#and my free time/attention is being split a few different ways including to work on a strahm cosplay

[avocadoraisin]

rough night

[quicksandblock]

MCYT Demographic Survey Part 2 RESULTS

IT’S TIME!!!

Once again, thank you so much to everyone who participated! 1,654 people total responded to this - about four and a half times as many respondents as the first survey. It’s honestly incredible. I’m so happy the rest of you are as interested as I am in this stuff :D

The increased turnout is also why these results are being posted two days later than I’d intended. I want to give a HUGE thank you to my friend @quincepastey​ and my sibling @orestes-swimming​ for helping me out, and by helping I do mean they did basically all of the technical stuff for me, because my knowledge of spreadsheets was not up to the task. So thank you to Cupid for organizing all the data from questions 3 and 4 into something comprehensible for me, and thank you to Kal for making the charts! They are absolutely the MVPs and everyone reading this should go check them out. Thank you guys so much <3

Reblogs of this post are very appreciated. It would be awesome if the info about the results could reach everyone who submitted a response, so if you reblogged my first post about this survey, please consider reblogging this one as well!

For your convenience, here’s a link to the results of the first survey I did six months ago. Now - on to the results!

Question 1: What is your age range?

Compared to the results of the first survey, we can see that things have changed a bit! Specifically, the fandom has shifted just a little bit older. The solid majority of the fandom is still in the 15-17 year old range, but it’s gone down from almost half to closer to 40%. Almost a third of the fandom are ages 18-20, up from close to a fifth six months ago. 21-25 year olds have increased from about 10% to about 14%. And the youngest segment, 13-14 year olds, have gone from almost 20% of the fandom down to 12% - the sharpest change of all.

Finally, nearest and dearest to my own heart, there are now 26 whole people in the fandom aged 26-30 and 9 people aged 30+. Old Squad is growing, folks. We are... the 2% 😎 Special shoutout to the person who said their 15 year old kid got them into the fandom. I hope you know just how cool you are.

These results are interesting, but it’s also impossible to say how accurate the data is. This survey and the previous one were only posted on my blog, and they only reached a wider audience through the reblogs of my followers. So do these changes reflect actual changes in the demographics of the fandom as a whole, or is it just that my followers (and the people who follow them) have shifted older? To try to avoid this bias in the future, I may reach out to some well-known younger bloggers and ask them to reblog the next survey I do so that I can reach a more even audience.

Question 2: What is your gender?

Apologies for the small text, but there were so many unique write-in answers that I wanted to include them all. You may want to open the image in a separate tab for better quality.

In contrast to the age question, the gender spread of the fandom has remained pretty much the same. About half the fandom is still female, the nonbinary crowd has increased from 20% to 25%, 7% of us are male, almost 7% are genderfluid, and about 5% are agender. Just like last time, most of the write-in responses fell into the vague categories of either genderqueer or questioning.

No surprises on this one! The fandom continues to be overwhelmingly female and queer. Next time I think I’ll include genderqueer and questioning as options to try to catch some of those people into a formal category. All y’all are so valid, especially the person who wrote in their gender as “soup” <3

The results for questions 3 and 4 will be under a cut, because I don’t want to completely destroy people’s dashes.

Before I get into the last two questions, a couple notes. First, I want to explain how I came up with the list of creators, since a lot of people were either excited or disappointed by the fact that a few different people were on there.

On the last survey, this question was a write-in, and I had to transcribe and collate all the answers by hand to come up with the actual number of people who followed each creator. For this survey, I simply took the list that came out of the previous one and pasted it in! I also added a few people who no one wrote in six months ago but who are much more prominent now (Ranboo being the biggest example). So if you were excited to see your favorite small creator listed as an option, they were there because someone wrote them in last time! And if you wrote in your favorite small creator here, they’ll be an option on the next survey. The list is entirely crowdsourced and it will expand with each survey.

That said, the same also applies for more controversial creators. Specifically, I’m talking about CallMeCarson. Several people questioned my decision to keep him on the list - and to be honest, I considered taking him out. But in the end I decided to leave him in as an option for the sake of completeness and consistency with the previous survey. I want to emphasize that this is not me condoning his actions. But for the sake of the data, I felt that it was best to leave him in.

That said, let’s move on to questions 3 and 4!

Question 3: What creator(s) do you primarily follow?

So, it’s harder to compare with the previous survey on this one, and that’s purely because on the previous survey I didn’t have the help I did here. The chart I was able to make for the results back in October was frankly trash. Also, the fact that I split “followed creators” into two questions - primarily and casually followed - definitely throws things off. However, we can still do a certain amount of comparison!

The most obvious change is Ranboo. He straight up was not on the previous survey at all - I think he’d been streaming for less than a month at the time. Now, about 55% of respondents listed him as someone they primarily follow. The Dream SMP itself has also jumped dramatically. Previously, about 5% of people wrote in Dream SMP. That has increased to over half. Quackity has gone from less than 2% to about 30%. Karl has gone from 4% to 30%. Phil has gone from about 8% to a little under 50%. The SBI have jumped from 11% to over 40%.

Techno has gone from about 50% to over 60%. Tommy has gone from 45% to over 55%. Wilbur has jumped from 43% to 55%. Tubbo has remained steady at about 38%.

Dream has apparently dropped some of his following percentage-wise, falling from 50% to about 35%. However, George, Sapnap, and the Dream Team itself have all jumped from 10-12% to almost 30%.

I’m not going to go over the rest of the list, because that would just get way too long. However, I will drop a link to the spreadsheets of data for this survey and the previous one, so anyone who wants to can do some comparison of their own!

Question 4: What creators do you casually follow?

I won’t do as detailed of a comparison on this question, because there’s nothing to compare it to - this question wasn’t on the previous survey. However, it’s interesting to see how many more people follow Fundy, Nihachu, BadBoyHalo, Captain Puffy, Eret, Awesamdude, and Jack Manifold casually rather than as a primary favorite. Out of the top twelve, Karl, Quackity, Phil, and Tubbo are the only ones who don’t have a major discrepancy between the amount of people who follow them casually versus primarily.

I would be curious to hear people’s thoughts on why that’s the case! Personally, I would guess it’s a combination of each of their approaches to lore on the Dream SMP, the frequency and times of day that they stream, and the people they tend to make content with and be associated with by the fandom. I may go into that more later, but this post is already very long, so I’ll hold off for now. Here’s a link to this question’s spreadsheet for anyone who wants to take a closer look!

...And that’s a wrap! Good grief, this got long. Kudos to anyone who actually read the whole thing because I know my attention span would be challenged. I’m already thinking about the next survey - a couple people suggested that I add in questions about orientation and nationality, and while I want to keep the survey pretty tight in its scope, I am considering it. It would be even more data to process but it would be interesting to know!

I would love to hear people’s thoughts on these results! I’m only one person, so I know there’s interesting stuff I must have missed. Please, please feel free to reblog with your thoughts and observations! A lot of work went into this (both from me and from Cupid and Kal! Thank you guys again!), so I’m really hoping to hear what people think about it :D

I plan to reblog this and reply to some of the things people wrote in at the end, so stay tuned for that. And once again: thank you all for your interest in this project of mine <3 See you with another one in six months!

[luimagines]

He Accidentally Hurt You pt.2

Masterlist

Set platonically and within the group Part 1

Hyrule

Your blood was pounding as your feet carried you across the battle field.

Your hearing was rendered useless by the cause, you only thoughts were on Hyrule and getting to him before the hoard of monsters did. He had somehow gotten separated from the group in the struggle and was left to fend for himself.

You made contact.

The sword in your hand followed through your practiced movements, slicing all and any between you and your target.

You could hear him in the distance, you were close, you just had to get- just a little-

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and the air changed. The split second static was your only warning before lightning struck.

Monsters fell all around you but you failed to pay attention to that. Your attention was instead on the blinding, scalding twist in your arm that held your trusted blade. You couldn’t even find it in you to let go of the weapon, your muscles incapable to receiving orders.

The pain traveled through your arm and across your chest until it encompassed your whole being.

Screams tore through your throat without your knowledge and when the attack subsided, your whole body went rag doll and your vision went black.

“Please. Please. Please.” A voice whispered through the darkness. It was soft. Pleading. A blessed chill seemed deep into your bones and you found it within yourself to open your eyes.

Hyrule was crouched above you, tears in his eyes with shallow cuts across his tunic and exposed skin. Not a lot of blood though, your brain supplies. You take a relieved breath.

“Hey.” You croaked out in greeting. “Glad to see you’re ok. I was worried.”

“I didn’t know you were there.” He blurts as if he didn’t hear you. Maybe he didn’t. “I thought it was only monsters nearby. I don’t think I have enough magic to heal you completely. This is all my fault.”

“Fault?” You attempted to sit up. You succeed. Mostly.

A grunt leaves your mouth at the stiffness in your joints and you force yourself to power though to reach into your inventory.

A sniffle leaves your Traveler when you push his hands away when you find your target. The red liquid glints in the dying sunlight and you hand it out to him. “Think you can open it?”

He nods and pry's it open before you can even think about getting into a better sitting position.

You don’t think twice about taking the potion when he hands it back.

“Save your magic.” You say. “I’ll be fine.”

And you know you’re right....It’ll take a little more than that to convince the rest of the group when you get back though. Hyrule plans to smother you until not a single blemish is left. The others? Well... They’ll keep an eye on you.

Twilight

“Ten rupees says you can’t make that throw.” You hear Warriors say.

“Double it and I’ll gladly prove you wrong.” Twilight responds.

The book in your lap calls for attention more than whatever those two are doing for the sake of friendly competition. You don’t look up, trying to keep your eyes on the page but you can’t help the growing curiosity in the back of your head.

“What are we using to aim with?”

“That?”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes and keep your head down.

“I’ll be twenty rupees richer and it’ll shut your mouth. Just watch.” Twilight grumbles.

There’s a tap and a growl before something comes at your head full throttle. It’s dense but not enough to keep it from exploding all into your hair and it knocks you over slightly.

You closed your book to protect it from the falling matter and reach at the spot. By your feet laying the offending object.

An apple.

They threw an apple at your head. Correction. Twilight threw an apple at your head.

The thoughts in your head spin a bit. Your whole head is throbbing but you doubt there’s any blood. You look up just in time to see Warrior and Twilight running at you as fast as they can. Twilight reaches you first and kneels next to you. “By Ordana, are you ok?”

His hands hover over you, trying to take in the damage without actually touching you.

“Who are you?” You blurt out, very quickly realizing that it was the wrong thing to say.

His face drops and Warrior wears a similar expression.

“Kidding.” A pained grin covers your face. “Take me to Hyrule please.”

“I’m so sorry.” Twilight reaches for you and you comply. Once you’re on your feet he speaks again. “Warrior messed up my shot and it hit you by accident.”

“That’s a weird way to say you lost a bet.”

You kick Warrior as payback.

Sky

“So...” You sit next to Sky during the break. “What are you planning to make this time?”

The boy next to you already had his whittling knife out and a decent sized chunk of wood in his lap. He picked it up and spun it a few times, staring into it as if he could already see the form inside it. It was just his job to take it out.

“I don’t know yet.” He admits. “Maybe it’ll come to me.”

You nod and let him work in relative silence, the faint but consistent sounds of Sky working next to you create a blissful and serene atmosphere.

The others are off doing their own thing, each keeping to themselves for the most part.

It’s nice.

“Actually, can you help me with this real quick?”

Your attention is back on Sky. He’s trying to get his knife out of the wood block, the outline of the shape he’s making already starting to form.

You don’t recognize it.

Sky picks up the knife and the whole block follows. “It got stuck.”

“How?” You raise an eyebrow and try to keep the smile off of your face.

Your response is only a shrug and the wood being thrust in your direction.

You grab it and instinctively tighten your grip on it when you feel Sky pull.

You both use your strengths to your advantage and pull in different directions. You feel the knife begin to slip out and adjust your grip. Within seconds the blade is free and you feel it cross the tip of your finger.

Instantly, the wood is dropped and you cradle your hand close to you, putting pressure on the injured digit.

“Ok, got it, thank- What happened?” Sky scoots closer to you and pulls your hands out.

A thin red line follows the length of your finger and it only seems to grow as the moments pass. It doesn’t feel deep but it certainly won’t let you flex your finger for a while.

A quite hiss leaves Sky’s lips. “Well that could’ve gone better. Sorry about that.”

“It could’ve gone worse too.” You press a little on the injury, trying to will the pain away.

It doesn’t work, but hey, you try.

“Hold on. I think I have some bandages in my pack.” Sky gets up and jogs to where most of the others are sitting. He picks up his bag and looks inside for a minute or two before jogging back to you.

A small role of bandages sits in his hand and when he reach for your hand, you don’t hesitate to give it to him.

As he’s working on your finger, you feel mild irritation bubble up in your throat. “This better not scar.”

“Why’s that?” Sky replies.

“It’ll be the lamest story.”

He laughs and finishes his work.

Time

Sometimes it surprised you how short everyone in the group was. You weren’t sure if it was a Link thing or one of the biggest coincidences of the universe because it certainly wasn’t just because they were Hylian (but that probably didn’t help).

That being said, and what you could gather from The Captain, it boggled your mind further that Time was the biggest of everyone. Warrior made it seem like he’d stay small forever, implying that Time was smaller still when he first defeated Gannon.

That didn’t seem very fair.

For him and you....well everyone, only Twilight and Warrior were the ones exempt from having to look up at the old man. But you didn’t like the idea of someone so small fighting such a beast, so Time is included in your sympathy list.

Despite his size, he seemed to move as silent as a mouse. Only Wild would be quieter than him.

After some time of traveling with them all, you realized he was just as much as a gremlin as the rest.

He was not above pranking the living daylights out of poor unsuspecting teenagers.

And the thing is, no one could catch him. Somehow he managed to get them to in the blame on each other but you knew better. You swore it had to be him. There was no way. There was no way he could count as a Link and not get into this kind of stuff.

But no one believed you.

It definitely wasn’t fair.

With the stage set, it’s safe to say now that you were calmly, peacefully and quietly minding your own business. You weren’t bothering anyone.

You were writing in your journal under a tree with some low branches. Nothing too bad but in terms of shade and angle, you found it to be the perfect resting place.

You took a deep breath in and let it out.

Yes, it was nice.

“BOO!”

You jumped as high as your reflexes you take you and spun around, but you had forgotten where you were in the moment.

With a solid thunk, your head hit the branch above you and sat back down, with a curse.

While there was laughter in the your reaction, it was cut off abruptly at the first sign of pain. “Oh jeeze, I’m sorry. How bad does it hurt?”

A whimper escaped your mouth before you could stop it and you closed your journal, choosing to furiously rub your hands against the now tender spot on the top of your head. “Ow Time. Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d move like that.” He moved your hands away and inspected the area for himself. “No bleeding. Doesn’t look like it’ll need a potion...”

“I blame you.” You grumbled. “This is your fault.”

“I can accept that.” He nodded and stepped back. “There’s not much we can do about it in terms of healing, but perhaps Hyrule would be willing to lend a hand.”

“No way. He’d ask how it happened and I’m not going to lie to him.” You pouted. “No one will believe me if I told them the truth.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you!” You glared at him.

A tiny giggle escaped from the so called Old Man of the group, Mr. Stick in the Mud. Senor Buzzkill. “And why would that make a difference?”

“I cannot believe you... Actually yes I can, you were doing this on purpose the whole time.”

He laughed more fully this time and didn’t seem to let up.

With a pout, you picked up your book and marched away.

One day you’ll get back at him. You just had to figure out how and when.

Four

“So, how do we play this game again?” You picked up the ball one of your companions took out. It was almost the size of your head and had crisscrossing lines. It was white and weighed less than you originally thought.

It was a relatively slow day and no one felt in the mood to dampen it by looking for trouble.

While Twilight and Warrior set up the net that was supposed to go with it, the rest were waiting and going over the rules.

“Just hit the ball over the net. You can’t the ball twice in a row, someone else has to hit it and if it touches the ground you lose the point.”

“Seems simple enough.” Wild takes the ball from you and tosses it a few times.

It takes a while for all the appropriate moves to be demonstrated but you all play the game with ease.

You were having a good time with your friends. Everyone was actually getting along for a change. With a smile on your face, you waited for the moment that would inevitably change.

You swore you could almost pin point when it happened.

With Four right across from you, his sudden change in stance gave away the glint in his eyes.

The ball came to him and he jumped up, higher than you thought he could and spiked.

Next thing you knew, you were on the ground, stunned and slightly disoriented and your face was hurting.

Four ran to your side as the game was halted. “That... was not what I was intending.”

“You don’t say... Can I step out for a minute?” You asked, trying to get your feet. Four helped you get away from the battle field- I mean, the game area and helped you sit back down against a nearby tree.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled apologetically. “Anything I can do to help?”

You looked up at him hopefully. “Lose the game?”

“Not a chance.”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Green (Bucky x Reader)

Word Count: ~3k

***Warnings*** : Graphic and explicit consensual non-consent. It’s all pre-negotiated roleplay, but it includes fighting, struggling, spitting, scratching, the whole nine yards. 

A/N: The companion fic to Red. You do not need to read that first; this stands on its own. However, without that as an introduction, there’s no obvious indication until about two-thirds into the fic that what’s happening is consensual. 

More on this in another note at the end, but thanks to @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @katwillrise​ @mskathywriteswords​ @cracksinthewalls​ @littlegreenplasticsoldier​ @stunudo​ and the rest of the Slack squad for helping me sort out my feelings about “dark” fic, and for being a safe space to talk through stuff like this. This was really fucking difficult for me to write, but I’m glad I did. 

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

- From “Wild Geese,” by Mary Oliver

It’s just like any other Friday night, until it’s not. 

One moment I’m turning on the light in the entryway, hanging up my coat — next there’s a prickle down my spine, some primal reptile-brain instinct — 

Run! Now! 

— but there’s no time to recognize it for what it is. My body isn’t in the habit of being threatened; my body is tired and lazy, moving on autopilot through the comforting routine of Friday night. In the heartbeat between instinct and action, he pounces. 

The hand over my mouth is metal: unyielding, unliving, chilling me down to my core, and if it wasn’t for the heat of the rest of his body all down my back, I wouldn’t assume he was human. His right arm is around my ribs, locking me in place, and it feels feverish in contrast but it’s trapping me as securely as if it was iron. 

I can’t reconcile the cool metal against the human warmth, or the awful metallic tang mingled with the barely-there whiff of sweat. My mind is moving all jerky and slow. I can’t make sense of this. 

Doesn’t matter, though, because I’m trapped anyway, like a wild animal in a snare. Trying to make sense of it won’t change the fact that vicious iron jaws snapped shut around me. 

It was just like any other Friday night.

Panic clutches around my lungs all at once, adrenaline flooding in, and everything in me screams, fight back. 

I thrash and squirm in his grasp, but he has my arms pinned down at my sides, and I’m small and helpless against the solid wall of muscle that is his chest. My raw strangled gasps come out as tiny hitched sobs, muffled by metal, barely audible in the still half-dark entryway of my apartment. He leans back, hefting me up so that my feet don’t quite touch the floor any more, like I weigh nothing, and takes a few steps away from the door. 

“Don’t make a sound,” he snaps, before spinning me around, slamming me back against the wall and pinning me there with his metal hand at my throat. 

Panic makes everything sharper. It’s too sharp, sharp like the shadows cast by the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, sharp like the way he’s watching me with pale hard eyes. 

“Why — why are you here?” 

He tilts his head, considering me. 

“I was sent,” he says simply, in a low rasp of a voice. 

“What do you want?” 

Something cracks open in his eyes, like a tectonic shift bringing magma to the surface, and then the strangest expression spreads slowly over his features, fierce hunger and wild terror all at once. Fear splinters like lightning down my spine. 

“Take off your clothes,” he says quietly. “Let me see you.” 

I lash out with both hands, ready to claw at his eyes, but with his arm outstretched, he’s just out of my reach; when I scratch and slap at the metal wrist, he doesn’t even seem to notice, and when I strain against his grip, I only succeed in choking myself. Black spots dance across my vision, and I draw ragged wheezing breaths, clutching uselessly at the sleeve of his black leather jacket, still twitching and twisting feebly. 

At least he can’t undress me with one hand, I think, for one absurd second. 

Then his free hand twitches down to his side, and he’s raising a knife. Dark oxidized metal gleams in his fingers. I freeze, staring at the wickedly honed edge of it as he brings it closer, holding it up at eye level before lowering it slowly. 

The tip hooks under the first button of my blouse, and when he flicks the blade upward, the fabric separates like it’s nothing. I barely dare to breathe as he cuts my shirt open, one button at a time, with surgical precision. The knife is so close to my skin that one wrong move could slice into me. 

When the ruined remains of my blouse gape open, he lowers the blade, ready to cut through the waistband of my skirt, and my frayed nerves snap. 

“Don’t,” I blurt out. “I’ll do it. I’ll cooperate.” 

I unzip it, trying to step out of it without moving my head, still trapped by the constant silent threat of his fingers around my throat. 

He sheathes the knife so that he can push my shirt roughly down my arms. My bra straps follow; he tugs them down my shoulders and reaches around to pop the clasp open, and when it falls, he pauses, licking his lips as he gazes up and down my body, taking in the revealed skin. 

There’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes when they meet mine for a long, frozen moment. He draws a breath like he’s about to say something, and his grip loosens a fraction. 

I’m not done fighting. 

I spit in his face, and when he flinches, I wrench myself away, twisting out of his grasp, bolting down the hall toward the bedroom door. 

Just as I wonder whether he’s reconsidered, whether he’ll let me go, he snarls, “You’ll regret that.”

I go down hard and fast when he tackles me, barely getting my arms out in time to break my fall, and the impact sends a flash of pain through one elbow but there’s no time to think about that — no time to feel it — not when I’m thrashing and kicking and squirming — but he’s too strong, too heavy — I almost writhe away but then he rolls me onto my back — pins me, sitting on my thighs — and my fists are swinging, flailing uselessly against his face and shoulders, but he doesn’t even seem to notice — and I let out a desperate sob as I realize I’m helpless again. 

I want to scream, but there isn’t enough breath in my lungs. 

He shuffles up on his knees until he’s straddling my waist, looming over me, blocking out everything else, and he snatches my wrists as I beat my fists against his stomach and chest. His lip curls, baring his teeth in a feral approximation of a smile, and he gathers my wrists together so he can hold them in the bruising circle of his metal fingers. 

Flesh fingertips dig cruelly into the hinge of my jaw, forcing it open, and he leans forward to spit into my open mouth — something twists and clenches deep in my gut as I sputter and choke, skin crawling with disgust. 

“Not so nice, is it?” he sneers, sitting back on his heels. 

Worn black denim stretches over muscular thighs as he shifts, drawing attention to the fact that he’s hard — the thick shape of his cock is obvious, straining against the fabric.  

My eyes snap back to his face, but it’s too late. He chuckles, throaty and smug, and then he rubs himself through his jeans, squeezing roughly, making it impossible to ignore his arousal. 

“Is that what you want?” he asks — taunts — and I shake my head frantically, throat too tight to speak. He smirks and drops his hand to my chest, tweaking one nipple hard enough to make me yelp. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall, and light catches the dark metal plates of his arm. 

Hot stinging tears well up and roll down my temples, blurring my vision, but not before I see his fingers on the button of his jeans, popping it open. 

“No,” I choke out. “No. Please, please, please —” 

He has to move to shove his jeans down, has to let me go for a moment — a fresh wave of adrenaline surges up with sickening speed, and I scramble back, twist, flop onto my stomach — it’s graceless and uncoordinated but I’m not giving in, not yet. I’m army-crawling out from under the cage of his body and I’m almost free — almost — but before I can get up on my hands and knees he’s yanking my panties down. 

Panic rises to a crescendo. 

I shriek — thin and pathetic even to my own ears — too frantic to even see straight, and then my breath is punched from my lungs as his hand slams down between my shoulderblades and crushes me to the cold hard floor. I curl an arm around my head protectively, burying my face in the crook of my elbow, and I whimper into the dark space it makes, trying to hide from what’s about to happen. 

My body is vibrating with tension like a rubber band about to snap, every muscle clenched so tight it hurts, and when I feel the blistering-hot pressure of his cock between my thighs I almost snap. 

“Struggle all you want,” he growls. “Won’t make a difference.” 

And it doesn’t make a difference. He shoves, and after a split-second of resistance he’s slamming into me with skull-rattling force. He grunts as he grinds in, working himself into me as deep as he can be. 

The weight lifts from my upper back, and I suck in a desperate breath, only to sob it out again as he braces himself on his left hand and tangles the right in my hair. It stings, but somewhere along the line I’ve lost the ability to feel pain as pain; it’s only another sensation, and it’s eclipsed completely by the flint-to-tinder flare as he starts to move. 

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but I can’t hold back a moan. 

It’s too much, too fucking much, he’s too big, wrenching me apart, taking up every bit of space inside me and forcing me to accept the intrusion. There’s no rational thought left beyond I can’t take this. 

There’s nothing rational about it, though. 

Something catches and sparks — ignites — and wildfire licks up my spine before bursting out through every inch of me. It’s going to burn me alive, and there’s nothing I can do about it. 

There’s nothing wrong with it, I try to tell myself, but shame slithers through my belly anyway. 

I’ve never been this wet in my entire fucking life. 

I’m breathing fast and panicked, I’m naked and squirming on the gritty floor, and it’s humiliating, and it hurts… but friction is friction, and my traitor of a body is slick and eager even though my rational brain is screaming for it to stop. 

“Stop,” I choke out. “Stop, don’t —” 

“Don’t what? Don’t make you come? Don’t make you admit how much you like this? Not fightin’ back any more, are you?” 

I sob and shudder, squeezing helplessly around him. “Please.” 

“Shit, can feel you gettin’ close — gotta see this,” he says, panting harshly, and then he’s pulling out, grabbing at my shoulder to flip me onto my back. 

He hooks an arm up under my knee to open me up and drives in deep again, and I spasm around him, spine arching so forcefully my head slams back against the floor. He’s wild-eyed and wrecked, but he stops for the space of a jagged-edged inhale, pausing, slack-jawed with shock when I look dazedly up at him. 

“Green,” I breathe, and slap him across the jaw with a crack. 

He moans and surges forward all at once, hips snapping down, and the pleasure-pain coils tighter inside me, ratcheting up to new impossible heights.  

I’m not going to stop fighting — not now, not ever, no matter how good it feels. I hit and scratch and claw, and when my nails catch on his cheek he gasps, rhythm faltering for the first time. 

He’s scorching-hot, steely-hard, every thrust a solid filthy smack against my skin, a vicious stretch pushing me to my limit — and it hurts, it hurts, but the adrenaline makes the pain feel faint and distant, and the pleasure is raw and immediate and building (faster by the second) into something inescapable. 

I can feel it starting to overwhelm me. My muscles are seizing up, but I’m fighting back on pure animal instinct, still. I grab him by the throat with one hand, pull his hair with the other, and his face is the last thing I see before my world dissolves: cheek bleeding from a rough scratch, features contorted, mouth open in a wide red O that’s somehow, unmistakably, a smile. 

Bucky is breathing just as hard as I am, when I swim to the surface again.

 We’re both drawing deep wet gulps of air, gasping on each exhale. I twine my arms around his neck limply, resting one palm between his shoulders so I can measure the rise and fall of his lungs. 

I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, but I feel everything: every little tremor and twitch that goes through him, the slick warm tickle of aftershocks as he starts to go soft inside me. His face is buried against the side of my neck, and his right hand cups my cheek, so very gentle, thumb stroking my temple and wiping away tears. He kisses me softly where my pulse hammers under the skin. 

My heart is racing, beating against my ribs like a wild bird caught in a cage, but my head seems very far away from the mess of my body.

I whimper when he pulls back, but he doesn’t go far, not yet — I can hear the barely-there rasp of fabric as he shifts. 

“Can’t believe you’re still wearing pants,” I mumble, slurring like I’m drunk. 

“Wearing is a generous word,” he says flatly. 

It’s a weak impersonation of his usual deadpan snark, but I let out a cracked giggle, and for a hysterical second I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop giggling. 

Bucky whispers, “Gonna get you up now, okay?”

He slides his hand under my head, cradling the back of my skull, and kisses my sweaty forehead before gathering me in his arms. He sits up carefully, pulling me against his chest and letting me burrow into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. 

Then there’s a disorienting swoop of motion that means he’s standing up. I feel fragile and strange as he walks, like something inside me will break if it’s jostled, but I trust him to keep me safe. He nudges the barely-open bedroom door with his hip, easing us through it, and behind my closed lids the quality of the darkness changes as he steps toward the soft golden glow of my bedside lamp.

“Not going anywhere, just going to put you down for one second,” he warns me. 

The comforter is already pulled back when he settles me on the bed, and he pulls it up around me, wrapping me up. 

