#EVERYONE ELSE WE SPLIT WE GET LIKE. A PATTERN TO IT. WE BRIEFLY THINK ABOUT OR SEE THEM AND THEN WHOOPSIE DAISY THERES AN ALTER

[abeterger]

Discord Icon we made for a man that has INVADED OUR BRAIN... Literally. It has been YEARS since we have THOUGHT of this series. Where did he come from. Girl I am possessed by a Ghost now. He has described his own canon to me that loosely follows the actual thing. Girl help. Girl. Can anyone hear me. Hello.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Secret's Out

Summary: Request! Reid and Y/N are secretly dating, but their business doesn't stay their business for long.

Warnings: Criminal Minds level violence

Word Count: 2974

a/n: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it :)

Sorry this took forever! It took me a while to think of case details that I liked and then I kept rewriting parts. I think I'm finally happy with it though!

Masterlist

"Spencer!" You pushed him away. "The doors could open at any moment! How are we supposed to keep this a secret if Morgan walks in on us kissing in the elevator?" You raised a brow at him.

"On average, elevators travel at a speed of 200 ft/min or about 4 seconds per floor. Being on the fifth floor means we have about 20 seconds to ourselves." He smiled triumphantly.

"Yeah, until someone surprises us on floor 3." You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the doors once they opened.

"I can't help it. I'm just... really happy with you." He whispered softly.

"I'm really happy too." You smiled at him. You were about to lean in when the elevator doors opened once again to reveal JJ and Emily.

"Hey guys, ready for another case?" Emily glanced between you suspiciously, but thankfully didn't ask any prying questions.

"Yep, let's go!" You turned quickly, walking into the round table room without so much as a glance back at the three agents by the elevator.

"What's with her?" JJ questioned.

"Said she didn't sleep well last night. Must be all the caffeine." He held his own cup off coffee up in solidarity before also walking to the round table room.

"Alright, we've got 3 dead in Billings, Montana. All three were law enforcement, and all three were found this morning around the city." You listened as Penelope introduced the details of the case.

"Could be someone who feels the police didn't do a good enough job protecting a loved one?" You threw out a theory.

"Or someone who feels wronged by the criminal justice system as a whole." Rossi added on.

"Either way, they likely won't stop until we catch them. Wheels up in 20." Hotch rose from his seat as he spoke, wasting no time in preparing for take off.

You all dispersed briefly to grab your go bags, meeting back at the SUVs to head to the jet.

Once boarded, it didn't take long for the conversation to start up again.

"When we land, L/N go to the morgue. Dave, Prentiss take the first and second crime scenes, they're only a mile apart. Morgan and Reid, check out the third scene. I'll head to the precinct with JJ."

With Hotch's instructions set, you took what little time you had left on the flight to go over the causes of death.

-

"Anything stand out to you on the bodies?" You asked the ME after going over the blunt force trauma and bullet wounds.

"There's tape residue and bruising on the wrists and ankles. Based on the state of bruising, they were likely held for about 3 days before they were killed."

"Thank you for your help." You shook hands, pulling out your phone to call Hotch.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, they were held for days before they were killed. How did nobody notice they were missing?" There was nothing in the reports that indicated the victims were reported missing prior to being found.

"We just found the same pattern. They all used vacation days for various reasons in the days leading up to their deaths. Meet us back at the precinct and Reid can explain the whole pattern."

"Okay, I'm leaving now." You hung up just as you reached the SUV. Throughout the drive, you couldn't stop thinking that something wasn't adding up.

The victims were taken in the same day. It didn't make sense for the unsub not to escalate. So, why aren't any officers unaccounted for?

Suddenly, a truck crashed into your SUV, sending you flying off the road. A figure dressed in black opened the door and dragged you from the car.

"Agent L/N, it's so good to see you again." A male voice spoke, but you couldn't place it.

He hit you over the head with a handgun before dragging you to his own vehicle.

-

"Where's L/N?" Emily questioned when her and Rossi returned from the second dumpsite.

"On her way back from the ME." Hotch answered. "Did you find anything useful?"

"They truly are dumpsites. Both bodies were found by dumpsters, sending a pretty clear message." Dave replied.

"Same for the third site." Derek added on.

"All three victims were single and took time off leading up to their death. Nobody would've notice that they were missing until it was too late." Reid supplied the final bit of information gathered.

Hotch's phone rang before anyone else could comment. The frantic sound of Garcia's nails clicking against her keyboard echoed through the phone. She was talking before anyone could greet her.

"You need to see this, check your tablets."

Confused glances were exchanged as everyone, barring Reid, opened their tablets. Reid glanced over Morgan's shoulder to observe as well.

A seemingly live video that Garcia received a link to was streaming to the tablets.

A single woman sitting in a chair could be seen in the frame. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair with thick, gray tape and a bag was over her head.

"Garcia, what is this?" Hotch asked almost immediately.

"I was emailed the link just now. It's not streaming anywhere else online." Her reply came quickly, the sound of typing still filling in the silence.

"Can you trace it?" Rossi questioned.

"I'm trying, but it's being routed through multiple proxy servers."

"Did the email say anything?" Emily chimed in.

"No, it was just the link- Wait. I just got another email." She paused as the new email loaded. "It's addressed to Reid."

Every set of eyes in the room turned to Reid.

"What does it say?" He felt the nerves beginning to grow waiting for Garcia to read the words aloud.

"Dr. Reid,

I hope you remember me. What am I saying, of course you do. I've got something of yours that you might want back. You see Dr. Reid, you and your team ruined me. My family, my career, all of it, just gone. I thought I'd return the favor. A person's phone can be so informative. Tell me, does your team know about your girlfriend? I've so enjoyed getting reacquainted with her.

Happy hunting."

Spencer's face went white as he looked at Morgan's tablet again. His thoughts were racing. How did he not recognize you before? Even with the bag over your head, he should've known it was you.

"It's her." His words were barely a whisper.

"This is your girlfriend?" Morgan gestured to the screen again. Spencer could only nod in reply, his mind unable to focus on anything except you.

"Reid, listen to me. You've got to tell us everything you know about her. We'll have to split up. You can go back to Quantico with Emily and Morgan, the rest of us will stay here to work on our current case." Hotch was already devising a strategy to work both cases.

"There's no need." His words made sense to him, but sounded cryptic to the rest of the team.

"Kid, of course there is. We'll help you get her back." Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively shocking him back to the present situation.

"There's no need to split up because she's here. She's in Montana." Before he could continue, everyone was asking questions.

"Give me a phone number and I'll get you a location." Garcia was already typing away again.

"Are you sure she's here?" JJ's brows furrowed. She did her best to hide the hurt of her best friend hiding his girlfriend from her, again.

"Why would she be here?" Rossi added.

"How did she get here? Maybe we can track the transportation and figure out means of abduction." Emily was the only one thinking about the case.

Like ripping off a bandaid, Spencer blurted out the truth.

"It's Y/N."

He was met with silence in the room as everyone absorbed the information.

Garcia caught up first, a sudden gasp sounding through the phone.

"So, then that's Y/N... in the video..." Her voice wavered.

As if a switch was flipped, the team was back on the case.

"Garcia, get me a list of anyone who would have a grievance with the team." Hotch ordered.

"Go through anyone who was falsely accused. Start with cases in or around Montana. He would want to keep this close to home." Rossi specified.

"We've only had one case in Montana since Y/N joined the team." Reid supplied the knowledge as it came to him. "A name, I need a name." He muttered to himself, pulling his hair as he roughly ran his hands through it and over his face. "Garcia, look into Jameson Braddock."

"Got it." She immediately began a background check, searching through case files and news articles for additional information. "i'll get back to you with locations." With that, she hung up.

"Fill us in, kid. Who is Jameson Braddock." Morgan lead Reid to a chair, gently easing him into it.

"Our last case in Montana, Emily and I went to interview a witness." Emily nodded, the memories slowly coming back to her.

"He wasn't very forthcoming, and then he tried to run." She added on.

"Exactly, except he didn't make it very fair. We arrested him, but it turned out he was only guilty of selling alcohol to minors. When word of his arrest got out, the whole town thought it was for the serial rapes and murders we were investigating even though it was never confirmed."

"By the time we corrected the media, it was too late." JJ supplied, also remembering the man.

"So, he killed three officers just to draw us out back out here?" Morgan refocused the conversation on the current case.

"It looks that way now. The media knew we were coming, so he must have as well." Emily theororized. "If he followed us from the airport, he would've seen Y/N leave by herself."

"He likely didn't know about your relationship until he abducted her and went through her phone." Hotch paced the room.

"He's flaunting his power over us." Rossi chimed in just as Hotch's phone rang again.

"Garcia, what've you got?"

"Three addresses in Billings, Montana. Jameson Braddock has been on a downward spiral since your last trip there. His entire life fell apart, like he said. Divorced, his wife moved to Nebraska with their two kids. He lost his job at the high school, and was evicted from his house when he could no longer pay the bills." She listed the information quickly.

"He has ties to three addresses. Nobody has moved into his previous house, so it's vacant. He's got a small apartment in the northern part of the city which he pays for through working odd hours at Taco Bell. Finally, he briefly worked security at a now abandoned warehouse."

"An apartment wouldn't be enough space to hold her without the chance of someone hearing. She's not there." Rossi eliminated the location as an option.

"We'll split up to cover the warehouse and the house-" Hotch began, but Reid cut him off.

"No, we shouldn't split up. She's got to be at the house. The warehouse has no connection to his previous life. He wants revenge for our perceived wrongdoing, he wouldn't make his last stand at a new location." Reid was already putting on a bullet proof vest. Despite how his mind was racing, he refused to show how afraid he was.

"You're sure?" Morgan asked, on the fence about committing to one location.

"Absolutely." With that, Reid was out the door heading for the SUVs.

-

"Rossi, Emily head around back. I'll take the front with Reid. JJ and Morgan, the side door." Hotch instructed the team to split up upon arrival at the house.

Reid wasted no time in approaching the house. He was confident you were inside, but he didn't know what was happening to you.

The main floor was cleared quickly. Again, the team split up to cover the upper level and the basement.

Knowing you were likely downstairs, Reid immediately started that direction, JJ and Hotch following him.

It wasn't hard for him to find you. You were still tied to the chair in the middle of the room, bag over your head.

Before anyone could stop him, Reid lowered his gun and ran to you. He gently maneuvered the bag off your head, stopping his movements only when he felt something press into his back.

"Dr. Reid. So kind of you to join us." Braddock spoke maniacally, pressing the gun against Reid's head.

"Drop your weapon." Hotch commanded, but the man only cackled in response.

'Y/N... Y/N." Reid gently shook you in an attempt to wake you up.

"She can't hear you." Braddock singsonged.

"What did you do?" Reid tried to turn to him only to feel the gun press further into his head.

"Like I said in my email, you people ruined my life. They took everything from me, so I thought I'd try to return the favor." During his short speech, Braddock shifted just enough for JJ to get a clean shot.

He fell to the ground, gun clattering across the floor.

Reid moved quickly to remove the tape binding you to the chair while Hotch called for a medic in the basement.

The entire team watched as you were wheeled into the ambulance, still unconscious, none more scared than Spencer.

-

"She's going to be fine, Spence." JJ tried to reassure him, nonetheless his pacing continued.

"You don't know that. We don't even know what he did to her." He had one hand anxiously running through his hair, the other pinching the bridge of his nose in distress.

Just then, a doctor emerged from behind closed doors.

"F/N L/N." She called into the waiting room, slightly taken aback when the group of agents rushed to her.

"It was touch and go for a while, but she got here just in time." It was visible to even the least qualified profiler how relieved the team felt. Their previously tense shoulders relaxed, frowns turned to small smiles, wide eyes and raised brows pinched together with joy.

"What happened?" Emily posed the question everyone was thinking.

"In short, she was drugged. It's not clear what exactly was used, but it was likely a mix of drugs that attempted to stop her heart."

"Can we see her?" Morgan spoke next, cautiously eyeing Reid.

"You may, follow me." The doctor lead them through a series of hallways to your room. "She should be waking up soon."

With that the doctor left, allowing the team to file into the room. You looked strangely peaceful for someone who almost died.

"So..." JJ glanced between you and Spencer. "Girlfriend, huh?"

His eyes went wide. Instinctively, he turned to you for help, but you were still asleep. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

"Relax, kid." Morgan grinned. "We're happy as long as you two are happy."

Spencer smiled gratefully, looking at you with an adoring gaze. "We are happy."

"How long?' Emily gestured to your joined hands. Just before Spencer could answer, you groaned.

"I want to hear your guesses first." Your voice was raspy, but there was a clear smile on your face. "Also, what happened?"

The quickly explained the email Garcia received and the events that followed.

"Now that that's cleared up, do tell us how long you think we've been together. I know you've got a bet going." You narrowed your eyes, playfully glaring at each team member.

"4 months." Hotch begrudgingly admitted. JJ followed with 3 months, Derek and Rossi both betting 10 weeks, and Emily going with 6 weeks.

"Ha, you're all wrong." You smiled triumphantly, leaning closer to Spencer.

"Wait, we haven't heard from Garcia." Derek smirked as he rung her on speaker phone.

"Oh, my beautiful crime fighters. Y/N, are you okay?" Your smile widened at the concern in her voice.

"I am indeed, but I have a very important question for you." You glanced as Spencer briefly before continuing. "How long do you think Spence and I have been together?"

"Oh, I know this one!" Her excitement caught everyone but you off guard. "7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days."

Spencer's jaw dropped as he stuttered out, "that's exactly right..."

"How'd you figure it out?" The group of profilers wore matching expressions of surprise as Penelope explained.

"Well, we had just finished testifying in the Bigelow trial. The whole team went out for drinks, and I could just see it in Y/N's eyes the next day that something wonderful happened. At first I just thought that she got some, but then I saw her and the good doctor in the kitchen getting coffee and I knew." Penelope's voice held a mixture of smugness and pure excitement.

"Babygirl, you didn't tell me?" Derek sounded genuinely offended.

"Y/N asked me not to." Even though you couldn't see her, you knew she punctuated the statement with a shrug.

"You knew, she knew?" Spencer turned to you in shock.

You nodded. "I could see it on her face the second I walked out of the kitchen. But she promised not to tell, so I didn't either."

"The two of you, thick as thieves." Rossi lamented.

"I love you so much." Spencer whispered into your ear as he pulled you in for a hug.

"I love you too." You whispered right back.

"Honestly, I'm glad the secret's out." You smiled at Spencer before looking at the rest of the team. "Although, I wish I didn't have to be kidnapped to tell you."

You spent a few more hours in the hospital before being cleared to go back to the hotel.

The next morning, you smiled to yourself as you were finally able to cuddle with Spencer during the flight home.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

Criminal Minds taglist:

@mac99martin

@goldeng1rl8

@measure-in-pain

[midgardianweasley]

Movie Night

Movie night

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: It’s friday night, or more commonly known as movie night for the Avengers. A horror movie was put on and Y/N isn’t feeling so brave, luckily she’s got a Romanoff nearby.

Warnings: coulrophobia (fear of clowns), mentions of the IT movie and pennywise.

Word Count: 2.5k

Идиоты. - ‘Idiots.’

Requests are open!

“I vote action movie”

“We watched an Action movie last week, Sam.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly looking up and meeting my eyes, earning a small smile in return, attempting to provide some sanity for the man.

“Plus, do you not think we’ve had enough action for one week?” Bucky grumbled, this week having taken a toll on everyone. We were all exhausted from our missions, some more than others, the soldier being one of them.

“Okay okay, no action, damn” Sam put his hands up in defeat, accepting that he wasn’t going to win this one. A few more options had been suggested, Bruce suggested rom-com, Thor suggested comedy, Vision proposed a documentary, all of which were shut down with groans and sounds of protest.

I turned to my assassin girlfriend who had been sitting beside me watching the scene unfold with an amused smirk on her face, her green eyes darting around the room whenever someone else spoke and taking sips of the drink she had in her hand. I nudged her slightly to get her attention

“Hey.”

“Hi”

“If it was up to you, what would you choose for movie night?” I asked. She morphed her face into a thoughtful one, still with a slight smile on her face, taking time to make her decision.

“If it was completely up to me? I would-”

“Aha!” Tony interrupted with a loud snap of his fingers. “I know, we haven’t watched a horror movie in a while, and the new IT movie just came out, we can watch that” He smirked, proud of his contribution to the discussion at hand. I looked around the room, praying that they would pick anything else, literally anything, even Vision’s documentary.

Unfortunately, everyone seemed to be really into it as they all shared nod’s and “yeah” “sounds good” before splitting up to go and get their snacks and blankets to bring back to the large sofa.

Although I wouldn't admit it to the rest of the group, I was absolutely terrified of clowns and have been since I was a child. If there was a clown at a birthday party or an event, I’d pretend I was sick so that my mum wouldn’t make me go. She soon noticed a pattern in my behaviour, putting the pieces together and realising that I hadn't come down with the flu three times that month, I was avoiding the ‘entertainment’ of the parties.

She tried explaining that it was just a guy in makeup and a funny suit, showing off fun tricks and jokes. However, 9 year old me still refused to attend, faking a sneeze and hiding under the blanket.

“Woah, Y/L/N, you good over there?” Tony furrowed his brows, concern written all over his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I wish it was a ghost.

I regained my composure, nodding and sending a firm smile his way, hoping that would be enough to prevent any further questioning. With a shrug, he made his way out of the room and caught up with Thor to explain what ‘IT’ was.

“You don’t look so good, sure you’re okay?” Nat placed her hand on my back, rubbing small, reassuring circles with her palm. I wanted to put on a brave face and tell her I was fine, that there wasn’t a problem and my heart wasn’t racing with fear, but the look on her face, while caring and concerned, was also warning me not to lie to her. Not that i’d manage anyway, she always had ways of finding out the truth eventually.

I shook my head, letting out a small sigh and turning in my seat to address her. My eyes met hers and I felt my heart settle slightly just by looking at her, she always made me feel safe.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” She whispered, her hand coming up to rest on my cheek, her thumb stroking my cheekbone in small movements.

“It’s so silly, really.”

“Nothing is silly if it’s upsetting you Detka. Tell me.”

“It’s this movie.”

The confusion was obvious on her face, yet she stayed quiet, allowing me to elaborate.

“I just, I’ve never been the best with clowns. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had this fear of them. If I saw one, I’d run in the opposite direction, which was more often than one would think. I mean, seriously, who wants one of those things at a party? What happened to princess parties? Or tea parties!” I exclaimed, my tone becoming more intense as I spoke.

Natasha nodded, I could almost see the cogs turning in her head, figuring out how to approach the situation. After a minute or two, she focused her eyes back on me and her hands had trailed down to meet with mine, interlocking them in the process.

“Do you want to skip it tonight?” She suggested.

“No, no, I don’t want to cause a fuss. Plus, I kinda don’t want the others knowing.”

“Are you absolutely sure? I’m sure we can pull a sickie for one night.”

“I’m sure. Just, can you stay next to me? And let me hide if it gets really bad?”

“Of course you can. I’ll be next to you the whole time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

___________________

We were at the haunted house scene in the movie. There had already been jumpscares that I'd managed to avoid for the most part, but I don’t think I've moved past Georgie’s death yet, let alone have time to process the psycho killer clown on the screen.

Eddie was in a room alone, he was staring at this dirty, old fridge and a white hand had appeared, curling itself around and tapping on the side so you could only see it’s fingers. I tugged the blanket that was laid across Natasha and i’s laps and pulled it up to my nose, eyes still on the screen, but prepared to take cover. It appears as though nothing has changed from all those years ago.

As the fridge door creaked open, my blanket had raised higher and higher, my grip tightening by the second while the hand reappeared, this time, you could see it’s entire body contorted into this small space.

“Nope. No, absolutely fucking not. No.” I mumbled, covering my eyes with my fluffy shield. Luckily, Nat had stolen the sofa at the back, meaning I could skip the scary parts without anyone taking much notice, them being too entranced by the movie. Weirdo’s.

In my safety bubble I'd created, I felt my girlfriend’s hand on my thigh, rubbing small circles to reassure me that I was okay, and that she was here. I shuffled a little so I was closer to her, if that was even possible, her then adjusting so that her hand was still on my thigh, but another arm was wrapped securely around me, pulling me into her side a little more.

I assumed we would stay like that for a bit, until she started to shift more noticeably and lifted the part of the blanket closest to her, and put it over her own head, taking me by surprise, a faint gasp leaving my lips when seeing that she’d joined me.

“You doing okay under here?” She spoke softly, a hint of amusement playing on her face as she looked at me folded up into a ball.

“I am. This blanket protects me from all.”

“Of course it does, the fluffier it is, the more protection, right?” She quoted words i’d spoken earlier on when bringing in the blanket for us.

“Are you sure you’re not going to boil under there?”

“Nope. And even if I do, the fluffier the blanket, the more protection from cannibal clowns.” I’d explained proudly. Yes, I'm an Avenger that fights extraterrestrials and demigods and still runs to a blanket for safety, leave me alone.

We stayed under there for a minute or two, holding hands and sharing small kisses while the movie continued and we hid in our little bubble.

“C’mon lovebirds, the movie isn’t over yet, you can continue that when we’ve gone to bed if you must.” Stark called out, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and retreat back to her previous position.

I don’t know what ran through my mind, I clearly didn’t think twice about the situation I was in, my default being to follow Natasha and pull the blanket down and off my head. Upon resurfacing from my cocoon, I looked towards the Television. Bad idea. With a shriek that I'm almost certain could be heard from Asgard, I flew under the blanket again after seeing Pennywise with all of his teeth on show, edging towards Eddie to eat him.

Natasha’s arms wound their way around me again, slightly shaking now from the fright. Even though the blanket tended to muffle sounds, I could hear the room fill with laughter and comments from the Avengers.

“I didn’t know your voice could go that high Y/L/N”

“Pennywise! You scared Y/N!”

“Y/N, it’s literally-”

“How about you guys shut up and watch the movie? Otherwise I swear to god Thor, I’ll bring snakes in here and Sam, I’ll cut the wings off of your suit.” I heard the redhead next to me threaten, alongside some more punishments to the others who laughed, immediately silencing them, all of them knowing that she wasn’t one for an empty threat.

Even though the laughter died down and no more words were spoken, tears still built up in my eyes and were daring to fall down my cheeks. I feel so embarrassed. A room full of superheroes and I was scared to death over a fictional clown in front of all of them.

I tried to keep my sniffles to a minimum and at a level where no one could hear me, however, they seemed to have caught Nat’s attention as she whispered to me, loud enough for me to hear, but quietly so that it was only me that could hear.

“Mind if I come in?”

I chose not to verbally respond, instead, I pulled the edge of the blanket up, allowing her to bend down and make her way underneath. After making herself comfortable, she turned to me and did, what felt like study, my face before tutting under her breath.

“Идиоты. Are you okay?” I smiled at her speaking Russian. She often switched between the two, interchanging within sentences. I’d been around her enough to pick up on some of the terms, funnily enough she’d said that word so often, my understanding was immediate.

“Feeling a bit humiliated” My voice came out weak and slightly gravelly from the crying, her thumb immediately wiped the tears off of my cheeks, lingering afterwards.

“Don’t be. Everyone has their fears, you shouldn’t be embarrassed by having them. Okay? It just means you're human.” She patiently explained, sparking a question to leave my lips before realising.

“Do you have a fear?”

She smiled “mhm”

“Can I know what it is?”

She leaned in closer to me, lips hovering beside my ear so I could feel and hear her breathing quietly.

“Идиоты” She whispered, resulting in me clamping my hand over my mouth to limit the noise my laughter was making.

“There’s that smile I love.” She took my chin in her index finger and her thumb, her face once again, coming closer towards mine before our lips met in the middle, sharing a soft, quick kiss, distracting me from any embarrassment i’d previously felt.

________________

The movie had just finished, everyone was getting up and starting to clear up any mess they’d made, mainly popcorn that had fallen everywhere, Wanda and Vision being the main culprit, jumping at the scary parts had caused a popcorn avalanche near their seats.

Nat and I gathered our blankets and snacks we’d brought in, trying to ignore the slight tension hanging in the air, and just as we were about to walk to our bedroom, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Peter.

Rocking back and forth on his heels and fidgeting with his hands, he smiled.

“Hey, uh- miss Y/L/N. Miss Romanoff, sorry, I just wanted to come and make sure you were okay.” He rushed, clearly anxious to approach us considering the telling off Natasha gave everyone earlier.

“I’m okay, thank you Peter. You can call me Y/N by the way, ‘miss’ makes me feel old.” I chuckled, visibly seeing his shoulders relax at my response, he was really sweet, never wanting to get on anyone’s bad side. He’s a good kid.

“Sorry mi-,Y/N, sorry, I’ll remember for next time. That movie was pretty freaky, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“I will, thank you.”

Feeling more relaxed, I made a slow but steady beeline for the bedroom, wanting to have cuddles with Nat and go to sleep, hopefully forget the movie ever happened. Soon enough, we were both changed into a vest top, I wore a pair of shorts and Nat wore a pair of sweats and we were in bed, facing each other with our legs tangled together, our noses bumping every so often.

“I love you” I mumbled in between kisses, eyes opening briefly to be met by her green orbs looking back at me.

“I love you more, Detka.”

A silence then overtook the room, only being able to hear the breeze outside and a slight whistle from where it was flying through the trees. I’d usually adore this, finding peace in the wind and the darkness, tonight however, it felt unsettling. All I could hear in my head was the soundtrack to the movie, picturing the bloody teeth and that creepy smile from earlier in my head.

“Love?” I nudged my girlfriend’s nose gently, hoping she was still somewhat awake.

“Mhmm?”

“Can you, can you possibly sing to me?” Her eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile on her face, wrapping her arms tightly around me before humming a quiet melody, sending me into a blissful sleep.

By noon the next day, I had received apologies from everyone in the compound, a couple of bone crushing hugs from Thor and some complementary pancakes that Wanda had made with some help from Bruce, aprons on and covered in flour. Everyone tucked into their individual stacks, enjoying some lighthearted conversation, Nat taking the opportunity to press a small kiss to the back of my hand, I quickly returned the gesture. It was lovely.

Movie night was a rollercoaster, but at the end of the day, I was surrounded by the best people, and nothing would change that, not even the fear of clowns.

Though they’re still really fucking scary.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

[theysayitscrazy]

Chapter Three:

Once Kara had given the guys the all-clear to head into Clay’s room, they went in pairs, and Metal convinced Kara she needed to get some food. Jason had to marvel at the relationship between Metal and Kara. He’d never seen Metal act like he did with Kara, like he genuinely cared about her; and Kara seemed to let her walls down whenever Metal would ask her something or call her out on her selfcare.

Jason was headed down to the main entrance of the hospital with Ray, Metal, and Kara. As they walked into the waiting room of the Emergency Room, Hawkins called out to them from across the room. Kara smiled as he and Nic walked over. “Hey, how’s Clay doing?” Nic asked with a friendly smile.

“He’s doing okay,” Kara answered easily. “The guys are with him. I’m gonna head out with these guys for a few to get some food.”

Hawk tilted his head and looked at her. She stared right back him, clearly daring him to say something. “He’ll be fine,” Nic spoke up, looking between the two of them. “We’ll keep an eye on things.”

“Besides, Hawk,” Metal drawled, staring right at Hawkins. “Our girl here needs to take better care of herself, right?”

Hawkins nodded once but didn’t look away from Kara. “Right.”

As they were standing around in circle talking, Kara looked to the left and glanced at a dark-skinned man wearing a heavy jacket and talking on a cell phone. He was speaking a language Jason didn’t know. Her eyes darted back to Hawk as she tilted her head to listen better.

“What’s happening?” Hawk asked her, watching her intently.

“How’s your Swahili?” she questioned him.

“Not great,” Hawk narrowed his eyes on her. “You?”

“Fluent,” she shot back immediately.

“Alpha Seven, sit-rep,” Metal immediately demanded, voice low.

Kara snapped into action, her eyes stayed on Hawk as she spoke, a small smile graced her face. “Fighting age male, dark-skinned, wearing a heavy black coat, speaking Swahili on the phone. He specifically stated that he was wearing a vest and was ready. 2nddark-skinned, fighting aged male twelve o’clock, also wearing a heavy dark coat. It’s 85 degrees outside. There are 34 people in this room. 6 children, 15 women, including Nic and myself, and 9 men not including the four of you. Of the 15 women, 3 are geriatric.”

Jason was immediately on alert. The moment she started speaking and rattling off the statics of the room around them, Jason was able to zero in and see what she had seen in a moment’s notice. Sure enough, there was 2nd possible tango near the wall of windows that overlooked the parking lot beyond the hospital.

“You caught all that the moment we walked in here?” Ray asked.

“Kara can see the matrix,” Metal explained.

Jason turned to Metal and raised an eyebrow. Metal only nodded back at him. Jason looked down at Kara who was still looking at Hawk with a slight smile on her face, being completely inconspicuous. “Alright, how do we handle this?” Jason asked, differing to her and Metal for a plan.

“Hospital policy dictates in a potential hostage situation to immediately call 911 and avoid contact,” Hawkins stated and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

“We need to go into lockdown,” Nic said. “Keep people from entering the building. We could pull the fire alarm,” she suggested.

“We do that, and every door closes and locks, and we’ll be trapped in this room with two true believers and roughly 40 victims. No, we alert the staff and do a compacity close,” Kara turned to Nic. “Nic, send out a code 8 alert. Close the hospital to all incoming ambos and patients. It’ll lock all exterior doors.”

Nic immediately pulled out her phone and started texting.

Kara turned back to Hawkins, “Call 911, discreetly explain the situation,” Kara ordered.

Hawkins walked away, phone pressed to his ear and purposely going in the opposite direction.

“Won’t that draw suspicion?” Ray asked.

“Not if we play off the overcrowding,” Nic answered looking around.

“I’m gonna need you guys to blend in,” Kara said, and glanced at Metal.

He nodded once to her, clearly trusting her.

Kara glanced around the Emergency Department and sighed. They had gathered attention. Both men were watching them. Kara suddenly laughed and grabbed Nic’s hand in an exaggerated belly laugh as she doubled over. “Oh my god! You’re right!”

Nic immediately followed and laughed too, clutching Kara as they stumbled away from their little group over to the check in desk.

The girls finished what seemed to be a lively conversation in front of the reception desk before they both looked down at the check in sheet. Jason, Ray, and Metal headed dispersed amongst the crowded waiting room, looking for a seat that would allow for a clear line of sight in case they needed to do anything. Without weapons though, it was going to be hard.

Jason could see Nic talking to the check in girl who nodded once before she stood up and headed into the room behind the reception desk.

Kara picked up the sign in clipboard and looked it over before she then looked around the room. “Alright everyone, listen up!” she called out loudly over the noise of the waiting room. She waited briefly for the noise to die down before she continued. “Welcome to Chastain Memorial Hospital in Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA,” Kara drawled, adopting her best gameshow host voice, and letting her eyes make a slow and casual sweep of the room. “My name is Dr. Kara Spenser. As you can see, we are quite busy here in the Emergency Department. Yes, Emergency department. It is no longer classified as just the Emergency Room; we are a whole department. A whole department dedicated to ensuring you get the absolute best care you so rightly deserve. So, I have one rule, and one rule only here in my E.D. and that is, ‘My way or the highway. My word is law.’ If you don’t like that rule, I don’t really care. I’m not here to be your friend, I’m here to ensure that you do not bleed out. And there will be no blood on my E.D floor,” she smirked at Hawkins, who had walked back in the room with his phone nowhere to be seen. “So, this how we’re going to things,” she turned toward Nic. “This is Dr. Nevin, she’s going to take our children directly up to pediatrics. Why wait here, when you can wait there?”

There was a bit of a grumbled from the parents of the children, but they slowly gathered their things and their children and followed after Nic, roughly clearing out a dozen people.

Ray’s throat tightened when he saw Naima walk out of the back room behind the reception desk and glance around.

Kara glanced over at her briefly before she launched into her next spiel, “Next we have our lovely elderly patients. You’ve done a lifetime of waiting now, so we’re gonna get you up and out of my E.D. The lovely nurses Naima and Brenda here, are gonna assist you lovely ladies on up to our geriatrics ward.” There was a shuffle as Naima and Brenda helped the three patients to their feet and they shuffled out.

Kara started to pace the room as she continued. “The rest of you, I apologize for the wait. Dr. Conrad Hawkins and I will be with you shortly. We have your check in information. We will go down the list according to who checked in first.”

Jason had to admit he was impressed with Kara’s quick thinking. She managed to clear half the people out of the room, including Naima and the front desk woman Brenda. All the children and elderly were evacuated. All that was left was the four trained Navy SEALS, Hawkins, Kara, two armed men, and roughly ten others that they could hopefully get out of harm’s way before the men decided they were done waiting.

As she finished speaking one of the men, the one that had been talking on the cell phone, had decided he was done waiting and stood up managed to grab Kara as she was walking by. He managed to get an arm around her neck and pull out a gun before Kara could even move. She froze and flashed her gaze to Metal, as the gun was waiving around in front of her.

The gunman started yelling and chaos erupted in the E.D.

“Hey, hey,” Jason tried to call over the yelling of the room, but the gunman yelled louder.

A hush finally settled over the crowd in the E.D while the gunman assessed the situation around him. He was flighty and waiving the gun in front of Kara. His other arm was locked in a headlock around Kara’s neck. She was clawing at his arm to no avail.

“Come on man, let her go,” Metal’s voice was soft and gentle in a commanding sort of way.

Kara’s eyes left Metal’s and landed on the other man in a coat in the room. The man stood up, pulled out a 9mm and turned his back on the crowd behind him. With his back turned, it took Jason all of a second’s decision making to tackle the man.

His gun went flying out of his hand and scattered across the floor at Kara’s feet.

She made a split-second decision and a tossed her head back into her assailant’s head, with a sickening crunch in her ear, his nose broke. He broke his hold on her and she dropped her weight and lunged for the 9mm lying at her feet.

In a trained and liquid move, she grabbed the 9mm, rolled onto her back and with both hands on the weapon, fired off two shots into the extremist’s chest in a tight pattern. His body hadn’t even hit the floor before she turned her body and eyed Jason struggling with the man in the vest. With the gun trained on them, she watched the extremist knock Jason off his back and reach for his torso.

Kara fired off a single shot, straight through the skull.

There was a moment of deafening quiet in the E.D before Kara got to her feet, holding the gun down and aimed at the ground as she assessed the situation around her. Both assailants were dead, everyone else in the room was crouched down, except for the SEALS that were on their feet also looking around for a threat.

