#jazz hands towards my art

[sketchy-tour]

Using whiteboard as a stress relief doodle place for a bit and now I have indeed drawn them...in the Grease Musical

[zaephix]

l'avoir elle, c'est avoir les étoiles / / wriothesley . . .

wriothesley considered himself a pretty selfless man, until it came to you. wouldn’t you indulge him in his selfish desires for a moment of your time?

warnings: inspired by veil (manga), blind!reader, f!reader, ooc wriothesley?, wriothesley’s pov, mentions of smoking, mentions of neuvilette and sigewinne, fluff, domesticity

w/c: 1.25k

authors note:  i reread veil and i need an aleksander to call my own hmu if ur a russian police officer w red hair Plz. art cred: ルル on twt

“wrio? what’s wrong?”

wriothesley fully opens his half lidded eyes, noting your appearance as you lay on the table before him, not wanting to disturb his contemplation.

the only sound at this time of the night being your voices, the distant echoes of droplets from the pipes in the wall, and the soft jazz playing from his gramophone. you slowly get up and approach him, light steps clicking against the stone floor.

your hands find their way to his face, a light stubble itching against your fingers. he sighs, leaning against you. “...nothin’ to worry your pretty little head about.”

you hum, obviously not believing his lie. you drag your fingers to the back of his head, lightly scratching his scalp. you lean in towards him, the couch dipping ever so slightly. “mhm. is it the fortress again? ‘nother fight?” 

he chuckles, leaning his head back. the one thing he loved about you was your attentiveness. you’d read him like a book, or rather,  feel.

you tilted your head in confusion, your pretty and ever-so-long lashes fluttering while closed against your skin. “what?”

“nothin’ angel. just admiring you.”

“y’know, if you wanted to distract me it’s not working. the way to my heart isn’t just built on flattery. and anyone could see through those big sighs of yours.” and you go again, flashing that cheeky smile as you always did, the same as when you two were younger.

he laughs lightly, “of course 'ts not. i know you better than that.”

“and i know you better than that,” your hands stop, and you look at him with the most serious face you could muster, “tell me.”

he sighs and shakes his head, “it’s a lot more complicated than that sweetheart, don’t wanna bore you to death.”

and with that you relent with your own deep sigh, leaning back into the couch and off of him. he misses your warmth.

“don’t be like that (y/n).” he looks at you through the sides of his eyes, then gently reaches for your hand, caressing it with his thumb. “you got so much to worry ‘bout already, with how many are coming in all roughed up.”

“yes…” you mumble, “but, it’s just us now.”

he can’t see your eyes, as they’re closed, but he was sure they’d be glossy now—he wishes you’d open them once more. wriothesley leans in and plants a small kiss against your forehead, then leans his own against it.

he knows your weakness for touch, for physical contact. 

the way your delicate hands would softly caress every nook and cranny of a trinket he’d get you. the way you’d feel for a lamp when you thought things were too dim for your liking. the way you’d toy with the jewelry hanging on your neck, ears and wrists. it seemed like you couldn’t get enough.

he also knows about your compassion for him. always keeping tabs throughout the day, sending little sweets and snacks for him. you’d handle patients with sigewinne with gentleness, even when they were somewhat undeserving of it. and when you’d have work above ground, you make sure to send letters to sigewinne, keeping up with her updates about him. 

wriothesley knows you miss living up in the city. he knows you long for the soft tunes that would be performed in the dim-lit streets at night, tossing a few mora into their hats lying on the sidewalk. he knows you miss keeping up with the latest fashion trends and splurging your money on tens of dresses. he knows you miss your old life with him.

and so in spite of this, you still stood by him. ever so selfless and caring.

but he couldn’t help himself out of his own selfishness.

wriothesley pulls you into his lap, his rough hands pushing back the few loose strands of hair in front of your face behind your ears. to everyone he’d be known as the fearless duke of meropide, to you, he’d just be plain old wriothesley. your loving, plain, old wriothesley.

you’re reluctant at first, a pout standing firm on your face. your delicate features almost give you away as he slowly snakes his arms around you. he pulls you closer by your waist and you give in just like putty in his palms. 

your eyes are still comfortably closed, hands making their way lazily to his shoulders. you sniff the air around you two, scrunching your nose. “you’ve been smoking, my lord?”

“...no.”

“you’ve got all these rules around the fortress about extending prison time if anybody ever so as brings in a lighter, and yet you’re here, in your office, all cooped up and–”

you squeal as he puts his lips to yours to shut you up. you taste like crepes and jam, courtesy of neuvillette. the soft velvet feel of your lipstick smears against him, some even getting on his teeth. sigewinne was in his office just a day ago asking about what shade of red or pink would suit you. it appears she chose well. he smiles into the kiss, hands digging their way into your hair. he makes a note to thank both for the gifts.

you pull away with a slight gasp before resuming like the sly fox you were. you were always able to catch on quickly, as you’d learn a few things from him yourself. 

you nibble on his lip. he lightly bites yours’ back.

you stifle your giggles at first, but then you laugh, and suddenly, your complexion was glowing — and he swore he’d seen an angel. 

wriothesley looks up at you with a fondness in his eyes, hands now at your waist. he was sure he looked silly, with the reddish pink all over his lips, but he knew you wouldn’t care. really.

“shutting me up with a kiss… how original of you.”

“but you liked it, no?” that earns him a flick against his forehead, ouch.

you sit up straight, wiping the edges of your lips, “if you’ll excuse me, sir, i promised sigewinne i’d help her in stocking the medical cabinet. we’ve just received our shipment of gauze from fontaine.”

he knew you wouldn’t notice it, but he couldn’t help but look at you with longing in his eyes, wanting to shield you away and coop you inside his office, inside his arms.

but he lets you go with a sigh on his lips and a gentle kiss of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. “yes, ma’am,” he pauses before he adds on. “you want me to walk you there?”

you stand up and he gets up synonymously with you, tugging and fixing your clothes without a word. “it’s fine, i can get around the place myself, i’m not a damsel in need of help all the time.”

you turn on your tippy toes and press a chaste kiss to the side of his mouth before quickly grabbing your coat and leaving. “i’ll see you again soon, okay?”

he smiles after you, watching as you leave with your shoes clicking against the stone of the floor. he looks back at his desk with grimace, the piles of paperwork enough to sour his mood.

he grabs a cigarette and reaches for his pockets, trying to find the cool metal of his lighter. instead, it appears, he was met with something else.

“what…?”

he realizes now that you truly were too sly for your own good, as he was met with the very same lipstick gifted to you.

cheeky.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Love you writing, though i don't have a favorite Alfred's boy is in my current list to reread. I had an idea that i saw about Dick and his taste in partners and Jazz fits the type competent red heads. Anyway my prompt is Dick gathering his exes (Wally, Babs, and Kori) to meet help him woo his current crush Jazz Fenton. From there it could btanch off many different ways like Jazz showing off Wack Fenton shenanigans or maybe like midway he sees one of his brothers making more progress with their crush on Danny. Or adding a twist of a deaged Dani or Danny.

"Don't make it obvious, but she just walked in," Dick whispers to his friends. However, Babs is the only one who actually listens since both Wally and Kori nearly break their necks by how fast they turn around.

A woman with long, fiery hair walks in with an adorable pair of five-year-old twins. She again carries the books the teens had borrowed and makes a beeline for the return box.

Like clockwork, once the books are returned to the metal box, the twins tug her toward the astronomy section, babbling about star facts in perfect sync.

Her hair bounces with each step, swinging behind her like a waterfall made of sunsets.

It was her long smooth hair that had first captured Dick's attention (he has a type sue him) when the small family had first started appearing at Gotham's public library. He had been bringing Babs some lunch that day, hidden behind the counter so Babs' boss wouldn't see him, and had been in prime position to watch one of the twins flout up to reach a book on the top shelf.

He was intrigued by the boy's apparent meta abilities, but what really surprised him was how easily he used his powers. Maybe it was due to his young age or how the woman didn't discourage his powers.

She reminded him to use "Indoor flying" in the same tone he heard parents tell their kids to use their "indoor voice". Metas weren't as rare as people wanted them to be but to see someone so casual about them was.

It was honestly uplifting to see a family so open about it. The little girl with her also seems to be a meta, for not even minutes later, she phases through an aisle instead of walking around, and the woman doesn't even bat an eye.

She only sticks her hand out the aisle to tell the little girl to not walk away from the science fiction section.

Dick hadn't been able to take his eyes off her, even when she made the little girl blow her nose using tissue from her purse or when she had started lecturing the children for running around in a foreign language.

Since then, he has returned to visit Babs every Thursday at two. The woman would bring the twins every week at the same time and even thought Dick had attempted to walk over to her, it seemed as if the universe it self got in the way.

She would get a call. The kids would need the bathroom. She began reading to the children, or they would rush in and out. He didn't want to come off as creepy, so he didn't follow her around, only watching her when she wandered back into sight.

To avoid being a creep, he also refrained from asking Babs any information about her. He wanted to introduce himself to the Libary goddess himself.

He found himself daydreaming of her. Fantastic conversations and dates. Could even picture introducing her to Bruce and the others. It wasn't long before he let it slip about his fast-developing crush to his friends- and exes- who were excited to see the first civilian he's ever been interested in.

Walley and Kori had strong-armed him into bringing them along this week, insisting they could help him speak to her. It's not that Dick couldn't. It's been so long since he genuinely wanted to flirt with a civilian.

He long ago mastered the art of flirting, but it was to make a watered-down version of Brucie Wayne. It was nothing but a mask to keep his second life a secret. He was worried he had gotten too used to dating heroes and would scare her off before they could really be something.

"I said don't make it obvious!" He hisses as Babs chuckles. She is typing away on her laptop, not bothering to raise her eyes as she waves her hand.

"Relax, they aren't even looking at us."

"She's gorgeous!" Kori gasps.

"She's a redhead," Wally observes with a smirk. "Why am I not surprised? Who are the little ones?"

"Her younger siblings," Babs answers, surprising Dick. He had thought she was their mother by the way she behaved. He had been a bit worried she was married or already had a boyfriend, but if she had been a single mother, he would be happy and willing to step in as a father. "The whole family just moved to Gotham. Their parents are opening a new business here I think."

"What kind of business?" he asks, his eyes tracing the way her face lights up with a laugh. He can't hear what the little boy says, but it must have been humorous since she is chuckling for a while with him.

His heart flutters a little. He's never seen a smile so perfect and genuine before.

"Ecto-research and Ecto-defenses," Babs says with a straight face.

"What is that?" Kori asks, leaning on the counter to read over Bab's shoulder. Technically she shouldn't be sitting on the counter like this, nor should Dick or Wally be on the other side with Babs, but her boss was out for the day.

And Bruce owned the building.

"I'm not sure. I've been trying to look into it since Jazz told me about it on Monday." Babs replies, clicking between a webpage titled Fenton Works and Ectobeings. "It's not that they hidden the information, but it's a bit out there. The term ghost appears a lot, so I'm assuming they are ghost hunters and researchers."

"A daughter of ghost hunters.....almost as odd as a son of circus performers." Wally nudges Dick with his elbow, making the other smile, even if he blushes a little when the little girl snaps her gaze at them. "You have a change, Wonder Boy!"

"Please don't call me that. People are going to think I'm associated with Wonder Woman."

"Please, as if Wonder Woman would waste her time on you," Wally laughs, then leans closer. "I bet you could ask her about the family business over dinner."

"That would be a great opener," Kori agrees. "From my personal experience, men become much more attractive if they show interest in my family business."

"Your family business was being royal warlords," Babs tells her, which makes Kori stand up with pride.

"We had a long history of battle!"

Dick opens his mouth to answer, only to have a young voice cut him off. "You're royalty, too?"

In shock, he glances down, not realizing the little girl had sneaked up on them. She blinks large blue eyes at him with an innocent expression that only children this young can make. She is holding a book about the fictional Prince Dorathea and her tales of the Dragon necklace.

It was a new young adult novel by an anonymous author, taking the fantasy genre by storm. Dick should know since he was obsessed with reading the series too.

"I am. Princess Kori, heir to the throne." Kori tells her with a smile. She had never been that worried about her secret identity even though she appeared human right now- she was wearing a glamor necklace that Zatanna had whipped up for her so she could walk around like a regular person. She then winks, "Don't tell the government."

The little girl nods seriously as if she would take the secret to the grave. She's adorable. "I won't. I'm hiding from them too."

"Why's that?"

"I'm a princess." She says, lowering her voice into a stage whisper. Dick's heart melts. "My brother's the king."

"Danielle Fenton, what did I say about wandering around?" The goddess herself demands, striding over to them. Floating behind her is the little boy staring at the adults with wide, gleeful eyes.

Instead of becoming scared of a scolding like most children, Danielle throws a fist into the air. "I shall not be contained!"

The woman snorts. "I'll ground you."

"Let's not be too hasty," Danielle answers quickly as the little boy starts laughing, slowly turning in the air with his laughter. Dick watches, intrigued. It almost seems as if he was lying in an invisible hammock.

The redhead rolls her eyes, turning her gaze to the rest of the adults with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about her."

"No worries, Jazz. Danielle wasn't a bother, but you should listen to your sister and not walk around alone." The last part is directed at the little girl who starts to float upwards. "By the way, these are my friends. Wally, Kori, and Dick."

"Nice to meet you all." Jazz replies, and Dick can only offer her a wave as his tongue seems to have become lead. What is wrong with him?! "I'm Jasmine Fenton but call me Jazz. This is Danny and Danielle. Can we check these books out?"

"Sure. Guys, move out of the way for a bit." As Babs helps her, Wally yanks Dick to the side.

"Dude, are you okay?"

" I think I'm in love."

"Oh no." Says Kori with wide eyes. "We lost him.

None of the three notices the glowing blue eyes of a flouting little boy watching their huddle, nor do they notice the immense power resting behind such a youthful face.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

#27 with art if you feel so inclined! :) 🖤 please and thank you!

Sure thing!

Prompt: Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Warnings: Established relationship, divorced Art Donaldson, smooches

"Did you eat already? I'm so fricking hungry," You grumble, leaving your suitcase by the door and striding toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, I ate."

"How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?" You glance back at him from the kitchen. "Ken said you mentioned that it was stiff."

Art doesn't answer for a moment, eyes sweeping across your face. You watch him glance even lower before he shakes his head a little.

"It loosened up."

"If you're sure," You turn back to the sink, cranking on the faucet to wash your hands. "Don't push it if you don't have to."

"I won't."

"How did Lily's uh—Career day go?"

"It went fine. C'mere."

"Her teacher was so excited you could make it, I mean, so happy." You shut the sink off, plucking up the dishtowel to dry your hands before turning to the fridge. "Like, jazzed. I know no one uses that word anymore, but she was jazzed. Did you eat already?"

"I told you I did. C'mere."

"She's always been the coolest kid in the third grade in my opinion, but now it's official. Like—Peer official. Like, blue tick, you know?" You eye the contents of the fridge. "Are you hungry?"

"I just said I ate."

"No, right—Sorry. My mind's like," You shake your head. "I'm trying to slow down and catch up at the same time."

"Baby."

"I'm all jet-lagged and just jacked up. Fucking hate conferences."

"Baby."

"Yeah?"

"Look at me."

You turn your head from the fridge, raising your brows at the sight of Art's small, amused smile.

"...What?"

"Come here," He laughs, holding his hand out. You close the fridge, rounding the counter slowly and eyeing Art with suspicion.

"What's that look for?" You ask.

"I'm not giving you any kind of look."

"Yes you are."

"I am not."

"I know that face, mister."

He chuckles, taking hold of your hand once you're close enough, tugging you down. You lower yourself over him, straddling his thighs and settling in as his arms curl around your waist. He leans up, sucking a gentle kiss to your neck. You bite your lip, shifting slightly as his hands curl in the fabric of your shirt.

"...Are we picking Lily up from practice tomorrow?" You ask as your mind races.

"Tashi's got her," Art mumbles, the hum of it vibrating against your skin.

"Okay, good. I mean—Not good like—I've got some errands to run and I have to wash my clothes from the trip. I don't wanna mess up her schedule."

Art groans, tipping his head back and leaning away. You frown, pouting.

"What's wrong?"

Art lets his head loll to look up at you, a pout forming on his lips.

"You've been at a hundred since you walked through the door."

"I've got things on my mind."

"I can tell."

"Alright—" You groan, beginning to lean away, but Art's arms tighten around you, leaning up and pressing his chest against yours.

"I missed you," He murmurs. You wilt a little, raising your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I missed you, too."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Because I'm feeling very neglected."

Art grins as you break into a laugh, leaning up and brushing a kiss along the underside of your jaw.

"You poor thing," You coo, turning your head. He catches your lips with his, sliding a hand up to your nape to guide your kisses as you sink down against him.

"...Art?" You mumble against his lips.

"Mm."

"I...Missed this...And you..."

"Mhm."

"But I am starving."

"Pizza'll be here in ten."

You grin, leaning back to look at him.

"You didn't."

"Course I did." His hand slides around your neck, knuckles brushing against your jaw.

"You're gonna spoil me rotten, Donaldson."

"Or die trying."

[controld3vil]

invisible strings

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic)

synopsis: requested/inspired by this ask!

⤷ alt: coincidences are strange. however, what's more strange was not knowing you were in previous works with your costars.

notes: this one is pretty short. reader is gender neutral. set in the same verse as popcorn bucket (♡´౪`♡)

Ding!

"Ah I don't think you guys are going to get this one," you puffed, eyes trailing down to the question on the Vanity Fair card. The cast and you were playing the Vanity Fair Game Show for a fun video. You all eventually filmed with one another at some time during production. Though your schedules were all over the place/locations, everyone got along with each other. That is to say, some like yourself had been in the first film and kept in contact for the sequel. "What was my first show audition?"

Mumbles in unison scurried. Some hums and thought-provoking nods were seen as you hurriedly scribbled down your answer in black ink.

"Oo Shake It Up!" Zendaya points out, eyes wide with her quick response.

Austin Butler who sat beside Florence Pugh raised his head, almost surprised. "Wait, really?" While the blonde actress knowingly glances back to you for confirmation. The rest of the cast was all too eager to know because clearly they had no idea.

"Yes, correct!" You raised your arms, doing jazz hands. In a burst of energy, the mixed actress scores a bright grin, raising her fist in the air in victory. Only for you to pump her fist back, smiling back.

"How were we supposed to know that?" Timothee Chalamet says, snickering accusatively at the camera as if they had an answer. His gaze moves towards you, "You never told us that!"

You shrugged your shoulders, looking half guilty. "You're lost, pal!"

"At least I got the point!" Zendaya puffs up her chest, swiping the invisible dust off her shoulders while Florence giggles. However Timothee looked almost offended even.

"Wait you were in Shake It Up?" Austin shakes his head in pure astonishment. You gave him a slow nod, as his expression grew wider, eyes staring at you in awe. "That's crazy! I didn't know that!"

