#also yes I did technically trace over him but I’m learning okay

[circusclownsam]

Not super proud but MOAs will eat up anything txt related so :I

His lips are so hard omfg.

I’m entering my ✨faceless drawing✨ era

Also, rough outline of Yeonjun.

Edit: I gave up n deleted the entire drawing so like- have fun w the outline ig

[quibbs126]

May I request a CacaoLily (Dark Cacao x White Lily) fan child if you haven’t done one already?

All right, I made her, this is Snowdrop Cookie

So as for her name, it’s mostly because snowdrops are white flowers, and the Dark Cacao Kingdom has a lot of snow. I was going to originally go with chocolate lilies, but then I looked at the two and realized that their kid would probably have white hair, whereas chocolate lilies are a dark brown, so I went with snowdrops instead

Snowdrop:

I’m gonna be completely honest, I think I should have spent more time on her design. I’m not too satisfied with it, and honestly I think I kind of rushed it, just because I had some ideas for her today. Her hair’s…good I suppose, and I definitely plan on keeping the eye shape. I added the black streaks so she’d bear more resemblance to her father. I was also debating between a bun or a ponytail, but my friend said ponytail was better, so I did that. Originally I planned to have her hair all down, but I couldn’t get it to look right. But as for her outfit, I really didn’t think about it as much as I should have. I wanted to incorporate snowdrops into her design, but I couldn’t figure out how, so I sort of gave her a cloak/scarf that resembles it, and then I just came up with something random for the rest of it that looked like the rest of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, since that’s where she lives. And as for the colors, I just sort of went with whatever random thing I could think of, mainly just giving her White Lily’s colors

Yeah, I definitely think I’m gonna redesign her and give her more time to actually be fleshed out in my head. I’ll probably draw her more as I flesh her out

Also technically what you see here isn’t what she looks like in “current day” Kingdom. This is her when she’s around 20 or so. In current day, she’s more around her mid 40s (though granted I’m not sure how to portray that), but we’ll get to that

So as for her character, so I was going to say that nothing much had changed since I talked about her this morning, and that I hadn’t fleshed her out at all, but while making this post I took a break and started thinking of her more. So what I say may not be accurate to the picture shown

Anyways, so the things I said before still apply. Snowdrop is the princess of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and is Dark Choco’s older half sister. Though their age gap is a lot bigger than the other half siblings I’ve made for him (at least for now, I think the affocao one is going to have them beat out), with her being around 15 years older, or whatever Cookie terms that applies to, since she would have been around pre Dark Enchantress, but Dark Choco would be very young at the time of the Dark Flour War, which from what I understand has a few centuries in between them. But whatever, the timeline of Cookie Run is weird. Let’s just say she’s 15 years older and move on

So with this large age gap, while yes she was close to her little brother, she tended to be closer to a babysitter than just an older sister, given she’d be an adult by the time he’s like 3. Given Dark Choco had very little frame of reference for sibling relationships, he never saw this as weird

Anyways so let’s move on to Snowdrop on her own. …Okay I’ll be honest, I don’t have much on her personality other than she’s sweet and a bit timid at times. I think I’m also going to keep the aspect that she helped with the physicians in the Citadel, possibly learning parts of their trade. However, don’t take her somewhat meek appearance as a sign she’s not a threat, she’s still a Dark Cacao warrior, and one trained by Dark Cacao at that. She’s absolutely nasty with a dagger, her preferred weapon of choice. Also, she’s not short, not by a long shot, with her height rivaling that of her father, meaning she towers over most people. She’s just a bit lanky

Anyways, so one day, back when Dark Choco was young, around 5 or so (but after White Lily disappeared), Snowdrop suddenly disappeared without a trace, and she hasn’t been seen since. The last person to see her was Dark Choco, where the previous night, he had gone out of his room for a glass of milk, only to see Snowdrop sneaking through the halls wrapped in a cloak. He asked where she was going and she said she was just planning on going out for a little evening stroll outside the castle. She helped him get his glass and tucked him back in bed, telling him to keep her walk a little secret between him, before kissing him goodnight. The morning after, no one could find him. Eventually after a few days, Dark Choco felt bad and that maybe something had happened, and told his dad that she said she had gone out for a walk, but still no trace of her could be found. No one knows why she left, but Dark Cacao can’t help but blame himself (also in truth I haven’t figured out why she left either. Maybe something to do with her mom. I just wanted her to be missing). If she ever returns, and especially after the incident with Dark Choco, Dark Cacao will keep his gates open

I may end up drawing her post-disappearance, but I haven’t decided

But yeah, that’s Snowdrop. Definitely feel like I should have spent more time on her, but I hope you still like her regardless

[cupidsintern]

shot thru the heart, pt 2

pt 1 here!

-

Steve shoves Billy's perfect handwriting homework in his binder with his own shitty notes and thinks immediately that it doesn't belong there. Too good. Too Perfect. Too pretty. Like the tails on Billy’s lowercase Gs and Ys- pretty. He thinks of that the whole time he’s copying free responses and trying to change the wording just enough so it sounds different- he just dumbs it down, has to guess at what a couple words mean, Billy writes all intellectual-

But actually Steve sort of feels like he learns something. Sort of feels like he gets it a little better in just the way Billy describes it back to himself. And Billy only did this to be helpful- the extended “I’m really actually sorry” of making sure someone passes at least one of their fucking classes. Steve wonders briefly if Billy would ever like, tutor him or something. Then he shoves that thought right the fuck back where it came from because the pit of what he’s sure is jealousy in his stomach fucking writhes or some shit when he thinks about being around Billy that much. Even just looking at his handwriting…

Steve takes an extra long, extra think-y shower after he finishes his homework.

Steve hands Billy’s work back in the hallway just outside their shared second period. He even waits by the door, a solid two minutes before the bell, leaning against a row of lockers trying not to look at the stupid depression-inducing decor. He’s not-thinking about it so hard that he doesn't notice Billy until he’s right there, close-

“Aw, you waited for me?” Billy says, mock-sweet, taking his work back out of Steve's hands.

Steve recovers from his surprise faster. “You wish.”

“Don’t I ever.” Billy’s already walking into class, sorta mumbles that last part. Steve follows him in.

And they don’t talk for the rest of class- there’s no homework. But Steve can feel like he can sense Billy's presence more again, now. Like before, but somehow worse...

Jealousy is a bitch.

Steve does get the last last homework he turned in back, though. This one also copied from Billy, and-

B-. improving! Is written at the top of the page. Great, Steve’s improving. Just in time for fucking spring semester of his senior year. And the improvement isn't even his it’s-

The bell rings. Billy’s up and out of his desk so fast his backpack clips the edge of the adjacent desk as he slings it ever so casually over his left shoulder. Everytime, he's so fast. Like he can’t be in any one place too long- like a shark.

That's a thing right? Steve thinks. Sharks. They have to keep swimming or they like, die or something.

Steve realizes he’s just been staring at the door Billy walked out of several moments ago and he blinks. Shakes his head a little, he’s spacing out too much.

Then he looks down.

A sheet of note paper lays face up on the floor next to him. W Hargrove in its top right corner- more notes.

Steve grabs the sheet of paper off the floor and shoves it into his backpack, before he even really has time to think about what he’s doing, why he’s doing it- burning hot something in the deepest pit of his stomach it’s jealousy it has to be- before getting up and walking out of class.

So why did Steve take Billy’s notes? Why, to give them back of course.

Billy probably needs it back, this half finished sheet of chemistry bullshit from- jesus from October?

Okay, well if Billy doesn't need it back, maybe Steve can just. Keep it. Keep it and stare at it and hate every single one of those perfectly lined up conversion equations that he remembers not understanding at all. Billy must be in honors classes, too, because some of it Steve doesn't remember. He spends way too much time looking at it when he gets home, sits down at his desk, ignores every fucking thing else in his backpack and pulls just the sheet out.

W Hargrove

10/20/84

The W is so even. It makes Steve’s blood boil. And all the slashes are perfectly parallel- Steve traces his finger under the numbers. He sets his hand on the paper, as if he were holding a phantom pencil, thinks how a past version of Billy traced his hand over this paper just the same way when he took these notes. Steve wasn't sure if he could remember Billy being a lefty or a righty, but he was so smart…

Steve took his hand off the paper suddenly, like it had burned him. Something… didn't sit right.

He folded the paper in half once and slid it back into his binder- more carefully than before- and switching to attempting to finish his homework.

Billy was a lefty. But technically he was a. Am. Ambiv- nope. The thing! Where you can switch hands. It’s- Ambidextrous? Yes. That.

Steve congratulated himself a little for remembering the word, then went back to completely spacing out thinking he could hear the sound of Billy's pencil scratching across his notebook behind Steve in class.

He did not pay attention at all, the whole day, the warm red feeling making his skin tingle and his feet itch like he had to walk somewhere. He got up to use the bathroom twice in the same class period, which the teacher wasn't too happy about, but whatever. Fuck her. She didn't have to sit in front of Billy and look at his perfect notes every time he found himself looking over his shoulder to check the time.

“What’s got you tweaking?” Billy’s voice snaps Steve out of his trance.

“What?” Steve looks over his shoulder again, this time directly at Billy, who's looking directly back at him, which makes him feel like his brain got left out in the sun.

“Tah-week-ing.” Billy says again, slower like he’s letting Steve catch up, stupid Californian drawl.

“Oh just. Uh. Just nervous.”

“Test isn’t for another two weeks, pretty boy.”

The warm feeling is back in full force, Steve thinks it must be because of how calm and collected Billy sounds, like he couldn't care less about the test. “Not all of us can be geniuses, okay?”

Billy laughs a little- it’s pretty, softer. Steve hates it. “Bold words from someone copying my homework.”

Steve frowns a little, he can’t help it, makes to turn back around but Billy catches his shoulder-

“Hey,” Billy starts, hesitates like he’s thinking about something

Warm turns to hot, Steve’s sweating and he’s only in a windbreaker.

“If you need like. Serious help with classwork, you could always borrow my notes.”

Steve blinks. It’s a lot nicer of an offer than just letting someone copy off you. A lot nicer than Billy usually is to him. Less of an apology, more of, like, an invitation.

Is Billy trying to be his friend?

“I,” Steve starts “Might take you up on that-”

The teacher shushes both of them. Steve turns back to sitting, facing the front.

God, is he jealous of Billy being able to be nice?

-

-> pt 3

[sweet-dreamins]

i’m sorry, i missed you (s+f)

○ pairing: kei tsukishima x fem! reader, soft brat tamer kei x bratty reader (who regrets being bratty)

○ word count: 2.8k

○ summary: after a day of being bratty, tsukki finally puts you in your place

○ content: 18+, d/s dynamics, spanking, use of “Sir” as title, brat taming, light angst, crying but no dacryphilia, traffic light safe word system, fingering, unprotected sex (pls wear a condom lskdjk), a bit size kink, creampie, aftercare, happy end :)

○ a/n: this turned out way softer than i originally planned lol but soft tsukki is good tsukki 😌 hope you like it, feedback is greatly appreciated!!

Huffing, you cross your arms and pout, not meeting his gaze. Tsukki looks down at you with a light smirk, amused by your antics. You had been snippy with him since this morning, and at first, he brushed it off, mistakenly assuming you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. However, as the day went on, your remarks only grew more pointed and intentionally provocative.

“I can do this by myself, leave me alone!”

“Ugh, whatever, I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Be quiet, Tsukki, you’re so annoying!”

He was letting you get in as many jabs as possible, waiting to see if you would show any sign of remorse and apologize.

You did not.

He knew that you were just acting out because you wanted attention. Plain and simple. He had been pretty busy this week with volleyball practice and his job at the museum. But this was getting ridiculous. You needed to be put in your place. You also needed a little help in getting the truth out.

“It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” You taunt him, mirroring his smirk. He hadn’t said or done anything to correct your behavior all day, so you figured you were going to get away with being bad. You thought if he was going to punish you it would’ve been hours ago after the tenth or fifteenth rude comment came out of your mouth. Before disappointment could settle in, he grabs your face, thumb and index finger digging into your cheeks, tilting your face up to meet his stare.

“You want to repeat that, little girl?”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing underneath your skin and in between your thighs. You bit the inside of your cheek, considering you had already dug yourself six feet deep. His smirk grows at your quiet submission before throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a yelp of surprise and he slaps your ass in response. You pout at the floor as he carries you to the bedroom, butterflies fluttering about in your stomach.

The world flips as he throws you onto the bed as if you weigh nothing. You bounce on the softness, your skirt flipping up. He can perfectly see the little wet spot on the center of your pink panties. His smile oozes self-satisfaction as he coos,

“Aww, how cute you’re already wet?”

You look down at your skirt and move to fix it, but he grabs both of your wrists with one hand. He flips your skirt all the way up and cups your clothed pussy. You try not to wiggle against his fingers, knowing that would land you in even more trouble.

“Don’t hide what is mine, understand?”

You swallow thickly and nod, your mouth going dry at the fierceness in his honey brown eyes. He slaps your inner thigh, eliciting a gasp from you. You fight the urge to glare at him, just pouting instead.

“No, you don’t get to be quiet now while you were running your mouth all day.” He looks at you expectantly for your proper reply.

“I understand, sir.” He gives you a small smile of praise, internally surprised at your wise choice.

He leans in closer and gives your cheek a few patronizing pats, “That’s more like it. Besides, I still haven’t decided if I’ll let you cum tonight.”

He lets go of your wrists and sits down next to you. You already know what you have to do. You quietly crawl over to him and lay yourself on his lap. You grab fistfuls of the sheets beneath you in anticipation. He interlocks his fingers and stretches them before rolling up his sleeves.

“You’re going to count every single spank and say thank you.”

“Yes, sir.”

One. Five. Nine. With every spank, you can feel yourself getting wetter. You want nothing more than for his hands to wander lower and sink into your pussy. As you count out loud, you run through everything you said to him today. Technically, you got his attention...but you could’ve gone about it in a much nicer way.

You know that you can be a lot to handle sometimes. On the one day this week you spent together, you were nasty to him. He was probably looking forward to spending the day with you, and all you gave him was attitude. You could’ve just told him you had missed him instead of being mean. What if you had said something that actually hurt him? Who’s saying that you hadn’t already gone too far? Maybe you should’ve just been good for him today.

“Twenty! Th-hank you si-ir.” You choke out the final number, trying to catch your breath. He gently massages reassuring circles on your stinging skin. He opens his mouth to ask you what your color is but you interrupt him with a sniffling,

“Ts-suki?”

He knows not to reprimand you for using the wrong name, the weepy tone in your voice giving away your headspace. He softly asks,

“What’s your color, baby?”

“Yellow,” your voice warbly and pitiful.

Kei easily scoops you up into a sitting position so you’re straddling his lap. Now he can see your glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you went to wipe your face. Your bottom lip wobbles slightly as you try to hold back even more tears. Regret is swirling in your head, while your butt is burning, and your pussy is dripping. Your brain is struggling to comprehend this combination of sensations, turning your thoughts into a tangled mess.

“I’m so-orry I was so me-ean to you today,” you hiccup, rubbing at your tears with balled-up fists but they just don’t seem to stop coming.

“I’ve just been mi-issing you a lot, fuck, I missed y-you so much and I should’ve just to-old you that.” You choke these words out through gasping breaths. You want to let him know everything inside your head, but your body is not cooperating. He pulls down his sleeve, raising it to wipe away your tears.

“Take a deep breath, baby.” You stop trying to force words out of your mouth and slowly inhale, hoping it’ll calm your body. In and out, in and out, slow and soothing breaths, tears falling less and less frequently. Kei reaches for his water bottle and brings it to your mouth, controlling the pace of your drinking, knowing you might end up chugging it. He sets it down once you’ve had enough water and rubs your back. By now your breathing has evened out and new tears have finally stopped falling.

Kei presses a kiss to your forehead and mumbles against it,

“You learned your lesson, huh?”

You nod and hum a wobbly affirmation.

You feel him smile against your skin before he pulls away, looking into your eyes while holding your face with his hands.

“Okay. You gonna be good for me now?”

A beat of silence passes.

“I’m gonna try.”

He throws his head back in laughter and you giggle with him. Hooking his arms under you, he turns around and lays you down on the bed. He hovers above you and brushes the hair out of your face.

“What’s your color?”

After your punishment and crying session, you feel so much lighter, no longer weighed down by your rambling brain.

“Green.” You sniffle and give him a soft smile. He looks over your facial expression, making sure that you’re not lying to him. Once he’s satisfied, he drops to his forearms, caging you in, and kisses you.

Your heart soars as he kisses you desperately. It’s clear to you now that he missed you just as much, if not more. You happily let him take control of the kiss, relaxing into his hold. While he distracts you with his lips, he reaches down between the two of you and starts rubbing at your clit. You break the kiss with a small gasp, arching your back into him, wanting more. Kei grins at your reaction and reaches farther, spreading your lips and gathering slick with his fingers.

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaking, is this all because of me?”

You look up at him, and he swears he can see tiny hearts in your eyes where pupils should be.

“Yes, sir, all for you, only for you.” He kisses the tip of your nose as he slips two fingers into your pussy. Slowly thrusting in and out while rubbing your clit with his thumb. As the pleasure builds, you beg him not to stop, worried that your orgasm will be ripped away from you tonight.

But Kei isn’t a monster.

“Shh don’t worry, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” He continues thrusting and scissoring his fingers, stretching you out on his lithe fingers, preparing you for his cock. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, he sucks at the skin. He pulls away to admire you underneath him, marked up and already getting dumber by the second.

His original plan was to edge you for most of the night and ruin your orgasm anyway, but that depended on your post-spanking state. You were obviously regretful of your behavior and already slipping into that cloudy headspace. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you tonight, especially after you had cried your eyes out, so he’s determined to give you at least one good orgasm.

Instead of focusing on reaching your climax, you let yourself focus on how good he’s making you feel. Goosebumps rise all over your body and your head feels even dizzier than before. You let yourself melt into him.

Kei notices just how much you’ve relaxed and feels a pull at his heart. You trust him so much, trusting him to take care of you, your body, and your pleasure. He especially knows how hard vulnerability can be, and yet here you are. Happily giving yourself to him as if it’s second nature to you.

He kisses you again, this time more desperately, trying to get as much of you as possible. He licks your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him in. His tongue traces over yours gently before sucking on your bottom lip as you whine in response. When he breaks away, a thin string of spit connects the two of you briefly. He reaches behind his neck, swiftly pulling his shirt off and then tugging off his pants.

You keep your eyes glued to his body as you frantically pull off your shirt and bra. How was he so pretty? All you want to feel is his skin against yours. As your gaze travels up his body, the two of you lock eyes to laugh at your frenzied pace.

He settles above you again, kissing you, placing his hands at your sides while gently tracing your skin with his thumbs. He reaches over to grab a condom, but you stop him. With wide eyes you say,

“I want to feel you cum inside, please?”

He lets out a groan and kisses you as an answer. He strokes his cock, smearing pre-cum down the length. Grinding against your pussy, he coats himself in your slick, the head of his cock bumping against your clit. He smirks down at you as little moans spill from your mouth.

All for him.

He lines himself up and looks at you, making sure that you’re ready to take him. You nod desperately, wanting to be completely stuffed. He slowly pushes into you as your mouth drops open. He stills once he’s fully inside, letting both of you get used to the feeling, already panting. Your warm walls hugging him so, so tight, and his cock making you feel so, so full. You stutter out,

“So full! Ah, ‘m so full. Your cock is so big, ‘su-sir!”

He grins at your praise and near slip up.

“Mhm? But you always take me so well, pretty baby.” He lightly presses down below your belly button, feeling and faintly seeing the outline of his cock inside of you. You cry out in pleasure, feeling every inch of him rubbing against your walls. He isn’t even moving and your pussy won’t stop clenching around him. He gives a shallow thrust, pulling a whine from you.

He keeps his pace slow, building in speed and force. Until he is repeatedly slamming into you, nearly pulling all the way out and then pushing deep inside of you, your cries getting louder and louder. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter, your vision blurring a bit. Kei wraps his arm around your middle as you arch off the bed, deepening the kiss.

You whine against his lips,

“I-I’m getting close, so close, so close! I’m so close!”

“I know baby, let go for me.”

He reaches down with his other hand, still holding you close, to rub frenzied circles into your clit. You shut your eyes tight and your mouth drops open, only whines coming from the back of your throat. Soothing tingles of pleasure shoot throughout your body, your orgasm finally washing over you. You feel as if you’re floating, warmth taking over your body, inside and out. You can barely string together a coherent thought, but then you remember he hasn’t cum yet.

Your pussy still riding out your orgasm, clenches over and over around his cock. Kei nearly growls out,

“Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

All that’s bouncing around in your fuzzy mind is how badly you want Kei’s cum inside of you. You want it so, so bad, to be filled up with it, for him to paint your insides white, to feel his liquid heat. Your jumbled thoughts fall out of your mouth as you babble,

“Sir, please! Please, please, please, cum inside of me! I want y-you to fill me up, please fill me up with your cum!”

Your broken pleading pushes him over the edge as he shoots his cum inside you, giving one last thrust to nestle himself as deep as possible. You can hear him breathing hard next to your ear, shaky with scattered moans. You can feel his cum filling your pussy, leaking out onto your thighs, nearly throwing you into a second orgasm.

Kei has a brief internal debate if he should pull out or not. If he does, clean up might take a little longer….but then he’ll get to see his cum ooze out of you. He gently pulls out of you, spreading your thighs apart so he can get a proper look. Creamy white oozing out of silky pink walls, your chest heaving and eyes glassy.

Absolutely perfect.

Bonus:

After grabbing a warm towel and boxers, Kei lays down next to you, pulling you to his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You tangle your legs together and nuzzle into him, pressing a kiss over his heart. He’s glad that you can’t see the ridiculous blush on his face from your simple gesture.

You let out a sigh of contentment, knowing you’re safe in his strong arms.

“I love you, Kei.”

He kisses your temple and rests his chin on top of your head.

“I love you, too. You did wonderfully tonight. ”

A comfortable silence drapes itself around the two of you, like a warm blanket. But of course, Kei being Kei says a little too smugly for your liking,

“I missed you too, you know….I just didn’t need to act out and be a total brat over it.”

“Shut up,” you while with a bashful smile on your face, “I already said I was sorry.” You mumble into his chest with a pout, to which he proudly chuckles.

“I know, I know.”

“Hey, Tsukki?” He hums in response.

“Can we go take a shower now? I’m still kinda...sticky.”

“Fine, but you were the one who was practically begging me to cum inside you, to fill that little pussy up.”

Heat rushes to your face, the post-orgasm clarity arriving in full form, the obscenity of your pleading hitting you like a ton of bricks. You squeal in embarrassment, scolding him, and lightly slap his chest. He laughs and says,

“Yes, we can go take a shower now.”

You let out a rather pathetic cheer, but make no effort to get up.

“....Kei...can you carry me?”

He sighs with such weight, you’d think Zeus had just condemned him.

“If I must.”

He scoops his arms underneath you, picking you up bridal style. You call his name again and he looks at you with raised eyebrows.

“Can we take a bath instead?”

“Fine, I guess.” Rolling his eyes, once again acting exasperated.

He sets you down on the counter as he grabs towels and turns on the water.

“Oh, and can we do a bath bomb?”

He leans down to look at you, eyebrows quirked up as if to say ‘Really?’. You give him a big smile and the best puppy dog eyes you can muster.

“Pleeease?”

He gets even closer until your noses are touching, still giving you that smirk and golden eyes of mirth. You feel your cheeks heat at his closeness. He gives you a quick kiss, whispering against your lips,

“You’re lucky you’re cute, brat.”

[zodiyack]

Voice

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, PTSD mention, I think that’s it

Words: 1,797

Summary: Tommy wants to spend the rest of his life with Y/n. A peculiar little thing about life is that you never stop learning, and Tommy learns a thing or two, letting Y/n learn more about him in return...or is it him who learns from her?

Note: I suck at words, Tommy Shelby edition. And I couldn’t come up with a summary or title for this so know that if they don’t make sense together (or the story at all)...I know.

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @simonsbluee​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @captivatedbycillianmurphy​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @stydia-4-ever​, @stuckysslag​, @marquelapage​, @i-love-superhero​, @psychkunox​, @tommyxshelby​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

The morning he met her was the first morning of many that his genuinely eyes opened since the war. Trauma had changed his life for what he thought was a permanent turn for the worst, but upon meeting her, it seemed that heaven was within his grasp once more. Impossible, he thought at first. Yet, later, when he put more thought into it, perhaps his redemption was actually there.

So the next time he saw her, he took a deep breath, reminded himself that he was no longer a boy, and went for it. Alas, his confidence joined him under the definition of cowardice in the very least second; she titled her head, innocent eyes sparkling with curiosity as she awaited whatever he had to say. But no words left his lips. She snatched them away with something even Thomas didn’t know of.

“Are you alright?” She asked, the concern in her voice lifting his spirits high as a warm feeling entered his body. It was the first time in what felt like centuries that a feeling as happy as that coursed through him.

It was also the first time that he was left without words. He tried, opening his mouth as if it were as easy as that to get the things he needed to say out, but he was still without anything but air.

“Sir?” Her brows furrowed. He couldn’t tell whether she was getting annoyed, scared, or just overly frightened for him, but he closed his mouth and reminded himself to breathe. Do not forget to breathe.

Was he sure he was a man? Or was he a boy once again? The same boy before the war who would blush and flirt teasingly, who held so much joy that his cheeks hurt.

And then it happened.

A smile grew upon his lips and he nodded.

A chuckle of relief left her mouth and she lifted her hand to her chest, resting it over her heart. “Oh thank fucking god- I admit, I was rather worried there. For both you and I!” She averted her eyes for a split second before redirecting them to his. “If you aren’t in any trouble... Is there anything I can help you with?”

The words were still lodged in his throat. So he did the only thing he could think of and sheepishly shook his head, turned, and left.

More interactions occurred between the two until one day, when she showed up at his office in search of a job. Lizzie knocked at his door, announcing that he had an appointment.

“Send ‘em in.” He replied lightly, not even lifting his eyes from the paper in front of him. Lizzie took a second, waiting for the moment that would never come- the one where he took a second away from work to actually look people in the face, but gave in with a sigh and closed the door.

“Go on in, hon.” She nodded her head to the door, returning to the typewriter and resuming her work.

It was silent aside from Lizzie’s typing. The click clacking of the keys, letters stamping the ink onto the paper, the quickness of her fingers at work. Y/n got lost in it momentarily before the noise suddenly ceased. Lizzie lifted her head, a brow quirked as she stared and waited for Y/n to enter Thomas’ office.

“Finally. Ahem, I suppose you’re here for...” Tommy started when the door squeaked open again but trailed off when he finally lifted his head. He couldn’t blink away the surprise, not this time. She truly caught him off guard.

