#this turned out about double what i planned aha

[moraxsthrone]

Hello! I'm not sure if requests are open, so ignore if they aren't.

Could I request Hu Tao finding out that Zhongli is married after meeting a lovely lady (reader) who asks to speak with him?

hi hi! yes, i'm taking requests and SLND;LNOMG THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹 PLEASE i would wife the geo daddy down so hard. 😩😤 my blog is still new so this is the first ask i've gotten PLUS i just hit 200 followers, making this a v special 2-for-1 milestone deal for me sskkssssskkssk! thank you for brightening my day and for entrusting me with your idea, my dear. 💗 there’s quite a bit of crack bc that’s just where my brain went with this…i hope that’s okay. 👉🏼👈🏼

✧˖° pairing — husband!zhongli x f!wife!reader

✧˖° wc — 1k

✧˖° notes — sfw with a teensy little suggestive moment. crack. fluff. slight pda.

you enter the funeral home, allowing the door to close behind you with a soft click.

“oh hi! welcome to wangsheng funeral parlor! i’m hu tao, may i help you?”

you smile warmly. you’d heard your husband groan a lot about her. but he’d always given her the benefit of being nice and eager to please. “yes, i’m here to see zhongli, please,” you reply.

“oh, our consultant! ah, actually, i’m the director here and if you’re interested in planning for your special day, i’d be happy to help you with that! we have several attractive packages to choose from. in fact, if you prepay for your final arrangements today, i’ll give you a 20% discount!”

“umm…no, thank you. i just came by to bring him this,” you say, brandishing his dark brown leather wallet.

“aha, his wallet?!” she extended her palm, “i’ll make sure it’s returned to him! i’m certain mr. zhongli will be most grateful!”

“actually, i was hoping to see him…is he busy?”

“ahh, give me a moment. i’ll go check,” she says suspiciously.

as tao makes her way back to zhongli’s office, she wonders what else you could possibly be here to speak to him about if not funeral services. ah, yes! perhaps you want to request a reward for the ‘lost-and-found’ item! as often as he forgets his wallet, it’s about time he pay up for having it returned to him, if he even has any mora in it. “unlikely”, she scoffs to herself.

zhongli chokes on his tea and nearly jumps out of his skin at the loud, abrupt intrusion when the director bursts through the heavy, dark oak door. but before he can remind her, once again, to please knock before entering his office, she’s already speaking.

“mr. zhongli, there’s a lady here to see you! she claims to have your wallet?”

his amber eyes go wide as he pats his chest before opening the left side of his waistcoat and reaching inside the empty pocket. “ah, again?” he mumbles, standing from his desk to make his way towards the front of the house as tao follows.

his expression softens the moment he lays eyes on you. “oh, hello darling.” he smiles warmly, closing the distance between you just as naturally as it is for him to breathe. “thank you so much for delivering my wallet. i’m so sorry to have troubled you,” he frets before leaning down to kiss your cheek. 

you return his affectionate smile and hold his elbows as his fingers squeeze your shoulders lovingly. “think nothing of it, dea–”

“MR. ZHONGLI, WHAT’S GOTTEN INTO YOU??!! THAT IS ENTIRELY INAPPROPRIATE!! YOU CAN’T JUST WALK UP TO A LADY AND KISS HER LIKE THAT!! THERE’S THANKING A LADY, AND THEN THERE’S THANKING A LADY!! JEEZ…HANDSY MUCH??” 

torn from your loving exchange, you and your husband turn to look quizzically at the ashen director as her rant continues.

“DO YOU EVEN KNOW HER NAME??”

“ah, right,” zhongli says, straightening up. “hu tao, this is my wife, y/n…”

the girl's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets…

“y/n, i understand you made hu tao’s acquaintance upon your arrival?” he goes on, oblivious to his boss’s shock in favor of displaying proper social etiquette.

hu tao blinks twice before doubling over with laughter. “wife! th-that’s so funny, mr. zhongli! you had me going for a second there!”

clearing her throat, she does her best to straighten up. “ma’am, on behalf of wangsheng funeral parlor, i sincerely apologize for my employee’s untowardness. you’ll have to excuse his bizarre sense of humor. i honestly don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

you chuckle. “while it’s true that zhongli has a rather…unique…sense of humor, he is indeed my husband.”

tao’s smile drops and her eyes narrow. “prove it.”

you think for a moment then lift your left hand to enter the fact that you’re wearing a wedding band into evidence. but hu tao’s scrutinizing gaze shifts to zhongli’s hand to find his fingers devoid of any rings, save for the ones on his thumbs.

“aha! mr. zhongli isn’t wearing a wedding ring!” she points out, unconvinced.

“oh! i nearly forgot!” you exclaim, unclasping your change purse before fishing out your husband’s wedding band. “you left this on your nightstand as well, dear.”

“aha! so that’s where it was!” zhongli slips his ring onto his gloved finger where, much to hu tao’s chagrin, it fits perfectly. “what would i do without you, my love?”

“probably lose your head and forget to put on clothes,” you tease, wrapping your hands behind his neck. “not that i have any complaints about seeing you naked…” zhongli chuckles lowly as he leans in closer, folding his arms around the small of your back to pull you in before placing a gentle, yet deliberate kiss on your lips.

the director's paled expression turns bright red as she stares in shock and awe, hardly believing her own eyes. having been subjected to the intimate display of affection for long enough, she shields her eyes and clears her throat dramatically. “okay! i believe you! please stop now!”

you and your husband part, him straightening his tie while you smooth your skirt in an effort to compose yourselves.

“i apologize, hu tao,” zhongli says, a light pink blush dusting his cheeks. “y/n and i only entered our matrimonial contract a little over a month ago, so we’re still enjoying the honeymoon phase.”

“matrimonial contract? see, mr. zhongli, this is why i was convinced you’d die a bachelor. you lack any semblance of rizz!”

“oh, you’d be surprised how much rizz he possesses behind closed doors, miss hu tao,” you say in your husband’s defense with a mischievous lilt to your tone.

perplexed as ever, zhongli props his chin between his thumb and finger. “what in the name of archons is rizz?”

“exactly,” hu tao jokes, leaving him to look on in confusion while the two of you giggle.

“i’ll explain it to you later, dear husband,” you assure him, patting his chest. he may have six millennia of history under his belt, but you’ll never cease to be irresistibly charmed by his quaint oblivion on such contemporary topics.

zhongli m.list | main m.list

✧˖° if anyone reading this enjoyed it, please consider reblogging !! zhongli will give you another kiss on your cheek if you do teehee.

[selfish-thunder]

I’ve fallen into a Marauder’s time era rabbit hole in the HP fandom, and I’ve really been enjoying the portrayal of Peter Pettigrew. And it gave me an idea

AU where Peter isn’t a piece of shit. He’s still a coward, but being a Gryffindor means he learns how to turn his cowardice into something actually helpful. He’s still not as talented as the others, but that just means while the others took lead in the spellwork, he was on the side lines able to see when pranks were about to go sideways and could plan for it. He was shy and timid at first, but you can’t be friends with The Marauder’s without growing thick skin and learning to give as good as you got. 

His special skill set? Being the unassuming one. Oh, that sweet Peter, not nearly as attractive or talented, following around that Potter and Black like a lost puppy, always needing tutoring from Lupin (there’s a good lad, always making time for Peter even with the added prefect duties)...

Yeah, no. 

The Marauders send Peter in first to stake out a joint. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor! Honest, I wasn’t trying to get into the Hufflepuff common room. I was looking for the kitchens. James and Sirius have detention with McGonagall again tonight, so I wanted to have some snacks waiting for them when they got back.”

“Good morning, Professor! Beautiful day, isn’t it? … Huh? What do you  mean this is an overgrown path to the Forbidden Forest only staff use? Sirius told me it was a shortcut to greenhouse seven! Oh, no! Sorry, professor! Sorry, sorry, but um… do mind writing me a note? I’m going to be late if I have to double back!”

Peter happily takes on the role of spy for the Marauders, for espionage and good ol’ slight-of-hand.

“Excuse me, professor, but um… Snape is out in the courtyard with James, and–” professor rushes out “Excellent, now for those potion ingredients…”

bag tears as they’re leaving charms class “You guys go on! No, don’t worry, Professor, you go on to lunch. This happens all the time. I’ll be out in a jiffy” alone in the classroom “Aha, see Professor, we weren’t late with our essays, you just didn’t look in this drawer… Eew, Snape’s essay… I’d say this could benefit from a little editing…” evil giggle

“No, I overheard the whole thing while waiting for the Pepper-Up in the hospital wing. They don’t think the Ravenclaw Seeker will be able to play. I don’t know who they’re replacing him with, but it sounded like it might be Miller, James. Oh, and I nick those late slips, Sirius, here you go.”

Give me a Peter who was genuinely loyal and loved his friends like they loved him. He’s still a Little Shit, but he’s not a Piece of Shit.

[misseviehyde]

BITCH SWITCH

"Yay, thanks so much for doing this for me Tom,” smiledJaney as she practiced her stretches with her body-swapped boyfriend.  “I know you really hate your step-sister Brooke, but by you swapping bodies with her I finally have a chance to get on the cheer team.”

Tom had no idea why his likeable girlfriend Janey was so desperate to be a cheerleader, but he would do anything to make her happy, even swap with his horrible slutty step-sis. 

He and Brooke did not get on - she was vain, spoiled and bitchy and represented everything he despised.  If he didn't love Janey so much he would never have agreed to this plan. Working himself up to say the words of the swap spell had been tough, but now he was inside Brooke's body it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

“Brooke would never have sponsored you otherwise.  This way I can get you onto the team, then I’ll swap back with her. I can’t wait to get my body back once you're on the team. I’m so sick of having to hang out with Brooke's bitchy friends and act like a stuck up drama queen all the time.  I’m glad the try outs are today."

Reflecting on it, it hadn’t been an easy process at all. Brooke had been furious when they swapped, and Tom had had to threaten to shave off her sexy hair and delete all her social media accounts to keep her quiet about swapping.  She had finally gone quiet and sulky, storming off in his body and to be honest he had hardly seen her for the last few days which was a relief.  The trials were this afternoon so by tomorrow he would be able to get back to normal.

In the last few days, Tom had had to learn everything about being a hot teenage girl as well as practice with Janey constantly. Who would have thought being popular would be this complicated?

He would be glad when this was all over.  Just a few more hours and it would all be done.

"Let's get on with this."

**********

Hours later Tom and Janey were half-way through practice, when Tom turned to see his body suddenly enter dressed in a tight fitting leotard.

“What the hell are you doing?” snapped Tom as he shook his head at the ridiculous get up his sister had his body in.

“Oh didn’t I tell you Tom?  Since you stole my body and dumped me in this one, I’ve been doing some thinking.  I’ve decided I’m going to try out for the team as well.  It’s about time we had a male cheerleader again.  I’m sure all the boys at school won’t mock you too badly.”

Tom gasped as he realised she was deadly serious. “You bitch - you can’t do this.  You are NOT entering the try outs as me, forget it.”

Brooke sneered. “You started this by stealing my life. Switch our bodies back or I'll turn you into the biggest sissy bitch at school."

Tom sighed, his devious sister had him by the balls and she knew it.  There was no way he was letting her humiliate him like that.  He had no choice but to give her back her body.

“Sorry Janey, I’m going to have to swap back with her, she’s serious.”

Walking over to the sofa, Tom rummaged inside where he had his favourite hiding place and he pulled out the magic spell book he had used to swap with Brooke, flicking through to the body swap page.

“Oh no you don’t - NO WAY,” screamed Janey. “I am not letting her ruin this for me.  If you swap back with Brooke I’ll never make it onto the squad, especially now we did this to her.” 

Grabbing the book off the surprised Tom, she flicked through urgently. “There must be another spell here we can use to stop her.”

“Janey, be careful with that book, the spells inside are dangerous.”

“Aha - there’s a spell that will give Brooke your personality and memories - then she’ll be more helpful. I don’t know why we didn’t think to use it in the first place.”

Before Tom could stop her, Janey had read the spell and there was a bright flash.

“Oh no Janey, what have you done?” groaned Tom gripping his head.  “That spell doesn't just affect Brooke, you cast it on me as well.”

“What? No! How do you reverse it?” screamed Janey as she saw her boyfriend double over and grip his head in agony.

Janey’s stomach churned as she suddenly noticed there was no way to reverse the spell.  In her panic she flicked through the book looking for a solution but she couldn’t find one!

Meanwhile Tom and Brooke were both going through a new transformation, only this time mental. Their memories and personalities were being exchanged. It was like having all your memories poured out and new ones flowing in.

Tom groaned as his head filled with new thoughts and memories.  His life as Tom was fading and Brooke's slutty memories were welling up to overwhelm him. 

Wow, I never realised how hot it feels to be a slutty bitch.  My step-sister is sooooo cool, mmmmmmh, I like being her. 

The last few days have been such fun, why would I want to go back to being a dumb boy?

What am I saying?  I am Brook now.  I can keep her body and be the bitch I want to be.  I’m hot and popular and I can do whatever I like, no one can stop me.

Tom couldn't fight it. He was becoming a teenage bitch and it felt so good. Laughing he stopped resisting and grabbing his old body laughed in glee. "Yessss give it all to me bitch - I'm Brook now!"

Tom moaned as his pussy dripped with lust and he felt the last of his worthless boy memories flow out of his head.

You are no longer Tom. Now you are Brooke

Stretching her flexible perfect body, Brooke grinned as she pushed Janey back against a wall and grabbed the spell book from her. "I'll take that loser."

She giggled as she tossed her blonde hair in delight.  “You dumb bitch, you just turned me from your innocent boyfriend into your worst nightmare.”

“You should have used this spell instead - the mind control spell,” laughed Brooke as she flicked through the pages. Intoning the words, she read it and Janey and Tom groaned as their eyes went blank.

Brooke grinned. They were hers to program now.

“Tom - you will forget you were ever a girl named Brooke. You have always been Tom and you have the biggest crush on me your step sister.  You no longer want Janey and in fact you despise her.  You will believe you have been fucking me for weeks behind Janey’s back.”

“Janey - you will forget all about the magic book and the events of the last week.  Now wake up both of you.”

Janey and Tom opened their eyes as Brooke hid the book again.  Her former girlfriend was now totally clueless as to what had happened and the new bitch beckoned Tom over.

 “Tom - you look kinda hot in that outfit.  Why don’t you show your dumb girlfriend some of the new moves we have been practicing together?  I’m horny and I wanna cum."

“Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yes, do it, show her what you really think of her. Fuck me in front of her and show her what a real man wants in a woman”

Janey gasped in horror as Tom yanked up Brooke's dress and slid his cock into her tight shaven pussy.  She moaned happily as her step-brother began to fuck her in front of Janey - long slow pumps sliding in and out of her tight cunt and making her gasp in pleasure. Sex as a girl felt amazing.

Brooke turned her head to regard her former girlfriend. "I don’t think you should bother trying out for the squad Janey, you have no chance of getting on.  Nobody likes you - not even your former boyfriend.”

“You bitch, how long has this been going on for?” sobbed Janey.

“Oh weeks," lied Brooke. "Tom is my lover now.  It feels so naughty to fuck my own step-brother.  Mom and Dad will be mad when they find out, but I don’t care.  Now Tom, I want you to cum inside my slutty pussy. In fact I have an idea.  Stay where you are bitch, you don’t want to miss this."

Janey cried as she watched Tom intensify his thrusts and with a grunt - orgasm hard into Brooke.  The evil bitch moaned in satisfaction as hot cum flooded her pussy and she commanded Tom to carry her to the sofa.

“I’ve changed my mind Janey. I’ll let you onto the squad on one condition.  Come here and lick all of Tom’s cum out of my pussy.  Show me how much you want to be a cheerleader and I’ll help you after all.”

Lying back, Brooke smirked.  Ohhhh yes, being a twisted slut felt so good.  She was so glad that this happened and she ended up as a bitch. There was no love left for her old girlfriend or life. The memory transfer had been completely successful. Now the only question was, would Janey eat her out?

Brooke smiled with satisfaction as the whimpering girl went to her knees and advanced.  Yes being a bitch really was amazing, she couldn’t wait to find out what else she could make people do now she was hot. This bitch-switch was really going to work out and Brooke loved it.

[rebouks]

Okay, so I'm being completely self-indulgent here but I went on a little foray and dug up a load of old posts n' such to go thru Wyatt's journey n' pick out some important moments/juicy tidbits so uh.. here it is if you're interested 😆

Major Somnium spoilers if you haven't read it yet tho so be warned...

The first hint of genuine emotion/doubt we see cross Wyatt's face, and it's about his father.. hmmmmm, also to be noted is that even if he did up sticks n' go to work with Ash, he wouldn't have been free of anything, least of all his father's judgement!

The infamous Silas scene, yikes.. two things here, anytime he mentions it, it's not Wyatt's reach, always Arturo's! Like Oscar said recently, he doesn't have any connections now that he's gone (and Ashton, so.. oops) Second of all, Bruno DID understand.. which is interesting. Wyatt's family may not have been any relation to Bruno by blood, but they were still his found family for a long time and he n' Wyatt didn't much care for each other either, but they knew one another pretty well (what they showed each other anyway aha..) So yeah, he didn't LIKE it, but he UNDERSTOOD.. much to Ivan's dismay 🙈

Wyatt pretty much admits here that he's pretending his way through life.. which is SUPER fun to look back on, 'cause we all took him at face value here, but who's to say it wasn't just another act? 🤷‍♂️ He learnt to look at the world through calculated logic at a very young age.. and he's kinda right, if you observe everything & everyone else from a neutral standpoint, it's pretty interesting what you can see that you might've missed if you were too angry, sad etc.. to notice...

Did anyone believe Wyatt when he said he would leave Joslyn's kids out of it? 'Cause he was telling the truth.. maybe she should'a called his bluff. An easy bargaining chip, never to be played.

After learning of Oscar's plan, Wyatt decides to help him.. why? I don't think he's sure at this point, he just knew he'd had enough of his father's disrespect and wanted to fuck him over.

This is suuuper interesting, mostly because of Bruno's "no".. he's a bit of a hypocrite ngl, cos he knew more than Wyatt, and for longer, that what he, Artie n' co. were up to was wrong, yet he stuck with them, protected them and continued to work for them anyway. The difference between them tho, is that Arturo respected and trusted Bruno enough that he would've let him leave if he wanted to, but he didn't.. and Wyatt never had that luxury ⚆_⚆

In this scene we (I think?) first got a glimpse into Wyatt's brain, and I particularly like this part...

Although he wanted to prove to Arturo that he had been right, he knew he couldn’t risk it. Doing so would only reveal his own betrayal. It should have been satisfying, but Wyatt could already feel himself shrinking under his father’s cold, piercing gaze as he realised his own son had deceived him so immeasurably. He didn’t need to know; his demise would be satisfying enough, it had to be.

Simply because as it turned out, it wasn't satisfying at all.. and Arturo was already well aware of his own son's involvement at this point, double yikes.

So everything's gone to shit but Wyatt/Darien are still sitting pretty with Ashton.. but why is it sad boi hours? Why doesn't it feel right? Hmmmmm.. I like this scene because Wyatt's pretty much lost his whole family and yet.. is he sad? He doesn't think so, not really. It's kinda the start of him "waking up" so to speak, with no one left to live "for" and no one to impress, please or serve he's lost at sea! It's fun, because honestly at this point he could have slotted neatly into life in Del Sol. He could've worked with Ash, business as usual, new connections and protections, lotsa women, lotsa money and power..... and yet.. it doesn't feel right? 🤔 HMMMMMMMMMMM

Thanks to Brynn's help, Wyatt finally comes face to face with the reality of his actions. It's interesting for so many reasons.. first of all, he'd always kept the details at bay, 'cause that's what he was used to, what was easier, what he was taught to do.. business isn't personal, right Pookie? 🙈 and Ashton hadn't exactly told the whole truth either, making out like the girls would work for him (which ig they would in a way, at least some of em.. but it's definitely worse than Wyatt assumed, which I think can show how naive he could still be sometimes) but with no daddy around to answer to/impress, and no one left to pretend to, Wyatt suddenly NEEDED to know and there was no one left to persuade him otherwise.

Love this scene.. Wyatt's still a little demented isn't he, taking sadistic pleasure in fucking someone over, but at least this time he's on the right fkin side. Look at that smirk.. ohhh Ashton you are fucked, but please enjoy your sauna whilst you can 😁

So it's been a few years at this point and Wyatt's had a hell of a lot of time to think, and a lot of distance from his old life. He doesn't really know who he is at the moment, but he's kinda learning to just BE instead of pretending all the time.. kinda scary, tho a little less so when you've adopted a cute old neighbour who invades your space with his genuine care and good advice. Something Wyatt's definitely not used to, but he doesn't completely hate it.

Not only does bumping into Brynn again make Wyatt realise how grateful he was for her help, but it also kinda forces him to stop ignoring his past. Her visit and their brief time spent together really made him start looking back at his old life n' tryna figure out how it fit into his new one. He still has no idea who he is or who he should be and it's particularly disconcerting to him how comfortable Brynn is around him, given what she knows...

He'd just about managed to keep it at bay until this point, but it's time for an existential crisis 🤸‍♀️

Ahhh baba Ichi is so kind 😭 would he still be so keen to help Wyatt if he knew about his past? Who knows.. but he sees someone struggling and he wants to help! I think it's interesting that Wyatt trusts him/likes him enough at this point to actually admit his doubts/feelings, which is more than he'd ever done before. He might not see it yet, but it's still progress.

Brynn's back, and she's about to fuck Wyatt's shit up (in the best way).. I love how he's been so wrapped up in his own misadventures that he hadn't even stopped to think about hers. If we're gonna look at things in black and white (which we don't do here but just bear with) they're both "bad" people who've done terrible things and made terrible decisions; driven by necessity, both perceived and literal. They've taken lives without regret, stolen from people who didn't deserve it, fucked people over for their own survival or for revenge ETC ETC.. and yet, Brynn knows she's not black and white, she knows she's still capable of being a good person and she can see it in him too, even if he's like ??? about it himself.

Wyatt not only admits his feelings to himself, but to Brynn too.. and goes against what HE wants n' agrees to her wishes instead, putting someone else first for like.. the first time EVER 😳

Though he was glad to know the truth, Wyatt was less than thrilled with Brynn’s plan; but she craved true freedom, and after everything she’d endured – in part due to his own transgressions – he figured he owed her as much.

What sorcery is this?!

Wyatt's not great with empathy or at putting himself in others shoes, but I loved this scene with him n' Oscar because now he's actually been forced into Oscar's well worn vans and he had no choice but to confront his previous decisions head on.. he did NOT like his own medicine and I think it's the first time he properly felt regret/guilt.. super important discovery.

Ahh the crux of the issue, daddy issues.. 😅 I'm not saying Wyatt didn't have free will or the chance to idk NOT partake in the family "bidness" but idk, he was indoctrinated into that life since birth. The fact that he eventually made it this far and didn't go totally insane in the process is still kinda impressive.

We don't have to forgive him, Brynn hasn't, and won't.. but people are grey and there's hope things will be different in the future. I love how much these two have been through in life, yet still managed to SOMEHOW end up with a second chance/a way to be & do better. Idk I think it's awesome (disagree with me if u want idc ahahakjsdksj) and I especially love that they literally know almost every nasty detail about each other but still perceive the other as "good" despite those details.. ough

With a dead dad (yay), plenty of distance, a lot of time and some forced introspection not only from himself but Brynn, Oscar, etc.. and ELLIS, Wyatt finally broke in the best way possible. It'll take time and it'll still be shit at times but now that everything's outta the bottle maybe he can piece everything together again. I especially love this part..

The moment Ellis had made his way into the world, something deep inside Wyatt’s soul had shattered, breaking into a million tiny pieces that pricked his heart with every shred of hurt, regret, and stifled guilt he’d ever buried within its previously impenetrable depths. Try as he might, the tears refused to cease.

I think it was easy to believe that Wyatt was a psychopath (that was the point) but we only believed it with such conviction because HE did too. I think he's relieved to finally learn that that's NOT the case, even if it's scary af tryna figure out who he is from scratch.. but hey, he has a pretty good reason too now. Being the dad he wished he had... ;-;

Anyway.. thanks for coming to my pointless, long ass, self-indulgent TED talk, if you read all this please take a cookie on the way out and know that ily muchly 🖤🍪

[ruggiethethuggie]

Blind (Non) Date

Summary: Your friend called you, begging you to come on her date with her. She promised she wouldn't ask anything else of you if you came. At least her date is bringing his friend with him for you.

WC: 1409 Tags: one shot, fluff, date night, gn!reader, your friend and her date are so cringe, Ruggie is the only saving grace for your night, i also didn't proofread this lmao so enjoy.

“Look, it’s just for tonight. I just need you to do me this favor. Please, please, please,” your friend pleaded with you over the phone. She called to tell you she had plans to go on a date tonight, but didn’t want to go alone so her date offered to bring one of his friends if she would bring one of her own. That’s why she was practically crying to you on the phone. “I will never ask you for anything else,... well not any time soon,” she said with a laugh. You rolled your eyes at her words. “Fine. But it’s just this one time, next time you’re going alone,” you said playfully.

You had to pull your phone away from your face as she exclaimed thank you after thank you. “Send me the time and place, and I’ll be there. I’m hoppin’ off here to get ready,” you said as you both hung up. She sent you a text a few minutes later, letting you know the date would take place at a restaurant downtown in about an hour or so. You sighed as you went to your closet to find something to wear. What was the point of dressing up? It’s not like this was a real double date. Casual was the way to go, you thought to yourself.

After you were finally ready, you checked the clock on your phone. You had just enough time to get downtown to meet your friend, their date, and your .. companion for the night. You arrived at the restaurant and could hear your friend from down the sidewalk, she was so loud. She and her date were already giggling away and being obnoxiously cringe. “Heyyyy, I’m here,” you said as she turned around and gave you a hug. “Thank you, thank you. You are the best,” she whispered. She pulled away and grabbed the arm of the guy standing a few feet back from her date.

“Here, this is Ruggie. Ruggie, Y/N. Y/N, Ruggie,” she introduced you both to each other and made a face at you. You looked him over, he clearly didn’t feel the need to dress up either. You both had the same mentality for this night. “Hi, nice to meet you,” he said with his hand out to you. You looked at his hand and shook it, staring into his eyes as you did. He gave a pleased grin. “Y/N, nice to meet you, too,” you said smiling back. From behind him, you could hear your friend say they were going inside, so you and Ruggie followed behind them.

After waiting around a little while, your group was finally seated. Your friend and her date sat on one side of the table, while you and Ruggie took the two on the opposite side. You picked up your menu and looked it over. Your friend across the table was ogling her date, being her usual self. She did not have a care in the world, she was just happy to be here with him. He seemed to feel the same, as they both giggled at each other playfully. The sight of them together was almost sickening, you wondered if you would even be able to eat with them like this across from you.

Ruggie noticed, too, and leaned over towards you from behind his menu. “Is your friend always-?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Weird? Yeah she is,” you scoffed. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say that, aha,” he chuckled. “No, it’s fine. She is so cringe sometimes,” you said as you made a disgusted look at her and her date. They were nuzzling their noses together. Gross. “Okay, maybe weird and cringe are the right words. He’s like that, too. Guess they’re a perfect match,” he said. The waitress came over about that time, checking if everyone was ready to order.

Your friend and her date went first, then Ruggie, and then you. “Great! I’ll have your orders out as soon as they’re ready! And can I just say you guys are so adorable on your little double date!” she beamed. “Uh, this is not a double date,” you said sternly. “Yeah, we are third wheel and fourth wheel,” Ruggie said with a laugh as he pointed at you and him. “Oh, I am so sorry. Nevermind then! Uhm, I will just get these orders to the kitchen now,” your waitress said embarrassed.

“Y’know you could’ve just said it was a double date,” your friend’s beau said to you and Ruggie. “It’s not though. We are… here for moral support,” Ruggie snickered. He leaned back in his chair and looked around the restaurant before over to you. “So, do you come here often?” he said with a stupid grin.

