#and than bending over and constantly squatting has killed me

[neverfruit]

People should really spread out what days they order food. Slow down on Friday man. I feel bad today and you wanna order so much from me?

[tobi-momo]

"The Setter's Help" Chapter 3

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Volleyball player!reader

Synopsis: With a big game coming up, the confidence in your setting has gone down significantly. Knowing the setter on the Karasuno boy's volleyball club is good at what he does, you ask him for help. Will he help you build your confidence and skills or will he just tear it down more?

Genre: Romance, fluff, some crack, angst, hurt/comfort

Chapter Warnings: nothing much, maybe some cursing?Word Count: 1.7k

Taglist: open!! send an ask :p

a/n: hi okakdhdh this is mostly a filler episode bc i wanted to update it and so more bigger chapters will come later on :)

“Did I do that right?” You ask curiously as you turn towards the net, looking at your hands and arms. Kageyama walks toward you in concentration as he lifts your arms up with his hands; they were very soft and gentle for an athlete, you noticed. He didn’t drag your limbs anywhere, just politely placing them where they were needed.

“Almost,” he mumbles, distracted by focus as he corrects your form while you huff in frustration with yourself, turning down towards the floor, your eyes tracing the colored lines on the polished wood. “Relax, it isn’t that bad. Your finger and your thumb were a little too far apart, that’s why the ball doesn’t have as much power and it keeps slipping. Try it again.”

Sighing, you get back into positing, taking in his glance of determination as he squats to toss you the ball. You breathe in and out carefully, eyeing the ball with focus as it comes flying towards your chest.

Too low.

The toss was a good one, just a little low, so you knew you had to get under it, like he said. The ball is just centimeters closer when you recall everything he’s been teaching you: getting under the ball, your form, the positions, back-row setting, racking your brain for a solution to getting under this as fast as possible. Then you remember. Just move your legs a little to the right, bend your knees and lower your stance, and you’ll be fine. No fuss needed. The ball comes crashing in once your brain comes back in motion, your right foot slamming on the ground, your body getting just a tiny bit lower to the ground as you narrow your eyes toward your objective. You watch your thumbs get closer to your index fingers as you finally make contact with the ball, letting it fall into your hands, then pushing it upwards with the flick of your wrists, sending it out towards the middle front position.

The ball smacks the floor with an echo, your eyes shining. You did that right. At least, you assume so from how cool it looked. It wasn’t much, since you set to a lower position, but the way the ball fell perfectly in your hands, like you were molding it to your will, was a feeling you didn’t want to get rid of.

“That was so cool,” you breathe out, your hands on your knees while you squint an eye at the ground, catching your breath. A smile appeared under your nose, the corners of your lips tugging upwards as you bite your lip. Maybe you had a slight chance.

“Looked good.”

“What?” You shout, throwing your hands up as you walk towards him. “You gotta give me more than that, Kageyama, tell me what you really think.” You look in his eyes, them refusing to show emotion towards you. At this point you knew that he was holding back, that he could do so much more but just doesn’t know how. You planned to help him with that.

You could see the surprise in his face as his eyes widened, immediately looking away. He clears his throat, “your form was okay and your set was accurate,” is all he says, turning completely around so his back could face you instead of his chest, his head shaking a couple times, as if to rid the mind of something, before he starts to lead himself away. You nod in understanding, thinking about the possible ways to fix that in your head next time.

“I’m heading out,” he calls, grabbing his volleyball and strapping it over his shoulder.

“Mm, okay! Thank you! I can already tell I’m getting better,” you spout to him cheerily, waving to him as he makes his way out. You were surprised by the amount of reaction on his face; you couldn’t tell if he was shocked or surprised to hear something like that.

“Bye,” he mutters. You could tell he took it as a compliment, as you meant it, and forgot how to react. All you did was smile, though. Smile at him as he leaves the gym, the door shutting loudly as he exits.

You sigh, hurrying to grab another ball before jogging to the nearest wall, playing with the ball in your hands, spinning it and bouncing it with your palms. You needed to master this. You needed to be perfect. No exceptions. Even if you had to stay all night, it needed to be done.

~.~.~.~

You cursed under your breath, wanting to scream but holding back as the night sky showed through the window panes. You never bothered to check your phone, forgetting the time. You don’t think it matters anyways, since this was more important. You were hungry, your fingers hurt and your thighs were sore. You ignored it, continuing to hit the ball at the wall, waiting for it to bounce back up at you until you set the ball back at the wall, coming to you again to spike it. It was an endless cycle. One that you’ve broken multiple times by your inability to move. Your hand placements weren’t any better and you weren’t using your legs enough. You had hoped no one would see you mess up so many times; the embarrassment would surely kill you.

The second your phone rang you stopped the ball, curiously, sluggishly walking over to see the matter.

Oh shit.

Your parents messaged you, wondering where you’ve gone. It was past nine-thirty at night, as you would have left about four hours earlier when your lessons with Kageyama ended. You needed to leave before you never saw the light of day again.

~.~.~.~

Your muscles were tired, dead. You wanted to crawl inside a hole and never come out. But here you are, walking down the hallway to reach your class. Your body didn’t want to cooperate with you, but you could bear it, at least until after your private practice.

You saw him a couple times in the hall, not paying any attention to you, even looking the other way. You wanted to greet him, but you cut yourself the possible embarrassment when you just walk past him. Except- you weren’t walking anymore. Your body halts completely as you look at an orange-haired boy bombarding you with a shout of your name.

“Y/n! You’re Y/n, right?”

“Uh, yeah, why?” You stutter, confused.

“Hinata, dumbass! Get away from her, you're scaring her!” Kageyama’s voice chimes in, you hear. A yell you were oh, so familiar with. You awkwardly laugh as you back up, being stopped yet again as your back hits a firm chest. Your head whips around to see a much bigger figure than you, a bigger boy towering over you with a smirk, a beanie, and his short friend next to him.

What the fuck was going on?

“So, Y/n, huh?” The taller boy says, taking a step towards you.

“Uh, what? Yes- me. That’s my name.” Trying to look for a lifeline, you see Kageyama’s arms raised as to stop the boy, yet refraining himself from doing it. Why was that?

The short boy laughs, moving closer to you as well. “We heard you were friends with our Kageyama-kun. We just wanted to say hi,” he smiles, mischief painted all around it.

“What? I mean, I guess? We aren’t really friends he’s just helping me with my skills an-”

“Kageyama!”

“What!?”

“You said you were friends!”

“No I didn’t! I said we weren’t dating!”

What.