Metal slowly walked over and pulled gun out of her hands and flipped the safety into place before he pulled her into a hug. She didn’t even hug him back, just rested her forehead against his chest and breathed in deep, taking in his familiar and comforting scent. “Good work, Alpha Seven,” he stated clearly as he pulled her against him.

Kara had to chuckle softly as she shook her head. “Fucking hell,” she grumbled and wrapped an arm around his waist.

[thosewickedlovelies]

When Missions Go Right

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x afab!Reader

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: After Frankie makes everyone believe he was killed during a mission, hours later you're still shaken from the reveal that it had been a ruse. You can't stand the idea that he might have never known how you felt about him, so later that evening, you go and check on him.

Tags: SMUT; minimal angst despite the summary lol; unprotected PinV sex (pls wrap it up irl); oral (f receiving); they briefly drink alcohol but are not drunk; swearing

Word count: 6,794 lmfao

A/N: Reader’s nickname is Mosquito- I wanted a nickname and my brain got stuck on this one once I thought of it sorry. It’s explained :)

---

You sit in your hut at your team's temporary camp in the jungle, fidgeting. You don't know why you’re so torn- there’s nothing weird about checking on a teammate after a stressful mission, and you and your boys had done it for each other countless times before. This time is different, though. This time had shaken you more than any other incident, after you thought Frankie had- No. You exhale.

Just thinking of him emerging after the mission that day, appearing when you thought he was lost, causes another swell of emotion to rise in you, hot tears filling your eyes. You clap your hands over your mouth, force yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. Frankie had looked so surprised at everyone's reaction to his reappearance: stunned, relieved tears and a five-person hug that had pulled everyone to the ground in a tangle, with himself at the center. You don't know what he had expected. His impromptu plan hadn't been ideal, sure, but it had made their mission a success, and he was alive.

You smile a little at the memory. The quiet relief on Frankie's face, how soft and vulnerable he looked surrounded by affection, dust and sweat in his hair. Your smile fades at the remembrance of what had happened next. After everyone had untangled and straightened up, Santiago held out Frankie's hat to him, retrieved from where it had fallen during their dogpile. Frankie had secured it on his head, smiling cautiously at his friend. Then Santiago had punched him in the face.

“Don't you ever do that again!” Santi's voice had cracked. In the split second before he turned and strode away, you caught a glimpse of his eyes, turbulent and red-rimmed with emotion. Frankie, holding his jaw, had stared after him in shock. The Miller boys offered reassurance: “He'll be okay, Catfish. You guys are close. He was just upset.”

“We all were,” you added, stepping closer. Frankie's attention had focused on you for the first time since his return. Apprehension in his eyes, guilt and worry clearly visible on his face. You didn't let yourself think about what those dark eyes did to you as you flung yourself at him, hugging him fiercely. It was only partly to hide your face that you buried it in his neck. Santiago’s outburst echoed your own anger at Frankie’s deception, at him making you believe he was dead- but now was not the time to deal with it.

You had made no effort to stop the tears as you breathed in Frankie's scent, muddled with sweat and gunmetal. His arms wrapped around you carefully, one hand cradling the back of your head. Holding each other the way you were, his voice seemed to rumble through you, low and warm. “Hey, Mos. Thought you were gonna punch me too there for a sec.”

Memories flooded through you at the sensation- all the other times the two of you had been this close. Dancing to sultry music in some club, both of you too tired to pretend to mind lying pressed together in a cramped tent-

You exhaled, shoving the memories aside. Now was also not the time for that particular train of thought or its familiar destination.

Pulling back, you gave him a watery smile. “Nah, I think Pope did enough damage.”

You kissed him lightly on the cheek Santiago had just punched. Frankie's eyes were wide when you looked up at him, but you ignored the fluttering in your chest and turned your soft look into a glare. “But you'll get what's coming to you after that stunt.” His bulletproof vest was hard under your finger as you jabbed it into his chest.

You hardly held up the glare for a minute before it cracked, and Frankie chuckled in relief. “Whatever you say, Mosquito. Let's just get out of here.”

Skirting the edge of your team's small camp, you pause to scan for anyone else moving around in the dark. Briefly you find yourself distracted by the brightness of the full moon above, the beauty of the starry sky this far from any major towns. The remote location of this mission was why you were all still in camp tonight, instead of blowing off steam at some local watering hole. Usually some booze was brought along anyway, so you could unwind around the campfire, but you suppose things are a bit tense for that after today. Secretly, you're glad. You don't want to have to compete with everyone else for Frankie's attention tonight.

Now, you blink rapidly to clear the tears from your eyes. Taking a final deep breath, you stand. You had done enough crying since then; it was time for a different kind of release.

Mosquito. Sneaking around in the night like this, you're reminded of your nickname's origins. After a particularly successful mission, Santiago had been raving over your skills of infiltration. “...hitting 'em before they even knew they were there! Bam!” Crowing with laughter, their victory relaxing him as much as the booze.

“Like a mosquito,” Frankie had murmured, just barely peeking out from under the brim of his cap. The bugs had been particularly bad in that region, but the look in Frankie's eyes was anything but. Gleaming with admiration in the dim bar light, a knowing amusement quirking his mouth into a smile-  because Santiago's jaw had dropped. “Mosquito! Yes! ‘Fish, you're a genius!” Before Frankie could stop him, his friend had stolen his hat, ruffled his hair, and planted a kiss on his head with a smack.

You laughed as Frankie snatched his cap back. Santiago lifted his beer and spoke ceremoniously. “From this moment on, you will be known as: Mosquito.”

“Here, here,” Benny and Will had enthused, holding up their own bottles.

You shook your head, but there was no arguing with it. You clinked the neck of your beer with Pope's. “Mosquito it is.” The conversation drifted then, but you had looked at Frankie meaningfully. You lifted your bottle almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment. You're still not sure if the blush on his cheeks was from your appreciation, or Santi's smooch.

A buzzing near your ear reminds you that there are also bugs in your current environment, and that you've been standing here long enough. Certain there is no one around to see, you slip around the side of Frankie's hut to where a camo-patterned blanket hangs as a door. You knock lightly on the wood beside it. “Catfish? It's me,” you call softly. “Can I come in?”

There's a rustle and the sound of a throat clearing. “Yeah.”

You push aside the blanket just enough to step beyond it. It falls back into place behind you with a swish, and you blink as your eyes adjust. Contrary to the cool moonlight falling outside, the hut is lit only by a lantern sitting on the nightstand. In the dim, warm orangish glow, the figure perched on the edge of the bed is a study of shadows. You catch your breath as Frankie lifts his head.

Frankie “Catfish” Morales epitomizes the phrase “it's always the quiet ones”. But what he doesn't say out loud, you can always read in his eyes. Endlessly expressive, occasionally accompanied by an eyebrow raised to varying heights, they never fail to draw you in.

“Hey, ‘Squito. Come to take your shot?”

Your brow furrows. That wasn't what you expected. The guys only called you ‘squito' or ‘skeeter’ when they wanted to needle you. Buying time, you cast your eyes around the small space. A few square feet at the foot of the bed where Frankie had dumped some gear; the single bed that Frankie sits on, three feet in front of you; and the nightstand at the head of the bed, a surprisingly homey feature. On it sits the lantern, Frankie's dog tags, and- ah- a tall bottle filled with golden liquid.

“Only if that's tequila I see,” you reply.

Frankie looks caught off-guard for a beat. Then a huff of laughter escapes him. “Make yourself at home.”

So saying, he pushes himself backwards on the bed, loosely crossing his legs in front him and resting his head against the wall. His eyes drift shut.

You snatch the bottle up with one hand and use the other to maneuver onto the bed next to him, mirroring his position. Consciously, you make sure your knees touch. Despite your earlier anger and whatever Frankie seemed to be thinking now, you want him to know you're here for him. His leg hair prickles against your skin, pleasant and familiar and warm.

"How many have you had?"

"Just two."

“Easy catch-up, then.” You remove the shot glass resting upside down on top of the bottle, fill it up, and knock it back. You can't help but shudder as it goes down, warmth settling in your belly.

You turn your head to find Frankie's eyes open and fixed on you. You swallow reflexively at how close your faces suddenly are, how depthless his eyes look in the lamplight.

“How's the tequila?”

You blink, barely registering his words.

He nods down to the bottle resting on your knee. “It's a new kind.” His low, raspy voice, normally comforting, now feels like it's sliding along your bones, setting them alight and turning them to liquid all at once.

You blink several more times and resist the urge to clear your throat. You glance down at the bottle. The label looks vaguely familiar, but not as much as it would if it were a brand he or Santi normally bought. And you would know; you've drank with them both countless times, enough to know their preferences.

“It's good,” you say. You offer it back to him.

He takes it, moving at a leisurely pace as he unscrews the cap. You watch the deftness of his hands, your gaze traveling up his arms- perhaps not as defined as Santiago's or Benny's, but just as capable of holding you tight. The lantern's glow gleams on his brown skin, the line of his throat as he tips his head back.

Your gaze catches on the strands of hair that drift along his brow. Usually they're tucked beneath his cap, even after-hours- an easy target for teasing amongst the guys. But tonight they're free, and you wonder at how soft they look. If Frankie would let you touch them, the tiny curls at his temple.

One eyebrow raises into your line of sight, interrupting your train of thought, and you realize he's caught you staring. Flushing, you wordlessly take the bottle back from him and sling another shot, before setting it down on the bed next to you.

After a beat of hesitation, you lean your head on his shoulder. “What's wrong, Catfish?”

You can feel him struggling to decide what to say. “Benny and Will caught me by the campfire. Scolded me for pulling such an idiotic stunt. You know the drill.”

“But then they slapped you on the back for it working out so well, right?” That's how their “scoldings” usually went.

“Yeah. Just not until after a solid helping of guilt. And I still haven't spoken to Santiago.”

You sigh. How could he not understand? You reach out and take his right hand in your left, entwining your fingers and pulling them toward you. Both of you happen to be wearing old, standard-issue PT shorts as pajamas; short enough for Frankie's hand to be resting on bare skin where you hold it against your leg.

“Frankie.” He seems reluctant to look you in the eye. “Hey,” you say, softer this time. He lifts his gaze. “It was an idiotic stunt. Brilliant, and it worked, but…” Frankie looks like he's bracing for a blow. “We thought we lost you, Frankie. How could we not be messed up by that?”

For that had been part of what made his plan so risky. Frankie hadn't counted on his team being so upset and distracted by his apparent loss that they could have been caught for real.

Seeming agitated, Frankie runs a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. I heard it all earlier.”

You wonder if Benny and Will had mentioned, if they had noticed, just how uprooted you had felt. You and Santiago both; their unflappable teammates, nearly unhinged.

You wait until he looks at you again. All traces of moisture seem to have evaporated from your mouth. “I thought I lost you, Frankie,” you whisper.

He remains still as this realization unfolds, unfurling like a flower in the sun. Revealing in crystal clarity what you had both been carefully stepping around for months. Longer. His eyes rove over your face as if searching for any possibility of a joke, a catch; his breathing quickens as his gaze flickers over the rest of you, taking in your knees pressed together and your hands entwined above them.

He reaches out with his free hand and slowly, delicately cradles your face. His skin is callused where his thumb strokes your cheek. Slowly, as if this was a dream he didn't want to wake from, he dips his head toward you until he is only a breath away.

“That's never gonna happen, Mos.” The words hang in the space between you for a heartbeat, an eternity. Frankie's gaze drops to your mouth for an instant; you feel the glance zip through you with a physical certainty. One of you must lean forward, or both of you- but in the next moment, without any movement you're aware of, your lips meet.

If either of you had been unsure earlier, you weren't now. Frankie kisses you like you're the air he needs to breathe; your free hand clutches a fistful of his t-shirt in an effort to pull him even closer.

His lips are improbably soft compared to his pilots' hands. You lightly run your tongue along them and his mouth opens for you, warm and welcoming. Frankie lets out a muffled groan as he tastes you, his hand shifting back to grip the nape of your neck. A needy sound scrapes the back of your throat at the feeling, the discovery of how much you trust his hands there, and fuck, you realize- you’re in even deeper than you thought.

But as suddenly as it had started, it stops. Frankie pulls back just far enough for the two of you to look at each other. Your ragged breathing mingles in the space between you. A breeze outside ripples the bottom of the blanket-door, the cool air a welcome contrast to your heated skin.

Through the overwhelming desire hazing your thoughts, you realize you're still holding hands. You glance down your lap and laugh a little, easing some of the tension. Squeezing his hand, you look back up at him. He's smiling too, despite the fact that his torso is still twisted toward you, straining to be close to you.

“Are you...okay?” you venture.

“Never better,” he answers, almost absently. He disentangles your hands to rest his flat on your bare thigh, his thumb stroking the skin, and you close your eyes at the touch. That such a small motion could wash through your whole body, make you hollow with want...when you open your eyes again, Frankie is looking at you with such intensity it steals your breath. “I just want to be sure that you're okay. With this. Us.”

Gently holding his hand in place against your thigh, you shift your bottom half so it aligns with the top half of you, facing him. Tentatively, you rest your hands on Frankie's leg so as to still be touching him. “This isn't just about today, you know? What happened today may have...triggered it, but this isn't a new feeling. I want you, Frankie. I care about you.” You look him in the eye at the last sentence, praying you've said the right thing.

But oh, have you- because Frankie looks like he wants to devour you whole. “Fuck,” he growls, and surges into you, his mouth crashing into yours. He wraps an arm around your waist, bending you backward while hauling you against his body, which now kneels over yours.

Instinctively you throw your arms around him, clinging to his shoulders as he holds you above the mattress. Heat surges through you at such a blatant demonstration of Frankie's strength, especially as his lips continue to move along your jaw and his teeth tug on your earlobe. “No more words,” he rasps, and that's all the warning you get before he's crawling the rest of the way up the bed, one arm holding you to him the entire time. Your feet scramble to help propel yourself along with him.

You've felt tantalizing brushes of Frankie’s muscles before, and now his every motion introduces the same tortuously brief sensations. When he finally lowers you to the bed his body chases yours, pressing himself into you, and you both groan aloud, finally able to give into the desire to sink into each other.

There's a dull thud and the sound of liquid sloshing as the tequila bottle is knocked off the bed, but Frankie seems to have only one thing on his mind. He is everywhere at once while you writhe beneath him; his teeth sink into your shoulder as he sucks possessive marks there, his hands span your hips and slide up your skin in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you gasp, and he hums, dark and approving, from where his nose is tracing patterns down your belly.

“I like you saying my name, querida.” His breath is hot on your skin as he presses kisses up your ribs, steadily rucking up your shirt. He's probably already guessed that you aren't wearing a bra: you never do when the team is officially off-duty, a question that was once asked and quickly settled the first time it came up, in a camp much like this one.

You spare a thought as to if you should feel self-conscious that you're also not wearing underwear. After spending so much time sweating in jungles, you like to let things breathe when you can. You didn't plan for this to be happening tonight.

But then you imagine Frankie's reaction when he discovers your single bottom layer, and you decide not to worry.

You're lured out of your thoughts by Frankie's voice, coaxing, asking: “Take this off for me, dulzura?”

Barely a glance down at his beseeching eyes has you moving with impossible eagerness. You half sit up to oblige him, thinking that you would do just about anything with him sounding like that. His voice as rough as his hands and just as tangible against your skin, just as capable of inciting the slickness between your thighs.

You pull your shirt over your head, arching your back a little more than strictly necessary for him. Your nipples harden as they're exposed to the air, exposed to him- because Frankie is staring, his lips parting like he's already imagining them being on you.

You give in to the urge to plunge your hands into his hair, running the soft strands between your fingers and then tugging, reminding him that he can do more than imagine. His eyes snap to your face and you have half a second to register their wicked gleam before he's on you. His hands grace your breasts first, callused fingers as capable directing your body as they are his machines. You wonder if it's the tequila or his touch that has your head spinning so- his mouth warms you better than any liquor, and the slide of his tongue on your nipples makes you cry out.

Your hands scrabble at him during his ministrations, determined to wreck him as thoroughly as he’s wrecking you. You roll your hips into his thigh, wedged between your own, but any thoughts beyond repeating that single motion fly out of your head when you feel the hard length of his arousal. You rake your nails down his back- gently at first- but the guttural noise he makes when you do convinces you to do it again, harder. He shudders above you, and when you continue downward to squeeze his ass, he exhales shakily.

“Fuck me, querida.” Frankie sits up, his weight pinning your legs, rendering you unable to  continue tormenting him.

“That’s the idea,” you say cheekily, before your jaw falls slack at the sight of him yanking his shirt over his head by the neck. He chuckles at the look on your face.

“You were saying something, Mosquito?” he quips, bending down to kiss you again. You both gasp at the sensation of your bare skin meeting. His kiss is searing, claiming, and you can’t get enough. How had you not given in to this before now? Every inch of him, every sound he makes, is familiar- you’ve gotten used to catching glimpses of him out in the field; you’ve heard him spill endearments and sweet sounds in your ear on the dance floor after one too many rounds (no matter that neither of you ever brought it up the next morning). But now, with the world tilted sideways and all your senses tuned to him at once- every sensation is utterly new, and you want them all.

You want Frankie to feel them too; you wrap your arms around him, caressing newly exposed skin as he sighs into your mouth. Your hands slip beneath his shorts to stroke the divots of his hip bones, but before you can reach for the maddening hardness between them he stops you, tearing his mouth from yours with a snarl.

“Not yet, dulzura,” he says. You've never seen his eyes so hooded with lust, the meaningful smirk playing on his lips. “Ladies first.”

Fuck, you’ve never been so turned on in your life. You whimper helplessly as his hands and mouth descend to the waistband of your shorts. Just barely coherent, you lift your hips so he can slide them off- and watch the smugness vanish from his expression.

“You’re not wearing- were you?” Frankie looks dumbfounded, his voice hoarse.

You almost laugh. As if you’d had a chance to slip off your panties without him seeing since you arrived? “I wasn’t, no. It’s an occasional habit.” It’s your turn smirk at him, broadly, as his expression immediately goes hazy, imagining the implications of that.

You squirm a little where you lie, your shorts pulled down just enough to reveal your sex. Laying there mostly naked, your bottom half restrained, you can already feel tension coiling in your core. Frankie’s attention focuses again at your movement. Everything feels hypersensitive against your skin: the thin sheets beneath you, Frankie’s knuckles on your thighs where he still grips your shorts. Even his gaze as he drags it down your body, coming to rest on where he’s just exposed.

He tugs your shorts down and over your feet. Sliding his hands back up you slowly, he eases your legs apart, pressing kisses as he goes. Each one warm and deliberate, soft and slightly ticklish from his facial hair. As he reaches the apex of your thighs his tongue traces hot lines toward where you want him- teasing, warning. He breathes your name, and your eyes meet.

You’ve been watching him make his way up your body, enthralled by the sight. You never imagined that sex with Frankie would be like this (to the point that you let yourself imagine sex with Frankie at all)- equal parts silly and smoldering, with an aura of reverence around the whole thing, like neither of you ever dreamed this would really happen. Now he refocuses on what’s closer to him: you, soaked by the evidence of just how much you want him. He circles your entrance with one thumb, testing, and spreads the wetness up to your clit. You gasp and buck your hips as he continues this circuit, back and forth, for several seconds.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan in a higher pitch, an unspoken plea for more.

In the time it takes you to register the satisfied smile and promising glint in his eyes, he’s lowered his head and licked a long, hot line directly up your center. Then he hooks his thumbs into you, spreading you open, and does it again.

“Fuck!” you swear and pant and grip the mattress as Frankie’s tongue works you, like nobody you’ve ever been with. You feel pinned down with the way he holds you open and you love it, like you’re for his pleasure and not the other way around. Like he could do this all night but oh, you’d never last that long. You have to remind yourself not to moan so loud as he sucks on your clit; the thin wooden walls of this hut feel too small for the feeling overtaking you as Frankie licks into you, fucking you with his tongue.

Thin walls, thin walls- “Frankie!” you cry desperately, all the muscles in your body contracting as his mouth brings you to the edge-

“Yes, querida please, let go for me,” he urges, and his rough, low voice combined with his mouth latching back onto you is all it takes for you to come, hips rearing, your body shuddering under him as pleasure pulses through you. With eager, steady strokes of his tongue, Frankie draws out your orgasm like he’s the one who never wants it to end.

As the high gradually passes, you move one hand to rest in his hair. “Stop,” you say weakly. You tug gently, but otherwise don’t move from where you lie with your eyes closed, still catching your breath.

You hear him chuckle; you don’t even want to think about how smug he probably looks. Frankie presses a last kiss to your inner thigh and then crawls up your body, pressing his still-clothed hips into yours.

“Is that all you can take, Mosquito?” he teases.

Instinctively you lift your hips to meet him- and your eyes fly open as his cock lines up with your center. Frankie lets out possibly the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard, a cut-off, huffing groan, and his eyes flutter shut as his face contorts.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the sight, and the feel of his length (because it is a length, you think dizzily) pressing at your entrance, even encased in shorts, jolts you right back to life, thrumming with want. Your lips curve into a smile. “If that’s your reaction while you still have pants on, Catfish, I’m not sure you can take much more,” you drawl.

He grumbles something unintelligible in Spanish, lowering his head to nip at your neck. His hardness slides against you deliberately as you giggle and then gasp. When one large hand grips your hip you whimper, and Frankie’s husky voice sounds in your ear. “Those are the sounds I want to be hearing right now, dulzura.”

His commanding tone makes you flush with need, and you whimper again, wondering how this man could possibly give you so much bliss and still have you aching for more. You tug at his shorts. “Take these off.”

“Oh, you’re giving the orders now, huh?” Frankie raises an eyebrow, but slides off the bed to oblige. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband, and you suddenly find it hard to focus on anything else.

“Well, I can’t let you have all the fun,” you say, your mouth forming the words while all your attention is on his hips, the incremental amounts of skin being revealed as he slowly draws down his shorts.

Your mouth goes dry as the proud length of him springs free, his shorts finally falling to the floor. His cock looks just as long as it felt pressed against you, the tip gleaming with moisture, and you feel yourself clench at the thought of taking him inside you. You run your eyes back up him, following the trail of hair to the dusting over his chest, the span of his shoulders. Lost in your admiration of his beautiful, soft, strong body, you’re almost startled when you hear him speak.

“Like what you see?” Frankie’s gruff voice draws your attention back to his face. You feel a pang of surprise at the trepidation there, and you wonder what that eyebrow means this time. Is he...shy?

A smile fights to bloom on your face, but you hold it back, just for a moment. “Oh, do I,” you purr, shifting smoothly to stand in front of him. The wooden floor beneath your bare feet is rough but not splintery. He watches you move, lust darkening his gaze as he rakes it over you again.

“Francisco Morales,” you say. Your grin flowers fully across your face then, and you try to channel every ounce of suppressed affection you ever felt as you aim it at him.

A shy smile flickers across his face as he absorbs your affection; he has the gall to look almost surprised by it. Your exasperating, wonderful man. Thinking about everything that led you here makes your eyes feel hot again; the idea that he might have been gone without you ever telling him, showing him, what he really means to you.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him, burrowing your face into his chest. Frankie stifles a gasp as your hips press into him, but returns the gesture, understanding. He strokes your hair with one hand.

“It’s okay, querida. I’m here. I’ll always be here,” he vows softly.

You tilt your head up at his declaration, blinking watery eyes. He gently catches your chin and lowers his lips to yours. You sigh-moan into his kiss, letting it melt your worries away, stretching up on your toes to meet it equally. Frankie’s tongue is hot in your mouth as it intensifies; your knees feel weak. Finally you tear away from him with a gasp, breathing heavily.

“You okay, Mos?” Frankie’s hand rests on the back of your neck again. After that kiss, it makes it even more difficult to think clearly, but you’re more okay than you’ve ever been.

“Never better.” With a smile, you echo his words from earlier. Your hands wander down the muscles of his back, coming to settle on his now bare ass. You look at him from under your lashes and bite your lip.

He answers your look with an equally sensual smile, his hands caressing down your spine to mirror your position. Thick fingers massage your rear before gripping firmly, fitting your hips to his. Your eyes flutter shut. Frankie’s body slots against your own perfectly, all its curves and contours molding to yours like pieces of a puzzle box sliding smoothly into place, holding something secret and wonderful within.

All the nerves in your body zero in on the hard length pressed between you. Frankie’s cock burns with heat, and you can feel every ridge and vein where it rasps against your skin.

“Dulzura,” Frankie says, his mustache tickling your ear. “How do you feel about taking this back to the bed?”

You giggle and nod your consent, eyes shining. Frankie groans in relief and bundles you backward. Your back hits the mattress and he climbs atop you, your limbs tangling, kissing and caressing with mounting fervor. Your back arches and a breathy cry scrapes free as his cock drags through your sensitive folds. Frankie lets out a guttural moan at the feeling, clutching at you like he can’t get close enough.

“Frankie...’Fish,” you gasp, through the chaos of your thoughts. You have just enough willpower to pull back and meet his gaze. “Flip us over?”

Desire flares in his eyes. In a blurringly quick move, he spins you, and then you’re atop him, the base of his cock nestled against your sex. Frankie groans again at the sensation, seeming beyond words. He palms your thighs, your breasts. You feel short of breath, consumed by the need sweeping through you.

You wrap your hand around Frankie’s cock, stroking firmly. He makes a choked sound and his hips buck up from the bed.

“Mos,” he grits out. “Please.”

All you can do is nod. Rising up on your knees slightly, you position yourself over him, grasping his cock and running the tip of him through your wetness. Thighs trembling, you line him up at your entrance.

Frankie reaches for your free hand and entwines your fingers, prompting you to look up and meet his gaze. His hand squeezes yours in a wordless question.

Your heart swells, and you feel impossibly fond as you smile at him. Your Frankie. Even as far gone as you both are, he’s checking on you. Making you feel safe. In answer, you lower yourself down onto him.

The effect is swift and immediate. Your moans are loud enough to wake the stars; you forget everything but each other’s pleasure, the absolute euphoric rightness of this feeling.

Then you clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide. “Shhh!” you remind him giddily.

Frankie looks utterly gone, his lips parted, awe and adoration on his face. The hair on his forehead is damp with sweat. “Move for me, querida,” he says, and the strained, pleading rasp in his voice shoots heat straight to your core.

You set a steady rhythm on him, your eyes fluttering shut as Frankie’s cock fills you, stretches you so deliciously you can already feel a familiar pressure building. The sinful ease with which he slides in and out of you is a testament to just how wet you are. His fingers stroke and squeeze your flesh in time with his vocal gasps, and when they brush your cheek, you open your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mumble. You’ve always thought Frankie was beautiful, but this…the muscles in his arms flex and pull through your movements. The intensity in his dark eyes as they drink in every inch of you, like he still can’t believe this happening. The restraint he’s showing, letting you set the pace, is evident in the tension you can feel in his body beneath you. It makes you grind your hips down, squeeze him, wanting to push past his cautiousness.

Frankie chokes back a shout at your change in rhythm, throwing his head back and exposing the length of his neck. Immediately you lean down to trace it with your tongue, relishing the taste of salt on his skin. He swears.

He grasps the back of your neck for the third time that night, and you whimper, ecstasy thrilling down your spine. “Please, Frankie,” you breathe, not even knowing what you’re asking for.

“Yes,” he answers roughly. He kisses you and then tugs you back upright. This time he thrusts up into you, hard, and the sound of skin slapping on skin fills the air. You cry out, needy and desperate, and Frankie growls in approval.

“Fuck, yes, Mos. Want to hear you, want you to feel good…” his praise stutters, some of it in Spanish now as his pace quickens.

Only Frankie could make you feel this good, and you make sure he knows it. He grips your hips firmly enough to bruise, but you don’t care; you want it, want him to mark you. Claim you, so there will never be any question about it again. You are his, completely.

“Frankie, my Frankie..” Pleas and praise tumble from your lips.

“Fuck, yeah.” Maybe he likes the idea of being yours, too, because he moans loudly in response. His palm splays against your side, slides across your skin until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Your nerves jolt. Fuck, you’re gonna come. Frankie’s thrusts speed up- had you said that out loud? Your breathing quickens; you can feel the tension rising in you as surely as a cresting wave.

“Mos,” Frankie gasps. “Can I..?” His eyes flicker to where your bodies connect.

You understand his meaning and your eyes widen. “Yes!” And the idea of him spilling himself inside you, the sudden force of his thrusts, the pressure of his thumb- the wave breaks.

Blinding pleasure crashes through you, a roaring in your ears muffling everything else. Distantly you feel yourself shake and keen; your walls pulse around Frankie’s cock, and then a new heat fills you as his hips slam into yours and stay there, buried deep. He groans, long and low in his throat.

There’s a moment of stillness as you both recover, the only sound your heaving breaths. Feeling wobbly, you topple forward, catching yourself with your palms on Frankie’s chest. You let out a soft groan as aftershocks ebb though you, every nerve singing.

“...Mos,” Frankie murmurs, his eyes still closed.

“Mm,” you manage, words still beyond your abilities.

“That was fucking amazing,” he breathes out the words on a sigh. He releases your hips to cover your hands with his. His eyes open. “You’re fucking amazing,” he says with more strength.

You can feel yourself blush. “Frankie...” You duck your head.

“Uh-uh, dulzura,” he scolds. He tips your chin back up. “You know I’ve always thought that about you.” He holds your gaze, his clear-eyed certainty so unlike the careful distance he kept before.

You lean down and press a kiss to his heart before snuggling into him, nose against his neck. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, and you savor the intimacy and connectedness of it. “I know,” you respond. “I’m just sorry I never did anything about it.”

Frankie strokes a soothing hand along your back. The air is close and humid after your exertions, and your skin is faintly damp with sweat. “Nothing to be sorry for. I never did anything either,” he points out.

You chuckle, a bit nervously. “Well, we’ve done something now.”

You can feel his laugh rumble through his chest, comforting, like the reverse of a cat purring on your lap. “No kidding.”

You wait, sensing he has more to say.

“Querida,” he prompts softly. You lift your head to look at him. His hair is a mess, all sweat-damp curls, and though his face is serious, his eyes are as soft as you’ve ever seen them. Your heart squeezes.

“I care about you too. You know our lives are crazy, and dangerous, so I was scared to say anything. Scared you didn’t feel the same. But...I can’t go back to you not knowing. I’m all in, Mos. If you want this, so do I.”

Frankie’s face is open, vulnerable. How could he possibly imagine that you’d want to go back? You shake your head at him. “Well, there’s no way I can top that speech, ‘Fish.” It feels like he’s holding his breath. You level an exasperated, affectionate look at him. “Of course I want this. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

Before you’re even done speaking he’s kissing you, his lips and tongue saying what words cannot. As it deepens you shift forward, and Frankie’s cock slips out of you, causing you both to flinch and then laugh. His face crinkles adorably, and the moment makes you indescribably happy- the kind of contentment that comes from realizing you know exactly what you want. And right now, it’s this perfect, effortless bond you have with Frankie.

He gives you a shy smile. You lay your head down on his chest, overcome by a wave of satisfied tiredness. Idly you trace shapes across his abdomen with a finger while you speak. “You know, Catfish, your chest is much comfier than my bed. Mind if just I sleep here?”

He chuckles, and you think hearing Frankie’s laugh through his chest might be your new favorite sound. His arms, still wrapped around you, squeeze you lightly. “Please; stay.” He reaches out and clicks off the lantern. Despite the darkness, you get the feeling that both of you are still thinking, absorbing everything that just happened, but gradually your thoughts lull towards sleep.

Until Frankie’s voice slides through the dark: “I can’t believe you weren’t wearing underwear.”

---

A/N: Thank you for reading!! This is the first fic I’ve ever written, pls be nice. Fun fact, I originally intended for this to be a Frankie x Reader x Santi fic, but then decided I was getting too into the Frankie x Reader feels to do that. HOWEVER, if anyone is interested and even if no one asks lol, I might still write a threesome AU of this scenario

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 29

First time reader click here

Feels like this story is flopping. Is it flopping? Idk. This chapter is 100% plot and it is spooky. Cursed demon box. Helpful Stephen Strange and grumpy Wong. Hovering Bruce and Tony. Loki being a honorary Gen-Z. Found family but make it ✨superheroes✨.

"That's a lot to unpack," Peter stated once I had given him the bare bones report of the situation at hand. "Uh, are you okay?" The boy was obviously upset at my predicament, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder.

"Kinda?" I offered, making space for Wanda and Pietro who decided to join me and Peter, away from the arguing adults. The mission discussion - an absolute disaster - started as soon as Peter had walked in. Evidently experienced in such matters, the boy ignored the bickering and came over to steal me from Bruce's clutches to peacefully finish his egg sandwich in the company of his peers.

"I wanted to ask if I could see your memory of that time," Wanda meekly offered me a piece of candy. I accepted it - sugar sweet sugar, how I love thee so! The witch continued with a smile: "I think it would be helpful to see what we're dealing with, magic-wise."

"Sure," I trusted her. "Just don't scramble what's left of my sanity, please," All of us laughed at my remark as I laid down on the cold floor with my head in Wanda's lap. Her powers felt like small brain zaps, tingles that began at the front of my forehead and ran down into my spine. I followed her instructions and thought about the times I remembered, finding the box, placing it into my closet, the nightmares. I had a mild headache by the time she was done; no grudges against her - Wanda tactfully avoided my private moments and looked only at the ones containing the artifact.

"You've gotten really good," I complimented her with pure adoration.

"Thank you," She blushed, smoothing back my stray hairs. "That stuff is really strong. I don't think you should go near the box," She admitted. "And Doc should take a look at you. You have a residue left. I don't think that's good either."

"Well, fuck," I said in muted resignation.

"Press F to pay respects," Pietro joked in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"Your luck is almost as bad as mine," Peter pointed out.

I scoffed. "Well, if I see any spiders around, I'll be sure to stay away in case they happen to be radioactive OsCorp runaways."

All of us laughed. Despite the grim situation, I didn't feel doomed. I was surrounded by friends and my boyfriends and my bestie who happened to be a mythical omnipotent god- welp, once again, I was getting too emotional. Once the adults were done arguing, we could start making sense of this mess and hopefully clean it up before the monster is out of the box.

"Mortals," I heard Loki scoff. The next moment, the Asgardian sat down noisily next to me, pout on full display. "This house is a nightmare."

