#but she didn’t hear me because my mentor who has witnessed me go off on people before coughed really loudly and said ‘SO’

[mvltisstuff]

RIP 2 my youth - lumax.

summary: after the events of season 4, lucas has a whole new level of grief to deal with

lucas sinclair x max mayfield

the smell of antiseptics and cleaned bed sheets wafted to lucas’ nose. he sat quietly in the chair next to the hospital bed, gripping onto max’s limp hand. the mumbling of the doctors outside was silenced in his mind by the replaying of his experience of the last week.

having to witness his best friend, and the girl he loves, get brutally attacked. his little sister, erica, having to give up her innocent eyes to the violence of the upside down. his friend and mentor was killed, and his other best friend, dustin, would never be the same.

his innocent eyes were killed by the underworld. he and his friends could never be the same again after all this trauma, but they could try. and they would.

everything had changed in such a little amount of time. lucas had learnt to cope with everything around him and the situation he was in. he learned to face the alternate reality of the world he lived in at such a young age. he felt like he was forced into a world he never wanted to be a part of, and he felt like it was his fault for ever trying to fix anything.

now, lucas was staring at max. she had bruised eyes, a neck brace, and her face seemed close to lifeless. her diagnosed coma was just a matter of time before she fought through it, or succumbed to the afterlife. lucas would kill to know what’s going on inside of her head, but he didn’t have any fight left.

he woke up every day, 10:00 AM on the dot to visit her. he got dressed, ate breakfast, and his mother drove him down the intensive care unit to see his best friend.

ever since he met max, she was his king. now that she was in this condition, he tried to step into that position and he now had to fill both shoes. he wrote all his words down, because he wasn’t able to convey them across and say them to her. he felt stupid. he felt like an idiot for believing she would wake up when all the doctors and tests and scans told him otherwise.

on the next week of seeing her, lucas brought his crinkled notebook paper with him. he shoved it into his jean pocket and sat in the same chair as always. his shaking hand slowly pulled out the piece of paper and began reviewing the smudged pen.

“i’m not good at this, as you know. if you can hear me. um,” lucas paused, not knowing if he should bother to continue. “dustin’s alright. he’s been having a hard time with eddie’s death. he’s trying to hide it from everyone so he seems tougher, but he’s just hurting more. uh… hopper came back, with eleven and joyce, and will and mike. so we’ve only hung out once. he’s alive, max. he’s alive and he’s ok. steve’s good. he misses you a lot. we got school off because of the…” lucas realizes what he’s saying and makes up a lie again. “the earthquake.

lucas shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. “maybe when you come home, we can catch that movie sometime.”

his heart shatters a little, thinking about their missed date. he wanted it to be perfect, and his optimism took over his mind. not thinking about the aftermath that vecna would rain down on hawkins.

“i wrote you something. i didn’t build up the guts to say it, cause i know you’d make fun of me. you’ll make fun of me, but who really cares.” he shined a half smile, trying to make light of the pitch dark situation.

lucas begins with a shaky start of the letter. he reads it over and looks at max, her weak body on the bed with the small grains of fight she has left.

with a heavy sigh, lucas shoves the letter back into his pocket and takes out the book he’s reading to max. he reads the words on the page rather than words he actually means.

————————————————————————

laying down on his bed, lucas looks around his room. a few years ago, his young eyes would’ve seen new shiny figures, and silly dnd posters taped up around his bedroom. now, when lucas saw these things, he was a completely different room. his dusty figurines had lost their shine, physically and emotionally. his posters had become outdated and have become frighteningly close to a reality for the kids.

now looking at his situation, he felt the urge to tear down and shred all those posters. they weren’t an imagination anymore.

lucas stood up out of his bed and walked over to the biggest poster in his room. he grabbed onto the top and tore it down. the tape on the back was ripped off, and some of the chipped paint came with it. he saw the old colors of his bedroom and lightly grazed it with his fingers.

he stormed over to his bed, yanking out a cardboard box. the box was filled with old photos from holidays and summers with his friends. people like will, mike, dustin, his family. one in particular stood out to him.

————————————————————————

“steve can you look a little happier?” max protested.

“i’m taking a picture, max. not winning an award.” steve stood in his scoops ahoy uniform, awkwardly with the camera in his hand. “why do i need to look so thrilled?”

max had on her red, heart shaped sunglasses that sat on the top of her head. her ginger hair was waved and tucked neatly behind her ears. her pink cheeks were scrunched up in a light smile. her ice cream cone was dripping over the sides slightly onto her soft hands.

lucas stood next to her with his flowered button up over his white tee. his arm was over max’s shoulder. his bright neon shorts stood out at the bottom of the picture, showing the dirty sneakers at the bottom. his ice cream cup was to the side of his other arm, barely touched.

“he’s just mad stacey stood him up at enzo’s for bryan richards.” lucas whispered into max’s ear, making her grin shine in the bright lighting of the ice cream shop.

“hey! sinclair shut your mouth or i’m churching you triple for that scoop.” steve retorts back. lucas shakes his head in humility, and steve clicked the camera.

with a flash, the smiling picture of the two prints out and his handed to lucas.

————————————————————————

lucas started posting the photos on his wall, replacing the old game posters. he figured he didn’t need a game up there anymore, as it wasn’t as much of a game as it used to be. he covers up the chipped paint on his wall with the photos.

he sits back down on his bed with his eyes drawn to that one picture. he looks at his letter for max and rereads it and adjusts it until he thinks it’s perfect.

they protected each other, and even though they broke up, it was going to take a lot more to keep lucas away from her.

————————————————————————

“dear max,

i’m sorry. i never wanted to get you involved with this mess. when i was just 12, in middle school, playing a game in mikes basement, i thought of it as fiction. then will went missing, and i thought for a long time that nothing could be worse than this. i know you broke up with me, and i know you’re over me, but i should’ve known. i should’ve known something was off with you. i wish i could’ve helped you, but i know why you didn’t tell me. i wish i could’ve fixed it, but the tide went out and there’s no pulling it back in. it’s partially my fault. if you’d never believed me in the arcade, or if i never bothered to tell you, you could be here with me right now. talking and moving around, skateboarding and shit. i knew from the first day i saw you in the hallways that i wanted to go through this with you. i trusted you immediately and your strength was undefeated. max, i’d go through this a million times more to keep you out of this mess. the truth? i love you, max. i wish this was still an imagination. i wish i could shake myself awake and force myself out of this nightmare. this all still feels like a bad dream and i’m waiting for the day i wake up, come to your house, and we can hang out like nothing. as messed up as it sounds though, this mess and your situation has really opened my eyes wider than they’ve ever been. i’m done believing what the doctors have to say, because at this point, i’m done believing what anyone has to say about this shitty world. i need you, max. i cant go through this without you. so basically what i’m saying, vecna can bring down hell on us because he has nothing against us.

love,

lucas :)”

————————————————————————

lucas strutted his way through the hospital halls. confidently walking through the bright lights in his baggy sweatpants and hawkins zip up. he almost thought about getting rid of it now, because to him, hawkins is nothing but a lie at this point.

he stormed into max’s room like something had changed. it was all the same, besides her limbs were adjusted and her blanket had been pulled up, her brittle hands dropping over it.

lucas stood by her bedside, abandoning the chair next to it. he ripped the letter out of his jacket pocket and began to read it. beginning with another shaky, “dear max,” he clearly articulates every word as much as he means them. he gets halfway through to look at her, even though she looks still, except the slight rise and fall of her chest.

lucas finishes off the letter with a light, love lucas. he folds it up and places it onto her bedside table, nudging it under the bouquet of sunflowers. he looks back to see max, her expression different than before.

her nose scrunches up and down, forming small wrinkles on the bridge. lucas doesn’t think much of it, but he still makes note of it. her eyes twitch, and lucas gets more enthusiastic. “max?” he whispers, barely audible.

“max, hey.” he moves to the other side of the bed, gripping her hand. her iris’s rapidly move under her thin eyelids. “i’m here, max, lucas! hey, max!” he shakes it slightly, to not cause her more pain.

her bloodshot eyes finally open to reveal the blue shade of her eyes, surrounded by a flood of pinkish-white. her eyes move around the room frantically, her lips starting to move around the intubation. her eyes finally land on her one, lucas, and she rests her eyes a bit.

“max! you- you’re… i’m gonna call the nurse, max. holy shit!” he exclaims, abusing the call button on her remote.

one of the nurses comes sauntering in, not expecting anything. she looks around at max’s condition, looks down at the chart and looks back. her eyes widen and she comes closer. she presses a button on her pager and the doctors voice comes through. she mutters some medical terms that lucas doesn’t understand. surprisingly not yet, even though he’s been there every day.

the doctors come rushing in and another pool of nurses come in. “hey maxine, welcome back.” the doctor says, shining his flashlight in her eyes. lucas stands in the corner, completely star-struck at the sight in front of him. he’s scared, relieved, and all his emotions are coming together. “she’s breathing over the tube, i think we’re all set to take it out.” he sighs out. “i’ve never seen something like this. this young girl’s a force.”

one of the nurses walks over to lucas, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “honey, why don’t you step out into the hallway while they help her out?” lucas was ready to refrain, but he decides to not cause any problems. the nurse escorts him out of the room and to the chairs in the hallway.

lucas runs over to the public phone, dialing steve’s number into the phone. it rings and he frantically says, “steve! she’s awake! max, she- i saw her! she’s alive, steve!”

“slow down, sinclair. she’s awake?” steve yelps out.

————————————————————————

lucas sits in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, bouncing his leg and cracking his knuckles. he sees steve and dustin walking toward him like they’re on a mission. lucas shoots up and meets them halfway. “dustin! she’s up! she looked at me and- they’re taking her for testi-“

“hey, kid. calm down. it’s ok, we’re here.” steve says, patting lucas’ shoulder.

dustin sits down in the chair next to lucas and looks at him. “she’s really alive?”

“y-yeah. i think so, dustin.”

“jesus christ.” dustin whispers.

they wait, and wait. until one of the nurses is spotted by lucas. she walks over hesitating, “l-lucas?”

“yeah?” he stands up in front of her.

“she’s ok. we took her in for some tests. this is truly a miracle, we’ve never seen anything like this. she’s currently on ivs for medication and nutrients, but she’s awake.”

“can i see her? please.”

“yes, we can take you in a few minutes. she’s going to be confused, and probably scared, but it’ll help if she sees someone she knows and loves.”

his heart skips at the last sentence, but he knows he has to go in there. “oh, lucas.” the nurse is holding out a piece of paper. “this was on the floor of her room. do you have an idea of who’s it might be?”

“it’s mine. i left it there.”

“i figured, sweetheart. i didnt read any of it but i saw a name on there.” she smiles sweetly at him and directs him to the room.

he turns back to look at steve and dustin, who are now both sitting down. “get in there, sinclair.”

————————————————————————

lucas walks into the room, suddenly nervous. his anxiety was creeping up on him again, but he wouldn’t let it take control. this was his girl, and nothing was stopping him now. he was hesitant to walk in, but he stopped in the middle of the room.

a crackling of his name escaped max’s mouth. the rasp of her voice sounded painful, but all his anxiety evaporated hearing it.

“hey stalker.” max forces out, taking a few seconds in between each word. “nice letter.”

her voice flipped a switch in lucas. and after the tide comes back in, lucas is able to swim to shore.

and hearing her voice, he can breath again.

[fortunei]

Aflicker

Fandom: Arknights

Pairing: Specter/Irene

Word count: 911

Summary: Perhaps, all she needed was an empty reassurance.

Read more below or click here to read on ao3

That night, Rhodes Island was unusually quiet. Irene had just finished helping the kitchen on her day off, when she settled to walk around the building with her lantern. Patrolling might be beyond her task, and she might be best just sticking around the training room instead of loafing, but she wanted fresh air.

Rhodes Island at present was going around Victoria, awaiting the improvement of the latest succession crisis. Seeing a lot of Feline at one place was something new to Irene, who had spent most of her time with Inquisitor work and mostly conversing with fellow Liberi Iberian or Aegirs.

“... I thought I saw a familiar lantern light.” 

A voice came from the dark, then took shape as a pair of strong arms quickly circled around her waist. Irene yelped, her left hand ready to pick her hand cannon from its holster, but then a reprimanding hand stopped her, then a sharp smile that belonged to a certain individual.

“Laurentina! You scared the wits out of me!”

“Good evening to you, my cute little bird.” Specter chuckled, unaffected by Irene’s outburst. She settled her chin on the crook of Irene’s shoulder, snuggling affectionately. “Are you getting peckish and searching for food at this ghoulish time?”

“W-What do you think I am? I don’t-” Irene sighed, reining her tone to calm. “I just need some fresh air.”

“Mm, perfect,” Specter said, clapping to herself. She looked up and down on Irene, before grabbing her wrist and pulling her back to the direction where Irene walked from. “Come follow me to the kitchen, I’m famished after the last mission.”

“Do you even hear what I said?”

“I do,” Specter hummed. “After that, I’ll accompany you to get as much fresh air as you wish!”

“Wait, Laurentina, stop!”

But of course, the whimsical Aegir would never listen … at least not at a glance.

⬘

True to her words, Specter dragged Irene to the kitchen, grabbing something at random from the vending machine available, then they made their way outside.

Victoria’s wind was not as harsh as Iberia’s, likely because they were not close to the body of water at the moment. Irene also didn’t need the lantern, either. Rhodes Island’s deck was bright enough and the moon hung lazily on the sky to light the road enough. Then again, the lantern has always been the part of herself - an extension to her body, just like her trusted rapier. Irene couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her lantern to gather dust in her temporary room. 

Though, if they were closer to the sea or Iberia land, Irene would likely be restless. She would strain her ears to listen to the wind, or she would observe the change in tides every so often. That night, it was quiet; a kind of quietness that Irene didn’t mind.

And there was Laurentina beside her, eating a sandwich while her eyes cast far to the starry sky over their heads. Irene was no longer alone.

“Are you missing Iberia?”

Irene blinked upon the sudden question, she leaned her back better to the nearest wall, as though finding an anchor. Specter joined beside her, the Inquisition lantern filled the space between them.

“I don’t think so,” Irene finally answered, as Specter finished her light supper. “After all, I was dispatched to Iberia often to check the sea, and the Inquisition-”

Specter watched her with a knowing look, a smile on her lips unchanged. They both knew that was not the answer to Specter’s question, nor was Irene satisfied with the answer.

“... Maybe,” Irene closed her eyes, imagining the time that she could still see her mentor’s back, then to the barren wasteland that became his resting place. “Maybe I’m just wondering the what-ifs.”

Specter hummed, melodious. “Do tell.”

It was already far, far in her memory now when she was separated from her mentor to board the last voyage of Ship of Fools. She was no longer an orphan without a place to go. She was no longer an Inquisitor with a one-track mind.

“Meeting you has changed me,” Irene started. “I wonder if I would still be in Gran Faro, trying to restore the lighthouse and cursing Aegirs to death for sinking the Stultifera.”

“Or perhaps you’ll be hot in our tail, hunting the Abyssal Hunters,” Specter quipped, harmless. 

Irene nodded at that, a slight blush crept her cheeks - she could be blindsided, a naive who wouldn’t be able to honor her mentor’s passing.

But then, Specter’s hand found hers, lacing on her smaller fingers in care.

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short. I know you’re stronger than that, my resilient, strong little bird.”

“I do?”

Specter now faced her, the clarity in her gaze made Irene feel warm all over. Her red eyes danced beyond the minimal light, mirroring her bemused expression. Specter—Laurentina—seemed to have a lot of things to say, but Irene was lost in her eyes alone. Unconsciously, she let her fingers ran, away from Specter’s hand to touch the taller woman’s face. Specter returned the gesture, her skin cold against Irene’s heated cheeks, and it slowly mellowed into the warmth.

“Little bird,” Specter’s breath was close. “May I give you more than empty reassurance?”

“I don’t mind if it’s empty,” Irene replied promptly. “I need-”

Laurentina no longer allowed her to talk after, for their lips joined under the merciful moonlight, watched by the flickering lantern, until the night fully embraced them both.

#wrt #arknights fic #specter #irene #stultifera navis #maybe I just want them to kiss #fics

[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 8

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You get a preview of what it’s like to be working with Mackenzie.

Warnings: I apologize as there is no smut in here lmfao but there is a stubborn Bucky lols

A/N: The jitters just never go away whenever I post a new part for this ajkcnjasncakjcnakj I find this part boring tbh but uhh things will start picking up again in the next part I promise

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky decided to push through with his partnership with Wilson Enterprises. It was a big one, so it definitely required the entire team's effort and perseverance. Apparently, this is the company's biggest, most major project yet so this was going to look really good in your resume. It would also provide you with more credibility to further excel in your career.

Except that Bucky actually hired a marketing consultant to take over the entire project as his revenge.

"Any questions? About the project or about Kenzie?" Bucky asked, standing in front of the conference room, next to Mackenzie.

You confidently raised your hand when no one else did. Bucky tilted his head, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew you were affected, of fucking course you were!

"Yes?" he called out.

You stood up and sighed softly, "I mean this in the most respectful way, Mister Barnes." you said, emphasizing his name. "But as the head of marketing, what exactly is my role here? Given that Mackenzie was hired to spearhead the marketing aspect of this project." you said, giving Mackenzie a passive aggressive smile.

"I don't want to overstep on some boundaries here, that's why I'm asking. I just want clarity, that's all." you said.

Bucky was about to respond when Mackenzie stopped him, grabbing his arm and squeezing it before taking over the floor. You narrowed your eyes at how her slender fingers were wrapped around Bucky's arm.

"Honey..." Mackenzie started. "There's nothing to worry about, this is a collaborative work between you and I. So think of yourself as my assistant, someone to help me out with the project." she responded.

Bitch.

"I'm not an assistant, Mackenzie." you said, smiling at her.

Mackenzie laughed, "I'm sorry, my bad. I shouldn't have used that term. Oops." she said. "Although, I believe I have more experience in this area so maybe consider me a mentor?" she suggested.

Bitch!

Bucky cleared his throat, "If you have certain ideas, you can discuss it with her. She is a consultant after all. Given her impressive experience in the field, I'm sure you'll learn a thing or two from her."

The meeting was wrapped up by noon and you simply couldn't wait to get yourself out of the conference room. You didn't feel like talking to Bucky anymore in all honesty, not after what he was doing. You knew this was just to spite you, get you to cave in first and give in to him.

All the more that you wouldn't, especially not when he actually used your job against you.

Everyone started rushing out of the conference room, ready to head out for lunch. As soon as you reached the doorway, you overheard the short conversation between Bucky and Mackenzie.

"Hey Bucky, we still up for lunch?"

-

The bathroom was empty when you stepped inside and thank god for that because you couldn't hold back your emotions any further. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes, not because you were hurt. Fuck no, you were angry and frustrated. So fucking angry at yourself for getting into this mess, at Bucky for being such an entitled prick, at the entire world for plotting against you.

You groaned in irritation as you wiped away your tears, sniffing as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You worked your ass off for this job, for your position. You risked your dignity when you let Bucky fuck you. You weren't going to let someone take that away from you.

You quickly fixed yourself when the door opened, followed by the loud clacking of someone's heels.

"Omg, are you crying?" Beverly gasped, rushing over to you.

You snickered, "No." you lied, "My eyes are itchy." you huffed out before noticing that Beverly was holding a sandwich in her hand.

"Why did you bring your sandwich here?" you curiously asked.

Beverly shrugged, "The pantry's full and the other girls don't exactly seem to like me...so..."

You shook your head and sighed, "Come with me, let's have lunch out. I need to get out of this fucking place anyway."

"Yay, omg! I knew you were nice! You're like, the only girl who actually talked to me nicely." Beverly said, tagging behind you as you exited the bathroom.

"Oh, there you are!" Mark called out. "I was looking for you. Wanna grab lunch? Oh...who's this?" he asked, noticing the blonde girl trailing behind you.

"I'm Beverly! I'm Sir James' new secretary." she introduced excitedly.

You sighed, "Don't ask me why." you said when Mark turned to you with a confused look, still not sure what happened to Bucky's previous secretary.

"So, lunch out? With Bev?" you asked.

-

You were completely zoning out during lunch despite the ongoing conversation between Mark and Bev, something about yoga? You honestly couldn't care less, not when you were feeling so conflicted about your current situation.

Would Bucky actually go that far just to get you back? Or does he actually hate you for saying no to him and is basically using his authority to make your life a living hell?

"So I heard about the new girl." Mark said, that snapped you out of your trance.

"Huh?" you asked.

"I find it weird for Mister Barnes to hire someone when you're here." Mark pointed out. "I mean, are you okay with that or..."

You snorted, "Fuck no. Look, I'm not gonna be the bigger person here. I was offended as fuck." you admitted.

"Yeah, it's super weird because she was hired through Tinder or something. Is that even legal?" Beverly pointed out as she scrolled through her phone.

You and Mark turned to her abruptly, "Tinder? Wait, what?" you asked.

Beverly chuckled, "I heard them talking this morning and Kenzie was like, 'It's so funny that we matched on Tinder and ended up doing business there you know' and I'm like omg Sir James has Tinder and I have one too but I never saw him there, bummer."

"Motherfucker." you hissed out.

Mark made a face, "Are you okay?" he carefully asked. "You've been really tensed since last week."

Apparently, Bucky never deleted his Tinder and have been swiping right on women. And that's how he met Mackenzie who just happened to be a marketing consultant. Now you were just furious, was he fucking her too? Has he been fucking other women this entire time?

"Hey, Bev..." you said, a plan hatching inside your mind. "Can I ask you a favor?" you asked nicely.

Beverly nodded, "Um duh, you're basically my office BFF now."

"If you ever hear Mister Barnes and Mackenzie talk about hmm, I don't know...something interesting. Maybe about the project...me 'cause you know, I'm the head of marketing and Mackenzie’s in the same field...let me know, will ya?" you asked.

Mark chuckled nervously, "I don't know what's going on but isn't that an invasion of privacy?"

"She's not going to eavesdrop, Mark. She'll just...listen closely." you explained.

"Bev might get in trouble if Mister Barnes finds out." Mark warned.

You waved a hand, "She'll be fine, Mark. She's his secretary, she has to know everything. Besides, I'm not going to let her get in trouble, if she does then I'll take care of it."

Beverly squealed in delight, "Omg, you are not my office BFF. You're like my office mom! You and Mark are literally my office parents." she said, lifting her phone up in the air.

"Selfie! This one goes to the 'gram." she said, taking a quick photo of the three of you.

She then proceeded to edit the photo while you and Mark continued eating lunch.

"Bev, you should really put your phone away and eat first. We have less than half an hour left for lunch break." Mark called out.

Beverly groaned and rolled her eyes, "Way to get into the role, Mark. You're such a dad."

You snorted, "Yeah. Loosen up, daddy." you teased.

"Playing family after just one date, huh."

Bucky's presence in the same restaurant should've really intimidated you, most especially that he just witnessed you tease Mark like that. But you were too mad at him to even care, what was the point even? He didn't believe you even when you told him the truth that Mark was just a friend.

Why even try now?

"Hi Sir James." Beverly greeted happily.

"Mister Barnes." Mark acknowledged.

Bucky ignored them and kept his eyes on you. You didn't falter under his gaze and simply stared back at him with blank eyes. It's as if a staring competition took place when the both of you merely looked at each other, neither of you looking away nor attempting to do so.

"How was that date last Friday, Jim?" Bucky asked, his eyes still trained on yours.

Mark made a funny face at the name that Bucky called him but shrugged anyway. Before he could even respond, you decided to answer on his behalf. If Bucky wanted to spite you, you'd give him a taste of his own medicine.

"It was actually great. We might go on another one this Friday." you said.

"We are?" Mark asked in a whisper.

Bucky's hand landed on Mark's shoulder, "Don't count on it, Andrew. She's going to be doing a lot of work on Friday due to the project." he said through gritted teeth.

You shrugged, "Oh, but I thought Mackenzie's doing all my work?"

"I'm ready to head back, Buck."

Speak of the devil herself. Mackenzie weaved through the tables and approached Bucky, her face brightening up when she saw you, Mark and Beverly.

"Oh, hey you." she greeted you. "Look, I think we may have started off on the wrong foot earlier. I'm not here to take your job, just here to spice things up a bit. Improve your ideas, give Bucky some assistance." she chuckled, holding onto Bucky's arm yet again.

You fought back the urge to grab your glass of water and throw it at her face. As the saying goes, kill them with kindness. So you merely shrugged and extended an arm for a handshake.

"Of course. I would love to improve your ideas as well, you know. Just a healthy discourse between two marketing professionals. We good?" you said.

Mackenzie forced out a chuckle and reached for your hand, "We’re good. I look forward to working with you." she said before turning back to Bucky who was still gazing at you.

"Let's go?" she asked sweetly.

Bucky smirked at you before wrapping an arm around Mackenzie's waist, guiding her out of the restaurant the same way he did to you. You were too focused on Bucky's body language around Mackenzie that you failed to notice that Mark was watching you closely, your expressions and how you reacted towards Bucky.

"I think I know what's happening."

