#so slapped on a few dramatic ending statements and i’m sending it out. okay. whatever

[presidentbungus]

spy had a long string of accidents leading up to his departure. coming home bruised and bleeding, or with police lights on his tail. men showing up at the house at night. maybe scout's ma sees spy teaching her boys what to do if they think they're being followed and something just breaks in her heart a little bit

spy's flaky, and dangerous, and as much as he seems to try he's still the man she sits at home next to the phone worried sick over when he mysteriously disappears every few weeks. one time he vanishes for three months--three--a few days after the birth of his son, his son, and when he has the nerve to show up at three AM begging for forgiveness (and waking up all her boys while he's at it), she snaps. there's an ultimatum: give up the job, or leave, because she loves spy to death but she ain't gonna lose her children for him. spy tells her it's all he knows how to do.

she tells him she loves him, more than anyone else she's ever loved. she just can't trust him

when the sun rises the next morning spy is gone and it's almost like he was never there at all, and she supposes he made his choice, didn't he. selfishly she imagines him crawling back in a few weeks, tail tucked between his legs, apologizing profusely--i thought i could make it without you but I couldn't, and I'm sorry, and I just want to live with you and be with you and grow the fuck up and

but he never does. obviously he never does, and it's probably for the best, and it crushes her. and she knows it's probably not true, but she can't help but think that maybe it was like she always feared; disposable, fleeting, nothing. she has no way of knowing that spy is spending every day in bunkers and ballrooms thinking about her and regretting leaving, or maybe regretting her in the first place--for letting his guard down, for getting attached like he swore he never would. it was the best thing he's ever done but now he gets to know he'll never have it again. and, really, the worst part of it all is he knows he probably could, if he set aside some of his pride and gave up on the unforgiving work that leaves him less fulfilled every day anyway, but he also knows he won’t. he just won’t, and there’s a thousand reasons, but it’s impossible to put into words and at the end of the day he knows the only thing that’s stopping him is just himself.

he’s horrible. they both know he’s horrible and they both wish so desperately he could change that—that he was willing to change that.

and when he starts work at a backwater mercenary company in the worst part of the united states for—well, even he isn’t really sure, but he sees scout for the first time and suddenly he knows. it’s just so obvious.

and suddenly, he is entirely unwilling to distance himself any further from what very well may be his last chance for redemption—so he doesn’t run, which surprises even himself, after so long. but the more he desperately looks inside for anything whatsoever the more he realizes he is entirely unwilling to approach the man that, more obvious by the way, he left of his own volition a little over two decades ago.

he knows this strange limbo, this block of figurative amber, can’t last forever. he hopes.

so he waits. and he waits. and he waits.

[ickle-ronniekins]

quick to judge

request from nonnie: Hi Erica! I love your writing sm, and was wondering if I could request a fic with either George or Fred (I’m partial to George but I love them both esp since they both live long happy lives 🙃) where reader is on a rival quidditch team (pref slytherin chaser but up to you!) and F/G have to get over their innate dislike of her because of the rivalry because she’s like the perfect girl for him? No worries if you don’t like the idea, I just wanted to ask, thank you❣️❣️

request from nonnie: if your requests are open can i request 11 & 23 from your writing prmopt list with george weasley? “knock it off, you tosspot! | “join us tonight?”

pairing: george x slytherin fem!chaser

prompt(s): “knock it off, you tosspot!” | “join us tonight?”

word count: 3.9k

A/N: i loved these requests—thank you darlings! i don’t write slytherin all that often so when i do, it’s a treat :) also just imagine sneaking around the castle with george weasley ugh i am weak for it.. hope you guys enjoy reading this story as much as i did writing it! x

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 @feffffffy | message me if you’d like to be added, loves!

“Ugh—murder me, George.”

Fred is pulling at his hair whilst Angelina dishes new information to the entirety of the Gryffindor Quidditch team during the evening feast. George peers from his disheveled looking twin to the other end of the Great Hall, where he spots you in your green robes, blowing gently on a cup of tea before immersing yourself into conversation with another Slytherin Chaser next to you. Yep—much to the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s dismay—they’d found a new Chaser.

“C’mon now, give her a chance,” Angelina says in a hushed whisper, doing her very best to keep the team civilized. “Just because we.. strongly dislike most of the Slytherins doesn’t mean we need to feel that way about her, as well. I’ve actually heard very nice things.”

“Yeah?” Fred begins sarcastically, slumping in his seat. “Like what?”

“Like she’s a fair player,” Katie Bell answers.

“And a bloody good player, at that.”

“Ugh,” Fred says rather dramatically and rolls his eyes. He turns to Harry and George and nods in the direction of the girls, who are still speaking. In a lower voice, he asks them, “Can you believe this rubbish? ‘Give her a chance’. Merlin! When have Gryffindors and Slytherins ever gotten along? Look, I’ll be civilized,” Fred says in defense when Harry raises his eyebrows at him, “but there’s no bloody way in hell I’m taking it easy on her.”

“Definitely don’t need to take it easy,” Harry teases, “but we still need to play fair.”

George is hardly paying attention to the conversation in front of him; his hands are clutched tightly around his mug. He watches as a soft grin tugs at the edges of your lips, he notices the way your eyes glisten in the evening sunset light streaming in from the windows, the way you throw your head back and laugh—a laugh he cannot hear, but realizes, suddenly, that he’s dying too. Oh, no.

“Angelina’s right,” he says, trying to sound impartial before the boys notice his lingering stare. When Fred raises his eyebrows suspiciously at his twin, George carries on, “look, ‘m just saying—isn’t that what our entire team stands for? Sportsmanship, or whatever? I know we don’t have a good relationship with the Slytherins, but I reckon being nice with her may turn that around.”

Fred is taken aback at this and asks, “Being nice? Oi—what’s gotten into you? Feeling feverish?” He places a hand on top of George’s forehead and laughs as George slaps his hand away teasingly. A smirk spreads itself across his face and he turns to Harry and says, “Merlin—prepare yourself, Harry. He’s in love.”

George feels his stomach tighten and Harry stifles a bit of confused laughter. “What? How can you tell?”

George is rigid in his seat now. Love is such an overdramatic statement, but he can barely bring himself to roll his eyes at Fred; he’s still trying to remember how to breathe properly. Fred, as if placing George on display somehow, points at him— “Flushed face, dilated pupils, red ears—cold hands,” he grabs both of George’s hands to feel his skin is nearly ice cold, something that tends to happen each and every time George gets nervous. “There are four ways to tell our dear Georgie is smitten, Harry, and I’ve just named them for you.”

Coming to his senses, George slaps his brother. “You’re off your rocker, Fred.”

Fred laughs again and says to Harry, “Off my rocker, he says. But just look at her, would you? She’s just his type. Plus—she plays Quidditch. I promise you, Harry, he’s taken with her already.”

George tells his twin, “Lay off. Just trying to be impartial.”

“Right.” Fred says, smirking a bit while shooting glances toward Harry, who’s doing his best to not choke on his tea due to laughter. “Impartial. Try not to bat your long, beautiful eyelashes at her during our match then, okay, Georgie?” Raucous laughter bounces off of the walls in the Great Hall.

Then suddenly, Angelina scoffs and turns toward the group. George feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Ugh—I think I just saw her laugh at something Draco Malfoy said. Maybe we don’t need to be so civilized after all.”

— -

George emerges with Fred and Harry from the changing rooms and they make their way onto the pitch for the match. He’s feeling much more nervous than ever before; he glances up into the stands and notices Ron, Hermione and Ginny, sitting and waiting patiently for the match to begin.

He suddenly feels his knees weaken when he notices you in your green robes just a few feet away.

