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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 months

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lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you've never claimed to be) part 6

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Pairings: nolan/john/bishop

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3457

It’s the day of the gala. And where once he would’ve been not-so-secretly thrilled that Nolan couldn’t come with him, now it’s simmering under his skin like a badly healed bruise.

Sarah’s noticed, because of course she has, and she puts her hand on his arm as they’re getting ready to go.

“What if someone comes looking for him,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice low enough that Nolan in the bedroom won’t hear it, “we didn’t move locations the way we should have. Is it safe to leave him like this?”

“If they were going to find us, they would’ve made a move by now. You said it yourself: we lost them enough on the way back that we could afford to stay at least until the next phase.” Still, he sees her glance over her shoulder too. “Besides, he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

He catches the almost imperceptible tremor in her voice and gives her a look.

“Hey!” Nolan’s voice comes from the bedroom. “You guys talking about me out there?”

“No,” they say in unison, which is as good as a ‘yes,’ judging by Nolan’s little chuckle. Sarah rolls her eyes. “We’re leaving now, stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, mother,” Nolan grouses as they walk to the door.

John gets behind the wheel and pulls smoothly into the late-night Parisian traffic. He’s driven these roads so often he practically has them memorized by this point, which is good because when there’s an unexpected detour he know exactly where to turn to still get them to the gala on time.

What isn’t so good is his brain choosing to take that time and focus on the injured Nolan Booth back at their shitty apartment.

Nolan’s caught on to them, at least somewhat. He’s giving them looks now when he thinks they can get away with it; he’s all furrowed brows and tight mouth and puzzling like he’s trying to…well. Like he’s trying to figure out the trick. Only there isn’t one to figure out and he’s not sure he can ever get Nolan to believe that.

He’s already tricked him once. He’s not too egotistical to think he could ever get away with something like that again, even if he was trying, nor is he too proud to admit that yeah, Nolan Booth might be a ship that’s already sailed. Sure, he’s the one that came to them with the idea for the score, and he’s the one who’s been the reluctant go-between for an uncomfortable amount of their contacts, but him? Actually getting to the Nolan behind all the quips and the facades and the walls that he’s still letting them hit?

They might have a better of chance of just walking in and asking if they could have the Mona Lisa.

Sarah’s voice comes from the passenger’s seat when they stop at a red light. Just a quiet hum, but she doesn’t need to say anything else. He sighs and lets himself slump against the seat for a second.

“I’m worried about Nolan.”

”He’s going to fine, John, we won’t be gone long enough for somebody to—“

“Not that.” He rubs his chin. “I mean I’m worried he’s…I’m worried about us.”

Sarah falls silent as the light turns green. He presses them slowly back into the sea of traffic. It takes three more intersections for her to speak again.

“We can’t exactly blame him, we did con him.”

“I know.”

“And we did it by establishing a level of intimacy with him that would be difficult to achieve again.”

“I know.”

“He probably thinks it’s another scheme.”

“I know,” he says, a bit more bite in his voice, “I know that, Sarah, I do. And I know he’s probably thinking the same thing. But this isn’t a scheme.”

He glances at her as he turns and sees the thoughtful wrinkle between her brows reappear. “He’s not going to believe us, not without some sort of proof.”

“We can’t prove a negative.”

“I know.” She turns to stare out at the passing lights as they near their destination. After a second a small smile comes to her face and she huffs a laugh.

“What?”

“I can’t help but think whether this would have been easier if one of us took a bullet for him.”

“Nobody else is getting shot,” John says automatically, but it’s already done what she wanted it to.

What would’ve happened if he or Sarah took a bullet for Nolan? Would they have? He’s the likelier of the two of them, probably shoving Booth out of the way and catching the stray shot in his shoulder. But then would come the exclusion, shutting Booth out even more while Sarah patches him up, her anger at his being hurt redirected at Booth for allowing it to happen. His own gruffness sharpening in an effort guilt Booth into…what? Being less himself? And with Sarah…his hands tighten reflexively on the wheel as he remembers the things he’s done to people who dared touch her, and what he might do to Booth if he were any sort of scapegoat.

“I don’t think we would’ve realized,” he says eventually, “I think it would’ve made things worse.”

Sarah hums. “Perhaps you’re right.”

As they get closer and closer to the mark’s event, he forces himself back into mission mode. There will be time to think about Nolan Booth later. For now, it’s game face time; there’s no use in thinking about what to do after the heist if they don’t get the whole thing off the ground in the first place. Beside him, he can feel Sarah sitting up a little straighter, her icier mask falling into place over her features. They join a long line of cars trailing down the block toward a blood red awning, accompanied by several masked guards and a host in long white gloves.

“Is that him?”

“That’s the checkpoint. If our aliases don’t get us past here, we’re screwed.”

“They will,” Sarah says with a comforting confidence.

John takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

Time to go to work.

***

Count Evon Madripoor does not spare any expenses. The hall is lavishly decorated, bordering on the ostentatious; crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, garlands of ivy and wildflowers forming a pseudo-vaulted look over glittering tables and an actual marble dance floor. There’s a full orchestra up on one of the landings, a conductor with an earpiece talking to someone on the dance floor. Across the way are the doors to what must be the kitchens, suited-and-booted waitstaff carrying plates laden with lobster, steak, expensive dishes the likes of which could probably finance an entire school district. It’s gloriously hedonistic and it makes no small part of John want to spit.

But of course, Arthur and Roxanne DeVale do not spit at the celebrations of their fellow elites, and so they saunter into the midst of the crowds. Sarah’s picked her dark blue dress for the evening, the one that has the tiny crystals in the skirt that make her look like some evening goddess. Another diamond sparkles at the point between her collarbones, two more from her ears. Her hair cascades over one shoulder, hiding the earpiece, the open back distracting from the slight indentation at her covered leg where the holster sits. His own suit has diamond cufflinks and tie pin, charcoal gray covering a night-black shirt. The two of them move through the throng of party-goers until they reach an unoccupied table, sitting and examining the menu in front of them. A waiter quickly comes over and offers them a wide variety of liquor to choose from.

“Gin and tonic,” Sarah orders smoothly.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“Right away, Monsieur, Mademoiselle.”

He darts off into the back and John turns to casually survey the room for anyone who might resemble the Count. He spies a few people that fit his rough description, but no luck.

“He might not be here yet,” he murmurs to Sarah as they both feign consulting the menu, “rich jerks always like to make an entrance.”

“There’s a staircase at the far end.” She indicates the carpeted marble with a slight turn of her head. “That might be where he comes from.”

“Any idea when?”

“The official start time of the party was about forty five minutes ago. I’d say anywhere from the one to one-and-a-half hour mark.”

That gives them at least fifteen minutes to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. They’ve faced far worse odds.

The waiter comes back with heir drinks and a bread bowl while they consider their meal options. Sarah refrains from taking any, elegantly sipping from her drink as her eyes travel the room. John takes a single roll, breaking little bits off to eat every once in a while. In accordance with Sarah’s prediction, it’s almost fifteen minutes later exactly when the orchestra gives a sudden musical flare and a spotlight appears at the top of the staircase.

Count Madripoor is as disgustingly overblown as John expected, right down to the golden buckles on his shoes and the gemstones inlaid along the collar pins as he spreads his arms wide.

“Friends, old, new and yet to be made, welcome to my humble little get together.”

A polite titter goes up amongst the crowd.

“Eat, drink, and be merry. Life is for the living, after all, and we have our debt to settle with the reaper upon our passing!”

He claps his hands and the orchestra strikes up again. John and Sarah each exchange a glance before casually arranging themselves to highlight the lack of food on their table. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the count making conversation with more than a few people, shaking their hands and gesturing about, slowly making his way around to the tables. Sarah finishes her drink as he approaches, arching her back just a little to send a surreptitious glance over her shoulder.

Sure enough, it takes barely another moment for the count to make his way over to their table, the faint smell of wood smoke following him.

“It seems a disgrace that there are two such fine faces at my party and I have not the faintest idea who you are.” He bows slightly. “Evon Madripoor, your humble host.”

“You are too kind,” Sarah demurs, looking every bit the blushing maiden, “Roxanne DeVale, the honor is mine.”

”Ms. DeVale. A lovely name for a lovely woman.” He holds his hand out for hers and places a chaste kiss on the back. “And you, my handsome friend?”

“Arthur DeVale. You sure know how to throw one hell of a party.”

“Ah, well, when one is born with more money than can be spent in a single lifetime, that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t try. I notice your table is comparatively empty, is none of the food to your liking?”

“To be honest, we have been struggling to choose.” Sarah peers around and leans a little closer. “And your portions look too generous for me.”

“If I may, Mademoiselle, life is too short not to enjoy good food. But if it is a smaller portion you desire, then of course it shall be made. If you are truly stumped for options, might I recommend the Chef’s delight?” He points to one of the entries further down the menu. “She has been refining her techniques for many years.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“And for you, Monsieur, do the portions daunt you as well?” The count gives him a smile that’s too intentional to not be flirtatious. “Or is there something else that keeps you from a decision?”

“I’ve had a range of these dishes before,” he says, feigning aloofness, “I’m looking for something more exemplary.”

“Might I suggest the third of the dinner platters, then. A delicacy I assure you that you would not find anywhere else.”

“Are you bothering guests into trying things again?”

They turn to see a graceful woman in a black and white suit glide up to them, giving the count a look before nodding to them both.

“Forgive him his enthusiasm, if you would be so gracious.”

“Anastasia DeVeaux,” the count introduces, “my major domo and the only reason this party is as successful as it is.”

”We’ll take your suggestions,” John says, nodding to her, “nothing to forgive.”

She nods and a whole crew of waitstaff ready themselves. She gives the count one last look that John can’t quite decipher before vanishing back into the crowd.

“If it is not too much an imposition,” Sarah asks, “would you be so kind as to join us? We could hardly bear to keep you from your celebration but—“

“Nonsense,” the count says, waving a hand, “I would be honored to. Come, come, let us talk and drink! I notice your drinks are nearing empty, come, let us get you refilled.”

What passes next is…surreal. Their food comes and admittedly, it is delicious. The count takes no small amount of pleasure in seeing how much they both enjoy it, ordering a dish for himself and engaging them in polite enough conversation. He doesn’t seem to care when they’re a little cagey with their responses, launching off into ludicrous tales of his own to give them time to eat or to decide what it is they want to say next. In a word, it’s pleasant, yet there’s this itch at the base of his spine that he can’t get rid of.

It’s when the count just about makes an innuendo that he realizes what it is: he’s leaving space for Nolan.

The pauses he and Sarah are leaving every once in a while are for his stupid quips. The laughs they feign are so he can make up the next part of the story with some playfully fond insults that he only half-means. The glances they shoot at each other stutter about halfway through because they’re missing the other person to look at. They look for him now, and the realization makes him take an extra sip of his whiskey.

This could be bad. This could be very bad.

“Well,” the count proclaims, throwing aside his napkin, “I do hope your appetites have been thoroughly satisfied?”

“You did not offered undeserved praise, you used is indeed a master.”

“Could you be tempted to a spot of dessert?”

“Not at the moment, I fear,” Sarah laughs, holding a hand to herself, “I’ve already eaten my fill.”

“And yourself, Monsieur?”

John fakes a laugh and waves his hand, mirroring Sarah’s posture. The count simply laughs and acquiesces, getting to his feet.

“I have often found that a bit of mild exercise aids in digestion,” he says, adjusting himself and bowing again, “if you would do me the honor?”

John glances at Sarah. She nods. He inclines his head and gestures to her. “Please, as long as she wants.”

“Oh, forgive me. Although I am sure the Mademoiselle is lovely—“ and here he bows again to Sarah— “I did hope that you would deign to accompany me.”

Oh.

John blinks. The count is still waiting patiently, his hand extended, and all he can hear is Nolan’s voice in his head saying I didn’t mean walk like you were going to ask me to dance.

He swallows, forces himself to smile, and takes the count’s hand.

The count leads him to an open spot of the dance floor. To John’s surprise, no one looks twice at them. The count steps carefully into his space, as if expecting him to back out t any moment, and holds out his hand once again.

”I guess that you’d be more accustomed to leading?”

“If it’s not too presumptuous of me.”

“Of course,” and he steps easily into the follower’s position, “I would be delighted.”

The count is a…well, he’s a good dancer. He doesn’t quite have the body type John’s used to leading, but he moves as easily as any dance partner he’s ever had. The only thing is that, well, now Nolan’s voice is really loud.

“Monsieur,” the count says after a few minutes turning about the floor, “if I may be so bold?”

“It’s your party, I’d say that gives you the right.”

“You are too kind.” He wets his lips and sighs. “I will be blunt. Am I a stand-in for the evening?”

John blinks, swallowing his panic with practiced ease, playing surprised instead. “A stand-in? How could you be a stand-in?”

“You and the Mademoiselle. You both act as if you are missing a piece.” He inclines his head back towards Sarah. “I am not intruding, am I? There is not a third waiting for you both?”

“No, you’re not intruding. He—“ John realizes his mistake a moment too late, but the count gives him a gentle prompt to continue and stopping now would only be more suspicious. “He was supposed to come but he couldn’t make it.”

The count makes a sad noise. “A pity, indeed. I would have liked to meet the man who could successfully charm both of your hearts.”

A sudden image of Nolan’s face makes his step falter. The court catches them easily before they bump into another couple, making it look as though John is the one steering them out of the way.

“Unless…he does not know?”

John swallows. “It’s complicated.”

“Life is complicated, Monsieur. Very few things easily gotten are worth their getting.”

“We hurt him,” John hears himself saying, “I don’t think he trusts us anymore.”

“Ah. Well. That is complicated.” The count shakes his head. “Did he know before?”

“No.”

“Truly complicated. You, Monsieur, are not one for understatement.”

John hums. They dance for a little longer until the count shakes his head.

“Life is too short, Monsieur. Too short to let complications deter you. I ask you now, regardless of the complications, or the history, does he hold your feelings? And the Mademoiselle’s?”

He thinks about the shitty apartment. He thinks about Nolan’s blood still on the back seat of the car. He thinks about Nolan’s face when he asked him to dance, how heartbroken and betrayed he looked on that beach, how he lit up when they found that vault in Argentina, how he looked when he held him out over the train tracks, and how terrified he’d been when Nolan got shot.

Fuck. Fuck, he does. God, he does.

The count smiles when John manages one jerky nod. “I implore you, Monsieur, tell him. If he is the kind of man who could charm the both of you, he is a good enough man to hear you.”

“Thank you, Count,” John says, and he surprises himself with how genuine it is.

“Please, you must call me Evon.”

“Thank you, Evon.”

Evon grins. “Tell you what: I am having another little party in a month or so, at the Louvre. Bring yourself, the Mademoiselle, and this other man, hm? Let me see the three of you with my own eyes.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

John tells Sarah. Of course he does. It’s the second thing out of his mouth as soon as they’re in the car and driving back to the apartment. Sarah just looks at him, reaches across the console to squeeze his hand, and smiles. The cocktails churn in his stomach as he puts the car in park and gets out. Sarah’s heels click behind him as he makes his way to the door, taking one deep steadying breath before pushing it open.

“Booth? We’re back!”

No response.

”Booth?” Sarah quickly comes in, drawing her gun and glancing around. “Are you alright?”

Nothing. John bites back a curse and looks around. Sarah keeps moving toward the bedroom—no sign of forced entry, no trace of the windows being opened or anything, all their stuff is still where they left it, safeguards and all. Maybe he’s passed out in the bedroom? Did his stitches pop and he could’ve fix it? Is he—

“He’s gone,” comes Sarah’s too clipped, too calm voice, “all of his things are gone.”

John races to her side and finds her staring down at a piece of paper. He leans over her shoulder. It’s the address Arlo gave them to pick up the forgery with the time and code words. Drawn under it in pen is a pawn lying on its side like the king at the end of a game of chess.

John just stares at it.

Fuck.

Nolan’s gone.

“We need to get him back,” he hears himself say from miles away, “we gotta get him back, Sarah.”

“I know,” she says, her voice still too even, “don’t worry. We will.”

He wishes her confidence brought him comfort.

#dragonbabbles #fic #red notice #the bishop #sarah black #john hartley #nolan booth

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when-i-was-your-angel · 3 years

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A Favor

James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

5,584 words

Y/N, the Avengers resident seamstress, tailors a suit for Bucky. She cashes in her favor.

NSFW: Virginity Loss, Virginity Loss as a favor, Minor Alcohol Use, Lingerie, Fingering, Oral female receiving, oral male receiving, facefucking, deepthroating, praise kink, missionary, Bucky’s metal arm, curvy reader, minor insecure reader, body worship, hickeys, angst, fluff, smut, hurt comfort ending.

Six months ago Bucky Barnes needed help. He couldn’t find a suit that fit right around his arm and having one tailored by a stranger was too uncomfortable. So, he approached Y/N. As the team’s resident seamstress, he had grown used to Y/N’s gentle hands and soft touches while she worked on various aspects of his tactical gear. This was different, though. This wasn’t work. This was a favor. Friends do favors. Bucky didn’t have friends. Especially not really pretty soft-spoken friends. But, Stark insisted he have a nice suit for some gala, so he asked.

Y/N had immediately accepted, saying it was no problem. It really wasn’t. Tailoring was her job after all. His suit ended up looking phenomenal and Bucky got quite a few compliments, making sure to tell everyone who designed his sleek black suit. Bucky offered to pay her but she refused. Bucky insisted on doing something to pay her back. They ended up agreeing that he owed her a favor.

Over the time she was tailoring him, they grew close. Y/N and Bucky were unlikely friends, but they quickly became the best of them. Bucky would bring her lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when he had nightmares he’d call her and they’d talk for hours, he brought her coffee in the mornings, and she brought him freshly made gloves every time he tore his open. They were just perfect for each other. Best friends and nothing more.

Now, six months past the gala, Y/N has decided to cash in her favor. She’s pacing her small apartment. Her faded blue jeans hugged her hips as she walked and her blouse was unbuttoned slightly more than what would be considered professional. It was seven in the evening, Y/N had just arrived home from work. She had made plans with Bucky a week ago and he would be arriving any minute. She was in the middle of pouring herself a glass of wine when a knock came at the door. Y/N rushed over to it, smoothed her hair down, and opened the door.

Bucky looked amazing. Dressed in dark jeans and that black fucking tee shirt. He had on his leather jacket and glove, but she knew he would take those off once inside.

“Come in.” Y/N moved aside to allow him access and he smiled, taking his jacket off and putting it on her coat rack. His hair had grown out slightly, no longer trimmed close to the scalp. The realization made Y/N squeeze her thighs together in anticipation.

“You want anything to drink?” Y/N asked, retreating to her kitchen to fetch her abandoned glass of white wine.

“Water would be nice.” Bucky sat on her couch, waiting for her to return. Y/N made him a glass of water just how he liked it. Cool water from the fridge with no ice. He always said the cold hurt his teeth, but she knew he hated the way the cold glass felt on his metal hand.

Y/N returned to the couch, sitting on the opposite end and tucking her legs underneath herself. She offered him his glass of water which he took with a muttered thank you.

“So, what’s this about?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his water. His left arm was draped around the back of the couch, his right arm in his lap holding his water. He had his left leg half-crossed over his right. He looked good. Casual. Like he belonged in the space.

“I wanted to cash in my favor.” Y/N couldn’t look at him. Her eyes were glued to her hands in her lap. “For tailoring your suit.”

“What, six months of the pleasure of my company wasn’t enough?” Bucky gave her a smile to try and lighten the mood but when he saw the look on her face he quickly grew serious.

“What’s up, doll? Talk to me.” Bucky leaned forward and set a hand on her knee. Y/N looked down at his hand, then at his stark blue eyes, and took a large gulp of her wine.

“Ok. So uh… the thing is... “ Y/N mumbled and trailed off, nervous beyond all belief.

“Do you need money? Is Stark not paying you enough?” After she shook her head, Bucky spoke again. “What is it then?”

“I- I need you to have sex with me.” Y/N said, looking up to meet his eyes. Bucky’s face was completely neutral. Not neutral- frozen, Y/N realized.

“I know it’s totally unfair to ask this of you but please, just listen.” Bucky gave her a barely perceptible nod.

“When I was in high school, I did everything right. I didn’t date, I didn’t party, I studied. That’s it. Then college came around and I couldn’t let loose like I wanted to. Studying and working was just too ingrained in me. So, I’ve never…” She trailed off, hoping Bucky would understand.

“Never what?” With anyone else, Y/N would’ve thought they were messing with her. But Bucky had said it himself, he couldn’t lie to her. His face was genuine.

“Never had sex, Buck.” Y/N looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails.

“You mean you’re a-”

“Yeah.”

“And you want me to-”

“There’s no one I trust more than you.” Y/N met his eyes and saw the internal battle in them. He wanted to be there for her, but he didn’t trust himself. He eventually broke the thick silence to ask her a question.

“But, you’re twenty-two. How have you never had sex?” Bucky brought a hand to rest on his jaw, looking like he was solving a puzzle.

“I’ve gotten close. My ex-boyfriend he uh- he tried a few times. But it never felt right. It felt gross and I was so nervous I wanted to puke. After I wouldn’t put out, he dumped me.” Y/N tucked her knees under his chin, curling into herself.

“Matt?” She nodded. “I knew he was a scumbag.” Bucky sat forward and took his head in his hands, running his hands through his hair.

“Why does it have to be me, again?” Bucky asked, still staring at the floor.

“Because I trust you more than anyone else. Because I know you won’t let things get weird between us.” Bucky looked up at her and smirked.

“I hoped my charming nature might’ve played into it a bit.” He gave Y/N his signature shit-talking grin. She rolled her eyes and kicked him lightly. After a few seconds the air turned heavy between them.

“You don’t have to. I won’t be mad or anything. I just-” She sighed. “I don’t want it to be some one night stand with a guy I’ve never met. I know it’s stupid but I-”

“It’s not stupid. I understand.” Bucky turned to face her and took her hand in his.

“You trust me?” He asked, his blue eyes piercing her hazel ones.

“Yes.” She answered honestly.

“Ok.”

“Ok? Does that mean yes?” Bucky laughed softly at that.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve convinced me. Let me go freshen up, hm?” Y/N gave him a smile and a nod. “Be right back, doll.” Bucky stood up with a disbelieving shake of his head and walked to Y/N’s bathroom.

Y/N took a deep breath and threw her hand to her face. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, searing her hand. She reached for her wine, forgotten on the coffee table, and downed the rest of the glass. God knows she needed liquid courage.

Bucky returned and Y/N only stared at him as he approached. Her eyes wide in anticipation. Bucky stopped inches in front of her and offered his hand.

“I ain’t taking you on the couch, doll.” Bucky said in his smooth voice. The words combined with the tone had her clenching her thighs, something that didn’t go unnoticed. He gave a small smirk as she took his hand and let him lead her to her bedroom. Once inside the room, he motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so. He kneeled in front of her and took her hands in his.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” Bucky was incredibly kind in his words, making sure she was positive.

“You’re only making me more sure, Buck.” Y/N smiled at him and couldn’t help her eyes glancing down at his lips. They were so close to hers. She looked back to his eyes and saw that they were on her lips.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was quiet and low as his breath fanned across her lips. She nodded and brought a hand to his jaw as he leaned in. The first kiss they shared was short. Barely three seconds. But when Bucky pulled away and saw her eyes half-closed and pupils blown wide, he went back for more. Their lips crashed together and all Y/N could think about was how soft he was. The pink lips on hers felt like pillows, the hands on her knees felt like clouds. His hands travelled her denim-clad thighs and reached her round hips. Bucky gave an experimental squeeze, eliciting a moan from Y/N. Bucky smiled into the kiss.

Y/N ran her hands into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. Bucky groaned and pulled away slightly, only to move his lips to her neck. He left small love bites, soothing the bruised flesh with his tongue. Y/N whimpered and gasped as he worked.

“Sensitive there, doll?” Bucky whispered against her skin. She could only nod, lost in him. He chuckled and pulled away, tugging at her shirt in silent question. She leaned back and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing baby blue lingerie. A laced corset accentuated her full breasts. There were lacy straps descending into her jeans, leaving just enough to the imagination. Bucky’s eyes travelled her form greedily. His hands came to rest on her waist, thumbs caressing the thin fabric.

“Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna kill me.” Bucky pushed his lips into hers again letting his hands roam her figure freely now.

“You next.” Y/N said between kisses as she pulled on his shirt. Bucky separated from her to pull his black tee shirt off.

“Don’t expect anything lacy, doll.” Bucky gave her a minute to catch a breath. Her eyes roamed his form. She brought her hands to his chest and let her fingernails scratch over his abs gently. Bucky gave a low groan in his throat and covered her hands with his.

“Baby… Don’t start something you’re not going to finish.” Bucky met her eyes to gauge her reaction.

“Who says I’m not going to finish? I fully plan on finishing.” Y/N gave him a smirk and scratched her hands on his chest again.

“Fuck, you asked for it.” Bucky groaned and pounced on her. Her back hit the bed and he leaned over her, caging her between his arms. She arched her hips into his and felt his erection even through both of their jeans.

“Too many layers. Need to- need to feel you.” Y/N spoke between kisses. Bucky nodded and started kissing her neck again, trailing his tongue down the exposed skin. He left open mouthed kisses on her stomach through the lace of her lingerie. He popped the button on her jeans and pulled the zipper down, slowly dragging the denim down her thighs. Once they were off her long legs, he saw the continuance of her lingerie.

Baby blue garters were strapped to her thighs, connected to crotchless panties. Glistening folds peaked out from behind the lacy material. He let out a sigh at the sight. Bucky tripped trying to rid himself of his own jeans, making Y/N giggle. His eyes snapped back to hers, amusement dancing in the blue.

“What’s so funny, babydoll?” He crawled over her again, his black boxers the only thing left restraining his aching cock. She looked up at him with a ditzy smile on her face.

“You’re a super soldier and you’re a-” Her words were cut off by a moan as Bucky’s right hand swiped through her folds, gathering her wetness on his fingers.

“What was that, doll? You were saying?” He smirked at her as his fingers toyed with her clit. She only whined and moved her hips, rutting against his hand. Bucky looked down at her heat then back to her face, lost in pleasure.

“Shit, baby. You fucking my hand?” Y/N nodded as a red blush came to her cheeks. Bucky leaned in to kiss her neck some more, letting her get herself off on his hand. She whimpered something he couldn’t quite hear.

“Hm?” He pulled away from her neck, a goofy smile on his face, feeling drunk on her skin.

“Said more, Buck. Please.” Her eyes opened to meet his, pleading want showing in the hazel hue. Bucky smiled and nodded, kissing down her body once again. Seeing where he was going, Y/N spoke.

“You don’t have to- oh. Oh.” Her hands flew to the sheets as Bucky’s tongue slipped through her folds. Bucky sat up and pulled her hands to his hair, encouraging her to pull on it. He returned to her cunt and lapped at her clit. Y/N shivered underneath his touch. All the things he was doing were new experiences for her and Bucky was making sure they were all amazing. His tongue moved down to her hole, prodding at the entrance gently. He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and brought a thumb to her clit, rubbing small circles.

“Bucky…” Various expletives and combinations of his name fell from Y/N’s lips as Bucky worked. “Bucky, your fingers. Please.” Y/N’s light gasp filled the air. Bucky nodded against her and brought his flesh hand up to tease her slit. Y/N caught the hand in her own and shook her head.

“I want…” She trailed off, the embarrassment too much.

“Want what, doll?” Bucky left small kisses on her thighs in reassurance.

“I want the metal one.” Bucky’s eyes went wide at her words.

“You- you want this? This turns you on?” He held up his hand, black and gold shimmering in the dull light of her bedroom. He had a look of pure confusion on his face. His hand was not something to be used here, with her. It was hard and cold and unforgiving, all things she was not. “Are you sure-”

Bucky’s words were cut off as Y/N took his metal hand and lifted his index finger to her mouth, wrapping her swollen lips around it. She took the finger into the base, letting the tip hit the back of her throat. She coated it with her saliva and as she pulled it away there was a trail of wetness leading to her mouth.

“Fuck… Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” He pulled his metal finger from her grip and brought it to her heat, teasing the entrance with the first knuckle. She shivered and arched her back into his touch, trying to get more of him inside her. He slowly pushed the black and gold finger in, curling it experimentally. Y/N let out a pornographic moan when his finger brushed one particular spot. Bucky smirked.

“Found you.”

He brought his lips back to her clit, alternating between short licks and sucking the bud into his mouth. His finger maintained a steady pulse, hitting her G-spot with every movement. He could feel her clenching around his finger, her pussy pulling him in further.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Bucky asked quickly, not wanting to take his mouth from her sweetness for any elongated time.

“Yes, Bucky, Please, I’m so close.” She gripped his hair, pulling on it as she had imagined doing earlier.

“Cum for me, doll. Cum all over my fucking metal hand.” The gentle vibrations of Bucky’s voice and the reminder of what exactly was making her feel so good sent her careening over the edge, holding onto his hair to keep her grounded in her body.