“What?” Your eyes flicker between each man, their expressions telling you that his sentence wasn’t supposed to slip.

“Kageyama, stupid! You weren’t supposed to say that!”

“I didn’t know??”

“Shhhhhhhhh let us talk to her,” the taller boy interrupts the orange-haired boy and Kageyama, bringing the short boy further into the picture. Leaving forever has never sounded as good an option as it has right now.

"How do you feel about our Kageyama-kun, Y/n-san?" The short boy speaks up. Your eyes travel to Kageyama, who seems too occupied with pushing the orange-haired boy away from him, yelling curses and insults his way, the other reciprocating.

You decide to ask the most obvious question. "Who are you guys?"

"What?!" They all yell in unison incredulously, staring at you.

"What?" You ask obliviously.

"How come you know Kageyama and not us?" The short boy shouts, stepping closer.

"Well, I went to a couple of your games and saw that Kageyama was really good so I asked around who he was, I guess I never got the rest of your names," you think, not noticing the open mouths of everyone surrounding you.

"Well then," the taller boy cleared his throat, clearing the atmosphere, "I guess we'll have to introduce ourselves."

"Yeah!"

"Um, okay?" You reply, still uncomfortable.

"I'm Tanaka-"

"I'm Nishinoya! We're your senpai's!" He exclaims excitedly, a gleam in his eyes when he says 'senpai'.

"Dude! I was gonna say that!" Tanaka whines.

"I'm sorry! Just got a little excited."

"Hey! I'm Hinata Shoyo," the orange-haired boy tells you politely and cheekily. You smile at him, grateful that he wasn't in your face for too long. Looking to the side, you catch Kageyama staring at you, concentrated and lost in his head as his eyes stick to your figure.

You didn't need to check the time to know you were going to be late if you didn't head to class, so you greeted the boys back.

"Nice to meet all of you, see you guys later! Bye, Kageyama-kun!" You say before walking off. He caught the way your smile seemed a little more genuine that time. It might just be him but it seems as if you were glowing more.

You might have been, maybe just a little bit, been shining a bit more today. You couldn't see it yourself, and surely nobody else noticed from the way their backs were turned away and their mouths were constantly making noise while engaging in conversations, so why was it noticeable to Kageyama? Why was he the only one to see the fact that even though you had dark circles and the smallest of limps, you were more obvious to him than anyone else?

He was curious, but kept his mouth shut. He didn't need to be embarrassed again.

a/n: ok i know the ending sucks i just really needed to end it, i kept getting stuck on this chapter im so sorry kajdhf also dw- everything will come into play- dw :)

taglist: @luvrboykento @elektrosonix @haikyuutothetop @combat-wombatus @jungkxxkk @hp-hogwartsexpress

Masterlist

[doubledeaky]

Save Me - Part One

Roger Taylor x Reader

A/N: Hi, everyone! First, thank you for over 100 followers! Second, this was requested by the lovely @strawberryfields-forever so go give them some love! I decided to break this up into two parts, hope that's okay! Part two should be out very soon. If you’d like to be tagged in the second part, let me know! Thank you all again for the love and support! Hope everyone enjoys this! Per usual, feedback and requests are very much appreciated! Much love!- m:) 

Summary: Work sucked. Not because the hours were long or the pay was bad. No, you hated work because a certain coworker has yet to take a hint and get bent. You’ve been declining their advances for months now, but it seems they don't take no for an answer. One night, in a dark alley, this coworker takes their inappropriate actions a bit too far, like way too far. You try your best to hide this incident from Roger, but he knows you far too well. After his initial anger at the situation, Roger is quick to stick by your side and comfort you through the storm. 

Word Count: 2,722 words

Warnings: mentions of assault and violence (not extremely graphic), blood, general angst ( if you are sensitive to these topics please be cautious reading this, I try to make my warnings very specific but I just like to make sure) 

It was only supposed to be temporary work. Getting a degree was expensive and this job was supposed to alleviate some of the financial stress. Now, you were a semester away from completing your graduate program and you were still working your miserable job. You had every intention to quit months ago but when you were promoted to general manager you felt stuck. Your responsibilities doubled within moments and you didn't want to leave the owners high and dry. With some persuasion from Roger, however, you were finally in the process of writing your two-week notice. It wasn't that the shifts were long, or the pay was bad, it was one of your coworkers. Since you began your tenure at the little cafe down the street, you were constantly deflecting his advances and even informed your bosses of his behavior. He was scolded but continued his sick game within a few weeks. It was getting extremely hard for you to even be in the same area with him, you didn’t feel safe. It was only when you began the process of resigning that you started to breathe easy. Roger didn’t know this was the main reason you were quitting, you never told him about your coworker. You didn’t think it necessary, you were an adult and you could handle it. You didn't need Roger to fight your battles, he had his own. Roger was excited knowing you'd be home more often and would only be stressed by your coursework. You were excited to escape the piercing gaze of your pervy coworker. Your last week at the cafe was coming to a close and of course, your luck would have you working a night shift with him. He’d been peering at your backside all night, sparing sexual and degrading comments under his breath your way. Your face burned in a mixture of anger and embarrassment, but it wasn’t anything you hadn’t dealt with before, this was common of nearly every shift you worked with him. You never engaged, you never responded or retaliated, you didn't even allow your expression to shift. One more shift and you would never have to see his ugly face again. Closing came quicker than expected and you busied yourself cleaning tables, while one of your female coworkers mopped, and he goofed off in the back room. You rolled your eyes as you heard his loud, obnoxious singing. He swung the door open, key in hand to unlock and then count the tills. He noticed your staring and sent a smug glare your way. You looked down, depriving him of the disgusted look on your face. You continued to clean and make casual conversation with your female coworker as he retreated to the back room. The closing duties were tedious and a pain in the ass but today time seemed to fly by, much to your dismay. Your female coworker sent you a wave and a soft smile as she exited out of the back door, too quick to notice the pleading look you sent her way. “Great,” you thought, now you're alone with your creepy coworker. You quickly gathered your belongings and headed for the exit, not hanging around to watch the man close and lock the door. You headed down the alley towards your car, hearing his footsteps pick up pace behind you. Your heart raced, your car was just around the corner; you just needed to get to your car. You felt a hand on your shoulder and your feet left the ground, you were too shocked to scream out. 

