#I stepped away from my desk for one minute and my cat stole my seat

[unknownlemoneater]

@cerealkillerfr SORRY THIS TOOK ME DAMN NEAR A WEEK I GOT SICK

BUT IM BETTER NOW AND ITS FINALLY DONE!!

[captainmeowvelwrites]

All You Knead Is Loave (a miraculous one-shot)

Pairing: Marinette x Adrien Genre: Romance Rating: K+ Words: 2805 Summary: With her clumsiness in full swing, Marinette trips and sends Tikki flying across the classroom. Thinking she's a doll, the ever-crafty Lila accuses Marinette of stealing her—but for a certain clued-up classmate, that just won’t do. (Adrienette reveal fic.)

ANs: Bonjour! This prompted one-shot was written for a one year anniversary event on the Miraculous Fanworks Discord server! The prompt, courtesy of Squishysib on AO3, was:

Tikki is somehow revealed to the class, but the class thinks she’s a doll. This could be anything from Marinette tripping and she comes flying out of the purse, to Lila stealing her from Marinette’s bag and claims that Mari stole it from her. Either way Adrien sees Tikki and uses the braincell.

Thanks for the prompt, Sibby! Hope you all enjoy. :D

ALL YOU KNEAD IS LOAVE:

First, her pigtails took twenty-two minutes to come to terms with the concept of symmetry.

Then, she barrelled through the bakery, only for Sabine to point out her shirt was back to front.

Now, she found herself in the midst of another maladroit mistake.

Underestimating the height of a step.

The first step to her seat.

A seat that was conspicuously empty because she was late.

But oh, it didn't stop there.

No no no. The day was just getting started.

Because in that moment of supreme clumsiness, Tikki, who'd been snoozing in the aftermath of a late-night akuma, flew from Marinette's pink clutch.

Time slowed, and in a blur of red and black, the kwami sailed through the air.

Down, down, down.

Until she landed on the hardwood floor, near a pair of brown boots. With eras of practice under her figurative belt, Tikki went rigid in a nanosecond.

But like a fox, Lila pounced. "My doll!"

Marinette's eyes bulged as Lila swiped Tikki off the floor.

"This was a gift from Prince Ali on a trip to Achu," she cried, clutching Tikki to her chest. "I thought it fell out of my bag! I was SO heart-broken."

It was then that crafty eyes honed in on her.

"Why did you have it, Marinette?"

Gasps shook the air.

All eyes in the classroom whipped to her.

Marinette marched up to Lila's desk, her shoulders squared. "Because she's MY doll," she growled, "not yours!"

A two-second silence hung thick in the air.

Frantic chatter erupted. Her classmates spoke over each other, a flurry of questions and accusations flooding the room.

"Children! Children!" Miss Bustier cried over the commotion, holding her hands high. "Settle down, everyone. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for this."

"It's okay, everybody," Lila declared, cradling Tikki in her conniving clutches. "The last place I saw Cindy was Place des Vosges. That's right by her parents' bakery." Her lower lip quivered as she spared the still-frozen kwami a dramatic glance. "Maybe Marinette just found her and didn't know who she belonged to." She sent the fuming girl a shaky smile. "Right, Marinette?"

"No!" Marinette sliced a hand through the air. "No, that's NOT right at all! I've had her for over a year and—"

Lila gasped, pressing Tikki to her chest as if expecting Marinette to lunge. "You're not refusing to leave Cindy with her rightful owner, are you?"

"But, Lila, you're not the rightful owner."

Marinette's sights shifted left.

Because someone had shared that truth.

With startling certainty.

But that someone hadn't been her.

A wall of windows framed Adrien's body, spilling light across his golden hair like a literal halo of sunshine. The human embodiment of an angel, watching over her clumsy self. He stared down Lila, his jaw tight and his eyes ablaze. It was an expression she was well-acquainted with, though she'd only ever seen it in another pair of eyes, on another face, from another boy.

"Her name is Tikki and she belongs with Marinette."

Every cell in her body screeched to a halt.

"I know this because she's one half of a pair—"

He wasn't another boy!

"—and I just so happen to own the other doll."

Adrien reached beneath his white overshirt, revealing a black doll with green eyes and a wiry tail. Only, it wasn't a doll at all. It was an unmoving Plagg, right there in Adrien's palm.

In Chat Noir's palm.

Her Kitty.

Her Adrien.

The same person.

Currently sending her his softest smile, eyes creased and imploring and utterly heart-melting.

"Right, Marinette?"

Reality struck with the subtlety of a spaceship. She shook her head with whiplash-inducing suddenness. Or did she already have whiplash?

…

Chat Noir is Adrien!

…

His eyes flickered over her face and slowly, his smile sank. "Marinette?"

Wait.

She'd shaken her head.

That meant she disagreed.

But she didn't.

Because Adrien was right.

Marinette nodded like a bobblehead stuck in an earthquake, fixing her tragic faux pas.

…

Adrien is Chat Noir!

…

He stepped between her and Lila and held out an expectant hand, palm up and waiting. "Thanks, Lila," he chimed, as cool as a whole patch of cucumbers, "for returning Tikki to Marinette."

Lila's lips moved, spelling what were probably more lies. Marinette was too busy fighting the blaring MAYDAY in her brain. Adrien Agreste, her larger-than-life partner. Chat Noir, her angelic classmate and year-long crush.

And if his face showed his thoughts, each one was hidden; he stood between her and Lila, quiet as his hand inched closer to the latter. His fingers beckoned like a silent encouragement. Or a silent hurry up.

A nerve twitched in Lila's temple, and Marinette's mouth fell open as Lila reluctantly placed Tikki—poor Tikki, stuck in a pose that looked awfully uncomfortable—into Adrien's awaiting palm. His fingers curled around her kwami like she was a living thing.

Because she was.

She was and Adrien knew it.

Just like he knew she was Ladybug.

He… knew she was…

"I'm so sorry, Adrien!" Lila threw both hands to her lips. "You too, Marinette. I don't know what came over me. My rare disease must be acting up again!"

Marinette's lips parted.

Some sort of strangled sound escaped them.

She should've just kept quiet.

"It's all right." A smile lined Adrien's voice. The same voice that delivered silly puns, cheesy one-liners and words of affirmation, all behind a black, leather mask. "If you'd like a referral for a great doctor, I can ask Father for some recommendations."

"Wow!" Lila pressed her palms together, flaunting a sickeningly sweet grin. "That's so nice of you, Adrien. I might just take you up on that!"

"No problem." But as he faced Marinette, she was eighty five percent sure she glimpsed the tail end of a grimace. Then, their eyes met, and his wrinkled with a smile, glistening green like dew-dusted fields, like early spring, like Chat Noir's.

Adrien stepped closer and held out his hand, Tikki stiff in his palm.

Marinette stared. She stared at his hand. She stared at Tikki. She stared at the shine of silver around his ring finger.

Marinette "Staring" Dupain-Cheng.

That was her name now—

A cough cut through the air. It sounded suspiciously like Alya.

But something else yanked her back to reality.

A warmth around her hand.

His gloveless fingers curled around hers, placing Tikki in her trembling grasp.

Trembling because he was her partner, her kitty…

And he knew it too.

Adrien guided her hand to her chest. "She's back where she belongs." His touch was tender, so very warm, and dare she think, loving. "With you, Mariboo."

Marinette's eyes blew wide. Her face was an actual sun, her heart a pounding conga drum, and by the way her jaw slackened, words were a foreign concept.

Adrien pressed a palm to her forehead, and she went stiff as a mannequin. "Excuse me, Miss Bustier? I think Marinette's running a fever." No, but give her five seconds and good God, she might be.

"No no no!" She peeled his palm away. "I am totally—"

One wink from her kitty.

"—uhh – in need of a qualified ice pack! I mean nurse!" She offered an affirmative nod. "Yes. A qualified nurse. Who can give me an ice pack. For my forehead. Which is on fire."

Adrien turned back to the teacher. "May I please have your permission to walk her to the nurse's office?"

"You're both excused," said Miss Bustier, beaming from the front of the classroom. "Take care, Marinette."

"I'm sure he will!" Marinette lurched ramrod straight. "I mean, I'm sure I will. Take care. So much care." She showed a double thumbs up. "And so will Chadrien—dah!—Adrien. Of me. He will take so much care of me."

From the corner of her eye, a hand appeared on her shoulder.

"Thanks, Miss Bustier!"

Even through her black blazer, the heat of his hand radiated as he guided her out of the classroom and into the sunny spring air.

It wasn't until they reached a quiet corner of the courtyard that Marinette realised three things:

She'd eyeballed his hand since its arrival on her shoulder.

Two hands now held her shoulders in place of one.

Both hands were trembling.

Marinette gazed at the boy before her. His eyes – the same eyes that glowed green during late-night patrols – pored over every inch of her face.

And finally, they found her own.

Gradually, his lips parted—

"I expect one heaping pile of cheese after THAT whole charade!"

Plagg emerged between them, a crease on his forehead and his tiny arms crossed.

It was then, as Tikki flew from her palm to hover near her shoulder, that Marinette realised she'd spent that whole time laying comatose in her hand. "Plagg," her kwami growled, hands on her hips, "they were about to have a moment!"

"So whaaat?" Plagg flicked a dismissive hand, suspended mid-air as though splayed across a sunlounger. "The cat's outta the bag! They have all the time in the WORLD to have more moments." He flipped upside down. "Besides, being a doll really worked up my appeti—"

Tikki fired him one of the fiercest glares Marinette had ever seen. And not just from her kwami.

Plagg righted himself, ears flattening. "Err – What I meant to say is that YOU must be starving, Sugar Cube." She shoved her nose to the cloudless sky with a little harumph, so he zoomed to her side. "You stayed still for SO long. It was very impurressive!"

Marinette pursed her lips. Apparently, Plagg cat punned too. "I'm so sorry for this whole mess, Tikki." Her kwami's face brightened as she held up a pink macaron. "Tomorrow, I'll be sure to bake you a whole batch of these little guys!"

Meanwhile, Adrien tossed a wedge of camembert in the air. "And I'll be sure to order an entire box of Pont l'Eveque," he promised, as Plagg downed the wedge in one gulp. "Just for you, buddy."

Plagg rubbed his belly and burped. "It's a start, I suppose."

"So," Adrien said, sights settling on her, "now I know you're a baker's daughter." His eyes gleamed. "I'd batter get a batch of puns in the oven, huh?"

Yup. That was her silly kitty, all right.

A giggle escaped her. "As long as your puns aren't stale," she countered, complete with a cheeky grin.

With gentle fingers and a gentler smile, he looped a strand of hair behind her ear. "Only the freshest for you, Mariboo."

Heat flamed up her face as she gawped at him, speechless.

Was he—

Was she—

Were they flirting?

Adrien bolted upright. "S-Sorry!" He rubbed the nape of his neck. "Old habits pie hard, I guess."

Marinette blinked at him.

Once.

Twice.

Finally, she made words happen.

"N-N-No!"

Kind of.

With a clear of her throat, Marinette tried again. "No, it's okay, Adrien." She reached for his hands, hearing his soft gasp as her skin brushed his. "I loave your puns."

His lips quirked up.

"You wouldn't be you without them." She threaded their fingers, free of leather and latex. He was so, so warm. "And thank you, Kitty," she breathed, giving his hands the lightest squeeze, "for all your help back there."

"Of course, M'Lady." Her heart fluttered, first at the title, then at the way he squeezed her hands right back. "You and me against the world, right?"

"Always."

A soft smile painted his lips.

It was so Adrien.

So Chat Noir.

So him—

"Y'know," he whispered, his voice feather light, "I could glaze into your eyes all day."

The sentiment of those words shone true in his own and before she knew it, Marinette was bringing her lips up to his. It was a light kiss. A quick kiss. Too sudden to let herself tremble. Too sudden to let him return it. Even as she pulled back, the warmth of his lips lingered on hers like an irrefutable fact.

She'd just kissed Adrien Agreste.

His mouth popped open, closed, open again.

Apparently, her kiss had turned him into a goldfish.

Oh God.

No no no no no.

Nerves exploded in her chest.

Had she misread his cute comment?

Marinette leapt back. "Sorry! Sorry! I am SO sorry!" She clutched her scalp in both hands and started to pace. "I – I thought— I mean, you were just so sweet and I—"

Adrien sprung forward to grip her elbow. "Date!" He slapped that same hand to his chest, panic flashing in his eyes. "I mean, would you like to date me?" One shake of his head. "No. Uh. Go on a date with me?" He kneaded his temples. "Which might lead to dating. If you'd like. But if not, that's fine too. There's still that boy and you—"

Marinette cut him off with a laugh of relief. “Silly cat.” She re-tangled her fingers with his, peering up at him through full lashes. “You ARE the boy”—oh, the irony—"and you always HAVE been.”

Adrien gaped, once again embracing his inner-fish. “I… I am?”

Chewing her lip, she nodded—slowly but surely.

In the moments that followed, his look of sheer shock transformed into unbridled joy. He leaned in close, their hands weaved together, and oh, she could definitely get used to this. "So, Marinette, what would you say if you and I met up tonight for a little dinner? Rooftop style?"

"I'd say that sounds purrfect."

Just like the sunshine smile that brightened his face in that moment.

She might've booped his adorable nose, had his hands not been so warm, so soft, so perfect in hers. Instead, she traced a thumb up the side of his hand, and her heart thrummed as he did it right back.

"Marinette?" Adrien's gaze flicked from her to his feet and back again. "Now that we're on the same page"—the tips of his ears flushed pink—"I'd loave to kiss you again… if you have dough complaints—"

Marinette moved onto her tiptoes and answered with her lips on his.

And this time, he kissed back. Lightly. Nervously. Perfectly imperfect.

One brush of his lips. Their noses bumped. They shared an awkward laugh and an angle readjustment; then, their lips reunited like two pieces of a puzzle, melding as wonderfully as his hands in hers.

Those same hands left her own, and her lips stilled on his. Until his arms stuttered around her. Inched her closer. Hesitated. She slid her hands through his golden locks, softer than mulberry silk. Her pulse fluttered as he melted against her, the delicious aroma of cologne filling her senses. Sweet. Spicy. Dizzying.

Like a budding artist to white canvas, each brush of their lips came more surely than the last—

A whiny groan had them springing apart. "Humans show affection in the most DISGUSTING of ways," Plagg droned, sticking out his pink tongue.

Marinette assumed the shade and heat of a chili. She jerked to throw her hands over her eyes, but as she glimpsed Adrien's endearing expression, they stopped just shy of her face. He'd revealed the most adorable of pouts and dawww, her poor heart was about ready to burst.

"Pla-Plagg," Adrien sputtered, and she imagined his tail going straight as a sabre. "That – That was our"—he hesitated, counting on his fingers—"fourth kiss you just interrupted!"

Plagg snorted. "Yeah, and I'm sure there'll be plenty more where THAT came from."

Tikki shot Plagg a scowl.

He whipped behind Adrien, peeking over his shoulder.

With a heart-stuttering smile, Adrien recouped his composure like a stumbling runway model, a blunder she knew for a fact he'd never done. He ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair and God, he sure looked like her kitty now. "Guess Plagg had better get used to the kisses"—he took her hands in his, his eyes twinkling—"because yours are unfurgettable."

"Except for the first two times when they weren't—"

"Plagg!" Adrien's pout returned with a vengeance. His red-tipped ears, twice as much.

Through a giggle, Marinette squeezed his hands. "Magic notwithstanding," she said, and placed a reassuring peck on his cheeks. "And back cat ya, my kitty."

Adrien's eyes went wide as a chasm, that pawsitively adorable blush creeping down his ears to his cheeks. Soon, his face softened, and a dreamy sigh slid from his lips. "I love when mew call me that."

First, her pigtails had taken twenty-two minutes to come to terms with the concept of symmetry.

Then, she'd barrelled through the bakery, only for Sabine to point out her shirt was back to front.

After, she'd tripped on a step and nearly lost her poor kwami to Lila.

But now, here she was, hand-in-hand with her friend, her partner, the love of her life.

And with their first date tonight, the day was just getting started.

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 11

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Heyyyyyaaaaaaa. I’m going to be honest with y’all. I have not been working on this story like I should have since I started posting. That being said, I do have a few more chapters completed but then things get a littleeeeee fuzzy bc I’ve been slacking. I’m going to try to keep up with the posting schedule I have rn, but if that doesn’t work out, please forgive me. I may need to pause for a few weeks to stack up some more chapters. BUT CROSS YOUR FINGERS I GET MY SHIT TOGETHER. As always, please like and reblog and leave me an ask if you can. :’) When you’re done reading, I would love for you guys to go find a petition you haven’t signed yet. All of my love. Xx

Melody still had nightmares. Horrible ones. Awful, haunting dreams that pressed at the edges of reality, blurring lines between sleeping and waking. But they somehow became less constant and more bearable within the next few weeks. Whether it was due to Harry’s constant, tender touches as she fell asleep every night, or to the ugly, unartistic paintings and incoherent writing she’d forced out, there were no clues. She thought Harry deserved the credit, but he thought it could be a mix of both.

Early snow dusted the city like powdered sugar, lightly enough to look pretty without making traffic a mess. Melody felt the cold dampen her mood, but Harry only seemed to brighten at the prospect of a blizzard warning. Snow dazzled him. Despite everything he’d experienced in his relatively short life, somehow winter had always remained a sort of sanctuary for him. And he’d softened himself toward everyone as a result.

“Ugh, do I have to go?” Melody asked aloud when she reentered the bedroom to find him laid out on her bed. He looked so cozy and warm in a pair of sweats with his hair mussed atop his head. She bent over him to plant a chaste kiss to his lips.

“No,” Harry said, “yeh don’.”

She smiled ruefully and stole another soft kiss from him. “Yes, I do.”

“Yeh don’ have to. Could stay here with me.”

“Harry.” Melody accepted his return kisses as he sat himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Melody.” He ran a thumb over the curve of her chin and sighed.

“I need to go. Please, be nice to Bea.”

“Always am.”

“Sure you are.” She pressed her lips to his one final time and let them linger a few moments too long, until she felt his fingers sneaking around the back of her neck. If she let him touch her too much she’d end up late to her own match. “Okay, I’m leaving,” she insisted as she backed away. “I’m going. Bye.”

Harry watched her slip out of the room, collecting her gym bag on the way. He was relieved that she hadn’t told him she loved him. Every time he heard the words on her tongue he felt his very organs shift, felt them contort and fold in on themselves. He would never, ever tell her the way it made him feel, but he hoped that eventually, when he still wasn’t saying it back, she might just let the sentiment die. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Let’s go, Harry!” Bea called from the living room.

He sighed as he rose to his feet and lumbered out of the bedroom, his cane clicking on the hardwood. The door to the apartment closed before he made it past the threshold of the room. It was only him and Bea left. There was still an awkward air between them, but it was beginning to thin. Harry thought it was because of his help with Melody’s nightmares. He didn’t like the idea that Bea had ever thought he’d be useless in a situation like that. He didn’t like that doing the bare minimum to comfort Melody had somehow made Bea more open to him.

“You don’t look enthused.”

“I don’ like to bullshit,” Harry responded.

Bea grinned. She patted the cushion beside her and waited for him to sit. She didn’t seem bothered that he sat farther from her than necessary.

“Aren’t you wondering what we’re gonna watch?” Bea asked.

Harry shrugged. “Not really.”

“What if I picked a chick flick?”

“Then I’d just fall asleep.”

“You’re not falling asleep tonight,” Bea stated. “We’re watching The Silence of the Lambs.”

Harry’s lack of reaction seemed to deflate her. She clicked a button on the remote and the opening credits of the film began to roll.

“I have no clue how you’re with someone who writes and paints,” Bea murmured.

“If yeh figure it out, let me know.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the movie started. And didn’t even exchange a glance when Queenie appeared, curling up on the cushion between them.

Bea paused after a bit to take a call from Josie and microwave a bag of popcorn, and when she returned she found her cat sprawled across Harry’s lap, purring loudly, much to Harry’s chagrin. She had to consciously stop herself from spitting out laughter. Instead, she sat back in her seat and slid the bowl of popcorn into the spot that Queenie had abandoned.

***

“That was fucked up,” Harry eventually said, when the end credits of the movie had been rolling for a few minutes.

“Yes.”

“He wore the guy’s face.”

“He eats people. I feel like that’s the more fucked up of the two.”

Harry shook his limbs, as though he could expel the disturbing parts of the movie from his memory. Queenie, who hadn’t moved since she settled into his lap, took unkindly to his movement, stretched to the floor, and bounded into Bea’s bedroom.

“Glad Melody didn’t watch this one.”

Bea drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Melody loves scary movies,” she informed him. "But that’s because she knows they’re not real. She’s not—It’s different when you live it, right?”

Harry fell silent. Whether she agreed or not, he was the one that had dragged Melody into a horror film of her own. Now she could barely sleep in her own bed because of his brother. And he didn’t know how else he could help, how else he could ward off the monsters.

“Speak of the devil,” Bea said as she caught sight of Harry’s phone, where it buzzed on the coffee table. “Mel” was spelled across the screen. Harry leaned forward to answer the call and bring the phone to his ear.

“Hi.”

“Hey, man.”

Sean’s voice sounded muffled and uneasy. Harry felt himself stiffen almost immediately, and his body language conveyed something to Bea. She unfolded her legs to place her feet flat on the floorboards.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because yeh’re callin’ me from Melody’s phone and yeh sound like yeh’re about to get in trouble. Don’ fuck with me.”

There was a brief hiccup of a chuckle on the other end of the line. It was a nervous sound. Harry didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, she lost her match.” Sean cleared his throat before he went on. “She’s about to get an X-ray of her torso done right now. I’m sure it’s just—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Sean! Yeh could’ve led with that.” Harry was already on his feet, reaching for the arm of the sofa to keep his balance when he realized he was forgetting his cane. He doubled back and waved off Bea’s desperate vie for information.

“She’s probably fine!” Sean defended. “I don’t think she broke anything or she would’ve been a little more hysterical.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Harry hung up before Sean could respond. “She’s gettin’ X-rays at the hospital,” he spat at Bea, who was following him around and demanding to know what was going on. “Might have a broken rib or somethin’.”

So much for this strange bonding experience that Melody had insisted on. It felt more like something sorority sisters might do on the weekends than anything else, anyway. And Harry didn’t wait for Bea as he hobbled down the complex stairs, struggling into a jacket while supporting himself with his cane. But somehow she ended up in the cab with him, and their mutual silence felt unifying.

***

“Floor two,” the woman at the lobby’s desk said. Harry was already crossing to the elevators, so she nearly shouted the room number to him. Bea, despite being in perfect health, had to rush to keep up with him. Her curls bounced with every hurried step.

“Harry, I’m sure she’s okay.” She tugged the zipper down on her jacket as they waited for an elevator and tried to catch her breath. This felt like exercise, and Bea hated exercise. “Not that you shouldn’t be worried,” she continued, “but don’t act like she’s on the brink of death. She’s used to injuries.”

Harry snorted humorlessly. Melody didn’t know what injuries were. She told him once that she’d never been to the hospital for herself. It was always a cousin giving birth or her father getting stitches. She had never split her skin open far enough to get stitched up herself, or been hit so hard that her insides were bleeding, or snapped a bone.

There was a musical ding as an elevator reached the ground floor. Harry didn’t wait for the family on it to exit before he shouldered past them and jammed his thumb into the button for the second story. Bea was more patient. She allowed everyone out before she stepped in beside Harry and watched him smash the button to close the elevator doors. It was almost endearing to see him so concerned, but it was also too intense for her tastes.

There was no elevator music to lull the pair of them. They waited in silence until they reached the floor that Melody was on and then navigated through the halls quickly until they found the correct room number. Sean was just inside the door.

“Ah, I thought you’d gotten lost or—”

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped as he stepped past his friend. Melody was laying in a hospital bed. This setting was so familiar to Harry, but with the roles reversed, it felt like he was having a nightmare of his own.

“You don’t have to be rude to him, you know,” Melody muttered.

She had an awful, swelling bruise on her forehead, so close to her temple that it could’ve made Harry sick. She was in a sports bra, and for the first time he noticed Vanessa, who was meticulously wrapping up Melody’s ribcage.

“‘S not broken?” was the first thing Harry said.

“No,” Vanessa answered.

“Bruised.” Sean took a step forward, trying to insert himself back into the conversation that he had been ejected from. “She was doing really well and then—”

“I don’ wanna hear from you,” Harry interrupted. Melody rolled her eyes. Sean sighed.

“Fine, I guess I’ll go home,” he said. “I’ll let Goodman know you’re out for at least a month.”

Melody’s eyes widened and when she moved, the pressure on her ribs made her flinch. “A month?”

“At least,” Sean repeated.

“It’s a bruise.”

“‘S a bruised rib, Melody,” Harry snapped.

Sean left without any goodbyes. Bea leaned up against the wall where he’d been standing and lifted an eyebrow. “Thought you had defenses like a brick wall,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Melody mumbled as Vanessa finished her work. The room fell silent.

“Do you want some ice for your face?” Vanessa asked eventually, when Melody had been avoiding everyone’s eyes and the rest of them were sick of looking at each other.

