#my eye is genuinely twitching i hate group projects

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

i understand why group projects exist but why does it feel more like a an extra big solo project. honestly im not against doing this on my own but that's not allowed so instead im doing it mostly on my own and the other person gets credit too im going crazy

[katsukistofu]

it took me by soap-rise

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 4k words — fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ of course your public nuisance no. 1 has to hog your favorite shower stall the day you forget your body wash in it.

Katsuki was honestly starting to suspect he wasn’t your type. 

Which one, was something he’d never even bother to consider. He’s ripped up more confession letters than he can count after three years. Graduation was just around the corner and he still hates social media, but even he knows how popular he is on it because of his classmates whining about it all the damn time. He knows he’s well-liked, and it’s not just his ego talking.

Genuinely it's a thought that would never occur to him, if only Eyebags wasn’t lounging around you all the time, casting annoyingly cocky glances at him as he taps your shoulder and leans in to whisper whatever the fuck it is in your ear whenever he passes by the two of you.

Not that he cared. 

Two, when Dunce Face dared you to say who you thought was the most attractive guy during a game of truth or dare in the common room last year, while he pretended to be disinterested when he very much in fact was not, you had offhandedly answered with that half-n’-half bastard’s name, who could not be more polar opposite to him.

Again, he really couldn’t give less of a fuck. 

Not like he’s been thinking about it since then. Totally. Not.

Katsuki also hasn’t been thinking about how it should be him whispering in your ear instead of that purple haired extra, the endless list of things he could say to make you squirm and blush in your seat. 

Of course, that doesn’t happen because you’re too busy arguing with him, like usual, about the new group project Aizawa just assigned. Something about reconnecting with their roots before graduating. With you two as partners, much to the amusement of your classmates.

“We should work on the script first!” You insist while he leans back in his chair, observing you get more and more worked up.

It should be irritating as hell, your hand gestures, your matter of fact tone, but what’s really bothering him is that it’s not. He’s not sure when that started happening.

“It’s better to prepare the interview questions we’re going to ask our parents when we visit each other's homes.”

He snorts. “What are we, some ditzy news report crew? We’re not gonna waste time doing that, we should just visit your place first, then mine and get it over with.”

You spin away from him before he can open his mouth again, and raise your hand. 

Aizawa slowly turns to you with a sigh, already knowing what you’re about to ask.

“No.”

“But Mr. Aizawa!” 

Eyebags casts an amused glance in both of your directions, and Katsuki scoffs. 

No way in hell was he letting you switch and downgrade to an extra like him. 

“What, you’re chickening out?”

You ignore him. “Can I please switch partners?”

“No,” Aizawa deadpans.

“But—“

“No. One more word from either of you and you’re getting zeroes.”

The both of your mouths snap shut, and you glare at each other.

“When you’re a pro, you don’t always get to choose who you team up with.” 

Aizawa rubs his temples. 

“And you’re supposed to be my top ranking students. You’re not first years anymore, so act like it.”

You hang your head. Like a scolded puppy, Katsuki notes. 

“Yes Mr. Aizawa.”

From the corner of his eye, you flip him off under your desk and his lips can’t help but twitch. Does he really still piss you off that much after all this time? 

Without hesitation, Katsuki flips you off back.

‘Fucking teacher’s pet.’ He mouths with a smirk.

‘Asshole.’ You mouth back.

Aizawa sighs again, throwing a pointed look at Sero and Denki who are struggling, and failing, to hold back their giggles behind you. 

This was going to be a long week.

It’s the day after the group project was assigned, and you’re still reeling from the fact that out of everybody you had to get paired up with, of course it had to be your crush. 

Hey Siri, does it make you a masochist if for the past three years you've been in love with a guy that’s laser-focused on his personal development and has zero interest in dating anyone other than his career, ever? 

Are you a masochist if you kind of find that kind of hot?

Just when you were starting to make a pros and cons list with Mina the night before to try and ick yourself out, too. But even that was getting increasingly hard to do.

His growth was undeniable, and you curse at him for being almost as mature as he was attractive now.  

Well, towards everybody except you. 

Three steps away from the door to your room, you freeze in place as your brain stops your usual ramblings of the blond boy to register two alarming facts.

One, the bottle of body wash you usually use was not in your hand like you thought it was.

Two, it was in fact, still in the shower stall you left it in.

Pink house slippers slap against the floor’s carpeting as you race back to the showers with a death-like grip on your towel.

You’re slightly out of breath as you clutch the doorway of the showers, and just as quickly as you enter you find yourself exiting lightning fast at double the speed, nearly launching yourself against the wall of the hall outside. 

With your heart racing uncontrollably, tips of too familiar blond hair disappear into the stall you were in moments ago.

Too familiar, for your liking. 

But that strong jawline you caught a glimpse of was unmistakable.

Your irritating classmate slash crush you were trying to get rid of was taking up your shower stall.

Okay technically it wasn’t yours but it was the one you used everyday, each morning and night. You’d claimed it when you first stepped foot in it at the beginning of your first year. 

So basically, it was yours. 

And you definitely don’t remember that bastard ever using it until today.

A screech jolts you from your thoughts. He must have turned the water on, which you can hear, but strangely there was no steam wafting out at all. 

The realization creeps up on you like the sound of running water that trickles down and echoes throughout the room.

Hold on.

What was this idiot doing taking a cold shower at four in the morning?

The all too familiar soothing scent of cherry blossom fills the chilly air, and your eyebrows furrow even more in confusion. 

And was that your fucking body wash he’s using?

You take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. He’s bigger than you, probably stronger too, that stupid gym freak, not to mention taller than you. 

But your fingers were still itching to whip out your quirk and shoot a moonbeam at his crotch.

Because why the fuck was he using your L’Occitane Cherry Blossom Bath and Shower Gel?

Trying to sneak a glance to confirm your suspicions, the obvious shadow of Bakugo is visible through the glass, and you duck back into the hallway. 

Oh my god, it is him. 

Taking a cold shower in the morning like a crazy person. Although you hate to admit it, that would explain his perfect skin. Everyday you wake up and see his flawless face, you go to bed praying that he gets a blemish.

The shower turns off, and you let out the breath you were holding. Confrontation wasn’t your strong suit, but when it came to your possessions, you weren’t about to be a doormat. 

You cross your fingers and pray that he’s wearing clothes.

“Bakugo! Come out here, we need to talk.”

He snorts, already recognizing the chiding voice about to round the corner, and turns. “Picking a fight with me outside of class? Thought you had more self-respect than tha–”

Bakugo is then sharply cut off.

By you hurling into his very naked, very bare chest.

He forces his eyes to not linger on the dip of your collarbone, and as he looks down on you he sees you struggling to do the same in his direction.

You accidentally make contact with his eyes.

The rare, amused look on his face sends something strange and hot down your spine, and you force yourself to turn away so sharply you think you dislocated your neck.

Bakugo smirks. “Wasn’t nearly this focused when we were working on our project.” 

An embarrassing noise escapes from your mouth, and his lips curve ever so slightly on his handsome face at the sound. 

He’s never seen you this flustered before.

It’s kind of cute, he admits this time.

Despite your clearly humiliated state, you point an impressively steady finger at the object in his hands. 

“That’s um, that’s mine.” You awkwardly clutch your towel tighter, suddenly feeling very naked in his presence. Seriously, why didn’t you put a shirt on before coming back?

His eyebrow raises and he lifts the bottle slightly. “This?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he says disbelievingly. “Don’t see your name on it.”

You sigh in exasperation, did he always have to be so uncooperative with you? “It’s mine, okay? Just give it back.”

Bakugo's eyes narrow as he studies you. Like you’re a puzzle piece he’s trying to make sense of.

And as much as you hate to admit it, the focused look on his face was annoyingly attractive. 

“That’s funny.” 

You open your mouth, your patience is on the last straw and you’re about to yell back ‘what is?’ and snatch the bottle out of his hands when he smirks, holding it high out of your reach above his head with his bicep, still gleaming with water from his shower. 

“Because this is mine.”

You blink at the water falls from his raised arm onto your nose, not registering what you’re hearing. Looking away from the pink translucent bottle above your head, your eyes meet his again.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.”

You can’t help but stare at him incredulously.

“I don’t think I did.” Confusion could not be clearer than glass in your voice. 

“You—You use L’Occitane?”

He averts his eyes from the droplet that falls from your still wet hair and rolls down what skin you have exposed, disappearing into your thankfully tightly wrapped towel.

“Dude. You are so not cherry blossom bath and shower gel material.”

He snorts. “Fuck is that supposed to mean.”

“I don’t know! I thought you’d use like, Dove MenCare or five in one.”

“Five in one? Are you stupid?”

“Apparently! But—Oh my god can you stop flexing your biceps for one fucking second.” You groan. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“Why were you looking?” 

“I can’t help it! They’re distracting me and—“ You clap your hands over your mouth, glancing at his slightly amused expression with horrified eyes.

“Distracting you?” His voice is low, and you curse at the way your stomach flip-flops. 

“Um.” Fuck. Where did that even come from? “I meant, uh.”

“Trying to take it back now?” He smirks. “Coward.”

“I am not a coward!” You glare at him. “And I’m not feeding into your ego.”

“You just admitted you were staring at my biceps and thinking about what body wash I would use.”

Okay, so you’re just digging yourself a deeper grave. Your cheeks are warmer than the shower you took earlier, and you can’t even deny it.

“Creep.”

You huff. “Okay fine, I’m a creep. Just give me my body wash back.”

“Told you,” he starts walking away, towel still wrapped around his waist. You pointedly look away towards the wall. “It’s mine, dipshit.”

“Wha–” You whip your head around just as he disappears behind the corner, too tired and irritated to even chase after him, and with a sigh you walk into the shower room, heading for the stall you used earlier. 

Your eyes widen as you stare at it in embarrassment. 

There your bottle of cherry blossom body wash sits, untouched in the shower caddy. 

As you head back to your dorm room, the body wash safely clutched in your hand, you wonder.

Was it too late to call in sick for today?

Aizawa did not in fact let you call in sick, and you're painfully reminded of everything that happened in the morning as you complain to Hitoshi about it. Your best friend snickers as students file into the cafeteria behind his seat.  

“You’re so stupid.”

You take the opportunity to shove a sweet roll into his open mouth. “Shut up! I’m going to pretend like it never happened.”

Hitoshi snorts, taking the bread out of his mouth. “Good luck with that. But hey,” He leans in with a mischievous grin, and you glare daggers at him. “Isn’t this the most progress you’ve made since you started liking him since, what, first year entrance exams?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He takes his sweet time eating the roll in his hand instead of elaborating, like the petty asshole he's always been. Your fingers tap impatiently on the table of the cafeteria as you wait while he chews.

After what seems like an eternity, Hitoshi finally swallows. 

“I mean, you’ve never really made a move on him this whole time. Kind of just been a spectator, like a creep.”

Warmth rushes up your neck as you’re reminded of what Bakugo called you yesterday. Creep.

“I can’t help it! The only time we ever speak is during class projects, and even then we’re always arguing. I just don’t know what to say to him.”

“I know.” Hitoshi raises an eyebrow. “Woop woop. 3A’s own live little romcom.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Okay, but after I finish this soup.” He blows on his steaming spoon, and pauses as a thought occurs to him. 

”If he didn’t like it though, he would’ve told you by now.” 

You can’t help but perk up at that. “You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He spoons the soup into his mouth. “Oh. This is good, why didn’t you get any when we were in line?”

“...The red color reminded me of his eyes too much.”

Hitoshi sighs. 

“For your birthday, I’m going to admit you to a mental hospital.”

“It’s not that bad!” You insist and he snorts derisively. 

The both of you know you’re lying.

The ride to Katsuki’s house after class is awkwardly silent.

Your folks conveniently went out of town to visit some relatives you’ve never even heard of yesterday, so the both of you were left with no choice but to interview his parents only.

The train is almost full, and every seat in the car is taken except one.

“I’m standing.” 

Katsuki grabs onto the handle above his head, a silent signal for you to take the only seat left and watches with barely concealed amusement in his eyes as you hurry to sit in front of him without a word other than a small ‘thanks.’ So skittish today.

He’s not sure if he likes it though. You being quiet around him. 

You’ve said less than two sentences to him since this morning, and he almost misses your snappy quips.

Almost.

He hides a sly grin. It’s all his fault you’re acting like this, and he's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

You’re putting your earbuds on, and just before you put the left one in, he snatches it out of your hands and puts it in his ear.

Your eyes widen cutely, too stunned to speak.

"Just don't play anything shitty." He turns his attention back to his phone, ignoring all the smoochy faces the group chat's sent him about you as he sends his mom a quick text to tell her you two are on the way.

With a shy nod, which he can't help but note is so unlike you, you scroll down on your own phone and click on a playlist.

Katsuki's eyes widen in surprise not even five seconds in.

The instrumentals, those vocals. He knows this song.

He loves this song.

"You listen to Pierce the Veil?"

You blink up at him. "Yeah. I do."

He can't help it. The edge of his lips twitch as he recalls what you said to him yesterday, and he mimics your exact tone.

"Dude. You are so not post-hardcore alt rock material."

The expression on your face is priceless.

Katsuki never uses his damn phone camera but he almost wants to snap a picture right there and then.

Except of course, you do the unexpected.

You giggle at him.

He can't help but feel a little proud. Take that, stupid fucking Eyebags.

"I guess you're right," you laugh behind your hand. "Jirou recommended me some songs last year and I've been a fan ever since."

"Then what's your favorite lyric by them?"

"Oh my god." The grin on your lips spreads a warm, sweet feeling across his chest, like strawberry jam on hot toast. "You're one of those people that see someone wearing a band shirt and go 'Oh you like them? Name five of their songs.'"

He scoffs. "I do not."

"You totally do."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "You trying to distract me from the fact you're a fake fan?"

You fake a little gasp. "Me? Never." There's a thoughtful hum that comes from your lips, and he observes you as you take a moment to think.

"My favorite lyric has to be 'been counting the stars and scars, how I’m becoming a work of art.'"

The Divine Zero. Fuck, he loved that song too.

"Huh. Guess you know your shit."

You huff proudly, so similar to a dog happily wagging its tail that he resists the urge to pat your head. "Of course! What's your favorite lyric?"

He smirks, staring directly into your eyes.

"I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin till your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention."

Your lips fall into a flustered 'o' shape and you turn away when he finishes, nodding. "That's, uh, that's a good one too."

He bites back a laugh as you hurriedly switch playlists, and a familiar R&B tune starts singing in his ear instead.

Mitsuki’s face greets the two of you as she opens the door.

“Katsuki! You're here early—oh!"

She spots you. 

“You’re one of those cute maid girls from last year’s cultural festival!" 

Your cheeks flush as you remember. That stupid day when Denki’s suggestion finally won the class vote. She was visiting for Bakugo’s role as an oni in the haunted house, and happened to stop by the maid cafe in the class where you and the rest of the girls were working. “Yes ma’am.”

“I didn’t know you were Katsuki’s girlfriend.”

“What?” Your mouth drops. “Oh, I’m not—“

“You brat! You never told me you were going out with a sweet, pretty girl like this.” Mitsuki scolds in her son’s direction. Your cheeks grow warm as your curious eyes can’t resist trailing over to see his reaction.

"She's not my girlfriend, Ma."

Oh my god, was he blushing?

Mitsuki sighs in disappointment. His crimson eyes meet your widened ones for a split second, then he's brushing past the both of you and heading inside the house.

His mother smiles at you apologetically. "Sorry about him, his puberty came late."

You can't help but snort. "It's okay Mrs. Bakugo, I'm used to it."

"I heard that!" A yell comes from down the stairs.

Mitsuki and you share a mischievous glance, and she ushers you inside. You take off your shoes and look around.

So this is where Bakugo grew up.

There's the smell of green tea in the air, and was that a vanilla candle burning somewhere? Framed photos of Bakugo with his parents are on the wall as you walk into the living room, and you can't help but coo at the one where his chubby baby cheeks are smeared in frosting while he blows out a candle shaped like the number three.

The interview flies by in a breeze. You do most of the asking.

Okay, you’re the one asking all of the interview questions. A warm mug of steaming green tea is placed next to you on the coffee table from your cross-legged position on a cushion.

Bakugo sits next to you, unnervingly silent ever since his mom's outburst from before, as he types up his mother’s and occasionally his father’s responses on his laptop.

It’s funny, the way you think he doesn’t notice your shivers.

"Ma." He glances up from the keyboard. "Do you need to turn the AC up so damn high all the time?"

Mitsuki rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her tea. "It's warm in here!"

He sighs, eyes flicking over to you, and starts getting up from his spot on the floor.

You stare at the hand he holds out to you. And with great interest, so do Masaru and Mitsuki, who mutters something to him that you better be her daughter-in-law within the next three years.

"Come on," Bakugo says gruffly, tugging you to stand.

You stumble a bit as you walk through the hallway with him and up the first few stairs. "Where are we going...?"

"My room. To get you a fucking jacket."

“No, I don’t need it—!” You're cut off with a sneeze.

He groans, and shrugs off the black fleece-lined one he's wearing and bringing you into him by tightly wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?” He grumbles. He's so close you can see how unfairly long his lashes are, and you're not sure if it's the sheer nervous adrenaline from him being so near or the scowl in his voice but you giggle, feeling bold.

“It’s sexy to see you prove me wrong.”

His eyes widen, and he quickly recovers.

“You’re so fucking weird.” There’s an unmistakable fondness you catch in his voice as he says that, and you shiver this time for a different reason. 

"Your jacket's too big on me." You flop your newly acquired sweater paws in his face.

“Shut up.” Bakugo snorts as he zips it up for you in one smooth motion. “Fucking baby.” 

“You're the baby!" You retort. "I saw your pictures on the wall."

There's a groan from him. "No you didn’t.”

"What, they're cute! I'm gonna send one to the class group chat."

Bakugo shoots a glare at you, and you teasingly wiggle your phone screen in his face. "Don't you dare."

"Hmm, okay I won't. Only if you do something for me first."

He smirks. "Fine, what do you want?" Bakugo leans closer to you, and your cheeks burn hot. "A kiss?"

You were not expecting that.

The way your eyes linger hopefully on his mouth looks like he's right. "Um."

"Um?" He huffs a laugh with his face hovering in front of yours. Bakugo's hot breath teases your lips, and you can't think.

Fuck it, you don't even care if he's just joking anymore. If this is your only chance, you're going to take it.

"Yes."

Bakugo cocks his head to the side, irritating to the very end even when you're on the brink of giving in. "Yes what?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as you blurt out, and you can almost hear Hitoshi cheering in the distance.

"YesIwantyoutokissme!"

"Fucking finally." Your eyes flutter open at his murmur, what did he mean by that? But you don't get to spend another second thinking about it because suddenly his soft lips are on yours and your heart skips a beat as you realize Bakugo is kissing you.

It's feels almost scarily natural to lean into his touch, like a gravitational pull getting stronger and stronger the longer you're near him, and you wonder why you didn't sooner. You numbly acknowledge the growing sweatiness of your palms as your nose bumps against his gently.

His comforting hands cup the back of your head, tangling his calloused fingers in your hair as he guides your mouth against his. A delicious little sound escapes from you the moment you break away from him and it only makes him want to close the gap between you again with more hunger, and he nips at your bottom lip like a starved man.

"Knew you always liked me, by the way." Bakugo gives you a wolfish grin, as the both of you pull back for air, leaving a trail of saliva still connected to your lips in your wake. He slyly glances at your dazed self sideways, flashing you a rare sight of his canines.

"Was just waiting for you to stop being such a damn pussy about it."

[kaixserzz]

i looked into the mirror today and i was like GODDAMN my eyebags are HORRIBLE holy shit 😭😭made me think about zandik so here :3 kinda sucks but i just needed to prep myself b4 i write smth longer and get through this state of mind 💀💀

dottore drabble x4 "eyebags"

during your days back at the akademiya, it was not uncommon for scholars and students alike to have sleepless nights for the sake of their own projects and research.

zandik was especially no exception, despite his research usually having nothing to do with the akademiya.

it was always you who would remind him to sleep, so he wouldn't pass out in the middle of writing on his desk or start stumbling as he walks. you seemed to care for his body more than he did himself.

but he'd listen to you anyway, no matter how much he thinks it would be a hindrance to his progress if he dared to sleep, take a break, or even eat. you always seem to manage to convince him into doing things you want (for his own good).

it's not like he could think straight in such a vulnerable state.

so zandik was surprised to see you passed out on the living room floor, with papers messily splayed all over the coffee table, and dirty plates with leftover food on the couch.

if it was him in the scene, you probably would've scolded him for messing up the living room and sleeping there, but as of late, zandik noticed that you've been way too busy. but he hasn't seen you pull all-nighters unless there were exams, or you were nearing a due date.

zandik took it upon himself to investigate, peering into the numerous papers laid on the wooden table and ultimately found out that some of these papers weren't even yours, or were a group project.

he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

without waking you, zandik picked up all the papers and organized them as neatly as possible, resisting the urge to rip them apart. it was your work after all, despite the papers having someone else's name in them. then, he cleaned the dishes you'd left from your midnight snacks.

when you groaned and started blinking blearily awake, zandik gently pushed you back onto the couch, mumbling something about sleeping more.

and when you refused, he glared at you with a huff. "sometimes, your kindness could be such a curse," he remarks as he watched you shakily sit up, yawning, "you look horrible."

ignoring his comment as you stretched your body, noticing the clean living room. you gave a knowing smile to zandik, to which he just scoffed at.

you almost flinched at the sudden touch of his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks soothingly as he stared into your eyes. the fog of sleepiness hasn't been fully cleared from your mind, and you find yourself melting in his hands, sighing blissfully.

his thumbs pressed on the flesh beneath your eyes, and his right eye twitched. "you have big eyebags."

at that, you let out a noise, offended at his words, as you quickly sobered up from your sleepy state and glared halfheartedly at him. your hands found themselves on his face and lightly pinched his cheeks.

"like you're one to talk!" you pouted at him, "you're the one sleeping 2 hours everyday if i don't tell you to sleep!"

"i do not care much of what you do," he quickly lied, and you rolled your eyes, "but i will not stand for your idiocy to do everything yourself." zandik hissed, not noticing how his brewing anger made him dig his nails onto your jawline.

but it wasn't painful, considering how gentle he was whenever he holds you. though, you could tell he was genuinely upset. why were you letting others take advantage of you? he hates it, and you know he will do something about it sooner or later.

your chest felt warm knowing that he cares so much about you.

so you just sighed and grabbed him by his arms, before falling back onto the couch.

zandik yelps as he lands onto your body, and before he could process what you did, you had your arms wrapped around his torso, successfully trapping him. "what are you doing?" he glares at you again, elbows on the both sides of your head, propping himself upwards to not crush you.

"let's sleep a bit more," you cooed, pulling him to you, using all his strength to deny his squirming. you let him lay atop your body, arms refusing to let him go.

zandik flushed at the closeness, struggling to think coherently as your hot breath fanned against his neck. he felt the hairs on his arms stand when you spoke against his skin.

"we're both tired, so let's sleep,"

zandik scowled, but he let himself be comfortable against your body. he couldn't help but breathe in your scent as he buried his face in your chest, slowly growing content in this position. the feeling of your hand rubbing his head in all the right places is slowly lulling him to sleep once more.

"...fine," he relented with a grumble, "just this once, only because you're an idiot who needs a teddy bear to sleep."

you laughed lightly, before kissing him on the cheek. "thanks for looking out for me,"

"whatever..."

ugh, how is he going to sleep when you make his heart pound crazily against his ribcage?

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛❛ If you like this a lot, consider reblogging! I'll appreciate it very very much! Don't repost and/or translate my work anywhere. ❜❜ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

[marauderundercover]

How We Fell: Ch. 4

Day 4: Cookies/Short

AO3

Prev

Walking into class with an extra bit of pep in her step, Marinette grins at her friends.

“Gotham Academy arrives tomorrow!” She cheers in a sing-song voice. Alya laughs at her over excitedness, while Adrien and Nino just grin. “Aren’t you guys super excited?” She asks. 

“Uh, well, not…not really.” Adrien admits, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, my partner and I send the required questions and answers, but we haven’t really bonded or anything.” 

“My partner’s a little more chill, but same dudette. I think you’re one of the only ones who actually got something from this.” Nino adds. 

“I’m excited to meet Ashleigh! She could never replace you or Lila, but she’s still pretty awesome.” Alya says with a grin, bumping her shoulder. Marinette smiles, but she hopes the others can’t see how forced it is. Lila had apparently been lying nonstop to her partner (Damian had kept her updated. Apparently, Lila’s partner Jon was his other friend), who had apparently decided to just give her the most basic of responses. He’d apparently decided that it wasn’t worth it to try and fight her on anything, having heard from Marinette that it was pretty much a hopeless cause. 

“I’m super excited to meet all of them. I wish they were coming to school tomorrow, but I understand the whole jet lag thing.” Marinette says with a sigh. Two more days til she meets Damian in person. Just two! 

“Oh, Marinette, you’re actually here early. I need to talk to you.” Mme. Bustier says, walking into the room. Marinette tries not to let the hurt from the woman’s words hurt her. Apparently her teacher hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t been late once this year. Not even with akuma attacks. She’d always been on time, or early, for school. The first day of school was close, but the woman wasn’t even in the room when Marinette ran in that day. Dropping her bag on the table next to Adrien, Marinette walks over to the teacher, giving her a small smile. 

“Yes?” She says. Her teacher just smiles widely. 

“As you know the students from Gotham Academy are arriving in Paris tomorrow. Even though they won’t be coming to school tomorrow, the school still believes that it would be nice for a group to meet them at the airport. M. Dubois and Mme. Moreau asked that I select a student to accompany them. Since you’re the class rep, and you’ve enjoyed the project so much, I wanted to ask you to go. You’ll arrive at school at the normal time, then ride with M. Dubois and Mme. Moreau to the airport, so you’ll miss class.” Mme. Bustier explains, smiling widely. Marinette’s tense smile quickly falls into a real, genuine smile. 

“Really?” She asks, excitement thrumming through her. Bustier nods. 

“You’ll also be exempt from any work from tomorrow, so don’t worry about that. We just want to make sure the Gotham Academy students are welcomed properly to Paris.” She says. Marinette nods rapidly, fingers twitching as the urge to text Damian and tell him hits her. She knew he didn’t like surprises, so she wanted to give him as much of a heads up as possible. 

“Thank you, Mme. Bustier.” Marinette says, a flicker of her previous fondness for the teacher sparking up. It’s not that she hated Mme. Bustier. She just stopped accepting the gaslighting behavior from the woman. Mme. just nods, a grin on her face before moving to set up her desk for the day. Turning, Marinette rolls her eyes at her friends. Alya, Nino, and Adrien were all staring at her expectantly, obviously having attempted (and failed) eavesdropping. 

“So?” Alya asks as Marinette plops into her seat. She pulls her phone out and opens her conversation with Damian, even though she knew he wouldn’t answer yet (it was like 2am in Gotham). 

ME guess what?! my teachers chose me to meet GA at the airport! figured you’d appreciate a heads up :D

Damian I look forward to seeing you. 

ME DAMIAN it’s like 2am go to sleep

Damian Well that feels a little hypocritical. 

ME no you being awake at 2am after yelling at me? now that’s hypocritical

Damian … Very well. Perhaps we are both hypocrites. 

ME yup now go to sleep

Damian I was trying to prepare myself for Parisian time.

ME oh that’s smart

Damian Indeed

Marinette just grins at her phone, blinking at the hand suddenly being waved in her face. 

“Earth to Marinette? Girl, what did Bustier want?” Alya asks. Marinette smiles. 

“I get to go to the airport tomorrow to help welcome Gotham Academy to Paris.” She says. Alya just laughs, shaking her head. 

“We’re not gonna see you at all once they get here, are we?” She asks. Marinette laughs. 

“Don’t worry Als, I could never abandon you.” Marinette says with a wide smile. Turning her phone over so that she could actually focus on class, Marinette sighs. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. 

---

Marinette glances around the airport excitedly, standing on her tiptoes as she tries (and fails) to see around all of the other people. People didn’t clear out of her way when she was in her civilian clothes, which was fine. Except right now, she really wanted them to move so that she could have a better view of the people exiting the baggage claim area. Mme. Moreau laughed lightly and Marinette blushes, trying to plant her feet firmly on the ground, embarrassment flooding her body. She was a kind, but firm principal, a much better school director than M. Damocles from collège. And suddenly, she sees them. The flood of people her age looking around tiredly until they spot M. Dubois holding a sign with “Welcome Gotham Academy” written on it. Once they start walking towards them, Marinette springs forward, walking quickly towards the group as her eyes scan them, trying to find Damian. 

“Good afternoon, Marinette.” A familiar voice says. Marinette turns slightly and sees him, a wide smile covering her (blushing) face. 

“Hi Damian! I’m so excited to meet you in person.” She says, before glancing over at the rest of the students. Some of them were staring at her like she was from another planet. She laughs awkwardly, waving at the rest of them. “Uh, Bonjour! Welcome to Paris. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’m the class representative of the class that you have been in contact with this year. If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out.” She says, her voice filled with much more confidence than she was feeling at the moment. A tall boy with dark hair breaks from the group and rushes over, his smile almost blinding. 

“It’s so awesome to meet you in person, Marinette!” He cheers. Marinette blinks at him confusedly, then glances back at Damian, who was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Kent, don’t you think introducing yourself would be the proper first step?” He asks. Kent? 

“Oh, yeah. Hiya, I’m Jon Kent! We’ve emailed a couple of times?” He says, holding his hand out. Marinette’s face lights up with realization, and she grasps his hand, shaking it firmly. 

“Nice to meet you Jon! Sorry, I wasn’t exactly sure what you looked like.” She says apologetically. He just grins. 

“No prob!” He says. Marinette turns back to Damian, smiling at him. 

“How was your flight? Feel adjusted to Parisian time yet?” She asks teasingly. His mouth twitches into a smirk. 

“It was alright. Jon snores like a freight train, though.” He says, before tilting his head as his eyes scan her. Marinette raises an eyebrow. 

“What?” She asks. 

“You’re much shorter than I thought you’d be.” He says. Marinette’s eyes narrow. 

“Well you’re much taller than I thought you’d be.” She says with a huff. Jon snorts. 

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s said that to him.” He says. Marinette’s face must show her confusion, because he continues. “He had a growth spurt over the summer. But before that, he was only like, 5’4.” Marinette frowns slightly, trying to figure out the conversion. 

“One meter and sixty four.” Damian says lowly. Marinette smiles at him appreciatively, but still sighs. 

“I’m only one meter and fifty.” She says with a small pout. 

“What?” Jon asks, blinking rapidly. Marinette looks at Damian expectantly. This is what happens when you’re the only person in the room who’s fluent in both the metric system, and whatever the heck Americans use. 

“She’s 4’11.” Damian says. Jon’s eyes widen. 

“You are short!” He exclaims. Marinette just laughs, as Damian sighs. 

“Excellent observation skills, Kent.” He quips, before glancing around the airport, his body slightly tense. Marinette glances back at the adults, hoping they finish their conversation soon so that they could leave the crowded airport. While waiting for Damian and his class, she’d been filled with excited nerves. Now though, she was just anxious. She didn’t like big crowds, not since becoming Ladybug. Too many people to try and navigate through if she needed a quick getaway. 

“Marinette?” Damian says, Marinette blinks. By his tone, he’d probably tried calling her several times. 

“Sorry. What was that?” She asks. 

“I was just wondering when the last akuma attack was. You said they happen nearly once a week, correct?” He asks. Marinette frowns, guilt washing over her. If she was a better hero, her new friends wouldn't have to be dealing with the idea of an akuma attack. They’d just be enjoying their spring break in Paris. But no. Because she couldn’t find one psychotic man. Because she wasn’t strong enough to protect her city. 