“Bucky! Fuck, yes. Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” Her hips moved against his face, prolonging her orgasm. Bucky moaned into her center, enjoying the view of a beautiful girl in blue lingerie riding his face. When her hips stilled and her breath slowed, Bucky pulled away, his face covered in her slick. A blush came over her face at the sight.

“You embarrassed?” Bucky asked her, coming to crawl over her again. She nodded briefly.

“Don’t be. C’mere, baby. Taste yourself. Fucking delicious.” He pulled her to him by the neckline of her corset, crashing their lips together. She licked at his lips and he moaned at the feeling. Y/N pulled away and looked up at him with her swollen lips and darkened eyes. Bucky knew she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He pulled the straps of the garters away from her body and let them snap back against her soft skin.

“This needs to go.” Y/N hummed in agreement and looked at him mischievously. She hooked her leg under his and flipped them so he was on his back. His eyes widened in wonder and confusion, silently asking for an explanation.

“Nat.”

“Of course.”

Y/N climbed off him and began pulling the various straps off her body. Slowly and teasingly, she became more exposed to him. Bucky palmed himself through his boxers as he watched, letting out small gasps every time a new segment of skin was unveiled. When she had taken the garters off, the only thing left was the corset. She reached behind her to unclip the buttons and let the garment fall to the ground. Bucky’s mouth dropped open as her breasts were finally revealed. She brought her arms to cover her chest, embarrassed. His gaze darkened and he reached his hands out, beckoning her to him. She climbed into his lap and his hands came to rest on the small of her back. He took her hands and guided them away from her chest.

“Baby, shit, why’re you hiding these?” Bucky’s hands ghosted around the sides of her heavy breasts.

“I don’t like them.” Y/N admitted honestly. Bucky’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped in disbelief.

“Y/N, believe me when I say, these are the best damn tits I’ve ever seen. Fucking beautiful.” Bucky leaned forward and captured a nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around the nub. Y/N gasped as his metal hand came up to the other nipple, the contrast between his hot, soft, wet, mouth and his cold, hard, hand making her head spin.

He pulled away from her to admire his handiwork. Red bruises on and surrounding her nipples.

“Why don’t you like them?” He looked up to meet her eyes, a softness in them she didn’t get to see often.

“The stretch marks…” Y/N looked down at her hands. Bucky pulled her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Baby. Do you realize who you’re talking to? Look.” He guided her hand to his left shoulder, shivering as her fingers ran over the scarred flesh.

“I could give a shit less what scars you have. It just proves you’re strong. That you fought a battle and came out the other side. You’re beautiful.” Bucky raised himself up to press a kiss to her lips. Y/N smiled and shook her head, a blush covering her face. Bucky didn’t know how to convince her.

“Let me prove it to you.” Y/N looked down at him. Bucky looked at her with earnest eyes. “Let me show you how beautiful you are.” Y/N was shocked at his gentleness. She had expected him to just have sex with her. She hadn’t predicted this level of intimacy. It was surprisingly… nice.

“Ok.” Y/N said simply.

“Ok? Gonna need something a little more enthusiastic than that, sweetheart.” Bucky’s words were teasing but she knew he was yet again making sure she was okay with this.

Y/N threw her head back dramatically and exclaimed: “Take me! Take me and have your savage way with me!” Bucky roared with laughter and flipped her onto her back, kissing her lips gently.

“That’ll do, doll.” Bucky kissed her neck gently and stood up.

“Wait- what’re you doing?” Y/N asked. Bucky turned back to look at her, a bashful expression on his face.

“I uh- I need a condom, doll. Unless you want a little me running around here.” Y/N let out a light laugh at the image. But something about the idea of a kid with Bucky’s eyes and her smile made her heart ache.

“I mean, I’m on birth control. And I’m clean…” Bucky looks down at his hands. There was something more intimate about what she was asking him to do.

“Yeah, me too. The serum it uh, keeps us from getting any diseases. STDs included. Lucky me, right?” Bucky gave a dry laugh and started walking back towards the bed. They were both suddenly a bit nervous. Y/N stood and took his hand, turning him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. When she got on her knees in front of him, Bucky held out a hand to stop her.

“You don’t need to-” Y/N gripped him through his boxers.

“This is a learning experience right? Teach me how to do this too. For-” She took an uneasy pause. “For whoever comes next. Can’t be giving my first BJ to a stranger.” Bucky looked saddened by that. Whatever glimmer of emotion she thought she saw disappeared and he quickly reverted back to his normal self.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want that, hm?” Y/N looked up at him expectantly. Her eyes went from his boxers and back to his eyes.

“Oh- right.” Bucky lifted his hips off the bed and slid his boxers off. His cock was at half-mast but was still shockingly large. Y/N’s eyes went wide. Gone were the nerves of a second ago. This was no longer present day Bucky, this was 40’s Bucky with all the swagger and charisma of a dashing young military sergeant.

“Like what you see, doll?” Y/N rolled her eyes and looked up at him, awaiting instruction.

“Ok, first, you’re gonna spit on your hand. Then start stroking.” Y/N obeyed. Bucky let out a loud hiss when her lubed hand touched his bare cock for the first time. She moved her hand up and down his shaft, twisting it slightly like she had seen in porn.

“Fuck, sweetie. Just like that. Now, uh, lick the tip.” Bucky was already out of breath and Y/N decided she loved this. Loved seeing him come apart for her. Y/N leaned forward and placed an open mouthed kiss on the red tip. Bucky’s hips jutted into her mouth as he moaned.

“Shit, sorry. Dunno what’s gotten into me.” Bucky looked down at her. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips were red and swollen, her neck was covered in marks that he had left… He knew exactly what had gotten into him. He just didn’t have the nerve to say it. It was times like these that Bucky Barnes really wished he could get drunk.

Y/N kept stroking his cock as she pulled away to speak.

“It’s okay. It was kind of hot.” She looked at him from under her thick eyelashes.

“Yeah? You want me to do it again?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

“Please.” Y/N replied.

Bucky groaned and brought his hips a little closer to the edge of the bed.

“You’re going to let me know if it gets too much at any time, alright?” Y/N nodded.

“Open your mouth, doll.” Y/N did, opening as wide as she could to prepare for his girth. Bucky slid his cock into her mouth. “Breathe through- shit. Breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Relax your throat.” Y/N tried her best to obey his commands, sitting back on her heels to allow him to take full control. Bucky brought a hand to the back of her head, gathering her hair before starting to gently thrust into her mouth.

“Fuck, baby. Feels so fucking good.” He looked down to see her staring up at him but the biggest shock was her hand between her thighs.

“Are you- shit, are you touching yourself, doll?” She batted her eyelashes as if to say “What does it look like?” and he chuckled.

“You look so good like this, baby. On your knees for me. Sucking- shit- sucking my cock like you were born to do it.” Bucky’s filthy words drew a moan from Y/N, sending vibrations through his cock. “Fuck! Oh- baby. Oh, god. This is gonna end a lot sooner than I’d like if we don’t stop.” Y/N made no move to pull away from him, continuing to let him fuck her throat.

“Oh, is that what you want, hm? Want me to cum down that pretty throat of yours?” Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed as another moan escaped her. A shiver ran through Bucky’s body but he tapped her on the cheek. “Nuh-uh, babydoll. Wanna see those eyes. Those fucking eyes.” Y/N batted her eyelashes and moaned again. Bucky pulled out of her mouth suddenly. She pouted at him.

“Doll- if I hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t get to fuck you. That’s the whole point, right?” Bucky took her hand and pulled her to standing so he could kiss her. He pulled away so he could see her eyes flutter open, dizzy on him. “Those fucking eyes.” Bucky said with a smirk before picking her up and setting on the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and shivered when she felt his hot length on her thigh. Bucky looked at her one last time.

“You sure, doll? I want this too, but I’ll go home with some major fucking blue balls if you’ve changed your mind.” Y/N threw her head back and laughed. Bucky only watched her, a soft smile coming across his face. How had he never noticed how beautiful her laugh was before?

“I’m sure, Buck.” Y/N arched upwards to press a kiss to his lips.

“Alright, then. What the lady wants…” Bucky reached between them and gripped his cock. He slid it through her folds a few times, gathering her wetness. Then he slowly pushed inside her with a loud groan from each of them. Bucky watched her face to gauge her reaction. A mix of pain and discomfort was painted on her features and it killed him. He hated hurting her but this is what she asked for. He continued pushing into her, inch by inch, trying to control his hips and keep from rutting into her. After a minute of tortuously slow moving, he bottomed out. A few tears had escaped Y/N’s eyes and he leaned down to kiss them off her cheek. Slowly, the look of pain disappeared from Y/N’s face.

“Bucky-”

“Yeah, doll?”

“Please, move.”

That was all it took to shatter his resolve. Bucky pulled out as much as she allowed him to, her pussy gripping him like a vice. He thrusted back into her warm depths, sighing at how well she took him.

“So fucking tight, doll. Feels fucking heavenly.” Bucky’s fists tensed in the sheets beside her when she clenched around him.

“Shit- oh. Someone has a praise kink.” Bucky muttered under his breath. Y/N nodded in desperation to hear him talk again.

“You want me to keep talking? You like it when I talk to you, baby? Tell you how good you feel? How well you’re taking my cock?” Y/N shivered and her walls tightened around him.

“Fuck, baby. You keep that up I’m not gonna last long.” Bucky propped himself up on his metal arm and reached his flesh one between their bodies, sticky with sweat. He rubbed gently at her clit as he thrusted, trying to time the rhythms together. Y/N cried out in pleasure, the sound music to Bucky’s ears.

“Are you gonna cum, doll? Be a good girl and cum on my cock, yeah? Bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum for me.” Bucky kissed her neck sloppily, biting slightly on her pulse point. Bucky’s words and the new sensation sent her over the edge. Y/N’s hands gripped her pillow as Bucky sat back to look at her. She was beautiful as she came undone on his cock. She looked majestic. Holy. Like a goddess he’d get on his knees and pray to or a queen he’d serve until his dying breath.

“Bucky, oh- baby. Just like- Oh-” Y/N shivered as her orgasm wrecked her, every thrust of Bucky’s hips prolonging the sensation. Bucky took in her post-orgasmic state.

She was a mess. Her tits were sweaty and shiny as they bounced in the dull light of her bedroom. Her neck was covered in a smattering or bruises. She seemed to notice his gaze because she reached for him, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him roughly. She looked down to where their bodies met. Bucky’s eyes followed her own and he moaned in absolute delight at the scene. He closed his eyes quickly out of reflex. Protect himself. Protect Y/N. Don’t lose control. Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his nose and his eyes snapped open to meet hers.

“Let go.” That simple sentence gave Bucky a gentle push over the edge and then he was falling. Not a hard fall with an ending that would leave him mentally unstable and minus an arm, but more of a pleasant roller coaster drop. He felt safe in her arms as he let go, shooting ropes of white cum inside her.

“Y/N- fucking hell. Baby- So fucking good.” Bucky was very vocal as his hips slowed to a stop. His cock twitched from the oversensitivity. He knew he’d have to pull out eventually, but he wasn’t in any hurry. She was wet and warm and inviting and the world outside her bedroom was cold and cruel and unforgiving. Bucky knew he’d stay there forever if she let him.

But that’s not what he was here for. Not for life, not even for the night. Just for an hour. Just until she’d had her cherry popped and she’d send him on his way like some kind of sick business deal. With great effort, Bucky convinced his body to pull from her soft depths, smearing cum and slick down her thighs. He stood and began gathering his clothes.

“What- what’re you doing?” Bucky looked back at Y/N. She had her knees tucked into her chest and was staring up at him with those fucking eyes.

“I’m leaving.” Y/N’s eyes drooped at his words.

“Oh.”

Bucky pulled on his boxers and elected to get changed out of her view- the harsh stare on his back was getting to be too much. He had his hand on the doorknob when she spoke.

“Please- please don’t go.” This time when Bucky looked at Y/N, her eyes were rimmed with tears. He dropped his clothes and ran to her, cradling her face.

“Why’re you crying, babydoll? What’s wrong?” His eyes sought hers, trying to understand what was happening behind them.

“You were going to leave.” Y/N’s tears hadn’t fallen yet. She was always so strong. Bucky wished he knew how to make her feel safe enough to be weak.

“I figured you’d want me to.” His thumb stroked her cheek.

“No. I- I want you to stay. Please stay.” Y/N’s hands reached up and wrapped around his wrists, keeping them in place.

“Then I’ll stay. I’ll stay, doll. Just please- don’t cry.” Bucky kissed her forehead and pulled her into his chest. If he felt a small wet spot growing where her head lay, he didn’t say anything.

Eventually she pulled away from him. Y/N’s eyes met his and Bucky knew then- he was wrecked. Utterly, completely, wrecked.

“Will you sleep with me?” She asked. He understood she meant sleep next to her in bed. Keep her warm with his touch and keep her mind calm with his presence. He nodded and she unravelled herself from his arms. She stood and tucked herself into her warm covers, beckoning for him to join her. Her body was naked still, but he didn’t care. Preferred it, actually. Not for any perverted reason. He had missed the feeling of warm flesh on his own. A body that wasn’t about to die underneath him. It was...nice.

Bucky crawled into bed beside her, exposing his right side for her to cuddle into if she wished. She did. She laid her head on his shoulder and ran a hand up and down his stomach, tracing invisible patterns.

“Thank you.” She said.

“Anytime.”

After a while, her breath evened out. He watched her back rise and fall. He knew he had to leave in the morning- but for now he’d allow himself to indulge in the simple pleasures of the smell of her shampoo and the way her heart beat in time with his.

#bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #smut

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter four: cham-pain

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.4K

A/N: hey, you. yes, YOU. has anyone told you that you’re pretty today? well, if not let me be the first. i can’t help but feel lovey-dovey about the love you guys have shown me on this story. thank you so much for everything. i hope you like this chapter and i hope you’ll reach out and let me know either way. big shoutout to the baes @ladyartemesia and @taetaewonderland they know why.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

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

At what point do you stop calling them shorts and start calling them panties?

That’s the question Hoseok ponders when he walks into the kitchen to find you precariously perched on tiptoes, straining to reach for something in an overhead cabinet. He lets his gaze linger over the soft skin of your legs, up to your thighs, up higher to where he can damned near see the swell of your ass peeking out from that obscene little scrap of cloth.

What he does next is probably unwise.

What he does next is approach silently from behind, pressing one hand into the small of your back as he reaches over you to get a hold of the jar you’re struggling to grab. And if he enjoys the way your body jolts with surprise beneath his fingertips or the way your hair smells when he’s this close, then that’s his business and no one else’s.

“Thank you,” you murmur, avoiding his eyes and for a moment Hoseok thinks you’re going to scold him for being so bold.

But you don’t.

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

Hoseok shouldn’t be toying with you right now and he knows it. It’s not like you’ve ever been an open book with him, but these past few days you’ve been even more withdrawn -- more in your head than ever before.

Not that you don’t have your reasons.

Shit is off the rails with your case and you’re living with a complete stranger and someone left a live fucking snake in your bedroom a few nights ago.

So if Hoseok has noticed that you walk around in a fog — that the fire he used to see inside of you from time to time seems extinguished — well, that’s certainly understandable.

But he can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to your melancholy. He can’t help but wonder if you actually hold a candle for that idiot you left reeling at the restaurant.

Hoseok can’t stop thinking about that guy.

There is a feeling he can’t shake and it’s not just the urge to beat Kang Donghyuk to a pulp. Hoseok can’t shake the feeling that beneath the dopey smile and the lazy charm and the overall benign affect, there’s something more.

Something Hoseok is determined to figure out.

So he leaves you to your cooking in the kitchen and retreats to the privacy of his room to phone Seokjin. If this piece of shit is up to something, Hoseok is going to make it his personal mission to find it.

And if he finds something?

Then Hoseok will make it his personal mission to make him pay.

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

YOU

“Amsaja -- with Hoseok. Try being nice.”

You think back to your brother’s words as you stand just outside the door to Hoseok’s room, fist raised to knock. But you don’t, at least not right away.

What is your fucking problem?

You remind yourself that you are a grown woman, not some skittish little girl. You remind yourself that Jung Hoseok is just a man.

And then you get a grip.

The door opens after one light knock. You don’t mean to stare, truly you don’t -- but Hoseok is wearing one of those goddamned tank tops again. What happened to suits all day and all night? Suits are a hell of a lot less distracting.

“What’s up?” he asks cautiously.

Your eyes dart from his face to his chest to his arms and finally settle around his neck, where a pair of dog tags hang from a silver chain. You had nearly forgotten that Jung Hoseok made a career of the military before he was one of your brother’s right-hand men.

“I made some Samgyetang,” you say lamely, gesturing to the bowl of soup in your hands.

I made it for you.

“And it’s uh, supposed to be good for a cold,” you add, when he says nothing.

Which you have.

“So, I -- ” you clear your throat, shift your weight back and forth on your feet, “ -- made some.”

For you.

Hoseok stares at the bowl like you’ve brought him a grenade instead of a meal. The puzzled look on his face makes you feel awkward, makes the entire gesture seem silly.

“Never mind,” you say under your breath, turning on your heels.

“Wait --” Hoseok calls quickly, stepping out of his room to follow you, “ -- I didn’t -- I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“It’s just soup,” you say over your shoulder, trying like hell to sound casual and not at all offended.

Hoseok keeps pace behind you into the kitchen; commands your attention with one firm hand on your arm. You turn to face him, averting your gaze from the sweatpants that hang low on his hips and the thin cotton that grips every muscle of his lean chest.

“I didn’t mean to make that weird,” Hoseok says quietly. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had homemade Samgyetang.”

You pull your arm out of his hold.

“Well, it’s there if you want it,” you shrug, brushing past him.

It’s a relief to trade the charged air of the kitchen for the uncomplicated quiet of your room.

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

Hyejin takes her reading glasses off to rub the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not even kidding about my eyesight being shot,” she sighs, reaching for her coffee cup. “It gets worse every day and the print on these depositions does not help.”

“I know,” you mumble, highlighter flying over your own set of fine print. “Sorry.”

“Hey, at least we’re in this together,” she smiles. “Right?”

Her face falls when you don’t return the gesture.

It’s not exactly a secret that you haven’t been firing on all cylinders lately. You are so worn out from the shit going on at work and the shit going on at home that it feels like you don’t have much more to give. You just want to climb into bed and sleep for a week straight.

If only you had that luxury.

Instead, you’re back at it with Hyejin today, trying to figure out a way around the missing digital evidence you so desperately need. The loss of those files was a terrible setback, but you refuse to let it be the end. You still have an entire warehouse full of confiscated guns under lock and key.

Now you just need to get your head in the game.

“You still going to the gala tomorrow night?” Hyejin asks, sipping her coffee.

So much for getting your head in the game.

“Not sure,” you murmur, underlining a key part of the testimony. “Lots of shit going on right now.”

“Yeah, I know things between you and Donghyuk got weird,” Hyejin says carefully.

You stop yourself from laughing out loud.

Donghyuk is so far down your list of fires to fight, you’d nearly forgotten him completely. You probably could forget him if you weren’t subjected to his dirty looks every time the two of you cross paths at the office. You’ve made at least two very awkward cups of coffee standing side-by-side in the past week alone -- but honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“That’s -- “ you start and stop before continuing, “ -- not really an issue right now.”

“Okay, sure,” Hyejin concedes. “Just don’t forget that I’m here if you need someone to talk to, alright? You don’t always have to take everything on by yourself.”

You stop your incessant highlighting to look up at your friend and colleague.

Concern is written all over her pretty face and for a moment you entertain the thought of opening up to her. The idea of talking about what’s going on is tempting -- like if you could share just a piece of your burden you could relieve some of the pressure inside of you. But there’s another part of you that worries that you are too pent up to let go of any of this. A part of you that feels like all it will take is one tiny crack for the entire dam to give.

You finally manage to muster one weak smile for your friend, who seems relieved to see any display of emotion out of you.

“Thanks, Hye. I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

You almost skipped tonight. Almost.

But you’d already bought a dress and the tickets were paid for and Hoseok didn’t even flinch when you told him you had to go to a black-tie event.

If only you could say the same for the moment you saw him in the living room.

When Hoseok turned at the sound of your heels on the marble floor, with hands tucked into the pockets of his bespoke black tux, you nearly forgot to breathe. All of the coordinating details, the slim-cut jacket and the perfectly-styled hair and the carefully-crafted bow tie felt like a gut punch.

You’d silently prayed that Hoseok didn’t catch the way your eyes lingered on him for just a beat too long -- or that he didn’t spot the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. The color that must have been made all the more obvious against the rose shade of your gown.

“You ready?”

Hoseok interrupts your thoughts with his usual business-like tone. The one that tells you that this inner monologue about how incredible he looks tonight is painfully one-sided.

You nod, not trusting yourself to use your words.

All things considered, the situation with Donghyuk couldn’t have gone south at a better time. He would have been your date for the night were it not for the blow up at dinner -- and it certainly would have drawn unwanted attention to have two men at your side all evening.

Though with the way Hoseok looks tonight, you imagine the attention will come anyway.

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

There are few things in life rich people enjoy more than pretending to give a shit about poor ones.

They make sport of it, jockeying for position in front of the cameras, gladly shelling out hundreds of thousands of won a plate to prove just how much they care. They spend their evenings drinking top-shelf liquor and eating top-notch catering and convincing themselves that they’re making some kind of sacrifice for the greater good.

A string quartet plays softly in the background as guests mill about, grabbing drinks and hors d'oeuvres off of passing trays. Hoseok is at your side, a glass of water in hand. He is just close enough for you to take in his heady, masculine smell -- but not too close.

You hate that he smells this good.

You hate that he looks this good.

You have tried -- and failed -- to ignore the appreciative stares he’s gotten from some of the gala guests. You already caught one woman ogling outright, gawking unrepentantly while at her own date’s side. When a cocktail server walks by with a carefully-balanced offering of champagne flutes, you grab one right away.

Hoseok, as usual, takes nothing.

You sip your champagne and watch him watching the room.

He certainly looks the part of a society player tonight in his tux, the occasional wrinkle of his nose the only indicator of his disdain for the men and women drinking and dancing around him. When a woman bumps into him while carrying a plate of appetizers, he holds out a hand to help her keep upright and she damned near melts at his reassuring smile.

“Oh, thank you,” she breathes deeply before her eyes dart in your direction.

You look away.

Not once have you ever seen this man smile, and he’s certainly never smiled at you. You turn to slam the rest of your champagne and put the empty flute on a nearby table just as another cocktail server passes with a full tray of drinks.

How fortuitous. You grab another.

There’s a few more minutes of mingling before the guests are asked to take a seat at their assigned tables. Hoseok holds out your chair and you accept.

The interaction, like always, is silent.

You look up from the perfectly staged spread to spot Donghyuk two tables away. Even from a distance you can tell his cheeks look ruddy — like he’s already had way too much to drink. He narrows his eyes when he realizes you are looking and you lift your champagne flute to tip a sarcastic salute in his direction. He scowls back.

“Miss Kim,” a deep voice interrupts your petty exchange. “What a pleasant coincidence.”

You force a smile when your boss and his wife unexpectedly fill two empty seats at your table.

“Mr. Park,” you return quietly. “Nice to see you tonight. And Mrs. Park, of course.”

Mrs. Park’s answering smile is warm and genuine, but the same cannot be said of her husband’s. Of course, the last conversation you had with him one-on-one, he’d practically thrown you out of his office. The smile on his face right now is a bit watery.

“It’s so nice to see you dear,” Mrs. Park says sweetly. “And who is this handsome fellow?”

You falter when you open your mouth to answer, but Hoseok smoothly interjects.

“Yi Sang, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

You close your mouth and turn to smile woodenly at Hoseok, who doesn’t bother to look back.

“Mr. Yi,” your boss extends his hand for a firm handshake, but a strange look passes over his face. “The pleasure is ours.”

Hoseok’s mouth pulls into a tight smile and you down what’s left of your champagne.

A couple you don’t recognize join your table before dinner is served. You do your best to appear engaged in the small talk; nodding when appropriate, smiling during the awkward pauses. But there is an emptiness in you tonight. You spend the entire meal pushing the artfully-arranged dishes around your plate because you find you have no desire for food.

The same cannot be said for the champagne, though. That’s going down quite nicely. Your server dutifully brings another flute as soon as yours is empty.

“I must commend you, Miss Kim, on forging ahead with this case,” Mr. Park says, when the plates have been cleared and after-dinner coffee is being served. “I know it hasn’t been easy after the theft of your files.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat. “Yes, well -- I’m doing my best with what I have left.”

“Of course. It’s important we do what we can to bring these low-lives to justice,” Mr. Kim says slowly. He looks from you to Hoseok with an expression that stops just short of a challenge and the champagne in your stomach seems to come to life. “Organized crime in this city is out of hand. We can’t allow Seoul to descend into chaos because of the trash making a living off of guns and drugs.”

Trash like your brother.

“Right,” you say quietly, swallowing past a lump in your throat. “I’ll do my best.”

Hoseok remains composed at your side, but you don’t miss how his knuckles go white as his grip around the water glass tightens.

Trash like Hoseok.

You swallow another mouthful of champagne.

The couple sitting next to the Parks -- oblivious to the friction at the table -- strike up a conversation about the dessert selection and you’ve never been more glad for small talk. The tension in the air slowly dissipates.

But you keep drinking.

Hoseok leans into you, lips so close they nearly brush the shell of your ear and your entire body goes still. Goosebumps bloom all over when you feel his breath against your skin.

“You should eat something,” he murmurs.

You could almost laugh at the way your stomach seems to fall with disappointment. What were you expecting him to say? Something complimentary? Something reassuring?

What a joke.

All at once you decide you need space, you need air, you need a break from the bullshit you seem to be taking from all sides tonight.

Hoseok’s eyebrows lift as you stand from your seat.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you announce to the table, “I need to visit the powder room.”

The champagne seems to hit you the moment you stand and you have to work hard at keeping your steps steady as you make your way out of the ballroom.

You would never admit it, but Hoseok is right.

You really should eat something.

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

hoseok: text me or i’m coming in [11:02 PM ]

You stand in the mirror and stare at your reflection in the dim lighting of the ladies’ room. You’ve been to dozens of these events over the years and it’s never felt as pointless and unnatural to you as it does right now. A part of you hates how much you’ve tied yourself into knots seeking the validation of these pompous assholes. So desperate to be chosen by the chosen few.

hoseok: last chance [11:06 PM ]

Another part of you hates Hoseok.

You hate his constant presence and his constant silence and his constant judgement. It always feels like he’s punishing you for some transgression you don’t even know you’ve committed. Your phone buzzes with a reminder of the waiting texts and you sigh, unlocking the screen to fire off an answer before Hoseok makes good on his threat to storm his way in.

you: i’m fine. be right out [ 11:08 PM ]

You take one last look in the mirror. Have you always looked this tired?

Before dinner -- after you’d meticulously primped for tonight -- you’d been satisfied with what you saw in the mirror. Now all you can see are the shadows under your eyes, the grim set of your mouth. Is this what other people see when they look at you, too?

A knock sounds on the door and you blow out an exasperated breath. Hoseok must be tired of waiting for you to wrap this pity party. You yank the door open with more force than intended, fully prepared to tell him to fuck off.

But it’s Donghyuk on the other side.

You stare at him.

“What do you want?” you hiss, stepping out into the hallway.

“I just want to talk,” Donghyuk says coolly, standing just a bit too close. You grimace at the smell of liquor on his breath. “You still haven’t given me a chance to thank you personally for making me look like an asshole at dinner the other day.”

“Oh, honey -- you don’t need my help to look like an asshole,” you fire back, pushing more space in between you with a firm shove of your fingers to his shoulder. “You do a fine job of that all on your own.”

His laughter blows whiskey-tinged hot air in your direction and you make a face.

“I see you upgraded the bodyguard to dinner date.”

“Shut up, Donghyuk, honestly,” you seethe. You try to step around him to leave, but he blocks you with his body.

“You fucking him now, too?”

You barely register the movement of your own hand before it’s connecting with the side of Donghyuk’s face. You barely register Hoseok’s arrival before he’s between you both, pulling you away and practically shoving Donghyuk to the floor. You barely hear Hoseok’s whispered threats and you nearly miss the way he unbuttons his jacket to ensure Donghyuk sees his gun.

The whole debacle is so fast and so surreal you could almost convince yourself you imagined it.

But there is no imagining the sting still throbbing in your palm.

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

HOSEOK

The trouble tonight started long before you smacked the shit out of Kang Donghyuk.

The trouble started when you walked out of your room in that goddamned gown. Hoseok had not been entirely prepared for you in that dress.

He had only a split second to make sure he wasn’t staring. He jammed his hands into his pockets and forced the most casual demeanor he could muster, but fuck it wasn’t easy. There were a hundred things he could have said in that moment, would have said in that moment -- if you weren’t you and if he weren’t him.

Of course, dinner was a bit of a clusterfuck, too.

Playing dress up with the city’s elites was somehow less enjoyable than Hoseok imagined it would be. The stares from tipsy society girls and the critical looks from their dates were bad enough but your boss laying it on thick with the white knight bullshit at the end was the real icing on the cake. The coded language and the veiled threats that made loud and clear he knew exactly what Hoseok was but wouldn’t say it out loud.

