#alone. at night. without informing any of your better-prepared teammates

[tyrannuspitch]

listening to madonna and contemplating the friction between steve rogers' 1940s gay catholic repression and his head-over-heels self-sacrificial idealist streak

[seijorhi]

Bully ~ Part II

Oikawa Tooru x female reader (+ Iwaizumi Hajime)

TW dub/non-con, bullying, slight degradation, voyeurism, filming, implied abuse, one mention of slapping, nsfw

Part I

‘Honey, it’s your choice. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll respect.’

The final whistle sounds, the team gathering up in a huddle and with a sigh you dutifully close your books and begin to pack them away into your bag. They still have to pull down all the nets and tidy up, but that never takes too long and the sooner you’re all out of here the better.

The sooner you can get away from them, the better.

It’s become routine at this point for you to slowly make your way down to the edge of the court while they duck into the locker room; the other third years acknowledging you with friendly enough smiles, the underclassmen no longer staring at you in vague confusion. 

But at this point you’re truly beyond caring what any of them think of your relationship with their Captain. 

Except instead of filing out like the rest of his teammates, Oikawa’s still on the far side of the court, trapped in a conversation with Coach Irihata and Mizoguchi. For a split second, his attention shifts towards you, lingering awkwardly by the big double doors, and you think you catch a flicker of irritation in his eyes – which is unusual, considering that he’s made this game his life and he has nothing but the greatest respect for both of the men before him. 

But it doesn’t really matter, you suppose. You’ll wait for him, whether it’s five minutes or fifty and he’ll either tell you what’s pissing him off, or he won’t and he’ll end up using you to work out his frustrations anyway.

With your parents away for the rest of the week and your house otherwise empty, you can only pray to any god that’ll listen that he won’t try and spend the night. Not that there’s much you can do to stop him, but a girl can dream, right?

The others are heading off, Makki laughing off some biting comment from Kyoutani, but you pay them no mind. Despite being the people you now spend the majority of your time with, they’re not your friends. 

You resign yourself to trudging back up into the stands to wait for Oikawa to finish up when a hand gently wraps around your arm, spinning you around. You start, every muscle in your body tensing on instinct, but as you come face to face with familiar olive eyes you relax – it’s only Iwa.

He regards you silently for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he glances over your shoulder to where Oikawa’s still talking with the coaches. 

“C’mon, they’ll be a while, I think. Let me walk you home.”

His place is almost a fifteen minute walk from yours, but you don’t bother trying to bring that up. Instead, you just shrug, shifting the strap of the bag slung over your shoulder, “It’s fine. I don’t need an escort, you know, it’s not that late.”

Maybe it’d be nice for once, walking home without Oikawa’s looming presence over your shoulder. You’re almost positive that he’ll still come by afterwards, especially because he knows as well as you do that there’s nobody to interrupt tonight, but you’ll take the tiny wins when you can.

Besides, you only have to stick it out a little while longer. 

Still holding onto your arm, Iwa’s eyebrows draw together into a slight frown and he bites back a sigh, “Shittykawa’ll throw a hissy-fit if I let you walk home alone tonight. C’mon.”

He’s not asking, you realise belatedly as he firmly but gently starts to lead you out of the gym, not sparing his best friend another glance. And you could probably dig your heels in and kick up a fuss and he’d probably let you go – at least, you think he would. He would, right? He’d listen if you asked him to stop – but what’s the point?

Nobody here actually cares what you want anymore.

Iwa’s different, you suppose. You don’t really know why. He’s just as complicit as the others, maybe even more so – he at least knows what’s going on, even if he refuses to acknowledge it or do anything about it… but that’s not entirely true, is it?

He’s the one to step in when Oikawa starts to take things too far in public. He’s the one to scare off your would be bullies, snarling and glaring at them from his place at your side. Iwa’s the reason you haven’t lost it completely, the one keeping your head above water. He’s a friend you suppose, or at least the closest thing Oikawa’ll let you have anymore.

He’s certainly the only one Tooru trusts with you whenever he’s not around, hence you haven’t heard any indignant shouts from the gym following in your wake despite the grip he has on you.

And Iwa is nice, in his own way. He cares about you, you think – or he cares enough to pretend for Oikawa’s sake. Either way, at least you know he won’t try to pull you down an alleyway and force you to suck his cock, so compared to your other options, he’s definitely the lesser of two evils. 

It’s quiet as the two of you walk, and you find yourself thankful for it. Oikawa’s always talking, he never shuts up, his incessant chatter shattering every moment of quiet, peaceful solitude you try to steal for yourself. 

And tonight, tonight your head’s already too full to pretend to play along with some semblance of chipper friendliness. 

Maybe that’s why you like Iwaizumi; you don’t have to pretend with him. He knows exactly what Oikawa is, and he’s too intelligent to believe that you’re content spending every waking moment by the setter’s side, much less that you genuinely love him. 

It’s a nice night, at least – there’s barely any clouds in the sky. You can see the stars glittering in the inky, midnight blue, and it’s peaceful, you think, with Iwa strolling quietly along beside you. 

Even when the breeze starts to pick up, the late summer night air nipping at your exposed skin. Your jacket’s folded up and shoved somewhere towards the bottom of your bag, but you honestly can’t be bothered to stop and ferret for it. 

“You’re cold,” Iwa states after a beat. Again, not a question.

Nevertheless, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you reply, perhaps a little tersely, but he’s already shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders. Oikawa would do the same thing, more out of a perverse sense of enjoyment from seeing you wearing his clothes than a genuine sense of concern over your comfort.

Still, you don’t fight Iwa on it, pulling his jacket tighter over your body. It’s warm, his lingering body heat making your own cheeks burn a little, and it smells like him, too. Musky, yes, but there’s something almost comforting about the fresh, woodsy scent.

Silence resumes between the two of you, but you feel the weight of his stare as the two of you wander along the path. Iwaizumi’s always been perceptive, more so than most give him credit for, and it’s only another few minutes before he speaks again.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

You hum noncommittally, staring resolutely at the concrete sidewalk rather than meet his pointed gaze. 

He huffs. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or not?” he tries again, the sheer bluntness almost enough to make you flinch.

“And what makes you think there’s anything bothering me?” you reply dully, kicking at the small little pebble on the pathway in front of you.

Iwa stiffens just a fraction, but you feel it – the shift in the air between the two of you. It’s the truth you won’t speak, the one he won’t acknowledge. Of course there’s something bothering you; this whole fucked up situation between the three of you. It’s not normal, it’s not healthy, surely he sees that, how the hell can he–

“Cut the bullshit,” he snaps. “You think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been acting lately? Something’s up, and if you think I’m the only one who’s paying attention…” he trails off, and suddenly his hand’s catching at yours, pulling you to a stop.

And when finally you drag your eyes up to meet his, your heartbeat quickens at the scowl written across his face, plain as day. 

“I’m not talking about… that. Did he–” he hesitates, biting down on his lip and you honestly don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry. “Something’s up.”

You could probably tell him to mind his own business, and part of you almost wants to. He might even listen, though he wouldn’t be happy about it, but the thing is, you’re just so tired. Tired of playing girlfriend for Oikawa, tired of being dragged along against your will, manhandled and fucked at every opportunity, tired of pretending that this is in any way okay, and you just want to finally give in and admit it out loud.

You want this to be over, and it’s so close you can almost fucking taste it. 

So you breathe deep, forcing yourself to relax. “My mom got a job in Tokyo. My parents… they’re leaving at the end of next week. Moving. It’s why they haven't been around much lately.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow into a frown as he takes a second to absorb the information. “And… you? We only have a few months left until we graduate.”

You allow him a wry smile. “I know. They gave me a choice, I’m eighteen, I can stay here in the house by myself, finish up the year and graduate at Aoba Johsai before moving down with them…”

“Or?” he prods.

“Or,” you continue, “or I can go now. There’s some really good schools down there, I could have my pick. It’ll be a struggle, I know, transferring so late in the term, but–”

Iwaizumi scoffs, cutting you off, “But you’re not actually gonna go, right? You can’t just pack up and leave so close to graduation. You’re staying here in Miyagi.” 

He almost sounds angry– the muscle in his jaw’s twitching and as you stare at him you realise that he doesn’t sound angry; he is angry. His whole body’s tensed like he’s preparing for a fight, and it takes you by surprise. 

Sure, he’s pretty much the only person outside of Oikawa that you’d consider yourself to have any kind of relationship with anymore, but you’d never really thought he’d actually–

“Iwa,” you say gently, “I was gonna go to Tokyo after graduation anyway. Sure, it’s not exactly an ideal situation, but…” 

But it’s your chance to get away from all of this, from Oikawa, and you’re gonna take it and run. Whether or not Tokyo University accepts you, whether it means you have to work three times as hard to adjust to a new school’s curriculum just so you won’t completely flunk your final exams. 

It can’t be any worse than this.

He has to understand that. 

And really, what did he think was going to happen after graduation? You know Oikawa’s plans, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin your life anymore than he already has, dragging you halfway across the world. You belong here, in Japan. Oikawa can go chase his pipe dreams on his own. 

He swallows tightly, and while the pinched scowl on his face doesn’t falter, his grip on your wrist eases just a fraction. “You were really just gonna leave without telling anybody?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Who would I tell?”

—

Sure enough, it’s a little after midnight when your bedroom door sweeps open and Oikawa strides in like he owns the place. You watch through half lidded eyes as he starts to shed his clothes, stripping off and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor until he’s just in his boxers. 

He doesn’t say much as he lifts the covers and climbs into bed beside you, merely presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek, murmuring a quiet, ‘Just sleep, cutie,’ when you try to shift away from him.

He sounds tired, exhausted really, but you don’t care enough to comment, relieved more than anything that tonight he doesn’t seem to have the energy for more. There’d been some part of you that was worried that Iwa might have told him about the walk home – the secrets you’d unthinkingly entrusted to him – but he can’t have. There’s no possible way Oikawa would be so calm right now if he had. 

And Iwa wouldn’t do something like that in the first place. 

It might not have been the most traditional of friendships, and you know he’s still a little pissed off with your decision and the fact you had no intentions of telling him, but Iwa wouldn’t break your trust like that. 

And so with Oikawa’s arms wrapped around your middle, the warmth of his chest pressed up against your back, you allow sleep to claim you once more.

—

You hardly see him the following morning. 

There’s no sign of him when you wake up, though his side of the bed is still warm – you know he likes to run in the mornings; he probably ran home to shower before school. And if you’re grateful to Aoba Johsai for anything, it’s for putting the two of you in separate classes. You’re spared his presence and those of his mooney eyed fangirls, and you can actually focus on learning. Or try to, at least.

Iwa regards you with an unreadable expression when you take your usual seat at the desk next to his, but at least he doesn’t seem as pissed off as he was when he left you last night. You only have a week and a half left until you go, but considering he’s the closest thing you have to a friend anymore, you’re not sure how you would survive if he suddenly decided to give you the cold shoulder.

Still, he is quieter than usual as you both settle into class, and you can’t help your gaze from flickering over to him throughout the lesson, an uncomfortable pit settling into your stomach. Iwa doesn’t so much as look your way, busying himself in copying down the notes the teacher’s scrawling on the board.

You honestly didn’t expect him to be hurt, and as he brushes past you on his way out after the bell rings you begin to doubt whether you should have told him at all. It stings, more than you expect.

Yet the moment you try to follow him, calling out his name, a familiar figure steps in front of you, halting you in your tracks. 

“Hey, cutie,” Oikawa purrs, grinning down at you as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “I’ve missed you today. Come on, let’s go somewhere a little quieter.”

His fingers are laced with yours, tugging you along before you can even try to voice a protest. You both know you wouldn’t anyway, not anymore. 

Just like you don’t speak up when instead of dragging you outside to the courtyard, or even to the gym, he chooses an empty classroom, kicking the door shut behind him. 

There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t have a chance to voice it as he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and smashes his lips to yours. 

Oikawa usually likes to take his time, to drag out your humiliation and reluctant pleasure as he toys with you, but today he wastes no time in shoving you back up against one of the desk, his fingers already yanking down your necktie and prying your lilac shirt open – buttons scattering as it rips.

“Tooru–” you gasp, panic flaring, but his lips curl into a smirk as he forces you back into another kiss.

“Quiet now, cutie, let me take care of my pretty girl, hm?” he growls between panting breaths. “You don’t want somebody stumbling in and interrupting us, do you?”

And your chest tightens, squeezing around your lungs like a vice, your gaze flickering back to the door – shut but not locked.

“Tooru,” you whisper again in a panic, clutching at the lapels of his blazer as he draws back enough to level a gaze at your chest, bare save for the virginal white lace bra you’d unthinkingly chosen that morning. 

His grin widens, but there’s something cold and utterly unflinching in his eyes as they flicker up to meet yours. “Lean back,” he tells you.

You shake your head, “I d-don’t–”

His hands are on your shoulders, abruptly shoving you backwards. “I said,” he coos as you sprawl back onto the wooden desktop with a startled squeak, “lean back for me.”

It’s been months since you’ve fought him, but as he flips up your skirt, fingers grazing possessively along the cotton of your panties and he sighs contentedly, sheer panic floods your system, overwhelming your better judgement. Before you can stop yourself your knees come up as you desperately scramble to right yourself, to put an end to this–

The slap to your cheek isn’t all that forceful, at least not compared to what you know him to be capable of, but it still takes you by surprise, the sharp, burning sting only registering as the shock of the blow fades.

Oikawa’s no longer grinning, his face twisted into a terrifying glare as wide, teary eyes stare back up at him. “Baby, you’re really testing me right now. You want to act like a disobedient little bitch, kick up a fuss, bring everybody running so they can see what a needy little whore you are, spread out on the table for me?” He snatches at your panties, harshly wrenching them down your now prone legs with one hand, the other reaching for his belt buckle, “You think you have a choice here? You think I give a fuck what you want?”

Your ears are ringing, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out almost everything else.

It’s not the first time he’s hit you, or even the hardest, but with that one slap all the fight you have left just dissipates. You don’t even flinch when he spits directly onto your pussy, his thumb harshly spreading his saliva over your cunt – you just bite down on your lip to stifle the sob that threatens to burst.

And victory shines bright in his eyes at the sight of it. 

“Good girl, you know who this pretty pussy belongs to, don’t you?” he croons with saccharine sweetness, even leaning over to press a tender, affectionate kiss to your swollen lips. 

And you’d squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine that you’re somewhere else, anywhere else if you didn’t know how much he hates it when you do. So instead, you lie there pliant and trembling, humiliation burning hot as he spreads your legs, pressing your thighs back towards your chest as he slots himself in between them.

“You look so good like this, you know?” he muses with a soft little chuckle as he leisurely strokes his cock, letting the flushed tip brush teasingly along your folds, nudging at your clit. “Prettiest little thing, and all mine, aren’t you, cutie.”

Tears well and spill soundlessly down your cheek, but your only answering is the hiccuping breath you draw in, your fingers finding purchase on the edges of the desk as he guides it back to your entrance.

It doesn’t matter that you’re not nearly ready for him, that his spit and the pre-cum that’s beading at his slit isn’t going to help ease his passage in the slightest. He’ll fuck you how he wants to – and you’re too broken to try and stop him.

Yet instead of savagely plunging in like you expect him to, Oikawa stills, regarding you with a tilted head and a cruel smirk. 

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, the sound almost reverent as he stares down at you. He shakes his head, another soft laugh bubbling out, “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of seeing you like this, but if you’re going to be running off on me so soon, maybe I should take a little memento, what do you think cutie?”

Your stomach drops, dread creeping down your spine as Oikawa reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening up the camera and flicking it across to video. 

“I mean if this is going to be our last time together, don’t you think we should make it special?” You jerk, your breath coming out in short, harsh pants but you can’t move, can’t seem to lift a single finger as he leans in closer, bringing his lips to your ear, “That way we both have something to remember this by.”

And as his breath ghosts the tiny hairs on the shell of your ear he laughs again, pressing another quick kiss to your flushed, tear stained cheek. “Aw, don’t cry, cutie. You brought this on yourself.”

You don’t have a moment to prepare yourself, his hand slamming over your lips to muffle your shrieks as he thrusts his hips forward, sheathing himself in your tight little cunt with a choked moan.

“F-fuck, baby,” he grits out, biting down on his own lip as he relishes the vice like grip your pussy has on his throbbing cock, “Smile for the camera.”

Your back arcs up off the table, fingernails digging into the wood as he draws his hips back slowly, letting you feel every inch of his cock as it drags along your walls until it’s only the tip that remains inside of you.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts – a sharp and throbbing pain that only grows with each passing second. 

There’s something sadistic in his grin as he angles the phone down to where your bodies meet, your lewdly spread thighs, your glistening pussy in perfect view as another glob of saliva joins the first, pooling over your sex, sliding down his cock.

“You have no idea how perfect your pussy feels, baby,” he pants, slowly filling you up once more – your own wails stifled by his hand. “You’re mine, all fucking mine, aren’t you?”

There’s no hiding from the camera as he fucks you, slowly at first, but picking up his pace as the slick starts to build, your warm, velvety walls sucking him in deeper, squelching obscenely with every thrust. And between the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass – skin hitting skin as he fucks you roughly without care – and Tooru’s own satisfied moans, your muffled whimpers and cries go unheard. 

And just when you think your humiliation is complete, he takes his hand from your mouth, his thumb returning to your clit, teasing at the sensitive nub with slow, measured circles that have you keening, shaking beneath him as he stuffs you full. Slowly but surely that searing ache gives way to pleasure, a slight shift of his hips and his cock’s hitting that sweet spot he’s all too familiar with – and another strangled moan slips out.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

You shake your head, fingernails digging into the wood, biting down harshly to keep yourself quiet as you feel that familiar heat pooling in your core, wanton pleasure flickering through you with every swipe of his fingers, every harsh thrust.

“No? You sure about that?” he laughs at the desperate whine that slips from your lips, “I wanna hear it, baby. Cum for me.”

But you can’t, you can’t make a sound, the door’s not locked, the door’s not locked and anybody could walk in any second, but you can feel it coming, your legs shaking and toes curling as your control slips–

“Cum,” Oikawa demands, his own voice a husky, shivering growl, and this time you’re helpless but to obey.

Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, suddenly sweeping your legs out from under you. You arc up off the table once more, white hot pleasure exploding as you shiver and quake, your pussy clamping down on his cock and gushing as he fucks you relentlessly through it, chasing his end while drawing out your own.

And you’re so lost in the bliss, the pleasurable rippling aftershocks short circuiting your system that you don’t even realise that he’s pulled himself out of your cunt, stroking his slicked up cock with harsh pants–

Not until you feel the hot spurts of his cum hitting your stomach, a choked moan resembling your name shattering the fuzzy afterglow, dragging you harshly back down to reality.

There’s a twisted, self satisfied smirk on his face as he watches the cold realisation sink in, your eyes filling with fresh tears as your gaze flickers between him and the phone in his hand, still filming.

“You’re not leaving me,” he says, still a little breathless. “You’re mine. Isn’t that right, Iwa?”

No.

Please god, no.

Blood drains from your face, the pit in your stomach plummeting as his smirk widens and he turns his head to glance over his shoulder. You don’t want to look, can’t bear to, but it’s like trying to rip your eyes away from a car crash; your body moves with a will of its own. Heart pounding, nausea churning in your gut, you follow his gaze to find Iwaizumi by the door; jaw tight, arms folded across his chest, staring impassively back at you.

And that last little piece of you breaks.

[may-fanfic]

Still Here

summary: after the blip, natasha comes home to make sure her long term girlfriend is still alive

warnings: mentions of thanos, death, angst but soft 

word count: 1,100 

masterlist 

(feel free to send in any request)) 

---------

it was quiet for a moment as everyone tried to piece together what had just unfolded in front of them. after what felt like months of fighting, Thanos finally succeeded in his quest for world domination. Natasha wasn't ready to accept the failure and she certainly wasn't prepared to go home and be greeted with a possibly empty home but she knew there was no escaping it.  she hated the solemn faces of teammates, along with their silence. 

when Natasha boarded the quinjet, the first thing she did was pick up her phone with shaky hands. there was a text on a screen from a couple of hours before and now she felt more guilt than ever for not getting a chance to respond. 

'stay safe today, come home in one piece'   it felt like a punch in the gut for her, she felt the urge to cry as she dialed your number only to be met with your voicemail, your sweet, soft voice telling her to call back later. what if that was the only thing she had left of you?  she hated the uncertainty of it all, she hardly wanted to go home, which was a first. 

the house you shared somewhere up in the middle of nowhere was always her safe haven and now all she could imagine was your fearful cries out for help as you turned into nothing. she hated the thought of you being alone during something like that. she wished she opted out of his mission like Clint because at least he could be with his family. 

her stop was the last one and much to her dismay, she left the jet, feeling her anxiety skyrocket. it was late by the time she reached your shared home, she knew that you'd be asleep by this time. she hoped that you were quietly in bed, settled down for the night. 

 "y/n?" she called out when she finally entered her home. she could hear the fear leak from her own words and it made her cringe. there was no reply,  not even the quietest sound to reassure her, and if she was honest, she was afraid to search the house for you so instead she called out again.  

you stirred awake quickly, feeling your heart drop at the sudden noises in your home. you shot up, trying your hardest to regain enough consciousness to find the source of the sound.  "y/n, please!" Natasha's worried voice boomed through the halls and you finally seemed to snap back into reality at her shaky, fearful voice. you raced downstairs, barely realizing that you were even doing it, it was like your body moved on its own without any help from your brain.  

"natty, baby? what is it?" you called out once you reached the bottom step. her back was turned to you and you could see as the tension in her shoulders dropped before she spun around to greet you. 

her green eyes were full of tears, you have hardly known what to say because if you were honest, you had no clue what was going on. as soon as her eyes met yours, a sob erupted from her lips. she couldn't get to you fast enough, engulfing you tightly into her arms as she cried out into the nape of your neck. your heart pounded as she hugged you into her chest. "I thought you were gone." she gasped out in between her sobbing.

"no baby, I'm right here." Natasha wanted to tell you all about her crazy day but she could not calm herself down long enough. you were so patient with her, giving her the proper time to relax before trying to get any actual information from her and she appreciated it. 

she loosened her hold on you, cocking her head back so she could gaze down at you. one of her hands came up to gently cup your cheek and when you leaned into it, she felt a burst of adoration. "everything's okay, baby." you reassured, a sad smile forming on your lips as you stared up at her.  a shaky breath fell past her lips before she ducked her head down to meet your lips softly. she knew everything wasn't okay but right now the only thing she had been focused on was your lips, it kept her at bay. 

you always calmed her down well, whether it was from a bad day or a terrible mission. you had this charm about you that whenever you were around it didn't matter about what else was going on because she had you and for the moment she knew everything would work out fine. 

she wasn't sure how she'd react had you disappeared amongst the rest of her team. she wasn't sure she could survive in a world that didn't include you. she knew everything was so different now and all her bad days was nothing compared to this but your soft demeanor still worked wonders at relaxing her. 

when she pulled away from the kiss, you reached up to wipe away any reminder tears that lingered on her cheeks. you wanted to know exactly what happened but the girl looked traumatized enough, you didn't want to be selfish and make her relive any of it. "you look like you could use some sleep." you stated, caressing her cheeks softly. she let a sad smile take over her lips despite the quiver that was still prominent on them.

"I won't be able to sleep, detka," she confessed and so you shrugged. you were tired and you knew if you laid in bed, you'd be fast asleep in moments but you also knew you could never sleep knowing Natasha was hurting.  "how about some tea then?" you smiled, and when she nodded you were quick to tug her into the kitchen. 

by the time the tea was done, you were sat on Natasha's lap, listening to her utter out every detail that she could remember as she stirred the tea. she knew the Avengers would have to come back together and figured things out but right now she was just so emotionally drained and couldn't even think about the time she'd have to spend trying to piece together things.

her hand softly caressed your back as she whispered that they failed everyone. she didn't like the stress she had right now and you wished you could do something to make it better for you, little did you know, just you being there made it a hundred times better for the spy.  

[detectivereyes]

Save Your Tears for Another Day

i wrote this text post about the idea and said someone else should write it because i haven’t been in a writing mood and then @aliceschuyler offered to write it.. and then the fic started to write itself in my head so i wrote it after all. but look out for alice’s fic too because i’m sure it’s going to be great!

word count: 1k

read on ao3

The first time TK Strand got bad news that was so bad that his brain shut down was when his parents announced they were getting divorced. They sat him down when he was 7 years old and calmly explained that while they still deeply cared about each other, they could no longer live together. 

And while his mom stroked his arm, giving him a sympathetic smile and his dad tried to cheer him up by saying he would get to have two beds, two houses, two of every toy, TK couldn’t hear any of it. Too many thoughts spun around in his brain until his parents stopped talking and he whispered a small “okay.”

When they both got called to his school a week later after he picked a fight with a kid in the lunchroom, not much thought was given. Easily finding excuses for why he picked a fight; he’s a good kid, it was just a bad day.

The next time he got bad news, he was 14 and his parents both had to work on his birthday. It didn’t even matter who he was supposed to be with that week, as the schedules often never worked out as planned anyway and usually led to TK crashing on a friend's couch.

But when his father found out he was working a double shift over TK’s birthday, followed by his mother’s gaining a new case last minute, it was hard not to be let down realizing that he would be spending another birthday alone.

His parents both tried to let him down gently, reassuring him that he was a big boy now so he could handle it and they would make it up to him. And in both cases he merely shrugged and didn’t murmur a word. Not that his parents thought much of it, instead remarking how well he always handled bad news.

That night while sprawling out on his friend Jake's uncomfortable futon, he didn’t think twice when Jake told him that he had something that would make him feel better; easily swallowing the small white tablets like they were always meant to slide down his throat.

When he was 17, his dad told him that he was getting another divorce. Owen tried to mask the pain as he explained that Tracy decided it wasn’t working anymore and moved out last night, leaving them both without saying goodbye, but TK could see he was hurting too.

Again he found solace in searching for the bottom of pill bottles and shot glasses. And when a similar conversation happened with his mom as she explained that her and Enzo would be ending things, he found that bottom.

He knew for sure he got his parents attention when he woke up in the hospital and they were both sitting by his bedside. Unshed tears pooling in both their eyes, his parents spouted off apologies and promises that things would change. Still he remained quiet, only agreeing when it was proposed that he move in with Owen and start at the fire academy as soon as he graduated high school.

Things did change, and things got better. Living with Owen for most of the time meant that someone was always keeping an eye on him. His father got almost too good at reading his mood, and could now sense what would happen when TK shut down. Even over small things, Owen would be sure to keep him extra close after he found out something that brought his mood down.

And time apart from his mother also turned out to be a good thing, with Gwyn also picking up on TK’s mood swings when they did get together.

Therapy helped too, with his therapist giving him helpful ways to sort through the storm of ideas whirling in his head, and coping mechanisms to help with any urges that came after.

They were tips that helped him work through failing his academy test the first time, and when Gwyn accepted a head position at her law firm, meaning she would be away more than she would be at home. 

TK struggled to apply it when his proposal to Alex turned into a break up. He was able to utter a few words before leaving the restaurant but his brain went blank after that. He only realized what had happened when he woke up on the floor of his apartment and surrounded his entire team, including his dad.

He tried to remember everything he had learned once he got to Austin. He fought the urge to completely shut down when he saw the results for the pill bottle he found in his dad’s office and uses the time in between that and Owen getting home only to confirm his suspicions to process his thoughts. And it helped him work through his conflicting feelings about Carlos, and getting the news that it had been a kid who shot him.

Though TK can’t help but shut down after Tim’s death, and no one blames him. He may not have known the paramedic well, but that doesn’t make grasping at the fact that one moment he was here, living and breathing and the next he was gone. Carlos, however at this point knows it’s coming and was fully prepared to guide TK through the maze of thoughts.

