#me seeing tiny things that bother me in the icons and fighting the urge to fix them

[savedpeople]

makes like 10 icons out of one pic and calls it a day

[milkacchan]

Midoriya, Izuku, Deku.

A fic in which Katsuki Bakugou falls in love with Izuku but of course, nothing good ever lasts. Especially when someone is cheating. 

TW// Cheating, Nsfw, blow job, Self hate :)

•••••

Katsuki hadn’t always been kind to Deku. 

The nickname told that. A nickname long forgotten, last used in 2nd year. 

He was crude and cruel. He tore him down when they were kids for the sake of security. Feeling better. 

But as they grew older Katsuki Matured. They both did- and Midoryia stayed by his side. And Katsuki pushed his denial to the side and finally admitted that maybe Midoryia wasn’t /just/ a friend. 

And somehow, Katsuki wasn’t sure how, he’d managed to secure his hold on Izuku. Izuku was his, finally. 

And fuck. Fuck he tried so hard to be better. He tried so hard. 

Whatever he could to be better. He wanted to be Izuku's reason to smile. He wanted to make up for everything he’d done to the boy in the past. He apologized whenever he could. When Izuku laid his head on Katsukis chest and fingers threaded through green hair, he’d whisper apologizes and promises for the future he was sure he could keep. 

He was still a hot head, he still had a temper and a foul mouth, but he was learning how to manage his anger in a more efficient way. Izuku still seemed to like the kick he offered when it came to his temper. 

Izuku made him happy. Izuku made him /want/ to be better. Izuku made him feel at home. He was so utterly in love with the boy- he pushed away all his doubts and scares that he’d leave. He didn’t want him to go. And he wouldn’t. They were happy. 

At least that's what he thought. 

He missed the smiles and glances Ochako and Izuku shared. He missed (rather ignored) the secrecy Izuku displayed. He missed every red flag there. 

And it hurt when he walked into the apartment to see his boyfriend balls deep in the brunette's mouth, head back, mouth open, too lost in his own bliss to notice that his blonde boyfriend. 

Midoriya looked content. He looked happy with ochako settled between his legs, taking each tiny rut of his hips without problem

He looked content knowing that Katsuki wasn’t there.Thinking that Katsuki wasn’t there. 

Emotion bubbled up in Katsukis chest. He should’ve known this would happen. He should’ve known that Midoriya wouldn’t be happy with him. He should’ve known that he wasn't enough. 

The flowers in his hand fell in front of him, so did the small package in his hand. Midoriyas head snapped up and his eyes widened. 

“Ka-Kacchan.” 

“Don’t stop on my account.” He growled. “I didn’t mean to take away from your fuck time.” 

“It’s not- baby, it’s not what it looks like,” Midoriya pleaded, stumbling to stand and pull his pants up. 

“Save it. I really don’t care.” He mumbled, readjusting his coat and heading for the door. Midoriya didn’t have a chance to say anything else before Katsuki was gone. 

He didn’t stop. He walked down the stairs and the front lobby, past the bellman who gave him a small ave, a gesture Katsuki returned with a nod. He walked past the orange glowing lamps that adorned the side of the street. He walked past neon signs and posters. Past brick walls and closed buildings. 

He walked until he got to a familiar spot, one he didn’t want to be at. One that pulled at his heart and made him feel sick. 

He scowled, digging through his pocket until he found his phone. 

Midoriya had called of course- plenty of times. He’d ignored the buzzing in his pocket though. He opened the small thing, opening his messages. He didn’t have to scroll to find who he was looking for, after all they texted everyday. Small reminders or updates. Telling each other how they were doing, they were friends. That's what they were supposed to do. 

His thumb didn’t hesitate to click the phone icon next to the name. But as it rang he debated whether or not he should hang up. It was late, he could be asleep. Or he wouldn’t want to be bothered. He felt sick again, nauseous and lightheaded. Everything around him was hot and he could feel his legs fighting to give out. 

“Kasuki!” A voice from the other line shouted, pulling the blonde from his daze. 

“Kiri,” he breathed, wincing at the way his voice was threatening to shake. God his throat hurt. 

