– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, uses of y/n & pet names, as the title says, not proofread.
"I hate you."
The living room was silent, unless if you would include the background noise that the tv would make, which wasn't really background noise, since it was at a medium volume and displayed a sappy romance movie. You sat beside your boyfriend, Pablo, who had his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze on you – or rather the energy drink in your hand.
When you both had first met, which was almost an entire year ago, you were drinking Monster while a mutual friend introduced you to Gavi, who had made a snarky remark about your taste in drinks. After all, he was a professional athlete and had to watch his diet, whereas you were free to do whatever, including drinking whatever.
However, you didn't take it to heart and even said that Monster wasn't as good as everyone said it would be, claiming that you were just thirsty and wanted to buy something cheap from the stores nearby.
Ever since, you two had been like two peas in a pot, having the same nerdy interests and both having a liking towards sports, even if you could never bother to take it as serious as Gavi. You were chill, unlike most of his friends, and he liked that.
However, he did not like your unhealthy habits.
It wasn't like he could just tell you to stop and the way-too-overpriced bottle of Rockstar would magically disappear from your hands. Even if Gavi had once dreamed of it, even if he then woke up much more happier, even if his smile immediately vanished once he was met with the sight of you drinking Rockstar for breakfast.
"There wasn't any reason behind it", you had once told him when he asked why you had bought that instead of some normal water. "It has flavour, unlike water."
"Water does have flavour, though!"
"What? No, it doesn't, idiot."
More or less, his attempts at trying to stop you from drinking so much were quite obvious to you, yet you didn't bother listening. You just stopped drinking it frequently – thankfully not daily, but it was still too often in his opinion.
And now, as you muttered some words that were incoherent to him, probably about how you loved him back, Pablo could only hide his irritation by staring at the boring scene of a happy ending from the sappy romance movie, instead of watching you drink Red Bull beside him.
Hell, even the smell of it was disgusting. He did not want to imagine how badly it would taste.
"Stop drinking for once." Your movements came to a halt as you finally, finally, spared him a glance to look at him. Hope bloomed inside of him as he looked back at you, holding eye contact for as long as you needed until you would understand his concerns.
"Don't you worry about it." He clicked his tongue and moved his head to the side, ignoring the way he probably seemed childish as he placed his chin on the palm of his hand. "I will stop."
"Yeah, yeah, of cou-"
Wait, what?
His head snapped back and you immediately spit out the remains of the liquid in your mouth, fortunately placing the energy drink down and moving closer. Unfortunately, Gavi now had to endure the smell of Red Bull from your mouth, yet the sweet scent of vanilla didn't leave his nostrils as you checked him out.
"Did you break your neck?" Wow, the first time that you're being a little bit dumb, and that is when you were not drinking these sugary drinks. "Bro, how did you manage to do that?"
You made a demonstration just for him by taking a peek at the television and instantly looking back at him, which even scared Gavi himself as he flinched before laughing. "Nah, I'm alive"
Happily alive, if he may add, as Gavi listened to you scolding him with your hand on the back of his neck and softly rubbing his nape. And as he watched the very last few minutes of the sappy romance movie, not even knowing what exactly is was about, he thought that he, also, had got his happy ending.
"That was great." His statement made you snicker, knowing immediately that he did not pay attention to it for even a second.
"The main character lost her first love, you idiot."
WARNING: this one got a bit dark. Season 2. Nsfw. Implied non-con. Violence.
He had no plan whatsoever when he sent that telegram — just wanted to say hello, didn't he? See how some stinking water-rats from Birmingham had managed to get so far under Sabini's skin.
He hadn't accounted for the face, though. For the blood or the bruises or the sheen of sweat that made Thomas Shelby look like a broken porcelain doll. Trouble is, when Alfie spots something fragile he has the urge to crush it. There's no place for weakness in their world, best to stamp it out, grind it to dust beneath a boot and sweep what's left away.
Except Shelby is still fucking here, ain't he? Granted, his breathing's a little bit worse and his nose is bleeding again, but he's standing on his own two feet, tucking his shirt back in, which is more than most men would manage.
"All right then, back to work," Alfie barks at the row of gawping bakers. Jeremiah looks about ready to throw up, which he can damn well do elsewhere. "Are you deaf? I said, fuck off!" Three pairs of legs stumble to life and shuffle out the door.
"Alone," Tommy says, in that too-deep voice what don't match his delicate stature.
"Finally," Alfie says — as if making those three lackeys watch hadn't been his own direct order.
Silence fills the room. Amplified by the memory of so many desperate, animal noises. He ain't sure what to make of this bastard. Plenty of men'll bend over, sure, so long as it's dark and the price is right or they have no other option, but not many'll stagger up afterwards and glare at him like that.
He looks a picture, don't he? The bloodied eye and the crimson face and the hair that Alfie's own hand has pulled into startled spikes.
Maybe this gypsy boy ain't so fragile. Tell the truth, he looks fucking dangerous, like he might stab Alfie here and now if it weren't for them broken ribs.
"What?" Alfie says with open arms. "An audience not your thing?"
"No," Tommy says. There's blood in the tiny flecks of spit that fly out of his mouth.
"Yeah ... well. Sorry 'bout that. Sometimes you gotta remind the staff who the fuck's in charge 'round here."
"That so?"
"Yeah, it is, mate. Don't you worry 'bout it. Next time we'll be alone."
***
Next time comes two weeks later and they're definitely not alone. Ollie bursts into Alfie's office as if shot by a bloody-great canon.
"What the fuck?" Alfie roars, throwing his arms in the air.
"It's Shelby, boss. T ...t ... Thomas Shelby."
"Yeah? What the fuck about him?"
"He's here ... in the storeroom ... he's attacked three of our men."
The door swings again and Shelby appears, propelled by Ismael who has his arm in a lock. There's blood dripping from his right hand and the devil's own smile on his face. "M'afraid you're gonna need three new bakers. Unless they can work without eyes."