The next time he completely shut down was when Gwyn informs him that she’s leaving, again, and that his brother is actually his half-brother. It’s enough to concern his mom, and he wanted to fight it and keep talking. But instead he goes quiet, and explains that everything is okay.

He knew that his parents would be rightfully worried about him, he’s worried about himself, but he had enough faith in himself to know he’d pull through. He silently works through all of the urges by himself until his day decides Gwyn leaving is no longer his biggest problem.

And a few months later, Tommy tells him and Nancy that she isn’t coming back. Or she tries to tell him, but TK realizes what she is attempting to say before she can get the words out. He wants to tell her that he understands, and he can tell Nancy is saying as much but he can’t quite get the words out. Instead holds back the tears and goes through the motions of holding his teammates hands; not saying a word.

[daydreamed-snippets]

Part One Part Two

Personnel in crisp cream uniforms walked the brightly lit hallway with a purpose; either conversing with each other, gazing at datapads, or rushing off to who knows where. Supervillain nodded to some in passing; taking the time to pause with others. Sidekick squeezed in closer, stepping on the back of their boots, grazing their shoulder against supervillain’s arm in a pathetic endeavor to just hide. No one warned them about the trepidation that tugged at their soul, nor did anyone prepare them for the general neurosis of it all. The lights overhead strained their eyes, and the cloister of people moved like an insect hive, an incursion on their senses. They could feel a headache forming. Their various cuts and scrapes burned. Their knees hurt too, body still twitching from electrocution.

And they were all staring at them.

Keeping their head lowered, eyes affixed elsewhere, sidekick could still see all of them through their peripheral. Supervillain’s ‘team’ consisted of far more people than the association originally thought. They tensed as each gaze befell them; probably taking in their tattered costume, unkempt hair, and the collar around their neck.

Eyes curious, judging, questioning.

Shame itched at the back of their neck, screaming to be scratched, but they kept their hands in front of them where they could be easily seen. At least the supervillain wasn’t parading them around, so there was that. The leash was lax and discrete enough so long as sidekick didn’t resist.

But who were they to resist now? They were powerless. It was done and over. Supervillain won. Teammates had no idea where they were if they were even looking for them at this point.

Cramming their eyes shut, they tried to hold onto those little ribbons of faith that gleamed at them through this emblematic darkness. Usefulness dictated importance, which in the Hero’s Association meant a role working with the team. Here it would be no doubt ensure their survival. Usefulness drawing the line between life and death.

They wanted to live, but being of use to the enemy churned their stomach. Policy made no room for turncoats. An informant maybe, but they had no mercy for traitors.

So be an informant.

What was the layout here? What were the dimensions of this hallway? How many doors did they pass? Count the number of people, sidekick. Gather information, no matter how scant. Be docile to the enemy, but pragmatic to the team.

Sixteen. They already passed sixteen people. Good. The Hero’s Association would see just how useful they were once teammates rescue them out of this sterilized hellhole. They will rescue them.

Sidekick bumped into supervillain again, a warm, solid presence, and supervillain turned, looking down. “I’ll let you hold your leash, puppy, if that would make you feel better. At any rate, you keep stepping on me and I don’t want my boot scuffed." They made a motion of unwinding the wire from their wrist and handing it over. But when sidekick moved to take it, the supervillain drew back. "But remember,” they said, voice holding a dark promise. “If you choose to bolt know that I have hundreds of people under my command in this annex alone.”

Sidekick gulped.

Hundreds? Hundreds? So this wasn’t just an assortment of random villains and a handful of henchmen? This was an organization in of itself. One that could rival the Hero’s Association.

Holy shit.

In dismay, sidekick nodded numbly and the wire was placed in their hands. They murmured a thank you before realizing it, and the supervillain started again, sidekick stumbling to follow.

Let it be knowledge to tuck away at a later time. No matter how small, knowledge always proves to be advantageous.

They walked a few more meters and when supervillain stopped again. This time sidekick followed suit keeping a healthy distance between them, shuffling a bit, and looking dubiously at supervillain. They keyed something in a pad—out of sight—and a door swished open.

Their breath caught and, sidekick raised their chin. Here was their cell. They’d probably rot in here, or spend a majority of their time recovering from torture and wondering when their next session would begin.

Hope against hope, they wished it would be clean at least. Were they ever? The association gave no indication on cell parameters, or any information really save for the unpleasantness of it all. Sidekick wasn't delicate but they were averse to pain in general. They were told it made for a bad hero.

Sidekick hesitated, realizing that they should say something smarting. Brave. What would teammates say if they were in this situation? Something wisecracking and sarcastic. But then again, whenever sidekick opened their mouth the supervillain always had some observant retort. Something comment to off-balance them, and set them on their toes.

They opened their mouth anyway.

A hand on the small of their back maneuvered them through the threshold.

Supervillain stepped in as well, and the door slipped back sealing shut, leaving them in complete darkness. Walking past them, their captor roused a computer interface with a verbal command, and the area rustled to life.

Sidekick’s eyes widened at the sight.

This wasn’t a cell. These weren’t even quarters. This was a well-furnished apartment with a full kitchen, dining room, and living area. A hallway split off to their right, where sidekick assumed the bathroom and bedroom lay. No windows, but large light therapy lamps joined regular ones behind traditional furniture and on end tables. A sudden contrast to the hard lines and surfaces of the garrison hallways, an apparent appeal to a softer aesthetic.

What the?

“It’s late,” supervillain called making their rounds, checking on something sidekick was unaware of in the adjacent room. “You will take a shower, and have something to eat before settling in for the night.” Their words held no room for argument.

What kind of game was this? Sidekick leaned back against the door willing for it to open. Policy stated all enemies would treat captors roughly. That they would have no regard for their corporeal needs. Unless this was all a ruse. To get sidekick to trust them, to get them to join the supervillain’s team.

"Don't worry, your collar won't zap you if it gets wet. Medic isn't that sadistic. Not without permission." They came back into the room, eyes sliding back to sidekick with a hidden glint. “I could always bathe you myself, puppy…”

Ducking their head, sidekick shook it vigorously at supervillain’s knowing chuckle. Directing them down the hall, supervillain steered them towards the bathroom: a single shower, sink, and toilet. Newly cleaned. Immaculately decorated. They turned on the shower, showed sidekick how to adjust the temperate then left after unknotting the wire, unleashing their collar. The door remained propped open, a subtle warning not to close it.

A glance down the hallway to assure themselves that the supervillain had indeed left, sidekick shed their costume, tearing a bigger hole in the sleeve in their haste to behind obscure glass and out of the open. Granted, it wasn't like there was much preventing supervillain from entering again.

Still, they glanced back before quickly stepped into the shower, relishing the hot water on their stiff muscles. Blood and grime pooled on the tile floor, circling the drain. It shouldn't have surprised them how much there was. The team called them in to act as a diversion as much as an escape route. Sidekick was hit, but not hard as the wires spread paper-thin cuts along their arms and legs. It was not really that bad if you compared it to broken bones and missing limbs.

It stung like hell though.

The only soap available was one held in a dark grey bottle. Uncapping it, the scent of muted fern and something like vanilla filled their sinuses. Fresh. Admittedly soothing. Bringing it to a good lather, they quickly scrubbed themselves, breathing in the aroma more and more until it clicked. This was the supervillain’s scent they were covering themselves in. In fact, everything smelled like this. Everything in this part of the garrison smelled like it the moment sidekick stepped into the room.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

Sidekick finished up quickly, shutting off the valve, and stepped out, wrapping a towel hanging on a large ring around themselves. It shouldn’t be intoxicating. It should be revolting, or at least off-putting.

Their costume was missing, they soon realized a little too late. In its place a crisp cream uniform, the same as the ones they’d seen everyone else don. Supervillain did sneak in when they were showering, probably when their back was turned. Color filled their face again, as they caught the reflection of themselves in the mirror. Neck red from maltreatment, and a bit too pale.

Taking no chances for their captor to return, and truly appreciate the view, they pulled on the uniform quickly, combed fingers through their shoulder-length hair, and called it a day. What did it matter how they appeared? They couldn’t go home. The team abandoned them, and the supervillain was being… odd. Nothing mattered and all the rules were bent.

They padded out and took a seat in the dining area where a chair had been pulled out for them.

“This will be soft on your stomach,” supervillain said, placing a plate before them before easing into the other chair. “I don’t want you vomiting on my carpet, puppy.”

“I don’t—” sidekick glanced up, searching the plains of their sharp face. The circles under the supervillain's eyes were more than noticeable, in the temperate light they were etched in stone. Supervillain made a noise for them to continue. “I don’t like being called puppy.”

“Give me your real name, and if I like it better than puppy, I’ll stop.”

Their already clenched jaw ground tighter; a compromise they were unwilling to make. Picking up the spoon, supervillain held it aloft, food tucked neatly on it, and directed it to sidekick’s lips. “I need you to eat puppy, so I can go to bed. I don’t want to your pathetic mewling in the night.”

Sidekick’s teeth ground together.

“Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?” The change in subject was sudden, and sidekick’s lips slackened. “Have you ever cut someone in half before, or even just a limb?” Sidekick looked away, nervous fingers playing with their sleeve. They couldn’t help but tremble. The answer was a resounding no, but they be damned to articulate it.

“Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?” The question brought the sidekick’s attention back, and they tried to fix the supervillain with a dead stare.

They should have known by now it was impossible to win a battle of wills when they looked into the supervillain’s eyes. There was a darkness there so deep, it moved. It took shape. Haunting. Plotting. Sidekick could practically see the desire to devour them completely reflected in those stirring pools.

“I’ll take your silence as a no,” they said evenly, after a beat. “Have you been given combat training?”

Yes, the basics, sidekick thought, but nothing which could defend against a supervillain.

“Have they given you any training besides making you housebroken?”

“I’m not—!” The opportunity supervillain had been waiting for came, and they shoved the spoonful into sidekick’s mouth with a look that dared them to spit it out. They chew slowly, stomach in knots but it was good.

“Let me guess, you’re not a dog,” supervillain supplied lazily. “Eat.”

“I have had training. In multiple areas,” they picked up the spoon with a shaky hand, stomach rumbling. “But I’m not going to answer your questions. If captured, policy states that I am not to give out anything besides my affiliation to the Hero’s Association. I am not going to give you any information," they let out a shaky breath, a spoonful of food in their cheeks, "not even under extreme coercion. Teammates would never forgive me, and the Hero's Association has a zero-tolerance policy."

“What kind of ‘heroes’ organization punishes you for breaking under torture?”

Sidekick’s voice squeaked. “That’s not what I said. They’ve… been good to me.”

“In what way?”

“I-I’m not answering that.”

Supervillain relented, and sidekick ate in tense silence.

Once finished, the supervillain led them to the living room. A small cot pulled out from one of the couches. After dressing it, supervillain pulled out a chain from one of the end table drawers and clipped it to a ring recently drilled into the wall. They then handed sidekick a glass of water and tucked a small pill into their hand.

“No, I—”

“It’s melatonin, and it will help you sleep. It won’t put you to sleep.” They poured several into their hand and tossed it into their mouth as they wandered to find water. “You’ll need it," they called. "You’ve been shaking since you got out of the shower. Get some rest.” Their footsteps became more distant as they went down the hallway to the bedroom, bed creaking as they entered it.

The lights clicked off and the sidekick was left in darkness.

They shrugged into bed, pulling the light sheets over themselves while kicking off the comforter. A cold sweat claimed them, and they stared at the ceiling for the better part of three hours, thoughts churning, churning, churning.

So what if they’d never hurt anyone with their powers before, that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. That didn’t mean that the supervillain could treat them like a patsy. It didn't mean that they were incapable.

They could do it if they wanted to.

They could do it to supervillain if they wanted to.

Why, they were just sleeping in the next room. Sidekick could hear deep breathing and the stutter of a dream-filled sigh. There was no need to use their full power to slip a link in the chain or to silently creep over to the room. They could make a sliver of a portal for half a second, and endure the buzz from their collar.

Sidekick set their plan in motion.

After the mini-portal, they blacked out for a second and woke with a gasp. Part one done. They were free, chain hewn in two. They probably had moments before anyone noticed, so they needed to move quickly.

Have you ever used your portals to injure anyone?

Supervillain's words came back to them, as they wandered the hallway, honing in on the dark bedroom. They stepped through the threshold, a thought sparking of how they were invading. How a bedroom spoke of intimacy, a cozy and solitary space.

A single red light blinked from the ceiling corner. Sidekick's eyes were already well adjusted to the dark that they could see supervillain's outline on the bed, lying on their back, arms spread out defenselessly.

They could picture it now. Sidekick fails the demon supervillain. Sure they might die in the process, but it would serve the association. It would cement them in the annals of heroic feats.

Have you ever killed anyone with your portals?

Moving to the side of the bed, sidekick’s hands hovered, not yet touching. Faltering in their pursuit. Where was that rage their felt earlier? Where was that appetite for vengeance? It was there, they could feel it under the surface, but it was a poor substitute for bloodlust. A poor replacement for the mindset needed to end a life.

Could they do it?

"Why don't you go back to bed like a good little labradoodle? You don't have to stomach for this."

Sidekick almost jumped at the sound. Hands reached up to boldly clamp onto their wrists.

"Let me go!"

"I warned you, puppy."

They lunged for the supervillain's throat, the heat back again. Volatile, it roared to life. Erupting, unpredictable, but sidekick was grateful for its presence now. It wasn't bloodlust, but it possibly could be damaging enough.

Supervillain pulled them on top of them, and sidekick's legs swung around their body, hoping to get a better angle to grip their neck. "You think I'm going to cooperate with you? I will fight you at every turn. You will regret keeping me alive. I will gather enough intel that once I escape, teammates will be able to take you down."

"If they want you back."

The statement made sidekick pause. "What did you just say?"

"If," the repeated, slowly, the next words in a rhythmic manner. "If they want you back."

"What do you mean if?"

Supervillain's eyes drift up to the red light winking steadily at them.

Blood drained from sidekick's face.

"It records video, but no sound. Makes it easier to edit, I'm told. And I have people in my employment that can edit anything. They can and will make this little tussle we've having look like a lover's tryst." They let go of sidekick's wrists and trailed a pitying hand down their cheek. "What would teammates think of you once I send them this video of us in bed together? Would they jump to the conclusion that we've been joined this whole time? That our affair was the reason why you closed the portal? Did you choose to stay with me? Or would they assume that since you have such a weak constitution, that it only took one day for me to seduce you?"

"This was a trap. You knew," sidekick licked their lips, and supervillain's eyes followed the movement. "You set this up from the beginning."

"I set up fail-safes in case you chose this path."

"You tricked me."

"You disobeyed me," they said, voice hardening and a chill crept down sidekick's spine. They sat up, moving sidekick to their lap, and gripped their chin roughly, face inches from theirs. "I was nice before, and you squandered my kindness. Now you will face the punishment."

Wire detached from the ceiling like vines, wrapping themselves around sidekick before they had a chance to scramble off the bed and bolt. Their feet lifted off the ground. Once again they were suspended, drawn tightly to the four corners of the room. Supervillain didn't spare a glance at them as they got out of bed, and left the room, all but ignoring sidekick's screams.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Thin Line

Summary: You’re wild and free. She’s strict and trained. You and Natasha are polar opposites and it drives her crazy. Each move you make annoys her to no end. But, there’s a thin line between annoyance and adoration.

Rating: 18+ Violence, Mentions of Death, and Smut

Chapter 4

Natasha Romanoff is a cuddler. Yes the bad ass, red head, assassin likes to cuddle. 

You didn’t know it at first, and honestly you didn’t think she’d want to do it, but you soon found out how wrong you were. 

It took you by surprise. Both you and Natasha had packed your things up and loaded on to the Quinjet, since Fury was asking for you to come back. You had helped her check over everything and sweep the jet for any tampering, before settling into a seat in the back.

You, thinking Natasha was going to fly, dove into your thoughts. Which of course revolved around the enticing woman. 

There was this feeling swarming through you. It nagged at you to figure out what’s going on between you and Natasha and you hated it. Just when things had started to get better, with her no longer hating you, your feelings begged to be acknowledged. 

Why? Why couldn’t you just be satisfied with kissing her and whatever else comes with it? Why did you feel the need to define it?

It was with that thought that she chose to come over. After turning on autopilot, she eased into the seat beside you and pulled your arms around her, relaxing back into your body.

You were frozen for a good minute, until her lips pressed against your hand. The whole interaction gave you butterflies. Butterflies that you still feel along with a bit of anxiousness as F.R.I.D.A.Y tells you you’re a half hour away from the compound. 

“Is there a reason your heart is beating so fast?” Natasha asks, voice barely above a whisper.

The breath you take in is shaky,“ I’m just uh- well- we’re not telling the team about any of this, right? Or do we like, need to disclose or something?”

“Y/N,” she shifts to face you but makes sure your hands stay on her,“ we don’t need to disclose anything. Just try not to freak out over any of this okay?” 

A frown marks your face,“ so it is obvious I’m freaking out. I’m sorry about that, by the way, I’m sure the last thing you want is me over thinking whatever this is.”

“Why would that be the last thing I want?” She narrows her eyes at you.

Her question has you stumbling over simple words, mashing syllables together to form some type of coherent statement.

“If you don’t say something I can understand I’m going to be forced to use extreme measures.” She half teases.

You chuckle and shake your head.

“Now answer the question.”

“I just don’t want to make this awkward by asking what all this means or what we are. There’s no reason to rush and label it but my brain isn’t exactly on board with that idea.”

She pulls a smile, a small one, but still a smile,“ just relax. If we ever get to a point where the team needs to know, they’ll know. And I agree that we should take things slow. I’ve never done this before so I’d rather not-”

“I get it.” You smile back,“ consider this topic tabled until further notice.”

“Okay.” 

“Still,” you turn her so she’s back in your arms and rest your chin on her shoulder,“ I know it’s gonna be hard for you when we get back. Keeping this from the team means you can’t be all over me like you love.”

Natasha is quick to look back at you as if you’d grown another head,“ me? You’re the problem.”

“Sure, whatever helps you-”

Not wanting to hear your cocky little remarks, Natasha kisses you, and then pulls away to go pilot the jet.

“That’s exactly what I mean, you find me irresistible.”

“Shut up Y/L/N.”

The second the jet lands you’re snatching up your bag and exiting.

Green eyes follow your every move and Natasha’s heart clenches. 

Could you really not wait to get away from her? Had everything you’d done on the mission simply because Fury told you to play nice?

Only for your face to pop back around the corner,“ you coming pretty girl?” 

Meanwhile, the guys wait anxiously in the common room. Having heard the jet land they prepare themselves for the bickering they’re about to hear, that or only one of you walking through that door(their money being on Natasha).

Except there isn’t any bickering when you and Natasha step out of the elevators, there isn’t even a frown. You’re smiling as you speak to the assassin and she’s maintaining her usual stoic expression.

“Uh, hey.” Clint says, grabbing your attention,“ how was the mission?”

Raising an eyebrow at Natasha, you chuckle, and turn to the guys,“ it was a success obviously, basically guaranteed when Fury assigned me.”

This earns a chuckle from the guys and agreeing cocky remarks from Tony and Sam. 

Natasha rolls her eyes,“ you’re all incorrigible. Where’s Wanda?” 

All the guys mumble a different answer which earns a skeptical gaze from Natasha.

“Yeah, way to sell it guys.” You pull a thumbs up with a sarcastic smile.

Before any of the guys can reply Wanda does.

“Natasha, you’re back.” She steps out of the kitchen.

“Ha I was right!” Sam exclaims.

You roll your eyes, instead focusing on the girls.

Natasha gestures to you,“ I doubt you two have met yet, Wanda this is Y/N our newest teammate, Y/N this is Wanda.”

Despite her being here all the time this was in fact the first time you’ve actually met Wanda. You’ve seen her around but neither of you have ever spoken. Mainly because she kept to herself but also because she was with Natasha a lot, the woman who previously disliked you. 

However, you’re glad to meet her and you tell her that, which almost makes her smile.

“It’s nice to meet you too Y/N.” Wanda nods, her Sokovian accent lacing each word.

“So Wanda, how’re you getting on here? The guys drive you nuts while we were gone?” You make conversation as Natasha goes over to Clint after his not so subtle gestures. 

The brunette shrugs,“ they’re not all intolerable.”

You follow the flicker of her gaze to Vision the very quiet and observant humanoid. Had she not looked at him you wouldn’t have even known he was here. 

You smirk,“ you two talk often?” You make sure not to ask loudly so as to not alert anyone to the Sokovian’s possible crush.

Her eyes widen in the slightest as she looks at you, but she still answers,“ no. But we’re both busy so-”

“Yo Vision!” You call to him, and he wastes no time coming over.

“Agent Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff.” He nods to the both of you.

Wanda blushes at his presence alone, murmuring,“ I told you to call me Wanda.”

Smiling softly you place a hand on his shoulder,“ we were just talking about team movie night tonight and Wanda was saying how she could use some help preparing snacks and stuff but I’ll be busy in debrief, those guys are incompetent, which makes you the perfect candidate to aid the gorgeous Chef Maximoff.”

Vision’s attraction is instantly noticeable as the android stammers over his words, struggling to put together a proper sentence.

“So we’re all in agreement,” you put gentle hands on their shoulders and walk them to the kitchen,“ menu doesn’t matter just don’t forget popcorn. Perfect, Vision stick close to that one.” You wink at Wanda and leave quickly.

You step over to Clint and Natasha,“ hate to interrupt best friend time but Romanoff and I have a mission to wrap up. Don’t fret we’ll be available for movies in a couple hours.”

With that you gesture to Natasha to follow you. 

It’s not until you’re both down the hall that she raises a brow at you,“ what, pray tell, needs to be finished with the mission? Also what was that with Wanda and Vision?”

“Questions, questions, questions.” You tease.

Taking you completely by surprise, she pushes you against the wall. Her hands trapped you in but she didn’t touch your body at all, still you feel the heat radiating off her.

You raise an eyebrow,“ now what did we say about self control?”

“Why is it that you don’t answer questions, Y/L/N?” Her eyebrow quirks as well.

“Why is it that you ask so many questions, Romanoff?”  

Silence settles as you both stare into each others eyes. Her gaze is inquisitive, one that she holds a lot with you.

The gap between you two close without you even noticing. Natasha’s breath fans your lips and that alone makes you lean in to kiss her. She smirks, cocky that you’re the one not able to control yourself.

“I win.” She whispers.

You grab her shoulders, spurned on by her words, and switch positions. She can’t suppress the moan that leaves her lips when her back hits the wall, and she wraps her arms around your neck. 

Hands grip her hips as you deepen the kiss with a bite to her bottom lip. And she gasps giving the perfect opportunity to slip your tongue into her mouth. That alone has her hands roaming your body feverishly and it just feeds your need for her. And it makes you feel oh so cocky.

Cocky enough to run your fingers under her shirt, hooking your fingers into the waistline of her pants to pull her closer. You place a trail of kisses from her lips to her neck.

“Y/N,” she breathes against the shell of your ear making you shiver and pull away just as she’s dying for it to continue. 

She chases after your lips, nearly pushing off the wall to capture them again.

“Eager much?” You joke breathlessly.

Her hand grips your neck,“ I don’t like to be teased Y/L/N.”

“That’s just too bad Romanoff.”

You leave her there with a smirk on your face, feeling her gaze until you turn the corner.

*****

To your surprise you don’t see Natasha again after that for a while.

After you left her in the hallway, desperate and aroused, you expected her to follow after you but she didn’t. So, you took your things to your room and put them away. It was nice to have a bit of a breather after everything that’s happened the past week. 

You were able to shut your eyes for a half hour before you got too antsy to sit still. Which resulted in you going to the gym until your body was dripping sweat and your breathing was ragged. 

It’s Steve who comes looking for you, informing you that Wanda and Vision are finished cooking and that everyone’s deciding on a movie.

“Alright, be there in a minute.” You nod to him, leaving the gym beside him, and heading to your room.

One shower and a clean set of clothes later, your stepping into the kitchen. You take a deep breath in, inhaling the delicious smell of the food Vision and Wanda made.

“Well damn, it smells great in here, you two are a dream team.” You compliment, eyes traveling over the blushing Witch and the bashful android, to land on an expressionless Red Head Assassin.

Vision speaks,“ thank you Agent Y/L/N, I thoroughly enjoyed cooking with Miss Maximoff.”

“I bet.” You nod, still looking at Natasha.

She was looking at you as well but unlike usual you can’t read her hidden expression.

“This movie is gonna start with our without you guys!” Tony calls. 

Chuckling, you assist Vision, Wanda, and Natasha with bringing the food into the common room. 

Apparently Tony’s movie suggestion, Hunger Games, won. You all know he chose it just to pick at Clint throughout the movie. 

Seats fill up quickly and the remaining one is beside, lucky you, Natasha. 

Giving her a smirk, plop into the seat beside her. As the movie starts, you discreetly snuggle closer to Natasha’s side, earning narrowed eyes from her.

You lean down to whisper in her ear,“ awe, don’t tell me you’re mad at me Pretty Girl.”

She runs her tongue along the inside of her jaw, thoughts running a mile a minute.

Of course she ins’t mad at you. Well, maybe a little. More than that, she’s so incredibly frustrated. You kissed her the way you did, put your hands on her skin setting her alight, and then you left her there. 

She’s still frustrated, sitting next to you with her thighs clenched together searching for friction. She can’t say she did everything to get rid of the feeling because she really wanted you to take care of her needs, but she didn’t want to freak you out by moving too fast. 

Especially after that moment in the jet. 

Reading you was easy, sometimes, so she picked up on what was running through your head before you said anything. 

Labeling it was something she thought about but let’s face it, that would be a bit much so soon. She’d just realized she likes you only to kiss you seconds after that. If anything she was freaking out over it moving too fast. She’s never felt like this before and to feel this way so fast, she’s sure she’s losing it. 

You clearing your throat pulls her from her thoughts. 

She hadn’t realized how long she’d left you waiting for her response. 

“Uh, anyone want a refill?” You ask, standing and glancing around.

Getting no response, you nod, and go into the kitchen. 

Natasha waits a beat before grabbing her cup and following after.

“Y/N-”

She watches you lean on the counter,“ I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. I really should’ve controlled myself better. I don’t know, the way you reacted I thought you liked it but I sh-”

“Y/N stop, god stop. You didn’t overstep at all. If anything you under-stepped.”

Your eyebrows shoot up,“ huh?”

Natasha sets her cup down and rounds the counter to you. She grabs your hips and rests her forehead against your chest.

“I’m not and was not mad at you. Just so incredibly frustrated. The way you touched me, I-”

Just like that you were smirking again. With a quick irrational thought, you hoist her up on the counter and attach your lips to hers. 

It’s as if the kiss from earlier had never stopped. Your hands are on each other adamantly, touching everything possible, except her hands linger on your arms and neck as that’s where your skin is exposed. 

“You know,” you breathe against her neck,“ you could’ve just found me. I wouldn’t have hesitated to take care of you pretty girl.”

She moans at your words alone. Her legs are wrapped around your waist and in her attempt to squeeze her thighs together she ends up pulling you closer.

“Then take care of me.” She bites your ear. 

And that makes you moan and kiss her again.

“Now this,” you two snap apart at the sound of Tony’s voice,“ does not look like your refilling drinks.”

Your eyes widen.

Natasha over comes her surprise quickly,“ Stark, you keep your mouth shut about this, understand.”

She leaves no room for argument and Tony chuckles.

“Don’t worry, I happen to like being the only person who knows things. Just don’t have sex on my counters yeah.” With that he walks out, leaving you alone again.

For a moment you two stay quiet, before you’re laughing and shaking your head. 

