#mob boss bob

[bobfloydsbabe]

illicit affairs | bob floyd x oc | mob boss au

walk the line

SUMMARY: After staying late at the office, Bob insists on walking Abby to her car.

WARNINGS: mob boss au, sexual tension, sexual thoughts. strictly 18+/minors dni.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

MBB MASTERLIST

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SPECIAL THANKS: Thanks to @joaquinwhorres for the prompt, and for the endless support and encouragement for MBB and my other writing. I adore you. Thank you to @wkndwlff and @sylviebell for listening to me rant about this for hours on end.

A/N: This was supposed to just be a quick and easy 500 word drabble. That obviously didn't happen. Enjoy!

Bob leans back in his chair and rubs his palms against his eyes, trying to make them hurt less from staring at his laptop all night.

The Bates family has been creating problems for him for weeks. They’ve somehow blocked every permit he’s been trying to get with the city so he can finally start construction on the Belmont Street project.

Letting his hands fall away, he opens his eyes and notices the light at Abby’s desk is on.

With a furrowed brow, he pushes himself up and walks across the expanse of his office until he’s standing in the doorway.

Abby’s sitting at her desk, typing away on her keyboard, doing who knows what. He checks his watch and sees that it’s far past midnight.

“I thought you’d gone home hours ago,” he says, letting his arm fall back at his side.

She startles, making the whole table shake and her hand flies to her chest where her heartbeat is likely running wild.

“You scared me,” she tells him after collecting herself enough to look at him.

“Sorry. I thought you’d gone home,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, making a stray dark hair fall from her ponytail and rest against her cheek. “Unless you dismiss me, I don’t leave until you do, sir.”

Even after being here all day, she still looks as flawless as she did when she walked through the door that morning.

He thinks back to last week inside her apartment after the fundraiser when he’d nearly given into temptation. She’d looked perfect then, too. Cheeks flushed from the alcohol and dancing with him. Only him.

He thinks of the aide who’d dared to lay hands on his girl in full view of all the guests. Bob had only applied enough force to the kid’s hand that it would hurt for a while. Certainly not enough to break it. Abby was none the wiser, but he’d seen the kid with an ice pack on his fingers later on.

“Well, I’m heading home for the night,” he begins, looking back at Abby, who’s watching him. “So should you. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

Bob goes back to his office to close up for the day and grab his suit jacket off the back of his chair. When he returns, Abby’s slipping a coat over her shoulders.

“Ready?”

She faces him with a bright smile. “Yes,” she says, and leans forward, clicking off the lamp on her desk. “All set.” She rounds the desk and heads for the elevator down the hall.

On the surface it looks like a normal corporate office with a receptionist, open floor plan with conference rooms closed off by large glass panels, a kitchenette with the essentials like a microwave and a fancy espresso machine Javy insisted they get even though he only comes by the office once a week.

Bob smiles to himself, trailing behind Abby, whose ponytail swings like a pendulum against her back, and he can’t help that his eyes wander down to her hips. Those heels drive him wild and they make her ass look fantastic.

He’s walking a fine line, and he knows it.

The elevator doors slide open right as he catches up to Abby, who moves remarkably fast in heels that high and thin.

“You coming?”

He meets her eyes, realizing he’s stopped outside the elevator. He shakes his head and joins Abby inside.

As the doors close, every one of Bob’s senses become engulfed by Abby. He feels the heat radiate off her on his skin, can practically taste the mint of her lip gloss on his tongue, hears her steady breath, and watches the rise and fall of her chest in the corner of his eye.

What gets him is the scent of her. It’s different. Darker, muskier. Sexier. Rose and a hint of vanilla, but still her.

“New perfume?” He asks, turning to face her. In the harsh overhead lighting of the elevator, he can see her cheeks warm up, and he fights the way his hand twitches, desperate to reach out and touch her skin.

He knows it’s velvety soft.

“Yeah,” she admits, not meeting his eyes. “It was time for a change.”

A hum is his only reply, making her finally meet his gaze. She looks like she wants to say more, divulge a secret she’s not supposed to, and he longs to pry it from her pretty mouth.

He takes a small step forward, testing the water to see how she reacts. She doesn’t flinch, but her eyes flicker down to the floor for a second before coming back to his.

Her cheeks burn hotter than before when she asks. “Do you like it?”

Leaning down, his lips graze her exposed neck when he inhales the scent of her. Her breath hitches, body shuddering at the touch.

He cranes his neck upward and finds Abby’s eyes trained on him, darker than usual.

Maintaining eye contact, he presses his lips to the skin of her neck. “I do,” he says and straightens his back.

Abby’s jaw is slack, and her eyes follow him as he takes another step closer. Their breathing fills the small space, but all Bob sees and feels is her.

The woman who has haunted his dreams since the moment she first stepped into his office.

His fingers twitch again, but right as he’s about to reach for her, the elevator stops moving and the doors whoosh open.

Abby jumps away from him as if burned by an invisible flame.

“Ladies first,” he says, gesturing to the open doors.

She smiles politely, wrapping her thin coat tightly around her body, and folds her arms across her torso to keep it in place. She offers him a nod as she passes and mumbles a quiet thank you.

Bob follows her out, cursing whatever powers are against him for putting Abby in his path. He’s holding onto professionalism by a thread that’s rapidly unraveling.

He’d regret it if he could, but the magnetic pull Abby has on him is something he can’t describe. There’s an inevitability in his attraction to her.

The sound of her heels echoes through the concrete parking garage. He’s watching her ponytail swing against her shoulder blades, follows it with his eyes, trying his best not to let them travel down to the swell of her ass. Again.

He realizes a beat too late that he hasn’t actually walked her to her car as much as he’s followed behind her. Now they’re at her car, a sensible black Range Rover in pristine condition, and she rifling through her purse for the keys.

He stands behind her left shoulder, catching another whiff of her intoxicating perfume. “Need help?”

“No, I got it,” she declares, proudly pulling the key out of her purse. Her smile is contagious enough that Bob feels the corners of his mouth turn upward.

She unlocks the door with a click and steps forward, but Bob reaches around her, grasping the handle before she can.

He steps forward, forcing Abby to turn around so her back is against the side of her car, facing him. Her breathing is shallow, uneven, and her eyes flitter around before landing on him.

“Sir?”

He hums as the hand that was on the door slides up behind her until his palm finds the back of her head. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, voice breathless and trembling. Anticipation hangs in the air between them, and the chilly night air does nothing to ease the tension.

A soft breeze carries her scent to his nostrils as he grasps the tie that holds her dark hair in place and pulls it. As it comes loose, Abby’s hair falls in a cascade down her back.

Her gaze holds his now, transfixed. “Why did you do that?”

Bob tosses the hair tie to the side. He slides his fingertips up her arms, reaching behind her and gently bringing her hair over her shoulders so it falls around her face instead, framing those round cheeks.

“Because I like it down,” he tells her, voice so quiet he can barely hear it himself. Abby’s chest rises and falls, and he feels it against his chest. The sensation makes his cock stir, heat spreading in his abdomen.

He sees a silent war in her eyes, and whatever she’s fighting against wins as she places a hand on his chest. She grasps his tie, but doesn’t pull at it, just holds it in her hand.

They don’t say a word. Just look at each other, daring the other to make the first move, to change whatever’s going on between them.

Bob knows what he wants. Her. He wants to kiss her neck, leave marks there and claim her as his. He wants to run his tongue along her folds as she moans and begs for him to keep going. He wants to plant himself deep inside her, make her chant his name, paint her insides with his cum, and watch her struggle to speak afterward.

The allure of having her is almost enough to make him cross that line he’s long hesitated to approach. His desire for Abby makes him vulnerable, and that’s what eventually makes him step away from her in that dimly lit parking garage.

Her hand falls from his chest. He holds the door open for her, but she remains in front of him on the ground. She draws her brows together, creating a cute indent between them, which he aches to smooth out.

“Goodnight, sir,” she finally says, hoisting herself into the driver’s seat.

He offers her a tight-lipped smile. “Goodnight, Abigail.” He closes the door and takes another step back, breathing a sigh of relief as tension leaves his body. 

The engine comes to life, and Abby offers him a small wave as she pulls out of her parking space. He doesn’t return it, but finds himself alone in the garage with the ghost of Abby’s hand still on his chest.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials his driver.

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are motivating

TAGLIST: @yanna-banana, @canarysposts, @bradshawsbitch, @fandom-princess-forevermore, @sylviebell, @wkndwlff, @rooster-84, @roosters-girl, @bradshawsbaby, @cdauni, @withahappyrefrain, @some-lovely-day, @linkpk88, @thedroneranger, @cherrycola27, @lunamooncole, @purplevortexx, @hangmandruigandmav, @lorilane33, @ravenhood2792, @desert-fern, @wittywhispers, @mikpieboo, @petersunderoos96, @soulmates8, @teacupsandtopgun, @daisiesandinvasives, @f1maverick, @deliriousfangirl61

[bobfloydsbabe]

NYN, BE SO FUCKING FOR REAL RIGHT NOW. I LOVE THIS. I'M OBSESSED WITH IT. YOU WELL AND TRULY NAILED THE VIBE OF ILLICIT AFFAIRS AND I CAN'T STOP STARING.

I know we had a rough start to our interactions, mostly due to my insecurities and creations I'm protective of, but I'm so glad we worked it out and have become friendly. Your support means the world to me. You taking the time to write detailed feedback and comments on my fics, and now creating this breathtaking moodboard for Mob Boss Bob is incredible. Thank you. I adore you.

in conclusion

happy tears, i promise

﹒📜﹒﹙ℱ𝚘𝚛 I've 𝒃𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝚊 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 too ℒ𝒐𝒏𝒈﹚﹒ ⊹﹒

𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑣 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠;; 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 @bobfloydsbabe ♥︎ 𝒎𝒘𝒂𝒉!

divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more | text template by @ai-haibara | bow png by @luvpngs | lighter png by @saizun | lew gif by @bradshawsbitch

[frogstack]

every time part 5 of jojos comes up with my siblings i start genuinely shouting they all think its “easily the worst part” and all the characters are boring. KIIIIIILLLLLLLL YOURSELF??????????

[shinycupcakebaker]

Today, while at work, I had an idea for a new fic… it’s a ‘bad’ idea, but a good idea. It’s a bad idea cuz I have no idea how to write it. A good idea b/c hot damn

Okay, my idea is mob boss Bob (I ‘blame’ @sailor-aviator lol I didn’t know I needed a mob au in my life right now). I’m sure this had been done somewhere but it just struck me that Bob would be a perfect mob boss. He’s quiet, calm and collected. He has intense blue eyes that could make panties drop lol.

I can picture him, sitting in a leather armchair, in his hand a tumbler with 2 fingers of whiskey. His jaw set as he pulls in a deep breath thru his nose, staring you down. His blue eyes seemed to bore into your soul as a shiver ran down your spine. You knew why you were there. You had single handedly taken down one of his best men. Jake had gotten a little too handsy for your liking, so with a simple move, you had nearly broken his arm.

Crap, I really need to write this. Just not sure how to bring in the other daggers lol

HELP

[sarahsmi13s]

Theme Tag Game!

I was tagged by my fellow angst queen @desert-fern ! Please go read the first chapter of her fic A Gun Amongst Daggers bc not only does it have a badass title, it’s a badass story.

I’ll do this for my Mob Boss! Bob Floyd x Detective! Reader WIP

Here are the rules:

Make a new post Bold the themes that appear in your WIP Italicize the themes that are loosely covered Tag People!

_____________________________

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | (found) family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfilment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

_____________________________

no pressure tags: @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @callsign-viper @lovinglyeternal and anyone else that wants to join!

[poptropicacheats]

Started thinking about power rangers RPM again

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Eight

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment! There is smut in this chapter( protected p in v, oral with both male and female receiving)

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice

“What are you going to do about it?” I questioned Bucky with a raised brow. 

His hands were gripping my hips, keeping me locked in place on the conference table, his bright blue eyes bore deep into my own. His plump lips were parted, deep slow breaths fell from them. Our eyes locked before his gaze fell to my own lips and when his tongue darted out to wet them, I let out a silent moan. 

Bucky’s flesh fingers trailed up my side and snaked its way behind my neck, forcing me closer to him. The air shifted around us and with one last second decision, I let everything go to focus on this moment. 

Our lips finally tasted one another, a soft and hesitant kiss at first but when I melted into Bucky’s body, his tongue brushed across my bottom lip and I allowed it to explore every inch of my mouth while dancing with my tongue. I wrapped my arms around his back to bring Bucky closer to me, needing to feel him. 

Bucky understood by leaning me down on the table, his body hovering over as he deepened the kiss. My left leg hooked around his back to keep him locked into place as I broke away for a moment to look into his eyes. 

“I never slept with Steve.” 

I wasn’t sure why but I felt as if I needed to tell him that, to let him know that Steve and I were never serious like Bucky thought we were. 

Vibranium fingers palmed my cheek. “I’m sorry for accusing you of that.” 

No more words were spoken as our lips met in another fiery kiss and my hands traveled over his body, through his hair and down to the bottom of his shirt which was shed in a flash. I threw it somewhere to the floor, it becoming all but forgotten. 

Bucky lifted me slightly from the table to basically rip the sweater and tank top from me, sitting bare chested in front of him. Lust clouded his vision as he drank me in and swallowed thickly. 

I, however, couldn’t take my eyes away from the scars on his shoulder when the skin met vibranium. I traced them before placing soft kisses over every one of them, a silent way of saying that I didn’t mind them. 

“Doll?” 

“Hm?” I locked eyes with Bucky and sucked in a breath with the way he looked at me. 