“You okay man? You never call if you can avoid it. You zoned out a little too,” 

Katsuki paused. 

“Katsuki, bro what's going on?’

“Kiri, he cheated on me.” He mumbled, leaning against the wall behind him. “I walked in on him balls deep inside Ockakos mouth. He didn’t ever hear me come in.” 

“Where are you?” 

“Akiterus spot.” 

“O-Okay, I’m going to come get you. We’ll go back to my place and we’ll figure it all out, okay?” 

“‘Kay.” He whispered. He dropped the phone from his ear, ending the call. He dropped his head back to rest against the wall and closed his eyes. He fought the tears that threated to bubble over, his fought the burn in his throat, he fought the urge to yell and hit something. 

He just stood there, eyes closed, listening to the world around him. To the crickets singing, to the grass dancing and brushing in the wind, the wind whispering sweet nothing in his ear. 

Then to the car engine sound in front of him. Course it wouldn’t take him long to reach Katsuki. 

He slowly lifted his head. Kiri was already out of the car, walking over, concern written all over his face. 

They didn’t speak. Kirishima opened his arms and Katsuki let himself rest against the others shoulders. He held his shirt weakly, cheek squished against his shoulder, gaze locked onto a nearby bush. 

“Lets go, yeah?” Kiri whispered after a few moments and Katsuki could only nod.

The rest of it felt like a bad dream in all reality. 

The two got home, Katsuki sat at the table as food was placed in front of him. Kiri had confiscated Katsukis phone, opting to turn it off and set it in the corner of the counter. Too many Midoriya calls. 

And Kasuki cried. He put his head in his hands and he cried as his best friend watched from the otherside of the table. 

He cried over the fact that he wasn’t good enough. He cried over Midoriya knowing that. He cried because he let Midoriya in. He cried because after putting faith and trust into the person he loved, he was ripped apart just like he’d done to the other in the past. 

He deserved it, he told Kiri. He knew he did. After everything he's done to Midoryia this was only fair. He had no right to be upset. Not really. 

Kirishima was quick to dismiss those, however, lifting his friend's face and looking him in the eye, telling him just how wrong he was to think that. 

When Katsuki woke up the next morning, he felt no better. His head pounded and he was reminded of what had transpired the previous night. He’d stayed off his phone that day, opting to use Kiris phone to call his mother and tell her what happened. 

He played it off that he was fine, but she knew better of course. She knew her son better than anyone. He was hurt. 

“You know,” Kiri started, looking up at Katsuki from his plate. “You’re welcome to move in. We had talked about it before. We split rent and utilities. Sero usually pays for the groceries.” 

“Where is he, anyway,” He mumbled. 

“Visiting his mother. He’ll be gone for another week.”

“I don’t want to get in your way. It’s enough that I stayed here last night.” Katsuki took another bite. 

Though it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to moving in. He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to look at the walls or the bed he shared with Deku. He didn’t want to see the counter they’d kissed on, or the table he’d bent Deku over on. 

The couch they’d crash on when they got too drunk to make it to bed. The couch he was cheated on. 

When he turned his phone on the next day, it froze from all the texts that came through. The missed calls and voicemails that littered. 

He sent Deku one text. 

‘I’ll be over to get my stuff today at 4. Make sure you’re gone.’ 

He set his phone down and sighed. 

He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t fucking good enough. All that work, all that management and flowers- all the time made, the fucking ring- none of it mattered because he’d never be good enough. 

He’d always be the second choice, the inferior one, the loud mouth with anger issues and Deku made sure Katsuki knew that. 

From Deku: “Please Kacchan, just hear me out. Don’t leave.” 

Read 10:01 am

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (9)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 29.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The sleep Phil has is restless and patchy. He wakes up so many times, spikes of panic cutting through the calm as he tries to remember where he is and who's breathing next to him. Dan is either a very heavy sleeper or very good at pretending to sleep, because Phil jerking awake never makes them stir.

It's a comfort, to look at Dan and see their blurry face slack with a peacefulness that wasn't there all night, but Phil doesn't do it for too long. Watching someone sleep is the pinnacle of creepiness. He just looks for a couple of seconds until his heart rate slows back down and he can roll onto his side. He faces away from Dan so he isn't tempted to keep looking at them, staring at the boring wall instead and waiting for sleep to momentarily take him again.

