#do you think i’m allowed to express a shred of anger without retaliation

[devilsskettle]

so funny to me when men complain that they’re also victims of the patriarchy because they’re “not allowed to express their feelings and always have to act like they’re strong and stoic” etc because like, as if women are allowed to express their feelings???? since when

[thran-duils]

Lost In Zero Gravity (P.13)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Thirteen) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 4,867 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: Tony and Steve starting to keep things from each other 👀 An unintentional good cop/bad cop routine between them. Also, the reader is far more susceptible to Tony’s bullshit than his wife is.

Part Twelve || Part Fourteen || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You threw yourself into the back of the limousine, moving to the front of the seats, trying to send all the body language signs that Tony should just stay at the back away from you. You picked up one of the full glasses of champagne and downed it to chase the two other shots you had taken as he got in. It was really starting to hit you now.

He saw you were sitting against the wall by the driver window, and he scoffed, sitting down by the door. Thankfully he could still pick up on hints. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it on the seat next to him. His arms stretched across the back seat, the two of you squaring off on opposite ends of the SUV.

Tony finally spoke, “I know what you think. That I proposed that bet.”

“You didn’t?” you snapped. “Because excuse me if that wasn’t clear to me since you were speaking in fucking French and I couldn’t understand a damn thing! And you told me not to worry! I apparently should have been worrying! And you know when I realized that? When I saw you on TV getting into that racecar and remembering what that guy said about hoping you win! Watching your stupid ass get into a racecar like you’re a professional!”

Tony turned his head, his eyes narrowing at you. “You were worried about me?”

“Oh, shut up!” you retorted pissed off. “You don’t know how to drive a fucking racecar—”

Tony threw his hands up, shrugging against the seat. “Apparently, I do.”

“Fuck—” you snapped before inhaling deeply, closing your eyes. You tried to focus on your breathing.

You heard him moving and your eyes shot open seeing him coming down the car to sit next to you. So much for reading body language or seeing boundaries. Again, he stretched out along the wall of the car, watching you closely when you did not verbally protest to him being so close.

“You’re not even letting me explain the situation, love.”

Sinking into the feeling of the new alcohol hitting the blood stream, you tried to breathe.

“I don’t want you to—”

He was closer now and he was touching you. “Sweetheart, you don’t understand.”

Angrily, you opened your eyes and tried to say, “You were going to hand me over—”

“I was not going to do that. Are you kidding me?” Tony demanded, his voice raised. You recoiled at his expression and he asked again, “Do you seriously think I was going to do that?”

“Then why do it at all?” you asked weakly.

“Because Y/N, there are things in my business arena that you are obviously not – and will never – be privy to if I have anything to say about it to keep you safe,” Tony snapped back. “I had to do it to prove a point.”

You were silent, trying to watch the city go by in the dimmed windows.

Tony’s hand was soft on your jaw as he turned your head back to him, you meeting his gaze. “Do you really think I was going to just hand you over to him? Even if I lost?”

Teeth grinding, you stared back into his eyes, silent. He tilted his head, raising his eyebrows, expecting you to respond. You said shortly, shrugging aggressively, “I don’t know, Tony. I’m not privy to how those types of transactions work.” He looked amused at you turning his choice of words against him. In retaliation, you added angrily, “I’m a person, Tony! In case you forgot, wrapped up in your ego!”

Tony’s mouth spread into a closed mouth smile, staring into your eyes, not breaking contact.

“My, my. You are very upset with me, aren’t you?” he asked in a low voice. His fingers relaxed on your jaw, caressing gently.

He was getting off on it.

He was trying to turn your anger back on you.

“What gave it away?” you snarled trying to turn away from him again, but he grasped at your chin again, forcing you to look back at him.

His pupils were darkening, and you tried to pull away again, knowing he was rousing himself up but he held you tight.

“I know you’re a person, love. What would make you think I would forget that? And that’s why I had to do it. That’s why I had to drive. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I did it to make sure I won – I couldn’t put you in the hands of some fucking idiot – and to make sure to not put you in that situation where we would have had to do something drastic if I somehow miraculously lost.” He scooted closer, pouting his bottom lip out. “Y/N, come on. I would never knowingly put you in harm’s way like that without an escape plan.”

You tried to scoot away from him again and his hand moved from your jaw to cuff you around the neck to stop your movement and the other came to your thigh, tight. In your ear, he breathed heavily, “Look. If my racer had lost, it was a guarantee he would’ve come to collect. Me refusing him from the get-go would have started a whole other issue and I don’t even want to think about that. I had to accept. And like I have said, I had to make sure I won, so I raced myself. For you.”

His hand at your thigh moved up further, pressing up your dress and you turned your head away from him feeling his hand relax to allow you to do so, but did not move further. His fingers there even caressed gently, like he was expecting and enjoying it.

He took it as invitation, his hands leaving you completely. You did your best to not turn quickly but you felt him leave your side. Carefully you turned your head, seeing him sink to his knees in front of you. You swallowed sharply as he pushed your legs apart. And you barely had time to react before he pushed your skirt up to your hips.

The next move though you were prepared enough for and you slapped at his hand as he reached up to grip the hem of your underwear.

“If that’s how you wanna play, then fine,” he chuckled darkly.

His hands came up to you again in the blink of an eye not giving you time to react and he ripped your lace underwear down the middle in one swoop, leaving you exposed to him. You tried to close your legs, but he was too quick again, slamming his hands to your inner thighs and holding you at bay.

The two of you were in a stalemate, both breathing heavily, watching the other. You were turned on by what he was proposing, there was no doubt about that, but you were still so angry with him. The desire though…

Tony made the first move, his fingers releasing tension from their press on your thighs. He slowly lowered his hands and watched you keep your legs spread for him willingly.

His breath was hot on your pussy and he inhaled deeply, causing you to shiver, your fingers digging into the leather of the seat. He pressed his nose in and your breath hitched as he dragged his tongue from top to bottom, tantalizingly slow. He groaned, his hands coming up to grip your thighs as he repeated the movement, sucking at your clit this time. You keened, bucking towards him and he hummed in approval.

