#i have 4 days left with the sewing machine and i have to pull his kimono shirt out from thin air and extensively modify the jacket pattern

[rangedreign]

BIG THINGS ARE HAPPENING

[theravencawsatmidnight]

Part 4.

Summary: reader has been trying to escape the trials since she arrived. One night she stumbles along a house that is out of the way . It is occupied by Leland Coyle and he makes a deal with her: keep his house clean with dinner every night and you can stay here.

In the morning Coyle wakes up to feel his hand still being squeezed by you, with a sigh the man wiggles his hand free and gets out of bed. Coyle was still a little upset about last night.. What is your problem? He couldn't have done anything. Instead of letting it weigh on his mind Coyle went downstairs to get ready to leave. The house looked so much better than it used to; clean, looked nice, pleasant to be in, you had really made the place a home so why….

Once Coyle was ready and he checked on you he left for his day of trials. You woke up a little later to an empty bed and the blanket was thrown over you, your head hurt from crying and you felt distant. Another empty day, another black sky….

You got up to get ready for the day pulling clean clothes on and checked the basket to see everything you had asked for, an old clock, calendar , a tv and vhs tapes. “Might be nice… “ you told yourself pulling everything inside , after you got everything into the house you made some breakfast to eat out on the porch, laying your head against the railing to stare at the endless black sky while you ate. Meanwhile Easterman was watching you on the camera again. The man could not take his eyes off you; something about you stuck out to him. Maybe it was what he saw the other night … or something else. You did not look scared… nothing. But something seemed to be on your mind. “Little reagent … i wonder�� would you be happier elsewhere..” he asked himself. The trials were not going well for Coyle, he was getting kicked, stunned, shoved and given the slip all morning and afternoon. He seemed lost in his head about you still and it was making things hard for him. After getting kicked in the back a 5th time Coyle decided to take a small break in a lonely room to light a new smoke-he had been biting them in half all day- a great groan of relief hit his face when the new smoke hit his mouth. “Christ…” he said under his breath. “Coyle?” it was Gooseberry. “You in here honey? You okay?” she asked coming over to put her hand on his shoulder taking in his tired angry look. “Im fine Gooseberry i guess.” he told her. “Nonsense, what is it?” she asked him and the man shifted his weight over and puffed a huff of smoke out. “Well… ya see….” he explained everything to her, no one could hear them, and it snot like Gooseberry would go looking for you. “So i dont really- oww?!” she was tugging his ear. “You dumb officer honestly, talk to her. “ Coyle ripped his shades off to look the woman in the eyes. “Talk to her? I tried?!” she shook her head. “You talked at her, talk to her, Coyle.” she patted his shoulder walking out leaving the man even more angry and confused.

Coyle left early after that, not caring if he was still supposed to be there or not, one more kick in the back and he was going to lose it. The walk back to the house was quiet for him; everyone was busy not paying attention to him . should he ask you again? He had been doing that…how would this be different.. “Damn weirdo..” he said while walking to the house.

The door opened alerting you to look up from the sewing machine seeing Coyle come in and close the door behind him, he kicked his boots off along with dropping his gear off on the same table he always did along with his shades resting them on top of his hat. “Hey sweetness” he tried to sound like he wasn't too annoyed. “Coyle? I .. i dont have dinner ready i .. your back early. “ you sounded panicked to him, the man looked up, going over to you to sit at the table with you . “yea i left that damn place early, “ he noticed the little fabrics wrapped around your fingers and grabbed your hand to look it over. “What you do? “ he asked, moving your hand closer. “Oh uhm.. I'm learning to sew..” you told him, a little embarrassed. “I thought.. Some placemats would be nice.. A blanket maybe..” Coyle was quiet for a minute then let go of your hand to turn your chair to face him. “Sweetness… What is wrong? I know ya think i probably dont notice cuz im just a Prime but the past few days you have not been so gloomy” you shook your head smiling a bit as if it would stop the tears but they were already rolling down your face.

“I miss.. The sun… the wind.. The clouds… “ you completely broke down into your hands crying as loud as you could. “The outside… i want to go outside… “ Coyle pulled you from your chair to sit you on his lap, the man cupped your face wiping a tear with his thumb to see your very upset face and red eyes. “Im trying.. Trying so hard to make this house a home but … it just does not feel like one… i want a garden.. Flowers… i just.. “ you told him over and over, fumbling words trying to catch your breath. “I dont want to leave you alone, Coyle. I like being here with you i just….” the man pulled you closer, groaning deep into your chest. “Oh sweetness. So you are not upset over the other night?” he asked moving his head to look at you to see you a bit shocked. “No! That was amazing, Coyle. No no no… “ the man felt relieved… “alright, sweetness i dont know what to do about the outside… once your in .. the only way out is death.. And that's not happening to you. “ his gaze wandered around the house while you sobbed into his neck.. It really did look like it was becoming a home.. But not the one you wanted.. Coyle spotted the tv and tapes and poked your side. “Sweetness, how about i take that stuff up to the bedroom and we watch something “ you got up off his lap wiping your face nodding fast and Coyle got up to squeeze you. “Okay, look after your hands and ill be waiting .” Coyle rubbed your head and went to the tv to gather everything up to bring it to the bedroom. He needed to get you out of here… somehow..someway…

After you had calmed down and tended to the little pricks on your hands you slowly slumped upstairs to see the little tv set up with the tapes stacked next to it. “Did you uh.. Pick one?” you asked to see Coyle in bed already. “Nope, you pick one sweetness.” he said, gesturing to the tapes. “Okay .. uhm..” you kneeled down to browse them .. “storms.. Animals… how about this?” you picked one up placing it in the vhs player , the tv screen said Thunder and Lightning storms on it . you got into bed and Coyle pulled you close to him while you two watched, it was a simple docu series all about storms , how they start, end, where they go.

Coyle could feel you shaking on his chest still, no matter how often he rubbed your side you would not fully calm down. “Sweetness…….” you looked up to see Coyle staring at you.”if the opportunity does ever come, for you to get out. I want you to take it you hear me? “ your eyes got wide and you shook your head sitting up in bed. “But… Coyle what about…” he put his hand up to stop you. “No buts, no nothing. This is my house and you will obey my word. Thats final. “ Coyle pulled you back down to hold you close and groan deeply. “I mean it. He felt you nod into his chest settling back down . “yes Coyle..”

Meanwhile, Easterman was still watching. He knew Coyle left early, he wasn't going to stop him. “Going to fuck her again Coyle?” he asked himself. The man waited and waited for you two to go to the bedroom so he could see. The mans eyes were glued to the tiny screen , he was eager, wanted to see it again. But it never came. He thought maybe you would when he saw the bed shift so you could sit up but you just laid back down. In a fit of rage the man pushed the tv off the desk. “Dammit!!! What if… what if… “ the man wiped the sweat off his face composing himself smirking. “Lived with me….”

[applesap-fics]

FABril day 4 - Chores, part three

1, 2, 3

T, 2219 words, Bruno/Agustín, Bruno & Mirabel.

Mirabel starts living with Bruno for a little while. She’s curious about why he left. Then she finds out a little more.

--

It’s much later when she remembers to ask him about Papá. “So, why did you say my dad’s name?”

He tosses salt and knocks on wood immediately when he remembers what he saw before his attack. “Oh, that. That was part of the vision. No good. Your dad is gonna come here and- and I don’t know. He’s going to show up here with a sewing machine, and that’s gonna be bad. Let’s not talk about your dad.”

She quirks her eyebrows at him, but then clicks her finger at what he says. “My Singer! I was gonna ask you about that — that sewing club I was gonna join is full and the guys from costuming don’t have a spare machine at the theater.”

Bruno is biting the nail of his thumb. “Oh, no. And that’s why he comes here…”

She squints at Bruno again. “You know you always act super weird when we talk about Papi?”

“No, I don’t! This is entirely situational. I have a normal relationship with your dad. Which is none. No relationship at all.”

“That just makes me think you’re his mistress.”

“Which I am not.”

“No, ‘cos he wouldn’t do that to my mom. And you’re still waiting for that prince. So why are you freaking out?”

He pinches his eyes and holds up his hands. “Listen, kid. That whole miracles thing? I only make bad ones happen. Because of the whole-” he mimics fainting.

Her arms are folded. “Oh, sure, the whole epilepsy thing you’re born with and can’t control.”

He holds up his index finger. “...Yes. You’ll blame me if he- if he trips and hurts himself, or something.” His own words freak him out and he turns around with a grave face to knock on the wooden bookcase, grimacing. “Shouldn’t have said that. Now you’ll just think that when it happens. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock on wood.”

“I won’t, tío-” But it’s no use arguing with tío Bruno when he gets like this, and his fantasies clearly get upsetting, so she just hugs him, shaking her head.

--

“But moooom, tío Bruno saw it happen!”

Bruno likes to eavesdrop whenever she’s on the phone. He can’t help it, he’s nosy; he likes what she has to say about him and the city. Also, she’s loud and hard to miss with the radio turned down.

He doesn’t hear what Julieta is telling her daughter. But knowing his sister (and the topic of himself), it’s something along the lines of “he doesn’t know when it will happen, why, or even where”, “It might be a coincidence he saw your father at his front door”, or a definitive “It’s too far away”. All options leave Mirabel a frustrated, foot-stomping teenager at the phone.

It’s different from the first week she called home, when whenever she asked for something and was refused, or told the family something about him they clearly didn’t agree with, she’d be tight-lipped and smiling, giving out a meek and amenable hum.

“You’re going about this all wrong,” Bruno tells her when she’s come over to sulk in his room, draping herself over his fainting couch, missing her sewing more than ever now that she knows it’s within reach. “You have to ask your dad. That’s who I saw in the vision.”

“I already did. He just gave me to mom.”

“Ah.” He rolls his eyes. Ay, Agustín. So domesticated.

He taps his fingers on his desk and bites his lip, and glances at his drawer.

After he pulled them out of the air during cleaning, all the unsend letters that have accumulated in his home over the years have been packed into his drawer. He wraps his hand around the knob and opens it, taking out the letter he’s been thinking of just now, the one at the very top.

--

Whenever she asks him about the odd letters, tío Bruno still won’t give a normal answer. He reiterates they appear in his house at random and that he doesn’t want to talk about them. 

After he sent Papá the letter about the sewing machine, she’s been catching him with an envelope in his hands, staring at it in ponderous reverence. 

It’s not nice to snoop around. But when he leaves the house for work, she sneaks into his room. 

She pulls open the drawer and takes out a letter at random. Most of them are unaddressed with a few exceptions. She opens the envelope, unfolds the paper, and reads.

It’s addressed to her father. It’s a little story about Abuela. Something Mirabel did the other day had caught his eye and reminded him of Julieta, which, as he says in the letter, always reminds him of his mother. An observation he wanted to share with him. But what strikes Mirabel the most is the way Bruno has addressed him: ‘querido’.

Her heart beats in her chest. She carefully folds the letter up and encloses it back into the envelope, then takes out another one. 

She almost crumples this one when she realizes it’s a sexual fantasy. 

She slams it down on his desk and has to take a minute to catch her breath, slumping in Bruno’s chair. To come to terms with not only the fact that her uncle definitely has a long-lasting crush on her father, his sister’s husband, but also the gross language he uses to describe it that she definitely was not supposed to have read.

This is confusing. This can’t be real.

But…It puts so many things he does in a different perspective. 

Not wanting Mirabel here unless he’s asked by Agustín. Not wanting to talk about funny stories from when they were younger and presumably still friends before he left. Abuela being okay with his sexuality until…until? Until she found out about his feelings for Dad? The somber, pensive, and in hindsight downright smitten look on tío Bruno’s face when he told her he’d try asking Papá about the sewing machine.

She takes out another letter and skims its content for explanations. More observations. How he wishes Agustín was here to play the piano alongside Mirabel’s impassioned cleaning. How he’d have to watch out because they’d moved some furniture and he would surely trip. How Bruno was depressed the other day, lying in bed and wishing Agustín had been with him in his room like they used to, whispering and reassuring him when he felt bad.

No wonder he gets weird whenever she mentions him. He doesn’t want to talk about the family he thinks he’s hurting, the man he’s in love with even less. 

It’s enough to bring tears to Mirabel’s eyes, if not from love, then from confusion. 

It goes on and on and there’s even more. Ten years of letters she realizes as she digs through the drawer. Quickly fiddling with them without reading, she finds out most of them are addressed to Papá.

But, he also writes to her mom. He writes to tía Pepa, and additionally tío Félix. He writes to Abuela, and these are the shortest: “I’m sorry” without context, “I did a dumb thing; shouldn’t have done that, but you would’ve secretly laughed, I just know it”, “Happy birthday”. These are all genuine enough that it dispels any believe that the letters to her father are mad flukes conjured by another miracle. 

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

Some of these she wishes Bruno had sent the family; there’s a few letters addressed to Dolores and Isabela and her and Camilo, to Luisa and her empire of mythology plushies, nice words for his sisters when he’d seen something sad happen to them in his seizure flashes. 

And to her father, who could still very much be Bruno’s friend.

But that’s none of her business

…Okay, he’s family. It’s a little bit of her business.

Unable to put it out of her mind, Mirabel takes one of the less offending letters from the drawer and keeps it with her, waiting for tío Bruno to get home.

She’s not sure she even wants to go through with asking, but when Bruno walks through the hallway and spots her on the couch, the letter is still clutched in her hand, and a bolero about tragic, lost love plays on his gramophone in the background.

“Oh,” he says. His cane falls to the floor. “Oh, no.”

--

A letter from Papá comes a few days after they sent theirs.

Mirabel watches as Bruno openly grins, biting his lip with affection as she narrates. 

Papá happily talks about making the trip for Mirabel and deliver the sewing machine by hand, once he has time. He says he’s looking forward to the photos of the costumes she intends to make for drama club that she’ll definitely send, and Bruno about swoons. 

She knows what tío Bruno is thinking: “He’s the best!” because she’s thinking the exact same thing. She loves her dad. But if Bruno says this out loud it won’t mean the same.

It’s a little uncomfortable to know that tío Bruno’s expressions mean love. There’s a clear resemblance between him and Mamá whenever she looks at Pa. Mirabel tries to imagine tío Bruno next to her dad instead of Mom, like a diverging branch in history, but that feels weird and traitorously upsetting.

Bruno nervously bounces his leg, though he at least knows Mirabel doesn’t mind his feelings. Or rather, is on his side.

For a few months after he left Casita, he and Papá sent each other letters. It was a tradition tío Bruno had tried to reinstate from when they were younger. But at some point guilt had overtaken his desire and he’d stopped. Since then, letters have been appearing all over his apartment. He thinks the words in his mind need a way out, even if they won’t have a reader.

“Love, Papá,” Mirabel ends. “Ps: Antonio says hello! Oh, and here’s a little doodle of you and his jaguar. Aw, he’s so sweet.”

Bruno inclines his head and smiles. “But that’s great. We played Tino like a fiddle, huh? He’s so romantic- Oh, not like that!” He protests against himself, waving his arms around. “I mean, he’s old-fashioned, so I knew a letter from the heart would definitely convince him.”

“Do…you think you’ll write more?” Mirabel offers. Sometimes there are still envelopes fluttering around the apartment when she comes home.

Bruno looks at her like she’s crazy. “You’re crazy. I stopped for a reason. See, your Mamá knows about- about me and what I used to feel-”

“Used to feel?”

“She thinks it’s over.”

“Then isn’t that more of a reason to talk to Papá again? It’s not like you’re actually gonna…” She leaves the words ‘make a move on my dad’ out of that sentence. She has to keep in a grimace at the visual that conjures.

“No…” he says. He rubs his elbow.

Something flutters under the coffee table. Mirabel reaches for the envelope and gives it to Bruno without looking at what’s written in the letter. She’s seen enough.

Bruno lets out a heartsick wheeze. 

--

Hi Tino,

How are you? Me and Mira are doing well. Even more so now that we know you’re going to visit! With her sewing machine, of course. She’s been looking forward to it. She’s already mended every single hole in my clothes and she got bored quickly with that. I need to invest in a better camera because the ideas she has deserve to be printed in a magazine! There’s definitely a possibility that she’s going to bankrupt our costume department. 

(Oh yeah, I work at a theater now. I write and pick out plays and direct and fundraise and stuff like that. I’m sorry I never told you. A few years ago, I fell into a hole at one of the construction sites and hurt my back so I had to quit for a while. But you know I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’m much happier here.) 

I’m sure you’ve heard about all the friends Mirabel has made here. She keeps wanting to go out past 9, but I say “no! it’s dangerous!” but she won’t believe me. Does she listen to you a lot? I don’t know how you do it, I can’t keep her under control. Although, I guess that’s probably for the best, isn’t it? She needs to spread her wings. 

I’m a little nervous to see you if I’m being honest. I need to deal with the calm before the storm, so I’m writing you. I guess I’ve missed our conversations.

I have a secret. Actually, it’s not really a secret because Mirabel talked to Julieta about it on the phone. Loudly. But when that miracle happened to me it wasn’t awful like usual. It was just you! Mirabel was there with me and made sure I didn’t hurt myself. I don’t like that she saw me like that, but I have a suspicion about her. I think she makes a lot of things a lot better. 

Thank you for trusting me to take care of her, even though she takes way more care of me.

Yours,

Bruno

Ps: Who told Antonio that my eyes glow green? Fantastically accurate picture otherwise. Tell Parce his new friend says hello!

-tbc

[sharuruwrites]

Your Answer (Pt.1)

Summary: Which of the following simple phrases that can change someone's life? Take a guess.

A.) I love you B.) You matter C.) I'm sorry

Timeline: Gojo - 26, Shion - 25

Tags: Can get very angsty at the start and near the end, Gojo (annoyingly/adoringly), Shion being a Tsundere, Fluff, Shoko being tired of her friends' oblivious acts,

Words: 4.1k+

A/n: HEEEYYYYY, I'm back from my unannounced 4 month hiatus. Don't worry, this author is fighting tooth and nail with writer's block on a daily basis. Anyways, it was supposed to be a Megumi-ish centered chapter but the author still hasn't grasped of his character that much to think what would he be like in his childhood with Shion around. Because of this said problem, I was duking out with writer's block, and school.

EDIT: I kept forgetting to upload this chapter since January because my stuff doesn't show up unless its morning.

Special thanks to zark or xerox-candybar for beta reading this chapter because as always, she did a wonderful job.

Disclaimer: I don't own JJK

Masterlist

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

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

One morning, a lone special grade sorcerer, Shion Gojo, spent some time in the quiet halls of the school library. Shion had long forgotten the opened book in her hand along with the untouched tea she made earlier. Instead of reading, she focused on the cherry petals falling like light rain from the nearby window.

‘It’s been 10 years since I’ve met Satoru, huh?’ Shion thought.

“Are you by yourself?” 

Shion turned her attention towards the direction of the voice, and it was Shoko. Much to Shion’s surprise, the ever-present dark circles on the doctor’s face weren't there. If Shion wasn’t mistaken, the last time she saw Shoko without them was before she enrolled into med school. 

“Shouldn’t you be at the morgue around this time?” Shion asked, watching the latter take a seat across from her. 

“I should be,” Shoko grabbed an unlit cigarette from her inner pocket, using it to point at Shion. “But I chose not to.”

“Shoko, you- ow !”

Shoko pulled Shion’s cheek with her free hand before letting it go. “Relax, I’m responsible enough to keep on top of my medical reports, and I’m not gonna smoke.” Shoko pointed at the fire extinguisher, knowing Shion wouldn’t hesitate to use it on her. “Besides, Watanabe-sensei is covering for me, which means I actually get to take a break.”

“I forgot that he was here.” Shion rubbed her cheek to numb the pain. “I thought he was stationed permanently at Kyoto now?”

“That was supposed to be the deal since I got my license, but something changed. I don’t know much about the details other than he’s going to be here for two months.” Shoko shrugged. “Hey, as long as I get more sleep at night, I’m fine with whatever.” 

“That would explain the lack of eyebags on you.” Shion blurted, causing Shoko to pinch her friend’s cheeks again. 

“Anyways," Shoko let go of Shion’s cheek once more. "You seem to be missing Satoru after just a few days." 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shion frowned slightly. “As you said, it’s only been five days since he left. He’ll be back from the mission in no time.”

“Then can you explain that ?” 

With her unlit cigarette, Shoko pointed at something next to Shion. Sitting next to her was a soft-looking white floppy long-eared floppy bunny, relaxing on a stack of books. 

Shion found it weird that the character was in fact a puppy, and not a rabbit. This information had caused a near-heated debate with one of the die-hard Sanrio fans at the same store. She could have sworn they're ready to kill her on the spot.

There’s nothing wrong with the said rabbit puppy plush toy. The signature black gakuran of JujuTech that the doll wore was a pain in the ass to hand stitch as she didn’t have a sewing machine. As for the blindfold, it was supposed to be white bandages, but she had leftover fabric from the uniform she made and-

Oh.

Shion shook her head in denial before turning her attention back to Shoko as the resident doctor awaited her explanation. “I still don’t see how this adorable toy correlates to me missing that long-lost member of three blind mice.”

“Gojo is right, you’re the walking definition of what ‘oblivious’ means.” Shoko lightly chuckled, seeing her friend’s face bloom into red. “However, that trait of yours is what makes two dumbasses pay special attention to you back in high school.”

Shion cleared her throat, seizing the opportunity to change the topic. “I assume you’re not here to reminisce about our high school days.” 

"Nope," Shoko replied. “ I just want to check on you. I’ve been thinking about that confession you made last year.”

"Why now?" Shion crossed her arms, suddenly guarded. 

“Time is considered to be a luxury for us, especially in this world.” Shoko paused for a second, carefully thinking about her next words as her index finger flicked the unlit cigarette. “Is it still the same? You’re still loving him because you think you have to?”

What had she said that night? Shion couldn’t remember, thanks to all that alcohol turning her mopey and shit, making her spill unspoken truths lies. The doctor didn’t have to take her confession so seriously; they were just drunken ramblings, and not meant to be accepted at face value. 

Did Shion love Gojo because–as she had said–she feels like she has to, because he deserves it? Or did she truly fall for him? 

She really wished that finding the answers for those questions would be easy, but it wasn’t. She blamed her lack of experience with love and romance. How was she supposed to know if she loved someone? It always seemed so simple in books--but despite her collection of romance novels, she had yet to truly understand it.

Some said that they knew they were in love with someone when they accepted their imperfections. They just learned to tolerate them.

Others said that that love was a gut feeling; something indescribable but recognizable as one grew older and wiser with experience. That definition certainly didn’t help at all. 

Gojo’s warmth…could she use that as her basis for understanding? Throughout the years she had known him, whenever he held her hand or hugged her, she felt safe and secure. As if he’s telling her everything would be alright.

No, it’s stupid to think that a mere touch could change everything she understood about herself. Maybe this love was purely platonic? After all, despite his hijinks, she respected him both as a person and as a sorcerer.

Shion fidgeted in her chair before placing her hand on her chest. “I do know the love I held for him is nothing more than admiration and respect. Afterall, I don’t deserve to be love and held in such-”

“Can you just stop for a sec there?” Shoko’s question interrupted Shion, the tone in her voice was laced with frustration. “Honestly, don’t you find it tiring to be so pathetic and weak-minded?”

Shoko took a deep breath, running her fingers through her hair before exhaling. 

“You know…” The doctor crossed her arms. “He can and will scorch anybody and anything that hurts you.”

The words made Shion feel time had significantly slowed. What Shoko is saying couldn’t be true, right? Of course it's not! The idea that Satoru Gojo would forsake his dreams and ideals for someone like her? That sounded like pure blasphemy. She wasn’t worth the trouble. 

And what if it were true? If anything, it would make her hate herself more than she already did. 

“That’s not true.” Shion shook her head frantically; a shaky breath was released next. “He just hasn't found a reason to end our marriage. A special someone…” 

“Really?” Shoko raised her brow, unwittingly mocking her friend. “Look me in the eye and say you’ll be fine if he falls in love with someone else.” 

Shion gulped down her nervousness, steeling her nerves as she held Shoko’s gaze. However, when she opened her mouth, nothing came out, and the long-awaited words lodged in her throat as her breathing became shallow.

Something crept into the special grade sorceress, and this ‘something’ was all too familiar to her: fear. The fear that everything she held dear would disappear from her grasp, all because she dared to acknowledge it. 

“How long will you still deny-”

“Shut up!” 

Shion’s raised voice cut through Shoko's question. 

The distressed woman hugged herself, digging her nails into her arms and shutting her eyes close. “I don’t want to hear any of it!” Shion said. “It’s not true! I don’t fucking deserve it! He deserved so much better!”

In a split second, the atmosphere became thick and heavy with tension. As Shion repeated those words like a mantra to herself, Shoko distracted herself with her own thoughts. 

To be honest, it was none of her business. Shoko didn’t even like to meddle in someone else’s affairs. However, after the stupidest choice that her friend made six years ago, Shoko decided to be neutral.

Yes, the higher-ups were a huge pain in her ass, but thinking about how to traverse through the messy and complex web of politics in the hidden world of Jujutsu was too much for her. She already had patients and cursed spirits to worry about. 

Thankfully, her role as a practitioner of reverse cursed technique saved her from the higher-ups breathing down her neck. And, to prevent future headaches or raise suspicion, she kept Gojo at arm's length. 

Call her selfish for being neutral, but isn’t everyone else? There’s no such thing as a selfless individual. Sometimes, a “random act of kindness” could be nothing more than an ego trip.

…so why was she sticking her nose into Shion’s marriage? 

Shoko would say this as many times as she needed to. It was tiring to watch Shion and Gojo’s whole charade: the two of them trying to be oblivious, denying themselves for their own sakes. 

Fuck, she needed a drink. She didn’t give a shit that it was still early afternoon. 

A constant buzzing of Shoko’s phone severed her line of thought. With her free hand, she picked up the call. 

“Hello? Yeah, I’ll be there in five.” Shoko shoved her phone back into her lab coat. “Watanabe called, and he needs me for something.” 

The sound of her friend’s voice broke Shion from her trance. Her head snapped back up, meeting Shoko’s unfazed expression. 

“Shoko, I’m-”

“Don’t apologize.” Shoko cut her off, getting up from her seat. “I pushed too hard when you’re clearly not ready to talk about it. I’ll make up to you the next time we meet.”

The clicking sounds of Shoko’s heels echoed throughout the library. With every step she made, the sound became fainter and fainter until silence had become Shion’s companion once more. She returned to stare at the seemingly endless shower of pink petals.

Somehow, the color had become dull and lifeless to her.

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

Before she left the library with the plush toy, Shion got a call from Yaga to pay a quick visit to his office. She really hoped it’s not about the mysterious holes found in Tsukamoto’s brown fabric body. Plenty of students fell victim to it and she knew Nanami was one of those unfortunate individuals. 

Without much to anyone’s surprise, many sought for revenge on the cursed corpse, but Yaga was the only obstacle that prevented them from doing so.

"A crow came to my office with Alex's request attached to it." Yaga handed Shion a scroll. "He specifically asked for you to join him on a mission."

Shion loosened the tie around the paper before briefly scanning the contents. "Is something wrong with it? You don't usually hand-deliver my missions unless it requires extra precaution."

"Call it a gut feeling, but…" Yaga picked up the felting needle and started working on his cursed corpse's torso. "I think something bad is going to happen with this one. I suggest you think carefully before accepting Alex’s request.” 

It’s been a while since she last heard that name. Alex was an Interpol agent who worked part time as a 1st Grade Sorcerer. He mostly dealt with international cases related to curses, or suspected curses. They had last spoken about two or three months ago, after Alex had enlisted her help in Egypt. 

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME WE’RE GONNA DEAL WITH A FUCKING BOOBY TRAP!” Shion yelled. 

As the duo ran along the steep-yet-narrow hallway, a giant boulder rolled down behind them. Their mission was supposed to be straightforward–search this tomb to investigate a ‘sickness’ plaguing a nearby village. 

