#to having a bench seat held together by sewing pins

[redheadedgirl]

You ever have one of those projects that goes from “huh, idea” to “I have somehow started this project and I must finish it before I think too much about what I’ve already done”?

Who am I kidding, this is tumblr…

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

It's final

Dedicated to my best friend K, who exclusively reads angst (yes I know she is crazy).

Warnings: domestic disputes, panic attacks & mental breakdowns.

Ao3

———————————————

“Why are you such a fucking bitch?”

She froze, her anger steeled within her. Their argument was abruptly silenced, both tempers flaring high enough to threaten the heavens. Heaving breaths from their vocal exertions became louder than their previous yelling. A pang of fear struck her heart as she wonders whether the neighbours had heard them and called the police for a domestic dispute.

Marinette was furious. She wasn’t a saint during this war of words, and had said somethings she shouldn’t have. She had started this argument with the intentions of lessening his reckless behaviour, but ended up stating in anger that his mother would be stopping his behaviour too. That line lead to his outburst and the state they were in now.

Cheeks flushed red, particles of perspiration dotted their skin, bodies wound with tension. She swiftly motioned towards the door, hand reaching to the knob. Jason grabbed her other wrist, deep seated sadness displayed over his features, immediately regretting his words spoken by ire. Her head tilted downwards, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it,” his voice cracked, any traces of rage had melted into sorrow.

“You never do, but it hurts the same.” She shook her arm, detaching his hand from her wrist. His grip was firm but unwilling to deny her, her free will. She picked up her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder. The door opened, she could feel his stare on the back of his head. Her sigh filled the empty space, without turning she said, “I think it’s better that we seperate, we aren’t good for each other. I’m willing to keep up appearances with your family at the gala but then I’ll move my belongings to another apartment.”

She turned around, rushing into his embrace, tears shed from her eyes. A final hug goodbye. His stray tears raced down his cheeks to reach their raven hair finish line. He made no move to respond to her hug. Usually he’d have wrapped her in his arms, especially after an argument like this. But this one was different. This would be their last.

“Au revior, Jason.” She removed her body from his. It left him wanting to pull her back but it was as if his muscles had necrotic back to a corpse. His eyes flicked down to his invisible chains, begging his arms to move, to capture his lightning bug and never let her go. He looked back at her, she stood there, seemingly wanting him to say something, anything.

“I’m sorry.” His hoarse voice whispered, he desperately wanted to pepper her face with kisses and beg her to forgive a cretin like him. His voice broke as he uttered, “Please.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes. Marinette’s head shook slightly, non-verbally denying him. A bitter laugh escaped her mouth, she brought up her hand cover her crazed smile. “I’m sorry too.” She sobbed.

She rushed out the door, practically sprinting to the elevator. As the strong metal door closed, her sobbed echoed around the empty box. She broke down, months of fights and building tensions had weighed her down, her creativity had been primarily funnelled into ways she could improve her relationship. Il vaut mieux prévenir que guérir (It is better to prevent than to heal).

When the door closed Jason’s knees collapsed, a hollow echo resounded through the hallway. Their shared apartment would be no longer. No more hello, good bye kisses; no more delicious meals shared between the two; no more sleepy morning kisses. He looked down at his hands, clenched fists. A primal cry left his throat, he felt it to his core. He would have rather had his heart ripped out, he would have rather have died again, than to feel this pain.

——

It was the night of the gala, only four days after their fight. Marinette had only come back to their condo once to collect some clothes and her sewing machine. Only the essentials were taken, the rest could be gathered by movers.

Jason was a wreck. He had worked multiple overtime shifts to avoid the festering wound that was his bleeding heart. Preparing for his family’s ball was tough, this would be the first time they would see each other since the argument. He sported a fresh haircut which was left messy, his white button down top hugged his muscles perfectly, was paired with a slate grey blazer and matching dress pants (both gifts from Marinette).

He was fiddling with his tie, the gala’s atmosphere was already suffocating due to insufferable and rich hotshots, and his tie decided that he didn’t need to breathe. Marinette didn’t care for appearances but knew his family lived under the watchful eye of the media, so she always made sure they were matching. But tonight, tonight he had no clue what she was wearing and had received no colour matching instructions, so he went with trusty rusty red. It was the first thing the fashionista made for him and he will always cherish it.

His eyes widened as he saw her enter. She wore a midnight silk black mermaid gown that had a chiffon overskirt that was black fading to blood red. Her hair was down and curled, a silver feather hair clip pinned back the left side of her hair, exposing her magnificent facial features. Cerulean eyes framed by dark painted lashes, scanned the room.

Her heart caught in her throat, she had entered the doors to the banquet hall. She came with the intention of saying her silent goodbyes to the family who had taken her in when she had no one else. She had been suffering in silence for the past few days, her only support system being the Wayne Clan, but couldn’t bring herself to tell them what had happened. She couldn’t do that to Jason, she wouldn’t make them choose between him and her, she dreaded to hear their answers. Resigning herself to reside in silence, she came here to keep up appearances then fade into obscurity, but she saw him and her breath died in her throat. He looked as handsome as the day she left him. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. She walked towards him; he spotted her and did the same. They met in the middle, on the dance floor.

“You look amazing Marinette.” He swallowed the urge to call her pixie, it hung heavy in his throat. He needed to create distance between them, that was the first advice in ‘How to be civil after a breakup’. During the silent nights, he delved into any written text that would give him refuge and advice.

“You too Jason.” The pit in his stomach grew, he should have known she would take the same path. Never would he hear ‘Jay’ or ‘Jayjay’ from her plump red lips again. His shoulders slumped a fraction before he shooed away his depressing thoughts.

Their conversing was viewed by many around the room. They were the odd couple of the family. Jason, despite his rich adoptive home worked in security and charity whilst Marinette was a hardworking fashionista who had built her own fashion empire. They were from two different worlds and only fate knew that they’d meet.

He bowed and held out a hand to her, a lopsided smiled danced across his face. She smiled sadly, she would miss her dork, she would miss his smile. Her hand brushed against his calloused palm, their fingers locked together. She hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘just one dance’, she could do this.

His hand found her waist, warmth bloomed upon his cold skin. He was always cold since he died, only his temper had warmed him. But then he met her. Marinette was his warmth, she made him feel like he was a child again, bathing in Gotham’s rare sunlight. His lightning bug brought him warmth and he had lost it.

They swayed to the classic instrumental melody. Neither looked at each other as their bodies flowed, ‘it was just an act’, they chanted as a mantra within their minds. ‘It means nothing, soon this will be over’. It struck her, this would be the final time they would see each other. A quiet sob escaped her, she was unable to do anything to stop it.