"Was it a show?" Josh Brolin's comment seemingly pops in and all four of the younger cast including yourself snickered shortly. His cluelessness only substituted for better curiosity to you. As really, you never really told them about your previous works.

"It was a Disney show," Flipping the Vanity Fair card over, only to reveal your messy handwriting, you stated fondly. Timothee then hastily pointed at the small drawing you drew next to your answer. It breaks your concentration for a second as he only stares at it in confusion while Zendaya covers her mouth from giggling. "Like a sitcom really. And I played one of the background dancers." Even you couldn't stop yourself from giggling further, taking a look at your draw.

Truly it was one of those topics that are never mentioned around you. The only reason Zendaya had known was that you had told her once about it when discussing your dance careers. The both of you were young actors and did not expect to know each other back then and even now. Though it was a cute recollection to look back upon.

"Is that a stick figure waving his arms?" Florence cocks her head sideways, having a concentrated face.

"He's supposed to be dancing!" You plead, pointing at the way you drew his arms in the air.

"That is not dancing!" Timothee's smile only grew wider from laughing too much, having to lean forward to look at the little drawing closer. "He just looks- like he's discombobulated!"

"PFFTT!"

"I mean it's a cute drawing!"

"You know what- you don't appreciate my art," You gently placed the card on the floor, giving your costar the stink eye. "I thought this was a fun game, you guys! People are being bullied for no reason!"

"No- I'm not saying your drawings are bad!" The French actor stumbles, in beats of laughter, clenching his cards to his chest. You only swat his presence away before grabbing another question.

In another instance, Austin takes his turn. For a few rounds, he asked about his hobbies, such as what instruments he knew to play. It was quick flashed answers, one by one you managed to pass through flying colors.

"Guitar and piano," Austin bobs his head, as the rest of cast suddenly became enamored at his musical skills.

"Hey!"

"Alright!"

"But also violin," He says sheerly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh okay!" Florence drags out an amused hum, in a teasing manner.

"Is that true?" Timothee quirks his brow, having one leg over another, looking all composed.

"Yeah."

"Okay, let's go Disney Channel kids!" You chanted, with the mixed actress a seat away from you joined with as well. You both raised your hands in victory while Austin looked away and blushed.

"We got all the talent!"

At the CCXP Panel in Brazil, fans from all over came to attend to fantastic event. Hosted by Collider Interview, it was a massive event with an enormous stadium, fit for a band performance. There were arrays of lights, standing from the alleyways and above the ceiling. You felt extremely fortunate to have attended and made it to Brazil, for being such a joyful experience.

This time you alongside your young cast members and director, Denise Villeneuve, posed happily with all of you. The panel followed with many turns and twists, with questions coming from the crowd and host alike. One moment fans caught on was your reaction to something that Florence at said.

The Collider host mentioned Florence's history of working with Timothee on Little Women which made both of them cackle, reminiscing those dotting moments.

"Oh you know what," the British actress starts, holding her hand up. The audience was silenced, wondering what she going to mention next. She slowly turns in your direction and points. "I just remembered this, but you were in Midsommar yes?"

"Yes..." You mumbled, ending your answer on a high note, unsure really what she meant. Until it came flashing back to you, much prevalent to your shocked expression. "Oh yes yes!" And seemingly the rest of the cast and fans were roaring in surprise and in cheer.

Though you weren't present in most of the film's production, Florence had fond memories of Midsommar. You were one of the minor characters doomed to death in the first half. Both of your characters had a brief meeting together and that was all. However, it surprised you how Florence was able to recall it all. You had only filmed for a few days and vaguely met her casually.

"This is so weird but I don't know- I just kept forgetting to bring it up," She scrambles to find the right words, throwing gestures back and forth. "But for some reason, I just remembered you being there and then I was like- huh! We were in Midsommar together!"

"Right!" You lowered your tone, the weight on your heels slowly shifting to one side. As you licked your lips at the revelation. "I can't believe we just realized this now!" And you could discern the pure chaos the rest of your costars were feeling. Timothee was wheezing, desperately holding his mic for support. While Zendaya crossed her arms in a mixture of sarcasm and odd mischievousness. As if saying, Really? You guys never realized?! Austin on the other hand, solely was observing from the sidelines, with an amused smile. And all for Denny to be panned to the right with a funny disapproving look on his face.

"This is what I have to deal with," Your director somberly states and the crowd cries out in cackles.

"I don't think we were in anything together before."

No interview or video was being shot. Surprisingly it was lunchtime and a grace period for cast and production alike to go back to their trailers to rest. You did not want to go back to your own trailer so instead followed your costar to his. Knowing he had a better air conditioner and wanted to catch up on anything new you guys enjoyed talking about.

But more importantly, his air conditioner.

"Yeah, I don't think we did," Arms securely behind your head as you leaned back on the couch. You still were in full costume, in Fremen wear however it did not stop you from lounging around in every corner of the set sites. "Does Dune count?"

A light-hearted scoff escapes from Timothee, who is on his phone on the other side of the couch, in costume as well. The air conditioner was blasting heavily on all sides of the trailer yet you two did not mind the loud background noise. "No, it doesn't!"

"That's crazy right?" Lifting yourself up to look at him. His eyes don't leave his phone screen yet you know he is focused on your words. "I'm genuinely surprised we haven't played siblings,"

"We look nothing alike!" He shouts, finally lifting his gaze to your playful one. Suddenly you see his phone flash turned on as it faces you. "So, what do you think of Dune Part Two so far?"

You get up swiftly, stretching out of your tired limbs in the process. "Like a walk on the sand!"

"Aye!" He fist-bumps you as he turns the camera on him, face not covered in any gear. The audience can notice his messy locks and smudged face.

"Directors, sign us up to play something!" You waved before adjusting to put on your mask. The camera swerves to find you clipping on the clasps. A couple clicks can be heard as you move the gear up and down from your face. "Literally anything! I could play his serial killer and I would be happy."

"What-" Timothee almost choked on air, prominent to how shaky the camera view became. Though he quickly recovered, "Why do you always want to kill me in these scenarios?"

"Because it's much more fun!" You whine, shoulders deflating, as you can feel him zooming in on your expression.

[midnightmah07]

Template can be found here.

Background & Personality:

Maisie is sweet, energetic, kind and empathetic, some people would even describe her as naive... Which couldn't be farther from the truth. She's born into a wealthy family that taught her and her sister everything there is to know about music and art, and just like her older sister, she pursued a music career at an early age, being known for her angelic voice. Still, despite her sweet personality and loving persona, Maisie can be very feisty to those who test her patience and wrong her or her loved ones; as she puts it: "my good opinion once lost is lost forever", which makes her susceptible to holding grudges.

Maisie is the youngest of two sisters, having an 11 year age gap with her oldest sister, and she's the aunt of Grace — @4necdote's OC. Grace and her family lost their fortune for a few years due to her sister's music producer taking advantage of them; during this time, Maisie did her best to support and help her family in every way, shape and form, working herself to the bone despite her young age to make sure they were safe and sound. Once her sister fell in love with a good man and got her fortune back, Maisie remembered her childhood dream of falling in love and building her own family, her own romantic fantasies that were once lost and locked deep into her subconscious due to what happened to her family came flooding back into her heart after this. Still, despite this, the damage of what happened to her sister made Maisie more wary of people in general, making her too difficult to please and really picky when it comes to her romantic partners, being scared of opening her heart to most people that weren't her family.

Fun facts: Maisie is a jazz singer, and despite being well-known, she's less famous than her older sister, who's an opera singer; Maisie is often mistaken for being much younger than she actually is, and it's one of her insecurities; Maisie has only had 1 boyfriend despite her age, due to her unrealistic standards, and her first kiss was awful and she prefers to not talk about it please; she's albino

Basic info:

Height: 160cm

Age: 25

Nicknames: Mai (by friends and family), Whiskers and Ribbons (by Fellow)

Birthday: December 11th

Dominant hand: left

Favorite food: sole meunière

Occupation: singer

Hobbies: playing the piano, painting

Homeland: Shaftlands

Unique Magic: [to be added]

Relationships:

Grace ( @4necdote's OC): Maisie is Grace's aunt, but due to their small age gap, Maisie and Grace feel more like two sisters. They're very fond of each other, especially because of the period of time where Maisie had to take care of her family; Grace is often referred to as Maisie's favorite nephew, and Grace is always the one to receive Maisie's clothes when she needs to get rid of her old ones. Maisie usually tries to give Grace advice, and despite her lack of experience, she's usually wonderful at helping Grace with her romantic life, helping her realize her feelings towards Floyd once she complained about the boy to her aunt.

♡ Fellow Honest: because I still need to know more about Fellow due to not knowing the full story of Playful Land, I can't go into detail about their story, however! Fellow and Maisie are exes, him being the only boyfriend she's ever had. His playful demeanor and charming persona managed to sweep her off her feet, and Fellow genuinely fell for Maisie as well... But due to issues relating to Fellow's life, Fellow betrayed her trust and they broke up, but both of them still have strong feelings towards each other.

Gidel: Maisie had, and still has, a soft spot towards Gidel. She sees him as a sweet and wonderful boy, and often encourages him to seek his dreams and grow as a person. Gidel clings to her and views her as an older sister, and because of this he was deeply hurt once they had to part ways due to Fellow and Maisie's breakup.

Vil Schoenheit: after learning he's Grace's housewarden, Maisie keeps an eye out for him in order to know if he treats her nephew well, and upon learning about his personality and how he treats others, Maisie is very pleased with him, even taking an interest in his work and complimenting his acting and singing in the times she manages to see him.

Floyd Leech: Maisie finds Floyd... Interesting, to say the least. Despite this, she can see how much he cares for and loves her nephew, and because of that she gives him his full support, often helping him out and making ways for them to spend time together, much to Grace's dismay.

Sam: Maisie and Sam are childhood friends. They went to school around the same time, and Maisie was a victim of many of Sam's tricks and schemes — although they were all made with light hearted intentions. Although they went to different schools, they saw each other rather frequently and keep in touch even today, Sam sometimes attending her shows and Maisie making sure to advertise his business whenever she can.

Crewel: Maisie met him when she grew up through Sam, and they hit it off right from the get go. They usually talk about fashion together and often shop together when they want to catch up, and at some point, Crewel tried making attempts to flirt with her. Unfortunately, due to still having feelings towards Fellow, Maisie wasn't able to reciprocate, so their relationship is purely platonic, however Crewel wouldn't mind taking her on a date if she ever decided to give him the opportunity.

Character reference:

[taro-bae]

°☆| Blow Your Mind~○°☆

Summary: how they react to a dancer S/O

Characters: (TWST) Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Cater

Reader gender not specified, could be yuu

Some scenarios have specified dance styles (e.g contemporary for Vil), no warnings

|Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is sheltered, his mother definitely taught him that foolish hobbies are a waste of time. The only form of dance he knows about is ballet, a more elegant and traditional form of dance. So if he finds out you are a hip hop, jazz, contemporary or another style oriented dancer he will be suprised. He won't be able to take his eyes off you. However if you are a dancer in a more 'explicit' style, Riddle will be a flustered mess, blushing while trying to maintain a respectful composure but inside he is panicking.

Riddle enters the room wondering what the music is and decides to check so no students are breaking the rules. He stops in his tracks when he sees you moving to the music. He watches you silently, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. Once you finish the combo he speaks up-

"That's a rather...vulgar...song."

You are not suprised by his comment, he's always reserved, well-mannered and with a strict definition on what is classified as appropriate.

"But I have to admit, my dear, your dancing is quite...endearing."

He will be interested about your training and why you chose dance as a hobby. He wasn't allowed to have such hobbies so indulge him a bit.

|Kalim Al Asim

This angel of a boy is your number one supporter. Once he finds out you are a dancer he is going to be all over you, and he will ask you to dance with him at any party he hosts. Every single time. He will play music and expect you to join him in a dance, he loves it.

"Y/N! Baby, I did not know you could dance like that!" He exclaims with his signature grin his eyes wide taking in every move. He doesn't waste a second joining you. He doesn't care what music or style it is. He WILL join in. Get ready for a lot of questions. He wants to know how long you've been dancing for, what your favourite style is and so on so forth.

He can't keep his hands to himself. If he's dancing with you he will be all over you. No shame if you're in public, at a party or alone, his body will make contact with yours. How can he not, he loves you so much and he wants to share these moments with you. He has to show you off and tell everyone how good you are. The whole of NRC will know within a day.

At parties and events Kalim will hold onto your hand pulling you towards the dance floor with a excited "y/n, come dance with me! I want everyone to see how good you are!". He's so proud of you!

|Jamil Viper

He won't show it but you captivated his heart. Jamil has a passion for dance, he himself is a breakdance dancer mostly because Kalim would drag him into it. When he sees you dancing, weather it is at a party of Kalims or a dance room, he is analysing your technique, how your body moves, the articulation, the projection, everything to the smallest detail.

Jamil stands near the door frame arms crossed infront of his chest, remaining stoic as he watched. The more he watches you, a smirk grows on his lips. Once you finish or acknowledge his presense he approaches standing infront of you. He feels rather competitive and intrigued.

"Care to dance with me? Come on, show me what you've got." His intense gaze directed right at your eyes watching your every reaction, picking up how you're breathing and starting to blush. He snakes (no pun intended) his arm around your waist pulling closer to him.

"Indulge me a little". He breathes out his voice low and satisfied. He loves the fact that you are a dancer. He totally doesn't dream spending hours in a space, just you and him, coming up with choreographies together, your bodies pressed up against each other. Make his dream come true...

|Vil Schoenheit

Vil is an appreciator of the arts. Dance is a beautiful form of art and performance, not only with expressions but with the whole body in ways that are difficult and requires hours of work. So imagine if Vil comes across you doing a contemporary routine.

He walked into the Pomefiore dance studio seeing you performing your contemporary routine. He stands observing and judging, how you project through your body, your facial expressions, and flexibility when you execute a skill or floorwork sequence.

"Not bad. You move flawlessly, darling. You're full of suprises. We should have recruited you into the SDC group." He says impressed. He can't help himself but add some corrections or points that he noted on how you can improve your performance.

His heart is swelling with pride that his partner is a professional dancer, he is ready to support and promote you even if you say it's just a hobby. He won't let your abilities go to waste. He would occasionally ask you some questions on what you do for stretches or fitness activities to maintain your flexibility and strength. He will he be very invested in your hobbies helping you improve in any way he can.

|Cater Diamond

Oh, honey...get ready for a personal photo shoot. If cater catches you dancing he will whip out his phone faster than ever recording everything. He is not going to leave you alone after that, and yes he's posting it on Magicam with #mylittledancer in the caption. Now it is your responsibility to teach him how to do some popular dance trends , he'll be asking you to film some videos with him wanting to showcase your talent and skill to the entire wonderland!

So when he sees you dancing, especially if you were filming yourself for a post he will be ecstatic. He walks into your room seeing you practising a combo taking out his phone and cheering on you. Congratulations, you gained yourself a cheerleader!

"Oh my sevens! Get it, baby!" He cheers with an occasional 'woo'. "Can you show me another dance, honey? You looked totes adorable when you did that move~". If you offer to teach him a combo he will not say no.

"You're such a good dancer, baby. I'm so lucky to have snatched such a talented cutie for myself~♪"

He's posting photos and videos of you dancing or doing some cool skills the hashtags showing how much he's infatuated with you #mypartnerithebest #dancingqueen #mycutedancemachine

It's a little short but let me know if I should write anymore characters

xoxo ♡

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 1

Klaus Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just recently moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Your art is finally put on display at a local gallery, and Klaus has a vested interest in it.

Warnings: Klaus Being Klaus, No Personal Space, Alcohol, Flirting, Almost Kisses, Art Interpretation, Dark Themes

Word Count: 1.2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Your first art show in New Orleans isn’t nearly as extravagant as you thought it would be, despite the small jazz band in the corner and the free champagne being served at the door. The jubilant music seems to fade off into the distance as you stand just a few feet away from one of your pieces, silently stalking the patrons as they walk by and observe it, muttering amongst themselves. You try to hone in on what they’re saying about your work, about how it makes them feel, or if they’ve caught onto any messages you’ve hidden in your mixed medium on canvas. So far it’s just been a mixture of silence and solitary comments like “interesting” or “hmm” as the glass of champagne warms to room temperature in your hand.

“Which one’s yours?” A man’s eloquent voice pulls you from your anxious thoughts, forcing you to look over at his delicately handsome face as he walks toward you with a confidence that could rival royalty.

“Huh?” You take a sip of your lukewarm champagne in order to gain some liquid courage to engage with this gorgeous man who seemed to appear out of thin air.

“I’d recognize that look anywhere,” he starts, touching one of the sculptures he clearly wasn’t supposed to. “Will they like it? Will they understand it? But most importantly, will they buy it?”

“That obvious, huh?” You take another sip, letting the bubbles take their time to crinkle your nose as the rest of the carbonation slowly fizzles out.

“Painfully, I’m afraid.” That smirk of his warms into a coy smile as he takes a step toward you, his own glass of champagne nearly empty. “Yours isn’t the landscape with the sailboat, no… those waters look far too calm for you.” He stands next to you and continues to guess, letting his fresh clean scent surround you as hints of a bergamont settle into the air. “Not the still life either, you don’t strike me as someone who focuses on something as mundane as coffee and beignets.” He pauses and looks at you briefly, taking in your features. “No, a work of art from your hands has to contain something different, something much… darker.”

“And what makes you think that?” You chide in return, enjoying this little game he’s created for himself. “Maybe I love coffee and beignets.”

“Well, darling, who doesn’t? But that’s not why you became an artist, now is it?” He raises his eyebrows, giving you a chance to notice the hints of green and gold in his blue eyes.

He was good, you’ll give him that.

“My money’s on the portrait of the faceless woman drenched in blood.” His tone drops to the level of darkness he previously described as he steps behind you, his voice like butter as it melts down each vertebrae of your spine. “It’s beautiful, really; the way you captured the themes of the tortured and macabre while still maintaining an intimate beauty of the feminine experience. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

His change in tambre and location freezes you in place, forcing you to look at your own painting through his eyes as he hovers behind you, making you shiver with the anticipation of his intentions. The fact that you’ve allowed him to get this close so fast makes you wrestle with the idea that you may already desire this stranger based on nothing more than the words he’s chosen to speak with that velvety voice of his. Are you that subject to flattery? That desperate for validation? Longing that deeply for some level of intimate connection? Perhaps you are...

After what seems like an eternity of moral gymnastics, you no longer resist the temptation to turn toward him as he guesses correctly, noting the triumphant look on his face as your lips linger mere inches away from his. You barely notice the still breath that remains inside your lungs, expanding your rib cage for far too long as you stare at his plump lips, taking heed of the single droplet of champagne that rests on them.

“And what makes you such an expert on the feminine experience?” You manage to ask as he allows you to stare at him a little bit longer before answering your question.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m merely a curious third party who’s invested in the local artists that my charitable donations help support.” He confesses with a step back.