“Water,” he says quietly, holding the glass to my lips, and I sip carefully. “Juice? Something sweet?” 

I shake my head. “Not yet.” 

He steps back. I hear the soft thump of his shirt and jeans dropping to the floor, the click of his dog tags as he puts them back on, and then he’s sliding into bed next to me. I shift closer and trace the chain around his neck, touching the familiar imprint of letters in the metal. 

My swollen lids are heavy when I open my eyes, and they sting when I finally look up at him, taking in his puffy parted lips and the red line of dried blood on his cheek where I scratched him. It’s already healing, it’ll be gone within a couple hours, but I brush my finger over it anyway, making an apologetic face. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly. He clears his throat and swallows hard. “I’m the one who — I’m so sorry.” 

I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about. It was…” 

I don’t know how to finish that sentence; I shrug, helpless, dizzy with the enormity of getting exactly what I wanted — of getting what I never thought I’d be able to ask for, let alone have. 

His lashes are wet, his eyes shining in the low light, and that’s when it really starts to sink in. I shiver, and then I can’t stop shivering, and I curl forward, burying my face in his chest. 

It’s hard to believe that the world is still turning and even harder to believe that he’s still here. 

“God, sweetheart, you were incredible,” he whispers, voice breaking, wrapping me up in his arms and kissing the top of my head. 

Shuddery, convulsive sobs wrack my body, one after another, and I don’t try to hold them back even though they’re so powerful I’m afraid they’ll crack my ribs on the way out. The tears are nothing to be ashamed of. It’s more like they’re physical evidence of shame leaving my body, purging it with each ugly sound wrenched from my throat. 

I never would’ve said it out loud if we hadn’t stumbled into his violent fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with you, I told him, and I sounded so sure, but I still had a hard time believing it about myself. My rational mind knew that it was natural… but it was like knowing that the person who grabbed me tonight was the same man holding me now — it was like knowing he would never hurt me, but feeling my body panic anyway. 

Bucky holds me, crooning nonsense fragments against my hair, until it subsides.  

I sit up enough to look at him, and I’m conscious of how blotchy and swollen my face must be, but I let him brush away my tears. I feel soft and raw inside where I’d been holding all that guilt. Everything is starting to ache. 

“God, we’re a mess,” I say thickly. He lets out a huff of laughter. 

“I love you,” he blurts out. His eyes go a little wide, like that wasn’t what he intended to say. 

“I love you too,” I say, wobbly but warm, and I duck my head again, resting with my ear over his chest to hear his heartbeat. 

His sigh is long and shaky. 

“Yeah, we’re a mess,” he whispers. “Feels good though. Feels human.” 

fin. 

N.B: If you’ve spent any amount of time around my masterlist, you probably will have noticed that one of my favorite subjects is the shame people (especially women) frequently feel about sex in general and their fantasies in particular. I also really love writing enthusiastic consent, and so in a way this is very different from anything I’ve written before. 

I have trouble with the way a lot of fanfiction seems to glorify coercive or under-negotiated dom/sub scenes, and most so-called “dark” fic is triggery for me in its oversimplification of things like rape fantasies; they’re normal and common and natural, but frequently the way they’re written has the same flat, male-gaze approach as a lot of exploitative porn, which I hate. Rape has never been a fantasy for me personally (although it has been an actual life experience) but my #1 fantasy is finding the sort of trust and partnership and support that would make this sort of roleplay emotionally safe. I also just felt compelled to tackle the challenge of writing about something that is often considered so shameful, and writing about it in a way that neither romanticizes or demonizes it. 

So. Yeah. In case you need a reminder: don’t punish your body for what it wants. 

(If you liked this, please reblog or leave a message?) 

[loving-daisy]

Cry For Me | George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist | Cry For Me Masterlist 

Chapter 9 - Fool

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: nothing much; fluff and angst

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

I made a fool of myself

____________________

Much to Y/N Icestone’s dismay, her request to Draco; Draco’s request to his father; Draco’s father’s request to Professor Snape didn’t last long. After the official split of the controversial Gryffindor-Slytherin couple, Y/N let all the emotions flow. Months of bottled-up feelings freely flowing. 

Hatred, mostly. 

The girl just couldn’t stand to see or even get a tiny little glimpse at the boy who captured her heart, held it carelessly, and smashed it into pieces. The mere thought of him even enraged her. Hating the fact that she was so gullible to believe that someone truly liked her because of her and her alone. Not the titles, the money, or the power that she came with. 

But as the saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens. Sure, her relationship with the Weasley had a very unfortunate ending but at least another story went on - her friendship with Draco Malfoy. And Draco, being the good friend he is, decided to help her. 

Even if all the blonde Slytherin did was send an owl to his father, it did help a lot, truly. 2 weeks being George-Weasley-free during potions class. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, as the individual potions’ work eventually dissolved as they had to work by pair again. 

“This next potion you’re about to brew is much more difficult than the last.” Professor Snape informed the class. “Truth be told, I’d still prefer everyone to work individually.” 

Honestly, there’s not a potion that Y/N Icestone can’t brew perfectly. Sure, there could be some difficult ones but the girl is always up for the challenge. Working alone versus working with a pair didn’t really have that much difference. She firmly believed that she’d do well even without a partner. I mean, the girl basically proved herself in the last 2 weeks. 

“But due to a lot of errors and mishaps, I’m gonna allow you to work in pairs. Your partner will be your previous partner. Now, get to work!” Snape ordered with a scowl, grasping his black robes as he started to walk around the classroom. 

I should’ve just asked my Father. Too bad he never got close with Snape. Too bad Draco’s not here. The Slytherin thought, letting out a huff before making her way towards her previous table - the one she shared with the boy she’s trying to avoid.

____________________

As the Slytherin sat on top of the stool beside the desk where their bubbling cauldron was placed, she couldn’t help but send a look towards Daphne who was putting ingredients into their cauldron. 

Sensing Icestone’s look, Greengrass’ attention diverted to her best friend, raising a brow as if asking “what’s wrong?”. Y/N rested her elbow on top of the desk, placing her chin on her palm, pouting. 

Daphne let out a small chuckle, shaking her head from left to right. But just before she was about to mouth a few sentences towards the sour-mood Icestone, the shocked look on her best friend’s face stopped her in her tracks. 

Professor Snape immediately waltzes towards Icestone and Weasley’s shared desk, crossing his arms as he towered over the ginger with a scowl. “Mr. Weasley, I know that you have a knack for making stuff explode but for the love of Salazar, stop practicing the nonsense in this class. Have you not learned your lesson from the past week?” He let out, tone full of disappointment. 

“As expected from a Gryffindor. You just lost your house 10 points.” Snape continued before reaching out for his wand, making the mess disappear. 

“Detention, Mr. Weasley.” The potion’s master ordered before turning his heels to walk away. 

Before the Slytherin was able to open her mouth and make a snide remark, Professor Snape looked back, eyes burning holes at the girl’s forehead. “You too, Ms. Icestone.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped in disbelief. It’s not like any of the mess was her fault. It was all Weasley’s! All she had to do was prepare all the ingredients and line them up in order for the ginger to put it in so what’s bubbling in the cauldron was definitely not under her control. The girl firmly believed that she should have gotten detention for actually doing her part right. “But professor-”

“Not another word.” 

Great. So much for avoiding George Weasley. 

____________________

Later that day, Y/N Icestone found herself walking out of the Great hall to go straight towards the dungeons. But not towards the Slytherin common room. Rather, towards the potion’s master’s classroom. To serve detention. 

Truthfully, the girl didn’t know what it was like to serve detention under Snape’s name. Was it harsh like what other students claimed it to be or were people just over exaggerating? 

But come to think of it, Y/N Icestone didn’t know what it was like to serve detention under any other professor’s name. She has never gotten herself into detention anyways. If it wasn’t for the Gryffindor, she wouldn’t have even been here. She would’ve kept her record clean! 

Fortunately for the girl, Professor Snape’s favoritism towards the students under Slytherin was true. The reason? Well, the only reason why Icestone got detention is so that someone could keep an eye on every other pupil who got detention as they manually scrub all the dirty cauldrons. The potion’s professor simply told the girl that he had important business to attend to and so he’s entrusting detention towards her. 

Additionally, he promised that Icestone’s record would still be clean and that he’s adding 10 points to Slytherin for the girl to help him. Unfortunately for the girl, no other pupil was serving detention under Snape but George Weasley himself. 

Oh how Y/N Icestone wished that there was another unfortunate student who messed up in Snape’s class today. 

25 minutes into detention, the Slytherin was starting to get bored. After all, she too wasn’t allowed to use her wand. But hers was kept inside her pocket either way; Kept inside her robes with the ginger’s. 

But still, despite having the privilege of just sitting there and not scrubbing dirty cauldrons, her rage towards the ginger didn’t disappear. No matter what angle you look at it, she still wouldn’t be here if the Gryffindor didn’t mess up. 

The Slytherin huffed in boredom, piercing her cold eyes towards the boy. 

“I hope you’re aware of how much I despise you right now.” Y/N spat, deciding to break the silence inside the classroom. 

“I’m sorry.” The ginger murmured, trying to scrub the cauldron he was holding a little faster. “I’ll try to work faster. There are about 12 cauldrons left.” George informed.

Y/N hatred flowed freely, yes. But no, it couldn’t last for so long. Not when George Weasley makes it so hard for her to hate him. Why was the boy so nice? 

You look happier. She recalled. It was all bullsh-. 

“What happened anyway? Didn’t I line up all the prepared ingredients for you on the table? Didn’t you follow what the book said?” The girl questioned, hoping to at least get a decent explanation from the ginger on why their potion was suddenly messed up. 

The last time George messed up his potion was because of someone else tampering with it. But since the partner system in Snape’s class was administered again, Y/N doubted that it was another work of her housemate because even if George was their target, Y/N would be included in that target because they were...well, partners.

And the girl knew that no one dared to mess with her. 

“I’m sorry.” George repeated. Refusing to look at the Slytherin, his attention was still mainly towards the cauldron. 

This time, Icestone was now really annoyed. “Is ‘I’m sorry’ the only words you know how to speak of?” she grunted, rolling her eyes. 

“Sorry-, I mean, I’ll do better in the future, I promise.” replied George. 

“If there is a future.” The girl murmured, huffing. 

The boy didn’t know what she meant but he decided to just ignore it and get to work.

____________________

“Where have you been?” The Malfoy heir questioned after standing from his seat to walk towards the Icestone heir. 

“Draco? What are you still doing here? It’s late.” The girl pointed out, moving past the boy to sit on one of the leather couches located inside the common room. 

“Hey, I asked you first!” The blonde complained, following the 6th year and sitting beside her. 

By now, the cold room located under the black lake was quiet, seeing that it’s already late at night and there were classes tomorrow. The only people present were Icestone, Malfoy, a few students from year 7 studying, and the prefect who decided to stop by and organize the announcement board. 

Y/N leaned her head on the seat, sighing before closing her eyes. “I was monitoring Professor Snape’s detention class.” She informed with annoyance not towards the blonde, but towards the task. 

“You? Why you?” asked Draco. 

The girl turned to face the curious boy, eyes staring at his confused ones. “Well, he did say that he had some important business to attend to.” 

The blonde furrowed his brows, still not satisfied with the answer. “Okay, but why you? It could have been the prefect or whatever.” 

The girl let out another sigh. “Because stupid George Weasley was my partner in potions and he messed up so Snape decided to include me in his suffering. Thankfully, I didn’t do any scrubbing. My nails would have sucked!” 

��Partner?! I thought you guys worked individually now? Didn’t my father...” 

“Yeah...but apparently, there are too many dunderheads in the class so…” The girl said, rolling her eyes before shrugging. 

“Why’d you wait for me? Didn’t you say you had a test on Defense today?” She asked to divert the topic away.

“Well…” 

“Yes?” Y/N urged, anticipating as she examined the boy’s look. Draco’s usually perfectly styled hair was no more as he wore his uniform trousers and a plain white shirt. 

The Malfoy heir let out a small and shy smile. “I wanted to give you something.” 

Icestone stood straight, both hands held out towards Malfoy as she waited for him to give her whatever it was that he was planning to give. 

“Is it chocolate chip cookies? It better be chocolate chip cookies.” She commented with a grin, her eyes sparkling at the thought of her favorite sweet. 

Draco chuckled at her actions. “Close your eyes.” He instructed before fetching the object inside his pocket. 

Y/N felt the boy’s warm hands go over hers, feeling jewelry being put on her wrist. In the absence of the warm feeling of Draco’s hands, the girl opened her eyes, the grin on her face never faltering. 

Taking a look at her right hand, there it was, clasped on top of the Slytherin’s wrist, a silver chain bracelet with diamonds and emeralds resting beside each other. 

Her eyes made contact with the blonde’s gray ones, shock and slight confusion on her head. “What’s this? I don’t recall that it’s going to be my birthday soon.” She playfully asked. 

Draco grinned, eyes turning towards his own wrist. “Do you like it? It’s a family heirloom but I had it customized to give it a little bit more style that suited both of us. Diamonds for Icestone and Emeralds for Malfoy.” Draco explained as he lifted his own wrist, a similar bracelet placed on top of it. 

“Do I like it? No, I actually love it very much. It’s gorgeous.” Y/N stated, earning an even bigger grin from the blonde. 

“Thank you, Draco.” the girl thanked, engulfing the blonde into a big hug. 

Green apples and peppermint. That’s what Draco Malfoy smelled like. Y/N Icestone thought the scent made her feel nostalgic about her own childhood. After every tutoring session with Mr. Princeton, the fairy that she had back then would bring her some sliced green apples and tea. Specifically, it would be peppermint tea if it was the cold season. 

The girl didn’t know why she suddenly thought of her childhood. Maybe it was because of the way things are now. Maybe it was because she wanted to go back to the old days. Maybe it was because the boy on her arms made her day 100% better or maybe it was a sign. She is yet to find out.

“So, where’s my chocolate chip cookies?” 

____________________

Oh, thank Draco Lucius Malfoy for making THAT one day a little bit better. 

Ever since last week’s potions class and the detention that followed, the days passed by quickly. Sure, there was still a little tension whenever Gryffindor and Slytherin shared classes but slowly and surely, Y/N Icestone was starting to let go of it. 

There’s no point in dwelling in the past. Lixie once told her. Additionally, her hatred doesn’t even last long. Not when the ginger makes it so hard. Hatred will bring you nothing, anyways. 

It’s been two months since the Icestone heir sent that enchanted letter declaring how she was the one playing with the ginger. Meaning, two whole months have passed ever since the controversial couple split up. 

Truthfully, the time the Slytherin spent thinking about where she went wrong, what went wrong, and what lacked in her rarely came anymore. Back then, when she’d be idle and alone, she’d stare at nothing and suddenly cry due to her mean thoughts. Now, Y/N Icestone knew her worth, and turns out, she was too much for George. She was too good for him. Daphne and Draco made sure she knew that. 

However, even if months have passed ever since her relationship with the Gryffindor, both Icestone and Weasley were having a hard time. 

After being convinced that there’d be no way the ex-lovers would communicate seriously for final closure, both parties tried to bury their feelings deep inside them. But putting too much stuff inside a bottle will burst it open. 

“What did you want once it was all over, George?” Icestone quietly spat, trying hard not to divert the other people’s attention towards them. 

Today was the day where the week’s potions class happened. It was annoying for Icestone, really. 

Come to think of it, Y/N Icestone loved potions. She even wanted to practice a career centered in potions someday. But this class? She hates it. She used to love it but now she hates it and ironically, the same reason why she loved it and hated it now was the same - being partners with George Weasley. 

One minute they were quietly working on the contents of their cauldron and the next they were confronting each other about their previous relationship. 

“...” 

The Slytherin sighed, dropping her hands beside her before putting a palm on her forehead. “I’m a fool!” She declared, disappointed laced all over her voice. 

The girl let out another sigh before continuing. “I was so bloody stupid for thinking that you were different. I’m a fool for believing that you love me. I’m such a fool! I was never like this before. How did you make me become such a fool for you?” 

“But did you?” Asked George, expression with a little bit of curiosity and unknown hope as his brown eyes pierced into the girl’s glassy ones. 

“Did I do what?”

It was only then when the boy started to feel a bit embarrassed about the thought of telling the girl in front of him what he wanted to say out loud. Despite being embarrassed, George was never raised to be a coward. He was sorted into Gryffindor after all. 

“Did you love me?”

The girl felt her breath hitch, flustered by the boy’s question. 

Y/N contemplated for a few moments before giving out her answer. 

The question merely required a “yes” or “no” as an answer but oh how it made it seem like it was the hardest question to answer right now. If the girl answered “yes”, then what would that make her? She’d be the gullible girl George Weasley played with! But if she answered “no”, then she’d be lying. Oh, how she hated lying. 

So instead of giving a direct answer, she asked back. “Did you?” 

One side of George’s lips curved, his expression a smirk but mischief absent. “I asked first.” 

He pointed out. “I said, did you?” The Slytherin pressed on, waiting. 

Truthfully, the girl didn’t know what answer she should expect. She didn’t know how to react when she hears the boy’s answer. Is she really ready to know whether the Gryffindor truly loved her or not? 

“Never.” George mumbled, turning his attention back towards their brewing potion. 

Icestone’s jaw dropped, shocked by the ginger’s declaration. Thankfully, her heart didn’t fall into her stomach. No, it didn’t hurt at all. Why? Because the girl knew better. 

“This is going to be the last time you’re ever going to lie in front of my face, Weasley.” She hissed before grabbing a vial to put in their brewed potion and gathering all of her belongings to leave the room. 

“Never did I not.” The Gryffindor continued, sighing nobody but himself. 

____________________

Two weeks after the confrontational outburst regarding Icestone and Weasley’s past relationship, the girl finally became fed up with the sight of George. 

Things just didn't go right for her when it was time for potions class. Mainly because her ex boyfriend was her partner. They just simply couldn��t get along. 

She was tired. For Merlin’s sake, all she wanted was a peaceful year and good grades but the ginger was hindering both of that for her. 

“Professor, can’t I change my partner? Daphne Greengrass and her partner gave me their permission to switch too!” Icestone convinced the potions master. 

The dark eyes of the professor bored itself on the face of the Slytherin. “Can you tell me, Ms. Icestone. Why do you have the need to change your partner? Didn’t I make myself clear at the start of the year that whoever you choose will be permanent?” Answered Snape. 

“I don’t think Weasley is a good partner, sir. Look what happened last time, Professor. I don’t want to fail this class and if he continues to be my partner, he might drag me down with him!” 

Snape’s lips curled into an unamused smirk. “That’s not my problem anymore, Ms. Icestone. You’re smart. You do something about it.”

At least Y/N tried. 

“Listen.” The Slytherin called out, making the Gryffindor face her with a nervous look.

The girl’s arms were crossed, an annoyed but compromising expression plastered all over her face as she stared at the boy’s eyes.

If present Y/N Icestone was to tell past Y/N Icestone how she would be the first one to let her pride down towards George Weasley, she probably wouldn’t believe her. 

But it must be done. Because there is no way that the Y/N Icestone is going to fail potions just because of a boy. 

“If we’re going to force ourselves to work together for Potions, then we have to at least be on speaking terms with each other.” Icestone began, earning a small nod from George.

“We need proper communication, okay?” She continued, earning another nod.

Y/N nodded at George’s acknowledging nod. “So how about we figure this out and start again?” She offered. 

“Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you.” The Gryffindor carefully began, sneaking a look at the girl’s expression before continuing. 

“And, I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining our potions the last weeks and for dragging you to detention with me. I didn’t mean it, I swear! It was just an accident.”  George reasoned, rambling in the middle of his explanation. 

The girl merely nodded to show how she was listening to every word. “So, friends?” asked George as he offered a hand towards the girl. 

Icestone’s cold eyes burned holes at the back of the boy’s hand, contemplating whether to shake it or not. 

Truthfully, the girl’s objective was to make them go in speaking terms again. They didn’t have to be friends, really. They just needed to communicate in potions class so that her grade doesn’t descend even further. 

Also, Icestone was not sure what being friends with George Weasley would bring her. Would it bring her the peace that she wanted? Or would it just mess up her head even more? What would be the consequences of shaking the ginger’s big warm hand? Was she prepared for those consequences? 

But nonetheless, the girl took the risk of compromising. She really wanted the good grades. “Friends.” 

____________________

Turns out being friends with George Weasley didn’t give any harm towards Y/N Icestone. In fact, it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

No, it wasn’t as if their previous midnight escapades at the astronomy tower resumed. It wasn’t as if they’d greet each other whenever they passed by each other. And no, it wasn’t as if they spent some time in the library to study. No, nothing was like that. 

Their interaction remained inside the potion’s classroom. And it was refreshing, really. Y/N Icestone didn’t have to dread attending the class anymore. She finally had proper teamwork with her partner and her grades were starting to stabilize once again.

Additionally, everyone always tried to be an insider towards the girl’s life. And truthfully? The girl didn’t want another set of rumors about herself and the Gryffindor rekindling their love or some other type of rubbish flying around the school. 

“Wanna know a secret?” George suddenly asks, making Y/N steal a quick glance at him. 

“Sure.” She muttered, resuming her work on squeezing the juice out of the beetle for today’s potion work. 

“The first task involves dragons.” The ginger whispered, looking proud at himself. 

“Dragons?! What are they gonna do with them? Fight them?” The girl asked, shocked.

“Yup.”

“But...isn’t that dangerous?” 

George gave her a nod. “It is. The Triwizard tournament involves 3 extremely dangerous tasks anyways.”

Aside from the information about the Triwizard tournament, the Slytherin was rather amazed at how the Gryffindor got the information. 

“You really have a way around things, don’t you? How did you find out anyway?” Asked Y/N. 

“My older brother, Charlie, brought them here. He works with dragons.” 

However, even if Icestone and Weasley’s friendship remained during potions, the Slytherin was not free from her best friend’s concerned interrogation.

“What’s up with you and Weasley?” Daphne suddenly asks one night when the two were preparing to go to bed. 

“We’re friends, I guess.” Answered Y/N. 

The raven-haired girl sat on her bed, moving towards Icestone’s to lay down beside her, facing her. 

“You can’t be just friends with your ex-boyfriend!” She exclaimed, earning a raised brow.

“Why not?”

“Well, because he’s your ex!” Daphne said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Icestone chuckled, placing a hand on top of the Greengrass. “Relax, Daph! It wasn’t like...anything in our previous relationship was real.” 

“But you felt real emotions, didn’t you?”

“Well, that was on me!” Y/N reasoned. “It’s not like I have feelings for him, anymore.”

Instead of getting a verbal response from Daphne, all Y/N received was an unamused look. 

“Okay, maybe I do but I’m trying to move on! Like I said Daphne, what we used to be will never be again. We’re just not...compatible.”

Icestone’s best friend’s lips curled into a smirk. 

“You know, I read something in a magazine before. You can’t be just friends with your ex. Or, you can be friends but that only means that one still likes the other.”

“Well, the one who likes the other is definitely not me.” Y/N denied. 

Daphne gave her a raised brow. “Then it’s Weasley?”

“No! I don’t even know if he really did like me. Even if he did, I like to think that he didn’t. The thought makes it easier to move on. Besides, all those are behind us now. Right now, we’re just friends. Really.” 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, Y/N.”

“I won't, Daph. I won’t.” 

____________________

Meanwhile, inside Fred and George’s shared dorm with their best friend, Lee, who was actually nowhere to be seen. 

“So you’re telling me...you and Icestone are back to being friends?” The older twin tried to confirm, not really impressed with the idea. 

George answered with a nod and a short “yeah.”, earning a raised brow from his twin.  

“Why are you back to being friends? That’s impossible!” Fred exclaimed, shaking his head as he paced around the room.

“Why can’t we be friends? I think being friends is much better than being strangers. It gives us peace, you know? We don’t really fight during potions anymore.” The younger ginger reasoned. 

“Peace?!” Fred repeated. “Be honest with me, Georgie. Are you really at peace? Is your heart at peace? I know you know that you can’t be just friends with your ex!” 

Fred’s words started to sync into George’s mind. Was he really at peace after all the chaos that has happened in the past few months? Was he really at peace after being friends with Y/N Icestone despite still having real and genuine feelings for her? Was he really at peace even if answers to his questions were not being handed to him? Even if there was still no closure between them? 

But then again, being friends with the girl than being enemies was much better, right? At least he still saw her. At least he still talked to her. 

Is that enough?

“You know what, Fred? I can’t be just friends with Y/N Icestone.” The younger ginger declared, standing up from his bed. 

“I want her back, Freddie. But I don’t know what to do. What should I do?” He continued. 

The older ginger gave him a wide grin, patting his back. “Dear, dear, George. How about a plan b?” 

“Plan b?”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, plan b. B that stands for ‘boy I realized that I can’t live without you and that you’re the one that I want so please take me back’” 

“That’s such a long name.” Grunted George, shaking his head from left to right. 

“Oh, no need to be intimidated by it. I can guarantee you that this is 100% going to work.” Fred assured his twin as a million thoughts flooded his mind, one by one constructing a blueprint inside his head to help his brother. 

George sighed, unsure as the look of his worn-out pajamas came into his view. “I don’t know, Fred. The last time you and I made a plan that involved Y/N Icestone, it broke my heart. It broke her heart!”

“That is why we’re gonna mend it back!” Fred said enthusiastically. 

“How?” asked the younger ginger with uncertainty. 

Suddenly, George found himself alone in their dorm after Fred came running out and towards the common room. 

“Angelina!” George heard Fred call. Shaking his head afterward with the thought: how is Angelina going to help with me getting back Y/N Icestone? Fred will probably just flirt with her all throughout. 

“What do you want, Fred?” Huffed Angelina, annoyed at the look of a wide-grinned Fred because it could only mean one thing; mischief. 

“You in?” He asked without any other context, earning a confused Gryffindor chaser. However, the expression on the boy’s face didn’t falter. 

After a few moments of silence, the girl eventually understood what the tall ginger was pertaining to. They did talk about it previously anyway. 

This time, it was Angelina’s turn to call somebody. “Alicia!”  The other Gryffindor chaser stood from her seat, excusing herself from the study group she currently was in before approaching her teammates. “Angie, you called?” 

The dark-skinned girl turned to look at her, her expression the same with the boy; a wide grin. 

“You know that one time when you told me that you owe me because I covered you up from McGonagall for sneaking into the Ravenclaw tower that one night?”

“Yes…”“Well, now’s the time to pay it back.”

Fear started to spread in Alicia Spinnet’s eyes. “I don’t think I like where this is going…” she remarked. 

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

____________________

The next Monday morning, as Y/N Icestone made her way towards the Great hall, alone (for the reason that Daphne just had the habit of waking up much earlier than her to do all her morning rituals before starting the day), the Slytherin noticed how students of different houses passed on information with each other like it was their form of the morning paper. 

Typical. The Slytherin thought. 

But she wouldn’t lie, she too, was curious about what baseless rumors are being passed around this week. Last week, it was how Harry Potter would probably lose the first round in the first task for the Triwizard tournament. Draco even made it worse for the boy who lived by making his goons hand out pins that state “Potter Stinks”. Y/N thought it was childish but boys will be boys. 

What even made her curious is the way people stared at her, looking at her up and down as if she was a piece of meat. 

I mean, she was used to people keeping an eye on her, she did have a good sense of fashion and her presence alone demanded attention, but something was different for today. Why? Because as people gossiped, they were looking at her. 

“What’s everyone gossiping about these days?” Y/N asked her cat, Lixie, who she was carrying in her arms. 

“Would you really like to know?” The cat replied, still feeling sleepy. 

“That’s why I asked, didn’t I?” 

Lixie yawned, kneading his paws. “Seems like Weasley got himself a new girlfriend.” 

“Fred and Angelina became official?!” The girl asked, shocked. 

“No.”

“Ron and...some girl from Gryffindor?” The girl asked, unsure. 

“No!” The cat hissed, clearly getting annoyed at the girl’s obliviousness. “It’s George, Y/N.” 

“Oh.” Icestone let out. 

I guess Lixie’s response gave her the understanding as to why people were staring at her. The gossip was about her ex-boyfriend. 

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel anything negative from the information. It was better than she expected. She didn’t feel blue, hatred, or any remorse at all. Although she felt a little annoyed at how the people still associated her with the Gryffindor. 

“Who is it then?” she pondered. 

No matter who she thought it was, none of them really matched George. But maybe it was someone she didn’t know. After all, there were a lot of students from Gryffindor that she had no idea of. 

“I don’t know and I don’t really care. I heard she’s not even pretty.” Lixie shared, hoping to close the topic so that he may get back to his nap. 

____________________

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table where the center of this week’s school gossip was located, was an annoyed yet slightly scared Alicia Spinnet. 