Jason’s head snapped towards her, sweeping her away into a private garden. Between her weeping she apologised for the state she was in, hyperventilating soon after. Jason guided her to a bench and clasped her hands in his.

“Hey, hey! Mari look at me. Deep breaths in and out, ok?.” Screw creating distance, this was his girl, he will fight anyone who says otherwise. Marinette slowly began to wind down from her panic attack, eyes misty and her water-proof mascara blotchy but still intact. The temperamental man wiped her cheeks free from trails of liquid fright.

“I’m so sorry for everything Jason. I never should have said that thing about your mother, that was cruel. I can’t keep hurting the people I care about. I can’t keep you happy. I’m just not enough.”

Her cries broke down his own walls, exposing his vulnerability to the Gotham night. “Fuck the word enough. It’s synonyms: sufficient, ample and adequate, could never describe what you mean to me.” He pressed his forehead on her, blue eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not sure if any of us will ever be enough for anything. There’s no point in begging for it.”

“I hate goodbyes.” She whispered, lips inches from his. Their breaths mingled, cheeks flushing. The icy Gotham air whipped at their skin causing them to move closer to the other for sanctuary.

“Then let’s not make this one.” Fireworks. That’s what they felt when their lips connected. All of the week’s tension unraveled within this lip lock. Their teeth clashed and hands tugged at hair in desperation to close the distance between them. When she entered the gala tonight, she had been so ready to say, ‘adieu pour toujours,’ but was glad she didn’t need to.

C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans es poir de retour. (This is love, giving it ones all, sacrificing everything without hope of it being returned.)

[onomonopetabread]

Declawing the Cat- Chapter 1

He just couldn’t figure her out. No matter how many times he’s tried to wrap his head around it, Felix Graham de Vanily couldn’t solve the mystery of Marinette Dupain-Chang; not why she did the things she did, or how, or why she seemed to infuriate him to no end…

It had all started when his brick head of a cousin had the bright idea to convince his mother to transfer him to his school. The two of them had recently moved closer to the Agreste household for more “family solidarity”, but it seemed as though Adrien needed even more quality time with cousin dear.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Adrien? You know Felix isn’t the most social child. Do you really think that your classmates will welcome him as you say they will, even after the incident?”

“I’m positive, Aunt Amilie. The kids in my class are very kind and believe in redeeming others if they apologize. I have no doubt in my mind that they’ll forgive him. I mean, look at how they accepted me when I first started going there. They could have shunned me and thrown me aside like trash, but now I have a lot of friends. The same will happen with Felix, for sure.”

“Well, if you really think so, then it's a beautiful idea,” said Amilie avidly. “What about you, gabriel? Do you think that our sons should go to school together?”

“It will be beneficial for Adrien to have a good influence around the school with him to make sure that he doesn’t try to rebel and become like his… recalcitrant peers,” said gabriel without glancing up from his designs.

“And you, Felix? Do you want to go to College Francoise-Dupont?”

Felix gulped. He didn’t really want to go to school with his ridiculous cousin, but his mother really seemed to like the idea, and he’d hate to disappoint her ...

So that’s how Felix ended up going to school with the same kids he duped. Even though Adrien can be way too gullible (someone really needs to tell him that life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and not everyone can be trusted), Felix soon found that he was indeed right about his friends. When he arrived there a few weeks ago, it only took a small smile and a half-baked apology to get them to trust him. One might think that Felix would be sulking at the mere thought of going to school with these losers, but he had decided beforehand that if he was going to have any fun at this school, he was going to have to toy with this naive group of teenagers to cause some trouble, and what better way to do that than to make them think he was on their side?

“Guys, this is my cousin Felix. He’s going to be attending school with us for now on. I know you guys will take him in with open arms.”

Kim cut in. “Is this the same cousin that pretended to be you and replied to the videos you sent us?”

Nino had something to say as well. “Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!” Alya declared.

The rest of the class chimed in with arguments of their own, and who can blame them? It definitely didn’t feel good to be deceived. Soon, the whole courtyard was filled with angry yells and upset students. Adrien, bless him, was trying his best to calm them down and explain.

“Well-”

Felix cleared his throat. Talking ceased and all eyes were on him: Adrien’s glancing nervously, and the others’ full-on glares.

“Hello, everyone. As Adrien just told you, my name is Felix Graham de Vanily. To answer your question, Mr. Le Chein, yes, I’m the cousin of Adrien’s that impersonated him and sent you a cruel response to your heartfelt videos. For that, I am deeply sorry. I have no excuse for what I did. I can only hope that you all will find it in your hearts to forgive me for my terrible sin.”

You could hear a pin drop. All of the students were giving each other and Felix calculating looks. Should they believe him? Was he really telling the truth? After a few beats of deafening silence, Mylene spoke up.

“If you’re really sorry...”

“Oh, I am, you can be sure of that, Ms. Haprele,” Felix nodded, puppy eyes fully on show.

“Then… I suppose everyone deserves a second chance, right guys?” she continued, looking around at the others.

Slowly, the rest of the group started nodding their heads. Where there was anger and hurt towards Felix was now acceptance and forgiveness. Why not forgive him? Of course he was telling the truth! Why on Earth would someone lie to gain our trust only to be able to play us for fools right underneath our noses? It’s not like it’s ever happened before. Oh, if only Lila was here to greet our new friend! It’s too bad she’s away in America doing her internship at NASA!

The group, who were once resentful and angry at the fancily-dressed boy that was in front of them, began to crowd around him, smiles and name introductions all around. By the way they were acting, you would have thought that they all have been friendly with Felix since birth. Amazing what the power of deception held when used right.

He recognized most of them from the terrible videos they had sent Adrien: the manic pixie girl, the ultra-nerd, the stupid jock, the wannabe dj and his amautur reporter girlfriend.

And what a reporter she was! Neither she nor her dim-witted friends could see through his act. They followed him like lost puppies looking for an owner. The only person who didn’t seem to believe him was her. Felix didn’t see her in the schoolyard for his “apology”, and he noticed she never seemed to be around if he’s in the room.

Honestly, he’d thought that Marinette would have been the easiest person to convince. Only a silly, pigtail-twirling, school girl would send such a pathetic confession. “AdRiEn, I LoVe YoU. I’Ll AlWaYs Be ThErE If YoU NeEd Me”. Puh-lease.

But she never seemed to be around, Felix didn’t see her in the schoolyard for his “apology”, and he noticed she never seemed to be around unless they were in class. He sat in the back, and spent most of his time conjuring up plans to recruit her, for after a few days of observations, he’d been able to work out that he had underestimated her. By a lot. Felix found out that she was class president and a good one at that. She was seen as a leader by the others, but it didn’t seem like she used deception to earn that respect. She was actually kind-hearted, selfless, and true. If she wasn’t so annoying and stubborn, those characteristics might have even been...admirable. She really could be a great ally to have by his side. But by jove, was she ever making it difficult. Eventually, he’s been able to talk to her alone. To sum it up, it definitely could have gone better.