“Please, don’t do that. Don’t be weird, too,” you said playfully. “No, I don’t come here often. In fact, I would much rather be home right now.” Ruggie gave a little pout. “Yeah? And Why is that? You don’t wanna be here with this great company we have tonight,” he made a small gesture at your friends and widened his eyes. You glanced over at them and cringed even more hearing their conversation. They were already talking about getting married, their lives together, and starting a family. They’ve barely known each other for a few weeks…

“I’d rather be anywhere than here,” you whispered back to him. He laughed at your response. A few minutes later, you saw your waitress come out of the back with plates in her arms. “Here we are! Food is ready!” the waitress said as she approached your table. You all four cleared the table to make room for the plates as she set them down. “Please enjoy!” she said as she left. The rest of the night was full of you and Ruggie making jokes about your friends as you all ate, about how cringe they were and you two were the only normal ones at the table. 

He was nice, part of you was glad your friend begged you to come to dinner. As you all finished your food, your waitress came back to ask about the checks. You honestly didn’t even really think much about it, you assumed you were going to pay for yourself. “I’ll pay for ours,” Ruggie’s friend said, pointing to himself and then your friend. “And I will pay for ours,” Ruggie said as he pointed at himself and then you. You cocked your head to the side slightly, you didn’t expect him to pay for you. It wasn’t actually a date for you both.

Your group walked outside after paying, standing out front of the restaurant once again. Your friend came up to you again and gave you another hug. “Thanks again, we are going home now. You guys have fun. Love ya!” she whispered before twirling around and taking her date’s hand. They started walking off together as she just waved at you and Ruggie, the both of you just standing there confused. “What the hell,” you chuckled under your breath. “She is… very interesting. You've been friends for a long time, huh?” he asked. “Since Kindergarten,” you sighed. “She is very interesting.”

“Sooo, do you want me to take you home then or are you just going to take the bus back?” Ruggie asked. You dug in your wallet for your bus pass, rummaging through all your stuff. You couldn’t find it, not right away at least. “Y’know what, sure. You can drive me home. I don’t feel like looking for the stupid card right now,” you laughed quietly. “Alright, I’m this way,” he said as he started to walk to his car. The ride home was quiet, but only because you both seemed mentally exhausted from this night. The cringe that exuded from your two friends was almost draining. Ruggie parked the car, jogging around to the other side to open your door before you could get out.

“Oh, thanks. Appreciate it,” you said as he helped you out of his car. He walked with you to your front door. “Y’know for a non-date, this was pretty nice. I enjoyed your company,” you said with a smile. “Yeah, it was nice. We should do this again sometime,” he said looking into your eyes. “What? A non-date?” you laughed. Ruggie snickered and shook his head. “No, no. A real date next time,” he said with a grin.

© please do not copy and or repost my work as your own, my brain is massive and these are my thoughts.

[prsk-krow]

hihi :3! may i request spending the holidays with ena, mizuki and mafuyu (separate if it’s okay). I KNOW THERES STILL TIME UNTIL CHRISTMAS BUT IM JUST IN A MOOD OK😿. btw have an amazing day/night, and you don’t need to accept this req if u dont wanna <3

Hoo boy, the holidays are wayy closer than last time I was here, aha... Actually, they're far closer than I expected!

{Mafuyu/Ena/Mizuki with reader on the holidays!}

Mafuyu Asahina

Oh boy... How complicated I'd it going to be when Mafuyu explains that her holiday celebration were something like... A beta version of a miniature of the real thing? Yeah...

She didn't even know what you were talking about when you suddenly started to say stuff like preparing the tree and presents since November! Like, it's something so small and unimportant that it doesn't take much preparation... Right?

Prepare yourself for almost a day worth of explaining the true traditions, the significance, the joys, and the experience of a true holiday, and expect her to not understand for half of the day what you're talking about...

"... I'm not sure I understand. Is it really that big of a deal? I mean, I've heard about it a lot during my years as a student, but I never expected it to be so important... Because it is important, right? At least, from what you're telling me."

And ALSO prepare yourself to guide her along the whoooole month leading up to the 25th (nice), and for her to be confused about the significance of putting colored plastic balls on a fake tree... It's a lot to explain.

However, as you are putting the lights on and turning off the lights for a visual test, she finally understands. This is to relax from the busy year, isn't it? After all, a celebration doesn't have to be born out of a very important purpose, simply by existing it is important enough to the world!

Now that she comprehends, she will start researching herself and find out about the millions of holiday customs in the world, and she'll frankly be a little stunned. You tell her that you can explore slowly but surely each year, and she seems quite intrigued...

However, make sure to hide it all from her parents, with the help of the rest of the group! It will absolutely be a thin tightrope to walk along, but now that you have her interest, she'll give her effort to ensure the preparations aren't for naught!

Long story short, she doesn't understand the Christmas spirit, and now it's your job to help her with it, all for the efforts to help her have a more normal life! You can bet she'll be thankful by the end, even if she may not be aware of it herself....

Ena Shinonome

She is absolutely not taking advantage of all of the preparing process and time with the decorations to snap millions upon millions of selfies and photos for her page. Yup, absolutely nothing sketchy going on here.

It definitely could get a little absurd, as almost each 25 seconds she has to stop you to take a photo of her and the decoration, you and the tree, maybe all of them at once! She never missed a beat and is always holding her phone for the right moments!

It takes a few days for her to realize that, by focusing on only her social media and her photos that she has been neglecting your actual efforts to work and prepare everything by leaving it all to you!

Preparing presents, the tree, the decoration, she was so focused on the pictures that she wasn't doing what you both planned: For both of you to decorate together! Cue an 'Oh crap' realization sooner or later!

As soon as she does, expect her to put in double the effort the next few days! She really feels bad for abandoning her part of the deal for such a selfish reason, and Ena wouldn't ignore the consequences that this could have on your mood or energy if she doesn't compensate immediately!

"Ok ok! What else do you want from me? Huh? Why am I so excited?? Well, I have to make it up to you, of course! I'm not the type of friend that just says sorry to the problems they cause and does nothing to fix them! So tell me, how can I help??"

It actually starts to get a little too much in the exact opposite direction, as her enthusiasm is unlike nothing you have seen from her before! Except for her art, and some editing of photos. But this... Is quite the unique sight!

You'll actually have to make sure that she doesn't overwork herself, by checking up on her and rewarding her! And what better way than to offer her the main reason why she was so selfish before...?

So in the end, you're both left satisfied, and the preparations are done way before the deadline! You both go out for a congratulatory dinner outside, and another picture would pop up in the artist's account soon enough...

Mizuki Akiyama

Hoo boy, here comes the one that presents the exact same opposite reaction of the honor student's, here comes the pink menace that would actually start to prepare everything before you!

Get ready, for the seamstress's excitement will force you to try and keep up with them at all times! Not only trying to catch up to them progress, but helping out with everything new from there on now... It could be rough, and their seemingly boundless energy will make the process go on for days!

However, this is only one side of their mood swings, one that changes their behavior before any special festivity! And with the swing going one way, it will eventually swing the other way, in the most umprecedented times!

Mizuki will forsee the following days, and will suddenly start to work even harder, making you struggle even harder to keep up wth every day that passes! As they notice how worried you're becoming, the mood swing hits completely, and they start to feek instensly guilty...

"I"m sooooososo sorry for not noticing before! Oh gosh, I feel like such a jerk now... Nono, this is absolutely my fault, and I can't let you suffer because of my careless behavior! Now just lay down on the bed as I bring the food over! What are your favorite snacks??"

Get ready for a sudden pace shift as the next days are spent just chilling as the editor takes care of your every need so that you recover better! Although you appreciate it, you can't help but wonder what happened for them to shift gears... And why does their smile look so sad at times?

And then the realization hits. They have been saying so many times that it's their fault... Do they really feel that intensely guilty? When they bring the next plate of food, you confront them and force them to explain everything. They give in without major resistance when they perceive that you already know the truth...

They can't even look you in the eye as they explain how, aside of how her energy made you so overwhelmed, it's been running out recently. It's the first time you've seen them so vulnerable; there's no light in their smile. You gently sit them down and have a chat with them, to ensure that this wasn't their fault!

It takes a while, but they give in. After all, the work wasn't for nothing, right? After all, you still have more than a week left and everything is almost done! Perhaps this opportunity to rekax wasn't missused. They laugh, their enthusiasm glowing once again! Maybe they should just chill for a bit... Especially with your company!

[greatshell-rider]

The lily-lion slashed a thorned paw at Cindy, forcing zir to jump back to avoid getting zir belly torn into shreds. Whistles and shouts came from the onlookers, fellow patrollers and a couple farmers who perched atop or leaned against the fence enclosing the corral.

“Careful now!”

“A little close on that one, eh!”

“Why, ze’s a goner for good!”

“Nah, they all play like this—what’s the fun innit if no one gets a scratch or three?”

Cindy scooped a fist-sized rock off the ground. The lily-lion roared, the petals of their mane flaring out before they lunged for zir. Ze dived into a roll to avoid the attack, pushing to zir knees and aiming for only a second before throwing the rock. It smashed into the lily-lion’s face, shooting out a cloud of yellow pollen and sending the crop-creature staggering a few steps. Laughter exploded from the fence, Eite nearly toppling off backwards as xe slapped xyr hat against a post.

“Eat that, dust-face!”

“Nice shot, Sinner!”

“That’ll leave a mark!”

“Show ‘em how we do it, Sinner!”

Cindy breathed quick and quiet through zir nose, keeping zir stance low and careful, zir hands up and ready and eyes focused on the lily-lion. The croppie hissed and spit, pawing the pollen off their face, then settled into an aggressive stance, turning to glare dark glittering eyes at Cindy. Their long, thin tail lashed, the thorns running down its length prickling and smoothing in waves.

Zir audience hooted and yelled, calling for Cindy to attack while the croppie was still distracted.

“Ready to quit?” ze asked them instead, trying to keep zir voice low but coming out much louder and more excited than ze’d intended.

“Yeah, roll over already!”

“Show us your belly, dustkit!”

“We’ll drag your ragged pelt back to the field in no time, easy!”

More jeers came from the patrollers, even the farmers joining in, and the lily-lion’s petals smoothed in displeasure at the mockery. They snarled, swiping thorns at a farmer’s outstretched arm and making them jump back. The other workers bristled, a few snatching up rocks or lifting whips threateningly, their voices turning angry. The lily-lion backed away, head low and petals flared as their tail flexed its thorns in anticipation.

This was tearing its roots too quickly. Cindy stood tall, waving zir arm, but the crop-creature was too focused on the outside nuisances to notice, their back turned almost completely on zir as they spat a stream of pale green liquid at a patroller and got a thrown rock that clipped their flank in return. The lily-lion startled, but recovered quickly, crouching and bunching their back legs in preparation to pounce. They were big enough to clear the fence, easy, and definitely angry enough to maul a worker. That would rip the roots clean out of the dirt.

“Hey!” Cindy shouted, this time fully intending to bellow out the word.

Unfortunately, everyone else also meant to be bellowing.

The lily-lion roared and leaped. Cindy jumped at the same time.

Half the lily-lion’s body had passed the fence when Cindy slammed into them, hands digging into the thick cords of sinewy stems that made up the crop-creature’s hindquarters as ze dug zir heels in the sandy ground to stop them.

Well, ze managed to slow them down.

While the workers jumped back and yelled all the louder, the lily-lion turned in a flash, twisting off the top of the fence and slashing thorns at Cindy again and again. Cindy ducked zir head, feeling the thorns whoosh past zir hair. Ze gritted zir teeth and heaved, using all zir strength to try and wrench the croppie to the side. If ze could trip them, get them on their back, then maybe—

Sudden pain bit up zir side. Cindy hissed, whipping around to see the lily-lion’s tail lash at zir left leg again and again, bristled thorns ripping through zir trousers and leaving long bloody scratches in zir dark skin. At the same time the lily-lion bucked, nearly jolting zir grip and flinging zir far, far away. Sheer instinct spurred cindy into moving with the motion rather than fight it, allowing the zir feet to leave the ground—only for zir to clamp zir legs around the lily-lion’s flanks and squeeze all four limbs in a full-body hug as if zir life depended on it.

Because it did.

Ze didn’t go flying off the crop-creature and break zir neck crashing into the ground yards away. But the lily-lion did lash their tail again, this time catching and tearing through Cindy’s back, leaving sharp stripes of pain to accompany those on zir leg.

Cindy hesitated. Ze considered the small bright packet of energy that lay suspended in zir gut . . . But no. There were too many people watching, too many ze didn’t know well enough. Ze would just have to—

The lily-lion, unable to shake Cindy off, slammed zir against the corral fence. Ze coughed, choked on saliva, and barely managed to hold on as the crop-creature tore away, sprinting for the other side of the fence to turn and grind Cindy against the wooden planks as they ran. Ze let go with one hand to throw zir arm up over zir head right before impact, burying zir face into the croppie’s body to let zir shoulder take the brunt of the force. Ze felt it dislocate as the lily-lion dragged zir along, and screamed in pain.

Actually, ze thought, tears blurring zir vision as ze grited zir teeth, anger lancing through the pain, I’m okay to be stupid today.

Ze clenched zir stomach muscles around that lump of energy deep in zir gut, and, like a seed pod squeezed inside a fist, it burst open. Power surged through zir, and ze directed the majority of it to zir legs, since they likely wouldn’t be so noticeable to the workers. Immediately zir legs swelled, growing in size and in strength, and Cindy let go of the lily-lion with them—keeping a firm grip with zir one remaining usable arm—and slammed zir feet down, digging zir heels deep in the ground. The sudden drag made the lily-lion stumble, almost tripping, and Cindy hopped the stream, picking up one foot to drive zir knee hard into the croppie’s abdomen.

This time it was the lily-lion that choked and double-upped, reducing their speed dramatically. Cindy, sending the last of the growth into zir legs and good arm, pivoted firmly on one foot and threw the crop-creature into the fence. Literally into the fence, slamming them against the wood planks with such force that the lily-lion was shoved between planks up to their shoulders, so that their head poked through the outside of the corral while the rest of their body lay inside. Finally, the croppie went limp.

Cindy let go and stumbled back, now back to zir regular size and strength with zir growth energy depleted. Zir left leg and back stung from the thorn-tail scratches, and ze clutched zir dislocated shoulder, watching the lily-lion warily. They had apparently been knocked unconscious, though, by that last blow to the head.

For a moment, there was silence, then the surrounding workers exploded into sound and motion, the patrollers kneeling by the lily-lion to make sure they were, yes, alive, but also not waking up soon and angry enough to rip off everyone’s heads. The farmers rushed Cindy, staring at zir with wide eyes and yelling excited—admiring, maybe?—things at zir that might have been questions. Ze backed away from them, reaching up to clap zir hands over zir ears—then doubled over when zir left shoulder burst alight in remembered pain. Ze swore loudly. The farmers jumped back, startled, but one patroller peeled off from the others crowded around the lily-lion and came up to zir.

“Quite the wrangle, Sinner!” Nalnn said cheerfully, shooing away the farmers and turning Cindy away from the noisy scene to lead zir to the center of the corral, out of earshot of the others.

Cindy panted heavily, wincing as ey stopped zir and gently took zir hand off zir shoulder. Ey put eir hands on zir shoulder and looked zir in the eye. “Ready?” ey asked. Cindy hissed a breath in through zir teeth and jerked zir head down. Ey firmed eir grip, then with a quick jerk, forced zir arm back into its socket. Cindy barked out another curse and Nalnn chuckled, dusting off eir hands as ey stepped back.

Cindy moved zir shoulder gingerly, prodding at it with zir hand, and with a glance at the farmers still gawking at zir by the lily-lion, turned zir back to them. “Thank you,” ze muttered to Nalnn, avoiding eir eyes.

“Popping a shoulder’s no problem,” ey said, in the same happy tone, but ey kept trying to catch zir eye.

“Not that,” Cindy clarified, nodding vaguely over zir shoulder. “For getting them off me.”

“And for talking down any who wonder aloud about some weird trick of light they saw, near the end there, they could’ve sworn Sinner seemed to grow right before ze threw the croppie through the fence?”

Cindy chewed on zir knuckles. “That too.”

Nalnn shoved eir hands into eir trouser pockets and shrugged, holding eir shoulders up by eir ears for a second longer than necessary before letting them drop. Ey was still smiling that fake-happy smile Cindy had learned actually meant ey was annoyed. “What else is an overseer to do? You’re too good a worker, the owners still like ya, so when messes are made, we just clean them up! Without firing the one who made ‘em.”

Cindy rubbed the hand ze’d been biting up zir face, then back down. “Sorry,” ze said, belatedly, ze realized. Probably should have apologized when Nalnn had first come up, before ey’d even fixed zir shoulder. Definitely not after the thank-you.

“It was stupid,” ze continued, when ey just stood there waiting, and fixed zir gaze just under eir right eye to appease eir attempts to make eye-contact with zir. “And it won’t, uh—”

“Won’t happen again, mhmm,” Nalnn said, smirking. “Just as you promised the time before. And the time before that. And the time—”

“The more I don’t use it, the bigger it gets,” Cindy interrupted quietly, speaking determinedly to the freckle on Nalnn’s cheek. Ey was zir direct overseer, and ze shouldn’t really talk to em like this, but. But. Well. Ey had started it, hadn’t ey. “The longer I go without using it, the greater the more likely—the greater the likelihood—the more likely it’ll start slipping out,” ze managed to finish, hating how Nalnn’s smirk grew into something closer to a sneer as ze struggled to get the words out.

“Just don’t eat so much, maybe,” Nalnn said, raising eir eyebrows and widening eir eyes as if it were a joke. “That’s where it comes from, right? Extra calories?”

Cindy looked away, teeth clenched.

Nalnn laughed, giving zir shoulder a swat. “It’s reaching a point where it’s not a suggestion any longer,” ey said, quieter, still smiling. “Deal with this . . . growth, as you call it, if you must. But do so out of sight.” Ey slapped zir shoulder again. “Or I’ll point the army straight to your bunk the next time they visit, okay? All right, people,” ey shouted, clapping eir hands to get the workers’ attention as ey walked past Cindy, not even waiting for zir response. “Let’s get this croppie back to their field! Eite, get the ropes!”

Cindy bit down hard on the triangle of flesh between zir thumb and forefinger. Ze barely noticed the pain as ze waited for the crunch of Nalnn’s footsteps in the gritty sand to merge with the other sounds of workers grunting and ropes snapping to tautness as they worked to free the lily-lion from the fence. When it did, ze didn’t relax zir teeth but went to the corral gate and let zirself out, limping up the hill to the main farmhouse, where ze could track down the healer and get some poultices on zir scratches. That would take jylls off zir weekly pay, but with harvest coming up, ze really couldn’t afford even one scratch getting infected.

Halfway there, in the stretch of silence where the sounds at the wrangling corral faded and the upcoming sounds of the the farm main had yet to intrude, Cindy finally slid zir hand out of zir mouth and let it drop to zir side. Ze sighed.

“It was stupid,” ze told zirself, since the anger was beginning to cool. “You said so yourself.”

But, well.

It had been a good wrangle.

[agonyaster]

hello depot agent fandom im so glad all six of you could make it

fun little thing about @pigdemonart’s depot agents….. i love cloud and ramses so much you dont get it

also on ao3!

…

The inside of the subway boss’s office is neat and orderly at first glance with its swept floors, a desk shining with polish and smelling of lemon varnish. But Ramses had been standing there for quite some time and his eyes were wandering to the mug of cold coffee and the sticky rings of condensation it left behind, layers of dust collecting on top of the filing cabinets, scattered piles of paperwork; all of it showing the story of just-there neglect.

Just as he finds himself wondering if he went into the wrong office despite the nameplate outside, the door swings open and bangs against the wall with enough force to make him jump. 

“Aha, there you are!” Ramses turns to see the boss standing in the doorway, head held high as she gives him a quick once-over. “C’mon, follow me! I’ve got way too much to do and you're both here to make my life easier.”

She’s out the door just as quick as she came in and Ramses is forced to follow, like a Ducklett trailing after its mother. He’s not the only one, another fresh-faced agent greeting him with a smile as she trots after their boss.

“Just double checking— you’re Cloud and Ramses?” she glances over a shoulder to see their nods and mumbles to herself. “Perfect, perfect. I’m Indira, but I hope you know that already.”

They chuckle in unison as Indira digs around in her pockets and pulls out four pokéballs, tossing two to each of them and flashing a cheeky grin.

“Now while I’d love to stay and chat for a bit, show you how to work the coffee machine and all that, we’ve got work to do. Those,” she points to the pokéballs, “are officially licensed, battle-ready pokémon owned and managed by the station. The multi line leaves in just a few minutes.”

Indira grins, something wild burning in her eyes as she stares them down. 

“It’ll be your first chance to impress me.”

“I don’t plan to disappoint,” Cloud says, and Ramses can feel the intensity rolling off of her in waves as she sets her shoulders and rolls out one of her wrists.

A pang of worry hits him in the gut as Ramses watches the boss’s grin grow wider and flick two pokéballs into a hand. He’s stepping between them and chuckling lightheartedly before he even really knows what’s going on. 

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but how about we save it for the battle?” 

They seem to agree, shrinking down and turning away from each other for the train to come in. Indira doesn’t stay quiet for long, letting out a sharp whistle and beckoning another agent over. The man smiles pleasantly and waves in greeting before coming to a stop beside the boss. 

Mere seconds later, the train rattles to the platform and they all enter. It’s only then, as he throws out a pokéball, completely oblivious to what laid inside that worry starts to bubble in his gut. He forces it down as Indira calls out an attack to her Darmanitan, the agent next to her instructing his Gigalith to go in for a follow-up after a moment's hesitation. 

The battle isn’t quick, but it isn’t too long either, Darmanitan pounding its chest victoriously as everyone returns their pokémon to their balls. When the subway stills beneath their feet, Indira breaks out into a smile and salutes them, Darmanitan copying her with glee. “Look at you two go! Already better battlers than Sonny!”

The agent who battled with her laughs awkwardly. “Thanks, boss.”

The subway doors open with a pneumatic hiss and they all file off, Indira dashing to meet her next train, Sonny motioning for them to follow him. 

“Ramses, is it?” Cloud asks, raising a brow. 

“That’s right.”

“Well, it was an honor to battle with you. I hope we can work together more in the future.”

“Ditto.”

…

“Is Indira ever going to replace this thing?” Cloud wonders aloud as she smacks the side of the coffee machine. “It’s been like this for how many years?”

“Probably not,” Ramses’ voice answers, making her jump. “Will thinks she’s waiting for one of us to break and replace it ourselves so she doesn’t have to use part of the budget to pay for it.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Say what you want about her, the woman is consistent.”

The machine pitifully spits out the last of her coffee and Cloud grabs the cup, taking a quick sip as she wanders over to the table where Ramses is sitting. “How’s Manectric adjusting to domestic life?”

“Oh, she loves it. Gets to do nothing but sleep and eat and rip up my pillows,” he chuckles. “Keeps trying to eat the Pidove that perch outside throughthe window, but she’s learning. My parents and Issac are spoiling her rotten.”

“Well, you can add me to the list,” Cloud tosses a rubbermaid down on the table, the contents rattling inside. “And before you ask, people can eat them too.”

He grins and pops the lid off, biting into a cookie with a content hum. “You know who would appreciate some of these?”

“Who?”

“Julia.”

“Who’s that?”

Ramses cocks his head to the side, mischief glimmering in his eyes. “Don’t you remember her? She’s the one with the Furret?” 

She does. “No.”

“Really? Short brown hair, decently tall, wears her Furret as a scarf sometimes-“

Of course she remembers the scarf Furret. It was adorable, so much so that kids pointed and cooed every time she stepped into the station. “Seems impractical in this weather.”

“-always seems to be asking about you.”

Heat rises to her cheeks. “How about we stop talking now?”

He starts to stroke at his beard, but it does little to hide the growing smirk. “I got to chatting with her the other day— works in Castelia! Some absolutely lovely restaurants there, perfect for-”

Cloud marches forward and snatches the tin of cookies off of the tabletop. “You don’t deserve these.”

All he does is laugh.

Cloud huffs and barges out of the break room, the radio on her hip instructing her to head towards the singles line, to which she complies. Weaving through the crowds of people with purpose, greeting a few of the passengers she recognizes with a smile and a wave.

She spies a pair of boys standing hand-in-hand and rocking back and forth on their heels as they wait at the platform. They’re completely identical, same height, same messy gray hair, the only differences Cloud can spot are their clothes and expressions— one dressed in orange, the other in navy blue, one smiling and one frowning. They seem familiar in a way she just can’t quite place.

“Make sure you-”

“Stand behind the yellow line, yes!” the frowning boy in navy overalls finishes. “We’ve performed our safety checks, no need to worry!” He points down to their shoes, proudly showing off how yes, they were standing behind the yellow line.

Cloud chuckles and gives a slight bow. “Well, hats off to you, Mr…?”

“Ingo!”

“I am Emmet,” his brother adds on.

Hearing their names, everything clicks. Years worth of breakroom chats about family outings, photo after photo being shoved under her nose as he gushes about the boys pictured.

“Here on your day off, Sonny?” Cloud asks, straightening up and giving him a sly smirk. “Didn’t know you missed us that much.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. We’re just heading to go visit my brother up in Opelucid!” he says with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Cloud hums, suddenly aware of the container tucked under her arm. “Say, does that brother of yours have a sweet tooth?” A nod. “Perfect! You can have these, then. No use in me keeping them around.”

Sonny grabs the tin and rips off the lid, trotting over to his sons who each take one that they immediately cram into their mouths, Sonny included. 

“Just carrying those around?”

“They were supposed to be for Ramses but… he doesn’t deserve them.” Cloud explains with a shrug. Her eyes slide over to look at the woman, who’s smiling fondly. “You’re Ella, aren’t you? I’ve heard a lot of stories.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

Cloud scoffs. “Please, I don’t think Sonny has ever said a bad thing about you. Don’t think he knows how.”

The rattling of the approaching train drowns out Ella’s laughter as she steps forward grabbing the tin and pressing the lid back on. 

“Say thank you to Cloud, boys,” she instructs, and when the three all turn to face her and salute, Cloud can’t stop herself from bursting into laughter. 

…

The heavy smell of mildew and minerals hangs in the air like a thick fog, the calls of Zubat fainter than he ever remembers them being. His eyes burn as he scans the tunnel walls, illuminated with a yellow-tinged glow coming from the lantern in his hand.

“I swear, why is Indira still making us do these inspections?” Cloud asks, rising from her crouched position and popping her back with a hiss. “She’s got plenty of younger agents who need to learn how to do this crap.”

Ramses tries for a laugh, but all the dust that’s made its way into his throat makes it come out more as a wheeze. After a moment to recover, he tries again. “I’m sure she would just pair one of the twins with Isadore and watch them bicker through the cameras. Nothing would end up getting done and we’d have to do it anyway.”

She grumbles, but nods in agreement anyway.

“Besides, this is our only chance to get away from those crazy kids.”

Cloud snorts. “Speak for yourself, I’m escaping, don’t you remember?”

Ramses groans, and Cloud’s teasing grin grows. “Don’t remind me. You get two whole weeks of a tropical vacation while I’m stuck here babysitting.”

“Aww, don’t be too sad! I’ll be sure to bring you a souvenir.” She jabs him playfully in the ribs, his startled cry sending a pair of Zubats fleeing into the darkness.

“Honestly, you should be bringing me along; I’m the reason you and Julia got together in the first place. You never would have talked to her if it weren’t for my thoughtful encouragement.”

“Well, argue your case to the in-laws and have them buy you a ticket if it matters to you that much. It’s their anniversary party.”

Ramses only sighs. As much as he loves Julia, her parents are a lost cause. Too out of touch for his tastes. He’ll stick to the city, thanks. “Maybe Issac and I should take an anniversary trip one of these days.”

“Dragons know you deserve it.” Cloud clicks her pen, scribbling down a few notes on the report sheet. “I don’t think Alola would be your thing, but Jules and I went to Kalos for our honeymoon and it seems like something you would like.”

“Well, I’ll look into it.” Ramses throws a pokéball at a Rattata scuttling across the tracks. “Is it just me, or are there more of these around than normal?”

She shrugs and crouches back down, mumbling under her breath as she inspects the tracks, writing down a few more notes. “I think we’re good for this section, yeah?”

With a nod, they’re heading further down the tunnel, the sound of their footsteps echoing off of the walls. The familiarity of the scene soothes him, comforts him right down to the marrow of his bones. How many times have they done this, and how many more will they?