-

"You what?!"

"Shhh!" you hushed Mark and peeked out of the empty pantry to make sure the coast was clear.

Mark noticed the tension between you and Bucky and he came to a conclusion that the both of you dated at one point. He wasn't really wrong but he wasn't right either. So you decided to tell him everything, from the moment you matched with Bucky on Tinder until your last conversation with him last Saturday.

"I honestly thought you were dating, I didn't know there was sex involved. No wonder he had been calling me weird names." he said incredulously. "Was that you and Mister Barnes that Janet reported to the HR?" he asked, stifling his laughter.

You groaned, "Yes. Ugh, gave me a panic attack when I found out about that incident report." you said.

"Hey..." Mark called out. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this. Your secret is safe with me." he reassured.

You nodded, "I think it was about time that I told someone about us anyway. This whole situation is driving me crazy and I don't know what to do next. And I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, I shouldn't have said that we were going out again. I don't want you or your job getting compromised because of our petty fight." you exhaled.

You had to admit, you felt so much better now after confiding with Mark. It somewhat alleviated the weight on your shoulders, knowing that there was someone aware of what you were going through. Who would've thought that this person would end up being Mark? You did have friends outside of work of course, but you felt like they all wouldn't really understand the situation.

Half would hate you for rejecting Bucky and the other half would hate you for even swiping right on him.

"Do you mind an unsolicited advice?" Mark asked.

"Not at all." you said.

"Ignore him. Don't let him or Mackenzie get to you. Do what you do best, you're great at your job and you'll be fine. That might get him to realize that you're not a prize to be won. And if he still doesn't see that, then that's his loss. You're more than just that hot marketing girl at work." Mark said.

You laughed at his last statement, "Hot marketing girl at work?" you asked, shaking your head.

"It's true. So if in any case you decide to ditch the CEO and move on, you know where to find me." he joked, throwing a wink your way.

-

You wanted to finish all your reports so you could focus on the huge project so you decided to work until around nine in the evening. The floor was already empty by the time you were done. Bucky seemed to be working too, given that he was still replying to e-mails at this hour. Wanting to get all the reports over with, you decided to submit it to him before going home.

During the elevator ride to Bucky’s floor, you couldn’t help but wonder whether he was alone in the office. Would Mackenzie be there with him? Even at this hour? Your grip on the folder tightened at the thought of catching them in the act.

But did you have any right to feel this way though?

Brushing off the thoughts, you exhaled loudly and prepared yourself for whatever it was you were to witness. Upon reaching the door to Bucky’s office, you slightly turned your head to listen to anything. It was quiet. No hushed whispers nor strained grunts-- they weren’t fucking, thank goodness for that.

You decided not to knock and just walk inside like you used to, reminding yourself of Mark’s advice.

Don’t let Bucky get to you.

When you saw Bucky hunched over his desk, typing away on his e-mails instead of bending a certain brunette somewhere in his office, you had to admit that you were relieved. He looked up and his eyes looked dead tired, you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“You should really learn how to knock.” Bucky called out, slamming his laptop shut.

“Look, Bucky. I was just rushing to submit these reports so I can go home.” you explained and placed the folder on top of his desk.

Bucky frowned, “I said to call me Mister Barnes.”

You huffed out, “I honestly don’t care, Bucky. I’m not playing your damn games anymore.” you said and turned around.

A hand on your arm pulled you back, harshly turning you around to face Bucky. He was fuming, as usual. At this point, you were no longer fazed.

“You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” he asked.

You clenched your jaw and pulled your arm back, “I’m not doing anything. You bring in Beverly or Mackenzie or whoever it is that you have up your sleeve. I don’t fucking care. I just want to focus on work.” you said and stepped away.

“And you should too, Bucky.” you added.

“I don’t believe you.” he said.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping from exhaustion at this whole shenanigan. “I’m done, Bucky.”

And with that you turned around to exit his office, leaving Bucky unsure whether you truly meant what you said. A victorious smirk graced your lips as you walked back to the elevator.

You were far from done.

-

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#bbb writes #the match #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #fem!reader #sebastian stan

[doctorstethoscope]

Yes, Mr. President || Marlboros

art by @multiverse-mxdness

this update is early bc I didn't bother to queue it in advance <333

story summary: Scandal! AU– your mentor, David Rossi, has recruited you to make Senator Aaron Hotchner the next President of the United States. Once described as a political nun, the Senator helps you see that maybe you can mix business and pleasure.

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: cursing, innuendo if you squint, smoking mention

wordcount: 2.1k

“Are we good with Ethan and the message logs?” You ask Emily as she re-enters the office that afternoon. 

“I scared him straight,” she confirms. “He’s going to email them to me.” 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Jeanine says. 

‘What now?” JJ asks. 

“Now it’s time for America to hear from Jeanine directly,” you tell them. “To witness the strength of her character, first thing in the morning, on live television.”

“Live?” Jeanine questions nervously. 

“JJ, prep Jeanine and help her with wardrobe,” you instruct. “Let’s go, people!”

Getting Jeanine ready for TV isn’t easy– she’s skittish, she’s scared, and she has every right to be. It takes two gruelling days of prep before you’re ready to put her on air. The last obstacle was her outfit— all of this was about her public appearance, and her clothes were a big part of that. 

“We need current but classic, professional but relatable,” you explain to the team as you pull outfits off of a rack. You compare a few outfits, then look up at Jeanine and see her chin quivering. “A moment, please,” you say, politely asking the rest of the team to leave.

“Do you know what time it is?” Jeanine asks. “It’s almost 4:30 on Thursday the 9th,” she tells you. 

“I don’t understand,” you furrow your brow. 

“I should be headed to the Hill right now,” she explains. “To the Speaker’s office, to hash out details of the Campaign Finance Reform bill, which sounds very boring, I know,” she sniffles. “But there are ideas in there. Big ideas, my ideas. And instead I’m shopping for the first outfit of my redemption tour,” she cries. “I’m discussing headlines— headlines about me, all because somebody— one singular person— whispered my name, whispered that I had an affair with a man I’d never even been alone with! This is insane!”

“It is, it is insane,” you agree sympathetically, taking her hand.

“He had the affair, you know,” she whispers conspiratorily, and your chest tightens. “That’s why this is sticking, although I hope you can make it go away. Everyone knew it was going on, we just couldn’t figure out who,” she tells you. “I can’t believe that this is happening to me.” 

You lean forward, take both of her hands in yours and look her in the eye. “You are going to get through this,” you assure her. “I am going to get you through this. Your life is not over. Your career is not over, I promise you,” you say, handing her a tissue.

++++++

“Where are we on those transcripts, Em?” You ask as Derek guides the camera crew for Good Morning America into the conference room. “We need them, five minutes ago!” 

“I just stopped Ethan on the way into the White House. He isn’t defecting,” she explains with a sigh. 

“We’re screwed without Ethan,” JJ laments in a whisper.

“Hold, please!” You call out to the camera crew, who look at you like you’ve grown an extra head. You swing the door to your office shut and try Garcia one more time. 

“I cracked it!” She exclaims as she picks up the phone. I just faxed it over to you ten minutes ago.”

“You saved the day, seriously,” you tell her, so relieved that you start laughing. You’re practically giddy as you hang up the phone, handing out photocopies of the transcripts like they’re candy. “Go for the interview any time,” you say with a smile.

“Good morning America, my name is Nancy Bracker, and we’re here today with the woman accused of having an affair with the President of the United States, Ms. Jeanine Locke. Jeanine, I understand that you have proof that you didn’t sleep with the President,” she says. 

“That’s right, Nancy,” she says with a proud, understated smile, just like you taught her. “I have instant message logs from my desktop computer in the White House that prove I was at my desk with my colleagues, and couldn’t have been in the Oval with the President alone,” she says, passing the documents over. 

“Interesting,” Nancy says as she pours over the documents. “Our investigative team will want to review these, of course, but it seems to me that you’re innocent, Ms. Locke.” 

“I am, Nancy,” she confirms. “I look forward to your team’s review.”

“I must say, this begs the question,” she says, and you cringe. “Who was First Lady Haley Hotchner speaking of a few months ago when she accused the President of having an affair. Was she being truthful at all? Or has the strain of the spotlight gotten to her, causing her to make outlandish, baseless accusations against the President’s staff?” She baits Jeanine. 

“I wouldn’t want to comment on the President’s marriage, seeing as I was just absolved of having been a part in it,” Jeanine jokes, and Nancy laughs. “I have the utmost respect both for the First Lady and for President Hotchner, and I look forward to this unfortunate incident being put to rest so that we can all return our focus to the more pressing issues of this country, like campaign finance reform—” she pivots like an expert, and the crowd is hers. 

+++++

“Mr. President, why on earth did I just hear, through Spencer Reid of all people, that you made a personal call to the CEO of NBC this morning?” Rossi asks as he bursts into the oval.

“Because I needed 5 minutes to address the nation this morning,” he says simply, finishing a handwritten note on his prepared speech with a flourish of his pen. 

“To say what, exactly?” He inquires, the vein in his forehead threatening to burst.

“Actually, Rossi, that’s up to you,” he says, looking up from his files. “Because we are playing ‘Let’s make a Deal.’ Either I get up in front of the press corps and the nation, and tell them that you orchestrated a cover up, and ruined a young woman’s life, because all I’ve ever wanted to do is tell the truth— that I had an affair with a woman I love dearly— or, instead, I go up there and tell the world that I had sex with Jeanine Locke, and I apologize, and resign, and return to a private life.”

“Neither one of those options is acceptable, Mr. President,” Rossi says gruffly. 

“It’s a simple choice, Dave. And if it’s up to me, I’m gonna choose the option that doesn’t send you to prison and get me impeached. So what’s it going to be? Because I’m about to go on live television, and I need to know what to say,” he says, beckoning the camera crew in from where they stand in the doorway. “How presidential are my balls now?” He asks with a cocky grin. 

“Wait wait wait wait wait!” a female voice Aaron recognizes but can’t quite place echoes over the noise of the camera crew getting ready.

“Penelope?” David asks. 

“Mr. President, you’re going to want to see this,” she says, putting her laptop on the resolute desk and playing the clip of Jeanine proving that she’s innocent. You’d done it again. Aaron has to school his proud smile into neutrality. It’s not the resolution he’d hoped for— he wasn’t about to ride off into the sunset with you. But you had done what you do best. You’d fixed it, masterfully. Even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, he couldn’t help but be proud. He draws in a breath. 

“I hate to say it, but it turns out I won’t be needing your services after all,” Aaron says to the camera crew. “But how about we get some pictures– who wants to put their feet up on the desk?”

+++++++

“You saved the day,” Aaron says to you later that night over the phone.

“Not quite,” you defect. “Haley and the White House didn’t exactly come out unscathed. I owe her an apology for that.” 

“She didn’t have to go to the press when she did, either,” he reminds you. “She made her bed, and now she can lay in it.”

“And what about you?” You ask as you settle into your bed for the night.

“I signed on for this when I decided to run, didn’t I?”

“And he’s back for more,” you teased. “I saw the campaign kickoff speech. It was good,” you tell him. 

“It wasn’t bad,” he agreed. “It wasn’t written by you, though.”

“You think you’re so charming,” you laugh. 

“These campaign trips… I’m going to be all over the country again,” Aaron points out. 

“You are the President of all of it,” you agree with a sarcastic smirk that he can’t see.

“It means less time for us,” he sighs. “And it has me thinking, lately.” 

“Thinking about what?” You ask. 

“About running away,” he says with a chuff. “Like I’m fifteen and my mom found the Marlboros I hid under my floorboards.”

“Aaron Hotchner, you did not!” You laugh.  “I didn’t know you were a smoker.” 

“I wasn’t,” he tells you. “Or I’m not, at least. Haley made me quit. She said her father would never let her see me again if she came home smelling like cigarettes, so I stopped,” he explains. 

“You’ve always been a romantic, huh?” You asked rhetorically. 

“I was a neglected kid with a rebellious streak a mile wide, I don’t know how romantic that is,” he brushes you off.

“You overcame an addiction for her,” you smile. “And I’m sure that at eighteen, all your friends gave you shit for it.” 

“Yeah, they did,” he agrees with a little laugh. “Couldn’t ever do that now, though.” 

“Oh come on,” you scoff. “You really think quitting cigarettes was harder than being President?” you ask.

He smiles. “I’m not addicted to cigarettes anymore. The only thing I’m addicted to is you.” 

“Aaron,” you say. 

“Yes?” He asks. 

“Why are you thinking about running away? Where are you running to, what are you running from?” You ask. 

“I’m not thinking about running away,” he blusters. “It’s dumb. Forget I brought it up at all,” he says. 

“No, don’t do that, Aaron. I’m not judging you— it’s just you and me. Talk to me,” you implore him.

“I’m really not thinking about it. I’m not thinking about it, I just have thoughts about it. About leaving this all behind. We can’t go public any time soon, not after Jeanine. Don’t you think it would just be easier? If we snuck out like teenagers and never came back?” 

“Sure, it would be easier,” you tell him. “But some people weren’t made for easy. Presidents in particular,” you remind him with a smile.

“Right,” he sighs.

“You’d get bored,” you tell him. 

“Maybe bored is good,” he shrugs. “I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time,” he adds, and you can practically hear him leering through the phone.

“We’ll have time for bored. I promise.” 

“Feels like a long time away,” he grumbles.

“Maybe. But you only get one shot at being the leader of the free world, Aaron. I know that you want to do it right. You’re changing people’s lives every day, making the world a better place. It might feel long now, but you’re going to wake up one morning and it’s all going to be behind you, and there’s no do over. We’ll have our time in the sun, but for now we have this,” you remind him. 

“You know, I’d never admit this to anyone else, but… of course, it’s the honor of a lifetime to be the President, and it’s not a responsibility I take lightly.  But I look back, and I wonder— did I ever really want this? Or did I just want to do what my dad couldn’t? Did I just want to be enough for him, finally?” 

“It can be all those things, handsome man,” you tell him. “I saw the look on your face when the final numbers came in, Aaron. And I was right there with you for most of the campaign— you wanted it, you did. But it’s okay if it’s not what you thought it would be like, too.” 

“It’s definitely not what I thought it would be like,” he chuffs out a laugh. “But it did bring me you. So I can’t complain about that.”

tagging: @arsonhotchner @shyhotch @dadbodhotch11 @call-me-mrsreid @angelfxllcm @the-modernmary @rousethemouse @skyler666 @mintphoenix @gspenc @wheelsupkels @ashhotchner @infinite-tides

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch #hotch fic #hotch x reader fic #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #scandal #scandal au #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

[chaos-burst]

questions and answers

He had meant to be rude. And it had not worked even a little bit. Eodwulf is sure that anyone else would have been offended. Hell, he’s even sure that the other members of this weird group were absolutely offended on behalf of their friend. But Eodwulf can’t say he has ever met a person like this.

There was no malice, no ill intent, no anger.

When you work with Trent you have to be aware of every little shift in the mood. The slightest twitch of an eyebrow can mean the weather is about to turn foul. Eodwulf knows what to look out for. It had been his intent to rev this weirdo up and it had backfired spectacularly.

Damn.

No meat. No booze. And balls of steel, apparently. Eodwulf had never seen anyone talk to Trent like that. And while Bren‘s—Caleb‘s—words of wanting to kill Trent outright had been more than Eodwulf would ever admit to his mentor, it somehow felt less crazily reckless than to call Trent Ikithon, Archmage of Civil Influence for the Cerberus Assembly and one of the most powerful mages in the Empire, a fucking fool.

To his face. With a smile. In a complete sincere manner.

Eodwulf doesn’t want to replay the words in his head over and over again but his dumb brain has latched onto them and he can’t stop. Only this time it’s not one of Trent’s lessons that forces him to obsessively repeat something until you have internalized it to the point where you can cite it in your sleep.

No.

“Pain doesn’t make people. It’s love that makes people.“

Eodwulf has it on repeat in his head the whole way back to the tower and it is still going when he lies down hours later to sleep.

“What are you“ had not been meant as a serious question when Eodwulf had asked it. But by the time he finally falls asleep he feels like it has become a very vital question indeed, because who or what would dare to speak to Master Trent Ikithon in a way like this with an honest smile on their face.

*

Because for some reason his thoughts have decided to betray him, Eodwulf’s brain makes his tongue and lips form the words again when they see the Mighty Nein the next time. This time, Astrid and Eodwulf have been invited to dinner—Trent has very specifically not been invited, you could say he was uninvited with quite a few flowery words in a strange accent.

And as soon as Eodwulf sees Caduceus he remembers the weirdly polite scratching of a chair, the wide smile that indicates that this is a person Eodwulf possibly can not force to lose their composure through careful placed rudeness. And his mouth betrays him.

“So. What are you, really?“

Caduceus blinks mildly surprised before his unfamiliar features shift into a warm smile that has Eodwulf feel quite a lot of inappropriate things he didn’t expect to find in a place like this.

“Gardener. Maker of fine tea. A decent cook. Keeper of graves“, Caduceus lists of and he uses his long fingers to count the things that are important to him about himself.

“Very powerful cleric“, Jester chimes in from the right. She has Astrid next to her in a chair and Eodwulf is pretty sure that Jester has started to put flowers in Astrid’s hair. But surely he must be mistaken. Who in the Nine Hells are these crazy people?

“Oh, yeah. Well, that too, I suppose“, Caduceus says, his smile still warm like honeyed wine.

“Huh“, Eodwulf says because he can’t for the life of him think of something else to say. But Caduceus is yet again pulling out a chair for him so Eodwulf straightens his shoulders and sits down next to Caduceus. Across the table from him the angry one throws herself into a chair and stares at him.

There’s no fear there either, but she can be easily angered, something Eodwulf is good at. He gives her a canine smile and she holds up her middle finger.

This group is full of people with an enormous lack of self preservation.

And they are so loud.

Eodwulf almost doesn’t hear it when Caduceus turns to him to ask him a question.

“Huh?“, he says again, like a fool.

“And what are you, was what I wanted to know“, Caduceus says, his lazy grin open and honest. There is no malice in his words. He actually wants to know.

Eodwulf thinks “Murderer, wizard, protégé, spy“ but he doesn’t say any of these things. “Maker of graves“ comes to mind, but it seems like too dark of a joke to make.

“Enthusiastic about both meat and booze“, he says in the end and Caduceus laughs.

“Yeah, as are most of my friends.“

The implication these words bring is probably only in Eodwulf’s mind but it makes him swallow and look away to find Astrid’s eyes. But Astrid now has pink flowers in her hair and a look of absolute confusion on her face as Jester rattles of compliment after compliment about various of Astrid’s features.

Eodwulf can’t help but look at Bre—Caleb. And he sees that there is a soft, barely noticeable smile on his old friend’s face as he watches the scene unfold.

What am I, indeed, he thinks.

*

Trent’s orders have been clear. Get close to the group called the Mighty Nein to find out what they are working on with Lady Vess DeRogna.

Eodwulf allows himself to think that Caduceus might have been right. Maybe Master Ikithon is indeed a fool.

Because being in the presence of these people is like nothing Eodwulf has ever experienced and it makes him think, wonder, question—

“Here we are again“, Caduceus says after, yet again, Astrid and Eodwulf have been invited for dinner. Eodwulf wonders if this group just wants to make it very easy to spy on them, or if they have an agenda of their own—but it’s hard to believe that there might be any coherent agenda behind anything these people do.

He has watched the buff one called Yasha try and play what looked like a harp made of bone and when the angry one, Beau, told her that she looked hot playing the harp Yasha had torn two of the strings which had led to a whole scene of apologies and various tries to fix the harp.

Jester has drawn dicks on pretty much every surface this magical mansion has and she delights in the fact that Caleb brings the dicks to life in various colors. At some point he made glowing sparkles shoot out of one of the dicks Jester had drawn and Jester had laughed as if this was the best joke she had ever witnessed.

Eodwulf notices Astrid’s eyes on Jester.

Eodwulf also notices that while there seems to be no agenda or efficiency behind anything, they are still being watched.

Beau and Fjord look at them. And Eodwulf is pretty sure Caduceus watches everything as well, but he does it without crossing his arms and glaring so much.

“Looks like it”, he answers. Caduceus offers him tea and Eodwulf’s first instinct is to decline, but then he remembers that “maker of fine tea” had been very high on the list of descriptors so he takes the cup he is offered while somewhere in the background people start screaming something that sounds like “FLUFFERNUTTER”.

Eodwulf tries the tea. He’s not a fan of tea, but this tea is absolutely delicious and he finds himself impressed.

“I believe this one comes from the Hollburns’ graves. Those remains made the tea grow quite fast, it was impressive.”

Eodwulf blinks at his tea and then at Caduceus. For a second his brain wonders if this statement should register as a threat, but it had been delivered with such honest delight and a sense of pride that Eodwulf discards that feeling.

“What?”, he asks. Caduceus points at the tea.

“Oh, well, my family grows tea on those graves we’re keeping. In case you wanted to ask me again what I am. Or—hm, I think I already mentioned that I am a keeper of graves?”

Caduceus trails off and looks thoughtful and Eodwulf stares at him.

“Keeper of Graves. That make you a follower of the Matron?”, he asks.

Caduceus looks at him and smiles.

“Not quite. My family serves Melora. But we are descended from a champion of the Raven Queen.”

Eodwulf can’t help but wonder if this was some kind of weird joke. But his goddess usually isn’t one for joking.

Eodwulf considers for a second, then he pulls out the raven feather pendant from under his cloak.

Caduceus nods. “So”, he says and smiles widely. “What are you?”

Eodwulf snorts.

“For real?”, he says.

Caduceus’ smile widens.

“For real.”

*

It feels like this has become a sort of game.

“What are you?”

“Moral compass. Middle sibling. Eccentric. Amateur flute player.”

Eodwulf finds that through this question he himself posed the first time, he’s been forced to think more about himself than he feels comfortable with.

“What are you?”

“Decent chess player. Dog person. Sportsman. Only child.”, are the things he says out loud.

“Self-made orphan. Patriot. Volstrucker. Torturer.”, are the things he thinks to himself.

Eodwulf has the impression that Caduceus is somehow aware of the things he doesn’t say.

*

“So. This is the crew you’re running with now?”, Eodwulf asks Bre—Caleb one night before the Mighty Nein will leave with Vess DeRogna to who-knows-where. Neither Astrid nor Eodwulf did get very far with their planned infiltration work. Eodwulf is not even sure how hard they even tried.

It’s very easy to get swept away by the chaos and the weirdness and the complete lack of fear that the group displays when it comes to him and Astrid. They are dangerous people in a lot of ways.

The Mighty Nein are also dangerous people in a very different way. A way that Eodwulf doesn’t know anything about.

“This is my family, ja.”

He says it, just like that, without looking at Eodwulf.

Family.

The word tastes bitter in Eodwulf’s mouth as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“Weird people”, he says. Caleb huffs.

“You can say that, yes. But they grow on you very quickly”, he answers quietly and with a small, fond smile that makes something inside Eodwulf ache. For a long time Eodwulf pitied Bren for breaking, for not making it, for failing, for being locked away and discarded. Now he realizes that maybe, in a very macabre sort of way, Bren becoming Caleb through failure was the better end of the bargain.

It feels blasphemous to think that.

“The pink one is especially weird”, Eodwulf finds himself saying and he takes a big swig of whiskey from his flask before handing it to Caleb.

“Ja, I noticed that you seem to have a... uh... particular kind of interest in him. And, if I may add, he in you.”

Eodwulf takes the flask back after Caleb drinks. He contemplates the different sorts of feelings inside his gut as the words sink in. Then he tucks it all away very carefully, just as he learned through many years of being in Trent’s presence.

“Still don’t know what he is”, Eodwulf says. Caleb snorts and shakes his head.

“His people are called Firbolg”, he provides.

“Not sure that’s what I mean. Not anymore, at least.”

It seems dangerous to admit that. Caleb turns his head and looks at Eodwulf with a shimmer in his eyes that Eodwulf can’t read. Many years ago he was able to read Bren like an open book, but Caleb is another book entirely.

“You deserve to have some nice things, you know. You deserve friends. A chance of—hm. A chance of peace. A chance for redemption, if you want it.”

Eodwulf gets up and tugs away his flask.

“Pain doesn’t make people. It’s love that makes people. Pain is inconsequential, it’s love that saves them.”

Eodwulf understands the truth in these words now. Bren was broken, Caleb is being healed. Eodwulf doesn’t think that there’s anything left in him that can be saved. Or should be saved.

“Good luck on your journey tomorrow. Don’t die”, Eodwulf says and he leaves Caleb behind.

What are you, he thinks. A sentimental fool.

*

Astrid sits next to him on one of the balconies of her house and looks up at the stars above them. The Mighty Nein have been gone for six days and it has been very quiet.

They sit in silence and share a bottle of whiskey, passing it back and forth instead of words. It’s been like this for many many years that they’ve allowed themselves to just be. Today though, Astrid breaks the silence.

“I’m going to be the one who kills him.”

She says it quietly, without remorse, without indicating that this is a scandalous statement. She says it just how other people would say “I’ll go to bed soon.”.