“Two days ago, but it was a natural disaster one. Not a lot of strategy, just a high death count.” She reports, hating how normal this situation was for Paris. “It’ll probably be at least a week before he strikes again. Unless someone has strong enough emotions.” 

“Marinette-” Damian starts, but he’s cut off by Mme. Moreau called everyone to attention. Marinette turns and focuses her attention back on the adults. 

“Hello, and welcome to Paris! My name is Mme. Moreau, and this is M. Dubois. I heard Mlle. Dupain-Cheng already introduced herself, so I would just like to reiterate her welcome. If any of you need anything while in Paris, my door is always open. Your teacher has my email and phone number in case you need anything outside of school hours. We have a bus waiting outside to bring you to the hotel. I’m sure most of you will want to rest, but if you don’t, I’ve left a list of popular spots for both dinner and some cheap entertainment with your teacher.” Mme. Moreau says, smiling widely. Everyone just kinda stands there, staring at each other, before M. Dubois turns on his heel and walks back towards the bus. Marinette turns to Damian and nods towards the man. 

“We should probably follow.” She says, walking side by side with someone who had become extremely important to her. 

---

Marinette arranges the last dozen cookies in the box neatly, smiling at the arrangement before adding the lid. Using a ribbon, Marinette ties the box shut. Better safe than sorry. 

“Marinette? Sweetheart, you should probably head to school soon. You’re supposed to help Damian’s class.” Her mom reminds her, sticking her head into the kitchen. Marinette nods and grabs her stuff, giving her maman a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing down the stairs. She speed walks the entire way to school, almost missing the days of living across from her school. Almost. Just as she walks through the front door, she runs into someone and the box of cookies flies up. She gasps, and lunges for the cookies, but someone else catches them first. Her eyes trail up the arms, a grin reaching her face when she sees Damian. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, adjusting his hold on the box. She nods. 

“Yeah, I used to be a total klutz. It’s gotten better, but sometimes I still have my moments.” She says with a laugh. 

“Could I walk you to class?” He asks. She nods, unable to speak as her face heats up. Could he like her too? Or did he just want to walk as friends? Why was she thinking so much into this? 

“Dames! Mari!” A voice calls. Marinette turns just in time to see Jon run towards them and fall, then jump back up and finish running towards them. “Hey guys!” He says happily. 

“Are you okay?” Marinette asks worriedly. It’d sounded like he hit the ground hard. 

“Yeah, why?” He asks. She blinks. 

“Um, because you just face planted in the middle of the hallway?” She says incredulously. He laughs. 

“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m clumsy so I'm used to it.” He says with a shrug. Marinette snorts, turning to Damian with a grin. 

“Sorry you got stuck with a bunch of klutzes.” She teases. Damian’s eyebrow quirks up slightly. 

“Oh no.” He says. “Whatever will I do.” His deadpan expression paired with his monotone voice makes Marinette throw her head back with laughter. 

“You’re such a goof.” She says, rolling her eyes fondly. “Come on, let’s get to class.” She says, turning back and walking forward with purpose. Walking into the class, she’s unsurprised to see her classmates already there. They’d all been asked to show up early so that they could prepare for GA’s arrival. Scanning the room, Marinette lets a little relief relax her shoulders. Lila wasn’t here. Hopefully, it stayed that way. For today, at least. Marinette turns and takes the box of cookies from Damian, moving to the front of the room to set it and the welcome powerpoint up. Just as she gets her tablet connected to the screen, a hand reaches for a cookie. She reaches out and slaps it lightly. 

“C’mon, dudette. You know DC cookies are the best!” Nino whines, pouting. Marinette shakes her head. 

“If you want cookies, come to the bakery. Maman was complaining that you never visit her anymore.” Marinette says. “Besides, these are for the Gotham Academy students. Not you peasants.” Nino gasps in faux hurt. 

“Betrayed! By my oldest friend!” He groans, clutching his heart. Marinette snorts. 

“Mmm. Hurts, doesn’t it.” She teases, grinning in success when the opening slide of her presentation appears on the screen. It was pretty basic. School rules, the must visit places in Paris, good restaurants, and of course- akuma breakdown. This was just the basic information on who Hawkmoth was, and what you could do to prevent him from taking you over. As well as what to do during an active akuma attack, and which apps would be helpful to download. Marinette had also included the number for the crisis line for people affected by akuma attacks. This was for both people who had been victims of akuma attacks, as well as individuals who were akumatized. Glancing over at Jon and Damian, she frowns as she sees how tense Damian looks. She waves at them, and Damian’s shoulders relax slightly as he walks towards her. She couldn’t blame him. It was weird being in a new place and not really knowing anyone, and she’d been a jerk and run off to work on things instead of checking that her friend was okay. 

“Hey guys, this is Damian, my pen pal, and this is Jon. Jon, Damian, this is Nino, Alya and Adrien. Three of my best friends.” Marinette introduces the two groups, gesturing at everyone as she says their names. Alya’s eyes light up immediately and Marinette prays that she doesn’t do anything to embarrass her. 

“Jon? As in Lila’s pen pal? As in, the son of Lois Lane and Clark Kent?” Alya says, standing up, practically vibrating with excitement. Jon laughs awkwardly, but nods. 

“Yeah, that’s uh, that’s me.” He says. Marinette can see him trying to shrink into himself (she’d warned him that everyone else loved Lila and wouldn’t tolerate any slander against her), so she steps in. 

“Als, maybe back up a bit?” She suggests. Alya’s mouth falls into an ‘oh’ and she nods, backing off immediately. 

“Sorry for the freak out, I’m just a big fan of your parents’ work. I’m Alya Césaire.” She says with a short wave. Jon just smiles. 

“Hey, haven’t we met before?” Adrien says suddenly. Marinette blinks in surprise and follows his gaze to Damian. Damian frowns slightly, before a flicker of recognition crosses his face. 

“Yes. I believe we have.” He says stiffly. Adrien frowns, obviously trying to place where he knew him from before he gasps. 

“It was a Wayne Gala, you’re Damian Wayne.” He says. Alya and Nino both gasp and Marinette just frowns. Was she missing something?

“Marinette, why didn’t you tell us your pen pal was Damian Wayne?” Alya asks, an almost hurt look on her face. 

“Um…I’m sorry?” Marinette says, confused as to why everyone was making a big deal out of Damian’s last name. Though, to be fair, she didn’t know it either until Adrien said it. 

“She did not know.” Damian says, the frustration in his voice clear. Marinette winces, knowing she’ll probably regret asking, but decides to do it anyway. She darts over to Jon and nudges him, keeping a close eye on the situation between her friends and Damian. 

“Why did everyone freak out?” She asks Jon quietly. He whips his head around and gapes at her before laughing. 

“You don’t know who the Waynes are?” He asks quietly once he stops laughing. Marinette huffs, but shakes her head. “Okay, so Bruce Wayne? Like, Wayne Industries?” He adds. Oh.

“Oh. Well, it makes sense that Adrien knows him then.” She says with a noncommittal shrug. Jon just grins. 

“You really don’t care that his dad’s Bruce Wayne, do you?” He asks. She snorts, and shakes her head. 

“No? Why should I? I like Damian because he’s Damian, my friend.” Marinette says with a soft smile. So what if his dad was Bruce Wayne? That didn’t- a sudden thought hits her. “Hey, Damian?” She calls. He turns to her and she makes a mental note to try and talk to him later since he seemed super tense. 

“Yes?” He says. She bites her lips, trying to figure out how to ask. 

“Is your dad dating Batman?” She blurts out, face burning when Jon (and her friends) all start laughing. “Look, I was interested in Gotham’s heroes and I remember reading a few articles that were speculating about Bruce Wayne being in a relationship with Batman and- oh. I guess if he is you can’t really tell people, can you? You don’t have to answer that, I just-”

“No. I can assure you, my father is not dating Batman.” Damian says, his lips twitching slightly. Marinette can’t help but smile back at him. This was going to be the best two weeks ever.

Next

Permanent tag list: @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @crazylittlemunchkin 

Story tag list: @kking13 @jayjayspixiepop @ritacrow-blog @fangirlingfanatic @basenikon @toodaloo-kangaroo @maribat-calendar-events

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (7)

I really just want to say thanks. I love this fandom, and I love this story…just the overwhelming excitement for this fic makes me so so happy. Everything that happens is really just me saying ‘whatever, I want to see this’. Does it make sense? Not always. Is everyone completely in character? Maybe. Am I having a blast? Absolutely! 

Thank you for all the comments and kudos! 

And sorry for the wait. Wedding planning! 

In Which Gabriel is Serenaded

(Ao3 | FF.net)

—

Day three, Adrien awoke on the pillow. He was used to it now, officially. How scary a thought! 

Plagg had laid out his outfit, thankfully so Adrien could approve, or at least warm up to the idea. 

It was one of the shirts that Marinette had Frankensteined together from the pieces they had found. Absolutely gaudy, atrocious, and a pain to look at. Stripes, polka dots, plaid, little patterns of flowers, all saturated as far top right of the Hue/Sat scale as possible. 

It would make his father cry. It would set the media into a frenzy. It was glorious, and that scared Adrien. 

It scared him that he was starting to come around. He was starting to enjoy this reckless abandon. It was cathartic to watch his world shift and change into something more chaotic, and yet somehow pleasant. Organized Chaos. 

Plagg came out of the bathroom, devoid of mohawks or any other bizarre hairstyle he could have done. His hair was just swept to the side, combed, but not gelled, into place. 

The perfect amount of wild. 

“You don’t have to wake up when I do.” Plagg stated. “I’ll just drop you in my pocket.” 

“It’s alright,” Adrien assured, yawning. “I’m used to waking up this early.”

Plagg dressed quickly, and just as he slid into his moccasins, the room glowed red, and heavy bars slammed shut over the windows. 

Both Adrien and Plagg jolted in surprise, Adrien falling into panic.

Plagg just scooped him up, and held him to his chest. “Hey kid, it’s alright. You can phase through things. You can escape if you need too.” 

This helped calm him down slightly, if ever so minutely. Plagg tucked him into his pocket, and confidently walked downstairs. 

Gabriel and Nathalie were waiting for him in the foyer. 

“What's the deal, old man?” Plagg asked, bluntly. “Akuma attack?”

“No,” replied Gabriel, his head held high. “You’re grounded. No school. No friends. Nothing.” 

Plagg scoffed. “I’m under literal house arrest?! Come on! I have a sleepover at Nino’s tonight!”

“Did you ask if you could attend this sleepover?” 

“No. You were going to say no anyways. Better to beg forgiveness then ask permission and all that.”

“Well, that really solidifies my decision to ground you then. You clearly show a clear lack of critical and mature thinking.” 

“Ah, a pompous way of calling me stupid, hmm?”

Gabriel frowned harder, a line forming at the corner of his mouth. “I am not calling you stupid. I just don’t see you making good decisions.” 

“Gabriel, before this, I wasn’t making any decisions. Everything I did was according to your will. How can you be mad at me at being bad at something I have no practice doing?” 

Gabriel’s eye twitched. “First, do not call me by my first name. Second, I have already made up my mind. If I say you’re grounded, then you’re grounded. Deal with it.” 

Oh that was not a good answer. He may have well just said, ‘because I say so.’ 

And Plagg would not stand for it. He wasn’t standing for it anyway, but he’d at least be willing to bargain with Gabriel if he was offering some excuse about safety for his well being or something.

This was just a power trip.

“Fine,” Plagg smiled maliciously. “Lock me in. But you’re locked in with me. And you’re going to hate it.” 

“I don’t have time to entertain you, Adrien, go to your room.” 

As a kwami who spent most days in Adrien’s bag, Plagg consumed a lot of media. A pair of headphones, an external battery, and a phone that connected to the school’s wifi, Plagg had days to binge all the things that Adrien was interested in. 

And some things that Adrien didn’t care about, like historical dramas, documentaries, and recently, musicals. Especially for time periods that he had witnessed and experienced. He wasn’t omnipotent, so seeing what the humans had thought was important during these periods was fascinating.

But I digress.

The point was that Plagg had a song stuck in his head from a musical and the perfect opportunity to use it had just presented itself.

Gabriel had deemed the conversation over and started to walk back to his office.

“Close every door to me,” Plagg sang, in Adrien’s sweet voice.

Gabriel halted, but did not turn around.

“Hide all the world from me.” Plagg took a step towards him, still singing softly. “Bar all the windows and shut out the light.”

Gabriel turned, raising an eyebrow. “If you think serenading me is going to make me change my—“ 

But Plagg cut him off, raising his voice slightly, “Do what you want with me, hate me and laugh at me.”

Gabriel just stared, and listened.

“Darken my daytime and torture my night…” Plagg came closer, singing with feeling, trying to convey, even for an instance, a flicker of the emotions that Adrien had.

“If my life were important I would ask ‘will I live or die?’ but I know the answers lie far from this world.”

This was horrifying to Gabriel, apparently, as he protested. “Of course your life is important! Why do you think I—“

“Close every door to me, keep those I love from me. Children of Israel are never alone.”

“Children of—what? We’re not even Jewish. What are you singing about?”

“For I know I shall find my own peace of mind. For I have been promised a land of my own.”

Confused, Gabriel just scoffed and started back to his office. Plagg stayed hot on his heels.

“Close every door to me, hide all the world from me.”

Even Gabriel saw the irony of slamming the office door in Adrien’s face, so he resisted, and let his son continue to serenade him into his office. 

“Bar all the windows and shut out the light.”

Gabriel stood at his workstation, determined to ignore his son’s weird emotional outburst, and opened his recent project. 

“Just give me a number instead of my name. Forget all about me and let me decay.”

Plagg fought the smile of victory when Gabriel hunched his shoulders. Was that guilt on his face? Perhaps Gabriel wasn’t as shallow as Plagg had thought and lyrics like this would get through to him. 

“I do not matter, I'm only one person. Destroy me completely, then throw me away.”

And Gabriel sat, staring with his wide gray eyes. His full attention on his son. 

“If my life were important I would ask ‘will I live or die?’ But I know the answers lie far from this world.”

Plagg pounded his fists on the workspace, crying out the words with passion, actually making Gabriel jump. 

“Close every door to me! Keep those I love from me!” He leapt up on a coffee table, putting his entire body, his very soul into this performance. “Children of Israel are never alone!”

Gabriel couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move?

“For we know we shall find our own peace of mind! For we have been promised a land of our own!” He held out that final note, letting it hang in the air, as Gabriel continued to stare, mouth slightly open. 

Truth me told, Plagg was just intending to annoy him to freedom, but had the song choice done more? Did Gabriel finally understand? 

“Well,” Gabriel adjusted his glasses. “That was...certainly something. If I knew you could sing like that, I would have tried to find a use for it. Never mind, I’ll add it to your resume now.” 

No. It seemed that Gabriel was as stubborn and obtuse as ever. 

“Close every door to me,” Plagg began again. 

“No no no,” Gabriel spoke over him. “One performance is more than enough.” 

“Hide all the world from me.” 

“Adrien!” 

“Darken my daytime, and torture my night.” 

Gabriel groaned, and made an effort to ignore Plagg again. A real effort this time, with no eye contact and no facial expression. When that didn’t work, he moved from his workstation and went to grab Adrien. But Plagg evaded him, continuing to sing, with every grasp.

How many times did he cycle through the song? His throat hurt, as every time he reached the climax, he belted out the notes with passion. 

It would be surprising if no one outside could hear him. 

He climbed up on a table. “If my life were important I would ask will I live or die—“ 

“Enough! Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!” Gabriel shouted. “I can’t take this anymore!” He bolted over to the security control panel, and shut off the lock down. The bars on the windows disappeared. 

“Go...please, just go.” Gabriel said desperately. 

“Cool, thanks dad!” Plagg said cheerfully, skipping out of the room. 

Gabriel collapsed onto his workstation. 

Whatever tricks Adrien had learned, whatever manipulation guru he had visited, he was good. Very very good. It would take a while to get him back under his thumb. And he might need to resort to more drastic measures. 

What was more drastic than putting the house into lockdown? He’d need a little while to contemplate that.

—

Plagg had missed several morning classes thanks to Gabriel’s stunt, but his friends heaved a relaxed sigh when he arrived.  

“Hey hey hey!” He sang, coming in the door. “What’s happening, party people?” 

“Mr. Agreste!” Miss Mendeleev barked. “You better have a good excuse for being tardy!” 

“A great excuse! My dad shut the house down to ground me, and I had to annoy him with Broadway until he opened up. He was a lot more patient than I expected.” 

“Are you serious?” Miss Mendeleev asked. 

“Madam, do you really think that my father, fashion mogul, would allow me to leave the house like this?” He gestured to his mismatched outfit.

“Point taken. You may take your seat.” 

Plagg shot a thumbs up to his friends. 

—

After school, the group of four piled into Nino’s family car and headed over to his house. 

“I’m so excited! My first sleepover!” The excitement was genuine, as this truly was Plagg’s first sleepover. Of course, his whole life had consisted in sleeping in different places that weren’t his home (the Miracle Box) but the concept of going to a friends house to eat food and gossip all night long was novel and exciting. 

“What curfew do you girls have?” Mrs. Lahiffe asked. 

“I have until 11,” beamed Alya. 

“I have to leave at 9,” Marinette pouted. “I have to help my parents in the bakery tomorrow.” 

It was also Ladybug’s solo patrol tonight, Plagg noted to himself. Kind of a saving grace, since Chat certainly wasn’t going to be on it. 

“I’ll be sure to count you both for dinner then!” Mrs. Lahiffe chirped. 

Adrien had been to Nino’s house a handful of times, all under the pretense of working on homework of course. And it wasn’t a house either, it was an apartment, like most residences in Paris. It was warm, not always clean, and the smell of their cat’s litter was just a hint in the air. 

Major Tom was a right good cat. An old gray tabby, who was far too wise for his own good. Plagg had met this family member in person, since the cat was still pretty curious in his age. 

As soon as the group of friends entered the apartment, Major Tom stretched and trotted toward them, toward Plagg, and rubbed against his leg. 

“Hi Tommy,” Plagg smiled, an inside joke passing between them. 

“I swear,” said Nino with defeat. “Major Tom likes you more than anyone else in this house...and you’ve barely met him.” 

Plagg just shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a pussy magnet.” 

“DUDE! My mom is right there!” 

Mrs. Lahiffe was not amused, but the furious giggling from behind him made it all worth it, he supposed.

“Sorry mom, Adrien’s going through a rebellious streak. He doesn’t usually make jokes like that.” 

“Yeah, sorry, Uh...I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” 

Mrs. Lahiffe shook her head. “I noticed your outfit was rather...daring. Is that from your father’s new collection?” 

“Nope! This is a Marinette original!” 

Marinette smacked him in the arm. “I told you not to associate me with that abomination!” She turned to Mrs. Lahiffe and quickly clarified, “He designed it and I carried out the deed.” 

“Oh you kids are so funny!” She laughed. “Well, you didn’t come over to entertain me! Go have fun, I’ll get pizza around 6?” 

“Thanks mom!” 

“Thanks Mrs. Lahiffe!” 

On the way to Nino’s room, he asked. “What movie do you guys want to watch tonight?”

Plagg grinned, “Have you ever seen Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat?” 

—

Chapter is kind of short, but I have delayed it long enough, and sleepover shenanigans need their own chapter.

The song Plagg sang was ‘Close Every Door’ from Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat.

[dimensionwriter]

The Colour of my Heart

M! Minotaur x F! Reader

Warning: none

Summary: You are assigned to do a photography project with him, but all you can focus on are his eyes.

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The light cool breeze of Autumn licked your warm face as you walked down the rocky cobblestone path. Birds chirped all around you as many flew through the treetops. Small little critters hide themselves as you slowly walked past their domain. The trees danced with each other as the melody the wind played encourage them.

“Oh, there you are!” a deep gravelly voice exclaimed happily. You turned your head to see a creature sitting in a grass field. It was a minotaur with dark brown fur covering most of its body. On top of it’s head was light brown hair that went all the way to the tip of his pink nose. His choice of clothing for today was a dark red flannel with a pair of black jeans.

“Sorry, Arion, kind of got lost for a second,” you admitted walking over to him. His light pink lips pursed out before laughter spilled out of them. He threw his head back as the laughter seemed to taking over his entire body. His hair flew back and laid flat against his head. He’s so good looking...but as a friend.

“Why didn’t you call me? You know I know my way around these woods,” he said still giggling at you. He turned his face towards you and you were met with a pair of pink eyes. Wait, pink eyes?

“Sorry,” you mumbled still staring at his eyes. You rarely got to see his eyes, but you knew they were a dark brown colour. Was he wearing contacts? “Nature was being too pretty for me to think.”

“Just like you.” You didn’t get a chance to hear him due to how low he mumbled it and a flock of birds deciding to sail out of the trees. They slowly joined in the dance of the trees, but this time taking the air.

“Well, let’s get started on this project,” Arion said grabbing a bag on the ground. It was the same bag that was slung over your left shoulder right now. The two of you were both in photography class and decided to work with each other on this project. Before this, the two of you barely even talk. You honestly thought that he hated you because he was always avoiding you. When you bumped into him, by the time you would look up to apologize, he would be speed walking in the opposite direction. So it was surprising when he came up to you asking to be his partner. You had a theory that it may have been set up, because all his friends in the class grouped up without him and then pushed him over to you. You felt bad that he was forced to be with you when he could get with someone better.

“I was thinking of maybe taking a day time picture of this flower field over there and them taking one at night. And maybe split the pictures in the middle and combine the opposite sides,” he said walking towards you. You had to tilt your head pretty far back to look at him, since he was 8 feet and 9 inches tall. You were ashamed to admit that you knew this information because you overheard him say it while behind you. Luckily, it was loud enough for you to hear.

“Oh, that would look so cool,” you squealed just thinking of it. Maybe if the two of you find a lake, you could do the same thing with it, but make it look like it’s two different worlds opposite of each other.

“Would it?” he faltered turning to you. You looked at him to see his eyes were a dull grey. You swear they were just pink a minute ago. What is going on with him?

“Of course. I’ve seen your photographs and they are phenomenal. It’s a complete honour to work with someone on your level,” you complimented while bumping his shoulder. A light red blush slowly spread up his neck that he tried to discreetly rub away.

“Well, you’re pretty awesome yourself,” he stuttered out while looking away from you. You let out a small laugh at how flustered he was. He peeked over at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s kind of cute how flustered you get from compliments. I might do it more,” you teased wiggling your eyebrows. His eyes widen as a small gasp escaped from his plump lips. “I’m joking, but that pretty adorable.”

A burst of pink slowly spread through his eyes as he stared at you with this weird expression. His eyes were softening and a small smile was pulling onto his lips. His long elongated ears twitched a little as he pulled his eyes away from you.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard someone call a minotaur cute," he muttered. You were ready to tease him again, but he started walking off. Oh right, the project.

For the next three hours, Arion led you through the forest to different destinations that were honestly breathtaking. You were so fascinated with trying to capture all the beauty, that Arion had to drag you away a few times. But you were quite happy with the shots you had so far.

“Look how vibrant these flowers are,” you cooed leaning over Arion’s back to show him your camera. Arion had huddled down for a second to take a picture of a ladybug on this white flower.

“Hmm,” he asked turning around to look at you. You didn’t expect him to turn around at all, so you didn’t put much distance between the two of you. His soft nose bumped into yours, resulting in him freezing. His eyes were blue for a split second before quickly flickering to yellow.

“Ah, sorry,” you stammered out too afraid to move. One wrong move and this day will get awkward really fast.

“It’s fine,” he whispered with his eyes drifting down. You would’ve been curious at what he was staring at if it were not for his eyes turning to that pretty shade of pink. The light from the sun seemed to emphasize every shade and spec in his eyes.

“Arion, don’t move,” you whispered leaning forward. HIs eyes widen, but he didn’t move a muscle. You rested your hand on his firm chest as you stared deeply into his pink eyes. They didn’t move from you as you got closer. You lifted your right arm up as you prepared yourself.

Snap!

You dropped your right arm to check how the picture came out. You took a step back to get off him as you looked at it.

“Arion, you should’ve told me you had colour changing eyes,” you marveled looking at the picture. It was a close up on the left side of his face that reveal all the beautiful colours in his eyes. Those pink eyes are making you weak. You didn’t know that a minotaur with pink eyes could look so...so...oh no.

“What!” Arion screamed covering his eyes. He fell backwards onto his back while furiously rubbing his eyes. “No,no,no,no!”

“Arion, are you okay?” you asked slinging your camera around your shoulder as you dropped down beside him. He shook his head while keeping his hands on his eyes.That deep red blush returned but with a vengeance. His neck was covered with it and it was slowly taking over his face. “What happened?”

“Has my eyes been changing colour all day?” he groaned out. He just laid there with his hands still hiding himself. What is going on? Is his eyes not suppose to do this?

“Yeah, ever since I got here. It’s been blue and green,” he let out a relieved sigh,” but it’s been mostly pink all day.” You let out a surprise scream as Arion quickly jumped off the ground. He shook his head causing his shaggy hair to fall over his eyes. He opened them hesitantly, but all the hair was blocking you from seeing them clearly.

“Well, I think our-yeah we should- day getting quite long,” he stuttered out shaking slightly. He was so tense as he continued to ramble off different sentence structures. He seems to get more frustrated as he couldn’t form a complete sentence. “Leave-let’s leave.”

“Arion, breath,” you whispered grabbing his hand. He stopped talking and just stared down at your entwined hands. A light pressure was put into your hand as he rubbed his thumb along your skin.

“I guess you’re pretty weirded out right now,” he sighed looking down at you. You looked up and was able to see under his hair due to your closeness. His eyes were turned to a dull grey colour that was shimmering from tears wielding up in his eyes. “You didn’t have to force yourself to deal with me today. I probably made you uncomfortable.”

You felt so confused at that moment. But Arion was sad which is something that should never happen. Arion is the nicest person you know who is always helping out everyone. He does not deserve to be sad.

“I am not going to lie, but I am kind of confused right now. But what I do know for a fact is that today has been the best day I have had in awhile. You made today awesome. I barely even noticed your eyes changing colours because I was having too much fun with you. And if I am going to be honest, I think you look hot with pink eyes,” you admitted keeping your head up. You may regret that later, but Arion deserves to know the truth. He shouldn’t be embarrassed by what or who he is because it makes him him.

“Hot? Ah-well- you look hot-um always-like everyday,” his voice slowly disappeared as he slowly shrunk down. You tried to catch the end of it, but he was too quiet again. His giant hands started fiddling with the ends of his flannel.

“You don’t have to give me a compliment every time I give you one. I’m just reminding you how awesome you are,” you genuinely intoned squeezing his hand. He gave a small squeeze back as a small smile made its way up his face.

“But you deserve compliments too. I’m just bad at giving them,” he spilled out looking away from you for a second. His eyes slowly meet yours and you could see that beautiful pink coming back. It look so pretty on him. He’s so attractive. If he wasn’t out of your lead, you would try to shoot your shot.

“I’ll be fine, trust me," you quickly brushed off as you discreetly pulled your hand out of his. You need to stop this. You have had a good control over your emotions with him. You've accepted that you weren't in his lead and you've moved on. You are a changed person.

"So...are you...like is this okay?" He stumbled looking at you through his hair. You blinked in confusion for a split second before it hit you. Oh yeah, the eyes.

"Of course I'm fine with it. It's just simply your eye colour changing, it's pretty dang cool. Don't think I'm going to be weirded out by a rave happening in your eyes." You laughed a little at your own joke for a second before you realized that Arion wasn't laughing too or moving really. He seem to be frozen.

"You don't know," he whispered with his eyes changing to a dull yellow. What does he mean you don't know? Is there something else that he's hiding? Does his fingernails change colour too?

"What don't I know?" You pushed trying to get him to spill. Was it a minotaur thing or something? You knew a few minotaurs and have never seen their eyes change colour.

"It's-it's nothing. We should really be heading back," he grumbled pulling his hair in front of his eyes. He snatched his camera off the ground and started speed walking away.

"Wait, Arion," you yelled at him trying to make him stop, but he continued on walking away. "I was planning on taking some photos at night."

"Stay than," he yelled angrily before breaking into a sprint. It didn't take him long to disappear from your sight. Leaving you all alone.

What did you do wrong?

Arion was avoiding you. This was a fact. At first, you thought that his busy schedule was keeping him away from you, but you were proven wrong.

Everytime class ended and you got up to talk to him, maybe apologize for something you may have done, he would take one glance at you before sprinting away. You caught him after school at a vending machine and you called out his name, he didn't look you way as he bolted away. See him in the library, a trail of dust is all that's left of him. Pass by him in the hallways, cold shoulder. Text, call, email him, left on read.

But maybe this was his way of getting away from you. That day in the forest must have weird him out and must have been disgusted by you. Were you insensitive to some sort of minotaur's culture by not knowing what colour changing eyes meant? Who knows? It's not like you will ever find out.

"Okay, I'm tired of this." You blinked out of your reverie and looked to see a black minotaur standing in front of you. Her eyes were narrowed at you with a clear sign of irritation. "What happened between Arion and you?"

You were about to lie and say that everything was normal. I mean, you don't need unnecessary drama floating around about you two. But before you could, the girl beat you to it.

"I can tell you're about to lie and don't even try it. Arion has been moping around the house and not talking to anyone. You keep zoning out in class and staring at Arion like some kicked puppy. So, you better tell me what happen between you two so I can smack some sense into the both of you."

You open your mouth to disagree, but closed it in defeat. You haven't been the sneakiest in your quest to try to interact with Arion. You just wanted to fix things.

So, you told her everything that happened that day. How it started off so great than went bad and things were about to wrap around before it all just blew up in your face.

"I know this will seem off topic, but are you from around this area," she asked squinting her eyes at you. You shook your head no at the odd question. You moved here for college, since it was a great fine arts school and had cheap tuition.

"Great," she hissed out sarcastically while glaring at nothing. "Well, I have about 4 minutes to give you a history lesson before Arion starts doubting that I left my choker behind."

She sat on top of the desk in front of you and crossed her legs. Her black platform boots swung close to your desk like a hypnosis pocket watch.

"Once upon a time, around 300 years ago, there lived this friendly minotaur. He befriend a witch and was best friends with her. The witch believed he was giving her signals that he liked her, but she was just dumb. She jumped the gun and asked for his hand in marriage. Obviously, he rejected her and she got salty. Decided to curse all minotaurs in the area for future generations to have their hearts on the sleeve. Luckily, she didn't mean literally. Our eyes just changed colour to express our emotions, so our true emotions would always be present. Around 200 years ago, a nicer witch felt bad for us and tried to counteract the spell, but it didn't work all the way. We appear normal, but if we love someone, they can see our eyes change."

She stopped and stared at you. She seem to be expecting something. "If you are saying that Arion is in love with me, than this really seems like a prank."

A loud groan ripped from her throat as she kicked her legs in a tantrum. "You two are going to turn my fur grey, I swear. You know what, I'll give you my number. I will prove it to you. Just wait for my call."

She grabbed one of the pens off your desk before scribbling her number on your worksheet. She grabbed her bag and ran out of the room.

Glancing down at the number, you begin to ponder. How exactly was she going to prove her crazy explanation for Arion's attitude? It's not that she can go to him and be like "hey, are you in love with the human that is so beneath you and you're disgusted to see her everyday that you avoid her? No, oh whelp, should've seen that coming."

It was a set up for heartbreak, but somewhere deep deep inside of you, you had that little hope. Maybe, he truly did like you, might even go as far as to say he loved you. There was always a one in a billion chance of that happening.

But you didn't want to get your hopes too high. When you arrive home, you texted the number that it was you and she responded she would call you when it's time. She didn't say a specific time, so it was more of a waiting game.

Trying to trick yourself into thinking you were unaffected by the situation, you finished your homework and started cleaning. You didn't even keep your phone on you because you knew you would be jumping at every notification.

A soft melody sung from your phone causing you to perk up at the sound. Your unphased attitude immediately disappeared as you threw your body through the air towards your phone. You were quick to snatch your phone up before your body fully crashed down.

