1.05 — Lancelot

the memories bring back (you)

part of the 1000 lives ‘verse, aka my: Bucky and Tony are soulmates and Tony gets captured by HYDRA and they fall in love but then after TWS Bucky escapes but Tony doesn’t and now Bucky is desperately trying to find Tony and save his soulmate - verse.

this is a timestamp of Tony and Bucky’s time at HYDRA. reading the first fic in the series is recommended but not necessarily required to understand this fic. you can always read this one first and then read the first fic later on

//

13 kills (1991)

The boy appears to be attempting to escape, as he presses his feet against the wall and tugs at his chains over and over, even though it must be hurting him to do so. Briefly, the Asset wonders if it should explain to the boy that escape is not possible, that HYDRA does not allow for such things, but it has not been told to speak to the boy, so it says nothing.

“You could help, you know,” the boy spits out, and it takes a couple of seconds for the Asset to realise that the boy is addressing it. “Bet that metal arm of yours would come in real handy right about now. My father isn’t going to pay my ransom, he never does, so you might as well KILL ME!” The boy tilts his head back and shouts the last two words, talking to people who aren’t in the room.

“What does this kind of job pay anyway?” the boy asks. “Is it really worth it? Stealing teenagers from their dorm rooms? You must really be important to them if they fitted you with a prosthesis like that.” The boy eyes its metal arm, but unlike when the Scientist used to eye the arm, there is no shudder down the Asset’s spine. It doesn’t feel the urge to flinch or cower away because there’s no spite in the boy’s look - for all the vitriol he’s spitting - only curiosity.

“I would love to get my hands on that thing,” the boy says, more to himself than anyone else, before giving the Asset a slow once-over, “I’d like to get my hands on all of you, if you weren’t some sort of creepy kidnapper. Rhodey’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out I have a hard-on for my kidnapper. This is some Stockholm Syndrome type shit.”

The boy looks like he’s about to say more, but he’s interrupted by another presence in the room. The Asset looks away from the boy, and it’s back instantly stiffens when it recognises the Handler. It jumps to its feet, sticking a foot out to still the rattling metal bed-frame, and instantly assumes parade-rest.

“At ease, soldier, ” the Handler says in an amused tone, a half smile on his lips. He doesn’t, however, make any motion for the Asset to sit, or any indication that his words are any more than just that, words, so the Asset remains standing, hands clasped behind its back.

“Anthony Stark,” the Handler says, crouching down on his knees, and reaching out to grip the boy’s jaw firmly. To his credit, the boy stares defiantly back at the Handler, and the Asset thinks that if it weren’t for the hand pressing into his cheeks, the boy might actually attempt to spit on the Handler.

“Pierce,” the boy musters out, in between gritted teeth, “If you wanted to talk, you could’ve just called ahead. There was no need for all this.” The boy waves his hands around, as best he can since they’re being weighed down by chains, “I would’ve scheduled you in.”

“Now we both know that isn’t true,” the Handler says, almost fondly, “What was it you said when I sent Fury looking for you last month? That you’d keep us on hold just to watch the line blink. That’s highly unprofessional Tony, surely your father taught you better than that.”

The boy, Tony, attempts to smile. “He did. Never did put much stock into the old man’s lessons. Bit too old fashioned for my taste.”

The Handler tsks, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him, my boy. It’s a shame, because he’s no longer around to drop those pearls of wisdom on you. I would really start cherishing those memories. What is that saying, ‘you don’t know what you have until it’s gone’?’”

The Handler drops his grip on Tony’s jaw, and pushes himself off the floor, dusting his knees. Some of the dirt falls on Tony’s face, and Tony shakes his head vigorously, closing and opening his eyes rapidly. He’s shaking, much like he was when the Asset first entered, but this time, the Asset thinks it’s from anger.

“Asset!” The Handler barks, and it stiffens. “Mission Report. December 16, 1991.”

“Mission: Extraction and Execution. Primary Target: Super-soldier serum,” the Asset intones, “Secondary Target: Howard Stark. Collateral: Maria Stark.”

Tony inhales a sharp breath, exhaling in a splutter like he’s being choked, but the Handler pays him no mind, so the Asset continues.

“Serum extracted at 0200 hours. Secondary target neutralised. Collateral neutralised. Return to base at 0500 hours. Mission successful.”

The Handler nods, once at the Asset, and another time, more firmly, at Tony.

“Like I said,” the Handler says to Tony, “you never know what you have until it’s gone.” Tony doesn’t seem to be paying the Handler any mind, instead glaring at the Asset, and doesn’t even notice when the Handler leaves the room. There’s an outwardly calm that’s overtaken Tony that it is stark contrast to the way he was shivering with anger, and yet, the Asset does not think he is actually calm, not in the slightest.

“You killed my mother, you son of a bitch,” Tony finally murmurs, “I’m gonna rip your heart out and feed it to you.”

**

15 kills (1992)

It is unusual for the Handler to oversee the defrosting process. Normally, when the Asset is brought out of cryo, it is only the Scientist that is waiting for him, flanked by two agents. Occasionally, the Doctor will make an appearance too, if it has been particularly long since the Asset has been wiped.

The Chair means that the Asset does not remember much of anything, but it has come to recognise the tug in it’s gut, that informs it that something is amiss. It should probably inform the Doctor of this malfunction, but it is a feeling that has served the Asset well on previous Missions, so it does not say anything.

It opens its eyes despite the cold, blinking away the remnants of ice that have collected on it’s eyelashes, and waits until it is ordered to sit up. It is when the Asset sits up that it notices the Handler, and the boy standing beside the Handler - arms handcuffed behind him and an old cloth shoved into his mouth.

There is something vaguely familiar about the boy, but the Asset does not know what.

When the Handler realises that he has the Asset’s attention, he raises the hand not resting on the boy’s shoulder, wiggling his fingers. The Handler is smiling, and muttering something to the boy that is causing a complicated amount of emotions on his face, and even makes the boy shuffle forward as if to approach the Asset - before the Handler pulls him back.

“Dr. Barnett, would you mind so kind as to prep the Asset for the Chair?” the Handler asks, even though his tone suggests that it isn’t a request. “I do believe our newest guest requires a demonstration on the repercussions of non-compliance.”

The Asset stiffens ever so slightly at the mention of the Chair but otherwise makes no indication that it is aware of what is happening.

It has been defrosted in the Recalibration Room, so it is simply a matter of stepping out of the cryo chamber, and walking across the room to the Chair. Without instruction, the Asset spreads out its hands and allows itself to be strapped down, relaxing its jaw and clenching down on the plastic bit that is fitted between its teeth.

The Chair rocks back ever so slightly, just as the harness comes down and attaches itself to both of the Asset’s temples, and the Asset involuntarily closes its eyes as electricity courses through its body, forcing it to arch it’s back and lift it’s head up in a silent scream.

“You see, my boy?” it dimly hears the Handler, almost inaudible over the sound of blood rushing through its ears, “Zola wanted us to Wipe you, turn you into an automaton just like Barnes. But I knew better, I knew that there were easier ways to gain your allegiance.”

The pain ebbs and flows, as the Scientist modulates the dials. The Asset is granted a small reprieve, no longer than a breath, before the electricity is ramped up again.

“Stop! Can’t you see you’re hurting him? Stop please! I’ll do whatever you want!”

Just as quick as the electricity is increased, it is abruptly stopped, and the Asset sags against the Chair, taking big, heaving breaths through the bit in its mouth.

“So we have a deal then?” the Handler asks, and a voice that the Asset cannot place replies, “Yes. You stop, you stop torturing him like this, and I’ll do whatever you want. No more fights.”

The Handler is looming over the Asset’s line of sight, presumably having moved closer while the Asset was being Wiped, and he’s smiling.

“Brilliant,” the Handler is looking at the Asset, but the words are meant for someone else. “First order of business - you’re going to upgrade the Asset’s arm. I don’t think it’s been worked on since the 1950s, and that’s an awfully long time, don’t you think?”

“Soldier,” the Handler says, and now the Handler is talking to the Asset, “It’s time you met your new partner in crime. Anthony Edward Stark, Designation: Assistant.”

The Asset spits out the bit, because its hands are still strapped down, and repeats, “Anthony Edward Stark, Designation: Assistant.”

Next to the Handler, the boy, the Assistant, attempts to smile, but it comes out as a grimace.

continue reading on ao3!!

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 ;; 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 / 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 ;; 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒑𝒕 𝑰𝑰.

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 -> 𝑩𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒑𝒕 𝑰. // 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩 -> ♡

𝐈𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 @nxzoth 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬' 𝐏𝐎𝐕 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞.

" Pops, ya gotta eat. It's been days! "

Angel stared up at the hulking grey demon as an equally worried serpent prodded at a bulky arm; he hadn't moved by himself since the smaller arachnid hauled him from the destroyed remains of the garden. Henry simply stared off into nothingness and said nothing as if he'd given up, he hadn't even protested when Angel went into his stash of jerky or threatened to pour the wine down the sink.

Hell, Angel even went out of his way to make Henry's favorite to entice the mob boss into moving though it didn't even spur a sniffle.

While the two arachnids never saw eye to eye and have made attempts on lives... afterlives in some cases- they cared for each other in their own stubborn ways and ever since Arianna's return, they attempted to mend that bond ;

Henry even used Anthony rather than dead name him, he treated him more like a son rather than some stranger and Angel started going out of his way to childishly show more respect by harmlessly tormenting the old man and attempt to keep the giant pleased through working hard even if it meant a few more white lashes in the process.

Of course they had the occasional fist fight but after an intervention provided by the younger one's lover, the brawls stopped completely even with Arianna agreeing to the deserved asskicking.

The only time Angel saw him move out of his own tution was when he'd stuck out his claws to puncture a bag every so often that was presented to him by Arianna's guardian... snake, Sari when reminded that the leviathan still required nourishment even in a comatose state.... even if it were via cheetos or when Angel was shoveling soups down his throat in between taking care of the others just to keep the bastard living.

" Ssshe doesn't like Henry ssssad."

The serpent chimed in, bumping her head against a steely cheek in attempts to get a response from the scorpion. It seemed to work or at least they both thought. A brief flicker of hope glistened in Angel's eyes when Henry's hand sluggishly raised towards Sari but quickly fell as it had raised when no plastic needed to be pierced, obviously not listening but still aware enough to detect voices. Angel's fists that held the edge of the plate started chipping it in the firm grasp- of course she didn't, she never did like him upset but he didn't care now did he?

They could vividly remember the first time Arianna died-- he didn't act like this, he was nothing but rage and hatred masking despair and disregarding them and their siblings' feelings about the loss by violence. This though? Angel didn't know what to think of it because, he'd never hit this stage before; broken heart syndrome was a thing but he'd shown no signs of it prior besides the chaotic woman was going to pull through this time.

Sari said so and because she's a part of Ari that meant she knew. Right?

Unless Henry was so distrusting of his wife to believe that she'd give up so easily. To think that Arianna would succumb to some coward that couldn't even show their face was almost too disrespectful for this woman who has fought overlords, struck fear in faux holy creatures and was definitely a force to be reckoned with. She couldn't save Fat Nuggets during the fight, but she sure did save the Scorpion from a possible attempt…. Could've been the same ballsy bastard that murdered the prince not too long ago considering the weapon.

The faux calm that Angel had built up for the sake of both parents and those aware of the situation was slowly starting to bubble into anger just thinking about how Ari would feel, knowing Henry was restarting the cycle again and they were not about to be around to be subjected to it alone.

"Dad. She will be back, we just hafta be patient… I'm gettin' antsy worrying about when she'll wake up to but, don'tcha think that she'll be pissed to know yous aren't listening or eatin' fa that matta?" They assured him, keeping emotions in check at least for now. " It wasn't your fault, it had been so long since the other attempt an' we all had our guards down. Who knew they'd come here? Fa now we need to keep it together for Mama's sake an' everyone else. If they had an inkling'a this-"

Angel didn't get to finish the sentence before being grabbed by the wrists, effectively making the plate shatter to the floor and went wide-eyed registering Henry had moved and was now staring down at them with pupiless eyes that oozed a concoction of emotions that made Angel narrow pink eyes at him. Sari quickly slithered to coil around Henry's arm to make him release the taken back starlet but only got him to lessen the iron grip.

"Your mother gets fuckin' stabbed with a holy weapon through the goddamn heart, remains unresponsive then a pet yous claim as a son gets slaughtered as if he were on the chopping block an' you're concerned wit' how others will feel? I knew hell fucked ya up but, this much? We JUST got her back an' lost her at the drop'a goddamn hat an' over what? Bullshit! Do you realize we could've caught that fucker had you stayed instead'a runnin' off to that shit hotel? Yous knew more about that one and even if she's in a comatose she might not wake up. You sure fuckin' didn't!"

The Scorpion shouted, hoisting his heir up by the upper arms to shake while ranting and Angel was… too shocked to introduce him to pearlesque claws and Sari was fruitlessly trying to detour Henry's frustration by reminding him that Ari can sense the emotions though it fell on deaf ears as the scorpion vented ; he thought Angel didn't care…and he was aware of the coma…? The jostling just made a sharp pain slice through the captured arachnid, almost as if realizing what he was doing… or maybe what he said. Angel was quickly released from the grasp.

" D- "

" Get out. " Henry uttered, slowly unwinding Sari from his wrist to place the serpent back on his shoulder instead. He briskly moved away as best as he could from his legs falling asleep from standing immobile for so long as Angel just stood there.

What the hell were they supposed to do now?

AU: Platonic Soulmates

(Warning: blood)

Tony sighs heavily, absently scratching at his wrist. The nanotech is fighting him tonight—everything he tries ending in another failure. He should probably just call it quits and go to bed, really. Pepper’s almost certainly already asleep, having long since given up on him.

Tony scratches his wrist again. Sleep doesn’t sound so bad, actually. Better than the frustration he’s currently experiencing.

Running his fingers through his hair, Tony reaches out to the holo-table, ready to turn it off. Out of habit, he glances at his hand.

The name wrapping around his wrist in royal blue ink had been jarring for the first few months. He would catch it out of the corner of his eye and flinch or forget it was there. Now it’s comforting, though, familiar. Just like the kid that it designated as his soulmate.

In the dim light, it takes a second to register that the color isn’t as strong as it should be, not as bright and solid.

Tony’s stomach drops and then he’s scrambling through the lab, nearly tripping on his stool as he flings himself toward the door.

“FRIDAY, call Peter, push it through. Give me a suit, now,” he gasps. Now, an hour ago, yesterday. How long had he sat there fruitlessly staring at nanobots while Peter had been...?

“Call connected,” FRIDAY announces just as one of the Iron Man suits closes around Tony. He hopes it’s his fastest one.

“Peter?” Tony snaps.

Silence. Tony strains his ears.

“FRI?” he asks, his voice breaking.

“The call is connected, boss.”.

“Peter, buddy, please.” Peter doesn’t answer, and, worse, Tony can’t even hear his breathing.

He can’t see the mark on his wrist while he’s in the suit, but he can feel it, itching and burning and demanding attention.

“What are his vitals?” Tony whispers, zooming over the New York skyline toward the blinking red dot of Peter’s tracker.

“His AI is malfunctioning, I can only get a heartrate. Forty-two beats per minute and slowing.”

So he is alive. Alive and bleeding out, probably in some dingy alley: The life leaching from him just like the color leaching from Tony’s soulmark.

When your soulmate dies the mark goes white. Like a scar. Never to recover.

“Full power to thrusters,” Tony chokes out. “And prep the Medbay or, or an ambulance, or... something. Anything.”

He’s closing in fast. He doesn’t bother slowing down, just crash lands, skidding into a dumpster and sending rats skittering. This is where his kid is, injured and unconscious and dying.

Tony claws at the suit until it opens, falling out gracelessly. He scrambles to the side of the prone figure, ignoring the sticky pool of hot liquid he kneels in. With shaking hands, Tony grasps Peter’s face, turning it toward him. In the dim lamplight, barely reaching the dark recesses of the alley Tony can see the blue around his wrist fading, practically flickering like a weak heartbeat. Like Peter’s heartbeat.

Peter doesn’t even groan, his eyelids don’t even flutter.

“Ambulance, FRIDAY.” The kid wouldn’t survive the flight back to the tower Medbay. He might not even survive the wait for the ambulance.

Tony’s heart is imploding. His vision is fading in and out. He can’t... he can’t...

By sheer instinct from years of running around with the Avengers, Tony finds his hands applying pressure to the gaping wound in Peter’s thigh. It’s deep and wide, but he thinks that by some miracle the femoral artery must have stayed intact, simply by virtue of the fact that Peter isn’t dead yet.

“Peter,” Tony says loudly, putting his entire body weight on the wound. He doesn’t have a belt on or he would do a tourniquet, and he won’t leave Peter long enough to find a suitable replacement.

“Peter,” Tony practically shouts. He presses down hard, almost purposefully digging into the wound just to get some reaction. Finally, finally, Peter whines in the back of his throat, his eyebrows beetling.

“Kid? Kid, you with me?” Peter doesn’t answer, but his face stays creased in pain. As much as Tony hates it, it’s better than the pale lifelessness of before.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Pete, but you are not allowed to die. Do you understand? You can’t do that to me. You can’t.”

A siren pierces the quiet and tears of relief spring to Tony’s eyes.

“Ok, kiddo, just a little longer,” he murmurs. “Please, buddy, hold on for me.”

The medics arrived in a blur of red lights and shouted questions. They load Peter into the ambulance and Tony scrambles in with him. He sits at Peter’s feet, because that’s the only place an EMT doesn’t need to be. Aching to touch him, to feel that Peter actually is there, getting the help he so desperately needs, Tony reaches out his hand and wraps it around Peter’s ankle.

His soulmark is hard to see through the blood coating him nearly up to his elbows.

In the back of his mind, Tony remembers reading somewhere that the only thing worse than losing your child was losing your soulmate.

How can Tony survive losing both?

  Tony sits with Pepper in the waiting room and watches his mark like it was the only thing in the world that matters. Maybe it is.

He cleaned himself up once he got to the hospital and had been forced away from Peter, but the knees of his jeans are stained rust brown and there are streaks of blood on his t-shirt. Pepper had blanched when she’s seen him, but Tony hadn’t managed to force out any words of comfort.

May bursts into the waiting room eventually, looking frantic. Pepper goes to talk with her. Tony’s sitting with his head in his hands, but when they both come over, May reaches out and tugs his right hand into hers. Tony squeezes his eyes shut. She isn’t just offering comfort, she’s checking his mark. It’s the only source of news they’ll have until Peter’s surgery is done.

After a long moment, Tony looks up and meets May’s gaze. Her eyes are red, but she looks stalwartly back at him. On her neck, just above her collarbone, is her own soulmark, Benjamin Parker written in a cramped, messy hand. The letters are white now, like a scar. Like spider webs.

Tony decides then and there that he would rather cut his own hand off than have to face the reminder of losing the most important person in his life every single day.

For so long, Tony had thought he didn’t have a soulmate. If it wasn’t Pepper—or, heck, even Rhodey—it wasn’t anyone. And then the Accords fiasco had happened and he’d found himself sitting in a teenager’s room, clapping him on the shoulder and asking if he’d ever been to Germany.

Soulmarks appeared the first time you touched each other. Tony had felt the burning under the skin of his wrist and done his best to ignore it, grateful his jacket sleeve covered the skin. As soon as he’d left, however, he’d yanked up the fabric to see Peter Parker curving around his wrist like a bracelet in childish handwriting.

He didn’t tell anyone for months. In fact, he did his best to pretend it hadn’t happened. How do you casually say, “Hey, I met my soulmate that I didn’t think I had and, by the way, it’s a fourteen-year-old boy that I made fight Captain America?”

Pepper had been the first person to find out, after they got back together. Tony had tried to brush it off, but she had taken his face in her hands and looked at him for a long time before saying, “I don’t think the universe gets these kinds of things wrong, Tony.”

He’d disagreed, then. In fact, it had taken Peter almost dying (again) for him to wake up. He’d been standing in sickened horror as medics had cut away the Spider-Man suit so they could stitch up a gushing knife wound. And there on his chest, in the exact same place the arc reactor scar was on Tony, was Anthony Stark in blazing red.

It’d been a lot harder to deny after that. He’d sat Peter down and had a very short, awkward, and probably insufficient talk with him about it and somewhere between then and now, Tony realized that the universe had known exactly what it was doing when it decided that Peter Parker and Tony Stark were meant for each other.

Peter is... Peter is everything. He’s his lab partner, his best friend, his hero, his son all in one. He makes Tony more himself than he had ever been, than he had known how to be. He learned that he liked waking up early to dumb texts about people on the subway, he learned he preferred home cooked meals to ordering out, he learned that he liked to teach. He learned a new definition for ‘home,’ and it’s almost entirely centered on Peter’s laugh and the way his eyes look in late afternoon sunlight.