“Do you forgive me?” he husked, laying soft kisses along your wet folds before pulling back. You tried to brush your pussy back against his face and he pulled away out of your reach further.

Settling back on the seat, you glared down at him and he met your glare. His fingers dug into your ass, massaging and you reacted grinding into the touch involuntarily, much to your annoyance. You stopped immediately, trying to be strong. His expression went unchanged, still challenging.

One of his hands fell away from your thigh and came to your pussy, his finger running down before dipping in. You grit your teeth as he slipped another finger in, his thumb circling your nub. You were trying to not react, but he could see your breathing change as he stroked, his eyes flicking to your fingers digging into the seat as his fingers drew wetness.

His hand fell away, and you whined pathetically. He repeated with more force, “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes!” you snapped, annoyed with him stalling. He smirked at your impatience.

Tony’s mouth was back at your dripping pussy, lapping. Your hand came to the back of his head, holding him in place, your hips rutting towards him rhythmically. He drank your cum in as you came undone around his tongue, shaking. Your hand went lax at the back of his head and he ran his tongue up once more, laying soft kisses on your sex.

“Well, that tasted simply divine. Thank you for that,�� he said, wiping at his mouth as he pulled away. “What do you want for Christmas in return, baby?” He tore your shredded panties down your leg, tossing them haphazardly in the trash bin.

“Was that not it?” you asked sarcastically, pulling your skirt back down, covering yourself back up.

“Brat,” Tony responded, smirking.

“A break from you and your antics would be nice,” you quipped. He chuckled amused, straightening out his dress shirt. “And a tree. Fully decorated.”

“You got it, love,” he said coming up and his lips meeting yours. His hand came up behind your head, holding you close as he kissed you deep. When he pulled away, he vowed, “I’ll have it delivered in the next couple days and you can decorate it however you want.”

You put your hand on his chest and said, “I have ornaments in storage in Brooklyn.”

Tony cocked his head as he turned around to sit on the seat beside you and asked, “You have a storage unit?”

“Yes. When I moved… out of Jared’s, I couldn’t store anything at the brothel. I pay for it. It’s small.”

He sat down next to you, reaching forward and grabbing a flute of champagne. “Hmm. You haven’t mentioned that.”

“I didn’t think I was staying long term in the apartment,” you told him honestly.

Tony took a long drink and said, “Interesting. Well. Give me the address and you can give me the key. I’ll have one of my guys fetch it for you.” You nodded and bit at your lip, feeling a wave of emotion. Tony noticed. The flute rested on his knee and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and straightened out your dress. “It’ll just be nice. I haven’t had… those ornaments for a couple years.” He was still waiting expectantly, and you added strained, “A lot of them are my mum’s. Christmas was important.”

Tony made a small noise of acknowledgment and then finished off his champagne. He placed the empty flute back on the counter and turned to lean in close to you. You turned your head to meet him, and he smiled softly. “It’ll be there by the time we get back. Cross my heart.”

He laid a kiss on your shoulder. When you did not pull away, he continued kissing up your bare shoulder, sucking at your neck. His lips pulled you in, his teeth digging in right below your ear, and you inhaled sharply. He was going to leave a mark.

He laid a soft kiss on the sensitive spot before whispering in your ear, “You are so special, sweetheart.”

<><><>

“Be nice to her,” Tony said into the phone Steve. He was sitting in the back of his town car after having dropped Y/N off at the apartment. “And compliment the tree.”

“Right,” Steve responded, looking over his shoulder at Cecile reclined on the couch. He walked towards the patio door and let himself out, closing the glass door behind him. Looking out over the city, he asked, “How is she?”

“Fine. She just hung out and swam at the villa while I got the guns moved.”

“Good. I saw you raced,” Steve scoffed. “How’d that go over?”

“Pepper is pretty pissed. Still. I told her I didn’t crash, which you know is the most important thing, and she got the face of the company on the track, so it’s good media if anything.”

Steve laughed, “Yeah, I guess. I’m glad your stupid ass didn’t crash.”

“I’m a professional,” Tony retorted. “You’ve seen me on the highway.”

“Unfortunately.”

“How’d it go with Cecile?”

Steve sighed heavily and said, “Sex is different.”

“Yeah, they get that way when they’re pregnant,” Tony commented.

“It was needed though. Time alone. Away from everything.”

“I’m sure.”

“Still can’t stop thinking about the possibility of the kid not being mine. But… what the hell am I going to do? So, that’s that. Um,” Steve trailed off, noticing Cecile was signaling him to come back inside, pointing at the TV. He had promised a movie. “Well, I am being beckoned. I’ll go see Y/N tomorrow. Good luck with Alessia.”

“I don’t think all the good luck wished at me could help me right now, unless something has dramatically changed, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Tony replied honestly.

<><><>

Olivia was chanting ‘Disneyland’ when she saw Tony walk in the door. He laughed in response, bending down to pick her up as she ran up to him. He cuddled her into his shoulder and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

“Yes, sweetheart, Disneyland. You, me, Forest, mommy, Mickey, and Minnie. And even better, it’s Christmas time!”

“Presents?”

“Not yet. It’s only December 8th, Liv. Christmas isn’t until the 25th. We have two and a half weeks. But we can have a lot of Christmas fun there, right? Just to get ready for the big day?”

Tony spotted Alessia standing on the staircase, arms crossed, glaring down at him. He started walking up the stairs and as he got close, Alessia said, “Our bedroom” before turning and walking up the rest of the stairs away from him.

Refraining from scoffing, Tony continued up the stairs and stopped by Forest’s bedroom where he was sitting on the ground playing with their nanny. He put Olivia down and said, “Here, go play with brother and Francesca. Mommy and daddy need to talk.”

Tony straightened up and continued down the hall towards his room, closing the door behind him when he entered. Alessia was standing by the open patio door, glaring him down.

“Do you just not give a shit about anything anymore?”

Cocking his head, Tony asked, “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid, Tony! How could I miss your stupid little publicity stunt?”

“I don’t think it was stupid. I think I pulled it off marvelously.”

“What if you would have crashed? What if you would have died?” Alessia exclaimed furiously. “Do you even think about consequences? Because it feels like you just don’t give a shit anymore! You’re being reckless!”