"Hey, don't speak," a light voice whispered quickly, it was the black minotaur's voice. You closed your mouth as you heard shuffling on the other end.

"Leave me alone. I don't want to talk about it," a deep voice grumbled. You instantly knew it was Arion's voice. "I thought you guys said we were going to have a movie night. So, why are you guys asking these questions?"

"It just you were extremely happy about Sunday to meet her, but then you came back angry with tears in your eyes. You rarely cry over something."

"Thanks for pointing it out," he snapped out causing it to get quiet for a moment. You heart dropped at hearing his tone. See, you were right. He obviously upset about something you did.

"We aren't trying to bother you or anything," the girl's spoke out again a little softer. You thought you may have heard a small sniffle. "We just want to know what happened. Did she do anything wrong?"

"No!" You let out a small squeak at how loud that was. You covered your mouth as you put your ear back to the phone. You don't think they heard you due to the coughing from Arion. "It's not her. She was perfect, as always. It was me with my weird minotaur self. She saw my eyes changing colour and didn't know what it meant."

He stopped talking as he let out a long sigh. There was shuffling before he sounded a little closer than before.

"I- I got angry at myself. I got mad that I'm not some confident human who would have a better chance with her. Instead I'm cursed beast who can barely form a word around her." Your heart dropped down as you heard his voice started to crack. The sniffling sound got a little louder and you could hear small whimpers of concern.

"Dude, I promise you she doesn't think that way. She's been trying to talk to you everyday and looks almost as sad as you when you ignore her. Plus did you see how happy she looked when you asked her to be your partner. She looked like she was floating on clouds," a deep random voice you didn't recognize spoke. Everyone let out hums or agreement. Is your crush on him that obvious?

"I doubt it's like that. She's just nice like that. Makes everyone feel like they're bathing in sunlight when she looks at them. Makes their breath catch in their throat when she smiles. That's just her," he spoke so softly, but you were hanging on to every where. He really thought these things of you. What you would give to be there with him so you could tell him of your feelings.

"No offense, but I do not get those things when I talk to her," the girl said with a slight laugh to her voice. "I think it's because she's trying to give that affect you."

"Stop trying to give me hope, guys. It's nice and I see what you're trying to do. But it'll only set me up for heartbreak in the end. It's better to accept that now," he grumbled lowly. You heard a long sigh close to the phone before you heard some shuffling.

"Well, why don't we just ask her. Hey, do you like my step brother?" You jumped away from the phone as you realized that she was talking to you. Where you allowed to speak? Maybe this was a rhetorical question.

"Wait, you've been on the phone with her this entire time," Arion voice screamed out followed by shuffling. You could hear a girlish scream followed by a male grunt. "I'm so sorry. Please forget everything you just heard. I'm-stop biting me- so sorry if this weirded you out. I'll leave you alone."

"Wait, no. Please don't. I-um- I really like you too," you admitted quickly. All the commotion on the other side stopped causing you looking at the phone. The timer was still going.

"Can you repeat that? I think I got some fur stuck in my ears and it's making me hear stuff," he asked with a forced laugh at the end. You grabbed your bed sheets and twiddle it. You just got to go for it.

"I really like you Arion, I have for a while. I thought you were way out of my lead because I'm just a simple human and you're your amazing self. But even with that thought, it didn't stop me from seeing your beautiful personality and how you are so friendly and kind you are to everyone. Not to include how attractive you look in anything you wear. I always get super nervous around you and I thought you hated me for it. So hearing you feel the same way has my heart not exactly beating in the correct rhythm." You let out a small laugh as you laid your hand across your chest. Your heart was pounding crazily, but you felt so much relief. You had been holding that in for the longest of time and to finally get that felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulder.

"Oh, wow," he asked in a tense voice. You were about to ask if he was okay before he spoke again. "Would you like to go see a movie with me Friday after taking some pictures?"

"Yes," you said with a giant smile on your face. You were going on a date with Arion. You thought he was out of your league but you somehow manage to catch him.

"Cool, well if you excuse me. I'm going to pass out." A loud crash followed afterwards and was accompanied by two low screams and a high pitched laughter. There was more shuffling on the other end before a light voice spoke.

"Well, I guess that clears up things. I'll guess I'll see you tomorrow at school," she sounded as if she was about to hang up before she clicked her tongue," Oh, before you worry. Arion's fine. He somehow managed to pass out with a giant smile on his face. Only you could do that to him. Anyway, night."

A soft clicked met your ear before you were surrounded by silence. Well, not for a long. You screams and happy laughter filled the room as you threw a few objects in happiness.

You did it. You gain the courage to express yourself to Arion and he asked you out. Life was going great.

Before you went to bed, you pulled out your phone. You clicked on Arion's contact before changed his name.

Your Arion❤

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Ahhhhh, I really don't know how to feel about this one. I wrote it off a trend of people eyes changing colour and I thought it would be cute to write about so I did. I know I wrote too much as always, but I will come around soon to add a read more (my computer broke again so I'm stuck on good ole mobile). As always, please leave a Like and I do read and appreciate every single Comment I get. So please leave as many as you would like, it makes my day. Thank you for reading this. Love you guys💜💜💜

[littlebitoffanfic]

Celebration

Fandom: The Collector/The Collection Character: Asa Emory – the collector Relationship: Asa Emory/reader Request: Since I have seen you do some slashers, can I request Asa from The Collector? Something sweet where the reader works with him and is an alibi and then saves him when Arkin comes for him in the collection?

  You knew him from your work although you didn’t know him well. Asa was a private man, reserved to his office and displays for the museum. You were tour guide with a hand in some of the office work. After all, the museum didn’t get an awful amount of funding to be able to employee more office workers. Today, you were happy. It was a sunny day, which meant people were less likely to come to the museum for an indoor activity. Your tours still ran ever 2 hours, but a smaller group had less questions and you could normally be done within an hour, leaving an hour free. You all but skipped down the halls like a school girl, your project held tightly in your arms as you stopped outside Dr Emory office. knocking three time, you waited for him. He towered over you, and had such a demanding presences that made you weak at the knees. Your crush on his was not unnoticed by your co-workers. 

“Good morning.” You smile, trying your best to work through the flutters in your chest. “Its 1.30.” he stated, his eyes unreadable. “Oh, well, good afternoon. Could I steal a few minutes of your time?” You ask, nearly slapping yourself in the face for your mistake. His eyes darted to the folder in your arms and he stepped aside, allowing you to enter. This was a privilege in itself. Barely anyone was allowed within his office. But Asa seemed to tolerate you more than the others. Perhaps because you were his neighbour. Now that had truly been a happy accident. His previous neighbour was selling and you were looking for somewhere when you moved here. It just so happened that your neighbour to your left was also a co-worker. Entering his office was like entering a new world. The walls were decorated with various bugs throughout different ages in their lives. Butterfly’s, beetles and roaches but the most prominent member of his displays were spiders. Your attention was drawn to a particular specimen. Pinned in a shadow box was a blue spider. The sign under called it a Cobalt Blue Tarantula. “Wow, those markings are fascinating.” You mumble aloud, more to yourself that to the mans whos office you were in. “Truly. The Cyriopagopus lividum.. native to the borders of Thailand.” Asa speaks so fondly of the dead creature that it makes you smile slightly. There was no denying his love for his work. “Are they venomous?” You ask, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, but the venom not strong enough to kill an adult human. Although its not pleasant.” Asa walks past you to his desk and drawing you from your thoughts. “Now, you wanted something?” “Yes, I was wondering if you might help me with an exhibition.” You hold out the folder to him as you sit at the other side of his desk. He takes it and opens it, showing a sort of mood board you had put together ranging from other exhibitions to enclosures to photo life-spans of certain creatures. “an exhibition?” His eyes flick up to meet your own with curiosity. In truth, you hated how under appreciated he was at the museum and his knowledge should be put to good use. “Yes, for insects. Of course, I’d do most of the work, but I’d really apricate someone who I can fact check with and can offer some insight.” You smile sweetly, and the small smile that pulled at Asa’s lips told you that he was in.

-------------time skip ------------------

Your time spend with the entomologist was one of the most pleasant and interesting interactions you had had in a while. Walking to his office, you held your papers in your hands. You were about to knock when you heard voices inside. Pressing your ear against the door, you listened. “Dr Emory, unless you can provide an alibi for your whereabouts on Saturday evening, we will have enough to arrest you under suspicious of connection with the collector killings.” A voice spoke with authority. Your heart stopped. The collector killings had fascinated you ever since they had come to light. And Asa, well, he was a private man. If they were threatening such a thing, there must be something behind it. And you wanted to know. The two men that seemed to cloud your thoughts could be one. Your mind thought quickly as you came up with a plan. Knocking on the door, you walked in without waiting – something you never really did. Once inside, you acted like a deer in headlights. Two men sat opposite Asa’s desk  in suits. “oh, sorry. Are you from the board?” You asked sincerely but you didn’t let them answer before quickly adding. “Look, Dr Emory and I are neighbours. Its perfectly reasonable for us to spend our evenings and weekends in each others company. Besides, if Tiffany told you about us, she has been having an affair with the janitor.” You could tell Asa was just as stunned as you were. One of the men smiled and stood. “You don’t need to be alarmed, miss. We are from the investigations team.” He then presented his ID badge to you. “Oh, gosh. I am so sorry.” You looked stunned, despite already knowing. “Its okay. But I am interested in what you said. Do you know where Dr Emory was on Saturday evening between 5pm and 11pm?” The man leaned back on Asa’s desk while the other twisted to fully look at you. “He was with me.” You said, talking to the two detectives. “At my house.” “with you? He said he was home alone.” The one with the strong jaw line narrowed his eyes at you. “Yes, well, its not against any policies, our director has been known to fire people for having… interpersonal relationships with colleagues. We’d agreed to keep it a secret. He would have been trying to protect me, in case this got out to the others.” You explain to them, not daring to look at Asa. You knew you were playing with fire here. But what you said wasn’t a stretch. The director had fired a member of the geology department… for sleeping with his wife in astrology. He really cared what staff did as long as they did their job. And didn’t fuck his wife.   “Is this true?” He asked Asa, who gave a single nod. “And is there anyone who can corroborate this?” The detective asked you, more kindly than the others. “Not really. As I said, it was a secret so I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. Although, you can ask half the staff in this building and they’ll tell you that ive had a crush on the man since I moved here, and they know we have been spending more time together. They are so fond of teasing me for it anyway.” You manage to draw a chuckle from one as he jabbed the other detective in the shoulder which earned a smile. Apparently, there was a similar situation going on where they were. “Right, well, we’d better be on our way. We’ll be back in touch soon.” The one sitting rose to his feet, nodding to both you and Asa before he and his partner left. They left and the door had closed for a brief moment before you felt someone grab your arm and you were twisted to meet Asa. He didn’t say anything and his cheeks were slightly red, but his ears were bright red. “So, you are the collector?” You breathe, looking up at him with a small smile tugging on your lips. “What do you want?” He growled, his voice low and menacing. Oh, he wasn’t happy. “I want to know.” You breath, stepping closer to him. “You take parts, right? What do you do with them? Keep mementos? Are you making something?” His nostrils flares out, obviously angry. You understood. You had let yourself into his world, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He couldn’t kill you because it would point the fingers back to him. No, it was smart to keep you close. He let out an exasperated sigh, reaching up and pinching his brow. “look, once this has blown over for you, I wont say a word. I don’t expect anything for it. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.” You reassured him. “Why?” His eyes narrow at you, but you shrug. “honestly, you fascinate me.” You confess to the man, even more intrigued than before. You saw the smirk that twitched at the side of his mouth.

----------------- time skip ------------

The world of the collector was one you never dreamed you would see inside, and you loved it. It took trust to get him to let you see. First you saw the inside of the hotels lobby, then some traps, then some of the beautiful creations he made, then his prize possession. you never participated, but you provided a bit more support for him, offering help from the side lines in exchange for information and his time. If he was suspicious of you, he couldn’t deny the genuine interest in your eyes as he spoke, or how you hung on every word of his. He seemed to love how you marvelled at everything with a child-like innocents. Wide eyes and a curious mind. He kept you very close, at work and in your personal lives. It took 5 months in total for the cops to ease up off of Asa, but they still occasionally found their way to his house, watching it. He would come to yours in those situations, still keeping the façade up that you were in some kind of relationship.   Not that you cared. You found that the two of you had a lot in common which made the time easily spent. Of course, his dogs loved you. When you came round to his, they were pawing at the floor to get to you but waited for their master to give them the signal to move. They really were puppies at heart. Also, sometimes you thought Asa just said they were there to spend time with you. Either way, you didn’t mind. Tonight, you were buried in a book when a harsh knock at your door made you jump but you hurried to answer it, finding a slightly wet Asa. You smiled, stepping aside and allowing him to step in. “You’d think the police budget within the millions by how much they come around.” You giggle, helping his jacket off his shoulders to hang up to dry. He hummed in response, wiping his face with a hand to try get the stray rain droplet off. “So, how was your recent game?” you asked as he followed you into the living room, where you had been reading. You collapsed back into the couch and held your book on your lap. “Uneventful. No one worthy to take.” He mused as he walked over to your book shelf and pulled out the book he had been reading last time. As he returned to your sofa to sit beside you – a show for the police outside – the book fell open to the page he had been reading. But instead of the paperclip he had been using to keep his place, it was a book mark. A novelty bookmark that you had swiped from the gift shop. It was one of those fake 3D ones, with spiders moving on green leaf’s. You raised your book over your mouth to hide your grin. “very amusing.” He soft chuckle left his lips as he placed it to the side. You giggled, moving to reposition yourself. Your sofa faced the TV which was to the right of the window. Meaning anyone who walked by outside could see in. but it was a quiet neighbourhood. Apart from the undercover police. You lay on the sofa, your legs draped over Asa’ lap which you rested your head on some pillows propped up against the arm rest. Asa rose the book without tearing his eyes away from it to allow your legs to move before lowering to rest his forearms on your knee and thighs. Despite being a bit of a play for the police, it began to feel a little more real. You would engage him in conversation through out the evening, and he would tear his attention away from the book to ask you about your day. In fact, you had started to think that Asa had missed this. With the police’s interest dwindling, so had his trips. Even your encounters in work were now limited as you had finished your exhibition. Or many it was just the part of you that had fallen so madly in love with the man that wished he wanted your company. Your eyes left the page to glance at his face. mature features with intelligent eyes. You hated how he could make your heart stop. Maybe this was fake to him, but it was so real to you. Turning your attention back to your book, you didn’t look up until the sun had fully set. Glancing at the clock, you were surprised to see it was nearly 10pm. “Gosh, I swear I’ll never get use to these changing sunsets. Every year it takes me by surprise.” You sit up, stretching as Asa chuckles. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek before lifting your legs off his lap to stand up. Asa followed, and you smiled when he marked his page with the bookmark you had gotten him. “You’re nearly finished. I told you it’s a page turner.” You nodded to the book, which he was nearly finished save for 50 pages. “Yes, all the more reason to come back.” He shot a look over his shoulder that made you smirk. Playful teasing had become something you adored in the man. It was another reason that made you doubt this was fake. They couldn’t hear what was happening, so why play around. Sliding the book back into the slot, he picked up the remote which had been forgotten on the sofa to go to the window and place it on the stand. A ploy for him to see if they were still watching the house. “I think you’re right. They get far too much funding. It could be going to the museum.” He mused as he turned back to you. Maybe they needed to see more. Or maybe you wanted more. Just to test the waters. Walking up to him, you reach up and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Kiss me?” You whisper to him, pressing your body against his own. Wide eyes met your own and you couldn’t help but giggle. “They can see through the window.” That was enough to encourage the man to duck down, pressing a kiss to your lips. he could have lightly kissed your lips and pulled away after a few moment, but he didn’t. In fact, you were sure he had forgotten all about the car outside. His arms wrapped around your waist and you were pulled tight against his strong chest as his lips fought your own for dominance which you quickly surrendered. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, making you moan as reach up and place your hand on the back of his head near his neck to keep his mouth to your own. Not like he was pulling away any time soon. you felt him push you backwards and you allowed him to push you till your back hit the wall and he pinned you to it. they couldn’t see you anymore, but you didn’t care. Raising your right leg, you hooked it around his hip as his hand trailed down your side and followed the curve to your thigh, holding you in that position. He was driving you crazy, his touch was like fire as you cling to him. When he does pull back, you are left a panting mess with rosy cheek. But his tell was his red ears despite the smirk on his lips. “So, tell me, where does the line between fake and real stop?” he asks, keeping his face close to your own. “With a kiss like that.” You bite your lower lip, completely aware of how his hand had kept your leg hooked on his hip. “The police aren’t outside. They left over an hour ago.” Asa’s voice was low, barely about a whisper. “They did?” You raise your eye brows at him. A nod answers your question and you were left pondering your next move. “Good.” As leans down, sealing his lips over your own.

 -----time skip ------

 You were sitting in your living room, half heartedly flicking through the channel when you notice Asa’ car drive past your window. Smiling, you turn off the TV and grab your small bag. It was a Friday, which meant that Asa worked late. But it also meant you would be staying over with him. A few weeks ago, shit had really hit the fan. You really didn’t know what happened, expect that the hotel was burned to the ground, and Asa only just escaped with his life. He was badly hurt, and you were thankful that he had taken a week off for holidays. It had been holidays he was going to spend with you in his cabin up north, but plans changed. You stayed by his side during his recovery. Asa had lost nearly everything that night. His creations, his sanctuary, his dogs, his prizes. But he had been thankful to come home to you. He had extended his own holiday but you returned to work the next week. He said he had fallen while on a hike so no one questioned his cuts and bruising when he did go back. You took your bag and left your home for the evening, locking it up as you set to go to Asa. He had regained most of his energy and health back, which you were hoping he might be up for something a little more… activity related tonight. The lingerie in your bag certainly hoped so. he was already out the car and into the house as you walked up. But something caught your eye. In his living room, there was someone hiding in the corner. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognised the man. His name was Arkin. He had been the one who had escaped Asa, the one who caused his injuries. You only recognised him because Asa had pointed him out when the new came on one evening. And you highly doubted that he was here to say a friendly hello. Running around the back, you ducked under the window so as not to be seen. You ditched your bag in a bush as you made your way to the back door just as you heard heavy metal music blare through the house. You wanted to scream to Asa, but the glint you had seen in Arkins hands wasn’t enough to tell you if it was a gun or a knife. Slipping into his kitchen, you heard the music being turned off and then silence. You took a large knife from the knife block on the counter and held it as if to stab. And you were willing to. Then you slowly opened the bottom draw, which had some duct tape in it. You round the edge, only slightly pulling it off. If you were going to hurt someone, they cant make a lot of sound. You moved into the hallway which connected to the living room and dinning room. “All those insects. You’re quite the collector.” A voice, Arkins voice spoke, making you pause as you made sure no one knew you were here. “In a 200 mile radios from where we last saw each other, there are 14 licensed entomologists. You were number 12.” As Arkin spoke, you moved slowly down the hallway, looking behind you ever second in case someone else was here. “Your daddy ran a museum, didn’t he? Fucked you up real good.” His words made you feel sick. Asa never spoke of his father. His mother was held with high regard, and he said he wanted you to meet her when she was next in town. But he had shut off when you asked about his father. Arkin was right. “Turn around.” You pressed your back against the wall as you inched closer to the doorway. Tape in your left hand, the edge taped to your finger, and the knife in the other. You could see from the glass display cabinet that Asa and Arkin were standing face to face near the entrance to the dinning room. Arking had his back to you. And a gun raised at Asa’ face. Fear rushed through you as the analogy of ‘don’t bring a knife to a gun fight’ flooded your mind. “Are you here to kill me?” Asa spoke with a calmness you couldn’t fathom. “No. that would be too nice. First im gonna make sure feel everything that I felt. Then im gonna kill you.” You could hear the smugness in his voice. “So that you can never hurt anyone-“ He was cut off as Asa lunged at him. But Arkin gave a swift jab to the face, causing him to tumble back. Into a red box. Your gasp was covered as Arkin flipped the box and started slamming the lid shut again and again, growling “fuck you.”  Before the lack closed. he stepped back, gasping for air. He thought he was alone. Darting into the room, you raise the knie and bought it down into his right shoulder and an angle. He instantly dropped the gun. Letting go of the knife for a moment, you grabbed the roll of tape and started wrapping it round and round his mouth. He had only just managed to let out a cry of pain as his legs gave way under him. He reached up, struggling so you grabbed the knife and pulled it from the flesh. Using the sharp, bloodstained blade, you cut the tape and he collapsed to the ground moaning. You gave him a quick kick in the face before kicked the gun that had fallen out of reach. The last thing you needed was neighbours calling the police for gunfire at the house. You raced over to the box. “Asa, its me.” You reassured him through the small walls in case he tried to attack whoever opened the box. When you pulled the lid open, he scrambled to his feet, the anger in his eyes blazing as he found his attacker on the floor. Arkin was groaning, unable to move just yet but you were sure he’d be up and about soon enough. “Your hands.” You whispered, reaching out and taking his right hand which was covered in blood from Arkin slamming the box down. Your heart broke. He had not long healed. Arkin began to come around, his eyes darting between the two of you as he realized what had happened. He looked at you with an unimaginable about of rage and anger in his eyes as he tried to scream. Asa darted forward, twisting him around and pinning him to the ground, a knee in his back and his hand pressing on the new wound. “The tape.” He commanded of you, and you immediately grabbed the duct tape which had rolled away slightly. Finding the end, you saw Asa grabbing Arkins left hand and you mirrored with his right. Bringing them forcefully behind his back, you taped them in place, then went to tape his ankles together. Once satisfied, Asa hauled the man off the ground and threw him into the box, the lid closing over with the force. Asa flipped the latch. Looking him inside. You didn’t realise you were panting and shaking until Asa was looking at you. Racing forward, you wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face in his chest. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He ask, holding him as tightly as you could. A bloody hand stroked your cheek as another rubbed your back to sooth you. “No, you got here right on time.” There was a softness to his voice that made you melt as you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m too late to be a guard dog. Ludwig or Vivaldi wouldn’t have let him get close enough to hurt you.” You shake your head as you pull back, taking his hands in your own once again to inspect the damage. But he turned his hands over and took your own. “How about we go up to the cabin this weekend?” Asa askes, his question not very well fitted for the currant moment. “huh?” Your eyes glanced to the box which was moving slightly as Arkin struggled. “Oh, we’ll take him. And, since I am out of commission right now, perhaps I can show you some tricks.” Asa smirked as your eyes light up at his words. “Yes!” You bounce on the balls of your feet. You went up on your tiptoes to kiss him, resisting every urge not to pull him upstairs to his bedroom right now. Pulling back, you dart down and pick up the gun, offering it to Asa. “I’ll go get some stuff to see to your hands. And I’ll run back and pack a quick bag and then come and pack your things. I think I should drive, though. You’ll have to give me instructions.” You rattle off, the excitement obvious in your voice. “Oh, you’ll get use to taking instruction this weekend.” Asa whispered in your ear, making you blush and bite your lip with a smirk. Arkin seemed to get a burst of energy and started flaying around in the box, which only moved slightly. “He truly is annoying, isn’t he?” you huffed, hating the moment was ruined by him. Asa simply chuckled and walked up to the box, sitting on it and stopping it from shifting. As you flitted around, gathering supplies and seeing to his hands and then packing his things, Asa watched with a soft eyes. He would be lying if he said he trusted you from the start. And even more so if he admitted there had still been a small part of him that thought you were with the police. but that doubt was well gone. And this weekend, he wanted to celebrate this strange relationship. And oh, what a celebration it would be.

[galahadwilder]

$21 to buggachat! If you felt like adding something to Sin Ship or continuing Sweethearts a little bit (maybe Adrien and Marinette get back to find out their ice cream has melted to Andre gives all three of them a shared cone to make up for it?), that would delight me to no end.

Hesitate

A sequel to Sweethearts, and part 2 of “Kagami Has Two Hands.” Like that fic, this one was written to help raise money for @buggachat’s laptop repairs.

Sponsored by @art-deco-shrimp (the ask above is from their main account).

*

She’s only been dating Adrien for two weeks now, and already she’s gained a newfound respect for Alya for not going berserk and throwing him and Marinette into a closet together and slamming their faces together until they admit their feelings. Two weeks of this bullshit is driving her insane. She keeps dropping hints, bringing up the confusion of the ice cream flavors, sending him articles about polyamory, commenting on Marinette’s beauty, and he simply agrees that Marinette is indeed gorgeous, that poly relationships are cool, that the ice cream is a mystery—and then refuses to think any further. Marinette, meanwhile, continues to stubbornly insist that her feelings for Couffaine are romantic when even Kagami, who is notoriously bad at reading social signals, can tell that Mari is just relieved at finally having someone who lets her relax.

She swears, if she hears Adrien call Marinette “just a friend” one more time, she’s going to leap on a butterfly and light the school on fire.

They’re having another double date—neither Adrien nor Marinette seems to have figured out why she keeps insisting on those, though to his credit Luka seems to be growing suspicious, based on the looks he keeps giving her—and Marinette and Adrien are absolutely crushing the high score at the arcade’s Dance Dance Revolution machine. Their synchronization is, quite frankly, insane: they’re matching perfectly step for step, every footfall landing at just the right moment, to the point where they’ve begun to gather a crowd. As Marinette gains confidence, they’re even starting to show off a little, swapping pads back and forth mid-song without missing a single beat. Kagami is mesmerized.

Marinette as she laughs and Adrien lifts her, swinging her onto his pad. It’s a stunning display of trust and athleticism, and Kagami’s heart starts beating faster at the sight—and then, next to her, Luka reminds her that he’s there as he sighs in lovesick delight. “She’s incredible,” he murmurs, staring at Marinette.

Instantly, Kagami’s shoulders shoot up to her ears and her spine practically folds in on itself as she reaches for a sword she’s not even wearing. She grinds her teeth. “Yes,” she says, letting her hand drop to her side and forcibly relaxing her muscles. “She is.”

The worst part of this is that, much as she wants to, she can’t hate Luka Couffaine. He’s a good person, and he seems to genuinely have feelings for Marinette. More than that, he’s genuinely good for her. But Kagami has seen the way Mari looks at Adrien, and the way Mari looks at her, and… well, Marinette doesn’t feel the way about Luka that he does about her.

If circumstances were different, Couffaine would be exactly the kind of person Marinette needs as a friend, especially given how rough her life has been for the last few weeks. But they’re not. And right now Luka Couffaine is an obstacle.

The game finishes, and Marinette cheers with delight at the perfect score. Adrien, Kagami, and Luka are all staring at her.

Kagami is the only one who notices how the other two look at Marinette.

*

Kagami doesn’t usually spend lunch in the cafeteria—her mother sends a car for her every day, but she’s managed to convince her that she’s working on a group project (another of Marinette’s generic “sneak away” suggestions). Waiting in line is a bit uncomfortable, and the only thing on the menu that doesn’t fill her with revulsion at the thought of a horrible texture in her mouth is the soup, but it’s worth it when it takes her only a few moments to find her target.

“Césaire!” she hisses, sliding in next to her and carefully lowering her soup to the table. “I need to speak with you.” She glances around, lowering her voice. “Privately.”

Alya looks up from her sandwich, and Kagami doesn’t miss the momentary distaste that flits across her face. “Tsurugi,” she says, her voice carefully controlled as she waves away a curious Nino. “What do you want?”

Kagami swallows. “Marinette tells me you have been… assisting her with her love life.”

“I was,” Alya snarls, keeping her eyes locked on Kagami as she places her sandwich back on her tray. “Why? Do you have a problem with that?”

Kagami shakes her head. This is going downhill rapidly—there’s a reason she rarely interacts with Césaire. “Actually,” she says, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “I could use your help.”

Alya blinks. “Help? With what?” she says. “You already have Adrien, what do you want my help for?”

“Adrien…” Kagami swallows. She looks down at her bowl, stirring her soup uncomfortably. This is proving to be much more difficult than she expected—she’s having trouble finding the right words. “He is in love with Marinette.”

Alya glares at her, then rolls her eyes. “Tough shit,” she says. “You knew that going in.” She turns back to the table, producing her phone and beginning to scroll through a website Kagami doesn’t quite recognize. “You made this bed,” she says. “Not my fault you’re not ready to lie in—”

“You do not understand!” Kagami snaps, sloshing soup out of the bowl and onto the table. She berates herself for a moment for letting her temper get the best of her again, focusing on her breathing to calm down. She’s never quite understood Alya’s dislike of her, but given how she’s reacting now… well, it’s starting to make a certain amount of sense. “I am not… jealous,” she grinds out. “I want to help.”

Alya raises an eyebrow without looking up from her phone. “What, you’re gonna make him forget all about her?” she says. “I’m not helping you plan that.”

Kagami clenches a fist, breathes in, unclenches. Then she twists her head, glancing around the cafeteria, making sure nobody is looking before leaning in. “I have feelings for her as well,” she whispers.

Alya’s head snaps up. “What,” she hisses, her eyelid twitching.

Kagami immediately finds herself doing something she has rarely done, even in the face of Akuma—she starts retreating. She folds into herself, ashamed of her own weakness but unable to stop herself from withering under Alya’s glare.

Alya reaches forward, snatches Kagami’s tie. “If you’re planning on cheating on him—”

Kagami gasps. “Absolutely not!” she hisses, slapping Alya’s hand away.

Alya narrows her eyes. “Explain,” she says.

Kagami compulsively smooths out her tie. “Adrien and Marinette are in love with each other,” she says. “And I am… interested… in both of them.”

Alya blinks, and then the corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “You’re angling for an as well as,” she says, her voice suddenly much lighter and more playful, “not an instead of.”

Kagami blinks. “I’m not sure I understand,” she says. That sounds right, but… maybe not? She can’t be sure.

Alya rolls her eyes, but this time it’s fond instead of cruel. “You want to date both of them,” she says, “and for both of them to date each other.”

“Yes!” Kagami cries. Alya finally gets it!

Then her entire body locks up as she realizes that her voice has carried across the entire cafeteria, and now everyone is looking at her.

“Hey,” Alya says, her voice soft. “Look at me. Don’t look at them. Look at me.”

Kagami does, sees the kindness in Césaire’s eyes, and feels her heartbeat begin to slow.

Alya smiles. “Mari does the same thing,” she says, standing up and snatching her sandwich from her tray. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

*

“Ughhh,” Alya groans after Kagami finishes explaining, slamming her face into her desk. “They’re getting worse.”

Kagami’s lips twist into a wry grin as she slurps the last of her soup straight out of the bowl. “I am glad you appreciate my predicament,” she says, carefully placing the bowl on top of the pile of paper towels Alya provided so as not to muck up Mari’s desk.

“Right, okay,” Alya says, placing her glasses back on her face. “So you need them to realize they like each other, and that you want them to… what, share you?”

Kagami nods, sweeping some droplets from the desk. “Approximately,” she says.

Alya nods. “Okay,” she says. “I’m going to give you the same advice you gave Marinette at the ice rink. Don’t hesitate.”

Kagami looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t understand,” she says. “I’m… not?”

Alya tosses her hair. “You kind of are,” she says. “It’s the same problem Marinette has—she’s scared, so she goes indirect and it gets misinterpreted.” She rubs her chin, bracing her elbow against the desk. “When you started dating Adrien, did you wait for him to make the first move?”

“Of course not,” Kagami says, then—“Oh. Oh I see.” Trying to get the two of them to figure it out on their own…

Alya grabs her shoulder. “You have to be direct with those two,” she says, smiling. “Otherwise they’ll never get it.”

Kagami smiles back, and this one feels a little more comfortable than her previous attempts. “I doubt they would understand it if I dragged Adrien to Marinette’s house while naked and covered in cheese,” she says.

Alya snorts, covering her mouth. “Marinette was right!” she says. “You are funny.”

*

“Adrien,” Kagami says as fencing practice begins winding down. “Can I speak to you once we’re finished with the showers?”

