#i am not mentally prepared for chp 7

[apoorhuman]

I have watch the new trailer for chp 7 five times now, and I'm still obsessed.

LIKE LOOK AT HIS FACEE

I'm too lazy to take all of the ss lol

EVERYTHING ABOUT HIS FACE IS JUST AKSHDKFJS-

HE LOOKS SO GOOD AND FOR WHAT?!?!?!?!

I am again too lazy to full screen it

HE LOOKS SO BEAUTIFUL, HE'S EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ME, LIKE MALLEUS?!?!?

no wonder sebek simps for him, I mean I'd do the same

[probssomethingorother]

🚨 NEW CHAPTER! 🚨

I said I was going to turn this out and I did! Whoop whoop. Unfortunately, I have done barely any review on it so good luck folks. Will go back and make fixes soon. Feel free to call out anything glaring/jarring. @eedsknees gave me the idea to include (SPOILER) some nightmare content, so they are lowkey responsible for jump starting the writing process on this one.

Back & Forth: a the last of us fic

post-episode 8 Silver Lake hurt/comfort

Ellie & Joel, both riding the struggle bus, canon compliant

Rating: Mature for dark themes, nothing more than the show

It was Joel who stumbled first. He had felt the strength seeping out of him with every step so viscerally it was like his body was a container with a slow leak. His gate would falter and his hand would slip further down her shoulder, power waning. He would cough in his throat and blink forcefully trying to reignite the spark of energy that had carried him to Ellie just hours ago, but it was all a losing battle. And eventually, he lost it. It was Ellie who moved first after that.

chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4 | chp 5 | chp 6 | chp 7 | chp 8 / chp 8 |

chp 9 !!! YAY !!

read on Ao3 with the link above or below the cut, and remember comment where you can! <3

Chapter 9: (warning not proof read, will do that in the AM)

A lifetime ago, he was warned that raising a teenager - a teen girl at that - was going to be one of the hardest things he was going to live through. Joel had just started into the moody teenage years with Sarah before he lost her, they had their small arguments here and there, but really hadn’t quite hit that point where she was talking back, slamming doors, walking away, or giving him the silent treatment. Still, he had done all the mental preparation for the day his teenage girl would suddenly start putting him to the test, but he never thought in a million years that the teenage girl doing it was not going to be his Sarah. No, it was Ellie. 

Ellie, who had gone from pouting in silence on the couch to fitfully falling back asleep. From his spot a few feet away, Joel had first thought she was muttering under her breath, talking through something and trying to vent her frustrations, but then he noticed the way her body rose and sank rhythmically.  Still turned away from him, he couldn’t see her face to confirm, but after countless nights of looking over her while he took watch, he knew her breathing patterns like a parent knowing their child’s distinct cries. 

She was asleep, and deeply; unfortunately, it just wasn’t peacefully. 

For a long few minutes, Joel waited in the wingback chair, knee bouncing as he debated how long to let the restlessness go on before intervening. Hunched over with his arms on his knees, he wrung out his hands as he watched each one of her breaths and acutely listened in for what was slipping from her mouth, even turning his head so his good ear pointed more in her direction. 

Over the months together he had seen her have a few occasionally, but he had never woken her, and eventually, she did always settle. But now, this just felt different. She had been struggling in her waking hours, it seemed cruel to also let her suffer in her sleep.

“I’m not…don’t,” she softly muttered. The words were more distinct than much of the rest that had been coming from her, and the sense of desperation behind them was painfully evident.

Sighing, Joel stood up with a groan and silently moved closer to her. The blankets were still tightly wrapped around her, constricting her movements to small twitches of her body, clearly unable to manage anything more against the weighty fabric. Her hair splayed across the cushion and fell down her back, which just made Joel realize it now was fully out of its normal ponytail, elastic lost somewhere - maybe forever. In the soft light of the fire, her hair looked almost golden. However, it also meant its tangles and mats were highlighted, strands clumped and bunched in weird spots. 

“No….stop…no,” Ellie cried out again, still a soft and breathy slew of words, her body twitching again before settling. 

For a moment, it actually looked like she might be calming for good, heavy breaths petering out for a second; so Joel hesitated before making any further moves, hand lingering just above her shoulder. From above, he could now see more of her face. It was contorted with a tightness, brows pushed together and jaw clenched. It looked like she was trying to turn it more into the cushion, hide it away from something, but she could only push in so much into the fabric without smothering herself - even her unconscious body seemed to know that. 

Wherever she was, or whatever she was seeing, in her head, couldn’t be anything good. 

Suddenly, Ellie’s breathing hitched, a whimper escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering beneath her lids as she relived whatever terror she was experiencing. “Please…,” she whispered. 

The sounds tore at Joel's heart. 

Enough was enough. 

Taking a deep breath, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to shake her awake, “Hey…hey, Ellie. Wake up,” he murmured, voice thick with concern.

But his soft murmurs only seemed to increase her unease. Her breathing grew more rapid, each exhale punctuated by a soft whimper of distress. 

"Ellie.." Joel tried again, placing more pressure on her shoulder to tip her onto her back. Her body complied, and she was now supine, but that also only seemed to make things worse for her.  The whimpers started to get caught in her throat, her face screwing up like she was about to cry. 

"Kiddo, time to wake up," Joel said, a little more sternly as he brought a gentle hand to the top of her head in a small gesture of comfort. It was an old instinct, something he used to do for Sarah when she was too afraid to sleep- gently caressing the top of her head, brushing back her beautiful curls to lull her down. (He later learned she should be in a bonnet when she slept, hair tucked away, but oh well). 

He brushed back some of Ellie’s hair too, trying not to get distracted by how utterly dirty it was,  bits sticking together by something, making it feel almost crunchy. 

“Ple….don’t….that’s…you’re hurting mmm….” 

She sounded like she was talking to someone now, and just being in proximity to it made Joel riddled with guilt as if he was the one it was directed at. With another soft sigh, Joel’s hand trailed down her head, past her shoulder, and onto her arm, giving it a squeeze. The move was a bad choice. 

Ellie's body immediately jerked away from him, eyes shooting open in terror, as her arm flung out in a wild, blind attempt to get the touch off her. 

Her hand connected solidly with the most vulnerable part of Joel- her loose fist hitting his barely stitched-together stab wound, dead center.

Ellie’s hand was tiny, but even so, it fucking hurt so bad. Time seemed to freeze, the sheer intensity of the pain anchoring Joel in agonizing stillness before the sensation hit him in full, like a tidal wave. He saw stars, the bright flecks dancing in front of his eyes as every nerve in his body screamed in agony. It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into his side, radiating outwards in a hot, searing wave of pinpricks that washed through his body from head to toe. 

He stumbled back with an unstable step, knocking into the edge of the coffee table before trying to catch himself, only for his legs to do the opposite and give out beneath him. He crumpled to the floor with a deep pained groan, voice ragged and raw, landing with a thump. 

For a very long moment, the world seemed distant, muffled, as if he was underwater as he sat still on the floor, hands not even able to clutch at the spot, just ghosting above it. For that same very long moment, Ellie’s eyes stayed fixed wide, now with a different form of terror as she came to terms with what she had just done. Both rattled by the sudden change of events, everything became eerily still between them as the room turned scarily quiet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, played on repeat in Ellie’s head, until finally she was was scrambling to sit up, blankets tangling around her, restricting her movements. With a frustrated groan, she yanked and kicked them away, tossing them angrily aside as she popped off the couch, desperate to check on Joel. 

She almost tripped and fell down too, feet getting caught up in the pile of discarded fabric on the floor. The stumble became a somewhat coordinated descent, and she dropped to her knees at his side. 

”Oh God, Fuck, fuck, Joel?,” Ellie stammered, her voice laden with guilt. She knelt anxiously beside him, hands hovering, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. His eyes were squinted, brow furrowed, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. He looked as he did when she first put him on that dingy mattress in the basement, just constipated with pain. It made her want to vomit knowing she was now the one to cause it this time. 

Still filled with lingering anxiety from her nightmares, Ellie’s body was cracking under all the emotion, tears pricking at her waterline. She fluttered her eyes quickly, trying to get it to stop, but the longer she stared down at Joel the more she felt the tears threaten to spill over. 

“Joel? Dude..what- tell me what I can do,” she stumbled out desperately. 

Joel could barely register her voice much less what she was saying. A ringing in his ears was now taking over making everything just seem a bit staticky. His eyes wandered around the ceiling for a second before screwing shut, trying to stave off an incoming wave of dizziness. 

He couldn’t understand why it hurt so bad, why a hit less than a punch had literally knocked him on his ass. 

God fuck if she was able to do this, how was he going to defend them against anything if something did happen?

He groaned then, but from the thought of his inability not the pain. The pain was on a level that far surpassed groans. 

“Okay..okay just,” Ellie began, taking his shaky hovering hands and moving them away, “let me look. I’m sorry.. sorry.. sorry,” she finished, biting at her lip as she slowly tried to raise his shirt to see the damage she had caused. 

But Joel wasn’t going to let her feel bad for this. Certainly wasn’t going to allow her to make it her responsibility to fix him again. Absolutely not.  

Despite the waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm him, Joel managed to open his eyes. Through the haze, he saw Ellie's panicked face, her deep brown eyes wide with fear. 

She had barely gotten his shirt up, it sticking to him with dried blood. "S'okay," he rasped, bringing a hand up to push down the fabric and stop her before she could get much further. "Don’t," slipped out, although he had been going for “don’t worry.” 