She hated the heat, the constant feeling of sand in her mouth and feet, and the camels kept spitting at her even though she did nothing to gain their ire. 

But the trip became 10x worse than it already was when Alex decided to take a rest. By leaning on the pyramid’s wall, he had triggered this comical chase scene. 

“YOU SAID IT’S A SIMPLE MISSION!” 

“I THOUGHT THAT MUMMY SHIT  ISN’T REAL!” Alex retorted, seemingly about to lose his breath. "ALSO, AREN'T YOU A SPECIAL GRADE SORCERER!? WHY DON'T YOU PROVE IT!?"

While turning sharply, Shion reached for the handle of her dagger as she skidded across the limestone concrete floor, facing the incoming boulder that could have easily flattened her into a pancake.

"SHUT UP!"

She closed her eyes and opened them, her eyes turned seafoam colored as she swung her weapon towards it, digging her dagger into the solid rock surface. In a split second, the huge boulder broke into multiple pieces before into fine dust. 

She thought she could finally have peace in her husband’s office. However, seeing Yaga-sensei surrounded with his own cute creations, it left Shion a question of her own as she stared at the wooden ceiling, mindlessly playing with the doll’s floppy white ears. 

‘What can I do after all of this ends?’ 

She never thought much about what her life would be after the war with the cursed spirits ended. It’s a fleeting dream for sure, but there’s always an end to everything. There’s a small seed of hope in her that she would live long enough to see that day.

Happy ending? Unlikely. She’d seen so much shit that it felt impossible for her to keep going. Shion had ended enough lives to hear the voices who condemned her to death. She closed her eyes, unconsciously relieving that memory again. 

A girl no younger than 13 with black hair made a trail of red roses as she wielded her blade, tainting the snowy grounds of the compound. 

The pleas for mercy fell on deaf her ears as she drove her katana into her targets. Why would they bother to ask for forgiveness? Weren’t they bad people? She didn’t expect them to regret anything they did. 

The thirst for revenge clouded her judgment, ignoring the cold, lifeless eyes of her victims. They would answer for her parent’s blood with their own.

Her cold fingers warmed as a crimson-colored metallic smelling liquid painted them. Was it from the mother who wept over her dead children? Or was it from the elderly couple she struck down?

 At this point, Death would be her constant companion. And even if she wanted to, there’s no turning back as she was already knee-deep into her path of vengeance. 

The people she slaughtered like cattle were her mere stepping-stones towards her own goal. 

Shion’s eyes shot wide open, breaking free from her memory when she felt something vibrating in her pocket. She fished it out, and her phone lit up with her husband's caller ID, and an incoming request for a video call. 

She accepted the call, and the screen of her phone changed to show her husband’s stupidly handsome face. She questioned the acceleration of her heartbeat upon realizing he didn’t have his usual white bandages, leaving his face bare. She’d seen his beautiful blue eyes countless times, but why now? 

“Miss me that much?” Gojo raised his brow at his wife’s stoicism. “You usually pick up my calls after 3 rings, honey.”

This unexpected pet name sent color to Shion’s pale cheeks. “If you called me to prove your point, I'd hang up on you.” 

“Wait!” Her husband loudly exclaimed. “ I just wanted to hear how things are going so far. It’s pretty busy around here. I’ll be out for another two weeks. ”

14 more days? That’s too long for him to be away. Then again, it’s not like everyone could be a sorcerer which meant more work for her husband. Would it be alright to be a little selfish, to ask for more of his time? 

Masking her disappointment, Shion let out a small sigh. “Where do you want me to start?” 

“From the very beginning.”

The conversation between the couple was supposed to be a quarter of an hour but it went beyond that. Surprisingly, Gojo didn’t interrupt her once with his usual snide remarks. It’s almost as if he called her to listen to her voice. This idea almost made her blush on the spot as her heart beat faster. 

Shion let out a small gasp, remembering something at the last second. “Also, Watanabe-sensei shot Tsukamoto dead.”

“The teddy bear with boxing gloves?” Gojo asked, watching Shion nodded. “Save me a front row seat–I wanna be there when it happens.”

“When what happens?” 

“When Yaga-sensei suplexes Watanabe-sensei.” 

Now, it would be an interesting sight to see. 

“Satoru,” Shion called him, but instead of warmth, a dreadful feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. “Before you go, can I ask you something?”

Gojo’s lax expression straightened as he picked up the seriousness of Shion’s tone. 

“We’ve been married almost six years, Satoru,” Shion started, pausing for a moment. “And I‘ve been thinking about your answer that day. Is it still the same? Marrying me because you have to?”

The day after her trial and announcement of her engagement, a question formed in her head despite the  influence of anesthesia in her system. She thought that the drug had given her the courage to ask her husband. So much of that day was foggy, yet somehow his words became engraved deep in her memory.  

Back then, his answer solidified her belief that her married life would be miserable. 

“Why do you want to marry me, Gojo?” 

“I could let them have your head.” Gojo grabbed a lock of her black hair, playing it between his fingers. “But…you possess one-of-a-kind technique. That would become one of my regrets, if I didn’t intervene.”

Gojo pressed his lips against her hair, the disgust churning Shion’s stomach.

“The wedding gift I want from my lovely soon-to-be wife is… don’t die on me.”

Instead of an immediate response, the astounding silence was enough to make Shion’s blood run cold. Although Gojo’s expression remained unchanged, she saw the uneasiness in his eyes. 

‘What are we?’ 

Three simple words were enough to change everything she had with Gojo. She wanted to ask that question, and resisting the temptation grew harder and harder with each passing day–the risk was too heavy to jeopardize what they had. 

And look at her selfish curiosity brought to her. She almost ruined what she had with him because of his silent response. That was enough for Shion. Yet why did she feel such disappointment? Did she truly hope his answer would be different? 

“Shion-”

"Please forget about this conversation." Shion bit her inner cheek, preventing herself from frowning. "It's unfair for you to be asked on the spot when you have other priorities to worry about."

Another moment of stillness passed between them, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable type of silence, like she had experienced with Shoko earlier. 

Gojo chose "Let's talk about it when I get back, okay?"

Fearing her voice would fail her, Shion nodded. Without anything else to say, Gojo ended the call, returning her phone's screen back to her wallpaper. It’s her pre wedding photo. She couldn’t recall the fine details on how she came to agree with the decision. 

However, she noticed something different in Gojo. As far as she remembered, this photo dated back when things were so damn complicated and difficult between them, causing a thick strain in their relationship. 

Yet, the softness she found in his gaze towards her told her otherwise. 

Why was he looking at her like that? As if…she was everything to him? 

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

One late evening, a lone special grade sorcerer, Satoru Gojo, finally returned home after eight long days with barely enough sleep. His mission ended earlier than expected, but hey, at least he could finally see his lovely wife sleep properly in his comfy bed.

“I’m home!” 

After taking his shoes off near the doorstep, he walked towards the living room with a spring in his step. However, his expectations fell shortly after seeing a messy patch of green hair on top of a bespectacled man’s head. 

“Oh, you’re home.” Watanabe folded the newspaper in half. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

“Watanabe-sensei?” Gojo knitted his brows. “What are you doing here in my house? Where are Tsumiki and Megumi?”

“First, your wife asked me to look after them while she’s on a mission. Second, they’re asleep.” The school doctor rolled his neck before rubbing the nicotine patch on his upper left arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to school.”

“And Shion?”

“What about her, Gojo?" Watanabe's eyes widened a bit upon remembering. “She did tell me she’s going home with you in tow three days ago.” 

Gojo resisted the urge to frown in confoundment upon hearing what Watanabe said. As much as he remembered, there was nothing indicating that his wife would be coming home with him. Maybe she said that to quell the children’s worries? After all, he hadn’t given them a clear idea as to when he’d be back.

So, his wife contacted Watanabe three days ago? Had something happened whilst he’s away? Nothing came to mind. Probably some sort of mix-up in communication. Still, he had a bad feeling.

Watanabe blinked a couple of times. “Anything else?” 

“I need you to look after the kids again.” 

“Huh? I’m a doctor, not a babysitter.” 

“I’ll tell Yaga-sensei what happened to Tsukamoto.”

“How did you-forget it.” Watanabe sighed heavily, scratching his head in the process. “Your influence on her truly shows. I can’t believe I’m still here, babysitting… You better cover my ass if Ieiri comes looking for me.”

Watanabe took his spot again on the couch as Gojo made way to his bedroom. He switched on the lights, illuminating his room. He lied down in bed and called his wife’s phone. The phone on the other end started ringing just as he put it to his ear. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until he heard Shion’s voicemail. 

Gojo kept calling and calling until his frustration took over. Where the fuck is she? He couldn’t sense the wedding ring or even her dreaded cursed energy. He cursed underneath his breath before getting out of bed. 

His mood improved when his eyes landed on a long, white floppy eared puppy. It was sitting comfortably on top of Shion’s bookshelf while wearing clothes that resembled his uniform. Instead of the white bandages, a black blindfold covered its eyes.

"Why, hello…" Gojo grinned, picking up the stuffed plush toy. "Is this supposed to be me?"

Even though Shion denied missing him, Gojo felt the effort she put into making this handicraft.  “We’ve been married almost six years, Satoru,” Shion started, pausing for a moment. “And I‘ve been thinking about your answer that day. Is it still the same? You’ve stayed married to me because you feel that you have to?” Gojo frowned. How could he forget that conversation? When his wife had never before questioned anything about their marriage…

Technically speaking, his answer hadn’t changed. He only married her to save her from getting her head chopped off. But if things were different, maybe he would marry her out of love, or maybe he didn’t. Instead, he would find another alternative to see her alive and breathing. 

He put the doll back where it was and began browsing through Shion’s mini library. If he couldn’t get through to her himself, maybe he could find some sort of clue in her books. He pulled down his bandages and started browsing through her collection. 

After almost half an hour, Gojo took note of the central themes in some of the books he briefly read. And, he wondered if it had something to do with him.

“If only I met you sooner.” …People tend to weave this idea into various stories– romantic or not, it was always a hit with the audience. Despite Shion seemingly being a fan of this trope, Gojo didn’t see the appeal of it. 

As he grew older and wiser with time, he understood why this futile fantasy often played into stories. Gojo believed its popularity was fueled by self-doubt, as humans tended to be fickle with their opinions on relationships. He could imagine the reason behind Shion’s fascination towards it. Was it because of how lonely she felt in the years before she met him? Or did she sense the solitude in him? 

Putting the book away, he pulled out his phone and noticed a text notification from Shion. The tension in his shoulders didn't leave. Why did he feel uneasiness from it?

In the picture, a disheveled woman was sitting alone, seemingly her arms were behind the chair she’s sitting on. She slumped over the chair with her hair hanging like curtains across her face. Above her was a single dimly lit lightbulb, illuminating her tired features and the black silk dress hung on her body. Splotches of red and purple littered across her arms and legs.

But the temperature in his body rose in anger and the bedroom dropped to zero degrees when he saw text:

“You’ll raise hell from the bottomless pit just for her, right?” 

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

A/n: HEEEYYYYY, I'm back from my unannounced 4 month hiatus. Don't worry, this author is fighting tooth and nail with writer's block on a daily basis. Anyways, it was supposed to be a Megumi-ish centered chapter but the author still hasn't grasped of his character that much to think what would he be like in his childhood with Shion around. Because of this said problem, I was duking out with writer's block, and school.

Special thanks to zark or xerox-candybar for beta reading this chapter because as always, she did a wonderful job.

Also, for those who are up to date with the manga....Yeah...Since Gege chose to end the year with a bang, I might as well slammed the door open into the new year with a nice cliffhanger. ^^

In addition, here's Alex's Character Info: Character Profile: Alexander Atotsugi “Alex” Kim Enrollment Method: Family Lineage Hobbies: Collecting Antiques Favorite Food: Hae-jang guk (hangover soup) Least Favorite Food: Kimchi (can’t handle spice - his mother was purely disappointed in him) Cause of Stress: Dirty stuff - His mother is Korean American while his father is a former member of the Kamo Clan. His second name, Atotsugi, means "heir" as his father wants him to be the next clan leader. - Supposed to be next in line for clan head, but he has no interest in it. Because of his rejection, he earned the stitches on his face because his head was literally split into two from the family’s assassination attempt. - Met Mei Mei in a clan meeting between their families (after his clan paid him enough to make an appearance), only to find out he's her senior at Jujutech.

Hopefully, my next update wont be after 4 months as my life will be a bit busy after graduation this month. So, for those who were waiting, I apologize and thank you for being patient. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll see you guys whenever the next ch.

[stevesbestgirl]

A Moment of Your Time - Part 16

Mob!Bucky x Reader (1597 Words)

Series Masterlist - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

The next morning, your eyes fluttered open at the feeling of Bucky’s lips on your cheek, stubble brushing your jaw. He murmured huskily, voice still laced with sleep, “Mornin’ baby.” You sleepily reached for him, tipping your chin up, your lips searching for his with a groggy whine. He chuckled softly, granting you a soft kiss, “I’m getting up, doll. Didn’t wanna disappear on you again.”

You hummed your appreciation and relaxed into the soft pillow as his footsteps faded and the door closed softly after a moment’s pause.

When you woke up again, you smiled at the fuzzy memory before getting ready for the day. Once you were up and dressed, you made your way to Bucky’s office to say a proper good morning.

Slipping through the door, you paused when you heard him speak into the phone but he waved you in. You took a seat and watched him talk; the lines on his forehead were back, his tone brusque and commanding. A small flame of pride flickered in your chest at the difference between how he spoke to you and everyone else.

He glanced at you, his gaze softening at the sight of the small smile playing on your lips. You could tell the call was wrapping up; Bucky was distracted now. Feeling bold, you left your seat, his eyes following you as you made your way around his desk. You slid into his lap, fiddling idly with his tie.

He wrapped up the call, managing to sound only slightly rushed. Dropping the phone into it’s cradle, his hand snaked around your waist, “Good morning to you too. Seems like you’re in a good mood.”

You kissed his cheek, “The wakeup call was nice. Thought I’d stop in and show my appreciation before I get to work.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Work?”

You grimaced guiltily, “I’ve been letting my orders pile up. But sewing isn’t just a hobby, it’s how I pay my rent.”

He chuckled, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore, doll.”

“I like being busy; what else would I do all day while you’re working?” You traced a finger over the silky material of his tie, “Besides, I’m close with some of my clients, they rely on me.” You fixed him with a shrewd gaze, “And I thought I was keeping my apartment for the time being.”

He smirked, “The rent’s paid for the next three months, sweetheart. You could go back any time if you felt like it.” It was a clear tease; he knew you didn’t want to go back now. He brushed his fingers over the back of your hand, “Just don’t overdo it, alright? I don’t want my baby stressed.”

You nodded, “Do you think Clint could take me out for some deliveries later?”

He paused, “Just say the word and I’ll have Pete up here for you.”

You smiled, tugging him down by the tie until his lips met yours. His fingers trailed over your thigh, but you kept the kiss light, pulling away after a few moments, “Do we have any shows to listen to tonight?”

He traced a circle on your knee, “No, I think we’re free. You’ll have my full attention.” The way he had watched your lips move made it clear what that meant; you were worried he’d notice the way you fidgeted at the thought.

You laughed breathlessly, slipping off his lap, “Something to look forward to then.”

His fingers closed around your hips, spinning you around to face him, “One more thing, sweetheart.” He pulled you back into him, his mouth on yours in a searing kiss. When he broke away, you could feel the flush in your cheeks, which only grew as he leaned in to speak in your ear, “Just to keep you thinking about me.”

You laughed breathlessly, heading for the door before he could kiss you again- if he did you were sure you’d end up back in his lap and you actually wanted to get some work done this morning. You headed to your room, which felt less like your room than Bucky’s did, sitting down in front of your sewing machine.

As you worked, you were sure Bucky would be pleased at the effect he’d had on you because you were distracted now. Still, you managed to finished hemming the slacks and the dress Ms. Potts had given you, letting out a suit jacket for Mr. Hogan, and alterations on a dress shirt for Mr. Coulson.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you finished, so you broke for a quick lunch. You took the now-dried orange peels and shook them in a bit of sugar, packaging them up. You hadn’t heard Bucky come out to eat, so you put together a sandwich and some chips for him too. Nudging the door open, you set a glass of water on his desk and slid the sandwich in front of him, blocking his papers.

He groaned, “Thank you, but I’m working through lunch today, doll.” He slid the plate aside so he could see his work.

Hand on hip, you insisted, “You should eat.”

He glanced at you, smirking, “But the sooner I finish work, the sooner I’m with you. But if you really want me to take a break, I can think of something I’d rather be doing.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing the food back over, “Bucky, eat.”

He grinned, “You’re cute when you try to tell me what to do.”

Crossing your arms, you pouted, “I already made your sandwich. Are you gonna make me throw it away?”

“Fine.” He sighed and took a bite, “Thank you for lunch, doll.”

You beamed, pleased with yourself, “When you’re done, can you send Pete up for me?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” It seemed like he was trying to sound brisk, but he failed miserably. His expression had gone soft at your smile, so he only managed to look vaguely exasperated.

You chirped a thank you and left to get your things ready, packing the clothes into a bag and fetching the orange peels from the kitchen- you could give them to Clint on your way out. Like clockwork, Pete arrived at the door no more than ten minutes after you’d left Bucky’s office.

You let him in and asked him to wait just a minute while you said goodbye to Bucky- and make sure he’d eaten. When you popped in, the plate was empty, drawing another self-satisfied smile from you.

“You leaving, doll?” he asked, glancing up from his work.

You nodded, making your way over and brushing your hand over his shoulder, “It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back soon.”

“Be safe, okay?” he said seriously. “Do what Pete tells you- no using those doe eyes like you do on me.”

You laughed, teasing, “Don’t worry, those are just for you.” You leaned in and kissed him softly, “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

He smiled, “I’ll be waiting.”

You grabbed your things and gave Pete the okay, following him out the door. As expected, Clint was stationed outside the apartment.

You smiled at him, pressing the package of orange peels into his hands, “Here, they’re sugared orange peels- as a thank you for before. If you don’t like them, I figured at least the kids probably will.”

“Thanks,” he said gruffly.

You waved farewell, heading downstairs with Pete, who was quiet. He opened the door for you before getting in the front seat, “Where to, ma’am?”

You laughed, “Please don’t call me that, it makes me feel so old. You can call me Y/N.”

“I don’t think the boss will like-”

“You don’t have to worry about Bucky, Pete,” you reassured him. You gave him the first address and watched him pull away from the curb; he looked a little nervous. Not exactly reassuring in a bodyguard. You tried to set him at ease, “I noticed your Aunt May calls you Peter, do you prefer Pete?”

He chuckled softly, “Actually, the boss is the only one who calls me Pete. I’m not sure why.” He seemed even more anxious talking about Bucky.

“Peter it is, then.” You wanted to set him at ease; if you were being honest, him being nervous made you feel nervous too. “How old are you, Peter? You look barely out of school.”

“I’ll be twenty in a few months,” he replied evenly.

“That’s exciting,” you chirped. “Got anything fun planned?”

“The other guys have been hinting about something, but no one will tell me anything.”

You laughed, “Some super-secret tradition?”

He chuckled, “I guess so. I trust them. They look out for me, since I’m the youngest guy on the crew.”

“That’s sweet. How long have you been part of the team?” You were careful not to mention Bucky now that he seemed to be loosening up.

“About a year and a half. I joined up pretty soon after school. I was gonna go to college, but I wanted to get some money saved up first and then-” He paused, seeming to catch himself.

“What happened?” you asked softly.

His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, “My Uncle Ben died. So, I decided to stick around to take care of Aunt May.” It seemed like he was putting a brave face on and your heart broke a little for him; he was just a kid.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said. “It’s nice of you to take care of your aunt.”

He shrugged, “They took care of me after my folks died. Only seems fair.”

“No Peter,” you protested, “It’s not fair. But you’re a good kid.”

He smiled, “Thanks.” He parked the car at Ms. Pott’s building and glanced at it through the windshield, “You running errands for the boss again?”

“Hm? Oh no, this is just my own stuff.” You smiled wryly, “It was hard enough to convince Bucky to let me help just once.”

“Oh.” He went quiet again and got out of the car, opening the door for you and letting you go ahead so he could follow you inside. Making your way up to Pepper’s apartment, you knocked, beaming when she opened the door.

You held out the clothes, “Here you go, Pepper, sorry it took me so long!”

She laughed at your enthusiasm, her smile faltering when her gaze fell on Peter. The two stared at each other for a moment before Pepper smiled again like nothing had happened, “Don’t worry about it, it’s no trouble at all. Thank you so much!” She accepted the clothes and excused herself for a moment, returning with her wallet and a new garment, “How much do I owe you?”

You quoted her, trying to give her a discount for being late, but she pressed the full amount into your palm before bidding you goodbye. Once you and Peter returned to the car, you gave him the next address and spoke up.

“So, do you and Pepper know each other?”

Peter shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was all of that about then?”

“What was what?” He sounded innocent, but you weren’t buying it.

“You two definitely seemed like you recognized each other.”

“Oh, that,” he laughed offhandedly, “I think she knows my Aunt May. I’m sure she was thinking the same thing.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” you acknowledged.

“So, you sew?” he asked curiously.

Beaming, you launched into an explanation and the conversation flowed more easily as you made your rounds. Peter was really quite the chatterbox once you got him to open up and you found yourself enjoying his company. When you pulled up in front of the last destination, you made your way up to Phil’s door, chattering gaily with Peter.  

The door opened at your knock and you smiled cheerfully at the man in the other side, “Hi Mr. Coulson. I’ve got your dress shirt, adjusted and ready to be worn!”

Much like Pepper, his friendly smile faded at the sight of Peter, but unlike her, his didn’t stop at a puzzled frown. It evolved all the way into a fierce glare, something you’d never seen on the usually kind man’s face.

“Something wrong?” you asked nervously. Glancing back at Peter, his expression mirrored Phil’s, leaving you in the middle of what was clearly a mutual dislike.

“Y/N, we should go,” Peter said firmly.

“I don’t understand, what’s wro-”

“The boy is right. You should go. This will be my last order.”

You blanched; Phil had never spoken to you like that. Despite telling yourself that you shouldn’t care, it stung, and your eyes welled with tears. Tipping your chin up so they wouldn’t fall, you brandished his shirt, “Here. I, uh, guess I won’t bother you again.”

The moment his fingers closed around the fabric, you turned on heel and headed back toward the car. “Wait,” he called after you, his voice slightly softer. “Let me pay you, at least.”

You didn’t turn around, “Consider it a parting gift.”

You opened the car door and heard Phil behind you, “It’s not personal.”

“It feels personal.” You slammed the door shut, waiting for Peter.

Once he was in the car, he glanced at you in the rearview mirror, “Do you want to go home?”

“Yes, please,” you replied thickly. You didn’t want to cry in front of Peter. Gazing out the window at the now deserted front steps of Phil’s house, you noted bitterly, “I’m assuming you two don’t have a sports rivalry.”

“He works for Rogers.”

You tried to swallow the lump those rose in your throat, “Was he there, at the house that day?”

Peter shook his head, “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure he’s just a books guy. Like Vision is for us.”

You were silent; you hadn’t known what Vision’s usual job was. You didn’t really know anything about what anyone did for Bucky. And it was clear now that you were painfully ignorant about the other side too.

When you got out of the car at Bucky’s apartment, Peter pulled you aside at the front door, just past the two guards outside, hands clasped behind his back for a moment before pressing a bill into your hand, “You deserved to get paid for your work.”

You shook your head adamantly, “I don’t want his money.” You pressed it back into Peter’s palm, “Put it in your college fund.”

He trailed after you into the elevator, looking guilty.

When the car reached your floor, you turned to him, forcing a smile, “Thanks for driving me around today, Peter.”

He smiled wryly, “Anytime, Y/N.”

[rax-writes]

Love Letters

Fandom:  Stranger Things Pairing:  Steve Harrington x Reader Warnings:  None Notes:  Once again, I thank @mxgyver​ for the inspiration. It appears that we’re both suckers for mutual pining. ♥

As you waved goodbye to your two best friends and left Scoops Ahoy, Robin watched Steve intently. She took note of the goofy, love-struck smile on his face, and the way he blatantly stared at your ass as you walked away, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, redirecting his attention from you to his coworker – but only after you were completely out of his line of sight, not wanting to miss a second of his opportunity to admire you.

“You’ve got it bad, Harrington,” Robin observed, still chuckling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, shrugging with feigned nonchalance as he leaned against the counter.

“Sure you don’t,” Robin responded sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “You need to just ask her out already.”

“Why? Do you think she’d say yes?” Steve asked quickly – a bit too quickly – which caused Robin to start laughing again. “Hey, I’m serious! You’ve been friends with her for way longer than I have. If anybody would know whether or not she likes me, it’d be you. So, come on, spill the beans.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. You and Robin had been best friends since middle school, but you had only recently befriended Steve, after you’d both gotten wrapped up in the Demodogs / Upside Down situation last fall. And yes, she definitely knew how you felt about him – specifically the ginormous crush you’d developed on “King Steve.”

Before now, Robin never would have pictured the two of you together. You used to be more of the nerdy type, preferring to keep to yourself and your few friends, whereas Steve was one of the most popular kids in high school. But now that she knew Steve outside of school, and from seeing how the two of you interact with one another – she thought you were the perfect pair.

“Well, obviously, I would be a terrible best friend if I were to, as you say, ‘spill the beans,’” Robin began, using air quotes to reference his previous comment.

“So there are beans to spill,” he noted, sounding excited.

Ignoring him, Robin continued, “However, I will say this: You remember that teddy bear you gave her earlier this year? That tiny, little red one?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling warmly at the memory. “She wouldn’t admit it, but she was kind of sad because nobody sent her one of those dumb, anonymous carnations on Valentine’s Day at school, and everybody else had gotten at least one. So I ditched last period to run to the store and get her something, and that bear was pretty much all they had left. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but she seemed to like it. She’s probably thrown it away by now, though.”

“She sleeps with it every single night.” Robin watched as Steve’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “And the carnation you got? With the little note that said “I think you’re perfect”? That was from her.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, his jaw dropping. “There’s no way! I thought – I hoped it was her, so I compared her handwriting to the note, but it didn’t match!”

“That’s because she had me write it for her, so you wouldn’t know it was her.”

“Why didn’t she want me to know?” Steve asked, sadness tinting his voice. “I’d have asked her out on the spot.”

“I asked her the same thing, but she was adamant that you didn’t see her that way at all. She was worried that things between you would get weird if you knew the note was from her, but she still wanted to get it off her chest in some way, even if it was in secret.”

“Wow,” he murmured, staring at the ground in shock. “She’s the smartest girl I know, but she’s somehow so clueless…. I’ve been in love with her for months.”

“Well, I’ve said too much already, but I’ll reiterate: you need to ask her out already,” Robin stated, and Steve just nodded, lost in thought as he continued to stare blankly at the tile floor. After a couple seconds, he abruptly looked up at her, and she could practically see the lightbulb going off in his head.

“I know just the thing.”

Steve called you right when his shift ended at 4:00 PM, and asked you to come pick him up, claiming that his car wasn’t running and he needed a ride home. When you got there, he was waiting for you outside the mall, having changed out of his work uniform into a sweater and jeans (and touched up his hair, of course). He jogged over to your car just as you parked, and waved for you to roll down your window.

“Hey, before we go, would you mind coming in with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

If it had been anyone else, you might have said no, that you're tired and you'd rather just go home. But this was Steve, and he was looking at you with those big, brown puppy-dog eyes. So, you smiled and nodded at him, then got out of your car to follow him. He took a second to double-check the mall map just inside the front doors, then grabbed your hand, saying, “Come on, it’s this way.” You were really glad that he was busy navigating to wherever the hell it was he was taking you, because that meant he didn’t notice how red your face got.