And, apparently, him her.

“So he speaks? ...Ah- my apologies! Yes, Mr. Shelby, I’m here for a job...and, not on the topic of occupation, I would like to mention that you have a lovely voice. I think I’d enjoy hearing it more often.”

She definitely heard more of it.

Tommy gave her the job, and with it, a relationship. At first they were strictly boss and employee, but soon, it sparked into something more. Friendship. Good friendship. Close Friendship. 

Then ...Romance.

The day came where Tommy learned a lesson or two about love from someone he deeply admired and respected. Someone close, someone he loved but not in the way he did Y/n. Polly Gray payed her nephew a visit and taught him the thing he dreaded but knew he’d have to face eventually.

“If you want her to some day be your wife, then you have to let her in!” She’d taken a liking to Y/n as well. After all, she was technically Y/n’s boss as well, so she met the woman and didn’t hesitate in accepting their relationship. “She knows what you let her about this business, but one day she’ll either want to know more or find out on her own accord.”

Pol wasn’t just talking about business. She meant honesty in every way he could describe it. The depressive sides he hid from even his family, his brothers whom suffered the same aside, and so much more the world had yet to see. He could either hide it or show her, but one day it would come into the light.

It was true, and unpleasantly so. The downside to being part of the Peaky Blinders was one that came with life in general; Love wasn’t easy. If he wanted, he could just force Y/n out of the country, forget about her, and move on. She’d be safe and he’d be happy knowing she was, but deep down, he was too much of a coward to do something like that. Too afraid of what could happen to her, to her feelings, to his own...

So Tommy listened and grew a metaphorical pair. The night he planned on opening up to her, an uneasy feeling nagged at his gut. This was his one shot. His shot at being with the love of his life, creating a family and knowing what it feels like to be loved by someone, and not in a platonic way. He held onto the feeling she gave him and used it to power his courage.

“Are you alright, Tommy?” Her gentle hand that previously combed through his hair came into contact with his jaw. Not harsh, but gentle. Softly guiding his head, she forced his bright blue orbs to meet hers. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Her hand moved up slightly to caress his cheek. Thomas leaned into her touch, closing his eyes and reveling in the moment. He truly felt youth envelope him whenever he was with her. His demons faded as if they never existed in the first place every time her presence was with his.

Then, he lifted his hand to meet her wrist. He took the other with the same grip and opened his eyes, looking into her with the same admiration she had only mere minutes ago. “I know.”

“Then tell me...what’s bothering you?”

Tommy thought for a second, but just as the first time he tried to form words, his cowardliness came a ’nocking on his door. “It’s nothing, love. How ‘bout we sleep, yeah?”

Y/n hesitated but nodded, curling into his side and drifting off slowly. It took him a bit longer, but by midnight, the two were out cold. Of course, he never stayed asleep long. She didn’t know that, however. Tommy never let her stay the night until tonight, afraid of what she would think of his softer, more fearful side when he was too overwhelmed to hide it.

He awoke with a start, chest heaving heavily and breath so terribly uneven, one would think he were on the brink of death. That’s what he felt like. As though he were on the smallest ledge, seconds away from cracking down the part of which connected him too the land full of life and dropping him into the deepest pits of hell itself. Tommy’s nightmare woke Y/n too.

She was drowning in concern the second her eyes snapped open. “Tommy- Tommy!” He couldn’t help but panic, the PTSD too much for him, “Hey- hey, I’m here. Okay? It’s me.” she didn’t blame him. Instead, she gripped his wrists like he did hers and softly ushered him back into his calm state. Her whispers were reassuring and brought him back to reality, soothing his mind with powers similar to a siren’s.

“Y/n- I’m sorry-” He spoke hurriedly after she lit a candle- it provided them with enough light to see one another, not that the moon didn’t already do that enough.

“Don’t be. From the looks of it, this isn’t the first time this has happened.” She didn’t sound tired, not even a blink of sleep left in her eyes nor voice. “Tommy... Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tommy was a little taken aback by her lack of fear or other emotions like disgust, although he couldn’t quite think of a single reason as to why she’d feel that of all things, but answered her as honestly as he could. Just like Polly told him too. “I’m not sure... I was...cowardly. Though you’d be ashamed or something.”

She squinted at him, “Why on earth would I feel ashamed?”

A few seconds went by of his eyes darting around as he mentally searched for a possible answer and he came up blank. Thomas shrugged, “Fuck... I don’t even fucking know.”

They shared a chuckle, hushed but still very much real. Y/n caressed his cheeks again, tracing his beautifully sculpted features with gentle fingers.

“I love,” her eyes scanned his face lovingly, “every part of you. Whether you like a detail about you or not, I will love it with every fiber of my being. The good, the bad...the mildly confusing,” he chuckled with her, “I love it.”

Y/n pulled away from him and leaned him. She blew out the candle then readjusted her position under the sheets, squirming into Tommy’s side and resting her head atop his chest. It rose and fell with each breath he took, his torso lifting her head and dropping it as carefully as one would rock a baby.

“I’m here now, and I’m here to stay. We can either stay awake or, you can lie down with me and get through this shit together. Either way, I’m not letting you face anything else alone.”

“Y/n-” He was going to tell her that it was fine, shove another lie to hide his worries despite inevitable discovery.

“I mean it, Thomas. For as long as I live, you will never have to carry your struggles by your lonesome. So, in the morning, you can tell me what I’m gonna be helping you with.” She paused before cracking a smile. “After all, you know how much I love your voice.”

[anika-ann]

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader    Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N:  This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor.  I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

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Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

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The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren’t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.  

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

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Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

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You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory.  “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.  

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.  

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

[writer-panda]

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

Chapter 1  -|-  Previous -|- Next

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

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As she hanged up, Marinette rushed to the doors and let her mother in. The previous night she spent mostly on working with Kwamis to prepare. Most were in agreement that she needed to act and not leave her kitty’s fate to chance. Tikki protested for a bit, but in the end, she saw that there was no changing Marinette’s mind and joined in on scheming. Except she had no way of tracking Adrien. Not… until she received the call!

Except now her mother entered. Sabine greeted her daughter by giving her a bone-crushing hug. 

“I was so worried! When the police called I couldn’t just sit there and wait!”

“Maman. It’s alright. I’m okay. See?” The girl did break away from the hug and smiled.

“I know. But I couldn’t help but worry.”

“Maman… Adrien’s been kidnapped.”

“I know.” Her mother’s expression didn’t reveal any emotions now.

“I… he’s been miserable ever since that wedding mess, and now this.”

“I know.” Again, nothing. 

“He’s my friend.”

“Not the love of your life?” Sabine questioned with a bit of amusement in her voice.

“No. He doesn’t need another fangirl. He needs a friend. Someone who can support him. I… I wasn’t a good friend before this…” She didn’t reveal that she wasn’t a great partner either. Chat hid things well, but from time to time his shell cracked. She should’ve seen the signs. She could’ve done something. Or at least do something with Lila. She had connections and Lila deserved a lawsuit or five. 

“Oh, sweety. You were a great friend. You are a great friend. I’m happy to see you’re not about to chase after some misguided love, but after friendship.”

“I know I’m only… wait, what?” Marinette.exe stopped working. If the problem keeps repeating itself, please contact customer service or the nearest Kwami. 

“When I was fifteen, I dropped out of… school to explore the world on my own. It wasn’t until a few years later that I met your father.” Sabine said in a bit dreamy voice like she was reminiscing. “We had several adventures across Europe before finally settling down in Paris.”

“But… Papa’s a baker.” Marinette protested. “I thought he was always a baker, like his father.”

In response, her mother chuckled. “No. Your father had much more in common with your Nona than with his father. I met him when he was fighting in an underground cage-fighting club.”

“Whoa…” Marinette’s eyes widened. That was a story she never heard before. “So how did you two got together?”

“I will tell you some other time. The point is, I know that even if I took you to Paris with me, you would’ve run away to look for your friend.”

“Maman!” For a moment, the girl wanted to protest. But then she decided that there was no point. “Yes… you’re right. But I can’t just let it happen! If the police find him, he will end up back with his father!”

“I know. And what’ll you do about it?” Her mother had this mysterious smirk on her face.

“I guess… I need to be the one to find him. I will get him situated somewhere safe. Maybe stay with him for a bit. He’s smart. And a quick learner.” He mastered being a superhero faster than I did.

“Good. Then you have my blessing.” 

“I can’t just abandon-” Marinette.exe stopped working again. Contacting the customer service might be in order. Technically, Sabine kept hinting about it. Practically, Marinette would miss a clue even if she was holding a gun to its head. “I have your what now?”

“You can go. Save him. Find yourself. And maybe kick some asses while you’re at it.”

“Most parents would be worried sick about their not-yet-adult children running off to an adventure.”

“You wanted to know how I met your father. The answer is I was the first to beat him in that cage.” Sabine’s smirk was replaced with a serious expression. “Of course I will worry, sweety. I’m your mother. But holding you back now will not help you. You’re a strong young woman and to be fair, I’m not sure how we could hold you down. You have steady access to the rooftop and two years of parkour training.”

“What now?”

“Did you honestly think we wouldn’t notice you sneaking off through the balcony?”

“And you didn’t even tell me?” 

“It would be hypocritical of us.” Sabine defended. “And if the worse came to happen, I had several… souvenirs from our travel around the world.”

“Thank you, Maman. I promise I will come back; And call you often. Well, maybe not too often.” Marinette already dashed to start packing. 

“Of course you will. And don’t get into too much trouble. I would hate to have to go and find you.” Sabine threatened with a bright smile on her face. 

“I’ll try, Maman.” The girl was only half-listening now. She couldn’t waste any more time. She learned how to trace the call about one-and-a-half years ago when she was still a bit ‘stalker-ish’. 

Sabine watched her daughter with amusement. So many memories returned to her now. Youth mostly well-spent if someone asked her. The ‘mostly’ part came to bite her just that moment as her phone pinged. She quickly checked the message and frowned. 

“I’m sorry, my little cupcake, but I need to go check it. An old friend turns out to be in town.” 

“I’ll call you later!” Marinette called from where she was furiously working on her laptop. 

When Sabine left, the kwamis swarmed her immediately.

“Your mom is so cool!” one of them cooed.

“And she’s one bad-”

“Roaar!” Tikki scolded the tiger kwami. 

“What’s the plan, pigtails?”

“Adrien’s call was made from within Gotham City. He’s still here for now. I also managed to track him to Burnley.”

“Didn’t that mercenary you called mention some Lawton?” Trixx offered.

“Yeah. I did try to search him up, but the only one with that name that I managed to find is Zoe Lawton. Wait. There is more!” She beamed up. “An old article in some Mexican newspaper.” She clicked on the link and read it aloud for her co-conspirators “Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot, was recently arrested after an assassination of a small group of smugglers. It is yet unknown if it was a hit or was it personal.” The article went on, but there was nothing more of interest.

“So the guy’s a mercenary too? That’s good. He’ll bring Adrien to you.”

“Not so fast. I remember hearing about him. Deadshot is one of the few mercenaries who try to keep some resemblance of a code. He’s also noted to be soft around children.”

“Isn’t Adrien almost an adult though?” Kaalki asked rather uncaring.

“Have you met the guy? He’s a literal ray of sunshine!” Plagg protested.

“So… he won’t deliver him and won’t return him.” Seeing that some Kwamis didn’t understand her logic, she clarified, “I don’t think that if he learns how Gabe treated his son he will be in any hurry to return him.”

“That makes sense.” The little being all nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the alternative?”

“He could adopt him,” Ziggy suggested.

“Please.” Marinette dismissed the idea. “He’s not Bruce Wayne.”

“He could smuggle him out of the country.”

“No. Everyone’s looking for him.” Roaar countered. “He would try to lay low somewhere.”

“Burley is large and full of potential safe houses.” Marinette started to think. “But there is also a large concentration of organized crime. Alone, we would have a hard time, but if we got them to help…”

“Is it wise to involve more criminals into your schemes Marinette?” Tikki asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry, sugarcube. To catch a bird you need wings. To catch a criminal you need crime.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“What’s the worse that could happen? I will go there as Seamstress. I won’t even appear in person. Right, Trixx?”

“You can count on it.” The fox kwami grinned.

“But… but…” Tikki wanted to scream her head off. Why did the previous guardian choose a juvenile criminal for her holder. Marinette used to be such a sweet girl. Where did Tikki go wrong?

---------

It was dark when an eerie mist filled one of the less-than-legal clubs in Burnley. From among the smoke, a figure entered. She was wearing a godet-type black dress with a side-cut that reached to her belt. The dress was overlayed with a very visible deep-blue corset that pronounced her blue eyes. It had some intricate laces on it. She also wore a puffy-sleeved blazer (also black, but with a dark blue finish) with large and very pronounced cuffs. Around her neck was a white double jabot fixed to a choker with a large black gem surrounded by diamonds. Her long deep-blue hair was let loose and hung over her shoulder. A simple black-and-white domino mask hid her features.

As she marched, one of her legs shifted the fabric to reveal she was wearing dark-blue socks reaching above her knee and black leather boots. A knife was strapped to the right one and several leather strips around her thigh and knee suggested she had more weapons on her. 

One of the men whistled.

“Looks like the entertainment arrived, boys!” Several cheered at that shout. At least until the man who dared to say it ended pinned to a wall with a rather large needle holding his jacket in place. It was also uncomfortably close to his jugular. 

“I’m not entertainment.” The Seamstress hissed. 

“Then you’re not invited.” Several men got up, many were holding now-empty bottled which they turned into impromptu weapons. 

“You will help me find what was taken from me.” She demanded.

“Yeah? Or?” One of the men laughed before charging at her. 

What followed next was perhaps the strangest carnage Gotham City has seen in years. The Seamstress danced between the attacks with almost unnatural grace and agility while stabbing the attackers in various places with large needles. None of the hits were life-threatening and most would heal within hours. The wounds were meant to incapacitate with minimal long-term damage.

By the time she reached the far end of the bar, almost every man was laid out on the ground groaning in pain or scrambling in fear.

“I am not asking. You will be rewarded for your obedience.” She then disappeared into the back alley. One brave/foolish enough who still had some fight left rushed after her, only to find the place completely empty. 

On the rooftop, Marinette let out her breath. She didn’t use any miraculous for that one, but she kept Plagg’s ring on. Chat Noir wasn’t seen in some time, so it would’ve been easier to explain that the ring was stolen by a criminal. She would really need to thank her mother for all the training she forced on her ever since the Akumas started to appear, as well as the lessons during her childhood. Those were all only the most basic grunts tonight, but she got their attention. One of them would run to their boss. There, she could actually do what she planned. 

--------

Just like she predicted, some of the less injured guys left the bar in hurry and drove their bikes to another part of the district. They disappeared into a three-story building. The windows were boarded, but some light seeped through on the top floor, so that is where she climbed. Indeed, by hanging on the edge of the window sill, she was able to hear the panicked screams inside.

“...and then she just disappeared! It was like that damn Bat, only much more terrifying. She was so small, and yet there was this… this… aura of power.”

Thank you Chloe for being queen B. Marinette stifled a laugh. Mimicking Chloe was the right choice. 

“Probably another one of his useless brats.” The boss dismissed them. Marinette decided that it would make the best impression if she contradicted him right now.

She wondered for a moment how to enter the armored building. She could rip the boards away and enter that way, but she was aiming for ethereal, not brute. In the end, she pulled a pair of glasses and put them over her mask. 

“Kaalki. Would you please help me break into headquarters of a criminal organization to scare them into serving me?”

“How many sugar cubes is it worth?”

“Ten. No more, no less.” Marinette had a small window of opportunity. 

“You’ve got a deal.” 

“Kaalki! Full gallop!” The light enveloped Marinette. When it died down, she was still in her outfit, only now the blue accents were brown instead. The gem on her neck held the symbol of a horse miraculous. “I love magical clothes. So easy to maintain the image.” Marinette muttered before a blue portal opened before her and she entered.

Inside, the five men (two who came to report, the boss, and his two guards) watched as the blue portal opened before them. The mist started to pour through it as well as through the boarded window. A figure calmly stepped inside.

“I didn’t expect the Gotham criminal organizations to be so… cliche.” She commented. Two needles sailed through the air and pinned the guards to the wall. Her horseshoe weapon waited patiently on her back should she need to use it.

“Who… who’re you?”

“Me? Oh. I’m The Seamstress. I had business in Gotham, but a fool dared to double-cross me. I need to find him.”

“Why… W-why shou-should w-we help… help you?” One of the guys from the bar asked.

“Oh. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that you’ll help me.” She informed. “I’m about to make you an offer you shouldn’t refuse.” 

The boss was now shaking. Damn city with its damn overpowered supervillains. They think they can simply run things as they want. First Red Hood took out most of the top brass of the underworld and then this? Working on his father’s farm was sounding more and more appealing. Then there was the shouldn’t. The reference to the classic movie was not lost, but she said shouldn’t. Not can’t. Once more he remembered how Red Hood took over. Submit, or die. This was the same. She clearly wouldn’t hesitate. He liked to think he could see those things. 

“I’m waiting.” The lady growled. “I’m not used to waiting.” Channeling Chloe is actually fun here. 

“Fine. You can have my seat. I’m going back to dad’s farm. Just let me go and you can have them.” The boss stood from his seat and motioned for her.

Marinette.exe is not responding. Do you want to execute the process? Not yet. 

She managed to keep enough cool to smile and take the seat, although she didn’t even register what was that. 

She would panic later. For now, tracking Adrien. “I need to find where Floyd Lawton, also called Deadshot, is hiding with my… asset.”

“It… I will see to it, Boss… lady.” One of the guys from the bar nodded very fast before rushing out of the room.

“I… will bring you the list of current assets.” One of the guards informed and walked somewhere. They were used to aggressive takeovers. This was their third. Boss change, guards remain. This was honestly the first time the previous boss managed to escape with his life. 

Meanwhile, Marinette finally realized what just happened. She really wanted to hit her head on the desk, but she was too afraid to show any signs of weakness. Why did she end up in this mess again?

----------

Sabine Cheng was waiting for her plane back when an airport guard approached her.

“Lady Cheng?” Sabine’s blood froze for a moment, but she refused to show any outward reaction at her past codename. “There is a man who wishes to discuss some… past debts.”

Damn it. And here she thought that bald bastard would forget about her. He had several more suitable people. He knew the risks of angering her.

Then again, she knew not to anger him either.

“Lead the way.” Her face was stone cold as she stood up. 

Inside a comfortable private lodge sat a blad man in a suit more expensive than the yearly revenue of her bakery. 

“Ah… Lady Cheng. I’m so happy you could’ve joined us.”

Sabine looked around and noticed that there was another man there, standing slightly in the shadows. A man she came to despise just as much as Luthor. Standing there was Gabriel Agreste.

“I can’t return the pleasure, Luthor.” She snarled, not letting her gaze drop from Agreste.

“Figured you’d say that.” The billionaire laughed. “But it doesn’t change that you came.”

“Be quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“About that.” Lex smiled. “I’m afraid you won’t be on that plane. I need you to do something for me.”

“Sadly, my calendar is full for the foreseeable future.” She retorted coldly.

“Then you will clean it. Unless that is, you want me to tell my good friend the president about your little assignment for me twenty years ago. If I recall, your pardon didn’t cover that particular crime.” The man chuckled.

The only upside of this whole situation to Sabine was that Agreste finally realized exactly who she was. Or at least how dangerous she was. The deal she made ensured that Lady Cheng disappeared from everywhere but some people’s memory. To her dismay, Lex didn’t forget. And he still had that damning evidence.

She also knew exactly what was the job.

“I don’t do jobs involving kids, Luthor.” She seethed through gritted teeth. It wouldn’t matter, but she hoped it would at least give him a pause.

“Adrien Agreste was about to be married. I think that can calm your conscience. He was all but adult.” That despicable man dismissed her concern, as she predicted.

“I’m a little rusty. Don’t you have someone younger? Someone who would actually want to do this?” Sabine deadpanned. She kept true to the deal she made for her and her husband’s pardon and didn’t do any… extracurricular work.

“Alas, the fact you’re unwilling is why I need you. You see, the client, whoever they are, picked Agreste Jr. as a target in a… battle royale of sorts. It quickly stopped being about the ludicrous money reward. It’s now about proving who’s the best. And they won’t stop until they deliver him to that mysterious Seamstress.”

“So what do you want? I’m sure you could’ve bought some of them to drop the glory part.” She really didn’t want to do this.

“I offered to pay five times the price, but most of the competent ones want a shot at whatever that job is. A mysterious benefactor with no history, nonexistent in any database in the world, paying a small fortune for a simple job and offering further work? Doesn’t it sound familiar?” Lex reclined in his chair and smiled.

“One job only. I want everything you have on me. And ten times the bounty.” She noted his discomfort. “Don’t give me that look, Luthor. You can afford it. My daughter’s about to start a university.” Sabine turned to Gabriel. “I must thank you for the idea. Homeschooling really helps when one is gifted.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Lex grumbled. If he didn’t know the quality of her works, he would’ve laughed at the price. Except he foolishly revealed that he was desperate.

“Oh, I’m sure we can.” Sabine smiled. She was like a cat that just caught a mouse.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

dance

Written for Day 4 of @aangweek! Read here on AO3.

~*~

4. dance - if you hit a wall, climb over it, crawl under it, or dance on top of it

What year did Fire Lord Sozin battle the Air Nation army?

The Air Nation army.

What army? The ashen remains of bones that littered the Air Temples? The memories of a past erased and rewritten by the conquerors? The whispers and cries of voices drowned out by roaring flames? That army?

Aang shuddered, pulling his knees to his chest. Was that how his people were remembered? As part of a history reformatted and reworked? As aggressors instead of defenders? As casualties, no, as soldiers instead of victims? Was that how the world had chosen to immortalize his people?

Aang sighed, releasing his legs before slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. And besides - he could see the sun inching upwards over the horizon. Daybreak had almost arrived, which meant it was only a matter of time before everyone woke up and they continued travelling. There was no point in him trying to catch an extra hour of shut-eye.

Maybe he could meditate for a bit. While he waited for morning to come. It could help him clear his mind, he supposed, of… of those more painful memories. Of false knowledge force-fed down his throat.

But as Aang stood to find an open place for meditation, he was distracted by the presence of Sokka. His friend was already awake, hunched over and scribbling away at his lengthy schedule.

“We can shorten our stay here,” Sokka muttered, “and taking this route shaves two hours off our total travel time if we only take one break instead of two -” He stopped when Aang joined him, the airbender plopping down on a patch of grass. “Good morning?” He paused. “Uh… What are you doing up so early?”

Aang gave his friend an amused smile, folding his legs criss-cross. Considering he himself was usually the first one up, Aang couldn’t help but find Sokka’s question rather hilarious. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Sokka shrugged. “Just trying to rework our schedule. I have to take in account the extra days we stayed in that cave if we want to arrive at the meet-up point for the eclipse invasion on time.”

Aang flinched at the reminder. Of the upcoming eclipse or the additional days he’d encouraged his friends to stay in the city, he wasn’t sure. When Sokka glanced at him, Aang looked away. Down at his feet. “Right. Yeah. I guess we do need to make up for that… lost time.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow, at first not commenting. He rolled up his schedule and placed it aside. “So, why again did you say you were up so early?”

Aang hadn’t.

He sighed, leaning backwards to stare up at the arrival of dawn and bracing himself with his palms. Clouds of orange and red and yellow burned before Aang. Hues not dissimilar to fire. “Dreams.” Memories.

Sokka nodded. “Nightmares?”

“Kind of.”

“Want to talk about them?”

The Air Nomads didn’t have a formal military.

Aang shook his head. “Not really.”

Sokka nodded. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.” He tucked the group’s schedule into his bag. “Want to talk about something else?”

Aang didn’t answer immediately. Stuck on some twisted loop, his mind traced over and over and over the surprise, the shock, the disbelief of every kid’s face in the cave as he’d danced before them. They, too, had been robbed of their childhood. Not in the same way, no. Not at the same price. But it had been stolen from them all the same.

“Do you think I helped them?” Aang finally whispered. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath his palms, collecting behind his nails. “The Fire Nation kids, I mean.” He sat up straight again, this time making eye contact with his friend. “Toph told me I helped them to be free.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Do you… Do you think she was right?”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Uh, what are you talking about?” Aang opened his mouth to explain, but Sokka continued before he could get a word out. “Of course she was right.”

Aang’s voice disappeared into his chest for a full ten seconds before resurfacing. “She was? But it was just a dance par-”

“It wasn’t ‘just’ a dance party, Aang,” Sokka interrupted, giving him a wry smile after his use of dramatic finger quotes. “You gave those kids their first moment of independent thought. I know I called them ‘depraved little monsters’” - Aang snorted at the reminder - “and while I don’t think I was too far off with that assessment, I’ve come to the conclusion that…” Sokka pursed his lips. “Well. Deprived might be a better word.”

Deprived.

Yes, that was fitting.

“I still can’t believe they didn’t know how to dance,” Aang said after a pause. “A hundred years ago, the Fire Nation was - was the place to be for dancing!” He learned everything he knew from Kuzon, after all. “And now…” Aang sighed. “Sure, I gave them a taste of fun, but they’re all going to be punished for it.” If they hadn’t been already. “Was that - Was it even worth it for them?”

“I think it was,” Sokka answered, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Like I said - it wasn’t just a dance party.” A beat passed, and he winked at Aang as he held a finger over his lips. “It was a secret dance party.”

Aang laughed. “What are you talking ab-”

“You taught them to challenge authority!” Sokka continued, throwing his hands in the air. “You taught them that sometimes, to learn the real truth, you have to think outside the box and track down other sources.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Aang, you showed them that adults can be wrong. That people in power are not infallible.” Sokka grinned at him. “So you didn’t just teach them to be free. You taught them how to find their own freedom, too. And in a brainwashed, messed-up country like the Fire Nation?” He snorted. “Spirits know they need that.”

Brainwashed… Not an inaccurate term to describe the misinformation - the lies - Aang knew their country had built its new foundation on.

“Thanks, Sokka,” Aang said, giving his friend a soft smile as tension eased from his shoulders. Maybe it was a good thing, then, that he’d stayed those extra days in the cave. Those kids were the future of the Fire Nation. Change would have to start with them.

“You’re welcome, buddy.”

Aang bit his lip. A beat passed. “Can I ask you another question?”

“I mean, you technically just did - kidding, I’m kidding,” Sokka amended as Aang rolled his eyes. “None of you have a sense of humor.”

“Sokka, you know I think you’re the funniest guy in the four nations.”

“And you would be right!” They both laughed, and Sokka continued once their snickering had died down. “But sure, go ahead. What’s on your mind?”