Hoseok saw the way you seemed to retreat even further into yourself during the exchange, silent and thinking.

And drinking.

Hoseok has only ever seen you enjoy the occasional glass of wine with meals. Tonight was an entirely different story. You were on a mission to get wrecked from the moment you sat down; forgoing food for an alarming amount of champagne. Hoseok counted four glasses down before he decided to say something.

Of course, that went over about as well as he’d expected -- and seconds later, you were walking away.

Hoseok hadn’t planned on following you to the bathroom. He hadn’t planned on overhearing the nasty back-and-forth in the hall . And he hadn’t planned on threatening to kill Kang Donghyuk at some ridiculous charity dinner. But when he saw the man get up from his seat to follow you -- Hoseok moved on auto-pilot.

There was no avoiding what came next.

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

You don’t utter a single word on the ride home.

You don’t say a word when Hoseok walks you upstairs, unlocks the door to usher you inside. He’s still securing the new deadbolts when he hears your bedroom door slam shut.

Hoseok scrubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply before loosening the bow tie and slipping it off.

Then he pulls out his phone to text Seokjin.

hoseok: you on him? [ 11:48 PM ]

seokjin: sleeping it off in his car right now. what a slob [ 11:49 PM ]

seokjin: you’re welcome btw [ 11:49 PM ]

hoseok: thx [ 11:50 PM ]

Seconds later, your bedroom door swings open so hard it bounces back off the opposite wall. Hoseok looks up from his phone just as you are storming into the living room, hands still securing the belt to the short robe you’ve just changed into.

You are positively vibrating with a dangerous energy Hoseok can feel clear across the room. Maybe you’ve been sleepwalking through these past few days, but you are definitely awake now.

And angry.

“I don’t need you to win my fights,” you fume, pointing one hostile finger in his direction. “I took care of myself long before you came along and I can take care of myself now.”

Christ, do you have any idea how little you are wearing right now?

Hoseok focuses on that accusing finger because it keeps him from staring at your legs. It also keeps him from opening his mouth and making you madder than you already are.

“I don’t need you or anyone else swooping in with that macho bullshit,” you hiss, bringing your body within inches of his. “I have had enough of men running and ruining every aspect of my life.”

Shit, do you have any idea how close you are right now?

Hoseok can smell the perfume that lingers on your skin when you’re this close. He can see how your pupils are blown wide and your cheeks are flushed with heat when you’re this close.

“Say something,” you demand, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Do something.”

Fuck, you are playing with fire.

You want a fight and Hoseok is this close to giving you one. He has to summon every ounce of his self control to keep his voice and breathing steady. He fists his hands at his sides to keep them from moving.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he replies with careful calm. “You should go to bed.”

“Or what?” you challenge, fingers reaching to unfasten the top buttons of his dress shirt. Hoseok’s entire body tenses under your touch.

“What the hell are you doing?” he says between gritted teeth.

“Checking for a heartbeat,” you murmur. “Looking for signs of life. Is there a real man in there?”

There’s a real man in here, alright, Hoseok thinks darkly. Keep pushing me and you’re going to find out.

“Of course not,” you whisper to yourself, snaking one hand into the collar of his shirt. He flinches when your fingertips brush up against the cool metal of his dog tags. “You’re some kind of robot.”

You pull the tags out from under his collar and Hoseok swallows thickly.

“Just a machine programmed to follow orders, right? My brother’s orders. The Army’s orders,” you pause to read the embossed letters on his tags. ‘Isn’t that right, Captain Jung?”

You gasp when Hoseok’s hand comes up to seize yours. His fingers circle the delicate bones of your wrist and he doesn’t let go, applying a pressure that sure as hell gets your attention.

“People like me follow orders so people like you don’t have to,” Hoseok seethes. “People like me do the dirty work so people like you can impress rich assholes at stupid parties. People like me stay behind and handle our responsibilities so people like you can walk away from yours.”

Your stare at him for a moment, eyes wide at his outburst. Then you jerk your wrist out of his hold so violently you nearly fall back with the force of it.

Hoseok freezes when your robe slides down off your shoulder. He stares when his eyes settle on the jagged scar that runs deep across your collarbone.

Fucking hell.

Hoseok traded one bloody business for another when he gave up his rank in the Army for his rank in the Gajog. He’s seen more than his fair share of vicious cuts and nasty wounds.

Whoever did that to you wanted to make sure you’d have to carry it with you for the rest of your life.

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

Tomorrow morning, Hoseok is gonna regret a lot of shit that happened tonight.

He’s going to regret not telling you how beautiful you looked when you walked out of that room. He’s going to regret going out of his way to hurt you with his words.

But most of all, he’s going to regret the moment he looked into your face and saw the anger in your eyes change over into pain.

You yank the robe back over your shoulder, cinch the belt tight — and walk away without another word.

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

tag list!

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @ppersonna @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena @strawbewymiwk @stephleee @jjeonjoon

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts mafia #bts tsundere #hoseok mafia au #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #btscreatorscorner #networkbangtan

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Satisfied, Part 30

First

~~~

She hummed softly as she walked through town with the horse miraculous. She watched people’s faces in search of some hint of recognition, but it seemed that she was still pretty obscure. Good. She didn’t want people to know that 'NightMare’ ever existed.

Outside of Harley and her crew, of course.

But, as her eyes landed on a person in the same suit as before and quickly found their way to the needle in their hands, she was beginning to wish that they didn’t know her either. She held her hands up in surrender as they neared her.

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not going to fight, just put a bag over my head and we can go.”

The henchmen looked at each other awkwardly. Apparently, they hadn’t expected a near-child begging them not to put a needle in her. They didn’t seem all too interested in going against a kid’s wishes.

She smiled as a bag was put over her head and she was picked up.

She tried to track where they were going, she really did. But after turn number 14548 she started to wonder if they were purposely going around in circles to confuse her. Eventually she tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

She was brought firmly to the present as the bag was pulled off, nearly blinding her. Her hands came up to cover her eyes again as she cursed in French.

After half a minute she finally could look up, even though she needed to squint pretty hard to do so.

It wasn’t just Harley and the Penguin. Her eyes wandered over each Rogue in turn. No one seemed to be distinctly hostile. Harley smiled and waved. The Riddler was watching her with interest, not unlike how one would look at a puzzle. The Penguin was sending her wary looks out of the corner of his eyes. Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, and Catwoman seemed uninterested.

She smiled and wrapped Harley in a tight hug. “Hey! Nice to see you again!” She chirped, making sure to keep her face in the woman’s shoulder when she said so. If they were calling for her, something must be going on. She didn’t think it was going to be pleasant.

“Nice to see you, too, darlin’.”

She stood close to Harley’s side. She was the only one reacting positively to her existence.

Marinette bit down on the inside of her cheek as she looked around.

They were in a different warehouse than before, if the box placement was any indication, but it was an abandoned warehouse. Inconvenient if they changed every time they wanted to see her, it meant her and the bats couldn’t just plant a tracker on her and plot an ambush at a random time. They probably could come by right now, but everyone was clearly on guard, probably waiting for that kind of betrayal. They’d have to wait until the Wayne Gala to capture them.

The silence stretched on and Marinette fought to urge to curl in on herself. “So... why am I here?”

To her surprise, Penguin was the one to speak up: “Nothing special, I just wanted to ask a few questions.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought I got my interrogation out of the way last time?”

He shook his head. “Different questions.”

“Okay...”

They both sat in the dust and he pulled out a set of cards. She frowned confusedly as he started separating the deck into halves.

He gave a small smile as he handed over half. “Do you know how to play War?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

She looked him up and down. He was clearly different from everyone else there. While everyone else seemed to have some sort of manic light in their eyes, his were so cold and calm that she felt a shiver run through her as he stared her down. She’d thought Harley to be the most worrying of the group, she was most likely to catch her out on a lie, but Penguin... she felt like he could figure out she was about to lie before she’d even opened her mouth.

She swallowed thickly as she shuffled her cards a bit.

They started playing, tossing the cards onto the ground. It was a simple rhythm. Toss, toss, winner takes. He waited until they got to a pretty quick pace before speaking again: “What’s your weakness?”

Her hand fumbled her card. That wasn’t at all the subtle manipulation she’d been warned of. She looked up at him, tipping her head to the side. “I don’t know. I guess I’d do anything for my friends...”

“And I’m guessing you wouldn’t tell us any of their names?”

She tossed down her card and sighed when they matched. “I. De. Clare. War.” She considered his question for a second, then snickered. “No, of course not. I’m not giving anyone anything they can use to find my identity.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I. De. Clare. War.” They examined their losses and then all of the cards were pushed to her side. “Useless ones, anyways,” he muttered, though he still seemed somewhat annoyed.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Just hoping that you would be easier since you’re a kid and new to Gotham,” he explained calmly.

She scowled despite herself. He was hardly trying at all. Was he underestimating her? Or was there some sort of secret game he was playing?

They started to get into a rhythm again. “Alright, so the friends thing is bullsh--.”

“Language!” Hissed Harley.

Penguin shot her a glare. “So the friends thing is a lie. What’re you doing this for?”

“Necessity,” she repeated her answer from last time, tossing down an Ace.

She grinned cheekily at him, up until he set down one of his own.

“Sure, obviously, no one comes to this side for any other reason. But what is it that you need?”

She pursed her lips. “I. De. Clare. War.”

“I. De. Clare. War.”

She pushed everything over to Penguin.

“So, what is it? Money?”

“Nope.”

“Revenge?”

“No!”

“Power?”

She’d been expecting the question. It didn’t save her from tensing, from the slight pause of her hand. Still, she tried: “Of course not.”

His lips quirked into a grin. He’d definitely noticed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say was cut off when Harley shoved a tray of cookies in their faces. “Here you go, darlin’s.”

Marinette smiled awkwardly and took one from Penguin’s side. Nothing personal, she just preferred if she didn’t get poisoned.

Then he grabbed one from her side.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Dang, had she guessed wrong? Or was he just trying to even out what he saw as a debt? She couldn’t really change her choice, now, though. She nibbled at the cookie. It was pretty good.

Riddler suddenly dropped down on their left, smiling. “Hey! Can I join?”

She tipped her head to the side, cookie dangling half out of her mouth as she glanced at Penguin. Even if she wanted to have some sort of buffer between the two of them, she wasn’t going to say anything. It was his interrogation, not hers.

Penguin sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He dropped his cards into Riddler’s lap. “I got everything I needed, anyways.”

Riddler beamed and took the cards from her so he could shuffle. “You up for a game of speed?”

She shrugged and nodded as she picked her deck. She picked the top few up and started organizing them. Riddler did the same. Fun.

They reached out and flipped the middle cards, and then they were off.

“Who are you?”

“Secret.”

“Were you from Paris?”

“Not every person in France is a Parisian,” she muttered irritably.

“Didn’t answer me.”

“Yes.”

She cursed in French as he beat her to a card, her hand fumbling back to her deck. She waited for him to either put down a card she could wait until he ran out of things to play. Hopefully the first, she didn’t want to get behind.

“Were you known in Paris?”

“Yes. Under a different name and with a different outfit, though.”

“Is this your first time doing villain stuff?”

He’d paused, his hand hovering over his deck.

They met eyes for a few seconds and then gave each other a nod. They flipped to a new card and the process restarted.

“No,” she said. Not a lie. She’d done ‘villain stuff’ twice before.

“Does anyone know who you are?”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered. She tapped her last two cards against her chin as he whittled his deck down to one card.

“Would you tell me who?”

“Not a chance.”

He grinned and they flipped to a new set of cards. They both glanced at their hands and then at each other. They flipped again. Marinette put down her second to last card and then they eyed each other. They flipped one last time --.

Nothing.

They both sighed and let their cards slip from their fingers. Two sevens. Club and spade. Fun.

She rested her head on her hand and then blinked as he thrust a hand in her face.

“Good game. I’d love to get to know you better.”

She tipped her head to the side as she considered this. He seemed to think of her as something to figure out, as some sort of challenge. She already had two people who knew her identity, that was already far too much, but...

She grinned and shook his hand. “I’d love to get to know you, too, Riddler.”

He smiled and started shuffling cards again.

She felt a weight drop on her and blinked up at Catwoman, who had slung herself over Marinette.

“I don’t have anything to steal,” she said calmly, popping another cookie in her mouth. She figured she’d already be dead if they were poisoned, Harley seemed the type to like instant gratification.

“Saying that because I’m a Rogue?” She purred and all Marinette could do was sigh as she was handed a deck.

“I’m saying that because you’re Catwoman, being a Rogue itself isn’t all that concerning right now.”

She pouted but her hands stopped brushing over Marinette’s clothes for something to grab. To her surprise, though, Catwoman didn’t immediately pull away from her. She just continued to lean on her as she and the Riddler restarted their game.

Five draws later, both of them were cursing.

“HOW IS THIS HAPPENING?!”

“I DONT KNOW BUT ITS STUPID!” She yelled back, tossing the cards down and resting her head in her hands.

Catwoman rubbed her back in an attempt to calm her down. Marinette would be lying if she said it wasn’t at all soothing.

“Maybe this just isn’t our game.”

Riddler chewed at a cookie irritably. She would have thought that impossible a few minutes ago, but now she completely understood.

She smiled as Poison Ivy and Scarecrow came to sit on either side of them. “Thank kwami, now we can play something else,” she muttered half jokingly.

Poison Ivy gave her a small smile as she looked at everyone. “Go fish?”

Marinette snickered. “Aren’t you supposed to be Rogues? What’s with all the schoolkid games?”

Scarecrow laughed quietly. “You’re a kid, aren’t you? Wouldn’t be right to scam you out of your money. Come back when you’re 21 and then we’ll talk.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine. Ivy, got any...”

She played miscellaneous card games until pretty much daybreak. They were all pretty evenly matched at most luck-based games, though Catwoman did attempt to ‘help her win’/cheat quite a few times.

Now, though, light streamed through the tattered blinds. She groaned exhaustedly and attempted to push the sleeping Catwoman off of her back, only to have her lean more weight into her.

She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean into the Rogue. Just a few minutes...

~~~

I actually learned this interrogation method through my mom

She’s a therapist and she’ll play quick-pace games while asking questions people would be inclined to lie about

Apparently it’s pretty good at figuring things out

Me, staring at my finally finished plotting: oh. huh. this is a LITTLE longer than i thought it was gonna be

Taglist

@comet-kun @thatonecroc @trippingovermyfeet @swiftie-miraculer13 @nickristus-dreamer @moongoddesskiana @i-am-ironic @indecisive-mess-named-me @thebooki3h @insane-fangirl-of-everything @deepestobservationwombat @theymakeupfairies @fatimaabbasrizvi @clumsy-owl-4178 @fanofalittletoomuch @iamablinkmarvelarmy @nathleigh @lilkymilky @silvergold-swirl @dino-lovingreen-angel @thestressmademedoit @kissa-chan @ladybug-182 @alysrose-starchild @t1dwarrior-of-earth @spyofthenightcourt @rowanrouge @nik-nak-3 @momothefemur @aestheticnpoetic @labschaos @our-preciousss @mochinek0 @eliza-bich @mythogaychic @severelyenchantedwonderland @sashakoi @smolplantmum @bluesimani @tropestropestropes @kitsunebell @keepingupwiththemalfoys @sassakitty @2confused-2doanything @too0bsessedformyowngood @all-mights-asscheeks @demonicbusiness @meg-an-ace

#timinette #timari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #maribat #satisfied

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chromium7sky · 4 years

Text

The Devil wears Armani | chapter 12

A/n: I'm really sorry for the long hiatus of this au 😭. Finally got some spark about this update and I hope you guys enjoy it. Btw, guess who finally meet Raven? 😆😆

Raven finally reached her home after outing and small reunion with Karen. She remove her heels awkwardly as she yawned. It was a long night.

She tell Karen everything about what happen between her and Damian and of course minus the intimacy in his office.

-flash back-

Karen land her chin on her palm propped on the table as she listen to Raven's story. "You know, this is an interesting story though but did he knew about Melchior?"

Raven narrowed her eyes. " Why would I mention that jerk? Besides me and Damian still haven't declare about our relationship, I mean, he does flirt me back. Not to mention we did kiss..." Raven stop at the kissing part.

"Men can be complicated sometimes." She sighed as she take a bite from the cake she ordered.

"Couldn't agree more since I'm about to marry one." Karen wiggle her fingers that had betrothed ring on it.

Both designer and ex model giggled.

"I...I just hope Damian is serious about it. I'm quite invested my feeling for him." Raven chewed her lips.

"I hope so, Rachel. I hope he does." Karen smiled.

- end flashback-

Raven sighed on her bed after she change her clothes into night gown. "Gotta get some sleep because I'm going to meet him tomorrow. Should I ask again about us?"

Raven's mind wander about the golden question, her eyes start to droop as the cold night beckons her to the land of morpheus.

--------

Damian watched the E! Entertainment as he tidy up his studio to catch up any news on fashion industry then the anchorman, Josh Dirkmann said about a known designer from Europe came to town known as Melchior Draco.

"Melchior?" Damian arched his brows. Another designer in town? Maybe there's an event? And as soon as the reporter had some short interview with the silver hair gentlemen with black suit.

"So what makes you come to Gotham?" The reporter pointed the mic towards the designer.

"Well, a big company invited me to launched both of our collaboration and they said Gotham fit the aesthetic." He answered as he tug his silver hair behind his ears which earn a sneer from Damian as he watch the interview.

"Do you know Raven the designer?"

" Oh, yes. We did compete each other in Paris Fashion Show. She won first while I won second. It was a tough decision for the judges. Just so you know, between you and me, we kinda close during that time." Melchior slip out some interesting info towards the reporter.

The reporter almost gasped and demand for more answer but Melchior quickly waved away and walked towards the hotel lobby.

Damian quickly grab the remote control and closed the show.

" What do you mean close each other?" Both of his eyebrows knitted together. He closed his eyes and throw the remote at the couch. "It doesn't matter."

-------

Raven now in mess. The phone call came in nonstop just because of a statement when Melchior mention that both of them were close and the paparazzi possible sniffing out a scandal.

She sighed and landed her head on her desk. A hard knocking landed on her door makes her jolted. " Come in." As she turn her head towards the door.

Mona came in a hurry with an apologetic face. " Miss Rachel, I forgot to inform you that there will be a journalist came for your gala interview today. I'm really really sorry." Mona bow her head.

Raven stare blankly at Mona while her internal having conflict. 'First it's was Melchior statement and now interview? What...what should I do?'

Her palm start to sweat but quickly she fist up her hand. " When will be the journalist comes?"

The assistant girl check through her tablet. " In two hours."

"Who from where?"

"Jonathan Kent from Daily Planet, ma'am."

"Oh?" The same journalist who interview her winning success in fashion show. " Well, make sure escort him to my office and prepare our boarding room. Easier to execute it in there." Raven gives a stern order.

Mona nodded her head vigorously then quickly exit her room.

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

She straighten her back as she heard a knock. She breath in. "Come in."

"Ms. Rachel!"

"Mona."

"A journalist came to meet you for Wayne's Gala interview." She gesture her hands towards a young man with curly hair and those prominent square glasses. "Mr. Jonathan Kent."

"Ah, Jonathan. Hi! It's been a while." Raven stretch her hand towards him.

Jon adjust his specs then handshake with her. "Thank you for letting me interview again , Ms. Roth." His face display his friendliness towards her.

Mona bowed her heads and quickly went out of her office. "How about we bring this interview to boarding room? More comfy?" Raven suggest about changing place.

"Yeah, you're right." Jon nodded.

Raven stood up and escort Jon to the meeting room for more proper place to interview.

She open the light switch and pull out a chair. " You can sit here."

"Ah, right, thank you." Jon smiled sheepishly as he pull the leather chair and sit, opposite with the owner of AMZ company.

" So, how long does this interview lasting?" Raven asked him as soon as she's in her seat and lean on the table with both of her hands propped on her chin.

"Well, not long, more or less 10 minutes." The journalist smile sheepishly. "Anyway..." He pull out his notebook, voice recording and a pen."Let us start with, how long you know Damian Wayne?"

"Well...since I was freshly involved in this industry, Mr Wayne offered me to promote myself at Gala." Raven calmly answer as she tried to cover Damian from being involve with fashion drawing class back in those days.

Jon then stopped the voice recording which made her jolted then adjust his specs. "You are the one who have the same class with him right?"

Raven almost gasped but she quickly act nonchalant as she tried to deny it . "Are you try to dig something from me, Mr Kent?"

"Ah, yes. Such as wanted to know more about Dami's secret girl." He smiled.

Dami? Her eyebrow arched as she heard the name. Why in the world he would address Damian that way? "You must be mistaking. We were only in term of business."

"Seriously? I thought you guys were serious." He's moping. "He did ask me about how to flirt a girl too. Man, he's really an emotional constipated." He laughed. "Besides, Dami said he haven't meet her in 3 years after he's graduated."

Raven with her eyes wide as she heard it from him. "HOW DID YOU KNOW ALL THAT?!" She quickly rised from the desk.

Jon jolted as he seen her reaction. " Ah, I guess that's why he keep a secret about his girl." Sweat drop start to rolled down on his forehead. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. Let me introduce myself again."

Jon straighten his back and stretch his hand. "Hi, I'm Jonathan Kent. Dami' s childhood friend and school mate, same goes with roommate at uni and currently, a journalist." He smiled.

Raven tried to process all the information at once and it takes a few moment. "So, you are Damian's close friend?" She point out with as she narrowed her eyes.

"That's right!" Jon's smile getting wider.

"Ah, hello." She slowly put her hands on him which Jon grab it and makes a several shake as he excited to met her.

"It's really pleasure to meet you by the way! For sure if Maya and Colin knew about you they will be screaming or teasing him saying Dami has finally grown up!" He laughed.

Raven sit on her chair with unsure feeling. First the confession, then his childhood friend meet her, and then what? A wedding? She press her lips into a thin line.

"You know, Dami is not that kind of guy when it comes to women. He always thought they were hyenas." Jon chuckled.

"Hyenas?" Raven puzzled. "What's with hyenas?"

"Ever since he lives in Gotham, he always seen his father been in and out with other women who prey for money. Still, poor him having lack of parent's love." Jon sighed.

That explain why he's being hard on anyone. Raven attentively listen to Jon's story. "You know, he has pets like a zoo at his house. From cow to snakes. I remember when I came, This Alfred the cat always sulking and threaten to scratch me."

"An animal lover? That much?" Both of Raven's eyebrow jumpy as she heard it. She could imagine if Damian standing on the field, as birds will land on him, it either makes him look like Disney princess or a scarecrow.

"Most of them are animal rescue." Jon nodded.

"I see..." Then Raven suddenly remember something. "How did Damian took fashion drawing class by the way?"

"Actually we suggested to him. I mean seriously, you haven't seen his potrait and figure drawing, Those are amazing! He most likely to observe the surrounding and draw on his sketch book while on his free time."

Wait. Does that means Damian has a secret sketch book like her? Raven unconsciously put her hands on her lips.

"Still, what makes you suspect it was me? I mean we haven't contact it for a while."

"Other than he told me that he haven't met her in three years, I've seen a drawing that looks just like you at his studio." Jon smiled.

There it is.

Raven sighed and there's a slightly red tint on her ears.

"Why you haven't contact him when he's in middle east?" Jon asked curious question.

"It was because when I know that he's Damian Wayne, I..I was screwed. I mean, Wayne as in Wayne Enterprise. The biggest contributor on east side. Me? I'm just, just an orphan girl who try to rise my own feet."

"Oh?"

"My mother died when I was 14. I still don't know who were my father is and all I got is this necklace from my mother." She showed the necklace to Jon.

The young journalist seems to be fasinating with it's design. "I wonder where did your mother got this?"

Raven sighed as she try to remember. " I'm not sure. All I remember that it's been in heritage for years."

"I see." Jon rubbed his chin. "Well, Maybe you should hang up with us sometimes. I'm sure Colin and Maya would love to see you." He smiled.

"The thing is, Jon. I'm still unclear about between us." Raven chewed her lips.

"Ah nonsense, he really likes you. I can see from the way he look at you."

"Is it? Wait, where did you saw him see me?"

"I think it was two day before?"

Raven slap both of her cheeks. OH MY GOD, HE SAW BOTH OF US KISSING.

"And don't worry. I won't tell a soul, though, I've been warn by him and probably will be dig out by Colin and Maya." Jon widen his smile as sweat start to rolled down on his cheek."Dami has been my friend of more than a decade. I understand the way he express himself."

Raven nodded slowly. " Jon, a question."

"Yeah?"

"Since you are a journalist, do you know anything about Melchior?" Raven voice change to serious tone.

"That Silver Blond guy?"

"Yeah."

" I heard he's having collaboration with a big company. However, another speculation I heard that he choose Gotham because of its mysterious aesthetic."

"Well, uh, there's something I heard during interview. He claimed that we were close during the fashion show competition."

Raven as stared at the desk.

"Been wondering myself too. Are you close to him?" Jon's curious eyes start to lit.

"We do only for a while but the thing is he stole my design during that time which I never forgive myself for letting me get fooled by him." Raven sighed then she looked at Jon. "Wait. Don't tell me you're going to put this on paper?"

"Wait, I get it." Jon again propped his hand on his chin. "No wonder I've seen familiarity design between both of you. Plus you're having a hard time too."

"Uh, Jon?"

"I think I found something to investigate." Jon's mischievous smiles start to paint on his face.

"Now you act like Damian."

"Damian is more hardcore. I'm still on the average level." Jon beamed his happy face on her.

"Well, I think our interview stopped here. Besides, I need to cover some story from Me Wayne itself about the gala."

"Dami?"

"Yep."

"So, nice to meet you, Ms. Rachel Roth. It's been a pleasure talking to you."

"It's been a pleasure to spill tea with you." Raven smug.

Jon blinked then put on his mischievous smile.

-------

Somewhere in his office, Damian sneezed for no reason. " Is it me or is this office are getting colder?" He looked at the air ventilation.

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grace-sully · 4 years

Text

Drunken Confessions

* this is not my gif; all credit goes to the owner.

Pairing: x JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Warnings: Just drunk people and bitterly sweet

Word count: 1,688

Requested: yes! -“Hi can you do one where the reader is John B’s sister and she has to pick the other Pogues up after they were all drinking and they all end up going back to the chateau and JJ drunkenly confesses that he likes her and then cute fluffy moments occur with her and JJ?”

Summary: Your brother, John B, calls you to come and pick him and the Pogues up, and a very drunk JJ finally confesses his feelings for you

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Y/N you need to pick us up, Kie’s Parents just got back and Pope’s passed out, he needs to stay at ours” your brother, John B, begs down the phone. It was around 3 in the morning and you were really not in the mood to deal with them all right now, but not wanting them to get into trouble by the cops on the first day of summer, you told John B to hold out while you made your way to them.

There had been other times when you had to be pulled from your slumber by your older brother and his friends after a night of drinking, smoking and mischief. It was irritating as you had work and school school usually and didn't get back to the chateau until late, and had to be up early for a shift the following morning, but at least you knew after the end of the night he and his friends would be home safe at the end of the night.

It was the start of the summer and the mischievous group of Pogues wanted to start the summer off big. Kie’s parents were out at some kook gala for the night so they all decided to start a campfire and spend the night drinking, smoking and hanging out together. However by the call your brother just made to you, they obviously weren't expecting her parents to be back so soon.

You grabbed a random pair of sweats and a hoodie that were lying on your floor, grabbing the keys to the camper that were sat on the kitchen counter and began the drive over to Kie’s house.

The drive wasn’t too long and all too familiar as you have gone to her house thousands of times to collect your brother and his drunken friends in the past. The town was eerily quiet driving from the cut to figure 8, compared to how you would usually see it during the day.

Driving up to Kie’s house, you spotted your brother and JJ trying to drag Pope along the sidewalk. He wasn't passed out anymore, like John B had said over the phone, but he still wasn't completely with it either.

You pulled up to the curb, seeing the boys turn and look in the direction you came from.

“Jesus, If he pukes in here, he’s cleaning it up.” You stated, getting out of the car, watching all the men struggle to support each other on their wobbly, drunken feet.

“Y/N! You’re here!” JJ yelled, dropping Pope’s arm and running up to you, leaving John B to try and lead Pope to the car on his own.

As JJ reached you, he threw his arms around your frame. You hugged him back, fighting back a smile. Telling him to jump in the front seat while you took over where he previously was, helping John B put Pope in the back of the camper.

You and John B finally had Pope’s whole body into the car and directed your brother into the other seat, while you jumped into the driver's seat.

Getting into the camper, you saw JJ play with the dancing Hawaiian hula girl that sat on the dashboard of the camper, rambling to himself about something you couldn't make out.

“Guess you both are staying at ours, as always?” you asked as you turned around to look at John B for conformation, he simply just nodded and closed his eyes, trying not to puke.

The drive was the same as always, with a slight hum from the radio of some random summer song that got played 20 times a day until people hate it. JJ talking endlessly to whoever would listen, which you didn't mind as you could listen to him all day, and the other two in the back just wanting to be somewhere stable to lie down and sleep off the endless amount of alcohol that was running through their body.