The fact that Steve fucking Harrington was holding your hand dazed you to the point that you weren’t paying attention in the slightest as he led you through the mall. Eventually, he stopped in front of a store, which was evidently your destination. You looked up to see a sign saying ‘Build-A-Bear’ atop the doorway. Steve just grinned at you, excitement written all over his face, as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Uh… are we at the right place?”

“Yep!” he answered simply, before pulling you inside. You tried to hide your frown as he let go of your hand, before he placed his hands on your shoulders and spun you to face the wall of... what appeared to be empty stuffed animal carcases. “Alright, pick one.”

It finally clicked then: he took you here to have you make one as a gift. You turned to him with a bright smile, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he answered, mirroring your smile. “Whichever one you want.”

You spent a good ten minutes figuring out which you liked best, before deciding on a soft, dark brown bear. You told Steve that you just thought this one was the cutest, but really, it was the fact that its color reminded you of Steve’s eyes, and its fluffy fur reminded you of Steve’s hair. (And yes, you’re well aware that that’s super cheesy.) The employee smiled kindly at the two of you as you brought the bear over to her for stuffing. She gave you the same spiel that she’d have given a child – such as instructing you to place a kiss on the tiny felt heart before she put it in the bear’s chest, so “she’ll always know how much you love her!” Steve watched you with adoration as you followed along with all the steps, before the lady asked if you’d like to record something on their little gadget and place it in the bear’s paw, so that whenever you squeezed that spot, it would play.

“Yes, yes we do,” Steve interjected, and you glanced at him. He ignored your confusion, asking the woman, “Is it okay if I borrow it for a minute? I want to record something, but I don’t want my friend here to hear it just yet.”

The lady handed him the device, and he shot you a grin before holding up a finger to signal that he’d be back in one moment, then jogged outside the store. After about a minute, Steve jogged back in and returned it to the lady. You continued to look at him with a raised brow, but he ignored you, standing silently next to you as he watched the employee. She was careful to not press on the device, which would ruin Steve’s little surprise, as she placed it in the bear’s paw, then added your desired amount of stuffing to the bear with their fancy machine, sewed it up, and handed it back to you. She guided the two of you over to the register, where Steve paid for your bear, then walked with you out of the store, heading back to the parking lot.

“So when exactly am I allowed to listen to this super secret message?” you inquired, glancing up at Steve, who just smiled slightly. Wordlessly, he took your free hand, just as he had on the way to Build-A-Bear, and you held the bear tightly to your chest with your other arm. The same blush from before crawled its way up your neck and onto your face.

“You can in just a minute, when we get outside.”

You nodded, then cleared your throat and started speaking about the first thing that came to mind, to try and distract yourself so that the blush would fade. Unfortunately for you, what you ended up rambling about only caused you more embarrassment, and the blush worsened.

“I forgot to say it earlier, but thank you so much for getting this for me. It was an awesome surprise. This is probably kind of dumb, but I, uh… I’ve still got that one you gave me on Valentine’s Day. It’s getting kind of worn out, so –” you cut yourself off, realizing that you almost admitted to sleeping with the damn thing, which would probably sound super weird to him. “Well, I mean, it’s just sitting up on a shelf or whatever, so it’s not getting worn out, just… dusty. Yeah, it’s getting dusty. Um, anyway, this is a nice upgrade from that one, and I appreciate it.”

Steve chuckled as he nodded, then responded sincerely, “It’s no problem. I’m glad you like it – and I’m glad you kept the one from Valentine’s Day.”

He held the door open for you as you exited the mall, and headed back over to your car. The anticipation began to bubble up inside you, as you started to seriously wonder what in the world he would have said on the recording. Steve remained silent as you maneuvered through the parking lot, and both times you glanced at him, he looked almost… nervous? Must have been worrying about what’s wrong with his vehicle or something, you thought. Before you could ask, you’d arrived at your car, so you quickly leaned against the hood and faced him.

“Can I listen to it now?”

Steve took a deep breath, then gave you a worry-laced smile and said, “Yeah, go for it.”

You practically squealed with excitement as you held the bear in front of you and squeezed his paw, then you heard Steve’s voice through the tiny speaker.

“A little birdie told me that you’re the one who sent me that carnation on Valentine’s Day senior year. And I just wanted to say… I think you’re perfect, too. And I love you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You felt your heart stop and your breath catch in your throat. You stared at the bear for a few moments, before you determined that yes, the recording had actually said that. It wasn’t a figment of your imagination. Steve Harrington just said that he loves you and asked you to be his girlfriend. Holy shit. Holy shit.

“So, um…” Steve began, snapping you out of your stupor. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally fine. I mean, Valentine’s Day was months ago, so I get it if your feelings have changed or whatever. I just… I don’t know, I wanted to give it a shot, but you don’t –”

Without even thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. You poured as much warmth and passion and love into the kiss as you could, and relished in the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. It felt like the kiss lasted for an eternity, but it still wasn’t long enough before you pulled away slightly to catch your breath, and respond how you should have responded a few minutes ago, if you hadn’t been stunned to silence.

“Nothing has changed, Steve. I definitely still think you’re perfect. I love you too, and I want nothing more than to be your girlfriend.”

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, then let out a loud exhale. “You got so quiet after you played the recording, I was scared shitless.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, chuckling at how visibly terrified he was. He just smiled at you.

“It’s okay. The most amazing, beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted woman I’ve ever met is my girlfriend now, so I’d say I’m doing alright,” Steve quipped, then kissed you again, slower and sweeter this time. He abruptly pulled back a bit, “Oh yeah, by the way, my car is fine.”

“So this was all just a clever ruse to get me here, to Build-A-Bear?” you asked, grinning. Then a realization dawned on you. “Wait, Robin told you about the note?!”

Steve burst into laughter, then nodded. “Don’t be mad at her, though! She only told me about it to convince me to ask you out. Just like you with the carnation, I’ve been terrified to tell you how I feel, because I was scared to make things weird – or worse, lose you as a friend.”

“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re stuck with me, Stevie,” you stated, giving him another quick kiss. Steve smiled down at you, his eyes full of adoration.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[l4verq]

remnants (3) | r.d

ransom drysdale x reader

in which you have to protect ransom drysdale because he has the same face as steve rogers, your ex who’s gone back to peggy.

warnings : mentions of panic attacks

lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist 💗

ʀᴇᴍɴᴀɴᴛꜱ

*not my gif*

-

“rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

your eyes frantically looks around the outstretched hands, each holding up a rock.

bucky yells a cry of victory while you groan, glaring at your hands holding up ‘scissors’.

ransom rolls his eyes, “you guys hate me that bad?”

upon arriving to the hydra base after a long, long road trip, ransom grumbling about the music, sam screaming about how marvin gaye remains superior, you just couldn’t seem to catch a break.

because of course, you’d lose in this stupid game of rock, paper and scissors and of course, be forced to stay back with ransom in the car while sam and bucky scoped out the base for “any traps”.

“alright, we’ll be back in a few,” sam puts on his goggles, “but if we’re not-.”

“then we run.” ransom interrupts, pointing at you and him.

you have to bite back a smile seeing sam’s unamused face.

“then we go see if anything’s wrong.” you correct ransom, giving him a look.

“actually, no. he’s right, just run.” bucky ponders over it.

ransom scoffs under his breath and looks at you.

you’re smiling sof-

wait, were you actually smiling? at what that shaggy dude just said or more precisely, repeated?

“we’re obviously not running. it was a joke.” ransom clarifies, glancing over at bucky.

bucky’s vibranium arm locks in place, returning ransom’s stare, air getting unnecessarily tense.

they just look dumb, atleast to you.

sam claps his hand, “ok, so no one’s running. let’s go.”

he deploys red wing, the scarlet gadget humming off into the sky.

bucky gives you a nod, trailing behind sam, headed towards the entry door.

an awkward silence ensues, crickets violently chirping in the moonlit night.

“how’s your hand?” ransom clears his throat, adjusting his stance.

he’d been meaning to ask since yesterday but he just.. couldn’t.

“been better.” you flare your sore hands in front of you, tilting your head.

even though there weren’t any external wounds, you knew all of the damage was inside, lurking behind layers of flesh.

“so, you really did break your hands to get out of the chains?” he questions, eyebrow quirked.

“if you put it like that, i sound crazy.” you cross your arms, leaning against the car next to him.

he chuckles, a loud - almost obnoxious - sound that startles you a little.

steve never laughed like that, even when he did, it always felt like he was holding back, had his guard up.

“y/n, do you copy?” sam’s voice crackles in your ear, courtesy of the ear comm.

ransom springs to his feet, hand on his ear.

he’d asked for an ear comm as well to which everyone respectfully declined.

but after two hours of whines and grumbles about why he wants one, bucky practically flung that flesh coloured, pea sized gadget at him.

“we’re here.” he barks a little too loud.

“yea, we can hear you.” bucky mutters, annoyance laced in every word.

“you can speak normally.” you inform ransom, who flashes a thumbs up with a “got it.”

“there doesn’t seem to be mu-.”

static takes over, cutting sam off, you and ransom both flinching at the sudden blare in your ears.

you immediately cock your gun, reach into the car to pull out a flashlight and hand it to ransom.

“stay behind me.” you order, “we’re going through the back.”

“is there even one?”

“let’s find out.” you grab a flashlight as well.

you’re light on your feet, with careful, calculated steps.

ransom.. you couldn’t exactly blame him, he’s just a normal guy.

a normal guy who’s made it his goal to step on every single fallen leaf, producing this god awful crunching sound in the dead of the night.

“a little quieter?”

he starts tip-toeing, stumbling around.

you walk round the building, well what’s left of it.

it’s in bad shape, the entire building, hanging on by decaying bricks covered in mold.

it looks like it might’ve been around 3-4 stories high but it’s impossible to know now.

“there it is.” you whisper, flashlight pointed towards a door labelled EXIT.

on closer inspection, the knob is broken, only a hole where it used to be.

the hinges creak as you push the door open with ease, uncertain how the door didn’t fall right off because it was barely holding on.

gun in hand, flashlight on top, left foot forward, supporting your dominant one, just like you’ve been trained.

“this is how people die in movies.” ransom whispers, peeking inside the dark room.

you glare back at him, shushing him.

he clamps his forefinger and thumb together, dragging it along his lips, pretends to lock it and hands you the key.

“just search for a switch.” you mutter, looking straight infront again.

you aim your flashlight around, taking small steps inside.

clang.

you damn near jump out of your skin, finger already curled around the trigger, ready to pull when you whip around.

“sorry.” ransom mumbles, hands trailing around the wall, looking for a switch.

“i nearly shot you!” you whisper yell, lowering your gun.

the light flickers on, your eyes nearly blinded by it.

you look around, vision slowly adapting to the lit up room.

it’s a workstation with sewing machines?

the red, white and blue bits of cloth catch your eyes as you inch neare-

thud.

“y/n!” ransom shouts, but it’s distant.

too distant.

“yea, i’m here! i fell.,” you groan in pain, “somewhere. be car-.”

thud.

“fucking hell.” ransom curses, rubbing his shoulder, writhing in pain on the ground.

you’d be screaming at his stupid ass if only you weren’t doing the same, all feelings in your left leg lost.

“didn’t you see me fall?” you grit your teeth, clutching your leg.

he moans, slowly rolling over to his face.

“great! we’re both stuck here.”

you crane your neck to look up at the crack of light at the top, maybe a good four stories from where you’re sitting?

it was a miracle neither of you plunged to your death.

your hands fumble around the cold ground, feeling for your gun when you hear it.

a low, gentle whirring but it’s definitely not red wing this time.

you frantically scramble to your feet, left leg screaming in anguish even at the slightest pressure.

your hands reach out and this time they land on something hard.

something cold, much like the ground itself with ridged lines and creases.

it’s the wall.

but you could’ve sworn it wasn’t there before...

“the walls, they’re caving in.�� you breathe out, instinctively backing away.

the familiar dread building up in your heart seemed to dull whatever pain resided in your leg.

“hey! get up.” you hop towards him but he brushes you off with a wave of his hand, still squirming in pain.

the whirring stops abruptly, along with the walls.

“bucky? sam? can you hear me?!” you yell into the ear comm, only to hear distorted sounds.

your eyes are adjusted enough to see the space between the two walls has decreased significantly.

ransom pushes his body off the ground with his shaky arms, slowly getting on his feet.

“am i crazy or did the wall move?” he breathes out, touching it.

“yea,” you exhale, closing your eyes shut, “yea, it did.”

“y/n!”

your ears perk up at the familiar voice.

“down here!” you yell, not sure if your voice can even be heard from where you are.

then like music to your ears, a familiar scarlet buzzes towards you two.

“sam!” you wave your hands at red wing hovering over you two.

his voice crackles “we’re trying to shut the whole place down, we’ll get you out.”

“the walls-.”

the whirring starts again as if reminded about what it needs to do.

red wing bumps against the contracting walls, falling into a heap of metal next to your feet.

you limp closer and closer to ransom, the wall centimetres away from your back, both of you realising the only way to have more space.

he pulls you into his chest, his good shoulder around you.

tears well up at your eyes, the crippling feeling sneaking in again.

these endurance tests are meant to help you get over your fears and phobias.

steve’d lied.

the endurance tests didn’t work.

because you were struggling to breathe, air hitched in your throat.

“it stopped, the walls.” ransom can barely move his body around, back hitting a hard boundary whenever he tries to.

balled up fists hanging desperately onto his clothes, you’re sobbing now, a hysterical mess.

the air only seemed to thin out more and more, your lungs straining for oxygen.

he watches in horror, the tiny space filled with your desperate gasps and whimpers.

you’re having a panic atta-

think, ransom.

what calms you down?

“you know, sometimes i look up at the stars at night when i can’t sleep.” he blubbers out, heart racing.

anything to just get you to stop trembling like that.

“i just lay in my bed - i have this window on my ceiling - and i look up at it.”

he’s unsure as he continues.

“reminds me of the glow in the dark stickers i had back in fourth grade.”

and of his fleeting childhood.

“did you have those? the $1 a pack with all the crazy fonts?” he whispers in your ear, tapping your back for an answer.

you manage a small nod, biting down your quivering lip.

who didn’t have those ugly stickers that seemed to fall off the very day you put them up.

“take a deep breath, can you do that for me?” he cooes, wincing when he brings his other shoulder around you.

he’s pretty sure it’s broken.

“c'mon, i’ll do it with you,” he pats your back, signalling you to inhale.

so you do.

you focus on the pace of his chest rising up and down steadily, willing yourself to do the same.

it was kind of working? whatever he was doing.

with those arms around you, whispers of sweet nothings in your ears, mediating your breathing.

until the whirring started again.

-

a/n : ohshsjsnssjsteysys pt 3 finally uppp :)))

tags : @readermia @inmate-marmalade @randomsevans @xoxabs88xox @thebadassbitchqueen @mypalbuck @natrushman3000 @townwitchbitch

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

The theatre was loud, opposite of its normally hushed nature. People were yelling back and forth, saws and drills screeching as they tore through wood. In the background, sewing machines could be heard, along with the occasional curse as the needle got stuck in the fabric. One person, however, was quiet, focused. The paintbrush in his hand was small. The hairs tightly pressed together in order to create the perfect details on the backdrop. Erik was hunched over, sitting cross-legged on the stage floor as he squinted at the distant forest he was perfecting. Setting your bag down in the second row, you headed up the stage stairs.

“Hey,” you said softly in order not to scare him. 

Blinking, he turned around. His glasses were on the very tip of his nose, having slipped from the slight bit of sweat that had conjured on his face from the glaring stage lights. With a green speckled finger, he pushed the frame back up to its proper position. “Hey! I thought you had a project?”

You shrugged. “I did, but… I kind of hit a wall and needed to give my brain a rest. I’m sorry, I guess I should have gotten lunch with you anyway.”

“That’s alright. If you want, I still have half of my sandwich left.”

Smiling, you ruffled his hair. “Thanks, I’m not really hungry.” Minseok’s dismissive response had ruined the idea of food for you. Later you knew you would be starving, but right now food sounded like a great way to churn your stomach and see what it had been brewing all morning. “I’m just going to go hang out in the seats, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “No one will bother you or question it. Not that anyone would notice in the first place.”

“It’s pretty crazy around here, isn’t it?”

“You missed the big explosion when Dorothy couldn’t find the armchair for the second act. Turns out, someone just leaned a piece of wood for the set against it and hid it from view. Still took us half an hour to find it.”

You snorted. “Wow. I’m actually kind of sad I missed that.” You kissed his cheek, careful to avoid a smear that you were sure he had no clue about. That stupid guilt knocked once again.

The seat was only slightly comfortable, the cushion long ago worn down from a thousand performances. You stewed there in the second row. Though it wasn’t appropriate during shows, you didn’t think anyone would care if you set your feet on the seat in front of you. Folding nearly in half, you hid your face from those who might look your way as you cranked the handle to get the gears in your head to turn. 

Confusion seemed like too weak a word to describe what was going on in your head. You were angry, frustrated, sad, relieved. There had to be some language in the world that tied those emotions all together. You just didn’t know it. Perhaps that one word could be the pill you needed to no longer feel this way. If you could shove all of that into a single box, you would be fine. But is it ever that simple? When you closed your eyes and tried not to think of anything in particular, Minseok’s face faded into view. You’d shake your head to drive the image away. It came back anyway.

You felt powerless against this unseen pull, this innate desire to see him again, even after what had just happened in the courtyard. Your mind made excuses, told you that if you simply asked him to explain then he would. Looking up at Erik, you sighed. 

There was no comparison because they were two different people. Erik was the sensitive artist, the kind who went to coffee shops on Friday nights to hear a mediocre guitar player sing his “poetry” because he believed everyone deserved an audience. Minseok, on the other hand, was a strange combination of math lab nerd and soccer team captain. He was goofy and dorky, easily amused by corny jokes, but also had the physique of someone who ran five miles in the A.M. for the fun of it. What you couldn’t figure out was what drew you to him in the first place. In any normal, not-already-dating-someone situation, you wouldn’t have been interested in his type. Yet, it was almost… effortless, being around him. Even after all these years, you sometimes had to force yourself into conversation with Erik. Comfortable silences didn’t exactly exist in your relationship, but you always chalked that up to your own personality. Now you wondered if those moments would be better with Minseok. 

Was this a normal thing? You heard stories of college sweethearts all the time and for the last few years, you thought you and Erik would join that club. You hadn’t thought about marriage, per se, but you hadn’t seen an end either. The idea of coming to a fork in the road had never occurred to you. While logic and third party advice you’d casually picked up over your life told you to stick to the left, you were being drawn to the right. One road you could easily see where it led, signs, clear pastures, and everything. The other way wasn’t as clear, disappearing into thick woods that were both inviting and foreboding. You didn’t know if there was another side for the road to come out to. The only way you would ever find out would be to follow it. 

You were able to sit there in that second row seat for a few hours, surprisingly, with your phone and the internet as your companion. Only occasionally would you contemplate that fork again. Left, right, left, right. Easy, hard, easy, hard. In the end, you decided you needed to see Minseok again to really decide. 

The stage manager called it quits late in the afternoon. Erik washed up his brushes and came to meet you. “Hungry yet?” You nodded, more for something else to do before you were alone again. “Good. I’m starving.” Taking your bag like the gentleman that he was, he waited for you to stand up and then walked you out of the theatre.

Dinner ended up being a small burger joint that Erik had been craving all day. You gave no complaints as you started salivating at the thought of their fries. Surely they had to have some sort of secret, addictive ingredient to make fried potato sticks so incredibly delicious. The two of you ended up splitting a large basket of the side. It stayed equally in the middle of the table so no one could say that the other was hogging. Yes. Safe. Easy. Seeable. 

Erik offered a follow up to dinner, but you feigned exhaustion (though there might not have been any faking truthfully, as your mind was tired from constantly running throughout the day). He walked you all the way to the door of your room. As usual, he told you goodnight and leaned in for a kiss. But unlike your normal anticipation, you flinched back to avoid his lips. He stared at you in confusion. Clearing your throat, you made it up to him by kissing his cheek before running for cover in your dorm. From the light of the hallway, you could see that Erik stood on the other side for a few seconds, hesitating to understand what had just happened, before finally walking away. 

Teeth clenched down on your bottom lip, you pulled your phone out of your back pocket. Thankfully, Willa was still out so you were alone. The glare of your phone burned in the darkness. You squinted as you moved your thumb across the screen, unlocking it before opening the contacts. The number you wanted was easy enough to find. The pad of your thumb hovered over the little green phone. It accepted the slightest touch and switched over to calling mode. You placed the speaker to your ear. 

Rrriiinggg. Rrriiinnngggg. 

“Hello?”

You sucked in air. He’d answered. You didn’t have a plan for this. You didn’t have any sort of plan after pressing call. You’d hoped that he was one of those people who didn’t have a voicemail set up. 

“Hello? (y/n)?”

You hung up. 

**

Minseok watched you stalk off in the exact direction he wished you hadn’t. Anywhere else; he would have been fine with you going anywhere besides the theatre where your boyfriend was. His wolf growled and clawed with jealousy. Why was he so stupid? Since when was keeping his mate a secret more important than being with you? Of course he wanted to eat lunch with you, to see how you got along with his brothers. But the idea of Baekhyun figuring it out had caused him to panic. As obnoxious as Baekhyun could be, he wasn’t stupid. At some point during the meal, Minseok would have done something a little overprotective and Baekhyun would have started to connect the dots. Unfortunately, he’d already picked up on something. 

“Oooo, breaking the rules, are we?” The brat even had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows at the eldest wolf. 

Not holding back, Minseok swung, hitting a good target on the upper arm. 

“Ow!”

“First, it's not a rule,” Minseok grumbled. “Junmyeon simply suggested that we don’t date. Besides, you’re one to talk. How’s Daisy?”

Baekhyun was hardly phased. He sported a cheeky grin. “She’s great.”

Bored, Sehun asked, “Can we just go eat now? Who cares who Minseok was flirting with?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her!” Minseok shouted. He explained in a lower voice, “She’s having trouble in her math class so I’m doing Sungkyu a favor and helping her out so she can pass. That’s it.”

“So why didn’t you want her to eat with us, then?” Jongin asked innocently. 

Minseok flinched. Jongin was more observant than anyone would give him credit for. Not that Minseok was subtle in any sense of the word. “I didn’t say that I didn’t want her to eat with us. Knowing you all, you would have let something slip about what we are.”

“Minseok, we all caught that she was willing to join us,” Chanyeol said. 

Huffing, Minseok grumbled, “Are we going to go eat or should I just go by myself?”

Shrugging off the odd behavior, Baekhyun turned and headed for the parking lot. Minseok was quick to follow, feeling smaller than normal surrounded by his pack members. In his head, he pictured himself running back towards the theatre, bursting through the doors, and - in true dramatic fashion - declaring you his. 

That would be a complete disaster. He should only do that if he wanted you to never talk to him ever again. 

Minseok hardly paid attention as Chanyeol drove them to his favorite pizza place. He was in a trance as the others took control of what to order. Physically, he sat in the booth next to Sehun with Baekhyun on the other side. His shoulder was pressed into the chipped wooden guard rail that ran along the wall but he hardly noticed the uncomfortable poke in his skin. His mind was still back at the campus. He was driving himself crazy trying to figure out how he was going to make this up to you, how he was going to explain his bizarre switch up to you. He hardly ate, which was fine since the others were more than happy to devour the three large pizzas with varying toppings. The others weren’t bothered by his quietness since it was nothing new. Minseok was always more of an observer than a participant. In a time like this, it worked to his advantage.

There was no consulting Minseok when the lunch was through. They all simply piled back into the car and headed out of town towards the woods. Vague mentions of going for a run were tossed around. Minseok didn’t voice any sort of agreement. He wasn’t in the mood. Ha. A wolf not in the mood to run wild among the trees? He really was turned upside down because of you. While the younger ones headed straight for the trees, Minseok headed up the porch and through the front living room until he came to the kitchen. Oh, thank god. There were still beers in the fridge. He grabbed one and immediately opened it, still chugging as he walked over to the breakfast booth. 

“Did you have fun?”

Junmyeon slid into the booth across from him. Minseok put the can down. “Yeah. At first. We had fun with the project. It was when the others showed up that things…  went bad.”

“What do you mean?” Junmyeon asked with a frown. 

“I… panicked. The others invited her to join us and I….” Minseok shrugged. 

“Worried that the others would figure it out?” Junmyeon guessed. The response was a nod. 

“Figure what out?” 

Shit.

Baekhyun stood in the entryway, looking back and forth between the eldest and the alpha. Minseok gulped. He thought that all four of them had gone out on a run and he hadn’t heard anyone else in the house. Stepping further into the kitchen, Baekhyun asked again, “Figure what out?”

Minseok looked to Junmyeon for help. None was to be found. 

“You should probably tell them.”

“I’m not going to tell just Baekhyun so he can go running and tell the others and exaggerate.”

“I can always call a family meeting.”

“I don’t want to make that big of a deal out of it.”

“Too late on that. Besides, that’s the best way to get everyone here. Get it out of the way.”

“Or to get none of them here.”

“I’m still standing here,” Baekhyun scoffed.

Minseok looked at him. “I know.”

Junmyeon sighed. “Baekhyun, will you go get the others? Tell them it's important?”

He nodded. “Sure. Be back in a flash.” He left, already shedding the hoodie over his head. 

Slumping down in the booth, Minseok felt defeated. Junmyeon sensed this immediately. “It really won’t be that bad. And they need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” 

“Yes. Once a pack member finds the first mate, the others will slowly start to find their own. It won’t be immediate. It could take years, really. But it’s like a domino effect. They should be aware that it's their turn next.”

It made sense. The pack was always connected, both in mind and in instinct. But it had been just them for so long, the idea of bringing in mates to the fold was odd. Minseok wasn’t sure how the others would react. Fists clenched on the table, he leaned his head down. It took almost half an hour before the rest of the pack came back. Yixing had arrived first, coming back from a lab he was making up from earlier in the week. The rest came into the kitchen ten minutes later. They were knocking into each other as they yanked on shirts and pants. 

“Okay, Junmyeon, what’s the emergency?” Jongdae asked, very prepared to be his usual sarcastic, troll self. 

But Junmyeon didn’t reply, letting Minseok take the reins instead. Minseok didn't want to do this. He wanted to run, to keep his secret a little while longer while he figured this whole thing out. But Junmyeon was right. It was time.

“(y/n) - the girl that some of you met today… she’s my mate.”

It was pure silence in the kitchen. It was unnatural in this household. The only time it was ever this quiet was when the house was empty. 

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae said. “You said… mate? Right?” Minseok nodded. He growled.  “Fantastic.”

“You really found your mate, Minseok?” Yixing was more enthusiastic about the news. He looked elated, even. A small smile was creeping up. 

Despite the stunned silence, Minseok found Yixing’s energy infectious. “Yeah. I did.”

“Have you told her yet?” Chanyeol asked. 

“She has a boyfriend,” Jongin reminded him. 

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m working on it,” Minseok said. “I just-” His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, his eyes widened at the name popping up on the screen. With sixteen eyes on him, he answered, frantic. “Hello?” A gasp on the other end. “Hello? (y/n)?” You didn’t answer. Two seconds ticked by and you ended the call. He stared at his now black screen in shock. Then his brain started again. “I got to go.”

“Was it her?” Junmyeon asked. 

“Wait, I have more questions!” Baekhyun whined. Minseok was out of the kitchen in a heartbeat, jumping into his car and flying down the road. He didn’t know if you were hurt or in trouble. Why had you called him? Why didn’t you say anything? He was determined to find out. There was only one problem. 

He didn’t know your dorm number. 

You’d briefly mentioned the shared campus housing with your best friend, but that was all the information he had. Looks like he would have to find it the old fashion way. 

Asking. 

As soon as he parked, he headed towards the dorms, thankful at least that the two large housing buildings were close in proximity. He headed for the smaller cafeteria located in the lobby of the first building. The kitchen was closed but there were still students taking advantage of the open seating. Okay. Here it goes. 