Alfie scratches his beard and leans back in his chair. "Is that so?" He can hear screams and shouts from the storeroom, a right old fucking commotion. "Ismael, let 'im go."
"Boss," Ollie shouts, "he had a knife. He cut out their fucking eyes!"
"I heard the man myself, didn't I? And if you're gonna wet your pants, Ollie, then be a good lad and go do it somewhere that ISN'T INSIDE MY OFFICE!"
Ismael reluctantly loosens his hold and Shelby shrugs himself free. "I have an offer, Mr Solomons. A hundred good men in place of your three."
He's dangerous alright. Alfie smiles. "Yeah, I'll take your men. But first you'll take dinner with me."
Because that's the thing with danger. Alfie can't help but flirt with it.
(This is actually from an upcoming chapter in one of my fics, Educational Decree No. 24, that I decided to share today because of the holiday theme. Minor-spoilery for the story in that, surprise surprise, Tom and Hermione end up dating. This is a fifth year au where Tom is their classmate. but things are happening pretty much the same as they did in OotP. If you want to know more, I’ve linked the story above. Happy Valentine’s day!!!)
One chilly Thursday in February found Hermione and Tom working together in the library, as usual. She could tell something was on his mind, because he kept opening his mouth and then closing it again. Unsure whether it would be a good thing, or a bad thing that would devolve into an argument, Hermione thought it prudent to just wait it out and get some work done while he worked himself up to whatever he was going to say. After maybe ten minutes, Tom finally spoke. “So this weekend is Valentine’s Day.”
That was what he was trying to talk about? Hermione couldn’t suppress an amused snort. “I’m aware of the date.”
He seemed to weigh his next words very carefully. “And do you… expect anything? From me?”
“If you’re afraid of me dragging you into Madam Puddifoot’s, don’t be,” She informed him, smirking as undisguised relief spread across his features. “No, I actually won’t be able to do much at all; I’ve got some business to take care of in Hogsmeade that day.”
He cocked his head at that. “Business?”
Hermione nodded. “I’ve made an appointment with a reporter. Harry will do most of the talking, but Luna and I need to discuss terms with her beforehand, and I wanted to give him time to take Cho out first—“
At the mention of Harry’s name, Tom had started to scowl, and soon he could no longer contain his indignant outburst. “So you’re going to blow off me, your boyfriend, on Valentine’s Day, for Potter?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Tom, you know it’s not like that. This has nothing to do with the day, and everything to do with the timing. If you want to do something ‘romantic’ or whatever, we can meet up after dinner. But we need to get this article published as soon as possible, which means this meeting has to happen ASAP.”
Tom was silent, and Hermione (foolishly) thought that meant the end of the discussion, so she turned her attention back to her book. A moment later she heard him sullenly mutter, “What reporter have you got to talk to Potter, anyway? The Prophet’s been dragging his name through the mud for months.”
Hermione kept her head tilted down towards her book to hide her wide grin. “Rita Skeeter.”
Tom snorted. “I’ve really got to teach you how to lie, darling. If you want to get out of answering a question, you’ve got to pick a believable fiction.”
“I appreciate the advice, dear, but in this case, it’s actually unnecessary.” Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out Skeeter’s curt reply to her last letter and handed it to Tom. She had the pleasure of watching disbelief and shock spread across her boyfriend’s face as he read it.
“How in Salazar’s name did you pull this off?” He asked, frowning at her once he’d finished. “I thought she hated Potter, and you?”
“She probably does,” Hermione said, smiling and feeling more than a bit smug. “But I really gave her no choice in the end.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to her. His voice was low and demanding as he said, “How?”
She hesitated sightly, because she imagined he was going to react rather positively to this news, but after a moment she said, “You see, I’ve learned a secret about her that’s… rather significant, and if she wants it to remain a secret, she’s got no choice but to to cooperate—”
“Blackmail.” His eyes had darkened and he purred the word like a caress. “You’re blackmailing her. You are.”
Hermione sighed. “You could put it that way, I suppose.”
All of the sudden she found herself being pulled out of her chair and into Tom’s lap. A second later his hands were fisting in her hair and his mouth was on hers, kissing her desperately. She gave a small exclamation of shock, but decided to just go with it, and they made out heavily for a couple of minutes before he broke apart from her.
“What brought that on?” She managed to ask once she’d caught her breath.
Instead of answering her he grinned, still panting slightly, his lips swollen and his eyes blown with arousal. Eagerly he asked, “can I watch?”
Hermione blinked. “What?”
“Can I come to your meeting and watch you blackmail Skeeter? Please?”
He hardly ever said that word, even to her, and it caught her completely off guard. “Why would you want—“
“Because you’re unbelievably sexy when you act like a Slytherin.”
Not sure whether to be insulted or flattered, Hermione bit her lip. “I’m not sure, having an extra person there could distract from the purpose of this meeting, and if we don’t get things settled then we won’t have another opportunity till March. And what with the breakout—“
“You’re telling me that you are going to be threatening and manipulating your enemy, on Valentine’s Day, and Potter gets to watch, but I don’t?” She hadn’t seen Tom look this offended since the time she said Harry was a better teacher than him.
Hermione sighed and pushed against his shoulder. He loosened his grip on her waist and she climbed off his lap. “I’m sorry, Tom, but this is really important. It’s business, not some… weird version of foreplay for your benefit.”
Tom crossed his arms and scowled at her. “I don’t see why it can’t be both!” His voice was just a bit whiny, like a spoiled child being told ‘no’. Which was pretty much what was happening, actually.
Godric, she hated it when he pouted. She was still a good enough person that it was able to make her feel bad. And he knew it, too, which was why he did it. But while she was willing to give in to him over little things, like when he insisted she sit next to him during Quidditch matches, she was not going to bend on this. This was too important, too real.
