#my sewing machine broke and i have nothing to do so i made these instead

[condohavenoking]

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader)

I can explain. 

Please don't come at me for starting a new project before finishing Cult Girl Doctorate. I hit a wall and needed to take a break. I am trying not to let this one take up too much time.

Y/n is a sorceress-in-training who’s known for being hard to teach. Sensing her potential, Doctor Strange takes her on as an apprentice. 

You firmly believed that shattering the urn of Fei-Amie was the best thing that ever happened to you. 

It happened a year ago, but it still replayed in your head over and over again. You made a conscious effort to remember it vividly. 

Sure, it was terrifying, Stephen Strange's initial look of anger when he heard the ceramic shatter. It softened when he saw that the culprit was just a clumsy sorceress-in-training who looked on the verge of tears with remorse. Still, it was a face you never wanted to see again: his teeth bared, his already sharp features accentuated under the constraints of anger. 

It diluted into silent, simmering frustration that revealed itself to you in short sarcastic jabs and body language. 

"Just, stop." He cut you off after a string of profuse sorries. With no disarming smile in sight, you could tell he was tense. "Artifacts get broken all the time. Don't cry. It was an accident." 

His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself more than he was you. You were a closed-off person and could hardly stand the idea that anyone out there didn't like you. The idea of the Sorcerer Supreme being mad at you, personally, made you briefly consider ritual suicide. You lowered your head. "Yes, Master Strange."

"Hey, butterfingers." He called out after you as you tried to make a painless exit. You looked back at him and he gestured to the pile of broken ceramic pieces. "You gonna fix what you broke?"

It hadn't dawned on you that an ancient relic could be fixed. Especially one that once contained the ashes of the ancient necromancer Fei-Amie. You were embarrassed to say that your knowledge of manipulating time was surface-level at best, and couldn't think of any other solution. 

You wordlessly gathered the pieces up in your skirt and carried them off, striking out any plans to go into town that evening. Instead, you poured through book after book for any instruction whatsoever on repairing broken artifacts. You ran out of desk space, so books were just floating in the air, suspended on pages that briefly mentioned relic breakage. 

You started to believe you were given an impossible task. Or perhaps all the resources you needed, he was withholding. Even so, you didn't want to go back to him empty-handed. You changed into your street clothes and opened a portal to the local craft store.

You returned with two types of extra-strong superglue and got to work. First, you made all the pieces come together and had them hover over the desk. Unconsciously, you began to sing as you pieced the urn back together. 

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

"Haven't heard that song in years." 

You dropped the tube of glue and the few remaining pieces fell back to the desk. "Master Strange!" 

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said, though his apology was undercut by his smug tone. "Carry on." 

You picked up a piece and began to line the edges with glue. 

"Aren't you going to finish the song?" 

You looked up to see that he hadn't been just passing by. He was leaning against the threshold, watching you. 

"I don't usually sing for an audience." You laughed, uncomfortably. "Just me." 

"A man and his sentient cape should not count as an audience," he scoffed. "But, if you insist, I guess I'll have to just listen to Julie Andrews instead." 

"What's wrong with her?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise. 

"Oh, nothing. She's a treasure." He put his hands up. "But everyone gets to hear her sing. And I take it that only a very select few get to hear your rendition of my favorite things. I just have to be one of them." 

You blushed, suddenly forgetting all the words to my favorite things. 

"Girls in white dresses..." he offered, an impatient edge to it.

You swallowed. "Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-"

"Hey, butterfingers." He interrupted again. Before you could object, he pointed to the way that the pieces floated gracefully overhead at the sound of your voice. 

"I'd like to see Julie Andrews do that." He said with a wink.

"Looks alright," Master Strange said, running his finger along the tight seams that showed where cracks once were. 

"Will it still work?" You asked. That was really all you were worried about. 

"Beats the hell out of me." He shrugged. "I didn't know how to use it to begin with." 

"What?!" You spat back. "Are you kidding?" 

"I'm afraid not." He said, taking the urn and placing it back on its pedestal. "Don't worry, you did a good job. I'm not mad at you anymore." 

That was really all you needed to hear. "Thank you, sir." 

"You're an apprentice, right?" He asked. 

"I'm..." Your voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Between masters right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "If I were to ask around, would I receive glowing reviews from your last masters?" 

You admitted it point-blank. "No." 

"Let me guess," he folded his arms. "Something didn't make sense to you and instead of giving you the space to question it, they insisted you follow blindly." 

You wanted to throw your head back and shout in relief; finally, someone understood! 

"Bingo, bullseye." You put your hands up in surrender after being read so easily. "Right on the money."

"I see." He said, tucking that thought away for later. "Could I trouble you for one more odd job before you go?" 

"That depends." You folded your arms. "What is it?" 

He looked over his shoulder at his cape. "How are you with sewing?"

‘Sewing' was not the verb you would use to describe repairing the tears in the Cloak of Levitation. It was taller and stronger than you and it did not want to be repaired. It was closer to performing surgery on a fully grown mountain lion that could rip your head off at any minute. 

"Like putting eyeshadow on a cat," Master Strange said. It flicked its edge contemptuously, while still clinging to his shoulders for dear life. "I'm a licensed surgeon and it won't let me within 20 feet of it with a needle." 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You said, thoroughly discouraged. All he'd given you to work with was a spool of thread and a pack of needles. 

He tried with sincere force to remove the cloak, but it wouldn't budge. "Of course, now it knows you're coming at it with the sewing kit and it won't leave my shoulders." 

"Maybe I can work with that?" You shrugged. You threaded the needle and hid it in your hand. 

You approached the cloak, only for it to shove Master Strange in your way like a human shield. 

"Listen, you naughty little blanket." He scolded, turning around to face it as if it were a puppy that had just wrecked the living room. "If you don't let her fix you, you're going in the washing machine. Extra spin." 

It shuddered, and, for a moment, you thought it was going to comply. You slowly took a step forward, only for it to dart as soon as your foot hit the ground. It made its escape with a large crash through the heavy wooden doors of the library. 

"Hey!" You shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here!" 

You caught a glimpse of it headed towards the relic room, so, without thinking, you opened a portal to make it there first. You reached it only seconds before the cloak breached the threshold, with only enough time to grab it by the edge. 

"Come here!" You exclaimed, giving it a full force tug. It tugged back, overpowering you to the tenth degree. It dragged you across the room and into the foyer. You yanked on it, only for it to escape from your grip and send you flying back into the wall. You wondered for a second how such a sturdy piece of fabric could possibly be in need of maintenance. 

"Bastard." You mumbled, rubbing the spot where your head collided with the wall. The pain didn't stop you, though. You were on your feet within seconds, pursuing the naughty blanket all over again. 

You heard the words of one of your many, many masters ringing in your ears; "never outrun what you can outsmart". Or maybe that was from a Garfield comic. Either way, whether or not you could outsmart the cloak was still unknown, but you had to at least try. 

You took a second to catch your breath and tried to remember where you saw it heading next. Downstairs, you thought. To the laundry room. The one place you would never look. 

You slowly but deliberately descended the stairs to the basement where the laundry was. You turned the light on and saw overturned baskets of towels, clothes, and sheets everywhere. And then a washing machine door slammed shut. You turned your head and saw a twinge of dark red hiding in the washing machine. 

You removed your shoes and socks to minimize noise, then picked up a fitted sheet that had been thrown on the ground. You mounted the washing machine and affixed the sheet to the front. The cloak would have to come shooting out the door, and you would ambush it. 

You forced the door open with your heel, holding the sheet like a giant net. As predicted, the cloak shot out like a bullet from a gun, getting caught in the sheet. It thrashed around aimlessly, trying to escape, but you had a tight grip and it wasn't going anywhere. 

"It's curtains for you!" You said, then laughed at your own joke. "Stop struggling!" 

It flailed and fought, but eventually ran out of energy and sunk to the ground. Not trusting it quite yet, you pinned it down with your whole body weight before releasing it from the sheet. As expected, it tried to fly away, but couldn't get anywhere.

"The less you fight, the faster this will go." You said, examining the fabric for any visible tears. The rip presented itself right away. About as long as your hand, right in the center. 

"What did Strange do to you?" You asked, pulling the threaded needle from your pocket. "Hold still, I'm going to fix it." 

Once the needle hit fabric, the cloak stopped trying to fly away and instead writhed about on the floor like it was about to die. You fixed the tear with as many stitches as you could make, then pulled it shut. Once you knew the thread was secure, you rolled off the cloak and let it fly free. 

It shot up, but froze, noticing something was different. It swished itself around, unaccustomed to the feeling of air not blowing right through its center. 

"You're welcome." You said with a shrug. "It's not like I had to chase you all around the sanctum to make it happen." 

Without any warning, the cloak scooped you up and squeezed you. Your initial reaction was that this was its revenge and you were taking your final breaths, but you could tell it was gratitude by the way it gently set you down on the ground. 

"Happy to help." You gasped for air. "Just remember this feeling if I ever have to do this again." 

"Not bad, butterfingers." Master Strange told you, though the tone of his voice conveyed he was impressed beyond a simple 'not bad'. 

"Not bad?" You protested. "I absolutely crushed it." 

He ran his finger down the uneven but sturdy stitching. When his face met yours again, he was smiling with genuine enthusiasm that managed to eek through his dry, sarcastic exterior. It came out as an admittedly very handsome sideways smirk as his eyes scanned you up and down. 

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, heading towards the open doors. 

“Wait.” The doors slammed shut before you could reach them. You turned around to see Master Strange still examining the stitching. "You wouldn't leave without tea, would you?"

A pot of chai tea sat between you, filling the air with an aroma of spicy vanilla. You held the teacup in both hands, determined to never give him a reason to reinforce the "butterfingers" nickname he'd become so fond of. 

"Chai is my favorite." You said, letting the scent waft into your nose. "Yerba mate used to be my favorite, but if I drink more than two pots of it I get sick." 

"Yeah, definitely don't do that." He chuckled, bobbing his teabag up and down in the cup. "Out of curiosity, are you wondering at all why I invited you to tea?" 

"Oh, definitely." You nodded. "I was just wondering about that." 

"Would you believe it's just because I find you interesting?" He raised an eyebrow. "Good company, perhaps?" 

"Interesting? Absolutely." You agreed. "Good company is debatable." 

"I can't believe I never thought to trap the cloak in the washing machine." He rested his chin in his hand. "It seems so obvious now." 

"If it makes you feel any better," you shrugged. "It was mostly dumb luck and reckless disregard for my own life, considering it almost threw me off the balcony.” 

He glared at the cloak. “What did I tell you about trying to kill our guests?” 

It lowered its collar shamefully in his direction. 

“Don’t apologize to me!” He scolded. “Apologize to her.” 

It turned to face you and repeated the somber motion. 

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “My family adopted a retired army German Shepherd growing up. I’m used to high-strung creatures that could end my life at any second.” 

“Well, rest assured, butterfingers,” He said, leaning back in his chair. “This will never happen again.”

“I, uh-” You opened your mouth before you could even really pick up on the implication he was putting down. “Wasn’t aware that there would be a chance for it to happen again?” 

“I suppose we should get down to brass tax, then.” He folded his hands in his lap. “How would you like to stay here?”

“Well-” You said, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, which you certainly were. “Not if it’s going to kill me-”

“If I could promise you that your life won’t be in constant danger, I would.” He cut you off. “But if you wanted safety, you wouldn’t have started studying the Mystic Arts.”

“Got me there.” You conceded, your made-up objection withering away. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He shook his head. “I’ll help you train and in return, you help me preserve the integrity of the sanctum.” 

“So an apprenticeship?” Your eyes widened. "Are you saying you want to take me on as an apprentice?" 

“I know you’ve got bad associations with that title, but yes.” He answered. “If it brings back memories of your previous masters treating you like garbage, we can call it a ‘partnership’, if you’d like.” 

Partners with the Sorcerer Supreme? You thought, butterflies materializing in your stomach. 

"That sounds great, but-" You broke eye contact and fidgeted with your fingers. "I feel like I should disclose that it wasn't really all that one-sided. I am… notoriously hard to teach."

"And who told you that?" He tilted his head. "The ones who refused to teach you?" 

You hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess."

"The way I see it, you've repaid your debt and are free to leave," he began. "But seeing how dutifully you reassembled that urn, wrangled my favorite piece of defiant outerwear, and how desperately this place is in need of some life, it might be a good idea to keep you around." 

You put your hand over your chest to still your heart. "It would be an honor." 

"Excellent." He nodded. "That saves me the trouble of having to convince you."

He brought you to a small but comfortable room with a bed and connected bathroom. 

"There's plenty of closet space for all your clothes." He said, gesturing to an antique looking bureau set. 

You dumped your duffel bag out on the bed, revealing the extent of your possessions. "Thanks, but this is all I've got." 

"Travel light, huh?" He asked.

"Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up." You admitted. "Got no real roots and all that jazz." 

"That changes now." He told you. "This is your home now so I want it to feel like it. Make the space your own."

“I don’t know how I can thank you for this.” You lowered your head, still feeling undeserving. 

“Don’t thank me yet, butterfingers.” He chuckled. “I’ve been told I tend to be a little on the egotistical side. That I don’t work well with others.”

"It's actually [F/N], if you were curious." You said, sitting on the bed and folding your hands in your lap. 

"Okay, [F/N]." he smiled. "You've been in and out of enough apprenticeships to know the drill. Early mornings, late nights. And I've got a laundry list of odd jobs for you that I'm too important to do." 

"Naturally." You nodded. His dry self-awareness inspired a little confidence that he wouldn't be a complete tyrant. 

"You did a good job today." He said, bluntly. "Thank you for your help. Keep it up and you'll make an invaluable addition to the sanctum."

You smiled downwards. "Thank you." 

"Do you often sing when you're trying to focus?" He posited. "Just, as an aside." 

You could tell the gears in his neurosurgeon's head were turning, undoubtedly trying to pin some kind of diagnosis on you as doctors were known to do. 

“I guess it’s just a force of habit.” You admitted. “I used to play piano, so when I’m working with my hands, it just kind of happens. My last master was not happy about that.” 

"Oh, screw him." He waved his hand dismissively. "He pissed away an opportunity to nurture a sorceress with a special gift for the sake of tradition. That's a mistake I won't make."

Special gift? You thought. Nobody who practiced the Mystic Arts had ever referred to anything you'd ever done as a 'gift'. Annoyance? sure. A symptom of ADHD? All the time. But 'gift'? That made it sound useful.

[thesmokingguns]

It’s 3AM and I remember you

Word Count: 1019

Summary: Written from lover to Duff POV. Remembering what it was like to be in love with your soulmate and have the love of someone who was your everything. Feeling all the love and memories you shared and being brought down by the worst day of your life. Will it ever get better?

A/N: I love writing the 3AM series so I had to write a few more parts. I’m still recovering after surgery so this will be a queued post.I hope you all are enjoying everything. I am so sorry for not interacting with you the past couple days. I feel like I’m dying and instead of prescribing me a mild painkiller my doctor prescribed a super strong opioid that if I take it will knock me on my ass. Thank you all for interacting well I’ve stepped away for a fews days to recover. I really appreciate it! 

It’s 3AM and I remember you

The pictures and feelings flash through me like a kaleidoscope of memories, rolling together and boiled down to feelings of our time together.

The warm happiness of you smiling at me over a crowd, finding me and reaching out for me, our hands entwining and you not letting go. The bubbling of joy that burst through me when you surprised me at work with flowers, like champagne when you pulled the cork out I shot into your arms lavishing you with love over a bouquet. The softness of your love, how you’d rub your hands down my arms and press your lips to my temples. No words needed in the quiet comfort of your arms. I feel the sharp prick of hurt, like stabbing myself with a sewing needle when I’m doing a project, the swell of blood, frustration and tears but the quiet sighs of continuing on the project I love. The problem with that is I missed a stitch the last time I saw you and now it’s all unraveled.

I remember you singing songs in the kitchen as you made macaroni and cheese for breakfast, shaking along thinking you were dancing because you liked to hear me snort with laughter. Pulling me off the dining room chair and dancing around well you over cooked the macaroni noodles. Placing my feet over yours and doing the Frankenstein dance because the joy you brought me had me unable to move from being hunched over in happy giggles. You always loved hearing me laugh.

I remember what it was like to love.

To feel so happy to call you on my lunch breaks from work. Pushing a dime into the metal machine just for the satisfaction of hearing your voice call me beautiful without even seeing me. Or for you to sound out a song with the ‘bath-bah-wahhhs’ of your mouth that you were working on. The joy of going home  and having you meet me, arms circling around me like we had been parted for months instead of hours. The passion between us seemed  to be overwhelming us and flowing like white water rapids. An adventure, thrilling and wild, full of trust and excitement. It was lovely.

I remember everything.

That’s the problem that keeps happening. That even though my memory is overflowing with good times, bad times still manage to weave their way in.

The dark cloud that settles in after hours of joy gets into every crevice of me, my mind is overcome with the memory, my heart aches, my soul feels lonely missing you. I remember that night, walking into the studio thinking about how excited you would be to see and finding you excited to have a random person between your legs.

And I remember the pain.

The feeling of my heart beating so loudly my ears started to ring. The feeling of all the ‘love yous’ you had layered into our relationship running away, leaving a void as the words turned useless. The feeling of you loving me being ripped from my arms before I could even really process what was happening.

I remember when I started to feel a little better and didn’t feel like a cracked tea cup, ready to shatter if someone placed me down too hard. Building a new life that was lonely and absent of you.

But what was I supposed to do, babe?

I needed to talk things through with someone to understand how after almost three months I was still in love with the man that broke my heart. But the problem about losing your soulmate is that you also lose your best friend. It would have been you that I was tucked up with, talking my feelings through with. You with your fingers brushing my hair, nodding as you're listening to me speak and letting me know that I was heard. God, you were so good at making me feel heard and giving me advice. That’s why I love you.

You, Duff.

Was it selfish that I still loved you? It felt selfish to need someone and love someone so much who had hurt me. It felt like I was being unkind to myself, like I didn't respect myself. Like how somehow loving you was a cruel act against myself.

Oh babe, how did it get like this? How did everything get so bad so quickly? How did we love each other so passionately and let it sour like rotten lemons?

Wiping the table and setting down the silverware that needed to be wrapped I let my mind wander to the memories of us; unable to focus on the work as memories overcame you.

Do you remember our first kiss? It was in a diner like the one I was spending as many hours I could stand, forgetting you in soulless work with grabbing handed men who didn’t tip well. We had come here after a show where we had met. All we could afford was breakfast food, three flapjacks between the pair of us, with a splurge of Coca-Cola’s. We were huddled against each other, this spark between us that both of us felt but didn’t want to talk about it. The way you were looking at me, seeming to hang on my words as we overshared our lives and then we overshared our emotions.

Who kissed who first?

We must have met in the middle with lips pressed against each other and this need for one another. A need that I was feeling harder to give up and chalk up as a want.

I needed you.

Do you remember, Duff?

Do you remember loving me or have I been replaced with someone else? Have you stopped loving me? Is it all in the past?

The memories I was remembering were getting older with nothing new replacing them. And it started to feel like it would only be old memories to live through again with nothing new coming my way.

But it was a great love to remember. And I don’t think I would ever get over it.

[sazc94]

Pietro and Bunny

Here is my second entry for the wonderful @msmarvelwrites 2k Challenge.

This a spin-off from my Bucky fic: The three times Bucky broke your heart. Part 1 linked Here.