You all mount your brooms and hover in the air; George was kind of hoping that the Slytherin team would introduce their newest Chaser to the Gryffindor team, but isn’t surprised when they don’t. He finds himself to be slightly sad at the thought, and then shakes his head to push away any feelings that will interfere with his playing. They just need to win and get this over with. Here’s hoping Harry catches the snitch before Malfoy, who’s hovering near Flint and laughing at each and every one of the Gryffindors.

Fred’s looking more on edge—like he wants nothing more than to send every single bludger right into Malfoy’s head during the entirety of the match.

“Reckon I could?” Fred asks George suddenly, hovering in the air, waiting for Madam Hooch’s whistle. “Send them Draco’s way, I mean.”

George laughs and replies, “Sorry, mate—unless you want Gryffindor to forfeit, I reckon you’d better resist the urge.”

It’s a short match, to say the least. Harry’s looking positively dreadful at the sight of Malfoy snickering on the other end of the pitch as he twirls the glistening Snitch in his hands. To Harry, Fred says, “Don’t worry about it, mate—they’ve got a good lineup this year. Better than, even. Bloody hell, I reckon we maybe should’ve taken that new Chaser a bit more seriously—”

“Don’t.” George cuts him off angrily, digging his shoes into the muddy field up to the castle. He’s feeling rather poorly after Gryffindor’s loss. Fred and Harry exchange confused looks.

Fred, wanting nothing more than to lighten the mood of the loss, asks his brother, “You alright there, Georgie? No longer in love?”

Harry laughs nervously, but it’s George’s annoyed-sounding scoff that takes Fred by surprise. George glances toward the Slytherin team, each member high-fiving one another due to their win. He feels anger bubbling up inside him and turns back toward the castle, his brows furrowed and face flushed red. He just wants to get back to the dormitory as quickly as he can. “Oh knock it off you tosspot. I was never in love—I can’t believe those slimy Slytherins won the match—erm, no worry, Harry, we’ll get them next time—” he says a bit softer when he notices Harry’s woebegone look. To Fred, he continues, “—can’t believe I ever thought that Gryffindors and Slytherins could get along.. Merlin. Next time I have such a wicked thought, Fred, do me a favor and knock me over the head with a spellbook of mine, would you?”

Fred laughs and slings an arm around his twin. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

— -

Fred and George find themselves the last place they ever want to be—in the library, grudgingly working on an extra long Potions essay assigned to their class by Professor Snape in a moment of pure rage. Fred’s arms are sprawled out across the table and he’s laying across his blank parchment rather dramatically, groaning against the desk. George, on the other hand, is scribbling quite animatedly, wanting to get out of the library as quickly as possible. Then he spots you a few rows over, rolls his eyes, and writes even faster.

“It’s no use, mate,” Fred’s voice is tired, “I can’t do this. This schoolwork is nearly killing me. I’m going back to the Common Room; Ron said something about a game of exploding snap—you coming?”

“You go on,” George replies, not looking up from his parchment, “I want to finish this before the feast.”

Fred puts up his hands in surrender and exits the library as quickly and as swiftly as possible.

George is hoping he can finish this Potions essay within the next half an hour, or so—that way, he’ll have time to change and possibly get in on that exploding snap game before the feast in a bit. But he finds himself distracted. Not in a good way, though. He finds himself distracted by you.

Is it his imagination, or have you moved over a few seats? He shakes his head and looks back down at his parchment. No, it’s not his imagination at all—he looks up again and you’re directly across from him now, your hands spread out over your own piece of parchment and spellbooks, and you smile at him.

“Just wanted to tell you how great you were last week,” you tell him in a low voice so as not to grab Madam Pince’s attention, “really great. Probably two of the best beaters I’ve ever seen, you and your brother.”

Is this some kind of a joke? George furrows his brows and asks, a bit incredulously, “W-what?”

You laugh softly, closing your own spellbook. “Look, I know that the whole Slytherin versus Gryffindor rivalry thing has been going on since Hogwarts opened, basically,” your voice is light and airy, and George is now having conflicting feelings. Was he too quick to judge? “but I figure, that’s not how all Slytherin and Gryffindor relationships need to be. So, just wanted to say—really wicked playing; but don’t expect me to take it easy on you moving forward.” You beam at him, pack your things away and stand up to leave.

“What’re you on about?” George asks, now feeling incredibly defensive. “Is this some kind of ploy? Flatter us and make us all flustered so you can go ahead and absolutely demolish us in the next match like you have this last time? Well, it’s not going to work,” he tells you, closing his own spellbooks and placing them into his bag on the chair next to him. “I appreciate the compliment—you’re a wicked player too, but—anyone who’s friends with Malfoy isn’t someone I reckon I’ll be able to get on with.”

You’re a bit taken aback, George notices, when your face flushes red. You sit back down as he continues to pack up his things. “I’m not friends with Malfoy.”

George just scoffs.

You cross your arms defensively now and stand up with a jolt. “He might be my teammate, but I actually find him to be a right foul git.”

You push your chair in a little too loudly, and now George is feeling incredibly guilty. Maybe you were genuinely trying to be friendly. He gets up and grabs your arm before you exit the library fully. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Wait, wait—‘m sorry. Look, that was really bloody rude of me. It’s just that—”

You soften at his words; you uncross your arms, and grin softly. “I understand that friendships between our two houses can be a bit.. complicated.”

“Throw in Quidditch and we’re nearly done for.”

“Look, I was just being friendly.”

“I know. I appreciate that.”

Just then, a flustered yelp comes from right outside the library. Both you and George turn to look, only to see Crabbe and Goyle tugging on Malfoy’s robes, whose face is seemingly broken out in some type of hive. He’s yelling at the two of them to try any spell, rid me of this! But alas, whatever they do only tends to make the irritation worse. George erupts into laughter.

“What a git,” you say to George.

“Merlin—deserves that, he does. I reckon whoever can pull off that deserves a medal, or something.”

Again you cross your arms—but not indignantly this time. A smirk grows on your face and realization floods over George. He looks back and forth between a very upset Malfoy, and you.

“You?”

“Just jinxed some candies he was eyeing in the common room this afternoon,” you tell him, smirking even more, “I was just so sick and tired of him today. If I had to overhear how bloody wonderful his pureblood family is one more time, I was bound to punch him eventually—reckoned this wouldn’t be as bad for his rep.”

George is still stuck in his spot—his feet cemented into the ground, his entire body is rigid. He’s finding it hard to not peer at you with admiration. Malfoy’s long gone by now—his yelps are growing quieter and quieter as he, Crabbe and Goyle make their way down the corridors toward the Great Hall. You’re still standing in front of George, a smirk on your face and your hands now on your hips, basking in all your glory. Again, as if he hadn’t heard you correctly the first time, George asks, “Y-you? You pranked Malfoy?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he feels his insides twist. Uh-oh. “Color you impressed, Weasley?”

— -

When George was taken aback by your friendly banter in the library those few weeks ago, he never expected to end up back here. In the library. With you. In the row all the way near the back, the row nobody ever visits, after hours in the dark; his hands tight around your abdomen, yours tangled in his hair, his lips on yours for what seems like hours.

The watch on your wrist begins to beep; as if gravity is pulling you both apart, you separate. George groans and tightens his grip on you. “Sorry, Georgie,” you say sweetly, pressing your lips gently to his once more, “got to run—can’t be late for Quidditch practice.”

“Ignore it, ignore it,” George says, eager to kiss you again, “I reckon you can be late just once. Right?”

Somehow still speaking coherently, you say heavily, “Yeah—that won’t look suspicious, or anything. H-how long d’you think we can keep this up?”

He nearly melts when he feels your smile against his lips. “Dunno, but, we’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Want to go public?”