“Look, I’ve said you can’t go with me, and that’s final. I’ll meet you back here as soon as I’m done, and we can have a nice evening together. Alright?”
After a long moment of glaring at the floor, Tom sighed heavily and said, “Fine.” Hermione smiled, pleased that he had accepted it. She sat back down and turned her attention back to work, and after awhile, she was able to get him talking about something completely different. He still sulked for the rest of the evening, but by the next morning, he was back to his usual self. His annoying, pushy, demanding, and yet somehow still devilishly attractive self.
By the time Saturday actually rolled around, she managed to forget entirely about the disagreement. Instead, anxiety about what she was going to do took over. What if something went wrong? What if somehow publishing this article made things worse for Harry? It would be her fault, wouldn’t it? By the time she met with Luna in the entrance hall, she’d nearly talked herself out of it, but somehow she managed to push on. When they arrived at The Three Broomsticks, she put on her brave face and requested one of tables in the back where they would have at least some privacy.
A few minutes after she and Luna had taken their seats, Rita Skeeter entered the pub. Hermione almost didn’t recognize her, as her once perfectly styled hair now hung limp around her shoulders and her thoroughly unglamorous robes looked like they had seen better days. Hermione couldn’t help but be a bit smug about how the once polished reporter seemed to have let herself go. Hopefully this bit of prolonged unemployment would teach her to not make up malicious rumors about innocent people…
Skeeter spotted Hermione and scowled deeply, but made her way over. She took ahold of the chair directly across from Hermione and yanked it out from beneath the table. “Well, Miss Priss, let’s get down to business,” she hissed, sneering at Hermione as she sat down. “Care to explain what this is all about?” Hermione couldn’t help but grin; once, she may have been intimidated by Rita Skeeter’s mean looks, but after spending so much time around the Slytherins this year, her nastiness had little affect.
“Glad you could make it on such short notice, Miss Skeeter,” she said, folding her hands in front of her on the table. “This is my friend Luna,” she said, nodding to her companion, who was doing that thing where she stared at a new person without blinking. Skeeter wrinkled her nose and looked at her for a long moment and looked the slightest bit unnerved. Finally, she bit out acidly,
“Pleasure. Now, little Miss perfect, I’d really like if you’d explain just why—”
Hermione cut her off by abruptly standing up and glaring darkly at the person who had just entered the pub. Her idiot boyfriend was grinning and weaving around the tables to make his way over to her.
“What the hell, Tom? I thought I said no!” she exclaimed once he was close enough to hear.
“You said I couldn’t come here with you, and I didn’t. I came with Blaise.” Tom gestured to Zabini, who was standing behind his shoulder looking bored out of his mind.
“That was not what I meant and you know it!”
“And who might this be?” Skeeter had twisted around in her seat and was looking Tom up and down.
Tom, of course, offered her one of his breathtakingly charming smiles and held out his hand. “Pardon the intrusion, Miss Skeeter. I’m Tom Riddle, Hermione’s boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend? Really?” Skeeter snapped her head back around to stare at Hermione, as if waiting for her to deny it. Her eyes glinted as greedy curiosity spread across her features.
Hermione gritted her teeth. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend, but he is not supposed to be here! I told him to wait at the castle—”
Tom looked at her, putting on an overly exaggerated pout and speaking in a sickeningly sappy voice. “I know, Hermione, but I just couldn’t stand to spend all day away from you! Not on Valentine’s Day!”
Hermione took a deep breath in and counted to ten as she let it out.
“My, my, Granger, you’ve done rather well, I must say!” Skeeter said, looking between the couple and furrowing her brows. “I honestly can’t quite believe it, after your romantic debacles last year. I thought you were still seeing Potter; he’s meeting us here today, isn’t he?”
“Hermione and I have reached an understanding where Harry Potter is concerned,” Tom said, somehow managing to sound demure, which he most definitely wasn’t! What a snake! “This love triangle business has been a bit difficult, but I simply care about Hermione too much to let jealousy and petty rivalries get in my way!”
Skeeter’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree as Tom fed her the exact sappy bullshit she used to invent. “You seem like such a fascinating young man, Mr. Riddle, it’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to meet last year! Why don’t we remedy that? Please, have a seat!”
Hermione glared at her boyfriend, already scripting how she was going to lay into him later for ambushing her like this. He was completely out of line! “We really don’t have the time—”
“Don’t mind if I do!” Ignoring her, Tom slid into the seat next to Hermione and pulled her back down before sliding his arm around her shoulder. “If there’s one thing I love, it’s talking about how my lovely girlfriend and I overcame the odds and ended up together!”
“That sounds like a wonderful story, I simply must hear it!” Skeeter gushed, pushing her horn-rimmed glasses up on her nose before leaning forward and resting her head on her hands. “In fact, I’d like to hear everything! Once I get back to writing, I’m going to need all fresh material, and you seem like just the sort of character my readers would love meeting. Why don’t you start from the beginning? Tell me a little about yourself!”
That was all Tom needed to launch into a long monologue about himself while Hermione stewed next to him. Blaise ended up sitting down next to Luna and apparently lacked anything better to do than strike up a conversation with her, so Hermione alternated between listening to that and glaring at Tom. There was no way she was spending tonight with him like they’d planned, not after this!
When Harry and Cho showed up half an hour later, arm and arm and giggling, it was to find her throwing eye daggers at her boyfriend as he kept his arm around her shoulders and schmoozed an ecstatic Rita Skeeter, while Luna enthusiastically lectured a bemused Blaise on the dangers of heliopaths.
Harry cleared his throat and gave Hermione a half-confused smile. “Well, this is… the strangest double date I’ve ever seen.”