“No, I can just—”

“Yes, she’ll take some ice,” Harry cut in.

“You tend to interrupt people,” Melody informed him. She laid back gently against the pillows that had been propped up behind her. “Have you noticed?”

Bea snorted. “Pretty sure he does it on purpose,” she said before wandering out of the room. Vanessa glanced between Harry and Melody and then followed Bea. The tension that had already filled the air seemed to thicken, settling over the two of them like an unnavigable fog. Harry sliced through it first.

“This is why I don’ want yeh fighting,” he said.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Harry,” she muttered. Then her voice rose. “If you were still in the ring you’d be getting injured, too. And I—”

Harry ignored the sting that he felt, the knowledge that he couldn’t box in his current condition. What if she wasn’t able to write? These days it seemed just that she didn’t want to, but if she wasn’t able to, wouldn’t she feel this same sort of despair? “Mel, yeh bruised your fuckin’ rib.” He took a step further into the room. “A little more pressure and it breaks. A little less luck and it punctures a fuckin’ lung and yeh’re chokin’ on blood. These are not just injuries. Yeh didn’ just fall off a bike and scrape your knee.”

Melody paused. She didn’t know how to respond. That sounded like her own fears spit back in her face. A half inch to the left and that bullet would’ve killed you.

“Are you going to keep yelling?”

“‘M not fuckin’ yelling. Do yeh want me to yell?” Harry’s brows knitted together and he shook his head. “What did yeh expect, me to lay down next to yeh and tell yeh ‘m so glad yeh’re okay? ‘S not happenin’. Think I’ve made my feelings pretty clear when it comes to this.”

“Actually, I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t want to call you.” Melody licked her lips as she studied the anger etched into the lines of Harry’s face, and then the minuscule shift as he realized that Sean was on his side. At least in this moment. “It comes with being a boxer,” she said after a pause. “You told me that once.”

Harry sighed. “Yeh’re not a fuckin’ boxer, Mel. Yeh’re a writer. Yeh’re a painter.”

“I can be whatever the fuck I want to be, Harry. And you’re not going to tell me what that is.”

His features hardened for a moment and then he glanced out the window. There was snow falling, slowly and gently, without the force of the brutal wind that would arrive in the coming weeks. It was so peaceful out there, and Harry wondered how he’d let himself become so resentful.

He stared outside for a few long minutes and then let his eyes wander back to Melody, who was already picking absentmindedly at the wrappings of her ribcage. His legs were growing weary and he was on the verge of needing to sit. Melody glanced up when she felt the weight of his gaze.

“Can we go home now?” she asked, and her voice was so soft, so at odds with the way she’d spoken her last sentence, that Harry could feel himself physically jarred by the shift.

“I can’ help yeh walk,” he said, though the words tasted like acid. “Yeh’re gonna need Bea and I dunno where she went off to.”

Melody chewed on her lower lip. She felt guilty for the short argument they’d had, and she could see that same feeling reflected back at her. The match had tired her out, her bruised rib hurt with every expansive breath. In vain, tears began to collect at the corners of her reddening eyes.

“Don’,” Harry said, taking a shaky step forward. He could sense the shift even before he saw her chin trembling. “Please, don’.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her eyelids, as if they could keep the water back like a dam. “Uh, how was the movie?”

“It was good,” Harry assured her, surprising himself. He hadn’t known that he enjoyed it until then, when he was put on the spot. Bea appeared like she’d been summoned.

“I heard that!” she nearly shouted. “He liked it!” Then her eyes fell to Melody and her snide grin tipped into a frown. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Melody said with a discrete sniffle. “Can someone ask Vanessa if we can leave?”

“She said you just need to take it easy for a few weeks.” Bea shuffled past Harry and pried Melody’s hands from her face. “Which means no training.”

“Perfect,” Melody mumbled. She allowed Bea to begin shifting her out of the bed, gently twisting her limbs, trying not to tweak her rib. Harry had to lower himself into the chair a few feet from where he had been standing to give his legs some relief.

“The wraps are just for you to get home.” Bea paused as Melody bit back a whimper, waiting for her to straighten her torso. “And she’s hooking you up with some pain meds.”

“Yeh’ll need ‘em,” Harry muttered. He stood back up as the girls made their way toward the door. They were a conspicuous group, with a cane, a wrapped ribcage, and shuffling footsteps. Eyes followed them through the halls, all the way to a cab.

***

Melody’s lips grew white as Harry helped her out of her wrappings. She screwed her eyes shut and her fingertips curled into his knee.

“Okay,” he whispered as he tugged the final loop of fabric loose, leaving her skin bare. The sight of her flesh made him hiss. “Who the fuck hit yeh, the Hulk?”

“Mmm.”

Harry pressed a hand to her cheek. Her skin was hot, damp, and he could feel her jaw twitching, like she might be grinding her teeth. Her breathing was shallow.

“Let’s get yeh some o’ those painkillers, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice shook.

“Mel.” He pressed a kiss to one of her closed eyes. “I’ve had a bruised rib before.”

She didn’t respond. He heard her try to take a deeper breath and then felt her neck quiver beneath his fingertips. She shook with the effort of stifling a cough.

“Don’ do that.” He pressed her backward and she gasped, clinging to his arm and letting out an agonized sob at the sharp intake of breath. “‘M sorry,” he rushed. “Love, ‘m sorry. Just sit back for me.”

She let him lower her away from him, eyes still squeezed shut and chin beginning to tremble like it had in the hospital. Her eyelashes were wet and Harry touched his forehead to hers. “Okay?”

“No.”

He let out a short huff of acknowledgment and then lifted the pillow from beside them, holding it tenderly to her chest as he leaned back. “If yeh need to cough just hold this to your chest. ’S still gonna hurt but it’ll be better.”

There was a pause before she wrapped her arms around the pillow and sputtered out a few gentle coughs. Her eyelids fluttered, nails biting into her palms, lips curling into her mouth.

“Melody, yeh don’ have to pretend yeh’re not in fuckin’ pain,” Harry told her, pressing a hard kiss to her cheekbone. He brushed hair away from her forehead, carefully avoiding her bruise, and then used his thumb to pry her lips back into place before kissing them. “Not on my account. ‘M sorry I got angry. I don’ want yeh to fight. But if yeh’re hurtin’ like this ‘m not just gonna tell yeh to suck it up.”

Harry stroked her ear and her tensed facial muscles began to relax. Her lips parted. She opened her eyes to glance up at him and almost immediately let them fall closed again as she began to cry.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. He didn’t know whether it was for her or for himself. And he didn’t know if her tears were solely from the pain or for another reason entirely.

The mattress shifted despite his best efforts as Harry climbed off the bed. He hurried into the kitchen, gathering Melody’s prescription, a glass of water, and an ice pack. He almost didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his cane until he was laying himself down beside Melody, who had pulled the pillow up to cover the bottom half of her face, stifling her shallow sobs. But this wasn’t a moment to celebrate.

“All right, love, take some o’ these.” He shook out a few pills and reached across her for the glass he’d put on the night table. She lowered the pillow enough to toss the meds back and swallow a gulp of water, but Harry had to tug it from her grip so he could position the ice atop her angry, swelling bruise. Somehow, he’d finagled her bra over her head before attempting to unwrap her, and her breasts erupted in goosebumps at the cold touch.

“It fucking hurts,” she whimpered out.

“I know, I know.” Harry settled his hand over the ice pack, pressing his lips to Melody’s shoulder. “Give the pills a little bit o’ time.”

He fell silent and stroked her wrist with his free hand until her tears began to ebb. The clock read one in the morning. Bea had gone to bed as soon as they’d gotten home because she needed to work on a group project the next morning. Harry was beginning to feel tired himself, and he couldn’t imagine how exhausted Melody was.

“Just one problem after another,” he finally said. “Just can’ seem to catch a break, can we?”

“Wouldn’t life be so boring?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Just a little break would be nice, though.”

Melody didn’t respond. Her shallow breathing was beginning to slow. Harry kissed her cheek to check that she was truly asleep before he removed the ice pack from her side and very carefully covered her with the sheets. And he hoped that the rest of her healing would pass more smoothly than this first night.

Chapter 12

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 8

There was one stupid stereotype that seemed consistent in vampire lore that humans have written.

They tended to paint Vampires as creatures with very minimal or muted emotions that only really show said emotions when in relation to amusement or anger, and depending on the novel; sadism. That was a load of bullcrap.

First of all, most vampires have normal emotional levels. After all, most of them were human at some point. It’s just as time passes, they get incredibly good at either hiding their emotions, or mellowing out under years of experiences and logic. Eras was born the way she is, so she just experienced emotion differently than most.

She just prefers to ruthlessly stomp the feeling out of existence in order to embrace logical processing. She still feels the emotion! Just hours later when she's ready to process it and it has shrunk into a minor inconvenience. The problem with that though is that when something does manage to get to her, it hits hard.

Currently, Eras was sitting in her car while calmly letting the tension that had been building leave her shoulders. After 4 meetings that could have, quite frankly, fucked off and been an email; she was tense and annoyed.

This was not at all improved by the insistent ringing of her phone.

Without checking the number, a rare occasion for her but she was stressed, Eras answered and placed the phone on her ear. She could barely hold back the snap that wanted to peek through as she kept her voice level and polite.

“Hello, may I inquire as to the purpose of this call?” Was she defaulting to formal speech to prevent her frustration from coating her words? Yes, yes she was.

A feeling of wrongness from that morning pricked under her skin when she was answered by the voice of Nedzu.

“Ah yes, Viridis-san correct?” a skeptical hum of agreement prompted Nedzu to continue, “Great! I’m calling to inform you of a serious matter and I must ask, are you able to listen at this specific moment?” The faux cheerfulness Nedzu presented was not thick enough to hide his notes of seriousness from her keen hearing.

The feeling started to boil.

“Yes, I am.” This time, some of her curtness leaked through. She has had enough with pleasantries at the moment.

“Alright, I’ll just be forward then. Currently, due to a training mishap during All Might's foundational heroics class Viridis Muska is currently on bedrest in the infirmary, healing burns from an explosive attack from one of our other students. She’ll make a full recovery without any scarring since it wasn’t too serious thanks to another teammate who dragged her out of the way, however she’ll be sleeping for a few hours considering she was on low energy before Recovery Girl healed her.”

Eras almost snapped the steering wheel off with how hard she was gripping it. A stillness impossible for those that breathe settled over her like a blanket as her blood burned its way through her veins. Its toxic properties popped in her head as it ran simulations for various scenarios she could act on. First, though, she had an idiot to check on.

“Thank you for informing me.” Her voice was cold, and deceptively calm, “I’ll be showing up in 10 minutes. I am meeting my ward first and then I’ll need some questions answered. None of this is optional. I’ll see you soon, Nedzu.”

There was 25 minutes between where Eras was currently and her destination.

She showed up in the promised 10.

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All Might stared at the phone on Nedzu’s desk like it had just signed off on his will and dug his grave.

To be fair though, it kind of did.

Shouta would grin his cheshire grin in sadistic glee at that if he wasn’t worried about what had just happened as well. Nedzu, surprisingly and hauntingly, was not smiling. His face is dark and serious. Shouta couldn’t blame him though. Viridis Eras could kill with her tone of voice alone.

He had never been so effectively threatened by words not even targeted at him before.

He sighed and got up from leaning against the wall. He turned towards Nedzu who had tracked the movement with his ears.

“I’ll go and head to the parking lot, She’ll need a guide.”

He was dismissed with a nod and he ignored the fearful stare that was pleading in his direction as he left. He shouldn’t have conducted fucking battle trials if he wanted a savior. Shouta was still pissed off about that. He also had tapes to watch and testimonies to get when deciding on future punishment. The Bakugo’s had been called and were heading in the school’s direction as well but considering Viridis would be their first? Hizashi had gotten off scot free when he stole his coffee this morning so he could deal with them. If they were anything like his student? Well...

Shouta Aizawa was not ashamed to admit he was a very petty man.

He sighed as he finally reached the parking lot gate. Leaning against the side and taking out a jelly pouch to pass the time while also getting some kind of nutrients, He had hoped that Viridis would take a bit longer so he could catch a break, but that’s definitely not happening.

He was proven right when in the next 5 minutes a black jeep pulled into the parking lot space closest to the gate where he was standing. Straightening his posture from the slouch it had been, he didn't want to make a worse impression, Shouta watched with hawk eyes as Viridis exited the vehicle and walked over to him.

She was around 171cm but that was probably due to the heels adding on some height. Hair, that was styled in a sleek bob cut, would blow in the wind occasionally. Revealing perfect snow white hair underneath black. As the distance rapidly closed between them, Shouta noticed the beauty mark that sat on the left of a smile that put Nedzu’s politely pissed one to shame. Eyes that were a darker black than his own, did not hide the angry cat like slits they held in them. He felt a shudder try to work up his spine the closer she got and he mercilessly pushed it down.

Once she was close enough, Shouta gave her a quick meaningful bow before talking.

“Hello Viridis-san, My name is Aizawa Shouta,” returning to full height he noticed the tattoo he had been trying to see from a distance turned out to be a snake wrapped around her neck and biting its own tail, “I’ll be your guide to the infirmary and then afterwards to Nedzu’s office. I’m also your ward’s homeroom teacher.“

Eyes seemed to pierce through him as they racked down his body with an assessing gaze.

“I see,” and wasn’t that voice the definition of syrupy sweet? “As you know the name is Viridis Eras, however just call me Eras. I’m not only used to it but with more than one Viridis, things will get confusing. Lead the way.”

With that command, Shouta turned around and immediately headed for the infirmary. He could only pray, despite not believing in such things, that they would all get through this alive.

Minus Yagi.

Shouta was pretty damn sure the man would be lucky to still walk after this.

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As Aizawa led her to the infirmary, Eras took the time to focus on calming down.

Thankfully, she hadn’t snapped the man's head off when he had introduced himself. He was nice, definitely has the voice of a god, and… She's getting off track.

Aizawa doesn’t deserve the snappish angry attitude she had at the moment. That was reserved for All Might, and possibly Nedzu, due to his involvement in the cause of whatever the fuck she was walking to go see.

They reached the infirmary relatively fast, and Aizawa knocked twice before opening the door and stepping aside to let her walk in first. Stepping over the entryway, she immediately snapped her head to where Muska was lying on a bed talking to a teen next to her with the greenest curls she had ever seen.

That however, was the least of her concerns.

“Oh, Hey Eras.”

Eras was at her side within seconds. She assessed any and all bandages she could see, which compared to greenie in front of her was relatively few. The skin that wasn’t covered was red but in the sensitive way skin is after coming in contact with something hot. Nothing was scarred. Releasing the tension in her shoulders, Eras slumped into the seat next to her best friend's infirmary bed.

“Hey Muska, you just had to give me a scare huh? I almost broke my steering wheel when I received the phone call.” Eras narrowed her eyes but the glare had no heat.

The little shit just cackled at the thought of her friend breaking a steering wheel, again, and gestured to Green boy as she calmed down. Said boy looked like a deer in headlights at the action.

“Meet Midoriya Izuku, he’s the one who pulled me away from PomPom boy's blast and honestly could use more of your fretting than me.” Muska said, a shit eating smirk on her face as said boy ‘eeped’ at that. He was also blushing fiercely and stuttering out reassurances along with trying to downplay the role he had in helping Muska. Oh, this is red flag boy.

Eras inclined her head slightly and smiled a more genuine smile, still not showing teeth though. The nervous teen relaxed slightly at it. Good.

“Thank you for that Midoriya. I appreciate you saving my friend like that. Are you alright as well?” she asked, eyeing the bandages wrapped around his arms and torso. Muska just muffled a snort at her wording. So what if the last thing she heard her say that morning was "dictator daddy's all have that condescending smile." She could be formal! It's called a customer service voice for a reason.

When he tried to brush off the damage they could both see, Muska sighed and turned to Eras. Gesturing to her mouth and then to her neck, she pretended to swipe it and played dead. Eras snorted and just sighed afterwards. Shaking her head to say no she was not about to murder a public figure. Maim though....

“As long as you’ll heal alright then I guess it was fine. Really though, Midoriya, I owe you. If you ever need anything, let me know." Muska's eyes widened at that and snapped to Eras who just shook her head once again, "Muska, I don’t plan on it but it’ll be close. I’m pissed and it’s not really leaving just yet. I’ll be entering a meeting after this visit and I have a feeling the Bakugo’s were already called in as well.”

Muska nodded along until the Bakugo part. Then she had a constipated look on her face before leaning in and whispering.

“He needs therapy, his emotions had run wild during the exercise and I don’t think this was a product of just anger. This feels conditioned.”

Eras gripped the chair at that. Gritting her teeth, she nodded. Giving a slight bow to a still sputtering Midoriya, Eras walked out the infirmary door and closed it quietly. Aizawa leaned against the wall to the left and she took a few seconds to appreciate the silence before nodding in his direction. Luckily for All Might. Seeing Muska had calmed some of the anger she was still feeling.

She had a rat to go meet.

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Tags:

@baguettehead

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Off Limits (Spencer Reid) #5

Previous Chapters: 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4

Tag List: @on-my-way-to-erebor​ , @haileymorelikestupid​

NOT MY GIF

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(via GIPHY)

She woke up the next morning to a note by her pillow.

Went to get breakfast, I didn’t want to wake you. Xx

She smiled and fell back on the bed remembering the actions of last night. It had been amazing. The kissing, the touching… She heard her front door open and a soft voice, “is your mom up yet? Hmm smokie?” She giggled to herself and got up, slipping on her t shirt, before heading to the kitchen. Spencer was standing holding Smokie, softly petting her, “You hungry? I’m sure you are…let’s get you some wet food.” He looked around the kitchen, “I’m actually not sure where your wet food is.” He mumbled, setting smokie down. She leaned against the doorway, admiring him. He was having a full-on conversation with her cat and she loved him for it. He was adorable.

She crossed her arms over her chest, “You know you left a lady to wake up in her bed alone.” She pouted.

He looked up startled, thinking she was still in bed. He hadn’t even heard her walk in. He looked her over. She was in only a t shirt, her legs bare. He couldn’t tell if she had underwear on and just the thought of it excited him. She stalked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You looked so peaceful sleeping I didn’t want to wake you.” He slowly slipped his arms around her waist, dipping his head down to kiss her. She hummed into the kiss as his hands roamed down to her thighs, slipping under her t-shirt, “You’ll just have to make it up to me then,” she teased. His hands figured out she was bare under that t-shirt and he couldn’t help himself, “I’ll take that as a challenge.” He picked her up and set her on the counter, continuing the kiss while she wrapped her legs around him. They made love again that morning on the kitchen counter. He definitely made it up to her.  

Monday morning. Ava groaned as she slipped out of bed to get ready for work. It had been such a great weekend with Spencer. They stayed cuddled on the couch watching movies all day yesterday. Now, she would have to get up and go to work. At least she would see him, but she remembered they would have to keep it a secret. Her phone dinged with a text from Spencer.

Good morning beautiful. Call me when you get up.

She smiled and got up to start getting ready, calling Spencer. They agreed to make sure no one knew about the relationship at work. They weren’t to give away any hints that they were dating. The group was a very observant one and would notice anything.

They had both walked into work at the same time, riding the elevator up. He couldn’t help himself. He backed her against the elevator wall and stole some kisses. They quickly pulled away from each other before they arrived at the BAU floor and straightened themselves up. This was going to be a hard day.

Ava was fixing her coffee in the kitchen when she felt hands slide around her waist, a body pressed against her. She immediately recognized Spencer’s cologne. “Spence… we got to be careful.” She warned. She quickly looked around to make sure no one had saw, then turned to face him. He smiled and fixed her hair behind her ear, “I know but I just needed a quick kiss.” She bit her lip and looked around again before standing on her tippy toes and giving him a quick kiss.

“Hmm thank you.”

“Now get back to work Dr. Reid.” She smirked, putting emphasis on the Dr. Reid. He loved hearing her call him that. She was teasing and he would get her back later. He groaned before heading out the door and back to his desk, hands in his pants pockets. What has this girl done to him?

Later around lunch time, Spencer made his way to Ava’s desk, “Do you want to go get lunch?”

“Yeah sure. I’m starving.” Just as she was about to stand Hotch exited his office and called the team in for a meeting. They had got a call about a case. Spencer looked at her apologetically, “Sorry.”

She nodded, understanding and continued to grab her purse. “I’m still going to get lunch though. Do you want me to grab you something anyways?”

He nodded, grateful, “Yes please. If you don’t mind.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her some cash. “Get yours too. On me.” He gave her a quick wink, then he headed to the briefing room.

When she arrived back from getting lunch, Spencer was at his desk, shutting everything down. She knew that sign. They were leaving for a case. She set his lunch on the desk causing him to look up. “Hey… we uh just got the call. We’re heading to Dallas, TX to work on a case.”

She had to admit, she was disappointed. They only had just become an item and had not even had two days to themselves. She hoped for more alone time tonight but guess not. She had to remember this was his job and if she was going to be with him, she would have to get use to this suddenly leaving for a case. She pushed her disappointment aside. It wasn’t going to make him stay or help the situation.

“I was craving a sandwich, so I grabbed Subway.” She pulled her sandwich out of the bag and slid the bag back to him. “There’s some napkins in the bag. Think you can find time to eat it before you get on the jet? You need to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

“Yeah I think I can find time.” He made sure no one was paying attention and whispered, “meet me in the kitchen for a minute.”

She went back to her desk and waited a minute before following him into the kitchen to not attract any attention. He grabbed her and kissed her as soon as she walked in. “I’m going to miss you.”

She smiled up at him and ran her fingers through his hair, “I’ll miss you too.”

He gently squeezed her hips and gave her another kiss. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She nodded hugging him, “go before we get caught.” She let go of him and gave him a small push. He looked back at her once more before walking out. He hated leaving her. Especially after they just took the next step in their relationship. She gave him a reassuring smile and blew him a kiss.

It had been a couple days since the team had left for Dallas. Spencer and Ava texted back and forth throughout the day when they got time. He had called every night when he would get back to the hotel, telling her about his day and the process of the case. He seemed confident that the case would be over soon.

Out in Dallas, Morgan and Reid were on their way to speak with a witness. Spencer had been on his phone the entire ride, smiling and chuckling every once and a while which made Morgan suspicious.

“Who’s got you so smitten, kid?” Morgan glanced over at him from the driver’s seat.

“Oh um no one.” Reid cleared his throat and put his phone away. 

“It’s the new girl Ava. Isn’t it?”

Reid’s face went pink, “No. why would you think that?” He tried playing it off.

Morgan grunted in response, “Well you two can’t keep your eyes off each other while at work. And I saw the way you looked at her when she first arrived. You’ve been smiling and laughing at your phone since we left VA. Obviously, someone has you smitten.”

Busted. If Morgan had figured it out, had anyone else had the chance? Spencer contemplated whether he should continue his lie and play it off or come clean. Morgan would find out eventually though. Morgan and Spencer were close and he knew Reid well.

“Look you can’t say anything. You know Hotch wouldn’t approve.” Reid turned and looked at his friend with pleading eyes.

Morgan held his hands up in defense, “I won’t say anything. And you’re right Hotch wouldn’t approve. He would be pissed. Ever since what happened with Mary and Grayson, he’s been against dating within the work-place.”

Mary and Grayson had been agents in the BAU and had developed feelings for each other. At the time Hotch didn’t care, but it was when it interfered with work that it became an issue. The two eventually had broken up and the members of the team took sides, causing tension and a whole lot of problems. In the end, he had to fire his two best agents.

Spencer nodded, “I know. We’re trying to keep in on the down low. You really think Hotch would be that pissed? It’s not like she’s an agent… We won’t be working cases together.”

Morgan shrugged, “He seemed pretty pissed and stern that day he told everyone in the office no dating. No exceptions.”  He tried to mimic Hotch’s voice when he said No Exceptions. “He doesn’t want to lose any more of his best agents.”

That night, Spencer told Ava that Morgan had figured it out and that they would have to be even more careful. He wasn’t the only one who found out about their relationship. Penelope had figured it out earlier that day.

Ava had come into Penelope’s office to sit for a while when Penelope received a call from Hotch. She was to hack into the system and receive records of a man they were looking for. It all happened so quick. The group had been talking with Penelope back and forth. She could hear Hotch, Morgan and Spencer’s voice over the phone when gunfire rang out. “He’s up on the roof!” There was more gunfire and shuffling. Ava’s heart dropped when she heard another shot and Morgan yell, “Reid!” “Shit! agent down! We need medics!” Then the line went dead.

“Oh god. Oh god. Penelope, he said Reid.” She stood quickly and started pacing, panicking. “He said Spencer was shot.” Slowly her eyes swelled with tears, her mind going to the worst. Spencer had been shot and he was probably dying on the ground. She would never see him again. They just started dating and now he’s done and got killed on a case.

“Ava, Ava it’s okay. Calm down.” Penelope gathered Ava in her arms in attempt to calm her.

“He said Reid was down…. He said they needed medics.”

“I know… it’s okay. I’m sure everything is fine. I’m sure Reid is fine.” After Penelope had calmed Ava down, they received a call from Morgan, “Reid took a hit, but the bullet hit his vest. He’s fine.”