Ellie stopped moving, but didn’t release the grip on his shirt, worried now that anything she would do would just make it worse. “I- okay - just what - how? What do you need?” 

Realizing his poor attempt at speaking before had only made her more anxious, Joel didn’t rush into replying this time. He took a long breath in and out, controlled through his mouth. It made his stomach produce a deep pain when his diaphragm filled and released the air, chest cavity rising and deflating. He pushed his head further back into the cold ground, trying to focus on a different sort of feeling than something beside his side.

“Just gimme…a second.” He pushed out, words complete and mostly steady this time. 

Ellie bit her lip, regret evident in her eyes. Releasing his shirt, and with a deep exhale she sat back on her heels, giving Joel space but still close enough to assist him if he needed. 

She couldn’t believe she had fucking hurt him. He was still fucking fragile and she really could have done some damage - she knew it. It wasn’t like she had given him world-class first aid in the first place. 

“Did I get your stitches?” She asked with apprehension. They were probably so fucked.

“Ellie.” Her name reverberated through the sparsely furnished room, the sound trailing out shakily from a  Joel. He might as well have just said, “shut up,” because somehow that’s what it sounded like to Ellie’s ears.  

Silence started and dragged on then for several moments as they both waited for Joel’s pain began to recede, neither moving much at all. Every so often there was a small sniffle as Ellie tried to bite back tears. 

Joel's voice, rough and filled with exhaustion, broke the monotony. 

“Already feeling better,” he offered, after the third sniffle. Ellie had been trying to hide being on the brink of crying, but there wasn’t much space between them for things to be going unheard. 

With a roll of her eyes and a huff, she wiped at them with the back of her hands.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying…I’m not a fricken crybaby,” she mumbled, clearly frustrated with herself. Joel hummed in agreement as he began to reposition himself, more focused on not causing himself any more pain than producing a reply to her. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Cause you don’t look okay…” Ellie pushed anxiously, trying to get the focus back on him. 

“I’m fine. Just caught me off guard is all.”

They both knew that was a bit of an oversimplification and by the look on Ellie’s face, she wasn’t too happy with his attempt to brush this under the carpet.

"It wasn't your fault," Joel murmured, pushing himself to a sitting position with a wince. Every movement he made seemed to be a battle, a very annoying struggle against the pain that radiated from his side. "You were just reacting... to something else…. probably my fault anyhow.” 

Joel's eyes inadvertently flicked down to Ellie's bare thighs, the blue-black hues of bruises evident even in the dim light, as she knelt next to him. He had noticed them earlier, but the immediate crisis then had pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Now, they came flooding back, mind zoning out as his gaze lingered on the red flags that marred her body.

She had been reacting to something else. 

“I said don’t touch me motherfucker!”

Broken pants. 

“Don’t do it, please don’t do it.”

Scratches on her waistline. 

“you’re hurting-”

Begging, even in her sleep.

“Please don’t.”

"Quit staring," Ellie muttered with a hint of bitterness. Drawn from spiraling thoughts, Joel’s eye flicked back up to hers, filled with a genuine concern, and a bit of remorse. 

"I wasn’t—“ 

“You were," she cut him off, her voice filled turning to something else, a mix of exhaustion and defiance as she pulled down her sweatshirt the best she could to cover her thighs. It barely did a thing.  

”Let me see your side," she said, moving toward his shirt once more. He held out a hand, stopping her.

He wasn’t going to let her keep avoiding this. 

“Tit for tat - you wanna check on me, I wanna check on you,” Joel rasped, his voice carrying an edge of firmness, making it clear that this was really non-negotiable even if presenting it as such. 

Ellie’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine,” she said sternly. 

“You ain’t,” he countered, eyes again flicking down to her legs, purposefully this time, brows raised before he came back to meet her eyes. They were as terse as he’d ever seen. 

They darted away from his view as she muttered, "It's nothing,” her voice low, but Joel caught the slight tremor in it. 

“It ain’t 'nothing'," he pressed firmly. 

With an irritated exhale, Ellie rose as her eyes rolled. She stared down at him for a long moment before shooting her hand out for him to grab. 

Joel looked at it, and then at her, and then back to it. He hadn’t really anticipated getting up this soon, but he wasn’t going to deny the hand she was extending, metaphorical or physical. He hoped that despite the anger her face showed, the gesture was as much about reconciliation as it was assistance. 

Of course, he wouldn’t be so lucky. 

With more force than he thought she capable, Ellie helped him move to stand, pulling him vertically and giving him a tight grip to sink into it. She didn’t say a word about the heavy groan that ripped through his body during it all or the way his strong grasp made the cut on the side of her hand burn. She turned away her head from his as he made his way up, not wanting to meet his gaze, and not wanting him to see the way she was making her own body ache with the effort of supporting him. Head drooping toward the floor, she stayed by his side for a moment as he panted through the residual pain, bent at the waist just slightly his free hand on his hip. When he seemed steady enough, Ellie slipped her hand from his, giving it a little shake to rid the irritation in her fingers from his clenched hold. 

Marching back to the couch, she aggressively snatched the blankets off the ground and plopped herself onto the worn cushions with a glare and a huff, deliberately positioning the university quilts over her legs to hide it all away.  

“Fuck you,” she spat stoically as her body hunched down, arms crossing over her chest. 

It had flipped so easily inside her, the switch back to anger and frustration, that it was almost catching her own self off guard. Her stomach felt like it was hanging low, her muscles were all tense, her throat was aching to scream, and her body desperately just felt like picking up the closest thing and heaving it across the room. 

She bit the impulse back, stifled down the brewing aggression and frustration - but just barely. 

The last time she let herself get swept up in the same feelings a man’s head became sludge on the carpet. Ellie knew she wouldn’t do that to Joel - ever - but she also didn’t want to go anywhere near the emotions that she knew could fuel that sort of thing.

But, that was much harder said than done. And right now, her mind and heart were at odds, unsure of which was actually in control, but either way, one was telling her to make Joel hurt. To make him sad and angry. To make him feel the way she was suddenly starting to again. 

“You took off my pants.” 

The regret was immediate as she spat the words out with venom, but there was also a sweet satisfaction that came afterward, when the words hung heavy in the air, when the look on his face told her she had it - that soft spot inside of him, that protector persona - easily crushed. 

“Ellie..” 

She shouldn’t be doing this, not to him, none of this was his fault, but for some reason, she couldn’t make herself stop. 

“You wouldn’t’ve even known… I never said you could do that, ” she muttered, eyes narrowing.

The color drained from Joel’s face, and for a moment he looked as if he was about to topple over again.  He sucked in a long breath, a deep feeling of culpability settling in his heart. It was almost more painful than Ellie’s hand connecting with his wound just moments before - actually, he might prefer round two of that now, then this, or whatever this was shaping up to be. 

He knew what he did, knew it had been necessary, but it made him feel dirty all the same. She didn’t have to do much to bring out the guilt when he already felt ashamed. 

Slowly, Joel turned and eased himself into the wingback, taking up refuge in the same spot he had watched her battle through the nightmare earlier - a nightmare he was suddenly worried was somehow about him. 

Head low, forearms resting on his thighs, palms, and hands anxiously rubbing together, he ground his teeth back and forth, her screams echoing in his ears once again. 

A blip of his large hands encircling her tiny bruised wrists as he moved them away, came to mind, coming back to haunt him like he knew it would when had done it. He hummed at the thought, wondering for a second if perhaps he had done something wrong. 

Rushed through it, overstepped, and caused more harm than good. 

But then thought of how she was fading in and out, how she shaking - so badly - how her skin was like ice - might as well have been a dead body, cold like a corpse. 

Joel nodded his head up and down, convincing himself of what he already knew.

There were lots to feel guilty over, but this couldn’t be one of them. 

Anxiously, he raised his head and met hers, trying to read her face and not her words. Ellie’s expression was one filled with contempt, but her eyes held a completely different story - a kid broken and scared. 

She was hurting, and if the look in her eyes wasn’t enough, the bruises on her face and the blood splatter still staining her complexion were more than enough of a pointed reminder that Joel needed to tread lightly even if she was marching full steam ahead, raging at the world - at him.

She was doing this on purpose, pushing him, but he wouldn’t push her - couldn’t. 

He thought back to before, when he came rushing back into the living room fearing she had slipped away in the few moments he had taken to get the blankets. He remembered the small smile on her face when he made his way into her sights, and how she cracked open his heart with her candid confession:

“I’m always gonna come back.” 

“I like when you do.” 

Centering himself on that memory, and not her screams, Joel ran a hand down the length of his face before brushing it back and forth against the scruff of his beard. He let out a long sigh, a little worried he was about to say the wrong thing. 

 "I had to..." he began, his voice coming out more as a gravelly murmur than anything else. He stopped, swallowed hard, and tried again. "You were freezin’..." he said remorsefully, but pointedly, a statement of fact and an apology, side by side. 

Ellie nodded with a blank expression, purposefully trying to keep her face deadpan. She didn’t remember all that much, but she wasn’t stupid - logically, she knew that’s what happened. 

That hadn’t been the point of bringing it up. 

“You couldn’t do it yourself, so I had’ta.”

“I told you to stop,” she countered.

Truthfully, she still didn’t remember much of the whole ordeal, but bits were coming back slowly. There were some moments, vague, but there, she could use against him if she wanted - paint a certain image, true or not. All she could see was her arms and hands pushing against his, small fists banging against his forearms, yelling at him. 