It follows the same timeline and explores the relationship of Pietro and Reader (Bunny) More.

Words 4890 ish

Themes. Angst, Suggestions of smut. But mostly lots and lots of fluff. 18+ Because of the smut suggestions.

Part 2. (Part 1)

2015. Pietro and you stayed in touch. Both getting swept away in your busy year. Pietro had gone into Business with Wanda creating a fashion company. His dad was helping to fund the start-up costs, but Pietro was never one to take a handout so worked an extra job, he mostly did courier services. this allowed him to be flexible with his days.

Meaning he was able to pick up supplies and do whatever else it was his sister had him running around the city for. It also helped pay towards the rent of his apartment, his father covering half. One day in the summer when Pietro was rushing around he entered into the Baxter building and literally ran smack into a head of blonde hair.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I keep getting told I should slow down.” Pietro said bending offering a hand to the woman he had knocked over. “I’m just as much to blame, honestly I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and all though I may be nicknamed The Invisible woman, I need to remember that I’m not actually invisible” replied the blonde brushing herself down.

She was pretty in that conventional way but her piercing blue eyes drew Pietro in. “Pietro”, he said sticking out his hand. “Susan, but you can call me Sue”, she replied shaking his hand.

Pietro and Susan began dating in the autumn. All though you and Pietro still stayed in touch. The contact was dwindling. He also found it incredibly hard not to call you by your old pet name. “Hey sis, Vis”. Pietro said walking into the small office space they rented in downtown NYC. Wanda was hard at work behind her sewing machine.

“So you’re dating Susan Storm,” Vision said. It wasn’t a question but Wanda’s eyes shot up from her machine to look at Pietro with an acquisitional look. This was news to her. She knew you were dating someone but Susan Storm was practically a celebrity with her brain and looks, plus her high profile relationships with Reed Richards and Victor von Doom. Not to mention her dad was a renowned Scientist too.

“How did you know?” Pietro asked grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the space. “Your pictures from last nights date are all over the internet. Someone called Prez Hilton broke the story” Vision said shrugging. Wanda shot Vision a puzzled look, he may be great with technology and smart enough to work with Tony Stuck, but Vision didn’t usually follow much on the internet. “Ah yes, Pepper Potts showed me how to set up google alerts”. Vision said before heading out the door.

2016

Pietro knew you and Bucky had grown closer over recent months, but it still took him by surprise when he heard from you that you had gotten back together. He knew he had no right to be jealous as it had ultimately been his decision to break up, and he was dating the stunning Sue Storm. But it didn’t stop the small seed of jealousy he felt.

What didn’t help matters was that Sue had been working later and later at the Baxter Building, and getting closer with her ex, Reed. Pietro tried to shrug it off but ultimately after almost a year of dating, he could see that Sue’s heart belonged to another, and if he was being honest. Part of his heart still belonged to his Bunny. So, after a night out in NYC Pietro had kissed Sue Storm goodnight for the final time.

Pietro respected you too much to ruin your newfound happiness with Bucky and it seemed like he had finally turned a leaf over. That was until he got a text from your cousin explaining that Bucky had been unable to get the time off for your Grandma’s funeral.

Pietro didn’t even think twice about using his links to his dad to secure a flight out of NYC for the funeral in September. His heart shattered when he saw you at the airport, with tear-stained cheeks, a red nose, and puffy eyes. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into a huge hug.

“Shhh Bunny” – the old pet name slipping out. “It’s okay, I’m here. She was a wonderful woman. She wouldn’t want all these tears” he said releasing you from his grip. It had been two years since you’d last seen each other in person. Other than the brown in your hair having slightly grown out, no doubt due to your mind being on more pressing matters. You looked exactly the same. His Bunny.

After the funeral Pietro planned to catch the first flight out of Miami back to NYC. With the launch of Scarlett Witch fast approaching Pietro didn’t want to leave his sister to deal with all the pressure herself. At least that’s what Pietro told himself was the reasoning. Truthfully it was that he couldn’t bear to be around you and not be with you.

But when your family had insisted on putting him up for the night and feeding him, he couldn’t refuse.

After the wake when your Mum had insisted on Pietro leaving the dishes, he grabbed two beers from the fridge and went looking for you. He found you sat on the private beach your grandma’s house backed on too.

You sat with one of Bucky’s jumpers wrapped around you. It wasn’t cold but still, you felt cold, so you had grabbed his jumper as a source of comfort and warmth. Pietro stopped for a second before swallowing. This wasn’t about him; this wasn’t about Bucky. This was about you and being there for you whilst you waded through this grief. 7

“Hey Y/N. I thought I’d find you here. Your grandma used to tell me about how she found the sea hypnotising” Pietro said sitting down on the sand before offering you one of the beers he had grabbed.

That night Pietro sat with you in solidarity offering you nothing more than friendship and a pillar of support whilst you cried and then laughed, and then cried some more reminiscing about your cherished times with both your now deceased grandparents.

After Pietro returned to NYC, he put the thought of you out of his head, instead, he turned his efforts to focus on the upcoming December launch party. Thanks to their dad’s connections. Wanda’s hard work and a few strategic tweets and IG posts from a hard-working friend who did add campaign work for a living there was a real buzz around Scarlett Witch.

“Hey Brother, I was thinking of asking Y/N to attend the launch and to wear something from the evening collection for the launch, Jane is in town and already said yes, she’s bringing her Boyfriend Thor, I extended two further invitations to them encase Thor’s brother Loki is around. What do you think?” Wanda said throwing herself onto the grey sofa opposite Pietro. They were at Pietro’s apartment as he had the most amount of spare room.

“Excellent idea, she should bring Bucky too,” Pietro said sipping on his coffee. Pietro wanted to remain in your life and after the funeral, your conversations had been a bit more frequent. Most importantly Pietro wanted you to be happy.

Pietro brought a date along to the event; her name was Crystal and they had been on a few dates before. However, they both had an understanding that this was more of a casual thing and that neither of them were looking for a relationship with each other. Crystal had gone off to schmooze with some of the guests when you arrived. Pietro made a mental note to introduce you both later, he was sure you would both get along with your similar senses of humour. Pietro couldn’t take his eyes off you the moment you entered the event. You looked stunning, Wanda had asked for Pietro’s input when choosing the outfits that You, Wanda and Jane were going to wear. Pietro had chosen a silver two-piece skirt and top for Jane, a scarlet red ensemble for his sister and a Black strapless dress, the top was form-fitting made from chiffon fabric, the skirt cut out the front made of black tulle sparkled with the touches of glitter.

Pietro had chosen the ensembles for two reasons, one they were undoubtedly the showstoppers from Wanda’s evening collection and they all complimented each other well. He made a mental note to ensure Peter Parker got a photo of the three of the ladies together before the evening got away from everyone.

“Bunny! I agree absolutely amazing. Bucky, you don’t look too bad yourself” Pietro said kissing you on the cheek. Pietro was wearing a deep blue suit; it made his hair and ice-blue eyes pop. Wanda had insisted on the blue over a grey suit Pietro had originally planned on wearing. Pietro didn’t miss the smile on your face after they had complimented you, it was as big and bright as it had been that final summer. And you've got a smile That can light up this whole town

After photos and ensuring everyone’s, drinks were full, Wanda and Pietro left the small group of old school friends in the private area of the event and made their way around the guests. The press contained fashion bloggers, small fashion magazines, social media influencers and gossip columnist too. Pietro found his way back to Crystal after he’d finished making the rounds. He was on his way to introduce you when he spotted an unfamiliar red head amongst the group.

Thor introduced her as Natasha, Pietro tried not to give away the surprise in his eyes, but he could sense that there was some tension as you avoided making eye contact with both Pietro and Bucky. Pietro kept his nose out of it for the most part, but when the pair of you said your farewells for the evening, he couldn’t help but assure you that he was there if you wanted to talk.

“Was that Natasha Romanoff I saw hanging around Thor and Y/N’s group most of the evening?” Wanda asked when she and Pietro slipped into the back of the waiting car. “Yes it would appear so, did you know she was coming?” He asked loosening his tie. “Vis said Jane had asked to bring a friend along as Loki couldn’t make it, I told him to tell her it was fine as she technically had four invites. I didn’t realise it was going to be her”, Wanda explained, there was an emphasis on her.

Regardless of her brother's relationship status with yourself she genuinely liked you and always would, her loyalties lied with you and as far as Wanda was concerned, she didn’t even want to know Natasha, something about her didn’t sit right with her from the few interactions they’d had over the years.

“Will Crystal meet you at your apartment? I didn’t see her as we were clearing away”, Wanda said changing the subject. “Huh? Oh, no she’s meeting her friends downtown at the Voodoo Lounge, something about a magic night” Pietro said looking out the window as the streets of NYC blurred into one. He couldn’t help but worry about you, you could put on a bright smile and laugh all you liked, but Pietro knew when you were faking.

2017

The launch of Scarlet Witch had gone better than Pietro and Wanda had hoped. When the label opened up to online orders in February, they had sold out of everything in 30 minutes flat. Now they were looking at opening up an in-person store in the lower east side sometime early next year. Pietro was working late one night in the office when Vision turned up.

“Hey Vision, it's good to see you but Wanda’s not here,” Pietro said sitting back down behind his desk. It was late and the numbers had started to dance around the screen but Pietro was determined to get these figures finished before the weekend. It was the least he could do as Wanda had been working flat out, she insisted on sewing as many of the items herself as possible, and when she had hired two seamstresses, Wanda still checked all their work.

“Thank you, Pietro, but I know she is back at our apartment. It is actually you that I came to see” Vision said. James or Vision as everyone called him very rarely looked nervous, yes he sometimes missed social cues but he was never one to act nervous. Pietro sensing this was important saved his spreadsheets and shut down his computer.

“What’s going on Vis?” Pietro asked walking over to the sofa area where vision, stood awkwardly. “Traditionally, this question would be asked to your father, but as your father was not in your lives much until recent years, I felt it better to ask you” Vision babbled on. Pietro had a pretty good where this was going, but this was Visions plan and Pietro wasn’t about to jump the gun, besides if this was going where he thought it was, it was only right to make him suffer ever so slightly.

“Well Vision, I’m all ears. What is it you want to ask?” Pietro asked grinning. “Well you know how much I adore your sister Wanda, and we have been together a good many years now. So I would like to ask your permission for your sister's hand in Marriage” Vision asked. Vision’s heart was pounding so loud and fast he thought that he might collapse. Pietro’s eyes watered, he was happy for his sister and he was of course going to say yes, but he wanted to have a bit of fun first. He quickly stood and turned away from Vision, heading towards the small fridge of the small office kitchen.

“So you want to marry my sister, are you certain about this Vis? Because once that ring is on her finger, there is no backing down, even if you get cold feet.” Pietro remarked. “I assure you Mr Maximoff, I want this with my whole self” Vison responded. Pietro couldn’t continue with the charade anymore. “Of course you have my blessing Vision, I would be honoured to call you brother,” Pietro said handing Vision a beer.

Vision proposed to Wanda that summer on the fourth of July. The three of them attended Tony Stark’s exclusive fourth of July bash at Stark Tower. Vision had a good relationship with Stark and Pepper was a hopeless romantic at heart. Shortly before the fireworks, Vision and Wanda wandered off to a private balcony three floors above the outside decking where everyone else would watch. Tony introduced the display then the three of them slipped out of the crowd as the fireworks got underway.

Tony had his AI software J.A.R.V.I.S set to record the whole thing. As the firework display got underway. Vision got down on one knee and popped the question. Wanda of course squealed and said yes between tears. That’s when Pietro, Pepper and Tony appeared with glasses of champagne and toasted to the happy couple. “Congratulations Sis, also please let me be there when you call Y/N and tell her, I know she is absolutely going to flip her shit when she finds out,” Pietro said kissing his sister on the cheek.

Sure enough, Pietro was right, three days later when Wanda Facetimed you to show of the ring your excited screams were loud enough to be heard all through NYC. “Oh my god. He did it, he finally proposed! I was wondering if he was ever going to pull his finger out and propose. Oh Wands I am so happy for you, you deserve this” you said. Wanda was so elated she missed the small crack in your voice towards the end of the sentence, but Pietro didn’t.

“Here Pietro want’s to say hi. Go on tell her all about how you had known about this since March! I’m going to get ready Visions parent’s got into town today and we’re meeting them for dinner before they see a show tonight,” Wanda passed the phone to Pietro before heading off to her shower. Pietro had come round specifically to hear the call. Pietro waited for the door to close before he turned his attention back to your face on his sister's screen.

“Everything okay Y/N?” Pietro asked. You sighed before letting your hair out of its ponytail, You were avoiding the question. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m tired, going out later with Peggy Carter, she’s the girlfriend of Bucky’s teammate, Steve. We’re going to get some lunch and do a bit of shopping, Steve’s working on some projects and Bucky said he’s running some extra training drills at the stadium. Not that he needs to the season doesn’t start for another two months, oh I’m sorry. I’m wittering on, how are you? Had any good dates recently?” you asked forcing your voice to be light and carefree.

Pietro knew what you were doing but it wasn’t his place to call you out on lying. “Naa, not really. None that would ever go anywhere” Pietro said. The two of you stayed on facetime for a few more short minutes before Pietro reluctantly advised he had to get going to the office.

September 2017

“So Y/N I have a very important question, will you be one of my Bridesmaids?” Wanda asked. Pietro walked into Wanda’s office just in time to hear you scream your response. “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU KIDDING OF COURSE I WILL” Wanda moved the phone from her ears and looked up at her brother who just grinned. “You owe me 20 bucks I told you she would scream,” Pietro said making himself comfortable in the chair opposite his sister's desk.

“ I should be offended, but I’m in too much of a great mood to care” you chuckled. “Oh, is that so?” Wanda teased. Pietro felt sick, had Bucky proposed? Worse, were you pregnant? “I got offered this amazing job opportunity, it would be working for Stark Industries, Pepper Potts approached me directly about it the other week, I shot it down but she called me again today doubling the offer,” you squealed.

The weight that had threatened to crush Pietro lifted, not that his sister hadn’t noticed the change in his complexion a few moments ago.

“Oh my god Y/N, That’s amazing! Are you going to take it? I miss you and would love to have you nearby like old times. And I am not only saying that so you can do my wedding planning for me” Wanda sang. “I don’t know, I said I would think it over and get back to her after the weekend, I’m going to talk it through with Bucky tonight” you replied. “It sounds like a great opportunity Y/N” Pietro responded with earnest.

“Huh, that’s weird, I wonder what she’s doing here,” you said out loud “Who’s where?” asked Wanda. “Oh um nothing, look I got to go I just got to Buck’s and I’m cooking dinner, going to talk to him about Tony’s offer,” you said before hanging up. Wanda and Pietro just looked at each other. Pietro got up to leave but Wanda shot him a look as if to say she wasn’t finished with him.

“You still love her” she spoke plainly. “He doesn’t deserve her. He’s always posting pictures of him and that Natasha doing “Official” Lions events” Pietro replied simply. “You are right brother, he doesn’t deserve her, but like I told you all those years ago. If you had asked her she would have waited. You don’t get to complain that she moved on with someone who was a big part of her life for 13 or so years” replied Wanda.

She was right and Pietro knew it. He sighed before lifting his gaze to meet his sister's cold blue eyes. “You’re right.” He said simply before exiting the room.

Pietro awoke to his phone ringing at 2 am, he wasn’t going to answer it until he saw your name and the picture of the pair of you from Uni flash up on his phone. “Y/N? Is everything okay? It’s 2 am.” Pietro asked rubbing a hand along his face. You didn’t respond.#

“Y/N, are you safe? Should I call Bucky?” he asked urgency surging in his voice. “NO!” you practically shouted. “Sorry, no please don’t call Bucky,” you asked quietly.

Pietro shifted leaning over to turn on his bedside lamp. “Bunny, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Pietro pleaded. The comfort in his voice was enough to break you all over again. You started sobbing all over again. How you had any tears left was beyond you.

“I’ll fucking kill him” Pietro growled. Pietro knew, the pictures Bucky had been posting on IG, the tears now, the way you had withdrawn recently. You didn’t need to say it for him to know. “Please don’t, I don’t have enough money to bail you out of prison” you managed to squeak.

Pietro felt his heart shatter, all he had wanted since you two had started dating was to save you from the heartbreak you had experienced in the summer of 2010 and he had failed you. That night Pietro stayed on the phone with you until 4 am where you finally fell asleep exhausted from the day's turmoil.

May 2018

Pietro and Wanda had helped you apartment hunt. They helped decorate and furnish your apartment ready for your move to the Big Apple in January. Wanda had introduced you to her friends slash employees but to Wanda, they really were her friends: Doreen Green, Janet Van Dyne, Julia Carpenter and Laura Kinney. Including you on many girls nights.

Vision and Pietro always walked you home after nights out. Wanda made sure to invite you to brunch with her and Vision when Pietro was attending. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give you and Pietro another shot, it’s just you weren’t certain he would want you, after all, Bucky had really done a number on you again.

Sighing you picked up your phone and decided to take a leap of faith and text him, the two of you hadn’t spent any time alone together since you had moved in January.

Pietro’s Pov

Pietro’s phone buzzed. You, me and that little cafe in times square tomorrow = date? – Y/N x Pietro was stunned, he was sure that the time for you guys to be a couple had long passed. “Brother, are you listening?” Wanda asked agitated at her brother's lack of respect, the two of them were going through the plans for the rest of the year. Plans for when they would drop certain collections, run certain in-store promos. When they would run online promo’s.

“Sorry, it’s just Y/N just text me, asking me on a date” Pietro’s voice came out dazed. All though Wanda was miffed, she couldn’t help but smile. Looks like Y/N had finally listened to the girls last night when they went out for Monday night happy hour. “You had best text her back then brother” She responded raising her eyebrows at Pietro. I thought you’d never ask. How does 5 pm work? Pietro shot back.

Perfect x Your response came through almost immediately.

Your Pov

You got to the café early, you were too nervous to focus on anything in the office. And as you were only scheduled to work until four, you decided it was just easier to go to the café and wait with a book or something, you had to deal with this nervous energy somehow. You walked in expecting he’d be late, but Pietro got there early and he stood and waved. You walked to him Pietro pulled your chair out and helped you in. Pietro sat down opposite you and shot you a small nervous grin.

“I ordered you a hot chocolate and a cookie, I know how much you like hot chocolate even if it’s warm out like today,” he said shyly. “Thank you,” you said, you felt yourself blush. For goodness sake Y/N this is Pietro, you dated him for three years get a grip you silently berated yourself.

As the date got underway you felt yourself relax and slip into a comfortable bubble, you told Pietro about a recent mishap where one of your colleagues Darcy Lewis had accidentally thrown toner waste all over you.

You couldn’t help but smile as Pietro threw his head back laughing like a little kid. He took your hand and rubbed small circles on the back of it, that familiar feeling made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again.

December 2017 Pietro’s Pov. The snow was falling, and the streets of New York City were quitter than usual, a sign that Christmas was just around the corner. You had finished for a nice long Christmas break earlier that week and last night Pietro had taken you out for drinks and dinner as a surprise. However, due to the snow the restaurant had been unable to open as staff couldn’t get in due to all the delays on the subway. Pietro had felt crestfallen.

Right up until you had suggested that the pair of you skipped dinner and went back to Pietro’s straight for dessert. Pietro had struggled to leave you this morning. As he only had a few things to deal with before Scarlett Witch shut down for three weeks for a well-earned extended Holiday break he hadn’t left until later that morning around 10:30.