It was over in milliseconds, the moment so fleeting you wondered if it actually happened. The skin he touched burned with such a fiery intensity that you clawed violently at your clothes, attempting to alleviate the agony. You glanced around frantically, he was gone. You sunk to your knees as the circumstance bared its full weight on your delicate shoulders. A choked sob ripped through you and your fingertips bled as they flexed and twitched involuntarily atop the concrete. You felt your kneecaps bore into your skin and hot spurts of blood wet your pants as pieces of sharp gravel broke your skin. Your mouth was dry and tasted of metal. Your ears were ringing, and tears soaked your face. Finding the strength to stand was near impossible as your legs trembled violently with fear. So, you sat there, alone and bloodied, behind the building of your workplace. You cautiously brought your knees to your chest, smelling the foul odor of blood. You felt bile rise in your throat and you dry heaved for several minutes. Your ribs ached, and tears blurred your panicked eyes. You brought your hands close to your face to examine them in the dull light of the alley. Your knuckles were busted and bled with fervor. Your palms were scraped and covered in dirt. Your arms fell limply at your sides and you cried bitterly. This was real, it wasn't some sick nightmare created by your subconscious. You shifted slightly, and your entire body thrummed with a dull ache. You attempted to swallow but your dry throat scratched and chafed at the action. Your hands slowly skimmed the ground in search of your belongings, the dim light and tears that obscured your vision making it almost impossible to identify anything. You sobbed when your hands found the keys to your car. You brought the set of keys to your chest possessively as your other hand searched for your bag. When your hands finally skimmed the canvas of your bag you grit your teeth, attempting to stifle your cries. You tugged your bag to your side and let out a shaky breath. The challenge now was commanding your legs to stand. You felt that the signals connecting your brain to your lower extremities had been severed. Your toes refused to curl, your knees refused to bend, and your hips refused to shift and carry your weight. You felt an overwhelming sense of dread pervade your senses and you heard your heartbeat quicken in your ears. Like the Bride from “Kill Bill,” you focused on moving each toe, then your foot, then your knee, and then the entire leg. You repeated the process on your other leg and slowly you were able to bring yourself into a squat. Steadying your body on the brick wall behind you, you rose to your full height. Your nerves screamed in pain and you groaned, clenching your jaw to the point of fracture. Taking a shaky step forward, you kept your right hand glued to the wall to guide you in the dark despite the sharp sting of the open wounds present on your palms. After what felt like hours, you finally turned the corner out of the dark corridor, immediately greeted by your shiny black vehicle resting on the curb. Your legs carried you faster in its direction almost involuntarily, instinctively. You rushed to the driver side, fumbling frantically with the key. You unlocked the car and fell in, yelping in pain when your body collided with the leather seat. You yanked your legs into the car, closed and locked the door. Resting your head atop the steering wheel, you couldn't stop the scream that escaped your lungs. Sweat coated your figure and your mind raced uncontrollably. You wept into your dirty, bloody palms. You made every attempt to avoid looking into the rearview mirror when you finally turned the key in the ignition, afraid of what would be staring back if you chanced a look. You peeled out onto the empty street and glanced at the neon numbers of your car’s digital clock. It was almost midnight, you’d sat in that alley for over two hours. Your eyes widened in shock, the whole ordeal had felt like ten minutes, over and done within such a finite amount of time. You again felt your stomach lurch at the possibility of Roger being home early after his evening flight. Your hands trembled against the steering wheel and the car jerked, swerving slightly. Your brain could only focus on safety, adrenaline still fresh in your veins. The familiar driveway of your home soon entered your field of vision and you sped into its opening. You took note of the absence of Roger’s car and sighed in a sick sense of relief. You park and hastily exited your car, your legs carrying you as fast as they could manage. You stumbled up the porch steps, your hand on the doorknob bracing your anticipated fall. You unlocked the door and entered your home, placing your full weight on the door frame before slowly crossing the threshold. You sunk to the floor, closing the front door behind you with the weight of you falling back on it. You reached up and locked the door, something you rarely did but now, not even home felt safe. Now sat in the darkness of your living room, your mind reviewed the events of the last four hours. You felt nausea bubble in your throat for the third time this evening. You attempted to pinpoint when exactly his actions had adopted an aggressive tone. You couldn't prevent the paranoia that entrapped you. What did you do? What could you have done? Was this your fault? After paranoia emptied your mind, shame took its place. You felt dirty. Dirty beyond the blood caked onto your pallid skin or the mud beneath your cracked nails. It was a filth water couldn't wash away. You had lost a part of yourself, he'd taken something away from you. You didn't know exactly what, but you didn't want to live without it. You felt utterly empty, your entire being hollow and cold. Then, you thought of Roger. You chastised yourself for entertaining the idea that you'd betrayed him. Your heart ached and your longing for him grew, but the idea of telling him any detail of this entire ordeal wasn't a viable option in your mind. You couldn't, you wouldn't. 

You got up from the floor and limply shuffled into the bathroom. Your fingers ghosted over the light switch, still apprehensive to view the figure in the mirror. You willed yourself to flick the switch, but your eyes immediately shut as light flooded the room, terrified. Your arms came around your middle, hugging yourself. You sobbed, despite feeling dehydration creep in your system. You slowly opened one eye, but it wouldn't focus without the aid of the other. You breathed in slowly, the expanding of your lungs reminding you of the pain in your ribs. You opened your other eye and squinted under the bright vanity lights. After blinking stray tears away, your eyes finally focused on the figure staring coldly back at you. Your heart fell to your stomach. The person in the mirror was nearly unrecognizable, your features buried under matted hair, dried blood, fresh bruises, and hot tears. Your upper lip was cut and pulsed painfully. Your hair was matted with sweat and dirt, sticking out in several directions. Purple splotches adorned your face and surrounded both eyes in deep, heavy rings. Coagulated blood was painted throughout your hair and stained your face and limbs. You couldn't stop the audible gasp and fresh tears that streaked the dried blood on your cheeks. You brought a shaky hand to your mouth and sobbed, shaking your head “no” frantically. Your butt hit the cold tile of the floor and the backs of your legs were set ablaze from the stimulus. You cried bitterly on the floor of your bathroom, your entire body racked with violent, noticeable tremors. After about ten minutes, you braced yourself on the edge of your bathtub and rose to your feet. You thought you might as well scrub this evening from your skin, and your memory. The hot water of the shower head clouded the mirror and your felt relived you wouldn't catch a glimpse of your body once you undressed. You didn't know if you could handle being witness to more damage etched into your skin. 

