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wreckedandpolemic · 4 months

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paris, again - george daniel & matty healy

(mdni) hahaha heyy i wasnt sweating and shaking writing this at all what do u mean...

warnings: 18+, drinking, threesome (m/m/f), light dom/sub, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), light degradation, cumplay, overstimulation, literally pure unadulterated filth

You're waiting for George to come to you — he always does. He taps on your door, carrying a bottle of wine as an excuse. You lead him out to the balcony for a smoke, taking turns to swig the wine straight from the bottle, unrefined and classless in a way you never get to be anymore. It’s a sweltering July night, the heat and the alcohol blanket burning you up. Just senseless enough, you pull off your dress and let it puddle at your feet, the warm air kissing sweetly at your bare skin. George’s gaze is heavy as it roams over your body, lingering on your tits for a long moment.

“Such a tease,” he murmurs fondly, heat sparking under your skin where his fingers brush yours as he grabs the wine.

You raise an eyebrow in challenge, crushing what remains of your cigarette under your boot. “You gonna do something about it?”

He smirks, crowding you against the wall and taking a handful of your ass. “Out here? Dirty, dirty girl,” he grins.

You shake your head, the brick grating against your back, and sling your arms over his shoulder. “So needy,” you murmur against his lips. “Wanna fuck me here, huh? Wanna have me on your cock for the world to see?” His eyes blow wide, the fantasy playing out plainly on his face. “Dirty, dirty boy,” you echo, leading him back into your room.

Your lips crash together, hot and slick and messy as you stumble to the bed, fingers fumbling with the buttons and buckles of his clothes until he’s gorgeously naked against you. You wrap a hand around his dripping cock, pumping it slowly and savouring his low moan. George’s warm hand slides up your back to unhook your bra, groaning as you press your bare chest against his. His hand creeps up to grab a handful of your tit, flesh spilling out over his fingers as they splay over your skin.

His cock presses insistently against your clothed cunt, your body begging for him; arousal pools in your belly and drips between your thighs. Tipping your head back invitingly, you roll your hips against his with a moan. He drops his head to mouth at your pulse point, littering your neck with bruising kisses, dull points of pain melting into desire that throbs sickly in your belly.

You slip out of your panties and climb onto the bed, kneeling to show off your dripping cunt. His hungry gaze burns into your skin as he strokes the flesh of your ass, then delivers an unexpected, stinging slap. Sweet pleasure-pain ripples through you, hips bucking and desperate cunt clenching around nothing. “Come on, George, please,” you moan. His cock presses insistently against your entrance, hot and hard between your legs. “Fuck me,” you whine, desperation flooding your senses.

“So sweet,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss softly at your back. His calloused fingers brush at your clit, slow circles sending waves of pleasure spilling over you. “You moan so pretty, baby.”

He lines his cock up with your hole, filling you in one fluid movement. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, clenching your cunt around him as he fucks into you at a glorious pace. Ecstasy floods your body, delicious pressure building between your legs as his fingers work over your clit and his hips slam against yours.

“Love this sweet cunt so much, angel,” George murmurs, drool pooling in your mouth as your hands fist in the sheets. A string of moans falls from your lips, pitchy and breathless and wanton, his pace glorious torture that you want to drown in.

Your door opens. The soft click is impossibly loud, somehow audible above the obscene sounds filling your room. “Hey, love, have you seen–” The sentence ends abruptly with a choked-off gasp. Matty stands frozen in your doorway, jaw slack and eyes darting around as if he doesn’t know where to look. George stills behind you, blunt nails digging tensely into your hips, the pain still sweet enough to cloud your mind.

Matty’s gaze has landed on you, weighted with heat, neither of you able to tear your gaze from the other. You watch him swallow thickly, watch his thoughts race temptingly across his face, the expression he wears some tantalising mix of lust and horror. A smile plays on your lips, the shock fading as a flicker of a thought roots into a fantasy in your desire-slick mind.