“I don’t think our teams will like that very much,” you reply sadly, running your hands again through his soft hair. You jump up from the table and fix the open buttons on your shirt. “You’ll just have to find a way to sneak into the Slytherin Common Room, then.”

George, now feeling incredibly elated at your interest in mischief, wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Got a lot of faith in me, do you?”

You stand on your tiptoes for a quick peck and adjust his very askew tie. “More than you know. Now c’mon—have got to run, haven’t I? Promise to make it up to you later.”

Once successfully making it out of the closed library without being caught, and bidding you farewell (albeit a bit begrudgingly) in the middle of the corridors before you head to practice, George finds himself nearly skipping through the castle back to the common room. He pops through the portrait hole and immediately jumps onto one of the couches, sprawling himself out across the entire thing and seemingly pushing Ginny off the edge and into an armchair.

“No problem, Georgie, I wasn’t sitting here, or anything..” Ginny growls, taking a spot next to Ron.

“Where’ve you been?” Fred asks a bit angrily, placing his feet up on the table in front of them. “You completely disappeared after class and we haven’t seen you since!”

“Just taking a walk,” George replies, feeling his throat tighten up and knowing that this, full well, is lying straight through his teeth to his own flesh and blood. “Was finishing up an essay first, though.”

Fred, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione all peer at him quizzically with furrowed brows. George can already tell there are questions bubbling up inside them, but the one that comes first isn’t exactly what he expects.

“Why—why’s your hair all messy?” Ginny asks, and George finds himself hurriedly running his hands through it, trying to smooth it down as much as possible, “and your lips, they’re all rosy! Who’ve you been snogging, George?” she giggles.

The confusion Fred was feeling toward his twin seems to subside as he smirks and places his hands behind his head, relaxing into the couch. “Oh—so there’s a girl? At least there’s a bloody good reason behind your disappearances. Who is it, mate?”

Quick on his feet (or so he thinks), George replies, “I’m not snogging anyone. You’re all out of your minds.”

“Give it up, mate.” Ron says cheekily. “We know.”

George swallows thickly. “You don’t know what you’re on about.”

As the rest of the group laughs, Fred pops a chocolate frog into his mouth and tells his twin, “Sure, George. Next time you sneak out for a midnight rendezvous with your girlfriend, be sure to tell her we’d all like to be introduced, eh?”

— -

“They know.”

It’s nearly ten p.m. and you’re sitting in George’s lap speaking in hushed whispers, running a hand gently through his hair at the nape of his neck as he finally is able to tell you about the encounter with his friends after your last meetup. The library is so much darker than the other night.

“They do?”

“Well, sort of,” he says, stroking your knee, “they at least have this theory that I’m sneaking around with someone. Which, they’re not wrong,” he grins cheekily, leaning up to kiss you softly, “but they don’t know who it is, and I’ve never actually told them that their theory is true.”

“D’you want too?”

“Do you?”

You run your fingers gently across his tie; the glistening of George’s eyes are evident in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. You sigh. “I’ll do whatever you’d like. I’m not saying that the sneaking around isn’t fun, because it definitely is,” George shoots you a cheeky smirk, “and I know that—that Gryffindors kind of have this rep to uphold, as do Slytherins—”

“I care more about you than a reputation, to be honest.”

He knows he’s said the right thing; a large grin spreads out across your face. “Me, too.”

George runs a hand through your hair and grins softly.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Of course I am,” George replies, tightening his grip on you, “it’ll be so bloody nice not to ignore one another in the corridors now.”

You throw your head back and laugh; he’s nearly putty in your hands.

He says, making it final, “So we’ll tell them, then.”

“Together?”

“Yeah, together,” he agrees before lifting you up and placing you on the table, leaning you back against some bookshelves and pressing his lips to yours. He slings his arms around your waist and can feel the goosebumps rise on the back of his neck when you run a hand down his chest. Through a geeky grin, he says, “But not tonight, okay? I’m not quite finished with you yet, love.”

— -

George and Fred exit the Transfiguration classroom, nothing but a very long lunch on their planned activities list for the afternoon. The bump into Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the corridors and immerse themselves in conversation.

“Fair warning, everyone,” Harry begins, looking ghastly, “Snape’s in a right awful mood today—can’t help but wonder if someone slipped something into his pumpkin juice.”

“Great,” Ginny groans, “just what I needed to hear as I make my way to the Dungeons.”

“Who’s up for a game of exploding snap later on?” Ron asks the group, loosening his tie a bit, “Just have to get through Divination first.”

Without answering, George then spots you rounding the bend. He knows you’re coming from Ancient Runes and heading toward the Great Hall for lunch, too. You both hadn’t told them yet. Hadn’t found the right time. It’s not as if houses can eat and chat with one another during the feasts, can they?

Without fully registering what he’s doing, George seizes his opportunity and bounces over to you, pulling you into a very tight and very noticeable embrace.

He watches as your eyes widen and begins to laugh. “Erm—what’re you doing?” you ask, pulling back. Then you whisper, “I thought we were telling them together, you know.. after we’ve had time to prepare?”

“I thought now would be a good time.”

You cock your head to the side. “Always keeping me on my toes, aren’t you, Weasley?”

He leans in and kisses you lightly. “Sounds about right, yeah.”

But before the two of you can head over to the group of Gryffindors you thought were distracted by conversation, you suddenly hear, “Well it’s about bloody time.”

You both turn your heads to see a very satisfied looking Fred, cheeky Ron and Harry, and happy Ginny and Hermione looking at you both as George’s hand tightens around your waist as the corridors become even busier.

“You knew?” you and George ask together.

“Well, Fred did,” Ron tells you both. “I swear, it’s like he’s got eyes on the back of his head, or something.”

Fred snickers and smirks at his twin. “Really think you could hide this from me? C’mon, Georgie, you know better. The two of you aren’t exactly subtle when you share stolen glances across the Great Hall every bloody evening,”

Everyone falls into a bit of laughter. As the younger ones introduce themselves quite excitedly and then reluctantly head off to class, you, George, and Fred are left in the emptying corridors with the rest of the seventh years also looking forward to a free period.

“Well, Freddie,” George begins, “she’s—”

Fred holds up a hand to his twin. “I know who she is, Georgie—” then, to you with a smile, he continues, “—but I know you as the Slytherin Chaser.. our opponent, if you will. I don’t know you as my twin’s—”

“Girlfriend,” you and George say together, making Fred begin to laugh. You continue, “Hope the fact that I’m a Slytherin won’t make it complicated.”

Fred can’t help but grin broadly. “Not with me, it won’t—especially if you make my brother happy.” George is relieved to hear this and can finally feel the knot in his stomach unwind. Fred keeps on, “Now—whatever effect you have on him is simply wonderful, Y/N. He’s coming back late at night with all of these incredible pranks up his sleeve, I dunno where he gets it—all I know is that it started happening right around the time the two of you began sneaking around.”

“Confession,” George begins, squeezing your hand now, “not all of those ideas were mine.”

And just as George had looked stunned in the library when he figured out that you’d been the one to prank Draco, Fred looks exactly the same. His expression is an exact carbon copy of his twin’s from that day. “Really?”

“Pranks Malfoy a lot these days,” George begins, looking down at you with admiration, “reckon he has it coming, too.”

You turn to Fred and ask with a smile, “Ruddy pumpkin head, isn’t he?”

Fred is certainly taken aback and wildly impressed. “I might just have to pick your brain, then,” he tells you and slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you along with him as he heads to the Great Hall. He leans in closer to you to speak, leaving George where he’s standing, “Join us tonight, would you? Would love to compare some ideas, if you’re willing.”