The first few groups that Minseok asked had never heard of you. He was starting to berate himself on what a stupid idea this was. He should have called you back and asked you to call him when you were ready because it most certainly would have gone to voicemail. But his luck soon turned around. He approached a group of three girls sitting in a corner. One of them had a camera. 

“Excuse me?” They looked up. Minseok cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to find (y/n) (l/n)’s room. Do you happen to know her?”

One girl narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

Minseok swallowed. “I… I have her notebook. She’d left it behind earlier at study group. She really needs it for class on Monday but I can’t get a hold of her.” Please believe his stupid lie. 

The girl who’d spoken made eye contact with her two friends. “She’s in room twenty-three-nineteen. If she doesn’t answer, just slide the notebook under the door.”

He could almost jump from elated joy. “Thank you!” 

Taking off, he headed for the stairs. Your dorm room was only on the second floor so it didn’t take long to follow the signs until he was right outside your door. Only now did the possibility that your roommate would be the one to answer cross his mind. What lie would he have to come up with then? He had to take the chance. 

After knocking, he waited, shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to release the nervous energy surging through his body. The door swung open. 

It was you. Thank goodness. 

You were not the same level of relieved. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Crap. He probably should have thought of that. “You called me.”

You looked back over your shoulder before stepping out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind you. “So? That doesn’t mean you can just show up here!”

“I need to talk to you.” 

You licked your lips. No, please don’t do that. It’s too tempting already to grab your face and kiss you against the door. Without speaking, you went back into your room. Well, that was a bust. But before he could walk away with slumped shoulders, you came back, this time with shoes on and your bag. “Let’s go.”

He gave no protest as you led him out of the dorm and into the dark. He had no idea where the two of you were headed, but he planned on embracing whatever came his way. The two of you were going to talk. His heart was thumping hard against his sternum. He was getting more alone time with you. Who knew what would end up flying out of his mouth in these next few hours. Would this be the night of truths and revelations?

[quickspinner]

Killer Combo Ch 7 - The Final Showdown

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Epilogue | Bonus Tidbits | ART inspired by this story! | AO3 | Fiction Master Post

I sincerely apologize to everyone who prefers short chapters, as this is another really long one. Pace yourselves as necessary, and thank you so much for persevering to the end with me. I'm so grateful for everyone who has read and liked or reblogged or replied, and I hope though the journey is uh, long, you will find it satisfying. You can search *** for the scene breaks if you need to stop and come back.

Kagami, predictably, was not happy when Marinette returned alone, but Juleka’s vindictive smirk when she heard what her brother was doing was enough to convince Kagami to delay any plans of vengeance she might have been making. “I hope he gives that bitch the earful she deserves,” Juleka muttered darkly, and then snorted. “But knowing Luka, he won’t. He’ll be all gentle and patient and she’ll keep arguing for way longer than he should let her before she realizes she might as well be talking to a brick wall.” 

“You don’t think,” Marinette began, and then stopped, reaching up to smooth her hair self-consciously, shifting her weight on her feet and feeling like a fool as several pairs of knowing eyes turned her way.

Juleka arched an eyebrow, but her smile was sympathetic. “I definitely don’t think,” she said warmly, reaching out to squeeze Marinette’s shoulder in a move that reminded her strongly of Luka. “Luka’s very perceptive and empathetic. It makes him too gentle sometimes, but he’s no pushover. She might think she has a chance, but he’s been over her for a long time. Even if he hadn’t... met anybody , she wouldn’t get anywhere with him.” She grabbed Marinette’s hand and pulled her towards the dance floor, reaching out her other hand to snag Rose on her way. “Now enough about my stupid brother, we only have like an hour of party left, let’s go have fun.” 

Marinette giggled, grabbing Kagami’s arm and pulling her along. 

Kagami had offered to let her stay overnight at the mansion, but Marinette had declined in favor of a ride home. She crept into her room as quietly as she could, sent her parents a text to let them know she was home just in case one of them woke up and worried, and went to wash her makeup off and get ready for bed. 

Her phone beeped just as she was drying off her face, and she picked it up to find a text from Luka. Just letting you know I made it home. Sorry for leaving so suddenly. 

Marinette sighed, and smiled slightly as she answered him. It’s okay, I understand. Did you get everything worked out in the end? She chewed her lip as she sent the message, but she needed to know, and there really wasn’t any good way to ask the question. She finished up with her moisturizer and climbed the stairs up to her bed, wincing at the ache in her feet.

She sat cross-legged on her bed to read his reply. As much as it can be. She’s not happy, but making her happy isn’t my job anymore. She got the message, finally, and that’s all that matters to me. 

Before she’d even finished reading that one, another message came in.

I know it’s really late and I’ll understand if you don’t want to, but I’d really like to hear your voice one more time. Is it okay if I call?

Marinette really wanted to hear his voice too. Before she could second-guess herself too much, she hit the call button.

He picked up immediately. “Hey,” he said softly, voice a little rough and tired-sounding but still enough to make her feel warm and remember the soft touch of his lips against hers. 

“Hi,” she said shyly, suddenly breathless.

“Marinette,” he sighed, and she had to smile at the way he said her name, like he was relieved and happy and exhausted all at once. “I just wanted to say I am so, so sorry about how everything went down tonight, and also...thank you. I think I got some closure tonight that I really needed, and it was really thanks to you and your friends, and...and I’m just incredibly grateful. And I totally owe you a rain check on the party date because I was having a great time until—” he sighed again. “All that other stuff. Your friends are pretty cool.”  

“Yeah,” Marinette smiled, picking at the hem of her pants. “They really are. We’ve had our ups and downs, but the ones that have stuck around, they’re really amazing.” She sighed slightly through her nose, brow furrowing in annoyance. “And I’m really sorry you haven’t had the same experience.”

“Well,” Luka said, and the smile in his voice made her smile too, “I got a taste of it tonight. It’s nice to know friendships like that really exist. I mean, I know they do, I’ve had some...still have some, even if they’re far away, but...okay, I’m rambling and I’m keeping you awake and you’re probably just as tired as I am, but I just, um...I wanted to…” He took a deep breath, and went on a little too quickly, “When I kissed you tonight, I wasn’t, I didn’t do anything right and I was kind of overwhelmed and not thinking clearly, but I want you to know I really—” 

“Wait,” Marinette said quickly, her heart suddenly pounding. “Wait. I think...Luka, if it’s okay with you, I think I’d rather talk about this in person. Maybe when we’re both a little clearer headed than we are right now?”

“Yeah,” Luka said slowly. “Yeah, okay, I guess that makes sense. So...when can I see you in person?” 

Marinette winced, turning and pulling down her schedule. “I have so much to do this week,” she nearly moaned, fisting a hand in her hair and tugging hard. 

“Hey,” he said, and something in his voice made Marinette cringe. “It’s okay.”

“No, I want to, I promise I’m not blowing you off, I really want to talk about this with you, it’s just—of course everything always has to happen at once and…ugh, timing. ” Marinette chewed her lip, scanning across the week, trying to find some time. Surely she could spare him ten minutes somewhere...but was the conversation they needed to have something that she really could rush? What was she even doing, why didn’t she just let him say what he wanted to say, why was she...she was…

Hesitating. Why was she hesitating? Marinette chewed her lip and blew out a frustrated breath, forgetting that Luka was still on the phone. She jumped when he spoke again.

“Marinette,” Luka said, his tone gentle, and she made a distracted noise of acknowledgement. “Listen. Don’t sweat it. I know you have your presentation this week and the tournament, right? If you’re busy and you need some space, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We can settle this afterwards. I’m not going anywhere. Well. Not until we talk, at least.” 

Marinette’s eyes landed on the weekend, colored in red and outlined in black. “The tournament,” she said softly. “The championship. We could...we could talk there? Maybe after?” 

Luka was silent for a moment, and Marinette heard him take a deep breath. “Is that the best time?” he said cautiously. “Do we really want to have that on our minds?” 

“You know what,” Marinette said, beginning to smile. “I think it’s the perfect time. It’s where we met, afterall.”

“Well,” Luka said, and she could tell he was smiling too. “There is a certain poetry to that.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said, her smile growing into a grin. “After I’m done kicking your ass in the finals, then.” 

“Oh, brave words from the lady with the forty percent win rate against me,” he laughed, and Marinette made a face.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Max,” she accused. 

“Max is a fun guy,” Luka chuckled. “Not as much fun as you, but you know, he has his moments.” 

Why was she so pleased at that, that he preferred her company over Max, ugh she was pathetic. She covered a giggle anyway, but it turned into a yawn.

“I’ll let you go to sleep,” Luka said, amusement clear in his voice. “Good luck this week, Marinette, and I’ll see you this weekend and...we’ll talk.” 

“Yes,” Marinette nodded decisively, though he couldn’t see her. “We will.” 

***

Two days later and elbow deep in unfinished clothes that were supposed to be runway ready in less than twenty-four hours, Marinette was actually feeling good about her decision to defer her talk with Luka.

Not everyone agreed, however.

“ Girl ,” Alya screeched from Marinette’s floor, where she was hammering rivets into a jacket. Max winced from where he was sitting at Marinette’s desk, pliers in his hand and a spool of jewelry wire next to him. “Why did you do that?” 

Marinette sighed, and bit her lip. “Because—” 

“Because what? ” Alya demanded.

“Because I need to be the one to say it,” Marinette sighed, as she rearranged the fabric on her sewing machine. “It’s just...it’s something I need to do, Alya. I don’t expect you to understand.” 

“Oh I understand,” Alya sighed. “I just think it’s silly. You could be making out right now if you’d just let him say his piece.” 

“First of all,” Marinette grumbled. “You don’t know that, you’re making assumptions. He could have been about to say he really values my friendship and he doesn’t want anything to change. Second, I have way too much to do this week. I wouldn’t have time for making out even if I did have a hot new boyfriend to do it with. Third, I just...I told you, I need to do it. I need to know that I can put myself out there and tell a boy I like him and not just...let it happen to me.”

“You must have done that lots of times, Marinette, what about all those guys you made out with that last year of high school?” 

Marinette rolled her eyes, glancing at Max with a blush, though he was studiously ignoring the conversation, focused on the task in front of him. “It’s not even close to being the same thing.” She felt a little ashamed, actually, of the way she’d used some of those guys, even though they were usually more than happy to be used and she’d never been dishonest with any of them. “This isn’t about just kissing and proving to myself that someone can like me and be attracted to me. It’s not just as simple as asking a cute guy to a party, I just…” She sighed. “It’s the first time I’ve really felt like this since then, with all the butterflies and the fear and the...the…” 

“Passion?” suggested Alya smugly, and Marinette rolled her eyes again.

“Whatever. The point is, I just need to be the one to say it, and I want to do it face to face.” 

“Well, maybe you’re right and I don’t really get it,” Alya sighed. “It sounds like he’s pretty into you, so it seems like you’re splitting unnecessary hairs. But I guess you do what you have to do, girl.”

“I will,” Marinette said firmly, “And what I need to do now is get these garments finished for my presentation so I can put that to bed and focus on beating my gorgeous potential boyfriend this weekend before I confess my—”

“Yeeees?” Alya teased.

“Feelings,” Marinette finished with a flush. “Look, can we be done talking about this now?” 

“Fine,” Alya rolled her eyes and put the hammer down, stretching her fingers. “I’m going to go grab some water, do you guys want some?”

“Yes, please,” Marinette and Max chorused together, and Alya stood up. Before heading to the trap door, she crossed the room to look over Max’s shoulder at the wire he was twisting to match the sketch Marinette had given him. 

“Wow, Max, you’re surprisingly good at that,” Alya commented, and Max gave her a look over his glasses.

“I know my way around wires and a pair of pliers, thank you very much,” Max sniffed. “It’s not that different from wiring a circuit board.” 

“Well, the next time you need help with something like that, count me in,” Marinette said, frowning as she tried to untangle the mess her bobbin had mysteriously become. “I owe you guys sooooo much for this.”

“I will give your offer due consideration when the time inevitably comes,” Max replied. “Incidentally, do you happen to have another ticket to the show? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“Max, really?” Alya sighed, heading towards the trap door. “You’re going to ask her that now? Have you checked under your piles of nerd crap?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Marinette said, reaching over to grab a decorated box on her desk and rummage through it. “Here you go, Max. Kagami can’t make it so I had one more than I needed anyway.” 

“Thank you, Marinette,” Max said, with a grin that would have made her look twice if she hadn’t been so preoccupied. 

As it was she barely noticed it, and forgot it entirely until much later, when her presentation was over and the high of achievement and the exhilaration of her first really professional fashion show were finally wearing off and she was about to fall into bed for the night. As she fumbled to plug her phone into the charger, she noticed a text on the screen and paused. 

It was from Luka.

You were fantastic up there. Sorry I couldn’t stay long enough to see you after. Congratulations, all the hard work paid off. 

Marinette gaped at the phone for a moment. You were there? she texted back, and then berated herself for not checking the time first. He was probably asleep, he must have sent that text hours ago.

Even as she thought it, her phone pinged with a response.

Yeah, I hope that was okay. Tell Max thanks for the ticket. ;) 

Marinette gaped again, and then pouted for a moment before hitting the call button. 

Luka picked up right away. “Surprise,” he said, laughter in his warm voice.

“Max is a sneak,” Marinette pouted, though she was trying not to smile. “And I’m going to kill him.” 

“Max is a sneak,” Luka agreed. “But don’t be mad. I ran into him the other day and asked how you were, and we got to talking, and I let it slip that I really wished I could be there, and he gave me his ticket on the spot. Made me promise not to tell you until after, though. I would’ve stayed to say congrats but I had a gig I had to get to, and...well I didn’t want to make things weird.” 

“I’m glad you were there,” Marinette smiled, and then added shyly, “You really think I did well?” 

“You did amazing,” he said sincerely, and Marinette felt a thrill that made her wiggle a little in place. “I know a thing or two about stage presence, and you’ve definitely got it. I’m really glad I got to see you present. And...well I can’t claim to know much about fashion, but I really liked what you did.” 

A hot flush raced up her face and she slapped a hand over it even though he couldn’t see her. 

“Marinette? You okay?”

Marinette made an affirmative noise. “Sorry. I just...that makes me really happy. That you think so. That you liked it. I—” She made a high pitched whine. “I’m not making any sense.” 

“It’s late and you’re tired,” Luka chuckled. “It’s fine. I don’t want to keep you up any longer, I just wanted to let you know I was there. Juleka said it was creepy to show up without telling you.” 

Marinette giggled. “Well, she maybe has a point. I would have gotten tickets for you and Juleka both if you had asked.”

“Sorry,” Luka sighed, and she heard a thump that she thought might be his head hitting a table. “I promise, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just...I knew it was important to you and…I know you needed space and I didn’t want to confuse anything and—” He cut off with a strangled noise and sighed. “Okay, I’m going to tell you good night now and hang up before I dig myself any deeper.” 

Marinette had to bite her lip to stop her giggling, “You don’t have to be sorry. I’m really glad you were there, Luka. Really. That...it was important to me, and it’s an important part of me, and I didn’t think about it before but...I’m really glad I got to show you that. Seeing you play on stage, I felt like I really got to see an important side of you that I didn’t know anything about, so...I hope maybe tonight was like that for you.” She bit her tongue, feeling like she wasn’t explaining herself well. 

“It was,” Luka said, his voice softening a little in a way that made her shiver. “It really was, and…” He paused, and cleared his throat. “Well. I know you’ve been working hard and I don’t want to keep you up any later. I just wanted to tell you I thought you did great tonight and I’m super impressed, as always. Get some sleep, okay?” 

“Sleep,” Marinette repeated, hand still over her face. “Sleep would be good. Maybe for like a week.” 

“You’ve really been running hard, huh,” Luka said sympathetically. “Once all this is over, we’ll take some time and just hang out and relax. I’ll play for you.” 

“Really?” Marinette perked up.

“Yeah,” Luka chuckled. “Just like that day on the boat.”

“That was nice,” Marinette smiled, finally letting her hand slide down off her face. 

“Mm. It really was.”

There was a long pause. 

“I should—” she began, just as he said, “You should—” and they both laughed. 

“Good night, Marinette,” Luka said at last. “Rest well.” 

“Good night, Luka,” Marinette murmured. “See you soon.” 

“Soon,” he repeated, and hung up. 

A few minutes later her phone beeped with one final text.

Can’t wait to see you this weekend.

Marinette sent back a single pink heart and fell back giggling onto her bed, kicking her feet for a second in a brief burst of energy before she crawled under the covers and fell asleep with a grin on her face. 

When Max showed up for practice the next day, she punched him in the arm, and then threw her arms around his neck. “You’re a great friend,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “And I hate you.”

Max just chuckled and patted her back.

***

The morning of the UMSIII Master League Championship, Marinette was a fluttering, nervous wreck. That wasn’t totally unexpected, and her parents put up cheerfully with her clumsiness, absentmindedness, and confusion, giving her gentle encouragement and moving the breakables quietly out of her path. Finally they kissed her goodbye, handed her the bag she’d been about to forget, and promised that they would be in the stands with the rest of her friends. 

She leaned her head on the cool metal rail of the subway and tried to breathe. There was a lot on the line today. Marinette was fairly confident she could place, but...she wanted to win. There was a steep drop in the prize value between first and second place and an even sharper drop between second and third. She wanted to do well, yes, but really she wanted to win. 

Luka wanted to win too, and that made her stomach twist. She hadn’t seen him in person since the night of the party. Other than their brief conversations, Marinette had been trying not to think too hard about him, to focus on the competition in her practice sessions with Max, but she wasn’t entirely successful. A lot of things had fallen into place for her since she’d seen him on stage. Now she understood how he played to the crowd in his interviews, the way he could project his voice in a crowd, the calm, easy going demeanor he kept up even in the heat of competition. He was used to pressure, he was used to crowds, he was a trained vocalist, and he enjoyed having an audience. Marinette felt like she had a much better picture of him in her mind now, a better understanding of who he was, and everything she knew just made her want to know more. 

She was determined to tell him so. 

But first she had to get through the tournament. And some small, ugly little part of her was afraid. Would he still want to talk to her if she beat him? 

Of course he would. It was ridiculous to think otherwise. It was just a game, after all.

A game with both their dreams on the line.

She almost missed her metro stop. 

Marinette swallowed hard as she walked up to the huge stadium and showed her player pass to the guard. She was on her own for the moment; the individual finals would be held in the afternoon and the team competition in the evening, so Max couldn’t come with her. Marinette was the only player in the finals for both the individual and the team championship. Well, and Luka. Technically he was still part of the team, even if he wouldn’t play.

She was escorted to a small lounge area where other players had already begun to congregate. She scanned the room but didn’t see Luka. Marinette wandered back and forth aimlessly, growing more and more restless the longer they were stuck waiting, her thoughts growing scattered and fragmented and her hands starting to shake slightly. She wished she’d brought her sketchbook, or some knitting. Something, anything, to vent her energy on and focus her mind.

A touch on her shoulder made her jump and she whirled around to find Luka behind her, looking surprised and then apologetic, shoulders hunching slightly. “Sorry. I called your name, but…” He shrugged and held out a bottle of water, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Marinette smiled shyly back. “Sorry, I guess I was zoned out.” She took the bottle and twisted off the cap. “Too much energy and nowhere to spend it.” She took a sip, peeking at him around the bottle. He wasn’t wearing his Viperion hoodie, but his old one, with her red stitching at the seams. She focused on the logo on his chest as she lowered the bottle. “New shirt?”

“Yeah,” Luka rolled his eyes. “The league sent it to me. Apparently they don’t want their vintage branding on the livestream tonight, so they asked me to wear the new logo.” 

Marinette huffed a quiet laugh. “Naturally.” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “The old one was better.”

“Right?” Luka groaned. “I almost wore it anyway, but…” He shrugged. “Wasn’t worth the fight, to be honest.” 

Marinette started to ask why he hadn’t worn his Viperion hoodie, but changed her mind, not sure that she wanted to know the answer. Instead she blurted, “You look good,” and promptly wanted to kick herself. He did look good; the new shirt fit him better than the old one, his hair was styled more deliberately than usual and the color in it looked recently touched up, bright and vibrant. He was freshly shaved and, she was pretty sure, wearing a touch of makeup, probably to keep from looking washed out under the lights. Of course he would consider those things. Was that peach lipstick? It was a good color on him.

Oh God she was staring. 

“You do too,” Luka smiled, reaching up to brush her pigtail back behind her shoulder. suddenly he winced and jerked his hand back quickly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—sorry if I’m—”

“It’s okay,” Marinette said, catching the hand he was pulling back. “Really, Luka, I don’t mind. I know it’s how you connect. I know you won’t do anything inappropriate, and I don’t mind the rest, so just don’t worry about it.” 

Luka relaxed, and she squeezed his hand before letting go of it. “Thanks,” he said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and stopping just in time. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Marinette, who found herself beginning to fidget again. “Are you okay?”

Marinette smiled, but her face felt like wood. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly, and Marinette noticed absently that he was wearing eyeliner. “You don’t look fine,” he observed, and nudged the hand holding the water bottle. “Drink. It’s going to be crazy once things get going. Better to start hydrating now.” 

Marinette drank, more because she didn’t feel like arguing than from actually believing she needed it. “How can you be so calm?” she asked with a gusty sigh after she lowered the bottle.

Luka shrugged and flashed a grin. “Don’t forget I’ve done this before. Helps that I was practically raised on stage, so the lights, the effects, none of that really bothers me.” He put a hand on her shoulder and massaged gently. “I’m honestly a little surprised to see you so tense. I didn’t think anything would rattle you after seeing you up on stage before. You owned it and you didn’t look nervous at all.” 

“That was fashion,” Marinette hissed, glancing at the other competitors. “And I was busy. I didn’t have time to freak out. Not like this, with all the...the waiting. ” She tugged at her pigtails and resisted the urge to whine. “I just want to get started already! Just—all this—” she flapped her hands, trying to indicate the pent-up energy inside her. “There’s nowhere for it to go.” 

“Ah.” Luka glanced away, and then looked at her again. “I don’t know if it would help, but...want to meditate with me? I always try to meditate for at least a few minutes before I have to go on stage. Or into a competition.” 

Marinette blinked at him, for a moment and he shrugged. “But if you don’t want to, it’s fine, I know it’s a little weird, to think about sitting still when you’re so worked up—” 

“No, I—that sounds good.” Marinette glanced around. “But where—”  

Luka tipped his head to indicate a direction and Marinette followed him to a corner of the lounge where there was an old, battered, but currently empty sofa. He sat down and Marinette sat next to him. She glanced around a little self-consciously but most of the competitors were focused on their own pre-game rituals. The nervous chatterers were congregated together, fidgeting back and forth as they all talked over each other. Several others had headphones and closed eyes, a couple were pacing, and the only other female competitor in the room was staring at the ground, mumbling with her eyes closed and her weight shifting from foot to foot. No one was paying the two of them any mind at all. 

“Everybody’s too worried about their own game to care what we do,” Luka murmured, slipping a guitar pick out of his pocket and rotating it in his fingers. “Don’t worry about them, just focus on you.” He held the pick between his thumb and forefinger and breathed in slowly, and then out, closing his eyes. 

Marinette watched him for a moment, then placed one hand over the other in her lap, palms up, and did the same. It took some effort to keep from fidgeting, to force the circumstances from her mind and bring her scattered focus to her breathing and the flow of her energy, but Luka’s calm presence and the slow, regular swell of his ribs moving his arm against hers, helped her settle her mind.

As she breathed, the nervous flutters ebbed. She felt more solidly in her skin than she had all day. The tension was still there, but it was more focused now, less chaotic. She felt worlds better...but a little guilty.

“You shouldn’t be helping me so much,” Marinette murmured, her eyes still closed.

Luka’s shoulder vibrated against hers as he chuckled. “Have you looked at the brackets? Clearly the marketing geniuses have been at work because we don’t face each other until the finals. I want you to be there, not flame out from nerves in your first matchup.” After a moment he added quietly, “And you’re my friend. I can’t see you unhappy and not help. You’ve done a lot for me too, you know.” 

Marinette unfolded her hands and fumbled blindly beside her. She found his forearm and slid her hand down to slip her fingers through his and squeezed. 

“I’m really glad I met you, Luka,” she whispered. “Whatever happens today, I hope we can...” She hesitated, not wanting to say stay friends, because that wasn’t what she wanted. She opened one eye and peeked at him, and saw his eyes open as well as he smiled at her. His thumb caressed the back of her hand lightly.

“I hear you,” he said softly, and the drop in his voice made her insides quiver pleasantly. She was suddenly extremely aware of the rough skin of his hand enveloping hers, the warmth of where their shoulders pressed together. “I’m glad we met too. I want you to be in my life, no matter what happens today.” 

Marinette had to press her lips together to contain her smile. “Yeah...me too.” 

Luka glanced at the other players and gently extracted his hand. He took Marinette’s wrist and put her hand back on her own knee before curling his fingers back together and closing his eyes. Marinette understood, folding her hands back together and deepening her breathing again. It wouldn’t do for them to be cuddling too obviously in front of everyone else. There would already be talk, she was sure, if Ladybug and Viperion began dating after the tournament was over, no matter who won. 

But before she could think of that, she had to win.

And before she could even think about beating Luka, she had other competitors to worry about. He was right. She needed to focus and not let the situation get the better of her.

She stayed there, meditating alongside Luka, until the handlers came to get the players and walk them through their entrances and the procedures between matches. The sight of the jumbotron overhead and the giant stadium full of currently empty but soon-to-be-packed seats made Marinette’s nerves flare up again. Luka’s hand squeezed her shoulder, bringing her focus back to the moment.

“Hey,” he murmured when she looked up at him. “It’s just another match. The livestream’s just a little more up close and personal than we’re used to.” He grinned at her. “They’re all coming to see Ladybug and Viperion face off.” 

Marinette grinned back, and then brought her attention back to the handler explaining the procedure and reiterating the rules.The quarter finals and semifinals would be best two out of three, and the finals best three out of five. Matches would be held simultaneously using the pyrapods set up at ground level, and at the back, an elevated stage contained two pyrapods that would be used for the finals. 

None of this was news and Marinette was back to shifting from foot-to-foot impatiently, checking the time. Luka seemed as calm and relaxed as ever, but she could see the tightness beginning around his eyes and knew he was ready to get started too. 

Finally they were dumped back in the lounge, and Marinette went to the restroom. She’d done the rest of her routine at home, but she wanted her makeup mask fresh and bright. The ritual of putting it on, dusting the red mask across her eyes and drawing in her spots, calmed some of her resurging nerves, and when she straightened up from the mirror, Ladybug looked back at her. 

Ladybug was not going to lose because of stage fright.

Marinette reached back into her makeup bag and hesitated as her hand found her tube of black lipstick. She bit her lip and looked at her reflection again. The championship seemed like a bad time to be making changes, but…

Marinette swapped the black lipstick for red and painted her lips with quick, decisive movements, and then snapped the cap back on with a quiet click. She made sure her pigtails were still tight and secure, tapped her lucky earrings three times, and then zipped up her bag and went back to the lounge, already feeling more confident and ready to compete.

Luka caught her eye immediately when she stepped back inside, and she saw him grin at the change, but then the competitors were being herded out of the lounge and into the tunnel they would take into the arena.

In the chaos, she felt Luka’s hand wrap around hers and squeeze, and quickly let go. The competitors milled around in the tunnel aimlessly, well back from the fog machine spewing smoke near the entrance, until two production assistants dressed in black brusquely took charge and lined them up in a supposedly randomly generated but very important order, warning them to not, under any circumstances, shuffle the order or cross the line before their names were called or move from their place in line. Marinette found herself in the middle of the line, with Luka right beside her. “Random, huh,” Luka chuckled. “Yeah, right.” 

“They’re really hyping us up,” Marinette agreed. 

“Guess we better not let them down.” Luka and Marinette exchanged a look, and then a fistbump. “See you in the finals, Ladybug,” he grinned. 

“I’ll be there,” she grinned back. “You better not stand me up, Viperion.”