Aang opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, out of nowhere finding that it was thrice as difficult for air to enter and exit his lungs. How embarrassing for an - the last - airbender.

Deep breaths. In and out.

Well, I don’t know how you could possibly know more than our national history book.

“What… What were you taught about my people?” Aang found himself staring at the ground, at his feet, at anywhere but Sokka’s eyes. “The Air Nomads?”

“Uh… not much,” Sokka admitted, and Aang grimaced. “We knew Sozin massacred them in an attempt to kill the Avatar, which started the war. Gran Gran told us they were a peaceful people, too, and were all really gifted benders.” He hesitated, giving Aang an apologetic glance. “I’m… sorry I don’t know more.”

Aang’s chest ached with an emptiness he sometimes feared would never be filled. But at least Sokka hadn’t been told -

“You know my people didn’t attack first, though?” His voice faltered, and Aang cleared his throat. “That - That they never wanted to fight?”

Sozin defeated them by ambush.

“Yeah,” Sokka said quietly. “I know.”

He forced down the lump in his throat, and when Sokka moved to pull him into a tight embrace, Aang allowed himself to fall apart in his friend’s arms.

When the sun had risen and his tears had dried, Aang spoke.

“After I defeat Fire Lord Ozai… you’re going to dance with me.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “I’m gonna what now?”

“Dance with me.” Aang gave him a small smile. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re too much of a picken to dance with your best friend.”

Sokka rolled his eyes. “You know what? Sure. Why not. When you defeat Fire Lord Ozai, I’ll dance with you.” He grinned at Aang. “I look forward to it, hotman.”

Aang laughed. “Flameo!”

~*~

i am prepared and willing to throw hands with anyone who says "the headband" ep was pointless filler (it really and truly was not). also, i read something and it said flameo was a curse word, and idk if that's true, but you're welcome to interpret the final line as aang being like "fuck yeah!" if you'd like. thank you for reading, and i hope to see you tomorrow for day 5 - air temples!

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette Vs Santa: The Final Round

Okay, so it’s 11:38 on Christmas. I promised I would post this today. So I am. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. Enjoy your present.

           The jolly fat man would get his, Marinette swore. She wore a lovely gold, snowflake-embroidered cocktail dress. Her hair was done in a French side braid with voluminous Curls; more than she ever had in her entire life. Honestly, she looked like a princess.

           And it would’ve been a win for her if it wasn’t for the circumstances that made it yet another Tie against Santa.

           Roy has his hand on the small of her back since they step out of the limo. The forced sweet smile on her face was for the paparazzi that had waited outside the restaurant. When they got inside, and as they were shone to their table, Roy's hand slipped south.

Marinette stiffened and leaned close to Roy and whispered in his ear, “If you don’t get your hand off my butt, I’m going to take off one of my five-inch heels and slit your throat with it.”

Roy’s hand was gone in a flash, “Aww babe,” He said, a little loudly, nodding to the table where his parents’ Oliver and Dinah waited; their eyes watching the young couple’s every move. “You know I can’t keep my hands off you.”

           Marinette giggled, as she fought the urge to slam his against a nearby table, “Not in front of your parents. It’s called manners.”

Your lucky homicide is still technically illegal, Marinette thought viciously, and a sure-fire way to get on fat bastard’s naughty list.

           He wouldn’t win. No, Marinette had gone too far; been through too much to lose now.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Dinah stood once the two approached. She pulled Marinette into a hug. “I’ve tried to instill etiquette into Roy for years. His last girlfriends and he nearly in trouble for public indecency. Maybe you’ll do a better job than I did.”

           Marinette laughed, “I will even if I have to cut off his hand.”

           Oliver chuckled, “You’re definitely Bruce’s girl.” The resemblance was uncanny.

           After that the fell into an easy conversation.

“That dress is beautiful,” Dinah said. “Who’s the designer?”

           Marinette beamed, “I am. I love fashion. It’s my dream,” She explained. “I plan on launching my own company. While there’s always room to learn and enhance my designing skills, I feel as if I have that side at least somewhat covered. However, the business angle is something I need to learn. Which is why I plan on getting my MBA at an Ivy League. I was considering Yale or Princeton.”

“Princeton,” Oliver grinned. “Did you hear that Roy?” Roy rolled his eyes, and once again, regretted being born. “Marinette’s considering Princeton. That’s the top school on his list. Queens have gone there for generations.” He pulled his wife into a hug. “It’s where I knew Dinah was the one.”

           Dinah gave Marinette a blank stare, “I couldn’t get rid of him. It was like having bedbugs.” (“Hey!” Oliver cried in protest.) “No matter what I did, he just coming back. The only solution was to burn the entire place down and vanish without a trace. But apparently, that’s illegal or whatever. Stupid.”

“I know, right,” Marinette nodded earnestly. “What’s up with that?”

           They had a wonderful dinner. They watched a paparazzi pretending to be a waiter be escorted out of the restaurant. It was great, amazing even. Oliver and Dinah had been perfectly lovely. Roy had acted like a perfect gentleman. Marinette could’ve almost pretended she was actually meeting her boyfriend’s family. She was about to count the entire night as a win until…

“So how many grandkids should I expect in the future,” Oliver asked, a sincere look on his face, though he was snickering inside.

           Marinette chocked on her chocolate mousse and ended up in a coughing fit that Dinah helped her with. Roy had met his father’s gaze and gave him his most charming smile, “Seven,” He answered.

“Seven!” Marinette barked out and she looked around frantically as if Ashton Kutcher had revived his hit show and was about to pop out.

Oh, gods; please let me be getting punked, Marinette prayed.

            Oliver’s eyebrows went up, “Seven, huh, big family.”

           Roy hummed, “the Wayne-Queens certainly will be.”

“You mean the Queen-Waynes,” Oliver corrected, his hackles rising.

“Well, I figured since we’d be living in Gotham,” Roy didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. “We’d go by the Wayne-Queen family. I actually found this great place not too far from Wayne Manor. Plenty of room for the kids, maybe a dog or two; a rose garden. You know how Waynes are about their roses. You can visit whenever.”

           Marinette might have momentarily blacked out during this. It was how Marinette knew she had officially lost that round to Santa.

           Oliver and Dinah just looked at Roy; their entire bodies stiff.

           Dinah took a long drink from her wine glass, “Gotham has such a high crime rate. Have you considered Star City, Marinette?”

“I’ve never been,” Marinette said sweetly. “But I could live anywhere really. I’m pretty open.”

           Roy wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Yes, but I figured you’d want to spend as much time with your family as possible. Jason’s my best friend. I love Gotham. It just works. Besides Bruce Wayne would make an amazing grandpa.”

           The grip Oliver had on his dessert fork made Marinette fear for Roy’s life. It was time to step in. “I suppose Robb or Thea would love a big backyard to play in.”

           That got the other three’s attention.

“Robb? Thea?” Oliver whispered. His throat was dry. His brain tried to process what was said.

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything. But Roy and I started talking one day and well,” Marinette trailed off. A soft pink blush appeared on Marinette’s face, enhancing her overall innocent aura. She had done background on the Queen family. “Our firstborn; if it’s a boy Robb as in Robert Thomas; for your father and my grandfather. If it’s a girl, Thea Sabine; for your sister and my mother. It was Roy’s idea. He knows how much you loved them.”

           It was then that Marinette got to check off one more wish off her list. It had been made as a joke in passing to Chloe and Kagami months ago. They had been having a girls’ night. When Chloe, ever prepared, asked what they wanted for Christmas. They had been watching a Justice League fight on the news. Marinette had laughed and said she wanted to show them up one day; make a superhero cry.

           However, watching The Green Arrow tear up while the Black Canary comforted himself, made her think that Santa took her to wish out of context.

           Roy was pulled into a big hug by his parents, and he sent her a vicious glare, and mouthed, “What did you do?”

           Oliver pulled back, wiped his eyes, and said, “You know; there’s nothing like a spring wedding in Star City.”

           Marinette threw down her napkin.

Fuck Santa.

-

           The news had a field day. The picture of Marinette in her dress and Roy in his designer suit was what everyone was talking about. The women of the view talked about her outfit. Wendy Williams talked about her outfit. It was as if Marinette was living in another universe.

           Nothing could bring her down.

“What the hell?” Jason asked as he picked her up for school. “Why the fuck is Roy spamming me with hate texts. Why the fuck is Oliver arguing with B over visitation rights to his grandchildren? Who the Fuck are Robb and Thea? And why the fuck is Dad asking Aquaman if Atlantis really sunk on its own, or if it had a little help?”

           Marinette tiled her head, “Is Papa planning on sinking Star City? And that’s forty dollars for the swear jar.” Her parents had implements after one too many curse words were thrown around.

“Worth it!” Jason said. “And yes, I’ve positive that’s what’s going to happen. It’s gonna be amazing. Also, he’s gonna kill Roy!”

“He deserves it,” Marinette crossed her arms.

“Hey!”

“He put his hand on my butt!”

           Jason paused and narrowed his eyes. “Correction. I’m gonna kill Roy.”

           Marinette rolled her eyes, but then she realized something. “Aren’t they’re usually two of you? Where’s the other one?” It was the routine. She was always escorted into school by two members of the Wayne family.

           Jason smirked, “You’ll see.”

           The paparazzi mostly screamed the usual things at her. At that point, she was used to it. It was the few changes at school that she was used to.

           Damocles had been fired for bribes and severe negligence. He was replaced by Mendeleev. Bustier had been fired for her role in Marinette’s expulsion without proper procedure and basically catering to bullies while blaming the victim. She replaced by a sterner teacher name Miss Reed. She was by the book and not afraid to call in the higher-ups if something smelled fishy.

           The first was any and all forms of bullying in class was no longer tolerated. The school had issued a zero-tolerance policy that the kids in Bustier’s class had felt immediately.

           The second was Lila’s supposed medical history. No doctor’s note, no special treatment. It was also required that Lila present a note from her mother regarding any future absences.

           The third was Adrien’s being pulled randomly out of class. CPS got involved real fast regarding child labor laws.

           The days of her classmates getting away with bloody murder were over. Reed saw everything. Everything.

           Alya, who had returned to class always avoided Marinette at all times. Her parents had given her the biggest talking to about respecting others’ right to privacy. Marinette had agreed to drop any legal charges against her former friend provided she adhere to the cease and desist order. The girl knew too much about Marinette. And Marinette needed to make it clear that she would bury the girl in lawsuits before she’d allowed even one-fourth of it to be made public.

           Jason had walked her to class. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he went directly to the back of the class and took a seat next to Chloe. He pulled out his phone and proceeded to ignore the curious looks from the students.

The blond eyed the ripped jeans, the overly sized red flannel shirt, and the beat-up leather jacket, “Grunge died in the 90s. Like it deserved.”

           Jason, not bothering to look up from his phone, “Paris Hilton said it’s cool that you plagiarized her look.”

           Chloe gasped.

           Marinette just looked up at the ceiling, knowing exactly how this was going to go. Chloe would not forgive this. Jason was an asshole. It would be war.

           Miss Reed walked in and didn’t look twice at Jason.

           Marinette narrowed her eyes; something was up.

           The class went on without a hitch though until just about the end of the first period…

           When Tim and a pretty, brown-haired, tanned skin, an older woman walked in the door. They looked to be having a pleasant conversation.

“Mama,” Lila gasped, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” She looked around frantically.

“Ooohhhh,” Marinette nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.” That was what was happening. Operation: Get That Bitch.

“Oh!” Tim feigned surprised. “I didn’t know your daughter was in my sister’s class, Naomi.”

           Naomi had been pleasantly surprised when Tim Drake, the CEO of Wayne Industries reached out to speak to her about potential business ventures in Italy. He was in Paris visiting his sister and wanted an insider perspective on Italy’s economy and tourist information. Her bosses were thrilled. Wayne opening up a site in Italy would do wonders for the overall economic and industrial growth. Then they got to talking about a potential student exchange program that Wayne Industries were willing to fund.

           What Tim hadn’t told the Ambassador was that Wayne Industries had been scouting locations in Italy for their new plant for the last ten months. All the research was done. Everything was primed to go. Still, Tim was kind enough to ensure that Naomi Rossi received the credit for getting Wayne Industries on board.

Mrs. Rossi blinked in surprise, “I had no idea either. Lila, we’re here to discuss a potential international exchange program for kids all over the world. Tim wanted to say hello to his sister. Why didn’t you tell me you were friends with Marinette Wayne?”

           Marinette leaned forward in her seat. A slow smile spread across her face.

“I, well, I,” Lila struggled to say.

“We’re not the closest, Mrs. Rossi,” Marinette offered. “She’s always so busy, we haven’t had the time.”

“Ahh,” Tim snapped his fingers. “That Lila Rossi. Marinette told me all about her.” He crossed his arms. “Naomi, how was Achu? I haven’t gone yet. But from what Marinette’s told of Lila’s stories, you two go all the time. You become close to the royal family, yes?”

           Coldness went down to Naomi Rossi’s spine. She stiffened. Her eyes went to her daughter who had a look of dread on her face. Not this again, she nearly groaned. “There’s been some… confusion,” Mrs. Rossi said, gearing up every ounce of diplomacy she learned in her twenty-year career. Lila was so grounded after this. “A miscommunication, I suppose. My ambassadorship has taken my family to England, Spain, and Japan for a little while, and here in France, of course. However, nowhere else. We have never been to Achu. That is a bit above my paygrade, I’m afraid,” She laughed nervously.

           The class was as silent as a library. If Bustier was still there, a few students would’ve started yelling their complaints and cries for explanations. One or two would’ve started screaming at Lila for lying. But Bustier was gone. And the look Reed was giving her class, dared them to try.

           Tim chuckled, “Kids. When I was seven I swore I spent the summer in Greece with my parents. I didn’t find out until I was eleven that I was actually in Rome. What can you do?” He gave her his most charming smile. “England, was that where Lila met Jagged Stone? I think he’s from there.”

“Jagged who now?” Naomi asked. “The Rock Star? No, Lila’s never met him. She’s a huge fan though.”

“But he wrote a song about her!” Alya cried out. “She saved his cat from getting hit by a plane!”

           Miss Reed, “Alya, please raise your hand and keep to a reasonable level while inside. It will be detention if I have to tell you again.”

Miss Reed and Mendeleiev had agreed to The Wayne's suggestion of revealing Lila’s lies to the class. It was the only way they would believe it and that she could lie her way out of. It was unnatural the way the students trailed after the girl, simpering over grand stories and promises of famous connections. They needed to learn to rely on hard work and their own talent, not on how many famous people they might get to the chance to meet.

“A plane?” Mrs. Rossi asked, an affronted look on her face. “You think I would ever allow my child to be in such danger?” She looked at her daughter. “Your grandmother always said you would be a grand writer with all the stories you tell. You could’ve at least come with a sensible lie.”

“I can explain,” Lila said but whether she was talking to her mother or class was anyone’s guess.

           Rose raised her hand, “Lie? Lila can’t be lying. What about all the trips she takes with you? The charity organizations she runs? The famous people she knows like Clara Nightingale who always ask her for help. She’s close friends with Prince Ali. That’s why she’s always away from school. One time she was gone for weeks.”

           Naomi Rossi looked at her daughter, who did everything she could to avoid eye contact with her mother. “You told me that the school was closed due to the Akumas. It was a lie.” She looked at the teacher. “If the school wasn’t closed, Lila should have only missed three days of school this semester due to her being ill with the flu. She should have only missed seven to ten days in total last year. I do apologize, my daughter…” She gave Lila a dark look. “Seems to have a talent for tall tales.”

           Miss Reed stood up, “It’s a matter for the Principle. Her last teacher overlooked many things and wrote off what she couldn’t. Her schoolwork was done the year before; her grades were good enough to pass. She has not missed too many days so far; a few more than the average student but it happens. Any homework missed can still be made up. She is welcome in my class. However, when you get the chance, I would like make an appointment to discuss with you any medical accommodations she has that need to be addressed.”

           Mrs. Rossi crossed her arms, “She never wears her glasses. She has sensitive eyes that prevent her from wearing contacts. Without them, she can’t see more than a few feet ahead of her.” She looked straight at her daughter. “And she knows this.”

           Marinette wanted to bang her head against the desk. Why couldn’t Lila just say that? She’d have understood.

           Mrs. Rossi looked at the class, “I am so sorry for any trouble my daughter may have caused.” She looked at Tim. “I hope this doesn’t cast a negative light on any prospective business relations.”

           Tim shook his head, “Kids will be kids. Let’s continue to speak over lunch.”

“I’ll see you at home, Lila,” Mrs. Rossi said.

           Tim grinned, “Marinette, I’ll see you after school. Jason.”

           Jason got to leave only to stumble nearly down the stairs. He cast a quick glare at Chloe.

           The blond gave him a vicious smirk, “Walk much?”

“Oh it’s on,” Jason hissed.

           Marinette rolled her eyes. Last year, she had wished with all her might that her friends would see Lila for who she really was. Now the truth was out. Lila had been exposed.

           Regrettably, Marinette had already lost all her friends. And those who were still her friends, already knew the truth. So it wouldn’t change much. She’d had already forgiven her ex-friends a long time ago. Marinette just had to intention of being friends with them again. Still, it was a victory.

           Fuck Santa; this round went Marinette.

-

-

           The Justice League had been stunned when they learned that the masked hero Ladybug who was protecting Paris in an adorable bright red suit, who seemed to be made of sunshine, rainbows, and happiness was Batman’s daughter. Like so stunned that as soon as they saw her secret Identity of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and her takedown of monsters twelve times her size; one or two (or twelve) asked Superman to take a DNA test too. Because Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only black-haired Superhero around, and you know things happen.

           …Batman hadn’t been happy when Oracle alerted him that someone in the Watch Tower was running his daughter’s DNA against Superman’s.

“How sure are we?” Hal Jordan asked. “The DNA results never came back. How do we know she’s not Big S’s?”

           The main members of the Justice League were waiting for Batman and his family to arrive. Then they were would officially be introduced to the hero Ladybug.

           Superman glared, “Stop it. Batman already brought out the kryptonite the last time you mentioned it.”

           Wonder man nodded, “Her civilian self is the spitting image of Bruce.”

“All of his kids have dark hair and light eyes,” The Flash reminded them. “One of like seven or twelve, or however many he has now, we know for sure is his.”

“They are all his,” Black Canary stated with a growl. She and Oliver had adopted Roy when he was young but that didn’t make the boy any less hers.

           Just then the light of the zeta beam sounded and Batman and Ladybug appeared in the room. The clear contrast between the two was startling.

           The Dark, brooding, Knight of Gotham dressed in all black with a look on his face that could’ve made Superman wince in fear. Ladybug, dressed in bright red, with a big, cheerful, smile on her face and large blue eyes that looked positively mesmerized by the heroes.

“I brought cookies,” The small girl chirped as she motioned to the goodies in her hands. “And apple pie! It’s a family recipe. I made them myself. I really hope you like them.”

           Batman glared worsen to the point where a few Justice League members feared for their lives. The message was clear; they’d like them. Or else.

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Diana smiled. “Come on, let me show you where we’ll be meeting.

           Marinette tried not to stare in awe at her favorite superhero. “I also brought Vegan. And gluten-free cookies. I wanted to make sure everyone could get some.” She said as she was led away.

           The world-renowned heroes visibly cooed at the young hero. She was the most adorable thing they’d ever laid eyes on.

           The Flash laughed, “What did you bring, Bats?”

“Death,” Batman growled as stalked after his daughter.

           Cyborg swallowed hard. “I’m not saying you’re right,” He told Hal and Barry. “I’m saying for this type of situation; Maury is classier than Jerry Springer.”

           Superman groaned. They were going to get him killed.

“Apple pie!” The flash said. “She brought Apple, Clark; it’s a sign from the gods.”

           Ladybug briefing them on her hero journey had been riveting. The Justice League had always been aware of Ladybug's existence. Once aware of her, Diana had told them all the history of the Miraculous and how her own mother used to be one of the users. Ladybug, with Chat Noir for a time, handled herself and protected the city well. They saw no reason to interfere. The Justice League had strict rules of interfering with another’s heroes’ turf. They figured if Ladybug needs help, the hero would call on them. They never knew she was a child.

           Her age bothered them.

“She can’t protect the city,” Aquaman said. “We’ll need to step in.”

“Excuse me,” Marinette said.

           The Flash nodded, “We’ll need to run Intel. I’ll have Vibe take a look at things.”

“Wait! I don’t think you-” Marinette started but was cut off.

“The magic is ancient and powerful,” Hawkman interrupted. “We should call Constantine. Or Doctor Fate perhaps.”

           Ladybug shook her head, “That wouldn’t be a good idea!”

           Green Lantern waved her off, “It’s fine, kid. We’ll handle it. While we’re at it; consider joining Young Justice or Teen Titans. Get you some training before you call yourself a real hero. Until then stick with the little league team.”

           Marinette froze. What did he just say? White-hot anger coursed through her veins.

           And to think she always dreamed of meeting the Justice League; of standing face to face with the heroes after having proven herself; proven that she was just as much of a superhero as they. However, Marinette knew she was already a hero. And no one would tell her otherwise.

           The round went to Santa. But Marinette would have her due.

           Fuck Santa!

Superman said, “We’ll start having unplaced league members scouting the area. They’ll notify us at the first sign of Hawkmoth.”

“ENOUGH!” Marinette yelled. She growled at the heroes. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The silence that followed that question was deafening. “You know nothing of Hawkmoth; saw nothing of what I’ve been through. There is a reason I never called in the league. Superpowered individuals still have emotions; still anger. He can turn any of you into akumas. Get inside your heads; learn who you really are. You’ll be a toy for him. Batman brought me here to meet you; not for you to pretend you know how to do my job.”

           She glared at the room and then zeroed in on the Green Lantern. Within seconds, Ladybug had yanked him out of his seat, pulled the ring off his finger, and held by his collar as the man detransformed. “Real Hero? You think I’m not a real hero? I’ve fought monsters nightmares couldn’t even begin to fathom. You want to see what I’m capable of, Glow Stick? How about I take you to the nearest training room and see if you bleed green?”

           Batman stood up, “My team will be running point on the Paris situation; following Ladybug lead. You’ll refrain from entering the city of Paris until further notice. That is all.” He looked at his daughter and had to fight to keep the smile off his face. “Ladybug let Green Lantern go, and give him back his ring.”

           Ladybug huffed, “I’ll give him back his ring. And then I want ten minutes alone with him.”

           Hal gulped.

“No,” Batman said. “We must leave. You have to get ready for Winter break. Next time.”

           Ladybug glared and then dropped the hero on the ground. “Next time,” She promised.

           Then swiftly the father and daughter duo departed.

           Once the two were gone, Wonder Woman chuckled, “Anyone else want to question Ladybug’s Paternity. Anyone?”

           Barry had to fight the shivers that went through him. Ladybug had Batman’s glare and knew how to use it. “Nope. Never again.”

-

-

           Marinette’s first night in Gotham was memorable. The entire bat family had been waiting for Marinette when she arrived; Bruce, Alfred, Kate, Dick, Barbara, Jason, Cassandra, Tim, Stephanie, Luke, and Damian. Alfred, the man her brothers had deemed their grandfather, had welcomed her with open arms and a dinner that was more like a feast than a simple meal.

           On the outside, Wayne manor looked like any home in the neighborhood; quiet, idealistic, and seemingly perfect.

           On the inside, as soon as Bruce and Alfred stepped away for a moment, her siblings took her to the Batcave. It was as grand as she always imagined. Then someone (Tim) brought out lightsabers.

           Marinette thought it was a fancy version of the toy she used to love so much as a kid; her only complaint was that the plastic swords only came in green, red and the occasional blue. She really wanted a pink one and had put it on her Christmas list for two years straight.

           She pressed the button, only for the sword handle to heat up, and a pink laser rises out of it. “Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“…This is a real lightsaber,” The heat from the sword threated to burn or hand a little. Or worse. She’d seen all the movies. She knew how this usually ended up.

“Yep.”

           Marinette nodded slowly. Because what the heck.

“Just go with it,” Luke shrugged. “Just-just go with it.” He sounded like a defeated man. A tired one at that.

“Don’t be like that!” Dick smiled, “Family bond time is the best time.”

“Jedi versus Sith?” Marinette just asked.

           Tim pointed a bright gold lightsaber at her, “Jedi versus Sith.”

           Marinette looked around at the different colored and very, very dangerous lightsabers. There was no way this could possibly go well. And with the way her Kate, aka Batwoman, was smirking there was no way Alfred would consider her proper adult supervision. Someone was going to lose a hand. Or die. Most likely both.

           But she wouldn’t back down. This was more or less her eight-year-old self’s dream. It was also likely to get her killed.

           …Marinette would take those odds.

“What team am I on?” She asked.

           Cassandra shook her head, “Up to you. Good versus is a chose; just a game though,” She cast Stern looks at Jason, Tim, and Damian, who now sported black robes, clearly, by the Darth Maul make up that had somehow appeared on Damian’s face, were clearly Sith Lords.

           Santa thought this would scare her. That she would be cowed into submission. Finally admit defeat. Well, Marinette only had one thing to say to that. Two things actually.

“Give in to the dark side, sister,” Damian ordered her. His lightsaber was red and had two sides to it much like the character he matched.

           Marinette got into a fighting stance, “Not today.”

           And Fuck Santa.

           …

           Alfred and Bruce were not happy when they finally located the children.

           Or the fact that someone had to get their hand reattached.

--

--

           It was two to two. Christmas day had arrived. Marinette had expected the worst; had geared up for the worst.

           Nothing happened.

           Marinette spent the day with her family.

           Her parents had even arrived from Paris on the day before Christmas eve.

           They shared presents. They sang songs. The entire family was together. It snowed outside. She and all of her siblings had a snowball fight while her parents and Alfred watched from the porch.

           It was a perfect Christmas day.

           Except for one thing…

           Marinette knew the truth.

           The perfect day was the result of one thing…

           Santa was preparing too. He didn’t back down. The fight wasn’t over yet. He was too busy to mess with her on Christmas Eve or Christmas. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean anything.

           Everyone knew the Holiday season didn’t officially end until January 1st.

           After New Year’s eve.

           That was the final round.

           The match to end all matches.

           On New Years’ Eve, it would be war.

-

-

           Roy wore a tailored tux as he walked her down the carpet, passed the flashing lights of the paparazzi.

Marinette never thought she’d fight the most battle of her life in a ballgown. It was a jaw-dropping, off the shoulder, floor length silver dress with lacy unique floral accents. Her hair was in a side-braid with small forget-me-nots on top of her hair like a crown.

            It was her battle armor, and she was ready for anything.

           It was a promise, she made to herself.

           …

           Okay so it turns out, Marinette lied to herself.

           She wasn’t ready for anything. She did not stand a chance against Santa. He was a jerk. And she was six-second from throwing in the towel and running off crying.