“I can assure you, Alessia, I was very much in control of the situation.”

Alessia inhaled deeply before spitting, “You are driving me absolutely insane!”

“Do you want separate rooms at Disneyland? Because I can arrange that.”

“No, I don’t want separate rooms! That is a terrible look!”

“Can you even stand sleeping next to me though? That’s the real question here,” Tony jeered.

“You haven’t come home. It’s like you prefer being there in that small apartment.”

“You asked me for space! And I was giving it to you!”

“Don’t act like you are doing me this huge fucking favor! You asshole!”

“I am!” Tony shouted, losing it for a second. He closed his mouth, taking a few deep breaths. Alessia kept her eyes trained on him at the outburst. When he looked at her again he said, “You told me you didn’t want me here, so I said fine. And I left. Did you want me to stay and just force my presence here? What do you want Alessia? Really? Because I can’t figure it out!”

“You had her in Monaco with you! Not me!”

“There it is,” Tony chuckled, shaking his head.

“Don’t patronize me!”

Closing the space between them, causing Alessia to tense at his close proximity, Tony retorted forcibly, “Yeah, I did Alessia! And you know why I had to have her in Monaco with me instead of you? Oh, right, because of you!” Alessia took a step back at his ferociousness. “When you decided to go Rambo on her face, you scared the shit out of her, and she took off! You made Steve and I waste our goddamn time tracking her ass down and bringing her back! So, we can’t trust her to be at the apartment by herself in case she tries to do that shit again. So, it’s your fucking fault she had to come with me. I had to keep an eye on her since Steve was out of town!”

Alessia was staring at him dumbstruck.

“Let that sink in. You fucked up her whole life by losing your shit on her instead of me. She was doing just fine, acting well, being good for me before you came in fists swinging and scared her off. If you wanna be mad at anyone about it, be mad at your fucking self!”

He straightened his shirt and pulled away from her. “You think with how smart you are you would have pieced that shit together but apparently not. Anger does make people blind as we have clearly witnessed.”

Alessia could have killed him with her stare.

“What? You gonna hit me? Again?” Tony laughed dryly, trying to push her buttons even more.

Alessia looked away from him, her jaw clenched.

“Do I prefer the apartment? Yeah, right now, I do. And I do prefer her. Because she is far more docile and behaves better. She gets sassy but I can mold her so easily, usually with just the prod of my cock against her cunt.” That caught Alessia’s attention again immediately, her eyes widened, lips parted in shock. Tony snorted at her expression, wagging his finger at her. “You… you go off the rails far too easily.” He shrugged and gave her a cruel smile before he added, “Plus, she’s got a cuter moan when she comes. Not that you got to hear that because you tore her off my dick before it could happen.”

This time Alessia did wind back and slap him across the face. Tony again ate it, sucking at his teeth. He had gotten the reaction he wanted.

“Daddy?” a small voice asked from the doorway.

“Look at you, striking out again,” Tony drawled quietly, winking at Alessia before he turned towards Olivia and cooed, “Yes, baby, what is it?”

“Are you okay?”

Tony frowned dramatically ignoring the incredulous stare Alessia was giving him, coming over towards her. He swooped her up into his arms and said, “Yes, daddy is fine. Mommy is just upset. We can leave her be for a minute so she can chill out, can’t we? Do you have your bag all packed, sweetheart?”

He looked back over his shoulder seeing Alessia looking murderous and he shrugged as Olivia nodded, “Fracessa helped!”

“Francesca,” Tony corrected playfully, his attention back on her.

“Fracessa,” Olivia repeated, focusing.

Tony gave her a kiss on her forehead, “Close enough. Let’s go make sure everything is ready to go. Francesca better have packed that adorable Elsa costume mommy got for you so you can match her in the photos. She sent me a pic before she bought it.”

<><><>

You tensed at the door opening behind you and buried yourself deeper into your quilt on the couch. You were lying on your side, watching Christmas Vacation. The door slammed closed, and you did your best to not flinch. Steve had not left in the best of moods when you saw him last, and you tried to make yourself as small as possible.

There was movement around the island in the kitchen and then you heard him moving down the hallway. You stayed in your spot, trying to focus on the movie.

<><><>

Steve grabbed the sleeve of pills from his bag, throwing a look back at Y/N, making sure she was still watching the movie on the couch. She had not moved and he wondered if she had fallen asleep to the movie before he turned to go down the hallway towards the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him and locked it for good measure. He dug into the cupboard and found her pills, looking at where she was in the pack. He began popping the ones in his placebos out to match.

<><><>

Steve came to the end of the couch by your head, and you peered up at him. His eyes were fixated on the TV, ignoring you, a beer in his hand. You narrowed your eyes slightly, remembering he could not get drunk. Maybe he still just enjoyed the taste. He openly smiled at Eddie pouring the RV sewage into the sewer. Maybe he was in a better mood and the time apart had calmed him down.

You scooted your legs in towards you to give him room to sit at the other and he took the offer, blocking your view only briefly as he moved past. You wondered where he had been since he was dressed in tweed pants, dress shoes, and a nice cashmere sweater. It was not out of the ordinary for him to be dressed smartly; he was just like Tony. But it was a Saturday.

He sat there watching he movie for a good amount of time, allowing you to relax.

“How was Monaco?” Steve asked, not looking at you.

“Okay.”

“’Okay’? You got to go overseas.” His tone was not one of someone who was really engaged in the conversation, more so like he was forcing it. It set you on edge.

You stopped from saying you had been overseas before and instead said, “I hadn’t been there before, so that was exciting. It was nice enough for not being able to understand anything anyone was saying. The villa was nice.”

“That’s what Tony said. You enjoyed the pool,” Steve said, bringing his beer to his lips, taking a drink. You nodded, not saying anything. His eyes moved around the apartment, taking in all the Christmas decorations. He commented lightly, but there was something still lurking, “You decorated.”

“Mhmm,” you said, not liking the tone of his voice. Clearing your throat, you asked, “Are you hungry? There are leftovers from lunch. Fried rice and some egg rolls.”