You stop in the middle of the corridor and sling your arm around Fred’s back. You peer at George and grin, as if to say, See? We had nothing to worry about. George can’t help but laugh at Fred’s very elated grin when you ask him, “What’d you have in mind, Freddie?”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, thank you for reading and requesting, loves x

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count:1843

Warnings: Slow Start, Language.

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

Annnddd I’m back! so I know it’s been a while since the last update and I just wanna thank you all for having patience with me while I finished up with college, just a warning this chapter may feel a little awkward to read due to me just getting back into my writing mind so apologises in advance for this one. Anyways I’ll quit blabbering, Enjoy everyone! :)

This was my day of reckoning, my punishment for all the bad deeds I’d done over the past couple of years…I was finally being sent to school. Okay maybe that was a tad dramatic, but can you blame me? I mean who wants to be trapped in a building against their will for 7 hours straight learning about dead guys?! No sane person would willingly agree to that crap!

I’ve tried just about everything to avoid my approaching doom, hell I even went as far as hiding in the basement surrounded by cobwebs to try and get out of this, but as per usual neither Steve or Bucky took mercy on me, hence why in currently trapped between the two. “You are aware I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ by myself aren’t ya? The looping of the arms is not needed boys” I swear down these two are being more annoying than usual, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible cause these two are basically the living embodiment of annoyance. Steve turned and raised his eyebrows at me, shaking his head as he let out a small laugh, “Yeah there’s absolutely no way I’m fallin’ for that again, last time that happened it look me and Buck an hour to get you outta that tree”. Ah crap there goes that plan.

I’m pretty sure the noise I made wasn’t even human, it was a mix between a seal and a possessed monkey “I’m not gonna get outta this am I?” “Nope” and que another frustrated groan. “Is this payback for the time I placed that bucket of flour above your bedroom door and watched the both of you turn into ghosts? If it is then I want you to know I regret nothin’” both of them stopped and glared at me, for some reason they didn’t find that as funny as I did, and I have no idea why. Okay whatever you do y/n don’t laugh, even if Steve’s face looks like a slapped arse don’t laugh! A snicker slipped past my lips and a few seconds later I was full on laughin’.  Goddamn it.

Both of em just let out a bunch of sighs and started draggin’ my butt along the street, wait there’s somethin’ I haven’t tried yet…in hindsight this is completely stupid but screw it. “OH MY GOD LOOK A SPACESHIP!” I’m pretty sure poor Bucky jumped outta his skin, Steve ended up trippin’ up and falling down, I’ll admit that I felt bad about but hey may plan worked! So why am I still standin’ there?… maybe we try this thing called running y/n! I quickly pulled my arm away from Bucky and used my new-found freedom to run in the opposite direction of them, I could hear the shouts of protest from the both of them, so I decided to kindly ignore them and absolutely leg it.  “GODAMMN IT Y/N! THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS MORNIN’!” when were the boys gonna catch on that I didn’t wanna go? Do I need to prepare a firework show and blast it in their faces or somethin’…probably.  

I know I probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as my feet hit the ground made me feel free, after so many years I could finally begin acting my age and enjoy my childhood. I finally felt content with my life, which is probably the opposite of what I should be feeling at this moment in time, considering I was currently making my grand escape. And to completely honest I’ve got no bloody clue as to where I am. I glanced behind me to see where the hell those idiots were, to my surprise Steve was directly behind me, Buck was somewhere in the back holdin’ his knee and I’m guessing the daft sod decked it. Why am I not surprised? Okay maybe I should of kept my mouth shut cause literally a second later my foot tripped over a rock and, you guessed correctly, I landed on my ass for the thousandth time!

“Sh*t! Cr*p! B*lls! That f**king hurt!” and that ladies and gentlemen is my fine command of the queens English, a groan of pain made me loose my train of thought as I turned my head to Steve, to put it simply he was laid flat on his back with his eye closed. Well there’s the rush of guilt I’ve been waiting for, “Sh*t Steve I’m sorry, you okay down there tough guy?” I quickly offered him my hand to help him up, I mean it’s the least I could do. Steve’s hand grabbed mine, a not so quiet grunt of pain made me feel even worse, quick question why am I such an assh*le at times? “Yeah, I’m fine y/n, don’t worry about it you know for a fact I’ve had worse” a quiet sigh left my lips as I brought him in for a hug, which was a tiny bit awkward due to the height difference. Once we pulled away from each other, I couldn’t supress the need to check him for anymore injuries, much to Steve’s embarrassment and Bucky’s amusement, “Jesus I’m gonna have to start wrapping ya up in blankets and pillows, Steve how the hell did you manage to get a bruise on your ear?!”

The sudden gasp behind me pretty much answered the question for me, it’s safe to say barney boy is in trouble…for the first in my life Bucky looks pretty f**king terrified of me, perfect. Slowly I started inching towards him, the glare I was sending him would probably make a demon cry for his mum…so yeah imma go kill the boy. I didn’t even have to say anything, he just started runnin’, “IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE STOLE MY FR**KING PUDDIN’ AND THE PUNK KNOWS I LOVE MY PUDDIN!’” YEP DEFINITELY KILLIN’ HIM “HE IS A SMALL AND GENTLE BOY HOW IN THE NAME OF HELL CAN YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYIN’ A HAND ON ‘IM?!” god this sounds like a bleeding soap opera.

 At this point I wouldn’t be surprised of someone called the cops on us, all everyone woulda seen was a big lad runnin’ for his life as a small lass tried to murder him while a smaller lad ran after the pair yellin’ for em to quit it.  Now that I think about, that’s actually hilarious. Wait, where was I? ah yes the murdering of one James Barnes…okay that is not a normal sentence I am aware. “HE.STOLE.MY.PUDDIN’! THAT A CRIME WORTHY OF DEATH!” oh for f**ksake “HOW THE HELL DO YA KNOW IT WAS HIM?! DID YOU NOT THINK IT COULDA BE BECCA?!” I think he made a sudden realisation, cause the dumbass stopped running and BOOM I was on the freakin’ floor. Again. We both groaned, mine was mostly in annoyance more than anything, but seriously the bloody floor is quickly becoming me best mate! “…. It just dawned on me that that could be a possibility…” if my neck twisted any quicker I’m 100% sure that I’d end up doin’ that weird owl thing “Oh now you realise?! Ya gonna say sorry to Steve or not?” a few seconds of silence gave me my answer. “Don’t give me that look y/n! I ain’t doing s**t till I’ve got some evidence so he’s still under my list of suspects!” oh my Jesus Christ this is gonna be the day I get arrested for murder isn’t it?

“Barnaby…you have exactly five seconds to run for your life so I highly recommend you get your affairs in order and kiss ya ass goodbye” oh hey look at that I didn’t yell at him! Well done me I’m so proud! “could you two quit trying to kill each other for 5 minutes?! We’re already late enough as is it and I ain’t explainin’ to the teacher why Buck’s outta it on the floor!” my f**kin god Steve just yelled! At me! why do I never have a camera when this s**t happens?  “Jeez, alright I’ll murder him later, calm your damn t*ts Rogers” and cue the sound of barely contained frustration in 3,2,1….

“I’m beginning to get the feelin’ that you don’t like me y/n” oh really? I wonder what gave that away “wow you catch on quickly don’t ya Barnaby?” by the looks of things I’m really doing wonders for his ego, buck’s head looks like it’s gotten smaller so the risk of him turning into a hot air balloon’s gone down. The feeling of a pair of eyes glaring at the back of my head once again reminded me that the blonde boy was quickly getting tired of our crap, my worst fears were confirmed once I met Steve’s surprisingly intimidating glare…how he manages to be both adorable and beyond f**king terrifying is a mystery to me. “Okay I’m comin’ just stop staring at me like I just murdered your kitten!” and the little s**t has the nerve to smirk and look pleased with himself, ugh he’s been hanging ‘round me and Bucky too long that’s for sure.