“I swear to Godric, Fred, if the Slytherins find out about this and make fun of me, I’m gonna tell Angelina to kick you off the team.” The girl grunted as she displayed a balled fist for the older Weasley twin. 

“Too bad she can’t do that ‘cause I’m literally one of the best beaters this team has ever had.” Fred teased, sticking a tongue out. 

Instead of the twins sitting beside each other like they usually do, Fred was seated in front of George who’s back was facing the Slytherin table. Beside George was Alicia while Lee was beside Fred. 

Today’s mission was to earn the attention of the Slytherin in which all George and Alicia had to do was sit beside each other after Lee purposely spread rumors about them dating. Additionally, to know whether the mission was a success or a failure, Lee and Fred were there to monitor everything. 

“Then I’ll tell her your secret!” Alicia challenged, crossing her arms in front of her. 

“What secret?” Fred hesitated, nervousness starting to engulf him. 

“I know you like her, Freddie!” gloated Alicia. 

“Oh yeah? Well, what is there to be afraid of? I’m no coward, I’m a Weasley!” 

“Lee, any news?” George queried after shaking his head at Alicia and Fred’s antics. 

“The snake just entered the hall,” Lee reported, quietly keeping an eye on the walking Slytherin as she took her usual seat on her house’s table. 

“She is seated in front of Malfoy. She’s also beside Greengrass and they’re whispering.” The boy continued. 

____________________

As Y/N took her usual seat beside the 6th year Greengrass, she noticed the girl being more ecstatic compared to every other morning. The girl was glowing, her grin was wide and a shade of pink flooded her cheeks. It seems like she was announcing something very important, seeing the tablemates’ attention focused solely on her.

At least something different was being talked about at Slytherin. Y/N thought, internally smiling at herself.

The Icestone heir observed all the attentive faces, her eyes landing on the blonde boy in front of her, the Italian boy seated next to the blonde, then the quiet boy who always had a book in hand who had the same shade of pink on his cheeks.

A thought entered the mind of the Slytherin, theorizing what her observations meant but deciding to find out to confirm everything. 

Y/N bumped her shoulders to the girl beside her, whispering. “Daphne? What’s going on?”

Greengrass turned to face her, her eyes shining. “Turns out, my parents found me a match! I just received the owl.”

The Icestone mirrored the girl’s smile. “Well, you seem happy about it, Who is it?”

The boy seated next to Blaise Zabini let out a cough, making Greengrass steal a glance before turning back to her best friend. 

“Theodore Nott.” Daphne giggled. 

The smile on Icestone’s face dropped, cold eyes piercing the mentioned boy as she put on her most intimidating look. 

“Alright, Nott. You listen here-” She began.

“Oh, poor boy.” Malfoy murmured, shaking his head with a smirk plastered around his face. 

“Don’t scare him!” Greengrass scolded, smacking her best friend on the arm.

“I’m just kidding!” Icestone snickered before laughing at the boy’s terrified look. 

“Cheer up, Theodore. I’m only joking.” She assured.

“But oh! I’m so happy for you, Daph! You were always waiting for this day to come, weren’t you?” Y/N commented before giving the raven-haired girl a side hug.

“Congrats best friend! We’re both betrothed!” Daphne beamed, returning the hug. 

A series of falling silverware started to fill the Slytherin table, making the two girls pull away at the sound. 

Icestone’s head became flooded with confusion, especially after seeing the shocked look on Draco and his friends’ faces. She slightly tilted her head, trying to figure out what was happening. 

Eyeing all the tables at the Great hall one by one - Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, then Slytherin, everything started to make sense when the majority of her housemates had their jaws dropped, eyes towards her. 

She couldn’t help but let her jaw drop too. 

“Daphne...” she quietly called, trying to avoid everyone else present on the table. 

“Bloody hell! I’m so sorry!” The girl agonized, her previously excited mood being replaced with guilt. 

____________________

“Oh Godric,” Lee happily murmured, face contorting into a smile. 

“What?” Fred, not really monitoring the Slytherin, asked with uncertainty. 

“Look over there!” Lee ordered, eyes never leaving the Icestone heir. 

After following Lee’s line of sight, Fred turned his attention towards his twin, beaming at him. “She looks shocked. I think she saw George! I think it worked!” he chimed with triumph. 

George felt his lips curling into a wide smile.

____________________

Later that day, after Y/N’s last class with Professor McGonagall for transfiguration was dismissed, just before the girl headed back towards the dungeons, her arm was grabbed and she was pulled into an empty hallway. 

Truthfully, the Slytherin felt like everything was a blur ever since the day started. Especially after breakfast at the Great hall. 

Therefore, she wasn’t really focused on everything that was around her, causing her to grab her wand from her robes and point it at the intruder. 

“Relax! It’s just me.” George assured, raising both his hands into a surrendering position. 

Icestone looked at the boy up and down, keeping her wand away before crossing her arms. 

“What do you want?” She mused, tapping her feet impatiently.  

The tall Gryffindor furrowed his brows, staring down at the Slytherin. “Why are you so cranky today?” He pondered before shaking his head. 

Y/N only gave him a grunt, hissing another “hurry up!” which made George grab the girl’s hand, placing a bag on top of it. 

Icestone’s icy orbs stared at the bag. “What’s this?”

“Chocolate chip cookies, your favorite. To cheer you up, somehow,” replied George with a small smile plastered on his face.

George knew why the girl was so out of mood today. It was because she was jealous after rumors about him and Alicia started to spread around the school! And he planned on making her feel better by doing some good deeds. What more deed could be better than gifting the Slytherin her favorite sweets? 

The Slytherin’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’re sure these aren’t raisins?” She teased.

“Hey! That was one time!”

Saving from turning the conversation into an awkward one, the girl muttered a quick “Thanks.” 

“Good thing your girlfriend doesn’t get mad jealous when you do this kind of stuff with other girls.” Y/N mindlessly added, internally slapping herself at the comment. 

She didn’t mean to let those sentences out, Y/N Icestone swears! It was at the tip of her tongue but she usually would’ve swallowed everything in. She didn’t know why words started to flow out of her mouth without any second thoughts. 

“Girlfriend?” The Gryffindor repeated, feeling ecstatic on the inside. 

George felt like he just won the lottery. Y/N’s statement just confirmed his theory of her being jealous. 

“Is she not? People were talking about it though?” The Slytherin quipped, raising a brow. 

George just gave a shrug for an answer. 

____________________

“You handed her cookies! What is she gonna think now, you stupid git!” Fred grunted, smacking his twin’s arm. 

“She thought Alicia was my girlfriend! How fun is that?” replied George. 

The older ginger shook his head in disbelief. “Sure, she thought that Alicia was your girlfriend but what kind of boyfriend will she think you’ll be? A boyfriend who goes out of their way to give gifts to their exes?!” 

“Oh, Godric! You’re right! That was a stupid move” George agonized, massaging his temples.  

Fred gave him a pat on the back, comforting him “It’s fine, Georgie. You’ll do better next time. ”

“If there is a next time.” 

“No-” 

The painting of the fat lady, which actually served as an entrance towards the Gryffindor common room, suddenly bursts open with an out-of-breath Ron Weasley who looked like he just came running away from a wild elephant together with his best friend, Harry Potter.

At their little brother’s disheveled appearance, the Weasley twins put their conversation to a halt as their attention was directed towards him. 

“You would not know what I just heard at Divination class earlier!” Ron gushed, calling over Hermione and Ginny to join in their little circle for him to deliver the information he knew. 

“What?” Hermione grunted, annoyed at the ginger for ruining her reading session as well as the thought of the stupid class.

“So you know how Gryffindor and Slytherin are always conveniently in the same class, right?” breathed Ron. 

“Of course...they pair us with those snakes as if we’re actually going to get along…” Fred commented, shaking his head.

The 4th year Weasley ignored his brother’s remark and continued on. “Well, when me and Harry entered the room, Malfoy and his lot were talking and it looked serious.” 

Ginny raised a brow towards his brother. “So, being the nosy boy you are, you eavesdropped?” She interrogated, displeased. 

“Ginny, it looked important. I had to know because what if one of us is involved? What if they’re planning another thing that could hurt George?” Ron reasoned before raising his right hand to swat the air. 

“But anyway, I heard Zabini scolding Malfoy. I know, hard to believe right? But he said something like the entirety of the Slytherin house finding out Malfoy’s most important secret.” 

All the people included in their little bubble gave a small nod, acknowledging the young Weasley, getting more and more curious. 

“And?” George pressed on, making Ron look directly into his eyes. 

“I heard what the secret was!” He rejoiced, being proud of himself. 

“They really should have kept their voices lower.” He added. 

“Just get to the point, Ronald!” Exclaimed Hermione, clearly getting annoyed by the lack of information.

“Y/N Icestone is betrothed to Draco Malfoy.” 

End of Chapter 9

____________________

Taglist:  @abrunettefangirlnerd @gloryekaterina​ @lilypad-55449​ @memekingofwwiii @leovaldez37 @bellaiscool​ @sukunas-cult-leader​ @fandom-garbage​ @youcantbesirius​ @rainmaybank​

[catchmewiddershins]

if it’s not too much trouble can i request a pt. 2 to the ‘overhearing their crush talking about them’ w/ atsumu, tendou, and bokuto ?

Haikyuu Characters Overhearing their crush talking about them - pt 2:

Includes Atsumu, Tendou and Bokuto! - These ones have a smidge more angst than the first ones but I love it! Thank you for the request, it was loads of fun! 💗 - Feel free to request more parts!

Miya Atsumu:

The stadium was filled with shouts, screams and music. Atsumu stood on the court, his hands feeling the familiar shape of the ball, with its blue and yellow stripes and perfect bounce. He lifted his hand and clenched his fist, the echoes of cheers immediately ceased. He could still hear the shouts of those cheering the other teams, those on the courts near him, but his court was silent. Then, from behind the barrier closest to the court, he heard a condescending whisper.

“Ugh, he’s so pretentious. Who does he think he is, silencing the crowd like that? People aren’t going to pander to him forever, you know, he’s got to grow up someday.”

Atsumu felt his cheeks heat in anger, and a little bit of embarrassment. He knew how his actions came across; arrogant, pathetic, rude, he’s heard them all, but it still hurt a little each time.

“Hey!” Another whisper sliced through the air, “I’d like to see you make a better serve! He’s great at what he does and you shouldn’t be rude about it!” He caught a glimpse of you, the speaker, from the corner of his eye, but then the whistle blew and he had to make his serve.

A few rotations later, he was back in serving position, the previous instance almost gone from his mind. 

“I still think it’s ridiculous!” The first voice said. His shoulders drooped a little, but then he heard your voice again, sharp as a knife.

“Look, if it bothers you, then leave. Maybe it isn’t a habit he can carry into professional volleyball, so what? He’s not an olympic volleyball player, he’s a teenager, like us, and you can leave it! He’s probably working on the habit and then, in a few years, he’ll be making the best serves you’ve ever seen! You wouldn’t be able to do anything a 10th as good with all of the focus in the world! Try focusing on a test with a crowd of people screaming and see how you do!” You were angry, passionate, and on his behalf! He recognised your voice, you who he’d liked for a few months; you’d given some presentation with him for a class once, and he thought that you were nice... and not bad to look at, not at all. He bounced the ball a few times and then-

“You’re only saying that because you like him! You’d defend him if he was trialled for murder!” He stopped dead, you? Liked him? No way was that possible, you barely knew who he was! Or at least... he thought so.

“So what if I like him? Doesn’t make me weird for having a shred of respect!”

With an ear-splitting grin, he hit a service ace, and, after the match, he winked and waved at you, before walking over to ask for your number.

Satori Tendou:

Tendou was on his way to get his copy of Shonen Jump back from Ushiwaka! His friend had borrowed it again, and Tendou had had to let him have an extra week with it so that he could read and re-read all of the adverts. He loved his friend, he really did, but was it really necessary to read every single ad? Regardless, he was skipping through the corridors, humming a little tune to himself about his lunch, and bears, and silly, emotionally stunted friends who like reading adverts for feminine hair-care. However, he screeched to a sudden halt before turning the corner, having heard his name.

“Have you seen that middle blocker though? Yeah, the one with the red hair, Tendou, wasn’t it? He’s a little creepy, don’t you think? He’s got this look... like he knows all of your secrets and is plotting to do something to you.” Tendou felt his heart sink slightly, he knew that people thought he was scary, he’d dealt with it since he was little - the title of ‘Guess Monster’ wasn’t just due to his blocking prowess. But then, then then then! He heard your voice! He’d always loved your voice, he felt that he could listen to it forever, the way your tone rose and fell, the way you pronounced words. He’d fallen for you since the day you’d been dragged with the rest of the school to one of their matches, and he’d seen your face break out in delight when he pulled off a spectacular block. It was the best feeling in the world! He often got paired with you in one of your lessons, and made every excuse to let you do all the talking, just to sit there and listen.

“I don’t think he’s creepy... I think he’s wonderful.”

“What you like him? Don’t tell me you have a thing for him! That’s so weird!” It never hurt any less, hearing that.

“I do like him! He’s adorable and a great blocker and really smart! He always knows how I’m feeling in class and is always able to cheer me up with little jokes or songs!”

And with that, Tendou’s face turned as red as his hair. You liked him! You liked him, you liked him! You liked him! Back! He waited for you to leave, stalking off in a different direction to the others, before letting out a crow of joy. As he skipped, with even more vigour, down to where Ushiwaka was, he thought about how to confess, and about how he had to tell his best friend everything.

Bokuto Koutarou:

Here he was again, Nationals! Akaashi’s presence was steady at his side and the air smelt of sweat, effort and air salonpas. He would have had energy for days! But... he’d found out that his team weren’t playing on the main courts and he couldn’t help but feel a little upset. He’d wanted to be where more people could watch, where the action was! Not only for fun, although that was a large part of it, but because him being noticed meant that his team would get noticed! And Bokuto’s team was amazing! They deserved all of the attention and recognition that they could get, and everyone needed to watch them! He was aware that people thought that he was childish, immature... annoying... underwhelming, overrated. He got hurt by that a lot, actually... but he always bounced back! It was just that today, he wasn’t feeling his best, they’d only narrowly won the match before and he had the slight sense that he was letting his team down.

He wondered if you’d even bother to watch him? You, who he’d had a crush on for ages, you who looked glorious and was wonderful and smart and everything that Bokuto didn’t think he was... You saw each other every morning, and you’d unfailingly ask him about practice. He thought, maybe you were just being nice, didn’t care about him at all. His thoughts were spiralling, and he could feel the worried glances from his teammates, pitying him, probably, he was so useless, always dragging them down and now they don’t get to be seen because he wasn’t noticeable enough and-

“Come on! We’re going to miss it!” You?

“Why are we even here? You’re not even into sport.” You. You were sprinting frantically down the corridor, dragging a friend behind you.

“No no, you don’t understand! We have to watch our school play, remember? Fukurodani! I’ve been telling you about this all month! We were here yesterday!”

“Yeah but... why? Run it past me again, I’ve forgotten.”

“UGH!” He almost laughed, you were so wonderful when you were passionate, “Because I need to watch their ace play! Bokuto! The one I’ve been ranting about! With his amazing spikes and funny personality and amazing muscles and!-”

“Woah, okay! I get it! You’ve got a ginormous crush on the volleyball ace and want to see him play as much as possible to try and get him to notice you, sheesh!”

“Don’t laugh at my pain! I need him to notice meeeeee...” Your voice trailed off as you ran, and Bokuto’s heart swelled like a balloon. You thought he was great! You thought he was funny and attractive and great at volleyball! You really were the best! He resolved to confess to you immediately after the match, but first? They had to win. He spun around to face his team, beaming from ear to ear.

“HEY HEY HEY EVERYONE! Let’s smash this thing!”

And he strode onto the court with a resounding cheer from his team, knowing that he’d win, for you.

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

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[talatomaz]

crossing paths pt.i | diana prince x lance!reader

a/n: reader has the powers of telekinesis. since this was going to be really long, i decided to split it into two parts. also this may be slightly canon divergent since i’ve not watched flash in a long time.

warnings: mentions of fighting, death

word count: 1.9k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

reader is sara & laurel’s younger sister who works with team flash. after her and cisco’s experiment goes sideways, she finds herself trapped on an unknown earth not unlike her own

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“You’re absolutely sure this will work, Cisco?”

You asked, tying your hair up into a ponytail whilst the mechanical genius typed on his computer; the keys clacking under his fingertips.

“Yes. 100%. Well, more like 99%. Okay, if we’re being truly honest, then 93%.”

Cisco paused after each figure before turning his head to face you.

“Cisco-“

You started before the former interrupted, “Trust me, y/n. You’ll be fine. You just need to travel there, have a look around and then come straight back. We’ve done it so many times before.”

You and Cisco had been working on modifying the extrapolator your team often used to travel between different Earths. Or rather, you used to use them before the rebirth of the universe following Oliver’s sacrifice.

You cleared your throat at the thought of the vigilante. Having grown up with him and he having dated both of your older sisters meant that he was practically like your brother. And you were broken when you’d lost him so you’d left Team Arrow and came to work with Barry and his team instead.

Working with Team Flash was...different, to say the least. But having known them for several years, you got on well with them all, especially Cisco and Iris.

However, this project you were working on was only known to you and Cisco; the others blissfully unaware, mainly because the two of you knew that if you told them, they’d guilt you into stopping your experiment.

You were the one who had gone to Cisco with the idea in the first place.

After the Crisis, many of you had assumed that everyone solely remained on one Earth however you believed that the multiverse still existed, but that it’d be much harder to access. Cisco had agreed to help you but had explained that he wouldn’t come with you due to his relinquished powers.

So here you were, getting ready to try out the extrapolator in order to confirm or disprove your theory that the multiverse still existed.

“Technically, we haven’t, Cisco. New Earth remember?”

“That’s just semantics.”

“Cisco, if this doesn’t work, you better be ready to explain to my ex-assassin of a sister what happened to me.”

You laughed as his face dropped at the thought of that conversation.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve done all the necessary calculations and made a few needed modifications, including a GPS chip. It’ll work, y/n. Here, take your mask. Just in case.”

He added as an afterthought, handing you the sleek black mask he had designed to disguise your identity.

You put the mask in your jacket and took a deep breath, readying yourself. Holding the extrapolator, you pressed the small button and a familiar portal opened in front of you; variations of colours swirling around the breach.

You looked back at Cisco and feigned seriousness, “If I die, I’m going to kill you.”

His eyes widened making you smile, “Be safe, Cisco. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you then stepped into the inter-dimensional breach.

***

“Okay, hopefully this worked.”

The breach closed behind you as you stepped into an alley; the several dumpsters providing some form of protection from anyone who may have seen you.

Wherever you were, it was bright and sunny.

Pocketing the extrapolator, you stepped out of the alley and walked down the paved sidewalk, listening for any indications of where you were from passersby.

You continued walking until you came across a newsstand that looked fairly out of place in this seemingly technological environment.

You stopped, peering at the front cover of one of the magazines.

The words “DAILY PLANET” were printed on the top of the paper. You reached down and picked it up, flicking through the pages, pausing when you saw a familiar name on the byline.

Folding the paper back into its original state, you placed it back on the stand, flashing a kind but brief smile to the newsagent who looked at you with intrigue.

Although you didn’t know what Earth you were on, at least you knew you were in Metropolis.

A place you had visited several times since the rebirth of the universe.

A place that, despite whatever Earth, was always home to one Clark Kent, better known as Superman.

You pondered in your thoughts for a little while longer before deciding to venture out and explore the city, eager to find any similarities or differences between your Earth and this one.

You ended up in a museum.

You weren’t sure exactly how you’d gotten there, having followed wherever your feet had taken you but, nevertheless, you were here.

Whilst you were never a huge fan of museums, you’d often found yourself being dragged to them by Laurel when you were younger.

There was something about them that she’d loved.

She tried explaining it to you once.

How the beauty of art told a story or something.

You didn’t really pay much attention and who could have blamed you? You were only 10 years old. You’d rather be out playing or hanging out with your friends than spending your Saturday afternoon in a stuffy old museum.

But this place was anything but.

In truth, you knew that you sought solace in places like these during times of distress or uncertainty.

It gave you a chance to feel closer to your sister after the world had cruelly taken her away from you. Even on another Earth, you still found peace and felt her presence next to you.

You sighed, your shoulders sagging before tensing once more, feeling someone behind you.

You never used to be so on edge.

When you were younger, you lived such a care free life, never feeling any need to be concerned or cautious.

But that had changed quickly.

Soon you had been thrust into the vigilante life, more determined than ever to become like your sisters and help them fight crime.

In fact, you had learned to fight from a reluctant Sara.

After several arguments about the danger of her world, she’d come to accept that there was no changing your mind and had decided that if you were going to purposely put yourself in harm’s way, you needed to be prepared. She had put you through vigorous training which Oliver soon picked up with you after Sara had been recruited to form the Legends.

So, suffice it to say, you were well-versed in the forms of self-defence and were constantly on the lookout for any form of danger.

And being on a different Earth certainly warranted your caution.

“How are you liking our exhibit?”

A feminine voice said, her voice thick with an accent you couldn’t distinguish.

Turning with a smile, you spoke, “It’s beautiful. I never used to appreciate art but now I find myself lost in the works of Rembrandt or Claude Monet.”

“Ah yes. They were most excellent artists.”

You blinked, not at her words but at her face.

The woman who stood before you was, quite simply put, the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life.

Realising you were staring, you cleared your throat, “Yes, I agree.”

You opened your mouth to say something else - what, you weren’t sure of - when you closed it again having spotted a man who’d just entered the room which held the small exhibit.

The figure wore a black cap, obstructing his face, his eyes darting around before landing on another male situated in one of the corners of the room. The latter gave him a brief nod which the other returned. Discreetly glancing at them, you noticed familiar bulges beneath their shirt, surely holding a gun.

“Okay, don’t be alarmed but I think this place is about to get robbed.” You said in a hushed whisper, faking interest in another piece of art beside you.

You noted the small but discernible flicker in the woman’s eyes, her name still unknown to you.

“How-“

“Let’s just say I’m perceptive. Do me a favour and take out your phone.”

You waited until the brunette had followed your instructions.

“Pretend to be talking to someone and walk out the room. They’re not going to do anything until you’re gone because they don’t want to run the risk of you warning someone.”

She nodded at your words and proceeded to carry out your plan.

You fought the look of surprise and confusion that surely would’ve shown on your face at the lack of fear on hers. Instead, her eyes seemed to hold a look of determination.

Determined to do what, you weren’t sure of.

Once she had left, your suspicions were confirmed when the two men simultaneously took out their guns and shouted.

“Everybody down on the ground. Now!”

Screams and shouts were let out by the small group of citizens in the room, replacing the quiet bustle of hushed whispers that had previously filled the air.

As everyone immediately fell to the ground, you slid down the wall until you were in an upright position.

You watched as they removed several of the smaller pieces of art, carefully placing them in a duffel bag. You waited until they grew closer to you before standing up causing both of their guns to be aimed at you.

“Sit back down or you’ll get a bullet in your pretty little head.”

They both moved to stand in front of you, blocking you from the view of the security cameras and the people behind them. Using your powers, you pulled the guns toward you and flung them to the far side of the room.

You took advantage of their momentary confusion and kicked both of them. One of them grabbed you from behind, his tight grip trapping your arms. You raised your legs and caged the other’s neck between them.

Twisting your legs, you threw him to the ground and then drew yourself closer into your captor’s arms, lifting off the ground for a brief second before throwing him over your shoulders and onto the ground beside the other intruder.

“Run!”

You yelled to the handful of citizens who watched you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Then you felt yourself being pushed against the marble ground as one of the men jumped on top of you, his weight crushing your small figure.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch.” He snarled against your ear.

You threw your head back, smirking when you heard the grunt of pain and several curses falling from the man’s lips.

You raised your hands and with it, the other man floated in the air. With a wave of your wrist, he went crashing into his friend and they slumped into a corner.

You quickly picked yourself up and ran out of the museum’s back exit, knowing you had to avoid the police at all costs.

Reaching an abandoned alley, similar to the one you first arrived in, you took out the inter-dimensional extrapolator, deciding it was way too dangerous for you to remain here any longer.

Pressing the device, you expected to see a breach form but to your shock, there was none. Inspecting the device, you saw that it had been broken, more than likely from when you’d been thrown against the ground by the robbers.

You muttered a foul curse before calming yourself.

Think, y/n. Think.

Your ears perked up at the familiar whistle and rattle of train tracks.

Okay, you knew what to do next.

You needed to go home.

Part 2 ->

[mysmegrace]

Hii! Could I request “why is it so hard for you to believe me?” “I love you” prompts with Jumin, Zen and Saeran? Thank you!

hello~ omg anon you are giving me too much fun with these prompts lmao. i’ve decided to split them up in a fanfic style. i’ll post jumin’s here, then later zen’s and saeran’s. i’ll leave the links to them here once they become released but i’ll also have the links in my masterlist. have a great day!

summary: jumin comes across a text notification that flashes on mc’s phone. being curious, he reads it. things don’t add up to him and he accuses mc of cheating. mc is heartbroken, as the text was nothing more than a friendly conversation between cousins. it’s only until later does jumin realize his mistake.

topics / tw: cheating, angst, pregnancy, death, wrongfully accused individuals, car accidents, drunk driving, definitely not spoiler free. 

words: 5.3k

*reminder: you can check out my masterlist to see which requests i am currently working on!*

just wanna put out there that the title is a lyric from shin yong woo’s (jumin’s VA) song. i plan to title saeran’s fic and zen’s fic the same way, just with different songs. here’s a link to the song if you’re interested.

Sad Endings Stay Sad

---

october 5th marked the birth of one of south koreas brilliant billionaires. and of course, there were ups and downs to that kind of life. living the rich lifestyle while working your life away for your young years. however, birthdays were supposed to be exemptions for the hectic ways of that life for just a day.

jumins birthdays consisted of four main concepts. birthday presents from people he’s only spoken to once, being met with “happy birthdays” whenever you turned the corner, parties being held in his honor (four-to be exact), and his favourite part, time spent with you and elizabeth the third.

he could endure the day as long as you were at home, safe and secure, waiting patiently for his return. knowing that made his struggles a little more bearable. he had all he could’ve asked for in his possession, things money can’t buy.

hence why he always asked you to refrain from giving him birthday gifts. he already had everything he needed, he could buy anything should he desire it, they took up unnecessary space, and they were pointless to him.

so when he arrived home that night to pick you up alongside driver kim in order to attend the han family birthday dinner, the look of confusion on his face once he laid his eyes upon the birthday gift left for him on the kitchen table was understandable. 

had you forgotten his wishes, or were you simply teasing him? he knew his wife liked to play around from time to time. perhaps this was just another one of your silly “i love you” gifts. he decided to give you the pleasure of watching him open your gift, seeing your face light up playfully as he received a small plushie or tiny confetti canon. 

little to his knowledge, you had planned something different to gift him. something incredibly more significant that you both were expecting to happen in the near future. after five years of marriage, you were excited to be sharing this news with him.

facing the mirror, you had heard the door open and close, signaling his arrival. meanwhile you were still getting ready for the dinner. so you allowed him a couple minutes to himself, taking in the foreign object greeting him.

with the last flick of mascara, you reached for the door handle, preparing how to answer the questions he was bound to ask. walking out to greet your husband as you weakly closed the door behind you, he turned his head to the sound of your heels meeting with the floor. 

giving you his typical smile, the one that made you want to melt into the expensive floor tiles, he walked to greet you as you made your entrance in the living room. his beautiful wife was always a wonderful sight to see at home.

regardless, he knew you both had a place to be and he needed to hurry the conversation up. the last thing he wanted to be was late. so he questions,

“love, i thought i told you not to gift me anything this year. having you with me is more than enough.”

a modest giggle left your lips, those beautiful lips he would kiss every morning before work. you made a small gesture to the present, telling him to open it. yet as he picked the gift up, you noticed you didn’t have the birthday card on you. you couldn’t have a birthday gift without a birthday card. everything had to be perfect. 

after all, it wasn’t everyday that you would announce you were expanding your small family. so you quickly exclaimed, “one second, i forgot something!”. he stopped, taken aback but respecting your wishes. he watched as you ran off to the bedroom, leaving your phone on the table.

as you were off scrambling through your shared drawers, he was examining his surroundings to pass time. the clock seemed to be forward by five seconds...strange. he’d deal with that later. yet suddenly the ping of your phone caught his attention.

you had a text message. he bent forward ever so slightly to read the contents of the text, not daring the move the phone from his original spot. you two trusted each other, no way would he consider this a branch of your privacy. despite that, he felt the need to read the previous messages with this person after reading what was shown on your scree.

he could feel his heart drop as he read, “okay see you then, love you”. he had never heard of this man you were texting with, but why was he texting you using that language? the language of a lover that should be reserved to coming from him towards you, not from anyone else.

and from the looks of things, you had made plans to meet this man beforehand. you had never made any mention of him yet you made plans with him? his heart was racing, he wasn’t sure if it would remain in his chest at this rate.

swiping up to investigate further, he was met with your password screen. thinking nothing of it, he inputs your password. the same one you had for years and shared with him, even when you changed it. however this time he was met with an innocent password notification.

surely this was a mis-input on his end. re-entering your password with a slower, more accurate, finger aim. the outcome was no different, “incorrect password”. why had you changed your password and why hadn’t you told him?

things were not adding up. all rational thoughts were leaving his mind as everything he had never wanted to happen might have been happening right in front of his eyes. 

meanwhile you were continuing to search for the card in the bedroom, you couldn't find it anywhere. yet your attention directed to the hallway, hearing the voice of driver kim throughout the house, yelling “you’re going to be late, hurry”.

crap, you thought. things would have to wait, on your side and jumin’s. he had no time to question you about the text, silently deciding to recluse into a reserved state for the rest of the evening, from everyone, including you.

walking out of the bedroom, you met jumin in the hallway as he picked up the umbrella sitting beside the door to shield the two of you from the downpour of rain outside. opening the door, he left, barely leaving it open for you. that was nothing like jumin. perhaps he had rushed because of the time, you thought.

through a slow car ride, you felt an overwhelming sense of awkwardness. he wasn’t acknowledging your presence, which was quite unlike him. his face just remained with the same blank expression facing forward. 

this behaviour continued all throughout dinner. only talking when expected to, turning his shoulder everytime you walked towards him, and disregarding any words you spoke to him. you knew this man like the back of your hand, there was 100% something bothering him.

what took a prick to your heart, however, was how he hadn’t told you what was on his mind yet. you understood the concept of privacy, but you had promised each other to always confide in the other through anything, so why was this time different?

who knew two hours could feel like two days as you waited for the event to come to an end. that way, you could finally confront him about the situation. it was killing you. 

in the corner of your eye, you watched as a few of the associates started to clear up the area. you could feel the breath you weren’t aware of holding release as you began thinking about the next course of action. knowing your love, he doesn’t make sense of things unless they’re said blatantly. 

finishing up with respectful goodbyes, jumin lightly signified for you to join his leave. boarding the car, nothing was changed since the car ride to the event. just the presence of jumin, driver kim, and yourself. now you had to encourage yourself to sit through another awkward car ride with your anxiety consuming you.

you found yourself at a slight ease once driver kim had pulled up to the home you and jumin shared. it wasn’t long before you found yourself alone with jumin in the comfort of the familiar walls. just as you began to get your words out, you were interrupted by your husbands deeper tone of voice.