Eodwulf stops breathing for just a moment. Then he inhales the cool night air and turns his head to look at her.

“Could kill you for treason”, he says. She looks at him and cocks her head slightly, the analyzing gaze of a murderous spy meets its equal in silence.

“I’d love to see you try”, she says. Eodwulf grins. It feels reckless.

“Don’t die”, he says, the same thing he’s said to Caleb before. Astrid regards him for a long moment and Eodwulf takes another sip. “Will you help me or try to stop me?”

Eodwulf considers this for a moment. Would he try to stop Astrid should she try to kill Trent? No. Would he help her? He doesn’t know that either.

“Can’t you just wait for Bren to do it for you?”

“I won’t lose to him again.”

Eodwulf snorts.

Always so competitive.

“That’s some fucked up shit, Astrid.”

“Shut up, Arschloch.”

Eodwulf grins before getting up to stretch. He puts his hands on the railing of Astrid’s balcony and wonders what Caleb’s new family is up to.

Making a new family never came to mind before. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale. While he contemplates the question whether he would help Astrid kill Trent Ikithon, a slow, familiar voice pops up in his head.

“Hey. Uh—Jester told me to send you an update. We’re still alive. Hope you’re good. Got  a new question for you. What will you become?”

The rustling of Astrid’s clothes as she stands up as well somehow tells him that she received a message in her head as well. She steps beside him and puts her hands on the railing next to his.

“They’re persistent”, she says quietly.

Eodwulf nods and inhales.

He doesn’t know what he will become. He didn’t even know that was a question to be asked. The path is clear. It always was.

Pain doesn’t make people.

“Not going to answer?”, she wants to know.

“Don’t have an answer yet.”

It’s unclear to him whether she means her own question or the message Caduceus just sent him.

He answers the sending spell with a simple “I don’t know.”. It takes a few minutes before another message comes in.

“That’s good. Uncertainty is good. It’s the first step in a better direction. I’m going to kill a dragon now. Wish me luck. Good night.”

“I’ll keep you posted on the answer to that question of yours. I’ll see you tomorrow”, he says and leaves Astrid behind on the balcony. Eodwulf thinks about something he hasn’t thought about in a very long time. A priestess in his Matron’s temple once told him: “Death is the only certainty in life.”.

He thinks that Caduceus would agree.

And Eodwulf hopes that the next time he sees that weird, reckless man, he’ll have an answer for him.

#cadwulf #blumengrove #caduceus clay #critfic #critical role #eodwulf #cr spoilers #fanfiction #caduceus #text #screeching into the void #this got a bit out of hand #but i just wanted to get some stuff out of my system

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter one

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!reader

Content warnings: violence, swearing

Word count: 4K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in the Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest… and your ex.

A/N: asdfghjkl hello there. so, this has been on my brain for a while now, so i started this as just a drabble. what i thought would stay as just a drabble turned into this 22k+ multi chapter fic because i have zero self restraint or self respect. i’m currently finishing chapter 5 as this is being posted, but i want to keep chapters posted around once every two weeks so i can keep up with the workload. maybe once a week if i start feeling spicy. yeah plot twist this is actually the second time i’ve drafted this up. the first time i managed to get everything done and in order and then manages to delete the entire post with my huge disgusting thumbs. Genuinely felt like crying for a good half an hour.

This is also my first Levi fic! yay! lmk if it sucks and idk i’ll cry or something. nah, in all seriousness please send me criticism cuz i really want to improve and critiques are the best way.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

“How down, Raven?”

“Six feet.”

Within the dank confines of a stinking alleyway, two green capes marked with the Military Police insignia crept ever closer to the taller, run-down building upon which you and your little squad of Shadows were now perched. No sunlight illuminated your position. Not that you’d ever seen the sun, or know what it even looked like, but you based your guesses upon the pathetic rays shining through the grates littering the ceiling of the Underground City.

The language you used with your Shadows, coded words translated to:

‘How do you want them to be dealt with?’

‘Death.’

It was something developed by your late guardian and mentor, Viper. See, you all had aliases in The Nest, your criminal organisation. The leader was often referred to as The Raven, however your mentor preferred to use his own nickname, stemming from his own reputation.

Then come the aliases for your Shadows. Prongs was your second, a tall, stern looking man with the black mask of a stag settled across his features.

Then came Wolf, and you swore the first time you’d set eyes on him, you thought a titan had wandered into the city. He was enormous, all 6ft 6ins of him carved in hard muscle. Slicked back silver hair and a beard that to rival a bear. Similar to Prongs, a mask sat upon his face, resembling that of a snarling wolf.

Following him was Verdant, Scales and Diablo. Your power trio. Though their special talents lay in different professions, get these three together and they were borderline unstoppable. A white mask decorated with three broad maple leaves obscured Verdant’s pretty features, Scales sported a bronze half mask etched with a snake-like diamond pattern, whilst Diablo, your trained escort, had opted for something that accentuated her own gorgeous features, a mask of black leather arcing high onto her brow on the left side, whilst the right arced low by her jaw. Though you were already spoken for, you couldn’t deny the beauty of Diablo. She did wonders when prying information between the legs of a moaning MP.

To your left crouched the twins, Una and Leaf. Una was gifted her name by none other than you yourself, after seeing her accuracy with a rifle. A single shot was all it took, from any distance. She wore no mask, something you’d allowed simply because she’d complained about the sight obstruction when lining up a shot. You’d agreed, but only under the condition that she wore a low hood. Her fiercely protective brother Leaf had chewed you out for that, but you knew he meant well. Leaf was good at what he did, excellent, in fact. Which was part of the reason you kept him on as a Shadow. The larger part was that you were damn fond of him. Of all of them, in fact. You loved every single one of your Shadows. Every single damned member of The Nest, you adored. You were their leader, afterall.

A masked helmet of black leather, similar material to Diablo’s, perched snug upon your own features. The hooked beak and obsidian feathers of a raven decorated the necessity, covering your face and hair, though leaving your lower features visible. It was a rite of passage, for you especially, and it signalled the start of your leadership.

“Una, set up. Verdant, Prongs, roundabout. Wolf…” your eyes slid to the giant man on your right, a dark smile slicing across your mouth. “Heel.”

The boulder of a man visibly sagged, clearly disappointed at your orders whilst the others sprang into action. Prongs and Verdant leapt across the rooftops in separate directions whilst Una removed her rifle from her back, parting her heavy cloak to reveal rounds and rounds of bullets strapped across her body. Leaf nestled closer into her side, whilst the other four took a step back. It was obvious you’d all been at this for a very long time, despite the twins not looking a day older than sixteen. In fact, most of your squad was younger than you, save for Wolf and Prongs, who had served their respective roles twice previously.

Sitting back on your heels, you watched your team get to work, the warmth of pride blossoming in your chest. Whilst you knew Prongs and Wolf were already incredibly skilled, the rest had flourished under your leadership. It had been ten years since you’d witnessed MPs put a bullet through your mentor’s skull. Ten long years since you’d taken up leadership and expanded the reaches of The Nest. Honestly, you were pretty proud of yourself, and none more so than when you watched your Shadows do what they do best.

Taking care of unwanted visitors.

Una took aim, resting the butt of her rifle in the crook of her shoulder, staring down the makeshift scope. She would be ready to take care of the two soldiers if either Prongs or Verdant failed to eliminate their targets.

Speaking of which…

That kernel of pride ignited as your (E/C) eyes followed Verdant’s careful, calculating form dropping from the rooftops above the alleyway, in sync with Prong’s own movements. The two assassins swooped with the grace of a stooping hawk, the silver glint of metal caught your eye as they both brandished their blades, before sinking the steel into the necks of the two soldiers. You didn’t need to be closer to see they were both dead. Expert precision. Deadly accuracy. That was why these people were your hand-picked Shadows. And why you were the most formidable gang leader in the Underground City. Your little criminal organisation had expanded into something to rival the killcount of Kenny the Ripper. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Una lowered her weapon, strapping it back in the buckles between her shoulder blades.

“Finished.” she simply stated, turning back to drop down between the shattered tiles and splintered ceiling beams that marked your entrance and exit to this lookout point.

“Rendezvous back at The Nest,” you ordered flatly, before dropping forward and into the alleyway below.

“Anything?” you ask, a brow raised behind your raven mask as you saunter over. Prongs held up two sets of blades from one of the crimson bodies now gathering dirt and grime. Useless to you as they were, but somebody would definitely find an interest in them. Verdant seemed to be struggling with the straps of whatever gear these mosquitoes used to fly around. You’d never been able to figure out how to use it, but that shit made good money when in doubt. However, your usual buyers had disappeared off the face of the city, and you’d noticed a decline in gear sales since then. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head to Verdant, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it. The thug trio haven’t been back in years. I doubt they’d return to us now,” you explain softly, prompting the girl to stop her struggles and huff defeatedly. You’re heart ached softly at the thought of him, but you pushed the feeling down.

“Here,” she muttered, handing you another rifle. It seemed to be a newer model, something of an upgrade for Una.

“You did good, Ver. I’m proud of you,” that seemed to immediately lighten the girl’s mood, her eyes shining behind her mask as her mouth widened into a toothy grin.

“Thanks Raven!” she beamed, before scampering off back to The Nest, almost forgetting to take the gun back from your outstretched hand in her haste to make it back and tell everyone she’d received a compliment from you. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence. Rather it only happened once in a blue moon…

A huffed chuckle had your head turning and eyes narrowing to your second in command.

“Can I help you?” you ask, your tone dripping with the poisonous threat of hell if he chose his next words poorly. But Prongs continued to smile ever so slightly, shaking his head.

“Not at all, Raven. It’s just, in the last few years, since you drafted her into the Shadows, she’s really come into her own,” Prongs explained simply, shrugging as she stooped to kick over the now drained corpse, hoping to find anything useful. You bristle ever so slightly. That was something you hated. Compliments. How the fuck were you supposed to respond? You tried to think back to when Viper tried to teach you simple social skills.

“Uh, yeah. She has,” you respond, keeping your features as neutral as you could as you turned away, beginning to trudge back to The Nest.

“I’m serious, Rave. You’ve done incredible things for us. You know Viper would be proud of you. I am too. But…” Prongs trailed off, clearing having something to say but not knowing how to say it.

“Go on. But what?” you pressed, wanting to hear what your second in command had to say.

“Well, don’t you think it’s a bit much? Rave, it’s been years. Eyes have started looking in our direction since those three vanished. You don’t think we should be lying low for a bit? Calming suspicions instead of rousing them?” Prongs offered gently. You knew, deep down, he was right. But some notable gang disappearing hasn’t stopped you before, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop you now.

“I’ll talk to Scar about it,” even just the mention of your advisor, and wife’s name gave your stomach butterflies. Scarlett Obsidine, your other, and better, half. After the disappearance of a certain dark haired man, Scar was the woman who comforted you, and though you missed him dearly, your heart managed to haphazardly piece itself back together and love all over again.

“Rave, listen—“

“Let’s go,” Prongs closed his mouth, the tone of your voice stating clearly that this matter wasn’t up for discussion. Especially not with him.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“You know he’s right,” you couldn’t help but sigh when your wife’s soft tones calmed your irritated mood. Soft hands gently kneaded at the tense muscles in your shoulders, forcing them to relax as a tired moan escaped your lips. Leaning back, you peer into her shining sapphire eyes, locks of brunette framing your face as she took the sides of your cheeks in her hands and leaned down, softly pecking your lips with her own. You couldn’t help humming a smile against her mouth, reaching up to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.

“Scaaaaar…” you pout, looking up at her mischievous smirk as she winked playfully.

“(Y/N)...” Scarlett sighed, swinging her legs over your body to sink into your lap, one thumb now caressing one of the most prominent features on your face. A nasty, jagged scar ran down from the the top of your forehead, over your right eye and finishing just past your jaw bone. One (E/C) iris lighter than the other as a result of the old wound. Soft lips chase away the shadows of your past as Scarlett replaced her thumb with her mouth.

“(Y/N), I don’t want to find you dead in some alleyway because you picked a fight you couldn’t win,” a finger poked your chest as she huffed above you, feigning irritation. You roll your eyes, (E/C) landing on your gear now strung across the table. That raven helmet almost calling to you as you shook your head. Disagreeing with your wife was never a good idea, but you were feeling particularly bold this evening.

“Look. So many jobs have opened up recently. We have so many opportunities to make this life more comfortable. More jobs means more money, more money means we can afford the gate toll and actually see the world above ground. And I can finally buy you an actual ring.”. Technically, you two weren’t married. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to perform marriage ceremonies in the underground City? But, it was easier than saying you were devoted to each other in every single way.

Lightly smacking your chest, Scarlett raised herself from your lap with a hefty sigh. “One of these days (Y/N), you’re going to be captured or killed,” she said quietly, unable to meet your eyes. “And then what the hell will I do…?” Scarlett had now completely turned away from you, shoulders hunched. Running a hand down your face, you pick your sore body up from the chair, reaching her in a matter of strides.

“I can’t give this up, Scar. You know that. You knew that when you chose to be with me. You knew The Nest was always going to be my priority,” you held out your arm, hand hovering over her back, not sure whether to comfort her or let her go. The admission almost had her in tears, you could tell by the way her shoulders shook ever so gently.

“You still miss him don’t you?” It was her vulnerable, defeated tone that alerted you to the slight change of topic.

You fell silent, not really knowing how to respond. Yes, of course you missed him. You loved him more than anything. But those days are over, you knew that. You’d cried enough those following nights after his disappearance.

He was probably dead anyway.

“Of course I do,” you wouldn’t lie to her. That wasn’t fair. But you knew the truth was just as painful for her.

“Will I ever be enough? Will I ever be enough to replace him?” the sound of her voice had your heart in pieces. You loved Scarlett. You really did. But your heart wouldn’t let you love her wholly. Part of yourself will always be dedicated to that grumpy kid you’d fallen for all those years ago.

“Scar… I—”

“I know,” she whispered, stepping forward away from your outstretched grasp. “I know,” you watched as the woman you loved, and who loved you, stepped from your shared quarters, hovering in the doorway. “I’m sorry I asked,” she closed the door as she left, leaving you a frustrated, conflicted mess.

⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈⎈

“Understood, I’ll bring them in right away. Thank you Niles,” The Commander of the MPs stood opposite Erwin, arms folded. An expression of irritation plastered on his sunken features. Erwin simply sighed, realising Niles was wanting to stay for this seemingly impromptu meeting. With a nod of his head, a cadet rushed off to find the two soldiers mentioned in their little conversation. Being Commander of the Scouts often had its perks, like having cadets around to run errands for him.

Niles cleared his throat, taking a seat on the green leather sofa within Erwin’s office. “You sure he’d help us? I mean, it wasn’t too long ago he actually decided killing you was probably a bad idea.”—he raised a thin brow, peering at Erwin with barely concealed suspicion—“I’m pretty sure the Underground City would be the last place he’d want to return.” a knock at the door cut their conversation short, both turning their heads as Erwin called;

“Enter.”

Hange was the first to make her presence known, poking her head in as she opened the door. A smile adorned the slightly dishevelled section commander, her hair sticking up in all directions. Clearly she had been in the middle of something when Erwin requested her presence.

“You asked to see us, Erwin?” her eyes sparkling with curiosity behind her glasses as she stepped through the door.

“Tch, just make it quick, I have shit to do,” the monotone voice of Levi behind her made Erwin pinch the bridge of his nose. How many times has he told him not to talk to him like that?

“Yes, come in and make yourselves comfortable.” Hange immediately took up a seat next to Niles on the sofa, Levi preferring to stand against the now closed door, arms folded. Erwin’s sharp eyes shifted to Niles, an indication for the MP Commander to speak.

“Well, no point in beating around the bush. We’ve received an anonymous tip about some criminal gang that’s been plaguing my soldiers in the Underground City.” Levi visibly stiffened at the mention of his old home. His jaw tensed in anticipation. There would be only one reason he would be called into such a discussion, and the answer was a firm no.

Without his permission, his mind flashed back to a (H/C) girl, her face etched with that ever mischievous smirk. He quelled the thoughts as quickly as he could. He needed his wits with him, and allowing his mind to wander back to what he’d left behind wouldn’t help anything. Besides, the likelihood of you being alive was close to none.

“Section Commander, I don’t suppose you would have heard of the group but Captain Levi here surely would have done. The Nest.” Niles continued, now eyeing Levi to gage his reaction. And for a man whose emotions were usually on a tight leash, this seemed to be what cracked his impenetrable walls. His eyes flew wide open, frantically searching between Niles and Erwin. They couldn’t be serious. The Nest? That was where Farlan and Isobel used to—

Shit, he really needed to keep his thoughts at bay. But what he did know was that The Nest was an impenetrable fortress of criminal activity. Trying to mess with them was suicide.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to assume you are familiar with them, Levi,” Erwin’s surprisingly calm tone eased the growing tension in the room. Taking a subtle breath to calm himself, Levi’s eyes narrowed to his commander.

“Yeah. I know of it. Why?” it was a rhetorical question, he already knew why, but he wanted to hear it from Erwin himself. Hange looked incredibly confused, looking between the men in the office, trying to glean something, anything, about what the hell was going on.

“The Nest? Why are they so bad?” she asked, not afraid to show how completely oblivious she is to anything that doesn’t concern titans or science. Erwin gestured to Levi.

“Levi? Care to explain? You probably know more than myself and Niles combined,” though his voice seemed kind, there was a slight edge to his deep tones. One that didn’t go unnoticed by Levi.

A heavy silence filled the room as the Captain wracked his brain for all the information he could think of regarding the organisation. It seemed like hours before he finally spoke.

“Well, you got one thing right. The Nest is a criminal organisation. A nasty one at that. Merciless bastards. Whether you’re a soldier or a citizen, they don’t give a shit. They’ll leave you a broken, bloodied mess in the street. I don’t know much about their leader. Only that he took over from the previous one around ten-ish years ago. Since then, they’ve expanded their shitty little gang and taken over an entire section of the city,” he explained, poison lacing his tone. It wasn’t that he was above the whole gang thing, oh no. It was more the state Farlan would be in before he left to meet whoever the fuck led that group of demons. He’d never seen his friend so anxious. So afraid.

“You never met him? Their leader?” Erwin inquired, lacing his hands together on the desk in front of him. Levi scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“If I had, I would tell you. But I know he’s smart. And not the good kind of smart. The kind of smart where he would always be ten steps ahead of you. He has a small group of trusted criminals surrounding him at all times, called his Shadows. They’ll be the ones to look out for,” Despite his voice sounding bored, Levi’s heart was racing. They couldn’t seriously be thinking of facing The Nest, could they? But something in the expressions of both Niles and Erwin told him he was wrong. Dead wrong.

“They’ve been picking off my soldiers. Always in the same places as well. I was going to leave it, just tell them to avoid certain areas until this tip. Their next job. We know what it is,” Niles interjected, looking down to the floor, his own mind a whirlwind.

“And you want to intercept them. The same way you did with me, right?” Levi finished through gritted teeth. This was absurd. There was no way they could pick them all off. Unless… that wasn’t the goal. Levi’s grey eyes widened slightly, realising what they wanted to do. Yep, this was total suicide. Hange clapped her hands together almost excitedly, as if she was also able to read Erwin’s mind.

“You want to capture him! The leader! Ah! This all makes so much sense now, I was starting to wonder why I was here,” the scientist mused almost to herself, before jumping to her feet. “This is the perfect opportunity to test some of the concept traps I have in mind. Obviously for titans they’d need to be much, MUCH bigger. And of course a few modifications would have to be made so they could adapt to size and body type but oooooooh this is so exciting! I’ll start right away!'' Without allowing anybody to get a word in edgeways, Hange dashed back to her lab to begin her preparations.

“Thank you Erwin, the Military Police will remember this,” Niles said, before he too was rising from his seat. Throwing Levi an unsure glance, he made his way towards the door, only to be shoved into the hallway by Levi, who promptly closed the door behind him.

“Don’t.” he simply said, turning back to Erwin who was peering at him, his expression puzzled. Levi rolled his eyes again, clearly having to clarify what he meant. “Don’t pursue them. It’s suicide,” The Commander’s expression relaxed slightly in understanding.

“We don’t have a choice, Levi. Not only are hundreds of MPs being slaughtered down there, but relationships between the Scouts and the MPs are strenuous at best. It would be in our best interests to—“

“Bullshit.”

Erwin sighed again, having to hold his tongue. Snapping at Levi now for his language would only rile up the man more.

“Levi, we already have a plan in motion. There are soldiers down there now meeting whoever gave us that anonymous tip to further discuss the job The Nest has taken. It’ll be fine, but you’re going to have to trust me.” Erwin’s eyes bore into Levi’s own, the man once again asking his Captain to trust him in a risky call he’s made. Levi’s done it so many times before, why was it so difficult now?

It took yet another pregnant silence before Levi eventually yielded.

“Fine, but don’t be surprised when we’re once again forced to retreat with our tails between our legs.” it was a savage comment, but one that Erwin didn’t take to heart as he watched the raven haired man leave. Yes, this was a risk, but all his risks so far had worked out fairly well. There was no reason why this one would fail. No reason at all.

Levi leant against the door to Erwin’s office, looking down the hallway before letting loose a long breath. Not only would he have to go toe to toe with The Raven, but he also had to face so much of his past he’d wanted to forget. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Why did Erwin always have to gamble? It was exhausting for everyone else involved.

Folding his arms, the shorter man strode back to his own office, lost in thought the entire way. Would he see you again? Were you even alive? Did you know just how much he had missed you. Just how much he’d wanted to see you again. To hold you again.

Did you know he’d looked for you? How his heart shattered over and over again each time he found no trace of you. He’d never accepted you were gone. Always holding onto that thorn of hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d survived.

Collapsing in his chair behind his desk, Levi unlocked the bottom draw and gently pulled it out. He delicately picked out a small, ebony bird feather you’d crafted into a quill pen. Even though neither of you knew how to write, you knew back then how much he had wanted to learn despite never voicing it directly. All those nights spent copying out basic letters from discarded newspapers and wanted posters. You always had this way of reading his mind.

The smallest fond smile crept across his usually bored face. God he missed you. It had been years and he still missed you like he only lost you yesterday.

#levi attack on titan #captain levi #snk levi #levi x reader #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you #levi x you #levi x y/n #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you

[nobodyfamousposts]

Miracle Queen Aftermath

Because there is a disappointing lack of focus or depth for the aftermath of Miracle Queen in canon, I have made my own.

Be warned of: Chloe salt. A lot of it. Chloe faces consequences for things.

Some Bustier salt. Some Adrien being called out on things (but he gets better).

Enjoy!

In the weeks following the Miracle Queen incident, a lot had happened.

Hawk Moth had increased his power, and was now able to summon akumas and amoks at the same time.

Master Fu was gone and now Ladybug found herself the official Guardian of the Miraculous—along with the Miracle Box, kwamis, and duties that entails.

Marinette had resolved to let go of her crush on Adrien, and to support him and Kagami in their new relationship together.

And Chloe had been arrested and would now be going on trial for assisting a terrorist.

It was that last bit of news that had caused the most commotion in Paris and the world at large. What people would have dismissed as simply another akuma attack turned into a much greater matter when accusations started to be made about Chloe helping the super villain intentionally. This was soon backed by multiple eyewitness accounts and further proven by leaked video evidence showing Chloe not only attempting to grab a butterfly for herself after she was de-akumatized but even negotiating with the terrorist before the incident in which she betrayed the heroes of Paris and revealed the identities of most of the team.

To say that the people of Paris were outraged was putting it mildly. People were akumatized over it. Chloe was in a secured facility where she had armed guards around to watch her just as much as they were there to protect her. New legislation was being considered to specifically address willingly aiding supervillains. The backlash was so severe that many were calling the mayor’s own position into question.

After all, if his daughter could do all of that, who was to say that he wasn’t also in Hawk Moth’s pocket?

For Mayor Andre, his hands were tied. While he had covered for his daughter and her selfishness in the past, this was one thing he couldn’t overlook. Not when it brought his position as mayor under scrutiny. And certainly not when it opened a probe into his own dealings.

None of this was helped either by the multitude of witnesses of Chloe‘s past behavior. In particular, her many victims over the years.

And there were a lot.

Now that Chloe was actually being held accountable for something, it seemed to have opened a floodgate of outcries as the many people she tormented finally felt able to air their grievances. They came out on TV, on social media, on radio. Stories littered the air and internet of the horrors of dealing with this single teenage girl.

“She tried to cheat during this designing competition. She apparently stole some other girl’s hat design and tried to pass it off as her own.”

“She was the reason the mayor tried to shut down my ice skating rink! To build another gym! Paris has enough gyms! Why couldn’t she just go to one of those?”

“She had her dad shut down Clara Nightingale’s music video and got her akumatized just because she didn’t get to play Ladybug. We waited in that line for HOURS and didn’t get chosen either, but no one else threw a fit over it.”

“She shoved a giant signed poster of Adrien Agreste professing his love to her in my friend’s face just to make her cry! I found out after the fact that he didn’t even know about it!”