“I already ordered dinner to show up but yeah, I could use a snack,” Steve responded, not looking away from the TV now.

You got up, trying to look calm. He was on edge and you were waiting for the dam to break. Moving to the fridge, you opened the door, taking out the box from your lunch and putting some onto a plate. You stuck it in the microwave, pushing to reheat.

Steve moved from the couch and you tried to remain relaxed, standing in front of the microwave. You heard him place his beer bottle on the island and then he was behind you.

“That’s not the type of snack I was talking about,” he said quietly.

His hands were at your hips, moving up underneath the hem of your crop top to move towards your breasts, bare from not wearing a bra.

The microwave beeped.

“Well,” you said thickly as his hands cupped your tits. “I already reheated it. And the food is really good—”

Steve yanked you away from the counter trying to maneuver you towards the bedroom, but you jolted away from his grasp in the momentum of the movement. You turned, facing him now as you stumbled backwards.

“Steve, let’s just eat first,” you told him.

“Oh, I’m about to. You’re just delectable, dove,” Steve told you, fixing you with a stare as he advanced like a predator following its prey, his hunger set in on you.

You made to turn around again, a mistake, putting your back to him. He advanced quickly and was on you in a second. He half lifted you up off the ground, wheeling the both of you back around. Steve tossed you up against the corner of the kitchen table. You let out a small, surprised cry at the impact and grunted when his hand came down on the center of your back, flattening you against the table.

“You still need to apologize to me,” Steve grated. “Tony might be easier to please, but I can assure you I am still very much pissed off about the whole situation.”

Your heart was racing, worried about what he was going to do. But who were you kidding? You knew what he wanted.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t leave you again. I promise,” you said, trying to placate him.

He ignored or just simply did not care what you had said. Steve’s fingers hooked into the waist of your pajama pants and underwear, yanking them down to your ankles. “Kick them off,” he ordered you, his hand coming back to hold you down in place. You did as he asked, biting at your bottom lip.

The noise of his zipper coming undone and him shifting out of his pants tore through the space between the two of you. He was pressed up close, stroking himself, running himself up and down your pussy. “You better get yourself wet for me, Y/N.”

With a shuddered breath, you brought your hand up, working at your clit. You closed your eyes, trying to relax, find some serenity in the moment. Fingers working, you fell into the rhythm as best as you could and thankfully you felt yourself getting wet. Steve’s fingers were digging into your back as you rubbed at yourself, trying to prepare yourself.

He shifted and you felt his head pressing at your entrance. He groaned softly as he pressed in and you bit at your lip, still circling your clit. Steve reached underneath, hooking one of your legs up to rest on the table, adjusting you. You breathed steadily as he resumed his slow pace, working deeper into you with each thrust.

“Say it! Promise me!” Steve demanded.

“I promise!”

“You promise what?” he asked rolling his hips, his hand at your own hip pressing in.

“I promise I won’t leave again,” you got out, your voice sharpening at the end as he bottomed out, settling deep.

Steve let out a heavy breath, feeling your tightness fully enveloping him. He adjusted only a little to cause you to clench again and he breathed, aroused.

“Tony said you were good for him, just like I told you to be. That’s good. Can you be good for me?” You nodded against the table, your cheek rubbing against the wood. Steve jolted his hips against you, and you keened. “Yes or no, Y/N?”

“Yes! I’ll be good for you!”

He had been gentle up until that point. But Steve quickly abandoned that route though, pulling out and slamming back in. You braced as he started to move quicker and deeper, using more force. You staggered against the table on your one leg, your hand at your pussy being squished between your body and the table. You whimpered, your hand falling to prevent it from being injured. Steve did not seem to notice, or he did not care.

You hated his stamina because it went on for far too long but finally you felt his signature pull back, shallow thrusts taking over, his breath quick. When he released, he pressed harder down on your back and you whimpered again against his palm digging in.

“God, fuck, yes,” Steve husked, his cock twitching inside you. You relaxed against the table, worked up with no release. Steve though was all praise, “That’s a great start, dove. You did so well. You’re good… so good.”

Steve breathed heavily his hand falling from your back and you breathed in deep at the relief from the pressure. His fingers traced at your still shaking legs, his cock pulling out fully, leaving a trail of his release. The air shifted behind you as he stood up straight, taking steps back from you. You moved your leg down slowly, relishing in the release of your hip at the straightening of it.

“The tree looks nice by the way. Beautiful placement of the ornaments and lights,” he commented as he moved down the hall away from you, towards the bathroom to shower you surmised. “I ordered us Italian. You know, the stuff we like? Not that nasty, fancy shit Tony tried to shove down our throats. I already told Daryl to get it. When you’re ready, you can join me in the shower if you want. Or you can wait until after. Whatever you want.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx 

[thegildedlady]

Tricks

“Again.”

The word rang in her ears before Ciaragan could hit the ground, face planting into the deep blue dirt. She pushed herself up on wobbly knees, retaking the stance she had yet to perfect. One hand raised in front, she dug her heels in with a twist and gave a curt nod.

A burly Stoneborn warrior barreled towards her, no mercy in her eyes as she rapidly approached Ciaragan, leading with her rock-cut shoulder. Time to think fast.

Ciaragan’s jaw was clenched so tight she feared her teeth might crack under the pressure. She strained to focus all her energy on stopping the tackler from knocking her on her ass for the umpteenth time. Her wrist flicked to one side then another, sparks of magical power igniting the static in the air like crimson fireflies.

Not fast enough.

Her chest nearly caved in when the Stoneborn struck. Ciaragan’s gangly limbs lagged behind her as her body crashed to the ground, dirt and debris flying up around the impact site. She screeched to a halt near the same spot she hit the previous time, covered in fresh scrapes and bruises.

“Again.” Came the voice of a Venthyr just out of sight.

The rage grew inside of her until she could taste it in the back of her throat. They had been at this for hours now, and Ciaragan was not a physical fighter. She never excelled at athletic pursuits, and therefore tended to avoid them at all costs. She was a spellcaster in her core. This exercise was pushing her outside of her comfort zone.

“Get up, whelp.”