“explain the text on your phone from earlier” he said, almost as if he were making a statement. the feeling of your jaw slightly dropping didn’t catch your attention, but it caught jumins. taken aback, you start rethinking all the texts you had received from that day. however you couldn’t come up with any results that would warrant his question being asked.

taking notice of your face, he continues, obviously not expecting a response from you anytime soon, saying “i saw the text you received earlier from a male saying he’d see you soon, even referring to you as love, what is that about?”

you couldn’t reply. you didn’t know what to say. were you really being accused of cheating right now? did his trust for you fall that much..? yet you hadn’t seen such a text. truth be told, you haven't even looked at your phone since you left to grab the card. 

your thoughts were suddenly interrupted, hearing “not to mention that you’ve changed your password to your phone and haven’t told me. haven’t we agree to rely this information to each other?”. at this point, you weren’t sure if you were in shock or dreaming. surely this wasn’t real, you would never cheat on him. the only texts that were kind of similar to what he said to have seen were the plans to meet up with your friend and close cousin.

other than that, nothing he was saying was making sense. yet how come you couldn’t respond..? you didn’t want to hurt him, but you couldn’t let him go on another minute thinking you had cheated. with your phone now in the bedroom, it wasn’t like you could walk away to check what he was speaking of from the living room.

“are you cheating on me?” he asked, clearly not wanting to waste anymore time before deciding his next move. mustering up the little willpower you had left, you mumbled back “no”, leaving space to continue, but not knowing what to continue with.

a sign escaped his lips, before they parted to speak, “you’re not very convincing. you have nothing to say for the text message and sudden password change, this is very unlike the mc i know, or used to know.” those last few words sparked something in you.

perhaps it was because of the shock of the situation or the emotional imbalance you were currently dealing with, but you started to fill with many negative emotions, more so than before. betrayal, anger, and defeat were beginning to run rampant. you knew that you could not prove your innocence to jumin in this state.

giving it a go, you start to confront his accusations, saying “i don’t know what you’re talking about. i have never, and will never, cheat on you. why don’t you believe me? i love you! how could you think so little of me? are you that insecure to think every man i talk to is someone i’m trying to persue?”

oh no, you thought. you hadn’t meant to touch on his insecurities like that. you let them slip in a fit of hurt, but didn’t think about what you were saying in detail. you felt incredibly guilty as soon as the words jumped out. maybe, a night apart would be good to calm the both of you down and think rationally. 

therefore, you followed up saying “i’m sorry, i’m going to leave for now, i can’t do this tonight”. quickly looking down as to not be swayed by any expression he makes, you nearly run to the bedroom.

pulling out the backpack you had since you were 18, you unzipped it to prepare for everything. you would only take essentials, such as your phone and some cash you had earned on your own, securing the items before turning the door.

walking out to the hall, you saw from the corner of your eye how jumin had left, leaving the area empty. yet one thing caught your eye, that being the present you had left from earlier.

not thinking about it much, you ran to grab it, shoving it in your bag as you left through the front door. in your unusual luck, no security guards were around. giving you the perfect chance to left without bringing yourself anu attention.

reaching the outdoors, you begin walking. to where, you haven’t decided yet. after all, you had a lot to think about. refocusing your mind after a few disappointing seconds, you pulled out your phone, being met with the lockscreen of jumin and elizabeth the third taking a nap together.

oh how things have changed in such a short time. looking through your notifications, a message from you cousin had crossed your eyes. “see you then, love you” it read. oh god, how would you explain that to jumin tomorrow.

 you hadn’t introduced him to your cousin yet, mainly because he lived half way across the world. the two of you had always been close however, being there for each other when your immediate families weren’t. saying “i love you” was normal, because as children the only time you would hear those words were from each other.

never have you even thought that it could be interpreted as a romantic relationship. for many reasons, the biggest being that you were biologically related and he didn’t have a romantic attraction towards women.

thinking about it, you could understand how jumin could have taken it. as for the password, you had only changed it because of the employee who had taken your phone without your knowledge correctly guessed the password, attempting to become closer with the chairman. 

coming back to your senses, you find yourself looking down the empty road with only the streetlights and moon providing you any sense of sight in the late night. you began looking for hotels nearby, coming across an affordable one for the night.

only problem being that it was 30 minutes away by car, and in your tired state you were not willingly to walk for so long. so off to booking a cab you went. finding the cheapest option, saving some money for anything you may need later, you promptly requested a ride. 

with the cab puling up 10 minutes later, you began your journey to your  residence for the night. the wind hitting your face from the open window as you were riding provided you with serenity, reminding you that you were still living in this moment.

as the minutes passed, you started noticing some questionable things about the driver. sure you weren’t an expert driver, but you were fairly certain cars weren’t supposed to be driving over the white line dividing the lanes. you weren’t oblivious to the cars unnecessary fast speed either. was this driver okay, you thought.

as time went on, you could only feel the car getting faster and faster. you tried getting the drivers attention, but to no avail. now they were driving completely in the opposite lane. only to switch over, then back, then over, then back.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t scared. you could feel your heart racing, almost like it were about to jump out of your chest, with your gut telling you something horrible was about to happen.

everything happened so fast. half way through the trip, a car driving towards the vehicle as the driver was driving in the wrong lane again, crashed into you head on. you started grabbing onto random things in the car as they flew around, just now noticing the several empty vodka bottles in the trunk. you felt yourself spinning inside the car uncontrollably.

glass had pierced through several parts of your body, deriving from the mirrors. with no warning, the car had fallen off the road, down through the wooded hill on the side.

with the driver now passed out on the stirring wheel, you were at a lost on what to do. the only option was to relax and pray you’d survive. suddenly, you shot forward in your seat as the car collided with one of the many trees. you felt a piercing pain throughout your body, yet your brain had no time to reregister where the pain was coming from as you passed out with your head on the drivers seat.

yet jumin was completely unaware of this. he had walked off to pour a glass of wine, and saw that you left not long after.

being left alone was nothing unfamiliar to him, but it became an extremely unpleasant circumstance after he had formed a relationship to you. he always thought you would be there with him 24/7, but now that wasn’t the case.

he couldn’t wrap his head around the events that just took place. of course he trusted you, but he couldn’t ignore the text. needing clarification as soon as possible, he contacted seven.

knowing his hacking abilities, he could only rely on him to give him peace of mind. he knew it wasn’t right, but he felt the circumstance was understandable enough. hence why he asked seven to hack into mc’s phone without giving him too much detail.

seven hesitantly agreed, it was her husband after all. if there were any affairs going on, though he doubted it, he deserved to know. getting to work, jumin got his results quickly. he was sent dozens of screenshots containing the conversation between her and this man. 

it was only an easy job for seven, hacking into phones was nothing for the genius. while reading through the text messages, jumin became overwhelmed with guilt.

he read as they reminisced over their childhoods, talked about what the future held, and even planning to meet each others significant others. he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. had he really driven her away because he assumed the worst of her?

the sooner he could find where she was staying, the better. apologizing was his first priority, he would answer to his work later. being wrecked with remorse, jumin sat facing the window overlooking the city, preparing for the worst as he became increasingly more drunk as time went on.

he didn’t want to live a life away from his soulmate because of one stupid mistake. the years you had spent together meant too much to be thrown away so effortlessly. calling seven back, he asked for him to track you down.

there were many ways he could go about this. he could track her phone, follow cctv footage, or go looking around himself. whichever way he choose, jumin would give him the resources possible to do so. it made his heart break thinking how you might be spending the night alone, crying to your pillow instead of him.

upon tracking your phone, as seven had chosen to do, he had to do a double take. things weren’t adding up. were you sleeping down a hill? deciding to get clarification before taking the wrong moves, he decides to follow you along cctv footage as well.

that way, he’d be able to directly see what you were up to. following along carefully, everything seemed normal. well, as normal as the situation could get. however it didn’t take him long to catch onto the drivers horrible driving. just like you had thought, he knew something bad was going to happen.

as time went on, he watched in horror as he witnessed the car getting hit, spinning off the road, smashing the windows, and ending up in the ditch as it aggressively hit a tree in the wooded area. seven hasn’t been speechless many times in his life, but he couldn’t say anything at this moment in time.

after a minute of sitting with his face close up to the monitor, he recollects himself as he dials jumins number. the reality of the situation kicks in. how would he be able to tell him that his wife had gotten in a serious car accident? one that definitely killed the driver, there would be no way in hell they would’ve survived the impact.

“jumin, she got into a car accident. she’s besides the road outside of the city. we need to call somebody” he said, his voice slightly raising as he begins to panic. his friend was in a car accident, how could he not panic? 

jumin didn’t give his mind time to process the situation before calling driver kim to take him to the scene of the accident. everything else could wait. he couldn’t find himself caring about the cheating accusations at the moment, his wife was possibly dead.

god, that broke him. his soulmate might be dead. no, she couldn’t be. she’s survived so much in her young life, a car accident wouldn’t take her that easily. but in case of the worst scenario, he needed to be prepared.

on the way to the scene, he arranged the best doctors to treat her in the nearest hospital. even if she were to end up depending on him for the rest of her life, he would be there everyday. 

he could hear the sounds of sirens as they approached the scene, increasing his anxiety more and more. practically jumping out of the car as they arrived, he laid his eyes upon a box of metal extremely crushed, what he assume to be the car.

it was horrendous. the windows were completely gone with glass everywhere, the hood was shriveled up towards where the front mirror was supposed to be, and two tires had rolled off of the car.

what was of more concern to him was his wife, who was being lifted onto a stretcher. there wasn’t much he could see over the paramedics, but what he did see wanted to make him crawl up into a ball and pretend like it never happened.

like this was all a dream. like he didn’t make her want to leave their safe home, resulting in her injuries. wasting little time, he spoke to the paramedics as they examined you. careful to not direct their attention off of you, but still asking questions.

“is my wife okay? what happened?” he asked. he knew the answer to a certain extent, but he needed someone to give him the facts. not moving an eye off of your body, a male paramedic responded “we don’t know for sure. we will give you the results at hospital once we can conduct a proper exam. what i can tell you is that she’s alive, though looks to be in critical condition. the driver has passed unfortunately”.

with all due respect, he didn’t care about the drivers life in this moment. they had almost taken your life with theirs, so why should he feel sorry? the paramedic continues “as for what happened, we’re still actively investigating but this is very likely to be a case of drunk driving due to the empty vodka bottles and the drivers blood alcohol levels.”

he had to pause and compose himself, because he nearly had a heart attack hearing that information. how could someone put their passengers life in danger like that? did they not know how special you were? perhaps the driver was lucky to be dead, because if they had survived, they would be living the rest of their life behind bars.

he would get you justice for this one day, he promised himself. with jumin being allowed to ride with you in the ambulance, he quickly hopped in as you were being loaded in. 

now he was given a clear view of your face right in front of his eyes. a face so beautiful given so many scars. the glass in your face, the bruises, the blood leaking from your head, they were all staring at him. 

he could do nothing but stare at you the entire ride. he was worried you would give up on him if he were to turn his back. the shallow breaths you took in reminding him of your living form. 

the sights around him blurred as you entered the hospital, only focused on you. he followed until a nurse told him to take a seat in the waiting room as you were rushed into surgery upon further examination.

hence why he found himself surrounded by white walls on the night after his birthday. staring straight ahead as to live fully in his head for the time being. now was when he could truly feel himself becoming tired. most likely the alcohol had worn off on him, leaving him in a haze.

3 minutes turned into 30 minutes, which turned into 1 hour, which turned into 2 hours, which turned into 3 hours. all extremely drawn out times, the only interception being the visit from the paramedics.

they had given him the things you had brought with you, many bent or broken. there laid your essentials as well as the present you have given him earlier. he could try to open the present, but it would be no use. it had already been deemed unrecognizable just by the packages damage.

exactly 200 minutes, over 3 hours, later, he was greeted by the main surgeon. mentally preparing himself for the outcome, he listens as the surgeon speaks, saying “mr. han, we tried everything we could..”

no, this wasn’t happening. he knows how this goes, but he doesn’t want to accept it. if there is a god out there, please make this be a big nightmare, he thought. yet he knows, he knows. this is real, too real.

the surgeon continues, “...unfortunately she had succumbed to her injuries. she fought until her last breath...” he blanked, being left speechless. this couldn’t be real, you can’t leave him like that. you can’t. you were supposed to grow old together.

he could feel as every structure and thing with significance fell in his life. hell, he didn’t know if he still had a life outside of you. how would he go on..? you had showed him the path to true love, accepting him like no one else ever had.

his company flourished with you present, people being grateful you were there to convince him to be a tad more human and give some laid back time. you had lightened up everyone’s life in many ways.

“...the baby unfortunately did not survive either..”

cutting off his thought process, he was now faced with confusion. the baby? what was the surgeon talking about? “what baby?” he asked.

“the baby, as in the baby you two were expecting in around 7 months?... were you not aware?” the surgeon responded. she was pregnant and hadn’t told him...? there’s no way this was actually happening. maybe they got her confused with another patient. he would know if she was pregnant, wouldn’t he?

his thoughts were cut off by the surgeon pulling up her medical records, confirming his previous statement. everything was there. he couldn’t believe, there was too much going on.

he first lost his wife and now he lost his unborn child, one he didn’t even know existed. sensing the agonizing energy in the room, the surgeon leaves with his best wishes. now left alone, he was stuck. 

he had no idea what to do. he felt like crying, could he even cry...? everything just felt so numb as he realized he was on his own again. allowing his face to drop and relax, he stared at the floor thoughtless. 

somehow his father knew and showed up at the hospital. had jumin called him? he couldn’t remember if he were honest, everything was going in one ear and out the other. he doubted if he was even seeing things right.

later, as he was invited to give his last goodbyes before her body would be taken to the morgue, he spoke to his love for the last time.

“i’m so sorry i couldn’t protect you...thank you for giving me the life i’ve always wanted. i never meant to hurt you like i did, please give me your forgiveness through the afterlife. take care of our child up there, my love for you won’t stop until my heart does. rest easy darling”.

grabbing a hold of your delicate hand for the last time, he placed a kiss as he left. letting you go like the princess you were. eventually he found himself outside your room door, standing in the narrow hallway. was this it for him? nothing else mattered to him as much as you did.

finding himself at home once again, the sun being awake at this point, everything hit him like a truck. only this time, he could feel his tears plaque his face. last night you were breathing, this morning you weren’t.

how could the universe do this to him? hadn’t he proved himself worthy enough of you? in the back of his head, he was reliving the event every second. he would never forgive himself for what he said to you the night before your death. he would blame himself for the rest of his life.

he could only hope you would have forgiven him by time he meets you again up there. the next week was nothing but a blur, the only thing he could remember was your funeral.

how you laid so beautifully down, now at eternal peace. being laid to rest with the child he never got to meet, but already loved so much. everyone said their goodbyes, as your friends wept for hours. 

finding himself at home again, he really started to hate the place. he wasn’t meant for only him. yet at the same time, he couldn’t leave. you had lived here with him for years, your mark was stick. 

as advised to do so by many, he cleared out the drawers and closet of your clothing to save in a box. one he would take with him to the grave. amongst the pile of clothes occupying the top shelf, an envelop met with his head. standing in confusion for no more than a minute, he opens it.

he could feel his eyes swell with silent tears as he read the contents of the envelope. it was a card with a picture of an ultrasound. things were making sense, you were planning to surprise him for his birthday. he couldn’t believe what he had done.

he couldn’t go on. it all hurt him too much. stopping the cleaning process, he went to lay on his bed. observing the photo of the unborn child, he couldn’t control as the tears fell, clouding his vision in seconds.

he laid there for the following evening hours, fantasizing about a life with you and the little one. wondering which parent they would’ve taken after most, innocently hoping it would’ve been you. imagining them getting married, having a happy family of there own.

but he would never experience that while on earth now that you were no longer under the sky. over time, he let fatigue overcome him, drifting off with the ultrasound photo held to his chest.

that night, he could’ve sworn it was you how had embraced him and whispered “i love you” quietly in his ear. anyone might call him crazy, or say that he’s going crazy despite his usual rational nature.

no matter what anyone else thought, he knew it was you. there was no doubting that.

---

01:32 AST - 07/28/21

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 10

The Mission

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: the mission to find Bucky goes horribly wrong

Warnings: mentions of non-con, torture, violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

THE mission would be awkward, to say the least. I didn't stop cursing my dad and his sly smile the whole way there. Of course he had to assign me and Steve of all people to do the mission. Great. A whole weekend of bitter, grumbling Steve and his not-so-subtle death glares. The act pulled up outside the motel, dropping us off with our suitcases that secretly only held a few clothing changes but were mostly filled with kit. We trudged up to the from desk, keeping our eyes down. The hood of my baggy grey jumper was pulled up, my hair draped around my face as to cover me. Steve wore a cap (haha, funny) and some glasses, his jacked zipped up the whole way so he could turtle back into it in he needed to.

"How can I help you?" The perky woman spoke from the other side of the counter, tearing her head away from her computer for a second.

"Um, we have a room. For, ugh, Johnson." Steve said in a deeper voice than normal. The girl turned her attention back to the computer, typing something before walking over to the back room, sliding a keycard onto the counter when she returned. "We have two rooms." Steve continued. She shook her head.

"It says right here one room." She corrected, pointing to her computer screen. I rolled my eyes, haha, very funny Tony. Steve nodded, grabbing the room key and walking off. "Have a great stay!" She called after us, although we were already at the door.

I sighed as I walked through the door of the small room, surveying the two twin beds, small bathroom - which Steve would barely fit in - and tiny wardrobe. Tony really spared no expense when it came to his best friend, I thought with a laugh in my head.

"Left or right?" Steve asked, taking off his glasses and hat.

"Left." I said, dumping the bag on the end of the bed to my left. Steve nodded curtly, dropping his bad to the floor and pulling a t-shirt and some sweats out. I grabbed a t-shirt and some shorts from mine, walking towards the bathroom.

Once inside, I slipped into the clothes, brushing my teeth with one of the provided toothbrushes and washing my face with a small towel. I walked out, dumping my other cloths into my bag before climbing into the creaky bed. I spared a glance for Steve, who was laid in his bed, eyes trained on the wall.

"Night." I said, before my head crashed to the horrible pillow and falling into a broken and unpleasant sleep.

...

The next day, we were up and ready. Not a word spoken until we left the motel. We reached the abandoned computer lab we were supposed to check out, but before we could get further my vision was overcrowded by darkness.

I groggily woke up, my head lifting slowly from where it was hanging forward. I went to move my wrists but nothing happened, instead the rattling of chains filled my ears. I looked up to see I was suspended from the ceiling, my feet barely touching the ground so I was uncomfortably resting on the tips of my toes. My arms ached like hell, my head overcome with a splitting headache. I groaned, my gaze finally landing on Steve in front of me.

My eyes widened upon seeing him. He was starring back at me from where he sat in an armchair, his hands and legs secured to the chair by thick metal that even he couldn't break and a similar strap was across his chest. It was only when I went to speak that I noticed that a cloth was in my mouth, tied around the back of my head and preventing me from doing anything. Shit. HYRDA. They were the only ones other than the avengers who new who I was and what I could do.

"Y/n? You awake?" Steve hesitantly asked. I nodded. Before he could talk to me any more the heavy metal door creaked open, an all-to-familiar man walking in.

"This is simple, you tell me what I want to know and you leave, unharmed. If not, I guess I'll get to have a bit of fun." The General spoke with a menacing grin, waving some controller around in the air. "So, Cap, why are you here?" Nothing. "I said, why are you here?" When he was once again met with silence, a scream ripped through the room, Steve's body attempting to convulse in the restraints.

"Why are you here?" He shouted, Steve's screams echoing for longer this time.

...

After what felt like hours, the General kicked a wall near by, groaning in frustration.

"This isn't working. I guess I'll have to take a different approach." He muttered to himself, chucking the remote to the side and walking up behind me. Shivers rocked through me as he moved my hair over one shoulder, bringing his lips to my ear. "I wonder if your screams still sound the same." He all but whispered, the metal restraints around my arms falling free. His thick, rough hand held the back of my neck in a painful grip, pulling at the delicate tendons as he yanked me to my feet and led me a few meters away to a large trough of water.

My knees hit the floor harshly and I winced, trying my hardest to move away from the water but his grip on my neck only tightened as he lowered my face until it sat an inch above the water. Steve looked on with a heavy - yet emotionless - stare.

"Why. Are. You. Here?" He said in a sickly calm tone, and when met with no answer once again, my head was submerged. The realisation hit me a second later, my mouth clamping shut at the water began to flood into it and up to my nostrils. Eventually the pressing weight on my chest begun, my mouth opening with a muffled scream as the liquid flowed into my lungs.

"Stop!" I heard a muffled shout, followed by a snide chide.

"Tell me what you're here for!"

No response.

Suddenly my head was pulled up, water sputtering from me as I struggled to take in enough air.

"What are you here for?!" And I was under again. And again. And again. And again.

But there was never a response.

"I'll stop when you give me answers." The statement was directed at Steve, but scared me still, my now wet and dangled hair still wrapped around the man's fist and my knees now burning from the rough concrete floor biting through my tactical gear.

I mustered my strength, gaze raising to see the worry on Steve's face. I threw him a wink.

"I can do this-" I spluttered, my cough resounding around the room. "All day." I said breathily, more coughs climbing my throat. I could hear the smirk in the man's voice.

"Me too, sweet cheeks."

My head was under again.

...

Soon enough the General got bored, ordering some guards to escort us back to some cells. My heart must've stopped beating in my chest when I saw the cell, abandoned and clearly barely touched in the weeks I was gone. I had stopped dead in my tracks, only to start moving again with a shove from one of the guards.

Even worse, I was soon being put into the silencer again, the metal contraption leaving me mute as I simply looked forward with shellacked eyes. Steve looked in in what seemed to be pity as the guards wrestled him into the soldier's cell, locking him down in place with the thick metal straps that they used to use on The Winter Soldier.

I longed to see him again, to feel his skin on mine as his lips conceded every inch of my body, his hot breath on my neck and next to my ear as he whispered sweet and dirty nothings, longed to him him inside me again, reaching all the right places and-

The snap of the door as it slammed shut pulled my instantly from my thoughts, the noise resounding around the room almost mockingly as me and Steve were left behind, simply staring at each other.

...

Days past, and I'd been keeping count only by the general routine we seemed to face at what I assumed was daily. Four days back in the hell hole, and all I wanted to do was gauge the General's eyes out or plunge a knife through someone's head. But HYDRA new my strengths, my weaknesses, and used them against me - against us.

One thing I could never stand was the cold. I guess you could say that's how I found myself where I currently was, locked into a glass, soundproof chamber, whilst the menacing, malevolent clouds of cold rolled in at a torturously slow pace - slow enough that I felt the temperature drop at every degree that it decreased by. I was shivering, spluttering and so, so cold. My teeth chattered so hard behind the silencer I doubted I'd have any teeth left soon, my fingers were so cold they were a bit rand red and my eyes lashes had formed little icicles.

Steve was once again detained on the other side, the General clearly pressing questions at him that he wouldn't answer and I couldn't hear. I'd have to assume that when Steve answered the questions I would be allowed out of this chamber, but I very much doubted that Steve would give in quickly.

All of a sudden people seemed to look around as if a loud noise had been blaring, the General's face worrisome as he darted from the room.

In that moment I guessed that the intrusion alarm must've sounded, and my suspicions were only confirmed when a circular slab of the ceiling crashed down in front of the chamber. I attempted to smile as I caught sight of Clint lowering himself down through the hole he'd created, eyes lighting up when his met mine. When the man made contact with the ground, he fished some kind of gadget from his pocket, making quick work of Steve's metal bounds before helping the super soldier to his feet.

Steve was a little wobbly at first, but steadies himself quickly and rushed over to me. His fists pounded at the cage, but the glass wouldn't give in to his strength nor to that of any of counts little Clint's and gizmos. They looked at me with scared expressions, the glass clouding over with the crawling ice as it coated the glass with its coldness. Clints's head snapped away to the door, soon followed by Steve's and I had gathered that someone was coming.

Both avengers quickly looked back to me, and al I could make out was an 'I'm sorry' that had called from Steve's lips before they were fleeing out of the door.

...

I faced the punishment for their actions. I couldn't even look at myself out of the shame I currently felt. I was allowed a shower, but I had guards stood barely a meter outside the curtain as I raked my shaking fingers brought the hair, legs unstable and body sore from exactly what I endured.

They'd shown no mercy, not relent. After hours, I was exhausted, so worn out I could barely keep my eyes open. But I wanted my shower - needed it - to scrub away all remnants of what just happened.

It was just my luck of of HYDRA's missions had succeeded, that they had twenty men all awaiting an award for their hard efforts.

And reward them, the General did.

I couldn't help the vomit that crawled up my throat, nor the gagging as I threw up in the corner of the cubicle. I swiped away the remainders on my face, grabbing a brush and scrabbling my skin raw in order to forget them. But nothing worked, and I doubted it ever would.

...

Battered, shaking, thinning, jittery, bruised and broke, my body could barely take any other day of this. I had lost count of the days by now, and I couldn't find in in myself to even care how long it'd been. I was sure it hadn't been nearly as long as it felt - Steve had probably only been gone for a few days at the most. But my body said otherwise, my aching limbs and hoarse throat enough evidence.

I had become familiar with the sound of my own screams and cries, as many of the HYDRA agents were now, too. Every day, they spent as much time as they could torturing me, trying to get the information they needed from my and failing miserably.

Even though I'd only been with the avengers for a few weeks, my venom and resentment for HYDRA ran so deep it was enough to keep me quiet. I'd do anything to make sure that non of their plans ever succeed again. So if that meant enduring this torture, do he it.

I looked up suddenly as the door opened loudly, a grimace finding my face when two guards stepping in the room. But they didn't stop at the door to bark orders at me like usual, no. They continued into the cell, yanking me up my my arms and tugging my out of the small cell with hard expression occupying their faces.

I yelped as I was pushed harshly into a room I’d never seen before, my feet stumble over one another as I tumbled through the door. The guards filed in behind me, hands clasped in front of them as my head rose to meet gazes with the General’s.