You removed your shoes and stretched your toes, which had gone numb hours ago. Your rolled your ankles, hearing them crack and pop unnaturally. You then moved to your top, noticing a faint peeling sound as you removed it. You assumed it had been suctioned to your torso with sweat and blood. You bent down to remove your socks, the nerves in your spine sending violent shockwaves up all seven vertebrae. You grit your teeth and groaned in pain, feeling new tears spring to life. You carefully shimmied out of your pants, the material ripping the scabs from your raw knees. You grimaced but felt a wave of relief fill you. Now left in your underwear, you quickly stripped down to bare skin. You were naked now, everything left completely bare and you felt vulnerable under your lone gaze. You stepped into the shower cautiously, immediately feeling the intense sting of scalding hot water on your open wounds. You winced, but nevertheless brought your face under the stream of water, your hair falling under the weight of complete saturation. The water falling from your body was stained a dull copper and you watched it disappear down the drain until it ran clear. You used a washcloth to tend to your cuts and brush-burned joints. Your skin felt taut under the strain of it attempting to close and heal. You were overwhelmed by the discomfort and allowed yourself to sit on the shower floor, letting the water rush over you. You continued to scrub any uninjured skin, but the unclean feeling remained. You were scared, beyond scared now. The water eventually ran cold, but it soothed your red hot skin. You turned off the water and pulled yourself onto the edge of the tub, draping a towel over your front. You folded your hands in your lap and stared blankly at your reflection. If anything, the absence of blood and matted hair made your other injuries slightly less ghastly. You stood, fully surrounding yourself with the towel and walked into your shared bedroom. The bed sank under your weight as you sat. You didn't care about the delicate silk sheets as your slick body soaked them. Still wrapped in a towel, your eyes caught a glimpse of the blinking light of the receiver of your home’s landline, indicating you'd received a message. You reached over and pressed play. The mechanical voice first notified you of your one new message and then you heard Roger. Your chest heaved, and you drew in a heavy breath. His voice rang in your ears as he spoke, his words muffled and fuzzy over the phone. 

“Hey, love! Just wanted to let you know our flight home was cancelled. Should be getting back tomorrow afternoon. I can't wait to see you! Hope work was good and everything’s rosy. I miss you. See you soon, sweets. Sleep well. I love you!” 

The message cut out and you sobbed violently. You gripped the receiver and even considered calling, but you knew you couldn't. You knew if you heard his voice, your own would betray you. You needed time to compose yourself, to create an elaborate story to excuse your appearance. You needed time to work up the nerve to lie to him. You saved the message and got up to dress. Putting on clothes would be challenging for a while; any sharp movement was excruciating. You slowly climbed into bed around three o’clock in the morning. Laying your head to your pillow, the empty space next to you was daunting. You just wanted Roger here. The quiet was so intense you could hear your blood trailing throughout your body and the creaking of your tired joints. Now completely alone with your thoughts, they overwhelmed your senses. You could now fully register what had happened just five hours ago. The weight of guilt, shame, fear, and sadness weighed heavy on your chest and you gasped for air in-between sobs. You saw no relief from the thoughts coming soon, so you stared blankly at the ceiling. Tears gathering, falling, and then pooling on your pillow. Your body eventually gave in to fatigue, but your mind still raced. You thought of Roger until you slipped from consciousness. You dreamt of nothing. 

A/N: Who doesn't love a good cliffhanger? Part two should be out very soon! Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be tagged in the second part, let me know! As always, feedback and request are appreciated! Much love! - m:)

Part Two is up now!

[felagund-fiollaigean]

Smol and Tol

Okay so for Pidge day of Hunk month I wrote a two-part fic exploring their friendship through height differences so... yeah. Under the cut. 

“Why the hell did Coran put them up there?”

“Beats me,” Hunk replied. “I think he did it on purpose.”

“Definitely,” Pidge agreed. “Fuck Zarkon, the real enemy was Coran all along.”

The pair of them stood in the official Paladin dining room, staring forlornly at a small crock on a high, high shelf. A crock which they knew was full of xilpharous tarts, a delicious treat the team had picked up from the space mall on their last visit. They were probably Hunk’s favorite thing he had eaten so far in space. Sweet, crumbly pastry shaped like a hexagonal hamentash surrounding a clear mouse that tasted like the milk at the bottom of a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch once the cereal was all gone. Well, it did and it didn’t. That was one thing about space food: no matter how much it reminded Hunk of anything he ate back home, there was always something fundamentally different about that defied familiarity. He learned a while ago that it was best not to think about it too hard.

But whatever it was they tasted like, those xilpharous tarts were fucking amazing. And Coran had decided it was a good idea to store them on a ten-foot tall shelf, with no evident way of retrieving them.

Hunk constantly appreciated everything Coran did for the team. Whether it was keeping the castle in shape or tending to their injuries or helping them through their emotional troubles or advising them with his endless supply of knowledge, Coran came through for them time after time.

But right now?

Hunk was less than appreciative.

But right now they needed a solution

“I guess we could find a chair?”

Pidge hummed in response. “Could you boost me up?”

Hunk thought about it for a second. “I don’t know how high up I could get you. Unless…”

Pidge cocked an eyebrow.

“Do you think if I lifted you up you could stand on my shoulder?”

“Yeah. You have really wide shoulders, it’ll be easy. How do I get up there?”

Um…

He could tell Pidge was thinking the same thing.

“What if-” he started, but Pidge beat him to it.

“Spread your legs.”

Hunk blinked.

“... No?”

“What? No no no no no, Jesus Christ, stand like this.” She demonstrated, moving her stance so her feet were wider than shoulder-width and bending her knees. “I’ll stand on your thighs and then I can climb on your shoulders from there. Is that good?”

“Oh yeah, sure.” He squated down a bit, and after a second he felt Pidge’s small hands pull on his shoulders and the pressure of her feet on his hips. PIdge didn’t weigh much at all, so it wasn’t that uncomfortable. He held his hands out for Pidge to take and she grasped them for balance as she shakily placed one foot after the other on his shoulders.

Slowly, he felt her straighten up.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” came her voice from above him. “Just give me a second…”

One at a time, Hunk felt her release his hands as she gained her balance and he slowly moved his hands so he was gripping her calves to stabilize her.

“Okay, step forward a little?”

He complied, inching forward oh-so carefully until he was close enough to the shelf for Pidge to reach.

Barely a tick went by before he heard a triumphant cheer from above.

“I got 'em!”

“Nice job, Pidge!”

“Sweet! So uh, Hunk?”

“Yeah, Pidge?”

“Um… how am I going to get down?”

Oh.

Shit.

“You fucking bastard!”

Pidge's hands were balled into fists and her voice was shrill.

“You useless piece of shit!” She shoved her chair back and stood abruptly.

The alien her rage was directed at didn't seem bothered in the slightest, however.