They come to a stop at the next checkpoint, the lantern and the clipboard trading hands as Cloud stoops down and shoos away a curious Spinarak.

“Indira’s getting up there in years-” he starts.

“You say that like we aren’t.”

“-who do you think she’ll be promoting? You think she’ll ever retire?” Cloud pauses, face pensive as she speculates an answer. “Personally, I think she’ll go with the twins.”

The thought of those boys being his bosses sends a pang of nostalgia right through his heart. It seems like just yesterday they were toddling around, each hanging onto one of their mother’s legs as they came up from Anville to visit their father during his lunch break.

“Both of ‘em?”

“Honestly? Yeah. You know how much they love the subway, more than she does— which is damn hard to do. We need something new, and two bosses means the lines wouldn’t have to run on such a strict schedule.”

Cloud nods, her hair bouncing. “You’ve got a point. I don’t think they would let her get away with promoting just one of them, either.”

“How do you think Isadore’s gonna take that?”

“Horribly,” she says without a lick of hesitation. “He’s a good kid, just… not her taste for a successor.”

“You think he’ll quit?”

“Nah. He’ll get bent out of shape for a bit, sure, but he’ll stay. I’m sure of it.”

Cloud nods in agreement and stands back up, adjusting the lantern in her grip. “Alright. We’re all good. Time to head back?”

“Sounds perfect.”

…

When she pushes open the door to the employee lounge, Cloud can’t really say she was expecting her former boss to be leaning against the counter, chatting with one of her coworkers and eating the cookies she brought in for Cameron’s birthday. She can’t really say she wasn’t expecting it, though, so she just waves absentmindedly and heads to make herself a cup of coffee.

Pouring herself a cup and mixing in the sugar, Cloud takes a long, slow sip before feeling the sting of a curious pair of eyes on her. 

“Hey, you old hag,” she greets with a mischievous smile.

“Good to see my favorite employee just got bumped down a rank.” Indira grins back, all teeth. “I leave and you go and lose all your manners.”

Cloud pulls her into a hug so tight she hears Indira’s spine pop as she squeezes, alongside Jackie’s amused hum as they watch. Pulling away after a few seconds, Indira’s eyes turn back to the counter.

“Ooh, the boys finally replaced that old hunk of junk?”

She snorts, in awe of the audacity of this woman. “It’s not like you did anything about it. How many agents retired cursing that old thing on their way out?”

“I had bigger Magikarp to fry when I was in the captain's cabin! The things I sacrificed so my successors could have a long and prosperous career.” Indira shakes her head. “And if I had to guess, probably around six.”

Sinking down into a chair, Indira props her feet up on the table and Cloud joins her, staring down into her mug. 

“How’s retirement treating you?”

“Oh, it's lovely! Just came back from Johto— you ever see the Sprout Tower? Lovely place. Liepard had the time of his life playing with the Bellsprout.” She twirls a lock of gray-streaked hair around her finger. “What about you? Anything new?”

“Trust me, never a dull moment,” a lazy voice comments, and Cloud doesn’t even flinch. After so many years, you get used to it.

Indira cackles. “You still workin’ like a dog, Jacks?”

“If nobody else will, it falls to me.” They jerk a thumb towards Cloud. “She and Ramses have been slacking lately.”

“Have they now?”

“When you’ve been here as long as we have, you learn to let the young ones do all the hard stuff,” Rames tuts. “Someone’s gotta know how to do it when we’re gone.”

Jackie shrugs and breezes out of the break room with a salute.

“Ramses! My love, how have you been?” She claps her hands together excitedly. “You and Issac just got back from Kalos, didn’t you?”

“We did!” His face falls the slightest bit as he scratches at his cheek awkwardly. “He caught a Flabébé that I think he loves more than me.”

“Don’t feel bad. Jules did the same to me with the Meowth she got in Alola a few years back.” She cringes, thinking of all the ties she’d lost to its claws. 

“And that, my friends, is why I’m still a bachelorette.”

“You’re not allowed to be in here.”

All three of their heads snap over to the door, where Isadore is standing, arms crossed and tapping his foot.

Indira beams, shooting up out of her seat. “Hey hey hey, Dori! How’s life been treating you?”

“Please don’t call me that.” Isadore pinches the bridge of his nose. “Acting familiar with me won’t change the fact that you’re not allowed to be here. Please leave.”

She flaps her hand dismissively and pulls a card out of her pocket, frisbeeing it his way. He catches it mid-air and examines it with a frown.

“This ID is expired.”

“So?

Isadore huffs again and marches over to the table, grabbing Indira by the elbow, dragging her towards the door.

“We’ve gotta do dinner sometime, you two!” she calls over her shoulder as Isadore shoves her out into the station. “Bring Jules and Issac too, I haven’t seen them in ages!”

“Give us a date, time and place and we’ll be there!” Ramses chortles as he waves her off.

As soon as Isadore lets her go, Indira’s sprinting through the station, catapulting herself over a turnstyle. “Full steam ahead!”

Ramses strokes at his beard. “I don’t know how she does it.”

“Me neither.” Cloud shudders. “My knees hurt just looking at her.”

[bxcketbarnes]

Place in Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 6700+

Author's Note: So, this fic is extremely long. I apologize in advance. I also hope you guys enjoy it. I'm worried that it's not up to par but we'll see I guess 🥺🥰 It's loosely based on the song Place in Me by Luke Hemmings. Beautiful song. Uhm, slight enemies to lovers which is unusual for me. Let me know what you though!! xox

"Barnes and L/N, you'll be partnering up," Tony states, and your eyes widen a bit before glancing towards the ex-assassin.

You notice Bucky rolling his eyes while crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair he's sitting in. "Is that the best plan, Tony? We've never worked together," he questions the man.

"That's the whole point, Manchurian Candidate," Tony mumbles while wagging his finger between the two of you. "You two are the only ones who haven't been on a mission together, so."

You stay quiet as the older man sets the debriefing folder in front of you. Your eyes meet his and you notice a certain emotion swimming in Tony's eyes. He raises his eyebrows slightly and you nod your head.

"You two look those over and then get to the quinjet. It leaves in an hour and your asses better be on it," Tony mentions while walking away from the two of you.

Silence fills the room and you avoid looking at Bucky. Your heart pounds in your chest as a sigh leaves the man's lips. You instinctively lift your gaze towards him, seeing his blue eyes already on you.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you look away, clearing your throat. "So, uh, s-sorry you have to work with me," you mumble loud enough for him to hear.

Bucky tsks before standing up from his chair. Your chest clenches when he doesn't say anything to you, watching the super-soldier walk out of the room. A heavy sigh leaves your lips, glancing down at the files in front of you.

"He'll come around," Steve's voice fills the room and you jump slightly, turning in your chair to see the blonde leaning against the doorframe.

You shake your head at his words, tears pooling in your eyes. "I don't think he will, Steve. H-He'll talk to everyone else except for me? I… I don't even know what I did for him to hate me so much," you sigh, your fingers catching the tears that roll down your cheeks.

Steve walks further into the room and lays a hand on your shoulder. You chew on your bottom lip, breathing heavily through your nose to calm yourself. "He's jus- He's got a funny way of showing people he cares. I doubt he hates you, Y/N," the blonde reassures you, giving you a gentle squeeze.

"Coulda fooled me," you mumble before shrugging his hand off of you, standing up from your seat. "I have to go get ready."

You hold the files to your chest and walk out of the debriefing room, making your way to your quarters. Your lip trembles a bit as you continue to think about Bucky and his cold behavior towards you.

Once you're in the elevator, you let out a shaky breath before glancing at the ceiling. Tears continuously glide down your reddened cheeks and you try to shake the memories from your head.

"Let's just get this over with," you sigh to yourself as the doors open up. You pack all the essentials you'll need for the mission,  double-checking that you've got everything before making your way to the quinjet.

You notice Tony standing at the end of the ramp as Bucky walks into the jet, a bag hanging off of his shoulder. "If you truly need to get away from Barnes, let me know okay?" Tony mumbles and you give him a tight-lipped smile, nodding your head in response.

"I should be okay, Tony. Thank you though," you whisper to him before walking onto the ramp of the quinjet.

"You guys got this. I believe in you," Tony reassures the two of you and the ramp proceeds to shut.

You sit as far away from Bucky as you can, fiddling with your fingers for a few minutes before pulling out your headphones. You rest your head against the headrest and decide to rest your eyes.

Bucky looks over at you and wishes that you weren't coming along. In his mind, this mission is way too dangerous for you. You're not a super soldier like him or Steve. You don't have a suit of armor like Tony or Rhodes. You don't have powers like Wanda.

You got your training from Natasha, and sure, Natasha has incredible skills that she learned from the Red Room. But, you're still human. A sigh leaves his lips and tears his gaze from you, deciding to make sure you don't get hurt at all.

-

"Holy shit," you mumble in amazement, looking around the hotel suite that Tony booked for the two of you.

Bucky walks in behind you, not saying anything as he brushes past you. You bite your cheek, your eyes following his figure as the super-soldier makes his way towards the bedroom.

You let out a slight huff of breath, running a hand through your hair. "I thought Tony mentioned there being two beds?" Bucky asks and your eyebrows furrow.

"That's what he said," you mumble while heading towards where he is. "Is there only on-"

"One bed? Yeah," Bucky cuts you off and you gulp, taking a peek into the bedroom to see one bed in the middle of it.

"I-Great," you whisper as the brunette lets out a heavy sigh. "Sorry, Bucky, I didn't-"

Bucky grunts before making his way towards the living area. "I'll take the couch," he states and you slowly close your mouth, the words dying on your lips.

"O-Okay," you whisper loud enough for him to hear, walking into the room you'll be staying in.

You press your lips together before shutting the door, putting some space between you and Bucky. I should've backed out immediately. You think to yourself while setting your bag onto the edge of the bed.

After unpacking your bag, you organize your things so they're easily accessible. You open the file Tony gave you, looking over the schedule of your target. "Aha!" You softly whisper, pointing at the paper while reading how your target generally goes to the restaurant right about now. "I could eat."

You open the bedroom door and step out of the room, looking around for your six-foot-tall co-worker. You furrow your brows at the space, wondering if he's still here or actually left. He'd tell me if he left… right?

Bucky,

I left to go get some food and a little intel on our target. Schedule says he's in the restaurant around this time. See you later.

Y/N

You place the written note near his things so he'll see it before grabbing one of the hotel room keys. You exit the room and make your way to the elevator before pushing the button. The doors open immediately and you step inside, pushing the button to the lobby.

"Hold the door!" A voice shouts and you stick your hand out, stopping the door from closing. "Oh, thank you so much."

"You're welc-" you cut yourself off as you look up at the man, your heart dropping into your stomach.

The man standing in front of you is Gabriel Price, the target you're currently after. The doors to the elevator close once more as the air around you grows thick. "You okay?" He asks and you snap your head up, your eyes meeting his cold ones.

"Y-Yes, sorry. I was… I was stunned by your beauty," you laugh nervously and the man smirks while fixing his tie.

A chuckle leaves Gabriel's lips and he looks down at you. "Well, thank you, darling. You're a sight for sore eyes, yourself," he winks and you bite your lip.

"I-Thank you, sir," you blush, wishing that the elevator would open right about now.

"Please, call me Gabriel," he corrects you before sticking his hand out.

Your eyes glance from his face to his hand before shaking it. "Nice to meet you, Gabriel. I'm Sylvie," you come up with a fake name.

The doors to the elevator open up and you drop his hand before leaving the small space. "I hope to see you around, Sylvie," he grins before walking into the restaurant.

You can feel your hands shake a bit and you let out a deep breath before fishing your phone out of your pocket. You dial Bucky's number, pressing the device to your ear.

"Pick up, please," you beg, your eyes looking around the place to see if the super-soldier is nearby.

When your call goes to voice-mail, you roll your eyes, not even deciding to leave him a message. You slide your phone into your pocket before heading into the restaurant. You notice Gabriel sitting with three other guys at a table near the corner as you walk over to the bar area.

"Hey, can I get some food to go?" You ask the bartender and the woman nods her head before grabbing her pen.

"Of course, sweetie. What can I get ya?" She asks with a smile.

Your eyes roam over the menu and decide to get something small for you and Bucky. "Uhm, can I get the fish and chips and a bacon cheeseburger with fries," you tell her and you watch the woman write it down.

"Absolutely. Do you want to bill that to your room?" She questions and you nod your head in reply, telling her the room you're in. "I'll put it in for you. Should be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"Perfect thank you so much," you smile as she turns to head towards the kitchen.

-

After stealthily watching Gabriel while waiting for your food, you finally make it back to your room. You balance the to-go boxes against one hand while grabbing the room key with the other, unlocking your door.

"Bucky?" You call out after shutting the door with your foot, taking a glance around the room in front of you.

"Yeah?" He mumbles and pokes his head around the corner of the wall, noticing the styrofoam boxes in your hands. "What's that?"

You furrow your brows and quickly wet your lips. "Did you not get my note?" You wonder and Bucky shakes his head. A sigh leaves your lips and you mutter to yourself, "figures."

Bucky picks the note you wrote from the table in front of him as you set the food onto the counter in the kitchenette. "Wait, was he there? The target?" The super soldier asks while walking towards you.

"Yup," you mention and hand the man his food, not meeting his gaze. "Actually met him in the elevator, but you would've known that if you answered your phone."

You brush past him, your shoulder bumping into his as you head towards your room. You stop just before entering the space before turning to face him, feeling the anger flow through your veins. "You know… next time you should just ask for a new partner if you don't want to work with me. No need to be a fucking coward and ignore me. That's how people get hurt, Bucky."

His blue eyes glance towards you just as you slam the bedroom door shut, leaving Bucky to his own devices. The brunette opens the take-out container, seeing a cheeseburger and fries sitting in it.

Bucky's phone rings loudly, snapping him from his thoughts and he pushes himself off of the counter before grabbing the phone.

"Hey, Steve," he answers after checking who it is, pressing the device to his ear.

"Buck," the blonde greets, and Bucky can hear Sam yelling in the background. "How’re things going?"

A sigh leaves Bucky's lips and he scratches the back of his neck. "Uhm, alright, I guess. It's been pretty tense between Y/N and I," he informs his best friend while eating a couple of fries.

"Well, have you tried having a conversation with her?" Steve asks and Bucky furrows his brows.

"I- No?"

"You know, after you left her alone in the debriefing room I stopped by," Steve starts as Bucky sits down on one of the chairs, continuing to eat his food, "and she told me that she's got no clue as to why you hate her so much. So, Buck, what's the reason?"

The super soldier feels his stomach twist a bit, not knowing that's how you felt about his coldness towards you. "I… I'm not sure, Steve. I just- she- I don't know how to explain it," Bucky mumbles and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Figure it out then. You two need to be working together. The hostility between the two of you is going to get one of you hurt… or even killed," Steve reprimands the super soldier and Bucky finds himself nodding in response. "I have to go. Talk to you later."

Bucky sets his phone down on the table before glancing towards your bedroom door. He lets out a deep breath through his nose and continues to eat the food you got him.

You sit against the headboard with your knees tucked a bit, staring off into space. You look towards the alarm clock to see it's just past midnight and you press your lips together before leaning your chin on your knees. Your food grows cold as it sits on the nightstand, your appetite is forgotten after your altercation with Bucky.

Tears pool in your eyes as you run your fingers through your hair. "Why? Why? God, why?!" You cry to yourself and before you know it you chuck your phone across the room.

You hear the device smash as it collides with the wall and you see the screen all cracked. A sigh leaves your lips as you watch the lit-up screen turn black before cursing to yourself.

Bucky quickly sits up at the thumping sound echoing off of the walls, his blue eyes looking around the dark space. His eyebrows furrow as everything is in place and the super-soldier gets up from his spot on the couch.

A frown etched onto his lips when he walks closer to the bedroom door, hearing your cries coming from inside it. Bucky wets his lip and feels his chest clench a bit before he raises his fist to knock on your door.

"Fucking hell," he heard you mutter through the door and Bucky lowers his hand, deciding it’s best to leave you be so he doesn't make it worse.

He swallows the lump forming in his throat before making his way back towards the couch. Bucky lays down under the covers and stares up at the ceiling, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

"Steve's right," he whispers to himself, "I have to fix this."

-

You put your hood up as you follow Gabriel's men down the busy street. You stay a good distance behind them as you can lightly hear their conversation.

Apologies leave your lips as you're weaving through the sea of people, bumping into some of their shoulders as you pass by them. You wince when a burly man bumps into you, your eyes gazing up at the man while pressing your hand to your side.

"Sorry, miss," he smirks and you furrow your brows, mumbling that it's alright.

You stumble around the corner as the pain in your side spreads, removing your hand from the wound to see blood staining your skin. "Shit," you mumble and glance back to see if you can find the man that bumped into you.

Suddenly, your mouth gets covered by someone and you let out a scream as they drag you into the ally beside you. They throw you on the ground before another starts to kick your stomach.

"Don't fuck with us," a man growls and grabs a fist full of your hair, lifting you before shoving you against the brick wall.

Heavy pants leave your lips as the man's fist connects with your face. Pain fills your body as you double over, a couple of gaps leaving your lips.

"P-Please," you beg as another man takes a swing at you, blood dripping from your lips.

Your head gets pushed back against the wall as the older gentleman leans close to you. "Should've thought about that before following us, sweetheart," he snickers before gripping your cheeks. "I'm sure someone will find you."

You don't get a chance to say anything before the man smashes your head against the building. Your eyes roll back into your head as you get punched once more. The man lets go of your body and you drop to the ground as you become unconscious from the beating.

"We'll find her later, let's go."

Bucky knocks on your door in the hotel room, eyebrows furrowed as he hasn't heard from you all day. "Y/N?" He calls out your name before opening the door, peeking his head into the room. He walks into the room and sees the place empty. "Shit."

He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials your number. Bucky presses the device to his ear before walking back out into the main room. C'mon, c'mon. He thinks to himself while pacing in front of the couch.

A sigh leaves his lips when the call goes to voice-mail, his vibranium hand rubbing through his hair. The next number he dials is Steve's, deciding to tell the blonde what happened.

"Hey, Buck, what's going on?" Steve answers the phone.

"Y/N's missing," Bucky states, feeling his body start to panic at the thought of what could've happened. "I-She was here in the middle of the night and she hasn't left her room all day, so when I went to go check, the room was empty."

The brunette sits down on the edge of the couch, leaning his elbow on his knees. "Okay calm down. Did you try calling her?" Steve asks and Bucky scoffs.

"Of course I tried calling her, Steve. I'm not a complete idiot," Bucky mumbles.

"Goddamnit, Bucky. None of us can head out there right now. So, you need to get out there and find her," Steve informs him and Bucky nods his head in response, standing up from the couch.

Bucky goes to speak when the door to the room opens and you stumble inside. "She's here. I-I gotta go," the super-soldier breathes, hanging up before Steve could say anything.

You wince while shutting the door, leaning on it for stability. "Bucky," you whimper as he rushes over to you. You fall into his arms, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" He mumbles softly while leaning down to pick you up bridal style.

Bucky gently kicks the bedroom door open before walking into the room, setting you down onto the bed. His eyes roam across your body, seeing the bruises and cuts on your face. The brunette notices dried blood on your hand and his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Fuck," Bucky whispers after seeing blood on your shirt. He picks up your shirt to see a wound in your side, his fingers grazing over your skin.

He walks into the living space, grabbing everything he'll need to patch up your wound. Bucky feels his phone vibrating in his pocket as he wipes the alcoholic pad across your skin.

"Hey, Steve," the super-soldier answers his phone, putting it on speaker before setting it on the table beside him.

"She okay?" He asks immediately and Bucky swallows thickly.

"Uhm, not exactly. She looks like she got the shit beat out of her, and she got stabbed," he informs the blonde.

Bucky runs a hand over his face after patching up your stab wound, turning his attention to your face. "Shit, Bucky. Okay, I'll let Tony know and tell you what he says," Steve mumbles and Bucky nods his head in response.

The phone hangs up and Bucky shuffles towards your upper body, grabbing another alcohol wipe. "God, I'm so sorry, Y/N," he sighs while wiping the dried blood off of your face. "I'm gonna need you to pull through this, alright. I need you."

Bucky throws the bloodied wipes away before gently stroking your cheek. He pushes himself off of the floor and grabs a glass of water and some painkillers, setting them on the table beside your bed.

His fingers glide across your forehead, pushing some of your hair out of your face. "Please come back to me."

-

A groan leaves your lips as your eyes flutter open. Your vision clears and you see Bucky sleeping beside your bed, his arms crossed over his chest. A small smile comes to your lips as you attempt to sit up a bit, wincing slightly.

Bucky jumps awake at the sound of you, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Y/N, hey," he whispers, pulling the chair closer to you. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit with a truck," you chuckle while holding your side.

"Here," he mumbles and moves to grab the pills and water beside you, "take these." You mumble a quiet thank you before taking the medicine from him.

You notice his nervous behavior as Bucky sits back down in his chair. "Bucky, I'm fine," you tell him after swallowing the liquid, setting the glass down. "Nothing I haven't handled before."

A sigh leaves the brunette's lips and Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. "It doesn't matter if you've handled it before, Y/N. You went out- on your own- to follow a dangerous man and you could've been killed!" He exclaims with a huff of breath.

"Well, if you were capable of working with me, Bucky, then I wouldn't have to do it alone! Don't you see that I'm trying?! I'm trying so hard to be civil with you, but you don't budge. Probably would've been better if I died. Then I wouldn't have to subject myself to your coldness every fucking day," you practically scream, your chest heaving rapidly.

Bucky's eyes soften at your words, his heart hurting a bit when you said you'd rather be dead than deal with him. "I'm sorry," he whispers loud enough for you to hear and your head turns to look at him.

"You're sorry? For treating me as an outsider for over a year?"

"I… Look, Y/N, I don't have a good reason for my behavior. I wish I did, I really do, but can we start over?" Bucky stutters and hesitantly grabs your hand.

Your heart flutters in your chest as his flesh hand grabs yours, seeing the sincerity in his blue eyes. "Can you stay with me?" You mumble, your fingers interlacing with his.

Bucky smiles softly and nods his head. You smile at him, feeling him squeeze your hand. The sound of your hotel room door opening catches Bucky's attention and the super-soldier suddenly gets up from his chair.

"Buc-"

He covers your mouth with his hand while bringing a finger to his lips, silently telling you to stay quiet. Your eyes widen as talking from the other room finally hits your ears.

"Stay there," Bucky mouths to you and you nod your head, your hands gripping the covers.

Bucky stealthily walks towards the bedroom door, pressing his ear to the wooden structure. "The tracking device says she's here," a man states and Bucky furrows his brows. Tracking device? "Check the bedroom."

Footsteps grow louder and Bucky quickly makes his way back towards you before lifting you off of the bed. Your arms wrap around his neck as the brunette quietly hides the two of you in the closet.

Your fingers stroke the back of his neck soothingly, keeping your gaze on his face the whole time. You notice his jaw clenching as Bucky focuses on the sounds around you.

"She's not here. She must've found it and left it behind," a different voice proclaims, another agreeing with the statement. "Let's go. We'll let Gabriel know."

You swallow thickly as Bucky's eyes meet yours. You can feel his breath fan your face, realizing the distance between the two of you is closer than you thought.

"Is it clear?" You whisper and Bucky gently sets you onto your feet.

"Hold on, let me check," he mumbles while his hands grip your waist, making sure you're steady before releasing you. "You good?"

You nod your head in response and Bucky's hands slip off of your waist before slowly walking out of the closet. You run a hand through your hair as you wait for the super soldier to come back.

"It's clear, c'mon," Bucky tells you and holds his hand out for you to take.

You wince a bit while walking out of the closet, grabbing ahold of Bucky's hand as he leads you back towards the bed. "Did he say something about a tracking device?" You ask him and Bucky nods his head in reply.

You lower yourself onto the bed and think about the event of yesterday. Bucky's eyes meet yours, watching your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Can you think of when they might've placed a tracker on you?" He asks while crouching in front of you, resting his hands against your thighs.

"I…" a short gasp leaves your lips as you remember a guy smirking at you after stabbing your side. "No way…"

"What?"

You pull your shirt over your head and Bucky's eyes widen before looking away. "My stab wound," you whisper.

Bucky snaps his attention to you as you take the bandage off of your side, exposing the wound. "Shit," he mumbles and lifts himself off of the floor. "If you can grab a towel and lay on it. We have to get it out."

You nod your head as he leaves the room. Another wince leaves your lips as you walk into the bathroom, grabbing a fluffy towel from below the sink. When you enter the bedroom again, Bucky stands at the edge of the bed sorting through the different utensils.

"This is gonna hurt," he informs you as you lay back on the bed, one of your hands gripping the sheets.

"It's okay," you whisper while nodding your head.

Bucky gives you a small smile before kneeling beside the bed. Your chest heaves rapidly as the super-soldier re-opens your wound. His blue eyes flit up to your face as you stare at the ceiling, trying to keep your mind distracted.

"I'm going to dig around to try and find the device, alright?" He reassures you and you nod your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Bucky's flesh hand rests on your stomach, feeling his thumb gently stroke your skin. Two of his vibranium fingers dip into your stab wound, a hiss leaving your lips at the uncomfortable feeling. "B-Bucky-"

"I'm sorry," he apologizes as the metal fingers move around. "It'll be over soon."

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down harshly. A cry escapes your lips as Bucky's fingers travel deeper, tears pooling in your eyes. Sadness fills Bucky's eyes as you whither beneath his touch, wishing he could find the damn tracker faster.

Bucky's brows raise when his metal fingers graze against something cylindrical. "I got it, doll," the nickname slips out and your heart flutters in your chest, turning your head to face him.

His eyes are already on you, seeing the concerned look swimming in the baby blues. "Agh! Bucky-" you breathe out as the device scrapes along the inside of your skin.

"Sorry," he whispers and manages to pull the tracking device out without hurting you anymore, crushing the tiny object between his vibranium fingers.

You take deep breaths as the super-soldier quickly gets up so he can replace your bandage. You keep your gaze on Bucky the entire time as he tends to the wound. "You're pretty," you whisper, not being able to stop the words from leaving your lips.

Bucky looks up at you through his lashes as he releases a small laugh. Butterflies swarm around your stomach as the man leans forward to press a gentle kiss to the fresh bandage, your breath hitching in your throat.

"You're prettier. Let me get you some water," he mentions before leaving the room once more.

He thinks I'm pretty. You think to yourself as a smile comes to your lips, bringing your gaze back to the ceiling.

-

"Tony, you don't get it. They know someone's after them. I think we should hold off until they're less suspicious," you hear Bucky talking in the other room. A sigh leaves your lips, the argument continuing on as you inspect the bruises on your face in the en suite.

You wince at the tenderness, rubbing the arnica ointment around your left eye. "Look, Bucky, the best I can do is move you to a different room and extend the mission. We can pull out on this now. We're too close," Tony says before hanging up the phone.

"Fucking hell," Bucky mutters as you leave the bathroom. You walk into the living area to see Bucky throw his phone onto the table before plopping onto the couch. "He's not letting us leave."

"I heard," you sit beside him, tucking one of your legs under the other, "I mean he's right in a way. We're so close to capturing this guy. I should've been more careful, I'm sorry."

The blue-eyed man glances towards you, leaning against the furniture. "It's not your fault. You were just doing your job. It's my fault that I made you believe you had to do this yourself," he mentions and you press your lips together.

"Well, good thing we're starting over, yeah?" You ask and Bucky's eyes widen, his lips parting slightly. You chuckle softly at the shocked look on his face and gently press your fingers against his chin, shutting his mouth.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, sorry," Bucky whispers, running a hand through his hair.  You watch as he glides his tongue across his bottom lip, low-key wishing you could taste his lips. "So, we should probably figure out which room Tony moved us to."

You and Bucky proceed to make your way to the lobby and talk to the reception desk, hoping the billionaire already called to make the arrangements. You keep an eye out as Bucky talks to the woman, your fingers drumming along the mahogany desk.

"Ah, yes, I just got off the phone with Mr. Stark. Here are your new room keys," she says with a smile, and Bucky politely thanks her while taking the keycards into his hand.

"C'mon," he mumbles and hesitantly grabs your hand, his blue eyes looking around the place.

Your eyes widen upon seeing the elevator door opening, a few men you recognize standing inside of it and you push Bucky towards the wall.