His expression - or the accidental use of a meme - sent me completely, tension leaving my body via copious amounts of nearly hysterical laughter. Through tears and hiccups, I saw Wanda cackle with me and Peter show the meme in question to Loki, noting that he had been once sent to time-out on top of the fridge by Tony himself. Soon, all of us were laughing, much to the displeasure of the adults.

"Children, what is the issue?" Thor asked, irritated.

"We're just waiting for you to be done with arguing," I spoke before Loki could start bitching about Thor calling him a child. "Then I can show Steve and Loki where exactly have I buried the box so Stephen can take me to the healers and get this thing out of me or whatever," I pointed out the most logical plan of action.

Two long strides and the sorcerer was standing over me, boom-boom-whooshing and generally making very pretty golden patterns to appear and land on top of me. Tony and Bruce anxiously hovered behind him, both of my boys concerned and ready to mother-hen me. Ugh, so disgustingly adorable. Wanda's hand encompassed mine - she was nervous.

Stephen took a solid five-minute silence break before coming to a final conclusion. "Wong can get rid of the residual traces of the artifact's influence," The sorcerer announced curtly. "It's good you got rid of the artifact, a few more months and you would have started slipping into insanity if the magic within it was not released," He explained, slowly reaching out a hand to place it on top of my head. I wasn't sure if it was a gesture meant to bring comfort or another diagnostic test but leaned into the touch nonetheless. "Tell me, did you have any behavioral... Disturbances after...?" He trailed off.

I chewed on my lip, evaluating. "I honestly don't know. I've always been kind of an asshole," Honesty was the best policy. "Nothing seems out of order, sleepwalking aside."

"I see," Strange gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Perhaps, it was your stubborn nature that forbade the artifact from corrupting your mind completely. As evidenced by Captain Rogers, even undesirable character traits bring good into this world now and then."

That seemed a little bit hostile. I frowned, giving a questioning look to a frowning Loki.

"Speaking from experience?" Not the one to hold back upon witnessing first-grade bullshit, I withdrew from Stephen's touch, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.

Surprising everyone, the man laughed soundly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I most certainly do," Shooting me a positively mischievous wink. I felt like I was missing something.

The room's inhabitants slowly ticked out in pairs and threes, eager to complete their assigned tasks. Loki had insisted on coming along to the sanctum with me, even almost getting up in Stephen's face, but Bruce - out of all people - managed to calm the Asgardian down, and together we convinced him his magic would be considerably more useful during the retrieval of the cursed box. Loki was worried - everyone with a pair of functional eyes could see that the spiky attitude was his way of showing he cared about me, which made my insides briefly turn to mush. I didn't expect him to take the title of my best friend so seriously and I definitely was not complaining.

Tony was the last to leave, jittery and shaky, clutching me like it was his last time seeing me, kissing me hungrily in front of everyone. The joke or two he made were weak ghosts of his usual sharp snark.

"I love you and I'll be back soon," I whispered into his ear, feeling him freeze and his fingertips dig almost painfully into my sides. Louder, I repeated: "Not planning on dying any time soon, y'all gotta chill. Let's go, doc?" I addressed the tall sorcerer who was tactfully pretending to be busy with his smartphone.

Wanda pressed a duffle bag into my hands mouthing "clean clothes" a split second before Stephen opened a portal and with a great deal of curiosity, I stepped through it, eyes immediately drawn to the dimly lit space filled with books and antiques. So many books, so many unusual trinkets. The chandelier that hung over our heads rivaled the ones I'd seen in million-dollar-homes of dad's friends.

"Follow me," Stephen extended an arm in the direction of a smaller door, "Please do not touch anything."

I walked a pace behind him, satisfying my curiosity by looking around like a child in a candy store. The air smelled different in the Sanctum, almost as familiar as Loki's magic but less frosty... Warmer. A dash of red fabric swished from somewhere towards me; I giggled. The Cloak of Levitation liked me - not nearly as much as it liked Peter though - so I brushed my fingertips along the fabric, greeting it quietly. Talking loudly in this building was out of the question. I felt like any moment, a disgruntled librarian would appear to chastise me for making noise.

"Strange," A short Asian man appeared, book in hand and looking none too happy. Guess that's the librarian... "I got your text. The room next to yours is prepared for the ritual," The man I assumed to be Wong gave me a curt nod in the way of greeting, doing a quick 180° and walking us back to a small but tastefully decorated room with a single cot in the middle. It was pleasantly warm, a small fire lit in the fireplace, willowy smoke of incense rising from a few strategically placed sticks.

"The bathroom is that way. I'm afraid you'll have to be fully nude for the procedure," Strange declared apologetically, pointing to a door hidden behind the divide.

I snorted, but of course, the weird voodoo shit would require me to be naked. Not that I was embarrassed or anything but still. Tony would have a field day. Locating a chair, I dumped my duffle bag on it, flying out of my hoodie and sweatpants in record time. My underwear and socks followed, feet unpleasantly chilly despite the carpeted floor. I ran a hand over the faint bruises on my hips, evidence of last night, fondly - either Tony or Stephen had left marks on my body and that was... It was great. I loved it, drugs or not.

I heard someone clear their throat and turned around, nearly cracking up at the way both men suddenly averted their gazes, blush riding high on their cheeks. I snorted: "I'm hot, what else is new?"

Wong shook his head, busying himself with some sort of a book; Stephen lingered, eyes fixated on the very same bruises. His tongue darted out, wetting the plush of his bottom lip, and damn, this wasn't the time to get horny. I shook my head and with that, the sorcerer caught himself too, mutely motioning me to lay down on the cot.

"Whenever you're done eye-fucking each other," Wong piped up sarcastically - wow, I liked this man already. Stephen grumbled something quiet and rude, provoking another snort from me.

I followed their instructions - shortly after the Asian man began reading - or rather singing - something in a language I didn't know, I felt myself fall into a deep sleep. Or, I thought I was falling asleep. At one point, my eyes opened to an empty room, a thin sheet covering my bare body, and a silence that made chills run down my spine.

"Stephen?" I called out. I sounded like I was underwater to my own ears. "Wong?"

I was met with silence so deafening, I had no choice but to sit up and look around. The fire was burning strong in the fireplace, several logs blackened from it as sparks flew. It took a second for me to realize it made no sound - there was no crackling. Something was very wrong, the dread was creeping up on me.

Very familiar dread.

With the sheet firmly wrapped around me, I hopped off the cot, suddenly noticing the drawings on my arms, my legs. I was covered in runes similar to the ones I had seen on the cursed box - and my memories weren't missing. As clear as day, I recalled messing around with the box, debating on opening it, taking it out of my room only to find it back on my desk in the morning, some serious Anabelle shit.

I jumped as the floorboards cracked somewhere in the house. Every logical thought I had, backed up by every horror movie I had ever watched, screamed at me to NOT go towards the creepy noise; like moth to a flame, I was drawn in and couldn't resist the unnatural urge to investigate it. On silent feet, I padded out of the room, desperately trying not to think about the lonely, dark hallways filled with strange ancient objects. My steps made no noise.

On the couch, in the main room we'd arrived, sitting lazily, was Tony. I'd recognize his hair anywhere - and the Led Zep tee, old, frayed edges and loose threads. "Tony?" I asked hopefully, trying to make sense of this...

He turned around.

It wasn't Tony. Whatever it was, it wore Tony's face, it held his brown eyes and crow's feet around them - it wasn't him. Wrong, like the lack of sound in this place, misplaced and unnatural. The doe browns didn't sparkle, lifeless, dull color of dried mud. As much as I wanted to go and bury my face in his chest, my limbs filled with lead, my whole body screaming "DANGER".

The impostor kept quiet which only solidified my suspicions. Real Tony would be running his mouth already, poking fun at my impression of a sheet ghost.

"Princess?" The... Thing asked in Tony's voice, but it fell flat and monotone.

"Whatever you are, you sure as Hell ain't Tony," I stated firmly, hoping for some answers. "What the fuck?"

Not-Tony's face changed, familiar features twisting into something sinister, the malice making me sick to my stomach. The creature stood up, causing my feet to take an involuntary step back as he advanced slowly.

"You have no choice but to submit," The Thing replied calmly. "You're not getting out of here. Not even your little Asgardian pet god can save you," Its tone was absolutely flat. I would have thought the thing was a robot if not for the obvious involvement of magic in this situation. Its words filled me with dread as thick as molten lava; unfortunately for the creature, unlocking my memories gave me enough rational balance to be acutely aware of it and therefore, able to fight it.

I could fight it. I didn't know how exactly, but I could resist it. "That's a really bold thing to say for something that... What even are you? Magical STD?" As my brain desperately focused on finding a solution to a problem I didn't know all the details of, my mouth had a mind of its own.

The creature growled, a far more primal noise than a human could make. "You don't know what you're up against, child. I am one for we are many," Suddenly, the room was filled with shadows as if someone had turned off all the lights and cranked up the moon to be the brightest it ever was. The shadows moved, oozed, motion sinister without any light to back it up.

I had no choice but to pucker up. Nobody was coming to rescue me; in fact, I always have taken pride in being a self-saving princess. Damsel in distress wasn't really my style. The hunch in my shoulders disappeared, giving way to a stubborn and stiff expectation of the upcoming altercation, hands bailed in fists.

"I mean, like Legion the demon from the Bible?" I recalled what little I knew from Wikipedia. "I mean, I'm agnostic myself, but if you feel like identifying with that, you should probably see a therapist."

The entity growled, shadows gathering around it like fabric on a string, and lunged. Paralyzed by sudden blinding, deafening fear, I turned tail and ran.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

[spritewrites]

inhibitions (or, high five)

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Characters: Vanya & Five

Word Count: 2062

Warnings: drug use, mentions of alcohol abuse

“Ahem.”

Slam. “Ow.”

“What are you doing?” Vanya asked, peering around the cabinet door to where Five was cursing and rubbing his head.

“Nothing.”

Vanya raised her eyebrows. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s nothing, okay?” Five snapped, sticking his sore head back in the cabinet.

Well, that’s bullshit. “You sure?”

Five huffed. “Let me assure you, I am one hundred percent certain that I am doing absolutely nothing of interest to you right now.”

He briefly pulled his head out (carefully avoiding the top) to see Vanya giving him one of her soft smiles. “Rooting around in the back of a cabinet is pretty interesting to me.”

A long, low exhale. He was eyeing her carefully, the same way he did the first day he came home. Like he didn’t know who to trust. “Fine. Do you happen to know where dear old Dad kept the alcohol?”

The crease between Vanya’s eyes deepened. “We have a whole bar, Five.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but we’re… uh, out. Did the old man have any backup storage?”

“I think he got rid of it all when Klaus started drinking.” She put a gentle hand on Five’s shoulder, startling him. Instantly, the hand was back at her side. Right. The touch thing. “Are you okay?”

He sighed, running his small hand through his hair. “Yep. Fine. Great. Just… need to take the edge off.”

Everything went still.

“Five.”

“What,” he snapped. “Are you going to lecture me about the long-term effects of alcohol on my goddamn pre-teen body like everyone else? Because trust me, I’ve calculated exactly the blood alcohol content that –”

“No, I – no. I was just going to say…” She swallowed hard, then met his gaze, her kind eyes and his blazing ones. The corner of her lip tugged upward. “I’ve got something that might help.”

*

Honestly, Vanya never thought that her birthday gift from Klaus would ever be anything more than a joke. “So you don’t blow up the moon again,” he’d said with a wink, “now that you’re off your pills and everything.” But now, sitting on the floor of her childhood bedroom ripping open a package of laced gummies with her 58-year-old brother, she was so, so glad she had it.

The circles under Five’s eyes had gotten worse over the past few weeks, and even though she knew he’d never say anything, it was clear that putting down the staggering weight of the apocalypse after forty-five years of carrying it was proving difficult for her brother. She saw the way he startled at his reflection, the way his fingers flexed absent-mindedly toward his hip, right where a holster might be, the way he counted the people in the room, the way he would talk too quietly or too loudly, or left out details in stories, as if he couldn’t gauge how much of a given conversation was supposed to happen in his head.

He’d taken to drinking, of course – he’d been drinking since he got back. But now he seemed to rarely be without a glass in his hand. And Vanya saw the way his shoulders relaxed when he took a sip, the way his tapping foot and twitching eyelid settled.

Vanya was used to watching. She knew how to see things.

She’d been saving the candy especially for him, for when he needed it. Tomorrow she’d go to the liquor store for him; she knew better than to recommend he go cold-turkey. Five was smart. With the right support, he’d slow down on his own, when he was ready. That was her job, being the right support.

Therapy would probably be good too.

“I don’t like sweets,” he reminded her, and for a second her heart lurched for the thirteen-year-old boy who was once caught with a half-empty can of cake frosting under his bed.

“These’ll help. Just trust me?” It was a request, an olive branch. Slowly, he nodded.

“Okay.”

*

“—It wasn’t even the most dangerous situation I’d been in that week! Dolores was furious at me for days, of course, but at least I got some wine out of it,” Five said, tipping his head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. Vanya was giggling at his story, watching the faint smile dance over her brother’s face at the memory.

“I thought the apocalypse would be, just like… shitty forever.”

Five sighed. “It was. But you know. You can’t be unhappy for 45 years straight, your body doesn’t work that way. There were good times.”

Vanya giggled again. She couldn’t seem to stop doing that. “I can’t do anything straight.”

For a beat, Five studied her, his expression unreadable. Then he broke into a surprisingly bright smile.

“That was a joke.” It wasn’t a question.

Vanya gave her brother a light shove. The way a sister might to a brother. “Of course it was, idiot.”

He shoved her back, smiling wider than Vanya had seen in a long time. “Don’t call me an idiot. Idiot.” The twitch in his eyebrow was gone. Vanya suddenly went quiet, the light feeling in her core spreading throughout her chest at this realization.

“Five?”

“Hm?”

“I love you a lot.”

Five was quiet too, then, but not unusually so; Five was always quiet, when he wasn’t yelling. His eyes traced patterns in the ridges and dips of the ceiling plaster.

“I love you too.” He turned to look at her. “I missed you.”

“I know, Five,” she replied, because she did. “I missed you too.” Because she does. Did. Does.

His face split again, into that same bright, open smile. “You know what I would think about? Out in the apocalypse?”

“What?”

“When we would stay up all night sometimes talking. Remember that? Jesus, we must’ve been… ten? Eleven? And we’d be up for hours… I don’t even remember what we talked about. Math, probably.” Five shrugged. “I had conversations like that with Dolores, after. Or sometimes you.”

“Me?”

He smoothed out the fabric of his shorts. “Yeah, you were there in the apocalypse with me. I had your book, remember? Closest I could get to someone talking to me.”

Vanya tried to meet his eyes, but he was gone somewhere. A gentle hand found his arm. He flinched a little, but didn’t pull away. “I’m here now.”

He nodded, and when he spoke, it sounded strangled somehow. “Thanks.”

A passing truck honked its horn. Vanya thunked her head back on a bedpost, sinking into the floaty feeling that had settled right around her sternum. She got why Klaus did this. It felt like she could say anything, or do anything, and everything would be okay.

Five made a kind of whining noise in the back of his throat. “I want donuts.”

Vanya closed her eyes, smiling. “Shit, donuts sound great right now.”

“The jelly-filled ones from Griddy’s.”

“Yeah, when you get there at like eight p.m. and they’ve just finished the last batch of the day so they’re, like, fresh and shit.”

“Fuck,” Five sighed, pulling the back of his blazer over his head and slouching. “I want donuts.”

Despite herself, Vanya started giggling again. “You look ridiculous.”

“Excuse you,” Five replied, wrinkling his nose. “I am a trained assassin of the Commission, licensed to travel space and time with an assault rifle. I never look ridiculous.”

“You look like a Founding Father.”

The look that Five shot Vanya sent chills running down her spine. But like, in a fun way.

“Take that back.”

“No.”

“You asshole, take it –”

“No, you look like Benjamin goddamn Frank – hey!” Before she could so much as blink, Five had pounced, swatting at her arms when she laughingly brought them up to protect herself. “Go away, you know I’m right!”

Five was grinning too, slipping his fingers past her weak defenses to mess up her hair and poke at her cheeks until she had to hold her stomach in laughter. “Take it back, I said!” he crowed, sounding like he was on the edge of laughter himself. He managed a lucky strike when blunt fingernails skated over the crease of her neck, and she scrunched her shoulder with a squeal.

“No – no, fuck, Five –”

Vanya’s flailing hands struggled to gain any sort of advantage against Five’s skilled assassin reflexes, to no avail. She was horribly ticklish at the best of times, but now the ruthless pokes that were attacking her nerves overwhelmed her, and she curled up into a ball of giggles on the floor.

Through wet lashes she could see Five’s grin as he methodically took her apart, relentlessly tickling all the places he knew were torture – ears down to collarbone, and then jumping down to squeeze at her sides, making her shriek. His skinny teenage fingers were unfortunately perfect for tickling at her ribs and sneaking their way into the crease of her neck.

Vanya was laughing the hardest she’d laughed in a long time, maybe ever. Nobody in recent memory had known her like this, known her well enough to completely eviscerate her the way that Five always, always could. Damn him. This was definitely cheating.

Her laughter hit a fever pitch when Five got a hold of one of her kicking feet. Shit.

“Please, I – fuck! Okay, okay, I take it back, mercy!”

Five stopped, smirking. “Assassins don’t show mercy, except to ticklish sisters.”

A few residual giggles escaped through Vanya’s nose. “Shut up.”

“Me, shut up? Me? Excuse you, you called me a fucking Founding Father –”

“I didn’t say you were a Founding Father, I said you looked –”

“Vanya, I don’t think you understand that I am still holding on to your ankle, and strategically – hey!”

Swiftly, Vanya scooped up his own ankle and held it in her lap, a mischievous smirk on her face. She had completely forgotten about Five’s thing with unanticipated touch, but his eyes were just as bright as hers. “Oh yeah?”

Five’s smirk didn’t waver. “Nice try, I’m not ticklish.”

“Is that so?” She tugged on his leg, tucking it under her arm and hovering her fingertips over his knee. Five nearly choked.

“Wait –”

A squeeze was all it took for Five to collapse into hysterical laughter, squirming and flailing, but more squeezes couldn’t hurt. Vanya was grinning, digging in mercilessly. Served him right for attacking her, he wasn’t not the only one who remembers ticklish spots. It occurred to her that she was maybe being a little cruel, going right for his weakness immediately, but the loud, bright cackles pouring out of her brother’s mouth were worth every kick that he landed.

Five pounded a fist on the floor, mouthing something resembling words, but he couldn’t manage anything coherent through his helpless laughter. All right then, mercy it is. She graciously released his leg, which shot up into his body as he curled in on himself.

“F-fuck you,” he panted.

Vanya chuckled. “Oh come on, surely assassins are familiar with the concept of revenge?”

He said nothing, but his smile, weak from tickles, widened. She wrinkled her brow. “What’s that for?”

“S’nothing. Hic.”

“Are you… are those hiccups?”

“No.” Hic. “…Fuck off.”

Vanya burst into another fit of laughter, earning her a light shove. Five tried to school his face into an angry expression, but he was laughing too.

“I take back everything I said, I didn’t miss you, I don’t love you, you’re an asshole –”

She giggled and shoved him back. “You’re an asshole, but we love you anyway.”

The faux-anger melted away. “I know.”

For a long moment, a comfortable silence fell over the siblings, the kind that they used to fall into around four in the morning when they had both squeezed onto Five’s bed for the night to talk about training and music and math and family.

Five yawned despite himself. “M’fuckin’ sleepy,” he grumbled.

Vanya smiled. “You sound like a kid.”

“I look like one, too,” he said, and at first Vanya thought he might be angry. He usually was when he talked about his body. But then he smiled again. He kept doing that. His eyes were shining. “I’m sorry it took me so long. The calculation took years.”

Vanya shifted to face him. “Talk to me about it.”

Five’s smile grew, and Vanya knew, somewhere in her chest, that they would be okay.

[omniswords]

la vie en rose [félix graham de vanily/marinette dupain-cheng]

“What in the world are you doing?”

Her arm was still extended. “Giving you an out. Because it’s New Year’s Eve, and we’re lonely-together people, and you want a party, and I want to change my mind.” She looked at him meaningfully, then nodded toward her hand. “So are you going to take it or not?”

Two years pass, and Félix finds himself stuck and bored out of his mind at a New Year's party. Fortunately, he finds someone who can get him out. And give him more than he bargained for.

Félix wasn’t exactly a man of science beyond school necessities, but he was pretty sure—he could hypothesize, even—that mankind was capable of dying of boredom, and he’d be the first to go.

It wasn’t as though he found it difficult to interact with people at gatherings like these. He’d been to enough of these stuffy parties and black-tie galas that he could at least pretend at being a socialite. He knew how to manipulate words and punch up cheap party tricks enough for that special class of adults who looked down their noses at everyone to laugh behind their hands and call him a master magician. And he knew how to feign laughter at comments like those, because he wasn’t a magician, really. He was an illusionist. He just didn’t have the time to play at semantics with these people when the only point was to get on their good sides.

(Even if he wasn’t entirely sure that any of those Rossis had a good side.)

The problem was that events like these were so monotonously dull, whether they were here in France or back in London. He didn’t know how much longer he could deal with the Paris elite telling him how much he’d grown. How talented he was and how excited he must be to inherit his family’s line of work. How he must love the city his aunt once came to call home, and how very tragic it still was to think of her sudden disappearance. Worst of all, how interested he must be in the Agreste’s fashion lines, and—to his chagrin and disdain—how very much he resembled his cousin.

The only relief he got from the last was how, whenever she overheard it, Chloé Bourgeois would fix him with a brief disgusted expression. No matter to him; the feeling was mutual, always had been. And she was the fool besides, for trying so maddeningly hard to possess Adrien in the first place, even after all these years. Even after he tied himself down to that fencing girl. Tsurugi, he thought her name was?

Well. He did it for his mother, after all. She was, and perhaps would always be, the only the reason he managed to endure these things.

But no matter how much he thought of her, no matter how many hugs she gave him, or how much of the car ride back to the hotel she spent thanking him and stroking his hair, he still needed a moment to breathe. That moment found him on one of the balconies of the Grand Paris, the double doors behind him closing off the music and the gossip and leaving him only with the night lights and the strangely temperate winter weather. The city was just as he remembered it, or wanted to: buzzing with life where he couldn’t quite see it, baring its teeth in a smile or bitten-out words. Inviting him to play, or scolding him for all the stiffness in his clothes and his bones and his attitude. But what did Paris know about him? And what did he care to know about it?

And, most baffling of all—why did he want to disappear into it so badly?

Before Félix could humor himself with any more questions or sink his teeth into the night air any further, a figure caught his sight of the corner of his eye. A person, strolling down the street with an irritating bounce in her step. It wasn’t until she came into the streetlight that he recognized her—the dark hair, those curious eyes.

That… that girl from Adrien’s video message. I-Love-You Girl. What was her name again? Marie? Madeleine? How easy it was to forget… He only hoped she’d developed some taste since he’d seen her last.

But what if he…?

Once she was close enough to the balcony, just under the streetlight, he cleared his throat to get her attention. When that didn’t work, he called out, “Hey.” Loud enough that she’d hear him, but not so loud that anyone else would think he was crazy.

I-Love-You Girl stopped, startled, looked around. Was she always so scatterbrained?

“Up here,” he said with an exasperated sigh, leaning over the balcony and digging his chin in his hand so she could get a better look at him. When she had the sense to look, of course.

Finally she did—and as soon as they met eyes, she stared at him sideways. Which… he supposed he deserved, all things considered. At least it was refreshing not to be mistaken for Adrien at first glance. Even though she was, or hopefully had been, so sickeningly invested in him that it was more a dichotomy of Adrien and Not Adrien. “Félix,” she said, by way of greeting, colder than the evening. He didn’t even know she was capable of a tone like that. He didn’t even know she remembered his name. “What do you want?”

“Get me out of here,” Félix said with no hesitation and a backwards glimpse at the gala going on behind him. He could make out a muffled piano rendition of O Holy Night or Auld Lang Syne, one of those two—probably Adrien’s doing—and a chorus of voices at various levels of inebriation. So much for distinction. “You’re my out.”

The girl narrowed her eyes, and she jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “Why should I?”

“Because it’s New Year’s Eve,” he pointed out airily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And aren’t you supposed to be nice to people on New Year’s Eve? Good will toward men? Any of it ring a bell?”

She was unmoved. “You’re supposed to be nice to people year-round. And Christmas,” she added pointedly, “was six days ago.”

He sighed again. “Then at least do it for Adrien, would you? Aren’t you friends?”

“Right.” She laughed, but not because she was amused; still, he didn’t miss the split second that her face fell and her body tensed. “Adrien, whose phone you hijacked to try and make me think he hated me. I’m so irrevocably convinced.” She took a step forward, as if to leave. “Besides. You aren’t Adrien.”

Not that that seemed to matter anyway, apparently.

And yet he’d never heard such beautiful words. You aren’t Adrien. Damn right he wasn’t. He’d play them over and over if he could.

“Look, I understand,” he blurted out, hoping at least that would stop her. “I shouldn’t have said that. And I hurt your feelings before and never apologized to you for it. I should have. We were just in such a hurry to catch our train back and I never got the chance to meet you in person. Let me… make it up to you now. You know. While fate’s brought us together.” The words tasted tight and bitter in his mouth, like black licorice, but maybe she would believe them. “Tis the season, no?”

She hesitated.

He cocked an eyebrow, inclined his head. He was getting to her. “Besides,” he added. “That Lila girl won’t get off my back about some film deal or other. You must know how annoyingly persistent she can be sometimes. She even puts Bourgeois to shame.”

Félix knew more than his fair share about risk assessment in situations like these, and it seemed as though keeping in touch with Adrien through text, even minimally, paid off. I-Love-You Girl’s expression softened in sympathy—no, empathy—but then she went stiff again, put up the very walls he thought he’d opened up. Oh, he liked this. Finally, someone with a little give.

“Be down in five minutes,” she said, “or you’ll have to find your own way out.”

He grinned, and pushed off the balcony, and slipped back inside.

It wasn’t hard to navigate the hordes of guests, some still singing, some still taking yet another champagne flute from a server with a tray. All he had to do was wait for that Rossi girl to be properly occupied with his mother—which he silently apologized for, and swore to make up to her with a proper Christmas gift—to grab his coat and head downstairs. Even he needed a little air, he said; he wouldn’t be gone long. The only thing that paused him, even briefly, was a conversation he overheard between Adrien and his fencing girl.

“You know, I thought Marinette might show up and help her parents,” he said.

To which the fencing girl replied, “They must have relieved her for the night. Wherever she is, I hope she’s enjoying herself.”

“You mean like we are?” Adrien mumbled, and the two of them laughed, and he took her off to some other corner to chat.

Perfect.

When Félix made it down to the lobby, I-Love-You Girl was still waiting for him, still with her hands in her pockets. Now that he was closer, he could make out the dark pink of her peacoat, the pattern of her sweater dress that peeked out underneath, the wool tights and lace-up boots. At least she had more fashion sense than anyone upstairs, with their sequined gowns and straitlaced satin lapels.

She looked up, and he took a step forward, smiling cordially. “Marinette. So good to see you.”

———

For someone as sweet and mild-mannered as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she certainly knew her way around Paris’s narrow streets and alleys, all the perfect ways of never getting caught. It almost bordered on suspicion, but Félix was already on thin ice as it was. He resigned himself to the universal truth that it was always the quiet ones who got caught up in affairs like these.

“You know,” he said all the same, “it would be nice to know where you’re taking me.”

“Away from that party,” she said, keeping up a pace so oddly brisk that he might have found it hard to keep up if he weren’t so much taller than she was. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He laughed, a bit in disbelief. He really was going to enjoy this, wasn’t he? “What were you doing out, anyway? Almost everything is closed this time of night.”

Marinette only gave him another sideways glance—more of a glare—and seemed somehow to walk even faster, taking sharp turns every so often. She must have practice with this.

“Must you move so quickly?” he said. “Any faster and we’ll be running.”

“Do you always talk like this?” she shot back.

“I’d rather it didn’t look like I’m trying to pursue you. Or, you know, like you’re trying to get away from me.” He paused. “Are you trying to get away from me?”

Marinette stopped just at the end of one of these alleyways, so suddenly that he stumbled and almost bumped into her. She didn’t turn around to face him, but she spoke anyway. “Did you mean what you said up there?” she asked.

Félix paused. “I don’t follow.”

She scoffed through her nose, as if to say, that’s a first. “Because if you didn’t mean what you said, and you were just trying to get me to get you out of there, then yes, I am trying to get away from you, and you can handle with getting exactly what you wanted—and finding your way back—all by yourself.” Whatever stiffness still lingered in her body started to fade, just a bit. “But if you meant it… if you really do want to make it up to me, if you really have changed for the better, then…”

Marinette trailed off, and turned her head just so, and the rest of her words hung in the balance. I’ll stay with you.

He wasn’t used to this. People like this. Girls like this. They either avoided him like the plague under the impression that his money made him consider them beneath him, or they fell all over him because they wanted something out of him. But Marinette wasn’t quite either one. She was hesitant, sure. Resistant, even. But there, in the hairline cracks of her resolve, were the pieces of her personality poking out. The vulnerability. The want, the need to be known, really known. All the little things that Adrien might have loved about her, if he had been smart enough to look.

It fascinated him.

“Do you really think I haven’t changed?” he asked. “It’s been two years. A lot can happen in two years.”

Marinette folded her arms tight. “So can nothing at all.”

Félix sighed. “Fine, I’ll concede it. I made a… less-than-stellar first impression. We were fourteen. And I was foolish.”

“You also understand,” she quipped, “that being fourteen isn’t an excuse for anything. And that I have this thing called a gut feeling. And that I almost always trust it.”

“And did your gut feeling tell you to leave me on that balcony?” He stepped back. “Did you, perhaps for the first time in your life, decide to go against it?”

Marinette didn’t say anything.

“If you really want me to leave,” he said after a while, once it was clear that she wasn’t going to say anything, “I’ll leave, and you can be on your merry way to celebrate… however it is someone like you celebrates.” His eyes traced the outline of her, head to foot, and he flexed his hands in his pockets, thumb rubbing against the silver band on his finger. “You seem to have been hurt by many people, many times. Let one of them actually do something about it.”

The tension in the moment that followed was near-tangible, and when Marinette stepped onto the street, into the glow of the next streetlight, Félix was half-convinced she really was going to leave. But then she turned on her heel, the slowest she’d been all evening, and looked him up and down, and she was more than that too-soft, simpering I-Love-You Girl he’d first seen. Her cheeks were rosy, likely from the night wind but perhaps from his own words, and she’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail that actually suited her age, and the swimming glint in her eyes and the way she carried herself told him that he was right. That she had been hurt and that, quite frankly, she didn’t need anyone to do anything about it.

And yet she pulled her hand out, extended it to him. “You have tonight,” she finally said. “Let’s hope your second impression is better than your first.”

Félix raised an eyebrow, and took that next step forward. “I think you’ll find,” he said, grasping her hand, “that I’m very good at meeting others’ expectations.”

He bent to kiss the back of it out of polite habit, and it tensed and slipped out of his grip almost instantly. When he looked up, she was staring at him in shock and… shame? Embarrassment? It was hard to read between her lines.

“Sorry,” she stammered, and looked away. “For a moment you reminded me of… someone else.”

“Well, I suppose we can’t have that.” He managed to save himself with a gallant bow—both hands showing, none of his fingers crossed, nothing in his palms. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, I’m in your charge.”

———

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised that there was very little still open on New Year’s Eve in Paris. Back home, as he was sure was the case literally everyone where, most festivities and fireworks went on well into the night; in fact, it had sort of been an unofficial family tradition to visit the Natural History Museum, go skating at the ice rink just in front, turn in for some time, return to the streets late at night for some fireworks. He had plenty of pictures from all the years they’d gone before. But that was before his father had passed away, and they hadn’t been back since. Something in his mother’s eyes had changed the first time he asked about the museum, and the sight made his gut twist so unpleasantly that he retracted the question and didn’t dream of ever asking again.

Paris, it seemed, was no different. Sure all the shops and cafés and bakeries were closed for the night and the next day, but there was no shortage of people in the streets and bars and restaurants that were still open. In every building they passed that dared to have its lights on, there were food and drink and excited, almost deafening and certainly drunken chatter.

He swore he’d seen a movie like this, once.

But the whole walk—which was, thank God, actually a walk and no longer practically a run—Marinette was quiet. Occasionally, she checked for phone, sometimes looked it for a couple of minutes at a time. It wasn’t until he pointed out that she still hadn’t told him just where they were going that she shot him a look, phone in hand, and said, “That’s what I’m trying to decide.”

Whatever she could dish out, Félix could give right back. “Have you considered the very novel concept of asking me?”

“Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that?” Marinette made a show of rolling her eyes as they cut through a nearby park, but at least it seemed playful. “Let me ask the London native what to do on New Year’s Eve in Paris.”

“You know well and good what I meant by that,” he began to say, but stopped short as soon as Marinette did. He squinted at the building in front of him, the dim display cases just inside, the black and gold embellishments, the writing on the windows and front door. Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie, the signs read. Open every day.

Félix looked at her blankly, putting two and two together. “Is this your house?”

“Very perceptive of you,” Marinette said, taking out her keys and fumbling with the lock. And then, as she opened the door and turned on the lights for both of them, “Wait here. No, not outside, it’s cold.”

“You know,” he tried to joke as he stepped in, “I don’t usually go home with a girl on the first date.”

“Have you even been on a first date?”

Félix paused, and for a brilliant moment Marinette glanced back at him, apologetic, as though afraid that she’d actually hurt his feelings. “That is,” he said as he gathered his words, “far beyond the point.”

She gave him one of those up-and-down looks again. “Then should I be honored to be the first?” she asked dryly, slipping behind the counters toward a room in the back.

“That depends.” He leaned forward on the counter, took in the brick backsplash and the empty shelves and cases. “Do you consider this one?”

Marinette’s answer was little more than a scoff as she disappeared behind the door, and within a few minutes returned with two small white paper bags and two paper cups in a tray. If he looked close enough, he could see steam rising through the holes in each of the lids.

“Let’s go,” she said, thrusting the bags into his hands before he—or either of them, really—could do or say anything else. And if he looked close enough again, in the time that she allowed him to add a splash of milk, he could have sworn there was a dusting of light pink on the tops of her cheeks.