What he wouldn’t give to be there right now, he thinks. If he could click his heels three times and go home, he would be curled up with Peter’s head on his shoulder and Pepper’s feet in his lap and a single blanket draped over all three of them.

As it is, all he can do is stare at his wrist and pray for that familiar royal blue, that beautiful blue, to grow stronger.

It gets paler instead. The blue creeps away from the edges, fading and fading until it is suddenly, brutally gone.

May’s hand is crushingly tight around his.

“No,” Tony breathes, and it’s the only thing he can do, the only word he can think. No. No, no, no nononono.

It hurts. It aches all the way down to his bones and the stabbing, burning pain emanating from his wrist straight to his heart is so sharp Tony cries out.

The blue jolts back and disappears, leaving nothing but thin, gossamer script. It looks so much like spider webs Tony would laugh if he could manage it around the piercing, ripping agony.

He has never thought too much about soulmates, but now he wonders how literal that word is. Are they one spirit in two bodies? Is Tony’s soul, right now, being shredded, torn asunder? It feels like it.

The words light up blue again, flicker, and die.  

Tony’s going to vomit.

They’re shocking his kid. His Peter. Trying to restart his heart. Trying to bring him back to life.

The blue fizzes back into existence and this time, this time, it stays that way.

May sobs in relief next to him, unclenching her fingers from around Tony’s so she can lift it to her face and cry.

Pepper, kneeling next to him unnoticed for the last two minutes, yanks Tony up and guides him to a garbage can just in time for Tony to make good on his promise and cough up bile.

A nurse comes and checks on him after that, but Tony ignores her, barely registering her murmur of, “His soulmate? Oh, that can cause very visceral reactions,” as if there was something quantifiable, something normal about having your world balanced on the precipice of complete and utter destruction.

  It takes them four hours to finish Peter’s surgery, another hour before he’s in a room. They almost stop Tony from going in, spouting that “family only” line Tony has heard so many times, but Tony’s at the end of his rope, so he just shoves his wrist in the RN’s face, who nods and bashfully steps aside.

Tony collapses in the chair by Peter’s bed, feeling like he’d just run up Mount Everest. He reaches up and takes Peter’s hand. The name around his wrist is a dark, stunning blue. For the first time all night, Tony can breathe.

  When Peter wakes up, Tony’s at his side.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony whispers as Peter scrunches his eyes closed, his nose wrinkling up.

“Tony,” Peter slurs, turning his head toward the sound.

“Right here.” He stands and puts his hand on the center of Peter’s chest, right over his soulmark.  

Peter hums, smiling dopily, his eyes still closed. “’Is you.”

Peter’s hand comes up and wraps around Tony’s wrist, his fingers covering his own name on Tony’s skin. As always, a small rush of warmth accompanies the touch.

Tony laughs lightly. “You could see that if you opened your eyes, buddy.”

Peter makes an unhappy noise, but slowly opens his eyes.

“Hi,” he says.

Tony snorts. “Hey, kid. Good to see those eyes open.”

Peter grimaces. He looks around the room, frowning.

“How’d you know?” He asks suddenly, sounding slightly more lucid. “I... the suit was damaged. I passed out before I could call.”

Sighing, Tony sits on the edge of Peter’s bed. He gently adjusts Peter’s grip on his arm so that his mark is showing.

“Luckily, I have a very reliable alarm bell, right here.”

“Oh.” Peter runs his thumb over name again. “It was that bad?”

Tony’s stomach clenches, remember the feeling of desolation as he’d sat in the waiting room, watching as Peter flatlined.

“It was pretty bad,” Tony agrees. “In fact, I uh, had to blow our cover a bit. They wouldn’t let me in until I showed them my wrist.”

It is, technically, a secret. If Tony’s going out, he always wears a watch or suit jacket to cover the mark, knowing a single paparazzi shot is all it would take to change Peter’s life forever.

Peter bites his lip. “Think it’ll be a problem?” he asks, his voice small.

“Nah,” Tony says, leaning forward so he can brush Peter’s hair off his forehead. “Plenty of parents have their kid as their soulmate.”

Peter smiles, that smile that means home to Tony more than any building or city. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Nothing new.”    

@forloveofthestory​ a plotted starter... that was supposed to be about our current muses... but instead brought to life a whole bunch of OCs

07:30 AM

After a few attempts to resist being awakened by the acute noise of Bridget’s screams emerging into her bedroom from downstairs, a very irritated Blanche had inevitably reached the point in which it would have been impossible to go back to sleep. Grumbling to herself, she sat up on her bed and stretched out her arms, moaning lazily. Awareness leisurely made its way back into her mind once her bare feet felt the shock of the cold marble floor and she stood up, walking in slow steps towards the tall windows and spreading open the curtains to welcome the heat of the golden sunrays which quickly filled the room. 

As the fight went on between her stepdaughter with either her father or Edgar, Blanche hurried with her morning routine, anxious to figure out what was the cause of the quarrel. In the private bathroom connected to the master bedroom she washed her face with water and a refreshing mint cream, brushed her teeth, then rushed to the stairs without bothering to comb her hair, while still placing a transparent black déshabillé over an equally black, silk nightgown.

The sounds that had been thus far muffled and unintelligible became clearer as she made her way downstairs, waving her messy chestnut curls with her hasty steps and detecting the constant ringing of the telephone beneath the voices.

“YOU HAVE EMBARRASSED ME!”, cried Bridget

“Sit down”, Anthony said, cooly, “and eat your breakfast”.

“What’s going on?”, Blanche intervened, finding father and son sitting before a sumptuous breakfast table, whilst the daughter stood across from them, her temples reddened with rage.

“You”, the girl replied in a seething tone, her chest heaving with heavy breaths as she met Blanche’s eyes and a smile of pure fury ascended on her lips, as if to conceal a snarl, “why don’t you see for yourself?” 

It should have been odd that such a loud fight would break in a place like this. The family’s beach house was located in a private area, where no press or business could disturb them, surrounded by swaying palm trees and facing the ocean’s calm, gentle waves - the very image of peace right before their wide glass doors - and yet, with Bridget’s presence, it could have hardly been considered a surprise. The girl pointed her finger towards a creased newspaper, which appeared to have been carelessly tossed into the floor. Blanche moved her gaze towards it, her eyebrows furrowing with confusion, but Anthony’s words cut through the room like steel before she could make a move.

“Sit down, both of you”, he commanded.

A sarcastic laughter echoed from the bottom of Bridget’s throat. “I’m leaving this place!”, she shouted, then stormed out. 

“Blanche---” Anthony called, his voice resonating like a warning into her ears as the sound of Bridget’s car driving away filled the air. Still, Blanche stood, thinking. Saying nothing, she walked towards the spot where the papers had been thrown and picked it up, while her husband did nothing but sit back on his chair and release an exasperated sigh, shifting his attention back towards the food on his plate, seemingly indifferent.  

Then, the puzzled expression on her face gradually began to change as she read the words on the article that had been pressed against the carpet.

LOVE AFFAIR THREATENS CRISIS AMONG CONSERVATIVES

Party leadership grows silent at leaked letters exposing MP’S sleazy private life

AN EXTRAMARITAL AFFAIR involving conservative MP Anthony Melbourne, 56, and showgirl Angela Williams, 19, has been made public after a series of steamy love letters were anonymously delivered to the DAILY MAIL’S office last night (...)

Her stomach sank. A sudden wave of cold hit her body and caused her to slightly lose balance. Her eyes rose from the page to look at Anthony as he pierced a sausage with his fork, took it into his mouth and chewed it nonchalantly. Blanche, who was by no means ignorant of her husband’s dalliances with prostitutes, was nonetheless shaken at such exposure, feeling her knees weakening and her fingers slightly trembling against the page. As she grew more anxious, the printed words appeared blurry. The pace of her eyes grew quicker as they scanned the paper, barely making sense of what was written there, save for one or two sentences.

Church representatives have expressed their concern at one particular letter in which Melbourne relates his wish to divorce his wife, Blanche Melbourne (née Dujardin), 25, after a period of estrangement between the couple, who were wed 10 months after the decease of MP’S first spouse. So far, his colleagues from the Conservative Party have not addressed the issue. Melbourne’s press has released an official statement denying the allegations (...)

Reading her name had only made it worse. Within seconds, this sense of public shame had awoken a sleeping demon inside her soul: voices of other girls laughing quietly as a young Blanche walked down the corridors of her expensive boarding school for the last time, mother breaking the radio in the living room of her childhood home while the downfall of father’s business was shamefully broadcast in a national station, deepening the family’s wound… It hit her like a deadly storm, all at once.  

The paper fell from her hands.

A moment of silence froze the room that had just been fresh with humid air.

“HOW could you DO THIS to me?”, her voice rose, full and incensed as Blanched stomped towards the table, slamming her fists against it.

“This is not about you, Blanche”, Anthony answered with indifference, sipping his tea. “I’ll fix this after breakfast. Now sit down and eat.”

“FIX IT?”, she retaliated, outraged. “For your voters, perhaps! But me?”, she pressed her palm to her bosom, flaring her nostrils with anger. Between her questions, Blanche hesitated for just a moment as she observed Anthony inhaling a deep breath, appearing to summon the last ounce of his patience as he took his fingers to his temple. “Don’t you see how this DEMEANS me?”, continued the wife, “when people speak of us, you know what they will say? ‘He is a self-made man,” she quoted, “but pity his wife---”, Blanche added with scorn, “whose husband has a taste for whores’!”.

That, apparently, was the last straw for Anthony. He abruptly rose from his seat, walked in her direction with a cold wrath on his face, and as Blanche moved away he took steps in her direction, until her back was against the wall and she could escape him no further.

“Well, that is nothing new, isn’t it, dear?”, he asked, mockingly. “Are you dissatisfied? Then leave. Abandon your car, your fancy clothes, this jewelry”, he added as his fingertips touched her throat, then tore off her golden necklace and placed it in his pocket, “lazy days in a beach house, your whole fucking expensive life… Leave that behind and go find your happiness cleaning someone else’s toilet, if you’re so much different.”

Blanche gulped. Her eyes watered, hurt by this further humiliation, but she said nothing. 

Anthony moved away with a sardonic smile. “No?”, he asked. “Didn’t think so”.

With that, he headed at once towards the door. “Anthony?”, Blanche called. “Where are you going?”

Leaving the room, he went to the garage, ignoring the sound of his wife’s voice that followed right behind, demanding him not to leave her talking to herself as he entered his car, started it, then drove away. 

Belittled and furious, Blanche returned towards the house, wiping tears from her cheek, to find that Edgar was the only person left to whom she could express her rage. With that, she picked up the newspaper again, then tore it into pieces. The phone, which was still ringing, became her next victim, quickly going silent as she tossed it against a wall.

“YOUR FATHER IS A CUNT”, she yelled.

I’ll Remember You This Way

Chapter 4: 3,444 Read on AO3! (check reblog for link)

The story of one unsuspecting man named Edwin Jarvis and how his life and legacy are carried throughout the universe.

Edwin Jarvis -> JARVIS -> Vision

Snippets of that legacy include Tony Stark carrying his butler’s words in his heart for his entire life and Wanda Maximoff sensing an unfamiliar presence in Vision’s mind.

Chapter 4: running down the avenue

Exhaustion wracks Edwin’s bones the moment he closes the door behind him.

“That took a while.” Ana remarks from the bed, looking up from her book. “Is he alright?”

“He’s missing his mother,” he answers, “so I had to reassure him that we are only down the hall.”

With Howard and Maria away for the week, Edwin and Ana had made the decision to reside in the main mansion for a few days, instead of their own home next door. It made the anxious 4 year-old Anthony feel a lot safer, and it also made the older couple feel more relaxed with the knowledge that he wasn’t too far from them should he need their help.

“Not his father?” Ana asks, to which Edwin simply nods.

He finds it concerning that Anthony never calls out for his father, and he privately thinks that Mr Stark should spend a lot more time with his son. But it’s not his place to say anything.

They settle for the night then. Edwin changes into his pajamas and retrieves his own book (Frankenstein by Mary Shelley- he is rather intrigued by the concept) and the two read in silence as they do every night. The mansion is far quieter than usual. Normally there is still hustle and bustle involving Mr Stark and his work, Mrs Stark and her engagements, or the general hubbub of the other staff moving around.

There is none of that tonight. Most of the staff have seized the opportunity to take their own vacations and there is silence in the household. Time passes as they read, perhaps an hour, maybe two, and the silence continues. It is peaceful- almost unnervingly so.

Then Anthony screams.

Both Edwin and Ana freeze. While Anthony is prone to having nightmares, he has never screamed in such a desperate, shrieking manner before.

Edwin leaps out of bed, Ana following suit, and he almost trips in his hurry to reach the door.

He hesitates as he is about to turn the handle.

“Stay here.” He commands in a whisper to Ana. She is about to argue, but he continues before she can. “Get help, if we need it.”

She nods in understanding and steps back, allowing him to take a deep breath, open the door, and race towards Anthony’s room. The door is wide open.

The sight that greets him as he stops in the doorway is enough to make his heart stop.

David Price, the head of personal security for the Stark family for five years, is standing there with a pistol in his right hand. With his left, he is gripping Anthony’s arms together tightly. There is a small piece of black tape over the little boy’s mouth and, paired with the terror in his eyes, his muffled screams betray the situation.

David (a young man whom Edwin had until now considered a friend) turns towards him and swears.

“Shit, Mr Jarvis.”

“Mr Price…” Edwin begins in an attempt at remaining calm, though his voice is small and hoarse. “What are you doing?”

The man seems to be caught off guard. He repeats his previous phrase slightly louder. “Shit, Mr Jarvis, you weren’t supposed to be here.”

That response is enough confirmation that Edwin needs that this is not some odd security drill.

“Step away from Anthony.” He orders, his voice firmer.

For a few precious seconds, David doesn’t respond. His gaze does not leave Edwin. Eventually, to Edwin’s surprise, he pockets his pistol and hangs his head.

“We didn’t want to hurt you, Jarvis.” He says, making Edwin wonder who exactly that ‘We’ is referring to. “This is just… God, you really shouldn’t be here. I don’t wanna…”

Edwin tries to take advantage of the man’s hesitation. “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve, David, but this is wrong. The boy is only four, he has nothing to do with it. You can have money, you can have blueprints- I’ll give you whatever you need. Just let him go.”

David bites his lip. Anthony continues to struggle.

“Mr Jarvis, please go back to your room.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small knife, giving Edwin an additional spike of fear. “Please. I won’t tell. You can say you were asleep.”

Once, Edwin falling asleep had led to many of Mr Stark’s inventions being stolen. The mission to retrieve them had resulted in many lives being lost, as well as communists infiltrating America. And Anthony is far more valuable than a few silly inventions.

He corrects his posture, trying to use his height as an intimidating factor by filling the doorframe. Knowing that this cannot end well, his shaking hands clench into fists at his side as he musters all of his courage to harden his voice.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do this.”

A sadness fills the young man’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr Jarvis.”

“You shouldn’t have touched Anthony.”

They are at a standstill. Edwin knows that he is at a physical disadvantage, let alone being unarmed, but the only hope he currently has is the fact that Price doesn’t seem to want to hurt him for whatever reason. Edwin, on the other hand, is more than happy to strangle the man with his bare hands if he is able to.

Which is a big ‘if’, seeing as he’s not the one with the knife.

After a few more seconds of tense stillness with neither man willing to make the first move, Edwin lunges forward in an attempt to release the petrified Anthony, who has tears streaming down his tiny face.

He doesn’t register the blade piercing his abdomen until he hears Anthony’s muffled shriek.

A few torturous seconds later, the pain slams into him.

And Edwin howls.

He falls onto his back and presses his hands down around the blade, blood beginning to rise around its edges and onto his flesh, which feels as if it’s burning and freezing simultaneously. All of a sudden he is unable to focus his vision. Though he does see a large blur stepping over him with a significantly smaller, independent blur squirming as it carries it out.

A few more precious seconds later, he realises that Anthony has been taken.

He manages to find his voice between his hisses of pain.

“Help!” He screams up to the ceiling. “Anthony needs help!”

He tries to shout more but his energy seems to leak away with his blood, and Edwin loses consciousness.

~-.-~

Jenny runs as fast as her legs can carry her, with nothing but adrenaline to keep her going. She runs through the gates of the Stark property and onto the road in pursuit of the car in front of her. Though it is a lot faster than she is, the lack of other vehicles in use so late at night means that it isn’t too hard to follow them using sound alone.

Besides, she knows these roads like the back of her hand. She’s not worried about getting lost; only about finding Anthony.

She’d been sketching in her bed when she first heard strange noises coming from upstairs. That had been the first sign that something was wrong- the only people in the mansion were herself, Anthony, and the Jarvises. She was staying to help take care of Anthony as his nursery maid while the Starks were away (and all the staff had quickly decided to take a vacation). She didn’t mind staying. It gave her time to work on her drawing.

Which is what she was doing when she heard the loud shout, soon followed by a higher-pitched shriek almost twice the former’s volume.

Jenny freezes in terror for a few seconds before her brain registers who the voices could only belong to.

The Jarvises.

Abandoning her sketch of little Anthony, she had rushed upstairs to find Ana hunched over an unconscious Mr Jarvis who was soaked in blood on the floor of Anthony’s bedroom. Said boy was nowhere in sight.

Then Ana had told him that he’d been kidnapped, and Jenny ran.

And she continues to run through the dark streets and avenues, her ears keen as they listen out for the roar of the car engine in the night. Barely pausing for breath when she reaches the end of every other sidewalk, she follows it even when her ears lead her into narrower areas, like a fox hunting a mouse.

Except she doesn’t want to hurt the mouse. She wants to make sure he’s safe and bring him home. Because she loves Anthony, as much as she tries to deny it. She was there when he was born and it is her job to protect him. All of the staff in the Stark household have had proper training for moments just like this, and she is damn well going to use that training when she faces his kidnappers.

Just as she thinks she’s caught up, she’s met with silence.

They must have stopped in the alley around the corner. It leads to a dead end anyways, so they must have.

Relief floods into her veins along with a powerful exhaustion. But she forces herself to carry on toward it, at a walking pace this time, to find Anthony.

The silence is broken the second she turns the corner by the sound of guns cocking, and she finds herself staring down the barrel of one being held by none other than David Price, head of Stark household security. Behind him stand many other of the guards in similar stances.

“David?” She asks weakly, half due to her physically exerted state and half out of confused betrayal.

Even in the darkness she can see his eyes widen in recognition. “Jenny? Jenny Bailey? Shit, not you too…”

Choosing to ignore the implications of this comment, she raises her voice defiantly. “What have you done with Anthony?” She demands, causing the group to look at each other nervously.

“We don’t want to hurt him.” David speaks up eventually. “It’s Howard we’re interested in but we don’t wanna hurt the kid. I didn’t wanna hurt Mr Jarvis, either, but…”

In all her panic of finding Anthony, Jenny had completely blocked out the image of a bleeding Mr Jarvis on the floor. And now that she fully realises what she saw, she feels sick to the stomach.

“Oh God…” She whispers, a sweaty palm shooting up to cover her mouth. “You killed Mr Jarvis…”

“Did I?!” David exclaims, and to Jenny’s confusion he looks genuinely surprised. “I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t-”

“Where. Is. Anthony?!” She cries angrily, fully aware of the tears in her eyes.

Tears that, for some reason, are mirrored in David’s own eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jenny.” He says in a small voice. “I’m sorry, Mr Jarvis.”

And, as keen as Jenny’s ears have been all night, she doesn’t hear the gunshot.

~-.-~

Peggy received that damned telephone call during the same night that young Anthony was taken.

“Yes?” She had answered a little groggily. Since it was her emergency line that rang, she had skipped pleasantries.

“Ms Carter!” Ana had half-screamed, her voice betraying the hysteric state she was in. And that alone was enough to wake Peggy up completely.

“Ana! Ana, what’s wrong?!”

Peggy could hear the frightened women sob on the other end of the line. “Edwin’s hurt, th-they’ve taken Anthony-”

As Ana had continued to try and explain the situation, Peggy rushed to change her clothes and pager S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.

With a few short words of reassurance, she’d then hung up and announced the situation as an emergency to S.H.I.E.L.D.. All available agents were ordered to participate in either tracking down Price and the former Stark security team, contacting and explaining/updating the situation to the panicked Starks, enforcing their own security around the Stark property, or cleaning up the mess that had already been made. Which luckily was very minimal as there was only one casualty. A nursery maid by the name of Jennifer Bailey was found dead in an alleyway around a mile away.