Ava was still shaking and wiped her tears from her face. Penelope spun around in her chair and handed her a tissue, “You and Reid… you’re together now, aren’t you?”

Ava sniffled and nodded. Penelope sighed, “I figured. The way you panicked… That’s not just a co-worker worried for another. It was more than that.”

Two people now knew of their relationship and both had promised to keep their mouth shut. It wasn’t their place to tell Hotch. When the team finally arrived home Hotch invited everyone in the group out for drinks. Spencer wanted to invite Ava, but it might make Hotch suspicious.

Penelope asked Hotch when he called, “Why don’t we invite Ava? She helped me out on a few tasks while you guys were out.” Hotch didn’t see why not and told Penelope to mention it to Ava.

That night the group met at Mya’s Bar to have a round of drinks. Besides Penelope and Ava, the rest of the team had come straight from the jet to the bar. Ava would finally see Spencer but wouldn’t be able to show any affection with the group there. She would just have to hold back till later. Hotch, Gideon, Morgan, JJ, Emily, and Spencer were sitting at the large table in the back when Penelope and Ava walked in. Ava’s heart skipped when she saw him. She took a deep breath, knowing he was okay and didn’t have a scratch on him.

He saw her as soon as she walked in. It took everything he had not to run over to her and engulf her in a hugs and kisses. He noticed when she walked closer, her eyes were a little red and puffy, like she had been crying. He wondered if it was because of the scare earlier. 

“There’s my baby girl!” Morgan exclaimed hugging Penelope. He then turned to Ava “and I guess now I have another baby girl. Penelope said you helped out on the case.” He smiled and held his arms out. 

Ava laughed and hugged him, “I didn’t do much though.” She fixed her purse on her shoulder and looked at Spencer. 

He gave her a small smile and nod before sliding over a little in the booth, making room for her. “Have a seat. It’s been a long day.”

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Hope y’all enjoyed :)

[peterxwade24]

BWYD Chapter 8

How Marinette and Damian Acquired Their Pets

Bruce sat in his office, looking at apartment listings in Paris, when the door to his office was flung open and several heads of black hair flew into the room. Several voices spoke, trying to be heard over each other. He closed his laptop and pinched the bridge of his nose. “One at a time.” He sighed and looked at the boys. “Please.”

“Tiny Bat thought it’d be a good idea to practice flying-” Dick began.

“But, Pixie Pop got stuck-” Jason interrupted.

“And it’s all Grayson and Todd’s fault.” Damian finished, shooting a glare at his two older brothers. “Drake and Thomas are trying to coax her down but she won’t look down.”

Bruce’s eyes had blown wide and looked from Dick to Jason to Damian before he shot up out of his seat. He, followed by his three sons, ran out of the office and towards the cave. He took the stairs three at a time, pushing himself to go faster with every step.

“Mon Chou!” He called as soon as he caught sight of the red of her suit. He ran to stand underneath her form, his arms extended. “Mon Chou, you’ll be okay. Trust me.”

Marinette, her eyes catching sight of Bruce’s and never wavering from there, let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and let go, trusting him to catch her. She relaxed while she plummeted from the high roof of the ceiling into his waiting arms, until at the last second when she flexed her wings and fluttered down to him. A giant smile blossomed on her face as a giggle fell from her lips. “Hi Ubaba.”

Bruce pressed a kiss to her forehead and looked at his sons. “That’s how it’s done.” He looked over Marinette (her suit being comprised of an oversized dark red long-sleeved top tucked into black and dark red striped cargo pants over black combat boots, a black and dark red reversible hooded cape hanging from her shoulders, a dark red and black spotted domino mask concealing her identity covering her face from the tip of her nose to her hairline, with her hair (usually styled in a braid of some sort) pulled back into a low bun in order to allow her to easily pull her hood up) and smiled. “Okay Mon Chou. What have we told you?”

Marinette flushed, her translucent wings folding back underneath her cape and out of the way, before speaking. “Not to try flying unless it’s around Oiseau bleu’s gymnastic equipment.” She looked up at Bruce, the eye lenses shining with the same blue of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Just be more careful next time.” He looked over the six children in the cave before his eyes lit up. “Family meeting in my office. Whoever makes it to the office the fastest and the safest gets to pick what we’re having tonight for supper.”

All six of the kids took off, Marinette dropping her transformation after she’d reached the stairs, and Bruce shook his head at the antics of his children. He took the secret elevator back to his office and sat down in his plush office chair.

Tim and Duke ran into the office in unison, followed closely by Jason carrying Damian and Marinette with Dick bringing up the rear. Tim and Duke high-fived before turning to Bruce with matching smiles.

“What’s the meeting about?” Tim asked, plopping down into one of the chairs across from the desk.

Bruce looked over his family, his eyes counting, before turning to Marinette. “Mon Chou, can you go get Colin?”

Marinette nodded, passing Tikki a cookie before striding over to the window and pushing it open. “Tikki, spots on,” Marinette whispered and with that done she dove out of the window and flew off.

Marinette returned a few minutes later, Colin with his arms wrapped around Marinette’s neck and his face pressed into her cape, and set him down on the hard floor of the office.

Colin looked around the room. “So, as nice as that was. Why was I summoned?”

Bruce smiled at the children before turning his laptop around to let them see what was on his screen. “So,” he looked over the children, his youngest just shy of thirteen years old and his oldest thirty-one years old but still behaving like he was twelve, “who wants to go to Paris?”

---

Marinette looked around her room, a frown on her face, before she strode to the bathroom door. She walked through the bathroom and through the door to her brother’s room, where she threw herself onto his bed. “How can you decide what to bring?”

Damian looked at her over his shoulder and shrugged. “Just decide what you can’t live without. We’ll come back home every so often.”

Marinette nodded before a mischievous smile spread across her face. “You wanna go raid Jason and Dick’s rooms?”

Damian dropped the shirt in his hands before grabbing Marinette’s and the two ran from his room towards their oldest brothers’ rooms. They two broke apart, Damian going into Jason’s room while Marinette went into Dick’s. The two emerged, five minutes later, with four or five shirts tucked under their arms before they went into the other room and repeated the process. The two siblings, laden down with eight or ten shirts or hoodies each, ran to Damian’s room with mischievous smiles on their faces and chuckles streaming behind them. They collapsed onto Damian’s bed, the shirts and hoodies surrounding them.

“Okay. So, what did you take from Todd?” Damian inquired, his green eyes boring into Marientte’s blue eyes. “Huh?”

Marinette smiled a smile full of teeth, showing how happy she was. “His two favourite hoodies, one of his older shirts that smells like him, the hoodie he stole from Ubaba and one of his favourite shirts to steal from Ubaba.” She pursed her lips and looked at him. “You?”

Damian’s face broke out in a smirk. “All of his shirts from Alfred and all of Grayson’s hoodies from Alfred. What’d you take from Grayson?”

Marinette giggled. “I snatched the ones he snatched from Ubaba and the super soft hoodies.”

He held his hand up, “high five?”

Marinette high fived Damian before Alfred the cat jumped onto her abdomen. She let out a breath of air and laughed. “Are you going to bring any of your pets with us?”

Damian turned to lay on his side before he scratched Alfred behind the ears. “Probably Alfred and Titus. Goliath doesn’t really like people and Batcow likes the part of the cave she lives in. Do you wanna get some pets to take with you?”

Marinette shot up, earning a hiss from Alfred the cat who slunk away to lay in a stream of sunlight, and turned to look at Damian. “Can we go and bug Ubaba to take us to the shelter?’

Damian grabbed her hand after he sat up and dragged her through the manor. “Father! Father!”

“Ubaba!!” Marinette called, easily keeping pace with her older brother, her hair flowing behind them and acting much like her cape. She smiled and tumbled into Damian when he suddenly stopped, drawing a laugh from her brother.

“Can you stay on your feet for five minutes?” Damian laughed and pulled her back to her feet before he looked up at Bruce. “Father. We demand you take us to the shelter.”

“Please?” Marinette pouted up at Bruce, her cheeks flushed.

---

Marinette, Colin and Damian wandered around the shelter, Damian leading the two around and pointing out the more desirable pets. Colin let out a gasp and ran towards a single cage with a solitary dog within. He fell to his knees before the cage and held out his hand. Marinette and Damian followed at a much slower pace, appearing behind him and Marinette fell to her knees beside Colin.

In the cage was a single grey-silver labrador retriever puppy. The puppy’s eyes met Colin’s and Colin waited with baited breath for the puppy to come towards him. The puppy’s blue eyes looked over the three teens before stopping on Colin and letting out a happy yip.

Colin’s eyes widened and he let out a happy gasp. “This one. I want this one.”

Marinette smiled and nodded. “Okay. Ubaba!” She waved down Bruce and gestured wildly towards the cage in front of them. “Colin says this one!”

Bruce came over with the shelter worker, “this is the one?”

Colin nodded, not looking away from the puppy. “The one.”

The shelter worker nodded before they opened the cage, the puppy running out of the cage and into Colin’s waiting arms.

They all continued to roam the shelter before Colin spotted a tortoiseshell cat. He smiled at the cat and looked at Bruce. “This one.”

The shelter worker collected the cat and they continued walking. Marinette blocked out Damian’s words as she continued walking, no Damian she isn’t going to get a female Great Dane so they can have little Great Danes running around, before she comes to a stop in front of a cage.

The dog within the cage had a reverse brindle coat and the biggest, saddest brown eyes Marinette had ever seen. The dog was stocky in build and its ears were pinned back against its head. Marinette’s eyes widened and she crouched down in front of the cage, holding out her hand to the poor dog.

Damian scoffed but held his tongue, knowing that his sister would bond with a rabid hyena (and has (accidentally)) and would glare at him if he said anything. Colin crouched beside Marinette, a smile on his face. “He seems sweet.”

Marinette nodded as the dog, an American Pit Bull Terrier, hesitantly nudged her hand before giving her fingers a lick. She giggled and scratched the dog behind its ears. “Ubaba.” She turned to find her Ubaba standing next to a fear stricken shelter worker, the tortoiseshell cat held securely in his arms while the worker’s hand were clenched in front of their chest. “I want this one.”

Bruce nodded before turning to the worker next to him. “Will that be a problem?” His lips were pulled back in a tight smile but his voice came out icily.

“Are you sure?” The worker asked, narrowing their eyes at the dog. “It was a fighting dog. Are you sure that’s the one you want?” Their voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Marinette appeared at the worker’s elbow, her blue eyes boring into the worker’s skull. “Why wouldn’t I?” Her voice was soft and giving the worker an out, “what’s wrong with him? He’s gentle and beautiful and was so afraid I would hit him that he cowered away when I approached him.” Her voice grew hard and she glared at the worker before turning away and opening the cage to let the dog out. Her heart broke when she saw how thin he was and his docked tail before she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Marinette turned to look for a cat and stopped in front of an albino Maine Coon. She waggled her fingers in front of the cat and smiled when the cat bit her fingers. “Ubaba! Look! It’s Damian as a cat!”

---

Marinette walked out of the shelter, Oberon, her American Pit Bull Terrier, in front of her and Houdini, her Maine Coon, held in her arms. Colin followed Marinette with Gypsy, his silver Labrador Retriever, happily barking at everything from Colin’s arms while Rayas, his tortoiseshell cat, was wrapped around his shoulders. Damian brought up the rear with Bruce, glaring at the shelter worker as they walked out. They had a long night of packing ahead of them and like Hell were they about to let some bigot bring down Marinette.

@dast218 @toodaloo-kangaroo @amayakans @crazylittlemunchkin @marinettepotterandplagg

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Highschool Au Moceit: Part One

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Day One:

Patton wasnt the best with social etiquette, his smile was to wide, his eyes to shiny, people found him weird for being so happy. He wore dresses, to, lots of dresses, and he loved them. It didnt matter to him that none of his clothes quite fit like they should, or that his glasses were almost two sizes to big for his face, he liked it that way. He hoped the kids at his new school would like it to, he wanted to make friends quickly, friends made him even happier.

Patton put on a white long sleeved shirt and a light blue dress over it. He fixed a white bow in his hair and cleaned off his glasses before putting his shoes and backpack on and running out the door. His parents werent there to say goodbye, they were always busy. He didnt mind most days, it wasnt their fault they had to work after all!

He ran up to the bus stop and hopped onto the wall, swinging his legs back and forth as he waited.

"Hey, I dont think I've seen you around before, you new here?" Patton looked up. The person standing in front of him was tall, with short purple hair and a black hoodie.

"Yeah! My names Patton, he/him pronouns, you can call me Pat, nice to meet you!" Patton held his hand out for the kid.

"Virgil, he/him," said the boy, returning the hand shake awkwardly. Patton heard snickering from behind him.

"If you're a boy, why are you wearing a dress? Do your parents hate you or something?" said a snobbish voice. Patton felt his face flush, he shook it off.

"Mind your business Carol," said Virgil, shielding Patton from the view of the small group of people.

"Its ok, I'm used to it," Patton rubbed his arm and looked away slightly, Virgil sat down next to him.

"Being used to something doesnt make it ok, Pat," he said, pulling his hood over his head.

"You dont let people tell you what gender should define you, got that?" said the purple-haired boy. Patton simply nodded and smiled. He waited next to Virgil until the bus showed up, then hopped aboard and sat in the seat closest to the front. He watched the trees pass outside and drew hearts in the dew on the windows until they reached the school.

They reached the school after a few minutes of driving around to other stops. Patton skipped down the steps and was about to walk inside when he bumped into something tall and soft. He looked up to be faced with a pair of menacing eyes, one brown and one yellow.

"S-Sorry- didnt see you there," he said to the figure. They simply growled under their breath and walked in a different direction. Virgil got off the bus and grabbed Patton by the arm.

"That's Deceit, if you know what's good for you you wont talk to him, hes bad news," Virgil said. Patton stole one last glance at Deceit before walking into the school building. He didn't seem like a bad guy, But Patton supposed no one really did at first glance, after all, he'd only just gotten there.

He ran to homeroom and sat down in the seat closest to the teacher's desk. He ignored the snickers and murmurs behind him until the teacher walked into the room.

"Class, we have a new student today, he's going to introduce himself," she said, moving out of the way so Patton could stand up.

He fumbled around a bit trying to stand up on the table, and nearly fell off, which caused a snicker to ripple through the back of the room.

"Hi! My name's Patton Prescott! I use he/him pronouns, my favorite animal is cats, and my favorite food is cookies!" he smiled brightly, swaying from side to side a bit before getting back in his seat.

"Well, welcome to class Patton," said the teacher. Patton grinned, causing his eyes to close slightly. They waited in homeroom until the bell rang. He ran out of the class and upstairs to the science lab. It seemed as though most of the seats were taken in the front, so he decided to sit in the back.

"You're in my spot," said a voice, in what sounded like a low hiss.

Patton froze and turned around, only to come face to face with Deceit. He let out a small squeak before gathering up his own things and running off to another desk. He noticed Deceit watching him from the corner of his eye and buried his head into a book, hoping it could block his face enough.

"Hey girl, are you from Tennessee, because you're the only ten I see," said a voice from in front of Patton. He heard a groan from the other side of the room.

"Noooo- last time I checked I'm a boy from Florida," Patton watched as the expression on the face of the kid in front of him changed from one of smug flirtation, to mortified panic.

"What kind of guy wears bows and a dress! You look stupid!" he said angrily.

"The only stupid one here is you, he can wear what he wants, it's none of your business why," said the menacing voice of Deceit from across the room. The boy stormed back to his seat and Patton buried his face in his arms.

He waited out the rest of the class without speaking or looking at anyone before running through the hallway at top speed to escape the stares. He felt someone grab onto his shoulder and whipped around to face them. It was Deceit, he looked upset.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok, I know that cant be a fun experience for you," he said.

"Its fine, I'm used to it," Patton mumbled, shuffling his feet.

"Society just cant handle people having different tastes can they," Deceit's vibrant eyes seemed to stare into his soul. He shuffled his feet again and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"Yeah, but they dont mean anything by it! People make bad choices some times," Patton said, his smile faltered slightly.

Deceit smirked slightly "you'll have to change that opinion eventually, optimism like that might get you hurt one of these days," he said. He ruffled Patton's hair slightly and continued down the hall. Patton frowned.

"Patton! Are you ok? What'd he do to you?" Virgil skidded to a halt next to him.

"I'm fine, he was just checking on me, someone mistook me for a girl in class today," Patton said. Virgil's eyes seemed to blaze with fire.

"People sometimes, it's like they think pronouns are a joke," he snarled.

"It really wasnt that big of a deal," Patton said. He was beginning to get tired of the subject. He and Virgil walked to their next class, talking about what they'd learned.

They'd gotten separated somewhere along the way to the gym, but Patton found him again once they reached the actual gymnasium.

"Gods I hate gym class, dodgeball has got to be the worst thing society has ever come up with," Virgil said. He'd gotten benched within the first few minutes of playing, he didnt seem upset about that fact though. Patton couldnt focus completely on him as he was trying to dodge a few blows from a boy with black sunglasses.

He was knocked back by a sudden blow to the chest, and landed with a thud on the gymnasium floor.

"Point Remus! Told you I could beat you!" said a boy with brown hair and a poorly drawn mustache on his face.

"Remus! You could've seriously hurt someone!" another boy who looked like the first, with redder hair and no drawn-on mustache, held his hand out to help Patton up and guided him over to Virgil.

"You did good!" Virgil said, nudging him in the arm.

"Yeah- wasnt expecting that though," Patton giggled.

"Remus is a bit of a wild card on most days, not his fault though, hes related to a class president, gotta make a name for himself somehow," Virgil said, pointing between the twins.

By the end of the day, Patton had solidified himself friendships with Virgil and the Prince twins. He was glad, the three of them were. nice. Even if Remus was a bit off putting at times, but he guessed that wasnt his fault. He felt like he was going to like it here, and he was happy with that.

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Tag List:

@oceanart123

@youtuberswithalex

@misunderstoodshadowling

@hayden-going-insane

@imbasicallyshakespear

@spooky-scary-virgil

@id-rather-go-live-in-a-trash-can

@sidesgeek

@the-emo-nightmare-bean

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 2: Castles In The Air

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Be My Only)

…in which Y/N can’t stop worrying about Harry, but she isn’t the only one.

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Word count: 5k

Wattpad link

Chapter 1: Fire And Rain - Harry and Y/N go back to where it ended.

A/N: Welcome back to emotional hell. Listen to What If I Never Get Over Your? by Lady Antebellum for full experience. - Allie.

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.

.

Isaac thought he had done a great job. Y/N had trusted him enough to reveal why she'd gone back to Holmes Chapel last year, not because of her father's wedding, but because of Harry. He knew everything, from how they'd got together to how they'd ended. Though the truth was evidently unpleasant, it also made him sigh in relief, for he was sure she had officially moved on.

But last night he'd seen for himself, how she had freaked out at the party and later broken down in the hospital. He'd seen the way she'd held Harry, how she'd cried, thinking something bad had happened to him. She was usually talkative when they were alone, but had been awfully quiet on the drive back to her place. It didn't take a mind-reader to figure out what was bothering her. It was that hug they had shared, what he had whispered into her ear that nobody else would ever know. And in that moment Isaac realized, there was a place in her heart that he could never reach.

It'd been a rough night, and his loud thoughts had kept him awake until 3AM, with fear that the girl in his arms could leave him any minute. But when the morning came, everything seemed to have fallen back into place. Stepping into the kitchen with sleep in his eyes, he was greeted by his girlfriend's gleeful "good morning!" and the delicious smell of sizzling bacon and eggs. Maybe he had over-exaggerated the situation yesterday, because Y/N was still here, and she was...making breakfast?

"Y/N! The eggs!"

"Shit!" The girl nearly knocked everything off the table as she fled across the room to turn off the stove. Clouds of dark smoke erupted from the frying pan, causing the couple to start coughing uncontrollably.

"My eggs..." She mumbled with a frown when he stroked her head and burst out laughing.

"I thought my girl was possessed, but I'm glad she's still herself." His joke made her snort as she tossed the burnt egg into the bin and told him she would try again. But after what he had just witnessed, he thought he should do all the cooking from now on, for their own safety.

"Step aside. I'll manage," he said with a smirk, nudging her with his hip to steal her spot as they both giggled together.

"Okay, so you take care of our breakfast. I'm gonna finish this."

Curious, Isaac stole a glance at his girlfriend, and saw her put the tuna salad she'd made into a lunch box. It wasn't like her to wake up early, make breakfast and lunch for herself. She hated cooking more than she hated children crying on the bus, and she'd rather starve than turn on her stove.

"Hey," she spoke before he could ask. "Can you bring this to Harry later?"

"Did he ask you to cook for him?"

"No." Y/N shook her head. "Niall said he wasn't allowed to go anywhere, so I decided to make him food."

Her naive response made Isaac cackle. He told her not to worry, that Harry's team would make sure he had the healthiest, and most expensive meals, while laying in bed. But that didn't ease the wrinkles between her brows.

"These foods will help his wounds heal faster." She met his thoughtful stare. "Besides, you two have to talk to each other at one point. This is your chance to make up."

"We're fine."

"How 'fine' exactly?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "I know everything is my fault, and I'm trying to—"

Isaac didn't let her finish. He grabbed her chin, kissing her full on the mouth, and slightly pushing her backward until her back bumped into the desk. His kiss became more urgent as his hands moved to hold her cheeks. She kissed him back, fingertips resting on his face. Neither of them knew what had gotten into him, yet both went with it because, what else would they do?

Reassurance. He needed reassurance.

But this kiss wasn't it.

Slowly, he pulled away, tucking a loose strand behind her ear as his heart started racing faster. With a smile to cover up the fact that he was on tenterhooks, he said in hushed tones, "why don't you ask Niall to bring him the food? They live very near each other."

The truth dawned on Y/N as her eyes shifted away from his. She thought for a couple seconds before nodding her head, and Isaac hoped she didn't think he hated Harry. How could he? He loved Harry like his own brother, and had sacrificed a lot for him since they became friends; like his top bunk in the dorm because Harry wanted it, his 20th birthday party because Harry had failed a movie audition that same day, his first magazine cover deal because Harry's hateful ex was the model, and many other times he couldn't recall. He'd done everything, no questions asked, because he believed Harry would do the same for him.

But Y/N wasn't something they could take and give whenever they wanted. She was a person, someone Isaac truly cared about. And he'd known from the start once he'd fallen for her he could never step back, which was why he'd asked Harry if he'd had feelings for her too. If only the answer had been 'yes' since the beginning, he would've walked away for them to be together. Would Harry have done the same? Would Harry have respected Isaac's feelings for Y/N and stepped aside, instead of going after her while Isaac was in Rome? No. Harry had done the opposite. And even so, even now, Isaac would still walk away. But things weren't as simple as it used to be. He was in too deep to undo how he felt about her for someone who'd broken her heart again and again.

There were certain things in his life that he was always in control of. Feelings, just weren't one of them.

.

.

.

"What do you mean you're in LA?!"

"I got on the plane as soon as I dropped Harry off last night." Niall sounded so casual, as if it wasn't a big deal to fly to a different country every time he was bored. A normal person like Y/N could never relate to it, though she guessed nothing could be too much for someone with excessive fame and fortune like Niall Horan.

As Niall rambled on about his second birthday party in LA, Y/N had missed most of it while busy sorting the books on the shelves. She would get in so much trouble if her manager caught her on the phone while at work again.

"That sounds super cool, Niall. But I really gotta go," she told him, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Have fun at your party."

"Thanks! Have a nice day, Y/N!"

I wish, Y/N thought, as she hung up and headed back to the reception counter. There hadn't been a single customer that morning, so her friend and co-worker Alice was sitting behind the counter, filing her nails instead of doing whatever she was supposed to do. Sometimes Y/N truly felt bad for their boss. He had only two employees, but neither one was hardworking or at least responsible.

Alice actually got fired from her job in their university library for never showing up on time, and Y/N couldn't stay there either. Without Alice, no one would make sure she got to read as much as she wanted without getting caught. So the girls ended up finding this new job, and apparently hadn't learnt any lesson from their previous one.

"Al, I need back up," said Y/N as she threw on her jacket and grabbed her bag and lunchbox. "If Eddie comes back before me, tell him I've got some 'lady issues' and had to leave, yeah?"

"Lady issues? Wow, we've really run out of excuses, haven't we?" Alice seemed quite amused.

"He'll believe anything." Y/N rolled her eyes as she scoffed. "Once I told him my cat was sick, and he gave me a weekend off."

"You have a cat?"

"No, but he has three."

Alice giggled as she gave the older girl a high-five. They could only be mean to Eddie when he wasn't around. After all, he was the one who paid them, so the least they could do was treat him with respect...when he was around.

"You're meeting up with Isaac?" Alice asked with a massive grin, but Y/N only shook her head and said, "a friend."

Waving Alice goodbye, she left the store and walked to her car which she'd recently bought from a man living in the same building. Though it ran out of fuel pretty fast, and once left her stuck on an empty highway in the middle of the night, it was still good for a used Vauxhall. To be honest, she'd made a lot of questionable buying decisions ever since she moved to London, but that car wasn't one of them.