“You’re a benefactor?” You don’t mean to sound so judgmental, but he doesn’t exactly look like most of the ancient relics who usually pour money into the city. If you’re being honest, he looks more like one of the musicians you’d find on the street corner playing a cover of ‘Wonderwall’ on guitar for tips.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, love, we come in all shapes and sizes.” He laughs, looking you up and down while the shock of his financial status slowly begins to wear off. “Now, tell me, was I right? Is that your painting?”

“Maybe.” You cross her arms over your chest, trying your best to resist his evident charms. “But you already knew that, being a benefactor and all; that’s cheating.”

“Cheating is such a harsh word. I merely used my astute powers of observation to put two and two together.” He casually places his hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in order to keep you near. “Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Your heart races at his sudden touch, the gleam in his eyes barely hiding the raging fire behind them. He’s going to be trouble, you can already tell. “Do you flirt like this with every new artist you meet?”

“Just the morbidly disturbed ones that I find deeply enchanting.” His strange compliment is oddly personal, hinting that he might know a little bit more about you than he’s currently letting on.

“You think I’m morbidly disturbed?”

He gives you a knowing look.

“Oh, it’s all over the canvas, love. It doesn’t take an expert to notice the hurried brush strokes in the busy background, the aggression with which you plastered the feminist news clippings together contrasted against the time you took to purposefully pour the viscous, slow drip of blood on it until it’s nearly spilling onto the floor.” He closes the gap between you, his hand now in your hair.

You swallow hard as he fishes around in your psyche for an accurate interpretation of your work, his proximity nearly turning your insides to quicksand as his cologne dizzies you on the spot. Good god, he’s beautiful.

“You know there are other ways of releasing all that pent up rage and aggression… all that passion.” He leans in so that his lips ghost over your cheek as it blushes against his stubble. “Although they aren’t quite as lucrative as this.”

“And what would those be?” You ask coyly, eagerly daring him to show you.

But instead of going in further for a demonstration, he leans back with a satisfied grin, as if he’s already gotten everything he wants from you at that moment. He grabs a pen from a nearby table and takes your hand, writing his phone number on your palm. “Find me when you feel like it gets to be too much, when all those emotions make you feel as if you’re absolutely about to burst.”

[perkqularkreashions]

Last Nice Guy in New York??

Part Two: Living with the Enemy

Prompt: YN is close friends with Peach, Annika, Beck, and Lynn. She doesn't fit into their circle, nor does she try to. Joe soon sets his sights on YOU, leading to a domino effect within Y/N's life.

Requested: YES | Requested are OPEN|

YN's POV

PEACHES grabbed my arm slightly; her eyes wandered over my face, and I thought I saw something in them other than narcissism and an inflated ego for a brief moment. They were soft, a look ventured across her features, and her touch was more delicate. “YN,” she calls out in a tone I barely recognized. She saw it. 

I retorted, “Peaches, I have to get going. I have this thing to do for class. But I will see you tonight.” She reluctantly nodded, pushing her lips together in a frown. She turned away, returning to our group of friends. Beck stared apologetically for a moment before turning away with them. Some days, I didn’t feel a part of the friend group; I didn’t live the same life they lived, nor did I want to fake it like Beck does. I couldn’t buy expensive jewelry or spend every day at a high-end coffee shop wasting 15 dollars on coffee and a bagel. I worked on campus as a TA/Tutor, allowing me to qualify for financial aid/assisted living, and being a single parent also helped secure those benefits.

The wind caressed my skin, and the smell of gasoline and pastries filled my nose—the loud chatter of the busy streets surrounded me. I pushed open the solid oak doors, the smell of baby powder, formula, and paper. I was thankful that the Daycare Center was on the third floor, away from prying eyes and judgmental glares. I tapped my toe gently in the elevator as I watched the numbers dance from 1 to 2 and dinging at 3. Hand-painted pictures scattered the walls, bringing life to the dull ward of the campus. Hand turkeys and finger-printed flowers. Photos of children with their names along with their likes and dislikes. I was then greeted by Jessica, one of the students in the Teaching Program –she smiled widely at me as she stood up for a hug. Her arms wrapped around me, her fragrance engulfed as she tried masking the smell of throw-up and other fluids. “Hey YN! Long time no see.” 

A responded with a bright smile, “I know you’ve been gone for some weeks. I think Rafi was starting to miss you too.” she laughed brightly with a toothy grin. She moves away from me, leaving me alone in the hallway. I move away from the receptionist's desk. I stare at the art, my finger dancing against the groves of the crayons and paint. I heard his soft babble; swiftly, I turned around and saw his bright, toothless smile. 

“It’s mama! Look, it’s mama,” she cooed, pointing her finger toward me. I smiled, adjusting my bag and taking him into my arms, momentarily kissing the corner of his head. The anxiety flushing away as he was safe in my arms. “He hasn’t been around the last month from what I heard; keep doing what you’re doing,” she comforts me, her hand resting on my shoulder. I nodded frantically as I moved away from her. 

The ride home was comforting; the soft sound of jazz filled my ears as the mild breeze ran through the enclosed back seat. Rafael slept peacefully in my lap, my fingers dancing against his ravenous locks. I despised that he looked like his father, from his button nose to the beauty marks that scattered his face and arms. He scrunched his face similarly to his father's when thinking or concentrating on a task. He wore a gold bracelet his mother gifted us when he was born. Says that all the men in their family must have one. I contemplated taking it off, but I never found the courage to.

“I’m thankful for him, you know — I am going to be a better father than my dad ever was.” He stared at him, his hand caressing his face, pressing gentle kisses on his skin. “You’re here,” he whispers, “Finally, here.”

“Ma’am, we’re here,” a voice cuts through my wandering mind. My eyes focused on the man in front of me. A sympathetic smile washed over his lips. 

I mumbled out a thanks before exiting the cab. I pressed the fob to the door, yanking it open as I hurriedly moved in. “Hey, YN!” an excited voice shouts out from the top of the stairs. Her feet paddle against the floor as she peaks over the guard rail. 

“Finally, you’re here! I have been calling out to you all evening!” she jumps in front of me as she smiles at Rafi. I move past her, fiddling my key in the keyhole as I push into the apartment. Her chocolate skin illuminated under the dim lighting in the apartment. Her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail that was loosened ever so slightly. “So, you have a date tonight?”

I laughed, tossing a look over my shoulder. 

“Come on, I’m 18 — practically an adult!” she plops down on the couch, tucking her legs underneath as she looks at me with frustration and curiosity. 

“It’s a party for a friend.” I laid Rafael down in the crib, moving all the blankets and toys I tossed in earlier this morning. “I don’t do dates, Nicole, we already spoke about this,”

She laughs, “You have a 7-month baby; you do more than date.” 

I scoffed in her direction, letting a smile hang on my lips. She giggles at me before her eyes move back to her phone. Her fingers were rapidly typing before her attention turned back to mine. “How’s Rafael’s dad doing?”

I stiffened as I moved to the closet, changing out of my clothes. Pulling on a simple dress, emerging from the closet, I posed slightly. “Approval?”

“Absolutely not,” she laughs, “What kind of party– it doesn’t even matter. We need to get you laid!”

“I don’t need to get anything, I just wanna look nice.”

“You can look nice and edible,” she laughs, “How about a little more boobies and less leg? Something to keep their mind wandering but begging for more.” I pulled out, a periwinkle dress, with a bit of cleavage and less leg; I brushed my hands down my hair, moving them behind my ear.

“Ta-da?” I hummed out, her eyes brightening as she offered me an excited smile. “Yes, now go find Rafael a step-daddy!” 

I roll my eyes, moving out of the apartment and waving her goodbye. She was a sweet girl, just graduated high school and looking for some work while she applied to universities. Her mom and dad are professors at Brown and thought it’d be a good idea to push her in the direction of teaching – in their words, “showing her responsibility through taking care of the lives of others. How the responsibility of molding a young mind can be beneficial.” 

Arriving at Peach’s house was always distasteful, the high-brow society looking down at me, seeing me as the new charity case for her to pick at and display. I didn’t fit into their society, no matter how often Peaches and Annika tried. “Beckalicious,” I heard over the roar of the chatter; she was usually so easily seen and heard no matter where she stood. 

“Is this Joseph?” her voice shrilled in disdain, her arm snaked around Beck with a feigned smile. I chuckled at her momentarily, before returning my attention to the trays of wine that moved about. 

“YN,” I heard a voice call out, a hand snaking around my waist and pulling me closer. I froze; the smell of champagne and cheese filled my nose. “I was hoping to run into you! I missed you!” I spun around seeing Liam Hastings; his hair pulled out his face as he wore a chestnut brown jacket with a navy blue button shirt, his chest slightly showing as he flashed me a smile. 

“It’s like after you broke up Rafael, you just fell off the face of the earth!” he shouts, his hand slapping against my shoulder as he swallows a nod. 

“Just wasn’t the crowd I wanted to be around,” I whispered; he tugged me closer. I clenched my hands, letting this reach his chest, trying to pry us apart. I could feel the air leaving me; my chest got tighter with every breath I took. 

“He looks for you, says— you know what he says to me. Keep an eye on you!” he drunkenly laughs; I yank myself away. I found myself, darting up the stairs and escaping to Peaches’s library. 

“I’m pregnant,” I cry out. Peach sank to her knees, her hand snatching at my wrist; she examined them momentarily. “I don’t want to have his baby! It was one night and I– I”

“Calm down, little dove, please. It hurts me to see you cry,” she whispers. I flinched away from her as she tried wiping the tears away. Realizing washes over her, her face turns cold as she studies me. “YN”

She called out my name; I didn’t have an answer, nor did I want to answer. “Y/N, Hello!”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a soft voice called, “Hello.” I spun around. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I'm sorry. I’m in my little world,” I chuckle, moving my hair behind my ear. I studied how his face was tightly wound together, his shoulder tense, and his brows furrowed with frustration and thought. I recognized him, the infamous Joe Goldberg that Beck had mentioned. “Joseph, right?”

He shakes his head, “Joe, just Joe.” he forces a smile on his lips. His eyes wandered to the bookshelf before back at me. 

“Well, Just Joe, I’m YN; I wish I could say we would meet under better circumstances, but–” I laughed momentarily, letting my head fall to my feet. “This is probably the best you’ll get.” He chuckles; it was lighthearted– it filled the air so gently. 

“Y/N…?” my name played on his lips. He repeated it a couple of times before silencing. “You’re one of Peaches's friends.”

“Don’t let her catch you saying that,” I laugh. “If she catches you humanizing her too much, she’ll lose her shit. She’s a cold-hearted bitch, but I love that about her.”

“Isn’t she your best friend?” He teased; for a moment, I thought, honest to God, she was everything I needed her to be. She was a cold and calculated bitch, but it didn’t change the fact that when she looked at me, I mean really looked at me… she saw me. Maybe that wasn't such a good thing.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I belong in her world,” I whispered. I begin to move past him; his hand grabs my upper arm. His touch was gentle and inviting. His thumb gently caressed my exposed skin, his eyes resting on my shoulder, and my breath caught in my throat. The noise drowned out, the soft hum of the music, the clanking of glasses, and the chatter of drunken adults. The expectations to be perfect melted away. The world slowly sunk around me. Our eyes finally met. 

Carefully, I whispered to him. “Enjoy the party, just Joe.” His grip loosened as the noise around us resumed. I was warped back into the party. 

Peaches watched me, her eyes dark and cold. Her hand yanked at my arm as she dragged me closer to her. A dark smile washed on her face. “I saw that.”

“Peaches, let it go,” I whispered; she yanked me closer to her. She scoffs lightly. "It was nothing."

“Stealing Beck’s boyfriend too.” Her words slurred slightly, her tongue tripping over the slight syllabus. Her eyes were red and hanging low; she took pills. “Do you realize how pathetic you look?” I stiffened, holding my head away from her. 

“Peach, leave it!” I whisper, my voice weakly danced away in the wind. 

“Just like how you stole Sophia’s boyfriend, you steal Becks lowly boy toy?” her voice growing louder, capturing everyone’s attention. Eyes shift, and the music decreases with each word that Peach spews. “Do you realize how you look? I am just trying to protect you!”

“Peach, please,” I begged.

“It’s like you’re trying to win a game that no one else is playing – what getting fucked once at my house isn’t enough?” Silenced washed over us; my throat stung as I watched her. My lips parted as I tried to find the words to combat her statement, to find something to make this seem like banter. My face grew hot, and all I could do was stare at her, tears falling against my cheeks freely and tickling my chin and chest. “YN-” she begins to stutter, her face contorting gently. 

“I have to go, Peach,” I whispered, ducking past her as I moved past the crowd. The fresh air slammed against my face, and I sucked in gently, trying to gather as much composure as possible. 

Fuck me and fuck her.

[nyanbinary-perineum]

A Perpetual Work in progress pinned post

Any minor attempting to feign ignorance at the DNI applied against them will be immediately blocked, no ifs ands of buts.

Same with no age in desc/pinned etc. PUT YOUR AGE IN THERE. >:(

You can call me "Red", dominant pet names (I enjoy just about any), that kind of thing :3

If I post myself it's under #nyanbinary-pics

If I make a personal post it's (sometimes) under #nyanbinary-thoughts

This is a side blog for rambling about sex, posting bits of myself I don't want on main, and reblogging art and selfies of a similar tone.

Also sex oriented shit-posting.

Single / Horny too often / Passionate about games / Free Palestine / BLM / Trans rights / Hotter than I seem / Lamer than you could know

I'm 31, gender fluid, trans, nyanbinary, all that jazz, I like kink, I'll flirt with anyone 18+ but I'm most interested in people a bit closer to my age if we're being serious. I don't do meet ups etc.

Preference Stuff:

Bi! I'm usually dominant! Never submissive, the alternative is just not enacting a d/s dynamic :3

I do have preferences that lean towards femmes/girls/femboys that sorta thing. I like cheering on hotness of all kinds though :)

Kink stuff:

Submission (receiving)

Attention towards my hands- finger sucking, kissing

Gameplay-mechanic concepts

Furry

Paws :3c (send paw themed messages for little kisses 🐾 / All paws but I kiss forepaws :3)

Rough Sex

Spanking

Leaving Marks

Body Writing

Mind break

Corruption

Giving musk

"Defeat"

Cock worship (receiving)

Dumbification (giving)

Size Difference (Both realistic, and especially unrealistic; Mini etc)

Far too much to recall and list here

[love-anddeepression]

O my gosh do you think you can do a Miguel x teen reader. Where the reader has been in a depressed mood lately and no one can figure out what's wrong till they reveal that their headphones broke on their last mission and it was the last thing their remaining family member gave to them before they died and they blaime themselves for not being more careful with them.

Headphones-Miguel O’Hara x teen!reader.

As someone who’s emotionally attached to her heradpjones yes I can and will write this. Thank you all so much for the love and support from my last post! I’ll be taking a short break after this and I hope you all like it! Please comment and reblog if you do :D love you<3333

Warnings: Implied Hobie brown x reader; mostly fluff dw, crying.

ART BY THE AMAZING @thattripleabattery

“Is it just me, or is something off about her?” Miles nods towards you who is sitting all alone away from and sipping juice desolately as they all listen to Miguel’s newest monthly goal meeting.

“Something looks off about her, like something’s missing.” Gwen narrows her eyes at your figure.

You just keep nodding at intervals and try to pay attention but all you can think about are the headphones your brother had given you.

You considered them an extension of you, going so far as to even sometimes wear them during light missions while you waited for the threat to show up.

Your last mission had been gruelling, so bad to the point that both Jess and your dad had suggested you take a break from fighting to recuperate.

You were so devastated on the inside, all you did was just nod.

You knew that Miguel knew you were off. It was obvious that you joked less and acted tired. Not to mention the little amount of sleep you got.

It was stupid really, all this drama over a pair of headphones. Yet, they were the last connection you had to your brothers and it felt like you had truly lost your family when they broke into two.

Your mind was literally empty as you nodded at whatever Miguel was saying. You just dipped your juice and kept zoning in and out. It felt wrong that they weren’t there around your neck where they usually were.

Miguel started to notice your constant fidgeting and the way your hands kept rubbing your neck. He had also noticed your dull nature and the way your sweet smile stopped making its way onto your face.

Even to his lamest dad jokes, you’d respond with a huff and small twist of your lips.

As he wrapped up the plan, his eyes flit to yours and he saw you still nodding, your eyes glassy.

He takes a deep breath, “Dismissed, all of you leave. Now.”

The shuffle of chairs fills the room as everyone files out one by one.

He says your name, “Stay back.” And turns around to look at the hologram.

Miles and Gwen look at each other and then at you, who breathes in and nods without a word.

Once everyone has left, he turns back around to find you looking at him with your hands behind your back.

“What happened?” He asks and you sign.

“Nothing.”

“It’s rude to lie.”

“Manners maketh man and all that jazz.” You reply with a roll of your eyes.

“Seriously.” He raises his eyebrow and his hand rests on your shoulder, “You okay?”

“Yeah, god I’m fine! I was just an irresponsible shit and I broke my headphones.”

His eyebrows furrow, “The ones your brother gave you?”

You clench your jaw and nod, eyes smarting as you struggle not to cry at the thought.

He shrugs, “They’re just headphones, kid. You can always get another.”

You just scoffed, “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean, you get it right?”he tips his down to make a point.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” You smile wryly and turn away so that he can miss the tear forming in your eye, “Cool, I’ll uh catch you later boss man.”

He stares after your retreating figure with remorse, did he say something wrong?

“You dumb idiot.” Lyla pops up.

“What?” He snarls, whirling to look at her.

“She was really attached to those headphones, Miguel.”

“She can always get new ones, Lyla. I’m getting them for her anyway.”

“Miguel it’s as if her brother died all over again.” Lyla replies firmly, “She’s hurting, ans you made her feel worse.”

Miguel hangs his head, “Shit.”

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, but after years of shutting himself out, he didn’t understand people’s feelings like he used to, and he wanted with every fibre of his being to cheer you up, and he managed to screw it up.

“You need to go apologise and fix this.” Lyla points towards the doorway.

——————-

“It’s okay. Let it all out.” Hobie’s soothing voice is calming as his hand travels up and down your back to soothe you.

You breathe deeply before letting out another broken sob that only makes you more embarrassed, and in front of Hobie of all people. The guy just oozed absolute “don’t care” energy while still simultaneously being one of the most caring people you’d ever met.

Your apologies are hushed and he takes your face between his hands and wipes your tears from your cheeks, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

You roll your eyes, “Shut up.”

You hug him again, “Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like to lose something like that, and I’m sorry. But I know you will get over it and I salute you for being so brave.” He winks, “I’ve gotta run, catch you later.”

He quickly kisses your forehead and dashes off, leaving you stunned. After a few moments, a smile makes its way onto your puffy face.

“I’m going to kill that kid.” Miguel seethes as he watches from the camera.

———-

You were exhausted after a long day of training and you couldn’t wait to just go and fall asleep in your quarters.

The door swung open easily and your eyes flitted to the shabbily wrapped present on your bed. The bed that was unmade in the morning but was miraculously made and cleaned now.