“Never.” 

“Oh my God, get a room,” muttered the guy on Marinette’s other side. “You two are disgusting.” 

Marinette flushed, but Luka just chuckled again. “Aww, Pharaoh, you know I love beating you too, it’s just not in the cards today, man.”

Pharaoh scowled over Marinette’s head at him. “Kiss my ass, snake boy.” 

“Oh, when Ladybug here’s done kicking it you’re gonna need somebody to,” Luka said, winking at Marinette. “‘Fraid I’ll be busy, though. Tagger can do it for me, he’ll be free.”

“I hate you so much,” Tagger, Luka’s first round opponent, grumbled from down the line. “Fucking cocky bastard.” 

Marinette giggled, and Luka nudged her shoulder playfully with his. She looked up into his face and she could see the thrill of competition beginning to get to him, in his pirate grin and the sparkle in his eyes, and the challenge there sparked Marinette’s own competitive spirit.

“He’s not wrong,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “I thought the very same thing to myself during our first match.” Luka feigned being struck in the heart. 

“Betrayal!” he laughed. “I’m not cocky, I’m right. It’s not boasting if you can back it up.” 

“You can back it up all the way to second place.” Marinette poked him in the chest and he grabbed her hand, leaning down over her with a grin.

“Don’t make me break out Max’s win percentages again.” 

“The numbers can’t help you now,” Marinette shot back, pulling her hand free. She stepped up close to him and looked up into his face, shoulders back and hands on her hips. “We’re starting with a clean slate today and all that matters is here and now. I hope you enjoyed winning all those matches, Viperion, because it’s only going to make it sweeter when I finally take you down.” 

Luka bit his lip, and Marinette quirked her eyebrow a little higher, and then Pharaoh coughed, making them both jump. “We’re still here, you know,” he said sardonically as Marinette and Luka turned away from each other, Luka clearly fighting a grin, pink coloring the high points of his cheeks, and Marinette turning a brilliant red that she could only hope would fade before she was announced.

Mercifully the announcer began calling names, distracting everyone as a murmur of excitement went down the line.

Suddenly there was no one in front of Marinette and her heart began to pound.

“Ladybug!” the announcer roared, and the crowd erupted into a deafening roar that startled her. Marinette wasn’t given time to hesitate, though; the production assistant planted a hand in the middle of her back and shoved her forward into the fog. For a moment she was blind and confused, but then she stumbled out of the fog and into the bright lights of the stadium. Marinette quickly pasted on a wide smile and raised her arms to wave with both hands to the crowd, though her knees felt like jelly at the sight of so many people and her own promo picture on the jumbotron, smirking at the camera in full makeup and a challenging posture.

Somehow she made it across the field to her mark next to Pharaoh, and then the announcer was calling Viperion, and she turned her head, clapping automatically as Luka emerged from the fog and waved, looking completely at ease with his usual relaxed smile as he sauntered over to stand next to her. Part of the stadium started up a chant for him and he waved again, ducking his head slightly. Suddenly a competing chant of Ladybug! Ladybug! came up and Luka nudged her with a grin. She raised a slightly shaky hand to wave back, and then Luka made a settle down gesture with his hands. Marinette copied him and the chants died down so the announcer could call the next player. 

Marinette curled her fingers together, willing herself not to take Luka’s hand or grab onto his sleeve. Beside her, Luka folded his arms, and she wondered if he was fighting the same urge to touch her. He glanced at her and then quickly away, and her cheeks warmed, and she quickly aimed her suddenly much more sincere smile at the crowd, waving again. 

“You’ve got this, Ladybug,” Viperion leaned down to whisper when the announcer dismissed them to their pods. “I’ll be cheering for you.” 

“Worry about yourself,” Ladybug grinned and winked. “Like you said, I’ve got this.” 

Viperion grinned and shook his head as they separated.

Marinette was still nervous but smiling as she stepped into her pod and picked up her headset. “Viperion’s going to be so disappointed when I beat you,” Pharaoh said as soon as the channel was active. “Poor little Ladybug’s about to get squashed.” 

Marinette snorted. “I hope your game is more interesting than your trash talk,” she snickered. “If that’s as creative as you can get this is going to be really boring.” Pharaoh spluttered and Marinette grinned as the countdown began to blink. The controller in her hands felt like a part of her by now, and she bounced on her toes a little, eager for things to finally begin.

It wasn’t easy; crappy trash talk aside, Pharaoh was a highly ranked player and skilled enough to be a challenge. It was a perfect first match for her, actually, because she had to think to beat him and once her mind was focused and fully immersed in the game, she overcame the few mistakes she’d made early on. She was grinning broadly as she stepped out of the pod and raised her arms to acknowledge the cheers that followed when the announcer boomed out her name as the winner. Even as she did, though, she was looking for the leaderboard on the giant screen above them. At first she saw only her own flushed and happy face, but then the leaderboard reappeared, Viperion’s name blinking and then advancing to the next level. 

“Yes!” Marinette squealed, jumping up and down in place. She whipped her head towards Luka’s pod and watched him emerge. He looked up immediately just as she had, and punched the air and looked back at her with a broad grin. They both stood and watched as one by one the other players turned red or blinked green and advanced. 

Like Kagami’s party, like her presentation and fashion show, everything seemed to go by in a whirl and a blur. Months of preparation and planning and practice and the slow-motion waiting of the morning gave way to a heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping whirl as she faced down match after match, dominating some and barely squeaking by others. Before she knew it, she was staring up at the jumbotron while the crowd screamed and the announcer cried, “And this is what we’ve all been waiting for, this is what we all came here to see! The final matchup in the Master League Championship will be! Ladybug! Versus! Viperioooooooon!”

Marinette raised her arms and waved with both hands again as the crowd cheered then she was being ushered off the field, back into the tunnel and then to the backstage area to wait while the runners up duked it out for third and fourth place and the crew made sure everything was set up for the final.

Marinette stared up at the steps to the stage and felt herself start to shake. She didn’t even notice Luka speaking at her side until he took her arm and turned her to face him. 

“Marinette, are you okay?” he asked, the grin quickly dropping from his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” she said, trying to smile. “I’m f-fine.” 

“You’re pale as a ghost.” Luka’s expression was grave and worried and he pulled her over to a chair and pushed her into it. “Sit. Breathe, Marinette. Are you dizzy?” 

“I’m fine,” Marinette said, trying to take his advice and slow her breathing. “I’m okay. I just...I need a second.” 

She felt Luka move away, but he was back in moments, kneeling in front of her to press a bottle of water into her hand. “Drink,” he ordered, helping her sit up. “Look at me.” He put his fingers under her chin and gently tipped it up so he could look into her eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay? Do you need the medic?” 

“No,” Marinette said, taking a deep breath before lifting the water to her trembling lips. “I’m all right, Luka.” She drank and then sighed. “That was just really intense.” She shot a sardonic smile up at him. “It felt really good though.”

Luka grinned as he took her hand between both of his and rubbed it gently. “It’s a rush, no doubt.” 

Marinette took another drink and mumbled weakly, “Gonna be even better when I beat you.” 

Luka laughed softly and leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. Something about that touch was very comforting and she leaned into it. “I’m gonna give you a fight, I hope you know that,” Luka told her. “I’m not going to just hand it to you because you’re—” He paused, and Marinette back to look at him. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek, and Marinette wasn’t sure what might have happened if the production assistants hadn’t come looking for them just then. Luka stood up quickly, turning away from her for a moment, and Marinette put a hand over her chest, feeling the frantic flutter of her heart against her palm. 

“Head in the game, Ladybug,” Marinette murmured to herself before she shoved up out of her chair, shaking out her limbs and noting that at least her hands weren’t trembling anymore. 

It was time. The handlers lined them up shoulder to shoulder, in front of a fog-covered arch similar to the one on the field. 

Luka caught her hand and Marinette let him lace their fingers together. His hold was tighter than she expected and she glanced up at him. That competition spark was in his eyes and she could see the tension across his shoulders. He really was pumped up for this. 

He let go of her hand before they walked out together through the fog, waving at the cheering. The lights were hotter and brighter on the stage and Marinette’s nerves increased. She turned to shake hands with Luka and met his eyes, feeling like she was standing outside of her body, but simultaneously hyper aware of his touch and the blue of his eyes and the quirk of his smile before his hand slid away and they each turned to get into their pyrapods. 

Marinette came back to herself a bit when the pod slid closed behind her, shutting out the lights and the noise. She became aware of how fast she was breathing and made an effort to slow it down before she picked up her headset and put it on. 

“Hanging in there, Bug?” Luka asked, and though his voice was teasing she knew he was checking on her.

“You wanted it,” she replied, “I’m gonna bring it.”

“Show me what you got, Ladybug,” he chuckled, and Marinette grinned, pleased that he remembered after all this time. “I can take it.”

The countdown flashed on the screen, and Marinette took one last deep breath. “It’s been a long time since that first match,” Marinette pointed out with a smile. “I’m not the same newbie you played back then.”

“I know,” he said, and she could see his pirate grin in her mind (and she was kind of glad she couldn’t see it projected on the big screen outside; at that magnitude it might actually kill her). “I can’t wait.”

Once they started playing, there was no time to think about anything but the game. 

Luka won the first match, and Marinette couldn’t help her sigh, annoyed with herself. She’d been nervous and jumpy in the beginning and it had cost her. She and Luka were so evenly matched at this point that both knew they couldn’t give an inch or make a single mistake. She was going to have to do better. 

“It’s just the first match,” she heard Luka say over her headset, and she wasn’t sure if it was meant to comfort her or steady him. 

“I never thought it would be easy,” Marinette replied, and then smiled. “So let’s give the people the show they came for.” 

“You know it,” he laughed.

The next match was closer but Luka won that one too, and Marinette bit her lip hard, fighting the churning feeling in her stomach. If she lost the next one, that was it; she couldn’t afford to lose any more. 

Luka groaned as the third match ended. “Man, how do you do that. I was sure I had you there.” 

“I’m full of surprises,” Marinette replied, putting down the controller and shaking out her hands. They trembled slightly from the close call; he really had almost had her, and that would have been the end.

“You really are,” Luka chuckled. “Playing you is never boring, that’s for sure. Okay, just one more match to go.” 

“Oh, don’t count your trophies before they’re in the case,” Marinette muttered, narrowing her eyes though a smile tugged at her mouth. “No way I’m letting you take it that easily.”

“We’ll see,” Luka said, and then the countdown started again. 

The fourth match turned out to be an easy win for Marinette; Luka misjudged his timing early on and Marinette gave him no time to recover.

Marinette had to take a few more deep breaths as they prepared for the fifth and final match. Her stomach felt like jelly but her hands were steady. One more. She just had to beat him one more time. Either way, all of this would be over soon. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that so she pushed it aside, needing all her focus for the game. 

It was close, it was so close. Both of them had just a sliver of health left and Marinette was starting to panic. She’d managed to deflect his first venom strike, but the fight had gone on long enough that the ability had recharged and she hadn’t been able to dodge a second time. He didn’t even have to land another attack; if he held her off long enough, he would win with the recurring damage from the venom strike. She needed to take him out, but he kept interrupting her attacks, taking low level damage from her defensive moves to prevent her from getting a combo attack together. He was gambling that he could hold out until the venom strike wiped out the last of her health bar, and it was a bet he was going to win if Marinette couldn’t get off a decent attack. 

She bit her lip and tried to think. His armor has always been his weak point; she just needed to get one killer combo off and he’d be finished. Luka knew it, too. If he failed to interrupt her even once she’d take him out. Every time he attacked her directly, though, he took damage from her shields and counterattack. He could keep gambling on his health to hold out until the venom strike, or if he timed it just right, he could get his stun attack off and freeze her. If he could get the move off, she’d be held just long enough for the venom strike to finish her. 

But he couldn’t interrupt her attacks while he was charging the ability. If he tried it, and she was fast enough...she’d have to be so fast. It would have to be bug bombs, they were the fastest, and they should be enough. She’d have to be ready and watching, and...

Will he still want to be with me if I beat him? Or will I just be another girl that ruined his dreams?

The thought was both terrifying and unwelcome but even as it hit her, she saw Viperion draw back and begin to charge a glowing ball between his hands. Marinette had no time to deliberate, no time for hesitation. Her fingers moved and her mech exploded into action. She executed the attack and dropped the controller, grabbing her hair with her hands as she watched.

The stun left Viperion’s hands—and her bug bombs landed. Even as her mech froze in place, Viperion went down in a series of dramatic explosions. 

The screen flashed GAME OVER. It flashed up a picture of her mech with the word WINNER over and over.

“Holy sh—,” she heard Luka whisper, but the channel cut off.

She won.

She won.

Numbly she reached up and took off her headset as the pod door slid open behind her. 

She stepped out shakily, looking up uncomprehendingly at the crowd.

Across from her, Luka’s pod door was sliding open. The second there was room, Luka exploded out, leaping out with one of his deafening whoops as he caught her up in a bearhug that nearly took the breath from her. He swung her around. 

“That was amazing,” he shouted, nearly in her ear to be heard over the crowd. “I thought there was no way you could get an attack off fast enough, but you knew—you knew I was going to do it, didn’t you, you were ready, you’re so incredible—” 

“Luka,” Marinette gasped, and laughing, Luka set her down on her feet.

Before Marinette could do more than gasp in a breath, he had ducked down and—well she wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but suddenly she shrieked as he ducked his head under her leg and somehow managed to lift her onto his shoulders despite her flailing. He caught her hands and steadied her, and then let go of one hand to pump his fist in the air and cheer for her. Marinette kept a death grip on his other hand but she managed to smile and reach up to wave at the crowd, letting out a breathless laugh once the shock wore off. The crowd was cheering and her face was on the jumbotron, smiling but still looking more stunned than victorious. Luka turned in a slow circle so she could wave at the whole crowd until her arm was sore. 

It took her a minute to realize the announcer was trying to get her attention. “Ladybug, you are the Ultimate Mecha Strike III regional champion! Congratulations! How do you feel right now?” A slightly hysterical giggle escaped her at the way he had to hold the microphone up above his head to catch her answer. 

“I feel amazing, but my day isn't over yet,” she laughed. 

“That’s right, we’ll see you as part of Team Lucky Charm in the team competition later tonight! We’ll be looking forward to that. Viperion, you and Ladybug have had quite the rivalry going on and you were heavily the favorite to win coming into this event. How do you feel about taking second place tonight?” 

“I can’t be sore about a loss like that,” Luka laughed. “Of course I wanted to win, but—” He shook her head. “You can’t deny that was brilliant.” He patted Marinette’s leg on his shoulder. “Congratulations, Ladybug. The best player definitely won today.” 

“All right, look for more exclusive interview content with Ladybug and Viperion on the blog later tonight,” the announcer said into the microphone, looking up into the crowd. “We’re going to take a short recess to get things ready here and then we’ll be back to bring you the Master League team championship. “Congratulations again, Ladybug and Viperion.”  

He gestured them back towards the arch, and Luka carried Marinette back through it, both of them waving at the crowd as they went.

Marinette’s legs felt like jelly as she scrambled down from Luka’s shoulders, and he held her elbows as she swayed slightly, and when she was steady he hugged her tight. “Congratulations.”

“You’re not mad?” she asked softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

Luka curled a finger under her chin and tipped her face up so that she was looking at him more directly. “I’m not mad,” he promised, and the soft smile he gave her and the gentle look in his eyes made her believe him. “I’ll be disappointed, probably, tomorrow. I’ll have to scale back my plans. But that’s okay. I took a chance and it didn’t work out in my favor. You played your best. No regrets here. I’m so happy for you, too, and impressed, and…” he paused, and took a deep breath. “I’m definitely not mad.” His hand moved up to cup her cheek, and his thumb brushed over her face for a moment. 

“Viperion, Ladybug! Press room, let’s go.” 

“Oh,” Marinette gasped, but Luka just chuckled and put a hand on her arm. She went with him a little numbly until they were separated for the post-game interviews. Marinette wasn’t sure anything she said was coherent, but she had enough presence of mind to work in a mention of the bakery and her fashion business, so hopefully it wasn’t a total loss. 

“I’m sure you did great,” Luka told her as they walked out. 

“I hope so,” Marinette sighed, putting a hand against her forehead and flapping her hoodie to get some air under it. “But it’s over now, so no point in worrying about it.” 

“Yeah,” Luka smiled, and then nudged her shoulder with his arm. “I guess you better go. You’re not done yet, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Marinette nodded, turning to face her. “But...you’re going to stay, right?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Luka grinned. “I’ll be cheering you on, no fear. And...I’ll be here after. Assuming you still want to talk?” 

“I do,” Marinette said quickly, blushing. 

“Okay then. You go get ready and find Max, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Marinette whispered, and rose on her toes to quickly kiss his cheek before following a production assistant with a clipboard back to the player lounge.

Max nearly knocked her over in his enthusiasm as soon as she walked in, and she clung to the back of his hoodie, laughing incredulously. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered. 

“I believe the evidence is irrefutable,” Max pointed out, and Marinette rolled her eyes, pushing him away. 

“You changed your lipstick,” Max observed as she looked up at him, and Marinette’s fingers flew to her mouth. 

“Oh, I forgot. I can—I can go change it back, if you’re afraid it’ll jinx us—” She knew how Max would react as soon as she said the words and pouted while he snorted with laughter.

“I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think the color of your lipstick will be the deciding factor,” Max snickered, and Marinette shoved him, making him stagger.

“Jerk,” she muttered. 

“I bet Luka liked it,” Max observed smugly, and Marinette’s face flamed red. 

“We’re not going to win this tournament if I break your arm before it starts,” she threatened, punching Max (lightly, as she knew her skinny friend bruised easily) in the arm. 

“I’m sure Luka would comfort y—ow!”

The waiting dragged on again but at least this time she had Max to talk to and strategize with. Once they walked out of the stupid fog tunnel, the whirl began again. It wasn’t any easier, Marinette found, but this time it was Max, confident in his calculations and their abilities, who was her steadying influence. She had more leeway, too, with Max there, they could cover for each other's mistakes. It felt like only moments before they were ushered into the backstage area, waiting to face their final opponents. Marinette felt a bit shaky and weak in the knees again from the rush, but this time she sat herself down and breathed through it while Max paced, muttering strategy and calculations to himself.

Someone cleared their throat beside her and Marinette looked up to find Luka standing there. Now he was wearing his Viperion hoodie, his face made up in a very good approximation of the mask Marinette had put on him when they played together, and he grinned widely at Marinette’s staring eyes. “Surprise.” 

Marinette sputtered for a moment, leaping to her feet as Max reversed his pacing and came over. “What are you—how did you even get back here?”

Luka shrugged, still grinning. “I’m on the team roster so I’m cleared to be here. I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he said, addressing them both though his eyes kept coming back to Marinette. “Not that you need it. I um, I hope this is okay.” He gestured vaguely at himself, and Marinette shut her gaping mouth with a snap. “I didn’t feel right wearing it while we were going head to head, but I just...I wanted to be here and support you guys as much as I could.” He held out his hand to Max, though he sent a worried-looking glance at Marinette, who couldn’t seem to move. 

“Absolutely,” Max said, stepping forward to meet Luka’s fistbump as if he didn’t notice Marinette was suddenly paralyzed next to him. “You’re a part of this team, and it wouldn’t feel right doing this without you.” 

Luka shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t do that much.” 

Marinette’s mouth dropped open again, this time in outrage, but Max beat her to it. “Don’t conflate the magnitude of the effort with its importance,” he told Luka, reaching out to pat his arm awkwardly. Luka’s eyes flicked to Marinette for a moment and she could see his amusement, though he kept a straight face. “Without your assistance we would never have finished the tournament in such an advantageous position for the finals,” Max continued, drawing his hand back to adjust his dark glasses. “We are indeed grateful and your position as a teammate is by no means honorary. I hope when we emerge victorious, you will join us in the awards ceremony.” 

“Oh, I—” Luka looked thrown, but Marinette nodded enthusiastically, catching his arm and squeezing it.

“Max is right. You belong up there with us.” She aimed a reassuring smile at him. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

The tension left Luka’s shoulders and he started to say something, but he was cut off.

“Team Lucky Charm!” the man with the clipboard shouted without actually looking at them. “Prep for entry. Go up the stage steps but do not cross the yellow line until you’re announced.” 

Marinette’s eyes widened slightly, and her whole body tensed. Once again she put a hand over her wildly beating heart and tried to breathe. One more time. She just had to face the lights and the screaming one more time.

Luka’s hand covered hers on his arm and Marinette realized she was digging her fingers into his sleeve. “Hey,” he said, gently detaching her fingers from his sleeve. “You’ve got this. Just like before, right? Own it.” He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips lightly. Warmth spread from her fingers down her arm and through her body, pooling in her face and stomach. “Come on, before Max leaves you behind,” Luka said, letting go of her hand and placing his on her lower back, pressing gently until she began to move. He walked with her to the bottom of the stage’s metal stairs behind Max, who was marching forward with determination, confident that the numbers were on their side and determined not to be swayed by something as illogical as stage fright.

Marinette paused at the bottom of the stairs, Luka’s hand still warm on her back, her heart beating wildly in her throat. 

“Remember,” Luka soothed from behind her. “All you have to do is get across the stage and it doesn��t matter how. Once you’re in the pod you’ll forget everything else, just like before. Besides,” he grinned. “They’re just people. You’re the champion.” 

Marinette turned impulsively and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she muttered, not quite daring to press her face into his chest. Luka’s hands went to her shoulders and squeezed. “Thank you for everything today.

“You’ve got this,” he repeated, sliding his hands down to her arms and shifting her gently back until she stepped up onto the first step, and once her eyes were level with his it became a little easier to breathe in the face of his calm confidence. “Whatever’s gonna happen is gonna happen, right? So just get out there and play.” He grinned. “Good luck, Ladybug.” 

Marinette felt an answering smile growing on her face.

“Marinette!” Max called from where he was waiting near the top of the stairs. “Hurry up!”

Marinette looked up at Max as Luka let go of her, but she turned back quickly, grabbed Luka’s face in her hands, and pressed her lips hard to his. He made a startled noise, and when she would have pulled back his hand came up to cradle the back of her head, prolonging the kiss as he swayed after her. Max hissed her name again from the top of the stairs and Luka let her go, breathing hard, something kindling in his blue eyes that made her flush and grin stupidly back at him. 

Then Max was grabbing her arm and hauling her, stumbling, back up the stairs with him. “The sooner you two have that talk, the better,” he muttered as they went up the last few steps together, Marinette trying to contain the stupid grin that kept wanting to break out on her face. "May I remind you we have a competition to win? The sooner it’s over, the sooner you two can go make out in a supply closet.”

“Max!” Marinette whisper-shouted in horror, and Max just grinned. 

“Win first,” he told her, adjusting his horseshoe pendant. “Kisses later.” 

Before she could retort, the announcer roared out, “Team Luckyyyyyy Chaaaarm!” and there was no more time to think about anything besides the bright lights and roaring crowd, and then the blink of the countdown and the hard plastic of the controller against her palms.

***

Luka was waiting when Marinette came flying down the stairs, a laughing Max following in her wake. 

This time she leapt into his arms, making him stagger, and her feet never touched the ground as he laughed and spun her around. He bounced her a couple of times before she let her feet drop to the floor and gave him enough room to share a fistbump and back-slapping hug with Max. 

Then everything was a whirl again, as all three of them were ushered to the press room for interviews and soundbites, and Marinette wasn’t sure whether she managed to get out anything coherent or not. She and Max both kept a hold on Luka, dragging him into the interviews with them, and they presented as a team. Luka’s experience bailed them out a couple of times when unexpected questions gave them pause, and his hand on her back was steadying when she started to stammer. Marinette paused and took a breath and steadied her voice before answering the next question. 

“You guys did great,” Luka murmured when they were finally released, and then there was another flood of bodies on them, and Alya was screaming in her ear and Max’s mother was screaming in his and then Kim wrapped his arms around both Max and Mrs. Kante just as Marinette’s dad did the same to her and Alya, and for a few moments it was a fight to breathe. Marinette saw a flash of Juleka’s purple hair and heard the Captain’s voice boom but everyone was talking at once and Marinette was too overwhelmed to focus on any of it.

Finally, the families were ushered back out to the stands with instructions to be back in their seats in forty-five minutes for the official awards ceremony. As the room began to clear out, leaving the top players milling around with varying expressions of elation and exhaustion. Marinette looked around and found Luka. He was looking right at her, and when their eyes met he tipped his head slightly and indicated the doors. Marinette nodded, heart suddenly in her throat, and Luka flashed her a quick grin before turning away. 

“Max,” Marinette whispered watching Luka slip out of the doors, “What are my odds?”

“The human heart is impossible to calculate, Marinette,” Max said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Although that kiss would argue for a positive response.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “No matter what happens, I support you one hundred percent.”

Marinette’s brain was already humming, giving her a list of excuses and reasons why it would be better to put this off, starting with the looming awards ceremony and moving on from there, but Max’s hand on her shoulder and Kagami’s words in her mind got her moving forward. No more hesitation. 

Marinette wormed her way through the bodies between her and the door and slipped out. She nearly collided with Luka, who was clearly waiting for her. He flashed her a grin and caught her hand, tugging her down the hallway. 

“Luka, where are we going?” Marinette hissed as he walked quickly, pulling her along.

“Somewhere we can talk,” he told her, keeping his voice quiet. “Just don’t make too much noise, okay?” 

Marinette frowned. “We better not really end up in a supply closet.” 

“What?” Luka nearly choked trying to muffle his laughter. “No, I promise, I can do better than that. My mom’s played this arena a couple of times, I know my way around.”

“But—” Marinette began, but then closed her mouth as Luka opened the door to a stairwell and started up it. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here,” she whispered as Luka checked the floor number and peeked through the window of the door. 

“Nope,” he grinned, opening the door and motioning her through. “Do you trust me?”

She did, so she went through. “We’re not going to the roof this time, are we?” she asked skeptically, and Luka chuckled. 

“Not this time.” She followed him down a dimly lit hallway and did her best not to squeal in incredulous dismay as he jimmied a door lock with a credit card. 

“All the security on the entrances, and crap locks up here,” he said, swinging the door open. “Typical.” 

“I didn’t realize you were a cat burglar in your spare time,” Marinette muttered as he took her hand and drew her inside what turned out to be some kind of private viewing lounge. She could see through the big windows down into the stadium, and the room was scattered with couches and cocktail tables. 

“Nah,” Luka laughed quietly through his nose, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. “I’m a pirate.” 

Marinette looked at him, and he winked at her with that grin, and she couldn’t help breaking into giggles. “You are, aren’t you,” she laughed, covering her mouth. Luka snickered with her, and for a moment they could only stand there trying to stifle their laughter. Luka made no move to turn the lights on, probably to keep anyone from noticing that the room was occupied, but there was enough light from the windows that they didn’t need it, and eventually their laughter died down, and they were left just looking at each other. 

Luka cleared his throat, pulling two bottles of water from the pockets of his hoodie. He held one out to her and she took it gratefully, suddenly aware she was parched. 

“I feel like you’ve been taking care of me all day,” Marinette said, stifling more slightly hysterical giggles, and Luka grinned at her. 

“Sorry. Big brother thing I guess. Or...well, maybe not,” he blushed and looked away. “I just know you’ve been pushing yourself a lot lately, and today was…” He blew out a breath and shook his head with a grin. “A lot. It can really take it out of you if you’re not taking care of yourself, so...sorry if I’ve been pushy.” 

Marinette smiled at him over the rim of her water bottle as he reached to twist the cap off his own. “I didn’t mi—whoa, are you okay?” she reached out to steady him as he suddenly fumbled it, spilling water over his hands.  

“Fine,” he said, a little too quickly, shaking the water off his hand without looking at her. “I’m fine.” He took a drink and then coughed, and Marinette pounded his back, concerned. 

“Geeze, slow down,” she said, torn between amusement and exasperation. “Maybe somebody ought to be taking care of you.”