“Our entire school was punished for someone pulling the fire alarm except for her because she threatened our principal. So while the rest of us were having to clean up the school, she spent the entire time insulting and making fun of us.“

“Knowing her, she probably pulled the fire alarm in the first place.”

“She tried to crash a train! I don’t think I can emphasize that enough: she tried to crash a train!“

“Chloe Bourgeois joined up with Hawk Moth? Can’t say it’s a shock.”

“Yeah, given how many akumas she caused, I’d been wondering if she hadn’t been working with him all along.”

It wasn’t that unbelievable to the populous. Nor did anyone feel particularly sympathetic towards her for her current situation. Some might have for lack of knowing her, but Chloe had carved herself a special place in the memories and hearts of nearly every Parisian. There was nobody who didn’t know of her or have some experience with her by this point. So when it came out that she was arrested and facing criminal charges, the response was…rather telling.

Practically everyone was calling loved ones as soon as they heard, resulting in high phone and internet traffic. The Ladyblog crashed after making the announcement. Several people threw parties. People over the internet started coming up with a list of “Things We Will Be Allowed To Do Once Chloe Is In Prison”, with a count that currently rested at 139 and was rising quickly. One guy bought 500 cupcakes and just started passing them out to people on the street singing a jaunty little tune from some late 1930’s cult classic American movie. The school had closed down for a couple of days due to several teachers calling out sick—possibly with hangovers from celebrating a bit too hard. Various Queen-related hashtags and memes were trending with each seeming to fight for the top spot of most used. #let her eat cake was currently in the lead. And Mr. Ramier somehow orchestrated a 21 pigeon salute. On Chloe’s rooftop.

As it was, nobody expressed surprise when it came out that she worked with a supervillain. Many were disappointed, shaking their heads and saying “if only something had been done sooner” or blaming the parents and teachers and other adults in her life. Most were angry, mainly that things had been allowed to get this far and that they hadn’t been acted on earlier—particularly after the train incident.

But no. Nobody was surprised.

Except, perhaps, Marinette herself.

Still reeling from the events of Miracle Queen and the aftermath of…well…everything involved, Marinette had been questioning herself. Constantly. Incessantly. Going over and over in her mind all the things she could have done differently. Blaming herself for all the major blows to their team.

She lost her mentor. Her allies have been compromised. Chloe, one of her former allies, chose to betray them all. Hawk Moth had the grimoire now. Marinette didn’t have a grimoire. Fu had no memories.

And it was all because of her mistakes.

Last time, the prospect of never having to deal with Chloe again had been a relief.

Now…it was background static to her.

She could barely hear the announcements and cheers over the endless cycle of her own thoughts.

I should have tried harder. I should have been more aware. I failed them all. This is because of me.

So while everyone else in Paris was celebrating, de-stressing, or just outright reveling in the news, Marinette was grieving. With the help of the kwamis and Chat Noir, she had been trying to come to terms with what happened and figure out the next plan of action.

Hawk Moth had changed the game, so she needed to step up hers.

The days seemed to have passed in a blur. Between working with the kwamis, trying to recreate and retranslate the grimoire, and simply trying to deal with the remnants of Fu’s life that he had left to her, Marinette had barely even kept up with the current state of things in Paris. Or in particular, Chloe.

Not until the day came when Bustier made an announcement.

Chloe‘s trial date was finally decided. And though she didn’t say as such, it was clear that the case against her was pretty solid. There was video evidence. Eye witness accounts. And Chloe’s own words and actions working against her.

The odds were not in her favor on this. Even if her parents did try to help her, she wasn’t going to get off this time. Aside from getting the best lawyers money by, there really wasn’t much they could do.

Maybe that was why Bustier had tried to step in?

“Now class, I have received word that they are moving to the next step with Chloe’s hearing. Right now, they are looking for character witnesses for Chloe’s defense.” The kind teacher explained, causing Marinette to snap to awareness and realize just what was going on. Partly because of the mention of Chloe and her court case.

But mostly because of the sudden dead silence in the class…

To be fair, she wasn’t sure she could say anything either. Marinette felt her throat go dry and her muscles tense. There was a sudden tightness in her lungs that while she could breathe, it felt like she was suffocating. Why was Bustier bringing this up now?

The teacher smiled, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension and Marinette’s slow drowning. “I know this has been a difficult experience knowing that one of your classmates is facing such a trial. And Chloe will certainly need support. So I thought it would be kind if everyone wrote a letter supporting her for the hearing coming up, so the courts can hear about Chloe and understand more about who she is.”

Silence. Dead silence.

Maybe Bustier herself picked up on the growing tension, as she proceeded to move to passing out papers to the class. “I thought it would make for a nice project, so I will give you all the forms explaining the requirements. Take some time to think over what positive things you want to say about Chloe. If you have any questions, please feel free to come talk to me.”

After that, she quickly left the room, citing the desire to let them have this free time to work on the letters.

The class remained silent for a good minute after she left. Almost as if they were questioning if she would return. Or perhaps if she was listening.

Then—

“‘Think about what positive things we want to say about Chloe?’ Well that’s easy!” Alix spoke blithely, curling the paper she received into a ball. “Nothing!” She shouted and tossed it over her shoulder. “Assignment done!”

Murmurs filled the classroom. Some sounded uncertain, but most seemed to be in agreement. Or at least expressing distaste for the assignment.

“Is she serious?”

“Does she really expect us to?”

“Of all the worst ideas...”

Marinette could hear them, but couldn’t seem to acknowledge anything around her. And furthermore, she couldn’t make herself respond.

Chloe‘s trial was set for a point in the next few weeks, and at this point there was no denying just what type of person she was. If anything, this was probably the first time that anyone was allowed to actually speak their mind about the girl, and they were all reveling in it. Her classmates in particular.

Marinette couldn’t quite bring herself to.

Sure, Chloe has tried to blackmail her more than once.

And damaged her gift to their teacher.

And attempted to frame her a few times.

And stolen her hat design.

And her diary.

And a Miraculous.

And all of the other Miraculous.

But...she had been doing better for a while there, hadn’t she?

Didn’t she only betray them all in the end because Marinette had chosen Kagami over her for her own selfish reasons? Didn’t Hawk Moth only capture Fu because of her own mistake? Hadn’t Chloe only revealed everyone else because she felt betrayed? Couldn’t Marinette have done more to prevent Chloe turning?

Wasn’t a simple letter on Chloe’s virtues the least she could do?

So why...

Why couldn’t she seem to bring herself to?

Kim frowned, looking at his paper in worry. “We’re not going to get graded on this, are we?”

Nathaniel huffed. “I’ll willingly take the failing grade any day.”

“Hear hear!”

“But if it’s a grade…” Max murmured to himself. Out of everyone in the class, he took his grades the most seriously, so this was no doubt a difficult choice for him. He looked at his paper with a rather conflicted expression for a minute before sighing and turning it face-down on the desk. “No. It’s an impossible task in the first place.”

Kim rested a hand on Max’s shoulder in sympathy. It wasn’t that he cared as much about grades as Max did, but it was clear that the fallout of refusing could be more troubling for the genius who took his academic performance so seriously. If Bustier did make it a mandatory assignment with a grade, it’d be horribly unfair of her.

“What was it Chloe said before?” Ivan asked, looking over his page with a glare. “Once a monster, always a monster? I guess she’d know more than anyone.”

Mylene hugged him. “You’re not a monster. You never chose to be.”

“None of us did.” Nino agreed.

“Nobody did except her.” Alix bit out.

Mumbles of agreement came from the rest of the class. It was clear that none of them were on board with having anything to do with Chloe, much less try to help her with her current legal woes.

There was a large part of Marinette that agreed with them. But even so, there was also a large part of her that insisted she had to do the right thing and help.

She knew she should say something. She was supposed to say something here. Because it was her fault, after all. She was Ladybug. She had to be the better person. Shouldn’t she?

“Marinette? Girl, are you okay?” Alya asked, drawing her attention. “You look a bit pale.”

It was too much. It was suffocating.

“I think I need some air. Excuse me.”

She didn’t know if anyone watched her leave the classroom. She hadn’t even noticed if anyone had chosen to follow her.

Not until…

“Marinette, are you all right?”

She spun around in surprise.

“Oh! Adrien! Hey! Hi! Hello!” She blabbered. Why was he here? Did he come out after her? Why? She didn’t need this right now! She struggled enough with him under normal circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with him now. Her stress over everything was bad enough, but having him approach her set her anxiety skyrocketing.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at her—and oh, what a beautiful smile. On any other day, it would ease her worries and make her want to swoon, but right now, it just made her more nervous.

“Are you all right?” He asked again. “You didn’t look so well in class.”

“Y-yeah. Just…” she sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind. With…you know…everything.”

He nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean.”

She smiled. She could always count on Adrien to be a calming supportive friend. He was always so sweet and reliable. If anyone could understand or relate to the chaotic mix of emotions she was feeling, he could.

He sighed in sympathy. “Poor Chloe.”

She froze.

“Chloe?”

“Well, yeah.” He replied, like it was obvious. “I mean, she did a bad thing, but now she’s going through the worst experience of her life. One that could ruin her future. And people are glad about it!” He shook his head. “It’s just too cruel.”

Marinette just stared.

He wasn’t wrong. But…that was what he was worried about?

She couldn’t fault him of course, because Adrien was always so kind and considerate and of course he’d feel for Chloe but…something about this just…pulled at something inside of her and was choking it.

“Chloe is already suffering enough and it feels like no one wants to help her. You heard them.” He gestured back to the classroom. “We’re being given an opportunity to make a difference for her and they’re all just saying she deserves it. Chloe is alone and hurting and they want her to hurt more.”

She felt a denial on her lips but couldn’t give voice to it.

“Everyone is so great with each other. It’s always just Chloe who is kind of on the outside. I know you’ve seen it.”

She hadn’t, actually. Because it was never Chloe on the outside looking in, it was Chloe looking down on them. Whether it was because she genuinely thought she was better or because it made her feel better to do so.

He hesitated for a moment before looking at her. And there was something in his expression that told her he was about to ask something. A gut feeling told her that it was going to be something she wouldn’t like.

“Do you think you could talk to them?” He asked her, looking so sad and despondent that she just wanted to hug him and agree to anything to make that look go away.

“M-me?”

He wanted her to convince her classmates to help Chloe?

“I know you and Chloe have had your differences, but you’ve been able to see past her front. And you’ve done a lot to help her before.” He smiled. “Like the party you threw for her after she became Queen Bee.”

A traitorous voice asked if giving her a second chance with the Miraculous she had previously stolen wasn’t enough? Why did she have to feel bad for her leaving and throw her a party to make her feel special?

“Chloe really needs the help right now. And you’re always so good about that sort of thing.” He looked to her imploringly. “Do you think you could try to get them to at least give Chloe a hand? I don’t know what impact it’ll have in her hearing, but any little bit helps, right?”

Go back in there? With the tension and the suffocation to try and convince her classmates to help when she was questioning whether to herself?

But she had to, right? After all, couldn’t she have prevented this if she had acted sooner? Couldn’t she have helped sooner instead of being focused on her own petty problems? Isn’t that what Ladybug should do?

“Please, Marinette? They listen to you. If you asked them to, I’m sure they’d be willing to at least try.”

Her vision started to dim, seeming to tunnel in on Adrien and his sad and hopeful expression. Her thoughts crying about CHLOE and poor CHLOE and how hurt CHLOE was and how it was her fault for CHLOE—

“I—”

“Oh no! No, you do NOT.”

Marinette suddenly found herself torn away from Adrien by a sudden grab of her arm and pulling sensation. She felt as if she was pushed out of the way by a fierce gale. Like a raging whirlwind had spun her around and behind it.

That whirlwind’s name was Alya.

“How dare you? How dare you try to make my girl be responsible for this!”

Marinette floundered because she had not expected this and oh no now her best friend looked ready to tear her crush’s head off!

“Alya, we don’t have to do this!” She pleaded, trying to calm the other girl down.

“Oh, we most certainly do.” Came another voice. And sure enough, the rest of the class had stepped out as well. All of them looked in varying ranges of frustrated and that frustration was clearly directed at her and Adrien.

Or rather just Adrien, as Marinette discovered when Rose and Juleka pulled her aside and out of their direct line of sight. They were all looking at Adrien, and those were not nice or understanding expressions.

Oh no! This was a disaster! Now everyone was upset and she should have just agreed or said something sooner!

Completely unaware of Marinette’s inner turmoil, Alya stepped forward and jabbed at Adrien in the chest. “You are not going to make my girl feel bad and try to help someone who has never done a single nice thing for her or anyone.” She spat out, forcing him to back away.

Adrien held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Come on, Chloe is not that bad.“

“Not that bad?” Nino exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s words. “Adrien, Chloe betrayed us!“

“She took over Paris!”

“She turned us into her servants!“

“Not to mention the other things…”

“Do we really have to name each time?” Alya started to count on her fingers. “Chloe CHOSE to take the Miraculous for herself instead of returning it. She CHOSE to transform in front of everyone and reveal her identity to the world. She CHOSE to try and crash a train, risking the lives of EVERYONE on board just to show off. She CHOSE to run off with it when Ladybug tried to take it back.”

“She also chose to continue being horrible to everyone even after Ladybug gave her a second chance.” Nathaniel added, bitterly. “She didn’t get better after becoming Queen Bee. It just became another thing for her to lord over people.”

Alya nodded. “And when Ladybug made it clear to her that she wasn’t going to be Queen Bee again, she felt ENTITLED to something that was never hers in the first place. And because of that, she made the active, knowing, and willful choice to work with Hawk Moth.”

“And out all of us while she was at it.” Kim added. “Turning us into her personal ‘guard’. Making us fight our heroes against our will.” He shuddered. “I don’t know if you were hit by those things, Adrien, but it was NOT a pleasant experience having your body turned into a puppet.”

Adrien wanted to argue that he understood full well, but that was only as Chat. He couldn’t say that here.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Alya continued. “So no, we are not going to forgive Chloe. We are not going to try and ‘get along’ with her because her own poor choices have led her to have a ‘rough time’.”

Adrien grew nervous at the way the others drew closer to Alya as she spoke, clearly backing her statements as she continued.

“We are not going to defend her or speak up on her behalf to the entirety of Paris she ALSO betrayed. Whatever consequences Chloe has to face—quite possibly the first ones she will EVER have faced in her LIFE—are nothing less than what she deserves.”

“Yeah!” Came the exclamations from the rest of the crowd.

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Adrien argued.

“Not know what she was doing?! Adrien, she willingly accepted an akuma! She used it to take control of us and revealed us to Hawk Moth!” Alya exclaimed. “That’s just—how can you even justify that?”

With as angry as Alya was, any lesser or wiser man would have backed off.

Adrien…well, she certainly would never call him unwise, so it had to be because he was more strong-willed than that to be willing to stand his ground here.

“Hawk Moth was the one who manipulated Chloe!” He insisted. “And he’s the one who got away scott free and left Chloe to take the fall.”

“And whose fault was that?” Alya countered. “Chloe HELPED him. He only got as far as he did because of her and he only got away because she helped him!”

“Don’t you think this is cruel?” He argued back. “Yes, Chloe was wrong, but she was already called out for what she did by Ladybug and Chat Noir. The entire city hates her. Isn’t that enough?”

“NO!” Alya shouted. “No, it isn’t! Because Chloe has always gotten away with her antics in the past but you’re actually trying to get us to let Chloe off for a legitimate crime here! If Chloe is going to prison, it’s only because she deserves it!”

Around them, several of the others in the class nodded in agreement.

“How can you say that?” Adrien demanded. “Chloe made a mistake and she’s suffering for it! All this time, she’s felt left out and cut off and this only further emphasizes that for her! She’s been alone all this time and now she’s alone and miserable!”

“Then why should that be OUR problem?” Alya questioned, raising her hands in exasperation. “Why are you trying to MAKE it our problem?!”

Adrien drew back, looking genuinely hurt.

"But treating someone badly never made them become a good person."

"Yeah, because letting Chloe have her way all this time has totally made strides in her path to becoming a good person." Alix called out sarcastically.

"If anything, it's made her worse." Max added. "She's gone from simply causing akumas to intentionally becoming one."

“But—”

Alya cut him off. “But nothing, Adrien! You have to have some gall to be trying to get us to make nice with Chloe after she betrayed us all! And here I thought your little lecture to Marinette to make her feel bad for being relieved that Chloe was leaving Paris was pretty hard to beat.”

Nino blanched at that. “You did what?” He turned on Adrien. “Dude! You know that happened after Chloe tried to crash that train!”

“She was just trying to prove herself.” Adrien weakly argued.

“PEOPLE were on there!” Nino bit out. “They could have DIED because Chloe was showing off! And you got on to MARINETTE? Where was this attitude with Chloe?”

“I’ve called her out!”

“Yeah, one time.” Alya groused. “AFTER the rest of us had spent the better part of the day cleaning up after HER mess. Which she never apologized for or admitted to doing, by the way.”

“And in response, she threw a party.” Juleka muttered.

“It was a nice party, sure.” Rose added quickly.

Alya though shook her head. “But being a good hostess is nowhere near the same thing as being a good person. And before the night was over, you rolled over for her and she went RIGHT back to acting as she always had.”

“She made Mylene cry.” Ivan glared. “She made Mylene cry and you just laughed.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You said it yourself: ‘she’ll never change’. Except you said that like it was a good thing.”

Marinette looked back and forth between the two, everything inside her screaming at her to help. But she was completely lost on which one she was supposed to help. Because Adrien had a point about what Chloe’s going through but Alya was right about what Chloe did and she needed to do the “right thing” and help Chloe but why did everything Alya say resonate so strongly with her and bring such a feeling of vindication—

No. She was getting distracted. She needed to help. And right now, it was Adrien against the rest of the class.

But Alya was worked up. And Adrien was looking past her to Marinette, eyes begging for help and still so hopeful that she would step in. And Chloe was still in prison and Marinette could fix everything if she just tried so why can’t she try?

“Alya,” Marinette tried. “You told me to give Chloe a chance before after the fire alarm incident, remember? You said we were a lot alike.”

“That was to get you to go to a party!” Alya shouted, making Marinette step back in surprise. “I never meant it like this!”

She stepped forward and took Marinette by the shoulders, holding her sternly.

“Marinette, you are nothing like Chloe! Not where it counts! Yeah, you both can be short sighted when it comes to trying for what you want, but you at least notice and CARE how other people feel! And when you make a mistake, you at least TRY to make it right!”

She shook her head.

“Chloe…doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t try to.” Alix cut in. “If Chloe was feeling sad and lonely, that was pretty much her own fault.”

Adrien looked like he wanted to argue, but Alix didn’t even give him a chance.

“It wasn’t like we left her out. We went well out of our way to try and befriend her. We invited her to things. We tried to help her. Hell, you said it yourself—Marinette has tried to help her more than anybody! And each and every time, Chloe only took what we offered like it was something we owed her but that she was also too good for. I mean, I certainly can’t recall a time she ever thanked me. Can you?” She asked, turning to the other classmates.

All around them, there were murmurs of agreement. Maybe a couple hesitated as they tried to recall a time—one single moment of kindness on Chloe’s part only to come up empty.

“Chloe’s had a hard time.” Adrien insisted. “You know how her parents are—”

“Oh yes, her ‘Daddy the Mayor’.” Alix rolled her eyes. “Like we don’t hear enough about him every time it comes to something Chloe wants. She only threatens us or anyone with him every other day.”

Adrien shook his head and tried to explain. “It’s only because her parents aren’t there for her emotionally.”

“Again, not seeing how this is our problem? Or justification for anything she’s done to us? Or how this excuses her willingly helping a supervillain?”

“Because we’re her classmates!” He argued back, gesturing to all of them. “Out of everyone, we’ve all had the most interactions with her.”

“All of which were negative.” Came a cutting remark, followed by grumbling.

“There were good times, too!” Adrien insisted with a frown. His eyes spanned over the assembled classmates before they came to rest on one in particular. “Kim, you have to have seen Chloe’s good side. You liked her before.”

“Before.” Kim replied, emphasizing the word and the timeframe it referred to. “But being humiliated and her sending out that pic to everyone in school kind of crushed that crush.”

“How did she even have our numbers?” Ivan asked.

“But there had to be something that made you like her in the first place.” Adrien encouraged.

The taller boy shrugged, uncertain and uncaring. “Maybe so, but was it something that was really there? Or something I just wanted to see? Because I’m looking back and quite frankly, I don’t know what past me was thinking.”

“Wow, that’s deep, man.” Nathaniel whispered.

“Thanks!���

Seeing Nathaniel gave Adrien an idea. “Wait, Nathaniel! Didn’t Chloe let you put her in your comic?”

“Forced us to, more like.” The artist bit back. “And even when we tried to fit her, we got nothing but complaints from her. It was no wonder we never got past the initial concept art for her character.”

Adrien winced. “It was an attempt, at least?”

Nathaniel wasn’t buying it. “A poor one.”

“She’s been trying to be better.” Adrien was getting increasingly frustrated. This was not how he was expecting this argument to go. “Rose? What about you? You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

After all, Rose was sweet and caring, always willing to see the good in anyone. Surely she would have something nice about Chloe!

Juleka frowned at him over his focus on her girlfriend and moved to stand beside her. “Don’t push her.”

Still he tried.

“Rose?”

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” Rose said, hugging herself. “But Chloe has done nothing but hurt people. And going out of our way to protect her has only ended up biting us.”

That wasn’t true. Not...all the time at least. There had to have been at least one instance where she did the right thing!

Adrien brightened in realization. “Didn’t she catch you when you fell after being deakumatized during Heroes Day?”

The blonde girl frowned. “Well, yes…but she wasn’t very nice about it. Even though I did the same for her before.”

“Rose, come on…”

She shook her head. “I put myself at risk to help Chloe when she was being chased by zombies, and only got turned into one for my efforts. Chloe never appreciated it. She never thanked me. She didn’t even do anything to help when we were trying to keep her safe!”

“We all ended up kissing zombies because of her.” Alix accused, crossing her arms and looking particularly annoyed. “And not just because she caused the akuma in the first place.”

“Why are you pushing this?” Mylene asked. “We’ve been asked. We said no. Isn’t that enough?”

“But—”

“Adrien, you’ve got a good heart.” Ivan started.

“Easy for him when he’s not the one who has to be on the receiving end of Chloe’s tantrums.” Alix cut in, clearly sounding bitter.

“You’ve got a good heart.” Ivan repeated, sending Alix a look that asked her to back off. “But Chloe…doesn’t.”

Adrien shook his head, remaining insistent. “That’s why she needs help.”

“If she needs help,” Mylene spoke, “It should come from her parents. Her teachers. Any of the adults in her life. She has plenty of adults who are fully capable of helping her. It should not be expected to come from the kids she’s spent years tormenting.”

She gestured to herself and the others around her. “And that’s what she’s been doing: tormenting us.”

“To great joy, might I add.” Max droned.

“She hasn’t been cruel to everyone.” Adrien muttered.

That brought out a backlash of outrage.

“She outted my crush!”

“She insulted Mylene’s cooking and made her cry!”

“She got Aurore akumatized and nearly caused Paris to be incinerated in a volcano!”

“She tried to push Mylene out of the lead role of our movie!”

“She locked Juleka in the restroom!”

Wait...

But that hadn’t been Chloe. She had stayed with the class at the time. The one who did do it was...

He glanced around until he saw her—a redhead in the background behind the rest of the class. She looked anxious and uncomfortable, and almost seemed to be trying to edge around the class to get to the stairs.

Adrien did seem aware. Or rather, he was focused on the fact she was there.

“Sabrina? What about you? Chloe was your friend!”

Of course she would help! Because who better than her own best friend to speak on her behalf?

The rest of the class broke into mutters as they realized the same.

But Sabrina...bit her lip and looked away. Refusing to even meet Adrien’s gaze.

“Sabrina?” Marinette tried, concerned about this reaction. Sabrina had been Chloe’s best friend—or at least the closest thing she could have to a friend. “Minion” or “Servant” would be more accurate. “Slave” would be more honest.

The girl had been Chloe’s only real fan and follower, and had assisted Chloe in some of her worst plots.

Marinette had briefly seen another side to her. A girl who was so desperate for friendship that she latched onto even the slightest bit of kindness and went to the greatest of extremes to appease the “friend” so they wouldn’t leave her. It was no wonder she had fallen in with Chloe—someone like that was perfect for the spoiled girl. Compared to her, Marinette’s anxieties and need to please were nothing.

And Chloe had pretty much been her world for years.

What must she be feeling now?

“Should we really be getting her opinion?” Ivan whispered. “You know how she and Chloe were…”

“Well, if anyone would have anything positive to tell the courts about Chloe, it would be her.” Mylene whispered back.

Sabrina took a breath and spoke quickly—almost shouting in her rush.

“I’m sorry but my therapist said I shouldn’t!”

That got a surprise. The rest of the classmates glanced to each other before looking back to the girl. Adrien in particular looked shell-shocked. Marinette couldn’t blame him. She felt the same.

Sabrina for her part seemed to tense up, as if ready to defend herself from the rest of the class.