“Yeah?” he says, casually ripping his helmet from his head, releasing the tumbling golden curls. “Everything okay?”

Kagami bites her lip, which she’s glad is hidden behind the mask. “Yes,” she croaks. “Fine.” Marinette is one hundred percent correct—the boy is unfairly attractive, and she swears on Longg the kindness in his eyes makes her weak.

He turns, walking towards the shower, and she feels her knees wobble a bit at the sight of his shoulder blades. Jean snickers, jabbing her with his elbow, and she responds by punching him in the shoulder.

*

“What’s up?” Adrien says, pulling on his shirt.

Kagami braces her elbows between her knees, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Be direct. Don’t hesitate. “You’re in love with Marinette.”

Adrien freezes, one empty sleeve still hanging off his shoulder. “Gami?” he says, weakly.

She doesn’t really have a plan for how this conversation is going to go, so she’s not quite sure what to do next. She’s made the first move. Let him take the next.

“I—I don’t know why everyone… keeps saying that,” he says, pulling his arm through his remaining sleeve. “I’m—Marinette and I aren’t… anything.”

Kagami leans back on the bench, crossing her legs at the knee. “You know that’s not true.”

“Gami, please,” he says. He drops to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in between his own. “I don’t know what Alya told you, but… I’m with you. And you’re the one I want to be with.” He purses his lips. “I don’t—”

She presses his cheeks between her hands. “Adri-kun,” she whispers. “I love her too.”

Adrien’s eyelids quiver. “What?”

Kagami presses her forehead to his. “Even before we moved away from Osaka,” she says, “I never really expected to have friends. Okaasan never let me do anything with people my age. And then I met you… and her.”

“I don’t… understand,” Adrien whispers. He’s tearing up. Trying not to cry. “Are you… breaking up with me?”

Kagami can’t help it: she laughs. “Of course not!” she says. She loosens her grip on his face, cupping his cheek, and he leans into her touch with a soft mewl. “I wouldn’t give you up for anything, Adrien.”

He melts at her words, his face collapsing into her lap with a wordless whine of relief. She smiles, stroking his hair.

“I love both of you, Adrien,” she murmurs. “And you love both of us. So can we not… share?”

Adrien stiffens. “I—what?” he says, then her words seem to process in his brain and he gasps. “The ice cream!” he says. “You—you knew.”

Kagami nods. “Monsieur Glacier can see triads,” she says, “but only if he knows to look for them. That’s why he was so confused the first time you took me to him. That why I asked.”

“Marinette’s cone was both of us…” Adrien mumbles. He blinks. “Blue eyes. You said… ‘neither of us has blue eyes’.”

Kagami nods, resumes stroking his hair. “And Marinette does.”

Adrien crawls up onto the bench next to her. “But the strawberry chocolate chip,” he says. “That’s…”

“You called her ‘Everyday Ladybug,’ did you not?” Kagami says.

He looks at her in confusion, and she turns back to the lockers. “She told me,” she admits. “I… wasn’t happy about that, at first.”

Adrien groans. “Oh, my god,” he says. “I am in love with her.”

Finally! Kagami wants to leap up, to dance, to cheer, but that’s not how a Tsurugi acts. Instead she schools her reaction down to a smile and her quivering palms.

But then his face falls. “Let’s say I do want a…” He trails off. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, looking at the floor. “She doesn’t like me like that.”

Kagami freezes. “Who told you that?”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “She did.”

And suddenly a whole bunch of things fall into place, like an icepick through the front of her brain. Why Adrien seems to have been so oblivious to Marinette’s feelings. Why he thinks she’s been rejecting him all this time. Why, despite all Marinette’s signals, he’s never made a move.

“Adrien,” she says, laughing. “She—she was…” She can’t get a breath out, can’t stop laughing, can’t stop crying over how ridiculous this all is, how in love with these two dorks she is, how perfect they are for each other and how stupidly painful they’ve made everything and how, if they hadn’t, she’d have never had a chance. “She was lying!”

Adrien states at her, his face knit with confusion.

“Why do you think I disliked her so much at first?” Kagami chuckles. “She was competition.” She reaches out, flicks his nose. “She said you gave her an umbrella, and that was it for her heart.”

Adrien splutters. “But she—I don’t…” He throws his head into his hands and moans. “Why didn’t she say anything?”

“She is frightened,” Kagami says, rubbing his back. “Which means it’s up to us to make the next move.” She smiles, and she can tell her practice is paying off—it feels more natural than she can ever remember. “If this is what you want.”

Adrien swallows, nods. “I—I think I do,” he croaks, beaming back at her.

*

“The next move” ends up being taking Marinette back to Sweethearts Ice Cream. This time, with Luka.

“Luka,” Marinette says, clutching at her wrist as they walk. “Have I been… using the wrong pronouns for you?”

Adrien, whose arm is resting on Kagami’s opposite shoulder, glances sidelong at her. She simply nods in response. Be patient.

Luka chuckles. “No?” he says with wry confusion. “I’m very definitely cis. He/him is fine.”

“Oh.” Marinette’s voice falls. “It’s just… last time I was here…”

As she and Luka continue their conversation, Adrien buries his nose in Kagami’s hair. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmurs, just low enough that Marinette and Luka can’t hear them.

Her whole body warms, and when she tries to suppress her giggle, it comes out as a squeak instead. She’s starting to understand why Marinette is such a mess around Adrien sometimes. All her composure is evaporating, and to be honest, she’s more excited about that than scared. It’s freeing.

“Mari?” Adrien calls. “Are you sure he’s around here today?”

“Um,” Marinette responds. “Adrien… you’re looking right at him.”

Kagami raises an eyebrow. “I told you,” she says, squeezing her boyfriend’s side. “You need glasses.”

They approach André Glacier’s ice cream cart, and Kagami feels her feet and fingers begin to buzz. If she’s right about this… this is the moment. There’s no going back.

“Hello again!” André says. “Back for more Sweethearts?”

“Marinette was right,” Kagami says. “It is the best in Paris.”

André beams, quickly setting about serving Kagami and Adrien the same cone as last time. Kagami shoots Adrien a knowing look, and Adrien rolls his eyes.

André smiles, then turns to Luka. “For you…” he says, tilting his head. He glances at Marinette, then back to Luka. His mouth twists downward. “Oh.”

Luka raises an eyebrow, glancing at Kagami with suspicion. Marinette only looks confused.

“Not everyone likes every flavor,” André says, sorrow in his eyes. “And some mixes don’t find favor.” He sighs. “I can offer you a couple’s cone, but I fear you’ll wish I left alone.”

Marinette and Luka look at each other, and Luka swallows. “Goddammit,” he whispers.

“Luka?” Marinette says. “It’s—it’s just ice cream, it doesn’t… necessarily mean anything…” She trails off, looking at Adrien. “Right?”

Adrien’s mouth moves like a fish, and Kagami does not envy him. She’s watching Luka, watching grief play out across his face.

He steps forward. “Two cones, then,” he says, resolute.

André nods, reaching into his cart. “The Lady first,” he says, all the music gone from his voice. “Peach for the lips, mint for the eyes, and blackberry hair.”

Luka takes the cone, looks at Adrien and Kagami, and gently presses it into Marinette’s hand. “For you, my melody,” he whispers.

Kagami feels her chest twist at the endearment. Maybe if things were different…

“Birthday cake, fudge, and Dutch chocolate,” André says as he hands over Luka’s cone. “I’m sorry. I know you were hoping.”

Luka swallows. “I know,” he says, taking the cone. “I know.”

Adrien turns away, burying his face in Kagami’s hair. He’s shaking. She can’t blame him.

*

She’s only a little surprised when Luka texts her later that evening. She gave him her number when they first started double-dating; this is the first time she’s heard his text tone.

She glances at her door, then silences her phone, even cutting the vibration so her mother can’t hear her getting “distracted” from her work.

Luka: u knew

Kagami: I suspected

Kagami: for what it’s worth, I am sorry

Luka: wondered y u hated me

Luka: I’ve seen the way u 2 look @ her

Luka: and her @ u

Luka: take care of her?

Kagami: of course

Kagami: though I do not understand half of what you just said

Luka: I GREW UP ON FLIP PHONES

Kagami: ah. “Txting speek?”

Luka: …

Luka: never talk like th@ again pls

Kagami: it did seem ridiculous when I typed it, yes

Kagami: when are you going to do it?

Luka: already did. Dragging it out wldnt b fair 2 her

Luka: she’s gonna need u tmrw

Kagami: I’ll be there. And so will he

Luka: thx

Kagami locks her phone and gives herself a moment to feel guilty. If she hadn’t taken them to André’s, this would never have happened.

Or maybe it just would’ve happened later, after they were too involved to not be hurt by it. Maybe she saved their friendship.

She still feels guilty.

*

When she sees Marinette the next morning, the guilt gets worse. She looks despondent, listless, and though Juleka seems to be doting on her, trying to cheer her up after the breakup with her brother, most of Marinette’s energy—both her joy and her nerves—has bled out of her.

Kagami’s heart corkscrews into her stomach. She can feel the acid eating at it.

She gets updates from Adrien and Alya between classes throughout the morning. She won’t tell anyone what happened, but the whole class seems to be rallying behind her, trying to cheer her up, and things are getting… well, a little better. She’s still heartbroken, it seems, but at least she’s laughing again.

When class lets out for lunch, Kagami charges to Mme. Bustier’s class, heedless of the people in the hallways between her and her target. She bursts through the door, ignoring the confused stares of the rest of the class as she snags Marinette’s wrist. “Come on,” she says. “Okaasan thinks we have a group project.”

Marinette blinks. “What?” she says.

Kagami smiles, a fully-natural one now. “We,” she says, glancing at her boyfriend, “are taking you to lunch.”

*

Lunch is… quiet. And awkward. Kagami and Adrien sit across from a despondent Marinette in the quiet cafe, watching her pick apart her salad and meet nobody’s eyes. Kagami feels awful.

Adrien glances at her, nervously licks his lips, and she knows he’s not going to do anything. He’s going to wait for Marinette to talk. And she isn’t going to.

Don’t hesitate.

Kagami clears her throat. “Luka texted me last night,” she says.

Marinette chokes, her fork slipping out of her hand and clattering onto the table.

“Marinette?” Adrien says, his gaze soft. Kagami can see him straining not to reach out to her—how did this boy ever think he wasn’t in love?

Marinette’s eyes close, and she sniffles, wiping her nose. “I ruined it,” she whispers. “I ruined everything.”

Adrien reaches out to take her hand. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault—”

“You don’t understand!” she cries. “He—I… I tried. I tried so hard.” She slumps into the wooden back of her chair. “I wanted to be in love with him… I really did.”

Kagami swallows. “What happened?”

Marinette sobs. “He… he asked if he…” she begins. She glances up at Adrien, then her eyes flick away just as quickly. “If… he was the one… I really wanted to be with.”

Kagami’s hand clenches around her croissant, digging trenches into the flaky crust.

“I tried to say yes,” Marinette whispers. “But I just…” She sobs again, burying her face in her hands. “I ruin—I ruined everything.” Her shoulders are shaking. “How stupid am I?”

Kagami is frozen. She wants to help, but deep down she knows that no matter what she does, what she says, it’s only going to make things worse. She has no idea what to do.

Luckily, Adrien does. “The heart wants what it wants,” he says, reaching out to squeeze Marinette’s shoulder. “You’re not stupid for feeling.”

Marinette shakes her head with a whimper. “I’m stuck on someone who doesn’t even want me,” she whispers. “Why—why can’t I let him go?”

Adrien glances at Kagami. She nods.

Adrien turns back to Marinette. “Marinette,” he says, his voice soft. “What makes you think I don’t want you?”

Marinette freezes.

A chill rockets across Kagami’s skin as all her hair stands on end at once. She can see the warring emotions in Marinette’s mind—guilt and shame and hope and elation—and for the moment, nobody moves.

Then Marinette lifts her head. “How—” she squeaks. “How did you know it was you?”

Adrien smiles. “Gami told me,” he says. He glances at Kagami, licks his lips. “I wish you’d told me earlier.”

Marinette frowns. “It… doesn’t matter anymore, anyway,” she says, looking at Kagami. “You—you’re together now, and…”

“And your ice cream flavors mentioned two people,” Kagami says, laying her hand on top of Marinette’s. “Blackberry, mint, and peach.”

Marinette’s eyes go wide.

“I have black hair.” Kagami says, then nods at Adrien. “He has green eyes.” She breathes in, interlacing her fingers with Marinette’s. “And we both have two hands.”

Marinette’s mouth drops open. “Are you…” she whispers, her eyes flicking between them both. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“Kagami and I are both in love with you,” Adrien says, taking her other hand. “We were hoping… that you’d be okay with sharing.”

Marinette’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. She turns to Kagami. “I—You said…” she says, her eyes narrowing. “You told me you’d be okay with losing my friendship… if it meant you could be with him.”

Kagami blinks as the bullet of Marinette’s words strikes her right in the gut. “I—I only said that to Ladybug.” She swallows. “And I said it as Ryuuko.”

The table is utterly silent for a half-second, the only sound the chatter of the cafe around them. They’re in a bubble of time when everything around them has sped up, and they are frozen as the world zips by unimpeded.

Then Adrien drops his fork. “Oh my gods,” he gasps. “My Lady?”

Marinette’s head snaps around to him. “Chaton?” she hisses.

For the second time in less than a minute, Kagami’s brain catches fire. Adrien kept speaking about a girl he liked who didn’t like him—it wasn’t Marinette who was turning him down (except it was, sort of). The two of them disappearing every time an Akuma arrived. Ladybug’s choice to call on Ryuuko whenever Marinette was with Kagami.

Oh, sweet gods, she’s fallen in love with Ladybug and Chat Noir.

“Mari-chan,” Kagami says, squeezing her hand. “The first thing I said was that I couldn’t bear to hurt you.” She looks at Adrien. “And… I said I wouldn’t give him up for the sake of our friendship.” She rubs her thumb on Marinette’s palm. “You never asked me to.”

Marinette—Ladybug—looks at her with watering eyes. “I don’t—” she begins, choking on her words. “I don’t know what to do.”

Kagami swallows. They’ve gone so far off anything she’d planned for, anything she’d prepared for, and she doesn’t know either. But she knows where to start.

“Marinette,” she says. “Don’t hesitate.”

Marinette blinks, then grabs Kagami’s lapels and yanks them both toward each other over the table, their lips mashing together with a burning heat that flashes across Kagami’s skin, followed by the feeling of every hair on her skin standing straight up, every nerve in her body sparking like she’s turned into a lightning bolt. (She has to check to make sure she’s not wearing her Miraculous—she swears she’s discorporating.)

Marinette breaks the kiss first, gasping. Kagami drops back into her chair, all her muscles loose—she’s kissed Adrien before, but she has never, in her life, been kissed the way Marinette just kissed her. She wants—she needs more.

Marinette turns to Adrien. “I’ve been in love with you since the day you gave me your umbrella,” she says.

He reaches out, takes her hand, presses her knuckles to his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since you first stood up to Hawkmoth.”

Marinette’s face glows pink. “You never really hid that,” she giggles.

Adrien nods, his own face growing steadily redder. “I—this is a lot,” he says. “I think I’m going to explode.”

“Me too,” Marinette whispers.

Kagami would concur, but she’s still speechless from the whirlwind that was Marinette’s kiss.

She looks at Kagami. “So… are we…?”

Kagami swallows, shakes herself loose. “We are... whatever you want us to be,” she says, taking Adrien’s hand. Smiling is coming easy now. “What do you want, Marinette?”

“I want you,” she says. “I want both of you.”

“You have two hands,” Adrien says, holding up his free palm. “Why not use them?”

Marinette grins. “Why not?” she says, taking both of their hands. “Mon Chaton. Ma Dragonne.”

“My Lady,” Adrien responds, melting.

Kagami’s pulse is squeezing her ears, but she has enough brainpower left to whisper one more word. “Mushi-Chan.”

[chal-lelerc]

i’m literally going to yeet myself off a cliff because i wrote. an essay. responding to this ask. and tried to configure a cut and it somehow disappeared goddamn this site. will try to write again as word for word as possible because i want to Speak. I Will Not Be Silenced. Fuck. FUCK.

anyway. i wouldn’t say that it’s daniel deciding lando is a threat that would be the main point of contention (because let’s face it, all drivers view their teammates as a threat -- remember, friends, not family), but rather their ability to deal with each other's energies. not in the sense that they’re hyperactive or excitable, but rather their general modes of existence. however, i do trust (whatever value my trust holds lmao) that dan is thoughtful and knows limits, and that he’ll be able to read lando well. regardless, this is a far more palatable take than some of what i’ve been seeing recently so i appreciate it.

this is just me making presumptions and headcanoning the shit out of real life people and and projecting and extrapolating from the Vibes that have been exuded into the virtual atmosphere so take this all with a grain of salt.

that being said, lando seems to be rather sensitive and prone to being overwhelmed; he seems to get distracted rather easily and might come off as a bit rude (see, him not answering people over discord even when they’re directly addressing him). not to be a shitstirrer, but, dare i say it, i feel like some may find it a bit hard to really become friends with him because of this. take charles, for example. i personally feel like he very much has a welcoming, will get along as genuinely as possible with everyone at at least a superficial level kind of personality. i think that so long as the recipient is receptive, he’s an easy friend to make if one is able to handle his energy (in this case, i do mean his hyperactive excitableness). i don’t think lando is one of these people that can do so, nor do i think he’s as open. clearly he’s civil, but it’s not the same thing. the relationship between charles and lando seems significantly different than the one between lando and george or alex or especially max. obviously, there are varying degrees of familiarity that come into play, but regardless, lando approaches charles and most group situations in which charles will be present differently than he would with people like max v or groups with folks like max f and connor and ‘razz’. if i’m being frank, sometimes charles/lando interactions make my anxiety ridden ass nervous sweat i just want everyone to get along and be happy and play eurotruck sim together. i think charles is lando’s “in small doses” type of guy. they streamed essentially solo together the other day and interacted quite beautifully if i do say so myself. i think lando’s turnoff point is when there are lots of overlapping personalities in a single instance that never shut up, and charles only ever compounds this kind of chaos (no hate, just facts).

^^is just to say that Lando + Emotions, in my opinion, appears to be more complex than we tend to make it out to be. (ex: he obviously has his really good days, and we’ve seen that he has his rather bad days as well -- and sometimes quite regularly.) this doesn’t mean that the other drivers are two dimensional, or that we know them personally because of what they’ve allowed us to see of themselves via twitch, but just that lando seems to (willingly or not) show this complicated side of him more often; many sources have also said that he’s surprisingly shy and reserved. i think this is why he and carlos get on so well. everything else about carlos aside, his chaos was delivered via comparatively quiet jokes and intensely staring into lando’s eyes until lando cracked and hyena laughed. with carlos, there was nothing to feel the need to catch up to. now i’m not saying that charles and dan are really at all similar in any way, but i think they present the same situation: people need to be able to keep up with them. (max, bless his heart, was able to with daniel. i feel like he’s a happy medium between charles’ open friendliness and lando’s tendency to be reserved (and dan’s hypermasc vibes), which is why he can deal with daniel’s exuberance as well as coax lando out of his shell of sorts.) i sound stupid condescending when i say this and i promise this isn’t my intention, but i’m confident in dan’s ability to conduct himself like an adult when need be; we’ve seen he actually has a thoughtful brain in the content that red bull has provided us. regardless, there’s an inherent pervasiveness and aggression that comes with the sheer masc jock energy that daniel exudes that  i’m not so sure if lando can handle (or maybe he can what do i know).

and all ^^ is just to say that i think lando may end up finding himself floundering in the wake of the force of nature that is Daniel Ricciardo, which is more a point of concern than their “immaturity”. or they could get along peachy and i’m just being an innane fangirl projecting my fantasies and psychoanalyzing and coddling semi-to-full adults who knows and who really cares lets see it play out

[whatsmylaneagain]

Amethyst - Third Chapter

Pairing: Eggsy x Agent!Reader

Word count: 1960 (a big one!!! Yay!!!)

Warnings: swearing, Roxy mention (bc she deserved more), reader’s character being a rebellious lil shit, Eggsy being kinda dumb (oh well this is all kinda narrated by his point of view, there’s no way to not expect that, right?!)

Chapter synopsis: so, we know that the bomb had Eggsy’s name on it, but.... what the hell is actually happening?

A/N: GUYS IM BACK AND IM SORRY!!!! I’ve written (and revised) this more than six months ago, but I absolutely hated how I made Eggsy a dumb character, so I spent all this months putting this story aside to fix it later... but I love it so much and this week I watched Spies are Forever and oh well.... idk, its been too long, but I’m posting this anyway.

Amethyst masterlist

Eggsy didn’t expect to find another person other than Harry and Merlin at the Kingsman’s meeting room. And what he definitely didn’t expect was for the person to be a beautiful Chinese woman laughing and having a drink with Harry Hart. The young man felt like he was invading a private moment, and had the sudden urge to grab y/n by the arm to show her the new victorian-style sconces he chosen for the rebuilt hallway.

But before he could say anything, y/n had already tapped the doorpost, making their presence known. The middle-aged woman talking to Harry glanced at the two young agents, giving the girl a sly smile. 

“I’m glad to know you didn’t punch Mr. Unwin on your way here, y/n” she said, as Eggsy went straight for his chair on Harry’s right side.

“I would’ve if you didn’t send me that text” The girl had moved to the woman’s side, backing up to the wall for support. She never made mention of pulling a chair.

“Well, y/n, I take as you already know Harry.” Said the woman, gesturing to the older man, who smiled sweetly. Yes, that’s right. Harry SMILED.

“Of course, The Great Harry Hart, the man of a thousand missions;” when Eggsy thought he couldn’t get more confused, y/n pulled this. “Everybody at the headquarters knows who you are.” And some - fucking – how, she sounded genuine, and not witty or arrogant as she appeared to be. Was that… admiration?

Seeing Eggsy’s confused expression, the older woman gave him a small smile, welcoming, but not too sweet; just like an agent is used to do.

“Galahad, I’m Yijun, or as my agents – or people who can’t bother to learn how to pronounce it - call me, Circe. I’m the head of Amethyst, the agency that y/n works for.”

Eggsy must have looked very confused, because Harry intervened, while pouring two more drinks, giving him one and sliding the other across the table, towards y/n.

“Yijun is an old friend, we met some weeks after she came from China. I was already a Kingsman, and was trying to bring her into the organization – just like I did with you – when she was recruited as an Amethyst trainee.”

“You knew?” Started Eggsy, a little bit of irritation shaping his words. After agent Whiskey, he knew better than not to trust Harry. But he couldn’t help the feeling of being a pawn. “Why did you let me go after her then?”

“I didn’t know the agent who saved you was y/n. All I knew was that she was an Amethyst, since the intervention was fast and clean.”

“-almost clean;” Yijun turned her chair to y/n, who was taking a sip out of her drink, still leant against the wall. “If Morgan’s work were perfect, you wouldn’t be able to find her.”

“Nobody’s perfect, but I try my best.” She shrugged. “’m still your best agent tho.”

“Please,” Merlin entered the room, an IPad in hands, ready to the briefing. “put the blame on me for being able to hack into almost anything, including London’s surveillance cameras. She did a wonderful job.”

Merlin stopped right in front of y/n, extending his hand for a handshake. She grabbed it immediately.

“Miss Le Fay. Hope our codenames won’t be a problem.” 

“I don’t see why, Sir Merlin. The witch from who I borrowed my name could very easily have been Merlin’s apprentice.”

No awkward pressure thing, from what Eggsy could see. Why were his interactions with her so bloody awful? For god’s sake, y/n was joking with Merlin!

It took him a moment to remember what history the two were referring to: Morgan Le Fay was a witch in King Arthur’s story, from where Kingsman got their codenames. Depending on the version, she can be portrayed as Merlin’s enemy, responsible for the death of King Arthur or as a powerful good woman, that had healing powers and could shape shift. For an organization like Amethyst, Eggsy supposed the second option was the one they had in mind.

Merlin greeted Yijun with a respectful “ma’am” before selecting something on his device, the projection of a document showing up on the wall above y/n.

“The techs over Amethyst sent us their reports on missing people, and turns out the man who you two,” Merlin looked at Eggsy and y/n. “saw is Adrian Bell. Seven months ago, he apparently went on a trip to India, but his family didn’t hear about him after he left. He never showed up on the airport camera footage.”

“So... he planned to disappear?” Interfered Eggsy.

“Apparently, yes. But there’s a problem.” Merlin changed the projection, it now being a series of pictures, especially ones where Bell hugged his family tightly, his wife crying, and his kids glued to his leg. It looked like a reunion. “He doesn’t remember anything and woke up asking for his family. His last memory was being in a bar and passing out. He thinks that he was in an alcoholic coma.”

Eggsy was about to ask a lot of questions, but Merlin had started talking again, while taking two Kingsman’s RayBans out of his pocket, giving each woman a pair. 

“I’ve made a partnership with the group of cooperative organizations led by Amethyst, also called D.E.A.R; Diamond, Emerald and Amethyst Relations -” Introduced Merlin, but Eggsy wasn’t really paying much attention to him. 

Instead, he was observing y/n, who hesitantly spun the glasses in her hands, analysing it, differently from Yijun, who just put them on right away. Her mouth twitched on the side, and she started to bite her tongue, as if trying to distract and put herself together. Y/n put them on, but kept looking down for some seconds, before fixing her posture and raising her head, crossing her arms, still leant against the wall on one shoulder.

It was quite weird seeing y/n wearing the glasses. Even though she had noting that could possibly remind him of Roxy, Eggsy couldn’t stop the deja vu of his best friend. A sad smile adorned his lips. He missed her.

A Kingsman-style hologram of a young 16-year-old girl appeared sitting on one of the chairs, big extravagant round sunglasses framing her face along with bright pink streaks on her brown hair. Although she was a teenager (and dressed like one, in a jean jacket and a white tee that said “girl power” in red), she sat perfectly straight, very professionally.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Tonks, Emerald’s tech and field agent. I just came back from an information gathering mission.” which, as a previous Emerald’s agent, y/n knew was just a fancy description for attending parties. Nothing too dangerous, especially for Emerald’s missions, that were more based in socialization and keeping an eye on people. Actually, y/n was impressed that Tonks had something substantial to report (especially to Kingsman) in a high school party. “A group of unmatchable individuals seems to be working together, all of them acting really uncharacteristic and very patronized. I detected the group spiking other teen’s drinks. I managed to intervene and get a sample of it. Agent Spellman also reported a strange movement, alike the one I observed, with a college group. We sent the samples to our biotechs, and the lab concluded it was a modified Mikey Pinn.” The girl grabbed her phone and sent something, the IPhone message sound reverberating through the room. “Now you have access to our outhouse cameras, Merlin.” 

Merlin quickly changed the projection above y/n to eight squares of video that showed each teen in one small room, some asleep on the beds, some walking around nervously, and one passed out on the floor. Tonks started talking again.

“Spellman and I brought the group of high school and college students to our outhouse. Whatever drug they’re on soon will wear off, and then we’ll be able to analyse what happened to them.”

“Was that the first ever occurrence on your field, Tonks?” Asked Yijun, and then turned to the Kingsman’s, explaining; “Emerald agents that work on high schools usually only have to get in action to stop violence and abuse at their missions. Situations like what we’re dealing with right now is uncharacteristic.”

“No, Boss. Some students stopped going to classes suddenly, but we checked: they all were confirmed on exchange programs abroad. Apparently, they never went.”

Y/n wasn’t leant on the wall anymore. She’d walked to the table, bent over it, hands open, pressed on the cold wood, all her attention on Tonks. Tension.

“Who were the kids? High school and college. Why choose them?” She said.

Tonks flipped through her phone, messaging Merlin more documents - the ring once again filling the room - before answering.

“A rugby player, two perfect grade kids and a foreign student were the high school kids. Apparently, it’s a pattern: physically strong people and awarded students that stand out for their knowledge of exact sciences.”

“Have you tracked were they were drugged the first time?” Continued y/n.

“Not yet, but...”

“I did;” said Merlin, suddenly, typing on his IPad.

A new image showed up on the wall. The front of a bar that looked like it used to be fancy ten years ago. Now, the paint was coming off the walls, and the huge opaque black doors were rusted, chains and a big old padlock kept them closed. It had no name on the outside, only a broken light up waning crescent moon, just the inferior part working, shining in a weak yellow light.

Eggsy knew the place. Actually, every teen and young adult in London knew Moonz: the flat broke bar that let underage kids come in and drink. You didn’t even need a fake ID, they would pretend to not be able to do math and let kids in. In some months, it became domain of teens, turning into a considerably safe place for them to get drunk and party. Also, it was the cheapest place to get booze.

But the underage drinking caused a bigger problem; since it was illegal, the neighbourhood didn’t have a lot of cops because the owner kept them away. Consequently, Moonz’s location became a centre of violence, kidnapping, and other heavy crimes.

The young Galahad saw y/n turn to the projection in slow motion, the act of being casual being thrown out of the window. For Eggsy, she looked like a robot who got rebooted and installed a completely different system of command. When she spoke again, her voice was strong and deep.

“Tonks, do you know when it started?”

“It?” Asked Eggsy. 

��The kidnappings.” Y/n answered. “The fact that they were drugging others looks like it was a kidnapping system. In this context, those kids were “recruiting” more teens.” 

Tonks checked her phone.

“No, Morgan. We couldn’t track it. They apparently are the first ones to come back.”

“Shit.” Y/n paced around the room. “Boss, permission to do an observation and protection mission at Moonz.”

“Permission granted” nodded Yijun “take Galahad with you.”

“Yi, I don’t think the gentlemen can pass as a teenager.” Y/n had stopped walking. She looked straight into Eggsy’s eyes. “With all due respect...”

Yijun shook her head. 

“You know there are other ways to get him inside undercover.”

Y/n ran her fingers through her hair, taking a deep breath. Eggsy could almost hear her thinking “Fuck. Fine.”.

“C’mon Galahad, we’ve got a job to do.”

Eggsy and Y/n were almost out of the room when Yijun called her agent again.

“Oh and Y/n.” The girl turned around. “Don’t engage. I’ll send Emerald agents to protect the kids, but you and Galahad can’t have your covers blown up. Do. Not. Engage. Do you understand?”

All Y/n did was nod slightly.

If you made it to here, thank you so much! I hope it was worth your time! Some feedback would be appreciated, I really wanted to see if you liked this (dumb) Eggsy I’m presenting.... If you don’t want to be in the taglist anymore, I totally understand! Just message me :)

Also!!!! Feel free to message me any questions about the fic and this chapter! I have some fun reasons for choosing those codenames and Diamond, Emerald and Amethyst as the names for the organization!

Amethyst taglist

@a-dorky-book-keeper @50shadesofuncomfortable @arizonacolleen @infinity-of-high-dreaming @toasty-fish @pink-smarties @mc225g @dadd-ilf @sueeatstheworld @katorgatorgalaxy @the-ink-and-salt-club @incorrect-mcdanno @xelizabethvalentinex @ahyestheandersons @thatdamnokie @wxxnks @awesomewees @ryedikkulus @discodeak @clacestan @y-dadd

(If you got the notification again, sorry! I had a problem with the taglist and had to do it again!

[vulcan-highblood]

Group Project

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G 

Pairing: Gen

Summary:  Iruka didn't realize that a baby (6-year-old) joining his class was the herald to the end of his pranking days in the Academy. But when their teacher assigns Itachi and Iruka a group project, it becomes clear that Iruka's going to have to learn how to cooperate with the little smarty-pants Uchiha. The only problem is, he's not sure Itachi's willing to cooperate with him.

Read it on AO3

Group Project Sharingan-Stealer Iruka - Part 1

There was a new kid in class, Iruka noted absently as he eased his hand under his desk, pressing a small wad of what looked like chewing gum there, fighting to keep a straight face. At the front of the classroom, Aki-sensei was scribbling on the blackboard and babbling about this… Iruka paused, doing a double take. They were getting a baby in their class!