"Y/N-"

"Kiss me," you whisper and his blue eyes widen as he looks down at you.

"W-What-"

"Public display of affection makes people uncomfortable," you state, remembering Natasha mentioning that if you were ever in a sticky situation.

Bucky wets his lips and nods his head in agreement. "Yes, they do…" he trails off and you let out a huff of breath.

You grab a hold of his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you lean on your toes. Bucky places his hand against the wall, stabilizing himself as your lips connect with his. His vibranium hand grips your hip, a short moan escaping his lips as your fingers card through his hair.

Your heart flutters in your chest at the feeling of his soft lips. It takes Bucky a few seconds before he starts moving his lips against yours, deepening the kiss. You hear the men muttering to themselves as they walk past the two of you.

"Fuckin' kids," one of them grunts.

Bucky leans forward, pressing your back against the wall as he pulls away slightly. You keep your eyes closed and you breathe heavily as his nose nudges yours lightly.

"Are they gone?" He whispers against your lips.

You flutter your eyes open and look over his shoulder, seeing them walking out the main doors of the hotel. "Y-Yeah," you mumble, causing the brunette to take a step back. "Sorry about that, I just… didn't know what else to do."

Bucky shakes his head, mumbling that it’s alright. He reaches for your hand again, leading you towards the elevator. You chew on your bottom lip as the two of you stand in the elevator in silence, feeling the tension between the two of you thickening.

“Why don’t you head to the new room and I’ll work on transferring our stuff?” Bucky mentions and you nod your head in response.

“Sure,” you mumble and grab one of the room keys from his hand, watching the muscly man step out of the elevator. “I’ll see you up there.”

After a short ride up a couple of more floors, you step out of the elevator before heading towards your new room. Maybe one with two beds this time. You think to yourself while placing the key into the lock. You step into the room and let out a gasp, seeing rose petals everywhere. “Oh, no,” you mumble and shut the door quickly, trying to gather as many petals as you can. “What in the actual fuck, Tony. I swear to God,” You mumble to yourself while rolling your eyes.

The door handle to the room begins to turn and you rush towards it, opening it just a smidge. Bucky glances down at you with a concerned look as you try to find the right words. “What’s going on?” He asks you and you press your lips together. “Y/N?”

“Just… don’t take it out on me, okay?” You whisper and Bucky furrows his brows as you fully open the hotel room door.

Bucky’s eyes widened after seeing rose petals everywhere, causing him to curse under his breath. “I’m going to kill him,” he states and a chuckle leaves your lips.

You grab your bag from the hallway before shutting the room’s door. You watch Bucky aggressively pick up flower petals from the floor and furniture. “Maybe this was the only room available,” you chuckle while heading towards the bedroom.

“I doubt it,” he mutters bitterly as you open the secondary door.

“Oh, come one,” you groan as you notice the large king-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room. “Bucky!”

“Yeah?” He calls out, hearing his footsteps grow closer to where you’re standing. You glance over your shoulder and see his lips part in disbelief. “You’re joking me,” Bucky sighs before rubbing his fingers against his forehead.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and wet your lips. “I’ll take the couch this time,” you tell him and Bucky glances down at you.

“Y-You have bruised ribs, Y/N. I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch,” he mentions and you shrug your shoulders in response.

A sigh leaves your lips as you slap your hands along your thighs, turning to face Bucky. “Well, if you’re willing to deal with me… you can sleep in the same bed. I don’t mind,” you shyly tell him, feeling your cheeks flush. You begin to panic when Bucky says nothing and you clear your throat, scratching the back of your neck. “O-Or you don’t have to. I just wanted you to be comfortable.”

Bucky’s blue eyes soften at your words as he watches you walk further into the room. The man wets his lips before running a hand through his hair. “We can share,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear.

“A-Are you sure?” You stutter, your eyes meeting his and the brunette nods his head in response. Bucky gives you an awkward smile and you let out a tiny giggle, taking a step towards him.

“What are you laughing about?” He huffs and you bite your lip, bringing your hands to his face before lifting the sides of his lips. Bucky playfully rolls his eyes and swats your hands away from him.

A genuine smile graces his pink lips and your heart flutters at the sight. “There’s a real smile,” you tell him, both of your cheeks heating up. “Should do it more often, Bucky, it looks good on you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bucky whispers before walking out of the room to gather his things.

-

“Okay, so, I managed to gather some more intel on Gabriel,” Bucky mentions while walking into the bedroom. The super-soldier grabs the laptop Tony supplied him before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

You lift the ice pack from your ribs and glance down at the bruised skin. “As good as I can be, I guess. It still hurts to bend over a bit, but I manage,” you chuckle as Bucky glances over his shoulder, seeing the purplish skin. “What’d you find out?”

“That he’s got a business meeting in the restaurant later tonight. Turns out the man he’s meeting has ties to HYDRA,” Bucky informs you while typing out what he discovered.

Bucky closes the laptop after finishing the report, making sure it is sent to Tony before fully turning the device off. Your eyes watch him gracefully move throughout the room, feeling a bit useless after getting attacked over twenty-four hours ago. “Do you need help with the meeting?” You ask him and the super-soldier shakes his head. “Buck-”

“You still need to heal, Y/N. I got this,” he mentions, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“Can I at least be on comms when you go? I'm tired of just sitting here and doing nothing," you bargain.

Bucky doesn't answer you while pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it on the chair that sits in the corner of the room. "Fine, you can be on comms," he mumbles and you grin as then throws the covers back before getting on the bed.

"Thank you, Bucky," you whisper as the super-soldier lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He turns his head towards you, his eyes noticing the fading bruise under your eye. He shuffles so he's laying on his side before reaching his vibranium hand out. Bucky notices how you don't flinch, seeing the smile steady on your lips as his metal fingers glide across your under-eye.

"Does it hurt?" Bucky whispers and you shake your head.

His eyes flicker down to your lips for a hot second before meeting your eyes again. "Have you ever kissed anyone before me, Bucky?" You ask him as you shuffle a bit closer to him.

You notice his cheeks blush and you teasingly smile at him. "I- No," he confesses and you tuck your lip between your teeth.

"C-Can I ask you a serious question?" You whisper, feeling his breath fanning your face. Bucky nods his head against his pillow, feeling a bit nervous about what you're going to ask. "Why do you hate me?"

A sigh leaves his lips as his blue eyes flutter shut for a few moments. Bucky wets his lips before sitting up, leaning his back against the headboard. You sit up as well, keeping your eyes on him as you notice the gears turning in his head.

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I really don't. I just… I guess I was jealous of you. I mean," Bucky pauses and slaps his hands against his thighs, "I don't have a good reason for being cold to you. Steve's right, you know? I do have a hard time showing my feelings."

Bucky's hand gently grabs yours and strokes the back of your hand. "It took me getting hurt for you to realize," you mumble softly and Bucky's chest clenches.

"I'm sorry that I let you down. I was so apathetic and I know it's pathetic, but I'm going to be here for you here on out," he exclaims and the corner of your mouth lifts into a small smile.

"Promise me?" You whisper as Bucky brings his free hand to your face.

His blue eyes search yours for a few moments before gently kissing your lips. "I promise you."

You rest your forehead against his, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as your heart pounds wildly against your chest. Bucky's hand slides along the side of your throat before resting on the back of your neck. Your lips meet his again while running your hands along his torso.

The kiss didn't last long before the two of you lie back down, your head resting on his chest. "You'll always have a place in me."

-

Taglist: @wkemeup​ @jessalyn-jpeg​ @queen-of-mischief​ @metalbuckaroo​ @thewxntersoldier​ @bumblebet-20​

[illfoandillfie]

Kinktober Day 7: Somnophilia (+Double Penetration - 2 holes)

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,397

Warnings: Somnophilia, double penetration, anal sex, sex toys (dildo + plug), dom!Roger, protected sex, light degradation (slut), edging

A/N: This was kind of inspired by a couple of different posts I saw on a (now deleted) porn blog. I’ve been wanting to do something with the concepts for a little while now and this seemed like the perfect opportunity!

I guess I was picturing 70s rog since its a flatmate/fwb type relationship but go nuts imagining whatever you want lmao

It hadn’t been Roger’s idea to set up a friends with bennefits type arrangement, but he’d liked the suggestion when you made it and before the end of the night was out you’d sealed the deal, so to speak. He’d been a touch tispy at the time, as had you, but when he woke up in your bed the next morning he hadn’t believed it to be a mistake, even if you were his flatmate. And so the arrangement (or as Roger dubbed it, The Fuckbuddy Pact) stuck. In an effort to make sure neither of you would feel weird about what happened and to avoid anything becoming too much like a relationship, Roger suggested that you should get all your kinks and weird fetishes out into the open straight away. 

“That way we’ll both know what we’re in for from the jump,” he said, looking at you from the opposite end of the couch, “None of that getting to know you shit, or taking our time. We’re both here for sex so let’s just figure out what sex we’ll both like and get straight into it, right?”  “Sounds excellent,” you’d said, cheersing his bottle of beer with your glass.   It was how he’d discovered your interest in somnophilia (a term he’d not heard before and had needed a thorough explanation of). But once he knew what it was, Roger had been keen to try it out with you. There were other things too but the somnophilia was the newest to him and, thus, the most exciting. Before the month was out you’d figured out a system to incorproate it into your sex safely. The main rule was that if either of you was asleep and naked, it was okay to initiate sex. Eventually there ended up being a few exceptions or addendums added to that rule – it was still okay if the sleeping party wore a top of some kind as long as they were pantsless, and once or twice lingerie had been deemed to not count as clothes, but only on special occasions when you’d prearranged it. It became a regular part of your sex lives, which was especially useful for Roger who often didn’t get home from playing gigs until the early hours of the morning. If you were in bed and undressed, he’d take the opportunity to blow off some of the adrenaline without having to use his hand which was underwhelming compared to your cunt. But, more often than not, you’d do what most sexual partners did and got it out of your systems before bed time.  

Roger already suspected that you were hoping for a quick tumble when he heard the knock on his door, but he had other things on his mind too as he told you to come in.  “Hey, Rog, you busy?”  “Uhhh yeah, sorry, running late for rehearsals but I can’t find my fucking drumsticks,” Roger said, moving things around his desk as he searched for the missing sticks.   “Oh, damn.”  “Let me guess,” he said, pausing in the hunt and turning to face you, “horny?”  “My friend recommended a porn thing and I kinda got worked up.” You shrugged, unembarrassed to admit what you wanted.  That self-confidence was enough to make Roger wish he could stay and give you what you wanted but he was already late and couldn’t afford to be later. Instead he laughed and turned back to double check his backpack, “I would but, I’m leaving as soon as I fin- Aha! Bloody things must have rolled off the bed. Sorry, Y/N.”  “Oh, no worries. I’ll take care of myself.”  He smiled at the thought, “Well I better go. See you tonight?”  “Yeah, see ya. Have fun.” 

It was later than he’d expected by the time Roger got home. Part of him (the part in his pants mostly) vaguely wondered if you’d still be up for something but the bits of him controlled by his brain thought it more likely that you’d have had a nice couple of orgasms on your own and called it a night. Still, he thought he might at least check in on you once he’d dropped his bag in his room. To his surprise though, his bed wasn’t empty like it should have been. He jumped when the light from the hall softly illuminated you, on your back and deep asleep, but his shock quickly turned to delight as he realised you were naked.   “You little minx,” he muttered under his breath, impressed by the invitation you were giving him. But as he walked closer he paused again, noticing something he hadn’t been able to see from the doorway. There, beside your hand, was your favourite glass dildo, as if you’d passed out after using it.  “Oh you are naughty,” Roger chuckled. He traced one hand down your body, between your breasts and over your stomach, and softly said your name, checking if you’d rouse. But you were deep asleep and not likely to wake up any time soon. A plan for what to do with you forming, Roger stepped away from you for a moment to strip down to his briefs. His cock was already beginning to stir at the sight of you. He reached out to touch you again, less cautiously this time, palming your breasts before dipping his hand lower and lower, down to your cunt, pleased to find you still wet from whatever you’d been doing before you fell asleep.  You let out a soft hum as he explored you, thumb teasing over your clit as he wet his fingers between your folds.   Roger paused at the sound, not ready for you to wake up yet, but once it was clear you were still asleep he sank two fingers into you. Slowly they penetrated your heat, pausing to make sure the sensation hadn’t roused you at all. But you slept on. Carefully Roger partially withdrew his fingers before sinking them in again, gradually working up to a consistent thrust that had your unconscious body sighing and spreading your legs wider.   “Good girl,” he whispered, watching you carefully. The hall light was still on but his door wasn’t open fully so the darkness was only dimmed slightly. He twisted his fingers inside you, easily finding the spots that usually made you scream his name but which now just made your eyebrows knit together. By this point in your relationships Roger was quite confident that he could understand your body. He’d made you cum enough times, awake and asleep, to know what you liked and just how much you liked it. And he knew what it looked like when you were close to orgasm. Which is how he knew to stop, to still his fingers and wait for you to calm down.  

There was no real reason to edge you. If anything it just made it more likely you’d wake before he’d got his dick wet. But he had fun with it. Watching the way you’d shift, your chest rising and falling more rapidly, your lips parted as whimpers fell from them, your hips automatically rolling to meet his hand. And then he’d stop again. It made him chuckle quietly to himself. Knowing he could control your body so easily was thrilling. It made him want to do it more. So as soon as your face had relaxed again, your limbs loose and limp, he’d settle into the rhythm once more, curious how much you’d take before you woke up and begged him to finish you off. It was tempting to just keep going. He pictured you waking with a moan, your first words a plea for release or better yet for his cock so he could fuck you properly. Roger groaned. In the time he’d taken to edge you a handful of times his dick had well and truly stiffened and, as much as he enjoyed toying with you, what he really wanted was to cum in you so when you woke you’d know you’d been used. With that thought in mind he withdrew his fingers fully, taking a second to suck them clean and enjoy your taste. Having you on his tongue just made him want to fuck you more so he carefully knelt between your legs, shifting one to give himself a better angle. He was moments from finally taking what he so wanted to take from you, when something caught his eye.  

It didn’t glint as much as it did in the day but he could see it’s outline all the same. And when he double checked that he wasn’t imaging it, pressing his thumb against the hard end of it, you groaned.   “A dildo and a butt plug?” He asked you, knowing you wouldn’t respond, “Is that a surprise for me? Or is it just because nothing satisfies you like I do?” Roger’s hand slipped down to his underwear, pushing his briefs down enough that he could get his cock out. He hissed as he spread his precum along his length, contemplating how he should use you. “Could fuck your cunt now and hope you stay asleep long enough for me to get back there. Or maybe I should just go all in, have your arse straight away. That’ll mean wearing a condom though. Or would it?” he shook his head, now was not the time to try anal raw for the first time, “No, condom definitely.” He was still trying to decide what to do when you shifted in your sleep, rolling onto your side. The new position you lay in made it much easier to reach your arsehole.  “That decides it then,” Roger said to himself, shedding his underwear and opening his bedside draw for his lube.  

Carefully, he settled himself behind you and slowly began to remove your plug. It took a few stops and starts, pulling out and sinking in, almost fucking you with it, as you whimpered in your sleep but you seemed to press yourself back towards him as if trying to encourage him.   “Just can’t get enough of me, can you?” he chuckled as he set the plug aside and spread the lube around your hole. He rolled the condom down his shaft and spread the lube along it too, humming at the slick friction of his hand, knowing he was about to feel something a hundred thousand times better. And then he lined himself up, pushing the head of his cock into the ring of muscles you’d so generously stretched out with your plug. He went slowly there too, partially so you’d sleep on and partially so he wouldn’t cum embarrassingly fast.   When he finally began to fuck you, you moaned into your pillow, able to feel it in your sleep.   Roger bit his lip to keep his own moan from getting too loud.  You moved in your sleep again, your legs opening more as you half rolled onto your front. It let Roger fuck you deeper and gave him better access to your pussy too.  “You’re a bit of a whore when you’re alseep,” he said softly, reaching for the dildo. You were still wet enough that it sank into you easily, like it remembered where it had been earlier and fit into your cunt perfectly. The way you lay meant he didn’t have what he’d call easy access to you but it was enough that he could thrust the dildo somewhat rhythmically. He faltered here and there as the feeling of fucking you distracted him but he didn’t feel too bad about the slips, knowing it was keeping you from reaching your release. Your sleepy sighs and moans got louder as he filled both your holes which just made him fuck you harder, enjoying the sounds you were making and wanting to hear more.  

You woke with a broken moan in your throat, jerking under Roger’s hands but he shushed you, his palms warm against your skin and his voice familiar and reassuring.   “Stay right there, baby. Being such a good set of holes for me to enjoy.”  You couldn’t do much more than moan again, dazed from the sudden way you’d been pulled back to consciousness and realising what you’d felt in your dreams had been very real indeed.   “This was what you wanted wasn’t it? When you fell asleep in my bed.”  You nodded, the sound of the fabric of the pillowcase loud against your ear.  “Uh uh, words Love. If you’re going to be a slut the least you can do is admit it.”  “Yes, Rog. Want-wanted this.”  “Good girl. And how do you feel now?”  “Oh god, close. So close.”  Roger slowed the pace of the dildo, putting more effort into thrusting into you, his hips slapping loudly against your skin.   You keened at the loss of friction.  “Slut-s don’t com-complain.” Roger grunted as he used you, “They t-ake what they’re giv-en.”  You whined but that just made Roger laugh, louder now you were awake but broken by groans and moans of his own.   It didn’t take much more for him to cum, stuttering out, “Fu-ck Y-Y/N,” as he did.  

Roger was panting as he eased himself out of your arsehole, replacing his cock with the plug and giving your hip a light tap of thanks. The dildo was still inside you, but he’d not been moving it at all as he reached his climax so it wasn’t much help.   “Did you cum?” he asked, his breathing still heavy as he flopped onto the mattress beside you.  You shook your head and sighed, “And after I waited here all night to surprise you too. Thought you’d be home sooner.”  “Is that why you had the toys? You got bored waiting for me?”  “No, I was expecting you to come home while I was using them. Only then I came and fell asleep.”  "Of course,” Roger laughed, “you still got your shag though, don’t know why you’re complaining.”  “I’m really fucking horny still, that’s bloody why. What are you smirking about?”  “Nothing. Just nice to know edging you in your sleep works just as well as when you’re awake.”  “Prick!” you squealed though unable to contain your smile at the idea.  “Don’t worry. Give me a few minutes to clean up and get my stamina back and then I’ll make you cum as many times as you want.” 

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

[mamavanheat]

Pullout Couch

Hey guys, this is my first writing project that I've ever finished. I got inspired by fellow writers on here and decided to try to make my own. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry if there's any grammar mistakes.

WARNING 18+ NO MINORS

Josh X Female!Reader

Backstory: You're a photographer and just returned from a trip taking photos for prints. You realize you lost your keys and it's so late you don't want to bother your friend to come back to your apartment. But you remember there is someone a couple floors away you think might let you stay until you can call for another key.

You feel like you had been on the plane forever and your legs are finally starting to feel normal again walking from your friend's car back towards your apartment building. It was somewhere 2 AM and all you could think about was having a nice hot bath and finally being able to relax. Your 2-week trip had been filled with travel and photoshoots all over the country. You had a good feeling a lot of your shots would sell well this time.

Turning with a smile at your friends exhausted face both of you say your goodbyes and thank her for picking you up and dropping you off so late. Slowly you make your way down the hall from the elevator dragging your suitcase and bags. As you approach your door, you blow the strand of hair from your eyes with a huge sigh and start to dig in your bag for your keys.

After a couple minutes you start to panic a little. Oh fuck. A little annoyed, you toss your bags on the ground and slouch your back against the wall covering your face with your hands.  You slide your back down the wall and scroll through your phone contacts trying to remember if anyone would be up this late to let you crash at their place. Another sigh, and you check your phone for the time. Damn, it’s already 2. I guess it’s too late to call anyone.

Tired and helpless you pull up Instagram and scroll for a while not sure exactly what to do. You scroll past a post of a friend’s friend. It was a picture of him and his band of brothers. You double tap the pic and kept scrolling. Then the thought hit you like a bag of bricks. Wait, doesn’t he live a couple floors above me? You only met a couple times hanging out with your friends but he did mention living in the same building as you. You sit for a moment trying to rack your brain of the number apartment he lived in. Shutting your eyes for a moment you trace through every conversation about it you remember. Was it 614- no I think it started with 5. Hmmm.... 524?

Feeling once again helpless you grunt a little and scroll back through the texts between you and him. Then finally you come across that time he saw your prints and asked if he could buy a few. He texted you his apartment number but you never got around to replying to him about it. Okay he said he’s staying in roooooooom...AHA! It is 524! Finally, you had an escape from just sleeping in the hallway, which would have been your next plan.

Grabbing your bags from the floor, you hastily make your way to the elevator and hit the number 5. Staring at the floor numbers making your way up, you thought maybe you should try to send him a warning text or something in case he had someone over. You didn’t know him well, but you knew him well enough to know him and his brothers love company. You make the maze down the hallway until you reach his door. Taking a deep breath and hoping to not receive rejection, you lightly knock on the door. After a second with no response, you knock again a little harder this time.

Turning your back and thinking to yourself how uncomfortable the floor in front of your apartment was going to be, you hear the door knob turn and click open. Turning back around, you see Josh with his messy hair and almost closed eyes looking at you.  His collar bones contoured around his frame. His chest was bare and he had a pair of sweatpants on resting below his hips. You were taken back by how sexy you thought he was in that exact moment. I don’t think he recognizes me.

“Uh, hello?” he mumbled. Then he let out a big yawn covering his mouth with his fist.

“Hey, um, I’m sorry to wake you up. I know it’s super late, but I lost my keys and I was kinda hopin-”

“Oh, shit Y/N. I didn’t realize it was you. Yeah, come on in,” he waved his hand letting you know it was okay to enter.

Stumbling over your words once again trying to apologize for waking him so late you start sputtering out, “I just got back from my trip and like I said I can’t find my keys. I thought it was too late to call anyon-”

“Y/N, it’s all good,” he stated with a lazy smile. He was being geniune. His eyes were filled with kindness and understanding.

Shuffling inside still holding your bags and looking for a place to put them, you take in his apartment. It was a studio like yours, but his had this amazing brick accent wall in the living room. He only had a lamp in the living area and by his bed lit. You can tell he lit them making his way to the door. You see a small area behind the couch separating the kitchen and living space so you lay your bags there. Looking around to take in his little apartment was nice. It was clean and minimal but had a nice rustic charm to it. You notice he all the instruments in the corner across from the couch. Along the other wall was a huge record collection. Some of the covers you recognized and some you’d never heard of before.

“So um, I’m gonna try to go back to sleep. There’s a couple pillows on the couch, but let me grab you a blanket.” He said retrieving a small throw from the closet. Handing you the blanket your fingers brush past each other and it felt like slow motion. You think he realized it also because he paused for a second and looked at you with a small smirk. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a small sigh.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Shrugging your shoulders and giving a shy smile. “I didn’t have anywhere else I could think of going.”

“No, don’t worry yourself. It’s fine. I promise.” He comforted you with a smile and nod. “Just don’t wake me up again or you’ll be in trouble.” His smile turned into sexy little grin with a wink. Your face became flushed with red immidiately.

He reached to scratch his bare chest as turned to go back towards his bed. He shows you the bathroom and you see the light flicker off by his bed after him climbing under the covers. “Goodnight, Y/N. If you get lonely I’ve got room for you in here.” Sensing the smugness in his voice you couldn’t help but once again feel your face turning hot.

You go to your bag to grab a hoodie and shorts to change. Then your toothbrush and paste, making your way quietly to the bathroom hoping to have the hot bath you intended. His bathroom is a little smaller than yours. The only layout difference you noticed was, sadly, no tub. Sighing and realized you won’t get to relax after the night you already had, you turn on the shower and scrounge for a towel. The water was nice even though it’s not as relaxing. You stood under the shower head for a couple minutes letting the hot water drape over you. It was relieving to wash the day off.

Suddenly your mind snapped to Josh. He’d been so nice to accept you so late without warning. His sleepy eyes and messy hair let you know he hadn’t been asleep for a while. Realizing now his bare chest revealed his soft skin and happy trial. His collar bones poking out connecting to his small but toned shoulders. His hips barely hugging the pants he had on. Wait. What am I doing? I barely know him. You shake your head snapping yourself back to reality. Finishing your routine, you turn the water off and grab the towel you managed to find in the cabinet. Exhausted and wanting to just lay down, you slip into the sweatshirt and shorts, then comb your hair and brush your teeth. Before retreating from the bathroom, you hang the towel and grab your clothes off the floor.

You make your way through the living room and throw your things on your bag, too tired to bother actually putting them away. You sit on the couch and spread out the blanket over your legs as you turn off the last light in the room. Before you lay down and get settled you look over to his bed and realize the curtains were open letting the moon light up the room. You couldn’t see his face. Just his silhouette laying below his comforter. You slide down the couch placing your head on one of the pillows and using the other one to cuddle. Laying with a pillow on your chest always made you feel safe. Especially since you can’t remember the last time you had any affection.

Laying there in just the moon light you thought you would pass out in no time. That turned out to not be the case. You lay there switching positions over and over trying to get the sweet spot. You let out a small grunt out of frustration. You hear shuffling coming from Josh’s bed so you prop yourself up for a second peak his direction. He was turning over as well but he seemed to not have the same issue with falling back to sleep. After a couple seconds, it grew quiet again and the room was starting to feel lonely. Your mind started getting restless and soon enough you were flashing back to your thoughts from earlier. You wondered what his skin felt like. His curly hair. His soft lips. His hands gripping at your body.

It started turning you on and you could feel the heat going towards your pussy. The urge to touch yourself grew the more you thought of him. The thought of him touching you. You wanted to feel his body pressed on top of yours. The wetness coming from your pants was prompting you to touch yourself. You reach your hand down your shorts and with the other hand grip the pillow tighter to your core. You touch your clit rubbing in circles making sure every breath you took was muted. If he ever found out you’d be embarrassed beyond belief.

The thoughts of him just wouldn’t leave your head. You start getting closer to climax so you swiftly throw the blanket off yourself and roll onto your stomach. Pushing the pillow you were holding between your thighs, you start grinding your hips deep into it. Biting your lips and holding your face into the pillow that was below your head. Squeezing your eyes shut the only images you could see are flashes of Josh on top of you. Feeling the pleasure your mind gave you from what you’d allow him to do to you. Your breathing got heavier and deeper as your visions started to turn to white with pleasure overload.

“Ahem.”

Nearly startled to death, you flew off the couch with hands and legs flailing in the air to grab anything on the way down. Your heart was pounding through your chest. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, no. Already embarassed out of your mind, you peak your head over the couch to find Josh in the kitchen staring directly at you. When did he wake up? Did he see anything? Oh, shit. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were pupil filled darkness. The lights were still off but you could see the shape of his body from the light outside.

“I- um. I’m sorry if I woke you. I just- uh couldn’t sleep.” you mutter staring directly at him. He didn’t move for a couple minutes.

“You know, Y/N, I would have helped if you had asked.” A smirk emerged from his face.  “I was just grabbing a glass of water. Would you like one?”

He walks around the corner counter and your gaze follows down his body as you notice he was relived of the sweatpants he was wearing earlier and is now in his briefs. Something was bulging from them. The pulsating from your clit grew and was now getting unbarable to ignore. You realize your still sitting on the floor hiding yourself behind the couch. What was I thinking? I just wanted to relax. Letting out a small breath you gather yourself to stand up. He’s still gazing at you but you can’t really read his face anymore.

Feeling the tingling in your groin as your legs rub together as you stood up. Nervously rubbing your arm with the oposite hand you try to gather what had happened. Okay, he just woke up to me touching myself on his couch. What’s going to happen next? Your heart was practically in your throat at this point. Slowly he walked walked toward you until he was close enough you could feel his body heat. His curls were outlined with the back light. You could smell a mixture of old cologne and his natural musk. This made your heart flutter even harder.

Almost instinctly his hand rose to stroke your cheek to your chin. With the other hand meeting at your neck, he sank closer to you. His soft lips pecking yours at first. You grabbed his hips pulling him in closer. At this point it seemed both of your hearts were racing with enticement. His little kisses turned to sloppy open mouth kisses filled with tounge. The passion was radiating from him driving you crazy. He suddenly pulled his mouth away still. His hands still gripped around your jaw.