Ever since Kara became Supergirl, she's been in near-constant danger. Alex hates to admit it, but she isn't coping very well with her new responsibilities to keep her sister safe. Astra knows how that feels. On AO3
Alex stumbled out onto her apartment’s tiny balcony at three in the morning, a glass of whisky in her hand. Her entire body felt like lead. She should really have come home and immediately gone to bed, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept in days. Probably wouldn’t sleep until they figured out what Maxwell Lord was planning and took him down. Kara’s safety hung in the balance and she’d be damned if she’d sleep when she could be doing something to help. But Hank had sent her home. Ordered her to get some sleep.
Tipping back the rest of her whisky, she briefly wished Kara were there. To reprimand her for being awake. To reprimand her for drinking too much. To reprimand her for the abysmal state of her apartment. Never mind. Kara didn’t need to know about any of this. She had too much to worry about without having to worry about Alex as well.
It was freezing outside. She couldn’t remember why she’d decided to come out here in the first place. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned to go back inside and was immediately startled by a question asked from inside her apartment.
“Worried about something, Brave One?”
“Shit,” Alex cursed under her breath when she dropped her glass on the floor, watching it shatter, “What do you want, Astra?”
Astra was sitting in her living room, casually leaning back into her couch. But she leaned forward a little, a slightly concerned expression flashing across her face, when the glass hit the floor. She stood up, cautiously walking over to the other woman.
“I- Kara said something about you when we talked today. She was… concerned.” Astra and Kara were on speaking terms now. Alex and Astra were not. Alex had a difficult time forgiving the woman for putting her sister in danger.
“I don’t need you to feel ‘concerned’ for me,” Alex said, emphasizing her point with air quotes. She knelt down to pick up the shattered remains of her glass, but her hand was stopped before she could actually pick anything up. It took her a second to process that Astra’s hand was around her wrist and that she was speaking again.
“-going to slice your hand open.” Astra had already swept most of the glass into a small pile with her other hand, “While I’m fairly confident you can handle yourself, you do seem to be… rather drunk.”
Alex snatched her hand out of the other woman’s grip, surprised when she was actually allowed to do so. She stood up, a little unsteady on her feet and more than a little nauseous, deciding the best thing to do was ignore the woman who had broken into her apartment at three in the morning out of “concern”.
“You’re going to hurt yourself, you know.” Astra followed the stumbling woman into the kitchen, where she was already getting out another glass. Alex didn’t even seem phased by the words. “If you can’t think of yourself, at least think about Kara for a minute.”
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me to think about Kara,” Alex snapped, anger flashing in her eyes as she turned around to face the intruder. “I always think of Kara. I never stop thinking of Kara. Why the hell do you think I’m doing this? Do you think I enjoy staying up every night until four in the morning, staring at my own ceiling? I can’t fucking sleep because I can’t stop thinking about how much danger she is constantly in.”
Alex could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. How dare this woman accuse her of not thinking of Kara? Who the hell did she think she was?
“That isn’t what I meant,” Astra said gently, stepping a little closer to the woman breaking down in front of her. “She worries about you. And you’re sitting in your apartment drinking yourself to sleep. You can’t tell me that this is healthy.”
Alex visibly deflated, dropping her shoulders and reaching up to wipe at her eyes.
“I know. I just… don’t know what else to do.” Alex sat the empty glass on the counter, dejectedly deciding not to have anymore to drink that night. She sank to the floor, drawing her legs up into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Astra could see the silent sobs racking her body. She didn’t look as intimidating as usual tonight, but it didn’t diminish Astra’s opinion of the woman.
Astra knelt down on the floor beside her, hesitantly reaching out to put a hand on her back. She felt rather than heard the hitch in Alex’s breathing, the sobs becoming audible now. Crossing her legs and settling in on the floor, Astra began rubbing soft circles on the other woman’s back.
“Sometimes you do all you can and it still doesn’t feel like enough,” Astra whispered, understanding the feeling more than she wanted to admit. But here was this woman, the bravest human she’d ever met, crying on her kitchen floor because she didn’t think she could protect her family. Astra was willing to admit to all her feelings of inadequacy if it made Alex feel any less alone.
Alex rolled over and nearly fell of the couch, throwing her arm out to stop herself from hitting the floor. She didn’t remember falling asleep. She did vaguely remember Astra being there, though, but she didn’t seem to be there now.
It was morning. Probably closer to mid-day based on the amount of sunlight streaming through her window and exacerbating her headache. She pulled at the blanket that was draped over her legs, trying to get it to cover both her face and her feet, but it was too small.
Rolling her legs off the couch and pulling herself into a sitting position, she looked around her apartment. Her clean apartment. Which she didn’t remember cleaning.
“Wow. Way to go, drunk me.” Alex ran her hands through her hair, trying to get some of the tangles out of it. The shrill ringing of her phone broke the silence of her apartment, causing her to grimace and slam her eyes closed. Blindly reaching out towards the sound, she snatched her phone off the end table and pressed the button to silence it before even looking to see who it was. Immediately regretting the decision, she squinted at the phone and tried to remember her passcode.
Kara. Twenty-three text messages and three missed calls with voicemails. Hank. One missed call, early this morning.
“Alex, this isn’t funny. Answer your phone or I’m coming over during my lunch break. Is everything okay? If you don’t call before noon I’m coming over. I’ve called like four times this-“ The message cut off, but the sentiment was clear. She’d worried Kara. The text messages were the same.
-Alex are you asleep?
-Wake up, it’s nearly ten.
-ALEXXXXXXX DANVERSSSS WAKE UP
-For real, are you asleep? Is something wrong?
The next dozen were frantic. Alex typed back a quick reply before her sister had an aneurism.
-I’m fine. I just overslept, so I guess no work today. Don’t worry, you don’t have to come over.
The last thing she needed this morning was Kara coming over and finding out she was hungover. She stood up, dizziness immediately hitting her, but she managed to get into the kitchen without smashing her head open on the floor. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, a text message from Kara, no doubt. She pulled it out and glanced at it; her sister seemed abated for now and would not be coming over.