He's still tired when he wakes up properly to Dan tossing and turning, but he decides that's his cue to be awake.

"Hey," he murmurs, reaching for Dan's hand. He squints, but he can't tell if Dan is having a nightmare or if they're awake without getting even closer to their face. "It's okay. You're okay."

Dan takes a deep, shuddering sort of breath and cradles Phil's hand in both of their own. It's like they're afraid he's going to let go. "Sorry, fuck."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," says Phil. His stomach is doing a weird twisty thing at the sound of Dan's voice all husky with sleep. As long as he acts normal, it's fine, right? It's hard to convince himself of that when Dan's hands are pressed to his own and making him feel impossibly small. "How did you sleep?"

"I mostly slept fine," Dan says, and Phil nods like he didn't already know that.

"Good. You needed it."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Then, they shuffle onto their side so they can properly face Phil, who has to fight the urge to hide away from their gaze. It's a good thing that he can't see the depth and warmth and sparkle of Dan's eyes without his glasses on.

"You didn't sleep very well," they say like it's a fact. Phil doesn't bother trying to deny it, he just shrugs. "You could have woken me up."

"Why would I do that?" Phil asks, puzzled by the offer.

Dan smiles, and Phil reaches for his glasses. He feels so vulnerable without them, and the sensation of not being able to see the way Dan is smiling while Dan can probably read every tiny emotion on his face is anxiety-inducing.

He leaves his other hand in Dan's. Maybe it would be easier if he just let go, but he finds that he doesn't want to.

The world comes into focus, and Phil blinks over at Dan like it's his first time seeing them. They look so different with their lashes clumped together and lines creased into their soft cheeks by the pillow. Curls are in complete disarray, and Phil presses his fingers into his palm so he doesn't try to brush the frizzy, unruly mess off Dan's forehead. Their smile doesn't fade when Phil just kind of stares - if anything, it gets even wider.

"You stayed with me all night," says Dan. Their tone is dry, but Phil imagines there's not a small amount of sincerity behind it. "You didn't have to, like, be alone."

Alone isn't something Phil had felt at all. Dan's steady breathing and the warmth of them emanating from their core even when they weren't touching were the only things keeping Phil grounded every time he woke with a start. He doesn't know how to say that to this person he barely knows, though, wouldn't know how to say something so open to most of the people in his life, so he just chuckles.

"No use in neither of us getting any sleep," he points out.

Dan is very warm, and Phil can feel his palm starting to get sweaty where it's trapped between both of theirs. He makes an apologetic face and pulls his hand back, patting it on his flannel pyjamas. Dan doesn't seem bothered by the lack of contact, but they also don't seem relieved - Phil can't tell what they're thinking at all, if he's honest.

"So," says Dan. "Where do we go from here?"

Before Phil can even think about it, he echoes the question in falsetto. It's louder and more obnoxious than he intends it to be. He swings his legs out of bed and reaches for his phone on the nightstand to try and hide a blush. "Uh, we go eat breakfast. Lunch, I guess."

"You lied," Dan says to his back. "You are always thinking about Buffy."

"Not always," Phil says weakly.

"Often enough."

"Once More With Feeling bypasses my brain entirely. It's just a primal call and response to anyone as obsessed with the show as teenage me was."

"I've never seen the show the whole way through," says Dan. "But Buffy is a style icon of mine."

Phil's tired brain offers him a half dozen mental images of Dan in various Buffy outfits before he shakes his head to try and clear it. He's never been particularly interested in boys wearing girls' clothes, but the concepts of gender identity and presentation are so blurry when it comes to Dan that he's going to have to rethink that position. They're not 'girls' clothes' on Dan. Maybe there's no such thing as 'girls' clothes' at all.

It's too early in the day for a deep dive on his own perceptions of gender, though. He thinks that sort of existentialism can wait until after his second or third coffee.

--

Phil's parents eat lunch with them and do their best to make small talk, but only Chris is On enough to properly converse with them. At Phil's umpteenth 'huh' of the early afternoon, they give up entirely and migrate to the lounge to watch tv.