You had once again found your way back to the bright bubbly person you and everyone else knew you to be. Pietro as always being that safe place for you to heal. The way you danced around the kitchen cooking pancakes had Pietro beside himself. You really were ultraviolet. That fire you ignited, Good, Bad and undecided, Burns when I stand beside it Your light is ultraviolet. Pietro thought to himself.

All though you had only been back together since May this time Pietro was never going to let you again.

Pietro was leaving the office for a late lunch when his phone pinned with a google alert. James “Bucky” Barnes announces engagement to Natasha Romanoff! Read the headline. Fuck. That piece of shit. Pietro felt rage on behalf of you. He knocked on Wanda’s door. “Hey, Wanda. I know were almost done here anyway, but I got to go early” Pietro shifted uncomfortably.

“Why?” Wanda asked simply. They were almost done but Pietro was meant to be shutting down the website whilst Wanda finalised everyone’s surprise Christmas bonuses. Pietro didn’t say anything simply handing his phone to his sister. Wanda scanned the headline and the article. Sucking in a deep breath. “Go. I’ve got this. Go check on Y/N” she said her eyes softening.

Pietro practically raced home. Just as he was coming out the subway his phone rang, caller ID showing Sam. “What the fuck is that dickhead playing at?!” Sam asked. Pretty much the entire friend group had cut ties with Bucky after they found out he had been cheating on you again.

“I have no idea, but he better hope to god I never see him, because I will not hesitate to rip him a new one, look I’m just letting myself into my apartment building, Y/N stayed here last night as she didn’t have work today and we’re meant to be going to Stark’s Christmas gala this evening. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Pietro said ringing off before Sam could respond. Pietro knew Sam would understand.

“Hey handsome how was your day?” you asked not taking your eyes away from the street below. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief, he was certain he would have come home to find you curled up in bed, or worse the floor crying. You were happy together but that didn’t make Bucky’s betrayal sting any less.

“It was good, busy” he replied taking off his coat and walking over to join you at the window seat. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of the kids below. He could faintly see in the reflection of the window that your eyes were rimmed with red.

“How about you Bunny? I saw a news alert. I’m guessing you know about the engagement?” he asked. You hummed a response. Pietro knew you loved him; he also knew that you knew how much he loved you. But that didn’t make seeing you hurt any easier. Suddenly you shifted turning around to face him. His floppy silver-blonde hair covering those beautiful ice blue eyes, they looked at you with such love and endearment, they also spoke a silent promise. You kissed him gently on the lips before standing up.

“Come on Quicksilver let's shower before the Stark Christmas Gala,” you said pulling your boyfriend along behind you shooting him a knowing grin. God, he fucking loved you.

All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 24

Bio dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Oh dear, oh dear Lila what a shame this is

First< Previous > Next

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The next couple of days are... awkward. Dick keeps calling which is nice, they even go for dinner one day dragging Tim along. Tim seems fine, tired but that's hardly unusual. Jason had just straight up disappeared, but Dick had assured them he would be coming to the Wayne Gala that weekend. Speaking of which they had been invited, well they were already going because of MDC stuff but now they were also invited as civilians. The news would have been happy if Damian hadn't stormed out the room when it was mentioned. The next day and the day after that hadn’t improved anything, Damian was completely ignoring them and they weren't the only ones to notice.

“What did you do to upset Dami so much?!” Lila announces rather loudly to the entire cafeteria, “I told you, you were going too far,”

“Lila, and I mean this sincerely, fuck off,” Marion says flatly, he hears Marinette cover a laugh despite swatting at him lightly.

“How dare you?! I’m just trying to look out for him,” Lila sniffles, basking under the attention of her large audience, looking between the girl and Damian. Marion catches Damian's eye, raising a brow basically saying you’re going to let this slide? Apparently he was as Damian looks away from them, and if anything was going to give Lila more believability it’s that.

“Marion are you alright?” Rose asks gently, having tiptoed after Lila with the rest of the class. Had he been looking so downcast she actually noticed?

“I’m fi-” Whatever assurance he was about to give is mute as he feels tears sliding down his cheeks, “Fuck-I just-”

He tries to wipe away the tears, very aware of everyone watching him. It’s starting to get hard to breath when he feels gentle arms wrap around him. It’s Rose. Rose is actually hugging him! It’s been so long he forgot what her hugs felt like. Well if she was trying to stop him from crying that certainly didn’t help matters. He tries to take a calming breath but it comes out more like a sob and soon enough he can’t hold it back anymore. A fine place to break down Mari, really, truly a testament to your skill.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this here,” Lila scoffs, Marion can feel the arms around him tighten, “After all the work I put in for this trip-”

“LILA WOULD YOU JUST STOP!” Alya’s scream makes them all jump back, Marion turning to face the absolutely seething girl, “This is the first time in YEARS we’ve been allowed to feel emotions! So just leave it alone, they’re allowed to be sad!”

“Well-I-its-they-” Lila splutters looking completely blindsided that one of her puppets broke off its strings, clearly she hasn't been paying attention the last few weeks, funny when you save someone's life they tend to listen and care about what you say a bit more. And if that leads to noticing a few more jibes in their direction... well that's just a happy coincidence.

“What is your problem!? You’ve been nothing but nasty to them since we got here!” Well a bit longer than that but good on you for noticing Alya.

“Oh, it’s just been so hard for me!” Lila exclaims, crocodile tears coming in as Marion still tries to wipe off his own, the genuine article at that, “If you had heard some of the things they’ve said to me-”

Lila jumps as Damian appears next to her. He doesn't look at or acknowledge the twins. In fact, he still looks rather pissed but at least some of its directed at Lila this time. He silently hands his phone over to Alya with some hesitation, Lila's eyes go wide. As quickly as he had come he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd that had formed around them.

“What’s-”

“Give it!” Lila screeches, lunging for the phone. Alya jerks back in surprise, Lila’s nails tearing down her arm. Ugly red marks that had broken the skin and gone in deep.

“What the hell!” Alya shouts through tears, clutching her bloody arm as the class crowd around her.

Instead of apologizing Lila tries to snatch the phone in the moment of distraction, but Alix is a hair quicker. She presses play despite Lila shouting threats that made the rest of the class go pale. The recording plays everyone is glued to it. The class becoming increasingly more hysterical. Marinette doesn't wait for it to finish, she gently guides Marion out of the room slipping through the crowd. They hide in an empty classroom, far enough away they can’t hear the outcry that follows.

“Do you think that’s really it, it’s done?” Marion whispers, Marinette is wiping his face with a handkerchief he had always made fun of her for carrying.

“Maybe, I honestly can’t bring myself to care anymore,” Marinette rests her forehead against his, her standing as he sits on a desk, “I thought I’d feel more…”

“Victorious?”

“Yeah,”

“I don’t think there are any winners here,” He can hear someone shouting their names down the hall, voice wobbly with tears, he doesn't care about any apology the can muster, “How lame did I look crying?”

“In front of the whole school like that?”

“Yeah,”

“I’d say it was pretty brave,” She pulls him into a hug, squeezing tight.

“He was just ignoring us,” Marion admits quietly, Lila hadn’t made him cry in a long time, but Damian? Damian did.

“I know,” Marinette pats his head, the same way she would tease him as Chat Noir, “But he did something in the end didn’t he?”

“Oh, gee look at this lame-ass, better make him stop before people associate him with me’,” Marion does an impression not remotely close to Damian, Marinette pinches him.

“That’s not what he was thinking and you know it,”

“Yeah,” Marion sighs, he can hear doors opening and closing now, apologies cast out through the school in hopes they’ll hear them, “What do we do now?”

“Jump out the window?”

So they did end up jumping out the window. Something Alfred had somehow known they were planning because he was waiting right there to pick them up. The debated on actually going to the manor, but their phones were lighting up with messages and the hotel was not an option. The Manor was silent when they arrived. And it remained silent for most of their stay.

Dick had apparently set himself a mission of making them feel at home, whatever that meant, and was nowhere to be seen. He seemed like the only one actually happy to have them join the ragtag family so without him it was likely the others were just avoiding them. That was fine, really, Alfred set them up with a movie and ice cream that they used to ignore everything else.

Dick was their saving grace and the bane of their existence. When he came back he had apparently made the decision they would be staying at the manor for the rest of the trip, despite it only meant to be a few more days(it wasn't for them but he didn’t know that yet). Alfred had apparently told him what happened and he had brought it upon himself to bring their friends, actual friends not classmates to the manor. This was a blessing and a curse as all they seemed to want to do was fill them in on what had happened.

They listened and ate ice cream together. And yeah Marion kind of wished he could have seen Lila as every lie was torn down but Chloe rejoiced in relaying her reactions with great detail. She had of course tried to lie and turn it all on the twins, them trying to frame her. However, with blood running down Alya's arm that warranted a trip to the hospital it was met with a cold shoulder. Their talk eventually morphed into laughing at all her outlandish lies, which Chloe gladly compiled into a list to share with the rest of the class, ranking them in order of their stupidity. She planned to go through the whole list on the plane ride back where there would be no escape for anyone. It was fun in a way, and if Marion noticed more than one pair of eyes spying in on the conversation he wasn’t going to point it out. Lila was yet to face her dues.

When their friends had to go back to the hotel they promised not to give anything away. Alfred gratefully let them skip over dinner and Dick was overjoyed to show them to their rooms. Marion kind of wanted to laugh when he was shown his, wondering how much of it was Dick, how much was Bruce, and what was Alfred.

There were cat plushies everywhere which he had to guess was Bruce latching onto the detail from the fair and indeed Dough boy is sitting front and center on his bed. Then again wherever he was over he did spend a lot of time with Catfred. It could also be Dick taking note of that because really everything has cats on it. There's blankets, pillows, a rug with kittens over it. There was an armchair shaped like a cat head, and where had they even found that? It only got worse the further he went into the room noticing that the curtains had been replaced to have cats on them and there were pictures of cats hanging on the wall, the lamps in the room even cast shadows of cats. The only thing he could find that wasn't cat-related was a picture of them with Bruce at the fair, each sporting a plushie with Bruce holding a cutesy Batman plush between the grinning twins.

“Nette my defining trait isn’t cats is it?” He walks into her room through the joining door he was willing to bet didn’t exist a week ago. His side, of course, had a cat painted on it, he closes it just so he has less exposure to all the cats.

“Course not,” Marinette grins from her sewing machine.

She had a more, let's say subdued room. Oh sure Bruce had apparently found her all the Ladybug plushies he could but they apparently didn't have the same abundance as cats. Instead, he seemed to have focused on her sewing kit. Mannequins littered about her room that Marinette had already started pinning fabric to. Half of her walk-in closet was dedicated to spools of fabric, the other stocked with clothes. Marion didn’t dare brave his own knowing he would find only cats .

“Did you notice the dollhouse?” Marinette asks as Marion flops onto her bed, at least you could actually see her bed and it wasn't hidden by a pile of cats.

“Yeah mine was stocked with camembert and sugar cubes,” and it had personalized rooms for both Kaalki and Plagg that they were happily exploring.

“Mine cookies,” Marinette hums, more concerned with her design than the topic at hand, “Think we got found out,”

“Probably, whoever it is hasn't said anything tho,” Marion looks over at the large dollhouse in Marinette's room, Tikki waved at him from a window and he waved back.

“Probably Alfred,”

“Probably, that mans a witch,”

“A Witch?”

“I know what I said,” Marion sighs, sealing himself to go back into the cat infestation. How do you politely say ‘thank you so much but what the fuck?’

He knew he had to brave the closet sometime as someone had been so kind as to put away his clothes. Sure enough, it was as bad as he had imagined. Everything from t-shirts with cartoon cats to clothes carefully crafted to have cat ears. I was actually kind of amazing at this point. Giving up his conquest to find his actual pj’s he buttons up a two-piece that is, naturally, covered with cats.

On his way out he notices a bit of black at the very front of the closet not fitting in with the color-coded organization. He pulls it out to find a gorgeous leather jacket that was completely devoid of cats! Huzzah! There was a note hanging from the sleeve which Marion unfolded.

Knew Bruce and Dick would be idiots so I got you something actually decent

I saw the room and yeah it's a fucken mess

If you ever need it gone or I don’t know accidentally set on fire give me a call

Marion chuckles knowing it could be no one else but Jason he tucks the note into the jacket, pulling it on to find a perfect fit. He keeps it on as a shield, something solidly not-cat is comforting at this point. He pushes the piles of cat toys onto the floor and seriously he was going to have to have a talk with Bruce about moderation and interior decorating. He lies down looking up at the ceiling, then immediately getting up and storming into Nette’s room. He was not going to sleep under a mural of cats! Nope not tonight! Not ever!

Marinette doesn't even look up from where she’s hunched over her desk as he flops onto her bed. Can someone be over the moon to be surrounded by ladybugs? Yes provided they have had an overexposure to cats first.

“I know we don’t want to go to school tomorrow but I can not stand a second more in that room,”

“Schools over Mari, it’s the concert tomorrow remember?”

“Goddammit,”

“Jasons having a bad influence on you,”

“Can’t we have just one day of rest?”

“No, now go to sleep,”

“You first,” Marion shoots, back despite curling up under the blankets.

“If you want to wear that jacket tomorrow you better take it off before it gets ruined,”

“I can wear it for the concert?” He shoots back up, excited but takes her advice anyway.

“ No I did not spend weeks designing a new jacket for you to wear that,” Besides it doesn't even have bats on the back,”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Marion yawns, sinking back into the bed, and wow it’s really soft, “What if we changed them to Robins?”

“... you really don’t want me to sleep tonight do you?”

“Means I get the whole bed to myself, a master plan if I do say so myself,” Marion doesn't even stir as the pillow hits him square in the face.

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Taglist:

@technicallyburninggarden @fusser90  @misslenamooney @superbwhispersconnoisseur @biodad-bruce-month @nalu-ismyjam @the-one-woman-army @rosesandsailboats @blackmagicforever @zeneralla @ivymala07 @tired-butterfly @Ranger-gothamite @A-star-with-a-human-name @enchanted-nerd @trippingovermyfeet

[quietmyfearswith]

perfect fit {ransom drysdale x fem!reader}

perfect fit {ransom drysdale x fem!reader} 

status — completed 

warnings — cursing, unprotected penetrative sex (pls be safe when havinf sex), mirror sex, semi-public sex, degradation (slight), oral sex (female receiving), mentions of blood and being poked (briefly and not detailed)

word count — 3,370 words

a/n — lmao i have no shame i got inspired to write this because of an something i listened to which had a similar premise. i had a sequel in mind but idk if im gonna write that since i have a lot of fics planned out. feedback is appreciated and hope u guys have a lovely day !! :> 

masterlist

It was something no one expected Ransom to do; but he did it anyway.

He was just lounging in his home one day and he took one of the many notebooks he had lying around and suddenly found himself sketching different clothing articles. By the time he was able to tear his focus and hands away from the notebook, it was already 11:45 at night, “Huh, so in the past five hours I was able to design 11 clothes,” he quietly thought to himself as he closed the notebook that contained his ideas and headed to bed.

The following day consisted mostly of doing two things; more designing and making calls. He was looking for possible suppliers who could give him the materials he needed in order to bring his designs to life. He also ordered his assistant to look for tailors who were willing to sew and stitch them to life, as he did not have any intentions on making those himself. Searching for a place to lease to station where the clothes would be made and sold was also something he did.

All of that happened almost 19 months ago; Ransom just suddenly had the idea of creating his own clothing line and he was successful in that endeavor. His brand was known for its eloquent and classy designs, while still being comfortable and affordable. It was also a bonus that the materials they used were cruelty-free and vegan; though this wasn’t really his idea, something his assistant had suggested and something he mindlessly agreed with as he was burying himself in designing a dress.

When his family found out about his current endeavor, there were various reactions in response. Joni seemed to be legitimately excited to see if Ransom’s design would match her taste and even told him how she was willing to post about his line on her Instagram. Meg and Walt finally had something in common as they both teased him and questioned his sexuality since he suddenly became interested in fashion; even his own father silently had the same thoughts and concerns. His mother, however, was somewhat proud of her son following in her footsteps and making a name for himself. While Harlan was surprised on how he was persistent in pursuing fashion, for he always thought that his first grandson would be his successor in terms of writing and in handling the publishing company.

Ransom, having had enough of their judgmental comments and half-assed support, snapped at them once he broke the news as they were enjoying dessert, “Alright, all of you, eat shit! No offense, Mom, but you had a loan from Granddad and without his money you’d be nowhere! Joni, cut the shit! We all know you rely on those brand deals you have and of course, on our family’s money. And Walt? At least I’m gonna make something of my own! Unlike you who just relies heavily on the books Granddad gives you to publish. And what the fuck does fashion have to do with one’s sexuality? If clothes make people gay then why are you wearing that sorry excuse of an outfit? Scared people might find your dick too small?” 

And with that, he left the house as a sea of screams and commotion followed him, but he chose to ignore it of course.

In the span of those 19 months, his clothing line took off. Critics spoke highly of it, consumers couldn't get enough of his designs, and he was being constantly praised for his creativity. So it made Ransom feel as if he was on top of the world.

After his designs being featured on various fashion shows and being worn by numerous celebrities, the pressure to put out equally great designs was taking a toll on Ransom. Hence why he often spends time on the main store and headquarters he had in Boston. The place was fairly spacious — it had an office for where he could have meetings or design some of his clothes, a spacious and luxurious space for the customers to try on the clothes, rows of sewing machine next to an array of cloth for the workers whom he fairly compensated for their hard work, and even a small circular platform placed in front of mirrors for alterations. 

Ransom advised his staff to go home early to enjoy the start of the weekend and he would be the one to close the store and balance what they had already sold and what was left. As he was busy in the counter checking the log and counting the money, he heard the chimes of the bell that hung above the door make a sound, directing his attention to where a lovely woman stepped into the store and it felt as if all the oxygen in his body left his body with how breathtaking the woman was.

“We’re about to close in a few minutes,” was all he managed to let out as the woman stood on the opposite side of the counter; she just smiled as she placed the gown wrapped in plastic down on the counter, “Oh? I’m so sorry but I was just wondering if I can have this gown altered? I bought it hastily last week and only got to try it on two days ago since I was incredibly busy with work and realized how loose it was on me.”

He looked down on the gown as he spoke, “Yeah well we close earlier on Fridays so,” prolonging the word so, he noticed how she moved as if she was about to exit the establishment, but he wondered, “What is the work you do that kept you busy?”

The question surprised both of them; Ransom didn’t know as to why he was curious about it, but it probably had to do with how he just wanted an excuse to talk to her and listen to her soothing voice. While Y/N didn’t realize that those were one of the requirements in order to have a dress altered, she told him anyway what kept her busy.

Nodding his head, he made an impulsive decision, “My assistants just left, but I can take care of it. It shouldn’t be a big problem” Her eyes lit up excitedly and she smiled widely and thanked him for being able to accommodate her. “Just go to one of the dressing rooms and change to the gown, and head to where the platform is — just right across, okay?” She nodded and followed to where his hands pointed to where he’d be waiting for her.

As she scurried off to the change, he found himself questioning himself as he switched off the open sign, grabbed a notebook, pen, and measuring tape, and waited for her to come out. Why the hell am I making such an effort for her? And when she did step out of the dressing room and made her way to step on the circular elevated platform, he remembered just why he was going out of his way to serve her; because she looked fucking gorgeous, especially seeing her wear a gown he designed.