Looking up from her phone, she saw an empty glass on her counter. She picked it up; inspecting it to make sure it was clean. Turning towards the sink, it almost slipped out of her hand. She sighed, thinking about how she really didn’t need two broken glasses in twenty-four hours.
Two broken glasses? Right, she’d broken a glass the night before. And Astra had cleaned it up? Yes, that’s what had happened. There was broken glass in the trashcan, so someone had cleaned it up… Had Astra been in the kitchen?
Alex dropped her hands down to her sides, letting the empty glass graze against her pants leg. She remembered crying on the kitchen floor. Astra rubbing her back and telling her that she understood. Alex could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again. Humiliated, she slammed the empty glass back down on the counter.
She turned on the water and immediately stuck her hands under the cold stream. She brought her face down towards the sink, splashing freezing cold water onto herself, not particularly caring that her shirt was getting wet. Her hands were shaking, whether from the cold or the crying, she couldn’t be sure. But at least she couldn’t feel the tears on her face as they fell, blending in with the water that was dripping down her neck.
She didn’t find the note until later, sitting on her end table. It had presumably been tucked underneath her phone. It was written on a folded up take-out receipt and she almost threw it away.
You feel asleep on the kitchen floor. I hope you don’t mind, but I moved you to the couch. Your shoes are under the coffee table. If you want to talk about it, call me.
Astra had signed it with her phone number and a squiggle that Alex assumed was supposed to be her name. Alex didn’t even know she had a phone. But she supposed that the woman had lived on Earth for almost as long as Kara had. Hell, Astra could have an apartment and a pet cat for all she knew. She crumpled the note up in her hand and shoved it into a drawer on the end table. She didn’t need Astra’s pity or her phone number. In fact, she could easily go the rest of her life without having to face the other woman again and she would be absolutely okay with that.
But she also couldn’t stop wishing that she could remember what Astra’s hands felt like on her back. Or what she smelled like. Alex was fairly certain that Astra would never forget that she had reeked of whisky.
The next week, Lord fled National City. It was all over the papers. His company shut down, hundreds of people were out of work. And he went underground. The media had turned on him, no one wanted to support a man who couldn’t support Supergirl, especially after he called her a monster for saving a group of kindergarteners from a burning building.
Alex had hoped she would be able to sleep now that the man wasn’t actively threatening her sister. But forty-five minutes of fruitlessly trying to get comfortable enough to sleep in her own bed, she had to admit that sleep was still evading her. She got up and walked back into her living room, considering pouring herself a glass of wine. It was cold in her apartment. She was only wearing a t-shirt and her underwear. She pulled at the blanket on the couch as she went by, planning on wrapping it around her waist, but it got snagged in the end table’s closed drawer. When she tugged on it, the drawer was pulled out of its track, spilling its contents across the floor with a crash.
“Fuck me,” Alex muttered, dropping the blanket and resigning herself to clean up the mess before she forgot it existed. Dropping to her knees beside the couch, she realized that she’d cracked the drawer open and that she’d have to either fix it or buy a new end table.
Pushing the broken drawer across the floor and out of the way, she started gathering up the papers that were strewn across her living room. Unpaid bills, junk mail, take-out menus. Most of it could go in the trash. A crumpled up piece of receipt paper caught her eye. Leaning back against the edge of the couch, she tried to smooth it out on her thigh.
She knew what it was. Astra’s little note. She tried to tell herself that she was only trying to smooth it out so that she could save it for the phone number. In case something bad ever happened with Kara and she needed to get in touch with the other woman. But she could always just get the number out of Kara’s phone the next time she saw her; Kara was sure to have it.
Receipt paper isn’t known for its quality. The words, written in pencil, were smudged and almost unreadable in some places. Alex pulled it closer to her face, squinting a little to try to read it. The number had survived, as well as the squiggly signature. But most of the beginning was gone. She lightly traced her thumb over the first line and what was left of the pencil came off on her finger. Alex licked her thumb and wiped it off on her shirt.
She rushed back to her room to get her phone, suddenly needing to take a picture of the note before any more of it was lost. Sitting down on her bed, she turned on the lamp and tried one last time to flatten out the note. The camera on her phone seemed to take a lifetime to properly focus on the words. She took four pictures of it.
Picking it back up and holding it up under the light, she noticed that the “A” in Astra’s name was just a large lowercase “a”. She used to sign her name like that, back in high school. Her teachers had told her it looked unprofessional.
She walked over to her desk and dug through it for a stickpin. She searched the wall beside her bed for one of the dozen of tiny holes she’d made while living there; she hated making new ones when she hung things up. Settling on a spot directly above a photo of her and Kara, she stuck the note to the wall.
It seemed silly. What would she tell Kara if she saw it? There was really no explanation for either the content of the note or why she’d hung it up. She just didn’t want to lose it. Alex wanted to be constantly reminded that it existed, which she knew wouldn’t happen if she let it rot in one of the packed drawers in her apartment.
Almost as an afterthought, she saved the number in her phone, safely under the distancing name of “Kara’s Aunt”.
Falling off a second story balcony had hurt like a motherfucker, but she’d thankfully only sprained her right wrist and gotten some massive bruises. Kara was inconsolable; constantly blathering about how she should have caught Alex before she hit the ground as if Kara hadn’t been busy trying not to let Non slit her throat with that stupid Kryptonite knife.
Cursing her way through attempting to take off her jacket without taking off the brace, she accidentally slammed her uninjured elbow into the wall. She finally gave up and took of the brace, tossing it into the living room.
“I don’t have much experience with these things, but I’m fairly certain you’re supposed to wear them.” Astra sauntered out of Alex’s living room, holding the damn brace. Alex groaned as she quickly ripped her jacket over her injured wrist, figuring it was best to handle it like a band-aid.