“Come now. I run a business, not a charity. Spending my private resources to raid a mining colony on the off-chance your brother might be there is, frankly, ridiculous.”

Pidge was hearing none of it.

“You're a selfish motherfu-”

“And another thing,” he interrupted her, “since your brother has been in Galra captivity for so long, well, you know how those prisoners come out of those places. Damaged. He won't be one bit the same person you knew.”

Hunk winced with sympathy. That was a low blow. Pidge had gone impossibly pale. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but she was in too much of a rage at the moment.

“Why you-” she began, voice trembling with anger, but she was interrupted again by the alien.

“Besides, he's most likely dead already. Accept his loss and move on. You're only wasting my time, I don’t normally entertain over-emotional little girls.”

Hunk's mouth dropped open.

He did not just go there. 

With a wild yell, Pidge launched herself out of her seat and was about to race over to throttle that asshole herself, but Hunk beat her to the punch.

He managed to snag her wrist before she got too far, pulling her into him and keeping her from killing the guy on the spot.

Although, to be fair, he definitely had it coming.

“No, let me go!” She struggled against his hold even as he pulled her closer. Then, “I'll tear your fucking head off!”

The alien only smiled primly, smugness oozing from his expression.

Before Pidge could antagonize him further, Hunk decided he should intervene.

“Thank you for your time, but we had better be getting back now. I apologize on behalf of my fellow Paladin.”

“No! Don't apologize to him, he has it coming to him and you know it, Hunk!”

He sighed deeply. “No, Pidge. Now come on, let's go home.”

Pidge didn't seem to stop fighting him, so he decided it wasn't safe to let go yet. So with no other option, he simply lifted her feet off the floor and carried her out of the meeting.

Pidge stopped wiggling after there was a bit of distance between them and the building, but Hunk still wasn't sure he should let go.

“Can I put you down now, Pidge?”

Her voice was sullen and distant. “Yes.”

“You're not going to keep fighting, are you?”

“No, now put me down.”

He obliged, lowering her feet to the floor.

As soon as she was free, she strode off ahead of him, power-walking as quickly as her shorter legs would allow.

This was nonverbal Pidge-speak for “leave me alone” so Hunk trailed behind slowly, deciding to give her some space.

By the time he got back to the Yellow Lion, she was already inside, leaning against the back of the pilot seat. Her eyes were fixed hard on the floor, but Hunk didn't miss the glisten in her eyes.

He didn't know what to say. God, he never knew what to say. But Pidge didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to be missing her family only to have it rubbed in her face by some asshole alien.

So he spread his arms and stepped forward, encasing her in a hug as she wrapped her arms around his waist and began to cry quietly against his shirt.

“Aww, Pidge, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, that guy was a dick.”

“What if he's right though?” Pidge's voice shouldn't sound so weak. Pidge was courageous and brash and resourceful, it felt so wrong for her to sound so scared.

“Pidge, of course you're gonna find them. You're the smartest person I know and we're all gonna help you. You'll get them back, I know you will.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and squeezed him tighter.

He squeezed back, not too hard to crush her but hard enough to pull her flush against him, completely wrapping her up in his arms. He liked hugging Pidge. He liked the feeling of being able to fully hold her in his arms.

It made him feel like he was keeping her safe, like he could protect her from anything.

He knew it wasn't true, but it still felt nice.

He hoped it felt nice for Pidge too, and as she relaxed against him, he felt more and more certain that it did.

[ao3bronte]

Smutember: Sensory Deprivation

Masquerade on Ao3

24: Sensory Deprivation

Marinette leaps out of the way, grateful for her Ladybug reflexes as a suitcase, a garbage bag full of clothing and a laptop go flying out the window above her head.

"How DARE YOU!" a woman screams from beyond the open window and Marinette can't help but pause and pull an earbud out of her ear, eager to see what all the fuss is about, "You told me she was your COUSIN!"

At least twenty pedestrians have stopped to congregate around the pile of strewn clothes and shattered technology by this point, their eyes and ears glued to the stage before them, "I never SAID she was my cousin!"

"Yes you did! That's what you had her listed in your contacts!"

"You've been through my PHONE?!"

"OF COURSE I have and for good reason! You've been CHEATING on me!"

Marinette takes a second to glance around her, the throngs of people quickly gathering either recording or livestreaming the spectacle as the angry couple continues to hurl abuses at each other, unapologetically airing their dirty laundry for all and sundry to see.

“It’s not like I asked for this!”

“What?!” she screams, the couple move towards their open balcony, their wildly flailing silhouettes finally in view, “You married another woman!”

“And if she hadn’t screwed up and gotten pregnant, then this never would have happened!”

“WHAT?!”

The whispers rippling through the crowd abruptly shift from appalled curiosity to alarm and nervousness. Marinette winces, realizing that people are now actually discussing what this akuma’s powers might be like it’s a topic for casual conversation rather than a potentially life-threatening situation. She looks skyward, tracing pointing fingers, looking for the telltale back dot signaling the next victim. The whispers shift again, casual nervousness becoming actual fear and Marinette’s heart sinks, tracking not one but two small black harbingers of doom as they fly their way into the open window.

“How DARE YOU?”

“This isn’t my fault!” he shrieks, throwing a lamp against the wall, “You just HAD to go snooping through my things!”

“We have a child together!” she begins to sob, “There’s no excuse for this!”

“And if you had just given me what I wanted—”

The voices stop abruptly, the all too familiar black and neon purple haze erupting from the second story apartment in a flash of light. Eyes wide, Marinette breaks off into a sprint and ducks into the nearest alleyway, nearly flinging off her purse in haste.

"Tikki! Transforme-moi!"

~

Adrien slips his mask off his head and lowers his épée against the floor, turning his attention back towards the phone ringing off the hook in the school’s athletics office. Both he and the three other boys in training share a speculative glance as M. D’Argencourt stomps over, cursing a blue streak under his breath at being constantly interrupted, and nearly tears the hinges off the office door before disappearing within.

“What do you think?”

Adrien turns to Mohamed and shrugs, mirroring Isaac’s equally confused gesture. He sits down on the practice pads as Clement slips his gloves off and collapses beside him, beads of sweat pooling on his brow.

“It’s too hot to be practicing like this,” he complains, glaring daggers at the ceiling. Adrien cocks a brow and decides that it’s best to keep his mouth shut, knowing the larger boy’s less than measured temper.

“If Monsieur makes us stay here longer just because he’s on the phone…” Isaac trails off, sitting back on one of the nearby benches. They’d been practicing for well over an hour now for the first competition of the season and D’Argencourt was running them ragged with drills and mock duels.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably important,” Mohamed replies, “It’s been ringing off the hook for at least ten minutes.”