She dug her fingernails into the dirt before finally pushing herself back to standing position. The Stoneborn was unbothered by her opponent’s inferiority, taking the time to stretch her winged arms up over her head and relax a bit as they waited for Ciaragan to recover.

Once more, she gave the ready signal.

Once more, she was knocked down.

“Again.”

“Enough!” cried Ciaragan, at risk of retaliation for disobeying an order. Both the Stoneborn warrior and the Venthyr overseer instructing them twisted their faces up in disgust at her defiance. They watched her crawl to her feet, stumble, then rise again as her legs shuddered beneath her, muscles failing. Whatever she lacked in strength she made up for in sheer willpower, driven by a steam engine of spite. Ciaragan turned to face the others and wiped a trickle of blood from her split brow.

“This...this isn’t working.” She half-sobbed. “Let me try something else.”

The overseer stepped into view, slowly descending from a ledge above the sparring field and sneered at Ciaragan as she pleaded.

“You don’t get to decide when we’re done. I do. Again.”

Whether ready or not, the Stoneborn began her charge towards Ciaragan. Rather than brace for impact, this time she was determined to get out of the way and rolled to the side of the path, narrowly avoiding being trampled. She used all her might to stand back up and prepare a counter attack, locking her eyes on the Stoneborn to study her movements as the beastly creature turned to find her target. Like a great horned bull, the Stoneborn snarled before starting the charge again. She closed the gap between them, closer and closer with each passing second. Ciaragan would need to act quickly to avoid another pummeling.

Whatever spell she had been trying to summon previously was discarded by the wayside. With her one good hand outstretched in front of her, the priestess had a new trick up her sleeve. She watched the Stoneborn approach and held her breath until the time was right to strike. When only a few yards between them remained, and the eyes of her opponent came into clear view, she closed her hand into a fist.

Both fighters froze instantly in place, stopping the Stoneborn dead in her tracks. She and Ciaragan’s heads were tilted back at uncomfortable angles, with their eyes rolled up into the sockets. Though her lips were moving, barely any sound escaped Ciaragan’s mouth as she murmured the Eredun curse binding them together. Visions of the Stoneborn’s mind flashed through Ciaragan’s own and vice versa. It was a foul play, and one she had not attempted since she studied the demonic arts several lifetimes ago. Still, she could not afford to bypass any useful tools in her arsenal. Faervell would be proud.

Faervell.

The intrusive memories of her brother were destabilizing Ciaragan’s control over her victim. The visions slowed until they were few and far between- a flash in the pan instead of a wildfire- and the Stoneborn warrior was able to take a knee.

“Get out of my head…” came a growl from the Stoneborn’s throat. Time was running out. A new plan was in order.

Ciaragan was less efficient at channeling with one hand instead of two, but hoped that if she could complete her spell before the Stoneborn fully recovered she might survive this fight. Crimson sparks crackled around them, heightened this time by the second wind her adrenaline rush provided. Ciaragan’s hairs stood on end as the jagged and unfamiliar magic of Revendreth pulsed through her veins. Once fully charged, she slammed her open palm down into the dirt, sending a bolt of scarlet lightning skittering towards the Stoneborn. The warrior raised her wing to block the attack, but was almost disappointed by the measly tickle of electricity as it zapped against her stone body. Her strength recovered, she stood at full height and extended her broad wings to their entire span.

“Is that all you can do? Ha! Not even a scratch on my armor,” the Stoneborn jeered, but the mockery came a bit too soon. The problems began when she willed her arms back at her sides and they would not obey her. Panicked confusion fell over the warrior’s face. Her eyes found Ciaragan’s again, and it was then she noticed the deep red shadows that connected them, reaching out across the field like crooked fingers.

“I’m more interested in what you can do…” came Ciaragan’s wicked purr. Her attention back to the attack, she twitched a long digit upward in a single jerk, curious to see what would happen. The Stoneborn watched her own limbs move without her volition as one arm fell lifeless and the other remained hanging in the air. Furious, the Stoneborn shot a look of unbridled anger at the overseer for allowing things to go off-course.

“This isn’t what we agreed to. Aren’t you going to do something?!”

The Venthyr stroked their chin nonchalantly as they pondered the idea. “I might instead wait and see what the mortal is trying on you… then we will decide if intervention is necessary.”

Ciaragan felt the rush of power circulating inside her body and could not withhold the smile stretched across her face. It had been so long since she had any sense of control over her life in Revendreth, the temptation to cause destruction was almost too much to ignore. She would go as far as they would allow her, until death or incapacitation stopped the chaos. The mortal woman’s pent up rage was about to take over.

Her next move was much more violent than a single twitch of the finger; she worked the Stoneborn warrior like a broken marionette, dropping her into painful positions only to snap her back up again. Her limbs moved awkwardly without their owner’s permission. Ciaragan’s brows pinched together as she walked the Stoneborn towards the edge of the field and towards the overseer, one muscled arm reaching up to draw the warrior’s halberd from her back…

“Stop her!” Shouted the warrior, unable to stop herself from what Ciaragan was about to make her do. The overseer rapidly realized what Ciaragan was trying and understood that playtime was over. To avoid meeting their end on the tip of a spear, the overseer dissipated mid-air and reformed in front of Ciaragan. With a swift concordance of unintelligible chants, they pulled the anima powering Ciaragan’s spell from her body and broke her hold over the Stoneborn. It sent the puppet master crumbling to the grass in a spent heap, and saved them from a sheepish explanation to their betters about how two Venthyr tacticians let a mortal overpower them.

“Impressive, for a whelp. Perhaps Andrei’s pet has some teeth after all.”

From the shadows cast over her, Ciaragan’s eyes burned a hot orange flame through the darkness. Gone was the comforting golden glow of a purified Sin’Dorei, instead replaced with something touched by Revendreth whose thirst for blood had not yet been quenched. Her unnerving smile had not fallen completely away yet, either. She rolled her head to the side and took a moment to catch her breath, still reeling from the sudden loss of anima. A clawed hand caught her chin and jerked it back to front and center. The Stoneborn warrior, now back in control, bore down on Ciaragan with fresh hatred.