“Did you finish yourself?” He wondered, making intense deep eye contact.

The heat was rising through your face once again. “I was about to... and then I heard you.” A nervous laugh was released and you had to break eye contact.

He moved in close again but this time aiming towards your neck with his lips instead. His hands starting running down the arms of your sweatshirt and to your sides. Softly he pecked at your neck which made your head throw back in desire. “I was thinking. Maybe I could help you finish. And you can say we’re even for letting you stay tonight?” He whispered in between kisses.

How can I say no? You go back to gazing into his eyes and biting your lip you nod lightly. A strand of hair fell from behind your ear into your face. Josh was quick to slide it back behind your ear being sure to not break the stare. He grabbed you by the hips pushing you onto the couch. He leaned over and kissed you one more time on the lips before moving back down to your neck. His hands made their way under your sweatshirt as he worked a hickey on your delicate skin. Realized you had no bra on, he smiles into you and continues to knead at your breasts. Stopping slightly to pinch your hardened nipple leaving you to moan into the air. Startling you, he grabbed the bottom of your top and pulled it over your head with intention. He gazed at you in the soft light. Speechless he caressed your curves admiring every inch. Moving towards your breasts he’s sure to softly leave his mark with a trail. Goosebumps fill your skin with every touch of his mouth.

He stayed on your breast for a couple minutes but you could feel yourself wanting to reach your hand to your clit. Now pulsating so hard and begging for attention. He notices your hand sliding down and he stops you.

“No, let me.” he states making eye contact again. Still feeling your skin with his curious hands, he kissed his way down to your thighs.

He lightly kisses back and forth between thighs and drags his hands up to the top of your shorts. Grabbing at them, he slides them down your legs and tosses them onto the floor. His lips glide across your skin to your legs. Throwing them over his shoulder, he grabs your hips and swiftly pulls you down towards him. He continues running his hands down your legs softly making sure he does’t miss out a single spot as he gazes at your pussy. You’re insanely throbbing and thoughts race through your head of how the release will feel. Wrapping his arm around your leg, his thumb lands on your slit. He rubs down and then up dragging your juices from earlier onto your clit. He slowly starts rubbing in circles then back and forth. All the while, staring intensely observing what makes you go crazy.

“Fuck, Y/N. Do you realize how insanely sexy you are?” he growls at you. “I’ve had my eye on you for a while. You’re amazing. I can’t believe this is happening.”

The only reply you could muster up was, “Fu-” with a whimper shoving your head back deeper into the pillow.

His thumb was replaced with a warm, wet, strong swipe of his tounge. You gasp like you forgot how to breathe. It had been so long since you had been touched with such passion. His tounge flat, he swipes side to side in a fast motion burrying his face deep into you. Your legs become hard to control and every flick of his tounge leads to twitches. He holds you down by your hips as your back arches. Your hands are thrown instantly to grab him by his curly locks as he moans into you. A finger slides into you and you can’t help but let out another moan this time throwing your torso forward making eye contact with him. He uses his tounge to make circles around your clit and sucking while glancing at your expressions.

“Josh- I need you. I need to feel you inside me.” You whisper at him.

He quickly stands up and slides off his briefs. His penis sprug out solid at you. Oh, my god. It’s so much prettier than I thought. He climbs back on top of you and starts reaching his mouth for yours. Your hands grab onto his back making your way up his shoulders and wrapping your legs tight around him. You can feel him pulsating on you and twitching begging for your wetness. One of your hands stays gripped with your nails digging. The other slides up the back of his neck. I can’t believe this is happening. And he’s so damn hot. Grabbing a handful of his hair, he sighs deep at you. He reaches down and grabs himself to slid himself up and down your slit. His head throws back as he starts to slide into you. Both of you gasp in unison and pull each other tighter. His head became burried into your neck. He lets out a grunt.

Slowly at first and picking up pace with every stroke. The deeper he got the higher you felt. The harder he hit the closer you were to peaking. He reaches behind you grabbing a handful of hair and pulling lightly. Your head falls back again. Taking the opportunity, he slides his hand back down to your clit rubbing it in circles. You can’t hold back anymore. You let out a cry of passion and pleasure.

“That’s it, Y/N. Show me what your face looks like when you cum. I want to see you finish first.” He whispered into your ear. Grabbing your ankles, he throws your legs into a new position over his shoulders.

The new friction was driving you insane. Your touch starved body couldn’t take it anymore. You allow yourself to release onto him. “Fuck! Fuck! Oh god! Josh, fuck me!” Your hands grab your breasts and your back arches with each thrust.

This causes him to go almost balistic. His movements and thrusts became more erratic and you can feel him twitching inside you with each stroke. He props himself up with his hands on the couch around your head. Sure to make eye contact once again he leans in to kiss you long and passionate. Deeper and faster he moves until he throws his head back and final time. He pulls out of you and his cum covers your entire stomach and breasts with force.

Both of you lay there twitching with ecstacy and bliss. He looks at your face with a smile and lets out a couple deep breaths. “Whew. That was intense!” he states with a smile and shaking his head as he stood up. He disappears into the bathroom retreving a towel. Returning to help you clean up, the smile never left his face.

This was definetly not how you expected your night to go. Still laying in total shock and bliss, you lay in silence. “Are you okay, Y/N?” he asks you.

You smile and nod at him with your flushed cheeks still beaming. “It’s been a long time. You’re incredible.”

“I knew you’d enjoy it.” He replies with a laugh. He leans in to kiss you another time. This time it was so gentle and soft. Almost as if he didn’t want to let you go.

He grabs your hand and helps you off the couch. Handing you pieces of your clothing he says, “You know you don’t have to sleep on the couch if you don’t want to. My bed is open.” He glances at you as if he wants you to take his offer as he pulls his sweatpants back on.

A giggle was let out from you and you smile huge while replying, “I’d hope so after that.”

He takes your hand once again and pulls you with him to the bed. You climb in first and bury yourself under the comforter. He climbs in after you and pulls you close to him again. You lay there with his arms wrapped around you. It feels safe. It feels nice. Stroking your hair, he lays with you. He kisses your forehead and embraces you tighter.

“Y/N, before you fall asleep. I want you to know how beautiful you are. I’ve wanted to talk to you more but we have never been alone long enough,” he sweetly whispers to you.

This causes a smile to form on your face and you reply, “I hope I can spend more time with you.”

[emikadreams]

May I request a prompt?

Feyre being comforted by Cass and Az when Rhys isn't available or all the bat boys comforting her? Just their fluff?

And maybe Lucien and Rhys bonding because Lucien means so much to Feyre and Rhys making an effort for her?

Ahhhh I LOVEDDD THISSS!!!

thank uuu sooo much for sending this in and I hope u enjoy this fluff monster!💕

Also please be kind with me, I haven’t edited this properly, studying for exams iss a bitchhh

Spoiler warning for anyone who hasn’t read acosf...

Uncles Retreat 

Rhys was gone.

Well, he was not home.

Ok fine he was at the Palace of Jewels but Feyre missed him horribly. She had thought it was impossible to miss him with every cell of her body but each new day shows her that her love for Rhys was like time; eternal and sweet. 

Feyre sighed and decided that she wouldn’t get out of bed today, she had meetings to attend herself but after being pregnant her duties had lessened and Rhys made sure that she was stress-free, “Cauldron, I love him so much.” She said to their empty room but she heard a chuckle from the bond. 

Her heart leapt as Rhys stroked talons down her shield and she lowered them instantly to let him in.

“Missing me, darling?”

“Horribly.” Rhys chuckled but she knew that he felt the same for the feelings he pushed back told her more than words could convey.

“I’m afraid that I’ll be stuck here for a couple of more hours darling.” Rhys sighed exasperatedly.

“Ugh fine, but can you bring me some dessert from Rita’s before you come home, I had been dreaming about it and now I’m starving!” She could feel Rhys smile with joy and pride as he said, “Tell our son that his father loves him to the end of the galaxy and back and that he will do anything to keep him and his mother happy.”

Feyre laughed, “He’s already got you wrapped around his finger, hasn’t he?”

“Oh most definitely darling, but I’m not complaining. You and Nyx are my everything.” 

She could feel his promise resonate through her body but the moment was broken when her stomach rumbled and Rhys took that as his cue to bid goodbye, not before telling her to eat well.

“Overbearing mother hen,” Feyre said softly before getting out of bed to find something to eat.

Seeing the house empty she touched her belly and said to her son, “Looks like it’s just you and me, love.”

“Aha! Not so fast high lady!” said Cassian as he breezed into the house through the front door followed by Azriel who looked at her and her belly and smiled unabashedly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh no.” Feyre exclaimed, “I know that look Az, that’s your ‘Cass has something planned but I won’t let him do it alone lest he burns another building’ look.”

Cassian squawked in offence and turned to glare at his brother who simply shrugged at him, “What? She’s not wrong is she, I didn’t come to that trip to the summer court and you managed to burn down an entire building.”

“It was one building for cauldron’s sake, a teeny tiny building.” 

 Feyre laughed seeing them bicker and shook her head but her heart warmed that she was finally a part of a family that cared for each other as if they were all related by blood.

Her eyes burned and her throat tightened with emotion, both the Illyrians were at her side in an instant, turning her this way and that, scanning her entire body before saying in unison,

“What hurts.”

“Do I need to call Madja?”

The former from Azriel and the latter from Cassian. Feyre stuck her tongue out at them before answering, “Nothing, you overbearing uncles. I’m fine. Pregnancy hormones, remember?”

They breathed a sigh of relief before beaming,

 “Uncles. You called us uncles.” Cassian said, love, etched across his face.

“Well. that’s what you are, aren’t you? Might as well get used to it.” 

They laughed and Feyre joined along before asking, “ Why are you here again?”

This time it was Az who replied albeit shyly, “Well, we know Rhys is stuck at meetings so we thought we’ll enjoy some quality time together.”

Feyre squealed with happiness and hugged both Az and Cass or rather squished them together awkwardly.

“ If we knew you were going to be this happy about spending time with us we would’ve kicked Rhys out, a long time ago.” Cassian grinned but frowned as Feyre yelped.

“What’s wrong,” Cassian asked, a promise of death swirling in his eyes at whatever threatened his high lady and her baby.

“I’m fine, he just kicked.” 

“What!” they exclaimed,

“Oh that’s right we didn’t tell you guys, he started kicking a while ago.”

Cassian and Azriel stared, their jaws on the floor before Az cleared his throat and motioned whether he could feel her stomach, Feyre nodded, her face softening.

Az’s fingers were slightly shaking as he placed them gently on her round belly and waited, Nyx kicked with all the strength of an Illariyan almost as if he knew that his uncles were watching.

“Oh wow.” Az’s eyes were silver-lined and his lips were shaking, Cassian paid him no heed as he shoved Az and knelt in front of Feyre to put his hands on her belly.

Nyx replied with the same vigour he had shown Azriel. 

“Hi, nephew! This is your awesome uncle Cassian speaking, I can’t wait for you to get here so that I can have someone as awesome as me to annoy your mom with.”

Feyre giggled and Cass stood up grinning.

“Now what?” Feyre asked, curious.

“Well, we can do whatever you want,” he replied

“Whatever I want.” Feyre grinned devilishly.

“Yup.” 

Feyre giggled, a plan forming in her head. Cassian paled and tried to back away but Azriel caught his collar.

“You’re not going anywhere, you made your bed now lie in it,” Az said only half-joking.

                                  ~

Rhys was exhausted.

All he wanted to do was cuddle his pregnant mate and go to sleep not before she enjoyed the special dessert that Rita had made for her High lady, Rhys’s heart swelled with pride at how loved Feyre was. Which was what propelled him to get through with all the hour-long meetings but on arriving at the river house, a sense of dread washed over him.

His home was eerily quiet. 

He called Feyre’s name but no reply came, he guessed that she was probably already asleep and decided to go into their room and found to his surprise his brothers sitting on their bed with feyre, all in loose clothing, a huge tray of food on their laps and with face cream and cucumber slices on their faces, their heads were leaned against the bed rest and it seemed as if they were getting facials.

Rhys burst out laughing causing the trio to turn their attention to him, cucumber slices falling out of their eyes and to Rhys’s eternal pleasure Cass and Az opened their mouths to explain but was rudely shushed by Feyre, “You’ll ruin it.” and they immediately shut up

Which caused Rhys to double over with laughter, a hand on the side of his face, they continued staring at him with disinterest.

After a good five minutes of Rhys laughing, he sobered took a steadying breath and said, “Mate, Shadowsinger, General,” nodding towards them he mentioned their names, “ can someone put it on my face too?”  he asked and they all squealed with pleasure.

[heylookitsyc]

Bad Breaks and Pancake Dates

Pairing: 2p!Canada/Matt Williams x Reader

Anime: Hetalia / 2p!Hetalia

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Synopsis: Your boyfriend (well, now ex-boyfriend) left you out in the rain, and your older brother Philippines is stuck in a World Meeting between the first and second player countries. He asks Canada’s second player to come get you, seemingly unaware of the Canadian’s little crush on you.

Warning(s): Swearing, slight mentions of a toxic/unhealthy relationship

Note: Just a reminder that none of you deserve to be in an unhealthy relationship !! You all deserve to be happy, and I wish you all nothing but happiness and good health in your lives (´･ᴗ･ ` ) please enjoy!

Story is down below!

~

You hugged yourself in a weak attempt to stay warm, the trees above you doing little to defend you from the rain.

It was difficult to tell if the drops running down your cheeks were from your own tears or the rain. You didn’t expect it to rain; it was supposed to be a fun day out with your boyfriend, so you had dressed in some of your best attire. Unfortunately, it did little to protect you from the rain.

After breaking it off with you, your asshole of a now ex-boyfriend had left you off at the side of the road. He had responded to your protests with a few not so kind words before driving off, leaving you to stand outside in the cold.

Your phone rang, and with slightly numb fingers you managed to press the “answer” button before holding it up to your ear.

You were met with Matt’s gruff voice. “Hey, where are you?” 

“I don’t know,” you said weakly. “There aren’t any street signs nearby.”

“Can you send me your location?”

“I think so.”

“Alright.” You heard the sound of a vehicle starting up. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Your brother sent me to come get you.”

“Oh. Thanks, Matt.”

He simply gave a small grunt in response before hanging up, leaving you to yourself once more.

~

You stared out the window mindlessly. Music played from the radio, the volume too low for you to know what kind of tune it was. Matt had given you a spare sweatshirt that he had in the backseat of his car; you noticed that it was the same sweatshirt that you had given to him one Christmas. You could smell the faint scent of maple syrup and cigarette smoke coming from the article of clothing.

A small smile formed on your lips. You remember how Matt was when you had given him the sweatshirt; his face had become a bright red, muttering something about how stupid your gift was. He had said that he would never wear such a thing, but that obviously turned out to be a lie.

Matt suddenly cleared his throat, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“So what happened?” he asked. Though he sounded uninterested, the glance he gave you showed the complete opposite. “You were crying when I arrived.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his statement. “You noticed that?”

“Of course I did. You don’t usually look that unhappy.”

“I guess.” You fiddled with the sweatshirt, taking notice of how the sleeves fell well past your fingertips. With a small sigh, you decided to tell him. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

You didn’t notice the way that Matt’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, eyes narrowing behind his dark shades.

“Are you fucking serious?”

You were caught off guard by the Canadian’s response. You felt the anger radiating off of him, and it started to make you nervous.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, tugging on the sweatshirt sleeve now. “He broke it off when we were coming back from the movies. He parked somewhere, and he…”

You suddenly went quiet, letting out a shaky breath.

“He wanted to do some things,” you went on, after a few seconds had passed. “I told him I wasn’t ready for that stuff just yet. He kept trying to convince me, and eventually he got angry and… well, we broke up.” 

You felt your throat tighten, and you realized that you were now close to crying again. You felt a small nudge on your hand, and you looked down to see that while Matt still had one hand on the wheel, the other was now holding out a handkerchief.

As if sensing your confusion, Matt gave a small sound of annoyance. “What?”

“Nothing!” You quickly took the piece of cloth from him. “Thanks, Matt.”

“Do you wanna eat somewhere?” he suddenly asked. You didn’t know if you were seeing things, but you could’ve sworn that there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “We can talk more about this over dinner or something.”

You felt yourself smile at his words.

“Sure.”

~

The sweet taste of maple syrup filled your mouth as you took a bite of pancake. Matt had taken you to a local diner that he visited quite often; despite his initial plan to take you somewhere nicer, you had been quick to remember his love for pancakes. (“I haven’t had breakfast for dinner in awhile,” you had told him. “Let’s go get pancakes so that the both of us can enjoy!”).

“You know, I don’t eat pancakes often,” you said, “but these are great. Thanks for taking me here, Matt.”

“Don’t mention it.” He took a sip of his coffee, his attention on the stack of pancakes in front of you.

You took notice of his stare, head tilting slightly. “Do you want some?” you asked.

“I’m fine.”

In reality, he just couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. It didn’t help that he was so close to you; the two of you were sitting right across from each other, and he could feel your gaze on him as he spoke. It made him feel strange, to say the least.

The diner was mostly empty. A small number of tables were filled; it seemed as though some people also had the idea of having breakfast for dinner. It was mostly quiet, save for the double doors leading to the kitchen occasionally swinging about and the faint chatter coming from the few customers that interacted with one another.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t order anything,” you said, stabbing another piece of pancake onto your fork. “You love pancakes, Matt.”

“I’m good with my coffee,” he said. He was about to take another sip of his drink, only to pause when you held out a piece of pancake to him.

“Here,” you said, smiling. “You can share with me.”

He stared at you in shock, the lack of shades allowing you to look into his violet eyes.

“Come on, Matt,” you urged. “I can’t finish these on my own, anyway.”

Knowing that you wouldn’t stop unless he gave in, he gave a small grumble before reluctantly opening his mouth. His cheeks were now a faint pink, and you couldn’t help but feel your own cheeks warm as you fed him the bite.

“I put extra maple syrup on that one,” you said. “I know how much you like that stuff.” You gave a small laugh at your own words, remembering that Matt had also poured some syrup into his coffee when he thought you weren’t looking.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you continued to eat, occasionally giving Matt a bite in between his sips of coffee.

~

Heavy footsteps followed your own as you made your way up the front porch steps. Your brother had rented the house for a month; while the world meeting was held in Canada and only lasted for a day, he had rented the home for a month so that the two of you would have more time to explore the country.

“Thanks for today, Matt,” you said, reaching the front door. “I had fun.”

The Canadian stood at the bottom of the steps, not bothering to make his way up entirely. It was already late; he had to leave soon in order to avoid a lecture from Oliver once he got home.

Hands shoved into his pockets, Matt gave a small nod at your words.

“Get home safe, okay?” you said. “And message me when you do. I want to make sure you get home safely.”

You really were too nice. He watched as you took out a key from your pocket, unlocking the front door.

Matt couldn’t stop himself. “Hey, (Y/N)?”

“Hm?” You had been halfway inside already, and you turned to look at him. “What is it?”

“Your ex-boyfriend,” he said. “Forget about him, okay? He was a fucking asshole.” He looked off the side, and even in the dark you could see his slight blush. “You deserve someone better. Someone who’ll do things when you’re comfortable.”

“Matt…”

He didn’t have time to react as you made your way back down the steps, grabbing him by the front of his flannel in order to pull him down. He felt a slight pressure on his cheek, and his eyes widened at the realization that you had kissed him.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He couldn’t do anything but stare as you let go of his shirt and headed back up the stairs, giving him a small wave before disappearing into the house.

After a few seconds of standing there, Matt shook his head and began to make his leave, unaware of the fact that he now held a slight smile.

~

[Bonus]

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Kuya...”

Your older brother gulped at the sound of your voice, turning around slowly. He had been watching the two of you from his bedroom window.

You stood there, a smile on your face. Though your smile was usually sweet, the way you stared at him sent shivers down his spine.

“Were you watching us?” you asked.

Your brother gave a nervous laugh in response. “Aha, (Y/N), you know-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, for you had already thrown a slipper at his face.

“Mind your own business next time!” you huffed, ignoring his groans of pain and weak apologies as you headed towards your room.

~

Translations:

Kuya - older boy/older brother

[socialwriter]

Simp

**Gif by @rafecameron​**

Idea by @ptersparkers​: the x times rafe/jj is caught being soft and refuses to admit it and the one time he does bc i’m a sucker for that but can someone write it because i want it but i don’t wanna write it 

Part of my week of fluff

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

TW: Soft boi Rafe 

1.5k+

Summary: 3+1 of the three times Rafe didn’t admit he was a softie (simp), and the one time he did

Requests featured: 

@anonymous0writer​: hi bubs. week of fluff: ““I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” w soft rafe or topper?? ty bubs

@softstarkey​:  “Would you mind if I kissed you?” w rafe 🥰

anon:  could you maybe write something about being super cuddly with rafe? your one w pope got me🥺🥺🥺

@butgilinsky​:  cooking dinner for rafe😪 or vice versa i’m not picky. also ily💓

A/n: I am now feeling the pressure of having five people’s wants in one fic, but i shall suffer in silence, also this is my first x + 1 fic so I hope it doesn’t suck oop

You and Rafe were both lounging around, your head on his chest and his arms around you when you looked up at him and noticed something you hadn’t before. “Woah, you have long eyelashes.”

He looked down at you, quirking a brow. “Do I? Huh, never noticed.”

“Yea, they just go blond at the end so you can’t see ‘em. You know...I could fix that for you.” You tell him, a devilish glint in your eyes. He furrows his brows, slightly scared as to what you had in mind. “What do you mean…”

You don’t answer his question, instead getting up out of his bed and walking into the joint bathroom, sifting through your makeup bag until eventually you find your mascara. “Aha!”

Rafe sits up, now curious as to what you were planning on doing. “Babe, what are you getting in there?”

You casually walk back into his bedroom, an excited grin plastered on your face as you crawl into bed once more and sit in his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso. “I’m gonna use mascara on you!” You exclaim, showing him the black tube.

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head violently at the very idea of wearing makeup. “Nope, there is absolutely no way I am doing that. You’re tripping babe.”

You pout, jutting out your bottom lip in the way that always got you what you wanted when it came to your boyfriend. “But baby, you’ll look so pretty and it’ll make your beautiful eyes pop even more.”

He frowned, staring at the tube of makeup. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit baby.” You assured him, pushing back some of the hair that had fallen in his face.

“Ok alright fine, if you want to do it I’ll do it.” 

You squeal, clapping your hands together and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I swear you’ll love it.” You get to work applying the makeup quickly before he has the chance to change his mind. He surprisingly doesn’t flinch much while you’re applying, but that all changes when you’re applying the last bit of mascara and Wheezie walks in.

“Hey Rafe have you seen m-oh my god.” She exclaims, an amused grin forming on her face. “What are you doing.”

“Wheezie get out of here!” He screams, unable to actually get up and push her out so of course, she stays to tease him.

“Wow, Y/n, really gotta hand it to you. You did the impossible and turned Rafe Cameron soft.” 

You giggled, resting your head on Rafe’s shoulder and kissing his jaw. “Thanks Wheezie.”

Rafe scoffs loudly, glaring at his youngest sister. “Both of you shut it! I am not soft!”

You snort in response to his words, giving him a soft kiss on the neck. “Of course not, baby.”

Wheezie giggles, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Ok ok, you’re not soft. Whatever you say you simp.” With that she leaves Rafe’s room, shutting the door behind her.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm?”

“What does simp mean?”

“Don’t worry about it babe.”

----

“Rafe?” You asked softly, quietly walking into the bedroom of the Cameron household. Kelce and Topper were over, playing video games, but Rafe had promised you cuddles after htey left, which was supposed to be over a half hour ago. 

“Yea babe?” He asked, never tearing his gaze away from the screen. All three boys were very into whatever was happening in the game, muttering insults at each other every once in a while.

“It's getting late, are you almost done?”

“Yea babe, just 5, 10 minutes, tops.”

You pout, crossing your arms over your chest. He had said that 20 minutes ago. An idea pops into your head that if you couldn’t get him upstairs to cuddle with you, then you would have to just cuddle with him down here. You walk around the couch, crawling into his lap and latching onto him like a koala. Both Topper and Kelce glance over for a second, rolling their eyes at the unexpected PDA from the two of you. “Baby I wanna go upstairs.” You mumble against Rafe’s neck, nuzzling your head further into him. 

“I know you do baby, just give a minute to beat these guys and I’m all yours.” He tells you, earning shouts of protest from both boys sitting next to him. “Are you wearing my shirt?” He questions when he glances down at you, to which you nod in response. 

“Your shirt and nothing else babe.” You say, a smirk finding its ways to your lips. He stiffens at your words, taking an audible gulp before quickly turning of the TV

“Hey man!” “What do you think you’re doing!” “Are you serious!” 

“Ok boys, time for you to leave,” Rafe tells the other two who both get up from the couch, grumbling about their game and how they were ‘so winning’. 

“Dude, you are so soft.” Topper tells him, rolling his eyes at the older boy.

“Like seriously, what's happening to you man.” Kelce adds, grabbing his stuff from the floor of the living room. 

“I am not soft, and I suggest you leave before I make you.” Rafe growls, moving to stand up. You, however, do not like this plan, whining and clinging to him tighter, mumbling a soft ‘no’. He listens to you, earning a look from both Topper and Kelce. 

“Dude, seriously, you’re such a simp.” Topper says as both boys leave the house.

“SERIOUSLY WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.”

----

“Rafe!” You call out for him, having your boyfriend run into the kitchen where you are a minute later. “Yeah babe, whats up?”

“Today, I’m going to teach you how to cook.” You tell him, earning a groan from him “What, why? I like everything you cook so much.”

“Flattery ain’t getting you out of this one. C’mon, we’re starting simple, it's just eggs. It would take an idiot to screw those up.” 

“Idiot at your service.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Tearing yourself down. You’re not an idiot, you just never learned how to cook is all. And that’s what I’m here for, to teach you how.”

He gives you an apprehensive look but nods, accepting the fact that he was doing this whether he liked it or not. “Ok so where do you start with eggs?”

“Well, first you’re going to get the eggs.” You tell him, earning a helpless look in response. “They’re in the fridge babe.”

“Right, right, I knew that totally.” He mumbles, going over to the fridge and getting the carton the eggs stored inside. Eventually, you had gotten him through scrambling the eggs and now you were ready for the stove, which he looked at with fear in his eyes. “Babe, maybe you should take over from here.”

“Rafe, you can do this. You’re a master chef, I believe in you. Now use that oven!”

He gave you one more glance before putting the pan of yolks onto the stove you’d already turned on for him. “Make sure you turn it over so it doesn’t burn babe.”

“Can you show me how?”

You nod, grabbing a spatula and placing it in his hand before guiding him through the motions of flipping the eggs. “You’re doing great babe.”

“Yeah?” He asks, grinning at you. You nod at him right as Sarah walks into the kitchen, having to do a double take. 

“What's going on?” She questions, not really believing that her brother is actually cooking a meal.

“I’m teaching Rafe how to cook,” you inform her, turning back to the stove to make sure that you didn’t burn the eggs. 

“Um, Rafe, didn’t you once tell me that you would pay for your own personal chef before you learned how to cook for yourself?”

Rafe’s face turns a bright red as he looks down at the floor. “Well yea...but Y/n wanted me to learn how to cook so I’m doing it.”

Sarah’s mouth was left slightly ajar, shocked by the fact that a girl was able to change Rafe so much. “Wow Rafe, didn’t know you’d gone soft for your girl.”

Rafe pouts, jutting out his bottom lift. “I’m not soft, I'm just a chef.” 

Sarah snorts, raising her brows at her brother. “Sure you simp, if that helps you sleep at night.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?!”

----

“Y/n?” Rafe asks, tracing small circles on your hip bone. 

“Mhm?” You respond, not looking up from your phone.

“I love you.” His words cause you to look up from your phone, eyes softening when you see him looking at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

“I love you too baby.” You say, giving him a soft smile.

“Can I kiss you?” He questions, lips only centimeters away from yours. You don’t respond, instead closing the gap between the two of you and pressing a short and sweet kiss to his lips. He, however, decides that’s not enough, giving you kiss after kiss, causing you to giggle against his lips. “Rafe!”