(Mr Jarvis had survived. The stab wound was lucky enough to miss the vital organs. Peggy would rather not admit that she shed a tear or two at the news as she was not mentally prepared to even consider the possibility of losing her most trusted friend.)

It was the location of Miss Bailey’s body that had allowed S.H.I.E.L.D. to track down Price. For such a highly-trained operative, she would have assumed that he would know better than to hide in plain sight. An empty apartment building would obviously look suspicious to passers-by when armed individuals start walking in and out of it.

As much as she truly wanted to, she had been advised against accompanying the agents to retrieve Anthony herself. They had spouted some absolute nonsense about having a physical disadvantage. It had taken quite a bit of convincing from both the Jarvises for her to concede that the notion may have some truth to it.

So instead she’d waited inside Stark manor, walkie-talkie in hand, for updates on the mission. Behind her stood Howard, Maria and Ana waiting anxiously, the former two having only returned from Denmark a few hours earlier. She had personally commanded Edwin to stay in bed until news came. Peggy’s orders.

And then her walkie-talkie had crackled and all four of them heard the words they had been longing to hear.

“We’ve just got word that they’ve successfully captured them, Ma’am. No casualties. Anthony Stark is alive, slightly bruised but mostly unharmed. Buxton’s bringing him home now. Over.”

The tense silence that had been sitting in that communications room had finally been broken as all four of them collectively let out their own respective noises of relief.

“Thank you, Agent Mills.” She’d replied, not bothering to fake just how happy the news had made her. “We’ll be waiting outside, over.”

She’d turned around in her chair to see Howard and Maria in the middle of an emotional embrace, and to find Ana absent. Presumably she’d gone to inform Mr Jarvis of the good news.

When word reached that Agent Buxton was only five minutes away, she and the Starks had immediately headed outside to await their arrival at the entrance of the property. And that’s what they’re doing. Waiting, that tense silence reappearing, for their boy to come home.

It is not too long since they exited the mansion that Peggy hears the footsteps of people joining them behind her. She turns around to see Ana supporting a limping Edwin as the pair make their way towards them. Ana is visibly struggling just a little under the height and weight of her husband, but is using effort to try and conceal that discomfort. It is not lost on Peggy, though.

“Mr Jarvis!” She exclaims in surprise, her shout making Howard and Maria turn too. “You shouldn’t be up!”

“You know how stubborn he is, Ms Carter.” Ana replies for him. “If I didn’t help him he would crawl out of bed himself.”

Peggy tries to hold back a smile knowing that is exactly what Mr Jarvis would do, however offended he tries to look at that remark.

“Peg’s right, Jarvis.” Says Howard, his brows creased at the sight of his butler. “You need to rest. Don’t wanna pop those stitches.”

Howard’s voice is low and gravelly. The large amount of alcohol consumed over the past 24 hours are to blame for that. And as both Peggy and Mr Jarvis had been preoccupied (herself with the search for Anthony and Edwin in recovery) there had been nobody to stop him from drowning himself in the stuff in his worry. He still showed concern for his friend though, which reassures Peggy just a little.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Retorts Jarvis as he and Ana come to a stop a few feet behind herself and the Starks. His voice is low too, but in his case it is just from exhaustion and perhaps pain. Or maybe it isn’t far off from his ordinary serious tone, and it only feels different because of his different appearance. It’s surprising how much the lack of a waistcoat, tie and blazer can change one’s whole look. But she also has to admit that it’s refreshing to see him in just a white dress shirt and suspenders. And trousers, of course.

Peggy grimaces but doesn’t push further to send him back inside. She would have fought to see Anthony first too, and she’s not the one who raised the boy.

The wait is agonising. The longest ten minutes of her life.

When the sound of a car approaching is finally audible, she sees both couples cling tighter to one another out of the corner of her eye. She just straightens her posture.

The car comes to a stop just outside the gate, and Agent Buxton exits from the driver’s seat. The fact that he is still donning his tactical gear sparks pride in Peggy’s heart as it means he prioritised returning the boy.

Buxton then opens the backdoor, and all five pairs of eyes standing in the driveway immediately lock onto the frightened brown ones as Anthony slides out of his seat, stumbling slightly as his feet hit the ground.

His face is dirty and his eyes are red, though his hair is not a lot scruffier than it usually is. Though she had been informed that he would be bruised, they aren’t visible on his face so must be hidden under his long-sleeved t-shirt. He seems unsure of what to do, and the awkward silence isn’t helping that at all. Each person seems to be waiting on another to make the first move: the Jarvises on the Starks, the Starks on Anthony, and herself on any of them who deserve to react first.

Maria eventually snaps out of it and lets out a thankful cry. “Anthony!”

“Thank God.” Howard mutters beside her.

Anthony gives a small smile, but otherwise doesn’t move.

Ana is next, and Peggy can tell that she is softening her voice to not betray just how scared and concerned she actually is. “Are you alright, kicsikém?”

Peggy watches as Anthony’s gaze drifts past his parents and onto Mr and Mrs Jarvis behind them. They linger there for a few seconds before he darts off in their direction, sobbing. He barrels straight into Edwin who wheezes at the sudden impact, but rubs his hand over the child’s back soothingly anyway.

“I thought you die, Jahvis!” Anthony squeaks as he clings to the bottom of Edwin’s shirt. “I was crying ‘cause I thought you die!” None of the adults correct his speech as they usually would.

“I’m fine, Anthony, I’m fine.” Mr Jarvis whispers as he leans down to kiss the top of his head, though the bandages wrapped tightly around his waist say otherwise. “The main thing is that you’re alright.” His voice breaks, causing the same to happen to Peggy’s heart.

“I’m ok.” Anthony whimpers. “They pull me and push me and it was scary! I miss you!”

“Oh we missed you too, baba.” Ana crouches down to stroke Anthony’s hair. “We missed you so much. But you are safe now, alright? There’s no need to be scared.”

“Yes, she’s right, you’re here now with us. Don’t be scared.” Affirms Edwin, making Anthony cling onto him even tighter.

“Don’t squeeze Mr Jarvis so hard, baba. He’s hurt.”

Anthony immediately pulls his tiny hands away as he seems to notice the bandages for the first time. “Are you ok?” He asks quietly, as if scared of what the answer could be.

“I’m fine now that you’re safe and sound.” Edwin says as he uses one arm each to pull Anthony and Ana closer into one big hug.

Peggy smiles at the sight. She doesn’t mind that she will probably be questioned by S.H.I.E.L.D. for initiating an emergency for this situation. Anthony is back where he belongs, and that’s all that matters.

As Anthony and the Jarvises continue their tender moment she looks over to Howard and Maria, expecting them to be smiling too. They are not. Instead, they both look somewhat upset. Maria is crying silently and Howard is simply frowning at them. She is very confused as to why that could be until Howard speaks up.

“Kid, come over here and give your Mom a hug. We’ve been worried sick.”

It’s only when she sees Anthony’s hesitance does she finally understand their expressions. They aren’t annoyed at the Jarvises.

They’re jealous.

The Darkest Shine (Dan Torrance x Reader) [Part 15]

You vs. the man in black.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Epilogue

Tagged: @blackeasteagle, @theblackmaskclub​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: misskamala

“I don’t like this,” Dan muttered, not for the first time. It had become something of a mantra, repeated nigh religiously.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

“I have to try,” you said. You couldn’t keep the desperate edge from your voice.

Not only did you have to try, but you had to believe the plan would work. If it didn’t…the thought was too unbearable to consider.

Dan struggled not to let his anxiety transfer to you. It was a struggle he wasn’t winning. He had lost too much in his lifetime to handle losing you, not after everything he had experienced and overcome. It didn’t seem fair.

“It’ll be alright,” you assured him. It has to be.

After the night at the hospice, you had carefully constructed a plan predicated on what you had seen and learned before the veil.

Death’s veil.

Meditation had never been your thing, your thoughts too jumbled and loud to clear out of your mind, the man in black’s susurrus voice slithering around in the silence between screamed thoughts. But you had spent the last week lying in bed or sitting upright, alone in both instances, trying to quiet your inner turmoil long enough to communicate with your Shine.

It was something you had discussed with Dan prior to attempting it.

“I’ve never thought of the Shining as a thing,” Dan had said. “It’s not what I would call living.” Even as he said it, the statement sounded false. He shook his head, shrugging helplessly. “It can’t hurt to try.”

You had even consulted Abra. With the bright-eyes conviction of a girl her age, she had answered, “I never had to do that. I would just know I could do it. Or I would try to see if I could.”

So try you did.

The third night of intense focus had yielded some results. Enough for you to be convinced that you knew what to do when the time came.

It took you another two days to work up the nerve to tell Dan your plan. He had listened in silence until the specifics detailed the danger you would face, at which point the almost-mantra began falling from his lips.

“I had to pull you out last time,” he reminded you. “What if I’m not there?”

“Maybe I can pull myself out.”

He heard the lack of confidence in your voice and raked a hand through his hair. His mouth tasted dry, aching for liquid-gold relief. Pushing back against the urge, he faced you, struggling to find the right words, if there even were any.

You got up from the chair and went over to him, crouching before him with your hands on his knees. Staring down at you, he marveled at the determination in your eyes. The exhaustion on your face, the faint hope just below the surface, afraid to show itself for fear it would spook away the possibility of freedom—he saw it written plainly on your features. It broke his heart as much as letting you carry out your insane scheme.

Folding his hands over yours, he hung his head, letting the action speak louder than words.

“I have to do this,” you told him. “Look at me.”

He forced himself to meet your gaze.

“If this goes wrong, it goes wrong, and I get punished for it.”

His hands tightened on yours. “I—”

“Let me finish, please.” Inhaling deeply, you continued, “He’s never going to leave me alone. Not until he gets what he wants, whatever that is. And then he’ll kill me. That’s a guarantee. Death is inevitable when it comes to him.”

“Maybe if you can hide yourself—”

“Dan.”

He looked away from you, his vision wavering with tears. You reached up and brushed the stray tear slipping down his cheek. He leaned into your touch.

“It’ll all be over soon,” you whispered. “One way or the other.”

~~

It took four days for the man in black to appear. He arrived during the early evening. Dan had gone out a few minutes before to fix a problem with the Teenytown train.

The man in black’s low whistle alerted you to his presence. He stood just inside the doorway, as though the lock hadn’t been bolted shut. Lounging in that carefree but menacing way of his, he scrutinized you, a faint smile on his face.

He needs you to be alone, you told yourself, unable to prevent the momentary spike of fear piercing your chest. Alone, you’re vulnerable. Cut from the herd.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he purred.

Pushing himself from the doorway, he approached you slowly. Forcing yourself to keep still, you watched him circle you, a mouse trapped by a playful feline.

“A little birdie told me that you’ve been experimenting on your own,” he said, completing his circuit around you. “Care to share the data?”

“A little birdie?”

“Yes. I have plenty of little birdies. I may be far seeing, but I don’t have infinite eyes.”

You laughed humorlessly, a short chuff verging on derision. The man in black arched his meticulously shaped eyebrows.

“Caught a little spunk, I see. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that new toy of yours, would it?” He started circling again, this time more leisurely. “Daniel Anthony Torrance. A fucked up little boy trapped in an alcoholic’s body. I must say, I do love the irony. It’s got my own sense of morbid humor.”

Anxiety thrumming through you, mingling with fear and faint undercurrents of anticipation, you began emptying your mind. Slowly, avoiding the man in black’s sharp intuition.

“I can see the allure,” he continued, smiling humorlessly. “After all, nothing can quite get a person going like thanking their savior in all the ways they know how. It must be lovely to be worshiped.”

The split in your attentions as you wove the trap prevented you from considering his words. Though you felt their sting, you didn’t feel their venom.

The man in black frowned. “You don’t seem present with me today. You know how much I hate that.”

Your eyes unfocused, hands curling at your sides. For a moment, it felt like your fingers hooked into the edge of a coarse rug, heavy with the weight of its occupants.

The man in black called your name.

You barely heard it.

Striding forward, the man in black seized you by the throat, roaring something into your deaf ears, his voice replaced with that high-pitched ringing from before.

You tensed, readying yourself to pull.

Distantly, you saw the door to the apartment push open. You caught a glimpse of Dan’s shocked expression. The man in black glanced over his shoulder.

You yanked the metaphysical carpet out from under him.

Dan’s voice shouted your name as you tumbled.

~~

Darkness.

You blinked heavily, trying to orient yourself.

You’re standing on a floor of nothingness, you reminded yourself. Lifting your head, you found the veil exactly where you had left it, shimmering as ripples flowed across the unreal fabric.

You weren’t alone.

The man in black spun sharply on his feet, surveying the space with confusion. “Where the…?”

Can he see me? The question floated bright across your mind, the sun shining out from behind an ominous thundercloud.

Seizing onto that hope, you edged toward the veil.

A cold hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you around sharply. Curiosity warred with mild fear in the man in black’s face, poorly concealed behind irritation.

You shoved against him, trying to dislodge his grip. The action sent you stumbling backward toward the veil, tripping over your own feet. You seized onto the phantom fabric, pulling on it to keep your balance.

“What game is this, sweetheart?” he asked, a vicious edge to his voice.

“A new one,” you managed to say, lips curling back into a semi-snarl of triumph.

He nodded, harsh laughter spilling from his mouth. “You think this little parlor trick matters to me? Can do anything to me?”

He stepped closer, trying to crowd your space. You felt the veil give slightly beneath your back.

Cold breath rolled over the back of your neck.

Not yet, you thought, hoping whatever it was behind the curtain could hear you.

“Your power is nothing compared to mine,” the man in black hissed. “You are nothing but a blip on my radar, a doll I’ve gotten bored with.”

Hands curling into the veil, you inched it aside, staring down the man in black’s icy stare. Something deathly cold touched the side of your neck, sending frigid water into your veins. You gasped.

“I’m going to take what’s mine.”

A wide smile broke across your mouth, arresting the man in black in his tracks.

“Playtime’s over,” you hissed.

Yanking aside the curtain, you seized him by the black vest he wore and flung yourself backwards into death’s waiting grasp.

have your way with me

He smirks, “Then do it baby, have your way with me.” 

It’s just five words, five simple words that throw every atom of your body into a frenzy. 

in which you’re horny and Harry’s little black lace ensemble for the Met Gala isn’t doing you any favors

“So?” You hear Harry’s voice ask from behind you, “What do you think?”

You turn around with a start, trying not to trip over the giant skirt of your dress as your eyes land on him, dressed head to toe in black. You nearly let out an audible gasp as your eyes rake over him from the pearl earring dangling from his newly pierced ear to his broad tattooed shoulders hardly concealed beneath the sheer fabric of his blouse. Every swirl of ink across his chest and arms is visible, deviously teasing in their contrast to the pale complexion of his skin. Your throat is suddenly dangerously dry as you take in the rings covering each of his fingers and his two-tone fingernails.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, snapping your attention back to him and his now furrowed eyebrows, “Too much?”

“No,” You say quickly, shaking your head to clear your mind of the many unholy thoughts flooding through it the longer you stare at him, “No Harry, god, I love it, you look, exquisite.”

“Exquisite, huh?” He smirks, crossing the room to get a better look at you.

“Absolutely breathtaking darling.” You mock, straightening the bow on his shirt and pressing your lips to his.

He grins against your mouth, pulling away all too quickly and letting his own eyes rake over you from head to toe. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he does so, his smile widening by the second as his eyes flutter from the strapless bustier top to the matching black skirt. It’s nearly large enough to hide the both of you underneath and despite your worries about tripping in your heels or falling out of your carefully secured bustier, Harry has assured you that all will be just fine.

“You’re ready to go?” He asks, threading his fingers through yours and you try not to laugh when you hear the clink of both of your rings smacking together.

“I think so.” You nod, taking in a breath and trying to steady the nerves erupting in your stomach.

“Hey,” He says seriously, letting go of your hands and cupping your cheeks instead, “Don’t be nervous, you look fucking amazing baby, going to steal the whole show.”

“As much as I wish I could believe you, Lady Gaga is going to be there H.” You laugh, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before heading for the door.

He rolls his eyes as he follows you out and you catch yourself checking your makeup for the hundredth time in the mirror. The giant wing of eyeliner you could absolutely never do yourself elongates your eyes in the perfect way but the gorgeous gold glitter across your lids makes them pop in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I promise I didn’t mess up your lipstick sweetheart.” Harry teases, coaxing you out the door.

“Harry, I’m just trying to make sure I’m-“

“You’re perfect, absolutely gorgeous, a goddess Y/N,” He muses, “But you’re going to be a late goddess if we don’t get out the door right now.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you allow him to pull you out the door. It’s when you’re walking behind him to the elevators that your eyes scan over the rather visible rippling muscles of his back. He presses the button and tugs you into the elevator behind him. Suddenly his moving lips are all you can focus on other than the delicious swirls of ink across his skin.

“Y/N? Did you hear what I-“

He can’t even finish his question before you’re pushing him up against the back wall of the elevator and pressing your lips to his. He’s a stuttering mess, trying to gasp out words and reminders to not touch his hair or Anthony will kill you but god you couldn’t care less. You want to rip him right out of this pretty little lace number and beg him to fuck you on any conceivable surface he’ll agree to.

The elevator dings, snapping you out of your thoughts and forcing you to pull away from him. His eyes are wild when you do, looking at you in pure shock as you grab his hand and tug him out of the elevator.

“What was that for?” He chuckles, threading his fingers through yours and leading you out to the car waiting for the both of you.

“Not sure,” You shrug teasingly as he opens the car door for you, “Guess that shirt is just, doing it for me.”

He follows closely behind into the back of the car, helping you situate the giant skirt of your ensemble before closing the partition and turning back to you with that award-winning smirk on his face.

“So, what exactly is it, doing for you?” He grins deviously, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you onto his lap.

“Harry, oh my god, we are on our way to the fucking Met Gala-“

“Exactly,” He laughs, “How long do you reckon we have before we get there?”

“I am not sucking you off in the back of a cab no matter how big of a rockstar you think you are-“

“Hey, hey, hey,” He laughs, leaning back and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “Who said anything about sucking me off?”

“I think that bulge in your slacks had something to say about it.” You smirk, leaning back into him and pecking the corner of his mouth.

He grins, rolling his eyes as he leans back into you, cupping your face with one hand and sneaking back under your dress with the other. You gasp into his mouth as his finger presses against the center of your panties and you can feel the reverberation of his chest as he chuckles, adding more pressure.

“Harry-“

“Yes my love?” He grins cheekily, cutting you off before you can say much else.

You narrow your eyes at him, and he quirks up his eyebrow with that signature smirk plastered on his face, a silent request for you to let him finish what he started. You sigh in frustration, grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him back to you. Your lips meet with a smack just as his fingers slip under the fabric of your panties and he hisses into your mouth.

“God you’re soaking princess.” He whispers, his fingers circling your clit before removing themselves from the front of your underwear.

Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact and you see him holding his dripping fingers in front of his mouth, admiring your excitement covering them before pushing them past his lips and hollowing his cheeks, sucking them clean. His eyes roll back in his head before he releases his fingers, puckering his lips back into that smirk you know all too well.

“So sweet, babygirl.” He hums and it takes every ounce of self-control you have left to not jump his bones right here right now.

“Harry, please-“

He shushes you with his mouth, his lips swollen and his tongue tasting like you, equal parts tangy and sweet. There’s an urgency this time, both of you grabbing at each other with an overwhelming desire to consume each other in any way you can. Suddenly his fingers are slipping back past the confines of your panties and in a matter of seconds you’re full to the hilt with his finger pushed into you right up to his ring.

“F-Fuck,” You stutter, gasping against his lips, “Harry-“

“Gotta be quiet for me sweetheart, can you do that?” He whispers, yanking your panties down and making you whine into his shoulder.

You’re biting your lip so hard you’re sure you can taste blood as he curls his fingers and you nearly shriek, your body writhing. You’re squirming against the leather seat as his fingers fuck into you relentlessly, curling against your front wall, his thumb rubbing against your clit in perfect rhythm. Your stomach is coiling in a matter of seconds, your toes trying to curl against the confines of your gold pumps.

“H, I’m gonna-“

Suddenly the car stops and Harry’s head snaps up to look out the window. He withdraws his fingers from you without a word, quickly pushing them past his lips to suck them clean once again before running a hand through his hair to sort it out. He grabs your panties from around your ankles and slides them back over your hips, tugging your dress back down and leaning over to kiss your cheek.

“Keep that pretty mess between your legs, princess.” He whispers with that cheeky smirk on his face, just barely grazing his teeth over your ear as he sits back up and grabs your hand, tugging you out of the car behind him.