“Well if that isn’t a sign I don’t know what is.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you,“ a sign that what?”

“That next time we should be in a more private area.”

Pink dusts her cheeks and she places a kiss on your lips,“ I’ll hold you to that.” 

*****

Tag List: @uglipotata72829​ @jumbojamba47

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[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 3: The Assessment

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 7K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

Throughout the course of your life you had found that the more you dreaded something, the faster it arrived. As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for the call to go into the training center alone for your final assessment, you couldn’t help but think of just how fast the training process had gone by, and that in less than twenty-four hours you would be inside the dreaded arena.

During your knot tying session after your incident the on the first day, you had formed a slight friendship with Krystal, who had asked if everything was okay. You had lied, saying you were fine, too afraid of telling her the truth after Namjoon had just blown up on you, and she simply had nodded in acceptance. But you could tell she didn’t buy that answer from the way she seemed to treat you with a little extra kindness. You stuck to her like glue for the rest of the training period, refusing to separate within the career pack without Krystal by your side. It was an odd dependency given she was the smallest of the lot of you, but she had taken to it rather well. She never asked you about it, but immediately went along, making sure you were always by her side during any activity. You could tell Hoseok was furious – constantly shooting glares in Krystal’s direction – but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the whole alliance, and proving that he was indeed the psychopath he had revealed only to you in private.

You had spoken briefly to Finnick about things the night after the incident with Hoseok. As a mentor he wasn’t happy, but his hands were also tied as there was nothing he could do to interfere with another district. He had suggested he could speak to District 2’s mentor to try and get more information on Hoseok’s background but you had immediately shut that down, terrified that it would somehow get back to Hoseok and he would think you were reciprocating his own interest. The idea was also dangerous because it would expose just how threatened you were to their mentor, who could easily use that to their advantage when coming up with game tactics. Finnick had reluctantly agreed not to do anything, but turned the topic of conversation onto your remaining training time. He had suggested a focus on weapons, particularly knives given you already had some experience with them.

“Focus on what you already know,” he had said “Don’t waste time trying to learn new things that others are already experts with. You cannot hope to beat a master with only a few days of training. Hone the skills you already have.”

So that’s largely what you had spent the rest of your training time doing. By her own admission Krystal’s report card had suggested training with a weapon that could compliment her own agility, which worked out well with knives too, so you spent a lot of your time training together. You found out that despite being a District 1 tribute, she was also reaped, and not a volunteer, like yourself. But unlike you she had been trained at an academy, which was standard practice in 1. A far more interesting detail you had learned was she was Yoongi’s younger sister, and he had volunteered after her reaping. You filed that detail away in the back of your mind for future reference, grateful that some sort of partnership already existing in the alliance could potentially lessen the target on yourself later when it came to splitting.

You played off each other, regarding your knowledge of knives. Krystal was far more skilled in close range combat, and she gave you pointers when you trained in sparring using a prop version (made from a material of the same weight, which still caused some bruises, but wouldn’t actually cause stab wounds). She also helped you improve your skills in countering attacks and using a larger opponents’ body weight against them. Looking at Hoseok and Namjoon respectively you were terrified to know her lesson would very much be a life or death skill you needed to learn. In return you talked to her about your experiences with spear fishing and occasionally using a knife instead in shallow waters, passing on what you could about how to throw a knife. It was a skill you had picked up when you much younger, after being taught by your father when you were seven. Your mother had been furious when she found out and immediately banned you from knives until you were old enough to be working on the boat, but your father had still snuck in training sessions whenever the two of you were alone. It was never something you thought you would be using to potentially kill a human, rather than a salmon or tuna. You hadn’t even thought of it then, but it was likely his way of trying to prepare you for if your name was ever drawn from the reaping. Even though it was essentially impossible, a part of you desperately hoped you would survive in order to be able to thank your father in person.

You and Krystal worked well together, you had a natural chemistry, and both of you didn’t feel a need for wasting oxygen with meaningless small talk or chit chat. Your skills both complimented one another and you found yourself learning a lot. It wasn’t much of a bond from merely a couple of days, but you hoped whatever you had worked to build would translate into some sort of partnership in the arena.

The remaining of your training had passed as well as you could have hoped for right up until the final moments of the last day. You and Krystal had taken a bathroom break. Afterwards, when you were about to walk out of the washroom and back into the hallway outside, you could hear familiar voices beyond the door. Frowning, you opened the door just a crack to hear Namjoon talking to Yoongi, Hoseok and Athena.

“Seriously, she thinks you’re in love with her,” Namjoon laughed, clasping his hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face and a stone cold chill run throughout your body. You had seen Namjoon and Hoseok getting on better within the last day, but you weren’t expecting Namjoon to be at a level of already throwing you under the bus.

“Really? When did she say that?” you could hear Hoseok ask, although you couldn’t see him from the crack in the doorway.

“First day, back when she was in tears over that pathetic report,” Namjoon replied with a scoff. “Asked her what happened and she went on some crazed rant that you were going to save her. Honestly lost her mind on day one, why the hell we’re supposed to drag her around the arena is beyond me.”

“She’s not that bad, have you seen her throwing the knives with Krystal? Could be useful,” the only female voice had to have been Athena, and you made a mental note to thank her later.

“Please, she’s a baby. Wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly,” Namjoon scoffed. You wanted to storm out and show him how willing you would be to hurt him, but remembering a warning from Finnick held you back, ‘play along and act dumb so they think you trust them and are too stupid to make plans for yourself'. You couldn’t wait for the chance to stab Namjoon in the back at this rate.

“So why are we keeping her around then?” A bored voice you had rarely heard asked. That had to have been Yoongi.

“Her brains may be non-existent, but the empty head that carries her around isn’t too bad to look at. I say we keep her for the sponsors, get us some supplies from her capital fans. Maybe if we can get her to flash those perfect tits she’s covering up we can get extra out of them. Plus, if the arena gets cold I’m sure she can also make herself useful as a bed warmer too.” Your jaw dropped open at the vulgar way your supposed teammate was talking about you. You hadn’t even spoken to Namjoon since the incident on the first day, ignoring him whenever you were in the same living quarters and spending your training time with Krystal. Like hell you would be going anywhere near his ‘bed’ in the arena. Krystal looked equally as disgusted.

“Gross,” Athena deadpanned.

“What? It’s not like what I’m saying isn’t true, and it’s better her than you, right? Beautiful face, hot body, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Throwing knives from a distance isn’t much of a threat in close combat so we can easily take her out at the end. Hey, Hoseok seeing she acts like you’re going to be her precious Romeo you can be the one to take care of our dear Juliet when the time co-” before you could snap and storm out to attack Namjoon yourself, Hoseok beat you to it. Like a viper, his hand shot out in lightning speed to grasp Namjoon by the throat and slam him into the nearest wall.

“Or how about I take care of you?” he practically purred, springing a jackknife he had somehow slipped into his clothing out and holding it against Namjoon’s throat, until you heard a scuffle of someone trying to pull him off. Yanking the bathroom door open you rushed out into the hallway, Krystal following quickly behind, to see Namjoon leaning against the wall rubbing his throat, as Athena and Yoongi restrained a livid Hoseok.

“What the hell is going on?” Krystal asked, looking between everyone. Even if you had overheard everything, you just stood there next to her, wanting to play up the ignorance they dismissed you as having.

Nobody answered, looking between each other as if waiting for them to be the first to talk. Of all people, it was surprisingly Yoongi to be the one to break the silence.

“Put that thing away,” Yoongi snapped, nodding at Hoseok’s flat knife. “Do you want us to all get beaten to a pulp by the guards before we even get to the arena?” Hoseok complied without any words, smoothly placing the knife back into a hidden pocket in the front of his pants.

“What the hell do we do now?” you asked, staring at the others. “A day before the games and a fight breaks out? How are we meant to work together in there?”

“Nothing changes,” Hoseok spoke. You frowned back, like hell nothing had changed.

“You just pulled a knife on my district partner,” you replied. You weren’t complaining but he didn’t need to know that.

“Nothing changes,” Namjoon repeated to your surprise.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. We’re men. Men fight. Shit happens but we get it out of our system. Logically we’re still each others best bet in the arena.” Namjoon continued. You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling his eyes at the ‘men’ declaration.

“He’s right,” Hoseok agreed and all you could do was stare dumbly, wondering how the hell the two of them had gone from pulling a knife a second ago, to now suddenly agreeing.

“Like hell I’m leaving you, Athena isn’t leaving me, your district mate isn’t interested in leaving you either, and I assume Krystal has interests in working with you from all that training you’ve done together. Yoongi’s not going to leave his sister, so we’re all stuck together.”

“What if I don’t want to work with any of you?” you challenged.

Namjoon scoffed.

“If you really had the balls to walk away, you would’ve done it on day one. Especially given how I treated you when you were telling the truth.” You glared back at him for blatantly exposing you.

“If you split, you’re the easiest target for all the other tributes.” Hoseok stepped away from Yoongi and Athena to walk towards you. “That’s 18 other people trying to kill you, so you know I’m not going to let that happen. As I just told you, I’m not leaving you.”

You hadn’t heard much from Hoseok since that moment in the hallway on day one. A part of you had managed to convince yourself it was all a stunt, just like Namjoon had said, to psych you out and cause division in your alliance. Hearing him bluntly announce his intentions to the whole alliance, as he came to stand directly before you, caused the delusion to shatter.

“Leave her alone.” You were becoming so entranced by Hoseok’s presence that it took you a moment to process Krystal’s voice as she moved herself closer to you, standing so her shoulder was slightly in front of yours. Your heart momentarily warmed at the gesture before it was doused in the cold ice of your conscious as you remembered his sickening threats from the last time you and Hoseok were alone ‘I don’t care about the others… I’ll slaughter every one of them in cold blood… I’m going to kill them all for you baby and I’ll make you watch so you can see just how far I’ll go for you’

“No Krystal, don’t!” you cried in a panic as you reached out for Krystal and pulled her into a protective hug, putting your body in front of hers before Hoseok. “You don’t understand,” you whispered in a rush to try and explain. “He’s crazy, he said he was going to kill all of you. I tried to tell Namjoon and he didn’t believe me so I was too scared to tell anyone else, because I was scared you’d think I was crazy.”

You were trying not to cry, you couldn’t panic, you couldn’t be weak again like the state they had found you in last time, but it was so fucking hard. Why did you have to be reaped? Why did one of the tributes have to form an obsession with you? Why was your own district mate an asshole who had invalidated you when trying to protect the alliance? All you had wanted was to not be alone in the arena, and now you had a hope of someone you could trust and she was in danger because of you.

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” Krystal whispered back, patting your lower back reassuringly. But a sudden grasp on your waist from behind pulled you away, causing you to lose your hold on Krystal as you slammed backwards into a hard chest with a cry.

“Yoongi take care of your sister unless you want me taking care of her in the arena,” Hoseok’s voice hissed from behind your ears, making your blood run cold.

“No, don’t hurt her, please, please don’t hurt her,” you begged, twisting in Hoseok’s hold but his arms were locked around you tightly. Yoongi didn’t say a word, walking over to Krystal and putting his hand on her shoulder to lead her away. She initially moved to shake him off but you vigorously shook your head and mouthed ‘go’ to get her to leave.

“We’ll see you at the cornucopia tomorrow,” Yoongi turned back to say, before you exhaled in temporary relief as Krystal reluctantly left with her brother.

“Whatever you do with her, I don’t want any part of it. We’re aligned until six and then that’s it,” Athena sneered, drawing your attention over to her as she glared between Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Fine with me,” Hoseok shrugged. Namjoon who was now leaning casually against the wall merely nodded. You could swear you saw a torn look of sympathy from Athena in your direction, but it was gone in a second as she shook her head in disgust and walked off to re-join Krystal and Yoongi.

With Athena gone the tension that hung in the air was so thick it was suffocating. Namjoon continued to rest against the wall, his arms crossed over his wide chest watching as Hoseok still held you by the waist. With Krystal now safe with her brother away from him you realized there was no longer a need to stay compliant in his grip.

“Namjoon, help,” you hissed, trying to move your arms to shove Hoseok off but they were both pinned to your sides by his hold. Hoseok merely chuckled, instead flexing his muscles and causing his grip to tighten.

“No can do little dove,” Namjoon mocked with a pout, moving off from the wall to stand to his full height. “Your boyfriend here’s the one with the knife in his pocket, and I’m unarmed.”

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, his long legs taking lazy steps to walk around the two of you. Hoseok turned, forcing you to turn with him, to avoid his back being left open. Namjoon ignored him, keeping his eyes on you.

“But don’t worry, because in that arena I’ll be armed, and I’ll take really good care of you then.”

“Like hell,” Hoseok scoffed causing Namjoon to laugh.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Namjoon was now further down the corridor that separated the bathrooms from the training center, where he could see the large clock on the wall.

“Only five minutes left until end of training before they start preparing for our grading. I’ll leave you two alone for now, but don’t expect this generosity again from me in the arena, 2. I trust you won’t harm our little dove until then…”

And with that lingering comment, Namjoon was gone, abandoning you when you needed him.

You felt Hoseok’s arms beginning to loosen, briefly you thought he was going to release you. But instead you found yourself being turned around to face him and backed against the wall. Any thoughts of pushing him off vanished upon feeling the hard metal of the folded pocket knife pushing against your hip as he caged you in.

“What are you doi-” your question was cut off by Hoseok raising his hand to the side of your face and pushing his thumb over your mouth in warning.

For a moment Hoseok was still. He relished the feeling of your plump lips falling silent beneath his thumb, so pliant, like a kiss against his finger. He watched the rise and fall of your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing, inhaling deep breaths in through your nose causing your lungs to expand and your full breasts to push against his chest. Every little detail about you was so soft, so warm and inviting, like you had been designed purely for him. He was absolutely enamored by you and could spend the rest of his life in this exact moment, feeling you against him, but time was not on his side.

“Look at how they all just left you,” he maliciously purred, his eyes narrowing into a focused glare, “you know they’re going to do the same thing in the arena, darling.”

“That’s not true,” you hissed back, “Krystal tried to stay.”

“And yet all it took for her to leave was a simple pocket knife and her brother. And really, when it comes down to it, who do you think she will choose, Her brother or you?”

You tried to swallow the growing lump in your throat and stayed quiet… he’s just trying to psych you out.

“Meet us in the cornucopia tomorrow, you’ll be much safer with us six than left to fend off eighteen others on your own. You’re smart, you have to know they will chase down any career left alone.”

You frowned but nodded, you had already agreed on this, so you didn’t know why he was bringing it up again.

“Good girl, then you know you have to stay with me once we’re all together. Yoongi sees you as a threat to his sister. Your friendship makes her judgment weak so he will take you out if you’re alone with him. And like I just said, do you really want to side with Krystal when she would choose her brother over you at the end anyway? Athena is threatened by you; thinks you’re distracting me from protecting her in the game as part of our district alliance. I don’t blame her for that though, she is right. I would choose you over her. You know I’d choose you over any of them. And then of course there’s your own district partner, who I’m sure you just heard before… would you trust a man who wants to use your body to sell you to fans from the capital for supplies? The one who didn’t believe you when you tried to warn him about me? The one who just walked away and left you to me now?”

An aching wave of hopelessness washed over your body as you slumped back against the wall. If it wasn’t for Hoseok’s arm holding you upright, you would have just let yourself fall to the ground.

“Please stop,” you whispered, the lump in your throat felt like a golf ball choking you inside.

“I can’t, darling,” Hoseok murmured, his fingers over your lips moving to smooth the faint hairs that had come loose from training back behind your ear.

“Not until you understand that you need me in that arena.” His hand came to rest on the side of your cheek, cradling your face in his palm.

“I’ve trained for this my whole life, I’m the only one you can trust to protect you.”

“But how can I trust you? Like you just said you spent your whole life training for these games, training to kill people like me. It’s all hopeless, no matter who I choose.”

“Don’t say that,” He scolded, shaking you by the hold on your waist.

“You saw me pull that knife on Namjoon before, and I didn’t even know you were there. It’s exactly like I told you on the first day of training, I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you. No one in that arena matters to me, only you. You’re mine.”

“How can you keep saying that!? We don’t even know each other. I don’t understand how you could possibly feel this way about me. It all just sounds like a cruel way for you to take me to the e-”

Hoseok’s mouth silenced your protests, his lips pushing against yours and hands holding you in place. His kiss was searing and dominant, offering no chance for refusal, though as you felt the shivers running down your spine, you didn’t know if you would have been capable if a chance were provided. You had found him physically attractive the moment you had met, and somehow it was like the passion you had seen in his eyes was magnified a hundredfold through his kiss. He was strong and powerful, yet simultaneously gentle. His arm supporting your waist held your body impossibly close to his, whilst the fingertips from his hand on your face were tenderly stroking the skin on your cheek.

Your eyes had unconsciously closed when his face had moved in to meet yours, which only seemed to heighten your other senses. The places where his body made contact with yours were tingling as if flames from a nearby fire were licking against your skin. Everything about Jung Hoseok was warm; his sun kissed skin, copper hair and the heat radiating from his body into yours. You were stunned, and in your frozen state Hoseok moved his lips against your pliant ones to deepen the kiss, the tip of his tongue dancing along the line of your mouth before sliding inside to meet your own tongue and try to coax it to return with his.

What somehow felt like an eternity was in reality a mere few seconds before an announcement echoed through speakers throughout the training center, instructing tributes to cease everything and make your way to a designated area for the mandatory final assessments to shortly begin. Hoseok broke the kiss, leaving you breathless as he whispered upon your lips,

“If you can’t believe my words, then believe that.”

Pressing his lips back to yours quickly once more, he finally pulled back.

“Come on, we have to go.”

You mutely allowed Hoseok to lead you out of the corridor and back into the training center where a Capitol representative with a clipboard was lining everyone up to be taken to the waiting area. There was no talking from anyone as you were all put into your lines and made to follow the representative into a smaller room, whilst the training center was to be rearranged. The waiting room was small and cold with metallic coloring. Black chairs were organized by districts and you were told that one by one you would be brought before the judges to present your chosen skill, where you would then be graded on a score out of twelve. The scores would be announced later in the afternoon, before your final interviews with Caesar Flickerman in the evening.

You wordlessly sat beside Namjoon, not even looking in his direction even though you could occasionally feel him trying to catch your eye. No doubt he would want to dissect your conversation with Hoseok but you had no interest in telling him about anything that had happened. Especially not after how he had treated you the last time you had tried to warn him. Instead you kept your eyes solely on the ground, nervously bouncing your leg as you worried about your upcoming grading.

Everything was happening so fast. It felt like only moments ago when your name had been reaped, since then you had already travelled by train, appeared in the parade and completed your three days of training. You felt sick in your stomach at the thought that the short time that had passed between your reaping and this very moment could possibly be longer than the time you had between now and when you would meet your end in the arena. You immediately tried to stamp that thought out, trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of grief threatening to crash over you. You couldn’t let yourself go down without a fight and giving in to the misery would only reduce you to a walking corpse.

“District 1, female.”

The man with the clipboard had returned to the room to officially begin the assessments. You noted how he didn’t even call for Krystal by her name, just a district number and her assigned gender. How cold and clinical, much like the room they were keeping you in. You wondered if reducing tributes to numbers without names made it possible for the man to sleep at night, knowing he was part of a system that sent innocent children to the slaughter every year.

“District 1, male.”

As Yoongi left with the clipboard man you couldn’t help but notice Krystal didn’t come back into the room with him. So you would be allowed to return to the dorm and prepare for the interviews as soon as you were done. You were grateful this would at least mean a few hours’ break from Hoseok, you would just have to lock yourself in your room quickly before Namjoon would finish after you, and try to interrogate you in your living quarters.

“District 2, female.”

No one had spoken since the line up. All too focused on mentally preparing for the assessment. You felt for the younger tributes who had never picked up a weapon before a week ago, now having to present themselves as fighters before a panel with only 3 days of training. Once again you were grateful for your father for his insistence on training you with a knife, which at least gave you somewhat of a starting point to work with.

“District 2, male.”

You kept your head down and eyes on the floor, watching as two pairs of shoes walked directly past you on their way out of the room.

“No kiss good luck?” Namjoon snickered next to you, deliberately keeping his voice quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You ignored him.

“What’s the matter, trouble in paradise?” he mocked again.

You continued to ignore him, making sure your eyes were pointed on the exact same spot you had been staring at on the ground since you had sat down. Your knee continued to bounce at the exact same pace. You didn’t want to give him a single flinch, not even a minute sign of a reaction, given that was exactly what he was trying to get. You wondered what he was trying to achieve by riling you up. Did he want you to snap back at him and get in trouble? There had been no specific instruction not to talk, the weight of the occasion had instead resulted in the silence, so you doubted it. Most probably, he wanted to get in your head and psych you out before your assessment, likely trying to lower your score. Internally you scoffed, it’s not like you were a major threat to him anyway. You both knew you weren’t a trained career like he was. He was already going to outscore you anyway.

“District 3, female.”

Namjoon had gone from dictating your alliance, to spitting in the face of your concerns, to now mocking you. You wondered if he would’ve treated an actual trained career better if someone had volunteered for the females of 4. Perhaps it was to do with his ego that Hoseok had singled you out and wanted to work with you, even though he was clearly the more powerful tribute between you. He had taken it as a threat. A threat to his chances if you did side with Hoseok given Hoseok and Namjoon were on near equal footing, and the thought you had chosen Hoseok could have been seen as some act of betrayal. Never mind the fact you had done everything you could to try and avoid Hoseok, including telling Namjoon himself and asking for his help. Was he really that stupid enough to be mad you didn’t continue to beg him after his rejection?

“District 3, male.”

You supposed if he hypothetically succeeded and did psych you out into getting a terrible score it would be his own way of re-establishing himself as the desired tribute from 4. A reminder over your head that you weren’t a real career, and being brought into their alliance was an act of charity. A mercy killing to grace you with their presence before taking you out later in the game as an easy option. You longed to prove him wrong. Not just him but Hoseok also, the both of them for thinking you were pathetic and in need of their protection. His mockery and attempted sabotage was only acting as fuel to your fire.

“District 4, female.”

Your head snapped up to see the clipboard man standing in front of you. Wordlessly you nodded and got to your feet. You ignored the feeling of the eyes from the other tributes in the room staring at you as you had to walk past them to the exit. You were lead back down the same pathway you had taken from the training complex to the waiting room, only this time when you re-entered the training center you were the only person inside. Clipboard man hung back in the corridor and the only other people you could see were the game makers through the window in their viewing room. The center layout had been rearranged, with dummies and targets placed in optimum viewing range from the game makers’ vantage point.

“L/N, F/N, District 4, Female, 18 years of age” a voice crackled through the speakers overhead by means of introduction, as you walked over to the marked spot on the floor you had been instructed to stand.

It was a strange feeling looking up at the pompous judges dressed in their flamboyant outfits with pretentiously fluorescent dyed hair and beards. It was as if they were dressed up for an expensive night on the town and you, and the other twenty-three, were their performers for the evening. It was weirdly easy to put the judges in the back of your mind, despite being able to clearly see the room of around twenty people intently staring at you with interest. The all looked so fictional and outlandish that it was easy to dismiss them as some sort of strange figment of your imagination. They didn’t look like real people, which somehow made it possible for you compartmentalize them as imaginary, and instead focus on the task at hand.

Looking at the assortment of weapons on display, you mostly ignored the large range on offer and went straight for the knives. Running your fingertips along the handles you picked out a hunting knife with a blade that would have been around 8 inches long. There were smaller, thinner, knives specifically made for throwing on offer, however the ones you had practiced with back at home were the larger kind on your boat. Gingerly you bounced the handle in your palm, trying to get a quick feel for the weight. Looking up you examined the range of targets that were on display – some quite close and others much further.

You went for the closest target, that was five meters away, as a warm up.

Thwack

The blade sailed easily through the air landing in the yellow zone, on the first circle outside of the bulls-eye. You shrugged your shoulders and rolled your neck with an exhale, not a bad start and a good way to get the nerves under control.

You retrieved a second knife from weapons trolley and took your aim for the next target that was ten meters away.

Thwack

Another yellow circle, except this time your knife landed in the second circle outside from the bulls-eye. Your pursed your lips with a shake of your head. It was still in a decent range but you were hoping to improve on your last throw rather than getting further from the bulls-eye.

You went back for another knife, choosing another one like the last two you had thrown, and lined up for the fifteen-meter target.

Thwack

Red zone, just outside the yellow. If you were aiming at a person, rather than a circle, that would have been lucky to connect. You let out a sharp exhale with a sigh, you weren’t doing bad – you’d made contact with all three targets so far – but you weren’t establishing yourself as a threat either. Not on the level that you knew the other careers were going to be scoring.

Returning to the weapons rack you found there to be one knife left that was in the same size range as the others you had used so far. You turned the knife over in your hand weighing up your final options. There was a final target twenty meters away, but with the rate you were throwing, you’d highly likely just continue to move further away from the bulls-eye. You could always try to throw on one of the other targets again and work to improve your existing result, but it would be difficult to improve much on the first impression of being ‘good, but not great’. Your last option would be the dummies. The dummies were situated on the opposite side of the targets and provided a more human edge to demonstrations. You had elected to use targets in the hope of showcasing solid aim through a bulls-eye, but that hadn’t exactly worked out. With one knife left you decided to try and showcase something a little more realistic.

The dummies were grey and faceless, just human shapes of rubber, which was a lot different from what you would be facing in real life within the arena. If you couldn’t land a shot on a stationary figure you were practically as good as dead. Not only did you need to prove a score to the judges, but you wanted this for your own confidence. With a frown, you turned and launched your blade ten meters across the room into the head of a dummy with a satisfying Thwack.

You didn’t bother to look up to the balcony and see their whispers and nods of approval, instead walking straight over to the dummy and pulling the knife out from the rubber. You weren’t finished yet; you were going to show them what a fishing district knew how to do best…

Grasping the handle, you plunged the blade into the sternum, deep enough to reach what would be the back bone of a human, and dragged the blade down to the pelvis. Pulling the knife out you made horizontal slashes along the chest and the hip where your line down the body had began and ended. Tossing the knife aside, you reached your hands inside of the dummy, pulling it open.

Granted the physical anatomies between a fish and a human were quite different, but the concept of gutting was quite easy to get across.

x

Once the assessment was over you were lead back to your living quarters. With the pressure subsiding and adrenaline wearing off, you found your hands beginning to tremble. You were thankful to have your water bottle as some sort of distraction, shakily taking sips to try and calm yourself down. By the time you finally arrived back to the dorm you were only able to answer Finnick’s “How did you go?” with a quick “fine” as you hurriedly rushed to your bedroom, not wanting to stick around and see Namjoon again until you absolutely had to.

The assessments were scheduled to run until 4:00pm, with the results being broadcast at 4:30pm, before tributes were due to report at the auditorium at 5:00pm to begin preparing for interviews. You were grateful to be from one of the earlier districts, which left you with more free time between the conclusion of your assessment and your next schedule. Your bedroom contained its own en suite bathroom so the first thing you did upon entering was strip off your clothes and head for the shower.

You spent a long time under the hot running water, sitting on the tiles and letting the shower cover up the sound of your crying. It had become somewhat of a routine for you to return from training and cry under the safety of your showerhead where no one else could see or judge you for it. The emotional toll it took to bury your feelings and avoid crying in the training center, in front of the career pack, in front of the judges, or out of fear every waking moment of your life now was strenuous. The shower was your haven, a place where you could wash away the sweat and grime from your day, and allow some form of pent up release. Today’s shower would be the longest one you had taken since entering the capital.

A knock and Finnicks’ muffled voice through the door told you it was after 4:00pm and the results would be broadcast soon, so you reluctantly turned off the taps and began to dry off. You were told that hair, make up and styling would take place in the auditorium later, so you dressed in the most comfortable clothing that you had been provided with; a cashmere sweater and matching sweatpants. You waited in your room as long as possible, before putting on a pair of slippers and walking out to the lounge room at 4:30pm.