Standing on the platform, she shyly looked at him to which he found adorable, “Why don’t you spin around slowly for me?” She nodded and did so, “What seems to be the problem with the gown?”

With her back facing him, she craned her neck and replied, “I found the length to be too long, I’m afraid I might trip on it,” as she faced him he noticed how he was standing dangerously close, and his facial features were dead serious, “So you just want to trim it a bit?”

She nodded, “Would it be possible to create a slit?” And just as she made that suggestion, she bunched up a bit of the gown and showed him how she wanted the slit to look like; but all it did to Ransom was make him drool with how luscious and soft her legs looked like. “Okay, yeah that’s something we can do.” 

Grabbing a small container full of sewing pins he took hold of the bunched up fabric she held in her hand and told her he got it. “You know when I designed these gowns, you were exactly the target buyers I had in mind,” she tilted her to the side, confused with what he meant so he further explained, “Gorgeous, elegant, and absolutely stunning; especially once they wear my clothes.”

Her cheeks suddenly became a dark shade of red as she tried to shrug off his compliment, “Well I don’t really wear these kinds of clothes, but when a wedding comes, you have to.” As he was placing the pins on the fabrics, he looked up from where he was sitting on the platform, him being eye level with her thigh was doing nothing to prevent him from nursing a hard on, “A wedding you say?” 

Snatching a glance from where her hands rested on her hips to get out of his way, he took note of the lack of ring and voiced out his observation, “I’m not seeing any ring on both your hands, so I’m gonna assume that you’re not the bride?” She laughed softly and shook her head, “No, I'm not the bride-to-be, my best friend is.”

“Good to know,” Ransom said softly and she didn’t hear it well and was about to question what he just said as she felt the sewing pins poke her skin. “Ow, fuck!” She yelped, which made the designer realize that instead of piercing through the dress, he accidently lightly grazed her leg. “Fuck, I’m sorry!” He apologized as he pulled the pin and wiped her upper thigh that started to bleed a little. 

Feeling his warm hand envelope her hand and the thumb swiping away the crimson liquid, made her feel tingly as she looked down on him. Inching his face closer to her thigh, he looked up at her as his lips touched the area that he unintentionally hurt her in, “I’m so sorry for hurting you,” Y/N was stunned as his lips were back on her thigh after apologizing. 

Breathlessly, she just nodded and was surprised both his hands took a hold of her ankles and were softly caressing her just like how his lips were being gentle with her flesh. As his hands were sliding up towards her shins, she could feel the goosebumps on her skin rise, and by the time they reached her thighs, that was the only time Ransom detached his lips from her skin, “You taste divine, baby girl. But I’m not done with making it up to you.”

Having a sudden surge of confidence, Y/N spoke out, “Then keep kissing me if you want to make it up to me.” Ransom too, was surprised because this meek-looking beauty demanded him to do something, “I beg your pardon?” It was her turn to be brave and brazen as she smirked down on him, “Keep on kissing my thighs or else I’ll leave a bad review of your services.”

Quickly, Ransom placed his lips back on her thigh, kissing and smooching every inch he could find; he wasn’t sure if he was threatened with how his business could be negatively affected or was he just turned out at the prospect of being told by this beautiful woman to keep on admiring her figure.

Tangling her fingers on his hair, she tugged at him and guided her where she wanted his mouth as he gave verbal directions, “Higher, baby, kiss me higher.” Though his eyes were darkened with pleasure of having to know what her skin tastes like and aroused with how he met someone who was able to tell her what she wants and bosses him around; he’s never had someone do that to him, for it was always him calling the shots.

Poking his tongue out, he traced over the outline of her lace underwear which resulted in her letting out a moan and tightening her grip on his hair — urging him to keep going. Moving from her thigh, he kissed his way until he was face to face with the center of her pussy. Inhaling her scent, he closed his eyes as he groaned and took in her addictive scent and lunged forward to kiss and lick her clothed core. Even with the fabric in its way, he was nipping on her pussy lips and licking through it, getting a faint taste of her.

“Oh, more please,” she gasped out in pleasure; and with that plea Ransom moaned as he tore his mouth from where he was making out with her clit and smirked as she heard her sigh at the sudden loss of contact. Looking up at her, he gave her a grin as he asked, “Did you honestly think you would be the one who’ll call all the shots, baby?”

Somehow, her crimson red cheeks managed to turn into an even deeper shade of it at what he said. He then moved to pull her panties down her legs, he didn’t even wait for her to kick them out of her as he immediately licked from her clit down to her opening. Moaning out, she trembled a bit and Ransom’s hands latched themselves onto her thighs to help prevent her from falling.

“Careful now baby girl,” he warned her as he looked up to see her flushed face starting to drip with sweat, his lips never fully removing themselves from her clit so with every word he spoke the vibrations was felt throughout her core, “Wouldn’t want you to injure yourself. How are you gonna turn up to the wedding then?” 

As he finished his question, his tongue pushed itself into her tight opening and swirled around inside. Feeling dainty fingers push his face further, he was able to get a better taste of her juices that began to drip down to his tongue and he hissed at how delectable they were. Pulling out his tongue from her pussy, he immediately licked his way up to her swollen clit, “You taste amazing, baby,” he moaned out as he focused his efforts into sucking her clit hard and fast, feeling her thighs began to shake — a sign that she was close to her orgasm.

But Ransom wouldn’t let her cum right away, his left hand left the warmth of her thigh and slapped her clit multiple times, she opened her eyes in shock and looked down on the designer, aroused and elated with what he did. Getting the hint that she enjoyed what he did he teased her by saying, “You like it when I slap that clit?” Seeing how she nodded and bit her lip, he went on and slapped her clit multiple times but with not a lot of force, and his tongue went on to caress her tight opening until she once again began to quiver. 

“God you’re such a filthy slut,” he stated as he stopped the movements his tongue and hand were doing, and went on to bite lightly her thigh, “I’m gonna have so much fun with you. Have to make sure my customer leaves this place satisfied with my services.” As he mentioned the double entendre, his voice was laced with desire and hunger.

Giving her thigh one last kiss, he stood up from the platform and placed his hands on her hips and lifted her so she stood on the ground just like he was. Grabbing the back of her neck, he pushed her against him so their lips met and they began to hungrily make out. Her hands were at his cheeks, softly grazing his cheeks which contradicts how their tongues were roughly dancing with each other. While Ransom’s other hand was feeling for the zipper on her back, unzipping it and pushing the dress off of her.

Moving both his hands to touch her back, he noticed the lack of bra and felt how her nipples harden against the fabric of his shirt, he separated their lips from where they were entangled and looked down to see her breasts, “Such a nasty little girl you are, aren’t you? Wearing this gown with no bra underneath, like you wanted me to see just how good your boobs are.”

She shook her head, “The gown goes well best without a bra,” she defended. Amused with her reply Ransom decided that they’ve had enough foreplay; both his hands planted on her hips and pulled her back so it was flush against his front, “And you know what would go best with your divine body? My cock and cum,” one of his hands grabbed onto his cock and rubbed the tip of it against her folds, feeling her shudder at the sensation, “So come on and take it.”

“Shit baby girl, you’re so tight for a slut,” Ransom groaned as he threw his head back with how her walls squeezed his hard dick in one smooth motion. The hand that guided his cock in repositioned itself and held onto her hair, pulling her head back and arching her back away from his chest, which contrasted the way her ass was pushing back to accommodate Ransom’s cock.

Hand in her hair and the other on her hip, Ransom was pulling her into his cock with sharp, fast, and harsh thrusts; while her moans and whines did nothing but to fuel him to drive his thick meat deeper in her. “You like this don’t you, baby? You like how I’m just ramming into you like you’re nothing but a whore?” He taunted as he let go of her hip and began to rub, twist, and pull at her nipples.

Y/N could only nod, too blissed out to give out a verbal response for the way he was deliciously torturing her nipples disabled her from forming a coherent sentence, much less a thought. Unhappy with how she responded, he let go of her hair and slapped both her ass cheeks, “Answer me! Tell me you like it!”

She went still for a moment due to the sting of his slaps, she widened her eyes and peered over her shoulder to look at him, “I love it! I love how you’re treating me, sir.” The title she had given him made him even more feral as he ordered her, “Look in the mirror slut, look at how desperate you are for me.”

Feeling shy from seeing her blissed out state on the reflection, she instead diverted her gaze on the man behind her who was mercilessly pounding into her. She found it absolutely hot how his jaw was clenched so hard and his eyebrows were furrowed; it made her clench down on him hard which led to Ransom to slam deep inside her and grab onto her shoulders, “You’re close aren’t you, baby? You’re about to cum on my cock aren’t you?” She nodded and whined, “Yes, sir, I’m so close. Please let me cum,” he chuckled in appreciation, she begged him to cum without even telling her to do so. 

Speeding up the pace of his thrusts, his one hand was now alternating with rubbing and pinching her clit, in order to get her right on the edge. His lips were resting against her ear, his pants were only turning her on even more and with a final pinch of his fingers, she was cumming hard and with a loud wail.

Feeling how her walls squeezed him too tight to the point he couldn’t move anymore, Ransom stilled inside her and wrapped his arms around her stomach, “Fuck, you feel good.” After a couple of breaths, Ransom collapsed to sit down on the platform, taking her with him. Sitting down, he took the time to steady his breaths and recover from the intensity of their intercourse and orgasm. 

Snaking his hand to her cheek, he tilted her head enough for him to plant his lips on hers and let her give a faint taste of her own juices and he pulled apart from her not without planting a small kiss, “The gown will be ready in a week, baby. And it’s on me.”

[breadoffoxy]

Prompt: “Where on EARTH did you get that sweater?”

Day: 28/31

Pairing: Reader x n. Taehyung

Genre: Fluff, slight NSFW

Warnings: ugly sweaters, people being jerks, kissing, implied sex at the end

Word Count: 1492

It was quite the surprise when you show up at your friend’s lavish holiday party and everyone was dressed so nicely. Quite clearly, you remember on the invitation, yes, your friend is so fancy to send an invitation in the mail, it said ugly sweater party.

The things people were wearing were not ugly sweaters. It’s like the rich person’s attempt at wearing commoner clothing or something. Your about to turn tail and run when a deep voice interrogates, “Where on EARTH did you get that sweater?”

With a sigh, you turn towards your friend and host of the party. To no surprise of your own, Taehyung looks handsome as ever. His sweater is a beautiful shade of red that suits him so well. The neck and shoulders are lined with a beautiful floral pattern, giant bunnies surrounded by more flowers are on the front, and birds line the end of his sleeves.

You pull at the end of your sweater and stare at the atrocious thing. It’s a clash of color and messily sewn frizzy yarn. Giant red and green patched out letters spell out ‘HO HO HO’ across the front. “I made this.” You aren’t going to tell him you worked really hard on it for a long time in preparation for tonight.

Taehyung reappraises the sweater, “Really? That’s great y/n.” You look at him surprised at his compliment and he continues with a teasing smile, “I remember our home ec. days. You sewed all your pockets inside out and cursed out all the sewing machines.”

You grimace, that class was definitely a struggle. You did curse out the sewing machines, somehow all of them died while you were using them much to the teacher’s confusion and grief. The only thing that made it bearable was sitting across the sweetest and most popular boy in school, Kim Taehyung. He flourished in the sewing portion and helped you out, kindly pointing out when you were making a mistake and didn’t notice. You’d laugh with him over random conversations as you spend your time undoing stitches. He even got a Band-Aid to place on the cut you got from your overzealous actions with the sharp tool. It did more for your heart than it did for the tiny cut.

While you squandered in the sewing portion of the class, you excelled at the baking lessons. The tables were turned and it was now you helping Taehyung. He was rather clueless in the kitchen and his desserts turned out never quite right. You would share your food with him, and he’d always thank you with a smile. His smile never failed to make your heart jump and you were quickly smitten with the boy.

So here you are years later, in your ugly sweater and feeling kinda awkward in front of the gorgeous and sweet man in front of you. Your heart does its regular flip flop. Rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly, you admit, “Lots of yelling and cursing was involved for this too.” With a chuckle you add, “Nothing’s changed at all.”

“I’m still not great at cooking, but hey, I’m better than Namjoon now.” Taehyung grins confidently.

You can’t help but laugh at your friend’s bravado. “You are both so awful.”

Taehyung pouts at you, looking more adorable than upset. “But now I’m not the worst.”

“You’ll have to feed me sometime.” At your words, Taehyung grins at you. “So, what about you? Where did you get your sweater?”

“Oh, this thing?” Taehyung picks at his sweater much like you did. “It’s Gucci.”

You roll your eyes. Of course, it is Gucci, you should’ve known. Taehyung lives and breathes the brand. Noticing your reaction, Taehyung shoves your shoulder playfully.

“You may be the only one wearing an ugly sweater to my party, and I appreciate the effort, but don’t dis the Gucci.”

Taehyung looks over your shoulder suddenly and you turn to see Namjoon walking hurriedly over. His sweater is green with a yellow ring in the center bordered by the Eye of Sauren motifs. “Hey Taehyung, so there was this thing in the kitchen- woah y/n what is that?”

You frown at the bulky man who is eying you wearily. “My sweater.”

A supportive arm is wrapped around your shoulder, “It’s fantastic isn’t it? Now, what about my kitchen?”

Namjoon gives you a sheepish sorry and then explains to Taehyung that he may have broke something. The two head off but not before Taehyung’s hand drags down your arm and gives you a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Now you are left alone, instantly missing your friend. With a sigh, you navigate through all the fashionable sweaters towards the snack table set up in the back of the room. You can feel judgmental looks lingering on you and your sweater, making you rather uncomfortable.

You grab a couple macaroons and snack quietly. Looking around, you don’t see any of your other friends. They must be helping with Namjoon’s accident, and now you wished you headed back there with them. Except in Jimin’s case he is most definitely late. You sigh, you’ve should have totally pulled a Jimin.

A couple approaches the snack table and you can hear them talking about you. They aren’t even trying to hide it. “What threw up and died on their sweater?”

“It’s so ugly. Obviously just trying to get Taehyung’s attention anyway they can.” The other says, grabbing a couple of grapes and strawberries on a too tiny plate.

“Poor thing.” The first mutters, looking over at you with a depreciating frown.

You can feel tears building up in the corner of the eye, but you pretend you don’t hear them. Looking down and making yourself look small, you nibble on your macaroon. The sound of someone choking makes you look up alarmed. The couple mirrors your look, but their gaze is not on you.

Turning, you see Taehyung approaching you. There’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen before, and is leveling the couple with a dark look. He doesn’t go to them, but stops at you. Once they feel the iciness of his glare sufficiently, he smiles softly at you and grabs your hand. Taehyung is pulling you along, and you are stumbling along after him.

“Tae, where are we going?” You do nothing though to fight his lead and loyally follow him.

Taehyung squeezes your hand and continues to walk until you are in the middle of the main room. He nods to Jimin who has suddenly appeared, wearing a red knitted shirt with embroidered ‘Hoe Hoe Hoe’ in green, and his best friend clings his champagne glass to get everyone’s attention. Realizing everyone is looking towards the host and you by association, you try to pull your hand out of Taehyung’s, but he doesn’t let yours go. Jimin winks at you, leaving you even more confused.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight.” Taehyung announces over the hushed crowd. “Dinner shall be served shortly. Before we begin towards the dining room though, I want to announce the winner of the ugly sweater competition and give them their prize.”

A muffle goes around the room, no one knew there was a competition, much less a prize. You can feel more stares on you and you feel your face go warm from the attention. Clearly you were the winner.

“Despite their terrible skills, y/n has put the most effort and heart into their sweater,” Taehyung grins down at you cheekily and you poke your tongue in the side of your cheek, resisting to talk back to him in front of all these people. He looks into your eyes and it’s like if you two were the only ones in the room. “The same heart that captured mine long ago.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat and Taehyung continues to hold your gaze captive. His fingers weave with your own, and he once again squeezes your hand. Taehyung’s other hand comes up to gently cup your face. He leans down slowly, but stops right when his lips are barely touching yours.

“Will you accept your prize?” His breath dances along your lips, and your heart stutters.

“Yes,” you say with no hesitation.

Taehyung closes the rest of the distance and plants his lips on yours. He pulls your head even closer when you move your lips against his. You can feel the smile in his kiss. Someone cheers and claps, most likely Jimin, and the others follow suit. Pulling away, you hide your embarrassed face in his chest.

No one says anything else about you and your sweater for the rest of the night. Instead, you wear it proudly, that is until after everyone has left and your new lover tugs it off of you to place hot kisses over your flesh. Its left on the floor along with the Gucci sweater as the two of you passionately entwine on the bed.

[sagesparrow394]

One Night of Normalcy

This is my @sanderssidesgiftxchange gift for @anyarally! I wish you a happy New Year, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

Ship(s): Analogical, background Moceit

Summary: It’s Christmas Eve, and Virgil is spending the evening around his boyfriend’s house, and meeting Logan’s parents for the first time. All he hopes for is one night of normalcy, and to stay out of yet another of his parents’ fights.

Warnings: This fic contains domestic abuse, both physical and verbal. There is a gay character who is heavily implied to have been forced into a straight relationship.

----------

Virgil took a deep breath, adjusting his flannel shirt in the mirror. Today was the day: Christmas Eve, and he was meeting his boyfriend’s parents.

Virgil knew there was no reason for him to be nervous. When planning for the day, Logan had frequently reassured Virgil that his parents were kind and warm-hearted people, and they truly were according to Remus and Roman. The two twins had worked with Logan on a science project once and, having gone around Logan’s to complete it, knew Logan’s dads well.

Virgil went to his dresser, checking his reflection in the mirror, before reaching for his make up. After putting on foundation, he reached for his black eyeshadow, only to pause. Would black make him seem too angsty and edgy? He didn’t want Logan’s dads to think he was some evil bad boy - what if they thought Logan could do better and convinced him to break up with him? Maybe he should go for his purple eyeshadow… But what if they thought the bright glitter was too much? Maybe he should just not wear anything. But his face looked so bare without it!

He groaned, holding his head in his hands, before reaching out. If he grabbed the black eyeshadow, he'd use black, if he grabbed the purple eyeshadow, he’d use purple, and if he missed both, he wouldn’t wear any.

He felt something in his hand and opened his eyes. Purple it was.

When he finished applying it, he pulled on his hoodie, before heading to the door of his room. He gently pressed his ear to the door.

Things were quiet. Goo-

SLAM!

Never mind. He stood corrected. He stayed listening, trying to work out where in the house his parents were going as he heard their voices yelling.

“I can’t believe you!”

“It was nothing-”

“Nothing?! NOTHING?! Thomas, I told you one thing, one rule! And you fucking broke it!”

“Nico and I are just friends, we ran into each other in the food court, we were just talking. I don’t see what’s-”

“Just friends?! That’s not what it looked like! And by talking, I know you mean flirting, you fucking slut!”

Virgil winced as he heard the sound of a sharp slap. Maybe he shouldn’t leave. It would be safer to keep his door shut and not risk passing his parents. He’d text Logan, telling him plans were called off and apologising. Then, he’d curl up in bed and hope his dad was okay, and that his mom wouldn’t come and take his wrath out on him instead.

And that’s when there was a vibration in his pocket from his phone.

Logan: Dad wants to know what your favourite cookies are - I’m assuming he’s planning on baking some. I’m warning you in advance, he is very excited about tonight

And then another message came through.

Logan: Though I must admit, I am too. 💙

Virgil couldn’t help but smile a little. Okay, he’d risk it. He’d have to be quiet, but he’d sneak out and would make sure he got to Logan’s right on time.