He coughed through an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. God, you always catch me off guard.” 

Marinette blushed, though she didn’t understand exactly what he meant. Getting control of himself he added quickly, “Congratulations. You and Max both did amazing. I think I screamed myself hoarse cheering you on.” 

Marinette hunched her shoulders slightly with a pleased smile. “You did really great too. I can’t wait to watch the replays, I heard you destroyed Desperada in the second round.”

Luka winced. “Yeah, that was rough, our skills just…” He shook his head. “She’s an amazing player with what she’s got but she’s basically never beaten me because of the way our stats stack up. She’s done so well, I hated for her to go down like that, but…” He shrugged and grinned. “I did what I had to do. Wasn’t going to miss going up against you in the final.”

Marinette grinned back, and then dropped her gaze, a silence falling between them that threatened to become awkward if one of them didn’t find a way to start. Determined that it would be her, Marinette began in a rush. “Um. Well I wanted to—we haven’t really talked, a-about, and we said we would, and I know maybe it might seem like we don’t need to, and, well this might not actually be the best time but if we wait for the perfect moment it’ll never happen, and I know we, uh, before, and then tonight, and so maybe we don’t need to but I just, I hate it when there are all these misunderstandings because people don’t talk and we should talk and—stop laughing!”

“Sorry,” Luka said, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth as he continued to chuckle. “I can’t help it. I’m happy and you’re really cute.”   

“Damn it,” she hissed, reaching up with both hands to pull on her pigtails in frustration, “I’m so bad at this!”

“You’re doing fine,” Luka said, taking the bottle of water from her and setting both hers and his on one of the tables. He stepped closer and put both hands on her shoulders, and rubbed lightly. “I can go first if you’d rather.” 

Marinette groaned and buried her face in her hands, suddenly mortifyingly close to tears. She was being an idiot. He’d kissed her, and let her kiss him, and acted like he wanted to keep kissing her, and with the texts during the week, and the way he’d been smiling at her all night, and he came to her fashion show, and bringing her up here and the way he was acting now, he really couldn’t be more clear, so why was she still so terrified? 

“Marinette,” he said, his voice soft and affectionate, “Listen, I think you’re—”

“No!” she yelled, throwing out her hands and stepping back from him, breaking his hold on her shoulders. “No, I have to do this, please.” 

God, she was going to ruin everything, he must think she was insane. There was no way that she could explain to him the utter train wreck that had been her years-long crush-obsession with Adrien Agreste, all the things she’d said and completely failed to say, all the time she’d spent analyzing their least little interactions, all the times she’d practically stalked him only to lose her courage and lie at the last minute, until finally, finally, the words passed her lips in a jumbled wreck and were met with— 

She peeked one eye open and could see that Luka was looking at her with concern. His eyes were blue and not green, his hair dark and not blond, and the expression on his face was concern and empathy and not blank confusion.

It wasn’t the same. She could do this. It wouldn’t be the same. It wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same.

“Are you sure?” Luka said hesitantly. “If it’s this hard for you, then—I mean I thought you’d know by now that I—but you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for, you know that, right?” 

“No, it’s not that, and it’s not you, it’s me, and I need to deal with it. Please, Luka,” Marinette added desperately. She needed to put this ghost to rest and this was the only way she knew how.

“Okay. Okay, Marinette.” He reached up and took her hands, tugging them gently away from her face and then pulling her over to sit on one of the small couches. “I’m listening. Do what you need to do.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, slumping back for a minute. “It’s just, the last time I did something like this it...it didn’t go so well and I know this is different, I do, but it’s...it’s hard. But I want to. I want to do it. I...I kind of need this, Luka.”

“Okay.” Luka slid a little closer, his hands still wrapped around hers. “I hear you. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Right,” Marinette whispered, half to herself. “Okay.” Luka squeezed her hands and she realized they were shaking. She needed to get this over with before she went completely to pieces. Why did he always have that effect on her?

No.

Adrien had that effect on her. 

Luka—Marinette forced herself to raise her eyes to Luka’s, and saw only warmth and encouragement there. She straightened and put her shoulders back and took a breath to steady herself, though the shaking didn’t stop.

“I r-really like you, Luka,” she began, wincing slightly at the stutter and feeling her lips begin to tremble too. “You’ve been a wonderful teammate and a good f-friend, but you’re—” She swallowed hard; this was too close, too close to the words she’d used back then, but it was too late, she had to keep going. “You’re so much more than a friend to me,” she went on in a rush. “At least, I—I want you to be. S-so maybe, if you, um, if you want to, maybe we could go out. Sometime. On a date. A real date, not a just-friends date.” She squeezed her eyes shut and looked down quickly, face burning, suddenly feeling totally inept and like a complete fool and what had she been thinking—

“Yeah.”

Marinette looked up. “What?” Luka was grinning broadly, and he looked oddly...proud. Of her? 

Maybe he really was as perceptive as Juleka said.

Shit he was talking, she should listen. 

“I said yes. Yes, hell yeah, I’d love to go out with you.” 

Marinette blinked at him uncomprehendingly. Luka laughed at the look on her face. “You’re unbelievable,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Smart, sassy, gorgeous, tough, incredibly brave, why wouldn’t I go out with you? Do you really think I’m that big an idiot?” 

She gaped at him like a fish.

“Can it be my turn now?” Luka asked, when she didn’t find anything to say, and she nodded dumbly, not entirely sure her soul was still inhabiting her body.

Luka leaned toward her and gently framed her face in his hands. “Marinette, these last few months have been the best I’ve had in a long time and you’ve been a huge part of that, as an opponent and a friend and...honestly the more time I spend with you the more amazing you are to me. I know there’s probably still a lot we don’t know about each other, but I want to. I want you to know me, and I want to know you. All of you. I want to be an expert in Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

Marinette had to giggle at that, slapping her hand over her mouth in horror at the high-pitched girly sound of it. Luka’s grin widened as he shook his head and pulled her hand away from her mouth, threading his fingers through hers and lowering their hands to his lap. “Don’t cover it up, it’s so pretty,” he told her, and his slow grin set off an entirely different panic as he tipped her chin up with his free hand, brushing his thumb lightly across her lips. “I was right about the red,” he said, and when did his face get so close, oh no, but also yes, but wait was this too soon or should she—but she wanted to and if he wanted to then that was good enough, right? ”Can I kiss you now?”

“Okay,” she said shakily, and he leaned in slowly, watching her face. 

“You sure?” he said, pausing and sitting back a bit. “You don’t look like you—”

As she stared at Luka frowning with concern because he thought she didn’t want to kiss him, there was almost an audible snap in her head as the past settled back where it belonged and the now became sharp and clear. What the hell was she doing?

Marinette grabbed the front of Luka’s hoodie and dragged him forward. “Get over here,” she ordered, though the breathiness in her voice took a lot of the force out of it. It was enough, though, Luka closed the distance with a desperate little noise and their lips met once, twice, three times in hard, passionate kisses, before finally settling together into something softer but no less heated. The hand under her chin slid up to flatten along the side of her throat, and then slid farther back to curl around the back of her neck, Luka’s thumb brushing her jaw as he tilted her back. He was kissing her like—like— 

Like he really did like her as much as she liked him, like he meant all those things he said to her, like he’d been thinking about it for a while now— 

And he was really good at it, she acknowledged dizzily as his lips began coaxing hers to open. 

But hell if she was going to let him run the show. She nipped his lower lip and he startled slightly. Grinning in the small space that granted her, Marinette wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled the other free from his hand to grab the back of the couch and pull, forcing him back as she straightened and rolled up to her knees so that he was the one with his head tilted back, and only then did she part her lips and slide her tongue into his mouth, hands moving to hold his face at just the right angle. The strangled noise he made and the way he grabbed at her hips was very satisfying. It felt so good to get some payback after all the time she’d spent agonizing over her crush on him. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of the way his hands were scrabbling against her, trying to pull her into his lap. 

She broke the kiss, laughing when he tried to follow her to prolong it. “Easy, we still have to go back in public after this,” she teased, and Luka groaned, letting his head fall back against the bench.

“Fuck me,” he muttered breathlessly, and Marinette snorted, leaning against him.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” she scoffed, and Luka’s eyes flew open. 

“No, no, God, no, I didn’t mean, I wouldn’t—” 

Marinette let him stammer for another few moments out of pure revenge for all those times he had grinned at her while she tripped over her tongue, before she leaned in and kissed him, softly this time. “Shut up and put yourself back together, Viperion, we still have an awards ceremony to get through.”

“ Shit. ” Luka let go of her and covered his face with his hands. “I’m gonna need a minute.” 

Marinette put her hand over her mouth and tried not to laugh but she couldn’t help it. She was just so happy. Luka dropped his hands and grinned at her, reaching out to snag her around the waist and pull her close, kissing her even as she continued to laugh, pure joy singing from her soul as she pretended to dodge him. He planted kisses on her jaw and her neck as she squealed and tried half-heartedly to wriggle away before giving up and turning to kiss him again on the mouth, and then again, and then again, slow, deep kisses. 

“What?” she asked as Luka chuckled against her mouth. 

“Nothing,” he sighed, nudging his nose against hers. “Just feeling lucky I guess. I’m so happy, Marinette.” 

Marinette smiled, but they did need to be getting back, so she pushed his hands away for real and slid off the couch.

She bit her lip in amusement when Luka whined, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch and letting his head hang back. “Do we have to?” he groaned. “I really hate ceremonies.”

“Yes,” Marinette grinned, grabbing his hand and pulling him up off the couch. “I want to see you up there, right in the number two spot where you belong.” 

“Oh, low,” Luka laughed, dragging his feet as she tugged him towards the door. “Wait, wait.” He pulled his hand free and turned back to grab their water. “Never leave evidence behind,” he said, handing her one of the bottles with a wink. “Especially not evidence with lipstick stains.” 

Marinette giggled. “Wait, is that why you—” 

“No comment,” Luka said, cheeks reddening as he threw the incriminating evidence in the hallway’s recycling bin.

They weren’t very sneaky coming back down the stairs, giggling and snuggling and nearly tripping more than once because they were standing too close together. 

When they emerged into the full light of the hallway outside of the lounge, Luka looked at Marinette and smirked. “Hey Ladybug.” 

“Hmm?” Marinette raised her eyebrows.

Luka leaned in and kissed her until they were both breathless. “Fix your lipstick,” he whispered against her lips, and laughed as Marinette cursed and jerked back, slapping a hand over her mouth. Her red lipstick had held up to the relatively innocent kisses backstage, but now it was smeared all over his mouth, blended with the peach he’d been wearing, and her face couldn’t possibly look any better. Luka burst out laughing at her expression, and Marinette began to giggle again too. 

“Here, I have some wipes,” he managed to say at last, pulling a packet of makeup remover wipes from his back pocket. “Let me help.” 

“You should, since it was your fault,” Marinette shot back, taking the packet from him and pulling a wipe free. She pouted as Luka snatched it back from her fingers, but she didn’t really mean it, and she let him take her chin in his hand and tilt her face up.

“I’m not even sorry,” Luka chuckled, eyes on her lips as he gently wiped away the smears. “I’ll buy you a better brand.” He winked, and then his humor settled into a quiet contentment that shone in his face. “That was pretty amazing, Marinette. I hope we can do it again sometime soon. Maybe I could take you out to dinner and—”

“Marinette!” Max called, bursting out of the doors down the hall and looking around for a moment before spotting them. His shoulders slumped in relief. “There you are! You weren’t answering your phone, I was getting concerned. It’s almost time.”

Luka winced, going to work quickly on his own face. “Busted,” he murmured, and Marinette could hear the laughter in his voice.

Marinette snorted. “Like he didn’t already know. He’s been teasing me about you since we met.” She raised her voice and called, “We’re coming.” She took Luka’s hand and tugged him along with her back to the doors where Max was waiting. 

Max adjusted his glasses and looked at his phone. “We’re due for the ceremony in two minutes and forty-five seconds.” 

“Thanks for the heads up,” Marinette smiled. “I’m good to go, I just need to grab my makeup bag and fix my lipstick.”

Luka made a noise that sounded suspiciously like choked laughter, but Marinette didn’t look at him, squeezing his hand tight enough that he winced. 

“Oh, you left it on the drink table earlier, I picked it up for you,” Max said, pulling her lipstick tube out of his pocket and coming down the hallway to meet him. “It looks good to me, though, are you sure you want to take the time?”

Luka coughed into his hand, obviously trying not to laugh, but Max didn’t even glance at him.

“It’ll only be a second,” Marinette said, taking the tube from him. She opened it and paused as they reached the doors, using her reflection in the window to apply her lipstick over her naturally reddened lips. She could see Luka over her shoulder finger-combing his hair back into place. She capped the tube and handed it to Luka with a wink. “Hold onto it for me? I have a feeling I might need it again later.”

“Sure,” Luka grinned, and reached around her to pull the door open. “Just find me whenever you’re ready to need a touch up.” 

It was Marinette’s turn to choke on a laugh, while Max threw Luka a slightly puzzled glance, but clearly dismissed his odd phrasing in favor of ushering them all back into the ceremony. Marinette grinned. Max might think he’s all worldly, but when he’s focused on something he doesn’t notice anything.

***

They made it through the awards ceremony and almost an hour of the afterparty, accepting congratulations and fistbumps and handshakes and ribbing (mostly good-natured, some not so much, but Marinette had never cared less in her life than she did at that moment). Then someone on the game committee stood up to make a speech and Marinette saw her opportunity. She grabbed the lapel of Luka’s hoodie and tugged lightly. He met her gaze and grinned, following her pull willingly. 

She ducked into a shadowed hall, pulling him just beyond the light from the party, and as soon as she leaned back against the wall he was bending over her, though the kiss he laid on her lips was soft and gentle and over much too quickly. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, with a lopsided grin. “That was kind of presumptuous I guess.” 

Marinette grabbed the lapels of his hoodie and pulled him in for another soft kiss. “Maybe. I don’t mind though.”

“I really like you, Marinette,” Luka said, one hand finding her hip while the other leaned on the wall beside her. “In case I didn’t make that clear before. Not just kissing you, though, for the record, I really like that too, but. You. It’s you.” 

Marinette smiled, a happy flutter in her stomach making her wiggle a bit. “You should probably know I’ve had a massive crush on you for weeks,” she admitted shyly, still holding on to his hoodie. 

Luka’s grin got wider, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah? Weeks?”

Marinette pouted at him. “Don’t lie, you knew.” 

Luka chuckled and looked away. “Maybe. I just...I didn’t know what to do with it for a while. I didn’t want to lead you on if I wasn’t...but then I was, and...” He looked back at her and grinned slowly. “Just weeks, huh?” 

Marinette shrugged, looking somewhere over his left shoulder. “Weeks. Months. Something like that.” She twirled her finger in the string of his hoodie, still not quite looking at him. “So I’m maybe not at all opposed to—presumption.” 

“That’s, um…” He was clearly trying to keep his smile under control, but it wasn’t working. The grin on his face was rapidly crossing into idiotic. Marinette giggled. “That’s really good to hear,” he continued, “because I’ve been getting really stupid over you really fast since we started working together, so...I’m kinda glad you got a head start. It’s actually really flattering coming from a girl like you.”

Marinette frowned slightly. “A girl like me?

Luka gave her an amused look. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, Marinette, but you’re kind of a catch.” 

Marinette blinked at him, startled, and Luka buried his face in her shoulder to muffle his laughter. “Oh my God, you really hadn’t noticed. You’re so damn cute.” 

“Cute!” Marinette huffed indignantly, but Luka lifted his face from her shoulder and nudged his nose against hers with a low chuckle that made her shiver.

“Adorable,” he told her, with so much affection that she couldn’t be offended. “Also really, seriously hot, which, I don’t even know how you manage to do both of those at once, but—” He cleared his throat. “Can I—” 

“Yes,” Marinette giggled, tugging on his hoodie, and he bent, closing his eyes and kissing her with a slow heat that made her weak. She slid her hands up his firm chest and over his shoulders until they met behind his neck, savoring the pleased noise he made. Luka broke from her mouth and laid soft kisses along her jaw. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked, his voice so deep it was practically a growl, and Marinette shivered again. Luka cocked his head slightly. “You okay?” 

“I, um,” Marinette bit her lip. “I really like your voice,” she admitted in a rush. 

“Yeah?” That idiotic grin was growing on his face again and she was rapidly falling in love with it, with the way that he looked at her…

With him. She was falling pretty hard for him. And her only consolation was that he seemed to be tumbling head over heels along with her. The idea of loving someone who loved her back was...heady, to say the least. Not even the most euphoric moments of her ill-fated pining compared to this.

“Marinette?” he prompted, nudging his nose against hers. “I’m serious. I really want to see you again soon.” 

She kissed him again, just because he was so close. He chased her when she would have ended it, and she smiled against his lips before letting him coax her into a much longer, deeper kiss. 

“Wednesday?” she said, when he finally drew back. 

“Hm?” he blinked slightly glazed eyes and Marinette giggled. She straightened up off of the wall and leaned into him instead, fingers sliding up to play with the short hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Wednesday,” she repeated. “You can pick me up at seven. Bring your guitar, you promised to play for me again.” 

“I did,” he agreed, voice dipping low again as his hand slid around to the small of her back. “I can’t wait.” 

“Bring your A-game,” she told him. “I expect to be swept off my feet. But come hungry and plan somewhere light for dinner because my parents will freak when I tell them I have a boyfriend. There will definitely be appetizers. There might be cake. Maybe even a souffle. You tell Papa his rematch will have to wait though because I’m not sharing you this time.”  

The dopey grin returned. “I’m your boyfriend?” 

Marinette blinked, and then blushed hotly, which both made him grin wider and limited her ability to play it off, but she did her best. “You’re on trial. Think you can handle it?”

“Oh, definitely,” he chuckled, and that dopey grin turned into the pirate grin that always made her melt. “The question is, can you?” 

“Oh that’s how it is,” Marinette managed, raising her eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, freeing one hand to slip it behind her neck and tilt her face up. “That's how it is. So you let me know when you’re convinced.” His lips descended on hers and his body pressed hers in the wall and by the time he was done kissing her Marinette was pretty thoroughly convinced.

Not that she planned to admit it anytime soon.

She was pretty sure she was going to like this game.

[ayellowcurtain]

Could you write some nicotino fluff/smut? Maybe Nico start counting Martin's freckles and then…

Can we have some jealous Niccolo? I'm sure he's almost as jealous as Marti but he usually manages to hide it better

Part 4 

Maybe Nico is a bit sadistic, he realizes. He knew this was Martino’s way to punish him and he accepted because he thought he deserved it and he could take it, whatever it was that Martino was going to do. But now he regrets ever saying yes to coming to a bar with him and the boys.

Firstly, it was terribly awkward. Long silences and stares, Gio and Elia constantly looking at him and then at Martino to make sure this wasn’t a dream, they could all go back to acting like friends. Luchino was more than happy to finally spend more quality time with Nico and he was very happy to see Luca too. 

They texted a lot, but Nico never had the courage to ask to hang out with him. He didn’t want to cause any more trouble between Martino and his friends. And Nico would rather die than to be with Luca some day, drawing and talking about music, and to have him run into Luai on accident or something.

It feels nice to be around them again, but it feels new, like the start all over again, where nobody knows exactly the right words to say, what they can or can’t talk about. 

Nico could feel his heat coming just around the corner, making his skin rough and a little oversensitive. He could still handle himself, be in public, but it just made things a lot more intense. He wanted Martino constantly around him, but it was more than clear that it wasn’t going to happen, not in front of everyone or in public, it would be too easy and Martino wanted to push every single button he could find in Nico.

Nico would have to take it, whatever it was, and the second he saw the guy at the bar and the way he was obviously staring at Martino, he knew. Martino was suddenly a lot more distracted, barely engaging in their conversation about the Champions League final happening next week. Nico tried to watch quietly. Martino was drinking his beer absently while staring right back at the guy. Tall, blonde, most likely with a terrible taste in music and movies. His clothes seemed like they were sewed on his lean, muscular body.

Martino is not a flirty guy. He doesn’t go to bars, talks to strangers and takes them home. Not even if he tries, but Nico is buying this bullshit tonight. Because he knows how stubborn Martino is and he knows he’ll do even the impossible to get under Nico’s skin.

Nico asks for a beer and he can see Martino blinking his eyes, losing his stare contest with the guy, suddenly caring about what’s happening on their table, but he still keeps his eyes on the man across the crowded bar. 

It takes a few minutes for the waitress to come back and Nico tries to focus on that. On the girl’s path to behind the bar, grabbing a clean cup, putting under the machine, pulling the hand crank down, slowly filling his cup with beer while looking around for some distraction.

Nico’s throat is dry and beer won’t really fix it, but he drinks like it’s iced water on a summer day. Martino fixed his hair a minute ago, trying to gather the courage to finally go talk to the stranger. While he did that, he was finally looking at his friends, avoiding to meet Nico’s begging eyes, holding his beer so tightly it makes his fingers pale. Nico stares anyway, hoping Martino will drop this scene already if he sees how much it bothers Nico.

Nothing changes because Martino doesn’t dare to meet his gaze. He finishes his beer and slams the cup on the table, getting up, walking up to the guy. The second Nico sees the guy smiling at Martino, looking at him from head to toe, Niccolò gets up, grabbing his coat behind his chair.

“What-Where are you going?” Gio asks right away and Nico thinks about thanking him for being so considerate, but he drinks his beer instead, finishing it, putting it carefully on the table.

“You know he’s just being an assole. He won’t be able to make a move. We all know it, it’s fucking Martino.” Elia tries to justify and Nico smiles at them for trying, but he walks away anyway, leaving the bar without looking back, at Martino probably sucking that idiot’s face off.

“Hey…” Nico hears Luca’s exasperated voice outside trying to catch up to him, but he doesn’t stop walking, needing to go home right now. But Luca catches up, walking fast to keep up with his pace, “Elia is right. Martino is just being stupid. Come back…He loves you, you love him.”

“Luca. I need to go.”

“Nico...we can go somewhere else if you want. To chill out, help you get your mind off of...well, that.” Luca shrugs, keeping his hands on his pockets, trying to act calmer than what he really is. Everyone knows Martino would kiss that guy just to hurt him back.

Nico shoves his hands inside his pockets, finally stopping and looking at Luca with his big, sorry eyes, trying to fix things for Martino. 

If his heat was coming, now it’s right there. Nico can feel it quickly taking over his body. His mind can really play tricks on him, going to overdrive really quick. He needs to go home, run if possible, to lock himself inside and drag every pillow and blankets and comforter to his bed, gather all the shirts and underwear he stole from Martino during the time they were together. He just needs to go, sit inside his nest and...wait for it to end.

He smells it before he can see him. Nico doesn’t have time to answer Luca, politely ask him to just let Nico go, but he looks to their left and Martino is outside the bar, alone, his eyes finding them and he walks to their direction.

“Go back inside.” Nico asks as nicely as he can, hoping his voice won’t break in the middle.

“Where are you going?” Maybe he was too drunk, too nervous, too horny for someone else, but only when they’re just a few feet apart that Martino stops, understanding what’s going on. He looks at Luca, silently asking for some privacy and Luca looks at Nico, smiling sadly at him, going back inside.

“Home. You don’t have to come.” Martino is still staring at him, his eyebrows going just slightly up, forming a crease in between them and Nico hopes he’s as embarrassed as he looks like he is, “I’m sure he’s your best shot compared to me. You can go. Do whatever you want.”

“Niccolò.”

He wants to say it’s okay, he knows he fucked up, he deserves whatever Martino was about to do in front of him, but he can’t. Because he doesn’t mean it and because having Martino this close is not really helping.

“You can go home later, when you’re...done, if you want.” Nico tries, more than willing to take Martino, even if just a piece of him, late at night, after being with someone else.

“Don’t be fucking weird.” Martino complains.

“I’m not. I mean it.”

“That’s the problem.” Martino walks right next to him and Nico has to hold his jacket tightly from the inside not to hold him. He just stumbles around himself to find Martino again behind him, asking for a taxi.

He gets inside the car without asking questions and Martino follows him, closing the door next to him, giving the driver Nico’s address. Nico wants to ask what he’s doing, where’s the stranger, but he doesn’t, he tries to keep his eyes on the street outside, digging his short nails against his palms not to reach for Martino and nuzzle into his neck and beg him to stay for the hundredth time.

Niccolò tries to talk himself out of it. He already made more than he needed to. Martino is not coming back and Nico doesn’t have to keep begging. He made a mistake, maybe more, but that doesn’t give Martino the right to hurt him back forever.

When the car stops in front of his home, Nico jumps out of the car, closing the door behind him, trying to find his keys he shoved inside one of his pockets.

“Hey…!” He hears the muffled, annoyed voice and then the door opening and closing again. He finally finds his keys and Martino is there, standing right next to him, acting like he’s waiting to get inside too.

Fuck the stupid stranger, Fuck Marti!

Nico stumbles inside again - too worked up about his frustrations of going out to watch Martino flirt with somebody else while feeling himself slowly going crazy with need - to care why he’s being followed so closely by Martino. Why he is so worried, leaving everyone right away to go home with Nico.

The hallway light isn’t working, but he knows where Martino is standing by his smell. By how loudly Martino’s heart is beating inside his chest. Nico turns on his heels, facing Martino standing there, so close Nico doesn’t have to do much, putting his hands in the back of Martino’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

Martino knows where to put his hands, deepening the kiss right away and Nico can’t help but smile. Marti was expecting to be kissed and the realization makes everything fade into dust inside Nico’s insecure brain.

It’s not easy to go upstairs, but Nico would do it a thousand times. Walking back to not let go of Marti, feeling his hands hold him tightly when Nico almost misses a step, laughing when they can’t find the door or where to put the keys. Martino steals the keys from his hands and finds the right place so much quicker, turning the knob before even unlocking the door, pushing his shoulder against it to push it fully open.

Nico tries to watch quietly while taking his shirt off, but Martino is taking forever to turn the lights on and lock the door from the inside. So he minimizes the space between them, turning Martino around, kissing him again while trying to unbutton his stupid shirt.

It hasn’t even been that long, but it feels like it. Weeks feels like months without touching Martino, kissing him, taking his clothes off. Nico finally finishes the first buttons until their torsos meet and he leaves the top ones for Martino to deal with, snaking his arms around Martino’s waist, going up his back.

“Ah!” Martino jolts forward, and Nico looks at him, finding a bright, accidental smile on Marti’s face. Only then he remembers. Martino looks at him and Nico wishes he had him looking at Nico like that again forever. Happy, relaxed, with bright eyes and the smile slowly fading away as Marti starts to get embarrassed. He moves back to opening his shirt, but Nico can’t help it, lightly touching his sides under the shirt again and kissing where his jaw turns at a sharp angle behind his ear.

“Nico, Nico!” He holds Marti tighter against the door, but he wiggles harder, trying to escape his grip, “Ni, please! Stop! Stop!”

He laughs loudly and Nico stops before Marti can get out of breath. He steps back and realizes the dream in front of him. A happy Martino, with his shirt completely opened, finally catching his breath, his pale chest moving up and down as he smiles at Nico.

Niccolo sighs, putting his hands on Marti’s cheeks to avoid his ticklish areas, putting their foreheads together, looking into Martino’s eyes, looking at his parted lips, still panting. 

Martino won’t say it with his words, but Nico doesn’t need it right now because everything else tells him that they’re finally moving closer again. Martino is his again.

-

“I missed you.” Martino lets it slip just above a whisper and Nico looks at him, smiling. It’s hard for Marti to say those words, it’s clear in the way he’s looking at Nico, with heavy eyes, his heartbreak still needing time to fully heal. Nico is willing to wait, for as long as he needs to. 

He leans down, saving the number he stopped counting for later, putting his hands on Martino’s chest, putting his chin on top of it, smiling and purring when Marti puts his hand on his hair, probably noticing how long his hair is getting. Nico can’t remember the last time he cared to cut his hair a little bit. 