Gone was the lust as he looked at me with adoration in his eyes. 

The next few minutes had passed with kisses filled with desperation and clothes falling to our feet, soon the both of us standing completely bare. My eyes glazed over his bare chest, down to his cock between his thick thighs, it twitching with anticipation. I licked my lips hungrily at the sheer size of it and gently pushed him away so I could get on my knees and wrapped my fingers around his dick. 

“Shit,” Bucky hissed with his fingers tangling in my hair. “Open your mouth for me, doll.” 

I obeyed without question and took all of it in my mouth, a moan vibrating against it. My head slowly bobbed back and forth, the delicious taste causing my core to burn. Bucky’s hips moved in sync with my head as I wrapped my hands around his ass, giving him a tight squeeze. Drool seeped out of my lips, down over my chin as I licked the small slit on his tip, the precum tasting devine. 

Curses fell from him and I was lifted from the ground by Bucky who laid me back down on the table. 

“If you keep that up I’m going to cum in that pretty little mouth but you need to cum first, doll.” 

My head fell back at the filthy words coming from his mouth. 

Bucky got on his knees, spreading mine with his vibranium fingers, and I was exposed in front of his face, my heat on full display for him to taste or touch; whatever he wanted. 

He hooked my leg over his shoulder and placed a kiss on the inside of my knee while keeping his eyes on me. 

“I can’t wait to taste you,” Bucky muttered against the skin of my thigh. 

I laid back on the table, fully allowing myself to ease into him. 

Bucky’s tongue flicked over my clit and a groan crawled out of my throat. I raised my hips towards his mouth, needing more. 

“Bucky,” I whined. 

“Patience, Y/N. I’ve got all night and I’m not going to rush it,” Bucky breathed against my folds. 

Eyes glazed over with desire; Bucky sent me a wink before his face disappeared in between my thighs. His tongue pressed circles in the perfect spot and I rutted my hips into him, begging for more. I was amazed that he knew my exact spot without ever touching me. 

With his tongue and now flesh fingers pumping in and out, I began to see white, the heat burning so low. The noise from the air conditioner unit in the building and the sounds of Bucky lapping up his saliva and my juices fell on deaf ears, becoming white noise. 

He could tell I was about to fall apart with only his tongue so he urged me along by pinching and pulling at my nipples with his vibranium fingers. Our eyes locked in a brief second and his pupils had blown from lust. 

I arched slightly off of the table as my heart began to race while all of the blood in my body ran to my core and I wrapped my legs around Bucky’s head, locking him into place. 

“Bucky,” his name fell from my lips. 

He understood. 

My orgasm washed over me with a loud moan, echoing throughout the small office, and I quivered under his touch as Bucky sucked up every last drop of my cum, him moaning in pleasure. 

“So sweet,” he uttered. 

Once the bright light dissipated, I only had a few seconds to catch my breath before Bucky’s lips were on mine, forcing me to taste myself on his tongue. I moaned into his mouth, secretly loving the way I tasted. 

I moaned while wrapping my legs around his waist, the tip of his cock pressing momentarily between my folds and I moaned again. His precum dripped down my and I clawed at his back, needing to feel him; all of him.

Bucky’s lips began to bite and suck at the soft skin of my neck and I traced my finger nails down his back. 

“Bucky?” I spoke suddenly. 

He hummed in response, not bothering to speak because that would mean he would need to stop leaving his mark on me. 

“Do you have a condom?” 

That pulled his attention away from me, for a few seconds, as he bent down on the ground and pulled one from the pocket of his pants. I leaned up on my elbows and raised a brow at him. Bucky merely shrugged in response. 

“I always carry one, just in case.” 

Our lips met again while he slipped the condom over his throbbing cock and we broke momentarily to lock eyes, Bucky cupping my chin. 

“Are you ready?” 

I responded by pulling him in for another kiss. 

With that, Bucky buried his cock deep into my cunt and we both screamed out our groans of pleasure, the feeling causing my skin to prick. I squeezed against him, swallowing his length in warmth and our hips began to move in sync.

His fingers wrapped around my neck while his thumb forced my jaw up towards him.

Bucky would pull his cock out, only keeping the head in, before slamming his hips against mine, a loud moan falling from my parted lips. He continued this a few times, my body smacking the table hard with every snap of his hips.

I went to slip a finger between us but he slapped my hand away, a growl of arousal slipped through his lips.

“Mine.”

The pad of his thumb pressed against my clit and with the fast and relentless pace he had chosen now, I felt the coil deep in my stomach begin to tense, my second orgasm so close.

It was as if Bucky could sense in the way my body tensed, begging to let go. 

“Not yet. Wait for me,” he demanded.

I whined in displeasure. “I can’t. I’m going to cum.”

Our bodies slammed against each other, skin slapping against skin, and the wet noises that came from the place we were connected were so filthy that I was ready to let my body go, walls tensing around Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck, doll. I’m going to cum too,” he moaned.

He lifted his forehead from my chest and forced our gazes to lock again, my arm wrapped around his shoulder to bring him closer, thumb rubbing circles on his bicep. His eyes took in every inch of my face, burning the way I gasped silently when I felt the tip of his cock hit that spot. 

Bucky removed his bottom lip from the tight grip between his teeth as he let out a deep but quiet moan, spilling his release into the condom, hips stuttering against me.

I screamed out his name with my own release and bit at the skin of his neck, careful not to leave a mark.

Bucky collapsed his body onto me and I ran a finger through his damp hair, both of us coming down from our shared high. Bucky’s own fingers traced circles over my hip and I shivered at his touch. 

The moment we shared was quickly interrupted by his phone ringing and he groaned, wanting to ignore it. 

I kissed his forehead. “You should probably get that. Could be important.” 

Bucky reluctantly nodded and left a kiss on my lips before he detached himself from me to reach for his phone. I couldn’t help but peek over his shoulder to who was calling and when I saw her picture, my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. 

Suddenly, guilt filled my veins when I realized exactly what happened so I jumped off of the table and gathered my clothes quickly. Bucky noticed and set the still ringing phone down. 

“Doll, what's wrong?” 

I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. “I can’t believe that happened.” 

Bucky sighed while standing to his feet, pulling his pants up and buckling it quickly.

“Y/N.” 

“This was a mistake,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” 

He went to reach for me but I stepped back, once dressed, and hastily whipped away the tears. Bucky looked at me with a broken stare.  

“Doll, I wanted this. It wasn’t a mistake.” 

I ignored him by shaking my head repeatedly and scurried out of the room, Bucky’s pleas sounding farther and farther behind me. 

[cafejulii]

Kurapika being deemed by the hxh fandom as one of, if not the most, aesthetically pleasing character in all of hxh is ironically hilarious to me.

While I agree with this sentiment to an extent, as someone who is very keen to elements that make up an inherent sense of asethetic, canonically speaking; it should be expected that Kurapika has almost everything that would go against having a cohesive one. If anything, I am in firm belief that the main reason why he holds such a title is due to the manga covers along with the elegantly crafted filler added in hxh 1999 in which depicts the suffering intertwined with the discovery of his nen ability in such an artistic manner, which then created the baseline aesthetic for the lovely artists of this fandom to further expand upon.

But outside of this? Even so, many hxh fans still agree that he holds a sense of aestheticism to him. It truly does not matter that his color palette is all over the place, or that he would absolutely not care for style, and that, when not his cultural attire or a suit; he dresses as though he had walked into each of his friends closet's, picked out one item from each one, and wore them all together and called it fashion. (They absolutely do not match at all and Killua would absolutely have a stroke at the sheer sight of such grievous combinations).

Specifically talking about these 2011 official arts in which he is one step away from becoming Armin Artlert. (Even complete with the seagull)

Either that, or he dresses like a recently divorced wine mom. Or a butch lesbian. Not to feminize him in any way of course. It’s just the observed truth. It’s just the, pure, unavoidable reality when you dress in those particular color combinations, wear flannel or an oversized sweater, and have that oh so particular “fuck ass bob.”

Specifically talking about these 1999 official arts. A friend of mine had pointed out to me that the one on the right reminded them of Major Hughes’s wife from FMA and I couldn’t stop laughing. Poor 1999 official art Kurapika they did him so wrong.

Though there also many instances in the 1999 official arts in which he does a complete 180, and dresses as though he were the most insufferable character in a shitty 90’s mafia movie. While yes, in the manga, he is technically a mob boss as of now, I genuinely could not fathom watching the absolute mess of succession war unfold with a straight face if he dressed like this.

Yet even still, we have a multitude of artists making the most breathtaking artworks that depict him in agony while holding the eyes of his people almost as if he were some sort of sacrilegious patron, a lot of which are usually inspired Catholic/ Orthodox paintings. (I love these types of arts so much)

Now thinking about it, I suppose, maybe he is so aesthetically appealing because he is an androgynous presenting man with heavy backstory that has many symbolic ties to Christianity as he is representative of Lucifer in juxtaposition to Chrollo who is seen as this twisted version of Jesus Christ. And as we know, it was Lucifer who was considered to be the most “ beautiful of all the angels.”

But anyway, I digress. Bro is just ethereal. Congratulations togashi for creating a character so intentionally-unintentionally aesthetic.

(also this is very much a shitpost please I beg don’t take this seriously at all)

[attapullman]

The dots are connecting!! Ahhhhh!!!

(kingpin!Morgan and I are honestly too alike "tell me about your little crush on the new accountant" is me. Give up the deets, Bobby Boy!)

kingpin ⦾ fifteen

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x ofc!emery young  word count: 2774 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], old friends, suspicions, bob jerks off…again

summary: in which bob has some suspicions of his own

fourteen | kingpin | sixteen

Bob watched the two old friends cautiously. It wasn’t until Emery confirmed that Decker was some guy who went to the diner where her mom worked under the name Dion that pieces started to click for him. 

“So Decker was a guy you both knew as Dion?” Coyote asked for clarification. 

Emery nodded while Mickey said, “yeah. He was a regular at Flo’s.”

“Did your mom seem like she knew him outside of him being a customer?” Halo asked. 

“I don’t know, I was nine,” Emery replied. “Look, can we talk about this more tomorrow? My sister is already suspicious from Monday night and I don’t want to lie to her more than I have to.”

“Yeah–,” Bob started to agree, but Mickey cut him off. 

“You have a sister?” He looked shocked. 

Bob couldn’t blame him. From what he knew, they’d lost contact after Emery moved away and Mickey’s family moved to the city. They’d been young, too young to have any means to keep in touch without the adults in their lives’ help. With Emery in foster care, it was hard to be sure that Mickey’s family would know where she’d end up. 

Emery placed her glass on the edge of Bob’s desk and handed him his phone back. “Is it alright if I work from home tomorrow? It’s been a hell of a week and I need some time to process everything.” 

She didn’t acknowledge Mickey’s question. like she couldn’t bring herself to entertain the small talk. 

“Yeah, of course,” Bob agreed. He’d rather have her on board than not at all, and if time was what she needed, he could give that to her. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She didn’t say anything as she left, likely to gather what she’d need to work at home tomorrow, and Mickey pinned Bob down with his gaze. 

“Coyote, would you mind escorting Halo out?” Bob asked. They took their cue, making sure the office door was shut behind them. He stared back at Mickey, relaxing in his chair as he sipped his whiskey. 

“You told me that you would keep her out of this,” Mickey spat. “You told me that if I stopped investigating your family and the death of Emery’s mom that she would be left alone. And now she’s up to her elbows in your shit.”

He remembered that day clearly. He remembered the deal he struck with the cop standing before him. 

Mickey had been a new officer sticking his nose into business he shouldn’t have been. Coyote had alerted Bob that someone was digging into the murder at Flo’s diner. Bob had ears inside a few of the local police departments and figured out who the cop was pretty quickly. 

Bob still saw Mickey as a scared kid who was just trying to find answers. He was still trying to protect Emery all these years later. He understood it. She had a naïve innocence about her that he also wanted to protect. 

“I know what I said,” Bob replied with a sigh. “I know she wasn’t meant to be a part of this, but she is. The more we find out about Decker, the more involved she is. It seems like she’s been part of this a lot longer than either of us thought, Mickey. I need you to tell me everything you remember about Dion.”

Mickey ran his hands over his face. “He never spoke to us first, always waited for us to greet him before he’d start a conversation. Didn’t seem weird or anything, and Betty was friendly with him.”

Bob nodded, absorbing his words as thoughts of his own swirled around in his head. He didn’t want to ask Mickey anything too personal, but he was curious. He needed to know if there was any chance, no matter how slim. 

“I’m going to ask you something that can never get back to Emery, okay?”

“Won’t be too hard considering she doesn’t want to talk to me at the moment,” Mickey replied bitterly. 

Bob pushed on. “Is there any part of you that believes he could’ve been Emery’s father?”

Mickey stared at him incredulously but he stayed quiet. Bob watched him start to pace. It was like he could see the gears turning in the younger man’s head. 

“If the account Decker was funneling money into was for Betty Young, then it’s not improbable, right?” Mickey asked. “Why else would he do that? Is there anyone else in Decker’s life with the initials FBY?”

“Okay, I need you to take two steps backwards and stop spiralling, alright?” Bob ran a hand through his hair. “I just asked the question but without any proof, there’s no reason to jump to any conclusions. No one can know what I suspect, Mickey.”

“I know, I know,” he assured Bob. “But if you’re right though...who’s to say that Decker won’t come back for her if she is his kid?” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Bob had a lot on his mind. He needed to give Emery some time to deal with everything in her own way, but he had a lot of questions to ask her. He needed to know everything she remembered about Dion, everything she knew about her mother. If she still had any of her mom’s things. 