“Probably,” Adrien shucks his gloves off as well, swallowing against the way his stomach seems to be sinking in his chest. He watches D’Argencourt’s silhouette through the frosted window of the office door as the older man’s flailing arm seems to collapse to his side and slump. The other boys follow his gaze and exchange a worried glance.

“That can’t be good,” Mohamed says quietly, his eyes glued to the door.

Clement pushes himself back into a sitting position, “It’s probably just another akuma attack, no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Adrien can’t help himself, ignoring the way the boy beside him glares at him reproachfully, “The akuma attacks have only gotten worse lately.”

“And more dangerous,” Isaac adds, getting back onto his feet, “I’m going to sneak into the locker room and grab my mobile. If it’s an akuma attack, I’m sure it’s all over the news.”

“Don’t be too long,” Mohamed warns, still watching D’Argencourt through the glass, “You know how nasty he gets when we bring our phones out.”

Isaac nods and jogs through the door on the other side of the gymnasium, appearing a few moments later with his iPhone in his hand. He scrolls quickly and sits down beside Adrien, his eyes widening with every swipe of his thumb, “Merde.”

“What?” Adrien scoots closer and watches over his shoulder in panic as Isaac pulls up the trending livestream from the Paris Police’s official Twitter feed, the video retweeted straight from the LadyBlog.

“This is Alya Césaire from the Ladyblog,” the stream switches abruptly to the forward-facing camera, “And I have never seen anything like what I’m seeing right now!”

Alya switches the direction of the camera and zooms in on the carnage taking place some two blocks away from their school, “What started off as a married squabble ended in an all-out brawl between man and wife. Talk about taking ’till death do you part to a whole new level.”

Ladybug dodges a blast of red magic and leaps up onto the eaves of the closest structure, disappearing behind a rooftop. The angle changes and Alya focuses it back onto the raging akuma, glowing red and orange and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“I’M SICK OF YOUR EXCUSES!”  she hurls another beam of energy into the air, “I WILL HEAR NO EVIL!”

Spreading her arms, she clips a series of bystanders with a burst of magic and sends them flying into the air. The footage is shaky for a moment as Alya runs towards them, dodging the screaming civilians that had flocked to see what all the fuss was about. When the camera finally stops wobbling, the lens focuses on a group of tourists clutching at their ears, desperately shouting at each other from the lack of sound.

The camera shudders again, “Are you okay? What happened?”

The closest person, a thirty something man clutching his girlfriend to his chest, shakes his head in abject horror, “HELP! I CAN'T HEAR!”

“Ladybug has her hands full with this one,” Alya can be heard behind the camera, following the akuma as it tears down the boulevard, “And Chat Noir is still nowhere to be found.”

Adrien digs his fingers into the padding of his protective pants and yanks his eyes away from the screen to track D’Argencourt. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, he inhales and gets back up onto his feet, brushing imagined particles from the fabric of his pants.

“Where are you going?” Mohamed asks, staring up at him.

“My father told me that the next time there was an akuma attack at school, he’d send a car,” he lies easily, gathering his gloves and equipment, “It’s probably waiting outside now.”

“D’Argencourt will be mad.”

“Tell him my father will be even madder if I get injured because of this attack.”

“I’ll let him know,” Mohamed gives him a thumbs up, “Be safe!”

“Thanks,” Adrien smiles and nods, sprinting towards the locker rooms, “Enjoy your weekend!”

Steeling himself, Adrien shuts the door and barely registers Plagg at his side, too busy shucking his gear off his body. He shoves it all in his locker and pulls his shirt over his head, slipping his sack over his shoulder and checking it for cheese.

“Ready?”

“Hardly.”

“Plagg, transforme-moi!”

~

Chat vaults over the rows of tightly packed buildings towards the screaming and skids to a stop along one of the rooftops, sending a few loosened shingles flying. He watches the fight below for a few seconds, bewildered that the akuma seem to be fighting each other just as much as they’re fighting Ladybug herself. He studies their patterns, noticing the way she seems to bring her arms into her chest right before shooting beams of energy at her targets. He, on the other hand, seems to have no tell at all.

"I am going to KILL you!"

He spots Marinette as she ducks behind an advertisement kiosk, narrowly missing a wide ray of neon green energy. The man roars and turns his attention back on his wife, ripping a bus shelter bench from its trappings and chucking it in her direction.

“Not if I don’t kill you FIRST!”

Sliding down a lamp post, Chat scurries over to where Marinette is squatting behind the stand and takes point, leading them both around the corner and into relative safety, “What’s going on?”

Marinette squints at him and hesitates for a moment before responding, “They take away your senses. He takes sight and she takes hearing!”

Chat blinks but doesn’t comment on the way she seems to be speaking louder than normal, “What have you tried so far?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette replies, her eyes widening, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I said, what have you tried so far?”

Marinette nods her head, “Oh! I’ve tried to turn them on each other but they’re too fast. I’m going to have to use lucky charm.”

“Okay…” Chat trails off, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Marinette blinks owlishly and takes his hand, “Let’s go.”

She drags him back around the bend and plucks her yoyo from her belt, releasing it and spinning it at her side. With the married couple far too distracted in their quest to maim each other, Chat takes a defensive position in front and waits as Marinette flings her yoyo into the air, calling upon her lucky charm. In typical Chat Noir style, he chances a glance backwards to see what had landed in her arms and smirks, shaking his head at the mirror lying there.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he chuckles, turning back to the quarreling duo. The civilians had long since cleared the area, the police and fire department waiting on the wings. They’d been reduced to crowd control long ago, knowing full well they were no match for the supernatural beings Le Papillon made it a habit to create.

Marinette weighs the handle carefully in her hand and flips it around a few times. Flexing her wrist, she faces the reflective part forwards and runs full tilt towards her assailants, “Stay here!”

“Ladybug, hold up!”

She doesn’t respond as she ducks in behind the bus shelter, ignoring his repeated calls as she peeks around the tinted glass. The man shoots another ray of neon light from his palms at his estranged wife and bellows when she cartwheels out of the way.

“Would you just SHUT UP already?”

“Would you just DISAPPEAR?”

Scooting in around them, Chat takes advantage of their momentary distraction with each other to check their bodies for the possessed items. Their power seems to emanate directly from their hands, their left one specifically, but they seem to be able to transfer it to both if they press their palms together. Squinting, Chat can see the way their wedding rings seem to pulsate with energy every time they hurl insults at each other and Chat doesn’t have to grasp at straws to come to his conclusion.

