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deleteddewewted · 3 years ago

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Hey comadre! I saw you asked for a fluff request, and I came to deliver 💜 I think you might be intrigued by the idea!

Shinsou who has been bullied his whole life, with the bullying growing harsher his middle school years. When he begins his high school life in UA, he remains distant, not allowing himself for others to get close to him, and for them to hurt him, because he has developed that trauma. He then successfully transfers over to the Hero Course, and his seat partner is the chubby/curvy girl of the class. She is friendly and welcoming towards him, but he remains to give her the cold shoulder, although he saw her intentions genuine, but he still keeps his guard up. She then goes and sits with him during lunch, her explaining that she understands why he gives off the cold shoulder to his peers. She explains she has underwent being bullied herself, by her weight and such. She tells him that as time passed, she learned to love and accept herself for who she is, and offers to help Shinsou in a similar manner. To help him learn to trust people and she asks if he puked accept her as a friend. He accepts and their friendship grows, with him starting to develop feelings for her, and wants to spend more time with the person who saved him from his own troubles 💗

My heart and soul needed this, thank you comadre!💜

(I may or may not have used some of my personal experience being body shamed in here so....yeah, thats your heads up.)

Misery and Company

Emo/Himbo Shinsou x F! Reader (Reverse Comfort)

TW: Mentions of bullying, Mentions of Body Shaming, Leading on

He remembered the constant laughter that was present in his life. Everyone would assumed it was a great childhood but to him, to someone like him, it was never the paradise that it was thought to be. The laughter was at him not with him. Kids pointed their fingers towards him and blamed him for all of the problems that would happen throughout the school day.

“I didn’t do it!” As a child, he didn’t know any better. He assumed that he could scream and yell like every other kid and be listened to. He found out quickly that he didn’t get that right. The teacher quickly told him off and called his parents. They came to pick him up from school and started to ask all kinds of questions. Did your quirk go off? Why did you do it? Is it that hard to listen? He didn’t bother to try to make connections after that. Friends were a waste of time. A liability. An opportunity to suffer unnecessarily.

When Shinsou reached middle school he suffered from the increase of villain comments. His quirk became the center of attention, it didn’t matter if he had good grades or was nice to people. His quirk was the focus, always was.

“You can get away with everything you want!” He’s heard that one about a million times already. It always managed to irritate him how much people cared about what he did with it. He hated the eyes. The voices. It only made his internal monologue become aggressive with himself. The constant reminder that he was less than the others for being born with a quirk that used people. It made him want to scream his head off.

“Yeah, I’m aware. Um, can we stop talking about it now?” He wasn’t a pushover but he knew that he could just say what he wanted. He purposefully asked a question to get the other student to stop talking without using his quirk. The last tithing he wanted was for someone to accuse him of using his quirk on them.

That night, Shinsou worked on his homework at his desk. His parents were away on a work trip so he had the entire house to himself. He looked at the time and groaned when he realized it was already one in the morning. He walked into his bathrooms and looked for his toothbrush. When he looked up at the mirror, ready to brush his teeth, he couldn’t help and stare at himself. His eyes held bags under them, dark and heavy as if he hadn’t slept in days. The faint smudging of the eyeliner he put on only making his eyes look even worse. He was tired and alone. His parents weren’t there to comfort him and with his quirk making it difficult to connect with others, he had no one to speak with other than himself. He dropped his hand down and just stared at his reflection. The image became hazy as he continued to stare back at it.

His face felt warm. He couldn’t stop the river that flowed down his face. He didn’t ask for his quirk, he also didn’t ask to be born. Shinsou couldn’t stop the rattling within his chest nor the stuttered gasps as he tried to breathe. He looked up at his reflection again, this time noticing the red and swollen eyes that belong to him. That night, Shinsou laid down to sleep on top of the covers and stared blindly at the uncovered window. He vowed to never become attached again. Not to classmates, not to family, and definitely not any possible friends.

Going to UA was a dream come true for him, the ability to be closer to your heroic dreams was closer than ever, but not for him. Shinsou had to watch as the heor course students acted like entitled brats, everyone in the school bowing to them like they were some great thing. He hated watching them boast, hated everything about them, to be honest. He wanted nothing to do with them, so why did they want something to do with him?

“Uh, sorry but I was wondering if you’d like to sign this petition?” Shinsou looked up from the book he was reading and stared straight towards the holder of the voice. It was a short chubby girl with a clipboard in her hands. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his answer to her question.

“No thanks.”

“It’s for a local shelter, it’ll help abused and abandoned pets find a good home-” Shinsou wanted to be left alone. He sighed out loud and closed his book while rubbing his eyes, the eyeliner smudging.

“I said no. Now leave me alone.” Shinsou watched as the girl flinched at his annoyed voice.

“S-sorry, I’ll just leave you alone.” She quickly walked away from him, nearly entering a jog as she left him behind. Shinsou couldn’t help but become disappointed with himself. The girl was being nice to him and he snapped at her. She wasn’t even benign annoying, he just felt tired. He could hear how some people around him mumbled about the exchange he packed his things up and left towards his class.

He did see the girl again from time to time. He found out she was in the hero course and that she was in the A class as well. He would spot her on occasion but he did interact with her during his hero course admissions test. She wore her hero costume with pride and honestly, he had to look away for a moment, she looked like power itself. He couldn’t help feel intimidated in her presence. She didn’t come up to him yet so he had to come up to her. He intended on apologizing for his behavior a few months back, he didn’t mean to snap at her and he never found the opportunity to do so.

You watched as the indigo-haired boy awkwardly made his way towards your group. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes but instead focused on the floor below him.

“Hi, I’m Shinsou Hitoshi.” He extended his hand out to you but you just stared at him like he grew a second head. He felt awkward again, he was expecting you to at least call him a dick but the silence made his stomach become tight.

��Nice to meet you Shinsou, I’m L/n Y/n.” You felt bad for being quiet for too long, you couldn’t help it. He was really pretty to look at especially since he wore eyeliner that sharpened the appearance of his eyes.

“Oh, uh yeah. I um, wanted to apologize for my attitude a while back. It was rude of me and uhh, I know that saying I was in a mood isn’t a good excuse but-”

“It’s fine, I get it. I can be annoying so it’s ok.” You gave him a bright smile and a clap on the back of his shoulder.

He tensed when he felt the heat of your hand on him, he couldn’t help but lean slightly into it. His ears reddened and not wanting to embarrass himself more than he did already, he quickly pulled his mask up to cover his ears and face.

“No- yeah- I mean no, you- you weren’t annoying, I was just in a mood and it accidentally let it out on you. Sorry about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you briefly. You just smiled at him again and got closer to his person.

“Hey, do you mind if i-” You grabbed the bottom part of his mask and pulled it down slightly, your face closer than ever before to his own. He stopped breathing as you got closer, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about his breath. He smelled like coffee and for some reason, it made him feel embarrassed if you were to found out about his dependency of it.

You reached out with your pinky and brushed some of the black flakes of his eyeliner away from his upper cheek. You blended the smudged eyeliner on the bottom of his eye out and pulled his mask up again to cover his face.

“There! Just wanted to clean up your makeup. It’s really well done, by the way, wish I could do my own eyeliner as clean as your own. Do you wear eyeshadow on the bottom lid or is it just eyeliner with you?” You weren’t mocking him for his dressing and styling choices, many of his old classmates did.

He told you about what products he uses and yes, he did use eyeshadow for his bottom lid. You just smiled at him and occasionally added what you used. He enjoyed talking to you, you were nice to him and allowed him to speak his mind. He couldn’t help but want to know more about you. Unfortunately, your conversation had to come to an end since his group was the first one up, but you both agreed to talk after all matches were over.

His second year at UA was better but he still felt awkward around everyone. Everyone, discluding Bakugou, was nice to him. You especially made it your duty to be around him all the time. He enjoyed your company but he found himself still pushing away from him at times. The constant lingering feeling of possible betrayal being prominent in all of your interactions. It didn’t matter how many times you helped him do his makeup or how many times he did your own, didn’t matter if he showed you his favorite video games to play, nor if he introduced you to his parents and had you in his room playing those same games with him for hours. He was still nervous, paranoid that you’ll stab him in the back. Scared that you’ll turn around and show your true colors. That you’ll take everything you know about him and tell everyone so you could all mock him again.

Shinsou, due to his fears, started to pull away from you. No more hanging out with him, no more doing each other’s makeup, no more eating lunch together. Shinsou ignored you every time you tried to speak with him, always turning himself away from you or being rude in some manner. It did discourage you at times, made you feel like you were back in middle school with the cute guys in your grade only speaking with you to make fun of your interests afterward. You thought that maybe he was going to be different but you guessed not. You kept away from him as you processed the situation but that also gave you the chance to watch him. You noticed that instead of sitting with your guy’s other classmates he would op to sit on his own within the cafeteria at a faraway table or somewhere else. You noticed that he not only avoided you but the rest of your classmates. He was back to how he was in his first year.

You couldn’t keep watching him be alone again, you didn’t want to leave him alone. You made up your mind and made your way towards Shinsou. He was sitting outside of the cafeteria eating his lunch while reading a book that was placed on his lap. He looked tense as he continued to read and nervous at any sound that made itself known. You felt bad for him, from what he told you about his own school experience, more of the lack of, you assumed that he was bullied for his quirk. He never used it on you and he never spoke much about it. He never gave you any details and never told you how his quirk activities, he just avoided the conversation entirely but he was always excited to listen to your own though.

“Shinsou.” You watched as the male jumped in his spot on the floor and direct himself towards you.

“Shinsou, can we talk for a bit?” He averted his eyes and began to pick his things from the floor, shaking his head as he did.

“N-no, sorry. I have to go-” You got in his way and crouched down to meet him at eye level.

“I know you have nowhere to be at. Please, talk to me for a bit.” You placed your hand on his own and stared at him. Shinsou didn’t want to meet your eyes. He didn’t want to see the disgust in them or the hatred you felt for him.

What he didn’t expect was for you to place your hand on his cheek and gently guide his gaze to your own. His eyes were wide and watery, he didn’t understand why you were being so gentle, so kind with him. Didn’t you want to be angry with him? Your own eyes were soft, a small smile present on your face.

“Shinsou, what’s wrong?” Your voice was gentle and your touch never leaving him. He took in a breath and spilled everything and all of his troubles to you. Once he finished, he was welcomed by a hug.

You pulled him into your own body and shared your warmth with him. You gently brushed his wild hair as you allowed him to cry to his heart’s content. He needed someone to listen to him, someone who would just let him talk. You were that person for him. Once he felt better, he pulled away from your person and rubbed his eyes. His eyeliner was running and smudging severely on his face. He pouted slightly at his destroyed makeup but then looked at your uniform. You had black smears all over your jacket and shirt.

“I-i’m sorry L/n. I didn’t mean to ruin your uniform.” You just chuckled and shook your head at him.

“It’s fine Shinsou, you needed to let it all out.” He began to take deeper breaths and eventually sat next to you. His head gently laying on top of your own.

“It… it was frustrating you know? I thought that I was the problem and I still feel like I am at times.”

“I get what you mean, I also had to deal with bullies.” Shinsou lifted his head and looked at you confused. You had to deal with bullies? Why? You were nice to everyone, why would anyone want to hurt you?

“I think it’s obvious as to why Shinsou.” Shit, did he say that out loud?

“Yes, you did.” You gave him another smile and took his hand. You compared him to your own. Your hand was smaller than his own but it was rounder, chubbier, just like the rest of you. You found it adorable how different the both of you were.

“I’m overweight, man. People tend to hold a preconceived idea of what overweight people are like.” Shinsou still couldn’t understand.

“So? Why would anyone bully you for something you don’t have all that much control over?”

“Because they’re mean. It’s a power trip for them.” You began to play with his fingers, taking note of the muscles that you weren’t aware existed within them.

“I used to have a crush on this guy and for the longest time, my classmates made fun of me because of it. They always said that I was too fat for him or that id hurt him if I leaned onto him. Typical mean comments about my appearance and how I was unloved.” Shinsou began to frown and got closer to you. His body heat becoming a welcoming presence to you as you recounted your own struggles.

“Then one day he asked me to hang out with him. We ate lunch together and we spent time together. I thought he was interested in me just like I was interested in him. He once got close to my face and made it look like he was about to kiss me before reaching for something behind me. We laughed it off as an accident but I noticed the small blush on his face. I was excited.” You pressed on each of his fingernails and wiggled his fingers in between your pointer and thumb.

“I thought that this was it, he liked me back. Our school dance came and everyone was asking out their dates for it. I thought he was going to ask me to go with him but that didn’t happen. He pulled me towards him in the middle of class with everyone watching us, a lot of the other girls were jealous of me because of it.” You noticed the chipped nails polished on his nails and began to scratch it off.

“He cupped my face and pulled me closer to him. We were going to kiss.” You stopped playing with Shinsous hand. Your hand falling onto the ground limply.

“He gripped my face and pushed me away saying “Did you really think id like you? You’re such a joke L/n.” ” You pulled away from Shinsou, your hand rested on your lap instead of anywhere near his.

“I felt so alone, so gross, so….fat. It hurt but it was made worse because it was in front of everyone. Everyone saw how he treated me and made fun of me. No one did anything, not even as I ran away crying. Instead, I got comments about my weight. I got called some really mean names that day and the following. I didn’t go to my school’s dance, I didn’t want to be made fun of again.” You didn’t hear a thing from Shinsou. He just sat there looking at you like you were crazy.

“Their assholes.”

“I know.” You looked at him and smiled. He came closer to you, grabbing your hand from your lap and interlacing them in one another.

“But I don’t feel like that anymore. I don’t care is a better way to phrase it. People can have their opinions, either nice or mean. I can’t dictate that.” Shinsou scooted closer to you as you continued talking.

“But I can dictate the way I think about myself and the people I want to be around me.” Shinsou couldn’t help himself anymore.

He leaned in towards you and placed his hand on your cheek. His lips gently pressing onto your own and unmoving. You felt your heart fluttered but it quickly turned to amusement. He just pressed his lips to yours and wasn’t moving, He wasn’t moving. He had his eyes closed and pressed into you, it was beginning to bruise your lips. You pulled back slightly and looked at his face. He had his lips still puckered and his eyes closed. You giggled and quickly kissed him again before he pulled away. You on the other hand did move and deepened the kiss.

Shinsous heart soured as you kissed him back, his lips no longer hurting but feeling gently caressed by your own. He couldn’t help the small gasps that escape him nor the way he pulled you closer to him. When the two of you parted, Shinsou looked at you with sleepy eyes. He wanted this and he wanted more.

“I like you L/n.”

“I like you too Shinsou.”

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notallwonder · 2 years ago

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Watching the new episodes of Criminal Minds: Evolution again.

Under a Read More for those avoiding spoilers.

+ Point of clarification: did they retcon that JJ & Will never moved to New Orleans, or are we to believe they moved away then back at some point? -> answered in Ep 2 Will says "since we got back".

+ Garcia's "I used to be good at that" re: putting on English mannerisms made me smile bc callback to when Emily was at Interpol

+ Luke is a sweet sweet guy. I like him a lot, though to be honest I don't pay that much attention to him (because my attention is elsewhere *cough* Prentiss).

+ something really rubs me the wrong way about those "hers" antidepressant ads. They seem kind of creepy / dystopian?

+ I hope we get to know some of Penelope's new friends a bit.

+ it still really cracks me up that Garcia uses such tricked out GUIs on her computer. That shit takes up RAM and makes everything hard to see. Because computer nerd on (network) TV. But also, good for her.

+ the whole SOAR concept is too funny. No one born before the millennium has access besides PG? Does she code and maintain the whole thing all by herself (obvs not)? Are the engineers also only 22 and younger? (this would become a legal issue of ageism in hiring!) Also "unhackable"...so there's some kind of elaborate and potentially invasive verification system to prevent catfish accounts? Really. And once you age out of SOAR are you just thrown to the 30-50 feral hogs with the rest of us?

+ EMILY PRENTISS YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS SHOWSTOPPING I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

+ second time around I continue to appreciate AJ Cook's well muscled shoulders.

+ I'm very happy they got Zach Gilford for this role. Who knows if the writing will ultimately be good (lmao), but he has the range.

+ Director Noodle at it again, throwing a tantrum because Emily Prentiss did not bow to his will. Section Chief Foxiest Silver Fox does not simply roll over and obey (in her professional life at least).

+ lmao the not-an-Oscar-Wilde-quote quote attribution is so unnecessarily dumb

+ Emily & Tara are a great duo. Friends, crime-fighters, (etc!), they just stand up well to one another. The vibes are fabulous. It's the dynamic closest to what Emily had with Derek, that comfortable teasing and trust.

+ also noting that Tara asks Emily if she knows Rebecca Wilson, and apparently she does - enough to know she's at the DOJ. Perhaps they've worked on case(s) together before. Orrrrr maybe they met at some LGBTQ Feds networking event. 😏 Emily does give her a very warm smile when Rebecca shows her face at the BAU.

+ The way Zach Gilford asked unsub #2 "are you disobeying me?"............I don't know, it made my ears perk.

+ in the Garcia / Rossi scene, there is much to enjoy. The insight into Garcia's mindset. Rossi's resigned "I did. I kept falling asleep." I can't help but laugh at PG fully saying "Licensed Clinical Social Worker." I appreciate the specificity, but it's a whole mouthful!

+ fucked up that Garcia's login credentials still work. Any self respecting agency would make you change your password every 3-6 months at least, not to mention she's No Longer Employed There. But who needs real administrative mess when you can have loony toons (plot-based) administrative mess?!

+ Tara wearing a lot of plaid and window pane patterns. Aside from the obvious, it's just a nice costuming choice that remains kind of conservative but sets her apart from the others.

+ Most of the wardrobe is in blues and browns and grays. I wonder if this will change as time goes on (i.e. will Garcia bring the color back) or if that's going to remain through the whole season.

+ Okay, but did y'all also catch the weird look that Rebecca & Luke exchanged in this briefing room scene? It seemed like more than "close the door". Is there some kind of history there?

+ Oh this show is so silly!!!!! So silly, and it still makes me happy. Incredible.

#cm spoilers #criminal minds spoilers #cme spoilers #criminal minds evolution spoilers #cm16 spoilers #spoilers #so many spoiler tags #cm16 #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution

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duuhrayliegh · 4 years ago

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Hello, darling! I was wondering if you could right some Bucky x reader, where the reader worked along Sharon during Civil War and she meets Bucky. Then she runs always with Sharon and meets Bucky again in Madripoor and continue their story. I hope that makes sense. Thank yooouuuu✨✨✨

hey babes!! yes i absolutely can! i kind of gave more background than i meant to making it way longer, but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i do want to continue this story and most definitely will be so be on the lookout for the other parts of it lovie <3. i hope you still enjoy it even though it isn’t quite what you asked for yet :)

A Friend of Yours

FATWS SPOILERS

warnings: not much, canon lvl violence, some suggestive stuff closer towards to end, language, i think that’s it

word count: 6140 i went a bit overboard, it’s fine i’m totally fine

a/n: i got this request and then didn’t stop writing all day. i didn’t get anything else done all day. i got home at like seven-ish? and i’ve been sitting on the floor of my bedroom just writing this fic (for context it is now 12:47 pm where i’m at)

check out A Friend of Yours - pt. 2 and A Friend of Yours - pt. 3

p.s.: this is the first fic that i’m writing with an actual ‘x reader’ i’m so proud

xoxo ray

ray’s m.list

******************************

You grew up with Sharon, the two of you were best friends from birth it seemed. Honestly, Peggy raised you more than your own parents did. When Aunt Peggy got Sharon her first thigh holster, she got you one too. You enlisted together, moved up the ranks together, everything. So, it was of no shock to anyone that after the fall of SHIELD, you both moved together into the CIA’s Joint Terrorism Task Force.

You were inside the hotel with Sharon, Steve and Sam when the bombing on the UN took place. The look of unbridled fear that fell over Steve’s face as they announced Barnes as the primary suspect was heart wrenching. You weren’t able to watch it for long because your phone was already ringing off the hook.

“Look, you need to get me more information, and now.” You gritted into your phone speaker before quickly hanging up the phone and turning to a crestfallen Steve who was still watching the news casting. Sharon ended her phone call and turned to you.

“We have to go to work.” A few short hours on a jet later, you and Sharon were coordinating the operation. Close by, Steve and Sam were awaiting new information. Steve had this insane plan to find Barnes before the whole rest of the world did. Like that’s going to happen, it took the world 70 years to find Barnes. Of course, Steve and Sam are going to find him in about half that time.

You followed the blonde woman into a busy coffee shop and up to the counter. She slid a manila folder over to a well disguised Captain America. “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everyone thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it’s just noise, except this.” Sharon was talking quietly, trying to not draw attention to the fact that she was committing a serious offense.

“We have to give the briefing, like now Shar, so we have to go.” The two of you pushed off the counter and you turned quickly to say one last thing. “And you better hurry. They’ve given the order to shoot on site.”