Finnick, Periwinkle and Namjoon were all seated on the sofa facing the giant television, which was currently displaying Caesar Flickerman and a co-host you didn’t recognize behind a desk. Wordlessly you joined them, choosing a spot next to Periwinkle on the lounge, the opposite side of where Namjoon was sitting.

“And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the scores!”

You frowned at how enthusiastic Caesar seemed to be over his job. His mouth was spread into a wide grin, showing off his artificially white teeth, and his emerald green eyes (that had to be contact lenses) were practically glowing with excitement. You all sat in dead silence, if it weren’t for Caesar’s voice reading out District 1 you would have been able to hear a pin drop. The results weren’t surprising to you in the least. Krystal and Yoongi both scored 9s, Athena a 9 too and Hoseok 11. The girl from District 3 who had fallen in front of you on the monkey bars only managed a dismal score, the same as her district number. Her male partner only fared slightly better with a 5.

“District 4, F/N, L/N! Oh, she certainly captured many people’s attention at the parade, but is she as deadly as she is beautiful?”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“You better not do that when he talks to you on stage,” Finnick warned.

You sarcastically put on an overly fake smile and fluttered your eye lashes back at him, until your expression was wiped blank by Caesar’s next words.

“Miss L/N, 10.”

Your jaw dropped as Periwinkle burst into enthusiastic applause, Finnick cocked an eyebrow with an impressed nod and Namjoon let out a low whistle.

“Someone’s been hiding something~,” Namjoon sing-songed as you closed your open mouth and took in a deep breath. You shook your head.

“Just the same knife throwing I’ve been practicing,” you replied.

Technically that was not a lie, just an omission of the gutting part. You wondered what it was about your little stunt that had pleased the judges so much. You were hoping to bump yourself to an 8 or 9 to at least try and blend in with the careers, instead you had somehow managed to establish yourself as a threat amongst them. With how much you had been pushed around so far you were glad to at least have one moment of impact. But now you had to be worried about the extra target being a threat could potentially put on your back.

Namjoon didn’t reply further as Caesar read his name and announced his score of 9.

You blanched. There was no way in hell you were more skilled than Namjoon was with a weapon. You looked over, expecting him to be furious, but he merely sat there with a content expression on his face nodding at the TV.

“Someone’s been hiding something,” you repeated Namjoon’s words back to him.

Namjoon’s only response was a smirk.

You didn’t like the way he looked like he knew far more than what he was sharing.

I'm a bit annoyed because I planned to combine the final training day and interviews into one chapter. But I found it was starting to get too long, as this part was already hitting 7000 words.

Next chapter will be the interviews and fallout from certain things the characters say in them

Chapter after will FINALLY be what everyone here wants (especially me) - the actual Hunger Games in the arena

Sorry to keep dragging it out, my brain hates me.

[cankarmawrite]

Undercover AU - Planning

So far, Beau had considered her mission a success.

She’d been laying low in a Milan safe-house after completing a covert information recovery mission. There had been some brief firefight after tripping an alarm she hadn’t noticed before, but Beau made it out of the diplomat’s villa with the information she was tasked with retrieving and her life. That was all she could really ask for at the end of the day, and for now, it was enough.

After downloading the information from the small device- a Jester Lavorre original- she began the tedious process of encrypting the data with her personal cipher. About 45 minutes into her encryption, a small notification flashed in the corner of her screen. Something had set off one of the various motion detectors around the safe-house. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard and pulled up the camera feeds for the property. Something- or someone- moved just at the edges of the back patio camera’s field of view.

Her senses immediately when on high alert, hand reaching for the pistol strapped to the bottom of the desk where she sat. Beau was certain she hadn’t been followed all the way here, and none of her fellow agents were supposed to approach because she’d activated the signal that meant it was in use. This had to be someone else.

Beau completed the familiar process of checking her gun over. The weight of the metal and roughness of the grip comforted her as she crouched and approached one of the windows from the side. Even with the wooden blinds drawn shut, there was still a thin area between each slat where she could peer out at the world safely. 

When she was sure nothing was there, Beau exhaled a slow breath and began to move to the next window, flicking the kitchen lights on as she went to draw attention away from the direction she was moving. She thought about checking the camera feeds again, but was stopped by a slow, patterned knock at the front door. 

It wasn’t a pattern used by the CIA, but somehow it was still familiar to her. As she approached the front door, gun held aloft and steady, Beau clicked the safety off and rolled her shoulders to relax them. She always pulled her shots when her body got too tense in the heat of the moment. 

She must’ve taken long enough to answer the intruder’s knocking because the pattern was repeated again, this time a little more forcefully. Something clicked in her brain the second time she heard the pattern, a distant fuzzy memory from her chaotic Amsterdam mission three years ago. 

“It can’t be…”

The whisper escaped before she could think to hold it back. Her usually steady hands shook as she undid multiple locks on the front door before throwing it open without care or caution. 

Holy fuck, it is her.

“Beau…I finally found you.” 

That’s all Yasha had the energy to say before she collapsed in a bloodied heap on Beau’s doorstep, the various weapons hidden across her body clanking loudly as her body hit the stone tile floor. 

“Yash!” 

Beau immediately rushed to the injured woman’s side, taking a moment to look over the state her former...friend was in. 

Yasha looked like she’d been through hell and back. Dark bruises and various scrapes were covering the pale expanse of skin exposed by the black tank top she wore. Beau noticed wetness pooling at her knee and grunted as she flipped Yasha on her side to see what was producing all this blood. 

There was a deep bullet wound in Yasha’s lower back bleeding steadily, which made her think the other woman had removed the projectile some time ago and hadn’t stopped to patch herself up. The bullet wound wasn’t what caught Beau’s attention though.

With an uneasy feeling rising in her stomach, Beau began bunching Yasha’s shirt up to expose more of her back, and more of what Beau thought she’d seen. 

Scars. Tons of them crisscrossing Yasha’s back in a jagged patchwork of raised pink skin and faded white lines. Most of them were new, which brought tears to her eyes. What had Yasha been through in the years since she’d left Beau alone in a hotel room in Paris with nothing but a hastily scribbled note on her pillow?

Beau shook herself from her memories and rose to fetch the medical kit from the bathroom, her blood-covered hands fumbling with supplies as she grabbed anything she could think of to help save Yasha. 

After a few minutes of cleaning and packing the few deepest wounds, Beau sat back on her heels and looked over her handy work. She’d stitched a few things up the best she could, but her sutures were nowhere near as good as what Caduceus would have done. The neatness of stitches aside, she was fairly sure Yasha would survive the night. 

Beau didn’t sleep that whole night. 

---

That happened days ago. She’d returned to the US with a very nervous Yasha by her side, bringing the woman into the CIA with her where the former Angel of Irons Operative had announced her intentions to defect and requested asylum. The Directors of the CIA had flat out refused to help. They didn't even grant Yasha asylum, simply their assurance that no action would be taken against her by the CIA while she was on American soil. Beau was obviously upset by this and, after verbally berating the Directors, had received a suspension of her field privileges.

Beau took two days of leave to make sure Yasha was safe and being looked after by trusted friends. When she returned, it was like watching a storm cloud tear through the office. She scowled and snapped at friendly faces, disobeyed simple orders, and told off the Directors...again.

Now Dairon was watching Beau in the training room as she sparred with some newer agents, though spar was a generous word in this case. The senior agent could tell Beau was taking her anger at the Directors out on the younger agents she was supposed to be mentoring. They’d decided to step in and allow Beau to work some frustration out, but hadn’t been ready for the fury behind Beau’s strikes. She was sloppier than normal, had let in a few hits that normally would have been easy blocks, things that concerned Dairon immensely.  

“Do you remember the oath you took?”

Beau does, of course, but she doesn’t give Dairon any indication that she’s heard them. After gritting her teeth, Beau's fists fly forwards in a quick series of jabs aimed at some of the trigger points Dairon drilled into her head early on, though the blows are easily deflected by the seasoned fighter.

"You're acting like a love-sick teen." 

She wants to throw a punch at Dairon for that comment, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts her chin defiantly and swipes at her nose with a single taped hand. Crimson immediately spreads across the white material wrapped there. Dairon shakes their head and deflects more sloppy hooks and uppercuts.

“You’re being reckless. You’re better than this Beauregard.”

This time Beau crouches and feints a sweep of Dairon’s legs- which her mentor falls for- before launching herself up at Dairon with a quick one-two combo that catches them in their solar plexus and across the jaw. 

Her fist is pulled back to strike again when Dairon dives at Beau’s knees and sends them both tumbling to the mat below. The younger agent squirms underneath, attempting to break Dairon’s pin with a variety of techniques. When learned techniques fail, Beau resorts to just blindly trying to land a hit. One flailing limb strikes Dairon where a bullet recently passed through and they hiss in pain before moving to pin Beau’s fists by her head. 

“Enough Beauregard! Enough...” 

The agent above her was breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight. They still hadn’t been officially cleared by medical staff for training, but Dairon felt a personal responsibility for Beau's well-being and that meant making sure their young friend didn't make any rash decisions. 

Beau finally gives in with a shout of frustration and lets her head fall back against the mat. Her usually bright blue gaze is dark with frustration and heavy with tears that refuse to fall.  

"I have to do something Dai...I can't stay silent knowing what I do about the Angel of Irons."

Darion sighed as they stood, grimacing in pain as they offered a hand to Beau. “Please don’t throw your career...your life away for some trivial-” 

The younger woman ignored Dairon's offered hand and instead executed a kip-up that would have made her mentor proud any other day. Beau was so familiar with the physics of the move and the strength of her own body that it hardly took any conscious thought. Beau was in Dairon's face the moment their feet hit the mat again, blue eyes blazing with a determination the older agent hadn't seen in a while.

“You don’t get to decide what’s trivial to me Dairon. I’m going to do the right thing, even if the agency won’t support me.“

Dairon’s eyes hold an expression of quiet regret and something that might be fear, but Beau doesn’t stay long enough to psychoanalyze. She hears her former mentor call after her once, but Beau doesn't spare a glance back. 

The sound of the metal doors slamming shut behind Beauregard's retreating form echoes in Dairon’s mind for months. 

---

“Beau, are you sure about this? You know we support you one hundred percent, but this could be suicide if we aren’t prepared.”

The woman in question turned to Fjord with a sigh, he was one of the people she’d known longest in this business. A talented former Navy Seal who’d left the service after one of his teammates sold information to the enemy and helped lead an attack on the base where his teammates slept. Fjord’s mentor, Vandren, had been killed during the raid on their compound, and Fjord had nearly lost his own life as well.

“Then we’ll be prepared Fjord, we can’t sit here and do nothing. The CIA flat out refused to help even though Yasha was requesting asylum.” She frowned and took a steadying breath, now was not the time to lose her temper...again. 

“I won’t reveal everything I know about the Angel of Irons, that’s Yasha’s story to tell, but I will tell you that I will still try to do this, even if none of you come.”

The half-orc frowned at that and laid a friendly hand on Beau’s tense shoulder, “You are not going alone, Beau. I believe you...I just don’t want this to be a repeat of Am-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, Amsterdam. That wasn’t totally my fault-”

“The car in the canal Beau.”

“Hey! There was no one in the other car and I paid for the damages myself.” She huffed, brushing Fjord’s hand off her shoulder as she moved back towards the center of the room where planning was already in progress. 

Another set of hands settled on Beau’s shoulders as she took a seat in a folding chair by the blueprints that were already covered in scribble and symbols from various people. This time they were blue and smelled faintly of burnt wiring and gunpowder. 

“Beauuu...Fjord is just being a party-pooper. I already have some super cool things in the workshop, aaaand Veth and I still haven’t found a system in the world that can keep us out so this will be easy-peasy.” Jester chattered happily away in Beau’s ear as she used those magical thumbs to massage all of the tension from her shoulders. 

After a few minutes of listening to Jester talk about the latest system updates she installed to help this operation run more smoothly, how her mother was doing, and what kinds of cereal she'd bought to stock the safehouse, Beau patted one of Jester's hands twice to signal that she was okay now.

"Thanks, Jessie."

"Oh! Caddy said that Yasha was patched up all nicely before he left. She's been sleeping for a while so you should go check on her." This statement was accompanied by a very heavy-handed wink from Jester, which of course drew an exaggerated eye-roll from Beau.

"I'm going, I'm going." 

Jester's devious snickers followed Beau as she headed upstairs to check on Yasha, wholly unaware of the small post-it note on her back that said, "Kiss me."

[mischiefandspirits]

Family Weekend

The Teen Titans headed out for a weekend with their families. Wonder Girl was running a mission with her Amazon sisters. Impulse had planned out some fun with her parents and twin brother. Virus left for their homeworld. Nightstar spent time with her mothers.

Robin, having left Gotham over a year earlier and not looked back, assumed he'd spend the weekend alone in Titans Tower. Then Red X broke in.

Part of Batkid and Robin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin stared down at his tea with a frown, tapping his fingers against the mug randomly. A small buzz came near and he sighed. “Don’t try it, Virus.” When the buzz kept coming, he glared behind him at the blue Roomba slowly making its way towards him.

It paused, then sighed. Electric blue energy pulled out of the robot vacuum, leaving the black device to roll off on its own. The energy collected into a blue humanoid form with geometric white patterns across them. The patterns on their face formed into a pout as they leaned against the kitchen counter. “How did Robin know?”

He just smirked and turned away.

“Come on!” the Gexin whined and threw themself over Robin’s lap, making the barstool rock slightly. “Robin has to tell Virus how Robin knew Virus was the tiny floor robot. Please!”

“The thing was blue,” Nightstar called from the couch, not looking up from her book.

“Nightstar and Robin have not seen the tiny floor robot before. The tiny floor robot could have always been blue.”

“There’s also the fact Roombas are banned from the tower,” Robin pointed out, patting Virus’s back. “So it had to be some kind of prank.”

“Speaking of, why is there a Roomba in the tower?” Nightstar asked, looking up with a glare and Virus shifted into their amorphous form to hide behind Robin.

“The tiny floor robot is Impulse’s,” they said quickly. “Virus just borrowed the tiny floor robot.”

“Wow, hey, way to snitch!” Impulse huffed, zipping up next to Robin. “And for your information, it’s not a Roomba. Roomba’s are made by iRobot. Uncle Arsenal made this one. Its name is Voobo.”

Robin gave her a look. “Get rid of it before Wonder Girl gets back or its name will be Crushed.”

“Come on, Rob. Can’t it stay?” she asked, batting her eyes.

He was unmoved. “Remember last time?”

“It was a joke! Come on, no one even got hurt. I thought you’d like it. Having Dags around would have kept us on our toes. You love that ‘Constant vigilance!’ stuff.”

“You took one of Wonder Girl’s daggers,” Nightstar said.

“Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to strap one of our kitchen knives to the thing,” Impulse scoffed. “I cook with those, unlike some people.”

“No Roombas -- or Roomba-like devices -- in the tower,” Robin declared.

Impulse booed him and Virus poked part of themself out from behind him so he could see their face patterns making it appear they were sticking their tongue out.

“Hey, you want it to get crushed, be my guest.”

“Shouldn’t you two be packing?” Nightstar asked.

“Nightstar is one to talk,” Virus huffed.

“All my stuff was packed up last night because I’m capable of thinking ahead.”

“Virus only has a few files that Virus needs to transfer into roving storage,” the Gexin hummed, leaning against Robin’s back. “The transfer will only take a minute or two so the transfer can wait until Virus is about to leave.”

“And I’m a speedster. People would get suspicious if I wasn’t late,” Impulse shrugged and scooped up the knockoff Roomba.

“Well, Flash was supposed to be here ten minutes ago so you should probably get packed,” Robin pointed out.

Her eyes widened and she glanced down at her phone. She gave a curse and darted out of the room.

Virus jumped over the counter and grabbed a banana. As they absorbed it, they asked, “When is Nightstar going to leave?”

She shrugged. “Ommi’s waiting for me at a diner nearby since I was waiting for Flash to get here so we could all say our goodbyes together and she’s still tracking down exactly where Troia, Ilia, and Wonder Girl are. We’re going to go raid whatever mission they’re on before Mom gets back from Tamaran tonight.”

“Okay. Then Virus will go do the transfer so Virus is ready to go as soon as Impulse leaves.”

Nightstar shrugged and went back to her book. Though, as soon as they were gone, she tossed it aside and turned her focus on Robin. “You know, I can cancel. Ommi won’t mind messing with Donna, Cassie, and Yara on her own.”

“Kory will be upset if you miss Family Weekend,” Robin pointed out, turning back to his tea.

“She hasn’t been planetside for two weeks. I’m sure Ommi, Uncle Roy, and Uncle Biz will be happy to keep her distracted. Not like we get up to much even when I am there. I’ll just call her later.”

“There’s no reason for you to stay. Go have fun annoying Yara with Artemis,” he sighed.

“If you’re going to spend the whole time brooding all alone again then there’s plenty of reason to stay.”

“You’re the queen of brooding,” Robin chuckled halfheartedly.

“Which means I know how much brooding alone sucks,” she said, getting up and moving to stand over him. “I’ll stay and we can brood together.”

He sighed again and set the mug on the counter. He met her eyes. “I’m fine, Mandy.”

“Dick -”

“Seriously. I’m just going to catch up on some work. I could use the quiet and you deserve some time with your moms. You said Kory’s been getting better.”

“Fine, but -”

“Yara’s on a mission in the Amazon Basin, Irey’s got all sorts of plans set up with her parents and Jai, and Galvio’s going to be off-world. None of them need to be popping in or coming back early just because you think I can’t be alone for a couple of days.” When she opened her mouth, he added, “And neither do any of the other Titans. They’re all working hard to cover for us so we can have this break and don’t need to add babysitting me on top of that.”

She scowled and sat down on the stool next to his. “It’s not that I think you can’t be alone, it’s just that I think you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I meant,” she growled, pushing his chest hard enough to make his barstool tip backward.

He hooked his food around hers and righted the stool before it could fall. “I’ll be alright. A little alone time is good once in a while.”

Impulse ran through the room, stopping only long enough to say, “Dad’s here!” before she was gone again.

Nightstar tisked and stood up. “You’re sure?”

He nodded and she turned away. “Fine, but I’ll have my T-Comm on me if you need anything.”

He didn’t respond.

She grabbed her book as Flash ran in.

“Hey kids,” he said, glancing at the two. “Where are the others?”

“Wonder Girl’s already gone, Virus is preparing to leave, and Impulse is packing,” Robin answered.

“Course she is,” the man chuckled. “I’d say she gets it from me, but Uncle Barry was the exact same way so maybe it’s the Speed Force.”

“I think you guys just like to use that as an excuse to be lazy,” Nightstar said as she left.

“I’m sure Artemis would agree,” Wally chuckled. He turned to Robin and the boy stiffened.

Not visibly enough that Flash would notice, but visible enough that…

Robin turned away to grab his tea.

“So, you heading to Goth-”

“No.”

The man shot over to sit on the stool Nightstar had been using. “One of these days I’m going to get you to tell me how exactly you’re related to the Bats.”

“Good luck with that,” he scoffed. He looked up at the man. “You work with three of them. Four when Flamebird’s having a good day. Why not just ask them?”

Shut up. You don’t care. They don’t care so you don’t care.

Flash snorted. “Right. Like getting info out of a Bat isn’t impossible. If I ask Signal, he just shakes his head and says it’s not his place. Orphan just looks sad when you get brought up and won’t talk for a while. Flamebird won’t talk to me, to begin with, so he’s out. His old man hasn’t been much better since Batkid died -- not that I blame him -- and he only got worse when that new thief showed up in Gotham a few months ago so there’s no chance of him saying anything.”

They don’t care.

“If it’s so impossible, then why do you keep bugging me.”

“Well, you’re not really a Bat, right?��

Robin’s fingers tightened around the mug. “No, I’m not.”

“There you go then.”

He glared down at the tea.

Distract.

“What were you saying about a thief? Catwoman got a rival?”

Flash shrugged. “It’s Gotham stuff so we don’t hear much, but I have heard the new guy’s been giving her a run for her money. It’s not only that though. He’s apparently claimed a chunk of the city as his own and screws with anyone that messes around in his territory without his permission. Especially if they involve kids.”

Robin hummed, not paying attention.

Cass doesn’t care. She’s just sad because I remind her of Jay.

“I think he’s called Red -”

“Daddy!” Impulse shrieked as she came streaking through the room to throw herself at Flash, who was already on his feet with his arms outstretched to catch her and pull her into a hug.

Virus came skipping in after her at a much slower pace, a duffle bag in his arms. Nightstar was a few steps behind wearing her battle armor with a rucksack hanging from one shoulder.

“There’s my light! You ready to go?”

“Yup! Just got to say bye to the others,” she said, squeezing him. She let go and passed the bag Virus was carrying to her father before pulling the Gexin into a hug. “Bye, Vi!”

“Goodbye, Impulse! Tell Turtle Virus says hello.”

“I will. Tell Galv-11 I say hi! Twin solidarity!” She pulled away to hug Nightstar. “Have fun with your moms!”

“Yeah, yeah.” She gave Impulse’s back two pats before pushing her away.

The redhead just smiled at her before throwing herself at Robin, a move that would have knocked him off the stool and spilled his tea if he hadn’t seen it coming and braced himself. “Bye, Rob! See you Monday!”

“See you, Pulse.”

She pressed a quick -- for non-speedsters -- kiss to his cheek before pulling away. She gave the group a wave as she took her dad’s hand then the two were gone.

“Well, I’m off,” Nightstar said, adjusting the pack and glancing at her remaining teammates. Her gaze lingered on Robin. “Unless someone’s changed their mind.”

“Bye, Star,” Robin said pointedly.

She nodded to him, then Virus.

“Goodbye, Nightstar. Virus has completed the transfer so Virus will be leaving too.”

“Bye Virus.

They waved then dove into the phone outlet that connected to the satellites on the roof.

“Don’t cause Yara too much of a hassle. You do have to work together when you both get back.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know she loves it,” Nightstar said, waving him off as she turned to leave. “Talk to you later, Dick.”

“Later, Mandy.”

He waited a few moments after the door shut behind her before getting up to go to the couch, tea still in hand. He sat down and grabbed the tablet he’d left on the coffee table. A few clicks had the security feeds up. The speedsters were long gone, Virus was just finishing the transfer over to the Justice League’s long-range satellites that would let him system hop back to his homeworld, and Nightstar was making her way out. He watched her progress until she was completely out of range before tossing the tablet to the side and slumping back against the couch.

He took a sip of his tea and scowled. He set it on the table and buried his face into his hands.

Over a year and a half away from Gotham and he still couldn’t figure out how Alfred made a cup of tea taste like anything other than gross leaf water.

He didn’t know why he still bothered. He’d never liked tea all that much, even when Alfred made it.

It was just… stupid Family Weekend. He hated it. Hated being alone. Hated seeing the others all disappear to spend time with their families. All it did was remind him of everything he’d lost.

Everyone he’d lost.

Or never had to begin with.

He wouldn’t begrudge any of his friends their family time, though, and he certainly wasn’t going to make anyone stay behind with him just because he was a little lonely, even if that meant telling Nightstar a few white lies.

He just wished he had somewhere to disappear off to as well.

He forced himself upright and turned on the tv. He tried to lose himself in a horror movie as he fought down memories of Barbara’s hacking lessons, memories of pranks he’d played on the others with Cassandra, memories of patrolling with Damian, memories of Duke helping him with his English homework, memories of early morning coffee and cereal runs with Tim, memories of nail painting gossip sessions with Stephanie, memories of Jay’s… memories of Jason.

He considered checking in with the Titans East, maybe even visiting, but Nightstar definitely would have considered he’d try that and told Speedy to let her know if he contacted them. Considering the friendly rivalry they had going on after defeating the Master of Games, she’d definitely sell him out in a heartbeat.

Patrolling was also out since Irey would still be monitoring the Teen Titans' social media so she’d know instantly if he left the tower, something he wasn’t supposed to do since they were all supposed to take Family Weekend off, even if he stayed in town.

Normally he’d bury himself in work, but he didn’t actually have any open cases right now.

One good thing about Gotham’s crime rate, you never had to worry about not having an open case.

Shut up!

Robin was so distracted trying to distract himself from his intrusive memories, he almost didn’t notice when the air in the room shifted slightly about an hour after Nightstar left. His hand subtly moved to his utility belt, but he let it drop after a second.

He glared to the side as something invisible settled next to him on the couch. “What are you doing here?”

Red X faded into view with a shrug. “The better question is what are you doing here, kid? I was told you lot were clearing out for your little Family Weekend thing.”

“You were told?”

“Alright, so I might have been eavesdropping on Wonder Babe and Zippy.”

“What are you after?” Robin growled. He stood up and drew his staff as he went over everything in the tower and tried to figure out what Red X would consider worth stealing.

“Calm down,” Red X said, leaning back and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “I just ticked someone off and need a place to lie low for a few days. Didn’t plan to take anything.”

“Right,” Robin said sarcastically. “You didn’t plan to take anything.”

Red X chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, you caught me. Tell you what. You let me stay and I’ll keep my hands to myself from now until Monday.”

“And return what you’ve already grabbed on your way here?”

It was only thanks to his experience with masks that hid the eyes that the hero could tell Red X was rolling his as he pulled a handful of Robin’s feathers and one of his spare expandable bo staffs from the suit’s hidden pockets. He tossed them onto the table, saying, “You really need to learn how to lighten up, kid.”

Robin lowered his weapon, but didn’t put it away. “Who’d you tick off? And how?”

Red X shrugged and relaxed back onto the couch, grabbing the remote. “The old man. One of the others accidentally got hurt during my last score so now the lot of them are out for blood. They found my place in Jump so it was either skip town until I can get a new place or lay low. And I’m pretty sure skipping town is what they want me to do so here I am. Doubt they’ll think to look for me here.”

“Why would they want you to skip town?” Robin asked as he took in the new information. He’d never realized Red X was part of a team. Who was the old man?

“Uh, because then I’ll have to go back home and that’s their turf,” he said slowly, like it was obvious.

“Where are you from?”

Red X paused in his channel surfing and looked up at him. “You don’t know?”

Robin glared at him.

“No, seriously, you don’t know who I am?”

“I thought I made that clear the first time we met.”

“Yeah, the first time, but…” Red X set down the remote and leaned closer. “Kid, when was the last time you talked to your family?”

That was the final straw.

Robin swung his staff at the thief, who flipped out of the way. Through clenched teeth, he said, “I think the fact I’m here during Family Weekend makes it pretty obvious I don’t exactly have a family to talk to.”

Red X struck out with one of his x’s trying to wrench the staff from Robin’s hands. “Shut up, kid. You can play whatever lost bird act you want for the rest of the world, but we both know you’re one of Batman’s toy soldiers.”

The hero snarled and aimed for the thief's head, but he managed to grab it and disarm him before it made contact. “I’m not a Bat just because I trained with them for a time.”

“Sure, kid.”

“I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but I’ve been a hero outside of Gotham longer than I was one there.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Red X said lowly, tossing the staff aside. “What that idiot was thinking letting Flamebird send you all the way across the country right after Batkid got blown up, I’ll never know.”

Robin flinched back at the accusation before his fists clenched at his sides. “Then you’ll be happy to know no one sent me here. It’s just where I ended up when Batman decided he didn’t want to work with me anymore and tossed me out.”

Red X froze and the hero could feel the thief studying him. When he spoke, there was something sharp and venomous in his tone. “He kicked you out.”

“He kicked me off the team, yeah,” Robin said. “He didn’t want me on the team anymore so I found a new one. Like I said, I’m not a Bat. Why does this even matter?”