You don’t even bother hiding the obvious shock on your face as the words fall past his lips. Your jaw is still nearly on the ground as you follow him down the sidewalk and you’re suddenly swarmed by photographers. It’s time, the part of the Met Gala you’ve been absolutely dreading, the red-well actually pink this year-carpet.

“Just smile and stay close,” Harry nods, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “You look amazing.”

You nod your head more for yourself than him and suck in a deep breath as you take your first steps onto the pink carpet. A switch flips in Harry at the first shutter of a camera and suddenly that gorgeous megawatt smile you know all too well is plastered onto his face as he turns to each group of cameras, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Harry! Tell us about your next album! Can we be expecting something soon?”

He’s shouted at by countless photographers all trying to get the perfect inside scoop to go with their glamour shot. They’re screaming his name in choruses, asking about his album and how he came to be the youngest co-chair of the Met Gala his first year here. He waves them off, continuing his smiling and posing as he leads you down the carpet until you reach the steps.

“Go on sweetheart,” He grins, gesturing to the stairs, “I got your dress.”

You don’t trust your voice as you take another deep breath trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart in your chest as you take the first step up. Once you’ve ascended the first set of stairs you turn around to meet eyes with Harry who’s already staring, holding up the train of your dress as he follows you up.

“Doing great, baby.” He chuckles, cracking a genuine smile as you laugh to yourself and turn back around to finish climbing up.

He comes up the last few steps behind you and carefully drops your train, perfectly arranging it to flow behind you. He offers you his arm as he comes to stand back beside you and you roll your eyes as you cheesily hook your arm through his allowing him to lead you inside.

The actual event of the grand Met Gala is a blur thanks to the presence of tequila and champagne. You can briefly remember the dinner before things went sideways and Harry was on Alessandro Michele’s shoulders screaming along to Cher and tipsily introducing people on stage as part of his co-chair responsibilities.

However, no matter how tipsy you seem to get, one thing is clear as ever in your mind, your panties are soaking. Every time you steal a glance of him in that little lacy number you catch yourself squeezing your thighs together in defiance of the tingling ever present in your core. If you were anywhere but the fucking Met Gala you’d grab him by the earring and tug him into the nearest bathroom stall in a heartbeat.

Perhaps if he wasn’t being so coy about the whole situation you wouldn’t be as painfully wound up as you are, but the countless cocky smirks and grazing hands coming just close enough to your inner thigh to make you shiver under the table have made the never ending night nearly unbearable. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making you frenzied and hypersensitive, driving you all the way to the edge before tugging you right back in.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel his hand on your shoulder. You turn around with a start to see his glossy eyes as he walks around to steal the seat across from you.

“Jesus, scared me half to death, H.” You scold, heaving out a sigh of relief.

“What are you so jumpy for?” He laughs, running a hand through his now sweaty hair to get it off his forehead.

“Nothing, I’m just,” You stutter, trying to come up with a formidable excuse, “Tired.”

“Tired are you?” He smirks deviously, standing back up from his chair, “That’s too bad, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get out of here.”

“We’re at the Met Gala and you want to get out of here?” You scoff, allowing him to take your hand and pull you to your feet.

“Eh, why not, getting a bit stuffy in here now don’t you think?” He shrugs.

“You are unbelievable.” You laugh, shaking your head as he chuckles and leads the two of you back to the front.

He’s a grinning giggly mess as he leads you both out to the car, opening the door for you and following you inside the backseat. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol clearly coursing through his veins or just the high from the event as a whole but whatever it is that’s making him smile like that, you hope it doesn’t wear off for a while.

You’re hardly in the car for two minutes before he’s rolling up the partition and grabbing your right thigh to pull you on top of him, straddling his lap.

“Harry!” You squeal, laughing as your dress swallows the two of you and he struggles to sort it out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to kiss you for fuck’s sake.” He huffs, giving up on your dress and grabbing your face with both hands instead.

You’re both laughing as he presses his lips to yours, nearly sighing in relief as his right hand releases its grip on your cheek and moves to cup your chest instead. You gasp into his mouth at the immediate contact after lusting after him all night and he cracks a smile, meeting your eyes.

“Thirsty?” He teases, “I think there’s some champagne in the-“

“Oh, shut up Styles.” You laugh, cutting him off and pressing your mouth to his.

He chuckles, pulling you impossibly closer with his right hand that has somehow snaked its way under your dress and is gripping your ass with pure disparity. You would give just about anything for this car to arrive at his apartment in the next two seconds so he could slam you against the bed and have his way with you. You can tell his hands are itching to roam your bare skin just as yours are nearly spastic in their restraint to take his pants off.

The last five minutes of the car ride are almost excruciating. Your lips might as well be superglued together as he helps you hoist up the skirt of your dress in order to properly straddle his thigh, nothing between the two of you but his ridiculously high waisted pants and your nearly drenched pair of panties. He’s a grunting, moaning mess as you roll your hips against him, your hands tangled in his hair and your tits nearly on full display in your dangerously lowcut bustier.

It’s when the car finally rolls to a stop that you both pull away from each other, a single string of saliva connecting the two of you as your eyes meet. You wipe the spit away as you slide off of him, throwing the door open before the driver even as a chance to get out of the car.

“Thank you so much for the ride.” Harry puffs out, trying to catch his breath as he hands the driver two hundred dollar bills and closes the door behind the two of you.

He turns back to you as soon as the driver starts to pull away, his hands immediately cupping your cheeks and you have to fight off the smile threatening to make your cheeks hurt as you pull away from him, threading your fingers through his.

“Come on, H. Let’s get upstairs first.” You giggle, tugging him behind you but he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, nearly tripping on the train of your dress as he kisses up the back of your neck.

“Don’t know if I can wait that long.” He breathes, his voice just the right amount of raspy to make your knees go weak.

As soon as the two of you cross the threshold, you’re a flurry of limbs and stupidly expensive clothing. He unzips the skirt of your dress and you quickly step out of it, reconnecting your lips as quick as possible as you push him back towards his bedroom. You nearly trip on a pair of his shoes in the doorway as you shuffle around blindly before he pushes you onto the bed and his hands find the zipper of his pants.

You can’t even describe the noise that squeaks out of your mouth as his pants fall in a heap at his ankles and he’s left standing in front of you in nothing but that black lace body suit? You can see the blush creeping on his cheeks as he tries to cover himself, but you’re completely enamored by the sight of him, all of him, completely nude, only concealed by a thin veil of lace. Some switch inside you flips as you continue gnawing on your bottom lip, your eyes raking over him from head to toe.

He kneels on the edge of the bed, crawling on all fours to get to you but you find yourself sitting up and pushing him against the mattress instead. Your lips find his instantly as your hands grab each of his forearms and pin him against the bed. He gasps in surprise, a startled whimper escaping his mouth as you sit yourself on top of him, already painfully hard and hypersensitive.

You pull away from him and nearly moan over the sight of him sprawled out underneath you, his irises blown out and his lips so pretty pink and perfectly swollen from your rough kissing. His chest is heaving underneath you, his eyes wild and his hair already fully wrecked.

“Ties,” You pant out, letting your hands roam his body over the thin layer of lace separating you from his skin, “Where do you keep them?”

“Um, in the closet, I’ll get them-“

“Don’t you move a muscle.” You instruct, carefully climbing off him and retreating to his closet.

You come back with the necessary supplies to make the image in your head a reality and he’s nervously sitting up on his elbows, his hands resting perfectly on his slender waist. Just the sight of him is making your mouth water as you cross the room to him and he gulps, meeting your eyes.

“What are you-“

“Do you trust me?” You ask seriously, cupping his left cheek with your hand.

“Of course.” He says nervously, his eyes searching yours for any indication of what you’re planning.

“Good,” You smile, climbing back onto the bed and straddling him once again, “If you want me to stop, just say so.”

“Y/N-“ He warns.

“Shhhh,” You laugh, assuring him with a kiss, “Remember when we talked about, spicing it up?”

His eyes go wide before settling back down, his hips twitching underneath you as he recounts the conversation the two of you had earlier this week. You know that although he’d never admit it, he’s just as excited and wound up as you are.

“If that’s what you want,” He smirks, “Then do it baby, have your way with me.”

It’s just five words, five simple words that throw every atom of your body into a frenzy. Suddenly you’re reaching for his discarded ties at the foot of the bed and climbing back on top of him with all of them laid out on his chest. His eyes are wide with anticipation as you grab the three silk ties and get to work on roping his hands to the headboard. However, you change courses at the last second, instead deciding to tie his hands together over his head with one tie, leaving the other two. His eyes are trained on you as you knot the fabric around his hands, wincing slightly as you pull it taut.

“Easy babe, easy,” He laughs, “I never pull it that tight on you.”

“You really do talk too much, you know that?” You smirk, deciding quickly what to do with the second silk tie.

He opens his mouth to speak again and you surprise even yourself as you pull the silk tie taut between your hands and shove it in his mouth, silencing him. He nearly chokes in surprise as you tie it off, effectively gagging him.

“I thought you liked to hear me,” He mumbles against the fabric, “Always telling me to-“

“Not tonight,” You grin, cutting him off, “Tonight, I want to hear you whimper.”

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and his hips instinctively bucking up into nothing, straining for any kind of contact he can get. He shuts his eyes with a grimace, puffing out a few breaths before they peel back open and you’re nearly taken with just how fucked out he looks already.

“Just one more thing.” You smile, grabbing the last silk tie and covering his eyes, knotting it loosely.

His breathing is quickening by the second the longer he’s deprived of his senses. His hands are twitching, repeatedly balling into fists and flattening back out in some effort to feel in control. You lean down to him, sponging your lips against his neck and he shudders, his breath getting caught in his throat. You rut your hips against him just once to test the waters and the strangled noise that erupts from his throat makes your stomach flip in the best way.

“Y/N, please-“He begs.

“Shhhh,” You scold once again, “Whimpers only please.”

You can’t see his eyes but you’re sure he’s rolling them just as you climb off of him and cup him in your hand right over the thin lace of his ensemble. He sucks in a sharp breath, a small whine escaping his lips as his hips buck up into your hand, craving more contact. The fabric stretched dangerously thin over his hardening cock is soaked in precum, nearly plastered to him. The sight of him writhing in his pretty little lace ensemble is enough to get off to alone. The body suit might as well be a piece of finely handcrafted lingerie the way it exposes his now hard nipples and hardly fits around his throbbing cock.

“You want me to take this off?” You ask as innocently as you can in the sweetest voice you can muster, twirling one of the ends of the bow around his collar around your finger.

“Mhm, mhm,” He hums desperately, “Please.”

You bite your lip to stifle your quickened breath as the begging words slip from his gagged mouth and climb down the bed to unbutton his body suit. You undo the three black buttons that match the ones down his back perfectly and he nearly whimpers in relief as you tug the sweaty, sticking fabric away from him and after unbuttoning the back and untying his collar, over his head. He sighs out in relief as his cock smacks against his stomach, his head nearly purple and leaking precum down his shaft.

“Better handsome?” You ask sweetly, stripping out of your bustier and swinging your leg back over his waist.

He nods aggressively, making sure you can see, his hands still twitching in their confines above his head. You almost laugh at just how wound up he is, nearly shaking from anticipation of you finally sinking down onto him but surely he’s going to have to wait a bit longer for that.

You lower yourself onto him but definitely not in the way he’s begging you to. You tease your entrance with him, making him gasp for air and writhe beneath your touch before you’re sliding yourself up and down his shaft. He’s immediately quivering, his hands thrashing against their confines and the sweetest strangled noises erupting from his throat.

“Y/N! Please! Enough, enough, please!” He begs, choking around the gag still situated in his mouth, his hips bucking up into you craving more friction.

You lean forward and slide the blindfold off his eyes, relishing in his blown-out irises and the wild look in his gaze. His eyes squeeze shut as you drag yourself along him again and he bites down on the gag in his mouth, whining in the back of his throat. You cup his cheek in your hand, running your thumb over his flushed skin making his eyes flutter open. He looks so pretty like this, his wide doe eyes and swollen pink lips fighting against the black silk in his mouth, his chest heaving and his body squirming trying to lean into your touch. You lock eyes with him as you grind down onto him and nearly moan out when his eyes roll back in his head in the most delicious way.

“Fuck!” He whimpers against his gag, squeezing his eyes closed once again, “Cum, I’m gonna cum!”

You cease your movements immediately wanting to drag this out as long as you can muster and he cries out, single tears spilling over as he desperately tries to rut himself against you. You wipe the droplets away and lean down to sponge kisses all over his face and down his neck. You lick stripes up his chest, running over his nipples and making him shiver when you blow cool air over them. He’s restless, his legs curling up and straightening back out again, his thighs flexing, chest heaving, small nearly inaudible whimpers pouring from his mouth as he sits teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

“Is my handsome man doing alright?” You ask carefully, knowing full well that his ego would never let him tap out this easily.

“Mhm.” He nods, clenching his teeth over the gag in his mouth.

You hardly give him a second to regain his composure before you reach behind yourself and grab him in your hand, making him lurch. He’s drenched and throbbing, soaked in precum and the wetness from between your thighs. You stroke him gently, not wanting to push him over the edge too quickly. He jolts as soon as your thumb traces over his head, his back arching off the bed and his eyes rolling back once again as he nearly chokes on the throaty moan that escapes his lips.

“Doing so good,” You coo, continuing your painfully slow assault, “Listening to me.”

He nods, shaking his head vigorously and you decide to take to the knot on the side of the silk tie gagging him. You unknot the fabric and toss it behind you, immediately leaning forward to seal your lips to his. He moans against your lips as you take him in your hand once again, but this time you’ve done just about as much teasing as even you can take.

You sink down onto him and the garbled mess of strangled noises that erupt from both of your mouths is enough to push you over the edge right here and now. He jolts with every movement you make, his hands thrashing against his restraints and his hips trying desperately to fuck up into you.

“Bleeding hell, I can’t,” He wheezes out, his chest heaving, “God I’m gonna cum, please let me, let me cum.”

You nearly cave in on yourself as his words make a shudder wrack through your body all the way to your toes. You’re desperately holding yourself up with your hands planted on his chest, whines and whimpers falling past your lips just as much as his own. He’s so thick and warm and the way he’s looking at you already supremely fucked out before he’s even orgasmed is more than plenty to rush you over the precipice to your own ecstasy.

“Please,” He says and you assume he’s begging to cum until your eyes flutter back open and he says it again, holding his tied hands out to you, “Wanna touch you.”

You untie him with haste, your skin suddenly aflame waiting for his hands to roam every inch of you. His hands are nearly shaking as he separates them, balling them in fists and straightening them back out again a few times before grabbing you by the hips and lifting you off of him. You’re stunned to the max, expecting anything but this as he lays you back against the mattress roughly, his fingers immediately tweaking your nipples before his head ducks down to take them in his mouth. You gasp in surprise, your back arching off the bed underneath you as his lips move further south by the second and suddenly he’s eye level with your entrance, his hands still cupping your chest.

“You think that was cute, huh?” He smirks, the soft fucked out little boy you were staring at moments ago nowhere to be found, “You think it’s cute making daddy beg, huh?”

Your stomach does a flip in the most delightful way and you feel your thighs clenching together just from the darkening shift in his tone of voice. He picks up on it immediately, his hands grabbing your thighs crudely and spreading them apart, pinning you wide open to the bed. You whimper at the cold air flooding your warmth and he grins deviously as he finally leans down and takes your sensitive bud into his mouth.

You gasp in pleasure, your hands immediately gripping the sheets beneath you, your thighs threatening to clamp closed around his head, but you know he has you right where he wants you. He licks a stripe right up your center, his eyes rolling back in his head as he groans in appreciation, lapping up the arousal spilling down your inner thighs.

“Harry!” You squeak, trying to shove him away, “Harry, stop, I’m gonna cum!”

“Good,” He smirks, licking his glistening swollen lips, “How about I make you cum three times for every time you denied me? That sound fair, sweetheart?”

You can hardly whimper in response, your entire body locking up and threatening to push over the edge at just the suggestion of him making you cum six times.

“Ahem,” He says, clearing his throat, “I said, does that sound fair, sweetheart?”

You nod your head, your hands shaking in their iron tight grip on the sheets, “Yes, yes that sounds fair.”

He leans back over you, roughly grabbing your jaw in his hand and making your breath catch in your throat. His eyes are locked onto yours, a dangerously dark shade of emerald as he furrows his eyebrows and squeezes your cheeks harder.

“Yes, what?” He asks sternly, his words calculated and making your thighs clench.

“Yes, daddy.” You correct yourself, jolting in surprise when he holds your mouth open after you’re done talking and opens his own mouth letting one single drop of spit drip off his tongue and onto yours.

“Atta girl,” He grins deviously, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Now get on your knees.”

Can’t Say We’re Friends | 2

A/N: Thank you for the support for part one, I really hope you guys like this chapter! And as always thank you to the lovely @matbaezal​ for reading everything over for me and helping me out!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

Part One

“I’m sorry, I think I must have heard you incorrectly. I know for a fact you did not just say that you and Tito are married.”

Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. She really wishes she was joking around, because of the look on her little sister's face, she’s waiting for the punchline.

“Oh my god, you’re serious, you actually... got married? Mom is going to have a field day when she finds out.”

“No!” Evelyn shouts, glaring at her sister, “No one else needs to know about this. This stays between us Elizabeth, I need your word.”

The last thing Evelyn needed was her mother finding out because once that happens, her whole family and Tito’s whole family will know. It was already unbearable enough with the suffocating questions of when the two of them were gonna fall in love and realize the one was in front of them the whole time and all that cliche “best friends to lovers” nonsense.

The Caron’s moved from France to Montreal when Evelyn was five. Any fears that she wouldn’t make friends were squashed when they moved next door to the Beauvillier’s. Tito became her best friend that same day. They’ve been through every major life event together. From birthdays and graduations to relationship advice and breakups, and Tito getting drafted to the Islanders. She even transferred her degree to FIT just so he wouldn’t be alone and they got a place together. Their lives have always been intertwined, but it didn’t mean that they were meant to be together.

God help her if her mother found out.

Beth rolls her eyes, “You have my word. I just can’t believe it took you so long for you two to get your shit together.”

“How many times do I have to tell you.” Evelyn huffs, trying to stuff her shoes into her suitcase, “Tito and I are best friends, that’s all there is to it.”

“For someone so intelligent, you’re also so stupid. I’ve never met someone so deep in denial.”

Here we go again, she thinks to herself, another lecture she didn’t ask for.

“Anyway, Tito and I will be back in Montreal tomorrow afternoon. You still picking us up?”

“Yes, of course. And oh, don’t forget about our weekly dinner so, try to keep your lovey dovey crap to a minimum.” Beth says, snickering.

Evelyn rolls her eyes, “Don’t make me regret telling you, Beth.”

“See you tomorrow, Beauvillier!” She ends the call in a sing-song voice.

Evelyn collapses on her bed. Staring at the structured ceiling, she is still a loss. In fact, part of her still wishes she could be in denial, but she raises her left hand and looks at the flimsy ring, it’s the same one wrapped around Tito’s left ring finger. Speaking of him, he still hasn’t returned from his “walk”, if you could call it that. He was just as much in shock, in fact, she had never seen him that speechless before. Breakfast had been a silent affair, before Tito mentioned he needed some air, and had left. That had been hours ago, she hoped he was ok.

Evelyn eventually drifts off, today’s events taking a toll on her.

She wakes up when the bed dips and a calloused hand gently caresses her face. She rubs her eyes and see’s Tito sitting there, looking sheepish.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself. Where have you been?” Evelyn asks, sitting up slowly.

“Went for a walk, got something to eat, then I decided to visit the chapel we apparently went to and got verification.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “we definitely got married last night.”

“We already knew that bubs.”

He sighs, “I know...I just needed to actually hear it from the priest’s mouth.” He trails off, shoulders sagging, and starts picking fuzz off his gym shorts. He looks so drained and dejected. Evelyn felt bad, this was just as much her fault as it was his. They both made this dumb decision and they’d have to deal with the consequences, but they would get through this hiccup together like they’ve gotten through everything else.

“Well,” she started, scooting next to him and rests her head on his shoulder, “Least we didn’t get married by an Elvis impersonator and get matching tattoos.”

He snorts and shakes his head. It’s the first smile on his face all day, “You would never get a tattoo, Evee. You’re afraid of needles.

“Says who...maybe I’m not afraid anymore.”

He gives her a look, “You literally just got your ears pierced last year and that’s only because the girls got you drunk.”

“Your best friend is a hot mess, what else I can say?”

“This hot mess is also my wife,” He teases, poking her cheek.