Your eyes narrow as you tear away the wrapping to find a near identical pair of headphones to the ones that broke and your eyes widen in shock as you hold them up in front of you.

There’s a post-it stuck to the wrapping paper and you read the note that is unmistakably written by Miguel. You can recognise his chicken scratch handwriting.

“Im sorry for hurting your feelings this morning. And I hope this makes up for it. Don’t blame yourself, it was an accident and accidents happen. Im proud that you learnt your mistake and that you act so wise for your age, despite the fact that you decide to go to a weird British punk spider for advice, I am still proud of you. No es tu culpa, none of this is your fault.

Love,

Dad.”

—————-

“She seems to be in a much better mood today.” Gwen nudges Miles.

“She’s smiling and trying to get him to laugh.” Miles grins at your antics.

“Wait her headphones! They were missing, they’re back around her neck, that’s probably why she was in a shitty mood!” Pavitr reasons as Gwen nods in agreement.

“Are the three of you paying attention?” Miguel looks pointedly at the three kids and his glare then falls in Hobie who is seated next to you.

“Everyone dismissed!”

As everyone files out he says yet again, “Hobart, stay back.”

[shiny-jr]

I know you probably don't want to talk about this anymore, but I'm still really curious. Genshin Natlan characters have been revealed, and I want to know your opinion

Taking a long sigh. The fact that you seem hesitant to ask this means you probably have an idea of what my response would be like. Just so I don't have to end up making multiple posts about this topic, I'm gonna try to include everything here. If I forget something and someone asks later, I might be willing to address it.

So, heads up. This is a long rant. Shiny rants. Disclaimer, I am Mexican-American, so I believe I have some say on some of the cultures involved in this fiasco. Some of them, not all. That being said, I'll try to handle the others with as much respect as possible, but forgive me if I make a mistake somewhere.

I stopped playing genshin when Sumeru was announced. Despite me not having any affiliation with the cultures represented by Sumeru, I remember being livid as some of y'all might recall. So, let's start off with:

THE AMALGAMATION OF CULTURES. This meaning how very weird it is that somehow the european/east asian cultures get their own distinct nation dedicated to one sole peoples while brown/black cultures get meshed into one unrecognizable figure. Mondstadt is based off Germany, Liyue is based off China, Inazuma is based off Japan, Fontaine is based off France. On the other hand, Sumeru is a mix of south asia, the middle east, and north africa while Natlan takes that a step further by involving Incan, Mayan, Maori, Yoruban, and Hopi cultures (of what we know so far).

Why are all these other nations so carefully crafted and picked, but it feels as if for Natlan and Sumeru, the developers put up a map and grabbed some darts, then decided to use whatever culture wherever a handful of darts landed on the board? In the way they're handling it, it feels like these cultures are nothing but an accessory to them. An excuse to make these "exotic" looking characters, but not even make them properly due to the horrible designs and lack of melanin (these are two topics I will come back to).

It feels like they got lazy, and/or they clearly don't care enough to do in depth research properly as they might've done with past nations. The best example I've seen of this is Yunjin and Ororon. Yunjin is a beautiful example of a character done right and respectfully, as she is meant to be a Chinese opera singer. They even went so far as to hire an actual Chinese opera singer for a song she performs in-game. However, Ororon takes the name of "Olorun" which is a Yoruban deity, but when you look at this character's design, there is nothing that would even hint towards the fact that he's meant to be African.

This brings me to the second part, CULTURE AS COSTUMES. As mentioned previously, nothing about this Ororon character portrays the fact that he's meant to be African. NOTHING. If you do not know what he looks like, the character named after a Yoruban god is quite literally just a pale anime boy in edgy clothing and has some type of dog/cat/animal ears. I am not joking. That is what he looks like. If you don't believe me, look it up.

Do you know what the saddest part about all this is? It's the fact that I guarantee you, sometime in the future when Ororon appears in-game, gets his own quest, then his own banner, all that jazz, the chances of images of him appearing when you look up Olorun are high. In fact, when Sumeru was announced, I vividly remember doing research on the characters there were announced, such as Al-Haitham. When you looked up the name Al-Haitham then, google showed an Islamic astronomer. However, if you look up the name now, you immediately get builds and character guides and art of genshin's Al-Haitham, which is horrible when you really think about it. Because the same thing happened to Dehya (a Berber warrior queen), and it's about to happen to Kachina (Hopi spirits), Kinich (Mayan Sun God), Mualani (a princess of Hawaii), etc.

When you look at these characters, Natlan and Sumeru included, most of their designs don't even look as if they're portraying a culture. For now, I'll focus on Natlan.

Kinich is supposed to be Mayan, however, nothing about his design is giving Latino or indigenous Mayan. As a Mexican, I should be able to look at him and say, 'hey, he looks kinda like me or my cousins! Oh, I recognize those patterns, or that type of footwear/shirt/pants/headwear.' SOMETHING to that degree, but if you had shown me him and I didn't know, I would have never guessed.

Another infuriating design is Murata, the pyro archon. Tell me why does she look like a futuristic biker girl instead of a Maori/Polynesian warrior? The level of disrespect, ESPECIALLY because according to what I've gathered, her name is based off an actual entity/deity.

Time to point out the obvious, and I'm gonna say it but WHY ARE THEY WHITE? Yes, I know the argument about how not everyone from latino/arab cultures is brown, I know. But not everyone is white either, so please, get over it. If the entirety of Fontaine can be white because they're French, by that same logic, wouldn't it makes sense to make the entirety of Natlan brown/black because they're indigenous/african?

It lies well within hoyo's abilities to include colored characters. They have millions of dollars and they say they want a global audience, they just don't do it because there is major colorism there. Saying "but they're a Chinese company!" is no excuse either, because then that would be automatically classifying them as ignorant of anything outside of China when they clearly are not if they utilize strong elements of hip-hop and jazz (both with origins in African American communities) in their other games, want to pick these cultures like accessories on a shelf, and make brown/black npc enemies with locs and other poc features. I won't immediately jump to blaming the designers either, because it's probably that they have tried presenting ideas that do actually cater to the wider audience and poc people, but they were most likely turned down by higher-ups.

Anyways, I've been typing this for a while now and my mind is blanking. I'm sure I had more to say but I currently cannot remember it. I'm glad people are FINALLY speaking out against this, it's about time and actually late because the outrage around this should've happened back in Sumeru but better late than never.

If you don't agree with me or my takes on this, don't even bother trying to look for a response because I'm not gonna argue about this. That's about it for now though.

[radiance1]

Hey ya'll back on my bullshit again!

So this time if this idea doesn't get outta control it'll mostly be focusing on Danny and Bruce!!!

Danny is gonna be younger here by the by, maybe like 10.

So after being accidently hit by on of his parents inventions, big ol' Danny-o sometimes gets these dreams about some random ass old man. He doesn't know who he is, nor why this is happening, but he mostly just goes along with it.

Most of the time they just spend the time there in silence, not really doing anything and just existing around each other until one day Danny let slip that he fights people on the regular.

Most of them being other people in a dream, who he assumes are ghosts. He manages to hold his own decently well, even without powers of his own.

Plus, he can even take his parents stuff into the dreams!

Sure he sometimes loses, but that's really not the point here.

but the man does not like it.

Danny doesn't get it, considering he can kick ass, take names, and it is just a dream after all.

So imagine his surprise when that old man, who he's known for a while and dare he say can perhaps even be called a friend, takes a fighting stance and tells him to come at him.

He asked if the guy was sure, the guy nodded, he told him not to regret anything when he gets his ass handed to him, the guy said nothing and motioned for him to attack and Danny went for it.

Not even a few moments later and he's insanely embarrassed he got his ass handed to him. Like, it was over before he even began and Danny didn't even know what happened.

So of course, being who he is and knowing this guy for a while. He very obviously asks the guy to teach him his ways and he must be insanely charming because the guy didn't even hesitate to say yes!

It was like, a few more dreams in that he finally asked for the guy's name. He said his name was Bruce, and that he was traveling the world and learning every martial art currently still existing.

Danny instantly grew to like him more after that. Sure, his mom's a blackbelt, and sure she taught him to kick major ass before she got dragged into her inventions, and sure she doesn't train with him or spend time with him anymore because of that-

Wait he's rambling.

Anyways.

So the guy asked him if he was taught martial arts, since he does have a pretty solid foundation. Danny said yes and then talked about his mom, because anytime to gush about how much of a badass she is, is one he's gonna take.

Somewhere along that rant it turned into a rant about his parents, and then their inventions, and then it turned into his sister and then it turned towards the ghosts he fights and how he beats them up really well and how his parents inventions really helps and then it turned towards that one time he got hit by one of his parents inventions which is why all these people appear in these dreams-

Bruce motions for him to stop, and then asks what Danny means by being hit by one of his parents inventions.

Danny stops, then gets real sheepish about it. Because really, it was kinda technically his fault that he got hit since he did sneak into his parents lab while they were out and accidently messed with something unfinished.

Bruce asked how Danny got into their lab. To which Danny said pretty easily since he already cracked the passcode for their 'secret' lab, and yea sure they didn't know that and sure he shouldn't really be in there in the first place without them knowing, but it's not like they know where he is most of the time.

Then Danny gets frustrated and say that they changed the passcode, so now he has to crack it again and he can't ask Jazz for help since she's too busy with school, but it's not like he really needs her help because he's plenty smart on his own but it would be nice-

Bruce doesn't say anything while Danny takes the conversation to an entirely different place than it started. His face only growing dark, as he quietly listened to Danny now going on about how to not fight a living jelly because they are vicious.

Which is another cause for concern, frankly.

Bruce has noticed that Danny has a tendency to just. Ramble about random things for hours if he isn't stopped, and is extremely surprised when Bruce actually listened whenever he stopped to take a breath.

He does wonder who exactly this boy's parents are however.

So then this keeps going on for a while, with Danny and Bruce either training martial arts or just talking (more so Danny rambling on about his day or anything really and Bruce just listening and commenting here or there.) and existing.

Then when Danny turned 11 he tells Bruce about how his parents got this huuuuuge mysterious donation that let them buy parts to make this super-mega-awesome invention of theirs that's supposed to be some kind of portal or something.

Which Danny is a bit jealous over because his parents are spending less and less time out of their lab, but that's besides the point.

Sometimes he also shows Bruce blueprints on things his parents worked on and then left unfinished because they lost interest in it or just don't see how they can work it out.

And Bruce, being the super-mega-awesome-nice friend he is, looked them over and then tweaked them a bit here and there and then they just worked!

(Also yes, he did indeed crack his parents code again and stole some of their parts to make said inventions but hey what they don't know won't hurt them and plus he can take it into his dreams.)

Some very, very rare times, Danny showed Bruce some of his own blueprints that he tried to make. Because if he showed an interest in inventions then maybe, just, maybe he'll be able to spend more time with his parents.

But anyways.

He showed them to Bruce, and they kinda just sat there figuring out how to make Danny's dreams become a reality. Then over time Danny just, sorta stopped showing his parents blueprints and more of his own.

They still trained of course, but it was really cool to just, tell someone his ideas and for them to actually listen.

And sure, he could tell his mom and dad but they have the attention span of a goldfish when it isn't anything ghost related (no hate indented but it's just facts.) and Jazz is really busy with her own life too and also a bit... smothery.

And he didn't really have any other friends since no one really wants to take to the child of the resident ghost hunters. There is those two friends he knows online, but he doesn't wanna ruin anything by just showing blueprints.

So telling Bruce was something he took readily too after he reacted well the first time he showed him his first blueprint. Hell, it didn't even need to be a blueprint for a weapon, it could be anything and Bruce would still find a way to help him.

Eventually it shifted from Blueprints of weapons and household items, to ones of spaceships and stuff meant to mimic the stars. Then conversation shifted from everyday stuff to space and it's many wonders and how cool it is.

Danny talked, and Bruce listened.

Bruce trained him, and so Danny fought.

Danny trusted an adult for once in his life, and Bruce gave him every reason to trust him.

Bruce helped Danny with his ideas, and in turn Danny gave him a distraction from most of the pain and worry of what's happening in Gotham until he can go back and help.

Danny found a place he can just let go in, and Bruce allowed him that space.

Which made it oh so terrible whenever he lost everything.

Well, not everything. But it sure felt that way to Danny.

It was when he turned 12, telling his friends online about how his parents completed this craaaaazy new invention that apparently should open a portal to, somewhere he isn't sure.

One of his friends told him he should totally go check it out and tell them if it works or not. It didn't really take much convincing since he also wanted to check it out too.

The pain was overwhelming.

Feeling his body be defiled by electricity and then slowly disintegrate while he could still feel everything and then not feeling anything from his limbs after and yet still being alive and then suddenly feeling again after he couldn't was so overwhelming and the pain was still there and-

Nobody was in the house at the time, his parents out for the day and Jazz hanging out with her friends. So no one could hear him scream.

Then there he was, in the air trying to remember how to breathe only to realize he wasn't breathing-

Then he dropped to the ground and found he could breathe as air forced itself into his lungs until he started feeling light headed and passed out.

Later when woke up he told his friends that it never worked, and stayed away from it for awhile.

Later when he was asleep he didn't see Bruce anywhere, nor any of those ghosts he fights at all.

He didn't think much of it, maybe Bruce just wasn't sleeping.

He thought the same when a few days past by and still no signs of Bruce.

He distracted himself with fighting the ghosts from his dreams that came from his parents portal that he forces back to the zone.

A single day multiplied as it turned to a week, and then that week turned into weeks and then a month and then that month turned into months-

-And he hasn't seen Bruce in so long that he just doesn't get why he couldn't find him. He searched his dreams, not seeing hide nor hair of Bruce and spent his days awake fighting ghosts since his parents homeschool him even though they spend most of their time in their lab and it's him who homeschools himself and sometimes he has to run from his parents because they also attack and hunt him-

But it doesn't matter.

He kept searching for Bruce until he couldn't. He kept searching past when he couldn't.

Sometimes he couldn't help those few thoughts that creep into his brain whenever he stares up at the ceiling and can't sleep.

That maybe Bruce finally got tired of him and that he doesn't care about him anymore and stopped wishing to meet him and abandoned him for another child who isn't like him and can actually be normal and isn't a freak who can't do anything right.

Sometimes Danny lets himself stew in those thoughts.

Danny doesn't like thinking about them that much.

Bruce will be back. He just has to wait. Friends wait for their friends and besides he already has two other friends and yea he can't meet up with them in person but still.

It was when he encountered this one ghost while going past the boundaries of his own dream in search of his Friend that he was told that Bruce wasn't ever going to come to his dream, that he can't come back to his dream anymore.

Now, Danny is smart. Maybe not as smart as his parents or Jazz, but he has something in his brain and he knows that what this ghost is saying is probably true and that he should just accept but-

He just can't.

He doesn't want to.

Bruce couldn't have abandoned him. He's probably still looking for him right now in his own dream and Danny would be such a bad friend if he didn't continue looking.

But then he was told that Bruce wasn't looking for him, because this Bruce person never existed in the first place.

Danny didn't want to believe it. He couldn't.

Bruce wasn't a figment of his imagination.

He just couldn't be.

Bruce was his friend. He's his friend and he was real.

So obviously this ghost is lying.

Until he found out that he wasn't because this ghost knows the dreams of every person on the planet and the Bruce that he knows was never one of them and Danny.

Danny couldn't take that.

This ghost was lying. he just had to be. Bruce is his friend and he's real and he's been with him for so long and he couldn't help him if he wasn't real and everything they've done together was real.

Bruce was real.

Bruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was realBruce was real

He woke up.

He didn't move. Didn't do anything. He just stared up at the ceiling of his room while light shined from beyond his curtains and he should be getting up but he just can't and then it got dark and little stars and planets and blackholes and supernova's played across his ceiling and it was the first thing he and Bruce made together and-

He started crying. He couldn't even sob. He just laid there, watching his pride and joy dance across the ceiling of his room for minutes and then hours.

When the first ray of sunrise tried to peek throw his window was when he finally managed to drag himself out of bed. He took the invention and one of his parent's bat, went to the back of the house and hit it again and again until he felt better.

He didn't feel better.

He did the same to everything else he and Bruce made.

Nothing ever made him feel better.

So instead, he threw himself into fighting all the ghosts that came through the portal. Every fight marked victory, and victory meant injuries because that's just how things worked.

Victories used to give him joy. Because he could go back to Bruce and tell him everything about it and get praised for it.

Now he can't.

He can't tell his parents. He can't tell his sister. He can't tell anyone.

Nobody cares about him anymore, and that's just sometime he has to accept now.

[ironspiderfics]

someone else living in his skin

by @iron--spider for @shoyzz-art

~

Peter slides up alongside Rhodey, and Rhodey startles.

There’s a cacophony of twinkling glasses and chairs being pulled out and whatever weird jazz music playlist Tony’s got playing, and all of it seems loud, in Peter’s ears. Shaking his nerves. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rhodey says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing? I thought you were putting out table numbers—”

“Do you think he’s acting shifty?” Peter asks, calmly as he can.

He’s calm. Why wouldn’t he be calm?

His eyes are locked on Tony. 

They’re in the middle of setting up this mini gala event, the opening for Stark’s new research facility in the Lower East Side. It’s gonna create hundreds of jobs and scholarships and internships and it’s gonna be a really good thing, partnering with the museums and businesses in the area. Peter’s actually really excited because he’s got the title of ‘Lead Researcher’ for the intern pool, whatever that winds up meaning from day to day, and he thought Tony would be really excited too. He loves celebrations, he loves new opportunities and helping people, but—

But for the last two days he’s been…different.

He’s been…off.

But Peter’s calm. He’s calm about it. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be calm.

His eye is just twitching a little bit.

Rhodey looks at Tony, and then he looks at Peter, and then he looks at Tony again. He narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to assess the situation. 

“He’s just—I don’t know,” Peter says, blowing out a breath. He wrings his hands together and cracks his jaw. 

“Is this a spidey sense thing?” Rhodey asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Peter shrugs, still watching him. Tony is sort of looming around—straightening a table cloth here, pushing in a chair there, glancing over his shoulder like he thinks someone is watching him. He’s sweating more than normal. 

“A little bit of that, a little bit of—just—he’s acting weird,” Peter says. “Not acting like himself, I guess ever since the other night when that guy tried to break in—”

“But we dealt with that,” Rhodey says, looking at him. “It was in and out—cops came, got the guy—”

“Right, I know, but it’s been since then he’s just been like—I don’t know,” Peter says, blowing out a breath. “Like he—the other night, he forgot that I already graduated, he was asking me when I was gonna graduate—”

“We all forget that,” Rhodey says, raising his eyebrow at him. “You’re perpetually twelve—”

“You didn’t even know me when I was twelve—”

“You’re twelve now—”

Peter sighs. “Well, he normally remembers, and he was the one at my graduation screaming and yelling and making a big scene so, that’s not really—easily forgotten, and he was being weird about Spider-Man the other day—”

“Weird how?” Rhodey asks, turning towards him completely, now. “Because he’s always weird about Spider-Man. Every other day he’s messaging me like how do we convince Peter to retire?”