“Ready to talk yet, Miss Stark?” He asked, an almost mocking coo inclining his words. He released me from the silencer, so that I could answer him. I glared up at him, my knees uncomfortable against the harsh concrete floor. He crouched down to my level, peering into my eyes with raised brows in question.

“Fuck you.” I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

“It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won’t give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?” The general spike menacingly to the guards behind me. “How about way find a way to shut her up?”

[maeve-writes]

Beautiful Hell

Inspired by:  Beautiful Hell by ADNA 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (tfatws) x Reader (experiment/mutant!Reader) Rating: 18+, Minors DNI Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Summary: Your past shows up in an unexpected way thanks to Bucky Barnes. You just wanted to be... normal, not caught up in the life of a hero or worse, and yet you’re drawn to him, addicted to him even. You thought that part of your life was over, but your relationship opens up a whole new chapter that you’re not sure you’re ready for. a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. I have not written anything that wasn’t work related in about three years, so I’m a little rusty. This is just a dip of my toe back into the water. I’d like to continue this if there is any interest! Thanks for reading!

There’s very little that makes you upset these days. You have a great job, a cozy apartment, and wonderful friends. It’s taken a long time for you to find stability and even longer for you to accept that it was okay to have it. Most of that struggle was on your own, but you eventually found others like you that were dealing with the same inner turmoil and you’ve grown.

The group still meets twice a month, but now you run it. You see the same pain and anger in the eyes of strangers that you once held, you’ve been in their shoes and you want to help start their journey of healing and self discovery. You would never turn someone away who wanted help, who sought out the chance to better themselves, but six feet of muscle and adamantium shuffles into the recreation room of the local Boy’s and Girl’s Club, and you bend the already folded aluminum chair in half. 

The squeak of the metal catches his attention and his brow knits together. His eyes dance between your face, the chair, and back again. “Cheap material,” you say weakly with a lift of your shoulders. You watch as he puckers his lips in thought and his hands are shoved into his jacket. 

One of your regulars, Sarah, takes the chair from you and tries to right it once more, but finds it more difficult than you played it up to be. “Set up the rest, I’ve got this,” you tell her, happy to tear your attention away from the man. You reset the bars of the chair and unfold it, placing it on the floor to see if it will act as it should. It’s a little wonky, the bend leans it too far back, but it will hold you - it’s a chair.

You sit among the circle and begin. People sip their coffee and share their stories for the week. The new people introduce themselves, including him, but everyone already knows his name. He didn’t share this time, but you could tell he wanted to from the way his jaw clenched and the uncomfortable shifts in his sheet. You were like that once, you know just how he feels.

Two hours pass and the crowd slowly trickles out. You start the clean up, the putting away of the chairs. You move around the room and do your best to ignore his eyes burning into you - into your soul. “You could at least help clean,” you tell him without looking up from the sink against the far wall where you now stand. “Chairs still need to be put away.”

It takes a few beats, but you hear his heavy footsteps fall behind you and the eventual scrap of metal as the chairs are being folded. There’s a steady rhythm to his method, a clink of his metal arm against the chair, the screech as the chair is closed and his footfalls to the corner to put it away.

You finish your last coffee pot, drying your hands and turn to see the wonky chair in his hold. “Cheap material,” he repeats, looking down at it before he bends it back and forth. You see him trying to mold it back into better shape than you had earlier as your face grows hotter by the second. When he deems it “good enough,” he brings it over to join the others. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you reply instantly. 

His head snaps around, blue eyes burning, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true,” you counter, “I’ve lied to myself for years.”

He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t find your attempt at what he thinks is a joke funny. “Who are you,” he asks again, his voice becoming clipped and impatient. 

You tell him your name, your full name but it does not ring any bells to him. It wouldn’t, not in a way he would realize. “You saved someone years ago, not as… you, but as,” you pause and wave the towel you used to dry your hands, “you know.” You try your best to ignore how his body tenses up and you continue, “You killed his wife and his unborn son. You changed him. Changed everything, really. Somehow, I got caught up in it all.”

His hardened stare quickly shifts into curiosity and you force yourself to look away before you crash into the stormy blue. “They pumped us full of all sorts of stuff. A lot of us didn’t make it. I can still hear the screams if I try.” You grind your teeth to make yourself stop falling into that abyss. “But my dad raised me by himself, he taught me how to survive, how to be strong. He always told me: Girl, if you’re gonna go down, go down swingin’. And I forced myself to keep going, no matter what they did, I wasn’t going to let those assholes get the best of me.”

The towel was back in both of your hands now, pulled and stretched as you tried not to think about the pain and the loneliness that followed. “But eventually I was freed, just like you freed that other guy. I got a chance to be him now… but I didn’t take it.” The terry cloth ripped in half and your arms fell by your sides. 

You dared to look up at the man and you inwardly swore. His face was so painfully beautiful, full lips were in a pout and his eyes twinkled blue in their sadness, in their empathy. “They wanted us to be something and I wasn’t going to let someone else define me. I ran for years, scared and alone. I had to change my life over and over because I didn’t want them to find me, then I realized I was actually doing what they wanted… I was being someone I’m not.”

You crossed the room to the trash can nearby and not too far behind he followed. The two of you began to toss half-eaten pastries and empty disposable coffee cups. “So, I settled down here, started to go by my real name and took any threat that came my way.” You watched him sniff at an uneaten danish, “Cherry, I think.” His shoulder lifts in a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of way and he takes a bite. “It took about two decades for them to stop,” you finish, “and I was able to finally start to live my life.”

He silently offers half of the danish to you, which you decline. “And when the world went to hell in a hand-basket, you what, sat here and lived your life?” The blow was meant to sting and it did. He didn’t know if you were gone in The Blip but from your recoil, he got his answer. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you obviously have the ability to help people, you should use it.”

“I do,” you reply, offended. “This,” you wave your hands around for the second that evening, “helps people. Just because I don’t strap on leather and beat up bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t make a difference.”

Bucky stills completely, even his breathing, and he looks down into the trash can he has been pushing around for you. It looks as though he wants to toss himself in it. “You’re right,” he says with a heavy exhale, “that wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… the world is running low on heroes, they’re now relying on a guy in a bird suit.”

“I thought that guy was your friend,” you ask with a tilt of your head.

When the corner of his mouth tips up into a boyish smile, you mirror it with a toothy grin because of how infectious it is. “Yeah,” he nods, “I guess he is. But I just hate being the only muscle.”

“You’re plenty enough for this hemisphere,” you laugh and reach out to pat his shoulder, when you feel the muscle packed there, you whistle through your teeth, “and maybe the other one, too.”

He laughs and rolls the shoulder you tapped, tossing off your hand playfully. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t hurt to have more because getting hurt hurts.” You two exchange smiles and finish trash detail. He ties up the full bag and prepares to bring it out while you work on putting a new one in the can. 

You lead him out back to the dumpsters and he tosses the bag in after you open the heavy metal lid. When it falls closed again with a loud, ringing bang, you pull out a pack of sanitizing wipes and offer him one which he gladly accepts. “This might not be the right time,” he begins, eyes drawn to the large, smelly trash bin next to the pair of you, “but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Who knew you were so romantic, Sergeant Barnes,” you tease to hide your fluttering heartbeat that he can undoubtedly hear. Under the pale yellow beam of the streetlights you can see the flush forming on his face that mirrors your own. “I’m free tomorrow around seven.”

Bucky straightens to his full height and his eyes sparkle brightly when that boyish curl makes its way back to his lips. “Then it’s a date,” he nods as you both pull out your phones to exchange numbers and you give him your address.

“Don’t be late,” you warn him, tone playfully serious, “I get angry if I don’t eat before eight. Bad things happen if I don’t eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods with a low rumbling chuckle, “I don’t plan to disappoint you.”

Your face splits into a smile and you lead your way back in, “See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, his eyes trained on your every move. “And it can’t come soon enough,” he adds under his breath.

x

Your day goes by in a blur. Work is stressful but rewarding. Even though you love your job, your mind was not completely on it. Just past noon you received a text: Just seeing if this works. I’m looking forward to tonight. Have a good day. BB

It is unclear if he does not really know how texts work or if it is his excuse to send you one, but either way it makes you giddier than a schoolgirl. You reread it several times, answer a few work related calls and emails before you finally answer back: It works! I’m also looking forward to tonight. My day was good, but your text made it better. Hope yours is fantastic! xx

You are hesitant to hit send, but if you are going to shoot your shot, then you might as well go all in. Your phone doesn’t even go to sleep before you get another text in return: I’m about to see the prettiest gal in town, my day will be more than fantastic. How do you feel about sushi and bowling? BB

Of all of the things to do, especially together, you would not think of Bucky Barnes to pick that as your first night out together, but you had a weakness for sushi and your competitive side could never say no to a game or two: I haven’t been bowling in years, but I’m sure I can teach you a few things. xx

Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be learning a thing or two before the night is over. BB

You aren’t sure if you guys are talking about bowling anymore and that thought lights a fire in your belly. With a shaky breath you send your last reply: I’ll be happy to learn anything as long as I get to call you Professor Barnes and I can stay after class for extra credit. ;) xx 

It isn’t until two hours after your lunch that you get your last reply from him: Looking up that reference sent me to the part of the internet that I’m still not used to, but I’m glad I did. You don’t happen to have a skirt and some of those socks that go up to your knees, do you? Don’t answer that, I won’t be able to make it through dinner. See you at 7. BB

You did happen to have just what he asked for and it was tempting to wear it, but you tucked the idea into your pocket for another time. Instead, you picked something more appropriate for bowling, a pair of navy skinny fit cotton dress pants with enough stretch to not rip when you bent over to toss a ball, a curve hugging camisole that was draped by a soft, cream colored cashmere sweater. 

After messing with your hair for an hour, you settled for a messy bun and just finished your makeup when your doorbell rang. You call out to him to “hold on” as you shuffle through your apartment, trying to wriggle into your loafers on the way to open the door. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” you apologize as you pull open the door.

He’s standing in the doorway dressed in a canvas jacket over a plain black shirt, dark jeans over his long, thick legs and his normal boots top it off. “You look gorgeous,” he says, forcing you away from your lingering gaze as it continues to travel up and down his body like he’s the one for dinner. “These are for you,” he presents a bouquet of flowers with an unsure smile. “They’re beautiful,” you say wistfully, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you.” He nods and stands near the door as you finish putting on your shoes. “Let me put these in water and we can go.” “Take your time,” he says and trains his eyes on you. They follow you through the apartment, to the kitchen as you look through your cabinets for a vase. When you bend over, his head tilts ever so slightly which you can see out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to try and catch him, he just smiles innocently. “Need any help?”

“I’ll manage,” you laugh and eventually find a vase. The flowers are arranged not so elegantly into the glass, but you add water and place them in the center of your kitchen island. “Now, I’m starving and getting hangry.”

“Hangry,” he repeats. “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should feed you before that happens.” He holds out an arm and like a magnet you are drawn to him and latch to it, maybe it’s because of the metal. Nevertheless, you walk arm and arm to the sushi hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, eating in a small booth in the corner to hide away from prying eyes.

You learn about Bucky Barnes for the first time. Like everyone else, you hear things from the news, from the internet, you try to shift through the lies and mess. But here you’re learning what he likes, what he’s learned, what he wants to learn. He doesn’t give his past up as freely as you did, it’s obvious he’s still coming to terms with it, but everyone travels at their own pace.

He learns about you, too. He asks you about things none of your past dates have asked. Hell, even your past boyfriends and girlfriends weren’t interested in half of the stuff Bucky manages to squeeze out of you. And you find it so easy to talk to him, so natural. You’ve only known him for two days, but it feels like decades.

Your hand slips into his when you leave the restaurant and head to the bowling alley. He laces your fingers together two blocks into your walk and you once again wrap your free hand around his arm. It pains you to move away when you have to go in and put on the bowling shoes.

“Before we begin,” he says to you as he watches you put your names into the computer, “let’s make a bet.” You finish entering the ‘y’ of his name and lift an inquisitive brow his way. “If you win, you can have one thing you would want from me.”

You twist in your seat and narrow your eyes, “And if you win?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, you watch it disappear with a pout, “I get a kiss.”

“You could just ask for one,” you laugh and slowly lean towards him.

Bucky, too, leans in and bumps noses with you, “Yeah, but it’s more fun if I work for it.” He sits back and winks, trying not to laugh at your deflated and deepening pout. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re up first.”

You sigh heavily and pick up the bright green ball that you picked from the line waiting to be thrown. “Okay, if I win, then I get to wear that skirt and socks for you,” you say over your shoulder before you toss the ball down the lane. It rolls down the center and knocks down all ten pins as STRIKE flashes on the screen above you.

When you flop down in the chair next to him, he’s still staring at the spot where you stood moments before, gears still churning. “Hey,” you laugh, snapping your fingers in front of his face to knock him out of his daze, “are you okay?”

“Would it be wrong of me to lose on purpose,” he asks sheepishly. You roll your eyes and cross your arms and he lifts his own in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, that’s no fun. Just know, darlin’, I don’t go down without a fight.” He steps up and takes the same ball you used and chucks it halfway down the lane before it, too, knocks down all ten pins. He turns to you, a smirk plastered on his face.

As much as you loved to have fun, you loved to win more. “Is that how it’s going to be,” you asked, getting up to pass him on the way to take your turn.

He laughs, pressing close as you both slow when you come into each other’s orbit. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he nods and rakes over his lip with his teeth. A challenge is set and you don’t back down. Strikes and spares are thrown by the both of you in between lingering touches and whispered sweet nothings. 

In the hour you two have rented the lane, you managed two games and with one point over you, Bucky wins. He doesn’t claim his prize right there, it’s too public and there’s far too many people around. Instead, he offers to walk you home and you happily accept as long as you can wrap yourself around him once again, which you do.

You two try to take your time on the way back, enjoying the crisp evening air, but more so each other's company. The conversation from dinner continues as a flow of likes and dislikes between more sweet nothings. You’re lovedrunk by the time you’re at your front door and you don’t want the night to come to an end.

Reluctantly, you release him from your hold and he looks as disappointed as you feel. “Tonight has been wonder-” “I had such a great-” you both begin simultaneously and trail off together, ending in nervous laughter. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “for such an amazing night.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, a hand timidly reaching out to rest on your hip. “I’ve been a little rusty at this kind of thing, but you made it easy.” His thumb traces the arc of your hip bone and you step closer to him. “But, you know, I might need some more practice.” You resisted to roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbles between the both of you. The distance closes by one of you, and you don’t care who, but you find your hands splayed across his chest, “I think I can help you out there.”

“That would be my second win of the night,” he grins down at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“Speaking of my win,” he trails off. His flesh hand raises to your cheek and you instinctively lean into it. Your nose wrinkles at his chuckle but it doesn’t stop you from raising on your toes to close what little space there was between you.

You could sense his hesitation, the silent question of what was enough and what was too much. A small hum bubbled in your throat as you pushed your hands up his chest, nails scraping up his neck and into his hair. You could feel the shiver ripple throughout his body and his teeth came out to bite down on your bottom lip.

It was your turn to laugh now and he licked into your mouth in return, turning it into a whimpering moan. You could feel his triumphant smirk against your lips and you reward it with a tug of his hair. His hips instantly buck against you which throws you off balance, but he catches you with his metal arm winding around your back and pins you against him. 

Your tongues slip and slide against one another, the taste of his sushi and beer choice mixes with your own. Your nails once again claw along his scalp and cause him to growl into your mouth. He surges forward with you in his grip and crowds you against your door, reluctantly breaking away for air, “We should say goodnight,” Bucky whispered against your kiss swollen lips.

“You can tell me good morning when you wake up next to me tomorrow,” you shoot back and roll your hips against his, causing both of you to react with a strained moan.

“Are you sure,” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush with your name on it,” you nod. You watch him debate the issue with himself before placing one last chaste kiss on your lips before losing his grip just enough to let you open the door.

You two stumble in, Bucky pulling you back to him, his mouth kissing along your jaw as you try to lock up for the night. You barely got the deadbolt turned when his teeth sank into your sink causing you to cry out. He instantly licks at apologetically and turns his attention to getting you undressed instead.

When your sweater is pulled over your head, you push off Bucky’s jacket, both falling to the floor near the door. Shoes are next to go, sloppily kicked off near each other and once again you two are drawn back together, tongues dancing. Your fingers twist into the short brown locks and his hands snaked down to your ass. He lightly cups each cheek, using them to bring you as close as possible, and even though your bodies leave very little room for air to pass through you still try to move closer.

“Bed,” he breathes into your mouth. You give him a quick nod. With a happy groan, he squeezes you by your bottom, picking you up to carry you to your room, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. 

Your small one bedroom apartment isn't anything special, but it is yours and it has the biggest, comfiest bed that you are in love with. Bucky easily guides you both there, not once breaking your kiss aside from grunting or growling from your teasing hair pulls or the rolls of your hips. 

He climbs onto the mattress with you still wrapped around his upper half, crawling up to the pile of pillows near the headboard where he eventually lays you down. His weight settles above you, and normally, you would welcome it’s warmth and comfort, but at that moment, you want it to be rough and needy. “Bucky,” you whine, this time the one to break the kiss.

Flushed cheeks and blown pupils, he looks down at you, boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re wearing too much,” you tell him as you try to pull off his shirt, it makes it up to his shoulders before it stops. His laugh shakes his entire body and yours, which makes you pout in return. 

“You’re wearing the same amount, doll,” he reminds you, looking down to see your breasts sway in your camisole. “Far, far too much, in my opinion.”

You roll your eyes and playfully slap at his chest, “Then do something about it.” He mutters something about impatience and sits on his knees between your parted thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head to toss it aside.

“Your turn,” he nods to your shirt while he works on the buckle of his belt. You hastily pull the top over your head and work on your slacks, wriggling out of them just as does his own. He sits back on his hunches and looks you over, laying spread out in a matching white lace bra and underwear set. Now at he’s down to his boxer briefs, you can see how big he his, how hard he is, and when his wandering eyes rest on your covered sex, you can see it twitch with anticipation. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t think your entire body could blush from embarrassment, but Bucky just proved you could. “That’s my line,” you return, taking in every inch of his exposed skin over hard muscle. Super serum or not, Bucky Barnes was a gorgeous specimen. When you two finally lock eyes once more, you both shiver. “Are you going to touch me?”

He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out to run a hand lightly over your damp panties, slick from your want for him. “I’m afraid I’ll never stop,” he replies honestly, instantly addicted to the needy whimpers you are giving him.

“I don’t think I would want you to,” you groan. “Please?” You feel his fingertips dance over the lace, tracing over the pattern and causing you to throb with need. “Bucky!”

“You need me, don’t you,” he asks, voice dropping to a low rumble that hits you right at your core and makes your toes curl. “You need my touch. Need me to satisfy that ache?” You nod desperately trying to sit up to pull him down on top of you, but he pins you down before you could rise. “Tell me,” he purrs.

“I need you,” you respond instantly. You’re rewarded with his fingers pushing the panties aside and begin to dance along the slick folds.

“You need what,” he goads. He finds your clit and rubs it once to draw a happy mew from you but stops much to your disappointment.

“I need you, Bucky. I need you to touch me, to kiss me,” you whine with a rock of your hips, trying to get him to move again, but he doesn’t. “I need you to taste me, to lick me, to fuck me.”

Smile on his kiss bruised lips, his thumb swirls around your bud and he sinks his middle finger into you with a groan. “You’re tight,” he hisses as he sinks knuckle-deep, “and dripping. Shit, you’re going to feel like heaven.”

You can’t focus on what he’s saying too much. The feel of his fingers pumping in and out of you feels good, feels right, but it’s not enough, even when he adds two or three. He works you open, your slick starting to run down his fingers, and he palms himself over his briefs.  “Bucky, please,” your voice cracks, “I need more.”

He nods, he has time to take you apart with just his fingers later, but it’s been so long since he’s been with someone like this, someone he’s felt like this with, he needs it as much as you do. When he removes his fingers from you, you whine at the loss but it cuts off into a gasp as you watch him lap and suck off your slick from his hand. Bucky freezes, eyes narrowing, and for a moment you’re wondering if you did something wrong. “What? What is it?”

“Trying to stop myself from eating you alive,” he says through clenched teeth, jaw visibly flexing with the effort. You blink up at him, confused, but he shakes his head and forces himself to remove his boxer briefs. “I’m having you for breakfast,” he decides.

“Uh huh,” you reply absently, your mouth watering as his cock bounces against his stomach when it’s free. It’s long, thick, and leaking, trying to hypnotize you and very much succeeding. 

“I’ll let you return the favor, sweetheart,” he laughs. His flesh hand spreads his pre-cum down his shaft and he pumps slowly while his metal hand pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Still with me?”

Blinking free of your daze, you stare at his lustful gaze and nod. He moves closer, hooks your legs over the bends of his elbows and runs the head of his cock along your folds. Your hole twitches desperately for him, “Such a pretty little pussy, so needy.” Your hands wrap around his wrists and grip at him tightly, hard enough to make him hiss. “You’ve been a good girl, I guess I can give you what you want.”

He pushes in agonizingly slow, the head of his cock sinking in what felt like centimeter by centimeter. You clench around him, trying to draw more of him in, but Bucky takes his time to bottom out. When he is finally fully seated in you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and apparently so did he. “Fuck,” you say simultaneously. 

Your legs are positioned around his waist and he once again frames your head with his forearms, which, in turn, pushes him further inside of you. “You feel so good, doll,” he whispers against the ‘o’ of your lips. “So warm, so tight, taking me so good.” Your hands find their way up his arms and into his hair. All it takes is one tug that has him growling, “And I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy so good that it’s going to feel me all week.” He rolls his hips back as slowly as he originally pushed in, “And I wanna hear you tell everyone who it belongs to while I do it.”

He snaps his hips forward driving you up the bed and further into the pillows, a cry getting caught in your throat from it. His pace is brutal, skin slaps against skin, and his mouth seeks out yours. The kiss is sloppy, but hungry, just as primal as his pistoning hips. You hold on to him the best you can as the bed rocks, headboard slamming against the wall. Your nails trail against his skin, egging him on and drawing sinful noises from love-swollen lips. 

His hips shift angles and eventually find that spot that makes you see stars. “Bucky,” you cry out breathlessly, uncurling your toes and removing your nails from his shoulder blades. He buries his face in your neck and marks you with his teeth and tongue as he relentlessly fucks towards your brink. “So… f-fuck- so close.”

“Cum for me then, sweetheart,” Bucky growls against your skin, snaking a hand between your bodies to work at your clit. “Show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” His thumb rubs over your bud once, twice and a white hot punch in your gut blossoms throughout your body as you let out a strangled cry of his name. 

You can feel yourself clamp around him, working him impossibly deeper, begging him to fall down into the abyss with you. And he does, hard. He chases his bliss with you, your name a mantra spilling from his lips as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop until you’ve both become too sensitive to handle anymore. He pulls out of you with a heavy sigh and falls next to you on the bed onto his stomach. 

“Holy shit,” you finally break the silence, “that was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head turned to look at you with tired, blissful eyes. “Goddamn, yeah it was.”

You weakly reach around to search for his hand and eventually find it, he lances his fingers with yours. You don’t break eye contact when he leans over to share a few chaste kisses before collapsing again. “You’re fantastic, Bucky, and I want you to know that was the hottest sex I have had to date.”

His post orgasm bliss is shattered and replaced with a furrowed brow, “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“...but as hot as it is feeling you drip out of me, I need to shower,” you finish. You can see the relief wash over him and he nods in understanding. 

“I’ve got a good memory,” he yawns and taps at his head, “that image is stored right here.” You fight a blush and slide off of your bed to head to the bathroom when seconds later you hear him do the same. He shrugs at your questioning look, “No need to waste water, right?”

You laugh as you turn on the faucets only to be crowded against the wall and your mouth is covered with his once more. The water splashing against your bodies and the echoing sounds of your moans drown out the repeated calls to Bucky’s phone. Mission. Suit up. SW

Answer your damn phone. SW

It’s the green button. SW

Green button and slide right. SW

Dammit, if you blocked me again, I stg. SW

Man, what are you doing in Soho? Yes, I’m tracking you. OMW. SW

a/n: To be continued? 

[jedivszombie]

Okay gang, since there are a bunch of anons going fucking wild across the dash tonight about some joking posts about Mark Webber and Ann Neal - that were someone’s shocked reaction to the age difference between them. I thought it would be interesting to go on a little journey together. 

This little journey is the story of how Ann and Mark met, and will hopefully give you guys some insight as to why the ‘sexism’ and ‘ageism’ arguments you are currently using are bullshit - and why using these words in such a buzzword way actually is not the kind of critical thinking you think it is. And why this situation is more akin to a student and teacher starting a relationship - which I think we can all agree is not advisable, even if you don’t know why.

Below the cut is going to be a little discussion of Mark and Ann the early days; the reason the age difference is iffy at best and fucked up at worst; and, a little discussion about how these situations require nuance and the ways in which f1blr often likes to blow situations out of proportion. 

I have split it into three parts:

Mark and Ann: The Early Days (1994-1997)

Nuance, my old friend. Anon hate, my enemy. (tw: for racism here, be careful)

The pitfalls of discourse and the importance of looking after yourself.

A little disclaimer for you guys: I do not pretend to know anything about this relationship, other than what is readily available to learn about it from what they themselves have put out about it. I am just providing a timeline and some facts. Whatever conclusions you draw from it are your own.

Feel free to come for me if you so desire. 

Mark and Ann: The Early Days (1994-1997)

We start our story in Australia in February, 1994. Mark is competing in Australian Formula Ford Championship and Ann Neal is the new media and PR officer for the category. This is their first meeting. Just so we know what’s up here Mark was 17 at the time, and Ann was absolutely an adult (apparently there is a 13 year age gap, which may not sound like much but we will get onto that later, which makes her roughly 30 when they first met). 

Some key things to be aware of from this first meeting: 

Mark is 17, Ann is about 30. Mark is a young racer, Ann is the media and PR officer for the category he races in. 

In an excerpt from Aussie Grit, p. 57 to be exact, we get to find out what Ann had to say about the first time they met: 

“She thought I was a bit of a smart-arse when we first met. ‘But I liked how bold and cheeky he was,’ she says, ‘and how mature he seemed. When I asked someone how old he was, I was shocked when they said 17 – he was confident beyond his years.’”

In another excerpt from Aussie Grit, p. 61, Mark tells us other things Ann remembers about their first meeting:

“Ann remembers our first meeting and my opening remark about her being so important. She can even remember what I was wearing – a stripey green and red top, one of those United Colors of Benetton things – so that was pretty prophetic, as things turned out!” 

Now this may sound extremely cute to some of you, like they’re just having a normal ‘aww remember how we met’ moment. But let me please re-direct your attention back to the fact that Mark is 17 (and still not an adult yet if this is what you are gonna nitpick about) and Ann is very much an adult, in a position of power. 

So, a teenager makes a quip about how important you are and you commit to memory what he was wearing the day it happened? 

Now let’s bring in the first quote I put up there where Ann herself was recalling the first time they met. I would like to draw your attention to the following sentence: ‘and how mature he seemed. When I asked someone how old he was, I was shocked when they said 17 – he was confident beyond his years.’

Hmmmm, where have we all heard language like this used before? If, like me, you have some experience of adults trying to start inappropriate relationships with you as a teenager then you will be very familiar to this sort of language. The emphasis is on how mature he seemed, is what’s sticking out for me here tbh.

Now, if this had been a fleeting meeting, and they had met again a few years later, I would be more on board for whatever justification some of the anons have been trying to use. However, it wasn’t. 

Again from Aussie Grit, p.61:

“After that first meeting we kept in touch. My family sometimes met up with Ann and Luke for weekend get-togethers, and I ensured she got her motor-sport fixes by dragging all my old F1 tapes out. By way of revenge she would bring down all her British Formula Ford tapes for me.”

Oh cool, so she gained the trust of his family and Mark was hanging out with her son. This is so sweet Alexa, play Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama. Real talk though, again if this is how it had ended - with them just being family friends - then we would not be having this conversation. 

BUT, we all know how this little story ends so onwards we march. We shoot forward to late 1994, Mark has done okay in Formula Ford but his Dad is no longer able to fund him. SO, he turns to their old pal - the ever present and super helpful Ann, bless her heart - to try and drum up some sponsorship for Mark so he can race. 

Little background on why Ann was chosen to try and help with this, I’ll give you 3 guesses and only one of them is correct. Yes, that’s right, it’s her experience - which she has managed to get by being 30 and having a background in motorsports. She started out as a motorsport journo and ended up dealing with press and PR for Paul Warwick (Derek Warwick’s brother). In 1986 she started dealing with Johnny Herbert’s media before working for Formula Ford in Europe in 1991. 

Ann begrudgingly accepts and draws up plans with Mark, which leads him to a Yellow Pages sponsorship for his next season in Formula Ford, and beyond - how sweet, how nice, they are #winning! We stan teamwork besties! And Ann started working with Mark and his family to further his career. 