“I missed you too.” 

He doesn’t know what to say so he looks down at Marti’s chest again. He looks different and Nico smiles, thinking about his morning hikes with Gio. Nico has to thank Gio later. He sighs, moving on to kissing Martino’s chest again, lying his head closer to his neck, his fingertips following his freckles where Nico had stopped counting them. 

“I’m sorry for tonight.” Martino adds, kissing the top of his head and Nico sighs, hugging him tighter, pulling the comforter closer to his chin, tangling their legs together. 

“Don’t do it again, please.” He whispers and Martino puts his arms around him tighter and Nico purrs, closing his eyes, needing just a few more minutes of this before they can go again. 

[snxwboarder]

//Hey friends. I’m back.

I’ve got an update on the situation I talked about a few days ago. Honestly writing the post I wrote last time really helped me, so I want to do it again. Just to put my thoughts down and allow myself to process.

If you’re going to read (which you’re welcome to!) please make sure you’ve read the trigger warnings in the tags.

But, just a tldr for anyone possibly concerned about my safety: I’m at my parents place now with all 5 of my ferrets and most of my stuff. I feel safe and loved and free. Still scared. Still sad. Still hurt. But very hopeful of the future.

Here I go

Like I said in my last post, I didn’t think I was in an abusive relationship. I was struggling to see it. Even when my friends pointed out the gaslighting and the manipulation, I always had a reason for why he acted the way he did. An explanation for his actions forever engraved into my system because I have always been the one to be there to save him. To excuse him. To forgive him.

It changed last night.

Abusive relationship.

Not something I thought I was in.

Until, for the first time since my dad pushed me out of the room so he could hit my mom when I was 11 years old, my partner became physical.

My boyfriend, of 7 years, who I reassured my friends, not even half an hour earlier, would never lay a hand on me.

Got physical.

I worked a full day yesterday, left the house before he got up. I fed the ferrets before I left, giving my senior ferret her twice daily lifetime medication 2 hours earlier than I normally do because I worked the morning shift - and I knew he wouldn’t wake up to do it.

We still hadn’t talked. Not much. How many days does that make it that he hasn’t spoken to me... 5? I lost count.

Our conversations consisted of me saying “have a good day at work” and his grunt in reply. A short “I’m going to my grandma’s house” because I needed to get out. 

It wasn’t talking. Not really.

There was a time I think he wanted to talk. He came into the bedroom on the 4th night of us sleeping apart. He sat down, didn’t say much. I know he was trying to get me to ask what was wrong, if he was okay, what I could to do help him. But I didn’t say anything.

Which was.... hard.

Really hard.

I’ve spent 7 years being trained, like a collared bitch that comes to it’s masters call that when he’s upset, I find the solution. When we fight, I ask for forgiveness. When we can’t decide, I compromise. 

7 years of training. 

This time I didn’t do it though. No matter how tight he pulled the collar around my neck, the mumbled phrases he said to lure me in:

“I’m so tired...”

That’s what he said. He’s tired. 

Him.

He didn’t ask how I was, he didn’t ask what I was thinking. He just sat there. Staring down into his lap. Breathing. Waiting for me to beg for forgiveness for a fight he started, for words he said, for a relationship he molded. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

That’s the last real thing he had said to me and it still rings back and forth in my head. 

4 days he left me with that.

20 minutes, give or take, that’s how long he sat there waiting. But I didn’t say anything. If he wanted to talk about the fight, I was ready to talk, but I knew it would end in a breakup right there and then at 1am. Not the ideal time. But... ideal times don’t really exist.

He left though. Wordlessly. Closing the door behind him just like the walls he always put up so that I could work to tear them down and make it right. 

The next morning I went to work.

And while I stared into our empty store, my new coworkers that I’ve only known for 2 days standing around me. I made the choice that it was over. I was done sitting here with an infected bandage waiting for it to heal itself. I wanted to rip it off. Let the air sting against the cut he had caused so it could finally get a chance to breathe. To heal.

We were done.

I came home from work with determination in my steps and the most stomach turning anxiety in my gut. 

We were done.

I entered the house. Silence. I go to his office. He’s playing fortnite. 

He doesn’t notice me at first because he’s talking to his friends. His mood is different. He’s happy, I know it. I move towards him and he recognizes that I’m there. 

“How was work?”

It was like nothing was wrong. 

I’m still confused about that part but I didn’t focus on it for too long. “Can we talk when you’re done your game?” I said. 

He agreed. I left the room to go downstairs.

I didn’t take my work uniform off thank god I didn’t take my work uniform off. My car keys were in my pocket because I didn’t stop to put them down. The ferret travel cage was in the car, not because I had it there as a “just in case” but simply because, like the keys, I had forgotten to put it away when I brought them inside after a vet appointment last week. 

I text my friends to let them know that it’s happening. I had talked to my mom on the phone on the drive home from work to give her a heads up that tomorrow they’ll probably need to get me. 

Tomorrow. I can’t believe I thought he’d let me stay the night.

He called my name when he was done the game. We never use each other’s names. Always pet names when we’re alone. So it was odd.

I went upstairs to his office and stood in the doorway.

He asked if I wanted to take a seat.

I said I did not.

The conversation that follows is not something I’m ready to fully bring myself back to, not yet, maybe not ever. I was clear in my intentions, firm with when I was leaving, and as factual as I could be. I explained what I felt he deserved to know, and allowed him to take the silences he needed to take.

A broken man sobbed in front of me, begging me to stay. Saying, for the millionth time, that he could change if I needed him to despite how I’d never seen the evidence of it. Said we could stop having sex for good. Said I was all that he had and without me he was completely alone. Said I couldn’t leave because if I did he would be by himself in a house with no one.

And then he remembered the ferrets.

“Are you taking the girls?” He asked me, breaking again in front of me.

I gave him a very clear, very hard “yes.” 

Because I was.

I was leaving him and I was taking my ferrets with me.

More so than the conversation we just had, the following 30 minutes of my life are the worst 30 minutes I’ve ever experienced. I highly doubt I’ll ever be able to remember those 30 minutes and feel at peace.

It was when the abuse turned from emotional to physical. As he fought me for my ferrets. My girls. 

My hands still hurt from where I grabbed their cage and my voice is still sore from yelling that he needed to let go.

I had my car keys in my pocket because of luck.

I had the kennel in my car because of forgetfulness. 

I grabbed all 5 of them in my arms and I ran.

I ran.

I’ve never moved so quickly with my heartbeat hammering in my ears and my chest so tight with fear and anxiety, moving completely on gut instinct above literally anything else. 

I got them into the kennel and I locked the car.

He could have the house. He could have the furniture. He could have the damage deposit and the subscriptions and the money that he owes me and my virginity that he stole and my broken beating fucking heart I don’t give a fucking shit about any of that useless garbage but he is not taking my girls. I brought them into this house because I wanted one fucking thing to keep me sane and moving and loved and I wasn’t leaving unless they were in the back of my car.

He lost his chance to say goodbye when he grabbed me.

He lost his chance to hold them one more time when he threatened to leave with them.

He lost his chance to a normal breakup when he stood by the door with rage in his eyes telling me that even though my parents were on their way to save me from the hell he trapped me in, he would not let them into his home to free me from the hold that he had so easily trapped me in.

But I stayed firm.

The keys were in my pocket.

I had my girls. 

He moved towards me and I was scared but he grabbed his car keys and his wallet and stormed out of the house.

“You’re a selfish bitch. Fuck you.”

That’s the last thing he said.

And I sobbed in the doorway of my front door until my throat was raw and I couldn’t breathe. I sobbed because of how long I had been trapped. Because of the lies he told me. Because of how many times he said he’d change and never did. Because of all of the signs I missed. Because of all of the excuses I gave. Because of all the fighting and the compromising and the unhappiness. I sobbed because I was so relieved but so fucking terrified about everything that this changes and everything that this puts to an end. I just sobbed.

I don’t know when my step dad showed up but I assume he found me in the doorway shaking with my knees to my chest and my heart broken on the floor.

He held me for longer than he ever has. I don’t know what I said to him. I think I told him about the ferrets but I probably just kept mumbling “they’re in the car they’re in the car the girls are in the car” hoping he’d understand. I think he did. I don’t know.

My mom and brother were there in her van moments later and we packed.

Everything we could fit between 3 cars we packed. We started with the important stuff: my computer, the ferret cage, my sewing machine. We sacrificed the stuff that I didn’t have room for: my cosplay gear, half of my clothes, my fish tank (which breaks my fucking heart all over again please just take care of my fish I told them I was so sorry when we left but I just couldn’t take them). 

It’s hard.

To watch the home you had just finished setting up be torn apart so quickly because you aren’t sure when he’s coming back to demand that you stay.

It’s hard.

But we did it.

My mom, my brother, my step dad, and me. We tore the home apart and I got my stuff. 

I sobbed the whole drive away from that house. My brother drove with me, which I will never stop being thankful for. I sobbed because I was scared, still am, that my ex was going to kill himself. I was worried that that’s why he left. My eyes were on the highway and my heart was being left in broken pieces along the side of the road with each kilometre we drove. 

And then I stopped crying.

About half of the way to my parent’s house.

Just.... stopped crying.

My brother and I talked about anime, one of our shared interests. He just finished watching SK8 with his wife and we were talking about our favourite parts, agreeing that Langa was best boy, making jokes about the silly bits and discussing our favourite scenes. Just talked with my brother about anime.

So I’m here now. In almost the same position I was in when I made a post like this last week, rethinking all of the reasons I had to leave. I’m at the kitchen table. I have a cup of tea that’s 3/4 full and completely cold because this post distracted me. I’ve been crying. A lot. My eyes are constantly puffy and red.

But about 30 minutes ago I went to walmart. 

Stupid thing to give you hope, I suppose, a trip to walmart. I needed to get a sheet for my new bed though and I didn’t want to put it off. 

A solo trip to walmart.

The same walmart that, exactly 1 week ago almost on the hour, I had been in with my ex (”ex” still feels odd to say). We had stopped by to get groceries after a couples counselling session. He was in a bad mood. We argued. In the car I apologized and he did not. 1 week ago I hadn’t realized everything wrong with us. 1 week ago I cried by the george t-shirts because he left me there in a rage after I said we needed to cross the store to get duct tape. 1 week ago I went to the mcdonalds in that walmart to get us burgers and the boy at the till was cute. 1 week ago I slipped into a 15 second daydream where I was with someone I found attractive. 1 week ago I felt guilty for the thought. 1 week ago I was just as brave as I was yesterday, but I didn’t know it yet.

I’m with my mom. I’m with my step dad. I’m with my ferrets.

I’m safe. I’m home. 

When I sat at the red light on the way home from walmart, I felt the relief my mom had told me about 5 days ago. Not the wave that she described, nothing that “washed over me” like she had told me it did when she left my dad; but just a spark. A tiny little glimmer of “this is what’s right”, “this is what’s good”, “this is what’s better”. 

My throat is still sore. My hands are still numb. And my heart still aches. But those pains go away eventually.

He goes away eventually.

[believerindaydreams]

That was a lotta whump.

Crossing at dawn, part 4

Boone

Don't think we can take much more of this.

None of the water's clean. There's nowhere to sleep, nowhere to cook or fix anything or reload some ammo. Thought that the Mojave was frontier compared to civilisation, and I couldn't have been more wrong about that.

And these damn Super Mutants just won't stop coming for us. They don't need guns to be dangerous, just baseball bats do the job, and most of them carry both. If it's not them it's feral ghouls, and I wish I'd sent every last one to the moon or wherever Bright's lot went.

Manny's broken out his chem stash, stuff he keeps by for emergencies. Arcade crashed out on too many at once, he's addicted to something and we aren't even sure what- he's strung out, kind of loopy and muttering to himself. I know I'd be hit with Steady withdrawal if I wasn't downing so much of it. And Manny...I know when he's doing that pause trick, and I don't like it, but abusing the hell out of it in every fight is all that's keeping us on our feet.

This whole thing is a shitshow. I should have taken the NCR deal and paid whatever price they asked. Only consolation I've got is that nothing's touched Carla yet.

But I don't know how long we can keep protecting her.

Carla

You're doing your best.

A sewing machine is an engine, and you've loved this one for most of your life, rescuing it from a disused storage bay when you were yay high; and you've made it yours, oiled every part, learned how to make it do things that were never in the manual. It's all time well spent, now.

Because with a set of surgical tubing and two glass pitchers and a pressure cooker, you can coax the microfusion engine into making clean water. Steam a radroach. Help Arcade make up a batch of Rocket, his science and your steady hands just about pulling through- without it you'd all just die. Simple as that.

Manny suggests you might have to resort to the strange meat the Super Mutants eat, hung in gore bags all over the landscape; and you aren't altogether sure he's kidding. Everything's running short.

The baby's stronger within you, every day; and you don't dare imagine what life you'll be able to give it.

Arcade

He should, he knows, have stopped listening to the radio as soon as realising who held the monopoly.

But information is information, even propaganda, the more they know about this place the better; so he keeps listening. It's easier once they find an Eyebot and almost blow it into pieces out of sheer habit; it doesn't take much hacking to convince it to follow him, cover their sneaking with obnoxious refrains.

The songs are jingoistic and out of date, the messages repetitive and meaningless; but they sound good, they soothe, it's a distraction from fear and hunger and the pounding hangover that keeps plaguing him. No one from the Old Mormon Fort would recognize his filthy, blood-soaked form, maybe least of all himself.

"President of the Enclave," Arcade murmurs, as they dive into the trenches that are all that's left of the Mall. "President of your-"

Manny

This isn't how I'm going down.

First Recon. A Great Khan. I've survived everything from waterless desert to Caesar's capital, whatever kills me will have to be a lot more spectacular than anything I've seen so far.

Don't tell me I'm crazy, because I'm not listening.

We're heading south, because south is where the ocean is, waves, salt, maybe monsters. I'm kicking everyone else's butts to keep heading in the one direction, otherwise we'd be running around in circles by now. It's a goal. They said in Basic, better to succeed at something simple than screw up the complex.

Sharks. Wouldn't mind seeing a shark.

Getting killed by a shark now, that sounds awfully spectacular.

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 20: Home

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19

Word count: 1827

El heard the front door unlock from the kitchen, and happily oblivious to the precarious status of her wellbeing, she waited quietly for Jonathan to come in and greet her. She had to make sure that the water didn't boil over anyway.

She only got an inkling that something might be wrong when the door slammed shut, and Jonathan rushed into view, looking slightly disheveled. He hadn't even put down his briefcase at the door.

Before she could inquire as to what was wrong, the briefcase was carelessly tossed onto the dining table, and Jonathan had locked her in a tight embrace, pressing a firm kiss into her hair.

"Woah, hi," she squeaked, hugging him back. "What happened? Is everything okay?" She felt the deep sigh as his body relaxed, and he stepped away again, smoothing down his tie as he regained his composure. Registering a few seconds later that she had asked a question, he nodded and raked his fingers through his hair to push it off of his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine." His heart was only just slowing to a regular rate.

She's safe.

Yeah, I told you. I can't believe how whipped you are, Jonny.

"Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling you for hours."

"Oh, I forgot to plug it in last night, so it died at work." She replied casually, still entirely unaware of the panic she had caused. "I had to go grocery shopping before I came home, and it's been charging in the bedroom since I got back; I must not have heard it." She turned back to the stove to give the boiling pasta a quick stir and check on the sauce on the other burner. "Are you sure everything is alright?"

Jonathan moved to stand against the counter next to her, needing to be near her still. "I had to see Falcone today."

"Oh? How was that?"

"Not good. He tried to threaten me into letting him into the operation, and when that didn't work, he...talked about you. I thought maybe he had already given orders, and I had to oversee the shipment as soon as possible to get it finished in time."

"Ah," El frowned, suddenly understanding the trouble. "So when I didn't answer the phone..." Jonathan nodded. Pasta still undercooked, El replaced the pot lid before turning back to the man next to her. "Well, I'm sorry for making you worry, love, but I'm okay." She smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Besides, nobody is taking me away from you without a fight. Speaking of which," she plucked a stray burlap thread off of his shoulder, "what happened here?"

Jonathan kicked himself mentally. How had his run-in with the Batman already slipped his mind?

"Scarecrow and I have had an eventful day." He said, suddenly exhausted, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you go change out of your work clothes while this is finishing up, and you can tell me about it while we eat." He nodded but hesitated to walk away, which made her chuckle. "Nothing is going to happen to me if you leave the room for a few minutes. Go on." She pushed on his arm gently, which finally coaxed his weight off the counter.

He was still hesitant to leave the room, but he knew that she was right and obeyed, ignoring Scarecrow's continued snickering. He redressed as quickly as he could, hell-bent on returning to the kitchen fast. Of course, she was still there at the stove when he came back, switching off the burner.

Unfamiliar with normal relationships, Jonathan didn't fully understand his impulses, but he was so exhausted from the events of the day that he didn't have the energy to fight them. Before El could pick up the pot to drain the water from the pasta, he locked his arms around her from behind and dropped his forehead to rest on her shoulder.

"Jonathan..." her voice was laced with soft concern, and she raised her hand to rest on the back of his head. "You were really worried about me, weren't you, love?" Her tone was actually serious now, upset that Jonathan was upset. He didn't answer, just staying where he was. "I'll leave my ringer on from now on; I remember what this feels like." He nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "Come on, sweet, let me finish this up, and we can go sit on the couch while we eat. Up, come on," she coaxed gently, and Jonathan finally straightened up, allowing El to drain the pasta and serve them each a plate.

"So you and Scarecrow had an eventful day," she recalled as they settled onto the couch. "Tell me about that."

Dinner was soon forgotten as Jonathan began to recount their run-in with Batman.

"You set him on fire?" She asked incredulously. When Jonathan looked at her, he expected to see shock, maybe horror, but no. What he saw instead was a genuine, thrilled amusement that he had tried to burn a man alive. "That's hilarious. You set Batman on fire."

See, she thinks I'm funny.

"Scarecrow thinks so too."

"Mm, that's probably a bad sign for me," she said casually, returning her attention to her food. It seemed she had finally given up on feigning morality. Took her long enough.

"Yeah, probably, but you've made it this far." She hummed in response.

"So," she started slowly, wanting to address the initial problem, "Falcone?" Jonathan frowned, disliking the reminder that he now had something that could be leveraged over him. Not that he would give it up for the world, but if people were going to use Elianna to threaten him, then something would have to be done about that. Perhaps Falcone could serve as a warning.

Then again, maybe that had been the wrong decision. The old man's sudden mental break could draw suspicion. While it was true that they had been dumping the toxin into the water mains for weeks, the job would be cleaner if they didn't draw too much attention to themselves. And in one moment of anger and weakness, Jonathan had thrown away that advantage.

"I may have overreacted to that. We'll have to be careful about the project until it's ready to go. It should only be another few days."

"Overreacted?" El asked quizzically. "What did you do, gas him?" She was answered with silence and knew that she had guessed correctly.

She was sure that she was supposed to be upset, maybe a little annoyed with him for endangering such a delicate operation, but she couldn't help but feel a little flattered instead. He had done all of that for her?

Done eating, she placed her empty bowl on the coffee table and scooted closer. "He must have said something pretty bad about me to set you off like that." Jonathan's brow furrowed, remembering what Falcone had implied.

"It was...gross." For lack of a better word. He looked at her to find her smiling at him. "And no, I'm not going to tell you, so don't ask."

"I wasn't going to. I just think it's sweet that you did that for me," she said matter-of-,factly and kissed Jonathan's cheek. "Mostly, I'm just curious, would that have been your normal reaction, or was that just because the nature of our relationship changed?" She grinned as he blushed lightly.

"Probably the second one." He closed his eyes in embarrassment and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Either way, it was an overreaction. It's going to draw attention."

"Oh, who cares. There are only a few days left. Hey, that reminds me, I wanted to make a mask."

"We can just get you one from a hardware store; that should be easy-"

"No, I mean like," she sighed as she gathered her thoughts. "Like, you and Scarecrow have yours, and it's like a character almost. When people see it, they'll know who it is. It's your brand. I want something like that."

It was a fair point, Jonathan decided. And why shouldn't she get to have one like that? "Alright, what are you thinking?"

"Why, thank you for asking, love." She sat up straight as she began to present her idea. "When I was thinking about it, I asked myself, 'what are the most memorable silhouettes of all time?' There are so many to choose-"

"El, please, I've had such a long day." Jonathan almost felt bad interrupting. He knew how much she loved doing dramatic speeches, but he wasn't sure he had the patience for it this time.

"Alright, love, sorry." She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "Anyway, I was thinking something like a plague doctor. I feel like it would match the scarecrow in energy; it's sort of mysterious and technically meant for good, but it's become a sort of a classic horror icon." Jonathan nodded, agreeing with her line of thinking.

"Yeah. It might be a little tricky to pull off in such a short amount of time, but I think that's a good idea." Her face lit up. "We'll need a gas mask to rig into it, a pattern, and a stiff enough material to keep the shape."

"No problem. You know me, I started making my own Halloween costumes at like, ten, I can take care of it. In fact, I kinda already got all of the materials." Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "I made a pit stop between work and the grocery store. I just need a sewing machine. I was going to ask Harley if-"

"No need, I have one." They sat in silence for a moment.

"What?"

"I mean, Scarecrow does. He insisted on making the mask himself. Apparently, I was making it too neat, so he commandeered it."

"Wow, that actually makes a lot of sense," El nodded. "I don't know where I thought the mask came from, but yeah, that sounds right."

"Why don't I go get it out of storage so you can start?" El nodded excitedly, and in just a few short minutes, they had her set up at the kitchen table to get to work. Jonathan's night quickly went from a prolonged panic attack to something warm and comforting. Watching El work and helping her take measurements, and teasing her theatrics slowly helped him feel normal.

Seeing her power ahead with her ideas and devotion to their future life, unimpeded by the threat against her, brought a sense of security in a way that he had never quite felt before. While she worked, he came up with and solidified a plan to provide them with protection for the next few days at least, but it would have to wait for tomorrow. In the meantime, he contented himself with wiling away the time in the kitchen with his paramour, letting the rest of the world fall away.

[mistydacat]

Marichat May Day 5 || Dare

Marinette sat at her sewing machine, working on her latest design for Kitty Section. Cat Noir was next to her, leaning into her side and purring. Every once in a while, she'd reach over and scratch behind his ear.

"Can you take a break now?" Cat Noir whined.

"In a minute, I'm almost done." She responded.

"You said that half an hour ago!" He complained. "I'm bored!"

"Alright, alright." Marinette sighed, setting her sewing aside. "Do you have any activities in mind?"

Cat Noir thought for a moment. "Um... How about truth or dare?" He suggested.

"That sounds good. But... we can't force each other to do anything the other doesn't want, alright?"

"But that takes away all the fun of truth or dare!" He protested.

"Please?"

"Alright." He huffed. "But you can't say no to everything."

"Deal." She responded.

"Alright, let's sit here." He gestured towards the ground. They sat across from each other, legs crossed.

"Do you want to start?" Asked Marinette.

"Sure, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Cat Noir took a second to think over ideas for a dare. "I dare you too... go outside and very loudly confess your undying love for unicorns."

"Excuse me?" That wasn't what she was expecting him to do, though she was glad for it.

"You heard me." He teased.

"Okay, okay. Come with me." She led him to her balcony.

"Ready?" She asked him.

"Of course! Though I wish I brought a camera..."

"Cat!"

"I was just kidding!"

Marinette took a deep breath. "Okay, here I go." She raised her voice. "I LOVE UNICORNS SO MUCH! THEY'RE JUST SO CUTE AND FLUFFY AND MAGICAL. THEY ARE THE BEST ANIMAL EVER."

Marinette continued yelling for a few more minutes, until an angry neighbour stuck his head out of the window and yelled at her to shut up. Cat Noir was practically crying with laughter.

They went back inside, Marinette absolutely mortified.

"I hate you!" She yelled at him, though there really wasn't much meaning behind her words, and both of them knew it.

"My turn!" Her mood took a 180-degree turn. Marinette tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to be rooted in thought. Her eyes glinted with mischief.

"Why do I feel like I won't like this?" Cat Noir asked nervously.

"Oh, it's not that you won't like it. Now, dare or dare?" She asked.

"Hey! You can't do that!"

"Dare or dare?"

"Ugh, fine. Dare." Grumbled Cat Noir.

"I dare you to act like a real cat for the next ten minutes. You can't talk either, only meow and other cat noises." She smirked.

"What!? That's not nice!" Argued Cat, casting a pleading look at Marinette.

"That's what you get for embarrassing me!" Marinette took out her phone, setting a timer for ten minutes.

"Your dare starts in five... four... three... two... one... Now!" She pressed the button and put her phone aside.

Cat Noir blinked at her, looking like he wanted to say something, but staying true to the dare, he kept his mouth shut. He changed his sitting position so that it was more cat-like, and turned his head to Marinette, eying her and tilting his head to the side.

He was definitely gonna take advantage of this opportunity.

"You're scarily good at this." She told him, but he pretended not to understand her. Instead, he placed one gloved hand on hers, meeting her eyes. He was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't understand it.

"What do you want, Kitty?" She asked. He let out a soft purr at the sound of his nickname, earning a giggle from Marinette. Still trying to get his message across, Cat Noir nudged Marinette's hand with his head, then looked up at her. Marinette was still a little confused, so he bowed his head down, his ears twitched.

"Oh! You want me to pet you?" She asked. Her voice was a little patronizing, as though she was talking to a child, but he assumed it was because he was supposed to be a cat.

Cat Noir would've nodded if cats knew what nodding was. So, alternatively, he meowed. He'd never meowed before, and both Marinette and Cat Noir were shocked at how real it sounded.

"I'll take that as a yes." She laughed. "C'mere." Marinette opened her arms out in a welcoming embrace. Instead of hugging her like a human would do, Cat Noir rested his head on her lap, curling the rest of his body into a ball.

"Oh, aren't you just the sweetest little kitten in the world?" Cooed Marinette, stroking his hair with on hand resting on his side.

Okay, she was having way too much fun with this.

Cat Noir mewling in response, the room filling with the sound of his purrs as Marinette got to a spot right behind his right ear. She knew that drove him crazy. He seemed to relax more into her lap, the role of a cat coming more naturally now.

"Such a good little kitten." Marinette continued. Cat Noir really wished he was a real cat right then so he could sit with Marinette like this every day and have her coo at him and tell him what a good little kitten he was.

"Oh, mon petit chaton," Marinette whispered fondly. She cupped his face with one hand and caressed it, lift his head up towards her with her thumb. Her other hand remained in his hair, gently running her fingers through it. Marinette knew it was odd for her to be treating Cat Noir like this, but she wouldn't be doing this if she hadn't known how much he loved it.

Cat Noir stared into her eyes, waiting for her to continue. Yes, I'm your little kitten. I'm listening.

"You're just so adorable as a cat. I can't handle this." She removed her hands from his hair and face, causing Cat Noir to whimper at the loss of contact. Marinette placed her hands under his armpits, hauling him up. Surprisingly, he was quite light.

Cat Noir looked into her eyes, confused at what she was doing. Then, Marinette leaned in, bringing her lips to Car Noir's forehead and placing a soft kiss there. How was he supposed to react to this!?

He mewled at her in protest when she pulled away, about to set him back.

"Oh, you silly, greedy Kitty." She teased, though she complied with his demands.

Marinette made sure Cat Noir was in a comfortable sitting-up position on her lap before leaning in and peppering him with kisses. On his nose, cheeks, forehead, cat ears, jaw. Everywhere that wasn't his lips.

All Cat Noir could do was purr to signify his enjoyment, and try to make sense of what was happening.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was kissing him.

This had to be part of their little cat-game, right? There's no way she would be doing this under normal circumstances, right?

Right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an alarm ringing. Marinette let go of him, much to his disappointment, and turned off the alarm.

"The ten minutes are over, Kitty."

Cat Noir crawled off of her lap, trying to hide his pout.

"Your turn." Marinette reminded him.