In spite of that earlier quip, Marinette was probably right about not entrusting an itinerary to him. He barely knew the first thing about these arrondissements, or why anyone would ever refer to them by only their numbers, and he certainly didn’t know what the bus system was like. But then, he barely knew what any bus system was like. He’d even only been on the tube a couple of times, and he’d been so young then, and his father had been the one to take him…

His father…

His expression must have gone sour as they waited at the bus station, because Marinette sighed and sipped her coffee and said, “I get it. It’s not exactly glamorous. But it’s running, so that’s what we’re going to use.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” he replied simply, and when the bus pulled in she did him the courtesy of giving him a window seat in the back. Sure, the fact that they were seated backwards made him a bit nauseous at first, and sure, the cushion design was absolutely hideous, but seeing the city like this… all this electric contrasted against the dark, the brightly colored signs… well. It did beat staying at that stuffy hotel and that stuffy party. At least, for a blessed half-hour or so, it was quiet here.

“Still haven’t told me where we’re going,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m aware.” There was a pause, and under the roar of the bus, Marinette let out a breathless laugh. “You’re just going to have to trust me, huh?”

Félix rested his chin in his hand, smiled grimly into his palm. “How tragic.”

———

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Félix began, except the only way he knew how to end his sentence was, “empty.”

Well, it wasn’t terribly empty. There were a few people scattered here and there across what Marinette had called the Trocadéro, but not nearly enough to warrant a celebration. Most of them were talking in small clusters or taking pictures together over some festive music booming in the distance, and still more of them were, more frequently, walking away from the plaza and trying to get somewhere else. At least the place was well-lit for a nighttime spot, and the black-and-white pattern on the ground was pleasantly geometric. But Marinette seemed to be getting comfortable here, on a set of nearby steps, and Félix, having nowhere else to go, could do nothing but follow her.

“You know,” he said, “this wasn’t exactly how I expected my year to end. If you understand what I’m getting at.”

“Do I understand?” she replied. Her words were surprisingly soft, and she hugged her knees to her chest, cradling her cup in both hands and staring out at the park below, and the Eiffel Tower just beyond.

Félix took a seat beside her. In spite of how cold and rigid the steps were, he had to admit, the view from where they were sitting was stunning; it gave them an almost-perfect display of whatever light-show the tower had on, and he was sure that if it were daytime, he might spend more than his fair share walking about the park and the fountains in sight. “When you agreed to get me out of the hotel,” he said, “I assumed you were going to take me to some… some… uncouth party, with flashing lights and earsplitting music.” He set aside his own coffee, thankfully still warm, and the paper bags she’d left in his charge. “Isn’t that how people like you end the year?”

Marinette turned to him; if she was offended, it was difficult to tell. “You don’t know very much about people like me, do you? You don’t know me at all.”

“Then why get me out of there in the first place? Was it really because you hold so much disdain for that Rossi girl? Or because you thought I owed you something?”

“Because you needed kindness,” she said sharply, as if she’d be better off never hearing that name again, and as if that should have been just as obvious. “And because it seemed like you thought I did, too. And, if you weren’t aware, people like me think almost everyone deserves kindness. And everyone deserves to have their mind changed.”

Félix stopped, held his breath, took a moment to realize he was even doing it. Almost everyone deserved kindness. Of course he’d heard that before, countless times. From his mother, who took him in her arms and set him on her lap after he’d been teased and rejected one too many times on the playground. From his father, who always made it a point to dig around in his pocket for spare change for any homeless person they might see. Everyone deserved kindness, his father said, because everyone was fighting some kind of battle. Everyone deserved kindness, his mother said, because eventually kindness came around to give you the things you deserve, and—best of all—it came at no cost.

“Well?” Marinette said, resting her chin on her knees. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” He shook his head. It was easier to say when he wasn’t looking at her. When he was looking at the lights instead. “No, you weren’t wrong.”

Out of the corner of his eye, she shrugged, but something in the air about her told him she might be smiling, even if to herself. “I just figured you’d spent so much time around people that you might want to get away from them without getting caught. And I figured you wouldn’t want to do dumb tourist-y stuff like go on the Seine or ride one of those nighttime tour buses.” She nodded toward the tower, then pointed in another direction. “But if a party’s what you want, then there’s one over on the Champ de Mars, and there’s one by the Arc de Triomphe. Just say the word and we’ll get walking.”

Félix chewed his lip, basked in the temperate silence between them, and finally decided to busy himself with poking through the paper bags. Inside were them two croissants—one almond, one chocolate. He looked up from the back, and found Marinette hugging herself even tighter, as though she were trying to make herself even smaller than she already was. “I suppose,” he said, getting comfortable and offering her the bag with the chocolate croissant, “that I could do with knowing you.”

Marinette sighed and scooted a little closer to take it, and Félix counted that as a win. “For what it’s worth,” she added, “You do still owe me, and I wouldn’t wish Lila on anyone. So I guess i’m not totally opposed to you using her as a bargaining chip.”

“She wouldn’t be the first.”

She rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“So.” Delicately, he tore open his own bag at the crease, making a temporary placemat as he unwrapped the almond croissant. “What was a girl like you doing strolling the streets of Paris so late at night?”

“I’m electing not to take a girl like me as an insult.” Marinette was bouncing one knee far too fast for her own good, and only stopped to tear her pastry into smaller pieces, to lick the chocolate from her thumb. “I was with some friends. A couple of them were holding a party on their houseboat.”

“Hm.” Félix paused to sip his coffee. “Now who’s fancy?”

Marinette snorted. “More like chaotic. Their mom partied harder than any of us. Said you have to end the year with a proper bang.” She paused, smiled faintly as if remembering the scene. “She’s fun. They’re fun.”

“Then… why did you leave?”

As soon as he asked, the air around her seemed to depress itself. Her lashes lowered, and she focused entirely too much on eating, and she went pigeon-toed, sitting there. Eventually, she said, “Low social battery, I guess you could say. And…”

Félix tilted his head, and when he spoke, he didn’t think his voice could ever go so… soft. “And?”

Marinette sighed deeply, finally turned to look at him. “I know I’m risking something by asking you about, you know, human emotion,” she said, just barely joking before she sobered up again. “But do you ever feel like… like you’re in a room full of everyone you know, and you’re still lonely? And suffocating? And you need to get out just to be you, for a little bit?”

By now, he’d finished his food, and he gestured for her to give him her empty bag and cup. “And just why do you think I asked you to get me out of that party?”

She looked taken aback for a moment, scanning him up and down with her eyes, and she was staring at him even as he came back to sit with her again. “So I guess we’re just… lonely together. On New Year’s Eve.”

“I suppose we are.” Félix stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I suppose I can’t say I mind.”

Under the light of the Trocadéro plaza, it looked like, perhaps, Marinette didn’t mind, either. And under that same light, if only for a moment or two, Félix suspended his belief in shallow niceties.

———

“This is the way the year ends,” Félix said, more to the gardens and the tower and the festivities than to Marinette. “Not with a bang, but a whimper.”

“Who said that?” Marinette asked, smiled faintly. “Those words are too pretty to be yours.”

So she could warm up even to someone like him after all. “T.S. Eliot,” he said. “I just changed the words a bit. You should read him sometime.”

He didn’t know how long they’d been sitting out here. Long enough for his hands and the tip of his nose to catch a chill, but not so long that he’d be any kind of missed. Briefly, he wondered how long that would take—if anyone would miss him at all.

He checked his phone. 11:00, and the plaza was entirely empty.

So this really was the way the year ended. Not with choruses and flashing lights and a single glass of champagne form a popped bottle, but with the quiet and the cold and, surprisingly even to himself, a girl to keep him company.

“Can I ask you something strange?” he asked to break the silence.

Marinette looked at him sideways. She was incredibly good at that, it appeared. “You’re on thin ice,” she murmured over the distant music. “But go on.”

He couldn’t believe he was even asking this. “You’re not so—” No, he wouldn’t say it that way. She wasn’t foolish. She’d proved that enough times tonight. Perhaps a bit naïve, and golden-hearted enough to confuse him still, but not foolish. He cleared his throat, tried again. “You don’t still carry those feelings for my cousin, do you? After all this time?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but not without stiffening just a touch. She was probably hoping it wasn’t noticeable, but she couldn’t have known he had the eyes of an illusionist. The kind that saw everything and unraveled everyone else’s tricks on sight while still hiding his own. “Félix,” she cooed, and this time she really was joking, but the pit of his stomach warmed anyway, and he wished, for just a few seconds, that she might say his name like that again. “I’m flattered, but not interested.”

“Oh, come off it,” he shot back. “That’s hardly why I’m asking.”

“Well,” she said, “To answer your question, that depends. You’re not still a jackass, are you? After all this time?”

He folded his arms. “I’d like to think that sort of characteristic is subjective and employable only when necessary. And I wouldn’t consider this to be one of the times it is.”

Marinette was quiet for a moment, tapping her fingers against her knees in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, “but no. Not anymore.”

“I see.” He gave her a faint nod. “Good for you. No point in wasting your time on endeavors bound to go nowhere, is there?”

She didn’t answer, and for a moment he was, to his own surprise, afraid that he’d been the one to hurt her feelings this time. But it seemed that Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng was nothing if not resilient, and she got to her feet, pacing the plaza just behind him. “Well,” she said, “now it’s my turn to ask you something strange.”

Félix flinched and braced himself, tuned into her every step. “Go on.”

“Why…” Her steps paused, and she brushed back some hair that the wind blew across her face when she turned on her heel. “Why did you do that thing? With Adrien’s phone, I mean. I know it was two years ago, but…”

“That depends.” His legs were starting to get sore, and he stretched them out over the stairs. Had she really been thinking about that all this time? “Which answer would you like to hear?”

Marinette scoffed again, though it was barely audible, and began to pace again. “You got an honest one in there?”

He hummed, the businessman in his blood running warm. “Intending to use it against me somehow?”

“No,” she said simply, another smile lingering somewhere in her voice. “That’s reserved for people like you.”

She wasn’t wrong; in fact, he was sure his mother secretly prided herself on raising him that way. He just had no reason to admit to it. He followed suit, stood and nodded his head, and they began to walk the perimeter of the plaza together. “I suppose you could say I was… jealous. That we had come from such similar circumstances, and yet he was happier for it. That he had friends at all. That in spite of my uncle he opened up and went out into the world, and in spite of my mother I receded and stayed shut in.” Marinette looked at him in a manner he could only describe as incredulous, but he wasn’t fazed. “I didn’t say it was a very good reason. Only that it was one.”

She scuffed her heel against the ground, refused to look at him, and her voice went soft and small. “I didn’t know you lost your mother.”

“My father,” he corrected her. The thought of him ever losing his mother put a twinge in his heart, but he didn’t dare let his expression betray it. “He married into our family, you know. Took my mother’s last name. You could say he was the first to teach me about common folk so I wouldn’t be so out of touch, locked away all the time. Once he passed, I… started failing him.” And then, when Marinette didn’t say anything else, “What? Did you expect something more?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, paused at the set of stairs once they reached it. “Did you expect that to excuse you?”

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Forgive me for trying to do that human thing they call forging a connection.”

Whatever festivities going on in the park nearby seemed to double, and some admittedly catchy American jazz song began to play, so loud that he could actually make out some of the lyrics. Marinette seemed to perk up at the sound, and she shot him a glance. “You want to forge a connection?” she asked. “You want your chance to prove you’ve changed?”

“That is why I’m here, isn’t it?”

When he looked to Marinette, she was smiling, walking backward toward the center of the plaza, and she held her hand out to him. “Dance with me.”

His brow furrowed. Had she lost her mind? “I beg your pardon?”

“Dance with me,” she said again, more emphatically this time. She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet now. “You wouldn’t leave a lady alone on the floor, would you? You still owe me, don’t you?”

Perhaps they weren’t cut from such distant cloths after all. “I thought you said tactics like these were only reserved for people like me.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe I think something like this is employable only when necessary.”

“I don’t dance, you know.”

“Great.” Her smile shifted into a grin worthy even of the Cheshire Cat himself. “Neither do I.”

“Marinette,” he said, shaking his head. She’d definitely lost her mind. “What in the world are you doing?”

Her arm was still extended. “Giving you an out. Because it’s New Year’s Eve, and we’re lonely-together people, and you want a party, and I want to change my mind.” She looked at him meaningfully, then nodded toward her hand. “So are you going to take it or not?”

Félix didn’t exactly consider himself one to hesitate—it was quite possibly the only other thing he and Adrien’s fencing girl had in common. And he’d never really considered Marinette to be the business type. Tonight, for these few long-lasting seconds, he did. He took her hand before he could double back or regret it, and he tugged her all the way to the center of the Trocadéro. It wasn’t until he had both of her hands in his that he really felt how cold they were, and how soft, and how he wouldn’t be opposed to holding them a while longer. “Seems we both could do with some warming up,” he said.

Marinette’s eyes softened in the light, sparkled bright blue. Strange, how it made his stomach turn so. “Lead the way.”

He’d admit the dancing was clumsy at first; nothing like the ballroom lessons he’d been put up to so many times before. At best, they were two fools doing some simple two-step, back and forth, side to side, and she was leading far more where he should have been. But there were no rules here, no witnesses to look like a fool for, nothing to manipulate and no one to trick. And when he held Marinette at arm’s length and twirled her over and over, she wasn’t just tolerating him. She was enjoying him. She was smiling, glowing, and her cheeks were as pink as her peacoat, and whatever dark cloud had imposed itself on her presence was starting to disappear, little by little. And he was doing this human, infinite thing. And he was human, infinite, too.

He saw her as the music was dying, as she stumbled and he caught her. Not Marinette. I-Love-You Girl. Wherever she had gone before, she was back now, and that breathless smile was his to remember. And he’d never delete it.

“Looks like two years did you some good after all.” she said, letting go of his hands. And then, “What? What are you looking at me like that for?”

Félix shook his head. “Nobody misses me,” he said, entirely unshaken, “and my cousin is a complete idiot, and I couldn’t care less.”

———

He did her the courtesy of dancing to two more songs after that, until she was flushed in the face and out of breath, and at ten minutes to the New Year, they took the steps down from the plaza and cut through the gardens. They’d probably be stranded here until well after midnight, with every bar and street party starting to clear out. But Marinette had said the buses would be running until 2:00, and from the way she kept bumping into him even with intermittent apologies, he came to mind the prospect of taking one less and less.

“I have one more thing I wanna ask you,” she said. The further they got into the gardens, the louder the music became, and she tugged him away by the sleeve of his coat, where they could walk and talk more quietly. Where he could measure words and ineffable feeling by the slow click of her boots.

He spared her a look, and only that, despite the twitch in his fingers that told him to brush her hair out of her eyes, despite the tension in his arm that told him to pull her out of the way, just in case. He did neither, and said, “I’m listening.”

“Why did you ask me about Adrien?” For some reason, the question rang out louder than anything else he’d heard that night, but Marinette didn’t stop. He had to wonder if she was even capable of it; she only paused when he did, and even then she was a few paces ahead. “I mean, you probably know about Kagami, so. I’m not so sure why whatever I feel—”

“Forgive me,” he said, unmoving, watching her from a distance. “I merely thought that someone who thinks everyone deserves kindness should deserve some of it returned.”

Marinette opened her mouth. Closed it. Open and closed, again. She tucked back those flyaway hairs he’d been tempted to touch. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Only…” She looked softer in the streetlight, more than she had in the alleyway, more than she had on the bus, even more than she had under the light of the Trocadéro plaza. A part of him wanted to savor it, carry it into the new year; another part of him was mortified to have felt so, and determined to cover it up. He found the middle ground and steeled himself, his hands in his pockets, clenching out the softness of her fingers that still lingered there. “Only that it would be foolish to let that kindness go to waste. Those feelings.” He pressed his lips together, caution bleeding into his stare. “You’ve proven that you’re far too smart for that.”

Perhaps this was, aside from the dancing, aside from that video, the most vulnerable he had ever seen her: standing on the sides of her feet, looking away with a blush that was as demure as it was flattered. Something about her, so still and listening for the countdown, told him that she must have been telling herself this for ages. “That’s how I know you never really knew me,” she joked hollowly. “Just saying things to butter people up, huh.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Félix took one step forward, and then another. “Well,” he said, “if that’s really how you feel, then… I did say I could do with knowing you. I don’t intend to take that back now.” He flicked his gaze up toward her as they stood toe-to-toe, close enough for them to hold each other’s breaths, far enough for him to back off. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked at him like she was expecting him to hold out his hand again. Skeptical. She folded her arms. “Is this some kind of deal?”

“I’d like to think,” he said, “that by now we’ve moved past transactions.”

Before she could respond, a resounding cheer from down the way caught their attention, a chorus of people beginning to count down from sixty. Félix wondered if it must have sounded the same back at the Grand Paris, or if they were simply waiting for the clock to turn over, waiting to applaud the new year by way of greeting.

She turned back to him. “One minute left,” she said, and if he strained his ear it might sound like she was… regretting it. “Well? Did I waste my kindness on you, too?”

“You’re the one with the ‘gut feeling,’” he replied with a shrug and a set of air quotes. “Did you waste the honor of a first date on me, too?”

“This wasn’t a date.” Thirty seconds. She rolled her eyes. “This was a second impression.”

“Not a bad second impression.”

“How would you know?”

“You’re smiling,” he said. “Your eyes are smiling.”

Marinette held her breath, watched him cautiously. She wasn’t quite the girl from the alleyway, wasn’t quite I-Love-You Girl. She hung somewhere in the balance, eyes soft, stance open, even as the hint of an actual smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

He took his hand out of his pocket, let it hover at the small of her back without actually touching her. “Would it be a date if I kissed you?” he asked. He didn’t know why he was breathing the words. He only knew why he was asking. “Or would it just be tradition?”

She snorted. “And waste a New Year’s kiss on you?”

He raised an eyebrow and both hands, took a couple of steps back. “You thought you wasted a lot of things on me. Why would I stop you now?”

Marinette moved forward, reached for him by the front of his coat and tugged him in with a force that made him stumble. “Oh, get over here,” she murmured over the roar of the street party, standing up on her toes and pressing her mouth to his just as the countdown hit one.

Sure, Félix had admitted to never having been on a first date, but he’d never admit that he hadn’t ever been kissed either. He stumbled again, his hand finding purchase at her back—for real this time—and in the sudden deafening quiet of the park his body went stiff and his stomach began to turn. He felt every sharp thing he’d ever seen in her, warm and searing—the biting comments, the limits, every little thing that put him in his place—and he fully expected her to rip herself away from him and ask if he was happy now. Instead, all that edge began to fade, and gradually she went lax under his touch. She stood back on her feet, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him with her, let him find and follow the rhythm of her lips. Let him feel the dancing again. And when she finally moved back, she didn’t stray too far. In fact, she was still holding onto him. Like she was considering giving him another.

“Oh,” she rasped. He couldn’t even tell if her eyes were open or closed. If they were still smiling. If I-Love-You Girl was standing in front of him instead.

He didn’t dare move. “What?”

“You have changed. You’re real.”

He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. But before he could say anything, she gingerly tapped his chest, stepped out of his grasp, brushed her fingers against her lips before jamming her hands in her pockets.

“How long before you go back to London?” she asked.

“That depends,” he said, all breathy words again. He could still feel the kiss on him. Kicked himself for wanting to feel it again. “If you wanted to see me again, would it a first date, or a second?”

“Let’s go,” Marinette said with a joking shove and a tug toward the bus station. And as they pushed through the crowds she grabbed his hand, and as they rode the bus back she leaned on his shoulder and watched the city die down with him, and before he made it to the lobby of the Grand Paris she pulled him into the dark for one more kiss goodnight. It was well past midnight, and the kiss was quicker than the last, but he returned it anyway, lonely-together with her for those last few seconds.

“If they don’t chew you out in there,” she said, “meet me at the Trocadéro tomorrow at 11.”

Félix raised a brow. “For what? Another second impression?”

Marinette smiled. There wasn't very much I-Love-You Girl lingering there, but he supposed he liked her better that way. “For a second date.”

[fijiangecko]