Ann had a plan for Mark, as outlined in Aussie Grit, p.69-70:

“By the end of 1995 Annie told me, in no uncertain terms, that – and I quote – I had to get my arse out of there. She didn’t just mean Australian Formula Ford, either: she meant Australia. She thought it was time for me to go and have a crack at some of the big guys, and she proposed to help me go about it in a serious, business-like way.

‘How the f#*k are you going to get to Formula 1 coming from Queanbeyan?’ Anyone who wants to trace my journey should start with a piece of paper that Ann drew up on 6 July 1995.”

So, now Ann has outlined her hopes for Mark and a glimmering career in motorsport. I would like us to know that at this point in time Mark was the ripe old age of 18, going on 19. 

In 1996 Ann and Mark moved properly to the UK so Mark could drive in the British Formula Ford Championship - at this point Mark is still 19. At this point he is living in the UK with Ann and her mother, and Ann’s son. 

So this is probably sounding pretty okay so far and sure it’s just a business relationship with a business set up, like no real cause for concern. But then we discover that this business relationship had turned into a relationship-relationship pretty damn fast. 

From the horses mouth himself, Aussie Grit, p.87:

“Back in England, Ann and I moved house to Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire, on the edge of motor sport’s equivalent of Silicon Valley. We had started out as teammates and friends on a mission but over time our friendship had deepened into something else. I enjoyed spending time with her and we felt entirely comfortable in each other’s company. Moving to England was a huge step for me and I think it was a case of us needing one another and that’s how the relationship was formed.”

Okay, okay, okay so I know at this point Mark is 19/20 he’s an adult right? He can make his own choices. But, can we please admit that at best it’s an iffy situation because of the position of power and authority she was in? In his life? For his career? 

There are a few other excerpts I found particularly interesting, about Mark’s family’s reaction (all from Aussie Grit, chapter 3):

“My parents came over to the UK in the English summer of 1997. While they were thrilled about how things were developing for me in racing, they’d been less thrilled by the romantic relationship that was developing between Annie and me....”  “...Annie was bitterly disappointed at my behaviour. Her plan to take me to the highest level of motor sport was starting to go horribly wrong, so she left Australia earlier than planned and headed back to Europe. My family arranged for Alan Docking to collect my belongings from the house we had been sharing and the one and only car Annie and I had at that stage...Campese Management told her that they had been instructed by the Webber family to terminate her role as my manager and that Campese Management would be taking over all aspects of my career, including the negotiation of my driving contracts.“

“While I knew Annie provided the support and guidance I needed in my racing career, I was missing her in so many other ways too. We were such a dynamic force in every sense; we could make things happen when we were together. We were teammates, soul mates, call it what you want.“

“As to Mum’s concern about our age difference, that has never been a factor for us. When we began to be more open about being together, perhaps the top end of the age gap shocked a few people. In those days people were less accepting of a big age difference between partners, especially when it’s our way round. It’s not such a big deal nowadays and it makes us laugh when so-called celebrities reveal they’re dating an older woman or younger man!“

While the Daily Mail is trash, the beginning of this video is very revealing to me - particularly Jackie Stewart’s comments from 00:12.

Obviously you can make up your own conclusions from all of this information, and I would once again like to point out that none of us - not me, not the anons, not you - actually know the nature of their relationship. They have been together for 24 years - good for them! Whatever they have going has obviously worked for them, this is not me trying to shit on that or anything, and I’m gonna be real I’m not the biggest Mark Webber fan. 

Nuance, my old friend. Anon hate, my enemy.

All I want to do is add some nuance to the conversation, an overview of the timeline, an understanding of what the facts are. So that some of those cowardly anons (or anon) can hop off their self-built thrones and get a grip. The sexism and ageism argument literally does not apply here, for all of the evidence and reasons listed above - if the situation was flipped we would still be calling it out. The only difference is you guys would probably be on board with it being called out. 

So Ann is a woman? So, what? Do you think she’s above reproach? You think one person’s 50 note post on this site is gonna rock the foundation of a relationship that has been 26 years in making? If you have answered yes to any of these questions then you are either: a) Mark Webber himself, or b) delusional as hell. You really think that responding by sending anon hate to a teenager, who btw only made a post calling out the age difference because she was shocked and had just discovered it, is the right way to go? 

You really think that sending me this message, attacking other people in such a vile and racist manner is okay?

So you don’t like Nehir and Sera? Good for you, go block them, if you follow them, unfollow them. Those options are free and readily available to you. 

For me, it’s so funny to see you hiding behind that little Anon mask spewing this vile shit. The commitment you have to proving that you are just a cowardly person with nothing better to do than rag on a bunch of different people for reblogging a post, that in the long run is not going to reach the people it’s about, is outstanding. I really hope you pat yourself on the back for this one. 

The pitfalls of discourse and the importance of looking after yourself.

There has definitely been a spate of ‘conversations’ that have been happening recently that have very much been straying into the land of discourse, over very small comments or posts. I think that some people need to remember that we’re all here for our own entertainment and as soon as it stops being fun - you are allowed to log off; you are allowed to block people; you are allowed to unfollow people. 

Sending anon hate is so counterproductive to whatever conversation you think you are starting or having with a person. Also guys, sometimes it’s not that deep - sometimes jokes are just jokes, sometimes someone finds out something they didn’t know about a driver or an ex-driver and they make a joke post about it. That does not give you the right to send them hate, or to make racist comments in other people’s asks. 

Sometimes these discussions require a debate and sometimes discourse can be good - but honestly? I’m worried about some of you guys, it is not healthy to get so angry at other people for the things they post on their blogs that you are not obligated to follow or interact with at all. 

I am also worried about people who turn every little thing into something discoursey. There are causes and issues to care about in this sport and community, for sure. But sometimes you also have to pick your battles - especially when I know a lot people in this community have fragile mental health. I do not say this to patronise any of you but to just provide a reminder that you do not need to engage with everything that makes your blood boil, and furthering some of these conversations sometimes is not doing you guys any good. Burnout is real. 

Please take some time to take care of yourselves, the pandemic is doing a number on all of us and I know being online gives you a gateway to being connected to people, but sometimes you just have to walk away from a discussion. Sometimes you have to just go and reblog something unrelated, or stare at a photo of your favourite driver, or listen to some angry music. Anything else to process your knee jerk reaction, to give yourself time to figure out how you feel about something and whether it’s worth engaging in or not. 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Thirty Seven

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕 This one is uh... Long-ish

Warnings: Canon-typical violence; angst; fluff Summary: “Couldn’t unearth that eight hundredth notebook?” Una asked dryly.

I’d given up on trying to find my old translations by the time we reached Catalpa.

Paledore commed that he was making headway with some of the translations, anyway, though he didn't have anything he was fully confident in sharing with the team. As soon as we dropped out of warp, a shuttle with a few of our engineering officers was on its way over to the Hutton to lend a hand. With transporter and warp capabilities down, as well as  limited transmission capacity, their team was spread thin.

“Have we got a fix on the crew’s location?” I asked Number One as we strode toward the transporter bay.

“Not yet. We have the coordinates of their last transmission, but whether or not they’re still there is a but of a gamble.” 

“Any breakthroughs on the translation?” Pike asked, looking over his shoulder at the two of us. 

“Not yet, but Paledore’s on it.” 

“Couldn’t unearth that eight hundredth notebook?” Una asked dryly, and I shot her a look. 

“Notebook?” Pike asked as we all approached the transporter pads.

“One of the runes looked familiar from a class at the Academy. Couldn’t find where I took the note down,” I explained before stepping onto the transporter pad beside Watson. I caught sight of the Captain glancing back at me, seemingly poised to say something before he turned to face forward again. My brow furrowed, curious, but I didn’t get the chance to ask him what it was before we were beaming down. 

--

Catalpa’s surface was arid and bright. It took a few moments to adjust to the light that the three suns in the sky shone down on us. I looked around at my fellow crew members before I turned, searching for any other signs of life, or any other Starfleet crew members. “Alright,” Pike said, looking around, “Let’s split up— teams of two.” I had assumed Una and Spock would pair off, but Spock moved to go with Watson, his junior officer, and Una with the Captain. That left myself and Thira— but that was more than alright with me. We’d be looking for the crashed shuttle that the crew of the Hutton had taken down. There was a chance that there would be crew members within the surrounding area, and even if there weren’t, if Thira could patch the vessel, we could get it off of the ground and use it to scout for the landing party. Pike glanced around at the groupings of us, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment before he nodded firmly, glancing away and issuing a stern, “Be careful,” To the group. 

-- 

“Sidhu here.” “Anything?” Una’s voice was nearly unrecognizable through the thick crackling of the static. “Nothing,” Thira answered. I glanced over as we waited for an answer, for further instruction, but none came— just the crackling hiss. I shook my head a little bit, raising my hand to swipe at my brow. “How long have we been down here?” Thira muttered, tucking her communicator away again. “Couple of hours at least.” “I need— I need to sit,” Thira huffed tiredly, lowering herself onto the ground and opening her jacket a little. She waved her hand at her face, trying to cool off. I looked around. Where we were looked no different from where we’d beamed down, but I knew for a fact that we hadn’t gone in circles.  I huffed, walked around to stand in front of Thira, offering her some shade, and she sighed, smiling. “Thank you.” “No problem,” I smiled a little in turn before glancing around. I could feel a breeze, picking up a little. “...You feel that?” I asked, looking in the direction it was coming from. “Yes, finally,” Thira muttered. I frowned at the sight of what seemed to be a shadow moving in the distance. “Thira.” “Mm?” “What’s that?” She turned to look at it, frowning, and pushed herself to her feet, trying to get a better look. I lowered my hand to my communicator as I heard it trill. Before I could get out my greeting, Paledore’s voice crackled through: “Commander! — Ambushed crew —  translated — runes of — Folmarian—!” My stomach twisted at what did come through, as the shape of the shadow became clearer and clearer still. It was a vessel, a large sand-skimmer outfitted with fore and aft guns. “Thira, move,” I pushed her arm behind me, “Run.” “Folmarian what?” She asked, taking a couple of steps back as I urged her. “Pirates.” 

-- 

The bad news was, we could not outrun the sand-skimmer. A planet as barren as Catalpa was, there was nowhere to hide. In addition to the unforgiving landscape, we’d been walking for two hours; we were tired, we were thirsty. The good news was that we found the crew of the Hutton. Of course, they’d had their communicators taken away, as Thira and I had, as well as their phasers before having their hands bound, but, you know. You take what you can get, really. There were seven members of the Hutton crew on that sand-skimmer. I watched, dismayed, as one of the skimmer crew members smashed our communicators to pieces before flashing me a toothy grin. “Won’t need that where we’re going,” He rasped. His fellow crewmates had chuckled; I felt Thira tense beside me, and I’d simply lowered my eyes. There was no way for me to track where we were going. Whatever this ship-type, it had some cloaking device that kept it hidden from the Enterprise’s sensors. “What are we going to do?” Thira mumbled.  “Don’t panic,” I reassured softly, “They’ll find us.” 

--

“Shouldn’t we fight them off?” I frowned at one of the crew members of the Hutton that had scooched up beside me when our captors were occupied. I glanced around at the surrounding ship before asking, “With what?” “I cannot stand to just waiting,” They hissed. “I understand that, but anything we do will be risky. We have no weapons— no way to free our hands.” I hesitated before admitting, “During the Klingon war, I was taken hostage, briefly. It was terrifying, but I knew that my crew was coming. We’re here because your crew reached out as soon as they realized something was wrong, something bigger than your vessel could handle. They’re going to find us. We just have to wait.” The Hutton crew member went silent beside me, shifting moodily. “...When were you captured?” I nearly didn’t hear Thira’s question about the rush of wind around the sand-skimmer. I shook my head a little. “Let’s just say we stopped using a tether on Tag and Runs after that.” 

-- 

Waking up to Christopher’s voice had been the sweetest sound in the world, once. This particular instance, however, was… More than a little imposing. “Attention: this is Captain Christopher Pike of the U.S.S. Enterprise.” I wasn’t sure when I’d drifted off, but now Thira was nudging her shoulders against mine, forcing me awake. “It has come to my attention that several Starfleet members, including two of my crew, are aboard your...Vessel.” I had to fight a grin off at the pause, looking around and trying to locate the source of his voice. It was too low in the atmosphere to be coming from the Bridge of the Enterprise— he had to be close. “If you halt now, return our crew members to us unharmed, we promise you that we will let you go. If, however, you choose to engage us in combat...I cannot speak for the condition you will leave in.” I had to huff out a soft laugh, unable to help it. The crew of the skimmer were rushing this way and that, doing their best to locate the source of the threats, to man their guns, to raise their shields. They didn’t do it quickly enough, however, because within seconds, members of the Hutton and the Enterprise alike were being beamed aboard. “Beam us out!” The member of the Hutton beside me snapped, even as Phaser fire began whizzing over our heads. “I’m sure they would if they could,” I gritted, trying to shrink myself down against the rail of the ship.  “That’s not good enough!” They yelled, “If I’m ever aboard a starship again—” I was hardly listening— I was watching Una cover Spock’s six as he worked at an imposing-looking control panel. She caught my eye and I gave her a quick nod, letting her know that I was okay before the two of us averted our gazes again. Questions and answers could come later, when there was time. “Are you listening to m—?” The Hutton crew member yelled, but before they could complete their irate tirade, they were beamed out. “Shit!” I hissed, glancing up after them. “Clear, Captain!” I heard Una yell. Captain? But— “Copy, Number One. Five to beam up—” Why wasn’t he on the Bridge? He should’ve stayed on the Bridge— I saw Thira beamed out before I saw Christopher just in front of me— And then the ship dropped away.  -- I didn’t think I’d ever be so happy to be sitting on the floor of the transporter bay with my hands bound. I glanced over to see Spock already working to untie Thira’s hands, and I glanced behind me as I felt Una’s nimble fingers working at my own restraints. “How’d you find us?” The words were thick in my mouth, my tongue heavy and dry. “Paledore got some help, worked out the runes. We did a fine-tuned scan of the planet, there’s a map carved into its crust, and a deeper magnetic mantle. It was interfering with our communications and initial scans.” I glanced up as Una helped me to my feet, and I caught sight of Christopher leaving the transporter bay. He glanced behind himself, but he didn’t turn, didn’t meet my eye— he just hesitated for a half-step before going on his way. “Med-bay, both of you,” Una tacked on before I could say a thing. -- The dehydration was an easy fix. The sleep deprivation, that was fine, I was used to that. Boyce had given myself and Thira the day, and while she was taking it to rest, I couldn’t get my head to settle. It was the worry I couldn’t get out of my mind— the half-looks that Christopher had been giving me, before I beamed off of the ship and when I’d been beamed back on. I needed to speak with him. He didn’t seem surprised to find me standing beside the Captain’s chair, expectant and quiet. He just glanced up, told Number One that she had the conn, and led the way to his ready room. The door slid shut behind us, and I folded my arms around myself, looking around. “You’re alright?” “Yes, Captain.” “Then what is it that you need to discuss, Commander?” I couldn’t help my sharp glance, the furrow in my brow. His tone was so austere; his eyes were guarded, and a little cold. “...The mission on Catalpa. Before we beamed down, you seemed like you were going to say something—” “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean—” “And when we beamed back aboard,” I spoke up a little bit, speaking over him— I wouldn’t let him hurry me out of the room, no matter this discomfort, “You also seemed to hesitate.” Pike shook his head a little bit, lips pressing into a thin line. “That sounds like a matter of your perception, Commander.” “...Don’t do this,” I pleaded softly, “We’re just getting back to… Something normal, and Catalpa’s a hiccup, but—” “A hiccup,” He scoffed, “A hiccup doesn’t almost get you killed.” “Captain—” “I had it.” “...Had what?” It took him a long moment, but— “The notebook that you were looking for, I… It was in my quarters. Several of your notebooks still are. I’ve been… I have been meaning to give them back to you.” I considered this for a moment before I managed, “Then how did Paledore—” “Once I realized that you couldn’t find it, that it was likely my error, I beamed back aboard and gave Ensign Paledore the materials he needed. But it was clearly too late.” I watched Christopher turn away from me, walking over to the window. “I see,” I finally said, “Well...The point is, we made it off of the planet—” “No, the point, Commander,” Christopher turned back to me, “Is that you were nearly killed because I can’t let go of you!” I was stunned into a surprised silence, my mouth falling open a little as Christopher lowered himself onto his couch and put his head in his hands. My heart had ticked up in my chest. Christopher and I had been toeing this line for so long, but for him to simply dive headfirst into this conversation— my mouth was as dry as it had been when I’d been beamed off of the planet. “I almost lost you again,” He said quietly, “And it would’ve been my fault.” I took slow, careful steps over to him before I hesitantly knelt down in front of him. I reached up, lightly gripping his wrists and tugging his hands away from his face. “...Technically it’s mine for not digitizing my notes, right?” I tried to tease, to bring a smile to his face, but Christopher’s lips barely twitched. “I should’ve given them back a long time ago,” He mumbled, defeated and tired as he said so. I settled back onto my heels, brow furrowing in confusion. “Why didn’t you?” Christopher’s face shifted, his eyes flashing, his hands leaving my grip as they cupped my face. “How?” He asked lowly, “How can you still not know what you do to me?” In that moment, I felt more joy and more fear than I had the moment I’d seen him aboard the sand-skimmer. “Christopher,” I mumbled weakly, shaking my head a little. He didn’t give me a moment to falter or to shy away. He just drew me in, pressing his lips firmly to mine. I leaned into him, bracing my hands on his thighs. We took our time, indulging in each other’s little shifts and pauses, the feeling of our lips slipping together, heady and sweet. I teased my tongue along the seam of his lips and thrilled in the soft groan that emanated from his throat. When Christopher leaned away, it was only long enough to draw me off of the floor and onto the couch. I settled into his side, his arm curling around my shoulders as mine wrapped around his middle. He rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed as he drew in a deep breath. I leaned in, pecking his lips gently, trying to soothe the hurt that was lingering over him. “I’m sorry,” He murmured plaintively against my lips. I nodded, smoothing my hand over his side. “It’s alright.” The words were hardly out of my mouth before he was kissing me again. -- Number One had the conn for...Quite a while. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner  ; @tardis-23  ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel ; @blueeyesatnight ; @hotchswifey ; @carbonated-beverage​ ; @lunadegitana​

[one-boring-person]

You forced this upon yourself😂 you forced this rambo simp.(and i dont mind)

Okay this may not be as good! But! Im giving you the liberty to take it where you want!(because i love your little details and how you express the feeling in your writing i- AH! Its great. I cant say it enough, it’s great. I mean it.)

How about Rambo finally getting enough courage to show The rancher around the tunnels, in a date sort of way!(they don’t know thats actually where he lives. Aka that photo i showed you before.) i really saw how the rancher was so happy to have him at their house, I’d love to see rambos side of scheduling a house tour and date type deal!! Maybe him even sitting and showing the rancher through all his old photos, and them just in awe because wow. He’s so much cooler than they even thought! He just so nervous and surprised seeing them so interested in him after all this time alone, and them just- in awe of him.

( i also really think it would be funny seeing rambo go through his friends house and seeing-“why the hell you have so many plants???” And just. Adorable assassin living with a wholesome and loving hardworking s/o)

Ah! Im sorry if that’s not as good!! But hey, you feel free to describe their antics and relationship as you will!!

I think I may have run a bit with this, but I hope you like it regardless!😊💛

I've Got Your Back, You've Got Mine.

John Rambo (Rambo IV/V) x reader

Warnings: mention of death, mention of war, mention of injury, mention of PTSD, mention of violence, (possible flash warning for gif?)

Masterlist

The heavy knock on the door surprises me where I'm sitting, the sharp sound snapping me from my thoughts. Looking over at it from my position at the table, I frown and set down my spoon, standing to go answer, unsure of who it is: I'm not expecting anyone today. Colt looks up from his place on the floor, the dog just as curious as I am as to whom it may be, though he doesn't bark, so it must be someone we know. He watches me as I cross the room, going straight to the door.

Opening it, I'm somewhat surprised to see my neighbour, John, standing there, a tentative smile on his face as he looks me over appreciatively, his gaze drawing a blush to my face. 

"Mornin' (Y/n)." He greets, rough voice friendly as he waits for me to let him in.

"Morning John." I smile back, delighted to see him, "What can I do for you?"

I step back, waiting for him to enter, which he does so with a nod of thanks.

"Since when have I needed a reason to see you?" The veteran chuckles, the sound reverberating within me, my brain subconsciously storing the action away for later recall. Gently, John moves into my space, one hand coming to lightly rest on my hips as the other cups my face, drawing me in for a slow kiss. 

Kissing back, I feel a glow of happiness flare up in me at this contact: he's never really one to initiate touch like this, so it's a whole lot more intimate when he does. Relaxed, I loosely wrap my arms around his neck, languidly caressing his dark hair as our lips move together. 

Being the killjoy he often loves to be, Colt pushes in between us, nosing at John's leg, tail wagging enthusiastically as he recognises the familiar man, the dog as fond of his company as I am. Chuckling, John and I pull apart, looking down at the large canine between us, the dark eyes staring up at us imploring us to pay attention to him. Still smiling, John lowers a hand to scratch Colt's head, ruffling his floppy ears a little as the dog instantly allows his mouth to hang open, tongue lolling in content.

"Hey, Colt." The veteran greets, biting back a laugh as the dog pushes me out of the way, nudging at John's stomach.

"He never gets that excited to see me." I complain jokingly, standing back to watch the two interact, a smile playing at my lips.

"Sure he does." John replies, eyes fixing on mine with an expression of fondness, one that had me weak at the knees.

"He really doesn't, he just sits in the corner and whines at me until I feed him. Isn't that right?" I address the dog himself, giving him a light slap on the rear, his ridiculous height meaning I can quite easily reach it, "Anyhow, did you need something? Or did you just come here to kiss me? I can't say I'll complain if that's the case."

Cheekily, I wink at the veteran, leaning back against a nearby counter.

"As nice as that sounds, it's not the reason I came by." He chuckles, blushing lightly, "Though that does sound good."

Grinning, I nod my agreement, only now taking in his body language: he's nervous. His hands fidget, rubbing his fingers over scars and lines on his palms, and he shifts from foot to foot every now and then, small tells he's never quite managed to hide from me.

"Is something up?" I ask him, slightly more serious this time, unnerved by his discomfort.

"No, no, not at all. I, err, well, I just wanted to ask you something." He rubs the back of his neck, head tilted to the side as he regards me, dark eyes fixed on mine.

"Ok, go for it." I prompt him, curiosity sparking my interest.

"Well, do you wanna come to mine? I mean properly, like in the house." John cocks his head to the side, lowering his arm again.

Blinking, I feel shock flood my system, before it turns to unbelievable happiness that he's trusting me enough to come into his private space. Initially, I can't find the right words, somehow struggling to respond, until I find my tongue again.

"I would love to, John." I agree, features lighting up as my mood brightens, "There's nothing I've really got to do today except train up one of the younger horses, so I've got as long as you want after that."

"Great. Is four o'clock alright?" The veteran smiles broadly, though he still looks somewhat nervous.

"Yeah, should be. I'll be there." I promise him, taking up my Stetson from the table as I briefly turn away to put away the plate I was using, having lost my appetite in my sudden excitement.

"I'll get it tidy." He says, looking around the room again, "I'll never understand why you have so many plants in your house. It's like a damn jungle."

At his comment, I laugh loudly, glancing around at the variety of different houseplants I have placed on various shelves, the greenery practically covering every available surface. 

"Because it's way too dry to grow anything like this outside all the time. Anyway, they look nice." I shrug, calling Colt to my side as I follow John from the house, grabbing my jacket from the hook as I pass.

"But why so many?" 

Once again, I shrug, following him over to a nearby post, where he's hitched Bandit, the horse I gave him a few months ago. The buckskin stallion paws at the ground, his pale coat looking as clean as ever even as he noses at the dust, the dark colouring around his eyes (the reason for his name) and legs standing out much more in the bright sun. As we approach, he looks up, snorting in greeting.

"He's looking good." I acknowledge, admiring the strong stallion appreciatively - I had reared Bandit from a foal, before I had given him to the veteran as a gift four months ago, hoping it will help him to grow his own ranch. My plan had worked, and John now has four horses, including Bandit, as well as a couple of other animals, such as a cow, a pig and five chickens. I'd sold him a couple of goats as well, but we soon found out that John and goats just didn't get along. At all.

"Yeah, he's doing well, too. Takes the training very well, too." John runs a hand through the stallion's dark mane, untying the reins.

"That's good. Reckon he'll be ready for a competition soon?" 

"Should be." 

Snorting again, Bandit pulls at the reins, clearly eager to get going, especially as Colt moves up to sniff at the horse's back legs. I quickly whistle him over, knowing Bandit has always been shifty around the dog.

"I'll see you at four then." I finally say, unwilling to say goodbye, even if it is only for a few hours.

"Yeah, see you then." John smiles, leaning in to kiss me again, keeping it brief this time, leaving me wishing for more, as he always does.

"See ya." I grin, watching him climb into the saddle, still somehow fluid in doing so despite his age. 

Gathering the reins in hand, John adjusts himself in the saddle, before he smiles down at me again as he gently urges Bandit into motion. Obediently, the stallion moves into a swift trot, which turns into a faster canter as the two move off down the driveway, heading towards the split in the fence separating our land. I watch as they go, still finding myself enraptured by the sight of the muscular man sat astride the horse, Colt eventually snapping me from my mind as he barks at me. Shaking my head, I follow him towards the stable.

Hours later, having showered and cleaned up, I feel a sense of relief go through me as I hoist myself into the saddle secured into place on Leo's back. It's relaxing, the stallion beneath me more relaxed than the youngster I've been trying to train all day: she never gave me a break. Seemingly sensing this, as he always does, Leo flicks his ears back and nickers softly, very lightly pawing the ground as I give him a pat on the neck, glad to have a more reliable horse taking me where I need to be.

Tilting back my Stetson, I take the reins in hand and ease the stallion into a trot, intending to let him pick up his own pace, my trust in this horse far greater than in the mare from before. Obediently, Leo moves into the correct gait, the two of us moving as if as one, years of riding together having made it easy for us to become in tune with each other. Together, we start off down the road towards John's ranch, the new path we've created beaten and well-used, allowing for relatively easy riding. Leo's hooves pound the dry ground rhythmically, my hips moving in time with his every stride, the relaxing movement helping to calm the nerves that have sprung up inside me.

A part of me is still unconvinced about going into John's home. Yes, I had helped him rebuild it and had seen very little of the inside rooms, but it still feels as if I'm intruding upon the veteran's safe space, his reprieve from the cruelty of the world he lives in. Something about that doesn't sit right with me, but I tell myself it's John's decision to make, not mine, so I should trust him, which I do, wholeheartedly. 

I'm still torn by the time I reach the main house, where John is already sat waiting for me in his rocking chair, dark eyes fixed on me as I approach. Lifting a hand to him, I smile and slow Leo to a halt, praising the horse as I climb down, the gray stallion nosing affectionately at me. Swiftly, I tie him to a nearby post, only to stop when John calls out to me.

"Put him in the stable for the night." He instructs me, gesturing for me to follow him as I try to fight back the sudden onslaught of racing thoughts at his implications: he wants me to stay the night?

"Sure, thanks." I smile back at him, walking after him with Leo in tow.

"Don't worry about it. It's not fair on him if he has to stay out all night." John waves me off with a short grin, "How'd training go?"

I groan.

"Not great. That horse has it in for me, I swear." I complain, rubbing at my arm, remembering the moment I got the new bruise forming there.

"Oh yeah?" He muses, looking amused.

"Yeah. She threw me off eight times!"

"Eight times? Wow, must be a new record." The veteran jokes, something that stirs up the familiar fondness inside me at his more personable behaviour.

"I reckon so. Painful one to set, though, I'll tell you." I remark, smiling broadly as we enter the stable, where I quickly house Leo next to Bandit, removing his tack and other gear.

"Must be." John watches me work, leaning against the door to the large building, muscular arms crossed over an equally muscular chest. Turning back to him, I have to stop and admire the bulging of his biceps as his hands grip his forearms, the veins I've come to love laying out a pattern on the tanned limbs. Everytime I see them, I imagine his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me safe and secure against his solid body, wishing I could feel his hands splayed against me more often.

"Like what you see?" John interrupts my thoughts, voice teasing as he lifts an eyebrow at me, almost smirking at me.

Blushing furiously, I avert my gaze, lifting a hand to gently tap the brim of my Stetson out of my vision.

"You know I do." I laugh nervously, before I look back up at him, "Anyway, since when do you use pickup lines?"

"Since I figured out they get you all flustered." His playful tone is new to me, though it's gone almost as soon as I see it, his guarded expression falling back into place as he returns within himself, probably thinking he overstepped some invisible boundary.