He knew Coyote could dig up a lot more if he needed it, but he felt compelled to give her a chance to come clean. She might not see it as hiding information, but whatever she knew, no matter how insignificant, could potentially make the rest of the puzzle click into place. 

Morgan knew he was miles away when he sat down in his regular booth at Feathers and dismissed one of the dancers. She was a regular of his, and he knew that brushing her off would cause his sister to pry. There was a reason Morgan wasn’t involved in the meetings, and he’d have to lay everything out to her to make sense of it all. Even just saying it aloud helped him think better, but she also had an outside perspective. Fresh eyes, if you will. 

“You’re frowning,” she observed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Richard held a meeting today,” Bob replied, blowing out a breath. “He slipped up and called Emery by her mom’s name.”

“Richard knew her mom?”

Bob nodded, loosening his tie. “She worked at Flo’s when we still had the diner. Never called her Betty, though, always Betsy. Emery called him condescending and disgusting; couldn’t help herself, I guess. Even with my warnings.” He reached for his glass and threw back the whiskey, swallowing thickly before meeting his sister’s eyes. “What?”

“Is that why Emery doesn’t like talking about her mom?”

���Fucked if I know,” he said, blowing out breath. “Maybe it’s part of it? It’s like she doesn’t want to remember what happened, so that’s why she refuses to talk about it. But we might’ve discovered something that means I need her to talk.”

“What something?”

“The account that Decker’s been sending himself money to? Yeah, we think it has something to do with Emery’s mom.”

“Emery’s mom? Betty? For Betty Young?” Morgan asked in a hushed whisper. Bob nodded. “Do you think Emery’s lying to you?”

“Not intentionally,” he confessed. “I think she’s blocked out most of her childhood because of what happened to her mom, which is understandable.” Morgan nodded at his words. “If she does know something that could be useful to us, though...I’d hate to think of what Richard would make me do to her. I need her to talk and she won’t.”

“You need to get her drunk,” Morgan replied. “Do you remember the first time I met her? She was all rigid, but she drank on Monday night. Not a lot, but enough to chew you out.” Bob smiled at the memory. “You like that she’s not afraid of you.”

Bob scoffed dismissively. “Don’t start, Mo.”

Morgan smirked back at him, watching him fidget in his seat. “Look, it’s been a long week for her. Maybe if I suggest a night out, she might let loose a little. Be more receptive to talking.”

“Morgan, the whole point of our meeting today was that Decker is working with Sergei Popov and they want Richard dead,” Bob replied lowly. “I’m not endorsing a night out at the moment.”

“What about some drinks at Dice on Friday night? Invite Emery and her sister. Coyote can be there too.”

Bob shook his head firmly. “I’m not going to put her sister at risk when she has no idea what kind of shit we’re into, okay?” He told her. 

“Girls’ night, then?” Morgan continued. “I’ll invite Emery and her sister out. Drinks, dancing, guys. See what I can get out of her.”

“Mo, there’s a curfew in place. No one goes out alone, especially not a Floyd.”

“You’re here alone,” she pointed out. 

“Coyote’s in the security office, and I’m here with you,” he replied.

Morgan sighed. “It’s that serious?” Bob nodded grimly. “Then why don’t we all go out on Friday night, then? Or make it seem like it’s a girls’ night, but Omaha and Harvard bump into us. I know them, Emery doesn’t.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“Then put your big boy pants on and wine and dine her. I don’t know what to tell you, Bob. You need answers, and she needs her inhibitions loosened to open up.”

Bob rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine, invite them out. I’ll figure out who’s going to watch you, but you don’t touch Feathers or Dice with a ten foot pole,” he told her. “Natasha doesn’t know anything about us, according to Emery, and we’re going to keep it that way. Show her that we trust her as much as she trusts us.”

Morgan nodded in agreement. “Perfect! Now, tell me about your little crush on the new accountant.”

Bob dropped his head onto the table and groaned. When he straightened back up, Morgan was grinning mischievously. “I thought I said don’t start?”

“So you don’t deny the crush?”

“Of course I don’t deny it,” he replied curtly. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Bob was at Fitch’s early the next morning. Coyote had wanted to join him, but he’d declined. He’d stayed at Feathers with Morgan to make sure she got home safely, and Bob needed him rested and alert. 

Payback had been at the meeting. He nodded at Bob as he approached the bag he’d been practising with, and Bob paused to have a drink of water. 

“Coyote’s signed her up for some more intensive hand to hand combat drills,” Payback said in lieu of a greeting. Bob appreciated that small talk was pointless when there were bigger things to worry about. 

“That’s good,” Bob replied, trying to catch his breath. “Is she due in this morning?”

“Yeah, shortly. That was...quite a revelation she dropped last night,” he stated.

Bob chuckled humourlessly. “Yeah, don’t I know it. How’s her sister fitting in?”

Payback nodded at the shift in conversation. “Nat’s good. Got a few more women coming in for a boot camp she’s started and teaches a beginner self-defense class. Business as usual, really.”

Bob’s mind was elsewhere, and Payback took it as a sign to let him finish his workout in peace. When there were things to tell, he’d know. Until then, he’d keep his head down and focus on work, and keep Nat as in the dark as he could. 

Bob was grateful for the silence once again. He put his gloves back on and squared up with the bag, throwing a different sequence of hits. Part of him wanted to be done with his session before Emery arrived, but the other part wanted to see her. Talk to her and see how she slept. If he could be friendly with her, maybe she’d feel more obliged to share information about her past. Maybe there wouldn’t be a need for Morgan to intervene. 

There were too many moving parts. Too many variables. 

His next punch landed hard against the bag, causing it to swing and the chain holding it to rattle. 

“What did that poor bag ever do to you?”

Bob cracked a grin at Emery’s words, steadying the bag before he turned to face her. She looked amused. 

“Hey,” he greeted, shaking his head slightly at his own incompetence. “Didn’t know you’d be here this early.” Lie. 

Emery shrugged. “Yesterday was...a lot. You tried to prepare me, but I don’t think either of us anticipated how confronting it would be. I’m sorry if I fucked things up.”

“But you’re not sorry you said those things?”

He studied her as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She looked poised, yet uncomfortable. Like apologising wasn’t what she’d planned on doing, but at least she looked like she meant it. 

“I do understand that there’s a lot I need to learn, and you tried to warn me to shut up. Both before the meeting and during...” she trailed off, tugging her ear anxiously. “No, I’m not sorry I said those things.”

Bob nodded in understanding. There were times he wished he had the nerve to speak up for himself like Emery had, but he had seen his father kill. He knew what he was capable of, and he had no doubt that Richard would kill his successor if he felt threatened. 

“I have a lot more questions, Emery,” he told her. “Uncomfortable ones. I know you’ve been overloaded with them already and that you need time to process, but we don’t have that luxury right now.”

Emery swallowed as she held his gaze. “I know. You and Coyote can come over around ten. I’ll try to be receptive.”

Bob gave her a soft smile, feeling like he was slowly getting somewhere. “Thank you. Oh, and by the way, Morgan wants to do some kind of girls’ night. If you’re interested, that is?”

“Isn’t that kind of...counterproductive right now? With everything going on?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I said the same thing, but she waved me off. She said to invite Natasha, too.”

“I assume Morgan’s under the same curfew as we all are, so who’s going to be watching us?”

Bob smiled slightly, grateful she was picking things up. “She suggested people you don’t know. People who’ll hang back and keep an eye on things from a distance, so Natasha doesn’t think anything of it.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m not much of a partier,” she said noncommittally. “I’ll see you later. Payback’s waiting for me.”

Bob watched her leave. The slight way of her hips caused his breath to catch. He’d never get over that perfect ass and the way her shorts clung to her. He willed himself to look away, but when his gaze wandered up her body, he caught her staring back at him over her shoulder. 

Busted. 

She smirked, having caught him, and he flushed something fierce as he tried to turn his attention back to the punching bag. He couldn’t help himself as he glanced back over at her, her eyes shining as they locked with his while she nodded at whatever Payback was saying. 

When she licked her lips, Bob thought he was going to combust. Head spinning as he tore his eyes away and removed his gloves, snatching his things and marching off to the changing rooms for a cold shower. He was nowhere near done with his workout, but if he let his thoughts deviate a second longer, he’d be pitching a painfully obvious tent in the middle of the gym. He’d already been caught staring. He didn’t need to be caught half mast surrounded by his insubordinates, especially not since one of them was the person of his desires. 

Emery.

He locked the door to the shower stall and turned the water on, making quick work of undressing. He fisted his cock before he stepped under the stream of water, trying to ease some of his discomfort. Biting his lip to stop the groan of pleasure that threatened to tear from his throat. The water aided his movements, his hand stroking his slick, hard cock with expert precision. Teasing his tip then working down to the base and squeezing. His breath stuttered as he rolled forward, legs spreading a little further. Hips matching his strokes as he reached his crescendo and spilled all over the tiled wall. Milking every drop of cum from his shaft with a satisfied smirk. 

Fuck, he was in trouble if he couldn’t keep himself together around her.

author's note: remember to follow my other blog @bobgasm-library and turn on blog notifications so you don't miss an update!

[bobfloydsbabe]

So... I'm writing for Mob Boss Bob for the first time in forever.

[aro-of-argentum]

Red Dahlia- Chapter 9

WC: 6,095

Notes: Jason and the reader finally talk about what happened, Jason tells reader about his past, the man is starved for affection and the reader is starting to help with that, Jason is a flirt, Reader makes a phone call to one Mr. Pennyworth. Most of this chapter is just conversations between the two of them.

Beta'd by: @teaspacebar

Previous Chapter, Masterlist, Next Chapter

Chapter 9:

Jason had stayed asleep for most of the day, even though the anesthetics were long worn off. You continued to give him pain meds every few hours, or whenever he started to fidget, and had been changing his bandages as needed. The total for you so far was 44 consecutive waking hours, but you found that no matter how exhausted you were, you couldn’t settle enough to sleep. You knew you needed to, and you wanted to, but each time you attempted to lie down on the couch for at least a nap, the worry that something might happen to Jason while you slept kept you awake.

Now, you had an almost empty IV bag of saline attached to your arm as you sat on the couch and flipped through channels with the television on mute to kill time until it ran out. You paused for a moment on a news story from Metropolis about Superman taking down some mob boss, apparently incredibly dangerous, before turning the TV off all together. You tried to convince yourself that you’d survive not sleeping until he got better, but at this point you felt like you could barely stand without an adrenaline rush, and you weren’t keeping anything down unless it came through the IV line.

A cough sounded from your bedroom followed by a strained, “Ow,” and you heaved a breath as you pulled the IV from your arm and rose from the couch. Jason was looking around the room confused when you entered, knocking on the slightly ajar door before stepping in.

“Hey,” was your tired greeting, paired with a soft smile. You were certain there was exhaustion all over your face, but you hoped he would be able to see relief there too. Most of what you could read on Jason’s face when he saw you was shock.

“Am I dead?” There was a concerned and almost panicked tone in his voice that struck at your heart.

You were quick to reassure him. “No. You’re in my apartment. You’re safe, and you are going to be okay.”

 He took a shaky breath in, stopping with a wince when he had to because of his damaged ribs. A hard swallow bobbed in his throat before he responded with a nod, “Okay.”

“Do you remember what happened?” You asked, cautiously taking a seat at the edge of the bed. “You didn’t tell me much.”

A flash of shame crossed his eyes. “I was ambushed. There were eight guys, and a couple of them had armor piercing ammo.”

You huffed. “Yeah, that I do know. I still have one on my counter.” You shook your head to yourself for a moment before you continued. “You’re probably the luckiest man alive to not have been hit in places I couldn’t fix here. No bones or organs…”

“That was probably on purpose actually.”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The guy I was after, Morgan Edge,” he clarified, “He doesn’t like to let people off the hook easy. He probably wanted to make sure I didn’t die too quickly.” Jason couldn’t watch the pain that crossed your face at that, so he averted his gaze and continued. “Edge usually only has to deal with Superman; was probably pissed I was snooping around.”

A flash of memory from the news just a moment ago appeared in your mind. “That’s the guy you were going after? And you didn’t have any back up or-”

“I was just supposed to be getting information from an old contact.” He interrupted gently and waited for you to nod in acceptance before he continued. “He must’ve heard I was coming for him; wanted to remove me from the equation, I guess.”

You nodded again, content to take any information he’d be willing to share, even if it meant hearing the details of his almost death.

“I remember being surrounded and getting shot… a few times. I took out everybody else in that alley, but I knew I didn’t have a lot of time, so I-” His eyes darted toward you and found you staring back at him. “I need you to know I didn’t come here expecting this.” He made a vague gesture toward himself with his hands. “I just needed to see you, I needed to apologize for-” He let his head drop back softly against the pillows bracing his back and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Jason, we don’t have to have that conversation right now. We can talk about it later, you’re still-”

“No.” He stopped you. “It’s been long enough. I was going to come see you after I got this mission taken care of anyway. We should talk.”

You shook your head slightly at the idea and looked at him directly before relenting to speak. “I’m still upset about all of it. I have guesses but no actual answers on why everything went down the way it did, and no matter how many times I tried to get ahold of you, you just-” You stopped, and clenched and unclenched your fists a couple of times to try to calm down.

Jason nodded in guilty admittance. “You’re right.”

Tears sprung to your eyes as emotions overwhelmed you. “You can’t do that to me again. We need to be able to talk about things. Even if it isn’t right away. But you can’t just disappear for a month. You made an assumption about how I felt, and I know I did the same, but when I tried to explain, you ignored me, and you left, and then you were just gone. For weeks.” Your voice was dripping with hurt as your eyes released the tears in them. “I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again and it broke my fucking heart, and then out of nowhere you’re here, and you’re dying in my arms, and you’re telling me that you-” You cut yourself off with an angry scoff and your hands were quick to wipe your cheeks before you spoke again. “I just- You can’t do that again. You can’t.”