You left the shop quickly and made your way back to the white tent, passing the redheaded spy who was watching you like a hawk. A look of understanding crossed her features as you kept a calm facade. She fucking knows, how the hell could she read you that easily?

*********************************

The next time you saw any of them, they were exiting the back of an armored prison van. It was no surprise that his eyes flitted over to his best friend from childhood. You glanced over at Barnes, who was strapped in all different ways, and your heart hurt for him. You tried not to pity him, you know you would’ve gotten a slap on the wrist from Aunt Peggy about it.

Bucky must’ve felt you looking at him because his steel blue eyes locked with your pair. This was the first time that you’ve ever actually seen the man in person. It was startling, in a good way. You grew up going to the Smithsonian and hearing Aunt Peggy’s stories about the great James Buchanan Barnes. You never thought that you’d get the chance to meet the man you did a history report on your freshman year of high school.

“Y/N?” Sharon’s voice cut through your thoughts, recalling you to reality and out of your past. “We have to go. We’ve been assigned to monitor Steve and Sam while they’re here.” Sharon was clearly not a fan of this, which made you laugh loudly.

“Oh, score! We get to babysit Captain America and the Falcon!” You spoke in an unnecessarily upbeat voice and then clapped your hands together. “Our dream job! Let’s go, Shar!” She stared at you for a millisecond before slapping a hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s go, you fucking dork.” You followed her through the office building into the control room where you observed Tony talking to Steve. Apparently, the conversation was not going well because both their faces held angry glares. Eventually, Tony left the room, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and that can never be good.

“How you doing, Cap?” You asked as you less-than-gracefully plopped yourself into the chair across from him. He looked over at me and released a heavy sigh.

“Honestly, Y/N, not that great at the moment.” He looked at you with his iconic mom Steve stare. Wow, so that’s what it’s like to be on the receiving end of that. Sam walked in and sat next to you. You drowned out their conversation as your gaze focused on screens outside of the glass office.

The video feed of Barnes in his metal cage was displayed on a TV screen. How is this considered humane? Obviously you knew that the CIA had pushed boundaries in the past, but this was just insane. “Are those restraints really necessary?” Sam seemed to be just voicing his thoughts, not expecting a response back.

“Well, he is considered an international terrorist, so yeah, they’re kind of necessary.” You said quickly and then muttered under your breath, “No matter who thinks that it’s excessive.” Steve’s gaze met yours and he was about to speak when Sharon walked in and dropped a paper in front of Sam.

“The receipt for your gear.” A scoff sounded from Sam as he glared at Sharon.

“‘Bird costume’? Come on.” Always quick to defend your best friend.

“Hey, we didn’t write it up.” It came off snappier than you had meant it. Sharon shot you a look, signaling you to back off. You raised a brow at her as she leaned over the table to the intercom buttons.

The audio from Barnes’ evaluation echoed through the glass room. Everyone around you was unsuspecting the four of you listened in. The psychologist was talking to Barnes, who seemed incredibly closed off. Who could blame the guy though?

“I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?” The psychologist paused for a second, looking down and off to the side. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.” The caged man spoke for the first time.

“My name is Bucky.” His voice was rough from not being used. A look crossed Steve’s face and he turned to Sharon.

“Why would the Task Force release that photo to begin with?” Sharon’s body turned to face the man speaking to her. Her brows furrowed while she answered.

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Your head tilted, trying to follow Steve’s train of thought.

“Right. Good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” Oh shit.

“You’re saying someone framed him?” You wanted to believe it with every fiber in your being.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam reminded in a calm tone.

“Yeah, you didn’t bomb the UN though. That turns quite a few heads. Especially if prominent people like King T’Chaka end up dead because of it.” You made a good point, but there were still pieces missing.

“That doesn’t guarantee that they would find him. It guaranteed that we would.” Sharon and Steve began examining the room around them. Your attention returned to the audio emitting from the intercom.

“You fear that,“ the doctor paused, “if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don’t worry.” He glanced down again and moved his hand to swipe something away.

“Guys?” You pointed to the screen as the doctor held up his pointer finger.

“We only have to talk about one.” All of the sudden, the screens went dark and the lights flickered off. Secretary Ross was yelling at technicians to get his video back. Tony was speaking to his AI, Friday, about locating the source of the outage. Steve and Sam tensed at the thought of what could be going on with Barnes.

“Sub-level five, east wing.” was all Sharon said as the pair ran off. You looked at her and threw your hands in the air.

“What the hell do we do now, Shar?” She glared at you as she started reasoning with you.

“They’re stronger than we are. If they can contain whatever the hell is happening down there then great. In the event that they can’t, we’ll be up here with Natasha and Tony to deal with it.” You nodded quickly as you both ran out of the room.

You quickly followed Natasha, Tony and Sharon to the main level of the building. Clearly Steve and Sam were unsuccessful in containing the situation because Barnes could be seen through the glass, fighting his way to his destination.

Tony stunned Barnes with a previously concealed Iron Man glove. Barnes started towards Tony and quickly attacked. After Barnes bested Tony, it wasn’t long before Natasha rushed the man alongside Sharon. It wasn’t hard for Barnes to throw Sharon across the room. Natasha took the opportunity to launch herself onto his shoulders, which caused Barnes to slam her into a table with his metal hand wrapped around her neck.

She mumbled something to him as you kicked his ribs, releasing his chokehold on her. He stumbled backwards, his hard gaze landed on yours as he approached. Your eyes locked on his as the two of you traded blows.

They weren’t the same eyes as before. Those eyes were soft and remorseful, these were hard and unattached. There was no emotion behind the pair staring at you. The fraction of a second that you were analyzing his eyes in your head was enough for him to catch you off guard. His metal fist landed in your rib cage. The opposite hand jabbed at your face, busting your lip and sending you flying backwards.

You hit your head on the concrete below, making your eyes roll back. The wind left your lungs and you gasped to get it back as Barnes and T’Challa fought in the background. It was a few minutes later that a concerned Sharon made her way over to you.

“Are you okay?” You looked her over as she did you, checking for any severe injuries. You offered a small nod, not wanting to shake your head too much in fear of a concussion. “Let’s go check in with Ross.”

******************

“And how the hell did Rogers and Wilson even know where to find Barnes?” Ross’ voice boomed through the office. No one said anything, not wanting to incur the wrath of Secretary Ross. “I’ve already allowed Stark 36 hours to find them and bring them back here.” Ross turned to you and Sharon standing in the corner of the room. “If they contact any of you, report it immediately.” Rounds of ‘yes, sirs’ bounced around the room, then chaos ensued as everyone got back to trying to clean up this mess.

“Carter. Y/L/N. Elevator now.” He raised two fingers to point toward the elevators before walking into one. It was just the three of you in the enclosed space. He clicked the button for the ground floor. “I know you have some kind of connection to Rogers but do not let that cloud your judgement. The both of you are CIA agents first.”

“We understand, Secretary.” The elevator doors opened again and you went to step out when Ross stopped you again.

“I mean it, girls. This is your job on the line here.” You and Sharon shared a look before continuing walking. Did he just call us girls?

“Do you think that was supposed to be intimidating?” You laughed under your breath as you went out to the parking lot. Sharon sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Probably.” She looked at you over the top of her car. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“Where do we start?”

****************************

Getting that fucking shield and bird suit wasn’t easy. They had moved it from the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre to the US Embassy to await transport back to the States. It made it easier but still damn near impossible to get. Thankfully, you and Sharon are good liars. Skills of a misspent youth.

The two of you walked in the front door and displayed your badges. “We’re here to pick up Captain America and the Falcon’s effects.” The man behind the counter didn’t even question it. Man, they need better people at the Embassy.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you picked it up.” There it is. You both flicked a brow and Sharon held her hand out for the clipboard. Small scratches from the pen in her hand were echoing throughout the empty building.

She handed the clipboard back to the man behind the counter. “Okie dokie, just pull your car around to the side of the building and we’ll get you loaded up.” He shot them a small smile and turned around to file the papers.

“That was easy enough.” You whispered to Sharon as you left, not wanting your voice to carry. You walked to your car that was parked in front of the iron wrought gate. Pulling your car around to the side of the building, you popped the trunk. The gear clad Embassy soldier carelessly tossed Sam’s suit inside before gently placing the shield on top of it.

“Hey, if there’s a scratch on that suit, it’s coming out of your paycheck buddy.” You held your pointer finger up to the man’s unimpressed face.

“Y/N, let’s go. We’ve got to get these to the jet or Ross will have our heads. Remember it’s our job on the line here.” What Sharon said made you laugh big while hauling yourself back into the driver’s seat of the car. As you pulled out into the street, Sharon was typing away on her phone and pushing it to her ear.

“This is a secure line but I don’t know for how long, so don’t talk just listen.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “We want to help. Meet us under the bridge on Route 6. We’ll be there in two hours.” She ended the call quickly and threw the phone outside the car. Glancing over at you, she nodded and sighed again.

“We’ve gotten this far.” You had one question burning in your throat that you were afraid to ask.

“Where do we go after they’ve gone?” She looked at you and she was biting her lip, something she only did when she was incredibly stressed.

“I don’t know yet. Do you have any ideas?” You smiled and thought of the one place that you wouldn’t be followed.

“Yeah, I’ve got one, but it’s rough.”

***************************

The drive to the underpass wasn’t a hard one. You had beat the boys there so you and Sharon were sitting in the car. You had the radio playing softly in the background.

“Who the hell do you know in Madripoor?” You laughed and shrugged.

“I’m supposed to tell you all my secrets for free?” You shook your head and shifted in your seat to face her fully. “I was tasked with tracking some artwork down there. One of my assignments when we went through initiation for the Agency.” You picked at the holes in your jeans. “I thought it was just all fake stuff, but I researched it more and more. Turns out, the underground artwork dealing is really lucrative over there.”

Sharon stared at you in amazement. “What did you do, Y/N?” You smirked.

“I haven’t done anything.” You held her gaze, “Yet.” She released a small laugh and her mouth hung open a bit. “I may have a warehouse out there.” You squinted one of your eyes, and leaned forward. “And the apartment above it.” She was going to say something when an old ass blue Beetle pulled up behind you.

“Now how the fuck did they all fit in that tiny ass car?” You both laughed as you stepped out of the car with big smiles on your faces.

“Not sure you understand the concept of a getaway car.” Steve walked up to Sharon and they began talking as she popped the trunk, revealing their gear. Your attention was on the men in the car behind them. Barnes was stuck in the back away from cameras and Sam was lounging in the passenger seat. Your eyes met Barnes’ again, they were back to the remorseful pair you saw the first time.

“You know he kind of tried to kill us.” You waved your hand in gesture to the man in the car.

“Sorry, I’ll put it on the list too.” He glanced back down at Sharon, who had migrated closer to him. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

She nodded, “I know.” Then the most awkward kiss in all of kissing history took place. Your brows shot up then furrowed quickly, a small wince overtaking your face. They pulled apart and traded more words. Sharon began walking back to the passenger side of the car.

Steve turned around and you looked back at the two men in the car. Both of them were wearing proud, smug grins. Steve threw his head back as if he was berating them.

“About damn time, Cap! She’s been pining over you for God knows how long now.” The windows were down in the Beetle so the other two heard you shouting at their friend.

“Y/N!” Sharon was a bit embarrassed.

“What? It’s the truth, Shar!” The two of you began bickering like an old married couple as you started the car again. Steve got all he needed from the trunk and shut it quickly, slapping it twice. You began driving off with Sharon giving you directions to an airport on the opposite side of the country.

***********************

That was the last time you saw Steve. Last time you saw anyone for a while. You had been dusted in the Blip. Sharon had followed you to your apartment in Madripoor. The two of you were able to figure the city out pretty quickly. Learning the ins and outs of the island, where to go, who to sell to. One afternoon, you and Sharon had been surveying a Van Gogh piece for your gallery when you flew away. In the middle of a fucking deal, what perfect timing.

Five years later, you were reunited with an even more successful Sharon. “I kept your room the way you left it.” She said as she led you through your shared home. “I figured that you’d be back and you’d be pissed off if I fucked with anything.”

You smiled at the woman gratefully and hugged her. Neither of you let go for a while. When you did, she started filling you in on everything. She had continued to split all her profits and had been depositing the money into your account. “Even if you didn’t come back, I could’ve used it if I needed to bug out. Win-win.” She explained with a smile.

The two of you had about six months of getting back into the groove of things. It was quickly cut off by a ping of your phones one day. A look of confusion and anger crossed her face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” She locked eyes with you and told you to get your gear.

“Where are we going?” She threw her phone at you and you looked at the screen. As soon as you read the notification at the top of it you understood. Repeating your question from before, you tied the knots on your Converse. You followed Sharon to the Low Town side of the island.

“Now what the fuck are they doing here, do you think?” The two of you camped outside of the Brass Monkey nightclub, ready for whatever came your way. Deciding that you were too visible to everyone else, you moved to the building across from the club. Something is bound to go wrong and the first place they're going to get ran to is this dead end alley.

Sure enough, not even ten minutes later, Sam, Barnes, and Zemo got cornered in the alleyway. Sharon had decided to stay on the ground floor next to the door. You shot two of the assassins following the group of three and Sharon took out the final one.

You made your way back down to Sharon, who was still holding her gun up. “You cost me everything.” She focused her gun on Zemo.

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam remarked calmly, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Explains why you guys are here and Selby’s dead.” Your brows shot up at that, must of been new information that she got while you were upstairs.

“Why are you here, Sharon?” Sam questioned.

“She was one of the ones who stole Steve’s shield, remember?” You stepped forward, raising your gun to gesture to the men in front of you. “And the wings, so your ass,” you waved at Sam, “could save his ass,” at Barnes, “from his ass.” You lowered your gun and stepped in front of Zemo, staring the man down. Your fist balled and you launched it at Zemo, landing a solid hit to his cheekbone.

Barnes grabbed your hand, twisting your body to slot against his with your arm bent behind your back. He leaned close to your ear, breath making shivers trickle down your spine. “I only let you do that because I’ve wanted to for a while now, so don’t get any more ideas.” Your breath hitched because of the proximity of the man behind you.

“Alright, give me my Y/N back.” Sharon said, lowering her gun to holster it. Bucky held onto you for a few more seconds than necessary and then pushed you towards Sharon as he released you. You scoffed, then shoved your gun into the waistband of your jeans. Sam and Sharon had already started their own conversation by the time you calmed down enough to face Barnes.

Sharon bobbed her head to you, an unspoken language between the two of you. After bringing them into your home, Sam began admiring the artwork in the first floor gallery. “Looks like breaking the law is treating you two well.”

“Before even graduating into the Agency, I had a place over here. Never had any intention on using it, but here we are.” You started, “Then, after having to flee Berlin, for you,” You shot a look at Bucky, “we figured if we had to hustle, might as well enjoy the good life. Do you know how much we can get for a real Monet?”

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monet’s.” Sharon shot him a look, about to defend us when Zemo cut in.

“No. She means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. All the classics.” Sam made a face of disbelief.

“It’s true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.” Bucky gestured to the gallery. Sam pulled his phone out of his suit pocket.

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” He was typing furiously as he spoke. Bucky passed him, soundlessly following you and Sharon to the upstairs apartment.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?” Once the five of you got upstairs, Sharon began walking them into her office, telling them that they needed to change because we were hosting clients. It didn’t take long for the men to switch outfits. It was refreshing to see Barnes in something other than combat gear or a torn Henley. Sharon followed you in the office, making a remark at Sam while he apologised.

“Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right? The way you gave up that shield, deep down, you must know it’s all hypocrisy.” She said as you plopped yourself on one of the plush chairs across from the couch, holding a clear glass full of whiskey.

“He knows. And not so deep down.” Zemo added quietly, since when is Zemo informed? Sharon glazed over his comment, opting for asking about the new Cap while filling a glass for herself.

“Don’t get me started.” Barnes spoke for the first time since being downstairs. You narrowed your eyes at the man.

“Please. You buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit.” You swung your glass to Zemo, “Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr. America! Cap’s best friend.” His gaze darted over to you, nose wrinkling at your comment.

“Do you know who I am?” He tried to be intimidating but it was just funny to you. You were taking a drink to moisten your throat to fire back a witty comeback, when Sharon spoke for you.

“Oh trust me, she knows. She did a report on you freshman year of high school.” You started choking on your drink as Sharon smirked from the couch next to Barnes. His brows raised and a smug smile graced his face.

“She did now?” Clearly he was a different man from the last time you saw him. Meeting his eyes for the fourth time ever, you were surprised with what you saw. There was almost a hunger lingering behind his eyes.

“Most definitely. I don’t even know how many times she went to the Smithsonian to see the exhibit about you.” You glared at Sharon, who continued to talk, unbothered by you. She raised her own glass to her lips, speaking into her cup, muffling her words. “Honestly, think she developed a little crush.” Barnes’ eyes never left your face, his mind racing.

“Wait, so the entire time you were helping me and Steve, you had a crush on Tin Man?” Sam interjected, wanting to be included in the conversation. You rolled your eyes and gave a subtle nod to Sam. The action wasn’t missed by Bucky.

“Which is why I think it must’ve been really hard for you to ask him of all people for help. They comin’ down real hard on you out there?” You asked Barnes with a smirk and a head tilt towards Zemo. “I know he fucked you up real good, triggering the Soldier, Barnes.”

Sam laughed beside him. “Dude, that’s basically what you told Walker.” Barnes threw a glare at Sam, who had clapped a hand on his metal shoulder. The conversation dissipated after your comment, guess you killed the vibe.

Sam turned to a relaxed Sharon, “We need your help.” Her body tensed, neither one of you was ready to throw yourself back into enemy territory. “I can get your name cleared.” He dangled a huge bargaining chip in front of her face. You knew Sharon was eager to get back to the States. She misses her dad. It was unfair of Sam to use that as a way to gain her favor.

“Haggling with someone’s life like that isn’t okay, Sam.” You said quietly, focusing your gaze on the glass in your hand.

“It’s not like that, Y/N.”

“Yes, it is, Sam.” You said firmly. “You can’t just say something like that. I know you’re an Avenger. That’s great shit, but you need to realize that if you can’t deliver on your word, we go to jail or worse. You know that.”

“I don’t trust charity, Sam.” Sharon said from beside Barnes.

“All right, a deal then. You help us out, and I get your names cleared.” Your nostrils flared and you shook your head. Sharon agreed, blinded by the possibility of seeing her family again. You don’t doubt that she thought through all the outcomes, it just wasn’t the route you would’ve taken.

“We sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, and enjoy the party.” She got up, exiting the office.

“Try to stay outta trouble, boys.” You said placing your glass on Sharon’s desk as you left. “We’ll see what we can find.”

*********************************

You were standing next to Sharon when the three men joined the party. Leaning over to Sharon, you told her you were going to get a drink from the bar. You pushed your way through the crowd, planting yourself on a stool in front of the countertop. Nodding your head at the bartender, they passed you a bottle of club soda.

“Not drinking tonight?” A raspy voice questioned over your shoulder. You turned to face the owner as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Already had my fill. And technically, I’m supposed to be working, Barnes.” Your eyes met with his again. You couldn’t tell if it was the light in the room or if it was just him, but they were a deeper shade of blue than before. He leaned his weight on his elbow that was resting on the bar top next to you. He was so close you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves.

His eyes roamed your face, stopping on your lips as he spoke. “You know you can call me Bucky, right?” You made a face, bringing your bottle to your mouth. He watched intently as your lips wrapped around the opening.

“We’ve never had a single conversation before today. And the first time you actually met me, you twisted my arm behind my back because I punched the dickwad standing next to you.” You took another sip and his eyes drifted down to your throat. He watched as it bobbed when you swallowed.

“So, yeah. I’m going to call you Barnes.” You leaned closer, “I’ve never been given permission to call you anything else.” You could tell you struck something. Something that he didn’t even possibly know about. His face heated and he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“Um, okay. Well you can call me Bucky or if you want, James.” Your brow quirked and you pulled back to take him in fully.

“How many people have you let call you that since you got your free will back?” Your tone was serious, but your face held a smile.

“None, doll.” His eyes ran over your face again. “I just want to hear how it’ll sound coming from your mouth.” One of his metal fingers came up to rest on your bottom lip as your smile grew.

“James.” You whispered, just for him. What he was giving you was a privilege, one you were going to revel in. One corner of his mouth tugged upwards.

“Again.” He growled as his finger remained on your lip.

“James.”

“Again.”

“James.” The party around the two of you faded away. In your reality, it was just you and the man in front of you. A peaceful place, where nothing could change what was happening right at that moment.

Of course, reality is a bitch. And you never got what you wanted. Your jaw clenched as soon as your phone pinged. James dropped his hand from your face as he read the text with you.

Found Nagel. Meet us outside and if you find Bucky, tell him too.

You scrunched your nose and bit your lip. James’ hand was quick to pull your lip from your front teeth, before resting there for a second as he studied your face. He stepped back quickly, nodding his head for you to follow him.