“It’s the rings!” he shouts from across the boulevard, his voice carrying over the racket. The couple pause and turn their attention to him, revving their energies across their fingers.

“Mind your own business Cat!” the man roars, launching another wave of raw power. Chat dodges it easily and glances over to the alcove where Marinette had been hiding, finding it empty. He uses his forward momentum to throw himself onto his back and slides between the fighting couple, ducking out of the way in the hopes of one of their beams cross firing and hitting the other.

“Sound to me like you couldn’t keep your business in your pants,” Chat quips back, scrambling onto all fours and darting away, smirking at the woman’s overjoyed reaction.

“See?” she cackles snidely, nearly clipping the man with her powers in the process, “Even Chat Noir is on my side.”

The akumatized man’s response is a wordless howl of rage, his pupils constricting to pinpoints as his gaze flicks between Chat and his star-crossed wife. His face contorts in a snarl as his left hand snaps out, acid green light firing from his palm towards his erstwhile partner, who’s hand comes up to shield her eyes even as she tries to dodge away.

Marinette chooses this moment to spring forward from behind the shelter and runs full tilt at her assailants, glass in hand. Chat’s eyes blow wide as she darts directly towards the beam, her arms outstretched to intercept the energy with the handheld mirror, forceful and determined. However, the akumatized woman is still in motion, her hand blocking her vision as she moves, sending beams of light that knock everything awry.

“LADYBUG!” Chat screams, desperately trying to warn his partner of the impending collision. She doesn’t appear to hear him, and Chat frantically wonders if she was already struck previously and he hadn’t realized it, or if she’s simply hyper-focused and not paying attention to anything else.

Regardless, his cry goes unheeded and Marinette and the woman slam into each other, their combined momentum sending them crashing in a tangle of limbs. The woman stumbles forward, slamming face first into the concrete as she trips.

Ladybug, however….

The beam hits her like a tidal wave, sending her sprawling backwards into the air. Abruptly, the bus shelter breaks her fall and she slumps forwards, bracing herself on her hands and knees as she scrabbles for purchase, viciously rubbing her eyes. Chat tears over to her with a speed he didn’t even realise he was capable of and gathers her into his arms, the severity of the situation dawning on him. Potentially deaf and blind and running on borrowed time, Chat scoops her up over his shoulder with one hand, grabs her yoyo and mirror in the other and runs for his life.

“Crapcrapcrapcrap,” he repeats the mantra, sprinting into an alleyway several meters away. Even with his super strength, he can’t leap up onto the rooftops without his baton so he shoves her yoyo into her empty hand and braces the mirror’s handle in between his teeth. He snatches the baton from the small of his back as the couple looms closer, their shouts gaining strength and volume as they near the mouth of the alley and Chat wills the baton to extend, shooting them both skyward.

He sprints across the rooftops for a good twenty seconds before dropping her onto her haunches in a shaded alcove. Scrambling, he takes the yoyo from her hand and clips in onto her belt himself, watching her helplessly as tears pour from her eyes. He waves his hands in front of her nose and she doesn’t react, not to the way he snaps his fingers near her ears nor the sound of his voice.

“I can’t see!” she yells, waving her arms around until she finally grasps one of his wrists, “I can’t see!”

“I can see that,” he rasps, taking his hands and cupping her cheeks. The gesture does little to solve her panic attack, her blue eyes roving sightlessly back and forth and Chat can’t help but panic along with her, swiping the tears from her cheeks.

He starts swearing again, settling on his knees in front of her. Her earrings are on their last pip and although she can’t hear it, he knows she must sense her waning energy with the way she tries to shake him off and curl in on herself. He can’t help but let her, his heart breaking at the anguish playing out on her features, of the desperation in her eyes as her detransformation takes hold.

The magic tingles across her skin and only muscle memory has Marinette reaching towards where Tikki normally falls as she struggles not to hyperventilate. A warm weight drops into her hands and she’s left sitting there, feeling curiously naked and terrifyingly vulnerable, unable to do anything except hold her breath and clutch Tikki to her chest in a futile effort to hide.

The feel of something touching her bare hands is a jolt to the system, too much and not enough all at once. His long fingers slide over hers, his gloved palms coming to rest along the backs of her cupped hands and they squeeze hers gently as Chat mimics her gesture. Tikki’s weight leaves her and Chat’s familiar hands are pulling her trembling fingers out and up, towards where she knows his face must be. His hands bump hers uncertainly against his nose, shifting his grip to grasp her fingertips and press them up where his eyes are. They trace the lines of his mask up, burying themselves in his hair and she pulls him to her chest like a landline, like an anchor is a sea of silence and black.

“I can feel you purr,” she gasps, clutching him harder. She can sense his breath ghost against her neck as he settles against her, wrapping his arms around her middle, “I can feel my voice.”

He nods against her and she revels in the motion, finally finding something to hold onto, “Squeeze once for yes and twice for no.”

He squeezes once and the tension in her body dissolves marginally, her breaths evening ever so slightly, “Are they still fighting?”

Squeeze.

“Did you get my lucky charm?”

Squeeze.

“Did you figure out what the possessed item is?”

Squeeze.

“What is it?”

His purr falters for a moment as he wraps his free hand around one of her fingers, “Marriage ring. Obvious.”

Squeeze.

He resumes his characteristic rumble, quelling some of the anxiety inside her. She knows her voice is still quivering, the tears she can’t quite control still dribbling down her cheeks. She’s grateful he’s not watching, his face comfortably burrowed into her chest instead, “Chat…”

He squeezes her and settles to the side, doing something she can’t quite decipher, “Do…do you know who I am?”

Of course he knows who she is but that doesn't stop her from wondering, doesn't stop her from wanting to hear it from him even though she can't. He squeezes again and it feels like she's shrinking.

“Are you...okay? With…”

There's a flurry of movement, too much to decipher and categorise and he's suddenly pressing his lips against her forehead, her temples, her cheeks. He feathers kisses against the bridge of her nose, the crease of her chin and lips, pressing reassurances into her skin. She can't help but start crying again, overwhelmed and vulnerable and helpless, knowing full well it'll be up to him to solve this. She hadn't aimed the mirror right and she'd failed them and—

“I’m sorry.”

He presses his lips against hers and takes her lower lip between his teeth, biting it as a warning. She huffs a pathetic laugh against him, tugging her own ponytails in a mixture of frustration and fear, “We've got to go back.”

Squeeze.

“Is Tikki eating?”

Squeeze.

“Good, I always pack a few extra in the front pocket of my backpack if she wants more.”