“I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” 

You laugh at his words, shaking your head. “Rafe, you really have gone soft, haven’t you?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response, giving you a grin. “Only for you baby, only for you.”

“Wow, you really are a simp.”

“Aww come on!”

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Frenz: @sortagaysortahigh​ @ad-infinitums​ @butgilinsky​ @bricksatanakinswindow​ @multifixx​ @drew-starkey​ @downbytheouterbanks​

[luluwquidprocrow]

(the three-part folding mirror)

the denouements & the snickets, olaf, r, olivia 

teen

15,985 words 

The year the schism gets worse is the year one of the quarterly information costume parties is held in the grand ballroom on the third floor of the Hotel Denouement. 

@lyeekha won my commission in the @asoue-network fandom against hate raffle and asked for the denouements, so i put together some shenanigans with the denouements and the snickets, with slight ernest/lemony kit/dewey frank/jacques, and a few other associates hanging around ~ 

some minor warnings – language; smoking; brief mention of murder; referenced parental death; identity anxiety about being seen physically and personally 

title from i am alone by they might be giants 

10:59 PM—The Ballroom—East Drink Table

Kit skirted the perimeter of the crowded ballroom, stopping at the side wall by the drinks, one eye on the table and the other on the dance floor. She couldn’t put her back to it. Not now. There was a tall, potted boxwood nearby, unreasonably lush, almost slouching against the decorative golden pillar beside it. She picked up one of the wineglasses, the only signal she could think of to properly get his attention. She’d have to find Lemony as well; where was he?

The plant coughed.

“J,” Kit whispered, “listen to me.”

A few of the branches parted, and Jacques’s blue eyes appeared out of the green. “What happened?”

Kit breathed slowly. Her free hand curled into a fist, crinkling up the fabric of her dress. She swallowed. It did not help. She gripped the glass. Beneath her feet, the floor gave a slight shudder as the clock out in the lobby readied itself to chime the hour.

“Someone in this very room has—”

WRONG!

7:25 PM—Above The Lobby

It was Saturday night, and Saturday night always meant one thing—Guess The Guest.

Ernest stood in the small alcove situated around the gears of the hotel clock, far above the lobby, and looked down. Like any other night, the sleek gold and red lobby was filled with people, loitering around the front desks and the fountain and each other before they made their way up to the grand ballroom on the third floor. Well, the ballroom was different. This was a work event, as Frank had so brilliantly labeled it on their schedule, so no one was a regular guest tonight. Frank, who had never appreciated the joy in making up grandiose lies or exaggerated half-truths about the strangers who came in and out of the hotel, certainly wouldn’t appreciate the thrill in watching all of his associates in costume and trying to guess who was who, either. Dewey thought the game was slightly mean, because Dewey was just too kind for this sort of thing.

It was good that Ernest was not Frank or Dewey. Not right now, anyway. Ernest knew how to get joy out of the little things.

He watched a flash of green scales move erratically through the lobby, a cheerful voice calling enthusiastic greetings that echoed all the way up to the ceiling—Montgomery. There was a reason he did undercover work so sparingly. Two women in nearly identical butterfly costumes by the door, one purple and one white, hand in hand, standing close together—Ramona and Olivia. It was nice to see them together. A woman with a deep blue dress that swept around her like a wave—Josephine, here alone. Ernest had it on good authority that the Anwhistle brothers weren’t coming. Another loud voice, but deeper, following the confident swath a tall figure in black cut through the crowd—Olaf. Ernest turned away, in time to catch a glimpse of a long red cape shifting from behind one pillar to another around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding Olaf—aha. Kit. Which meant another one was nearby. Not that the Snickets had arrived together, because none of them ever did, but where there was one there was always at least one other, ready to make a decent amount of trouble. (Ernest liked trouble. The little things, of course.) And there, near Ramona and Olivia, Lemony Snicket, a figure shaped in grey shadows.

The alcove door opened. Ernest knew exactly who it was, so he didn’t give him the courtesy of turning around, keeping his eyes on Lemony. Grey was a fitting color on him, on the long line of his shoulders, his legs. Ernest’s stomach flipped over, once.

“It looks like a full house tonight,” Frank said, standing beside Ernest. He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and folded his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t sure.”

Ernest leaned a hand on the alcove railing. “Takes more than a murder to stop a party, I suppose,” he said.

Frank didn’t reply, but Ernest knew that for once he agreed. The double murder in Winnipeg two months ago had, like any other sudden, suspicious death they’d dealt with over the years—Ernest shuddered and flexed his fingers—barely made a ripple in VFD, except that after the funeral, everyone had closed ranks significantly tighter.

This worried Frank; this did not worry Ernest. Very little truly worried Ernest, at the end of the day. That, of course, only made Frank worry more, but Ernest couldn’t help that. Frank would find something to worry about if Ernest was still on “his side”. Ernest had much more pressing commitments than the heavy, idle worry that everyone else shuffled between themselves without any results, and it wasn’t that he’d be found out. It was change. The real kind of change, not the noble one, not the fragmentary one. Change Ernest could see.

He shifted his hand on the railing once more. If he kept thinking about it, he was going to argue with Frank, and they’d rehashed the argument so many times the past few months without any resolution that it was better, Dewey had eventually insisted, if they just didn’t talk about it at all. So they wouldn’t. Ernest stood next to his brother, and the silence dragged out between them, punctuated by the soft ticking of the clock gears, and they wouldn’t talk about it. Not at all.

“Ernest.”

Almost.

“Frank,” Ernest said back, in the same critical tone, tilting his head to the side and giving his brother a look.

Frank shot him a flat and unimpressed stare in return. At least he still did that. “Promise me you won’t do anything—” he paused, his face pinching in an aggrieved sort of way before he settled on a word. “—rash tonight,” he finished.

Ernest laughed. “I don’t intend to do anything rash, Frank.” Of course not. You couldn’t carry out a pre-established plan rashly.

“I should hope not. I—”

The door opened, again. Dewey burst into the alcove, all smiles as always, and stopped on Frank’s other side and leaned over the railing, gazing into the lobby. Like Ernest and Frank, he wore the muted red manager uniform, because somebody had said it was the “host prerogative” to not dress up for a costume party. Somebody had felt bad about it when Dewey was disappointed, but somebody had still not relented, and there they were, a matched trio, everything outwardly perfect.

“Everyone’s costumes are so beautiful,” Dewey said. “Who’s that, in the big blue dress?”

“Josephine,” Ernest and Frank said at the same time.

Ernest raised his eyebrows. Frank, stooping so low as to actually guess the guest? Even Dewey blinked at him in surprise. The tips of Frank’s ears went slightly pink, but he didn’t say a word.

“Oh, Frank, you left your name tag downstairs again,” Dewey said. He pulled the name tag from his pocket, the slim gold rectangle glinting briefly in the soft light of the alcove, and pressed it into Frank’s hand.

“Thank you,” Frank murmured. But when Dewey turned away, Ernest saw the tag disappear from Frank’s fingers, most likely slipped up into his sleeve. None of them wore their name tags with regularity—the black ‘manager’ embroidery on their jackets was really enough—but Frank’s kept showing up places, and Ernest and Dewey kept giving it back to him, every time. Ernest didn’t quite know what to make of it. He wondered about asking Frank about it, but he didn’t want Frank to take it as another argument. Ernest didn’t actually enjoy arguing with Frank. About small things, sure, like Dewey’s stupid poetry and Frank’s inane hotel schedules, the sorts of things brothers argued about. But Ernest was sure Frank would make it into another one about VFD.

Dewey was studying the lobby, one hand on his chin. Ernest watched him go from one friend to another, then stop when he got to Kit’s red cape sweeping towards the stairs. It was an unusual color for her, but Dewey, whether he thought it was nice or not, knew how to identify someone from the pieces they let slip through too. Kit was straightforward about everything, and the way she walked, determined and with an endpoint in sight, was no different.

Ernest and Frank exchanged a quick glance.

“So,” Frank drawled, “when’s the wedding?”

“I look best in black,” Ernest put in. “Take that into account, Dewey.”

“I look best in blue,” Frank said. “Take that into account.”

Dewey’s face went its typical six shades of red, flushing through to his ears as well as he jumped back from the railing and sputtered, “What—we’re not—we haven’t even—I don’t—Kit’s not—you two are impossible.” He stormed out of the alcove, shutting the door with a slight snap behind him, because Dewey had never slammed a door in his life.

Ernest enjoyed a brief chuckle with Frank before his brother fell silent again. The lobby crowd was thinning as everyone made their way to the elevators or the stairs, or to the bathroom, or, perhaps, to some clandestine hallway somewhere else. Ernest could see the ring of neatly-trimmed boxwoods lining the lobby now. He wasn’t sure, but he thought there was one more than usual, sitting right inside the door.

He leaned forward, squinting. “Did we always have a boxwood there?” he asked.

Frank moved his head down a fraction of an inch and considered the lobby. “Of course,” he said. Then he straightened his sleeves one more time, and left the alcove.

7:35 PM—The Lobby

Among the Snicket siblings, there was an ongoing discussion about the best hiding place. Kit preferred the quiet, professional approach. She stood behind newspaper stands, put her face into books and brochure racks, stayed in the shadows of a store awning. Lemony was difficult about it. He thought the best place to hide was the least likely place someone would look for you; the place you wouldn’t look for yourself. He took dangerous perches in train station windows, seats in restaurants he vocally hated, or sophisticated and cramped corner cafes that had never heard of a root beer float.

Jacques, meanwhile, with a lifetime of hiding experience, always liked to hide in plain sight. People barely ever remembered what was right in front of them as long as it appeared relatively normal. And there were a number of options—a large potted plant could be overlooked among a dozen other potted plants, people received packages every day and wouldn’t notice if there was one more oversized box, every city park lost track of how many statues were supposed to be there, even a regular man in a fine suit crossing the street or driving a taxi was expected and forgettable. Another boxwood was just another boxwood sitting in a free space in the empty Hotel Denouement lobby, slowly making its way to the ballroom for optimal eavesdropping. Another volunteer in costume was just another volunteer in a lion costume borrowed from Bertrand, for the moments tonight when Jacques had to communicate information to an associate.

That was the point of the party, after all. Jacques couldn’t deny that everyone liked dressing up—he liked dressing up, a little—but the main objective for most of them tonight was the passing of relevant information that had happened in the three months since the last official gathering (not counting the funeral). It should have been at Winnipeg, as they usually were, the organization taking over the Duke and Duchess’s sprawling, sparkling mansion, the couple’s easy laughter flowing from room to room. Jacques didn’t blame Ramona for not wanting to do it after what happened there. He doubted she’d actually been in the mansion since, although it was entirely hers. But the Hotel Denouement was a suitable replacement. It was too public to ever lose its neutral position among both sides. No one was going to get killed here, Jacques was certain. But he was mildly worried something else would happen. He didn’t know what. But something.

Especially considering Lemony was here. Not that his brother was a troublemaker—Jacques would never say it out loud, at least—but because Lemony wasn’t supposed to be at the hotel tonight. He had told Jacques that he was going to be with Beatrice and Bertrand, who were working on plans for an upcoming assignment. This meant two things—one, that Lemony had lied to Jacques. But Jacques had counted on that. He had assumed, however, that Lemony meant the three of them were finally going on a date and hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Two, that if Lemony never did anything idly, without a specific purpose, then he was here for an unknown reason. Something else was going to happen, Jacques was certain. Something Lemony wanted to be here for.

First, though, he had to get the boxwood he was hiding in from the lobby to the ballroom upstairs. The pot was significantly heavier than Jacques had counted on.

8:05 PM—The Ballroom—Main Doors

Every time they all got together, Frank was so amazed at how many of them there were. Despite some noticeable gaps—Beatrice’s overbearing presence, for one, which Frank was happy to do without for an evening—the grand ballroom had barely any free space. Every available and noble associate was here, and it filled Frank with a sense that everything was going to be alright. All these people, including himself, doing what was necessary to keep the world quiet. Tonight would be fine. Ernest wouldn’t do anything regrettable; Dewey would forgive him about the costumes and the gentle ribbing; the meeting would pass without incident. Tomorrow would come. Sometimes Frank almost thought that it wouldn’t. Typically when Ernest was being difficult, but tonight even he seemed to agree that the organization—their organization—was impressive.

He spotted a potted plant by one of the drink tables, a boxwood that matched the ones lined around the room and back in the lobby. One branch was bent out of place. Frank would have to have a word with the person responsible later. But he should fix the branch now.

Everyone he passed on his way across the room gave him a quick nod, a brief smile. Frank returned it as that familiar buzzing started under his skin, like it tended to in groups. He shrugged it aside. He gave the controlled smile of a manager with everything in place, and no one said a word.

All of a sudden, his view of the boxwood was blocked. Through the mass of associates came Olaf, head to toe in a suit and mask of black, spiky fur, smiling with all his teeth, unceremoniously pushing a woman in a silver dress painted like a large, rocky moon aside on his way towards Frank. Frank steeled himself. You never knew what you were going to get with Olaf, if he would try and charm you with a reckless humor or annoy you with a joking cruelty. It was one of the many reasons Frank had never particularly cared for him.

“Ernest!” Olaf exclaimed when he got close. He hooked an arm through Frank’s. “Lovely to see you, wonderful party.”

The cold, dark hand twisted its way along Frank’s insides. It gripped down through his chest, put a film over his eyes that made the room seem distant and wrong. The party continued around him, Olaf was still talking into his ear, and Frank couldn’t hear any of it. The name tag pressing into his wrist up his left sleeve didn’t help. Just because it was his didn’t mean it was him. His name meant nothing if no one was going to care about who it was, about what made Frank instead of Ernest or Dewey. No one should need evidence to tell the difference. No one should make a mistake between the three of them. How many times would it happen?

Time was still passing. Frank blinked once, twice, until Olaf’s voice filtered back in and the noise of the ballroom swelled up once more.

“—incredibly delicious, I have to say, but, to be frank with you—ha! This champagne has seen better days, which one of you is responsible for this travesty?”

Frank smiled, a little turn of the corner of his mouth, the professional smile of all three of them. If Olaf wanted Ernest, alright. Frank would be Ernest. “Frank,” he said. The word sounded like it couldn’t possibly have come out right, but Olaf didn’t break his stride, so it must have.

“That does not surprise me in the least,” Olaf said. “Meanwhile, allow me to take up one single minute of your time,” he continued, and pulled Frank into the shadows by the door. Frank’s stomach gave a terrible lurch as the stark terror he woke up with every morning came back, riding over the dissonant gap he still felt between his body and his brain. What did Olaf want with Ernest? Had Olaf found out about him? Frank had covered up for Ernest before, but would he be able to keep doing it if more people knew?

“Have you thought about it any more?” Olaf asked, leaning close.

The sheer relief that Olaf didn’t know battled with the swooping fear that Ernest was doing something new Frank didn’t know about, and with Olaf. He remembered, with startling clarity, the last time he talked to Kit, when she told him that Olaf had been spouting dangerous ideas about the organization and trying to rope in as many people as possible. It was one of the reasons, according to the rumors Frank had heard elsewhere, why he and Kit had ended their relationship. What was he trying to get Ernest into? Ernest needed absolutely no encouragement, and neither did Olaf. He had to say something.

“I have,” Frank said. It was the safe answer when you were pretending to be someone else.

Olaf grinned again, big and excited, which was a terrible sign. “And?”

“No,” he said, because it was also the safe answer, and the faster Frank could untangle Ernest from whatever trouble he was into this time, the better. “Sorry to disappoint,” he added, with the cool tone Ernest used.

Olaf frowned. “Really? I must admit, I am a little surprised. I mean, I know you weren’t entirely on board, but you’d given it a shot before, and I was hoping you’d come around again.”

Before? They’d talked before? Frank thought a series of incredibly inappropriate words Beatrice was always using that he would never say out loud.

“But!” Olaf pivoted quickly, in his speech and his actions, spinning on his heel away from Frank and shrugging broadly. “Who am I to bend your arm about it! I’ll keep you in mind, though, in case.” He showed all his teeth, his eyes glittering. “And keep me in mind, next time you have anything else worth sharing, will you?” He flounced off again, tearing through the crowd.

It took a few minutes for Frank’s heart to go back to where it was supposed to be from where it was thundering in his throat. He put his hands in his pockets and gripped the fabric, something real and his to hold onto.

Anything else worth sharing. Since their apprenticeships, Frank and Dewey and Ernest had been tasked with organizing a great deal of information, mostly about the history of the organization, but sometimes, and especially as they got older, the very information that was passed along between volunteers. It was part of the reason Dewey had started building his personal archives in the basement. He liked the business of collecting facts. Of course all three of them were still being given that information. Of course Ernest still had access to every single piece of that information. Ernest, collaborating with Olaf, Ernest, sneaking around behind Frank’s back, Ernest, who had promised, at the beginning of all this, that he wasn’t going to jeopardize their positions by doing something stupid.

Ernest, what are you doing?

8:40 PM—The Archives, In Progress

Dewey was not hiding. He liked parties a great deal, and he loved people, but like his brothers and everyone else, he too had his own appointment to keep tonight.

His just happened to be in the basement.

He still sort of felt like he was hiding, especially the further he went into the archives. But things always needed organizing, and while he waited, he had to do something to keep his hands busy. He searched for a set of organization accounting records for five minutes before realizing he’d already shelved it, last week.

So Dewey was nervous. Plenty of people were nervous. Olivia went around all the time being nervous and no one gave her any grief for it. But Olivia didn’t have a sister to give her any grief for it. And Dewey didn’t mind, not really. He loved it when his brothers teased, because it meant they were getting along. But this time it was slightly personal. Because he was meeting Kit, and he was nervous.

Kit was—well, normal. Like Dewey was normal. He loved his brothers, but Frank was high-strung and made it everyone else’s problem, Ernest was often disagreeable for the sake of it, and with the Snickets, Jacques was always hiding in furniture and Dewey didn’t think he’d ever seen more of him than one hand and possibly an eye at a time, and Lemony was wonderful but sometimes too cryptic and morbid for Dewey’s taste. He liked things a little more sensible, comfortable, pleasant. And Kit was organized, reasonable, quiet when other people were reading, cool under pressure. She let herself get lost in books and people she cared about, underneath all the professionalism. Her smile was a careful, slow thing, something private she only showed you if she genuinely liked you. And it meant a lot to be on the receiving end of that smile.

His brothers didn’t get it. He wasn’t involved with Kit, and he wasn’t going to ask her out, because you didn’t do that with Kit. If Kit wanted to spend time with you, that was her own choice. She never did anything she didn’t want or she hadn’t thought through first. That she wanted to spend time with Dewey, specifically, to see him, and no one else, was nice. It made the whole of him feel all tingly and weightless. He wanted their meeting in the archives to be as nice as that feeling.

Dewey grabbed a set of Agatha Christie translations he kept on hand for when things got boring (rarely, but Beatrice got bored easily, and if you gave her a translation she sat down for a while to prove she could read it) and walked to the next aisle to shelve them. His foot snagged on something in the middle of the floor and he stumbled, hugging the books close to his chest so they didn’t fall. He turned around to see what it was, and found Kit blinking up at him with wide eyes from where she sat on the floor, a thick book open in her lap, her long red dress pooled around her on the floor. Her dress had an off-the-shoulder neckline, but most of her shoulders were covered by the matching red cape pulled around her. In the wide diamond of skin left between the cape and the top of the dress, he could see the sharp edge of something black around her collarbone, a point of the nearly-finished tattoo she’d been getting done. The red sleeves disappeared into short white gloves, with her hands folded together at the bottom of the book pages. Oh. Dewey’s heart pounded for a horrible, exhilarating moment, his mouth going dry. He swallowed once, twice, a third time.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling wryly, closing the book and sliding it gently back in the middle shelf. “I got distracted.”

“Oh, no, that’s completely understandable,” Dewey said. He folded himself down beside her, crossing his legs, still clutching the books to him. “Happens to me all the time. What were you reading?”

Kit smiled again, and it was that slow, beautiful smile, her eyes lighting up. “Have you heard,” she said, “about the cookiecutter shark?”

Dewey had absolutely heard about the cookiecutter shark. “Isistius brasiliensis,” he said. “It can travel in schools, and it bites little circular sections out of fish, like a cookie cutter. Have you heard about the brownsnout spookfish?”

“Barreleye fish, has mirrors in its eyes. Toothless upper jaw,” Kit replied easily. “Anostraca.”

“Fairy shrimp, they swim upside down,” Dewey said. He leaned forward, grinning. “Sometimes even found in deserts. Frilled shark?”

This was his favorite game, with his favorite person, in his favorite place. Both of them were librarians, or librarian-adjacent, so he and Kit dealt in information, not only about nobility but about the rest of the world around them. And the whole world was so fascinating, and there was so much to know and share, so how could you not try and see who could stump the other first?

“An eel-like living fossil, with six pairs of gill slits. Chaunacidae.”

Dewey scrunched up his face, thinking. “I think you got me there,” he admitted.

“Sea toad,” Kit said, looking pleased, “and coffinfish. Deep-sea anglerfishes. The sea toad has fins that can be used as leg flippers.”

“Really? Wow.” Dewey made a mental note to check that out later. He hoped, on the scale of unsettling sea creature to pleasantly spooky sea creature, that it was somewhere in the middle. “So besides oceanic intrigue,” he said, “what else is going on with you?”

“I’m supposed to get something from Frank tonight,” Kit said. “But, I also came to give you this. From Bertrand,” she clarified, and then picked through the seams of her dress, which revealed themselves as hiding at least ten different pockets.

When he had the time, Dewey wanted to study clothing design. Kit and Beatrice always found the place for so many pockets that you could never see from the outside, and Dewey wished he had the same capacity in his slim manager’s jacket and trousers for all the things he wanted to carry around. Poetry; chocolate-covered pretzels; the pencils Kit always left behind; spare buttons; sturdy rope, in case he needed it; maybe a mini chess set. He’d have to work on it. Maybe he could hide them in shoulder pads, or his shoes.

Kit pulled out a book from a side pocket. Dewey finally put the Agatha Christie down, piling it in a neat stack between them, and took the book. It was the one Bertrand had spoken to him about last week—Undercover Underwater: Diving For The Truth, a truly terrible murder mystery novel he said Dewey had to read to believe. He was greatly looking forward to it.

“That was awfully sweet of him,” Dewey said, running his thumb over the cover. He looked for a place to put it, and then just put it on top of his book stack. It felt a little sacrilegious, if it was as bad as Bertrand said, to put it on top of Christie, but he didn’t want to misplace it. “Thank you very much.”

Kit shifted on the floor and put her back to the bookshelf. “Did you hear the Anwhistle brothers finished building that marine research and rhetorical advice center?”

“Yes,” Dewey said. “I guess that’s why they aren’t here tonight? Josephine was all alone when I saw her earlier.”

“They should’ve celebrated with the rest of us,” Kit said. “What a massive architectural achievement—and I wanted to hear about the leeches, too.”

“Yes!” Dewey exclaimed. “Have you seen them yet? I haven’t.”

“No,” Kit said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not in person. Ike gave Lemony one of the earlier ones as a paperweight some time ago but I haven’t been able to see their recent work yet. I hear the teeth are impressive.”

“Cookiecutter shark impressive?”

Kit grinned. “Potentially.”

Dewey laughed. He wished he and Kit could go see them, together. For the scientific curiosity. For spending time with someone who really, really wanted to see him. No, for the oceanic intrigue, of course. “You know—” Oh no. He hadn’t intended to actually start the sentence, but it was out, and Kit was looking at him expectantly, and Dewey was rapidly losing all handles on the conversation. His face was heating up. Everyone else made talking to people whose company they enjoyed look so easy, but the words jumbled together in his mouth. “We should—go? I mean—not right now, but, soon, we could—to the research center—for the leeches, for, for science.”

Pink colored Kit’s face under the freckles along her nose. “For science,” she said. Then—“Not a date,” she added firmly.

“Definitely for science,” Dewey insisted. “Oceanic intrigue, and everything.”

“Yes,” she said, blinking quite a few times. “That would be fine.”

They stared at each other for the longest minute of Dewey’s life.

“We should probably get back up to the party,” he said. The archives were feeling much, much too close, all the books and shelves pressed up against him, the point of Kit’s tattoo still peeking out from under the edge of her cape.

Kit nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

8:55 PM—The Ballroom—Near The Piano

Next—Jacques had to find Olivia.

He abandoned the boxwood by the east wall, for the time being, out of sight near the piano, where a man with a white half-mask played a pleasant Beethoven sonata while a woman in a sharp, pointed gold suit argued with a man dressed as an octopus with a hat. They did not notice Jacques, even in his own costume, but he noticed them. He noticed everyone in the room so singularly. He’d almost forgotten so many people could be in one place at the same time. You spent a lot of time alone, hiding in small spaces, you got used to yourself.

Olivia was easily identifiable. Nothing she did could ever disguise the tightly-wound nervous energy coiled inside her, not the shimmery white butterfly wings curled over her shoulders or the mask of purple flowers on her face. Something always gave her away. Tonight, it was her hands, twisting together as she talked to someone in a large, leafy tree costume, so consuming Jacques couldn’t make out the face. He scanned the crowd, trying to locate Ramona in her reversed purple wings and white mask. He saw her making her way towards one of the drink tables. Ramona wouldn’t leave Olivia alone for long.

The tree left soon after, and Jacques made his way over to her, getting a decent amount of elbows into the side along the way. “Olivia,” he said, when he stopped in front of her.

Her eyes passed over him and onto the rest of the room, like she was staring straight through him. Jacques frowned. He’d certainly said something. He’d certainly moved, Olivia was right in front of him. People moved around them without sparing him a second glance; someone said a cheerful hello to Olivia and she returned it. His voice dried up in his throat, like if he tried to speak he’d never make a sound. When was the last time before this he’d spoken out loud? No one expected him to talk, in his line of work. When had he done it? No, perhaps she simply hadn’t heard him.

He cleared his throat a few times. That was a sound. That was undeniably a sound. Jacques existed here.

He touched his hand to her wrist. “Olivia?”

Olivia jumped nearly a foot. She turned her head from side to side frantically, and Jacques gave her a short wave.

“Oh!” Olivia pressed her hands against her chest and laughed, breathless. “Oh, Jacques, you startled me. How are you?” she asked, as unfailingly kind as always, as if he hadn’t just frightened her. She looked like she wanted nothing more than for Jacques to tell her the long, substantial answer, instead of the polite one. He almost did. But Jacques was here for business.

“Fine,” he said. “And you?”

“Alright,” she said, still smiling. “Ramona’s gone to get some champagne, would you like to join us?”

“Not tonight,” he said. “I have a message for you.”

Her bright smile faltered, her hands seizing together again. “I see,” she said quietly. “What is it?”

“We’d like you to take up the outpost at Caligari Carnival.”

Olivia blanched. “The—the hinterlands?” she repeated. Her voice trembled. “That’s, ah, terribly far away, isn’t it?”

“It is a distance from the city,” Jacques conceded, “but not far.” It was far from Winnipeg, though. It was very far. Eventually, Ramona would be back there, at least in some capacity. Things would be different, especially if Olivia was wanted in the hinterlands permanently.

“Jacques, I really—I don’t—I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

An assignment from headquarters was not exactly optional. Her eyes darted somewhere behind him, and Jacques knew who she was looking at. She and Ramona had just gotten together only recently, before the Duke and Duchess’ deaths. Any kind of love was difficult within the confines of their organization, but the solace here, Jacques thought, was that she and Ramona were both there. They would never be that far away. They might see each other a good deal less, but they would see each other.

“You can take your time to leave, if you wanted,” he said.

“I’ll think about it.” Her voice was firm. “But, thank you for letting me know, Jacques.” She gave him her soft, breezy smile again, and slipped off through the dance floor.

Jacques watched her go. They would see each other. That was an invaluable thing, in their line of work. Being seen. Sometimes even the best person you loved with your whole being couldn’t see the part of you that mattered. To be seen when you disappeared from the rest of the world—that was worth holding on to. It would be difficult. But he had no doubt Olivia and Ramona would do it.

The floor rumbled, like it always did before the lobby clock chimed.

9:00 PM—Room 687

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “Does the clock always sound like that? Like it’s saying wrong?”

“Incessantly,” Esmé sighed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I think Frank’s responsible. Heaven forbid he goes an hour without reminding everyone else how little he thinks of their decisions, you know.”