As Y/N buckled up her seat belt and started the engine, she only had one thing on her mind. Maybe she should leave the lunchbox at his door, ring the bells, and run away before he saw her. That way she wouldn't have to talk to him and still make sure he got her food. But on second thought, wouldn't it make her a coward? If she was so sure that she was completely over him, she should act like an adult and face him at some point. Besides, she'd said it herself, Harry was mentally and physically unwell. What he needed most at this point was someone to look after him. If not Niall or Isaac, that someone had to be her.

.

.

.

When the doorbell rang, Harry didn't expect it to be Y/N.

He had too many 'friends' here in London. But ever since his accident made the news, the only person who'd come to visit him was his manager Jeff, which said a lot about working in this industry. The cameras might stop rolling but the people never stopped acting. His Bambi, however, was different from all the others. She showed up here because she genuinely cared about him, and even though he didn't deserve that kindness, he was very thankful she'd decided to come.

"I brought you lunch." Y/N showed Harry the pink lunchbox and a wide grin that made his heart leap in content. 

As she walked in and politely asked to use the bathroom, he played along, saying "you're welcome" in response to her humble "thank you". They thought it would be less awkward if they pretended that she was a stranger to this place. Pretending was easy, forgetting was hard. The memories of their last night together were still vivid as if it was yesterday. She had stood right there in the middle of his living room, in his shirt, with tears running down her red cheeks. The look she'd given him was utterly heartbreaking. And if he could go back in time, he would tell her those three words again and again until she agreed to stay.

"I guess I'm leaving now."

But he couldn't go back in time. And this was reality. He watched the smile fade from her lips as she walked right past him, straight towards the door. On spur of the moment, he said aloud what he should've said a year ago.

"Stay."

She stopped dead in her track, turning to look at him like he'd committed a crime. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable, so he plastered a smile on his face. "Stay for a cup of tea?"

"I have to get back to work," she replied with a sense of reluctance.

"Since when do you care about work?"

"Excuse me! I'm very responsible, alright?" She pointed to herself as they both cracked up in unison.

Harry guessed he must've looked like a fool for smiling this much, still he couldn't help it. Her presence made him feel alive. He shouldn't have spent a fortune on a therapist while he could've just gone to her instead.

"It won't take long," he insisted, this time giving her a pout. Y/N tossed her head back as she rolled her eyes, knowing for sure there was no way to deny him when he looked at her like that. So she shrugged off her jacket and hung it up by the door, making him sigh in relief.

"Only for a cup of tea," she emphasized the word, more like a reminder for herself than for him. But even so, once they had finished their tea and the discussion about how those doctors had stitched up Harry's wounds, they switched on Netflix. And that was how hours had gone to waste, only for a cup of tea. Well, it wasn't actually a waste, at least for Harry, who needed an excuse to spend as much time with his Bambi as possible. He was like a teenager on his first date, stealing glances at the girl he fancied, hoping she wouldn't notice, though he wouldn't mind if she did.

Judging by her many different facial expressions, Harry believed he might've missed a whole lot of what was happening on the screen. But he was too far gone to keep on watching while she was right here. When the last episode ended, they sat in silence, staring at the rolling credits. He was waiting for her to suggest watching something else so they didn't have to talk. But apparently, she also felt like a conversation was necessary. She turned to him, both of them parted their lips and quickly looked away at the same time. He caught a glimpse of her hands rubbing onto her thighs. She was nervous. And he was too.

"You've...changed your wallpapers." Her little discovery made him laugh a little bit. As it turned out, he wasn't the only who sucked at starting a conversation.

"I did. Thank you for noticing."

She met his eyes and they were beaming at one another. Now that the unwelcoming awkwardness had passed, Harry thought he should say something. Tell a joke, maybe. No, that poor attempt would be suicide. But what should he say? Everything that he wanted to say was all wrong. He couldn't tell her that he'd been thinking about kissing her since she walked in. That he missed her so much his body ached. That he could still feel her in his arms after last night, and now he began to wonder if she could feel it as well. Most of all, he couldn't tell her he loved her. He thought he might've missed the only chance to say it, and now his life sentence was to live with it as a secret until the day he died.

As he kept on fidgeting, Y/N's eyes wandered around the room, and spotted his new movie script lying on the desk opposite from them. "Castles In The Air," she read the title aloud, catching his full attention.

"That's not for you! It's confidential," he said quickly as she attempted to go get it.

Y/N breathed out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "What's the point of having an actor as a friend, if you still have to wait for the movie to come out like everyone else?"

Harry didn't know why he started beaming at the word 'friend'. Just yesterday they were nothing, and now she called him a friend, which meant he was gradually gaining back her trust. And that was enough to keep him happy for the rest of the day.

"You know," she began, resting her chin on her palm. "When I was little I used to think that 'castles in the air' were actual castles floating in the air. I got so fed up when I learnt the real meaning of it. Desires, ideas, or plans that are unlikely to be realized. How disappointing is that?"

He nodded to agree. "It sucks to grow up and find out not everything is possible."

His remark made her chuckle. Her eyebrows knitted together as she told him, "our 'castles in the air' are all built out of fear. They're like...our coping mechanism."

"How so?" He asked, smiling while studying her expression. He loved the way her eyes twinkled when she came up with something smart, which was almost everything that she said. The way she observed the world was different from everyone else, and he adored her for that, he could listen to her talk forever.

She began with a little smile. "We create these unrealistic ideas and believe in them to distract ourselves from our disappointing reality. For example, we talk about inhabiting on Mars, so we don't have to worry about our planet dying. We tell ourselves that something big is gonna happen to us tomorrow, because we don't wanna roll out of bed and repeat the same boring day. We believe the person we love will also love us back, because we can't stand the fear of rejection."

Harry knew she didn't include the last example on purpose, and only realized how ironic it sounded until after. As she paused to make sure he wasn't upset, he gave her a reassuring smile. "So...tell me yours?"

Y/N held his eye contact as she spent some time thinking before answering his question. "Don't have one. I already have everything I need."

Even herself didn't fully believe in those words. How could he? But he wasn't going to force her to give him the truth. He accepted that answer, and let it go, allowing the silence to sink back in. This time it only lasted for about five seconds.

"Give me your motorcycle key," Y/N said as she opened her right hand, looking dead serious at him.

"Why?" He lifted one eyebrow in confusion, at the same time, slightly amused.

"Because I don't trust you with it after last night. Come on, hand it over."

Sighing, Harry grabbed his coat on the backrest of the couch. He pulled out the key from the pocket then put it in her hand. She gave him a questioning look, chuckling nervously.

"I was only kidding."

"I wasn't," he answered to her surprise. "I already told you, I don't want you to worry again. So you can have the key."

She stared at him as if he'd said something wrong. He watched her lips tremble, not knowing what to expect while the look in her eyes was eating away at him.

"At the hospital..." His entire body stiffened once he heard those words. "You said something about...the fireplace. What did you mean by that?"

"You know what I meant..." Harry said under his breath.

"I don't. That's why I'm asking." Her voice was soft, yet stern and direct, letting him know she wasn't going to let him off that easily.

But he didn't believe her. Y/N would never forget her mother's words. She must've had figured out what he meant right when he said it. Thus there was only one good explanation.

Fear.

She was fearful of hearing those three words now that she'd moved on. So she hoped he had misunderstood the metaphor, or at least remembered it differently. It'd be easier for her if he didn't love her. Then they could pretend like nothing had ever happened. And she wouldn't have to feel guilty for being with Isaac. Harry wouldn't know for sure, but it didn't matter. Right now, he must make up his mind. He could either tell her what she wanted to hear, which would make him a liar; or tell her what he wanted her to hear, and never spoke to her again. Either way he would lose.

The sound of doorbell shot Harry right out of his seat as he took it as the universe throwing him a lifeline. Despite his injured knee, he dashed towards the front door, praying it was Niall, or Jeff, Gemma or even Isaac. Nevertheless, he was out of luck.

"Rubes..."

His gruff voice immediately washed off the beam on the woman's face. She released a faint gasp, cupping his cheeks and observing the scratches from the accident.

"I wish you'd called me," she uttered before pulling him in.

Harry didn't expect that hug. His first instinct was to push her away and turn to his Bambi, whose eyes widened in shock as she rose up from the couch. The way Ruby looked at her was far from courteous, so Harry guessed she had assumed only the worst about them. There was no possible way this encounter could end with smiles and handshakes.

"This is Ruby," he spoke, unable to look into those eyes when he was introducing her to the cause of their last goodbye. "Ruby, this is—"

"Y/N, Harry and I were neighbors in Holmes Chapel," she said, stepping forward to shake the woman's hand. 

"How long are you gonna be in London?" Ruby asked, throwing on a grin. It was scary for most people how fast she could switch from one emotion to another, but Harry had grown used to it. It was only with him that she showed how she really felt.

"Actually...I live here in London. Harry and I knew each other when we were kids, then we separated for a long time," Y/N said, still Ruby wouldn't leave her alone.

"And how did you meet again? He's never mentioned you, not even once."

"Rubes," Harry cautiously lowered his voice as a warning, but neither of the girls paid attention to him.

"It's a long story, Harry can tell you later," Y/N calmly said before picking up her handbag and placing Harry's key on the glass table. He thought she would just head out of the door without turning back, but instead she stopped right in front of him. She was expecting something, and he knew exactly what it was.

He ignored the look Ruby was giving them and pulled Y/N into his arms like he'd done the previous night. He made sure no space was left between them, and that she would have something to remember when she walked out of here. But Y/N knew Ruby was watching, so she just put her hands on his back, barely touching him though it was all she wanted to do.

"Text me when you get home safe, alright?" He whispered.

Without another word, she gave him a nod before pulling away. Then she was gone, leaving so fast he could barely finished the word "goodbye". And now he was scared to guess what she might think of him after today. The man who kept running back to the ex he said he didn't love anymore, the same man who'd broken her heart and let her run out in the pouring rain, not the man who had changed and deserved a second chance to make her happy. So much for closure and sincerity, he thought.

With a heavy heart, he shut the door and turned back to Ruby, who was waiting for him, lips slightly parted.

"Have you been sleeping with her?" She asked immediately.

"No," was his answer as he walked back to the couch. Her big cat eyes observed his every move, like she was the predator and he was her prey. In silence, she came to sit by his side and watched him open Y/N's lunchbox while acting like she didn't exist. Now she couldn't take it anymore. She pulled the lunchbox away from Harry, leaving him flabbergasted. If only he would snarl at her, or at least show any kind of emotion to prove that he cared, but all that she got in return was silence. And Ruby hated meaningless silence more than anything in the world.

"She wasn't just a friend, was she?" That wasn't a question, this was, "are you in love with her?"

"She's got a boyfriend. Are you happy to hear that?"

"No." She bit her bottom lip. "If you don't look happy to say it."

"Fuck, Rubes." Harry exhaled, causing the older woman to flinch in surprise. "What else do you want me to say? She's dating Isaac. My best friend. Can you just give me a break?"

Not a single part of that answer stated that he wasn't in love with Y/N, but that was the last thing Ruby cared about at this point. She was so hopeless that she would accept any answer showing a possibility for her to win him back. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile, forgetting he could always tell when her happiness was fake.

"I'm sorry...I overreacted." She said quietly. He hoped she would stop there, but he knew her well enough to be sure that she wouldn't.

"I have every right to worry though," she began as expected. "You promised to give me a chance, but stopped talking to me since you came back from Holmes Chapel. Then this girl was in your house, and you started acting weird towards me. How am I supposed to feel?"

"I'm sorry...I've had a terrible week." He sighed, turning back to her. There was no reason for him to be sorry, but if it could stop Ruby from giving him a hard time, he didn't mind saying it.

"I forgive you," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. Harry swallowed hard when he felt her lips at his ear and soon on his neck. They used their mouths a lot when they were together alone, just never for talking. This was the only way for her to get close to him, and Harry knew exactly how this would end. The only thing on his mind when he kissed her lips, was the look of disappointment Y/N had given him before she walked out. He was also disappointed in himself, yet did nothing to stop Ruby from getting down on her knees and undoing his pants. His head tossed back, and his eyes fell shut. He just wanted to feel something other than a heartache, anything.

.

.

.

The tension in the room had escalated to the point of no return. Something had gone wrong, and Y/N could only wish she knew what it was.

It was probably a bad idea to tell Isaac about her going to Harry's place, but from her own experience, every failed relationship began with a secret, no matter how small. And they were doing so well, she didn't want to mess this up by keeping a secret from him. However, his reaction left her confused. His smile dimmed slowly before fading out, and the blue in his eyes turned ice cold.

"I thought Niall was gonna bring him the food?" He mumbled, not looking at her, even though she was sitting right by his side on the bed.

"Niall was in LA. I called him," she tried to explain, tugging harder at his sleeve to gain back his attention. "But does it matter? I was trying to tell you about—"

"Ruby. I get it." He breathed.

No, he doesn't get it, not at all. "Harry is in a bad place right now, and the last thing he needs is going back to her. I'm worried about him."

"Aren't you always?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked, withdrawing her hands at once.

Isaac rose up and started pacing back and forth, until he was calm enough to stop and point a finger at her. "You're worried about him and Ruby, not because Ruby is toxic for him. But because you cannot accept that he's still the same person who hurt you before."

"No—"

"Don't." He took a step back when she got up and reached for him. Her heart was pounding, and her eyes watered in a second.

"You still love him, right?" Isaac's breathy voice was mixed with a tired laugh that made his body shake slightly.

Without a second thought, she surged forward to seize his arm. "I don't. I'm with you now," she whispered, sounding so desperate, but it wasn't enough to convince him to stay. He took her hands and pinned them to her chest. In that instant, her heart wrenched as the lump in her throat grew bigger.

"Lie to yourself all you want, but don't lie to me." His voice was dangerously low, as if even himself couldn't believe he was saying those words. "You cannot love me, or anyone else for that matter, at least not as much as you love him. But wake up, Y/N. He loves Ruby. He's always gonna love Ruby, he's not gonna change for you. I wish you could just see that...Why can't you see that?" Isaac voice went weaker towards the end, until he had nothing left to say to her, so he reached for the door handle. He told her they could continue their talk in the morning, when they were in their right mind to think this through. However, Y/N had a feeling that nothing was going to change.

Once he had left, she sat alone on her bedroom floor, contemplating his last words over and over again until her mind became numb and she couldn't continue. That was when a text lit up her phone.

⌲ H: Are you home yet?

She almost ignored him. Almost.

⌲ I am. Sorry, forgot to let you know.

⌲ H: It's okay :)

Three dots popped up to show that he was typing, only to disappear right afterwards, leaving Y/N heartbroken. She wasn't thinking straight when she wrote 'Had a fight with Isaac. I don't know what to do.' But right before pressing send, it occurred to her that having him involved might be a bad idea, so she deleted it all and put her phone on airplane mode.

At that same moment, Harry was sitting fully-naked on his bed, patiently waiting for those three dots to reappear. One minute. Two minutes. Now it'd been five, and his heart slowed down for he knew it was not going to happen. He put his device back on the nightstand, just as Ruby pulled him back under the covers. He let her snuggle into his bare chest, while all he wanted was to get out of this room because it didn't feel right. In the darkness, he imagined the girl he loved lying in the arms of his best friend, and his heart wilted to the unpleasant thought.

Little did he knew, Y/N was on her own, trying to fall asleep so she would wake up to a message from Isaac that said everything was fine. But was it really? Or was it just another one of those unrealistic fantasies she'd created for herself — her coping mechanism? Building castles in the air was easier than accepting reality. Having a perfect relationship, a perfect boyfriend, a perfect life, were certainly better than facing the same ending twice.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Homecoming

Title: Homecoming (part three in the ‘Reckless’ series) Request: Hi, can I request a Dean x reader, where he makes her angry so she decides to leave him while on a hunt… But when she gets back to the bunker, she doesn’t realize a month has gone by. Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood Word Count: 2,500ish

note; so this was going to be the last part... but then i felt like it was a bit anti-climatic for a finale and it didn’t quite feel over yet SO there’s gonna two more parts!! enjoy ;)

Part One | Part Two

You awoke face down on the ground. Gravel dug into your cheek and bit into the palms of your hands, and you groaned as you sat up, joints stiff and aching. Your shoulder was killing you, and your ribs were definitely bruised, if not fractured. Blinking sluggishly, the darkness around you became discernible as your eyes adjusted - trees. A long driveway. You were still disoriented, but something about this was oddly familiar…

The witch! The realisation hit you like a brick to the head and you jumped to your feet, ignoring your protesting injuries. Spinning around, you realised with a start that the house was dark, cordoned off with police tape. Frowning, you slunk under the weak barrier and looked through the window. The scene that awaited you was far different from the one in your most recent memory.

The candles that had previously circled the witch were now nothing but dried pools of melted wax staining the wooden floors. The witch’s body was gone, though a disturbingly large amount of dried blood was smeared across the floor and walls. Her other victim’s body had disappeared also, leaving nothing but the collapsed china cabinet and an abundance of evidence markers placed around the scene.

Mind reeling and head throbbing, you sat and leaned against the side of the house, glancing at your injured shoulder and deciding now was as good a time as any to assess the extent of your injuries. It hurt like hell, but the bleeding from your shoulder had mostly stopped, and you’d definitely had worse. You were sure that, given enough time, it would heal. You could taste blood in your mouth from the boot to the face you’d received, but thankfully you still had all your teeth, even if your gums were split. All in all, you could survive without rushing to the hospital.

Now that you knew you weren’t bleeding out, a more pressing concern was raised - what the hell had happened here? You could only guess it had something to do with the window the witch had sent you flying through - some kind of portal, maybe?

Though your brain still rattled with confusion, you managed to shake yourself out of your stupor and decided to get back to the motel as quickly as possible - maybe the boys would have some clue as to what had happened. Ha - Dean’s face when he realised you’d taken the witch on your own would be priceless, you couldn’t wait to shove your competence in his face.

You walked down the long drive, ducking under another round of police tape stationed at the foot of the driveway. Your hands fumbled in your pockets for your keys as you walked, but you’d gotten halfway down the street before you froze. Wait…

“Where the hell is my car?” you muttered, glancing back the way you came. You were sure you’d parked it here… Are you kidding? Someone stole your fucking car. Great - just what you needed, tonight of all nights.

You huffed an annoyed sigh as you pulled out your phone, brows shooting up in surprise as you saw the notification - 154 missed calls from Dean Winchester. 82 missed calls from Sam Winchester. Jesus.

Opening Dean’s contact, your thumb hovered over the call button… but then you thought of his smug face when you called asking for help, and thought better. Goddammit, you were Ubering - you were too stubborn to ask for help after all this.

You leaned back against a fence as you waited for your Uber to arrive, scrolling mindlessly through your phone until they did. You slid into the back seat, ready to finally find some answers.

---

When you were dropped off you headed straight for your motel room, surprised to find it locked. You patted your pockets, but realised you must’ve left the room key with the boys. You pounded on the door.

“Hello? Dean? Sam?” you called expectantly. “I took care of her! She’s dead! Can you guys let me in?”

Silence. Then muffled whispering. You groaned.

“Look, I’m sorry if I worried you, but can you guys please let me in? It’s cold out here!” you yelled, kicking the door once before turning around with an irritated sigh. You rolled your eyes as you heard the door creak open.

“It’s about ti-” you began, turning back, but froze when you saw a bleary-eyed middle-aged woman you definitely didn’t recognise. You opened your mouth, brow furrowing in confusion as you glanced around furtively. Had you got the wrong room?

“You… are not Sam and Dean,” you said slowly. She looked at you with fear in her eyes, and you felt your own widen in panic as you realised what you looked like - a bruised and bloody mess - and exactly what she had heard - “I took care of her! She’s dead!” Shit.

“N-no, who are you? What do you want?” she cried.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got the police on the phone!” a male’s voice called from inside. You laughed nervously.

“Look, this is all a big misunderstanding,” you tried, but when you raised your hands the woman screamed. The man was at her side in less than a moment, a frying pan gripped in his shaking hands.

“Get back! The police are on their way!” he shouted, and you sighed. Great. Just what you needed. You spun on your heel and strode away, the couple clearly too shaken to try and follow you. In a tiny town like this, you gave it at least twenty minutes before the cops arrived. Plenty of time to get out.

You walked a block over, finally relinquishing your stubbornness as you tried to call Dean for a ride. It went to voicemail. Eight times.

Great. Just great, you thought, finally giving in and calling another Uber, this time for the bunker. The same driver you had before pulled up, shooting you an irritated look. You glanced at your phone - 5am, in a tiny place like this? God, you were lucky to even get an Uber.

“Lebanon? Are you fucking kidding?” he demanded. “Do you know how far that is? You’re fucking lucky my cat’s with my ex-wife this weekend, or else you’d be finding another goddamn ride. Lebanon!” he scoffed.

You tried a sheepish smile. “Sorry?” You felt a pang of guilt, but knew your chances of getting picked up by a hitchhiker at this hour were zero to one, especially when you looked as bad as you did, in addition to your pending status as a fugitive.

With a very frustrated sigh, the driver pulled from the curb and you cast your gaze out the window as you settled in for the long trip ahead.

A seven-hour drive with Dean’s driving became a ten-hour drive with the Uber driver, whose name was Darren, behind the wheel. You slept on and off, your dreams filled with blood, candles and 1-star passenger ratings. Your waking hours were spent talking - Darren told you about his kids who he was trying to put through college, hence the uber driving, the custody battle for his cat following his messy divorce, that dick Billy from accounting who, in Darren’s words, “Just didn’t know when to quit it!” Quit what, you weren’t certain, but the more he ranted the more your hatred for ‘Billy’ grew.

When you were finally delivered home - or rather, about a twenty-minute walk from home, as you didn’t give the Men of Letters bunker location to just anyone - you were quick to give Darren a good rating. He huffed. Apparently, any comradeship you may have gained as you bitched with him about his coworkers was eradicated the moment you stepped out the door, even with the fortune you paid to get here. You waved half-heartedly as he drove away, waiting until the car was completely out of sight before beginning the trek to the bunker.

The afternoon sun beat down on the back of your neck, drawing beads of sweat that clung to your hair and moistened the dried blood crusted on your skin. When you wiped your forehead, the back of your hand came away stained with dirt. God, Darren hadn’t asked a lot of questions about your appearance, had he? Maybe he had his secrets, too. Like why he was willing to drive ten hours for an absolute stranger, even if he was getting paid… maybe you weren’t the only one running from something.

An eternity seemed to pass until you finally saw the bunker’s entrance up ahead. Finally. As you approached the door you dug through your pockets for your keys, only to find them empty. They must’ve dropped out in Darren’s car. You swore, making a mental note to remind Dean to change the locks, just in case.

Without any other option, you rapped your knuckles softly on the door, knowing the sound would echo throughout the bunker. You heard Dean’s annoyed voice growing closer from the other side, paired with a pair of heavy footsteps.

“Sam, I can’t believe you forgot your keys again, get it togeth-” Dean’s words fell short as the door swung open, and he froze, mouth agape as he stared at you.

“Y/N?” he breathed in disbelief.

“Hey,” you greeted, casually strolling inside and shedding your jacket, draping it over the bannister. “You will not believe the day I’ve had. Dude, someone stole my car! I had to Uber all the way back here! Do you know how expensive a ten hour Uber ride is? Cos now I do, and I’m not pleased about it, either. You could’ve answered your phone, you know!” you accused, striding down the stairs and ready to head for a shower. You paused as you saw the state of the library; chairs broken, desks overturned, splinters coating the floor.

“Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell happened?” you demanded, spinning around in shock. That was when you finally got a good look at him - at his unshaven beard, the bags under his red-rimmed eyes, the way he was staring at you like you were some kind of ghost…

“Dude, you look like shit,” you informed him, but felt your stomach drop in concern. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Jody? Cas?” you asked, suddenly panicked. The only reason Dean would be like this is if someone had died.

Dean’s gaze hardened, and suddenly he was throwing you up against a wall and tossing holy water over your face, then cutting your arm with a silver knife. You sputtered, blinking in shock. “Dean, what the hell? It’s me!” you insisted, and he pulled away, shaking his head.

“No, no, it can’t be, you’re- Y/N, you’re dead!” His voice shook and his lip trembled, and you wanted nothing more than to take him into your arms and soothe him. But right now, you were far too confused to do anything of the sort.

“Well, obviously I’m not,” you said slowly. “That witch was powerful, but I’m not as weak as you think. I killed her! Weirdest thing, though, she was doing some weird spell and talked about getting a head start away from you guys, and she ended up knocking me through some portal to the next day or something because when I woke up, the place was totally abandoned. And someone else was in your motel room! I can’t believe you guys gave up looking for me after one night!” you cried. Dean’s eyes widened and he looked absolutely furious.

“One night? One night? Y/N, you’ve been gone for a month!” he yelled. “We stayed there a whole fucking week and there was no trace of you!”

You froze. “What? A month? No way, that- that can’t be right,” you stammered, pulling out your phone to check. Holy shit - he was right. You hadn’t paid much attention to the date on the little calendar icon earlier, but… he was right.