“I know.” He nodded again, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting to make sure you knew he was taking in your words. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m here now, though, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A halfhearted smile pulled at your lips at his playful gesture to his bandages, and you hung your head. “I just needed to know that you wanted to show me; that you weren’t just doing it because I’d all but asked you to.”

“No, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you to know who I am for a long time.”

You brought your head back up, tilted slightly in question. “How long?”

“Halloween, I think. I realized I wanted to always walk you home, be able to hold your hand, and have you know I’m there. I’ve only been able to do that one other time under the mask… It’s not enough.” He gave a shrug with his right side as though the reason was obvious. “I was scared you would like the mystery of it all more than you would’ve wanted to know. I didn’t- I don’t,” He corrected himself, as he was acutely aware that he hadn’t actually clarified the next part of his sentence with you, “I don’t want you to be disappointed about me being the one under the helmet.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you balked at him. “Right, sure, just an incredibly thoughtful, kind, smart, beautiful, enormous man under there. Jason Todd, anyone who would be disappointed to see you is out of their fucking mind.”

His eyes were wide as he stared at you. “Would you come here please?” He reached for you with his right hand and once you’d stepped close enough for him to get an okay grip, he pulled you down into the bed next to him. “I’m gonna kiss you.” He nodded as he said it and didn’t wait for a response before pulling your lips to his, threading his fingers over your hair at the back of your head.

The air was stolen from your lungs as Jason kissed you. It was slow and deliberate and all consuming, and when he finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, it took you a moment to come back to yourself.

“The dumbest fucking thing I ever did was thinking I could go the rest of my life without doing that again,” he whispered with his eyes still closed before pressing a short kiss to the corner of your mouth.

The sentiment and the action made you smile as you continued to lean into his space, trying desperately to make sure you weren’t accidentally going to mess up all the work you’d done to keep him alive. You moved to pull away, and when you felt him tense up, you kissed his cheek for reassurance. Once you felt him relax a bit, you sat upright again, though this time next to him, rather than at the foot of the bed. Your hand reached for his face, gently brushing over his cheek and carefully avoiding the bottom edge of the bandage on the side of his head. “I’m happy I know now.”

“Yeah?” A hopeful smile crossed his features.

“Yeah.” You smiled in return, eyes roaming over his face as you continued, “The full helmet is a good idea though.” Your fingers moved up to play with the white strands above his forehead. “The hair is a dead giveaway.”

A short chuckle escaped his chest before being cut off by a sharp inhale. The following grunt of discomfort reminded you why you’d come into the room in the first place.

“Right. One second.” You stood up from the bed too fast and got a rush in your head, but recovered quickly and were off to get the pain relievers from your cabinet. There wasn’t much of the prescription level meds left, meaning you’d either need to get ahold of more, or Jason would be switching to over-the-counter medication just days after being shot. When you returned to your room with the bottle in your hand, you found the man watching you through squinted eyes.

“What was that?”

You squinted in return, having assumed the answer fairly obvious. You held up the bottle and shook it a little. “Painkillers.”

“No, right before you left. You got dizzy; I saw you sway. Why?”

You shook your head to dismiss it. “Jason, I’m fine.”

He continued to stare you down as he asked, “Do you not know, or do you not want to tell me?” Jason waited a moment to give you time to respond. When you didn’t, he brought your own argument against you. “We’re trying to be better about talking about things, yeah?”

A sigh escaped you as you rolled your eyes at his insistence. “I’m a little dizzy because I’m down two units of blood.”

He immediately sat up straighter, looking almost comical to you as a person wrapped in bandages went into high alert. “What? Why? What happened?”

“You needed more than I had stocked up.” You pointed to where his IV was taped into his arm, one of the ports currently unoccupied by transfusion tubing.

Guilt flooded Jason’s face and posture. “Oh.” He deflated some, sitting back against the pillows once more. “Wait, how did you test for my blood type?”

You shrugged, “Didn’t need to, I’m O neg.”

“Huh, that’s lucky.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am too.”

“Hm.” You hummed in acceptance of the information. “I guess that’s good information to know, just in case.” You rattled the bottle in your hand slightly. “Do you want the meds?”

He seemed to consider it for a moment. “Are they going to put me out again?”

“They might,” You admitted.

“Then can I take them later, or is it going to fuck up a schedule?” He seemed to wince at his own request, as though hoping it wasn’t an overstep to ask.

You shook your head slightly. “The schedule is to make sure you don’t take too much too quickly. You can wait if you want but aren’t you in pain?” You questioned him with concern all through your face and voice.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to pass out again right now, I’d rather just deal with it.” He dismissed you without hesitation.

“Jason…”

The man’s heart ached at the pain he found in your expression. “I promise, I’m used to stuff like this.” He attempted to reassure you, “It’s not a big-”

“You’re used to being a single breath away from dead?” You interrupted him with the sarcastic question and were immediately caught off guard by his answer.

“I mean I was once before…” He mumbled. Jason’s attention snapped back up to you at the choked noise that you gave in response to his statement.

There were instant tears in your eyes. “What?” The word came out barely above a whisper.

Jason let the remaining breath in his lungs escape him as a sigh. “Do you remember when you asked me if I liked working with Batman, and I told you it was complicated?”

You blinked, still staring at him, almost afraid to move. “Yes.”

“I have some stuff I want to tell you. I’d love for you to come sit back down first, though, if you’re okay to.”

It took a moment for your brain to connect with the rest of your body and you were able to nod and wipe the tear that had fallen away from your cheek before gingerly sitting down next to Jason on your bed.

He told you everything. You listened intently as he spoke about his parents, how each of them died, and what his life was like afterward. He told you about stealing the tires off the Batmobile and eventually becoming the second Robin because of it, and about how he died in the uniform at the hands of the Joker only a couple of years later. The next thing he had memories of was training with the League of Assassins, though he also told you what he knew of his resurrection from being informed by others himself. He got around to how he ended back up in Gotham to avenge his own death, how he discovered that Batman had already taken a new Robin, and how he more or less ran the Gotham Underground for a time. You noticed his hesitation and shame around the details that involved him being a ruthless killer, and his attempts on Batman and the other vigilantes’ lives. Eventually he explained the deal he’d made with the Bat about being able to return to the “good guys” so long as he swore off killing. At this he seemed conflicted.

“And I don’t mind having to prove myself, I get it, I was one of his biggest problems for a while but fuck I’ve been doing my best with all of this for years now, and the old man still treats me like I’m going to explode at any second. I swear to God, he’s gotta have a muzzle stashed somewhere just in case, or probably a fucking kill-switch implanted in my brain for if I “go too far.”” He put up air quotes with his right hand for the last part of his sentence, and you got the feeling it was a phrase that had been used on him more than he’d like. Jason finally turned his head to face you for the first time since he started his biographic recounting and found you slowly bobbing your head up and down as you processed the information. “Well?”

You took another moment to consider your response before you decided on, ““Complicated” feels like an understatement.”

Jason snorted at your response and let his head drop back against the pillows situated behind him. “Yeah.”

Your hand crept to his, and once you found it, you were quick to lace your fingers through his, squeezing his hand as you spoke. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. “Me too, Sweetheart.” For a moment Jason’s hesitance returned, a cloud of worry forming over his head. “I didn’t scare you off with all of that, did I?”

“No,” You responded immediately, softly. “It was a lot to take in, but I’m not going anywhere.”

A smirk crossed his face. “So, you’re gonna stay in bed with me all day?” He joked to try to relieve some of the pressure in the room. It worked.

“Oh, see now you’re pushing it.” You chuckled as you spoke. “Tragic backstory, I can handle, but cuddles? You’ve gone too far.”

“And here I thought we already had. Must have been nothing but a dream…” He tried to force a dramatic sigh and ended up gasping in pain instead.

“Jason!” You were immediately sat up and looking him over.

“I’m good, it’s fine, I just-” He hissed through his teeth as his right hand ghosted over the stitches in his left side.

“Okay,” was your confirmation with a nod and you were on your feet, rounding the corner of the bed to reach him.

Jason saw you coming and tried to intervene. “I said it’s fine, you don’t-”

“Stop it.” You swatted his hand away as you began to pull at the bandage over the site. Your tongue clicked in your mouth as you looked over the wounds in front of you. They were healing well so far for the most part, though clearly irritated by the amount of movement in the last few minutes. You looked back up to Jason’s face and found him looking at you curiously, as though waiting for your analysis. “You didn’t pull any of them out, but it is inflamed now, which means your pain is going to be worse. Would you please take the drugs?”

He nodded and gave a rough “Mm hmm, yeah.”

“Great.” You grabbed the bottle of painkillers, handed him two and a glass of water off the bedside table, no longer needing to dissolve them in his IV since he was awake. You also helped him sit up slightly so it would be easier for him to take them, and you found yourself absentmindedly rubbing his exposed back as you supported him. You waited as he downed the medicine and an additional sip of water before humming appreciatively. His eyes were softly closed, and you felt more of his weight lean into you, his body relaxing some at your touch. “You okay?”

“Feels good,” he responded, leaning further into you and resting his head against your collarbone.

It made your heart melt to see him being so openly affectionate, especially after everything he’d just told you about feeling so alone, but you wanted to reapply the compound on his stitches just to be safe, and for that, you needed to move. You pressed a kiss into his hair and whispered, “Baby, I can’t hold you like this forever, I still have stuff to do.”

“Oh,” A blush crept over Jason’s face as he realized how long he’d been pressed into you, and then at the realization of just how much he enjoyed you referring to him so endearingly. “Sorry…” he mumbled as he did his best to pull away.

“No, hey,” Your hand cupped his cheek as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then another. “It’s for you, and I’ll be right back.” You helped him lay back before leaving the room to retrieve the compound. In only a moment you were back and gently dabbing the plasma over the stitches in hopes it would soothe the irritation and help with scarring. As you pulled his bandages back in place and stood up, you fought and lost against a yawn.

“You’re tired.” Jason’s eyes snapped to your face as he realized for the first time that the circles under your eyes may have come from more than just the blood loss. It had to have been a rough couple of days for you since he got here. “How long has it been since you slept?”

You shrugged in accepted defeat. “Couple days. I just keep getting worried something’s going to happen while I’m out.”

Guilt covered Jason’s face. “You’re worried about me. Fuck, Sweetheart I’m sorry, that’s not fair.”

“Jason, it’s okay, I know you’re stable now, you’re coherent, you’re healing. I’m going to go try to take a nap on the couch after your meds kick in” You gestured over your shoulder toward the living room as you suggested it. “I’ll be-”

“You could stay.” He cut you off. The confusion on your face was clear to him so he clarified, “I’m in your bed anyway; you could sleep in here… with me.” He hoped he hadn’t crossed any boundaries with the suggestion. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. “I remember waking up with you here at one point, right?”

“Jay, you were hypothermic. And shivering. You needed the body heat.” You stated it matter-of-factly and Jason decided to try one more time.

“Sure, but it was nice, and I want-” He wanted to hold you so you could sleep; to take care of you like you were taking care of him. “What if I say I’m cold?”

With a snort of a laugh, you relented. “Okay, just a minute.” You left the room again, much to Jason’s dismay, but quickly returned, no longer wearing old scrubs. Instead, you were dressed in something very similar to what you were wearing the first time Jason saw you. It was a different shirt, though still oversized, and shorts that barely peeked out underneath.

He thought for a moment what you might look like wearing his t-shirt, but quickly shot the idea down when he realized how far his imagination would go if left unchecked. He carefully moved over a little on the bed, giving you room to sit next to him. “Here.”

You smiled, a soft exhale coming through your nose. “I still need to check your other stitches and fix your pillows.”

“Right, sure,” Jason’s neck and cheeks reddened in embarrassment at his eagerness. His eyes followed your movements as you reached for the blanket covering the lower half of his body.

“May I?” You asked cautiously, knowing that there was a new tension to examining the wound on his leg now that he was awake. You waited for his nod of approval before lifting the blanket and exposing his left leg, bare from the top of his thigh down. You’d needed to cut away his compression leggings to tend to the bullet hole there, and you hadn’t been embarrassed about it until now, when your hands were on his skin as he watched.

Jason’s eyes were trained unflinchingly on your hands as you carefully removed the bandage from the upper part of his thigh and spread more of the compound over it before replacing the covering. You skipped over the two in his side, having already checked them, and moved to the wound in his shoulder. Jason could only continue to watch your skilled fingers as they ran gently over his stitches, not feeling anything other than the slightest of pressure as the painkillers began to kick in. When you moved to check over the one on the side of his face, Jason could no longer see your hands and opted to watch your face instead. He admired the way your eyes focused and squinted slightly when you were concentrating, and the way your lips parted as though to whisper to yourself while you worked. He wanted to reach out and touch you, kiss you again.

“You’re staring.”

“Hmm?” Jason’s attention came back to the moment.

A small chuckle bubbled out of your chest and Jason found himself wishing he could hear the noise forever. “Have you always done this, and I just never caught it because your eyes were behind the mask?” You asked him, glancing up to make eye contact before returning your gaze to your task.

He hesitated to give an answer, unsure whether it would be better to tell you the truth or preserve his dignity. He decided to try for both. “I’d embarrass myself if I told you how often I spend time just looking at you.”

A shocked, “oh,” escaped you as heat flooded your cheeks at his admission. You recovered your composure quickly and decided that leveling the playing field was your best path forward. “At least now I know I don’t have to feel weird about doing the same thing.”