“You know, for a supposedly reformed Kryptonian, you sure do spend a lot of your time breaking and entering.” Alex snatched the brace out of Astra’s hand with her left hand. After watching Alex try to put it back on by herself, Astra grabbed Alex’s right elbow and quickly put the brace back on the other woman. As soon as she finished, Alex cradled her injured hand at her chest, stepping back from Astra. “I don’t need your help.”
“I never said you did,” Astra said reverently, backing up to allow the younger woman her space. “And I will leave if you want me to.”
“Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care,” Alex muttered, slipping around her into the kitchen. She needed something to drink. Except the pain meds she was on weren’t supposed to be mixed with alcohol. So tonight, “a drink” meant orange juice. She felt like a fucking kid, pouring orange juice directly into a cup and not mixing anything with it. Astra watched her from the doorway.
“Do you actually want something?” She felt a little regretful at being so harsh, but she was in pain and still fairly embarrassed over the last time Astra had been in her apartment.
“I heard what happened today.”
“Yeah? You heard that your dumbass husband tried to kill Kara and one of your stupid minions pushed me off a second story balcony?” Alex spat out, slamming her cup back down and watching the liquid splash out onto counter.
“If it matters, I don’t consider him my husband anymore. Nor do I particularly wish to be associated with his followers. But you do have a right to be angry with me. I’m sorry that happened and wish I could have stopped it.” Dammit. Why the hell did the woman have to be so… so damn rational? Alex wanted Astra to scream at her about how none of this was her fault anymore. She wanted a real fight, not some conciliatory word and an apology.
“Yeah-well. Cool. Whatever.” Alex tried to wipe up the spilled orange juice with her sleeve, planning to take the shirt off soon enough anyway. Astra looked like all she wanted to do was find a paper towel and stop this disaster, but she didn’t want to offend Alex by offering any more unwanted help. Sleeves do not make particularly good towels, but Alex wouldn’t admit defeat to a dumb orange juice spill. Biting her upper lip, she angrily slammed her fist onto the counter.
“I’ll just let myself out,” Astra said, sensing that Alex was embarrassed. Assuming she wouldn’t want Astra around for another break down.
“Don’t.” It was quiet. Almost choked out. Alex was staring at the floor, wrapping her arms around her chest. Trying to ignore that she was making a mess with the orange juice.
“Are you- I don’t know what you want me to do, Brave One,” Astra admitted, moving into the kitchen and helplessly holding up her arms in front of her.
“Don’t call me that, for starters,” Alex mumbled. “I’m not brave.”
“Of course you are.” Astra looked genuinely confused. Alex Danvers was the bravest human she’d ever met. These nights in her apartment had only confirmed that. “You wake up every day and fight to protect Kara. To protect your family and your people. Against forces much stronger than your own. Never thinking of the danger it presents to you. Modesty is not becoming, Alex Danvers.”
Alex snorted and lifted her head up to look at the woman in her kitchen. She wasn’t exactly a person that Alex ever expected to receive a pep talk from; it was funny in a weird sort of way. Astra sounded like Kara. The words were Kara’s but the tone was different. Kara would have been distraught over the thought of Alex never thinking of herself. Astra sounded proud.
Alex definitely looked a wreck. Orange juice on her shirt, bloodshot eyes, but a slight grin starting to show on her face. A chill came through the apartment and forced her to take notice of the soaked spot on the center of her chest from where she’d wrapped her wet arm across herself. Astra saw the shiver that Alex tried to hide.
“I’ll go find a dry shirt,” Astra said, already turning to go towards the other woman’s room.
Alex pulled at her wet sleeve, stretching it out of shape before tugging the shirt off entirely, careful of her wrist this time. She dropped it on the counter and mopped up the rest of the juice before going to her own room to throw it in the hamper. She was checking to make sure her bra wasn’t wet when she walked into her room, hardly noticing that Astra had stopped looking for a clean shirt.
“You got my note.” Alex snapped her head around and saw that the other woman was staring pensively at her wall. At the note that she’d written; the inconsequential note that Alex had hung on her wall. “I wasn’t sure if you ever found it. You never called.”
“I didn’t see the need,” Alex said, trying to sound confident while digging through her closet. She picked up a black t-shirt off the floor and threw it on.
“You’re in pain. Denying it won’t make it go away. Trust me,” Astra said, turning around, swiping her hand across the note as she did so. She slowly walked towards Alex; giving the other woman enough time to back away if she wanted to. But Alex held her ground, allowed Astra to stand in front of her, barely a foot away. Allowed Astra to reach up with one of her hands and sweep Alex’s hair behind her ear. Didn’t move when she brought the other hand up to cup her face. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” Alex asked, hating how breathy the words came out. Astra tilted her face up a bit in her hands.
“Trust me.” The words were whispered, meant to be seen on her lips more than they were meant to be heard. And Alex found that she did. Trust her. She wasn’t sure when it had happened. Somewhere along the way, her determination to never forgive had slipped away. Kara trusted her. And that was good enough for Alex.
Alex nodded, beginning to understand how Kara could love this woman. Astra dipped her head down a bit, brushing her lips across Alex’s cheek. She started to pull back, get out of Alex’s personal space, but Alex quickly slipped her arms around Astra’s neck, holding her in place inches away from her face.
“Don’t,” Alex whispered, letting her hands slip forward to mirror Astra’s hands on her own face. Astra was a little taller than she was; she’d never really noticed. Her face was soft, her skin and her expression. Both of which were strange to notice on the fierce Kryptonian.
Sliding forward onto her toes, Alex leaned her forehead against Astra’s. She knew the other woman could feel her heart beating intensely in her chest and wondered what she thought of that. Searching the other woman’s eyes did very little to answer the question; Astra seemed content to just let Alex do as she pleased. She trailed her hand down Astra’s neck, some of her hair catching in the brace that Alex still wore. Gently pulling her hand free, she separated out the silver stands of Astra’s hair from the rest, twirling it around her fingers.