"Truth or dare?" He asked.

"Dare."

"I demand more cuddles." He declared dramatically. "That's your dare, I want cuddles."

"You're really gonna waste your dare on that?"

"I hardly see this as a waste. Now give me my cuddles."

Marinette opened her arms out, inviting him, for a second time, to lay in her lap.

"You're more of a cat than you think." She taunted, wrapping her arms around him as he lay on her.

Cat Noir ignored her comment, choosing instead to say: "I'm sleepy."

"Then sleep."

"But if I do that, the game will end." He whined.

"We can play at another time." She suggested.

"Pinky promise?" He asked, sticking his pinky out.

"Pinky promise." She agreed, wrapping her finger around his.

"Okay, then." He gave in, too tired to argue.

Sleepy Cat Noir was very much like a little kid.

"Can you wake me up if I sleep for too long?" Asked Cat Noir, his voice was getting quieter, and his words sounded more slurred as he got closer to falling asleep.

"Of course. Just rest. Okay, Kitten?" Marinette scratched behind his ear.

"Mhm." He responded, then mumbled something about his fondness of the nickname "kitten," but it was pretty much incoherent as he drifted off to sleep.

"You definitely like him." Whispered Tikki, flying to Marinette from where she had been perched in a ceiling support.

"How much of that did you see?" Asked Marinette, her face turning a bright red.

"All of it. You two would make a great couple, you know!"

"Tikki!"

Cat Noir shifted from his position on Marinette's lap, and Tikki quickly darted into Marinette's drawer, afraid he would wake up and see her.

He didn't, though, and remained sound asleep. Marinette fought hard to keep herself awake but ended up falling asleep as well.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

A little more than an hour later, Cat Nor woke up, tangled in Marinette's arms. He carefully got up, as to not wake her, and carried her to bed, tucking her in and placing a goodnight's kiss on her forehead.

Before leaving, he took a pen and paper and left her a note.

Best truth or dare game of my life.

Hope you had sweet dreams

♥️

Ton Petit Chaton

Tikki, who had seen everything, would never let Marinette live this down.

It would be a good story to tell the kids, anyway.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

[nerdypanda3126]

It’s Complicated - Ch. 3

Read on Ao3 Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 4

Pattern Making

She doesn’t know how long she’s been standing on her balcony, staring off into the night, but Tikki has floated up to perch next to her on the railing. She nuzzles at Marinette’s hand, which brings her back to the present.

Marinette shakes her head and turns to climb back into her bedroom. The night has gotten cold and he’s obviously not coming back any time soon. Tikki follows her through the skylight and Marinette latches it. She needs to get some sleep. But as she settles into her bed, pulling the blankets up over her and curling to her side, her mind is still reeling over the night’s events.

Chat has become a friend, and he visits when he’s lonely or if he needs a distraction from... something. She can't be sure what it is; he keeps a lot to himself. Which is a good thing, it really is. Out of the two of them, she would think he would be the irresponsible one and reveal his identity to someone he feels close to. But at least with Marinette he seems to be as stubborn about the identities as she is.

Clutching her pillow to her head, she thinks again about the chest in the corner of her room. She holds the Miracle Box now. Tikki’s told her that theoretically, she can revoke the identity rule if she wants to. She’s been stalling, weighing the pros and cons back and forth. So far her cons list is much longer, amplified by a haunting memory of Chat Blanc, his cataclysm activated, advancing towards her and calling her by her name. She shakes her head before the memory can take root. She doesn’t need to have any more nightmares. For now, until she figures things out, it’s best their identities stay hidden.

On the other hand, if she knows more about Chat, maybe she can help him by being his friend. He’s been coming to her house more often. She hadn’t had the chance to talk to him about whatever was on his mind tonight, but it usually ends up that way anyways. He’s good at distracting her, making her forget that he’s the one looking for distraction.

She replays their interaction in her head, looking for clues about why he might’ve run off. The first time he got upset was when he figured out her design was for Luka. And he hadn’t wanted to own up to knowing Luka. She recalls the way his brow furrowed when he first saw her sketch, the damning hearts fluttering around the edges.

“Hey, Tikki?” She sits up, letting the blankets pool in her lap. “Chat was acting weird tonight, right?”

The kwami floats up to be next to Marinette’s face. “I do think it was a little out of character for him.”

“Like everything was fine until I mentioned Luka, and then he went all quiet. He’s been that way with Ladybug before but only when…”

“Only when he’s jealous?” Tikki says. Marinette nods, glad that Tikki has caught on to her train of thought.

“But it wouldn’t make sense for him to be jealous of me, I mean, we’re friends. He’s in love with Ladybug.”

“Maybe he’s changed his mind?”

Marinette shakes her head. “He doesn’t have feelings for me. He’s told me that himself. But what about... Luka?”

She had always assumed, based on the targets of his flirting, that Chat was straight. She hadn’t even considered that he might be questioning. But from what she understands of his home life, his father is not an understanding person. Could that be what he’s been struggling with and trying to talk with her about?

She feels a small twinge of something in the pit of her stomach. Chat just told her he was in love with Ladybug not that long ago. Has he switched gears so easily, then? Is Luka just a new target for him? She shakes her head to get rid of that train of thought. It’s not like she has any claim on Chat, or on Luka for that matter. And she’s jumping to conclusions. Next time Chat comes to see her, she’ll have to pin him down and just ask him. No more distractions.

Tikki hasn’t answered her rhetorical question, probably to let her reason it out for herself. Now that Marinette has thought about it, though, the two boys start to circle around each other in her mind. She wonders what Chat’s song would sound like to Luka.

Luka’s music brings her thoughts back to the design she had been working on. Black. That’s what it needed. It needed to have black leather, with silver accents. Bright blue and pink and white worked in for Luka’s mask. The piping, like Chat’s costume. Where is her sketchbook?

She scrambles out of bed and down her ladder to her desk, barely making it to her desk chair before the ideas are flowing out of her and onto the paper. Tikki sleeps on her desk next to her as she gets absorbed in the new design. She might not sleep tonight, but it’ll be so worth it.

***

She’s been working feverishly on Luka’s jacket for the past few days. It’s finished. And just in time, too. She has just enough time to get ready and get over there before the concert starts. She runs her hand over her work. The piping had been the most challenging. She had twined the pink, blue, and white together before stitching it into the leather. There had been so many pieces. This has definitely been her biggest challenge so far. She hopes Luka likes it. She glances at the clock again. Is that really the time?

Tikki watches from the desk, munching happily on a cookie, as Marinette fumbles out of her desk chair to start getting ready. She catches a glimpse of the sketch that Chat had seen, still on her desk where he had left it. He hasn’t come back to visit. And Hawkmoth has been oddly quiet. She hasn’t seen him on either side of the mask since he ran away from her. She’s worried about him, and it’s weighing heavily on her mind. She hopes she can clear the air with him soon, but his visits are so unpredictable.

As she races around her room, pulling on her street clothes as quickly as she can, she thinks again that she should’ve invited Adrien to the concert tonight. She hasn’t really been fair to him lately. It’s not his fault, after all. He likes Kagami, and they’re perfect for each other. They’ll all be friends, and that’ll be fine. She’s fine. She ignores the way her heart beats just a little faster when she thinks about him. She should text Nino and ask if he’s already invited Adrien. She doesn’t trust herself to invite him to anything without being, well, the way she always is around him.

She tugs her hair into pigtails, tying her ribbons hastily, then dives for her phone. Gah! No time. She has to be there like five minutes ago. She just barely remembers to grab Luka’s jacket off her sewing machine and pauses to let Tikki zip into her purse before she bolts out the door.

***

When she steps onto the deck of the houseboat, everyone is already gathered around the stage. Rose and Juleka are off to one side, sharing their headphones and nodding along to something on Rose’s phone. New lyrics, maybe? Alya is spotting Nino on a ladder as he hangs the banners for Kitty Section. Mylène and Ivan are setting up the drums on the stage next to a keyboard.

Luka is kneeling off to the side, tweaking the sound system, his fingers flitting back and forth from his guitar to the amp, fiddling with the knobs one at a time. She almost hates to break his concentration. But she doesn’t have to. He hears her step up behind him and turns, resting his arms on the guitar in his lap, his intense focus melting into a reserved smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Alya slap Nino's calf to get his attention. She really wishes she didn’t have an audience for this. Luka is waiting patiently for her to say something.

“Hey, Luka. I, uh… I brought you something.” She thrusts the jacket at him before she can chicken out. Her heart is fluttering in her chest. She really hopes he likes it. He sets his guitar down on the stage and stands, taking the jacket from her in one smooth movement.

He runs his fingers lightly over the embroidery she had done on the back panel. She had hand stitched Kitty Section’s logo into the black leather to look like an iron-on patch. He weighs the jacket in his hands, stretching out the jersey sleeves to look at them. There are silver studs on the shoulders, subtly mimicking his current shoulder pads. She’s especially proud of the front. She had pieced together the black leather with the colored piping in between triangular panels. The effect she had created was sort of a mosaic, the color just breaking up the black here and there. She had made the sides out of jersey like the sleeves for comfort and stretch.

As Luka examines her work, she watches him carefully. He’s keeping his face even, like he always does. But his breath hitches when he gets around to the front. He traces the piping with his fingers, a smile finally breaking through his composure. He looks up at her through his hair, and she wills herself not to blush, holding her breath to hear his verdict.

“Marinette, this is… amazing. Can I try it on?”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak. He hands the jacket back to her briefly so he can strip off the hoodie he usually wears. Then he takes her jacket back and shrugs into it. She prays that she estimated his measurements correctly. There is some wiggle room with a jacket, and it doesn’t have to fit perfectly, but she really wants it to.

It falls onto his shoulders just as she pictured it would. He stretches the sleeves down and they’re the perfect length for him. And black looks really good on him, she thinks as she feels the blush creep up her cheeks. He twists, trying to see it on himself, and stretches his arms out before he looks at her again, lifting his eyebrows for her approval. She knows she’s grinning from ear to ear. He likes it. He really likes it.

“Oh, there’s a surprise in the hood,” she finally squeaks out, going around him to pull out the hidden mask. “When you have the hood up, the mask is attached here, so you can wear it on stage if you want, or just wear the hood by itself.” She pulls the sequined mask, attached by a sturdy strip of black elastic, out of the hood to show him, and he turns to look over his shoulder.

Her breath catches. She hadn’t noticed how close she had gotten to him, but she can see the small flecks of dark blue in his eyes. She can feel the happiness radiating out of him, even though he’s keeping his expression so carefully closed. He lays a hand over hers on his shoulder.

“Hey, guys, mind if we come aboard?”

She knows that voice. Her eyes travel over Luka’s shoulder. Adrien is standing on the stairs up to the deck.

And he’s leading Kagami by the hand.

And that’s fine. She’s fine. Everything’s fine.

***

@celestethegoddess

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: T

Chapter Summary:  XY goes to patch things up, but he needs some advice first.

Word Count:  3401 | Chapter 4/5

Notes:  Sorry the chapter count keeps getting longer.  I decided to add an epilogue, but this is the last main chapter.  For @luxyweek​ day 6, Serenade

XXX

Luka flopped back in his bed.  Had he been too harsh on XY back at the hotel?  It wasn’t like XY had stood him up.  He’d never promised to come back to the Liberty.

But questions kept repeating like an irritatingly catchy melody.  XY had always wanted to spend time with him before, even if it was just to annoy him.  What changed?  Had they gotten too close at Nino’s house that night?  Had their accidental cuddling scared him off?

Maybe he really just read too much into things.  It wasn’t like Luka had much experience understanding people, even with his guitar.  Maybe XY didn’t have any music in heart.  Luka could’ve just been seeing what he wanted to see.

He wanted to see good in XY.  The only one he had to blame was himself, for believing the other boy might have actually cared about him.

I’m just a sucker for blue eyes, he thought, his fingers plucking a melancholy melody.

It didn’t matter.  He didn’t have XY’s number—foolishly, he’d only given the other boy his own—and he wasn’t about to embarrass himself by going back to the hotel again.

For the first time in months, the music in his heart fell silent.

XXX

“Martini!  Marmalade!  Marinade!  Mar—whatever your name is!  Help a homie out, please!”  XY called up at the bakery’s balcony. He was going out on a limb here, but for whatever reason, Luka had been obsessed with the younger girl.  Maybe she could help him patch things back up.

“You’re not my homie, XY!”  She leaned over the railing and shouted back down at the street.  “And it’s midnight!  What the heck are you doing here?”

“I need your help!”  he said.  Admitting it made him feel stupid, but what was he supposed to do?  Show up to Luka’s boat empty handed?  No, XY had promised he’d make the most cash money music ever, impress Luka so hard that he fell head over heels, and then whisk him off into the sunset.

But step one: make the music.  His first song had been a bust, and Luka would know if XY ripped something off.  He’d probably expect it.  So XY had his smaller synth packed up in a bag over his back, ready to take some more inspiration from Marmalade as soon as he could.

“Go away!”  she called.

“You can’t tell me what to—!  Uh, I mean—please, it’s important!”

She sighed so loudly he could hear it from the ground.  Then she stomped back inside.

His shoulders fell.  Of course she wouldn’t help him after he’d stolen her designs, poked through her room, and forgotten her name.  He turned to trudge back to the hotel, his backpack feeling heavier than ever.

The click of a door opening stopped him.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh—oh!  You—you’re gonna help me?”

“That depends”—Martini crossed her arms—“on what exactly you want help with.”

“Perspiration,” he answered quickly, and she glared.  Oops.  Was that the wrong word again?

“Is this some kind of prank?  What, was ghosting Luka not enough for you?”

XY’s jaw dropped.  “Ghosting—I did not ghost him!”

“Then why did Juleka tell me he’s been sulking for the last week?  She says he won’t quit playing sad songs.  And Wonderwall, for some reason.  Anyway, she thinks it’s your fault, and even if I’m not in love with Luka, I am his friend.  And you hurt him.”

She jabbed a finger at his chest, hitting his “XY” necklace.  The chain clinked hollowly.

“I… he missed me?  Really?”  He’d joked with Luka about that when he came to the hotel today, but he didn’t think he meant it.  

“I don’t know.  It sounds like it.”  She shook her head, her pigtails swishing around her neck.  “I don’t know why, though.  Anyway, what do you want?  I was waiting on someone—er, I’m supposed to be in bed soon.”

“Ooooh, a late-night date?”

“XY.”  

“Sorry, sorry.”  He grimaced.  Better not get even more on her bad side when he needed something from her.  “Okay, here’s the deal.  I told Lu I was gonna make him the most cash money music he’s ever heard.  But… I suck.”

He sighed.  There it was.

“I know he likes you,” he continued, “so I thought maybe you could give me some tips?  Tell me what kind of vibes he’ll vibe with, that kind of stuff.”

Marinade blinked at him.  “You’re…. trying to make Luka a song?”

“Yeah.  I wasted a whole week on a track Dad said was trash, and now Lu’s mad and I don’t have anything to show for it.”  His shoulders slumped.

“Wait, so you already made a song?  That’s why you weren’t talking to Luka last week?”

“Duh.  I couldn’t spoil the surprise.  Not that it matters.  Like I said, it’s garbage.  Unsexy.  Not vibin’ at all.”

“...Because your dad said so?”  Her head tilted.  Her voice was soft and gentle.  That was probably one of the things Luka liked about her.  It sounded nothing like XY’s own nasally voice.  Maybe if he autotuned his vocals more…

“He knows what good music sounds like.  That’s how he ended up with the number one and number two stars on his label.”  Was XY back at number one again yet?  After the Kiddy Session mess, he was probably down on sales.  Stupid old Jacked Tone.

“Uh-huh.  That’s how he ended up asking me to make Jagged’s album cover look like yours, and having you butcher Kitty Section’s style.”

“I didn’t butcher it.”  Sure, it wasn’t his best rip-off job, but he’d only had a few days to pull it off.  Dad had liked it more than his original song anyway.

“The point is, I don’t think your dad knows as much as he thinks he does.”  Marmalade put a hand on his shoulder.  “He might know what’s popular, but he doesn’t know how to match an artist with their own style.  Jagged Stone is a rocker.  I’m a designer.  And you… what’s your style, XY?  If you could do anything you wanted?”

He shrugged.  “More of the same, I guess.  The stuff my algorithm spits out.  I mean, it sells, right?”

“Forget about that for a minute.  What do you like to listen to?”

What did he like?  Well… 

“I do love some sick beats.  And…”  He looked away, a little embarrassed.  “I did like the first song I made for Lu.  But Dad said it’s garbage—”

“Your dad is the one who’s garbage,” Marinade growled, her fists clenching.  “I think you could use a second opinion.  Can I hear your song?”

His first instinct was to say no. Hadn’t he embarrassed himself enough?  But it wasn’t like he really cared what she thought.  She couldn’t insult him much worse than she already had.   

“I guess.”  He pulled out his phone and AirPods.  It wouldn’t have the same effect as fancy headphones or Nino’s speakers, but then she could at least tell him it sucked and move on to giving him some real advice.

She stuck the AirPods in, and he hit play.

Surprise slammed over her face.  She must be shocked that a number one (or number two, now) pop star would come up with something so stupid.  Using her sewing machine noises?  That pigeon man’s bird call?  Really?  No stars did that!  He should’ve just stuck to the basic four chords, and left out lyrics like he usually did, and— 

Oh no.  The lyrics.

“Please don't tell Lu what I said,” he begged, hands clasped together over his phone.

She didn’t seem to be listening to him, though.  She was—oh crap, she was tearing up.  His song was so bad he’d made her cry!

He fumbled to hit pause, but Marinade’s hand closed over the screen first.

“You wrote this?  For Luka?”

“He’s gonna hate it.”  XY groaned.  “I lied to him and made him hate me and I can’t even make one stupid song—”

“No, no, he’s not going to hate you!  XY—you really like him, don’t you?”

“Pshaw, no.”  He crossed his arms and turned up his nose.  “Crushing on hot rockers is so ten minutes ago.”

Marinade blinked, then laughed.  Of course she’d just make fun of him again.  “If you say so.  But if you change your mind, I think it would be worth telling him.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled halfheartedly.  He’d probably ruined that chance today by lying to him.  If he’d even had a chance in the first place.

“I’m serious!  I can tell you put your heart into this song.  Luka will see it, too.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “You just wanna watch me crash and burn, don’t you?”

She shook her head, laughing again.  Pretty shady, if you asked him.  He should’ve asked Nino for help instead, but Marinade was the one Luka had liked.

“I don’t even know for sure if he likes dudes,” XY muttered, the toe of his sneaker scuffing the street.

“Don’t worry, he’s bi.  I wouldn’t encourage you if you didn’t have a chance.”

His heart started doing the macarena.  It was enough to get his hopes up again—except, he still only had the one garbage song.

“I need a new track.  Something super sexy that’ll blow his boat out of the water!”  He paced as he talked, hands flying through the air like over an invisible synth.  “But ugh, I don’t have time!  Lu already thinks I hate him ’cause I stopped coming over, but I can’t spoil the surprise.  That wouldn’t be cash money at all.”

“XY, you don’t need to write a whole new song.  I think yours is great just the way it is.”

His head snapped up, his hair bouncing from the force.  “Wait, you do?”

“Uh-huh.  Besides, if you keep waiting for the perfect moment, it’ll never come.  Trust me.”  She smiled sadly.  “You’re better off being honest with your feelings if you can.”

His mouth opened, but before he could find any words, a crash rang out from the balcony above.  He was pretty sure he heard a faint “owwww.”

Marinette glanced up and winced.  “Well, would you look at the time!  Thanks for stopping by good luck see ya!”

She darted back inside, leaving XY alone with the faint breeze trying to fight his hairspray.

“Huh.  Guess it was a date after all.”

If he pulled this off, maybe he’d have a date by the end of the night, too.

XXX

THWUMP.

Luka bolted upright, instinctively reaching for the neck of his guitar before feeling silly.  What was he going to do, beat off a burglar with his instrument?  He’d probably just break it, which would be even worse than getting robbed.

“Lu!”  A muffled voice shouted.

Oh no.  Not a burglar.  Luka knew who was going to be smushed against the window before he climbed out of bed and turned around.  His heartsong sped up against his will.

He hadn’t been prepared to see XY so soon after their fight at his hotel room.  Frankly, he hadn’t expected to see him at all.  His hair was a mess, several clumps falling out of their meticulously-styled quiff.  And he was still wearing Luka’s hoodie.

“Yo, don’t just stand there!  Help a dude out!”

Luka was so startled that he didn’t even argue, just scrambled up the steps to the deck, his footfalls thump thump thumping in time with his heart’s pounding rhythm.

He came back.  Why did he come back?

XY yelped as Luka hauled him onto the deck.  Déjà vu pricked at him, but this time instead of sneering in disgust, XY fiddled with his backpack strap nervously.

“What are you doing here?”  Luka asked, since XY was being surprisingly quiet.  He didn’t bother tacking on the obvious “it’s almost one a.m.” since XY had already proven he had no concept of time.

“Uh… I’m here ‘cause… I wasn’t very cash money to you today.”

He frowned.  “Yesterday, technically.”  

“Whatever.  Point is, I’m… sorry I lied to you.”

XY seemed to deflate, as if all his usual hot air finally left him.  Maybe it was a side effect of his tousled hair making him look smaller, but in that moment he looked nothing like his usual sauntering self.

“It’s fine,” Luka mumbled.  “It’s not like you promised to make your own music.  I don’t know why I expected you to.”

“Huh?  No, Lu—I did make my own music.  That’s what I lied about.  ’Cause Dad said it was trash and I was… I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you, y’know?  I wasn’t even going to tell you, but Marinade gave me some advice, and… whatever.”  He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further.  “Just—let me play you this track, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Luka blinked, trying to follow XY’s rapid-fire words.  He didn’t have much time to process, though, before XY pulled his synth out of his backpack and unfolded it.  How did that clunky thing fit in there?

Then XY flipped a switch and pressed down on the keys, and music exploded from the Liberty.  Had he—had he hacked the boat’s sound system? 

“What did you do to my boat!”  he shouted over the electronic sounds, but XY didn’t seem to hear.  He was too focused on hitting the keys of his synth and belting out the first verse.

“You’ve got my heart flyin’ higher than a pigeon

Take me out we’ll go out to a kitchen

Stitch stitch stitch my heart is tickin’

Sit by me bro, come on and listen.”

Was that—?  It was.  Mr. Ramier’s bird call backed the track, somehow programmed into the synth.  He was pretty sure that whirring noise was meant to emulate a sewing machine, too, which would explain the stitch stitch stitch.  The noises should’ve felt jarring, but they blended strangely well with the upbeat melody. 

And XY’s singing voice… Luka had never heard it un-autotuned.  It didn’t sound anything like he expected.  The nasal tone was still there, but it was clearer somehow.  Like his heart and his words finally aligned.

“Woah, woah, you’re slick as a viper

Woah, woah, I start to perspire

Yo, you can call me a liar

But oh, oh, he’s got me inspired!”

He hit a high note that resonated in Luka’s bones.  And those lyrics… did Luka hear them right?  He was pretty sure he’d used “perspire” and “inspire” correctly, which was almost as shocking as the fact that he’d written an original song at all.

“Traffic cross the street, touch my hand,

Lost in your eyes, can’t see land

Take my breath away when you hold my face

Chords takin’ me higher than outer space!”

The bass dropped with that last line before the chorus repeated.  XY’s energy ran through him; he could feel the yearning in his voice.  

This was it.  His heartsong.  And, if it wasn’t just Luka’s hopeful imagination...

“Head on your chest, oh this is real

Cash money can’t buy the way I feel

Hope your hoodie’s not the only thing I steal

Wanna wake up staring into eyes so teal.”

XY looked up, meeting Luka’s wide-eyed gaze with a longing one of his own.  His fingers stumbled over the synth’s keys, but he coughed and finished the last chorus, his voice shaking only slightly.

“Woah, woah, you’re slick as a viper

Woah, woah, I start to perspire

Yo, You can call me a liar

But oh, oh, he’s got me inspired!

“Oh, oh, I’m walking a wire,

Oh, oh, you’ve set me on fire,

Yo, you can call me a liar,

But oh, OH, you’ve got me inspired!”

Oh… oh.  Luka’s heart stuttered as XY panted, hitting one last loud chord.  It echoed off into the night’s silence.  Luka was sure XY would hear his heart pounding now.

“So, what do you think?  Pretty cash money or what?”  His grin stretched too wide.

Luka swallowed, trying not to show just how much the unorthodox music affected him.  “You finally learned what inspiration means.”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah.  I guess I did.”  He chuckled.  “Does that mean you liked it?”

He tried to sound casual, but Luka still felt the trace of longing from him.  Maybe even desperation.  He’d bared his heartsong.  No matter how nervous Luka might be to admit it, he had to be honest in return.

“Dude, that was amazing,” he said, stepping around the synth to rest a hand on XY’s shoulder.  “Synths might not normally be my style, but I felt it. You were in the moment, putting your whole soul into it.  What changed?”

“Huh?”  He blinked, blue eyes wide.  It was hard to resist the urge to sweep his loose strands of hair back under his headband.

“I mean, why didn’t you make music like this before?  You couldn’t have learned how to do this all in a week.  You never gave me a real answer before.”  Luka had a guess, but even after the lyrics he’d heard, he didn’t want to assume too much.  He made that mistake with Marinette already, and this time…

He didn’t want to lose XY again.  He’d gotten used to his annoying presence.  That was all.

(The beats hopping in his heart quickly battered down that denial.)

“Bro, really?  Weren’t you listening?”  XY frowned, almost looking hurt.  “And people say I’m stupid.”

“Hey.”  

XY there his hands in the air. “It’s you, bruh.  You’re the voice I hear inside my head, the reason that I’m singing—”

“Wait, isn’t that the Camp Rock song?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to make a meaningful love confession!”

Luka choked, his face flushing.  “Love confession?  You’re—you’re serious.”

XY stared at him like he was stupid.  “What, you think I’d waste my time writing a whole song for just anyone?”

“No, I just…”  He had thought XY was joking, or just messing with him.  But it had been real.  Luka hadn’t read too much into things after all.  “I don’t know about love, but I—I can’t believe I’m saying this—I… might have a crush on you, XY.”

The other boy beamed, and Luka regretfully admitted it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

“Bro, I’ll take it!”  XY threw his arms around his neck, and suddenly Luka had an armful of him.  He smelled like hairspray and Doritos, and under that, something more subtle and hard to place.

Luka had the feeling he could get used to it.

XY suddenly pulled back, staring into Luka’s eyes again, but leaving his arms around his neck.  “Wait, does this mean you’ll be my boyfriend?  Do I get to kiss you?  ’Cause I gotta admit you look like you could use some chapstick first—”

Luka pressed his lips to XY’s half to prove a point, half to shut him up, and half because he just wanted to.  At the moment, his brain didn’t care that the math didn’t add up.  

A quiet squeal startled him into pulling back.  At first he thought it was XY’s, but he just looked stunned, his eyes half-lidded and a dumbstruck grin on his face.

“I’m gonna swoon now,” he said before swaying over.  

Luka barely managed to catch him around his waist before he hit the deck.  But if it wasn’t XY squealing, then— 

“Rose!”  He hissed, catching a flash of blonde hair ducking behind the speaker.  Juleka blended in better with the dark, but the faint glow from her phone screen gave her away.  “Jules!  Are you—wait, are you recording us?”

 Rose poked her head out, her fists balled up beside her cheeks.  “We couldn’t help it!  You two were just so cute!”

“I thought you’d want this for your wedding,” Juleka mumbled through a smirk.

XY sighed dreamily at that.  “What do you think our wedding colors would be, Lu?  Teal and purple?”

“I swear, if you don’t shut up I’ll drop you.”

“Aww, you just want me to fall for you agai—ACK!”  XY thudded to the ground.  “Ow… that wasn’t very cash money of you, babe.”

That was where Juleka’s video ended.  

But for the new music playing in Luka’s heart, it was just the beginning.