Jason’s eyes went wide for just a moment before his head tilted, eyebrow cocked, and a smirk danced across his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, but you better put that attitude away. I still get to choose whether you make it through this.”

You had a finger raised in warning at him, but Jason only smiled as a bold idea entered his mind. “What?” he asked, maintaining eye contact as he wrapped his right hand around your outstretched one and planted a kiss to the inside of your wrist before he continued speaking. “Mostly naked and covered in scars and bandages not your type?”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment as you looked down at him. His eyes seemed pleading, but you could see the glint of mischief there, and it took a moment before you were able to formulate a response. “Scars, sure. Bandages, no.” You gently pulled your wrist from his grasp to finish reattaching the bandage by his temple as you continued, “I’m not going to help you destroy all the work I put in to keep you alive.”

Jason waited until your work was done and you stepped away to clean up before he spoke again. “So, we’re just ignoring the “mostly naked” part?” He asked.

“We are if you still want me in that bed with you.” You put away supplies in your med kit as you responded to him, and once you were done you turned back around to face him. “Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Do I have to?” He questioned, smirk returning.

You laughed and your eyebrows shot up at his forwardness. “You’re in a mood, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one that gave me drugs, Sweetheart.” He made a dramatic show of shrugging his unwounded shoulder and lying back on the bed as you walked over to him again.

Adjusting his pillows under his left side to keep his injuries elevated, you joked, “Right, so remind me not to give you any more of those unless I’m also putting you to sleep.”

Jason shook his head slightly as he got comfortable. “No need. I’m tired, I’m just holding out for when you’re in here with me.”

When you walked around to the other side and pulled away the covers, Jason looked concerned. “What?” you asked him.

His eyes lingered for a moment on your bare legs. “You aren’t going to be cold?”

“While cuddling a six-foot-four radiator? Not something I’m worried about.”

You were hardly even in the bed before Jason had you dragged into his right side, and he wasn’t entirely sure your head was on the pillow yet when you fell asleep. He breathed as deep a sigh of relief as he could manage as he stared down at you, and a myriad of emotions ran through his mind. He was still angry with himself for having forced a month of separation, and guilty for the way he’d made you feel. But most of what he was able to focus on was the feeling of your body pressed up against his, your hand on his bare chest. You were real, and here, and you cared for him. This was how it should have been the entire time.

He felt sleep calling to him, so he adjusted slightly to press a kiss into the top of your head and whispered, “I love you,” before drifting off himself.

-

You woke up slowly the next morning, having slept all evening and through the night, and for a moment you felt heavy, until you realized it wasn’t your body weight you were feeling. At some point in the night, the two of you had adjusted, and Jason was laid face down on the left side of your body. His head was resting in the crook of your neck and his arm was draped over your abdomen as he snored lightly. You drew your arm up around him and began slowly carding your fingers through Jason’s hair as you laid beneath him. The snoring stopped and you heard a soft hum before you felt the man snuggle closer, his grip on you tightening.

“Good morning,” you cooed, a slight chuckle behind your words.

“Morning,” came the mumbled response before you heard his breathing begin to slow again.

“Would you move over, please?” You hoped he hadn’t fallen back asleep so quickly.

There was no verbal response as he instead squeezed your side and settled again, giving no indication that he intended to move.

“Jay, I need to get up, I need to pee.”

He groaned in protest but rolled slightly to pull his weight off of you, allowing you to get up. When you came back, he was more awake, resting on his side, and his eyes were still sleepy but open.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” The soft smile he gave you could have melted the Arctic.

“Hey,” you responded, sitting next to him on the bed and reaching to run the backs of your fingers along his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore mostly.” He tilted his head side to side for a moment as if considering something before he continued, “Otherwise, okay. Best morning I’ve had in a while.” His movements were slow as he reached to move your hand from his cheek, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “Thank you for staying with me last night.”

“Of course.” You smiled down at him for a moment before a thought you’d been meaning to bring up crossed into your mind. “Hey, I don’t want to ruin this moment,” you started, squeezing his hand to reassure yourself more than anything, “but I wanted to ask you if we should tell anyone you’re here? Maybe your family? Or-”

“Fuck.” Jason’s face dropped as though he was just realizing for the first time that he should let everyone know he was okay. He hadn’t checked in with anyone in almost three days, and given that Superman had taken care of Edge, they would have expected him home by now. He needed to let them know he was okay, or they’d start tearing the city apart looking for him (or his body). He couldn’t have Cassandra leading everyone to your apartment for clues, he didn’t want Bruce anywhere near you. “Fuck.”

“Jason?” You questioned, cautious, given the panic that was now all over his face.

“It’s fine, I just- I’m thinking.” His mind was nearly frantic as he ran through options. He didn’t have his phone, the communicators in his helmet were broken along with the trackers, and if he was being entirely honest with himself, the only person he trusted to not make a scene with all of this was, “Alfred.”

“What?”

Jason looked up to you, calm resurfacing on his features as he formulated his plan. “I need you to call my house, ask for Alfred Pennyworth, and tell him I’m okay.”

You quirked an eyebrow in confusion as you spoke. “You don’t want to talk to him?”

He shook his head. “There’s vocal recognition for the phone lines, if it hears my voice, it’ll alert Bruce and he’ll know everything. I don’t want him involved in this.”

To say you understood his reasoning would be a lie, but you agreed to make the call anyway.  He rattled off the number quickly but stopped you before you could press the dial button.

“Wait.” You froze when he spoke. “Don’t use your name, just say you’re Dahlia and he’ll know. And don’t give your address over the phone, tell him to ask Cassandra.”

“You’ve been keeping me a secret, but someone called Cassandra knows where I live, and Alfred knows me by the name Dahlia?” You questioned.

He nodded slowly and let out a small sigh before he clarified. “Cass is my sister. She saw me drop you off after our bike ride. Alfred is our butler, but also kind of like a grandfather, and he’s the one that got our bracelets made after I asked. The only other person who knows about you is my older brother Dick, but that doesn’t matter right now.”

“Is that everything?” Your thumb hovered over the screen as you asked, ready to call if he said yes.

“I’d love some clothes,” he said, motioning to the phone to ensure you knew he meant that he wanted you to ask Alfred for them.

You nodded and pushed the button to call.

-

Alfred was cooking breakfast for the family when he heard the phone ring. The children would all be awake soon and hungry, after the last day and a half scouring Metropolis for signs of Jason. They had found his motorcycle there, in a base belonging to Morgan Edge’s organization, and so had been tracking down its members in search of anyone who might know anything about the young master’s whereabouts. He put down his utensils and wiped his hands on the towel over his shoulder to ensure he would not dirty the telephone receiver as he picked it up.

“Wayne residence.”

“Hi, I’m calling to speak to Alfred Pennyworth?” He heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice come through the line. She seemed nervous.

“This is he. And to whom and I speaking?”

“I’m Dahlia.”

Alfred’s attention was no longer divided by the eggs he had been scrambling on the stove. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. May I ask the reason for your call?”

“I wanted to let you know he’s safe and okay, he’s with me, and if you want to come see him, you’re welcome to, but you need to come alone.”

“I’m sorry?” His eyebrows lifted in surprise, not only at finding out Jason was alright, but also that the woman had the audacity to make demands regarding his presence.

“It’s his request,” Alfred heard the woman rush to justify. “He said he didn’t want everyone involved, and he trusts you to be discreet.”

“Ah.” The man’s protective bravado deflated somewhat as he was given clarification on Jason’s reasoning. “What is the address?”

“Cassandra knows where I live.”

He frowned at the game-playing involved but understood that Jason was likely the one instructing the woman away from giving any definitive information. “Right.”

“Oh, and Alfred?”

“Yes?”

“He’s asking for clothes, comfortable mostly, if you’re able.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

The phone clicked as the call was ended, and Alfred took a moment to process the conversation he’d just had. It seemed to him that the woman had been genuine, or else she would not have thanked him, or been at all polite. And if there was any ill intent, then surely, she would have asked for ransom right away, rather than clothing. And she would not have identified herself using the code name Jason had given her if it was not the woman Jason trusted so deeply as to have given her a direct line to him. Alfred resolved to do as he was asked and gather some of Jason’s clothes before going to investigate on his own.

He finished making breakfast for the rest of the family and served it before packing a small bag and excusing himself for the day, citing an appointment he’d “forgotten about.” He pulled Cassandra aside when she was done eating to retrieve the address. She had been more than happy to give it when she discovered that Alfred was “finally going to meet the girlfriend,” and seemed to already know that she was not to tell anyone where he was going. The man smiled to himself at the young adults’ conspiracy to keep secrets for one another. He knew that of the three eldest siblings, Cassandra certainly had the most amicable relationship with Bruce, but as much as she pretended otherwise, she loved her brothers more. Anything sworn to secrecy would stay that way, even from their father.

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[scribbbbbles]

How Brooklyn Was Brought To Her Knees - Chapter Two: The Rescue

author's note: HIIIIIIIII this one picks up right where we left off. It's longer!! almost 1k longer!!! let's hope my professors keep being nice to me so we can stay consistent :)

word count: 2.7k

PLEASE CHECK THE MASTERLIST FOR ALL WARNINGS!!!

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I was never one to back down from a fight, but I took Steve Rogers hand. He was an enemy of my father, but he was Steve. Good, honorable, golden Steve. There’s no way he hated my family so much he’d leave me here to rot… right? I hesitated for a second before grasping his fingers, and his eyes softened. He gripped my bicep and yanked me to my feet, where I promptly stumbled. I missed how my assailant’s hand began to shake as he released me. 

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath, steadying me with two hands. “She’s worse off than you were Buck.” 

Wait. 

No. 

I slowly turned as the gears whirred in my head, actually hearing the words that came out of Steve’s mouth this time. The blue eyed man behind me pulled his mask down and shook his head to clear his hair. When he looked back up at me he was James Barnes, heir to the Brooklyn Mob, who last I heard was still missing . 

He wouldn’t look into my eyes. He knew. 

My throat went dry as I put the pieces together in my head. HYDRA had kidnapped Barnes- definitely while he was stationed overseas, it was easier to do on their home turf. If they’d lost their leverage with Bucky, maybe they thought they could play with a different boss. He must’ve been out for months , HYDRA can’t possibly work that fast.

“You got out?” I whispered to him, my voice fleeting in the silent expanse of the room. His eyes remained sharp, though a flicker of guilt blew over them like a top layer of snow shifting. It was just as quickly gone again. He only nodded as he turned to leave the room. 

“You got out so they took me didn’t they? You’re why I’m here aren’t you?!”

“I’m why you’re alive!” He roared as he whipped back to face me, his finger up and pointed in my face. I felt Steve’s grip on me tighten, as if no longer to hold me up but to keep me in place. I planted my feet firmly in response, willing myself not to sway. I held my chin high. Steve’s foot stepped out in front of me, a silent threat to Bucky of stand down . Bucky exhaled sharply. 

“Though frankly I couldn’t care less,” he said, tossing his hand before turning back towards the door. “You’re simply too good of a bargaining chip to leave here. Maybe your father will let me get a night’s rest if I drop your ass back on his doorstep.” 

“Bucky.” Steve tone carried a warning, for what I had no clue. 

Bucky turned back and glared at me, the cold in my bones reaching for him like it longed to go home, and that home was the man in front of me. He was harder than I remember- colder, meaner. His eyes were sharper, along with his jaw, and his nose looked like it had been broken a few more times. His adam’s apple bobbed slightly up and down as his large chest heaved to draw in more air from the stuffy room. His longer hair dusted across the top of his shoulders, with strands of the brown hair falling messily around his face. Some pieces got caught in his unkempt stubble and stuck to his sweaty forehead. Shadows seemed to pool at his feet like he could command them with a flick of his wrist. The pulsing light from the alarms jumped mutely around the small concrete room, illuminating him in a red glow of death. It carved dangerously down his easily 6’ frame and drew harsh lines through his blacked out tactical gear. 

I saw it first in the flashes of  light. His left arm was gone – a robotic-looking silver prosthetic gleamed in its place. On his outer bicep a red star was colored into the mechanism. It whirred ever so slightly as he moved. I barely heard it over the frantic slamming of my heart in my ears and my ragged breathing in the dead silent room, and if I wasn’t so focused on him or so intune with tech, I bet I wouldn’t even notice. I’d bet you couldn’t notice it if he had on a sleeve. This was not the boy who made me beg to be homeschooled to avoid his ponytail pulling, this was someone so much worse. This was less than a man, this was a well manufactured killing machine. He was living death. 

He looked me up and down like I was his prey; and for the first time in my life, I felt like it. 

I’ve never gulped down air faster than when Steve had finally hauled me out of that wretched basement, Bucky refusing to lay a single finger on me. The sunlight was blinding but oh so warm on my face. A grin involuntarily broke out across my chapped lips. There were police everywhere, and yet somehow we walked straight through them to an armored, blacked out SUV. One of the police nodded quickly to Bucky as we passed. 

‘Right, Barnes owns the cops.’ In my defense, I didn’t expect his reach to come out to the Bronx, but everyone can be bought. It’s the only reason any of us have a job. 

Steve kept a firm hold on me, helping me into the back of the van and making sure I wasn’t going to fall over before getting in the driver’s seat. Rogers was always nice to me, and I was thankful for that now. I shuddered internally at the thought of being here alone with Barnes. Steve’s spent a large portion of his life cleaning up Bucky’s messes; and I guess I’m one of them now. We could probably be friends, if it weren’t for our … affiliations. 