For a long few seconds, the kitchen table is quiet. Then, Dan stands and starts to clear everyone's plates.

"You don't have to do that," Phil says, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I need to do something with my hands or I'll lose the plot," says Dan. They dump the dishes carefully in the sink and start running water. Having their back to the group seems to give them the courage to add, "I don't have all my meds with me. I didn't exactly expect to be out all night."

"What d'you take?" Chris asks.

"Little fucking nosy of you," says PJ.

"Well, one of us might have what he needs, love. I'm not just asking for the hell of it."

Phil feels a bit like his mum has possessed him when he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't share medication," he says when Chris gives him a look.

It makes Dan laugh, anyway, so Phil feels like he's done something right. They still don't turn around, just washing everybody's dishes and looking so weirdly at home in Phil's clothes, Phil's old kitchen. Phil doesn't realise he's staring at their back until someone kicks him under the table.

"Earth to Phil," Chris murmurs. He's resting his chin on a hand and smirking, but his eyes are too sharp for how little sleep he must have gotten. Phil feels heat rise to his cheeks and pulls his coffee closer to use the steam as an excuse.

"I don't need anything, really," Dan hums. "Thanks for asking. My brain just struggles a bit."

"A big mood, as the kids say," Chris says sagely.

Dan laughs again. It isn't as loud as Phil knows it can get, but it still fills the room and makes everything seem a bit brighter. "Do the kids say that?" they ask. "Is that what they say?"

"I believe it is," says Chris.

There is another stretch of silence. Phil watches his friends' faces as the elephant in the room weighs on them all. He's making a bet in his own mind about who will be the first to break when Dan turns around and bluntly says, "I still don't think that was a ghost, but I really fucking hated it."

"Sorry," says PJ, "but what else could it have possibly been?"

"I dunno," says Dan. They cross their arms over their waist, holding onto their own elbows. Phil is beginning to recognise the position as a protective one for them. "But I'm sure there's an explanation. Sleep paralysis is normal."

"The way it happened was not normal."

"What do you think it was, Dan?" Sophie asks. Her tone is much kinder than PJ's, but she seems just as skeptical.

Dan's dimple is pulling downwards in unhappiness or discomfort, so Phil waves a hand to get everyone's attention on himself instead.

"Why don't you guys tell us what exactly happened to you," he suggests, meeting Dan's eyes almost apologetically. He knows that none of them want to relive it, but it's easier if they're all on the same page here. "And we can toss around theories later."

--

PJ says, "It was a demon. I could see it. It was tall and humanoid-ish and had a Cheshire Cat smile and it kept going closer to Chris and Soph just to watch me panic. Then it would laugh and sharpen its claws on the wall. It felt like hatred and fear in a physical being. I really don't think our protection sigils did fuck all, but it didn't actually touch any of us, so maybe they helped a bit?"

Dan says, "It was nothing of the sort. I saw the same shit you did, Peej, but that doesn't mean anything. Haven't you ever heard of mass hysteria? Folie à deux - not the album - isn't unheard of. Maybe there's a high level of carbon monoxide. Maybe the asbestos got to us. I don't fucking know, but there's a hundred explanations before you hit demon. But, yeah. It looked like what PJ says. It felt like I was frozen for a fucking week, not just a few hours, it was awful. Zero out of ten, would not do again."

Sophie says, "It smiled at me and I felt cold."

--

They pile into the basement to recuperate so they aren't bothering Phil's parents. Or, more accurately, so Phil's parents aren't bothering them. Most of the games are packed up, but Phil finds the Wii and its small collection of disks in a box under the stairs. He sets it up, hands his friends the controllers, and sits back to zone out while they tear each other apart at Mario Kart.

Phil doesn't consider himself a skeptic. He knows that his threshold of belief is a lot lower than he makes it appear to be in his videos, but he'd never call himself a Scully. He always thinks about the supernatural aspects of any case he's looking into, even if he doesn't commit a hundred percent to the mentality that it must be something weird. He usually just prefers the weird option to the more common and boring reality of things.

So this thing with the Wilkins place is downright terrifying. Not only is it in Phil's proverbial backyard, too close for comfort in a lot of ways, but he hasn't had an experience quite so chilling since he was sixteen and dipping his toe into this hobby at Martyn's side.