“Your master will hear about this, you filthy little cheat. That mind trick you pulled wasn’t an approved spell. You’re lucky I don’t-“

The overseer laid a hand on the Stoneborn’s forearm, silencing her without another word. Both of them slipped out of Ciaragan’s vision and backed themselves into the darkness. Their roles were complete for now, and the devil they had twice since named was here to answer the call. Lord Andrei was draped in his usual velvets and furs, a stark contrast to the muddied rags hanging in shreds off his ward, Ciaragan. She was still lying face-up on the ground when his conceited expression came into view, and he smirked at her.

“My, my… That was quite the exercise.” He observed in his deep baritone. “I must admit, I had hoped we might see the results of your rule-breaking play out on the field, but hope... is a dangerous thing.”

Ciaragan felt Andrei’s fingers wrap around her throat and lift her limp body into the air. He inspected her for a while, uncaring as she struggled to breathe and clawed at his grip.

“I permitted you to begin your training with the magic of this world, a privilege generously given, so your weakness would no longer stand in the way of my orders for you. I knew you wouldn’t take such an opportunity for granted... it is the nature of a snake to strike, after all... but I must say, I did not expect to hear a demon’s tongue speak with the mouth of a priestess. The Light must have truly abandoned you here.”

Despite her position she never broke eye contact with him, and stared down death as tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes and the world began to blur around the edges. Before she could exit consciousness, Andrei’s grip loosened and she slipped through his fingers instead. Ciaragan gasped and choked on air until her breathing could steady and her mind regained its sharpness. She forced herself to rise again, despite her shaking knees and the thump of her heart against her rib cage.

Lord Andrei cocked an eyebrow as he witnessed her gather her strength. When she stood at full height, his smile had all but disappeared.

“My...Lord…” she croaked through a crumpled windpipe, then bowed to him as low as she could manage in such a condition. “The Light... abandoned me... long ago.”

She knew that Andrei preferred to watch his victims squirm, and the most effective way to defy him was to simply outlast his torment. Which by no means was an easy or guaranteed thing to do. Andrei was just as sly as she, and kept her tightly under his thumb as he did all denizens of House Iremoore. Pride, however much the Venthyr preached against it, was a potent motivator when directed in a constructive outlet. Ciaragan and Andrei were playing the long game against each other, and Andrei had already made the fatal mistake of allowing her a taste of power. It would come to be his undoing.

@pyrar for mention

[unavenged-robin]

Characters: Tim Drake & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Swearing, Minor Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff

Chapter 1

It becomes a habit much more quickly than he likes to admit, and for a lot of different reasons that are not just because I’m bored and I have nothing better to do tonight, which is usually what he tells Tim when he calls him to ask if they’re okay with him coming over.

Tim always says yes, of course Jay, we’ll wait for you, and never even comments on the fact that Jason has his own keys and he doesn't really have to ask him anything at all. He lets him live in his fake denial and Jason is kinda happy that way, or at least that’s what he says to himself everytime he opens the door of Tim’s apartment with his arms full of grocery bags.

Tonight, as many other nights, Tim and Damian are sitting at the opposite sides of the kitchen table, laptops open in front of them and piles of books framing their space like walls of two rival forts on a battlefield, a matching frown on both of their faces. Tim’s wearing his reading glasses and gnawing the top of his pencil with a focussed expression, and Jason knows he’s been working non-stop for hours now. Damian, on the other hand, is perched on the edge of his chair, fingers playing with the cord of his headphones, watching the screen of his laptop with glassy eyes, and Jason knows he’s bored out of his mind and just pretending to be working because of Tim.

He scoffs both at them and at himself, because really, if he’s noticing these kind of things already it means that he’s spending way too much of his time with these two shitheads. And that’s not okay. For a lot of reasons. He has a very long list of them somewhere.

“Alright, enough with this shit”, he says while walking into the kitchen, loud enough to snap Tim out of his working trance and for Damian to hear him despite the outrageous volume of his iPod. He has no doubt they’ve noticed him the moment he’s set foot in the apartment, they both probably just didn’t believe necessary to acknowledge his presence in any way. The brats.

He sets the bags on the counter with a loud thud and turns around to see both of his brothers glaring at him with an identical raised eyebrow. If they were closer to each other the urge to bang their heads together would probably be too strong for Jason to resist.

“Put all of those books away, then come help me with the groceries”, he orders with his best impersonation of Alfred’s voice.

“And exactly what was the cause of the head trauma you obviously had to suffer to think that we’re at your service, Todd?”, Damian asks, shooting him one of his best looks of haughty disdain.

Tim laughs but closes his laptop and stands up anyway.

“Come on, Damian, don’t be ungrateful”, he chides lightly. “After all Jason’s the one with the skill to turn raw food into a real dinner.”

“I never said I was gonna cook”, Jason retorts. And it’s true, but what’s also true is that he doesn’t have to say it because everyone, himself included, just take it for granted since Tim can’t cook anything that doesn’t come from the frozen food section and no one with a shred of survival instinct would ever allow Damian to play with knives and open fire.

“And if you don’t get a move you’re going to wash the dishes tonight”, he warns Damian, who just clicks his tongue at him.

“I see the trauma was even more serious than expected since you’re also experiencing memory losses”, the kid answers without losing a beat. “We have a dishwasher, unlike some uncivilized overgrown bullies”, Damian reminds him smugly and Jason, well aware of the responsibilities coming from being the adult of the situation, throws an apple at him.

Damian catches it easily and takes a bite out of sheer spite, and Jason wants to bang his head against the wall when he realizes that the first thing that almost gets out of his mouth is you’ll ruin your appetite, you little shit. When did he ever become a very less polished and well-mannered version of Alfred Pennyworth he will never know. What he knows is who he has to blame for it, though.

“You little shit”, he just grumbles back, narrowing his eyes at him, but it’s a weak retort and Damian triumphantly grins at him.

Tim just shakes his head, hiding his own smile and taking up some of Damian’s books while walking around the table.

“Alright guys, let’s call a truce”, he offers. “I’ll put the books away and set the table, and Damian can help with the bags and the cooking.”