During lunch hour, Marinette was on a bench in the park. She was sketching on a notepad, most likely designs for a new sewing project. Felix learned from Adrien that Marinette was a very talented aspiring designer, which took Felix by surprise. You’d never guess that this girl was into fashion by the way she dressed (Felix could not stress enough how atrocious those pigtails were), but he digresses. He isn’t here to insult Marinette’s clothes, though he could do so some other time. He took a deep breath and strode over to Marinette’s seat.

“Ah, Ms. Dupain-Cheng! How lovely it is to see you. We never seem to talk, do we? It is quite a shame really.”

Marinette didn’t move a muscle. It was as though he hadn’t said a word! Ok, well, give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s really focused on her drawing?

“I must say, that is a lovely suit that is a lovely suit you’re designing there. I love the use of gold thread on the pants. If I may make a few suggestions-”

“No, you may not. As a matter of fact, I’m going to stop you right there. Don’t say another word.”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Marinette set her notepad aside on the bench and rose up from the bench to look him in the eye . Never in his life had Felix seen a stronger glare, and even though he was a good head taller than Marinette, he felt as though she could crush him like a grape. Of course, he didn’t let it show. What would it say about him that he shakes like a kitten in the presence of a 4’ 11” teenage girl?

“Now Felix, I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. I know you have everyone else fooled with your nice act, but I’m not as stupid as you seem to assume. You think you’re the first fake I came across? Don’t make me laugh; you’re not even close. Heck, next to Lila, you’re just a petty gossip. The rest of our classmates seem to have put the video incident in the past, but let me make it crystal clear that it is still fresh in my mind. I meant to share something extremely personal with Adrien, we all did, and you screwed that up. You hurt all of us carelessly as if our feelings were nothing more than spinning tops. You know what that makes you?”

Dumbfounded, Felix couldn’t do much more than shake his head.

“It makes you a little bitch. And I don’t associate with little bitches. So unless you can prove to me that you really are turning over a new leaf for good, I don’t want to say one word to you unless absolutely necessary and vise versa. I’ll stay out of your hair, and you WILL stay out of mine. Capisce?

Without waiting for a reply, Marinette turned her heel, grabbed her notebook, and began the walk back to school.

Well, he must admit that Marinette won that round. She certainly was a challenge, but luckily, for Felix liked puzzles. He was going to get Mari to like him, even if it took every ounce of strength and scheming he had in his body.

@mickeyaaliyah @lyssaisprobablynotaloser @firstclassdumbass I wanted to put it in the server but Google wouldn’t let me

@threebirdsinatrenchcoat @ladylupuscrow @kittynoirblog

If you guys want the next chapter here it is

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XXVII

Warnings: dark elements, dub/noncon (cummies!)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader tries to adjust to married life.

Note: At this point, is it really about anything other than the smut?

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

The night was restless. Every time you were about to doze, Steven rolled over again and took you. Just as fervent as the first time. In a way, it was easier but it hurt just the same. You were tender still and he only seemed encouraged by your squirms and squeals. You slept for an hour before the sun rose and when it did, it seared your eyes and threatened to crack your skull.

The king snored loudly, his arm across you. You carefully slipped away from him though you feared you would rouse him again. You searched out your torn shift on the floor. Useless. You tossed it into the chair and searched the room for cover as you shivered. A large robe hung from a hook and you neared it eagerly. As you touched the silk, the snoring ceased.

Your name rose from the bed and you turned, the sleeve in your hand. Steven sat up as he rubbed his eyes and scratched his jawline. “What are you doing over there?”

“I wanted to cover up,” You said. “I haven’t any clothing here and my trousseau awaits me in my chamber.”

“Your chamber...” He his arms above him and yawned, “Is no longer necessary.”

“Pardon?” You let go of the sleeve and turned to him fully. You tried to cover yourself with only your arms.

“We are married. I see no reason why we should reside apart; why our beds should be but one,” His hand fell to his lap. He stroked himself and was hard in an instant. He groaned and leaned back against the headboard. “Come here, wife.”

You hesitated. Your core ached as your thighs rubbed together and you took your first step towards him. You could not deny him now. You were husband and wife. You’d taken a vow. There was no excuse to be had and to find one could mean your head. 

You thought of Eleanor; thought of the nights she must have spent here; the nights she spent alone. The blood dripped along the edge of your vision.

“Up,” He patted the mattress as you neared.

You got up on your knees and he grabbed your wrist. He tugged you over to him and you could only straddle him as he took you by the waist. He pushed you down until you felt him prod you from below. He reached down and lined himself up with your entrance. He eased you down onto him and you whimpered.

“It still hurts?” He asked as he bottomed out. You nodded and bit your lip. “It will only help then.”

He began to rock you. You grabbed his shoulders and followed his lead. His hand slipped down and he pressed his thumb to your bud. You moaned and he smirked up at you. 

“See?” He hummed as he swirled around your clit. “That’s it, like that.”

He let go of your hip and reached to cradle your face. He held your chin firmly and forced you to look at him. Your lips parted as your breath grew more harried. He pulled you to him and kissed you. He plucked until you sang and threw your head back. You bucked as you came and for a second, the pain was gone.

It returned quickly as he flipped you over. He thrust into as he pinned you down by your shoulders. He held himself up as he watched himself slide in and out of you. His muscles rippled beneath his skin as he growled. You gripped his thick biceps as you mewled pathetically.

“That is the most beautiful sight, my queen,” He purred. “Look at how well you fit me.”

You blinked and felt the tears prick. Your own body continued to betray you. To bend to him as he used you. It was exactly as you expected. You weren’t anything more than object to him. A toy to be played with when he was bored. And disposed of when he tired of you.

His flesh clapped against yours loudly as he crashed into you even harder. He bounced you on the feather mattress. He rammed into you so hard you yelped. He tossed his head back as he plunged deeper and deeper. You beat at his chest as the barrage became unbearable. As your walls felt as if they would tear. There was no pleasure left in you.

“Stop!” You pleaded. “Oh, please, please, stop!”

“To serve and obey,” He snarled as he continued. “Isn’t… that… so… my… wife?”

He sank into you completely and his hips twitched. He came inside and sat back with a sigh. He wiped his shining forehead as his chest rose and fell quickly. He smiled and slowly pulled out of you. He fell down beside you as his cum dripped from you.

“I will have your chests packed and brought here upon the morrow but I have ordered that we not be disturbed for the day.” His hand strayed and grazed your stomach. “You won’t need your clothes until then, anyhow.”