Rolling her eyes, she gives a quick slap to his thigh, “A terrible choice on my part...marrying you. When was the last time you cleaned under your bed?”

His eyebrow furrows, “Um....you’re supposed to do that?”

She sighs dramatically, “I married a slob.”

“Excuse me?” He mocks offense, “Says the girl who leaves her shoes everywhere in the front hall. That’s a tripping hazard.”

“But at least I don’t leave my underwear on the bathroom floor.”

They look at one another and burst out laughing, at least they can find humor in this ridiculous situation. Falling back on the bed together, they turn and look at one another.

“You’re still my best friend Tito, nothing is ever going to change that.” He smiles at her, “And you’re mine.”

She extends out her pinky to him and links it with his, “For better or for worse.”

And that starts another fit of giggles.

Later on, after some takeout from the Thai food restaurant downstairs and three episodes of the office, Evelyn heads off to bed, leaving Tito on his own.

As soon as he hears the bedroom door shut, he hunches over, burying his face in his hands and he groans. How stupid could he have been? Vegas was a great idea for a vacation, Tito, you’ll only end up getting drunk off your ass and marrying your best friend!

He just wanted to do something fun for his birthday and to get his mind off the disappointment of not getting through to round three of the playoffs. Just spend some quality time with his best friend.

And now she shares his last name.

He thinks back to his conversation with Mat earlier:

He’d gotten voicemail three times and has left enough text messages to make him look crazy. He’s going to kill Mat when he gets back to Long Island, the one time he actually needs him to answer his damn phone, he- finally-

“Fucking finally Mat, I’ve only left three voicemails,” he snaps.

“Good morning to you too Beau, it’s so lovely to hear your voice, my vacation has been great, thank you for asking.” Tito can hear the dripping sarcasm in Mat’s voice.

“Don’t be smart with me, this is serious.”

“Well it must be serious enough for you to leave 20 text messages, three voicemails, and-“ he pauses, “15 missed calls.”

Tito groans, “Mat, I fucked up so bad.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“I married Evelyn.”

It’s silent on the other end before he hears a few chuckles that turn into a full-on belly laugh.

At that moment, Tito realizes, he should have called Ebs.

“You- holy shit, you married Evelyn? Please tell me it’s on video.”

“You’re not helping,” Tito groans, frustrated, “Mat, we got wicked drunk and next thing I know I wake up with her yelling for me and a ring on my finger.”

“For a minute I really thought you were joking with me.” He makes a whooshing noise, “So...how’d she react?”

“Just as shocked as I was. She’s married to me.”

“I know the poor thing when I’ve been right here in the wings waiting for an opportunity to snatch her up.”

Tito rolls his eyes, gritting his teeth, listening to Mat laugh again.

“Is this really the worst thing in the world though?”

“It is when I’ve been in love with her since I was fifteen,” he admits softly.

Saying it out loud should have been relieving, except it’s not. It’s just a reminder of the feelings he’s been hiding from her for years. But Tito would rather keep his feelings a secret than lose a lifetime friendship.

“I know, Tito. To be honest, you aren’t the most subtle when it comes to your feelings for her, everyone can see it, except for her.”

“She’s not obligated to fall in love with me, I can’t be upset with her for not feeling the same.” He sighs, “I just don’t know what to do now.”

“File an annulment?” Mat suggests.

Tito bites his lip, still walking the down the boulevard, “It’s easier to get married than it is to get divorced. It could take months before it’s finalized, and it’s going to be even harder to keep this under wraps, but I suppose it’s our only option at this point.”

“You’re gonna have to tell Lou and Trotz. This is not something you can hide from management. If anything they can help you keep it secret.”

“You’re right.”

It really wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he married Evelyn. He just hoped he could keep her from figuring out his feelings. But he doesn’t know how to stop the intensity of the butterflies or the flush in his cheeks at the reminder that she has his last name.

Anthony Beauvillier was completely and utterly fucked.

platonic ralbert in a serious car accident pls. i’m in a Mood and i need angst. if it could feature jack, davey, and other newsies that would be swell. i love Brotherhood and shit

Of course, babe! I hope you feel better soon. 

ft. Davey being a mom

(let me know if you want a part two, I kinda left this on a cliffhanger

“Dumbass!”

Albert flinched as Race screamed out the window from the passenger seat, flipping a middle finger at the car that had just passed them.

“Dude, stop it. We’re gonna crash and it’s gonna be all your fault,” he said, poking Race in the ribs so he would jump back down to actually sit in his seat.

“He can’t just switch lanes like that!” Race said furiously, still making certain, very rude gestures at the car. “If anyone’s gonna be crashing cars, it’s gonna be that dude!” He reached across Albert’s lap to honk the horn, and Albert shoved him away.

“Yeah, because you’re distracting him,” Albert muttered, swiping a hand over his face. “C’mon, man, we’re almost there, shutting your damn mouth for a second’s not gonna kill you.” He grinned at Race lazily to show he was joking around, but Race was still glaring out the window.

“Whatever, fine.” He paused, then stuck his head out the window for a second to yell, “You’re still a dumbass, dumbass!”

Albert punched him in the shoulder, tearing his eyes away from the road. “The only dumbass here is -”

He never finished his sentence.

The airbags knocking Race backward and sideways felt like a sharp punch to the gut. He could hear someone scream, - it might have been him - the screech of tires, and could feel Albert throwing a hand over his chest to keep him from crashing into the dashboard as the car behind them came crashing into them, glass shattering and piercing Race’s arm where the airbags weren’t protecting him. The car veered off course from the impact of the hit, and before Race could do anything to grab the steering wheel or leap over to the slam on the brakes, they were skidding down a ditch on the side of the road, the car tumbling upside down and crushing the roof beyond repair.

There was a second of eerie silence. Race’s eyes were squeezed shut tightly enough to see spots, his teeth clenched. He could feel the color drained from his face, and his nails were digging into his thighs in a futile attempt to ground himself.

The hood was beyond repair. The windows looked as if there had never been any glass there at all. The airbags were loud and too big and left a ringing in Race’s ears, but they’d probably just saved his life, so he couldn’t complain too much.

“Woah,” he said shakily, forcing his eyes open. He almost wanted to laugh from the sheer irony, the sudden impact, the everything, but the tears in his eyes said otherwise. “Woah. Are you -”

He turned to Albert, but he trailed off. His best friend - hell, his brother - was sitting, unconscious and dead to the world, in the driver’s seat, his limp hand still thrown over Race’s chest. His face was pale and there was blood trickling from a scrape on his forehead. His other arm was bent at on add angle.

“Al?” Race said, grabbing the hand on his chest and squeezing it uselessly. “Albie? Albie, wake up. Albie, dammit! Wake up! Wake up!”

Race only had to pace around the waiting room and be rudely asked to sit down by an annoyed nurse for a few minutes before the doors were bursting open and Jack and Davey were flying in, looking for all the world like they were about ready to raise the pits of hell themselves.

“You said there was an accident,” Davey said. He grabbed Race’s shoulders, looking him over. “What happened?”

“Nice to see you too, Dave.”

“Cut the crap, Higgins,” Jack said, smacking the back of his head. Hard. He clearly wasn’t in the mood for Race’s sarcasm, which was fine by him. He wasn’t much in the mood for it either, but if that was what it took to put on a brave face until Albert was awake, so be it. “Tell us what the hell happened.”

Race stopped, fists clenched at his sides, muscles tense. He was sure Davey was feeling the strain of his shoulders, like he was feeling the entire world’s weights and stresses loading him down all at once. When he finally did speak, there was a tremble to his voice that he hated. “There was a car crash… and A-Albert was driving… I was sitting in the passenger seat and he felt th-the full force of it.” Before Davey could ask, he added, “I’m fine, they let me off without a couple bruises and some bad scrapes on my arms, but,” he swallowed, “Albie’s not awake yet.”

The firm grip on his shoulders loosened, and when he looked up from his shoes, Jack’s eyes were wide and bugging out of his head and Davey was staring at him in disbelief. He looked away again, his cheeks heating up. “And… dammit!” He let out a few more choice words. “Damn, it was all my fault.”

“Who gave you that idea, Racer?” Jack said. He put a gentle hand on Race’s back, subtly steering him over to a chair, and Race didn’t protest as he was pushed down to sit and Jack slung an arm around his shoulder.

“I-I was distracting him,” Race stammered, leaning into Jack’s side. He didn’t care if it looked childish, he needed someone to ground him and if Jack was a willing participant, he wasn’t going to shy away. “I was yelling at this other driver that switched lanes or something and he kept telling me to shut up but I didn’t care and… and I didn’t… I wasn’t…” He was stumbling over his words through sobs that he forced down. Davey squatted down in front of him, putting a hand on his knee.

“Race, it’s okay,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay. Albert doesn’t blame you, and he’ll be happy to know you’re okay. I promise. I’ve known him long enough to know that, so that means you’ve probably known him long enough too.”

Race laughed bitterly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “He can’t forgive me if he doesn’t wake up.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

Race didn’t respond. He stared at the floor, keeping his mouth shut for once in his life.

They sat there for what felt like years. Jack and Davey talked to some of their friends over the phone, and Race almost smiled when he heard Elmer and Romeo shouting rapid-fire questions when Jack accidentally put them on speaker.

Finally, just as Race thought he would shrivel up and die in an uncomfortable, plastic waiting room chair, a nurse opened the door and said, “Albert DaSilva?”

Race was out of his chair and darting for the door before Davey could reel him back in. In one breath, he tumbled out, “I’m Anthony Higgins, his best friend. Can I see him?”

The nurse smiled at him softly, patting his shoulder. “Oh, I suppose so. And who are these boys with you, Anthony Higgins?”

“Jack Kelly and Davey Jacobs,” Race said, pointing to them both in turn. “Now can I go see him already?”

The nurse raised her hands in joking surrender, stepping aside and brushing him through the door. “Room B5. We had someone call ahead and get him a private room. He’s not awake yet, so be careful with him, kid.”

Race hesitated right outside Albert’s room. Was he supposed to knock? He drummed his fingers against his thighs anxiously as Jack and Davey jogged up to him, both panting.

“Why does he have a private ward?” Race whispered, keeping up his staring match with the door like it would swallow him whole if he looked away too soon. Was it really that bad? Was Albert in such bad condition that the other patients couldn’t stand to look at him?

“Medda knows a guy,” Jack said from behind him. “She said her babies deserve the best.” He ruffled Race’s hair, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Not that Albert and you need bigger heads as it is.”

Race rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. Refusing to give himself any more time to worry, he opened the door, pushing it open with his foot to see inside.

Albert was laying on the bed, completely still. There were IVs in his arms, one of them wrapped in a cast. His foot was propped up with a pillow, his head was bandaged neatly - there was still a tint of red to the stark white cloth, though - and his face was still flushed white. He looked too peaceful.

Race stared at him for what felt like longer than he’d been stuck in the waiting room until Jack was moving him toward another chair beside the bed. He sat down and instinctively reached out to take Albert’s hand, holding it like his best friend would disappear if he didn’t.

The hand on his shoulder was gone suddenly and the door shut quietly. Jack and Davey must have gone out to interrogate the doctors.

“I’m sorry,” Race whispered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything else. He just sat, clutching Albert’s hand, the tears falling with his strong facade.

Tangled Chapter 3 - Shame and Fortune

A/N: Surprise! I posted chapter three last night at midnight so now all of you lovely people can read it! I’m sorry it took so long between updates, but real life got kinda nuts and then I was a bit of a perfectionist with this chapter. Anyway, all I’ll say is I do love me a good Romione fight... and I hope you do, too :)

And for those interested in reading (and commenting) on either AO3 or FF.net, here are the links:

Tangled on AO3.org

Tangled on FF.net

Otherwise, here’s chapter 3!

Chapter 3

Shame and Fortune

Ron was frozen. Time had stopped and he suddenly found himself unable to breathe because all the air had been knocked out of him. An odd buzzing sound now filled his ears and everything around him seemingly disappeared except for her, as she stood right in front of him.

Hermione Granger: his former best friend, ex-girlfriend, and possible love of his life.

As she walked into the room, smiling brightly, he stared, stunned, and rendered temporarily mute and dumb by her presence and the distant knowledge that he had desperately missed looking at her. How was it that she could look exactly as he remembered while simultaneously completely different? She seemed older and more mature, yet as she smiled, her face still lit up in the same, girlish way from when they were young. Her bushy hair somehow looked softer to the touch and far better tamed, as well as shorter than what he remembered, though he supposed after three years that shouldn't come as much of a surprise. Cheeks still pink from the wind outside, the color only seemed to make her skin glow, and her lips were painted a soft, rosy shade, while her eyes–

Merlin, those eyes…

Ron had long come to accept the fact that he would most likely never get the chance to look into her dark, brown eyes again. But somehow, against all luck and logic, she was here and she was as real as anything he had ever seen in his life. Wearing a smart, silky white blouse and a dark blue, knee-length skirt, she sidled up to Chris who looped an arm around her back and pulled her close. Standing there, they were a perfectly put together duo with their polite smiles, posh clothing, and surrounded by their giant, magnificent manor. But as Ron watched Hermione stick her hand out towards Tony, a painful knot pulled at the bottom of his stomach and he gritted his teeth.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, still smiling brightly and for one wild moment, Ron genuinely wondered if she hadn't seen him. However, as she shook Tony's hand she glanced in his direction and Ron watched as a shadow drew across her face and a small frown met her brow. But almost as soon as it appeared, it was gone again.

"It's very nice to meet you, Ms. Granger," Tony said politely.

"Oh, please, call me Hermione. Ms. Granger makes me feel like my mum."

Ron continued to stare in disbelief as she laughed airily, but now he could feel something else building inside him – something familiar and oddly comforting, if long dormant. Why was he the only one who could barely seem to contain himself while she was totally unruffled? How could she ignore him so easily and act as though nothing was wrong? And why did she get to be poised and polished and bloody perfect while he looked like a moronic sideshow act?

Suddenly, and irrationally, Ron felt a surge of fury shoot through him.

"Speaking of your mum, how is she? Did you have a successful shopping trip?" Chris asked, showing Hermione into one of the high-backed chairs and signaling something to Benson who hurried noiselessly out of the room.

"She's fine and we had a lovely time. There's still a lot left on my list, but it was nice to be out with her."

"Hermione's parents are Muggles," Chris explained as he sat in the chair next to her, still staring at her. "They spent the morning together, working on finding some new items to replace those that were lost in the fire."

"Which would explain the Muggle clothing," Tony said as he walked over to the sofa and sat down. Ron followed suit, his movements slightly stilted and unnatural, as he sat directly across from Hermione.

Hermione smiled again. "It's not that my parents aren't used to Wizard robes by now, but I have a feeling the rest of London would have found them to be a bit odd." She looked over at Chris. "And how about you? Were you able to explain the change in your situation…?"

Chris sighed. "My day's been as was to be expected, love." Ron's blood boiled at the term of endearment, and he hastily covered a disdainful snort with a cough. "My meeting this morning took longer than planned and then I got a bit carried away showing Anthony and Ronald around the manor. I was actually just about to explain to them the circumstances surrounding your flat." Chris took her hand into his and stroked it with his thumb. Ron gripped the sofa, his knuckles turning opaque.

The doors to the sitting room rattled open from behind them and Benson re-entered carrying a silver tray with a tea set, plates, and a platter full of sandwiches.

"Thank you, Benson," Chris said as the old man bowed deeply and exited the room. "I know you all must be hungry. Please, eat." He gestured to the food in front of them and then grabbed a plate himself. "Tea?" he asked Hermione, who nodded.

Tony reached for a sandwich, but when he offered one to Ron, Ron shook his head no. Although his stomach growled in protest, he felt his hunger ebb away as he watched Chris hand Hermione a teacup, his hand lingering on top of hers slightly longer than seemed necessary.

"So, what happened to your flat?" Tony asked. "Chris mentioned something about a fire."

Hermione nodded, placing her cup down on the coffee table in front of her. "I live in a Muggle owned building in London and about a week ago, a fire burned down most of the unit. It was quite scary – most of the tenants, including myself, were inside our flats when it happened. One minute, I was in my room reading and then the next, I smelled smoke and heard people shouting. It all happened rather quickly – I had just enough time to grab my cat and a few small, personal effects and get out."

"That explains the book..." Ron muttered.

All heads turned in his direction, somewhat taken aback by this sudden comment. Hermione looked confused and for the first time since arriving, addressed him directly. "What do you mean?"

Ron felt his ears burn, and tried to shrug. "I noticed an old copy of Hogwarts, A History on one of the shelves earlier."

"But how could you have possibly known it wasn't Chris' book?" Hermione said innocently, but Ron could practically see her gaze sharpen.

"I—er," he scrambled. "When I opened it, I thought I saw…er, feminine handwriting inside, is all."

"The whole ordeal sounds awful all the same," Tony interjected, turning back to Hermione. "Any word on what may have caused the fire?"

Hermione tore her piercing gaze away from Ron and turned back towards Tony. "The Muggle fire services are still conducting an investigation, but they believe it was due to faulty electrical wiring. The building is old and while the property managers have done a fairly good job at maintaining it, it's highly likely it was caused by something as simple and mundane as that."

"And what about the Ministry? What has their investigation shown so far?" Tony asked as he took a sip of tea.

"Well, nothing yet," Hermione said and Ron watched as she nervously folded her hands in her lap. "As I said, with the building being older and Muggle built and owned, and not to mention the fact that I'm quite certain I'm the only witch or wizard who's living there, the chances of it being magic-related are slim. Also," Hermione's eyes darted surreptitiously towards Chris, "not many people know of my connection to Chris, so it's not something that's triggered any further investigating. Really, there hasn't been a need for the Ministry to get involved."

"Honestly, Hermione, the fact of the matter is the Ministry, and you, have yet to take what happened seriously. You could have been hurt!" Chris shook his head in disgust and although he hated himself for it, Ron found himself secretly agreeing. "I know I won't feel better until I know what caused the fire, and until then, having you close by feels more important than ever." Chris placed a hand atop Hermione's as they sat in her lap, and she gave him a thin smile in return. Ron clenched his jaw as he watched.

Tony nodded. "This is all good information to have, and I appreciate you telling us. Once we're a bit more settled in, I think it would be best if Ron and I sit down with you and go over some of the other particulars of that evening and the days leading up to the fire."

"Is that really necessary?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly higher as her cheeks flushed. "I don't want to be a bother or a distraction to your case, especially since you're both here to offer your support and services to Chris and what's been going on with his business, not to try and determine the cause of a fire at the block of flats I happen to live in–"

"You can't seriously be surprised you've made yourself a target by being close to him, can you?" Ron scoffed, trying to keep his voice steady, as his heart beat erratically in his chest. "He's been getting threatening letters for months, not to mention he's one of the most visible and well-off businessmen in Europe. How could you not see a connection?"

Ron locked eyes with Hermione and watched as she pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. A small thrill sparked inside him and he stared defiantly back. Chris and Tony, however, seemed completely unaware of the silent standoff occurring and continued on.

"I agree with Ronald," Chris said, giving Hermione's hand a quick squeeze before turning back to Tony. "I've been saying the same thing all week – that the timing is too coincidental and she needs to be smart about this, but she's been quite resistant to the idea. But as I said before, all the more reason for her to be here, especially now that you two will be living at the manor."

Hermione wrenched her eyes away from Ron, her icy gaze now fixed on Chris and she opened her mouth to respond, however, it was Tony who spoke next.

"No detail is too small when it comes to helping with our investigation of the threats being made against you, Mr. Rhiney." He stood up. "However, while it's been very nice meeting you both if you would please excuse me, I need to get in contact with the Ministry right away to let them know of the changes to our plans."

"I'm not causing any problems, am I?" Hermione asked.

Tony shook his head. "Not at all. Just standard protocol."

She smiled wanly. "I'm sure Chris has already let you know how grateful he is to the Ministry for doing this, but please know how thankful I am as well. It means a lot that you're willing to come here and help and I have every reason to believe that you two and the Ministry will catch the men and women who are doing this."

"That's our job, ma'am," Tony bowed his head momentarily, then headed out the doors towards the rest of the house.

From the corner of the room, the grandfather clock chimed loudly, and Chris almost immediately jumped out of his chair. "Ah! It appears as if I've completely lost track of time again. I must steal away for another meeting, although my hope is this one will be much shorter than the one this morning. Ronald, if you or Anthony have any questions about the protections we have set up, Benson will be your best asset. Otherwise, I am happy to speak with you two later this evening."

"You have another meeting? Now?" Hermione's eyes were wide as the pitch of her voice went up another octave. "Are you sure you can't push it?"