Maintaining a New Life

Chapter 3: Into the Murky Waters

previous | next

Read it on AO3 here

A/N: A day late but it’s here!

~~~~~~

“I think after we visit the police and get their files we should head back to my place and sort through everything. If we’re lucky we might be able to visit one or two of the crime scenes before the sun goes down, but it would be best for us to all have the same idea of what’s going on.” You speak while putting your arms through your coat, the cold air hitting your face as the group walks down the streets.

“Sounds like a plan to us.” Nodding, Iwaizumi pipes up and leads the group further along the streets of Yokohama.

The police station is busy as officers pace quickly through the corridors, quietly chatting amongst themselves. Two men stand by a desk, one looking up for a brief moment before nudging the other with sickly green hair. The latter frowns upon seeing your faces, but walks over. 

“Officer Suguru, nice to see you again.” Kuroo speaks, a sly smile spread across his lips when he sees the man. You recognize the officer as well, having worked a handful of cases with him, although he treats everyone at the agency as though they are lesser than.

“Can’t say the same about you.” His voice is stern, almost spiteful while his eyes glaze over the group lined up.

“Alrighty then,” you interject. “We’re just here to pick up the files and maybe ask some quick questions, then we can get out of your hair. Sound good?”

Suguru makes eye contact with you and clicks his tongue. “Follow me.” He turns on his heel and starts to walk off, not bothering to see if you all follow. “ We’ve been covering this case for about a month and a half with absolutely no leads. As soon as we think of something, a piece of info pops up that discredits the entire theory. I told the chief not to bring you weirdos into this but we’re starting to get desperate considering the media still doesn’t know.”

“Figures,” Oikawa pipes up. “Once they know it about this they’re gonna be up your asses.”

“Thanks. Not helpful.” Suguru shoves the handle down on a door and pushes it open with his hip. Inside the doorway is a conference room with one box sat on the long table. “This is what we’ve got so far.”

Iwaizumi walks over and pops the top off. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” The box isn’t even half full. You assume that most of its contents had already been given to you by Takeda and Ukai. “Again, we called you freaks to help us.” Suguru stands by the door, arms crossed.

“Well, if you don’t mind, we can take these off of your hands and we’ll let you know if we have any questions.” Ever the charmer, Oikawa puts the lid back on top of the box, and slides it off the table and into his arms. Suguru has a displeased look on his face, but doesn’t respond to the banter. “Tell the Chief I said bye!”

The four of you hastily make your way out of the office, away from the prying eyes of countless officers. With a sigh, Kuroo lets his shoulders relax. “I knew from the first step inside that place that they wouldn’t be any fucking help.”

“As soon as I saw Suguru I knew it wasn’t going anywhere.” The thought of the green haired piece of shit makes you mentally gag. “It would be better for us to just get back to my apartment and go over it ourselves.”

With a silent agreement, everyone quickens their pace to the subway.

~

“Water anyone? We can set up in the kitchen, just let me move some shit.” You put down your belongings and take off your shoes before running over to the kitchen to get rid of the stacks of mail on the table.

No one responds to your question as they walk over to the dining area, but Kuroo bumps your hip with his. “I’ll get a pitcher, you go set up the files.” As a thanks, you bump his hip back and start to scatter papers.

“So…” Kuroo sets the pitcher and some glasses down as you speak. “There have been six murders over the past month and a half, each occurring within six to nine days within the last.”

Iwaizumi picks up a glass. “By the looks of it, all of the bodies were found in abandoned sections of the city, or ones that were sectioned off from the public.” He talks over the sound of water being poured. “Some of them are known spots while others the general public wouldn’t have the knowledge of.”

“So it’s most likely someone who either has access to these locations or knows about them,” Kuroo says absentmindedly while looking over a piece of paper.

“Yes, but that doesn’t narrow down the options all that much.” Your arms are folded across your chest as you gaze over the plethora of information spread across your table. “I think it’s safe to say that it wouldn’t be someone from the general public. These murders don’t look like they were random, but none of the pieces here fit.”

“We should set the files up in a general timeline and visit the newest spots first and work our way back. The last one was almost a week ago so there’s no telling when or where our killer is gonna drop a body off next.” Iwa leans over the table and starts to move the stacks, Oikawa following suit.

A few short moments later, each of the files is placed chronologically. “So we’ll stop at the old shipyard first and then head over to the warehouse district. That should be enough time before it gets too dark and then we can go everywhere else tomorrow.” Oikawa points at the locations.

“Sounds like a plan, but we should probably take my car instead of the subway if we wanna get there in time.” You turn to face your apartment and try to find where your keys are.

“We’re taking your car? The one you told me I wasn’t even allowed to look at? Like, that car?” Kuroo’s eyes are wide, but teasing as he pokes his nose in your direction, trying to hide a smile.

“You and Bo were drunk and if you got a scratch on my pride and joy I would’ve killed you both, but yes. We’re taking that car.” You can feel his sarcastic tone from miles away, but you don’t bother to look at him while you rummage through different purses to find your key ring.

“Shotgun!” Oikawa makes his way to the front door and starts to put on his shoes. “The passenger seat is so much more comfy than the back seats.” His body turns partially to Kuroo’s, looking at him to let him in on this little known fact.

“Wait, you guys have been in the car?!” The tallest guy in the room reels back, genuinely shocked at the revelation.

“Yeah… Y/N used to take us out of missions in the suburbs in it.” Iwaizumi proceeds to put on his shoes as well.

“What the hell dude?! Am I the only one who hasn’t been in it?”

“You, Nishinoya, Tanaka and Bokuto.” You whip out the keys from a bag and jingle them in his face. “Everyone else has at least sat in my car.” He pouts, but follows the rest of the group.

The car is easy to spot from the parking lot, the sleek black gloss finish reflecting the sunlight back at the group. From Kuroo’s knowledge of cars, it looks to be an older Chevy Chevelle but with four doors instead of two. “How old is this thing?”

“It’s a 1967 model, I had to have it shipped from the U.S.” You walk to the drivers door and unlock the car. The boys all hop in, taking their respective seats.. The first thing that catches Kuroo’s eye is the modern interior paired with the stick shift in the center of the front seat.

“I can see why you never let me in here, looks expensive.”

“I don’t take her out too often since I’m in the city most of the time, but it’s nice to be driving again. And yes, a good chunk of change was spent on her.” You pat the dashboard and start the engine. “Once again, I will kill you if you get the tiniest scratch on her.” 

~

“This place is still taped up since it wasn’t all that long ago, but we should probably split up so we can get to the warehouses before too long.” The engine rumbles underneath your voice, the car slowly coming to a halt as you park not far away from the scene.

“Iwa-chan and I will check out the actual crime scene, you and Kuroo can check the perimeter to see if they missed anything!” Oikawa hops out of the car and stretches quickly before walking over. You take notice of the fast blue flash that happened when he was stretching, but no one else seemed to have caught it.

The possibility of the Port Mafia appearing put the three of you on high alert, and almost anytime your group was out Oikawa would use his gift to make sure there were no surprises. The three of you had briefly chatted about it at the agency, behind Kuroo’s back. The general consensus was that Oikawa would be the lookout anytime you all went out and that it was his responsibility to let you both know if anything happens. Iwa’s job is to keep track of all of the data and keep separate files that contain anything related to the Port Mafia, such as the patterned blood stains. Your main focus is to keep Kuroo out of the loop. If the mafia is involved in this case, you could only hope that the police call you off of it before things get too involved.

Kuroo takes the lead and starts to walk the perimeter of the shipyard, checking out all the different angles that could have line of sight on the crime scene. “So, what do you make of all of it?”

“What do you mean?” You stuff your hands into your pockets and lean forward to inspect some of the large crates strewn across the concrete.

“I mean the case in general. You are one of the most seasoned detectives the agency has, and I can tell you already have an idea, if not a couple, of what’s going on here.” He puts emphasis on his words by craning his neck to look at you, but his words are sincere as he’s genuinely curious about your opinion.

Pursing your lips, you think for a moment. You don’t want to lie to him necessarily, but telling him exactly what you’re thinking isn’t really an option. “You wouldn’t be wrong, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions and get something in your guys’ heads before I have enough evidence to back it up, y’know?” With your last word, you look into his golden eyes.

“Smart.” His look softens when he sees that you’re telling a truth of sorts. “Then the whole group wouldn’t have to deal with confirmation bias.” His scientist is peaking through. You roll your eyes and walk off to inspect a different area as he chuckles and moves off.

The yard is bleak for the most part, countless variations of cargo and ship parts placed carelessly around. It’s odd, you think, that the body would be in the center of everything. Like it isn’t trying to be hidden. Your pace slows as you come to one of the last places that has visibility on where the body would have been. There’s a large shipping container that blocks some spots; age and the general wear and tear has caused the large piece of metal to rust. Your eyes rake over the orange container, but something catches your attention around the handle.

You crouch down and move in closer. “What’d you find?” Kuroo notices your position and makes his way over.

“Fibers that were caught on the door.” You point to the black material, careful not to touch it. It could’ve been missed easily, blending in with the rusty metal. “I’ll have Kenma run diagnostics on them just in case.” He nods, but turns his attention to the buzzing in his pocket. You walk over to the car and grab some gloves and a bag.

Taking the fabric between your fingers, you gently shimmy it out of its wedged position and place it into the plastic. Kuroo puts his phone back into his pocket. “Oikawa and Iwazumi said that nothing was out of the ordinary at the scene. They’re headed back to the car now.”

“Okay. I think we looked over everything so let’s go.” You hold the bag up and examine it in what sunlights left.

As you and Kuroo approach the vehicle, Oikawa practically shouts. “I’m just saying! If you like this person then you should just come right out and say it! It’s not like you’re ugly!”

“And that’s why you’re a dumbass. No way in hell am I telling them shit,” Iwa huffs and turns away from his partner.

“Why’d you piss him off, Oikawa?” You speak before Tooru can get another word in, tossing the bag at Iwa.

“How dare you! I was trying to be a good friend and help Iwaizumi with his crush but apparently I’m not allowed to be a decent person.” Whining like a child, Oikawa crosses his arms and turns his chin up and away from the group. You and Iwa roll your eyes.

“This happen often?” Kuroo leans in to whisper.

“More than I’d like to think about.” You take off the gloves and pull out the car keys.

“He does know it’s pretty obvious who it is, right?”

“Absolutely not.” You stare at Kuroo and sigh. “Alright, Hajime rides shotgun to the warehouses.”

“But-”

“No,” you cut off Tooru once more. “After that, Kuroo gets to sit there on the way home.” He silently grumbles to himself, settling into the back seat while the rest of you silently get in and listen to the radio.

Slowly coming to a halt, the metal hunk jerks into place as you put her into park. “Same groups?” Kuroo asks, looking between everyone.

“Can I trust you two to not hurt each other and do your jobs?” You look at Oikawa from the rearview mirror, popping a brow up accusingly.

“We got it Y/N.” Hajime breaks off the childish encounter before it can continue and splits off.

The warehouse is large, but filled with nothing. Your footsteps echo in the dark space. The other two in your group keep forward and walk down where police tapes are starting to fall off from their previously tied positions. You stop and take a second to look around, noticing the staircase and balcony on the outer parts of the room.

The metal creaks under yours and Kuroos footsteps. “Do you think he’ll ever say anything to Oikawa?” Kuroo walks up the stairs behind you, unsure of where to look before ultimately deciding to look at the ceiling.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” You reach the balcony and slow your pace to check everything. “I hope he does. They’re good for each other.” Kuroo can tell you’re being sincere, and he smiles at your statement. All three of you are close and if you think that they’re good for one another, then he decides to take that stance as well.

Following behind you, he checks the wall and floor for anything while you observe the space below and the railing. You can see Tooru and Hajime talking down on the ground level, crouching and standing straight, taking out the photos and finding where each position is.

I hope he says something soon. Tooru can’t take a hint but it’s not like either of them are interested in anyone else right now. You watch them while you walk, a nudge to the shoulder brings you out of your thoughts. “Y/N. Blood stains.” Kuroo points to the railing. Dried splotches of blood are faint on the top bar of the railing, only a few specs and faint from age.

Your face scrunches in thought, impressed that he spotted it. “These weren’t in any of the photos.” He shakes his head in confirmation, and pulls a swab and container out from his pocket.

“Not that it does us all that much good, but at least we can try and get the blood type. See if it matches any of the victims. After the last place, I thought it might be a good idea to bring some equipment with us.” You agree with him by nodding and letting him take the sample.

“We should probably stop by Kenma’s tonight and give him all this stuff since he’s not gonna sleep anyways.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” Placing the swab into the tube, he turns and walks back down to the others.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi are already standing next to the car in silence. You can tell Iwa’s just being petty and Tooru looks like he’s about to burst if he doesn’t talk in the next two seconds. “Ready?” You unlock the doors for everyone and they all hop in without a word.

Rubbing your eyes, the dim lights from the lamp posts light the city streets as you blink harshly to bring some moisture back into your eyelids. While you’re staring at the road, you don’t see Kuroo staring at you from the passenger's seat, admiring how gorgeous you look with the different angles of light hitting your face. He loves how you took charge of this case, and he admires your leadership skills on the field. His chest tightens at the thought. You have been doing this for so long, he thinks to himself, and you deserve the praise.

Tooru glances up from the back seat and notices Kuroo’s current state, and decides to nudge Hajime’s arm to get him to look. Both of them smile at the scene, knowing for quite a while that Kuroo has a thing for you, but they quietly return to their work and let it happen.

The trip to Kenma’s house doesn’t take all that long considering it’s getting fairly late at night. You and Kuroo decide to just go and drop off the evidence quickly, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi can stay in the car and wait.

You knock softly on the door, careful not to be too loud for his neighbors. Within a matter of seconds the door is swung open and Kenma stands in front of you both, wearing his pajamas and bags apparent under his eyes.

“Hey Kenma, sorry to drop in so late.” His face is telling you that you had interrupted something, so you speak as sweetly as possible.

“Don’t worry about it. Kuroo already filled me in; I’ll have it done by morning.” He extends his hands towards you and you place the two bags into them. Kenma holds them up and looks at them. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ll call you when I’m done.” And with that, he shuts his front door and leaves you both outside.

“Okay.” You swallow your saliva and turn back to the car.

“He’s probably been up for a day or two,” Kuroo grumbles.

“It’s okay, that means he’ll most likely pass out soon.” You don’t know Kenma as well as his counterpart, but you still knew of his tendencies.

The engine puts you in a trance for the rest of the way home; the sound puts you at ease and your heart rate slows until you are completely relaxed. You pull into the parking space and sit for a moment, taking in the noise before cutting it off and getting out.

“What’s a good time for everyone? The rest of the crime scenes are spread out all across town so it’s gonna be a lot of driving around.” A yawn finishes your sentence as you lean on your apartment door, looking to the three men.

“How does nine sound? That should give Kenma some time to get back to us and give us enough time to get coffee or whatever.” Kuroo shivers in the night air, shoving hands down into his pants pockets and hunching into himself.

“Sounds good to me.” Iwa pulls his suit jacket on.

“Same here.” Oikawa matches your yawn, but smiles at you.

“Cool. Get home safe guys.” You wave to them and open your apartment, feeling a blast of warmth.

“Night.” They each mumble and head on home.

~

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive Y/N.” Kenma’s voice is tired over the phone, words slurring slightly from over exhaustion. “Neither of the samples matched with any of the victims. The blood’s O negative and the clothing was made out of some kind of cashmere, which no one was wearing when they died.”

“Okay.” You rub your eyes and sigh, frustrated that this was going exactly how you didn’t want it to go. “Thanks Kenma. Go to bed.”

Kuroo, having walked in not that long ago, heard the entire conversation. He places two coffees down on the counter and watches you rub your eyes. “No dice?” You shake your head and let your hand run slowly down your chin. “Well at least we know that the police missed stuff. It’s not exactly what you wanna hear, but it gives us a chance to actually piece this together.” Always looking for the positives, he smiles at you and gently rubs your shoulder.

“I suppose.” You put a hand on top of his, patting it lightly. His thumb continues to rub circles into your shoulder, but the moment is cut short by a knock at the door. As you step away, your heart skips a beat and you take a deep breath. Unbeknownst to you, his heart does the same thing.

“Good morning, Strike Team Alpha!” Oikawa practically screams as he enters the doorway, a big, bright smile across his lips. Hajime walks in behind him and waves.

“Mornin’ boys. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?” You walk back into the kitchen, picking up the coffee.

“Please.” Kuroo clears his throat and grabs his cup.

“Better chug your coffee now. No drinks in the car.” You take a few sips of yours before leaving it on the counter. He deadpans and attempts to drink all of the burning hot coffee, but ends up coughing a majority of it up. You laugh and head outside.

“Where to first?” You pull the seatbelt across your chest and click it into place before looking at your co-pilot, Hajime.

“If we’re following the order, we’re headed to the suburbs. It’ll probably take an hour or so with traffic.” He takes out some papers from a file folder, showing you the address.

“Sounds like a good nap to me!” Oikawa stretches in the back, placing hands behind his head.

“Nuh-uh.” His smile falters. “I’ve got files back there you all need to go over in the meantime.” You point over the seats, down to where his and Kuroo’s feet are.“Plan is to get these first two locations over with before two, then get lunch and finish with the last few locations. Depending on traffic and stops we should get done around nine or ten.”

“You think it’s gonna take that long?” Kuroo takes some papers into his hand, glancing up at you through the rearview mirror.

“Unfortunately. It’s a weekday, which means traffic is going to be hell and these places don’t have the police on them anymore, so we have to call ahead of time and get clearance before going.” You twist the keys and the engine roars, warming up for a long day of work.

~

The morning passes pretty quickly. The owners of the two locations cooperated with no complaints and let you inspect as much as you like. Just as expected, the traffic did hold up some of the progress, but before you knew it, the afternoon had rolled around. You haven't found anything new, and pairing that with the unfortunate news Kenma had given you this morning, your mood is starting to turn sour.

“Alright. One more and no more bathroom stops.” You speak clearly, eyes dead ahead on the road.

“This should be the place near the steel manufacturing site, right?” Kuroo flips through the papers in the back seat, the car now littered with files.

“Yeah, the body was found near the scrap metal. Hajime should’ve already contacted the owners to let them know we’re on our way.” You watch the sun slowly meet the horizon.

“They gave us the gate code and said no workers should be there when we arrive.” He responds at the sound of his name, typing something on his phone. “These are the guys that also gave their security footage to the cops so we don’t have to split up this time.”

Not another word is said while you drive. Oikawa takes the photos, Kuroo looks over the information and Iwa fills in Takeda and Ukai as to what’s happening. You hum softly with the radio and tap your thumb to the beat.

Ever so slowly the sun descends beyond the skyline, leaving the streets to the moonlight. A few more turns and you’re met with a gate and keypad. Hajime tells you the numbers and the large steel construction site was before you. Street lamps light up the parking lot, but on your better judgement you swing the car around the building and park it out of sight. The four of you step out of the car, a cold breeze bringing you out of your tiredness as you lead the group into the building.

“So where was the body found?” Kuroo steps further into the building, looking around at all of the different welding tools.

“Should’ve been right around here based on the photos.” Iwa walks him over in the direction, Oikawa and yourself following suit.

The scene’s been cleaned up weeks ago; no traces of where the body was could be seen but luckily you have the photos to point you in the right direction. 

Oikawa staggers further and further behind, his heart picking up in rate while he turns his ear towards the door. His ability Listener in the Night allows him to hear a bobby pin dropping in a room surrounded in five foot thick steel walls and from far distances if he chooses to listen to that distance. His feet stop, as if waiting for confirmation. Not a second later he rushes over to you. “They’re here.”

The urgency in his voice sets off every alarm in your brain. “Where?”

He motions outside, near where the parking lot is and sends Iwaizumi a look. Knowing without saying a word, Iwa’s jaw tenses and he turns on his heel, spotting a concealed spot from the front entrance. Hastily he moves over and waits for Oikawa to join him.

Seeing the guys make their move, you rush over to Kuroo and grab at his shirt collar, pulling hard. “Y/N! What the hell-”

“Tetsuro. Don’t ask.” You run while he jogs, but the tone of your voice and the use of his first name shuts him up immediately. There’s nothing in the world that would let you loosen your grip on his clothes, and he knows this well. When you take charge, you are a dictator. No questions asked.

Your group of four huddles in the corner, Hajime keeping everyone behind him while Oikawa whispers their location to you all. Suddenly, a familiar voice is heard near the doorway. 

“The cops give up already?” The voice sends chills down yours, Iwaizumis and Oikawas spines. Kuroo keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on you instead of what’s going on. The man's voice is cartoonish, the inflection on each word is overused making it easily recognizable.

The tension is thick enough to cut as the three of you stop breathing all together. Kuroo places a hand on top of yours to try and relax you, but you are completely unaware that he does so, too focused on the crisis at hand.

“Y/N.” You snap your neck up to look at him and shake your head harshly, mouthing the word ‘no’ to him. His eyes hold endless amounts of worry while yours carry panic. In your haze, you didn’t even realize that Iwa and Oikawa had pulled their guns out and are now standing in front of the both of you. Oikawa’s hands shake slightly and Iwa is taking deep, slow breaths.

“That, or they are trying real hard to keep this away from the public.” A second voice emerges, one that is less familiar to you but doesn’t put you at ease. The two men walk further into the complex, their foot falls echoing in the large space.

You feel cornered, like a rabbit in a trap and your throat is starting to close, making it harder to breath. With white knuckles, you pull Kuroo closer and place your forehead on his chest, below your hands and take a deep breath. He panics, never having been in this situation, and looks to the other two men. They aren’t paying attention at all and focus on the voices.

“Either way, Wakatoshi still needs us to pick up some stuff tonight.” That name sparks another wave of chills. You prep your ability, letting the faint blue aura slowly build around your person, Iwaizumi doing the same but letting his ability release as he prepares for the worst..

“Uh… I hope you realize we don’t have the right vehicle to pick up,” the second voice deadpans.

“No, not that.” The footsteps go quiet. A few seconds of silence pass, but it feels like an eternity as the group tries their best to stay as silent as possible. 

“I know you're here, little detectives!” Tendou Satoru’s voice booms over the empty factory, his laughter filling the space shortly after.

[gainaxvel3o]

A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 5

Previous / First / Next

Watts up, Doc?

“Two of my pawns have been taken out of the board.”

Monarch paced around the room. Her face was framed by the purple light coming from the little butterflies surrounding her. Nooro’s magic felt wondrous to be around, intoxicating in it’s warmth, even corrupted by dark desire. “Tyrian Callows nearly succeeded in killing the champions,” Monarch spoke. “His pride got to him, but if trained well he would have made a proud Huntsman for me. The downside of involving the police in affairs. They let a body go to waste.”

She felt a shiver down her body. Poor Nooro… he continued to fight against her even knowing he didn’t have a chance. Such a small, whiny, pathetic little thing. Behaviors more suited to children than an ancient powerful being that of creation. Many myths would be destroyed by simply observing the Kwamis.

“I will need someone smarter. Wiser. A person susceptible to my power, who will be able to calculate the most efficient path to success.”

She closed her eyes. Butterflies were everywhere in the city, dismissed by most as just little flying insects interrupting their path. They didn’t know the butterflies could hear the whispers underneath their breath, the thoughts they hold back every waking moment…

Her eyes flashed red, her sclera briefly turning black.

“Yes… he will bring me the Miraculous!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Blake Belladonna did when she woke up was brush her teeth.

The second thing she did was inspect her eyes in the mirror. She noticed the small circles forming under them. It had been difficult for her to find sleep for any given week. It only got worse since the other day, when she fought alongside Ladybug, against Scorpio.

“YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-“

A loud ringing noise.

There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

“If you move then you’re gonna end up like him. Get down!”

“NINJA VANISH!”

Blake had heard about incidents like these. The police firing when they didn’t need to, against someone they shouldn’t have. Tyrian Callows was a murderer. There should be no guilt in his death. Even so, being in the moment when it happened, the bullet firing… that caught her off guard.

She wondered about Ladybug, imagining if her lady was having nightmares like she did. She wondered how she was able to cope with the death of a man, even if it wasn’t her fault.

“What’s been buggin’ you, gloomy cat?” Blake sighed. “Plagg.” “You gonna tell me?” The little cat Kwami grinned wildly. “Do I gotta be a bad kitty?”

“Do what you want. It is irrelevant to me.”

Blake swiped some locks of her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in. “I hope Ladybug is okay. The fight the other day was intense.” “No need to worry. Tikki picks her champions well. No doubt she’s bounced back and ready to go, good as new as can be.”

“That’s a relief.”

It was. Ladybug came across as naive and nervous every time Blake met her. Skilled yes, but nearly always in trouble every time Blake arrived. Blake admired the girl’s spirit, but knew that she would need plenty of help. So long as Ladybug needed her, Chat Noir would be happy to serve.

Blake drank the water from the sink and spat it out. She took out a small tube, bringing out the pills and swallowing them.

“Plagg?” “Hm?”

“Why are the Miraculouses so special?” “They have us, pretty sure that makes them special.” “Chadwick. Scorpio. Both of them wanted our Miraculous. What would he need ours for?” “Ah… Yeah I should tell you.” Blake’s eyes snapped open. “You didn’t think it was important before?!” 

“No you’re right, let me explain.” Plagg said. “Tikki and I, we’re the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction. When we’re together we can accomplish miracles beyond anything mortal can imagine.”

“Like… genies?”

“Yeah, but we’re not bound by rules the way those twerps are. Whoever’s the boss has Nooro and probably wants Tikki and I to fulfill a wish.” “Hmmm…”

Blake shook the little rube in her hand. Her eyes narrowed a little. “So you could grant any wish right?” “Probably. Why, you gonna swipe the earrings?” “I won’t.” “Then why the question?” Blake hesitated, before deciding to risk it. 

“I’m just wondering if they could…” She shook the tube. “You know, make it so I don’t have to take these?” She had only rarely seen Plagg get serious around her. His mischievous smile gave away to a frown, contemplating her question. “It could do that yeah. You’d probably feel more comfortable without ‘em. Thing is, the type of magic we are… the wishes we grant come at a cost. In order to get a thing, something has to be given back.”

“Equivalent exchange…” Blake sighed again. “Nothing is ever free is it?” “I wish it were so, gloomy cat.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The corridors made Blake feel uneasy.

There were just so many… people. Students, teachers, employees… Blake tried to ignore them. She tried to ignore the noises and small talk that could be heard down the hallway; she tried not to look for any mention of her name that came with disgust or insult; no matter what she did, the feeling of anxiety came with her. At last, Blake glanced around trying to catch someone. Anyone. 

Nothing came. Nobody did.

It was silly. Nobody knew her, she was practically invisible to the crowd. They were too wrapped up in the hum and drum of their own lives to think anything of her. Even so, Blake felt uncomfortable. Even if she knew, logically, that no one stared at her, that no one knew her, she felt as if any moment somebody would jump out and call her by name, revealing her to the world. 

To her relief, no one did. Blake shuddered. College was supposed to be a fresh start for her. In many ways, it was exactly what she needed. Even though she walked into the room late, no one batted an eye. She took a seat behind her (so far) best friend, with no one the wiser.

“Mornin’ Blakey,” Yang winked at her. “Had trouble rollin’ out of bed?” If Plagg and Yang ever met, they’d probably make a great team. Blake thanked the universe they haven’t. Yet.

“My sleep schedule isn’t your concern Yang.” Blake placed her bag underneath her seat. “What’s the lesson for today?”

“Oh it’s just the doc rambling off. You haven’t missed much.”

“You will be missing something, Miss Xiao-Long.” The teacher twirled his brown mustache. “Your grade, if you keep speaking out of turn.” Yang narrowed her eyes in contempt before yawning. Dr. Arthur Watts was the type of man to carry himself with great self importance. His lab assistant, a man with green hair and glasses larger than his own eyes, fidgeted behind him. A machine lied in the middle of the table, a metal skeleton, the body split as if it was reaching for it’s toes.

“As you can see, students,” Dr. Watts spat out, “We’re supposed to be studying history. What better demonstration of history can there be, than actively participating in it?” “D-doctor,” Bartholomew Oobleck, the doctor’s assistant, stuttered while he sipped his coffee. “I must insist this to be a terrible idea! The prototype isn’t even out of testing stage!” “Nonsense. Activate the machine!”

Oobleck, against his better knowledge and wisdom, pressed the button on the robot. The almost sinister sounds of beeps and smoke rising were heard across the room, the metal skeleton raising itself up. It stared at the students, freaking them out with it’s slow deliberate patterns. Arthur Watts grinned.

“My machine was rejected for being an inferior product,” He said to the room. “As you can see, it is clearly nonsense. Wave at them my robot!”

It did so, mimicking the human action of waving hi at people to the best of it’s ability. However, everyone could see smoke rising from the machine’s head. A minor explosion was heard, the skeleton head twisting, turning and churning before falling to the floor, sending nuts and bolts flying around the room.

“A… minor setback.” Dr. Watts said finally. “But if I can make it work then I’ll finally be able to ascend to the scientific community! No more classes for me with idiotic, inattentive students at least!”

There was a moment of silence among the students who weren’t quite sure what to make of this display. Blake raised a hand up.

“Yes Miss Belladonna? Who I may remind you all was late to this lecture? Would you care to voice your objections?”

Blake was keenly aware of the chuckles from behind and in front of her. She put them aside. “I was late, I’ll try to keep that in check.” Blake said. “However, while this… experiment looks rather interesting, aren’t we supposed to be learning about American history?” Indignant at the response, Dr. Watts turned to his assistant, who was whispering little curses to himself. He was on his own for this. “But you are!” Dr. Watts shouted. “You’re participating in our experiment!” “Would it not be better to do it in an actual lab?” Blake said. “With actual doctors checking on it? Not in a classroom where we’re supposed to be learning something else entirely? No wonder you haven’t been certified yet, you’ve been very unprofessional.”

Laughter came. Not at Blake, but at the incompetent doctor she had to remind herself. Dr. Watts blushed furiously.

“A once in a lifetime opportunity…” Dr. Watts pouteed. “-and you throw it away?!?” “I told you this would happen Arthur,” Oobleck tried to reason. “Maybe we can open up the textbooks and get back on track, there’s still an hour-“

But the doctor wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed his coat and marched out of the room, ignoring the laughter of, in his mind, infantile ignoramus adults. “BAH! If this how they act then they are not worthy of me.”

The door slammed shut. Watts would complain to the Headmaster later. The stupid woman gave him an inattentive classroom. He brought out a cigar. 

“Stupid children, stupid Oobleck. I’m supposed to be a genius scientist but… graaargh! I’ll get revenge at some point.”

Arthur twirled his mustache, feeling something on his shoulder. He turned to see that what landed was a small butterfly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Oobleck looked around not sure what to say. The students erupted into conversation, completely ignoring the green haired man. Any chance of a normal class had died when Watts left the room.

“Whoah Blake.” Yang whistled to her friend. “That was awesome.” “Not really.” Blake waved it off. "An idiot is a hot air balloon that needs to be popped, less they fly off into space and have it’s occupants freeze to death.” “Isn’t space a vacuum though?” Blake rolled her eyes.

“You okay though?” Yang asked. “You seem a bit tense.” Perceptive. Blake cursed in her head coming up with an excuse.

“I didn’t sleep well, so I’m a bit on edge.” Blake supposed that would do. “How did this guy end up a teacher, let alone our teacher?” “Ah, you missed that part of the opening act.” Yang said. “Dude apparently got fired from his old job, so Salem brought him here as a favor. Since every other position was filled he had teach history since he had the degree for it.”

“Ah, that does explain it. Salem is a nice person.” “Yeah, too nice.” Yang slumped on the table, resting her head on her shoulders. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but she should be more careful with who she picks ya know?”

Blake nods. “I suppose so.”

‘Then again.’ She thought. ‘If it weren’t for her… why I be allowed here?’

“Anyway,” Yang continued. “Wanna skip class? Ruby’s got some designs she wanted to show me, and I’m getting the distinct impression the teacher won’t be coming back.” “Maybe…” She felt her ring vibrate. “Um, maybe not today.”

“Oh come on we haven’t even hung out yet!”

“I’m sorry it’s just that I remembered something and-“

The door was suddenly kicked down. Blake and Yang turned their heads bewildered ash the sight.

“Hello children!” A raspy voice spoke to the classroom. “Do you want to participate in an EXCITING EXPERIMENT?!”

Blake surmised him to be yet another freakish villain, the same as Chadwick and Scorpio. The man had credit for going for something a bit more stylish than the other two. The black long coat mixed with the red scarf around the neck, the man’s eyes by oversized goggles and a cigar on the mouth.  “My my my, how come you’re not all excited? As a Huntsman of the Great and Mighty Monarch, I’m going to have to ask ALL OF YOU to sit down until those pathetic hero brats show up.”

“What is this madness Arthur?!?” Oobleck placed a shoulder on Dr. Watts. “How did you even change your outfit so quickly, you weren’t even in this when you-”

BAM! Oobleck fell to the floor, spasming from electric shocks as Dr. Watts blew away the smoke from the gun.

“Arthur Watts is a disrespected genius, but…” He smirked in delight. “KillerWatts will be happy to avenge him, I have so many plans to execute, with so little time!”

He pulled out another gun with his pocket right, firing both at the ceiling, leaving the lights dimmed and broken. The students could only watch in horror as the Shockslinger chuckled.

“What’s the doc doing?!”

“Is he like a supervillain? Like the guys Ladybug and Chat Noir fight?” “Shit we gotta go run!”

They were piling out and fast. Blake knew she needed to find a spot so she could transform into Chat Noir and take care of this villain. Perhaps she could take advantage of the chaos to find a place to hide. “Blake we gotta stick together!” Yang grabbed her friend’s arm. “Now move!” Or she could get dragged by Yang, away from any place they could do so. 

“Yang maybe we need to find a place to hide,” Blake pointed in one direction. “I could look for help over there-“ “Are you crazy?!?” Yang pulled harder. “I’m not leaving you alone for a second, c’mon!”

As her friend took her away, Blake realized that transforming would be a difficult task. She knew she needed to find out, but how? Where was Ladybug?

As she thought of that, KillerWatts cursed himself for allowing the brats to get away. His master already told him the mission: find the miraculous, bring it to her, everyone else was secondary. As much as he wanted revenge, KillerWatts knew he needed to set his priorities straight.

“Those insufferable little brats will get what’s coming to them later. For now though…” He walked over to his failed machine. Gently, Watts fired a bullet from his gun into the robot, causing blue electric waves to spread over the robot’a.

“We should spread a bit of chaos… just enough for Ladybug to appear."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Ren! Look at this!” Nora stuffed a pair of peas into her mouth, then brought a straw to her lips. She spat the peas through the straw into the air, where it hit Cardin Winchester. He turned around, flipping the middler finger to Nora, who just waved at him. Ren clapped.

“Fantastic as always Nora.”

“Thanks Ren.” Pyrrha and Jaune decided to shrug at that. Jaune glanced over to Ruby, seeing her focused on her notebook.

“What’s up Ruby?” Jaune scooched over to Ruby. “Working on a new design right now?” 

“Huh?” Ruby blinked. “Oh yeah! Weiss suggested some ideas for designs and I’ve been trying to figure out how to get them right. I’m going to meet with her later to see what she thinks.” “… You’re working with Weiss?” Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you and Weiss umm… Hate each other?” “I don’t… hate her I guess?” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t like her, but she’s seen my designs and wants to help me get better. If I want to get a career going, I feel like I should get advice from someone who’s already working in the industry right?” “Makes sense.” Ren said. “If one studies the art of the blade, they mustn’t be too picky about who they learn it from.” “… yeah I guess?” ‘Ren can be so strange sometimes,’ Ruby thought. ‘At least he’s supportive?’ “You’re a fashion designer, Ruby?” Pyrrha asked. “Have you made any designs yet?” “Ohhhh she is, Pyrrha!” Jaune pointed at the notebook. “Ruby showed me her notebook during inauguration, she’s not half bad!” “Oh stop it Jaune!” Ruby giggled. “I’m not great… yet…” “Ruby’s a fashion designer?!” Nora popped in front of Ruby, which startled the girl. "COME ON LET US SEE!”

“Nora, that’s not how you ask friends for favors. You do it from an approximately two feet away so you’re at tackling distance.” “Oh right sorry Ren.” Nora pulled back. “May we pleaaaase see your cool stuff? Please?” Ruby felt eyes on her. She wanted to keep some ideas to herself but… well these were her friends… Ruby supposed it would’t be a problem this one time.  Laughing awkwardly, she laid out her notebook for her friends.

“It’s not much but… here they are!” They looked at her notes in awe at the skill. There were pictures and drawings of elaborate, elegant outfit designs, inked to the slightest detail, with notes on the side explaining how they were supposed to be stitched, what fabrics would work with this or that, each dress not just sticking to one style but dipping into other types. Goth, pastel, others, Ruby had a talent for not just doing one, but knowing how to mix them together.

“Wow Ren look at these! I gotta ask Ruby to make our wedding outfits!” “Agreed. She is quite adept.” “These aren’t bad.” Pyrrha looked at Ruby. “Have you thought about posting these online?” “Maybe?” Ruby said. “I only just started college… I want to keep a low profile now.”

“Low profile?!” Jaune pointed at a design in the book. “Ruby that kind of t talent should be out there for all to see!”

“I just don’t think I’m ready that’s all.” Pyrrha noticed how Ruby was nervous, so she laid a hand on Jaune’s shoulder to calm him down. “I can understand what you mean, Ruby.” Pyrrha smiled. “I came here so I could avoid too much publicity. Do consider my point though. If you want opportunities you’re going to have to take risks. Not just here, for all life.” “Huh…” Ruby frowned. “That’s what Weiss said.” “She’s right, Ruby.” Pyrrha placed a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “I might be able to put in a good word for you.” “You could?!?” Ruby’s eyes lit up before she gently brought Pyrrha’s hand away. “Uh ahem, let me think about it. Maybe.”