9:00 PM—The Ballroom—North Drink Table

The hotel was not Winnipeg. But right now, that was exactly what Ramona wanted. The modern angles, the warm, well-lit ballroom, the dark corners and firm rigidity of it all currently felt homier than the soft, open pinks and whites of the Winnipeg mansion. She was glad to have another excuse to avoid it and the constant questions. Tonight, she was going to see her friends, and dance with Olivia, and drink champagne, because Olivia said every occasion was cause for celebration and champagne, and Ramona was going to have a good time. She picked up two champagne flutes from the table and took a sip of one in the careful way her mother taught her, so she didn’t leave lipstick on the glass. Her heart stuttered as she saw the press of plum purple streaks on the glass when she pulled it away. The hotel clock was chiming, sounding like a heavy, distorted vibration of a word. It was right. The lipstick was wrong.

Who had done it? Everyone wanted to know. The firestarters? Likely, but they had been quiet for some time, and Ramona wasn’t going to point fingers without evidence. Some older enemy? Ramona didn’t know enough about whoever that was to consider them. Someone new?

She didn’t want to think about it. Her parents were dead, and she’d found them, and she didn’t want to think about who could have done it or why they did. It wasn’t going to change that it had happened. Ramona wasn’t looking for answers. She was looking for—

An arm slung around her shoulders, jostling her and the champagne, which sloshed around in the flutes as she lurched forward. Scratchy fur and outrageous cologne bore down on her, and she knew exactly who it was.

“My dear duchess,” Olaf said, squeezing her tight. “How have you been?”

Ramona found it in her to roll her eyes. Some people didn’t like Olaf, which she completely understood. There was something about him though, as brash and outlandish and obnoxiously tactile as he was, that had to make you laugh sometimes. She felt comfortable, close to a friend. “Just peachy,” she said. She offered him the other champagne glass; she could get another for Olivia. “Champagne?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Olaf said. He hooked his free hand around both glasses and set them back on the drink table. “Look, I wanted to give you my sincerest condolences—” And he did look sincere, sliding around in front of her, his hand still on her shoulder, the joy immediately gone from his face and replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. She was struck by it, by how glassy and shiny his eyes were under the dark of his mask. “I’m sorry about your parents, Ramona.”

Her mouth wobbled at the edges. She knew Olaf could understand. They’d had similar positions in the organization their whole lives—their parents their chaperones, their time split between assignments and society, the safety that existed in his manor as well, its own controlled pocket of the world, like Winnipeg had been, like the Hotel Denouement was, too. She thought of the Count and Countess, still alive. She hoped they’d stay alive.

It wouldn’t do to cry at a party. Ramona picked up her flute again and took another small sip. “Thank you,” she said.

And just like that, he straightened up and pulled away from her. Some of the mirth found its way back into the shape of his mouth and his arm found its way back around her, this time a tight grip at her waist as he steered her back into the crowd. Ramona felt slightly less consoled than ten seconds ago. Easy come, easy go, with Olaf. “I hate thinking about you all alone in that big house,” he said with a sigh. “All that room, all those things—remember when I knocked into that vase in the hallway?”

“Very vividly,” Ramona said.

“A glorious time!” he crowed. “Well! At least you’ve got all of us, haven’t you. What are your friends if not your family, et cetera, et cetera.”

But he still understood. That was what made it so important to be here tonight. What were all the people in the room, the friends she’d grown up with, people she knew and loved, if not her family as well, just as much as her parents had been? They were more than associates or volunteers, stepping in around her not to fill a void, but to offer back some little part of what had been taken from her. Her throat tightened up as she thought about it. Everything they did was hard, but it was also so special. Ramona wanted to hold it close to her and never let it go.

“And what wouldn’t one do for one’s family, am I right?” Olaf continued. “So, if you ever need me for anything—a shoulder to cry on, although certainly not in this jacket, or, say, a partner in crime, or a willing participant in any daring assignment you might come across otherwise—do not hesitate to let me know, okay?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it.”

Ramona stumbled to a halt as Olaf stopped abruptly. He looked down at her with a gash of a grin. “People like you and me, we’ve got to stick together, duchess.” He gave her a squeeze one more time and then finally let go, dashing away.

Goodness, but he was rough about things. Ramona gave herself a shake, trying to collect herself back into order. She stood up on her toes to try and see where he’d gone. She didn’t get much more height, already being in heels, but she did manage to see him already making grandiose hand gestures across the room to those white-faced triplets Ramona had seen once or twice. They were younger than she was, still in their training. The three of them stared at Olaf with three immaculately raised eyebrows. Ramona chuckled a little, dropped back down, and went back for Olivia’s champagne glass.

9:40 PM—The Ballroom—Center

Over an hour had passed, and Frank hadn’t seen any sign of Ernest. He had better things to be doing than keeping track of Ernest, and yet here he was. He couldn’t have gone far—the hotel was enormous, but it was a hotel. The whole world contained on nine floors. You couldn’t disappear from it.

Frank edged his way through the dance floor, searching for him through three separate groups of associates doing three slightly different versions of a circle dance. A snake and a tree frog whirled past, a phantom with them, a tangled shape of dark greens and blacks and bright blues and exuberant laughter. When they’d gone, Frank found himself in the center of the floor and face to face with Dewey, coming towards him from the other direction, his cheeks pink.

“Are you alright?” Frank asked immediately.

Dewey blinked. “Of course,” he said. “Just dancing. Is everything okay?”

He should have known, but Ernest had him on an edge he hadn’t expected to be tonight. He tried to look apologetic but wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. “Have you seen Ernest?”

“Not since earlier,” Dewey said. “Oh, and Kit was—”

“When you see him, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

Dewey’s shoulders drooped down. “If I see him,” he said. “Then I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you,” Frank said, and he meant it. He smiled at Dewey until he smiled back, and then Frank moved past him, pushing back into the crowd.

He hadn’t meant to be short about it, but Frank’s worry never came out like he wanted it to. It became biting irritation instead, or a slow-simmering temper he never let boil, or professional, distant orders about hotel business, or a refusal to talk at all in case he said the wrong thing. More often than not, he still wound up arguing with Ernest. He didn’t argue with Dewey, but their conversations were so much more stilted than they should have been lately.

But it was because he feared Ernest was going to slip away from him one day and never come back. Realistically, it was unlikely. After all, Ernest was still here. Indecision entering their home hadn’t taken him away from it. But what if that changed, one day, and it was Frank’s fault, because he reacted too quickly or too slowly? And Dewey—Dewey was so sweet and so kind Frank thought the world might crush him. He had to keep them close, and he had to keep them safe. It would’ve been so much easier, though, if Ernest wasn’t so difficult about it, if Dewey understood that Frank didn’t want anything to happen to him, if they would listen.

Frank glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He’d look for Ernest on the way, but for one small hour, Ernest was going to have to wait.

9:59 PM—The Floor Behind The South Drink Table

Through typical party events, The Herpetology Squad (Plus Hector) found themselves on the floor behind one of the drink tables.

“So how do you tell them apart?” Gustav asked, stirring his drink with a spoon. “Because, and I do feel terrible about this, but I can’t do it. We’ve known them for ages, and I can’t do it.”

“Frank is taller,” Monty said immediately, and very confidently.

“What, no, he can’t be taller, they’re triplets,” Hector said. “Do genetics work like that?”

“Hey Haruki,” Monty called around Gustav and Hector, “do genetics work like that?”

Haruki leaned into Hector’s shoulder and considered it. “I’m really not sure,” they said. “But, I always figured, Ernest was kind of quiet, and Frank was kind of stern, and Dewey was kind of, well, kind.”

“But that seems so reductive,” Gustav pointed out. “You can’t just identify a person down to one base trait and leave it at that. And I say this as a screenwriter and director. You need to be creative.”

“All your characters sound exactly the same, though,” Hector said, frowning. “Or, like, so different, I don’t think you’re keeping track of them between scenes.”

“Oh, that’s awfully rude,” Haruki said.

“No, he’s right,” Gustav said. He hung his head into his hands, his glass tipping sideways through his fingers. Haruki reached over and grabbed it, twisting their arm around and up to slide it back onto the drink table where it’d be safer. “I always thought they did, and now I know for sure. I’ll have to renounce film making and go back to herpetology. Or, submarines. I can’t disparage your honor too, Monty.���

“Oh, Hector, you hurt his feelings,” Monty said. He patted Gustav on the back consolingly. “Gustav, you write wonderful scripts. I loved the, the Werewolves In The Rain.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I can’t handle a drunk Gustav,” Hector said, closing his eyes. “Gustav, I’m sorry. To be fair, I only watched—what was it—” He waved his hands around. “—the one with the—you know—”

“Vampires In The Retirement Community,” Haruki said.

“And it was once. And—hey, weren’t we talking about something else?”

10:10 PM—The Short Hallway Between Rooms 40-45 and 46-49

Unassigned numbers within the Dewey Decimal System were not the trouble they appeared to be to a hotel based on it. They still existed in the hotel, no matter how much Ernest had protested that it made no sense to have rooms that had no theme or purpose in a hotel whose very purpose was theme—Frank and Dewey’s rebuttal was that it made no sense to nonchalantly remove numbers out of their sequential existence because they didn’t fit in neatly otherwise. They existed. They didn’t have themes, even this stretch of ten, which had been previously designated but was now just a blank space between encyclopedias and magazine publications, which left the rooms relatively blank and boring, typically unnoticed and unused, but they still existed.

In the brief, dark hallway between the two sets of unassigned rooms, Frank could sit on the bench against the wall, and he didn’t have to think about family or the hotel. Frank sat featureless in the shadows and thought about himself. Usually, it meant he felt better about everything. But tonight, with the worry set aside once more for now, all he felt was that chill through his insides again, when Olaf mistook him for Ernest.

He took the name tag out of his sleeve and turned it over in his hands. Frank was a man in a manager’s jacket, with a face that looked like two other faces, someone who could be anyone. The name tag did nothing but identify him without caring who he was. What was it that made Frank himself, the imperceptible, innate existence of him that mattered? His love for Ernest and Dewey? Visible. His organization? Trivial. The fear he was going to lose everything? Meaningless and a weakness, in the face of everything else. It was hard to say for sure. He had gone his whole life getting mixed up with Ernest and Dewey and it was exhausting to keep trying to prove he was real when it felt like the world was rubbing him out. He leaned his back against the wall.

He heard Jacques before he saw him, like always. Exact, economical footsteps, nothing extraneous, the tap of his expensive shoes on the rugs, the swish of his jacket. Everything measured, as it had to be.

Jacques appeared around the corner, that bent piece of the boxwood plant stuck in his hair. He seemed to brighten when he saw Frank, like Frank’s presence set something off inside him. Frank watched him. What did Jacques see, when he looked at Frank? What was it that made Jacques notice, over and over again, over other people? How was Jacques so certain that when he looked at Frank right now, at that moment, that Jacques was looking at him?

Jacques sat down next to him on the bench. Frank had seen him in a mask earlier, something terrible and orange, but it was gone now, and he faced Frank fully. He was inches away from Frank, and Frank could see every part of him, even in the dark—the calm, if tired, resolution in the set of his jaw, the way he waited, still and patient, as if he could do nothing else. He had the darkest eyes of his siblings, a steady and unchanging deep blue.

“That which is essential is invisible to the eye,” Jacques whispered.

Frank let out the breath he’d been holding. How long ago had he said that to Jacques? “I initially said that to insult you,” he said.

“It was deserved,” Jacques said. “And I never forgot. Do you know how I always know it’s you now?”

“Enlighten me.”

He put his hand against Frank’s jacket, resting his fingers against the fabric to the left of the buttons. Jacques kept it there, and he didn’t take his eyes off of Frank for anything, not even when the heartbeat under his hand sped up. Frank felt almost split open to the core. He always did, every time. Jacques saw whatever it was. The man who was always hiding knew exactly who he was, because he looked.

“How very sentimental of you,” Frank managed. His breath hung between them. He traced the side of his thumb over the collar of Jacques’s shirt, just below the skin. If he moved his hand just a centimeter he’d be able to feel his heartbeat as well.

“It’s the truth,” Jacques murmured. “Sentiment is—dangerous. Truth is immutable.”

“Do you know how I know it’s you?” Frank said against his mouth.

“How?” Jacques asked.

Frank finally pulled the branch out of Jacques’s hair. “You do terribly stupid things.”

Jacques laughed, and the sound vibrated all the way down through Frank’s throat.

10:19 PM—Room 366

Frank had to be somewhere. Kit was not overly concerned with finding him, but she would rather do it sooner than later. She worked from the ground floor up, combing through the hallways but finding no sight of the Denouement, until she was on the third floor again. The faster she found Frank, the faster she could, maybe, go back to talking to Dewey. About completely professional things, of course. The fact that she felt different when she was with Dewey was simply because he was pleasant, welcome company. He wanted to look at leeches with her, for the delight of science. They expected nothing from each other but a nice time.

She immediately pictured Beatrice waggling her eyebrows at her, if Kit had said that out loud. Not that kind of nice time, she thought, but the mental Beatrice kept laughing joyously at her.

“He’s a nice person,” she grumbled to the empty hallway. He was calm. Regular. Okay. The exact opposite of everyone else, Beatrice. Could she go five minutes without them all picking apart her romantic life? This was why she wasn’t interested. This was why it was strictly nice. There were other, more important things that needed her attention.

The door to Room 366 was ajar, and Kit, who had naturally been trained to investigate the suspicious, investigated the suspicious. She slid herself carefully through the gap in the door and into the dark room. She’d been in there a few times to know it was an absurdly comfortable meeting room, with plush chairs and a bookcase that spanned the length of the far wall. A figure sat against the side wall, reaching up and tapping ash from a cigarette out the open window. For a moment, they looked like a blank, featureless shadow, until a light outside the window shifted and Frank—no, Ernest’s face resolved itself in front of her. The tip of the cigarette burned bright orange against his fingers.

“I heard about you and Olaf,” he said. “Would you like an apology, since I’m sure you’ve been getting enough I told you so’s?”

Kit sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” But she shut the door and walked over, sitting down on the floor beside him. She took her own pack of cigarettes out of one of her dress pockets and accepted Ernest’s lighter to light one. She never carried her own.

“He did,” she muttered, giving the lighter back. She brought her legs up and wrapped an arm around them. “Tell me, I told you so. Not in so many words, of course, but I knew he was thinking it.”

“Ah,” Ernest said. “The disappointed look of, I’m not going to say it, but I’m going to think it, in your general direction. Which is worse.”

“Exactly,” Kit said. “At least argue with me so I can tell him he’s wrong.”

Ernest breathed out a long line of smoke. “Yes.” She thought he was going to say something else, but when he didn’t, Kit pressed on.

“He acts like it was my fault,” she said. “Should I have known better? I—” It was a harsh thing to admit, but she and Ernest didn’t do this to lie to each other. “Yes. Fine. But he acts like I can’t be left alone now to make my own decisions. He keeps following me, hanging around.” She slouched against the wall. “My own brother thinks so little of me.”

Ernest hmmed. “Well—”

“Do not. Do not say I’m short. I’m not short. Jacques has one inch on me, Ernest. Esmé is short. I’m not short.”

“Sorry,” Ernest said, laughing.

“Say it,” she said, and pushed her elbow into his side.

“Ow—Kit, you are anything but short.”

“Thank you.” She took her elbow back. The two of them sat in silence, blowing out small circles of smoke as the cigarettes smoldered down. “What’s Frank disappointed about?”

Ernest waved his hand with the cigarette dismissively. “Frank’s disappointed he can’t find a tie that matches the custom paint in the lobby,” he said. “It doesn’t take much for him. I was five minutes late, I didn’t give him the mail on time, I missed a meeting, and he just—” He did an obviously perfect impression of Frank’s unimpressed stare.

Kit snorted. She had to admit, Frank did look like that a lot, even if you caught him in a good mood.

“If he wasn’t so difficult,” Ernest muttered, “he’d be almost bearable.”

“Wouldn’t they all,” Kit sighed. “Brothers.”

“Brothers,” Ernest agreed.

10:25 PM—The Ballroom—West Hors d’oeuvres Table

Dewey stood at the hors d’oeuvres table, away from the crowd of his friends, surveying the food. At least, with everything going on, there was always good food to look forward to. It was awful to glare at it like he was. He’d felt so good after talking to Kit, and now he was glowering at little rows of canapes like they were the source of his problems.

He wasn’t usually upset with his brothers. No matter what they did, he knew they had their reasons, and Dewey loved them regardless. But sometimes they really were impossible. Frank’s quiet temper and Ernest’s secrecy and indifference had driven such a wedge between the two of them that when Dewey suggested they didn’t talk about it, it had seemed like the best idea at the time to get them to go forward. Otherwise, he’d been worried that Frank was going to say something he’d regret, because he wasn’t going to change Ernest’s mind, and Ernest might’ve done something terrible. Dewey didn’t think he was capable of something truly terrible, because Ernest was his brother, and he knew Ernest. They both believed in a right way to live, just in different ways, so Dewey respected him. You couldn’t let anything change that. But he was still as worried about Ernest as Frank was, and he had just wanted the arguments to stop.

But it had led to Frank and Ernest almost refusing to talk to each other, ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent was pleasantries or conversations that skirted the edge of an argument, which was worse. Dewey particularly hated it lately, when he was asked to pass messages between them, typically from Frank. He wasn’t a messenger system, he was their brother, and he was, in fact, if either of them cared to remember, the oldest. But they treated him like someone to protect because he wasn’t as forceful as them. He frowned down at a section of tiny shot glasses of—he picked one up. Gazpacho. It looked so charming and Dewey couldn’t even appreciate it.

What it came down to was, the schism couldn’t come between him and his brothers if they didn’t let it. Just like his current irritation couldn’t come between him and his brothers if he didn’t let it. He considered it, because he was angry, but he didn’t let it change anything.

He found a narrow, palm-sized spoon from one of the other hors d’oeuvres and poked at the gazpacho with it. He thought, for a moment, about the Anwhistle brothers, sitting in their brand new marine research and rhetorical help center, probably having a lot of fun together talking about fungi and grammar. Gregor and Ike were two of the most different but most companionable people Dewey knew. Nothing got between them. They probably didn’t forget who was the oldest. Who was the oldest out of them, anyway? They probably didn’t let it matter.

Oh, Dewey was letting it get to him. He piled some of the gazpacho onto the spoon and took a bite. He wished Bertrand had been able to come. Bertrand would’ve loved the appeal of the gazpacho as well. Bertrand didn’t have a single sibling to complain about and he would’ve enjoyed the gazpacho wholesale. He could’ve stood around with Dewey at the table, and maybe they’d have brought in Lemony, too, and talked about flavor profiles. Lemony, who was legitimately the youngest of his siblings, commiserating over cold soup about how they never stopped trying to protect him either. Who could possibly think Lemony of all people needed protecting, too? There was always that quiet, competent energy around him.

Dewey finished the gazpacho and put the jar on a passing hotel attendant’s silver tray. Where was Lemony, actually? He was sure he’d seen him earlier. Dewey remembered, because it was the first time he’d seen Lemony in a long while. Wherever he was, Dewey was sure it was probably more enjoyable than here.

10:32 PM—The Ballroom���Dance Floor

“Josephine,” Olaf said, sidling up behind her, “Jo, angel of my eye—”

“The correct word for that expression is apple,” Josephine interrupted. She did not take her eyes off of her plate of puff pastry. “We’ve been over this.”

He continued, persistent as ever, his smile stretched like candy. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, angel of my apple?”

“No.”

10:45 PM—The Elevator

The night was passing by, and Kit still hadn’t found Frank. She’d made it all the way up to the ninth floor with no sign of him. Was he the type to be on the rooftop sunbathing salon? Unlikely. But she should check, just in case.

She had her hand against the rooftop door when the elevator dinged behind her. Kit turned to look. The elevator doors parted, revealing the gold-walled interior with rather harsh lighting, and there was Frank, standing with his hands folded behind his back. He caught Kit’s eye and gave her a slight nod. “Kit.”

“Frank.” She stepped into the elevator beside him and pushed the button for the third floor. As the doors closed, she smelled smoke for a moment, and her heart leapt before she realized the cigarette smoke must’ve clung to her gloves. She tugged them off and stuffed them into one of her pockets.

“I heard the Anwhistles finished the research center,” Frank said, as the elevator started to move down.

“Yes.”

“And the mycelium—are they still working on it?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Frank sighed. “Do you have any concerns?”

“Some,” Kit admitted. There was no denying it was dangerous. Necessary, but catastrophic if it ever got out of hand. “If anything happens, it can be dealt with.”

“Good,” Frank said, decisively. Silence dropped through the elevator, the hand counting down the floors moving slowly from eight, to seven, to six. Frank raised an eyebrow; Kit realized she’d been staring at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I was under the impression that there was—” More, or something else entirely. It was Kit’s understanding that Frank was to give her a list. There was usually only one kind of list that mattered in their organization, and unless she had radically misjudged the ages of the Anwhistle brothers after personally knowing them for years, they wouldn’t be on that list. “—something more specific,” she wound up finishing.

Frank looked at her with his impassive, unimpressed mask. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

The hand moved again, six to five to four. Kit had the strangest sensation that she was missing something. She should’ve been given that list, not subjected to a brief interrogation, especially about something she was already aware of. The smell of smoke flitted in front of her again.

Disbelief shot through Kit like an arrow, pushing the air from her lungs. She felt like the floor was dropping out from under her. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t. She stared at the man in the elevator, and he stared back, cool and collected. It couldn’t be. Because that would mean—but the longer she looked, the more certain she was.

“Frank quit smoking,” she said quietly, “but you didn’t.”

The corner of his mouth turned down. “I—”

Kit slammed her hand against the stop button on the button panel, and kept her hand there, boxing him in against the wall even after the elevator had halted, the counting hand stuck between four and three.

“Don’t lie to me, Ernest.”

One Month Ago—City Headquarters

It wasn’t like there was, say, an initiation ceremony or anything. They’d been through that already, there was no need to do one again. You knew what you were getting into this time, you were just, “changing sides”. And it was so subtle that it barely mattered. Nothing about Ernest’s life really changed otherwise. He ran a hotel with his brothers. He ranked tea brands with Dewey during lunch. He played loud music in Room 784. He carried a lighter in his pocket that he used for other things. He went to headquarters, sometimes as himself, sometimes as Frank, never as Dewey. He acquired messages, and took his sweet time delivering them or delaying them, spaces of time where nothing changed, either. He almost wondered what the point had been, until he overheard Frank spout off some noble patter again. At least he wasn’t like that. At least Ernest knew better.

And since nothing had changed, no one knew. Not even the “firestarters” knew there was another one, namely because Ernest hated the name and disliked a great deal of them, but also because Frank made him be so careful about it. He thought a few people in VFD suspected, or at least suspected someone of switching, because everyone could feel something was happening and they were trying to pinpoint a source, and it was only a matter of time before someone suspected a Denouement. Triplets were naturally suspicious. But it wasn’t like they could do anything, even if they ever had proof—how often did anyone know which Denouement they were talking to, anyway? It was likely Ernest could exist like this for the rest of his life.

The thought almost stopped him on his way into the city headquarters. Day after day of calculated, performative nonsense without an end in sight. Age sagged through him. His bones were too heavy and to move them another step was impossible. He kept walking.

What had made Ernest change? That, exactly that. Change. He’d lived in VFD for practically his entire life, and nothing was different there, either. There had been no great strides made towards the nobility they all talked about, only tiny little steps that were easily set back. Ernest watched his friends and his family get sucked in by this big, dramatic fight that never ended, a fight none of them had ever initially had a part in. He’d learned that you couldn’t achieve “nobility”, whatever that even was, by a bunch of absurd spy behavior and kidnapping, or by coded messages and age-old discussions that went nowhere, or by acting like information weighed more than your life, by pretending any of that was normal. None of it did anything. Ernest was going to find some way to make something happen, to make what they’d lost worth it, and if it meant Frank thought he was a traitor, fine. He’d do it even if Frank didn’t appreciate that Ernest was doing it for him.

The note for Frank that he’d intercepted said that there was a file under the fifth floorboard of the back staircase in the city headquarters. Frank was supposed to give it to Kit.

He made his way to the back staircase. It went up to the observatory, which no one had used since Esmé burned that spot into the rug with her telescope out of protest. The corridor and the staircase were, predictably, deserted. Ernest slowly lifted the fifth board, but it came away without resistance, so he pulled it up all the way and saw the slim folder waiting inside. He took it out, replaced the floorboard, and sat down at the bottom of the stairs. He opened it.

He wanted to crumple the folder in his hands but he made himself breathe and look at it. It was the upcoming recruitment list. There were some he recognized faintly, distant associates, long-lived families in VFD, but a majority of the names he’d never seen before. New families to carve apart. He flipped through the pages—addresses, dates, times. A few photographs. Ernest closed his eyes and held them shut tight. When he opened them, he was still looking at the folder.

Of course none of it mattered, he thought bitterly, shoving the folder into his jacket. He could intercept or stop a thousand messages and there would still always be more. There would always be more children, more fires, more lies, and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stop it.

Ernest leaned the side of his head against the banister. He thought about Olaf, suddenly. He’d been trying to corner everyone lately, Ernest among them, talking his ear off about big ideas that Ernest agreed with, but Olaf had a habit of taking an age to follow through with them. Ernest did not have the time to wait an age. He’d shared some information with Olaf a few times, on the off chance that it would spur him into action, but Olaf had hidden it away, for “later”, and it obviously had not helped.

Maybe the only way you could fight a long game was to play the long game back. Maybe that was what Olaf was doing. He was on to something, at least, with his words. Maybe Ernest could try again. Maybe he could learn to wait. Maybe the payoff would be worth it. Maybe.

Ernest stood up. He didn’t at all feel like going home, but he wasn’t going to stay at headquarters any longer.

The staircase creaked. When he looked up, he saw Lemony Snicket at the top by the observatory door, standing like he’d always been there.

“What are you doing up there?” Ernest asked.

Lemony watched him carefully. Ernest got the distinct feeling that he was being appraised. He shivered. When they were younger, you could look at Lemony and see the gears working in his head, like watching—yes, like watching change take shape and form and meaning before your eyes. Lemony Snicket was going to do anything, lead them all anywhere. Ernest hadn’t been foolish enough to believe a twelve-year-old in a brown hat was going to demolish VFD from the ground up. Then Lemony had disappeared, and in the years after resurfacing at sixteen, he looked less and less like that powerful, mythical figure everyone had worshiped and more like he’d seen too much. Ernest sympathized.

But here, Ernest finally saw it, that hunger they’d all talked about. In his eyes, bright blue in the shadows. Physical change, a juggernaut of determination. Ernest’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Lemony said softly. “Do you think we could talk?”

10:50 PM—The Elevator

Damn.

The disbelief on Kit’s face was gone, replaced by a blazing, dangerous fury, the threatening and exacting professionalism she hid inside her on full display. She wasn’t all that short, Ernest thought, inanely. He wasn’t going to be able to bluff out of this one. She knew. It was significantly more terrifying than Ernest had imagined it would be. How stupid could he have been, to forget about the way that cigarette smoke would cling, to think Kit Snicket wouldn’t notice. “Kit—”

“How long?” Kit demanded.

“Does it matter?”

He could see that it very, very much did. Kit was already disgusted over dating Olaf; that she’d spent so much time with Ernest when he wasn’t on her side was going to eat her alive, Ernest knew. He winced.

“It wasn’t personal,” he tried.

She glared at him. “What were the names Frank was supposed to give me?”

That, he was going to hold on to. They’d already burned the papers, anyway, up in the observatory. No one was going to get that list now. “I guess you’ll never know,” Ernest said.

Her hand clenched on the button panel. She stepped closer. For a wild and uncontrollable second that seemed to spin out into eternity, Ernest imagined she was going to kill him.

“The elevator is going to start again,” she said lowly. “We’re going to walk out into the lobby. You’re not going to make a sound. We’re going to go to headquarters.”

Ernest didn’t like what he was going to do next. But he was always going to have the upper hand for one distinct reason.

He swallowed and straightened the edge of his sleeve. “Who’s going to believe you, Kit?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Regrettably for you, I am at a distinct advantage,” Ernest said. “You and I are the only two people in this elevator. You did think I was Frank. Who will be able to figure out who was who when you try and tell on me? Who can really know for sure?” He hesitated, but it was true. “Why, I could be Dewey, even.”