Chris patted her hand and shook his head. "You know I can't but, as I said, it shouldn't take too long. Go ahead and finish eating and I'll check in with you later." He leaned down to kiss her forehead, then turned on his heel and swept out of the room, leaving Ron and Hermione alone together.

The ringing silence that followed was deafening. Seconds seemed to expand into infinity and the only sound was that of the quiet, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock. Ron sat glued to the sofa, the palms of his hands sweating and his blood pulsing through his veins. While Hermione seemed content to stare out the window and act as if nothing was wrong, Ron could feel the simmering anger he had been pushing down begin to boil over.

"So..." he finally said after what seemed like an eternity. "So..."

Hermione finally turned and gave him a distasteful look. "So what?"

"Oh, come off it," Ron spat as he rolled his eyes.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she began jiggling her foot. "I don't believe I know what you're referring to."

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, you know damn well what I'm talking about!" he exploded, as his heart hammered inside his chest.

Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you I'm thrilled to see you? Or lie and say this isn't literally my worst nightmare come true?"

Ron cringed but continued on angrily. "Really, Hermione? That's what I am for you? Your worst nightmare?"

"Oh, does that hurt your feelings? Here, allow me to start over." Hermione put on a fake cheery tone, her foot still jiggling relentlessly. "Hello, Ron! It's so nice to see you! Goodness, it's been ages!" She tapped a finger to her chin. "I believe the last time we saw each other, we got into a massive row and you left me utterly gutted in your parents' backyard, but let's not think about that and we'll just act as though we're best friends again!" She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, there's a brilliant idea."

Ron's pulse thundered in his ears. "So your plan is to what? Ignore me? Pretend you have no bloody clue who I am? How long do you think you can keep that up for?"

"And what, pray tell, would you suggest?" she snapped.

"You could at least acknowledge my presence! It's not like I planned for this to happen!" Ron watched Hermione's eyes grow wide with indignation.

"And what about me?" she said as she pointed a finger at her chest. "Do you think I imagined for even one second you would be here?"

"Well, join the club, because I damn well had no idea you'd be here either! Or did you not see the stupid look on my face when you walked in?"

"I suppose I couldn't see a difference between how you looked when I walked in and how you always look," she said coldly.

Ron swallowed painfully and gave a derisive snort. "Nice, Hermione. Real nice. Tell me, does it ever get lonely up there on your pedestal, looking down on all the rest of us? Or have you just gotten used to it? I'd imagine it's easier now, especially since you've started spending all your free time cozying up to the likes of Christopher bloody Rhiney!"

Hermione growled. "You are such a– a–"

"A what?"

"A child!"

"Yeah? Well, I'd rather be a child than a snob!"

"My God, you are absolutely unbearable!" she cried.

"And you think you're a bloody picnic right now?" he snapped.

"FINE!" she shouted as she threw her hands up in the air, her foot still jiggling mercilessly. "You win, Ron! I'm insufferable and a snob and this whole situation is clearly worse for you than it is for me! Is that what you want? Are you happy now?"

Ron gripped the edge of the sofa painfully and his face flushed with anger. He grunted and turned to look out one of the giant windows, his brain unable to muster up a response. Hermione shook her head as she scowled at him.

"At least tell me this, since you seem to care so much: how would you have me explain this lovely little situation to Chris?" Ron's stomach lurched at the sound of the businessman's name coming from her mouth and he whipped his head back towards her. "Well? I mean you must have some idea since you seem to have such strong feelings on the matter! Should I wait until we're all at dinner tonight and bring it up to him then?"

For a fleeting moment, Ron thought of trying to stop her – to apologize and attempt to reach some sort of ceasefire, even if it was temporary. But as words continued to tumble from her perfectly painted mouth, Ron felt his anger grow from a white-hot ember to a dark, menacing blaze.

"Or, better yet, maybe I'll wait until Chris and I are in bed, and I can whisper in his ear, 'You know that young, ginger-haired Auror staying down the hall from us? Well, he's actually the Ronald Weasley who helped Harry and me defeat Voldemort. Oh, and by the way, we used to date, so I hope that doesn't bother you!'"

Every word she spoke rained down on him like a punch and Ron shook with barely suppressed rage as he clenched his fists tightly.

"You don't need to be so bloody sarcastic!"

"Oh, I'm sarcastic?" she screeched. "When every single word out of your mouth is dripping in contempt? Honestly, you have some nerve coming here and blowing up at me!" She gripped the arms of her chair, her face red with fury. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a long, steadying breath. "Obviously this is an awful situation, but there isn't a lot we can do to change it unless you quit or I move out. And since neither of those are practical or realistic options, and you can't seem to come up with any better ideas as to how we should handle this, I'm going to continue on with my current course of action and yes, act like I don't know you!"

They sat there for a few minutes, silently seething and breathing heavily. Ron was so angry, he felt light-headed. He knew that even if he wanted to, there was no way he could go back to the Ministry and tell Kingsley he couldn't be on the case just because of the history between Hermione and himself. And regardless of the fact that it made his blood boil and his stomach churn painfully to think about, he knew there was no chance Hermione was going to leave either.

None of this, of course, made him feel any better. In fact, it made him feel worse.

Hermione was still jiggling her foot rapidly, an old nervous habit of hers he recognized from when they were in school. But now, as she sat across from him, her hair crackling with electricity and her eyes filled with loathing, Ron realized that this was not the same Hermione he had known from his youth. This Hermione was different; she was angry, yes, and certainly angrier than he had seen her in a long time. But more than that, she was unkind and defensive and clearly unafraid to let him know just what she thought of him. The fiery resentment residing inside Ron's chest hissed and popped as he glared back at her.

"You know what, Hermione? You're right."

She stared at him distrustfully. "What?"

He leaned back into the sofa and rested his arms across the top of it. "I said you're right. Why should we act like we know one another when it's obvious we don't?" Hermione's expression faltered, and he pressed on. "You see, the Ron Weasley you knew from Hogwarts isn't the same Ron Weasley sitting in front of you today. And you? Well, the Hermione Granger I knew would never have thought of shacking up with a man just because he's well off. But clearly, that doesn't bother you one bit."

Ron watched as her jaw dropped. "You–you–" she spluttered.

"Don't act so offended, love," he said mockingly. "You know damn well how this looks."

Hermione swallowed hard as the color drained from her face and sat quietly for a moment. However, when she spoke again, her voice was trembling with rage and emotion.

"How dare you! I have every right to be angry. But you?" She shook her head indignantly. "You're just a bitter, jealous, lonely little man who's clearly unhappy and unfulfilled with your own life. And now that you're being forced to watch as I move on with someone else – someone better than you – you can't handle it because it makes you feel so pathetic and inferior, your head spins! But you know what, Ron? Just because you're miserable doesn't mean I have to be as well. You may be sad and nasty and lonely but guess what? I don't care!"

Hermione stood up from her chair and towered over Ron, whose mouth now hung slightly open as his arms slipped off the top of the sofa. She pointed a shaking finger at his chest.

"You did this, Ronald Weasley! You put all of this into motion three years ago and I'll be damned if I let you lash out at me or somehow blame me for your own shortcomings or the position we find ourselves in now. So, kindly? SOD OFF!"

She stared at him a moment, her eyes glossy but with a hint of triumph behind them. Then, with her head held high, she whipped around and marched out of the room, slamming the doors behind her and leaving Ron thunderstruck. * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * 

Ron stomped upstairs to his room, trying not to slam the door behind him before throwing himself onto the bed. He began punching the oversized pillows over and over again until they started to release tiny clouds of soft, white feathers and when he was finally exhausted, he watched as they floated lazily around him and landed noiselessly on the bed. With a groan, he rubbed his face roughly as he tried to scrub her words from his brain. Was Hermione right about him? His chest ached as if in response and he felt himself sag with regret, his insides burning with guilt and his head throbbing miserably.

His stomach growled painfully and with another groan, Ron dragged himself up off the bed and over to his rucksack, fishing through it in search of something to eat. Pulling out an assortment of jeans and shirts, a particularly worn pair of balled up socks, and a set of dark blue dress robes, his hand found the corner of a box that distinctly felt like it belonged to a chocolate frog. As he grasped it, his fingers brushed against a small, metal tube the size of a cigarette lighter and suddenly, all thoughts of chocolate frogs and hunger pangs left his brain.

Sitting back on the floor and drawing his knees up to his chest, he slowly pulled the Deluminator out from the bottom of his bag. Rolling it between his fingers, he clicked it open and watched as light from around the room whooshed through the air and collected inside it, creating a flame-like point. Ron closed his eyes, letting the darkness envelop him and in an instant, he was transported back to early Christmas morning at Shell Cottage years before. He could feel the tiny ball of blue light enter his chest, warm and soft, and it filled him with a sense of purpose. He was going to find them. He was going to find her.

To this day, Ron still wasn't completely sure of how it worked, or why. But the fact that it had been her voice he'd heard that morning – that she was the reason he could get back to them – had never been a surprise. She'd always had that power over him, whether she realized it or not. And he knew that no matter how much time passed, and no matter what happened between them, he would still do anything for her.

Ron clicked the Deluminator again and released the light back into the room. Standing gingerly, he noticed a small pouch of silvery powder sitting on a bookshelf nearby and felt like a light went off over his head. Grabbing a pinch from the bag, he flung it into the fireplace and watched as bright, green flames erupted instantaneously. Kneeling back down again, he took a deep breath, stuck his head inside, and said in a clear, firm voice, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

His body was still firmly planted on the floor in Rhiney Manor, but when Ron opened his eyes, he could see the fire swirling around his face and almost as quickly as it had started, it stopped again showing the kitchen to Harry's home.

"Harry! Harry, are you there?" Ron called out, but the room was silent. He turned his face to the side, attempting to crane his neck as he tried to look around. "OI! HARRY POTTER! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE!"

There was the sound of rapid footsteps and Ron watched as Harry came skidding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment crumpled in his hand, and a bewildered look on his face as he scanned the room.

"Ron…?"

"Down here, you git!" Ron laughed. Harry glanced down at the fireplace and smiled warmly as he saw his best friend's head floating in the grate.

"Is everything okay? You were shouting like a madman," Harry said as he pulled a chair over and sat down. "How was it meeting the famous Christopher Rhiney? Is he everything you dreamed he'd be?"

A flicker of anger rose up in his chest again, and Ron scowled. "He's like if Lockhart and Slughorn had a baby, and then that baby grew up to be a giant wanker," Ron said darkly and Harry sniggered. "He's obnoxiously well off and knows it, he loves to brag about himself and all the famous people he's friends with, and he's disturbingly overly-cheerful. Seriously – he didn't stop smiling or shut up about himself for almost two hours. Until…"

"Until what?" Harry frowned.

"Until…" Ron sighed. "Until Hermione showed up."

Harry stared at Ron, dumbstruck. "Wait. What?"

"Hermione. She's here."

"Hang on – what the hell is Hermione doing at Christopher Rhiney's place?"

"She lives here with him," Ron said slowly, his heart rate ticking upwards.

Harry gaped and placed the parchment he was holding down on the table. "Wow. I…wow."

Ron was quiet a moment. "You really didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"About Rhiney and–"

"Of course not," Harry cut him off definitively. "Do you really think I'd have let you walk out of the Ministry without so much as a warning? Or that I wouldn't have immediately sent Hermione an owl, giving her a head's up? I didn't even know she was dating someone, let alone that she'd moved in with him."

"Well, apparently the living together part is new. There was a fire in her building in London last week so she's moved in with him until the unit's repaired."

"A fire? You're joking!" Harry's eyes were wide. "Is she all right?"

"She's fine. If anything, she seemed to want to avoid talking about it altogether," Ron replied. "It was weird, how nonchalant she was about it. But the Muggles aren't sure what caused it and the Ministry hasn't gotten involved yet, so Tony went to let Gemma and Kingsley know right after we heard."

Harry let out a low breath. "So, have you talked to her yet?"

"Not exactly…" Ron looked away as he trailed off, his mind flooding with images of the scene from earlier, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

Harry looked at Ron warily. "Please tell me you didn't have a row with her in front of everyone."

"Not in front of everyone," Ron muttered as his ears burned. "Tony left to send word to Kingsley, and then Rhiney had to step into some meeting or whatever, so it was just Hermione and me. And I —well, I got angry." Harry stared at him skeptically and Ron looked down sheepishly. "Look, I flew off the handle and took it out on her. I know it was stupid, but it happened."

Harry frowned. "What did you say?"

"Er –" he started uncomfortably, "In short order, I called her a snob, told her she'd changed for the worse, and then accused her of dating Rhiney for his money."

Harry stared with his mouth wide open. "I can't believe you're still alive, let alone Flooing me right now. I'm guessing she didn't take that well?"

"She told me off so soundly, you'd think she'd practiced it. Actually," Ron added, "now that I think about it, she probably did. Anyway, she told me I was bitter and unhappy with my own life and that seeing her with Rhiney just reminded me of how pathetic I am. Then she told me this was all my fault. Oh, and then she told me to sod off."

Harry's eyes looked as though they might pop out of his head. "Merlin, she must have been apoplectic."

"Yeah, well, like I said, it…got out of hand," Ron finished lamely. "That was the end of it, though. She stormed out and I haven't seen her since."

They sat quietly for a moment, and Harry hesitated before asking, "So, what are you going to do? Do you think Tony or Rhiney have any idea about the two of you?"

"I don't think so, though Tony might suspect something's up if he's talked to Kingsley. But there are enough Weasley's in the world that it's possible Rhiney doesn't realize yet that I'm the one who's friends with you. But honestly, mate, I have no idea what's going to happen now. Kingsley might decide I can't work on this case because of my history with Hermione, and even if he gives me a chance…" he trailed off miserably.

"Do you even want to?" Harry asked. "Work on the case, that is?"

Ron sighed. "I mean, it's not ideal, having to basically work as security for some rich pillock, but this is a huge case. But, now that I know Hermione's involved and possibly in danger because of some arsehole she's seeing, I just…" Ron shook his head. "I can't leave. Not now. It's… she's…"

"She's Hermione," Harry said quietly and Ron nodded slowly as he swallowed past the small lump in his throat. "Then I think you tell Kingsley that. Maybe not the bit about you and Hermione, but the part about how the case is too important to walk away from. He knows what you're capable of and if you say you can do this, then you can. Just, you know, maybe try and avoid having a go at Hermione again." Harry's voice hardened slightly as he continued. "She has a point, you know. It is sort of your fault you're in this situation, and you can't get mad at her for moving on."

Ron insides burned with shame. "I know, I know. I just…" he tried to continue, but words escaped him. "I know I'm the one who ended it with her, but I can't pretend I'm fine with sitting back and watching her with this wanker. It was bloody awful today, and that was for less than an hour."

"Yeah, you were always rubbish at keeping your anger in check when it came to Hermione and other blokes. But you have a job to do and that's what you should focus on. Concentrate on working with Tony to figure out who's making these threats towards Rhiney. Maybe we'll get this thing solved quickly and then you can move on, too."

"Right..." Ron said miserably.

Harry considered Ron carefully for a moment. "Ron, I know we've haven't talked much about what happened between you and Hermione. But I also know you and… well, I know you regret ending things with her. And yes," he continued as Ron looked up at him, wide-eyed, "I know that even though you've never admitted it. But the thing is, Hermione's the closest thing I have to a sister and even though you two had a falling out, she and I are still close and she and Ginny are close, too, and –" Harry struggled for a moment, then pressed on. "Look, all I'm saying is if you think you still have feelings for her, then maybe you should consider telling her. If not for her sake, then for your own."

Ron snorted. "Harry, mate, you didn't see her today. The way she looked at me and the things she said… she hates me. I mean, actually, deeply hates me. She said my being here was her worst nightmare."

Harry smirked. "Ron, if there's one thing I know about women—"

"Oh, really, Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor runner-up?"

"Do you want my help or not?" Ron stifled a laugh and nodded. "Clearly, this isn't my field of expertise, but I know Hermione and I know you and all I'm saying is maybe she got as angry as she did with you because there's something else there. And yeah, Christopher Rhiney's rich and charming or whatever, but that doesn't mean that he's 'the one.' I mean, she loved you once, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Ron said sadly. "Yeah, she did."

"Then maybe there's a chance she never stopped."

Ron glanced up at Harry and saw a small smirk on his face. "So, you're telling me you actually believe there's a chance she still cares about me and that she doesn't want to pour undiluted Bubotuber pus down my pants?"

"Did she say that to you?" Harry asked, horrified.

"No, I just feel like she might not be against it."

"Well, strangely enough, I think her blowing up at you kind of proves that she still feels something. Otherwise, she wouldn't have really reacted at all. But after what you said to her today, and considering your history together, I reckon you're going to have a hell of a time getting her to admit it." Harry sighed and shook his head. "Ron, just be nice to her. It's going to be awkward, especially after what happened this morning, but if you apologize and mean it, then you'll at least have gained some ground with her and right now, that might be the most you can hope for."

Ron gave a half smile. "I'm a fucking mess."

"Careful – that's my best friend you're talking about."

"Ah, don't go all soft on me now, Potter!"

As they laughed, there was a knock at Harry's front door. "Damn. That's probably Sean. I'd better go."

"Thanks for listening to me whinge."

"It's the least I can do," Harry said with a grin. "Ron, seriously mate, just keep your cool and at least think about apologizing. Then go from there."

"All right, all right! Tell Sean I say hi." And with a small pop! Ron pulled his head out of the fireplace.

Sitting on the floor again, Ron stared ahead at the empty grate as Harry's advice rolled around his brain. There was no easy or quick way to fix things between him and Hermione – that he knew for sure. And while Harry seemed confident that Hermione still cared for him, Ron couldn't quite forget the venom with which she had flung her insults at him earlier. Still, apologizing, or at least trying to, definitely couldn't make things any worse than they already were. And just as he always had, Ron knew that when it came to Hermione, he would do whatever he needed to in order to keep her safe.

Ron glanced down at the Deluminator in his hand and with a small grimace, he pocketed it. Then, standing up, he gathered all his courage and walked out the door.

chapter thirty-eight—strength in the sea

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act V — Walking On Water

Part I — Taming the tides, swarming the sea. Defending our friends and enemies as big as a whale.

Andy and Rachel were gazing at the sea. Well, Andy was. Rachel was waiting for an answer. She had asked Andy to her family's vacation house on St Thomas for three days. But in a few days Andy would be eighteen and it was probable that bad things were coming. The half-bloods had spent the entire year getting ready for the war against the Titan Lord and now there just weren't any more time.

"I know the timing is bad," Rachel said. "But it's always bad for you, isn't it?"

Now there she had a point. "I'd like to go," Andy promised. "I would! It's just-"

"The war," she nodded. "Just think about it, okay? It'd be so much better if you were with us. Besides, there's something I want to talk-" she stopped abruptly. "Let's just pretend we're a couple of normal people for a few days. That's all I want."

Andy could tell something was bothering Rachel. They had spent a lot of time together this last year. But when she opened her mouth to ask, Rachel leaned over and kissed her.

"I'm sorry," the red-headed pulled away as if she'd been electrocuted. "Oh, Andy, I'm so, so sorry. That was not right. I mean, Anthony..." she trailed off.

Andy gave her an awkward pat on the back. "It's okay. I doubt he'll ever ask..." The whole situation was so strange Andy felt the urge to laugh. Her year was getting weirder and weirder.

Then Blackjack appeared with Charles Beckendorf on his back. Beckendorf was dressed for combat. His explosives bag was slung over his shoulder. "Hey, Andy," he said. "It's time."

A clump formed in her throat. She'd almost forgot they had a mission tonight, even though they had been planning it for weeks. Part of her hoped it would never happen.

"Good luck," Rachel said. She was blushing, still embarrassed by what she'd done, but tried to put on a brave face. "Go kill some monsters for me."

Beckendorf offered his hand and pulled Andy behind him. Then Blackjack soared over the Atlantic.

It was almost dark by the time they spotted their target. The Princess Andromeda glowed on the horizon, heading straight for New York.

"You know what to do?" asked Beckendorf. Andy nodded grimly.

Blackjack set them down on the lowest stern deck. "Don't wait for us," Andy ordered. The winged-horse wished them luck and flew off into the night. Andy uncapped Riptide.

"Please, gods, keep her safe," Beckendorf whispered to the night sky. Andy knew he meant Silena Beauregard. The two of them had started going out. That made her thoughts travel to her own romance... No. She wouldn't think of Anthony. Not now.

"We'll make it back, Chuck," she told him with fake certainty.

There was worry in his eyes, but Beckendorf managed a smile. "Let's go blow Kronos back into a million pieces."

He led the way. They descended downstairs as quietly as they could. Finally, they found the engine room. A telkhine was hunched over a console. Andy turned him into dust before he even noticed them.