He responded to the message and then pocketed his phone, before slowly pushing his door open. He tiptoed down the hall and then down the stairs, making sure to avoid all of the squeaky floorboards and steps. Then he tiptoed towards the front door. As he went, he passed the kitchen and couldn’t help but peek through the doorway. His mom was still screaming as his dad, who was nursing a red bruise on his face. He held his breath, quietly tiptoeing past, and heading to the front door. He opened it as quietly as possible, stepping outside, before closing it equally silently. He paused for a moment, and then quickly hurried off.

-

Knock knock!

Logan looked up from his book at the noise, before hurriedly placing his bookmark in and putting the book on his bedside table. He got up from his bed, before running downstairs, where he caught his dad just about to open the door. “Dad, wait!”

Patton turned around. “What is it, kiddo?”

“I… It’s just… I don’t want you to come on too strongly. No offence, Dad, but you are… a lot. And I don’t want Virgil to feel overwhelmed straight away. So, maybe just head back to the kitchen for now, and I’ll bring Virgil in to meet you and Pa, okay?”

“Okay, okay, kiddo. But don’t leave me waiting too long,” Patton said as he began heading back to the kitchen. “You know how excited I’ve been to meet him!”

“I know, Dad.” Logan nodded. He turned back to the door when Patton was gone, opening it. “Hey, Verge.”

“Hi, Lo… I’m not too late, am I?”

Logan chuckled. “You’re early, actually.” He stood up on his tiptoes, pecking his lips to Virgil’s. “Come on, you can dump your stuff in my room, and then I’ll introduce you to my dads.” He took Virgil’s arm and gently pulled him along, heading upstairs.

When they stepped into Logan’s room, Virgil found it to be almost exactly how he’d imagined Logan’s room to be. There were glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling, arranged to form constellations. He had a bookshelf against one wall that was crammed with books - too many to fit properly on there. He had a desk, his laptop resting on it along with a bunch of papers strewn around and quite a few empty jam jars. A telescope was set up by his window. The sheets of his bed had a pattern of planets and stars.

Logan sat down on his bed. “You can put your bag down anywhere. By the way, if you want to wait a bit to meet my parents, I don’t mind. You can take as long as you need.”

Virgil smiled, dropping his backpack on the floor after getting something out. “Thanks. I think I wanna just spend some time with you for a bit.” He sat down beside Logan, wrapping his arms around the shorter boy before pulling him onto his lap. “Hey, Lo?”

“Yeah?”

“Merry Christmas.” Virgil handed a present he had gotten out of his bag to Logan.

Logan smiled, before reaching over to his bedside. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a wrapped gift as well. “Merry Christmas to you too.” He handed it to Virgil. “You go first.”

Virgil pulled open the wrapping, chuckling as he saw what was inside. “Oh my gosh, I love it…” It was a plush spider with cute little fangs, and purple patches that matched his hoodie all over it.

“I made it myself. Well, with some help from Roman and Remus as well,” Logan explained. “They’re much better at arts and crafts than I am. Though Remus did almost stab himself in the finger with the sewing machine…”

Virgil pecked a kiss to his cheek. “It’s perfect. Thanks, L. Now go on, open yours. I’m sorry if it isn’t as cool as what you got me…”

Logan rolled his eyes, tearing the paper. “Virgil, I’m sure, whatever it is, it’ll be perfect.” He pulled the last of the paper away, eyes lighting up as he held up a soft blue turtleneck sweater. “I love it! Thank you so much, Verge.” He pulled the sweater on. “How does it look?”

“Perfect.” Virgil hugged Logan close, smiling. “So soft… I love how you act so stoic and smart in front of everyone, but you turn into a cute little soft teddy bear when it’s just the two of us.”

Logan’s face burned a little. “Oh, hush…”

Virgil pressed a small kiss to his neck. “Love you.”

“... I love you too.”

They stayed there together, cuddled close. Virgil’s hand slipped under Logan’s sweater at one point, tracing the stretch marks on the other’s stomach, and Logan nuzzled gently into him in response. Unfortunately, however, the moment was ruined by Virgil’s phone blaring his ringtone - I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance. Virgil pulled his phone from his pocket.

“What is it?” Logan asked.

“My dad…” Virgil frowned at his phone. He didn’t want to get involved if his parents were still arguing… His mom might be even angrier if she’d found out he’d sneakily left. He declined the call. “It’s probably nothing.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You just hung up? My dad would freak out if I declined a call from him. He’d get scared I’d been kidnapped or something.”

Virgil shrugged. “Eh, it’s fine. It’s probably nothing. Anyway, I don’t want our time together interrupted.”

Logan flushed. “Sap.”

“You love it…” Virgil grinned, pinching his boyfriend’s cheek lightly, causing Logan to gently shove his arm.

“Me being chubby does not entitle you to be able to do that kind of stuff.”

“Hm… I think you’ll find that’s exactly what it means.”

Before Logan could react, Virgil’s hands slipped back under his shirt, pinching his love handles. Logan let out a small squeal, erupting into giggles. “Virgil!! Stop!”

Virgil grinned. “Ticklish, huh?” He continued tickling Logan’s sides, the other quickly going red in the face as he collapsed back on his bed.

“Virgil! Stop!”

“But your giggle’s so cute… I rarely get to hear it. Let me have this? Please?”

Logan frowned. “‘M not cute…”

“Sure you’re not.” Virgil leaned over and pecked his lips. “Definitely not the cutest guy I’ve ever seen.”

Logan raised an eyebrow as his face burned even redder. “Is your goal for today just to fluster me as much as you can?”

Virgil shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t until you said that. Now, maybe it is.” He ran a hand through Logan’s hair.

“You have to be careful, Virge. If you make me look all flustered and unruly, my dads will get the wrong idea when we go down and meet them.”

“... Good point.”

Logan chuckled as Virgil leant back, and he sat up. “So, do you want to go down and see them now? My dad will probably combust if I have to keep him waiting much longer.”

“... Sure.” Virgil paused. “You won’t leave me alone with them at any point, right? Nothing against your dads, but I just-”

“It’s okay, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“Good…”

Virgil stood up, before offering Logan his hands, pulling him to his feet. The two left the room, starting to head to the kitchen.

“By the way, you know how your dad asked what cookies are my favourite?”

“Yeah. He wouldn’t trust me when I told him chocolate chip, and insisted I ask you to be sure and show him your response.”

“Well, you might be happy he didn’t trust you.” Virgil smiled. “I lied and said my favourite was Crofters cookies, since I know you love them. Surprise.”

Logan smiled back. “You didn’t have to do that…”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

The two arrived at the kitchen. Logan took Virgil’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly as he led him inside.

And there Logan’s parents were. One of them was standing at the kitchen counter, humming to himself happily as he made the cookies. He had ginger hair, freckles across his face, and was wearing a light blue polo shirt, khakis, round glasses, and had a grey cardigan tied over his shoulders. Sitting at the table, Logan’s other father was drinking a cup of tea while reading a book about Immanuel Kant and his work in philosophy. He was wearing a yellow button-up t-shirt and black pants.

“Dad, Pa? This is Virgil. Virgil, meet my Dad, Patton, and my Pa, Janus.”

“Hi…” Virgil awkwardly waved. 

Janus gave him a gentle smile, nodding in welcome. “Hello, Virgil. I like the eyeshadow.”

Meanwhile, Patton eagerly turned to face Virgil. “Hey, kiddo! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Lo’s told us so much about you!”

“He has…?” Oh god, what kind of things has he said? What if Logan made him out to be really bad? What if he was about to be kicked out or, even worse, hurt-

No, Virgil, calm down. This is Logan, your boyfriend who loves you. He wouldn’t make you look bad. Not to mention, Patton looks excited to meet you, so it’s unlikely Logan has said anything that would make them hate you.

“Yep! He’s always talking about fun things you’ve done together, and things he loves about you. It’s so nice for him to have someone - he’s been a lot less closed off since you two started dating.”

“Dad…” Logan muttered, face burning red.

“Oh, it’s okay, you know I’m just teasing you. Anyway, you two came down just in time! The cookies are about to go in the oven and I was thinking, while they cook, we could play some board games. Just some nice family Christmas Eve fun!”

“Family?” Virgil could help but repeat that in disbelief.

“Yeah, kiddo. You’re part of the family now. So, any games you like in particular? We have Clue, Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, Scrabble, Sorry, The Chameleon, Spyfall… and quite a few others! We always get at least one new one each Christmas, so we’ve gathered quite the collection.”

“I’ll show Virgil the shelf of games and we’ll pick one out together.” Logan took Virgil’s hand, before leading him from the room. He led him into the living room and to a bookshelf in there. He opened cupboards at the bottom, revealing board games stacked upon the shelves inside. “Take your pick. Personally, my favourites are Clue and any trivia games.”

“I, um… I don’t really know board games too well.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Virgil shook his head. “My family aren’t exactly the, uh, sit and play and have family time kinda people… I only really know the games that the YouTubers I watch play. But I have a feeling your dads aren’t really the types to play Cards Against Humanity.”

Logan chuckled a little. “No, they are not. Well, maybe Pa would, but Dad, definitely not. But are there any games here you recognise from YouTube that you would like to play?”

“Um, I’ve seen people play Clue, the Chameleon and Spyfall, and they looked cool.”

Logan nodded, picking up the three games. As he did, Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, you really, like, see me as part of the family? I mean, your parents barely know me…”

“Of course.” Logan stood up straight, the games in his arms. He paused. “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”

“No! No, the opposite actually… It’s nice.”

Logan smiled. He gently pressed a kiss to Virgil’s cheek. “Let’s head back to the kitchen. Then we can set up the games, and I can wipe the floor with you all and win them all.”

Virgil smirked. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that, L. I’ve watched enough videos to know the strategies. You’re going down!”

“We’ll see about that.” Logan grinned, heading back to the kitchen. Virgil was about to follow when his phone rang yet again. He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at his mom’s name. “Sorry, Mom, I’m having a fun night. I’m not getting into a fight with you.” He declined the call, before putting his phone on silent. Then, he headed to the kitchen.

-

Playing board games with Logan, Janus and Patton was so much fun! Virgil had honestly never felt so comfortable around a group of people.

They played the Chameleon first. Janus had little to no competition, winning every single time he was the Chameleon, no one suspecting him at all.

“How are you so good at this?” Virgil had asked.

“I’m a lawyer,” was Janus’ only response.

Then it was Clue. Logan had been the winner of this one. He had gone full Sherlock mode, using deductive reasoning to slowly whittle down the options until he had the murder, the weapon and the place. All three games of Clue they played, he had won.

“You’re so good at this,” Virgil had sighed, staring at him admiringly.

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Logan had replied, before pecking a kiss to his cheek.

Then, finally, they played Spyfall. Somehow, he didn’t know how, Virgil was the winner of this game. He expected to be a terrible spy due to his very clear nervous fidgeting. However, he was able to blend in pretty well - mostly due to the fact he was equally fidgety when he wasn’t the spy, fearing that his answers weren’t as convincing as they should be. Therefore, no one could tell the difference in his body language between games.

The whole evening had just been so fun. Virgil didn’t want it to end. He got to spend time with the adorable and smart love of his life, and experience what it was like to have parents who actually loved each other through Janus and Patton. The two of them had such a pure, loving relationship with the quick hugs and kisses they shared as they passed each other.

As they’d been playing, the cookies were baked and then left to cool. Once the games were done, Patton placed the cookies on a plate and put them on the table.

“Dig in, kiddos!”

Logan didn’t hesitate to take one, and Virgil did the same just after. He took a bite and his eyes widened. “Whoa, these are really good.”

“Aw, thanks, kiddo! My very own recipe. Logan asked me to try making cookies with Crofters, and he was my taste tester as I tried different recipes.”

Virgil chuckled. “I’m not surprised with his sweet tooth.” He smiled down at Logan, who flushed a little.

And then Virgil felt his phone vibrate in his pocket yet again. It had done so a couple of times while they were playing, but now Virgil was getting sick of it. Why were his parents so desperate to drag him, their teenage son, into their bullshit?! What was he supposed to do about it?!

He pulled his phone from his pocket, going to turn it off. Only to pause. It wasn’t his dad’s number, or his mom’s. It was an unknown number. Usually, he declined unknown numbers. Talking to people he knew on the phone was scary enough. Strangers? No way in hell. But… something about this felt different. Weird.

He gave Logan, Patton and Janus a look that said “excuse me for a moment”, before standing up. He pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, before heading out to the hallway.

Once he was gone, Logan turned to his parents. “So… what do you think?”

“Oh, kiddo, I’m so happy for you!” Patton smiled. “He’s such a sweet boy.”

Janus nodded. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter what us two think of him. The two of you seem very happy, and you clearly love each other very much. And that’s all that matters.”

Logan smiled. He got to his feet, walking around the table, before hugging both Patton and Janus close. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank us, Lo.” Janus reassured as the two fathers hugged their son in return.

As they were hugging, Virgil came back in. He was as pale as a sheet.

“Verge?” Logan pulled away from his fathers, frowning. He went up to his boyfriend, who was trembling in the doorway. “Are you alright?”

Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat, looking between the three faces staring at him, concerned. 

“My dad’s in the hospital and my mom’s been arrested.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Forging Paths Final Part

Batsis Story!

A/N: First and foremost, I apologize to the people who follow me because I just spammed the everliving fuck outta y’all and I’m so sorry. Secondly, here’s the last part! -Thorne <3

Set two years after Part 6.

(Y/N)'s body cried as she shoved open her window and dropped inside her apartment. She lay on the floor and groaned when the stinging sensation came back to her shoulder. I really need to get that sewed up. She thought as she began pulling herself off the floor. She hobbled into the bathroom, passing her nightstand and making a mental note to check her answering machine when she was finished. Layer by layer, she peeled off her uniform, which clung to her sweaty skin. Once her body hit the cold air, she moaned in relief. I love L.A., but I also hate L.A. Why the hell did I choose someplace that's 72˚, in the summer, at night? She shook her head and pulled out the first aid kit under her sink and began disinfecting the cut on her shoulder. Carefully, she stitched it back up and cleaned it once more before taking some aspirin and hopping in the shower. Wrapped in her bath towel, (Y/N) moved to her bedroom and walked to the dresser, pulling out some underclothes and a T-shirt. Slipping them on, she toweled her hair as she sat on the edge of her bed and hit the button to the answering machine. The machine spat out the usual: You have one new message, Friday 7:49 P.M. The voice that came out was one she was certainly not expecting.

"Hi (Y/N)? It's me, Selina Kyle. I...uh...Catwoman, if you don't remember." She snorted at Selina's awkward sounding message. "I was just calling to let you know about my engagement...to your father...Bruce." (Y/N)'s eyes went saucer wide and her jaw hit the floor. He's getting married? Big man that dresses in a Bat costume and hides all his emotions? Him? He's getting married? She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Selina's voice continued on the machine. "Look, I know, well actually I don't know, because I wasn't there, but that's not important. Anyway, I know you and your dad don't speak, at all, but I wanted you to know about us and I was hoping that maybe you would come? I know it's a stupid request, but when I tell you that everything you said to him weighs on his heart, I'm not lying. Your dad is weak, (Y/N). He is a weak man who misses his daughter and wants to make things right between you two, even if he's a damn fool who has no clue how to go about it. I know it's asking a lot, but I hope you'll come back for a while. If not, I understand. I wish you all the best in the world (Y/N). Goodbye." The message ended and (Y/N) sat on her bed in bewildered disbelief. There's absolutely no way he wants to see me, not after everything I said, after everything we said. She thought. But the more she thought about it, the more believable Selina's message sounded. She rose off her bed and began pacing around her room. Then, she stopped. Don't do it. She told herself. Don't do it, he doesn't want to see you. She brushed away her thoughts and groaned pulling a small suitcase from her closet and setting it on the bed. Reaching for her phone she dialed a number and waited, the person picking up after a few rings.

"Heyyy, Uncle Oliver. It's (Y/N)." (Y/N) looked at the answering machine once more and peered at it through narrowed eyes. "I'm gonna need a favor...."

If there was one thing she loved about summer in Gotham, it was the fact that it stayed in the mid 40's all night. The cool breeze felt nice on her skin as she drove around the city. Nothing had changed enough to be notice, but the drive was still nostalgic. Passing the high skyscrapers, she drove along the bridge that led to Wayne Enterprises. Parking her bike near the side, she pulled out her grappling gun and shot up to the top. Her hand gripped the top ledge and she pulled herself up and on it, reclining back and staring out into the city. Had you asked her two years ago what she thought of Gotham, you would have gotten the reply, "hell-hole." But looking at it now, she affectionately referred to it as a, "pretty hell-hole" (with a beautiful night-scene). She looked out into the night and watched the subways glide through the station, as night workers filed in to go home. She could see the clock-tower in the distance, a hideaway Barbara stayed in when she was too busy to get to the Batcave. No, she didn't truly hate the city anymore. It was bad memories that tainted it for her. She stayed silent for a few moments before speaking. "How'd you know I was in Gotham?" She glanced over her shoulder and watched as he walked forward. He stopped and sat beside her, removing the cowl before replying.

"I know everyone who comes in and out of my city." She rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh.

"Of course you do." His eyes crinkled just a little and he stared at her.

"Why are you back?" She raised an eyebrow at the question that sounded more like a suspicious accusation.

"Why are you so concerned about it?" He drew back slightly, tripping over his words.

"I...uh...I'm not...I'm not concerned about it. I just...hmm." She looked at him as he stumbled clumsily over his explanation, and her eyebrows drew together in humor. She reached over and nudged his shoulder.

"Relax. I'm just kidding." His mouth formed a small smile and he exhaled. "I heard from a certain Cat that she and a certain Bat were tying the knot." He looked at her, shock evident on his face. Well it's obvious she didn't tell him about her phone call to me. "She mentioned that she wanted me to come. And well, I think you and I need to have a heart-to-heart conversation that doesn't involve us screaming at one another." It was rare for (Y/N) to speak this way to Bruce, but if he really wanted to fix things, she was going to have to take the first step. She opened her mouth to speak when he rose.

"Wait right here for a moment. I'll be right back." He sauntered off, leaving (Y/N) confused.

"Uh, okay. Sure, I'll wait right here."

He returned shortly after with a bottle in one hand and two crystal glasses in another. Her face morphed into shock when she saw the bottle.

"Is that, The Macallan M Whiskey?" He nodded his head a smirk playing his lips, as he poured two glasses.

"Yes, yes it is." He handed her one of the glasses, taking the other himself.

"Dude, you know this shit sells for like 630 G's right? We could make a hella ton of money if we sold it." Bruce started laughing at that, and it shocked her. It had been so long since he'd laughed in front of her that she had forgotten he even could.

"(Y/N) you do remember that I'm a multi-billionaire, right?" Her face morphed into realization as she mumbled a quiet, 'oh yeah, I forgot about that.'

"So why are we drinking super expensive whiskey?" He placed his glass down beside him and he drew his hands together, glancing out into the city.

"When I was fifteen years old, I went exploring into the other parts of the manor I hadn't ever looked in. One of those parts being the cellar where we stored our liquor. I found a letter my father had written and stuck to the bottle." His face dropped and for a split second, (Y/N) thought her father looked so much older than he should have. He cleared his throat and continued. "The letter was addressed to me, telling me that I was to open this bottle when I hit a major accomplishment in my life." He looked at (Y/N) and the sincerity in his gaze made her chest tighten. "I should've opened it the day you were born. In fact, I should've opened it the day you left for L.A." She looked at her lap.