“Ya know Buck and you are gonna be the death of me” right do I be offended or pleased with that statement? “actually, if anything it’s gonna be the pair of you that send me to an early grave cause god knows the both of ya don’t know how to stay outta trouble” two muffled sounds of protest came from my left and from behind me, “what’s that supposed to mean?!” once again the point has been missed “do you really wanna know the answer to that? I’ve got my report and presentation ready on how you two are a pair of numpties”.

Maybe that was a tad harsh…okay wait never mind it seems I’ve learned how to fly again with the assistance of one James Buchannan Barnes. “this is coming from the girl who can’t walk five feet without fallin’ over somethin’?” as much as I hate to admit it the walking embodiment of frustration and annoyance has a point “what you call fallin’ I call floor hugs, now how about you pUT ME DOWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” wait when did Steve walk off? See this is what happens when an overgrown ape demands attention. I don’t even have to look at Buck to know he’s givin’ me that look that says, “what the hell?” and “I’m not surprised by this” at the same time, “Nah I don’t think that’s gonna happen doll” the temptation to kick ‘im where the sun doesn’t shine is too much to bare for me at this point. “And you wonder why I love Steve more that you” Buck’s face kinda looked like someone just shoved a whole lemon in his mouth, I’m almost certain that he woulda dropped me on my ass if it wasn’t for the fact that Steve came over and dragged us both through the gates of hell.

This is gonna be so much fun!……said no-one ever.  

Okay…maybe it didn’t suck as much a thought it did, hopefully my skills as a writer will come back for the next couple of chapters XD Thanks for reading ! :)

Rose xxx

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 200

The last Sunday of the month had invited all the charitable rich to another gaudy event. Having your picture taken as you entered was really the only price worth paying. Six digit donations were nothing to people with deep pockets. They wanted adoration. Acknowledgment of their good deeds for humanity. Rich people were the worst. And you and Tony were as rich as they came. So you would know. 

And one thing you certainly knew was how much you absolutely hated these events. The fake smiles, the cheesy laughter, the shows for cameras lined outside an obvious event carpet. Paid paparazzi and news outlets parked every inch of the way. Walking the generous mile (at least it definitely felt that way) into the event where, once safely inside away from all the cameras and microphones, the pretending would stop. They’d preen and dote upon one another and forget the reason for even being there- if they even knew which charity they’d made an appearance for at all. Usually just personal assistants writing out the RSVPs and picking outfits, calling cars, and writing checks. 

These people didn’t care about anyone but themselves. ...but money was money. 

And money they wouldn’t even notice was gone going to help people that were in definite need was worth something, right? It was worth slugging through these events multiple times a year. It was just rude to send money and not show. No- you were part of the show. So you had to go. Much as you were too busy and too uninterested in being anywhere near this social circle the rich and famous had crafted for themselves. Safe and familiar away from the less fortunate that they were celebrating- 

“You alright, honey?” Tony had probably noticed your mean-mugging and glassy eyed stare from across the room as you looked at yourself in the vanity mirror. 

That was signal enough that all the fussing about was over. Both hairdresser and makeup artist taking their cue to put on the finishing touches and scurry away. “I’m just tired.” Feeling safe to say this once the two of you were alone in the bedroom again. This was your answer more often these days, which was probably not a great thing. 

Standing up, you discarded your robe and went to unzip your overly ritzy dress from its garment bag. While Tony was still half turned away getting himself dressed, you stepped into it. A gorgeous entirely too-expensive dress, as always for something like this. It was black with champagne-gold colored details. A snugly fitted mermaid line with a slightly large train at the bottom. The arms and extremely deep v-line were all sheer mesh, giving the illusion of bareness, gold leaflet details spreading across your collar bones, lining the cups of the dress and the V shape, down over your hips, some across your arms, and many lining the bottom. Perfectly matched, of course, with Tony’s black and exact same champagne-gold tux. Black pants and suit jacket, black button up with a gold waistcoat, pocket square, and bow tie. One he was currently fumbling with. Or pretending to. As he always did. You went to his aid (as you always did), reaching up to tie the fabric to expert perfection. His smile was grateful and warm. “What would I do without you?” 

“I shudder to think.” Teasing him a little before you turned opposite him, gently guiding your expensively-done hair forward over your shoulder. “Would you mind?”

The tips of his fingers were warm and soft as he glided them down the length of your exposed back. Turned away, you didn’t mind the flutter of your eyes as they closed. But hiding one expression from him didn’t help- as you breathed out softly, probably in that overly telling way. You could hear his smirk without even having to look at him. “Zipper’s already down. I’m sure you could get out of the rest of it without my help, but… since you asked…” 

He went so far as to drift his hands back up and slip them underneath the shoulders of your dress, like he actually might take it off you. You turned your head back and were too amused to make the sentiment as serious as you would have liked. “Tony, stop.” 

“Should I?” His brow arched in that high delicate line. “You don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go…” So why not stay here? A question left unasked. Not that it mattered. You just ended up shaking your head. “Well, we have to. It’ll be less trouble that way.” If you paid your charitable entrance fee and then didn’t show, somebody would make a stink about it come tomorrow. And that was just more headache than you needed. 

“You say that- and yet-” Protesting, even as he finally acquiesced, hands dropping to pull your zipper up all the way. Practically sealing you into your dress. Maybe locked was the better word. 

“Let’s not tempt fate.” All you had to do was get in, take pictures, pretend to be happy talking to any number of people who would bother you that night, maybe drink a glass of wine, have a dance, and then leave. How much trouble could happen between all that? 

As you laid your hand on his chest, he put his over yours, just holding you there for a second. His smile then was brief. “You’re right.” 

But it was already too late for that. 

                                                               ---

This being the first public event the two of you had attended since letting everyone in on the engagement, Tony seemed to be hamming it up more than usual. Sure, he was a shutterbug and seemed to enjoy posing for cameras (thumbs up, peace signs, grand gesturing as was his way), he was now involving you. And no doubt he’d be looking over the photos that came out of this event in the morning. 

He seemed to switch his handedness- usually he’d be throwing up signs with his right, as came natural to him, but now he made every move with his left. Displaying his ring proudly. Making it obvious and clear- look, we’re engaged, this is going to be my wife, I get to be her husband. To say that he was glowing would be putting it mildly. His smiles were more genuine than they’d ever be for something like this. 

Because he had you at his side. And he was showing off. While the two of you walked down the outside aisle to the event, he had an arm around your waist. And when you stopped to pose for the cameras, he’d take your hand in his and press a kiss to the back. Yes. Even calling it showing off was putting it mildly. Tony Stark was strutting as a new-fiance. And maybe that made all of this worth it. 

But letting your guard down for even a second or believing that the evening was going your way invited trouble. Trouble in the form of a woman in an all white dress storming her way to you. In contrast to your sharp and gorgeous lines she was wearing a billowy frock that seemed a little hard to move around in. You guessed she was going for some angelic vibe. 

The second Joy Meachum stopped- not in front of you, but at your side, purposefully so the cameras and press could hear and see the both of you clearly, you held a hand up to her. “Don’t do this here.” Whatever she was planning, whatever she wanted to say, you wanted no part of it. But especially not in front of the hungry press. 

Tony’s hand squeezed yours but he maintained a calm and watchful air. Joy just grinned. “Why not? They’ll eat this up. It’s good for business.” 

“Not yours, certainly.” Trying to scare her away with a steely-eyed stare. “And unlike you, I’m not a dancing circus monkey. I don’t take pride in putting on a show just for press points.” 