Peter clicks his tongue. “Asking me things he knows. Like how I make my webs and which suit is my favorite and—I don’t know, stuff like that. Weird stuff.”

“You’ve been staying at the compound since that guy tried to break in?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Me and May both, the apartment has that infestation, everybody’s out for at least a week.” 

He clears his throat. The guy trying to break in was weird—he seemed normal, no powers, no real intentions, he got pretty far but was taken down fast, and he didn’t seem at all—fazed, by any of it. He was even polite. 

Maybe it got under Tony’s skin? A lot of stuff like that does. They’ve been through enough, with the dying, coming back again two years later, him nearly dying trying to fix it all—a petty thief trying to get into an Avengers compound is just the kind of irritation that might set him off. Last straw kinda deal.

Rhodey stares over at Tony again, and Peter looks too. Tony is being twitchy. He’s talking to waiters and he’s got his hands behind his back and his fingers are twitching. 

“Has Pepper said anything to you?” Rhodey asks.

“Has Pepper said anything to you?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows. “Because she’s more likely—I mean, with me, we talk about MIT, when I start, how my summer’s going, we talk about, um, TikTok recipes, we talk about MJ, and Tony in the capacity of like, Iron Man, and Spider-Man, or his birthday, or Christmas, but not like—I’m just saying, she’s more likely to—have said something to you, or Happy, than me.”

“No, she hasn’t, but now that you mention—and he is acting weird right now—and yesterday he did get off the phone fast, different from how he normally…” Rhodey trails off, shaking his head. 

“Maybe he’s sick?” Peter asks, worrying a little bit more now. He thought maybe he was overreacting, he thought Rhodey would brush him off and he’d feel better and then Tony would magically start acting normal again after the conversation. “Nervous? He doesn’t usually—”

“No,” Rhodey says, shaking his head. “Not nervous, these things are—easy, like the back of his hand—sick, maybe, but I thought he was well beyond hiding sick from us, so I hope not—” He looks resolute, all of a sudden, and he claps Peter on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go talk to him. We’ve got an hour or so still, of set-up, so let’s just—just keep on putting out the numbers, doing everything on your list—”

“Okay,” Peter says, nodding, and Rhodey pats him on the shoulder again, moving past him. Peter watches, nonchalantly, as Rhodey walks up to Tony, taking his arm and sort of moving him across the room.

And it’s probably fine. 

Rhodey’s gonna talk to him, figure it out, and it’s gonna be okay. 

Peter keeps repeating that to himself, as he does his little jobs, and he marks them off his list in his notepad—table numbers, check, badges at the door, check, banners, check, taste test the hors d'oeuvres, mostly check, and he totally had that spelled wrong in his notes and it’s fine—

And when people start to arrive, he realizes that he hasn’t seen Tony or Rhodey since—Rhodey left to go talk to him.

And he gets a little nervous and he looks around, trying to scan the room—not completely full yet, and nothing’s started, but Pepper is here and he sees Happy—

—and May makes him jump when she shows up behind him.

“What’s wrong, honey?” she says, giving him that look, that look that’s gotten sharper and even more severe with every one of his near death experiences. 

So he decides not to tell her what’s going on in his head. Which is usually the opposite of what she wants, but this probably isn’t anything, so. “Nothing,” he says, clearing his throat, still trying to scan around. But Tony and Rhodey aren’t here, not anywhere he can see.

“That’s not your nothing face,” she says, rubbing his arm. “Do you have a job you’re supposed to be doing? Is your brain tingling?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “No, it’s—no, it’s not—I gotta, uh, one second—can you make sure you get me one of those little wonton things? Or like three of them? I keep seeing them on the trays and I haven’t gotten to try one yet—”

“You’re concerned about that?” she asks, her eyes still worried and distrustful.

“Yes,” he says, grinning at her quickly before he starts to go looking. 

Part of him feels like he should say something to Pepper, but he doesn’t want to stress her out—and like, it’s probably nothing, everything is probably fine, and he makes a beeline for the door that leads to the little backstage area. 

“Tony?” he says, and the crowd noise goes muffled when he lets the door swing closed behind him. It’s so quiet back here—he doesn’t even see any of the employees or the guys that do the lights or any of Tony’s security—there wasn’t even anybody at the door when he scanned in.

He hears what sounds like something—brushing against the ground—

“Tony?” Peter asks again, glancing around. “Rhodey? Are you guys, uh—I feel like we’re getting ready to—”

Peter turns another corner and stops dead.

Rhodey is on the ground, knocked out, and Tony is dragging him by the arms. He looks up, and sees Peter there, and the look on his face—he doesn’t—Peter’s brain is going a mile a minute and he’s already surging forward to help but the look on Tony’s face—it registers somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind…

“Oh my God, what—what happened?” Peter asks, rushing over and kneeling down next to Rhodey. “What happened, what did—”

“Uh, he fell,” Tony says, and he kneels down next to him. He nods, and widens his eyes and shakes his head, and he doesn’t seem nearly as concerned as he usually would be. Tony normally loses his mind when Rhodey so much as gets a paper cut, so this is…this is…

“How?” Peter asks, looking at Tony and back at Rhodey again. “He was just—”

“I don’t think he ate enough,” Tony says.

Every alarm bell is going off in Peter’s head. They’ve been going off tonight, and for a couple days, honestly, if he really thinks about it, but it’s loud now. He feels like time is slowing down, like his vision is getting narrow, like all of his senses are on high and zeroing in.

And it feels wrong. The shift in the air and his own suspicion, it feels wrong. What would be wrong with Tony?

But that’s where this is going.

It’s focusing on him.

Peter looks at Rhodey, and there’s a bruise on his cheek—

And Tony is clenching and unclenching his fist—

“Tony?” Peter asks, slowly, glancing up at him. His brain isn’t working. It isn’t working and it’s working too fast and he feels like he’s trudging through sludge. Every move is the wrong move.

And Peter looks at him in a certain way. With suspicion. And he hates it, and he feels sick, but he can’t shake it—

And Tony doesn’t answer him. He just looks at him, and the light that’s usually behind his eyes is gone, and his expression is one Peter doesn’t recognize. 

Like someone else is living in his skin.

And just as that thought takes hold and sends chills down Peter’s spine, setting off a whole new line of panicked questions in his head, Tony clicks his tongue. And he sighs.

“Shit,” he breathes. And it’s his voice, of course it’s his voice, but it sounds twisted, and different, and before Peter can even react, before he can pounce on the alarm bells and the way his senses are narrowing and signaling, Tony surges forward with a stiff arm to Peter’s throat, and knocking him to the ground. 

Tony punches him, with his full strength behind it, and Peter is so shocked that he doesn’t even block, and he tastes blood immediately. He winces, gasping, and he blocks the next one, and then Tony is grabbing his forearms and tossing him across the room. 

Peter hits a thing of shelving, and a bunch of buckets fall down on top of him, and through the pandemonium, he sees Tony running away from him.

“What the fuck,” Peter breathes, and he scrambles to his feet—

And Tony would never hit him, ever, not ever, and Peter’s head pounds, with the force of the punches, with the alarms going off, with fear and worry, and is this a clone, is it mind control—either way he has to get him, there’s a reason, but what is it, what is it—

And if he’s a clone it’d be different, but if it’s mind control, Peter might be able to get through to him, he might be able to break it—

And Peter scrambles to his feet, wiping the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand, and he starts taking off in the same direction Tony did—

And he can’t even call his name before he’s taking the full force of a repulsor blast. 

He’s knocked backwards again, slamming into the wall, and he can feel it cave in against his back with the strength of the hit. He coughs, gasping, and his jacket is smoldering and his skin underneath it is too, and he sees Tony standing there with the repulsor aimed at him—he’s only wearing one, and Peter rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting hit again and trying to catch his breath.

He’s not thinking, because nothing makes sense, and Peter just rushes at him and tackles him to the floor—

And Tony punches him again, with the iron hand this time, and Peter’s neck twists hard with the hit—his jaw cracks, blood in his teeth—

And everything in him is screaming to fight back, fight back, but it’s Tony, he—he can’t—he can’t hurt him he fucking can’t hurt him—

And he grimaces, metal in his mouth, and grabs both of Tony’s wrists, mid-flail, and pins him to the ground—

“Doesn’t fucking matter, it’s set,” Tony hisses, and he doesn’t even sound like himself, and the way his face is contorting, he doesn’t look like himself either. Peter’s heart is in his throat, and he dodges another repulsor blast that Tony manages to get off, and Peter covers the repulsor with his hand and twists Tony’s fist and focuses—

“What is? What is?” Peter knows it’s not him, not right now, not really, but he can’t help— “Tony, Tony, are you in there? Are you in there, can you hear—”

“It’ll still do damage where it is—they’d never scan Tony Stark himself at one of his own events,” Tony says, and he grins, manic. “Good way to get it done, huh? One big blast, kill him, ruin his reputation at the same time—”

And Peter’s mind drifts again, like a lifeboat at sea, and he remembers Tony saying earlier that he wouldn’t need his webshooters here, but he packed them anyway. He remembers him with a gym bag, a duffel, he remembers oh nothing, just a few extra lights, and May is here and Rhodey and Happy and people are starting to arrive and Tony himself—Tony himself, and he’s not a clone, he’s not, they’re—they’re trying to kill him, it’s—it’s mind control, it has to be, they used him to smuggle a device in, and they’re trying to kill him—

Peter’s mind drifts, and guides him, and every time it feels like a pull, like a bunch of arrows, but this is more powerful than he’s felt in a while—

And Tony knees him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him again—Tony grabs him by his shoulders and Peter wrenches away, and they both stumble to their feet again and for a minute they’re in a boxing match, except Peter keeps getting hit, because he’s pulling his punches, because it’s Tony, it’s Tony—

“Stop, stop, stop, you’re—”

Another blow across his cheek, breaking the skin, and he hears a high pitch in his ear, and Tony grabs him by the throat and shoves him against the wall—

And Peter gasps, and pushes him, hard, and Tony trips back and nearly falls and even the way he’s moving right now doesn’t seem like him—

And Peter rushes away and tries to run, his head drifting, pulling him, alert, alert—

Webshooters, backpack, the duffel—they were together, he left it—left it with their stuff, back here, when they—when they got here—

And there are arrows in his head and they’re pulsing and buzzing like neon signs, and he knows he’s going the right way—

But he’s being pulled back to the ground by his ankle, and his head cracks on the tile, and it’s stars and metal and arrows and buzz buzz, how much time is on the clock, we don’t know, we don’t even know it’s a bomb, we don’t even know if it’s counting down, but it sure as shit feels like it—

And he tries to scramble up again and his spidey sense can usually help him from all angles, but it feels off, here, and he knows it is when Tony hits him in the face again, when he grabs him and throws him—and punches him again, rattling his brain in his skull—

And it’s because it’s Tony, because he’s not—he’s not a threat, but he is, he is, right now he is—

“Tony!” Peter yells, because maybe he can get through, maybe he can— “Please—”

And he dodges out of the way of another hit, and stumbles up against the far wall in the narrow backstage hallway—

“Tony, this isn’t—it’s me, it’s Peter, Tony, you have to fight this!” he yells, and he starts running again—again—

“He’s not home!” Tony sing-songs, laughing. “Should have known you’d be fucking trouble, a stupid fucking kid is Spider-Man—”

And Peter runs from him, and sees the fire alarm on the wall, and he grabs it and pulls it as he passes it by—

And the alarm goes off in the real world now, in tune with the one in his head, flashing red and white. He hears Tony curse and yell behind him, and Peter has to—he has to—

Doesn’t fucking matter, it’s set—it’ll still do damage where it is—

It has to be a bomb, it has to be—

And he grits his teeth—Tony is still on his heels, and tears sting in Peter’s eyes along with the heartbeat thump of the pulp his face is turning into, and he sucks in a breath and dodges another repulsor blast—

He has to get him to stop, stop, stop trying to stop him—

And he turns around, and tries to hold back and focus at the same time—

“I’m sorry, I’m—I’m so so sorry—”

And he punches him once, and then again, directly in the face, and Peter knows how strong he is and he tries not to hurt him too badly, and Tony crumples and Peter catches him, guiding him to the ground—

And even though the arrows and the alarms are buzzing and jolting in Peter’s entire body now, he sniffles through the blood and makes sure Tony is still breathing, makes sure he still has a pulse, and he is, he does, and Peter squeezes his shoulder and he can’t think about after, not til they get there—

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, squeezing his shoulder again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

And he gets up and he doesn’t let himself look back and he starts running again—

And he’s limping now, and he doesn’t know where that came from, and he finds the place where they stored their bags—

And alarms in his head, and the fire alarm in the building, and lights flashing on and off and he can hear the insanity in the main ballroom, and he finds the duffel and rips it open and—

It is a bomb. 

And it’s got a five minute counter.

Peter scrambles, his head pounding pulsing sick, and he gets his webshooters out and puts them on and grabs the entire duffel bag and slings it over his shoulder.

And he makes a break through the nearest emergency door.

And he gets a running start and leaps into a swing, and his whole face hurts and the emergency in his head is steeping him in a bubble now, because the source is with him, and the danger is still back there, because he doesn’t know if knocking Tony out broke the mind control or if he’s gonna wake up still trapped as an angry Terminator—

And Peter swings, trying to launch himself higher and higher, and he can hear the timer clicking and he keeps track of the count and he can’t be a second off or this is gonna go south—

And it might not work anyway—

And this is dire straits, but Peter finds himself thinking of normal things, and they rise above the noise in his head and the oncoming sirens and he doesn’t feel calm, exactly—his face is pulsing with the pain of the hits he took and he feels like he lost a couple teeth, and his shoulder feels like it’s not in the socket properly every time he swings higher, and his leg is in fire and his spidey sense is an orb of panic, encasing him in a snow globe, but—

He thinks of watching that African Grey Parrot with MJ and Ned the other day, for two hours straight, wiping out the entire YouTube catalog of all his antics. He thinks about the yoga class with May at Bryant Park they got with that Groupon and the seven chai lattes she had lined up beside her mat like bowling pins. He thinks about touring the MIT campus with Tony and the way he introduced him to everybody and said this kid is gonna be the best student you ever have. Sharing french fries at Sebastian’s Cafe. I’m so proud of you.

And he hears the beeping speed up, and he’s thinking of all of that and everything else and why did I wear these shoes why not the brown ones as he tosses the duffel into the air at the arc of his highest swing, and it explodes above him in a mess of orange fireball and knocks him right out of the air—

~

Tony wakes up broken apart.

He doesn’t open his eyes right away. He’s not in the vice grip anymore, not locked into some subconscious pit in his own body while some asshole takes the reins, but he feels like—he feels like the asshole could take over again at any minute, like he’s still in his head somewhere. Dormant, waiting for a moment of weakness so he can shove Tony back down in his cage—

His hands are cuffed together, and he’s—he’s cuffed to something—

He groans, rattling his hands a little bit, and he wakes up and—

Rhodey and Pepper are there. He’s on the floor, and cuffed to a pipe in the wall, and they’re sitting in front of him, and they both look wary and he doesn’t fucking blame them, and his head is pounding and his memories are slapdash watercolor but—

“It’s me,” he breathes, his throat hurting. “It’s me, it’s me—”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Rhodey says, and he exchanges a look with Pepper. He’s got a butterfly bandage on his cheek and Tony thinks that’s me, my fault and what else did he, what else—

“No, I know,” Tony says, squeezing his eyes shut, and his head is pounding and it feels like someone shredded him from the inside out, and—

Tony, you have to fight this—

He remembers, barely—the NYPD taking that guy away, laughing at the idea that they had to ‘save Iron Man’, and he was alone that night and still skeeved off over the whole thing and then he felt the pinch on his arm and felt the thing burrowing and he panicked and he couldn’t even panic for long enough before he seized, before he fell inside himself—

“Thing in my arm,” he croaks, still squeezing his eyes shut tight, because light hurts because voices hurt because everything hurts, and he’s trying to put together the puzzle of his memories and he feels like he might throw up because—because he’s here now but the other guy—he’s here too, he’s still in there, he’s still—and any moment he could— “There’s a thing in my upper arm, left arm—you need to—dig it out, I think it’s right below—right under the skin, it’s like—it made me—made me susceptible, created a link, I don’t fucking know, get it out. You need to get it out.”

“Tony, what—”

Pepper’s voice.

“Pep, he’s—”

“It’s me right now, get it out of my arm or it might not be me in—” He opens his eyes too fast, and really feels like he’s gonna fucking throw up, and they’re both looking at him like he’s the biggest piece of trash they’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing, and that makes him sick too, and what did he—what did he do, what—puzzle pieces, shifting, falling off a glass table—

And he feels his hands breaking skin—

“Jesus Christ,” Rhodey says, and he shifts around and moves over to Tony’s left side, pushing up his sleeve. Tony isn’t even sure where the hell they are right now—he was deep inside, dark and dank and paralyzed in his own body—

“Jesus,” Rhodey says again, and Tony cranes his neck a bit and sees it, feels Rhodey running his finger over a little bump in his arm about the size of a nickel—

“Cut it out,” Tony says, closing his eyes again. “I’m serious, find a knife, cut it out, that’s—”

“Tony,” Pepper says, and she’s rubbing his knee—

“Pepper,” Rhodey says, in that warning tone he has, and the fact that he has to warn Tony’s wife not to touch him is just—

“Cut it out, Rhodey, I’m serious—”

“Alright, Jesus Christ, alright—” And he scrambles away—

“Sterilize it, Rhodey,” Pepper calls after him, looking at Tony again. Her face is streaked with worry, and she looks at him with wariness and pity and love all at the same time. “Tony, why didn’t you—you couldn’t say—”

“I was here but I wasn’t,” he breathes, and the cuffs are hurting his wrists, and everything is fucking hurting, and what did he do what did he do how the fuck long has it been. “Someone—someone got me, I let my guard down and someone—”

It was so easy. The guy used himself as a distraction, as bait, and then he—he did whatever the hell he did and then he was in Tony’s head—

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey says, rushing back around the corner again. “Close your eyes, Tony, if you are—Tony, goddamnit—”

Tony swallows hard, nodding and closing his eyes, and he winces, holding onto the pipe as Rhodey cuts into his skin. He does it fast, and Tony grits his teeth, and he feels Rhodey take the thing out and then he hears him stomping and stomping and stomping—

Feels like plates falling and crashing to the ground inside Tony’s skull. 

He doesn’t get it all, but he gets flashes—the bomb under his hands, Rhodey confronting him, Peter—

Peter.

He remembers hitting him. Over and over, and is that the same hit or—how many times did he—

Peter hitting the wall, and Tony recoils, a tremor running through him, and what did he, what did—

“Where’s Peter?” he asks, looking back and forth at them. His arm is throbbing, everything hurts, he’s frail and sick and he’s probably gonna fucking puke but he doesn’t care. “Where’s Peter, where is he?”

They both just stare at him, and kind of look at each other, and Tony’s heart sinks. 