"Why?" He continued to stare at her.

"Because of the woman my daughter grew up to be." Tears blurred (Y/N)'s vision and she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Looking up at him, he wore a heart-wrenching smile, and his eyes were sad. "You were right about it all (Y/N). I never raised you like I should've. I put too much pressure on you setting the bar so high, thinking it would help, that instead of helping, it damaged you. I wasn't there for you like I should've been when you were younger, and if I could go back in time, I would spend every moment of free time I had, taking care of my beautiful baby-girl." (Y/N) brought her hands up to her face and covered it, as muffled sobs came out of her mouth. Taking a risk, Bruce reached out and put his arms around her, pulling her to his chest and placed a hand to the side of her head. His head rested on her shoulder and she felt her jacket begin to go damp. "You were right when you called me a poor excuse for a father. I am so sorry (Y/N), for everything. I'm so sorry I wasn't the father you deserved or needed. I'm sorry I made you resent everything you grew up with. I'm sorry that no matter how much I apologize, it won't ever be enough. Because no words or actions could ever fix what I've broken. I'm so...I'm so-.." His voice cut off as ragged sobs cut through his chest, but he just kept mumbling the words 'I'm so sorry'. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his shoulder, feeling his arms tighten around her. When was the time dad hugged me? She thought. She couldn't remember, but it was sorely overdue. They stayed that way for a long while, a broken father holding his broken daughter, and cried.

After some time, they eventually pulled away and began wiping their faces. Everything was fine until, "Ugh gross! You snotted all over my shoulder!" (Y/N) took one look at her father pointing to his snot covered shoulder and broke into hysteric laughing; Bruce joining in, but still had a disgusted look on his face. (Y/N)'s stomach hurt she was laughing so hard, and tears rolled down her cheeks, and she let out an airy, 'I'm sorry'. Bruce just waved it off and kept laughing, tears rolling down his cheeks too. After their laughter died down, they wiped their eyes once more, and then picked up their glasses. Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but (Y/N) motioned for him to wait. He nodded at her. She sat up straight and faced him.

"Look, I know a bottle of whiskey and one boo-hoo fest isn't going to repair everything that's happened between us." Bruce looked down into his glass, until a hand gripped his own, causing him to look up at (Y/N), who wore peaceful expression. "But, I'm certainly willing to try." She reached out her glass and looked at him. "What do you say...Dad?" Bruce's eyes began to feel warm, and he reached up and wiped them before moving his glass to hers. He looked at her and clinked it.

"I think that's a fine idea...Daughter." They shared a smile and knocked back their glasses, staring out into city. It was peaceful for a moment before she leaned over and spoke.

"So, just out of curiosity, if I move back to Gotham, can I keep patrolling like I'm living back in L.A.?" She heard a strong grunt beside her.

"No."

"Meh. Thought I'd ask anyway." They both broke into laughter again, pouring each other another glass.

The summer nights in Gotham weren't exactly cold, just enough to wear a jacket for a little warmth. But as (Y/N) and Bruce sat on the ledge of Wayne Enterprises drinking whiskey and cracking jokes,

It was all the warmth they needed.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Ooooo if you’re still doing the sentence starter thing can I request: “ i can’t believe that asshole said that to you .  it’s not true, you know.” And “you want me to punch him in the face ??” Please??? With Natsu comforting Gray???

this took a while, i can’t remember how long ago this was submitted, time is fake, i’m sorry <3 i hope you enjoy it! 

read my lips

rating: teen and up pairing: gray/natsu tags: modern au, established relationship, covid fic, coffee shops, hard of hearing character, sign language, ableism, audism, emotional hurt/comfort, me projecting on gray as usual

**tw for ablelism/audism (ableism targeted at Deaf/HoH folks) and an instance of the r-slur

-----

“I don’t care what Lucas says, Han shot first.”  

Natsu emphasized his point with his sewing needle, shooing away Happy when he tried to bat at the thread.

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Sting insisted from the other end of the video call. “I’m just saying that he did kind of invent Star Wars.”  

Natsu rolled his eyes at his cousin as he nudged Happy away from the laptop. “Yeah, and he suggested Darth Icky as a Sith name to the game devs for ‘The Force Unleashed’, so it’s probably time for him to just, y’know, not be involved anymore.”  

Continue reading on AO3

Sting snorted, shaking his head as he tied off a knot on the back of his embroidery and flipped it over to study the design. He sighed, holding it up to the camera so Natsu could see the uneven stitches.  

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get this,” Sting complained. “Yours looks so much better.”  

“I’ve also been doing it for years,” Natsu pointed out. He was about to say something else when the front door slammed open, bringing with it a red-faced Gray who looked like he was on the verge of tears. He kicked off his shoes, tossing his mask into the laundry basket at the door and throwing his bag on the floor.  

“Hey, love,” Natsu said, waving his hand to get Gray’s attention. Gray shook his head, refusing to look at Natsu and storming into the kitchen. Natsu frowned. Gray had been in a good mood when he’d left that morning, and he’d texted Natsu only an hour ago – on my way home, gonna pick up coffee, love you <3 

“Everything okay?” Sting asked.  

“No, I gotta go,” Natsu said, setting his embroidery down and giving Sting a concerned look. “I’ll text you later, ‘kay?”  

Sting nodded. “Hope everything’s okay. Love you.”  

“Love you, too.”  

Natsu nudged Happy off his lap, then headed to the kitchen, where Gray was aggressively washing his hands. Eventually he turned off the water but stayed where he was, head down and fingers gripping the edge of the sink.  

“Gray?”

He didn’t answer, so Natsu reached around the corner and flicked the lights a couple times. Gray sighed, grabbing the towel and finally turning around to face Natsu.  

What’s wrong? Natsu signed. Gray’s cheeks were still flushed, and he refused to meet Natsu’s gaze. 

I can’t fucking understand anyone, he signed eventually, looking like he was going to cry. Natsu frowned and Gray added, With masks on. I can’t read anyone’s lips and I feel so stupid.  

Natsu’s heart ached at the defeated look on Gray’s face. He stepped forward and reached out for Gray’s hand, which was balled into a tight fist. It took a few seconds, but eventually Gray sighed, letting Natsu slip their fingers together.  

“I just wanted a coffee,” he said out loud. His voice was tight and on the edge of tears. “The barista kept asking me something and I couldn’t hear her, there was too much background noise. It’s all just… sound. I didn’t understand. She had to write it down and people were staring, and I felt like an idiot, so I just left.” 

Natsu ran his fingers over Gray’s, bringing his hand to his lips and kissing it.  

“It’s so frustrating,” Gray said quietly. “Everyone thought I was stupid.”  

“I’m sure nobody thought—”  

“They did.” Gray’s jaw tensed. “The guy behind me thought I couldn’t hear at all, but he was so fucking loud. I heard him laughing, telling his friend I was…” Gray’s voice broke and he quickly rubbed at his face with the back of his hand.  

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Natsu said gently, pulling Gray close and wrapping both arms around his shoulders. Gray leaned into the embrace and pressed his forehead to Natsu’s shoulder.  

“He said I was retarded.”  

Natsu froze at the words that were muffled by his shirt. “What?” he tried to pull back to look at Gray again, but Gray wrapped his arms around Natsu’s waist and kept him close. He was trying his best to hold it in, but he was definitely crying now.

Natsu held Gray tighter, protective anger filling his chest as he ran his hand up and down Gray’s back. “I’m so sorry,” he said against Gray’s ear. “I can’t believe he said that to you, that’s horrible.”

Gray didn’t say anything. Natsu could see him biting his lip to keep back the tears and the soft sounds that came with them. He sighed, holding Gray as close as possible and pressing his cheek to the top of Gray’s head.

“I love you,” he murmured as he ran his fingers through Gray’s hair. They stood like that for a while, and eventually Gray’s shoulders stopped shaking. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Hey,” Natsu said gently, pulling back and making sure Gray could see his lips. “You know what he said isn’t true, right?”

“I…” Gray swallowed and looked back down at the floor. “It’s just so frustrating. I get so embarrassed and I feel so stupid.”

Natsu shook his head, nudging Gray’s arm and switching to sign.

First of all, that guy is an idiot and a terrible human being, and if I ever see him, I’m gonna punch him in the face. Secondly, you’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You know four languages, you can build computers from scratch, and you can code faster than humanly possible. You know every single piece of lore from World of Warcraft – which is ridiculous, by the way, but adorable.

Gray’s lip quirked up in a tiny smile.

There’s nothing wrong with you, Natsu continued. No matter what. Doesn’t matter if you want to wear your hearing aids or not, if you want to talk or sign, or if you need extra time understanding people.

Gray sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know. It just sucks.” He exhaled loudly, then looked up at Natsu. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

“But—”

“Look, I know we’re Canadian, but apologizing for someone else being an ass and calling you a slur isn’t allowed.”

Gray laughed and the sound relieved the anger and frustration in Natsu’s chest. He studied Gray’s face for a moment – the deep blue of his eyes, the tiny scar on his forehead, the barely noticeable dimple on his left cheek.

“What?” Gray frowned at him.

“You’re pretty,” Natsu said simply, leaning in and kissing Gray’s nose as a pink flush spread across his cheeks. “And I love you.” Before Gray could attempt to deflect the compliment, Natsu added, “Do you still wanna get a coffee?”

Gray’s expression shifted into something uncertain. “I can just make it here.” He gestured to their coffee machine, but Natsu shook his head.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to go out and get coffee?” Gray gave Natsu a suspicious look and he laughed. “I have an idea,” he said, gesturing to the door. “C’mon, let’s go for a drive.”

~

Natsu made Gray drive. He gave directions that lead away from the house, across the freeway, and into the neighboring suburb. The roads were unfamiliar but Natsu navigated them from his phone, clearly looking for something specific.

“Where are we going?” Gray asked again. He glanced over at Natsu, who just grinned at him and pointed out the window. A Starbucks sat in the middle of the shopping complex on the right side of the road.

“Do the drive through.”

“There’s tons of Starbucks back in New West,” Gray said, frowning as he flicked on the signal and pulled into the parking lot. “Why’d we come all the way out here?”

Natsu didn’t answer, just gestured to the menu screen as Gray pulled up to it. He looked at Natsu, ready for him to interpret whatever the barista said, but was surprised when the screen lit up instead. Someone with long, dark hair appeared on the screen, dressed in a green apron and giving them a warm smile.

Welcome to Starbucks, how are you doing today?

Gray’s eyes widened as he watched them sign, and it took him a moment to realize that they could see him.

Good, he replied quickly, hoping he didn’t look too confused. Um. You?

I’m great! What would you like to order?

Gray stared blankly at the menu for a second, then remembered he always got the same thing. Doubleshot on ice, please? he replied. Grande? Natsu poked him and he batted his hand away. And a Java Chip Frappuccino.

Awesome, see you at the window! The barista smiled and waved at him before the video switched off and the screen returned to normal.

Gray managed to hold in his tears until they had their drinks and were parked in the lot. He quickly wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, trying to hide his face from Natsu.

“That was Rogue,” Natsu said gently, reaching over and pulling Gray’s hands away from his face. “Sting’s new partner.”

Gray swallowed, trying to push down the lump that blocked his throat. “They can… they know sign.”

“Yeah.” Natsu brushed Gray’s hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. “Sting was telling me about them earlier – their little sister is Deaf so they’re pretty close to fluent in ASL.”

“Oh.” Gray stared down at Natsu’s hand in his, trying to figure out how to explain the complicated sensation in his chest. The frustration and embarrassment from earlier were gone, replaced with a deep sense of relief.

Natsu nudged Gray as he let go of his hand, and Gray looked over at him.

You’re not stupid, Natsu signed, balancing his drink on his lap. You’re smart and funny and gorgeous, and I love you so, so much.

Gray stared him – wild hair and bright eyes and the wide smile that Gray had fallen in love with so many years ago. “How do you do that?” Gray asked softly. Natsu raised an eyebrow. “You always know how to make things better.”

“Making you happy is my superpower,” Natsu said, grinning as he took a sip of his drink. “Now, y’know what you can do with lips besides read them?”

Gray raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Kiss them.”

“You’re such a dork,” Gray said, shaking his head and laughing.

“You love me, though.”

“I do.”

Gray leaned over the console and pulled Natsu in for a long, slow kiss. Natsu’s hand brushed through his hair and he leaned into the touch – into the way that Natsu always felt like home.

“Mm.” Natsu hummed happily as he pulled back and pressed their foreheads together. “See, this is why I make you feel better – I get kisses when you’re happy.”

“So you’re not just being altruistic?”

“Not entirely. I may or may not have ulterior motives.”

“And do those ulterior motives happen to involve clothing?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

Gray laughed and brushed his nose against Natsu’s, then pulled him in for another kiss. He tugged lightly on Natsu’s hair, biting gently on his lower lip and tasting chocolate on his tongue. Then he pulled back and smiled, setting his coffee in the cup holder and putting the car into drive.

“Let’s go home and find out.”

[charlie-sloane-art]

The Fair Play 2

Summary: You’re about to leave for the funeral at Hightower, but first you need to revisit the past and make things right.

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Reader x Oberyn Martell

It turns out, your dear Caspian was loved by many in the capital. He took the hearts of many and enchanted twice as much. It infuriated Cersei to know that her dear kingly boy’s wedding would have to be postponed in order to account for half the missing guests that would be on their way back from Hightower, in the Reach. 

The funeral procession would take a few weeks to reach the city by the southern coast and from there the actual funeral would last another week- the Hightowers had it in mind to remind everyone what their dearest second son meant to everyone. Regardless of their efforts, you knew what he meant to you, and no one else could say the same. He had been your heart, the everlasting flame in your chest. 

That wasn’t to say the pain wouldn’t subside and leave a space for the massive ache of vengeance. That massive ache came one sunny afternoon as you packed to follow the procession. A letter slipped from your trunks, a letter you had meant to read but gotten sidetracked from when Caspian had grabbed your hand and kissed it, pulling you in with a whisper of “My love, leave the reading to those with nothing better to do. I’ve got so much more planned for us today.” You had let the red stamped letter go and had forgotten about it until now.

Breaking the Lannister seal on it, you shook your head “Of course you would have distracted me from a letter from Tywin Lannister.” Your stomach churned. Had it been important? Surely you hadn’t accidentally caused a misstep. Surely if it was important enough Tywin would have followed up in person. 

The letter read: “Here’s to you finding this letter in good spirits and health. Lady Mormont, I have a most auspicious proposal for your likeness. It serves us both well for you to hear it out. My son, Jaime, is- as you know- quite fond of you. And now with the lack of his sword hand, I am afraid for his ability to continue serving appropriately in the service of our King. I would not be a responsible Hand of the King if I did not entertain the notion of his dismissal from such a role. My solution is simple: I shall offer you the Ladyship of Casterly Rock. In exchange, you marry my son and become the richest woman in Westeros and my son has reason to retire from the service of the White Cloaks, and so there I would have a proper heir to Casterly Rock and the Lannister fortune, so that I too may retire in good standing. I hope you will consider this offer. Your obedient servant, T. Lannister.” The letter was dated for the day before Caspian had taken his fall. Of course. You knew something must’ve been wrong when the talented man you had seen spar countless times on a balance beam took such an obvious fall. Caspian could stand on a razor’s edge and not tip over. And there was no proof left of anything but a fall when his body was found, so any accusations of a most foul deed would be difficult to prove if not impossible. “Stop it.” You murmured to yourself, taking a step away from the letter that rested on the valise on your bed. “You’re grieving. Nothing more.” Surely these were the subconscious machinations of a mind so bent on grief it was trying to weave itself a most distracting web of conspiracies. But, maybe not. You were sure to tuck the thought in the back of your mind for after the funeral. Perhaps someone there may know more than they let on and so weave your web further. 

Before your departure, there were a few wrongs you had to make right, or at the very least address. “Brienne,” You found yourself knocking on her door before your departure from King’s Landing. No response followed your inquiry “Brienne, open up. I know you’re-”

“I’m not in there.” Her voice spoke behind you.

“Oh. Well, don’t I look foolish.” You smiled uneasily, pacing on your feet.

“Yes, you do. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She tried to brush past you but you intercepted. Brienne could be a gentle giant when she wanted, and let you block her path.

“I ought to apologize.”

“Yes, you should.” Brienne straightened her spine and you took her queue.

“I apologize for lying to you about my pregnancy. I was never pregnant, in fact Jaime never so much as touched me before you found us in the woods.”

“And after?”

You shook your head “I haven’t come to talk about men with you. I’ve come to apologize before our paths diverge. In any case, you will make sure he’s alright?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Please, Brienne, you know me better than that.”

“Yes, Y/N.”

It made you smile, her admittance to familiarity “Take care, Brienne. I want to see you after the funeral in good health.”

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand.” She took your hand and you realized how gentle her touch was, a conscious choice of movement.

“Yes?” Your voice quietened, meeting her blue gaze.

“How were you so sure the lie would work?”

“Sending a young woman to be executed for treason, that would keep you up at night for only a day or so.” You shrugged “But, you have the heart of a true knight, Brienne. Sending an innocent child to the Stark executioner with its mother...it wasn’t your style. I could read it the second we met.” You walked closer to her and leaned on to your tiptoes to reach your lips against her cheek “Take care, Brienne the Good Hearted.”

“And you, my friend.” You could tell she didn’t want to sound as weepy as she did.

“I hate to prolong a good-bye, but have you seen Lady Sansa anywhere?”

“She keeps to herself in the godswood lately.”

“Perfect. Two birds, one stone.” You left Brienne with another kiss, missing her cheek and landing on her chin instead “I better to see you again, Brienne of Tarth.”

“On most accounts, it’s apparently very hard to miss me.”

Your smile widened “And now she grows a sense of humor.”

“Forgive my tardiness, my Lady.” 

“You’re more than forgiven for it, my Lady.” You hugged her tightly, trying to fit your arms around her body but being unable to.

You found Sansa where Brienne said she would be: in the godswood. She wasn’t praying, she’d given up the practice long ago. Instead, she was reading. That was until you stepped on a branch and the crack of it breaking underfoot made her look up at you “Oh no, not you.” Sansa shook her head, biting her bottom lip. If there was one person who could accost her in the godswood to the gods of the north, it would be the only other northerner in King’s Landing: you.

“Sansa,” You began but she stood up abruptly

“I don’t wish to speak with you.”

“Well, I do.”

“I don’t want to hear whatever excuses you have.”

“I have none. Sansa, I am not here to be forgiven. I do not expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it.” You approached her like you would a wary doe.

She paused, looking at her once-close friend up and down “What is it you want, then?”

“I wanted to see you. Sansa, I have missed you so much.” You sat down on one of the giant roots of the godstree, making room for your fair ginger-haired friend.

“You have?” She sat down, carefully, with enough distance to observe you.

“Yes. I miss our tea parties and our sewing competitions. I miss...I miss pretending to be each other’s princes in shining armor.” Had Sansa, only a year and a half younger than you, been the one to instill this idea that led to your enamoration of Caspian? Perhaps, but you couldn’t blame the poor girl. “I miss our conversations that stretched late into the night and I miss our revenge plots against your brothers.” You trailed off “Sansa, I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Robb would’ve cut your head off.” She spoke quietly about her late brother.

“Yes.”

“So why did you do it?” Her big blue eyes finally met yours and relief washed over you.