“He kicked you out,” Red X repeated. Then he was turning on his heel and marching out.

“Where are you going?”

“Forget hiding out. I’m going to go kill Batman. A nice x to the grapple line will solve all our problems.”

Before Robin could move, Red X teleported away.

“Great,” he growled, running his hand through his hair. He grabbed his tablet and ran to the door. As he rode the elevator down to the garage, he checked the security, running the cameras through all the frequency settings. All that came up were two blips, Red X’s entrance and exit. 

As he ran up to his R-Cycle, he considered what to do. He couldn’t just do nothing about an honest death threat (and he knew Red X was serious, even he didn’t understand why), but Batman had made it clear he didn’t want Robin getting involved in Gotham. Maybe if he could get to Red X before he left town…

Well, he’d have to hope he could. If not, he’d have to bribe Dove into passing along the message to Oracle or Batgirl the next time she checked in with the Birds of Prey so they could warn Batman. After that, the thief would be completely out of his hands.

He took his R-Cycle out, but only went as far as the nearest highrise before taking to the rooftops. It wasn’t as effective a tactic in the daylight, but it would still limit the amount he was seen so, hopefully, Irey wouldn’t notice he was out.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do. He’d been trying to locate Red X’s hideout since the thief had appeared, but thanks to the invisibility and teleportation abilities granted by the suit as well as the thief’s own skills and the fact Robin still didn’t know what he looked like under the mask, it was slow going. He’d managed to narrow it down to a certain neighborhood after months of work, but patrolling the area didn’t turn anything up so he couldn’t be sure if Red X was there or if he’d already left.

After two hours with no sign of the thief, he decided to head back in. As he rode back up the elevator, he set up a program to track anyone leaving town for Gotham by train or air and double-checked the algorithm he and Virus had set up to search for Red X on traffic cameras. Neither was likely to turn anything up since Red X was too cautious and Oracle was sure to set up her own once the case was handed over to the Bats, but he had to do something in the meantime.

And if it showed them he knew what he was doing…

Of course, none of that mattered when he walked into the main room of the tower to call Dove and found Red X relaxing on the couch.

“Were you seriously lying about killing Batman?” Robin growled. His anger was less about the thief lying and more because he’d fallen for it, but he was still pretty annoyed all the same.

“Nah. I just realized that you being here also means the others didn’t do anything about the old man kicking you out, and wiping out Gotham’s Bat infestation is going to actually take a bit of planning,” Red X said. That same acidic anger tainted his words, but now it was wrapped in a thin veil of restraint. He could see that same fragilely controlled anger in the thief’s body as he came closer, hidden almost perfectly under his relaxed ruse.

“You really think I’m going to just sit back and let you stay here while you’re plotting murder?” Robin said, stepping in front of the thief and crossing his arms.

“Calm down, kid. I’m not going to do any planning here,” he snorted, tilting his head to see more of the tv around the hero.

“That’s not the point.”

“If you’re worried about being an accomplice, then you’ll be happy to hear you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

Robin pulled out his staff and Red X went stiff.

“Kid, you do not want to fight me right now. Just sit down and watch the movie.”

“Why?” Robin asked, slipping into a fighting stance. “Why are you even going after the Bats?”

“He kicked you out,” Red X growled, the sound of his control cracking slipping in his voice.

“So?”

Suddenly the thief was on his feet and grabbing the front of Robin’s suit.

The hero tried to strike him with his staff, but he deflected the blow and pulled him in until they were nose-to-helmet.

“He kicked you out! He fucking kicked you out! Not even three months after he put a kid in the ground, you were on the other side of the country fighting aliens! Alone!”

“I was-”

“And where are the others? Have you even talked to them? Have they tried to talk to you? They have to know where you are, even if Oracle wasn’t as semi-omniscient as she is! You and your clubhouse are all over the news! Has she or Orphan reached out? Signal? Batgirl? Hell, Tim might be an ass, but I thought he’d at least check-in to make sure you didn’t get killed.”

Robin’s breath caught in his throat and he choked out, “How -”

“Where the fuck was Damian in all this? Did he seriously not say shit about Bruce tossing his fucking kid out?”

Despite his best efforts, he was shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was because Red X somehow knew who the Bats were or because everything he had been burying and reburying ever since he left Gotham was being unearthed and shoved in his face even worse than it normally was during Family Weekend, but he couldn’t breathe.

“You weren’t even at the funeral!”

Robin flinched so hard he’d jerked himself free off Red X’s grip and toppled backward. He slammed his eyes shut against the sting of tears and ducked his head as he took in ragged breaths.

That was not the Bats’ fault. That was all him, and the guilt would always weigh on him.

He’d been selfish, so lost in his own problems that he’d completely forgotten Jason’s funeral. He only even realized he missed it when he spotted the pictures in the news and read about it in the gossip columns. His absence had been noticed, of course. Bruce and Damian told everyone he was sick since it had been before he’d been gone long enough for them to need the boarding school lie, but some didn’t believe it. Dick had read every horrible word there’d been to read.

He deserved it.

As soon as he’d realized his mistake, he’d bought some flowers and spent hours in the cemetery apologizing over and over again, but he knew it’d never make up for what he’d done.

“Don’t you get it? They already let one kid run off and stupidly get himself killed and then they just -”

Robin was on top of Red X in a second, pinning him against the couch. “Don’t you ever talk about Batkid like that! He… What happened to him… You don’t get to talk about him!”

It was meant to come out a snarl, but the tears he was fighting back rang out clearly.

He expected another quip, or for Red X to at least try to fight, but he just stared up at Robin as he went limp in the pin. “Kid…”

“How do you know who they are?” the hero snapped, wanting to focus on something -- anything -- else.

“I’m so sorry. If I’d known they hadn’t told you…” the thief started softly. “I thought…”

“Thought what?”

They just stared at each other for a moment, then Red X raised his hands.

The hero watched for any signs of an attack, but the thief just brought his hands to the helmet. He hit the release and pulled the helmet off.

Robin’s breath caught in his throat for the second time.

Under the helmet was a domino mask, light grey with black outlining the white lenses. Even still, Robin had seen the boy behind the mask in a domino too many times to not recognize him.

He was older, his hair a bit longer and choppier. He had a few new scars and his hair was a white color in the front that was just a little too bright to be natural. It was him though.

“Jay?”

Jason gave a familiar grin as he let the helmet fall to the floor. “Hey, Dickie.”

Robin threw himself off the older boy, scrambling to his feet and pointing his staff at him. “No. Jason’s gone. Dead. I don’t know who you are or why you look like that, but…” Robin was losing the fight against his tears.

“Red Bird,” Jason said softly. He reached out for Robin and the hero swatted his hand away.

“Don’t! You’re-He’s dead! You can’t be him!” Unless… Jason had to be dead. It couldn’t have been a test.

A test he must have failed. That’s why Bruce…

“No. He has to be dead,” Robin said, shaking his head and taking a step back. “He-You wouldn’t have lied to me about that. Not… Not Jason. He wouldn’t.”

“Oh, Dickie.” Jason came forward, ducking under Robin’s strike to pull him into a hug. “It wasn’t a lie, I promise. I did die. I just… got better.”

“Got better?” Robin sniffed and dropped his arms, not returning the hug or pushing away from it as tears filled his eyes and slipped past the mask. “How do you get better from being dead?”

“Heck if I know,” Jason sighed and eased the mask off Dick’s face. As he gently brushed the tears away, he explained, “I just woke up inside my coffin months later. I didn’t… I wasn’t all there so I ended up just stumbling around Gotham for a few weeks until I got brought to a hospital. The step-mom from hell found me there somehow and stole me away to toss me in one of her stupid green pools.”

“She put you in a Lazarus Pit?” Dick hissed, finally hugging his brother back.

“Yeah. Don’t know if she was trying to hurt Bruce and Damian again by screwing up my head or if she was in one of her Maybe they’ll love me this time! moods and honestly thought it would help. I didn’t stick around to find out, just rampaged through the compound until I was able to escape. I managed to make my way back to Gotham, but…” Jason pressed his face into Dick’s hair and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I expected when I got back, but… I didn’t expect nothing. Bruce was carrying on as usual. Everyone was. And Joker’s just… back in Arkham, ready to escape another day. I died and the only thing that changed was that Damian shipped you off to play with some other kids in California. Except no, he didn’t. Bruce kicked you out! When Damian died, Bruce nearly killed himself in his search for a way to bring him back, to the point that Duke’s gang had to step in to watch the streets and Tim had to step in to watch Bruce. When I died, nothing.”

“Jay -”

“I know I’m not Cassandra ‘Prodigy’ Wayne or Damian ‘Bloodson’ Wayne or Duke ‘Perfect Child’ Thomas or Tim ‘Teenage CEO’ Drake-Wayne, but I thought he’d at least care that I got killed!” Jason snarled, jerking away from Dick to throw his hands in the air before slamming one onto the coffee table, cracking the wood. “I thought he’d at least give a shit about me!”

“Jason -”

He slammed his hand against the table again, and again. “But he doesn’t! Not enough to actually do something about fucking Joker! Not enough to try and bring me back like he did his flesh and blood! He doesn’t care! None of them fucking care about anything but themselves!”

Dick tried to grab his arm, but Jason threw him off.

He turned to the young boy with a glare. “And then you! They just got rid of you! What? Was Bruce so happy to be rid of me he realized he should have cut off the kid acquisitions with Tim? And everyone just agreed with him!”

“Red Wing, please.”

Jason had been taking a step towards Dick, but at his words he spun away. He slammed both his fists into the table with a snarl and it collapsed. He dropped to his knees, breathing heavily.

Dick watched him for a few minutes. Only when Jason stopped shaking and tugging harshly at his hair did he step closer and sit next to his brother. When he wasn’t rebuffed, he pressed their shoulders together. “The pit?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Damian told me how it affects people. Besides, that table gets destroyed so often we start to get antsy if it lasts more than a week,” Dick chuckled and Jason snorted. He nudged his brother gently. “Is this okay?”

“I’d never hurt you, Red Bird,” Jason declared, though a bit of uncertainty leaked into his voice.

Dick set his head on Jason’s shoulder with a frown. “I know. I was asking if you were okay with me touching you.”

The older brother smiled and wrapped his arm around the younger. “I’m always happy to be your pillow.”

“I’m serious, Jay.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You’re always serious lately.”

“I still know how to have fun,” Dick said. “You just keep catching me in serious situations.”

Jason gave him a disbelieving expression, but before Dick could comment it shifted into a smile. A familiar smile.

That smile promised a lot of fun, but also explosions and weeks of being grounded. It promised lectures from Bruce to Jason about needing to be a better example and from Tim to Dick about how Jason was a bad influence. It promised exasperated yet fond looks from Cass, Babs, and Damian. If Steph was involved, it promised retaliatory pranks when they placed most of the blame on her. If not, then it promised endless complaining for leaving her out. It promised secret smiles from Duke, either because he hadn’t been involved but still thought it was funny or because he had been involved and was thanking them for not ratting him out.

Altogether, that smile promised the best kind of trouble.

“Jay,” Dick started warningly, but Jason just pulled him to his feet.

“Prove it!”

“What?”

“You think you can still have fun, then prove it!” Jason chuckled, grabbing his helmet and towing Dick out of the room. “Let’s go wreck some stuff!”

“Wh-Jay! We can’t -”

“Calm down, we’ll keep it to the bad guys’ stuff so we don’t hurt your delicate sensibilities.”

Dick glanced down at the X on Jason’s suit. “Speaking of which -”

“Nope. That can wait for after Family Weekend. Right now we’re just Red Bird and Red Wing, not Robin and Red X. We can get back to our little cops and robber game when your friends get back.”

Dick knew he should probably argue. Even ignoring the fact Jason had been discussing murder not even half an hour ago, Red X was still a criminal.

But Red X was also a back-from-the-dead Jason and Robin wasn’t allowed to work during Family Weekend.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they stepped out of the elevator onto the residential floor.

“First stop is your room. I left my stuff there since I knew it would be the last place you’d check. One of us should also probably change if we don’t want to raise questions.”

Dick didn’t bother to ask how Jason knew his way around the tower to the point of knowing where his room was. Clearly, he’d been spying on Dick. It was probably something they’d have to talk about later since Dick knew from experience that his teammates would not appreciate it, but it could wait.

“Well you���ve already stolen my clothes once,” Dick pointed out, tugging at Jason’s cape.

Jason rolled his eyes. “If you didn’t want someone to take the suit you should have locked it away better.”

“I put it in a safe!”

“Not a good one.”

Dick slapped his arm. “You were trained by Selina. Your standards are unreasonable.”

“You say that like she didn’t train you too,” Jason snorted then tugged Dick closer so he could wrap his arm around Dick’s shoulder. “I should probably change though. I don’t know how the family will react if they find out we’re hanging out and I’d rather not risk it ruining our weekend. I can take care of them after.”

“Jas-”

“Yep. Sorry. Work talk later. So, Red Bird, you know of any bad guy bases worth ransacking? Or at least an empty factory we can go to town in? I got some new toys I want to try out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Impulse was tapping her foot in superspeed as she scrolled through her phone.

“And none of you have talked to him since Friday morning?” Wonder Girl asked and she paced across the living area.

“We texted on Saturday, but it was just a quick check-in. He said he was busy, I needed to stop worrying, and he’d see me today,” Nightstar said, not looking up from her book. She seemed for all the world relaxed, but the others had all noticed she hadn’t turned the page in over a half hour.

“There’s still nothing on social media,” Impulse said, refreshing the page. “I found a few mentions just before lunchtime on Friday of someone on the rooftops that could have been him, but that’s it.”

“The same can be said for the news sites,” Virus said from inside the computer. “Robin has not appeared on any of the news sites since our fight with Mother Mae-Eye last week.”

Wonder Girl tried her T-Communicator again and scowled when it wouldn’t connect to Robin’s. “Are you sure he didn’t head over to one of the others’ bases?”

“I had Speedy and Dove on Robin duty so I know he didn’t hit Titans East or North,” Nightstar said.

“And Aquagirl tells Turtle everything so if he’d shown up at Titans South she would have told him and he would have told me so I would know and I don’t so he didn’t,” Impulse said quickly.

Nightstar looked up from her book and squeezed the younger girl’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll find him. He probably just took off to do some recon and didn’t tell us because he knew we’d yell at him for not taking the weekend off.”

“He’s going to spend the next week locked in a cell if that’s true,” Wonder Girl huffed. “Then he’ll have no choice but to take a break.”

“Robin would just break out,” Virus argued.

“Maybe I should take a run around the city, just in case,” Impulse said, standing up.

“The tracker on Robin’s R-Cycle showed Robin heading out of the city before the tracker was disabled so Impulse likely would not find Robin by running around the city,” Virus pointed out and the girls turned to his computer.

“You didn’t say anything about him leaving town earlier,” Nightstar said.

“Virus did not think the information was relevant. The information doesn’t help the Teen Titans find Robin since the tracker was disabled before any set destination could be determined.”

“Except we had no idea he’d left town until now! When did this happen?”

“Friday afternoon. Robin le-” Virus cut off as an alert came up. “Oh! Someone just accessed the tunnel leading to the garage.”

“Robin?” Nightstar asked, getting to her feet.

“The people in the tunnel used Robin’s codes, but there are two people and both are on foot. The sensors aren't registering Robin’s gear.”

The girls shared a look and ran for the stars, Nightstar calling over her shoulder, “Meet us down there!”

“On the way!”

Impulse ran down the stairs while Nightstar and Wonder Girl flew down the center. They slipped into the garage to find Virus already waiting. The four took defensive positions behind workbenches and toolboxes just as voices began to reach them.

“You owe me a new R-Cycle. And a new communicator. And -”

Impulse perked up at Robin’s voice, but Nightstar waved her quiet before she could react as a second voice answered, “First of all, how was I supposed to know trying to use your fancy walkie-talkie would break it? Who’s stupid design flaw was that?”

“It’s to prevent it from being stolen and used against the Titans.”

“Okay, that’s actually a good idea, but it’s still not my fault. Second, the paint was your idea! Don’t try blaming that on me.”

“You blew up the crates too soon!”

“No, I didn’t! I told you fifteen minutes!”

“You only gave me fourteen!”

“I gave you fifteen!” the unknown voice yelled as two figures walked into the garage.

The first was obviously Robin, though he was dressed more casually than any of the Titans had ever seen him. Gone was the armored suit, replaced with blue jeans and a red hoodie with a bat insignia over the chest. He still wore his domino mask and steel-toed boots, but the latter was speckled with red paint.

The second boy looked around Nightstar’s age. He was tall and broad, but not bulky. He wore a suit similar to Robin’s, but black and plain. A brown leather jacket was thrown over the top with a red bird patch on the shoulder that matched his red domino mask.

The new boy was scowling at Robin, who was scowling back. Even still, both looked completely relaxed and a smirk was tugging at the new boy’s lips.

“Maybe you need a new watch. Or maybe you just forgot how to count. Did you forget eleven was a thing again?”

The new boy jumped at Robin and instantly the two were brawling, throwing punches left and right and trying to pin each other. The fight was clearly well-practiced, in Wonder Girl’s opinion. Not choreographed or restrained, but instead a flurry of movements that showed how the two knew each other’s fighting style enough to both predict most attacks and roll with those they didn’t. Despite just how rough their roughhousing was, she could see neither was actually trying to hurt the other.

The others didn’t quite catch onto that though as all three darted in to break up the fight. Nightstar grabbed the new boy and pinned him against a workbench while Impulse and Virus placed themselves in front of Robin.

“Woah, what? Titans, stand down. Red Wing, don’t hurt her.”

“Don’t hurt her? I’m the one pinned,” the boy gasped dramatically.

“You’re also the one with the souped-up taser,” Robin deadpanned.

The boy smirked and revealed the device in his hand, which crackled with red lightning. He turned it off and tucked it into his jacket as he winked up at Nightstar. “You know, Princess, if you wanted to get all up close and personal, all you had to do was ask.”

Her eyes glowed purple, but Robin grabbed her arm and pulled her away before she could blast the other boy.

“Don’t flirt with my teammates please,” Robin sighed.

“Not my fault you surround yourself with beautiful girls, Kid,” the boy said as he sat up, winking at Wonder Girl this time.

“Who are you?” she demanded, hand falling to her boleadoras.

“What? Don’t recognize me without the x motif and skull mask? I’m hurt.”

“Red X?” Impulse said, glancing between Robin and the boy.

He gave her finger guns while Robin smacked his forehead.

“What is going on?” Virus asked.

“Well, wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome,” Red X said, stuffing his hand in his pockets. “Family Weekend’s been fun, bro. I’ll let you know when I steal a new cycle for you from the old man so you can tell me if I need to add any bells and whistles. Later.”

“You’re not -” Nightstar started, but cut off as Red X dropped something that caused smoke to flood through the garage. “Impulse!”

“He’s already gone,” Robin sighed.

A moment later the ventilation system kicked in and cleared the air to reveal Robin was right.

The four all turned to him and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sooooooooo… you spent the weekend with Red X?” Impulse asked.

“It’s a long story.”

“Red X called Robin brother?” Virus said.

“A really long story. The short of it is Red’s just been keeping an eye on me, in his own weird way.”

“He stole your suit,” Wonder Girl said and Robin shrugged.

“So are we just supposed to not go after him if he shows up?” Impulse asked.

“No, this doesn’t change anything about how we treat him in the field.”

Impulse opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. “Kid Flash is right. You Gothamites are insane when you get together.”

Robin shrugged again. He grabbed the duffle bag he’d dropped when he and Red X had started fighting and turned to the elevator. “I need to make a call then we can check in with the others.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick stared down at his new T-Communicator. He should just call Dove. It would make things easier.

“Barbara Gordon here,” a voice said as the call on the phone in his other hand connected.

Dick took a deep breath and let it out. “Hey, Babs.”

“... Dick?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I-Hey, how -”

“Jason’s going after Bruce.”

“What?”

“He wants to kill him. He wants to kill the whole family, really, but Bruce seems to be his main focus. Damian too, maybe. I don’t know how much trouble he’s been causing so far, but it’s about to get worse.”

“I-You saw Jason?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine. He didn’t have any reason to do anything.”

“You said he was trying to kill the whole family.”

Dick’s breath caught in his throat and his hand tightened around the phone. “Yeah, well, clearly I’m not part of that.”

“Di-”

“He also might try to steal a motorcycle, but that might have been a joke. You should probably keep an eye out either way,” Dick added then hung up. He turned his phone off when it immediately started ringing. He tossed it into his lockbox and flopped down on his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes.

A few minutes later someone knocked on his door. He shut the lockbox and knocked it back into its hiding spot with his foot before calling for them to come in.

Nightstar slipped in, but just shut the door behind her and leaned against it. She waited a moment before saying, “X isn’t Tim or Duke.”

“Never said he was.”

“But he implied he was and you didn’t correct him.”

“Tim and Duke aren’t my brothers, Mandy.”

“By your logic, you don’t have any family at all. So why is X going around calling you brothers?”

Dick didn’t respond.

“Why’d you spend Family Weekend with him? Why are you wearing a jacket you normally keep locked away with all the other Batman-related things you pretend don’t exist?”

Dick frowned and dropped his hand to his hoodie. “It’s not Batman’s logo.”

“Sure, Dick, and I -”

“It’s Batkid’s.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Oh. Oh shit.”

“Mandy.”

“You think he’s… him.”

“He is.”

“Dick, Jason died.”

“Like I said, long story. He is back. The others know it too, considering the call I just had with Bab-Barbara.”

“You actually talked to her,” she said softly, coming to sit next to him.

“I talked at her. She didn’t get to say much. I just needed to warn her and the others about something Jay said and it’s too involved in our civilian identities to trust the message with Dove.”

“Sure, or maybe you just wanted to hear her voice.”

Dick glared up at her. “I want to hear all of their voices, is that what you want me to say? You know I’m not afraid to admit I miss them, it’s just not going to change anything.”

“Admitting it is the first step,” she shot back. “Now do something about it.”

“They don’t want me, Mandy. I’m not going to go crawling back there just to get shunted back into juvie!”

“You don’t know that’s what will happen.”

“Yes, I do!”

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up so they were eye to eye. “Aren’t you the one who pushed me to reconnect with my mom?”

“That’s different and you know it,” he said, pushing her hands off.

“Why?”

“She’s your mom.”

“And they’re your family.”

“No, they’re not!”

“Di-”

He stood up. “They know where I am! I’m not trying to hide! I didn’t even change my codename! If any of them wanted to talk to me, Babs could easily contact me! At the very least, she or Steph could have Holly give me the message! Or Damian could ask Jon to pass the message to Eliza and she could give it to me! And yet that call is the only time I’ve heard from any of them since the Fight! Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re terrible at dealing with emotions when they’re your own and the rest of your family is the same or worse,” she deadpanned.

“Just drop it.”

She sighed and got up to leave. She paused before opening the door. “You’re going to have to deal with this one of these days. Probably sooner than you think if you’re going to keep talking to Jason.”

“Doubtful. He isn’t exactly sitting down for tea with the Bats either right now.”

She shook her head and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little explanation of characters mentioned

Teen Titans:

Robin - Richard "Dick" Grayson: Foster son of Damian Wayne (15yo)

Virus - Galv-10 "Galvio" of Gex (~16yo in comparison to human development)

Nightstar - Ma’andkori "Mandy" Grace: Daughter of Kory and Artemis Grace (17yo)

Impulse - Iris "Irey" West: Daughter of Wally West, Twin of Jai (15yo)

Wonder Girl - Yara Flor: Daughter of an Amazon and Brazilian God (16yo)

Other Titans:

Turtle - Jai West: Son of Wally West, Twin of Irey (15yo)

Speedy - Dinah "Di" Harper: Second Daughter of Roy Harper (16yo)

Dove - Holly Hall: Daughter of Hank and Dawn Hall (14yo)

Aquagirl - Mareena: Daughter of Kaldur'ahm (14yo)

Supergirl - Eliza Zor-El/Eliza Lutessa Luthor: Clone of Kara and Lena Luthor (13yo)

Bats:

Batman - Bruce Wayne (49yo)

Catwoman - Selina Kyle-Wayne (50yo)

Oracle - Barbara Gordon (41yo)

Orphan - Cassandra "Cass" Wayne: Eldest Child/Only Daughter of Bruce Wayne (36yo)

Flamebird - Damian Wayne: Oldest Son of Bruce Wayne (26yo)

Nightwing - Jon-El/Jonathan "Jon" Samuel Kent: Partner of Flamebird (26)yo

Signal - Duke Thomas: Second Son of Bruce Wayne (23yo)

Black Bat - Timothy "Tim" Drake-Wayne: Third Son of Bruce Wayne (22yo)

Batgirl - Stephanie Brown (21yo)

Red X - Jason Peter Todd-Wayne: Fourth Son of Bruce Wayne (17yo)

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 39 - A General Upward Trend

Author’s Note: Ladybug finally has a talk with her former teammates, and Marinette gets around to finishing something she's been putting off.

Chapter Summary: Ladybug and Chat Noir's interactions in this chapter are very precious. Like, they're real cute. Prepare yourself. No warnings! This is a calm chapter. It's so weird to say, but there's only three left after this one, and chapter 42 is just an epilogue, so this story is well and truly wrapping up. Goodness.

First | Previous | Next

Adrien is doing better. Marinette smiles at him, happy to see him resting happily. He’s basically recovered at this point, but she’d insisted he rest a little more, and being the cat he is, he didn’t protest.

She glances out the window and sighs. It’s no longer light enough out that she can justify waiting. It’s most certainly dark enough that Ladybug could go out without issue.

“Tikki, spots on.”

As quietly as she can, she creeps past the model and heads out through the balcony.

Whizzing through the city on her yo-yo, she gets to her first destination.

The window opens when she knocks.

“L-Ladybug?” Nino looks surprised to see her.

“Hello. I’m… I’m here to apologize. Last time I visited, I dropped some very shocking news on you with no explanation. I’m willing to explain myself now, especially since I believe you’ll be more receptive to what I have to say.”

“Oh. Yeah, uh, Dudette, I definitely figured it out.” He looks away.

She forces a gentle smile. “I understand, but I feel like you still deserve to hear a proper explanation from me, and the opportunity to ask any questions you might have.”

He nods, still not meeting her eyes.

“Due to the high rate of akumas at your school, Chat and I keep tabs on it. We… became aware of a situation with Ms. Dupain-Cheng and Ms. Rossi. After a few months of you and Alya both only further bullying Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I came to the realization that if I couldn’t trust you two to treat your friends well, I couldn’t trust you to be a good member of the team. Nino, you wielded the miraculous of protection, and you not only failed to protect your friend, you went out of your way to harm her. I could not let you continue to be Carapace.”

Tears have welled up in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me know so I could fix things?”

She sighs, doing her best to keep herself together. “I had already spoken directly to Adrien, and soon learned Marinette had been a witness to that conversation. Two of your close friends told you that Lila was lying, and you dismissed them. You made no effort to track me down for confirmation. You also immediately turned on me the day after I informed you of Carapace’s retirement. You refused to accept that you could have done something wrong and blamed an innocent girl so that you had someone to take it out on. You were given chances, and it shouldn’t have been up to me to let you know you were in the wrong. You ignored the signs, and that’s on you.”

He removes his glasses, wiping at his eyes with his forearm. “Y-yeah. I know. A-after what I did to M-M-Marinette…”

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

He shakes his head, returning inside.

Ladybug takes a few breaths to steady herself. That was more emotionally exhausting than she thought it would be.

One down. One to go.

It’s barely night, and it’s already a long one.

She goes to the roof, intending to get on her way to Alya’s when a dark figure catches her eye.

Chat Noir stands on the roof, arms crossed and looking at her, eyebrows raised.