Once you were back at the chateau, you made all three boys go inside, directing Pope and JJ to the pull out sofa bed in the living room, while you helped your brother into his own room.

“Right, if you need to puke, please don't do it on the floor again, it was hard enough last-”

“Y/N, I know I know. Go get some sleep, i’ll be fine.” You opened your mouth to protest him, but he began to close his eyes and drift off. You made sure he was settled and sighed, grabbing a spare blanket from the wardrobe before walking out to the living room where the other two drunken idiots were.

Pope was already passed out, snoring away, and JJ was sitting on the edge of the pull out trying to take off his shirt that was currently caught, ceasing him to get it past his head.

“What are you doing?” you stood puzzled watching his movements holt as he heard your voice.

“It’s stuck” he whined while dropping his arms, leaving the shirt around his head.“Arms up,” you huffed, walking up to him, standing between his legs and helping him, removing his shirt for him.

Once it was successfully removed, you placed it next to him on the pull-out, pushing him back by his shoulder so he was led on his back, looking back up at you.

“Right, sleep now, it's late” you said sternly as you began to walk back to your room that was situated between both the living room and John B’s room, so if anyone needed you during the night, you would be right there.

Walking back to your room to begin getting ready for bed the second time that night, you heard JJ snore over dramatically, as if he was asleep, making you giggle.

Settling in your bed and closing your eyes, silently begging for sleep to come to you quickly so you can at least get a few good hours of sleep in before you have to be up for your next shift.

Just as you were about to drift off, you heard the squeak of your door opening.

“Psst, Y/N.” You peeked an eye open and sighed as you saw JJ standing at the threshold of your bedroom door, illuminated by the moonlight that was peeking in through the windows of the chateau.

“JJ, what are you doing, why aren’t you asleep?” you asked him quietly as to not wake anyone else up.

He walked further into your room and crouched down next to you, his eyes slightly drooping from tiredness but a huge smile still plastered across his face. You sat up and turned on the light beside your bed to see him better.

“I was lonely,” he said with a pout on his face, “and I couldn't stop thinking about you,” JJ’s eyes widened as he realised what he had said and who to, slapping a hand over his mouth to silence himself.

“Oh shit, wasn’t meant to tell you that”

You giggled and bit down on your lower lip as he continued to ramble to himself. You had always thought JJ was the ideal package, funny, caring and had a heart of gold but you never dared tell anyone that, he was one of your brother's best friends, it could never work.

You placed a hand over JJ’s mouth to stop him rambling, his eyes widening as you silenced him. “JJ it’s okay,” you reassured him.

He nodded in response and licked the palm of your hand, making you gasp and removing your hand from him, wiping it on his shoulder as he threw himself over you and onto the other side of your bed next to you”

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, turning your body to face him on the bed. He led down on his side facing you.

He nodded with a cheeky look on his face, wiggling his eyebrows as he watched you.

It went silent between you two as you gazed at each other. He lifted a hand and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, letting his thumb linger on your cheek stroking your skin gently.

“Um, I better get back to Pope and the pull-out,” he mumbled as he began to lift himself up to head out of your room. You quickly grabbed his forearm, stopping his movements, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he looked to your hand on his forearm and then to your face.

“You don't have to go,”

“But i might ruin this, and i want this to be perfect,” he mumbled, his cheeks burning red.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He paused for a second as he settled back down beside you. His hands settled on the mattress between you too.

“Well,” he paused all around the room, anywhere but at you, “I want to take you on a date, a real fancy one. Not like at the wreck or something, somewhere where you can wear a fancy dress that makes your body look incredible and that red lipstick that I don’t know what to do when you wear” he chuckled, looking incredibly anxious waiting for your reply.

You place your hand in his, getting his attention to look at you. His eyes widen in shock, not expecting you to accept what he plans with you.

Giving in to your temptations, you lent across the bed and pressed your lips to JJ’s.

As his lips attempted to catch up with his brain, he soon began to lose himself in you, pulling you closer to him, wrapping one arm around your body, bringing you closer, and keeping the other on your cheek, weaving his fingers into your hair.

After a few minutes, you pulled away ever so slightly, your lips brushing over JJ’s as you spoke.

“I'd like that,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, JJ gave you a lopsided grin and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Still having his arms around you, you settled into his chest and fell asleep smiling, excited to wake up in his arms in a few hours time.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog and leave some love <3

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downbytheouterbanks · 4 years

Text

Happy Place (Rafe x reader) pt 3

part 1 & part 2

The second Sarah walked into her room and caught sight of you sitting cross-legged on the floor, with the same confused look that you had when she was teaching you how to use a tampon, she knew it was go time. She immediately mirrored your position and sat cross-legged in front of you, her presence made you somewhat snap out of your daze.

“Honey, what’s got your panties in a twist? Do you need a lesson in Diva Cups now?” Sarah joked, trying to lighten your mood so you would open up to her. She was successful has she earned a soft chuckle from you. Sarah had her hands placed on her knees and you grabbed them, holding her hands in yours as you looked at her with the most serious expression she had ever seen grace your face.

“Sarah, I’m going to tell you something and you have to promise to not get mad at me and unfriend me because you are my best friend and also like my only friend on this island and I would spontaneously combust if I didn’t have you in my life.” You let out while holding eye contact with Sarah.

“Why would I get mad?” Sarah asked as she quirked her head to the side, not understanding your urgency.

“Sarah I need you to say you won’t get mad and promise me.”

“I won’t get mad, I promise, here,” She takes both of her hands from your grasp and holds out her pinkies to you, “double pinky promise.” She says with a comforting smile. You lock your pinkies with hers, dramatically placing a kiss on both of your hands, complete with a “MWUAH” after each kiss. “Now spill, missy!”

“Okay, so remember when we were younger and we talked about how in all the cheesy romance movies we used to watch, every couple had like a moment? You know like the moment they realized they have feelings for each other?” Sarah nods her head, signaling you to get to the point. “Well, I think I just had a moment.” Sarah’s eyes went wide and she gasped.

“Oh my god, with who?”

You took a deep breath, not happy that you have to admit it out loud since she couldn’t piece the puzzle together, “With Rafe.” Little did you know it was at that moment that Rafe was walking by Sarah’s room, and at the sound of his name coming from your voice after what just happened between you two, how could he not eavesdrop?

For the first time in her life, Sarah had no words to say. And that made you panic, launching into a word vomit explanation.

“I mean it’s not like I came onto him or anything and he didn’t come onto me either! It’s just you were still in the shower and my sunburn was bad and I needed something to put an end to the fire that I was feeling and I could reach my back to put the aloe gel on myself so I asked Rafe and he didn’t mean to see my tits, that was my fault I didn’t see the mirror! But he looked away really fast and then everything was fine until he breathed on me and I think I moaned? Not like because I wanted him or anything-GOD NO! It was just he breathed on this one spot and then it felt good and then the next thing I know, he’s helping me put my shirt back on and then we are just kinda holding each other and I thought I was just thinking but I said something out loud and I REALLY WISH I HADN’T because honestly, I don’t think I can look at him the same-” and with that, Rafe decided he didn’t need to listen anymore, he backed away from the door, retrieved a bottle of whiskey, and retreated back to his room, which he did not plan on leaving until you were gone. What Rafe didn’t hear was how you finished your ramble.

You had continued on to say, “like I think I’m attracted to him but I don’t want to pursue anything if he doesn’t feel the same way and especially not if you aren’t cool with it.” As soon as those words left your mouth, you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath.

“You really had a movie moment with him?” Sarah softly asks, and as you open your eyes you are met with a look of hesitation and doubt from your best friend. “How do you know?” You look around the room, trying to formulate your next words.

“This may or may not make sense but like when he held me like so close to him and then I looked him in the eyes, it was kind of like everything was still like I was absolutely paralyzed but like I could feel butterflies everywhere.” There is a moment of silence after you say this and you still refuse to meet Sarah’s gaze until she gives your hands a squeeze. When you look at her, she has a soft smile on her face which you return.

“That sounds really special,” She says and all you can do is sheepishly nod, “but like my brother, really?” At that, both of you get lost in a fit of giggles. When the two of you finally catch your breath Sarah hesitantly asks, “So what are you gonna do?”

“I mean in all honesty, I didn’t really think that far because I don’t want to mess up our friendship or my friendship with Rafe.”

“(Y/N),” Sarah says in a serious tone, “I don’t think there is anyone else on this planet who could balance out my brother. As long as you don’t ditch me for him, I’m okay if you want to see where it goes. I mean you said you had your movie moment and that is something that we have both been dreaming about, what kind of friend would I be if I made you miss out on that?”

Sarah and you still had chick flicks to watch and pizza to eat, however, so any business with Rafe, you promised would wait until the next day. When the morning rolled around, you and Sarah lounged about in the kitchen, Sarah making her famous banana pancakes (they’re only famous because it is the only food she can make from scratch), patiently waiting for Rafe to be lured out of his room by the smell of breakfast so you could talk to him. Ten am quickly turned to eleven am and Rafe still had not made an appearance from his room, you were starting to get anxious because you promised your parents you would be home by noon so you could help your mom get ready for the gala that was being hosted at the country club later that evening.

“Maybe just go knock on his door? He could still be asleep.” Sarah suggested as a last-ditch effort, you were starting to panic and feel that maybe you over-romanticized everything that happened in your head, maybe he didn’t get those same butterflies that you did.

“Okay, wish me luck.” And with that Sarah shot you two thumbs up before you made your way up the stairs, your pace slowed as you approached the door, trying to prepare yourself for every possible situation. When you finally found yourself standing in front of his door, you took a deep breath and then knocked, “Hey, Rafe, sorry if I’m waking you up but I… I uh just wanted to talk to you. I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday.” You waited for any kind of response and when nothing came, you knocked again, “Rafe? It’s (Y/N).”

On the other side of the door, Rafe laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was debating. Should he just ignore you? Would you go away if he just stayed silent? He decided to see how his silence would play out. You tried knocking one more time and even tried his doorknob but he locked it last night so it didn’t budge. After trying the door he heard your footsteps retreat, “finally”, he thought to himself.

You grabbed your stuff from Sarah’s room before making your way back down the stairs and into the kitchen to tell Sarah. She tried to tell you that maybe he had his AirPods in or she also assured you that he could be a REALLY heavy sleeper sometimes, but you just took it as a sign. You thanked Sarah for having you over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading out the door of the Cameron house, saying that you’ll text her when you get to the gala tonight so the two of you could meet up because even though her parents weren’t there, Sarah and Rafe still had to go and represent the name.

Your walk home consisted of you trying to talk yourself out of the romantic fantasy you had built up in your head, trying to cushion the blow of rejection. It’s not like you liked him for that long, right? It’s been maybe ten hours since you started feeling something towards him. Maybe it’s just a harmless attraction. He is hot, there is no denying that and you have never been in that kind of contact with someone you found attractive before, so maybe your brain just shut down when he touched you? That could happen, scientifically speaking, right? By the time you crossed the threshold of your house, you were emotionally drained from all your inner monologue and you despised your attraction to the male species.

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

You finished slipping on your heels as your mom appeared in your doorway, “Hey, sweetie, are you sure you want to drive separate?”

“Yeah, I just want to have some time to myself to mentally prepare for this. Plus, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last at this thing.” Your mom nods and lets you know that they were leaving now and would see you there.

Your parents left and you got up to approach your mirror, your emerald green gown complement your complexion and the freckles that had begun to pop up all over your skin from being in the sun. You felt elegant, the shape of your dress was classic and the fabric draped over your skin. You felt sexy, the dress was constructed with a deep-v showing just the right amount of cleavage and with a deep-v that left your still sunburnt back exposed. You felt free, the dress held you in above the waist without constricting you, and then the skirt held excess folds of fabric that could billow in the wind and expose your entire right leg from the well-hidden slit.

You couldn’t wait to see what stunning outfit Sarah had chosen so you sent her a quick text as you made your way out of your house letting her know you should be at the country club, ready to dance to crappy music and eat flavorless food in about 15 minutes.

Sarah was waiting for you outside, a stark white gown adorned her figure, making her sunkissed skin stand out. She dorkily pretended to be a paparazzi, using her hands to mimic taking pictures of you as you made your way to her. You shook your head and giggled before mustering up the most dramatic model strut, and when you finally got to her she yelled, “pose for me!” You just giggled at her antics and linked your arm with hers, and she led you through the crowd inside the building, introducing you to people who you didn’t already know, but more importantly, leading you to the buffet outside.

Sarah and you made your way outside, the large patio of the country club had the food buffet on one side and the open bar on the other, separated by the dance floor littered with people of all ages acting as an obstacle between the two necessities of the night. Upon seeing the food, the two of you wasted no time, desperate to see what sustenance there was, on the other side of the dance floor by the bar, your entrance was noted. Rafe stood with Topper and Kelce, “eyeing what company was up for grabs tonight,” as Topper had put it.

Rafe’s eyes landed on you the moment you had stepped outside, he sucked in a breath, stunned by how gorgeous you looked. Topper had also taken note of your entrance, “Damn, that new girl is something else. Did you see the slit in her dress? What I wouldn’t give to run my hand up her leg and-”

“Topper, watch what you’re saying, she’s my sister’s best friend.” Rafe cut him off, jaw clenched.

“Oh damn, she’s been hanging with Sarah? Lucky you, man, I mean look at her!” Topper exclaimed gesturing to the buffet area where you and Sarah now stood, “Like she has such a nice rack on her-” Rafe clutched his whiskey glass tighter, “I could just imagine how perky they would be-” Rafe clutched his whiskey glass TIGHTER, “I just want to like get my head right in there y’know? See how hard I could get her-” Rafe’s grip on his glass was fatal, it shattered in his hands, causing Topper to stop his rambling and turn to him.

“What the fuck, man?” Was all Topper could let out before Rafe decked him.

“I told you to watch what you’re saying, man.” Rafe had grabbed Topper by the shirt and now held him close enough that he got spit on Topper’s face as he said those words through gritted teeth.

“Well, you should have said that you were pussy-whipped instead,” Topper said as he pushed Rafe off of him. That was the moment everything went to shit.

You and Sarah’s heads had whipped around to the bar at the sound of the glass shattering and at the moment Rafe punched Topper, THE FIRST TIME, you began weaving your way through the mass of people keeping you from him.

You had lost sight of the fight as you navigated the crowd, you just kept praying the sounds of brawl would stop. When you finally broke through on the other side, you let out a relieved sigh as a group of people tore the two guys apart.

“Rafe?” You timidly let out, biting your lip as soon as his name left your mouth.

His head snapped over to where you stood, your face was ridden with concern, he watched your eyes rake over his body, almost as if you were doing damage control. When your eyes came back up to meet his, you saw shame swimming in his pretty blue eyes.

You spoke, again, but this time more sure of yourself, “Rafe, wanna come with me to get some air?” He nodded his head and you approached him, signaling the guys who were restraining him to let him go. You held out your hand for him to grab and then you wordlessly led him from the stunned crowd of onlookers and out to the parking lot, as you approached your car you used your free hand to grab your car keys from the pocket in your dress. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go to open your passenger side door for him and then heading around the car to the driver’s side. You put the key in the ignition and started the car, music from the radio flooded the space and the air conditioning blasted a much needed cool breeze onto the both of you.

You just sat there, your hands resting on the steering wheel, looking forward, you didn’t know if you should look at Rafe or not. Taking a deep breath in and out, you moved your right hand from the wheel to the gear shift and put the car into reverse, when Rafe spoke up, “What are you doing?”

“I’m driving”

“Why?”

“We can’t sit in the parking lot anymore.”

“Why?”

“You’re hurt and bleeding and need to be cleaned up.”

“Oh.”

“I was honestly expecting you to say “why”, again. You have a really good impression of a 4-year-old, you know that?” You heard him chuckled softly at your remark and quickly stole a glance at him as you were driving, a soft smile sat on his bruised and cut up face. Silence washed over the two of you, again, the only sound was coming from your car, the blowing of the air conditioning, and the soft hum of the radio.

“You just drove by my house,” Rafe pointed out the car window and looked at you, puzzled.

“Yes, I know. You’re coming back to my place.” Your answer was met with a sigh from the boy in your passenger seat.

“You know you don’t have to do this, I’m a big boy who can take care of himself.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his response.

“Well, one, I would think that a BIG BOY would know not to get into fights with someone who seemed to be his best friend. And two, I don’t trust you to be alone right now, you are being far too quiet which means you have a whole bunch of emotions stirring up in you.” Rafe scoffed at your words before responding, “You don’t know what happened and you don’t need to care about me.”

“You remember you owe me a favor, right?” Rafe hummed in response to your question.

“Well consider this me cashing it in, do me a favor and just let me care about you, okay?” You say as you pull into your driveway, putting your car in park and getting out, moving around your car to get the door for him, he laughs at this as he gets out, “Wow, (Y/N), I didn’t know you were such a gentleman.”

“Whatever, come on, punching bag, I have a first aid kit in my bathroom.” You say and as you hold your hand out, again, for him to grab, allowing you to lead him to your room.

When you open your door to your room, you don’t think much of it. It is the same room your have stayed in every summer for as long as you can remember and he has been in here before, but when Rafe crosses into your room he stops in his tracks, bringing you to a holt. You turn around to see him looking everywhere, taking it all in, “Wow,” he breathes out.

“What?” You looked at him confusedly.

“It’s really your room now like it reflects you and who you are now, it’s not just the stereotypical summer beach house room.” His gaze finally shifts back to you, you’re still holding his hand and a sweet smile graces your face.

“I guess I never thought about it that way, now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” You tug him along, again, dropping his hand as you get into your bathroom to reach for the first aid kit in your cabinet before patting the counter and stepping back, motioning for him to sit on it. He obliges and you open the first aid kit, laying out everything you need next to him on the counter. Rafe watches as you step between his thighs and gently grab his hands in yours, inspecting the one that once held a glass of whiskey, you wince, “Rafe, there’s a piece of glass in your hand, doesn’t that hurt? How are you so calm right now?” You grab a pair of tweezers to retrieve the glass from his skin and as you set your focus back on his hand he responds, “It doesn’t hurt when you’re holding it.”

You feel your face flush, “Okay, Romeo, you might want to rethink that,” you say as you use your tweezers to pull the piece of glass from his skin. He hisses from the pain and lets a few expletives fall from his lips. “Shhh, shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You try to soothe him, you use one hand to tend to the wound left behind by the glass and the other rests on one of his knees, your hand giving it a soft squeeze and then absentmindedly letting your thumb rub side to side motions. He places his free hand on top of your hand that rests on his knee, “oh, sorry,” you say and take this as a signal to pull your hand away but he quickly dismisses you, “no it was nice, keep doing it, I just wanted to hold your hand.”

“Oh, okay, but I need it for a second to put a bandaid on this cut. Who is your favorite Scooby-Doo character?” You say as you hold up your box of Scooby-Doo bandaids.

“Velma.”

“Huh,” you say as you search in the box for a Velma bandaid, “I pegged you as a Fred kinda guy, he’s the man with the plan and suave with the ladies.”

“Yeah, well,” Rafe responds as you open up the bandaid, “Velma reminds me of you so she’s my favorite.” He states softly in a matter of fact tone.

“Oh.” Was all you could say as you gingerly placed the bandaid on his cut before you carefully bring his hand up and place a kiss with a quiet “mwuah” on his now Velma protected wound.

A quiet giggle escapes your lips, and his, as you place his hand down and move your attention to his next injury to tend to. “Hey, (Y/N/N)?” Rafe quietly asks. You hum signaling him to continue. “Would you, uh, kiss all of my boo-boos? My mom used to do that.” You look up at him with apologetic eyes and nod at the blushing boy, you remember his mom, she was easily the kindest person you had ever met. So you continued on in silence this way, you cleaned the cuts that scattered his knuckles and then leaned into him to clean the few cuts that were scattered on his face. First, you cleaned the one on his cheekbone, then the one above his eyebrow, placing a chaste kiss to each spot.

You looked at the last cut you had yet to acknowledge, the cut on his bottom lip. Rafe looked at you, he knew what you were staring at and he broke the silence, “I’m all cleaned up now, (Y/N/N),” he tried to ease whatever you were feeling but you just shook your head, you knew he felt your hesitation.

“No, I don’t want you to get an infection or anything like that,” you assure him (and maybe yourself) as you grab the washcloth and run it under the warm tapwater one more time. You lean into him and gingerly dab at his lip.

“(Y/N/N)?” Rafe mumbles.

“Why are you talking when I am trying to clean this giant-ass cut in your lip?” You say somewhat exacerbated, and lean back just enough so you can look him in the eyes. His face flushes and he averts his eyes from meeting your gaze.

“I just was gonna say that you have a really cute concentration face.”

“Is that all?” You ask as you start to lean back in, he nods, and you bring the washcloth back up to his lip, dabbing at the cut a few more times before going to lean back from the very close proximity you had found yourself in, placing the washcloth down. You’re about to move completely from your position between his legs when you remember his words from earlier. A flush overtakes your face and Rafe notices, “what?” he inquires with his eyebrows raised and his lips parted. Before you can talk yourself out of your moment of confidence, you lean back into him, your faces mere centimeters apart, you move your gaze from your focus on his lips up to meet his eyes.

“What are you doing?” He whispers, following your lead and leaning in so your noses touch.

You lean, lips grazing his as you whisper, “kissing your boo-boos, Romeo.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him press his lips against yours, desperate for more, and you were tempted to give in, but you pulled back which elicited a groan from the bruised boy on your counter. You brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned into your touch as your thumb gently stroked his cheek, he brought his hand up to cradle your face in the same manner, you bit your lip, trying to suppress the grin that his touch brought to you. He noticed this quirk of yours and traced his fingers down your face and traced along your lip, making you release the bite you had on it, “don’t hide that pretty smile from me.” He now held your chin in his hands as you smile at his comment. You slowly retract your hand from the place it has found cradling his face, which brings a frown to his features but you just place a peck to his lips as you grab his hands in yours, giving them a slight tug before you drop them from your grasp you back into your bedroom. You sit on your bed, leaning against your headboard as you watch him slowly make his way to you, climbing onto your bed. He shimmies his body about on the bed, making you laugh, “Hey don’t laugh at me I am trying to get comfy, and it’s hard to do when you’re sitting up like that! What do you think you’re doing? We just kissed, it’s snuggle time.”

You shake your head at him, but he just continues to look up at you from his position laying sprawled out on your bed. Rafe lets out a small cheer as you slink down on the bed, the two of you lay there for a moment, just laying down and looking at each other before you lean in and place a kiss to his forehead, to both his cheeks and then to his lips, your hands reaching up to comb through his hair making a content hum come from him, “babe, I’ll play with your hair if you lay your head on my stomach.” He smiles as the two of you adjust, you laying on you back while he scoots down to rest his head on your stomach, his hands playing with the tulle of your dress, “I like that,” he says before you even have the chance to run your fingers through his sandy blond locks. You giggle, “like what? I haven’t even touched your hair, yet.”

“No, I liked you calling me “babe”.”

“I can do that, right?”

“I would think so, you’re my girlfriend now, right?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know about that. Only if you’re my boyfriend now.”

“Okay, I would like that very much.”

“Babe.” You said, liking the way it rolled off your tongue.

This prompted Rafe to prop his head up on your tummy, “what?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing I just wanted to see if it worked.”

“You know there are a few other things that we can see if they work.”

“One step at a time, babe.” He giggled and then moved his head back to its previous position so you could continue playing with his hair.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he spoke up, “so like does this make me your favorite Cameron sibling, now?”

a/n: so that’s all folks, i wasn’t planning on doing any more parts to this story, i hope you enjoyed it! it is my first fic so i would really appreciate any feedback you have! also a huge shoutout to angie, i would not have written this without her support ((:

taglist:

@myjjbaby @drewswannabegirl @prejudic3 @starkeybaby @spicybluelays @fav-imagines @spilledtee @pookie-cleary @little-ms-awkward @babygurlbarnes @drewsephsmiles @junkiemuppettxx

#time to do a week worth of econ homework in an hour #teehee #i need to learn time management #i hope this doesnt suck lol #also when i said feedback i meant nicely worded feedback dont hurt me im fragile #anyways back to the regularly scheduled tags #drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe imagine #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #my writing

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octalove · 4 years

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V: Letting Lie

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: There’s a breakthrough in the case, and Reader takes things into her own hands. Part one, two, three, and four.

The hospital was white. All white. Like a dream. White walls, white floors, white curtains, white stretchers, white papers fluttering around on clipboards, doctors in white coats. Mr. Wayne’s suit was black, so I focused on him. Black suit, blue tie. Black hair, blue eyes. He was filling out whatever paper the nurse had given him. Something about seeing it all play out, despite the face he had put on for me, made my eyes well up with tears. He was afraid, so I was afraid.

“Mr. Wayne?” His eyes shot up as he looked desperately at the nurse. He was so helplessly at the mercy of whatever news they brought us. We both were. “Will you come with us? We’ll have a nurse stay with the girl.” The nurse looked down at me with a warm smile. White teeth.

“We need to borrow Mr. Wayne for just a second. That okay, baby?” I just nodded, not really considering it something I could say no to. No, please, I want him to stay. I’m scared and I want him to stay. A male nurse came and sat by me. He talked to me about school, my favorite subjects- science, math. He asked me what I wanted to be, and I shrugged.

“People who like science and math make good doctors.” He said. I shrugged again, but then considered it more.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“It’s very hard. Not a lot of people can do it.”

“…”

“But it’s worth it. You help people, you know?”

Mr. Wayne appeared from around the corridor. The look on his face made all the papers stop fluttering. Made all the doctors stop rushing. Made the world stop where it was. Somewhere, maybe, in retrospect, I knew before he said it. I kept my eyes trained on his face, even though I wanted to look away.

“Y/N…” He said, taking a seat beside me. “Listen to me, sweetpea. Your parents-” His voice was cautious, considerate as he tried again. “Your moms got hurt really badly tonight… They- they’re both…“ A tear landed on my hand as the memory grew into a reality, which was bigger than I was. White sheets, red blood. He took my hand, and wiped it away.

“They’re gone now.”

They didn’t talk about Jason Todd.

And since they were the only people in his life at the time he died, nobody talked about Jason Todd. We met a couple of times, before Bruce took me in. I hated my expensive gowns, and he hated his expensive obligations, and we hid together at parties, all the while Dick insisted we’d get married. He lived, albeit briefly, as a smart, capable boy, and died as a smart, capable Robin. I had trouble looking at his face- pictures and old year books. When I did, I was looking into the face of a boy who died an untimely, tragic death. That was it. That was his story. Jason Todd died alone, afraid, and probably in a lot of pain. I went to his funeral.

If at all he came up (I could only think of one or two occasions), Bruce would tense, his eyes falling away, and Alfred’s gaze would cloud with memory. Dick, at least, could share a story or two, coveting the fondness and pride he had for his brother without dismissing the whole subject. Tim and Damian didn’t ask. They just tried not to die with the uniform on.

So walking into the cave and seeing Jason Todd’s face plastered on the central monitor seemed like the single most unlikely thing to occur in the Wayne household. I would’ve placed Bruce adopting another child before digging up and displaying dead ones.

Tim, Dick, and Babs were huddled close, faces wound and tight, while Bruce looked distracted, fascinated with his W.E. ballpoint pen. I dragged my feet a little to alert them all of my entry, but only Babs looked up.

“Y/N.” She said.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Everyone just sort of concluded that someone else would explain, or take the lead, but no one made any attempt to do so. Finally, Bruce sighed.

“Come here. Sit down.” Okay. If there was anything in the world that could make your intestines feel like they were getting turned to ramen noodles by a paper shredder, it was Bruce Wayne telling you to come here, sit down. I searched the others’ faces as I did so.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying to fill the chasmic silence.

“I’m going to go over everything. Do you remember…” He trailed off- just for a second. It wasn’t often I saw him battle with something like that. His face was tired, and his eyes revealed a struggle as he fought whatever emotion he was grappling with. “Do you remember Jason?”

I nodded. “Sort of.” An echoing memory passed. Lacy table cloth curtains and chocolate covered strawberries as we camped under gala snack tables, whispering and laughing. Bruce watching me when my parents went out of town, and Jason giving me a tour of the library. The red roses on his burial. Sure, sort of. His blurry picture was on the monitor, anyway.

“Okay. Very good.” Bruce began again, perhaps relieved he would have to go into detail to refresh my memory.

“We’ve been putting a lot of information together regarding the Red Hood. We’ve been able to deduce his origins were The Viper House, but before that, Arkham. He began working out of the Asylum, and contacts there had a lot of information about him.”

That, I didn’t know. I supposed I wasn’t the only one slinking around in shadows. He was addressing everyone now, going through visuals on the monitor.

“He began to placate what was left of Joker’s operations in Coventry before he started on general crime. Oracle was even able to get some information from Harley Quinn.” I looked at Babs with some surprise, and she just nodded along.

“The very first sighting of him- in Coventry- was April 27th, seven months ago. The fifth anniversary of…”

I nodded. I knew what April 27th was. A vapid, despairing day in the manor that Bruce spent in his office and Dick didn’t call. I didn’t follow, but if Bruce had linked Jason’s death to Red Hood, I knew he must have something big.