**************************************

You don’t know how the hell Sharon managed to find him, but she did. You were in a shipping yard for storage cars. “Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam said as the five of you weaved your way through the containers.

“With a bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving.” She glanced down at her phone in her hand. Nodding toward a red container, “Alright, he’s in there. Container 4621.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out five earpieces.

“We’ll keep watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” You said as you watched everyone situate their pieces. Sharon turned around and began walking down an aisle not far from the container Nagel was in. You stopped James before he could go anywhere.

“Hey, be careful.” His eyes met yours and they were back to the normal steel blue. “Don’t forget who you are, James.” Something flashed behind his eyes, but his face showed no change.

“You too, Y/N. Don’t make me come out here and save your ass.” His eyes flicked down quickly and a smile spread quickly. “I mean, not that I would mind.” You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, turning and walking down the aisle Sharon did.

“So,” She was leaned against a rusted container with a smug smile. “You and Bucky, huh?” You groaned and stood next to her.

“I don’t know, Shar. Neither one of us should be in a relationship. Especially since we’re both Enemies of the State, well one of us is, the other one was.” You turned your head to look at her. “What do you think about all of this?” She opened her mouth to speak when you both heard something ricochet off a metal wall.

She raised a finger to her mouth and crouched down before pressing that same finger to her earpiece. “Guys, we have company.” She took off down one end of the aisle and you down the opposite, ready to attack from both sides. There were three men walking towards Nagel’s container, you shot a look down to Sharon and she nodded.

She came from the back with a baton, whacking the last guy once in the knees and once in the head, disarming him. When the front man turned to help his comrade, you did the same move to him with your own baton. You both continued trading blows with the men. You had effectively taken out the first man, using his thigh to latch yourself to the third man’s shoulders. Situating yourself to use your body weight to flip him over, definitely knocking him out.

“Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go now, boys!” You yelled to your earpiece as you watched Sharon fight off another opponent.

It wasn’t until the gunfire started that Sharon said something else into the piece. “Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You both split off, out of each other’s view, battling your own demons. You were currently dealing with two of those said demons, when a third approached from behind. Locking you in a chokehold as the other two continued punching your ribs.

One of the hunters was suddenly ripped away from you. Punches were landing and groans were echoing through the alleyways. You threw all your body weight forward, throwing your assailant over your shoulder. Two gunshots rang out and then a third one, which landed a bullet hole between your aggressors eyes. Your head whipped around to face James, whose arm dropped back to his side.

He walked towards you, putting a hand on your back leading you to where Sharon and Sam were standing. Zemo pulled up in a blue convertible car, “Supercharged.” was all he said. Sam pointed his finger at the man in the driver’s seat.

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?” James sighed heavily, his shoulder sinking with the action.

“He’s right. We need him. And there’s two of us, and at least twenty of them.” James got in the front seat, leaving the door open for Sam.

“Fine. But if you try that shit again--”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zemo raised his hands in surrender. Sam turned to Sharon.

“Well, that was one hell of a reunion.” You leaned over the open door to talk to James. He looked at you with a sad face.

“Why don’t you come back to the States with us?” He tilted his head. “We could clearly use your help, doll.” You smiled at that and licked your lips before responding.

“You know we can’t. Not yet anyway.” He placed his finger back on your bottom lip, maintaining eye contact. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me, James. That I can promise you.” He smiled and dropped his hand back to his lap.

Sam climbed into the seat behind James. “You’re not going to move your seat up, are you?” James smirked before replying.

“No.” You watched as they drove off, desperately wanting to see James again already.

You turned back to Sharon and the two of you began walking back towards High Town. “I think you should go for it.”

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky fan fic #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #james buchanan barnes x y/n #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #Sebastian Stan

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Golden Thread

Prompt: since Janus is Deceit, what if it takes a physical toll on him when he only tells the truth and doesn't manipulate anyone for a period of time? could you please write a oneshot where Janus is in a position where he really needs to to tell the truth, but he can tell he's getting close to his truth limit? - anon

Hey! I don't know if you're still taking requests for prompts (and I apologize if you aren't), but could you do Janus-centric fluffy hurt/comfort? And maybe a polyship? (If you want to, of course). - anon

Thanks for the prompts, babes! This was supposed to go up yesterday and I’m so sorry I forgot

Read on Ao3

Warnings: sympathetic remus & janus, other than that, it’s not that bad

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 5874

There is a thread that winds through Janus’s tongue.

Thin, golden, finely spun with lies. It tastes sweet against the back of his teeth, the back of his throat. As he talks, it colors his words with a soft gleam, spinning and spinning into the air in front of him. It coils neatly around his throat as its spool and winks.

Most of the time its taste is enough to curl the corners of his mouth upwards into a smirk, watching it wind and weave its way around the others. Sometimes he thinks he can see other threads, clasping delicately around wrists, arms, knees, necks. Sometimes he can’t resist letting his threat tug them this way and that. Come on, what good is temptation if you never give in to it? He’s grown fond of the sweetness it leaves on his tongue, in his words. Saccharine as they may be, the haze they leave behind is more than enough to make up for it.

Sometimes the sweetness is too much. He swears he can feel cavities forming in the back of his mouth. His teeth start to ache. And sometimes…sometimes he doesn’t care. It’s too much fun to keep tugging this way and that at the others, too entertaining to let the thread unspool and unspool from his throat, filling the air with its golden light. His smile sharpens and the tangle grows, because what’s the fun of it without a little risk of hurt?

Other times he knows to back off. He adores the others, but no matter how fun they are to play with, he knows not to push too hard. At those times, he lets the sweetness spill off of his tongue, gently winds the thread back around his own throat. It always protests, the lack of sweetness making his tongue ache, the grip on his throat just a little too tight. But the looks on their faces…the begrudging gratitude, the sincere remark, or--god forbid—the poorly disguised hope…well.

Sometimes he wonders whether or not it’d be worth it to keep the thread fully wound.

Not that he ever would, it’s just a thought experiment.

It’s not like he wonders what it would feel like to have Patton be able to listen to him easily, not make it a fight to get his point across. He doesn’t want to have an engaging conversation with Logan about philosophy, ethics, science, anything just to hear the brilliant man talk. He refuses to entertain the idea of being a proper source of comfort for Virgil. He wouldn’t enjoy snarking with Remus just for fun and not because he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

And he…

Well.

The idea of being able to have an honest conversation with Roman makes him fill to the brim, top to toes, with hatred.

He doesn’t have much of a choice.

He can speak a few times with the thread coiled up, just enough when it really counts. He knows the others, he can’t just play with them all the time, he’ll get bored. And they’re not really cut out for it. And as much as he loves to see them squirm out of their comfort zones, it’s not good for Thomas. That’s his real priority.

Janus pushes open the door to his room and sighs, taking his hat off and hanging it carefully up on its stand. He summons his cane and makes it the rest of the way to the desk, plopping himself into the chair and scrubbing his hand through his hair.

“They’re so slow,” he mutters as his fingers go to the clasp around his throat, “how do they ever get anything done?”

Well…they don’t. Not really.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves being the one to tug and twist them into the right answer, but he doesn’t want to be there all the time. They do know what they’re doing, they’re all good at their jobs, so…trying to manage all of that is exhausting.

The clasp at his throat falls away and he lifts his hand, craning his neck above his collar. There.

He knows the thread isn’t real; nothing here is real. Nothing of him can ever be real. But he can still feel it sometimes. Like today.

They’d been…talking. It wasn’t an overdue conversation, not in the slightest, and he’s had to be honest with them. Doesn’t mean he has to be honest with himself.

And isn’t that just his saving grace?

Janus winces as he feels the thread wind tighter and tighter around his tongue, pulling his gloves off to touch his throat, just to confirm that it’s not real. His fingers meet his scales and he sighs, missing the sweetness. It won’t be for long. This will blow over and tomorrow they’ll be back to everyone’s favorite regularly scheduled programming. He’ll make Patton blink in that adorably-confused way, Logan will be pinching the bridge of his nose trying to make everyone shut up and pay attention to Janus’s lies, Virgil will be hissing at him like a demented cat, Remus will be having the time of his life, and Roman won’t want anything to do with him.

Janus breathes a sigh of relief as sweetness starts to coat his tongue again.

See? It’s already working.

It doesn’t keep working, but you know.

The effort was there.

They’re talking again.

The living room feels dry. Has it always been this dry? Disguising it as a roll of his eyes, Janus tilts his head toward the ceiling. Huh. He’s never noticed that light there before. Has it always been there? Probably.

“Janus,” Patton calls, “can you—um—“

Rolling his eyes again, he looks back down, crossing one leg over the other. He hides the lack of sweetness by pursing his lips.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear what I asked?”

“Of course I did,” he drawls, idly flicking the tips of his gloves together.

“…so what do you think?”

Honestly.

“He didn’t hear you,” Logan says quietly, and thank god the other brain cell has joined the chat.

Patton frowns. “Then why—never mind.”

Oh, Patton.

“I asked if you knew how to help,” Patton says, his hands clutched in his lap, “with the barrier breaking down. It’s been kind of rough from our side so…”

Right.

There hadn’t been a barrier up until a few years ago. Something had formed in the Mindscape, an invisible wall. It wasn’t real, of course, but it made walking through the hallways unnecessarily difficult. One of them would try to walk from one side to the other and be suddenly seized with a compulsion to do anything but. Or they’d be accompanying another Side back to the room only to freeze in the middle of the corridor and have to mutter out apologies. It’s exhausting. Luckily they’d still been able to sink in and out to get from place to place, but it’s not like the barrier actually does anything.

Janus sighs and uncrosses his legs. The thread leaps to the tip of his tongue, eager, poised.

“I don’t know,” he says instead, feeling the sweetness recede in disappointment, “I don’t know enough about how it formed in the first place.”

“It happened around the time of the series premiering,” Logan says thoughtfully, “perhaps it could be linked with the presentation of the Mindscape in the fanbase?”

Virgil snorts. “Like any of that is accurate.”

“You don’t know that, Virgil.”

“Um, excuse me, which of us spends the most time on Tumblr?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Where do you think most of the fanbase hangs out? ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t Facebook.”

“That’s a shame,” Patton sighs, “I miss it.”

“You miss Facebook?”

“You know it does still exist, right?”

“Did Thomas ever even have Facebook?”

“The color palettes were nice!”

“You mean they were blue.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“…the point being I know a lot about what the fans do with the content we give them and most of that stuff is entirely made-up.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “As opposed to the made-up that the series is.”

“Shut up, L.”

“I’d rather not, actually.”

Virgil swats Logan’s shoulder half-heartedly.

Janus is smiling. Why is he smiling? He hasn’t lied enough for the sweetness to make him smile and it’s not like Remus has appeared with feet coming out of his head again. In fact, Remus is just…sitting next to Roman. Granted, he’s got his morning star in his lap dripping with god knows what, but there are no crazy shenanigans happening.

He watches Logan reach out and tangle his fingers with Virgil’s as Patton starts talking again. He watches Virgil nudge Remus’s tape back over to him when he drops it halfway through rewrapping the grip on his morning star. He watches Roman cover a flinch that he’d never have noticed if he wasn’t paying attention and sees Remus take hold of Roman’s costume and grip it tight in his fist.

The thread twitches angrily on his tongue as he tries to make sense of what’s happening.

“Has anything happened,” Roman asks as Patton pauses, “on your side?”

Virgil shrugs. “I haven’t noticed anything. But I normally sink straight to my room, so…”

“Remus?”

“You do realize that most of the thoughts that come into my head are the type that you guys would ignore anyway, right?”

Roman rolls his eyes too, but it’s fond. Affectionate. Janus is not.

“…Janus? What about you?”

The thread begins to sew neat little words into his tongue, all prepared for him to say. Yes, he’s noticed something, he’s noticed that the others are so much less fun than they used to be. No, he hasn’t noticed anything, it’s not like he’s the observant one.

Yes, he’s noticed that the barrier is fading and he hates it.

No, he hasn’t noticed anything because he spends as little time with the others as possible.

“I don’t know.”

Patton nods. “That’s okay, just…maybe try keeping an eye out? See if anything changes?”

“I will.”

The thread takes longer to undo that night.

Janus slumps onto his elbows and groans.

When did he become addicted to the sweetness? When did it get so hard for him to realize when he’s the one telling the lies and when the thread is telling the lies? When did he stop caring about the words coming out of his mouth?

The truth is, of course, that he didn’t.

He started caring more about the others.

The thread tightens in warning but Janus pushes it aside. He frowns, staring hard at the grooves in the desk. He started to care about them, not just as parts of Thomas’s personality that would help him do things, but as their own Sides. As them.

He cares about how Logan’s eyes light up just a little when he starts talking about something. He cares about how warm Patton speaks when they’re all there. He cares about how bouncy Remus gets when they talk to him. He cares about when Virgil’s eyeshadow turns all purple and sparkly. He cares about how hard it’s become to genuinely make Roman smile.

The thread groans.

Janus curses.

He can’t.

“The others aren’t important,” he hisses at the mirror, “Thomas is the only important one.”

The thread pauses.

“I don’t care what they want,” he continues, feeling it slowly start to unwind, “it only matters that Thomas is safe. That Thomas knows what’s going on.”

It starts to run back out along his tongue.

“Their thoughts and feelings aren’t important.” His hands ball into fists. “I don’t care about them.”

His tongue starts to taste sweet again.

“I don’t care about them,” he repeats in a whisper, “they aren’t important to me.”

The salt of the tears goes perfectly with the sweetness on his tongue.

————————————————

Something is wrong.

Something is horribly, desperately wrong and the others are panicking.

The barrier is gone. That’s not the bad thing. The bad thing is that along with it, everything in the Mindscape is rushing out of control.

The walls won’t hold. The doors lock and unlock more often than they stay in place. Floors disappear out of nowhere and open up into yawning black pits. The doors to the Imagination buckle and groan under the onslaught of rushing beasts from the other side. Something is fading.

They can’t sink out anymore. They need to know where everything is in order to do that. The place is a labyrinth. Only one entrance, one exit. There’s no way that they’ll know the right path unless they run it themselves.

Janus knows something is broken the instant his eyes open. He can feel it. Cracks wind their way through the walls, through the floor, the ceiling shakes. He’s out of his room in an instant, running through the halls, somewhere, anywhere, are they alright? Where are they? Have they faded?

“Virgil!”

“Janus?” Virgil flies into him at breakneck speed, clutching his cape in both hands. “Are you—what’s happening? Where is everyone? Did something go wrong? What’s happening to Thomas?”

The thread perks its end up eagerly but Janus swallows it down.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says quickly, pulling Virgil closer, “and you’re the first one I’ve seen.”

“I can’t find anyone,” Virgil pants, “I can’t—there’s no one—we’re going to fade.”

“We won’t, I promise. We just have to find the others.”

“Hello?” Another voice calls out from around the corner. “Hello, where the fuck is everyone? Who decided to break shit without me?”

“Remus!”

“That’s me, where the fuck—“ Remus barrels around the corner, almost knocking them over— “Virgil! Snake Face!”

“Remus—“ Virgil wraps Remus in his arms, clutching him tightly. “Where were you? What’s going on?”

“I was draining the viscera from a partially dissected sperm whale—“ of course he was— “but then everything started shaking.”

“We can’t find the others.”

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

They don’t even look back; Remus grabs Janus’s sleeve and Virgil still hasn’t let go of his cape, dragging him behind as they race through the halls. They can see where the barrier used to be, though with how much the place has shifted, it’s impossible to tell. Janus grits his teeth as they prepare themselves to smash through.

Nothing happens.

They just keep barreling down the corridor.

“Patton! Logan! Roman!”

“Where the fuck are you guys?”

“Can you hear us?”

“Re? Re, is that you?”

“Ro!”

Remus reroutes them effortlessly, barreling through chunks of disappearing floor and leaping over cracks forming in the tiles. Virgil hangs onto Janus as they go. Janus can’t let go of either of them.

“In here!”

A blade flashes through a crumbling chunk of wall and a hand reaches out. Remus grabs it and vaults through the opening.

“Oh my goodness, Virgil!”

“Pat—“

Another hand helps to haul him through the crack. The hand he has in his cape pulls uncomfortably at Janus’s neck.

“Where’s Janus? Did you guys see him?”

“Yeah, he’s right here, Ja—“

“Snake Face, get your butt in here.”

“Don’t just stand there, help you idiots!”

A sickening crack right above him makes him jerk his head up. His eyes widen as a massive chunk of ceiling starts to fall. Hands wrap around his arms, his clothes, even his waist and pull.

“Janus?” He blinks through the dust to see Logan staring at him, concern written plainly all over his face. “Are you alright?”

No, the thread sews, I am now trapped with the five people I abhor most in this world. I am the furthest from alright I could possibly be.

“Are you all alright,” he asks instead, lifting his hand to fix Logan’s collar, “I’m not hurt.”

“We’re fine,” Roman says, helping him to his feet, “we managed to get in here before the place really started coming down.”

“What’s going on?”

Patton’s shoulders slump at Virgil’s question. “We were hoping you would know.”

Janus bites back a curse, turning to look at the opening. It’s blocked now, completely choked in dust. He glances around.

“Where are we?”

“Safe room,” Roman says, tapping the wall, “something Remy helped us come up with.”

“Remy?”

“He’s a bitch but he knows what he’s doing.”

“Fair enough.” Janus grits his teeth. “So what do we know?”

“Who was awake when it happened,” Logan asks, “Roman and I were not.”

“I was also not awake,” Virgil mutters, “and I would really appreciate this not being how I wake up ever again.”

“I agree.” Janus glances at Patton and Remus. “I was asleep too. Remus, you said you were awake?”

“I was in the middle of an experiment!”

Logan perks up. “An experiment?”

“As much as I love watching you two be nerds together,” Roman breaks in, “can we do that later?”

“Of course.”

“Spoilsport,” Remus says fondly, “but it wasn’t me. I’ve done this experiment before, nothing I do could do…this.”

All eyes turn to Patton.

“…Padre?”

Patton shakes his head. “I…I don’t know. I had just gotten up to get a glass of water when it shattered in my hand.”

“It did what?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Let me see.”

“No, no, guys I’m fine,” Patton says quickly, holding up his hands, “but then the whole house started to shake. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going on.”

Janus’s heart sinks. He’s telling the truth.

They’re stuck.

“Oh, god,” Virgil mutters, his hands flying to his head, “oh god, oh my god, no one knows what’s going on.”

“V,” Logan murmurs, crouching down and reaching to take his hands, “Virgil, look at me.”

“We’re going to mess everything up—it’s going to be so bad—what’s happing to Thomas?”

“Virgil, look at me, come now, it’s going to be alright—“

“How can you promise that?” Virgil’s voice starts to rise. “Have you seen what’s happening?”

“Easy, shadow-ling,” Roman murmurs too, his hand carding through Virgil’s hair, “just listen to Logan.”

“You’re doing well,” Logan encourages, rubbing Virgil’s arms, “just stay here, with me, alright?”

Janus watches Patton and Remus stand a little closer to the three of them, shielding them from the debris still raining down from outside. Something in his gut clenches.

Then he notices the tremors are slowing as the other calm Virgil down.

And it clenches more.

“It’s us,” he mutters quietly, almost too quietly for the others to hear, “it’s us. We have to stick together.”

The thread on his tongue twitches angrily. There’s almost no sweetness left in his mouth now.

Patton looks over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Look—“ Janus points at a crack in the wall— “they’re moving slower now. The closer we are together the less this place falls apart.”

Virgil’s next inhale is almost a sob.

“I really do just ruin everything, don’t I?”

“No,” Roman says firmly, wrapping his arms tightly around the shaking Side, “we’ve had this conversation, shadow-ling. You’re important to us. You’re not a burden. And this certainly isn’t your fault.”

“We need you,” Patton echoes, reaching down to rest his hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “don’t go anywhere.”

“Don’t make us chase you.” Remus bonks his head into Virgil’s. “Not fun.”

Virgil still looks doubtful. Which, alright, isn’t his fault. Voices in the head, not to mention the general anxiety, it’s no surprise, not really. Janus clears his throat.

“Virgil,” he says softly, crouching down as well, “Virgil, listen to me.”

Purple eyes stare at him.

“You haven’t lost us,” he promises, “you won’t lose us. You’re important, not just for Thomas, but for us too. We care about you. All of you.”

“Fuck, J,” Virgil huffs, swiping at his face, “why’d you have to make me cry?”

The tremors keep settling.

Patton throws his arms around Virgil. “See? We care about you, kiddo. We love you.”

Something else twitches in Janus’s throat as he hears Patton say that. Virgil must notice it too; he looks up and squints at Patton.

“Have we ever told you that we care about you?”

Bingo.

Patton falters, his grip wavering. His smile wobbles. “W-well, no, not really, but that’s okay! I know you do.”

Logan tilts his head. “But you enjoy hearing it said.”

The smile slips even further. “…you don’t like saying it.”

“That’s no excuse!” Roman reaches over Virgil to get to Patton. “If you want us to say it, we can say it!”

Janus shifts his attention. “Patton?”