He and Martyn still aren't sure what exactly left those finger-shaped bruises on Phil's ankles, but it's become a funny story in the years since.

Maybe this will be something to laugh at in a few years, too. Phil hopes so.

"You sure you don't want to play?" Dan asks, breaking into Phil's reverie. They're in first place and not even looking at the screen, their concerned brown eyes focused on Phil. Phil gives them a small smile and shakes his head.

"No, I'm alright."

"Phil, please take the controller from him," says Chris. He seems annoyed, but Phil can never tell how much of that is a show. It's possible that Chris isn't actually competitive at all and just likes to work Phil and PJ up by acting like he, too, would rather eat a whole head of lettuce than lose. It's also possible that Chris genuinely feels that way. "He's not even fucking trying and he's kicking our asses."

"Maybe you deserve to have your ass kicked a bit," Phil says, watching the screen to see how easily Dan ducks around various obstacles.

It still jolts a bit, hearing the people around him make an assumption - however logical it is - about how Dan wants to be addressed. Phil knows it isn't his place to correct them, especially since it seems like they're not using any less correct terms than he is, but it still rankles a bit.

"Fuck's sake!" PJ exclaims, looking like he's a hair away from throwing the Wiimote at something. He's never actually hit that level of gamer rage, but getting lapped by someone who keeps checking their phone during a race seems to be getting on his nerves. Phil reaches out and pats at PJ's mess of curls.

"You'll be okay," he says, dry. "They're just better than you, you'll live."

Maybe the pronoun use is a little more pointed than it needs to be, but Dan gives him such an exasperatedly fond grin that Phil can't bring himself to regret it. There is a brief beat of quiet, and then PJ groans again.

"It's not fair," says PJ, gesturing dramatically with the Wiimote. Sophie leans out of the line of fire. "This is unacceptable. We have to play a game they're bad at, now."

"I don't care what you call me," says Dan. They sound more amused than anything else. "As long as you know I'm winning anything we play."

"That's why they call him Winnie," Chris says in that very mild voice he uses for absolute nonsense. He puts his own controller aside and flops onto his back on the basement floor, stretching. "I can't do it, I can't play another round of this farce. I'm going upstairs to let my future mum-in-law dote on me."

Phil sighs. He can feel Dan's eyes on him again, and he shrugs helplessly in their general direction. He does not control the Chris. "Please stop saying things like that. Dan is going to think I'm mixed up in… this."

He gestures vaguely at the three of them, and Chris' eyes sharpen like he's spotted prey.

"Oh, so you want Dan to know you're horrendously single, then?" Chris gives Dan a wide, conspiratorial sort of grin. "He's useless at this, you know."

"Me rejecting you doesn't make me useless," Phil huffs. He can feel a flush creeping up his neck, because Chris is more right than he wants to admit, and Dan is smiling back at Chris like they're in on the joke.

"I think it demonstrates a lack of taste," Chris sniffs.

"You know what I think?" Sophie asks, stretching her arms above her head. "I think I need a shower."

"Me too," Dan says with an unnecessary little sigh. Phil pinches his own thigh to circumvent the mental images before they start. It's annoying to have such a good imagination, sometimes. "And I need to take my meds. Is there a bus that runs around here or something?"

"Don't worry about taking the bus," says PJ. "I'll drive you."

"I don't mind," says Dan.

"I mind," says PJ, more firmly. He stands like he's planning on dragging Dan to the car himself if Dan tries to say no again.

Dan's shoulders relax forward. Phil knows the anxiety of riding unfamiliar public transit all too well, and he definitely wouldn't make Dan do something so harrowing after they got roped into ghosthunting. He's glad that PJ is on the same page again, keeping Dan in that sense of protection that being a team gives them.

It's only been a weekend, but Phil is already reluctant to let Dan go home and leave the team bubble. He wants to insist on coming along, but he knows PJ probably wants solitude on the drive back.

Still. Phil chews his lip and looks down at his phone so he doesn't have to see the looks on his friends' faces when he says, "You can keep the pyjamas. If you want them."