Matty starts to turn away, stammering out a mortified apology before you call out his name. “Mat-ty,” you repeat, sing-song. You look over your shoulder at George, eyes wide with faux-innocence. “You don’t mind if he joins us, do you?” you ask, batting your eyelashes and clenching your cunt around him. Still semi-frozen, George shakes his head mutely. “No? Good. God, I think I had a dream that started like this.” You lick your lips and smirk at Matty. “C’mere, pretty boy. You’re overdressed.”

Your words spur them both back into action, George thrusting deep inside you as Matty’s hands fly to the hem of his shirt, tossing it away as he steps cautiously towards you. His eyes are blown wide, disbelieving and lustful, and your gaze drops to the outline of his cock in his jeans. Involuntarily, your mouth drops open in a silent plea, cunt clenching at the thought of being fucked in two holes at once. George groans above you. “God, she’s fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, Matty. You want his cock in your mouth that bad, baby?” The moan you let out is nothing short of pathetic. “Such a slut.”

You grin up at Matty, his hands trembling as they work at the buckle of his jeans. “Yeah, ‘m a slut,” you moan. “Want you to cum in my mouth so bad, Matty. Thought about this so much.” Matty palms his cock through his boxers, groaning softly as you part your lips suggestively.

You rock your hips back against George, liquid pleasure rushing in your veins as he strikes that perfect, mind-melting spot inside you. “You look so gorgeous, love,” Matty murmurs adoringly, tapping his flushed, dripping cock against your lips. The salt of him fills your mouth as you lick over the head of his cock, his hips stuttering as he fights not to thrust into your mouth. “So pretty on your hands and knees.” He crooks two fingers under your jaw, lifting your head to meet his eyes, lust-blown pupils tracking over your flushed skin. “You taking care of her, mate?” He throws the question over your head to George, who grins.

“Yeah,” George chuckles, “She’s so fucking sweet. Pretty little slut just can’t get enough. You should hear her scream when she’s falling apart on my dick.”

“Mattyyy,” you whine. “Please,” He tucks your hair behind your ear without looking at you.

“We aren’t talking to you, pretty girl,” Matty says, syrupy-sweet condescension setting your mind spinning, pleasure and pain twining together, spreading from your sore cunt and settling heady in your limbs. “God, I wanna fuck her mouth.” You shudder, anticipation thrilling up your spine, pain sparking as George pinches your clit harshly. “Can I?” He must see permission in George’s face — his cock falls on your waiting tongue, a moan tearing free from the back of your throat as you close your lips around him. Matty moans, threading a hand in your hair, surprisingly gentle.

You’re dizzy, set adrift, your body only existing where they touch you. Tears pool in your eyes, euphoria fighting to overwhelm you as Matty matches George’s pace. The pair of them are so perfectly in sync, their uncanny ability to understand each other without words weaponised against you. Matty’s cock hits the back of your throat and you swallow a gag, moaning around him as George strikes inside you perfectly. Your sanity is hanging by a thread, fraying torturously with every moan, every thrust, every circle over your clit.

“Look at her,” George murmurs adoringly. “She loves this. Pretty slut getting off on getting fucked in two holes at once. So wet for us, yeah?”

Your answering moan comes out garbled around Matty’s cock. “Are you close, darling?” Matty asks, hips bucking uncontrollably against your face. Your cunt clenches around George. You dangle wildly at the precipice, every thrust bringing you closer and closer. Finally, gloriously, you snap, whining and writhing as much as you can against the two men holding you in place. Ecstasy spills over you in waves, buffeted by the continued, deep thrusts into you. You’re boneless, barely able to hold yourself up, caught in a tide of fathomless pleasure, moaning incoherently as you come and come for what feels like an impossibly long time.

George groans above you, cock pulsing as he cums, painting your insides deliciously. He pulls out with an obscene sound, cum dripping down your sweat-soaked thighs. You feel the loss in your cunt like a physical ache, clenching wantonly around nothing. “Oh, baby,” George croons. “That greedy cunt still wants more, huh?”

Your slow-moving mind turns laboriously, fighting to pluck the meaning from his words. You release Matty’s cock with a slick pop, a grin creeping slowly across your lips. He watches, transfixed, as you grin up at him. “Fuck me,” you whisper, watching his cock twitch as he gasps.