“You mean- you thought I was dead?” you asked, voice small. “Is that why- all this-” You beckoned vaguely to the mess surrounding you, and he nodded, exhaling shakily. His rage seemed to drain away, leaving an empty shell of the man you once knew. “Dean…” you breathed, and he shook his head, stepping forwards to pull you into his arms.

His grip on you was bone-crushingly tight, sending pain shooting through your ribs and shoulder, and his breath reeked of alcohol, but you didn’t pull away. He held you like there was no tomorrow, like you might disappear if he loosened his grip for even a split second. His face was buried in the crook of your neck as he breathed you in, assuring himself you were real as he clung to you desperately. You felt something damp on your skin, and realised he was crying.

“Hey… it’s okay, I’m here,” you soothed. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

You felt Dean breathe shakily as he nodded. He swallowed, pulling away but not losing his grip on you for a second. And suddenly, he was kissing you.

His lips were chapped and his beard scratched your chin and his breath could definitely have been better, but none of that seemed to matter as you leaned in closer, your wrists locking around his neck as his mouth moved urgently on yours.

You were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Y/N?” Sam’s breathless tone was tainted with disbelief. You reluctantly pulled back from the kiss, but Dean held fast to you, his hands shaking as they found purchase on the small of your back. Sam jogged down the stairs, clad in his workout gear as he appraised you with unbelieving eyes.

“Yeah. It’s me,” you told him with a tentative smile.

“Dean, did you do the tests-”

“Of course I did, Sammy! That was the first thing I did!” Dean snapped, pulling away from you long enough to shoot his brother a glare. You kissed Dean’s cheek, running your hand down his arm and feeling him relax minisculely under your touch. His grip loosened, letting you pull away and be wrapped in Sam’s arms. He hugged you tightly, and when he drew back you saw there were tears in his eyes. He gave you a tiny smile.

“Good to have you back, Y/N,” he managed, and you nodded, offering a comforting smile. He stared at you a moment longer, drinking in the sight of you, alive, before leaving to give you and Dean some space.

“You have no idea how incredible it is to see you,” Dean breathed. “I-I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for saying you couldn’t handle it. I knew you could, I just- I didn’t want to lose you. I got scared, and- and I almost lost you anyway, so- you can come on any hunt you goddamn please, okay? I promise. Just- just not alone.” His pained whisper tugged at your heartstrings, and you nodded, running your fingers lightly through his hair. He closed his eyes at the sensation, his breathing slowing as he finally began to relax.

“So… is this a bad time to mention that I’m possibly a fugitive?”

Dean’s eyes snapped open.

“You’re a what?!”

__________

Click here to read part four!

Reckless series tags: @tmiships4life @justagirlinafandomworld @galileeooh @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @sasbb23 @avengersgirllorianna @thewaywarddaughterblog @2dreamcatcher8 @xlplx  @spaghettiwoes @gay-ghost-fights @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @mrspeacem1nusone

Forever tags: @stealingheartsswift13 @babygirloreo​ @calaofnoldor​ @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe

Dean tags: @polina-93

If you’d like to be added to any of my tag lists just let me know!

[roman-writing]

two, across (1/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 6,428 

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It's absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

“Homes are a crossword puzzle I can’t solve.”

-Maria Tsvetaeva “Moscow in the Plague Year” (trans. Christopher Whyte)

--

Lysithea stares down at the newspaper. The world is falling apart, political crises cropping up everywhere, precarious markets teetering on the edge of another GFC, and worst of all: someone else has already done the crossword.

Even worse still, whoever has done the crossword puzzle has done so absolutely flawlessly. In pen. With no mistakes. She picks up the newspaper, incredulous, to inspect the crossword more closely, but sure enough -- perfectly executed in ballpoint. 

Her hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the thin pages. Breathing deeply, Lysithea smooths the page out again. In her other hand she holds a travel mug filled with a mocha and extra marshmallows. It's 6:46am and the offices of the biosciences department are empty but for her. Or at least she had assumed that the offices of the biosciences department were empty, but clearly that is not the case. Not unless someone waltzed in and stole the free department newspaper before 6am, which was ludicrous. 

Nobody but her bothered to come in this early. Who could have possibly ruined her routine? It's the beginning of the first term of her last year of her PhD thesis, and if there's one thing Lysithea hates more than the thought of having to actually submit her thesis, it's a break in routine.

With a huff, Lysithea takes a sip of her coffee, then starts on a hunt through the offices in search of the culprit. Most of the offices are dark, their doors locked. Her own office is little more than a dingy storage closet that was converted into spare workspace for the youngest of the departmental doctoral students. But when the university allowed her to teach undergraduate courses, they had to clear out an office as well. It came with the territory. 

Directly across from her own door is an office that she rarely saw open throughout all two of her years at Garreg Mach University. The nameplate on the door sports the letters: DR. HILDA V. GONERIL. Lysithea's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The door to Hilda’s office is open a sliver, showing a slit of light from within. Stomping forward, wielding her newspaper and coffee like relics in some holy war, Lysithea barges in without knocking. 

Hilda is not -- as Lysithea had expected -- working. The back of her office chair has been loosened so that it leans precariously back, and one of Hilda's bare feet is propped atop the desk. She is hunched over her foot, wielding a tiny paintbrush and bottle of pink nailpolish that matches the colour of her hair. 

Hilda only glances up in bored disinterest from where she’s painting her toenails, before returning her attention to her present task. “Oh, hey! Lysithea, right? What’s up!”

Instead of answer, Lysithea holds up the newspaper as though it’s a piece of labelled evidence in a murder case. “Did you do this?” 

“Sure did. Hey, do you want me to paint your nails, too? Pink would look great with your complexion.”

“What? No.” Lysithea scrunches up her nose. “Why are you even here this early? I’ve never seen you here before noon.”

In truth, Lysithea has rarely seen her around the office at all. They had been introduced a year ago, when Hilda had been hired as the department’s newest Associate Professor, but as far as Lysithea could tell, the woman might as well have worked on another campus. She could count on one hand the number of times they had exchanged words, none of them particularly memorable. 

Hilda rolls her eyes. “Ugh! I know, right? I drew the short straw, and got the 7am undergrad OChem courses this term. Can you believe it? Being the most junior professor in a department is the worst.” She puts the finishing touches on her foot, and drawls, “Buuut it does mean I get to leave early most days. Tit for tat.” 

Hilda puffs up her cheeks and blows on the wet nailpolish. 

Angry words gather on the tip of Lysithea's tongue. She has to take a deep breath to quell them. "Dr. Goneril -" she begins.

Hilda makes a face. "Ew. What are you? My student? Don't call me that."

Lysithea grits her teeth. "Hilda," she begins again, trying to sweeten her words as much as she possibly can. "I would really appreciate it if you didn't do the crossword in the staff newspaper. Could you maybe get a different paper on your way to work, if you're going to be coming in so early every day this term?"

At that, Hilda lets out a snort of amusement. She puts her foot down on the ground, spreading her legs out so that she's sprawled in her seat. The toes of both feet, Lysithea notices, are perfectly manicured and painted. She must have been here for a while now, if she managed to get the crossword out and do her nails before a lecture. 

"No way, short stack. You know how boring it is here without anyone else around? I need to do something with my hands, or I go, like, crazy." Even as Hilda says it, her fingers are fiddling with the armrests of her office chair, drumming a syncopated rhythm. 

Lysithea frowns, remembers she is trying to be charming -- which she has never been very good at, to be perfectly honest -- and puts on a plasticky smile. "Well, maybe we can work out some sort of deal."

Hilda remains slouched in her seat. "Like what?" 

"We’ll trade. You leave me the crossword on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I leave you the crossword on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and the weekends. How about that?"

"Hmm." Hilda taps her ankles together, like a child who can't keep herself still for longer than two seconds. Then she announces gleefully, "Nope!" 

"Great! We can -" Lysithea blinks. "Wait. What?"

"No deal!" Hilda says, as cheerfully as before. Her cellphone rings on her desk, and a calendar notification pops up on the screen. "Shit! I'm late." 

Rather than stand up immediately and bolt for the door however, Hilda leans her head back and sighs to the ceiling. 

Lysithea stares at her, then at the phone, which is still chirping away. "Aren't you going to go to class?"

"With wet nail polish? Are you kidding?" Hilda waves her hand in the vague direction of the exit, where the elevators are around the corner. "The little goblins can wait."

"It's the earliest class! You'll be lucky if half of them show up, let alone wait five minutes before bailing."

Hilda yawns. "Good. Maybe then I can just go home and get some more sleep."

"At least turn off your phone," Lysithea snaps. The mechanical chirping is really starting to grate on her nerves. It's way too early for this.

"You know, you're pretty bossy for a PhD student." There is no malice in her tone, and even as she says it, Hilda reaches over and presses a button on her phone so that the alarm stops. 

"So I've been told." Lysithea shifts the newspaper so that it rests in the crook of her elbow. When Hilda doesn't look the least bit concerned that Lysithea is still standing in her office, Lysithea sighs, "Listen. I need this, alright?"

Hilda shoots her an incredulous glance. She has begun to swing her chair around so that she slowly twirls in place, her legs outstretched so as not to hit any of the clutter that’s scattered everywhere. Somehow through the full arc she manages to maintain eye contact the whole way. "You need...a crossword puzzle?" 

"It's -" Lysithea can feel her cheeks burn. "It's just a part of my routine! I don't like having my routine interrupted! It ruins my whole day." 

Hilda continues to twirl in her office chair. Her long pink hair, tied back in twin tails, dangles over the back of the chair, stirring lightly as she turns. Lysithea secretly wonders how on earth someone manages to pull off that hairstyle without appearing completely juvenile. If she wore her hair that way herself, she would look like she was fifteen, but when Hilda does it, she just seems like a free-spirited adult. 

Hilda makes a noise between a sigh and blowing a raspberry. Then, all of a sudden, she stops her chair. She bends over double and tests her toenails, deems them suitably dry, and pulls on her socks and shoes -- a pair of black boots that reach just past her ankle. When she stands abruptly, Lysithea has to resist the urge to take a step back. 

She had forgotten that Hilda was so tall and broad-shouldered; Hilda dressed in such a way to make her seem as delicate as possible, but there was no mistaking the flex of muscle beneath her clothes. Most people were tall when standing next to Lysithea, but Hilda had a presence that seemed to extend beyond her, making her appear larger than she actually was. 

Hilda picks up her phone and begins tapping away at the screen to unlock it. Then, she sticks the phone in her bag -- black and trendy, to match the rest of what she wore -- and slings the bag over her shoulder. 

"I really gotta go now. So..." Hilda walks towards Lysithea, making a shooing motion as if trying to herd a cat. "Chop chop! Let's go! Out of my office!"

"Hang on -! Hey! Just -! Can't we talk about this?"

Lysithea is shuffled out the door, and Hilda flicks the light off, shutting her office behind them and locking it. 

"We did talk." Hilda tosses her keys into her bag, where they clank against her phone and whatever other objects are kept all in a jumble in there. "And I liked it! Surprisingly. We should definitely do it again! You’re here tomorrow, yeah?"

“What do you mean ‘surprisingly’?” Lysithea says, indignant.

But Hilda only pats her on the shoulder and strides off towards the elevators. For a moment, Lysithea stares after her, then gives chase. She catches up when Hilda rounds the corner.

"Just leave me the crossword," she says as Hilda is pressing the button to call the elevator. "You can do the sudoku!"

Hilda wrinkles her nose as though she had been offered garbage from behind the cafeteria. "Boring!" she says in a singsong voice. 

The light for the elevator flickers through the various levels to reach theirs on the fifth floor. When the elevator doors slide open, and Hilda steps forward, Lysithea panics and says the only thing she can think of: “Please.”

At that, Hilda pauses. Her hand lingers against one of the doors, keeping the elevator open. Her fingernails are painted the same colour as her toes, the same colour as her hair, and her knuckles sparkle with various gold and coral rings.

She turns around, and holds out her hand. “Give me your coffee.”

“My -?” Lysithea looks from Hilda, to her mocha, then back to Hilda again. “You want my coffee?” 

Hilda makes a grabby motion with her hand. “Time’s a-ticking. Bring me a coffee every morning, and I’ll let you do the crossword. Deal or no deal?” 

To accentuate her point, she lets the elevator doors begin to shut, enclosing her within. Quick as a flash, Lysithea thrusts her hand forward, so that the elevator doors bounce back against her wrist. She holds out the travel mug -- all whites and pastel purples and cartoon kittens -- and announces, “Deal! It’s a deal!”

With a beaming smile, Hilda takes the mug. Their fingers brush. Hilda’s skin is warm, but calloused. When Hilda takes a sip, her face scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh. Way too sweet, even for me. Make it a cappuccino next time. Double-shot.”

“You annoying -!” Lysithea starts to swear, but the elevator doors are sliding shut, and Hilda is waggling her fingers in a little wave of goodbye. “- asshole!” 

--

The rest of the day goes poorly. Lysithea is convinced it is all because the beginning of her routine was disrupted, and that it only spells misfortune for the rest of the term. It's completely nonsensical, but she can't shake the feeling nonetheless. To top it all off, she only manages to write a hundred words of her thesis, which sets her a hundred words behind her carefully laid plans for the year. Tomorrow, she'll have to write an extra hundred to compensate. Every word feels like pulling teeth. 

Instead of reading articles and writing, as she should be doing, she finds herself clicking through the university faculty website. She has bought herself a hot chocolate from the groundfloor cafe, just to make herself feel better about life in general, and takes a sip as she clicks on the link to 'DR. HILDA V. GONERIL.' 

She nearly chokes on the hot chocolate, when the page loads. 

With only a year and a half as a professor after completing her PhD in molecular biophysics at an outstandingly good overseas university, Dr. Goneril had already published eight articles in her academic career. Lysithea reads through the bibliography list, gobsmacked. It certainly explains why the university wanted her on their staff so badly; any university would salivate over a promising young professor with a matrix like that. 

Four articles a year? Plus teaching two classes a term? That's impossible. There's no way a woman that lazy could have achieved that. Not unless the laziness was an act, and she never slept. Ever.

Four academic articles a year. And here Lysithea sits, struggling to type out two hundred words on an open word document. 

Furiously clicking out of Hilda’s profile, Lysithea opens another tab to the university library database and begins searching for more articles to read for her own research. 

--

"Where's my mug?" Lysithea asks the next morning. 

It's 6:17am, and Hilda is cradling the takeaway cup Lysithea had ordered at the cafe down the street, because the cafe on the groundfloor doesn't open until 7am. Hilda yawns. "I left it at home." 

"Well, bring it tomorrow. I want it back." Lysithea snatches up the newspaper from where it had been deposited on the floor earlier that morning. 

"Sure. Whatever," is Hilda's non committal answer. 

Lysithea doesn't believe for a moment that Hilda ever intends to give the mug back, but she'll be damned if she lets it go without a fight. Edelgard had given her that cup as a gift last year, which meant that it was no doubt expensive as anything. 

Starting off down the hallway to her office, Lysithea can already feel the spring in her step at the thought of everything returning to normal. She has a mocha in hand -- extra marshmallows, as usual -- and a fresh newspaper in the other. It's incidental that Hilda is trailing after her; their offices are directly opposite one another, after all. 

She doesn't pay it much heed as she unlocks her door, and steps inside. A flick of the lights. Her bag tossed onto the spare chair, where visiting undergrad students usually sit. And Lysithea drops into her seat, already flipping to the page with the crossword. She folds up the newspaper just the way she likes it, so that the pages have enough grit to not let her feel the scratch of the table beneath her pen, and feels a wave of relief wash over her. She sips at her coffee with one hand, and holds a pen in the other. 

The first few clues come easily. Lysithea scrawls in three of the answers that immediately pop out to her, and it doesn’t register right away that she has not heard Hilda opening her own office door. Lysithea is tapping the tip of her ballpoint pen against the margins of the newspaper. She scowls down at the next clue, and chews her lower lip.

A shadow falls over the table from someone approaching behind her, and a hand reaches over her shoulder to point at the crossword with one perfectly manicured pink nail. "OBDURATE."

With a start, Lysithea nearly spills her mocha. Hilda is standing behind her, takeaway coffee cup in hand. She is close enough that her arm brushes against Lysithea's shoulder. Lysithea can feel the warmth of skin through her cardigan. 

Scowling, Lysithea leans away in her seat to aim a glare at Hilda. "Excuse me?"

"Five down. The answer is 'OBDURATE.'" Rather than get the hint and move away, Hilda sets down her cup on the table so she can use her other hand to grasp the back of Lysithea's chair and lean against it while she studies the newspaper. 

"Thanks," Lysithea grumbles. She adds the answer, and is annoyed when it fits perfectly.

Hilda points to six down. "Ohh! 'Ermine in summer' is 'STOAT'. And seven down is 'TRIPLETHREAT'."

A muscle in Lysithea's cheek jumps in irritation. She writes the words, then grumbles, “This was not a part of the deal.”

“The deal was: I would let you do the crossword. I never said that I wouldn’t do the crossword with you. Duh!” 

Lysithea tosses down the pen atop the newspaper. “That completely defeats the purpose!”

“CHUTZPAH!” Hilda announces, and grabs the pen from the desk to begin writing it into the boxes. 

“Hey!” 

Lysithea has to wrestle the pen from Hilda’s grasp, but not before Hilda manages to write in another answer. Even then, it galls her to know that Hilda let her have the pen back, and could have easily kept it for herself. 

Lysithea brandishes the pen under Hilda’s nose like a sword. “Quit it! Leave some for me!” 

“You know, you could just get one of those free apps that has, like, a squillion crosswords, right?” 

Glowering, Lysithea turns back to the newspaper. “I like this one.” 

Hilda drops the matter, but only because she is now pointing to another clue with the answer on her lips. Lysithea smacks Hilda’s finger with the pen.

"Geesh. Okay! Okay!" Hilda grabs her cup, but when she straightens she says quickly, "And nine down is 'ABLOOM' okay bye!!"

Lysithea crumples up a spare piece of paper on the desk and lobs it after her, purely out of spite. 

--

Lysithea doesn’t know exactly when it happens, only that it does. Suddenly, horribly, Hilda is part of the routine. 

The realisation dawns on Lysithea during the third week. Every morning Hilda is waiting for her by the elevators on the ground floor. Her smile is brighter than the dawn creeping through the windows. She takes the coffee Lysithea hands her, and immediately launches into loud and colourful conversation about her previous evening, about her students, about her cute neighbor and her cute neighbor’s cat, while Lysithea nods -- groggy, and still half asleep herself -- and mumbles appropriate responses. 

They ride the elevator together. They do the crossword in Lysithea’s office, because even though Hilda’s office is bigger it’s always cluttered to the point that Lysithea can barely stand to be in there for longer than a few minutes at a time. The spare seat in Lysithea’s office has become Hilda’s designated seat, which she hauls over to the desk so they can sit, side-by side. Their elbows press together. They drink their coffee, and bicker over crossword clues, and the fact that Hilda has forgotten -- again! -- to bring back Lysithea’s mug. 

Lysithea has even taken to complaining about Hilda in her texts to Edelgard. Her childhood friend lives two timezones away however, and can only do so much via text when she's busy inheriting her family's multi-million dollar mega-corporation.

The fact remains that on the Thursday of the third week, Lysithea arrives at the elevators on the ground floor at her usual 6:14am, and is surprised to feel utter disappointment that Hilda is not there.

She peers around the corner for any sign of her. She waits. She taps her foot on the ground, and checks her wristwatch, which means she nearly spills Hilda’s cappuccino when turning her wrist over. Finally, at 6:32 she gives up and rides the elevator alone. She watches the floors tick away in bright numbers over the doors, and even though she is rising it feels like her gut is falling.

She places Hilda's coffee cup on the desk, and does the crossword by herself. She should feel relieved. This is what she wanted. The newspaper all to herself. Nobody bothering her. No annoying chatter in her ear. Nobody taking away the satisfaction of figuring out the clues for herself. 

Instead, she keeps shooting glances at the coffee cup as if it might suddenly turn into a rambunctious conversationalist and fill the gap. 

Eventually, with the crossword puzzle only three-quarters of the way finished, other faculty members start to stream into the offices. Lysithea gives up and throws Hilda's coffee into the rubbish bin; it has gone cold. She folds the newspaper back to its original state -- painstakingly ensuring that each crease is exactly as it should be -- and places it on a corner of her desk. She pulls her laptop towards her, and opens up her latest thesis draft document with a beleaguered groan. 

For the first time in three weeks, she doesn't get the full two hundred daily word goal that she set for herself. It irritates her to no end. 

She considers going to have a chat with her counsellor, Mercedes, but decides to just text Edelgard instead. She gets back a reply almost immediately, reminding her to eat something that day, which she has predictably forgotten to do. In response, Lysithea types back a message telling El to get some sleep. The phone goes quiet for a minute, then another text pings back from Edelgard with a series of 'zzz's that makes Lysithea roll her eyes. 

A knock at the door behind her, and Lysithea whirls around in her seat. It's not Hilda. Her stomach twists unpleasantly at the realisation. 

Lysithea puts her phone down. "Hi, Professor Hanneman. Do you need something?"

Hanneman hovers politely in her doorway until she greets him, at which point he pushes the door fully open and steps inside. "Good afternoon, Lysithea." He nods towards the newspaper. "Are you finished with that?"

She isn't. The crossword is nowhere near finished. Lysithea's mouth slants to one side, but she sighs and hands the newspaper over regardless. "Here. It's all yours."

He takes it with a gentle smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes behind his round spectacles. "Thank you."

"You haven't heard anything from Tomas, have you?" Lysithea asks. "It's just -- I sent him the last draft of my thesis a month ago, and he still hasn't gotten back to me.”

At that, he grimaces in sympathy. "I'm sorry, but no. I haven't heard anything. You know how busy he is.”

Crestfallen, Lysithea mumbles, “Yeah.”

“I’ll follow up with him again,” Hanneman assures her, but they both know there’s not much he can do. Tomas is her main thesis supervisor, while Hanneman was only an adjutant brought into the process earlier last year. At the beginning of this whole thesis ordeal, she had thought Tomas would be a great supervisor -- he shared her Alma Mater, and other family connections -- but so far he had been nothing but chilly and unhelpful throughout the process. 

“Thanks. I would appreciate if you did.” 

He nods. He’s about to leave, when she blinks. “Hanneman?” 

“Hmm?” He turns back in the doorway to face her.

Tugging at her lower lip with her teeth, Lysithea asks, “You don’t happen to have Dr. Goneril’s cellphone number, do you?” 

--

After her own lecture later that afternoon, Lysithea stands in her empty classroom and worries her lower lip between her teeth. Her phone is in her hands. A contact is open on the screen with the name 'HILDA' beside the call button. 

Lysithea takes a deep breath. She taps the icon, then raises the phone to her ear. It rings for a long enough time, that she is led to believe Hilda won't pick up, when the dial tone stops.

There's a rustling sound on the other line, followed by a raspy, "Hello?"

"Hi!" Lysithea says. "It's me."

A pause. 

"Who?"

"Lysithea."

More rustling. The distinct noise of the phone being dropped, and then muted swearing, as Hilda fumbles for it. 

"Oh. Yeah. Hey," Hilda says when she's picked up the phone again. She doesn’t sound thrilled, but she doesn’t sound mad either. "What's up?"

"Nothing! I just -" Lysithea has to put her free hand down when she realises she has lifted it to her mouth so she can chew on her fingernails. “I was just wondering if everything was alright. You weren’t here today, but if you’re just playing hooky, then -”

She is interrupted by a series of coughing. Lysithea holds the phone away from her ear until Hilda is finished.

“I mean -” Hilda rasps, “Normally you would be totally on the money, but not this time.”

For some inexplicable reason, that makes Lysithea feel unfathomably guilty, even though she knows that her initial assumption was on the mark. 

“Do you - Do you need me to get you anything?” Lysithea can’t believe that those words just came out of her mouth, but it’s too late to take them back now.

Silence. Then -

“Schweppes Sparkling Lemonade.” 

Lysithea’s brows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“I said: Schweppes Sparkling Lemonade. I’ll text you my address.”

And then Hilda hangs up. True to her word, a text appears almost instantaneously on the screen while Lysithea is still blinking down at her phone in befuddlement. It’s only at that moment that Lysithea remembers she doesn’t own a car, and will need to take public transportation to get out to -- oh, wait, that’s not that far. She could walk, if she had the stamina for it. 

Twenty minutes later, Lysithea is standing outside a two-story, brick-faced apartment complex that looks like it had been built thirty years ago and never renovated. So, basically, like any poor grad student accommodation on the planet. She approaches a door with the chipped brass-plated number ‘2-A.’ 

In one hand she holds a grocery bag, and in the other she triple-checks her phone to make sure this is the right place. Stuffing her phone into her pocket, Lysithea knocks. 

Hilda answers the door draped in a blanket like a maudlin empress surveying her fallen nation. Her normally immaculate appearance has been tossed out with the bathwater. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hair is a mess. The apartment beyond is cast all in shadow. The curtains are drawn, and Lysithea can't make out anything beyond Hilda except clutter and darkness.

“Hey,” Hilda croaks, trying to add a bit of her usual sing-song emphasis but instead dissolving into a fit of coughing. 