           Marinette had known exactly who was attending the ball. She had memorized every guest on the list. Trying to figure out exactly what the fat guy who throws out her. As soon as she saw exactly which celebrities were coming. She knew.

           The first punch had been the man ten-year-old Marinette swore she was going marry. Harry freaking Styles.

           But Marinette had prepared herself.  It would be a quick conversation and then she wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the night.

           When she met the superstar, Marinette had smiled and laughed; had a good conversation, wasn’t even awkward at all. She wasn’t the overly One Direction obsessed 10-year-old anymore.

           It was a hard hit, and the best conversation of her life, but Marinette didn’t go down.

           Santa’s next move was a cheap shot, and she stumbled.

           Marinette had been trying to find a quiet place to think for herself so could get strengthen up a bit but, to avoid one of her brothers (Dick), she collided straight into Nick Jonas and fell on her butt.

           She hadn’t even realized it at first as he helped her up.

“Thank you,” Marinette said kindly, as she brushed off her dress. When she looked up and saw exactly who had collided with, her face turned a bright red. “You’re Nick Jonas,” She squeaked; literally squeaked. She wanted to die.

           Nick Jonas. She loved Nick Jonas. She listen to all his songs; even his old Jonas Brothers ones. She had always wanted to meet the singer; she had dreamed about it.

“Yeah,” Nick smiled. “You alright.”

           No. Marinette was not alright.

           Still, she chirped a quick, “I’m fine.” And introduced herself.

           Then he said, “Love your dress.”

“I made it! I can make you one!” Slipped out before she could stop it.        

           He just laughed though, “How about a suit instead?”

           Yeah, so that happened.

           And the night just got worse from there.

           …

           Santa gave her a combo hit; worthy of a champion.

           Not many knew but Marinette was a huge Harry Potter fangirl. Hermione Granger was her all-time favorite. She was a hardcore Harmony shipper; Harry/Hermione forever.

           Tim knew it though. He was a big-time fan as well. And he thought it would be a great idea to introduce Marinette to the actress who played her favorite character; Emma Watson.

           It was not a good idea. At all.

The first words out of Marinette’s mouth upon seeing Emma Watson were literally, “It's leviOsa, not levioSA!”

And it was at the point that Marinette just wanted to call it a night.

Emma had laughed it off, promising she got it all the time.

…

Marinette met Chris Hemsworth and just wouldn’t stop giggling.

Stephanie had to pull her away.

It was then that she knew Santa had her on the ropes.

…

She met Big Time Rush.

The boy band had become internally famous over the last few years. Not as big as One Direction but they still had their dedicated fans. Marinette was one of them

Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, and Logan Mitchell. They were all eighteen

It should’ve have been easy. She liked their band but not nearly as much as she liked Harry Styles, or Emma Watson, Or Chris Hemsworth.

Still, she hadn’t seen James asking her to dance coming.

However, Marinette had remained calm and cool.

It’s a pity, she was still such a klutz.

Suffice to say, Marinette wouldn’t be listening to Big Time Rush for a while. And James Diamond wouldn’t be asking strange girls to dance any time soon.

Santa gave her a punch right in the face.

…

She ran into Tom Holland the exact moment she got the hiccups. He did his best to help her get rid of them

…

Marinette had just stuffed an entire cupcake in her mouth when she realized Jennifer Lawrence was standing next to her. It wasn’t too bad. As the blond did the same thing a second later.

…

She pointed at Johnny Depp and said, “Jack Sparrow. You’re Jack Sparrow. Oh my god!!!”

           To which he replied, “Captain Jack Sparrow.”

           …

           Suffice to say, Santa didn’t have Marinette on the robes anymore.

           No, Marinette was on the floor; waiting for the referee to call it.

           …

           It was an hour until the official New Year. Fifteen minutes until Marinette was supposed to perform. She was backstage. Everyone was waiting for her. She promised Tim.

And she found that she just couldn’t do it.

           The entire night was too much.

           It was all too much.

           It was over.

           She had lost.

“Rough night?” Roy, her date and pretend boyfriend asked.

           Marinette was sitting on a chair, her face in her hands, “You have no idea.”

           Roy sat next to her, “Pretty exciting though right?” He didn’t get an answer. “Tim said you met Emma Watson, that had to be awesome.”

“It was embarrassing.”

           Roy frowned, “Sabine told me you used to dress up as Hermione Granger all time. You’re saying meeting the Queen herself wasn’t even a little cool?”

           Yeah, it had been amazing to meet her in person. “A little cool.”

           Roy chuckled, “You met Harry Styles,” He reminded. “And from your blond bestie told me; my only real competition.”

           Marinette giggled. “That had been… awesome.” And everything.

“You met Chris Hemsworth,” He added. “Tom Holland, Big Time Rush, and a bunch of other celebs that I’ve been told you were huge fans of. Yeah, you were a little embarrassed.” He shook his head. “But I don’t get it; I’d be so psyched right now if I were you. So why aren’t you.”

           Marinette paused.

           Why wasn’t she?

           Marinette had met people she never even dared to really hope she’d ever meet one day. She wore the most beautiful dress in her entire life; danced with Roy Queen and James Diamond. Joked with Harry Styles. Talked Emma Watson the actress who played the character she loved most out of all the books, tv shows, and movies she’d ever loved.

           It was all a matter of perspective really. Marinette was so focused on the bad, she never even realized just how great it was. Santa had thrown the worst at her but was still there. She hadn’t run back to Wayne Manor no matter how much she had wanted to. She stayed strong.

           At one point, she knew for certain that she wouldn’t just surrender; after the Chris Hemsworth incident. If Santa wanted to win, he was going to have to knock her out.

“Thanks, Roy,” She said. “I couldn’t wish for a better date.”

           It was the most amazing night of her life.

           And no one was going to make her feel otherwise.

           Marinette stood up, determination on her face.

           She had a song to sing.

           …

           Marinette stood on stage. The crowd looked up at her. Her hands were shaking. Her mouth felt dry. The lights were near blinding.  She had changed the song at the last minute. The music was coming from her phone anyway.

           Marinette knew the lyrics to the song by heart; had sung it a thousand times in her room to herself.

           She could do this.

I will do this, Marinette swore.

           The music started. It was her favorite song. And Marinette was going to sing it so loudly, so proudly; they could hear her in the North Pole.

“What if I told you

It was all meant to be

Would you believe me

Would you agree

It's almost that feelin'

That we've met before

So tell me that you don't think I'm crazy

When I tell you love has come and now.”

           She was doing it. Marinette was really doing it. She always had a good voice. She had taken singing lessons for a long time. And her teachers always praised her talent. But after one terrible incident, she never thought she’d ever get on stage and sing in front of anyone again.

           But there she was.

“A moment like this

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this

Some people search forever…

           Honestly, Marinette could fall right on her face and it would stop the euphoric feeling coursing through. This was her victory song.

           Jolly Saint Nick had thrown at her more than she ever thought she could take. But she was still standing.

           And as long as she was, the big red guy would never win.

For that one special kiss

Oh, I can't believe it's happening to me

Some people wait a lifetime

For a moment like this…”

The music faded. The applause from the audience roared.

…

Marinette and Roy slow danced to something my Celine Dion neither could recognize. The New Year was less than two minutes away.

“You’re looking a lot better,” Roy smirked. He knew he was good at Pep talks to matter what Artemis said.

“I feel better,” Marinette admitted. “It’s been an awesome few weeks.”

“Yeah?” Roy asked as he twirled her around.

           Marinette nodded, “Nearly Every. One. Of. My. Christmas wishes came true.” She tried not to growl. Positive outlook after.

“Santa must be out to get you.”

  ��        Marinette looked up at Roy with appreciation, “You have no idea.”

“Anything he didn’t get to?” The redhead asked. “Something you can do for yourself first?”

“Countdown to New Years in 10!”

           Marinette thought about it for a second but she realized there was. There was one more thing on her list, that she added at the very beginning of Christmas.

“Yeah, there is.” She said. “Do you want to kiss me.”

           Roy nodded earnestly.

           The crowd counted down. “7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1” And then Marinette kissed Roy.

           Balloons came from above. Everyone cheered. But Marinette kept kissing Roy.

           She always wanted a New Year’s kiss.

           Take that and stick it up your chimney, Santa.

           Marinette was officially the winner.

           Nevertheless, there was always next year.

           But for now, fuck Santa!

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 4)

And finished. Free... I’m FINALLY free! To write small drabbles that don’t consume like longer ones! Lots of fun had on this, though. Haven’t dabbled in smut for a long time. I enjoy it’s challenge, but I wouldn’t say I prefer it. I can never write smut just for smut’s sake. There always have to be a challenge and/or lead-up... and that can be exhausting... or I put all the love and effort into that and feel spent before the sexy bit and I’m just... stuck. Ah well. My personal writing hang-ups...

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Explicit. No little eyes please. 

There was a new humor to the hotel room, a lightness, compared to the tensity which the two occupants had previously tiptoed around. Now, however, it was rather hard for the two to keep their hands from one another. Wanda finally broke away first, taking charge, insisting on breakfast to “fuel up,” and then disappeared into the bathroom for a considerable amount of time. Vision was rolling in the squeaky food cart when she re-emerged. The noisey wheels halted as he admired the view.

She had brushed out her hair and it hung in soft, billowy auburn waves. Her face had been renewed with a brisk cleansing, and just a hint of concealer and gloss to give her skin a glow that Vision could see even without them. She had reclaimed the hotel bathrobe, but it was open and sagged around her shoulders as she posed in the doorframe…revealing a black bra and panty set that showcased her toned and ample feminine assets. It wasn’t frilly, but it was most affective in it’s function.

“Costume change.” Wanda said, feeling pretty damned delicious… and pretty satisfied that her synthezoid boyfriend couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. She stalked towards him, playfully twirling the robe belt in her hand. If only she had some black pumps to complete the seductive ensemble… Wanda picked up an apple, cleared her throat to continue the conversation that had been conducted through the closed door. “To answer your previous question, no. I didn’t know that would happen like that. That we could connect and you feel MY physical sensations. The mindstone was the conduit…I just…pushed my will alittle harder.” She winced a little, biting her lower lip. “Maybe I should have asked first.”

“It was indeed perplexing, in the beginning.” Vision retorted, closing the gap between them. “But I am considerably appreciative that you did so. I am ever in awe of your capabilities and strength…” He reached to embrace her, lowering his face to hers for another consuming kiss… but she brought the apple to her lips quicker and sauntered away from his grasp. He blinked, but gave a small grin as she circled the cart, pretending to be more interested with its contents.

“Eating.” She took a juicy bite of the fruit, making approving noises.

“Wanda…”  

Was the synthezoid actually getting… a little impatient? That was new and thrilling to Wanda. “Then I don’t suppose you would mind us exploring that connection for more of your… sensory education? For science, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“Naturally.” She returned his sly grin. “Maybe explain your hypothesis again.” He opened his mouth to answer. “While you remove your clothing.” She tilted her head at him. “And slowly. No phasing.” She sank her teeth in for another crisp bite.

This was certainly a new side of Wanda. She was exponentially more excited for the possibility of Vision’s capacity to participate in pleasure from their intimacies. Though it be through atypical means. He started with the top button of his blue dress shirt, single handed. “Our connection, via the mind stone, grants me access to feel your body’s organic sensory design, emotionally… and physically. First hand.” His shirt fell away from his chest, sliding down his maroon and vibranium striated arms. This was clearly a show for Wanda’s benefit, but it did give him validation to see her touch her skin and flap her hair to cool her perspiring neck. She faltered in the action as she saw his hands migrate down his stomach to his belt. “I believe that by observing your mental perspective and carnal responses, I may be able to calibrate and script my own genuine… outputs.” He unzipped the front of his pants. “Learning physical intuition, rather than imitation. Would that please you, Wanda?”

She was nodding mindlessly, until she came to herself again. “Y-yes. Yes. It would.” She put her apple down. “How about you?”

He cocked his head at her. “I believe I have already expressed my compliance to this experiment.”

“Vis I know, I just…” Wanda sighed and went to him, taking his hands from his clothing and sitting him down on the edge of the bed. She dropped the seduction act. “I just remember my first time. And I know this technically isn’t your first time, outwardly, but there’s just so much…” In a flurry of vague hand gestures, she lost her train of thought with all she was trying to help him understand. Rather badly. She let out another sigh. “There’s vulnerability and a lack of control… which can be liberating…but also kinda scary at first. I just don’t want you to be overwhelmed and not tell me. Because you want me to be happy.”

Vision brushed some of her hair back behind her ear in a comforting motion. Touched at her concern, recalling the complete feeling of her love he had been engulfed in not 50 minutes prior. “I am… eager… to endeavor this with you, Wanda. Nothing makes me feel more human than testing the capabilities of this synthetic form.” He met her eyes. “But you will have to accept that such enthusiasm is over-shadowed by my desire to please you. It’s become a bit of cornerstone in me, actually.” His soft smile was cautious, as he tried to read her expression. “Is… is that alright?”

She smiled back and held his strong chin. “Yes.” She gave him a peck on his cheek. “I know the feeling.” She rose to her feet, shedding the plush robe completely and tossing it to a nearby winged-back chair. “But I think I’d still feel better if you at least had… I don’t know… a safe word? In case you need a moment.”

The synthezoid arched a brow at her insistence. Vision was familiar with the concept of a “safe word”… usually attributed to more aggressive erotic acts. With costumes and props to aid in stimulation. It was data he had once sifted through briefly out of curiosity, but ultimately pushed aside with disinterest. A safe word was usually a common, non-sexual noun with possible sentimental significance. He looked down at his hands in his lap for a moment.

“How about… Paprika?” he offered.

Wanda failed at suppressing a dimpled grin. “Okay. ‘Paprika’ it is. Use it if you need to.” She saw that his unfastened pants were still on. “Now take those off.”

He grimaced at the reminder, but obeyed. “I understand there is a pace to sensuality… and I am more than content to comply… but as we both know that this is leading to coitus, should we not perhaps just-“

Wanda’s index finger pressed to the mind stone, surging her essence into him, drawing him into herself. Her heart a steady but enthralling rhythm, pumping heat to her centers… just by looking at him. Vision saw through her eyes, that roved over his body and how it delighted her. The curves and dips of his thick neck and shoulders, the swell of his pectorals, down the ridges of his abdominals, the dip of his shallow navel, and though his green briefs  still denied her access to his groin, Vision’s sculpted thighs more than atoned for the censorship. His body was perfectly compiled for her pleasure, not just battle.

She lustfully schemed where she would kiss, cup, bite, suck, grind and ride to elicit pleasure noises from him. She became wet just thinking about hearing him articulate his ecstasy for the first time… the anticipation of it all such delectable torture…

Vision gave a soft gasp as Wanda withdrew her touch from the gem. He had to catch himself from falling back into the bed, but then slowly lowered himself to his elbows, reeling from the contact.

Wanda drank in the sight of his body stretched out like an offering, thighs parted wider than they had been before. She scrunched her nose, noticing his breathless response to the connection. “Sorry, Vis. I… I should probably warn you before I do that.”

The synthezoid observed his own heaving body, incredulous at it’s power over Wanda’s mind. Of course he had known she could be visually aroused by him, but knowing was quite different from feeling it. His blood pulsed with his excited core, while trillions of laced circuitry signaled to recreate the stimulation that his mind had just learned. It became a state without reprieve, though it needed it. The wanting.

“Vision?”

He glanced up at Wanda speechless, his enlightened eyes tracing her pleasing, creamy curves and swells… feeling increasing wanting, or was it hunger, for them to be at the mercy of his tireless administrations. Mesmerized with the idea of her climaxing as she was with him. Vision’s gaze rested on Wanda’s thighs, knowing their throb and heat… and feeling it in his own.

She looked down at him splayed out on the bed, not responding to her call. “Paprika?” She asked.

Vision’s eyes slowly blinked and met hers, posture no longer a startled reaction… but an invitation.

“Not even close.” He murmured.

Wanda smirked at his lusty retort, whether he realized it sounded so or not, and crawled into a straddle position across his lap. She finally rewarded him with a kiss, lowering her head down to his, her hair a russet curtain around their faces. He knew and could authentically reciprocate this part. Very well. His head tilted to the side as their lips opened to each other, giving and taking. Wanda made soft noises, pleased with the new-found urgency of his lips and tongue. Vision reached up to bury his maroon digits in her silky hair, pulling her down with him as he reclined back into the mattress.

“I’m… I’m gonna…” Wanda breathed between kisses. She slid her hand back up towards the mind stone. Vision gave a nod to acknowledge her warning, but his head still fell back with the sheer force of their fusing. His, HER, lips were swollen with use…a fascinatingly tiring and addicting state. He responded with more use of that moist, delicate flesh, only to hear himself softly moan with her.

More. She wanted more. And he wanted more.

Wanda tossed her head back, exposing access to her neck as the synthezoid meticulously worked his way down from her jawline. He found the hollow dip of her clavicle, giving an experimental lick. A pleasurable shudder made its way down Wanda’s spine, and she cradled Vision’s head as she felt him inhale sharply, experiencing the response for himself.

Graceful hands skimmed up her back and around to the ample front, under the swell of breast. Vision’s thumbs gently circled the soft flesh, until he discovered the arousal he was eliciting in her. Wanda licked her lips and pursed them firm to keep from making more undignified noises… but as the circles widened with urgency and eschewed her bra away from the mounds…

“Vision….” Wanda pleaded. The heaving of his chest raised her up and down visibly. She propped herself up with her free hand, for stability, but gave a flick of her wrist before placing it on the bed. Scarlet energy aggressively unhooked the back of her bra.

“Thank you, darling…” Vision breathed, seizing the offending braw and tossing it away from them, before latching boldly to a breast. Wanda gasped, swearing she could hear him do the same against her taunt skin. A couple of times, her hand nearly lost it’s placement on the stone upon Vision’s head, but he didn’t waver in his enthusiasm.

She hummed her rapture, toes curling. Everything felt like new. For the first time. To have her lover finally able to feel the joy that he gave her every time they came together. She gasped when he sat up abruptly, fearing that it was all too overwhelming and reprieve was needed… but was instantly relieved to feel his hand roving down her tight stomach.

Vision’s investigation of Wanda’s neurological feedback led him to further questions that had no answers, at least not that words or data could supply. Very frustrating for the logical being, yet the curiosity of bodily excitement far out-weighted any perplexity that would prevent him from continuing exploration. He bent forward, lingering between the smooth valley of Wanda’s chest, as she arched her back. He felt her spine stretch and arch back, appreciating not only her flexibility… but the conundrum of being in a vulnerable and compromising position, completely at one’s mercy. The tenderness and trust an aphrodisiac.

The butterflies in Wanda’s stomach, fluttering downward felt like they were his own. Vision chased them with one hand while the other steadied, and kneaded, at a pert flank. The motion encouraged an involuntary buck and rhythm from her hips. One that the synthezoid felt in his being as well. She needed release. Immediately VIsion’s assuring touch was at her moist entrance for service. His thighs twitched to feel the complete gridlock of nerves flaring up with pleasure at the firm contact to her womanhood. He let out a gasp with her.

Wanda suddenly straightened, colliding back into him, forcing his head up to look at her. Their connection severed.

“No… not like that. Not for your first time…” Wanda insisted, flushed and light-headed. She kissed his nose, and down to his lips, wet and consuming. She pushed him back into the bedding. She ran her hands down his neck, following his reflective patterning, and over the pectoral muscles of his chest.

Vision’s breath hitched as she lingered there, stroking, circling, and pinching at the maroon surface exposed beneath the vibranium plating. True that he didn’t have the responsive peaks that his girlfriend had, but their exploring had challenged his body to interpret the sensitivity and to replicate. It wasn’t exactly the same as a human’s organic response, but it was originally and genuinely his. He sighed, a leg flexing in response to his processor’s messaging as Wanda nipped at the area. It swarmed coding within him… and then faded to a docile buzzing as her contact left him.

He realized he must have been lost in his processing, as Wanda was now smiling down at him, expression of serene wonderment upon her face. She reached down and placed a hand on his cheek, thumb caressing his parted lips. Vision gently grasped her wrist, turning out her palm so he could kiss the tender flesh. Those hands… that could make a being like him feel so alive. With soul.

Loved.

Wanda grinned assuredly, slipping her hand from his grasp. Down her hands caressed over angled abdominals, relishing the rise and fall of his stomach, down to the defined V that was still partially concealed by his green briefs. As if a mind-reader himself, Vision phased through the obstructive material. The human arched her brow and began shedding her last bit of clothing too… though much more ungracefully.

“Yeah, I can’t do that…” she grunted. She grimaced… then giggled into his chest as she freed herself from the panties, eventually holding them in the air victoriously, then tossing them to the floor.

Vision chuckled down at her silly smile as he brushed her disheveled hair from her face. But the playful curve of her smile faded, overcome with desire. She kissed him again, nearly missing his lips in her haste. He readied himself, a process that even Wanda couldn’t exactly help him fully experience… lacking the precise equipment herself… but that was no matter. Her urgency spurred on his own into a frenzy. She lined herself up with him, up on her knees, hand spread against his chest.

“Vis…”

“Yes. I understand.” He didn’t fully. On the cusp of understanding, really… but it seemed the right thing to say. “I want you too, Wanda.” Completely true.

This seemed to quell Wanda’s hesitancy, as she reached up once more to the golden infinity stone embedded in her lover’s forehead. Vision arched, unprepared for the intensity as Wanda lowered herself upon him. She moaned loudly, the feel of his fullness within her long overdue. She rolled her hips, forward, and back, and forward even further before receding back, like a sensual ocean tide. Vision’s hands grasped at her waist, at first just to hold on to something, but they eventually slid closer to her pelvis to oblige the erotic friction. He pushed up when she moved forward, giving her the stretch and fullnesss she craved, and down to collide into her swollen apex as she rocked back.

But she nearly lost it when she heard Vision emit a hesitant rumble, soft and throaty. One that usually came out when contemplating intellectual disputes and his conclusions were challenged… but then it bled into a wanton groan. It came again…

This was much more than pleasant buzzing and mysterious sensations to be explored leisurely. These were profound currents that the synthezoid was trying to wade through, and he feared being completely swept away. He clutched at Wanda’s hand upon his chest, desperate for her navigation. He saw the familiarity and comfort of her glowing shores but was alarmed by the utter digital cosmos within himself, meteors darting in brilliant, angular patterns. They seared their way down his body, not painfully. The opposite of pain, but still rather unnerving. Or rather... unknown.

Vision’s other hand shot above him to seize the top of the headboard, only vaguely aware that he had begun to levitate from the mattress. Between Wanda’s blindingly rapid pace, their energies mightily infused, and Vision’s system trying to prevent from overloading… both failed to notice.

Wanda was close, trying her best to keep her hand glued to the stone, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She tried to slow, tried to savor for Vision’s sake, but the spasms seized her fiercely. Which Vision’s inter-workings had the impossible task to comprehend. Brilliantly burning surges quivered along their angular paths… only to deviate free, melding into each other and trickling down… hot… liquid gold.

The synthezoid convulsed with pleasure, his grunt tinged with digital glitch. Wanda’s awareness came back to her as she heard a splintering crack.

And then the world fell beneath them.

Or rather they dropped from five feet in the air, back onto the bed. Which of course broke in two under Vision’s dense weight.

Wanda squeaked with the impact, and covered her mouth in shock. She shot a glance up to her boyfriend, who looked just as startled as she did… only he was holding a bit of headboard that he had broken off before the plunge.  

“Oh dear…” he breathed. “Uh…’paprika?’”

***

Despite Vision’s unconsolable guilt of the property damage he had done, feeling that he had broken the hotel’s trust and rooming agreements, Wanda was able to remedy the furniture rather promptly. Her hands glowed red, collecting every piece and splinter, restoring the bed-frame back to it’s former, structural integrity. It took a few minutes of coaxing to convince the synthezoid that it could hold him without collapsing, but now he laid upon it, sheet wrapped around around his waist. Wanda was picking at the now cold breakfast foods, clad in the robe… which she was seriously considering stealing.

“She said…what?” Vision rolled to his side, propping his head up with his hand to regard Wanda. “Well that is…”

“I know. I was upset for you.” Wanda seethed, feeling her former upset from the previous day’s tasteless conversation. She stabbed at the muffin on her plate. “It was so… so…”

“Fascinating, actually.” Vision interjected. He regarded her reaction. “Well, at least I was contemplated amongst my team at all. Not favorably, I’ll grant you… but at least I was enough apart of the tribe, if you will, to be appraised for my humanity…or lack of. I find that oddly comforting.”

Wanda shook her head. “You’re too good for your own good, Vis.”

He cocked his head at her. “Well… they are off crammed in some shack, contemplating my sexual capacity while I’m here making love to the most exquisite woman on the planet, breaking beds.” Vision grinned slyly. “It’s hard to wallow with such margins in my favor, Wanda.”

The woman smiled deeply, dropping the wounded muffin completely. “Is it me, or are you more audacious than before?”

Vision rumbled in his throat. “Mmmm… audacious. I love it when you speak deliciously so…” He adjusted himself to a kneeling position while Wanda crawled towards him. “You know, darling, I think my system is finished with its recalibrating.”

“Oh?” Wanda slipped her arms around his broad shoulders.

“Settings adjusted. Scripts fine-tuned…”

“Hmmmm…” She brought her face teasingly close to his.

“I think a second go would prove to be… rather enjoyable. And less destructive, of course.”

“Of course.” She mimicked, before planting her lips against his.

They took their time, with hands entwined, gentle kisses and tender smiles. Glittering, scarlet waves below skies of emerald nebulas and golden comets. Only a thin veil of skin and vibranium keeping the soulmates from melding into each other completely.

[random-imagines-blog]

Broken {Charles Xavier x Platonic!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2891 Summary: Like most people in stories, you didn’t have a good upbringing. But luckily a professor in a wheelchair comes to give you that happy ending.

Hate was a language that you knew too well. It was the language that you had grown up with, because it was all that your parents had spoke. There might have been love behind those fake smiles at one point or another but you didn’t remember it. You can’t claim to have ever seen it. They were dishonest, they were suspicious, they were greedy. They saw that you had an ability and they wanted to use it to their advantage, no matter what it had done to you. If you touched someone, you could see their dirtiest secrets, their disgusting desires, the darkest part of their soul. When you are six years old and your father is forcing you to touch the hands of men in order to blackmail them, you grow terrified, and also distrustful of the world. You were absolutely traumatized. You had no friends growing up, no boyfriends, no girlfriends, you didn’t even trust animals. You never ran away from home, because at least there, you weren’t hurt. You wore gloves to keep the evils of the world at bay - when your parents didn’t utilize you. It was a horrible life for a child.