There's a flutter against her skin, Tikki’s tiny paws tapping a rhythm against her cheeks. She leans into the feeling and draw confidence from her, trying to breathe. She presses one hand against the brick behind her and uses her other to search for his hand, finding it easily.

“Use the mirror to reflect his power against him to stop him from talking. Tikki? Let him use my yoyo. I don’t know if you can because I can’t even communicate—” she rubs her hands across her face, “Just let him, okay? If he can tie him up, Chat can capture at least one of the rings and…ugh, I don’t even know what I’m talking about, I can’t see!”

Chat glances over to where he’s placed the mirror against the brick facade and lets Marinette crush him to her chest again, her breaths ragged and uneven.

Blinking carefully, he cranks his neck upwards, “Have you ever done this before?”

“Oh, Chat Noir and Ladybug have traded tools now and then,” Tikki says carefully, hovering just above his nose, “I’ll try my best to help you out.”

“That’s all I can ask for I guess,” he takes a deep breath, “Alright. Marinette transforms, I bring her back, I use the yoyo to get the man out of the picture...then what?”

“You’ll find a way.”

“See, this is why Ladybug makes the plans,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and hopes that Marinette can’t feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves, “That’s what I do you know? People tell me what to do, I do it.”

“Calm down Adrien,” Tikki responds, settling in front of him, “Have faith in yourself. Marinette has never needed you to be the best version of yourself more than right now.”

Chat closes his eyes, “How long have you known it was me?”

“Since the beginning,” she shrugs, “It’s the smell.”

“The smell?”

“Who else would carry camembert in their backpack? That, and Plagg doesn’t exactly grasp the meaning of subtlety.”

“Preaching to the choir,” he mutters, watching the red and black kwarmi fetch another cookie from Marinette’s sack, “Does she know?”

“Marinette?” Tikki’s laugh sounds like the wind chimes on the porch of his home in Saint Barths, “Of all the Ladybugs I’ve chosen, she’s certainly the most…imaginative. The two of you are drawn to each other like a moth to a flame and yet…” Tikki shakes her head, “When she does realise who you are, she’ll kick herself for weeks.”

“It’s a good thing she can’t hear us right now,” Chat hums, Marinette’s fingers tangling themselves in his hair again. His ears spread sideways, oddly attached his head as they are, and she gently scratches at his scalp, “She’d kill us both.”

“Ladybugs are known for their perseverance, even if it sometimes comes off as stubbornness, just as the Chat Noir’s I’ve had the pleasure of knowing are known for their recklessness,” she takes another bite of her cookie and chews thoughtfully, “While your flaws may characterise you, they certainly don’t define you.”

“You’re so much nicer to talk to than Plagg. Why couldn’t I have gotten you instead?”

Tikki smiles, “You’re not the first Chat Noir to tell me that either.”

“Can we trade for a day? I have a really nice garden.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tikki polishes off the last piece, having saved the bite with the chocolate chunk for last, “I’m sure Marinette would get along with Plagg splendidly. She has a soft spot for cats.”

Chat blushes as Tikki buzzes away, leaving him to his partner’s ministrations. He can practically hear her thinking, her eyebrows furrowed in both concentration and frustration, her eyes open and blank, “Tikki, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Chat sits up and tugs her to her feet, tapping on her earrings. She nods and Chat stands back, watching in awe as Tikki disappears into the burst of light that seems to swallow her, pulsating and compressing until it finally releases, sending red sparks up and around every which way. She holds her pose of confidence for a fleeting moment and takes a deep, heaving breath, holding out her hands.

Chat guides her forwards and turns around, pressing his back to her chest. Reaching to pat the outside of her thighs, Marinette gets the hint and climbs up onto him, wrapping her arms and legs around his neck and torso. With his hands now free, he takes the mirror in his left and his baton in his right and begins tearing across rooftops, easily tracing his steps back to the battle at hand.

“Alright,” he mutters, talking to no one in particular, “I’ve got to put you down somewhere.”

Extending his baton, Chat slides to the cobbles below and sits her down on the nearest bench, far enough out of harm’s way but still close enough to keep an eye on. Vaguely, he can hear the buzz of the crowd as he brushes his hand over her hair and forehead, leaning down to press a quick kiss against her lips. He traces his fingers down her neck, shoulder and arm until they come to rest around her waist, his claws clipping the yoyo to free it from her belt.

“Take it,” she unholsters it for him and presses it into his palms, “Just think about what you want it to do and it will follow.”

“Just like the baton,” he mutters to himself, eyeing the tool apprehensively. Slipping the string around his finger, he squeezes her shoulder one last time and heads forwards, the lucky mirror and yoyo in hand.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls from across the boulevard, his tone light and teasing despite the heaviness in his chest. He keeps on his toes, dodging a splay of acid green light from the husband as the wife eagerly waves back, “Care to strike a deal?”

The telltale glow of butterfly wings hovers over her eyes and cheeks, distracting her for a moment, “Give me your Miraculous and then we'll talk.”

“Absolutely,” he smiles, sidestepping another attack by the husband, “But I can offer you something even better.”

The wife steps closer, ignoring her soon to be ex husband's jealous, enraged roar, “Yeah? What's that?”

“A chance to punch your husband in the face,” he winks, skirting closer, “All I need is for us to work together. What do you think?”

“I like the sound of that,” she smirks, eyes glowing red with her powers, “Shall we?”

“You SLUT!”

“Says the man with TWO WIVES!”

Chat grimaces, “Looks like she cat you red handed.”

Furious, the man howls and Chat hands the mirror over to the woman with a flick of his wrist, “What’s this for?”

“Reflect his power back at him, I’ll do the rest,” he replies, sprinting forward. Sliding to a stop, he keeps on his toes and weaves back and forth between every one of his sloppy punches and strikes.

“That’s MY WIFE,” he snarls, kicking out with his foot. Chat deflects him easily, squatting down to dodge a beam of light.

“I have a great repurr with the ladies,” he taunts, dancing just outside of his personal space. Skirting to the right, he aims his body so as to make sure his next blast heads for the wife, “I’ve been told I’m a regular catsonova.”

“AAAAUUUGHHH!!!”

Ducking, Chat flattens himself to the cobblestones and closes his eyes as the blazing ray of light skyrockets overhead and promptly beams back like neon boomerang. It smacks the husband like a freight train, the force of his own power sending him sprawling up into the air and into a neighbouring storefront, smashing its windows. Swearing and praying to every deity he can come up with, Chat throws the yoyo with all the force he can manage and hopes it wraps around his prey.