“…yeah?”

“No one takes care of us like you do,” he says softly, “and none of us care as openly as you do.”

Patton’s eyes widen. “Janus—“

“You try,” he continues, not to be interrupted, not now, “and that is perhaps the most admirable thing we could ask for.”

“He made Pat cry too,” Virgil mutters, pulling the now-sobbing side in for a hug.

“Happy tears,” Patton manages, “I—wow.”

A crack in the wall disappears.

“Is that what this is?” Logan looks around. “An…emotional problem?”

“We’re fading, the whole Mindscape is,” Janus says around the thread, “if we—if we stay, then we can fix this.”

“O-oh.”

That tone of voice always leads somewhere good. Sure enough, as he looks around, he sees Logan adjust his glasses and take a step back.

“And where are you going?”

“I’m not sure I can help,” Logan says flatly. “You have the answer already.”

“But we’re not done.”

“And what do you expect I can lend to this problem?” He spreads his arms wide. “I’m no expert on emotions, nor am I useful in proving things that are already true.”

“Wait, what the fuck are you talking about, L?” Virgil scrambles up. “What are we proving here?”

“That you are important.” Logan frowns as Patton and Roman scramble up too. “What?”

“You’re implying that you’re not important,” Remus growls, “and I’m pissed about it.”

“But—“

“No buts!” Roman points a stern finger at him. “Believing yourself to be unimportant is a falsehood!”

“I never said I was unimportant,” Logan corrects, “I said I would not be helpful in this situation.”

“Bullshit. You helped me calm down.”

“So did Patton and Roman.”

“You figured out that I like being told that you guys care about me!”

“That was obvious.”

“Logan,” Janus calls softly to get his attention, “Logan, if you believe that anyone knows us better than you, you are gravely mistaken.”

Logan’s mouth drops open.

“You claim not to know emotions,” he continues, stepping closer, “but you know us, perhaps better than we know ourselves at times. You are kind, you are wonderful, and if you ever stop teaching us things, I am sure we would never recover.”

He slips Logan’s glasses back into position.

“You are not just Logic,” he murmurs, “you’re Logan. Stay. Be Logan.”

Logan swallows heavily.

“I must ask,” he says hoarsely as a tear rolls down his cheek, “if you intend to make everyone cry today.”

Janus chuckles. “No, I don’t, but it seems that it may be a side effect. I promise I’m not trying.”

“You won’t make me cry,” Remus remarks casually, “not without trying. I don’t care.”

Oh, Remus. Janus doesn’t bother to hide his smile at the indignant squawk from Virgil as Remus implies that he doesn’t care about the others.

“I don’t need to try to make you cry,” he says, “I’ve never wanted that. I just want you to be listened to.”

“…fuck you, Snakey.”

Patton lunges forward as Remus sniffles.

“Do we just like…not talk to each other, then?” Virgil wipes his nose. “Because I sure as hell don’t remember us getting this emotional about anything.”

Then Janus realizes that his mouth tastes bitter.

The thread has not been idle, he realizes in horror, not while he’s been spilling his guts to the others in an effort to hold them all together. It’s dragged itself over his tongue, scraping every last bit down his throat, winding tighter and tighter. His mouth tastes bitter. It’s not supposed to be bitter. It burns, scraping along the sides of his mouth until they smart. He swallows frantically. It’s not working. Nothing is working. It hurts. His tongue hurts. His throat hurts.

The floor wobbles.

He can’t catch his breath.

His eyes land on Roman.

No.

No, no, no, he can’t stop now.

Not here.

Not with Roman.

Roman just watches the others wrap their arms tightly around his brother still wiping snot from his nose. A soft smile curls at his mouth that never reaches his eyes. Behind him, massive cracks open up in the walls.

No.

He can’t let Roman fall.

Not after everything.

Roman notices he’s staring at him. He just raises an eyebrow.

“Going to make me cry again,” he asks softly, “or are you all finished for the day?”

The thread stabs words into his tongue until he can taste blood.

Well, it’s not like it’s difficult to make you cry.

If I had something that would work, I’d say it.

Only if you were a Side worth worrying about.

No.

No, no, he won’t say that. He won’t.

The thread tightens around his throat as a harsher warning. The bitterness on his tongue worsens.

“It’s alright, Janus—“ no, it isn’t— “I know you don’t like me much anyway. Don’t force yourself.”

At least you’re being considerate for once in your life.

Took you this long to figure it out, hmm? No wonder you’re called the stupidest Side.

Janus grits his teeth against the thread. It just keeps tightening. His mouth has never tasted sweet in his entire life.

He needs to tell Roman how important he is. He needs to tell Roman that they all have to start paying attention to him. He needs Roman to know that he’s sorry, sorry he ever implied otherwise.

All that comes out of his mouth instead is: “you need attention.”

Roman blinks. “Well, yes, I’d say that’s true.”

He has to tell Roman that Thomas needs him, needs him to be strong and healthy, to dream.

What comes out instead is: “you spend so much time stuck in your head.”

Roman frowns. “If that’s the best you can do, there’s no need to overexert yourself. I can make myself cry much easier than that.”

Why won’t his tongue cooperate?

The thread just tightens around him again. A warning. A threat. A promise.

He can’t tell the truth.

He can’t.

It doesn’t matter. Roman won’t know how important he is. He’ll think that Janus hates him and that’s fine.

Janus struggles to breathe.

“There are two Creativities,” he grits out, even if the ‘but only one Roman’ won’t follow.

“Patton is the heart,” comes out next, separate from ‘but he needs you to love.’

“We don’t need you,” hurts on the way out because it leaves behind ‘but we want you, we want you so badly.’

The Mindscape is crumbling. Janus can’t speak. The others are going to fade. He can’t help Roman. He’s ruined everything.

He’s forgotten what sweetness tastes like.

Roman is frowning at him. He stands, striding across the broken floor, eyes flint chips. Janus closes his eyes and braces for the hit.

Roman’s fingers hook into his collar and yank.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Why is it cutting into him?”

“How long has that been there, this whole time?”

“Janus—Janus can you breathe?”

What?

Janus opens his eyes in confusion. Roman’s still holding onto him but his eyes are fixed not on his face, but lower. Something shiny casts light onto Roman’s face.

“Janus,” Roman asks softly, “what is this?”

“What is what?”

“This,” Roman says darkly, fingertips tracing across something, “around your neck.”

No.

No, it’s not real.

It can’t be real.

…can it?

“It’s not a thread,” Janus spits out, his tongue smarting in the air, “and it doesn’t keep me from telling the truth.”

Roman’s eyes widen in horror. He reaches forward and Janus keens as the pressure tightens.

“Don’t stop,” he grits out, “it doesn’t hurt.”

“The sky is green.”

“What?”

“The sky is green,” Roman repeats, still glaring hard at Janus’s neck, “the Fourth of July is in October.”

The thread loosens.

“Remus, get over here,” Roman barks. A second later, two more fingers slip under the thread. “Now lie.”

“Um, ventricles are found in the liver.”

“Blue is made of red and orange.”

“The alphabet starts with the letter ‘m.’”

Logan catches on next. “The sun goes around the earth,” he says, nudging Virgil.

“Uh—“ he glances around— “Patton isn’t wearing glasses.”

“Paris is in Canada.”

“Books are printed on alligator skin.”

“Water isn’t clear.”

“Mark Zuckerberg isn’t the inventor of Facebook.”

“Earmuffs go on your hands.”

“Hamburgers are vegan.”

Lies spin out of their mouths. Remus grits his teeth as he pulls at the thread. Patton looks around frantically. Janus still can’t breathe.

The room is settling, slowly but surely, but there are still cracks snaking their way through the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Right under Janus.

Roman looks directly at him.

“I hate you.”

The thread gives.

The brothers yank, unspooling the thread from around Janus’s throat, throwing it at the walls. It freezes in mid-air, still glowing gold.

The cracks weren’t cracks, they were threads.

The golden thread melts seamlessly into the wall, knitting the place back together, stitch by stitch. The walls settle, glowing softly as the floor reconstitutes under them. The Mindscape breathes.

Janus hasn’t noticed any of this. He’s too busy collapsing into Roman’s arms, sobbing his heart out.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” Roman coos, “I’ve got you, you’re alright, you did it, come here…”

“He’s gonna be cold,” he hears someone—probably Virgil?—say over his shoulder, “grab a blanket. Can we sink?”

“Let me try.” A second later there’s another sigh of relief. “Yeah. We can. Let’s get him to the living room, I’ll get a fire going.”

“In the fireplace, this time, Remus!”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“Come on, little snake,” Roman coaxes, lifting him up to a broad chest, “let’s get you warm.”

He’s still sobbing breathlessly, draped uselessly over Roman. He feels another set of arms as they sink into the couch.

“I’ve got him,” Patton says quietly, “hey, kiddo, can you hear me?”

The next sob is slightly higher.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, kiddo, you don’t have to speak right now.” Patton rubs soothing circles into his back. “Just stay right here with me, right here, the others are just getting the nest set up.”

N-nest?

“Give him to me, I’ll help him down while you slide in.”

“Make sure to get his head, he’s having trouble right now.”

“I understand.”

A warm hand cups the back of his neck, leaning his nose into the crook of a warm shoulder. Books, coffee, whiteboard pen…Logan.

“You’re freezing,” Logan murmurs, concerned, “let’s get you warmed up…no hyperthermia today, hmm?”

Janus almost groans in relief as his scales hit something thick and soft and warm. He’s still crying, isn’t he? Why?

“Hey, Snakey,” Remus mumbles, his hand under Janus’s head, “you gotta roll over, you’re gonna crush yourself that way. Come on—for crying out loud, you bastards, how long does it take to undo a clasp?”

“Got it.”

He suppresses a whine as his cape flies away, only for it quickly be replaced by a warm, warm blanket. He blinks his eyes open, straining to see through the tears. He can only see blobs. What is happening?

“Rest,” comes another voice, is that Roman? Isn’t Roman angry at him? He can’t stop the confused whine.

“Shh, shh, easy, little snake,” Roman soothes, running his hand through his hair, “breathe, that horrible thing was choking you.”

The horrible thread…is it…gone?

“Relax, come on, shh…easy,” he says earnestly when Janus whines again, “don’t work yourself up.”

“He’s gonna hurt himself if he keeps clawing at his throat like that.”

He’s doing what now?

Warm hands take each of his and…oh. Well, maybe he was.

“That’s it,” Patton whispers, “easy…”

“What…what’s going on?”

“You did it,” Logan says softly, stroking his thumb along the back of Janus’s hand, “you figured it out.”

“But—“ he swallows, still not used to the freedom in his throat— “I couldn’t do it.”

“You weren’t supposed to do it on your own, Jan-Jan. We all had to do it, remember?”

“That’s what you said, J.”

“So we did,” Patton finishes, smiling at him, “and it worked.”

“But—but I—“ Janus’s eyes flash up to catch Roman’s.

Roman, who sat there and didn’t protest when Janus couldn’t say one nice thing about him.

Roman, whom Janus has hurt so many times.

Roman, who pried the thread away from Janus’s throat without blinking.

Roman, who caught him, and is still here.

“Maybe the next time we talk,” Roman says softly, “we can do it without that thread around your throat, hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, little snake,” he murmurs, gently stroking a tear away from Janus’s cheek, “I know. But not right now, okay? You’re still crying.”

He is?

Oh.

“Close your eyes,” he encourages, his hand still cupping Janus’s face, “rest, we all need it.”

“Did we—“ his tongue is heavy— “did we ever figure out what happened?”

“I believe Thomas had something of an identity crisis,” Logan remarks, “but we can figure that out later. For now…we should all try and go back to sleep.”

“Great. Pop Star, budge.”

“Hey! Kiddo!”

“Ah. Much better.”

“Pocket Protector, stop pretending you don’t wanna cuddle and get down here.”

“In a moment, Remus, I need to take my glasses off.”

“Ro-Bro! Get over here.”

“Re, pulling me over Janus is not going to work.”

“L, are you coming?”

“Must you all be so impatient?”

“Yes, my dear darling nerd, now come here.”

Logan rolls his eyes and lies down, still holding Janus’s hand. On his other side, Roman leans Janus’s head into his chest and hums softly.

“There. Now we’re all together again.”

“Shut the fuck up, Princey, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Shut up yourself, then.”

“Kiddos.”

“Sorry, Pat.”

Logan chuckles. Remus shifts on the edge of the blanket nest. Roman tilts Janus’s chin up.

“Are you alright,” he whispers as the others drift off to sleep, “not hurt?”

Janus shakes his head. “I…was it really a lie?”

“Was what really a lie, little snake?”

“…you said ‘I hate you.’”

“Oh, that.” Roman chucks him lightly under the chin. “What does your mouth taste like?”

…sweet.

It’s sweet.

Oh.

Roman smiles. “Go to sleep, little snake.”

The Sides fall asleep in the Mindscape, threads wearing them tightly together.

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders

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odos-bucket · 4 years ago

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Bruce Being Super Protective of His Kids in Their Out-Of-Costume Lives Pt. 2

(Or as this series is becoming: Bruce Looking After His Kids at Fancy Parties)

Part 1

Jason isn’t particularly well adapted to the kinds of social gatherings that Bruce’s position within the city demands they participate in. He attends his first event a few months into his stay at Wayne manor. He goes in fully expecting it to be terrible, and is not disappointed.

The old ladies trying to pinch his cheeks were something that Dick had warned him about. His tone had been light, like maybe it was something that he thought was funny, or was trying to think of as funny. But Jason doesn’t like to be touched, not by people he doesn’t know. He doesn’t think Dick was trying to scare him exactly, but he accomplishes it anyway.

From the time the shindig begins he’s wound so tight he’s practically vibrating. He has no idea how he’s supposed to act at something like this. Things he’s never thought about before are suddenly tormenting him. He can’t figure out what he should be doing with his hands, or how to stand. He’s never been self conscious, but now he’s in this stupid room, wearing this stupid suit, surrounded by these stupid people, and it’s making him feel awkward.

The first time somebody tries to touch him he flinches away violently. He doesn’t mean to; it’s just what happens. It earns him a series of incredulous looks, from the man who had made the mistake of putting a hand on his shoulder, and a few other people in the vicinity.

Jason relocates himself quickly, though there’s no destination for him that’s that much better than where he’s already been. The various corners of the crowd all feel more or less the same, all absurd, all suffocating.

The next time someone tries to touch him, it’s his face. He had already decided that he didn’t like the woman in question before it happened. Her voice is an annoying pitch. Her words are all condescending. And even before reaching out for him she had been standing way too close.

If the proximity hadn’t been enough to put him on high alert the patronizing way she spoke to him certainly would have done it.

When her fingers come to press against his chin- as if she wants to turn his head to examine him- he pushes her away. Again, he doesn’t mean to do it exactly. It’s an instinctive reaction (and a pretty reasonable one, he thinks).

This time, however, he gets more than a few suspicious stares. The movement itself had been subtle enough not to draw any attention he didn’t already have. But the woman replies with an outraged squawk, that suddenly brings dozens of eyes onto them.

Jason freezes. Being stared at had been pretty high on his list of things to avoid tonight. And now people are talking.

“Why you little-“

“What happened?”

“Wayne’s new pet project-“

“Did you just hit her?”

“Delinquent-“

“Did he just hit her?”

The woman he shoved looks like she might be about to slap him, but he’s honestly less concerned about that than he is about the mix of curious and indignant bystanders drawing closer. They’re not surrounding him really, but it sure as hell feels like they’re trying to. Jason’s having a hard time processing anything beyond the impulse to lash out again, not to hurt anyone, just to get them away, so that maybe he can get away.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Oh god, Bruce. Jason’s not surprised the scene got his attention, but he’s a little startled to hear a much darker tone than his regular civilian voice.

Bruce forces his way through the crowd. Some of the onlookers redirect their attention away as he approaches. A handful of voices from different directions make overlapping attempts to answer his question. Jason hears something about how he’s, “not as well behaved as your last stray,” but isn’t looking up in time to see how the comment makes Bruce bristle.

He reaches them in seconds, takes in the woman’s body language, and immediately drags her several feet back from Jason. When he speaks, he manages to sound like Batman (at least to Jason’s knowing ears), even without the voice modulator.

“You will never put your hands on my child again.”

“I didn-“ the woman begins. “Your urchin-“

“Did you touch him?”

“I was only-“

“Yes or no.”

“I didn’t hurt him,” she scoffs.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Mr. Wayne, the kid attacked her. All she did was touch him.” The man who interrupts is in the minority, in that he has not had the good sense to pretend not to be paying attention to the whole scene.

Bruce’s jaw grinds, as he looks slowly between the man and the woman.

“So you did touch him.”

Bruce knows that Jason doesn’t like to be touched, knows that he can have something like a fear response to it, if it comes unexpectedly. And there are very few things that he hates more than his kids being scared. But he also knows better than to publicly chastise socialites specifically for scaring him, knows better than to bring his fear to people’s attention.

“This is ridiculous,” she says.

“On that we’re agreed.” Bruce slips further into his regular public persona as he speaks.

He looks around. First at Jason, taking stock of him, making sure he’s all right. Then to what remains of the audience they’d acquired, making pointed eye contact, silently subduing any conflict before it can arise. By the time he turns back to where the woman was, she’s hurried away. The sparse handful of people still shooting them scandalized glares are easy to ignore.

Bruce approaches Jason.

“You okay?”

He nods at first, then shrugs. He’s not sure if he wishes that things didn’t bother him as much, or just that people would quit doing the things that do bother him. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m never going to be good at this.” It isn’t an apology, or an admission of guilt, more like he’s daring Bruce to tell him that he needs to be.

Bruce makes a sweeping gesture around them.

“You’re clearly not the only one.”

An amused little half smile quirks onto Jason’s face, and Bruce revels in it.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Jason really does. But he still hesitates.

“I’m not sure if I can remember how to get back.” He’s still not that familiar with this part of the city.

“What?” Bruce looks genuinely confused. “No. Jason, I’m going to take you home.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean, if you want to.”

Bruce smiles at his feigned nonchalance.

“Do you have a jacket?”

Jason tugs at the fabric of his suit coat.

“Is this not a jacket?”

“I suppose it is. It’s chilly out though.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Like Dick didn’t run around in his underwear twelve months out of the year.”

Bruce lowers his voice slightly.

“Yes but not for lack of me trying to get him to put pants on.” His tone is unnecessarily serious.

Jason wants to laugh. Instead he rolls his eyes again.

They leave the party without further incident, catching a cab back to the manor.

There are things that Bruce did with Dick that he learned quickly not to do with Jason, patting him on the back, ruffling his hair, putting a hand on his arm. But when Jason takes the initiative to reach out, he never pulls away. He takes the middle seat in the taxi, putting him immediately next to Bruce, their arms pressed directly against each other. Bruce delights in his son’s closeness.

---

Bruce’s “outburst” is all over the news for the next week. Alfred buys a copy of the first tabloid to print a headline about it, and hangs it on the refrigerator.

Jason isn’t sure why, the whole thing was awful and embarrassing, but he find himself smiling whenever he glances up at it.

#batfam #batfamily #batman and robin #bruce wayne #jason todd #batdad #batman #robin #dc #my writing #it's fluffy angst #aka the only thing I know how to write

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homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part VII

Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys

Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. Also, huge thanks to @reidscanehand for beta-ing and just generally being my hype person!!!!

Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

...

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

Spencer Reid Re:

Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho.

...

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited years to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now painfully aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— someone about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— talked to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain.

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. Find that Reid and bring him back to us. He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.

———

Permanent tags: @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @eevee0722 @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin

Series tags: @spacedikut @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98 @meowiemari @mrsmyaweasley @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @daybabyx @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @ilzieah @froggybagels @gublersbooblers @matthcwgraygubler @takeyourleap-of-faith @mrs-dr-reid @flklrevrmre @andromedasstarship @joodeduarte

Broken tags: @saspencereid @this-is-gublerween

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid imagine #homoose writes #tmsidk

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softer-ua · 4 years ago

Note

BakuDeku or DekuBaku?

Fore warning, adult themes, nswf , minors skip this post 🔞

So like everything else in life I have an unnecessarily(can’t stress how arbitrary a preference this is) intense opinions on this, y’all are always welcome to disagree with me and I truly do respect y’all’s preference regardless of my own and this is all said in good fun and good faith

~ ~ ~

I’m a firm DekuBaku, Katsuki taking a full dom/top position always feels rather ooc to me and a complete sub/bottom Deku is a crime, don’t worry I will explain

Katsuki is predisposed to being self serving, he’s really bad at reading subtle cues, and he’s a doer not a thinker(like he doesn’t have to think, his heads so full every thought runs on a subconscious level)

He runs on instincts, he lives in his body more than his head, so half the time he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling he’s just letting the feeling drive him, and while definitely bossy he’s not a good leader because of poor communication skills

Even though he did lead his team to total victory they were sus of him almost the whole time because he didn’t/couldn’t verbalize why they should trust him

So just terrible dom energy, 0/10, I mean honestly no one with his main character tenant being “explosively petty at heart” should be legally allowed to dom imo 💀

And because of the self servingness and physical drive I find it hard to believe he’d miss out on having literally every nerve stimulated 😉 so he’s definitely a bratty power bottom in my opinion/scientific fact

Deku is a natural giver, is hyper aware of the slightest bit of discomfort in anyone, thinks through everything including his impulses, is excellent at coaching and leading people through what he wants from them and can be strict/demanding about what he wants but he lacks a bossy air, and even at his most exhausted has the presence of mind to make sure others are okay. 10/10 natural born service dom with the skillset to become a prefect brat tamer 😌

But most importantly to all of this is uuh the power/speed/STANIMA of OFA?? That leg strength?? Black whip?? Float??? Why in the name of Dekus green hair would anyone let that go to waste??? Absolute blasphemy

And not to pigeonhole buuut Kacchan chose this as his hero costume???