“I-” What could you say? That you were running away from a fate crueller than death and on the way decided to liberate the most valuable prisoner of war your ward-family had for your own protection? Suppose you could try “They were going to marry me off to a Karstark. Robb wouldn’t let me have a say in it. It was to keep the peace.”

“And you broke the peace.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Sansa looked back down at her lap and that’s when you took her hand that rested on her knee. She spoke your name in a hushed warning.

“It’s alright. No one is here but us. No one is watching.”

“Someone is always watching.” Sansa looked up and around the still woods.

“You’re a Lannister now. No one would dare hurt you.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Tyrion’s not a bad man, Sansa.”

“He is if he’s one of them.”

“I doubt he had as much a say in being ‘one of them’ as you did.” Sansa turned to look at you for the comment and pulled her hand away. 

“You have no idea what it has been like.”

“No, I don’t.” You turned, shifting to be closer to her “And for that loneliness, I am sorry.”

“Just leave.” She sighed, dejected.

“Sansa,-”

“Leave me alone.”

She flinched away from your touch when you leaned over to kiss the side of her head. “Please,” You whispered to her “Please send a letter. Even if you have nothing to say. Even if you believe it is stupid. I want to hear from you, Sansa.” You left her with those words hanging in the air.

On the return to your bedchambers where your valise sat waiting with the two only other dresses you owned, you saw a familiar face dressed in burgundy leather and riding pants “Jaime?”

He turned on his heel in front of your locked door and took in the sight of you “Rough day, Cubby?”

“Apparently.” You rolled your eyes at his comment “Are you here to send me off?” Your heart tugged at the idea of a permanent separation.

“No, actually. I’m here to escort you to Hightower.”

“Really?” The feeling in your chest elevated.

“Yes. Turns out, neither Queen nor King need me as much as I thought they did. I am free to go.”

You paused, suspicions rising “You’re not wearing the white cloak.”

“I have no more use for it.” 

“What does that mean?”

“I was dismissed from my post last night. No one wants a one-handed knight, it would seem.” Jaime avoided his gaze on you. It was peculiar, you thought. At the same time that you had become single and available, the King had dismissed Jaime and made him free to be Lord of Casterly Rock. Perhaps it was a coincidence.

“Cubby, are you alright?” “Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine. I’m glad we won’t be separated.”

Jaime smiled widely “Me too.” Was he in on this plot as well? Only one way to know.

“I finally read your father’s letter.” You spoke as you opened your door and let him into your quarters.

“My father sent you a letter? That’s...awfully formal of him. What did the letter say?”

“He offered you up.” You sighed as if it wasn’t a big deal “Like the juiciest mutton at the feast.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He Cersei’d you.”

“And that means?”

“Jaime,” You scoffed a laugh “He proposed I marry you as a reward for my returning you.”

Jaime’s only thought was “Did he ask Brienne too?”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“No, I mean...I don’t understand. I should find my own bride now that I am Lord of Casterly Rock,-”

“Warden of the West? I guess not. You still have dear old dad to contend with it seems.” There was a pause as Jaime looked down at the breakfast table you had made a shrine on. “What did you respond?”

“I didn’t.”

“Why not?” He spoke carefully, tactical thinking, diplomacy, and careful consideration, not really his strong suit.

“Because the letter came a day before Caspian’s fall.”

His head snapped up, eyes meeting yours immediately “Surely you can’t be insinuating,-”

“I insinuate nothing.” You put your hands up, sitting on your trunk “I simply state mere facts.”

Jaime dismissed the matter entirely, still reeling “I can’t believe he would do this to me.”

“He did it to Cersei, to Tyrion. It was only a matter of time before he did it to you.” You reached over and plopped a grape into your mouth from the bowl of fruits behind your makeshift shrine. “On the bright side, my dearest,” You smiled crookedly at him “now you know how it feels.”

“Well, it’s not the same.” He denied it, sitting across from you.

“How so?”

“You didn’t like the Karstark boy.”

“No. I didn’t want to marry the Karstark boy. He was perfectly fine as a human being.”

“Exactly. You didn’t want to marry him.”

“And where’s the difference, then?” You hummed, oblivious.

Jaime spoke before thinking “There.”

You sputtered “What?”

Jaime’s face grew red and he stood up, biting his cheek near bloody “I suppose if I had to marry anyone I could do worse than you.”

“You said,” You stood with him “the difference is I didn’t want to marry him. And you do? You want to marry me?”

Jaime took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the ceiling. Why did his clothes feel as heavy as his old armour? “Yes.”

Tags:  @jokersdoll @bluegalaxyprime​ @zeldasayer​ @beaferni @thewaythisis​ @edwardsj81​ @hollandhiddles​ @mandahoe @btsbodyguardforever @refrigerated-omelette​ @theshiftylibrarian​ @azulasgf​ @vikingqueen28​ @justnancydrewthangs​ @heatherlynn25​ @c-ly-g​ @discogrrl​ @no-thanks-lol​ @yxorebeloxy @jeahyunniespeach @coffeeandtodd​ @reesestwizzlers25 @the-universe-stars-and-sun​ @zanasharm​ @venus-calum @cielphantomhixe​ @everything-lost-and-unsaid​ @fioccodineveautunnale @trashbin2 @0one-shots0 @literatureandqueen @readsalot73 @karolinadream @glimmerandsparkle @little-ms-fandom @sweet-songbirds 

[s-and-n-writes]

contingency plan 7c

scarred, broken, and mended: part two

summary:

She felt the weight of the ring on the string around her neck and could feel her scars.

No, she thought, not wanting to get lost in the memories, not now. I can do this later. So she plastered on a smile, tied an apron, and started frosting some cupcakes.

That night, she allowed herself to feel, and cried herself to sleep, plagued by nightmares of black leather and a feral grin.

pairing: jason todd x marinette dupain cheng, red hood x ladybug, red hood x multimouse

quick links:

< previous chapter | first chapter | next chapter >

| miraculous masterlist | series masterlist |

inspired by: 

scars, freckles and names, and gotham mouse, paris bug, both by @izzybellepenguin​

warnings:

trigger warnings, abuse, mentions of abuse, angst, evil! adrien

a/n:  i finally got it out! yay! sorry it's so late. i would have posted this earlier but n took forever to beta read it. this was completely unplanned and i wrote it while i should have been doing my homework but eh and i finished it during school and i can't even im so happy i actually did it. enjoy.

The next day, school proceeded as normal. Legs stuck out to trip her, her classmates whispered mean words everywhere she went, and people glared whenever Lila spewed some sob story. The only difference was that Marinette had to stay after school to talk to the art teacher, and he didn’t tolerate bullying. At all.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Lila and Alya walking out of school, so she knew it was safe.

After her school business was done, she walked home. At this time, the bakery shouldn’t have been too crowded. As she got closer, she saw some figures through the glass. It was...Lila and Alya? And her parents? What were they doing there? She was in front of the door and all she could make out were fragments of words, but nothing that would make sense. And sobbing. Loud sobbing. Marinette gingerly pushed the door open, wincing at the bell announcing her entrance. All four figures in the store turned to look at the newcomer.

Looking at the people, Marinette made out a few key things. One, Lila was crying. Two, her Maman looked pissed. Three, her Papa’s fists were clenched. And four, Alya wore an expression so deadly, it would make a grown man cry, thank god Marinette was used to that.

“Um...what’s going on?” Marinette asked, confused as to why Lila had come into her bakery.

“This girl here has been telling us some... interesting ...things,” her Maman replied, with a deadly undertone, “She’s been saying that you have been bullying her.”

Marinette was worried. The way her Maman had phrased her question, Marinette didn’t know if she believed her or not. Her parents would believe her, though. They wouldn’t believe the words of a random girl over their own daughter. Right?

“I-I didn’t Maman, I-” Just in case, Marinette started defending herself, but her Papa cut her off.

“Marinette,” he said furiously, yet calmly, “How dare you bully someone for a reason as small as jealousy. I thought I raised you better than that.”

Her heart broke. Her Maman and Papa, the two people who were supposed to care for her, no matter what , blamed her for something she didn’t even do. Marinette could feel the burning behind her eyes, and a few tears slipped out before she could stop them.

“B-but, I didn’t, I swear-” she was cut off yet again.

“Get out,” her Maman said. The bakery was silent and Marinette looked at her Maman, Sabine, wide-eyed, not believing this was happening, that she was being kicked out.

“You have 1 hour to pack your things and get the hell out of here ,” Sabine said sternly, and Marinette swore she could feel her heart shatter. She walked towards the stairs, and as she snuck a look behind her, there was a tiny smirk on Lila’s face. Barely noticeable, but definitely there.

Lila had won. Her friends and family were turned against her and she had nowhere to go. This wasn’t even reversible. Thankfully, Marinette had planned meticulously for every possibility, so even though her heart had told her not to, she had a plan for what to do in case of not having a home anymore. Granted, it was in case the bakery burned down or her parents died, but it was still applicable in this scenario.

Taking a breath, she began Contingency Plan 7C. Marinette quickly packed up her stuff, Tikki and Plagg looking at her in sadness. Throughout the entire ordeal, they had been at her side, comforting as best they could without being found out.

“You’re really leaving, Pigtails?” Plagg asked.

“I have to. Besides, it’s a perfect place to hide,” Marinette reassured the kwami, who was still a bit skeptical. Tikki knew better than to try and change Marinette’s mind in a situation like this.

25 minutes later, her time was almost up and everything that could be packed was packed, including the Miracle Box. She had taken out the Horse Miraculous and put them on, freeing Kaalki. Sadly, she had to leave her sewing machine and mannequin, but everything else fit neatly into her bags with the help of an extension spell she picked up in the Grimoire. It was the same kind of magic that made her yoyo able to hold anything. The rest vanished with another quick spell. Afterward, it looked like she had never lived there. It was crucial that nothing was left.

She had prepared a special program imbued with a bit of magic, and so with just a click of a button, everything about Marinette Dupain-Cheng, from public records to her school information, was erased. All necessary documents were forged (magic is useful) and she was now legally emancipated. She had already graduated early and money was accounted for. Her business as MAT had provided her with more than enough to live by herself, and she had already bought an apartment in her new city. She was going to live there after she moved out anyway, but this just sped up the process. Basically, everything was ready for her to move. Now all she had to do was leave.

Walking downstairs with a big bag was a bit of a pain, but it had to be done. Her parents would be suspicious if she just teleported since, to them, it would look like she just disappeared.

Marinette breezed by them without so much as a glance. Her peripheral told her Alya and Lila were gone. Ignoring them didn’t remove the hole in her heart, though, and she was reminded of Adrien, of someone who was supposed to help and support her and instead destroyed her.

With every step she took, the ring gently bounced against her chest, a permanent reminder of his betrayal and her subsequent injuries.

Speaking of Ladybug, Marinette had already prepared for that. Hawkmoth had been defeated, Chat Noir had been permanently removed, Master Fu had named her as Guardian, and there was no need for Ladybug anymore. She was free to leave, so a part of that program included a video uploaded to the new (accurate and credible) Ladybug website: BugOut.com. The video told Paris she was stopping being Ladybug for good, but if absolutely necessary, she would come back. Chat Noir was never coming back, though.

“Goodbye Sabine, Tom. I would say it was a pleasure, but it really wasn’t,” Marinette said her final words before exiting the bakery, the chiming of a bell marking the end of the life of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Right now, she was nobody, but as soon as she got to her new home, she would take her new identity: Marie Gina Lenoir, Gothamite.

quick links: < previous chapter | first chapter | next chapter >

a/n: so comment if you enjoyed or even if you didn't. i love to interact with you guys. ask questions if you want and I'll answer them as long as it's not too personal. read my other fics (and if you have time i guess you can read n's too). i have two other fics i'm working on at the moment and both are mcu (one is an mlb crossover) so look out for those. <3

tagging: 

here’s the taglist again! if you are currently part of the taglist and don’t want to be part of the taglist, sorry about that! shoot us message and we’ll remove your tag, no offense taken. if you want to be part of the taglist, send us an ask/message and we’ll add your name! 

@charme-de-malchan​ @aveline-rose​ @bookblokeanoid​ 

[krowfics]

Kisses Are Distracting

Fandom: MLP:FiM

Ship: Rarishy

Plot: Rarity has a tendency to overwork herself, but her model/marefreind has found away to distract her into taking a break.

Words: 1163

Notes: Kissing, lots of kissing, making out, food mention, skipping meals and not taking breaks, pins (Sewing), very very fluffy, the last mlp fic i posted was very sad so here is the fluffiest thing I think I’ve ever written to make for it