“All of the information we gathered, on top of his intimate knowledge of us, vigilante or otherwise, has lead us to a clear conclusion. The encounter in Crime Alley on the 21st was just another confirmation.”

I almost flinched as my eyes flew to Tim, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. I texted him quickly, careful to avoid Bruce’s eye.

You told him?

- I told him I was the one who saw it. It was important information.

Shit, Tim. Was he mad?

He didn’t answer, looking back up to the briefing. I slid my phone into my pocket, guilt weighing in my chest alongside the other myriad of emotions building.

“He’s been around longer than seven months. Much longer. And it began with Jason’s death.”

I furrowed my brow, putting together a puzzle with with bent, broken edges, like trying to fit a triangle into a square-shaped hole- just one angle missing.

“Are you saying… Joker didn’t kill Jason? That this guy did?” My body felt cold.

Bruce looked at Dick, who didn’t return his gaze. Then, he turned back to me.

“I’m saying... that Jason is Red Hood.”

I let confusion twist on my face. “What? How? That’s not possible. You think he lived? We- I mean, we had a funeral.”

Dick shook his head, answering on Bruce’s behalf. “He did die, but… are you familiar with the Lazarus Pit?”

I went over my tangling thoughts. The crime scenes. The anger. The vigilante justice packaged in a case of blood and bullets, shipped right to Gotham’s largest looming criminals. The warehouse, the alley. The button. The leather on his gloves as he ran his fingers along my face and pressed it, leaving me all alone.

Tell Batman,

It was all falling in line; bubbling up and searing together like hot, melding flesh pulled together in the burning waters of the Lazarus.

I’m getting impatient.

“So… what are you going to do?” I asked.

Dick’s face was pained. Solemn. “I… we want to try to talk to him. There’s a reason he’s doing all this, and there’s a reason he chose now. If we want to figure it out, we have to find him.”

I swallowed. “I can help.”

“No.” Bruce declared swiftly. “Absolutely not. The only thing we know about him is that he’s dangerous. Red Hood may have Jason’s DNA, but we need to work under the assumption that he isn’t the same person.”

I could answer that. He wasn’t.

“Do not look for him. Do not engage him. Is that clear?” He was talking to me, Tim, and Damian. We all nodded.

“Any unapproved interaction could jeopardize the case, and give him more insight into our movements. We want to try and remain one step ahead. That is all.” The explanation was for Damian, who operated on bargains, not orders. Again, we all nodded. After a moment, I sighed.

“Well… I have school in the morning. Will you tell me if you learn anything else?” I asked. The three of them nodded, and Dick muttered a ‘goodnight’. I turned, mind working against the grain of what I should do and what I wanted to do.

Just go to bed, I willed myself.

Just go.

Night fell, black and smoggy. The sea was hissing and writhing, unsettled with the gale of a promised storm. I wasn’t entirely certain what would catch Red Hood’s attention. It seemed that our history comprised of him finding us, and not the other way around. Gotham Docks seemed like a good place to start. Ever since Kuznetsov was found in his watery grave, his men belonged to Hood. They moved drug imports that came to Port Adams- actual drugs- pharmaceuticals, over-the-counters, hydrocodone, acetaminophen; all legal things. But Gotham City taxed the living hell out of medicine imports, so people like Kuznetsov (may he rest in peace) smuggled them in fishing vessels for cheap, and got them into the hands of big pharma and medicare companies for a lot of money.

I’d picked a cozy spot on the roof of a bait shop that made me feel safely invisible as my eyes swept over the docks. Batman didn’t typically prioritize crime of this caliber; over the counter meds weren’t going to blow anyone’s heads off the way crazy clowns and mafia bosses were. It made the busy henchmen on the boardwalks nice and blatant. It wasn’t hard to find tonight’s operation.

I needed to make a scene. Make some noise, throw out some names- one name in particular. Wherever he was, I hoped it’d be enough to make it worth dropping in. I was used to making quick, efficient work of criminals, not stalling. Making a scene meant no disappearing in shadows, or quieting the sound of my breath.

There were a couple of men dollying crates in and out of a packaging plant. Disguised as fishermen, naturally. As they approached the building, several feet from the propped-open door, I dropped. Embracing the momentum, my weight striking the old wood made a salient sound, and sent the startled men gasping and staggering backward.

“Holy shit!”

“B-Batma-

“B-B-Batgirl?” I clipped. “Were you gonna say Batgirl?” It didn’t really matter which bat they thought it was. The fear all worked to the necessary effect.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” The man muttered, scooting backward along the wood as I let my step fall heavy against it.

“Where is he?” I asked, drumming up my vicious, raspy voice, like smoke on the sea.

“Where-where’s who?” He stuttered. The other man was taking advantage of my focus and scrambling to his feet. Any second, he would bolt into the building. Perfect.

“Red. Hood.” I said, loud enough that the fleeing man would hear.

“I don’t know! Hand to god, I don’t know!” The man on the ground pleaded. I looked down at him, letting the fear and shadow distort my face.

“I don’t believe you.” I kicked him in the chest, sufficiently knocking the wind out of him, but left him there, turning my attention to the packaging plant.

Adrenaline was in my limbs, pushing and pulling with the running blood under my skin. When was the last time I had a good fight? Carjackings and bank robberies felt so small, and predictable. Everything was always stable. Batman always had it under control, watching dutifully from rooftops, appearing in split second if I needed help.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t here. I felt no eyes on my back, no voices in my ear. It was under control, but it was my control.

The men inside had already sufficiently scattered. I didn’t bother to hush my footsteps as I entered. The icy breeze from the open door made my cape flutter, despite its weight- and that was the only sound.

Suddenly, boots on concrete, and a man let out a defiant cry as he shot toward me, with a rusted tire iron raised above his head. I moved on practiced instinct, side stepping and leaving him stumbling, before delivering a hard, well-aimed kick that he wasn’t getting up from. Two other men concluded (incorrectly) if they went together, they could take me.

It was a blur of fists and make-shift weapons comprised of packaging tools, but they were easy to parry and subdue. I kicked the second one back with enough force to send him through a thin wooden partition, which cracked and splintered under his weight. I swung my eyes around the scene.

“Anyone else?” I knew they were there. Tucked behind conveyor belts and crouched low, using fish barrels for cover. No one answered the call of duty.

“I’ll ask again,” I called. “Where. Is. Red. Hood?”

Suddenly, a flash of color, and I went backward and downward, catching myself enough that my arm slid across the concrete instead of my face. I let out a sharp breath just in time to dodge another blow.

“All this,” The computerized tilt of his voice couldn’t smother the anger in it. “For little old me?”

I kept my eyes trained on his hands, because I could entertain close combat, but knew I’d need to bolt if he drew his guns. That didn’t appear to be his intention. I dipped away from one of his swings, but he swiped at the fabric of my cape, grip closing, and used it to heave me into a barrel. I gasped at the force of it as I reckoned with shattered wood. Barely recovering, I rolled out of the way as he swung low. I went for the door, figuring I could use a little more space, since he had a hundred pounds and a few feet on me.

Outside, a frigid wind was cascading across the docks, biting my skin and casting droplets of salt water all around. Red Hood moved imposingly slow-paced, attending the cuff of his jacket sleeve, while I put a hand on the railing and tried to find my footing again.

“There are easier ways to get my attention, sweet thing.” Drawing to a halt, he didn’t look like he was going to attack me again, so I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

“Sorry. You forgot..” I was still breathing heavily. “To give me.. your number… last time.”

He laughed; a terrible, beautiful thing. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

I fought to remember why I was here, and consequently, tried to pull together Jason Todd with the faceless man before me. They seemed to foil one another- a triangle through a square-shaped hole.

“So what do you want?” He asked, more serious this time. Though a reasonable question, it almost sounded rhetorical for the sheer lack of curiosity in it. I swallowed.

“Show me your face.” I said. It was so quiet, so hushed by the jeering sea that I was surprised when he tilted his head in response.

“Liked our little game that much? Had to crack a few skulls just to play it again?” I was frustrated, wishing he would come close, like he had in the alley, and let me touch him. Let me push away the helmet and know.

I tried to convey my seriousness with a look, but he just rolled his shoulders.

“Is that all, little bird?” He seemed annoyed; like I’d dragged him here only to concern myself with the small matter of his secret identity. The secret identity of Gotham’s most prolific crimelord. I wanted to make him understand, but I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t say anything else, either. He didn’t say “no” or “whatever” or “goodbye”. He just started walking away.

Jason.

Suddenly, I stopped myself. What if he wasn’t? What if Bruce was wrong? I’d throw out a name- an accusation- at a monstrous stranger who had no connection to me or my family. He’d laugh his terrible laugh and know that the world’s greatest detectives weren’t so great after all. Nervousness consumed me, tightening around my throat, placating me while I watched his form get smaller as he walked away, the darkness threatening to swallow him up.

“Jason!”

He stopped. His boots dragged to a jarring halt on the wood. Slowly, then, he turned around. The shadows were long and cast over him, turning his helm the color of old blood.

“Come back.” I said. “Please.”

His body language was unreadable, a mix between relaxed and hesitant that left him standing there, looming, and left me unsure as to whether he was going to leave, or pull a glock on me. Then, he lifted his hands. His thumbs dragged beneath his jaw methodically, until there came a hiss from his helmet, and he pulled it off.

“Jason.” I repeated. My voice was tight. It shook. His gaze followed me in the dark before he approached, gate slow and heavy, and sat down on a fishing crate.

“What? Do I look different? Put on a little weight?” Maybe he was joking- I couldn’t tell. The soft rasping of his voice startlingly contrasted the voice scrambler, and blended with the bubbling waters below our feet. But something eerie laced it. It was still foreign to me. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I had previously thought I might be able to do this; face him. After all- I should be happy to see him again, alive after five years of Bruce’s grief and wretched hollowness. Years of operating in the long, dark shadow cast by his headstone. But somehow, the man before me was instead a confirmation. A walking death certificate. Jason Todd- the other Jason Todd- was still gone. Bronze skin, of which small, light colored scars adorned. Midnight hair mussed from his helmet, leaving a couple strands to fall over his dark eyes; eyes that used to hold warmth, and now held a malefic coldness. When I drank in the features of his face, I found my chalice empty. He didn’t approach me this time- didn’t draw near enough to feel his heat. Just sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning forward and looking at me. I had trouble holding his gaze, but I did. Then, he gave me a chilling grin.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice knocked something loose, as my mind placed him as a memory. Someone I’d actually known. I had a million burning questions. “How? What happened?”

He pulled out a cigarette, shrugging. “I’ve been busy. Dying’s a lotta work.”

“Why- why are doing this?” This being spending seven months as the most prolific crimelord in Gotham. There was a spark of his lighter. Using his hand to shield the flame from the winds and misting water, it nurtured an orange glow on his face, bathing his skin in auburn light for just a moment. I blinked, and it was extinguished, replaced, again, by the blue darkness. He took a deep drag.

“Know how I died, dollface?” He asked. I did, so I nodded.

“Remember what happened to the bastard who killed me? After.” I studied him, still reeling a bit from accepting the man before me as the boy he’d been. I remembered there was another attack after Jason’s death. Joker took forty pounds of C4 to a shopping center in Fashion district at the beginning of May. Amidst the rubble were Robin: Missing posters. Bruce didn’t make them. Joker kept up his streak thereafter. He didn’t stop until his death, last year.

“Nothin’.” Jason supplied the answer. A hard, bitter, sorrowful nothing. It burned cold, like an inverse flame.

“Batman doesn’t kill. He doesn’t kill, and killers do. So they walk, and keep killing, and he calls it justice.”

I let it all sink in. Batman was the only thing standing between Gotham and complete corruption. I saw, in my memory, all the people I’d helped. All the victims who’d ever clung to me or thanked me through tears. All the pride I’d ever felt carrying the mantle. Batman didn’t kill because you can’t go back from killing. If he did, it wouldn’t be vigilantes against criminals- it’d be dogs eating dogs. Domestic war. Jason had been Robin. Surely he understood the philosophy of it?

But, then, what did it get him? He took those philosophies to the grave. When he finally crawled back out, he did what anyone with a vendetta might do. He overcorrected.

“Tell me somethin’, little bird.” His eyes leveled steadily on mine as I looked back up. “You call that justice?” I swayed under the intensity of it. I was afraid to disagree with him, but I didn’t even know if I wanted to. There were a lot of times I watched Joker slip through Batman’s hands, free to blow up another shopping center, when he could’ve stopped him if he just-

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He got up, cigarette hanging from his lips, gaunt eyes burning through the blue dark.

“I think you do.”

The sea hissed, and the wind writhed, and I watched as the night swallowed him up.

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highonchocolate · 4 years

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Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 5

First Previous Next Ao3

They raced over the rooftops towards the center of the city, where they could see a tiny figure blasting waves of fire in all directions. As they neared the Akuma, they noticed that they looked female, and they were surprisingly color-coordinated. She had coal black skin, with glowing red runes inked over her flesh. Her eyes were like embers, and her hair shifted and changed like a living flame. Everywhere she glanced would immediately catch fire, and she shot some sort of substance from her clawed hands that made the poor victim stop running in terror and instead smile dazedly at the flames.

Chat, Queen Bee, and Viperion set about rescuing the civilians as Ladybug and Ryuko engaged the Akuma. They dodged her blasts, dancing around her as they looked for her Akumatized object. She screamed defiantly, shouting her fury towards the sky. “I am Inferno! They mocked my love, now they will feel it too! Let them be purified in my flame!” The two heroes exchanged a confused glance at her wording.

What would fire have to do with love? Marinette thought as she backflipped nearly out of the way. Thinking back to Inferno’s powers, she felt the puzzle pieces begin to slide into place as she observed the Akuma.

As the five of them watched, Inferno turned her gaze on a civilian, and he started to catch fire. Before he could panic, she hit him with the substance, and he started to grin, even as he burned alive before their eyes.

Marinette felt vomit rose in her throat as she looked at his blackened corpse, still smiling even in death. She saw her horrified and sickened expression echoed on the faces of her teammates. She forced herself to look away before she lost her dinner on the rooftop.

As the Akuma made her way towards a school, cutting a swath of destruction in her wake, she called for a regroup and a hurried discussion.

One lucky charm and three Second Chances later, they had managed to lead the Akuma into an abandoned building. Immediately, there were three simultaneous calls of “Cataclysm!” “Venom!” and “Wind Dragon!”. As Inferno froze from the paralysis, Chat destroyed the floor, and she fell through with her arms trapped by her side. Ryuko shifted into a gust of wind and stirred up dirt, making it impossible for Inferno to look at any of them.

As the Akuma thrashed in her restraints, Marinette leaned forward and grabbed the akumatized object (a silver lighter) before breaking it and purifying the Akuma. She cast her Cure and watched with bittersweet relief as it washed through the broken city.

She was glad she could fix everything, but it never should have never broken in the first place. As the last buildings were repaired, and the few stragglers were returning to their evening activities, she turned to her team. “I’ll call you in the evening over there. Or I guess in the afternoon tomorrow, considering the time difference.“ She frowned, trying to calculate the hours. “We’ll report then.” Her team nodded as she stepped through the portal into Gotham.

---

Stepping into her room, she checked the time and saw that it was already 7:15. Panicking, she ran over to her wheelchair and sat down before detransforming. Realizing she was still in her pajamas, she wheeled over to the closet and pulled on a sweater. She quickly swapped out her pajama pants for loose sweatpants, seeing as she didn't have time to wrangle leggings over her cast. Rushing to the bathroom, she awkwardly brushed her teeth before making her way to the kitchen.

---

When she wheeled into the kitchen for breakfast, Alfred looked at her intently before asking “How are your injuries, Miss Marinette?” She paused before answering, and cast a glance towards Tim, who was distracted trying to make coffee. Confirming his attention was elsewhere, she quietly answered “My current injuries are doing well, Monsieur Alfred, but the phantom pains I could do without.” He paused in his cooking and turned towards her worriedly. “Phantom pain?” Instead of answering, she navigated to the Ladyblog on her phone before tilting the screen towards him. Tim stumbled out of the room, coffee in hand muttering something about “Three hours’ and “pumpkin grenades”. Ignoring his strange comments, she turned back to Alfred and handed him her phone.

He scrolled through the website as she began eating. As she ate, his face paled at the videos of all their battles. Sensing his unasked question she quickly spoke up. “My cure restores everything. Nobody but me and the rest of the Holders remember the fights, so you don’t have to worry.” He looked shocked at her sentence. “Miss Marinette! That is all well and good, but do you not have anyone to guide you at all? What about the Master that entrusted the jewels to you?” She looked down sadly at her plate. “He lost all his memories when he gave up the Guardianship to me. Hawkmoth had figured him out, and we were in the middle of a battle.” She paused, pushing food around her plate before she continued speaking. “There wasn’t any time for him to do anything. Transferring Guardianship was the only viable option at the moment.” There was a long beat of silence before Alfred responded. “You are video calling your friends tonight are you not?” Confused at his change of subject, she looked up at him curiously. “I am. Why?” A determined look crossed his face. “I am going to help you all unmask this villain. Even if it means getting other heroes involved.” At his statement, she was shocked into silence. “...You would help us?” She questioned hesitantly. At his firm nod, she nearly burst into tears, and grabbed him in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Alfred” She choked out. “Thank you so much.” He said nothing, only hugged her tighter.

---

After their emotional conversation, Marinette headed upstairs to continue working on Jagged’s latest commission. A full suit and an evening gown for him and Penny to wear at the Wayne Gala. Six hours flew by in her designing haze, and when she finally looked up, it was already two hours past noon. Ignoring her stomach, she continued directing the Kwami as they pinned together the rough beginnings of the suit under her careful watch.

At around three, Alfred brought her a sandwich before gently admonishing her for her lack of self-care. She smiled sheepishly at him before continuing to pin the hem of the pants. He sighed tiredly before leaving her fabric-filled room.

Soon enough, it was dinner, and Marinette headed downstairs to eat. She met one of Dick’s friends, a really sweet woman named Barbara, who was also in a wheelchair. She spent the whole meal giving Mari different tips on how to use the wheelchair. They included things from keeping your stuff from getting tangled in the wheels, to instructions on how to make sharp turns. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a teen a couple years younger than her storm into the dining room with a scowl on his face. He ignored her completely, sitting down with a huff.

She locked eyes with Barbara, who shrugged at her like ‘what can you do?’ before continuing to eat.

---

After dinner was over, she wheeled into her room after telling Alfred that she would be talking with her friends soon. At nine PM, he walked into her room just as her phone buzzed with a Video Call request. Accepting, she leaned back against the headboard and he stood by her bed as they waited for her team to report.

Luka spoke first. “The Akuma’s name was Inferno. She is a pyromaniac who’s friends had mocked her and told her to ‘get help’ upon discovering her obsession. However, she does not burn down buildings, and only lights small candles to burn old notes.” “So they were being unnecessarily cruel, and judging without all the facts?” Kagami asked. He nodded once and then waited. “Moving on,” Marinette spoke. “Chloé, continue please.” “Alright Nettie-Bug. So her powers were the ability to set anything on fire with her gaze, and she could make the civilians love the fire even as they burned in it. Which is a nod to her pyromania.” She said. “She had no other powers, but those two were a deadly combination.”

“As for casualties,” Adrien continued, “the Eiffel Tower was melted and several buildings all over the city had burned to the ground. Not to mention all the plant and animal life as well. And out of 2,161,000 Parisians, 670,000 were burned alive and brought back by your Cure.” Marinette dropped her head into her palms and groaned out loud. “This was definitely one of the more powerful Akumas. I think that might have been one of the top three in terms of the death toll.” She remarked grimly. “Kagami?” “Chat had burns on his back and shoulders from holding up a beam so some civilians could get away. Queen Bee and Viperion had burns on their forearms and palms from lifting debris, and you were burned on your arms and back. Since I was able to shift into the elements, I only had minor burns on my hands.” The fencer spoke. Adrien let out a low whistle. “So this was not the worst we’ve had, but this definitely shouldn’t be categorized as one of the less damaging fights.” Marinette summed up. “Yeah, basically.” Chloé nodded.

Alfred, who had remained silent the whole conversation, chose to speak up. “I assume you are all members of Miss Marinette’s team?” He asked. “Holy fuck!” Adrien screamed, just as Luka and Chloé both yelled curses of their own. Kagami didn’t say anything, but her hand had moved and was now resting defensively on her fencing sabre. “Oh!” Marinette laughed “I forgot to introduce you to Monsieur Alfred! He’s a true Peacock, and he said he’ll help us defeat Hawkmoth and Mayura.” At her statement, her friends immediately tensed, but they smiled at the elderly man on screen. They talked for a few minutes, but before he went downstairs he promised that he would talk to the Justice League. When they had asked him how he was going to do that, he had simply smiled and said “I have my ways,” and then left. After he had gone, Kagami spoke up, voicing everyone’s concern. “Mari, are you sure you can trust him?” Marinette immediately nodded. “Our auras recognised each other, and there’s no way of faking that without it leaving a mark on your soul. His soul was not corrupted, so he’s definitely a true holder.” At her explanation, everyone relaxed and their strained smiles softened into genuine grins. With the harder part of the evening done with, the five of them talked and laughed together for hours.

---

The rest of the week passed by in a similar manner, except for when she finally had an actual conversation with Damian. Looking back, it was not the best way to meet someone, but hey. He had started it!

The afternoon after Inferno, Bruce had spoken with her parents about the intricacies of her stay before informing her that she would be in Gotham until May, but would be going back to Paris for Christmas and New Year’s. As soon as he had announced the duration of her stay, Damian had scowled (again!) and walked out of the room. Marinette had no idea why he disliked her so much. He hadn’t even looked at her at all! Making up her mind to speak with him, she wheeled herself into the living room where he was sketching.

At the sound of her wheels rolling against the floor he immediately spoke up. “Gordon, there you are. I noticed you have talked with Dupain-Cheng. I don’t understand why she allowed herself to get hurt by a few kids her age. Tt. Pathetic.” At his statement she felt a flash of defensiveness and anger flare up in her chest. “Well maybe I got hurt because it was ten of them against one. Maybe I got hurt because they came up from behind and hit me over the head with a metal beam. Maybe I got hurt because they had knives and all I had was a cloth bag. I don’t know Damian,” she spits his name like poison. “You tell me why.” As soon as she had begun speaking he had stiffened, and after she finished he slowly lifted his head to look at her for the first time. He made no outward reaction towards her injuries and bruises, which were a sickly blue-green, but she saw the flash or shock in his eyes. Wheeling past him, she called over her shoulder “Don’t make assumptions about things you don’t know, kid.” He bristled at her wording, before tilting his nose up and haughtily responding. “I am only two years younger than you, Dupain-Cheng. I am by no means a child.” Refusing to respond, she simply made her way upstairs, steadfastly ignoring the pangs of hurt in her chest and the stinging of tears in her eyes from his earlier comment.

---

After that wonderful interaction, Marinette did her best to stay out of Damian’s way. Before she knew it, Sunday rolled around, and her wrist brace had finally come off. She had never been more grateful towards accelerated Ladybug healing. She went to bed, and soon enough she was waking up the following Monday to go to school.

---

Taglist: @laurcad123

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #lila rossi #alya cesaire #lila salt #class salt

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reddrobins · 4 years

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galas gone right [t.drake]

TIM DRAKE X READER

SUMMARY: Here you were once again, alone at Bruce Wayne's gala, which your parents had dragged you to. Luckily, this time it seems like you aren't the only one.

It always played out like this.

Bruce Wayne would be hosting a large benefit, your parents would be invited, then you have to come and to top it off, they leave you alone.

Surrounded by socialites was not how you wanted to spend your Friday evening.

You sat at the bar, aimlessly stirring your drink with your finger. Your heels lay long-forgotten back in the limo, as you always carry a pair of flats in situations like so.

"Not a fan of this either?" Someone asked from behind you.

You jumped at the voice, not expecting any attention on the misfit daughter of the (L/N) family.

Spinning your chair around, you face the person, almost falling off the stool when you realised who the voice belonged to.

There, stood Timothy Drake, the upcoming CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Your eyes widened at the sight of him.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, "Yeah, my parents usually just drag me along. Trying to keep up the appearance, you know?"

Tim chuckled, running a hand through his perfect raven hair, "Yeah. I totally understand. If it wasn't for Bruce, I'd probably be at home watching a movie or something."

Though you were still in awe that the Timothy Drake was in front of you, you carried on the conversation.

"Tell me about it." Then, curiosity now peaked, you said, "I can't lie, I'm honestly surprised that you aren't enjoying the spotlight."

Tim scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal. "Not my thing at all. Just have to keep me in check for Bruce. No one wants to see the new CEO goofing off, you know?"

You smirked, enjoying the conversation, "I wouldn't, Daddy didn't hand me over the company."

The teens face blushed a deep red colour, clearly embarrassed, "Uh," He sputtered, "I'll have you know.." He looked at you, awaiting your name.

"(Y/N)" You gave.

"I'll have you know, (Y/N), Bruce doesn't just hand over things."

It was your turn to laugh, "I was joking, of course, Mr Drake. I know you're brainy enough to lead it."

Tim cringed at the formality of 'Mr. Drake', "Oh nuh-uh, no misters around here, just call me Tim. I really can't stand when people call me mister Drake. Makes me sound like millions of years old."

"Alright, Tim," He smiled at that, "Since we both don't want to be here, let's say we leave?"

The young CEO's eyes went wide, you were suggesting them to ditch? He pondered for a second, thinking what his brothers would say if they found out. Or even what would Bruce say?

Shrugging, Tim spoke, "I dunno, (Y/N), I could get into trouble..."

You sighed, teasingly of course, then spun your chair back around, "Darn, I understand Timmy. Guess I'll just stay at the bar, all by my lonesome."

Hearing a groan behind you, you smiled, knowing that you were getting to him.

He tapped your shoulder and you turned back around. Tim stood there, a hand offered out to you, "Take my hand."

Reluctant and confused, you placed your palm in his, only to be ripped up from your seat. "Tim? What are we doing?"

Tim grinned down at you, "We're getting out of here, follow me."

So there you were, the two of you weaving through the rich civilians of Gotham and towards the back entrance of the dance hall.

"Where are you thinking we should ditch to?" You yell over the chatter of people on the dance floor.

"You'll find out soon." He replied

Bat-Burger.

He took you to Bat-Burger.

"You're telling me that we ditched your father's fancy Gala for mediocre burgers and half-assed staff?"

Tim looked at you from across the booth, "There a problem? I mean we could always go back..." He trailed off, amusement in his eyes.

It was a nice look on Tim, not one that many got to see often, especially not the press.

He faked getting out of his seat, only for you to pull him back down, "No, I am not going back there." You cried in distress.

Tim laughed at your over dramatic attitude, but obliged and sat back down, this time looking at the menu. You followed suit.

"Bat-b-que burger?" Scrunching your nose, you catch Tims eyes, "Who came up with these names?"

The boy shrugged in return, "I mean seriously," He spoke, "Red-Hot-Robin Wings? They've gotta be kidding me."

The next few minutes continued this pattern, you and Tim both making fun of the idiocy of the menu, that was until the waitress turned up.

"What can I get you... two?" Her speech slowed as she looked at the get-up you both were in. Tim in a two-piece maroon suit and you in a gorgeous navy gown, probably not what normal patrons wore to a burger joint. Though who's to say that either you or Tim classified as normal.

Tim spoke first, "Um, can I have the boneless bat nuggets? Oh and two coffees," He looked to you, "Or, three if you'd like one as well..."

You placed your head on your palm, resting against the table, "Sure, why not?" Then, "And could I have the Night-wings?"

Taking your orders, she nodded then went back to the kitchen.

"Two coffees?" You smirked at Tim, who gingerly shrugged.

"What can I say," He pouted, "It's been a long night."

While the two of you waited for your meals, soft chatter was made. Tim talking about his duties at WE and you discussing your latest thesis paper on whether or not Vigilantes were wanted in Gotham.

"Fascinating," Tim said, awe laced in his eyes. "What side are you writing for, if you don't mind me asking."

Waving your hand dismissing his insecurity, you spoke, "Not at all, Tim, I'm on the pro-vigilante side. I think the Bats are doing exactly what needs to be done in Gotham, plus..."

You trailed off and Tim raised a brow, egging you on.

"Plus," you continued, rolling your eyes, "I heard one of the Robins was my age and it piqued my curiosity. I wish I had that much courage to protect our city every night."

Tim laughed harshly, "I don't think you do. Believe me, it's not that much fun."

This time it was you to raise a brow, "And how would you know, Mr Drake? CEO connections of sorts?"

"Of sorts" Was all he responded with.

To his relief, the waitress came back over with your food and luckily the conversation was dropped.

"That was great Tim, really." You said sincerely as he opened the door to the restaurant, the two of you ready to go.

He smiled down at you, "Of course, it's the least I could do for hosting an awful gala."