Her gaze found the fire for a moment, landing on the red and orange licks of flames, just past his shoulder. 

Hands pushing against his, small fists banging against his forearms, red carpet, flames.  

“…I was yelling and you kept going…” she said, almost absently, head somewhere else for a twinkle of a second. 

She gulped down a growing lump in her throat as her eyes quickly flicked back to Joel, and with a few blinks cleared the images of him away. 

Joel opened his mouth to reply but shut it quickly, giving her a nod instead. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either. 

In the very back of Ellie’s head, a small voice was screaming at her to not be an idiot. To stop whatever this was, now, before she took it too far. That he wasn’t him. That this is leftover aggression stuck inside, threatening to ruin something good. 

But she couldn’t. 

Her jaw clenched tighter as her eyes went hard and steely. Her head was really starting to throb again, and the hot feeling that had been in her gut was now starting to travel up her body, making her throat tight as it also ushered in a bit of nausea. 

She was seething so much that she was making herself sick from the intensity of it all. And for what?

She wiggled in her seat, hands going to grip the sides of the couch, knuckles going white, as she lowered her head to stare at the floor, wondering why he wasn’t getting mad like she thought he would.

“I know, you were..” Joel confirmed, hoping that not denying, or trying to belittle it would somehow make this better for her. 

He was able to see her demeanor going colder and colder with every moment she sat on the couch, coming to slow a boil like a pot on a stove.  Part of him did want to defend himself and go toe to toe with her - it was only natural - but a bigger part of him just wanted to gather her up in another hug and just never let go. Make her emotions quell, stop the roiling. 

"I know what your doin'..." he said, shaking his head, "I know you don't mean what you're sayin’."

"I - ah ..," Ellie stuttered, not expecting to be called out. ”Asshole," she said, trying to recover, albeit not strongly, before tumbling along, words spilling from her mouth.  “You’re an asshole, and you - if you gave a shit about me then, you wouldn’t have -“

“- Hey now…“ Joel interjected quickly, a grovel in his voice clearly revealing that his calm exterior was cracking away, her words now hitting him with a certain potency.  Ellie’s voice trailed off at the sound of his, focus going to watching the change in his body language, his shoulders tensing, eyes moving away, hand rubbing at his thigh. 

Of course, he gave a shit about her. After everything? 

She really wasn’t making this easy, and now the underlying guilt that still coursed in his veins - that was practically a part of him now - even though he knew it was misplaced - was turning to frustration, and frustration into precarious anger. 

And Ellie knew it too, and now she couldn’t hold back. She wanted to pry that spark of anger from behind his eyes and ignite it. Light it on fire like that fucking restaurant. 

“Would you have done that to Sa-“

“Enough.” Joel spat, jaw tight, eyes hard. 

Sarah. 

It was a low blow, even for Ellie.  

His heart was thumping in his chest, whooshing in his ears. He knew where the sentence was going the minute, it was coming out of her, and he couldn’t let it stand. He had sidestepped what she had been insulting the entire time - the dark impropriety of it all - because it was just so far from the truth that it wasn’t even worth playing into. But now, bring up something like that, almost accusing him, with his daughter…no. It crossed a line. 

With a deep inhale, Joel pushed himself off the chair the pain of it all buried monetarily under his own indignation, only a small wince escaping. The old wood creaked under him, the sound echoing the tension in the room. With a slow-paced stride, his leather boots thudded against the floor, the rhythmic sound resonating through the still air, each deliberate step echoing ominously. His fists were balled tightly as he sad and his face stern. 

Ellie watched as he got closer, content that she had finally pushed him over the edge. 

She hated herself, but not just for this. 

Coming to a still directly in front of her, he lowly began, “You don’t-,” he dragged in a long breath, “you don’t bring her anywhere in this….that ain’t right, and you know it.” 

His intention wasn’t to be intimidating - just firm, but standing above her as he was, was a little bit menacing.  Ellie gave him a slow nod, eyes looking forward, not up towards him. Her quickening pulse was echoing in her ears, mouth getting a little watery with apprehension.

Joel looked anywhere but down towards her, not wanting to show her any more anger than he already had let slip out. His fingers ran against his palms, still tightly screwed together, as his eyes wandered around the area behind the couch, scanning the kitchen, hoping to use it mundanity as a means to steady himself. 

Exhaling through his nose, Joel took a long step back, and then another away, turning his back toward Ellie. 

God, bringing his Sarah up like that, now. What was she thinkin’?

Drawing his head up to the ceiling, he called back to that feeling in his gut when he woke up alone in the basement. That feeling in his chest, when he thought he was about to find her body a the end of a trail of blood. That feeling in his heart, when she fell into his arm, scared as all hell. 

He shook his head. Ellie was his too. 

An oppressive silence stretched between them, the weight of unsaid words becoming almost palpable as Joel swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet, debating what to say, how to carry on. It was clear she was just lashing out, generally, but he couldn't let it all slide. Not that easily.

"Trauma ain't a hall pass" - Tommy told him that once. 

Sucking in a final long breath, hands going to his hips, Joel turned to face Ellie. 

“I know I wasn’t there. But I got to eyes. And I know somethin’ happened to you. And if this is  - was? - you tryin’ to make sense about that then, fine. Spit whatever you want at me, okay? Hit me, yell at me, I don’t care…I’ll take it.. I deserve that…cause that’s on me for leaving you alone.”  His voice was eerily steady, low, and coarse like how Ellie knew it when he was barking orders at her, way back at the beginning of their journey together. The tenderness that he had exhibited since coming back together seemed to be gone, even though his words painted a different picture. For better of worse, this was the Joel she knew. 

“But listen to me. I’m serious Ellie - Listen here.” Joel waited for Ellie to look up and meet his eyes. When she did so, he continued.  “Sarah stays far out of it.” 

Ellie didn’t make a move, a little stunned by the way he seemed to have his emotions under control, especially after she had expected so much more.  

He was going to end it at that, but a nagging voice in the back of his head told him he might as well dot all his ‘I’s and cross his ’T’s too. 

“And to be clear, I didn’t do anythin’, would never, do anythin’ to you- like what you were getting at.. makes me sick just thinking about it,” his tone was serious, yet his words danced around the hard topic like he wasn’t confident using the real words for it. His mouth turned down as the thought of it stayed in his brain, festering for a moment before fading out. 

The look in his eyes had Ellie swallowing back some guilt, tears even beginning to prick at her waterline again. 

Joel's hand came to his neck, rubbing away the much-accumulated tension, while looking around the room to search for something else to focus on. His eyes landed on her again - how could they not - and he paused. Blood, bruises, brewing with anger. He could fix some of that.

His eyes went to the pot of water still resting on the coffee table after all this time and then over toward the hallway.

He cleared his throat. “Now, I’m gonna go see if there ain’t something around here to clean you up with.”

It’s said with genuine care, but it's not hard to read that perhaps it’s also a distraction - a misdirection- to take away from the fraught way the conversation had come to a close.

Joel scooted past the couch with a slight limp, heading toward the hallway and out the room, leaving Ellie sitting alone.

[marvelheaux]

T'challa’s Outside Daughter (chapter 1)

T'challa x BlackDaughter!Reader or O/C

A/N : Sorry this was super short, not feeling the best right now but here’s chapter one! Don’t forget to check the links below-, especially the prologue if you haven’t already. Enjoy! - Lanna

Description : Zyra is the first born of King T’challa. She moved to the states and grew up with her Single mother with hardly any contact with her father. Queen Mother Ramonda decided that with all the drama and secrets going on, that it's time to bring the family together .

Story Links:

Main Character + Faceclaim

Character List

She met one of her father's Exes (oneshot)

T'challa’s Outside Daughter Prologue , Chp 2

Warnings: Possible Grammar Errors, Angst, Strong Language

Words: 1,313

4:00 pm. Zyra snatched her handbag, clocked out and headed out the parking lot. She hustled home to change into her cheer practice outfit (photo above), to beat the rush hour traffic, on her way to the World Cup Allstars gym.

Zyra soon met up with her teammate's who were already stretching, “Whew I made it on time!”

“I heard coach say something about changing the dance sequence and the music for it, plus ‘minor’ changes to the pyramid.” Kellie said.

Zyra pouted and threw a mini tantrum. “wahhhhhhyyyy!! - I mean changes are made every year before Worlds to spice things up, if we wanna win again, but I was reallllllllyyyy digging the dance music! - Whatever bruh..I'm just excited about my new uniforms” The coach called the team to the mat for a briefing, then began practice.

World Cup Shooting Stars won their 5th Cheer Worlds Championship title last year and the team were a preparing to defend their title in a months time. In addition, this was Zyra’s 10th and final run with the team, since she would be aging out and retiring from the division. Since she was on the team for a long time, she feels as though she haven't felt the pressure of ‘retiring with the ring’.

The Wakandan Cheer athletes and coaches supported her through her cheerleading career and even encouraged her to come home to join one of the teams.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10:00pm. Zyra came home limping through the front door due to her sore muscles. Before she greeted her mom, who was cooking dinner in the kitchen, a 70- pound hairy beast greeted his owner at the door, happily wagging his tail and jumping on her legs

“Hey sammie!! - wait let me put my bag down!”

“Hey hun how was practice?” Rae chimed in.