I still can't help stammering for a response, his gruff tone awakening something within me.

"Heh, I guess you're right." I stutter, going over to him.

Nodding, he keeps his expression straight, leading me out back to the house, where he quickly welcomes me inside.

"I tried to tidy it as much as possible, but it's still a bit messy." The veteran apologises, observing the interior of his home critically, even as I do so in awe.

The rooms, from what I can see, are mostly filled with sparse furniture, a few chairs here and there, an old sofa, a couple of vanities and dressers, with a mantlepiece in most, if not all, of them. He hasn't used much colour, but what he has used is tasteful and works well with the overall appearance. The walls, however, are what really draw me into the place.

They are littered with photographs and memorabilia, frames and objects cleaned and polished so they shine brightly in the afternoon sun, many smiling faces visible in them. Curious, I go over to one wall, looking over the array of pictures, which I now recognise to be images of John and his friends from the years he spent here. Amongst them is a creased black and white photo of a young John sat astride a horse not unlike Bandit, a broad grin on the boy's face as he stares at the camera from under a mop of thick black hair. I can feel a small smile creep onto my face at the sight of the veteran looking so happy and carefree, something I've not seen very much of at all in my time around him.

"That was my first horse, Hector. I had him until I left for the army." John says from behind me, sounding somewhat quiet, eyes softened from nostalgia as he stares at the picture along with me, "I loved him a lot, but my father always said he wasn't good enough."

His words hang in the air as I stay speechless, listening intently to what he's saying to me: it's the first I'm hearing about his life before he came here again.

"What happened to him? Hector, I mean." I ask him quietly, tearing my eyes away to look up at John.

The veteran shrugs, appearing somewhat remorseful.

"I'll never know, but I reckon my father sold him as soon as I was gone."

"Oh." I frown, glancing back at the photograph.

"The horse was getting old by that time, though. He probably wasn't much use." John chuckles wryly, moving away towards the stairs nearby, "Do you want to see upstairs?"

"Yeah, sure." I nod, following him as he ascends to the second floor, which I now see consists of three different rooms.

He takes me to the farthest, opening the door to reveal an old study, which looks as if it hasn't been used in a good few years.

"This was my father's study, where he did all his business. I was never allowed in here as a kid." John sweeps his arm around the room, staying by the threshold, as if abiding by a rule that no longer exists, "Not that I go in here that much as an adult."

I look around, finding the neat area interesting: images of a young John hovering by the door, waiting for his father to finish business entering my head.

"It's nice, I like it." I remark, turning to find him smiling very slightly at me.

"It's the only room in the house that's exactly as it used to be. I haven't had time to do up the others properly." John says, leaving the study and going back down the hall, where he opens the other two doors to reveal a bathroom and an empty room.

A dull curiosity flares up within me as I realise one thing about the top floor, but I easily find a solution to it, following John back down the stairs. As we go, however, I realise that my assumption is wrong, as the only other rooms down here are missing the one thing I'd expect in any house.

"Where do you sleep? I haven't seen a bed or anything anywhere." I ask him, cocking my head to the side as he takes me to one final door.

"I'm gonna show you." He smiles at me, before he opens the door.

I blink as I see the dark steps descending into the ground, unease biting at my throat as I flash John a hesitant look. A cool draft wafts up from the black depth, but John only chuckles and moves down into the space below, gesturing for me to follow.

"It's perfectly safe, don't worry." He calls to me, a light flickering on as he reaches the bottom of the steps, illuminating the path to me.

Swallowing, I gingerly step down the stairs, emerging into a tunnel of sorts, my curiosity piqued as I take in the chiselled walls around me, the rock cast in an odd light from the naked bulbs positioned along the length of the cavern. Struts of wood hold the ceiling steady, wiring hanging off of them in places where he's had to hastily put it all together. John watches as I take in the passage, a thoughtful look in place on his face.

"What is this place?" I wonder aloud, still taken aback by the oddity of having a tunnel beneath the house that stretches off in both directions.

"This is my safe space." The veteran informs me, urging me along with him as we go further into the tunnel, walking together for a minute before we emerge out into a larger room of sorts, which is well lit. 

My eyes widen as I realise exactly what he means.

The room acts as his bedroom and bathroom, and also has space to sit and relax, the whole area having a homely feel to it. What was missing in the rooms in the house can be found down here, including more photographs, though these ones seem different to the others. They adorn the walls, all except one, which is decorated with a variety of weapons, both guns and knives. Going over to it, I look over the rifles and shotguns hooked onto the wall, struck speechless as I then turn my attention to a machete, the blade honed but chipped from use, seemingly out of place as it hangs beside another, smaller hunting knife. 

Moving on, I regard the photographs, only now realising that they're military pictures, many of them containing images of a youthful John in fatigues and uniform. A smile creeps back onto my lips as I feel my eyes land on a particular image of a group of men, where I can see John standing amongst them, a triumphant grin on his face, long locks of dark hair held back by a strip of fabric around his head. The others also smile, though there's something bittersweet about the inscription at the corner of the photo: Baker Team, Vietnam. As I look past the other pictures, I notice that the team slowly dwindles, beaming faces becoming drawn and solemn, eventually just leaving two people behind. Beneath this image is another inscription: Baker Team Survivors.

"That was my team in 'Nam." John says suddenly, voice husky as he remembers the friends he had, "None of them made it back. Not really."

Eyes wide, I look back at him, taking in the distant look in his own eyes, the barely concealed grief still raw in his expression as he stares at the photographs. Noticing my gaze, John gestures for me to come sit on the edge of his bed with him, the veteran pulling another photograph from it's place on his bedside table. Doing so, I make sure I'm not touching him, but am close enough to reassure him, waiting patiently for him to start talking of his own accord, knowing that this is a sensitive subject for him.

After a moment, he starts, his voice low as he pulls me into his stories, taking me through suffocating jungles and blistering heats, through recon and rescue missions, through bloody gunfights and hellfire,  through hours spent in torturous situations. He puts me in his shoes as he loses every single member of his team to the gruesome fight he should never have fought, the harrowing grief and pain of letting go of a comrade, someone who's supposed to be by your side for as long as the two of you can stay alive, laid bare for me to see and experience. And even as he moves on, back to familiar territory in the States, the fight never leaves him.

Facing harassment in what should be his safety and security, I can feel every bit of betrayal, of anger and grief that he felt as he is let down by his own country time after time, used again and again by the authorities to do their dirty work, only to be cast aside when it doesn't go their way, the old catchphrase he once lived by, "I've got your back, you've got mine" completely meaningless in this hollow life. His disgust in humanity is plain to me as he outlines his most recent forays into warfare, where the rage he felt is once again transferred to me, and I experience the violent need to take out the parasites in the world that destroy anything good that he did. It's as if I'm there with him, through everything, his description and memories so vivid they chill me to the core, keeping me hooked on his every word.

After a long while, he eventually trails off, and I realise there's a tear rolling down his cheek, his body shaking a little as he holds himself back. My heart breaking, I have to fight the urge to reach out and pull him into an embrace, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. I place my hand on his shoulder instead, rubbing the tight muscles soothingly until he looks up at me with the most heart-rending gaze I've ever seen in my life. At that point, my resolve breaks.

Carefully, I lean in and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling the veteran towards me. He goes willingly, sobs wracking his body as he wraps his own hands around me, burying his face into my neck, tears flowing freely now as he lets himself go, each pained sound agonising to hear. Tightening my grip, I lay back onto the bed, allowing him to press his body around me, holding me against his muscular form as I rub his back, whispering soothing things to him as his breathing starts to calm a little. It takes time, but eventually he starts to relax, body going limp as he lays in my arms, his larger form awkwardly wrapped around mine as he depresses his face into the crook of my neck.

I barely hear his broken voice as he whispers to me.

"Thank you." 

Breathing in his familiar scent, I just mould myself closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as he does the same to my neck.

"I'm here for you, John. I'm here, and I'll never leave. Not as long as I live, I promise."

[snow-leopard-7772point0]

I'll Change My Crown, from Light to Dark

The akuma landed on Marinette's windowsill, the girl not even noticing as she sat in the tattered remnants of her designs. Luckily she had dropped off most of her completed works the day before to be delivered to the appropriate patrons, though everything she had yet to send off was ripped, cut, burned, there wasn't a scrap of cloth that was usable for anything but as a guide for buying more. Her sketchbook was in shreds on the floor, paper scattered like confetti over the remaining slivers of all her hard work. 

The akuma danced in place. It's master was urging it to go forward, to possess the girl, but… there were so many objects to choose from! Should it just possess the entire room? The sewing machine? One little scrap of fabric? A piece of paper? What about her emotions? This butterfly had made some of the strongest akumas to date, though the strength behind her feelings was astromically larger than any other person they had targeted. The little insect itself was slightly afraid to act as a bridge for her. It finally flew forward, choosing the scraps of the dress the girl had been making herself for the Wayne gala.

Marinette froze when her emotions intensified, hearing Hawkmoth cooing in her ear. "Greetings, Mistress Hawthorne. They all accuse you of being the bully, of being a liar, never paying attention to the proof you give them. They destroyed your designs, your livelihood, and expect to get away scott free.  I'm giving you the ability to turn all your ruined dreams into hawthorn bushes that force people to see the truth, whether they can accept it or not. No more hiding behind lies or masks, everyone will have to be honest and pay for their crimes. All I ask in return is for Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous."

"I refuse, Hawkmoth "

The villain froze for a second. Only one other person had ever resisted him so easily, and that was due to her love for Ladybug. Nothing about Marinette Dupain-Cheng screamed that she truly cared for the heroes, so why would she resist? He was giving her the perfect way to get revenge! If he didn't fear that it would give the heroes a clue to his identity, he wouldn't have even asked for the Miraculous for this offence! "Why do you refuse? Imagine how great it will feel, trapping them in their castle with your thorns until the truth comes out!"

"Oh, make no mistake, revenge will be divine. But I'm already looking at little to no sleep for the foreseeable future so that I can press charges against them, email all my patrons whose clothes were destroyed about the delay, buy all the fabric to remake their outfits, and get my own dress together for the Wayne gala. Luckily I'm not starting completely over with it, their mindless destruction gave me an idea for my dress, but there is still much to do. I have no time to become an akuma, I have to get to work immediately, and it will be tomorrow before my classmates are all in the same place again."

"What… what if I didn't ask for the Miraculous in return, and you miss a few days of school to get everything completed?

"While missing school may become a necessity before everything is over and done with, I still have much to do. It would take far too long to force the truth out of Lila Rossi, and I am uncertain if Ladybug's Miracle Cure would erase any progress I made on designing as an akuma. You seem like a reasonable businessman, I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, yes, I do, actually. Cut me some slack here, I've been trying to akumatize you for over a year now! What kind of cloth are you cut from?"

"A different kind from my classmates. I refuse to stoop to their level. Besides, I have pride in the fact that I am not helpless, and the costumes I see akumatized people in are atrocious. Please have a nice day, but I do need to get to work."

"I-very well then. Good luck. Please at least make your classmates suffer."

Marinette's smirk alone was fuel to create a fear-based akuma. "They'll pay. But on my terms." The purple butterfly left her dress, and Marinette caught herself as she slumped to the floor. Resisting Hawkmoth had taken much more out of her than she had anticipated.

⏳

Gabriel rose from the underground room, surprising Nathalie. "Sir, surely she didn't-"

"No, Nathalie, she didn't loose. She didn't even accept my offer. I even offered to not require the Miraculous this time, but she still refused. Her mental strength is highly admirable, especially when her guard is at its lowest. She would be a great asset to us."

"In what manner?"

"Any way I can get her. She is one of the best designers I have seen in a long time, especially at her age. I caught a glimpse of her revenge plan when my akuma possessed her and it was astoundingly terrible, and she is kind and independent enough to make an amazing daughter."

"Sir, kidnapping is illegal."

"I don't have to kidnap her, I'll throw Adrien at her." Gabriel started to wave his hand in dismissal, then noticed the look on Nathalie's face.

"Sir, I think you should watch the rest of this." Nathalie walked forward, bringing up the video from earlier. Gabriel had only watched a second of it before rushing to his butterflies, it was easy to recognize the girl's room by her designs. He'd been gunning for her since she lied to him to help keep Adrien in school and made the feathered hat. Her spirit and dedication let him know that she could be a great ally or terrible enemy. She didn't (yet) have the money or power to come after Gabriel Agreste on her own, but he was certain that the girl was being considered for a Miraculous. He knew she didn't already have one, she hadn't responded to Miracle Queen, after all, but several of her classmates had used one. He actually paid attention to the video this time, watching all the way through. The first people seen on camera were the blogger girl and Lila Rossi, several other classmates cropping up through the video. He didn't notice Timebreaker, Evilillstrator, or the Bourgeois girl, though he did see his own son halfway through the recording, happily cutting at a gown that had been carefully beaded with a hawthorn pattern with a pair of scissors, cutting off the beads and chunks of fabric. 

Gabriel's frown deepened. "Cut all ties to Lila Rossi immediately. We will be making a public apology, telling the public that we did not know of her abhorrent tendencies, nor did we expect her to pull Adrien into her schemes. Adrien will be appropriately punished, and we will offer Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng compensation for the destruction of her property, along with a small team of designers that will know to make every stitch to her preference, no matter their opinion on the piece."

"Of course, sir. How would you like to make your statement to the public?"

"Call that news anchor, Najda Chamack, and ask her to come here. I will speak to her in person as soon as she is available. I also want the apology posted to every social media outlet we use, including our official website."

"Sir, is this not overkill? This isn't Audrey Bourgeois."

Gabriel glared at Nathalie. "No, she is not. She designs for more famous people than Audrey does. She is the main designer for the Wayne gala this year. Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Tsurugi Tomoe, even the Wayne's commissioned her work. All of her designs are paid for in a split payment plan, the money for the materials is required upfront while the rest of the payment can wait until after the person received their design to make sure it is what they want. That means there will very likely be several highly influential individuals and families gunning for us because of Rossi and my son."

Nathalie paled. She hadn't imagined that the small girl who stumbled and stuttered every time she saw her would have that kind of power backing her. Everyone knew that the girl had Jagged Stone backing her, MDC was his main designer for everything and anyone who personally met the girl and the rocker knew who MDC was, especially since they were supposed to have their identity reveal at the Wayne gala. Jagged Stone by himself would be bad and the company would take a hit, though she was positive Marinette would stop him before he went too far. But with so many others working with Jagged… Gabriel (the company) would not survive. 

"I will get everything arranged." Nathalie quickly left the office.

⏳ 

Marinette's first order of business was to email all of the clients affected by her classmates's actions. She informed them that they did not need to worry, as she was suing all the students for the costs of what they destroyed- not just materials, but labor as well, and would be buying new material for their clothes out of her own pocket until she got retribution. She also informed them that their orders would come in slightly later than planned, though not by much. Clara, Jagged, Kagami and her mother, and the Wayne's all responded to her email with assurances that things happened and to take her time. Bruce Wayne offered to delay the gala so that she would have plenty of time to rectify the situation, though she was quick to assure him that it was not necessary.

Her next order of business was cleanup. She collected every scrap of fabric big enough to make so much as a small patch or strip and sat them in a small box next to where her personal dress was. Everything else was collected and thrown in the trash. She dug out her receipts for all the fabrics destroyed, including the fabrics for projects intended for her classmates. She quickly pulled up the video Alya had posted, writing down who destroyed what. She matched the fabrics to the people, then calculated the time she would have spent on each piece. She reviewed the video one more time, noticing that none of the art students, including Chloè, were in the video. Though it was to be expected. The whole class knew how important all art was to the art students; those students would have stopped them if they were in the know. Chloè was not only in the art club, but also still exiled from the class, though her relationship with Marinette had gone from bully to ally. They still weren't friends, but they stuck together against most of the class, only Nathaniel and Alix leaving them alone. The class may have had five braincells in the entire room, Chloè, Marinette, Alix, and Nathaniel each having one all to themselves while the rest of the class, including Madame Bustier, shared the other one, but they used that one braincell to know who could be brought in on a scheme like this.

Marinette had just finished calculating who she would she for what and was on her way to buy fabrics when her phone rang. She grabbed it as she opened her hatch, activating her recording app as she answered. "Hello?"

"Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, it has come to my attention that Adrien Agreste and Lila Rossi have vandalized your property. Lila Rossi has already been terminated and Adrien will face suitable punishment for his actions. I wish for you to come by the manor at your earliest convenience for us to discuss payment."

"If you're free now, I was just about to head out."

"Of course. I'll send a car for you."

"Merci, Monsieur Agreste." Marinette pocketed her phone and made copies of the expenses each of her classmates would be charged. She had no way of knowing where, exactly, Gabriel Agreste stood, but she refused to leave anything to chance. The original, along with the receipts, was stored in her diary box while one copy was left on her desk and another found its home in her purse. She stopped by the kitchen to inform her parents that she was headed to the Agreste Manor and would explain later before walking out to wait on the car.

⏳

Adrien was smiling after school. He had never realized how freeing it was to tear clothes apart, especially clothes made by someone who refused to listen to him. Marinette deserved everything she got, plus some. He wondered what of hers he could destroy next.

He was surprised when he returned home to see his father glaring at him from in front of the stairwell. "We need to have a talk, son." The designer's voice promised pain. "About your friends and actions today."

Adrien stared at his father, confused. "Why? What happened?"

Gabriel growled. "Nathalie."

"Sir?"

"Show him the video, then leave us to our discussion."

"Yes sir." Nathalie quickly pulled up the video of the class destroying Marinette's designs and held the tablet out to Adrien before taking her leave. 

Adrien watched the video, unable to understand what had angered his father. "Do you understand what you have done?" Gabriel demanded.

Adrien shrugged. "I got payback. She wouldn't listen to me when I told her to lay low, so I decided to help the class teach her a lesson."

Gabriel coldly glared at his son. "You have cost me over a thousand dollars just in the hours that girl put into her work. That does not include the cost of the materials, deformation of private property, or potential unlawful entry and vandalism charges. How do you know that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng is not currently an akuma gunning for your head? Or that her clients aren't going to press charges? Her clientele could ruin your entire class, your entire school, with a single phone call."

Adrien scoffed. "She doesn't have that many big clients. Just Jagged Stone. And Marinette can't get akumatized. She's too stubborn to listen to anyone."

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Adrien, I'll tell you this as your classmate is revealing it in less than a month. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has been taking the world of fashion by storm while using her initials, MDC. Only certain celebrities and rich people know who she is, mainly people she has worked or designed for. Jagged Stone is the first and main one, yes. But Clara Nightingale has been using her more and more. MDC is the main designer for the Wayne gala, not only Monsieur Stone and Mademoiselle Nightingale commissioning her, but the Tsurugi family and the Wayne family, along with several friends and supporters of the four families. Aubrey Bourgeois supports her, perhaps even more than she supports me, and I have admired several of her pieces done for contests."

Blood began to drain from Adrien's face, though Gabriel doubted that the boy fully understood anything yet. "Her mother's best friend is Najda Chamack, and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng babysits her child. Her uncle is a famous chef who loves his family dearly, especially since his great niece learned Mandarin to be able to talk to him and help him with his French. Alix Kubdel is friends with Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, and also comes from a respectable family- as well as Chloè Bourgeois becoming her ally after she helped with her mother. Not to mention that the Dupain-Cheng family is not hurting for money, as they are the best and most popular bakery in Paris. They get orders from all over the city, plus serve at almost every party that has edible food. You attacked the livelihood of one of the most powerful children in Paris. Not only that, but you destroyed the property of some of the most prolific people in the world." Adrien's face had lost all traces of blood, though Gabriel did not expect it to be from shame. No, his son was afraid because he had been caught. "You will not return to school until Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng has revealed herself as MDC to the world, nor will you have access to any of your social media, messages, or phone. You may return to being homeschooled. I shall have to reassess the situation at a later date. If I do allow you to return to school, it will not be François-DuPont. You will drop contact with your current classmates. You are dismissed." Gabriel turned from his son, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

⏳

Marinette was escorted straight to Gabriel's office upon arrival. The man shook her hand before gesturing for her to take a seat. "Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, my assistant showed me the video of what your classmates did. My sincerest apologies. I assure you that my son is currently being punished and Mademoiselle Rossi's contract has been terminated. I also wanted to offer you compensation for your loss as well as a team of designers that will follow your instructions to the last stitch."

Marinette eyed the elder Agreste. "What do you want in return?"

Gabriel blinked at the girl. He knew she was smart, though he hadn't expected her to ask that. "For this? Nothing. My son deserves every lawsuit you draw up. I remember what it was like when I was first starting my company; something like this would have been devistating."

"Well, Monsieur, covering everything will not be necessary. I have already calculated the damages each student did and how much they owe for it. I am not holding you responsible for the actions of any of my classmates, not even Agreste or Rossi. I'm sure you have paid your son for working for you," Marinette felt viciously victorious when he nodded, "in which case he should be able to pay for damages himself. The same holds true for Rossi; she was a contract model for your company and was paid as such. They should both be able to afford my work- custom or not."

"Might I see what you've drawn up? I heard from Aubrey that you have a tendency to undercharge for your work, and, as you just said, my son and former employee should be able to afford your work. The beaded dress my son ruined, for example, should cost twenty-five hundred dollars, bare minimum. I would charge much more than that, especially with how much work is put behind hand-beading." Marinette could do nothing but gape at her childhood idol. She had been expecting a bribe, a threat, something to try to protect his son.

She pulled the paper out of her purse when he raised an eyebrow, pulling the video up on her phone. "Césaire was stupid enough to put her phone in the corner where I could track everyone's movements, and I can figure everything out if I can get Markov. I figured out who destroyed what and calculated what they owe from there. I don't know who picked the lock to the upper floors, or to my room, though my money's on either Césaire or Rossi. Césaire's obsessed with being a great reporter while Rossi is a liar and a thief. Harleprè, Lavaillant, Bruel, Couffaine, and Lahiffe owe the least, they didn't do much. They just ripped a few pages out of my sketchbook. Raincompx, le Chein, Césaire, Rossi, Agreste, and Kantè did the most damage, and so will face the bigger lawsuits. I have already contacted my clients and informed them of the slight delay. Your team of designers, while most appreciated, will not be necessary. It shouldn't take me more than a few days to recreate the Wayne's suits and send them off, I sent the dresses yesterday. Jagged and Clara will both be in Paris next week and can stop by my house to pick up their outfits and have a final fitting. I can easily deliver the Tsurugi chensogams to their home. That covered everyone that had their outfits for the gala destroyed. I had finished the majority of them yesterday and done the final checks before sending them off. I was supposed to send the Wayne suits off today, though that plan was foiled. I was lucky that I went ahead and finished my commissions rather than more personal projects. Most of what got destroyed were projects my classmates requested of me rather than important works."

"Are you positive you don't want help? At least on your beaded dress?"

Marinette pulled up pictures of what she had. "I have several different scraps of colors, most of them either on the darker end of the spectrum or metalic, from the works they destroyed. I'm going to use those scraps from my other works to make a pair of wings on the back of the dress, the colors getting darker the further down they go and metalic fabrics making the outline of the wings."

Gabriel considered the dress. "You'll look like a fallen angel. I hope you're still planning on charging my son the full amount for the dress."

"Most definitely. There will be some alterations I make besides the wings, putting some pieces back together, cutting or tearing others, partially rebeading sections, I have some work to put in. Your son added to my work load when it was already full, he personally destroyed not only my dress but Jagged and Penny's outfits as well. Might I know what punishment he is suffering?"

"So you can plan revenge accordingly?" Gabriel questioned. He sighed at her innocent expression. "He will no longer attend François-DuPont. He will basically be under house arrest for everything except shoots until after the gala. I am undecided as to whether he shall go to another school or be permanently homeschooled. He is not allowed any contact with his former classmates nor access to social media or his phone. So if you wish to strike, do it right after a photo shoot. You can do it before or during as long as you don't ruin the clothes on display."

Marinette's grin was pure evil. "Don't worry, Monsieur Agreste. I have too much respect for the work designers put into their work to be so crass. Will Agreste still practice fencing with Kagami?"

"I shall allow it on a trial basis."

"Very well. It was nice meeting with you, Monsieur Agreste, but I must take my leave. I have too much to do before I traumatize, I mean get payback, I mean revenge, wait, no, deal with my classmates after the gala. But before I go… You wouldn't happen to know anyone that would be able to teach me how to, how should I phrase this… I guess basically be an Ice Queen?"

Gabriel smirked. "Actually, my nephew, Felix Graham de Vanily, will be at the gala. He's a model from England, and many consider him an Ice King. He'd be a great teacher." And perhaps potential mate to bring you into the family. I wonder how many love akumas it would take to get you two together… perhaps Adrien needs a good influence his age around the Manor…

Marinette slightly felt as though she had signed her future away, though that was ridiculous so she simply thanked Gabriel before leaving.

⏳

The next few days flew by in a rush of designing and lawyers. The lawyers her parents got were more than willing to come to the bakery and talk to Marinette as she sewed, especially since she had eyeballed them and given them all scarves and beanies the next time they were there. Marinette didn't bother to pay attention in Bustier's class, electing to nap instead. She was awake for Mendeleiev's classes, though. She liked her dragon-like teacher as the woman actually taught her students. She managed to finish her clients' clothes with time to spare, having gotten so used to designing for Jagged, Penny, and Clara that very few adjustments needed to be made. A couple Wayne suits had come back with notes on where they needed to be adjusted and how, and those were shipped back out that same day. Her own dress took until the last minute, Marinette completely finishing it, including adjustments, the day before she was set to leave for the gala. She would be staying with Jagged and Penny in the Wayne Manor for the two weeks she was to be there, a week before the gala and a week after. Her classmates's parents were horrified to hear what their children had done, making sure the kids paid every penny of what Marinette was suing for without even going to court. Alix and Nathaniel had nearly gotten in trouble with their families, though Marinette was quick to personally visit and explain things. Apparently the other families had contacted the Kurtzburg's and Kubdel's about the scandal with the children, no one noticing that some of the children weren't involved.

She already had her traveling designing kit packed so that she could make sure the Wayne's outfits all fit properly. Chloè and Kagami were traveling with her, determined to make sure their former rival was well taken care of while their parents took care of the hotel. Jagged was fuming beside Marinette whole they rode through Gotham, the girl talking to her friends.

"So, Mari-hime, you told me that you would explain what was going on if Adrien refused to before we left." 

Marinette gave Kagami a highly stressed smile. "I think watching the video would explain things better. I didn't want you to get akumatized because of me while we were in Paris."

"So you knew Adrien would refuse to tell me what crime he committed against you. What video?"

Marinette pulled it up on her tablet. "For the record, I simply suspected that he would keep his mouth shut. Though Monsieur Agreste is making sure that his interactions with anyone besides himself, Madame Sancouer, and his bodyguard are highly limited." She passed Kagami the tablet, Chloè leaning over to watch it with her.

The Japanese girl dropped the tablet in her lap as she watched, clenching her fists so hard that her palms bled. "How- how dare that baka! They all have no honor! They should meet my blade!"

"Kagami. Calm down. I have it handled. I want you and Chloè to teach me how to be a vengeful Ice Queen while we're here. Monsieur Agreste suggested talking to his nephew for lessons as well. By the time I'm back in Paris, I don't want our classmates to be able to recognize me. I already have some revenge planned, the wheels for those are already in motion. I messaged the Césaire and Lahiffe families to inform the entire family that I will be unable to babysit for them for the foreseeable future. Ambassador Rossi has a request in her inbox to visit the school while we are gone, as Rossi's classmates would love to hear about what it's like to be an ambassador. The le Chein family was sent a list of tutors for their son's failing grades, unfortunately all those tutors work at the same time as mandatory swim practice. I sent Luka a copy of the video, so Kitty Section is about to loose their lead guitarist so that he can learn under my dear uncle. Agreste will be facing a startling amount of bad luck for a good chunk of time whilst loosing all of his beloved friends. By the time I am finished, even Hawkmoth won't want to work with them."

Chloè stared at her friend. "Did you really just say 'whilst?' Who hurt you? I just want to talk."

Jagged continued to sulk. "She won't even let me send my rockin followers after those bloody rats. She's only letting me steal away a new guitarist!"

"Because I have everything planned out. And Agreste will become even more isolated once we return. No matter what I say, Kagami is going to duel him to the, figurative, death before informing him of her distaste for him and his actions."

Kagami mock glared at Marinette. "So what if I do? He deserves it. He deserves much worse. But how will he become more isolated? I will still be sparring with him twice a week."

"A person is more isolated surrounded by people that don't care about them than all on their own. Yes, you will physically be there. But your obvious emotional distance will leave him more isolated than him being stuck in his room all day."

Chloè stared at her new friend. "Where was all this evil cunningness when I was your bully?"