👑

Your coronation would be the last festivity in the capital before the summer progress. A whole fortnight after your wedding. An interminable two weeks cloistered in the castle with your new husband. Your infatuated and insistent husband. With hands that never stopped touching you entirely, with an eye that always had you in its sight.

You were to wear purple and ermine. The tailor tried to convince you towards velvet but your mother argued it should see you unconscious in the mid-spring warmth. She also insisted that while the man would take your measurements, she would once more be in charge of the creation of the dress.

You barely had energy for any of it. Each night since the wedding was just as sleepless as the last. Half a week and it already felt like half a year. You were truly naive. You’d thought he would lose interest quickly. That’s what you had always thought, because he always did. Well, there was time yet.

When you finished your fitting, you were due to attend your ladies. It was odd, sitting in Eleanor’s place. It was the only use for your chambers now. The bedchamber was firmly shut and the receiving chamber was set out with stools and benches to accommodate the women as they sat around and entertained themselves with poetry, sewing, and gossip. It was surreal to have them bow to you; to have a title beyond ‘lady’, to have them look on you with an envy so close to fear.

When you entered that day, it was the same. Your guards remained at the door as you apologized for your tardiness. The ladies stood and bent, though Rose struggled to do either. She sat next to the seat reserved for you. You crossed to the tall armchair and sat as the rest did the same.

“No need to apologize,” Rose said as she lowered herself with a hand on her rounding stomach. “A queen need not apologize.”

“Mmm,” You nodded and tried to smile at the women. 

The castle felt more and more like a prison. The time you were allotted away from the king was a mere farce. It wasn’t near enough and the time you spent together, you were his. You weren’t his wife or his queen, just his. It made you restless like an animal in a cage.

“Ladies, were we in the mood for poetry today?” You asked tentatively. They never truly answered. None would say no even if they weren’t.

Marion’s eyes were behind you, a dreamy cloud behind them. You followed her gaze and looked to the open window. A soft spring breeze blew in and carried a hint of the rain that had come the day before. It smelled like flowers and dirt. It smelled like freedom.

“Perhaps, we might go to the garden and read,” You announced. “Or maybe just for a stroll. It was such a grey winter.”

The women nodded and muttered their ascent. Again, you could never really tell if it was true agreement or simple pandering. You stood and they did too. Rose struggled and you reached for her arm as Beatrice did the same. She chuckled as you lifted her to her feet.

“I might find a bench and watch the birds,” Rose said. “Not much walking to be had for me.”

“Whatever you wish,” You assured her. “Any of you. But the gardens have been freshly tended and it’s a wonderful day outside. I should like to bask in it before we are to leave the castle.”

The ladies’ faces brightened and you smiled. You glanced one last time to the window and breathed in the cool air. You would pick some flowers for the king’s chamber to brighten it. To add warmth to the dark and foreboding place that haunted both your waking and few sleeping hours. It would be a brief distraction. Short, but welcome nonetheless.

You marched through the circle of women and pulled the doors open yourself. The guards turned to you quizzically as you strode out into the corridor. You could see they meant to remand you but you knew they could not contradict a queen. 

“We are going to the gardens,” You said, “Would you be so kind as to escort us?”

The guards looked to each other and nodded. The other women streamed out between them as their voices mingled and echoed along the stone. You smiled and took Rose’s hand as she waddled out at the rear of the pack. You clung to her and sighed.

“Let’s go.”

👑

The hedges were green and lush. You recalled the barren brambles of the winter, the snow that shrouded them. The whistling winter gales were replaced by chirping birds and skittering critters. The sun shone down from its apex in the sky and basked the world in its glory.

You helped Rose sit and Beatrice sat beside her. You thought of how you should feel in a similar condition; round and even more helpless. Perhaps it would be a reprieve from the king. Perhaps it wouldn’t. You closed your eyes and turned away from the pair of ladies. 

You hated thinking of the future. You had dreaded this marriage and this day for so long, that you couldn’t anymore. Eleanor loomed over your every move, your every thought, and you couldn’t bear it. Death came to all and there was nothing to do against it. Be it by the sword or by the clock.

“Excuse me, my ladies, if I do wander upon my own,” You said. “You might do the same and find some pretty flowers.”

They bowed their heads and watched you as you neared the hedges and ran your hand over the leaves. There were daffodils lined around the fountain at the centre of the gardens and a rainbow of tulips along the way. You set off towards the great flowing goliath as it splashed, weaving between the hedges and plots; careful not to tread on the spring blooms.

Your guard followed at several paces. He was never far. You sat on the edge of the fountain and dipped your hand in the cool clear water, a litter of loose leaves and petals across the pool. You looked at yourself in its depths. You didn’t feel like a queen; if anything you felt ever more powerless. This life was not your own. These mournful thoughts came over you even when you swore them off. 

You let out a wistful sigh and thought of the coming progress. You would ask the king if you could ride to Terry Castle that season; Edward’s family keep. You could see your sister and meet your nephew. The possibility enlivened you. You smiled at yourself in the water.

The sound of hooves interrupted your rare moment of joy. You looked up as your guard gripped his pommel and peered across the hedges to the ladies. A dozen horses galloped upon the gardens and you watched the party draw to a halt before the stone bench where rose sat. The other women were speckled among the greenery like flowers.

Steven led his men on his tall steed. He dismounted easily and approached the pregnant woman and her companion at their perch. His men followed him, their boots kicking up the dirt as they did. You stood and wrung your hands as you watched the king greet the ladies with a bow and the boom of his timorous voice.

Rose answered and the king turned to glance around. He found you in an instant and nodded to the women as he left them behind. He strode down the winding path and brushed past your guard with a wave of his hand. The armoured sentinel retreated back to where the others gathered.

“My queen, you did not tell me you would visit the gardens this day?” He reached to you as he neared.

“It was spontaneous,” You answered as you took his hand. He drew you close and kissed your cheek. “The weather is so fine that we could think of nothing else.”

“A marvelous idea,” He assured as he clung to you. “Might I accompany you on your excursion?”

“Certainly. I do not know these gardens so well as a queen should,” You allowed and tried not to recoil. A brief respite, indeed.

“They have been hard at work in tending it all” He pointed ahead to the tall hedges at the rear of the fountain as he pulled you around it. “My father had the labyrinth designed during his reign. He would hold a game here in the summer. A peach would be hidden within and its finder would be prized a purse of gold.”

“Oh,” You stood before the wall of green and peered back over your shoulder. “It sounds a most exciting game.”

“My queen, do not worry,” He tugged on you until you turned back to him. “I have never been lost in this maze… but perhaps we can play a game of our own.”