A skin tight deep V neck tank/leotard(?) with a bright orange X to accentuate the V and draw in his waist??? With an unnecessary garter belt?? And in his day to day he’s seemingly allergic to fully buttoning his shirt lol He’s really committed to his slutsthetic 💀

And then there’s Deku, sweet, caring, eyes on the fucken prize Deku 🥰

And then this

Got it’s own sound effect

Need I say more 🤨

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #kacchan #deku #izuku midoriya #bakudeku #dekubaku #nsft #no minors #🔞#softy answers

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feelingofcontent · 3 years ago

Text

DNP Rewatch: Easter Baking - EXTREME TRIPLE CHOCOLATE NESTS

Date video was published: 04/04/2015 (X)

DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 265

The first Easter baking video!

0:10 - that bunny costume is kind of terrifying. They had it from a merch calendar they made. Phil also posted a slightly disturbing picture wearing it.

0:11 - but Phil just thinks it’s funny enough to do the tongue-thing. He’s trying so hard to be able to make eye contact with Dan.

0:25 - Phil with the brief up-and-down look and then the casual grooming/fixing of his hair. And a fanfic reference. The start of this video is something else. “Pruning each other like monkeys” indeed.

0:38 - much less disturbing than the bunny head. Phil has so many “excuses” to just look at the start of this video.

0:45 - love that Dan did the decorating again, just like in the Halloween baking video. Yeah, they don’t have that many decorations...so apparently a lei and piranha plant flowers are “Eastery” enough, lol

0:57 - wtf Phil. And then Dan’s fond “you’re such a strange person” 🥺 Same energy as “nice to know after all these years, he’s still fucking weird.”

1:27 - Dan hyping it up. There is no reference to Delia Smith in this baking video, for the first time.

1:29 - WHY did they hang the bunny-head upside down in the background?! 😳

1:32 - I don’t know about the look in Dan’s eyes as Phil says “preparation”

1:38 - Dan’s like...where is this going. Then the fond little giggle and Phil is so proud of himself.

1:51 - “not Japan” ...where they will be going later in the month. Dan with the subtle foreshadowing.

1:56 - this is not nearly as bad as the hanging bunny head, Phil...

2:05 - they had the silicone discussion in the Halloween baking video too...why are they so impressed with that. why Dan.

2:30 - I’m impressed that Phil actually managed to catch all of those.

2:58 - of course they’re open. It’s a running theme at this point that Phil has to pick at least one ingredient to eat ahead of time.

3:06 - lol at Phil in the back silently increasing the count 😂

3:13 - they’re better off when they don’t actually have to put things in the oven, usually

3:20 - jesus christ. It wouldn’t even be that bad, except Phil has such a strong reaction, lol.

3:23 - and then we have a jump cut and Phil’s top shirt button is undone. umm.

3:32 - every time they say “microwave” I think of PINOF 2

3:45 - Phil’s shirt is buttoned fully again. Smart to heat the water in the kettle first!

4:02 - “mate....s” nice save there Phil

4:31 - Dan finds everything Phil says amusing. And then is ready to play-off of it too.

4:50 - “never go full northern” I love it 😂

4:56 - Phil can do a very convincing deadpan when he wants to

5:15 - “just let it drip out” did not need to be said in that tone...

5:50 - Attack of Titan theme singing, of course. Also, so much Phil arm and freckles in this video!

6:01 - just over there giggling to themselves and leaving it in the video

6:10 - they did not balance that spoon well

6:19 - it is more that theme than Easter, lol

6:46 - the origins of the naked-man apron! I love Dan’s reaction when he first sees it. Phil is so pleased with himself.

6:54 - love the growth from not showing any further down here to Phil completely not giving a shit years later

7:00 - they’ve switched burners for some reason. Now Dan keeps calling it “extreme” too, lol

7:07 - Phil’s top button is undone again. What are they doing.

7:23 - love the choice to zoom in on Dan for his little “yeah”

7:32 - they love to have little songs for everything. Phil’s “yeah” was infinitely more disturbing.

7:50 - Phil’s fond teasing like ‘we have more bowls you idiot’

8:13 - I can’t believe they didn’t dump it completely at least once with the amount of issues they seem to be having

8:26 - “into my coffin” what is Phil’s brain.

8:35 - his voice isn’t that bad here, but it turned out he did have laryngitis

8:37 - “husky sensual voice” thanks for sharing there, Dan

8:39 - well it’s far to late to worry about that; personal space does not exist in this video, lol.

9:05 - this is by far the least-complicated decorating they do in a baking video

9:12 - well neither of them are wrong...

9:29 - I live for Phil’s eyerolls

9:43 - not sure that zoom-in was necessary. The creepy bunny eyes in the background do not help.

9:52 - that’s an even better Phil eyeroll 😂

9:56 - I want to know what’s in the little white containers in the fridge door. It almost looks like extra of the melted chocolate, but I wonder what they were doing with it

10:06 - Dan looks so caught out, lol. This is quite a screenshot...

10:16 - no thank you 😨

10:24 - Dan does not like it either, hahaha

10:26 - and after the break, Phil’s shirt is fully buttoned again and he’s stolen the flower crown

10:35 - the “display unnecessarily” annotation is great

10:39 - Dan’s got the crown back

11:01 - and Phil with the crown again. Are we missing a crown-fight during the jump cuts, or did they just film things out of order?

11:04 - why does it vaguely looks like Dan is holding a baby

11:15 - Phil really does just say whatever comes to mind sometimes

11:21 - Phil is opening his mouth so wide, lol. Dan starts to go ahead, and then he paused and realized he needed to say something about it, probably.

11:31 - clearly Dan is not that concerned about sharing germs with a maybe-sick Phil

11:37 - “I’m a genius” Phil is so proud of himself.

11:55 - Dan immediately amused by trying to figure out what that means

12:08 - Phil with the instructions while trying not to laugh

12:15 - Phil arms 👀

12:32 - Phil’s not even on camera for the draw-Phil-naked intro here

12:41 - all the TABINOF/TATINOF promo had been on Dan’s channel and social media so far!

I love this baking video. Although I love pretty much every baking video. When it’s a simpler bake like this it’s less chaotic though, lol.

Also have to mention that this was the year of the first DanAndPhilCRAFTS April Fools Day videos (1, 2, 3) a few days before this.

#dan and phil #dnp #dnpRewatch #amazingphil #daniel howell #phil lester #danisnotonfire #amazingphil videos #Easter Baking - EXTREME TRIPLE CHOCOLATE NESTS #cw food

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yandere-society · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar Rush

Synopsis: You thought the breakup had gone well, but your ex-girlfriend Yoonji didn’t seem to get the message. When you go out with friends to party on Halloween night, you encounter Yoonji in an unexpected way – and you discover just how far she’ll go to get you back.

Pairing: Min Yoonji x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Yandere themes, blood/mentions of blood, stalking, restraints, safeword violation, torture, suicide mention, gore

Headline: Woman In Sumo Wrestler Suit Assaulted Ex-Girlfriend In Gay Pub After She Waved At Man Dressed As A Snickers Bar

Admin: @psycho-slytherin

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Ooh – gah!”

“Y/n?” Mia pokes her head into the kitchen. Her pupils are pure black, and she looks to be crying blood. “What happened?”

“Ugh, I think my mom sent me these roses and I pricked myself on a thorn,” you reply, sucking on your bleeding finger irritably. You lay down the card that came with the bouquet, which reads See you soon! “You look great.”

“Thanks! I’m a student.” Mia steps forward to reveal a school uniform shirt, sweatpants, and flip-flops.

“Uh…”

“Cause I’m stu-dying, get it?”

You snort. “Very nice.”

“What are you? You haven’t changed!”

You sigh. “I don’t think I’m going to dress up.” You can’t shake Halloween’s association with her.

“What? But 66 Below has their ‘free drink for a costume’ thing going on. C’mon, why not?”

You shrug, looking at your bleeding finger. Roses always seem to have it out for you. “It was our anniversary.”

“Wait, is this about Yoonji? Y/n, you broke up with her! If you regret it so much, get back together. The girl was head over heels with you, I’m sure she’d be down.”

You shake your head. “I’m not getting back together with her. Definitely not.” You and Yoonji were together for three years, long enough that you had started wondering if it would turn into forever. As time went on, however, you began to notice unnerving little quirks in her behavior. She was scaring you, and you ended things soon after. “Besides, she was always so neurotic that I would cheat on her with a guy.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “Biphobia at its finest. Well, fuck Yoonji. It’s been months – now get dressed. It’s Halloween, and we’re going out! Besides, Aisha is meeting us there.”

You laugh. “I don’t have a costume.”

“I have an extra that I brought with me – it’s an unnecessarily sexy angel, it didn’t fit my sister. Try it!”

Angel. That was Yoonji’s name for you. You sigh, dragging yourself away from the traitorous roses and following Mia down the hall.

Soon enough, Mia is putting the final touches on your makeup. “Ooh, you’re glowing!”

“I don’t know why you sound surprised when it’s your fault,” you retort before catching a look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re wearing a white silky babydoll dress – the kind that you’d only wear in the bedroom. She’d love it. You’re sporting white fishnets and feathered wings, with a golden headband resembling a halo to complete the look. Mia has done your makeup expertly, with lots of rose and gold, so that you look perfectly angelic. You add your favorite rainbow earrings for some added pride. Still, the outfit…

“Isn’t this a little… risque?” Yoonji would never let you wear something like this out.

“I don’t want anyone else laying eyes on my angel,” she would croon in your ear. “You’re all mine. I’ll never let anyone else touch you.”

“It’s Halloween, Y/n, as long as the goods are covered you’re set.”

You peer out of the window. The sun has set, and groups of kids are out in spades for trick-or-treating. You used to love Halloween – it had always been your favorite holiday, long before you and Yoonji made it official four years ago.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

She stared at you for a long time. “Do you promise never to cheat? You’ll be loyal to me alone?”

You laughed. “Of course! I like you, I want to date you!

“In that case…” She leaned forward and kissed you. Her vampire costume meant you got fake blood all over your lips. “Happy Halloween, angel.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Mia nods. Her black contact lenses are… well, they’re not unintimidating. You’re glad to be able to spend this Halloween with her, and not worry about your ex-girlfriend.

66 Below has long been your and Mia’s favorite LGBTQ bar. With its live music, pride flags, and vintage decor, you feel as though you’re stepping into an extra-queer period piece.Yoonji never liked it; she thought it was too crowded. Tonight, almost everyone is dressed up in costume, enjoying 66 Below’s 'first drink free’ policy.

“Mia! Y/n! Over here!” Mia’s girlfriend Aisha gets your attention, waving at you from a booth. You’ve never encountered a more loving couple, and you know Mia’s planning on proposing to her soon. Aisha is dressed as… “Wait, what is she wearing?” You ask as you and Mia join her. Aisha looks like she printed a graded school paper onto white clothing, complete with red marks and typos. Over her heart is a big red F. In response to your quizzical glance, Aisha points to the F.

“Geddit? I’m a failing grade! I specifically wanted to be a final exam, but…”

You laugh. Mia and Aisha must have coordinated that. You scan the bar and note you’re not the only angel. There’s also some devils, ghosts, animals, anime characters, Iron Man, a Snickers bar, two Harry Potters, and – of course – inappropriately sexy children’s cartoon characters. You love Halloween.

“Y/n, c’mon, let’s grab drinks,” Mia says, but her eyes seem unwilling to leave Aisha’s. Their love reminds you of yours… or, what you thought was love. Towards the end of your relationship, you began to realize Yoonji’s idea of love was very different from yours.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get yours. What do you want?”

“You sure?” When you nod, Mia reels off her order. You approach the bar, smiling at your favorite bartender. “Hey, Jaewon!”

“Do mine eyes deceive me, or is that Y/n beneath the halo?”

Jaewon pretends to be blinded. He’s dressed as what you can only assume is slutty Mario.

“Shush, you. I’ll have an IPA and a margarita, please.”

“Sure thing.”

As you’re waiting for your drinks, the person in the Snickers costume slides into the seat next to you. “Nice costume, angel.”

You stare at him, a brow raised. If you weren’t at a gay bar, you’d think he was flirting. “Thanks, Snickers.”

“Who are you here with?”

You nod at the booth, where Mia and Aisha are now kissing intensely.

“Y’all poly or are you third wheeling?”

You laugh. “The latter. I’m not the relationship type.” Not anymore. Not after you realized how you were so easily manipulated into thinking Yoonji’s behavior was love. But the way she would kiss you, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, tangling her hand in your hair…

“Yeah, I get you. Couples’ costumes are scary by default to me,” the Snickers jokes. “Perfect for Halloween. I’m Namjoon, by the way.”

“Y/n. Are you here with anyone?”

Namjoon glances around. “I was here with my buddy, but I think he left to fuck one of the Harry Potters. Which is funny, now that I think about it, since he was dressed as Dumbledore.”

You snort. “Oh my god. Well, if you want a group to join, I’ll be third-wheeling over there.” Jaewon reappears with your drinks and a wink.

“I might just take you up on that, angel. Happy Halloween!”

“Hey!” Mia says, finally coming up for air. Miraculously, her bloody tears have stayed put. “Who was that guy you were talking to? He seemed cute!”

“He’s probably gay,” you remind your friend. “He was sweet, though, I invited him to come over if he wanted to – his friend left him. Is that okay?”

Mia and Aisha glance at each other. “Actually, we were wondering…”

You look at the two suspiciously. “Yes?”

“There’s this event happening at 4Sooth,” Aisha says, referencing another bar downtown, “Where the best couples’ costume gets a cash prize. We were thinking… well, zombie student, failing grade…”

Oh. Why did you come here in the first place, then?

“Yeah, you guys totally have a chance!” You offer with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. “Should we go there?”

“The thing is…” Aisha looks at Mia, who shows you the event announcement on her phone.

“Well, the other prize is a night in the ‘Halloween Suite’ at the hotel next door, y’know?” Mia says quickly, a note of pleading in her voice.

Ohhhh. “Right, okay. So… I’ll just stay here, then.”

“Are you sure?” Mia asks anxiously. You can see her on the fence between guilt and excitement.

“Yeah, it’s fine!” You insist. “I’m good at making friends. Have fun!” Just because you have to be alone on Halloween, doesn’t mean Mia and Aisha can’t have a good time.

“You’re the best, Y/n, I owe you!” Mia gives you a quick kiss on each cheek before she and Aisha head out. As soon as they’re out of sight, your smile slips from your face and you sigh, nursing your beer. It’s Halloween, what would have been your and Yoonji’s fourth anniversary, and you’re alone at a bar. Pathetic. You turn to costume-watching, admiring the Big Bird, Dorthy from The Wizard of Oz, a sumo wrestler, and several queer or genderbent characters from all sorts of media.

Namjoon, the Snickers, is looking at you from his seat at the bar. He raises a quizzical brow at the now-empty booth, and you roll your eyes and shake your head in response.

He purses his lips, tipping his glass in acknowledgement.

Wonderful. A bar of candy pities me. You wave, motioning for Namjoon to come join you. You were both alone – why not?

Almost as soon as you lower your hand, several things happen at once: a blur of tan crosses your vision; you hear a loud BANG, and feel a sudden, incomprehensible, searing pain shoot through the back of your head; something warm trickles down your face; there are lips against your ear, whispering words you can’t understand; far-off shouts and screams; and the world goes dark.

“Told you that you’d cheat… you’re just a whore for them… but now you’re all mine again.”

“Mmnn…” you groan, blinking hard. Your head hurts – everything hurts. You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. You’re lying on something soft. Did you go to bed? You move to rub your temple, but your wrist is tugged back by… rope. Rope? Your eyes widen and you begin to struggle furiously against the restraints, yanking until you feel your hands are going to detach themselves. “What the fuck?” Your wrists are tied to bedposts. Shit. Were you drugged? Was it Jaewon the bartender? “HELP! Somebody! Help me!” Your shoes are gone, and – oh, no – your white dress is stained and splattered with blood. Yours? When you try to pull yourself up, your vision floats before you. You can feel warm blood trickling down your head, tickling your scalp. You fall back onto the pillow, trying to force your vision to focus. “Help me…”

Suddenly, you hear heavy footsteps, and a voice that makes you freeze.

“Looks like I nabbed myself a pretty little angel. Talk about fallen from grace, right?”

Your cries for help freeze in your throat. “Yoonji?”

And in walks your ex-girlfriend, the blow-up sumo wrestling suit deflating around her. That flash of tan… so she was there, at 66 Below. Her pristine black bob hasn’t changed in the last few months, and her makeup is perfectly done. As the suit empties, she steps out of it, wearing her favorite outfit of black tights and skirt with a cream blouse.

“Let me go,” you croak. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed in her fist. Your fighting spirit seems to have evaporated in the face of the woman you once loved. It doesn’t make sense… or does it make too much sense? You knew she was possessive – it’s why you ended things. But this? “Yoonji… please. Please.”

Yoonji pretends not to hear you, instead walking around the bed to inspect your restraints. Of course, now that you’ve collected yourself, you recognize her bedroom. In fact, it’s not your first time being tied to these same bedposts.

“Red. Yoonji, please, red,” you try desperately, hoping the safeword might make her relent. For a moment, her cool expression falters. It’s quickly replaced with raw fury.

“You want to try calling red?” She snarls, looking right at you. “You cheated on me. You broke up with me!”

“I never cheated!” You cry, kicking out at her in vain. “You always thought I was cheating on you – I didn’t do anything!”

“I saw you,” she replies, raising a hand and bringing it down hard on your cheek. Your head jerks to the side and you can taste blood. Your face is on fire, it must be, how can it hurt so badly? “It’s our anniversary. I saw you wave at that candy bar.” Another slap leaves your jaw aching. “Fucking whore, do you flirt with every man you see? Girls like you can never be faithful.”

“We’re not together anymore!” You yell, pulling hard on the ropes. They’re much stronger and more coarse than any Yoonji has used with you before, and you bite back a yelp of pain at the rope burn. Your head hurts so much, and your chest is heaving with anxiety. Is she going to kill you? “You’re insane. Let me go – they’ll find out I’m gone. They’ll call the police.” After you and Yoonji broke up, you moved in with Mia. Surely she’ll be concerned when you don’t show up.

Yoonji laughs softly. It’s the way she would laugh when she had a secret. “Well… you did text your housemate to tell her you were going home with the Snickers bar. She’s not expecting you – and that contest is going to keep her at the hotel all night anyways.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. How does she know? “What text? Where’s my phone?”

Yoonji lazily fishes your phone from her pocket. “You really haven’t changed your password?”

“Give that back! Let me go!” You twist your hips and kick hard in her direction, scoring a tiny victory when your phone goes flying from Yoonji’s hand. In the split second that she’s leaned over to retrieve it, you try to see if you can feel any slack at all in the ropes binding your wrists. Yes! There’s something. Maybe your situation isn’t hopeless after all.

Your spirits fall by the wayside when you see Yoonji rise with a terrifying smile on her face. “What a frisky angel, you like to kick, don’t you? Maybe I should tie those lovely legs too.”

“No- don’t touch me! Yoonji, c’mon…” your voice breaks when you see her pull a length of rope from her closet. “W-what are you going to do with me?”

“What am I going to do with you? Exactly what I’ve always wanted to. I’m going to make sure no one else will ever touch you again. You’re mine, angel, you always have been.” Yoonji reaches for your legs and you kick wildly, desperate to escape. Your heart feels like a racehorse in your chest, and sheer adrenaline numbs the throbbing pain in your head.

“Stop… struggling!” Yoonji hisses furiously as she makes a grab for your foot. “Ungrateful bitch. Why are you always trying to get away from me? All I did was love you!”

Now. You slam your heel into her chin, and her head snaps upward with the force of your kick.

For a second you feel like she’s about to crumple to the ground, but instead she lowers her gaze to stare into your soul once more.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Yoonji massages her jaw, and when she speaks, blood drips from between her lips. She begins to pace around the bed, avoiding your kicks. “Bad angel… maybe you’re just a devil in disguise, huh? I always knew you were a dirty fucking liar. And you didn’t even say thank you for the roses.”