Lysithea thinks of a dozen lies and platitudes she should say, but what comes out is: “You look terrible.” 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Hilda chuckles, and leans in the doorway. “Do you got the goods, dealer?”

Lysithea holds up the grocery bag filled with two large plastic bottles of sparkling lemonade. “Only the finest.” 

“You’re a saint,” Hilda mumbles as she takes the grocery bag and peers inside. “I could seriously kiss you right now.”

At that, Lysithea takes a step back. “No, thank you. Keep your nasty virus to yourself.”

“Guess that means you don’t want to come in, then.”

Lysithea is surprised when she hears herself say, “Next time.”

Even Hilda looks a bit shocked, though it’s difficult to tell. Normally she’s more expressive than this. She mustn’t have the energy to emote, when sick. 

Still, she gamely cracks a smile, and waves Lysithea away. “Next time, then. Go on, now. Shoo. Before you get my nasty virus.” 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Lysithea asks as she steps away.

“I’ll be lecturing in the morning, and then coming back to bed,” Hilda says, though she sounds like she should be organising her casket arrangements rather than teach right now. 

“Oh,” Lysithea says. She tries not to let the disappointment show, and she thinks she does a decent job of hiding that sort of thing. At least, she should be, given her history. 

“But you can buy me a hot drink before I go home.” Hilda offers that like it’s some sort of prize to be won. 

Lysithea frowns. “Is my offering of soda inadequate for Her Highness?”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Hilda winks and shuts the door. 

--

Lysithea brings the newspaper, but not the coffee. It’s 7:04am, and the students of Organic Chemistry II have let themselves into the lecture theatre six minutes ago. Lysithea sits in the back corner, trying to get as much distance as possible between herself and any undergrads who might mistake her for one of their flock. None of them seem to pay her any mind. It’s too early for anything but using their bags as pillows and trying to sneak in an extra few minutes of sleep before their professor arrives. 

Exactly nine minutes after the class was meant to start, the double doors to the lecture theatre swing open, and Hilda walks inside. Her heeled boots clack with every step, announcing her presence.

"Sorry I'm late." Hilda drops into the chair at the head of the classroom beside the podium. "I didn't want to come."

She is wearing enormous heart-shaped sunglasses that shield her eyes from view. A dark-washed scarf is wrapped around her neck and shoulders like a shawl, and the total effect makes her look like a celebrity trying to escape the paparazzi. She props her feet atop the table, and waves to the classroom at large without actually looking at anyone. “Pop quiz.”

The class gives out a collective groan of despair. 

Hilda ignores them. She pulls out her cellphone. For a brief moment, Lysithea thinks that Hilda is just going text through the entire lecture, but then the projector screen descends from the ceiling behind her, and the projector itself flickers to life. 

Hilda gives her phone a few idle taps, and a slideshow quiz appears on the screen. “You have twenty minutes.” She tosses her phone to the table. “Go.” 

The students are scrambling for spare paper from their notebooks. Some of them exchange blank pages in a flurry of movement, before they are all hunched over their desks, silent but for the scratch of pens against paper. 

Lysithea reads the list of questions on the screen. They are hard, but not impossible. In their shoes, Lysithea would have aced the quiz. Then again, Lysithea had been a model student that two universities had fought over for the grant money that came tethered to her thesis project. It takes these students the full twenty minutes, and even then a few of them are scrambling for answers and scratching their heads.

Hilda’s phone alarm chirps, and all of the students put their pens down like well-trained Pavlovian subjects. On the other hand, Hilda does not move at all. Her arms are crossed, and most of her face is either hidden by scarf or sunglasses. 

She is, Lysithea realises, fast asleep. 

“Professor Goneril?” one of the students in the front row hazards. Lysithea recognises the student from her own class, a quiet girl by the name of Flayn, related to Seteth, the university’s chaplain. 

At the sound of her title, Hilda’s head jerks. She lowers her feet to the ground, and sits upright. She pushes her sunglasses partially up her face so that she can rub at her eyes with the heel of her palm. From here, Lysithea can see that while Hilda looks far better than their last encounter at her apartment, she still looks like death warmed over. 

Hilda cranes her neck to peer at the clock on the wall, and says, “Turn ‘em in. And if you cheated, I’ll know.”

All of the students exchange glances, then stand to approach her table and deposit their sheets of paper at her feet. 

One of the students lowers his head to whisper to his neighbor. “Do you think she has the place bugged?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” his friend replies under his breath. 

Lysithea rolls her eyes, and says, “No. It’s because I’m here, and I would tell her.” 

The two nearly jump out of their skin. One of them squints at her. “Aren’t you a student from Mathematical Methods for Physical Sciences?” 

Lysithea gives him her very best glower. “I’m the professor of that course.” 

Both their eyes widen, and they shuffle away towards the front of the classroom. 

The lecture as a whole is supposed to last two hours. Hilda only takes an hour and a half, and lets everyone go early. Throughout the entire thing, Lysithea chips away at the crossword to very little effect, and grinds her teeth at the back of the class. 

She herself has to prepare pages and pages of carefully labelled and researched notes every week for her own lectures, and even then she always feels like she is scrambling to use up her total time. If she lets the students out five minutes early, it’s like she’s failed in her duty. Hilda on the other hand breezes through the course content like she wrote the fucking book. 

And she definitely didn’t write the book. Lysithea checked. 

To add insult to injury, Hilda’s slides have an unparalleled clarity that make Lysithea green with envy. The students nod their heads, and type up notes on their laptops. When they raise their hands with questions, Hilda answers breezily and efficiently from her seat despite her lingering cold, checking her fingernails and sometimes even tapping her phone to another pre-prepared slide as though she had expected just that question to pop up during the lecture. 

Whenever Lysithea got a question from her students, she would need to work off the spike of adrenaline by drawing out the answer too small on the whiteboard.  

By the end, Lysithea is fuming. She hasn’t finished the crossword, and she is feeling thoroughly outclassed. 

It’s 8:31, and the students are packing up their bags to leave. Some of them are brave enough to approach Hilda like their approaching a lazy queen sprawled upon her sumptuous plastic throne. Flayn is among them. Lysithea hovers near the exit, clutching her newspaper, while Hilda holds court, waiting. Flayn is the last student to leave, waving at Lysithea, who returns the gesture with a forced grimace. 

Hilda is slinging her designer black bag over her shoulder as she walks towards Lysithea. “Hi! Miss me much?”

Hilda smiles at her, and all of those ugly feelings melt away like a snowbank in late spring. 

“As if,” Lysithea says, already turning to walk towards the nearby cafe down the hall and to the right. 

She orders their usual, but Hilda interrupts to get a lemon honey and ginger tea for herself instead. They sit near the windows, and Lysithea tosses down the newspaper with a scowl.

Hilda sips at her tea. “Someone’s feeling grumpy this morning. What’s wrong? Couldn’t finish the crossword without me?”

“No! I mean -- that’s besides the point!” Lysithea lifts her chin and says, indignant, “One of your students mistook me for an undergrad.”

Rather than laugh, Hilda sticks out her tongue as though at a bad taste. “If that happened to me, I would literally die.”

Lysithea nods. This is the reaction she had been expecting at so grave a transgression.

And then, Hilda asks the worst possible question. “How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-four.”

Hilda splutters, and has to put down her tea in order to cough into the crook of her elbow. Lysithea can feel her face heating up while Hilda collects herself. 

"Oh my god." Hilda’s face is painted with horror, "Twenty-four? When did you start undergrad? As a foetus?"

Lysithea straightens in her seat, and answers primly, "I was sixteen, thank you very much."

"Twenty-four." Hilda repeats with a shudder. "No wonder. I have students that age. Gross."

Lysithea bristles. "Excuse me?" 

"Oh, I didn’t mean you. I just had an intrusive thought about dating a student, and had the instinctive urge to dry-heave." Hilda flutters her hand at the base of her throat as if she’s going to be sick. 

"I’m not one of your students!"

"Thank god," Hilda mutters. 

"I may not have my PhD yet, but we are still colleagues! And I'll have you know that I am very dateable!"

At that, Hilda’s eyebrows launch themselves over the rims of her sunglasses. "I never thought you weren't."

"Well - good!” Lysithea crosses her arms with a huff, and leans back in her chair. “Because I am! I’m great at -” she struggles for what exactly to say, but is too obstinate to give up, and ends up with, “- being available! For dating!” 

Hilda is biting her lower lip as if she’s desperately trying not to laugh. Lysithea wishes she could see her eyes; it would be much easier to tell what kind of expression Hilda was wearing if she could see her eyes. It certainly doesn’t help that her own face is aflame; she just knows that her pale complexion will have gone ruddy with embarrassment. 

“Glad to hear it,” Hilda drawls, before tilting her head back to drain what remains of her tea. Meanwhile Lysithea clears her throat, and takes an extra large gulp of her hot chocolate. 

Dropping her now empty takeaway cup onto the table, Hilda pushes her chair back. “Thanks for the tea. I’m off to bed to show this virus who’s boss.”

“Yeah. Sure. No problem.” 

Lysithea can still feel the flush in her cheeks. It doesn’t get any better when Hilda lowers her sunglasses just enough to peer over them at Lysithea and flash her a smile.

“See you Monday,” Hilda says, and it’s not a question. She pushes her sunglasses back into place, and swings her bag over her shoulder. 

Then, she pauses. She reaches out, and Lysithea leans back slightly in her seat, but not before Hilda has tapped the tip of her nose.

“You’ve got cocoa on your nose.” Hilda shows Lysithea her finger, which does indeed have a smidge of cocoa powder from the hot chocolate. With a smile, Hilda turns and strides away with far more flounce in her step than a sick woman should be able to achieve. 

Lysithea sits, frozen in place. Then, realising she is staring, she swipes furiously at her face for any residual cocoa powder. When she’s finished, Hilda is long gone.  

[in-the-name-of-the-manga]

Burning Bridges, Building Confidence Chapter 1: A New-Old Face

Special thanks to @bigcheeseyboi for being my beta reader on this!

Also AO3 link if you want to follow it there.

A few days later, Marinette moved up the stairs of the school, far before anyone else had even arrived. Dark bags were barely concealed by second day foundation as she walked into the classroom, taking her seat in the far back. She felt Tikki roll in her sleep inside her purse; it had been a hard night for both of them, a stubborn akuma combined with Chat’s constant flirting caused them to spend the entire night fighting the akuma. They got back just in time for a twenty minute power nap before they had to get ready.

The Chinese-French girl yawned, curling up on the bench for an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, using the pushed in bench to get some dark and quiet space. She hoped that no one would mess with her, she’d even taken to putting locks on her bags, hiding the keys on a piece of twine in her purse next to Tikki. Less chance for Lila to steal something and/or plant evidence to frame her because the designer wouldn’t put it past that vile liar to do just that.

Marinette wasn’t sure when she drifted off, but either way she awoke to a large amount of noise and someone gently tapping on her shoulder. She turned over on the bench to see someone leaning over her.

“It is time to wake up, the class will start soon.” The person was speaking in awkwardly pronounced French, with a twangy hint and strong ‘r’ sound that Marinette remembered was an American accent. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, somehow missing the desktop. With her vision clearing, she turned to the new person.

She was easily taller than most of the class, save for maybe Ivan, with skin that was slightly tanned, likely by the sun. Her hair was a caramel colored mess that obscured her right side of her face, leaving her vivid green left eye to peek out. Marinette blinked for a second before breaking into a smile.

“Right.” She sat up, scooting over and patting the bench on her right side. The girl sat down, pulling out a notebook and pencil from a cool looking backpack. She then pulled a cord from the side and wrapping it around, snapping a lock shut once it was wrapped securely around the backpack. Marinette rubbed her eyes again and stole a glance around the room, noting her classmates crowding around Lila, throwing glares and stares at the two girls every once in a while.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, alerting Marinette to a message. She pulled the phone, now with a tough case and screen protector, and unlocked it. There was a Discord message.

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : u ok?

She turned to the girl next to her, eyebrows in a ‘really?’ face before turning back to her phone.

Stitches-and-Swatches : v little sleep

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : want sum o my coffee?

Marinette nodded wearily, the girl slid a tall travel mug over to her. The heroine sighed in relief and took a huge swig of the warm liquid. The caffeine rushed through her system and within a few moments she was more alert.

Stitches-and-Swatches : thank u

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : np. surprised 2 c me?

Stitches-and-Swatches : maybeso.gif

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : i was planning on picking u up and walking here together but ur mom said you left early :(

Before Marinette could reply, Mme. Bustier walked in. She placed her stack of papers on the desk before surveying the class, noting the two distinct groups. Most of the class around Lila, while the two girls up top and Chloé were the other group.

“Class, time to start,” Mme. Bustier announced. The class wandered to their seats. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a new student. Please introduce yourself.”

The girl next to Marinette, surveyed the class with a bored glare. “My name is Collette Sullivan.”

Mme. Bustier’s mouth set in a frown, “Won’t you tell the class a little about yourself? Are you sure you’ll be alright back there? You had mentioned your ”

“There is not much to tell. I am from America. I hate nicknames from strangers. That is all.”

Mme Bustier sighed before starting the lecture, this one on Shakespearean play Hamlet . About halfway through, Collette perked up. She nudged Marinette, who had begun to doze off again.

“She knows she’s recalling Othello, right?” Collette said in english. Marinette paused for a moment before nodding.

“I stopped listening once she mentioned Gertrude being in love with Claudius and called ‘Romeo and Juliet’ a love story.”

“Marinette, Collette,” Mme Bustier called. “Do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Collette glared back. “Yes. You do realize that you have been quoting Othello for the past fifteen minutes right? And Hamlet isn’t simply crazy, there’s been centuries of debate on that. I think you need to fix your notes a bit, you must’ve mixed something up.”

Mme Bustier blinked for a few moments, as did the rest of the class. No one had ever spoken to her or any teacher like that.

“So it seems I have,” Mme. Bustier noted, looking at her notes. “Well, give me a few minutes class while I go get a full copy from the library.” The teacher spun on her feet and walked out of the room.

In an instant all eyes were on the new girl.

“What?” She asked as deadpan as can be, giving each of them a bored gaze.

“You can’t just talk to teachers like that!” Alya exclaimed.

“She asked if I had something to share so I did. Got a problem with that?” Instantly there was an uproar, Rose and Mylene were wondering how she could be so mean and insult Romeo and Juliet like that; Lila was lying (something about meeting a student who she had to save after talking back to the teacher or something stupid like that); Max was reiterating the statistics of how likely she was to get in trouble for talking back like that and Kim and Ivan were simply glaring at her. Nino was saying how much of a buzzkill she was while Alya began yelling again.

Cole noticed that the only ones who weren’t crowding around her were a blonde girl a few seats over with earbuds and music playing, a boy with red hair in his face, and a blond down in front. So complacency with the latter two, great.

Mme. Bustier came in a few moments later with a proper copy of Hamlet and a relieved smile across her face, which quickly turned to a frown when she saw her class ganging up on the new girl and said new girl moments away from murder.

“Back in your seats class,” her voice held all the class needed to return to their seats, giving one last glare to the new girl. Class went on as well as it could have until the lunch bell rang. As she strode down with Marinette close behind her, Cole leveled a glare at each student, stepping over Kim’s purposefully outstretched leg and signalling Marinette that it was there.

They weren’t anything but sheep, and what was a herd of sheep to a human being?

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

Chloé wasn’t sure what to think of the new girl. When she walked into the class and gave zero indication of anyone else in the class, even her, Chloé was intrigued.

If the new girl’s tousled hair, vivid green eye, cropped jacket, fingerless gloves, multiple ear piercings and ripped jeans set her cheeks alight, then it was no one else’s business but hers.

As she watched Dupain-Cheng, no Marinette , lead Collette around, Chloé followed at a distance. Sabrina had long since ditched her for Lila’s flock of sheep, so she had no one to worry about following her.

"No way Nettie," The new girl teased in english. The duo ran past the rest of the class who, like the sheep they’d become, surrounded Lila to hear her garbage fire of lies. Chloé ignored the arrogant Italian and followed the two girls.

“I’m telling you Lettie,” Marinette replied. They passed the glaring sheep and went out the door. Marinette had long since stopped staying at school for lunch, opting to go home for lunch instead. “There’s this really cute cafe two streets over, you’ll love it!”

Cole’s laugh, twangy and loud, echoed down the hall. Chloé easily caught sight of the new girl’s backpack, with a wrap around cord and a lock surrounding it, it was a dull gray and black contrasted by her cropped leather jacket, brightly colored bandana, silver earrings (with an ear cuff that just kept distracting Chloé during class), or the mess of hair that was likely styled to be a bit sharper and oh no she’s rambling .

“Really?”

“Yeah, they have that spicy chicken you like,” Marinette gave a cheeky grin to the girl. “Even if it pales in comparison to a nice pastry.”

The taller girl gives her an edgeless glare, before giving a theatrical laugh. “As if! Your sweet and flaky pastries are weak against the fires of my spicy chicken! Does your friend back there want to come?”

Chloé jolted as she realized she’d been caught. She steps out from behind the pilliar she’d ducked behind.

“Chloé?” Marinette asks. “I thought you’d be in the cafeteria already.”

Chloé tsks and and looks affronted. “And be assaulted by the lowering IQ of our class and the attention whore that is Rossi? No thank you.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Cole replied, her French no longer stilted and formal. “It takes all I have to not just toss her out the window into the dumpster where she belongs. Oh where are my manners,” she holds out a hand. “The name’s Collette Sullivan.”

“Chloé Bourgeois,” The blonde replies, shaking the taller girl’s hand. They shook briefly before Marinette spoke again.

“Chloé, do you want to join us for lunch?”

“If you’re extending the invitation, sure.” Cole smiled as the three walked out. To Marinette’s surprise, Chloé didn’t call for her car, opting to just walk with them.

They found there way to the cafe about seven minutes later, the hostess seating them kindly. They ordered their drinks, latte for Chloé, cherry soda for Marinette, and water for Cole. As they sipped their beverages, Cole pulled out a notebook, writing things down as her left arm bumping against the wall of the booth.

“You’ve got guts Collette, I’ll give you that.” Chloé said out of the blue. “No one would ever talk to Bustier like that, let alone call her out, even if she’s wrong.”

Cole looked up from her notebook, and ran a hand through her bangs. “Thanks I guess. I just really like Shakespeare and I hate when people don’t give it the thought it deserves. Especially the Romeo and Juliet thing. It always drove me up the wall.”

Marinette smiled, looking to Chloé. “She takes her Shakespeare very seriously.” She turned to Cole. “Didn’t you play Hamlet at one point?”

“I memorized his soliloquy, yes,” Cole took a big sip of her water. “Shame the only time I can remember performing it was in class standing on a rolling chair and wearing a recycling bin on my head.” Chloé let out an unladylike snort of laughter, the two other girls looked to her.

“Do you happen to have video of that,” Chloé laughed. “I’d love to see it.”

For a moment Marinette feared that Chloé was reverting to her old ways, but Cole lit up, pulling out her phone and unlocking it at lighting speed. It was a few taps later that Cole passed Chloé the phone, offering her the earbuds. After a few moments Chloé began to snicker. She burst out laughing a few minutes later. She put the phone down and took a few moments to collect herself.

“That’s...amazing,” Chloé gasped out, still recovering from her laughter. “You definitely put a lot of work into that.”

“Thanks.” The waitress came back and the three girls ordered their food. “I was running on about two hours of sleep when I did that, I’m surprised that I got it right.”

“Just as Shakespeare intended,” Marinette joked. Cole nodded and laughed aloud.

“Shakespeare was crazy,” the brunette replied. “And you can add so many spins to the stories when you’re performing.”

The waitress came back in near record time, dropping off Cole’s spicy chicken, Marinette’s croissant sandwich, and Chloé’s sushi. The three girls began to eat their lunch when Chloé asked a question,

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Mme Bustier mentioned a vision problem you had, but you refused to move up front. Why?”

Cole looked uncomfortable for a moment before replying. “It’s nothing that affects how I see out of this eye,” She pointed to the visible green eye, before pulling back her bangs and clipping them back. “This eye however is a bit...MIA I should say.”

“Whoa,” Chloé gasped. She took a moment to look at the eyepatch that covered Cole’s eye socket. It was black, with embroidered begonias, rhododendron, and mint leaves on it, while beneath it, some medical gauze and padding peeked out from behind it.

“How does the eyepatch fit?” Marinette asked. “Does it hurt?”

“The eyepatch is fine Mari,” Cole replied. She put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Thanks for embroidering it for me. You’re the best cousin ever.”

“Wait,” Chloé interrupted. “You two are related? No wonder you got along so quickly.”

The two cousins nodded in unison, before bursting out laughing. Cole added, “Yeah, my mom and her dad are siblings. But I lived in America for a long while. I’m glad to be here though, I missed being with my family.”

Chloé looked between the two, the resemblance was there, faintly. The same freckles, same ears, similar noses too. And from what she remembered of Gina Dupain, her eyes matched her granddaughter’s, the hairstyle and clothing was also an indicator.

“Well I hope you have a good time in Paris,” Chloé replied. “And if you ever want to hang out, well, you know where to find me.”

“I’d be glad to hang out with you if you want. And Chloé?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Cole if you want to.” Chloé nodded, feeling quite warm inside. She remembered Cole’s introduction earlier that day ‘I hate nicknames from strangers.’ Chloé must not be a stranger anymore then. Marinette’s smile seemed to confirm it.

They paid for their lunch and began to walk back to the school. As they got there, they heard a commotion from the cafeteria.

“MARINETTE!” Alya’s screech rang out. The blogger came storming down the stairs and right up to the designer. “How dare you! Bullying Lila when she went to the bathroom! Threatening to take away her friends! How could you be so selfish!? And you!” She spun to Cole. “Lila knows what you did! She heard about you faking a vision problem to try and get attention! You should be ashamed!”

Before Marinette could say anything, Alya was backpedalling, followed closely by Cole, whose aura had changed to be downright threatening.

“I’m sorry,” Cole’s voice was as sharp as a knife, sending chills up the spine of all three other girls, and the students hiding in the doorway. “I don’t recall asking the opinions of sheep and shower scum. If you just want to bitch, go somewhere else. But when you have a quality source, come talk to me. Because even with a vision problem, I can see this situation clearer than you could ever hope to. Now run along, you sheep. We have class to get to.”

Chloé and Marinette quickly followed the taller girl, who used her height and threatening aura to part the crowd like the Red Sea. She sent Mylene scampering behind Ivan, while Rose and Juleka peered around his other side. Kim gave her a glare, only to back pedal when she leveled her glare on him. As she passed Lila, clinging to Adrien like a lame sloth, she stated,

“And Rossi, if you have problems with someone with an actual disability, maybe you should shut your mouth. After all, you seem to stick your foot in it every time you open it.”

She leveled a glare at the Italian, who seemed genuinely scared, but more infuriated than scared. What a fool.

“You’re just mad I outed you.”

“Foot, meet mouth.” She pulled her cousin along, Chloé following not far behind. The three girls walked by and went to the classroom with little struggle, settling in the back. Chloé sat down, she noticed Cole tapping away on her phone before pocketing said device, turning to her cousin with a wink.

Class passed by with a tense air, whenever Cole spoke in class, Lila began to put on a show of waterworks. The rest of the class, sans Marinette and Chloé, would glare at her. As class was dismissed, the trio made plans to walk home together, she heard M. Damocles call out her name.

“Great,” She turned to Chloé and Marinette. “You guys go on ahead. Head wherever, just text me when you get home safe.” She handed Chloé a folded piece of paper, which when unfolded, had a phone number on it. “I’ll see ya later.” She headed up the stairs to the principal’s office. The two girls waved goodbye to the third. As she disappeared, Chloé turned to Marinette.

“We should get going, I don’t know about you, but I’m losing IQ points just standing here.”

“Sure,” Marinette replied. They made it down the stairs before anyone else could catch up to them, and as they walked into the bakery Sabine looked up from the counter.

“Hello sweetie, hello Chloé,” Sabine smiled. Marinette had told her how much progress Chloé had made since she decided to be a better person. It made the woman proud. “How’d you like your surprise at school Marinette?”

Marinette smiled sweetly. “I loved it! I’m so glad Lettie is here. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Is Nonna coming by anytime soon? They haven’t seen each other in years. ”

“She mentioned during her last phone call that she’d be back from Spain in a few days,” Sabine replied. “Why don’t you two girls head up? And take some snacks with you.”

“As much as I’d love to,” Chloé replied. “I have to go, my mother is headed out on a business trip and I want to see her off.”

Sabine and Marinette looked sadly at the girl. Despite accepting that she’d never get it, Chloé still held a bit of hope for her mother’s approval.

“Alright, but take these for the road,” Sabine replied, handing the blonde a box of honey and lemon flavored treats. “And text let us know when you get home safe.”

“I will, bye Ms Cheng, bye Marinette!” She waved to the two Chinese women as she gladly took the box and left the bakery.

“She’s come a long way these past few months,” Sabine observed.

“Yeah, even if she still has her moments,” Marinette replied, she joined her mother behind the counter, hugging her. Her mom smelled like the bakery, warm baked pastries and hints of butter and fruit.

“How did class go for you and Cole today?” Marinette frowned, even as she felt Tikki nudge her in her purse.