You looked to him as you stood in the archway crafted of vines and leaves. He turned you to him and leaned in close. His breath glossed over your lips as he rubbed his nose against yours. 

“I shall count,” He said. “And when I have reached one hundred I shall come find you.” He pressed his lips to yours and lingered hungrily. “If I do not find you before you escape, you shall have a new necklace.”

“And if you do?” You looked up at him.

“Then I shall think of a prize of my own,” He smirked and ran his hands along your sides. “So I shall turn and close my eyes and begin my count.”

“I am slowed by my skirts, my king, and I did not think to change into my boots.” You said.

“Then I will add fifty to my count,” He countered as he released you and turned slowly away. “One,” He began, “Two,” He lifted his hands to cover his eyes. “Three…”

You stared at him until he reached five then dove into the maze of hedges. You could hear the voices of the lords and ladies not far behind. The deeper you got, the more they faded. The shadows hung over you as the sun peeked over the walls and you twisted and turned frantically. Perhaps you might not find your way out but you might lose yourself so entirely that even Steven could not find you.

You turned another corner and tripped upon a stone. You fell into the dirt, your blue skirts stained with it. You pushed yourself back up to your feet and listened for the king’s voice. You couldn’t tell if he had finished or you had descended too deep to hear. You scurried on as you held your skirts up over your slippered feet.

And then you did hear him. A footstep and then another. You dove down another path as you tried to quiet your breath. You wound away from the sound of his boots as he pursued you, no doubt able to hear you in kind. You fought to run against your heavy skirts and dodged around the next corner.

He was there. You’d sworn his steps had faded behind you but there he was. Expecting you even, as he smiled back at you. It reminded you of the hunt; the day he’d presented you the felled stag; his eyes were dilated with anticipation. You stumbled back as he lunged for you. You couldn’t help but let out a shrill yelp as he did.

You wriggled against him as he chuckled. “My queen, I believe I’ve won our little game,” He declared as you struggled against him. “And I should claim my prize.”

“Your prize?” You gasped as he spun you and pushed you against a hedge. You almost sunk into it as he leaned his weight on you.

“Oh yes.” He ran his fingertips along your throat and down your chest. He pushed them beneath the top of your bodice and hummed. “You are my prize. I could want for nothing else.”

“Here?” You blinked as you looked around.

“There are none other in this maze and if they are, it would be rare fortune for them to stumble upon us.” He slipped his fingers from your bodice and continued down your figure. “But if they should…then it would be upon them to explain why they should intrude upon a married couple,” He grinned as he drew his hand away and picked at the top of his trousers. “You must abide by the rules of the game.”

He tugged loose his pants and pulled his member free of the fabric. He was hard and eager. He stroked himself as he leered down at you. You reached back to grasp the leaves of the hedge. You were on fire to think he should bear himself beneath the open sky. At what else he meant to do in the light of the sun.

He bent and gathered your skirts in his arms as he pushed them up. You tried to shove them back down but found yourself bundled up in the fabric. He held the silk in one arm as his other hooked around your leg and he drew it up so that you wobbled on one foot. You were forced to grab onto him to keep from falling.

“I did think of this many times,” He moved his hips as his cock poked between your legs. It took him several tries before he was able to guide himself along your folds. “That day upon the hunt, I did dream of chasing you off into the trees.” He prodded until he slipped inside and you gasped. “Of dragging you from your horse and taking you against a wild oak.”

He sheathed himself entirely and you grasped the wool of his jacket between your fingers. The golden thread that marked his chest was rough against your palms. He thrust and nearly took you off the ground as your slipper slid through the dirt. The hedge poked at your back every time he rocked his hips.

He grunted and groaned as he moved against you. Your skirts bunched between your bodies and hung behind you. He bent and scooped up your other leg. You exclaimed as he lifted you entirely and glided you up and down his cock. You looked into his face, surprised and mortified as the heat began to stir. His pelvis rubbed against your bud and the warmth threatened to spread.

You began to pant as you followed his motion. You forgot about the lords and ladies just outside the maze, of the hot sun beating down on the dirt, of how he’d spoiled your afternoon. There was only your bodies and the shameful way he stole your pleasure from you.

“And now I think of how when we leave this maze,” He breathed against your cheek as he pushed you against the hedge. “You will walk with my seed upon your thighs. That you should try to walk as if I have not just fucked you.” He moaned and you couldn’t but echo him. “As I do plan to fuck you this night, as well.”

You were rabid. You squeezed your legs around his hands and tilted your hips against him. You needed to cum badly. It all built up so quickly; the stress, the regret, the self-pity, and your only relief was the few seconds of rapture. And though you dreaded his intrusions, you longed for them just as much.

You buried your head in his neck and moaned into his collar as you came. He jerked into you decisively, a pause between each thrust as he gloried in your surrender. And he came too. He grunted as his fingers dug into the flesh of your legs. H pounded into you as deep as he could. He emptied himself in you and slowed until he was still and panting to the sky.

“If only we could remain here forever,” He sighed. “I should like nothing better to keep you here in my labyrinth. To lose ourselves entirely.”

You trembled as you lifted your head. His eyes found yours and he wiggled his hip. You squirmed and mewled at the movement. He bent his knees as he lowered you back to the ground and slid out of you. He held your skirts up as he watched his cum spill from you. He licked his lip and dropped the fabric to hide the mess.

“My queen,” He reached to fix your hood as you smoothed out your skirts. 

He straightened his collar and laced up his trousers. He pushed his shoulders back and let out a low growl. He offered his arm and you took it, still in a daze as your body buzzed. He drew you away from the hedges. 

“Let us return to our party before they should wonder.” He preened and rubbed himself through his pants. “Though I might have you again before we find our way out.”

[elmelloill]

Lucky Jacket

AUs are dangerous because sometimes you’ll write a chapter and then your friend will draw art for it and then you’ll end up talking about the clothes characters wear and then you end up writing 2500 words in the AU that don’t belong anywhere in the fic but you just have them now so you’ve gotta post them somewhere, right? 

Anyway. This is because @matte-bat and i started talking about Klavier’s leather jacket on twitter. 

Drabble for my klapollo college AU, Anyway, Here’s Guilty Love, taking place the next semester so I can ignore all the angst stuff that hasn’t actually happened in the fic yet. 

As always, god I hope the readmore works on mobile otherwise i’m sorry

Klavier Gavin was, in general, a very punctual person. Although fashionable in everything else, he was rarely fashionably late, and so when Apollo spent fifteen minutes sitting in the quad waiting for his boyfriend to arrive for their date that evening, he started to get legitimately concerned.