Okay, not a literal baby, but he might as well be! He was barely half the size of everyone else in the room, with big dark eyes, soft black hair, and chubby baby cheeks. Iruka fought not to laugh - what was this kid doing in their class? They were going to graduate in a few months, why on earth would they be moving this kid into their class now?

“I hope you will all be welcoming to Itachi. We have high hopes for him - for all of you -” here Aki-sensei paused to glare at Iruka, “to pass your upcoming assessment and graduate to Genin-rank.”

Iruka didn’t bother to hide his scowl at that. He’d been held back during the last assessment because of his poor written marks. And his poor practical scores. Also probably because he’d skipped the first half of the test to try and drop water balloons on the ANBU standing outside Hokage Tower. The real trap had actually been trying to corral them into tripping a wire that would send a ink-filled balloon at them from a completely different direction, but, like all the other times he’d tried to pull one over on the ANBU, it hadn’t succeeded.

He had been scolded pretty soundly by two of them, and then frog-marched back to the Academy, only to realize that Aki-sensei hadn’t reminded them about the test the day before, so he hadn’t known to show up on time. Or maybe she had reminded them, and Iruka had slept through it? Anyway, he’d missed most of the graduation exam, and Aki-sensei wasn’t about to let him forget it. Other than harassing him about tests, though, she had precious little to say to him that wasn’t critical and honestly just obnoxious, and Iruka got enough of that at the orphanage, so was it any wonder that he tended to tune her out?

“Hey Iruka,” Mizuki whispered, “check out the new kid. He’s an Uchiha.”

Iruka rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed.” It was hard to miss the fan shape on the kid’s shirt, after all. Did Mizuki really think he was that dumb? He may not be great in school, but he knew the clan crests! At least, the important ones. Mostly. Anyway, Uchiha was an easy crest to recognize because it looked like a fan.

“No, idiot, I mean,” Mizuki shot back with an irritated grimace, “He’s an Uchiha. I heard they’re the ones responsible for… you know.”

“I don’t know,” Iruka replied, frowning. “Responsible for what? They’re the military police, I’m sure they have a lot of responsibilities.”

Mizuki glanced back and forth like he was going to tell Iruka a secret, and then whispered very loudly, “They’re the ones who caused the Kyuubi attack.”

Whispers rippled across the room as eyes turned to land on the new baby in their class. They didn’t have any Uchiha kids in their year, or hadn’t, but Iruka had seen a couple of Uchihas around the academy in some of the lower classes. They didn’t seem like the sort of people to be letting nine-tailed demon foxes loose in the village, but what did Iruka know? The Uchihas mostly stuck to their own compound, except when they were in school, and Iruka couldn’t recall ever meeting one outside of school. He scowled down at the kid. If his family was responsible for that night… Iruka swallowed hard. It had been two years since that night, but sometimes his throat still burned like he’d never stopped screaming.

Slowly, he forced his eyes away from the tiny kid in the front row. What his family had done wasn’t his business, anyway. As long as he didn’t bother Iruka, he didn’t have a problem with the little kid.

Itachi Uchiha was starting to get on Iruka’s nerves. It wasn’t like the kid was

trying

to annoy him necessarily. At least, that didn’t seem to be his intent. But his very existence felt like a splinter stuck under Iruka’s skin that he couldn’t seem to dislodge, setting him on edge. And then,

then

he’d started to actively get a rise out of Iruka. It wasn’t just the way that this

tiny baby child

had waltzed into their classroom and

immediately

risen to the top of the class in test scores, or even the way he managed to

always

master everything in their practical skills work. It wasn’t even the way he was

always

raising his hand in class to answer questions, or

worse,

ask

questions, which would lead Aki-sensei on a tangent when Iruka just wanted to

go outside

and not sit at a desk and listen to a boring teacher blather on about boring rules. No, the thing that made Iruka genuinely irritated was the fact that Itachi kept

ratting him out.

It had started on the very first day. After Mizuki had made his not-so-subtle announcement about the Uchiha clan and their supposed connection to the disaster from two years ago, Itachi had taken a moment to turn and glance back at the rest of the room, his gaze sweeping over the class before frowning at Iruka. Or, more specifically, the ‘gum’ under Iruka’s desk. Then, he raised his hand.

“Yes, Itachi?” Aki-sensei said, pausing mid-lecture. “You have a question?”

“Not exactly,” Itachi answered, his dark eyes drifting back over his shoulder to peer at Iruka. “Are exploding tags allowed in this classroom?”

Iruka was going to strangle him. He’d planned this out to the letter, and now this tiny kid was going to ruin it? He gripped his pencil so hard it almost broke, widening his eyes at the little Uchiha as if to say “don’t you dare,” but the little kid seemed totally unmoved.

“No,” Aki-sensei said, her eyes drifting from Itachi up to where he was staring: Iruka’s desk. “They are not. Iruka?”

Desperately, Iruka tried to salvage the situation, lifting his hands in the air. “Look, I don’t have an exploding tag, my hands are empty-”

“He was sticking it under his desk while you were writing on the chalkboard,” Itachi interrupted. “I saw him hide it under the gum.”

“It’s not an exploding tag!” Iruka barked back, irritated.

“Oh?” Suddenly, Aki-sensei was across the room, standing beside his desk. One of her eyes twitched as she stared down at Iruka, a dangerous gleam in her stare. “And if it’s not an exploding tag, then what is it?”

… he should have seen that one coming. Iruka glared furiously at Itachi, who had already turned around in his seat and didn’t seem to notice the enraged look Iruka was tossing in his direction. If Iruka knew how to radiate a killing intent, he would have, because what was this kid’s deal? It wasn’t like he was going to be personally affected by a little stink-bomb, especially not one as weak as the one Iruka had thrown together this morning by modifying a stolen exploding tag from the training grounds. It was set to go off at a specific trigger, specifically exposure to chakra, which would probably be when Aki-sensei peeled the gum off the desk at the end of class, because he’d used some chakra to stick it right at the edges, and Aki-sensei wasn’t one for finesse, so knowing her, she’d just blast the whole thing with chakra to peel it off, and then… boom! The room would be filled with the smell of rotten eggs. It wouldn’t have bothered anyone else, just smelled up the room and probably also Aki-sensei. To match her stinking personality, because she hated Iruka and never bothered to hide her disdain, so why should anyone care if she smelled as stinky as her attitude?

“...it’s just a stink-tag,” Iruka groused. 

Aki-sensei scowled down at him, folding her arms over her chest. “If it’s just a…” she made a small confused face, “…stink-tag…” she shook her head at the unfamiliar phrase before continuing, “then, I suppose you know how to remove it without setting it off?”

Iruka nodded slowly, his mind already spinning as he re-evaluated his options. He fought to keep his expression neutral as an idea occurred to him. Really, Itachi had brought this on himself with his meddling. If he hadn’t said anything, the only person who would have been affected was Aki-sensei and her nasty attitude.

Aki-sensei was watching him with her sharp gaze. “Honestly, Iruka, sometimes I wonder why you even bother coming to class at all,” she snapped, “if all you’re going to do is make trouble, you might as well not be here.”

Iruka agreed, in a general sense. He didn’t want to be in Aki-sensei’s classroom any more than she wanted him there. But he wanted to become a ninja, a great ninja, like his parents, and that meant he had to graduate from Ninja Academy, even if it meant putting up with mean people like Aki-sensei. “Yes, sensei,” was all he said, reaching under his desk and minding his own chakra, making sure to keep it well away from the ‘gum’, peeling the sticky substance away from the desk to reveal the small tag he’d altered that morning. Then, with a smirk, he turned to face the front of the classroom, and shouted, “Hey, Itachi! Catch!” and pushed a tiny bit of his chakra into the tag as he threw it at Itachi’s head. The tag exploded before it reached the kid, really almost as it left Iruka’s hand, but it was the thought that counted, Iruka decided. The odorous smoke trailed across the room, covering mostly Iruka and Aki-sensei, but also quickly filling the entire classroom with a horrible stench.

Despite the urge to gag, Iruka had to admit the tag had worked well. Next time, he’d have to figure out a detonation timer, or distance trigger for it. It worked basically the same as a regular exploding tag, but with less concussive force and more smell, so he was fairly confident he could get it to work. He grinned, even as Aki-sensei grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard, scolding him about whatever. He wasn’t listening. Instead, as their classroom was being evacuated, amidst the coughing, choking, and streaming eyes, Iruka caught Itachi’s cool, dark gaze, and winked at him. The Uchiha looked away. Heh. Score 1: Umino Iruka.

Iruka’s detention after school to air out the classroom and scrub it top-to-bottom was worth it, he decided. Maybe next time Itachi would think twice before selling him out.

…he did not.

~~*~~

In the weeks that followed, Iruka discovered a few new facts about Uchiha Itachi.

Fact one: Itachi was a rules guy.

He didn’t particularly care what the retaliation would be, if he saw Iruka breaking a rule, he would say something and it would suck. Iruka was usually able to get away with a few pranks here and there just because Aki-sensei couldn’t prove it was him, but with Itachi’s eagle-eyes following him everywhere, it seemed like he was getting detentions nonstop. At this point, Aki-sensei had taken to making Iruka stand in the corner of the classroom and stare at the wall for a few hours after every prank. Then she had the audacity to get mad when Iruka would come in the next day without his homework! He was an older kid in the orphanage, he had chores to do, and he was spending detention staring at a wall! Maybe if she let him do his homework instead of standing around doing nothing, he’d actually be able to finish it! Not that he bothered saying as much - she would have just accused him of making excuses.

Another fact about Uchiha Itachi: He was a genius.

It was more than just how good at everything in school he was, he was also good at catching Iruka when Iruka was trying to pull a prank. He was better at that than his teachers, even! In a way, Itachi reminded Iruka of the ANBU around Hokage Tower, able to somehow spot every trap he was setting up and avoiding every piece of it as if it was nothing. Itachi seemed capable of effortlessly noticing, dismantling, and alerting the adults whenever Iruka tried to pull something, and he took it as a personal challenge. Iruka stopped caring so much about pranking Aki-sensei, who at this point had taken to ignoring him all over again. Instead, he started trying to get Itachi.

A lot of the classic pranks didn’t pan out, and Itachi just reported him to Aki-sensei, who had him stand in a corner until after dinnertime, which usually meant he’d get back to the orphanage late and have nothing to eat and still an hour or two of chores before lights-out. So after a few failed attempts, Iruka moved on from that, but he didn’t give up on the idea. As much as it sucked to go without dinner for a night here and there, he had Itachi’s attention, and he felt like maybe this was a prime way to practice his ANBU traps without alerting any actual ANBU to his early attempts. As he took his time coming up with new pranks, part of Iruka even wondered if Itachi might be enjoying himself, too. It was hard to tell.

This tied into fact three about Uchiha Itachi: He reacted to basically everything in a calm, methodical, mild manner.

Since he never seemed to respond to anything, his lack of reaction to the pranks seemed fairly normal to Iruka. Itachi never seemed especially surprised or angry, and he only really smiled when he was talking about his baby brother, Sasuke. But Iruka thought that maybe Itachi enjoyed the challenge of spotting his pranks, of reporting him to Aki-sensei, almost as much as Iruka enjoyed trying to think up new ways to get him. If he didn’t, then why would he keep doing it? Surely it was easier to just let Iruka do what he wanted.

Things continued on in this way for about a month. Iruka would set a trap, Itachi would spot it and report him to Aki-sensei, Aki-sensei would make him stand in the corner, and Iruka wouldn’t turn in his homework the next day. It became almost routine, until Aki-sensei told the class they would be doing a group homework project. Instantly, everyone started trying to grab their friends and pair up - but Aki-sensei cut them off, saying that everyone would be drawing names from a bag, instead. Starting at the front of the room, she had the students pass the bag to the student beside them, writing down the student pairs on the blackboard as they went.

At least, that’s what she did until Itachi fished out the name of his partner and read it aloud. “Umino Iruka.”

Whispers danced across the classroom. A few of the more dedicated students in the front rows whispered variations on “ouch,” and “tough break!” and “glad I’m not you!” to Itachi, who, as usual, didn’t seem to react at all.

Pressing his lips together to keep from yelling at the other kids about how he was glad he wasn’t them, Iruka clenched his fists. He knew he wasn’t a good student. He knew nobody wanted to be paired up with him when it had to do with studying. He knew that. But it still hurt to hear them say it.

Aki-sensei, meanwhile, was standing at the blackboard, her chalk hovering over the spot where she should have been writing Iruka’s name next to Itachi’s, verifying them as homework partners for the project. Instead, she was frowning. “I don’t normally do this,” she said, “But, if you’d like, Itachi, you can pick a different partner.”

Iruka felt his stomach clench. If he’d like? Of course he’d like! No one wanted to be paired up with Iruka for homework, even Mizuki had scooted over to ask someone else to be his partner before Aki-sensei had brought out the name bag. Iruka stared down at his desk, willing his face to stay neutral, not to show emotion. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to work on this project anyway, so it didn’t matter that no one wanted him. They were right not to want him, it’s not like he wanted to work on this project with anyone anyway.

“No,” came Itachi’s soft, measured voice, “I’m fine with Iruka.”

Iruka hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it escaped in a whoosh. His head jumped up and he stared at Itachi, baffled. Why would Itachi agree to work with him if he had another choice? If it hadn’t been Itachi, Iruka was pretty sure that Aki-sensei wouldn’t have offered, but she liked Itachi, and hated Iruka. She looked even more shocked than Iruka, still standing in front of the blackboard, chalk in hand, the space next to Itachi’s name still blank.

“You’re sure,” Aki-sensei said, reluctance clear from her tone of voice.

“I am,” Itachi answered, passing the bag of names to the student to his right. “My partner is Iruka.”

And despite the fact that Iruka couldn’t stand Itachi, he felt a small bloom of something warm in his chest. Itachi hadn’t tossed him aside, even though literally everyone else in the class wouldn’t work with him unless they were forced. But Itachi had not only not been forced to work with Iruka, he’d chosen to work with Iruka even when given the alternative - encouraged to take the alternative!

Iruka, who had up to this moment intended to do nothing on the project, found himself wondering if he could clear up some time after school to work with Itachi. He’d probably miss dinner again, the orphanage was pretty strict about mealtimes. But he wanted to do something to show Itachi that he was glad not to be tossed aside, for once. It felt nice. He knew, intellectually, that Itachi hadn’t specifically requested Iruka, but after two years of being avoided, ignored, and actively rejected by most of his classmates when it came to academics… well, he didn’t want to give Itachi a reason to reject him next time.

Slowly, painfully, Aki-sensei turned and wrote Iruka’s name on the board next to Itachi’s, making a face like she’d taken a big bite of raw lemon, rind and all. Iruka grinned. He’d show her. He and Itachi would make a great team.

~~*~~

“Hey! Itachi!” Iruka called, chasing him down after class let out. “Hey,” he puffed, slowing to a walk, moving more sedately than usual to account for Itachi’s shorter legs. “When do you want to start on that project?”

Itachi blinked, turning to look up at Iruka. “What do you mean?”

Iruka frowned. “The group project. The homework assignment. The one Aki-sensei assigned today?”

A hint of red dusted Itachi’s cheeks, and his eyes dropped away from Iruka’s to gaze ahead. “Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning on working with you at all.”

Iruka felt his chest clench sharply at the words, and he froze in place, his feet seeming rooted to the ground. “What?”

Itachi stopped too, turning to look at Iruka with a vaguely baffled expression. “You never do your homework,” he explained slowly, “and I’m perfectly capable of finishing the project on my own. You don’t need to do anything.”

Iruka felt his face growing hot. “Just because I don’t turn in my homework doesn’t mean I can’t do it!” he protested. “This is a group project! I can help!”

Turning, Itachi continued walking. “I have no way of knowing that based on your current record.” He waved a hand dismissively as he continued, “It’s fine, Iruka. I’ll take care of the project, and we’ll both get a good grade for once.”

Iruka gaped at his receding figure, unable to find words amidst the maelstrom of emotions clutching him. All he could do was stand there and watch as Itachi walked off, probably heading home to his mom and his dad and his brother and all of the other things that Iruka didn’t have that Itachi probably took for granted. He didn’t need Itachi’s help to get a good grade for once, he just needed time. Furious, Iruka spun on his heel, stomping toward the orphanage with so much force that his feet were hurting by the time he arrived.

He got there in time for dinner after all, only to find that he wasn’t hungry.

~~*~~

The next morning dawned bright and early, and Iruka was peeved. It was the weekend, and usually he used his free time to dream up a prank or two for the following week, gather supplies, and run a few preliminary tests to make sure everything worked out the way he expected. Instead, as he lay on his lumpy futon in a room too full of kids that nobody wanted, he grappled with the fact that he wanted to do his homework.

He wanted to do it. He wanted to prove to Itachi that he could do it, that just because he didn’t usually do his homework didn’t mean he couldn’t. He had a copy of the instructions, how hard could it be to just do it?

Several hours later, one bout of frustrated tears, an ink-filled water balloon and some angry shouting later, Iruka realized that homework was a lot harder to finish than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have any reference materials! He’d lost library permission for probably the rest of his life after using one of the library books in a prank that had gone vastly underappreciated, so he couldn’t look up any of the information he needed. And he didn’t have the money for notebooks, he always borrowed paper from Aki-sensei when they needed an extra sheet of paper, so he didn’t have any notes from class to look over, either. Even his prank supplies came by way of his sticky fingers, and he had a feeling that if he tried to steal reference books from the bookstore they might not like that, so much.

So, he’d cried a little, filled a water balloon with ink, snuck out, and dropped the ink bomb onto an unsuspecting passer-by on their way into Hokage Tower. Of course, the ANBU on duty weren’t entirely pleased, though one of them did tell the Chunin who’d been entering that he needed to be more aware of his surroundings, if someone like Iruka could surprise him like that. Iruka took a bit of offense at that - he was pretty good at hiding and catching people off guard, the ANBU were just even better at noticing things.

After the angry Chunin had marched off to wash the ink from his hair and the ANBU on Iruka’s left had finally let him stand up instead of holding him folded over at a 90-degree angle to ensure his apology appeared more or less sincere, Iruka turned to leave. He didn’t feel any better, and his homework still wasn’t even close to finished. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the assignment and glaring balefully at it. Maybe he could hide in the back of one of the bigger bookstores and try to read a few books before they kicked him out?

“Hey kid,” said one of the ANBU who had made him apologize to the ink-covered Chunin, “What’cha got there?” The other ANBU elbowed them in the side and hissed something, but it was too low for Iruka to hear.

“...homework,” Iruka answered the first ANBU, ignoring the second. “But I can’t go to the library, and I don’t have any books or paper at the orphanage.”

“What about your textbook?” the ANBU asked, cocking their head to the side in a manner that implied genuine curiosity.

“When I’m in class I just borrow one of the classroom books, but after I… uh…” Iruka shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m not allowed to take the textbook out of the classrooms anymore.”

The second ANBU snorted at this, and the first ANBU turned to look at them with what Iruka imagined was a withering stare, although the mask did somewhat disrupt the effect. After a moment, the first ANBU turned back to Iruka. “Lemme see what you’ve got to work on,” said the ANBU, extending a hand. They unrolled the assignment, straightening up a little as they read. “Oh, well, you’re in luck, kiddo. This is a group project, so you can probably just share materials with your partner.”

Iruka wanted to sink into the ground. He swallowed hard, willing himself to lift his eyes to meet the dark space behind the bright white ANBU mask. “My partner doesn’t want to work with me,” he said, his face heating as he explained. “He said that, since I never turn in my homework, he’ll just do it all himself. But I don’t want him to do all the work! I can do it! I just wish he’d given me a chance…” Iruka said, trailing off. He swallowed hard, feeling a prickling at his eyes. Oh no, no, he was not going to cry in front of these ANBU.

“Hmm,” said the ANBU, considering the scroll. “I bet if you asked Sandaime-sama, he might let you use some of his reference books.”

Now it was the second ANBU’s turn to stare pointedly at the first. The first ANBU did not seem affected whatsoever by this reaction.

Iruka blinked, considering the suggestion. Usually, he only visited the third Hokage when he was invited over for tea, about once a month. He’d never considered asking for anything else, or stopping by when it wasn’t their monthly tea time. “You think he would let me do my homework up there?” Iruka asked, pointing to Hokage Tower.

The ANBU nodded slowly. “What do you say we head on up together and find out?”

“This is ridiculous,” the second ANBU protested, “I’m sure the Hokage is-”

“Deeply invested in the education of our new generation of shinobi, yes, I agree,” the first ANBU interrupted sharply. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

The second ANBU sighed, and returned to their post at the door. “Fine. You go on up. But for the record? I think this is-”

“Thank you for your opinion,” the first ANBU interrupted again, one hand on Iruka’s shoulder as he guided him through the door. “I’ll be back out shortly.”

The second ANBU huffed, but said nothing more.

Iruka and the ANBU walked in silence for a few moments before Iruka felt compelled to say, “You didn’t have to interrupt ANBU-san back there. I know nobody wants me around.” He forced a grin even as his stomach twisted uncomfortably. He glanced up at the ANBU, whose grip on his shoulder had tightened incrementally at the words. “I’m a nuisance. Everybody says it, it’s no secret.”

“You’re a kid,” the ANBU replied, their grip loosening slightly as they continued walking, “All kids are nuisances at one time or another. Nothing to worry about.”

Iruka had a feeling most people would disagree with that assessment, but he liked the thought that maybe it was okay to be a nuisance, at least sometimes. He’d never felt that way before, or at least, no one had ever bothered to say as much to him. “Do you really think the Hokage will let me use his books to finish my homework?”

“I don’t know,” the ANBU said honestly, “but it’s worth asking.”

Iruka nodded, and the two of them continued down the corridor in comfortable silence.

~~*~~

As it turned out, the Hokage was not only willing to let Iruka use his books, he also told him that if he ever needed reference materials, he should go to the Sarutobi residence and request access to the clan library.

“You’re welcome to use those resources any time you need them,” the Hokage told him seriously, “...so long as you don’t draw funny moustaches on all of the pictures in the scrolls,” he added with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Iruka agreed, face heating as he realized the Hokage had heard about how Iruka had ended up with a probably-lifetime ban from the community library. After the two of them looked over Iruka’s assignment together, the Hokage sent him off to the Sarutobi residence with a list of four or five references to find and bring back. “We’ll work together,” he said. “I’ll do my paperwork, and you can do your homework. When we’re done, we can have lunch together.”

Accustomed to a five-finger-discount lunch on the typical weekend, Iruka brightened considerably at the idea of a hot meal. “Great! Thanks!”

“If you wouldn’t mind accompanying Iruka to the Sarutobi compound, ANBU-san?” the Hokage asked, turning to raise an eyebrow in the direction of the ANBU that had brought Iruka up to his office.

The ANBU bowed. “Yes sir.”

Iruka grinned as he followed the ANBU back down the stairs and across the village towards the Sarutobi compound, clenching his fist tight around the assignment. He’d show Itachi! He’d walk into the Academy on Monday with the best homework assignment of the whole class!

~~*~~

When Monday rolled around, Iruka strolled into the classroom like he owned it. Grinning wide, he walked right up to Aki-sensei’s desk and set his assignment beside the small pile of assignments that several other students had dropped off on their way into class.

Aki-sensei glanced down, her nose wrinkling slightly as she looked at Iruka’s submission. “What is this?” she asked, lifting her eyes to stare at Iruka with suspicion.

“My homework,” Iruka replied belligerently. 

“But Itachi already submitted your homework,” Aki-sensei said, glancing at the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who was in his usual front row seat, staring at them like Iruka had grown a second head overnight.

“He submitted his version,” Iruka clarified with a grin, feeling almost excited. “This is my version.”

Now Aki-sensei looked downright worried as she picked up his assignment using only the very tips of her fingers. “Is that so?” she sneered. “So if I open this, it will contain your research project, and not, say, a stink bomb?”

Iruka scowled. “No, there’s no stink bomb.”

“Some kind of dead animal?” Aki-sensei prodded.

How uncreative! As if Iruka would do something so obvious. “Of course not,” he scoffed, insulted by the very idea. 

“Of course not,” Aki-sensei repeated, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t seem particularly convinced. “What did you do to this?” she finally demanded. “Where’s the punchline?”

“There is no punchline,” Iruka said, the sick feeling crawling back into his stomach as more and more students were walking into class, dropping their assignments on the desk, and heading to their seats. What was the big deal with his homework? Why did she have such a problem with it?

“Right,” Aki-sensei scoffed. “Well, I suppose, if there’s no prank, then you won’t mind if I do this,” she said, crushing the paper between her palms before throwing it into the wastepaper bin. 

“No!” Iruka cried, taking an involuntary step forward.

“Iruka,” Aki-sensei said sharply, “This was a group project. I will only accept one submission for the assignment. Did you really think I would take yours over Itachi’s?”

Iruka felt like he’d been hollowed out from the inside as he shook his head weakly. Of course not. Nothing he did would ever measure up to Itachi. Why had he even tried?

“Take your seat, Iruka,” Aki-sensei said sharply, “You’re holding up the class.”

Numbly, Iruka shuffled to the back of the classroom, sinking into his chair and staring ahead without really seeing anything. He didn’t fall asleep, but by the time classes were finished for the day he still hadn’t managed to focus long enough to recall a single thing from Aki-sensei’s lecture.

He moved like he was in a fog, slipping his worn school bag over his shoulder and shuffling out the door, barely able to remember to keep putting one foot in front of the other. What was the point? Why should he try at all, if it wasn’t even going to make a difference in the end? 

He kept trudging his way across town, and was nearly back to the orphanage when he heard someone calling his name.

“Iruka! Iruka!”

He turned, expecting maybe Mizuki, or Anko, or one of the other orphans who stayed in the orphanage and just wanted some company as they headed in together. Instead, he saw Itachi jogging towards him, holding a crumpled piece of paper. Iruka’s heart sank. Perfect. The last person he wanted to see after today. Why was he here? What was he doing with an old paper, and why was he chasing after Iruka, waving it around like a flag?

“What do you want?” Iruka demanded, hating that he was losing to a kid half his age, half his size, and twice as good as him at literally everything.

“I wanted to apologize,” Itachi answered, not even a little winded from his run. Showoff.

“Apologize for what?” Iruka asked, frowning a little. For being so perfect at everything?

“I underestimated you, Umino Iruka,” Itachi said, his little face drawn into a look so serious that it just ended up looking cute. For a moment, Iruka almost forgot how much he couldn’t stand the kid.

“...how so?” Iruka finally asked, sticking his hands into his pockets and staring down at this nuisance of a kid. Well. Nuisance to Iruka, anyway. He wasn’t surprised that he’d been underestimated, that was pretty much his entire life story at this point.

“This is really good work,” Itachi explained, still with that adorable serious look on his face. He extended the crumpled paper in Iruka’s direction, at which point Iruka finally realized that it wasn’t any old crumpled paper.

It was Iruka’s homework paper. The one he’d slaved over for hours. The one he’d spent almost the entire weekend in the Hokage’s office working on. The homework that Aki-sensei had crumpled up and thrown out without even bothering to look at it. “Give me that!” he snapped, his fingers closing around the paper, tugging it out of Itachi’s grasp.

The kid let it go without a fuss. “It’s really excellent work,” he said. “If you submitted work like that every day, you could probably be near the top of the class.”

“If I had time to submit work like that, maybe,” Iruka snapped back. “Some of us don’t have that luxury.” he jerked his head in the direction of the orphanage. “I have to go feed some kids and clean the bathrooms now, so…”

Itachi tilted his head, a confused look crossing his features. “You feed kids? Are they your siblings?”

Iruka laughed at that. “Nah, but they don’t have anyone else to feed them,” he answered, thinking of little Nanako with the big brown eyes and frizzy black hair who hated vegetables, of Haru, who should be able to eat on his own now but still made a huge mess when he did, and even … Naruto … the living embodiment of his parents’ killer. It was awkward, sometimes, being that close to the vessel of a monster, but he was still a kid. It was weird, but Iruka didn’t mind it, not the way some people did.

“Oh,” Itachi looked surprised. “I feed my brother, sometimes. When mom and dad aren’t home.”

Iruka considered Itachi. “Sasuke, right? Your little brother?”

An actual smile bloomed across Itachi’s face at that. “Yeah,” he said. “Sasuke.”

“Cool,” Iruka said awkwardly, crumpling the homework assignment back into a ball and shoving it into his pocket. “Well, I’m going to go… feed. Kids.”

“Okay,” Itachi said, nodding. “Oh, and Iruka?” he added, just before Iruka turned to walk away.

“Yeah?” Iruka asked, feeling his shoulders stiffen almost involuntarily. “What?”

“Next time we have a group project…” Itachi’s gaze wandered, resting on the orphanage, the trees, the sky, anything but Iruka, “Maybe we could work together?”

Iruka felt something inside him melt at that, the tension he’d been carrying all day finally loosening as he felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Sure,” he said cautiously. “Thanks.”

Itachi nodded once to acknowledge he’d heard before turning around and gliding away, most likely heading for the Uchiha compound.

Iruka watched him go, not quite sure how to feel. Relieved that Itachi had acknowledged his effort? Frustrated that he hadn’t trusted him to do the work in the first place? Annoyed that Itachi was the one who got to decide whether or not they’d work together on a group project in the future? With a sigh, he decided it wasn’t worth worrying about. He had bathrooms to clean and toddlers to feed. Whatever else was going on in his life, he could worry about it later.

As he turned to face the orphanage, he frowned, considering the new homework Aki-Sensei had assigned today, crumpled up in his school bag. Maybe, after dinner, after his chores, he would head over to the Sarutobi library for an hour or two and see if he could at least get some of it finished by nightfall. Sure, it might be lights-out by the time he got back to the orphanage, but Iruka had gotten pretty good at sneaking past wards, and he was pretty sure he’d have no problem sneaking back into the orphanage after lights-out.

That decided, Iruka grinned and marched up the front steps of the orphanage. This time, it wasn’t a group project, so Aki-sensei would have to accept his assignment. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he handed it in.

[official-helpless]

Here it is people!! An official chapter from book two of my Helpless series; Retaliation! This is chapter seventeen. This chapter is 13 pages long with 3,116 words! Enjoy! And as always, I love feedback!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dustin and Talon park on the opposite side of Dean Henderson’s new street.

“Are you sure about this, Talon?” Dustin is obviously nervous. Talon is about to kill a man. “What if you get caught?”

Talon chuckles, “I won’t.” He assures his boyfriend confidently. He looks across the street at the medium-sized gray house.

“Is he even home?” Dustin looks over too, moving his head to try and get a better look.

Then they spot him. He is cleaning his windows. Talon can see the dark bags under the old man’s eyes. “His face still makes me sick.”

“What exactly did he do to you?” Dustin is genuinely curious. He never really knew Talon’s other abusers. Other than his parents and that pack of bullies.

“He would call my parents and lie to them about how I was doing in school. He would turn a blind eye to the gym teacher that would harass the boys in her class, including me. He would punish me when Chase would attack me and say I attacked him. A lot of the beatings I got were because of him.” Talon explains darkly. He pulls out his guns and double checks to make sure they’re loaded.

“Holy shit.” The gleaming guns reflect in Dustin’s bright eyes. “Those are your weapons? Color me impressed.” He takes one gun from Talon and examines it, “I’ve always wanted to shoot one of these.”

Talon laughs and takes the gun back. He puts them both in the holders on the inside of his jacket, “Maybe you can come shooting with me on one of my practice days. I can show you how.”

“Not gonna lie, Talon,” Dustin exhales slowly, “That’s probably one of the hottest things you’ve ever said.”

Talon smiles and gives Dustin a quick kiss, “This won’t take long.”

The three brothers are parked a little further down the road. Their attention is dead set on the house, as is Dustin’s. He’s still nervous and prepared for anything to happen.