You were sixteen when Charles Xavier first approached you. It had taken a while to find you - you weren’t anywhere near New York State. But he had been branching out more and more, taking on students from around the country rather than just their area. He had talked to you outside of your home, and you hadn’t been trusting in the slightest, not until you heard his voice inside of your head saying that it was okay if you wanted to touch his hand. He wanted you to trust him.

But you refused. And he accepted that, which was a relief because you didn’t often get to walk away unscathed from meetings with weird men. He left you with a brochure though, making sure that he didn’t get close enough to make you uncomfortable. You snuck it into your room and kept it under your mattress, lest your parents find out. They would absolutely forbid you from going to a school with other mutants. You brought it out every few nights and read over the text though. A chance to learn how to control your powers so you wouldn’t have to see the evil in people? It was hard to believe that such a thing could be possible, but you held out hope nonetheless. Anywhere would be better than here.

-

On your eighteenth birthday, you ran away. You were an adult and your parents could no longer make you do anything. You climbed on board a bus that was headed to New York, and you would find your way from there. Completely covered from head to toe - thankfully it was winter - you lessened any effect from your powers, and managed to get along without finding out even more about the lack of humanity in people. If this didn’t work ... you might have no choice but to take your own life.

You arrived in New York City in the morning. The big city was an amazement to behold. You bought a newspaper and were amazed that there were even that many writers working. And not a trace of anything like mutants. Not a trace of anything evil either. A lot of it was about pop culture, which was something that you were very behind on and didn’t care much about either way. But at least it helped you to understand all of the billboards that you saw in the city center.

It didn’t take long, however, for you start feeling lonely. Holding the well-read brochure in one hand and the newspaper in the other, you found a payphone and punched in the phone number typed in bold letters. Someone named Hank answered, and transferred you right away to the person named Charles Xavier without question. So far, it was the most promising thing in your life, and you clutched onto that phone as if it was a buoy in a stormy sea.

“Charles Xavier,” The smooth voice said into the earpiece.

“H-Hi,” You said, your heart beating quickly with nerves. “You might not remember me but my name is y/n y/l/n, and you approached me two years ago-”

“Of course I remember you, love,” The man said softly. “You’ve been on my mind. Seeing the darkness in people, am I remembering right?”

“Seeing their darkest desires and deeds,” You said, feeling something akin to relief. You don’t know how he found out about your powers but at the moment, you didn’t care. “I’m technically an adult now, and I managed to get away from my parents. I’m in New York and I was wondering...”

“Of course, of course, we will send out a car to come and collect you, if that is what you want.”

“I want to be better,” You muttered into the silence. “So yes - I need to learn how to be better.”

“You are perfect the way that you are, I promise you that. We’re leaving in five minutes and we’ll be there within a couple of hours. Where would you like to meet?”

You were so unused to positivity that you literally had to swallow tears at his words. “I umm - I’m near a hotel - The Roosevelt.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you there. And I just want you to know, y/n, that if you ever decide that you don’t want to stay with us, I will personally help to set you up wherever you want to go. I want to make that clear, since I understand that you have been mistreated in the past.”

“Thank you,” You said, sinking to your knees on the dirty ground. Charles hung up on the other line, and you stayed there on the ground, the phone dangling on the cord. Whatever this was - it was mystical. You waited for him there, not moving for the time that it took for a van to come and collect you.

Charles was the same as you remembered, though his hair had gotten longer. The wheelchair was pulled out of the back of the van, and a blonde man with a smile helped to put Charles into it. “Y/N ... are you alright?” He asked, coming towards you without much effort at all. Of course he would have a highly-powered wheelchair  rather than a push one.

You looked into his blue eyes and for the first time in your life, you felt a sense of safety. He meant what he had put in the brochure, right down to the letter. He would take care of you, and protect you.

-

Your first few days were very overwhelming. The school was bustling with activity at just about every moment. People were extremely friendly, which was even more anxiety-provoking because you just could not trust them. After Charles himself had given you the tour, you were left alone in your room, which was the only room you felt comfortable in at the moment.

You had a lock on your door and you took advantage of it. The bed was just a single, which was smaller than the one at home, and there was a dresser, a desk, a lamp and a chair. It was sparse, but Charles had assured you that you could make the room your own in any way that you wanted. He said that sometimes the students go to the city on weekends and you were more than welcome to join them to buy some furnishings. He even offered to give you a monthly allowance if you helped to tidy up around the school. It was something you would think about, as long as you got to do it alone.

Most of the students were around your age. Some were older, some were younger. They may not have had the time to produce dark desires or do anything really horrible, but you didn’t want to take the risk of accidentally seeing something.

You stayed in your room throughout the weekend, until Sunday night came, and the panic along with it. Your parents had homeschooled you, not wanting to risk you getting out of the house and never returning. So tomorrow was going to be your first time in a classroom with a group of people since you were in kindergarden.  

What if you bumped elbows with someone? You would have to wear long sleeves, make sure all of your skin was covered. The gloves definitely. Would a sweater be amiss?

You sat on your bed, head between your knees, your breathing starting to hitch. A panic attack, you knew these too well. They were an old but unwanted friend. If you were panicking, it meant that you were alive, which was a good thing. And this seemed to be a safe place, but you couldn’t trust anything anymore. Home was meant to be a safe place. Had you run from one hell to another without realizing it?

Your cheeks felt wet. Your nose felt stuffed. Your mind felt loud. But despite all of these sensations, you heard the knock at the door. It sounded as if you were underwater and it was far away. But you didn’t answer it. No one needed to see you like this. You didn’t even want to look at yourself like this.

“Y/N, are you alright in there?” Charles asked. It seemed like whenever you spoke to him, he felt the need to ask you that. It seems like he already knew you all too well. “Y/N, can you open the door please?”

You didn’t answer the comforting voice. You were afraid that if you moved, you might actually have a heart attack and die right here and right now. You missed where Charles politely asked someone to fetch the masterkey for the doors, but you still did not flinch when the door swung open and he came in uninvited. At least he closed the door behind him.

“I understand how you feel,  y/n,” Charles said, coming right up to your bed. He didn’t touch you though, he just spoke. It was strange but as he expressed this understanding to you, you began to feel calm. Like his soothing voice was penetrating your head and filling up the spaces where the panic was, forcing it to leave. You finally had the strength to lift yourself up and look at him.  

“How can you possibly know?” You questioned. “When you found me two years ago, did you know what I could do? Did you know where I had been that very day and what I had to see? How could you still let me in if you knew all of that? I could have brought danger here - oh my God, what if the people my parents made me .... what if they follow me here because I know their secrets?”

Charles waited patiently until you got it all out. Only then did he begin to explain himself. “I am a telepath,” He didn’t say the words outloud, but you felt them inside of your head. As if it were your own thoughts. “I know what you can do, though I don’t know where you have been. I would never go through your mind like that, I promise. Your mutation gave you a distrust of the world, but I want you to understand that you can trust me.”

He held out his bare and fleshy palm to you. You stared at it without reaching for it. You wrapped your arms around your torso, trembling at the thought. This could ruin the place for you. If you saw something terrible, maybe something even Charles didn’t know himself...

“I want this to be a home to you, as long as you are here,” Charles implored. “And I want you to know more about me so that, in time, you can tell me more about you.”

“And if I don’t like what I see, I can leave, no questions asked?” You pleaded for the answer to that, needing to know that you had an out if you wanted it.

“Of course,” Charles said with a nod. You shuddered as you pulled the leather glove off of your hand, exposing it to the cool air inside of the room. He kept his hand out to you, without the least bit of hesitation. He wasn’t shaking, wasn’t wobbling, nothing. You never touched someone who knew about your power before. You were more nervous for it than he was.

You rested your hand on his, and your eyes closed of their own volition. It was as if you left your body and jumped into his, going through his thoughts, the worst of it being shown like a movie on a screen. You saw many, many things. There was a lot of anger, but it wasn’t towards anyone else. It was to himself. You saw the anger that he felt when Erik betrayed him, when Raven betrayed him, when he made a woman he was in love with forget him, when he turned his back on himself and turned into a recluse and abused a drug to get rid of his power in exchange for his legs. It was not at all like other things that you had seen in people’s minds.

It was dark, yes, but it was also terribly sad.

You found yourself crying once more, but on his behalf this time. When his face came back into view, you saw that he too had a tear rolling down his cheek. “I don’t often bare my soul in order to get people to trust me, but I’m glad I made an exception for you,” He said, somehow still smiling.

“I think I’m ready to tell you of my experiences,” You hiccuped.

“Would you prefer to show me?” He asked.

“No. God, no,” You whispered, shaking your head. Your hand was back on your knee now, where you felt more comfortable. Charles had revealed enough. If you touched him again, there would only be more. “It’s easier to deal with if I put it into words, if that’s okay.”

As you told him about the many men that your parents had made you touch - pedophiles, murderers, embezzlers, thieves - you felt yourself falling under the weight of your words. The panic had exhausted you, as did the memories that were rushing forward. You didn’t even realize how heavy it was until you found your head on Charles’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind either. He just patted your back as you revealed that you knew the secrets of all of these bad men, but the most horrible part of it was you couldn’t even use the information to put them in prison like you should have. Instead, your parents were blackmailing them, using their secrets to get them to finance their lifestyle.

You felt worn out when you finished telling Charles everything, up until you had run away from home on your birthday and now here you were. And you realized that he was still touching your back, resting his hand on the fabric of the sweater that you were wearing indoors. It was so soft and comforting having someone take care of you like this. How many times had you laid alone in bed as a child and wished for your parents to do something similar? It was beyond count. This was the first time that you truly felt you could put trust into another human being.

There was a prolonged silence but it was comfortable. He continued to lightly stroke your back, and you got your breathing back to normal. “Thank you for telling me,” Charles said, breaking the quiet. “You should get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow, and I have some phone calls to make.”

You released yourself from him, though it was incredibly hard to do so since you were growing attached to the Professor. He was the closest thing to a friend you had, and this also meant that he was the closest thing to family that you had. “Are you going to make sure I didn’t see all of that for nothing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Charles smiled gently. “I still have friends in high places. Now get back into your bed. You have classes tomorrow, remember?”

“Do you think they’ll be able to help me?” You asked, figuring that the classes were more for people with physical powers. “Or that they won’t judge me?”

“They’ll help. I’ll make sure of it.” With that comfort in mind, you went under your covers, and rested your head upon the pillow.

“Thanks - for everything,” You said, realizing that he was holding one of your pieces. You had felt broken all of your life, and here was this kind man, taking care of you as if you were his daughter despite just meeting you.

“You’re welcome. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Charles.”

[bigskydreaming]

This isn't a meme thing or anything but I was wondering if you had a top ten favorite characters from books? I actually end up getting a lot of good book recs from reading your blog so I was just curious lol.

LOL I wasn't going to do this ask because I was like ugh I suck at top ten lists because I can never pick just ten. But then I thought about it for like, five whole seconds and realized I DO have ten standout characters in answer to this so its like oh hey, learned something new about myself today! Lmao.

Anyway, in no particular order:

1) Anyanwu - from Wild Seed by Octavia Butler - Can not stress how like fucking...formative Anyanwu's character was for me as an abused kid who first read this when I was like 12. The book heavily deals with the back and forth across centuries between these two immortals, Anyanwu and Doro, as Doro basically tries to control her every which way he can, and Anyanwu just defies him at every turn, and it just....you love to see it. She's a bad-ass and I adore her.

2) Prince Corwin and Merle Corey/Merlin - from Chronicles of Amber by Roger Zelazny - Yes I'm cheating but its me so you should have seen that coming. Another fave series from when I was in middle school, its ten books in total, and the first five are in Corwin's POV and the second five are in the POV of his son Merle/Merlin. So I maintain it counts. And is fine. Shhh, let it go, Elsa said so. ANYWAY, I actually probably like Merle better than his dad, because I mean, lbr, Corwin is a total asshole. But he's MY asshole, y'know? Wait, that came out wrong. Don't quote me there. But you know what I mean. Merle is a lot more level-headed, and quick-witted I think, and I like his supporting cast of relatives who want to kill him and he sometimes want to kill more than his dad's supporting cast of relatives who want to kill him and he always wants to kill, but like. Both are Valid. Also shout out to Fiona and Rinaldo, with a side shout out to Flora, who are probably my next three favorites from the series. Dara would be up there too but she knows what she did.

3) Elric/Corum/Dorian/etc - from the Eternal Champion books by Michael Moorcock - Look I'm already cheating so why not continue on a theme. But basically this counts too, I'm just saying. See Michael Moorcock's big project going all the way back to the 60s was he created a fantasy multiverse of different dimensions where this one Eternal Champion, meant to balance the scales between the Lords of Law and the Lords of Chaos, like, is reborn over and over again in different incarnations but who are all essentially him. So Elric of Melnibone, Dorian Hawkmoon, Corum I can never remember his last name.....they're all essentially the same guy.....but they're all at the same time very very very different, and they have extremely different storylines. But I maintain if you're gonna read one you kinda gotta just read them all, all Pokemon like and such forth, because the real beauty of these books is seeing the familiar traces of the Eternal Champion threaded through each of these incarnations but also contrasting how different they are from each other and like, looking at what makes them so different each time and how much it stems from their environment and situations, etc.

4) Civet - from the Dragons of the Inland Sea series by Laurence Yep - This is a kids' series, like for ages 10-12 kinda, but easily my favorite from when I was a kid. I reread them so many times, and I love pretty much all the characters from Shimmer to Thorn to Monkey, but Civet was always a standout. She's essentially a tragic character and her ending is bittersweet, but like.....she fully knows who she is and what she's about and makes no apologies for that, and she ends on exactly the note she wants to. Like, her story and her characterization was pretty damn dark for such a young-aimed series, but that's part of what drew me to it, it managed to capture the tone it set out to convey but in a completely age-appropriate way, and in an era when most books aimed at kids dumbed down most of their story concepts and themes, this one was refreshing for just being....real. Despite being blatantly fantasy. Also the Boneless King is one of the best villains ever, despite being deliberately over the top a lot of the times....idk what it was about him, but he was just chilling.

5) Jack the Bodiless and Diamond Mask - from the Galactic Milieu series by Julian May - These are linked as well because they're a couple and their stories intertwine so much that there's no real point in separating them y'know? That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But anyway, they're a weird choice for me because Julian May is hit or miss for me overall....I HATE her Saga of the Pliocene Epic, which is technically in the same universe as her Galactic Milieu series, but they have totally different vibes and the latter series doesn't contain any of the elements from the Saga of the Pliocene that I loathe, so it just works. Plus it has Jack and Diamond Mask, and like.....I don't actually know why I love them so much? They're just so different from pretty much any other characters I've ever read. Like, May does a lot of really high concept stuff across the board, but Jack and Diamond Mask are like.....high concept character wise? If that makes sense? Its okay if it doesn't. I'm literally just spitting words out here. Honestly, its hard to say anything specific about them because so much of their characters conceptually just doesn't make sense without knowing the in-universe concepts that led to them even existing, but like. They're weird and off the wall but still astoundingly human for all that and I love them.

6) Naomi Nagata - from the Expanse books by James S. A. Corey - I mean, if you've seen me ramble all the Naomi love in my live-watches of The Expanse TV show, this should be no surprise, but my love for her in the books like, exists manifold. She's great in both, but the books cover so much more content-wise, that her character has so much more room to breathe and be explored in all kinds of directions the TV show never touches on. The funny thing is, I actually prefer the TV characterizations overall....I think the authors of the books are actually pretty shit at characterization a lot of the time, but the basic thread of Naomi's character is consistent and the sheer abundance of story material she has in the books like.....keeps me going back to them even just for her. Her conflict with Marco in the books in particular just has so much more depth than in the show....like, I don't hate the show's version at all, anyone who's seen my posts there knows that lol, and I'm not actually even sure which version I actually like more in terms of that particular storyline.....but I just love that both versions are so different, while still being recognizably the same, y'know? I don't even know. Nobody knows. Its a mystery. Just nod and say yes, shh, its fine.

7) Locke Lamora - from The Lies of Locke Lamora/The Gentleman Bastards series by Scott Lynch. This is an odd one for me, because in one sense Locke is a very contrived archetypal character from an author that doesn't always pull it off as successfully as I feel he thinks he does.....like, what I mean is Locke is inherently that type of character that is SUPPOSED to push buttons and straddle a line between likable and unlikable....and to be fair, that is VERY hard to pull off without at least some of the time falling on the wrong side of that line and alienating at least some readers. But there's something very genuine or sincere feeling about the character underneath all that, which is ironic for a character who is an acknowledged pathological liar and hardly ever tells the truth....like I said, its an odd one for me because I can't actually put my finger on what makes this particular character work for me when so many similar characters just bug the crap out of me.

8) Damien - from Black Sun Rising/The Coldfire trilogy by C. S. Friedman - This one is a whole fucking lie because I don't actually even like Damien that much lmao, but the thing is, I don't have a particular fondness for any of the characters in this series? But I gotta put it on the list anyway because I just love the world in this series so much, and its practically a character in and of itself. Like, so this was a science fantasy series set on a distant planet in the future but otherwise steeped in fantasy archetypes about spirit creatures that only Adepts could see, and like, Fae and life energy and sorcery that had roots in scientific principles but was otherworldly all the same. And that's like.....all literally my jam, and so I can't deny that this series was very formative for me even if its not the best example of those concepts. Its just the one I tend to go back to the most in my mind, like....the world and its characters are very standout and larger than life for me, even if they don't specifically APPEAL to me? They're impactful all the same. Its another odd one. I'm odd. You just kinda gotta roll with it. Its a thing. Its factual.

9) Yeine Darr - from The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N. K. Jemisin - This was a tough one because I love literally everything by Jemisin and all her characters are just so....ooof. They're very very real, even in the most fantastical of settings. I have mad characterization envy every time I read her stuff, but like. Its so good. So really the struggle was picking one character or even two, because I mean, The Fifth Season and its sequels are easily her best known works and have a ton of fantastic characters, and I think her Dreamblood duology is vastly overlooked but in the end I had to go with The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms even if just cuz of nostalgia. Its the first of her works and when I first started reading her and so its just.....anyway, if I was gonna go with that, it had to be Yeine, because she's so central to everything and also just....fantastic. Nahadoth and Sieh are also standout characters who get mentioned a lot in talk of this trilogy, and they're both such big personalities that at times they kinda overshadow Yeine, but Yeine has such a compelling.....undercurrent to her that she never actually gets lost in the shuffle even when surrounded by all these larger than life gods, and just. You love to see it. I do anyway. And its my list so nyah. But also if you're gonna read Jemisin, read everything Jemisin. It just makes sense, y'know? Good for the pores.

10) Cayal and Arkady - from The Immortal Prince/The Tide Lords by Jennifer Fallon - All the other Tide Lords can rot, but Cayal is hilarious in a depressing way. He's a ten thousand year old immortal whose greatest wish is just to die, which is how he meets Arkady who is a historian who just wants to like....know everything he knows once she realizes he actually is the figure of legend he professes to be and is so mad at him for not really giving a shit about all the weight of history he's been present for, but Cayal's just like, umm, I LIVED it so that's why I don't care, I'm allowed to not care, that shit hurt. Did you miss the part where one of the other Tide Lords threw a fucking meteor at me? And Arkady, distinctly unimpressed, is just like....I thought YOU did that, to Jasper. And Cayal's like, no that doesn't sound right. And Arkady's just like, you literally JUST told me that story. And Cayal's like, huh. I must have been lying. I do that sometimes. And Arkady's like, I thought you never lie, that's your whole thing? And Cayal's like, ahah, but what if THAT was a lie too? And Arkady's just like, bitch I hate you so goddamn much, how are you the worst of all the Immortals while still the only one who will actually talk to me and answer my questions. Cayal's like, we may never know.

Anyway, there's my list but like there's a lot more obviously because I'm me, I don't do moderation, its against my religion, but also I have to stop some time and the ask was for ten and those were the ten that popped into my head so they must be the right ones! Probably. Until I change my mind at least.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

no good to dwell on dreams (even if i walked with you once upon one)

At the top of a wooden tower, Krel finds a boy cursed to sleep for 900 years until he receives true love's kiss.

At the top of a wooden tower, Douxie is finally awoken from his cursed sleep. Nothing is as he had expected it to be.

Thank you to the Sleepless Domain Discord user known as 10zin for helping me out when grammar was an issue for me. This fic is post-3Below AU where Wizards didn't happen, and also a Sleeping Beauty AU.

I'm still on hiatus due to finals, but I hope people enjoy this!

AO3

FFN

"I wonder what creepy creepers are in this creepy castle?" Steve asked.

"Really, it's just a tower," Toby said, swinging his warhammer around for light. The three of them had been excited to have a peaceful winter break. No school aside from the homework that Miss Janeth and Señor Uhl had assigned, and ever since Krel and Aja had defeated Morando last summer, the only fights there had been were with the occasional goblin or gnome. And, of course, sparring sessions that Krel tried to ditch as often as possible.

But then the tower had shown up, which meant that Toby and Steve had decided to drag Krel through the woods near Arcadia Oaks. He should have just stayed home, because at least there wouldn't be so many trees. Just the loneliness that had settled into every corner when Mother died and Aja and Varvatos had left.

The tower was made of wood. Dead trees, because of klebbing course it had to be. It looked a lot taller in person than it did from far away. A cool mist surrounded it. The door was made of wood as well, with a few runes carved into it.

Toby frowned. "That's not Trollish or Akiridion."

"Maybe we should come back with Claire, since she's trying to learn to decipher other magical languages?" Krel asked. Really, they should've just waited for Claire and Jim to heal from their common cold before investigating the tower.

"Uh, no. She and Jim will act all smug and superior because we needed their help," Steve said.

"They won't be... okay, they might be annoyed because how dare we go off on our own and pull a stunt when those two have nearly killed themselves doing the same thing, but! They won't be smug. Grumpy, sure. Jumpy, yes in Claire's case. But not smug. I'll lead, but have your axe and serrator out," Toby instructed. He pushed on the door, but it didn't give.

"Oh, well, I guess we should go home now," Krel said.

"Not getting out of this that easy," Steve said, punching Krel in the shoulder with enough force that Krel was glad he was in his Akiridion form. Otherwise, there was a good chance that Steve would've knocked him over.

Toby took a step back, then slammed his warhammer into the door. It still didn't give way.

Krel's curiosity won over the fact that he should be trying to be the voice of reason for his friends. He pushed past Steve and Toby. He then reached up to trace the runes. Perhaps there was some sort of mechanism to them.

They lit up green under his touch. Krel heard Toby make a nervous sound behind him as the rest of the door glowed green before turning to mist.

Steve coughed. "Well, since the castle-"

 "-tower," Toby interrupted.

"Since it likes you," Steve continued, "I guess you're leading the way." Krel groaned and walked into the tower.

The three of them made their way up the spiral staircase. Every several feet, a sconce in the wall lit up with green light. Eventually, they reached a second door at the top of the stairs. Krel once more traced over the ruins engraved in the door, which then disappeared into the same mist.

The room at the top of the tower was empty aside from a stone slab in the center of the room. On top of it lay a boy. He looked so still; so peaceful. He was human, with dark hair tied into a bun and bangs flowing down either side of his face. His arms were crossed over his chest. He looked to be at most a year older than Steve, Toby, and Krel.

"Is this... a tomb?" Toby asked as the three of them approached the boy.

"I don't think so," Steve said as Krel leaned over the boy, who showed no signs of breathing. "In all the video games I've played, the tomb is under the castle-"

"-I keep on telling you Steve, this is a tower!"

"The tomb is under the castle," Steve continued despite Toby's interruption. "Not at the top of it. Unless, I don't know, maybe some cultures don't have their tombs under the castles? Krel, how do Akiridions do it?"

Krel was about to retort that it didn't matter how Akiridions dealt with their dead, because this boy wasn't Akiridion. However, Steve nudged Krel forcefully enough that he lurched forward and his lips brushed against the boy's. They were soft, and just warm enough that despite being in his Akiridion form Krel could feel the temperature difference.

Krel stood up, about to turn and yell at Steve for pushing him. But then, the boy's eyes fluttered open.

Toby screamed.

The boy screamed, sitting up and scrambling away from the three of them.

Steve and Krel screamed.

The boy caught his breath and looked between the three of them. He drew his knees up to his chest as he   and Krel waited for Toby and Steve to stop screaming. He licked his lips and swallowed before speaking. "Which one of you kissed me?"

Steve pointed at Krel. The boy stared at Krel with an odd expression.

"I only did so because I was shoved," Krel said, rolling his eyes. Really, if the boy wanted an apology for having been unexpectedly kissed while he was asleep, then Steve should be the one apologizing.

Slowly, a shy smile formed on the boy's face. "I'll admit, I had thought that my true love would've been a human or another wizard, not... no matter what, it's good to meet you. I'm Douxie."

Out of the corners of his eyes, Krel could see his friends trying and mostly failing to not laugh at the entire situation with Douxie. This wasn't funny, and his friends weren't helpful at all. Maybe this was a sign that they should've waited for Jim and Claire, who would certainly... no. They'd probably also be trying to stifle laughter. Krel was so thankful that Aja wasn't here, because she'd definitely be laughing.

"I... no," Krel said. "Why the kleb do you think I'm your 'true love' or whatever?"

Douxie's face fell before raised an eyebrow. "I was cursed, so that I would sleep for 900 years, and then this tower would appear in close vicinity to my true love, who would wake me with a kiss. Didn't you read the runes the Master Merlin inscribed on the door? You would've triggered their magic."

Krel bristled with frustration. "Well, clearly this 'Master' didn't account for the possibility of my technology interfacing with the tower."

Douxie flinched, frowning and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Wait, by Merlin, you wouldn't happen to mean a crusty old wizard who likes the color green and uses the Staff of Avalon, would you?"

"I wouldn't call him crusty..." Douxie said. One of the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying to fight off a smile.

"Come on," Toby said. "My friends - other friends, not these two - and I have way too much experience cleaning up Merlin's messes."

The four of them exited the tower and watched it turn to mist behind them. Douxie frowned and was silent as they made their way to Jim's house.

"So," Jim said, glancing over at Douxie. Douxie was seated on the couch, sipping at a glass of water. He had tucked himself into a corner, arm not holding the glass wrapped around himself. He looked around slowly with a dazed and confused expression. "You decided to, instead of waiting for backup, go investigate the tower on your own. And then you woke up yet another ancient wizard."

"I mean," Toby replied, "at least this one doesn't seem to be genocidal or power hungry." Claire flinched.

"Technically Krel woke him up!" Steve said. Krel scowled. He only woke Douxie up because Steve pushed him. For all they knew, carrying him out of the tower would have worked just as well. Or splashing him with water or shaking him.

"Why were you asleep and trapped in the tower, Douxie?" Douxie jumped upon hearing Jim say his name.