Two texts had already gone unanswered. Frowning at his phone, Apollo sat on the picnic bench, tapping his toe, for another thirty seconds before deciding he might as well try to figure out what was going on. And if Klavier was on his way, the two of them would just run into each other.

That’s what Apollo fully expected to happen, but he made it all the way to the Gavinners house without encountering any tall platinum blonds. Somewhat perplexed, he stood on the doorstep for a moment, and just as he was about to knock, the door opened in front of him.

“Hey, Klav—” he began, but it was Daryan on the other side of the door.

“Good, you’re here,” Daryan said. He looked troubled, and Apollo felt a flutter of worry in his stomach.

“Yeah, uh, is Klavier…”

“He’s fine,” Daryan assured him, rolling his eyes. “He’s just having…a moment.”

“O…kay?”

Daryan leaned against the wall. “You know his leather jacket, right? The one that like, starts to dissolve if he wears it in the rain?”

Apollo nodded. He knew it very well.

It had been a gift from Klavier’s host family in Germany. To many, the jacket might have been deemed unwearable many years ago, but Klavier had been very creative. Loose threads had been diligently trimmed, fraying edges artfully concealed, lost zipper pulls replaced with tiny silver Gavinners charms. The sleeves, too short after Klavier’s high school growth spurt, were in a state of being permanently rolled up, and Klavier managed to make it look like the hem was supposed to be cropped short by pairing the jacket with well-chosen graphic tees. The entire thing probably would have been uncomfortably tight around his shoulders by now if years of wear hadn’t gently stretched and softened the leather—it had quite literally grown with him.

Klavier’s attachment to the jacket was a bit of a puzzle, but then again, many things about Klavier were a bit of a puzzle. He had come back from Germany with a whole new vocabulary, after all, so it wasn’t too strange that he had also returned with a jacket that apparently doubled as something of a security blanket. Klavier called it “good luck,” but whether there was any rationale behind that declaration remained unknown.

“Well, it ripped,” Daryan explained.

Apollo frowned, confused. He was fairly certain the jacket had already ripped, multiple times, and Klavier had been playing it off as an intentional fashion choice for at least a year.

“Okay, understatement,” Daryan went on, noticing Apollo’s doubt. “One of the elbows disintegrated.”

Apollo’s frown turned to a grimace. “Ah.”

“Yeah. So he’s, uh, mourning, I guess.”

Of course he was.

Apollo sighed. “I’ll go talk to him.”

The door to Klavier’s bedroom was slightly ajar, so Apollo pushed his way hesitantly into the room.

Klavier sat cross-legged on the floor, the jacket spread out on his lap. He held the sleeve in one hand and a needle and thread in the other, and he was apparently attempting to sew a patch over the missing elbow. A questionable choice, Apollo thought, but he could probably pull it off.

As Apollo watched, Klavier very slowly poked the needle through the sleeve, and very slowly dragged the thread through. It almost worked, but as he pulled to tighten the thread, a crack snaked through the leather and the material around the thread crumbled into pieces. Klavier’s shoulders slumped.

“Verdammt,” he muttered.

“Hey, Klav,” Apollo said quietly, and Klavier jumped.

“Oh! Apollo,” he said, brushing a hand through his bangs in an attempt to hide how startled he had been. Then his eyes widened. “Oh. Shit. What time is it?”

Apollo chuckled. “You’re very late.”

Klavier looked pained. “Ach. Schatzi, I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. I heard there’s been a tragedy.” He dropped to the floor next to Klavier to take a closer look at the jacket. “Eugh. That doesn’t look good.”

Klavier sighed. “I’m afraid I’m just making it worse.”

“Hm.” Apollo wished he could say otherwise, but it really did seem like the sleeve was beyond repair. “And you can’t wear it like that?”

Apollo was doubtful, but he wouldn’t put anything past Klavier.

Dejectedly, Klavier shrugged the jacket on. No, there really isn’t any way to make that look stylish, is there?

The end of the torn sleeve looked awkwardly orphaned from the rest of the jacket, and as Klavier experimentally bent his arm, the rip in the material only broadened.

Even so, Klavier looked somewhat hopeful, as if he wished Apollo would tell him it really didn’t look all that bad, actually.

“Hm,” Apollo said instead. The glint of hope in Klavier’s eyes died.

He sighed heavily and gingerly removed the jacket, resting it on his lap again. The two of them looked down at it.

“Klavier,” Apollo said slowly. Sometimes, after a long life, old leather jackets have to move on to the big motorcycle gang in the sky, where their zippers never get stuck and they can listen to as much rock music as they want… “I think you need a new jacket.”

Klavier sniffed. “But…”

“Besides,” Apollo pointed out, “it’s not even cold enough for a jacket.” It was October—outside was a balmy 76 degrees.

Klavier pouted. “It was part of my outfit,” he said, his voice quiet. He ran a finger over the torn edge.

Apollo bumped their shoulders together. “I’m sorry, Klav. I know it was your favorite.”

Klavier gave a small, disconsolate nod, then carefully folded the jacket and stood.

“You’re probably starving,” he said apologetically. “We can go.”

He took a moment to place the jacket on his bed, then followed Apollo downstairs.

“You can hang it on your wall,” Apollo suggested. “You know—Miles Edgeworth style.”

Klavier blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Okay, Apollo. Point made. It’s just a jacket, after all.”