Kit slapped him across the face, her cheeks flushed a fierce red. The force of it stung hard, knocking Ernest’s head to the side. She removed her hand from the wall and stepped back.

“Does it help if I’m sorry?” he asked, gingerly rubbing the side of his face.

“You aren’t,” Kit said.

Ultimately, it was true. He wasn’t. He was sorry he’d been caught more than that he’d done it. Ernest regretted nothing about what he’d decided to do. Not in his line of work; and Kit was the same, too. But he was sorry he was going to lose a friend.

Kit didn’t have friends, though. You were with or against Kit Snicket, and she always made that abundantly clear. Ernest touched his cheek again, and then lowered his hand.

“I’m not,” he said. He took the elevator key out of his pocket and put it into the lock on the button panel, watching Kit the whole time. She watched him back. The elevator slid into motion, settling down on the third floor.

The doors opened.

11:00 PM—The Ballroom—East Drink Table

“Who?” Jacques asked.

Kit turned slowly back to the dance floor. Was one of them still here? Had she been followed out of the elevator? She locked eyes with a Denouement across the room. Which one? Was it Frank? Was it Ernest, again? Was it Dewey? The clock was still rumbling under her feet. The glass trembled in her hand and she felt almost sick, anger and shame and fear churning through her. She was in a nightmare and she couldn’t shake it off. The triplet held her eyes for a long moment and then walked away.

“Kit.” Jacques had a hand on her arm; he must’ve gotten out of the boxwood. “Who?”

But she couldn’t get the words out, not here. Ernest was right. She was at a disadvantage when she couldn’t prove it. If she pointed the finger now, what would be done? What could be done? How could he do that to Dewey and Frank? To put them in the position where they’d unknowingly cover for him merely by existing? Did they know at all?

What would she do if her own brothers—no. She couldn’t even think it. Kit couldn’t fathom the idea of her brothers doing anything like this.

“We have to find Lemony,” Kit said.

11:02 PM—The Ballroom—Main Doors

Frank still couldn’t find Ernest. He did not have the time for him to be hiding like a child; where was he? Frank had looked everywhere over and over and was back in the same ballroom again, scanning through the associates for what had to be the hundredth time. He caught Kit’s eye—and stopped.

There was cold and intense fear looking back at him. It was unbearable to have it directed at him, and Frank turned away after a few seconds.

Ernest. A thousand possibilities ran through Frank’s head, each of them worse than the last. He had had enough. Frank strode towards the main doors, just as he saw Ernest making his way out of them as fast as possible. Finally. Frank followed him out into the hallway and grabbed onto Ernest’s arm, whirling him around.

“I asked one thing of you tonight,” Frank said.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Ernest repeated. He wrenched his arm out of Frank’s grasp and put his hands in his pockets. “And I didn’t, thank you.”

“Apparently I wasn’t specific enough,” Frank said. “When I said that, I clearly meant, don’t do anything stupid that’s going to compromise the family and our position in it. What information have you been giving Olaf?”

“Who said I was?”

“Olaf.”

“You know, that hurts a little, that you’d believe Olaf over me.”

Frank’s jaw clenched. Fine. Olaf was less important, anyway. “Then what did you do to Kit?”

Ernest raised an eyebrow. “Did I do anything?”

It was agonizing, seeing such a carefully blank mask on your own face staring back at you. Frank didn’t hate him, but he came close. “What have you done, Ernest? Do not lie to me.”

Something fractured through Ernest’s expression. “I just—miscalculated,” he muttered. “She found out.”

“She found out?” Frank echoed, his heart skittering in his chest. It had finally happened, and Frank couldn’t protect Ernest this time. Kit wouldn’t keep this a secret, not by a long shot. By morning—by midnight, because nearly the whole organization was already here—everyone would know. And Ernest didn’t seem the least bit concerned about it. “Ernest—”

“It’s fine,” Ernest said coolly. “Considering she can’t prove it.”

The world detached from Frank’s consciousness. Kit’s fear made a sudden, terrible sense. Ernest had used him as a shield between himself and the organization, on purpose, he’d positioned Frank and Dewey as pawns whose only use was whatever Ernest wanted. Frank could feel his hands shaking. They didn’t feel like his hands.

Ernest sighed. “Don’t look like that,” he said. “You’ve pretended to be me, that’s the only way you would’ve found out about Olaf. Don’t act like you didn’t use our face as an advantage too. That’s what we do. That’s what this family does.”

Anger burned through Frank, hot behind his eyes. That had been different. A sharp fury that had been building somewhere inside him all night snapped apart. “You are not a part of this family.”

He regretted saying it the second the words were out. Of course Ernest was still his brother. That was an immutable fact. But Frank was so tired of trying to hold onto Ernest when Ernest so blatantly didn’t care. He wasn’t looking at family, he was looking at a stranger, who stole his face, who used his name, who threw it around like it meant nothing, who denied everything noble and proper and real. It wasn’t how a brother was supposed to act. But it was how Ernest acted, and now Ernest was staring at him with an open, wounded expression, something Frank hadn’t seen since they were children.

Frank ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Ernest’s jaw trembled for a second, his mouth pressing into a thin, flat line. “I don’t think I am.” He took one step back, a hard glare in his eyes, and then walked away from Frank.

11:20 PM—The Rooftop Sunbathing Salon

Ernest hadn’t figured on Frank being angry, because, primarily, he hadn’t figured on Frank finding out at all. He hadn’t figured on Kit realizing what he was doing, either. Well, that was on him, but Frank didn’t need to be so—he didn’t have to say—

Shit, Ernest thought, breathing hard. He came to a stop in the dark, empty hallway some floors up from the ballroom and let himself think it, pressing his palms into his eyes. Shit, shit, shit. He’d have a brother after this, sure, a family member who stood by him and ran a hotel with him and played nice, but he didn’t know if he’d have his brother. He would have an associate, like everyone else, a found family of people who loved on conditions, not a family. Not his family.

He had to find Lemony. Just because he’d been hiding all night didn’t mean he was exempt from this.

Lemony disliked heights, open spaces, and decently-sized bodies of water, which was why Ernest found him on the roof, sitting on one of the pool chairs, his mask discarded beside him. He was studiously avoiding looking at the pool or the ocean or the night sky, dark and enormous above him. The rooftop salon was never used at night, but there were small lights along the edge of the pool and the railing, giving off slivers of stark white light. The brief anger Ernest felt downstairs evaporated the longer he watched Lemony not-watching the world around him. He wanted to say a million and one things to him, but the one that came out was, “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“What do you know about exposure therapy?” Lemony offered as a response.

“Enough to know you probably shouldn’t use it for heights,” Ernest said. “Among other things.”

“Point taken,” Lemony said. “What would you say if I told you I was now too frightened to move?”

“That you brought it on yourself,” Ernest said, but he didn’t mean it. He walked over and sat next to Lemony on the pool chair. Ernest stole a quick glance at him again, brief and fleeting. To look consistently was dangerous; Ernest always had to make a distinct effort not to touch.

“Your sister found out,” he said. “Not about you, but about me. She also hit me.”

Lemony’s head shot up. “What?” He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing Ernest’s jaw as he turned his face towards him. They trailed warm over his right cheek, where his skin still smarted from Kit’s hand. Here in the dark, Lemony’s eyes were so bright again, full of concern, directed right at him. Ernest held himself so still, barely breathing.

Falling in love, if you could call it that, with Lemony was what Ernest personally considered the most ill-advised thing he’d ever done, even after lying to Kit. Lemony loved other people, and it was clear in everything he did, in the way he looked when they weren’t there. But Lemony understood what Ernest wanted, and Ernest craved that with a destructive ache.

Really, who else were they supposed to fall in love with but each other? They didn’t know anyone else. No one was going to get this life but them. It was probably why half of VFD had a crush on Beatrice, honestly. It was terrible, but none of them seemed to be able to stop doing it. Ernest included.

“You—” Lemony’s hand jerked back, shrinking down between them onto the chair. “What happened?”

“She knew I lied,” Ernest said. “About the information and about being Frank. I got out of it, but—she won’t trust us again, I think. And Frank—probably won’t trust me either.”

“I’m sorry,” Lemony said. “I didn’t mean for—”

Ernest shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. It wasn’t. He and Lemony had both just wanted something, desperately. Ultimately, they’d still succeeded, in the end. They had. Change he could hold in his hands had happened. He still felt hollow about it all, everything drained out of him, but he didn’t regret doing it. Not at all. The hurt would go away and he’d do it again. “What we did—that mattered.”

“It did,” Lemony whispered. “But I never like the cost.”

“Why did you do it?” Ernest asked softly.

Lemony smiled ruefully. “I guess I didn’t want to stop trying.”

The real, noble answer, Ernest thought. Why the “firestarters” and Ernest would never get him. He raised his hand. Slowly, without looking, he put it on top of Lemony’s. Lemony turned his hand over and gripped Ernest’s tightly. He knew that the way Lemony would try from this moment forward would be different than the way Ernest would, and he wanted to have this moment while it lasted.

Ernest stood, tugging Lemony up with him, and let go of his hand. “You should go back downstairs,” he said.

11:30 PM—The Ballroom—South Drink Table

The party would be over soon, but you’d never know it, the ballroom still thronging with people. But most of the dancing had died down, and Dewey was taking mental stock of how clean up would start. He found one of the attendant’s silver trays and picked it up, estimating how many glasses he could fit on it.

Frank came back into the ballroom and made a beeline for him, pale. Dewey’s shoulders tensed up yet again. What had happened now?

“I can’t believe it,” Frank muttered, grabbing a wineglass.

“Whoa, hey, hold on.” Dewey took the wineglass back and set it off to the side. “What happened?”

“He—” Which meant it was Ernest. Again. Dewey’s patience with both his brothers tonight was wearing extraordinarily thin. “He’s been passing information to Olaf this whole time.”

“To Olaf?” That was not what Dewey had been expecting. A flare of worry burned through him and curled his hands around the tray. “But—”

“No,” Frank said. “This time, I’ve had enough. I’m tired of covering up for him, and he’s going to have to deal with this mess himself.”

Olaf was certainly a threat in one way or another, but it seemed a disproportionately vicious answer for Frank. Dewey frowned. “Did something else happen?”

Frank looked so—frantic, was maybe the word, a terrifying energy breaking out of him in quick bursts of anger on his face. He looked at Dewey, and the emotion seemed to cage itself back in.

“He was found out,” Frank said quietly. “About being a firestarter.”

Dewey had counted on it happening. It seemed unlikely that it would be able to remain a secret forever. It still hurt to hear. Things wouldn’t be the same as they had been, if people knew about Ernest. Dewey imagined the division between the three of them only growing larger, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to do anything about it if it got too wide.

Something broke in Frank’s expression again, and Dewey startled—it looked like guilt. “Don’t defend him,” Frank hissed. “Dewey, he’s going to get away with it. He’s going to ruin what we’ve worked for, what you’ve worked for in the archives—do you want all of that information in the hands of the enemy?”

Dewey clutched the tray. “Ernest isn’t the enemy,” he said, darkly. The agitation from earlier at the hors d’oeuvres table shot back into him.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Frank said. “I—”

Dewey slammed the silver plate down on the drink table. A real, genuine slam, like he’d never done before, the glasses around it rattling. Frank stared at him, gaping a little.

“He’s still here,” Dewey said. “That’s enough.”

“Dewey—”

“That is enough.”

12:00 AM—The Lobby

Jacques had never seen Kit so unsettled. Even when she’d been arrested she’d kept her composure. But she stood beside him in the empty lobby, tapping her foot against the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. He still couldn’t get out of her what had happened, but it was obvious from her face in the ballroom that whoever betrayed them had to be one of the Denouements. It was a sobering realization, the worst possible outcome of the schism that had been building for too long. One of three identical triplets being a traitor complicated matters, although it was easy to figure out which one it was that had done it. Things were going to change after tonight.

He took a small, brief moment to appreciate that Kit actually wanted to stand next to him and acknowledge him as her brother. Lately, he’d gotten the impression that she couldn’t stand him. But now she needed him, and it was a relief to Jacques to still be needed by his siblings. He never thought he did that successful a job of managing to keep them all together.

The elevator dinged, and Lemony stepped out, adjusting his jacket. The only evidence he’d been at the costume party was the mask tucked under his arm, because his suit was as plain as ever. 

“Finally,” Kit muttered, and she ran over to him, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly, something none of the siblings had done since they were children.

Lemony froze, and then hugged her back. He met Jacques’s eyes across the lobby.

Jacques knew it, immediately. Lemony had played a part in what had happened tonight with Ernest. It shouldn’t have surprised Jacques as much as it did. Lemony had held a perilous position in the organization for years now, and this wasn’t the first time he had wound up disagreeing with Kit about recruitment. But it was the first time it had involved other people. That made it dangerous.

Lemony shook his head a fraction of an inch. Part of Jacques relaxed. The three of them might still be okay. He wondered, with a slight jolt, how the Denouements would fare. 

Kit pulled away from Lemony. “Where were you?”

“Did you know the rooftop sunbathing salon has night lights?” Lemony said. Jacques couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked over to his siblings. “Very pleasant. I recommend it.”

Kit rolled her eyes, and she led Jacques and Lemony through the lobby and out of the hotel.

“I’ll drive you both back,” Jacques said. “It’s on my way.”

“You brought the taxi?” Lemony asked.

“Regrettably,” Jacques sighed. “I still seem to have it.” Headquarters refused to take it back for some reason, even after Jacques insisted he didn’t need it. It had been six months since the initial assignment with it and he was still driving it, and probably would be, for the foreseeable future. He took his keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll drive,” Kit said.

“You will not drive,” Jacques said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly,” Kit said, snatching the keys out of his hand and walking briskly out of his reach. “Jacques, did you say something about hives? There aren’t any bees nearby.”

“Trees?” Lemony said. He jogged ahead a little and caught up with Kit’s pace. “They do look particularly lush this time of year, now that you mention it.”

“No one is in a rush, and Kit, give me my keys you are not going to drive—” His siblings raced ahead of him down the front drive, and Jacques ran after them into the night.

1:55 AM—The Ballroom

Olivia and Ramona stayed on to help the Denouements clean up. Ramona had insisted, saying that it was no trouble at all, and she owed them for being so kind to host the party. She was very good at insisting; Olivia had never seen anyone able to resist the charm of Ramona cheerfully demanding she was going to help and they were going to have to deal with it. She hid her smile in the champagne flutes she was stacking on a tray as Ramona talked with one of the triplets on the other side of the ballroom. She picked up the one rimmed with half-rings of Ramona’s deep plum lipstick and giggled.

She’d have to tell Ramona about what Jacques told her, of course. But for once, Olivia wasn’t all that worried about dealing with it. It had been an extraordinarily pleasant night otherwise. Ramona was happy, some of the glow back in her face, so Olivia was happy too.

All the glasses were stacked, the plates piled together, the tablecloths folded up, the lights finally dimmed. There was only one Denouement left in the room, and he stopped Olivia and Ramona on their way out. “Olivia, could I speak with you?”

“Of course,” Olivia said.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Ramona said, squeezing her hand, and she disappeared down the hallway, the hem of her dress sweeping the floor behind her.

Some people expected Olivia to be able to tell the Denouements apart, and some people expected her to be as clueless as most others as to who she was talking to. It wasn’t terribly hard to tell them apart, because Olivia liked to pay attention, but what she could never remember what when she was supposed to know and when she wasn’t. Here, she knew the one in front of her was Frank, most definitely. There was a weight to the way Frank carried himself, not like he assumed he was in control, but like he assumed he had to be.

“What is it, Frank?” Olivia asked.

He hesitated, which was rare for Frank. “When was the last time you saw Miranda?”

Olivia blinked. Had she misheard him? “What?”

“Miranda,” Frank said again. She hadn’t misheard. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Miranda?

“I—I don’t know,” she said quickly. “I—” When was the last time she saw Miranda? Years and years ago, wasn’t it? Shortly after they’d been taken. Olivia hadn’t minded. Miranda was older than her, not by much but by enough, and enough that they weren’t kept together. Miranda had thought it a chore to look after her, and Olivia hadn’t liked being seen as a chore. She wanted a sister, not a babysitter. So she’d been okay when Miranda was gone. They went to different classes, made different friends, passed each other in the hall without saying a word until their apprenticeships, where Olivia was shuffled around from chaperone to chaperone and Miranda—went where? What had become of her?

The questions spun through her head, dizzying, but they kept coming. What did Miranda look like, now that she thought of it? Had she looked like Olivia at all? Would she recognize her own sibling, like she could easily identify the Denouements? Would she know Miranda if she saw her in a meeting, on the street, at one of these parties, if she was an enemy? But what made a person wasn’t appearance—how did Miranda act? What made Miranda, in the way Frank’s quiet made him? How could she not know what made her sister? Miranda was her sister and it hit Olivia, squarely in the chest, that she didn’t know a single thing about her.

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, her gaze darting across the floor. How had she gone all this time without thinking about her? How could she not know? How much had she forgotten?

“I’m sorry I asked,” Frank was saying. “Olivia. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Olivia whispered. She took one step back, then another, almost hitting the edge of her dress with the point of her heel, and another, then made herself turn around and leave, back downstairs, through the lobby, anywhere else but there.

Olivia hurried out into the night with the front doors banging open after her; the humid air was sticky on her skin, sitting heavy in her lungs as she tried to inhale. She saw Ramona past the front archway, leaned back against her car a way down the front drive, her shoes beside her and her feet in the grass, the shape of her soft and fuzzy in the heat. Olivia tore off her mask and scrubbed her hand over her eyes, wiping the tears on the side of her dress.

There was a weight on her shoulders, more than just the heat. She had the horrible sense that she was going to turn around and see Miranda. Olivia wanted to leave. She wanted to leave the city, she wanted to go somewhere she’d be away from this. She wanted to take Ramona—would Ramona go with her? She had her own things to care about besides the violent anxiety shaking Olivia from the inside out. She had a duchy to take care of. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with Olivia.

We’d like you to take up the outpost at Caligari Carnival. The carnival was miles from the city, out in the hinterlands, flat and desolate blankness. Maybe she should go. Maybe that would be better. She would be away from the city and be one place where no one had to bother her and she couldn’t bother anyone else. Maybe.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut again, and when she opened them the tears were gone and Ramona came into focus, all of her slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Olivia ached to look at her.

She went over to Ramona and slid her hand into hers, tucking her face into the smooth skin of Ramona’s shoulder. “I want to go somewhere else,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Ramona said, her other arm coming up and folding around Olivia, drawing her close. “We can go anywhere you want.”

Behind her, through the open front doors, Olivia heard the hotel clock starting to chime again.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Stay Peachy: Kwamibuster

Summary: With Ladybug out of commission Chat Noir is the only one who can stop Kwamibuster... If only everyone would just work with him here!

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

"Let me get this straight. Tikki's captured. Ladybug's powerless and captured, I was this close to losing you too but you won't tell me where Master Fu is? Am I missing anything?" Adrien asked Plagg.

Plagg twitched nervously. "But- but-"

"You have five seconds to give me a good alternative or we're going to see Fu," Adrien announced.

"You could distract Kwamibuster while Ladybug escapes!" Plagg tried.

Adrien crossed his arms and glared. "I said a good alternative! You getting caught isn't good for anyone!"

"Might be good for Ladybug?" Plagg shrugged his arms and gave his most convincing grin.

"Sure! I'll just hand Papillon the other kwami he needs while I have to use a banana suit to protect my identity or something!" Adrien replied sarcastically.

"You'd love that wouldn't you." Plagg knew Adrien. There was a good chance-

The sound of a door being blown off it's hinges echoed down the hallway as Kwamibuster started searching the floor they were on. "Where are you, little cat? I already have a ladybug for my insect collection. Now I just need a small mammal!"

Plagg gave his best kitty cat eyes.

Adrien didn't budge.

Plagg's arms drooped. "Okay, okay! Let's just get outa here first!"

"Knew you'd see things my way." Adrien smirked.

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

Master Fu was having a nice, calming, afternoon tea with Wayzz when there was an insistent banging at his door. Wayzz hiding at the sound.

The Guardian sighed. "Who could that be?"

The banging got louder.

"Patience! I am coming! What's the big-"

A blond headed blur shot in and slammed the door shut.

"So this is where you live. Nice place ya got here. Ladybug's in trouble and I need more Miraculous!" Adrien's words tumbling out in a rush as his heartbeat jumped up his throat. Maybe I should have used the window.

"Chat Noir!?" Fu's eyes nearly popping out of his head in surprise.

"Sorry, Master." Plagg appeared, uncharacteristically serious, ears low. "It was an emergency."

"Plagg!?" This was unprecedented! Yes, the Kwami of Destruction was the most free spirited of those in the Miracle Box. But even he knew the importance of secrecy! "What are you doing-"

"Ladybug's in trouble! I just said that!" Adrien supposed he could have worded it better... But also: Ladybug was in trouble! And he was in a hurry!

The Guardian glanced from boy to kwami. Who nodded. "Very well," Fu conceded. Going to the gramophone and entering the code. Bringing out the Miracle Box which he set in its usual place when Marinette came. "Adrien Agreste, choose an ally to help you on this mission. Remember that they mist return the Miraculous once the mission is complete."

Adrien stared as the Miracle Box opened. Kneeling down in imitation of the Guardian's pose. He hadn't known there were so many Miraculous! One of them surely had the power to help! Only...

"What is it Chat Noir?"

Adrien looked up at Master Fu's face. "I dunno what most of these do."

The Guardian sighed. "This is exactly why it should be Ladybug who chooses the temporary hero."

"Hey, it's not my fault you decided she was the only one who could know things!" So this is what being Chat Noir without the mask felt like. "I'm-" Adrien paused as a thought hit him. "Oh. Oh!"

"... Yes?" Master Fu prompted.

"I just realized how dumb it is that I'm not supposed to know the temporary heroes secret identities."

Fu blinked. "Excuse me?"

Adrien shook his head to get his thought process back on track. "Anyway!"

"Chat Noir, what did you mean by-"

"No time!" Adrien pointed at the Miraculous. "Teach!"

Grumbling something about manners Fu acquiesced.

Skipping over the ones Adrien already knew the Guardian quickly ran down the list. The Pig could show you your deepest desire? Seemed like it'd be a good distraction. The Dragon had how many abilities!? Overpowered but okay. The Mouse could make little copies of you. Heh, that sounded adorable but-

"That's it!" Adrien interrupted Fu to grab the Fox and Mouse Miraculous. Which he promptly put on.

"What are you doing!?" The Guardian exclaimed. "No holder has ever used three Miraculous before! It's too dangerous!"

"Well, I don't know who Rena Rouge is and I'm not gonna spend any more time looking!" Adrien turned to the materializing Fox and Mouse kwamis. "Sorry, we're in a bit of a hurry."

"Oh, aren't we always? Name's Trixx."

"Mullo!"

"Alright. Mullo, transforme-moi!"

Multimouse took a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar magic of his new suit.

"I really don't think this is the best course of action," Fu said, attempting to dissuade the young boy.

"Relax, Master! I'll keep him out of trouble!" Trixx announced.

Multimouse nodded as he opened a window. "Thanks. Now, c'mon Trixx, Plagg. I'll explain the plan on the way!" So saying, he launched himself skyward.

Wayzz finally emerged from his hiding place, floating towards his holder.

Fu looked at his kwami. "Oh, I hope he doesn't collapse on the way."

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

"True or false? Ladybug has disguised herself as Mr. Banana!"

Marinette was not having a good day. First, Chat Noir's kwami almost reveals her identity. Then, Tikki got captured! And now that tomcat was nowhere in sight. Marinette had barely escaped from Kwamibuster the first time and now she was cornered mere meters from the exit!

"Uh, stay peachy?!" Marinette ran for it.

But Kwamibuster leapt over her and grabbed her wrist. "You can't get away from me!"

"CHARGE!"

From the doorway came a whole swarm of kwamis! Flitting about Kwamibuster and distracting her enough for Marinette to get away.

"You can't get away from me!" Kwamibuster chased after them as they sped off. "You're no match for Kwamibuster!"

"Ladybug!"

Turning around, Marinette saw Plagg and a little guy holding onto his ears. She blinked, this was the first time she saw the Mouse Miraculous in action.

"It's me!" he declared, grinning. "Chat Noir! Or Multimouse, I guess."

"Chat Noir!?" But that meant- No, no, she could panic about that later. "Well, then you must need my Miraculous." Marinette reached for her earrings.

"Uh, no? Why would you think that?"

"Because... Nevermind. What's the plan?"

Multimouse winked. "You'll see. Make your way back to the roof!" And zipped away before Ladybug could ask more questions.

"... A Chat Noir plan. This oughta be interesting."

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

"I will capture you all!"

Kwamibuster laughed maniacally as she shot her beam at the Plagg reskins. Made by Multifox with his Mirage. And that wasn't the only part of the illusion.

"I have to say. I think Ladybug will be impressed," Plagg stated. Floating directly above the supervillain so she would need to crane her neck straight up to spot them.

"It has to work first," Multimouse replied. Still standing on top of Plagg's head. His small army made their way into position.

Now!

Multimouse's invisible doubles launched their indestructible ropes at Kwamibuster. Becoming visible as they wrapped her up like Gulliver on Lilliput.

"What!? What's going on!? Oof!" She toppled none too gently.

Wasting no time Plagg zipped down.

"No! You can't beat Kwamibuster!" She freed her blaster hand.

"Mullo, Plagg, unify!"

"Aha!" Twisting upwards she aimed the beam at Multimouse.

"Cataclysm!"

Adrien's power touched the tip of her barrel and the rust spread from it to her pack. Freeing Tikki as dark mist transformed Kwamibuster back into Mme. Mendeleiev.

Adrien merged himself back together as the akuma flew past him. "Uh, Ladybug!"

A red blur shot out and caught the akuma before it could get far. Ladybug releasing a white butterfly in its place.

Multimouse grinned. "Perfect timing as always, My Lady."

"I dunno about that." Ladybug looked around at the destroyed rooftop.

"You think it'll work without a Lucky Charm?" Multimouse asked, following her train of thought.

Ladybug looked at her yo-yo. "The akuma was purified so it should." Throwing it skyward with a little more strength than usual she called out the words. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

The cure swept around them as Ladybug's yo-yo fell back into her hands.

"Knew you could do it," Multimouse praised. "Now, I've got some errands to run-" he tapped the two Miraculous necklaces "-so you take care of Mme. Mendeleiev."

He half turned. "Oh! And sorry about my kwami. No idea what he was doing at that primary school."

"It was a- lycée, yeah. Lycée."

"Right!" He grinned. "A lycée." Totally not a collège. Giving Ladybug a two finger salute he leapt off the tower. Mme. Mendeleiev's insistence on the validity of her scientific discovery fading behind him.

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

Adrien held out his index finger to shake the kwamis' hands. "You were both a big help! Thanks."

"You weren't so bad yourself, Chat Noir," Trixx grinned.

"Yeah!" Mullo agreed. "Usually Plagg's holders are no fun but you ran circles around that kwami snatcher!"

Adrien blushed a little at their praise. "Hope we can work together again someday." The kwamis waved as they reentered their Miraculous.

Master Fu closed the Miracle Box once Adrien placed them back inside. Returning it to its hiding place. "It is quite impressive that you withstood the power of three Miraculous long enough to accomplish your task."

"... Actually it was super easy. Barely an inconvenience."

The Guardian blinked. "What?"

Adrien nodded. "Yeah, I don't think occasionally using two or three Miraculous at once is all that dangerous. Maybe if you wore a whole bunch of 'em. But why would you do that?"

Fu processed that for a bit.

Adrien sipped from his tea, awkwardly. "... So does this mean I finally get Guardian training?"

Master Fu nearly slipped as he sat back down. "Huh?"

"I mean, I already know where you are. And we've seen that if Ladybug is compromised it's better if I know what to do," Adrien reasoned out logically.

"I... That is... Uh..." Fu looked desperately at Plagg, who was gorging himself on cheese.

"Hey, don't look at me. Kid's got a point." Plagg swallowed another wedge of Camembert.

Fu slumped with a sigh. Clearly outmaneuvered. "Where should we start?"

"Potions!" Adrien exclaimed, eyes sparkling. This was going to be fun. He could feel it!