You sensed a hint of self-loathing in his statement and you stopped him in his tracks, "No, don't do that to yourself. It wasn't awful, I'm just not a party girl... and it seems as though you're not a party boy." You gently gripped his hand, "I'd say the gala was more than a success... after all, I got to meet you."

Tim's cheeks blushed a rosy pink and he smiled, "Thank you, (Y/N). That means a lot."

As the two of you made your way back to the Gala, Tims com went off.

"Red Robin, come in Red Robin." Dick's voice rang throughout his ears. Tim froze, c'mon guys, he thought, not in the middle of my... date?

"Tim?" You questioned, realising he's several paces behind you.

Tim shook his thoughts away and smiled at you, "Yeah, all good. Thought I heard something."

Meanwhile, through his comlink, Dicks voice still kept going, "Red Robin, come in, Red Robin."

The young vigilante bit his lip conflicted on what to do. He was the best detective yet - even Ras thought so - so then why couldn't he figure this puzzle out.

"Should we call a taxi or something? I don't want your last words to be 'I thought I heard something,' You know how Gotham is and all." You suggested.

Tim gave a chuckle, believe him, he knew exactly how Gotham is. "We'll be fine, I promise."

You looked at him skeptically, what is he going to do - breakout the stocks clipboard?

Tim gripped your hand harder, "I-," He contemplated how to put this, "I know what to do in times of crisis." He said cryptically.

Comfortable silence took over the two of you once more and you continued your path back.

"Red- ugh, Tim! We need you." Dick said, this time louder and more distressed.

Breaking comlink rules, Tim thought, This must be serious.

Tim stopped walking once more, pulling you to a stop as well. "(Y/N), I'm so sorry, but a family emergency just came up and I have to leave, like, immediately. Would you be comfortable walking back alone?" He hated the idea of leaving you to fend for Gotham yourself, but what other option was there?

Gently squeezing his hand, you nodded, "Of course Tim. I was born and raised here, I know Gotham like the back of my hand."

He still seemed on edge with the idea of you alone, so you did the once thing that was guaranteed to clear the teen's mind.

You kissed him.

Reluctantly, you pulled away, then, making sure that he couldn't get another word in, you sped off into the night, hurriedly making your way to the Wayne estate.

Tim stood there, like a lovestruck idiot, but was soon interrupted when Damian sounded in his ears.

"Drake, where the hell are you?"

Right. I have a job to do.

Pressing his earpiece, he spoke, "Red Robin to Nightwing, What's up?"

"Thank god," Dick said in relief, "The Penguin got into the Gala and now is holding the patrons' hostage. The big man is still in there and can't escape to change. We need you to try and get as many hostages as you can out."

Tim's eyes widened, The Gala, He just sent you back there. Oh no.

Now panicked, Tim summoned one of the batcycles, making quick work to get you to safety.

Lazily, you made your way back to the large ballroom. Your legs were killing you from the long walk, hoping the whole time that Tim would somehow come back to keep you company.

"Why the hell did they build this place so far away from town?" You muttered to yourself as you dragged your way in.

Pulling one of the doors open, you gasped at the sight.

There stood Penguin, the stocky man armed with a gun, surrounded by goons with matching rifles. Along the back sat numerous patrons, all quivering in fear at the trigger happy rogue.

Your hearts ached when you caught sight of your parents. Your father had blood running down his face and your mother, Oh god. Your mother was unresponsive, laying on the floor,

That made you snap, any shred of common sense fled your body as you raced into the hall making a beeline for your mom.

"Mother!" You called out, voice strained and shaky from fear.

You sprinted towards your parents but was soon stopped when gunshots went off.

"Get back!" seethed the Penguin. "Get back or I'll shoot."

Freezing, you put your hands up, shielding your head.

"Good." You sensed the short man strolling closer and your breath stilled. "Now," He addressed the crowd, "Since a few of you socialites think I'm playing - I'll use little rich girl here to prove I mean business."

"No!" your father yelled, "Please don't! Mr Cobbelpot, I'll give you all of my fortunes, just please don't shoot."

Oswald laughed at your father's pleas, then before you could even react, turned the gun at him and pulled the trigger.

You screamed, but you seemed to be the only one troubled. Peaking through your covered eyes, you saw that your father was, in fact, fine. The bullet never hit.

In its place stood Red Robin, arm up in a defensive position blocking the shot.

Penguin groaned in annoyance, "Will you bat-brats ever let me have my fun?"

Tim lunged at the Penguin, fighting the man for the gun. Meanwhile, Nightwing snuck in from the side entrance, helping assist all of the members to safety. "This way. Stay calm and follow me." He whispered, not trying to draw attention to the scared patrons.

Amidst the chaos, your father yelled out to you, signalling for you to run over to his side.

You pounced at the opportunity, getting up from your kneeling state only to be jerked back into someone's chunky arms. Penguin.

"Where do you think you're going missy?" He hissed, "Looks like this little bird isn't a listener."

You struggled against the man's grip, thrashing about in any attempt at freedom.

"Let her go." Red Robin stared down Penguin, bo-staff at the ready.

"Awe. Does one wittle bwirdie have a crush on another?" The rogue teased.

"Let her go." He said once more, this time venom lacing his tone.

Something cold pressed against your cheek and you came to realize it was the barrel of Penguins gun. In fright, you trashed more, only for Penguin to tighten his grip. "Make me, bird boy."

The action happened so fast, your brain couldn't even recognize who was hitting who. What you did know was that you were finally free of Penguins meaty hands and now we're amongst the hostages.

You watched in amazement as Red Robin hit, punched, kicked and wailed at Penguin, every mark hitting successfully. In a matter of no time, Penguin and his two goons were on the floor, Red Robin standing triumphantly above him.

Without even thinking twice, you ran over to the hero and embraced him. He backed away a bit, cheeks turning pink. He was not expecting that.

"Thank you." You whispered into his chest.

Still a bit shocked, he gave a small nod, "Um, yeah. Of course"

The embrace didn't last too long as you pulled away quickly, a thought rushing to your head. Is Tim okay?

"Oh my gosh. Mr Red Robin sir, my friend was coming back here and I don't know if he's okay or not. I didn't see him among the others and I just need to be sure he's okay. His name is Tim Drake." You rambled on.

Red Robin nodded, "He's safe. Don't worry." Though cryptic, you trusted the vigilantes words and gave him one final embrace.

#tim drake imagine #tim drake #tim drake x reader #timothy drake #batman x reader #batfamily #batfamily imagine #batman #batman imagine

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the-wlw-cafe · 5 years

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Gifts Like These (Lena Luthor x Reader)

Request: Reader slowly coming to the realization that her boss, Lena Luthor, is and has been totally acting like the reader’s sugar daddy ever since she applied for a Job at L-Corp

Fandom: Supergirl

Warnings: one piddly little curse word

Word Count: 2180

It started out perfectly professional, innocent, even.

It started out with Lena Luthor, your boss of not more than four months asking you to accompany her to a fancy National City gala, for strictly work-related purposes, of course.

“I-, gosh, I...Miss Luthor, are you sure you want me of all people to accompany you?”

High society isn’t exactly your metier, to put it lightly. You weren’t raised among them, and from what little contact you’ve had with them as Miss Luthor’s assistant, you’re glad for it. They barely seem to notice you, and when they do, they expect you to bend to their will, to simply make Miss Luthor be available when you’ve already told them that your boss is not seeing any unannounced visitors, no matter how important they believe themselves to be. You can’t stand most of them, L-Corp’s rivals and allies alike.

“We’ve got that in common already, then”, she says, flashing you a bright grin, after you’ve told her about your feelings towards them. You don’t think you would have dared to ever be so open with any other boss, but she’s told you from day one to never be afraid to speak your mind, and she’s told you a bunch of times after, too, until the message sank in.

“But in all seriousness, (Y/N), this gala is going to be chock full of ruthless businesspeople trying to scope out the competition, intimidate newcomers...and L-Corp is going to seem like a perfect target to them, me being the youngest Luthor, inexperienced and a woman to top it all off.”

“They’re underestimating you.” There’s no doubt about it in your mind.

“Of course they are”, Miss Luthor agrees, “but I’ll still be in hostile territory. I need someone at my side, someone I can trust, to be my extra set of eyes and ears.”

There’s something bitter in her voice when she says the word trust, and honestly, you can’t blame her. She’s already been betrayed so often, by her own assistants, by friends, by family...

The fact that she’s ready to rely on you that much is already baffling to you.

“You can count on me, Miss Luthor”, you find yourself saying before you even have the chance to think it through. Miss Luthor almost seems almost as surprised as you.

“Oh! Oh, good. I’ll have my driver pick you up in advance.” She thanks you, and turns to leave, but at that exact moment your brain catches up to you and to what you just agreed.

“Miss Luthor, wait! I...I don’t have anything to wear for an occasion like this...”

You can feel blood rush to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, (Y/N). We’ll figure something out.”

When Lena said she’d figure something out, you’d thought something along the line of you giving her your measurements and she sending you something to wear the day before the gala would happen. Never in your lifetime would you have expected to be leaning against the full body mirror in the changing room of a boutique, one of the really fancy ones with an impeccably dressed security guard in front of the door. A security guard who seemed to have had some doubts about someone like you sullying this establishment with your working class shoes, but didn’t dare voice them after Miss Luthor shot him a withering glare.

You tried on dress after dress and suit after suit, feeling uncomfortable at first, and embarrassed when Miss Luthor had to pull at your clothes to make them sit right on your frame. Embarrassed and very concerned at the fact that in this exact moment your brain chose to make you aware of the fact that wow, she smells really good and gosh, she’s so pretty.

But you get the hang of it, eventually, both of the clothes and your rapid, irregular heartbeat, and you start actually enjoying yourself, which in turn seems to brighten Miss Luthor’s smile even more as she eagerly appraises every outfit you try on, pointing out when an outfit “really brings out the colour of your eyes” or “fits you perfectly”.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to two outfits you just can’t seem to decide between, so you turn to Miss Luthor for her professional opinion.

“Well, if it’s so difficult to decide, why not get them both?”

You actually choke on air as she says this.

“Miss Luthor”, you cough, “I think I might have to live off of packaged noodles and tap water for a month to afford even one, let alone two!”

Miss Luthor shoots you a puzzled look, and the resulting pause gives you just enough time to catch your breath, before her next words make you inevitably lose it again:

“Oh, (Y/N), I’m not going to make you pay for these!”

You gape at her. The possibility that you might have fainted the second she asked you to accompany her to the gala and that your boutique-related escapades were caused by the resulting comatose dreams seems increasingly likely.

“Miss Luthor...I couldn’t possibly-“

“It’s Lena, darling. I can’t have my date to the gala address me ass Miss Luthor.”

You’re not quite sure how you manage to keep upright after this sentence turns your knees to jelly.

It starts with the gala, but it doesn’t end there.

(The gala itself surprisingly enjoyable, probably owed in no small part to the company present – Miss Lu - Lena never leaves your side during the whole evening, she seems to intuit whenever you need a break from all the rich, stuffy strangers eyeing you with anything from disinterest to unabashed judgement. You do get compliments for your outfit – quite a lot of them backhanded, probably – but they all pale in comparison to Lena telling you in a breathy voice that you look absolutely stunning.)

But even after the gala, Lena doesn’t stop giving you gifts. Horribly expensive gifts, even. For your the holidays it’s a reservation for you and a plus one of your choosing at one of National City’s most esteemed restaurants. You end up going with your best friend, and as you arrive it turns out that not only did Lena get you the reservation, she seems to have bought out the entire restaurant so you and your friend can eat undisturbed.

For your birthday, it’s a stunning pair of (Y/E/C) earrings. You’re so flustered you drop them twice while stammering your thanks, so Lena has to affix them to your ears with her slender, nimble fingers herself.

On her next business trip to Zürich, Switzerland, she insists on taking you with her. Well, she doesn’t so much insist as gently ask you and you jump at the opportunity. And that is how end up next to your boss and secret crush in the dreamy-soft cushions of her high-tech private jet, sharing some iced champagne. You know Lena doesn’t care for flying much, and she does look even paler than usual as the jet lurches forward, gains speed rapidly on the asphalt track before finally taking off, so you try and distract her by talking about anything and everything, yourself, your hobbies, a dog you saw yesterday...

You think Lena knows what you’re doing, and if the grateful smile she shoots you is any indication, she appreciates you trying.

After a few glasses of champagne she is starting to become more talkative, and a cute, fait blush has spread across her cheekbones. She gestures animatedly as she tells you about all the things she has planned, showing you around the city, taking you out to the fanciest restaurants. As much as it sounds like heaven to you, it also makes you think. Lena never liked to spend much time away from L-Corp, trying to cut her business trips abroad as short as possible. In fact, you remember multiple occasions on which she asked you to book her flight back on the same day her business meeting was set to conclude, despite your protests that such a strict timetable was far too stressful and she deserved a proper night’s sleep. But this time, she had planned a stay of a week – a whole week! – in Zürich, and the only tangible difference between this trip and all the others is, well, you. Which means that she was doing all of that for your sake, going way out of her comfort zone for your sake...and you can’t for the life of you figure out why. Well, you have one theory...and it’s sad, it’s terrible, and you have to stop it in its tracks.

What if Lena thought she had to buy your loyalty with gifts?

“(Y/N)?”

Her soft voice and a gentle touch of her hand over yours shake you out of your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Lena, I was just...” You were just what? Second-guessing every interaction you two have had up until now? Lena is smiling at you, patiently waiting for you to finish your line of thought.

“I was just wondering...”, you take a deep breath, “why are you doing this?”

You heart clenches as you see Lena’s smile drip from her face like icy water.

“I-I’m sorry?”

This might be the first time you’ve ever heard her stutter.

“I just...I just don’t know why you insist on buying all of this stuff for me.”

Lena’s hand slowly retreats from yours as she sinks back into her seat. You instantly miss its warmth.

“I – shit, I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable, (Y/N). I always thought I’d stop before it got too much, before I got too overbearing, I never meant to cross that line, I promise.”

“Lena, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I just need you to know that you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to buy my loyalty, I’m already on your side. Always.”

Lena leans towards you again, her brow furrowed, her eyes wet.

“Is that what you think I was doing?”

You shrug, helplessly. “I don’t know why you would waste so much money on me otherwise.”

She closes her eyes, sighing deeply, and you can almost see her shrink into herself in front of your very eyes.

“You’re really going to make me spell it out for you, are you?”

She carries on before you can even answer, and her next sentence knocks all of the air straight out of your lungs.

“I have feelings for you, (Y/N), I’ve had them for a very long time. And believe me, I know how inappropriate it is, and I’d never, ever try to manipulate you into anything you don’t want, but...you deserve so, so much, (Y/N). You’re one of the best, kindest, most loyal people I know, and even if I can’t be with you, I just wanted to give you a fraction of what you deserve.”

All of that pours out of her at such an incredible speed you have to take a few moments to catch up.

“You...have feelings for me? Romantic feelings?”, you ask, unsure if you can believe your ears.

“I do. And I understand if you can’t continue working for me anymore now that you know, and I’ll make sure you find employment somewhere –“

“Lena. Hey. Don’t get ahead of yourself”, you say, as softly as you can, and this time it’s you placing a hand on top of Lena’s. You squeeze her hand gently, to reassure both her and yourself, as you’re still not quite sure this is really happening. Nobody can be this lucky.

“My point from before still stands”, you continue. “You don’t need to buy me gifts, you already have me, if you want me.”

Lena’s openly crying now, and she’s looking at you like she can’t quite believe you’re real.

“(Y/N), are you sure? I’m your boss, and I’m a Luthor, and –“

“None of that scares me”, you whisper, cupping Lena’s cheek in your free hand to brush away a wayward tear with your thumb. “Not when I’m with you.”

You’re not sure who leans in first, you or Lena, or if it’s some strange magnetism between you two, but your lips brush hers and it’s soft and perfect and it’s just...heaven. Both of you don’t think of anything but each other on the long, long flight to Zürich.

Lena still insists on taking you out to that horribly expensive restaurant, even though you try to insist that she really doesn’t have to.

“I’m not trying to bribe you into staying, I’d never manipulate you like that. It’s just...” she breaks off, blushing furiously and avoiding your gaze, “I like it. I enjoy spoiling you. I’d do it every day, if you’d let me.”

And it makes you blush, too, it makes you imagine having Lena treat you to fancy food and spa days and exclusive clubs and showing you off on her arm, and yeah, that sounds like heaven, too.

(“So does that mean you’re my sugar mama?”, you ask her cheekily, making her groan and bury her face in her hands.)

#aka reader has a capitalism kink #lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #reader insert #supergirl #supergirl Reader insert #wlw imagine #imagine #wlw Reader insert

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kgraces · 4 years

Text

Famine

A follow-up to Tire Iron and Surprise Siblings. Also available on Ao3!

Tim’s life used to be silent. He moved around his own house—not a home, never a home—like a ghost. That house was more of a mausoleum than a place for living, breathing people to occupy. Tim always felt like just another relic his parents had dug up somewhere and left behind on a shelf to gather dust. He grew up alone, and the most affection he’d ever received as a young child was a pat on the head when he behaved himself at a high-society function.

Dick Grayson had been the exception. He gave Tim his first hug, and then Tim watched as the boy’s life fell, fell, fell apart before his eyes. And then Batman swooped in, and Tim’s life changed, just a little. He spent the next few years scouring the news for any reports on either of them, and years later, when six-year-old Tim Drake met Dick Grayson again at a gala—a framed picture wrapped neatly in cheery Christmas colors tucked tightly in his grip—he was surprised to be remembered. Dick had given him a hug that night, too. His second hug ever.

When he was nine, he found out Robin’s secret identity, and he kept quiet. He would never want to put Dick Grayson at risk. The older boy was just so nice, and Tim idolized both the acrobat and the vigilante. He snuck out at night—not that anyone was ever there to notice, anyways—and followed Batman and Robin’s adventures. Sometimes, feeling more like a ghost than a person had its benefits, and being able to follow his heroes around without being noticed was definitely one of his favorites. He was a silent little shadow, a whisper in the night breeze, a lonely little boy who went four more years after that gala without a third hug.

Then, Tim met Jason, and his life stopped being silent. For the first time ever, he had people who cared about him—people who weren’t half a world away. It was strange and new, but it was wonderful. Dick and Jason became his older brothers, and Tim loved them fiercely. Dick and Jason seemed to love him fiercely back, and it was so different from anything Tim had ever experienced before.

Dick was visiting again; he’d been coming back to Gotham more and more often since he met Tim and Jason. He immediately scooped Tim into a hug when he got back to the manor, sweeping him up into his arms so Tim’s toes didn’t even touch the ground. A laugh bubbled up from Tim’s chest, and he leaned into the hug, excited to see his oldest brother. Dick didn’t even bother to set him down, he just moved Tim into a piggyback carry, so he could walk and let Tim cling to him at the same time.

“Hey Alf, I’m home!” He called out, making his way into the kitchen. Jason sat at the counter, working on homework, and he glanced up at the sound of Dick’s voice. He flashed a grin at Tim and Dick before turning his attention back to algebra. Alfred glanced over his shoulder, elbow-deep in dishwater, and offered the boys a warm welcome. Tim’s arms were still looped around Dick’s neck, his face buried in his older brother’s shoulder.

“How’s your homework going, Jay?” Tim asked softly. He still wasn’t used to needing to speak loud enough for other people to hear him, but he was working on it. Jason smiled up at Tim, who was peeking over Dick’s shoulder, his pale blue eyes wide and curious.

“It’s going fine, Timbit,” he said. “But it’d go a lot faster if my genius little brother would help me out.” He stuck his tongue out, and Tim laughed.

“You’re really smart,” he said cheerfully. “You can do it!”

“Yeah,” Dick said, ruffling Jason’s hair and snagging a few cookies from the plate Alfred left on the counter. “And after you finish up here, you can join us for a movie marathon. How does that sound?” Jason’s eyes lit up, and he nodded, turning back to his homework with renewed vigor. Dick snorted, sending a conspiratorial look to Tim.

They made their way to the theater room, and Dick dropped Tim on one of the huge couches, taking the space next to him a moment later. Tim immediately curled into Dick’s side, leeching off his warmth and the feeling of having someone nearby. Dick’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“I’m glad you’re with us, Timmy,” Dick said. His voice was full of affection and sadness, and the oddness of the tone made Tim glance up at him, confused. Dick caught his look and offered him a small smile. “I just wish we’d found you sooner, is all.”

“Because of my parents?” Tim asked, already seeing the answer in Dick’s eyes. It wasn’t a surprise when Dick nodded in response, but it made Tim frown, all the same. “Jason is the one who deserved better parents. Mine provided for me, right?”

“Not completely,” Dick said, brushing a hand through Tim’s hair. The sadness still didn’t creep out of his eyes. “They left you alone, Timmy, and no kid deserves to be left all alone. Kids—especially you and Jason—deserve lots of love.”

Tim bit his lip. He wasn’t sure he completely agreed with Dick. Of course Jason needed them, but he wasn’t sure how he fit into that picture. He’d been fine on his own—been loved by his parents, even at a distance. His needs were met, but somehow, Bruce had won custody over him. Tim knew about neglect, from an academic standpoint, but he didn’t understand why his parents needed to be there with him when he could take care of himself just fine. It didn’t make sense to him. Dick must have sensed his churning thoughts, because he pulled Tim into his lap.

“Tim,” he said, expression serious but still brimming with affection. “Material needs and emotional needs are equally important.” He watched as Tim melted into the hold, and he had to fight back the urge to squeeze him tight and never let go. “Like hugs, for example,” he said. “People need physical affection, or they run the risk of suffering from touch starvation.”

Tim’s eyes flashed with understanding. He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. The puzzle pieces began to settle into place, forming the bigger picture for him to see and understand.

“Oh,” he said quietly. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not he should put a voice to his thoughts. “Did you know that, until I moved in, you were the only person who’d ever hugged me?”

Dick’s heart broke, shattered into a million pieces in his chest. He made a soft, wounded sound and pulled his baby brother closer. He didn’t bother trying to stop the tears from falling onto the top of Tim’s head.

“I’m so sorry, Timmy,” he crooned. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said, voice almost too quiet to be heard, even with their closeness. “I went from being able to count on one hand—with fingers left over—how many hugs I’ve ever gotten to getting more than that every single day.” He patted Dick’s arm, wanting to offer some small comfort to his big brother. “I’m really glad I’ve got you guys now.” He paused for a moment. “Is that why you and Jason are always giving me hugs?”

“Absolutely,” Jason’s voice replied from the doorway. “Finally figured us out?” He asked, moving to join them on the couch. He curled up as close as he could to Dick and Tim. Tim reached out a hand, which Jason took. He was shaking a little, but he trusted his older brothers to keep him steady.

“I’m not used to it,” Tim admitted. “But, it’s really nice. My parents didn’t like it when I asked for comfort, even when I was little. I started having really bad nightmares after that night at the circus, and I think I annoyed them by constantly asking to sleep in their bed or for a hug. They took a six month trip a week after.”

Jason gritted his teeth, anger sparking to life in his eyes. It died as soon as he met Tim’s steady gaze, and his shoulders slumped. He hated Tim’s parents for treating him like he was little more than a shiny bauble to show off when they needed to impress people. They didn’t see Tim, the brilliant, dorky kid who loves Alfred’s scones and Star Wars, the kid who can talk circles around Jason about the most random, specific topics. Jason didn’t think he could ever forgive Tim’s parents for starving Tim of the love he deserved. He knew Dick and Tim felt the same about his own parents, and he and Tim hurt for Dick’s loss, too.

Jason thought that’s the way a family should be, even if he never had it for himself until he stumbled his way into the Waynes’ lives. Tim didn’t seem to fully understand it yet, but they were working on it. Tim had been starved his whole life, and it was up to Jason and Dick to show him just how much he deserved. Tim’s grip on his hand wavered a little, fingers trembling, and Jason sent him a reassuring smile in response to the unasked question. No, he wasn’t going to let go. Tim smiled back, relaxing back against Dick’s chest.

“Can we stay like this for a little while?” Tim asked, a warble of hesitation in his voice. Dick and Jason exchanged a pained look. Tim was still so uncertain, but he was trying.

“Of course we can, Timmy,” Dick said. He threaded his fingers through Tim’s hair, smoothing out the tangles.

“Thank you,” Tim said, and the sincerity in his tone was painful to hear.

“Anytime, Timbit,” Jason said, drawing himself as close to his little brother as he could. Ordinarily, he’d shy away from so much close contact; years living with Willis Todd had taught him to avoid being within fist’s reach, but they both needed to learn how to give and accept what most people took for granted: hugs and hair-ruffles and having other people there for them. Tim, perceptive as ever, seemed to catch onto Jason’s line of thinking and squeezed his hand.

They fell quiet, and it wasn’t quite contentment, but it was something inching closer to it, little by little. For Tim, it was enough. It was more than he’d ever dared hope for, and it was something incredibly new and precious. Having other people around him, not walking around in his own home like a shadow or a forgotten relic, wasn’t something he was used to, yet. But he was learning. He was getting used to being able to rely on other people, for other people to rely on him.

He wasn’t like Dick or Jay. He still technically had parents, but now he had a family. His mom and dad had given him anything but their time. Dick and Jay were there for him, and even when they were busy, they always made him feel noticed and appreciated. He settled in Dick’s hold, one hand still tightly clinging to Jason’s. He drank in the touch and the warmth like he was dying of thirst.

He had brothers—brothers he loved with all his heart. And as difficult as it was to really let himself believe it, he knew they loved him back.

#dc #BatFam #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #my writing #batman

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wordsfromthesol · 5 years

Text

The Private Eye

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist: @ghost-brocolli Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: AU where the batfam are detectives/cops, except Jason who is always the rebel, and is a private investigator. You are a vigilante and keep running into a certain P.I., a P.I. that’s a childhood friend. Warnings: Language, violence, injuries, ya’know all my faves Word Count: 2.6k A/N: This one got a bit long…whoops. Anyways, this was an AU requested by an anon! Enjoyyy. P.S. Y/H/N = your hero name

You had just finished tying up the last of the arms dealers when you heard someone outside. Grappling up, you watched and waited in the shadows. A familiar face crept through the door, you chuckled to yourself once you realized it was Jason Todd, and not another arms dealer. Swinging over to an adjacent window you whistled at the unsuspecting private investigator. You watched as his head jerked in the direction of the noise. As your eyes met, you gave him a wink and slipped out the window. It was interesting to see the Wayne ward in anything except a suit, since the only place you really saw him were the various banquets and galas his father made him attend.

Jason’s eyes went to the ground below where he saw eight men tied together. He let out an exasperated sigh before dialing his brother.

“Dick, they did it again” he blurted out before his brother had a chance to answer the phone.

“That vigilante?”

“No, the ice cream man.”

“…Unnecessary Jay, how many?”

“2…4…6…8. Eight and a mountain of guns.”

“Alright, I’ll get Tim and head over. He needs to get out from in front of that computer anyways. Send me your location…and don’t touch anything!” Dick didn’t know why he bothered with the forewarning, he knew his brother would likely touch everything.

Jason’s eyes darted around the warehouse, he knew he would only have a few minutes to look around before his brothers came stumbling in and taking all the evidence with them. He noticed a door and made his way towards it. Picking the lock was child’s play. Jason sifted through the various papers and file cabinets, snapping pictures of anything he thought was important. He silently cheered as it seemed that he interrupted you before your search of the warehouse had begun. Though his celebration was cut short when he heard a car engine cut off. Jason frantically threw the papers back in the cabinets and rushed out the door just in time to greet his brothers.

“Dick, Tim. Lovely day we’re having, isn’t it?”

“Right, because that doesn’t make you sound suspicious at all…” Tim rolled his eyes as he proceeded to head in the direction Jason ran from.

“Well you boys got it from here…have fun!” Jason shouted out behind him as he darted for the front door.

“Ja –” Dick’s words were cut off with the slam of the door.

You watched and waited on a nearby rooftop, you never really trusted the cops. You were almost ready to call the police yourself, when finally, a patrol car pulled up to the warehouse and two young detectives got out. Satisfied that they could handle it from here, you turned to leave…but movement caught the corner of your eye. The P.I. was in an awful hurry to get out of there, so you decided to follow him. You watched through his window as he sifted eagerly through photographs, it was almost endearing how excited he was. Hours passed and he still sat on the floor gazing at the various pictures.

Alright, this is getting me nowhere. I’ll come back later to try and catch a glimpse at those photos.

You headed home and tried to get some rest. Something kept gnawing at the back of your mind, and around 3 am you decided to check in on Jason. Maybe he was asleep and you could see what was so enthralling about those photographs. After slipping on your costume you made your way back to the apartment. The entire building was dark, so you slipped in through the window. After a quick sweep, you found the apartment empty. Where on earth would he have gone so late at night. That’s when you noticed the notes scrawled out beside the photos. Another warehouse? Reality hit you, you had missed one. This idiot went out to try and stop another supply of weapons. You dashed out the window, sprinting towards the location. I hope he fucking called his brothers.

You were relieved to arrive at the warehouse and hear silence. Either he hasn’t been caught or he’s already dead. You circled around the building, scanning for the best possible entrance, when you noticed a shadowed figure on the roof. What the fuck is he thinking. You joined him on the roof and clasped your hand around his mouth.