Marinette stepped forward. “Sabrina? Are…you okay?”

The other girl shook her head, looking close to tears.

“After word got out what Chloe did, the police had to question me about Chloe. They were able to see that I wasn’t involved, but they…didn’t like what I told them about our relationship. Afterwards, my dad decided to have me see a counselor and she…has been telling me things that I hadn’t really considered.” She curled in on herself. “They all think I should stay away from Chloe and anything directly related to her…for my own health.”

Adrien frowned at that. “But don’t you want to help Chloe?”

Sabrina jumped. “Of course, I do!”

“Hold up, Adrien!” Nino stepped in. “She just said police took her in because of Chloe!”

“But they let her go…”

“It still happened!” Mylene argued. “It doesn’t matter how nice they are, how innocent you know you are, or if you’re released in the end, it’s still terrifying when it happens!”

"And it only happened to her because of Chloe." Alya added.

Rose, in her infinite sweetness, reached out to take Sabrina’s hand in support. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Sabrina sobbed and covered her face. Aside from Rose, no one else really attempted to comfort her. Most of them simply watched her, pitying her current state. But they also remembered how complicit she had been in Chloe’s schemes, so they were conflicted. While they did feel bad for her current situation, there was a part of most of them that noted how she had brought it upon herself by being Chloe‘s lackey for so long, so their sympathy was limited.

Perhaps it was out of awkwardness, or maybe an attempt to give some respect for Sabrina’s privacy that the classmates turned away from her and instead focused on the heart of the argument.

“Man...” Nino tried. “Maybe you should let it go?” Though it was clear from his tone that he knew it wasn’t likely.

Because Adrien had still not given up, it seemed.

He looked around between of the classmates, growing more desperate. But those that remained either looked at him straight on as if daring him to call on them or looked away. A few of them even closed ranks as if to block his view of certain others. It was clear none of them were willing to help him on this.

None of them except…

“Marinette.” He called out, drawing her gaze to him instantly. “You understand, don’t you?”

She bit her lip. “I…”

“Back off, Adrien.” Kim said, giving the other boy an angry frown as he stood in front of her to shield her from his gaze. “It’s not on Marinette to help Chloe.”

“Yeah! She suffered more than any of us!“ Ivan shouted.

“She has been Chloe’s main target for years.” Nathaniel agreed. “She is the last person who is obligated to help Chloe now.“

Adrien winced at the harshness of their words and in their tone. “I just thought that Marinette could help. Like before.”

“Just because she could doesn’t mean she should have had to.” Alya countered. “She’s a teenager. Dealing with Chloe should have been the job of adults. Her parents. Bustier. Damocles. Any one of them should have done something—and if they can’t, the courts will. It’s their job. Not ours.”

“And getting her to help you wouldn’t make a difference anyway even if you had convinced us.” Max said, shifting his glasses. “Chloe helped Hawk Moth. There is nothing we could say that could undo that. And even if we did try, we would either be guilty of committing perjury or aiding in a conspiracy.”

“What?” Adrien jerked in surprise.

“The best we can do is be character witnesses.” Mylene explained. “But this is a court and we can’t claim something that isn’t true! We can’t say anything nice about Chloe when she hasn’t done anything nice!”

Max nodded and shifted his glasses. “Furthermore, our testimonies—even if they were positive—would only serve to create a narrative about Chloe and the type of person she is. They can’t explain away the current evidence against her.”

He rubbed the back of his head. He knew there were issues, but he also knew Chloe. He knew what she could be like. He knew she was a good person deep down. “I know she’s made some mistakes—”

“No.” Alya stated sharply. “Calling them ‘Mistakes’ implies that her actions were unintentional. ‘Mistakes’ implies that people were harmed by accident. ‘Mistakes’ implies that she would have any point learned from them. They weren’t mistakes, Adrien. They were willful acts of cruelty every single time.”

Ivan shook his head, pityingly. “We can’t save Chloe from this. We have nothing to say in her defense. The kindest thing we can do for her is stay silent.”

“She’s better than you think she is. She threw that party once for everyone, remember? You all went.” Adrien reminded them.

“That only proved that she could throw a party and be a good host, not that she could be a good person. There is a difference.” Nathaniel pointed out.

“Not that Chloe could tell.“ Alix sniped.

Adrien ignored the barb. He had given up on getting any of them to listen and now only had eyes for her. His last hope.

“Marinette….come on…please.”

She hesitated.

Everything in her that was Ladybug and her crush on Adrien and her desire to make people happy and take the high road and give second-third-fourth chances wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

Except...

There was a long pause. No one spoke.

The other classmates have had their say. They were letting Marinette have hers. And she knew in that moment that if she spoke up…if she did as Adrien wished and tried to help Chloe…she knew they would go along with her. It may be more out of respect for Marinette than it would be out of any sort of forgiveness for anything Chloe had done, but it would still help Chloe and it would still make Adrien happy.

…and hadn’t Marinette already done that enough?

“Did you know?” Marinette started, not looking at anyone. “I would have been well within my rights to press charges against Chloe?”

Adrien balked at that.

“She’s stolen from me at least three times now.” She shrugged. “I mean, sure, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about my diary since she had Sabrina steal it for her, but she did steal my hat design for a competition and I had proof. I could have pressed charges against Chloe and let her face some consequences…but I didn’t.”

She looked up at Adrien. “I also could have pressed charges for what she did to my gift for Madame Bustier. Since she did break into my locker and vandalize my property while it was still technically mine…but I didn’t.

“Adrien.” She spoke almost in monotone, the only sign of her emotions being how she clenched her fists. “Did you know that after the fashion show, my parents and I took a train to get home?”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

“It was the same train Chloe took control of and nearly caused to crash.”

Several gasps resounded around them. Apparently this had not been common knowledge.

“Even if Chloe could have bought her way out of any consequence for the other things, we all could certainly have had her face some major trouble for that one…” Marinette took a shuddering breath. “But we didn’t.”

Adrien frowned. “I…I see that—”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She cut him off. “Because instead of any of that…rather than hold Chloe accountable at any point, I catered to her. I tried to understand Chloe. I tried to make things nicer for Chloe. I tried to excuse Chloe. Time and again. Just like everyone else. Just like you wanted me to. Just like you’re asking me to now. And what did that get us?”

The more she talked, the more words filled out and she was unable to stop the torrent.

“I defended her from Alya after Madame Bustier was akumatized, and Chloe stole a Miraculous and nearly got my family killed. I helped Chloe bond with her Mom—costing myself any chance at a once in a lifetime opportunity in the process—and Chloe tried to get me banished from Paris just for saying she wasn’t a superhero. I threw Chloe a party to show her some appreciation, and she willingly worked with a supervillain to take over Paris. Just to fuel her ego and because she felt she was owed something that wasn’t hers.”

She tilted her head, considering.

“What is that American saying? Three strikes and you’re out?” Her eyes narrowed. “I have given Chloe more than three chances. I have done nothing BUT give her chances. And clean up after her. And just…try to help her. At no point has she been grateful. At no point did she ever apologize. Or show the slightest bit of remorse for anyone she hurt. Or just…try to do better.”

She stepped forward. Past her classmates. Past Alya, who looked ready to tear into Adrien herself.

“So tell me, Adrien. How much more am I supposed to do? What miracle am I supposed to achieve to help Chloe to be a better person that I haven’t already done?”

“You can just try.” Adrien begged. “Chloe’s alone. She has no one in her corner. You’ve given her chances before! Can’t you find it in your heart to give her another chance this time?”

“Why haven’t you?” Alya demanded.

Adrien drew back in surprise at that.

But the girl wasn’t letting him off. “If you’re so certain Chloe is the victim in all this, then why aren’t you stepping up to help her? Why are you pushing Marinette and the rest of us to do it?”

Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette in support. “If you truly believe Chloe has some sort of inner goodness that only needs the right person to bring it out, then it’s pretty clear Marinette is just not that person. She’s tried enough.”

Alix nodded. “I’m pretty sure she could’ve demolished a brick wall with how many time she’s banged her head against it by this point trying to drag a decent person out of Chloe.”

Others in the class also nodded and gave sounds of agreement to that.

Adrien frowned, lowering his head despondently. “I’m just one person. There’s only so much weight my word will have. I just...I just want to give her the best chance.”

“That’s nice for Chloe, I guess.” Kim muttered. “But not much for us.”

Adrien looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Alya stepped forward, releasing Marinette in the process. “Adrien, why should we as Chloe’s victims have to help protect her? That’s the thing we’re not getting here. WE are the ones she hurt. WE are the ones she betrayed to Hawk Moth. So why are WE supposed to try and save her from her own consequences? Why are you wanting us to?”

Adrien hesitated.

“Can you even imagine what it was like? Being frozen in time. Unable to move or speak? Only able to hear her voice in your head? Feeling your body respond as she’s calling you and being unable to stop?” She clutched her arms, as if trying to hug herself. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was knowing what she was doing to us but being completely unable to stop it? How humiliating it was when she had us bowing to her and calling her our Queen? And then…” She took a breath. “She made us fight our heroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir trusted us to help them and we used the Miraculous they entrusted to us to try and kill them.”

“We were just lucky that they were able to turn the tables on us.” Kim muttered. “I don’t even want to know what would have happened if we had won.”

“Luka still has nightmares.” Juleka whispered. “He won’t talk about it, but he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

Marinette winced. She hadn’t even considered that everyone else could be suffering ramifications of Miracle Queen as well.

“We could have killed them.” Max stated. “Given the nature of the Snake Miraculous’s power, we very well could have more than once for all we know.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have killed them?” Rose suggested, trying to be positive. “I mean, Chloe wanted all of the Miraculous, right? She probably wanted them as her servants as well.”

Max glared. “I’m pretty sure I attempted to send Chat Noir into space. Even a Miraculous can’t protect someone from that.”

Adrien tried not to wince at the memory. How he managed to even move enough to activate the Miraculous, he still wasn’t sure.

“We fought against them. We never wanted to, but we did.” Alya bit out. “Not even because of Hawk Moth this time, but because of Chloe. And now you are wanting us to just…overlook the trauma of the whole thing to help Chloe after what she did. For something she hasn’t shown even the slightest remorse for.”

She shook her head.

“I know you’re nice, Adrien. But this level of kindness is a cruelty.”

He winced. And it looked like he wanted to argue. But he just…wilted.

“I just…it feels harsh. What’s happening to her. The amount of hate she’s getting. That her entire life could be over.”

That was true. While they felt her current status was well deserved, it was a harsh sentence for anyone. Especially a teenager.

Nathaniel sighed. “Adrien, it is harsh. Maybe cruel. But fact is that she still brought on herself.”

“Isn’t that just victim-blaming though?” Adrien countered, frustrated now. “I mean, Hawk Moth manipulated her! How was that her fault? He’s the one who did it. She was…” He clenched his fists in anger. “Chloe is a victim.”

“No, we are the victims.” Alya insisted, gesturing to herself and the other revealed former heroes. “We were the ones used to fight our heroes. We were the ones who had our identities revealed to the world against our will. And now we are the ones having to live with the results of Chloe‘s choices, just like we always are.“

Adrien looked ready to argue. And maybe he would have, except...

Nino rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“Adrien. Dude. Just stop. We have enough to deal with and this…this isn’t helping.”

Adrien frowned at that, concerned by his friend’s attitude. “Nino?”

Nino lowered his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Really, I was trying not to think about it. But my parents are currently talking with police about their options. Now that I’ve been exposed as one of the temporary heroes, they’re questioning if it’s not safe for us at home anymore. There is a chance of us having to go into protective custody.”

Alya winced at that, drawing attention to her. “My parents have been talking as well. My mom quit her job. She said she doesn’t want to work for someone who would let their daughter do such a thing and put me in danger. She’s looking at drawing me out of school since it was pretty much Chloe‘s base of operations. And since Chloe is the Mayor’s daughter…and Hawk Moth…and just…everything?” She looked away, clearly anxious.

“There’s a chance we may have to move out of Paris altogether.”

Marinette gasped.

Alya looked to the other girl, sad and guilty all in one. “I’m sorry, girl. I guess I’ve been hoping it wouldn’t be an issue. I’ve been trying to talk them out of it, but it’s hard given everything that happened. Currently, the only reason they’re willing to stay is to see through to the end of the trial. But after that…” She shrugged, shaking her head uncertainly. “Who can say?”

“No…” Adrien whispered in shock.

The others in class came closer around her, trying to offer some comfort and reassurances—what little they could give, at least. This was a situation that was clearly beyond them. Marinette herself hugged Alya tightly for all she was worth, and the other girl held her back just as much, neither wanting to be parted.

Adrien, however, remained on the outside looking in. Watching the people Chloe had tormented even before Miracle Queen and realizing just how badly they’ve been hurt by this. It hit him then—for what was perhaps the first time just how much pain Chloe had caused his friends. And how unfair he had been to expect them to simply deal with it.

He stayed the lone person outside of the circle. By this point, did he really deserve to join in the comfort? To try to be the one to give comfort? After what he had tried to push on them all?

After minutes passed, they were finally able to draw away from each other.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner.” Alya told Marinette. “I guess I was just hoping…y’know…that it wasn’t real. Or that it would go away and things would work out on their own.”

Marinette smiled. “No, I understand.”

And she did. That’s exactly what she herself had been doing for the past few weeks as well. Trying to deal with things without really dealing with them. Working without acknowledging just what it all meant because she was scared she would break down and that would be just one more thing Hawk Moth would have won because of this whole mess.

“I was kind of the same way.” She admitted, and it felt like a slight relief to be able to say aloud to someone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you about it.”

She still couldn’t, unfortunately. Not about Ladybug and the kwamis and the Miracle Box.

But…she could talk about Fu. How she lost him. How she feels. She could help support Alya and her classmates and be there for them in the meantime.

She…hadn’t lost everything.

Not yet.

And that was the scary thing…

Adrien gaped at the group. He had thought the trauma was bad enough, and that at least could be worked through. But this...

“I’m sorry. I...I didn’t even realize...”

“Adrien, what Chloe did put a major target on our backs.” Alya explained. “Nobody knows how we became heroes, or that Ladybug was the one to specifically choose us and give us the miraculous to use. Nobody knows WHY we were chosen. It’s not just Hawk Moth, any regular criminal can come after us now in an attempt to get a hold of that power. And we can’t exactly protect ourselves.”

She shrugged helplessly.

“We kind of have enough to worry about with the fallout of Chloe‘s actions. And now you want us to try and protect Chloe on top of that?“

Seeing it now, in this light...it was cruel. It was cruel and unfair and hurtful, and Marinette felt horrible for considering letting herself be talked into it.

Adrien himself felt horrible for even suggesting it.

“We all have to live with the consequences of Chloe’s choices.” Alya stated. “So why shouldn’t she?”

Silence followed. It practically echoed throughout the entire hallway.

He said nothing in response. What could he possibly say? He’d known that Chloe was…difficult with other people, to say the least. He’d known the type of person she was. But she was his friend and friends forgive and support each other, right?

But they were right as well. It wasn’t fair to expect them to help Chloe after what she did. Especially once he knew of the level of harm she’d caused them. He felt the horror trickle in. The trauma everyone felt. The knowledge of what they’d been forced to do. The fact that…

He suddenly found it harder to breathe.

Nino could leave.

Adrien could lose his best friend because of this.

And who knew how many of the others would be forced to leave as well. Aside from Nino; Kim, Max, Alya, and Luka were other heroes as well. Juleka was Luka’s sister. And how many of the other classmates might be pulled out of this class and school because it’s unsafe? And Kagami—oh god, she was outted as well. He hadn’t heard from her in a while. Her mother is probably furious. She could move back to Japan because of this. And Marinette…she had been lucky to not be caught up in that fight since she was a hero only the one time, but that could have been just one more thing Chloe ruined for her…

…what about himself?

He paled.

He was longtime friends with Chloe. Went to school with Chloe. Was in class with Chloe. Chloe, who was currently getting a lot of heat from all of Paris. How was his Father going to react to that? The man was always focused on the company and appearances…what would he do now that Chloe had fallen from grace in such a way? Would he forbid Adrien from talking to Chloe again? Would he pull Adrien from school?

…would he ban Adrien from leaving the house altogether?

How was he only just now considering the impact? For himself or anyone else? Of course people would be hurt. Of course they would be upset. Of course people would respond. Somehow, he knew that, and yet he had only been focused on Chloe that it hadn’t actually hit home until now…

And in that light…

It had been selfish to ask. Honestly, he’d known that when he first tried to approach Marinette. But he felt he had to try. Honestly, part of him had known better than to ask in the first place. But at the same time…there was a part of him that still believed things could just go back to “normal”.

…how foolish. That was a “normal” that nobody else wanted. And even more, it was one that was now impossible…all because of Chloe herself.

“I just wanted to help.”

He deflated, losing all remaining fight.

“I’m sorry.”

The classmates glanced between each other. There was much they could have said, but really, anything they could have said already had been. And with him seeming resigned, it appeared there was no longer a need to defend themselves.

Marinette—ever the mediator, stepped up and hugged Adrien.

“Adrien, this isn’t something you can help with. None of us can. What happens in the trial is up to the courts. And what happens to Chloe is up to her.”

Slowly, he reached up and hugged her as well. The warmth and comfort brought some limited solace in this situation. He felt lost. Out of control. Like the world was moving around him and he didn’t know where he was standing much less where he was supposed to be.

They weren’t ready to forgive Chloe. And he couldn’t force them to be. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t blame them. And it was really unfair of him to try. Especially…

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” He whispered to her.

He had tried to use her. Looking back, he had a bit of a tendency to rely on Marinette to fix things when she shouldn’t have had to. Especially when it was for Chloe’s sake. He knew plenty of times Chloe had done things…but he always seemed to overlook how hurt Marinette was because of it, simply due to how well she always appeared afterwards. She was strong and confident, but also a good listener and willing to forgive. It was like nothing really brought her down.

It was due to this that Marinette was often the one he turned to whenever things happened. Because she would listen. She would understand. And she would always try to help, regardless of her position.

In this light…he may have over relied on her too much.

“I wasn’t fair to you.” He admitted. “I just saw Chloe hurting and only thought about how to fix things for her. I didn’t consider your feelings.” He hugged her more strongly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t speak. But she squeezed him back.

He felt another body press against him. A quick glance showed it to be Nino.

“I’m still super mad with her. And I don’t like how you tried to push us to defend her after what she did. But I get that she’s your friend and you care about her. I’d do the same if it were you in her place.” He gave a small laugh. “Not that I think you ever would, of course.”

Adrien smiled back. “Thanks.”

This…this felt much better.

Things weren’t okay right now. He still wanted to help Chloe. His classmates were still hurt. People were still angry. Hawk Moth was still out there.

But whatever happened...in this moment, he felt they could make it.

#ml fic #chloe salt #miracle queen #marinette dupain cheng #marinette defense squad #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #adrien salt

[liquid-luck-00]

Do you think you could write an Au where Bruce Wayne is Marinette's bio!dad, but they don't learn that until she interns under Tony Stark, please?

@jumpingjoy82

Okay so disclaimer I mainly know marvel through fanfics and a couple of the MCU movies. Having said that this was a fun write hope you like it.

Oh and Marinette knows Tom isn’t her bio dad. Tony is Sabine’s cousin.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was a lot of things. She was a dancer, a gymnast, a bio chem major, an engineer, an amateur detective, a superhero, and completely over her class at idiots who followed a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Marinette was actually done with high school. In fact she was two years into her first Masters degree along with skipping two years. Making her two years younger than the sheep in her class and at least four years younger than those in her university class.

Mari was sitting in the back of the class during her last period when she received an email and several texts, thank kwamii her phone and tablet were on silent.

She decided to open her email first.

You have been selected as one of the lucky seven applicants to study and intern at Stark Industries for two weeks this summer. Below is the date, location, and mentor you will report to. We hope to meet you then. -Sincerely Co-CEO Virginia Potts

She would have answered her text had the projector not began to glitch and calling her name. "Mari bug answer your phone!"

'Ugh' she sighed running her hands down her face. "I would have Uncle T if you hadn't started yelling from the projector!"

"But Peps just told me and..."

"Wait," her head snapped up. "How many screens are you projecting on." She started to look around, her uncle, who never not used the camera unless... Then she saw the Iron Man suit.

"I dunno maybe the whole school, the city, the country I don't know."

"Ya I'm not dealing with this at least not here." She walked down the stairs her bag packed hung from her shoulders. "Oh and Uncle T, fe...male 4 o'clock." He began to sputter but she didn’t stay in the classroom and walked out without looking back.

Thank kwamii that her uncle was only projected in her class. It did have the unfortunate side effect of her class sending confused and curious looks at her. Even Lila seemed to stop her tirade for a while. But all good things must come to an end.

"Alright do I have all the permission slips for the summer graduation trip." Miss Bustier started counting the slips. “Marinette your permission slip is missing."

"I'm aware."

"If you want to go you need it in by the end of the day."

"Seriously Mari, if you want us to beg you to come save it. We don't want a bully on this trip wit us." Alya huffed before Marinette could speak.

"One only my friends call me Mari, you are not one of them so it's Marinette to you Cesaire. Two you save it I don't want to hear any of you beg me for anything. Finally three, I already had plans for this summer. So this trip I’ll be a no show so have fun."

“Y...Yes but this is a class trip,” Miss Bustier stammered.

“I understand that but it would still be a class trip even if I don’t go.” Was Marinette’s retort.

Miss Bustier would have continued had her Uncle not burst into the room. Her head was now banging against the desk. To his credit he was not in a suit, Iron Man suit included. He was in more ‘Civilian wear' with a baseball cap and shades.

"Ready to go Bug! I already signed you off."

"How mad is Auntie Pepper going to be when she finds out you came to Paris." She was now next to him at the door still in the classroom.

"Pete's here!" He shouted.

"Fine our secret." She smiled leaving the class behind without a wave or goodbye.

---

Interning with her Uncle Tony was great. Especially because she could get his input on her projects and learn from him directly.

It also helped that she stayed in Avenger's Tower and that ment leaving for akuma's was easy and was expected. Every summer she would spend with her uncle for the past five years. Meaning that they knew when she became Ladybug since it's kind of hard to keep a secret identity from FRIDAY, who is constantly monitoring the tower.

On the plus side that meant she had adult guidance and mentors.

"Mari bag mind going to pick up the Bats and Hood?”

"Suit?"

"Suit."

she left and was swinging between the sky scrapers, until she landed at the meet up point. She didn't have to wait long.

"Who are you?" Red helmet, so Red Hood, asked.

"I'm Ladybug. My guess is he just sent that bug was going to meet you guys."

"That's night how did you know?"

"There's three bugs at the tower right now Black Widow, Spider Man, and me so it's understand able, come on."

They made their way to the tower and she dropped her transformation. "If you guys want to change FRIDAY will guide you." she faced them, smiled, and walked off.

---

Something had been bothering him since he first saw the girl, Ladybug. Two days had passed and that feeling was not going away.

"Don't even think about it Bruce." Tony glared at him. "You are not adopting her she already has loving parents."

"I wasn't... why would you think that."

"We told you you have a problem B!" Jason yelled from across the room. "So what is your name anyway everyone just calls you either Maribug, Buginette, or just bug."

"Those all sound more like nicknames," Bruce now added having made his way across the room with Tony.

"That's because they are," she gave them a bored and a 'duh' look. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

A memory flashed in his mind from 16 years ago.

"You wouldn't happen to know a Sabine Cheng?" Bruce asked.

Now both Marinette and Tony turned on him and the glare Marinette was giving him. Well he would recognize it anywhere, he trademarked it after all.

"Why would you ask that?" Tony was the first to answer, but not soon after Marinette spoke.

"Yes. She's my mother." Then she looked at him as if she were analyzing him. "Oh fuck" she groaned.

"Language!"

"Oh not now or kwamii help me I will beat you to a pulp later during sparing Uncle Steve."

"I'll bring the popcorn." Natasha piped.

“You’re not helping.” Steve argued.

“We both know she can take you. She added as they left the room.

"Mari Sweetie, what's up."

"Eyes, hair, build, complexion"

"Glare," he added.

"Not helping but yes. Ya know apparently being a hero is genetic," She had began to laugh.

"No don't tell me, that my sweet smart niece is related to..." Tony Just motioned at him not finding the right words.

"Ya well it looks that way uncle Tony."

"B. Demon spawn is not going to be happy." Jason scolded once he seemed to grasp the concept. "Hey at least you have a kid who already knows your a vigilante and a hero to boot.” Jason grinned.

Of all the ways Mari had thought she would meet her biological father, this was not one of them. Who would have thought interning with her uncle would lead to meeting her father. This is by far better than a class trip with those sheep she calls classmates.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @miraculouspenta

#maribat #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb x mcu #mcu x mlb x dc #mcu x mlb #mlb x mcu

[sage-nebula]

I started typing up a post on my opinions of the characters in Neo TWEWY, but when I got to Neku's segment it got so long that I realized it needed to be its own post. So if you want me to elaborate on how I feel they did my favorite boy dirty, head below the cut.