The roses? Your eyes widen. See you soon. They were from her? “Fuck you,” You say in response, surreptitiously tugging and relaxing the slack on your right hand’s rope. “I never cheated. You were just scared that I could love men and women. Well, guess what? I loved you! For years, until I realized you never loved me back.”

“What?” You see horror cloud Yoonji’s face. “You fucking bitch. ALL I did was love you!”

You shake your head, determined to keep her talking. She’s out of range of your kicks for now. If you could just get your hands free…

You feel suddenly woozy. Are there two… no, three Yoonjis? Shit. Now is not the time for a concussion.

“You never loved me. You were obsessed and insane. Don’t you hear yourself?” You say, your volume increasing. You know the walls are well-insulated, but she’s still in an apartment complex. Maybe the neighbors will hear? Another tug on the rope. You twist your wrist, and for a second you can feel it loosening. “You only wanted me so that no one else could have me!”

“You’re lying.” Maybe it’s a reflection of your bloody dress, or the blood dripping from her mouth, but for a second her eyes seem to shine red.

You shake your head. You’ve almost got a hand free. “You’re the one who’s lying, Yoonji. You’re lying to yourself.” Dizzy again. “You – ngh – you can just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” Almost got a hand free. How long has it been?

Suddenly Yoonji is looming over you. “Ah, but you forgot.” She spits at you, and a mouthful of scarlet blood hits the white pillowcase. Some of it splatters on your cheek. You keep tugging at the tie around your left hand. It’s much tighter than your right. She’s rummaging in her bedside drawer, and that look in her eyes… you’re scared. “I might’ve let an angel go, but you decided you’re not an angel. You’re a devil. And where do devils belong?”

“Uh…”

“That’s right.” Yoonji shows you what she’s retrieved: a lighter. She walks around the bed to the bottom right corner of the duvet. “Devils like you should stay in hell.”

“Yoonji. Yoonji, what are you –” She lowers the lighter to the duvet, and you see the cloth begin to smoke before a small flame forms on the bed, flickering but gaining in strength. “YOONJI!”

“I told you, Y/n.” Her voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it as she wipes more blood from her chin. “I’ll never let anyone touch you again.”

“C’mon, please, this is too much,” you say, your voice bleeding into hysteria as you thrash around, trying to kick the burning blanket away from your body. The fire begins to grow, and in your frenzied movement you accidentally burn your foot. You jerk away, yanking at the ropes on your wrists. You’re wearing fishnet stockings – if those catch fire, it’ll travel all the way up your body in a flash. “Let me go! Let me go, you psycho!”

Yoonji makes a pouty face. “Poor baby. Let you go… or what?”

“Please!” You shriek as the fire grows, the smoke now visibly rising from the bed. “Yoonji, I’m sorry, please, please…”

“I missed hearing you beg, my love. What a delicious Halloween treat. And if you need to blame anyone…” Yoonji pauses and smiles. The blood has gotten between her teeth, giving her a terrifying undead look. “Blame that Snickers bar.”

With that, she leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Fuck. You tug furiously at your right hand, where the rope has significantly loosened. You can feel the heat from the flames, dangerously close to you. “C’mon, c’mon…” You’re not going to die here, what a terrible headline. Who would write your obituary? You fight through another wave of dizziness. “Fucking hell!” With effort that leaves your muscles trembling, you wriggle your right hand out of its ties, and it quickly flies to your other hand. Maybe you’ll survive.

Unless she locked the door. Yoonji is four floors up. From that height…

You quickly work through the knots on your left wrist, which Yoonji tied so tightly you can’t feel several of your fingers anymore. Faster. Your nails are broken from tearing at the rope, and at one point the nail on your middle finger catches and gets stuck fast in the rope. The fire has spread to the carpet, and thick, black smoke is billowing up. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for the pain – it’s nothing compared to burning alive – and yank your hand back.

“Gah!” It’s a furious pain, for so small a point. The fingernail is ripped off your finger and hangs there as your nail bed bleeds freely. You force yourself to keep moving, to undo the knot or rip the rope off completely but the pain makes it hard to breathe… or is it the smoke quickly filling the air? With movements made jerky by panic, you at last find a loose end and pull it through the knot. The rope around your wrist loosens and you’re able to slip your hand out. You’re not going to think about the fact that you can’t feel three of your fingers or move them properly. You’re free. You look around wildly, rushing for the door. You rattle the handle, but it’s locked. You can try to kick through it? But what if Yoonji is on the other side of the door, and shoves you back into the flames? The window next to the bed is locked too. But… You bend down and, straining, lift her entire bedside nightstand up. As soon as you stand your legs wobble and threaten to collapse, and you feel blood continue to drip down your neck and back. You stumble, almost to the window, but–

“Ugh-” You lose your grip and the nightstand crashes to the floor, almost on your foot. At that moment, you’re tempted to break down completely. What if you just… gave up? If you go through the window, you’ll probably die in the fall. Through the door, if you can even kick it down, and Yoonji will surely be waiting for you. You could just stay here, where at least death is a merciful certainty.

No – what are you thinking? You have to live. If you die, Yoonji will be free, and you won’t be able to tell your story. If you die now… she wins.

You adjust your stance and, arms trembling, lift the nightstand once more. The air is getting harder to breathe, you don’t know how much longer you have. You heave the nightstand at the window and it crashes straight through the glass, smashing down onto the street four stories below. Wait – the street. It must only be a little past midnight, because you can see some teens and adults still walking the street in costume. Passersby!

“HELP!” You shriek, waving your hand. You’re cut and bleeding in several places from flying glass, and you surely look fit for Halloween.

Wait. Hang on. One of the adults laughs and points up at you. “Great costume!” he yells.

“No, no, no…” the smoke is getting thicker, the fire closer. “Please- please help!” What you need to be a strong yell comes out a broken sob. “There’s a fire! Please help me!”

Two groups seem to realize it’s not just a Halloween prank, and you see some people whip out their phones to call the police. Several more rush forward, but clearly have no plan other than to stand beneath the window.

The police will take too long. You blink through the smoke, which is now visible through the window. You will not burn alive. And you won’t let Yoonji walk free, not after this. You brush the broken glass away from the windowsill and carefully step onto the ledge, a bleeding angel in the night. Your wings and white dress glow in such contrast to the walls that it looks like you’re flying.

You hear gasps and screams, and a “Don’t jump!”

Idiot. As though you have a choice. No, you only have one choice left, and you’re making it count. “My name is Y/n L/n,” You yell, forcing down a smoky cough, “And the person who killed me is Min Yoonji!”

No time to think. You step forward off the ledge, closing your eyes. Forty feet isn’t that far to fall, maybe you’ll make it.

Fucking Snickers bar.

#yandere #yandere bts #bts #yoongi #suga #yandere!yoongi #bts genderbend #halloween event #yandere-society #yandere x reader #bts halloween fic #gxg #wlw #bts gxg #yandere!suga #yandere!yoongi x reader #bangtan

241 notes · View notes

dayseternal-blog · 4 years ago

Note

If you ever finish answering all of yours awaiting asks...

45 questions for you 👀

https://myaekingheart.tumblr.com/post/650107314353897472/fic-writer-ask-game

Lolllll BADLUCKBREBIS, you are so funny.

Inspiration and Reading Asks:

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction?

It looks like I started writing in 2017. I've been reflecting recently on how there are so many regularly active writers now compared to in 2017-2018. It was the tail-end of some of my fave writer's activity within fandom. Utsus was posting less and less. The Tumblr NaruHina fandom seemed to disappear, a whole community of writers left for other things (matchaball, nekomamoru, magmawrites, cherryjutsu, spyder-m, tenney-shoes, eliphya, among others). 2018 was a very quiet year, but! I avidly read katarinahime and bunnyhoodlum's works! In 2019, quirrrky restarted things with NaruHina Week!

2. How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

Recently I’m primarily a reader!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Because there's so many writers now!!!!!!!!

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do?

Yeah, let’s list them. “A Special Friend” by agitosgirl inspired “Nightdreams. “Medicine” by @grimmjowkurosakidrake inspired “White Lilies. “Torch Song” by @mmmbuttery inspired “About You.” The language in “Unless the World Were to End” by @bunny-hoodlum inspired the language in “That was the plan.” “In Between Drinks” by @peppercornpress inspired “In Between Drinks NH.”

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

“Operation: Bring Home Naruto” by Dragonwannabe - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata's been assigned the mission of getting Naruto back home safely after his last dangerous assignment. But can she handle the undercover identity as his girlfriend that she’d been given without revealing her true feelings for him?

“The Mission” by Lunawraythe - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. It wasn't that Hinata never expected to work with Naruto, just never on a mission quite like this.

“The Loving Type” by @peppercornpresses - Rated M, Canon-Divergent, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. A few years have passed since the Fourth Shinobi War, in which...Rookie Nine steadily advances in rank. Naruto gets engaged. Hinata leaves Konoha. And Kakashi schemes for days.

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

ahhh. I do have quite a few pet peeves. If the fic is Canon-Compliant or Canon-Divergent, I expect Naruto and Hinata to behave like Japanese people. Say what you want, but the Naruto Universe is definitely Japanese in my book. So that means no shoes in the house. Nothing rattles me more than reading Hinata taking her sandals off before climbing into bed. Like, what? she was wearing her outdoor shoes indoors this whole time??

mmm... another pet peeve is when the writer describes Hinata in a kimono, but it sounds like an American Halloween costume, like the slutty version, instead of an actual kimono.

mmm... and the other big pet peeve I have is when it’s Hinata’s first time eating ramen because Naruto is showing her the wonders of ramen. lol. why. how. in what world would a Japanese person make it to their teenage years without ever eating ramen.

I have a bunch of other little pet peeves regarding Japanese culture in fanfics. But in general, it doesn’t stop me from reading the fic if I'm already in the middle of it. I’ll continue reading it and will probably recommend it to other people anyway. If I can tell based on the summary, then it's not for me, and I don't read it. If this makes anyone feel nervous about writing fanfiction, that's not my intention! I would also be happy to be a sensitivity reader if necessary.

6. How do you find new fic to read? Where do you primarily read fanfiction?

I primarily read fanfics on AO3 and ffnet. I find new ones by constantly checking the Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto tag on AO3 or looking into a writer’s favorites list on ffnet.

7. Do you prefer to read short fics or long fics?

Short fics.

8. How often do you reblog/comment on fics that you like?

I reblog pretty often. I don't comment as often as I used to😕 I used to comment on every fic I liked.

9. Tag 3 fic writers you think are underrated/unknown in the fandom/fanfiction community.

Uhh?? Idk. I think recently the writing group here is pretty tight, everyone seems to know everyone.

10. What’s your favorite fandom, pairing, or character to read fic for?

Naruto fandom and NaruHina.

Fanfiction Writing Asks:

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

I usually take it from words used in the story or from the prompt.

12. Tell the author your favorite fic title of theirs (not the fic, strictly title). Author: what’s your favorite title you’ve come up with and why?

I think...maybe "Tell Me of Forevers" or "Nightdreams." I like those because they aren't taken word-for-word directly from the story, but touch on a theme in the story.

13. Do you outline your fics? How much of a headache would someone get if they just looked at an outline of yours without reading the fic?

Yes, I outline. They wouldn't get a headache, I think. It's usually just a summary.

14. Do you have a personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not?

Nope. I didn't know people do that.

15. Tell the author your favorite fic of theirs. What’s your (the author’s) favorite fic you’ve written?

My favorite fic continues to be "It's No Secret."

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

Yes, I do. I've done historical and folktale research for "Little Samurai." I did area/location research for "Last Chance." I did historical research for "About You." I did fairy tale research for "Catskin." I did a ton of astronomy research for "The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl." And I did lighting research for "Inspo." I go pretty deep.

17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback?

I don't. I usually have something else I need to do or I go to bed.

18. Do you have a WIP that you keep telling yourself you’ll eventually get back to, but deep down you know that’s probably a lie?

I actually think I can finish all of mine if I just try.

19. Do you edit your fics after you write them, or do you prefer to just hit post and run (because it’s someone else’s problem now)?

I always edit before posting to AO3. Anything I post directly on Tumblr might not be edited.

20. What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Posting!

21. What’s your least favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Starting a new chapter.

22. Do you take fic requests? If so, for what characters and why?

On occasion. If someone sends me a request, I'll think about writing it. Sometimes I do write and post it, sometimes I leave them in my drafts for a better day.

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

From what I already have posted, probably friends-to-lovers, secret relationship/forbidden love, or high school au. I don't think I have an intentional favorite.

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

Public humiliation / public degradation.

25. Do you listen to music as you write? If possible, link your writing playlist.

No, not usually.

26. What’s your biggest distraction when writing?

Tumblr feed, all the pictures to scroll through mindlessly.

27. Do you like to give your readers some warning of what might be coming or just slap them in the face with content at random?

lol, whatever is fine.

28. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie: pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc)?

Well, pressure to update is not a big deal to me. I do this for fun, so I don't think I unnecessarily pressure myself too much. With negative comments, I don't get too many of those, and I think I do my best to avoid situations where I might get negative feedback.

29. Have you ever written for an exchange or event of some kind? Which one(s)? Did you enjoy it?

Yeah, I like the events. My favorite was NH2020, the year-long one last year. I also enjoyed the Secret Santa last year since @badluckbrebis was my giftee.

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

haha😈

Ecstasy slides through his veins, blooming over his mind, cocooning him in pleasant sensations, cum shooting out in eager twitches against hot, milking flesh.

31. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Naruto Uzumaki, always.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

Top 3 faves in order:

That was the plan: "She shifts in his arms, and cloth and cleavage come pillowing up to his face, and he’s certain that she’s scooped from the same puffy stuff his adolescent daydreams were made of."

Tell Me of Forevers: "What he wouldn’t do to inspire every blush, every smile of hers for an eternity when such moments already only speak “forever” to him."

White Lilies: "Whether at his feet, in his eyes, ears, mind, if not reaching his heart, she never landed anywhere. (It’s okay.)"

I consider "White Lilies" to have my technically best writing, so it was kind of hard to choose just one line from that fic! But I decided that one's my favorite line from the whole story.

33. What do you like writing better: one shots or multi-chapter stuff?

One-shots.

34. How much of yourself and your life experiences do you put into your writing? What do you think your readers’ image of you is?

A lot of my life experiences are in my writing. Hmm, I think readers probably think I'm...hmm...either empathetic or really perverted?

35. How much has writing fic changed your life?

I spend a lot less time on real-life social media than before.

36. Are there any fics or fandoms you’re embarrassed to have written or been part of?

I'm kind of embarrassed of "Honeymoon at the Hot Springs" lol. It's fine.

37. Give an update on your current WIP - if you don’t have one, give a sneak peek to a title or idea that you have and would like to write.

My current WIP is that A/B/O fic I started for February Smut Month Prompts: Sweet as Candy or Love Bites. I'm going to title it "Sweet As," and it'll be about how Naruto and Hinata become Alpha/Omega mates. It's really kinky, really smutty, and totally what I would want to read.

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

uhh???? a 1?? I've never once thought of my writing process as chaotic. Ahh, then I think of bunnyhoodlum's multiple drafts for the same chapter, and I realize that there exist types of writing processes that I would not be able to handle...

39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

My smut.

40. How did you come up with the idea for [x fic]?

41. What’s your most popular fic (with the most notes on tumblr, most hits/kudos on ao3)?

Idk about Tumblr,,, maybe White Lilies got the most attention here. My most popular fic is Nightdreams on AO3.

42. Asker: pick three of the author’s works. Author: rank them 1 (the best) - 3 (the worst) based on whatever criteria you want - this could be something totally random that isn’t quality related (like simply ranking fics based on how many trains appear in them) - have fun!

43. Talk about a positive experience with fanfiction or the fanfiction community that you will always remember.

I will always remember how people congratulated me for finishing White Lilies😭 Also, when peppercornpresses made that FIRST art of my story, I just, I just stared at it all day.

44. Rant about something writing related.

hmmm, I don't feel like ranting about anything. I just recently ranted about my pet peeves above.

45. Fic specific questions - if you have any weird questions about specific works, here’s your shot to ask them!

I did them all! Nice questions.

#anon #*anon*#fic writer ask game #i will send these questions right back at you

20 notes · View notes

mintaka14 · 4 years ago

Link

Coryphée

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Five – Apothéose

The sight of Luka on her doorstep in the morning always caused Marinette’s unruly heart to stutter, but that morning the new memory of the feel of his mouth on hers sent a heady rush through her. Unconsciously, her hand lifted to touch her lips, and his eyes caught on the gesture.

“Come back to the Liberty with me tonight,” Luka coaxed, that husky note in his voice sending shivers down her spine as they started towards the metro together. His fingers tangled with hers, his thumb tracing a line down the edge of her palm. “Just to hang out. Or not.”

“I wish I could,” she sighed, trying to gather the thoughts he was scattering. “But I have to finish fixing the Florine costume I stole before tomorrow morning, or they’re going to find out it’s missing and kick me out of the company and I’ll end up going to jail for the rest of my life, or have to leave the country and go on the run.”

Luka missed a step and came to a stop, pulling her up short.

“Wait, what?”

He was staring at her, his mouth open.

“You stole your costume?”

“After Lila snuck in and damaged it,” Marinette said sourly. “I had to, to fix it.”

“You stole it?” he repeated as if he were stuck on a loop. “When did this happen? How didn’t I know?”

“It was after Lila put glass in my shoes. You were busy being an idiot and avoiding me.”

He jolted into motion again at that, and Marinette found herself engulfed in a tight embrace.

“I really was an idiot,” Luka told her apologetically. “I did suffer for it, though, thinking you were seconds away from telling me you were with Adrien.”

“Good,” she muttered. “It wasn’t exactly a picnic for me, either.” She glanced up at him as they started walking again. “The whole time I was crawling through that ceiling, though, I was wishing it was you there with me.”

“Crawling through the… I have to know, what on earth were you doing in the ceiling? And how the hell did you get up there?”

So she told him. By the time they reached the Palais Garnier, he was wheezing with laughter.

“Melody, you were born to be a Couffaine,” he said, his voice shaking. Marinette shot him a provocative look from under the sweep of her eyelashes.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, mister. Before anything else, I need to fix the tutu and find a way to get it back without anyone noticing.”

“That’s all the motivation I need,” he told her a little unsteadily, then the laughter in his eyes became something more intense, and when he bent to kiss her, all thought of the tutu left her in a rush as her eyelids fluttered shut.

“I’m not going to get anything done if you keep doing that,” she complained breathlessly as his hand came up to brush her cheek. “I already lost one night of work last night, and you’re very distracting.”

He grinned down at her. “I promise, no distracting until you’re not facing imminent arrest.”

True to his word, when he climbed through the trapdoor into her bedroom that night he had his acoustic guitar in his hand and Juleka right behind him. Marinette lowered the intricate beading she was reconstructing and raised an eyebrow at the Couffaines, and Juleka rolled her eyes.

“I’m here to make sure there’s no distracting going on,” she said drily. “And I told you so. Dumbasses, the both of you.”

“Ignore her,” Luka told Marinette, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her upturned face. “She’s just being unnecessarily smug. Whatever we can do to help, we’re here.”

“Luka said you need help with a heist,” Juleka said with a faint flicker of enthusiasm.

“More like a reverse heist. I have to break a valuable tutu back into the costume department at the Palais Garnier.”

Juleka’s black lipsticked mouth curled up in a smile. “Awesome. I’m in.”

“None of that’s going to matter if I don’t get it finished first.” Marinette looked down at the heap of glittering beads and satin in her lap and sighed.

“Then you focus on that,” Luka said calmly.

Even with the prospect of ruin staring her in the face, Marinette felt happier than she had in a long time. The pattern of glittering feathers was starting to emerge again, and she threaded another sequin into place, stitching it down.

“Is it weird that I’m actually enjoying myself?”

“Yes,” Juleka muttered.

“No,” Luka answered, and settled himself on the floor with his guitar.

“Are you going to stay with the company after all this?” Juleka asked. “Or are you going to quit?”

“I’m not backing down. I’m not going to give Lila the satisfaction,” Marinette growled. The tune that Luka was idly playing shifted into something a little dissonant.

“If you’re doing something that makes you unhappy just to spite Lila,” Luka said, his attention on his fingering, “then hasn’t she already won?”

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t just let her get away with everything she’s done.”

“Leave or stay with the ballet company, you know I’m with you. Just don’t let it be because of Lila. That’s giving her too much power over you.” He played an idle chord. “And besides, there are other ways to deal with her.”

“The Seine is deep,” Juleka observed darkly. “No one would find her.”

The Couffaines looked at each other over Marinette’s head.

“No!” she told them forcefully, then added, “Lila can’t spend the rest of her life regretting that she ever messed with me if she’s at the bottom of the Seine.”

And Luka burst out laughing.

“I think we’ve had a bad effect on you, melody,” he managed eventually, and Marinette tilted her nose at him.

“I was perfectly capable of murder and mayhem before you came along, Luka Couffaine.”