“What, did I kill him?” he asks, his voice breaking. He grabs onto the bar he’s cuffed to, feeling like he needs to hold on. He’s terrified. “What, what? Where is he?”

“Tony, you were…” Rhodey starts, shaking his head. “You—the kid knew you were acting weird and I went to confront you and you knocked me out—and I guess—Jesus, I guess you were—are, I don’t goddamn know—being mind controlled, and you brought a bomb in here—we’re at the gala, for the new facility—and Peter sussed you out and you two got into it and he knocked you out and I guess—knocked this guy’s control on you loose enough—but he—he took the bomb and—he had webshooters and he—”

Tony closes his eyes, white noise eating into his vision, and he feels like he’s gonna pass out. “Is Peter dead?” he breathes, shaking.

“We’re trying to find him,” Pepper says, and she rubs Tony’s knee again. “Some people got footage, he tossed it into the air and he was blown back and now we can’t—Happy is out there looking, Sam and Natasha are looking, we’ve got emergency deployment teams looking—”

“Uncuff me, please,” Tony half-whispers, because his voice gets caught in his throat. “I need to help, I need to—I need to help look for him—”

“Tony, you’re—”

“He’s not in my head anymore,” Tony snaps, looking at Rhodey. He doesn’t know how the fuck he can prove that, but he can feel it now. It’s different, he’s—he feels ill, and weak, but he doesn’t feel trapped. He doesn’t feel like the ground is about to fall out from underneath him. “And you need to find someone to get that dipshit, he was supposed to be in jail, but right now, I’m—I’m in here alone, okay? I wanna help look for Peter, I want to—please let me, please. You can stay with me, but I need to—just—please. Please.”

Pepper and Rhodey exchange a look, and Tony keeps getting flashes—his fist connecting with Peter’s face, grabbing him and throwing him against the wall—and he shakes them off, swallowing hard. “Please,” he breathes.

Rhodey heaves a sigh. “Lemme get the key.”

~

Tony watches the footage from the quinjet while they scan over the city. He was ruthless, relentless, and he watches himself grab Peter by the throat, toss him every which way, hit him and hit him and hit him again. He made him bleed, over and over, he shot him and burned him up and dragged him to the ground, and Peter barely fought him. He actively avoided it, and got worse because of it. Tony keeps watching, and before long Clint is walking over and taking the phone from him. 

“It wasn’t you,” he says, giving him a pointed look. “Alright? You know that. It wasn’t you.”

“Sure looked like me,” Tony says, getting up and walking back over to Friday’s main control panel. Peter wasn’t in a suit, so this is harder than normal. 

“It wasn’t,” Clint says, sitting back in the pilot’s seat. And he doesn’t say much else about it, but Tony knows he knows firsthand what he’s going through, what this feels like. And it helps a little bit, but not much. The images are imprinted in his head.

He loves Peter. May trusts Tony with her nephew, her surrogate son, the person in her care, and it’s gotten to the point that it’s just a given that Peter is safe with Tony, that Tony’s always gonna help him and protect him. But now there’s this. Now there’s Tony punching him and hitting him and choking him and making him bleed, and he looks down at his hands and they shake. 

Nobody else was hurt, he didn’t do anything else, but that’s because Peter took the bomb. He took that on himself, Tony’s mistake, Tony’s problem, and he put himself in danger to solve it and save everybody. And now they can’t find him. 

Tony wavers back down into the closest seat.

“Stop beating yourself up,” Pepper says, walking out of the back compartment and sitting down next to him. “It wasn’t you. You’re a victim here too.”

“I hurt him, whether it was…me in charge or not,” Tony says, his eyes straining with tears as he looks at her. “These hands hurt him. And I almost…blew up the goddamn gala, if it wasn’t for him noticing—”

“I didn’t notice,” she says. “I should have—Rhodey should have—”

“You guys are busy,” Tony says, looking at the screen again. He’s got a social media tracker up too, and so many people are talking about what happened. Peter didn’t have a mask on, but thankfully, there’s no good footage of his face. 

Everyone is calling him a hero. Because that’s exactly what he is, what he always has been.

“You need people to look out for you too,” Pepper says, running her hand through his hair. “We should have done better, but Peter’s got that little…alert system in his brain, and he’s intuitive, and he knows you. He loves you, he worries.”

Tony shakes his head, looking down at his hands again. He knows May is with Happy, searching, and he can’t even imagine how she feels right now. He feels fucking sick.

“You need someone to check you out too,” Pepper says, still touching him gently, and he doesn’t deserve that either. “Probably have a concussion.”

“Not til we find him,” Tony croaks. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Tony,” she says, but he shakes his head. He’s supposed to be better than this. They defeated a fucking Titan, they defied death and time and saved the goddamn world. And he lets a petty thief mind control him? Take away his agency? Hit Rhodey, threaten an event with innocent people, hurt Peter, badly, put him in harm’s way—

“Tony,” Clint says. “I think we got something.”

~

Peter needs to get up.

He’s been laying here for forty five years he’s an old man now—

He needs to get back he needs to fix Tony so nothing else happens he needs to protect him and get that guy that did this it must have been that guy that’s when it started and he doesn’t know how he did it but he mind controlled him somehow—

Peter coughs, twisting onto his side, and he spits out some blood, and a tooth, and he hopes it’s his wisdom tooth that’s been bothering him the top right one—

He got exploded, that’s right—

And his face hurts, and where the repulsor got him is burning and he feels like he’s wheezing and he falls back on his back again and he feels like he’s on fire a little bit and is his left eye closed or welded closed or gone forever and his leg—twisted—

And just a second just a second—

Black again, in a wonder wheel of spiraling stars—

“Hey, hey. Pete.”

He opens his eyes. Tony is there, cupping his face in his hands, and Peter smiles a little bit, dizzy.

“Is it you?” he asks, or thinks he asks. He can’t hear his own voice. Tony sounded muffled too, but he nods at him.

“It’s me,” he says. He looks so sad. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Peter closes his eyes again, because they’re so heavy. “It’s okay,” he says, and he feels like he’s being lifted up, and he doesn’t remember anything else after—

He opens his eyes. He feels like he’s moving, and he recognizes the tiny medical room in the quinjet. Tony is right next to him, and he stands up when he sees Peter’s awake, and is Peter awake? He feels…crazy, he feels…

“Tony,” he says, and he tries to sit up. “Is it you? Is it you? Are you—”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Tony says, stepping closer. He still sounds muffled, and faraway, and so does everything else. But he looks like himself. He’s not off anymore. “I’m not gonna hurt you again. Jesus, Pete, I’m so sorry—”

Peter shakes his head, blinking at him. “You didn’t, you—it wasn’t you, you didn’t—”

“I did, technically,” Tony says, and he just stands there and he’s got tears in his eyes and he isn’t really looking at him. He’s close, but he’s keeping his distance. “We’re on our way back, to the compound, May and everybody else is meeting us there—you, uh, you saved everybody, you’re burned in a couple places from the blast and my—goddamn repulsor, but Helen’s gonna—when we get back, she’s going to—”

He sighs, stops talking and rests his elbows on the bar of the bed, and hangs his head, like he’s ashamed. Peter hasn’t ever really seen him like this, and his brain still feels like it’s swiss cheese but he sits up a little bit more. He covers Tony’s hands with his own and squeezes them, and tries not to think about how much everything hurts.

“You wouldn’t be mad at me if this was opposite,” Peter says, staring at the top of his head. “You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t blame me at all and I don’t blame you either so. So. Just don’t even, I mean. Just don’t.”

“You can’t even talk straight,” Tony says, still not looking up. 

“That’s most of the time,” Peter says, still holding onto his hands. 

Tony sighs. “I put you in danger and I hurt you. I watched the footage, it was a fucking nightmare, and you let me keep hitting you because you know how strong you are and you didn’t want to hurt me so you just let me keep hurting you—”

“It wasn’t you,” Peter says, trying to be assertive, and he’s so tired, he’s so, so tired. He leans forward, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. It isn’t. So stop. I know you won’t and you’re gonna live in this and punish yourself forever but like, don’t. Don’t do that.” He sighs, leaning into him. “Did you guys get the bad guy—”

“Sounded like it,” Tony says, and he’s still hanging his head, and Peter sighs. “I think so. I gotta check in with Rhodey again. Make sure nobody else got mind controlled.”

“So it all worked out,” Peter says.

“You nearly getting exploded is not it all working out.”

“I didn’t get exploded I only got slightly singed and nobody else got exploded and you are no longer mind controlled so. Win to me.”

Tony sighs again, and he gently, very gently, wraps his arms around Peter and hugs him. “I’m gonna jump off a fucking roof,” he says. “I never wanna hurt you. Never. I can barely remember it, I’ve got flashes—”

“Don’t try,” Peter says, reaching up and holding onto his arm.

“—but I saw the footage—”

“Forget it,” Peter says. “Erase it.”

Tony shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ever—allowed it to happen in the first place, and I still don’t know how the hell it did, and I’ve just got—a lot of work to do, to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I can’t let myself get taken like that, used like a fucking goon against people I love. Jesus Christ. You’re hurt because of me.”

“Nope,” Peter says, because he doesn’t have the brain power to try and fight him harder, even though he knows it’s gonna be a guilt battle probably for the rest of their lives. 

“Pete,” Tony says, still holding onto him.

“Nope,” Peter says again, and he drifts. Spidey sense is dormant. He’s a piece of raw meat but he’s—safe.

~

And Tony isn’t there when Peter wakes up again, back at the compound. May is there, and after she hugs him and kisses him about a hundred times, she breaks out the Tupperware, containing all the little appetizers from the gala that never was. 

And Tony stays missing in action the next couple days, even though everyone else comes by to see how Peter is doing. Rhodey implies that Tony paid a special visit to the asshole that did this, but he doesn’t go into detail on what the encounter entailed. The guy did have hidden powers, clearly, and Doctor Strange even gets involved trying to figure out how he did it, what exactly that thing was that they pulled out of Tony’s arm. 

But three days later and Peter still hasn’t seen him again. 

“Maybe he’s busy,” Ned says, as he and Peter and MJ walk up and down the hallways. Peter broke his ankle, somewhere in all the insanity, and pulled a muscle in his calf. He’s been trying to walk around a lot during the day, even though he’s still on bed rest.

“He’s not busy,” Peter says. “He’s avoiding me.”

“Well, he beat the shit out of you, and he feels bad,” MJ says. 

Peter sighs. 

“I’d feel bad too,” MJ says, “even if I was mind controlled. It still sucks, I mean, when I saw him his knuckles were still all bruised. Just a constant reminder of what someone made him do.”

“You saw him?” Peter asks, looking at her.

She looks a little bit like she wants to take a back, but she nods. “Yeah, uh, earlier. When I got here, when I was talking to Pepper.”

“Did you talk to him?” Peter asks, as they turn around at the end of the hall. He’s trying to sound nonchalant and failing spectacularly.

“Not really,” MJ says, taking Peter’s hand. “He wouldn’t really even look at me, I can tell he—he’s just really guilty. He feels really bad.”

“Peter doesn’t want him to feel bad,” Ned says. 

“Yeah, but once you feel bad, you feel bad,” MJ says, “it’s not like it magically goes away because someone says that it should.”

“Maybe we can magic him,” Ned says. “Doctor Strange, you know. He could do that.”

“Yeah, let’s just hack into his mind again,” MJ says, widening her eyes at him. “I’m sure that’s the right course of action.”

Peter sighs again. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. “He could do this forever. And ever and ever.”

“Well, definitely as long as you’re all bruised up,” MJ says, reaching over with her free hand and brushing her thumb over Peter’s cheek. 

~

And two more days go by without seeing Tony, and it’s almost time for Peter and May to head back to their apartment, even though May said they could stay at the compound as long as he wanted to.

And Peter decides to do something.

“Friday is he still there?” Peter asks, making his way down to the workshop.

“Yes, Peter,” Friday says, in Peter’s ear.

“And you’re not lying to me?” Peter asks, rushing down the stairs, quick as he can with a bum leg.

“No, Peter,” Friday says. “I am not permitted to lie to you.”

Peter smiles to himself. He knows he still doesn’t look wonderful, but he looks a lot better than he did, and either way he can’t take this anymore. And he gets down to the workshop in what feels like record time and he scans in without trying to make a lot of noise, and when he opens the door he sees Tony at the back door as if he’s trying to escape.

“Stop!” Peter yells, his hands up. “Stop! Don’t leave!”

Tony whips around, his eyebrows furrowed. “Kid?” he says, already walking back over in his direction. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Peter says, a little more forcefully than he intended to. 

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, gently, weaving around the work stations and reaching his side. 

“You’re ignoring me!” Peter says, and he sounds like a small, stupid child, but he doesn’t do anything to change that. “And I don’t like it.”

Tony’s face falls, and he nods, glancing away from him. “I’m not…ignoring you, I just—I felt like—”

“I know you feel bad,” Peter says, sucking in a big breath. “And I know me telling you not to feel bad doesn’t change the fact that you feel bad, but I seriously don’t want you to feel bad, because now this whole like—keeping yourself separate and out of my sight thing feels like you’re punishing me.”

“I’m not,” Tony says, fast. “I was just—”

“You don’t need to punish yourself either—”

“I wasn’t really…exactly…c’mere, come sit down—”

“I’m okay,” Peter says.

“I know, I know, I wanna sit,” Tony says, taking Peter’s arm and tugging him over to the closest workstation with two rolling chairs. They sit down, and they both sigh, and Tony keeps talking. “I was just, uh—I sent out messages to everyone involved at the gala explaining things a little bit, and I got everything rescheduled on my own, and I, uh—met up with the asshole at Riker’s and attacked him and nearly got arrested myself—”

Peter leans on the workstation, running his hands over his face. He can imagine that, and he doesn’t like it.

“—and I’ve been building some new security protocols, and working on another nano suit for you that’s a lot like my watch gauntlet that can—stay on your person, read your heart rate, come to you if you need it—but I’m trying to make sure it only comes in the correct instance, and not if you like, see a cute dog—”

Peter laughs a little bit, shaking his head at him.

Tony smiles softly. “But I’ve been doing all that, along with maybe, slightly punishing myself by—staying out of your way—”

“You’re not in my way,” Peter says, feeling a little bit too emotional, maybe. “You’re not. You never have been. Never will be.”

“You don’t know that—”

“Tony—”

“What I mean is…old man, long shadow, you know, I’ve been there—”

“You’re not your dad,” Peter says, shaking his head at him. “You’re a good—you’re a good father figure, you’re a…good father.”

Tony brightens up a little bit, and his nod almost looks like a question. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “No matter what.”

Tony nods again, more solidly this time. “One more thing—”

“No more saying sorry,” Peter says, shaking his head. “You told me I can never say sorry again, well now, you can’t either so, how about—”

“Thank you,” Tony says, and Peter stops talking. “Thank you for—realizing that something was wrong, thank you for figuring it out, thank you for knocking me on my ass when I wasn’t me, thank you for—saving everybody and me too, in the process. Thank you, Pete, really. Thank you.”

Peter’s throat goes tight, and there are tears in his eyes, and he nods again. “You’re welcome,” he says, holding his chin high. “Any time.”

“And I’m sorry,” Tony says, fast, rolling forward and wrapping him up in a big hug. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Last time, I’m sorry. Okay I’m done. I’m so sorry. Okay I’m actually done.”

Peter snorts, hugging him too, burying his face in his shoulder. “No more mind control,” he says, letting the apologies drift into the air unanswered.

“Oh no, never again,” Tony says, rubbing Peter’s back. “And I figure, when you’re—when you’re tip top again, we can get into the ring, and I’ll feel better if you get a few good shots in, and I’ll forget about the whole thing if you break my nose—”

“No,” Peter says, shaking his head and still holding onto him. “I’m not doing that.”

“Too afraid to box an old man, huh?”

“My old man, maybe,” Peter says, feeling particularly sentimental.

And Tony laughs, in a rush of breath, and holds him reverently for a second. He pulls back, and pats Peter’s cheek. “We’ll see,” he says. “Might get Rhodey in there too, to make it fair—”

“He’ll probably take you up on that,” Peter says, getting to his feet. “Okay, lemme see the suit, remember I get last say in design decisions—”

“Oh, you aren’t going for bright yellow?” Tony asks, resting his hand on Peter’s shoulder as they head over to the main workstation. “You don’t like that?”

“Better than that time you tried to integrate green and made me look like a Christmas tree,” Peter says, grinning at him.

“Hey,” Tony says, typing in a few commands and bringing up the specs. “I thought that was very festive.”

And they start working, and Peter remembers feeling safe, before, when they were on the quinjet and his brain was still scrambled. But he feels like they’re on the other side of it now, for real. 

Safe. Really, truly safe.

[brokeitwiththepowerofmathamatics]

Fanfic - Ghost of the Cards

This was written for a "back to school" fic challenge on a DP server I'm in. It was beta read by HeroineofTime!

For the challenge, we had to write a fic that was around going back to school, and had to include in some way homework, detention, backpack, friends, and bells.

(ao3 here) (ff.net here)

Danny knew that Dash and the A-Listers would probably try to find some way to make his life miserable, but he had to admit this was actually kind of funny.

Danny huffed as he ran up to the school doors. Yes, he could have just flown in using his ghost powers while invisible, then pop out of one of the bathroom stalls or something, but after the summer vacation, and the multitude of close calls of almost being caught by… well… everyone… (no Jazz, he was not being careless because he wanted to be caught and freed from the burden of secrecy) he decided not to risk using his powers at school today.

In retrospect, that didn't help anything.

Danny walked through the school doors, he was greeted by the sight of one of the lunchroom tables laid out in the school entryway. Star and Paulina were sitting at the table, greeting all the students as they came in, and handing out little boxes.

Danny resolved himself to ignore it, but he didn't get a chance to.

"Hey! Fenton!" Star called out. Danny sighed and walked over. Star glanced over at Paulina and the two of them started giggling.

Danny already had a bad feeling but now it was worse. "Hey, Star," he greeted.

"Hello!" Star said, sitting up straight. Her posture was perfect, not leaning in any friendly manner, but she wasn’t leaning away like she normally would. (At least, while people could see her) "Here! Take this!" she said, handing him one of the boxes. Her voice was oddly chipper for a typical interaction with him. "The art club kept meeting over the summer, and we came up with something fun! The teachers are all helping out with this!"

"Uh… thanks? What is it?" Danny asked, tilting the box over in his hands. It was a cardboard box that was printed to look like the outside of Casper High, with a large ‘TCG’ floating over the school's name. There was also a piece of masking tape on the back, that Danny noticed wasn't on the others.

This box had been marked for him.

"It's a card game! You should know all about those!"

Danny sighed. "Not really? Look, I know I'm a nerd, but I like video games and space." Danny shook the box around. "Card games haven't been my thing."

Star rolled her eyes. "Whatever, look, I gotta keep handing these out." She looked past him and raised her hand. "Kwan! Over here!"

Where Kwan was, Dash soon followed, so Danny dashed away.