First of all, to get it out of the way: his English voice is absolutely atrocious. Given that he has the same voice actor here as he did in the original, I really don’t know what went wrong. Was Mr Corti mentally checked out and only doing this for the paycheck? Was the voice director high on cough syrup on the days Corti was in the office? Who the heck knows, but it’s bad. Not only is Neku’s voice way too deep (he was fifteen in the first game, he’d already been through puberty, his voice shouldn’t have broken again, it’s not like Beat’s did!), but there was pretty much 0 acting to be found. The closest we got to an actual performance is when Neku yelled Beat’s name a couple times during the chaos that went down at the end of Week 3. That was it. Otherwise, it sounded like Corti was just reading his lines with zero surrounding context and zero effort into actually acting them rather than just reading them while either half asleep or bored out of his skull. It’s supremely disappointing and an honest disrespect to the character. Again, I don’t know if this was because of the voice direction or what, but whatever it was, I hated hearing Neku actually talk and that kills me considering he was my favorite of the main cast in the original game.

Which brings me to the bigger issue, which is his characterization. Neo!Neku has zero personality. I’ve said this on multiple posts, and I’ll say it again. He has no personality. It’s gone. I think that when Coco shot him at the end of “A New Day” she not only killed his physical body, but also any semblance of personality he once had, and honestly it kills me because, again, he was my favorite of the original cast.

To elaborate:

Over the course of the original game, Neku goes from a closed off, snarky, trauma-ridden jerkass to a more open, snarky, loyal friend and defender of those who need it. By the end of Week 3 Neku is open to meeting new people (though he’s not completely open either; as he tells Joshua in his ending monologue, it’s still hard for him, but he’s trying), he’s more patient with those around him, he sees more value in the people and the world around him and he’s learning to open himself up and actually enjoy the moment, rather than just saying he does. Moreover, whereas he was fully ready to kill in order to escape the Game at the start (thank god for Hanekoma stepping in), by the end he breaks down crying over . . . well, everything, but in that exact moment it was because Joshua was hinging Neku’s own life on Neku’s ability to pull the trigger on Joshua, and he couldn’t. Neku underwent remarkable change over the course of the original game and I would never, not even once, say that I’d want Neku in Neo to be characterized how he was at the start of (or even in the middle of) the original game.

However.

There is no semblance of Neku, period, in the character that we get in Neo. The closest that we get to any kind of snarky humor from him is when he asks Beat if Beat died again, and that’s why he’s in the UG. Despite being fiercely loyal to his friends (and despite knowing that Minamimoto is a shady bitch out for himself first and foremost), he says with a smile that Minamimoto has ~changed~ or is ~trying to~ despite having absolutely no evidence of that whatsoever, and walking in on Minamimoto literally trying to murder Beat. He’s BFFs with Coco despite the fact that Coco killed him, purely because her motivations were good, and he chastises Beat for not trusting her even though Beat witnessed that murder and has had to live with it for the past three years. Many of his voice clips don’t sound like him (“well done,” for example, just sounds too proper for him, it doesn’t sound like the way he talks; “nice one” or “good job” would be more appropriate), he’s perfectly fine and not awkward at all with everyone calling him a legend, he seems to have no issue whatsoever with the fact that he’s been trapped in Shinjuku’s UG (or in-between the UG and the RG) for the past three years, and overall it feels a whole lot less like Neku-as-a-character and more like Neku-as-an-exposition-mentor. Like he wasn’t here to be himself, he was here because a.) it was expected because this was the sequel, and b.) he’s the closest to Hanekoma they could get, even though he’s not acting like Hanekoma either.

Here’s the thing.

Yes, it’s expected that Neku would have matured even more by the time this game rolls around than he had by the end of Week 3. It’s expected that, much like Beat, Neku has grown up and changed as a result of that maturation as well. However . . .

1.) Beat is still noticeably Beat despite his maturation, and

2.) Neku didn’t get to grow up in the same way that Beat did, by virtue of being dead and stuck in hell for the past three years.

Neku’s life for the past four years has basically been a rollercoaster of trauma. First, his friend dies on his way to meet Neku, which Neku blames himself for (and I’m pretty sure this takes place about a year before the original game, though I could be wrong on that). Then, while he’s still struggling with processing his grief, he’s murdered by Joshua and put into the Reapers’ Game. He has to go through three extremely difficult weeks with his life on the line, during which he learns to process his previous trauma in a healthier way while getting a bunch of fresh new trauma dropped on his plate. He escapes that Game with his new friends, but then less than a year later he is murdered again, and this time he’s locked in a hellspace where Shinjuku used to be, and not only that, but he is trapped there with his murderer, who is not sorry at all that she killed him and instead believes that it was the right thing to do despite the fact that Shinjuku has already undergone the Inversion and Neku is just stuck there now with the thoughts of the nonexistent swirling through his head. Presumably his powers, which were already incredibly powerful, grow exponentially during this time as a result of the space he’s in, but that’s not really the point. The point is, Neku went through a trauma conga line with no time to really breathe or process any of it, and while I can believe that he came to trust Coco enough so that they could both get out of Shinjuku, I can’t believe that going through all that trauma without any chance to live a normal, happy life would produce a smiling mentor figure who’s just here to blithely exposit without any real emotion, or any of his trademark snarky humor. It’s not realistic maturation, especially because maturation isn’t supposed to stamp out aspects of your personality that make you, you. Just as Beat is able to still recognizably be Beat while also being more mature, Neku should have been recognizably Neku, and he isn’t. If you were handed the script with all the names blacked out, you would never be able to tell his lines were his. And honestly, that absolutely crushes me, especially since I was so excited for him to come back since I love him so incredibly much.

Honestly, I’m tempted to rewrite that last portion of the game so that Neku acts more like himself—so that we can actually hear him instead of this bland exposition fairy they put in his place. But whether I do that or not, just know that I found Neku to be incredibly disappointing, and I think he deserved better on just about every front. The only really good thing about him was his design, and the fact that he still did the fingers-to-temples gesture when he reached out to the minds of Shibuya during the end segment. (I was literally chanting, “do the thing, do the thing!” so I was very happy when he did, in fact, do the thing.) And considering how important he is as a character in this series, that was just . . . so incredibly disappointing.

#neo: the world ends with you #neo: the world ends with you spoilers #ntwewy spoilers #neo twewy spoilers #sakuraba neku #my boy deserved better #he deserved SO much better #hate that they did him like this. i really do.

[thatesqcrush]

Voire Dire

Rafael Barba x Reader. Warnings: implied fem masturbation, slightly dub-con at the end (kissing) but reader is very enthusiastic. WC: 3,339

It was an ordinary morning on an ordinary day. It was early and the eighth floor was just beginning to fill up. You had already been in the office for well over two hours, working on a motion and you were already running against the clock. As people milled about, settling in, you grabbed your noise canceling headphones and slipped them on over your ears. 

You frowned when you realized your coffee cup was empty. You were in need for more coffee but did not have the time for it. As you let out an irritated sigh, you noticed the head of the junior ADA department, Sonny Carisi, stride in. As he passed by your desk, a brown paper bag plopped onto the desk. You slipped off your headphones and swiveled around.

“And what is this, Dominick?” You teased, as you reached into the bag.

“Bear-claw. Coffee - light and sweet.” Sonny called out as he settled into his office.

“God bless ya’ Sonny. You answered my prayers.” You called out, before blowing on the cup. It was so hot, steam rose from the small opening and the heat pricked your fingers. “How did you know?”

“A little birdie named Marjorie.” He replied. He stuck his head out the door. “She told me you were coming in early and if I recall anything from our Fordham days, it’s that you always forget to take care of yourself when you’re under the wire.”

You gave him a pointed look, which then softened into a smile. “Thank you, Sonny. Much appreciated. And when you win that Mickey Davis case, I am going to take you out for a celebratory drink.”

“Don’t start, we don’t even know what will happen. He may plead out.” Sonny replied. “I gotta go - meeting with the boss actually on this. Get back to work.”

“Yes sir!” You mocked saluted, before swiveling back to your computer. Time was ticking after all. 

**

The rest of the morning seemed to pass in a blur. Again, nothing extraordinary happened. And as you electronically filed your motion, you spun around in your seat, with your arms in the air, in silent victory. 

As you faced your desk, you saw Sonny walking back down to his office with a very handsome, distinguished looking man behind him. It was clear the two of them were having some kind of heated discussion. And you couldn’t care less. Because the man he was with, was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. He wore dark jeans and blue and pink checkered shirt with a dark grey peacoat. His hair was perfectly coiffed, nary a hair out of place. And he had a meticulously groomed beard. His hair and his beard were dark, with salt and pepper flicked through. You had a sudden urge to tug on his beard and you wondered what it would feel like against your skin, as you slid your tongue into his. 

The man sauntered past your desk and you looked up, feeling a flutter shoot through you as your eyes met. You caught a whiff of the cologne he wore - faint whiffs of vetiver and bergamot - and you closed your eyes, enjoying the olfactory overload. You so badly wanted to turn around, but you could not. So you settled for leaning to the side in an attempt to eavesdrop.

“You know who that is, right?” You jumped in your seat slightly and looked up at Marjorie, your co-worker, and fellow ADA.

“No. But he is nice to the eyes.” You smirked. 

“That’s Rafael Barba.” Marjorie hissed. 

You sat up straight. “That’s him? The Rafael Barba?” You scanned the office and sure enough, people were whispering and talking to each other as they looked behind you. 

You couldn’t hear everything, but you could glean whatever they were talking about was not regular old shop talk. 

You heard something about a ‘nice view’ and ‘had to move the Xerox machine and four filing cabinets just to get the desk in,’ and you snorted. 

“Yeah, the one who k-worded a baby,” Marjorie continued, as she sat on the corner of your desk. She ripped off a remnant of your long-forgotten bear claw and popped it in her mouth. 

“He did not k-word a baby.” It was now your turn to hiss. “That baby was already dead. He… expedited its passing.”

“Well, regardless. No one has seen him since then. Last I heard he was working with The Innocence Project,” Marjorie replied, plucking another piece of the bear-claw.

The door swung open, Rafael turning to face Sonny. “I'm going for straight-up not guilty.” Rafael stormed past you, once more, a breeze blowing by as he did so - and with it, his cologne wafted once more and you felt the back of your neck prick. Arousal shot through you, starting between your thighs, but rising to make your breath hitch. 

Marjorie hopped off your desk and dashed into Sonny’s office. You stood to do so, as Rafael as he stalked by. Your eyes met once more.

“Good morning,” Rafael acknowledged curtly. You felt your cheeks burn and you gave him a small smile, before following Marjorie.

**

Lunch had rolled around. You rapped on Sonny’s door. “Hey - want to grab lunch with Marj and I?”

“Nah, can’t. Barba’s taking the Mickey Davis case on and I need to prep,” Sonny replied. He sighed before dropping his head into his hands, groaning.

You shut the door quickly behind you and moved to lower the blinds in his office. “Hey - talk to me. Barba was your mentor, right?”

Sonny looked up at you and nodded. “Yeah, he was. He was the best ADA here - I mean, he took on cases others dodged. He taught me so much. And now… it’s like jedi master and padawan here.”

You grimaced. “Sonny, don’t sell yourself short. You are an excellent lawyer and you’ve got the chops. If anything, he should be the one who’s worried.” 

Sonny guffawed in response. “Don’t quit ya’ day job, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms and cocked your brow. “Come on, pizza. On me. Let’s go.”

Sonny rolled his eyes and nodded. “Okay, okay. But not Marco’s. That place is not real Italian.”

“Whatever, pizza snob.” You laughed as you both walked out. 

**

Time flew by. Sonny was at voire dire and you chewed on your thumbnail waiting for him to return. You decided to throw yourself into work in an attempt to keep your mind otherwise occupied. 

When Sonny did eventually return, he looked defeated and worn. He shuffled back into his office, his shoulders hunched over. You waited a good minute before knocking on his office. 

“How'd it go at voir dire?” You asked softly, as you knocked on his door. Sonny was chugging pepto-bismol and he grimaced as he turned to you. “It was the Rafael Barba show, charming and cherry-picking jurors for twelve straight hours.”

“Yeah, the office mill said he was a dog with a bone.” You shrugged, pulling a chair out and sitting.

Sonny laughed. “Yeah. Now get this - I'm looking at his witness list, and he tracked down AJ’s other foster kids, ACS employees, VA shrinks. How big of a staff does he have?”

You shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

Sonny gave you a look. “Dollars to donuts, I think it’s my old squad - Rollins, Liv, and Fin helping him out.”

“You don’t know that.” You interjected.

“It's fine. Barba was here before me. I know where their loyalties are,” Sonny replied. 

“When's opening statements?” 

“A day from tomorrow.” Sonny replied. “Which means I will be here all night prepping.”

“Do you want any help?” You asked. 

“It’s fine - it’s late. You should go home. If there’s something, I’ll let you know.” 

You nodded and bid him a good night, before heading home.

** 

At home, you climbed into bed and tried to watch a repeat of your favorite procedural show but could not focus. You spent the entire commute home, replaying the events of earlier in the week when Rafael came by. He smelled so wonderful and when his eyes locked on yours, your heart skipped in a way that it hadn’t in a long time. Picturing his eyes… his beard… you became warm and a ripple of arousal coursed through you, causing the ache between your legs to intensify. You had a drawer full of toys that you knew you would help, but sometimes, your own fingers were best – you knew you better than any other toy could. You slipped your fingers down your sleep shorts and under the waistband of your underwear. It didn’t take much – as you suspected it would not – and when you came, it was Rafael’s name that escaped from your lips. The ache lessened – and, for now, it was enough.

**

Time flew and before you knew it, the case was winding up - or so you heard through the grapevine. That office leaked like a sieve. Your phone buzzed loudly one morning. You groaned and looked at the clock - you still had twenty minutes of sleep left. Yawning, you sat up and rubbed your eyes awake.

[Marjorie: Come meet us at court - closing arguments on the Davis case and we are all going down to root for Sonny]

You quickly wrote back: who’s we?

[Marjorie: A few of us from 8th. Come on!]

You bit your bottom lip and then hit two little letters: ok. You quickly showered, threw on your pants and an oversized sweater. You grabbed a pair of wedges and made your way uptown.

**

The case was intense and heated. Emotions were rising. You fidgeted in your seat as Sonny faced off with Rafael. In the end, the jury deliberated in six hours and found Mickey Davis guilty. He was charged with manslaughter two.

Sonny caught up with the group from the eighth floor in the gallery who all congratulated him on his big win. You half-listened and half kept an eye on Rafael, who was busy gathering his paperwork. He looked handsome in his black bespoke suit, now cleanly shaven.  You frowned - the beard suited him. But it didn’t temper his handsomeness; with or without, it was as if he made your eyes burn. It also appeared to have turned him into a real-life Benjamin Button, so to speak. He appeared much younger than he did when he did that day in One Hogan Place.

Rafael turned again, and his eyes scanned the group in the back before his eyes settled on yours once more. You ducked your head, feeling embarrassed at having been caught and when you looked up at him, a smile had graced his face.

He began to head your way, tucking his briefcase under his arm. Your heart began to race and your palms were sweaty. You wracked your brain for a reason to leave but couldn’t come up with anything. And then Rafael was in front of you.

“Hi - you’re Carisi’s colleague?” Rafael asked as you were now afforded a close-up view. His eyes were the most intense seafoam green and you knew if allowed, you would drown in them. 

“Uh - yes. My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N. I am a junior ADA.” You tripped over your words, feeling your cheeks burn. What was it about this man that renders me into a bumbling fool? you thought.

“Rafael Barba.” Rafael extended his hand and you took it, shaking it.

“Pleasure.”

“No, that’s all mine.” His eyes crinkled and a small smile graced his face. You felt your cheeks burn once more.

Sonny turned away from the group and faced you and Rafael. “We’re going to Rudy’s for a beer. Want to come? The squad is going to come.”

Rafael opened his mouth and paused, looking over at you. Feeling put on the spot, you nodded, going along. “Sure - a beer would be great.” You then turned to look at Rafael. “Coming with?”

Rafael nodded - wanting nothing more than to spend time with you - this creature who had enchanted him. He had to admit, he had hoped to see you more - but in his head, that meant an impromptu visit to the DA’s office, where he wasn’t necessarily well received any longer. Or, it meant asking Carisi - and he didn’t want to be grilled by the former detective. You were young - younger than him of course, but he couldn’t imagine you were that much younger - and at the same time he did not want to seem like a cradle robbing perv. The group dispersed outside, braving the elements of New York City. It was biting cold - the coldest day of the year - and the wind whipped around something wicked. You rubbed your gloved hands together as you all headed to Rudy’s. You and Rafael hung back, following the group, but at the same time, both knowing the route, having made the trek many times prior. 

“So how long have you been with the DA’s office?” Rafael asked. Small, misty clouds emitted from your breaths as you chit-chatted. 

“Two years. I was originally in Brooklyn, but I requested a lateral move.” You replied. 

“That’s where I started too.” Rafael replied. A taxicab approached and Rafael waved his hand up and across from you, signaling to the car to slow down so that you two could cross. You didn’t miss how his hand cradled your back gently as you both crossed the street to the bar. Yout stomach flip-flopped in response.

**

The bar was empty, save for the group. Large colorful bulbs hung throughout, keeping in theme with the upcoming holiday. At the hightops, each table was outfitted with a miniature wreath with a candle in the middle. After a while, the squad from SVU also joined and everyone toasted Sonny on his victory. The corners of your lips twitched as Rafael said “To irony,” at Sonny’s response that they were just back where they started.

Rafael was engrossed in a conversation with Sonny’s former squad, and you watched him intently. You played with your napkin and wondered more about him and who he was. Sure, you had heard about the Householder case and how the prosecutor was acquitted - and sure, you had read some of his court briefs. But you had never thought in a million years that you would be so close to him. Many other former ADAs came to visit, but Rafael Barba never did. He had essentially dodged the office for years. You didn’t hear much of him, only in passing from Sonny while you were both in Fordham.

Hours went by, many drinks had been had. One by one, the group had dispersed, until it was just you, Sonny, Amanda, and Rafael. You all decided to move to a booth. You were slightly unsteady, having had too many glasses of wine and very little to eat. You knew in the morning you would be paying the price.

“Water for Y/N and fries for the table.” Amanda announced as she slid the food to the middle of the table, and the water towards you. 

You plucked a fry from the table and tried to focus on what Amanda was talking about. Sonny made a quip and everyone laughed. You used the opportunity to sneak another glance towards Rafael. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off his well defined forearms. A sole finger traced the rim of his lowball glass, which was half-full. Your eyes were drawn to the Rolex on his wrist and you noticed the time.

“Oh, it’s late - I should get going,” you remarked, as you pulled Rafael’s arm close to your face, looking at the time more closely. “Sorry,” you murmur, releasing his arm. You stand and wobble once more, and Rafael stands, catching you. 

“Good idea; it is late,” Rafael replied. “Let me just close out the tab.” Amanda and Sonny protested as they reached for their wallets and Rafael waved them off. 

“I can go home with you honey.” Amanda offered. 

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N, you know better than that; someone should go with you.” Sonny replied. “Amanda and I can.”

“Sonny you’re all the way uptown - I am all the way downtown. It’ll be fine.” You argued as you put your coat on.

Rafael returned, placing his wallet on the table momentarily. “What’s fine?”

“Me. Going home solo,” you replied. “But Amanda and Sonny think--”

“That you had too much to drink.” Sonny cut you off. “It’s not safe.”

“Sonny.” You pinched the bridge of your nose and you found yourself growing more impatient. “I am a big girl - I will send you a text when I get home.”

“Where’s home?” Rafael asked curiously. 

“Brooklyn.” Sonny and you replied at the same time.

“Sonny’s right - someone should take you home.” Rafael countered. 

“What if Barba takes you home?” Amanda asked, as she slipped her hat on. “Barba lives downtown - you don’t mind, do you counselor?”

“Not at all.” Rafael replied. “If that’s okay with Y/N.”

You sucked your bottom lip in. “Okay; Barba wins.”

“Great. Barba takes Y/N home and I’ll head up with Amanda,” Sonny declared.

**

The cab hadn’t even been going for ten minutes when Rafael found you asleep, resting your head on his shoulder. He didn’t want to move you - lest you lean on the glass and knock your head if the cab hit a pothole. He watched as the city blurred past him, a mix of lights and colors. You let out a small moan and snuggled closer to Rafael. Rafael threw his head back, resting against the headrest and let out a sigh.

The trip to Brooklyn was uneventful as there was little traffic and soon the cab pulled up outside the brownstone that was home to you. He nudged you softly, stirring you awake. 

“We’re at your place.” He murmured and you smiled sleepily at him.

“Walk me to my door?” You asked, stifling a small yawn. Rafael nodded and requested the cab to keep the meter running. You grabbed your keys to unlock the door and turned to face him. You thanked him for going out of his way to accompany you home and Rafael gave you a small nod, telling you it was no big deal - better to be safe. He licked his lips and you felt a rush of bravery course through you - you’d later realize that was the alcohol - and did what was, up until then, a figment of your imagination.

You curled your fingers into his hair, since he was sans beard, and pulled him in for a kiss. Rafael was initially taken aback, freezing in place, but then he deepened the kiss. You moaned into his mouth, which he took as an invitation to deepen the kiss and slide his tongue into your mouth.  His strong arms, closed around your back and pulled you tightly against him. You continued kissing for what seemed like eternity, but was only mere moments, when Rafael pulled away. 

“I’m sorry.” He blurted. “You’re drunk. You can’t consent. I should not have done that.” He took a step back, regret was etched on his face.

Your face burned with embarrassment. “It’s fine. I … should go. Good night, Rafael.” You mumbled before unlocking the door and darting inside, not bothering to look back. 

Rafael groaned, rubbing his hands with his face. It felt so wonderful to kiss you - but it was under all the wrong circumstances. He headed back to the cab and went home, replaying the kiss over and over in his mind, as if it were an endless loop. 

He knew what he had to do. 

Imagine your surprise when the following morning, when you headed into the office to put in some overtime, there was an email from one formerly disgraced ADA in your mailbox - asking you out for dinner.

You took a large drag of your coffee and then hit reply. 

TBC.