Talon strolls right up to the house and knocks enthusiastically. As if this was a casual visit. The man answers the door and his expression twists into one of confusion.

“C- can I help you?” Dean asks hesitantly. He squints his beady eyes. “Do I know you?”

Talon grins and pushes the man back into the house. “Home alone?” He steps in and slams the door shut, “Let’s have a little talk.”

“How do you think he’s going to do it?” Zeke asks, leaning in close to the window.

“This guy didn’t rape him,” Bone replies, narrowing his eyes a little, “So there won’t be a bullet to the crotch. My guess is in the chest. Not too messy.”

“Nah.” Zeke shakes his head slowly. “I say right between the eyes.”

“Wanna bet?” Bone casts a sideway glance at his brother. They smile at each other slyly. “Twenty bucks it’s in the chest.”

“You’re on.” Zeke leans back and reaches between the seats to shake Bone’s hand.

“You two are fucked up.” Damien speaks up from his seat. His wide eyes stare at his brothers in complete disbelief.

“How long has it been, Mr. Henderson?” Talon saunters around the old man’s living room, inspecting his poor taste in decor as he waits for an answer.

The man’s wide eyes watch Talon practically circle him. “M-my wife will be back from the store soon.” He says, hoping to scare the albino off.

“Then you better answer quickly.” Talon retorts. The man doesn’t respond. “Come on Dean.” Talon whispers harshly, “You’re a smart man. How long has it been?” He wants the satisfaction of the man admitting he knows exactly who Talon is.

Dean swallows hard. There are sweat stains in the pits of his cheap polo and his hands are trembling. “It.. It’s been f-five ye-”

“Five years.” Talon interrupts with a slow nod, “Let me ask you something, Dean.” He looks at his hand and slides the fingernail of his pinky under the fingernail of his thumb, “Man to man, do you think you lived a good life? Are you proud of yourself?

Dean’s chest rises and falls rapidly. “I- I’d like to think I did.”

Talon squints and puts on a fake smile, “Did you though?” He circles Dean again. “So, calling a child a demon because of his skin is something to be proud of.” He stops and takes a step towards the man. “Lying and getting that same child beaten, giving him detention when he gets beat up, telling the other teachers to intentionally fail him just to get him in trouble? That’s living a good life, huh?” He shrugs, “I suppose it was a good life for you. Getting away with that must’ve been pretty satisfying.” He pulls out a gun and cocks it. “This, however, will be satisfying for me.” He presses it to Dean’s forehead.

Dean has tears in his eyes. He never expected to die this way. He is frozen to his spot, his pants are soiled and his entire body is shaking. His jaw twitches and his bottom lip trembles. He looks pathetic.

Dustin flinches at the sound of the gunshot. He sees blood and brain matter splatter onto the window. He looks around frantically. No one else is around, and no one seemed to hear anything. He’s glued to the window, waiting anxiously for Talon.

“Look at that splatter,” Zeke says with a dark laugh. He moves his blond bangs away from his eyes, “Totally shot him in the head.”

“Dammit.” Bone grumbles. He knows he can’t argue with the evidence. He pulls out his wallet and gives Zeke a twenty. “Just you wait till we get to the gym teacher’s house. Double or nothing.”

Zeke chuckles as he shoves the twenty in his pocket, “You got it, big guy.”

“I hate you guys.” Damien mumbles grumpily. His two brothers don’t get along very often, and when they do, they bond over the darkest things.

Talon steps out of the house and closes the door gently. He wipes his face with a black cloth as he crosses the street to the truck. “That went better than expected.” He says quietly. He pauses when he notices Dustin staring at him. Why was he staring at him like that? Was he scared?

Dustin uses his thumb to wipe away some blood that was still on Talon’s cheek, “Point blank?”

Dustin’s question surprises Talon. It’s an odd question. “Yes?” He answers in an uncertain tone.

Dustin takes a moment to look at Talon’s eyes. They’re glowing brightly. The bright green and shocks of pink. His cat-like pupils are dilated. The albino is visibly exhilarated. “That was impressive.” He compliments.

Talon smiles and a wave of relief crashes over him. His phone beeps, and he sees a text from Damien saying they are heading to the next house. “We are hitting the gym teacher next. Her house is on the way back.” He informs Dustin.

X

Serpent and Spade are only forty-five minutes behind the others.

“S- Serpent. There are cops here.” Spade speaks up anxiously as they pull up to Dean’s house. “And it looks like he has a wife.” He notices a cop comforting a grieving older woman.

“Don’t worry, little doctor.” Serpent shuts the car off and steps out. Spade exits the car hesitantly. He walks beside him and they cross the street.

“Hey!” A cop shouts as they near the house, “You can’t-”

“There’s nothing for you here.” Serpent’s voice is a deep growl and his eyes glow. He looks at the small group of officers, “You and everyone else on this property need to leave. Nothing happened.”

They all mumble their agreements and get in their cars. They leave without a single argument. He tells the old lady to follow them quietly. He does the same thing to the CSI workers in the house he did to the cops. They leave without a word.

“Sit.” Serpent says to the old lady. She sits silently.

“H- how did you do that?” Spade is amazed. He’s never seen Serpent do a trick like that.

“Compulsion. One of the perks of being me.” Serpent says with a low chuckle.

Spade stops. All this time, Serpent could force him to comply, but he doesn’t. He feels a whole new respect growing.

“Eighteen hundred years alive and you don’t know what you are? What category you fall in to?” Spade looks up at him, “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Not at all.” Serpent responds, examining the body. The bullet is still on the floor. “Finding out what I am won’t change it. I’ll still be me either way, so I’m in no hurry.”

That’s another quality that Spade admires about Serpent. Nothing ever bothers him, and if it does, he doesn’t show it. He handles each situation with dignity and control.

“You got lucky. You knew what you were right away.” Serpent looks down on Spade, “Nymph.”

Spade’s cheeks redden, and he looks away. “I wouldn’t call that lucky. Male nymphs are extremely rare and-”

“And extremely beautiful.” Serpent adds with a grin.

“And,” Spade adjusts his glasses nervously, “That quality gets my kind kidnapped and sold.” He says sadly.

“That’s where I come in.” Serpent reaches in his pocket and pulls out Spade’s favorite pen. He dropped it at the house when Serpent picked him up. “You’re safe with me.”

Spade’s mother originally hired Serpent to protect Spade. Spade needed protection and Serpent needed a doctor to work with him. Serpent took Spade with him, causing some waves with the doctor’s mother, but there was no way for Serpent to do his project and protect Spade in one place, “You’re always safe with me.” He promises.

“Thank you.” Spade takes the pen with a shy smile. He watches as Serpent sets Dean’s body ablaze. “What about her?” He turns to look at the old lady.

Serpent gazes at Spade. “Look away, little doctor.”

Spade’s eyes flutter a little. He turns away and stares at the floor. He hears the woman whimper, followed by the sound of her neck snapping. He puts his hand over his mouth and closes his eyes. He turns back around as Serpent is setting the woman on fire. “Couldn’t you have just compelled her to forget?”

“I could have, but who knows who else knows them. She could end up with a family member that asks too many questions. It’s easier to kill her.” Serpent places his hand on the small of Spade’s back and leads him out of the house.

Serpent is right. Spade links his arm with Serpent’s and allows the man to lead him back to the car.

X

“N-no! You’re supposed to be dead!” Michelle is terrified. Talon Adams is standing in her kitchen. “You can’t be here!”

“Oh, I understand.” Talon walks up on her, making her stumble backwards and trip on one of her dining room chairs, “I’m too old for your tastes.” He taunts.

Bone and the others are parked around the back of the house. There is no gate. Bone scans the backyard. Something rather peculiar catches his attention. He nudges Damien.

“Hey, look at that.” The tattooed man says urgently. He points to the storm cellar in the woman’s backyard. There are a pile of clothes beside it and a plate of food scraps.

Damien finds the sight a bit odd as well. He reaches to the back seat and shakes Zeke awake. “We might have a problem.”

Zeke sits up straight, “With Talon?” He asks, blinking away the sleepiness.

“Not exactly.” Damien points to what Bone showed him.

“That’s… Strange…” Zeke narrows his eyes and shifts in his seat. “Let’s go check it out.”

They all exit the car and sneak into the backyard. Dustin sees this and watches them with confusion. After a moment, he decides to follow them.

“What are y’all doin’?” Dustin asks them in a hushed tone.

Zeke cocks his head towards the cellar and points to the clothes and plate of scraps.

Dustin’s muscles tense up tightly. What the hell is this?

Bone looks at the cellar doors. “They’re chained shut.” He grabs the chains, “They’re rusted pretty badly. I can probably just-” he breaks the chains with a deep grunt. He tosses them to the side and they land with a loud clink. He opens the doors slowly, “Hello?” He calls down, careful not to be too loud.

They can hear little whimpers as a response. Bone freezes instantly. He stands up and whirls around, “She’s got someone down there. Tell Talon. Now.” Without another word, Bone races down the concrete steps and into the musty cellar.

X

“T- Talon, please… listen to me…” Michelle whimpers. She grabs the top of the counter and pulls herself to her feet, “I- I’m not as bad as you think.”

Talon raises an eyebrow. This should be good. “Why is that?”

Michelle lets out a shaky breath and wipes her forehead. “W-when I was little, I… My father molested me… It happened a lot and as I got older, I thought performing acts like that meant you loved someone…”

Talon holds back his laughter. “Are you telling me that when your father did those things to you, you felt loved?”

“Well… No… I felt scared and alone…” Michelle admits.

“So, you’re trying to tell me you harassed and molested boys because that’s the only way you could show love?” Talon scoffs. “Let’s put aside the fact that these boys were underage. None of them wanted it! Including me! You didn’t love us! You loved feeling like you were in control. Just because your dad traumatized you as a child, doesn’t give you the right to traumatize innocent people!”

Michelle knew her excuse was bullshit, but she was so desperate to stay alive that she was ready to say anything. No matter how ridiculous. “B- but isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

A smile tugs at the corners of Talon’s mouth. “No, you ignorant woman. You were sexually abused and in turn, you sexually abuse underage boys. You project your pain onto innocent people who had no intention of hurting you. I am projecting my pain on the dirtbags that had every intention of hurting me. People like you create trauma. I want to prevent it.” He takes a step towards the shaking woman, making her flinch. Just then, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and glances at it to make sure it’s not an emergency. His anger boils hot inside of him.

“You…” His head lowers and his bangs fall over his eyes, “You sick bitch!” He shoves his phone in his pocket and rushes the woman. He snatches her up by the throat and lifts her above his head. Her feet kick at the air and her nails desperately claw at Talon’s hand. “You vile woman. You disgust me! You’re a complete waste of flesh! You’ve got someone locked in your cellar!?” His eyes flash defiantly, “How old is he!?” When the woman opts for silence, he tightens his grip. “How old is he!?”

Hot tears streak down Michelle’s face as she chokes out the words, “They’re sixteen!”

Talon feels something in him snap. Black slowly takes over the white sclera of his eyes. He throws the woman across the small kitchen. She hits the wall with a heavy thud. “There’s more than one!?”

X

Bone squints as his eyes try to adjust to the darkness of the cellar, “Hello?” He calls out again.

“P- please… don’t hurt us.” A small male voice whines in fear.

Bone blinks a few times and walks in further. He finally sees them. Two boys about the age of sixteen. His heart sinks at the sight of them, “I will not hurt you.” He says, slowly inching his way towards them. The three of them hear Michelle screaming, followed by several gunshots. The two boys start to panic and cry.

“No, no, no, no. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He crouches down and grabs the chains on their ankles. “These are fairly strong.” He mutters. He looks up at them. “Is there a key?”

One boy nods quickly. “She keeps it in a toolbox by the steps. We can’t reach it.” His voice is like gravel.

Bone gets up and heads back towards the steps. He comes back a moment later with the key. He unlocks the restraints and takes them off of the boys’ ankles. He notices they are only in their underwear. He takes off his coat and throws it around one boy, then takes off his hoodie and puts it on the other. He’s left in a black, sleeveless shirt. The boys look up at him with grateful and needy eyes. Both have dirty blond hair and shamrock green eyes.

“Do you have anyone to take you in?” Bone asks them. They shake their heads. “Do you want to come with me?” They nod their heads eagerly. “Alright.” Bone gathers them both in his arms and stands up. They cling to him desperately as he exits the cellar.

Zeke and Damien’s eyes are wide with shock. Dustin gasps at the sight. Bone carries them to the car and places them in the back seat. “Zeke, are you okay to drive? I want to sit with them.”

“Yeah, no problem, dude.” Zeke is still in complete disbelief. That woman really had two boys trapped in a cellar. He can’t imagine what they’ve been through.

Talon is coming out of the back of the house. The group can see a fire forming inside. “How many?” He asks abruptly.

“T- two.” Dustin notices the change in Talon’s eyes and feels a rush of fear. “Talon-”

“I just got off the phone with Serpent. They are heading back to the house to get supplies ready for those boys.” Talon interrupts harshly, “I collected the bullets myself and started the fire. We need to go. Now.”

The brothers nod and get into their car. Talon and Dustin get into the truck and the vehicles start. They drive off quickly.

“Talon, are you okay?” Dustin’s hands grip the steering wheel. “You looked really… angry back there.”

“Of course I did. That bitch had two sixteen-year-old boys in her cellar. She tried to blame her past trauma on her actions. I’m thoroughly disgusted. Aren’t you?” Talon’s tone is biting. His narrowed eyes glare at the blood beading on his hands where that vile woman scratched him.

“Well, yeah, but your eyes, they-” Dustin is cut off when Talon’s phone buzzes and the albino deliberately answers it. ‘Guess we’ll talk later.’ He thinks with a deep concern.

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 33 - could you find a daydream in the dead of night?

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >   

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: scary/nightmarish imagery, memories of an abuser, dissociation,)

(The title of the chapter comes from "Unbroken" by Birdy.)

It was late afternoon by the time Daveigh had forced Patton to call it quits for the day. He’d been going at it nonstop for hours, and while he wasn’t physically tired, his mind felt raw and tender, like thinking too hard might give him an aneurism. Projecting-wise, the memories weren’t getting any easier to handle no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, and he couldn’t get farther than a couple dozen yards from his body without his mind yanking him back out of fear.

“It’s only your first day of training,” she said as they hiked back to camp. “You’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” Patton said, surprised at the genuine optimism in his reply. He wasn’t only confident that he’d get it down eventually, but was eager to contact Roman and Virgil as soon as possible. Patton wasn’t naïve enough to think it would end well given the difficulties projecting was already giving him, but he had to try. He wasn’t blind. Patton could see the strain all of this put on Logan. He always tried to have control of a situation—especially one concerning the safety of his friends. It was the least Patton could do to ease his stress.

The two of them arrived at camp to find Logan sitting by the unlit firepit whittling a stick with a familiar, pale stone. Patton recognized it as the one Mikhail had tried to hand to him before he’d projected into the past. The man in question stood at one of his handmade tool sheds, smashing rocks together at an angle and testing the subsequent edges with his thumb.

Daveigh wandered over to chat with Mikhail, and Patton approached the hunched, focused figure at the firepit. Logan didn’t look up, engrossed in his task.

“What are you carving?” he asked gently, trying to keep from startling him—especially while he wielded such a sharp blade.

Logan looked up, knife halting mid-stroke. His face immediately brightened. “Patton! Oh, it’s—well, I was attempting to make a face, but I’m not very good at it yet.”

Patton tilted his head. “I can see it if I squint,” he teased good-naturedly, taking a seat by Logan’s side. “I doubt I could do much better,” he admitted.

I know a warrior when I see one. Patton still balked at Mikhail’s words. He may know how to shiv someone before they could do the same to him, but he was no trained fighter and his hands weren’t steady enough for detailed work like whittling. Logan, on the other hand, surely could have been a surgeon if it had interested him.

“How did you training with Daveigh go?” he asked, the edge of his bottom lip held between his teeth in concentration as he worked the blade around a lump Patton assumed was a nose.

“It went well,” he said. “I’m definitely making progress. I—” he glanced over at Daveigh and lowered his voice. “I think I might try contacting Roman and Virgil tonight.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look up. “Are you sure? You’ve only been at it for a day, Patton. I don’t want you to risk yourself if you aren’t ready.”

“I can do it,” Patton assured him, and he wasn’t completely lying. Heck, he’d projected back in time to see Virgil and hadn’t so much as sneezed. Given that he had similar feelings for Roman, it made sense that traveling there would be easier than simply projecting somewhere random. Daveigh had said that their powers flowed easily toward those they loved. Besides, Patton wasn’t as concerned with how it would affect him afterwards. All that mattered was getting the message to them. Once they had that peace of mind, they could deal with the repercussions.

Logan stopped and met his eyes, searching. Patton hated how easily his face clicked into an innocent smile, his mind racing, coming up with a million different outcomes and subsequent excused he could use.

“I trust you, Patton,” he said, and if not for Patton’s already firm façade, he probably would have flinched at the words. “You know more about his area of magic than I do.” Logan turned back to his work. “What did Daveigh have to say about it?”

“She’s curious, mostly,” he said, quickly sorting out a believable lie. “There hasn’t been an oracle like me, well, ever. She said it could go either way, but I’m confident I can handle it.”

The best lies, Merri had taught him, are almost completely true.

For the rest of the evening, Patton, Logan, and Daveigh helped Mikhail around camp. He’d finished their sleeping mats, which they moved into Daveigh’s hut and discussed where they could build a hut of their own in the future. Jorryn appeared from the jungle just as the sun was setting, arms laden with food. Berries and nuts, roots, melons, and mangos; it was the most food Patton had seen in a while. Thankfully, there was more than enough for everyone to eat their fill.

They sat around the fire Daveigh telling them of ancient kingdoms and daring adventures. Patton pierced pieces of mango with a sharp stick and roasted them over the fire for Logan and himself.

“…swung her sword down with a mighty roar—but she noticed the assassin’s hidden dagger too late. The blade took her in the side, right at the joint in her armor,” Daveigh said, eyes wild with excitement as she wove her tale. Patton gasped, and Daveigh’s smile grew wider. Mikhail listened passively, whittling a stick into various shapes and designs with far more dexterity than either of them could dream of. Jorryn sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging down limply. Tiny, almost translucent vines sprouted from the ground and twined through his fingers—as if the island itself were a child gripping the fingers of its father. He stared at the fire without expression, lily-pad skin turned rich olive-gold in the firelight. The patches of orange and white lichen mottling his face, arms, chest, and legs turned warm and flickering. Patton hadn’t paid the Green Man much attention since arriving, however he went off on his own most of the time, rarely hanging around the rest of them. Patton hadn’t heard him speak more than a few brief sentences.

Patton could see a pervasive melancholy lingering behind his defensive air. Patton looked away, not wanting to stare.

“Blood spilled from the wound, and Lady Fenroy knew she had little time left. Her trusty bowman shot an enchanted arrow at the attacker from his perch, forcing the enemy back. The Lady’s panther bared its fangs and—”

Something rustled from the shadows of the jungle, hidden by the darkness of night. Patton shot to his feet and Daveigh paused, looking confused. Mikhail also looked as if he’d heard it, though he didn’t seem nearly as worried about it. Alert, but not tense.

“Patton?” Logan inquired softly, taking the stick of roasted mangos from him before they brushed the dirt. “What’s wrong?”

As if on cue, two figures emerged from the foliage, blinking in the light from the fire. Patton relaxed, sitting back down. It was Eudora and Killian.

A smile broke across Logan’s face.

“Would you two care to join us?” Mikhail asked, equally pleased at their arrival.

“Oh, they’re invited, now?” Jorryn muttered. “After wanting nothing to do with us for the past few centuries?”

“Killian wanted to come,” Eudora said curtly. “I have no intention of bothering you all.”

“It’s alright if they stay, right?” Patton said, plowing through the tension by force.

“I see no reason why not,” Logan said, looking quite excited. Patton felt a besotted smile work its way onto his face at Logan’s expression.

Killian pulled Eudora by the hand, coming around to sit next to Mikhail. Thankfully, Daveigh cleared her throat and continued her story, gradually easing the tension in the group. Even Jorryn relaxed a bit. Killian leaned over and talked to Mikhail about his knife, inspecting the runes with a smile. Daveigh eventually fell back into her excited, animated way of storytelling, doing exaggerated expressions and voices that made Patton giggle. Eudora lingered outside of conversation, but Patton could tell she was listening to the story and trying not to react at each twist and turn.

Patton picked the hot, dripping mango off the stick, handing one to Logan and popping the other into his mouth. He smiled and hummed happily as the juice covered his tongue, the sugars sticky and caramelized. Logan looked at him with a strange expression on his face, a faint smile of his own crawling its way onto his face.

Patton couldn’t remember being this content since their arrival on the island.

Daveigh finished her story and they all clapped—some more enthusiastically than others.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, bowing with a flourish. “Now, excuse me while I stuff my face. I’m starving,” she laughed, accepting the roasting stick Mikhail passed to her over the fire.

Logan cleared his throat. “At risk of dampening the festivities,” he started, “I’d like to get some more specifics from you all about the curse on this island.”

Jorryn’s expression darkened, his fingers twitching.

Daveigh and Mikhail both looked at Eudora. She reddened a bit, looking… awkward almost. “I’ve told you everything I know. What more is there to say? We’re stuck here forever and we’ll never die.”

“If Ursula dies, will the curse break?” he asks.

Eudora snorted. “That is impossible.”

“Will it break?” Logan repeated, firmer.

“Yes, I suppose. If she were to somehow die despite her immortality.”

Logan leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “As of right now, I have very good reason to believe the last heir to the Witch Queen’s Inheritance is working to solve this very problem,” he said and everyone stared at him as if he’d gone completely insane, but he continued before anyone could interrupt him. “Regardless, if the curse breaks, we have no guarantee we will be returned to where we came from. We’d simply be in danger of dying on the island, no one knowing our location, yes?”

“And the one person with the power to transport us out of here would be dead,” Jorryn muttered.

Daveigh raised a finger. “Well, if this heir was powerful enough to kill her, maybe he could do it?”

Eudora didn’t look as optimistic. “Even if the heir learned to Displace—assuming he was powerful enough in the first place, it would take several years of training regardless—Ursula is the only person who knows the exact location of the island. A witch cannot displace themselves or anyone else somewhere they cannot picture exactly in their minds.”

Logan perked up. “You’ve studied displacement, then?”

“In all but practice,” she admitted. “A single witch with enough raw power to displace themselves, let alone a group of people, is a rare breed. Even if I did have the power necessary, I’ve been away from the Witchlands for so long, I don’t know if I’d trust myself to remember the location properly. It would be extremely dangerous.”

“Very well,” he said. “Thank you.”

Mikhail passed around more food, and the mood gradually lightened once more, Daveigh prodding Mikhail into telling a story of his own—though quite less animated.

Patton watched as Logan sat back, staring at the fire. He could practically see his mind working the problem like those ring puzzles Logan always had sitting on his desk back home, turning it over and over, looking at it from all its angles for the solution.

Patton smiled and popped another piece of sugary-sweet mango into his mouth.

* * * * * * * * * *

Patton lay on the new sleeping mat Mikhail had made for him, staring up at the ceiling, Logan and Daveigh asleep beside him. Daveigh slept almost as silently as Patton did, and he only knew she was still breathing due to the slow rise and fall of her chest. She occasionally shifted around, though. Logan slept on his stomach, a mass of tangled limbs and even messier hair. For someone so organized, Patton wouldn’t have thought he’d sleep so disheveled.

It was adorable, really.

Patton was certain Logan hadn’t forgotten what he’d said about trying to contact Roman and Virgil tonight. Rather, tonight was the first night in a while that, despite their predicament, it seemed as if everything would be okay in the end. The sheer relief of actually enjoying themselves for the first time in several days was exhausting in of itself. Patton couldn’t blame him for falling asleep seconds after laying down.

Patton closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew what he’d likely see when he projected—especially so far away—but he couldn’t afford to be nervous. As he’d quickly learned during his training, the emotions he felt would directly influence his mindscape, and therefore his experience while projecting.

He just had to stay calm.

Patton pictured the house in Wakeby, letting the small, rhythmic breaths puffing from Logan’s nose lull him into the meditative state. Patton felt his body suddenly weighed down, and he jerked up.

He was still in the hut. Patton looked down at his semi-translucent hands in frustration. He hadn’t officially projected to somewhere else—on purpose, at least. Still, it seemed ridiculous that he could astral project through time on accident, but when he finally wanted his freak powers to work they were stubbornly weak.

No, I can do this, Patton thought firmly, pulling himself back into his body. He opened his physical eyes, set his jaw, then closed them again.

The next four tries all ended the same: Patton sitting up in the hut, still overlapping his own body. He returned to his body and sat up for real, cradling his head in his hands and sighing. Why couldn’t he get this?

Patton glanced at Logan’s sleeping form. Waking him up at this point didn’t sound like a good idea. He’d risk alerting Daveigh as well, and there was no way she’d condone any of this. He just had to think about it like Logan would. On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had triggered the projection into the past. All he’d done was stand up and walk around the fire to take Mikhail’s knife from him. He was lucky he hadn’t passed out on his way to find Logan. He could have stabbed himself. But it didn’t make any sense for something that astounding to happen for no reason. Patton just had to figure out why.

What would Logan do? he thought desperately. Well, he’d probably have Patton walk through the events leading up to the projection. Patton thought back. Daveigh had been asking him about his family history—which he hadn’t been too forthcoming about, though not due to a lack of willingness. Mikhail noted that Logan was still gone, and Patton had asked if there were any predators on the island.

A few, Mikhail had said. The thought should have terrified Patton, but all he’d felt was an overwhelming urge to protect. Almost anger at the image of something hurting Logan. The darkness inside him ready to rip open the throat of anything daring to harm those he loved. Usually, thoughts like those would have troubled him, but at that moment, he’d accepted them. Used them as fuel. Channeled them.

Then Mikhail had offered him the knife, he’d stood to grab it, and then…

Patton rested his chin in his hands, tapping the point of his nose with a finger as he wracked his brain. He wouldn’t be surprised to see steam leaking out of his ears. He usually relied on the adrenaline of danger to help him make quick strategic decisions. Did Logan think like this all the time? Patton smiled to himself. That boy was truly amazing.

Shaking his head, Patton returned to his problem. The only significantly different thing that had happened was the surge of protectiveness. That had somehow had flung him several hundred years into the past… right to when Virgil was having a rough time.

Patton’s eyes narrowed and lips pressed together in a frustrated pout. He didn’t want to end up in the past again. Especially without someone like that nice witch to help him orient himself. Unfortunately, that was the only sort of lead he had. He hadn’t gone as far as integrating the person he’d grown up as into the personality he’d crafted for Dot, but after his conversation with Roman that night, Patton had learned to tolerate it. Maybe even accept it. As long as he focused on Roman and Virgil, he’d end up seeing one of them. Hopefully.

Nothing to do but try, I guess, Patton thought, laying back down. He set his jaw and proceeded to let his imagination run wild with all the horrible things that could be happening to Roman and Virgil. It was a particular kind of trick to both rile himself up and stay in enough control to still project. The darkness inside him unfurled almost hesitantly, as if it didn’t trust Patton’s deliberate goading.

Slowly, it filled him. How dare someone hurt his friends. He’d kill them. Tear them limb from limb.

A sudden dizzy weightlessness took hold of him, and it took all of Patton’s willpower not to freak out and inadvertently pull himself back into his body. A second later, he blinked, finding himself standing in their living room. Whispers of memories immediately bombarded his ears.

Patton. Patton! Patton… dozens of voices screamed, cried, growled, whispered, laughed. He recognized them all. Patton plugged his ears, but it didn’t make a difference. It’s okay, he assured himself, taking a breath. Just stay calm. They aren’t real. He had to stay focused. He could still feel his body lying on its mat back on the island, the gentle breeze across his skin. He’d be alright.

“Roman? Virgil?” he called. Nothing. Would they be able to hear him in this state? Patton couldn’t be sure, so he rushed upstairs—running wasn’t much different as a projection, though it was a little odd when his feet didn’t sink into the carpet at all. Checking both their rooms, Patton found himself alone in the house. Roman’s truck was in the driveway.

They’re probably just out of the house, he thought halfheartedly, standing alone in the upstairs hallway. Last he and Logan had seen, they’d been facing off against an angry immortal witch. Patton shook his head. They weren’t dead. He wouldn’t accept it. He’d just have to leave them a note for when they got back. Daveigh had explained how they couldn’t interact with most physical objects while in the astral plane. Patton would just have to figure something out in that case—

A towering figure blocked the stairs, so tall he had to bow his head. Patton froze, feeling as if his heart was squeezed to stillness inside him. The hallway light wasn’t on, so he couldn’t make out the man’s face, but he didn't have to. The figure had a bottle held loosely in his hands, a stained wife-beater hanging from his shoulders and stretching over his beer belly. The smell forced its way up Patton’s nose, choking him. Still, it wasn’t a perfect memory of the man. The figure’s arms were gangly and inhumanly long, and his neck looked disjointed, bent as it was against the ceiling.

The whispers swelled in a frantic crescendo. Patton felt his limbs going numb as his body began to pull him back.

No, he thought hopelessly, squeezing his eyes shut. I have to leave a note. I have to let them know we’re okay. He isn’t real. He can’t hurt me. Even in his head, he sounded breathless and pathetic, and he knew he didn’t believe himself.

The man grunted, as if annoyed by the cramped hall and took a lumbering step toward Patton. The house around him flickered, almost glitching and giving way to empty, nightmarish darkness. Seatbelts sprouted from the ground and began winding around his wrists and ankles. He could feel them. Patton, at last, let out a scream as the man charged, lifting his bottle like a club.

Patton’s vision of the Wakeby house flickered, and he felt suddenly dizzy. He was getting pulled out and into a nightmare.

“No,” he growled, that same feral protectiveness sputtering to life inside him. Patton's mind felt as if it were being torn in half, but he suffered through it, forcing himself to stay aware. In the back of his mind he could feel his physical body trembling and gasping, responding to the fear without knowing where it was coming from.

Just as the man was about to bash him over the head, Patton relaxed his arms and managed to wriggle free from the seatbelts. He dove past the man’s feet as he took a clumsy wing, falling over.

“C’mere, boy,” he groaned, writhing around as he tried to right himself in the too-small corridor. Patton raced down the stairs, heart picking out a frantic trot in his incorporeal chest. He came to the living room and kitchen, but his mind was blank. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t interact with anything. It wasn’t as if he could pluck a sticky-note from Logan’s desk and leave them a nice little note on the bathroom mirror.

“Get back here,” the man’s grating voice called, lumbering footsteps descending the stairs. Patton panicked, his mind lancing with pain as he resisted the pull back to his real body. He swayed as he rushed to the cellar door—somewhere to hide. The pain got so bad he couldn’t see straight.

Something ground beneath his shoe as he instinctually grabbed for the door handle despite his hand passing through, and he spared a second to glance down. He’d stepped in the leftover rosemary powder from when Virgil had sealed Remus in the cellar.

And he’d left a footprint.

Thinking as quickly as his pain-addled mind could, Patton dropped to his knees and spread the half-burned powder across the floor in a thin sheet with his hand.

“Don’t you run away from me,” the figure said, coming to the bottom of the stairs. Patton didn’t look up, quickly scrawling “We are OK” in the powder with a hasty P&L beneath it.

He finished the tail of the L right as the man reached him, grabbing him and lifting him into the air with too-long fingers clamped around his neck. The sight of the man’s face was what finally did it. Grubby and scratchy, the feeling of fingers around his throat.

Patton’s mind finally broke.

* * * * * * * * * *

Logan woke to Patton’s screams. He jerked awake, Daveigh’s confused mumbling behind him. Patton shot straight up to a seat, gasping for breath and dry heaving.

Logan rose to his knees. “Patton? What’s wrong?”

“I’m slipping. I’m…” he said gasped, sitting back against the wall of the hut. He met Logan’s eyes with considerable effort, a wan smile flickering across his pale face. “I did it. I told them.”