“What to enlighten me on your genius plan here buddy?” You whisper screamed at the man.

With annoyance in his eyes, he pried your hand from his face. “Unlike you, I’m strictly on information gathering…not that I wouldn’t enjoy bashing in some of their faces…”

You glared at him, not believing his excuse for a second.

“Alright judgey, you are ruining my recon here. I was hired to do a job, and I intend to do it. If you would ever get out of my damn way.”

“Me? In your way?! Are you kidding me?” A bullet whorled passed you and you realized your voice had gotten way above a whisper. “Shit. Just stay down, okay?” You reached for your grapple gun and secured it on the roof. Just as you were about to jump Jason latched himself to your side and the two of you tumbled down into the center of the warehouse.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” You screamed as you pushed him towards the wall, attempting to block him from the oncoming slaughter.

“You’re on something if you thought I was just going to sit on the roof.”

“Just do me a favor, and don’t die.” You called after him, as you sprinted towards the nearest thug.

You were pleasantly surprised at how well Jason could hold his own, not that he could ever know you felt that way. And he did get a nice bullet to the shoulder as a reminder to not follow you into the battlefield. You waltzed over to him, slumped to the floor grasping at his shoulder.

“See this?” You pointed dramatically to his shoulder. “This is what happens when you don’t follow my instructions.

“Well how do you know that bullet wouldn’t have hit you if I wasn’t there?”

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” Bending down, you took out your knife and cut off the bottom of his shirt. Before Jason could react, you tied the fabric around the wound. “You may want to go to the hospital so they can take that bullet out.”

“Yeah lemme roll up to the hospital in a now crop top.”

“Eh, it works…you call your brothers yet, or should I?”

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. “Hey Dick…”

“What did you do?”

Jason’s voice went up several octaves as he proceeded to respond, “What…why would you assume that I did something?”

“Jason…”

“Alright, there’s another warehouse…the vigilante may or may not have been involved. Some people may or may not have been shot…I may or may not be one of those people.”

“What the fuck, Jay.” Jason quickly hung up the phone before his older brother could berate his recklessness. After sending the coordinates to his brother, Jason looked up at you. “Alright, get me out of here before Dick shows up. I do not need to see his reaction to all this.”

You rolled your eyes but motioned for him to follow.

It had been days since your last encounter with Jason, but you hit a wall with the ring of arms dealers and something in the back of your mind was telling you he knew more than he let on. You crept through the streets, making your way to his building. You couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not when you approached the building and noticed the living room illuminated. Peering through the window, you didn’t see any evidence of life. Maybe he accidentally left it on? After a few minutes, you carefully pried open the window and made your way inside. Pictures and notes were scattered about, just as before. Your mind got lost processing all the information, both new and old, and you didn’t hear the front door open.

“Are you kidding me…” A voice echoed behind you. You swung around to see Jason holding a bag of food.

“Heyyy Jayyy…”

“Jay?” His brow furrowed with confusion as his eyes darted towards the evidence he had compiled on the arms dealers. “Are you seriously trying to sabotage my case?”

“What?! No! I swear!” You made your way to him.

“Get the fuck out. Now.”

“Jason, I just –”

“NOW”

You scrambled out the door before he further lost his temper. Thankfully, you took enough pictures of his notes to determine the gangs next move on your own. After sprawling out the information in a similar fashion, you combed over the data until the puzzle pieces began to fit together.

“HA!” You exclaimed…to absolutely no one at all, as a pattern in their shipments seemed to develop. Two days. The next one is in two days and I bet this idiot is trying to go there by himself.

You spent the next two days scoping out the warehouse and avoiding Jason, who seemed to be doing the same thing. Delivery day had finally arrived. You sat perched on a nearby rooftop. Though you were watching the trucks pulled into the warehouse, your eyes kept drifting to Jason’s hiding spot. You didn’t want to impede whatever he was doing, but at the same time the thugs needed to be stopped and he needed to not get hurt in the process.

Moments later, it seemed you jinxed the unsuspecting P.I., as two dealers were moving quickly in his direction. Fuck. You leapt down from your hiding spot and ran to his side.

As you came into his line of vision he harshly mouthed, “Seriously?!”

Ignoring his frustration, you shoved him further into the bushes and stood up, making yourself even more visible to approaching men.

“Y/H/N IS HERE!” You heard one of them shout as you raced towards them, giving them no time to take aim. Once the two men were down you shot a glare in Jason’s general direction, a warning to stay hidden…one he did not heed.

Making your way into the warehouse, you counted 10 more bodies, all of which were armed and waiting for you.

“Boys, boys. Can’t we settle this like adults?” You were just trying to buy yourself time to think of a plan. A plan that preferably didn’t involve 10 guns pointed in your direction. As the scenarios played in your mind and nonsensical sarcasm flowed from your mouth. It was interrupted by an explosion on the other side of the warehouse. This distraction allowed you to take out the nearby thugs and race to cover.

Scanning the room, you created a plan, a plan that was almost instantly destroyed as you watch Jason Todd vault over a case of guns and punch one of the remaining arms dealers square in the face. Fuck. You took out two more as you sprinted towards Jason.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“That you would’ve been dead without me.”

You glared at him, he was clearly blissfully unaware that he was about to be shot moments ago.

“Likewise Jaybird.”

His face recoiled at the nickname, “Seriously, do I know you?”

You shrugged and bounded towards the last of the men. As they fell to the floor you turned back to Jason and gave a dramatic bow. Just as you ascended your world went black and the vague sound of a gunshot echoed in the background.

Jason chuckled to himself as you took your well-deserved bow. Maybe they aren’t as bad as I thought. A blurred figure appeared in the corner of his vision, headed directly for you. As he pulled the gun from his waistband, he began to shout “Y/H/N!” Too little too late, you were on the floor in an instant. Before the man could take another step, Jason shot. He raced to your side, elevating your head in his lap.

“Y/H/N?” He waited for a response. Nothing. “Fuck this.” He tore off your helmet-esque mask so he could further evaluate the damage. “Y/N?” No no no…Jason ripped his phone from his pocket and dialed Dick.

“Dick. It’s Y/N. Y/H/N is Y/N. She’s hurt bad.” Jason rattled off his location and hung up the phone without waiting on a response.

“Y/N…why?”

Your eyes fluttered as your mind faded in and out of consciousness. Was your mask gone? How did Jay know? “Couldn’t…hurt…my little Jaybird…”

You woke up in an unfamiliar and secluded room. Where the fuck… You slowly rose and took in your surroundings. They didn’t seem threatening. Just as you were attempting to stand, that ever-familiar face walked in the room. Jason leapt towards you and put a firm hand on your knee, preventing you from moving.

“Not uh. Doctor said no standing.”

“Doctor?” You memory was still a bit hazy. “Why…what happened?”

“Y/N/N, you were hurt…there was one you didn’t see.”

Your eyes widened as the memories came flooding back. You were here, in a hospital gown…“How many know?”

“That’s what you’re worried about, seriously?!” Jason threw up his hands in exasperation. “God, I know we haven’t been as close lately, but how could you not tell me?”

“Jason, how many?”

Jason let out a sigh, “Just me and Dick.”

A breath of relief left your chest, “I couldn’t put you in danger. And I don’t think you would have approved.”

“I could’ve helped.” Jason seemed disappointed that you hadn’t entrusted him with this secret.

“Jay, the only time we talk anymore is when someone decides to throw some fundraiser that we both are obligated to attend. When did you even expect me to tell you? Look at the shoes on that one, oh by the way I’m Y/H/N?”

Jason shied away, remembering why he distanced himself from you. “I love you” he mumbled into the wall. You were sure you’d heard him incorrectly.

“I’m pretty sure I’m still concussed, so you are going to have to speak up.”

His head whipped around and he marched towards you, taking your hands. “I fucking love you. And when I pulled that mask off and saw you lifeless in my arms I lost it.”

“I –” You began but were genuinely lost for words. You stared at him trying to confirm that you were indeed awake and this wasn’t some comatose dream. Jason, however, searched your eyes for a response. “You stopped talking to me though…” You finally managed.

“I didn’t think you would want me.”

Your face contorted with confusion as you rapidly blinked in his direction. “Seriously, Jay?” He looked down and fiddled with your fingers. You pulled one of your hands from his grasp and laid it on his face. “You’re an idiot.” Drawing his face towards your own you pressed a kiss to his lips before resting your head on his shoulder. As you began to drift back into a medicated sleep you mumbled out, “My little Jaybird.”

Jason turned and stared at your now sleeping form on his shoulder. He left a gentle kiss on your forehead and gently placed you back on the bed.

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avengerofiron · 4 years

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landslide || Tony & Zatanna

WHO: Tony Stark ( @avengerofiron ) and Zatanna Zatara ( @mistressofmagic ) WHERE: the Stark mansion in Los Angeles, January 1970 WHEN: a few days before Zatanna and Robbie went to secure the Darkhold WHAT: Tony asked Zatanna to let him talk to his parents one last time. Zatanna obliges. WARNINGS: descriptions and discussions of childhood abuse including physical/emotional abuse and gaslighting, mild violence WORDS: 11k (ish)

ZATANNA: Flipping the photograph over, she looked at the date. It was strange, actually. January. She would have guessed it was closer to Tony’s birthday considering how far along Maria appeared to be in the pictures. She was focusing on the date, picturing it and the location in her mind. Thankfully, whoever had written on the back of this, had jotted down the location as well. Everything Zatanna needed was right on the photograph.

“I love a good excuse to get dressed up,” Zatanna mused, glancing at Tony with a smile on her face. “What do you want to wear? Or I could pick, a quick change before we jump so that we fight right in with this picture.” The last time they had both had actively gotten dressed up had been the gala. And there, they hadn’t been a couple. (Their wedding should have been the next date, but by the pictures, neither of them had dressed for the occasion. And neither of them had been aware of it either.) “What do you think? Should we match?” It should have been a joke. Would have been any other day. But she had already preluded this trip as their honeymoon. Not that traveling through time to meet her in-laws was a traditional way to spend a honeymoon… but nothing about their relationship so far had been traditional.

Zatanna tapped the picture against her hand. “Are you sure about this?” She hadn’t been one to hesitate before, but this had weight. The kind that you got to opt into, not the kind that you had to weather out of some twisted sense of responsibility and duty. “Are you ready for this?”

TONY: Tony couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been the smartest person in the room. It sounded self absorbed, perhaps, but he’d long since accepted that in the privacy of his own head, he was, through and through, an asshole. (Some would argue he let that side out in public as well far too frequently, though he would disagree.) He bombed through assessments and rejections and brick walls built around what could and couldn’t be done, joined a team full of superheroes who battled aliens and evil robots and who travelled the world in search of mystic weapons. Tony Stark wasn’t just used to navigating around other people’s confusion -- he was used to leading the goddamn charge.

But magic was something else. Zatanna was something else. She was one of few people (maybe even the only person) Tony would admit had something over on him, one of few he was completely in awe of and made only the slightest attempts to hide it.

“I know you do,” Tony said, not even trying to disguise the undertone to his words. He’d already copped to being an avid audience member at any of her shows he’d attended. What use was there in pretending now? “You pick. Just make sure if I’m wearing a tie, it matches your shoes. We need to make it look coherent.” Like we got dressed together, he almost said. Like they were normal, whatever that meant.

They were about to jump through space and time. Normal didn’t even come into it.

“What way does this work?” Tony asked. “Is it the polarity complex? Theory of general relativity? Infinite cylinder? Don’t tell me it’s a black hole, because I’ll have a really bad joke just waiting for that one.” As long as it wasn’t a wormhole (the mere thought had hairs picking up on the back of his neck, suddenly and without warning), Tony was pretty sure he could cope with anything -- but questioning it didn’t look like that. His endless, boundless curiosity could be construed as nervous muttering, a metaphorical pacing that created an uncomfortable edge to the air between them.

He wasn’t nervous. He was invigorated. He was a scientist with an impossible theorem, and the person he trusted most in the world had the solution tucked neatly in her back pocket.

“A thousand percent,” Tony said, reaching to take her hand, a gentle squeeze to affirm what he was saying (nothing to do with that shiver up his spine, or the idea that her warmth was something that could be shared, always). “Do we have to think about the time? Imagine it in our heads? Think about the people? I can do that.” Sometimes it felt like all he ever did was think about his parents -- like some part of him was tangled up in that car at the same time.

ZATANNA: There was an intimacy in his words that they both casually ignored. Or at least, Zatanna casually ignored. Knowing that if she looked directly at it, if she acknowledged that his words meant something — that she felt something when he said them, she'd fall into them and she wasn't sure she'd ever recover. Each word that he spoke had a calculated weight, one that she measured with each phrase, wondering if they were all equally heavy because they were shared in the same sentence, or if there was one out there that would be enough to tip the balance and send her over the edge. (As if she hadn't already slipped. As if she hadn't already taken that step in her heart and was waiting to see if he was falling at the same speed — or simply not at all.)

“I'd say that I'm hinting for you to take me out somewhere nice more, but I'm trying to be subtle." Normally, Zatanna would have gone for a comfort look, dressing in black and easily blending in with the crowd, but that wouldn't work for this. Not in her mind, at least. If they were going to do this, then she wanted them to be stunning — and matching the times would be equally fun.

Zatanna whispered a spell and the area around the two of them light up with a bright, white light. And when the light washed away, their clothes were different. Zatanna was in a wine colored dress with a lace neckline. And Tony's tie? The same shade as her dress. "I know you said my shoes but... I went with black shoes so I matched your tie to my dress. Black is a nice classic look, but you'd match anyone at the party and — can't have that."

And as she had expected, Tony immediately started asking questions. Trying to take apart how this was going to work — and immediately trying to relate it to science. "I..." Zatanna shook her head and went to cup his face, only stopping short and resting her hands on his shoulders instead. "You realize I have no idea what any of those things mean, right? Other than a black hole — and it's not that!"

There was a faint smile on her lips as he kept asking questions, but at this point, she figured he was mostly talking to himself. "It'll be like when I teleport us. It'll be instantaneous. But you'll probably feel a little nauseous but just breathe and it should pass quickly." Her hands dropped to his, taking them in her own hands and gently gripping them.

"Focus on that pictures. The place. The date. Them.” Zatanna closed her eyes and then told Tony to do the same. “Close your eyes and focus on your breathing.” That wasn’t necessary for the spell to work, but she figured that it might help him focus his mind. He had a lot of questions and hearing him try and puzzle out how this would work — it actually felt good. Hearing his thoughts and all his excitement, it felt good.

“I’m going to start now,” she warned, giving him a moment before she started the incantation.

TONY: Tony still remembered pushing his way through a crowd towards the suit, desperately tasking J.A.R.V.I.S. to find a diagnosis, which he did in an instant. A severe anxiety attack. Tony could barely take it in. The A.I. repeated it once, twice, three times, more slowly and patiently on each occasion, and still the super genius couldn’t work out what he was saying. To this day, Tony was unsure why he was so surprised, why he was almost offended. After all, it had always been difficult to ground himself. He’d always disappeared into feeling, always found himself on a cold floor struggling to breathe, a thousand possibilities no matter how mathematically improbable worming their way into his brain.

Zatanna had always been good at it, at him. Despite the lights, the flashing cameras, the scream of a crowd that he associated with the great Zatara, there was a quiet that he was sure few experienced with her standing in front of them, a way she turned his loudest, most persistent thoughts into nothing more than a slightly irritating static in the back of his mind. Her hands were in his, and she was telling him to focus, and all he could think as she closed her eyes and started to recite incomprehensible words were how beautiful she was when she got that little crease between her eyebrows.

When that whoosh went through his stomach, when he felt like the earth was cracking underneath him and re-solidifying within a breath of a moment, Tony was surprised he didn’t find himself standing in the audience of a magic show during intermission, catching sight of lights dancing against dark hair, a stranger who wasn’t so strange after all turning to him with a bright smile.

It was Los Angeles, instead -- a long way from the first time Tony met Zatanna, and a long way from the New York he’d so long associated with his parents. A garden party, buffet tables laden with food, people milling around with champagne flutes and bell bottom jeans. He turned back, blinking a few times fast as he readjusted to the blinding sun, and recognised the house immediately as one of his father’s. “I used to love this place,” he said, immediately, even as nausea briefly rose in his throat (Zatanna wasn’t lying about the effects of time space travel on the body). “Jarvis brought me here all the time. There’s a beach just down there. Two minutes from the house and back. We-”

“Mr. Jarvis!” a familiar voice rose above the crowd, crisp and heavily accented. “*For the love of God, man, leave the flamingo be!”

“Would do, Ms. Carter,” came the reply, “but as you can see, the devil in pink has quite his own idea of where he would like to-”

As he turned to look for the source of the voices, Tony’s breath caught in his chest. Someone else caught his eye instead, someone who was moving through the crowd with a confidence all his own, sunglasses perched on his nose and his hat at a jaunty angle (whiskey held in white knuckles, no ice to water it down).

“Dad.” Tony’s hand went for Zatanna’s, instinctively, and he found he’d never let go -- or perhaps more accurately, she’d never let go. Somehow, she knew what he needed long before he did, most times. (Almost all the time, except for when it came to her.) “You know what? This is a terrible idea. We should go back, right now. Emoh won, emoh won--”

Then Howard was in front of him, because of course he was. Tony spun around, hands breaking free and eyes widening.

“Uh--” Think, Tony. Think. “I’m--” A super genius. A man who knew Howard Stark better than almost anyone else in the world, even if he’d never really known him at all. An Avenger, at his core, capable of dealing with missions of grave importance every day ending in y … “Eddie? My name’s Eddie, uh … Rhodes. Eddie Rhodes, and my wife--”

It was at that point that it became abundantly clear Howard wasn’t paying attention to Tony tripping over his words in the slightest. Howard tilted his head forward, sunglasses dropping an inch down his nose, and offered a hand to Zatanna. “Pleasure to have someone like you at one of our parties,” he said. “It shows people we have taste after all, even if we’re new on the scene.”

Over his father’s shoulder, Tony vacantly recognised Peggy and Jarvis tackling a flamingo, trying to no avail to place a towel over its eyes. Jarvis came away with a bite wound to the hand. Tony would hear this story many years later, but right now, he couldn’t watch it play out, not with the feeling rising in him now. His hand went around Zee’s waist, squeezing gently.

“My wife, Anna,” he repeated, holding out his other hand to Howard, who begrudgingly looked away. “I’m an engineer, previously with Roxxon.”

Now that got his attention (Tony told himself it was because he wanted Howard to look at him, because he’d always wanted Howard to look at him -- but on this occasion, it felt more like he wanted him to look away from Zatanna than anything. He decided not to think too much about it). Howard’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowing.

“Roxxon?” he repeated. “I didn’t realise--”

“Formerly Roxxon,” Tony clarified. “I was actually looking at Stark Industries. My talents weren’t exactly appreciated. Asked too many questions, you know? Vita radiation is something of a passion project.”

Howard let out a low hum. “Vita radiation,” he said. “Most people have moved past that.”

“I’m not most people.”

Howard’s eyes flickered back over to Zatanna, and then to Tony. “Let’s get a drink, Rhodes,” he said. “And Mrs. Rhodes, please, feel free to mingle. We have all kinds of desserts on offer -- not that you need anything-”

Tony’s smile tightened once more. “We should talk nuclear,” he said.

ZATANNA: They had been to parties before, but something about being here felt... different and wonderful. Like a new chapter in the adventure they had started nearly ten years ago. Zatanna, in their early days, hadn't pushed him as hard to believe in magic or to follow her onto adventures like this. Their lives back then had also been remarkably different. But with each step they were taking now, it was together. And it was finally starting to feel like it was together. (She wouldn't say it. Couldn't put it into words — but it finally felt like they were walking towards something in sync with each other rather than walking against the wind.)

It had been no mystery to most of those who knew Tony even if only in passing, that Los Angeles and California had a place in Tony's heart. And even the weight of what they were in the middle of didn't stop Tony from sharing that story again. Mentioning Jarvis (who Zatanna had met briefly... recently) and as if on cue, she heard him in the corner along with Peggy Carter. "Is that a flamingo?" She scarcely got the words out before Tony was muttering backwards after changing his mind, and she squeezed his hand, about to try and calm him for a second time before his father was right before them.

Eddie Rhodes. She didn't blame him for his choice. In this day and age... they couldn't use their real names and chances were, the Rhodes family wouldn't have the same pull they did in their time. (An unfortunate reality that they couldn't change today.) Howard's attention, though, seemed to be fully on her. Tony had withdrawn his hand and he must have seen the look she had shot in his direction, quietly begging him to take her hand back — but it had been no invitation for Howard to try and... flirt? Was that what he was doing? (Whatever it was made her skin crawl. Tony was lucky his mother was already pregnant because she was sure that she was about to end his father's life right now.)

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Stark." Schooling her speech to match that of the lessons she had been taught in boarding school. Of decorum and how a lady should properly talk. No contractions. Never turn your back on them. You can show them the door but you can never shove them out. (And for the first time in her life, those lessons seemed useful. It was ironic that it just happened to be several years in the past.)

Tony, thankfully, swooped in and had an arm around her waist, squeezing her gently and she leaned into him, placing her hand on his side, and tucking her head towards him, just slightly. Pretending that this was just her trying to fit the role of where they were — and that it had nothing to do with how the way he called her his wife. Roxxon. Why did she remember that name? It clearly meant something, enough to pull Howard's attention towards Tony, but... then Vita Radiation. Another strange glance. Nuclear.

(All of that was filtered in between Zatanna realizing that Jarvis’s first name had been Edwin and his wife was Ana and she had not too long ago had been telling him that the way they understood each other had been romantic — this was no place for any of those thoughts or feelings. But here they were, stirring where they shouldn’t.)

The way that Howard was looking at Tony now? She might not have followed the conversation perfectly, but she knew that what Tony was talking about... it couldn't have been what he could realistically know as a stranger. But between being offended by Howard telling her she didn't need desserts and worrying that Tony was about to make a foolish mistake — Zatanna took in an easy breath and pretended. "My husband and I have plans for dessert later, but thank you." Figuring that Howard would take that to mean sex (and part of her wanted him to, just so he knew she had absolutely no interest in him at all) — but in reality, Zatanna was quietly planning what topping she was going to get on a sundae.

"I will give you two some privacy," she said, turning towards Tony and reluctantly pulling her hands away. She knew he needed a moment alone with his father, and he would want one with his mother — but she was nervous leaving him alone. Especially after this. "Darling," she touched his cheek where she would have kissed him as an extra measure to tell Howard to go fuck himself — but she had enough control to know that this wasn't the place — and that wasn't how she would want this to happen. “I will find a way to occupy myself.” Her father was around, by the pictures, and Tony’s mother had to be on grounds some place as well.

Zatanna stepped away from the two men, politely bowing her head before ducking away to another part of the party.

She didn’t get twenty feet away before she made awkward eye contact with her father and immediately bowed her head, turning towards the flamingo — but finding herself greeted with Maria next to her. A hand on her stomach and something... a distant expression on her face.

“Mrs. Stark?” The woman looked at her and it hit Zatanna. It hadn’t happened before that, she knew that the age difference had been there. But it made what Tony said about they could be like his parents... it rang so differently. (How many years, she wondered, separated Howard and Maria? Was it the same twenty that were between Tony and her?)

“What did he say to you?” Maria asked without looking at Zatanna.

“He was talking to my husband. About Roxxon and... I do not understand science in the slightest, please do not make me try to remember.” The word husband pulled a reaction out of Maria though, something like the look of pity, as if she knew what laid ahead for Zatanna. But as quickly as it was there, it had faded. Back to the proper look of a woman who was married and pregnant. No pity to be spared. “Can I ask you something plainly?”

Maria’s brow rose but she looked at Zatanna and, after a long moment, nodded her head. There were a thousand reasons that Maria would be hesitant — the press for one, it was one of many reasons she didn’t talk about her marriage with anyone outside of those she trusted, But also... gossip was a savage machine that came after the best people. “How do you do it?” Zatanna asked. “Marriage. I — Eddie and I have been married only a few months and we have known each other for years but...”

“You don’t hold back, do you?” Maria asked, turning her head as she processed just how plainly Zatanna had started to speak. “Let me ask you a question, equally plain,” she said, not waiting for Zatanna to offer the same permission. “Do you love him?”

“I—”

“It is a simple yes or no answer, Mrs.?”

“Rhodes — Anna, please, just call me Anna.”

“Anna, do you love your husband?”

Zatanna looked across the room towards Tony, knowing he was far out of hearing but quietly wishing that he wasn’t so that she could say this and he could know without having the ceremony of it being a confession. (That wouldn’t have helped. The words, even this far away, were big enough to drown her in.)

“I do,” she confessed, finally.

“That complicates things.” Maria looked at her own husband, a hand running over the bump of her stomach. “Love always complicates things, Anna. It’s easier if you don’t feel anything at all.” Zatanna didn’t have to look deeper to know that Maria was speaking from experience. That love... it was a blade that had cut her, too. “I have no easy answer for you,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Either love will be enough for it won’t be. You and I? We don��t get a say.”

The advice, while deeply appreciated, did nothing for the ache in Zatanna’s heart. That unknown drifting — would it be enough? Or wouldn’t it be? She swallowed, worried that she’d be faced with the dark reality of those options instead of the one she wanted.

“How far along are you?” Changing the subject quickly, not wanting the words to seep too far into her heart. (Scared that they were real and accurate.)

“Close to four months.”

“Only four?” Zatanna asked, looking at Maria and knowing Tony wouldn’t be born until late May but... “Boy or girl? And are they already ten pounds?”

A smile pulled to her lips and Maria shook her head and raised two fingers.

“Two — twins?” That couldn’t be right.

“Twins. Boys.”

It was.

Zatanna pulled herself together. “Congratulations.” They spoke a few minutes more, bonding over the strangest things, but... Zatanna felt oddly comfortable with Maria. Tony had said he couldn’t imagine her pregnant because it never seemed to suit her, and maybe something in the future made her that way — pulled her from motherhood. (Or perhaps, closer to the truth, was that Zatanna was looking at Maria and hoping that she enjoyed this, because it was something she wanted.)

“I should... get back to my husband,” Zatanna said with some reluctancy. Enjoying her conversation with Maria but also worried about Tony. Unsure of what his father might say and what her own father might do if they got properly cornered by them.

“I’ll come with you. Since ours are together.”

Zatanna nodded her head, before moving to walk alongside Maria. “Yes, of course!”

TONY: You look so much like your father. The sentiment had been repeated to him hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times over the past fifty years, in numerous different ways by numerous different people. Jarvis, with nostalgia lingering in every word. Maria, adoration or loathing, depending on the day. Journalists desperate for the next great Stark to take to the stage, to give them something juicy to dig their talons into, weapons contractors who could see dollar signs behind inherited brown eyes, friends who followed through generations. Tony never quite saw it. He only knew his father older, or through newsreels, knew him best with a stiff upper lip and stern expression on his face, or in the slant of hurried writing.

He could see it now, though. He could see it as he looked at his father the same age as he was now, maybe even younger, could picture looking into the mirror as he met his gaze. They had the same silver streaks on the side of their temples, the same squint when they looked at the dinner menu, the same casual swirl of drink in a glass.

Zee said something -- a flamingo, Bernard if Tony remembered correctly -- and then her knuckles were touching against his cheek, delicately, as if there was every chance he would break if she moved too fast. Ironic, perhaps, that she’d treat him as something so gentle when they were standing in front of the man who always called him weak and spineless and a disappointment … and then she was gone, and he was in front of the man he came here to meet, and there was a part of Tony that wanted, desperately, to follow her through the crowd and stay pressed neatly to her side.

He resisted the impulse. They’d have their whole lives, after all (they would, wouldn’t they?) and to chase after her when the entire reason they were here in the first place was to give Tony some form of twisted closure. If he followed her now, he’d have to explain why, and that came with a lot of other things Tony would rather avoid bringing to light, at least here. Maybe anywhere.

“Roxxon,” Howard said, gesturing towards the open bar. Tony followed after him, shifting to put his hands in his pockets as he went. “It’s been a while since I’ve had that name brought up at one of my parties.”

“People afraid you’ll get jittery?” Tony asked. Howard huffed a laugh.

“Quite the opposite,” Howard replied. “Had a few boys in Roxxon, a while back. Never came to me with anything concrete.”

“Apart from locations,” Tony continued. Howard’s eyebrow rose, interest clearly piqued. Tony gestured towards the bar once more. “Drink first?”

“Man after my own heart. Order away.”

Howard Stark had been dead for thirty years, back in their time, and yet Tony could remember his favorite brand of whisky. He could remember that his dad stopped taking ice in it sometime around 1985. He knew what cars he drove, what modifications he made to the gearbox and engine so it sounded just right. He knew what songs he listened to in the workshop, and the business dealings that took his interest. All of these things Tony knew, but he wasn’t sure if that was eidetic memory, his father’s journals that he’d poured over in the aftermath of his death, or desperately clinging to what small snippets of existence his father gave him.