Matty catches George’s eye, a filthy smirk spreading across his face. “You want that, baby?” You nod wildly, your entire body aflame with desperation. “Such a slut,” he murmurs fondly.

You turn your heavy gaze on George over your shoulder. “Wanna know what we taste like together,” you say, and he groans thickly, swiping two fingers over your messy hole, a burst of pleasure swelling as he brushes over your swollen clit. Your heartbeat kicks wildly in your cunt as George brings his fingers to your lips and you suck obediently, the combined tastes of all of you driving you wild. “Tastes so fucking good,” you groan, the bed dipping as Matty kneels behind you.

George watches, gaze hot and lust-thickened, amplifying every sensation that rolls fiercely through your body. Your arms give out, weak from holding yourself up through your earth-shattering orgasm, and you drop to press your face against the mattress. Matty’s cock presses against your hole and you whine, hips rolling against him. “Don’t tease her,” George says, low voice a warning that Matty heeds, thrusting into you divinely.

The sound is pornographic, his cock wet with your saliva, your cunt soaked with your arousal and George’s cum. His thrusts are erratic, desperate. He’s close already, fucking into you chaotically. You grip the sheets, your mouth now freed to moan and cry out as his hips meet yours over and over. The new angle of your hips is heavenly, molten pleasure spreading from your oversensitive cunt, your head swimming with it. “You feel so fucking good, darling,” Matty gasps. “So fucking good, fuck. Wanna cum inside you,” he groans. “Wanna fill up that pretty cunt so bad. I– fuck!” he cries. Without warning, he’s spilling inside you, fucking you through, cum dripping lewdly down your thighs. Matty pulls out, leaving you painfully empty again, and drags his fingers over your sore, abused cunt.

Eyelids heavy, you lift your head to watch Matty suck the cum off his fingers, moaning exaggeratedly. “Taste good?” George asks, and you remember abruptly that he just watched his best friend cum inside you.

“God, yeah,” Matty murmurs reverently. “Want to try?” he adds, collecting more of the slick mess that’s dripping out of you and beginning to pool on the mattress. You whine as he brushes your clit, and he shushes you condescendingly. Almost too fast for you to process, George surges forward over you, gripping Matty’s hair and pulling him in for a bruising kiss.

Their tongues slide together for a gloriously long moment, your hand creeping to your clit as you watch, not entirely sure your dazed, lust-sick mind hasn’t conjured up a carnal hallucination. They pull apart, a string of saliva briefly connecting their lips, and you whine. “Fuck,” George moans, breathing hard.

Matty looks down at the mess of you, your skin flushed and sweaty, raw desire scrambling all of your senses. “Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he says, stroking your back and the curve of your ass. “Not done with you yet.” You moan, thrilled but listless, as Matty flips you onto your back, resting you gently against the pillows. Dampness soaks into your back, your sticky mess pressing against your skin. George falls next to you, catching your lips in a deep kiss, the taste of all of you overwhelming on his tongue. You jolt in surprise as Matty presses a wet kiss to your lower belly, then licks a broad stripe over your soaked, dripping cunt. A bolt of sharp pleasure-pain strikes you as he flicks his tongue over your oversensitive clit, and you whine into George’s mouth. “Gonna get you all cleaned up, darling,” Matty promises against your cunt, lapping at you hungrily.

You writhe in George’s arms, bruised lips insistent against his. Your thoughts spin incoherently, falling languidly from your head as Matty sucks gently on your clit. Your vision burns white, heartbeat pulsing in your cunt, your limbs detached and floating. “Fuck,” you whimper into George’s mouth, feeling him grin against your lips as your eyes flutter shut.

“Sensitive?” George murmurs teasingly, one of his big hands coming up to play with your tit, thumbing over the peaked bud of your nipple. Matty’s fingers dig into your thighs, infinite sensation rolling over you, lewd sounds echoing as he fills you with his tongue, fucking their cum deep into your cunt.

Your hips roll against Matty’s face, bursts of heat licking up your spine as you grind your clit against his nose, panting desperately. Pressure mounts between your thighs, slick, hot pleasure coursing through you. “Gonna come, darling?” Matty murmurs against your cunt, his words vibrating gloriously against your soaked, trembling body.