The pair of men bickered in the front seat, Bucky opting to just dump me at Stark Tower in downtown; which was also my preferred option. Steve, who ended up making the choice for both of us, said 'there was no way in hell you could just dump her on the street and have it not look like you had kidnapped and held her hostage for five years.’ I also learned from Steve in their heated conversation that Bucky was still the heir, and thus had to answer to his father. I kept my mouth shut at that, though a laugh threatened to bubble past my lips. The prospect of having to see George Barnes in my current state or at all was not one I was a fan of, but the prospect of Bucky still being Daddy’s Little Servant? That cracked a smile. 

Bucky had apparently had someone else call his father for him, lazy asshole, because when we arrived at the Barnes’ Mansion in Brooklyn there were double the amount of usual men and vehicles lining the property. I crossed every finger and toe that they were Stark cars. All I wanted was my dad, no matter how childish of a want it was. I never voiced it, but everyone silently knew. Bucky’s cold eyes had a brief sheen to them as I scanned the cars looking for any identifiable markers, understanding. I was hidden between the two gigantic men as we exited the car and moved inside the house, the main doors heavily thudding behind us as we entered the foyer. 

I heard them before I saw them. I heard my father’s frantic yelling over everything, and I couldn’t stop myself from shoving through both men with whatever strength I possessed. Steve was the only one who tried to stop me, Bucky gladly let go of my arm like it was a cancer to him. Dick. 

“You have the nerve to call my personal cell number after all these years and fucking use my daughter as bait to get me inside your godforsaken shitstain of a house–” I heard a very familiar accented voice boom through the doors in front of me, Steve and Bucky’s steps a few paces behind. They were murmuring about something, but I no longer had it in me to care. A grin crept wide up my cheeks as I shoved open the two double doors into what I could assume was the back meeting hall. 

Every head in the room turned to me as the doors opened. You could hear my father out of breath from across the room. I barely had time to register who I was standing in front of or what I looked like - covered in blood, thin as a rail, paler than any human being should be, and grinning like I just escaped an asylum - before my father croaked out some kind of a pitiful sound and tears poured from my eyes. 

I’ve never seen Anthony Stark run that fast in my life. I let out an ‘oof’ when he collided into me and scooped me up into his arms like I was five years old and not twenty; like he wasn’t one of the most feared bosses on the east coast. Our bodies shook with the combined release of sobs, adrenaline, and five years of worry gone from our shoulders as we collapsed on the floor. He pressed my face so hard into his chest it kind of hurt, but I didn’t care. He smelled like that Gucci cologne he refuses to admit smells like shit and that way too expensive aftershave he’s been using all my life. He eventually pulled back to help me stand, and we both started cackling like witches at the ludicracy of it all, slowly and shakily standing as he held me at arm’s length. He wiped my eyes as I death-grip clung to his forearms. 

He was older, with grays streaking through his slicked back hairstyle and peppered in his overgrown goatee. The bags under his eyes felt more pressing and permanent, hollow dark semi-circles. He was thinner, not by much but still noticeable as I pressed my fingers hard into his suit jacket. It was one of his least favorites, a blue Armani one he always claimed to pull at his shoulders. His lips weren’t as chapped as they used to always be, they were smooth as they pressed several kisses to my hairline. His eyes flitted around my face, and a watery smile stretched across his face. 

“Hi sweet pea,” he said, so soft that no one else could hear, as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes raked up and down my body and I saw the concern knot in his brow. I shook my head at him, looking pointedly before smiling. 

“Hi Dad.” He beamed, his face relaxing and he kissed my forehead before hugging me again. I looked over his shoulder and caught Pepper Potts, who had her face schooled into a neutral expression, holding a toddler about three or four years old in her arms pressing her face away from me and into her shoulder. Next to her stood a young, crying, sixteen year old boy. 

He was ganglier than I remembered, though I guess he had grown more than I thought. His sandy brown hair fell haphazardly across his forehead and his cheeks were flushed from crying. He stood taller, closer to my dad’s height judging by where he landed next to Pepper. He wore his school uniform, a collared button down under a navy sweater and some khakis, but I caught a dainty silver chain around his neck tucked under his shirt. He wore a silver ring on his pinkie finger, a plain band but no doubt engraved with our family insignia. A show of loyalty from an active member. My heart squeezed at that. 

“Hi Peter.” My dad stepped back with a chuckle as Peter Parker flung himself at me. I laughed again and held him close as he picked me up and spun me around in circles. He was taller than me now, and stronger, but he was still my little brother. I caught Steve smiling out of the corner of my eye next to Bucky’s mom and sister, while I heard Bucky and his father leave the room arguing. I didn’t really care, because Peter was suffocating me. I swatted him on the back before he loosened his grip with a rushed, ‘sorry.’ I smiled up at him and he returned the gesture. A silent communication of a thank you. Pepper walked over with the toddler as I stepped out of the hug brushed Peter’s hair off his forehead.

“I missed you,” he said with a watery laugh, his hands remaining on my shoulders. 

“Good because I missed you too.” I got the chance to finally turn to Pepper and see the small child in her arms who looked… just like my dad. I watched Pepper shoot him a glare, and cover the child’s face from seeing me again. I looked at him with an eyebrow obviously cocked and tilted my head. Pepper’s always been a great step-mom, this was not like her to do. He looked to the floor and sighed, stepping away from her and back to me, shooting her a look of ‘not now, not here. Know your place.’ 

“We need to get the med team to look you over sweet pea. I’m hoping not all of this is yours,” his mouth set in a firm grimace as he took in my frail form, brushing my matted hair off my forehead again. Suddenly embarrassed by my appearance, I held my chin higher. 

“Never is, Dad.” He nodded, his mouth pressed in a thin line. As he turned to one of his men, Bucky and his father returned. Bucky looked shell shocked in a way I’d never seen him before. His eyes wouldn’t meet anyones and his gaze remained firmly on the floor. He slowly stalked by his mother and sister before falling in line next to Steve, hands clasped in front of him and head bowed. Steve whispered over to him, covering his mouth so I couldn’t read what he was saying. Bucky muttered something in return. His father remained in the doorway of his study, looking like nothing had gone down in the past few minutes. 

 ‘ Damn, he really got his ass handed to him.’ 

Dad nodded at George Barnes, who nodded in return. A deal was made. I quickly flitted my eyes to everyone’s face in the room. Winifred and Rebecca were doing the same as me - it seems no one informed the women - Peter was blissfully unaware, Pepper was already leaving with my apparent infant half-sister, and Steve's expression matched Bucky’s but with a hint of amusement in it. Bucky smacked his arm and they quickly left the room. Rebecca turned her gaze back towards me, raising a brow. I raised both of mine in response. She smiled softly and shook her head, pointing towards her father with her eyes. She’d find out later. 

“Welcome home, Miss Stark.” George spoke across the room. “I wish you a speedy recovery.” His baritone voice carried across the room with an air of sincerity. It was a dismissal. A ‘kindly get fucked,’ dismissal. 

“Thank you sir. And thank your sons for me as well. I owe them a debt ,” I replied, very careful to highlight whom I owe my thanks. It wasn’t customary to owe someone a favor in the mob. To be owed is a life debt, and unfortunately I now inadvertently was trapped in one such predicament to the heir. George Barnes is the world’s best con-man next to my Dad, and he will twist whatever he can get his hands on to make it fit what he needs it to. He waved his hand, another dismissal, but nodded none the same. He dismissed the debt? My eyebrows flew quickly to my hairline before I schooled my expression. I shot another glare to Rebecca, who quickly nodded in response. 

“Safe travels.” 

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

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Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 17

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Sexual Harassment (Mild), Blood and Injury

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Chapter 17

You ducked through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. Evan, the new hire, looked up from where he laid bits of toast on serving platters. He wore the button up and slacks, but you knew better than to shove the kid on the floor his first day—even if that meant extra work for you in the long run.

“How’re you holding up, kiddo?” you asked for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, “If this is getting annoying, just tell me and I’ll back off.”

He looked barely old enough to drive, let alone man a kitchen solo, but your boss needed bodies, even when that body had a beard that consisted of three stubborn hairs on his chin. He should be in school, but you had a sneaking suspicion school wasn’t his top priority.

Evan reminded you of yourself when you started, a little wide-eyed and overwhelmed, so you decided to keep an eye on him, especially given the client that evening.

He forced a smile, revealing a missing incisor. He seemed eager which was a noticeable improvement compared to the Blood Knuckles a few months back. “No, you’re fine. It’s just—it’s a lot. Do we usually work parties for...” Evan scanned the kitchen despite being the only two there and lowered his voice to finish, “For the mob?”

“We work for whoever pays us,” you said as you swiped one of the finished platters of toasted bread smothered with brie and prosciutto, “It just so happens that the people with the means to pay us also serve the seedy underbelly of Gotham. Believe it or not, they’re usually the best clients to work for if you keep your head down and your ears open.”

Evan gave you an incredulous look. “Are you serious? I counted four guns alone just going to the bathroom.”

“Head down, ears open,” you reiterated, “While it seems unlikely to happen tonight, at the first sign of trouble, drop everything and get the hell out of dodge.”

Crazy things happened often enough that your company had a written clause that allowed servers to drop whatever they were working on and run when things got dicey. No job was worth a blast of fear toxin or a stray bullet or whatever flavor of torture the villain of the month had cooked up.

“Make sure you know where your exits are.”

He nodded, looking more like the child he was. You softened with his uncertainty and set your platter down once more. “Are you sure you’re hanging in there?”

“I’m alright, just—thanks for watching out for me. I know I’m a little clumsy and I dropped a platter of canapes earlier after burning the first batch of toast, but I need this job. Could you, maybe, not tell the boss that I—”

“I don’t snitch. Nothing will happen to you if I have anything to say about it. If it makes you feel better about being the newbie, I dropped a tray of champagne on Vicki Vale during my first party. It ruined her dress and her fancy recorder. She threatened to sue.”

“No way.”

“Yep,” you said with a snort, “Don’t sweat it. You’re doing fine.”

From the way Evan bloomed like a flower in the sun, your words had the desired effect. You never expected becoming senior server would turn you into a doting mother hen, but it seemed inevitable.

His smile looked a little more genuine as he said, “I appreciate that.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” You winked as you shouldered the platter once more. “If you run into any trouble, you know where to find me.”

With that, you ducked through the doors and headed toward the drawing room. Much like you collected trinkets and random bobs, Aldo Riviera was a collector in his own right. Granted, his collection was cooler than the random things you picked up at thrift stores. Paintings mounted in gold frames lined the walls, giving the impression of an art gallery instead of a family home. He’d collected more since last year.

This wasn’t your first time serving at one of his parties. The New Year’s Eve party was a staple among his circle, and you worked it every year. That meant you were intimately familiar with the Riviera family and the people they associated with.

That’s how you knew to avoid his eldest son—Luca.

His personality was flimsy like wet paper. The kind that stained your table when you finally got around to cleaning it up, so any time you saw the stain after the fact, you wrinkled your nose and wished you’d handled it sooner. He also had sticky hand that liked to pinch your ass when you passed. You ignored it in years past, but if he tried something tonight, you couldn’t guarantee he’d still have a hand.

Steph and Cass wouldn’t put up with being touched without their consent, so why should you?

He arrived late, like he usually did, stumbling with his arm slung around his date who hid her boredom with a vacant smile. You wondered how much he was paying her to dote on him.

Not nearly enough, you decided.

He claimed the sitting room near the fire, and you’d avoided him like the plague, but you’d have to face him eventually.

Just... not yet.

After another pass of the drawing room, you could move onto the sitting room. You held your tray aloft with your head held high and a well-rehearsed smile. As you exited the drawing room, you noticed someone tucked between two large curio cabinets who hadn’t been there before.

Not just anyone.

Someone you hadn’t seen in a while.

Jacob wore his hair pushed away from his face to make the white streak less noticeable, though a few stubborn curls had started to fall from his over-gelled hairstyle (and really he hadn't done that good of a job at hiding the streak anyway). His glasses balanced on the tip of his nose as he stared blankly at the wall, clearly overwhelmed from the slightly manic look in his eye. You slowed your stride and backtracked, just to make sure you weren’t seeing things.

He didn’t appear to notice, but it was undoubtedly him.

Well, your night just got infinitely more interesting.

You angled the platter toward him and asked, “Did you want one?”

He jerked around, nearly knocking the cabinet on his right as he turned to face you. His glasses failed to hide the horror etched onto his face.

You bit back a smirk. “Well, if it isn’t the elusive Mr. Darcy.”

His jaw worked as he slid out from his little alcove, trying to put as much distance between you and him despite the crammed hall. The only word that managed to eke out was a barely audible, “You.”

He ran.

Well, ran wasn’t the right word. It was more of a brisk walk that he tried to play off as completely normal.

You sighed.

Why did all the men in your life run away from you?

Setting your platter aside, you followed because he couldn’t have a reaction like that and vanish again for however long it would take fate to shove you together again.

At the very least, you wanted to figure out where he was running off to. He seemed to know the layout of the home, but not the various displays and tables that made traversing the hallway difficult. He slowed down considerably to avoid knocking anything off the shelves, making it quite easy to catch up with him.

“Gotcha.”

Your fingers closed around his bicep, effectively stopping him in his tracks. His muscles tensed up, pulling the fabric taut over the bulge of his bicep. You might as well have been gripping solid stone. Your throat dried considerably.

He kept his back to you. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

What a wild thing to say to someone he hasn’t seen in weeks.

“I beg your finest pardon?”

He groaned. “No. Wait. That’s not what I meant. It’s not like I’m not thrilled to see you, but—”

“Jacob, I thought you were grabbing a drink? Where’s my drink?”

You craned your neck to look over his shoulder, but Jacob reacted quickly. He whipped around, pressing you flat between two cabinets, and effectively trapping you. Their contents rattled with the ragged gasp that jostled in your chest.