Marinette smirked. "I had a wake-up call. Césaire, ironically, taught me that it's okay to stand up for myself, and Hawkmoth helped release a part of me I had blocked out."

"What? Were you akumatized? How did I not know?" Chloè demanded.

Marinette waved her hand dismissively. "It was a few days before we actually became friends, and he didn't manage to akumatize me. He possessed my dress, but I refused to work with him. Apparently he's wanted to akumatize me for a while, but I'm good at forcing myself to calm down."

"What was he going to call you?" Chloè was highly excited to finally have someone who knew what it was like to fully resist Hawkmoth. Not calm down before the butterfly reached them, not resist for a second before giving in, but fully resist the man.

"Mistress Hawthorne." Marinette laughed. "I was going to have the ability to turn my ruined dreams into hawthorn bushes that would trap everyone in their castle and force them to see the truth." Marinette had to stop, she was laughing so hard. "I told him no, and he was so shocked that he only argued for a second before wishing me luck with revenge!"

Jagged continued to sulk through the teens laughter, refusing to give in. He wanted to crush those bloody teens. No one gets away with hurting his niece.

⏳

As soon as she arrived at the manor and had her bags unpacked, Marinette began tracking down the Wayne's, one by one, and dragging them back to her room with their suits or dresses, forcing them to put them on so that she could fully alter them to her preference. Dick was scared of the tiny Asian girl that slung him over her shoulder before grabbing his suit and forcing him to come with her when he hesitated and then worked silently, ignoring his attempts at friendship. He was so scared of her that he sprinted the other direction the first time he saw Kagami. Jason and Bruce both wanted to adopt the girl- she blended in perfectly with their family, and Jason had witnessed both, the girl's kidnapping of his brother and Dick running away from Kagami. He had to respect someone who could instill more fear than Demon Spawn himself, and Bruce wanted to cultivate that talent until he got a Nightingale. Damian and Cass both respected the girl for her professionalism and silence (and word of her traumatizing Dick had already spread through the manor). Tim instantly fell in love with the girl, as she asked him if he wanted coffee or tea while they were doing his fitting, as he looked dead on his feet (he did not choose both or cry tears of joy, and no one can prove to Alfred that he did). Selina purred at the amount of pure chaos she could feel pouring off of the girl, even with her suppressing it while she worked. She needed a kitten. Bruce already had his litter, it was her turn. Kor'i bounced in place the whole time, trying not to inturupt the girl as she adjusted her glorious creation.

Jagged disappeared with Bruce after his fitting, explaining to the billionaire what Marinette had been going through, even showing him the video of her work getting destroyed, before asking for his help to get revenge. He explained Marinette's known plans, and the rocker and vigilante began planning around hers, using their collective contacts and knowledge to open the class's wounds even deeper.

Dinner that night was chaos. Jason, Selina, Bruce, and Jagged were in a constant argument, with Penny occasionally interjecting, that abruptly cut off any time Marinette drew near, she was only able to catch the words adoption and revenge, Kagami and Cass spent their time in silence, eyeing each other. Chloè didn't breathe while swapping between berating Dick and Tim for their fashion choices and interigating them about Gotham and its foreign student transfer policies. Damian scowled at everyone the entire time from his seat next to Marinette. Marinette did her best to emulate him, not noticing Dick slowly sliding his chair further and further away from her.

Damian decided he liked tolerated Marinette five days into her stay. Dick had been complaining to him and Jason about how much Asian girls scared him and Kor'i wanting them to live with them. Marinette had somehow heard his complaints and came storming up to them, cussing Dick out in a mixture of French, Mandarin, Arabic, Italian, and English. Damian did not know why that caused a blush to creep up his face, though he admired the way her accent curled around the words, making everything seem like a language all of its own. 

Jason chuckled when she walked off. "That. That was the art of cussing at its finest. I'm getting Alfed and we're going to go teach my new little sister how to shoot guns. Angel's my favorite, you can all suck it." Jason walked off in the same direction the girl had left in. It didn't take but forty-two minutes for the sound of gunfire to echo around the house. 

⏳

The night before the gala, the women in Wayne Manor gathered in Marinette's room. The night was spent coaching her on how to act and reveal her identity, both on the carpet and during the gala.

"Don't fret so much, kit." Selina advised. "You are a queen, act as such. Keep you head up and keep your cool. They'll all be tripping over themselves to speak to you, and you don't give them the time of day." Chloè nodded her agreement, even as Kagami objected.

"You're approachable and professional at the same time. Just let people see both sides of you."

The women continued to argue, Marinette finally escaping to talk to Alfred. She spent the night under his tutelage, learning all she could about presentation. The man finally ushered her off to bed. "You have a long day tomorrow. You will need sleep to get through it."

⏳

Once arriving at the gala, Marinette kept her head high as she glided down the carpet, the press quickly stopping her to ask if she was a new Wayne and what happened to her dress. "No." She offered a small smile to them. "I'm the designer MDC. The Wayne's hired me to design their suits, and were kind enough to offer their home to me and my aunt and uncle, even letting two of my best friends, Tsurugi Kagami and Chloè Bourgeois, spend the majority of their time with me at the Manor. My parents live in France, where I will be returning to in a weeks time. My room was broken into a few weeks ago, and some of my classmates ruined the outfits I had in there, including my dress. I decided to take what they did to my dress and use it as proof that nothing will bring me down. Excuse me, I need to go. I do not wish to keep my companions waiting." Marinette offered them a small bow before leaving them, giving the press a good look at the drooping angel wings sewn on the back of her dress.

"Angel," One of the reporters breathed, leading to a frenzy. MDC was announced to the world that night as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Angel of Gotham.

⌛

Finding her group was easy, and it was almost just as easy to spot Felix, Gabriel's nephew. She grabbed Damian by his forearm, the boy too startled by her random action to react, and drug him over to the boy she assumed was Felix.

She tapped.the boy on his shoulder. "Excuse me, are you Felix?"

The boy gave a hesitant nod. "Great! I want the two of you to teach me as much as you can about being a vengeful Ice Queen."

Felix raised one eyebrow, looking between the girl and the scowling boy. "What do we get out of it?"

"You get to live with the knowledge that I am going to use your teachings to traumatize idiotic classmates and I can keep the girls from making passes at you, as you are already occupied with entertaining a lady."

The boys both quickly gave their consent, refusing to let the girl leave their side for even a moment the entirety of the gala. They were appeased enough with the girl that her lessons continued throughout the following week, the boys enchanted enough with her to seriously consider following her to Paris and watching her strike like a coiled viper.

⌛

When Marinette returned to school, she had changed. Not just in personality, no, she changed everything. Her personality (at school), her hairstyle, her clothes, everything was redone to fit who she had become. Flowy black pants, a black sleeveless top held up by a ribbon that wrapped around her neck, a red leather jacket loosley hung on her frame, and black boots could be seen under the pants.. Her gaze was frozen as it swept over the class. She was unsurprised to see Adrien sitting in his usual seat, Gabriel had informed her of his decision to place Adrien back in Bustier's class for the time being so that Marinette could teach him a lesson. Alix and Nathaniel had transfered out of the class as soon as they had learned of what the students had done, moving to Madame Mendeleiev's class. Chloè was also leaving, though she was transferring to Gotham after the week was up. She wanted that week to be able to watch the havoc Marinette would wreck on the class. Kagami had already decided to join the class, and Marinette spotted her in Nathaniel's old seat. She was not expecting to see Felix frowning next to Kagami, nor Damian smirking at the back of the blond's head. Thanks to those very boys, though, it was amazingly easy to hide her surprise. A smirk crawled its way across her face, even as she stepped far enough into the room that everyone could see her. She had timed her entrance perfectly. As soon as the class went to explode with praises and questions, the bell rang, Madame Bustier walking in and asking them to all take their seats. Marinette made sure her steps were conscice enough to make it seem as though she was gliding up the rows, refusing to shoot her classmates so much as a glance. 

Lila walked into the room moments later, late, her gaze zeroing in on Felix. "Felibear! It's so nice to see you again!" She squealed, rushing up the steps. 

Felix stopped her with a cold glare. "Do I know you?"

Alya glared at the blond. "How could you ask your girlfriend if you know her? Especially since everyone knows you transfered to François-DuPont for her!"

Felix looked scandalized. "I did no such thing! I came here on request of my uncle. There are very few people here that I know from previous endeavors."

Lila burst out into tears. "H-how could you treat me like this? At least my Damiboo didn't do this!"

"Damiboo?" Marinette asked. Clearly Bustier wasn't going to stop the girl.

"Oh, I forgot you weren't here!" A sly grin crawled across Lila's face. "I suppose Damiboo didn't speak to you the whole time you were in Gotham, otherwise you would have known I used to date Damian Wayne!" The girl boasted.

Marinette looked at the horrified expression on her deskmate's face, and began her countdown. "I would never date a harlot like you!" He burst out, unable to stop himself. The class turned to stare at him, then realized that he had been just ahead of Marinette when the Wayne's and Jagged Stone arrived at the gala.

A slow smirk crawled across Marinette's lips, erasing the smile she had given her friends. "Do tell, Lila. I would love to hear all about your relationship with the Wayne's. Or about you dating Felix here. Oh! What about your relationship with my uncle? Save any of his cats lately? Let's not forget Clara Nightingale! Since she steals her music and dance moves from you, perhaps we could get a preview for her next video?"

Adrien frowned at Marinette. She seemed… different. "Mari, don't be so mean! Your supposed to be our everyday Ladybug, the better-"

"Agreste, if example is the next word to come out of your mouth I will steal Chloè's six inch stiletto right off of her foot and shove it down your throat while I laugh at your struggles." Adrien's mouth snapped shut as he paled, the class staring at Marinette in shock. 

"Marinette! That was uncalled for!" Madame Bustier frowned at the girl. Perhaps letting her go to Gotham was a mistake.

"Really, Madame Bustier? From where I'm sitting, it was perfectly called for. Agreste is not going to use my emotions to manipulate me into being the perfect placemat anymore. You are not going to manipulate me into being the perfect victim. I will no longer tolerate this class's treatment of me. Four people in this room have the authority to call me by a nickname. They know who they are. Four people have the ability to ask something of me. None of them were the ones that destroyed my sketchbook or commissions. None of them told me that I always have to be the better person and set an example for my classmates. I refuse to allow myself to be used any longer."

Alya glared at her friend as the rest of the class stared at the noirette in shock or turned their head away from her in shame. "Girl, what are you talking about? First you want us to pay you a while bunch of money, and now you don't want to do anything for us?"

Damian started to retort himself, stopped by Marinette's hand on his arm. Her voice was frosted fire when she commanded the room. "Everyone in this room, excluding my four friends and our teacher, had a hand I destroying commissions for the Wayne gala, requests from all of you, and my sketchbook. That is why you were sued for damages. Some of you paid more than others because Alya was gracious enough to post a video she had taken of what you did on her blog that allowed me to see who destroyed what. That allowed me to see exactly who has hell to pay." The dangerous smirk several of her classmates had noticed danced across her face yet again, like a sword would dance in the hands of Robin. 

Adrien scoffed. "you're just a baker's daughter. What could you possibly do?" He paled not long after the words flew out of his mouth, remembering what his father had told him.

"You look like you just remembered that I am not just a baker's daughter. Why don't you share with the class?" Marinette offered up one of her customary sunshine smiles, though Adrien was not fooled this time, quickly yelling the class exactly what his father had told him. 

Lila blanched. Forget the Agreste's and that stupid reporter, she should have set her sights on Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Marinette smiled down at the class, her court sitting in the back two rows with her. Chloè had kicked Felix out of his seat next to Kagami, and Felix had nudged Marinette into the middle of the bench, sandwiching her between Damian and himself.

Her blue eyes were frigid as she glared down upon her kingdom. The time for the Queen of Light was over- Darkness had come for her, and she welcomed them with open arms. Her crown darkened, from gold and diamonds to silver and onyx, and her reign had only begun.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH4

Yall ready for Uncle Jagged? I’d say out of the first 7 chapters, 4 is probably the one I tweaked the most from the original. It’s still roughly the same, but you’ll notice several key differences. Our girl is gonna get all the love she deserves!

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Chapter 4: The Change

“Do you think we should ask her what’s wrong?” Eliott whispered at lunch the next day as Marinette pushed food around her plate.

“I dunno. It could make things worse,” Macy said.

“But she looks so sad.” Martin winced.

She should have known they’d notice. It’s not like she was trying to hide it. Her heart was too heavy to lift up anymore, and for once, she couldn’t find her smile. There was no light to shed on the situation. No motivation to even go looking for any. She was a ghost of the confident girl they’d met yesterday, so she couldn’t blame them for having whiplash. Still, it was sweet of them to worry.

She set down her fork and forced a pained smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” she said.

“Did Gabrielle get to you?” Martin shrank, glancing around as if her posse were poised to strike.

“No.” She shook her head, chewing her lip contemplatively before continuing, “It’s my old school. Yesterday my best friend was akumatized because I left, and-”

“Oh, that’s so scary!” Macy gasped. “We’ve had a few akumas here before.”

“Yeah, I think I recognize some of you,” Marinette said, then quickly added, “-from the news.”

“Is everything okay?” Eliott asked.

“Not exactly…” Marinette shifted her gaze back to her plate. “She and I agreed to go our separate ways after everything.”

“Marinette, I’m so sorry,” Macy said.

“It’s probably for the best.” Marinette shrugged. “There’s this girl at my old school that’s a huge liar, and she has everyone wrapped around her finger, including my best friend… my ex-best friend. I tried several times, but I could never prove that she was lying. Then she started turning my friends against me, and—yeah.”

“Wow, no wonder you left,” Eliott said.

Macy stretched across the table to take her hand. “Hey, you have us now, and if there’s anything we’re good at, it’s forgetting about our problems for a little while, so why don’t we do something fun tonight?” She suggested. “I hear Jagged is playing a concert in town; we could go if you want.”

“But I thought it was sold out.” Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Well, aren’t you friends with Jagged?” Eliott asked. “Ask him for tickets.”

“I- we’re not really that close. I mean, I designed for him a couple of times, but I don’t really think that he would do that. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble him…” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Macy said.

Marinette eyed her phone with pursed lips before pulling up her Instagram. Of course she followed Jagged, but she barely interacted with him. He probably wasn’t even the one running the account—most celebrities had an assistant for that. Her request would probably get buried among the thousands of other comments, but it was worth a shot. She typed a quick message and hit send, praying he wouldn’t be too upset with her for asking.

“I’m surprised that a girl as connected as you doesn’t take advantage every now and then,” Eliott said when she set her phone down. “I mean, you know a lot of famous and powerful people.”

“I don’t like to bother anyone.” She curled her shoulders. “Besides I don’t know him that well.”

“Jagged called you his favorite little lady when you were on that TV show with him.” Macy reminded her. “I think it’s safe to say that he likes you enough to give you a few free tickets.”

When Marinette’s phone vibrated on the table, they all crowded around to read Jagged’s reply.

“Yo, Marinette! It would be totally awesome if you could come to my show tonight! The floor’s sold out, but I’ll have Penny send some backstage passes for you and your friends!”

“Well, well, well,” Eliott said. “Looks like we’re going to see Jagged Stone.”

♪♫♪ Better Without You ♪♫♫

Alya toyed with her stylus, gaze fixed on the desk in front of her as she attempted to piece together the last 24 hours. After everything they’d been through together, how could Marinette end things like that? Her stomach churned, recalling the drained look in Marinette’s eyes the night before.

Maybe she’d overreacted. Marinette was her best friend after all, and best friends didn’t abandon each other for no reason. It wasn’t like Alya wanted to stop being friends. She was just so hurt and confused that she’d said it on impulse. She never expected Marinette to agree, but maybe she felt the same way Alya did. Maybe she thought Alya didn’t want to be her friend anymore, so she let her go despite how painful it was. It was a nice thought anyway.

“Good morning, Alya!” Lila greeted with her usual cheeriness, though her face fell upon seeing Alya’s forlorn expression. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s nothing.” Alya blinked out of her trance, shifting in her seat.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” Lila pried. When Alya remained quiet, Lila placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You can trust me. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah…” Alya weighed it for a moment before turning to face her. “It’s about Marinette.”

“Oh, I see! You’re upset because she left.” Lila nodded in understanding.

“I tried to talk to her yesterday, but things didn’t exactly go well…” Alya lowered her gaze to her lap with a frown.

“Did she tell you why she left?”

“Not exactly…” Alya bit her lip. “I mean, I have a hunch, but she denied it.”

“It wasn’t because of me, was it?” Lila gasped, and Alya averted her gaze. “It was, wasn’t it? Oh, I never meant to upset her. I even tried to ask her to be my friend in the bathroom the day I came back, but all she did was yell at me and call me names. I didn’t want to tell anyone because everyone loves her, and I didn’t want to start trouble, but she was the reason I got akumatized.”

“She yelled at you?” Alya’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Lila nodded.

“I just don’t understand what I ever did to her to make her not like me,” she said. “I’m really sorry that she’s taking it out on you.”

“It’s not your fault. Marinette was always a little eccentric. I just don’t know what pushed her over the deep end.” Alya sighed, leaning against her fist. “I guess…our friendship didn’t mean as much to her as I thought.”

Lila eyed her with pursed lips before a smile stretched across her cheeks. “If I was your best friend, I would never leave you like that, Alya,” she said. “In fact, if you want, I could move up to sit by you, but I completely understand if you’re still torn up about Marinette. I’d never try to replace her or anything.”

A small smile curled on Alya’s lips. “Thanks. I could use a friend right now.”

Lila placed her bag on the desk, beaming as she took her new seat. Alya eyed her with a contemplative frown.

She’s a liar. I’ll never be friends with her.

“Just promise me one thing,” Alya said.

“Anything.”

“Promise you won’t ever lie to me,” Alya said.

Lila blinked in surprise but linked their pinkies together nonetheless. “I promise, Alya. You’re my friend. I’d never lie to you.”

“Thanks, Lila. You’re the best.”

♪♫♪ Save Rock and Roll ♪♫♪

“So, you guys really aren’t friends anymore?” Adrien asked later that evening.

Marinette’s chest tightened. Adrien had called her after his Chinese lesson, having overheard about her split from Alya at school. She didn’t dare wonder what people were saying about her—even thinking about it made her skin crawl. Maybe it was for the best that she was going to see Jagged Stone tonight with her new friends. She needed the distraction.

“Nope,” she said. Setting her phone on the dresser, she grabbed sweater from her closet and held it up in front of the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Adrien’s voice was laced with worry.

The corners of Marinette’s eyes stung, and she chewed her cheek, focusing on her outfit. Adrien had already seen her cry once in the last 24 hours. She wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“I don’t know.” She hung the sweater back on the rack with pursed lips and shrugged. “It hurts, but so did being pushed aside for a new girl.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you two were close.”

“Not close enough, apparently.” She swiped through hangers with a little more force than necessary.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to try to work things out?”

Marinette tapped her finger on the bar and nodded. “If I tell her that Lila is lying, it’ll just be more of the same. Even if we told her that Ladybug called her out, Lila would still twist it and make herself the victim.” She grabbed a jacket and slipped it on. “How do I look?”

“Incredible, as always,” Adrien said, bringing a flush to her cheeks as she brushed her hair in the mirror.

“Sorry your dad won’t let you come with us,” she said.

“I’m used to it by now. He barely lets me go to the movies.” Adrien sighed, swiveling back and forth in his chair.

“I’ll try to get Jagged’s autograph for you.”

“Thanks. I promise we’ll do something together soon, even if it’s just sitting on a couch eating ice cream,” he vowed, and Marinette smiled.

“I’m glad I still have you,” she said. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you understand.”

“I’ll always be here for you. Even if I can’t leave my house, you can call me anytime,” he said.

“Thanks, Adrien.” She picked up her phone and waved. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun at the concert!”

After he hung up, she pressed a soft kiss to his picture on the screen. Who knew that all she needed to do to get Adrien’s attention was change schools? This was the most they’d talked since they met, and although she wasn’t ready to tell him her feelings, she was loving the attention.

“Ready to go?” she asked her kwami.

“This is your first time hanging out with your new friends outside of school! I’m happy that you’ve made friends so quickly,” Tikki said.

Marinette hooked her purse over her shoulder with a smile. “I have a good feeling about this group. Even if they are insanely rich, I feel like they’re different. They aren’t stuck up or arrogant like Chloe or Gabrielle. They’re nice.”

“Marinette! Your friends are here!” her mom called from the living room.

“Coming!” Marinette closed the clasp of her purse and skipped down the stairs.

“Got your phone?” her mom asked.

“Yep.” She nodded, holding it up.

“And you’ll call us right away if anything happens?” her dad added, arching a warning brow.

“Of course.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Bye, Papa. Bye, Mama.”

“Have fun, sweetie!”

Marinette waved over her shoulder as she headed down the stairs. The limo was waiting outside, and Macy’s butler opened the door when she approached.

“How exciting is it that we have backstage passes to see Jagged Stone?” Macy squealed. “Honestly, Marinette, you’re the best.”

“I still feel a little weird about it,” she admitted sheepishly.

Eliott glanced up from his magazine and rolled his eyes. “Jagged wouldn’t have given you the tickets if he didn’t want to. When you have connections, there’s no shame in using them. That’s how you make friends in high places,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“Then your old friends will all wish they didn’t turn their back on you.” Macy linked her arm through Marinette’s. “Because you’re already the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and I’ve only known you for a couple days. You stood up for someone you didn’t even know, you’ve got all kinds of celebrity connections, and you are wearing the cutest jeans I’ve ever seen!”

“Thanks, I stitched the pattern in myself.” Marinette ran her fingers over her trademark flowers.

“When you start your own fashion line, I want to be your first customer,” Macy said, and Eliott set down his magazine with a scoff.

“Not if I get there first,” he said.

Macy stuck her tongue out at him as they pulled up to Martin’s building. Macy’s butler opened the door again, and the scrawny boy climbed in timidly.

“Hey, Martin.” Marinette smiled.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I come too?” he asked.

“Of course! You’re our friend now,” Marinette assured him.

Martin shifted his gaze to his lap with a small smile.

On the drive over, Macy and Eliott chatted about how annoying their expensive phones were, leaving Martin and Marinette to sit in silence.

“Um, thanks for this,” he said, stealing a quick glance before fixing his gaze back on his shoes. “I’ve never really had any friends. Everyone just kind of walks all over me.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Marinette pressed a hand to the side of her mouth. “I used to be a lot like you.”

“Really?” He blanched.

“At my old school, Chloe Bourgeois used to torment me all the time, but one day someone stood up to her for me and helped me find the courage to do it myself. It gave me a lot more confidence, and I was able to branch out and make more friends.” She lowered her gaze with a frown, heart sinking. Now wasn’t the time for a pity party, so she shook it off and continued, “That’s why I stood up for you because I know how much it changed my life when someone did it for me.”

“Wow,” Martin said. “I still don’t think I could ever be as confident as you.”

“Never say never.”

Awkward silence stretched between them while Macy and Eliott continued gossiping about various celebrities. They were so comfortable with each other that Marinette didn’t know where to interject. She decided it was better to leave them be—she had enough to think about anyway.

She leaned back against the seat with a sigh, recalling old memories of sleepovers and birthday parties and scheme after scheme to get Adrien’s attention. All of that seemed so far away now, and she was left with a gaping hole in its wake. She missed her friends. She missed her old school. She missed all of those memories, and more than anything, she wished she could go back.

But too much had changed now. Lila had everyone wrapped around her finger, so things would never really be the same. Besides, being around Lila wasn’t good for her, and if her friends couldn’t see the truth… It was best for her not to be around them either. Even if it left her feeling empty. Those holes would fill with time, and she’d make new memories with her new friends. Her old life would fade, and eventually she wouldn’t even remember what it was like before.

She had bigger things to worry about anyway—such was the lot she took on when she accepted the call to be Ladybug. Superheroes couldn’t afford to take chances, and Marinette couldn’t afford to have bad friends. This concert was a fresh start for her, a chance to carve a new life with new people who wouldn’t toss her aside like old bread.

When they arrived at the venue, Penny was waiting for them by the back entrance. She draped their passes around each of their necks and clicked her pen.

“Don’t lose these and keep them on at all times, okay?” She instructed before pressing a hand to the Bluetooth device in her ear. “Yes, I’ll go check on Mr. Stone now- uh, come in, the show will be starting soon.”

“This is so exciting!” Macy bounced beside Marinette. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to meet Jagged Stone, and it’s all thanks to you, Marinette.”

“Yeah, thanks for hooking us up, Marinette.” Eliott echoed.

“It was you who encouraged me to ask, Eliott, and we wouldn’t have gotten here without Macy, so really we all had a hand in it.” Marinette waved it away.

“This is a disaster!”

They all stopped short as Jagged stormed into the hall.

“My lucky jacket is ruined! I can’t do the show like this!” he cried.

Penny rushed to his side to investigate the ripped article in his hands. “I’ll get with wardrobe to see if they have a different one,” she said, but Jagged shook his head indignantly.

“If I can’t wear this jacket, I won’t do the show.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“But Jagged-”

“It’s lucky! All of my best performances happen when I’m wearing that jacket, and who knows what might go wrong if I go on without it!” he whined.

“Jagged?” They turned to Marinette, her friends standing behind her with bewildered expressions. “Is everything alright?”

“Yo, Marinette, you made it, rock on!” He pulled her in for a tight hug. “Too bad I have to cancel.”

“All of this over a jacket?” Martin asked, shrinking when Macy and Jagged turned to him with cutting glares.

“A rockstar’s show isn’t just about music, Martin. A performer’s wardrobe can be the difference between a rock legend and a rock nightmare,” Macy explained with a scoff.

“She’s right. I can’t go on like this. I look ridiculous without it!” Jagged said.

“Maybe I could fix it?” Marinette piped up, and everyone’s heads whipped around to face her.

“Could you really, Marinette?” Jagged perked up.

“The concert starts in 10 minutes. People are already in their seats,” Penny said, consulting her schedule. “Can you make a repair that fast?”

“I can try.” Marinette shrugged.

“Then I leave the fate of my show in your hands, Marinette.” Jagged handed her the jacket. “I have total faith in you.”

Marinette examined the tear in the shoulder seam with a determined frown before pulling out a mini-sewing kit. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she set to work trimming excess threads.

“She carries a sewing kit around with her?” Eliott cocked a brow.

“She’s a designer, of course she does,” Macy said.

Everyone watched her work in eager anticipation, and after a few minutes, Marinette pulled the thread tight to close the gap. Knotting off her work and clipping the last thread, she held it up proudly.

“Done!” she said, and everyone breathed sighs of relief.

“Marinette, you’re my hero!” Jagged cheered. He cupped her cheeks, planting a kiss on her forehead before donning his jacket. “If you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have been able to perform. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“3 minutes!” One of the stage-hands announced as Penny passed Jagged his guitar.

“If you ever need anything from me, you’ve got it, Marinette.” Jagged winked.

Marinette bit back a shy smile as the arena erupted with cheers.

“See? If you hadn’t asked Jagged for tickets, you wouldn’t have been here to help him,” Eliott said pointedly as they stood on the sides behind the curtains to watch.

Marinette glowed with pride. Eliott was right. If she hadn’t used her connection to be there, then Jagged would have canceled. It was a weird coincidence, but it eased her guilt about asking for such a big favor, like she was paying Jagged back.

What would her friends back home say if she told them she saved Jagged for real? Of course, Lila would probably come up with something bigger and better to one-up her, but at least she could tell Adrien about it later.

“I want to dedicate this next song to a very special young lady,” Jagged said into the mic. “She has been a huge inspiration to me, and I want to invite her on stage to sing this one with me. Clara and I wrote it to honor the heroes of Paris, and tonight she was my hero, so come on out here, Marinette.”

“No way!” Macy gasped as they all shoved Marinette out onto the stage.

“Marinette is exceptionally talented.” Jagged wrapped an arm around her as she joined him. “In fact, if it wasn’t for her, tonight’s show wouldn’t have happened, so tonight this song is a tribute to you, Marinette. You’re my everyday Ladybug.”

Marinette cupped her hands over her mouth, cheeks hot as she took her place at the mic. As Jagged began to play a familiar melody, she looked at him for her cue.

“Another day, I’m back at school. I think about him, he’s so cool.” She glanced at her friends who gave encouraging nods. “He looks at me, I look away, but does he see me anyway?”

Sensing her unease, Jagged sang along with her softly until it was his turn to take up the second verse. By the second chorus, Marinette was gaining confidence as the crowd cheered them on. She removed the mic from the stand and paced across the stage, touching hands with people in the audience. She was no Clara Nightingale, but she was having fun performing with Jagged. As she belted out the last chorus with Jagged, a familiar rush pulsed through her veins that reminded her of Ladybug.

She was powerful. She was confident. She was free.