“I trust you, okay?” Alex said before tilting her head and capturing Astra’s lips with her own. She felt Astra’s hands tighten on her cheeks; it wasn’t painful, just a bit more forceful. Astra didn’t seem to mind when Alex deepened the kiss, letting Alex’s tongue into her mouth when she traced it across her bottom lip. Humming a little, Astra moved both her hands up to run through Alex’s hair and pull her closer. Alex was the first to pull back, needing to catch her breath.
“Are you okay?” Astra asked, a bit concerned by Alex’s gasping breaths and racing heart.
“I’m fine- I might have… forgotten that I needed to breathe for a minute there,” Alex choked out between breaths, dropping a hand out of Astra’s hair to clutch at her own chest. Astra smiled, shaking her head and pulling Alex forward to rest her head on Astra’s shoulder. She was quite pleased with this new addition to her little family. Alex Danvers, the bravest human she’d ever met.
It wasn’t a good day. She hated this day. Mostly because she couldn’t get anything out of her mind and she was just thinking of all the blood, the rape, and the yelling. She was a whore. Slut. Cunt. None of it left her and she began her day by shaking, sobbing in the bathroom like she did when she was younger. She wanted to feel better. She wanted to make herself be a little happier. So she curled her hair, put on her favorite pair of heels and just planned on going shopping. but there was something missing. She’d walked around the apartment for hours, trying to find it but she fucking couldn’t! She needed her red lipstick. It was what completed her. She could never leave the house without it on. Avery didn’t like how she looked without it. She loved red lipstick. The only place she might have left it was at work. But she promised Asher she’d never go back there.
He wouldn’t even know.
It’d be quick. So she stepped out. Brisk air nipping at her skin and Avery didn’t even cover her arms. She didn’t like coats. So it left her to freeze. though she didn’t mind. Today was an exceptionally numb day. she wouldn’t feel anything. But it wasn’t that far of a walk to get to her workplace.
It was quiet. Early morning were always sort of slow.Not many people worked, and not many people were looking for sex on a Tuesday morning. Avery just walked straight to the back, where everyone’s things were till their day was over. She had one of her purses still there. She kept most of her makeup in there when she needed to touch up between jobs. The heels clicked infamously, and she’d had a few people stop and say hi to her. She just nodded and kept going, her fingers finally going o search her bag. She had orange lipstick. She had plum lipstick. Blush, eye shadow, mascara, even a curling iron in her goddamn bag. But where was her red lipstick! She let out a whimper, pressing her head against the wall.
"Ave—" No. It was a bad idea to come here. She needed to leave. Now. No coming back. Her hand quickly grabbed the bag, and she turned around, already seeing the tall figure in front of her. Inches taller than her— maybe even taller than Asher. She just stared. Wide eyed. She wanted to say something but she couldn’t. She tried to slip past him but he grabbed her arm, nails digging into her delicate arm. She winced, trying to pull away, but that only caused him to grip harder, causing her to yelp, “You’re being rude, Avery. Just let me say hello.” He pulled her back, looking at her as she was pressed against the wall. Eyes lingered over her body and Avery just closed her big brown eyes, wanting this to be over soon. Just rape her and leave, Ricardo. Do what you always do and break her into pieces. A hand placed over her stomach, the bump that was starting to show more easily, “Are you pregnant?” He smirked. She hated him. Hated him more than she hated the Mob. He was disgusting, but he owned her. That was established right away, when she started working her.
Fear was pumping through her veins and she just whimpered again, wanting it to be over, “Well aren’t you a fucking whore.” He looked at her face, grabbing her jaw to make him look at her, “Who’s the father? Or have you fucked too many guys to even know?”
"Please…" She whispered, eyes glossing over. She just wanted him to leave her alone, "Let me go," A few girls had been looking now. People whom didn’t especially hate Avery. She knew they would have helped if it was some other pervert. But Cardo owned all of them. You can’t stand up against him. She loved Asher, and she should have listened to him by never coming back, but stepping foot into this place, she wasn’t his, she was Ricardo’s. It wasn’t her choice. She just wanted Asher right now. He’d hold her, and kiss her head. He’d make her feel okay, and buy her new lipstick, "I have a boyfriend," It was weird calling him that, but how else was she supposed to get him off of her. She doubted it would work, but she’d just try.
He snorted, pushing her harder against the wall, “Just because you suck his dick on a regular basis does not make him you’re boyfriend. Whores don’t get romance. And Avery, you’re the biggest slut I’ve ever met. He probably just buys you dinner sometimes and sucks your cunt. That’s not a boyfriend.” He talked to her like a child. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. She was done with his shit. Sneering, she spat in his face. He loosened slightly, giving her a chance to slip away, pulling out her phone only for a second, dialing Asher’s number. She should have listened. She should have just stayed home and cried. Just waited for him to come home and hold her. But she wanted to do it herself for once. She wanted to be an adult. She just wanted to be happy for him so he would think she was strong. Avery is supposed to be strong for him.
She knew he was quickly approaching her. She tapped her finger against the end of her phone, he wasn’t picking up. He always picked up. Why wasn’t he doing it this time? She was afraid. Cardo was not far behind her. his messaging system played, the dull beep echoed in her ear and she began, talking quicker than normal. She was almost at the door, she could almost each it, “I’msosorryAsherIshould havelistened. Ineedyourightnow. Ijustwantedto getmylipstick. I’matwork. I’m so sorry, Asher. Ple—”
Her hand flew from her hand, a hand grabbing the curl of her hair, swinging her against the bar. It hit the side of her face, her nose almost instantly bleeding. Her purse had fallen, along with the bag with makeup. Everyone was watching now, Avery covered her eyes as she sobbed, blood running down her face. But he obviously wasn’t done. Pulling her by her blonde curls, he made her look at him, “You’re lucky I didn’t fucking kill you. You’re useless. A useless, fucking cunt.” He let go, head falling hard on the floor again. She whimpered, crying again. She could taste metal. A feeling she’d thought had left, but it was all coming back.