“What the hell are you—”

He pressed a finger to your lips with this frantic twinkle in his eye. “Just stay quiet until he leaves, I beg of you.”

With that, he turned around just as Luca pulled up, visible through the glass sides of the cabinet. “You would not believe the line at the bar. I was just ‘bout to go back and try again.”

Luca pursed his lips, unimpressed. “Whatever. I’ll get it myself after I...” He trailed off as his gaze drifted over the display and settled on you. If you could see him, he could definitely see you. A saccharine smile curled his lip, downright diabolical through that warped glass.

“You dog. Are ya havin’ fun without me?”

“No, I just ran—”

He shoved Jacob aside. An impressive feat considering Jacob was nearly a head taller.

You pressed yourself flatter against the wall as he leaned in to get a better look. Luca and Jacob knew each other. Of course, they did. Disappointment curled in your chest. You hoped Jacob was better than the scum that fed off the underbelly of Gotham, but that was on you for assuming the best in someone. At the end of the day, you knew nothing about him, and this situation proved that.

Luca reeked of gin and cigarettes as his nose nearly grazed yours. You hoped you looked more irritated than intimidated, but between Jacob and him, the odds of getting out this left your insides a little gooey. Steph said you could easily take someone twice your size, but two?

Let’s be realistic here.

“She’s cute. I can see why ya picked her. If ya want, I could find ya someplace private to have your fun if you’re too shy to fuck her in one of the bathrooms.” His finger curled under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Your fist clenched. “Hell, we could even tag—”

You punched up.

A sickening crack followed, though whether it was your hand, or his jaw was anyone’s guess. Luca crumpled, held aloft in Jacob’s closed fist where he gripped him by the collar. You watched him suspiciously, shaking out your hand. It prickled faintly, indicating that you should feel something, but you were too high on adrenaline to feel much beyond the rush.

He stared back, stunned and blocking your escape.

Before he could recover, you shoved the nearest display toward him. It teetered precariously.

“Wait. It's not—”

With a grunt, you shoved again, cracking the glass. The door swung open as it fell onto Jacob, shattering delicate plates and blown-glass figurines at his feet. It wasn't large enough to take him out, but it gave you the opportunity to make your escape. Splintered glass dug into your palm as you hopped over the curio cabinet and made a beeline for the kitchen.

Your mind raced.

You just punched Luca Riviera.

Then you just shoved a cabinet of antiques on one of his goons. Antiques that probably cost more money than you’d ever see in your pitifully short lifetime. Aldo Riviera knew your name. He knew where you worked. It was only a matter of time before he sent someone after you.

You’d have to quit your job,

You’d have to leave Gotham.

And quit school.

And… and…

Fuck, you’d be lucky if you made it that far. Once they found the mess and an unconscious Luca, they’d hunt you down. You should have knocked Jacob out too.

You shoved through the door, startling Evan who sat in front of a new platter of canapes. His gaze lowered, his expression falling. “Your hand…”

You looked down, noticing the blood that dripped from the cuts on your palm and the split knuckles. You grimaced.

And now they could trace it back to you.

“I have to get this looked at,” you lied as you wrapped a clean rag around your hand, “You should go before—”

A shot rang from the hall.

You swore under your breath.

“Before that. Grab your stuff and go. Don’t bother cleaning up.” It killed you to abandon him like this. It was his first day. And his first shoot out on the job, no less. Rosa had taken you out for drinks the first time something fucked up happened on the job, but it was more dangerous for you to stay and run the risk of getting caught with him.

“Let me go with you. I can—”

“No, get yourself somewhere safe. If anyone asks, it’s your first day, you don’t know me, and you didn’t see me leave.” You squeezed him lightly on the shoulder before you took your coat and bag.

You left through the back door where it emptied onto a private alley with barely enough room to move. Crawling over trash cans, you stumbled out onto the street and tried to look inconspicuous. Or as inconspicuous as one could look while bleeding through a dish rag.

As your wave of adrenaline waned, the pain in your hand got harder to ignore. Bits of glass jostled in the cuts, a deep burn creeping up your arm. You paused under the light of the streetlamp. With some distance between you and the estate, you peeled back the rag to assess the damage. Blood coated your palm, making it difficult to discern how deep the cuts went. You held your breath as you pulled a few of the larger chunks from your hand, tossing them into the grass.

“I expected you to be halfway home by now.”

Your fingers curled instinctively into another fist as you turned around to face Jacob. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, a little harried, but otherwise unharmed. The display case hurt you more than it hurt him. That irked you more than you cared to admit.

“Are you following me?”

“I saw the trail of blood,” he said, “It wasn’t that hard.”

Your palm stung, but you refused to stand down now that you were alone. “You’ve come to make good on Luca’s promise for fun?”

He held up his hands and stepped away. “No! I wanted to check on you. There’s glass in your—”

“Spare me your concern. I saw the way you stepped aside for your buddy. You let him touch me.” Jacob flinched as if you had struck him. It was almost as satisfying as landing a punch on Luca. You should have punched the bastard sooner. You doubted you’d get lucky twice if you tried to land a hit on Jacob, though from his slightly hunched posture, he didn't appear all that threatening.

“So, let’s try this again. Why are you here?”

“Well, first off, Luca is not my buddy.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“I am sorry about what happened,” he insisted, “I shouldn’t have let him—I didn’t know he would—But then he touched you like he touches every other girl, and I saw red. You reacted faster than I—” He combed his fingers through his hair, mussing the curls until they fell from their sleek coiffure. “I wasn’t at the party because I like Luca. I was there because his family knows where Roman Sionis is. He was this close to telling me too.”

You stared at him. “What do you want with Roman Sionis?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s a thorn in my side and it’s beginning to effect business.”

It suddenly felt a lot colder. “Were you undercover?”

“Yes.”

Your surprise quickly turned to skepticism as you gave him a quick once over. “Looking exactly like yourself and using your real name?”

His teeth clenched. That seemed to have struck a nerve. “I never said I was—ya know what, yeah, that’s fair. I’m not great at this kind of work, but I didn’t think I’d run into someone who knew me outside of—” He knotted his fingers in his hair and tugged. “I knew I shoulda bought a wig or dyed the skunk strip.”

His accent harshened to a more pronounced Jersey that struck you as painfully familiar now that he wasn’t stumbling over his words. It was a voice you’d heard before. You basked in its twang as he reread passages with your backs pressed together and no modulator to soften it.

The final piece finally clicked into place and left you in freefall.

Your hand fell back to your side. “Hood?”

His eyes went wide. “Wha—no. Why would you…”

“You were undercover,” you reiterated slowly as the picture became clearer, “You wanted to learn the whereabouts of Roman Sionis, or Black Mask as he’s better known in our part of the city. A known archnemesis of Red Hood.”

“I would hardly call him an archnemesis. He’s more a victim of bullying if I'm being honest.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He quickly backpedaled. “Maybe I work for Red Hood. Ever think ‘bout that, huh? He has plenty of goons. I could be one of them. I mean, look at me.” You might have believed that five minutes ago, but the desperation in his voice betrayed him. He scanned the street, chest heaving. You knew the signs of a man about to run, and you were having none of that.

“Stay,” you snapped.

He stiffened; mouth set in a hard line that tightened the muscles in his neck. When you were sure he wouldn’t bolt, you continued, “Jacob likes classic literature, so does Hood. You both have strong opinions too. Hood gave me two books by his favorite authors, Austen and Dumas. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

“Those are two very popular authors of very popular books. Who wouldn’t suggest you read them?”

He wasn’t helping his case.

Jacob seemed to realize it too and hid his hands behind his back, but not before you noticed the way he flexed his fingers. A notably Red Hood trait that looked natural on him.

Your eyes narrowed.

The evidence was there, plain as day, but there was one way to know for sure. With your good hand, you pulled your phone from your pocket. His pleading look went ignored as you scrolled through your contacts. You hit the call button and raised it to your ear.

He threw a hand up and sputtered, “W-Wait.”

His phone started ringing.

You licked your teeth. “Answer it.”

“Is that really—”

“I said answer it.”

Slowly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and did exactly that. The call connected a second later.

“Are you happy now?”

His voice fed into your ear, creating an eerie overlap that raised the hair on your arms. The cold from before left you numb.

Jacob was Red Hood.

And you were… an idiot.

You hung up the phone and stepped toward him. He stepped away, maintaining that ever-present distance. It felt more cavernous now than it had before. Here. Now. You stood on the precipice of something, but it fell to you to bridge the gap. It wasn’t your identity that hung in the balance with your revelation. The only thing you had to lose stood right in front of you.

“Please.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you wanted from him, but you held out your arms anyway, hoping he might understand what you needed and give it to you.

Trepidation made him stall as he peered between your open arms and the clear escape that lay behind him. If he ran, that would be the end of it. The end for Jacob, for Red Hood, for any possibility that something could flourish between you and him. He seemed to come to the same realization and stepped toward you. It didn’t bridge the gap, but you took it as permission to do it instead.

You grasped his face firmly between your hands, ignoring the sting in your palm as your thumb traced the more prominent scars on his cheeks. It was your first time getting a good look at him, here under the light of the streetlamp.

One stretched across the bridge of his nose, narrowly missing the corner of his eye. Another started at his mouth and curved roughly into the shape of J. His breathing stuttered when the pad of your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth.

His shoulders curved as he tried to retreat into himself, but you held fast. Not this time. You finally had the full picture of Red Hood, here pressed between your palms, and you intended to study it thoroughly. You leaned in, committing every nick and mole to memory.

How did you miss the scars?

“This whole time?”

His glasses sat crooked on his nose. Behind them, steely blue eyes—he had blue eyes—shone like gun metal as they darted across your face with the same quiet intensity. His hand twitched up to settle on your hip, fingers curling in the excess fabric of your shirt as he drew you in.

You pressed your forehead to his, nearly bridging the gap in a very different sense, but you maintained a shred of self-control despite every instinct telling you to just go for it. His glasses fogged as your breath mingled with his. It was so hot that it threatened to sear your skin.

He whispered your name, caught somewhere between a question and a reverent prayer.

Your hands moved from his face to wrap around his neck, leaving a smear of blood in its wake as you sat trapped somewhere between this moment and what to do next. You would regret it if you gave into this desire that pulled taut like strings on marionette. His other hand joined the first, eclipsing you as he seemed to wrangle with a similar quandary.

If you did this…

If you allowed yourself to…

You shoved away from him.

He choked on a protest, the reluctant drag of his fingers betraying how desperately he craved this—craved you. His absence left you aching. It was unlike anything you felt before, and it took all your willpower to stay put. His hands shook as he hid them behind his back.

“I’m upset,” you said firmly.

He averted his gaze, his glasses still a little hazy. “I figured.”

You tried to ignore how hot you were. “Mostly I’m mad at myself for not making the connection sooner. You’re literally the same person. I mean, ugh, you know what I mean.”

“Are you disappointed?”

His question barely crested a whisper, but it hit you like a brick.

“Why would I be disappointed?”

He shrugged, which wasn’t a real answer, but it was the only one you got from him. The similarities between him and Red Hood were painfully obvious now that you’d made the connection. It really pissed you off that you had gone this long without realizing it.

And now, he thought you were disappointed.

He was an idiot too.

You reached into your bag, knowing you’d regret what came next, but in your defense, he left you with very few options. It was easier to blame him as you pulled the cursed letter out. You didn’t have the heart to toss it, and now you understood why you had kept it.

Fate was a funny thing.

This letter would make you look like a fool, but it might knock some sense into him.

“Here.”

You shoved the letter into his hands and went back to picking bits of glass from your palm, unwilling to watch the way his face changed as he read your drunken ramblings. He deserved to know exactly how you felt about him—both parts of him, you supposed. Knowing Jacob and Hood were one and the same came as a small relief.

You didn’t have to choose.

Or maybe you did?

This was only the tip of the iceberg. The first secret, but certainly not the last he kept close to his chest. The anonymity of Red Hood gave you a rose-tinted perspective, but now that you knew the face behind the mask, that made this real. That made him real.

Red Hood was not good.

Jacob was not good.

Red Hood was not bad.

Jacob was not bad.

Red Hood just was.

Jacob just was.

Jacob was supposed to be a safe option, but now the line had blurred and there was no safe option. Being with him meant existing in a world painted with shades of gray. You had to be okay with that.

Were you okay with that?

“When did you write this?”

You startled, realizing Jacob was now looking at you. It was hard to tell if he was upset or happy, but his eyes looked oddly wet in the light. You hugged your hand to your chest and said, “After we saw each other at the club.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh.”

If not for the blood rushing to your hand, you might have blushed. He turned back to the letter, eyes darting across the page.

“Do you still think I’m disappointed?”

“No.”

“So, maybe, we could move past this old song and dance once and for all. We’ve been there, done that. I’m surprised, yeah, but I also get why you wanted to keep Jacob—”

He winced.

“—and Hood separate. But now that I know the truth. Maybe we can move forward with…” You made a vague gesture. “With whatever you call this thing between us, I guess. It’s New Year’s Eve and my hand hurts like hell, but in a surprising turn of events, I now have the rest of the night off if you wanted to make the most of it.”

He tucked the letter in his pocket. You allowed it. If anyone could find comfort in your ramblings, it was him.

He held out his hand. “Let me see.” You offered your injured hand, and he took a second to assess the cuts on your palm. He whistled softly. “This looks painful?”

“I hardly feel a thing,” you deadpanned.

He had the decency to look a little sheepish as he straightened his glasses. “I don’t think you need stitches, but I’ll have to clean you up to know for sure. I have a safe house a short walk from here. Can I take you there?”