Zyra sighed as she plopped on the couch. “ Its was full-out day! My body is so numb...I feel like the whole of New York jumped me!”

“Drama drama drama!” her mom mocked her jokingly. “Your grandma called for you earlier and Shuri and asked you to send some techy thingamajig….I dunno! Call them, go rest and I'll call you when dinner is ready”

Zyra nodded and gingerly made her way up the stairs, hissing in pain.

Raechella took care of her daughter by herself without any help from T’challa, since she left Wakanda 16 years ago. Even with her busy medical career, she always made the sacrifices as a mother. She never cared for blasting nor talking about her ex to social media or to a lawyer. She hated the “baby-mama” stereotype. The media have buzzed slightly regarding their story but all she cared about was the well-being of her daughter and her career. Rae had since moved on with her life, recently engaged and living her best life.Despite T’challa’s lack of responsibility for his daughter, King T’chaka stepped in and played the father figure role for Zyra. He would constantly call and check up on her, occasionally send her gifts and most importantly teach her about her Wakandan culture. When he passed away two years ago, Zyra felt as though she lost her entire world, and have had a hard time getting use to it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zyra drew an ice bath to soothe her sore muscles and grabbed her communication kimoyo bead. She winced as she gently sat into the ice cold water and pulled up shuri’s hologram.

“ You rang sis?”

Shuri’s face lighted up. “I've been waiting for your blueprints that you were telling me about? What's taking you so long girl?!”

“They're not doneeee! It was just a random idea, I'm not trying to give my father a new suit”

“Pleasssseeeee I just wanna see it though! I promise!”

Shuri pouted and gave her the ‘puppy eyes’ before Zyra gave in.

“Aite.”

Shuri clapped her hands excitingly. “oh wait before I go”

“Mother was trying to reach you to talk to you about something important”

Zyra mentally zoomed out, and sank slightly deeper into the tub. ‘what's the important issue that she needed to talk to me about?’ , she asked herself. ‘I really hope it's not what I think she's gonna ask me’.

If not for the ice water, she’d be sweating. Zyra stared at the kimoyo bead for the longest while before calling her grandmother.

“Hello yam intanda” Queen Ramonda called sweetly on the other line.

“Hey grandma,” she bit her lip. “Umm, is there something you want to ask me?”

“.......I was thinking the other day about a conversation your grandfather and I had, a couple of months before he died. Since he had plans to extend Wakanda’s hand in peace to the rest of the world, he brought up the fact that our family is very divided and how he wished you can see the wonders of Wakanda….and maybe patch things up with your father”

Whoop there it is

“-So I thought it would be a great idea for you to come visit.”

Zyra mentally rolled her eyes. Visiting wakanda was an adamant priority for the future, but she was not yet ready to face her father, nor his bullshit. She not ready to speak to a sperm donor whom she haven’t seen since she was a little girl. She was not ready. She had been fully aware that he had moved on quickly with his new family and she came to a realization that he doesn’t care. No conversations, no phone calls, no birthday wishes, no graduation visits for 16 years. Just an unwanted visit and a puppy. He clearly wanted to move on with his life with his wife, son and daughter, and erase her from existence.

Her mind was racing and she grinded her teeth with anger.

FLASHBACK

T’challa was happy with his new family, but he couldn't stand to hear the media blogs going off about his parenting skills. So he decided to pay a visit to New York.

“Daddy is that you?” 7 year old Zyra jumped into his arms.

“What's that in the big red box”

“Merry Christmas! It's for you !”

Zyra was taken aback when the box shifted. She lifted the top.

“A puppy!!! He’s so cute!! Thank you daddy!” She hugged her father tightly.

Whilst he held his daughter in his arms, he glanced bitterly at Raechella. She rolled her eyes and stormed up the stairs.

“I’ll be right back my love” T’challa reassured Zyra, as he ran up the stairs behind her mother.

He caught up with her and grabbed her arm forcefully.

“Don’t touch me you son of a bitch!!” she yanked her arm out his grasp. “WHY ARE YOU REALLY HERE!”

“Shut up! I hope you are not flapping your gums about me.”

“Nigga I don’t give a fuck about you nor what you have going on. You never call her to see if she’s dead or alive, she calls you, you never answer, you got two other kids and you call yourself a parent? Get the fuck outta here.”

T’challa figuratively bore holes in Raechella. “She was a mistake and you know it”

Raechella took a deep breath and spoke eloquently “Listen to me carefully. When Zyra grows up and eat your sorry ass alive, DO! NOT! ASK! ME! SHIT! Mark my words. NOW GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

Zyra felt terrified listening to her parents constantly yell at each other upstairs.

She jumped as her father stomped down the stairs and slammed the door, without even glancing at her.

-------end flashback------

‘My father never wanted me, why should I go see him?’ ‘Am I to bow down to him and kiss his feet after how he treated me and my mother? Just because he’s a King now?’

“ZYRA ARE YOU THERE?!”

The water spilled on the floor as Zyra jumped out of her skin.

“I’m fine…..I’ll think about it.

"ZYRA! DINNER'S READY!"

**[yam intanda - my dearest (xhosa)] **

**What do you guys think? Do you think she’s pay a visit? Stay tuned for Chapter 2!

Please reblog and leave some comments if you enjoyed it! :) -Lanna**

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[freedom-shamrock]

A Little Secret - Chapter 11

Also on AO3

Chp 1   Chp 2   Chp 3   Chp 4   Chp 5   Chp 6   Chp 7   Chp 8   Chp 9 Chp 10   Chp 11

Amazing art created by @soundofez​  pg 1  pg 2  pg 3

Rolling the Moth in Flour 

 "Thank you, and have a fantastic day," Marinette said, handing change back to the customer she was helping.  The phone in her pocket buzzed in a series of long and short vibrations.  Adrien had thought he was so witty plugging in a morse code setting for emergencies, and to be fair, he only triggered it when it was truly urgent.

"I have to take this, Mama," she said, tapping her pocket.

Her mother let out a little sigh, glancing at the busy bakery before nodding.  "Do what you need to, but try to be quick about it."

Ducking into the hall, she slipped out the phone and unlocked it just as the SOS vibrated to alert her of another message.

AA : You were right.  I should've listened.

AA : I'm so sorry, Princess.

No puns.  No emojis or emoticons.  He'd flat out dropped his identity in that last one.

Gasping against the sudden fear clutching at her chest, she staggered into the railing, dropping to the bottom step as she stared at the two messages, desperately waiting for more.  What had she been right about?  When hadn't he believed her?  No.  When hadn't Chat believed Ladybug… or rather, when had he not wanted to listen?  There were plenty of times they disagreed or butted heads.  It could be anything, but this was probably something important.  Something memorable.

"C'mon Chaton," she whispered.  "I need more than that to go on."

"What's the matter Marinette?" Tikki asked, peeking out of her nest in Marinette's hip pouch.

She turned the screen to her kwamii as she sent a reply.

MDC : Please tell me you're okay.  You're freaking me out.

Her phone rang, Adrien's goofy gaming photo popping up on her screen.  "Adrien?  Are you…"

"Listen here, Ladybug," a man barked at her.  She knew that voice.  "I have your precious Chat Noir, and I must say, he's much more fragile without his tacky kitten suit."

She covered her mouth with one hand to hold back the urge to scream.  Even if he was lying, which she very much doubted, she couldn't let him hear how much his words worried her.

Hawkmoth continued.  "If you ever want to see him alive, and without any missing pieces, you need to bring me those charming stones in your ears."

Hawkmoth had Adrien.  He had Chat's ring.  She felt like throwing up.  Tikki flew up and brushed one tiny paw against Marinette's cheek, and it was enough for her to pull herself together despite the fact that she wasn't currently Ladybug.  "Your word is worthless, Hawkmoth," she snapped.  "I need proof that you have my cat."

"Having his phone and his ring aren't enough?" the man taunted.

"Having his phone and claiming to have his ring aren't enough," she corrected.  "Let me talk to him."

"I don't think he's in a talking mood," Hawkmoth drawled.

"You want my earrings?" she asked with a casualness that surprised her.  "Then you damn well better let me talk to my cat."

There was a rustle and a clatter.  Then came a groan that she was too familiar with.  Chat Noir only made that sound when he was hurt and couldn't shake it off.  

Hawkmoth's voice was a little distant now, as he must have been holding the phone away from himself.  "Talk some sense into that girl you care so much about."

"Why… would I do that?" Adrien demanded, his voice strained and wheezy.

"You used to be so biddable, so eager to please," Hawkmoth snarled, disappointment clear in his voice.  There was a slap, and Marinette flinched, even though she didn't hear Adrien react.  "If you want me to show her any kind of mercy, you will talk to her.  Now."

She was strangely proud of her Kitty for getting so thoroughly under Hawkmoth's skin even without his powers.  She hadn't even registered that her vision had gone blurry, that her eyes were leaking heavy tears until they dripped onto her phone.

"Hey Princess," Adrien said quietly.  She could practically see his ears drooping with his low tone.  "I'm so sorry, Bug."

"How badly hurt are you, Kitty?" she asked.  Apologies and forgiveness could come later.  Right now she needed to focus on anything that got him back to her.

"Physically or mentally?" he asked playfully, making her want to reach through the phone and shake him.

"Both."

"My right hand is very much broken, and I have a lovely array of bruises that will require significant makeup for tomorrow's photoshoot," he said.  "Though with the split lip and black eye, I'm thinking we're rescheduling that."