Howard never liked his son. He never loved him. He never said he was great, or invincible, or strong as iron. He never said he was anything at all. Tony could count on one hand the occasions where they spent time down in the workshop, or walked together on a red carpet. Other than that, it was silence and distance.

But this was different.

Tony sat down with a glass of whisky (straight up for himself, on ice for his father), took his offer of a cigar, sat on the periphery of the party and talked. Howard listened with an avid fascination, eyes dancing, a hundred and one questions on his lips as Tony talked about miniaturised arc reactors and how Roxxon was double dipping in the stock market and about the Arena Club and how they’d approached him, too. He talked about raising his company up from the ashes and about cars and boats and motorcycles, about high speed races in Monaco and skydiving in Peru. He found out Howard had done just the same, twenty years back, how he was retired from all that now, how he was settling down and the house he was building out in New York and the plans he had for his company.

Minutes ticked by. It could’ve been hours, for all Tony knew -- he wasn’t paying attention to the milling crowd or changing songs, to Peggy and Jarvis’s last stitch attempts at capturing Bernard the Flamingo or his mom and Zatanna talking. He wasn’t paying attention to anything apart from his dad paying attention to him.

It felt amazing. It felt more than amazing. It felt like flying for the first time, felt like falling from the sky but he knew, for the first time, he’d be caught before he hit the ground. It felt like faith, like a gift.

They settled into companionable silence, Howard’s laughter dying slowly after Tony told some joke about journalists with a bone -- and then his father took another sip of his (third) drink, and looked over at him. “A few months married, then?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, looking back over the crowd towards Zatanna, who was speaking to his mother. His mom. He’d never seen her so young, either. He thought it would make her look less severe, but it didn’t. Maybe it was something to do with the gun she was packing.

Tony’s eyebrows narrowed. Paranoia was one thing, but he was an Avenger. There was definitely a concealed weapon under his mother’s dress, strapped to her thigh. Tony opened his mouth, about to ask or speak or get up, when Howard interrupted.

“I was going to get married, once,” he said. “Before Maria, I mean.”

Tony shifted. “What?”

Howard hummed, swirling the ice around. “Ophelia Stane,” he said. “Met her after the war, summer of 1950. German-American scientist, smartest woman I’ve ever met -- except for Peg, of course.”

“Stane?” Tony repeated. “I thought that was--”

“My business partner, yeah.” Howard took a long gulp, face screwing up slightly at the taste. (Tony wasn’t sure what it said about him that he’d stopped having that reaction a long time ago.) “Lia was in a crash. Car wrapped around a tree. Nothing anyone could do. Her brother Obie, he was there for me after. Pulled me out of a real deep hole, got me back on track. He’s gonna be godfather to my kids, no one else for the job.”

Kids.

“That’s the thing in this world, Eddie,” Howard continued. “People can’t be trusted. Just look at Maria. Everyone looks at Maria, and still, no one sees her for what she is. Guessing you know, though.”

Something clicked into place. “SHIELD,” Tony said. Howard clicked his fingers.

“Bingo,” he said. “One of the best agents we’ve got. Everyone thinks she’s a trophy wife -- everyone thinks I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet to be with her. But we know the truth, right?”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“About marriage? It’s a farce. That whole idea of one person, forever? Fairytales. You pick the person you’re least likely to kill, and you get your kicks anywhere else you need to. Maria gets that. You’d be better off if you realized that yourself. Sensitivity doesn’t get you anywhere.”

He was talking about that hand on Zatanna’s waist, about the flaring jealousy that rose in Tony’s throat. It was illogical, he knew. The chances of the past version of his father -- married, dead, his dad -- capturing Zee’s attention was nil, and yet …

“My dad taught me that,” Howard said, voice all but underwater.

“Authoritarian?” Tony offered. Howard huffed a laugh.

“Doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Howard said. “He was as fond of the belt as I am of a stiff martini. Still, look what he turned me into? Stark men are made of iron. We’re all raised the same, and we’re better for it.”

All. “Do you-”

“Oh God,” a new voice interrupted. Tony looked up from his drink, right into Maria’s knowing gaze. “There’s two of them.”

Howard rose from his seat, pressing a kiss to Maria’s cheek as he snubbed out the end of his cigar. Tony let his burn between his fingers, gaze flickering to Zee.

“Maria,” Howard said. “You gotta meet Rhodes. Eddie, right?” Tony nodded. “This guy’s a visionary, Maria. Can’t believe we’ve never heard of him before. Worked for Roxxon, can predict the market turn like no one I’ve ever met. You know he’s worked on arc technology? A couple years in, he cracked miniaturisation. He’s got plans for a whole damn building based off the back of it.”

Howard reached for him, then, and Tony flinched long before Howard’s hand squeezed his shoulder, and he forced himself to relax under the touch.

“This man--” Howard continued. “--this man has integrity. He’s gonna go far, I’m telling you. The next braveheart. You know, Eddie, I haven’t seen a man like you since-”

“Rogers,” Maria interjected. Her eyes were narrowed, her hand resting on her stomach.

“Rogers, exactly!” Howard said. He turned back to Tony, squeezing his shoulder again. “If my sons turn out anything like you, I’ll be a lucky man.”

Tony blinked twice. “Sons?”

“Twins,” Maria said. “I was just telling Anna.”

“Arno’s mine,” Howard provided, “and she can have Anthony.”

“Antonio,” Maria corrected, “and I keep trying to tell him, they’re both our ch-”

“Twins.”

His voice must’ve betrayed something. His voice, or his hands which now had a tremor he thought he’d calmed with Zatanna’s fingers brushing against his cheek, or his eyes which were uncovered by sunglasses because he didn’t think to bring them. Supid, to come here without a shield -- though he hadn’t, had he?

He stood up from the deck chair, snubbing the cigar and taking one last, long gulp from his glass before he set it down. “Congratulations,” he said to Maria. “I’m sure it was a surprise.”

Tony held his hand out only slightly from his side, a silent invitation that he knew Zatanna would take because she had a hundred times before. They’d always been tactile, always looked for comfort with a head on their shoulder or buried into a shoulder, but this was something else. This was something deeper, because he was looking at her ring.

And then he was looking at her.

We can be like my parents, he’d said. This doesn’t have to mean anything.

Hell looked different, to different people. Tony never expected to use that word to describe a time when his father’s eyes shone like that talking about him, when he presented him to Maria like a trophy shining on the top shelf, but he was now. There was something turning in his gut, and he wasn’t sure what it was. Time displacement nausea, maybe. Maybe something else.

All he knew was that he wasn’t going to get his answers here, with a crowd looking over to see what had caused the Howard Stark to respond so viscerally. “Will you excuse us?” he asked. “I just remembered we … we have someplace to be.”

“Oh,” Howard said. Maria’s expression only hardened. “You should take my card, at least. We’ll have a great place for you at Stark Industries, or within SHI--”

“We’ll be in touch.”

ZATANNA: Two years, she had spent in other dimensions. Two years, she hadn’t spoken to Tony — not her version of him at least. (This one, she quietly corrected herself. He wasn’t hers.) But that distance had felt like nothing when she came back and stepped into his kitchen. Falling back in with him and been so natural. But this was… it was a different kind of distance. She was walking with Maria, casually talking about anything but her marriage because Maria had hit a sore spot. But she was looking at Tony and thinking about what she had said to Maria. That quiet confession that he’d never hear. All the thoughts — all her feelings, dying on her lips. She could have closed the distance a few months ago and wrapped her arms around him and it would have been fine. And now? Closing that distance only pointed towards her desperation — her desire to be close to him.

And what hurt more, the knowledge that she could do it? Or the knowledge that even if she didn’t, she would get the same reaction from Tony? But as Maria had so bluntly put it, love made things complicated. Just like it made the ache in her heart worse. Just like it made the distance of a few feet feel like an impossible ocean to cross.

It was the same feeling in her chest that made her forget that her father was somewhere inside this party too. The same feeling that made her feel a little warm at the idea of Maria liking her because that was her mother-in-law. Even if she didn’t know it. Even if she didn’t know it was her son standing next to her husband at the bar. (She was wishing now that she hadn’t dressed this up as a long-postponed honeymoon. This was supposed to be Tony getting a chance to see his parents, just a quick trip — not one that was supposed to help guide the blade that would surely carve out her heart.)

Maria and Howard immediately came together and Zatanna lingered at Tony’s side, falling back into her confused state of feelings, somehow jealous that Howard could openly kiss Maria and also furious at Tony for saying that they could be like them. (There was love, it seemed, between them, someplace in their relationship — but their love hadn’t lined up. And Zatanna was thinking, maybe… maybe they would end up just like them. Ships in the night. Almost something to each other. But not quite there.) Howard was singing Tony’s praises and then the word miniaturization came up and Zatanna glanced at Tony, not enough that anyone else would care but enough that she hoped he understood she knew. That was something that Howard wasn’t supposed to know about — none of them were. Tony was supposed to do that years from now in a cave.

“I take it you two had a productive conversation?”

How was she supposed to stop that from impacting the future? That was a clear turn — but Zatanna didn’t get a chance to figure out how to move forward with that before Howard was mentioning the twins.

Zatanna wished she had time to warn him, to ease him into the idea that there was supposed to be two of him. Arno and Anthony. (Antonio, Maria had said.) They were talking names and who got what child and it was… it was light and warm despite the previous conversation that lingered. Love made things complicated, but they had common ground here. But a shadow lingered on the horizon and she and Tony both knew it.

Tony was on his feet and his hand twitched at his side, just barely leaving a gap for her hand, but like a magnet, she snapped into place with his hand. Wrapping her fingers around his hand without question, gently gripping his hand as a reminder, if her touch hadn’t done it, that hopefully the pressure would remind him that he wasn’t alone. Her thumb dragging across the back of his head. Focus on something, anything — just not them —

She couldn’t stop him though. Couldn’t help calm his mind without drawing too much attention to the look in his eyes or the twitch in his hand.

In the corner of her eye, she saw his head turn and she followed suit, catching his gaze for just a moment. Wondering if her worry was as plain as it felt in her chest. If her confession a few minutes earlier was written there too. How much of it could he see? How transparent was she becoming? But those thoughts flickered away. Unimportant. (Irrelevant.)

The conversation ended abruptly, and Tony was ready to run — and she couldn’t blame him. This was a lot more than what they had signed up for. But the expression on Maria’s face, that concerned her. Was it suspicion that they might be spies for another company? Or was it something else that caused her gaze to turn in such a way?

“It was a pleasure to meet both of you,” Zatanna offered, trying to soften the bluntness of Tony’s reply. “I adore the flamingo, by the way.”

Hand in hand, Zatanna pulled Tony towards the exit of the building but instead of going out the door, pulled him into a side room. Someplace that was reasonably private so that they could talk.

There was so much that she wanted to say, about how he had slipped up numerous times and she was certain that he had give up too much to his father. Too many mentions of future technology and how that she had trusted him not to do anything that would disturb the timeline. And yet, he had said so many things that no one should know. Not for a few more decades. But those frustrations quieted as she changed her grip so that she was holding both his arms just below his shoulder.

“Tony. I’m sorry — I didn’t know. Maria told me about it just moments before we came back to talk to you.” She would have warned him if she could. (And she wished she had whispered a spell just to whisper in his ear before they came over to him. But when it came to magic, she didn’t know where the line was with Tony. How much of it she could use on him without asking him? So much of them was still undefined.)

It had been a long time since Zatanna was at a loss for words. Her mouth hanging open as she tried to find something suitable to help him — but what could she offer? A return trip home was likely the answer that he needed, but there was doubt in her heart that she could do transport him in this state without making things worse for him when they came back to where they were supposed to be. (Time travel was a delicate thing, and ripping Tony away from one stressful situation and dropping him into another? That wasn’t helpful. That would just hurt him more.)

This had been a mistake.

Tony was right, the second they stepped out of that portal and he asked her to send them back, she should have. And she should have never offered to send them back here in the first place. But… she knew why she had done it. Why all logic slipped out of her mind and all she was thinking about was what she could give him. Because he had smiled. Genuinely smiled and looked at her like she had been the one to decorate the very sky with stars. As if she was all the magic in the world collected into one person.

She had done it because she wanted to see that smile again. So that he’d keep his eyes on her in that same manner. A foolish choice made out a feeling that blossomed in her chest.

“We can go home,” she assured him. “I just want to make sure you’re okay first.”

“It was you.”

A voice interrupted and Zatanna pulled her hands away from Tony, as if a teenager caught with her boyfriend for the first time — because it was her dad. Standing in the doorway. He was dressed as he always did, like a performer. But by his posture, it was clear that this… this wasn’t a social visit. At least not anymore. His jaw was set, and he was looking between Tony and Zatanna, deciding what he was going to do.

“What was us?”

“Just you,” he said, focusing on Zatanna. She could feel her body stiffen. This wasn’t the man that she remembered from her childhood, and this wasn’t the man she remembered leaving in Hell. This was… her father before her mother. And he seemed to be a different person entirely. “When you cast spells, there are ripples.” Zatanna knew that. Every magician knew that— “And the bigger the spell. The bigger the ripple.” His gaze turned towards Tony. And it clicked, he wasn’t saying this for her benefit, he was saying it so that Tony understood. “Who are you? Where are you from?”

“My name is An—”

“Eht hturt. Won.”

Zatanna inhaled. She had seen her father do this before, he had cast this spell a number of times on other people, just like the one he had used to alter memories — but he had never used it on her. She tried to tell herself that he didn’t know it was her, that if he had known, he would have never crossed that line. But that didn’t stop the sting in her eyes as she opened up her mouth, knowing that it wasn’t choice guiding her words anymore.

“My name is Zatanna Zatara—”

“Ecnelis.”

She bit down on her lip, forcing it to stop quivering while her jaw felt tight — and her lips felt like they had been stitched together. Her gaze hitting the floor and her head dropping. Shame and guilt rippling through her just like the waves of magic that had brought her father to her. But now they were coupled with the feeling that came with being violated. Ripped of her agency — the only thing she could find herself to be grateful for was that her father had stopped her before she had given up Tony’s identity too.

There was a new hesitance there. John was looking at her like he was trying to decide if she was his or if she was his brother’s. (He’d probably blame his brother, ignoring the obvious — ignoring the hurt in her eyes or the way she was slowly breaking under his gaze.)

“Fools, both of you.” John finally spoke up again, not sparing their feelings or wasting any more time. “I’ll clean up your mess. Howard won’t remember a thing. Do I need to alter Maria’s memories as well?” He assumed that Tony had screwed up, and Zatanna didn’t know if she should be pissed that he thought so little of anyone without the Zatara name, or pleased that he’d distort the memories that might have altered the course of history. (She was leaning towards the side of pissed off — even if she knew Tony had dropped the ball there.) “Answer me.”

‘You silenced me.’ Zatanna signed.

“Kaeps.”

Zatanna inhaled deeply again, opening her mouth, and gasping as she tried to find words again. “Maria doesn’t know anything. Howard’s memories might need alterations.” She knew that no matter how she answered, he would have touched on Howard’s memories regardless, at least this way, she could protect Maria from that trauma.

Lifting her gaze, she looked towards Tony, apologizing for what he had seen, what he knew was going to happen now, for all of it — and begging him to come closer to her all in the same glance. Her dad’s head turned at the same time and Zatanna’s attention snapped back to him, stepping between him and Tony. “Leave him alone.”

John’s jaw tightened again, looking down at Zatanna before looking towards Tony once more. “You both need to leave. Now.”

TONY: Zatanna guided him into the house, and for a second Tony wondered if she’d been here before, in any of the numerous universes she’d come across some version of him before. He wondered if there’d been a time when she stood in front of a sixteen year old Tony Stark standing at the bottom of a marble staircase with blooming purple on his cheekbone, wondered if he brushed her off as he’d brushed off everyone else who dared to ask about it (less people than he had always assumed would. People didn’t want to look too closely at the sun, because they knew it would burn. It was the same with this). She pulled him into the kitchen -- one of the kitchens -- the one that wasn’t used by the chefs for events but rather on an everyday basis for breakfast and family dinners, the very place that used to house smashed glass and spilled wine and tears.

Tony looked, instinctively, to the corner. He remembered holding his mother there, her head pressing into his shoulder, her arms wrapped around him. He remembered her promising they would leave. He remembered thinking how, if magic or God existed, she would follow through on that promise. If magic or her God existed, they would’ve been safe. They would’ve been in Sicily. They would’ve been somewhere, anywhere, away from flashing lights and crashing cars and a wine cellar that always went empty long before time.

But God didn’t exist, not that Tony had seen. God didn’t exist, and magic did, but not in the way he’d always hoped. Because Zatanna was capable of bringing him back in time, capable of so many wonders, capable of completely rewriting the rules of the universe as he had once known them, and still, she couldn’t change what had happened here. She couldn’t change what his parents had done, what they failed to do. She couldn’t change what they were fighting, in a marriage that they couldn’t define.

“I know,” Tony said, the second Zatanna started speaking. “How could you know? I didn’t.” He figured that much was obvious from the look that passed his face as soon as his mother said the words, figured that was why she looked at him with narrowed eyes and suspicion tensing her shoulders. “It makes sense, though. It … all of it, it makes sense. You know Mom’s with SHIELD? One of their best agents, he said. I always thought she was … that he dragged her into it. That he killed her. But she knew. When she went out with the … when they moved the serum, they both knew.”

Did that make it better, or worse? Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on it, riding a thousand emotions at once, reaching once again, subconsciously, to touch his fingertips against Zatanna’s, something to ground him.

“I just--” Tony sucked in a breath, pulled his hand back only briefly so he could run it through his hair (his breathing was picking up. If FRIDAY worked in this universe -- she could, if he altered it, he knew that -- she would warn of an impending panic attack. Tony didn’t need the warning. He knew the signs all too well). “My dad was a hero. He changed the world. He ended the war, he recreated the serum, he gave me the element that I needed so I wouldn’t … so palladium wouldn’t keep killing me. He saved my life a hundred times over, and he never even told me where he went. He never said a single thing about SHIELD, about what he sacrificed.”

His father was a hero. His mother was, too. But now, slowly, Tony was beginning to realise something else.

“You know,” Tony continued, and this time he did look away, looked down at their hands or at the ring on her finger or the necklace around her neck, anywhere except for meeting her eyes, “the first person who taught me how to be treated? Dad. I never knew how to … relate to people, in boarding school. I never knew how to be--” Digestible? Easy to swallow, easy to love? “But I knew how to take a punch. I knew I deserved it. And then I got older, and I started…”

Sleeping around. Shooting up in expensive rooms in clubs he couldn’t remember the name of even with an eidetic memory because he’d never cared about where he was or who he was with, so long as his head was swimming and he could be silent, for a moment. He’d wake up the next morning and hate himself, but God, it was worth it for that second. For that instant.

“I’m drunk,” he said, huffing a bitter laugh as he turned to the wall, then back again. He turned in a circle and he didn’t know where to focus, because there were nicks in the wall he’d never seen before and there were wine stains missing in the rug he knew would one day appear. “I’m drunk and I just smoked a cigar, and I fucking hate cigars. And I just -- he said his dad did the same thing. Fond of the belt, he said. And I’m meant to feel bad about that, right? I’m meant to … that’s meant to explain something.”

Tony did feel bad. Even if he could hear Obadiah calling him weak in the back of his head, even if he knew it was a dangerous sentimentality even in the relative safety of his own mind, Tony felt for his father. He mourned for him, was angry at the grandfather he’d never met, at the history that he carried through. But there was something else there, too.

“His dad did the same thing,” Tony said, finally, turning back to meet Zatanna’s gaze, to hold it for a long moment. “His dad did the same thing, and yet he looked me dead in the eye, and he said it made him stronger. He said it turned him to iron. He said … he said it was a good thing. He chose to do that to me, and what he did, it didn’t … it didn’t build character, Zee. It didn’t do a damn thing. It was just--”

Abuse.

The word settled heavy on his tongue, lodged itself deep down in his chest. “I’m gonna be sick,” Tony said, matter of fact, and just as he turned to retrace steps to the bathroom, the door opened and another ghost from the past appeared.

More recent past, but God, Tony couldn’t tell that by looking at him. He’d never seen John this young, never seen him this angry. Never seen how disappointment could look in his eyes, though he was damn used to being looked at like that. (Every person had a unique way of tunnelling in under his skin, making it hurt on the way out.)

We can go home, Zatanna said. Tony was pretty sure John was going to make them, even if they didn’t want to.

(What would that look like? Tony allowed himself a brief moment of fantasy, a second to wonder whether just staying here away from everything, knowing what they knew, being able to change the past and make it better -- they could have a life here. They could have a home and he could kiss her and it would be okay. It would be better than okay, because all the horrors they’d faced, all the pain that happened in his parents’ lives to turn them into what they became … they could change that. The power was in their hands.

But even magic could only go so far.)

“In her defence,” Tony said, beginning to step in front of her as soon as he saw Zatanna’s expression shift, as soon as John turned his attention solely to her, “I asked her to do this. It’s on me more than--”

He wasn’t listening. This was between father and daughter -- or father and future daughter. Father and stranger, at this point in time -- and Zatanna didn’t have experience of that. She’d never looked into her father’s eyes, into half of her, and seen hatred or suspicion reflected back. She’d been loved, since the very first day she lived, since the first breath she took. It was the least she deserved, of course. It was the least any kid deserved, the least Tony was going to give to his. But still, he had to imagine that this hurt even more when she was so used to that love being unconditional, unwavering. Earth-shattering.

Zatanna looked towards him, and Tony didn’t care what John was capable of. He didn’t care if moving closer would shatter whatever existed between them, or if it would alter the time-space continuum, or break something even more than he already had. Zatanna looked at him and she needed him, and he stepped towards her immediately, hand going to hers, squeezing tightly.

“We’ll go,” he said, pulling Zatanna gently towards the door. “We’ll go. Thank you.”

(Thanks for erasing my father’s mind. You think you could make him less of a bastard at the same time, or is hurting me part of the universal plan?)

Tony guided Zatanna out of the house, ducking his head when he caught sight of familiar brunette curls and a well presented man in a three piece suit. He kept his eyes focused almost entirely on the ground, navigating by pavings alone, until he almost collided with a solid mass, forcing him to drop Zatanna’s hand.

“Eddie!” Howard’s voice came again, a bright, brilliant smile coming over his face. “We should grab another drink, speak more about Isodyne.” A casual glance to the side, appraising, and then, “Feel free to bring your wife. Talking business is always more enjoyable with a pleasant view.”

ZATANNA: She was holding her breath. The expression on his face shifted, his eyes moving to certain parts of the room, and she wondered what he was seeing there that she wasn’t. What had happened in this room? (And the more that he talked, the more he detailed his account of what had happened to him — she was scared of what that answer might be.) Her first reaction was to tell him that they could move to another room, but the offer never came. It didn’t matter what room of this house they were in, she was sure each room had their own memories and she wasn’t sure what she’d be unearthing while trying to give him a place where he could decompress before they flickered back to the time they belonged.

“I know you know — I just wish…” She shook her head. “Wishing doesn’t matter here.” Because it didn’t. It didn’t matter if she wanted to soften the blow. Wishing wouldn’t change what had happened. But Maria being a SHIELD agent was also news to her. “She’s… what?” That hadn’t been the impression that she had gotten from Maria when they were on the other side of the party, picking at appetizers, talking about baby names and what marriage meant. But it made sense, with that context in her head, how Maria could be so… practical? Matter of fact? Clinical. She had approached marriage and the subject that Zatanna had asked about with such surgical precision that Zatanna had assumed that it was because she had lived this life for so long. That she and Howard had found what had worked for them and that she was content (if anyone could be that) in the life that she had been given.

But Maria being apart of SHIELD meant exactly what Tony was saying. There was no way that she had gotten into that car that night and not know what had been happening. She wasn’t a clueless victim that had ended up wrapped around a tree because Howard had been drunk and selfish. (Moved the serum. She didn’t know a lot about science, she could barely follow earlier when Tony and Howard had been talking and they hadn’t been using massive words, she simply… didn’t understand. But the serum? She knew about that. She just hadn’t realized that his father had any of it with him the night that he had died.)

She wished that it made things better. That she could reach out to Tony and say that meant that his parents, at some point in their lives, had been partners. But did that matter? Truly? They were both dead in the space that Tony and Zee both existed, and it didn’t change how they lived.

This discovery might have changed things for Tony, but it didn’t change any other part of his story. His breathing was heavy, and she was trying to figure out how to calm him down but knowing that this — this wasn’t the kind of story you told while you were calm. It was the kind that pulled out from your soul and left it bleeding on the floor while you hoped that the person you told it too understood what it meant. How much it hurt — how much of it you still carried with you even if you shared a piece of it with them. So, she didn’t stop him. She let him start exploring that story and tried not to cut him off because she cared and she wanted him to breathe, but she also felt like this was something that he needed to say. And if he needed help carrying it, she’d help him with that too.

His father was a hero in some places. Zatanna could wrap her head around that, but the more that Tony told her, the less she could see him that way. There was no shining light around him, the best thing he had ever done was bring Tony into this world and maybe she could thank him for that element too, but everything he had done to Tony in that time between? Those weren’t the actions of a hero. Howard had been the one who taught Tony that every flaw in his life was his own fault, that the blame of anything and everything fell on his shoulders. It wasn’t Tony’s voice that she was arguing against in text messages, or Tony’s true thoughts that she had been signing at angrily in that bathroom — it had been what Howard taught him to think of himself.

Howard had been the one that had Tony apologizing for existing. For making mistakes. For being human. And the bitterness was full in her mouth as she tried to swallow every nasty thought she had about him. Tony needed to decide how he felt about his father without Zatanna leaving notes in his words, telling him just what she thought of him and what she’d do to him if she ever saw him again — Howard had never hurt her. But the heat in her veins felt the same. It burned just the way as it had when he was looking at her without seeing her. Discounted to nothing more than the trophy wife of a man with a magnificent mind. But that disgust only grew, knowing how he had put his hands on Tony. How he had told Tony about his own incidents with his father.

He worked it out until he said he was going to be sick, and Zatanna was right next to him, a hand on his back, ready to help him track down the nearest bathroom.

But they’d never get that far.

Tony spoke up to defend her but of course, his way of protecting her was hoarding the blame for himself, and she gave him a look. Even in the midst of feeling the pressure of her father, she could spare her husband a glance that reminded him that she hated it when he did that. That they were partners — maybe they weren’t traditionally married, maybe they weren’t the sparkling couple that others might have been, but he didn’t get to pick up all the blame and act like it was his fault. Because it wasn’t. (And him saying it again only reminded her that Howard had done that. Howard had fed that idea into Tony’s head until it was second nature for Tony to decide that it was his fault something had gone wrong.)

Her father’s words — his magic — all of it had stung. And she knew it wasn’t what Tony had experienced, it was just a fraction of that violation. That feeling of trust that was supposed to be there that had shattered in an instant. (He didn’t know, Zatanna told herself. He didn’t know until he had already crossed that line.) But he had crossed it so easily. No hesitation in his spells or in his steps. He wanted answers and he didn’t care how he got them. (Zatanna had been like that once. Sometimes she still was like that.) But that intimidation, that feeling that was sinking into her chest and making her want to puke — that was what Tony had lived with his entire life.

It was easier for her to warp what had happened to her and think about how it had happened to Tony. It was easier to be angry that way instead of scared, instead of hurt. Tony guided them out of the room and out the front, and Zatanna was absently following him. Trying to create a narrative in her mind where what her father did wouldn’t keep hurting her when they went back home. So that she could go to his grave and not think about how he manipulated minds so easily without any care at all. (A truth spell. He had used mind control, a basic form of it but it was still — he shouldn’t have. Not unless he had to. And what had she done to make him think that he had to?)

Outside, Zatanna found herself copying Tony, keeping her head down and focusing on the ground. But then they stopped. They stopped and Tony let go of her hand and her heart dropped — Howard’s voice ripped through the air again, and this time, Zatanna wasn’t standing at Tony’s side with a polite smile on her face, tucking herself under his arm so that it was clear that she was with him.

Instead, she was only a foot away from him, staring at the side of Howard’s face, watching as he looked over her, listening as he called her a pleasant view. But she didn’t hear him, not fully at least. She understood he look he had given her, but all she could think about was what he was going to do to Tony after he was born. How much he was going to hurt him and think that he was teaching Tony something.

“Thank you for the offer,” Zatanna forced out. Howard looked at her, confused briefly, as to why she was the one responding and not Tony. “But we will be declining.” She had only truthfully spoken so that he’d look at her. In a fluid movement, she brought her hand back and punched him square in the nose. His blood was on her knuckles as he stumbled backwards, a hand over his mouth and an expression on his face that suggested maybe she had sobered him up with that hit.

“Oh god,” Zatanna whispered. She shouldn’t have done it — it felt good but she knew she shouldn’t have. Zatanna looked at Tony, an apology to him on the tip of her tongue when a pair of hands came out, grabbing the two of them by the shoulder.

Her father. Once again. And a furious glare, but he didn’t take the time to scold them. Instead, he cast a spell. And when they blinked, they were standing back in the attic of Shadowcrest. Surrounded by dust and boxes, and memories that Zatanna was starting to think were best left unremembered.

#discord #char: zatanna zatara

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