This incensed her quite clearly, but underneath that there was a certain wave of fear. Hm. So Joy Meachum was frightened of you. As she should be. But putting on a brave face. “I just wanted to say that I think it’s extremely nasty, what you’re doing. Women like us should prop each other up. There are so few of us in the business. Attacking me-” 

“I made a simple statement about the affairs of your business. Nothing I said was untrue, either, by the way. And if it were, you’d have already tried to slap me with a lawsuit. Grandstanding will not pull you out of this hole you’ve put yourself in.” You remained expertly calm, not giving in to this theater she was putting on. 

But she just couldn’t help herself. “I know you’re helping the guy going around pretending to be Danny Rand. I think it’s tasteless and some sort of power play for-”

“Please. If I wanted Rand Enterprises I’d have it tomorrow. You’re lucky I don’t want to be associated with the kind of overpriced drugs you sell.” Okay. You were giving in just a little. But she wanted a fight. “Go away now, you’re making a fool out of yourself.” 

Her hands went tight into little fists at her side. “You have no idea what I’ve been through to bring this company where it is. I was born into this. I belong here. You just slept your way up.” 

The roll of your eyes probably wasn’t dramatic enough. Tony seemed like he had a mind about him to say something but you finally gave him a return squeeze to keep him at bay. You could and would handle this yourself. “You can’t preach to me the merits of friendly business feminism in one breath and then in the very next call me a slut- but- let’s pretend for a second that that’s even true. It at least goes to show how much more work I put into my career than you did with yours. You don’t get credit for falling out of your mother onto a pile of money.” Shock was a bold color on her, and a dozen non-starters escaped from her mouth as she grasped for something to say to that. Instead of letting her attempt to defend herself you finished with, “What matters is what you do with that after the fact, and so far I have seen nothing to indicate you have anything worth being proud of.” With that you gave Tony a little tug and he was quick to your side as the two of you turned. But he did offer her a little wave. “Nice seeing you, Joy.” 

The two of you played completely unaffected. Her creepy brother came to her aide, something you saw just out of the corner of your eye, as you and Tony were making your way- finally- to the entrance. He couldn’t help one last hammy action, leaning in to press a dashing kiss to your cheek with a wide smile. You couldn’t help yourself, either, turning the other way to catch him next, raising your left hand to cup his cheek, as you held him there in a brief but full kiss. He found something funny; you knew exactly what. And, as he pulled away, you let him know. “I warned you I’d put her in her place if she tried anything.” 

His chuckles seemed to go straight through you. “Yeah. Someone should’ve warned her.” 

                                                              ---

A crowd of asskissers was immediately imminent as soon as you two made your way inside. It was exactly why Tony pressed another kiss to your hand and then let go. “Can I buy you a drink?” You smiled in an amused and fond way. “Now, you wouldn’t be trying to abandon me so that you don’t have to talk to anybody, would you?” He made such a face of hurt. “I would never.” But as the footsteps drew closer… “I’ll call you over from the bar. Then you can escape, too. It’s a good plan.” 

Leaning up on tiptoe you pressed a kiss to his cheekbone. “Just a glass of wine, please.” 

The usual hemming and hawing came all around you as Tony made a quick exit to the back of the room. For a change, the usual familiars that pretended to care about your life weren’t asking about the next social event they could catch you at- now they were asking for much more intimate details. What is your ring made out of? How much was it worth? When’s the wedding? Where is the wedding? Who will be designing your dress? Do you have an event coordinator yet? Wedding planner? Menu? Bar? It all gave you a headache. All these questions were detached. Completely impersonal despite how they seemed. They were designed for one reason. To ask how much was being spent. As if that was the only mark of love that either Tony or you could impart to each other. Spending money on one another. 

They didn’t want to know when he proposed- or when you had. They didn’t want to know why you’d chosen the design of his ring or how he’d chosen yours. They didn’t want to know how long you’d been in love or if you’d always known you were going to get married. They didn’t care about your relationship with him. They cared about the wealth and the fame. The extravagance that should have been a Stark Wedding. 

...maybe Tony had been right about eloping all along. Maybe you should have gotten married on that beach in Fiji. The world was waiting for the two of you to say your vows. Not because they cared of their contents but because they all wanted to live vicariously through the both of you. And not for the love or the bond that you shared. Just for a window into the supposed life of luxury. Tony turning from the bar with two drinks in hand was all the excuse you needed to walk away. Which was what you did. Literally. No polite excuse me or I have to go to speak to someone you just… left. Let them call you rude later. Start gossiping about you. What did it matter? Appearances only went so far and you had long since cared about what any of these people had to say about you. 

As you met back up with Tony and gratefully took your glass of wine from him, he sipped lightly at his own glass of bourbon and seemed to be watching you. Until, finally, “What did they say now?” Seeming to sense either your upset or just how drained you suddenly were. 

For him you managed a smile. “I was just thinking about how almost seven years ago those exact same people refused to believe when I said we’d come to an event together. And now… all they care about is how much money we’re blowing on a wedding.” The art gala at Basel. A lifetime ago. As most things felt these days, looking back. Some of those exact same people that night, in fact, who had laughed and waved you off, offered to stay with you when Tony left without you- and then tried to flirt with him… Now their tunes had changed but only so much. They were still interested in Tony. And his fortune. Maybe, more importantly, what he was doing with it. 

You were unwisely already half finished with your glass when Tony’s smile caught you off guard. When you looked up at him questioningly, he held out his opposite hand for you. “Can we dance?” 

That’s what you’d asked him that night. In front of all the disbelievers. You’d asked him to whisk you away, not only just to be rid of them but to prove to the world that- yes- Tony Stark loved you of all people. And you loved him. Now, so many years later, you were done doing any sort of proving. You didn’t need to. You didn’t want to. 

You recalled the way he looked at you that night, when you’d asked that. And you also remembered him immediately coming to your rescue when he answered- the same way you were now- “Absolutely.” 

The both of you finished your drinks. Too quick to be anything other than a mistake. But you weren’t really planning on staying long enough for it to matter. And you had him looking out for you anyway. And you for him. 

He escorted you by the hand out to the dance floor where couples were shuffling back and forth, watching people out of the corners of their eyes while a live band played softly. But when the two of you stepped there, when he put his hands at your waist and you laid your arms up along his shoulders and touched your hands along the sides of his neck, they were all watching you. But none of them mattered. All that mattered was the way Tony kept you in time with a gentle sway, the way he was looking at you. Deep, soft brown eyes and loving smile. The way he warmed beneath you. He deserved a little credit. Your hands crept up a little further, touching into the back of his hair as you let the thought out into existence, “The world seems to be waiting for us to throw some big gaudy wedding but… I think maybe you had the right idea all along.” It was dangerous to tell him he was right about anything but…

Ah, what did it matter. Tony knew (and definitely thought) he was right all the time anyway. 

His lips curved more into a quiet smirk but there was a sudden light in his eyes. “Had a change of heart? You wanna go sign some papers tomorrow?” 

“Not tomorrow but… I think I’ll keep putting off planning a wedding. And we’ll just keep being engaged.” Trying to be honest with yourself, and him. 

He gave a little shrug. “Not the worst thing in the world. Not my favorite idea, but. Not the worst.” 

Finally you looped one arm loosely around him, moving the other down to lay against his chest. Over his heart. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” 

“I never suspected that.” 

“It’s just… I don’t know when will be the right time. And… I want everyone to be there. That should be there.” Saying this hurt your heart a little. Thor was gone almost all the time. He’d be happy for the two of you, no doubt. But there was also Bruce. Nobody knew his whereabouts. Still. Was it right to just continue living life when he’d been gone for so long? Surely if he was alright he would have made contact by now, wouldn’t he have? Tony and he were so close… 

A sure blue formed over Tony then, and that smirk disappeared almost instantly. “Yeah.” Said out on a sigh. “Seems like we’re caught in the middle of conflicting ideologies here.” 