Beckendorf tossed her a jar of thick green liquid – Greek fire –, and a roll of duct tape. "Slap that one on the console, Andy," he said. "I'll get the turbines."

After attaching a second jar to the control panels, Andy heard footsteps.

"I need more time," Beckendorf said. "I still have to wire the receiver and prime the charges. Ten more minutes at least."

Andy nodded. "I'll distract them," she offered. "Meet you at the rendezvous point."

"Andy-"

But she charged out the door. A half dozen telkhines were tromping down the stairs. Andy cut through them with Riptide faster than they could yelp. She kept climbing, making as much noise as she could so the others would go after her. She burst through a door onto deck six and kept running.

She stopped cold when she saw in the middle of a courtyard a fountain where squatted a giant crab. The monster rose ten feet out of the water. Its shell was mottled blue and green, its pincers longer than Andy's entire body.

It hissed. Alarms blared. The crab scuttled out of the fountain and came straight at her. Andy ran. The monster followed. Andy concentrated on the water, and the fountain exploded. Water sprayed everywhere, three stories high. The crab didn't care. It came at her sideways, snapping and hissing, and Andy ran straight at it. Just before they collided, she hit the ground and slid on the wet marble floor straight under the creature. She jabbed Riptide into its belly and opened its entire body up. As the monster evaporated, she kept running.

Up a stairwell, she ran into a dracaenae that tried to attacked her. Andy stepped inside her strike and grabbed her wrist, slamming it against the wall. The demon's sword clattered out of her hand. Andy shoved her down the stairs and sent her tumbling to the next floor.

Andy kept running toward the front of the ship. She could hear shouting behind her. Hell-hounds bayed. An arrow whizzed past her face. She burst outside onto the main deck. A swimming pool glowed between two glass towers. She was halfway across the deck when the sound of a voice made her freeze.

"You're late, Andy." Luke stood on the balcony above her, a smile on his scarred face. His eyes were solid gold. "We've been expecting you for days. Bow before me."

"It's like you never met me..." she muttered.

Laistrygonian giants filed in on either side of the swimming pool. Two hell-hounds leaped down from the opposite balcony and snarled at her. They knew she was coming... It was a trap. Now she was surrounded.

"Come forward," Kronos said. "If you dare."

The crowd of monsters parted and Andy moved up the stairs. Kronos's weapon appeared in his hands – a six-foot-long scythe. Andy charged. Time slowed down. Her arms were so heavy, she could barely raise her sword. Kronos smiled, swirling his scythe at normal speed.

Once more she found strength in the sea. She was much better at it now. Her powers had grown. She could control almost any source of water. There was a wrenching pain in her gut. The entire boat lurched sideways, throwing monsters off their feet. The water surged out of the swimming pool, dousing everyone on the deck. It revitalized her, breaking the time spell. Andy lunged forward. She was ready to strike Kronos when she made the mistake of looking at him, at his face, where she saw the ghost of the boy he used to be.

Andy wavered. Kronos sliced downward with his scythe. Andy leaped back. She kicked Kronos in the chest and he stumbled backward. He swung his scythe again and she intercepted with Riptide, but his strike was too powerful. The edge of the scythe shaved off her shirtsleeve and grazed her arm. The cut wasn't serious, but the entire side of her body exploded with pain.

She stumbled backward and switched the sword to her left hand.

"A good performance, Andy Jackson," he said. "Luke tells me you were never his match at swordplay, but you've gotten much better."

Her vision started to blur. "You will never get this boat to Manhattan," she told him.

"And why would that be?" Kronos asked. "Perhaps you are counting on your friend with the explosives? Nakamura," he called.

Ethan pushed through the crowd. "Success, my lord," he said. "We found him just as we were told." He clapped his hands and two giants lumbered forward, dragging Beckendorf between them. Charles had a swollen eye and cuts all over his face and arms. He met her eyes and glanced at his own hand. They hadn't taken his watch and that was the detonator.

"We found him amidships," one of the giants said, "trying to sneak to the engine room. Can we eat him now?"

"Are you sure he didn't set the explosives?" Kronos asked Ethan.

"He was going toward the engine room, my lord."

"How do you know that?"

Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "He was heading in that direction. And he told us. His bag is still full of explosives."

Andy almost smiled. But then Kronos said, "Open his bag."

Beckendorf locked eyes with Andy and mouthed one word: Go. She shook her head. Next thing, Charles closed his eyes and brought his hand up to his watch.

Andy gasped. Without a choice, she pushed through the crowd of monsters and jumped off the side of the ship toward the water a hundred feet below. She heard a rumbling deep in the ship. Monsters yelled. A spear sailed past her ear. An arrow pierced her thigh. She plunged into the ocean and willed the currents to take her far away.

Everything happened so fast.

The explosion shook the world. The Princess Andromeda blew up from both sides, the fire consuming everything.

She thought of Charles Beckendorf before she blacked out.

They were waiting for her at the beach. Andy stumbled out of the ocean and sat on the sand. She pulled the arrow from her thigh and watched the wound heal.

Chiron galloped forward. "Thank the gods, Andy. But where...?" Anthony almost pushed the centaur out of the way. He helped her get up. The stormy gray eyes made her heart beat all wrong.

Then Silena pushed through the crowd. "Where's Chuck?" she demanded. She met Andy's eyes. "No," she muttered. "No. No." She tried to back away, but Andy put and arm around her. Silena's head fell on Andy's shoulder and her body shook with sobs.

"I'm so sorry," Andy told her.

Clarisse came to their side and pulled Silena with her. "Come," she said. "I'll make you some hot chocolate." Both of them walked away. Everyone else followed. No one wanted to hear about the ship. One more death seemed to be too much for them.

Only Chiron and Anthony stayed behind. "I'm sure you did everything you could, Andy," Chiron said kindly. "Will you tell us what happened?"

Andy put her hands on her waist. "Yeah... But now I have a condition."

Chiron and Anthony exchanged a look.

"I want to hear the prophecy. Tonight."

Chiron's shoulders sagged, but he didn't look surprised. "I've dreaded this day. Tony and I will show you the truth. Let's go to the attic."

When they faced the Oracle Andy almost shuddered. "Why is she a mummy?" she complained.

"It wasn't before," Anthony said. "For thousands of years the spirit of the Oracle lived inside a beautiful maiden. The spirit would be passed on from generation to generation. This one was the last one. I'm sure she was beautiful when she started..." he shrugged.

"What happened? Why was she the last one?"

Anthony didn't answer her. He raised his arms and said, "O Oracle, the time is at hand. I ask for the Great Prophecy." Andy braced herself but the mummy said nothing. Anthony approached and unclasped one of its necklaces where he found a piece of paper. "Come on, Seaweed Brain," he said.

Andy followed him downstairs. Chiron had called for a war council. The senior counselors had gathered around the table: the Stoll brothers from Hermes, Pollux from Dionysus, Katie Gardner from Demeter, Silena from Aphrodite and even Jake Mason for Hephaestus, who was replacing Beckendorf. Clarisse from Ares was standing and yelling at Michael Yew from Apollo.

"It's our loot!" he yelled back at her. "If you don't like it, you can kiss my quiver!"

Silena's eyes were red and puffy. Still they were arguing around her about a loot.

"Enough!" Andy walked in shutting them up. "What the hell is this?"

Clarisse turned to Chiron. "Does my cabin get what we want or not?"

Chiron shuffled his hooves. "Apollo's cabin has the best claim, my dear. Besides, we have more important matters to-"

"Sure," Clarisse snapped. "Always more important matters than what Ares needs. We're just supposed to show up and fight when you need us and not complain!"

"That would be nice," Connor Stoll muttered.

Clarisse gripped her knife. "Maybe I should ask Mr D-"

"Dionysus is busy with the war," Chiron interrupted. "He can't be bothered with this."

"I see. And the senior counselors? Are any of you going to side with me?" she asked. Nobody met her eyes. "Fine." She turned to Silena. "I'm sorry for this. Now the rest of you clowns can fight this war without Ares. Until I get satisfaction, no one in my cabin is lifting a finger to help. Have fun dying." And she stormed out of the room.

"This is a disaster," Katie said.

"She can't do this," Travis said. "Can she?"

Chiron sighed. "Her pride has been wounded. She'll calm down eventually. Now, counselors, if you please, Andy is going to read the Great Prophecy."

"She can read?" Connor feigned shock and Travis gave him a high-five. Andy tried to set them on fire with her eyes.

Anthony handed her the piece of paper. Andy uncurled it and cleared her throat. "Okay. So it goes like this: A half-blood of the eldest gods shall reach eighteen against all odds..." Andy chuckled. "You know, I once read a fortune cookie that sounded strangely like this-"

"Andy," Anthony called. "Focus."

"Right." She glanced back at the paper. "And see the world in endless sleep. The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap. A singe choice shall... end his days. Olympus to preserve or raze."

"Raise is good, isn't it?" asked Connor.

"Raze with a z," Andy said.

"It means destroy," Silena said, her voice hollow.

"Obliterate," Anthony added. "Annihilate. Turn to rubble."

"Yeah, I think we got it," Andy said. "Thank you."

Everyone was staring at her. "You see now why I didn't want you to know the prophecy?" Chiron said. "You've had enough on your shoulders-"

"Without realizing I was going to die in the end, anyway?" she finished for him. "Gee, thanks."

"Andy, you know prophecies always have double meanings," Anthony said. "It might not literally mean you die."

"Sure. It sounded lovely. I can't wait to find out what it really means."

"Maybe we can stop it," Jake Mason offered.

"No. We're not stopping anything," Andy said getting up. "I chose the prophecy. It's going to come true. If... If I need to die to save all of you clowns then... I can't believe I'm saying this, but... Bring it on."

Michael Yew whistled and the twins cheered.

"Except..." Andy continued. "We've got a spy. And when I find out who it is, this person will get a spanking."

Jake Mason frowned. "A spy?"

Andy told them about what happened on the Princess Andromeda and Silena started crying again. Katie held her.

"Well," Connor said uncomfortably, "we've suspected there might be a spy for years, right? Somebody kept passing information to Luke – like the location of the Golden Fleece a couple of years ago. It must be somebody who knew him well."

Automatically, they all glanced at Anthony.

"Oh, my bad," Connor realized what he'd said. "I didn't mean you, dude."

Anthony kept his eyes on the table.

"It could be anyone," Katie said. "Like one of Luke's siblings," and she looked meaningfully at the Stoll brothers.

Travis and Connor started to protest.

"Stop!" Silena banged the table. "Chuck's dead! He is dead and you are all arguing like little kids!"

"She's right," Pollux said. "Accusing each other won't help."

Michael grunted, "We need to find the spy before we plan our next operation. Blowing up the Princess Andromeda won't stop Kronos forever."

"No, indeed," Chiron agreed. "In fact, his next assault is already on the way."

"What do you mean?" Andy asked.

Chiron and Anthony exchanged yet another look. Andy was starting to hate that.

"We didn't want to tell you," the centaur said. "We wanted you to enjoy your time with your mortal friend."

"And I enjoyed plenty, thank you," she crossed her arms. "Now, the next one who keeps important things from me will get hurt."

Anthony had one word for her: "Typhon."

It felt like a stab on the back.

"The most horrible monster of all," Chiron said, "the biggest single threat the gods ever faced. He has been freed from under the mountain at last. The gods are fighting him for days now, trying to slow him down. But he is marching forward – toward New York. Toward Olympus."

Andy bit her lip until she tasted blood. What had she done? "How long until he gets here?"

"Unless the gods stop him? Perhaps five days. Most of the Olympians are there... except your father, who has a war of his own to fight."

Andy recalled her winter break when she went under water to Poseidon's realm. Her father had looked terrible. He was having a hard time fighting Oceanus.

"Then who's guarding Olympus?" she asked.

Connor shook his head. "If Typhon gets to New York, it won't matter who's guarding Olympus."

"No!" Andy argued. "Don't you see? It's a trick! We have to warn the gods. Something else is going to happen!"

"Something worse than Typhon?" Chiron asked grimly. "I hope not."

"We need to defend Olympus," Andy insisted. "I am so sorry that I freed Typhon, but... Kronos has another attack planned."

"He did," Travis reminded her. "But you sunk his ship."

"What if that was a ploy? What if Kronos let us blow up his ship so we'd lower our guard?" she said. "He was waiting for me! I told you, it was a trap."

"Please, don't say that," Silena whispered. "Don't you dare say Chuck died for nothing."

Andy glanced at her apologetically.

"I think it's enough for tonight," Chiron said and he sent everyone to bed.

Consequences

           The landscaped was a blackened mess of death and decay, with the very earth itself dying, sinking in on itself.  What should have been healthy and alive was pulped into a mush that attempted to suck me down with my every step.  I couldn’t imagine how anything could have necrotized the entire horizon so quickly.  It got past our defenses, not through subtlety, but through force.  The fallen lay charred, defaced, or utterly eviscerated and blended in with the mushy bog underfoot.            “All of you, on me, we move as one,” I called, rallying the troops.  There would be a fight ahead, and it would be bloody.  We needed to find the source of the problem and contain it.  We’d eradicate if we could, but we needed to at least hold out until reinforcements came.  Careful to avoid being sucked into the ground, we made our way to the source of the desolation.  It had been brutally hot when I arrived, but the temperature was dropping alarmingly fast. To be honest, I didn’t know if we could even save our forward position before the reinforcements arrived.            “Men, halt!  To arms!” I shouted, throwing my hand up into the air.  Hundreds of soldiers assembled around me, bringing up an assortment of weapons and appendages outfitted for killing.  What I saw sent shivers through my body.  In front of me stood the biggest brute of a virus I had ever seen.  It towered over me, easily ten or so times my height.  For each of my men, it seemed it had two tentacles whipping around, dragging deep scores through the earth and leaving black death and atrophy in their wakes. For better or worse, it seemed rooted into the ground, churning out its defilement.  Even the ground was writhing, and small creatures covered in spikes emerged and took to the air.            “Central has informed me that bodies everywhere are reporting the same infection.  We must be careful.  This will be a battle of attrition.  Dart in, and retreat.  For every tentacle you slash off while staying alive is one step closer to making this an even fight.  For Jackie!”            “FOR JACKIE!” cried my men.  They quickly broke apart into smaller groups to flank the beast from all sides.  The heavily armored foot soldiers bore a path down the middle.  Their muscular legs tearing their boots right out of the mushy group.  It was strange to hear on the field of battle not the clomp of boots but these sinister slurping noises as the ground reacted.            The spike ball beasts flew towards the foot soldiers from above as they busied themselves slashing through the first few tentacles. The beasts rammed into the lines and embedded themselves in whatever they hit.  Cries of wounded and surprised men reached my ears along with more slurping sounds of the beasts that missed my men.  Then, unexpectedly, the beasts exploded in black clouds, pulverizing the men into which they were embedded and knocking all of the others around.  In the middle of what used to be Jackie’s most fearless contingent of soldiers there was a hole that extended so deep, I couldn’t see the bottom, even from my elevated vantage point.  The invader didn’t waste the advantage and began whipping its tentacles, driving them straight through my men.            This is not a great start.  “Aerial unit, I need you to deal with the spiky beasts.  Get them out of the air.  The rest of you, strike from all angles.  We need to distract this thing and take the pressure off our men. Stay strong, Anthony and his men are coming.”  After giving my last set of order, I steeled myself and jumped into the fray.  I made my way to a pocket of soldiers surrounded by limp tentacles trying to fend off the onslaught of more.  Snarling, I leaped into the fray, using my sharp claws to hack through two tentacles coming from behind the soldiers.  The other tentacles quivered in rage and plunged at us.  I launched my rope and lassoed three of the, sequestering them.  My lasso was covered in a cytotoxic substance, and before my eyes, the writing tentacles evaporated.  One attacking tentacle pierced a man, but the soldiers dealt with the rest of the tentacles in our area.            I looked at my man, leaking fluids over the severed tentacle.  The wound had already started to fester and turn black.  “For Jackie,” I said solemnly.            “For Jackie,” he struggled in reply.  I slashed his head off, graciously giving him a quick death.  There was no time to morn in battle.  My soldiers had already moved on to rescue another group that was pinned down.  It was time to deal with the behemoth personally.            I barreled down the center, lacerating any tentacle that tried to strike at me.  I certainly had its attention.  Minions of the beast coalesced out of the tarlike surface on the ground.  They were fiends of all types of nightmares, none of which I had seen before.  Pincers, barbed tails, spiked carapaces, and caustic saliva.  Mortal all the same.  I grabbed a striking tentacle and leapt off it, over the obscene welcoming party. I rained volley after volley of spines down upon them.  As I landed at the foot of the infestation, I sank knee deep into the muck.  Behind me, the spines splinted into a million pieces of shrapnel, shredding the fiends.            A tentacle knocked me sideways and almost snapped off my leg at the knee as it was still stuck in the muck.  I dug my claws into the virus and started pulling myself up it and out of the ground.  Every slash oozed a putrid pus.  About halfway up the vertical portion of this beast, one of those spiked beasts embedded itself next to me.  I hurriedly scrambled laterally and made it to safety right as it exploded, blowing a breach into the exoskeleton.  There was a flood of fluid and what looked like worms rushing out of the virus.  As soon as they reached the ground, the worms buried into the black mush.            I kept climbing until I crested the top and I was staring at a bulbous sphere. This had to be the killshot.  On the other side, I noticed some of the aerial unit had landed and were battling their way to the center, too.  Good, we could push from both sides.  More of the amalgamations of dead tissue stood in front of me.  I shook myself, refreshed the epinephrine coursing through me, and charged.  I batted away front line before they even had time to reach me with their claws.            UGH.  I felt a sharp piercing pain in my leg.  I looked down to see one of the tails embed in me.  The tail quivered and started to melt, but the damage was done.  Rot had already set into my leg.  My seconds were numbered.  I picked up one of the spiked carapace minions and launched it down the center, clearing the way.  Another exploding beast embedded instead behind me.  I hurried away from it.  It went off, and I used the blast to launch me forward.            I landed with claws out, taking down more minions. Every step I took, I made sure to leave oozing gashes behind me.  At the center, I smashed my fish though the crystalized sphere.  It shattered, and the whole beast started shaking.  I charged through the opening, swiping at and slashing everything and anything I could.  Total destruction and nothing else.  I was differentiated from the very beginning for this and nothing else. Walls and internal structures crashed around me as everything heaved uncontrollably.  I knew the job was done and the battle was won when the surface beneath me started rolling in waves.            I was losing my balance on two shaky black legs when the entire thing erupted, sending me backflipping through the air. Through the world rushing by, I could see the virus collapsing.  All of its innards were seeping into the ground.  We won the battle, but I knew this was far from over.  It had a foothold that we might never be able to eradicate.  I did also notice the black was slowly being replaced with healthier reds and whites. There were still some very black pits, however.  I wasn’t sure if the cleaning crews would ever be able to restore those, but they’d move on.  They were battle scars that would never heal, but Jackie would live.            As for me, the excruciating pain had risen through my chest.  Everything beneath it had grown completely numb.  Looking down, I could see it was entirely black.  “FOR JACKIE!” I cried one last time and burst into dust. Back to Table of Contents (x)

falling into the space that is you

Based off of Tenerife Sea which is by Ed Sheeran (I have exams and I have somewhere to go tomorrow so I choose not to do homework and instead write).

Includes but is not limited to: Steve/Tony, bittersweet sensations, marriage, and deaths that probably goes the way you’re thinking

And should this be the last thing I see I want you to know it's enough for me 'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need

-Tenerife Sea, Ed Sheeran

The room buzzes with life and excitement as people in gowns and tuxedos with cameras in their hands look around and converse with each other. Steve Rogers, Captain America, stands at the doors with cold sweat beading on his forehead, along with the maid of honor, Pepper Potts. He hasn’t seen Tony yet, and Steve feels butterflies at the thought of Tony in a white tux and a ring worn on his hand later on. His thoughts are then cut off by the sound of the music for the entourage march to start, and in a few seconds he finds himself standing in front of the crowd in a church, heart pounding wildly in his ears.

“Are you nervous?” Bucky asks, and instead of saying the truth he cracks a small smile that he hopes is convincing as he mutters his response. “Are you?” Steve teases, but they know that Bucky gets fidgety in front of a crowd, so he sets aside his nervousness to shoot Bucky a sympathetic smile before turning to the front. A few seconds from now, Tony will walk in, and soon enough the man himself was walking down on the aisle with all eyes and cameras on him. Steve notes how Tony’s hair is a perfect mess, and how the eyeliner emphasizes the gorgeous brown of his eyes, and he finds himself tuning everything out as the reality of what’s happening settles deep in his gut. 