Jason scoffs and starts pulling out the groceries. Damian, having won his own personal moral battle against Jason, graciously helps him putting them away, still munching at his apple with great satisfaction. He doesn’t even retaliate when Jason accidentally swats him on the back of his head with a stalk of celery, and that means he’s in a good mood. Tim too looks pretty much content when he comes back and starts moving around them to take out the tableware.

Jason, on his part, finds himself settling in the domestic bliss quite easily, and almost without noticing it. He cooks, and he grabs the things Tim needs from the top shelves for him with a teasing smile, and he teaches Damian how to slice the vegetables without making them looking like the victims of a homicide.

With dinner, movies and no patrol for once, in the end it turns out to be a real nice, homely family night, and that’s probably why Jason keeps forgetting all the reasons why he shouldn’t get too attached to any of this.

*

Of course quiet family nights are a rarity more than a common occurrence.

Most of the times Jason would open the door and find Tim and Damian shouting or launching things at each other (no physical fights though, that’s one thing he has to give to them), or barricaded in their bedrooms blasting music at each other at full volume - and thank god Damian scared the neighbours enough to convince them to never ever think of meddling in their fights, or cops and social services would be constant guests of this house.

Usually he would side with Tim and force the little demon to back off (because at the cost of sounding biased, Damian is the responsible party ninety percent of the time), or just shout at them both until they both shut up, and sometimes - because there were those times too, no use in lying about it - he would just turn back and walk the hell out of there.

Then one night he comes- okay, no, he’s not going to think about this as him coming home because this is not his home, not even close to it, in fact, despite having now spent two weeks in a row coming here every night to have dinner and leave for patrol together and then come back again to crash on the couch and god, he needs to put a stop to this yesterday.

So, one night he comes to Tim’s apartment and the place is a mess. A truly, unholy, striking mess that makes his heart jump a beat because when it was the last time they heard about Ra’s? Or Talia, for that matter? And Ra’s always had a weird obsession with Tim, so what if they came here together to take away both of them and then split them, Tim with Ra’s and Damian with his mother? What the hell is Jason supposed to do if that’s the case?

“Tim! Damian!”, he calls, panic making his voice sounding thick with anger more than with worry, and he’s almost ready to bolt out of the door and towards the Manor - because fuck the whole amnesia thing, if the kids are in trouble he’ll force Bruce to remember them with his fists if he has to, no fucking way he’s letting him come too late for them too - but then a soft whimper attracts his attention and he stops in his tracks.

The sound came from Tim’s bedroom so Jason runs there, ready to find his brother covered in blood and the confirmation that Damian’s gone - but at least Tim’s here and together they can and they will get him back, Bruce or not Bruce. Those were Tim’s words, not so many weeks ago.

He finds Tim on his bed, laying on his stomach, a pillow pressed over his head. No blood, no wounds, and the mess around him is the usual Tim-mess, not the tornado-like mess in the half destroyed living room.

“Tim?”, Jason calls to him, the pit of his stomach still tight as a knot but now for a different reason.

“Mph”, Tim answers into the mattress.

Jason growls.

“Tim, what the fuck happened out there?”

There must be some kind of dangerous undertone in his voice because Tim doesn’t huff at him again. Instead he raises the pillow from his head and turns around to look at him. He takes in Jason’s posture, his white face and clenched fists, then he seems to consider the state of the rest of his house and how all of this would look like from a point of view of someone who knows what these kind of situations usually means and he just goes ...oh.

“Oh. No, no, it’s not- It’s okay, Jay. That was all Damian. Well, almost all Damian. Sorry”, Tim babbles, now propped up on his elbows, ruffled hair and eyes big with worry and guilt.

And Jason wants to be angry, he really wants it. He also wants to storm out of this goddamn apartment and never come back again because seriously, he did not die and come back to life for this kind of shit. Instead he plops down on Tim’s bed and hides his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead in the vain attempt to stop the incipient headache he knows it’s coming.

“I thought it was Ra’s”, he hums against his palms, because there’s no point in trying to look less ridiculous than he feels.

“Sorry”, Tim offers again, moving closer to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Mh”, Jason answers.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before he finds the strength to ask.

“You want to tell me why Damian decided to redecorate the house to make it look like a dump?”

Tim sighs and lets himself fall back on the bed.

“We were fighting about patrol again”, he answers, closing his eyes. “You know how he is.”

Jason does know. It’s been a periodical fight in the last month, with the little demon being more and more insistent on wanting to try the solo thing while Tim’s busy with the Titans and Jason with the Outlaws, instead of just getting dragged along by one of them. And he had some valid points too, Jason can’t deny it, but let an eleven years old - even this eleven years old - patrolling Gotham completely alone is something neither him or Tim are ready to do.

“He kept saying that Dick and even Bruce would’ve let him out on his own”, Tim goes on, voice just a little above a whisper. “And… I don’t know, I just lost it. Because I know, and you know, and even Damian knows that they would’ve never- that Bruce would never... And I must’ve said the wrong thing again and he snapped. So I snapped too. I think I throw him across the room, and things obviously escalated from there.”

“Tim…”, Jason starts.

“I know. But I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying. But he’s so frustrating sometimes and-”, he pauses, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I get that he misses Bruce and Dick, I get it. I know it’s hard and I know he’s, well, Damian. But I swear to god, sometimes I just want to give him a goddamn spanking.”

Jason finds himself chuckling at that.

“Well, it wouldn’t be underserved”, he agrees. “But then he’ll probably slit your throat in retaliation.”

“Definitely, not probably”, Tim corrects him with a snort.

Silence sets back between them and Jason stares at the floor, knowing what Tim’s going to ask him next. To his credit, Tim bites his lips and looks very apologetic when he finally does ask.

“Can you talk to him, Jason? Sometimes he listens to you, you know.”

Jason only snorts at that.

“Sometimes he listened to Dick. Maybe. If he was in a good mood. And if the stars were in the right position”, he corrects him bitterly. “But yeah, why not, I guess I’d earn my share of insults anyway so we might as well get on with it.”

*

He finds Damian on his bed, laying on his back, a pillow pressed over his face.

He wants to laugh.