She thought of the possibilities that could come from this. Maybe other designers will see them and give her a chance? With Pyrrha, a popular athlete, giving a good word maybe something could be done. But would it work? Of course her friends would praise her. Maybe she should need to speak to Weiss first. She’d probably tell her not to do it, being an expert and all. What if she did get people to notice her but they turn her down?

(What if she saw it?)

“HOLY CRAP, RUN!” Ruby heard it before her earrings vibrated. A panicked student ran down the mess hall just as a set of walls broke, revealing a robot with blue sparks surrounding it.

“Kill the brats.” The robot spoke. “Bring the miraculous to the Master!”

“Shit what was that?!?” Jaune got up from the chair. “We gotta move!”

Ruby knew she had to act quickly. She pushed the notebook into her bag and ran with the others. Nora fired peas from her straw at the robot. They disintegrated upon impact due to the electric current. Thankfully for her Ren grabbed her hand and moved with Jaune. “Why is it attacking us, here?” Pyrrha turned her head led and right. “Where’s Ruby?!”

Jaune turned around, having just noticed his friend’s absence. “Ruby, RUBY!!!”

The robot turned it’s attention towards Jaune, who was desperately looking around.

“RUBY!” “Jaune watch out!" A red spot appeared on Jaune’s chest. Before he could get fired on, a yoyo appeared over Jaune’s arm, pulling him away from laser fire. “You should be more careful.” Ladybug said. “This is the second time I saved you. Get going!” “But Ruby-!” “I’ll find her soon, but move!” Ruby felt guilty sending her friend away. She had ducked under a table during the chaos. She knew what she had to do.

“Okay you bucket of bolts!” Ladybug shouted to the robot. “Let’s see what you’re made of!” The robot fired concentrated electric blasts at Ladybug, but she was quick and nimble, leaping across the tables with ease. Her eyes narrowed, she used the yoyo to catch one of the robot’s legs, pulling on it to break it off. Once it did, the robot fell to the side, firing at Ladybug again. However, she jumped through the air, raising a leg to attack it’s head.

SMASH! The head went flying, falling just a few steps away. Ladybug let out a breath.

“Holy crap.” Ruby said to herself. “I should be careful with my own strength. She waited for the butterfly to come out, to de-grimmify the robot, fix the area, get some answers. Chat would appreciate a situation she didn’t have to be called for.

“I guess this isn’t it.” Ladybug said. “That means the real Huntsman must be in here somewhere.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was hard for Blake to concentrate when she could hear bullets flying in the air.

“Hahahahaha! Stupid kids are going to get what’s coming to them!”

She heard the doctor shout his grazed ramblings behind her. She cringed as Yang took her behind a wall.

“Which way do we go? That bastard’s gonna track us down sooner or later.” Yang looked around. “Where’s Ladybug and Chat Noir when you need ‘em?”

Blake wished she could laugh. She wasn’t sure about Ladybug, but Blake would certainly not be able to answer her about Chat Noir. Unless Plagg decided to take control right now, Blake wasn’t sure she wanted to risk her identity just yet to Yang.

“Maybe if we head down the mess hall.” Blake pointed. “Maybe we could get help.“

“Yeah, great idea.” Yang’s eyes widened. “Wait no. Ruby’s with her friends in the cafeteria. What if he gets there?”

Damn. Blake hadn’t considered that. “Maybe…” Blake tried to think. “Maybe we could head into a different classroom? Call someone?”

“Maybe. I don’t know I-” Yang breathed in and out. “God things have gotten weird so quickly.” “What do you mean?” “What, the superheroes, the donkey monsters, the scorpion guy, now our teacher’s a crappy cowboy? World’s gone insane since we showed up in town.”

Blake laughed. “Yeah they have. I wish I could say things’ll get better but…” “I wouldn’t believe it if it came from you. You’re too gloomy for nice thoughts.” “Harsh, though not unfair." “I’m good at reading people like that.”

Oh Plagg would love Yang if they met. Maybe…

“Yang I think…” Blake breathed. “I think I might have a way out of this.” Yang raised an eyebrow. “Well out with it, I don’t think I have any- GAAH!“ Blake watched in horror as Yang fell to the ground. She clutched her arm, bleeding from the side. Blake saw a hole where Yang’s arm originally was. “Ggh! What the hell?!?”

“Do you enjoy my handiwork?” KillerWatts grinned at the frightened teenagers. Better yet, these two were the slackers who made a fool of him in today’s class. “Foolish children. You mock and insult your betters…” He raised a gun at Yang. "Who’s laughing now?!!!?” It amused KillerWatts when Blake stood in between Yang and himself. She raised her hands in defiance.

“Don’t hurt my friend! Do whatever you want to me, just let her go!”

“B-Blake no-!” “Idiot.” Dr. Watts’s eye twitched. “You’re the one who humiliated me… You don’t deserve even one of my bullets.” He grabbed the offending student and threw Blake through the window.

“Say good bye!” “BLAKE!”

As she was tossed out of the window, Blake thought about the events that lead up to this moment. Her past, her present, her friendships with Yang, Ladybug… Ruby… she couldn’t let them die.

“Plagg, Claws-"

Blake felt arms surrounding her shoulders before she could even spout the words. She looked to see her savior, as they landed at the lawn. “You alright miss?” Ladybug said. “You’re not injured?”

Blake blushed, nodding her head.

“Good.” Ladybug cleared her throat. “You better hurry inside. My partner hasn’t shown up yet and I need to stop the villain quickly.” “Of course… I won’t get in your way.” Blake’s eyes widened. “Watch out for the doctor! He has guns! He shot my friend Yang in the arm.”

She was surprised at the way Ladybug glared. “He won’t get away with it, I promise.”

As Ladybug jumped up to face the evil scientist, Blake dashed away. She rubbed the ring.

“What’s up gloomy cat?” “Plagg, CLAWS OUT!” _____________________________________________________________________________________ “Well well well, if it isn’t Ladybug! You arrived at last.”

Ruby watched Yang bleed out next to the villain and saw red. How dare this pathetic, cruel little man do that to her sister?! He had to pay.

“Monarch demands your earrings.” KillerWatts pointed a gun at her. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your highness, would you?” “She’ll have to pry them off herself, over my dead body.” “That can be arranged.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the fight began. KillerWatts fired at her, but Ladybug quickstepped past them as if they were slower than dirt. She threw her yoyo to tangle one of Watts’ arms.

“Do you think that will be enough?!” Watts fired his other gun to break the Yoyo’s string. “You really are a child-“ A sharp pain! The gun was knocked away from his right hand. Ladybug had another yoyo in her hand.

“Why you-!” She ducked below him, kicking him off balance. KillerWatts immediately fired from his left hand, which Ladybug jumped away to avoid them. Watts got up quickly, just in time to avoid two strikes from two yoyos. Somehow Ladybug’s broken yoyo repaired itself.

“You’re fast, Ladybug.” He said. "Not fast enough.” He fired again. Ladybug dodged again.

“You’re not particularly creative, sir.” Ladybug said. “Even Chadwick varied his monsters.” “It’s KillerWatts dear. Watch what you say brat-“ The bullets froze in mid air.

“-You might end up regretting it!” Ladybug was surprised by how fast the bullets moved. She had to keep herself moving less they hit her.

“What the heck are these?” “Fool! You think Monarch hands out powers without imagination! Your efforts so far-“

The bullets glowed.

“-WILL DETONATE BEFORE YOUR EYES!”

Miniature explosions shocked Ladybug still, the current making her drop to her knees. “GAAAAAAAH!” “Heh heh.” “No…” Yang tried to get up, but her arm hurt so badly. “Ladybug no!”

KillerWatts laughed, walking over to his defeated foe with nary a concern.

“A fitting end to a worthless brat. It is a wonder that the others had so much problem with her. The difference between peons and a genius.” He reached over to the earrings… before something slammed into his chest. KillerWatts jumped away, pointing guns at the intruder. “You won’t lay a hand on her.” Chat pointed her staff at him. “Surrender now.” “Oh great.” Dr. Watts sneered. “More naughty children to kill.” He fired several shots at Chat, who smashed them all at once with her staff. One by one they were each broken to KillerWatts’ amazement. “I have to study that staff… after I take it from your corpse!”

Chat moved quickly. She didn’t even flinch at the bullets moving towards her, smashing some as she ran towards her target. “Say your prayers!” “Wrong thing to say, kitty cat.” The bullets that Chat hadn’t destroyed detonated again. This time, they formed an electric trap around her. “You…” Chat said. “What did you do?!” “I dare you to move towards me, I dare you.”

Chat glared at her opponent. She took a step, but a laser shot near her foot, leaving a black spot on the floor. The laser fired again, which Chat had to move. Ladybug came to. She noticed KillerWatts laughing while her partner was dodging the lighting in the trap. She had to figure out a way to help out her friend.

“Here goes nothing…” She whispered. "Lucky charm!” Tikki had told her of this ability. When pushed into a dangerous situation, Ladybug wielders can summon an object that will help turn the tide of battle. Ruby didn’t have a choice but to use it. The yoyo glowed, releasing…

“A razor?” Ladybug picked up the electric razor with her hand. She looked it up and down.

“What the heck? This is supposed to help me against that psycho?!? What am I supposed to do, shave off his mustache?” She blinked. “Oh you gotta be kidding me.” Given who she was dealing with, it wouldn’t surprise her. Ruby sighed.

“Okay let’s get this going.”

“Hahahahahaha dance for me you stupid cat!” KillerWatts laughed. “Give praise to your superior mind!”

Chat cursed in her head as she moved from the laser. Why did the Butterfly miraculous grant it’s users these versatile, almost overpowered abilities while she and Ladybug were so limited?! It angered her over it’s unfairness.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to rant to Plagg. Maybe limit his cheese until I-“ “Chat grab on!” She blinked as the yoyo appeared in the trap. Chat grabbed it, and felt herself being pulled from the trap.

“What?” KillerWatts’ eye twitched. “No…” “Thank you my lady.” Chat collected herself. "What’s the plan?” Ladybug showed her the electric razor. “What are you-“ Chat’s eyes darted from the razor to KillerWatts. “Oh. That makes far too much sense.” They dashed one last time. The dup kept switching places, avoiding the bullets again.

“Damn you!” KillerWatts shouted. “Die!” Chat went in front of Ladybug, destroying a few bullets, while Ladybug used both of her yo-yos to move them closer to their opponent. “Die!”

He was about to fire again, but they were knocked away by a yoyo and a staff strike.

“YOU ALL SHOULD JUST DIE!!!!” He shouted even as Blake grabbed his arms behind him, Ladybug activating the razor.

“No stop-!”

SHZZZZ

His mustache was gone. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, by the razor. Arthur couldn't even process this blasphemy happening as the butterfly appeared. Ladybug caught the glowing insect with her yoyo.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!” As it happens in these situations, the ladybugs fixed everything. KillerWatts was no more, as Dr. Arthur Watts lied in the ground, probably knocked out from the shock of his mustache gone. Ladybug and Chat gazed at each other.

“That man is so fired.” Chat said. “Not bad Ladybug. You were great today.” “You’re not so bad yourself, Chat.” Ladybug said. “You ok?” “I am.” “Me too!” Yang swung her arm around freely. She was cheery “Damn my arm’s good! Would be a shame if I lost it.” Ladybug and Chat laughed awkwardly at that joke. Yang smiled before panicking. “Oh crap! I need to find Blake! And Ruby! Sorry guys gotta run!" Yang ran off to the hallway. Ladybug and Chat shrugged.

“See you around Chat.” “Likewise, Bugaboo.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Foiled again. This is getting so annoying.” Monarch slammed a fist at the table. KillerWatts did come closer to capturing the miraculous than the other two, but almost is not the same as total victory. She had to change her strategy somehow. How did they arrive to the school so quickly?

She stopped herself.

“How did they arrive so quickly to the school?”

Monarch turned on her computer. She typed into the mainframe, pulling up a list of students from this year. She smirked in realization. 

“It seems not all was lost today. I may have a clue.”

Author’s Notes:

I was originally gonna have Arthur be like this Frankenstein parody “FrankenWatts” but that fell through. I was also going to call hi “The ShockSlinger” but my friend came up with KillerWatts, which was a way better name. Thank you friend for having more sense than me!

I was going to have more moments between Blake and Ladybug to sort of set up a Ladrien situation, but the story didn’t feel right for such a thing. I hope you’re satisfied anyway!

[novantinuum]

Crack the Paragon, Chapter 11

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (I have upped the rating in consideration of sensitive topics I aim to depict later on.)

Words: 3000~

Summary: In another world, he doesn’t have his mother’s sword or shield to hide behind when Bismuth lands her strike. The bubble pops.

Steven falls apart.

Chapter summary: In which Lapis is a flight risk, and Steven begins to doubt himself.

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit them from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well.

-

Chapter 10: Beta, Part 2

When your life has become a continually evolving string of heart pounding adventures linked together by the odd few days off, you quickly learn to fixate on the fine details no matter what the circumstance, as you never know when one of those details could be used to save everyone’s butts. Sure, it’s not like this outlook did him any favors back in the forge, but his point still stands: a Steven who isn’t constantly paying close attention to his surroundings is a Steven who can’t properly help his friends. If he’s not innately aware of everything around him, he can’t raise his shield in time. He won’t be able to pull the right tool out of his cheeseburger backpack. He can’t give a perfectly worded response to a soul in need. This is a non-negotiable fact, and the reality of what happened with Bismuth merely cements it ever more solid. Which is why— deep beyond the wandering disorientation of his current surface thoughts— he can’t help but wonder why he’s unable to pay attention to the details that actually matter right now. The individual threads of all his friends’ panic, confusion, and attempted explanation overlap and intertwine, weaving an audible tapestry of emotions. Their precise words, however, may as well have died in the wind. Mentally, he is not here. Instead, the fragmented remains of his focus choose to zero in on the wood grain pattern spread across every beam and board of the barn’s rustic infrastructure. Wholly enamored, his eyes trace a path between the dark ridges as if traversing a maze. Tree rings are super pretty, huh. He absolutely doesn’t give them the love and admiration they deserve. But as is evident from the slight musty smell and the dainty mushrooms beginning to sprout by the floor in one of the corners, some of the boards are beginning to rot. His mouth falls slightly ajar, and he stares at these fruiting bodies with such stubborn commitment that for a moment he forgets anything else was ever a priority. Have Peridot and Lapis noticed? Do they even know what wood rot is? Upon that thought, he frowns pensively, balling his fist at his chin. Hmm. Given their relative inexperience with Earth stuff, the most likely answer to that is no. He’ll have to call Dad about fixing the boards before this grows into an even bigger problem. It’d be awful if their home became unsafe to live in because he didn’t do his part to help. But then again... “What do you mean, none of you know why she did it? That just makes it worse!” “Lapis! Lapis, wait! They said she’s—“ “Let go of me!” she says, struggling in Peridot’s grasp, her water wings flaring outwards at the ready. “Don’t you get it? I can’t live here on Earth anymore, it’s not safe! None of us are safe!” Is he already too late?

Lapis’s impassioned cries continue to echo at the edge of his awareness— something paranoid about shapeshifted disguises, about the Diamonds— but his feet are still anchored to the boards below, his body all but stagnant in shock of the current maelstrom of emotions. And yet, it’s strange... while a sum of him dimly recognizes he’s still attached to reality, it’s almost as if he’s watching all of this from above himself, stuck as a passive observer to his failure. Helpless. ( C-cracked, I’m- I’m cracked, I’m split I, I can’t... feel... need... I-I need to —) Slimy tendrils of guilt slither around his heart. He wasn’t paying close enough attention to the mood. He wasn’t careful. He wasn’t convincing. He was scared that everyone would devolve into petty argument, and look what happened! He ran his mouth when he should’ve stayed silent. He caused his own nightmare. His family’s splintering apart once more, and it’s all his fault. “But it’s not like that,” Ruby hastily interjects, “I’m sure it’s not like that!” “Really? You’re seriously jumping to defend Rose, after all the lies she fed us?” Amethyst spits back. “N- no! I’m just saying, why would—“ The constant chirping chorus emanating from the birds of the nearby woods steals his fragmented focus next, and he can’t help the sense of relief that bubbles up from within as he willfully sinks into the distraction. The birds, their songs are beautiful. He wonders what they’re saying to each other... if they’re arguing about territory, warning friends about predators, or simply having a friendly conversation. Maybe his dad might be able to distinguish the difference. When he was still living in the van, they used to lay on that ratty old mattress side-by-side late at night, listening to the crashing tides and the distant squalls of birds picking at trashed food on the boardwalk. Because one of his relatives was big into birding when they were kids, Dad was always able to stake a reasonable guess on the species class based on call alone. And honestly, that’s a pretty amazing power to have. As he related earlier, it’s important to fixate on the fine details. Attention to detail can save lives. It can soften hearts. It can make or break friendships. But as he’s grown to fear, it can’t fix everything. He can’t fix everything. The blue Gem’s features twist with simmering fury. “Peridot, I told you to let me go!” she hollers, and in a single jerk rips herself away from the shorter Gem’s desperate embrace. Her wings swing like a whip behind her as her body follows the motion through. It’s enough of a shock to the system that his sense of awareness comes rushing back. He ducks, the water swishing right over his head. Something behind him snaps and clatters to the ground. Ruby presses a bejeweled hand to her face, muttering something he can’t distinguish. “‘Kay, I’m out,” Amethyst cuts in through the chaos, throwing her hands up. “Y’all are whack, this whole convo is whack, and I can’t deal with any of this right now.” Not wasting a single second, she tucks herself into a ball and super-speeds it out of the barn. Mouth caught in a tiny, helpless ‘o,’ Steven whisks around, only barely catching a glimpse of her retreat before he spots the damage. It’s one of Lapis’s morps, that wooden hanger displaying all the baseball paraphernalia. Now it lies rejected on the floorboards, one of the strings broken and the bat rolling towards Peridot’s feet. He watches, feeling lambasted with regret for his role in sparking this argument, as the green Gem’s face cripples much like the structural integrity of that meep-morp. She blinks away the threat of tears and quickly averts her gaze from the group, bending to pick up the bat before clutching it to her chest in a protective manner. The water Gem huffs and storms out of the barn as well, fists unyielding at her side. Heart pounding amidst all the uncertainty of this fraught situation, Steven scuttles after her. Come on, think! he snaps at himself, chewing pensively at his lip. There has to be a way he can still save this, a way he can stop his family from splintering apart yet again... “Lapis,” Ruby begins, delicately edging towards her. “No, stop,” she holds up a hand. Her expression— as nebulous and hard to ascertain as always— is caught at some weird nexus between blinding anger, terror, and... is that guilt he spies? “Stop talking! I’m not asking any of you to change my mind. I’m leaving, and all of you should be too!” Turning on her heels, she squares her stance and flares her wings to their full width in preparation for her flight. Just before those watery wings can beat downwards, propelling her lithe form away from his world forever, he leaps forward. Dares to grab her wrist. She sharply inhales, briefly tugging against him before she notices who the hand belongs to and falls slack in his hold. Static assails his mind as he assesses every angle of this jerk-moment decision. What on earth is he doing? (He can practically feel Ruby and Peridot’s anxious, curious gaze drilling into him from behind, and they’re not even in his line of sight. No matter what happens, this is all on him. No one else.) “I-I, um,” he stammers at first, desperately scouring his brain for the right words to say. “Please, I’m... You don’t have to be scared like this. I may have her gem, but I’m not her!” Lapis gives a shaky sigh. Her wings droop right along with her shoulders, the persistent burden of thousands of years of captivity evident within her posture. Waiting in the shadow of her silence, his focus falls on the gemstone adoring her back, that smooth, glossy teardrop. Golly, somehow it doesn’t feel that long ago at all that her gem was cracked, and— scared, angered, and confused— she lashed out in much a similar way. “I’ve always known you’re not your mom, Steven,” she says lowly, still not meeting his gaze. “This- this isn’t about that!” “Then... what is it about?” She growls in frustration, clenching her fists as she yanks her wrist away from his grip. “Have none of you been listening to me?” “Have you been listening to us?” Peridot mutters flatly from behind him.

Lapis shoots her a sour look, but continues, pacing across the grass as she speaks. “If one diamond was able to fool an entire empire into thinking she was a quartz for thousands of years,” she says, gesticulating to emphasize her words, “then- then how do we know the other Diamonds aren’t already here doing the same, already watching from a distance, just waiting to shatter us for everything we’ve done??” The sharpened words echo across the fields, familiar bird calls cut short as even nature falls silent in their sway. Steven stands motionless, her paranoia-tinted prophecy sinking in through his flesh despite all efforts otherwise, sowing roots in the darkest corners of his mind that he dare not peep into. When no one responds, the blue Gem exhales, lowering her face to the ground. “I’ve let my guard down too much here, I’ve let myself grow soft. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He swears he hears a note of disappointment laced between the layers of her uneven breath, or perhaps it’s heartbreak. He can’t tell. Despite his usual aptitude at interpreting others’ feelings, Lapis is consistently hard to read. And it’s this very thought, this subtle dissonance from the expected in her intentions, that encourages him to reach out one last time. Her wings flare out again. Blood and hard light thrum at an almost dizzying pace through his parallel veins. It’s now or never.

“Lapis, wait!” he calls, palm open wide. “Please, please don’t leave! Not now, not like this.” Their world crystallizes into ice as he vies to meet her fears head on. There’s no sunlight, no bird calls, no wind, no Ruby and Peridot behind him. No more untimely distractions. Only Lapis, desperate and hurting amid the heart of the storm she created. She holds her wings taut, ready for flight, hovering at the edge of her metaphoric tower. Breath trembling, she glances behind. The sheer complexity of emotion Steven discovers in those sea blue irises almost makes his eyes water. Cautiously, he steps forward.

“Maybe you’re right,” he begins, fidgeting with his shirt’s bottom hemline. His fingers briefly brush against the edge of his gem as he does so, and he jerks them away in blind rebellion of this reminder. “Maybe this planet never will be completely safe. Maybe nothing ever goes to plan. But the Crystal Gems have survived this long because they stood together instead of breaking apart. A-and... I know you don’t think of yourself as a Crystal Gem,” he cuts in quickly with a placating gesture, noticing the question forming on her lips, “but please-! With everything else that’s happening, I really, really still want you in my life.”

Tightly, she wrings her fingers around her opposite arm, face dipping dolefully towards the soft soil squishing up between her bare toes. “Steven, I...” “I can’t promise you’ll be safe on Earth, but I can promise you won’t have to be alone,” he says, voice thick. “Please.” Stay, he mouths, his body nearly shaking in fear of how she’ll respond, of all the inner thoughts flooding through her mind he’ll never wholly decipher. Their gaze locks, souls laid bare to each other as they engage in a rapid-fire dialogue no other creature of this world will ever be privy to.

If you can't stay for yourself, he cries silently, can’t you stay for me?

The seconds are punctuated only by the reverberant tremor of his heartbeat, as he stands upon a precipice in wait of her pivotal, defining answer.

Eventually, her expression softens. She folds her wings, standing down.

“Fine,” she spits. “I’ll wait and see what happens... for now. But if I ever find out any of the Diamonds are inbound, or worse? I’m out of here.”

A stiff gust of wind rushes past, threading through her hair and causing her dress to undulate like mid-ocean waves. Shadow obscures her face.

“I’m not getting pulled into another war.” Giving no further explanation, she turns tail and storms past the tent, past the rickety fence bordering her and Peridot’s barn, and into the overgrown wildflower field beyond. Once she’s reached a far enough distance, she extends her wings and begins to fly, hastily disappearing beyond the tree-line. Everyone stares at the thick swath of forest she escaped to with dumbfounded shock at first, no one quite sure how to proceed after that bomb of a conversation stopper. Ruby mutters something under her breath, clear frustration coloring her voice. Behind him, he hears Peridot reverently set the bat down on the barn’s floor.

“I’m... gonna go find her, and help her calm down,” she says. Clutching her hands close to her chest, she passes him and Ruby and begins her long, flightless trek into the Beach City woods. Steven himself migrates towards the grassy patch beyond the pool, and falls to his knees amongst the dandelions growing there. Most of them are still flowering, their lithe golden yellow petals fanning out from the head. A few on a separate plant are white and puffy, though, ready to disperse seeds. He’s drawn to one in particular, a seedhead that’s already missing half of its progeny. Biologically, he knows it’s a good thing that those seeds have flown away and might get a chance to germinate elsewhere, but regardless the sight of this lonely, barren dandelion strikes a dour note. Was he wrong, asking Lapis to stay? Could she eventually heal and become happier, leaving the burden of this place? He swallows hard, gripping the balding seedhead between two fingers and decisively plucking it off the stem. A few more seeds blow off with the disturbance, their feathery parachutes falling into the arms of the wind.

Lapis...

What if his selfishness is only holding her back?

And then there’s Amethyst to worry about. There’s no point overextending the sad dandelion metaphor to fit her situation, because hers is something entirely unique. She’s still in his life, just emotionally closed-off. Bitter. Avoidant. Unfairly antagonistic to others. By inviting her out here he hoped she might take the opportunity to kick back and blow off some steam, but now, after watching her abruptly leave the group a few minutes ago, he’s worried this trip only succeeded in further stressing her out.

A gem adorned hand falls upon his shoulder then, pulling him to the present. With a startled yelp, he tosses the dandelion into the grass as he flinches away. His heart drums uncontrollably, so much so that his cheeks burn with embarrassment when it dawns on him who this hand belongs to. He sucks in a shaky breath to calm himself down before allowing himself to sink into her comfort, glancing behind to meet Ruby’s tired, kind eyes. “Hey. Are you okay?” she asks. His tongue suddenly feeling as limp and dry as all the fallen leaves beginning to sprinkle the ground, he nods his head yes. In an overt betrayal of his response, his big, stupid, puffy eyes begin to water. Hurriedly, he wipes the burgeoning tears away with the butt of his palm. Frustration bubbles at his core. Since when was he such a crybaby? He’s cried far too much lately, and he’s sick of it. He rubs harder as the tears begin to fall anyways, his bottom lip quivering as he vies with every last ounce of control he still has to not look entirely pathetic. The skin around his eyes, sensitive and raw, begins to sting from the friction. Wordlessly, Ruby wraps her hands around his wrists and leads them away from his face. His chest tightens. He fails to choke back a sob as she pulls him into her embrace, his own arms trapped between them. She buries her face into the crook of his neck, and it’s then that he realizes with a shock of surprise that she’s crying too. Her quiet tears dampen his collar; her fingers clutch at the back of his shirt. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong for us all the time,” she says softly. “I wanna be here for you too, okay? It’s just like you said... no matter what, we stand together.” “But I- I have to go find her,” he chokes out, the words sticking in his throat in the most pathetic manner. “Who, Lapis? Peridot‘s prolly fine handling her on her own.” “No, I mean Amethyst. I saw her run off, an, and she’s been so upset today, and...” “Steven,” she says, leaning away and gently lifting his chin so he can’t avoid her compassionate gaze. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and honestly? A lot of it’s been our fault. You should take a moment to rest, okay?” Grinning, she ruffles his hair. “Enjoy the breeze! Climb a tree! Kick back for once. I’ll check on Amethyst this time.”

He hoarsely whispers an ‘okay’ as he sits back on his heels in the sun and watches her run off, allowing the wind to whip through his curls. Sighing, he splays his fingers just above the grass, allowing their tips to gently tickle his palm as they brush back and forth, and futilely tries to convince himself he’s cultivated enough good into the world today to deserve this break.

[mischiefandi]

A Shitty Love Song (Part 3) - Stiles Stilinski

No Shame

A/N: hi everyone, here is part 3, im sorry i couldn’t post it yesterday. part 4 will be out next saturday! ty for reading, hope you enjoy it

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: mentions of underage drinking, swearing, mentions of anxiety and panic attacks (if this triggers you in any way, please be careful)

Word Count: 5k

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ sanjeevgrover on unsplash)

“I need you. I need you.”

Stiles’ cries had not escaped Y/N’s mind in the past two and a half weeks. On a loop, they played back, the words looming behind every action, every conversation, every thought. Never before had she heard pleas quite like the ones stuck in her head. It had been a real shock seeing her friend in such a state of panic and terror. Being Stiles’ friend, you couldn’t help but notice his anxious quirks and habits, but he had never lost control like that. At least, never in front of other people.

So as the weeks rolled into winter exams, Y/N found herself struggling to stay focused on her studies, her mind often wandering off in unwanted directions. She thought of Stiles, and of his distress, and she thought of those troubling words that still lingered in her mind. But most of all, she thought about how she still had no idea what happened. She had asked, multiple times, but Stiles had shut her down, providing fleeting excuses that she just wasn’t gullible enough to believe.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed.” She had thought to herself. And perhaps this was true. But if that was the case, did it mean he didn’t trust her? Was he uncomfortable around her? Did he regret showing that side of him and if so, what did that say about their friendship?  As always, Y/N’s mind overflowed with questions and hypotheses, and there was nothing she could do about it.

As the moonlight shone through her bedroom window, Y/N stood from her chair, her fingers furiously drumming against her chin as she focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, uh…New York…” she recited, another overwhelming wave of stress hitting her for the third time that evening.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back in frustration.

She was nervous. Tomorrow was the last day of exams, and she couldn’t mess it up. She generally had good grades in History, but the past few weeks had been exhausting and she truly was reaching her breaking point, making it more and more difficult to study even the simplest dates and events.

Y/N walked over to her art corner, her gleaming eyes glazing over the patterns of black and grey carefully applied to the canvas of her latest painting. She sighed, burying her face in her hands.

This abstract piece had been started at the beginning of winter exams, but she still hadn’t finished it. It wasn’t really that she didn’t have the time, it was something else. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something was stopping her from completing the painting.

Whenever she stood in front of the canvas, unsure hands hovering above her color palette, her fingers retracted. It was a frustrating predicament, constantly coming back to the same issue and not knowing how to get out of it.

Y/N was so tired with it all. She was tired of the studying and the overwhelming waves of anxiety, and she was tired of not hearing from Stiles. She was tired of not finding a way out of her artistic rut and she was goddamn tired of feeling trapped.

Without warning, her eyes filled with water and for a split second, time stood still, before the tears overflowed, chaos crashing into her. Her breathing accelerated and she bit down on the inside of her mouth, pain erupting through her cheek.

“No, no, come on. Stop it,” she whimpered, the tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

She had reached her breaking point. Slowly, she lowered herself down onto the floor, her back pressed against the foot of her bed. Her toes curled as she gripped the carpet beneath her, the soft fabric a small comfort. Y/N shut her eyes and winced, chaos burning inside of her stomach, and she forced herself to raise her finger up to her nostril, pressing the tip against her humid skin.

“1…2…3…” she gasped as she shakily breathed in the cool night air seeping through her bedroom window.

“1…2…3…” She exhaled loudly but slowly, forcing every last drop of air out of her lungs then back in as she started anew.

Slowly but surely, she felt her muscles start to relax, her weary toes uncurling. The chaos had thankfully subsided.

“This one barely even lasted a few minutes.” Y/N thought to herself, resting her head against her bed. She soothingly wrapped her arms around herself and continued to breathe, the exaggerated inhalations helping tremendously.

A few minutes of silence had passed when suddenly, the familiar buzzing of her phone made Y/N’s quiet bubble pop. Grimly, she made her way over to her phone sitting on the wooden surface of her desk and her red-rimmed eyes glazed over Allison’s name flashing through the bright screen. She answered instantaneously.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Y/N! How horrible is studying going?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out a sharp laugh.

“Decently horrible. How’s it going for you?”

“Well…it could be going better,” Allison chuckled, her warm voice lighting up the room.

“We’re just so tired! Who the hell came up with the idea of making us sit through two whole weeks of exams?” huffed Y/N.

“It’s not that bad. I don’t know about you but my dad’s been acting like my butler.”

“Wow, well, if your new butler wants to start working for me as well, I don’t mind,” Y/N teased, Allison’s laugh echoing through her phone.

“So hey, I was talking with Isaac earlier today and we were thinking, why not hang out by the Hale House tomorrow after exams are done. We could have a bonfire and just celebrate the end of the trimester?”

“Oh my god, that sounds so fun,” Y/N gasped, her heart doing a backflip inside of her chest. She needed to see her friends.

“Yeah! I’ve missed our hangouts,” said Allison.

“I know, I have too. Hanging out and just chilling with everyone by a fire sounds perfect.”

“God knows we deserve a break.”

“What time were you and Isaac thinking?”

“I’m not sure, maybe around 7?”

“Yeah, no problem. What do you need me to bring?” asked Y/N, one hand resting on her hip.

“Um, maybe just a couple of blankets, I’ll text you if I think of anything else. Lydia’s bringing some drinks and the boys are handling food.”

“Okay, great. I can’t wait.”

“Me neither. Good luck with History tomorrow!” Allison exclaimed.

“You too. Goodnight, Ali,” replied Y/N before terminating the phone call.

She slumped into her desk chair and sighed slowly before straightening her back and passing a shaky hand through her hair. She was going to study and nail this exam. And then, she was going to have a blast at the bonfire.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

The excruciatingly demanding day had come to an end and Y/N felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her weary shoulders as she inhaled the cool evening air. The sun had gone down, all that was left was her shadow, following closely behind as she rode to the woods. Her History exam had gone really well considering how difficult it had been to study its content. Exams were over and done with, and the highly anticipated winter holidays were finally here, much to Y/N’s relief. Everyone needed this well-deserved break.

Y/N turned a sharp right onto the gravel trail leading up to the core of the forest, her heart beating with excitement. The chilly air whipped her face as she rode faster, her bike disappearing in a blur of dark trees and thick bushes as she inched closer and closer to the Hale House. Briefly tilting her head up, Y/N’s eyes caught a glimpse of a shooting star zooming through the night sky and disappearing into its dark backdrop in a flash.

After what seemed like an eternal bike ride later, she could finally hear the sounds of laughter and happy chatter echoing around her, and she grinned, entering the large clearing and jumping off of her seat. Her bike crashed onto the ground as she leapt in Lydia’s arms, breathing in the smell of fresh strawberries in their warm embrace.

“Finally! I was starting to think you’d never get here,” exclaimed the redhead. “You don’t pack lightly,” she added, gesturing at the large duffel bag hanging from Y/N’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Ali asked me to bring blankets,” Y/N replied, chuckling.

“Hmm, well our Mom thinks of everything,” joked Lydia.

“What did you just call me?” inquired a soft voice, and Y/N turned, her eyes falling onto Allison’s smirk.

“Oh come on, you know it’s true. You’re basically our mom.”

Allison giggled and put her arms around her friends’ shoulders, leading the pair towards the bonfire a few feet away.

“Well, I gladly accept the title,” she said, her voice light as the sun.

As Y/N got close to the fire, warmth fanned over the few inches of her skin not covered by her clothes.

“Y/N, you’re here!” said Scott, smiling widely, his eyes gleaming through the thick flames of the bonfire.

“Let’s get this party started,” Isaac whooped, his hand reaching for a can of cheap beer, knocking it back in mere seconds.

Y/N grinned at the group. Kira was seated between Scott’s legs, a bottle of coke in her grasp. Isaac pulled Allison down next to him, planting a sweet kiss on her cheek. Y/N’s kind eyes finally settled on Stiles. He was sitting next to Scott, his back pressed against a log, legs spread freely in front of the fire. Their eyes met and he smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection. She calmly sat herself down between Lydia and him, and conversation soon lit up the clearing, the group’s voices bright and excited.

“Can you believe it’s already winter break?”

“Seriously, I feel like we should still be in October,” replied Y/N as she handed Lydia some blankets to pass around.

“How did your exams go?” asked Scott, his eyes flicking from one person to another.

“Decently,” shrugged Isaac, Stiles scoffing at his words.

“You called me up at 2 in the morning asking me if it was true our next exam was Geography and not Econ,” he mocked and Allison laughed out loud, her head thrown back.

“I see I’m not the only one he wakes up in the middle of the night,” she teased, resting her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder, their fingers intertwining.

“Okay, there were some organizational issues, but we fixed them and agreed not to mention them. Ever again,” he replied, shooting a deadly glare at Stiles.

“How do you feel about your exams, Scott?” asked Y/N, swiftly moving the focus away from the guilty blabbermouth seated next to her.

Scott nodded, his bottom lip tucked back in his mouth.

“Honestly, I think I did pretty well. Biology went much better than I thought it would so that’s great. Thank you again, Lyds, you saved me,” he added, sending a grateful look at the redhead who smiled in response.

“You did the work, Scott. It was all you,” she replied.

“I’m actually pretty sure I flunked Biology but the rest was fine,” Allison said. “How did History go, Y/N?”

Y/N grinned widely before bowing before the bonfire, Lydia scoffing at the gesture.

“Yours truly is officially the queen of History.”

“Hey, congrats! Who’s your History teacher?” Kira asked.

“Uh, Mr Hebowitz. You’re lucky you don’t have him, he friggin sucks.”

“Well, I’d take him over my dad any day. Seriously, if I have to hear one more embarrassing childhood story brought up in class, I’m gonna burst.”

“Yeah, that sounds bad,” Y/N winced.

“I gotta say it’s pretty entertaining though. I didn’t know you were so big on martial arts,” said Stiles.

“Yeah, I read this book about a femme fatale superhero with a katana and I just thought that was so cool. So I begged my parents to let me take martial arts lessons and I loved it!”

“Woah, that’s so awesome. So you’re basically a super ninja?” Isaac inquired, his expression serious and unphased.

Lydia laughed, her head shaking repeatedly.

“More like a samouraï but close enough,” she said.

“Yeah, sorry. And before you ask, no- I don’t know the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” teased Kira.

“Isaac isn’t really familiar with anything so cultural, isn’t that right, Isaac?” Stiles piled on, grinning sarcastically.

“Isn’t that right, Isaac,” the sandy-haired boy childishly mimicked, “Shut up, Bilinski.”

“I will have you know, I am proud of that name. It got me on the lacrosse field.”

“And which of your numerous exploits can you recall from said lacrosse field?” said Y/N, intently watching his face with an amused expression etched on hers.

Stiles met her gaze for a split second, lips pursed, then shot back to Isaac.

“The point is lacrosse is great,” he cried out.

Laughter erupted in the clearing as the fire crackled, smoke rising up into the frigid night air. The group passed along bottles and cans of beer, discussing the previous weeks with excitement. It had finally sunk in that the holidays were here.

“Okay, as much as I love reliving our painful school experiences, I propose we play a drinking game instead,” suggested Isaac, mischief painted across his face, his eyes glinting brightly.

“I’m down, it’s been a while!”

“Let’s do this,” Y/N cheered, clapping her hands together in excitement.

“Never Have I Ever?”

“Yeah, why not?” said Stiles with a nod.

“Okay, never have I ever had a girlfriend?” asked Y/N.

“Evil genius,” growled Isaac, as the boys all put a finger down. Y/N gulped at the sight of Stiles’ thumb going down, ignoring the discomfort she felt as quickly as it had come.

“Never have I ever…blacked out at a party?” Isaac inquired, shooting a glance at Y/N.

“Ali!” she scolded.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think you’d mind! I mean, everyone saw you…” the brunette replied, guilt spread across her face.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get my revenge.”

“For what it’s worth, it happens to the best of us,” Scott joked, sending Y/N a friendly smile.

“Come on, next question!”