Danny checked where his locker was supposed to be, before running up the stairs to the top floor. Fighting the urge to pump a fist as he did so. Not only was it the top floor, but it was close to a janitor closet, and in a dead end part of the school. Not many people would be coming by here unless it was specifically to drop stuff at their locker, or go to the history teacher's room that was on the other side of the wall.

And more importantly, Sam and Tucker were apparently next to him as well.

Thank Clockwork for small mercies.

"You're welcome," Tucker said as he took a stack of cards from Sam.

"Don't mention it, I don't want to see it, I don't want to hear about them, and the moment I’m allowed to get my hands around Paulina’s little neck I’ll-"

Danny jogged up and interrupted their conversation. "Whoa, what's going on?" he asked. He couldn’t help but be proud of himself, this was about as far as you could get from the school entrance, and despite jogging the whole way, he wasn’t out of breath at all. Apparently, the early morning jogs with Sam were actually helping.

Sam whirled toward Danny, and then zero'd in on the box in his hands. "It's that stupid card game that Star and Paulina started.” she spat, pointing at it with about as much hate as she had for the pink dresses her mother kept buying her. “They started with- hey wait, Danny, don't-"

But, Danny kept opening the box. "I just want to see what the big deal is." He opened the box as Sam stammered. She opened and closed her mouth multiple times before giving up and biting down on a knuckle.

The box contained several booster packs of cards, each wrapped up in foil, and a booklet that was probably the game rules. In all honesty, Danny was impressed. He wasn't a connoisseur of playing cards or anything, but this seemed very much like the cards he'd see at the big box stores.

Danny tore up the first pack and looked at the cards. He frowned when he saw the first card that greeted him was a picture of Dash. It was a picture of his bully at what was probably last year's homecoming football game, with two golden stars above it. Underneath the picture were two boxes, one with a red sword along with a 5, and another with a blue shield with an 8. At the bottom of the card was a big box saying, "Teamplayer, for every other card on the field with the text teamplayer on, this card gains 1 power and 1 toughness."

Danny rolled his eyes and flipped through the cards. Obviously the reason why this box was marked wasn't because he was supposed to see Dash's ugly mug. Sam continued to stare nervously as Danny went through the cards.

Danny paused on another card, this one wasn’t a photo, but a drawn art piece of Ember. Instead of the stars, there was a green letter ‘G’ above the picture. Ember had a 10 for the sword, and the shield had a 10 as well.

At the bottom of her card was a similar box as Dash’s card. “Leader, when this card is played, take a card from your hand and put it in one of the lanes next to this card. It must follow normal summoning rules.”

Danny huffed. “Ember would hate this card, she doesn’t do duets.” The comment got a laugh out of Tucker but Sam continued to look nervous. She wouldn’t be worried if it was a ghost (other than him) being upset, that meant this wasn’t what had gotten under her skin. So, Danny continued flipping through the cards.

Then he found it.

It was a picture of him, looking panicked. Danny recognized it as around one of the times Skulker really had it out for him from last year during prom. His card was lacking any of the stars, but it also had a big fat 0 next to the power and toughness stats.

The only saving grace to his card was the bottom text, which Danny read aloud. "Moving on, when this card dies, play another card."

The hall was silent for a moment as Danny processed what he was seeing. Sam reached out carefully towards Danny, almost like she was afraid he'd break down in front of him.

Danny couldn't take it anymore.

He started laughing. Full blown laughs, the ugly ones that made you wheeze cause you weren't able to breath properly.

"Danny?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"Oh my gosh, this is perfect!" Danny got out before gasping for air. "I can't believe- oh my god- they did- I can't- I can't breathe, oh my god I can't breathe! I'm laughing too hard!"

"Okay, Danny, seriously…" Sam said, folding her arms and tapping her foot against the ground. "This isn't funny."

Danny took several big gulps full of air. "Sam, it's really funny." Sam continued to glare and Danny leaned forward and whispered. "Sam, my card's power is going ghost." He frowned. "Wait, do you think-"

"That the A-Lister's know?" Tucker interrupted, shuffling his cards around, "Nah, if they did, Dash would be worshiping the ground you walk on, not talking about how he can't wait to see your face when you see your card."

"I think he's gonna be pretty disappointed."

Sam huffed and leaned against the lockers. "You're both taking this pretty well considering the school is basically systematically bullying Danny." She turned toward Danny and her eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm gonna be honest. I'm not okay with this. I'm not. I know you're saying it's funny, but Danny… the school made a card that said your only purpose is to die… That's really messed up."

Danny shrugged and checked that no one was coming down the hall before shoving his hand through his locker door and hanging up his backpack. "I mean, they're not wrong."

"Danny!"

Danny turned to face Sam. "Sam, I'm a straight D student… I'm also the-" Danny checked the hall again and still didn't see anyone coming around the corner, "-the local super hero. Literally, my superpower is to die on command. It's really exactly wrong... Also, where is everyone else? School starts in like… thirty minutes doesn't it?"

Sam's eyes narrowed and she turned toward Tucker, Tucker however was laughing. "Jazz moved your clocks ahead so you'd make it on time. We got like an hour and half."

"What! I can't believe she'd do that!" Danny paused then shrugged. "Well, actually I can and I think that's worse."

Sam reached over and pulled on Danny's arm. "I'm not letting this drop," she said, holding eye contact with Danny and holding onto his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly tight, and her arm was shaking slightly. "It's not okay that the school did this, you know? You're allowed to be mad about it."

"I'm not though! Sam, I really don't care."

"Well, fine, but I do… I'm not okay with them doing this. I'm gonna tear the school a new one," she said, grabbing Danny's arm with her other hand. "When I get home, I'm talking to my grandma and I'm finding the best lawyer I can and then Mr. Lancer can kiss every bonus he'd ever get goodb-"

Danny sighed and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, interrupting her litigious rant. "Sam, aren't you the one always telling me not to worry about what other people think?" His hand slid from the top of her shoulder as he ran his hand up and down her arm, trying to get her to calm down.

Sam shook her head, though she leaned into his touch. "This is very different, and you know it,” she whispered.

"Hey, guys?" Tucker interrupted from his spot on the floor. "I hate to end this tender moment, but it gets better." Tucker waved the booklet around in front of Danny and Danny snatched it out of his hands.

Danny read for a few moments before his eyes went wide. "Oh… oh!"

Tucker smiled and started nodding. "You're seeing it too, aren't you?"

"Dude, there's no way-"

"I read the whole thing back to back, yeah, no, it's EXACTLY what you're thinking it is!"

Sam frowned. "What on earth are you guys-"

"Danny!" The trio turned around to see Jazz marching up to them. "Danny, did you-" She froze as she saw the rule book in Danny's hands. "Oh, you opened the pack, didn't you?"

Danny waved the cards around. "Yeah, I did. Why?"

Jazz frowned and straightened her back. "Cause I did too, and I got one of your cards."

Danny perked up. "Really? Can I have it?"

Jazz took a step back, and folded her arms across her chest. "Uhh…" She glanced up at Sam who walked over to Jazz's side. "No?" it shouldn't have sounded like a question, but it definitely did.

"He's already seen it," Sam groaned. "I'm telling him he can be mad about it-"

"Guys, guys, listen, my card's power is dying. It's objectively hilarious."

Jazz glared at Danny. "No, the card is… I mean… it's…" Jazz's righteous anger slowly fizzled out as she stammered, unsure of exactly what she was saying. Obviously she knew the implications of what the card was saying, but she didn't want to say it herself.

"Wait, wait…" Danny interrupted, shaking his hands about in the air. Before he pointed at Jazz and raised his voice. "You moved my clocks forward! I could have been sleeping!"

Jazz rolled her eyes. "You'll be thankful since you can actually get your textbooks because you got here on time." She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. "Danny, I really don't think you're getting how serious this is."

This time it was Danny's turn to roll his eyes. "The A-Listers made a stupid card game, tried to make a joke about me being useless, accidentally made a joke that is so accurate that probably every single one of us has wondered if the secret is out." At that, everyone else suddenly refused to make eye contact.

"I mean…" Tucker began scratching under his beret.

Sam coughed. "Paulina for all her faults is pretty observant."

Jazz huffed. "It's better than what this actually is."

Danny just raised an eyebrow at them and folded his arms. The silence stretched for a moment before Sam walked up to Danny. "Danny, you're my best friend. Sorry Tuck, no offense."

"Some taken," Tucker responded cheerfully.

"And because you're my best friend, I don't care if you are or aren't bothered by the stupid card. 'Cause I am. The school told my best friend he was worthless, and I'm not okay with that. Maybe they didn't mean that, maybe it just slipped through. But that's what this looks like to me, and probably looks like to all the kids in the school."

"Except for all the card nerds," Tucker chimed in.

"What?" Jazz asked, turning towards Tucker. "Why?"

Instead of an answer, the four of them jumped as screams came from down the stairs. The four exchanged glances before running down the stairs. They followed the screams and fleeing students back towards the school entrance, where almost everyone was fleeing from a terrifying ghost.

"I AM THE BOX GHOST!"

Terrifying if you hadn't been paying attention the entirety of last year, that is.

Five students groaned, Tucker, Sam, and Jazz all turned to see that Valerie had appeared. The four of them froze as one, realizing they were not as alone as they thought they were, and they started to think about how to get the others to leave so that one of the two ghost hunters here could fight the ghost in peace.

Except Danny was not having it.

"For the love of fudge and Clockwork!" Danny shouted, marching towards the Box Ghost. He snatched up one of the card boxes as he marched toward the floating annoyance. "You, Box Ghost. I have a box here, a shiny cardboard box. I give you this, you leave. Okay?"

The Box Ghost floated closer to Danny. "That is indeed a splendid box most shiny…" The Box Ghost mused as he rubbed his chin. Inspecting the box for blemishes and appropriate squareness.

Danny reached up and grabbed the Box Ghost by his shirt, pulling him down to eye level. He then whispered to him, "If you don't take the box and make like a ghost and disappear, then the next time Phantom sees you, he's gonna shove his fist so far down your throat you'll be tasting rubber for the rest of your afterlife.” The Box Ghost’s eyes widened, perhaps sensing that Danny was very much serious. He snatched the box out of Danny’s hands before floating back out of reach. “HA HA, the BOX GHOST accepts your tribute! He shall now go far away and uncover the secrets of your mysterious cardboard-!”

“We get it,” Danny growled.

The Box Ghost jumped back about three feet, before shouting, “BEWARE!” as a final farewell, and then flying through the walls.

Danny huffed and wiped his hands on his jeans before turning back towards his friends. He took two steps before he heard someone say, “Fenton?”

Danny turned to see Star peeking at him from behind an overturned table, apparently that was the source of the spilled boxes that Danny had picked from. Good to see that the training from the last year or so had stuck when dealing with ghosts. Danny reached down and picked up a couple of the boxes. Of the three he grabbed, one had masking tape on the back of it, like the one that had been given to him.

Danny juggled the boxes around to get a free hand to lift the table back upright. “I don’t know why you two are freaking out, it’s just the Box Ghost…” At their incredulous looks and Jazz clearing her throat behind him, Danny coughed and quickly added, “I mean… even I’ve stopped running from the Box Ghost over the summer.”

Star and Paulina looked at each other as Danny put the boxes down, though the marked box he kept. He ran his fingers over the masking tape and then gave a pointed look at each of them. Paulina looked at the box then at Danny, before recognition lit up in her eye. It was replaced a moment later as she realized that he knew what that meant. Her eyes widened and she glanced at Danny’s friends. Tucker and Valerie were picking up boxes, but Sam and Jazz were steadfastly not.

If looks could shoot ectoblasts, Paulina and Star would have gone ghost right there.

Paulina took a step back as Star held out a hand for the box, giving him her nicest, warmest, and fakest smile. “Well, thanks, Fenton!”

Danny pulled back and said, “I’m keeping this one.”

Star’s smile dropped just slightly. “Oh? But you already got one?”

Danny tapped on the masking tape with his index finger. “It’s got my card in it, doesn’t it?” At that Star’s smile dropped and her eyes went wide. Danny turned around and started walking away. He walked over to where Valerie, Jazz, Tucker, and Sam were all talking. “Hey, Valerie!” Danny greeted.

Valerie shifted uncomfortably. Glancing between him and the others.“Hey, Danny,” she greeted back hesitantly. Before he could ask what was bothering her, she barreled on. “What’s that about your card?”

Jazz turned toward Danny as he started tearing into the box. “The school made that card game, and everyone has a card.” She explained. “The A-Listers used the opportunity to try and bully Danny.”

“What?” Valerie gasped.

“Sweet!” Danny exclaimed after tearing open the packs. “I got two of mine!” He held them up in victory, but Valerie snatched them out of his hand. “Hey! Give me those! I fought a ghost for them!”

Valerie scoffed. “Yeah, right. Anyone with a brain can deal with the Box Ghost.”

“Which explains why the A-Listers were hiding from him.”

Valerie did not continue the quippy back and forth, instead her jaw dropped as she read the card. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“I don’t make a habit of lying,” Sam lied. Lying was second nature to all of them at this point, though Danny would admit he still wasn’t good at thinking on his feet. “The card’s only purpose is to get on the field and die.”

Danny snatched the cards back. “Guys, you’re making it out to be so much worse than it is.”

Valerie whirled on Danny. “Danny! This is awful! Look, I’ve looked past a lot of Star and Paulina’s stuff, but this is bad…”

Danny shuffled through the cards. “Guys, seriously drop it. I’m sure the A-Lister’s weren’t thinking, cause if they were they wouldn’t have made my card so strong.”

Everyone except for Tucker, who had actually read the rule book, looked at each other confused and managed to ask, “What?”

Then the doors of the building got thrown open. Some people screamed and dove for cover, others started running without thinking, while a few others turned to look at the new threat.

Maddie Fenton walked into the school building with fire and fury behind her. Her eyes sweeped the entrance hallway before falling on Jazz and Danny. She marched over to them, and Danny immediately went ramrod straight as he recognized just how pissed she was. He hadn’ seen her this mad since he had broken the vase she had bought.

(In his defense, it was haunted.)

“Jazz, sweetie,” she began, her voice icy cold. “May I see what you were calling about?”

Jazz produced one of the cards and handed it over to her mother. “Yeah, I got one right here.”

Danny opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it as he saw the look on his mother’s face. She growled and turned. “Come along kids, I’m going to have a talk with the school principal, right now.”

No longer in his mom’s sight, Danny found his voice, though his feet followed after her like a duckling. “Mom, please, listen to me. This is not that big of a deal!”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, sweetie.”

“No, seriously!” Danny turned to Jazz as his mom marched through the school halls. “Jazz, please back me up!”

Jazz sighed and gave him a look like he should know better. “Danny, I’m the one who called her over this.”

Danny tried to argue his case with both of them, but made no progress. It wasn’t much longer before Danny was running a hand down his face as his Mom towered over Principal Ishiyama. “I would like to speak to whoever was in charge of the school’s card game.”

The principal looked behind her at Danny (who was mouthing an apology) and Jazz (who was trying to develop ghost powers to immolate someone with her brain) before meeting her gaze. “Uh… is there a problem?”

“Yes,” Maddie stated. “The teacher?”

“Well, the card game was made by the school’s art club so-”

“The art club has a supervisor. Who. Is. It.” There was no inflection in her words, Danny had heard her speak kinder to the ghosts she had captured.

The principal wavered for a moment before reaching over to her phone. She pressed a few buttons before the school’s P.A system turned on. “Would Mr. Lancer please come to the principal’s office immediately?”

“Sit, children.” Maddie ordered, and Danny and Jazz jumped into the chairs that were set across from the desk.

Once they were sitting, Danny frowned and noticed something. “Uh… should we leave a chair for Mr. Lancer?”

Maddie didn’t break eye contact with the principal. “No.”

They sat in an awkward quiet with Maddie glaring at Principal Ishiyama the entire time before Mr. Lancer stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me?” He asked, “I’m still setting up for class, so-”

Maddie turned toward him. Slowly and insidiously, Danny wouldn’t have been surprised if he heard the sounds of hinges creaking as her head carefully and measuredly turned toward his teacher. “You were in charge of the school’s card game?”

“Uhh, in a manner of speaking? I was just supervising, ensuring the students weren’t misusing school property, or fielding questions.” Lancer answered as he walked over toward the principal’s side. By the looks on their faces, neither knew what this was about.

“Hm,” Maddie vocalized, and Danny winced. That was not a sound of acknowledgement, but the sound of you-have-done-exactly-as-I-expected-you-would-and-now-I’m-disappointed-in-you which was a lot of information given in a single syllable but he was quite familiar with it. “And just how were the card’s strength and health determined?”

“Well, the rules are using power and toughness, but a card’s power was how many clubs and after school activities a student was in, while toughness was a base of 5, with an additional 1 for every grade of B or 2 for A, and a loss of 1 for every detention that a student had.”

The principal leaned forward and cut in. “Ms. Fenton-”

“Doctor,” Maddie corrected, and both Danny and Jazz winced. Their mother usually didn’t care about her title, stating she was a mother and wife first and foremost. She only insisted on being called doctor when she wanted to make a point.

It obviously threw Ishiyama for a loop. She cleared her throat and continued. “Dr. Fenton, perhaps you should explain what exactly-”

“Ms. Ishiyama, were you aware that Mr. Lancer here allowed the school to produce a card that implied my son had no benefit? That all he could do was die?”

Mr. Lancer’s eyes widened. “Excuse me! That is-”

Maddie refused to look in his direction. Instead holding up a hand to cut him off. “And that my son’s special ability is called moving on.”

At this point, Danny jumped up. “Hold on, can I get a say in this?” Danny waved his hands and stood next to the principal, who was beginning to turn pale. “Mom, that’s an inside joke of the school. You know I’ve had to go to the bathroom a lot ever since the accident, so when I have to interrupt class to, Mr. Lancer will give me permission and then say, ‘Moving on’. I know it looks bad, but it’s just an inside joke of the school.”

Mr. Lancer raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Mr. Fenton, I-”

Maddie whirled on him. “Shall I also point out that you are also exposing students’ grades to everyone as well? You must have shared them if the cards are a reflection of their grades.”

Mr. Lancer folded his arms. “I did not, the students asked for a formula for making the numbers, and I ran it myself. The students don’t know anyone’s grades.”

“Yet, you have my son having a zero for his health?” Maddie snapped.

“Even if he had turned in all his homework with 100% grades, which everyone in this room knows he has not, with the number of detentions he has received the last year, he’d still be at a zero.” Mr. Lancer said, shooting Danny a look.

Maddie slammed her hands on principal Ishiyama’s desk. “Do not blame my son for this!”

The principal raised her hands. “Dr. Fenton, I acknowledge that we have done you and your family a major disservice. Even if it was an inside joke, the context is important,” she said, shooting Mr. Lancer a withering glare. “Dare I say, our English teacher should be more than aware of something like that.”

Jazz cleared her throat. “May I ask a question?”

Maddie leaned back and answered for everyone. “Go ahead, sweetie…” even as Danny was shaking his head no.