Apollo’s bracelet squeezed slightly at that, but he decided to let it slide.

~~~

Apollo Justice was on a mission.

When Clay woke up Saturday morning the following week, he looked across the room to see Apollo already awake and dressed, sitting at his desk and poring over his laptop.

“Are you doing homework…?” he asked doubtfully. Although Apollo was perhaps slightly more studious than average, 10 a.m. on a Saturday was a little much.

Apollo didn’t even look his direction. “No. Hey, do you know any good thrift stores? Besides these ones.”

Squinting at Apollo’s screen, Clay could see a map of the city, scattered with red pins.

“Uh, not really. Why are you looking for thrift stores?”

Apollo needed for a thrift store because both shopping malls that he could reach via city bus had proven woefully inadequate when it came to providing a replacement for a cherished leather jacket. He was moving on to Plan B.

He explained the situation to Clay, who apparently knew Klavier well enough by this point that he wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“Well,” Clay said. “I didn’t really have any plans for today, anyway.”

Apollo blinked. “You don’t need to come…”

“I’m closer to his size, aren’t I? Let’s find your boyfriend a jacket.”

Then Clay called Ema, who apparently knew the jacket’s history and was surprisingly sympathetic, and Ema called Kay, who was the only one in their extended friend group who had a car. Soon the four of them were pulling away from campus in Kay’s black sedan, Ema in the passenger seat while Apollo called out directions from his phone from the back.

The first store was a bust for leather jackets, although Kay found some sunglasses and Ema spent a long time looking at ties. Clay snatched up a nebula sweatshirt at the next shop, and Apollo actually found really nice suit vest at the third. The fourth store had a wide selection of jackets, but they were all either too worn, too big, or the wrong color.

By late afternoon, Apollo was starting to get very discouraged. The number of stores on his list was dwindling, and, while the four of them had all found some great cheap purchases, their original goal was yet unfulfilled.

“Maybe you can contact the host family,” Kay suggested as they left the second-to-last store. “Find out what brand it is, and buy one online?”

He had thought of that, although he hadn’t needed to go so far as to reach out to the family—he remember the tag on the inside of the jacket. And although the original wasn’t in stock anymore, there were numerous others he could have chosen from—if he wanted to spend his next two paychecks from Mr. Wright, that was. He sighed.

“That’s kind of a last resort,” he admitted. Klavier deserved it, of course, but…ouch.

But his optimism was wearing thin by the time they walked into the final store on his list. It was one of the nicer places they had visited—Kay was immediately drawn to a display of gloves, and Ema drifted over to the selection of button-down shirts—but when Apollo finally found the men’s jackets, he knew right away he would be disappointed. There was one leather jacket, but he could already tell it was too big.

But the rest of his friends were still looking around, so he wandered the aisles absently, running his fingers across a rack of shirts.

“Ah! Pollo!”

Apollo looked up sharply to see Clay skid to a stop at the end of the aisle. He spread his arms wide. He was wearing a leather jacket.

For a moment, Apollo could only stare.

“It’s…that’s…”

“Perfect, right?” Clay said. “And it’s super comfortable, too. I literally don’t want to take it off.”

Reluctant to celebrate just yet, Apollo walked in a circle around Clay, half-expecting to find that the back of the jacket was covered in some elaborate rhinestone monstrosity, or that it had some weird smell. But it was just a classic black leather jacket with a few tasteful zippered pockets, and it seemed barely worn. It fit Clay really well, too, and although Clay was shorter than Klavier, they had a similar build.

“Where did you find it?” He was faintly afraid that a customer would storm up to them imminently and accuse Clay of snatching the article of clothing out of their own basket.

Clay gestured vaguely. “Over there, on a rack. Someone must have put it back in the wrong spot.”

Tentatively, Apollo flipped over the price tag, and exhaled in relief. A little pricey, but nothing like the ones he had seen online.

“It’s perfect,” he agreed finally. Clay beamed.

The four of them made their purchases and returned to campus. Back in his room Apollo carefully wrapped up the jacket in tissue paper and put it in a plain paper shopping back that he had lying around. Then he paused.

Klavier’s birthday had passed in the summer. Their six-month anniversary had been last month. Christmas was much too long from now. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t just give Klavier a gift out of the blue, but it would be nice if there was some occasion…

He was idly scrolling through Facebook that evening when it came to him.

One this day: one year ago.

Belong was the image Klavier had made to advertise the first meeting of the Ivy Pre-Law Society.

That’s as good an excuse as any, he thought, smiling, even if it was a couple days off.

He texted Klavier to make sure he was around, then headed over to the Gavinners house.

Sam let him in. Klavier was in his room, sitting at his desk doing homework. On a Saturday night. Apollo would never not find it amusing that his boyfriend was a bigger nerd than he was.

Klavier turned around curiously when Apollo rapped a knuckle lightly against the door.

“Schatzi,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “what’s up?”

Apollo held out the bag. “Don’t worry, you didn’t need to get me anything.”

Frowning, Klavier accepted it. “What’s this?”

“Your, uh, we-started-our-club-one-year-ago present,” Apollo explained. He shrugged. “I dunno. Just open it.”

Klavier dug into the bag and unwrapped the jacket. His mouth fell open.

“Apollo…” he breathed.

Apollo rubbed his neck. “I know your old one meant a lot to you, and I know I can’t really replace it, but…I dunno, this one probably isn’t as nice? But it seemed really comfortable, so, um…” He bit his lip. “Hopefully it fits, at least?”

Wordlessly, Klavier unzipped the jacket and put it on. It did fit, like a glove. Klavier straightened out the sleeves and seemed momentarily surprised that they reached all the way to his wrists.

“Apollo,” he began, as he adjusted the lapels and flipped up the collar, “you didn’t have to…”

“Well, I wanted to,” Apollo said. Then he smiled wryly. “And you’re not really acting like someone who’s actually about to refuse a gift.”

Klavier, who was partway through securing the zipper, paused. He reddened slightly. “Well. It is very comfortable…”

Apollo laughed. “Good. It looks good.”

Klavier lifted his head, and Apollo noticed that his eyes looked a little shinier than usual. “Thank you, Apollo. This is…you really didn’t have to, but…it’s perfect.”

Apollo relaxed. “I know it’s not really the same as the old one…” he started to say, but Klavier shook his head.

“That one was special because it was a gift from people I care about,” he replied. “And so is this, ja? No less special.” He stretched his shoulders. “And look—no splitting seams!”

“I really can’t believe the old one lasted that long,” Apollo marveled.

Klavier took a breath. “Debatable that it really lasted,” he admitted. He stood and crossed the room to check his reflection in the mirror hanging behind his door. “I may actually be able to wear this for a concert without worrying about a wardrobe malfunction.”

Apollo narrowed his eyes. “Do you ever actually worry about that?”

Tilting his head, Klavier considered this. “No, not really. All part of the show, ja?” He grinned at Apollo over his shoulder, and Apollo rolled his eyes.

Klavier admired his reflection for a moment longer, then turned. “But schatz, now I feel bad. I did not get you a club anniversary present.”

“Eh, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to me.”

“Will I now?” Klavier’s lips spread into a smile. He came to stand in front of Apollo, resting his hands on Apollo’s waist.

Apollo tried to suppress his own smile as he looked up at Klavier. “Yeah, you’re smart, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Klavier murmured, leaning in and capturing his lips.

Apollo responded by grabbing the lapels of Klavier’s jacket and pulling him closer. It was strangely satisfying to do so without worrying that the fabric might come apart in his hands.  

~~~

The next morning, Apollo woke to a text from Clay.

Clay [10:03 AM]: so...... i guess klavier liked his new jacket

One of Apollo’s arms was trapped awkwardly under a snoozing Klavier’s head, so he typed out a succinct message with one hand.

Apollo [10:04 AM]: shut up

Clay [10:04 AM]: you’re welcome ;)

[pendragonfics]

The Sock Scenario

Paring: Pietro Maximoff/Reader

Tags: female reader, fluff, angst, Pietro Maximoff lives, socks

Summary: Reader's job description says 'sock fixer' in fine print (who even reads the fine print?). It so happens, Pietro wears through many pairs of socks a day.