Juleka shrugged. “She was. Remember when we first met her?”

“I remember,” Luka said softly, his eyes on Marinette.

“I wonder what happened to that kid who was picking on me, the blonde one who seemed to think she owned the place?” Juleka said, spinning lazily on Marinette’s desk chair. “We never did see her at any more of the arts competitions after that.”

Luka’s guitar drifted from one song into another while they talked and Marinette sewed. It was somewhere around one in the morning when Marinette finally set the last stitch and sighed, holding the costume out to inspect the bodice critically.

She gave another sigh.

“Done.”

She carried it over to her desk and carefully laid the tutu in the linen bag, and came back to collapse onto the couch. Luka set aside his guitar and slid in beside her. He lifted her hand, the feather-soft blue tips of his hair brushing her wrist as he bent to press lingering kisses to the abused fingertips.

“Done,” he echoed tenderly. “Brilliant girl.”

“Gross,” Juleka muttered on the other side of Marinette’s bedroom.

Luka had always been one for casual hugs and touches, at least with the people he truly cared about, but Marinette hadn’t realised how much he’d really held back with her. He ignored Juleka and wrapped himself around Marinette, his face buried in her shoulder, and Marinette sank back into his embrace with a blissful sigh.

“Oh god, you two are going to be completely disgusting from now on, aren’t you?” Juleka groaned.

“Yup,” said Luka into Marinette’s hair.

“So what now?” his sister asked.

“I have no idea,” Marinette said, distracted by the feel of Luka’s lips against her neck. “I have to figure out how to get the costume back before the dress rehearsal tonight, but how on earth am I supposed to do that? I can’t just wander in with a bag full of tutu and say ‘Oh, look what I found!’ ”

She could feel Luka’s chuckle rumble in his chest. “You’re the one with the brilliant ideas. Jules and I are just here to do your bidding.”

She didn’t feel terribly brilliant at that moment, but it was hard to work up much concern about it with Luka’s fingers tracing patterns along the edge of her shirt and his mouth pressing kisses into the sensitive corner of her jaw. Her gaze drifted around the room.

“Oh!“ Marinette sat bolt upright, and Luka complained as she pulled away. He fell backwards into the couch cushions. “Oh, I have a plan. Or… more a start of a plan.”

“Of course you do, melody,” Luka said fondly, still sprawled across the couch.

She reached for her phone.

“Who are you calling?”

She waited for the other end to pick up. “I think Adrien can make himself useful, if he’s really serious about saving everyone’s careers,” she told them, her attention elsewhere as the call connected.

“So… you’re planning to ask the guy you just turned down to help you commit a crime,” Juleka pointed out, just as Adrien answered. “Nice.”

“Marinette?” her partner’s voice said sleepily as the silence grew awkward. “Are you there?”

“… yes, yes I… here. I’m here.” She really hadn’t thought this through. Luka was still stretched out on the couch behind her, but he’d flung his arms over his face and his shoulders were shaking. She gave him a shove, the unhelpful idiot.

“It’s past one a.m. Is everything okay?”

“Adrien, I need your help.”

There was another silence.

“You… need my help?”

“Or your father’s help.”

“My father’s help?”

“Well, not your father in person, because obviously we couldn’t tell him about any of this, but he is Gabriel Agreste and he did design the costumes, so he’d have access to them, and you’re his son, so it’s practically the same thing, and I only have a few hours to work out how to get it back otherwise I’m screwed, and the wardrobe staff are going to be in trouble, and –“

“Marinette,” Adrien interrupted her babble, “what do you need?”

“Fake paperwork from Gabriel that needs to be signed by the costume director,” she said in a small voice. “By eight o’clock tomorrow morning. It doesn’t matter what it is, it just needs to sound plausible enough to give someone a reason to be up on the sixth floor.”

There was a long silence, then Adrien’s voice said, “I’ll have something for you tomorrow at eight. I’ll be at the stage entrance then.”

After Marinette hung up, she sank down onto the couch and Luka wrapped his arms around her again. She drew in a deep, ragged breath.

“I just woke Adrien up at one in the morning to get him to help me reverse heist the tutu I stole. I’m going to get myself kicked out of the company and arrested and thrown in La Santé to rot, and they’ll bring tour groups through as a warning to anyone who even thinks about stealing a tutu, while the rats nibble on my feet, and Lila’s going to gloat because she won.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Luka said, deep and sure. “What do you need us to do?”

“I’m going to need a distraction,” Marinette said, tilting her head to look up at her boyfriend. Her boyfriend. That was going to take some getting used to, in all the best ways. “Something to get the staff out of the workshops and draw their attention for a few minutes.”

Luka’s soft smile sharpened to a roguish grin, and Marinette felt a moment of apprehension. There were times when she forgot that he was Anarka’s son.

“I can do that.”

“No explosions,” she cautioned, and his grin grew wider.

“Don’t you trust me? No explosions, no fire, I promise.”

“O-kay.” She gave him another mistrustful glance and turned her attention to Juleka.

“How do you feel about becoming an employee of Gabriel?”

Juleka’s eyebrow rose.

“I can do that,” she said, sounding very like her brother.

“Adrien’s getting paperwork that’d give you an excuse to be up in the costume department – you need to get Mme Marchand to sign something for Gabriel. She’ll be in Costume Central getting everything organised to go down to the dressing rooms before the dress rehearsal. All you need to do is walk the covered tutu up to the sixth floor and stash it near Costume Central, walk in with the paperwork and stall until the distraction gets her out of the room, and then get the tutu in there while no one’s looking.”

“What about the security cameras?” Luka asked.

“As long as we can get the tutu back in with no sign of damage and no sign that it was ever gone, then hopefully there won’t be anything to trigger a security check into what’s on the cameras.”

Juleka shrugged. “By the time anyone checks the cameras, I’ll be out of there. And what are they going to do anyway? There won’t be anything missing, unless we completely botch it.”

“I can get the tutu into the building, but I can’t go anywhere near the sixth floor and the ateliers, particularly not with a tutu bag in my hands, without raising suspicions,” Marinette said. “And neither can you, Luka. You’re orchestra. But there’s nothing to connect Juleka to any of this, particularly not if she goes in disguise.”

“And if they look for me at Gabriel, they won’t find any trace of me there.” Juleka’s mouth curved up in a smile. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Fun was not the word that Marinette would have used. She smothered a yawn, and Juleka pushed herself to her feet.

“Come on, Romeo,” Juleka told her brother. “Mari needs at least some sleep, and you’ll see her again soon enough.”

Marinette followed them down and let them out into the street. Juleka wandered off after a quick hug, but Luka delayed on the doorstep. He reached out to brush a stray piece of hair back from her cheek, and his fingertips lingered.

“You have the most gorgeous blue eyes,” he said softly.

“Luka!” she protested weakly, and the besotted look on his face brought a blush to her cheeks.

“I’m allowed to say things like that now,” he insisted. He ducked his head a little to catch her gaze. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. You’ve fixed the tutu and done brilliant things, and we’ll get it back where it belongs. And then you can figure out where your heart belongs.”

“My heart’s right here,” she sighed. She cuddled into his arms, and let herself breathe in his warm, familiar scent. “If I’m not a ballet dancer,” she said into his shirt, “then what am I?”

“Melody, you are so much more than that.”

Down the street, Juleka called out impatiently, and Luka reluctantly let her go.

“Get some sleep,” he told her. “We’ll figure the rest out in the morning.”

~~~~~

When Luka arrived at the bakery door in the morning, he had Juleka with him, toting a large bag and dressed more conservatively than usual in black pants and a business-like shirt.

“What do you think?” Juleka asked as they headed towards the metro. “I’ve got blonde, red, or a hot-pink razor cut.”

“Why on earth do you have so many wigs?” Marinette asked, and was interested to see Juleka blush. On Marinette’s other side, Luka snorted.

“I bet Rose knows why,” Luka told no one in particular. Juleka reached around Marinette to punch her brother in the arm. “Ow!”

“Is the red one firetruck, or auburn?” Marinette asked, ignoring the sibling violence.

“Auburn.”

“Then go with that. People are more likely to remember the hair than any other detail about you, and once that’s gone, they’re less likely to recognise you again.”

Adrien was lurking inside the stage doors as they arrived, and if anyone had been around it would have been obvious to them that he was up to something. Fortunately, the entrance hallway was empty. Any early morning preparations for the dress rehearsal that night were happening elsewhere, and most of the company dancers wouldn’t be arriving for another hour or so.

Adrien handed Marinette a sheaf of papers, with a stealthy glance around the hallway.

“This should do it,” he said in a stage whisper. Marinette glanced down at them, and they seemed to be something to do with creative intellectual property. “You can just say Natalie misfiled it and needs to be signed again, if anyone asks.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said sincerely. “And I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”

“My father is going to kill me if he ever finds out,” he said enthusiastically, “and I don’t even care! I still don’t know how you came up with all this on the fly like that. I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” Adrien told her. He looked over at Luka and Juleka, waiting near the doors. “So you worked it out with Luka, then?”

“Yes,” Marinette admitted, and Adrien nodded.

“I’m happy for you,” he said, and it almost sounded genuine. He glanced ruefully at the papers in her hands. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” she said again. “Really, Adrien, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done.”

He gave another short nod. “I’ll see you in class.” Then he pivoted and strode away.

Marinette drew a deep breath and turned back to Luka and Juleka.

“Right, let’s do this.” She steered them both towards the ladies’ bathroom that hardly anyone ever used on the second floor, trying not to think too hard about what they were about to do, or how heavy the tutu bag hooked over her shoulder suddenly felt. Luka’s hand settled on the small of her back, solid and reassuring, and she glanced up at him.

“Are you going to tell me anything about this distraction of yours?” Marinette wheedled, and Luka kissed the tip of her nose.

“I’m just going to use the fact that most of an orchestra always thinks that the violins are overrated,” he said unperturbedly. “Just text me when you’re ready to go, and give me five minutes to get things moving. Jules, you’ll have a little less than a minute once the alarms go off.”

Juleka nodded, but Marinette’s eyes widened at that. “Alarms?”

~~~~~

Juleka hooked her hand through Marinette’s arm and dragged her away.

“Should I be worried?” Marinette asked, her eyes still on Luka as Juleka pulled her into the ladies’ bathroom with her.

“Too late now,” Juleka told her. “You knew what he was like before you kissed him.”

“That’s not what I meant. Wait here,” Marinette said, and disappeared out of the ladies’ bathroom. Juleka pulled her makeup case out of the tote bag and got to work. She leaned in towards the mirror, carefully putting dark brown contacts over the recognisable golden hazel of her eyes, before she twisted her long black hair up and pinned it. It all disappeared under the auburn bob of her wig.

She was busy outlining her mouth in unremarkable pink when Marinette burst back into the bathroom.

“I got a clothes rack for the tutu,” Marinette said a little breathlessly. “You just need to walk it up to the sixth floor and stash it near Costume Central until Luka does whatever he’s got planned.”

Marinette started unzipping her tutu bag, and Juleka put away the lipstick, reaching for her mascara wand. She shot her friend a sly look in the mirror.

“So, you and Luka. I’m just warning you now, I do not want to know any of the details.”

Marinette sputtered, “I wouldn’t –“

“Oh, he’s so dreamy!” Juleka quoted in a teasing, squeaky voice. “Hasn’t he got the most amazing –“

“Juleka!”

“I’m just saying, some things I really don’t need to hear about my brother, not even from my best friend.” Juleka thought about that for a moment. “Especially from my best friend. It’s bad enough sharing a bedroom wall with him.”

“Oh god,” Marinette was looking horrified, and Juleka couldn’t help smirking at her reflection as she carefully brushed mascara onto her eyelashes.

“And you do go all gushy when you’re in lo-ove. I was there for the Great Adrien Crush, remember?”

Marinette buried her face in her hands. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

“You know this is different, right?” Marinette asked, sounding a little anxious. “With Luka… It’s… Back when I was seventeen, and Luka had been seeing that girl he met at summer festival, I don’t think I could ever have put it into words at the time, but it felt safer to let myself fall for Adrien like that. It was like a rollercoaster, a fun ride that turned me upside down, and it might have made me want to throw up sometimes, but it was never going to break my heart.”

Marinette’s voice dropped to a whisper that Juleka didn’t think she was meant to hear. “Not like losing Luka would.”

Juleka took pity on her and said, “You know you’re stuck with my idiot brother now, don’t you?” She put down her mascara and turned to Marinette. “He’s all yours, and you get to deal with the sappy songs and him stealing your eyeliner all the time, and his crap all over the place.”

The slow beam that spread over Marinette’s face was every bit as dopey as Luka’s had ever been, and Juleka sighed deeply.

“Let’s get this done before I hurl from a sugar overdose. How do I look?”

Marinette subjected her to a critical investigation. “Unrecognisable.”

They left the bathroom, and Marinette hooked the tutu in its covering over the mobile rack outside, and helped Juleka steer it into the lift used for moving props and costumes. The doors closed behind her.

“Right,” Juleka muttered, and stood straighter as the doors opened again on a corridor of glass windows and workshops and people hurrying past with arms full of shoes and bundles of prop swords. “This is just like performing. Own the stage.”

It wasn’t hard to work out where Costume Central was, and Juleka parked her rack with the tutu nearby, telling herself to just act like she was meant to be there. The one person who gave her a curious glance got Juleka’s best goth glare in return, and turned away as Juleka strode past.

Juleka’s bootheels sounded loud on the wooden floor of Costume Central. The woman who looked up and gave Juleka a cool stare over the top of her glasses was clearly Juleka’s target, and Juleka made her way around the counters and stands full of costumes.

“Mme Marchand?”

“Can I help you?”

Juleka held out the sheaf of paperwork.

“I’m from Gabriel. I’ve been asked to get your signature on these forms.”

While the woman turned over the pages, reading quickly through them, Juleka let her eyes wander around the room. She caught a glimpse of a rack with six or seven linen-covered tutus, and a tag with the words Soloist Dressing Room just visible. That was obviously her best bet for returning Marinette’s tutu.

“I’ve already signed these,” the woman said impatiently, and Juleka jolted back to attention. “M. Agreste should already have these.”

“Maybe they got lost or something.” Shit, what was the name Adrien had said? “All I know is, Natalie said she can’t find the paperwork, and we needed to get another copy signed, like, now.”

“Natalie?” the woman said with a frown. “Natalie Sancoeur? It’s not like her to lose something like the intellectual property contracts. Was she the one who sent you here?”

Juleka tried to look bored rather than nervous, like this was all above her pay grade and she didn’t care as long as no one was blaming her. She gave a shrug, hoping that the nerves didn’t show, and pointed at the sheaf of papers.

“They just gave me those, and said get your signature.”

That was the moment when the alarms went off at the other end of the floor, and they both whipped around to face the disturbance. Juleka let out the breath that she’d been holding as Mme Marchand almost ran to deal with this new crisis. She could have kissed her brother for his sense of timing.

Now she had a matter of seconds, and a contraband tutu to restore, before they all got caught.

~~~~~

“Alarms?” The way that Marinette’s beautiful blue eyes went wide was adorable, and Luka gave Marinette one more lingering kiss before Juleka hauled her away and he was left to his own devices.

He wandered in the direction of the staff cafeteria. He was counting on finding enough of the orchestra there, even this early in the morning, and he let his gaze drift over the scattered tables. He settled on one of the louder groups, and sauntered over to join them.

Luka might be the calm one, the port in the storm, but Marinette needed a distraction and Couffaines knew all about chaos and how to stir it up.

He dropped into an empty seat, grinning as one of the percussionists tried to get the timpani soloist in a headlock, and he threw a comment or two into the usual bragging going on. Most of his attention, though, was on his phone, and when it buzzed he glanced down at Marinette’s message before he slid it back into his pocket and leaned forward on his elbows.

“Yeah, yeah,” he told the young French horn player that he knew vaguely from the post-grad program at the Conservatory. “You say you guys have wind and stamina, but you’re all talk. You couldn’t keep up with me.”

He laughed, leaning back while the French horn took the bait, puffing out his chest.

“No way, violin boy! All you string monkeys have going for you is a bit of wrist action.” The horn player made a crude gesture. “Us brass guys can go all night.”

“Prove it,” Luka said with a lift of his eyebrow. “Doesn’t even have to be all night. Let’s see if you’ve got the wind to outrun me.” He swept a mocking glance around the table. “Anyone else think they can keep up with the string monkey? Loser buys the drinks tonight.”

And that, as he knew it would be, was the magic phrase. Half a dozen chairs were shoved back, and a handful of musicians were on their feet, all talking over each other and jeering and laughing.

“So where’re we gonna do this?” the French horn player challenged him, and Luka pretended to think about it.

“Up the emergency stairs, through the sixth floor, back down here. Last one back here buys the drinks.”

There was more laughing and jostling, and someone yelled Go! And they took off in a scramble of elbows and knees. Luka grinned as he jogged down the corridor just behind the horde.

The echo in the emergency stairwell was deafening as they panted and gasped their way up the stairs, and the door alarms shrilled with satisfying volume as the horn player at the front of the pack shoved the sixth floor doors open and belted into the costume department corridor. Staff came to the windows and boiled out of the doors in confusion as the musicians clattered past, and a woman with an air of authority emerged from the Costume Central door, striding towards them with a look of fury.

“Be careful of the costumes!” the woman yelled over the noise.

Costumiers and dressers yanked racks of clothing out of their path, shouting after them, and in the chaos, Luka was relieved see that no one seemed to notice his sister whisk the large round linen bag off one of the mobile stands and into Costume Central.

Then Juleka was out of sight and the runners were thundering down the staircase at the other end of the corridor. No need for Plan B. Luka put a hand to the stair railing, and vaulted over the side.

He hit the fifth floor and came to his feet just as the horn player yelled, “Hey! That’s cheating!”

“No one said there was a rule against it!” Luka yelled back, and kept going down the stairs at a breakneck pace. After a lifetime climbing all over his mother’s boat in all sorts of weather, a solid staircase held no terrors. On the second floor he blew a kiss to the adorable dancer with the startled blue eyes as he passed her, and skidded into the cafeteria.

He dropped into a chair and leaned back nonchalantly, his hands behind his head, as the French horn player collapsed and puffed and the rest of the horde staggered over to the table.

“I think we said something about loser buying tonight?” Luka said, surreptitiously glancing back in the direction of the corridor where his girlfriend and his sister would be.

“No fair,” the horn player gasped.

“Nobody said anything about fair,” Luka said, and grinned. “Good race, though. Drinks are on you.”

~~~~~

“Distraction,” Marinette muttered as her boyfriend raced past her and threw her a kiss. The sound of alarms were still echoing down the main stairwell, and she flattened herself against the wall beside the ladies’ bathroom as half a dozen other young men ran past. “I suppose that was pretty distracting.”

She glanced up at the staircase nervously, and tried to calm her breathing. Juleka was taking a long time, wasn’t she?

“What are you doing? Hiding in the toilets? That seems appropriate,” a voice said, and Marinette startled badly, clutching a hand to her chest.

“Lila,” she grimaced.

The Italian girl sauntered closer. “Anyone might think you’re not happy to see me,” she said sweetly.

If Marinette’s heart hadn’t jumped when Lila startled her, it certainly constricted as Juleka in her auburn wig swung around the turn in the staircase. Juleka stopped as she caught Marinette’s look of wide-eyed panic, her head tipping in a quick nod of understanding as she took in the girl facing Marinette down, and she retreated silently.

Marinette just had to make sure that Lila didn’t see Juleka coming down the stairs from the costume department. She backed up a step, turning to draw Lila’s attention, and she didn’t have to pretend too hard to be afraid. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets to hide the trembling, and closed her fingers around her phone to still them.

“What do you want, Lila?” she said. She backed up a little further, putting more distance between her and the bathroom door. Lila stalked her, giving a little laugh when Marinette bumped into a wall and was brought up short. She was too close for Marinette’s liking.

“Isn’t it obvious by now? And I thought you were supposed to be so smart.”

“I really don’t understand, what on earth do you think you’re going to get out of this?” Marinette voiced the question that had been at the back of her mind since Lila had started her campaign of intimidation. “You’ve only been in the company for less than a year so you weren’t seriously up for the part that I got, and you’re not even understudying me, so it’s not like you’re going to step into my solo if I’m not there. And getting rid of me isn’t going to make Adrien more interested in you. What do you think is going to happen if you force me out of the way?”

“He’ll change his mind fast enough once he’s not distracted,” Lila said with dismissive conviction. “And once I’ve convinced him I’m the one he wants, then it’s only a matter of time until I’m getting the roles and the promotions as his partner. Watching you suffer is just icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned.

“And yet you hate me enough to risk your whole career just for a bit of petty vengeance on my costume,” Marinette asked a little incredulously. All it would have taken was for one person to check the cameras and Lila could have been facing criminal charges.