Steve then remembers a night in December at least 3 years ago, back when they were watching a marathon of movie series while curled up with each other in the soft light of 8 AM. It’s one of the times where Tony wakes up early and Steve ditches his morning run to stay with Tony, and they were talking quietly about marriage and commitment.

“I don’t know if I ever wanted it in my life, even as a child. Even though I did, I would never want it to be with anyone that’s not you,” Tony has said, adoring eyes focused on Steve, beaming when he gets a kiss as a reward. Steve remembers how they remained in the same spot for at least 2 more hours before moving, basking in the light of a new revelation that came true.

His heart constricts at the sudden sense of nostalgia and longing, and Steve feels his lungs suddenly run out of air as Tony walks closer and closer and Steve’s eyes get brighter and blurrier. Steve longs for those times, when Tony was coming home and Steve was the future Tony didn’t think he wanted.

But this moment is happening, and Steve wishes that Tony hasn’t remembered that Steve is the future Tony never really wanted.

“You’re beautiful, kotyonok,” Bucky whispers as Tony steps forward within reach, and Tony doesn’t offer Steve as much as a glance when he squeezes Bucky’s hand with the same adoring eyes 3 years ago in a couch in front of the television.

Yeah, he is, Steve thinks before he turns to hide the tear that escapes.

“Steven Grant Rogers, do you take Anthony Edward Stark to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” Steve says softly with a smile as he squeezes Tony’s hands.

“Anthony Edward Stark, do you take Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” Tony says firmly and earnestly, squeezing back and giving Steve a teary and overwhelmed grin.

They drown out the voice of the priest and the roar of the crowd as they meet in the middle for a kiss full of love that made even forever such a small time to grow the love between the space of their respective golden rings.

“Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, their fate depends in your hands,” the sorceress says, and as every Avenger in the close compounds except for him choke to death due to the poisonous gas the woman enchanted with her powers.

“Your completion, for their life. The love of your life, for the life of your love. Choose, Captain, before there’s nothing left to pick,” she says, and Steve grits his teeth as his heart breaks.

He had everything to lose.

He had Tony to lose.

Yet...

“Tony loses his memories, and everyone forgets about it, right?” Steve says, emotions distraught and open. The woman bears a wicked smile.

“They remember how you feel for him, but not your marriage. However, it is not a sacrifice if you do not know of it,” she says, and realization dawns on him. He doesn’t want to, but he has to.

For the Avengers.

For Tony.

“Don’t hurt them,” Steve says, his voice rough and wavering, and the last thing he hears before the spell was cast is the evil cackle of a person who has finally defeated the powerful.

He let her win, and he will pay for the consequences. No one but him.

As long as it’s only him.

“So, do I have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, because I think I would have one of those. How about a wife or a husband? Pretty sure I never had kids but what? Which is it?” Tony asks, and Steve pauses, his heart beating so fast he would’ve had an asthma attack without the serum. He considers telling him, showing him how much he is loved by Steve, Tony’s husband, but he shouldn’t. He knows that.

He couldn’t tell anyone.

So with his most convincing smile, Steve shakes his head no, and his heart shatters into a million pieces once again.

It takes three months for the curse to be broken.

It happens in the middle of a battle against aliens, and Natasha and Clint are helping Hulk diminish as many as possible in a matter of seconds while Thor blasts the creatures with lightning. Tony is helping Bucky, back to back, as SHIELD agents pour in and help. It was such an intense battle that no one noticed that Steve is left unguarded and fending off his own, and it stays that way until an alien manages to shoot Steve with what seems like a gun that shoots a deadly beam.

“Cap! On your six!” Natasha shouts, but before Steve can even process something pierces his stomach, and pain washes over him in big waves as he looks down at the gaping hole in his abdomen before promptly falling to his knees. He hears static and blurred noise as he holds it and watches blood cover his leather-clad palm before listing sideways, his shield falling from his grip.

Tony shouts Steve’s name, blasting the last few aliens before flying over to the blonde, and he grabs Steve by the cheeks to look into the familiar blue eyes that aided him through amnesia.

Tony looks into the familiar blue eyes that he has always loved.

It hits him, memories of how they first kissed under the mistletoe and how Steve held his hand through the breeze in a park. He remembers a picnic under the stars and a dance in the rain, stolen kisses and vows and decisions. Tony gasps, grasping Steve’s bloody cheeks a little more tighter as he just weakly smiles at him. Tony realizes that Steve recognizes the stricken look on his face as him remembering, and he shakes, placing his forehead softly on Steve’s as faint noises of horrified recognition surrounded him. Somebody puts a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to see Bucky with clouded eyes. 

Bucky gently pulls him away so that the medical team can get a hold on Steve, and they embrace, the illusion of love clearing with the help of realization and magic.

So the Avengers quietly settles around Steve’s SHIELD medical bed, talking to an unconscious Steve about how he should’ve said something as they hold unto each other for support. Natasha has Clint’s hand in one while the other one wraps around Bruce. Thor clasps Bruce’s shoulder and stares at Steve, his eyes unreadable but bright just like the rest of them, and Thor clasps Bucky’s shoulder with the other.

Bucky has an arm around Tony’s shoulders, and Tony holds Steve’s hand in between his. He presses a kiss to it before leaning his forehead on it.

They have been told that even with the serum Steve couldn’t possibly make it, but they believe in Steve, so they wait.

They wait.

And wait.

Steve’s eyes open, clear but pale, and before anyone can go through the initial shock and process what’s happening Steve pulls one of Tony’s hands to his lips, before placing them on his chest.

“We need to call a doctor,” Bruce says shakily, but Steve cuts him off.

“You remember, don’t you?” He asks, a small smile that is outrageously weak gracing his features as he looks at each and one of them. “Wow. I- I never thought I’d see the day,” he says, faint wonder in his tone.

“We know, man, but we really need to call the doctor,” Clint says, in hopes to lighten the mood. Steve smiles at him. “No need for that,” he says, and there are noises of protest before he turns back to Tony with the smile that never failed to make Tony melt.

God, did Tony ever regret leaving this man, even if it was somehow unknown to him before.

There is something wrong with Steve, about how peaceful and calm he seems, and they all knew that. The knew, yet they still haven’t seen it coming.

Steve untangles his fingers with Tony’s in favor of holding Tony’s cheek and wiping tears Tony hasn’t bothered hiding, and his eyes are earnest and open just like Tony’s. “I love you, Tony,” Steve says, and his thumb skates over Tony’s cheekbone one last time, before closing his eyes as the everyone’s eyes widen and suddenly move to stop the inevitable.

Steve’s hand drops, and 7 became 6.

Last breath... FrostIron Soulmate AU

“Stark, we’re headed your way, what’s the situation?” 

Static diffused the message, but there was no mistaking Steve’s voice. Tony looked down at himself with a barely-smothered groan. “Doom went south. Get after him.” 

“And what’s your situation?” Ah, Cap, perceptive exactly when Tony didn’t want him to be. The engineer didn’t reply at first, too busy pausing as he recognized Loki appearing in front of him.  

“Stark!” 

“Right, uh, I’m good. Suit’s got enough power to get me back to base for a swap out. Keep after the target.”

“Tony-”

“Get after the target, Rogers!” Tony replied sharply. 

“…..Copy.” 

“JARVIS, disable comms, initiate cloaking,” Tony said. He didn’t doubt that golden boy was trying to send someone after him right that second. This wasn’t the type of scene he wanted any of the team, or anyone else finding. Especially with Loki there.

“Yes, sir.” At the confirmation, Tony opened the faceplate so he could properly look at Loki, who’d already made it to his side, looking him over with what could only be described as horror.

“Stark, what-” 

“Vibranium,” Tony cut the demigod off, tone gruffer now that the team stood no chance of hearing him. “I wanna know who helped Doom get ahold of enough of this stuff that he thinks javelins are a good use for it.” He flicked a finger against the metal rod that protruded from the torso of the suit. A deep tone filled the air a moment before fading, and Tony winced, though not from the sound. He hadn’t expected Doom to pierce the suit with anything quite so easily, but the titanuim alloy his suit was made of was only so sturdy, and sharpened vibranium could likely make it through diamond if it was thrown right. So really, making it through the MK-24 suit wasn’t that incredible. 

About 13 and a half minutes before, Tony’d been knocked to his back, and despite the repulsor he raised towards Victor, the scientist hadn’t flinched away, instead raising the metal spike and slamming it down, to Tony’s surprise, through the suit like a knife through butter. Doom ran a diagostic on him just as JARVIS did. “Hm, not so impenetrable, are you, Stark?” Victor had asked. “Enjoy your last moments. You won’t be getting back up,” he said with a chuckle, and he left while Tony worked on not screaming. 

Now, Tony managed to deal with things in almost-silence, so long as he didn’t do anything stupid like move. Or breathe. 

“I’d say it was a miscalculation on my end, but,” Tony would have shrugged if he could, though he did free his arms, chest, neck and face from the suit, the metal opening like a multitude of arms releasing his body. “Sorry, can’t strip any further down,” he joked, a hand motioning to the belly of the suit. “The suit’s holding it still, slowing the uh-” he cleared his throat, “-the bleeding. Wouldn’t be great to move that thing around.” He was avoiding Loki’s gaze. That is, until one of those cool hands met his cheek, and Tony looked up at his soulmate, blue eyes finding green. He put his own hand over Loki’s, pressing his cheek into the touch.

“We can get you to your peoples’ healers,” Loki said, and even the god of lies couldn’t fool Tony with his voice in that moment. 

“No, Loki,” Tony said with a shake of his head. “No point.” He curled at the waist as best he could, groaning and ignoring the beeping sound the suit made at him as he got an elbow under him. “C’mere,” he said, reaching up to pull Loki to him by the back of the neck for a kiss. When he let the demigod pull away, not that Tony could have held him there regardless, he slid that hand to Loki’s cheek. 

“Anthony-” Loki said, voice unsteady.

“Listen to me,” Tony said, a thumb stroking Loki’s cheek. “I didn’t think I’d get to talk to you again, so I didn’t get to plan this. So just- bear with me and my rambling for a second.” He took a second to breathe, grateful that Loki couldn’t see what lay under the armor. “I’m not going to bullshit you, this.. this isn’t good. I’m not getting back up. Stop-” Loki had opened his mouth to speak, and Tony closed his eyes as he interrupted him, exhaling slowly in an attempt to mask the groan that wanted to escape him. It wasn’t as effective as he’d have liked, but the sound seemed to be enough to get Loki to stop. “Let me- just- let me speak.” He opened his eyes to look up at Loki once more. “I-” But he was interrupted again. This time by movement in the trees. Tony dropped his hand from Loki’s face to lay it in the appropriate gauntlet, detaching it from the suit and raising his palm, repulsor blast at the ready, towards the sound. 

“Tony?” Shit. “Tony- oh my God,” Clint was staring at the Vibranium spear. “Cap knew something was wrong, but what-” He stopped mid-word when he caught sight of Loki, raising his bow without hesitation. The glare Loki gave the archer left Tony with no doubts that he was about to be the unwilling audience of a murder scene. 

“Barton, stop!” Tony shouted, gasping lightly at the pain he felt at shifting even that slightly. The words didn’t seem to do much about the fact that Clint’s arrow was trained on Loki’s eye socket, or the dagger Loki had materialized, but the gasp pulled their gazes from each other. 

“Tony, you better start talking, because I’m not seeing any reason not to make this guy a pincushion.” 

“He didn’t do this,” Tony said. “It was Doom. Barton- Clint, he’s trying to help.”

“Help? Him?” Clint said, scoffing as he glanced back to Loki. “What’d you do to him to make him think that?” 

“Listen here you insignificant-” 

“Loki, chill out for a second,” Tony said, and even in this state, he couldn’t resist quirking a lip at his own joke. The exasperation and hint of amusement that flashed on Loki’s face was almost worth the metal in his belly. “Clint, he couldn’t do this if he wanted to. Loki’s my soulmate. I’d show you, but I’m kind of on my last arm here,” he quipped, indicating the arm that held him up. 

“Your- What?” Clint did lower the bow a fraction of an inch, then, tilting his head around the weapon to raise his eyebrows at Tony. “Your soulmate? Really?” he asked, the look on his face making it clear he didn’t believe it. 

“Yeap. Long story, and one I really Don’t have the time to tell,” he said pointedly. “So maybe don’t call the squad… shit. You didn’t.” 

“The second I saw him,” Clint admitted. 

With a huffed grunt of pain, Tony lowered himself, letting the suit wrap around him once more “JARVIS, comms, everyone. Listen to me. STAND DOWN.”

“Not a chance, Stark. You’ve been compromised.” 

“Romanov, you don’t know what you’re-”

“Tony don’t move.” 

That voice didn’t come from the suit, and Tony watched the HUD light up with Steve’s approaching presence. 

“Damnit Rogers, Listen to me-” 

“Stand down, Stark,” Steve’s voice came back, cold. Loki was already at his feet. 

“No!” But they were already moving, and Tony ground his teeth in frustration, feeling his rising heartrate even as JARVIS’ diagnostic warned him of the effect on his blood loss. They’re going to kill him. They’re going to kill him, and I’m going to be dead in the next 5 minutes. 

Unbidden, a memory rose to him.

“They’re going to kill me, you, either way. And if they don’t, I’ll probably be dead in a week,” Tony said, tone resigned, bitter. 

“Well, then, this is a very important week for you, isn’t it?” Yinsen replied.

This is a very important next five minutes, Tony told himself. 

He grabbed the rod protruding from the suit with a hand. “JARVIS, grip it and lock left arm in place. Don’t let the Vibranium budge.” 

Sir?

“You heard me, JARVIS. Get it done, let’s go.” The sound of the arm locking down, individual parts of the suit tightening and hitching into place was all the response he needed. Putting his other palm to the ground, Tony grit his teeth. “Ten percent on thrusters, I need to be standing.”

Sir, with your current condition-

“I know what’ll happen, JARVIS,” Tony snapped. “There’s no time for a breakdown. Mute speakers for the moment and get me on my feet.”

He was glad he had the forethought to mute the suit’s output. He had no doubt that the sound of his shouting as he pulled the spear from the ground behind him was slightly audible, if muffled, but the others were too busy fighting. The only one that might have noticed was Loki, and Tony was only suspicious of that by the snarled sound he made as he flung a dagger towards Natasha, ducking beneath Steve’s shield in the process. 

If anything could get them all to stop in their tracks at once, it was the sight of Tony slamming to the ground in front of Loki, four-foot spear through him, and a palm raised towards Steve.  “Recognize all AVENGERS agents as Enemy. Loki Laufeyson as an Ally. Now.” He waited while the HUD lit up his team- his friends, in red. “Let ‘em hear me, JARVIS.” 

“Anthony what are you doing?” Loki shouted. No doubt he was concerned by the blood pouring from the back of the suit, running down and dripping from the spear. Or maybe by the labored breathing that met their ears when JARVIS turned the sound back on. 

“Exactly what I told you I’d never do,” Tony replied. “All of you, stand down.” 

“Stark-” Steve started, stepping forward with a look of concern. Hand raised partway, as though to catch Tony. Not necessary, the suit was keeping him standing as straight as he could without moving the damn metal in his stomach. And the hydraulics kept him from tipping over.

“You heard me Rogers!” Tony didn’t lower his arm, letting the repulsor charge. At the sound, Steve looked between the rest of the team. “He’s my soulmate. He’s not the enemy here.” 

“Tony, if you don’t back off, we’re going to have to consider you an enemy,” Steve warned. They don’t believe me.

“Really? I thought that’s what happened when I turned all of you red on my visor,” Tony replied. 

“Anthony, please, stop,” Loki’s voice was low, and Tony knew why. He could see that Clint was notching an arrow behind him. That Natasha’s hand twitched at her gun. That Steve was looking between them. They were coming to an inevitable conclusion. Tony almost wished they’d hurry up. He didn’t have all day, after all. 

Nat raised her hand first, aiming at Loki, and Tony didn’t hesitate in shifting his own to fire, not directly at her, but at the tree behind her, which showered her in snow and pine needles as she covered her face and head. The explosion mostly-covered the shout of pain Tony released. Mostly. Loki’s hand flying to his chest said it wasn’t perfect.

Tony breathed heavily as he turned his hand back to Steve, who gave him a resigned look. 

Just when shit was about to hit the fan, the only member that hadn’t made an appearance yet arrived in a rainbow-tinted blaze of glory between Tony and Steve. Thor knelt in the charred symbol, hammer in hand as he stood. “STOP!” he roared, looking between all of them. 

“Oh good, and here I thought the odds were against you,” Tony joked. “You might stand a chance now.” 

“Enough of this,” Thor said, turning to Steve. “He tells the truth.”

“He’s telling the truth about what?” 

“He is my brothers’ soulmate.” 

Tony and Loki looked at Thor in confusion, then, but maybe Loki’s was a bit more easy to see. 

“How can you be sure?” Steve asked. Oh, you’ll take him seriously

“Because I already knew.” He looked at Loki. “For months now.” 

“Wait, you knew about this and you didn’t tell the rest of the team?” Steve started. “Jeopardizing the rest of us with-” 

“I uh, hate to break up the little indignation party here,” Tony said loudly, “But if we’re done blowing each other up, someone needs to say so. My arm’s getting tired,” he joked, before his tone turned serious, and tired. “So if we’re done here, the guy with a piercing he didn’t ask for needs to sit down.” 

Steve made to step around Thor, but the demigod held out an arm. “We are done, Stark,” Thor said. 

“Great,” Tony said, and he curled his raised hand into a fist, lowering it to catch himself as the suit disengaged, letting him sink to a kneeling position with a groan and subsequent heavy breathing. Loki knelt with him, hand still at his chest. Tony let the helmet open with a hiss, and Loki reached up to pull it off with gentle hands, meeting Tony’s exhausted expression with his own fearful one. Somewhere in the background, Steve was calling for medical support, but Tony didn’t have the heart to tell them there was no point. Steve and the rest of the team faded into the background as Loki’s hands caught his face. 

“We’ll get you to Asgard,” Loki was saying, looking him over as though deciding how best to carry him. “The healing there can help. I’ll-” 

“No, Loki I can’t- AH!” Tony shouted, sucking in his breath with a hiss. “God- I can’t move. I’ve already lost too much blood.” 

Loki released him immediately and looked to Thor, wordlessly pleading. Thor, however, gave his head the barest shake, expression apologetic and sorrowful. “Heimdall will not allow him on the Bifrost. Father has forbidden it.” 

Loki turned away, the scowl on his face fading as he brushed fingers through Tony’s hair. “Anthony, is there nothing that can be done?” he asked, emerald eyes glancing between Tony’s brown. The look Tony gave him seemed to say it all, then, because a tear ran down the demigod’s face, and Tony had the suit free his arm so he could reach up and brush it aside with his thumb, resting his hand on Loki’s cheek. 

“It’s not enough. It’s not enough time,” Loki whispered. 

“I know,” Tony said. He wasn’t about to argue that. “I know that. And if I could do something about it, I would. But I don’t really have that much time, and the last few minutes didnt really help me plan this out any better, but listen. I’m gonna need you to do two things for me. Last requests always feel cliché, but I think, present circumstances considered, I’m allowed right now, don’t you?” he asked, lips twitching in the barest smile. His expression turned serious once more. “First off, don’t you dare give up on me. I’ll come back to you. Hear me? I will always come back for you.” He paused, clamping his mouth over a sound of pain, before his mouth dropped open and he panted for breath. 

“Anthony!” 

JARVIS was warning him in his ear, and Tony reached up and yanked the earpiece out, tossing it into the snow and putting his hand back to Loki’s face. He thought for a moment that fighting dying felt like fighting sleep, except much, much harder. 

“And two,” he continued guffly, as though nothing was wrong. “I’m gonna need you to be someone the new me is gonna want to meet. Don’t let this change you. Don’t let this keep us from finding each other again.” He gave Loki as stern a look as he could manage, knowing that the demigod would understand his meaning. Don’t go dark. Don’t be someone I’d have to fight. Don’t waste a minute, a second of our time on being an enemy.

“And three-” Tony said, and Loki let out the ghost of a chuckle. 

“Here you’d said two things. Spoiled as always, Anthony.” 

“Old habits,” Tony replied, some of the pain in his face fading as he smiled. “Three,” he continued, voice quiet. “I’m gonna need you to come here and give me a kiss, because you’re tall and I’m kind of stuck.” 

Loki managed a smile at that, leaning closer to press their lips together. After a moment, Tony pulled back a fraction of an inch. “I love you,” he said against Loki’s lips. “I love you, and I’m gonna come back to you.”

Loki settled his own hand over Tony’s at his cheek. He didn’t let go as it went limp in his grasp.

“I love you, Anthony. I will wait for you.”