that the "three forces unhallowed […] must mean the Triumbric Stones!" and digs out another book describing them. 

(Also, I think in trollish, 'unhallowed' and 'elemental' are the same words, because the poem is translated all other times as saying "three forces elemental".) 

Vendel has also heard of the Triumbric Stones despite, to the audience's awareness, never hearing the poem.