“Okay, okay. I got this one,” said Stiles, his amber eyes contemplating the individuals seated around him through the bright flames of the bonfire. “Never have I ever…gone skinny dipping.”

Kira suddenly choked on her coke, harsh coughs escaping her throat as the group laughed, colour flooding in Scott’s cheeks. He looked down at the ground in embarrassment, his lips curled into a nervous smile.

“Wow, I did not see that coming!” exclaimed Y/N, giggling at the couple.

“Okay…next question,” Scott replied, anxious to move onto someone else’s embarrassing stories.

“No no, this is a fun topic. Any other fun places you guys have hooked up in that you want to tell us about?” insisted Isaac, grinning widely, evidently proud of his drinking game skills.

“It’s no Hale House hookup,” declared Lydia as she took a sip of her beer, her eyes widening in shock when Allison sent her an aggravated look, shaking her head repeatedly.

“What now?”

“You did it in the Hale House?” Y/N shrieked.  

“Isaac, I had no idea you were such a freak in the sheets,” Stiles mocked, his mischievous grin sending the group into a fit of laughter.

“I can’t believe you just said that, Lyds.”

“Well to be fair, you did expose Y/N.”

“Yeah see, Ali, karmically, it evens out.”

“Fine, I forgive you.”

“I still can’t believe you two hooked up in those ruins. Weren’t you afraid of- I don’t know…dying?” asked Stiles.

“We all do crazy things when we’re in the moment.”

“Okay, but come on, creepy house sex?”

“Guys, leave them alone,” Kira said, giggling at the sight of Allison’s reddening cheeks.

“I don’t know, I’m finding this pretty entertaining,” Y/N happily replied, beaming as she watched her friend squirm.

“Oh yeah? Well what about you Y/N? Anything you want to tell us?” asked Isaac, grinning slyly from ear to ear.

Y/N’s heart stopped mid-beat, a knot tying in her stomach as everyone’s eyes turned to her. Suddenly the air around her seemed cooler than before, and she couldn’t help but feel trapped under her friends’ curious gazes, waiting for her to answer the not-so innocent question.

“I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said timidly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“So, you didn’t hook up with someone at Danny’s party?”

“What?” exclaimed Scott, almost spitting out his drink. “At the rave?”

“Ali, what the hell?” Y/N hissed, her brows furrowed in confusion and disappointment.

“I didn’t say anything! Honestly. How did you know that?” the brunette demanded, turning her head in Isaac’s direction.

“I saw the hickeys at school on Monday, so I assumed. Was I wrong?” the boy replied, sending Y/N a look.

“It wasn’t a hook up! And anyway, it didn’t mean anything. It was just some random guy and I was drunk. End of story,” Y/N gruffly declared before downing the rest of her beer with a noisy gulp.

She sent Stiles a glance, hoping to see some kind of reaction. Whether he seemed shocked or embarrassed, it didn’t actually matter. All she wanted was something, anything to finally piece together that eventful but blurry Halloween and leave it be. Only, her heart sank when her eyes rested on an impassive face, Stiles’ expression utterly unreadable, blank as a white sheet of paper. Either it truly had not been him, or he didn’t care, and for some unknown reason, both possibilities were painful to think about.

“Still, it’s pretty adventurous, especially coming from you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N asked, eyes wide with shock.

“Well, it was your first kiss wasn’t it?” Lydia inquired gently.

Y/N eyes glazed over the curious faces watching her closely, and she felt her throat close, the air suddenly thick and difficult to breathe in. She looked down at the frozen ground beneath her as she clutched the blanket wrapped around her body, and she spoke again, her voice timid and unstable.

“I guess so. But, like I said, it’s really not that big a deal.”

A few seconds of silence passed before Allison finally broke the uncomfortable void, clapping her hands together, snapping everyone out of their daze.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

Y/N sent her a grateful glance and smiled widely, the emptiness in her stomach swiftly grabbing her attention.

“Yes! Let’s eat.”

The group laughed and talked, their voices echoing throughout the clearing in the night, their shadows dancing playfully in the deep hues of orange and red emitted from the flames before them. Chocolate marks leftover from smores were licked off of fingers and light beer and coke was swallowed effortlessly. Soon the evening quieted down and groups formed, peaceful conversations spoken in soft voices overlapping and mixing with the warm crackles of the fire, alive and breathing.

Y/N laughed with Lydia as she sipped on her drink, her eyes occasionally crossing Stiles’ gaze. He seemed tired but still he grinned at Scott, their chuckles as warm as the bonfire. Slowly, she shifted closer to him, her fingers turning blue from the cold hidden away in the front pocket of her big hoodie. The boy smiled softly at her before letting his eyes revert back to the ground, his hands fidgeting with a twig. She watched his movements in silence as she thought about what to say.

Scott had his back turned to Stiles now, whispering sweet nothings in Kira’s ears, making her giggle sweetly whilst Isaac, Allison, and Lydia talked about past parties and marvelous memories. For a moment, it seemed like the only people there were Stiles and herself, comfortably sitting next to each other without speaking, yet at peace.

Finally, she spoke.

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” she began, her eyes gazing deep into the flames before her. “But I want you to know I would never judge you for something like that. I don’t- I don’t know what you think went through my head back there but, it was nothing…bad.”

Her words were met with silence and she bit her lip, wondering if he was ever going to answer.

He wasn’t.

She nodded to herself and took a deep breath, the combined scent of earthy woods and fire filling her nostrils.

“I don’t judge you because I have them too,” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

She saw him turn to her out of the corner of her eye, but refused to meet his gaze, keeping her own cautiously fixated on the bonfire.

“My family moves around a lot, so…meeting new people, having to start fresh in new schools all the time, it was just really hard. I’d get very anxious and I started having panic attacks. They’d happen in class, at home, in bed, anywhere really. I tried to hide them from my parents but eventually my teacher called my dad one day and told him I’d been skipping class- which I wasn’t. It was just that every time I’d get to school, my heart would start beating so fast and I’d have trouble breathing so I’d hide out in the girl’s bathroom and wait ‘till it calmed down.”

Y/N kept talking, feeling the weight she had carried for so long slowly lift itself from her weary shoulders, relief spreading across her body.

“So…my parents confronted me and I told them about it all, the panic attacks and how anxious I felt, and the missed classes. All of it. It was a good thing cause they knew, so I didn’t have to hide it anymore, but- they didn’t know how to help and eventually the panic attacks got worse. We moved to another town for my mom’s job and that’s when it got really bad. I wasn’t able to sleep or eat, I felt numb and tired and I didn’t even know why.

“I was just constantly struggling and it felt like I was never gonna feel normal ever again. And then…we moved to Beacon Hills and I met you guys, and I don’t know why it was so different but I don’t feel as anxious when I’m with you. I feel good. And I haven’t felt that way in a long time,” she finally said, her heart beating at a hundred miles an hour.

For the first time in her life, she had willingly told a friend about that darker side of her, the one she was so ashamed of, the one she had always taught herself to hide away from anyone else. It was terrifying beyond belief, but it was so alleviating.

Again, Y/N waited patiently for a response, for anything but the cold silence she had gotten used to expecting from him. And finally, after what seemed like a terrifying eternity, it came.

“My mom died from something called frontotemporal dementia when I was 9. It’s a brain disease that has no cure,” Stiles muttered, his hands still fidgeting with the twig, his long fingers shaking slightly, though Y/N couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or something else.

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I don’t really talk about it, not even with Scott. Everyone knows about it, I just- yeah.”

Y/N finally met his gaze, sending him a gentle smile of encouragement and his amber eyes bore into hers, as if searching for something in her beautiful irises.

“As a kid, I’d get really bad nightmares because of it. Night terrors, stuff like that. And then I started getting panic attacks too. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was a mess and when I finally did sleep, it was more of the same,” he continued, his voice wavering with emotion as he tried to keep his cool.

“That’s intense.”

“Yeah,” he laughed dryly, “intense is one way to describe it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

“Probably for the same reason as you,” he replied with a lopsided smile.

“Touché.” Y/N chuckled softly and Stiles did too.

He then paused, looking down at his dirty sneakers covered In dirt and dark ash.

“It’s not something I’m proud of- and on some level, I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”

Y/N frowned, her brows furrowing deeply as she pursed her lips, perplexed.

“Why though?”

Stiles looked up at her, his expression serious and unphased, his gaze so intense the world around her faded with his answer.

“I didn’t want you to think that I’m weak,” he said in earnest, his voice steady with candor.

Y/N’s heart tore a little, his words revealing yet another part of him she hadn’t seen before. He was insecure. And she had had no idea.

You think you know someone, but you won’t truly know that person until they bring down their walls and reveal themselves fully to you. This is precisely why amor works so steadily, slowly creeping up your body and wrapping itself around you, inch by inch. It grows with every facet you uncover, it matures with every conversation, every laugh, every secret. Amor isn’t sudden and superficial. It is the most tantalizing and intrusive thing that will ever enter your life, and it will hijack your entire system, turning you into a slave unaware of his or her condition.

Right then, amor grew a little more.

“Stiles, I could never think that. Hey,” she said, placing her hand on his knee, the boy’s world magically shattering at the sudden and unpredictable gesture.

“You are strong and you’re resilient and I will never judge you- because I care about you,” Y/N declared steadily, her eyes piercing through his. He watched her closely, as though he was trying to catch her in a lie, but she wasn’t lying. She meant every word and this fact sent him into a whirlwind of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to describe, not even if he tried.

“I care about you,” he replied earnestly, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Obviously,” Y/N teased, removing her hand from her friend’s knee and curling it into a ball before shoving it back under her blanket, the cold air meeting her skin in a harsh embrace.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let that get to your head.”

“Pshh.”

Finally, late in the night, the pack members got up and packed their things, shoving the blankets and rubbish back in their bags before throwing water onto the firepit they had created for themselves. The group slowly walked out of the clearing, following the path back towards the road, chatter still illuminating the late night air. Scott and Isaac playfully howled together in unison, walking ahead of the group, as Kira, Lydia, and Allison followed, discussing the evening and the beautiful memories they had created together.

Behind them strolled Stiles, with his hands in his pocket, and Y/N, slowly walking alongside her bicycle, the pair chatting peacefully as the night came to an end.

“Hey, before we go home, I just want to say this,” Stiles said, stopping in his tracks, turning around to face Y/N. She looked at him curiously, wondering what was so urgent for him to tell her.

“I’m all ears,” she replied, grinning at him.

“I didn’t say it before, and I should’ve. Thank you for helping me that day. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you sooner, and I’m sorry I didn’t reach out.”

“Sti, you don’t have to apo-“

“-But I do. You didn’t deserve it,” he said decisively, cutting her off.

Y/N’s eyes bore into his, the grin etched on her lips turning into a tender smile.

“I appreciate you saying that. But Stiles, I meant what I said. I will always be looking out for you. So, if it happens again, or if you ever need to talk, please, remember that I’m here,” she insisted.

Stiles’ expression softened at her words.

“I know you have those moments too, and I want you to know- I…”

“Yeah?”

“I-“

“-Guys! You coming or what?” Their friends’ loud voices knocked both Y/N and Stiles out of the moment, the pair snapping their heads towards the pack already many feet away.

“We should probably catch up with them,” Y/N said, slightly disappointed Stiles hadn’t been able to finish his sentence, her mind racing with intrusive thoughts she desperately tried to ignore as he nodded at her, his lips pursing.

At the end of the path, when they had finally found the road, the friends exchanged tight hugs and last goodbyes, their smiles wide and their hearts swollen with affection. The evening had been wonderful, and the memories they had created would never leave their minds, too exciting and remarkable to ever be put to rest.

Stiles walked over to Y/N and wrapped his long arms around her, his nose breathing in her peach-scented shampoo as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Y/N felt his heart thunder against her chest and for a split second, time stopped again. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of his body and the smell of leather mixed with firewood, inhaling deeply against him. Eventually, they left each other’s embrace with a soft smile and the group parted ways, each member heading home in the cool winter air.

As Y/N was about to start riding, she felt her pocket vibrate against her stomach, her hand reaching for her phone instantaneously. Her eyes focused on the bright blue light of her phone screen and she felt her heart leap in her chest at the sight of the captivating words she had just received.

Stiles: what I was gonna say was

Stiles: I will always be there for you

Stiles: get home safe

She smiled widely, colour flooding her cheeks as she reread the texts, her mind unable to focus on anything other than Stiles. Amor had won again.

A/N: i worked very hard on this series, so if you enjoyed reading it, please reblog it, even if you dont have a large following, it would really help me out a lot <3 thank you for reading ! love u guys

if you would like to be added to this series’ taglist, please send me an ask :)

if you would like to be added to my taglist(s), feel free to fill in this form

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Ch. 4

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you're in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family's past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn

A/N: This is also posted on ao3 under @allie_win. I’m transferring it over here, pls let me know if you like it! I love your comments! Just a note that any italics means thoughts.

(series masterlist)

~~

“You will divide into three groups of your choosing. Although you don’t always get to choose who you work with, I would like to see how you young students create your own best possible team.” All Might continued to explain.

A couple of students already grouped together. You saw Uraraka, Midoriya, and Iida smile at each other as if already thinking about possible strategies in their head.

“For this game, your team will have 10 minutes to hide your flag on your part of the city. We have played this game before with only two groups, but adding a third team will help create confusion and randomness to the game.”

You looked toward the large city, wondering how you would be able to navigate something so big. You didn’t see any street signs, which meant you had to purely go off of image memory.

“After 10 minutes, an alarm will ring, and the game will begin. If a team collects all three flags and hold them for over 10 minutes, then the game ends. If this class struggles to finish the challenge, we will end the game early and determine a winner based on the strategies and abilities used.” All Might finished his speech and smiled at the class again. “So, please arrange your teams.”

You gulped. There was no way people would want to team up with you. They already knew everyone and you were the outsider. Not only that, but your power was not very offensive and wasn’t the best option for a game like this. You stood there, watching as groups formed. Your heart raced, wondering what team would have to take you after everyone decided.

Iida, Midriya, and Uraraka were practically attached at the hip as they joined Tsu and Tokoyami. You also saw Sero, Kirishima, and Kaminari walk up to Bakugou as if the team was destined from the beginning. Jirou and Mineta followed Momo onto a team with Shouto.

Everyone was forming teams so quickly and you stood, sweating and anxious. A few people smiled kindly at you, but you couldn’t get your nerves up to actually walk over and join them. Ashido had joined with Kirishima and Toru was finding a team with Orjirou which meant you couldn’t even cling to them considering they were so willing to separate.

However, just as you were about to give up hope on actually being chosen, Mina smiled at you and waved you over. “Y/N! Over here!”

You found the courage to walk over to her, surprised she actually called you over.

When you arrived, Mina began talking to the boys again. “Like I was saying, with Y/N being able to hear our thoughts, she can help us communicate. Bakugou always runs off on his own, not talking to anyone, but with Y/N, Bakugou can run around all he wants without fear of screwing us over.”

You were surprised how technical she was, seeing as she had always been more cheerful and almost ditzy in everyday activities.

“On top of that, if Y/N were to go after a flag, she could make all the opposing people just fall asleep!” Ashido added, getting excited at the idea.

Kaminari, Sero, and Kirishima all smiled and nodded to each other, also getting excited at the idea.

You smiled down to your feet, happy that Ashido was able to add you to a group. You looked up to see Ashido grabbing Aoyama and the boys smiling at you.

“Nice to see you again,” Kirishima greeted.

“Yeah,” You mumbled back.

Kaminari was next to greet you. He grabbed his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Kaminari Denki,” Kaminari kissed your hand and winked at you.

“I know.”

Everyone looked at you as the words slipped through your mouth. So far, the only people who knew you watched the sports festival were Mina and Toru. You didn’t know why it made you so nervous to tell the group of men surrounding you. Maybe it’s because Sero and Kaminari did so badly during their sparring rounds. I don’t want to embarrass them.

“I saw you at the sports festival. It’s pretty popular in America,” You mumbled a response to the confused looks. “But it’s nice to meet you too, Kaminari-san.” You responded, taking back your hand that was still holding. You weren’t one to touch people often because it was hard not to get a glimpse into their emotions and it felt invasive when they didn’t know.

And you were right, he did get embarrassed knowing you saw his fight against that girl.

Finally, Sero greeted you. He smiled brightly and waved. “Hi, Y/L/N-kun, I’m Sero Hanta, but I guess you know that from my horrible fight against Todoroki.” Sero chuckled at himself and scratched the back of his head, similarly to Kirishima from that morning.

“Hi, Sero-san,” You replied. “And don’t feel bad, Todoroki is very strong.”

Behind the three boys was Bakugou, who looked at you briefly before turning his head away to look into the sky. He was analyzing the city, trying to memorize every turn and any possible pattern.

With Aoyama, your team made seven. So, you and Ashido walked over to All Might where he had orange, green, and blue armbands and headbands, made to differentiate between the teams. You carried the orange bands back to the team, everyone put on a headband and an armband onto their left arm.

Orange meant that you would be in section three. Tape outlined the three sectors, so it was easy to make your way to the sector. Once you arrived, your flag was front and center. It was orange and placed in a stand that you could move.

“I think we should put the flag on top of the highest building. That way no one can surprise the people guarding it.” Kaminari spoke. Sero and Aoyama nodded in agreement

“If we put it up high, it will be easier to see from the other sectors,” Kirishima responded, looking up to which building would be the tallest.

“Hmm, well, where else could we put it?” Kaminari responded.

“Can we move the flag as we go?” You asked, looking at the city around you.

“I guess so,” Ashido responded. “All Might had never said anything about not being able to move it once you place it.”

“I think we should have a couple of people guard the flag towards the back, keeping it low to grab the least attention. Like, literally lay it on the ground and don’t even keep the stand because it’s useless if we are mobile. If it gets too crowded, you can call me for reinforcements. While waiting for us, go up to the skies and I’ll make my way back with whoever I can,” You spoke, looking around to see where to hide it initially. “Back there would be good.” You pointed at a spot with a wall and two buildings surrounding it.

“I like that idea,” Sero responded.

“Me too,” Kaminari added.

“Let’s do it, then,” Ashido commented. “How should we split up?”

“I can guard,” Kirishima said.

“So can I,” Sero started. “I can set up traps to catch people.”

“Mineta might have the same idea, so we need to watch out for him,” Bakugou mumbled, finally joining the group. “Aoyama, you should stay with them, guarding. Kirishima can block, and Sero can trap people so we need someone more offensive to stay behind. The rest of us will go together.”

“Who should we target first? Midoriya, right?” Kirishima asked.

“Let me think,” Bakugou mumbled. “Who is with Deku and who is with Half-and-Half?”

"Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida, Tsu, Tokoyami, Kota, and Sato are on a team. Shouto, Momo, Jirou, Hagakure, Ojirou, Mineta, and Shoji are on the other,” Aoyama responded.

Bakugou gave a confused look to Aoyama.

“Deku is with big eyes, speedy, frog girl, dark shadow, rock head, and sugar rush. Todoroki is with tall girl, earphones, invisible girl, tail guy, purple weirdo, and arm guy,” Kirishima responded with a sigh.

“Ahh,” Bakugou mumbled as he thought.

“Does he seriously not know anyone’s names?” You whispered to Ashido.

“He still calls me Pinky because he thinks Ashido Mina is too hard to remember,” She responded, rolling her black eyes in his direction.

When Bakugou started speaking again, you looked back at the temperamental blond. “I think Midoriya’s team will be harder to beat, depending on who is guarding. I think we could outsmart most people on Shouto’s team that would guard. I want to fight Deku, but I think he is gonna be going after flags. And it might be easier to take the flag from Shouto first. After we have his flag, we are going to be a bigger target and will need more people guarding.” Bakugou wasn’t really going anywhere with his analysis and he was more talking to himself than anyone else, but it was all incredibly well thought out. Everyone paid attention to him, waiting to see if he would create the perfect plan.

“So, we attack the blue team first then? Because it’s easier?” You asked, tired of waiting for Bakugou to come to a conclusion. You only had so much time before the game would start and you would hate to not even have a plan made up.

“No,” Kirishima responded. “Shouto’s Blue Team will be easier to defeat. With fewer people to attack, we can still defeat them. We will need more people defending against our flags once we have Deku’s.”

“Exactly,” Bakugou added. “It doesn’t really matter anyway though. We are going to win regardless because we have someone as great as me.” He smirked towards his team.

You could almost hear the crickets echoing in response to Bakugou’s confidence. It seemed like everyone was used to Bakugou acting like this in games and completely ignored it.

“Okay! Sero and Aoyama, let’s go get set up,” Kirishima spoke, disregarding Bakgou’s ego. Kirishima grabbed the flag and walked toward where you had originally pointed.

You, Ashido, Kaminari, and Bakugou made your way towards the Green Sector. Bakugou flew up to fly across the buildings and get a better look. Ashido slid around, leaving slippery acid in her wake. You and Kaminari casually walked and chatted up a plan on how to split up as you made your way to the line. You pulled out your earbuds and placed them into a secure pocket on your belt.

You wished you could use your knives and swords, but tried to forget about it. You needed to learn how to only use your quirk anyways. The weapons helped, but they didn’t help you and your quirk get better. Maybe I should remove the sword from my costume and just keep the daggers and boots for now. That way I can’t just rely on it during my fights.

You four hung out around the barrier for a few minutes until the round started. Ashido and Kaminari chatted with each other while Bakugou perched himself onto a building to get a better look at the city. You kept to yourself during this time, instead of listening to Bakugou’s thoughts. You were sure he was going to run off as soon as the timer went off and knew you needed to listen to his thoughts to keep your team together.

Bakugou jumped down from the building and landed in front of you. Can you hear me? He asked you.

You nodded in response.

Honestly, you were shocked and trying your best not to look scared at his sudden appearance. You still weren’t over what happened a couple of days ago and it made you even more nervous than he seemed to not even remember, or maybe care.

Good. You need to trust me in this battle, okay? You can’t talk back to me if we are far away so I may just need you to do as I say.

“What if your plan isn’t good?” You responded. Bakugou may make you nervous, but you still wanted to win.

“Hey! Shut up, idiot! Of course, I’m going to have a good plan!” Bakugou glared at you. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he saw your skeptical face. “I want to win just as much as you. If not more. I’m not going to sabotage us.”

“Fine, but I’m not just going to blindly trust you. Don’t run off too far, okay?” You responded.

Bakugou didn’t respond, he just grunted at you, turned away and used his explosions to push himself back up the building.

When the buzzer went off, Bakugou and Mina pushed ahead, going in opposite directions to look for the Green Teams flag. They were much faster and could cover more ground than you and Kaminari who followed behind, running together. Once the flag was located, presumably by Ashido or Bakugou, they would tell you and you and Kaminari would follow them. Then you would use Kaminari to create a big enough reaction to attract whoever was missing.

You and Kaminari ran through the city, staying towards the middle to cover as much ground as possible. You looked down each street, trying your best to see anything that seemed off or weird.

The first thing you saw was Iida running down a few streets down towards the Blue Team’s sector. It was only for a second, but you knew it was him and you were relieved to know that they weren’t targeting your team. Unless they were splitting up.

You focused your mind to hear the thoughts of those close to you. Mina and Bakugou hadn’t seen anything yet. You heard Uraraka, Tsu, Koda, and Sato thinking about their flag and realized they must be guarding it. They have more guards than you guys set up. Worst of all, you didn’t know that much about anyone’s quirks, excluding Uraraka who you saw fight in the sports festival.

“Kaminari, I think the flag is in the sky. Uraraka is guarding it, she probably put it all the way in the sky. Even if we find them, we might not be able to find the flag,” You spoke, regulating your breath while running through the streets.

“You serious? You could at least use your quirk to hear their thoughts if they think about where they put it.” Kaminari responded.

“Yeah, hopefully.” You both went silent again. You tried to focus harder to hear others' thoughts. Your suspicions about Midoriya’s team targeting Shouto’s team first were right. You heard them thinking about how to beat certain people on the Blue Team. However, something that confused you was when you heard Ojirou.

Ojirou was on the Blue Team, but your radar of thoughts only went to the Green Sector and Kirishima in the Orange Sector. That meant that Shouto’s team was also going for Midoriya’s team.

Shit. You really wished you could share your own thoughts with others.

“The Blue Team is also targeting the Green Team,” You told Kaminari. He looked towards you and nodded, noticeably more panicked than before.

“Can you tell who from the Blue Team is here?” He asked you.

“Gimme a second,” You mumbled, concentrating on distinguishing all the voices you were hearing. Although the voices flowed naturally into your mind, it was more work to keep certain voices out, create ranges, and distinguish voices when you couldn’t currently see them. “It’s Ojirou, Hagakure, Todoroki, and Shoji.”

“So they are probably going to use Ojirou and Hagakure’s quietness to try and sneak it away while Shoji’s and Todoroki’s power distracts everyone,” Kaminari responded.

Honestly, you were quite surprised by his analysis, especially considering he didn’t come across as very intelligent. Nevertheless, he knew these people better than you and probably learned their strategies from other Hero Course Days.

“I can use my hearing to locate Ojirou and Hagakure to take them out, but this fight may come down to just pure power,” You mumbled. Fear started coursing through your veins, worried that Todoroki’s power might take you out. He was so strong and his long-range attacks in the festival were faster than you could predict. Fighting him head-on might ruin you. You couldn’t get close to him at all. There wasn’t anyone else who could refrain from close combat.

Just then, a green blur hopped across the street a block down from you. Both you and Kaminari stopped in your tracks, worried that the green blur might attack.

Just as we predicted, ribbit. Both the Blue and Orange Teams are targeting us. It will be difficult to defeat two teams. I should go get Midoriya or Tokoyami.

You couldn’t let her get more people. No way. You needed the Green Team to be as weak as possible. “We have to stop her,” You told Kaminari. “Follow me.” You ran after her as fast as you could. She wasn’t too far, but she was faster than you. “Kaminari, can you electrocute her?” You asked, as you both rounded the corner and her green image came into view.

He nodded and sped up just slightly. “My aim isn’t as good when I’m moving, but maybe I can trap her .” Kaminari bent down and glided his hands across the ground as he continued to run towards Tsu.

Tsu was completely unaware that you and Kaminari were following behind her. She wasn’t even hopping as fast as she could, making it easy for you to catch up. Maybe this would actually work.

“Electro-Trap!” Kaminari shouted. Sparks of electricity traveled through the ground towards Tsu. Once they caught up to her, the sparks shot up and surrounded Tsu at all angles. Kaminari stopped moving at this point but kept his hands on the ground. He couldn’t stabilize the move and had to constantly be producing electricity in order to keep her trapped.

Tsu stopped hopping just before she would have run into the electricity and stopped. Uh-oh, Tsu thought as she watched the moving electricity that surrounded her. Maybe I could shoot my tongue out to him. No, he’ll probably shock me if I shoot my tongue out.

You walked towards Tsu and stood just far enough away that you could dodge an attack from her. Her thoughts rushed over all her possible moves. Alas, she knew the moves would be fruitless considering you knew exactly what she would do.

As Tsu contemplated her next move, you debated how to finish Tsu off. Eventually, you decided it would be best for you to put her to sleep and for Kaminari to shock her, ensuring she would stay asleep.

You turned your back to the girl encased in electricity to make you way back to Kaminari and tell him your plan. “Listen, I’m gonna get closer and make her shoot her tongue at me. If I can grab it, I can make her fall asleep. Once she is defenseless, you need to shock her so she passes out,” You whispered, kneeling close to Kaminari, so Tsu couldn’t hear you.

Kaminari nodded in response. You stood back up and made your way towards Tsu. You stayed as focused as you could, knowing she might take this opportunity to attack, and her actions could be fast enough to catch you off-guard.

Her tongue shot at you when you were 10 meters away. It was quick and you only had a chance to dodge before she had to retract her tongue in fear that the cage would shock her. You walked closer to her and she shot again just a few seconds later. This time, you grabbed her tongue, but it slipped from your hand just before you could get a strong hold.

She’s trying to grab my tongue, Tsu thought as she stared at you. Should I stop shooting it at her? No, I need to grab her, it’s the only way to get Kaminari to release his trap.

At that moment, you realized that your powers would still work if she grabbed you with her tongue. Just as before, her tongue shot at you and you let the slimy muscle grab you, smirking to yourself. She purposefully didn’t bring you into the cage, too afraid to shock you, but the cage’s power stuttered for a moment and you looked back at Kaminari.

Oh my god, what do I do? I need to help her!

You winked at Kaminari.

What? What was that? God, I should just trust her.

“Tsu-chan,” You looked back at the girl who finally looked you in the face. “Sleep.” Her grip on you immediately faltered and she let you go. You only had a moment to get over to her and make sure to keep her sleeping. “Drop the trap!” You yelled to Kaminari as you rushed over to her sleeping form. Just as her eyes opened, you grabbed onto her shoulder and made her sleep once again. You waited as Kaminari rushed to your side. “Can you shock her just enough to make her pass out?” You asked him.

“Uh, yeah, I can. But you can’t be holding her or else I will shock you too,” Kaminari responded.

“Okay, I’ll let go and you shock her right after. Then we should put her in one of the buildings just to make sure she doesn’t wake up to a battle going on around her,” You said. Kaminari nodded and you let go of Tsu.

Kaminari touched Tsu and sent a shock through her body. She shook for a moment but then stilled. When Kaminari let go, you grabbed Tsu’s wrist and checked her pulse. It was slow, and she was already sleeping soundly. You motioned to Kaminari to pick her up by her feet. Right before you were going to pick up the small girl, a sound shocked you.

Towards your right, you heard the echo of Bakugou’s thoughts ringing in your ear.

Y/L/N! Get over here! I need back up.

Just then, an explosion rang out from the same direction you heard Bakugou’s thoughts coming from. A wall of ice shot up into the air right after the explosion.

“We need to hurry and get over there,” You told Kaminari. You both grabbed Tsu and moved her into the closest building, setting her down gently on the floor. Without speaking, you both began running towards the sound of explosions.

Where the fuck are you? Todoroki’s team is here and they teamed up with Deku’s team against me. That’s some fucking bullshit!

“Kaminari,” You spoke, grabbing his attention. “Bakugou says the two other groups are teaming up against him. Are you ready to fight?”

“Yeah,” He responded. He smirked at you and you heard his excited thoughts run through his head as a few sparks flew from his palms.

Within your head, you focused as hard as you could to locate Mina. She had noticed the explosions but wasn’t heading that way.

Y/L/N-kun, I’m not sure if you can hear me right now, so I will keep repeating myself. I found Uraraka and the flag. I’m sure Bakugou is in a fight right now. I don’t need help so just help him and I will let you know when I have the flag.

You stopped running just before you would have run into the battle. Your head hurt immensely after locating Mina. You never spent this much time focusing on using your telepathy to locate people and exclusively listen to only a few. Kaminari, who was trailing behind you, stopped next to you and looked at you with a questioning appearance.

You took a deep breath in and ignored the ache of your head. You moved in close to him, worried someone might hear, “Ashido found the flag, and she is nowhere near us. She just has to beat Uraraka.”

“What? That's amazing. Should we go kick some ass then?” Kaminari responded.

“Yeah,” You breathed out. Your tenfold emotions rushed through your body, tiredness, and excitement battling against each other. You tried to use the excitement to push you farther as you started running again, ready to face anything in your way. Your headache was no longer something you needed to focus on, this battle was more important.

You turned the corner to be greeted by the scene of an ice wall being exploded through only for the person exploding through the wall, Bakugou, to be greeted with a punch to the face.

He looked beat up.

Very beat up.

His hair was messier than usual and he had scratches littered across his body.

Most obvious though was the fact that some of his clothes were burned away. The sides of his pants were no longer there, something that probably happened when he used his explosions to fly up. His jacket was completely gone and there were burn marks that trailed from his wrist to shoulder. Most likely given to him by Todoroki.

He looked horrible.

And yet what you found most noticeable was the sweat dripping down the curves of his muscles. He was still standing even after being pounded on by multiple people. If anything, his thoughts showed you that he was more awake and more determined than ever.

That was something anyone could find incredibly attractive.

Goddamn . This guy is gonna be the end of me.

You spent a moment admiring his muscles and the way the black tank top clung to his sweaty skin. He looked past the people attacking him to see you. He smirked and wiped some blood from his split lip.

Finally, he thought. You grinned back at him, ready to pounce on the competitors.

However, instead of fighting the other teams, you watched as Bakugou’s eyes widened. He started sprinting towards you.

Move, move! You heard him. “Move you, idiot!” He said aloud, but you didn’t have enough time to process his words.

Your headache came rushing back, you presumed from all the thoughts surrounding you. You quickly realized that the headache wasn’t because of your quirk when everything went black and your body was slammed against a concrete building.

[scripttorture]

My question is basically: in the scenario I describe, do you think I should go with or without torture as a referenced thing that happened? The situation is this- my character’s father has been dead for seven years, but I thought that what if, instead of being killed by the monster he was faced with at the time, he was injured by it and then captured by a group of bad guys. This is set in the Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild universe and the bad guys in question are the Yiga Clan, (1/9)

who alternate between a comical and threatening presence in the game. They are presented as a tribe of assassins, but the reason why they decide to take my character’s father alive is that they saw him using a rare kind of magic and either want him to teach it to them or want to get him to use it for them. (It’s hereditary so he can’t teach it to anyone but his daughter, but they don’t know that and he will neglect to inform them that anyone else has the same abilities.) (2/9) Most likely they want him to do something with his magic when their idol (Ganon, The Big Bad) returns or possibly something that they think would help him return. Where the question of torture comes in is, I need him to still be alive and capable of going with an escape attempt after seven years. So, whether or not they get the notion to try torturing at any point, it obviously can’t be super regular or prolonged over this period. I thought maybe one or two incidents toward the beginning (3/9) of his captivity, which were ordered to stop when they realized they would have to keep him alive for an undetermined amount of time and that’s easier when you aren’t treating extra injuries, but I’m not sure that would really add anything other than acknowledging the fact that someone in there probably got the notion to go “hey if he won’t teach us that magic what if we punch him and ask again” and may not have been turned down. Or they may have, (4/9) or they may not have brought it up at all because the Leader didn’t ask them to. Alternately, I could lean into their comical side and say that, while they got the idea to try “torturing” they don’t actually know how to do that. They’re assassins, they usually just kill, they don’t really know what to do with prisoners, it’s been a long time since they split off from another group that may have known torture techniques in the service of the now-destroyed kingdom. In which case it would be (5/9) things like “ohoho what if we give him his food... WITHOUT ANY bananas? he’ll be MISERABLE” (they are obsessed with bananas) played for a weird kind of humor. On the other hand I don’t want to imply that if they’d tried “REAL” torture it might have worked. Possibly the punching and asking again was tried once toward the beginning, then the comical “no bananas” one was tried later and neither one accomplished anything? I don’t want to say he spent seven years underground (6/9) surrounded by a comical murderous weirdo cult and “nothing really happened” in that time until his rescue but I don’t want to shoe in something like Actual Torture Attempts when it isn’t necessary. I could fill his time with escape attempts and/or trying to get information. Final thing: his daughter is going to break him out with the help of the Hero and a friend who defected from the Yiga Clan. This friend’s mother is going to take leadership of the clan but is meant to reform somewhat. (7/9) My character (the one whose father is imprisoned) could funnel her anger at his imprisonment towards the previous leader but if she finds out he was tortured (or weird attempts were made at it) she could have more trouble coming to a grudging, still pretty angry acceptance that her friend’s mother exists and is the way she is and probably shouldn’t be magically lit on fire. Or she could compartmentalize and say the friend’s mother never ordered anything like that, or may have even (8/9) turned a blind eye to her father’s final escape. This was a lot of detail but again the main questions are: does that seem like torture attempts would add or detract, and would it be in poor taste to include something like the “no bananas” scene? (9/9)

-

While I’d never played a Zelda game when I got this ask I am now one of Those People who got a switch in response to not being able to go outside. (They had pokemon, I was weak). And I’ve put a lot of hours into Breath of the Wild since. It’s a beautifully realised setting and I can see the appeal of writing something set in that world.

 Humour is a very subjective thing. Whatever we do there are always going to be people that the jokes don’t land for. I’ve (mostly) got positive responses to my humour but I have had incidents both here and on my AO3 page where people took exception to it. And that’s a lot more likely to happen when we’re dealing with serious topics.

 That said, I do think that we need humour about the things that scare us. There’s nothing quite as potent and satisfying as making our fears ridiculous.

 If you’re considering using humour in a torture/kidnap/POW situation (whatever you decide re torture the story definitely contains some of these elements) then the main thing to consider is this: what are we actually laughing at?

 This kind of humour is mostly likely to backfire or be outright hurtful when it can be interpreted as laughing at the victims. Or at the existence of traumatic events. And it’s most likely to work consistently when it’s aimed at the abusers.

 From the way you’ve described this it sounds like the joke is on the Yiga clan. As it is in the game itself. (I have enjoyed the assassination attempts by enraged ‘banana salesmen’.) If you wanted to continue the pattern the game set I think a lot of fellow fans would enjoy this humour.

 But the main question here is about when we should use torture in a story. And how we judge whether it’s adding anything.