His emphasis on his modeling seemed a strange disconnect in the situation, which meant he was probably giving her clues.

"I miss Plagg," he said softly, his voice catching a little.  "And I don't like being part of a collection."

There was a sudden fumbling of the phone and Hawkmoth spoke again.  "You've spoken with your skinned cat," he said brusquely.  "Are you prepared to discuss terms?"

"Are you prepared to turn Chat Noir over to me?" she asked, knowing she couldn't trust anything he said, but hoping to pick up on any additional information that would help her.  Whatever came next was sure to be the hardest part of her entire superhero career.

"Hmmm.  I get the feeling you need to think about this before you'll be truly willing to negotiate," Hawkmoth said, the disgusting smugness he'd displayed during Stoneheart in full force.

"I assure you, I'm ready now," Marinette promised.

"I've watched your career, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng," he said.  "It is highly unlikely that you're in the right mindset for this.  You need to stew a bit in uncertainty.  I'll be in touch.  In that time, you should consider that I am now the master of both the butterfly and the black cat.  You can not hope to defeat me."  There was a click followed by silence.

Marinette met Tikki's eyes.  "He knows who I am."

Tikki's little paws came up to cover her mouth.

Quickly wiping her face with both hands, Marinette stood up.  "I'm not going to be able to focus if everyone I love is in danger."  She shot off a text to the class group, telling everyone to get out of town.  She was glad they'd covered evacuation recently in social studies.  Between regular terrorism and akumas, it was a new component of the national curriculum.  Hopefully they all took her message seriously.  "We'll move my parents to safety, then I can focus on rescuing Chat Noir and Plagg."  She followed up with a separate message to Alya and Nino, adding Chloe in a last minute decision, letting them know that Adrien was a hostage, but not an akuma.

Tikki nodded once in encouragement.

"Spots on."

Adrien focused on the throbbing in his hand while he picked at the knotted silk tie holding his left foot to the chair.  He stopped when a soft whooshing noise alerted him of his father's approach.  When this was all over, if his Lady managed to save him, he was going to have a nice breakdown, complete with screaming and smashing things.  How had he not seen that his own father was Hawkmoth?  Why had he so foolishly pushed aside Ladybug's theory?  To be fair, it seemed even Plagg was taken by surprise when Hawkmoth jumped him this morning, fresh out of the shower.  In retrospect, it would have been really useful to know miraculous bearers could be akumatized.

"Your former kwami is a savage without manners," Hawkmoth announced, stepping into the low light.  Yep.  His father knew a lot about imagery and setting a scene.  His purple suit had more black now.   Looking completely out of place, Chat Noir's ears perched atop his gray helmet and a belted tail flicked agitatedly around his knees.

Adrien smirked at his own lap, wiping the look away when he raised his head.  "I wonder why."  Sure, the black cat of destruction was bound to whoever had the ring, but he didn't have to cooperate in the way his father was accustomed from his long-imprisoned kwami.  "You didn't hurt him, did you?"

Gabriel's eyes narrowed slightly as if he was trying to get a joke.  "They are indestructible, Adrien.  Surely you knew that."

Adrien shook his head.  "Oh they're tough, but they can get sick, hurt, or even die."  

Gabriel let out a delicate sniff.  "You need to have a firm hand with these creatures.  You've clearly been coddling it."

Adrien shrugged.  "Plagg has a very sensitive digestion.  If you don't want to be picking destruction demigod hairballs out of your slippers and hair every morning, you should be sure to observe his diet very carefully."  He looked away, wondering how long it would be before Ladybug found him and if he'd be any help to her at all.   "Why haven't you turned me into one of your pet monsters?"

Hawkmoth narrowed his eyes.  "You are not in the right frame of mind to accept a butterfly."  It seemed that annoyed him.  Perhaps he'd been banking on turning his son against Ladybug.

"Okay.  And why do you have me tied up again?" He held up his bound wrists.  Seeing his hand made him vaguely queasy; it looked more like a plump glove designed by a five year-old who wasn't sure which way fingers were supposed to point.  "I mean, after slamming my hand in the fire door, I'm not exactly on my game."

"I've watched you fight, Adrien," Hawkmoth bluntly stated.  "A broken hand is hardly a handicap."

"When I'm Chat Noir, sure," he agreed.  "But as Adrien…"  He shook his head.  "I'm not used to this level of shock, and nothing's helping me with the pain, so my head's a mess."

Hawkmoth straightened up.  "You are an expert fighter and tactician.  Those skills are merely enhanced, not created, by the suit."  His pleased smile was smug and creepy.  "I'll be proud to have such a bright son and heir in the future."

Adrien stared at the man, strangely chilled.  "You'll be proud in the future, but not now?" he asked.  "That's messed up, Hawkdad."

"Everything around me in this moment is temporary, including you."

"Isn't that always the case?" Adrien asked, pretty sure this wasn't a philosophical discussion.

Hawkmoth glared at him.  "You aren't real.  No one in this reality is," he explained.  "Once I have Ladybug's miraculous, I will be able to rewrite the last four years, so it frankly doesn't matter what happens to this version of anyone, including you."  He crossed his arms over his chest.  "The real Adrien Agreste will not have your rebellious streak; he will have never had the ring.  Everything will be restored to the way it was supposed to be."

In this morning's unexpected assault, Adrien had abandoned any hope that there was something good left in his father.  His delusional explanation, his ease in writing off others as not real made it clear just how dangerous his father really was.  There was nothing worth salvaging in Gabriel Agreste, and he found himself considering fatal attack options that he'd avoided in the past.  Though Adrien was not currently in possession of the ring, he was still Chat Noir, and he was going to do whatever he had to, to help his Lady.

"You're sure?" Ladybug asked Master Fu as she helped him gather his tea service.

"They will be safe here with me," the old man promised.  "Wayzz keeps this place shielded and hidden.  Kwami magic is such that others can not be compelled to guide him here."

She nodded.  "Thank you."

"It is a pleasure to aid you in your darkest hour, Ladybug."  He bowed.  "Do you have a plan?"

Ladybug nodded.  "I have a backpack full of cookies and cheese.  Interfering with his use of the ring is my first step.  Even if I just get out with Plagg and Adrien, that will be enough of a victory.  We know who he is, so we can go back and take him down later."

Master Fu nodded.  "That's a reasonable starting point."

"If we get a chance to reclaim the butterfly today, we'll do that, too, because ultimately, we're under siege until that's done."  She was calm now, her superhero side letting her tuck her nearly debilitating fear into a box to unpack at a later time.  "But I am willing to retreat with Chat Noir if needed."

Master Fu smiled, clearly proud of her.  "You are one of the most remarkable people to ever wear the earrings, my dear.  It has never been more clear that I chose right with you."

"Thank you, Master."  She bowed and followed him into a back room where her parents, Alya and Nino were sitting on cushions.  Too concerned about Marinette and Adrien, they'd refused to leave Paris, so Ladybug brought them here.  She'd offered Chloe refuge as well, but the mayor's daughter had elected to work with her father, covertly assembling emergency response teams throughout the city.

"Ladybug," her mother said, standing up when she slid the tray onto the low table.  "Where's Chat Noir?"  Her fingers were knotted tightly together.  "Why isn't he here?"

Ladybug bit her lip.  "He's gathering intelligence.  He's the only reason I'm going to be able to go after Hawkmoth before he chooses to summon me."  It wasn't a lie.  It had only taken a few minutes of puzzling over the clues with Tikki before she realized that Gabriel Agreste, once known as The Collector akuma, was Hawkmoth.  He'd hurt his own son to get the ring, which he'd probably known was the black cat miraculous for years.  "I'm hoping it'll be enough of an advantage."

"When you see him, could you please give him a hug from me?" her mother asked.  "He's like a son to us."

"He and Adrien, both," her father added.

Ladybug nodded.  "You know…"  Was this the right time to lay the groundwork?  "When this is over, Adrien is going to need all the love and support he can get."  She'd told them about Gabriel, compelled to give them that much of the truth.

"He's always welcome in our home," her father said, a faint smile appearing on his face.

"Our daughter adores him, too."  Her mother smirked.

"Whatever happens," Nino said, "we've got his back.  Make sure he knows that.  And we don't care about whatever baggage he's gonna have, or what the press has to say about him.  We're here for him.  Anytime."

Feeling her heart warm with the support and love for her partner, Ladybug smiled, suddenly more confident that she could do this.

"Be safe, Ladybug," her mother said.

While Gabriel could have taken Adrien anywhere in the city, she suspected they were still in the ostentatious cold mansion.  Her ability to locate and track magic had a limited range, and it made sense to start there.  Taking the familiar route she used for her weekly visits, evading the security cameras, she landed lightly on Adrien's window ledge.  Her preferred entry was slightly ajar, and she mentally thanked her Kitty for the foresight.  Shoving her fingers between the panes, she forced it the rest of the way open.

Adrien's room was a mess.  Clearly this was where his father had attacked him, probably already suited up, since it was the only way she could see Gabriel having a physical advantage over his son.  Taking a slow breath, Ladybug closed her eyes and felt for the magical signatures.  She was surprised to find three.  One was pale and nearly undetectable.  Did Gabriel have another miraculous in the house?  If he wasn't using it, she needed to grab it to keep it out of the fight.  The strongest signature was a muddy with swirls of purple and green, clearly Hawkmoth.  She was surprised to find a pale green magic not far from Hawkmoth.  Adrien didn't have his ring, but as the true Chat Noir, his power still clung to him.