“Ladybug. You did not specifically wait until I was asleep to sneak out and confront your former bullies alone again, did you?”

“Uh, well, when you phrase it like that…”

He sags, approaching her, face softening. “Bug. I told you, you don’t need to need to do this alone. You can have support.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you, and you need rest anyways, and-”

“Bug. Look at me.” He walks up to her, taking both of her hands in his. He leans down, touching his forehead to hers. He looks at her eyes for a moment. “I will say this as many times as it takes, but no matter what it is, no matter who it is - no matter what, if it is important to you, it’s important to me. If something’s bothering you, you can tell me. If you aren’t feeling well, mentally or physically, you can tell me. You matter, you’re important, and you are not alone.”

Her breath hitches, and a few tears show up in her bright blue eyes.

“Do you understand me, Mari?”

She nods, separating their hands to wrap her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, squeezing him tightly.

He holds her, kissing her hair. “I love you, Bug, I just want you to realize how important you are.”

“I love you too,” she sobs, voice cracking slightly.

She lets a few tears fall, then regains her composure.

“Alya next?” Chat asks.

She nods, and he follows her to the ex-reporter’s house. He sits on the roof, waiting for her as she goes to Alya.

“Alya?”

The girl whips around at her hero’s voice. Her eyes well up immediately. “Ladybug. I- I’m so sorry.”

“So am I. I’m here to apologize for how I broke the news to you in November-”

Alya shakes her head. “I don’t deserve an apology. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“No, Alya, it was perfectly understandable. You deserved an explanation and that’s what I’m here to give you, even if it’s a little late. You deserve to have your questions answered. Chat and I keep an eye on your school, because so many students and faculty members have been akumatized there. We became aware of the treatment of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and the role you played in that. You and Nino needed to be heroes with and without the miraculouses, and you didn’t do that. If anything, you were villains. It wasn’t my job to point things out, especially after I’d already outed Lila to two of your close friends. As the Fox, you had the power of illusions. You should have been able to see through the very clear lies that Ms. Rossi was spewing, and as a friend, you should have stuck-” Ladybug stops. Alya is sniffling and tears are streaming down her face endlessly. Her face falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rub salt in the wound-”

“N-no I-I-I d-d-de-deserve it.”

“No. No you don’t.” Ladybug puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You were a victim of Lila. That doesn’t excuse your actions, but you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

Alya clearly isn’t having it, so Ladybug tries to change the topic. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

After a minute or two, Alya calms enough to mumble, “W-wh-why d-didn’t y-you t-t-t-tell th-this me b-before? Wh-why w-w-wait to e-explain-n-n?”

Ladybug sighs, staring at the sky. “I… I wasn’t doing very well late last year. I’d… lost some people that were very important to me, and I was having a rough time. I didn’t want to lose Carapace and Rena Rouge too, but I knew I had to let you guys go. I put it off for a while, but I was starting to slow down from the cold and I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. I’m sorry about how I went about that.”

“Oh,” She sobs, “and I yelled at you. I’m so so sorry!”

“I- It’s fine. I didn’t really do the best job at explaining it to you.”

“Still.” Alya hiccups a few more times, trying to get her emotions under control. “I-I think you sh-should go home. You should r-rest. You sh-shouldn’t have t-to be up l-late because of m-me.”

Ladybug smiles at her a little, then nods, wishing her a goodnight and heading to the roof. Chat is waiting for her with open arms, and she collapses against him, shaking.

“It’s okay Bugaboo, it’s okay.”

“I- I just- I th-thought I w-was o-over all- all of this.”

“It’ll take more time than this. No one is expecting you to be all healed by now.”

She doesn’t respond initially, then she whispers, “Ladybug is supposed to be strong.”

“Oh Princess. You are strong, I promise you that.” He holds her face, wiping away a tear with a thumb. “You just have a hard time appreciating yourself.”

The soft smile she gives him makes him wonder, not for the first time, why he’s the sunshine child. Everything about her is blinding in the best possible way.

“Kitty, what would I do without you?”

He scoops her up. “Well, fur one, you’d have to get home on your own.”

She kicks. “Hey! You’re sick, you shouldn’t be patrolling, let alone carrying me!”

“Paw-lease, I’m mostly recovered and we both know it. You’ve been keeping an eye on me, so it’s time for me to return the favor. Now I get to take care of you!”

“What do you call most of this school year then?”

“Being your friend. Obviously.” He rolls his eyes, as though it was ridiculous that she even had to ask.

Before she can protest further, he takes off across the rooftops. He lands on her terrace, and sets her down. He bows. “I do hope you enjoyed your cat-xi ride, mademoiselle.”

She gives him an odd look, and murmurs to herself, “...catzee…?” A look of realization dawns on her face, and she punches his arm. “That was really bad, Chaton. It’s not even a taxi ride, because I didn’t pay you.”

“Your prrr-sence is enough,” he says, kissing her hand.

She blushes, but pushes his forehead back with her index finger. “That’s enough from you.”

“Claws in. Guess it’s Adrien’s turn then.”

“No, no cheesy pick up lines from you.” She turns away, finally entering her room.

Pouting, he follows her. “But cheesy pick up lines are the best,” he whines, sitting on her chaise, across from where she sits at her desk chair.

She raises an eyebrow, then grows concerned at the cheshire grin on his face. Before she can ask what he’s up to, he starts to talk.

“I can make do without pick up lines, beautiful.”

She turns a little pink, and decides to pretend to focus on designing. He rolls around on the chaise, laying on his back but facing her.

“Hey. Hey. Marinette. Heyyyyy, Mariiiiiii! You’re really pretty, and you’re so nice, and you’re super smart, because, like, you always come up with the best plans all the time, and your eyes are absolutely stunning, and you are such a good person and-” He glances at her, and her face is about the same color as Tikki. “Maybe I should stop, I’m worried about all your blood going to your face.”

Adrien hangs off the lounge, looking at her upside-down. He waits until her face begins to cool off, then he adds, “Not that you don’t look good in red, of course.”

She squeaks, and her face goes crimson again.

---

Patisserie Princess: so um

Patisserie Princess: i think im gonna go through all my old stuff finally

Patisserie Princess: so if you guys want to come over and help then yeah

 The Mom Friend: omw

 Melodie: I’m close already, so I’ll be there quick.

 Kid Mime: im on ur roof

 Felix: I will head over.

 Patisserie Princess: thanks

Patisserie Princess: wait wat

 The Mom Friend: the roof roof or the balcony roof

The Mom Friend: coz 1 of those is v dangerous

 Kid Mime: balcony roof

 Melodie: Okay.

 Patisserie Princess: how and why????

 Hug This Boy: Because Claude.

Hug This Boy: There is no logic where there is Claude.

 The Mom Friend: yep

 Patisserie Princess: but on my roof???

 Felix: I found them clinging to the outside of my window once.

 Kid Mime: that was fun

Kid Mime: mari is it good for me to come in now

Kid Mime: ur flowers r pretty but ur prettierrrrrrrrr!!!

 Patisserie Princess: yes u can come in

 Once Marinette sends that, she hears her trapdoor open and turns to see Claude landing on her bed, smiling wide.

“You really were on my roof.”

They grin more. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but my roof? How did you even-”

“Mari!” Claude gasps. “You should know that a magician never reveals their secrets!”

Adrien comes up through the trapdoor, bearing a tray of cookies. “Hey Claude. Cookie?”

“Yes!”

Marinette just blinks, still trying to figure this out.

 Kid Mime: haha

Kid Mime: i got the first cookie

 Melodie: Because you were on the roof.

Melodie: For who knows what reasons.

 The Mom Friend: 4 claude reasons obviously

 Kid Mime: see? mom gets me

 Felix: No one truly understands you, if we are all being honest.

 Patisserie Princess: yea im still confused

 Melodie: Honey, by now I would have thought you’d know not to dwell on the how.

 Kid Mime: ive been told i cause headaches

 The Mom Friend: and heart attacks

 Felix: Marinette, it would be for the best if you did not spend an excessive amount of time attempting to comprehend him.

Felix: He is Claude, and that is the best explanation we will ever truly get.

 Patisserie Princess: i suppose

 Melodie: I’m here!

 Kid Mime: thats great

 Melodie: …

Melodie: Don’t let Claude finish off the cookies.

 Kid Mime: wat wood make u think id do that

 Patisserie Princess: he just stuffed three in his mouth

Patisserie Princess: u may want to hurry

---

When they’ve all arrived, Marinette retrieves the stuff from last time when they’d sorted. Marinette looks over the piles, trying to decide what to do. The others wait patiently.

“Okay, I think I’ll keep all the pictures. This is basically my entire childhood, and I’m not going to let what happened taint my past. Especially a lot of these early ones.” She looks over a few photos, finding some with especially young versions of the classmates. “I’m not going to blame four year old Nino for what present Nino did.”

“We can help you find a photo album for all these sometime then.”

She nods gratefully.

“Paper then… uh, if it’s just schoolwork, we can recycle it. Unless it’s some big project or you think I might want it, then I can look over it. Um. Designs can stay. I’ll look over cards…” She continues to list off what can happen to anything they might find in the mess. “Anything else, you can just leave to me.”

So they get started, and the pile of things getting thrown out or recycled grows and grows. It’s not nearly as tense or sad of an atmosphere as it had been last time, instead, they talk and joke as they would any normal day. Sometimes Marinette grows quiet, looking at something in her hands with an expression that doesn’t fall into any singular category.

Glee and anguish are usually considered opposites.

The mess of pining, fear, nostalgia, grief, and an unending amount of other emotions on her face is almost physically painful to see.

If she seems okay, they’ll keep talking, letting her feel in peace. Other times, she’s clearly struggling, so one of them will touch her softly, or hug her gently, pulling her from the past back to the present.

She laughs plenty too. This time around is clearly easier for her, and her progress is undeniable.

It’s good to see her good.

---

Author’s Note: I told you they were precious. I told you! How does it feel knowing that the angst in this story is basically over? You've got mostly fluff and sweetness until the end. Sure, I'll be getting those extra one-shots up eventually, so those will have salt, guilt, etc, but the next chapters? Smooth sailing, my friends.

Speaking of sailing, yes, our ships will be sailing by the time this is fully posted. No worries, we'll get a kiss, it's already written and everything.

I keep realizing I'm not really doing anything productive, and I'm like 'Oh! I'll just work on With Time!'. Nope! Can't do that anymore, so I'm finally getting around to those one-shots I've been promising. I'm sure some of you stalk the comments, do any of you remember anything I mentioned getting around to write that took place in the main story but didn't get into a chapter? If you don't that's fine. If you think of anything you want to see, regardless of if I've mentioned it before, just let me know. I'm finally starting a legitimate list. So far, I have Tikki and Plagg talking after the reveal (low priority), Alya and Nino's respective apologies to Adrien, and Gabriel and Nathalie realized they screwed up after the GoodFriends™ launched their whole thing last chapter. Anything else?

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

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[madlori]

Unveiled - Chapter 1

Unveiled, Chapter 1

by MadLori Word Count: 3300 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Read this on AO3

[there will not usually be this many notes, it’s chapter 1]

Biology note: This is mpreg but NOT omegaverse. All genders have both reproductive systems, meaning anybody of any gender can get anyone else pregnant. Men and women exist, but gender presentation is a result of how things are arranged/presented. I'm not super into getting into a ton of details about this. Handwave, handwave.

Note about language: I made the conscious choice not to render anyone's dialogue in a particular accent or dialect, as I felt that in this setting it would be a distraction. We're gonna go with "everyone in the story is fluent in whatever language you'd like them to be speaking."

Note to my existing readers: This is my first story in this fandom. If you have followed me here from Sherlock or another fandom, please take note of the tags - this is unlike anything I've ever written before. My first foray into mpreg or RPF. If those things don't work for you, that's fine, then this fic isn't for you. No need to inform me.

Thank you to burning-up-a-sun and luckie_dee for excellent beta services, and to ljummen and right-of-the-curve for reading and reacting as I banged this out in record time.

-------

Zhenya had hoped to sleep in on his last morning as a bachelor, but his eyes flew open just past dawn and would not close again. 

His wedding day. The culmination of several years’ work -- the selection of his consort-to-be, the negotiations, the contracts, the preparations...all of which he’d had minimal part in, because one simply didn’t arrange their own marriage, let alone their own embargoed marriage.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over and over it in his mind. Ceremony, blessing, consummation, and then...life as usual? Regular people had celebrations after their weddings. They gathered together with their friends and families, ate and drank, danced and celebrated along with the person they’d just married. Lots of photos, smiling faces, Instagram posts and hashtags.

For embargoed spouses, such celebrations were pointless. It was hard to rejoice with your new life partner when you weren’t allowed to see or speak to them, or even to know their name.

All that he knew about the consort was that he was from New Scotland, was Zhenya’s age, and of noble blood. It had been tempting to at least Google him, but poking around an embargo like that was inappropriate, not to mention insulting to the significant sacrifice being made by his new consort. This man had agreed to a restrictive situation to become Zhenya’s husband and bear his child -- the least Zhenya could do was respect his decision. Besides, the consort’s entire online presence would have been digitally embargoed by the palace tech team, which was really meant to shield him from the rest of the world’s snooping, but also served to thwart tempted spouses.

  Zhenya’s parents had asked for quite a bit of input about what sort of person he hoped for as a life partner. They had already known that he preferred a male spouse, and had accepted his one additional condition for a match, but beyond that, he trusted them. He’d known since childhood that his marriage would be arranged and had accepted it, was even grateful for it. It was difficult to meet people when you were a Prince. Zhenya had dated his fair share of men, but he was never sure about their motives -- was his money a factor? his status? his fame? -- and his dates were often put off by the press attention, not to mention the trappings of royalty. He thought his chances of finding happiness with a spouse selected by his parents were possibly better, and certainly no worse. Besides, he didn’t really have it in him to rebel. Refusing to have an embargoed arrangement would be a serious break with tradition, and the very idea was just -- exhausting. 

Sasha, his boisterous, gap-toothed valet, banged into the room at 7:00 a.m. sharp; Zhenya groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “None of that, now. We have to make you look royal, so God knows we need every last second.” Sasha grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. Zhenya yelped and curled into a tight comma on the bed. “Up, you lazy, posh twat.”

“Why did I make you my valet. Why,” Zhenya said, muffled into his pillow. Sasha had not come up through the ranks of the palace staff, as most valets did. He had been a teammate of Zhenya’s on their university hockey team, and some fit of insanity had led Zhenya to conclude that his total lack of finesse in matters of protocol and politics was appropriate for the job. 

“Because you knew I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit and you were right. You’re getting married today, so let’s try and fool all these rubes into thinking you’ve got class, eh?”

Zhenya slumped out of bed, only to be manhandled out of his pajamas by Sasha. “Hey!”

He snorted. “Like I’ve never seen your dick before. And a lot more people are going to be seeing it today, so get over it. Shower, now.”

Zhenya spent the morning being scrubbed, polished, trimmed, neatened, and perfumed to within an inch of his life. Breakfast was brought in, an unusually light meal. “Are they afraid I’m going to throw up?” he grumbled, eating his toast.

“Probably. Are you?”

“No.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“I’m a little anxious. Excited. What’s to be nervous about?”

“I mean…” Sasha made vague gestures all around him at everything.

Zhenya swallowed and sipped at his tea. “Have you heard...anything?”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes. “About my betrothed.”

“Even if I had, I wouldn’t be allowed to share it. If you want to know, you’ll have to hire a hacker to un-embargo his Instagram.” Zhenya just looked at him. Sasha sighed. “All I know is that he and his entourage arrived two nights ago.”

“‘Entourage?”

“His parents are with him, and he’s got his own guards. He’ll have the guards until he’s unveiled. You knew that, right?”

“I know.”

“Other than that they’re all keeping to their quarters. He’s not supposed to be seen until the wedding.”

“He’s not going to be seen after the wedding! Not that anybody knows what he looks like. He could be walking around the palace in a bathing suit eating peaches and nobody would know it was him.”

“The embargo is for your own good, and his. And the kingdom’s.”

“I get it.” And he did, really. If his consort hadn’t conceived within a year, he would be replaced, and that process would be a lot easier for everyone involved if he, and the citizens, hadn’t gotten attached to him. Hence, the embargo. At least, that’s what the clerics said. Endlessly. “I understand the principle. It’s just going to take some getting used to, being married to someone and having sex with him without seeing his face or talking to him.”

Sasha snorted. “C’mon, Zhenya. You’ve had more than your share of hookups.”

“So?”

“How many of their names can you remember, or even their faces? You’re telling me you had deep conversations with them?”

“That’s different. This man will be my husband.”

“I heard that the prince of Patagonia and his consort broke their embargo and fell in love. She didn’t get pregnant so she had to leave, they were both heartbroken, he almost abdicated his throne, it was a horrible mess, he wouldn’t sleep with the new consort and so she had to be replaced, the first consort was disgraced and went into hiding, nobody knows what happened to her and he’s a giant ball of depression.”

Zhenya blinked. “That’s terrible.”

“Honor your embargo, Zhenya.”

He sighed. “I intend to.”

Embargoed marriage ceremonies were small, private affairs. The unveiling was really the big public spectacle, when the kingdom could at last meet their prince’s husband. The wedding was more for the clerical blessing and the witnessed consummation, and a huge gathering for that was considered unseemly. Zhenya had been trained since childhood not to feel immodest for this occasion, but he was still glad that there would only be a few witnesses present.

He walked to the chapel in his custom-made marriage robes, simple but lush as was the current style. Standing outside the chamber were six of his consort’s guards. Their uniforms were pleasingly clean-lined, black and tailored with deep gold trim, and they snapped to attention as he approached, disciplined and in perfect formation. Zhenya nodded to them -- he imagined he’d be getting to know them soon enough -- and passed through.

A heavy drape hung in the center of the dais with a small hole cut in it for their hands to pass through. Zhenya took his place on the left, nodding to the head cleric. He heard rustling from the other side of the drape and a shadow fell upon it; his new consort had taken his place on the other side.

They did not speak during the ceremony, as their embargo forbade them from hearing one another’s voices. The cleric spoke to them; they acknowledged his words with nods of assent to his questions and directives. When he bade them do so, they joined hands through the hole in the drape. Zhenya noted that his betrothed’s hand was square and strong, and gripped his without hesitation, exhibiting no sign of a nervous tremor. A promising start. He shut his eyes and sent up a prayer to whatever deity might be handy...please, let me like him. Please, let him get pregnant quickly. Let him be smart. And if it’s not too much to ask, please, let him be...not hideous.

“You are joined,” the cleric concluded, simply. Two deacons appeared and removed the drape.

His consort was dressed in elegant marriage robes of his own, including a cape and a veil that hid him from view entirely save for his hands. The only new information Zhenya received with the removal of the drape was his consort’s height, about half a head shorter than Zhenya. He smiled at his new husband and they bowed to each other. Zhenya watched as his consort made a silent greeting to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of New Scotland, who Zhenya did not know at all. With over seventeen thousand peerage titles in the world, one couldn’t meet them all, or even a tiny fraction. The consort’s guards had materialized in the chapel and now surrounded their master and escorted him off the dais and off into the chamber where the next and final step would happen.

Zhenya turned to receive his own parents’ congratulations, and a back-slapping hug from Sasha, wildly overstepping his role as a valet as usual. Zhenya’s father rolled his eyes but didn’t chastise him; his parents loved Sasha as they loved Zhenya himself. More, he sometimes suspected. 

The cleric hovered at Zhenya’s elbow. “Your Royal Highness, you are awaited in the antechamber.” 

Sasha winked at him. “Good luck. Do it right the first time and this embargo can end quickly.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely up to me,” Zhenya said, but he hoped for the same. He couldn’t imagine waiting for months on end, walking on eggshells every day, everyone looking askance at him if it dragged on and wondering at his virility if he failed to impregnate his spouse. As if it would be for lack of trying. 

He followed the cleric into the antechamber. His consort would have gone on ahead to be prepared and arranged by his personal attendants, although Zhenya wasn’t quite sure what that meant, beyond the obvious. This situation was generally not intended to produce arousal in both parties, so he damn well hoped that his consort’s “preparation” involved vaginal lubrication of some kind, for both of their comfort. He’d find out soon enough, but first there was still all manner of ceremonial mumbo-jumbo to attend to.

Zhenya wasn’t particularly devout, a fact he kept mostly to himself. At minimum, a visible attention to custom was expected and valued by the citizens, and Zhenya had no wish to disappoint them, or more accurately, to give them cause to distrust him. He respected the beliefs of his parents (mostly his mother) and of the clerics, but he’d have dispensed with the whole rigmarole if he’d had his choice. But this was his duty, so he stood quietly and allowed the clerics to say their blessings over him and waft their burning herbs as his outer robes were removed.

Underneath his robes were his tunic and trousers, which had been made with a flap at the front (“easy access,” Sasha had joked). He wouldn’t undress further than this, at least not for this ceremonial consummation. He’d be expected to achieve a minimum objective today, the most that could be hoped for in these high-pressure and decidedly not private circumstances.

One of the sub-clerics stood at his side. “Your Royal Highness, will you require assistance readying yourself?” he asked, quietly. Sasha, lurking behind him, snorted.

“Assistance?” Zhenya said, puzzled...but then it hit him. He was being asked if he’d need help getting it up. It stood to reason that he might, with people watching and the Fate of the Kingdom Depending and blah blah blah. Anxiety was not typically the friend of erections. The sub-cleric was offering a helping hand, so to speak. Zhenya had heard stories. Supposedly there’d once been a groom nervous enough that the sub-cleric had to use his mouth on him before he could manage it.

Zhenya didn’t think he’d need quite that much assistance; indeed, he hoped he wouldn’t need any. “Let’s...proceed, and we’ll see,” he said. The sub-cleric nodded and went to the door into the main chamber.

It was dim inside, fragrant with burning herbs. Several clerics were lined up at the far side of the room, chanting quietly. Behind a screen stood half a dozen shadowy figures; witnesses, drawn from the nobility and the royal family. Zhenya didn’t know who was back there and he didn’t care to know. He would likely never know; it was considered rude to disclose one’s presence at such an occasion. Zhenya had himself been a witness at his cousin’s consummation five years ago. You really couldn’t see much at all, through the screen and the awkward angle.

At the moment, however, his attention was captivated by the bed in the center of the room, and his consort upon it. He was laid out on his stomach, covered in drapes even including his head -- Zhenya worried for a moment if he could breathe adequately under there. Two of his guards stood at the head of the bed, eyes fixed firmly forward. The drapes extended from over his consort’s head past his feet, and in the center was an oval-shaped cutout exposing what was, without question, the most fantastic backside Zhenya had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen his fair share.

No. He would not be needing assistance. In fact, he felt himself swelling at the sight of just this one part of his new consort’s body. It was odd, and unexpectedly titillating, to be presented with a more-or-less disembodied ass, even if he could see the shape of the rest of the man under the drape -- but, he supposed, that titillation shouldn’t really be unexpected; why else did glory holes exist? Not that he’d ever partaken of such things, in clubs, in his slightly-wilder youth, absolutely not. But this was his husband, not a late night quickie. It wouldn’t be like this all the time, he assured himself. This was just for the ceremonial bit. Future couplings would be much less...ritualized.

They were all looking at him, waiting for him to get to it, but there was a step to be taken first. He glanced at the cleric and nodded. The cleric hesitated, then moved to the head of the bed. This was Zhenya’s personal addition to the ceremonies, and the cleric had been reluctant to deviate from the traditional sequence of events, but Zhenya had insisted.

He had no interest in a spouse who’d been forced into marrying him, as he’d made sure his parents understood before they set out to find him one. “I do have one condition, and it is non-negotiable,” he’d said.

His father had looked surprised. “What is it, son?”

“I require absolute assurance that any consort of mine enters into marriage to me of their own free will, and not under duress.”

His parents had exchanged a glance. “That should not be difficult; marriage into our family is considered very desirable.”

“Be that as it may, I need you to promise me, Father..”

His father had nodded, and seemed even pleased by this directive. “You have my word, son.”

And now, the cleric spoke to the consort on Zhenya’s behalf. “Your Highness,” he said, using the man’s new title -- after the embargo was lifted, he would become His Royal Highness, the same honorific that Zhenya received. “Prince Evgeni wishes me to ask you for your consent before he joins with you.” Zhenya saw the consort’s head turn to the side. “He values your agreement to this consummation.”

The man hesitated. Zhenya saw the surprise in his shoulders. His head turned further,  seeming to look back over his shoulder at Zhenya, and he nodded.

The cleric straightened up. “Does this satisfy Your Royal Highness?” There was just a touch of “are you happy now?” impatience in the cleric’s voice which Zhenya chose to ignore.

Zhenya nodded. He removed his gloves and handed them to Sasha, who was being appropriately quiet and invisible for once in his life. He unbuttoned the flap on the front of his trousers; he was half-erect already and filling fast.

He knelt on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to make any unnecessary contact this first time, but he couldn’t help but run his hands briefly over his husband’s smooth, muscular rear. Just like that, he was fully hard and more than ready. He placed his knees within the drapery cutout on either side of the consort’s hips; the man shifted slightly, spreading his thighs a little bit to give him room. Zhenya reached back and tucked his cock down and against the man’s entrance, relieved to find that he was, indeed, slick. He pressed forward and entered him; Zhenya stifled a groan and felt a shudder pass over the man beneath him. He was tight and warm; Zhenya held still for a moment with his eyes closed and hips pressed against his consort’s impossibly plump ass. 

He braced on his hands and shut his eyes, making smooth, even thrusts. There’d be time later to investigate what kind of sex his husband enjoyed, but now was the time to be quick about it and get the job done. He tried to visualize success, as the clerics liked to say during their instruction, and picture his seed finding its target and blossoming in his consort’s womb. The minimum embargo time was three months; even if he conceived right now, early pregnancy was so delicate that it wasn’t considered official until the three--month mark. After carrying to three months, the consort was accepted into the family and unveiled, even if the child was subsequently lost.

Zhenya had often wondered about consorts who failed to conceive and were replaced. Who was to say that it was their fault? Both parties underwent pre-marriage medical testing to minimize this risk, but bodies were unpredictable. Of course it might not be the consort’s fault; the would-be sire could just as easily be the one whose biology failed them, but such a thing could not be admitted for a royal scion. He’d heard one tale, possibly apocryphal, of a prince whose consort hadn’t conceived -- unwilling to accept defeat, the prince had asked his consort to get him pregnant, which she had done, and their embargo was released.

The contemplation of such machinations was premature, he knew. He and his new consort had only just begun.

As keyed up as he was, it didn’t take long for him to finish. He thrust in deep and spilled, clenching his teeth against the desire to cry out. He felt his consort sigh and press back against him a little, a welcome signal of acknowledgment. Zhenya let his head droop for a moment, then straightened up and pulled out. Sasha was right there with a cloth for him to clean himself before he refastened his pants.

The cleric stepped forward and blessed the union, prayers for the success of the joining, yadda yadda. Zhenya barely paid attention. Sasha was replacing his robe on him, but all Zhenya could do was look at the draped form of his new husband, especially the one part of it that he could see, and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before he could see the rest of it.

He let Sasha lead him out of the chamber, glad that was over -- but in another, very real sense, it was just beginning. He was now a married man, with a responsibility to his consort, who was at something of a disadvantage in this situation. He hoped he could be a good, supportive husband to him, until at last the day came that he’d be allowed to see his face.

Next Chapter

[100storiesin2020]

Chapter 7: Columbia, Part 1

Come read on AO3!

*

It had been a very long week of practices. Blue had been far above her teammates back in Henrietta, but now that she was playing on a college team her new teammates were -literally- running circles around her. Drat that Neil. He hadn't spoken to her much since that first meeting. She wasn't sure if he was treating her differently because of what happened with Mr. Gray, or if it was simply that he struggled with new people. Kevin was also the bane of her existence. It was clear that he resented her presence on the team and didn't think that Neil had picked well. And that whiny little voice! At least try to make a goal. Fuck him.