You smiled through the pain. “Not a hospital?”

“I’m not making you pay a hospital fee for something I can do just as well for free.”

Shades of gray, you reminded yourself.

“Alright, lead the way.”

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

A/N: Two chapters in four days? But AthenaGC94, you said you were drowning at work?

Yes. Kinda. Things are getting slightly better, but also this story keeps me going and I actually have the rest of the chapters outlined which helps me immensely (we're looking at 29-30 chapter total. Woo.).

I also wanted to change my upload day to Sunday so instead of making you wait a week, I decided to reward you instead.

Enjoy!

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

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Let me know if you want to be added!

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[rarepairdumpster]

Cold War AU

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Mob Boss Silco, Russian Viktor, Murder, Bottom Silco

Cold War USA AU, where Viktor is chased out of his position as a professor because he's a Russian and his politics leans to close towards communism.

And he has to go into hiding with a friend of an old friend, Silco, who happens to have control of half the city as a mob boss.

Silco is the first person to treat him with kindness in months and Viktor has a long cry about it once he's alone in his underground bunker

Silco promises he'll have protection wherever he goes.

"Thank you for this," Viktor says, voice shaking a little. "I realise you have no reason to trust or be kind to me. I know I am not.....one of your people."

"People in need are my people," Silco explains. "And this is not free."

"What do you mean?" Viktor asks, a little nervous 

"I would like you to be one of my advisors," Silco explains. "I need someone with an outside perspective who isn't afraid to contradict me."

Viktor feels a wave of relief then. He thought perhaps Silco had meant sexual favours.

But giving opinions, yes, this he can do.

Silco prepares a seat to the side of his desk for Viktor to sit in on meetings.

If people have ideas about the reason Silco has added a seat beside him, no one comments.

Silco's only rule is he has to write his comments down and pass them when they're in a meeting with others. People eventually start to get nervous when they hear Viktor writing because whatever Viktor says tends to have an effect on Silco's decisions.

Viktor just sitting there like an ornament with his legs crossed and a neutral expression as he listens.

One time, Viktor writes something down and passes it to Silco, who reads it and stands up slowly, walking around the desk with a casual grace.

And then he plunges his knife into someone's neck because Viktor called them a liar.

Viktor keeping his cool until it's just him and Silco. Then he's just like "WHAT WAS THAT"

"I concluded business," Silco answers evenly, as if he hadn't just plunged a knife into someone's neck. "I don't make deals with liars."

"I knew your business involved things like this," Viktor sighed, trying not to look at the body. "I did not expect to be witness and accomplice"

Silco sits on the edge of his desk and smiles at him almost fondly, saying "You knew what I was when coming here to seek refuge. None of that changed when we started sharing a desk."

"What if I get taken in?" Viktor ran a hand through his hair. "I-I cannot lie like that."

"You won't." 

Silco responds with such dangerous calm, like the tip of a sword beneath one's chin.

It makes Viktor shiver.

Silco reaches out and let's his knuckles skim over a sharp cheekbone.

"I own the police. I own the judges. I have men in the feds. You're safe."

Viktor closes his eyes and leans into Silco's touch, almost unconsciously. "I'm so sick of being scared."

"No need to be afraid." Silco slides his hand into thick hair. "Not as long as I'm alive."

Viktor reaches up and takes hold of Silco's wrist and opens his eyes to look up at Silco. "I hope I'm not being too presumptuous," Viktor whispers, his eyes darting to Silco's lips.

"Nor I."  Silco moistens his lips.

He tugs, and Viktor rises as if he can't help himself, and Silco kisses him.

Not soft 

Not tentative.

Rough and ferocious

Viktor reaches for Silco, grabbing his vest and pulling his body close. He moans softly as Silco's hand moves down to his neck, enjoying the pressure on his throat.

Part of Viktor knows he shouldn't find this mob boss, this murderer, so arousing but he does. God, he does.

Silco shifts against the desk, let's it take more of his weight, let's his thighs bracket thin hips.

Silco let's the kiss break, but lingers teasingly close, and purrs "If I ordered you to fuck me, would you?" as his thumb soothes over the bob of Viktor's apple

Viktor nodded softly, eyes lidded. "Anything," he replies. "I...would have to sit, though."

Silco smiles slowly, a gleam in his eye, and slides off the desk with a suddenness that makes Viktor stumble.

Viktor lands in his chair with a little oof and then Silco is there, climbing into his lap, as if he's done it a thousand times  before

Viktor only manages to get a gasp out before Silco's lips are on his again.

He feels one of Silco's hands in his hair and the other working to divest him of pants. Quickly, Viktor reaches between them and starts to remove Silco's as well

Viktor is startled to realise Silco is hard already, and feels a rush of pleasure at the thought that Silco is hard for him.

But he doesn't have another moment to think about it because Silco has wrapped a firm hand around him.

Viktor bucks up into Silco's hand, panting against his lips. His hands begin pulling Silco's shirt out of his pants and reaching up his shirt to feel the bare skin there.

Viktor has Silco half-stripped a short while after Silco has stroked him to full hardness.

Silco latches onto his ear briefly, lips hot and teeth harsh.

And then he breathes "Your fingers, boy. Give them to me." 

And Viktor raises a hand obediently, breath catching as Silco swallows his fingers to the knuckle, tongue dragging hot and wet over his skin.

Silco guides Viktor's hand behind him after he's gotten his fingers sufficiently wet.

When Viktor circles Silco's hole, he can tell he's already a little loose. Viktor groans at the realization that of course Silco had planned this. 

Viktor pulls Silco close, letting their bare lengths slide together while he starts to slip two fingers in nearly right away.

Silco let's out this soft noise, pleased but not yet satisfied, because he wants more. Aches for more. He'd always loved riding a good boy, and he'd had such a strong feeling Viktor would be a good boy.

Viktor eases Silco open with his fingers, returning them to his own mouth a few times to wet them, moaning at the taste each time. 

When Silco decides he's ready, he lines up Viktor's generous length with his hole and slowly sinks down.

Silco watches him like he's ravenous

Viktor is in delicious agony as Silco takes his time, kissing him deeply once he bottoms out.

Viktor whines at how tight Silco feels.

Silco starts to move after a moment, digging his nails into Viktor's shoulders and moving his hips in a steady rhythm. 

Silco sighs and brushes his lips against Viktor's ear. "You feel magnificent."

Viktor's hands are clamped around Silco's hips, as if he might fall apart if he let's go.

He feels his cock throb when Silco praises him.

Arch + Woods

[sashaisready]

Chapter Nine - Follow Me

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

Warnings: Mention of vomiting, alcohol use

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Your stomach flips as you see him, every feeling you have for him suddenly back in full force as you’re painfully aware of how heavy your heart feels in your chest.

He’s dressed in all black – an immaculately tailored black suit, black shirt, black tie and his trademark black gloves. He looks perfect, as always.

A pretty brunette in a teeny skirt hovers by his side, looking like a glamorous extra in a music video. You barely have a moment to mask your disappointment when you see her.

“I’m sorry Mr. Barnes, I-” John babbles as he looks at Bucky. “I didn’t know it was you, I-”

“Get the fuck out of my club” Bucky hisses.

He grabs a fistful of John’s shirt and tosses him towards a watchful Thor who takes over - forcefully manhandling him and dragging him to the exit as John’s babbled apologies fall on deaf ears.

Bucky’s ocean blue eyes follow the route of John’s removal before he fixes them back on you again.

The brunette at his side closes the gap between the two of them, clinging possessively to his arm as she looks on at the scene in front of her. You feel a wave of sadness radiate through you.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice is monotonous but his eyes are slightly narrowed with concern as he studies you.

You nod frantically. “Yes…er…yes. Sorry. This is your club? I didn’t know…”

He nods his head, gesturing to the VIP area. His face is as stoic as it always was.

“Yep. One of the businesses I own. The boys and I come down every once in a while to unwind, let off steam”.

You nod again, feeling like a bird the way you keep bobbing your head at him. Of course he owns this place. You knew he owned nightclubs. You should’ve put two and two together. Fuck, what if he thinks you’ve come to see him? How desperate would that look?

“Banner was helping out behind the bar tonight, he told me he saw you here but I didn’t believe him…didn’t think it was really your scene”.

He smirks subtly, looking you up and down.

Banner. The bartender. You suddenly place his face – he was in the car with Sam the night you caught them outside your apartment. Of course.

Shit – this place is crawling with Bucky’s men and you had no idea…

“Uh well…not really. I’m here with Wanda. We just wanted a bit of a girl’s night. Bit of bonding, you know?” you smile weakly.

“I feel you, girl!” giggles the brunette, squeezing Bucky’s arm and leaning further into him.

He glances sideways at her briefly and then back to you.

You smile back at her. Suddenly it’s all too much…how drunk you feel, the horrible business with John, seeing Bucky again. You’re on his turf now, not in the safe familiarity of the bakery. You hate that he just saw you vulnerable and had to step in with John…and the beautiful girl on his arm. You know it’s none of your business and you turned him down, but it still makes you jealous. It suddenly feels stifling in the club, your head is swimming and you feel nausea brewing in your stomach.

Why is it suddenly so hot in here? You need to get out. 

Now.

“I’m sorry…sorry…I have to go” you say breathily, smiling at them both before making a beeline for the exit.

You rush out of there as fast as you can, flying past the bouncers and out into the chill of the night. You sigh with relief as you inhale the outside air. You turn down into an alleyway next to the club, just taking a moment to lean against the wall and breathe. You can hear the heavy pounding of the music through the walls of the building and the hub of excited chatter from the line out front.

You fire off a text to Wanda saying you’ve had a bit too much to drink. John was a bust, you feel unwell and have gone home, you’re fine though and she shouldn’t worry – her and Vis should stay and enjoy themselves.

You pull up your Uber app as a fresh wave of nausea hits and suddenly you’re bent double over the dumpster, vomiting up your cocktails.

What a waste of money.

At least it was someone else’s. This feels like a fitting end to how you spent some of your mob money, karma for getting hammered on dirty cash.

You groan, this feels like the low point of the evening and there were already a few to choose from. You sink to the ground and rest on your heels, just taking a moment to compose yourself before you order your cab. The silver lining is you feel a little better, and your mind much clearer – most of the alcohol has probably left your body now. You dig around in your purse and mercifully find a mint, chewing it eagerly to erase the foul taste from your mouth.

You close your eyes for a second to settle down, but rip them open when you hear heavy footsteps coming down the alley in your direction. You stand up straight on high alert, not really wanting to end this evening by being murdered and tossed onto the remains of your cocktails.

So you’re more than surprised when it’s Bucky who emerges, looking at you with concern. He’s holding something in his pocket. You stare back at him, confused. You’re also mortified that he’s seeing you like this. You’re no longer the fun, confident girl flirting with him in the bakery – you’re the subdued drunk vomiting in an alley.

“You okay?” he asks apprehensively.

You nod, suddenly struggling to look at him.

“Here – this will help with the taste” he moves his hand from his pocket and passes you a bottle of water.

You take it from him cautiously. “Help with what taste?” you ask innocently, wondering how he could’ve seen you.

“I know you just threw up in that dumpster” he chides.

You shake your head indignantly. “No I didn-”

“Sam saw you on the security monitor – that’s how I knew you were here”. He motions to a camera above you.

You scowl. “I really can’t get any fucking privacy with you guys”.

Bucky sniggers.

You begin to chug the water, not realising how thirsty you are until it hits your tongue.

“Easy now. That dumpster can only take so much” he laughs.

You titter half-heartedly, shame burning your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed” you say quietly.

“Don’t be. Everyone pukes” he replies matter-of-factly. “And our cocktails will knock your socks off”.

“Not that. Well…partly that. But the whole thing with the guy in there…you seeing it. And I haven’t seen you since…well, you know”.

Bucky grunts, the toe of his well shined shoe kicking aimlessly at the ground.

“Well that guy was an asshole, I would’ve done the same no matter who he was talking to. You have nothing to be sorry for, he crossed a line. We won’t be letting him back in here. He’s free to try if he wants his face rearranged, though”.

You stare down at your feet, suddenly feeling on the brink of tears.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you practically whisper.

He pauses to consider your question.

“I don’t know, actually. I can be a jerk if you want”.

You smirk at him, stifling a laugh.

“I mean it. I can call you names…Insult you…whatever you like” he grins.

You laugh sincerely at that, grateful to him for not being awkward with you.

You look back down at the Uber app. There are no available cabs in the area. Ugh. Your head is spinning slightly and the music feels like it’s piercing your skull. You just want to be away from this alley, away from the noise, somewhere peaceful where you can wait for a car to become available.

Bucky’s eyes jump to your phone, recognising the screen you have open.

“You need a ride? I already know your address, after all”. He winks.

You scoff with annoyance. “Wow, okay. You went there”.

“I did”.

“Home is all the way across town. I don’t want to be in a car right now. I just really need to be somewhere quiet for a moment. Where I can hear myself think” you admit, the loud echo of the music inside pounding into your brain.

Bucky thinks for a second. “Quiet huh? Alright. Follow me”.

[bobfloydsbabe]

Thank you so much for recommending me and my Bob fics–that means a lot! I didn't even know you read my work 🥹

Top two fic writers?

Can we specify characters?

anon… this is asking a lot of me. cause one, i can’t count. two, idk if i can pick just TWO top writers

so for bradley i’d say @sunlightmurdock (tip rooster🫶) nd @beyondthesefourwalls

jakey id go with @ohtobeleah and @seresinsbabe

for robert i recommend @wildbornsiren and @bobfloydsbabe

and if you’re looking for any great combos i’d point you in the direction of @roosterbruiser