She let out a little line on her bandalore and spun in a tight circle.  "Lucky Streak," she whispered.  She and Chat had kept their newer powers hidden from the press, practicing them during training and using them sparingly in battles.  This one gave her a good luck advantage for five minutes.

Creeping out of Adrien's room, she moved quickly through the quiet and seemingly empty house, following the signal of the dormant miraculous.  She slipped into Gabriel's office, a place she'd visited twice before.  The magic was coming from a golden painting… no.  From behind the painting.  She had a sudden urge to tug at the lower left corner, and she'd worked with magic enough to know that it was helping her.  The picture swung out to reveal a wall safe.

"Tikki, spots off."  As the sparkles of her transformation faded, she was already digging in her day pack for a cookie.  "Can you get in?"

Tikki beamed up at her holder.  "Between Lucky Streak and my own natural luck, no problem."  She took a bite of the cookie and then phased through the safe while she was still chewing.  After a moment, the door popped loose.

Marinette opened the door to find her kwami cradling a peacock brooch.  "That's the other miraculous missing from Master Fu's set."  Even without her fully enhanced super abilities, she could feel the magic.  She took it gently in hand.  "I'll tuck it into my pack for safe keeping."

"You don't want to wear it?" Tikki asked.

Marinette shook her head.  "I'm not its chosen, Tikki.  I couldn't do that."  Master Fu had spoken of the pain a kwami endured when claimed by someone ill suited."

"Spoken like a true Ladybug," Tiikki said proudly.  "We still have about two minutes of Lucky Streak left.  Spots on?"

Marinette nodded.  "While I can feel the entrance to Hawkmoth's hideout right behind me, I don't want to give him that much warning."  She smiled, gathering her courage.  They could do this.  "Tikki, spots on."

Adrien tuned out Gabriel's pacing and random self-talk, focusing instead on the sudden laxity in the ties around his ankles.  He drooped forward, feigning exhaustion and picked cautiously at the knots.  In his time as Chat Noir, he'd come to recognize that chance was really just another form of magic, and he wasn't going to let it slip away.  It was slow work, using just one hand, but his fingers made steady progress.

He'd gotten both ankles free when he looked up, just in time to see Ladybug crash through the leaded windows of Gabriel's ostentatious lair.  The glass shattered and flew everywhere.  He jumped to his feet, bracing himself for the inevitable need to run through the shards.  Any harm he took to prevent damage to her would be worth it.  It always was.

Ladybug landed in a crouch, her bandalore shooting out in Hawkmoth's direction.  "Lucky Break!" she called, pulling back on her string.

Adrien's eyes went wide, and he felt a genuine smile on his face, the first since he'd been jumped in the bathroom.  When they'd first learned about their failsafes, they'd tested them out on each other.  It had been quite unpleasant to be on the receiving end of Lucky Break, not unlike having your soul sucked out through your hand.  He was in a good position to make that judgement, since he'd been through both experiences.

Hawkmoth doubled over, letting out a shrill scream as a Faraday cage of magic flared around him.  Ladybug ducked close enough to catch the black kwami as he spiraled out of range of the reaction.  Then she was in front of Adrien, freeing his wrists and returning Plagg to his unbroken cupped hand.

She grinned at him, but it was grim.  "That evens the odds a bit."  

Plagg would be out until he'd been fed, so now she just had Hawkmoth, an enraged and wounded madman to deal with.  "He's completely delusional," Adrien said quickly.  "He considers anything other than himself to be not real.  He has no qualms about killing me."

Her eyes went wide.  She'd probably hoped to appeal to his love for his son, and Adrien didn't want her wasting her time on that.  Her earrings beeped.  Hitting the black cat's failsafe was a huge energy drain on both sides.  Her kwami would need a recharge soon, and without superpowers they didn't stand a chance.

"I love you."  He was pretty sure she knew that, but didn't want to risk leaving it unsaid.

She sighed, her shoulders drooping.  "You're going to do something stupid, aren't you."

He shrugged.  "Probably."  He handed Plagg back, offering her his best charming Chat Noir smile.  "You need a diversion, Mi'lady.  Feed Tikki, and prepare to save my ass."

"Spots off."  She moved behind the chair, swinging a daypack off her shoulders.  "I intend to save everything attached to your very fine ass," she commented without even looking up.

The moment the magical feedback collapsed, Adrien dropped his left shoulder and charged Hawkmoth.  He sent their long-time adversary sprawling across the glass-littered floor, then pounced on him, much as he would if he were fully Chat Noir.  He was able to keep the upper hand for a few moments, grabbing Hawkmoth's neck and holding him down.  

Years of working out and moonlighting as a hero made him stronger than average, but Adrien was still very much human outside of his Chat Noir suit.   It wasn't long before he was sliding across the floor, glass snagging on his shirt and slicing into his back.  He was just able to roll backward and up to his feet before Hawkmoth pulled an epee out of his walking stick.

"You've fulfilled your purpose," Hawkmoth snapped.  He plunged the tip of the blade into Adrien's chest, just below his shoulder.  

He heard Marinette gasp across the room.  His shoulder was on fire and he couldn't move his arm.  "I'm not an insect for you to pin to your board as part of your collection," Adrien growled, trying to focus on his gasping breaths rather than the pain.  He had to keep Hawkmoth distracted. Just a little longer.

"You're a feral stray that needs to be put down."  Hawkmoth sneered at him.  "My prize bug is watching.  I think I'll give her a show."  He moved to pull back the sword, but Adrien's hand shot out and grasped the grip between Hawkmoth's hand and the subtle lower guard.

"She's not. Your . Bug," Adrien spit.  "And that perfect son you want, in that reality you think you're going to create? He doesn't exist.  No matter how many times you rewrite me, I am Chat Noir.  With or without the ring."  While Hawkmoth stared at him, his jaw open in shock, Adrien moved his hand to wrap his fingers around the ring in question.  "It was drawn to me because I am naturally chaos and destruction."  His knee came up and his foot shot out twice in quick succession, the first catching Hawkmoth in the groin and the second in the chest and throwing him backward.

He barely managed to keep hold of the ring as the sword was yanked out of his body.  He let out a scream and fell to his knees, pushing aside the awareness of wet warmth over his chest as he moved the miraculous to his teeth to fumble it onto his left hand.

"Claws out, Kitty," Ladybug called, her bandalore zipping past him to knock aside Hawkmoth's blade.

A freshly fed Plagg flew out of Ladybug's hand to the ring as she ran to join her partner.  The suit would stop the bleeding, it would buffer him from the pain, but they needed to wrap this up.

"Cat's Claw!" Chat Noir shouted, surging to his feet.  His right hand was encased in something resembling a boxing glove with large silver spikes.  His left slashed out, cutting through Hawkmoth's sword as easily as if it were Marinette's father's mocha mousse.

Hawkmoth took several steps back, his wide eyes showing more white than blue.  "What… how are you doing that?"

Chat Noir smirked.  "Only a real black cat can call on the special pawers.  Even when you had the ring, they wouldn't have worked for you."

While Hawkmoth was distracted by Chat Noir's partial lie, Ladybug tossed out her bandalore, twisting her wrist just so.  The red and black disk spiraled around Hawkmoth, binding his hands down to his sides.

Chat raised one claw-tipped finger, pressing it lightly to Hawkmoth's neck.  The man flinched uncomfortably.  "Want to see how well your suit holds up to my amped up mojo?  Are you willing to risk seeing if My Lady's healing powers can fix the mess I can make with this?"

"Don't play with your food, Kitty," Ladybug chided lightly, more for show than anything.  Adrien deserved to terrorize his father.  She reached out and tapped the butterfly at the center of the villain's neck.  Raising her hand quickly, she slapped Hawkmoth under the chin, knocking his head back.  Heroes didn't beat the crap out of people, even if they could fix all the damage, and she was finding it necessary to remind herself not to break all of Gabriel's teeth.  "Would you like to do the honors, Chaton?"

"I'm a cat, My Lady," he said, as if reminding her.  "I love bringing you gifts.  Mice.  Birds."  He curled his claw under Hawkmoth's collar.  "Moths."  He gave a tug, ripping the fabric of the suit a little as he yanked the brooch free.  A wave of purple light washed over Hawkmoth, revealing a very sullen and disheveled Gabriel Agreste.  

Chat Noir bowed to her, holding out the miraculous.  "Please accept this shiny bauble as a token of my affection."

She smiled at him.  "You're such a thoughtful Kitty."

"Is there anything else I can get you?" he asked.  "I'd offer you my father's heart on a platter, but," he shrugged.  "He hasn't got one."

She shook her head slowly.  "As delightful as that sounds, I have places to be.  A very dear friend of mine has had a terrible day, and now he has to move.  But I obviously can't just leave."

"Would you like some police?" Chat Noir asked brightly, as his ring let out a beep.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Gift wrapped or…"

"Unboxed, please, Chaton."  She grinned at him.  "Convenience, you know."

"Plagg, claws in."  He gasped and his breathing went fast and shallow.  "Oh fuck…" he muttered, hunching over.

"You gonna be okay, kid?" Plagg's slightly nasal voice asked.

"Yeah."  It came out as more exhalation than voice.  "But I'm looking forward to suiting back up like never before."  He closed his eyes as if that would help block out the pain.

"Buggy showed me where the cheese was," Plagg pointed out.  "I'll just help myself."