***

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#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba and reader #rafael barba and you #rafael barba x female reader #rafael barba fanfic

[ashesandhalefire]

would love to hear your complicated feelings on the michael/sanders scene in context!

okay so this is messy because my thoughts are still a little all over the place, but the issues i had were specifically with the new power reveal, and they were basically 1) the way they've handled the pod squad gaining new abilities, and 2) the decision to give michael in particular this ability and backstory

i wish the reasoning was more nuanced and meaningful but a lot of it is just "i don't vibe with this" and "i think it's dumb" lmao

so i'm starting to get less and less impressed with how they're rolling out this "aliens can have more than one skill" idea. sometimes the concept comes across as Very Sexy but the execution less so. i wanted to actually see them learning these new skills. i wanted to see them tutoring each other and practicing and doing stuff wrong and getting frustrated and feeling weird trying to learn powers that are different from the ones that have been a part of them for their whole lives. but isobel's telekinesis was really the only new skill that got any screen time, and i think michael was only sort of grudgingly there for one scene of it. healing hasn't been mentioned (to my recollection?), and mindscape practice has been mostly off-screen and it seemed more about deflection in case they were pulled into jones's mindscape and less about learning to influence people. and now it's starting to feel like we're just sort of rolling out new full-fledged abilities left and right. like, there are really only three or so, but it feels like oprah is behind the scenes going YOU GET A POWER AND YOU GET A POWER and doesn't feel as organic as i'd like it to feel. and at least reading auras and telepathy have mindscape vibes and feel like natural extensions of that power. but why is firebending now a whole new subset of powers? what are the limits of these alien abilities? how many more undiscovered powers are there? and that's not even mentioning the proficiency with swords. that feels like a decently unique kind of weapon to fight with, but it doesn't require any practice. we just dig that sucker up and the spirit of mom says "fuck 'em up, girlie." who cares if jones has been fighting with it for decades (centuries? i'm unclear on the length of this guy's life lol). he's not good enough to beat a really motivated novice. anyway! now we're saying that michael has secretly been able to jump into heads and control people for ten years but he doesn't use the power because he's terrified that it makes him evil and his siblings will be disgusted with him. and despite the fact that he hasn't practiced this power in ten years, a large part of the "beat the bad guy" plan hinges on his being able to overpower jones's control of the sheriff, meaning that the incident at eighteen isn't being looked at as a fluke when a new power manifests. we're just assuming michael has this fully developed mind control ability lying dormant in his brain. we lay out that michael did this thing, redefined his whole life by this new trauma, and, after a quick pep talk with his pseudo-dad, has processed his fears of his inherent evil enough to confess to his siblings and subject himself to using the power. all in like six minutes of screen time. and his siblings are entirely unaffected by this. they're not like... what??? you lied about a secret power for years??? they're just like [PSA voice, mentor putting a hand on mentee's shoulder] you could never be bad, michael. we love you. and then he DOESN'T EVEN DO IT. he just hops into the mindscape like anyone else could've done and says "pls don't shoot my friends :(" and the sheriff says okay and stops "letting" jones control her. why was this a good way to roll out this new power??? so the whole point of the reveal that michael has this mind control power apparently didn't even have anything to do with the sheriff subplot because he didn't actually use this power to resolve that problem. for now - until it comes back again, which based on some of the other subplots this season is not a guarantee - it was just to heap more trauma on his shoulders and legitimize this "woe is me, i'm a horrible monster!!" yarn they keep trying to spin without actually showing him do anything Truly Bad or Mildly Morally Gray. the sanders conversation is a rehashing of the alex convo from earlier where someone has to insist to michael that his genetics don't make him inherently evil. and the alex one was more effective for me because it was in the immediate aftermath of this massive revelation about who his father was AND michael

thought he was about to get murdered. he was spinning out. but having it happen again like eight episodes later - after michael still hasn't actually done anything to lend some legitimacy to his fears that his bloodline is Unavoidably Evil - doesn't have the same emotional impact. the worst things michael has ever done with his powers were shown back in the first half of s1, and he's be almost entirely reformed since then. so to set up whatever michael/jones showdown must be coming our way, we get the introduction of this ability that michael has never even so much as hinted at having before, and we get the reveal that it has colored how he looks at himself since he was eighteen. what. michael saying that his religious extremist family tried to perform an exorcism on him and couldn't and dallas inferring that he started to believe he was the demon was a good exchange. we already knew about that incident, but michael played it off as no big deal during 1x06. the new conversation helps him to relate to dallas, finds them some common ground, establishes trust, and makes the true emotional depth of what happened to michael explicit. having michael redefine all of his emotional struggles for the last ten years through the lens of "actually i found out that i have the same ability as the alien that possessed my sister and made her kill three girls in front of me, and it has made me view myself as fundamentally evil since that day" is such a bad rewrite of his history. was the history of horribly abusive foster homes insufficient in explaining michael's self-worth issues? was being the victim of a hate crime not enough trauma? was the witnessing and covering up of two separate murders that derailed his entire academic future not enough to make michael question his own goodness or value? why would it be necessary to add this mind control element to really make him feel bad about stuff?

and if ANYONE was going to get a story that dealt with struggles with consent and mental control, why was it not isobel?? why was it not that holding the turquoise enhanced her abilities and enabled her to control people, and she was TERRIFIED of that because of noah?? her consent was violated horribly, and she has struggled horribly with respecting the consent of others. this needed to be her ability to develop and deal with! giving it to michael fully developed also feels like a very handwavey, last minute choice. if this was planned from the beginning, why is this the first that the audience has heard about it? he says he never mentioned it because of isobel, which explains why isobel and max don't know about it. but why doesn't the audience know about it? in s1, michael is adamant that liz leave town. if isobel couldn't get her to go, why didn't michael sneak off and make her leave? why didn't he force her to forget (if that's within the purview of the power)? sure, he doesn't like having this power. but he's also more than willing to sacrifice himself for his siblings. wouldn't a little unethical behavior be worth saving them from experimentation? also if michael has been able to force people to do things all along, where was that energy when alex got kidnapped? why is torturing flint in a basement less inherently evil than just compelling him to tell the truth or compelling helena to let alex and charlie go? i know not everything can be planned from the beginning. but there was no reason this power had to be written like this. it didn't have to be something michael knew he had. but they chose to insert it into his history, and i feel like that was a bad call. - positives about the scene dad!sanders supremacy michael needs a dad figure who's like "you're a good person, you dumbass" and straight up LAUGHS at his assertion that he's evil.

#powderseal #asks for ts #wank for ts #because it's a big ol' complain-fest in here lol #and only actually barely related to the actual michael/sanders convo...

[charming-2d-boys]

Heyo! Love your writing 💖 from most to least, who in the adultrio is most touch starved and how do they deal with it in a relationship? 👀👀👀👀

Hi! This is cute and sad at the same time, but I'll make it all better and fluffier ✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧

Thank you for the request and I hope you'll like it! 😄

Warning: very long, a bit sad because of their pasts, some personal analysis based on common HxH knowledge, gut feeling and theories

A/N: literally poured my heart and soul, especially for Chrollo and Hisoka, because I feel really bad for what they had to go through and how twisted they can be, when things could’ve been so different

So the way I see things is as follows:

From the most touch starved to the least (they all are, absolutely, but the explanation will be below for each character):

Chrollo -> Hisoka -> Illumi

Why? Lemme demonstrate.

Chrollo

since he was probably abandoned at birth in Meteor City, he’s already missing the parents’ loving touch

Meteor City seems to be one of the harshest environments in the Hunter x Hunter universe, probably being second only (at least for me) to the Dark Continent, since that one is just nuts

because of where and how he grew up, he probably never felt anything... good, in terms of touching, affection, love etc.

Chrollo loved no one and no one loved him

not truly and not for what he is

but mostly for his looks, his power, the things he could probably acquire for them

the Spiders are the only ones who accept him as a leader and a friend, a mentor, but even so, they don’t seem that close

and he does seem like the type of person who craves it, so badly

especially after hearing about it, seeing other people do it and even reading all those romance books and poems

but he’s terrified of letting anyone that close to him and seeing him for who he is

not even he knows who he is for sure, so he is just really confused

and all those moments where he touched someone and even seemed like he cared were all lies

Chrollo actually doesn’t really get much comfort from doing it because it’s a total stranger and even though he’s the bad guy, maybe they are bad too

now, if he does get into a relationship, it’s going to be tough

he’s always searching for a catch, a lie, an ulterior motive

so you have to be very patient and actually take it easy

always ask him if he’s okay with what you’re going to do

he’ll always appreciate that and make him feel like he doesn’t have to act or lie or feel pressured into doing something he doesn’t want

if he really loves you and cares, he will slowly give in to the temptation and allow you to get closer to him step by step

maybe not immediately, but he’ll definitely start reciprocating and even initiating those affectionate gestures

and it makes Chrollo so happy when you respond positively because he needs some sort of validation that what he’s doing is okay, you’re comfortable around him, you accept him, you love him, you won’t hurt him in any way

if there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell him, because there’s nothing more he hates than hurting someone he actually cares about

overall, in the end, he’ll be pretty affectionate and romantic with you because your affection, touches, intimacy, domesticity and love that you offer him allow Chrollo find a part of himself, a more human one that he most probably thought he didn’t even have

Hisoka

in Hisoka’s case, I’d like to mention the fact that he had his mother

for how long, we don’t know, but he was taught how to do some magic tricks by her

I do think that maybe they weren’t that close, but his mother could be somewhat affectionate at times

which is probably why he remembers the fact that she taught him pretty fondly

remember the fact that Hisoka doesn’t normally care about the past, so this must’ve been something pretty significant to him and still is, since he employs cards and magic tricks into pretty much everything he does

now, about how touch starved he is?

very

not as much as Chrollo, but certainly not that less either

like I said, he had a parent, his mother, so there was some family bonding and some motherly love (at least a bit), whereas Chrollo had nothing

that doesn’t mean that Hisoka isn’t touch starved

but he doesn’t really pay much attention to that

he probably has a lot of one night stands since he seems to be so... flirty and easily excitable and extroverted

maybe he really is shy, like he said? probably in a relationship and when he is vulnerable, but I’ll get to that in a moment

even with all the one night stands and his personality, Hisoka doesn’t really feel anything, at least not emotionally, when touching or being touched

only physically

and he likes it, but that would be it, he doesn’t feel any emotional connection to anyone

but in a relationship, an actual, real, romantic relationship, things would be different

Hisoka’s going to be flirty, teasing, even mean sometimes

especially when you actually seem to want to know more about him - as a person, his past, his hobbies, anything regarding him, not the persona he has made for himself

but, again, patience and don’t go overboard

it’ll feel like an intrusion

also, yes, touchy, very

but... it doesn’t really feel like anything more than something purely physical and if you tell him to stop, he'll listen and back off

it’s all about pleasure and if you get none, he’ll feel as if he did badly

so he’d rather not have to deal with that

just like Chrollo, he’s protecting himself and his heart

because pretty much no one wanted to be with him, but for the benefits he’d bring them

not that he really let others too close either - whoever did get too close and betrayed him died painfully, I know for sure

but you’d probably start breaking down those walls slowly, in time

he will share things about himself and let you witness it, but not too much and not too often

not really into talking about his past, but again, snippets, not everything

Hisoka’s scared that you’ll use what you find out about him against him

but once he realises that yes, he can trust you and yes, he can be himself?

all bets are off

touchy, flirty, teasing, but in a very... let’s say, lighthearted way, very focused only on the two of you?

the creepy flirting and whatever is reserved for whoever he wants to fight/kill

but with you, it’ll be a lot more romantic and affectionate

will absolutely love having you close physically and touching you constantly

feels recharged and happy when he’s close to you

will definitely be almost like a different person sometimes because he’ll allow himself to be relaxed and comfortable and vulnerable around you

Hisoka likes having someone like you to rely on and be able to talk to about his thoughts and fears (not many, but still), even if it doesn’t really happen that often

but, bottom line is, he trusts you, a lot more than he’s probably trusted anyone in his entire life and will be more honest with you as well

Illumi

for Illumi, I’ll have to say that it’s his family

yes, they trained him to be an assassin and was pretty much just a test subject for Kikyo and Silva since he is a boy and the oldest

but, still, he had a family that, in a way or another, was there for him, preparing him, helping him and providing him with whatever he needed and maybe even wanted

again, this is only my way of saying that he had some sort of contact with people who were close to him, especially from a genetical point of view, ever since he was a child and had help in case he needed it

because of all the torture and training he went through, Illumi is pretty much emotionless and immune to almost anything

he feels no real joy from being touched by others or touching them, and the only ones even allowed to touch him are his family and Hisoka, mostly because he’s persistent and they’ve known each other for some time

the only way he’s really been taught how to touch others is if he has to kill them, so you can imagine that he doesn’t really know what he’s missing on, compared to, let’s say Alluka or Killua, even Kalluto who were raised a bit more... lovingly

so imagine how it’ll be when he gets into a relationship with someone who’s a lot more touchy

he’d probably be pretty on edge and even appear threatening

but, explaining what you want to do in simple terms and your reasons should make him a bit more open, at least to the idea of thinking about this

of course, Illumi’s seen other people hugging, kissing, holding hands etc.

and he’s probably wondered why he never did that

but at the same time, he’s never really felt like he really needed affection in his life

until you came into it

when you started with small things (holding pinkies was something that lasted for like a month), he couldn’t really say that he saw the big deal

but at the same time, Illumi liked it a lot

when it came to hand holding, he loved the way your smaller hand fit into his and almost seemed like it was made for him and he could just keep you close and safe

other things, like hugging or kissing probably took a bit longer

his favourite thing to do has got to be cuddling because he just likes feeling like he can relax around you and also get his daily dose of touch, love and affection from one of the few people he cares about, even loves, and who he allows to touch him

and yes, he’ll slowly start touching you as well

something as simple as a brief hug before he has to leave just makes him feel giddy and he actually wants and needs more when he comes back to you

he likes feeling all those positive emotions, though he doesn’t really like that feeling of vulnerability, but he guesses that it’s only fair, considering the fact that you’re doing the same

to others, it might not seem like he’s changed much: the same emotionless face and the same ruthlessness as an assassin

but when he’s with you, everything just seems a lot more relaxed for the two of you and he can actually just breathe and know that he’ll have you by his side at the end of the day

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #illumi zoldyck x reader #hxh chrollo #hxh hisoka #hxh illumi #hxh writing

[johobi]

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious. 

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience. 

Yes, dismal is an ambience. 

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him. 

“Taehyung.” 

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between. 

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify.  Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.” 

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status. 

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist. 

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that. 

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk. 

He’s always doing this. 

Always moistening himself. 

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates.  "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do. 

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person." 

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that. 

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so." 

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along." 

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism. 

 "Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon." 

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?" 

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking." 

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the  finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit. 

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets. 

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable.  But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs. 

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him. 

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In  their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He  enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness. 

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all  rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead.  You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly. 

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows. 

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #v #v fluff #v scenarios #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #v x reader #v x you #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader

[goddessofmischief]

Blue Monday, Chapter 12 - Loki Laufeyson x Reader

Read chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 8, 9, 10 & 11!

Author’s Note: It’s been a long time coming, but we’re in the endgame now! There will be only a few chapters left after this one.

...

“What do we do?”

It was a simple enough question, you knew. You had just discovered that Mobius - your boss, your trusted mentor - was plotting against you.

Either that, or Loki was.

Though somehow, it seemed infinitely preferable to you that it was Mobius. If Loki truly had betrayed you... well, you just couldn’t take it.

“We’ll go, of course,” said Loki. “Mobius has us on a leash - as long as he lives, we are bound to him. We both signed our souls over, Y/N, the very moment we signed that contract. The only thing left to do is confront him.”

“Travel by Tesseract?”

“No. We’ll take the Bifrost. If Mobius is plotting against us, it would be unwise to arrive via his method of transportation. We have to catch him off-guard.”

You nodded, mind racing.

“Alright, alright... we’ve just got to get to the Bifrost, then-”

“Easier said than done. The Bifrost is guarded by a soldier called Heimdall. He’ll know that I’m a time-traveler immediately. There’s no possibility he’ll let us through.”

“What if we could distract him?”

“I can’t imagine a distraction large enough that it could distract a man who can survey the entirety of the universe in a single glance.”

You thought, carefully.

“What if there were two Amoras?”

...

“This is an awful plan,” Loki muttered, striding beside you.

“It’s a wonderful plan. Heimdall will be distracted by the impossibility of the situation, and he’ll have to come look -- then we can sneak away.”

Loki nodded.

“It makes sense on paper, doesn't it? But these things never seem to work as well in practice.”

“Yes. True.”

“And besides... Amora was a fearsome warrior, love. She could kill you. How do you expect to fight her?”

You shrugged.

“I’ve got her sword, haven’t I? Without that... I imagine we’ll be equals.”

...

You were dead wrong.

You’d only been looking at Amora - who, you had to admit, did look quite a bit like you - for all of six minutes, and she was the most terrifyingly intense person you’d ever witnessed.

“And you’re sure you’re ready for this, darling?” Loki asked again.

“Yes,” you said, quietly. “I was born ready.”

With a final squeeze of his hand, you strode up to the warrior.

“Amora!” you shouted. “Of Asgard!”

You had gotten her attention, you knew - and she stared through you, with piercing eyes.

“You are myself, I see.”

“I am more yourself than you are,” you taunted, and Loki arched an eyebrow. You could almost hear his thoughts:

What are you doing?

Enough small talk!

Make her mad!

You cleared your throat.

“I am yourself, Amora. And I have come to take what is mine. I’ve already got your sword-” you swung Kursebreaker for extra effect. “How about your betrothed?”

Amora growled, and with identical grimaces, the two of you faced off against each other.

“I will destroy you,” she promised.

You smiled.

“You may try.”

She lunged in your direction, and to your surprise, the sword seemed to do all the work for you. You blocked her kicks and her punches, and even managed to knock her to the ground.

That is, until, someone tossed her a staff.

She beat you to the ground, and you began to collapse under her weight. Somewhere in the crowd, you could hear Loki’s whispers, as if he was speaking against the back of your neck - spells, enchantments.

Loki had chosen you over Amora. Loki was fighting for you.

That had to mean something.

“Well,” said a larger guard, who you guessed was Heimdall, “What’s this?”

“This imposter has attempted to vanquish me,” said Amora, standing up. “I was about to finish her off.”

Suddenly, like magic, fifteen of you appeared in the arena. Loki gestured at you, and you ran to him, the other Amoras distracting the crowd.

“That was close,” you panted, and you both ran. “I thought she was about to kill me.”

“I thought she would, too!”

You glared at him, and, suddenly, you stopped in front of a large, rainbow bridge -- the Bifrost, you guessed.

“Good, the sword’s here -- come on, you first.”

“What, so I can die first?” you shouted. “Nice try, Loki - not bloody likely!”

He groaned.

“Trust me?”

“No, of course not! The worst possible thing I could do is trust you!”

Thirty soldiers began to descend upon you, and you glanced at Loki.

“Fine, yes! I trust you!”

Without warning, Loki swept you into a kiss.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” he promised, and you vanished into the Bifrost.

...

The T.V.A. felt a little different, now. Cursed, or haunted, or something.

It felt wrong. Like you’d outgrown the place.

And you had, in a way. You didn’t need to be their agent, ever again. You didn’t belong to anyone. All you needed was Loki, and you had him.

“He must be around here somewhere,” Loki muttered, ducking around a hallway. “Somewhere...”

“Hey, kids.”

“Mobius,” you snapped, glaring at the man who had just appeared before you. “You son of a bitch.”

“Easy, darling,” Loki whispered, dangerously serene, tangling his fingers in yours. “It’ll be alright-”

“No, it won’t be!” you exclaimed, wrenching your hand away. “Don’t you understand? He’s about to kill us!”

“And do you really think I’ll let him?”

“Loki, I don’t think you’ve got a whole lot of say in it.”

“She’s right,” said Mobius, nodding towards both of you. “See... that’s kinda been my plan all along.”

“Explain yourself, small man,” Loki ordered.

“Well, the thing is - this universe is done. Earth is gonna destroy itself, just wait and see. Asgard is dead. The rest of our universe will soon follow. So I’m going to take that tesseract... and I’m going to the next one. It’s a big multiverse. I’ll travel a little, y’know... decide where I want to end up. I’m really kinda glad you guys came to confront me, by the way - after all... it is why I brought you here.”

“You tried to frame me?”

Loki looks completely unsurprised, of course, as utterly tranquil as a resting lake, but you saw the stirring underneath.

Mobius had chosen him because he thought he would be a monster, and make a monstrous choice. He had hoped that Loki would destroy the universe for him.

And Loki had disappointed him.

But he had saved you. That had to count for something.

Right?

“Tried? I did frame you,” said Mobius. “In the eyes of the universe... when I destroy this world, you will be the only possible culprit.” “Why’d you bother?” you ask. “You could’ve just... destroyed this timeline yourself, and taken the credit. You were my mentor. I know you’re powerful enough to do it.”

Mobius wagged his finger at you.

“The Watchers,” he said. “They see everything, you know. Broad strokes and actions. If I had done it, they would’ve made my travel... inconvenient.

And, besides. I had the book, I knew how the story would end. I knew what he thought you were, all along. And I knew that if I put the one thing that Loki needed and just could not have so close to him, it’d be bound to end in bloodshed. It’s simply the most likely outcome. Why have all that blood on my hands, when it could so easily be on the God of Mischief’s?”

Loki looked lost, and far less certain than before. You wanted to comfort him, but... you were quite unsure, yourself. Both of you would soon be dead. There was precious little that either he or you could do about it.

“It’ll be alright,” Loki repeated, sounding a little uneasier than he had been. You looked up at him, concentrating, carefully, on memorizing every flawless line of his face.

You’d never told him you loved him.

Well... it just didn’t matter. You’d be dead in moments.

It just didn’t matter.

But he had to know something else. You had to destroy one last bit of hope for him.

“Loki,” you whispered, quietly, reaching for his hand, “Loki, I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what, darling? Handle this fool?”

“No. I can’t... I know part of you thinks I can save us, but I can’t. I’m not a goddess. I’m not. I’m just me. And that isn’t enough.” “I know.”

“What?”

He did a half-hearted little shrug.

“I suppose... I’ve known for a long time. If you ever were who I thought you were... you aren’t, anymore. I can’t explain it. But I did know.

Oh, what’d you expect me to do, love? Admit that I had been sticking around, all this time, simply for you?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“But... no matter,” Loki said, briskly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and continuing to glare at Mobius. “I imagine you know why she looks like Amora? That must all be part of your plan, yes?”

Mobius chuckled.

“Certainly, friend. See... it’s all very funny... she is Amora.”

...

Feedback feeds this writer, feel free to send me an ask to let me know what you thought of this chapter, or ask me about it!

Taglist: gorgeourrific-nerd @suwupremeleader​​ @sserpente​ @tripleyeeet​ @kcd15 @rorybutnotgilmore 

#blue monday: a loki story #blue monday #blue monday on disney + #blue monday masterlist #loki blue monday #loki x reader angst #loki x reader #loki #loki imagine #loki disney+ #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #loki (marvel) #marvel x reader #marvel comics #marvel #marvel studios

[uchihasakurawrites]

Until Next Time

Rating: T

Summary: When ghosts from the war come back to haunt Sakura, Sasuke's there to try his hand at warding them off. A story of comfort, growth, and realization. (Blank Period)

Word Count: 3,777

A/N: Long time, no see everyone! Thank you for your patience as I’ve worked through some writer’s block the past few months. I know many of you are waiting on the next chapter for A Lesson in Practicality, but I hope you’ll still enjoy this piece. Please let me know your thoughts if you have the time! Otherwise, thank you for taking some time to read my work. ^_^

Warning: This story contains depictions of panic attacks, PTSD flashbacks, and some alcohol abuse. Nothing too dark in here since it's mainly a comfort fic, but please be cautious if any of these topics are triggering for you.

Cross posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

____________________________________

Her day begins and ends the same way every other day the past year seemed to - with Sakura walking into the hospital with a confident spring to her step and a brightness in her eyes and dragging herself out (on the rare day she had the energy to pry herself from her desk) with antiseptic or blood or a mix of the two staining her hands and the lab coat she'd forgotten to peel off.

Tonight, Sakura consciously decides not to make the effort to drag herself out of the hospital. Leaving means she'll be roped into the birthday party Ino's been planning for Sai for months, and she doesn't quite have the energy to even shower, let alone paste a convincing smile on her lips.

She spares a glance at the old clock posted right above the chalkboard in her office as she shuffles in and locks the door behind her.

8:00PM.

Fourteen hours since Naruto shook her awake and thrust her straight into a day from hell.

It's still a little too early for anyone to come looking for her yet. Naruto will notice that she's not at the bar right when he arrives, but Hinata will patiently remind him of the shitshow that was today and reason that Sakura's still probably dealing with the aftermath. (In much less colorful terms, of course; Sakura's only heard her friend curse a handful of times, none of which were in front of Naruto.) That'll buy her about an hour before Ino starts making a fuss and sends Sai or Kiba out to Sakura's apartment.

If she's not there, they'll assume she's still at the hospital, and they won't come back until it's close to midnight. Not today. Not after seeing the hallways lined with burn victims pleading for someone to find their loved ones. Not after returning home and finding that the stench of charred skin and blood isn't so easy to wash out of their clothes.

Sakura didn't get to leave. Her role just changed from a kunoichi dispatched on a rescue mission to the de facto head of the hospital the moment she crossed the threshold.

She pulls the shades in hopes of convincing her friends that she isn't here if they do decide to come looking but stops short in front of the light switch. The migraine between her temples screams for her to turn the fluorescents off, but she doesn't trust her mind not to see death in the shadows of her office tonight.

She turns them off anyways.

It isn't until she's sitting criss-cross on her floor with her too-full bookshelf at her back and a bottle of sake in her hand that Sakura realizes her hands are trembling. A splash of sake makes its way onto her carpet instead of into her cup, and she curses because it's good sake - the expensive kind that Tsunade bought her a case of after the war and no no no.

She cuts that thought there because violent memories of the war, or rather the days immediately following the war, have been intruding into her mind all day and she just can't.

A case or so of sake should knock her and those thoughts right out (or so she hopes). Years of honing her skills as a medic nin have given her a certain resistance to toxins, including alcohol, and it's why she doesn't bother to drink most of the time; social drinking is more of a waste of money than anything else. She figures that's precisely why her mentor gave her an entire case as a gift.

It isn't until she's two bottles in and there's a buzzed lightness to her body that she realizes she's crying.

Her breath seems to come faster and faster, shallower and shallower, and she wonders if the buzz and creeping, cold numbness in her fingers is because of the alcohol or the lack of oxygen. She's shivering, muscles tensed to the point of pain, but she blames it on the chill of the hospital.

Another glass will knock the cold right out. At least, that's what Tsunade used to say when she drank away the ghosts that forced themselves a little too close to the front of her mind.

It's a few glasses later that Sakura starts seeing the eyes of the dead staring back at her from the shadows at the edges of her office. She's back on the battlefield, the same smell of burnt skin and the mournful cries of shinobi finally processing the deaths of their comrades hanging in the air. She's been healing for days, but she continues to push. The fighting may be over but there are still identities to confirm, survivors to heal, and families to be notified.

Sakura knew that death was part of her job description from her days in the Academy; protecting the interests of the village often required it. Tsunade had let her figure out that the same was true of her job as a medic on her own, when she lost her first patient at fifteen. She'd learned to put the deaths she dealt with in a neat little box which she deadbolted and tossed on a shelf in the deepest recess of her mind she could find.

But death was a uniquely stubborn bastard that didn't always like to stay in that box.

She'd been awake for the full three days the war had drawn on, but the medical corps was tasked with the brunt of combing through the miles upon miles of dead shinobi for another forty-eight hours or so. They'd had help, but medics were the ones needed throughout to organize, heal, or in the worst possible cases (which Sakura and Shizune handled) show mercy to the shinobi who were alive but long past the point of saving.