Her Raven boys hadn't been having much more luck than she had. Gansey had somehow managed to offend nearly every single one of the Foxes individually. She'd overheard him accidentally being condescending to Allison. He got in a fight over some inconsequential history detail with Kevin on Tuesday and they hadn't spoken since. Blue wasn't sure what the problem with Aaron and Andrew were, but figured the twins didn't need much to be set off. Neil and Renee each seemed to distrust him on principle. Gansey's only good relationships on the team were with Dan and Matt, and that was because Gansey treated Dan with absolute, unfailing respect.

As for Ronan and Adam, it was going about as well as Blue could hope. Ronan hadn't gotten into any fights, and Adam was on neutral ground with everyone so far. Neither of them trusted any of the Foxes, but maybe that would come with time. They'd decided not to come out to the team until everyone was more comfortable with each other, which Gansey and Blue had promised to respect. Also, Gansey and Blue had a private betting pool on who would figure out their relationship first (the Foxes' gambling habits were addictive). Blue's money was on Renee.

Blue woke up on Friday morning feeling terribly homesick. It was nice to be on her own, but change was hard, and this morning she missed it all. The constant chatter of Fox Way. The quiet of her small bedroom. The tree with her father in the backyard. The knowing eyes of her mother. Carla's brashness. Persephone's oddities. Noah.

Noah would have loved to come to Palmetto, Blue thought as she cried silently.

Just as she was preparing to get up, she heard noises from the other side of the room. Crap. Up until this point, Blue had been the first awake every morning, and nobody had seen her without makeup yet. She only wore foundation. The other Foxes probably wouldn't judge her for her scars, but she didn't feel like explaining them. Maybe the other girls would leave her be and she could sneak to the bathroom later.

No such luck. Allison poked her head up over the side of the bunk. "Rise and shine, freshman."

"Go away."

"Oh my god, are you crying?" Even better. Blue sat up and turned to Allison to give her a proper tongue lashing but froze at the astonished look she received. Allison continued to stare for several seconds before breaking the silence again. "Damn, girl, you look like someone tried to gouge your eye out."

Blue threw a pillow at her. "Someone did. Go away." Blue threw the covers over her head and, blessedly, Allison left without another word.

Blue listened as the girls got ready, waiting for Allison to tell them all what had happened, but she never did. She woke up Dan and Renee and hustled them to the kitchen with promises of coffee, leaving Blue alone. Blue immediately jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom to put on her foundation. Then she got dressed and joined the others for breakfast.

Everything was as it had been for the last few days. Dan was throwing frozen waffles in the toaster and singing some dorky Disney song. Allison was sitting across from Renee, looking entirely too awake for a morning and chatting away, and Renee was sleepily sipping coffee and ignoring the other two. "Oh hey, Blue!" Dan said. "Want a waffle?"

Blue took a waffle and a container of yogurt and sat at the table, eyeing Allison. Allison looked at her and shook her head briefly before returning to her one sided conversation with Renee. She hadn't told the other girls, then. Blue contemplated that as she ate her waffles. She disliked Allison. Her constant perfection grated on Blue - the hair, the makeup, the expensive and tasteful clothes. In nearly all respects Allison strove to fulfill the feminine attributes as defined by the patriarchy. Also, she was a jerk.

She did have some nice biceps, though. Blue would give her that.

"So, Blue, what are your plans for the weekend?" Dan asked, sitting across the table with her own plate of waffles."

"Oh, yeah, its Friday already." What a week. "I promised Andrew I would go to Columbia with them tonight."

Dan's face turned hard. "You don't say," she said flatly. She stood, abandoning her waffles, and marched out the front door.

"That short little Monster dared to invite you to Columbia, did he?" Allison snorted. "Dan will never allow it."

"Why not?" Blue demanded.

"You haven't heard what he does there! The last person he took chose to hitchhike back rather than spent another minute with them."

Blue snorted. "Was it Neil?"

Allison laughed. "Who else would pull a stunt like that?"

"I will have to risk it. I did promise. I owe him for it."

"Keeping promises is the best way to get to Andrew," Renee said. The coffee was finally kicking in and she looked at least semi-awake. "He will respect you for it."

At that point the door opened and Dan returned, looking much calmer. "You have my blessing for Columbia." She took a seat and dug into a waffle as Allison stared at her. 

"But what about-"

"It's okay, babe," Renee cut her off, smiling sweetly. "It'll be different this year, and I think Blue can take care of herself."

***************************

They had just finished afternoon practices and Blue was starting to feel like she had been forgotten. As the team was leaving the building, she sidled up next to Neil. "So what's the plan for Columbia tonight? I haven't heard anything yet."

"We're going out for ice cream and then to a club," he responded. "Leaving at 5. Wear all black, if you have it."

Blue rolled her eyes at his smirk. Her neon exercise clothes were awesome, thank you very much. "I'll manage the black, but I am a little underage for a club. As are you, I believe."

"Not a problem."

"Okay then. What time will we be back?"

Neil seemed surprised at that question, the oblivious fool. "Oh, Nicky has a house in Columbia. We usually stay there overnight. That way we can be out late and drive back sober the next day."

Blue nodded. "Sounds good."

At that moment Gansey went past. "What sounds good?" he asked with a smile.

"Oh, I'm going to Columbia with Andrew and Neil and..." she trailed off.

"Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky. We're going for ice cream and to show Blue around the city," Neil finished smoothly. Apparently he didn't think Gansey would approve of the club.

Gansey nodded. "I hope you have a splendid time, Jane. Could I perhaps join you?"

"No, you and Adam are leaving to attend your mother's event tomorrow."

"That's tomorrow?" 

Blue rolled her eyes, but fondly. "Yes, it's tomorrow. You and Adam are going back to the tower to grab the bags you packed earlier today, and then you're leaving." Gansey looked relieved. "Now you boys stay out of trouble, and don't do anything that I would do."

Neil laughed. "Shouldn't you say, don't do anything I wouldn't do?"

"No, no, she was quite correct the first time," Gansey laughed. "You would have appreciated the scathing remarks at the last thing Jane attended. The Senator was scandalized. I'll see you later, Jane!" He hugged her close before leaving.

Neil watched him go with a bemused expression. "Is... is he alright in the head? He seems very forgetful."

"Oh, he's alright. The second time he died really messed with his sense of time."

"The second time he WHAT?"

"Oh, look, its Ronan. I've got to go talk to him. See you tonight!" Blue sprinted toward the BMW and hopped into the passenger seat just before it roared to life. She threw on her seatbelt as he peeled out of the lot, leaving a very confused Neil staring after them. "Hey, do you have any spare black shirts I can have?"

"Why, maggot?"

"I'm apparently going to a club with Andrew and Company tonight, and I've been informed that the dress code is all black."

Ronan laughed, a harsh sound. "Do you even own anything that is solidly black?"

"Why do you think I'm asking you?" Ronan groaned. "Also, I know you can just dream yourself a new shirt."

Ronan raised an eyebrow at her before turning his attention back to the road. "I'm surprised you don't just ask me to dream you a whole outfit."

"I don't trust you to get it right." Also, she enjoyed the making of things.

"I'm not giving you my stuff."

"Don't be such a shithead."

"Fine," he snapped, "but you owe me. Also you're getting a failed dream shirt."

Blue grinned. This was going to be fun.

**********************

It was obvious why Ronan had dubbed this shirt a failure. It was massive, longer than Blue was tall, and ripped through as if attacked with knives, or perhaps clawed through by a night horror. That said, the fabric was sturdy but soft, and it was one of the most fascinating things Blue had ever looked at. If you inspected it closely, it was definitely a solid black. Or was it? Seen from the corner of your eye, it swirled with overtones of color, like the sheen of an oil slick, always there but just out of sight.

Blue had a great time transforming it in the hour before she had to leave. She chopped off the bottom just above her knees, leaving it ragged. She used the rips as a starting point to pleat the fabric in odd directions, pulling it in on itself again and again until it finally fit around her waist, then belted it with a silver ribbon. She had silver knee high boots to match (a lucky secondhand find) and some black fingerless gloves which she had knitted for Ronan (it wasn't her fault they had shrunk in the wash). The girls whistled when she strode out into the living room area.

"You look beautiful, Blue," Renee said, sweet as always. "You are obviously quite talented."

"I can't believe you threw that together in an hour," Dan added.

Allison looked up from her phone, gave her a cursory once-over, and went back to texting. Silence was better than the cutting insults Blue had been receiving all week, so she would take that gladly. She said farewell to the girls and headed out the door, clothes for the next day packed in her backpack.

Ronan was waiting for her in the hallway, leaning casually against the door with a small duffle bag and Chainsaw on his shoulder. "Ready to head out, maggot?"

Blue raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were invited."

Ronan snorted. "As if I'd miss an opportunity to drink."

"He totally invited himself," Nicky called as he came down the hallway. "Knocked on our door and asked when we were going, wouldn't take no for an answer. Hold on, is that a bird?" Chainsaw cawed and flapped her wings, making Nicky duck. "Okay, you have a pet crow-" "Raven" "-raven, good god you're terrifying. Hot, but terrifying. Anyway, y'all ready to head out?"

Blue eyed him for a minute. "I'm ready as soon as I get some of that glitter you're dusted with."

"You're not getting fucking glitter in my car, maggot. And I'm not riding in that orange monstrosity."

"Hey, my orange monstrosity has quite the pedigree, I'll let you know." Ronan laughed. "But I suppose I've inflicted enough torture on you today." They followed Nicky into the parking lot where the other four were already in Andrew's Maserati. Nicky hopped in the backseat of the BMW to give directions in case the cars got separated, but sat as far to the side as possible after Ronan buckled in Chainsaw.

Once they were on the road, Blue asked, "How come Nicky can get glitter in your car and I can't"

"Nicky didn't steal my shirt, you fucking menace. Also, there's still some back there from the last time Henry decided to deck himself out."

"Who's Henry?" Nicky asked.

"A friend from Henrietta," Blue replied. "He didn't play Exy with us, but he'll be coming to school here in the spring semester, so you'll get to meet him at some point."

"Can't escape him forever," Ronan muttered.

"Shut up, you like Henry."

"He's a worse fucking nuisance than you are."

"And yet you still hang out with him. Anyway, Nicky, I think you'll like him. He's loud and fun and loves glitter as much as Noah does."

"Who is Noah?"

"Someone I miss a lot," Blue said sadly. The rest of the ride was mostly silent, beyond random chirping of kerah from the backseat. Nicky started to quietly give directions as they neared the city, and soon they pulled up to a place called Sweetie's.

Ronan pulled up next to the Maserati and everyone got out of their respective cars. "Guys!" Nicky yelled. "I can't believe I survived a trip sitting next to that omen of death!"

"Oh fuck off, Nicky, Chainsaw is harmless."

"You sure about that?" Ronan asked, grin sharp enough to slice.

"Actually, no. Not when Nicky has been pissing you off," Blue conceded. Nicky was apparently too intimidated by Ronan to flirt directly, but kept hitting on Adam. Adam was amused. Ronan was not.

"What did I do?" Nicky yelped as Chainsaw swooped at his head. Blue and Ronan laughed, and surprisingly Aaron and Neil did as well. As soon as those two realized they were both laughing at the same thing, they gave each other a look and turned away, pretending that it had never happened. Interesting. The whole group started walking into Sweeties, Kevin insisting all the while they will never let a bird in here. Ronan just shrugged and whistled, holding out his arm. Chainsaw landed, claws digging into his leather jacket. Blue had stolen the jacket and modified it to have more padding in the places Chainsaw liked to land. Ronan had never acknowledged it, but he wore the jacket more often now, and that was all the thanks Blue could ever ask for. Ronan tucked Chainsaw close to his chest as they walked in.

The group claimed a table that seemed to be a regular spot for Andrew and Co, as Blue had dubbed them. She'd heard the upperclassmen calling them "the monsters," of course, but didn't care for the nickname. She'd met real monsters. She suspected these boys had, too.

Nicky ordered the ice cream special for the table and Ronan added some baskets of fries. Chainsaw cawed only once before Ronan shoved a fry in her beak. The waitress sent them many sidelong glances, but as long as Chainsaw was quiet, she seemed reluctant to throw out a group of regulars. Blue sat back and observed the table as everyone ate. Andrew was staring out the window with Neil pressed into his side (there really wasn't room at this table for everyone). Occasionally they would mutter to each other in what sounded like Russian. Aaron was texting and sometimes getting dragged into conversation with Kevin. Nicky was chatty and bubbly and barely getting any ice cream into his mouth because of it. He was the only one really talking, Blue realized. He looked tired and stressed below the smile, as if he were trying too hard to be the happy one and needed a break. Blue knew that look. She wore it herself, sometimes.

Just like that, Nicky pulled her into the conversation. "So tell us how you and Gansey met."

I'm never making eye contact with him again, she grumbled to herself. "Well he insulted me at my job, accidently calling me a prostitute, and then I ran into him again the next day when he came to my mom for a reading."

Nicky stared at her. "Well, we don't have time to unpack all of that," he gave his best Mulaney impression. "But I'd really like to. A prostitute? Really?"

Blue grinned. "Not in those words."

"She sure put him in his place," Ronan added. "You should have seen his face."

"Yeah, I about strangled him when y'all showed up that next day," she laughed.

"So what do you mean, they came for a reading?" Nicky asked.

Blue sighed. She had gone a whole week without telling anyone but Renee, and now she was basically telling the whole team by telling Nicky. "My mom is a psychic," she explained. "A legit one. Her readings aren't always precise, but they're always true. And if you're one of the 'lucky' ones to get a precise one, well."

Nicky immediately launched into a spiel about how he'd been to a lot of psychics. They all sounded fake, in her opinion. Too much drama, not enough soul, as all fake psychics were. "So can you do a reading for me?" he asked excitedly.

"No, I didn't inherit any of the psychic talent." Still a sore point. "I sat in on a lot of readings, and I could definitely pass myself off as a faker, but there's no talent there."

"Adam could probably do a reading if you asked nicely," Ronan muttered.

Nicky beamed. "Is he a psychic?"

"Yes, my sort-of-aunt Persephone taught him. Though if you really want to talk to a true psychic, you should ask Wymack." The whole table gave her startled looks. "Come on, guys. How do you think he finds troubled kids?" Kevin nodded at that, looking thoughtful. 

Nicky wasn't to be deterred. "Could Adam maybe use his fancy psychic skills to help me win some bets?"

"Not a chance."

"Too bad. There's some good pots out there."

"Really? What on?" Blue asked.

"Oh, the usual. Most of the big ones involve all of you, though, so if I tell you I risk spoiling them."

Ronan turned to Aaron. "What exactly do I need to do to make this annoying dipshit lose money?"

Aaron looked up from his phone and gave a small shrug before continuing to text. "There's a bet on when you'll fight someone, a bet on your relationship status, and one on your sexuality." Blue was surprised. That was the longest sentence she had ever heard from him, as well as the least assholish one.

"My sexuality isn't a fucking gambling pot," Ronan snarled. "It's none of your fucking business." He stood up, making Chainsaw squawk in indignation as he pushed Blue and Kevin out of the bench so he could stomp off.

Blue didn't follow, but she did kick Nicky in the shins. "That's a horrible thing to bet on."

"It's not the first time," Kevin said. "They had a similar bet last year when-" he cut off with a grunt as Aaron imitated Blue's kicking technique. "Hey!"

"Shut up, you'll ruin the pot!"

Oh, that was interesting. Blue would have to think about that exchange. The topic turned to Exy strategy as they finished their ice cream, just in time for Ronan to come back to the table. Andrew left a pile of money on the table, enough for the ice cream and a good-sized tip. Blue added another $10 on behalf of Chainsaw as they headed out the door. "Where are we going next?" she asked.

"Eden's."

[onewaywardwitch]

Just A Typo (6/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2275

A/N: I’m so happy to finally get to post this part! I’ve been most excited for this one. Thanks for all the love on the previous parts, enjoy part 6!

If someone had told me a month ago that I'd be spending my days working as the security analyst for Stark Industries and my nights chatting with the Avengers, I'd have asked how much they had to drink. It's amazing how an illegal act can completely turn your life around, and not in the ‘sent to prison’ sense.

Fortunately for me, Wanda took me under her wing. She was determined to have another female presence around in a tower overflowing with testosterone and I wasn’t complaining. I appreciated her company just as much as she did.

Everyone was far more welcoming. Well, almost everyone. Natasha still seemed adamant on ignoring me. But with Sam constantly joking around with me, it was easier to forget about it. I had become a common visitor of the residents upstairs and I loved getting to know their actual personalities rather than the superhero personas the world had grown so used to seeing. Like how Tony won’t speak to anyone before his morning coffee. Or how Bruce has to be brought food throughout the day, or else he would simply forget to eat.

But Bucky remained an enigma that I couldn’t crack.

It wasn’t that we didn’t spend time together. We did. And many times, I enjoyed being near him more than some of the louder Avengers. We were never hanging out alone, though. He was a lot quieter when I was around, but I didn’t take it personally. He was obviously still a bit nervous being around anyone other than his teammates, but I liked to think that I was growing on him. At least he sat down and talked to me with everyone else now, instead of just running out of the room. And I adored having more than just two friends. The top floor had quickly become a second home to me.

~~~~~

I ran my hand through my hair for what felt like the seventh time in five minutes. For some reason, the system I was planning on installing for Stark Industries was not cooperating with me. I was forced to keep changing around the algorithm and every new sequence was rejected, not working in the slightest. It didn’t help that I had already gone through a full pack of Haribo and had none left. Timothy, one of my co-workers with a strange love for the worst movies ever made, kept glancing at me every time I let out a frustrated groan. Whenever he looked over, he opened his mouth as if to ask me something, before closing it again. It didn’t take long for me to snap.

“If you’ve got something to say spit it out. You look like a fish doing that.” I should have felt bad for snapping at him. He was a nice enough person, and I had been informed by the secretary down the hall that he harboured a small crush for me. Unfortunately for him, I was prepared to pick a fight with anyone. He just happened to be on the receiving end of it.

“I, um, I was just wondering if you... if you needed a hand with whatever you're working on?” he asked me, nervously wringing his hands.

I stared blankly at him. My lack of response caused his expression to change from slightly hopeful yet nervous, to absolutely terrified.

Stop it, don’t be a bitch, he’s just being nice. You can do this, politely decline his offer. There's no need to make a scene.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Well, that didn’t work.

“Am I not capable of doing it myself now, huh? I can do it perfectly fine. The system is stupid, that’s all. I don’t need your help because you'll end up pissing me off even more than you already have.”

Wow, ok, enough. Close your mouth. Bite your tongue. Walk away. Do anything other than talking to him.

“And also, you are literally the only person in the world who actually likes ‘Sharknado’.”

Why? Why would you say that? You absolute idiot.

I turned back to the computer that I was incredibly close to smashing as I ignored Tim’s deflated expression. He moved back to continue on with whatever he was working on himself. I typed in new lines of code on my screen, praying that these would work. While I waited for the outcome, I started to feel a bit guilty. I was stressed about my job that I was really desperate not to lose and I was taking it out on whoever was closest to me, which just so happened to be Tim.

“Oh shit!”

The second I turned to apologise, I felt hand on my shoulder, scaring the absolute crap out of me.

“Sorry! I called your name and you didn’t answer. You looked deep in thought,” Bucky said uncertainly. I instantly relaxed in his presence and chuckled.

“It's ok, my fault anyway. I should have been paying attention to what was going on around me. It just gets interesting up here sometimes,” I tapped my head as I spoke.

Great, now he thinks you're a lunatic.

Bucky offered me a small smile, which I had come to expect from him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tim. I tried to ignore him. I really did. When he first saw Bucky come over to me his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. That look of awe turned to one of amusement when he saw me make a complete fool out of myself. I stared pointedly at him until he got the message and returned to his computer. Bucky raised his eyebrows at me, and I shook my head in reply.

So much for Tim’s apology.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Um, Tony sent me to get you. He wanted to talk to you about, er… something computer related, I think.”

“He could have called me, you know. You didn’t have to come all the way down here.”

“He wanted me to get you in person. Plus, I had to talk to someone down in communications anyway.”

I nodded and got up to leave with Bucky, completely forgetting about the system that had me wound up only minutes ago.

~~~~~

Why does elevator music always make everything so uncomfortable and awkward? I was desperately searching for a way to fill the silence but for once in my life my mind was blank. I heard Bucky mumble something, seemingly to himself. I brushed it off before he spoke up more confidently.

“I like your jumper.”

I swear, I had never turned red so quickly. It felt like my whole face was on fire. How did everything he say make me feel so giddy?

“Thanks! But it's actually my friend, Angie’s. She left it at my apartment a few days ago and I haven’t had a chance to return it yet. I don’t know why I said that, it's a lie. She forgot it at mine over a year ago and I really like it.” I didn’t think I could blush any harder. I was wrong.

“You're really close with your two friends, huh?” Bucky questioned. I relaxed quickly. I always found it easier to talk about anything that wasn’t about me directly.

“They're complete idiots, but I love them. They're my family. I'd be lost without them. I mean, Becca’s good fun and Angie is our designated babysitter most of the time.”

He let out a low laugh. “I guess I know how she feels. I'm always running around after Steve, trying to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

“Really?”

Bucky also seemed more at ease with the direction the conversation had taken. “It was worse back in the 40’s though. He was picking fights left, right, and centre. There was no super soldier serum to help him back then. He was just a kid with good intentions and twig-like arms.”

The ding of the elevator interrupted our chat. We stepped out, but I paused before we walked any further. Bucky turned to question me, and I stared open-mouthed at him.

“God, I was such a bitch to Tim!” I exclaimed suddenly, Bucky looking at me in surprise. “He was just trying to help me, and I-.“ I couldn’t even finish my sentence as I was overcome by fit of giggles. “I told him that nobody likes ‘Sharknado’ except for him!”

“Shark what?”

“Have you never heard of ‘Sharknado’? We have to watch it! It's a terrible film.”

“If it's so bad why do I have to watch it?”

“Because, it's a good bad movie. You watch it knowing it's going to be terrible and then you just give out about it afterwards. The full 21st century experience,” I explained to a very perplexed superhero. “Let’s go, best not to leave his royal highness waiting.”

~~~~~

Turns out Tony had summoned me to ask a single question about my work, before requesting advice on the nicest cafés in the area to bring Pepper to. We spent nearly an hour arguing over which is nicer, pancakes or waffles. He refused to accept the fact that pancakes are clearly superior and resorted to folding his arms and huffing like a child.

I finally made a move to leave when Tony told me he had some Avengers business to attend to.

“Next time you want a chat,” I said to him as I put on my jacket,” just give me a call. You didn’t need to send poor Bucky all the way down to me. He probably has better things to be doing.”

Tony snorted. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? He volunteered to get you. The second I mentioned I needed to talk to you, he all but ran off to find you.”

I scoffed and chose to ignore what Tony had said. “Bye, Mario!” I yelled back to him, making sure to close the door on his sounds of annoyance.

~~~~~

Some people can sense bad things just before it happens. Hairs standing on the back of your neck, chills down your spine. Some sort of sixth sense, I guess. Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of those people.

I was sitting in my empty, broken bathtub with my laptop, as you do, when I heard the crash. My head shot up immediately, staring at my bathroom door that I had left slightly ajar.

“It's nothing, you're imagining things.” I tried to convince myself I was hearing things until I heard what I assumed was one of my mugs crashing to the ground.

I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, and I willed myself to calm down. Placing my laptop carefully aside as quietly as I possibly could, I crawled out of the bath and creeped my way towards the door.

I peered my head out, nervously chewing on my lower lip. It was only a matter of seconds before I gasped and closed the door in panic. I made sure to do so silently and I held a hand over my mouth to control the ragged breaths that I could no longer control.

With shaking hands, I locked the door and took out my phone that felt stuck in my pocket. My only focus was calling the first person that popped into my head.

“Come on, come on,” I muttered, begging for a small ounce of luck.

“Miss me already?”

I sighed in relief. “Tony, there’re people in my apartment. Can you- can you send someone over please. I'm kind of panicking.”

There was a momentary pause and a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the phone before-

“Y/N listen to me. You need to get out of there right now. We’ll be there as fast as we can. Can you get to your front door?”

“I can’t, they’ll see me.”

“Shit,” I heard Tony breath out. “Alright, odds are they’re looking for your laptop so hang tight, hopefully they won’t be looking for you.

I groaned internally and stared at my laptop that I had forgotten about in the bath. Just my luck.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work. My laptop is with me.”

“You bring your laptop to the bathroom?”

“Some people bring their phones, I bring my laptop. Stop judging me.”

Tony decided to ignore my last comment, instead informing me that they were on their way. He asked if I could still hear the people in my apartment.

“Um, no, I don’t think I- “

The bang on the bathroom door made me jump and I clutched the phone tighter. I covered my mouth with my hand, willing myself to stop shaking. A second bang, and I took a few steps backwards slowly. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the door that I knew wouldn’t withstand much more. It took me a few seconds to realise that Tony had been shouting my name.

“Tony,” I whispered,” please tell me you’re nearby.”

I could hear him talking to someone else, his impatient tone not doing anything to reassure me.

“Still 10 minutes out, kid.”

Before Tony could even finish his sentence, the door came crashing down. I screamed, trying to shield my eyes from the splintered wood.

A man dressed entirely in black tactical gear made a move to grab me, and I dropped my phone in a panic.

“TONY!” I screamed. My attempt to remove myself from his grip was futile. He had grabbed my body and dragged me to where the rest of his team were waiting in my now destroyed kitchen. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice the fist that flew towards my face before everything went black.

Taglist (open):

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[dface]

5 times peter found new mentors + the 1 time he has his old one back

chapter three : sam 

Two months after Tony's funeral, aliens attack New York for the fourth time. 

It's a Saturday, which means Peter is at Stark Tower, training with Wanda. After the compound was destroyed in the battle, Pepper bought back Stark Tower, to be a temporary space for the Avengers– or whomever is left. Peter tries to spend a few days a month bonding with the team– mostly to get away from May's worried glances. At least if he wakes up with nightmares, his room at the Tower is soundproof. 

He's sparring with Wanda with Bucky as a watchful eye, when they get a call from Captain Marvel. The comms message goes in and out, but the attack incoming is clear. Sam tells everyone to suit up and then the sky explodes. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, just grabs his shield and jumps out of the window. 

​“Team, do you copy?” Captain Marvel says.

​“Danvers, you better have a good reason for this,” Sam says, sounding an awful lot like Steve.

​“Does needing backup count as a good reason?”

Peter flips out of the Tower, shooting a web at the building across from him. The air is crisp, though he can’t feel much of it through the nanotech of the suit. As he swings between skyscrapers KAREN starts displaying close up images of the aliens- insect-like creatures with large, jagged jaws.

“These ones have quite a bite,” Captain Marvel warns, and Peter can hear the exhaustion in her tone. He hasn’t seen her since the battle at the compound, since everything with the gauntlet-

NO. Peter wills the thoughts out of his head. He can’t get distracted, not on a mission like this, not with so many lives on the line.

"KAREN, find me some aliens to web up," he says, and his field of vision lights up with activity, pulling up images from cameras around the city. He swings towards a group that seems to be overpowering Wanda, a few blocks from the Tower. The tech in his suit outlines the aliens in red, keeping Wanda a cool blue.  

“Would you like me to activate Instant Kill?” KAREN says, and Peter falters, landing sloppily on a rooftop. The words are too similar, and for a second his mind flashes back to that brown, bloody battlefield. He blinks and returns to himself, shaking out his hands.

“No,” he says, and shoots a new web. As he swings KAREN is silent, like she knows the damage she’s done.