Word Count: 1,348

Posting Date:  2016-06-01

Current Date: 2017-05-13

Your job description said sock fixer.

Yes, in the small print, underneath 'gopher' and 'personal assistant to the Avengers'. Maybe you should have read the fine print a little closer, because all it seemed you did lately was fix the great Pietro Maximoff's socks from their holes and wear and tear and cram in your other jobs around the chore.

After the first hundred and eighty pairs were trashed, Tony refused to buy any more for the speedster, leaving you in your current plight.

Come the day a scientist invented Pietro-proof socks, and you would finally sleep well at night. Hell, even the other day you dreamed of darning his socks back together.

What had your life come to?

"Hey, _______, could you run this over to Barton? I need his opinion on the new uniforms," you hear Tony handing you a tablet. "Don't tell me -,"

"I just sewed this pair up yesterday," you tell your boss, humming in slight annoyance. Glancing up, you see he's also got two mugs of somehow heavenly instant coffee, and he's sliding the other white cup your way, as he takes a seat. "Hey, boss? Got any time to convince Dr. Banner to make a magic science-y thread that will never tear?"

Tony smiles over his cup. "What, and leave you without a job?"

You snort. "That's all I do, these days. Fix socks and run errands. I used to file! Deliver messages! Have coffee breaks! Rub shoulders with S. H. I. E. L. D. personnel! Now I'm a darn sock fixer."

He claps your back in good nature. "I'll give you a pay raise if that's what's bothering you? I'll double it?"

You laugh. "Gosh, no, Mr. Stark, keep your money. Thank you for the coffee and the affirmations, but I'm just a little overrun with socks." You take a sip of the drink. Perfect. "No pun intended. Either time."

He chuckles, and goes to leave. "Pay raise, coming right up. Don't forget to be a good gopher to show Barton the tablet, okay?"

You nod. "Five minutes and I'll go. I'll be done this sock by then."

Little did you know, Pietro, the fast-footed sprinter, had overheard all that you and Tony had talked about on his way to train with Wanda. Before he knew it, a sinking feeling erupted inside his chest, and at once, he was at his sister's side.

"What do you do if there's something you have to stop because it inconveniences someone else?" he asked Wanda.

The dark haired Scarlet Witch pushed past him to the cookie jar on the bench, "I tell it to their face, to stop them being a nuisance to me," she told her brother with a straight face. "Could you move? You're in front of the plate cupboard."

He nodded. "Ah, I see what you did there." At once, Pietro was out of the way, seated at the breakfast bar. "I have to stop being a troublemaker, and be ... what is the word?"

"An adult?" She put forth. "Non-irritating? Responsible?"

Pietro nodded silently. "Yes, that's the one. Responsible."

"Now, come on, or we are going to be late for the Captain's training." Wanda chomped on her cookie, grabbing her brother's wrist. "This, uh, change of heart, it isn't about the cute Avengers' assistant you have an abnormally large crush on, is it?"

A blush similar to his sister's outfit rose onto Pietro's neck. "How - ,"

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'm not blind, Pietro. Do you forget I can read minds? I can tell by all the signs that you're into ______ _______. I'm sure by your lack of ability to hide it that everyone knows by now."

---

"If he wears through anymore, I swear..." you muttered, placing the last fixed pair of socks down on your desk. You'd managed your normal jobs around the darning of footwear; Clint had approved the uniform changes, Thor got his caramel frappuccino by nine o'clock, Ms. Romanoff had you duck out to grab her reserved order at the sports shop downtown (you'd never in your life held so many knives before), and; forty pairs of socks were now fixed.

"Have you seen Vision? I need to give him something," Wanda sided up to your desk, her eyes watching you work.

"No, I haven't, I'm sorry, Wanda. Maybe he's in his thinking spot by the window upstairs, he's often there." you suggested.

The sister of the speedster nodded in understanding, and gesturing to the bundles of white, winced, "Those are all my of brother's socks?" she inquired.

"Yep," You nod. "All of 'em. And they're fixed, and ready to go back into use, thanks to me."

The scarlet witch stroked her arm, and bated a grin. "Maybe one day the smart people will invent special socks for him - ones that don't smell of him and tear less easy!" She cheered. "Do you want me to tell him to take them away?"

You shook your head, standing. It had been a while since you'd been on your feet, and they ached with pins and needles and the static that came on TV when there was no channel. "No, I need to move around, I've been sitting too long. Have - have fun with Vision."

Gathering all the socks into your arms, you trace your steps to the elevator, and request Pietro's floor to the A. I. The journey is swift - and so is a breeze that knocks you over when you exit.

"Shi-Shea butter!" You cuss. All the socks are on the floor, like round fluffy non-edible Easter eggs. At once, you dive down to gather them all up again.

"________! I am so sorry!" You look up, and regret it at once. Your heart stops every time you see Pietro, and his adorable eyes and his stubble and dorky smile, and this time is no different. Except, you're trying to be professional and you're on duty and he's right in front of you.

"No - no problem," you squeak.

And then you see it.

Pietro has gathered all your socks together to return to him, but on his own feet, are the most frayed, broken, holey socks you've ever seen of his.

And for some reason, you burst into tears.

"Oh no! ________! What - are you okay? What has happened?" Pietro's eyes are wider than saucers and can't see why you'd spontaneously start crying like that. His hands ghost around your arms, unsure of what to touch, and the elevator doors open to reveal Wanda and Vision lip-locked, also confused by the situation. "Sis? What do I do?" He whispers.

Through your tears, you wave him off. "Don't worry, Pietro, I'm just being silly..."

His face darkens. "I'm a hero and I have to save the world. How can I save your world and stop you crying all over the socks?"

Vision gestures to the pair he's wearing. "______ is upset by having fixed all the socks to see you are wearing a pair that they need to fix next. I believe they feel like the job does not end."

Pietro's heart sinks. "I am sorry, ________. I kept wearing these because I didn't want to make you fix even more pairs of socks, but -,"

"It's okay, really," you whisper. "I'm just being  silly."

Wanda makes a noise. "I can enchant the socks to never wear! Why didn't I think of this earlier?" She announces, and rushing over between her twin and you, the teary assistant, shoots red light over the socks. "There. All fixed."

Vision nodded. "Now if you will excuse us, we are going to make out in Wanda's room."

Pietro stares at them dumbfounded.

"Why didn't she think of that earlier -," you start. But your words are cut off by Pietro, who connects his lips with yours in what has to be the best kiss of the century.

"I'm sorry if you don't feel that way -," Pietro starts, breaking away from your mouth, his breath hot. "But I have like you -,"

You smirk. "Shut up, sock destroyer and kiss me again. I like you too."