Making you realize you both said you may have wanted to just call it quits on a wedding and get married soon and that you wanted to delay until it felt right. Which one was it? It couldn’t be both. “...there’s no rush, right?” Asking him this almost guiltily. 

Something that seemed to sadden him. “Of course not. If I made you feel that way-” 

“You didn’t.” Assuring him of this quickly, not wanting him to take the blame for your messy feelings. 

He stopped moving in time with the music, moving his right hand from your hip so that he could take yours from his chest. Lifting, he pressed a kiss to the back, and then to the side, and then just over your knuckles. “I love you. If you wanted to sign papers tomorrow, we’d go. If you want to wait a few more years to make it official, we will.” Because Tony would do whatever you wanted. 

...but… 

“What do you want?” 

“I want…” He was almost quick into answering this but stopped himself. Seemed like he really wanted to consider this before whipping an answer out. “I want you to be happy.” 

This answer was was both satisfying and yet completely unsatisfying. “I want you to be happy, too.” 

“You being happy makes me happy.” 

This was getting absurd. And when both of you realized that, the smiles and laughter weren’t too far behind. In fact, as his eyes closed with that breathy bout of chuckles, he pressed the rumbling noise against the inside of your palm. It was too much to ask that you didn’t fall apart over him. “I love you, Tony.” 

“I love you.” His answer was immediate and genuine. “It’s a wonder anything gets done around here.” The two of you only just realizing, somehow, that you let a lot (if not all) of your actions be guided by the sense of how it would affect one another. How was it then that you didn’t just circle endlessly? 

“I think we’re doing alright.” 

He leaned in, lips just barely touching yours. “I think so, too.” 

                                                              ---

Another hour slipped by, most of which was filled with one-and-a-half more glasses of wine that was still a mistake and woozy, lovey dancing. You weren’t worried about your consumption of alcohol or what it would do to you because you had Tony with you. But because you had Tony with you, that hour later and some blood alcohol level higher than when you started was pointing you in the direction of home. You wanted to be free from this environment and just be home. With Tony. ...but that wine in your system was also pointing you towards the bathroom. Which would be wise before you got into a car and went back home. So you asked Tony to hold your clutch for you and wait somewhere fairly close. You wouldn’t take long. And you didn’t. ...at least you were sure you hadn’t. Just a quick pee, a reasonable amount of time washing your hands, drying them, getting the little lotions and the… whatever else the bathroom attendant was telling you. The words went in one ear and out the other- and she had a lot of them. It seemed like she just couldn’t stop talking. Politeness eventually ran out and you excused yourself from her presence. Lucky for you your dress had pockets and you were not a fool. Not tipping was one of the worst faux pas one could commit. Especially after running off. 

While you were sure you hadn’t been in there too long, Tony was nowhere to be seen when you emerged. Which was strange. And probably also a red flag. You thought he may have gone back to the bar for a quick drink before the two of you called Happy for an escort home- but he wasn’t there either. ...however. You did spot Ward Meachum there. Joy’s weird older brother. Fawning over two glasses of champagne. He had his back mostly turned. And another second later you wouldn’t have cared why or even paid any attention. Except seconds were running a little long for you- and you saw him half turned away- breaking a capsule open over one of the glasses. It was then your duty to keep an eye on him- to warn whatever poor girl he was about to hand that glass to- whomever he was planning on dragging out of here tonight. Surprise, surprise. That girl was apparently you. 

He headed one way, looking for you, and then turned in your direction, spotting you. For a moment you felt glued in place. He couldn’t be serious, right? Maybe you hadn’t seen that correctly… maybe your vision was just as impaired as your judgment. 

His smile was cold. And his guts were nervous. That told you about all you needed to know. He called your name a few feet before closing the deal. Sticking you in your spot. There against the wall where his figure stood over you. Blocking you from view. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“I can’t imagine why.” You tried to be careful and calculating, but your brain was a little mushy. Ward had put something in a drink he seemed like he was about to hand off to you- ...no, that couldn’t be, right? He just… he wouldn’t do that- 

“I wanted to apologize for the way my sister acted earlier. She often feels like it’s her against the world, so I hope you didn’t take it too personally.” He was still smiling. You said nothing. Which made him uncomfortable. Maybe it was just the way you were looking at him. “Look- I uh… I know we haven’t spent much time around each other, but I think this whole Danny Rand business is a perfect time to get to know one another.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because you seem to be helping him. And I can’t imagine why that is.” He delivered this with such cruelty. Like he had something over you- or at least he soon would. 

“Maybe I believe him.” You tried to draw yourself up tall and strong, straightening out your spine, putting a hand on your hip. 

“So you admit it.” Like he’d caught you in a trap. 

You simply smiled back at him then, something serene. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“Maybe not. But I also think you’re not a fool. So I’m having trouble figuring out how this crazy man off the street duped you. You’re at the top of your game. You’re smart. You’re cunning. Yet you’re wasting money on this sham?” It was obvious what he was doing. Trying to butter you up. 

Regardless of if everything he was saying was true- and it was. Which was exactly why you weren’t falling for this act. 

He took your silence as permission to keep prattling on. “Aren’t you busy? Don’t you have better things to be doing than entertaining psychosis?” 

“And what should I be doing with my time?” 

“Spending it with me-” He finally held out that glass. “-in a purely professional sense, of course. I’m not a fool to get in between you and Stark. But I think it’s long overdue that Stark Industries and Rand Enterprises had a sit down.” 

Ward Meachum was handing you a glass of overly expensive champagne that he’d drugged.

You knew this. You knew this- so you had every defense against it. There was no reason to be frightened of him. But you were. Because he was doing this. In the middle of a party. Where everyone and anyone could see him. He was doing it in a place where Tony was probably not very far away- and if he got caught, he was liable to be murdered. At the very least thrown in jail- 

But he was doing it anyway. Because he had every intention of you swallowing that down and then whisking you off somewhere to do god knew what with you. He felt safe. He thought he could get away with it.

...that thought alone was terrifying. 

It was why, when you stood there. Stuck. Staring at that glass, he smiled again, and tried to press it into your hand. “That’s a glass of 1914 Moët & Chandon. Figured I’d get something expensive to celebrate our potential partnership.”

With a steady hand you reached out to take that glass, and sensed the writhing satisfaction inside of him. Because he was getting away with this. That was at least until you looked away from that glass, finally, and up at him. “If you seriously drugged this champagne, Danny Rand coming back from the dead will be the least of your problems.” Promising him this. Warning him. 

His victory died. Immediately. Instead an icy fright wormed its way through his veins. He quickly took the glass back. “That’s- that’s quite an accusation. I know your other job probably has you paranoid but-” 

“What? You thought you’d just get away with that?” 

“Get away with what?” Tony had finally reappeared, just behind Ward- and of course, an out of breath Joy was in tow. Tony had probably come looking for you when he’d realized he was being bamboozled. Joy had taken him away so that Ward could come get you. 

And- with the safety of Tony there- his protection and… the frightening and mortifying thought that Ward Meachum had had plans to do something with you- you kind of… lost it a little. Your voice raised and your point was just short of frantic. “He just tried to give me drugged champagne.” 

Ward was suddenly sweating. “She’s- I think you need to take her home. She’s had one too many.” 

Tony’s focus was laser sharp. Dark and intense. And… terribly angry. “Give me the glass.” Demanding. Basically laying down the sudden law. Ward seemed like he might actually do it- as if Tony had powers of authority he just couldn’t deny- but Joy shifted around Tony and then bumped into Ward. Shoving him, more like it. He dropped the glass in an act that was entirely see-through. It shattered on the floor. He then held his hand up. “Ah- we’ll have to get someone to clean that up- come on, Joy…” Trying to make a hasty exit. 