FiMfiction

~~~

Rarity’s eyes focused on the soft, silky fabric in front of her. Carefully pinning it into place over the mare’s chest, making sure to not knick the yellow coat underneath. She stayed perfectly still in her concentration and was grateful that her model was doing the same.

“Uhm, Rarity?” The quiet pegasus asked stiffly, not wanting to mess with the work the unicorn was doing.

Rarity hummed in response, her mind too distracted by the slippery fabric in her magic grasp to form actual words.

“Rarity, love, when you have a moment,” Fluttershy said.

Rarity carefully pressed another pin into the dress, “Yes dear?” Her words were hollow as her mind was clearly elsewhere.

“There’s no rush but, um, you do need to sit up at some point.”

Rarity had been hunched over to reach the mare’s chest, her face only a few inches away from it for Celestia knows how long. Just as the other had said, she became incredibly aware of the stiffness in her back. She failed to suppress a sigh and straightened out her position, bringing herself eye level with Fluttershy.

Before she could complain, there were soft lips pressed against her. She melted in an instant, leaning into the touch. It took longer than it should have for her to come to her senses, but when she did, she pulled away. “What was that for, darling?”

“We’ve been at this for hours, I think we need a break.” The quiet mare explained.

“Ah,” Rarity glanced to the clock on her wall, looking just above her glasses, “I do suppose it’s a bit late. Are you hungry?”

Fluttershy shook her head, “I ate last time you needed to take the dress off to use the sewing machine.”

Rarity’s eyebrow furrowed, “Are you tired then? Do you need anything? I’m almost done with this bit, dear, but we can stop if you need.” Her voice dripped with concern.

Fluttershy smiled at her, eyes wide as if Rarity had just said something foolish, “Rarity, you haven’t eaten dinner,” She stated, “And your lunch was half a left over cupcake.”

“Oh,” Rarity mumbled, “Well, I just have-”

Her words were taken by another kiss, cursing the fact that she was standing so close to her marefriend, though she didn’t really have any intention to move away yet. Fluttershy broke this kiss after a warm moment, “You said that earlier.”

“You didn’t let me finish, how would you know what I would say?” Rarity pointed out.

Fluttershy just rolled her eyes fondly, “Because, not only did you say it earlier, but yesterday and the day before and every time you’ve been engrossed in a project for as long as I’ve known you. ‘I just have to finish this bit and then I’ll take a break.’” She said with an attempt at Rarity’s usual, almost Canterlotian, accent, “‘Darling.’” She added after a moment. 

Rarity huffed and tried to look annoyed but she couldn’t help but smile. “I do not sound like that.”

“But you do.” Fluttershy said right back, “And you sound lovely, even when you’re overworking yourself, but if you continue with this much longer,” An uncharacteristically sly grin made its way onto Fluttershy’s lips, “I am going to have to silence you.”

“Oh?” And Rarity laughed, she wasn’t sure if she ever saw the kind mare so bold, “And how do you plan to-”

She was cut off by another kiss, this one lasted longer and involved Fluttershy humming into Rarity’s mouth before pulling away. Rarity was dazed by the taste of the other’s lips, “I… see, yes that makes sense.”

Fluttershy giggled at that and Rarity all but swooned at the sound. She took a step back to look at her love in the unfinished dress. It was coming along nicely. A pink base with green accents, a few bits of golden, shimmering fabric that somewhat matched the yellow mare’s coat.

“That’s lovely and all but I do-” She took another step back to dodge the other’s incoming kiss, “..I do need to finish this bit and then I’ll take a break.” She promised, seeing the doubtful expression on Fluttershy’s face she scoffed, “I really mean it, darling.”

“Hm, fine.” Fluttershy hummed, allowing Rarity to step closer again without the threat of distracting affection, “But don’t make me use the stare.”

“I won’t, my dear, I promise.” Rarity hummed, returning to the matter at hoof.

It was another few minutes of silent work. A pin lifted from its place in the pin cushion, raised to the green fabric and then delicately pressed into place, attaching it to the pink fabric underneath. And then another and another. She found herself soon fixing and adjusting the other pins into a proper place, zoning out from the world and only thinking of the task in front of her once again.

“Rarity.”

“Yes, darling, I’m almost done-”

She’d leaned back to look at Fluttershy, which she should’ve realized sooner would be a mistake, not that she could really call the kiss a mistake in any meaningful sense of the word.

“I think you’re done now.” Fluttershy barely leaned back, her breath on Rarity’s lips as she spoke.

Rarity felt her coat heat up, flushing pink instead of it’s usual white, “Yes. Yes I think you’re correct.” She barely whispered, closing the distance between their lips once again. They stayed like that for a long moment, wanting to deepen the kiss but instead pulling away begrudgingly, “Let’s get you out of this dress.” Rarity mumbled, beginning to carefully undo the pin filled fabric. Careful to not knock out any so that she could stitch the green into place later.

“And get you some dinner.” Fluttershy stated. If she heard Rarity’s disappointed grumble she said nothing.

“Yes, love.” Rarity eventually said with a sigh, helping Fluttershy slip out of the attire. She laid it out near the sewing machine and turned, once again finding a muzzle against her own.

Rarity smiled, kissing the mare in front of her. Fluttershy stepped closer, pressing their chests to each other now that there was no delicate art project restricting her movement. She brought a yellow hoof to push Rarity’s red glasses to sit behind her horn. She then lowered the hoof to the unicorn's cheek, holding her in place and kissing her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But then she pulled away and Rarity couldn’t stop the desperate whine that left her. Fluttershy giggled at that, and really, how could Rarity be mad after hearing that wonderful sound? Fluttershy hummed, releasing her hold of the other’s cheek, “I’m going to make you a daisy sandwich, come on.”

Rarity would have complained and pulled Fluttershy into an embrace, holding her and kissing her until they both were out of breath, but she could feel her own hunger eating away at her, so she instead followed her marefriend into the kitchen, “A daisy sandwich sounds lovely, darling.” she conceded.  

[gryffindorcls]

3 Umbrella

Post-reveal/Pre-relationship Board

(If anyone else would like to submit a Lovesquare Fluff Bingo request, you can find the ask prompt here.)

Tell Me The Truth

AO3

“Could you grab the shiny green bolt of fabric from my closet?” Marinette called out.

Adrien hopped off of the chaise and padded across the room.  “Sure thing, Bugaboo.”

Marinette frantically dug through a box of glittering buttons while she listened to the sound of rummaging and shuffling behind her.  After several minutes of searching, she finally found five identical buttons.  She threw her head back and breathed a sigh of relief.

“I may actually finish this project on time,” she thought to herself.

When she had signed up for Mr. Agreste’s latest fashion contest, she never expected it to take place on the same day as two big tests at school.  She’d experienced time crunches before, but never while creating a design this ambitious.  

For this challenge, she was attempting to make a loose button-down blouse with billowing sleeves, and while she only had five hours left to complete the task, she also wanted to hand embroider flowers on the front of the garment.  Much to her despair, instead of taking the time to work on her design during her lunch break, she was forced to cram in a last-minute study session in the library with Adrien.  

Both of them had been up late the night before fighting Hawkmoth’s latest Akuma, and neither of them had felt prepared for their exams come the next day.  When she got to school that morning, Marinette was on the verge of hyperventilating.  Luckily, Adrien calmed her down by promising to stay by her side and help her for the rest of the day.  Ever since they’d learned each other’s identities, he’d become her support system both in and out of the mask.

They were partners.

They were best friends.

They were the perfect team.

Having Adrien by her side while she was figuring out how to be the Guardian of the Miracle Box had been a godsend.  Pushing aside her feelings for him had been hard, but the friendship that had formed between them after the reveal made it easier for her to accept her status in his life.  She was nothing more than his “very good friend”.  

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but wonder if the feelings he had for Ladybug still existed now that things were different between them.  While she knew that he wasn’t dating anyone at the moment, she was hesitant to let her feelings come crashing back.  Still, there was a part of her that hoped for them to one day become more than just friends.

She shook her head and brushed away the thought.  “It doesn’t matter.  He’s moved on.”

Marinette placed the lid on her button box, opened her desk drawer, and slid the container back into its rightful place.  She began to pull out all of her materials and place them next to her sewing machine.  As she began to sharpen her rotary cutter, a sense of calm washed over her.  For the first time all day, she finally felt like she was going to finish the blouse before the deadline. 

After a few minutes of quiet preparation, a loud crash sounded behind her, causing Marinette to whip her head towards the closet.  She carefully set down the rotary cutter and rushed over to the cascading pile of fabric and clothing that was now spilling onto the floor.  Upon reaching the open door, she was met with the sight of Adrien laying face-down on the ground.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I just did that,” Adrien groaned, sitting up, “I’m sorry, Princess.  I’ll help you clean all of this up.”

She got onto the floor next to him.  “It’s alright, kitty.  Don’t worry about it.  Right now I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  I’m a little embarrassed, but otherwise, I’m okay.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“But I messed everything up.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“What?”

She rested her head on his shoulder.  “Have you seen how clumsy I am when I’m not wearing spots?”

Adrien laughed.  “I guess you have a point.”

“Hey!” She gave him a gentle nudge.  “You’re not supposed to agree with me!  You’re supposed to say, ‘Whatever do you mean, my lady?  You are the epitome of poise and grace!’, or something like that.”

He rubbed his cheek against the crown of her head.  “I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”

“I guess.”

“You guess?  Hmmm...I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

“Fine!  You win, but if I have to admit that I’m a klutz, then you have to admit that your jokes are corny.”

He pulled away from her and chuckled.  “Meow-ch!  Low blow, Marinette.  I thought you liked my jokes.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Well…”

Adrien crossed his arms.  “And remember, you have to tell the truth!”

“Alright, you want the truth?” she teased, “I may like your jokes, but I still think that you have claw-ful timing.”

“I can live with that, but you shouldn’t have to live with this mess.  I’ll clean this up.  You keep working.”

“No.”  She shook her head.  “I can’t start the blouse until I have the fabric, and if both of us are looking for it, we’ll find it in half the time!”

He smiled.  “Look at us!  Ladybug and Chat Noir tackling their next monster.”

“I’d hardly call this mess a monster.”

“My lady, this closet was packed before all this fell onto the floor.”

“When you’re a designer, you need a lot of stuff.  I never know when something from this pile may come in handy when I’m creating something new.”

Adrien rummaged through the pile and pulled out a black umbrella.  “So you’re telling me that you need this umbrella to design clothes.”

Marinette lunged towards her partner and snatched the umbrella out of his hands.  “I’m going to put this somewhere else.”

“Woah, that was a pretty strong reaction towards an umbrella!  What is it special or something?”

“No, it doesn’t belong in the closet.  It must have gotten mixed in when I was cleaning my room the other day.”

“My lady?”

“Yes?”

“You’re lying to me.  Why?”

She hugged the umbrella against her chest.  “No, I’m not.  Why would you think that I’m lying?”

“Tell me the truth,” he pleaded, “Why is that umbrella so important?”

Tears began to brim in the corners of her eyes.  “You don’t remember it?”

“It looks like a regular black umbrella to me.”

“You gave it to me.”

“When did I…” He paused.  “Wait, is that the umbrella I gave you when we first met?”

Unable to contain them any longer, hot tears began to slide down her cheeks.  “It is.”

“Oh, my lady, I’m sorry.”  He leaned over and pulled her into a tight hug.  “I didn’t mean to make you sad.  Please don’t cry.”

“It’s not you...I...I…”

“Does thinking about that day really make you that upset?  I know we got off to a rocky start, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Adrien, that was the best day of my life.”  Marinette hid her face in his shirt.

“Then why are you crying?”  He rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“You have to tell the truth, Marinette,” her mind screamed, “You promised.”

“Because it’s the day I fell in love with you,” she whispered.

He pulled away.  “What?  Could you repeat that?”

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, Marinette, please repeat what you said.  I need to hear you say that again.  Because if you said what I think you said, this just turned into the best day of my life.”

“But I turned you down so many times as Ladybug.  I was in love with Adrien, so I said no to Chat.  I broke your heart.  You moved on!  I watched you flirt with Kagami before our identities were revealed.  I didn’t want to get in the way of you finding happiness.”

Adrien cupped her cheeks in her hands.  “My happiness has always been with you, my lady.  I did try to move on, but my heart kept coming back to you.”

She tossed the umbrella to the side and wrapped her arms around him.  “I love you, Adrien.  I always have, and I always will.”

He returned the gesture and pulled her close.  “I love you, too, Marinette.”

Her heart soared as she allowed herself to melt into his embrace.  

“My lady?”  Adrien said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

She nuzzled her cheek against his chest.  “Yeah?”

“As much as I want this moment to never end, don’t you have to finish the blouse by eight o’clock?”

She flew out of his arms, grabbed the green fabric from the pile, and stumbled towards her sewing machine.  “THE CONTEST!”

“Don’t worry about me!” he laughed, “I’ll just be over here planning our first date!”

All of a sudden, Marinette didn’t care if she lost the contest.  In her eyes, she’d already won.

[antihero-writings]

Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade 

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

Notes: Originally written for Phmonth18, Week 3, Prompt/Day 2: Mask. 

What started out as something that was supposed to be a short little fic about Jack’s internal monologue became an in-depth look into Jack’s psyche…hehe. I’ll admit, this is one of the weirdest formats I’ve ever used, and I’m not quite sure if it works, but I had fun with it! This is my first time writing heavily about Jack, and it’s about how his mind works….so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies to his character. 

If you like it, I’d really appreciate if you could leave a comment!! They really do make my week, and help me keep writing, especially when it comes to multi-chapter fics like this one!!

Chapter 1: 

Everyone always wore a mask.

That was how things were, how the world worked. No question. No alternative. No argument you could make to stop it. Like a plague that replaced everyone’s faces with the skin of monsters.

The world was a masquerade. A dance, where you trade partners, and you never quite know who you’re dancing with anyways. You’re thrown in without knowing the moves, and are required to learn as you go, because you can’t stop. If you stop, the music, the momentum of the world turning, doesn’t. So if you do, you may just be trampled, thrown off the world.

As you grew up, you learned the moves, programmed them into your bones until the motions were mechanical, and your body knew nothing else. Nothing but the lies. Grew up, painted your mask, made it more ornate, less likely to show your true colors, less likely to fall.

Something that made a louder crash when it did fall.

They always do. Eventually. Don’t think you can escape it.

Your parents, your family, your friends, they’re no different. When I said everyone, I meant everyone.

But when you grow up in gutters, in the stench and blood, the offal of humanity, and watch from afar, forbidden from the dance, but also from...not dancing, learning that you must dance to make in it the world...you may or may not grow to hate humanity.

I couldn’t wear a mask. But I was doomed to see through everyone else’s. See their lies, see their hypocrisy, their cold cut rules about how much of a clown you could be, I could see the puppet strings.

I learned to hate.

But.

******

The room glittered and gleamed; the chandeliers, the polished marble tiles, the wine glasses, the clothing of the dancers.

Jack stood on the sidelines. The black and white players spinning before him, coming near him in flashes and fake smiles.

Outside, snow fluttered down onto a darkened ground, so much so he couldn’t see past the wind and flakes to a world beyond.

He had to stay inside, or else the storm might overtake him.

Storm inside. Storm out. Between two evils, how do you know which is worse?

They didn’t know they were simply chess pieces. That this was simply a game, that they would be sacrificed, all for the sake of the king.

Once, he had found their twirls and fanciful garments fascinating; the masks shined and their feathers climbed towards a twinkling ceiling. He looked on with longing, then.

Now, the word fake grew out of the crevices where their eyes were meant to be, it crept along their porcelain cheeks, their feathered heads, their bejeweled necks—and they didn’t see the vines, the spiders, linked together into chains, strangling them, driving fangs into their chests.

At the same time, sickness pooled in his own heart, started creating ripples towards his thoughts, reaching his words, crashing upon the shores of his actions.

A sickness called hate.

It took him far too long to realize the motions held no meaning. They were all just tumbling in the dark and the cold, trying to make meaning of the moves when there is none. The shimmer on the surface of the water was reflected from a sky they could never reach, not something buried beneath the waves that they could touch, hold, and keep, if they just held their breath long enough to wrap their fingers around it.

The same was surely true for the waters in his own heart.

At least, that’s how it seemed, and what he told himself.

Black and white. No color. Pawns and knights in a grand game of chess.

What was real?

What would happen if it all just…stopped? What if we called the world, the dance by name?

A pause. A flicker. A flash. Color.

First it was red. Red like lamplight, in the night-soaked brightness of the room, a lantern of hope, guiding him across the lifeless waters of a stormy sea—navy waves, navy sky, (navy, not quite black, not quite blue), till they were indiscernible from each other—to a land where there was more light like hers. Red that burned—could it burn down the masks? Like blood. Like roses.

Red in her eyes.

Then it was her hair, a splash of brown, flowing between the sides of black and white. Some say brown isn't pretty, isn't really a color. But looking and the rich hazelnut locks he would beg to differ.

Then the violet of her dress, like flowers, like the fluttering butterfly she was, like she was the only royal in a council of fools and common sense.

He lost track of the moves to stare her way.

******

One day I met a girl—brown hair, eyes red as roses in the snow—who wasn’t wearing a mask. She told me she could see through the masks too. But instead of hating the world in general for the practice, she questioned, she wondered, and she cheated the game.

And looking into those red eyes, I realized nothing else mattered. Not the world, not the deadened grasp of humanity, the music, the moves, or the masks.…Just her.

I tried to follow her, but in the mix of feet, in the unlearned motions, I myself was trampled to the ground.

So I resolved to learn the dance—not to live, not for the dance itself—but to follow her. To trade partners until I found her hand. I had to get up, to sew together a mask, glue on the feathers with blood, and pull the jewels out of dead men’s hands.

Horror is the word, I believe. The one to describe the things I did. I think you’ll find that both joining the dance, and subverting it, will inevitably lead to that word. I followed in the steps of people who did worse than me. Danced with partners whose masks were sewn into the skin. I did things that’ll make you shudder to think.

All part of the dance.

                                        Nothing but her.

******

Outside, silent snow turned to to the taps of rain asking to get in, like little children knocking on the window frames to beg for some food.

As he stared the girl’s way, the masks knocked against his shoulders, they trod on his feet, and scoffed at his incredulity, scoffed at him for not knowing the moves he should have mastered by heart by now.

He looked over their heads, trying to peer through the feathers and jewels, catch another glimpse of the one real thing in the sea of falsity.

For the first time there was something compelling him more than puppet strings and patterns. There was something alive in him. His heart became a beating thing. His lungs a set of pumping parts.

For the first time he understood: the dance wasn't evil, he just didn't have the right partner.

She faded like a word on the tip of your tongue never breathed out into the air.

Living, which tasted so sweet, quickly turned sour, into something that hurt. His heart panged. His lungs thumped too fast. Fear, desperation set into to his fast-beating blood.

And, at last, his gaze on her fading footfalls, he moved.

Out from the sidelines, into the mix of motions. Out into the world, the sea that he always thought was full of things with teeth, that'd eat him alive if he got too close.

But instead of following the ordained pattern, he was a wrench in the perfectly predestined machine.

The other cogs knocked into him, dug their teeth into his shoulders. He tripped. Tripped into the workings of the machine, all the ugly machinations that made the pristine clock tick. The dance kept turning all the same, the other cogs kicking into him. Knocking him further, down to the tiles beneath, further below than he'd ever been. So he lay there, bruised and bleeding, staring at the calculated movements of the gears ticking above him. 

“Lacie!” his cracked voice called, reaching out his hand to the star he could never reach.

And on the floor, where all the broken parts, the scraps of things that tried to change the direction of the machine go, he realized that that the pattern was too ruthless to break. Kicked and beaten by the dance, he understood that the only way to follow her, was to join the dance.

He wouldn’t give up. He’d follow her footprints through the forest of feet and fakes.

If he’d bend the rules a little.

******

I set the moves into my hands and feet, resolved to be a bruising and beating thing, like them, clawed my way back into the artificial light, until that red was back in my sight. I took her hand in mine and—

She…didn’t remember me.

No peppered, cheerful hello. No pretense, or pretending.

No mask.

My free spirit. My unmasked beauty. My blood red girl. My Lacie.

In eight years, as I broke myself apart and sewed myself back together, as I metamorphosed into something I myself barely recognized, she still hadn’t changed, been chained; she was still the same dash of color in a world of black and white fakes. A player in a world of pawns.

Despite all the things I had done, I knew she was the one person who would still accept me. She was still the one who questioned the machine, and would accept the things I did to fight it, would understand that the only way to fight it was from the inside out. I'd done it all for her, after all.

There's no sunlight at the bottom of the machine. Eight years. Eight years in the dark. Eight years since I felt the warmth of sunlight on my skin, the touch of something, someone, living.

"Dance with me." I'd spoke the words a thousand times, but this was the only time I ever meant them.

When you find your color in a black and white world, your dream in a world of nightmares, your life in a world of walking corpses, you never want to give it up, to let the song end.

But.

******

After the moving maze, the muddied world of men, the journey to get back to her, his hand found hers.

Something real, something dynamic, instead of stagnant, something warm to the touch, not metallic and cold.

Standing before him—at last—was his pride, his prize.

She was on the other side of the endless ballroom, off to the side, her head turned, gaze out the window. But she was still dancing with someone. Slowly, their moves less cold and mechanical.

He didn’t bother with the pretense of the dance, or courtesy towards the one she was currently dancing with. He threw his arms around her, and held her tight.

The shock in her eyes told him something wasn’t quite the same.

—(Or maybe he wasn’t quite sane)—

Did she not remember him? That moment when color entered his world?

What was all of time for him, was a passing glimpse for her.

It didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t cover those pretty eyes with the mark of a fake.

And she never did. Not as long as he knew her

“Jack.” She placed her hand on his cheek, running her fingers along his skin, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear.

She smiled, and it was the only real thing.

But that smile didn’t last forever; it became a twisted thing, etching itself onto her features.

A thing that certainly didn’t belong to her, even now.

Was this her mask? Could her face have been a mask this whole time?

She pulled away from him.

“You fool.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and it pierced his heart.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

She gestured grandly to the room as a whole.

What? What didn’t he see? This was how it had always been. Nothing had changed.

She grabbed his chin and made him look away from her.

“Look at them.”

Then he saw.

The dancers around them weren’t just dancers, strangers, background.

They weren’t strangers at all.

Or maybe they were even less known to him than strangers would have been.

They weren't even in black and white after all; there was color all around him, the color that had belonged to himself. Many of them were wearing the same green outfit he wore presently, others were in red, and blue, some wrapped in a thin blanket…They all had the same blonde hair, sometimes in a braid like his, others messy and short.

And they all still wore masks, as if the emotions could be written and plastered on rather than felt—happy, sad, angry…that disgusting smile…

His disgusting smile.

Each and every one of them was himself.

Had it always been this way? Since the beginning? Or had they become this way? Somewhere in the middle, had strangers morphed into mirrors?

The music faded out, and the rain outside grew louder and louder until he couldn’t help but turn to the window, as if to demand some peace and quiet.

The drops that dribbled down and splattered across the panes were not clear, or grey, or blue.

That red he had once found so fascinating, once begged for, was painting the world.

He swallowed.

As he realized the change in scenery, all the other Jacks stopped, turning to him with mechanical motions, and faceless expressions, some creepy army of past-self-dolls.

“Lacie,” her name on his lips—(the word echoed through the crowd, the other Jacks moaning it as if remembering the one word that made them alive once, though it wasn't alive in their mouths now)—he turned to her, his one hope, his one safety in a world that had fixed its canons against him.

She was no longer beside him.

Laying in his hand was a limp chain.

He didn’t want to look, to follow the trail; he feared what he would see. But he chased the links to the ceiling—

Her body, suspended in the air above, like she was one of those twinkling chandeliers. Her body, pierced by chains.

That red rain was inside now.

And below her, looking his way, was someone else. Someone else in color. Someone else who wasn’t wearing a mask.

******

My Lacie, who lied, and died at the hands of her brother. For the simplest crime of never wearing a mask over those red eyes. For the simplest crime of existence.

Oswald. Her brother.

I should have hated him for taking her from me.

And there was a part of me that did. Surely. But he loved her too, you know. And it was some sick sense of duty that threw her into the pit, not his own will.

I was a question in his eyes, and he was an answer in mine. There’s something about mutual darkness between people; being able to look into someone else’s soul, and see your struggles reflected, and yet…not yourself… Something that we call friendship.

******

The first thing he saw was his cloak, like a wave breaking across his shoulder. Crimson, just like her eyes.

Just like her blood he spilt.

Then his eyes, violet, like her dress. But unlike with her, this violet, this royalty, was sharp, cold, and unforgiving.

Then it was the black of his hair and clothing. A deeper black from the dancers before. A darker sky.

He was the black king, after all, wasn’t he?

                          "Lacie is dead,”

                                                      “I killed her.”

******

It wasn’t malice, or revenge. It was the requirement and requiem of a leader.

Or at least, they poisoned his mind and made him think so.

I’m sure he would have joined me, if he wasn’t such a fool. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in his own ignorance.

(An ignorance that was my fault).

Joined me to get her, that is.

Death isn’t quite the right word. She was cast into the Abyss, into a place where "return" has no meaning.

But I learned that the masks, the dance, the masquerade, goes by another name:

Chains.

Chains come in many forms. There are the chains that killed her, those that we create contracts with, linking us to a place darker than the bottom of the machine. Chains between people; like friendship, like love, like hate. And the chains we create for ourselves, tying us to an abyss of our own making, with no need for outside temptation.

Then there’s another type; this world is a ruin—(I always knew it)—and the Chains around it are the only things keeping the world from the Abyss, in the same token as others tie us to it. They fall between the lines on the pages of our story, into the places our eyes can’t see.

Or, more accurately, keeping the world from her.

Blood red world. My gift for my blood red girl. And I didn’t care how much blood I spilled in the midst. Not really. Not enough.

This world is rotting anyway. I’ve known it from the start. But not to her. She saw the color, the life, the light. She saw the stars. She saw that there was something real behind those falsely shimmering lights. That maybe it wasn’t all on the surface. Maybe there was something beneath the waters that we could reach.

And I’d bring the world she loved to her.

                                                                          I’m doing this for you.

[tayerroos]

Patchwork Tales: Book 1

A “9" roleplay compendium.  Read on AO3 Chapter: 7 [First] [Back] [You Are Here] [Next] Warnings for this chapter: Panic Attack