"Okay," Dan says softly. "I will, thanks."

He knows that he should look up, should smile at Dan or stand and hug them before they leave his life, but that all feels so big at this moment. Phil's anxiety lets him wave and murmur a goodbye before he's left alone in the basement. At least, he thinks he's alone, until he sighs heavily and Chris responds from the floor. "Oh, you're fucking mooning over him, aren't you? This is awful. I preferred the ghost."

--

Phil takes a shower after his friends have, to be polite, and it feels incredible to wash off the dirt and dust from the attic. It feels less incredible when the door opens.

He hadn't bothered locking it, because his parents' shower is loud and it should be obvious that he's in there. At least the curtain isn't see-through. He takes a moment to just stand under the spray, bewildered, before it occurs to him that he can ask what's going on. It probably isn't a serial killer. "Er, hello?"

"Hi," Chris' voice comes, tense. "We've got a problem."

"I'm a little busy," Phil says pointedly.

"Well, get your hand off your knob and get out here," says Chris. "We need to figure this out before Peej gets back."

Phil rolls his eyes, but doesn't bother arguing about why exactly he's busy. He rinses the last of his mum's conditioner out of his hair and squints at the unfocused, opaque shower curtain like he'll be able to see Chris if he just tries hard enough. "Figure what out, mate?"

"All of the footage is fucked," Chris says, blunt. "It's corrupted to high hell. Every single second. There's no evidence we were even there at all."

[worddevdealswithml]

No Ring, No Problem

Chapter 9

Summary: Adrien Agreste's greatest secret is that he's the alter-ego of one of Paris' heroes, Chat Noir. His second biggest secret is that he doesn't actually have a miraculous. Not that that's going to stop him from fighting alongside Ladybug.  After all, Paris needs all the heroes it can get.

--

“Oh really,” said Lady Wifi, giving him a few more to dodge, “and how exactly are you going to do that?”

He slipped to the side, “Oh I couldn’t tell you.  You’d be better off asking Ladybug.”

“Is that so,” she said, and seemed to suddenly notice, “and speaking of which, where is she?”

He shrugged, feeling a breeze as a lock went over his shoulder. “Exactly where you least expect her.”

“So what you mean to say is, you have no idea.”

“Haven’t the foggiest idea.” He dove to the side, managing to roll to his feet, dodging four consecutive icons, “but, the upside is,” another dodge, “I’m definitely going to start a personal highlight reel of myself after this.”

“There won’t be an after this,” she cut back, and he had to dive behind a table in response to a flurry of icons.

“Agree to disagree?” he said, as a record got an angle on him.

“No,” she said from the other side of the table.

He tried to dodge as she flipped the table, but he took a knock from one of the legs, and felt the telltale sensation of his leg being locked down.

He was on his stomach now, and he thought he might have managed to pull a foot away from one more lock before she managed to pin it down.

His hands were next, locked in place.

“Now,” she said, “time to get that mask…” she paused.  “What happened to your suit?”

Ah, yes, the troubles of stealing a suit tailored for someone smaller than him.  “It’s a rental,” he said, trying to hit the genuine tone while still sounding like he was joking, “I wanted to try out the crop top look; I hear it’ll be all the rage next summer.”

She looked down, “and the bare feet?”

“It’sss… The hippy look,” he said, not wanting to say that he didn’t have time to put on shoes. “trust me, it’ll be back in fashion by spring.”

She stared at him, and then shook her head.  “Well, I’m sure you’ll have time to explain once we get that mask off.”

“What, you’re really going to reveal my identity at this angle?” he said, his cheek pressed into the ground.

“If I trusted you to not try something if I turned you over, maybe not,” she said, “but I don’t.”

He felt more than heard the shadow cross her face, a thrum of something malicious.

He saw her grin out of his peripheral vision.

“I just heard the most remarkable thing,” she said.  “Apparently, if I pull off your ring,” she said, a finger just brushing his wrist as she reached over, “you’ll be powerless, and better yet, your mask will vanish.  Does that sound about right?”

He was panicking now. Ladybug had been right; she was after a ring.  Because she thought it was a Miraculous.  No, wait, wait, (he could feel her reaching out to unlock his hand) he knew what he had to do.  Ladybug had mentioned it back when the Bubbler had attacked, something like-

“Catastrophe!” he shouted, and felt her freeze.