“Yeah,” you pant. “‘M so close, Matty, fuck.” A string of obscenities garbled around breathy moans falls from your lips, George swallowing them hungrily. Ecstasy balls into a fist in your belly, slamming into you all at once and knocking the wind out of you. A scream tears its way out of your throat, raw and scratching, as your orgasm burns through you, melting you into goo that sticks you to the mattress. George’s tongue sweeps your mouth, Matty’s burying itself in your cunt, your body pinned still under the crushing pleasure. Tethered to your body by a flimsy thread, you’re dimly aware of Matty pulling away from you and crawling up your body.

George nudges you. “Open up, angel.” Eyes still closed, you obey, letting Matty spit on your waiting tongue. You swallow dutifully, the taste of you and Matty and George sliding filthy down your throat. George grabs your jaw, kissing you fiercely, licking your taste out of your mouth and gasping against your lips. “Say thank you, sweet girl.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Made me feel s’good. Both of you,” you add, burying yourself into George’s side, suddenly bone-deep tired. You’re swollen, sore and aching all over, sated to your very core. Matty presses a soft kiss to your temple and sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

You can practically hear the look George fixes him with, stilling Matty before he stands. “Mate. Don’t be an idiot. Come back here.” He doesn’t even pretend to protest, curling up behind you and draping a comforting arm over your waist. His heartbeat thumps soothingly at your back, lulling your eyes shut as you tuck your head into George’s neck.

n a minute, you know George will get up, go to clean you up, brush the tangles out of your sweaty mess of hair. But, for now, you let yourself relax, untethered from everything but the warm bodies beside you, nestling into the safety of their arms.

#hahaha get it #paris? like the eiffel to- [GUNSHOTS]#also hello theme!!!#Eventually ill go back and tidy up the rest of them but i had to start somwhere #matty healy x reader #george daniel x reader #george daniel #matty healy #george daniel smut #matty healy smut #george daniel imagine #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut

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buckyismybicycle · 1 year

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CHAPTER 12

Pairing: WS!Bucky x Reader [AO3 LINK] Rating: Explicit Tags/Warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-divergent, angst, fluff, music soothes the soul y’all, soft boi Bucky, all the sex Summary: You happen to get caught in the Winter Soldier’s attack one day, but you don’t expect to ever see him again. You definitely don’t expect him to show up at your home, bleeding. You definitely, definitely don’t expect to want to go on the run with him.

As you make your way through the channel of Istanbul and through Oslo, Bucky fidgets more than usual. Something isn’t quite sitting right with him, but he can’t quite place it. It doesn’t make sense, given that he’d been relatively careful, and it’s been quiet for months.

They end up in Ireland of all places, and get lost in the boisterous crowds and lively streets.

Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand

Said, "Baby, I just want to dance"

With my pretty little Galway Girl

You're my pretty little Galway Girl

I never heard Carrickfergus ever sang so sweet

A capella in the bar using her feet for a beat

Oh, I could have that voice playing on repeat for a week

And in this packed out room swear she was singing to me

In hindsight, Bucky knows he should’ve listened to his gut instinct. There was something off about Paris, and even then he’d wanted to bolt, the pure joy on your face kept your feet from moving. He thought, hell, if this is the way to go, I’d be alright with that as he watched the lights of the Eiffel Tower fade away.

But he could see it in your face, in your eyes, how much you loved the romantic places you’d visited. He can see the way your eyes roam over art and your fingers twitch trying to hold yourself back from reaching out and touching.

You never do with him, though.

The both of you sit on the little balcony attached to your room at an inn that you were renting, with his arm around your shoulders. The ground was still hard, despite the blankets and pillows you’d brought out here to gaze at the city below.

The lights scattered across the city looked like fireflies, and they make your features look even softer.

“Hey, Buck?”

He’s caught off guard, wondering if you could feel him staring. “Yeah?”

“You think one day you’ll settle down? You know, if Hydra was gone, or they stopped looking for you?”