"The curse was intended for our king, to make him sleep for 900 years, but his sister pushed him out of the way. It was because the curse wasn't originally meant for her that I was able to sacrifice myself for her," Douxie said. Very pointedly, he looked away from Krel. "I... there was an old wooden tower on the edge of Camelot. It had fallen into disrepair, so Master Merlin was able to enchant it to protect me, and so... the curse was supposed to only be breakable by true love's kiss, but I guess since Morgana took on the curse instead there were other ways to wake me up."

"Wait." Claire sat up straight, muscles tensing like she was preparing for a fight. "By Morgana, you wouldn't mean a witch 'has many names' and was the apprentice to Merlin?"

"I have never heard her claim to have many names," Douxie said, "but you do remarkably well at mimicking her voice. And yes, but she finished her apprenticeship years before I met her. How do you know her?"

"Oh, let me count the fucking ways." Claire sneered. "Let's see, in reverse chronological order, there's the time she tried to kill all life on Earth-"

"She wouldn't do that!" Douxie's hands shook before he balled them into fists.

"Oh, she definitely did. She did that and more."

"No, I know  her. You must be mistaken," Douxie said quickly, like he had very little air and couldn't say much before gasping again.

"You knew her," Claire said. Pinpricks of purple invaded her eyes, and her voice raised a little in volume with each word. "But I know what she became after you fell asleep. You should have just let her keep the curse."

Douxie began to hyperventilate, shaking his head. Krel just barely saw the way tears and pinpricks of blue formed in his eyes as he reached for his bracer before a cloud of pale blue smoke enveloped the room. The glass fell to the floor, and the sound of the door opening could be heard.

Douxie was gone when the smoke cleared, and there was no sign of where he could be.

"I... fuck," Claire said. Her hands shook, and she kept glancing down at them and around the room. Her eyes were wide and her voice had taken on a slightly higher pitch than normal. "I didn't mean to- I just- I'll go after him. Apologize."

"No," Toby said. "Claire, we all know you didn't mean to hurt Douxie, but we also all know that if you even just start sneezing because of dust then your PTSD starts to act up more. That argument you just had about Morgana isn't helping things. You're on the edge of a panic attack, and one or both of you will get hurt if you go after him."

"I'll go after him," Krel said. "What's the phrase... you wake it, you pay the consequences for it?"

"Eh... sort of, not really," Jim said. "It's you break it, you bought it."

"You break his heart upon waking him up, you're responsible?" Steve said. "But it's probably best if we split up to look for him before he gets himself hit by a car or anything."

Naturally, Douxie had run off into the trees near Jim's house. Given his path, it seemed like he had tried to find his way back to the tower, but he had probably given up when Krel found him. He was casting magic from his bracer and sitting on a tree stump. Half-dried tears reflected the blue light of his magic.

Krel bit his lip, recalling the way that Douxie's had felt against his. The doors of the tower had given way for him. As much as he wanted to deny it and blame Steve, it was Krel's fault he was stuck in a strange world with no one.

Krel inhaled sharply as it finally hit him why Douxie had been so pleased that Krel was his supposed True Love. It wasn't just because Krel broke the curse keeping him asleep, or else he wouldn't have insisted on it so much. He probably would've been thankful either way.

It was because, even if everyone else he ever knew was dead or evil in their old age, at least Douxie would have had someone guaranteed to care about him. It was the one thing he could hope for, and Krel had smashed that hope and left him all alone.

"I know this is probably overwhelming for you," Krel said, slowly approaching Douxie. Douxie didn't look up at him. "I'm not from Earth, so it was overwhelming for me as well, and I at least had my sister and our bodyguard. I'm sorry I'm not who you hoped I would be."

"It's not your fault," Douxie mumbled. "Is it true? That because I sacrificed myself, it's my fault that Morgana did so many horrible things?"

"No. You couldn't have known what she would do. Not even Claire believes that, and if she had been the one to find you I'm sure she'd be trying to apologize. But, out of all my friends, Morgana hurt Claire the most badly, so she overreacted. But no one blames you." Krel pointed at Douxie's bracer. "How does that work?"

Douxie smiled, probably thankful for a change in subject. He could talk about his ancient wizard technology instead of his feelings. "It's sort of like a portable spellbook. It helps me control my magic, and it's also easier to remember the components needed for spells like this. I'm currently trying to cast a spell that will help me find my familiar."

Douxie's smile slid off of his face. "He's a dragon, and dragons live for a long time. If he didn't, then I would have run away from Camelot and never would have sacrificed myself for her. But, what if he's changed like Morgana did, or gotten another wizard after all this time? Or what if he died of non-natural causes?"

"We can try to help you find him. Him and Merlin." Besides, everyone had been trying to find Merlin anyways, after the geezer had skipped out on the trolls by proclaiming that he had things to do.

"Thank you. Though, I'm scared to find either of them."

"Though, in the mean time, you'll need a place to stay. My sister doesn't live at home anymore, so I have a spare room if you want it."

"I'd like that; thank you."

There was no foretold true love waiting for Douxie, but that didn't mean he had to be alone. And neither did Krel.

A/N: I'm going to leave it up to the reader as to whether or not Krel actually is Douxie's fated true love and is just in denial about it.

[kittybellestark]

Valentine’s Day

This is soft boi Peter celebrating Valentine’s day the best way he knows how too.

I’m a little late with this I know. But but but I’m also right on time? Anyways please enjoy this. It’s really not angsty at all. There’s a lil bit of insecure Peter, and some miscommunication but this is some soft stuff okay?

-

Valentine’s Day was probably Peter’s favourite day of the year. He loved the pinks and reds and the extra excuse to cherish all the people he loved. It was cheesy and corny, but did Peter ever love the day. He never got to celebrate it for what it actually was-a romantic day- not with his short fling with Liz and not with MJ either. But that’s okay, Peter loved the day anyways.

He didn’t really understand people’s hatred for it. Yes, it was now mostly just a capitalist ploy to have everyone buy into, but it was more than that for Peter.

Valentine’s Day was an excuse Peter was able to use to show the few people he had left that he appreciated them. It was a day of celebrating love and a day to fall in love with yourself. Peter liked that.

He worked hard on finding what he could make that could fit into the Valentine’s theme without being too obvious. it often took months of work and crafting to make sure he was content with what he’d gift to everyone.

For Ned it was a portrait of the two but made of Lego. For MJ (despite the relationship ending they were still friends) sketchbooks where he made the paper and bounded it himself. For May a new throw blanket, made with the chunkiest yarn he could find at the discount store. For Happy a keychain with a little toy car attached, painted to say ‘Happy Taxi,’ on it. For Pepper a crocheted cardigan this time with crushed velvet and for Tony a painting of his mother.

He was good at making things for other people, to show them his appreciation and love. He worked tirelessly on them, letting it take up his free time. But it made him happy to know that he made something with his bare hands and was able to gift it to someone he loves.

No one really understood why he gave these gifts other than May. She would always give him a small smile and a hug and then the next day he’d get discounted chocolate. May was the only one who knew that Peter did all the work himself. Everyone else just thought he purchased them. Which was fine.

No one needed to know about the sleepless nights or bleeding fingertips. They didn’t need to know how long he spent working on each individual thing. And they most certainly didn’t need to know that Peter was selling some of his own possessions to be able to fund their gifts.

Peter didn’t really plan on telling any of them either. Why should he? He’s showing his appreciation to them, learning these new skills and then becoming good at them is just a way to learn and to show his love. Besides, he wants to show his appreciation, not force the people he loves to gift him something back.

Maybe the presents he gifts them end up shoved in the back of closets or tossed out after a month. That was fine. Just because he was showing his appreciation doesn’t mean they have to show theirs. Valentine’s Day is Peter’s favourite day, it doesn’t mean that the people in his life also need to like it.

But now it was nearing Valentine’s Day and Peter and Harley were kind of sort of maybe a thing. Honestly, Peter wasn’t very sure at this point. It wasn’t like Harley was one for talking about these things. But they had made out a few times and seemed to dance around any possibility of feelings.

Harley wouldn’t talk about his feelings, he was never very open about his emotions. Besides, Harley had a reputation at school for his relationships, if anyone could actually call a hook-up a relationship. Overall, Peter was very confused. Harley was sweet and kind. He made jokes that only Peter would get and casually sling his arm over Peter shoulders. Sometimes at the tower they’d find themselves cuddled on the couch when no one was around or sometimes Peter would find himself pressed against a wall as Harley tried to bruise his neck.

There weren’t officially together, due to the lack of communicating, which meant they technically weren’t exclusive. Peter wanted to be exclusive, but every time he tried to talk about it Harley would deflect and change the conversation. But now it’s coming close to Valentine’s Day and Peter doesn’t want it to be weird. Harley only started going to school with them this year, and while he’s been in the same friend group as Peter, it doesn’t mean he won’t look at the gift wrong. Most people think that Valentine’s Day is inherently romantic. And Peter really doesn’t want to freak Harley out, especially not when they’re still... enjoying each others company. 

It’s not like Harley ever celebrated Valentine’s Day the way Peter does. No one really does. So this might scare Harley. He could think that Peter believes their exclusive and while that is what Peter wants, Peter is also very, very painfully aware that that the two of the just hook up.

Spotting Harley already at their lunch table, created the perfect opportunity for Peter to explain his version of the day. Ned and MJ would be there, which would let them serve as proof that Peter just likes Valentine’s Day. So Peter hurried over to their table and sat across from Harley. It didn’t take much longer for Ned and MJ to join them and everyone to fall into their easy banter.

“So! Valentine’s Day is next week.” Peter couldn’t help the little shoulder shimmy, showing his excitement.

“Yeah, loser, what’d you get us this year?” MJ snorted.

MJ thought Peter’s idea of Valentine’s Day was cute. She was morally against the Hallmark Holiday but she indulged Peter by always accepting his gift. MJ would always roll her eyes and make some remark of her not celebrating the day but would always thank Peter for the gift. She knew the day was important to him and wouldn’t ever flat out reject Peter’s way of showing he cares.

“I can’t ruin the surprise, you’ll just have to wait,” Peter rolled his eyes, bumping his shoulder against hers, “but Harley has never been here for a Valentine’s Day before.”

“Valentine’s Day is a romantic holiday to take advantage of susceptible couples what of it?”

“Peter doesn’t celebrate the day like that,” Ned explained. “He uses the day to show the people closest to him he cares. So he usually buys us all something he thinks we’ll appreciate.”

Harley raised his eyebrows surveying Peter like this was some sort of mystery when it was really simple.

“Yeah, I mean my family is like all dead, so I like to show the people that I have left that I appreciate them. Valentine’s Day is a good excuse. Also not tainted the way other holidays are with missing my family so...”

“Peter!” Ned scolded, “You can’t just drop the dead parents card, that makes people uncomfortable.”

Ned threw a pack of crackers at Peter in punishment, not that it actually ended up hitting Peter. Instead Peter caught it before cracking opening up with a cheeky grin, popping one of the crackers into his mouth. 

“Listen, if I can’t talk about how my parents are dead because it makes other’s uncomfy then I don’t want other people talking about their alive parents because it makes me uncomfy.”

The group laughed before getting back onto track. 

“Anyways, Harley, I’ve got everyone else a gift for Valentine’s Day, can I get you one or does that make you uncomfortable? I don’t mind either way, and you don’t have to get me anything back, I celebrate the day differently and I don’t expect anyone else to celebrate the way I do.”

Harley seemed to consider Peter’s words, his eyes squinting slightly and his head tilting to the side. There was an edge of discomfort and something else Peter couldn’t really identify painted onto Harley’s face. Peter bit onto his own lip waiting for Harley’s answer and really couldn’t help but notice how pretty the boy was. 

“Peter buy’s the best gifts. Last year he bought me this quilt and I literally cannot sleep without it now.” 

The amount of times Peter bled over that stupid quilt- it wasn’t a stupid quilt. It was actually really cool. Peter went from thrift store to thrift store finding cool t-shirts and fabric swatches. He found an old sewing machine- from the 50′s no less- that hardly worked and he fixed up the best he could. No one really made parts for a sewing machine that old anymore, not with them being antiques and everything. But because it was so badly damaged, he got it for next to nothing. Fixing the thing had taken what felt like a century, and the research behind it along with creating all the necessary parts was extremely painful. But the quilt was worth it, and Peter was able to get all the bloodstains out. Ned loved the thing. It was big enough to fit on a king bed, not that Ned had a king size bed now, but there was a possibility he’d get one in the future.

“It’s true, last year Peter got me this painting done of my Grandmother in Washington protesting. I still have no clue how he found that.” 

Finding a picture of MJ’s grandmother was already very, very hard to do. But he managed to find a picture when he was over at MJ’s house once and cross referenced it from a textbook from the early 2000′s. From there he had the picture enhanced and expanded. Then it was just a matter of tracing the picture onto canvas, and learning how to paint. The whole thing was a wreck and Peter was positive that he was going to ruin the whole thing multiple times over, but eventually it resembled to actual photo and then started to look decent. By the time Valentine’s Day came around he only needed a frame, and Peter was okay with the idea of just purchasing a frame was more than enough. 

“I do happen to know a lot of people, and they also know people. And a few of them owe me some favours.”

“Peter there’s no way you know enough people to find something like that.” MJ rolled her eyes.

“I personally know three, no five billionaires, but I only consistently talk to three, I know not one, not two but three groups of super heroes, then I also know a bunch of other vigilantes and not to mention I know so many small business owners. It’s called networking M, it’s an extremely important skill to have.”

MJ scoffed in response, now taking her turn to bump her shoulder into Peter’s. 

“I don’t know why I ever broke up with you, you could have networked me into a world take over.”

“Maybe because we both realized we weren’t straight, I’m bi, you’re a lesbian? Wait no that was a power move, lesbian-bisexual solidarity. Honestly I’m not too sure anymore, might be the long distance thing we had going on, we used to sit kiddy-corner to each other at lunch. It was much to far to support our relationship.”

Ned pretended to gag, but in actuality was trying not to laugh. 

“You guys were insufferable when you were dating but it’s marginally worse now.”

“It’s because we’re gay,” Peter answered.

“Bitches.” 

“Say’s the token straight friend,” MJ quipped.

Ned stuck out his tongue, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“So am I buying you something or not Harls? Whatever you’re okay with, I don’t expect anything back.” 

“I’m only sayin’ yes because of those wonderful testimonies. I better be dazzled Parker.” 

The table cheered. Peter couldn’t help the pit of anxiety that started to form in his stomach. Now he had a week to make Harley the perfect gift and make sure that the message behind it didn’t lead to far on the romantic side. Up to this point Harley was clear about the one thing they’re not, which is the one thing Peter wants the most. So now this gift not only was going to be rushed, but not put any more pressure onto Harley then there already was. 

This was going to be tricky.

The week went by faster then Peter was expecting. Valentine’s Day was the next day and Peter had just barely managed to pull together something, somewhat decent for Harley. Between his friends and the occasional make out session in the alley way behind the school, Peter was genuinely surprised he managed to make things work. 

He scoured the internet and libraries looking for the perfect thing. Harley had been getting increasingly homesick, bringing up certain stores and area’s of Rosehill that he missed the most. So Peter found old pictures, many of them pre-dating Harley, and some from when the town was first established and he learned to stretch canvas and print the pictures onto it. Before printing the pictures Peter printed the headlines that the town had that really stood out to him, some from the city being founded, to others about Tony Stark making an appearance in town. With the pictures printed on top the headlines were only visible in certain lights. 

Peter really hoped that this gift wasn’t too much. 

“May?” Peter called from his room, each gift was laid out across his bed, except the one for May, ready for inspection. 

He paced around his room, worried that nothing was good enough, that he had made a mistake somewhere. Maybe the cardigan was too loosely crocheted, or the painting of Maria wasn’t accurate. The sketchbooks not enough, the Lego portrait not the right colours. Maybe everything was completely wrong and now it was too late to restart them. This would be so much easier if Peter just purchased some gifts for everyone instead. God, what if he had over stepped with something.

May walked into his room, a smile forming on her face at each display of affection her kid created for the people he cared about. Peter taught himself new skills to try and create things people would love and he never, ever took any credit for his own work. All Peter ever wanted to do was show people that he cared and loved them.

“Peter these are beautiful. When are you going to be giving them out tomorrow?”

Peter shook his head.

“I’m going for brunch with Ned, MJ and Harley. Then after that Harley and I are going to the tower, so I’ll be able to give Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts their gifts. Then Happy will be driving me home so I can be here for when your shift ends, so he’ll get his then. And then you get yours tomorrow night,” he explained voice rushed, and face flushed. “I think I overstepped though, with Harley. Honestly probably Mr. Stark too. I don’t know. It’s not like they’ll be keeping this stuff long term anyways right? It’s not actual quality, they’ll keep it out of curtesy then toss it out when they no longer feel like I’ll be offended. I mean, Mr. Stark probably won’t because that’s a painting of his mom, so it’ll probably just end up in storage. But Harley will. May, he’s going to think I’m such a loser for getting him this, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

May hummed, pulling Peter in for a hug. The boy melted in her arms, hugging her back. Peter rested his head on her shoulder, and tried to calm his breathing. May could feel him trying to force himself to match her own. 

“Baby, you made them all thoughtful gifts. You put your heart into this stuff. They’ve all been so good at accepting and appreciating the things you’ve given them. Now I don’t know how Harley will react to your gift, but I don’t think you over stepped. You’ve been pinning after that boy for months now and if he can’t see how much of a gem you are from this then he needs to open his eyes a little wider. Peter Benjamin Parker, you are a beautiful soul and these things you made for everyone reflects exactly who you are.”

“Okay. Sure, yeah. Alright. Tomorrow will be fine.”

It wasn’t fine. 

Well, it was fine, it just didn’t go over the way Peter was hoping for. Brunch went pretty well. Peter and Ned sat next to each other in a both, with MJ directly across from Peter and Harley next to her. They all drank milkshakes and all got different breakfasts. Peter ate crepes, MJ ate waffles, Ned had pancakes and Harley had a typical eggs, sausage, bacon and toast. Their group was there for nearly there for two hours when they started to wrap things up. Which meant it was time for Peter to give them all his gifts.

“I think Harley should get his first, because it’s his first time being here for Peter’s version of Valentines Day.”

MJ winked at Peter after her suggestion. She knew about their complicated web of a relationship. 

“Yeah!” Ned agreed, “we’ve all gotten years of this so Harley gets the honour of going first.”

Peter nodded in agreement and Harley smiled. All the gifts were in canvas bags, leaning against the window of their booth. It was best for proper protection, and also made carrying the canvases a lot easier. 

“Show me whachu got darlin’. I’m sure you found somethin’ great.”

He pulled out the canvas with a picture printed of Rose Hill’s town square, from some time ago. A few of the businesses in the were shockingly still around, and there happened to be a festival going on at the time. Peter had tried his best to find out what festival could have been happening but unfortunately there wasn’t much information online.

“Alright, so I managed to find this, but if you don’t like it I can have it returned,” he couldn’t return it, but Harley doesn’t need to know that. Really, Peter would either put it in storage or he would burn it. 

Peter handed it over with a smile, Ned nudging him just a little bit. Harley took it, and stared at it for much to long without a reaction. His face remained blank, jaw set and Peter felt his stomach drop. Peter had really believed this was something Harley would like, but maybe he misread what Harley meant by homesick. 

Peter felt like an idiot.

“Okay well, MJ here’s yours.” 

He pulled out the homemade sketchbooks, each in a different colour and tried not to look back at Harley. MJ took the notebooks, flipping through the pages a smile on her face. There was orange and red and blue and green, enough of a variety to give her a challenge when drawing, or to set the mood.

“They’re all 100% recycled paper. I know you were saying you were running low on sketchbooks and wanted to find some more ethically made ones so...”

“They’re wonderful Peter, thank you.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. No sarcastic remarks this time, a clear sign that MJ didn’t approve of Harley’s lack of reaction. Peter shook his head and MJ frowned.

“Okay Ned, this one is for you, be careful it’s a little delicate, not that it can’t be fixed but if you drop it then that’s it.”

“Yeah, yeah just let me have it.”

Peter handed over the Lego portrait, it was large, to say the least, the background red and it was accurate as it could be for plastic blocks. Ned gasped, and his grip tightened on the portrait. Peter watched Ned put it down and was pulled into a quick side hug.

“Dude! This is so cool, this is us! I can’t wait to put this on display in my room. This is so cool, they better make us into a Lego movie now.”

Everyone except Harley laughed. MJ and Ned both gave Peter looks of confusion and he didn’t have a response other than a shrug. This wasn’t the reaction any of them were expecting Harley to have. Not this silence. But Harley just continued to sit there, looking tense, no longer looking at the picture gifted to him.

“Okay, well Mr. Stark is expecting us at the tower in the next hour and we’re an hour and a half away so Harley and I should probably get going.”

Alone time could help. Or it could make things worse. They only had to sit through a bus ride and a subway trip before the tower. Maybe then Harley will have something to say. Besides they both have to work with Tony together. It’s a lot of time to spend together.

The group of teens all walked out of the diner, saying goodbyes and as they separated, gifts in hand. Peter followed slightly behind Harley as the made their way to the bus, trying not to accidentally destroy Tony’s or Pepper’s gift by taking up too much room on the side walk. He couldn’t help but notice the tight grip Harley used to hold on the canvas and Peter was very worried that Harley was going to stretch it or break the thing. 

Peter tried to start conversations with Harley. But every question ended with a shrug for an answer. It was clear to Peter that somehow, someway he royally screwed up. The bus ride was bad, the subway ride was awkward but the elevator ride up the tower was unbearable. Any reaction would have been better, in Peter’s eyes. He would take Harley screaming and tossing the canvas, never wanting to see him over this horrid silence. It was too tense, and Peter was genuinely worried that making any sort of sound or movement would make things crumble. At least he wouldn’t be at the tower for too long.

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse and both the boys exited. Harley stormed off to his room and Peter went to the kitchen. After hearing Harley’s door slam shut Peter put his bags down onto the island and checking to make sure that there’s no damage on either of the gifts. 

Tony entered the area, a big smile on his face. He was dressed up a suit jacket being carried in his arms. Tony and Pepper were supposed to be going out on a date, apparently Valentine’s Day is a great excuse to leave work behind for a few hours.

“Hey Roo, thought you and Harley would be hanging out?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to but I’m gonna head home. I just wanted to make sure you and Ms. Potts got your gifts. Right, yes okay first of all happy Valentine’s Day second of all I have gifts.”

Tony rolled his eyes with a fond smile. He placed his jacket down on one of the stools, and jumped up onto the island counter. He was careful to not disturb the things that were already on the counter. 

“Why is it that you get to buy Pepper and I gifts but then when I try to buy you something it becomes a whole thing?”

“Because when you buy me gifts it is typically something that is over the top. You tried buying a chocolate company because I was sad they were discontinuing my favourite kind. Our idea of gifts are very different.”

Peter stuck out his tongue and Tony flipped him off. 

“Okay, fine whatever now gimmie. You bought me a gift that means you can’t just not give it.”

The teen laughed pulling the painting out from the canvas bag. He handed it over and Tony took it, flipping it around to see Maria. Tony’s one hand went and covered his mouth and Peter gave a small smile. Tony gave himself a minute to recompose himself before reaching out his hand to touch his mothers face.

“Pete... How did you find this?”

Peter shrugged. “I know some people, and they also happen to know some people. They happened to not know that this was your mom and were trying to sell it so I got it.”

Really Peter saw a picture of Maria in the Penthouse, took a picture of the picture, stretched canvas went to the art store bought supplies. Sketched out Maria, tried putting down a base coat, cried because it was ugly, Tried painting it again, cried a little more while repeating “trust the process,” and the eventually it started to look vaguely familiar. Peter hated the process from beginning to end, but the painting itself was goo enough to gift so that was great too.

Just then Pepper walked into the room, hair curled and in a beautiful dark blue dress. She smiled at Peter before taking notice of Tony and the painting in his hands. Pepper grabbed onto Tony’s leg with a soft sigh. Peter felt like he was infringing in their moment when Tony looked up and her and Pepper ran her fingers through his hair.

“I uh, I didn’t get it framed, I didn’t feel that was right to do. I thought you might like finding a frame that fits your moms personality or making one, I dunno.”

“No, no, no that’s perfect. Thank you, Peter, this was just- thank you.”

“Literally no problem, Mr. Stark. I also got one for you Miss. Potts, though it’s not like an emotion one, I just thought you might want something for comfort when at home.”

Pepper tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips, eyes crinkling just so. “Peter, you really didn’t have to buy me anything.”

I know,” Peter dragged out his words head bobbing back and forth as he reached into the bag to get the sweater. 

Once it was out of the bag, Peter all but pushed it into Pepper’s arms. She unfolded the soft crushed-velvet cardigan. It was a deep purple colour, and used a simple enough pattern. There were a few golden buttons sewn on in case Pepper would want something that buttoned up. Getting Pepper’s measurements weren’t too hard for Peter, he just logged into FRIDAY’s servers, then went searching through things he doesn’t have access too and then wrote down everything he needed to know. Luckily for Peter, Pepper and May roughly were the same size, so May was his model in the end. The Cardigan should reach to just above Pepper’s knees and be slightly oversized on her. The entire process was painful, using a crushed velvet yarn was an ambitious move, especially considering that Peter’s crocheting skills are very basic. It was overall a success but a painful one.

“Oh wow, Peter this is really nice.”

She put on the sweater, lifting up one finger up before rushing to the bathroom to look in the mirror. 

“Peter this is so nice? Where did you find this? The quality is incredible and you can tell this is handmade by someone who cares for their work. Also It’s soft and, oh my god there’s pockets. Tony, honey, look, pocket’s I’m just saying that there’s not enough pockets in the world. I think I could fit a book in these pockets.”

Pepper stepped out of the bathroom and Peter was very happy to see it fit her properly. Her hands were deep in the pockets lifting the two sides of the cardigan up to showcase that the pockets were in fact real. She dropped her arms to the side after a moment, taking her hands out of her pocket and giving a little twirl. 

“This is probably my new favourite sweater, Peter. Thank you.” 

“It’s no problem Miss. Potts. I’m going to head out now, happy Valentine’s Day.”

Both the adults wished Peter well and on his way out Peter had seen Happy and was able to let the man know not to pick him up later as well as give him the little keychain.  Happy pretended to think the Happy Taxi keychain was very funny. Peter knew he did in fact enjoy the joke, as Happy had put it onto his keyring immediately. And Happy doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to- at least not when it comes to Peter.

The journey home from the tower was rough. Peter couldn’t help but thinking of Harley. By the time Peter got home he was consumed by everything he could have possibly done wrong. Maybe the gift was too much. Or not enough. Harley might actually hate the pictures that Peter picked out. Peter could have messed things up earlier and Harley just felt this was the right time to ice him out. Did Peter’s breath stink the last time they hooked up? Was he too clingy or just not good enough? Harley has a few people he hooks up with at school, which he’s stopped with everyone except Peter, so maybe Harley was upset with Peter.