They’re so similar, yet they would never admit it. They get offended with him every time he tries to point it out, and it’s so funny and so sad at the same time that they can’t see it when it’s so obvious to him (and would be so obvious to Bruce and to Dick too, if only they were here now, but then again, if they were here now none of them would be in this mess in the first place.)

He approaches the bed slowly and with heavy steps, making sure not to take the kid by surprise, in the very remote case he’s actually sleeping. Damian doesn’t react to his presence in any way, doesn’t even protest when Jason sits on the edge of his bed and prods him in his leg with a finger.

“Nice work out there, kid. You must really be a little prince to fuck up so majestically”, he says, going for the direct confrontation. Damian doesn’t believe in edulcorated discussions or in softening the blow, he likes a hit to be blunt and honest and Jason both respects and agrees with that. “Want me to call you Your Highness from now on?”

“Go away”, Damian orders him, but his usually imperious tone now sounds a little wet around the corners.

“Are you crying?”

The kid shifts a little, trying to distract him to hide a sniffle, and that’s all the answer Jason needs.

“Good. That’s probably the only proper reaction you had tonight”, Jason comments harshly because, like Tim, he gets it too - how could he not. A dead brother, an absent father, a house they don’t dare to call home, that’s something all of them can understand.

And yes, Damian is still a child, a child who’s been abused beyond comprehension since the day he was born, but that doesn’t mean that he can get away with everything. Pain and loneliness are not a justification for violence or for hurting other people, and yes, he knows that if he says that out loud Damian will quite literally skin him alive because that qualifies as the right title for his future autobiography, but that’s also why he’s the one who can truly say this kind of shit and knowing what he’s talking about. He walked that road first, after all, and what’s the point of his entire second life if he can’t even save his own brothers from making the same mistakes?

“I am not crying”, Damian only answers from under the pillow, making it even more clearly that he is, in fact, crying.

Jason sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Messy houses, moody teenagers, crying children: here they are the top three bullet points of that infamous list of reasons he keeps forgetting.

He looks at Damian’s hands, clenched into fists around the edges of his pillows, whitened knuckles and arms rigid with tension, then turns his head towards the door frame, where Tim’s lean figure has just appeared. Jason sighs again.

“It’s not a matter of trust, you know”, he says slowly, looking at his own hands. “It’s not even a matter of skills. This is about doing what’s right for you- what Bruce and Dick would want for you, if you prefer.”

“They don’t-”

“I know they don’t. But Bruce’s going to remember eventually, no way this is going to be permanent. You know that. And you also know that the moment he’ll get you back he’ll never let you patrol alone until you’re old enough to drive legally at least.”

“I did it anyway”, Damian mutters, so softly Jason almost doesn’t catch it. “The driving, but also patrol alone. Sometimes. When he was off-planet with the League.”

He laughs bitterly at that.

“Of course you did it. Hell, we all did it, at some point. And who knows, maybe a few times he really didn’t find out about it.”

Or he found out too late, but let’s not go there.

“I wouldn’t count on that”, Tim says from the door, with a smile in his voice. “I always got grounded for it, no matter how sneaky I thought I’d been.”

Jason hums in agreement, and Damian doesn’t disagree, so Tim goes on.

“This is not permanent, Damian”, he says, repeating Jason’s words. “But for now we need to make it work anyway.”

There is a long silence, and Damian only answers after Jason pokes his leg again.

“I know”, he grumbles, pillow still pressed on his face so tightly Jason’s really starting to wonder how in hell he’s still breathing.

“Want to come out from under there and say something else?”

“No.”

Jason pinches his side and Damian unclenches one of his hand to swat him, giving him the opportunity to snatch the pillow away from the kid’s other hand. He meets Damian’s puffy, angry red glare with an impish grin.

“So?”, he prompts him again.

Damian looks away from him and makes a point to look anywhere else but at his brothers.

“I will help with the cleaning”, he murmurs.

Which is not an apology at all, but it’s close enough for Tim to nods at him. Jason has half a mind to insist anyway, but he’s also so not in the mood for a fight right now, so he pushes down all the snappy comebacks on how helping with the cleaning is the least he can do and gets up from the bed.

“And no patrol for a week”, he adds anyway, crossing his arms over his chest because if he has to play the adult he might as well do it properly. Also he’s kind of curious about Damian’s reaction, because if the kid decides to start trashing the room again, at least Jason will have the confirmation that this entire night has been nothing but an useless exercise in patience.

But Damian doesn’t start screaming or launching things at him. He only scowls and shoots him a look full of disdain, which, Jason supposes, is as close as he’ll ever get to acquiesce.

He watches the kid scrambling out of the bed and then out of the room, pausing only for a moment next to Tim, who gently squeezes his shoulder when the kid walks past him.

Jason will never understand his younger brothers, honestly.

From the sound of it Damian’s already starting to pick up pieces of the smashed furniture when finally Tim turns towards him with a skeptical grimace on his face.

“You know that you just reminded him that instead of fighting us about this he can actually just try and do it behind our backs, right?”

Jason answers him with a tired smile.

“Yeah, the key concept here being instead of fighting us”, he points out. “What? You don’t feel up to the challenge? Damian will be delighted to hear that.”

Tim rolls his eyes at him.

“When this dumbass plan goes downhill - and it will go downhill, mark my word on this - you’ll find me right beside you, ready to put all the blame on your stupid perception of what is a situation improvement and what isn’t.”

“Yeah, sure”, Jason replies. “You’re welcome, little brother.”

Tim gives him a look all too similar to Damian’s previous one before he too walks out of the bedroom to help the kid with the cleaning, and Jason can only mentally groan at himself, knowing that this time he dug his own grave with his hands.

Totally unplanned second chapter because my brain does that sometimes. Still this is not going to turn into a longfic because let’s be honest, there is literally no plot here, just Jason getting random heart attacks because of his younger brothers.

Also I feel like I’m rewriting Lilo & Stitch for some reason??? I’m just not sure who’s who here because Damian should be Stitch but he’s more Lilo than anything, and Tim is totally Nani. So that makes Jason Stitch, I guess. I mean, he does have the temper.