“Do we know why they’re attacking?” Sam asks. Peter perches on a fire escape above Wanda and starts webbing up the aliens closest to her.

“Maybe they just wanted to pester us,” he says, and is met with a chorus of groans.

“Just focus on keeping them away from civilians, Spider-twerp.”

“Aye-aye, Cap!” Peter chirps. He swings down to land a kick to the last standing alien and then raises his hand to Wanda. With a grin she tries to hide, she high-fives him– and then he's off again, swinging around the corner. 

"I got a swarm making their way up Madison,” he says, shooting a taser web at the new pack of enemies. The aliens turn and hiss in his direction, the sound like coins rattling around in an empty jar. Peter's heart clenches. He finds himself trying to keep his distance, webbing the monsters up against building walls.

"I'm all clear," Bucky says. 

"I'm good too," says Rhodey. "Anyone need a hand?" 

Peter is about to ask for help, his chest feeling strangely tight, when the sky above him splits with the roar. A large black ship comes into view, the lowest point grazing the top of the Tower. Captain Marvel, Sam, and Bucky all curse at the same time. 

 "What is that?" Peter says, but then the ship glows blue and Peter's spidey-sense explodes. He lets go of the web he's swinging on and drops as what sounds like thunder crashes above him. Around him, glass shatters and bricks crack. He hits the ground and runs into an alleyway, dodging falling debris. 

"What the hell–" 

"-the biggest energy pulse–"

"The building on 61st is collapsing–" 

There is so much noise, and it's like Peter's senses have gone haywire from the pulse. Screams of civilians and shouts of his teammates overlap, and his eyes squeeze shut with the force of it. He stumbles, his hand against the brick building, and the jagged edges feel like they're piercing his skin. Everything feels like fresh pain, like a million paper cuts. 

"KAREN, sensory overload–" Peter says, and a moment later the sound around him is muffled. When he opens his eyes, everything is darker, like he's wearing sunglasses. The pain is still there, but Peter can actually hear words again, so he considers it a win. 

"Does anyone have eyes on Spider-man?" Sam says. Peter pulls himself up against the wall. 

"I'm here, I'm fine. I just fell," he says. His ears are still ringing, pin-pointing cries for help around him, magnifying them until he can't hear himself think. Captain Marvel is explaining the alien ship's tech, but Peter can't hear her over the sounds of a baby crying, maybe a few blocks away. Peter can feel her panic. It sets in his bones, vibrating from the inside out. His hands shake as he lifts them to his head, tries to focus on the little girl's wails, to pinpoint her location. 

"Wanda, Peter, Bucky, secure a perimeter and get people to safety," Sam says, and the baby hiccups, as if to agree. Peter stands and follows the sounds of her sniffles, runs down an alleyway and crawls under a fallen sign, to where a young girl is sitting, looking lost. She must be three or four, with curly brown hair and long, wet eyelashes. She doesn't react when Peter scoops her up and starts running again. 

"Perimeter starts at 30th," Bucky says, so Peter turns left and then springs into the air when the aliens spot him. He shoots a web and swings past them, keeping one arm curled tightly around the toddler. Surprisingly she doesn't scream, just wraps a chubby arm around his neck and squeezes. 

There's a cop standing by the corner of 30th and Park Ave, waving crowds of people down the street. She freezes when Peter lands in front of her. 

"Spider-Man," she says. Peter holds out the girl. 

"Found her alone," he pants, "take her for me." 

The officer takes the child in her arms and Peter turns. There are more aliens flying towards them, buzzing wildly. Peter, for a moment, can't do anything but stare at the hoard of them, his heart in his throat. 

Then he hears the little girl whimper, tucking her face into the cop's neck, and he starts running. Shooting webs with both hands, he pulls himself up and over the aliens, landing a kick as he passes overhead. It does what he wants, gets their attention, makes them turn and chase him. Running along the side of a building, he tries to think of a plan to deal with the aliens– and comes up short. It's like his brain can't process the information around him, focusing more on how he's bound to slip, that the aliens sound like they're getting closer– and then something latches onto his leg and tugs from below, pulling him back to the pavement. The alien launches onto him before he can think, it’s pincers digging into his shoulders. It's mouth takes up most of it's face, drool dripping, sizzling where it lands on Peter's suit. 

“No!” he yelps, squirming. The alien’s teeth get close to Peter's neck and he panics, kicking hard with his feet and launching it into the air. The stench of the it’s breath lingers, and suddenly it is all too much. Peter's instincts stop telling him when to duck or what's coming up behind him, instead telling him to run run RUN. 

He listens to it, swinging through the streets of Manhattan without a glance at the world around him, his heart hammering. There is another wave of energy and this time Peter isn't prepared. The web snaps and he falls, landing hard on the pavement. Chunks of nearby buildings pepper the ground around him. He stands and tries to start walking, but he can hardly focus. Everything reminds him too much of the last battle, of the creatures he had killed, of the bullets raining down, of Tony's ashen face– 

A piece of cement hits Peter in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground again. He curls inward instinctively, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground and stay there, untouchable. All he can hear is his own heart, beating three times too fast.

"Peter, it appears you are experiencing another panic attack," KAREN says. 

"Someone," he calls into the comms between shallow breaths, "I need help." 

"Would you like me to engage the Time-Out Protocol?" KAREN asks. 

Peter wants to laugh, but doesn't have enough air in his lungs to do so. 

Tony had created the protocol long before everything with Thanos, after Peter had a panic attack during a late-night patrol and passed out on a random rooftop. There are two steps: dull Peter's senses so he can focus on breathing, and then call one of his emergency contacts. 

"No," he says.

"Are you sure?"

The only contact Peter had programmed into the system was Tony.

"No one is available." He chokes on dust or maybe a sob, his vision blurry with tears. 

"Mr. Stark added more contacts to the system," KAREN says softly. 

"What?" 

"Most of your teammates are listed as options. Would you like me to choose one?" 

Photos of Rhodey, Sam, and Wanda appear on the screen. There is an empty slot where Tony's picture used to appear, a grey box that KAREN left untouched. Peter's chest pain spreads through his body, like blood oozing from a wound. 

"No." 

"Peter, your conditions are worsening." 

"I don't want any of them," Peter says, pulling his knees to his chest. 

"Does anyone have an extra hand? Getting swarmed over by the tunnel," Captain Marvel says over the comms. For a moment Peter sees her standing over him at the compound, the infinity gauntlet warm in his arms. He can hear people dying, the heart beats stopping abruptly, the moans of wounds and blood. He doesn't know where Mr. Stark is and if he's still hurt from that stab wound Thanos gave him, or why he looks so much older. He's exhausted and scared, terrified at the thought of having to get up and face the world again, and there are so many monsters here– 

"Spider-man, do you copy?" Sam calls, and Peter comes back to Earth. He is curled under a dumpster. There are no aliens near him, just a cat with matted grey fur, staring at him like he stole her spot. 

"Spider-man, are you hit?" Sam says. 

"No," Peter says.

"Where are you?" 

"Um," Peter says. The cat is headbutting his shoulder. 

"Give me a location kid, I'll come to you," Sam says, and this time he is much softer. 

Peter crawls out from underneath the dumpster and hobbles to the corner of the street. 

"41st and 10th," he says, and then sits back down, leaning against the building closest to him. 

After only a minute, Sam soars over to the corner, dropping down to a crouch. Peter shrinks into himself, pressing against the wall. Sam's wings fold in on themselves as he tugs off his goggles. 

"Hey Pete," Sam says, slow and soft. "You wanna tell me what's going on?" 

Peter can’t find the words to explain. He sits and stares up at Sam, fighting for breath. 

“Are you hit?” Sam asks, stepping closer. 

Peter shakes his head. He feels like himself before the bite, when he had asthma attacks after running up a flight of stairs. His mask recedes and the New York air helps slightly, but not much. 

Sam crouches in front of him. 

“Can I touch you?” 

Peter nods. Sam takes hold of his wrist. The suit retracts from his hand, leaving it bare. Sam waits until it’s finished before placing it against his chest. 

“Close your eyes and count along with my heartbeat. When you get to ten, count back down to one.” 

Peter can hear Sam’s heart with his super hearing alone, but doesn’t pull his hand back. The material of Sam’s suit feels nice under his palm, smooth leather and cool metal combined. 

Slowly, the world comes back to him. His shoulders drop in relief when he can breathe, and Sam notices it. He sits on the ground across from Peter, his black boots grazing Peter’s suited feet. 

“Better?” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, “thanks.”

“You ready to talk about it?”

Peter studies the palm of his still-bare hand. As usual, the shame floods through him in waves. As if Sam can read his mind, he nudges Peter’s foot with his. 

“Hey. No reason to feel weird or embarrassed about any of this. It happens. If you don’t want to talk just yet, we can wait.”

Peter glances up at Sam. He’s staring at Peter head on, eyes warm with patience and understanding. He can still hear Sam’s heartbeat, strong and present and grounding. 

"I haven't fought in a big battle like this since–" Peter can’t finish the sentence, so Sam speaks for him. 

"The one at the old compound.”

Peter ducks his head back down.

"Sorry," he says, face flushing. "I should be better at all this." 

"Don't apologize," Sam says, nudging Peter's foot again. "You're dealing with stuff no other kid your age has even thought about. Anybody would have trouble with all of this– and they do." 

There is a moment of silence that Peter uses to wipe at his face as discreetly as he can. 

"Did you know I used to be a counselor?” Sam says. “I helped veterans who were dealing with life after war. It can be really helpful, to have a place where you can talk about all that, with someone who can understand." 

It takes a minute for Peter to connect the dots. 

“Oh,” he says, his eyes wide. Sam smiles and shrugs. 

"If you ever wanted to chat, you could spend some time at my apartment. When I'm not flying around the city, I can be a pretty good listener."

“I think… that would be cool,” Peter says, after another moment. Sam nods a few times, then stands and holds out a hand. Peter takes it and lets Sam pull him up. 

“Guess I should check on the rest of Manhattan now,” Sam jokes– and like it’s planned: 

"Cap, we need a hand rounding up remaining aliens," Bucky says in the comms, and Peter's suit reforms around his hand and head. Sam stops him before he can shoot a web.

"What are you doing?" he says. 

"We have to go help the team," Peter says. Sam shakes his head, his wings unfurling behind him. 

"Why don't you help secure the perimeter, make sure no civilians are left behind." 

Peter didn’t know he would be relieved until Sam says it and his breath rushes out of him in one long exhale. He nods, unable to think of what to say. Thank you doesn’t feel like enough. 

“You got it, Cap,” he says instead, light and short and not like his cheeks are sticky with drying tears, and launches into the sky. Smoke rises around the buildings, but Captain America rises above it all, the white star on his chest illuminated by the sun. Peter trails behind him, comforted by the familiarity of the flying shadow on the buildings next to him. 

That night, May shows him the interview on CNN with the little girl he saved. Peter cries when the camera zooms in on her drawing of Spider-Man carrying her through the air. 

[platonic-plots]

Vulnerable. [ii]

Request/Summary: After almost a month of tireless searching, the team have finally found where y/n is.

Pairings: daughter!reader x tony stark, platonic!reader x steve rogers

Words: 1464

Warnings: guns, cells, hospitals, swearing

Specific time/Important info: ‘***’ = p.o.v. change [3rd person to 2nd]

part 1

28 days. 

Almost a month had gone by without his daughter by his side. Almost a month had gone by full of sleepless nights and indescribable worry. Almost a month had gone by before they finally located y/n.

The team was on a jet, suiting up and preparing to do whatever they had to in order to get the youngest Avenger back. They kept to themselves as they waited impatiently to get to the Hydra facility where they'd finally find y/n - she was their missing piece. Tony walked up to Steve, who was staring out of the window in deep thought.

"I want you to get her." Steve snapped out of it and sent a confused look to his teammate.

"When we get there, I want you to find y/n. I want you to bring her back. I'll be in the suit, a-and I don't want the metal to scare her, or make her think of what she's just been through, y'know? She trusts you the most, and between you and me, you're her favorite. Will you do that for me, Rogers?"

The super soldier could see the pain in Tony's eyes. He'd been through hell in the past few weeks - y/n was his world. To see Stark in such a way would've thawed the heart of anyone.

"I'll guard her with my life."

***

There had been... 'stages' that you'd been through whilst you were with Hydra. At first, it was fear. Which was understandable, given the circumstances. Then, when you realized he wasn't going to kill you (you knew you'd be used as some form of currency for Crane to use to get whatever he wanted from Shield), your mind transitioned into defiance. You were stubborn. You weren't going to keep giving him the reaction he wanted. But then... came the emptiness. For the better part of a month, you'd barely eaten or drank, you'd been locked away wearing next to nothing, in a cell owned by Hydra, your every move live streamed and document for the world to see. No matter how strong you pretended you were, the neglect and the torture and the loneliness and the despair - they were enough to make anyone feel the way you did. Wrists shackled and knees to your chin, you tucked yourself as far into the corner as you could, and just sat there, motionless.

You thought this day would be the same as the others - you'd wake up and silently wait for whichever man Hydra had decided would join you. Only, he never came. Instead, his presence was replaced with the echo of shouting men and an exchange of gunfire. You sat unfazed.

Your eyes stared straight ahead, even as the shouting grew louder. Your eyes stared straight ahead, even when shots were fired outside your cell. Your eyes stared straight ahead, even after the door was thrown off its hinges.

"Y/n?"

You recognized his voice - or, at least, you thought you did.

"Y/n? It's me, i-it's Steve. We're here to bring you home."

You shook your head.

'This isn't real,' you thought to yourself, 'it's just a simulation'. Hydra had been trying to brainwash you, but they hadn't been as successful as they'd hoped to be. They wanted you to behave like The Winter Soldier; you weren't as cooperative as they'd planned. Still, from time to time, when you were at your weakest, it worked. This must have been one of those times.

"Y/n?"

"G-go away." You found your voice. "You-you're not Steve. Y-you're not here. None of this is r-real," the tears fell down your gaunt cheeks as your arms snaked around your legs, your body becoming as small as it could. "This, all of this, it's i-in my head."

You could hear him shuffling around: he placed down his shield and his weapons, and walked towards your corner. With each step, your chest tightened and you tried to push yourself further into the wall, to no avail.

He sat beside you. "Hey, y/n/n, shhh. It's okay, you're okay. I promise, it's me, I'm here. I'm not going to hurt you," he laid his hand, palm up, on the ground between you so that you could see it in the corner of your eye.

Your mind shifted; what if it was him?

"H-how do I know th-that you're you?" His ears perked up at your voice. He paused in thought.

"You've always been scared of storms. Even if there was just a spark of lightning, you'd always go climb into your dad's bed. You still do, and if he wasn't there, you'd come and find me. I still remember your face when you found out who Thor was," he smiled fondly. "And you love to draw. There are at least three drawers in Tony's workbench alone that are overflowing with doodles from when you were a kid. You love movies, and the first thing we did together was watch Jurassic Park."

You placed your hand in his. "Steve." The corners of your lips turned slightly; you could feel the relief washing over him.

"I think it's time to go home."

He held you tightly against his chest as he carried you through the compound, Clint and Wanda, who had been guarding the cell just moments earlier, ready to take out anyone who posed as even the slightest of threats. As the Captain brought you closer to freedom, your body drifted closer to unconsciousness. The weeks of little food or sleep had truly taken a toll. But it was only as the doors opened, and your eyes finally met with those of your father, that the world turned dark.

The bright lights blinded you as you struggled to open your eyes without squinting or flinching. After a few minutes of adjustment, you realized that you were in some sort of hospital, but these walls were foreign to you. If you weren't at Stark tower, where were you? If you weren't at home, then what if...

No - you couldn't be back at Hydra. You couldn't.

The thought was a seed: as soon as it had been planted, the roots engulfed your body and sent you into a panic.

Your hands shook as you frantically tried to take the IVs and wires coming out of your arms. Within seconds, two doctors entered the room and hurried towards you.

“Wh-who are you? Wh-where am I?”

“Y/n, you need to calm down.” They started to take hold of you, despite your protests.

“S-stop, please. I want my dad, wh-where’s my dad?” With every word, your voice grew louder and your heart beat quickened.

They asked you to calm down again, but you refused to comply. They were ignoring your questions, and keeping any and all information from you. When they realised you weren’t going to do what they asked, one of them held you down whilst the other picked up a syringe.

Through your protests and tears, you noticed the door swing open once more and a man enter the room.

“Sir, you can’t be in here.”

“And you can’t do that to my daughter. She has just been through hell and here you are treating her like shit. Are you not professionals?”

Silence.

“Y/n has been thrown around by complete strangers for the past month. She’s been tortured a-and injected with god knows what. So what do you do to her? Exactly that.”

“B-but sir-“

“Get the fuck away from my daughter, and go find someone who can actually do their job.” They left promptly.

“Dad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. Upon hearing that one word, you could almost see your father’s heart break. As soon as he was at your side, he held you tighter than ever before.

“I-I was so scared, I-I thought that-“

“I’m here now. It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. You’re safe.” You’d forgotten what it was like to be held like this - to be loved. The tears didn’t stop pouring from your eyes, and before long, Tony joined you.

You moved over, giving him space to sit with you on the bed. “We flew you to the closest Shield base we could find, you were so weak we were scared you wouldn’t make it.” He took your hand in his, pausing so his voice wouldn’t crack. “I’m so, so sorry it took us this long, kid. I promise you we spent every single second trying to find where you were. God, I wish we could’ve found you sooner, y/n, I-I”

You interrupted him: “You’re here now.”

He gave you a sad smile, but his eyes glistened with a sense of relief and happiness (as well as, of course, tears). He kissed your forehead and pulled you closer. “I love you, y/n.”

THANK YOU FOR WAITING!!!! i really hope this hasn’t disappointed any of you lol (also i’m sorry this is so short, it just felt right??? idk)

tags: ( if ur name isn’t here then tumblr wouldn’t let me tag u :(( )

vulnerable: @beaubatns @xotaku-baekx @purplekitten30 @ran-randomness @topjean @nagynomi98 @josislife @enchantedrhoses @kettnerjanea @alina-barnes @gemineez @alina-barnes @snapplejuice @celestialshawn @reganmarler

forever: @phonegalhelp @pointlesscasey @unicorn-sparkles123 @pinapplequeen16

[cheeseeatingtrashmonster]

Who Said That Every Wish Chapter 3: Reveal

At least one identity is revealed.

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“I want to quit. I don’t want to be a soldier anymore.”

Carapace looked stunned for a moment, then angry. "The city needs you. The team needs you. You can't just leave."

"I can't keep doing this anymore," Chat Noir said, shoulders hunching forward, a contrast to his usual confident, exaggerated posture. "The battles keep getting worse, the choices we make are too hard."

"That just means you're needed even more."

Chat shook his head. "It means I shouldn't be the one making the decisions."

"That's so selfish, dude," Carapace said, crossing his arms. Chat flinched as if the words stung. "I can't believe you. So what, you just quit?"

"Yeah.” Chat Noir’s voice was getting quieter with every word until Carapace was forced to lip read. "You guys'll be better off without me."

Carapace opened his mouth to snap at him, but seeing his partner flinch again made him pause. He took a good look at Chat Noir. Usually his partner stood tall, grinned wide enough that his teeth glinted in the moonlight, nearly bounced with restless energy when forced to stand still for too long. The Chat Noir in front of him was still. He had his arms wrapped around his middle, curling in on himself as if to look smaller. There was no grin, or smirk, or even sneer. What little he could see of his face around his mask looked pale, drawn, exhausted.

"You're not okay, are you?" Carapace asked, letting his arms drop to his sides.

"I'm not okay," Chat agreed, letting his eyes close and a tear drip down his mask.

Strong arms pulled Chat Noir into the shadow of Carapace’s shell and hood, gentle pressure keeping him there and providing the first feeling of safety he'd had in days.

"I trust you," Carapace said. "Whatever you say you need right now, I trust you. You need to quit, you do it. You need a vacation, go for it. You need to punch me for what I just said a minute ago, I'll take the shell off so you don't hurt your hand. So, Cat Man, what do you need?"

Chat Noir freed his arms from where they were trapped between them to get an awkward hold on Carapace's neck, bumping his hands into the top of the shell before settling.

"I can't go home, and I don't want to be alone," he said. "Can I go home with you?"

“Yeah. Yeah, I can make that work.” He hesitated, running a hand up and down Chat’s back. “You know that means at least my identity needs to be revealed, right? And I don't know how long you could hide yours. I don't know if your kwami can keep up your transformation all night.”

“I'll reveal when we get there,” Chat said, pulling away and running his hand over his face, clearing away the tears he couldn't stop. “I'll explain when we get there, too. I just… I need to be somewhere safe for a bit.”

Carapace squeezed Chat’s shoulder and nodded. “Are you willing to travel by shell, or do we have to take the long way?”

“I hate that thing.”

“I won't let you fall.” He took off his shell and set it on the ground. He stepped on it and held out his hand.

“Just take me home,” Chat whispered. He took Carapace's hand and stood on the shell behind him. Carapace turned to face forward, latched Chat's hands around his waist, and felt Chat bury his face into the back of his suit. Carapace loved the feeling of flying through the city on his own personal hoverboard. This flight, however, he was more focused on the fact that he could feel every tremble from Chat Noir.

They landed on the roof of an apartment building. Chat didn't move until Carapace pulled his arms apart and stepped to the ground.

“I usually detransform before going inside,” Carapace said, nodding towards the roof access door. “I'm really nervous. The idea of revealing to another hero is so… like, built up in my mind.”

“It's okay,” Chat said. “The other Chat is the only one who knows who I am. Though I won't be surprised if, when he and Ladybug reveal to each other, she figures out who I am.”

“We're stalling, aren't we?” Carapace said, shaking his head with a smile. “I'll go first, if that will help?”

Chat Noir nodded, his arms crossing over himself again. Light flashed.

Nino. Nino Lahiffe stood in front of him.

Nino hated him. Nino had every right to hate him. He shouldn't burden this good, kind person with what he knew, with having to keep him safe. In Felix’s mind, where Nino wasn’t Carapace, Carapace had signed on for the hero thing. Nino Lahiffe had not.

“I can't do this,” he whispered, backing towards the edge of the roof. He would go home, pretend he was fine, find another way.

“Woah, wait, stop.” Nino's hand clamped down on Chat Noir’s wrist. “You don't have to, it's fine. I can hide you here even if you don't reveal. We can figure this out.”

Chat Noir froze. Nino looked down at his shoes before glancing at Chat over his glasses.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to. You know I have, like, an embarrassing, puppy dog crush on you, right?”

He did know. And, as usual, he ignored it. “I can’t risk it. I can’t risk your family. Your mom checks on you all the time. Your older sister is probably home from her job and looking to watch a movie. Your little brother is probably waiting to beg you for more music your mom doesn't want him listening to. And none of you deserve to be stuck with me.”

Nino tugged on his wrist and Chat found himself not resisting in the slightest, leaning in when Nino brought him into a tight hug.

“So we know each other.” A statement, not a question. “And that worries you?”

Chat Noir nodded. “You won't want me here once you know who I am.”

He could feel the moment Nino figured it out. The catch in his breath followed by the tightening of his hug.

“Even if you were Chloe, I would still do anything for you. You're my Cat Man, even without the mask. And I'd do anything for Cat Man.”

Chat laughed, his hold just as tight on Nino. “Even if I'm Chloe?”

“I mean, I'd have to change your name to Cat Lady or Cat Woman.”

Chat Noir laughed again, surprised that he was capable of feeling humor.

“You coming inside now, Felix?”

They stood on the edge of the roof, one superhero and one boy dressed in cat ears and a tail. When Chat pulled back from Nino and turned to face away, neither was sure if he was about to run or detransform until they saw the light flash.

The silence made Felix feel like each bone in his body had turned to lead. He couldn't turn around.

“I promise that I have popcorn and hot chocolate inside.” A warm hand slid into Felix's.

“What about coffee?” He turned to see a smile he didn't deserve.

“Yeah, you're literally shaking, dude. No coffee.”

“You're such a mom friend.” He was shaking, yes, but also grinning ear to ear.

“Speaking of moms, dude,” Nino said. “I can hide you from my family if we really need to, but maybe you should let them know you're here? You said... you said you don't want to go home, but it seems like... maybe you're scared?"

Felix's eyes slammed shut. "I'm terrified. I can't go home."

"You're almost eighteen. Maybe... you can just stay with us? My mom would know better with her social work… thing."

"Not... not yet." Felix said, pulling his hand back. Nino found it even more heart wrenching when Felix wrapped his arms around himself than when he saw Chat Noir the superhero do so.

"Okay. Like I said, whatever you need."

Felix's stomach growled.

"That popcorn sounds nice," Felix said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, you said you don't eat enough when you're stressed. Come on."

Nino led Felix into the apartment. They didn't pass anyone in the hallway and Nino all but shoved Felix into one of the bedrooms.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he whispered.

In the hallway, Nino called loudly, "Mom, I'm home."

Felix listened through the door as Mrs. Lahiffe worried over her son. You stay out too late, you should eat something more nutritious than popcorn, how was school, when do I get to meet that boy you have a crush on. It made his heart clench and guilt bubble up. He was putting this sweet family in danger. Mrs. Lahiffe, single mother powerhouse. Nino's older sister, Melanie; part time student, part time barista. Chris, Nino's younger brother who was in his first year of high school. And Nino.

Nino returned with popcorn and a large mug of hot chocolate.

“I couldn't get two mugs without alerting my eagle eyed mom to your presence,” Nino said, handing the mug to Felix. Felix set the cup down and started pacing across the room.

“I shouldn't be here,” he said. “I don't want your family getting into trouble for taking in the runaway Agreste boy, or in danger because Chat Noir is here.”

“Dude, they already have one superhero under their roof. What's a second one?”

Felix continued to pace. Nino watched him from his desk chair for a moment. Felix had nothing with him. No school things, no overnight bag, not even a winter jacket.

“Felix?” He stopped pacing and faced Nino. “What’s going on? Is Adrien okay?”

Felix sighed. “He's safe, for now. He's in Milan with Nathalie for the week.”

“Would you sit?” Nino said, shoving the hot chocolate into Felix's hands again. Felix slumped to the floor and leaned back against the side of the bed. His eyes slid closed and he pulled his knees up to rest his chin on one. The Felix that Nino knew from class would never let himself look so vulnerable in front of anyone. Chat might, if a battle was going poorly and he was scared for one of his teammates. This would take some getting used to. Merging two people in his mind was not what he had expected to happen from a reveal. He had assumed, Paris being a big city, that he didn't know any of his team in real life. Now he knew two of the three other main players.

“At least drink the hot chocolate and get some sugar in your system,” Nino said.

Felix took an obedient sip, but didn't really taste it.

“You're an ill-prepared runaway,” Nino said.

“Yeah. Sorry. I left in a hurry.”

Nino waited to see if Felix would volunteer any information, any clue as to what this was about. He just sat there, sipping his drink with his eyes closed.

“So here's what I know, dude,” Nino said, taking a handful of popcorn before setting the bowl next to Felix. “You're Chat Noir. You don't want to be Chat Noir anymore. You said you can't go home. You're obviously scared of something. I've got some wild and terrible theories, but I'd really just like the actual answers at some point. If you're not ready, that's fine. You're kind of a disaster right now, I get that. But you're not alone. I'm here to help.”

Felix sighed, opened his eyes, and set down the mug.

“Nino, my father is Hawkmoth.”

That was not one of my theories, was Nino's first reaction.

I forgot to mention last chapter, but Felix and Nathaniel, Dance Buddies, is a tribute to @little-red-alchemist-of-doom‘s fic Artistic Expression. And if you haven’t figured out by now that Red is wonderful and you should read all her stuff, I suggest starting now ;)