Peter just wanted to scream. He tried his best to be what Harley wanted, to go with whatever flow was being set. Harley didn’t seem to want anything serious so Peter stopped trying to define what they were. They’re friends who kiss and that’s fine, except maybe Harley never wanted any of this and Peter pressured him into this. The entire thing was a mess, and Peter wished he knew what he did wrong. 

Boys are complicated.

Harley is complicated. 

It was March 1st before Harley started to talk to Peter again. Their group of friends had been tense, Ned and MJ did their best to keep things from getting awkward. None of it really worked. Harley would talk to everyone but Peter, and when Peter would try and talk he would be glared at instead.  But finally after two weeks of nothing Peter got a text.

Come over now ?

Peter’s anxiety went through the roof, but this was good right? A step in the right direction? Peter wasn’t so sure what it could mean, but talking was definitely better than nothing. So Peter responded and made his way over.

This could be the end of their friendship. What if Harley friend-breaks up with Peter? That would be mortifying. To be called over just to be told that Harley no longer see’s Peter as a friend is nightmare. It could be a reality. Peter must have messed up badly if Harley was calling him up to friend breakup. 

One Peter made it up to the pent house he was surprised to see Harley making popcorn in the kitchen. Peter had stepped out of the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, moving to sit at the kitchen island.

“I’m making popcorn. We’re watching a movie.”

Peter couldn’t help but nodding too fast too soon. He didn’t much like the way Harley was talking or Harley’s tense shoulders. It was too matter-of-fact. Harley didn’t have the emotion’s that usually filled his actions and move, not a single nickname or pushing his accent to sound stronger.  This was just Harley without the usual charm and it worried Peter. 

They both moved over to the living room once Harley was done with the popcorn. Peter sat down in his usual spot- on the left end of the couch and Harley, well Harley just a little bit farther away than usual. It wouldn’t have been too noticeable to Peter if Harley hadn’t shut him out.

But now Peter noticed everything. 

He couldn’t help but notice the way Harley’s heart was beating just a little bit faster than it usually did. Peter noticed the way Harley would not relax, how each movement was carefully thought out. Harley wouldn’t let himself take full breaths, and Peter could feel the vibration on the floor from Harley bouncing his foot. 

Peter was so focused on Harley, trying to find out Harley could possibly be thinking. He wasn’t paying any attention to the movie was playing, or even what Harley’s actions were. Peter was so focused on trying to understand everything about Harley that he missed it when Harley moved. 

Well, Peter missed it up until there was lips on his neck. 

Harley’s hands moved to Peter’s waist, trying to pull Peter up on top of himself without losing any contact. The tension in Harley’s muscles started to relax, and Peter couldn’t stop himself from melting into Harley.

This- Peter could be what Harley wanted like this. He can be pliable or rough. Whatever Harley needed, whatever Harley wanted, Peter could be it. It’s easy to be good and in the moment with Harley. There was no talking, sure, that wasn’t great. But kissing? Sitting on Harley’s lap? That was good.

Here, Peter can be whatever Harley wants him to be. No picture on a canvas or anger. The attention isn’t solely wrapped around the lack of talking between the two, but of them together. Peter can be what Harley wants, he really, can. He just need too-

No. Peter can’t be whatever Harley wants. Not without the communication. And definitely not with everything that’s happened in the last two weeks. Every day Peter has ran through what exactly went wrong on Valentine’s Day. Whether it was the gift, or the place, maybe it was some sort of unknown expectation Harley had. But it led to nothing. Peter felt like nothing. Peter doesn’t what to be nothing, not even if that’s what Harley wants him to be. 

He can’t be here, not like this. 

“Harley, Harley, stop.” 

Tears burned in Peter’s eyes as he forced them shut and turned his head away. Harley pushed Peter off of his lap without a second thought, and Peter hated how that felt personal. 

“Darling, what’s happening? Did I do something to upset you?”

Peter wanted to hate that honey-thick accent, but he also just wanted that concern to be real. Not that the concern was fake- Harley wasn’t the type to fake concern- but Peter wanted it to be more than just situational. He wanted things to be deeper, Peter wanted Harley to care about him the same way he cares about Harley. And if Peter couldn’t have that, then he wanted to hate Harley and his stupid accent, and southern charm, and blue eyes and not-quite-brown-but-not-really-blond-hair. 

So he straightened his shoulders out, and took a deep breath in. Peter opened his eyes to Harley only being a few inches in front of him. Barely enough room to breathe, but also way too much room. Peter sat more up right and shook his head.

“I can’t do this Harley. I can’t be the person you call for a good time. You haven’t spoken a word to me since Valentine’s Day, and now this is it? We just make out for a little bit and I have to pretend like I never felt like I was the one to do something wrong? I can’t do that.”

Harley pulled himself backwards, his hands pressed into the couch. His head was tilted just a little bit the the side, eye’s flickering back and forth as he thought.

“You literally gave me a present for Valentine’s Day, Peter, I wasn’t okay with that.”

Peter wanted to pull his hair out- he really did. He stood up and walked around the coffee table one hand tugging lightly at his hair while the other stayed at his hip.

“Why would you tell me that you were okay with me getting you something for Valentine’s Day if you’re going to be uncomfortable then. I asked you so I could avoid this. You even saw me give MJ, who is my ex-girlfriend, a present and Ned one. If you were not okay with it then why did you tell me to dazzle you?”

“Because I thought you’d buy me something. But you didn’t. Nobody has ever heard of Rosehill let alone sold pictures of it with headlines from the town’s news paper. You made that. I don’t want you treating me like I’m special.”

Harley also moved to stand, making his way closer to Peter. With every word he jabbed a finger in Peter’s direction, his voice getting louder as he continued. His face was patchy-red and Harley’s jaw was set tight.

“I don’t buy shit for anyone on Valentine’s Day, Harley. I made the Lego portrait of Ned and I, and MJ’s notebooks, I also painted Mr. Stark’s Mom, and crocheted Pepper a sweater, and May a blanket. Also I made Happy a little Happy Taxi keychain with working headlights. I don’t claim to buy anyone’s gifts. I do it all myself. So my bad for making you feel special for doing a two minute Google search and printing something out I’d thought you’d like. I spent months making gifts for everyone, except yours because I just didn’t know you well enough. I did what I could, but everything I gave was made by me.”

The room fell silent again. The teens stood face to face, just a few feet away from each other. Harley’s blue eyes were filled with anger and disbelief and Peter couldn’t help but feel hurt. They stood there, starring at each other for too long, breathing too heavily. The movie continued to play, casting different lights across the room and they all just seemed to fit too well.

“Okay,” Peter finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, “okay. I’m going home. I really cannot do this anymore, Harley. The ball is in your court now. Just- if you decide that we’re not going to be friends or whatever can you please not just ignore me at lunch? It’s awkward. Also it’s not fair to MJ or Ned. And please don’t tell anyone I make their gifts, I don’t want them buying me something out of guilt. I do it because it’s important to me. Other than that, if you want to stay out of my life or whatever you decide it’s fine. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I’m really sorry, Harley.”

With that Peter turned away from Harley. He hated that he was the one that was bringing things to an end. Is that even what this was? Peter gave Harley the choice, it doesn’t mean that Harley will choose to burn everything they’ve had to the ground, but he could. This could be it. No more friendship or laughing or kissing. It’d all be over. All because of a stupid picture and Peter’s need for attention. 

That’s all it was ever about. Attention. It had to have been. If he was being rational, then Harley’s silence wouldn’t have bothered him. Peter wouldn’t have met with Harley after school or during lunch. This was all Peter’s fault. He just liked the attention.

No. No. That wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. Peter liked Harley. He wanted a relationship with Harley. It’s not like he didn’t try waiting for him or communicating what he wanted. Peter tried to give Harley all the time he needed. It just wasn’t enough and now Harley has a choice. This wasn’t over a picture, or attention, it’s about Harley.

So Peter walked away. He made his way to the elevator where FRIDAY already had the doors opened and waiting for him. Harley just needed time, to figure out what he wants. That’s all this is. Time. It’s not an ending. It just feels final. 

Peter turns around and smiles at Harley, tipping his head forward. Harley is still all the way across the living room, just watching Peter walk out on him. The doors started to close when Harley finally, finally called out to him, making FRIDAY re-open the doors.

“I’m sorry for freaking out. I just thought you were trying to make me feel bad for not getting you anything.”

Peter sighed, “I don’t care if you get me anything, Harley. It’s my holiday, not yours. No one get me anything in return, it’s why I don’t say that I make the gifts. But I stand by what I said. I’m not doing this weird friends who make out thing anymore. I can’t be waiting around for weeks because you’re upset and wondering where things stand between us. You’re either in this or you aren’t. I can’t be another name on a list you work your way through because you’re bored.”

“Darling, you’ve never been another name on my list. I swear it.”

Harley made his way from around the couch and Peter stepped out of the elevator, but not enough to really be in the room. The both of them were saying their words a little too loudly, and it all felt like too much. 

Peter could feel the heat burning his eyes as he tried his best to to cry in front of Harley. His jaw ached from the feeling and everything in him said he should just leave. Cut his loses and leave. But Harley was here, pretty as ever, with his splotchy-red face and freckles. Peter just couldn’t convince himself to leave. 

“Cindy. Brad. Sarah. Ashley. Josh. Eric. Damion. Brittany. Jessica. Me. That’s a list, Harley. I tried to be okay with it, I swear. But there’s only so many times you can brush me off when I try to talk about it. You can’t tell me I’m more than just a name on a list when it’s all right there.”

Tears started to roll down Harley’s face first. Harley’s hands shook as he tried to wipe them away and Peter tried not to sob at the sight. Peter stayed where he stood and Harley moved forward into Peter’s space. He lifted his hands up to Peter’s face, thumbs on Peter’s cheeks and finger’s tangled in Peter’s hair. Harley cried as he held Peter, and Peter did his best not to lean into Harley.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m sorry that I’m scared and that I wouldn’t listen to you. I like you so much, sweetheart. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like this. I’ll do better. Please, honey, I don’t want to lose you.”

Peter couldn’t stop himself from sobbing. Tears streamed down his face as he let himself fall into Harley. He wrapped his arms around the taller boy, and Harley had one arm wrapped around Peter’s back and the other holding onto the back of his head. Peter was relieved to hear that Harley wanted him to stay. He just couldn’t imagine a life without Harley.

“We can be boyfriends, if that is also what you want Peter. I know I’d like that a lot. Just the two of us, no one else.  How’s that sound?” 

“Yeah, I like that, just the two of us, no one else.”

Harley tried to laugh as he held Peter, but it didn’t work out well. Instead the two just held each other as they cried. Finally releasing the emotions they held in during their fight, and instead of being left alone they got the comfort of each other’s arms.

The elevator closed. The movie played on. Peter finally got the one.

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[kanene-yaaay]

Could and Should

Kanene’s note: *Looking at this monster*

LOOK-

LOOK-

I DUNNO. I DON’T HAVE ANY IDEA OF HOW OR WHY THIS IS LIKE IT IS.

I just- dfghjkkjhgfdfghiopoiuytr xDDDD. Oh gosh. This is for an experiment. I’m dfgyhjukikjhgffv xDD. Someone save my soul.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Roman and Ler!Logan/Ler!Janus (Kind of. Because there is no tickles here, just teasing) Romantic Pairing. Human AU.

* Mentions of intense tickling 

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have 4.200 of Roman just being A BRAT.  ‘w’)b.

* Also, if you’re not comfortable reading about Janus, he only shows himself (but being mentioned before) after the “(...)”, so feel free to stop reading there if you wanna! <3

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* They’re very gay and this fanfic is inspired in this post. (I’m trying to find it. It’s a post about brat lees and shy lers, give me a sec-).

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Do something crazy today, take a good rest, talk with the one that you love and drink water! Byeioo!~

                               [~*~]

He wore his favorite boots. Hamilton’s playlist blasting in his room and giving him a more than good reason to sporadically throw the outfit he choose for that specific day together with his makeup onto the bed and swirl across the place singing and performing ‘My shot’ with all his being, increasing even further his excitement and adrenaline which were already running, probably breaking all the speed limits in his veins and soul.

 Especially when he thought about what he was about to do.

There were many differences in the world: right and wrong, day and night, divergent opinions, divergent ways to see the world and even differences in the meanings of words depending on where exactly you are localized in the planet. Roman grew attentive to this after he started to be Logan and Janus’ boyfriend, both of them always using every and any opportunity to begin a whole discussion about moral, philosophers, really weird humans habits - Particularly slangs. These two nerds seemed to simply don’t understand an infinitesimal piece of their existence. It was precious admire their confused and frustrated faces every time he and Virgil decided to shout or recreate vines together. -  Or animals habits (Roman isn’t able to even look at a dolphins after that one) more often than the one with dyed hair was willing to try to count.

 “Oh, yeah.” He spun before his body mirror, doing some poses as an extremely confident and shiny smile took over his features. This was one of those days when he felt just like a perfect dose of absolutely amazing. “I’m digging my own grave, aren’t I?”

 Yes. Roman didn’t doubt a fraction of second about this. However, he thought in the same moment a smirk bloomed itself in his face, leading his expression to gather a particularly malefic look, he couldn’t stop imagining how much he would love every second of all of this.

 Roman adjusted his clothes, his fingers tracing the golden words in it.

 Every. Second.

 So… Of course. Perhaps Roman wasn’t a nerd about concepts or meaning or even differences as his two incredibly smart boyfriends, but he knew very well that there was a clear distinction between what he “could do” and he what “should do”. He understood that not everything that is possible to be done had to be done and not everything that should be done in every single occasion was something possible to be done. This was only normal and simple common sense, right?

 Roman finally arrived The Place, the wooden door shutting with a soft ‘click’ behind him, which was immediately muffled by his steps, those almost as echoing as the dangerous gleam in his eyes when they focused on (poor) Logan, who had just closed the cash register and now adjusted his glasses in order to be presentable to attend the new client. When the latter fixed his glare on him, the welcome sentence he should say died in his tongue in the exact moment he acknowledged who just arrived. 

 Then it was a good thing that Roman didn’t had a single drop of common sense, right? The one with dyed hair decided proudly amused as he observed the blush consuming entirely his boyfriend’s face.

 In the last week Logan and Janus ganged up on him with ruthless teases before, during and after their tickle fight - ‘tickle fight’ obviously being an euphemism for the way they both suddenly squished the smaller between them and started to tickle him with those stupid, beautiful smirks and teases whispered on his ears that happen or not to be extremely sensitive, which should be UTTERLY,  DEFINITELY AND ABSURDLY illegal. - And the aforementioned knew, deep inside he really recognized that - technically - he didn’t had any obligation to get revenge on them.

 But he wanted.

 Also, he could, therefore he should.

 And that was exactly what he was doing in this very same heartbeat.

 “Logaan!” He opened his arms, aware of how this showed even more his skin, while got confidently closer in his red, adorned with some special golden details, crop top.

 Logan couldn’t deviated his glare, no matter how conscious he was that his whole face betrayed his neutral expression as it painted itself in dark and darker shades of red. His eyes running nonstop in the words on the other’s vestments, as if they mocked of him and his necessity of keeping a professional and serious facade during his work.

 Tickle me, Elmo~

 Logan’s gaze inevitably went to the - immensely ticklish, his mind unhelpfully remembered him - totally unprotected belly from the other’s. His fingers twitched, clawing the air for a moment before he realized what he was doing, deciding to deviate his gaze to the cash register before him, the adjustment of his tie taking more time than it would usually do. 

 “Ouch.” He could almost hear the pout in his dramatic boyfriend’s voice – if he really stopped to consider, which he already did previously, Roman and Janus were almost tied when the subject was about their dramas. - as he positioned himself right in front of him, almost laying his torso entirely in the balcony in order to find his glare again and, as always, Logan couldn't help but let himself be captured for his beautiful eyes. “I came here in a good, impressive, romantic act to accompany my dear beloved during his break and that is how you pay me, not even looking me in my fabulous face? I feel wounded.”

 Logan scoffed, already signaling for one of his coworkers to take his place as he removed his hat, folding it carefully and putting in his pocket while he moved to the small space between the employee’s place and the costumer’s room, Roman cleverly taking some quick steps to put a bigger distance between both. 

 “I highly doubt that this is the reason of why you’re here today.” His gaze got back to the words printed on his crop top, a malefic gloom getting stronger in his eyes, his feet leading him closer, and closer and closer. “Actually, I’m certain of the real meaning behind this ‘visit’ as you say.” And closer and closer and-

 “Nah ah ah!” Roman shook his index finger almost in his face, taking the opportunity to move some meters away. “Now, now, Logan, I would expect better of you! No love business during the shift, remember?” Teasing smile. “Keep these silly hands to yourself, would ya?”

 Logan.exe had clearly stopped working. It was easy to say for the way his furrowed brow and very confused look stared at him with such honestly that Roman couldn’t help but let a laugh out, quickly holding Logan’s hand and dragging him to the farther table on the establishment.

 “I wasn’t thinking on this and you know it very well, Roman.” The one called only smiled, letting go of his hand in order to taking a seat.

 “Is that so?” He purred, his chin resting on his hand as Logan tried to sit next to him. “It’s not what it looks to me.”

 Logan deadpanned at him rolling his eyes and internally considering his words – because the poor guy couldn’t bear the thought of breaking a rule. - before going, instead, to the chair in front of his boyfriend with a quick  “Very well, then.”

 “So, how is your day doing?” Roman dropped his teasing for a bit. “Is that okay?” He whispered, the honest questions making a soft expression took over the features of the one who wears glasses. He signed, his lips going slightly up as he gave an almost unnoticeable nod. 

 “My professor is crazy and absurdly unaware of how much time a normal day possess, I’m certain. Our final presentation was quite… adequate, but-” The listener let himself be carried into his venting, having no idea of what he was talking about, however trusting him to elucidate his mind in maybe some minutes. It didn’t lasted long before Logan started to divagate about the last subject learned and Roman felt in a secure ground to begin tapping in the suffice of the table.

 Persistently. Rhythmically.

 “And saying this means that, when compared to every other person on humanity-” Roman tapped a bit louder and Logan’s left eyebrow trembled for some seconds. Nice. He was getting his attention. “-We have only, genetically saying, 0,02% of difference- Could you stop this?”

 Roman blinked innocently, almost seeing the gears of one in front of him moving at full speed in his mind as he repeat the sentence, the tip of his finger colliding in the wooden surface purposely.  A dash, two dots, dash dot dash dot, dash dot dash, dot dash two dots and one dot, a quick space, two dashes and a final dot.

 Logan’s eyes concentrated in his fingers, he repeated the pattern, his smile increasing.

 Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. 

 He could see the exact moment when Logan understood it. It was in the same heartbeat that light blush found room on his cheeks and he deviated his gaze, cracking his fingers.

 “Stop what? I’m doing nothing.” Roman wriggled his fingers of his free hand, the sentence still echoing between them.

 Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. 

 “You are literally asking for it.” The one who wears tie, and now a quite determined look, supported the weight of his body on his elbows as these rested on the table, leading to his whispers being audible only for them. “Be careful to don’t do something you will regret later, my very sensitive subject.”

 Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. Tickle me. 

 “I’m not afraid of your ticklish” Roman absorbed the challenging tune as well, letting it slip slowly together with the words through his tongue. He refused to move or squirm under the other’s sparkling promises, his chin lifting some inches in the air. “Tickly” He knew how this word managed to fluster Logan and was quite of pleased for the way his boyfriend’s tip of ears gained a soft shade of red, refusing to acknowledge how hot his own face felt and was. “Tickles, mister.”

 “Oh, aren’t you?” Roman felt a wobbly, more uncontrollable, smile grow in his features despise his efforts as Logan backed again, his gaze resolute and analytical, his fingers crossing themselves in front of him, a parody of Sherlock Holmes that made tingles spread on each his tickle spots. “Well, that is a pleasing information that I will sure keep and use in another moment, be sure. We can’t touch, you said? Very well. In that case we will have so much fun for the next hours when I will explain to you, slowly and thoroughly all details of course, how I will tickle and destroy you and each and every one of your immensely ticklish, vulnerable and many, many spots which you so kindly choose to remind me.”

 Roman considered himself a really lucky person, but when - in that very glory moment - Logan’s phone rang, his alarm going off and breaking the concentration of the duo, he literally giggled in relief, knowing his personality well enough to be completely sure that Logan wouldn’t need much more than another two or three phrases like that to transforms him in a blushed, high-pinched giggly mess and he still had Janus to go, tease and try get some revenge and hopefully not die during the process.

 “It seems that you’ve been ‘saved by the bell’ as said.” Roman was sure he never heard this slang in his whole life, albeit he didn’t want to press further his luck, instead choosing to press his back on the wall in the seek to put the most inches of physically distance between him and Logan’s elaborated teases. “I shall go back to my work now. You’re so creative and imaginative, right? Try to not think in the thousands ways, figuratively talking or not, I will wreck you when I get home.”

 He then turned away.

 And Roman knew, believe me, he really, really, really knew very well he shouldn’t press his luck any further.

 But he was always up to a challenge, anyway.

 Before he could even debate with his own conscience and common sense about how this was an absolutely horrible idea, Roman got up in a blink of eye and squeezed that exact point where Logan’s side connected with his hips, making the most serious one jump a few centimeters in the air, an almost yelp running from his lips. Logan stopped right on his tracks, not bothering himself to turn in the other's direction to stare with the corner of his eyes right in Roman's lee soul.

 “Te arrepentirás de hacer esto.” (You’re going to regret doing this.)

Roman felt his eyes widening as cold, panicked shivers ran across his spine, opening again that traitor wobbly smile on his face. Logan very rarely used Spanish, Roman’s first language, holding it for the special cases when he was on a full Ler mood, since it spiked the smaller sensitiveness to the atmosphere.

However, the latter couldn't help the answer which already escaped from his mouth and flied in the room.

 "Oh, will I?"

 "Sí." (Yes.) Logan smirked. Logan. Smirked. "Y yo voy me assegurar de esto." (And I will make sure of this.)

 ‘Oh. Mierda.' (Shit)

(...)

‘Well, he was already dead, wasn’t he?’ Roman thought as he at arrived Janus’ work ‘What more he had to lose?’

(He didn’t know who would be proudest for this optimism, Patton or Virgil.)

 The one with dyed hair forced himself to concentrate, cleaning his head of the previous teases just as using all his will power to ignore the uncountable butterflies profusely flying in his stomach. Janus was a very serious person in his work as well, but he wasn’t nearly fond to rules as the other and definitely more tricky and less going right on the spot than Logan.

 He was mostly like drag an only one finger around your worst spot, encircling it and watching  as you dissolve in desperate giggles while asked ‘What is the matter, dear, something is bothering you?’ and stay there, sometimes lightly attacking another spots so you can’t get used to the feeling but never staying for too long, until he is absolutely sure your sentiviness is at one hundred percent and so he can finally attack that helpless spot without a single drop of mercy. 

 Which was a technique very divergent of Logan’s, who would prefer to take, as everything in life, the moment as an experiment. First documenting out loud and on a specific archive in his cell phone all the things he would do with you, starting with spots he would “study”, techniques that should be “experimented” and sometimes tools which would “help him to get more accurate data”. He would document every single result, not bothering if Roman’s laughter got in the middle of it.

 “Ok. Ok. Okokokokokok!!” Roman almost squealed when a cold wind softly hit his skin, quickly rubbing his belly to get the ghost feeling of tickles away. Maybe, just MAYBE, enter into that rain of memories wasn’t a very good and clever way to calm and prepare himself for the danger he was about to face. He looked at the time on his phone, noticing Janus was already on his break and he would need to be quick if he wanted to do that.

 “Okay, Roman.” He murmured to himself, cleaning his crop top from any dust and walking confidently to the door. “You can do this. You are strong, you are brave, you know what you want and therefore you will get what you want! You will get into there, be amazing and get back your mean sneak boyfriend for every little single tease he dared to give to you! Because you are royalty and no one can win royalty!”

 ‘French Revolution.’ Some un-welcomed part of his brain remembered.

 ‘Shut up.’

 ‘Actually, is there any Royal Family in the power nowdays?’ It continued.

 ‘England.’

 ‘You are not in England.’ Shut!! up!!!

 Roman got inside and he managed to win the game, taking all the blows, walking proudly and - most important - not giggling when Janus fixed his hawk eyes on him and simply smiled back, gladly following him to the table they always went on the breaks without any attempt to get close or tickle him.

 As any other usual day, they sat there in silence, appreciating each other’s company and making small, quick talks between the sandwiches Roman bought them (He would do the same to Logan if he didn’t get dizzy eating during his work), and as any other day with no revenge planned, Roman finished his snack first and just stared at his beloved one.

 “This will not work with me. You know that I’m not Logan.” Janus didn’t even looked up his food, pointing in a casual voice. “But enough of me. Did you went to his work like this?”

 “Yes.” Roman couldn’t help the smirk opening in his face. Janus didn’t had an slightly idea of what was about to come. “Poor nerd. You should had seen how much red his face was! I thought for a moment I broke him.”

 “And you didn’t took a picture for me? Shame to you and your family.”

 “And your cow.” Janus scoffed for the reference he totally didn’t intend to make. “Also don’t try to play innocent, I know he probably already gave you an entire report of what happened and what you both will plan to do. I know you, you know?”

 If Janus was surprised, he only demonstrated this by a toothless smile painting itself on the corner of his mouth, his eyes still focused in his plate, the comfortable silence again falling against them.

 Roman started to humming. He wasn’t lying, he knew very well the same teasing wouldn’t work for both of them. Words were far better with Logan than Janus. But that didn’t mean that he haven’t planned what he would need to do.

 He was in the middle of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” when Janus started to grew slightly restless, his fingertips tapping on the table (not in a pattern, just annoyed) and his gaze running time from time to Roman and the words in his vestments. An evil idea crossed Roman’s mind and he started to humming the “Round, Round The Garden” patiently waiting for the moment Janus’ eyes finally dislodged themselves from his phone, turning his attention back to the first in the exact part of  ‘And tickle over here!’ the heartbeat chosen by Roman to poke his own belly button, letting out a soft ‘Boop’ noise fly from his lips.

 It was as if he was pressed an actual button instead of the one in his belly, because suddenly Janus’ whole face was dyed with a bright shade of red, quickly deviating his face to his device one more time, the resolute look in his expression only increasing more and more as Roman decided to repeat the movement a few more times.

 “Anyway.” Roman just smiled bright, blinking naively in Janus’ direction when the latter got up. “I’m done, wanna go to the parking lot?”