“What?” she said.

“Oh,” he said, channeling every ounce of smirking confidence he could, “that’s just the ability I get from my Miraculous.  You won’t want to touch my hand for the next… Call it five minutes.”

“And if I do?”

Destruction, she’d said.  “There won’t be much of you left.”

He felt the sensation from before, Hawkmoth conversing with her again, more time for Ladybug to do… Whatever she was going to do.

Lady Wifi stood up, and began walking around him as he struggled vainly against the locks.  “Not very flashy, is it,” she said, “usually you can see these abilities.”

He looked up at her. “It doesn’t need to be flashy.  Trust me, I don’t want you disintegrated any more than you do.”

“Well,” she said, “then I suppose, we’re back to our first plan.  Tell me, Chat Noir,” she said, reaching down for his mask, “which side is your good one?”

There was a crackle, and he felt his hands slide along the floor.

He chuckled, unable to help himself.  “It’s not my good side you have to worry about,” he said, as she recoiled, surprised by her vanished restraints, “it’s my dark side,” and he lunged at her.

He was entirely outclassed, and he knew it.  Sure, she recoiled from his ring-hand, but as soon as she caught his wrist, he couldn’t even scare her.

But wow, what a line.

“You see,” he said, trying to knee her unsuccessfully, “villain fighting is a two-person job.  I knew from the start that I couldn’t take you on alone.  Hawkmoth, whatever else I’ll say about him, is pretty good at making strong minions.” She had both of his wrists, now, one hand around both the phone and his wrist.

“So I can’t fight you alone,” he said, and grinned, “but me and Ladybug?”  As if on cue, the yo-yo slammed into the back of her head, and she lost her grip enough to get a foot to her guts.

“We could take on the world.”  He tried to resist the urge to punch the air.  After all, however good the line was, they still hadn’t won yet.

But really, what could she do?  She was surrounded, and the instant she turned to look at Ladybug, he had an arm around her neck, and while she was ripping him off, Ladybug was closing the gap, and Lady Wifi’s legs were out from under her as a toolbox slid straight into her ankles at a breakneck pace.

As she went down, the phone flew out of her hands, and even as she crawled forward, she staggered under Chat Noir’s influence, and- crack. The butterfly fluttered out, and almost immediately, Ladybug was winding up to purify it.

Chat Noir hit the ground as Alya collapsed under his weight, and he rolled away.

He came up to his feet.

“I don’t know what you did, but I’ve got to say, I’m impressed,” he said.

She shrugged.  “Just had to break the cell tower on the roof. Speaking of which, and she threw the toolbox skyward, “Miraculous Ladybug!”

And then, things were back. Everything but him.

“Denial of service, huh,” he said, smiling at her.  This was his partner.  Lucky.  “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She rolled her eyes, “just did what I had to do.”

“Hey,” he said, “I don’t suppose… It might be nice to get to know each other outside of hero work?”

She sighed, smiling sadly, “I guess you didn’t have a kwami to tell you.  I can’t share my identity.  It’s too dangerous.  And… I shouldn’t know yours either.”

“Well,” he said, “I’ll be keeping an eye out for you, yeah?”

“Sure,” she said, “but I’m pretty different, usually.  You’ve probably… Well,” she said, laughing, “I guess you don’t have a Miraculous, so you’d still be…” her expression froze, and died on her face.  She seemed… not quite mortified, more like terrified.

She sucked in a breath.

“What?” he said, and then she dismissed him, and he was suddenly… Back in Chloe’s bedroom.

He looked down, and made a tiny noise of terror.

“Adrien,” called Chloe from the other room, and he could tell by the sound that it wasn’t the first time she’d called his name.

He poked his head around the edge of the doorframe.

“Yes,” he said.

“Adrien!” she said, turning to face him.  She looked at his upper body, visible around the edge of the door, then at his pants and shoes, still sitting in the middle of the room.  His backpack, he noted, was sitting next to them.

“Oh thank goodness you’re okay,” she said, “I would never have gotten over it is you had died.” She gasped, “I could never have lived in this room again!”