“What’s going on?” Daveigh asked.

Logan’s heart skipped a beat. How could he have forgotten? Patton had said he was going to try contacting Roman and Virgil tonight, and Logan had fallen asleep instead.

Mikhail was at their door in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Da… Daveigh,” Patton managed, voice sluggish like he was sedated. “I’m slipping. S…. sorr….” the rest of the word ended in a long breath and Patton seemed to wind down like a toy, eyes glazing over.

Daveigh sat up, taking everything in for a moment before sighing. “He did it, didn’t he. Contacting your friends?”

“I believe so,” Logan said. “What does he mean he’s slipping?”

“He’s dissociating,” she said, crawling forward and placing a gentle hand against Patton’s temple. “Quite extensively from the looks of it. He must have really gone past his limit. Everything’s fine, Mikhail. You can go back to bed.”

He gave a nod and a concerned glance Patton’s way before retreating back into the darkness.

Logan worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine after a few hours,” she said. “Patton? Do you want to lay down? You’ll get sore sitting up all night.”

Patton’s index finger twitched and a breathy, strangled hum limped out of him. Not much Logan could decipher there.

“Patton, could you blink for me? Once for yes, twice for no?” he offered gently.

Patton blinked once, slowly. Yes.

“Would you like us to lay you down?”

Another affirmative. Daveigh helped him situate Patton back onto his sleeping mat, the hut creaking beneath them.

“There isn’t much more we can do until he recovers,” she said, yawning. “Be ready for a lecture in the morning, kid.” With that said, Daveigh returned to her own mat and promptly fell back asleep.

Logan knelt at Patton’s side for a while longer, feeling helpless. He pulled his mat a few inches closer to Patton’s and lay on his side, watching him. Patton stared at the ceiling, expressionless, and yet his eyes were pooling with tears. One slipped free and cascaded down the side of his head and into his hair. Instinctively, Logan reached out and wiped it away with a knuckle. Patton closed his eyes, squeezing out more tears and leaning almost imperceptibly into the touch.

“I’m sorry this happened, Patton,” Logan whispered. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

Another soft note from Patton’s throat, his eyes still closed. Logan could interpret the meaning well enough on his own. He hesitated for a split second and then said, “Please blink twice if you want me to stop.” Patton opened his eyes, still unfocused, but perhaps a bit confused. Logan held his breath as he carded his fingers through Patton’s curls. They were slightly tangled and Logan could feel sand and dirt throughout, but they were still so soft.

Patton’s eyes fluttered shut, a relieved little sigh leaking out of him. In a fit of lucidity, Patton rolled over onto his side, curling in on himself. Logan froze, holding his breath. Patton was so close, now. He could feel his breath against his shirt. Slowly, he relaxed again, running his fingers through Patton’s hair until they both fell asleep.

[lyrasilverspring]

Valkyrie’s Interview

“And now on to our first single tribute, your chosen Villain: Valkyrie Maddox!” Dora Tale’s voice was sugar-sweet and near ultrasonic in pitch. Valkyrie had already grown tired of listening to it babble across the couple interviews. She’d paid little attention to the interviews so far, picking up titbits every now and then, but mostly trying to imagine herself anywhere else- preferably drunk.

As the music started, she took a second to consider what would happen if she just didn’t go, but she didn’t particularly feel like being dragged on stage. The interview would be bad enough already, no need to make it worse when there was no way she was getting out of it. She walked on calmly and neutrally, not quick, not eager, not slow or reluctant. She sat in the chair opposite, looking out over the audience but not bothering to offer them a smile or a wave. She turned to Tale, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“A pleasure to meet you Valkyrie, or should I say V?” she smiled familiarly, clearly expecting V’s attitude, “We’ve been watching you and my goodness have you really made quite the stir in your time here at the Capitol.”

Valkyrie looked at her expectant face, uncomfortable being so openly reduced to nothing more than entertainment for the masses, “Yes,” she answered plainly, “I prefer to be called V.”

The laugh Dora let out in response was unnerving- tinkling and bright but utterly hollow, “Just as taciturn in person I see! Don’t worry dear, I know you’re just meeting all of us, but we’ve been watching you for so long now we might as well be family!”

“I don’t have any family,” Valkyrie shrugged, “So I don’t know that that helps me so much.”

Dora and the audience let out a sad ‘aww’ and Valkyrie squirmed slightly, “Is that, perhaps,” Dora began, “Why you’ve been so distant from the rest of the tributes? I’m sure it’s a big shift to go from no one at all in the world to such a big new family!”

Valkyrie frowned at her, “The other tributes aren’t my family. The only thing they have in common with my family is that they will also be killed by the Capitol. Besides, this is the most social I’ve been in years. I understand that I appear distant to others, but by my standards I might as well be a social butterfly.”

Dora’s face twitched slightly at the mention of the Capitol, but brightened exaggeratedly at the latter statement, “I understand, V,” she turned to the audience, “We all know how difficult it can be for the socially… challenged to meet new people, and if that’s the case then we’re no doubt all very impressed by what you have achieved here.”

Valkyrie raised her brow, “Well you can’t be that impressed, you voted for me to be the Villain,” she pointed out.

Again, false laughter fell from Dora’s mouth, though more aggressive this time, “Oh Valkyrie! Sorry, V- that just means that we love to hate you my dear. The love is still there, don’t you worry!” she reached out as if to bop Valkyrie’s nose, but met only air and she flinched back, hard, “Who would have thought the mighty Valkyrie so skittish ladies and gentlemen!” she laughed to the audience.

Dora looked over at Valkyrie expectantly, but she genuinely had nothing to say in response to what had just happened.

“One can’t help but wonder,” Dora began, her voice taking on a sly edge, “If it was this kind of squirrely resistance to basic human contact that drove the wedge between you and district five’s Aphrodite?”

Valkyrie stiffened slightly and watched Dora’s eyes narrow in on the movement, straightening before answering, “I suspect that wasn’t it, though I could be wrong.”

Dora leaned further forward in her chair, closing about half of the distance Valkyrie had created, “Well what can you tell us about the ill-fated relationship of Aphrodite and Valkyrie? I’m sure everyone would love to know- you seemed so sweetly in love that night in the bathroom.”

Valkyrie’s face darkened, “Relationship is a strong word. I would say we never got to that stage. We were intrigued by each other, but it never would have worked. And it didn’t.”

“Well we all saw that!” Dora laughed lightly, “Honestly when she threatened to kill you I could have been knocked over by a stiff breeze I was so shocked! We all expected it from you, of course, what with the whole-“ she vaguely waved her hand at V, “But from Aphrodite! It was truly shocking, especially after the dance, and the way she pulled you in as if she was going to kiss you, and then bam! Death threat and she left. And honestly, my dear, we’ve been watching and you really haven’t been the same since. The alcohol? Oh, it was just tragic to watch wasn’t it folks?” she turned to the audience for a brief reaction before continuing eagerly, “You know there were still a few people holding out for you and Aphrodite to patch things up but I guess now that boat has well and truly sailed for you, hasn’t it?”

Valkyrie was overwhelmed and uncomfortable, and feeling very caged in, “Yes, I’m sure that was a very difficult time for all the viewers at home,” she heard the sarcasm leak into her voice as it turned colder.

“Oh,” Dora’s face twisted into a caricature of remorse, “Please don’t think me insensitive, darling, I’m just explaining to you that you have support, right folks? I know!” she gasped, “Let’s have a little bit of audience participation!” Valkyrie went still, “Since we haven’t been able to vote on titles since the big breakup, let’s hold a quick vote now! What do we think?”

The crowd shouted out their approval as Valkyrie shrunk back into her chair slightly.

“Those who think Aphrodite is the victim, give me a cheer in 3.. 2.. 1!” Valkyrie felt herself try to drift away from her body- if any time was the time to perfect astral projection, it was now, “Very good Team Aphrodite, and now for Team Valkyrie, 3… 2… 1!”

Both sides received cheers, though she was too busy trying to mentally escape the situation to truly judge the difference between the groups.

“You see Valkyrie,” she smiled, “Sorry, V, you do have supporters despite your cold, harsh exterior. Why I’m sure there are even some people who still want you to win!” she paused slightly, though there was no response from the audience, “I mean they may not be here tonight, but I’m sure there are people at home who are supporting you, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Valkyrie ground out.

Dora continued unphased, “Though I’m sure they’re all wondering why you’re coming to us all alone today! After all, the people have been pushing for you to partner with your district mate, Lanthan since day one!” when she received nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement she prodded a little harder, “So why don’t you tell us what happened? Why aren’t we talking to you and the dreamy, dangerous Lanthan Shale?”

Valkyrie stiffened, and when she spoke her voice was cold, “Lanthan Shale is a psychopath and a creep.”

Dora gasped dramatically, “Oh, do go on!” and when it appeared that Valkyrie did not intend to go on she followed up with, “Please Valkyrie, I insist.”

“Well,” she answered, “He’s always been weirdly obsessed with me and I think he gets off to the idea of me killing somebody. Well I know he does- he’s told me.”

“… Oh,” Dora’s mouth hung open for a second before her grin turned devious, “So you’ve been the object of his affections for some time, it sounds like. Did anything ever… happen?”

Valkyrie reared back incredulously, “Did you not hear the part where he gets off to murder? Of course nothing ever happened between us.”

“Then what was that kiss back at the start?” Dora smirked.

“A mistake,” Valkyrie answered.

“A villain and a tease,” Dora arched her brow, “Oh how you do make it so easy to hate you Valkyrie. And on that note, we went back to your district to find out about the Valkyrie Maddox before the games.”

Valkyrie frowned, “Who did you ask?”

“Just some friends,” Dora waved off, about to continue when Valkyrie interrupted.

“That’s funny,” Valkyrie raised a brow, “I didn’t know the dead could talk.”

Dora continued as if she hadn’t spoken, turning to the audience, “We asked around the district, and whilst many knew of the young Maddox scion, not many seemed to like her. Valkyrie,” she turned back, “Why is it that you are so disliked amongst the members of your district?”

Valkyrie shrugged, “My family betrayed the Capitol. I grew up in a house of care. I made friends with a no name. District two doesn’t smile kindly on people like me.”

“And yet you still became a Career,” Dora pointed out.

Valkyrie shrugged once more, “I had no intention of entering the games. I have no intention of winning the games. My life was really a waste of time, I suppose. I should have died with my parents that day.”

“And that is all we have time for folks,” Dora gushed with a big smile, “Ladies and gentleman, Valkyrie Maddox of District Two!”

As soon as she was allowed to leave she stood up and left, not saying goodbye, not waving, not smiling, just determined to get the fuck off that stage.

[undertaleartistshit]

A Little Big Dance

As Ink searched the AUs of his Multiverse for trouble, he came across a little rumor. Well, actually it was a HUGE rumor, one that exploded in the millions of AUs seemingly overnight. Ink was interested, not only because the rumor was of a concert, but because of the person hosting it. Some strange being from another Multiverse, and that was where the rumor seemed to get unstable. No name, no description, no age, no nothing. Just someone.

He entered the Omega Timeline, despite his hatred for white, but instead of focusing on that accursed color, he couldn't help but listen to the gossip and pause, amazed at how consistent the information was. He shook his head, continuing his search for the one being who could help him figure out maybe a sliver of information that was 100% true, not just the unreliable gossip he would have to sift through without them. He passed Sans after Frisk after Papyrus after King and Queen, but he just could not find that damned-

Oh. There they were. The gray and black child was standing in a crowd of shouting and... angry, Ink decided, monsters and humans. They didn't chant any mantras as one would expect, but they all were shouting something. Ink took his time winding through the aggressive group, taking care not to hurt anyone despite having to shove his way into the center. "O-oh, thank the HEAVENS you're here Ink!" Core gasped, their hollow eyes creasing in utter relief as Ink popped into the small circle Core was trapped in. Ink smiled, happy to see Core.

"Yeah, well I'm glad I found you, because as life has it I've got a question." Some people where daring to try to yank Ink away from Core, to which Ink slapped their hands and claws away, glaring threateningly at them, to which they sourly shouted and yelled in response. "Ok, nevermind, three questions. Three." Ink raised his voice a little, doubting Core could hear him if he were to speak normally.

Core smiled patiently. "Alright. Could you take care of my little, um, predicament first?" Ink chuckled, unsheathing his handy dandy brush, making a portal in front of them. Core jumped in first, Ink following them, closing the portal before any ticked people managed to stampede on over in the AU. Speaking of which, it was the beloved OuterTale, one of the more popular AUs among the Multiverse. Ink could understand as to why though, since OuterTale was beautiful and calming. Core sighed, sitting down on the small floating island rock. Ink sat down beside them, his eye lights flickering with relief and curiosity.

"First question, what the heck was their problem?" Ink asked, genuinely sounding frustrated for once, albeit mildly. Core sighed yet again, cupping their forehead in their small hands, looking and sounding defeated. "Because of a rumor that I have been looking into, that group is particularly angry with the fact that we are just letting someone in our Multiverse that we don't even know for a concert we can't be sure even exists. I'm feeling... impatient, and I hate it," Core explained.

Ink was surprised yet again. Core, one of the most patient people Ink has ever met, was getting impatient now. All because of some concert. Ink couldn't lie, he wanted to go to that concert if it really existed, but he didn't know if it was dangerous, and he knew nothing about the other Multiverse that this proclaimed person is said to have originated.

Ink took a deep breath, looked over at Core, and asked sternly, almost barking out an order. "Can you get me all information about this concert and deliver it to the HQ tomorrow?" Core nodded, sensing the order. "I'll get it done in a giffy."