“Mr. Lancer, did you have any inkling of what was going on?”

“Excuse me?” He said brow furrowing.

“Were you or were not aware that it was very likely that the A-Listers, Star, Paulina, Dash, and Kwan were using this as an opportunity to bully my little brother?”

Mr. Lancer opened his mouth to respond before taking a moment to clear his throat and respond. “I did not know that they were intending to do this, no.”

Maddie frowned and Ishiyama let out a sigh of relief. But Jazz continued, “But did you suspect it? Did you have reason to believe that they were going to do this?”

Lancer was quiet and didn’t answer, instead he chewed on his lip for a moment.

It was a moment too long, and Maddie turned to the principal. “I want him fired.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement that doesn’t-”

“He’s either fired, or Fentonworks stops funding the school repairs and anti-ghost tech.”

Danny put his fingers to his lips and blew a shrill whistle. “Okay! Okay! No! Mom!” Danny clapped his hands in front of his chest before pointing at her with them. “They can’t fire Mr. Lancer, the school already is having enough trouble finding new teachers because they’re quitting the moment they hear about ghost attacks. Not only that, but if you stop helping the school, the school is gonna have to shut down!”

“Daniel,” Maddie started, her voice deceptively calm and collected. “If this school is not a safe space for my children, then it can burn for all I care.”

“OOooookay!” Danny shouted, holding up his hands. “I understand you’re upset, but-”

“Daniel. I get upset when your father eats more than his share of the mashed potatoes. I get upset when my experiments get ruined by ghost attacks. I get upset when you kids forget to do your chores.

“I am not upset. I am furious.”

“But I’m not,” Danny groaned, pointing at himself. “Look, I know what the card looks like, seriously, I do. Everyone is telling me to be mad about it, but…” He trailed off as he looked out the door and he ran to the door. “Hey! Hey! Mikey! Yeah, come over here real quick.”

He led the quiet nerd into the office and then closed the door behind him. “Okay, this is gonna be quick. You got the school game, right?”

Mikey adjusted his glasses. “Uh, yes, Star gave me a box this morning when I walked in.”

“Right, okay. You read the rule book right?”

“Of course! Front to back three times! I wouldn’t be a proud member of the game club if I didn’t!”

“How many Danny Fenton cards do you have?”

“I’ve gotten my hands on ten so far.”

“How much would I need to pay you in order to get you to give me those cards?”

“If Paulina came in here and asked for a date in exchange, I still wouldn’t give them up. You can pry them from my cold dead and nerdy hands.”

“No, seriously. I think I got like forty bucks in my pocket-”

“No.”

“Thank you, that is all.”

The principal frowned and watched as Danny pushed Mikey out the door and closed it again. “What was the point of that?”

Danny took a deep breath. “Mr. Lancer… do you have a deck?” At his teacher’s nod, Danny then asked a question. “You have several of my cards in your deck, don’t you?”

Mr. Lancer threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t. The art club wouldn’t let us cheat and build our decks with the cards we wanted. We had to draft them.”

“The point?” Maddie said huffing.

Danny sighed. “Yes, Dash, Star, Paulina and Kwan… I’m not sold on Kwan here, all tried to bully me by making a bad card. They failed so so hard.” Danny blinked. “In all honesty? The card is very accurate. The card game is about fighting ghosts. So, obviously I’m the most intelligent person in the deck, the moment ghosts show up, I’m outta there.”

“Into the graveyard,” Jazz snipped.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine, how about this? They can release a new rule book, one where the graveyard is called the discard pile instead?”

Maddie pursed her lips. “Danny, you’re really insistent this doesn’t change. Why?”

“Because I’m not gonna be happy if I don’t get to beat my bully at literally his own game.” The school bell rang and Danny started inching his way to the door. “Okay, Mom? You can hash it out with the principal, but no asking for Mr. Lancer to be fired, no threatening the school, and definitely no changing my card's effects? Okay? Please?” Danny thought for a moment and then tacked on, “I love you?” The fact that sounded like a question probably didn’t help his chances in getting her to calm down.

Maddie sighed and looked toward the ceiling. “Alright, alright.” She stood up. “I will let Principal Ishiyama here discuss with Mr. Lancer what they should do, but tomorrow I will be back. This time, with my husband as well. And I assure you, he won’t be as calm as me.”

The threat definitely worked, as both of them paled as they thought about what a rampaging Jack Fenton would be like.

The Fentons left the room together, and Maddie handed Jazz back the card. “I really don’t like this.” She said, though she didn’t seem surprised when Danny snatched the card from Jazz and put it in his pocket. “But you�� seem to know what you’re doing?”

“The only request I have is that Jazz records it when Dash realizes how dumb he is.” Danny turned and then started running back down the hall. “Gotta get to class! I’ll see you guys later!”

Danny ran back to his locker, put the cards in his pocket away, and then ran to class. He turned the corner before a hand grabbed his shirt and slammed him into a locker. “Heard you went crying to mommy, Fenturd.”

“Dash, we have got to stop meeting like this.” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “And for the record, I didn’t. You pissed off Jazz, who then called my mom. I tried to tell her it was not a big deal.”

Dash hesitated, trying to slot the square peg into the round hole. Danny could practically see the thoughts slip out of his head before he got mad again. “Well, I guess I gotta crush ya before your mom ruins the fun. Lunch time, bring a deck.”

“See you then!” Danny saluted. His hand fell back to his side and he looked down. “Dash… aren’t you gonna put me down?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Well, I know this is gonna be hard, but can you think faster? I want to be on time to class for a change.”

A few moments later, Danny phased his way out of the locker he had been stuffed into. He sighed and brushed off shirt. “Man, I really hope I start taking more after my dad soon. I would love to not fit in lockers anymore.”

***

Lunch time came around, and Danny walked in with his head held high. Mikey might not have traded his cards for a date with Paulina, but Phantom signing the Phantom card (which was a 10/10 by the way, with both Teamplayer and Leader keywords) was worth the trade.

It seemed like the entire school was there waiting for this fight. Danny walked down an aisle flanked by students on either side of him that closed around him as he approached Dash sitting at a lunch table.

Danny stopped at the tablet. “Seriously, did you really pick the table furthest from the door? Are you sure you’re not one of the drama kids?” He turned toward Star, who was actually looking pretty uncomfortable. “Star, you’ve been in the school plays right? You should totally try to get Dash to join in this year, looks like he’d have fun with it.”

Star didn’t answer; instead she stepped behind Kwan, who looked a little sick, and Paulina, who was shifting around as the entire school stared at them.

“It’s time to duel, Fenton.” Dash said, slamming his palm against the table.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Alright alright, if you’re that ready to lose” he said, sitting down at the table. Danny took his deck out and started shuffling it. It wasn’t much to shuffle; the deck size was only twenty cards after all.

Dash frowned, but then drew his starting hand. “Good, I’m ready. As the cool one, I’m going first.” He smiled at Danny. “Okay, for my first card, I’m playing Danny Fenton!” He threw the card on the table, “Oh, whoops! He died.” He laughed and Danny looked over at the other A-Listers who were taking a slight step back.

“Well, moving on,” Dash chuckled. “I get to play another card. So I play Mikey! A 3/10 with supporter!”

“Ooh, look at you, already talking like a card gamer!” Danny crowed.

“Shut it, Fenton! I’m not a nerd like you!” He folded his arms. “It’s your turn now. I can’t attack on the first turn.”

Danny nodded and raised an eyebrow. “Did you remember to draw at the end of your turn?” Dash quietly reached over and refilled his hand before Danny made a show of thinking. “Hmm… which card, which card…” He tapped his chin and then shouted. “Ah! I know!” He put a card down in front of Dash’s card. “I play Danny Fenton!” He paused. “Oh shit! I died! Oh well. Anyways.”

Dash blinked. “You really used your stupid card?”

“Hey, it’s my turn still! Jeez, I can still do something awesome!” Danny thought for a moment longer. “Oh, okay, let’s try this! I play Danny Fenton!” Dash’s brow furrowed as Danny continued. “Oh shit, I died again! I hope it was a quick one! Like maybe my neck snapped. I’d hate for it to be a slow one.” The rest of the A Listers took another step back and tried to blend into the crowd as Danny made a big deal of his card dying. “It’s okay, thanks to moving on, I get another shot! Umm… Okay, okay, I got it. I play Danny Fenton!”

Dash scoffed. “You really put three of your cards in your stupid deck?”

Danny laughed. “Three? No. Dash, my deck uses fifteen of them!”

Dash looked around, seeing confusion on most of the nearby students. “Wait, wait, you really used half your deck for your dumb worthless card?”

Danny stared at Dash for a moment. “Okay, Dash, you wanna repeat that in your head and see where you went wrong?” Dash froze like a deer in headlights before Danny sighed. “Okay, I’m pretty sure your card is bunk because wow are you bad at math. That’s not half my deck, that’s three quarters.”

“Why?”

“Tucker, please explain to the man.”

Tucker stepped out of the crowd holding up the rule book. “Cards are broken down into four categories, zero star cards, one star cards, two star cards, and ghost cards. In order to play a one star card in a lane, that lane must already have a zero star card in it. In order to play a two star card, there must already be a one star card in that lane already. Ghost cards require a total of three stars worth of cards in the lane. For every card in the graveyard, the number of stars needed for a ghost card to be summoned is reduced by one by removing those cards from play.”

Danny pointed at the three Danny Fenton cards in his graveyard. “I needed fifteen to ensure my draw chances are good enough. Which they obviously are. Oh, and by the way… moving on. You know her, you love her, let us hear you scream her name-”

“Please don’t.” Sam called out from the sidelines.

“It’s Ember McLain!” Danny shouted as he put down an Ember card slightly to the right of the Mikey card. “Ember has the Leader keyword, which lets me put down another card. So let’s hear it for her backup singer, Danny Fenton!” he said, putting down his card again. “Oh, shit, she killed him! That bastard! Oh well… moving on.” Danny held up his hand. “Now, I only got one card left, so I have to play it, it’s Danny Fenton!”

Danny paused as he put down his card. “Okay, so I’m hoping you’re seeing where this is going.”

Dash stood up. “Hold on, you’re out of cards!”

“Tucker?”

“In a situation where you are asked to play a card but don’t have any in hand, then you draw another card.”

“So, I draw and let’s see, am I feeling lucky? Dash, can you do math? What are the chances of me drawing a Danny Fenton card? Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Fuck you!” Dash shouted, beginning to move around the table.

“What’s the matter, Dash?” Valerie called out. “Can’t win a card game?”

“A card game you helped make?” Sam jeered.

Dash froze, and Danny took the opportunity to draw. “Yes! I indeed drew a Danny Fenton card! So, let’s continue…” Danny flipped through his deck, drawing his card multiple times, before finally he drew a different card.

“Sorry Mikey!” Danny shouted, “You’re about to get stepped on by Ember!”

“Awesome!”

Danny pinched the brow of his nose. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. Alright, Ember’s card doesn’t actually play a card, it’s using special wording so I guess that’s it.” He snapped his finger. “Oh, wait! It isn’t! I attack! Ember steps on Mikey, removing him, and then Ember swings and hits you in the face.” Danny smiled and leaned back. “Now it’s your turn.”

Dash stared down at the table, which hadn’t had his Mikey card removed yet. But it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t beat Danny. Danny had, on his first turn, effectively defeated Dash. The game wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be for a while. It’d take multiple turns for Danny to win the game. But anything Dash could play would be immediately doomed to be crushed under Danny’s ghost team.

The rest of this game would be Dash getting wailed on as Danny chunked his health over the course of several turns, with the entire school watching.

Dash scoffed. “It’s a stupid game anyways,” he said, turning around and pushing his way through the crowd.

Danny stood up and grabbed Dash’s deck and waved it up in the air. “Wait, wait, Dash! Don’t you want your deck?” Dash predictably didn’t respond. Danny scoffed as Sam and Tucker approached him. “Yeah, that tracks,” he said, grabbing the hand Dash had left on the table.

“So, did Dash fill his deck with A Listers?” Tucker asked.

“Well, let’s see…” Danny said, flipping through Dash’s deck. He continued until he came across one card. “Oh come on!”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder.

Danny held out the card that was bothering him. “There’s an Inviso-Bill card!”

Sam gave Danny an unamused glance. “Really? You’re bothered by that, more than the fact that Dash set up a card that you instantly die?”

“Well, yeah!” Danny said, “My name’s not Inviso-Bill!”

“What do you mean your name?”

Danny turned toward the speaker. And as Star stared at him confused, he realized that he had completely forgotten people were watching. “What? I didn’t say that. I said his name isn’t Inviso-Bill.”

“Wait…” Valerie said, stepping forward, pushing a finger into his chest. “Is that what you meant by your superpower is to die on command?”

Danny turned toward Sam, who was the best liar out of them. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, do you?”

Valerie folded her arms. “My locker is just around the corner of the hallway where your locker is. I heard you say that.”

“And my cards! Phantom was asking for them earlier!”

Star gasped. “Wait wait wait, is THAT why you’re not scared of the Box Ghost?”

“...Uh oh…”

[hopelessromantic423]

Where or When

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky were best friends, until the day you up and left. Over the course of one meal, all is forgiven and new relationships are formed.

Warning: Angst. Some happy ending fluff. Pet name: sweetheart. Two stinky bad words. Love confessions. If there are any flaws, let a girl know.

*Based off the song where or when from the When Harry Met Sally soundtrack*

The clinking of glasses and silverware hitting nice white plates filled the room with generic jazz music covering the majority of the overhead speakers. The light was dim enough to see the table and the person across from you. Crisp white linens brushed against the knees of diners as they talked and ate.

You and Bucky sat at a booth near the corner of the restaurant, just looking at each other not sure who should start talking first. It felt like deja vu. You had sat in this exact seat in the same spot before. You even had on the same black skirt you had worn time and time again and Bucky had his favorite brown boots on because they never left him.

To Bucky, it felt like the first time the two of you were sitting together, though you've sat across from each other hundreds of times. It was strange, yet exciting. The two of you were together. That's what he wanted for the past year, and so did you.

“Um… it’s great to see you. You look absolutely beautiful (Y/N),” Bucky muttered nervously. His eyes were full of care and concern like if he made one bad move you would walk away again.

“Thanks Buck, I really am glad you asked me to dinner.” You fiddled with the napkin in your lap while looking across at him.

You and Bucky were best friends. Keyword were. Once you started dating his childhood best friend Steve, things got weird. You and Bucky still had this amazing chemistry but jealousy ruined every inch of it. You realized after a few months, you weren’t in love with Steve at all. You were just finding the closest version to Bucky Barnes you could reach. By the time your realization came to fruition, Bucky was deeply in love with Sharon Carter, at least that’s what it looked like.

“So, what’s living in Manhattan like?”

You sighed thinking of how lonely your new apartment was. The air wasn’t as crisp as you would hope and the colors of the wall were dull, no matter how many photos and art you hung up. It was like the color was completely missing from your life.

“It’s nice,” you lied right out of your ass. You knew Bucky could tell. “The neighborhoods are trendy and my apartment is only a few blocks from my office. It’s.. quiet.”

You took a sip of your drink as you watched Bucky’s thoughts wind in his brain. That’s one thing you love about him, his facial expressions can tell you a lot about his thoughts.

“Are you still at the compound?” The bustling noises from the restaurant had now quieted down, making conversation much more awkward.

“No,” Bucky shook his head, more relieved you picked up the conversation. “I’m in a small apartment in Brooklyn. It’s nice, I feel like a real citizen,” he chuckled. The little lines that formed at the outer rims of his eyes showed as he smiled, highlighting his deep blue eyes the way you pictured them in your mind for the last year.

“The team misses you every day. Well, I miss you most of all,” Bucky tried to cover up his confession, looking at you timidly. “Steve can’t seem to work the comms system as much as you could,” he muttered with a soft smile.

“James, you know I can’t go back there.”

“But you can,” Bucky contradicted in a breathy tone, his hands resting on the table towards you. “Stark said he’d give nothing to have you back.”

“Is this really about the team wanting me back, or is this about us?” Your tone was sharp but there was a tinge of sadness in your words. You bit on your bottom lip trying to gather your emotions while carefully watching the man you missed so much across from you.

Bucky took a second to himself, pulling his hands into his lap. The little line you always found intriguing formed in between his eyebrows as he found the words to say.

“Why did you leave?” Bucky’s voice was soft as he spoke, timid hoping he didn’t just ruin everything.

“I couldn’t watch you love someone that wasn’t me. You looked happy Buck, so damn happy. I couldn’t ruin anything.”

“You didn’t have to leave without saying goodbye?!” Bucky’s gloved hand was balled into a fist as it sat on the table. His voice was full of hurt and desperation was clear in his eyes. He let out a shaky breath while averting his eyes.

“I couldn’t have left if I did,” you squeaked, trying your best to hold down the tears rising in your system.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you (Y/N). That’s why I didn’t kiss you that night at New Year's or how I told Steve he could take you on a date because I didn’t want to lose you. I love you so much it hurts.”

You had always hoped Bucky loved you like that. You dreamed of it during the day and at night when you fell asleep. You had been making up this exact scenario in your brain for a whole year, why now are you so shocked all you could do was sit there with a slack jaw?

“I have to go,” you mumbled staring at Bucky in pure shock while grabbing your bag and eyeing the exit door of the restaurant. You did what you did best which is to run in hard scenarios.

It was pouring rain as you stepped outside, trying to catch your breath as tears streaked down your cheeks. You didn’t know what to do. How could you have let something so good out of your life? How could someone still love you even after you abandoned them? Maybe you weren’t riddled with shock but with guilt.

"I wish you had stayed," Bucky yelled in a last-ditch effort. His short brunette hair flattened by the second as more rain drenched him.

"I wish I had too," you called back, the rain now completely soaking every inch of your hair and clothing. Your tears mixed right in with the freshwater.

Bucky met you where you were, wrapping you in his arms as you cried. “It’s okay (Y/N),” he whispered into your hair, simultaneously placing kisses on the top of your head. Finally, you peered up at the man you’ve loved since you met him with a timid smile.

“Please sweetheart, just come back,” he said sweetly while placing a hand on your cheek. “You can stay with me in Brooklyn, we’ll get that cat you always dreamed about.”

“We can be happy (Y/N). For once, let yourself be happy.”

Ironic that Bucky Barnes was telling you to be happy. He deserved every inch of happiness the world could give him. The both of you could be happy, really happy.

“I love you too James,” you blurted over the pouring rain. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

The two of you couldn’t help but laugh as you realized your situation. Love confession in the rain, it was right out of one of the romance movies you forced him to watch at your apartment every month.

Your lips met like two puzzle pieces fitting together. His strong arms pulled you flush to him as he deepened the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders. It was everything you dreamed of and more. You and Bucky were finally going to be happy.

You pulled away abruptly which took Bucky out of his trance and into a confused expression.“Did you ever pay the bill?”

“That can wait sweetheart, I want to enjoy this a little while longer,” Bucky chuckled pulling you back into a kiss.