"Good plan," Adrien agreed.

Ladybug tugged on her line, tightening Gabriel's bindings until he let out an undignified squawk.  "You okay, Kitty?" she asked.  He'd lost more blood in other battles, been more seriously hurt even.  But he didn't generally have to unsuit in those cases.  "You're doing great, you know.  I'm so proud of you.  Mama and Baba are going to be so proud of you, too."

He tilted his head to look up at her, a pained grimace on his face.  "How do you always know what to say?"

"I know you," she said.

"All right kid," Plagg said as he floated over, holding Marinette's cell phone.  "We're going to take a few pics of you to give to the police as evidence of what happened to you."

"What?"  Ladybug demanded.  "Is that really necessary?"

"You want him held above reproach, and unless you plan to unmask yourselves to Paris, you'll need evidence once the cure fixes all of this."  Plagg fiddled with the screen a moment.  "A'right.  Straighten up as best you can.  I want a good angle on that bloody mess."

So used to complying with photographers, Adrien moved as his kwami asked.  Holding out his broken hand, now a phenomenal deep purple.  He swore a few more times as he tried to lift his shirt to show the scoring from the glass shards.

"Perfect."  Plagg handed the phone to Ladybug.  "Now say the words, Kid.  You need high level pain support."

Adrien muttered the magic phrase.  "Plagg, claws out."  He let out a sigh as the transformation dulled the pain.  He grabbed his baton and tapped the paw for the communicator.  Once the police were notified, he escorted Ladybug and his trussed up father out of the secret hideaway and to the front door.  They bound Gabriel with the same silk ties he'd used on Adrien so Ladybug could call the miraculous cure.

"Hey," she said, nudging his arm with hers as they stood at the bottom of the grand staircase.  "You wanna go pack a suitcase?"

He stared blankly at her for a moment.

"I was fully serious about rehoming you," she said, offering a tentative smile.  "My… uh, my parents sort of invited you to move in with them when I… uh… Ladybug put them in hiding."  She shrugged.  "I didn't have a chance to tell you that earlier."

"I can move in with you?" he asked, his eyes going soft and kittenish.

"I mean, we'd understand if you want to stay here…"

"Oh hell no," Chat Noir said, putting two fingers over her lips.  "You sure you won't need Chat?"

"Chat Noir is delivering the miraculous to the proper authority," she said primly.  "And I will be escorting Adrien Agreste to a home with less painful memories."

"I only have happy memories at your house," he pointed out.  "I'm going to pack.  I'll be back as soon as I can."

While she waited, Ladybug called on her last special ability.  "Lucky Star," she whispered, opening the compact and pointing it at Gabriel Agreste.

"What was that?" he demanded after the pink light faded.

"I suspect you'll see eventually," she said.  It was a special spell that bound the knowledge of miraculous magic.  Even if he wanted to, he couldn't reveal his own son as Chat Noir.  If anything, it would compel him to protect their secrets through misdirection.

Chief Raincomprix and several of his officers had just pulled up when Adrien charged back down the stairs, wearing a backpack and dragging a large suitcase.  He dropped his luggage and darted into his father's office.  He must have done something with the security system because the gate swung open.

Handing Gabriel over was easy.  After four years of working with superheroes, the Paris police force trusted the duo completely.  They scheduled a meeting for Ladybug and Chat Noir to debrief with them the next day, and sent detectives to investigate the secret chamber and gather evidence.  They let Adrien leave without hesitation after Ladybug assured them she had proof of his mistreatment at Gabriel's hands.

"I'm really glad Plagg suggested the pictures," Ladybug said, leading Adrien through a dark alley.  With a quick look in each direction, she dropped her transformation,  letting Tikki join Plagg in the daypack of snacks.  She turned toward Adrien, one hand on his arm. "This doesn't feel real yet. "

He shot her a small smile.  "It doesn't," he agreed.

"When it does,  I'm probably going to completely lose it. "

He wrapped his arms around her.  "Yeah.  Me too," he murmured.

"I'm texting your parents," Tikki called from inside the pack. "Go straight home.  Let them take care of you. "

"I have two miraculouses to return to Master Fu," Marinette said, trying to force the responsibility to override her drive to just go home."

"He'll meet you there," Plagg said.  "Along with Nino and Alya."

"Two?"Adrien asked, worry and confusion creeping into his voice.

"The peacock was in your… Gabriel's safe."  She let herself listen to his heartbeat for a moment. "We need to return it along with the butterfly. " She felt him relax against her.

"You've been through a lot today," Tikki added. "You need rest and comfort."

Marinette gave Adrien a tight squeeze before loosening her grip and stepping back.  "C'mon Kitty. I know a great place to get brunch. They have amazing cocoa."

"I love your family's cocoa, " he moaned.

"As a bonus, it comes with a new family." She took his hand, giving a little tug to get them moving again..

"Where do I sign?"

"You haven't asked what the catch is," she pointed out.

He grinned.  "You're the catch."

"I walked right into that, didn't I," she said with a giggle.

"Mmm hmmm."  He took a slow breath, exhaling with a sigh.  "Hey Mari?"

"Yeah?"

"I know some of what comes next is going to suck.  And I may not always seem to appreciate you and everything you've done for me," he said.  "But I'm so glad you're here with me.  I wouldn't want anyone else to be my Bug."

"Yeah.  Well, I wouldn't want anyone else to be my Kitty."  She gently bumped him with her shoulder.  "And we'll get through this like we always do.  Together."

Chapter title - "To roll someone in flour" is a French idiom equivalent to "pulling the wool over someone's eyes" or to fool or trick someone.

Huge thanks to @soundofez and my betas: Karnival and @chatbug-jk​

I'd not done a project like this before, and it was pretty fun. It's really only in the last two months that I got the hang of Discord (dinosaurs can learn!), and it was great to see the camaraderie there.

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 7

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: FYI anyone who hasn’t seen the Before Sunrise trilogy needs to stop reading and go watch it immediately because it will change your life.

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/25556550

Second City one / two / three / four / five / six (ao3)

Nobodies Nobody Knows one / two / three / four (ao3)

In which rogue parents appear

Being friends with Jughead is surprisingly easy. He does watch Before Sunset a few days later and texts her his thoughts. That spirals into an ongoing discussion of their favorite movies, tv shows, books, music. Jughead keeps much later hours than she does, so every day this week she’s woken up to a novel-length diatribe on a Thing she has to read or watch Right Now.

Veronica’s words sneak back into her head, as does Kevin’s face when she told him she and Jughead were trying to be friends, but she does her best to suppress them. Blowing up at him seems to have eased some of the pressure inside her. She fully acknowledges that she has a crush on him. But that’s all it is, a crush. He is attractive, and she regrets how it ended between them before, but he’s definitely a different man now. The boy she loves doesn’t exist anymore. She’s enjoying getting to know the man.

She’s in the middle of texting him at work when her phone rings. He’s trying to convince her to watch Django Unchained. She’s trying to distract him by asking him to help her think of a synonym for ‘asperity’ that doesn’t sound as mean. So when FaceTime opens up right in the middle of her typing, she answers it before she realizes what’s happening. But not before she sees who’s calling.

Mom. Normally Betty has to prepare herself to talk to Alice, to manufacture the acceptable emotions. Today though, the smile comes easily.

“Hi Mom!” Alice holds the phone too close so all Betty can see is the sharp planes of her mother’s face.

“Betty. Why are you answering the phone at work?” Time and grandmotherhood had softened Alice Cooper in many ways, but her opinions on most aspects of her daughters’ lives, up to and including how they spend their time, are just as strong as ever.

“Ah—if you didn’t want me to answer, why did you call?”

“Don’t be silly, of course I wanted you to answer. I’m just surprised you’re free. Are you sure this job isn’t too easy for you?”

“The job’s great, Mom. How are you? Have you guys heard from JJ and Rose?”

“They’re fine. Your sister heard from them. She also mentioned you’ve been seeing Jughead.” Okay, or we’ll go straight in for the kill.

“I’m not seeing him, Mom. I’ve just seen him. For work and stuff.”

“Good. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get involved with that boy.”

Betty sighs, not surprised by the turn this conversation has taken. Then she asks softly, “Why do you hate him, Mom?”

“He broke your heart, sweetie, isn’t that reason enough?” It might be. If Alice were a normal mom.

“But that’s not it, though. You didn’t hate him then. It’s only been since—”

But Alice interrupts her before she can finish flipping through her mental calendar. “Have you talked to Hunter since you got to Chicago?”

“No, Mom. And I don’t plan to. We broke up. I’m okay with it. He’s okay with it. You’re the only one not okay with it.”

“I just think it was so sudden! What with that and moving so far away, are sure you’ve thought everything through? And now you’re seeing Jughead, I just want you to be sure you’re not making a mistake.” Betty resists the urge to rub her temples. It’s a conversation they’ve had before. More than once. Though the Jughead dimension adds some new seasoning to the mix. But Betty isn’t going to convince her today, and, regardless of answering the phone—or even texting—at work, she does still have things to get done.

“I am sure, Mom. Oh—Cynthia’s coming. Gotta go, love you, bye!”

She hangs up the phone and turns it face down before leaning back in her chair and running her hands over her face.

Alice still pronounces “Jughead” as if his name were two words.