“It was decent,” She admitted. “Lettie didn’t make a good impression with the class, but I don’t think she cares.”

“She never was one to care, what was that thing she used to say?”

“‘Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind’,” Marinette recited. Sabine hugged her daughter again. After a truly rough day, Marinette had admitted how her classmates were changing, and it wasn’t for the better. Sabine had been livid, and her daughter just managed to calm her down. She trusted her daughter to come to her if there was anything she could do, and Marinette admitted she had one idea. Transfer classes at the beginning of the next school year.

“Are you alright though?” Sabine asked, looking her daughter in the eye. “I know you used to really care about the class.”

“I still do to an extent,” Marinette admitted, tracing patterns in the flour on the counter. “But I’ve been wronged so much by them these past few months, that I don’t think I can ever return to the way things used to be.”

“And I’m glad you’ve come to that decision,” Sabine pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “You’ve listened to your emotions, and made the decision for yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

Marinette wanted to cry. She loved her mom so much, Sabine had been a lot like Marinette when she was younger, a people-pleaser, overworking herself, changing herself to fit others’ demands, it was when she met Tom that she finally began to work past those issues. Sabine knew a little bit of what Marinette was feeling, but Marinette wished she could tell her more. About Ladybug.

“I know Mom,” Marinette replied. She broke the hug reluctantly. “I’ve got to go get my homework out of the way.”

“Alright sweetie,” Sabine handed her a plate of croissants and cookies to eat. “Don’t forget to take a break or two.”

“Okay Mom.” she took the plate and went upstairs to her room.

As she climbed up to her room, Tikki flew out of her purse. “Cole seems nice.”

“Yeah Tikki, I really missed her. I haven’t seen her in years.” The teen dumped her bag at her desk and sat in the chair. “I just wish she didn’t get a first hand look at Lila’s lies on her first day.”

“It was inevitable Marinette,” Tikki replied. “The longer Lila keeps lying, the more the class will turn against you. Since Cole is related to you, even if they don’t know it, Lila must consider her a threat.”

“She is,” Marinette replied. She typed out a message to her cousin on their discord chat. “We’ve been told we’re a lot alike, except I got most of the sweetness. She’s very good at planning. I think she’s more of a threat to Lila than I am.”

Suddenly there was a crash heard throughout Paris. Marinette looked up, seeing a cloud of dust rising from the ground and hearing the yells of panicked civilians.

“Of course,” She sighed. “Let’s hope Chat actually does something this time. Tikki, spots on!”

[luna-memoria]

Rise from the ashes

For @felixmonth, day 26: Villain!

..

"Your new assignment."

Felix keeps his gaze low and mostly to himself as he takes the file his father handed him silently. There is a soft crinkle of paper as he pulls out the contents for a quick inspection, then proceeding to slip it back in.

"What do you need me to do?" he asks plainly, but with a little more anxiety than usual. It is a Friday night, and Felix is a villain in his father's office taking up a new quest. His father runs most of the city's businesses and also a huge underground organization, and anyone who cares oppose him or stand in his way will be quickly dealt with. Which has somehow become Felix's job, now. He doesn't quite understand why his father would choose him of all people for a job like wrecking havoc - it is simply not in his nature, but the butterfly pendant he received from the man grants him those exact powers, so he eventually chose to go along with the order. It is not wise to go against the Agreste, everyone in town say. You do not want to know what he does when angered.

It is even bigger of a problem that Felix knows- he knows that he's not the greatest- punishment his father has prepared. There is someone else in the shadows, someone who bears even stronger powers that his father chooses to hide from him. It scares him somehow, because there is a lingering, faint thought that his father will eventually come to use that someone on him, which is... an unsettling thought to have.

Gabriel is now in his seat, back against him. The glorious glass-stain window behind his desk forms a bright contrast with the dark, neat office. "The usual."

Felix bits his lip, fingers knotting together tightly in a fist. "I have plans this weekend-"

"I expect you to be done by the usual time as well." His words cut in sharply. They do not even come in a harsh tone - cold, maybe, but still manage to effect Felix internally, somehow. He hates himself a little bit more for that.

His eyes are glued to his feet, and he manages to find his words, "I- understand, sir."

"You may leave."

He bolts, immediately, grip tight on the file. He only stops in the hallway to catch his breathe a brief moment later, and as he does so he comes to face the mirrored glass panel where his reflection is.

He frowns at his pathetic look, bits his bottom lip again until it goes white. "Still so weak," a mumble escapes his lips. Still a teenager, despite what his father says. What his father needs is a capable young adult at his service, but Felix- he doesn't want to work under his father, using these destructive powers he can barely control in a proper manner. It is a Friday night, and Felix is a teenager and also a supervillain in training against his wishes and he has plans for the weekend for once but he has to cancel them because his father will not tolerate failure when it comes to his assignment or anything else, really.

It is times like these that make him hate his life actively. 

Everything else after that comes in a blur, but he is sure that he managed to make it home safely at some point, because the next thing he knows he's on his bed with a copy of A Christmas Carol in his hand. His homework is completed and sitting in his bag, something he's done between periods and during lunchtime because he has been looking forward to the weekend.

Absentmindedly, he unlocks his phone and pulls up the one, lone group chat, sending a simple message describing his night. They don't reply back immediately like they usually do, which is odd.

Both the Allegra and Claude he knew would at least say something. And it's not like Allan or Bridgette to ignore his texts, despite the fact that they very well might have something more important to tend to -

He ignores the memories that come flooding his mind all of a sudden and taking away all his rationality and sense. Isn't that Monsieur Agreste's son? Someone's voice says. Oh, that child, I know him, he goes to the same school as my daughter, she says that he-

Stop it- stopitstopit-

"I have something more important to tend to. You should just go home."

"Stop," he says weakly, book long abandoned on the other side of his bed and puts his arms around his knees. This is where his friends usually step in, when his thoughts become too loud sometimes. 

(His friends - his friends who do more than spend most of their free time with him and trying to help him when they're not. Allegra, who pulled him into this horrifying friend group in the first place. Allan, who texted him in the middle of the night to go and put graffiti on the company walls of his father. Claude, who bought - stole - said graffiti. Bridgette, who stuck around through everything and talked to him when he needed it.)

The next thing he notices is a glass of water being shoved in his face. He looks back up, and sees Allegra sitting next to him in a frown. Behind her are their three friends, all disheveled and messy and sleepy, coats placed over pajamas during their last-minute departure from their homes.

"You gotta stay hydrated," she says, her hand on his shoulder in a gentle grip. "It'll help you feel better." There is a determined look in her eyes, and he thinks that she looks like she really does believe she can release him from his current life. Maybe he does too, a little, maybe, or he wouldn't be here with them right now.

Expect, they don't know who he really is. That's the problem. They wouldn't be here if they knew, he knows that much.

They couldn't know. They'll hate him for it. Allegra will definitely hate him for it. But then they should know, because it's not fair for wonderful people like them to be concerned over a liar like him.

He takes the glass from her, deciding to not dwell over those problems this moment. "Thank you."

"C'mon alley cat, we're heading out," Claude announces with a smirk, pulling on his hood.

"You do realize it's almost midnight."

"Not like, out, dude. You made us rush over near midnight. Of course we're going to raid your kitchen. No objections allowed."

Felix grins. "Never said I was going to give any."

[mssjynx]

breathless

smiitz. 1310 words no warnings .

[ 19:23 ] J: hey fucker u doin anything 2nite? [ 19:24 ] CamCam: nah [ 19:26 ] J: sick. b there in 10 [ 19:27 ] CamCam: … great [ 19:30 ] J: ;]

-

Cam rolled out of bed with a sigh. He carded his fingers through his hair as he dragged his feet all the way to the kitchen. Maybe an evening nap hadn’t been the smartest idea…

Knowing Jaren well enough, he poured a bowl of cereal and left the milk and a spoon beside it at the ready. He glanced to the dirty dishes on the sink, contemplating for a moment if he had the energy to clean up for his incoming guest. But Jaren was hardly a guest and he knew he wouldn’t even notice if the dishes were there or not.

He turned away.

Unsurprisingly, the knock on the door came five minutes before Cam expected it and he sat down at the kitchen bench with a yawn. He heard a key fit into and unlock the front door, before it clicked shut again.

Soft footsteps padded down the hall and Cam poured the right amount of milk into the cereal bowl.

“Hey.” Lazy grin, sparkling brown eyes.

Cam scoffed. “Is that my hoodie?”

The boy hummed in delight, sitting and scooping as big a spoonful of cereal as he could into his mouth. “Yup,” he spoke through his food and Cam rolled his eyes.

“When and how did you get that?”

“Oh, only like a week ago when you were cleaning up. You threw it at me and told me to hang it up.” Mischievous twinkling eyes.

Cam shook his head, but couldn’t fight the little twitch of a smile on his lips. “So, when I asked you to hang it up you didn’t; you, instead, stole it?”

“Borrowed,” Jaren corrected before giggling in his own amusement. “I borrowed it.”

Cam couldn’t even be annoyed. With his small friend wearing his hoodie which was way too big, and that perfect smile and knowing giggle: Cam wouldn’t care if Jaren stole all of his hoodies.

Thoughtlessly, his eyes dropped down to the pale thighs that were carelessly on display. He stared blankly. “Did you forget to put on pants?” he asked, feeling joy and warmth flutter in between his thoughts at the giggly laugh Jaren let out.

His grin told Cam everything he needed to know, shrugging and replying: “Aw shit, I guess I did!” Giggly, pretty boy. Cam smiled, shaking his head and standing up.

“You’re an idiot.”

He hummed in thought. “You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He walked from the room, stretching his arms up over his head.

Humming softly to himself, he made a half-assed attempt to clean up his room. Throwing dirty clothes in the wash-basket, straightening up the bed, closing his drawers and closet doors.

By the time he was done, Jaren was standing in the doorway watching him with a little smile on his lips. “What?” Cam asked, receiving nothing but a sly shrug and a flashing grin. Jaren prowled to the side of the bed, gleefully jumping onto the soft mattress and stretching out like a cat. Cam watched him, trying not to let his eyes linger too long on the milky expanse of skin that didn’t often see much sunlight at the top of Jaren’s thighs.

Cam sat at the end of the bed. “Any reason for your unexpected, uninvited visit?” he inquired as Jaren reached for his hand. The smaller boy beamed when Cam raised a brow at him, the smile blindingly beautiful. Soft fingers played with Cam’s. Big brown eyes blinked innocently.

“Is wanting to make out on your really comfy bed a good enough reason?” he asked and Cam snorted. He couldn’t contain his laugh as Jaren rolled onto his front, resting his head on one hand while still playing with Cam’s fingers in his other.

Cam stood, unlinking their fingers and instead taking a seat at the desk chair. The space between them was evident but not of ill-will, Cam analysing Jaren’s response with a small smile. Jaren grinned, beautiful as ever as he stared right back. There was no deflation, no discourage. He knew Cam like no other, as Cam knew him the same.

There was nothing to hide between them.

“Can I play a record?” Jaren asked, tone sweet as he swung his legs off the bed.

“The Wombats?”

“Of course.” Teasing grin. Cam returned it.

“Go nuts.”

“I’m already nuts when I’m around you.” An offhand comment, a joke that meant a little more than one might expect. Jaren knew. Cam knew. A confession but not quite because neither boy was going to be the first to say words with such heavy meanings.

So little unnoticed comments would slide and jokes would add a playful humour to any honest message they were trying to pass on.

That was how the two of them were.

Cam watched as Jaren very pointedly bent over to both receive the vinyl disk and flash Cam his pretty thighs and butt in snug boxer shorts. When he glanced over his shoulder in expectance, Cam threw a shoe at him.

He laughed, and focused on getting the record in place and playing.

Greek Tragedy was the first song he went to. Habit. They both loved it and as Jaren turned the volume dial, the music filled the room and settled a blanket of contentment over them. Jaren sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his hands as if holding drumsticks and nodding his head dramatically as if actually playing the drumbeats of the song.

“We’re smashing mics in karaoke bars.” Hand held close to his face as if singing into a mic, the brunette flicked his head back and forth and sung like he was on stage. “You’re running late with half your make up on.” His voice wasn’t perfect. A little scratchy, slightly off-pitch. His cheeks were flushed a slight bit pink and he bounced on the mattress in his little performance as he continued to sing to the music he loved so dearly.

“I love this feelin’, but I hate this part.” The boy stood, grin on his face as he pranced up to Cam. “I wanted this to work so much”—grabbing the blonde’s hand and pulling him to his feet—“I drew up our plans on a chart.”

Cam laughed softly as he was tugged into the middle of the room, Jaren singing and dancing with that gorgeous smile on his face and that look in his eyes. He looked at Cam with that look. Only Cam.

The song rolled into a different beat. Jaren swinging Cam’s arms ungracefully as he swayed from side to side. Each word dropped off his tongue perfectly. With each beat, he twirled and swayed and swung his hips. The chorus, another verse; the song enveloped both of them as Cam danced dazedly with Jaren.

Jaren stamped his feet, head falling back as he sung: “She hits like ecstasy!” Swinging his head from side to side, eyes closed. “So free up the cheaper seats.” He stopped still, grinning up at Cam. “Here comes a Greek Tragedy!”

He let go of Cam’s hands, spinning away and letting the music teach him how to dance. And he danced badly. Ungraceful, uncoordinated; no style or direction with how he moved. His hips swung around his arms moved aimlessly, lifting up above his head, moving all around. He had no idea how to dance! But Cam just stared because who knew a boy could be so damn beautiful without even thinking about it?

The next song rolled over, Jaren’s cheeks flushed and grin broad. He stepped up to Cam. “Kiss me?” Sweet, hopeful: eyes so full of joy that Cam couldn’t refuse.

He wouldn’t dream of it.

[ellohcee]

A Little Spice

50 Prompts

#10 - Drink

Miraculous Ladybug

Prompt List

- - - -

It was a day of long days, a pull you out of bed at 2 am for an Akuma fight then grab a few toss-and-turn hours of sleep before school kind of day. Which was why Marinette was indulging in a rare late-in-the-day coffee and a plate of cookies. She walked over to her desk with items in hand and set them down, before falling into her computer chair with a sigh. What a day, she felt like she could fall asleep sitting up, which prompted her to start on the coffee. It was the perfect temperature, wonderfully hot without any danger of burning her mouth. She picked up a cookie and dipped it into the liquid, letting it soak for a moment before taking a bite, letting out a sigh of bliss.

It was almost as if his cookie radar had gone off, as a tap-tap-tapping at her skylight caught Marinette's attention less than two minutes after sitting down. She sighed, giving Tikki a sidelong glance. The Kwami accepted her offered apology-cookie before flying away to hide, giggling all the way. The rest of the cookies were soon to follow, she thought sadly, as she set the coffee down and stood from her seat. She climbed a few steps up the ladder until she was visible, smiling at the way his face lit up upon seeing her. Marinette waved him down, returning to her seat as the visitor made his way down to the floor.

“Good afternoon Princess, you look pawsitively radiant today,” Chat crooned as his feet touch the floor.

“Oh shut up, I look like crap,” Marinette returned with a sigh, picking up her coffee and taking a sip.

“Long night?” Chat asked sympathetically, feeling for her dilemma even though he didn't know the extent.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she mumbled, feeling her eyelids droop and her body wanting to drop off to sleep again.

“Something smells... really good,” the hero suddenly said curiously, and when Marinette opened her eyes she almost sloshed coffee over them both, to find Chat right up in her face peering into the cup.

“Cheese and crackers, please don't do that,” Marinette said raggedly, her heart still beating hard against her ribs from the start. “It's coffee, Chat, nothing special.”

“It smells different, let me try some?” he asked eagerly, looking at her with those big kitten eyes.

Marinette groaned, holding the cup out. “Please don't backwash.”

Chat sniffed in disdain, his belt tail lashing behind him once. “Princess, I'm a gentleman, I don't backwash,” he said haughtily.

Nose wrinkling cutely, Marinette looked unimpressed. “Yeah, I don't think gentleman ask to drink from someone else's beverage, either,” she said blandly, one eyebrow raising at him in challenge.

“Fine, that point goes to you on a technicality,” the blonde huffed, before taking a careful drink of the coffee. Marinette watched him, trying to hide the little bit of eagerness that had been growing since he held the mug. It started to pay off, as the wheels visibly turned in his head, eyes crossing to look down at the liquid. He was silent for a long moment, perplexed, a little baffled, and a very cat-like look of offense on his face. “Why is this coffee hot?” he asked slowly.

Marinette couldn't help the smug smile on her face, resting her chin on the heel of one palm and trying to sound innocent. “Why, Chat, it's coffee, it's usually hot,” she said slowly, savoring the annoyed look that twisted his face.

“Even though you know exactly what I'm asking, I'll rephrase for the benefit of my sanity. Why, my dear, sweet Princess, is this coffee spicy?” he emphasized, painfully slow, that offended look still on his face.

Marinette really tried to hide her snort of laughter, but it escaped despite her best efforts, making him even more annoyed. He was the spitting image of a grumpy cat, ears back in defiance and looking like the world had wronged him. “It's brewed with some chili powder and cinnamon,” she explained in amusement, outright laughing at the bewildered turn of his face.

“Why?” he asked desperately, unable to comprehend why someone would want spicy coffee?? And he was still holding the mug, not yet finding the function to set it down or hand it back to her because it was so weird. So weird?

“It gives it a nice kick,” Marinette explained, holding her hand out for the drink he'd rejected, yet still clutched in his hands like a lifeline. “Give.”

“Wait,” Chat replied, a little frantically. Desperate to understand, he took another cautious sip, but it was just as strange as the first one. It wasn't right. “No,” he said defiantly, holding the mug out to her finally. “It's weird.”

Marinette laughed at his dramatics, finding his angry kitten pout too adorable. “That's funny, I don't remember inviting you over to drink my coffee and then insult it.”

“It's weird!” Chat burst out indignantly.

“So I've heard,” the girl sighed, the burst of energy starting to wear off, but the amusement still held fast. He could be so... easygoing about being in mortal danger, but here he was so riled up over a cup of coffee and heaven help her if it wasn't just the silliest thing. “If you promise to leave me at least one cookie while I'm gone, and I make you a normal cup of coffee, will you get over this life crisis you're having?”

Chat pouted, it was not a life crisis, spiced coffee was weird, but he was also very tired and a cup of normal-not-spicy-coffee with his Princess sounded really nice. And maybe he could leave more than one cookie. “Yes,” he finally said sternly, looking at her with defiance.

Marinette let out an amused puff of air, standing up with a shake of her head. “I'll be back in a couple minutes,” she promised.

Chat immediately occupied her chair as she walked down the stairs from her room, and Marinette let loose the yawn she’d been holding back as she went. Things were getting tough these days. It seemed like as they got older the intensity of these Akumas slowly increased, as Hawkmoth learned their patterns and tactics and started to accommodate. He was giving the two a better run for their money and it was taking a toll.

Chat didn’t know why she was so tired, but she could tell he was exhausted too from their early morning battle. It was days like this why she’d started drinking coffee.

These thoughts occupied her while she brewed a new batch, the comforting smell of fresh coffee relaxing her as she leaned against the counter. She listened to the sound of the bakery winding down, as her parents cleaned up and prepped for the next day, chatting and laughing with each other as they worked.

Once the coffee finished, Marinette poured some into a mug before adding some sweet cream, as she’d found he liked after a couple of their impromptu coffee dates. Marinette herself had not yet acquired the taste for black coffee, and Chat had a bigger sweet tooth than her so she made it a decent portion. She cleaned up the supplies from the coffee and prepared a plate of extra cookies, then grabbed the mug to head back upstairs.

When Marinette’s head popped through the trap door, her face turned into a look of amusement. “Chat Noir!” she scolded, just as he noticed her and tried desperately to pretend he hadn’t just been drinking out of the coffee she’d left on the desk. “You bad cat,” she added, closing the door with her foot and walking over to the guilty party as he tried to look innocent.

As soon as she’d safely set down the fresh coffee and cookies, his arms circled around her and crushed her into a hug, minimizing the potential punishment by limiting her range of movement. “That’s not going to save you, kitty,” she warned.

“No I’m sorry I didn’t do anything,” he said sweetly, hiding his face against her and kicking up a purr to add to the bit.

“You are impossible,” she sighed.

“But you love me anyway,” Chat crooned in a cheeky voice, snuggling further into her and glancing up from his hiding spot with kitten eyes.

“If I must,” Marinette relented, earning a mildly insulted sound from him, only to melt when she ran a gentle hand through his hair. “So let’s settle this. Do you or do you not like the coffee?”

Chat’s belt tail lashed behind him briefly, as if in thought, before he gave in. “It’s growing on me.”

Marinette snickered, leaning down to place a kiss on his head and earning a pleased sound from him. “Alright, we’ll compromise, but you have to let me go first.”

He made a sad little whine, but complied and released her from his hold. Marinette took the two coffee cups, deftly pouring some from the fresh cup into the spiced one, and vice versa, never spilling a drop as Chat watched in awe. If he ever tried to pour something out of a cup like that it just ran down the outside and dribbled everywhere.

After a few pours, the level in each cup was even and they were a less spiced version than her original cup. “Take the cookies and go sit,” she said, nodding her head towards the chaise. Chat complied, merging the two plates of cookies- the original he’d only taken three from, he thought proudly- and took a seat on the chaise. Marinette followed and sat next to him, sitting at an angle so she could rest her legs over his. She handed him a cup, the plate of cookies sitting between them on her legs, and leaned against him with a sigh.

“Don’t fall asleep Princess,” he warned gently, smiling down at her.

“I won’t,” she replied, angling her head up to place a kiss on his cheek. “That’s what the coffee is for, Minou.”

Chat let out a content puff of air, happy to be close to his Princess and enjoy some time with her. They drank coffee, snacked on cookies, and talked late into the evening. It was a rare moment of peace for both of them, to just simply be together and enjoy themselves. Chat eventually made the decision that spiced coffee was not so weird, still kind of weird, but he was learning to love it, especially when he stole a kiss and could taste the cinnamon on her lips.

[fyeahwonderbat]

In the Middle of a Broken Constellation - PT. 5

Pairing: WonderBat (Wonder Woman x Batman) Rating: T / 14A Universe: N/A - Reader’s Choice Previous Chapter: <- Chapter 4

Diana felt ridiculous, which was quite a feat considering she had worn her favourite business attire for such an odd occasion. In a beige blazer dress that could catch the light and shimmer gold, she perceived herself as if she was imbued with the power of the old gods whenever she wore it, but that energy felt like it had been snatched away by the Fates as she walked through the front doors of Wayne Tower. The ruffles that ran vertically over the tops of her thighs caught the breeze that she sauntered through as she made her way towards the front desk, perhaps portraying the confidence that her walk was meant to illustrate.

Her chest lifted high, her lips pursed into a smile, the professional persona of Diana Prince presented herself to the secretary without a single notion of the anxiety she housed inside. “Good morning, my name is Diana Prince and I have an appointment with Lucius Fox for 8:30.”

The young woman behind the desk looked up at her with a similar, polite expression. Matching with every other person who was walking through the lobby, she was polished more like a runway model than a typical corporate employee. The name tag peeking out from beneath the blunt cut of her straight blonde hair said ‘Delilah’ and when she noticed Diana’s eyes scroll down to read it, it was almost reflexive for her to toss her golden locks out of the way. “Excellent. Let me just confirm your appointment, Miss Prince.”

“Of course.” Playing the part of a poised interviewee, it felt natural to fiddle with the cat eye frames she wore as she waited for Delilah to contact Mr. Fox.

However, that earned her a scolding through the earpiece she had hidden beneath her hair. “Don’t move them too much, Diana. The connection is unsteady enough as it is.” Warned a rather exasperated Cyborg. He was very sensitive about the eyewear she wore since he had only outfitted the lenses as a technological miracle the night before; the last twelve hours had been such a chaotic blur while Jason had worked alongside them in their efforts to sneak her into Bruce’s daily life. Almost fitting of the Batman’s protege, it was his sneaking suspicion and his breaking and entering into her Mercedes’ glove compartment at the JLA headquarters that led to the transformation of simple reading glasses into an impromptu x-ray machine of their own so that they could corroborate Kal’s diagnosis.

Though they were most likely not as efficient as the eyes of Superman, it was the best the three of them could do if they planned to expedite her transformation into a Wayne Enterprises staff member.

The only thing Diana had true confidence in was that she knew she interviewed well.

“Miss Prince?” Delilah called to her as she tapped off the call she supposedly had with Lucius through the headset she wore.

She brought her hands together and clutched her resume folder unnecessarily tight when she replied. “Yes?”

The secretary didn’t seem to notice. “Mr. Fox is in a meeting on the thirty fourth floor at the moment, but you can head upstairs through the elevators down the hallway to your left and wait for him outside of Board Room C.”

“Thank you.” Was her final words to Delilah as she followed her directions. The moment she turned her body to face the lobby again, it felt much like a more condensed version of Grand Central Station. There were so many bodies walking in every single direction, all with a purpose in mind, all relatively at the same quickened pace. She knew that Wayne Tower was the epicenter of Wayne Enterprises because it was the base of Mr. Wayne himself, but maneuvering through the multitude of people reminded Diana of a battlefield of sorts.