Sakura nearly vomits and washes the bile down with more sake. One glass. Another.

The quiet tears have turned into sobs that scratch at her throat and squeeze her lungs. Her nails cut thin crescent moons into her forearms, and her shoulders hunch as if she can ward off the prying eyes. Sakura barely has the presence of mind to activate the silencing seal in her office - the one she keeps on hand when discussing particularly sensitive cases - before her sobs grow into half screams. She can't get enough air to manage much more than a hoarse cry, but if she can just drink fast enough, it shouldn't matter.

And so she cracks open another bottle and brings it directly to her lips, trying to focus on the burn of the alcohol on her throat and Naruto's bright smile reassuring her that everything would be fine when he first found her clutching a bottle of sake in the corner of her disaster of a bedroom.

What she doesn't count on is the alcohol making it increasingly difficult to distinguish reality from the memories that have escaped from her mind and seared themselves into the darkness around her. They become more real, more tangible, until she swears she can hear the fresh widow of a shinobi from Cloud shouting about how Sakura hadn't done enough. Another voice joins until there's a chorus telling her exactly what she feared most:

There shouldn't have been so many casualties. She should have been able to do more.

She was weak.

Her tears stop for a moment when she looks up and sees Sasuke standing in the doorway. For a fraction of a second, she almost feels relieved and tries to move to go to him, but she's reminded none of this is real, and she can't be sure which Sasuke this is. Given her current state of mind, it's probably the one who haunted her nightmares for months after the bridge and still longer after his genjutsu in the war. She takes a swig from the bottle she clenches in her fist and curls back into herself.

Sasuke's repeated calls of her name fall on deaf ears.

For his part, Sasuke is at a loss. He's never seen Sakura like this (and he'd witnessed her tears firsthand on many occasions as genin). Sure, she's always worn her heart on her sleeve and been far too open with her emotions by standard shinobi rules, but she has never seemed so broken.

Looking at the scratch marks that trail down her forearms and the far too many empty bottles of sake for someone of her stature littered on the carpet, Sasuke realizes he doesn't know this woman - and in retrospect, he never should have assumed otherwise.

From her confessions both during the war and when he made the decision to leave her behind yet again, Sasuke knows she's still fiercely loyal and has a light bright enough to forgive and heal anything it touches without her needing to make the conscious choice to do so. Her skills as a shinobi have grown to the point that she could give him a challenge if they were to spar, and he's seen her heal an entire battlefield for days on end while still fighting on the front lines.

She's become more than worthy of the title of the "New Sannin," as the original Team 7 has now been christened, and she still loves him (unreasonably so in his opinion, but he's come to realize that maybe he doesn't want her to change her mind - even if he thinks it would be better for her in the long run). But that's all he knows, and he finds himself wanting to discover more of who Sakura is now.

He has years of absence and cruel actions to make up for, and far more growth beyond that to become someone who deserves the steadfast love she's always been ready to give him.

At the moment, however, he needs to get her to let go of the liquor bottle she clutches onto like a lifeline and refocus on the present. He's been trapped by his past more times than he'll ever admit, and though he hasn't had real comfort since his mother (and Sakura, he amends), he owes it to her to at least try.

Sasuke approaches her slowly, intentionally making his footsteps heavier so that she can hear him approach. Whatever nightmare she's trapped in - he confirmed it wasn't a genjutsu the moment he broke the lock on her door after an unnerving spike in her chakra - she hasn't seemed to notice he's actually here. He bites back the guilt that surfaces at the thought that he could be part of her nightmare, but that's something they can work through later.

He crouches down in front of her, taking a firm hold of the hand that clutches the bottle to try to coax it out of her grip. She jolts at the touch, peeking hesitantly up from her knees with red-rimmed eyes and a mix of tears and sweat coating her cheeks.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Her grip loosens as she meets his eyes. He sees uncertainty waver in her gaze as she hiccups in a short breath, but then the panic snaps back down and tightens her hold on the bottle yet again.

"I- I can't."

The words are stilted, as though forcing out those two words causes her physical pain. Sasuke, however, considers it a small win as it means Sakura's decided he's real. Her breathing is still far too fast, and he knows he needs to stabilize it before she's ready to explain what's happening.

It's awkward - both because Sasuke has never done this and the fact that he hasn't completely sorted through his feelings for his teammate - but he eventually pulls Sakura far enough away from the bookcase that he can shuffle in behind her. He secures his legs around her sides and arranges Sakura so that her back rests on his chest.

It's almost annoying just how snugly Sakura fits against him, her head tucked just below his chin. A part of his mind notes how her curves seem to melt into his frame only to be ruthlessly shoved down. There are priorities, and noting how the boyish (yet annoyingly charming) Sakura has clearly blossomed into a young woman is not one of them.

Where the Sakura from his memories smelled of strawberries and artificial sweetness, the woman in his arms tonight seems as though she's been doused in a pungent blend of antiseptic and ash.

"Breathe, Sakura."

Sasuke repeats Sakura's name to ground her as he starts regulating his own breath: six counts in through the nose, hold, eight counts out through the mouth. He's sure to exaggerate his breaths a bit so Sakura can feel the movement against her back. Hesitantly, his hand comes up to trail over the marks on her forearm. His hands have always been cold, so he figures the one he has left might be able to relieve some of the sting from her nails.

He makes a mental note to pick up some basic medical ninjutsu and doesn't bother to pretend it's just for field injuries.

It takes about ten minutes for Sakura's breathing to return mostly to normal. It still stutters every now and then, but she's matching Sasuke almost breath for breath. She doesn't move away from him, and Sasuke doesn't move to shift her.

As they sit in silence, save for their own breathing, Sasuke realizes he's put himself in a position where he needs to actually start the conversation. There's no bright chatter, no smile to coax him into talking. Again, he's at a loss.

It seems this new Sakura has retained a talent for doing this to him.

Annoying woman.

"Tell me about it."

Sakura immediately shakes her head, breath trembling yet again. Sasuke sighs and guesses he should have known she wasn't going to make this easy for him. He can't blame her. If someone asked him to do the same, he would have told them to fuck off.

"Sakura."

She turns to him with a dangerous look in her eyes, a cold jade that threatens to cut him if he pushes too far. Sasuke's always been the best at serving the very same look, but it's unnerving to see it etched into Sakura's soft features.

"Dammit, Sakura. Just talk to me."

Her gaze grows warmer, but not in the way he wants. She's angry, and Sasuke isn't really sure how he could have pissed her off in just six words. Sakura being Sakura, she of course makes the reason for her anger clear immediately.

"And why the hell do I need to do that, Sasuke?"

Sasuke nearly winces at the dropped suffix on his name and tries to remember how his mother handled it when he refused to confide in her.

"You haven't been here" - even Sakura knows this is unfair as she says it, but the confusion, grief, and alcohol clouding her mind make it difficult to acknowledge how much the man she loves has grown to be able to offer this to her- "and you never told me anything when I asked you to. So fuck off, Sasuke-kun. I'm sure Naruto's expecting you."

Naruto most definitely wasn't, but Sasuke doesn't see the value in pointing that particular fact out. By the time he got to the village and was promptly dragged into the bar he had made the mistake of walking past on his way to the Hokage Tower, the idiot was already drunk off his ass. Ino was as well, so Hinata asked Sasuke if he would mind going to check on Sakura at the hospital since she and Sai needed to stay to take care of their significant others.

Sakura finally moves to get up, tipping over a half-full bottle of sake in her efforts, but Sasuke can still see the tremors in her hands and the familiar strain of a jaw clenched against tears. Her eyes still dart towards the corners of the room.

Sasuke's well aware of the ghosts that can haunt those shadows and resolves to help Sakura put hers to rest, even if it's just for the night. His legs tighten around Sakura before she can fully pull away from him, and she falls back against his chest with a huff and a glare that's more tired than venomous.

Sasuke sighs and lowers his head. His bangs cover his eyes as he decides to voice at least part of the feelings he's managed to process regarding Sakura. He's not sure exactly how to categorize how he feels about her yet (mostly because his mind still can't comprehend why someone so bright has loved him through so much darkness), but he wants to help and that's about all he can offer her at the moment.

She deserves more, so much more, but he hopes it's enough for now.

"I'm here, Sakura."

He wants to add that he's not going anywhere because someone who will stay is only a fraction of what Sakura deserves, but that's not a promise he can make.

He feels Sakura's surprise as she stiffens against him, and her breath stops altogether for a few worrying moments. Sasuke wills himself to stay relaxed at her back, still maintaining a steady breathing pace should she need the rhythm again.

Sakura's thoughts are a whirlwind that she tries to grab ahold of but slips right through her fingers. She's torn, half of her mind shattered glass that urges her to open up and share even a part of her pain so that she can just stop breaking. Sasuke's here, showing his own vulnerability (however slight) in hopes that she'll trust him enough to do the same, and she's not sure when she'll experience this side of him again.

The other half, near-solid stone with only spiderweb cracks, whispers that voicing the memories that haunt her will only confirm her weakness in Sasuke's eyes. Instead of seeing the warrior who destroyed the ground and healed thousands in the war, he'll see the wisp of a girl who had trailed behind him as a genin.

It's the gentle, unconscious stroke of Sasuke's thumb across her forearm that makes her decision. Sasuke can sense the shift in Sakura as her head drops back onto his shoulder and her eyes squeeze shut. She's tired, so tired.

"I killed them."

Her voice breaks in the middle, and Sakura hisses out a quiet dammit at her traitorous voice. Sasuke's hand tightens where it rests on her arm.

He's quiet for a moment. Outside of discussing strategy or the details of a mission, talking isn't something Sasuke has much practice in. That, and his plan may have ended at getting Sakura to calm down enough to breathe properly.

He spends another minute in silence, growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to find the words he needs to comfort the woman who has always known exactly what he needed to hear. Sakura, however, doesn't seem to mind the silence as she relaxes against him. Green eyes crack open, and though they're still muddled with pain, he sees a steady glimmer of trust and contentment behind them that immediately quells his frustration.

The open trust in Sakura's gaze reminds Sasuke that she's never expected him to be anyone other than himself. She's always been patient, meeting him more than halfway as he seemed to take one step towards her and two or three back.

He suspects it's the same now, as there's no expectation in her eyes, no tension in her body that suggests she's irritated by his silence. So instead of pushing himself to think of the correct words to fill the empty space, Sasuke pulls her more firmly against his chest and shifts her so his chin rests lightly atop her head.

It's more affection than he's ever shown, and it's far from comfortable for him, but Sasuke knows that Sakura's worth a bit of discomfort.

Just as Sakura has spent so many years steadfastly waiting for him to come to her, he settles in to wait for her to tell him - whether that time comes tonight or later down the line.

That time doesn't come tonight. Though she trusts Sasuke with her life, Sakura can't quite break through the insecurity that he'll find her weak the moment she says anything more. Maybe it's not a fair assumption to make, but most of her memories of them together on the battlefield ended in Sakura being treated as fragile - something to be left behind and protected.

Even if they made progress during the war, Sakura's not quite ready to test the durability of the picture of strength she painted as she threw herself at Madara or took on a goddess at her team's side.

Instead, she's happy to just let his presence ward off the shadows in her mind. The voices are silent at his touch, so she decides to just enjoy the rest and wrestle with them when they inevitably come back after Sasuke's gone again.

Sasuke feels Sakura's breathing even out and watches her eyes flutter closed as she falls asleep against him. It's an interesting thing, having someone trust you so fully that they're willing to be at their most unguarded.

And he's done nothing to deserve it. He knows this, and it merely strengthens his resolve to continue his journey of atonement so that he can become someone who's at least a fraction deserving of Sakura and all that she's willing to offer him.

As he maneuvers himself out from behind Sakura and shifts her onto his back, Sasuke realizes with a tinge of bitterness that this is something he could have every day - Sakura's presence and everything bright and loving that entails. But as much as he wants to be there when she wakes up and finally say yes to taking her with him, he's not quite ready for that step.

There's more growth to be had, more relationships to mend, more emotions for him to reconcile within himself. While he knows having Sakura by his side would expedite the process of mending bridges and healing his own wounds, she needs to keep some of her light for herself.

When he leaves this time, it's out of consideration not just for himself, but for both of them. He can just make out the time when he asks Sakura to join him on his journey in the near future, but it's not now. They both have steps they need to take before they're ready.

He leaves Sakura tucked under the nest of far too many blankets she's always stubbornly kept haphazardly strewn across her bed, with a simple note on her nightstand:

Next time, Sakura.

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfic #sasusaku blank period #blank period #naruto fanfiction #hurt/comfort #sasusaku fanfiction #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno #romance

[openheartthot]

Holding On

Part 1: The Inevitable | Part 2: Selfish | Part 3: Letting Go

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 2,551

Warnings: None that I can think of. 

Summary: Ethan can’t live without her. 

***

Ahh guys it’s been so long omg. I know I’ve missed reading a lot of fics but I swear once finals are over I’m gonna go back and harass everyone with my reblogs lmao. This is sort of all over the place, but I figured I’ve been wallowing in my writer’s block long enough! 

Ethan watches her all night.

She’s radiant in a wine-colored dress, her perfectly coiffed golden hair a far cry from the messy ponytails and buns that she used to sport around Edenbrook. 

It’s hard to believe that this is the same woman who’d once started every morning tangled in his bedsheets, who’d held his hand across the table in Derry Roasters.

The same woman who once tried to tell him she loved him in an airport, before he stopped her. 

Pain battles with pride in the pit of his stomach as he watches her flit around the hotel ballroom. She’s completely in her element as she rubs elbows with the elite of West Coast medicine. No longer is she the bright-eyed young intern by his side. 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, Ethan always knew she’d be great.

And yet...he can’t help but worry that he might be too late. 

Her dress is just a bit risqué for a medical conference, but none of the other doctors or representatives seem to mind. They are completely enraptured by her wide smiles and sharp wit. Especially the young, sandy-haired doctor all but glued to her side. Ethan doesn’t miss the way his hand alights on her waist every now and then, nor the wonderstruck way he gazes at her. 

Jealousy roils in Ethan’s stomach, completely unwarranted. He has no claim on her, not anymore.

Ethan turns bitterly back to his scotch, determined to drown his sorrows in the amber liquid before him. One more drink at the bar, and then he’ll leave to continue his pity party upstairs in the privacy of his hotel room. There’s no point in torturing himself with the sight of her with another man. 

He knocks back his drink, and another one appears in front of him almost instantly, though he hasn’t ordered one. 

For a moment, he’s confused. 

But only for a moment. 

He catches a whiff of her perfume before any of his other senses realize she’s behind him. He breathes in deeply, savoring the gentle floral scent that lingered on his pillow long after she left for the last time. 

“Hell of a speech,” Ethan says into the drink she bought him. He can’t look at her-- he’s scared of what he might say if he gets a glimpse of those green eyes.

He’s broken a lot of his own rules when it comes to Camille, but he won’t make a move on a woman in a relationship. No matter how badly he wants to punch her companion in the jaw. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here. You hate conventions.” 

Ethan grits his teeth against the onslaught of emotions triggered by that voice. That soft, silvery voice that he used to have the pleasure of hearing every day. 

God, how he took her for granted back then. 

“To your first keynote? I wouldn’t miss it.” Ethan says, fighting to keep his voice even. 

It’s true. Ethan avoids conventions like the plague, but when he heard Camille was to be the keynote speaker of a conference held in her new home city of San Francisco, he’d booked a flight without a second thought. 

He’s been telling himself it is just to celebrate her success as a former mentor, but he can no longer pretend that he doesn’t have ulterior motives. That he didn’t want to know if she’d come alone, or on the arm of some well-built pretty boy--

“The blonde Clark Kent? Who’s he?” Ethan asks, not entirely on purpose. The scotch has loosened his tongue more than he realized. 

“Adam is... just a colleague.” Camille says, and then Ethan catches a glimpse of red silk and blonde hair in his periphery as she sinks onto the barstool beside him.

He can’t ignore the flicker of hope ignited by her words, but then reality comes crashing back in. They live on opposite sides of the country. He told her to leave. 

“I was your colleague too, once.” Ethan says, immediately wishing the words didn’t sound so resentful. 

“Once.” Camille muses in agreement, and Ethan can’t help but wonder if the bittersweet reel of their relationship plays on a perpetual loop in her mind the way it does in his. 

“So, you aren’t seeing anyone?” Ethan can’t help but ask, unable to shake the growing tingle of hope. 

“No.” Camille says softly, “I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious.” She stares down at the bar, unaware of the physical ache that the words cause in Ethan’s chest. The cautious tone of her voice hurts more than he cares to admit.  

His Camille, the one who boldly strode past all of the boundaries that he had so painstakingly created, would never be so hesitant when it came to love. 

She’s supposed to be foolish, and headstrong, and impulsive...and it’s Ethan’s fault that she isn’t any of those things anymore. 

Ethan takes another swallow of scotch, for courage, before he turns to face her. 

He had watched her during her speech, of course, and from afar as she made her rounds through the room, but seeing her up-close is almost more than he can handle. 

Ethan meets her eyes, and for a minute, he swears he forgets how to breathe. The rest of the room fades away, and it feels like all that exists is him and her. All he can see through his tunneling vision are those green eyes. 

Those eyes bring him back to Miami, to that first passion-fueled kiss on a balcony under the light of a thousand stars, both of their inhibitions clouded with wine. 

Those eyes bring him back to long nights spent in the diagnostics office, toiling over a case; to her fingers laced in his under the table; to a million little moments shared between the two of them over the course of their relationship, both professional and romantic. 

“Dance with me.” Ethan says. He can’t think of a single other thing besides encircling Camille in his arms and holding her close, even if it’s only for the duration of a song. 

“...Okay.” Camille agrees after a moment, although Ethan isn’t sure whether it’s out of pity, or because, like his, her hands are burning with the need to touch him. 

She follows him to the dance floor, and when she steps into his arms, Ethan can’t stop his eyes from watering. He is convinced there is nothing more right than Camille against his chest, the way her arms slide around his neck, the way that his hands know the curve of her waist. 

“I want you.” Ethan murmurs. He can’t help it, with her in his arms, it’s almost like no time has passed at all. 

Camille stiffens, her arms tensing where they rest against his shoulders. Her gaze flicks to the elevators, and she swallows hard before looking away. 

“You know I’m not interested in being a casual hookup anymore.” 

Ethan’s chest tightens, knowing that he was the one that made her feel cheap, disposable. Even so, his own hurt swells. 

“There was nothing casual about the nights we spent together, not for me.” Ethan says curtly, stung by her implication. 

“For me either.” Camille says in exasperation. “But…” 

“I want to be with you.” Ethan says, the words welcome on his tongue after spending so long pretending that he didn’t miss her. Pretending that it didn’t bother him knowing that Camille was building a new life on the other side of the country. A life without him. 

“Stop it.” Camille falters, missing a step and almost losing her balance. Ethan pulls her securely against his chest, but she avoids his gaze. “Missing me isn’t the same thing as wanting to be with me.” 

“I know,” Ethan insists, refusing to back down. 

“Since you left Boston, I’ve been a shell of a man, living only for your visits. And when those stopped…” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t live without you, Camille, I need you.” 

“That’s not healthy.” Camille snaps, her expression knitting into a scowl. “And you were the one who told me to move in the first place!” 

“I was, and I stand by that. It was the right decision for your career.” Ethan counters reflexively before his voice drops, husky with emotion. “Whether it’s healthy or not, I don’t want to be without you. Not for another second.” 

He dips his head, just enough to let his jaw brush against her temple. 

Camille lets out a tiny sniff, and when he pulls back to meet her eyes, he finds them shimmering with tears. 

“Ethan…” Her lips part on his name, her eyes filled with a yearning so deep that Ethan instinctively tightens his hold on her, his fingers tracing the notches of her spine. 

Slowly, tentatively, she relaxes into him, her head resting on his chest just above his beating heart. Ethan freezes, terrified that the slightest movement will scare her away. 

“I want that, too.”

He doesn’t waste another second. He tilts her chin up, and then her hands are in his hair, tugging him roughly down until his mouth meets hers. The kiss is desperate and consuming, her hands roving over his back and chest while Ethan traces patterns on the exposed skin of her back. 

“I’ve missed this.” Ethan manages before crushing his mouth back to hers. “I’ve missed you.” 

Camille sighs in agreement, pulling him close and melding her body against his until it’s hard to tell where his body ends and hers begins. 

Her hips rock boldly against him, and Ethan bites back a groan, all too aware that they’re still in the middle of a very public dance floor. 

As their frantic kiss slows to gentle brushes of his lips against hers, Ethan smooths his hands over her back, holding her as tightly as he dares. He gazes down at her in amazement, and she stares back, her eyes alight with joy and promise. 

“Is that a yes, then? To being with me?” Ethan asks, trying to keep his giddiness at bay. He doesn’t deserve this woman, not even a little, but if she’ll have him... The rising tide of his hope is an almost overwhelming warmth in his chest. 

“I…” Camille’s voice trails off, and the light in her eyes extinguishes. She pulls back, not quite out of his embrace, but enough for the distance between them to feel insurmountable. 

Ethan closes his eyes, feeling a fresh wave of despair wash over him. He’s too late, too much time has passed. Whatever they once had is unsalvageable. He had known that it was a longshot, but he knows he couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t at least tried. 

“I want to say yes, I really do.” Camille says, shaking her head despondently. “But I can’t move back to Boston. I have a life in San Francisco, now. I have an apartment with a great view of the Bay, and my career is finally taking off… You don’t get to follow me and ask me to give all of that up, it’s not fair.” 

She looks up at him, restrained hope in her eyes, as if she’s waiting for Ethan to make a grand gesture, to convince her that he’s worth another chance. 

“Does your apartment allow dogs?” Ethan asks instead. 

Camille looks away, and he can see the disappointment wash over her face. Disappointment in him, for once again choosing to take the path of least resistance, and once again refusing to fight for her. 

“The song’s over, and I’m not interested in making small-talk about my apartment with you. I should go.” She tries to pull back, but Ethan doesn’t release her, maintaining a firm but gentle grip on her waist. 

“It’s not small-talk. You should know I hate that more than anyone.” Ethan says, his fingers pressing insistently against her waist, the smooth fabric of her dress bunching beneath his fingertips. 

“I need to know if your apartment allows dogs. I need to know if I can have Alan put Jenner on the first flight out to San Francisco tomorrow morning, or if I have to wait until we find a new place.” 

Camille’s eyes search his face with obvious confusion. 

“What? I don’t… Jenner?” Camille stammers for a moment as she collects her thoughts, her hands absentmindedly resting on his chest. Ethan feels his heart skip at the casual intimacy of her fingers toying with his lapels. “You want to move out to San Francisco?” 

“Yes.” Ethan says shortly. “When I said I didn’t want to leave your side, I meant it.”  

“Ethan, we’ve been over this. If one of us gives up our career for the other we’ll just end up resenting each other. You’ve been working at Edenbrook for over a decade, I can’t let you give it up for me.” 

“Edenbrook is…wonderful. I have enjoyed working there, but at the end of the day it’s just a job. When I came home to an empty apartment at the end of the day, it wasn’t Edenbrook I was thinking about, Camille, it was you.” 

“But you love Edenbrook.” Camille says uncertainly, her eyes begging for an explanation. 

“I like Edenbrook, most assuredly.” Ethan cups her face in his hands, running his thumbs over her smooth skin. “But I love you.” 

“You…love me?” Camille asks, her green eyes gazing up at him, starry with hope. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and Ethan is sure he’s never seen her look more beautiful. 

“I do.” he murmurs, unwilling-- unable to look away from her awed expression. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” Camille whispers back, a luminous smile growing on her face. 

“Camille, I’ve been a complete fool, I know that. But I have to know… if you still…” Ethan stumbles over his words, his grip on her tightening in thinly veiled desperation. 

“If I still love you back?” she prompts, her light and teasing tone a far cry from her earlier anguish.

Ethan nods, the agony of not knowing threatening to consume him altogether. 

Camille’s expression softens, and her fingers drift to his face, tenderly tracing the contour of his cheekbone.

“Of course I do. How could I not?” she asks with a soft laugh, lifting one shoulder in a bashful shrug that is entirely too alluring. His eyes trail over her exposed collarbone. 

Ethan can’t wait to take her to his suite upstairs and find out if the skin under that red dress is as sweet as he remembers. But there will be plenty of time for that later, after he hears the three words that have been haunting him ever since she boarded that plane. 

“Say it. Please.” Ethan presses his forehead to hers, unbridled joy threatening to bring him to his knees. There are few scenarios that involve the great Ethan Ramsey being reduced to begging, and every last one centers around the gorgeous, brilliant woman in front of him. 

“I love you, too.” 

This time, she pushes herself onto her tiptoes to close the distance beteen them. And when their lips meet, Ethan knows that he has made the right decision. Edenbrook, Boston, he can take or leave all of it, as long as he has her. 

***

Tagging separately since I have no idea if tumblr will decide to work or not :)

#open heart #ethan ramsey #oph #oh #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #open heart fanfiction #playchoices