She had liked him once. Betty could remember a time when she preferred him to Archie. But then, a few years ago Betty had brought The Final Fissure home to read on a visit, and Alice’s face puckered up like she was sipping on vinegar. The couple of times Jughead has come up since, Alice’s face has darkened and she’s changed the topic as quickly as possible.

When they return from New York, Mary and Mike host a belated Fourth of July barbecue. They string up a triangular American flag banner and twinkle lights. Neighbors mingle on the sidewalk and in the yard. Kids play pick-up ball in the cul-de-sac. It’s quaint in a way Betty didn’t know cities could be. She arrives before Jughead, and wanders with a diet Coke in hand, sometimes stopping to talk or to help Mary refill a cooler or a party tray.

After an hour though, he still hasn’t returned her texts. She’s a little worried, it seems out of character for the short time they’ve been texting, so she heads upstairs where it’s quiet enough to call him. But on the landing, she can hear a familiar voice coming through a bedroom door.

She knocks twice before cracking the door open and peaking her head in. Jughead is sitting on the foot of the bed, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

He looks up, confused, when she opens the door but then waves her in.

“I know, Dad. I know. No, she’s just— Look, can you just talk to her? Maybe she’ll listen to you. I know that, but you can at least explain my reasons. Fine. Can we come back to this conversation later? Yeah, okay. Love you too.”

“Hey.”

“Hey.” His eyes are soft but his mouth still holds tension. He looks back down at his phone. “Oh, you texted.”

“Yeah, nothing important. How’s FP?”

“Fine.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “He is. JB on the other hand…” But he trails off, leaving Betty to fill in the blanks with information she does not have.

“Wanna talk about it?” She moves to sit next to him on the bed.

He shrugs and continues to talk down to his hands, where they hold the phone on his lap. “She got into Syracuse but she’s insisting she’s going to stay home and go to community college. Wants to study sound engineering or something.”

“I mean if that’s what she wants to do. You don’t want her spending four years unhappy and coming out of it in debt.”

“But that’s not it. She thinks we don’t know it’s cause she doesn’t want to leave FP. And she’s the one who always insists he’s okay. Tells me I worry too much.”

Betty pauses before she responds. She can see how delicate the situation is. If Jughead bought their house, Jellybean probably thinks this is her way of contributing. And, irrational as it is—families don’t keep score, not even hers—she understands where Jellybean is coming from. But Betty knows Jughead would shut that line of reasoning down. He’ll forever see the baby sister that needs love instead than the young woman that needs to give it.

“How does FP feel about it?”

“He says she’s an adult and can make her own decisions. She’s sure as hell not an adult if she’s gonna screw all her decisions up.” He moves one hand from his lap to crumple the comforter beside him.

“But you know you can’t decide for her.” She rubs a hand up and down his arm. “So why the blow up now? Didn’t she have to decide on a school a few months ago?”

“Well, yeah. But I may have thought she was gonna come to her senses and sent in a deposit for her.”

“Oh, Jug.” He looks up at her through a curtain of hair and her breath hitches. The co-mingled frustration-sadness-exhaustion on his face arrests her. It’s a face he wore so often in high school. The face of someone forced to be an adult too young. It’s a face she knows he’s trying to save Jellybean from.

So she encourages him to vent, and he does, a little. But before the tension has fully left his face, she sees him make the effort to smile at her. “Hey, let’s go rejoin the party. They’re probably wondering where you are.”

“Yeah, okay.” She lets him lead her out of the room, his hand on the space between her shoulder blades.

When they make it downstairs, he manages to shake off the mood. They get food and proceed outside to mingle, but he doesn’t leave her side unless it’s to refill her drink. And when either of them is away, it’s as if a magnet draws them back together.

Occasionally, his hand brushes against her lower back. She knows he’s just being considerate—maybe it’s some residual protectiveness redirected from Jellybean. But she can’t help that every touch drops heat into her bloodstream. And even as her blood heats up, that same protectiveness turns her ovaries to mush.

She tries to beat her hormones into submission.

Eventually, she leaves him chatting with Mike and heads inside to cut up another tray of fruit.

He does it again while she’s slicing up the watermelon, and she’s so startled the knife slips and cuts a gash in her thumb. For a moment she freezes, watching the blood well up, then Jughead grabs her wrist and drags her to the sink.

“Jesus, Betty, I’m sorry. I just wanted to check on you —”

“It’s okay Jug, it’s just a cut. It’ll be fine.”

The water stains the porcelain bowl of the sink a pale pink as it flushes the cut. Jughead squirts some soap into his hands and rubs them together until it foams before taking her hand again. He cups it gently in both of his and make shallow passes over the cut with his own thumb. For some reason, she feels tears sting the back of her throat.

When the water clears and the suds slip away down the drain, he says, “Here, come on. I’ll wrap it up.”

She follows him back upstairs, to the bathroom she’s since learned houses the advil. She hops up onto the counter while he rummages under the sink for the first aid kit. He’s not wearing his beanie again today. She resists the urge to run her fingers through his waves.

Then he lays the supplies out to the left of her and moves to stand in front of her parted legs. He picks up her left hand. It’s still a little damp. He frowns at it, and next at the hand towel laying beside the sink. Unsanitary, she thinks. Then he bends his head and blows softly on the cut. Betty gasps. Jughead freezes. The tops of his ears turn pink.

He drops her hand and leans over to grab the antibiotic ointment.

“It looks pretty shallow, so you should be fine. No stitches, or anything. Obviously,” he says, still looking away from her. When he dropped her hand, she’d curled it into her chest. The movement of her arm when she re-extends it draws his eyes back to her. He picks her hand back up and proceeds to smear the ointment on and attach the bandage with almost-clinical efficiency. But then he doesn’t let go.

Betty barely breathes. She can see the tight rise and fall of her chest in her peripheral vision.

“Jug?” He looks up from her hand, where his thumb is tracing circles on the soft underside of her wrist, as if to soothe away the pain she’d stopped noticing. “I promise it’s okay. You’re a great nurse.” She’s almost at his eye level.

He smiles. “Thanks. I am sorry though.”

“I know.” Her eyes slide to his mouth, where his front teeth keep catching and releasing his lower lip, and when she looks back up he’s watching her. His eyes are impossibly dark, pupils blown wide. He’d moved closer to her in the process of bandaging her thumb, into the cradle of her knees. She’d merely have to shift to bring their mouths together.

“I—”

He presses his lips against hers, kissing her so softly, as if he’s asking permission. She gasps again, which he must take for a yes because he squeezes her shoulder with his other hand and deepens the kiss. She kisses him back, sweeping her tongue across his, urging him to kiss her harder, but he refuses to be urged. She doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed so thoroughly, so languidly. The heat that’s been building in her belly for hours rises up and floods her system. It washes over her in dizzying, intoxicating waves.

When he moves to her neck, she lets out a small noise that makes him stop.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t do this.”

“We’re not doing anything. We’re making out in a bathroom.”

Betty isn’t funny. She isn’t sardonic like Jughead or full of witty one-liners like Veronica or Kevin. Even Cheryl’s insults usually make her laugh. And she’s not trying to be funny now. The single remaining synapse in her brain still capable of firing finds it advisable to simply take stock of the situation. They are making out in a bathroom, after all.

But Jughead laughs. Before he’s finished, she’s hauled his mouth back to hers and wrapped an arm around his neck. Now, she controls the kiss. She bumps her teeth against his as she kisses him messily.

After a few minutes in which she finally gets him to pick up the pace, gets his lips to match the urgency she feels, he pulls back again.

“Betty, stop. There are things I need to—“

“Later.” His next protest turns into a groan when she sucks on his tongue. That seems to flip a switch in him. He kisses her so hard he shakes the breath from her lungs and she feels something begin to uncoil in the center of her chest.

His hands move from her waist down to her thighs, sliding up and down until he hooks them under her knees and lifts a little. It stretches her hips and feels as if he’s folding her, but it brings him closer. She wraps her legs around his waist, and her eyes go wide when she feels he’s already hard. His hands go to her ribcage, but she pulls them up to cup her breasts, where he strokes gentle circles. The sensation brings her hands to his arms and she squeezes muscles that were not there the last time they did this. Then, when he tugs on her lower lip with his teeth and soothes the bite with the flat of his tongue, she rakes her fingers across his scalp and he hisses against her.

She releases his mouth with a gasp and when he opens it to speak again she cuts him off. “If you stop or ask me if I’m okay or do anything other than kiss me again, I will bite you.”

He smirks at her, then pulls her face back to his with a hand on her neck. He whispers against her lips, “As you wish.” Then he uses his thumb, the same thumb that so delicately washed hers and stroked her wrist, to force her head back. He lays a series of sucking kisses down the column of her neck, and then he scrapes his teeth against her collarbone.

Bastard.

A knock sounds on the door. Jughead groans and rests his forehead on her shoulder.

Luckily it’s a guest. Someone who does not know them and who does not comment on their flushed faces and rumpled clothing. Betty slips out while Jughead sweeps the first aid supplies back under the sink.

They get separated again downstairs. But throughout the rest of the evening, when he’s not next to her, occasionally brushing his hand against her lower back, she can feel the weight of his gaze on her as she moves. Sometimes she catches him. Sometimes he blushes. Sometimes his brow is furrowed as if she’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Sometimes his face is so open she cannot read it.

He’s not the boy she loved. But she’s not the same girl either. Today wasn’t a continuation or a re-do. But it was fun. And he’s hot. And they’re millennials. They can hook up at a party and keep just being friends. 

Right?