 That sounded like a trap, or probably was just the sound of his own phone buzzing in his pocket. He nodded and followed his boyfriend’s lead, the talking and sound of plates and cups clinking gradually fading behind them as they arrived to their destination, the one with dyed hair watching Janus’ acts carefully, but noticing no indications that he was about to do something.

 “Oh, I almost forgot. Is that okay?”

 Janus stopped for a little, fondly sighing and finally allowing himself to lock Roman’s eyes.

 “Yes. Just not around so many people next time, okay?”

 “Oh, gosh. Right, right! I, er… I apologize, dear. We can stop immediately! I can go to our home and get another shirt-” The rest of his sentence was interrupted as Janus captured his lips in a quick kiss, a smirk founding way to his fond expression.

 “I wouldn’t take you here if I wanted that to stop, don’t you think, my ticklish prince?”

 A blush spreaded across Roman’s cheeks, who was totally unprepared for the unexpected display of affection and specially the use of this specific nickname, a squeal escaping as some scribbles were left behind his ear, making him immediately jump and walk some centimeters away, a hand in front of his mouth in order to let any other sound escape. 

 “Hey, snake! Don’t you know that masterpieces are better left untouched?”

 Janus snorted and rolled his eyes, resting his back in the wall and looking back at his phone, which remembered Roman he had some messages as well.

 Janus sent 40 pictures

 ‘Pictures’ was a euphemism. Janus sent a fucking evil mix of images of brushes, feathers, electric toothbrushes buzzing and dragging across his skin, tingling and tickling and leading to snorts and giggles to come out from his lips, feeling that only increased as he went down the conversation, finding the tickle gifs of fingers scratching at his neck, scribbling in his unfairly ticklish armpits, poking his ribs, prodding his wiggly sides, kneading his thighs and spidering behind his knees. They flowed nonstop and felt almost real.

 “Oh my my, you always were weak for the teases, but you looove them, don’t you?” And it was true. Roman was already squirming and even starting to giggle uncontrollaby just for seeing Janus’ messages, his mind running and involving him in a sea of memories and shivers that ran across at every single centimeter of him, making his nerves to buzz and tingle and leading him to almost feel the ghost tickles again.

 However, when Roman found Janus’s glare, noticing that shine he knew so well and the smirk that made a smile split his face in half, he obligated himself to not deviate his glare or hide his giggles, to look him dead in his eyes and let the words fly freely from his mouth.

 “Yehehes. I do.”

 Janus face lighted up, not expecting such an honest answer. “So you admit it? Awww. You’re so adorable and precious.”

 “Yehes, I lohohove every single onhehe of them and how happyhi and excited they ahahall make me feel, juhuhus as I lohove when you and Logahan’s tickle mehe sohoho much. My heart melt wihihit how you are all so evil and yet so caring, mindful and cute. Ihihi swear I can almohohost explode of excitement when you chase me and yohohou hold me and tickle me more for running ahaway from the tickles. I love when you sing those horrible, atrocious, mean rhymes and when you ahahand Logan pretend to have a normal discussion as if you both weren’t wrehecking me. I love how silly and yet malefic, amazing tickle monsters you both can be and how vuhulnerable, happy, special and loved you make me feel. I lohove your whispered teases and your not-so-subtle ones. I love with all my sohoul all of this, but-” Roman took some steps in his direction, leaning closer to Janus’ ear.

 “I love even more that you are so baffled with me saying all these truths out loud that you didn’t even remembered to record it.”

 He tweaked Janus’ hips, watching he jump a few inches while he took the opportunity to move away, bright smile.

 “And I’m never saying this again.”

 Janus stepped closer, his eyes in a mix of pure adoration and danger that flamed and quickly consumed them. Roman lifted his finger, shaking it just as he made with Logan.

 “Nah ah ha. No touching, remember?”

 “Oh, really?” Janus moved to his direction. “I don’t think so. Not when such masterpiece so willing decided to come in here with so teasy, sweet words and cocky attitude. Give me a good reason to not pin you down right here and use all those good information you so cutely shared with me, my wiggle giggle lee.”

 “I will run.” Roman blurted out, his mind running, seeking for any excuse to keep his game going on.

 “I will catch you. I always do.”

 “If you attack me now you will not gang up with Logan later.”

 This made Janus stop, looking at his with a raise of eyebrow.

 Silence. Roman couldn’t even lessen the excited smile that took over his features, his muscles tensed and prepared to run for his life.

 “Very well.” And just like that Janus made his attention come back to the device in his hands leaving an atonished Roman to himself. He couldn’t believe his bluff had actually worked!

 Well, maybe he made it worse to himself? M a y b e. He didn’t know, he was just happy with himself at this point.

 “Well.” Janus looked at his clock. “My break was over, anyway. I see you later, lee.”

 Janus kissed Roman’s cheek and got into the store, rolling his eyes, exasperated when he looked behind him just to see his boyfriend no so subtly stretching all he could as he waved him a goodbye, blowing him a kiss.

 “He is so screwed when we get home.”

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Crash

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 4,900

Summary: Bucky learns what he likes about life: you

Warnings: Angst, but also fluff

A/N: Mildly inspired by “Crash” by You Me At Six!

...

Wait, where you say you've been? Who you been with? Where you say you're goin'? Who you goin' with?

There was a knock on your apartment door. Plucking yourself off the couch, you trotted towards the door, pulling it open. You were met face to face with Bucky, a smile immediately finding your lips. His visit was a surprise, he hadn’t said anything about stopping by. “Hey,” you greeted, about to stretch out your arms for a hug, stopping immediately when he didn’t return your smile. 

Oh. And that’s when you peaked over his shoulder and noticed Steve standing on the street, leaning against the car. “Sorry, doll,” Bucky apologized, offering you his arms for a hug.

You accepted, pulling him close and tucking your face into his chest. “’S okay, Buck.” He told you earlier that he may have to be leaving to go on missions, he couldn’t say exactly when or where. But this took you by surprise; it was the first mission he’d been sent on since he’s met you – since he started dating you.

“So, it looks like I’m going to have to raincheck dinner on Friday,” he mumbled shyly, pulling away, but still holding you firmly at the waist. He awkwardly chuckled, hoping you’d at least find light of the situation in his old charm.

You smiled up at him. “Let me know when you’re back?”

“You’ll be my first stop.” He moved a hand to cradle your jaw, leaning towards you for a goodbye kiss. You obliged, biting your lip and watching him saunter back towards Steve.

Bucky stood next to the man, giving you a stiff wave. “Make sure he comes back in one piece,” you call out to Steve, waving back at the both of them.

Steve laughed, waving back. “Will do, (Y/N).”

You stood frozen in the doorway, leaning against the frame as you watched the boys climb into the truck, pulling away, heading off to wherever the hell they were going.

Wait, keep me in your skin, Keep me in your chest. I'll wait for it to start, I'll wait for it to end.

Bucky sat at the camp sight, the soft light of the fire illuminating the picture before him. He held the edges carefully, the image creased perfectly in the middle from where he’d folded it up to fit in his pocket.

It was a photo of the both of you. You were at the bar, one around the corner from your apartment, that you took him to months ago. It was the night of your friend’s birthday, and you wanted to bring Bucky along to meet a few of your friends. He was nervous at first, not sure if they’d recognize him, if they knew his past, if they’d be scared of him.

However, everyone welcomed him with open arms. They didn’t ask him too many questions, didn’t pester him about his arm. Instead, they told him extremely embarrassing stories from your past. And, damn, it made him laugh; you were blushing like crazy, trying to cut them off after every story – doing so by buying rounds of shots if they promised to stop talking about you.

It ended up not working, everyone growing more and more intoxicated as they continued teasing you. But you found it to be all in good fun, just enjoying you night out with your boyfriend and your friends. You spent the whole night attacked to Bucky’s arm, linking your own two arms around his, his hand resting on your thigh. You buried your face in his shoulder to smother your laughter or after they said something embarrassing about you.

It was one of the best nights he’d had in such a long time; he doesn’t remember laughing for so long or so genuinely in a while. Your friend had secretly snapped this picture of you, sending it to you the next morning. You groaned and rolled over in bed; your few hours of sleep interrupted by your phone buzzing loudly. Bucky handed you your phone, holding back his laughter at your raging hangover. You mumbled an “oh my god” and showed your phone to Bucky, cheeks tinted pink.

It was dark, the bar had been dimly lit where you were sitting. Cups half full, empty shot glasses, and beer glasses littered the sticky table in front of the both of you. Your face was buried in Bucky’s shoulder, unable to conceal the drunk smile taking up your whole face. You held on tightly to his metal arm, the glare of the metal prominent in the photo. Bucky was gazing down at you, a similar grin painting his own lips.

As you tucked yourself into his side to resume sleeping, he took your phone and placed it on the bedside table, but not before sending it to himself.

That was the picture he carried with him on missions. He tucked it away into his breast pocket, hidden underneath his armor-plated vest, right above his heart. He patted atop his armor for safekeeping.

He couldn’t wait to see you when he got home.

Just crash, fall down, I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work second time around.

It was eight days later when he showed up on your doorstep again. This time, when you opened the door, you were met with a smiling Bucky; he was clean shaven, his hair pulled back behind his head. He was wearing that red Henley you loved so much, and his arms were open wide, waiting for you to run into his arms.

So that’s exactly what you did: hopping off the front stoop into his warm embrace. He caught you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist, intertwining your hands behind his neck. The two of you stood on your front steps, embracing each other, kissing each other, for what felt like an hour. Eventually, Bucky made his way into your apartment, plopping down on the small sofa, not taking you off his lap.

That became routine for you two. Whenever he had to leave, you’d spend a whole day holding each other when he came back.

We grew up, We worked and changed our ways. Just like wildfire, Been burning now for days. Tearing down those walls, Nothing's in our way. I said, nothing's in our way.

Time flew by; before you knew it, it was your two-year anniversary. Two years of bliss, two years filled with commitment and trust and love. Despite taking it slow at first, after that first mission, you two became inseparable. Given the fact that he spent a lot of time with the Avengers: working, training, and on missions, you had no choice but to spend every bit of free time together.

You’d spent your fair share of time at the Avengers Tower, spending the night at Bucky’s place, joining him at parties, watching the sunrise on the roof of the skyscraper. But there was something about your place that Bucky felt more comfortable. He was like a giant in your tiny apartment. Meager living room, tiny couch, lined with pillows and blankets; modest kitchen, two small chunks of countertop on either side of the oven, shelves crowded with spices and utensils, pots and pans hanging off the pot rack on the ceiling above the island; crowded bathroom, utilities barely able to fit in the small room, no room to maneuver, shower head just too short for Bucky; humble bedroom, packed bookshelves, clothes strewn about, bed pushed under the one window, narrow enough that you have to sleep half on top of Bucky – not that he minded, except for the fact that his feet hung off the edge.

It made him feel small and safe. He hadn’t felt a home in a long time. He went from the frontlines of World War II to the empty cell of Hydra to a block of ice. He’d spent the majority of his life without comfort. And when he was welcomed to the Avengers, he hadn’t received much either. There were shrouds of hospitality, yes, but something about it lacked an intimate feeling. Vast corridors, high ceilings, large rooms; Bucky decided he wasn’t a fan of minimalism. He much preferred “cottagecore” as you liked to call it.

He loved to garden, taking care of your houseplants almost too much. He’d named all of them, from each viney philodendron to the splaying palm trees. He had an almost aggressive watering schedule. Soon, he began spontaneously bringing you flowers and houseplants – your small apartment turned into a jungle.

It was the morning of your second anniversary when Bucky asked if you wanted to move in together. “Do you mean you want to move in with me?” You clarified smugly, flitting your eyes above the coffee mug currently held to your lips.

He giggled childishly, happily. “Maybe,” he mumbled, drawing out the first syllable. He sipped his tea, mimicking you as you couldn’t contain the smile pulling at your lips.

You sauntered across the kitchen – as in, you took two steps closer to him and you were already chest-to-chest – and tilted your head up to his. He kissed you on the tip of your nose before you could respond, the grin on your face already confirming your answer. “You think you can fit all your clothes in my bedroom,” you teased, eyebrows raised in challenge.

He rolled his eyes, pointing his chin towards the open door of the bedroom. Piles of your clothes and his clothes thrown over chairs, folded on top and in the dresser – he practically lived with you already. “I think my clothes fit just fine in our bedroom.” His tone dropped, as did his face, burying it into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips to the soft skin of your collarbone.

You hummed, setting your mug down on the counter beside you, wrapping your arms around his neck and broad shoulders. You traced the top of his spine on the back of his neck, barely dragging your finger on the surface of his skin; the tickle brought a smile to his lips against your skin. “It seems so.”

And then he moved in. It���s not like he had much, anyway; everything he had technically belonged to Tony. He spent one Saturday bringing over his clothes – in which you graciously shoved into the dresser beside yours  – knickknacks – to which you’d decorated throughout the apartment, displaying them on shelves, on the walls, between pots of plants – and boxes of memorabilia. Bucky thought about stealing his king-sized bed, just so he’d be able to fit without curling up into you (also so you’d have more room to roll around), but he wasn’t even sure it would fit through the door. He wouldn’t change anything about it, though. Everything felt like home, it felt like you.

You shared countless memories in that apartment: long nights spent talking instead of sleeping as the New York City traffic blared through your window, endless nights of baking (and burning) desserts, numerous movie nights that half-the-time ended in the two of you having sex on the couch or falling asleep innocently in each other’s arms.

No matter how many times he woke up with cramps in his legs and a sore back from falling asleep on your tiny plush couch, he still couldn’t wait to do it again the next night.

…

“(Y/N),” he whispered your name, face pressed up inches from yours, pillows smushed together and against the wall. Your sleeping eyes fluttered, eyebrows twitching, and bridge of your nose crinkling slightly. Soon, though, you were completely relaxed again, and Bucky almost felt bad waking you up – but not really. “(Y/N),” he murmured a bit louder, this time smoothing your wild hair down against your head, pulling his fingers through the knots.

You hummed, stirring in the bed, inadvertently stretching, pressing your palms against the wall, toes lengthening to the edge of the bed, pulling the bedsheets off you (and Bucky). “’Sup,” you mumble, immediately closing your eyes again, burying your face into your pillow and tucking your hands underneath your chin.

He smiles, gazing down at your tired form, obviously exhausted from the night prior’s festivities. “Baby, wake up,” he almost groans, faux upset that you weren’t giving him attention.

“I’m up,” you hum, not moving – not even opening your eyes.

“Let’s get married.”

You laughed in your pretend sleep, reaching your hand out blindly up his arm and up to his cheek, patting it lightly. It wasn’t the first time he said it; although the other times he had either been extremely intoxicated or sleep talking. “Do you have a ring for me, darling?”

“I do.”

And with that, your eyes popped open, meeting his staring back at you. You then narrowed your eyes at him, crinkling your nose. He was beaming at you with a shit-eating-grin, hand curled under the pillow propping up his head, curled up like a goof. You couldn’t find any words.

“So,” he continued, filling the gap of your shocked silence. “Will you marry me?”

Sitting up in bed, you propped yourself up on your elbow, staring down at him. He quickly took the cue, flipping around and digging his hand around under the bed. He returned facing you, sitting up next to you, sheets pooling at his hips. He held up the box, opening it with his metal hand.

Your breath left your lungs.

“Bucky,” gasped, covering your mouth with your hands, eyes flitting between the ring and his eyes: blue, glossy, and glazed over with passion. “Oh my god, Bucky.” You kept repeating yourself, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“So…is that a yes?” He chuckled, nervously holding the box, gesturing it towards you.

“Oh my god, yes!” You nearly screamed, tears now fully flowing down your face, holding your hand out for him to place the ring gently on your finger. You then threw your arms around his neck, kissing your fiancé. He smiled through the whole kiss and you felt his heart beating next to yours.

You pulled back to fully look at the rock now sitting on your left hand. “I hope you like it; I had to go through my sister’s daughter, who had to go through a ton of old keepsakes and it took a while so I would’ve gotten it sooner, but – ” he cut himself off, realizing he was rambling when he met your growingly perplexed facial expression. “Anyway, it was my mom’s ring. And my pop saved up forever for it. I know it’s not huge and probably out of style and you deserve a million diamonds – ” he cut himself off again with a deep breath, anxiously scratching the back of his neck. “I just thought it would be nice – but if you don’t like it, you can just tell me and – ”

This time it was you who got him to shut up, leaning forward, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours. “Bucky, I love it.” It was beautiful. The diamond was small, still in perfect condition. The gold band was twisted intricately around the stone, newly polished and sparkling in the light shining through the window. What was even more appealing about the ring was the sentiment behind it. There was no two people that Bucky looked up to more than his parents; he often told you stories describing how much they loved each other, how hard his dad worked to finally convince his mom to go on a date with him. He beamed with pride when he spoke of them, recounting their hardships but how that never impacted their love for each other.

There was nothing more he wanted – then or now – than to give pass his mother’s ring along to you. He just happened to be lucky enough that his sister and niece saved it after all this time. He admitted that he could’ve gotten you a new ring, probably through a loan from Tony. Bucky technically didn’t have an income – just Tony’s money. And he did, in fact, offer to buy you the most expensive diamond ring in the world, a ten-carat ring from Antwerp; but that didn’t feel right. This was the only thing that Bucky had actually felt right about in a long time.

…

One month from that day, it was your three-year anniversary.

It happened during dinner – one random Thursday while the two of you sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, enjoying a casual plate of spaghetti.

“What ­– ” You choked on your mouthful of noodles. Coughing slightly, you sipped some wine, washing the rest of your bite down. Then you repeated yourself firmly: “What?”

“You heard me,” he responded, casually, mouth full of garlic bread.

“Now?” You ask, eyes wide, but unable to stop the smile forming on your lips.

“Yeah, why not?”

You stood from your stool, holding your palms against the island counter on either side of your dinner plate. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to do anything special for our anniversary.” You laughed, completely knocked off guard, mind moving a million miles per hour.

He raised an eyebrow. “You really thought I’d say that without some trick up my sleeve?” And, in fact, you were surprised when Bucky wanted to have a very low-key anniversary – he’d always been one for romantics. “Thought you knew me better than that,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way.

You rolled your eyes and swatted at his arm. “Are you being serious?” You leveled with him, leaning over so you were staring directly into the eyes of the man sitting beside you.

He smiled back kindly at you. “What do you kids say these days? Deadass.”

And you burst out laughing. Maybe you were a bit wine-drunk – but, god, this was something you’d never grow tired of. And that was perfect, considering you had already agreed to spend the rest of your life with him. There, in all honestly, was nothing that made your heart flutter like Bucky being an old man. “Okay,” you then whispered, cupping his jaw in both of your palms. “Let’s elope.”

So that weekend, that’s exactly what the two of you did.

Bucky had “borrowed” one of Tony’s cars – he assured you that he asked to take it for the weekend, but the smile and laugh in his voice told you otherwise. There was no time to question him further – no need, in fact – as he threw your suitcase in the trunk and opened the passenger door to you, ever the gentleman.

It was a short drive to Brooklyn Botanical Garden. You’d taken Bucky’s word for it, a place he remembered from his childhood; it was somewhere his mother used to drag him to and roam around – obviously with time he grew to appreciate not only the memory but also the serenity. He knew that was where he saw the both of you getting married; he knew that seeing you adorned in white surrounded by the beautiful trees and flowers was a sight he would never get tired of imagining.

Now, it was a sight burnt in his memory, holding your hands in his, a simple white gown falling perfectly on your body, veil pulled back that made it seem as though you were surrounded by clouds, the beautiful angel you were, anyway. Your hair was free, moving ever so slightly with the soft breeze; cheeks tinted pink as your skin glowed in the sun that shined before you; a bright grin painted your lips, so genuine that it made small crinkles form around your eyes. God, those eyes – gleaming in the reflection of the bright light before you, sparkling with love and laced with anticipation.

You faced a similar view, Bucky donning a casual grey suit; you insisted that was the one he brought with, a light grey contrasting his dark hair and deep blue eyes. While you had no doubt that seeing Bucky in an all-black suit was one of your all-time favorite looks, this was much more fitting for the occasion. The bright morning sun, the light-colored leaves surrounding your union; black was too harsh. Black, after all, was the color associated with the Winter Soldier. His uniform was black, his mask, his pants, his boots – his whole life was shrouded in darkness. This could not have been more the opposite; it was untraditional color, but so was your wedding and, hell, your whole relationship.

It was you and him, the officiant and the witness. You couldn’t remember either of their names, and you didn’t care, either. The only thing that mattered was Bucky’s eyes staring down at you, your hands held in his large ones, him slipping the wedding band on your finger.

And the kiss: perfect. You didn’t have the words to describe it. One hand found your waist as the other snaked through your hair, holding the back of your neck, guiding your lips up to his. Your arms folded around his neck, allowing you to pull your entire being flush against his body. He gave you two pecks on the lips before pulling away, letting his forehead rest against yours, staring into your eyes, glazed over with tears. His heart was full, it took all of his willpower not to breakout in tears. “I love you,” he whispered.

Your smile never faltered as you repeated those words to your husband.

…

“Buck, I have to get ready for work,” you called to him, yelling over the sound of the shower running.

“I’m almost done,” he responded, peaking his head from behind the curtain.

You stood at the vanity mirror, holding your hairbrush in one hand, flat iron in the other, makeup bag propped skillfully on the corner of the sink, one wrong movement away from spilling all over the floor. The mirror was fogging up ever so slightly; Bucky always insisted on taking the hottest showers possible. You began work on your hair when the water shut off, curtain swinging open, Bucky stepping out to grab a towel.

The two of you were practically pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, your elbow actually jutting out to nick his side as he toweled-off his hair. He laughed, maneuvering so that he stood behind you, his reflection towering over yours in the mirror. “I think we need a bigger place.”

He frowned, holding his hands against your hips. “But I like this place.”

You set the hot instrument on the edge of the sink, turning around in his arms. “I think we’re out of room,” you replied, thinking of the stacked up boxes of wedding gifts everyone sent you; you didn’t have anywhere to set them out or store them, thus everything remained in their boxes stacked up in your living room. Books and clothes lined every wall of your bedroom; you couldn’t fit nearly anything in the bathroom – and, hell, Bucky didn’t even fit without having to crouch under the showerhead.

He smiled down at you as you ran the brush through his freshly washed brown hair. “I guess so,” he mumbled shutting his eyes, reveling in the feeling of you softly brushing out his hair. “Plus, we’re going to be needing some more room to grow.” He peeked open his eyes, shooting a wink in your direction.

You cocked an eyebrow and yelped when his hand tucked against the underside of your thighs, pulling you up against him; you locked your ankles around his back and held onto the back of his neck, droplets of water still rolling down the nape of his neck and down his back, tickling your skin. You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“You’re telling me you want little baby Barnes running around this place? It’s kind of a hazard, (Y/N),” he teased, then pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You rolled your eyes and pressed your hand against his chest, signaling him to drop you. Once he did, you turned around, back once again against his chest. “House first, then baby.”

“Really?” He gasped, staring at you in the mirror, wrapping your frame in a backwards hug. His eyes lit up, a huge smile creeping on his lips.

“Better get house hunting,” you said, shooing him off to get dressed so you can finally get ready for work.

Crash, fall down. I'll wrap my arms around you now. Just crash, it's our time now, To make this work, second time around.

There was a knock on your front door. You set down the sponge you were washing dishes with, placing the bowl in the drying rack next to you. Wiping your hands on your jeans as you walked over to the freshly painted door. Bucky had painted it a deep forest green before he left. You’d been waiting for ages to find the perfect color, the best shade to match the cozy, rustic – cottagecore – living space the two of you had cultivated together.

Once the door was done, you felt it was finally finished. Everything was so much bigger, but you two made sure to fill it with large, comfy furniture, displaying all of your wedding gifts graciously (and obviously Bucky’s plants). He made you wait outside while he painted the door; he didn’t want you breathing any fumes in that could harm the baby growing newly inside you. You rolled your eyes: “It’s the twenty-first century, Buck. We don’t use lead paint anymore. It’s okay – plus I want to help.” You picked up a paintbrush, reaching towards the paint can.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, grabbing a hold of your wrist, instead holding it up to his chest. “I just don’t want anything to happen. Please,” he pleaded, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes, curling out his bottom lip.

A soft smile pulled at your lips and you quit protesting. “Okay, baby,” you giggled, gazing up into his blue eyes. He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, blushing hard as he did so, laying a hand to your lower belly. It hadn’t grown much, only three months – hell, it was still the size of a plum (which also happens to be your husband’s favorite fruit) – you weren’t even showing yet, nonetheless he was still so excited, so proud, so in love. And nothing had changed since he met you on day one. He still looked at your with the utmost admiration, a lustrous gloss in his eyes as he stared down at you. You’d only grown more beautiful by the day, to him. You were his to come home to, his to protect, his to love.

You spent the afternoon out front in the garden, pruning bushes, watering flowers, and pulling weeds. You’d detested yardwork – everybody did – but there was something about doing it while you called across the lawn to Bucky, still positioned at the front door, cracking jokes and sharing anecdotes that made it all worth it. You wouldn’t trade this for the world: to be able to do chores with Bucky, even the most menial work, because he enjoyed doing them, just because he got to do them with you.

You walked to the door, kicking a few rogue shoes out of the way, and swung it open.

You were met with the sight of a uniformed chest, straight ahead in your line of sight.

You dropped to your knees, holding your hands to your chest, feeling your heart race. You couldn’t breathe – you were almost feeling yourself for a pulse.

He knelt down and wrapped his arms around you.

It was just the two of you in that moment.

You buried your face into his chest, the tough leather scratching your face. The wetness of your tears smeared across the surface of the material, painting your cheeks. His hand rubbed up and down your back, cooing softly in your ear. You didn’t know if he said anything in that moment, your mind couldn’t register anything coming out of his mouth, your ears clouded with a loud ringing behind your eardrums.

It was a loud, open, ugly sob – you sounded like a toddler throwing a fit; damn, this was quite the tantrum.

You pulled back suddenly, fisting at the chest of his uniform. It startled him; he tore himself away from you quickly. There was no way of knowing what you looked like – eyes red and puffy, cheeks glistening with wet tears smudged along your lips and chin as well. You couldn’t even stop, as you pulled away to look into his blue eyes, your own tears kept flowing, eyebrows knitted together and breath still hitching. He looked tired – exhausted; you didn’t know how long he’d been torn up like this. His face was pale, cheeks red and irritated with tears, blue eyes filled with tears exactly like yours.

“Is he really gone?”

He stared at you for a moment, new, fresh tears flooding in his eyes and down his cheeks. He bit his bottom lip, unable to trust his own voice. But Steve found the strength to muster up two words, the words that made you bury your face into his chest again, crying harder than before:

“I’m sorry.”