 Personally I start by thinking about the tone and themes of the story. The kind of atmosphere I want to capture and kinds of character interactions I want to write.

 Then I try to think through the impact torture would have on the narrative in terms of knock on effects. So, symptoms in victims/survivors, witnesses and torturers but also effects on culture, community and organisations.

 It would probably be easiest for me to break this down with an example or two.

 I’ve talked briefly about both of these stories before. One of them takes place about two decades after a military coup ousted an absolute monarchy. Ilāra, one of the major characters, was embedded in the old regime and tortured people. They were also tortured by the regime and helped make the coup successful.

 And part of the impact torture has on the story is in Ilāra's symptoms. But it’s also in the way other characters relate to them. Normal people are afraid of them or disgusted/enraged at the sight of them. They’re ostracised by their own community and treated with contempt by their military superiors.

 One of the major themes running through the story is the question of how we deal with people we love when they’ve done horrific things. And how countries, cultures, move on from atrocities.

 Most of the major characters aren’t Ilāra's generation, they’re the kids who came afterwards. The people who just about remember the Revolt but grew up in a world without the monarchy. They’re navigating a legacy of blood and bitterness, things that aren’t their fault but nevertheless have shaped the world they live in.

 Part of it is about how the children Ilāra helped raise respond to this personal (and national) history. How they try to square the fact that this person was good (and in some ways defining) for them, while being monstrous to others.

 I felt that torture would add to this story because the point of it is those fault lines. In society at large and in personal relationships. It’s about exploring how we try to bridge or heal those fault lines and how, sometimes, we make them deeper.

 Torture (and indeed the other atrocities that are part of the country’s legacy) serve to raise the stakes. They deepen that initial emotional trench between the characters. And they also… Pull the camera back I suppose? The story may be about a single family but it isn’t an individual story. It’s about how larger patterns of abuse effect everyone in a society. Torture serves to make it about the culture, the country, instead of just the individuals within it.

 There are similar ideas in the other story I’m working on, societal divides and how we bridge them, but I think there’s a slightly different focus.

 Both of these stories are fantasy stories, but while Ilāra's story is in a sort of circa 1900s past Kibwe’s is in the future. It’s extrapolating the political oppression and systems from the places I’m interested in (in this case India, the Philippines, Kenya and Nigeria.)

 The story takes place across generations starting when Kibwe was a teenager but continuing to his daughter’s formative years and into his children becoming independent adults.

 And there’s torture in this story because the entire family is involved in politics. Because I grew up knowing that the natural consequence of acting for major political reform/justice was arrest and torture.

 The story is about trying to change unjust systems and generational violence. It’s also about the unhealthy ways people can engage in activism, putting the theoretical good of the community above their health and their families/friends.

 I didn’t really have to think about including torture in any depth, it was a natural fit. In fact I’m not sure I could talk about politics in any meaningful way without talking about torture.

 So some more specific questions that might help with your story. Is the structure of the Yiga clan important to the story? Is the effect they have on society at large important to the story? Is this primarily an individual/personal story or one with a wider focus?

 There aren’t ‘wrong’ answers to those questions, it’s about what you want to write.

 Do you want a more personal focus with the relationships between the major characters being more important then the world at large? I think of this as a character focused (as opposed to a character driven) story.

 For instance in the Lord of the Rings trilogy while we care about every member of the fellowship the important thing throughout, the focus, is the destruction of the ring and the systems that are harming all of Middle Earth. By contrast in Howl’s Moving Castle we care about the war and the fate of the missing Prince, but the important thing is what happens to the girls from the hat shop.

 Both of these approaches to a story can include torture in a meaningful way. It can add to both kinds of stories. But it’s generally adding different things.

 In a character focused story (with the kind of plot you’re writing) torture is mostly adding a sudden change to all of the relationships a character has. There might be focus on symptoms, a recovery arc, character development etc but the first and most obvious thing it’s adding is a major change to how these characters interact.

 In a story that’s more focused on the big picture of the world torture can add world building elements and it can be used to map out divisions and allegiances in the societies you write.

 Part of the reason I’m making this distinction is that in this scenario you can very easily tell a character focused story with trauma-recovery and not have torture. Kidnap and seven years imprisonment is enough to be traumatising.

 That doesn’t mean torture couldn’t/wouldn’t add anything to that story. But it might not be necessary for the story you want to tell and the focus you want it to have.

 On the other hand if this is primarily a broader story about communities and cultures growing and changing, the decision of whether or not to include torture has much more potential to direct the plot. It could create opposition to reforming the Yiga clan, both inside the clan (wanting to stick with how things are) and outside it (with people wanting it utterly destroyed).

 Different factions and cultures might band together on the basis of shared opposition to the Yiga clan. And the clan’s reformation could effect those allegiances.

 There could also be knock on effects based on where the clan operates: cultures that have been targetted by them in the past might not want this new ‘reformed’ (and more obvious) Yiga clan on their lands. And that in turn could stir up trouble within the clan because hey they’ve been here for generations it’s their home too!

 There are lots of ways torture could add to this plot and these characters. It could also feed in to broader themes.

 For instance the main character and her father haven’t seen each other for seven years. The difference between how we remember or idolise someone and the way they actually are is a theme you could add to here. The Yiga clan is going to end up reformed: what does it take for people to accept that reformation and forgive? The main character is friends with a former Yiga assassin: how do we process the fact people we care about might have hurt others?

 That isn’t an exhaustive list, I’m just throwing out ideas to see if anything interests you.

 In terms of timing and character being physically able to escape I think you’re already hit on a pretty good idea.

 Torturers don’t tend to stop when ordered to. Part of the reason a lot of organisations reject torturers is because they… tend to disobey orders. A lot.

 So if you wanted to write a scenario where this character is initially tortured and then held for a much longer time without torture the realistic way to do that is to have the character transferred from the ‘care’ of one group of Yigas to another. Torturers tend to exist in groups as sub-cultures within larger organisations. Which means that their presence in an organisation does not necessarily indicate that everyone in the organisation supports/carries out torture.

 You could even have the Yiga’s take a (perhaps half-hearted) anti-torture stance and have them punish the torturers.

 Wrapping up, the decision of whether or not to include torture is up to you. I can see ways it could add to your story but the points and themes I’ve spoken about might not be things you’re interested in.

 Just because an element could add to a story doesn’t necessarily mean it’s adding something you want. There’s nothing wrong with deciding that an element doesn’t interest you, takes the story in a direction you like less or causes more stress then you want as you write it.

 Ultimately the question is whether you want to write torture. And there’s no wrong answer to that question.

 I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[schism-au-blog]

Chapter 9

Rose stepped off the warp pad. She knew she wouldn’t be able to access the forge without Bismuth, but she could still look at it, as a reminder of the friend she’d lost. She headed down the path, only to hear voices and the clanging of rock. She stopped. What could that possibly be?

Oh. Of course the metallic gems would set up near Bismuth’s forge. Well, taking a break from shapeshifting was out of the question. In fact, being Rose probably wouldn’t stop her from being shattered. She thought about turning back, sending a smaller gem to scout the forge out, but decided to do some looking herself.

However, she figured it wouldn’t make sense to take more risks than necessary. She traded out her dress for a typical quartz uniform and her hair for something shorter and choppier. She felt it, and felt disappointed about how similar it felt to her hair as Pink Diamond, but she couldn’t stop and worry about that now. They’d probably immediately figure out it was her, anyway, all other Rose Quartzes had been bubbled, but she could at least try to pretend she had run away from Homeworld and hid. She didn’t have an excuse for why she wouldn’t have joined the crystal gems, but, she supposed, she just wouldn’t get caught.

She took a cautious step forward. She was well aware that there weren't many good hiding spots. The rocks were mostly small and scattered, and there were no trees or plants. She was scared, but she was too curious to stop now. What were the metallic gems up to?

She continued edging forward, trying to be careful not to be seen or heard. She peeked around a corner and saw Howlite, Snowflake, and Tiger's Eye working on a blocky base. Wait, Tiger’s eye? She hadn’t gone with them originally. Rose realized with sudden horror that she hadn’t seen Tiger’s Eye since that morning. She was normally on the guard force, but Rose had assumed she’d been on a small hit-and-run.

Rose blinked. She couldn’t focus on that now. She should look at what else she could see about the metallic gems and their base. It was made of black cubes sticking out of the mountain at odd angles, some were stacked on top of each other, some seemed suspended on nothing, but Rose figured the base must be taking up the entirety of the inside of the mountain. It was rather big for just four- no, five, gems. They were planning on expanding. 

Rose wondered briefly if they’d try to recruit more from Homeworld or the Crystal Gems. If they recruited from Homeworld, it could help the Crystal Gems by dwindling Homeworld’s forces and bringing more gems to fight them. However, if Tiger’s Eye was anything to go by, it would probably be quicker and easier to recruit from the Crystal Gems.

Speculation could be done later, Rose thought. Could she overhear anything they were saying? No, the noises of the base being built were too loud. She wondered if she could or should send someone as a spy. The metallic gems were the only faction that Rose didn’t have endless information on at her fingertips. Then again, she figured having spies on the Metallic gems and not on Homeworld would seem pretty suspicious.

She stood and watched from a good distance for a while, being extraordinarily careful not to be seen. She eventually decided people would be worried about her, and quietly moved back to the warp, getting less cautious as she was further away. When she got in front of the warp, she shifted back into her normal Rose Quartz form. She felt exhausted. She supposed she’d have to rest soon.

She warped back to the base and made her way back to the training room, chatting with various gems along the way. When she arrived, Pearl grinned. “Rose! How was it?”

Rose smiled. “Excellent. Cherry’s not back yet?” she questioned.

“I asked her if I could take over for today. Gold and Silver here are making so much progress, I figured switching teachers would be harmful for them,” Pearl said.

“Thank you,” Silver said timidly.

“I mean it,” said Pearl. “You both remind me of when I first joined the Crystal Gems, timid, a bit unsure, but ready to make a difference. In fact, I think you’re ready to fight Rainbow.”

“We’ve met her, right?” Gold asked. “She was the one who carried us out of the Reef.”

“We’re not ready to fight her!” Silver exclaimed. “She was so tall!”

“Relax,” said Rose. “We wouldn’t be trying to actually fight you, just show you some techniques you can use against bigger gems. Or fusions, especially now that the metallic gems have split off.”

Pearl nodded. “Fighting a fusion can feel completely different from fighting even a single large gem.”

“Alright,” said Gold. “I’m willing to try.”

“Silver Pearl?” Rose asked gently.

She nodded.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Rose said.

Silver looked determined. “But I do want to! I’m scared, but I don’t want to let that stop me.”

Rose grinned and looked at Pearl. “Shall we?”

Their dance was different this time. They had swords, and they used them in their dance, so it looked much like fighting to anyone who didn’t know Rose and Pearl well. They clashed and flipped. Rose twirled Pearl with her available hand and dipped her.

“It’s great to see you again!” Rainbow said. “Let’s go slow at first so you can learn patterns, then we can gradually speed it up.”

Silver and Gold gripped their swords and got ready.

“I’ll let you attack first,” Rainbow said.

Gold charged at Rainbow, who dodged out of the way, and made a counterstrike with Rose’s sword, which Gold countered. The black pair of eyes swiveled to look at Silver, who was trying to sneak in an attack while Rainbow was focused on Gold.

Rainbow was more comfortable when her eyes were looking the same direction, but during battle, it was often necessary to split her attention between two directions. Rainbow parried Silver and leapt back to take a look at them. They were both advancing on her, but she saw that their balance was weighted forward and they’d both have a difficult time turning around.

Rainbow ran forward between them. Gold nearly fell trying to turn around, but Silver was only thrown slightly off-balance.

Rainbow unfused. “I hope you both understand why keeping your weight underneath you is important,” Pearl said.

Gold nodded. “It’s so hard worrying about form when someone twice your height is charging at you.”

“That’s why you need to drill it until it’s natural,” said Pearl. “So you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh,” said Silver. “Is that why you had us fight Rainbow?”

“So you could see why what I’m teaching you is important, yes,” Pearl said. “Rose, would you go get Cherry and make sure she doesn’t want to tell them anything else, I think I’ll be done shortly.”

Rose nodded. “Of course.” Rose hung her sword up and went to go find Cherry, only to be intercepted by Garnet.

“She’ll be in the left planning room out of the main corridor,” Garnet said.

“Oh,” said Rose. “Thank you. Are you taking time for yourself, Garnet? You look tired.”

“It has been hard,” Garnet said. “I think I’m struggling with the fact that even though I have so much more information than I did, I still am missing so much. I feel like I’m supposed to be infallible in a way that I simply can’t be.”

“Garnet,” Rose said. “You are absolutely incredible. Your very existence is beautiful. Believe in yourself. You are the answer, go with your intuition. Never doubt yourself.”

“Thank you, Rose,” said Garnet.

Rose grinned. “I mean it.”

Garnet smiled. “I know. Now, go get Cherry before she leaves the planning room.”

Rose started running in that direction. “Thanks, Garnet!”

She rounded a corner and before she reached the room where Cherry was, she dashed into another side room, and slammed the door behind her. She hadn’t realized how tired she was getting, but she suddenly felt cramped as she rose to her full height. She looked down at her gloved hands. She hated this form. She hated everything about Pink Diamond. She had done so much harm.

Maybe that’s why she told everyone about Bismuth. She didn’t want Rose to be anything like Pink. She sat on the floor, and hugged her knees. She would’ve thought that Rainbow would’ve restored enough that she didn’t need to do this, but she guessed that wasn’t long enough to do much.

She tried not to let her thoughts spiral into self-hatred, but it was so hard. She had messed so much up. She’d made so many mistakes. Did she make anyone feel insignificant today? Maybe that conversation with Ruby had accidentally caused her some pain, Rose realized. She hadn’t even thought about it at the time- she hadn’t thought about Ruby, she’d ignored her. She’d have to apologize. But then what if Ruby didn’t remember the conversation at all?

Rose sighed. Why did she have to spend any time in this form? She wished she could just be Rose all the time. She just wanted to be herself, and now, that was Rose more than it ever was Pink Diamond. She thought wistfully back to when she was first made. She was absolutely horrendous and she was so grateful she had learned, but it was the only time in her life she never felt like she was playing pretend.

Pink remembered the first time she demanded a colony. At the time, she just wanted to be included, she was upset that Yellow was leaving her behind. When was the last time she felt free to speak her mind like that? It was when- Rose felt a tightness in her chest, and tears well up in her eyes as she remembered her Pearl crouching on the floor, covering her eye, Pink imploring, trying to protect her, and White- Rose thought of that creepy smile she had to see at every ball after that. Her first friend, drained of all life, of all soul, and it was all her fault. Begging for Pearl was the last time Pink remembered saying everything on her mind, holding no secrets back.

Pink supposed she should be grateful that she’d learned since then, that she’d learned restraint and how to keep some things inside. But some part of her longed to be able to be her full, entire self with no restraint. But, she supposed, that would never happen now.

She let her hands drop to the floor and took stock. She didn’t know how long it had been, but she was feeling ready to shapeshift for at least as long as the conversation with Cherry would take.

She stood up, her hair brushing the ceiling, and shapeshifted back into Rose Quartz. She smiled. She felt like herself again. She walked out the door and down the hall. She hoped Cherry was still in the planning room.

She knocked on the room that Cherry was in. She heard Cherry say “come in.” 

Rose pushed open the door and said “Pearl said she’s almost done with training, so she wanted to make sure there’s nothing else you wanted to do before she dismissed Silver and Gold.”

“Oh!” said Cherry, “Yes, actually, I need to go over a few things before I let them go.”

“Shall we walk back together?” Rose asked.

“Of course,” Cherry said. “I mean, you’ll probably want to talk to Pearl, right?”

Rose nodded. Cherry and Rose chatted while walking back to the training room. Once they got there, Rose waved at Pearl.

“You were gone a while,” Gold noted.

“I got stopped by Garnet,” Rose explained, which was half true.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back!” said Pearl, quickly. “I’ll see the two of you later.”

Rose nodded. “It was lovely seeing you two again. Goodbye, Cherry, Goodbye Silver, Goodbye, Gold.”

Gold, Silver, and Cherry waved and said goodbye. 

Rose and Pearl left the room. “Pearl, follow me,” Rose said. “I need to talk to you in private.”

Taglist:  @suartz

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Thine Enemy is Sweet (Part 13)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve

“Excuse me?”

Nott’s voice was barely heard over the sound of dozens of people talking at once. It was deafening and Harry felt as if they were the centre of attention even more than they were before.

“I always thought there was something weird about the engagement.”

“To think she would have been a Malfoy!”

“Personally, I would have chosen Nott.”

“Really? I’m the opposite.”

“Neither options are any good.”

“Shh!”

“Let’s go somewhere private and talk,” Astoria hedged, hands wringing and eyes wary. “This doesn’t have to become a public spectacle.”

“Too late for that,” Parkinson snorted, quill scratching quicker against the parchment.

“No,” Nott gestured towards her and then Malfoy. “I want to know what he means. When I signed the marital contract, there was nothing about prior engagements.”

“That’s because we were never engaged,” Astoria said, voice coming out in a rush. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to—”

“Oh, don’t lie to him,” Malfoy interrupted, his free hand resting on his hip. “We both know the end of that sentence wouldn’t have gone over well.”

“Draco.” Astoria’s jaw was clenched, and her eyes narrowed harshly.

Malfoy ignored her as he looked at Nott. There was something bittersweet about the gaze and Harry wondered if he’d see the situation the same. Nott was an arse, knob, prat, prick and every other insult but he had been a part of his life. He always thought seeing Nott happy would be hard, but he just felt nothing. The anger of the engagement had mostly dissipated, and he honestly just wanted his ring and then to go home.

“Do you remember what you told me when I last mentioned marriage?” Malfoy asked.

Nott looked away but said nothing. The silence was a cop-out.

“Because I do.” Malfoy chuckled but it was dry and humourless.

“It was right after you told me you’d found someone else. I asked about our future, we had once talked about marriage, talked about a forever. I didn’t understand what had happened or where it went wrong and then…”

The energy around them picked up and Harry was a little worried. Part of him wondered if summoning a shield would help. He was loath to help Nott, but Malfoy’s magic was a bit wild when emotional.  

“You told me that you wouldn’t settle for someone you couldn’t use.”

What?

Nott’s eyes closed when a few people in the crowd made outraged noises. Parkinson booed.

Screw the shield, Nott could take whatever Malfoy threw at him.

Malfoy took a deep breath as his hand tightened around Harry’s. “Back then I thought you were just trying to hurt me. Say whatever you knew would work. But then I discovered a pattern.”

Parkinson leaned forward, quill in the air poised and ready.

“I was the one who brought up marriage. After that, our relationship went to shit, and you left.”

A numb feeling began to take root and Harry’s stomach dropped. No.

“And then with Potter, the papers said he proposed. The articles were filled with glowing praises, your happy faces and stories of how ideal the relationship was. At least for a little while, right?” Malfoy mocked.

“Suddenly the papers were reporting on your amicable split. It was weird to me,” Malfoy shook his head. “Potter proposes and not even a fortnight later you were gone.”

Harry’s hands shook and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more. He had always known Nott was despicable but had the whole relationship been a deception? Had it ever meant anything to him?

“Your parting words were still true,” Malfoy whispered. “Marriage to either of us was never in your plans. You used us until it wasn’t beneficial.”  

The urge to leave grew stronger and Harry wasn’t sure he could stay. Had Malfoy always known? Had he kept quiet on purpose? Why wouldn’t he have said something?

“I used to pray you’d find your match,” Malfoy continued, a cruel tilt of his lips. “That one day someone would do the same to you. That you would know how it felt to be thrown away like that.”

“You’re wrong,” Nott said. “You’re seeing things where there is none.”

“But then,” Malfoy continued, pointedly ignoring him completely. “Astoria came along. I never dreamed that she would get me what I wanted.”

When Nott looked at her, she shook her head rapidly and her hands were raised in defence. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m not a part of this.”

“Not intentionally, at least,” Malfoy mused, a small quirk of his lips.

“Astoria came to me a few weeks before you two started dating. She wanted to enter a marital contract. One of status, wealth and a merging of our assets. All business and no pleasure.”

“Not all business,” Astoria mumbled, and Malfoy’s anger cracked—briefly—as his lips twitched.

“It’s the same contract you currently have,” Malfoy shrugged. “One my parents had as well. But I never wanted that. I didn’t want to hope to love my partner, I didn’t want to one day tolerate them, I didn’t want business. I wanted love.”

Astoria looked down and Harry got the impression that she might have already been half-way there to loving Malfoy.

“As much as I like you, Astoria, I didn’t love you and I didn’t think that would change.”

“I know.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“But then,” Any hint of a smile vanished as he looked back to Nott, who was looking between them with wariness. “She got with you. I had assumed you had said yes where I had said no. Maybe you decided to stop using people, maybe you figured a contract would get you what you wanted.”

When Malfoy smirked, the maliciousness was back, and it still made Harry anxious. “At least I did, until I realized that you proposed.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry whispered. What did it matter who proposed if it was a contact?

“Most people who enter contracts don’t throw an engagement party,” Malfoy explained, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “They skip the engagement process entirely and only hold the bonding ceremony.”

“So we did things a little bit differently,” Nott stood up straighter and looked at Astoria, who wouldn’t meet his eyes either. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“You fell in love,” Malfoy said, a touch of awe in his voice. “The moment I found out you had proposed, I knew. I didn’t think it was possible. You use everyone you can, suck the life out them, leave behind insecurities that take years to get over and yet, you succumbed to the one thing you never truly gave us. Love.”

“What does it matter?” Nott scoffed. “Is it jealousy? I’m in love with my fiancé, oo shocking, truly ground-breaking.”

When Astoria finally looked up, her eyes were on Malfoy and they were pleading.

“Draco,” she begged, voice barely above a whisper and the emotion in it was palpable. But what was she pleading for?

“You fell in love with someone who couldn’t love you back.”

Nott’s hands fell limply to his side as he turned to Astoria, devastation and confusion already taking root.

“What? What’s he talking about?”

Astoria’s head tilted back as she blinked up at the ceiling.

“What was it you told me, Astoria? That I wasn’t just your first choice, I was your only choice,” Malfoy placed a hand on his chin. “Something about how you detested any other eligible options. How your parents would disown you if the Greengrass surname fell out of the sacred 28. That you didn’t want love, that you wanted a merge and that was it.”

“Astoria,” Nott whispered. His eyes had tears in them and that surprised Harry. He had never seen Nott cry, not during their fights, not when they broke up—never.

“When I jokingly said Nott was available, what was it you said?”

“Draco, why are you doing this?” She asked instead.

“What was it you said,” Malfoy repeated. “Go on, tell us.”

She shook her head, hands clenched and eyes back on the ceiling.

“What. Was. It. You. Said?” Malfoy said, jaw clenched and eyes hard, each word purposefully accentuated.

Her shoulders slumped and he could see the fight seep out of her.

“That I’d have to be desperate,” Astoria whispered before she covered her mouth and her shoulders shook.

Nott took in a shaky breath as he took a step toward her. “Tell me he’s lying.”

Astoria closed her eyes tightly.

“Tell me you love me.”

Her shoulders shook harder and Harry knew she was crying.

“Tell me!”

When her hand fell away, and her teary eyes locked with Nott, Astoria shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” her breath came in gasps. “But I don’t love you. I never did.”

Nott took a step forward, hand held out before it fell limply once more. “But I thought—”

“I thought you knew,” she wiped her eyes. “It’s all in the contract. I thought you understood what you were getting into.”

“What do you mean? I told you I loved you!”

“I never said it back!”

Nott licked his lips nervously as his eyes looked around the room. “I thought you’d grow to love me as I love you. I thought you showed your love in different ways. I thought—”

“I could never love you.” Her voice was quiet, hoarse and it carried. The statement preceded a crack of an apparation—she was gone.

Nott staggered back and he clutched his chest. His breaths were coming in ragged and his knees buckled.

“Whoa!” Someone in the crowd yelled. “He’s in shock. Do we have a healer in the room?”

“Stand back,” Ron shoved people aside. “That means you too pointy,” he said as he elbowed an older man to the side.

Ron pulled out his wand as he knelt on the ground, one hand rested on the back of Nott’s back.

“It hurts,” gasped Nott.

“Where?” Ron waved his wand several more times when Nott pointed at his chest.

“I’m not showing any spikes in pain levels. Your heart is racing and your eyes—” Ron moved his hand to open Nott’s eyes wider. “Have you taken any medicinal spells?”

Nott’s eyes began to tear up and Harry could see the streak it left on his cheeks.

“Just for my headache.”

“What kind of spell was it? Pain reliever? Relaxant? I can try some absorbent spells if that’s the case, but that’s all I can do unless we get you to St. Mungo’s for further testing.”

“It’s an experimental relaxant,” Nott said, hand clenching the front of his robes as more tears fell. “I was told it was a combination of relaxants, pain reliever and a mood stabilizer. It’s the only thing that helps.”

“You moron,” Ron shook his head. “Experimental spells are risky enough, but you should never try medicinal ones.”

Muffled grumblings was all Harry could hear as Ron continued to cast spells before his head snapped up.

“Wait, did you say mood stabilizer?”

Nott tried to speak but he couldn’t, breath coming too fast and his eyes were blinking through the tears.

Ron’s eyes narrowed before he looked at Malfoy. “You knew.”

“Of course I did.”

“What’s going on?” Harry looked between Malfoy, Ron and then Nott.

Malfoy let go of his hand to walk forward, a silencing charm casted over the four of them with a wave of his hand. Nott’s eyes widened the closer Malfoy came towards him.  

“You were so insistent on the damn plants,” Ron snarled, a hand raised as a buffer between Malfoy and Nott.

“The peppermint plants?” Harry asked as he followed Malfoy. He was so confused.

“Peppermint is unstable when combined with certain spells or potions, including mood stabilizers,” Ron said. “It warps the medicine, amplifies emotions instead.”

Nott glared at Malfoy as he tried to sit up.

“With the amount of peppermint in this room, Nott is experiencing at least ten times what he should be.”

“And what is he experiencing?”

“Heartbreak,” Malfoy whispered, a small smile on his face. “I wanted you to feel it. I wanted you to know the crushing pain of what you cause. If she was going to break your heart, I wanted it to break unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Pain tenfold is the least you deserve.”

Nott’s eyes closed tightly as a sob left him. “Hurts.”

“It’s not a nice feeling, is it?” Malfoy drawled. “Feels like your body can’t contain it, feels like part of you has gone, a piece that you’ll never get back. You use people, throw them away like they are nothing and it’s about time you know how that feels.”

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Ron argued as another sob left Nott. “This is cruel.”

“And what he’s done isn’t?” Malfoy crossed his arms. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

Harry had always wondered if Nott would ever know the pain he had gone through when their relationship ended, wondered if Nott would ever realize just how much it had hurt him. But as he watched the way Nott clutched his chest, snot dripped from his nose and never ending tears fell down his cheeks, he knew that this wasn’t it. This was never what he wanted.

“I know the pain you went through,” Harry said as he turned towards Malfoy. “I went through it too. Maybe not the same degree or circumstances but I do understand.”

Malfoy parted his lips, but Harry held up a hand.

“But not like this,” he shook his head. “This is too much for me. Look at him, he can’t even breathe right!”

“Oh, now it’s too much?” Malfoy snarled. “It wasn’t too much when you came to me begging for this. You wanted to come here, you started it!”

“I didn’t ask for this!” Harry threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know that you’d go this far.”

“Don’t play dumb, Potter, it’s not a good look,” Malfoy argued. “You knew exactly the kind of person I am; you knew I wouldn’t do things morally, and yet you came to me. You wanted him to hurt and you know it.”

Did he though? Harry bit his lip as he looked down at Nott. Part of him, a small part, had hoped Nott would see them and regret how he had treated them. But physical pain? Emotional pain to this degree? Never.

“I’m not that kind of person, Malfoy. I thought you knew that!”

“Revenge changes people,” Malfoy said, eyes cold and it was familiar in the way that it tore at his heart. “You can’t want revenge and still be moral, Potter. You’re my accomplice whether you like it or not.”

“I just wanted my ring back,” Harry whispered, his hands pulling at his hair. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Nott’s brows furrowed and Harry wondered what he had been thinking when giving the ring to Astoria. Had he even thought about him? Ever once stop to think that perhaps using the same ring was wrong? Tacky even?

Something brushed against his leg but before he could pull out his wand, he could see movement on Malfoy’s shoulder, and knew it was Bandit. A quick glance around the room and he could see people arguing with each other, fingers pointed at others and guests frantically checking their robes. It would seem they had already noticed they had been robbed.

“Here,” Malfoy held out his hand and against his better judgment, Harry held out his too.

The press of cold metal on his palm had him holding on tightly, and his fingers shook. His ring.

Harry opened his hand and he hated that his eyes stung. He had loved Nott. Truly loved him. It had taken him months to get the design right. Ginny taught him how to make it himself, spent so many hours in her shop. It had been a labour of love, one that went to someone who had never loved him.

It hurt then, and it still hurt now, however dim the dull ache was.

But no matter how much pain he had gone through, he couldn’t look at Nott hurting and call it justification. It went against every fibre of his being.

“I have to get him to St. Mungo’s,” Ron said as he sent out a Patronus. “Emotional trauma or intense heartbreak can lead to heart failure. With the amount of peppermint plants here, I can’t take any chances.”

Ron stood up when a team of people apparated into the room. They all wore uniforms that matched St. Mungo’s. Harry had heard of emergency apparations, but never witnessed any.

“I’ve stabilized him the best I can,” Ron explained to the only one wearing the blue uniform of a Healer.  “But he needs to be monitored immediately. Mood stabilizers were applied in the vicinity of peppermint plants.”

The healer grimaced before she gestured her team forward and started issuing commands.

“They’ll take care of you,” Ron promised Nott right before two arms grabbed hold of him and they apparated out.

Ron sheathed his wand as he stood up before he jabbed Malfoy in the chest, hard.

“You are lucky Nott applied the spell himself or I would have you brought up on charges. If he dies, that’s on you.”

Malfoy jerked away from Ron’s hands.

“If you ever do something like that around me again, I’ll take you to the Aurors myself.”

Malfoy scoffed as he moved away from another hard jab.

“My wife is the head of the MLE, so don’t think I’m taking the piss.”

Ron lowered the silencing charm right as the crack of several apparations echoed around the room.

“Quiet!” A familiar voice shouted; voice amplified by magic. “We have gotten reports of an unusual amount of thefts and no one is to leave until questioned by my Aurors.”

“You called your wife!” Malfoy hissed as he took a step back towards Neville, Dean and Seamus who had moved up.

Ron blinked a few times before he shook his head. “Not this time. I only sent the Patronus to St. Mungo’s. She’s going to kill me if she finds out.”

Hermione walked around the room, eyes tracking several guests before they fell on their group. Her shoulders slumped before she rubbed her temples and moved forward.

“Why is it always you guys?”  

Harry held up his hands. “I don’t think that’s a fair assessment. Last time it was Seamus’ fault. He—”

“Harry, shut up.”

“I’ll have you know that it wasn’t my fault last time,” Seamus argued. “How was I supposed to know the guy was an undercover Auror?”

“Seamus,” Hermione hissed, and Seamus moved behind Parkinson who looked between everyone with interest, almost gleefully.

“I’ve worked 60 hours this week and I’m going to have to pull a double to investigate whatever the hell happened here,” she gestured towards the wreckage around the room.

“What are you guys even doing here?”

As one, they all looked towards Malfoy who took a step back.

“Malfoy?” Hermione pulled out a small notebook and started to take notes.

“I asked Harry to be my date here. His friends came along, that’s all.”

The notebook fell out of her hands.

“Date?” She eyed Harry suspiciously. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“I told Ron!”

“Oi!” Ron kicked him in the shin. When Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, his shoulders slumped. “Okay, I was going to tell you but—wait, why is it my fault Harry didn’t tell you?”

Hermione pulled Ron aside as two Aurors began to talk to his friends. Harry was left with Malfoy and it was uncomfortable.

He looked up at Malfoy and was torn. There was something there, something between them. Something he had wanted to explore. But now? Now he wasn’t so sure.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair before he looked up. “Look, I—”

“Would you do that to me?”

“What?” Malfoy’s brows arched.

“If we continued as we had been, would you have done this to me if it ended badly? Like Nott?”

“No.”

“How do I know that?”

“You aren’t him, Harry. You don’t hurt people just because you can.”

Harry’s head jerked. “But you do.”

Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it though? You used to, and you hurt him easily.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Malfoy said, hands at his sides. “I wrestled with it, wondering if I could pull it off, and then whether I should. As much as I have moved on from Nott, the bitter hurt didn’t disappear. I hated him more than my reformed morals wanted to let it go.

“Revenge was always a what if, a thought when I couldn’t sleep, and my mind wandered. A fantasy in the shower when I couldn’t focus. It was just a half formed idea that I never thought would happen. But then you came along and suddenly it stopped being a what if.”

“Was it worth it? The revenge?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy whispered. “I haven’t had much time to process it.”

“I have and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it,” Harry stepped away when Malfoy moved to comfort him. “I don’t like hurting people and I played a part in tonight. Part of this is on me.”

“I never factored you in when I thought about revenge,” Malfoy murmured. “You almost changed my mind, almost had me throwing it away for your naive plan.”

“Almost isn’t enough.”

“What would you have done if I had told you what I had planned?” Malfoy asked, there was a dull quality to his drawl and Harry hated it. Hated that he wanted the smirks, the little smiles, the sparkling eyes.

“I would have stopped you.” Of that, he was sure.

“I knew that too,” Malfoy said. “I wanted to keep you at arm’s length, I wanted to make it emotionless but then—” his eyes closed, and Harry wished he’d shut up.

“The less I told you, the less it would fall on you.”

“Is that your twisted way of saying you were protecting me?”

Malfoy shrugged with one shoulder. “It was my loophole. I got to keep going, and you wouldn’t be held accountable.”

“You always get what you want in the end, don’t you?”

“I’m selfish like that.” Malfoy took a deep breath. “I don’t bring good headlines, I don’t bring good conversations, I don’t bring good energy and I surely don’t bring good company.”

“Don’t,” Harry blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes from stinging. “Don’t repeat his words like this.”

“They’re true, I tried to warn you. I’m not good, Potter. You’ve always known that.”

There was, Harry knew there was good in him, he’d seen it. But he wasn’t stupid enough to disregard everything else, not after tonight.

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” whispered Malfoy and his eyes were glassy. “But I think they should stick with me.”

Harry knew what Malfoy was asking. He wanted Harry to extend the olive branch, to invite him in but he wasn’t sure he could. His heart and his mind were telling him two different things. His heart wanted Malfoy, it had for a while, but his head was so confused.

He had been silent for too long and Malfoy looked at the ceiling as a huff of air left him.

“I want the best for you,” Malfoy said, voice cracking. “You deserve that much, deserve someone who matches what you offer. I get that it’s not me, and that’s okay.”

“Malfoy.”

“I’ll see you around, Harry.” His eyes were closed but Harry could see that his eyelashes were wet.

“Draco, wait.”

Silver eyes looked at him, tears pooling in the corners and Harry couldn’t help but raise his hand to wipe them away.

“What are you thinking as you look at me right now?”

Draco’s eyes closed and he felt more wetness on his fingers.

Nothing was said and the only answer he got was a shake of Draco’s head before he was gone. Apparated away, leaving only tears on Harry’s fingertips and an emptiness that he wasn’t sure could be filled.

“Harry?”

He turned to see his friends and couldn’t hide what he was feeling if he tried.

“It was never real, was it?” Ron asked as Neville gaped.

Harry shook his head as he lost the battle of his stinging eyes.

“You fell for him anyway.”

It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded as Ron pulled him into a hug and he clung to his robes tightly. More arms wrapped around him and he welcomed the company, welcomed the group hug.  

Harry was used to heartbreak, felt it many times over but he had never experienced it when the person had never been his to begin with. But as he stood there in his friend’s arms, surrounded by frustrated guests and confused Aurors, Harry wondered if it was deserved.

An eye for an eye, only this time it was heartbreak. They got Nott, but at the cost of their own hearts.

-TBC-

-------

Ahh. Okay, I’m super nervous about this chapter. I reread it so many times, it just made me more nervous. I left a long note on Ao3 for this chatper if anyone wants to look it over. Cliffnote version, whether you agree with Draco’s choices or not, that doesn’t define the character and we are all welcome to our own opinions. I couldn’t have comfortably written Harry without inner turmoil over his morals and then Draco’s. Harry’s characterization and how much he cares for others will always stand out to me. 

While I might think Nott deserved it, others might not, and that’s okay. I do hope you enjoyed this update. Remember that I have more coming and this is not the end of it. I wouldn’t end it like this, I couldn’t. I cried a little bit shkss but I’m a big baby so y’all might roll your eyes over that.I’m nervous about posting this hhhh. 

Thank you for everyone who has stuck with me for so long! 

---

Tag list  

@biconpotter @ive-been-found @h2octopuppy @watermystic78 @its-soupin-time @a-couchpotato @meghansm @portiamarie02 @irishbeings @lilyinthebreeze @rumpixel @idgiedw @tommydarlin @dolewhipdreamer @trans-nik-sion @mistydeath @yourspookysoul @bubbleblower @renas @silver-mercurials @puffbts @jasmine-tw @victorieinthesmallthings @gens-venturia @unicornhair-core @orkedad @juju092118 @pilesofriles @drarryybabyy @sweetlialia @bughug1999 @thesimplethingsaresweet @cookiepufflove @dagger222 @dianiedisaster @sorgenprinzessin @kingsipning @february-skye @spidey-pal @myrvaenboys @cportera @mydarlingdielle @just-some-bibliophile @abstractundefined @latetotheapocolypse @isee-throughme