“Sorry to scare you,” he said, “now, if you could slide me my pants?”

She looked down, and with an expression of nervous distaste, picked them up between two fingers.

He laughed.  “They’re not a biohazard, Chloe.”

“They’re so tacky, though,” she said.

He shook his head, smiling, “They’re jeans, Chloe, if you think they’re bad you should see the superhero boxers.”

She couldn’t seem to decide whether he was joking or not.  She handed them over.

“Speaking of which,” he said, “I should probably see if anybody’s making them with Ladybug patterns, yet.  I’ve got a real superhero to support, and I haven’t taken the chance.”

“Please,” said Chloe. “I get loving Ladybug, but that would be completely gauche, and it’s not like she’s ever even going to see them.”

Adrien was glad that he was pulling on his pants behind the shelter of the doorway, because his head had just tossed up a few situations that could lead to Ladybug seeing said hypothetical undergarments, and his face was… Well, suffice to say, he was glad Hawkmoth probably didn’t have plans to send a bull themed villain at the moment.

--

Marinette had gone catatonic on her bed.  ‘you’re still…’ still what?  Blonde? Strong?  Athletic?  A kid with a taste for bad jokes?  A penchant for helping people out?  One who was on the scene a bit too quick, considering how many floors he should have had to climb?  Had a restrictive home life, but a bit of financial leeway?

He hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself when he’d come by to get his measurements taken.  Of course he hadn’t; he already knew her.  

Of course, it wasn’t like he was identical.  Chat Noir… Chat Noir smirked, where Adrien smiled. Adrien would say something kind and earnest if he caught you when you were falling, while Chat Noir would probably make a cheesy pun about how you were falling for him.  And yet… She knew what Adrien had been reminding her of.

She stared at the ceiling. She’d… Fallen in love with Chat Noir? And, Adrien had fallen in love with… Her.  Except, not her.  Not confident, not-

There was a knock at the roof.

Well.  Five guesses who that was, and the first five didn’t count.

This was… This was good, she decided.  She’d wanted to see a bit more of him, if only to figure out what to do about the whole… Everything.

She reached up, and, hesitated, before sitting up (it would seem odd to answer while on her back).

“Hello,” he said, and looked around, “I… I suppose I was assuming that this would be when you were working on the suit.  You said,” he paused, “that it might nice if I could come by and talk about refining the design, but, I never really did, so I figured… Better late than never.”

She managed to muster up a genuine smile.  “Come on in.”

She slipped off of the bed, and pulled out a notebook.

…

It took only a few minutes before she realized that his heart wasn’t in it.

She sighed, and quietly closed the notebook.  “C’mon, Chat, why are you really here?”

He looked up as if to protest, and then gave up.

He shook his head.  “I don’t know,” he said, “I’m just, kind of confused, I guess, and I thought if anyone could help me, it would be you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think,” he said, carefully placing the words, “that Ladybug might know who I am.”

She pursed her lips. She hadn’t exactly been subtle. “Alright.”

“And,” he said, “I figured… She knows you, right?  She sent me here, so she must.  But… She’d only been a hero for a week or two at that point, so I didn’t think it would make sense for her to have met you… As Ladybug.”

“Hm.”

“So, I guess, I was wondering.  You know who she is, don’t you?”

“Chat.  You know I can’t tell you.”

“I know,” he said, quickly, “I’m not asking for the answer, but… You know her, as… whoever she is, under the mask, right?”

How was she supposed to deny it?  She nodded.

“So, you, probably, knew her from before?  Probably for a while, right?”

She nodded again.

“So… I guess, I was wondering, if you knew…” he shook his head, “how do I put this… If you knew why she reacted like that.  She seemed, bothered by who I was.”

Did Marinette know who Chat Noir was?  Would Ladybug have told her?  Did Marinette know how Ladybug felt about it?  Did Ladybug even know?

“I…” she hesitated. “I don’t think I could tell you.”

He took a deep breath, and nodded.  “Okay. Okay!  That’s… That’s fair.”

For a second, they both sat there.

“So, said Chat Noir, “you still had some more designs, right?”

She smiled.  “Yeah.”