"Core. Since when did you not get a panic attack after being in a crowd for so long?"

~~~[]~~~

Dream heard about the rumor from DanceTale. As far as music and culture went, DanceTale was Dream's favorite place to be if he wanted to escape the stresses of being a "Star Sans". However it seemed that this time there was a new pressure, one huge thing taking the place by storm. What caught Dream's attention at first and even now was the sheer volume of people talking about the concert. Dream had to ask, what was the big deal? Why in the stars were to many people wanting to go?

He jogged over to this universe's Sans, who was stretching for what seemed like training. "heya dream," he greeted, smiling at the positive aura. Dream grinned, "Nice to see you Dance. I have a question, if that's not too much to ask." Dance chuckled at the most likely unintentional and stupid pun, but replied, "shoot for it dude."

"What can you tell me about this multiversal concert? I'm afraid I'm terribly uninformed, haha." Dream smiled patiently, awaiting an answer as Dance took a moment to think. Dance tapped his jaw in thought. "the only thing that i can say for sure is that whatever this is is hosted by someone not from this multiverse. no idea who though. maybe ink can tell you more?" Dream thought for a moment, dumbfounded in a way. How could Dream forget? Ink was probably all over it by now! "Oh my stars Dance, I can't believe I never thought of that before! I'll ask him right away! Thanks for the pointer, I owe ya one." Dance chuckled as Dream jumped away into another AU. Dance blushed mildly. Dream was so amazing, so positive. He'd never remember a copy like Dance for long, never in a milennia.

Dance went back to stretching, turning on the radio. People talking about the concert left and right, gossip and rumors running rampant. Dance wanted nothing more than a solid time and place, but no one talked about that. No one.

Dream landed in OuterTale, of course. Either Ink was here or in the Doodle Sphere. He never went into the Omega Timeline unless there was an emergency, and if there was an emergency he would have called Dream and Blue. But the was no call, not a word from Ink. He wouldn't risk panicking in public, right..?

Well, whatever the case, Dream found Ink talking to... Core Frisk... on a remote island in the middle of nowhere. Dream didn't like Core all that much, although he'd never admit it. It unnerves Dream that he can never sense any emotion coming from the little human, which both annoys him and worries him. Were they bottling it up or could they even feel? Why do they look like they should feel hollow? Do they feel hollow? So many questions ran through Dream's skull every time he saw Core.

Nonetheless, Dream ushered over to them, in hearing range as he heard a sentence come from Ink, who was facing away from Dream. "Since when did you not get a panic attack after being in a crowd for so long?" Dream froze, ducking behind a large boulder. What? Panic attack? Did Core have claustrophobia or haphephobia or something? Why would they-

"And why didn't you freak out after being in a place that's practically only white?" Core shot back, sounding uncharacteristic. Dream flinched. Did they go in the AntiVoid? No, there are no crowds there. The Omega Timeline? But Ink didn't call the others... didn't call Dream.

"Well in my defense I was a little preoccupied with that rumor. It's interesting but I'm worried and I don't want anyone to go just in case it's a trap plus I don't know when or where it's supposed to be-" "You're rambling." "Sorry, but you get me right?" Core nodded. "The Protector's job, I know. I think the consert will be a good idea though, you need to unwind with people, not just drawing." Ink flustered at that, feeling embarrassed about drawing, plus Core mentioning it. "Yeah yeah..."

"But it's not just about me," Ink sighed. "If the Dark Sanses go there and start a riot..." Dream blinked, suddenly feeling guilty. How could he have forgotten that? Dream suddenly became aware of the strong negative emotions coming from not only himself, but from the two in front of him. It hurt, and he couldn't just ignore it like normal. Ink was stressed and worried out of his mind, Core was... Dream paused in realization. He could sense Core! His demeanor immediately improved, reducing the pain.

"Funny how someone's pain could make the God of Positivity feel so good," a baritone voice chuckled in the space. Ink and Core froze, Dream brandished his bow and arrow, ready for an attack, still hidden from Ink's view. Damn you Nightmare! Dream growled in his mind.

"God of... DREAM WHAT THE FREAK." Ink's voice went from mildly confused to surprisingly ticked real fast. Dream jumped out from his cover, sliding over to Ink, who was now standing protectively over Core with his brush in hand. Dream scowled. "I'll explain later," he mumbled. "You'd better."

Nightmare materialized right before their eyes, from a shadow of course. The tall goopy skeleton walked leisurely over to the small group. His eye was devoid of emotion as always, his posture relaxed and nonthreatening if it weren't for the long powerful tentacles twitching on his back. The King of Negativity stood about two meters away, showing no signs of aggression, but no sign of backing down. His grin was as sharp and as cruel as ever.

"Go back to where you came, Nightmare," Ink hissed, his eye lights flaring in a dangerous maroon. Nightmare put his clawed phalanges up, as if he were caught by the nonexistent police force. "Hey, hey, chill. Just need to ask a favor." Dream glared, but Ink had to hold in a fit of laughter. "Why would we help?" Nightmare shrugged, putting his hands back in his pockets. "I heard a little rumor, and I want more info."

Ink rolled his eyes, not buying the story. "Why does this even concern you?" Ink jabbed, getting angry and hoping to make Nightmare uncomfortable. It... didn't work. Nightmare fed off of the negative energy, cocking a brow. "Uh... rude? I just wanna know." Dream sighed, letting in. Why oh why was he so weak when it came to his brother?

"We don't know much, just about the concert and nothing much else," Dream answered truthfully. Ink stared daggers at Dream, as he growled, "Dream.." Dream put his bow and arrow away, looking back at Ink, and replied with a sassy monotone nod, "Ink."

Nightmare rolled his eye light at the display. It was familiar, but he'd never admit it. His gang made similar interactions, quite often. But it was a confirmation that Dream released some true information, at least. Nightmare opened a portal, to which Killer and Cross came out, carrying...

"BLUE!" Ink and Dream shouted simultaneously. Killer glanced at the two, stating, "Attack us and we won't hesitate to kill Blue." Ink huffed, as Core whispered something to Ink. Ink nodded, making a portal and then sticking his brush back on his back. Core jumped in the portal and disappeared.

Killer and Cross untied Blue quickly, starting to get uncomfortable being around all three Star Sanses at once. Blue gasped as they undid the rope around his mouth. "You could have made it a bit looser!" Killer smirked, chuckling. "And risk you getting out? Fat fucking chance." Killer took out his knife, to which Ink had to resist the urge to smash Killer's skull in the ground, and Killer cut the rest of the rope off. Blue stood up, brushing himself off. He walked cautiously back over to Ink and Dream, to which Ink just stared open mouthed at the three Dark Sanses. "Why did you kidnap Blue if you didn't even threaten us?!" Ink screeched.

Nightmare grinned. "Backup plan." All six went back to their respective HQs. And Core? They were scribbling every rumor down, in every timeline, trying to find a constant or a source, and it would take a long time before either side would find much else out about this concert and it's host. Or, as the constant says, the hostess.

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute oneshot in which two nerds fall for each other. Also, as usual, part of it devolves into utter chaos :) (Rating T, fluff fluff fluff + humour, ~9k words) - written for my kindness war with @nutbrain 💖💖 Take that! I do hope you enjoy it and I hope you also know how much I adore you. Please never change 💗

.

Mute raises an unimpressed brow. When Sledge told him he was about to meet their ‘chemistry whiz’ who apparently matched Mute’s own penchant for anything science, he’d pictured something…

Well, not something like this. Not an aged goon too short for the t-shirt he’s wearing (yet filling out the sleeves nicely nonetheless), not someone folded onto his chair like an ape, and certainly not someone with a haircut better suited for the military than a lab. He’s an odd mix of latent energy, smug grin and laziness, and Mute immediately decides not to like this show-off.

He’s always been picky and so far it’s served him well – while other friend groups publicly fought out private issues, complained about betrayal, miscommunication, ignorance, Mute sat in his corner with his one or maybe two friends and simply watched. Focusing on his own success, he’s always fared better than if he tried to get along with those around him, and the results don’t lie: mid-20s, and he’s just been recruited into one of the world’s best special forces. He works well enough in a team and is aware his superiors can’t demand more than that, even if Aurelia expressed the wish for him to socialise more than he’s used to. Her right-hand man briefly tried to bond with Mute over their shared heritage but backed off as soon as he earned a carefully blank stare. He knows more than he lets on, Six does as well, but for now they’re leaving Mute be.

Going by his gut feeling, trusting his first impression has rarely failed him, and so he fells his judgement while the hoodie-clad thug in front of him greets him cheerfully. “How ya, nice to meet you, I’m told you can backseat engineer a tad and help me with my project. Been a right bastard recently, innit?”

Mute blinks. Self-centred, he writes on his mental list, outgoing – the horror! –, big mouth, carefree. None of the bullet points make him want to spend more time in this guy’s presence than necessary. It doesn’t help that it’s entirely unclear who or what has been a right bastard, whether it’s the project, the dude, maybe Mute himself, who knows? He sounds like one of Mute’s former classmates who dropped out to sell weed and graffiti abandoned stations at night. “Yes”, he replies hesitantly to buy time. “So… what is it you’re working on?”

In an entirely misguided attempt at getting Mute settled in at the base, Sledge has spent most of the day sending him back and forth between operators with increasingly mundane tasks which Mute identified much too late as intended conversation starters which usually resulted in two lines of awkward small talk and a task done mostly in silence. He nearly refused to step anywhere near this last SAS member but when Sledge mentioned the magical word science, Mute’s interest was piqued. Seems like this will be just another disappointment, however, because this schoolyard bully surely isn’t -

“A Lewisite derivative less prone to hydrolysis and ideally as long-lasting as Adamsite while being less identifiable. I don’t want those bloody terrorists shooting up on dimercaprol immediately to counter the effects.”

Well. Mute briefly considers whether he’s merely saying this to be funny, maybe learnt it by heart to impress a few birds in the pub, but when he spots the emblem of arsole on this guy’s jacket like the crest of a prestigious school, he realises that he’s dead serious. “You realise that’s illegal as fuck?”

This earns him a bright smile. “Yep!”

“So you want to poison a whole group of people”, Mute clarifies, just to be sure.

“Lethally poison them to death until they die”, the man confirms with an amused nod and again, it takes Mute a moment to register he’s not being facetious.

He throws a glance at the chicken scratch notes spread out on the table separating them. They look chaotic yet detailed, and most of all they look like a challenge. “What did you say your name was?”, he wants to know distractedly and almost misses the lazy grin spreading on the guy’s face.

~*~

Mute still doesn’t like him. Contrary to how often they hang out, Smoke certainly ranks nowhere near his favourite people to spend time with which might seem unfair but he’s just – annoying, really, won’t stop bragging or talking too loudly, keeps taking and using Mute’s stuff without asking and is much too handsy for his tastes. He never properly learnt personal boundaries and is forthcoming to the point of rudeness, at least in Mute’s opinion, but for some reason gets along well enough with most of the other operators. It baffles Mute how easily he navigates social situations, does so without a care in the world and, while Smoke gets yelled at often enough, he also gets what he wants a surprising amount. Mute was brought up to be reasonably polite, withdrawn, not a bother, and Smoke is… the opposite. He goes out and declares for everyone to hear, so someone is bound to listen. It’s enviable, in a way.

But no, Mute’s personal ideals resonate much more closely with Glaz’, and Twitch’s, and Rook’s, and together they form an alliance of loyalty and trust and meet up just to be themselves. It’s a relief not to worry about what comes out of his mouth and even more of a relief to realise he’s actually found friends in Rainbow. He doesn’t consider Smoke a friend, not really, more of a necessary evil which just won’t go away and so he’s developed coping mechanisms.

This, too, sounds harsh in his head. He has to admit there are moments when he genuinely enjoys Smoke’s company.

“Why are you so quiet, lad? Cat got your tongue?”

Compared to Thatcher, Smoke is an angel. As awe-inspiring and competent as the SAS legend is, he seems to take personal offence to Mute mostly keeping to himself and has set out to coax the social chameleon, the starry-eyed, hopeful young man out of Mute who’s been dreaming of being a part of the whole his entire life yet was too awkward to figure out how. Little does he know that under Mute’s taciturnity hides an even more misanthropic nerd who’d be happy surrounded by nothing but technology for the rest of his life. Not all who talk little have little to say, but not all who talk little secretly want to star in High School Musical.

“Mike, you must’ve spent the first twenty years of your life in silence”, Smoke pipes up from where he’s lounging on one of the other tables in the workshop, letting one of his legs dangle and playing a freemium game on his phone, “because with how you dither on, you sound like you’ve something to catch up on, now that you’ve one foot in the grave.”

Mute has to admit: he’s excellent nuisance repellent. He hides a grin as Thatcher’s attention shifts. “I certainly would spend twenty years in silence if it meant you’d have to shut up yourself.”

“Gladly, if it’d make you stop molesting the youngins. I saw you chase Manu around yesterday, she should really get a restriction order.”

“All I wanted was to help her calibrate her gun -”

“She’s bloody GIGN, granda, she was born with a Magnum in her tiny baby hands. And whatever you do, she’ll never calibrate your gun.”

Despite knowing Thatcher genuinely only wants to help, Mute leaves the two to their usual banter, content in not being a part of it: they both seem to enjoy their bickering and it’s best not to make himself a target. Besides, Smoke thoroughly relishes being insulted, if his and Mute’s early interactions are anything to go by. Smoke called him young, Mute replied with ‘as young as you wish you were’ and since then, he’s been a puppy following him around with a delighted expression, fawning over every harsh comment directed at him.

“Oi, babe”, Smoke addresses him and Mute wishes he’d mind the nickname, yet whenever he remembers the other ones which were in the running, he can’t. “You think Mike here hates molecules whose atoms are all in covalent bonds?”

The question comes so out of thin air that Mute needs a second to process it. “I – what? Why?”

“Because they’re unionised.”

Mute stares at him for a bit longer before it clicks – it’s Thatcher and he means the other pronunciation of unionised and dear Lord, the joke is fucking atrocious, it’s impressive how awful it is, and before he knows it, his sides start hurting. Air eludes him as he does a silent laugh which hurts and Smoke has never looked this stupidly proud before. Not even after he made Glaz throw up by shovelling vanilla pudding out of a mayonnaise glass into his own mouth.

“What”, says Thatcher, looking completely unamused. “Are you laughing at me?”

Gasping, Mute shakes his head and waves him off, and Smoke is still grinning triumphantly. “Copper carbon potassium”, he mutters and sets Mute off once more because only he would call someone who massively outranks him a cuck and hey, that gives Mute an idea. While the two continue barking at each other, he pulls up the periodic table on his phone and starts putting things together.

Seconds before the two actually come to blows – and Smoke would have the advantage, Mute has seen him in the ring and he does not mess around –, he announces: “Fluorine argon thallium iodine carbon potassium erbium.”

Watching Smoke repeat it in his head and translate it feels like waiting for a firecracker to go off, and he’s not disappointed when it does and the other man dissolves into full-bellied laughter which nearly throws him off the table.

“What does that mean?!” Thatcher is getting more and more agitated.

“He called you a fartlicker”, Smoke chortles and Mute doesn’t even get to defend himself, explain that it wasn’t at all aimed at Thatcher, before the very same rolls his eyes and simply storms off.

“I didn’t mean him”, Mute complains and crosses his arms when Smoke saunters over to plant his arse on his table instead.

“Oh, I know, but now he’ll be pissed for a week and leave you alone.”

“I’ll apologise.”

“Are you nuts? Don’t feed into his ego. Vain bastard.”

Mute scoffs. “Says you.”

And oh, the surprised face he earns is entirely warranted. He doesn’t suppose anyone looks at Smoke closely enough to notice him glancing in the mirror a lot, or that his mismatched and ill-fitting clothes are carefully chosen and that he takes pride in his appearance. He certainly makes sure his muscles show at least. “Yes, well”, Smoke murmurs, having lost the thread of their conversation and idly running his hand through his short hair. “Oh, speaking of – I should have this cut.”

“Don’t. I like your hair.”

Smoke shoots him another astonished glance and pets his semblance of a hairstyle. Mute does like it more now that it’s grown out a bit, and he bets Smoke could look cute with it even longer. “You really should stop catering to people’s egos, they might get used to it.”

“Trust me, I’ll be the first one to mercilessly argue you into the ground, should the situation call for it.” It wouldn’t be the first time either, not after Smoke claimed drinking through a straw not only made you more drunk but also faster, that alcohol is a good way to stave off the cold and that people eat five spiders in their sleep each year. At this point, he’s half suspecting Smoke of digging up misconceptions purely so he can witness Mute tearing them apart.

“Now let me check whether you can spell ‘turdsniffer’ with the periodic table.” He takes a seat next to Mute and together, they try to come up with the best insult they can. Mute is extremely happy with CoCKBaSiN, Smoke proudly presents BUMnOsEr, and by the time they land on AmErICaN SnOBScAm, both of them are having trouble breathing.

“If everything else fails, we can always call people C4H4AsH”, Smoke concludes and points at his jacket. “A good old-fashioned arsole.”

Of course. Mute is beginning to wonder whether he ever washes this particular piece of clothing. “And no one will be the wiser.”

“Except for us. Because we have such good chemistry.”

“Alright. You can stop now.”

“If we were a laser, we’d be set on stunning.”

“James.”

“Is it getting hot in here or is this just our bond forming?”

Mute corrects himself mentally: there is no way in hell this idiot could ever be cute. “Why do I even talk to you.”

“No idea”, Smoke retorts cheerily. “But I’m glad you do.”

~*~

Unsurprisingly, he needs a little help from those who know him better than he does. They’re having lunch together, Rook in his everlasting hunger went out voluntarily to buy them fancy sandwiches and is still complaining about the place being out of baguettes whereas Twitch happily wolfs down her ciabatta without a peep, and then Glaz says mid-munch: “We’re having a spa day on Sunday. Has Julien asked you already?”

“Can’t, I’m setting skips on fire”, Mute shrugs and grins at Twitch’s horrified expression. “Not literally. But we have some hypotheses to check and usually, it ends up with us burning our notes because everything went arseways.”

“Arseways”, Rook repeats quietly to himself and Mute is relieved none of them know enough about English and Irish dialects to notice just how much slang he’s picked up from Smoke along the way. He’s made the mistake of greeting Montagne with an automatic ‘how are you’ before and ended up with intimate knowledge of the man’s health-related problems.

“You can always ask Jordan for help, just mention the setting on fire part and he’s in”, Twitch suggests reasonably and for a second, Mute actually considers it. He doesn’t mind Thermite, the man is sociable enough to fill silences before they turn awkward and perceptive enough to leave Mute alone when he needs it. Still, he was looking forward to a weekend of loud music, a few drinks and greasy takeout which he allows himself so rarely, with no space for anyone else. And while his friends’ plan of just chilling probably would drain the tension out of him just as effectively, he’s not going to ditch Smoke after he already agreed.

“You’re seeing James a lot recently”, Glaz comments in between bites.

Is he? More than he used to, Mute supposes, but it’s gotten better. The bragging has diminished or stopped bothering him so much seeing as Smoke usually includes him in it these days, and they’ve found more common ground – music was a big one, ultimately there’s not much of a leap from hardcore punk to avant-garde metal seeing as they can meet somewhere in the middle, and gaming is another. Even the fact that Smoke only ever wanted to play the games in which he’s better than Mute has subsided. They compromise more, Mute realises: Smoke tests his limits less often and Mute doesn’t judge as much anymore, the verbal pushing and shoving has turned into good-natured playfighting. It’s not about who’s right, it’s about having a good time, and on the rare occasions on which they bring up serious topics, Mute doesn’t get as worked up anymore and Smoke knows when to take a break to sort his thoughts.

“I like him”, he summarises his musings with a nod.

“And I remember the time you called him a copper nitrogen terbium argon”, Rook chimes in.

“Silver. Ag is silver, not argon.”

“I will literally never be able to remember this.”

Another reason why Mute is glad to have Smoke – there are some inside jokes they share which just don’t translate to his real friend group. “He’s much more bearable these days.”

“He’s worn you down”, Twitch corrects him with a smile and he doesn’t object. “Why don’t you ask him if he wants to join? He’s nice enough and he can’t be worse than Jules.”

“Hey!”

“Sure.” Mute shoves the rest of his brie with cranberry into his mouth and gets up to track Smoke down. The words echo in his head: he’s nice enough. There’s a few descriptions he’d deem fitting for the Brit but nice isn’t one of them – above all, he’s opportunistic. If there’s nothing in it for him, he won’t do it, but fortunately ‘entertainment’ has proven to be reliable bait for him, rendering him predictable. Mute likes this. He knows what to expect, knows when Smoke will play along, and also knows he does so willingly. Smoke doesn’t mind being tricked or manipulated into something provided it’s done overtly.

When he finally stumbles over him, he’s not alone: Fuze is talking rapidly at an irritated-looking Thatcher with Smoke at his elbow, and judging by everyone’s body language, it’s a topic which should’ve been cleared a while ago. Meaning it’s about being team captains. Since Fuze can express his displeasure best in his mother tongue, he tends to seek out colleagues who know it well enough, Thatcher unfortunately being one of them – Smoke seems to be his moral support, though he appears less supportive and rather more bored to tears.

Fuze has been a thorn in Glaz’ side for a while, ever since he dropped a comment about Rook which left his younger teammate secretly shaken and uncertain, and Mute has to fight down the urge to provoke the Uzbek whenever he sees him since. He can’t stand anyone messing with his friends, especially not on a topic like this. And with Smoke standing there, hip cocked and expression unguarded, he gets an idea.

“Hi, sweetie”, he mutters quietly enough to be convincing yet loud enough for Fuze to hear and puts an arm around Smoke’s shoulders.

He might be slow on the uptake sometimes, but right now Smoke’s spontaneity triumphs. Making it look natural, his face lights up and he wraps an arm around Mute’s waist, pulling him closer and greeting him with a soft: “Hey, babe.”

Before them, the Uzbek momentarily loses his train of thought before continuing his rant.

And oh yes, if there ever was anyone perfect for this kind of stunt, it’s Smoke. He spends half his time touching Mute already anyway, fixing his clothes, fiddling with his phone (including taking it out of his pocket), feeding him usually questionable things, leaning into him out of laziness, peering over his shoulder while steadying himself on him – the list is endless and has long stopped bothering Mute though he rarely initiates contact himself. Right now, he’s very glad for this familiarity between them.

Seemingly uninterested in the proceedings, Mute pushes a hand into Smoke’s half-long hair and starts petting it. It’s as soft as its glossiness promises but if he’s honest, he wouldn’t have minded one bit if it was coarse or greasy because the face Smoke makes all of a sudden is priceless. He didn’t expect his features to go slack like this, for him to melt into this touch completely, and he has to suppress a chuckle. It seems he’s finally found an off switch. The longer he massages his scalp, runs his fingers through black hair, the more the grip around his torso loosens and the more Smoke sways in place. He looks like he’s got trouble keeping his eyes open and it’s, well, it’s endearing in an unexpected way. And Mute already knows he’ll shamelessly exploit this knowledge in the future.

Still, he hasn’t achieved his goal of pissing off Fuze enough for him to stop hissing at Thatcher, and so he pauses his ministrations to watch in amusement as Smoke returns to this plane of existence very, very slowly. He blinks, shifts his weight and presses his compact body more against Mute’s in the process, and he’s so dazed and adorable that the one thing which most likely will achieve the intended effect doesn’t even seem like such a bad idea anymore.

So Mute leans down and kisses him.

Fuze trails off mid sentence.

It was just a brief touch of lips on lips, but despite his stupefaction, Smoke possessed the presence of mind to tilt his head into it, slide his eyes shut and capture Mute’s lower lip between his own for a second and hey, that’s much better than him shoving his tongue down Mute’s throat as a joke or maybe him slobbering all over Mute because that’s kind of what he was expecting. When it’s just nice instead, he makes no move to hide his smile and straightens back up to catch Fuze’s eye innocently.

And while Smoke’s hand drops lower and starts groping Mute’s butt, the Uzbek’s expression darkens. He spits one last sentence at Thatcher and turns around on his heel to stride away with purpose.

Wordlessly, Thatcher just looks at them.

“What just happened?”, Smoke wants to know meekly, visibly overwhelmed with the situation and Mute could really get used to this.

“Fuze was being a scandium astatine tungsten holmium rhenium”, Mute explains matter-of-factly.

Thatcher shakes his head with a grin. “Little shits”, he murmurs, but to Mute’s ears it sounds grateful. He leaves them to it, still holding on to each other for some reason.

“You wanna take a spa day with us instead of vegetating in the lab this weekend?” He’s gently massaging the base of Smoke’s skull now and notices his eyelashes flutter. Cute. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.

“What, give up gaming till morning for sitting around and talking about feelings?”

Mute snorts. Is that what he thinks they do in their spare time? “I’ll pet your hair if you say yes.”

“… when are you guys meeting up?”

And he can’t help but give Smoke a quick hug while laughing before relaying the details.

~*~

“Mark.” A hand on his shoulder, him curled around a warm body, and a pleasant dream lingering – he’s not at all ready to wake up. “Mark, get up. It’s late.”

He huffs a sigh, hears it echoed from the small creature next to him and stretches before cracking open an eye. Sledge is regarding him with a fond smile, whereas Diana, pressed against him on her side, pretends to be still asleep. The living room is empty save for a myriad of bottles and glasses and oh, that means everyone’s gone already. Sledge has already changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, pads around barefoot and tidies a little while Mute sits up on the couch, strokes the corgi lady’s soft fur with one hand and checks his phone with the other. u home yet?, Smoke asks and it’s just like him to remember Mute’s schedule despite being on the other side of the world.

was sharing body heat at Seamus, gonna head back now, he replies and pictures Smoke’s slightly irritated expression. While he’s never had an issue with Glaz, Twitch and Rook, Mute’s newly-developed friendship with Sledge caused frankly amusing uncertainty which surfaces either in territorial aggression or thinly-veiled jealousy. He ignores Mute’s assurances that the Scotsman has a long distance boyfriend somewhere seeing as no one has ever heard him mention him (but Mute knows the signs), and instead tries his best to keep Mute’s attention, unaware that he’s competing with Sledge’s dog more than anything, and that no one could ever surpass the small fluffball.

“How’s James?”, Sledge asks in a tone so natural that Mute wonders when it became so self-evident that he’d know about every detail in Smoke’s life.

“Bored a lot. Now that they’ve cleared out the base they’re just staying in the hopes of catching some stragglers who didn’t get the memo. Unlikely, but Six is right in saying if there’s a chance, they should take it. He’ll probably be back some time next week, or so he hopes.” It’s past three now, so no wonder everyone’s gone already. Since he lives in walking distance, Sledge probably figured he’d let him sleep off all the alcohol he consumed much too fast earlier – without Smoke around, it’s only half as fun, thus Mute drank like he was getting paid for it and must’ve passed out while cuddling with Diana.

His phone buzzes. It’s a singular question mark and Mute can’t help but grin at its passive aggressiveness. found the perfect snuggling partner, he replies and figures there’s no need to be cruel, so he attaches a photo of the corgi now rolled up into a ball.

“Want to take some of Moni’s salad with you?”

Mute perks up at that and trails after the Scotsman into the kitchen. Normally he’d have left straightaway, but he’s got nowhere to be tomorrow since Rook and Twitch want to go clothes shopping and Glaz was prescribed some quality time with the rest of his team, and Smoke is unavailable. They’ve both wrecked their sleep schedules over the past weeks due to time zones, and still there’ll be a period tomorrow when Mute won’t be able to contact him. He’s not looking forward to it. If he asked, Sledge would let him sleep over and probably entertain him the entire day, but it’d be inevitably coupled with a few stern words Mute imagines normal dads to direct at their children, and he’d rather avoid parental guidance. He’s old enough to make his own decisions now. Like taking photos of himself naked and deleting all of them a second later, because no. Just no.

“I can’t believe there’s some left over”, he states to distract himself from what he’d even do with nudes.

“There wasn’t. She set some aside for me earlier because she knew all of you would devour it.” And though Mute knows Sledge is kind and caring, he can’t help but wonder whether he’s feeding him specifically because Twitch snitched about him accidentally skipping meals. He should ask her tomorrow.

what about me?, Smoke wants to know and Mute almost hears his pout in his head. If he’s honest, it’s not even close. Diana is affectionate to a ridiculous degree and has never accidentally elbowed him in the crotch so she’s the clear winner – but he has to admit there was an evening they spent pressed against each other on Glaz’ couch which was uncomfortable until Mute stopped fighting against Smoke and simply put an arm around him to save space, and he barely caught anything happening on screen for the rest of the film because there was also a casual hand resting on his thigh -

“Do you miss him?”

Mute realises he’s been staring at his phone for entirely too long and Sledge is already done putting some of the delicious potato salad into a container for him. His cheeks start heating up but he can’t deny it, so he nods. It’s been a few excruciatingly long weeks and though Smoke’s expressive enough in texts, it’s just not the same.

“Have you told him that?”

And here we go. He rolls his eyes, snatches the salad with a muttered thanks and goes to put on his shoes. she smells better, he types out just to be a brat.

He pauses in the door when Sledge calls his name and expects him to meddle some more, already prepares his defence: Yes he knows, yes he should tell him, but what if he doesn’t reciprocate, and it’s such a commitment, and it’s been a while, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and what if they don’t want the same thing -

But Sledge just says: “Get home safely. Good night.” He probably figures Mute knows all of which he’d like to say instead.

On the way back, his eyes are glued to the screen once more. They exchange good-natured banter, gossip a little over some of their colleagues’ work ethics, and then go back to complaining about the whole mission which currently separates them so inhumanely.

I sware tho when im back ill spend one day eating one day sleeping and one day gaming

Those are three different, consecutive days I assume?, Mute clarifies. If so, that sounds like a party I’d like to attend.

babe ill invite u to any party esp if its just us two

Mute is beaming. Smoke is probably expecting him to pick his message apart, make a crude joke about parties in his knickers, plan ahead for when he does come back or maybe even switch topics entirely, and on any other night Mute would indeed go for one of these options. But he’s still giddy with a slight buzz, remembering the dog’s warmth and wishing it was Smoke’s instead, that he instead makes an offer. Provides bait, in a way. Gives Smoke a chance.

Do you enjoy spending time with me that much?, he asks.

And though he firmly expects Smoke to laugh it off maybe or just take a while to reply, it’s nearly instant and so open it tugs at his heartstrings. yes, Smoke writes. Nothing else. Mute’s cheeks are starting to hurt. There’s no sarcasm, no dismissal, just a yes and he couldn’t have hoped for a lovelier answer.

That is, until he receives the next message and realises he was wrong, oh so wrong.

iodine lithium potassium uranium, it reads.

And while it’s not perfect and a little awkward, he couldn’t care less because today is the best day of his entire life. He actually tears up a little, scans the words over and over again and ignores their turning blurry, tries to come up with an appropriate reply – it needs to be just as honest, that much is clear, Smoke is taking a leap and Mute needs to make sure he catches him, and that’s when he runs into a lamp post.

It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened sooner, going by how little attention he paid to where he was going, but that doesn’t make it any better. He hits his head on metal, hard, clutches the valuable potato salad with one hand but drops his phone with a loud clatter and a curse. A quick glance establishes that yes, it’s actually broken, pieces having flown off, screen cracked, and still he doesn’t care.

Because Smoke likes him. Likes likes him. And looking back, it was glaringly obvious, wasn’t it? But somewhere among the countless hours they spent together, Mute had convinced himself that a friendship is all it was and that he should feel guilty for the surreptitious glances every time Smoke took off his shirt in his presence, that he shouldn’t mess with their dynamic and maybe Smoke only allowed him to touch his hair and no one else because… well, there was no good reason, now that he thinks about it. It’s remarkably long by now, Smoke hasn’t had it cut once and Mute vaguely remembers complimenting him on it. It suits him. Mute wants to bury both hands in it and hold him still while snogging him silly.

The phone is a goner. Doesn’t even turn on, so he puts it in his pocket, rubs the pounding spot on his forehead reminding him of his obliviousness, and only then realises the problem with this whole situation: he’s got confirmation from Smoke now.

But Smoke doesn’t know about his feelings. He doesn’t know Mute likes him back. And like this, he can’t tell him.

.

“The fuck?”, Rook slurs drowsily upon opening his door. He’s wearing pastel pyjamas with polar bears.

“I need your phone”, Mute replies, breathing hard from having run all the way. The conversation with Smoke made him go the wrong way yet once he’d oriented himself, it turned out the Frenchman’s flat was closer than anyone else’s, so he’d come here. “It’s an emergency.”

“Is anyone hurt?” He wobbles back into the apartment and emerges again carrying a potentially life-saving device.

“Only James’ pride”, Mute mutters and snatches it out of his hand. Then realises yet another problem. “This is his old number. You don’t have the new one?”

Rook looks ready to fall asleep against the door frame. “Wha? He has a new one?”

“Yeah, he dropped his phone in the sea two weeks ago. Fuck. Do you know who might have it?”

“The hell’s going on, Mark? Is he okay?”

If he wants Rook’s cooperation, he should probably tell the truth. “Yes, but he told me he liked me and I accidentally smashed my phone, so I can’t answer him. He’ll probably go to sleep soon and I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him. I’d really like to text him. And I know it’s dumb and I probably shouldn’t have woken you up -”

“Call Timur.” Mute hesitates. “I’m serious, call him, he might have it. He won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mark, you’ve never asked us for help in anything personal. When your jammer went arseways and you were bummed for a week, we had to forcibly drag you out of your flat. Yes, I’m sure. And I’m glad you’re here.” He still can’t bring himself to wake up more of his friends, forcing Rook to take his phone back and call Glaz himself. “Besides, you two are made for each other. Manu is gonna scream my ear off when I tell her.”

He smiles at that. “Do you want some of Moni’s potato salad as thanks?”

“No answer.” Rook hangs up, distractedly glancing at the object Mute is offering him. “Wait, did you say Moni and salad?”

.

A few minutes later, they’re in Rook’s car, listening to horrifically repetitive pop music and eating salad. “What about Seamus?”, the Frenchman suggests with his mouth full while Mute is busy calling next to everyone on Rook’s friends list.

“You know he’s gonna be the smuggest git. I’d rather avoid all the I-told-you-so.”

“Fair enough. Here we are.” Rook parks the car in the middle of the street and together, they knock on Glaz’ door until it swings inwards to reveal an extremely unhappy Kapkan.

“Oh shit”, says Mute. Apparently quality time implied a sleepover. He hopes they’ve only woken up one of the pack.

“There better be a huge fire somewhere”, the Russian growls.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that”, Rook begins to explain when one by one, the other Spetsnaz flock to the door to stare them down. Glaz, at the back, seems more worried than angry, but everyone else is visibly resentful.

“You know what, forget it, we’ll find someone else”, Mute tries to interject and avoids Fuze’s furious stare, but it’s too late.

“Mark needs to confess to James, but he destroyed his phone and I don’t have the new number. Do any of you have it?” There’s a certain impressive quality to watching Rook, still clad in baby blue bears and physically less imposing than literally every single one of the discontented men before him, calmly ask them for help with such a mundane issue.

As expected, Fuze basically explodes. “What!”, he yells and only narrowly gets stopped by Kapkan and Tachanka before he can lunge at Mute. “You two weren’t even -”

“Have you asked Manu?”, Glaz pipes up from the back, over the raging Uzbek’s shoulder.

“I will skin you! Fucking brats -”

“She’s not answering either, probably set her phone to silent. You think we should stop by?”

“Do you think this is funny? Ridiculing -”

“Worth a try. I’ll tag along.”

Mute ends up with Glaz on his lap in the front, while the three angry Russians occupy the back bench: Fuze is pissed over the Brits taking him for a fool just because they acted flirty whenever he was around, Kapkan is pissed that Fuze is pissed, and Tachanka is pissed over having to sit next to the other two. None of them are wearing any shoes – or shirts, for that matter –, except for Glaz, fortunately. It’s a complete mystery to Mute why they came along, but now he has to deal with aggravated Russian being thrown back and forth behind him.

“What about Seamus?”, Glaz inquires curiously and nearly falls into Rook’s lap at a particularly sharp turn.

“He’d be a smug shite and I don’t wanna deal with that.”

“Fair enough.”

.

Twitch is clad in pastel pyjamas with a cupcake print. She also seems understandably intimidated over being faced with six guys upon opening her door, three of which disgruntled and rearing for an actual fist fight.

“Mark needs to declare his undying love to James but blew up his phone and now none of us have his new number. Do you?”, Glaz explains the issue so badly that Mute wants to smack him.

“Why are you on their side? They were constantly provoking me!”, Fuze hisses in the background.

“Then it’s your own fucking fault for getting upset about love”, Kapkan snarls back.

Once Twitch is done literally hopping up and down with unbridled joy after having confirmed it three times, she admits: “I don’t have it, no. Didn’t he only give it to you, Mark? Have you asked Seamus?”

“We don’t wanna deal with his smartarse attitude”, Rook explains.

Twitch blinks, uncomprehending. “You can’t be serious.”

.

She sits perched on Mute’s lap for the drive whereas Fuze is forced to sit on Tachanka's, a fact over which he seems utterly infuriated. A small brawl happens halfway through, with Glaz trying to stay out of it as much as possible, and Tachanka threatening to open the door and dump Fuze’s crusty arse outside, and if Mute is honest, he hasn’t had this much fun in ages. It’s like free entertainment, and though worry nags at him, he knows they’ll eventually be successful.

Sledge is remarkably awake and even a little flustered, even more so when he eyes the crowd on his front lawn. “Is the world ending?”, he asks politely.

“Do you have James’ new number?”, Mute replies with another question and ignores Fuze kicking at his heels before getting dragged away and shoved around a bit by Kapkan.

“What, did you lose your phone after he confessed to you and now you can’t answer him?”

“How does he know everything?”, Rook whispers in Twitch’s direction, awestruck.

“That was a lucky guess”, Mute accuses him, because how.

Sledge pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mark, he told me a month ago that having you would make him both the happiest and the luckiest man on earth.”

Mute gapes at him. In the background, Kapkan snaps: “You hear that shit? That’s fucking cute, you numbskull, and you’re not going to rain on their parade!”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Sledge’s deadpan tone implies that he’s thoroughly done with both of them – probably hinted heavily, with either of them dismissing him. “Come on in. I don’t have his number, but I know someone who would.”

They file into the house which doesn’t look much different to how Mute left it more than an hour ago, which is odd: the same lights are still on, meaning Sledge didn’t go to sleep, yet the mess is still there. He must’ve been doing something important if it kept him up till now.

“Mike’s known him for a while, so he’s likely to have James’ number”, Sledge announces and starts rifling through drawers. “But he turns off his phone at night and I don’t know where his stupid caravan is parked right now. I wrote it down somewhere.”

Mute spots a closed but running laptop on the coffee table. “Maybe you’ve got it saved on here”, he wonders and just as Sledge chokes out a panicked Mark no, flips it open.

And is faced with a very handsome, very hairy, and most importantly very naked guy on a webcam who seems surprised to see him.

He closes the laptop again. They could’ve heard a pin drop in the following silence.

“Well”, Sledge murmurs, “that, uh, was Adriani- Adriano.”

That answers that question. Mute’s face is burning.

“Tell him we’d like to meet him properly once he’s put some clothes on”, Tachanka speaks up cheerfully.

“Guys, I found more of Moni’s salad in the fridge”, Rook announces with his mouth full just as he enters the room, though he stops dead when all faces turn to him. “What? Did I miss something?”

.

For some reason, Thatcher looks the least surprised out of all of them to receive a gathering in his abode – or rather in front of it, because his moving temporary home hardly offers enough space to house eight people. It was a relief to take two cars to get here, even if Sledge seems ready to murder someone after chauffeuring three arguing Spetsnaz around.

“This puppy here wants to propose to James but since he melted his phone in the microwave, we need you to tell us exactly where he is so we can fly over”, Tachanka explains even worse than Glaz did previously and Mute just puts his head in his hands.

Thatcher scowls at them. He’s wearing pastel pyjamas with rocket ships on it. “Is this a joke?”

“Do you know James’ new number?”, Sledge takes over with a deep sigh and yanks Fuze aside the moment he tries to elbow Kapkan. Mute is no longer surprised over the fact that the Scotsman feels more like a dad to him than a friend. “I believe it’s time sensitive.”

“I don’t have it”, the old man grumbles, much to everyone’s exasperation, “but I know someone who does. Just a phone call away, come in.”

Easier said than done – one by one, they squeeze into the limited space, with Rook and Twitch climbing up to the bed and letting their feet dangle into Glaz’ field of view, while Fuze and Sledge sit down by the tiny table. The rest stands awkwardly as Thatcher rummages around aimlessly until he finally finds what he’s looking for. Namely his phone.

“That’s where you keep it?!”, Sledge wants to know, aghast. “What if there’s an emergency?”

“Well you’re all here, aren’t you.” Thatcher takes another two minutes to turn it on and by then, Mute has lost all patience.

“Let me do it”, he offers politely and adds silently: for the love of Christ. “Who am I calling?”

“Tze Long. He’s an old friend from Hong Kong, James and I know him from years ago. He’ll know.”

He vaguely remembers hearing the name before, so he navigates to contacts, tries not to look too hard at the notes Thatcher has added to a few of them, like Brunsmeier (public nuisance) and Cowden (good lad) until he lands on Nizan (hide all food). It takes him a few seconds to regain his composure but then he’s finally spotted the name Thatcher mentioned and presses the green button. He doesn’t have to wait long, seeing as it’s currently morning in Asia, but he was not at all prepared for the booming greeting nearly shattering his eardrum.

“Morning, honey, having trouble sleeping again? Want me to read you another bedtime story, hm?”

And though Mute has never met this man in his life, the sultry tone makes it painfully clear there’s absolutely nothing innocent about his offer. Even worse: since Thatcher set his phone’s volume to eleven, literally everyone in the cramped room heard.

Mute has to correct himself: today is one of the worse days of his life.

“Give me that”, Thatcher hisses and snatches the phone out of Mute’s hand. “Listen, I have visitors.”

Since he failed to lower the volume, all present continue to hear both sides of the conversation, whether they want to or not. “Wonderful! I’ve been telling you to get out more, dearie, have more social contact or you’ll end up a bitter old fart.”

“That means you need to behave.”

“I always behave. You know me. I’m extremely obedient.”

The two Frenchies on the bed are shaking with silent laughter whereas Thatcher is getting redder by the second. “All we need is James’ number. Do you have it? We have a youngin here who wants to marry him.”

“Just confess, actually”, Mute chimes in but gets ignored.

“Oh my. Yes, I have it. Do you have something to write?” Sledge holds up his phone with the notes app open as confirmation, and what follows are the longest five minutes of Mute’s life because Thatcher insists on being dictated one digit at a time, repeats it even though everyone can hear the man on the other end of the line clear as day, and then asks Sledge to confirm it. They go through the process twice to be sure and by the end Mute is ready to strangle somebody.

Thatcher thanks his ‘friend’ and hangs up on him mid-sentence, to everyone’s relief, seeing as any sentence that begins with ‘and remember to replace the trousers that we’ can’t end well. And then it’s done. They hold a collective breath as Sledge pulls up the number he just saved and presents his phone to Mute.

He’s almost forgotten why they’re all here, but the serenity of this moment hits him out of the blue – he’s about to make a life-changing decision, yet he’s convinced it’s the right one. He really, really likes Smoke. Absence did make his heart grow fonder, he spent a few sleepless nights reminiscing over all the genuine, heartfelt, entertaining, meaningful moments they shared and realised he feels incomplete knowing he can’t just meet up with him, can’t just take a spontaneous day trip by his side or just laze around at his place. This is one of the things Smoke has learnt: leaving him alone. Not always, but sometimes Mute just needs time for himself, and of all people he didn’t expect pretentious, flashy, loud Smoke to acknowledge it.

He can’t wait to tell him that he feels the same way he does.

“Can you let me through?”, he asks, expecting the others to move out of his way for some privacy, and reads the room much too late. He’s almost furthest from the door, a door three Russians are blocking. Kapkan crosses his arms.

Okay. He gets it. He interrupted their sleep, wasted their time, irritated them to hell and back, and yet they stuck it through. They… kinda deserve to hear this.

Wordlessly, he dials the number and tries not to let his racing heartbeat affect him – anxiousness is crawling up his throat, clogging it, and the fact that he’s doing this in front of eight other people doesn’t fill him with confidence. What if Smoke’s sleeping already, went to bed confused and dejected? What if he’s changed his mind in the meantime? Every beep increases his dread and leaves him more restless than before and he’s not even aware of fidgeting until Sledge reaches out and squeezes his hand reassuringly. He could’ve smooched him for the gesture, just like he could’ve thrown something at Rook for pulling a dumb grimace simultaneously.

And then Smoke answers the call. “Yeah?”, he says, sounding tired yet curious. He hasn’t gotten any sleep all night and it must be morning for him too.

“James? It’s me.” Twitch gestures emphatically and so he switches to loudspeaker, as much as he doesn’t want to. Even Fuze looks invested at this point.

“Oh, how ya babe. What’s the craic?” Now that he knows it’s Mute, he’s much more lively and Mute wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“My phone died, I’m really sorry. Or rather – I walked against a street light and smashed it on the floor.”

“Shit. Are you alright? I could tell my messages weren’t coming through, so I figured something happened.”

His concern feels like a warm blanket. Mute is grinning like a lunatic but is long past caring at this point. “Yeah. Well. I’m just calling – I need to tell you something.” Tachanka stands up a little straighter, the smile on Glaz’ face grows and even Thatcher looks almost proud.

“Do you?”

Just like his question earlier, it’s a prompt. And just like Smoke earlier, he won’t leave him hanging. Mute gathers all his courage, looks around the room… and no.

He has a reputation to uphold. He can’t just blurt it out, can’t lay himself bare like they’re expecting him to.

And so he asks: “Are you a carbon sample, James?”

Visible and, on Smoke’s part, audible confusion. “Huh?”

“Because I’d really like to date you.”

Rook puts a hand over his eyes, Fuze continues to frown in ignorance and Kapkan rolls his eyes so hard it must’ve hurt. But somehow, Mute knows that he did exactly the right thing when he hears Smoke’s relieved laughter, undignified chortling conveying just how grateful he must be to hear this. “Babe”, he chuckles in disbelief, “you’re unbelievable.”

And despite the presence of so many other people, this is still only their moment, because it’s only the two of them giggling like idiots. “So”, he begins once their amusement has died down a little, “does that mean we’re -”

“Yes”, Smoke cuts him off. “Hell yes. There’s no way I’m gonna sleep now, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Fucking finally!!”, Kapkan yells and the entire caravan erupts into chaos – there’s cheering, clapping, a few complaints over their behaviour in the past, and Rook and Glaz actually exchange money. Thatcher pats him on the back, Kapkan nearly breaks one of his ribs with a meaningful nudge and Tachanka loudly proclaims his blessing. Mute just laughs, caught in the middle of it all, picturing Smoke’s flabbergasted expression over the sudden commotion and wondering how in the world he’s going to explain the whole situation to him later.

“The hell’s going on”, the phone in Mute’s hand asks and even he doesn’t know.

“I’ll talk to you later, James, love you, bye!” Smiling, he hangs up and switches to text messages, starts outlining the events of the evening while the storm continues to rage on around him.

“Admit it, you coward!”, Kapkan barks, and Twitch calls for a celebration, Sledge mentions he’s tired and would rather go home, Tachanka predictably exposes him with a crude comment about his boyfriend waiting for him, Glaz remarks favourably on Thatcher’s pyjamas, and Thatcher mentions he’s got a few pieces of cake in the fridge for an impromptu party, to which Rook replies with his mouth full that there’s only one piece left, and eventually even Fuze murmurs: “Alright, it was a little cute.”

But Mute only hears half of it because he sent Smoke a heart and received a heart back as well as the follow-up of with how much electricity there is flowing between us we must be a galvanic cell and good Lord, he wasn’t even aware of how fucking doomed he was.

~*~

Smoke is radiant.

He looks good on a bad day, but right now he’s bloody gorgeous – sleeves pulled up to reveal tanned skin, long hair combed back instead of parted according to no logic at all, and eyes gleaming. With every moment that passes, he becomes more and more ethereal, incorporeal, unapproachable, like a piece of art which can’t be touched or else it’d be ruined, like a mirage. They haven’t seen each other for a month so he might as well not be real at all, or maybe all their conversations over the past few days didn’t happen and Mute dreamt of his interest being reciprocated, and if nothing happens in the next second -

Smoke drops his duffel bag, reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s sweet and impossibly tangible, convinces him that this is really happening and so he prolongs it, relishes the contact of lips on lips. When they part, he’s left light-headed. “I’m back”, Smoke informs him unnecessarily.

“You’re early.” He nods. Both of them are beaming. “You didn’t even go home?”

“I came straight here.”

It’s a little awkward, Mute doesn’t really know how to react other than grinning like a dumbass, but it seems neither of them mind. “You wanna take a shower after the long flight?”

“Wanna join me?” He hesitates and Smoke picks up on it, carries his bag inside and closes the door behind them. “Babe, don’t worry. We’ll go slow. We can just laze around all day, do nothing. I’m just happy to be here.”

Mute is not fully convinced that it’s what he himself actually wants, but he agrees with the sentiment of finding their own pace. “Me too”, he admits quietly and runs his fingers through dark hair. It’s as soft as always, the feeling addicting, just like Smoke’s mouth, and so he kisses him again. They’re both oddly shy, conscious of themselves, and Mute recognises it as uneasy vulnerability. This is uncharted territory for both of them and in order not to overstep any boundaries, they tread carefully. “You look so fucking good”, Mute murmurs in between kisses and smiles when Smoke hums contentedly.

“See, when you say things like that, it’s really hard not to just spread my legs and tell you to go ham”, Smoke mutters, making him snort and interrupt their making out. “But I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.”

He senses there’s more to it than that. “If?”, he prompts expectantly, brows raised.

And Smoke’s smirk is unbearably smug. “If we do it on the table periodically”, he finishes.

They look at each other. He’s so fucking perfect Mute just wants to hold him and never let go.

“We’re going to be insufferable, aren’t we.”

It’s not a question, more of a fatalistic statement, and yet Smoke agrees with a joyous: “God I hope so.”