Or perhaps that was a projection of her Amazonian mind set, given the way she thought of her interview with Lucius Fox to be a battle she couldn’t afford to lose.

So much of their approach to dealing with Bruce’s situation fell onto her shoulders. After Victor’s suggestion that she play the part of a potential hire when they first spoke about it at Drake Manor, Jason refused to accept any sort of rebuttal she had made. It was true that Victor couldn’t have entered the building without drawing attention to himself, and the reaction that Alfred had to the previous Robin insinuated that there would be no favour gained if they sent him in for the meeting.

During their entire time traveling to the JLA headquarters to formulate a plan of attack, Diana hadn’t been able to think of a better person to take her place either.

Now here she was, the next day, riding an elevator to meet the man in charge behind the scenes of Bruce’s company.

“You’ve got this, Diana.” Assured Victor in a whisper, doing his best to lend her some kind of support. She appreciated the gesture, and it never failed to amaze her how such a small gesture could keep her grounded; even though he couldn’t swap places with her, he wasn’t going to leave her to handle this situation on her own. She had until she reached the third-fourth floor to rid herself of any doubts and play herself up to be the corporate version of Wonder Woman - the woman who could accomplish anything, while wearing a power suit instead of a girdle.

When the doors opened, she stepped out onto the floor as if she was prepared to thank Mr. Fox for hiring her on the spot.

Having tumbled through the industrial uprising on her own and having to apply for job after job, updating her credentials constantly and trying to keep up with every advancement that had come and gone over the years, she knew of the energy and fervor that employers looked for when hiring. If she was going to land a position during a meeting she set up last night, she’d need to embody the confidence it would take to impress her future boss.

The signs she saw along the wall indicated the alphabetical conference rooms were to her left, and she merely had to walk towards the room in the corner of the floor to find the one that Delilah had instructed her to visit. Board Room C was hidden behind a dark oak door, but there were some soft-looking seats in the hallway to act as an informal waiting room. She was ready to sit down and perhaps look over the version of her resume that she had brought to the interview, but it appeared as though there wouldn’t be a moment to rest.

The door handle to the boardroom shifted with a rather noise clang before it swung open. Catching the end of a conversation, she heard the final thoughts of one of the people in the meeting, spoken in a strikingly familiar voice. “And I just think that we can do something more by turning some of our focus over to research. It makes no sense to solely work on treatments, considering how much money we can funnel into Wayne Medical!”

The door flew open, and slowly but surely, Bruce Wayne himself entered her line of sight. His hair was messier than she had ever seen it, and one too many of his shirt buttons were left open as he entered the hall. She had never seen such a disheveled version of him, but there was no doubt that she had stumbled upon the man she was looking for much earlier than she could have ever hoped for. Seeing him like this - so soon! - nearly stole the air from her lungs.

A rather grainy chuckle followed closely behind Bruce’s claims, and it was none other than Lucius Fox himself who found those remarks about Wayne Medical hilarious. “Says the man who no longer has to run the numbers.”

The two men let the discussion flow into the hall without much concern for who might also be dallying on the floor. Bruce especially, as he replied with a clipped tone. “Hey, with the money we have, what matters most is…”

Suddenly, he spotted Diana waiting there when he turned to leave, but it looked as if he had walked into an invisible wall when his foot fell to the floor. “...your passion.”

Lucius looked to see what had caught Bruce’s eye, and she suddenly felt like a spectacle. The energy radiating off of her friend was raw, unfiltered as he stood next to a man who gave off a much more regal air. It felt like she had stunned him, awed him, his gaze fixated on her so strongly that it made her skin feel warm beneath her clothes. The chances of finding him in the building within minutes of her arrival was unfathomable, and yet here he was, feasting on the sight of her with a look in his eyes that reminded her of only one other interaction they had ever had.

At a certain party, when the Batman used Bruce Wayne to speak to her privately.

It felt like tearing velcro apart to look away from him, but she had to. Turning to Lucius, she took charge of the awkward beat that passed between them and offered out her hand. “Good morning, my name is Diana Prince.”

“Ah, Miss Prince. Thank you for waiting. I was just finishing an unscheduled meeting with a rather insistant man.” The look he gave Bruce was reprimanding, almost reminiscent of how a father might feel exasperated by their rambunctious son. It was only when he was mocked did the owner of the company realize that he was behaving rather inappropriately, performing a small double take as he looked between the only other people in the hallway.

Diana plastered a casual grin on her face and turned to offer her hand to him, too. “Is that the way to make sure I do well in my interview, Mr. Wayne? Insist that I am the woman for the job?” She quipped at him, all while letting him know that she recognized who he was, despite the ambiguous way that Lucius referred to him. She needed to demonstrate her intelligence as well as promise that she could commit to the role, all while behaving with the air of a seasoned socialite. It was her intention to wow them so that they would be moved to offer her any position, not just the one she applied for in the middle of the night.

But when Bruce took her hand, she felt the corners of her lips quiver. She had been so panicked over the wellbeing of this man for weeks, and now he was casually shaking her hand. Despite the trauma she needed to uncover, he looked looked to be the picture of health and it was striking to have him so close to her when that was all she wanted for an unfair amount of time. This was a different Bruce before her though, that she could tell.

Still, it was him.

Her whole point of being here was to make sure that he was protected, and for the first time while stumbling through this plan, she relished in a single moment.

“Well, I don’t know if Lucius will appreciate anyone emulating me in order to get their foot in the door,” he attempted comedy with her after gawking for much too long, and she had seen the gears inside his mind turn to form a joke with perfect timing. But they kept turning, nearly spinning out of control when he decided to tack on. “Perhaps I should sit in to make sure he’s treating you fairly. He has been known to get rather cranky after dealing with me, you know.”

“That’s not necessary--” Lucius tried to pipe up, but was verbally stomped down.

“Is that not true? Do you not find me irritating at times?”

“You know I can’t argue with that--”

“Great! I’ll be the good cop then. Let’s go!” And he held out his arm in the direction of the boardroom’s open doorway, implying that she was welcome to enter first.

His motive was still hazy, yet it was absolutely transparent. She didn’t sense any sort of sordid energy from him, however, he wasn’t done observing her himself. It hadn’t occurred to her until she nodded with gratitude at his gesture and wandered inside that perhaps he recognized her. She had only assumed that his reaction to Kal had meant that something happened to his memory - was she being watched like a hawk because Bruce realized that she was in his city, unannounced, unwelcomed, and he was secretly unhinged?

All she could do now was wander over to one of the black leather rotating chairs at the table and make her way through the interview that her civilian life hinged on. Diana Prince’s life revolved around the outcome of this interaction, and she couldn’t allow anything to come in the way of that either.

A hiss in her ear warned her of Victor’s voice sounding off again. “I need you to keep him in your line of sight for the entire interview, if we want to take advantage of this opportunity. I know that might be strange, but we can evaluate him faster if we get this information today.”

Of course Bruce had to sit at the head of the table, while Lucius sat across from her. Diana pretended to fix her seat, then crossed her legs rather dramatically so she could afford the angle Cyborg needed without appearing strange. The windows that acted as the exterior walls to the room rested behind her, she watched as the other two fixed themselves in their seats too before the interview began.

She couldn’t help but notice that Bruce’s appearance was much tidier now than it was in the hallway, as if he took advantage of her turned back to fix himself up.

But Lucius pretended that he wasn’t with them at all, and immediately held out his hand for her resume. “Now, I must say Miss Prince, this is a rather odd interview. I’ve never had a call from someone’s current employer in the middle night, giving me a reference for an employee of theirs that I didn’t even know was interested in working for Wayne Enterprises.”

Diana knew this was coming, so she wasn’t at all thrown off balance by the indirect question. “As you can see in my resume, my previous career has allowed me to work all over the world. It allowed me to see places that most do not get a chance to see, and meet people who are most often forgotten. I’ve heard about the people who are infected in places like Metropolis and Central City and Gotham City, and I realized that I could not consciously stand by and carry on with my life anymore without helping those who need it.”

“But why here?” To her surprise, Lucius hadn’t been given the chance to ask a follow up question. Bruce had decided that it was pertinent information to ask her something that felt more like he had taken on the role of a ‘bad cop’, with how sharply he asked her.

She faced him to answer him, and to help Cyborg’s scan. “Because I know that the type of work experience I have would better benefit an organization that tackles these issues on a larger scale. I can travel anywhere I need to be, I can speak many languages, I always conduct myself professionally--”

Apparently, Bruce wasn’t buying her explanation. “No no, I’m asking you why you chose Wayne Enterprises to be your new employer? Why not the Red Cross? Or the Peace Corps? They travel, they probably could use a secretary at their head office.”

His behaviour was irking both herself and Lucius, but she charged at him with her answer before their ‘discussion’ could be interrupted. “I have encountered the Wayne Foundation before, and done my research in regards to their outreach programs. I am not asking to be a secretary, I am intending to be on the ground where the Wayne Foundation is needed.”

Her rebuttal lead to a stare down, which suited her just fine. It had taken a great deal of convincing to make Victor and Jason see that this was the most practical entrance she had into Bruce’s company, and into his personal life. Being a secretary didn’t promise interactions with him beyond appointment-scheduling and possible errand-running; if she worked inside the building for a foundation that traveled and moved his money around, it would most likely result in his presence being more relevant in meetings, in information he’d need for interviews and investors meetings.

She also read articles about his relationship with Lucius Fox, and realized that he was her ticket into his inner circle, so that she could receive more of his time with a genuine excuse to have it.

It nearly startled Diana when Lucius found her response funny, laughing from behind her resume. When Bruce glared at him though, she assumed by the nuances of their friendship that the laughter was actually directed at Mr. Wayne. However, he pushed passed their interaction to address her properly. “So you’re going from an office job that allowed you to travel, to investing all of your time and energy in our international charity organization.”

“Yes.” Was her confident reply. She dare not make it seem as if Bruce’s behaviour turned her off of the opportunity.

Lucius remained calm until the moment he laid her resume back down on the table, then he interrogated her without remorse. “This isn’t the type of work that allows you to take a break when you’re feeling exhausted you know. We need go getters, people who can handle their personal life and their career simultaneously. It can sound cruel, but you won’t be babied if you’re here, even if you’re new. I’d throw you in once all of your documentation is cleared, and then you’ll be expected to stand alongside every other person I have employed at this level. Do you understand that?”

The challenge he was presenting with not only made her respect Lucius, but it also inspired her for this career she was once questionably applying for. This is the man she had read online about, the one known to have the ‘Midas Touch’, where he can turn any failing business into gold due to his own personal strengths. Working for someone as determined as him reminded her of being trained on Themyscira as a girl, where she wanted to master the talent of those above her.

With honest enthusiasm, she answered him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. I understand that my application seems sudden, but I believe that when you’re passionate about something, you need to chase after it or you waste all of your time worrying about what could have been. The people I hope to help don’t have those opportunities, so I should take advantage of them when I do.”

There was a pause, there was an exchanging of glances between the three of them, but her energy refused to be melted down into any sort of nervous energy.

That is, until she received an update through her earpiece. “We’re only at 21% of the scan. Keep them talking--”

“Well this interview feels like it’s over.” Was Lucius’ ending comment, as he began to raise to his feet. He handed off the resume to a slouching Bruce Wayne, who flipped off the cover page and began to perform a personal audit of her listed experience and credentials. Within the blink of an eye, she went from feeling confident in her presentation to wondering what on Earth had just happened.

“Oh, really? Well, thank you for your time.” She heard herself saying, despite the confusion she felt. She offered her hand again to Lucius robotically while trying to keep Bruce in her line of sight for Victor.

Graciously, Mr. Fox smiled at her as though she interviewed well, but she couldn’t really say since it was over and done with all too quickly. “I’ll be sure to contact you once I’ve received your background check, all right? Thank you for coming in today.”

“Diana! Are you leaving? I can’t move any faster.”

It felt like she was caught in a whirlwind, being told that it was time to go while needing to stay. She looked directly at Bruce and tried to offer him her hand, but all she could was that she had to make this moment last…!

Woo! I made it before the end of the day (in my time zone, at least). I have been working on this all day, so I hope you enjoyed it. I knooow it’s taking a while for WonderBat to happen, so I wanted to make sure you got a taste of something more solid this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, and I WILL see you next Monday! ~ Maiden

[sapphicscholar]

Chapter Text:

“Agent Alex Danvers, FBI.” Alex flashed her badge at the NCPD officer stuck on front desk duty.

He barely deigned to look up from the sports section of the newspaper propped up in front of him. “Yes?”

“I have a meeting with Officer”—Alex glanced down at the index card with the scrawled name of the woman Kara had picked out of their virtual lineup of NCPD officers—“Maggie Sawyer.”

“One minute.”

Alex tapped her foot as she waited for him to call her.

“Sawyer? … Yeah, some fed’s here to see you. You want me to send her to you? … Alright.” He looked back up at Alex. “She’ll be here in a minute. You can take a seat.”

Alex glanced over at the rows of plastic chairs bolted to the floor, opting to stand instead. After a few moments, a small woman strode into the waiting area. With a smile that seemed less than certain on her face, she raised her hand in greeting. “You’re here to see me?”

“Officer Sawyer?”

“Detective Sawyer, but yes, that would be me.”

“My name is Alex Danvers. I’m an agent with the FBI unit that your division has expressed interest in supporting on the occasional small case.” She held up her badge as a show of good faith, even if it was a faked ID.

“I don’t think that’s quite how we phrased it, but sure, come on back.”

Alex followed behind Maggie, watching the way her hips swayed slightly with every step, drawing her attention—nowhere, absolutely nowhere. She shook her head and sped up to walk at Maggie’s side.

Once they were settled in one of the small meeting rooms, Maggie sank into a chair, steepling her hands on the table in front of her and regarding Alex with a slight tilt to her head. “What can I do for you, Agent Danvers?”

“I figured it would be good to meet after the first extraterrestrial threat in which you and your division”—Alex bit back words like “meddled” or “got in the way” or “talked about things you couldn’t understand”—“intervened.”

“Mm, right. The K’hund.”

“I…yes. Did Supergirl speak to you?”

Alex couldn’t help but notice the way Maggie rolled her eyes at the question, feeling herself bristle in turn. “No. You think I need Supergirl to give me information as basic as the kind of alien we’re dealing with?”

“It’s just, certain things aren’t exactly common knowledge.”

“Most things aren’t common knowledge. But once it’s your job, you learn them.” Maggie said it so matter-of-factly that Alex almost found herself nodding right along with her.

“Some things are classified, though, and there will be situations in which we at the FBI will need to be the ones to call the shots and take point.”

“You mean steal jurisdiction and leave us in the dark.”

Alex ground her teeth together, hearing J’onn’s voice in her head telling her to play nice. “I mean ensure that the situation is handled appropriately.”

“With no oversight or care for the aliens’ rights.”

“Do you have any idea about the K’hund you were dealing with?” Alex scoffed, pushing her hair back from her face. “He’d been imprisoned before. Twice actually. Even if we ignore his prior records, here on Earth he went out on a spree destroying armored vehicles, abetting criminals in stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of gold, killing or seriously injuring almost a dozen guards in the process.”

“So there are trial records?” Maggie arched an eyebrow as she held Alex’s gaze, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly as though she were enjoying herself.

“You have a jail cell to hold someone who can crumple a car into a ball of metal with his bare hands?”

Maggie shrugged. “Even if the containment is on you, there are rights that shouldn’t be abridged.”

“I—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? Do I still not know what I’m saying when I look at that fake badge of yours and call your bluff ’cause I can tell you’re DEO from a mile away?”

Alex felt her hands curling into fists. “I can see this was a pointless meeting.”

“What? Mad that someone might not let you get away with running a black ops site in the middle of nowhere?” Maggie yelled after her, but Alex was already through the door and striding back outside.

On the drive to the DEO, Alex called J’onn, grumbling loudly about pain in the ass cops who should learn to stay in their own lanes.

“Alex, please tell me that the working partnership is still intact.”

“It is. I left, but I didn’t yell at her…not really.” She could hear J’onn sigh through the line.

“These orders are coming from high above me. With the President’s new Alien Amnesty Act signed into law, we’re going to see more and more changes.”

“But—”

“Alex, some of them will be good. People like me, like your sister—we might be able to live openly, and even if I'm still not certain about how it will work in practice, it is law now. But that means that things like alien rights will need to be a consideration. The way we’re operating now might no longer work.”

“Okay, fine. Say you stole from a store. Sure, you should get a trial. But J’onn, these Fort Rozz aliens have intergalactic rap sheets that go on for pages!”

“And a few of them were subjected to an unduly strict justice system and given life sentences for petty crimes that might only have garnered fines and community service here.”

“What about the ones trying to kill my sister, J’onn? I’m supposed to let the cops throw some flimsy handcuffs on them and put them in front of a jury of people they could kill with a single punch and call that justice?”

“It’s—it’s more complicated than that. We are not ceding control completely. But the new law means there will be cooperation. It means being a little more upfront and self-reflective.” A pause. “I’ve not been the most open to these changes, but I’ve been working to understand them. I think Kara might be a step ahead of both of us here. Perhaps it would be wise to listen to her.”

“Maybe.” Alex was anything but convinced.

“Change is coming whether we like it or not. We’ll do well to get out in front of it, set the terms of these partnerships while it’s still in our power to do so.”

Alex hummed in understanding. She’d adapt; she could do that. But ceding any amount of control to Detective Sawyer? That would happen over her dead body.

---

Alex spent her evening reading through the articles Kara and Cat had been writing about the Alien Amnesty Act and alien rights over the past few months. She remembered listening to Kara rave about having the opportunity to work with Cat “as equals, Alex, can you believe it?” but she had heard so much about the articles while Kara was writing them that she never got around to reading the final drafts, let alone Cat’s pieces.

Begrudgingly, she admitted that they made a few good points. The interviews they had done with aliens from across National City had moved Alex in ways she hadn’t expected. There were children forced into home-schooling because they couldn’t pass as human, and adults forced into manual labor without any protections or insurance, being paid well below the minimum wage because they couldn’t get papers.

Alex thought back to Kara’s early days with them. She’d had trouble controlling her powers at first, and she had spoken in halting sentences with odd inflections on the words, but she’d never struggled to look human. That was something Alex had always taken for granted. But seeing the portraits featuring silvery skin that shimmered underneath bright flashes or scaled hands that held a child close to a mother’s chest…that wasn’t a possibility Alex had ever considered. She’d seen less-than-human hands curled around weapons pointed at her and her team and her sister; she’d watched distinctly non-human faces contort with rage in the midst of warfare and destruction. But the portraits Cat had organized—well, there was a reason she won as many awards as she did.

Come the end of the night Alex was far from convinced—especially when it came to NCPD’s involvement—but she thought J’onn would be proud of her for trying, and that had to be enough for now.

---

Two quiet days in a row with J’onn out of town had to be too good to last, and sure enough, on Thursday, a group of three Tormocks, one of whom pinged as a Fort Rozz escapee, laid waste to downtown National City.

Ignoring the call from NCPD, Alex ordered Alpha and Beta teams to mobilize and meet Supergirl downtown to provide backup. A call to Vasquez at the desert base from the van was enough to have a third team meeting them to secure the area and provide aerial reinforcements should they become necessary.

Deep in the fray, Alex cursed as bullets bounced ineffectively off the skin of the Tormocks, shifting as they did to become bulletproof and static or mobile and deadly in turn. Supergirl was holding her own, but there were only so many things she could do when her opponents could alter themselves at will, becoming impervious to her every attack.

Bullets ricocheted off the Tormocks' suddenly solid forms, and Alex found herself ducking and dodging more rebounding attacks from her own team than from the aliens.

The DEO agents confused and frustrated, and Alex watched on in horror as a few of them let their guard down long enough for a Tormock to strike out with an arm that was suddenly sharp as a blade.

“Man down! We need a med evac,” Alex barked into her earpiece as she watched Jackson, one of the agents from Beta Team, fall, a gash across his face and upper arm, his chest having been saved only by his Kevlar. Dodging attacks, Alex wove her way across the street and grabbed Jackson, dragging him to the relative safety of an alleyway.

“You’re okay,” Alex insisted, putting pressure on the wound and calling again for backup as she watched blood soak through the fabric over his arm at a pace that seemed much too fast to give the man a solid chance at survival. She swallowed back fear, repeating over and over again that he would be okay, even as she radioed in to the med team to let them know that his brachial artery might have been cut and they needed to have blood ready for him stat.

As soon as Jackson was whisked away into the back of one of the med vans parked a few blocks over, Alex threw herself into the fight with a renewed zeal, rage and frustration pulsing through her veins.

It seemed like a small eternity before a first shot landed, wounding one of the Tormocks while he was in a more vulnerable form, lashing out to try to attack Supergirl.

Alex whipped her head around, looking to see who’d managed to get the shot off, following the bullet’s trajectory back to a dumpster where she found the same damned detective from Monday crouched low, little more than a standard-issue police gun in her hand.

“Get out of here!” Alex hissed, jogging back to the dumpster.

“I’m the first one that got a shot in! I’m staying.”

“This isn’t your mission.”

“Only because you’re all too stubborn to admit you could use help.” Maggie popped up, firing off another round and landing a glancing blow to the same Tormock as before, who seemed to be moving more slowly, his shapeshifting not coming as easily as it once had. “See!”

“Do you even have a vest on for protection?” Alex grumbled before leaning out to fire off a round of her own, cursing under her breath as she caught the thick armor.

“Trick is to start shooting while they’re still armored. The second Supergirl leaves herself open for an attack is when they shift, and that’s when they’re vulnerable, but only for a few seconds.”

Alex watched, noting the exact moment when Supergirl turned her attention away from one of the three aliens. Never one to be bested, Alex sent a volley of bullets in his direction, letting out a satisfied huff as they met their mark, leaving one down—or at least down enough to contain—and two to go.

Maggie looked almost impressed. “Good shot.”

“It’s my job.”

“God, you’re infuriating.”

“And you’re not?”

They were soon distracted by one of the remaining two Tormocks, and Alex called out orders to her teams, breaking down Maggie’s instructions over the comms and getting her best long-range shooters in position, while Supergirl was left with only a small handful of agents who knew where to stand to avoid the line of fire.

By the time they wrestled the third alien into containment in the back of a DEO van, Alex had three wounded agents, including Jackson, who remained in critical condition. With an excuse to that effect, Alex brushed off Maggie and hopped into the back of a van, calling in for updates from all of her teams as they drove back to the downtown branch while the transport van took the Tormocks out to containment in the desert base.

Between check-ins with the wounded agents and more phone calls than she’d ever wanted to make and stacks of paperwork that seemed endless, Alex felt the post-battle adrenaline surge seeping out of her and leaving her exhausted.

After one final call down to the med bay to inquire into Jackson’s status—still critical, though it looked like he would pull through—Alex dragged herself out of the office. The short drive back to her building passed in a haze, and she cursed the lack of an elevator as she dragged her legs up the four flights of stairs to her apartment.

Once she was in the door, Alex kicked off her boots and shucked her jacket, pulling off the rest of her clothes as she made her way to the bathroom and into the shower. It didn’t matter that she’d washed off at the DEO; it never felt like she’d quite left the battle behind until she stood beneath the hot stream of water in her own bathroom in her own apartment, letting the final remnants slip away in the steam. Not that they ever went away entirely. She knew well enough that the nightmares that woke her weren’t random, much like she knew there was more behind the way her thoughts raced and spiraled, keeping her awake on days when she’d come a little too close to losing people, to losing her sister.

That night, though, Alex felt ready to fall into a deep sleep as she sank down on the mattress and pulled the sheets up around her, letting her head nestle into the pillow.

Barely an hour later, she woke with a start, bolting up and scrambling for her gun as she tried to figure out what had pulled her out of such a deep sleep.

A thud against the wall behind her headboard drew her attention.

“Fuck.”

Alex narrowed her eyes at the offending woman’s voice, but it seemed to quiet. Perhaps she hadn't been the culprit after all.

After a few minutes of murmurs from next door that were barely enough to constitute noise, Alex sank back down into the covers, letting herself get comfortable once more.

It was then that she heard the squeaking of a bed frame. Incessant. Grating. A few minutes later it was joined by a woman’s breathy moans—fuck, oh god, don’t stop.

Alex blinked at the clock on her bedside table. 10:49. Possibly early enough that normal people would still be awake. Of course, normal people hadn’t been awake since 4:30 and battling aliens into the early afternoon. Not that her neighbor knew any of that. Because Alex was a good neighbor who didn’t leave any indications about her schedule.

She ground her teeth as the rattle of the bed grew louder, the woman’s demands and moans increasing right along with it. A loud, high-pitched whimper finally rang out, and Alex let out a preemptive sigh of relief.

To Alex's dismay, the process repeated another two times before the noises stopped entirely.

Well, wasn’t he considerate, Alex thought to herself. Then again, maybe it had all been faked. God knows she’d done it a few times. Or, well, more like all the times. But she didn’t need to dwell. Instead she pushed all those questions down with her ever-growing to-do lists and thoughts about calls she had to make, resolving to deal with them all in the future. Maybe.