"I’m… not.. a cunt." She said, quietly. She regretted it the moment she said it. She wanted to take it back, but it was too late now. By now, people had looked away, minding their own business because they might get some if they kept watching.
"Excuse me?" He looked at her, grabbing her face. His harsh gaze lasted for a while, just making her feel the fear deep in her bones. She shouldn’t have said it. But she didn’t want to have to deal with anymore. No one should.
"Let me go, please," She begged. Tears mixed with blood and she was laying on the cold floor. But he didn’t, he only gripped harder. She needed Asher. He needed to come and save her right now. She felt so stupid. Such a dumb bitch. Asher wouldn’t be happy. He’d yell at her. Maybe he’d be so upset he’d just leave here. She choked out a sob, feeling his grip tighter, impression of his nails were on her cheek. She asked for it. Deserved whatever he was going to do to her. Maybe she was a cunt. A mobster’s princess. She’d always have her nose to the clouds. So much better than everyone else. A high class whore. Such a whore. Dumb whore.
"Why would I let you go now? You’ve disrespected me twice now. Is this what happens when you disappear. You learn to get mouthy? This boyfriend of yours, does his cum has some kind of chemical to make you such a dumb slut? I’m not going to let you go just so you can run to this ass who you think is your boyfriend. He doesn’t like you, Avery. Who would like a dumb slut like you? There is nothing to like about you. You’re weak. You’re stupid. And you’re pregnant. Fuck, you’re not even good looking anymore. You just give good head. That’s all it is. That’s all there is about you, Ave. You’re a whore. Only good at sex. It’s all you know. You’re useless otherwise.”
She cried, letting her head rest on the ground. He pulled away, slowly standing up as there was a small puddle around her. It soaked her hair, he was getting on her best dress. She just wanted her lipstick.
He was yanked from her body. Fully pulled off of her and she looked up to see Asher. He got her quickly. Her eyes widened, looking at him grab the man by the collar. His face was blank. Like usual. But it was different in a way. Something much darker. It scared her. She didn’t want to face him. She was so stupid. She fucked up. He should leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he stopped before one of the marble table, slamming his head down. There was a crack, and Avery thought Asher might have killed the guy, but he was still breathing. He just fell to the ground, his face smashed. He grabbed him again, ready to hit him across the table—
"Stop—!" She sat up, trying to get to her feet, but her body ached. Her hand clutching her stomach, the other on a bar stool. He looked at her. Her curls were crimson, sticking together at her shoulders, her face covered in tears and blood. He probably broke her nose, because it wouldn’t stop bleeding, "Stop," She said again, quieter this time, in a small sob. She should have stayed home.
Asher quickly let go of Cardo, taking long strides to Avery, helping her up. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. He would be too upset. He told her. He didn’t want her to come back. He wouldn’t have known. She just wanted her lipstick. She just wanted to feel better before he got home. It wasn’t about her. It can’t be about her. She can’t be selfish. That’s stupid. It was about him. He needed her. She needed to be the strong one. The one who was okay all the time. She failed him, and disappointed him most likely.
Holding onto her stomach, Asher lead her out the club quickly, bending down to pick up her purse. The bag with makeup had scattered and he didn’t want to have to pick it up. He’d replace everything if he really needed to. Pushing through the door, he held onto her, thinking she might collapse. She was silent though, looking forward. She shook, trembled. That’s what she did when she was scared. When she was empty. When she stopped feeling. She shut down. Her tears stopped, and as he put her in the car, the ride home was silent. The blood finally stopped, but still covered a good fraction of her face.
He helped her up the stairs, her high heels making her go slower. At least they weren’t ruined in this mess. At least she still have her shoes. They got inside their home, the mewling of their kitten could be heard from the other room as he pranced to the two, rubbing against her feet as she kicked off her heels. Bare feet hit the ground and she wiped the blood and tears away at the sink, “I’m so sorry,” She whispered, “I should have stayed home. I should have just sat in my pajamas. I so stupid. I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t want to upset—” She didn’t finish, Asher just pulled her into his chest. Gripping onto the fabric on his torso, she cried softly, her body shaking. She was so scared. She was so afraid he’d leave her. Like Ricardo said. He didn’t love her. No one ever would. She was only good at one thing and she should just stick to that one thing. His fingers ran through her hair, lips pressing to her head. She didn’t belong with him. Why wasn’t he telling her how stupid she was. How much she fucked up? How she should leave. She wasn’t even having his child. He should have told her that she should have just jumped off the ledge when she had the chance. He should be telling her how much he hated her. She was a dumb slut, why wasn’t he telling her that? She’s only ever been a whore. And it hasn’t changed. Why didn’t he see that?
Slowly, Asher pulled away, a hand digging into his pocket, the other holding her jawline so gently, wiping away what tears were left on her cheek. Slowly, he brought the lipstick to her lips, staying in the lines of her lips, doing a not so horrible job at applying the makeup when his face was so close to hers. He had to smile for her, hoping she would too, slowly, he capped the item, and placed it in her hand, “You left it in the car.” It was so dumb. She remembered it now. She was going to the doctor, and she had left it in the car because she didn’t have her purse that day. She was stupid. It was pointless to get into such trouble, Avery has fucked up. She was so upset at herself. So terrified. So hurt. She didn’t look much happier. Maybe even a little more sad, even. It was just left in the car, and she had done the one thing Asher didn’t want her to do just to find her red lipstick. Why hadn’t he yelled at her yet?
Asher notices how she wasn’t much better. His thumb rubbed her cheek more, and he kissed her, gently, tender with care. He held her close, and would continue to until she stopped crying.