The siblings were quick to leave, and Tony stepped forward with a mind to grab Ward. Probably by his collar. Or his throat. But you put your own hand around his arm to stop him. Causing a scene here was probably their plan-B. The problem was, Tony was overwhelmingly furious. And he now had nowhere to put it. “You saw him put something in your drink?” Not asking you because he doubted you. Asking you so that it would give him permission to go after them. And while you didn’t want him to do that- not here, anyway- you nodded. “At the bar. I know I’m a little drunk, but not that drunk. Joy carted you off- and I think they paid off my bathroom attendant, she wouldn’t let me leave.” All in an attempt to isolate you and give Ward enough time to do the deed. 

The serious look Tony wore was not one of your favorites. He then crouched down without another word, shifting his arm forward to reveal his watch from underneath his sleeve. He tapped on the front screen, activating it. It was similar to the one he’d given you- the one meant to be an interim defense mechanism while he was still working on your new Reactor. Two plates shifted out from the face. He then dipped his fingers in the liquid pooled on the floor and touched it against the glass sticking out of the left side. “FRIDAY, give me a full compound analysis.” 

“Yes, boss.” 

People were staring. Tony Stark was practically kneeling on the ballroom floor after Ward and Joy Meachum had run away. With some new shiny gadget activated. What was going on! How exciting! 

FRIDAY was quick. “Assuming you’re not looking for the beverage details, but I’ve found-” A small holographic chart beamed to life. “-muscarine and scopolamine. Enough to be fatal about three hours after consumption.” 

You didn’t know what those two compounds were. You didn’t really need to. The way Tony’s heart felt like it was twisting told you all you needed to know. It wasn’t that he intended to have you drink that glass and dump you in an alley to die. There were three whole hours before that. 

Hours he had probably been planning on filling with- 

“Let’s go.” You put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. The way he was looking at you… he wanted you to give him permission to go after Ward, still. In fact he needed it. But you couldn’t let him do that. “...please.” 

It took him a moment, and it was only through great strength that he ignored his instincts to throttle the man that had intended to drug you. But finally he stood. His hand found yours in a tight hold. “Why would he do that? And why here?” 

“They thought they could get away with it.” That was really the only answer you had. Why else would they? You had threatened their business and propped up a potential king to their throne. They wanted you gone. 

But so did everyone else. So they’d have to get in line. 

                                                              ---

The ride home had been quiet but intense. As soon as you’d gotten upstairs into the penthouse, the two of you had sat down on the foyer couch, still in your evening wear. You’d snuggled up to him, legs underneath you, head on his shoulder, and his arm had come around you all the way so that his fingers could sink into your hair and work against your scalp. Dvahli had not waited long to curl up across both your laps. Tony was the braver of the two of you- or perhaps he was just still unable to process that mountain of anger the right way. He had nowhere to put it. Didn’t know what to do with it. “Let’s put a story out to the press tomorrow.” -...and going with paparazzi buzz was certainly not his style. 

“They’d eat it up, for sure.” If the Starks accused the Meachums of trying to pump you full of date rape drugs, the entire world would be foaming at the mouth for more, more, more. What a sensational story. ...you didn’t want to deal with all that. You weren’t sure you could. Wouldn’t that paint you as an unwitting victim? Wouldn’t it make it seem like that was possible? It shouldn’t have been…  “But. They’re in the middle of a losing battle.” 

The breath out of him was tight. “You have eyes on Rand?” He wasn’t really asking if you’d been following up with what he was doing. He was asking if there’d been any sort of progress. Or if it had panned out the way you wanted it to. “No.” Being truthful. After you’d sent him on his way you’d tried not to involve yourself anymore. 

“Then how do you know that?” This cut you a little, the way he was just short of accusing you. The feeling must have slithered between you because he was quick to correct himself. “It’s not that I don’t believe you- if you say the guy is Danny Rand, then he is. But look at what they just tried to do to you. Think of what they’ll try to do to him.” 

He had an excellent point. As always. “You’re right. But. Danny’s not normal. He’s not going down without a fight.” 

You watched as Tony’s opposite hand waved around while he spoke. “Right. Because he’s been palling around with Lando in Cloud City. I remember.” Tony’s annoyance was now mixed with his overwhelming frustration. He was getting sassy. At you. So you sat away from him, unfortunately disturbing Dvahli who made a sad noise over it. But you looked at him. He looked at you. Dvahli looked between the both of you. Tony broke first with a frown. “I’m sorry. I just… what am I supposed to do?” 

Asking you this earnestly. He’d just been told that the love of his life had been on the end of a scheme meant to drug her and murder her. What was he supposed to do with everything he was feeling? 

Settling again, you turned, putting a hand on Dvahli to comfort her, and then did the same to Tony, holding his face in your other palm. His hand reached up, closing around your wrist. Holding tight to you. “Let’s… think about the alternatives.” 

“Let’s not.” 

“No, let’s do.” Trying to urge him. He quieted when he sensed your resolve. “Let’s pretend we live in a world where I would have been stupid enough to take even a sip of that champagne. I know Joy had been trying to pull you away, but I also know you were waiting for me. I never would have left with him. You would have stopped us. And you would have realized something was wrong with me. Taken me to the labs. Worked on a way to fix me. Like you always do.” 

In this fabricated world where Ward Meachum had gotten away with this, Tony still would have rescued you. You knew this. And you knew he knew it too. This wouldn’t have ended with your shame, your humiliation and degradation and then death. It just wouldn’t have. Because of him. 

...but apparently he wasn’t feeling confident enough to buy into this. “What if I hadn’t?” Fixating on the worst possible outcome. Probably because he couldn’t stop himself. “What if I hadn’t seen you coming out of the bathroom. Or him talking to you. Him taking you away. What then?” 

Then… Then Tony would have been responsible for your death. That’s how he felt. And that feeling was very heavy and terrible. 

“But more than that-” He continued, eyes watching yours. Pleading. “More than these hypotheticals- you want me to sit here when they planned to do that and not do anything about it?” 

You wanted to let them get away with it. That’s what he was implying. Second only to begging to understand why he couldn’t go after them over this. They hadn’t gotten away with it, but they’d still planned to do it. Didn’t that deserve some kind of action? 

Again when you didn’t answer, he spoke. “What if it were me?” 

This was a dirty play. Because only a few days ago you’d told him exactly what you would have done. According to you, you would have scorched the earth for him. And now you were denying him the chance to return that. That wasn’t very fair. And it was eating him up inside. He wanted something. 

...so… 

Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his. “Please… let’s see how this Danny Rand stuff pans out.” He sucked in a breath to try and argue with you, but you put two fingers against his lips. “And if it doesn’t… you have my permission to drag Ward Meachum to a defunct SHIELD blacksite. And after that I don’t wanna know.” 

Tony was not a murderer. Not like that. But because it was you… who knew the lengths he would go to. This was all talk. So that made it okay. And he needed some feeling of release. This seemed to grant it to him. 

He eased, lips curving into a tired smile against your fingers. When you let your hand away from his face, “Thank you.” Then, now feeling better, he found the strength to joke. “Is it so much to ask that I be able to murder the people who try to hurt my wife?” 

“I guess not- but- I’m also not your wife.” 

“Not yet. It’s been proven that if I bug you enough about something, eventually you’ll give in.” His grin was sweet and handsome. “You’re already thinking about it.” Going to just sign papers, he meant.

Eloping. And he was right. Maybe he really did have it all figured out. “Yeah. Well. I still have some more thinking to do yet.” 

The way he was gazing at you made your heart melt. But it was his calm, quiet yet deep tone that had you yearning for him. “I’ve got time.”