“It wasn’t that much of a risk though, was it? You were never going to tell on me. You smile sweetly and pretend to everyone that if you just work hard and wish upon a star all your dreams will come true, but underneath it all, you’ll do anything to get ahead too. I may have ruined the costume, but you knew about it and didn’t say anything to anyone because you didn’t want to get into trouble. So unless you’ve waved your fairy wand and magicked it all better, the shit is going to hit the fan soon when they take out your tutu for the dress rehearsal. I’m going to enjoy watching you try to talk your way out of that one.”

“You don’t think they’ll notice you on the security footage too?” Marinette asked.

“I think they won’t have any evidence which one of us did the damage. It’ll be my word against yours and you’ve made it so easy for me to convince everyone that you’re losing it under pressure these past few weeks.” Lila gave a smug little smirk. “You never said anything when you found out about the tutu. How do you think it’s going to look now if you turn around and start accusing me now?”

Marinette thought about Mme Marchand’s kindness in allowing Marinette glimpses of the new designs, and turning a blind eye to Marinette’s frequent illicit presence in the ateliers, and the way Lila’s sabotage would fall back on the costume designer. She thought of Adrien, the third person on the security footage, and how his father would probably react if that came out. Marinette’s fingers curled tightly around the phone in her pocket.

She said, “Is it worth it?”

Lila stared at her as if she didn’t understand the question.

Before this season, Marinette might have felt the same way. Of course it was worth it. The glittering goal of Danseuse Étoile was worth any price. She would never scheme and sabotage as Lila had done to get what she wanted, but Marinette had worked and driven herself to her limits and sacrificed so much that it made no sense to waste it all now, except… except…

The stupid thing, the really stupid thing, and Lila would never know this, was that all Lila’s machinations were far more likely to make Marinette fight for a life she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore. But, as Luka had pointed out, if Marinette stayed with the company just to spite Lila, then Lila had already won.

“If you spent even half of that time and energy on working on your dancing -”

For one short second, Lila’s sly smugness cracked. “You think you know so much,” she sneered, hard and bitter. “It’s just so easy for you, isn’t it?”

“It really isn’t,” Marinette whispered, taken aback by the look in Lila’s eyes.

Past Lila, Marinette could see Juleka coming out of the bathroom, the tote slung over her shoulder and the red wig gone. Black and purple hair fell over her hazel eyes outlined with black kohl again, and there was no trace of the fashion house lackey left. Marinette let out an imperceptible sigh of relief as Juleka joined them.

Juleka turned a look on Lila, and tilted her head.

“This her?” she asked Marinette. She subjected Lila to a considering stare.

“What –?” Lila was saying indignantly, but Juleka ignored her to mutter to Marinette, “With the right weights, the Seine goes deep enough. No one would ever know.”

“Was that meant to be scary? Did you bring your goth friend here to try and scare me?” Lila’s contempt was scathing. “That’s pathetic. Whatever you think you’re going to achieve here, you and your –“ she swept a glance over Juleka “- friend, I’m not scared. Although you should be.”

The curl of Lila’s smile became secretive and sly, a reminder of glass and gossip.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Marinette said, and she was pleased at how calm her voice sounded. Marinette knew it was silly, but she could feel the space between her shoulder blades prickle as she turned her back to Lila and walked away.

“I still think you’re missing an opportunity here,” Juleka said beside her. “We have a boat, and I’m pretty sure Ma has a bale of chicken wire in there somewhere.”

“What does Anarka need chicken wire for?” Marinette asked, momentarily diverted. Juleka shrugged.

“Don’t know. I think she had some idea of making a giant papier-mâché thing and burning it for the next music festival.”

Marinette’s mouth hung open as she contemplated that.

“I don’t know if I’m more terrified, or inspired,” she said eventually.

Juleka muttered, “Welcome to my world.”

“Just a minute.” Marinette came to a stop, checking behind her to make sure that Lila was out of sight, and drew her phone out of her coat pocket with a hand that she was surprised to notice was still shaking. Juleka raised an eyebrow as Marinette pressed play, and Lila’s voice sounded, a little muffled but perfectly clear and perfectly recognisable. She quickly backed it up to her email, and stuffed her phone in her bag.

“You got all that?” Juleka asked admiringly.

“Most of it.” Marinette let out a breath. “I fumbled a bit when Lila caught up with me, so I missed the first part, but I got all of her telling me how she’d cut up the costume. If she tries anything else, I have the proof to stop her. Now, let’s get you out of here before I have a complete meltdown. I’m not built for a life of crime.”

“Uh-huh,” Juleka said sceptically, but she didn’t argue the point.

~~~~~

Classes and rehearsals ended early for the dress rehearsal, and everyone scattered for an early dinner before the hours of makeup and hair and warming up began. Marinette managed to snatch a few moments and a few more kisses with Luka in a quiet corner before she had to head for the dressing room she shared with the other female soloists.

And there it was, her tutu shining softly in layer upon layer of perfect, frothy blue gauze on its stand behind the long row of old desk-like dressing tables. Marinette let out a sigh of relief, and began to unpack her things.

She lined up four pairs of ballet slippers along the shelf that topped her dressing area, with the ribbons dangling over the edge, and her makeup remover, water and sewing kit on the tiny shelves beside the mirror.

The room grew noisy as more of the soloists arrived, calling out greetings to Marinette and gossiping as they claimed their dressing areas and began to get ready. Marinette sat down and started the laborious process of hair and makeup. She warmed up in the Foyer de la Danse with the music of Act One drifting back from the stage, and then it was time for the final preparations. The dresser helped her into her costume, hooking up the endless row of fastenings in the back and pinning the tiara firmly in place, settling the crystalline blue pendant over Marinette’s smooth dark hair. The dresser moved away to help the next girl.

In the long mirror at the end of the dressing room, Marinette saw herself reflected, her eyes huge in her pale face and stage makeup. She was a jewelled princess, young and proud and willing to take flight if it meant escaping her prison.

The loudspeakers crackled with the call for Act Three starters. It was time to do what she’d trained for since she was old enough to put on her first pair of ballet slippers. Time to go and show Lila, and everyone that she’d dripped doubt and poison into, exactly what Marinette Dupain-Cheng was capable of.

Marinette walked softly through the darkness backstage and smiled serenely at Lila as she passed.

“What do you know?” she said artlessly, and spread her arms, giving a little turn to show her tutu. “I just waved my fairy wand and magicked it all better.”

The girl turned almost the same shade of green as her court costume.

Marinette reached Adrien’s side.

“Are you ready?” she whispered, and he turned, giving a start as he took in her azure tiers of feathered chiffon and gauze that caught the stray gleams of light from the stage. His eyes gravitated to the smooth, unblemished satin and the shimmering beadwork of her bodice.

“You’re staring, Adrien. Eyes up here,” she teased, and he jerked his gaze up to her face, his own face turning fiery red.

“You… I can’t even tell it was damaged. How…?”

She dimpled at him. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Just ahead of them in the wings, the White Cat settled her mask more firmly and Little Red Riding Hood’s Wolf gave a quick spring to loosen up his limbs.

“Seriously, thank you, Adrien,” Marinette whispered. “I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

From the orchestra pit, she heard the fanfare that heralded the fairytale characters.

“That’s our cue.”

Adrien took a breath and stretched out his hand. “After you, Milady.”

And they stepped out into the brilliant lights of a sumptuous, glittering court.

~~~~~

The elation of a perfect performance lasted until Marinette came off stage after they ran the curtain calls. Backstage was alive with noise and congratulations, and dancers clattering back to their dressing rooms, while the stagehands reset the stage. Dark clothed figures hauled set pieces and ropes back into place and shouted down from the gantry overhead as Marinette made her way past.

An arm shot out of the velvety darkness of the wings, yanking Marinette around, and she found herself confronting Lila. She jerked her arm free and shot a frantic glance after the crowd of dancers ahead of her, but no one seemed to have seen what was going on.

“Just because you managed to fix that somehow,” the Italian girl hissed, her hostile eyes raking over Marinette’s costume, “doesn’t mean that you’ve won. I’ve only just started.”

For a moment, Marinette thought the girl was going to lunge at her right there, and she stepped back before she could find out if Lila really intended to do anything to her.

“I got you on record,” she told Lila, watching the Italian girl carefully. “This morning, when you admitted what you did to the tutu, I got it on my phone.”

Lila grew still. “You’re lying.”

“I can send you the sound file if you don’t believe me.” Marinette tilted an eyebrow, her spine stiffening now that the initial shock was wearing off. “I’ve saved it, in case you were thinking of doing anything.”

“You play that to anyone, and you’re admitting that you did something to the costume too,” Lila spat at her.

“Yes, and it’d probably get me kicked out,” Marinette admitted, “but I will gladly hand it over and take the consequences if you hurt me or anyone else ever again. Mutually assured destruction.”

Lila made an abrupt movement towards her.

“Is everything okay?” Adrien’s voice broke in, and Lila’s motion was aborted. Her hands quickly clutched at her chest, her eyes widening, as Adrien came towards them, his gaze shifting uneasily between Lila and Marinette.

“Oh, Adrien!” Lila said a little breathlessly. “I was just telling Marinette how impressed I was by your pas de deux tonight. She’s so lucky to have you as a partner.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Adrien said, his tone polite and only a certain stiffness betraying his scepticism. “Marinette makes it easy.”

Lila’s façade slipped for a fraction of a second, then she pasted her smile back on.

“Some of us are going out for a late supper before we head home. You are coming, aren’t you?” she asked, completely ignoring Marinette, and Adrien’s smile grew stiffer.

“Thanks for the invitation, Lila, but I really have to get home, otherwise I’ll be a wreck for opening night tomorrow.”

“Maybe another time,” Lila called after him as he and Marinette moved away. Adrien stayed close to Marinette, protective and silent, until they were out of earshot.

“What was that all about?” Adrien glanced back at Lila with a frown.

“Lila is a little unhappy that my tutu is intact,” Marinette told him.

“You still think that was her?” he asked, but he didn’t sound disbelieving.

“I know it was. I have her on tape admitting it.”

Adrien’s eyebrows shot sky high. “Then… you have to tell someone!”

“And confess what we did too?” Marinette asked, and Adrien’s face turned pale. “Not unless there’s no other choice.”

They’d reached the door of Marinette’s dressing room, and Adrien closed his mouth on whatever response he’d been about to make as she put her hand on the door.

“It’ll be okay,” she told him with more confidence than she actually felt after the encounter with Lila. “It’s not going to come to that. She won’t try anything while I’ve got that recording. We’ve got opening night tomorrow, and we just need to focus on that.”

Any growing hope that they might have got away with it evaporated when she stepped into the dressing room and found the costume director herself there instead of the dressers who usually oversaw the minor role costumes. Mme Marchand was helping the other soloists out of their delicate tutus and gowns, returning the outfits to their hangers for cleaning and gathering up sweat-soaked undergarments and tights with calm method, and Marinette waited with growing apprehension for her turn.

Marinette was the last. Mme Marchand unhooked her briskly and whisked the costume away with a practised twist as Marinette stepped out of it and reached for her lightweight dressing robe.

“I know about the repairs,” Mme Marchand said coolly, and Marinette felt her heart clutch in panic. She glanced at the other girls, but no one was close enough to hear, and no one seemed to be paying attention anyway. “Was that your work?”

All Marinette could do was nod dumbly.

“I knew there was something odd this morning when that girl turned up with paperwork that I’d already signed and confirmed with M. Agreste. I imagine you had something to do with that stampede, too.”

Marinette stayed silent.

“I couldn’t think what the point of it all was, until I took a closer look at your costume.” Mme Marchand flipped the bodice inside out with a careful hand, showing the almost invisible line of the repair.

“Of course, once I watched the security footage it wasn’t hard to work out who was behind it. Three days ago, there were three people who went into Costume Central who weren’t supposed to be there, and it was your costume that had been mended. I still can’t work out how on earth you and Adrien Agreste managed to take the tutu out without anything showing up,” she mentioned.

“It also wasn’t hard to guess why it needed to be repaired, once I went back a little further and saw Mlle Rossi where she wasn’t supposed to be. I know you, Marinette, and I know what she is like. Although, of course, there is no proof that she actually did anything.”

The silence in the pause grew thick, and Marinette could feel her own heartbeat pulsing furiously.

“There is no proof that any of you did anything,” Mme Marchand added with emphasis. Marinette stared at her. “The costume is where it should be, and I only knew you’d done anything to it because I know every square inch of this garment. As do you, obviously.” She shook out the gown, eyeing it critically. “This is exquisite work. I can’t believe you managed this in three days.”

“Two,” Marinette amended faintly, thinking of the night she and Luka got together, and Mme Marchand looked up in astonishment.

“Two? Two days, in between rehearsals?”

Marinette nodded, and her head felt wobbly.

“Well.” The costume director’s eyes held a new measure of interest. “If you’re ever looking for work in the wardrobe, come and find me.”

She slid the linen cover over it and hung it carefully on the rack of costumes to be cleaned before opening night, leaving Marinette staring after her and trying to grasp that the axe hadn’t fallen.

It was only when Marinette gave a convulsive shiver that she jolted out of her abstraction and realised that she was still standing around in only a thin robe. She untied her worn out pointe shoes and set them aside, her mind lost in the idea that had taken a hold of her at Mme Marchand’s words as she pulled on her street clothes.

Out in the courtyard, Luka took his earphones out and straightened when he saw her. Marinette broke into a run, and threw herself into Luka’s arms.

“Did you get into trouble about this morning?” she asked anxiously as soon as he set her down, and he gave a casual shrug.

“I got a slap on the wrist, and told to never do it again.”

“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

His soft smile broadened into a full-blown grin. “I’m not. And Ma will be so proud – she was beginning to worry that I didn’t have anything on my record. I’ll have to apologise to the costume director, but she doesn’t seem that terrifying.”

“No,” Marinette said slowly. “She’s not.”

Luka pulled back a little to look at her properly. “Melody, are you okay?”

“I think… I think she offered me an opportunity tonight.”

“One you want?”

“… yes,” Marinette breathed. “I think so.”

This was starting to feel like the thing that had been missing, in all her unsettling discontent over the past months. She hadn’t felt this sense of rightness about the path she was on in a very long time, and now that the panic was fading, she could feel a growing excitement. Plans began to unfold, and grew in her mind with astonishing speed. “Oh, yes, I want this.”

She pulled Luka down to kiss him in a burst of fervent energy that left him reeling and looking dazed, and then, her forehead leaning against his, she couldn’t help giggling.

“I hate to say it, but I think I owe Lila for this.”

~~~~~

The last night of a production always had a different energy to the first night gala. The company was buzzing with that peculiar rush of exhilaration, melancholy and exhaustion that set in after the last curtain call and after the auditorium had emptied of the rustling dull roar of the audience. Marinette’s parents had seen her performances earlier in the season, and so had Anarka and Juleka, so she didn’t rush through removing her makeup at the line of mirrors in the dressing room she shared with the other female soloists.

“You’re taking forever!” Alya complained from the doorway. “We’re going to leave without you if you’re not quick.”

“You can go on ahead without me,” Marinette suggested. “I’ll get my own way there.”

The company party would last for a few hours, and then whoever was still standing would drift off to spend whatever was left of the night at various clubs and bars and smaller private parties. Marinette was honestly just looking forward to going home and sleeping.

“I don’t think so, girl. If I don’t drag you there myself, you’ll find an excuse to not even go. I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since performances started,” Alya added, sounding a little hurt, and Marinette looked past her to where Lila was hovering, sharp-eyed and calculating, in the corridor. There was the reason she’d been avoiding Alya, because everywhere Alya went, Lila was glued to her side. And Marinette was fairly certain that everything she told Alya would get back to the Italian girl.

The one time she’d tentatively hinted at what Lila had done it hadn’t gone well, and Marinette had backed off because, really, she couldn’t produce the proof without opening a whole can of worms. Lila had kept up the campaign of insidious whispers against her, Marinette was fairly certain, but at least she’d stopped the physical attacks, and they’d reached a sort of stand-off.

The dressers had already taken away the costumes, and Marinette stood up in a rustle of skirts.

“Wow.” Alya’s eyes widened as she took in Marinette’s gown. Her eyebrow shot up suggestively. “So who are you all dressed up for tonight? The ballet partner you’re not crushing on anymore, or the musician you’re just friends with?”

“Oh, that dress is just too cute for words,” Lila chimed in, but it sounded like she was spitting glass. “Adrien is going to love it.”

Marinette’s own eyebrow rose at that, but she didn’t respond. There was no way in hell she was going to give Lila more fuel. She picked up her beaded evening bag and came out to join them. She would collect the rest of her things from the dressing room later.

The Foyer de la Danse was filling up with company members as they emerged from the dressing rooms in their celebratory street clothes. The light from the rows of huge chandeliers shone on the polished parquet floor and glittered on the gilded pillars, but Marinette didn’t spare a glance for the splendour around her, or for the painted glory of the vaulted ceilings.

She smiled at Adrien as her blond partner made his way through the crowd towards them.

“Congratulations to my partner in crime and ballet,” she said with a smile, and he leaned in for a hug.

“You were incredible,” Adrien told her, and his palms slid down from her shoulders to take her hands in his. “It’s been wonderful dancing with you, and I think we made a great team. I hope we get a chance to partner again.”

Marinette squeezed his hands gently, and stepped away.

“You were a fantastic partner, Adrien. It’s been an honour to dance with you, but I’m leaving the company.”

“Leaving! But… why? Everyone thought you were amazing on stage, and I know the director loved you. Every ballet dancer dreams of the opportunities you’re going to have in front of you after tonight.”

“This isn’t what I want anymore,” she told him. “The Costume Design Director here has arranged to take me on in the residency program here while I go back to study for a degree in Theatrical Design and Costuming, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve learned a lot dancing in the corps, and I’ve made a lot of contacts, but this is what I want to do with it.”

Adrien was staring at her in complete incomprehension, and she sighed. Very few of her friends in the company would ever understand wanting a life that didn’t happen under the stage lights.

“But… leaving?” he repeated blankly.

“You’re leaving?” Lila’s voice rose dramatically behind her, drawing far more attention than Marinette had wanted, and she heard Alya’s squawk of astonishment from somewhere close by. Marinette turned reluctantly just as the Italian girl threw her arms around her. “Oh no! Marinette, but we’ll miss you so much! The corps just won’t be the same without you.”

Marinette tried to recoil from the embrace, but Lila had a firm grip. The girl clutched her closer.

“I knew you wouldn’t last,” Lila whispered poisonously in her ear. “It’s wise of you to run while you can, before I completely destroy you.”

“Yes, yes, you won,” Marinette said absently. Over Lila’s shoulder, she could see a tall young man in a formal black tailcoat, with a mess of blue and black hair and a violin case, his eyes scanning the chamber. She felt herself light up with a smile as he found her, and she broke Lila’s hold, stepping away from her. “Good luck with that, Lila.”

She patted Lila’s arm as she drifted past the Italian girl, ignoring Lila’s smothered hiss of outrage.

“Wow,” Luka breathed as she drew closer. “When on earth did you find the time to make that?” He gestured at the soft, azure-blue skirts that flared out from the smoothly fitted bodice, and the crystal beads that twinkled like feathers falling through a twilight sky. “Is that based on your Florine gown?”

Marinette beamed at him. “You recognised it!”

She spun around slowly, showing off the dress, and tilted a smile at him over her shoulder.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful, and that you are beyond incredible, melody,” he said in that husky voice that always did things to her.

She reached up and straightened his white bow tie, letting her hands linger on the lapels of his black tailcoat. The severe cut really did do very fine things to his lean, muscled frame.

“I like your usual look, Couffaine,” she told him, “but I have to admit, you do scrub up nicely.”

“Girl, you’re with Luka?” Alya appeared at her side, almost vibrating with intense curiosity. “And you didn’t tell me?! When did this happen?”

Marinette bit back the response While you were cosying up to the girl who glassed my shoes and wrecked my costume before the words could slip out.

“It just happened,” she said vaguely.

“And you’re leaving the company? You are going to tell me everything,” Alya insisted, and hooked her hand through Marinette’s arm. “All the details!”

Marinette gently disengaged Alya’s hand.

“We just need to drop some things off at my place, and then we’ll catch up with you all at the party,” Marinette said, and Luka bent to press a kiss just behind her ear. “Half an hour.”

“Maybe two,” Luka murmured into her hair, and his voice sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Alya rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not going to make it to the party are you?” she said.

Marinette could feel the blush rise in her cheeks, and the soft rumble of Luka’s laugh. “I will call you tomorrow,” she promised Alya.

Marinette circulated through the crowd, saying her goodbyes, and Madame stopped her to offer austere praise on a role well executed. There were kisses and congratulations, and Marinette moved from person to person until she arrived back at Luka. She took his hand, and took one more look around the Foyer de la Danse in all its gilded splendour, then the world narrowed down to the warm, callused fingers that closed around hers, and the warmer smile of the man that she loved.

“Are you ready to go?” Luka asked her gently.

Those blue eyes of his were fixed on her, and she heard the faint catch of his breath as her own smile widened, full of promise.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m ready.”

#ml ballet au #lukanette #pro lukamari

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