They might never stop, he thinks to himself. Even if they no longer consider him an Asset, he still has a wealth of knowledge of how they operate, their numbers and bases, and most importantly — their serum flowed through his veins. If not to drain it from him, they likely wouldn’t want anyone else getting their hands on it.

“Sorry,” you whisper softly, and that’s when he realizes that he’d been silent for too long.

“No, it’s okay,” he says quickly, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Just thinking.”

You turn to him, leaning into him. “It’s okay if you don’t answer, too.”

“I… don’t think I know how,” he admits.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, hand resting over his chest.

He can’t help but feel he’s let you down.

—

You’re nearly out of Venice when the peace you’d built is shattered.

Bucky knows what a gunshot sounds like. He could never forget it, actually. So when it rings out, his first instinct is: protect.

You grunt softly as he all but tackles you into a nearby alley, covering your body with his. Before you even catch your breath, he’s pushing you to run and you have no clue where you’re going, but as long as you can see a path, you run.

You don’t know how long you run for, but you can hear Bucky’s footsteps behind you, knowing he has no problem keeping up with you, of course, regardless of what path you take.

Eventually, the sounds die out behind you, and you wonder if you’ve lost them. Either way, Bucky doesn’t seem to care.

The shot had missed, miraculously, and when you two are far out of Venice, deep in the quieter streets of Slovenia, Bucky frantically checks you over again.

“I’m fine – Bucky? Bucky, look at me,” you plead, hands gently tipping his chin upward. “I’m okay, really. I promise.”

And you were. Aside from the weak feeling in your legs and a wild cramp you had from running, there wasn’t anything else. Not so much as a single mark.

Not until Bucky puts his own along your body that night, the both of you desperately reassuring yourselves – and each other – that they’re out of harm’s way.

For now.

As you predicted, you’re only awake for a few minutes before Bucky is ushering you out and out of Slovenia, eager to put some distance between you and your assailants.

You make him stop in Croatia, just for a bit of a rest and restocking if not to coerce him into having some of the most delicious seafood you’ve ever encountered. Didn’t you two deserve to indulge, even when they’re on the run?

You skirt around the edge of Serbia, because Bucky doesn’t particularly want to set foot there either. Knowing better than to ask him, you simply agree and follow. It doesn’t take a lot to imagine that it’s probably related to his time with Hydra, just like everything else that spooks him.

Finally, you arrive in Romania. You pass by the beautiful architecture of Timișoara, and even though it’s getting dark, there’s something… light about the way all the colourful houses are just shy of whimsical and the way you clop along the cobblestone path. Bucky can feel it too, you’re pretty sure, because he finally slows a bit.

They’re greeted as they walk down the street and to your surprise, and possibly Bucky’s too, he responds in kind. He holds your hand as you continue walking, and Bucky suddenly changes direction.

“Are you alright?” You ask, because if Bucky knows the language, it means he’s spent time here and usually that doesn’t sit well with him.

He nods quietly. “I think so. Maybe we can stop for a bit? I… It’s possible I remember…”

There’s a squint of his eye as he tries to recall the memory into focus, and you don’t push. Rubbing your hand up and down his arm, you wait for him to sort out his thoughts before he confidently walks again, making a right turn.

It puts more distance between you and Serbia this way.

He’s right, of course. You hadn’t doubted him for even a second, but you could always tell when Bucky was nervous about something.

It takes a few days for it to pass, Bucky’s back losing some tension bit by bit as you slowly travel south-east. Bucky comes back to your room one day, a crumpled receipt for your lunch in hand with his writing on the back. At your curious peeking, Bucky runs his thumb over the slightly-smudged ink.

“It’s an apartment. Few blocks from here,” Bucky explains. Your eyebrows fly to your hairline; the last thing you expected was for Bucky to stop. If anything, you thought he’d mapped out the next few stops already. Not too far, of course — it’s hard to track someone if even they don’t know where they’re going.

You take his hands in yours “You sure?”

Bucky gives you a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite stretch across his face. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m sure.”

Bucharest becomes the closest to home either of you feel since Indonesia. While it wasn’t a hut built out of Bucky’s bare hands, they did start to make it theirs.

Everything you owned came in bits and pieces, never quite a whole set, and yet it made it feel even more authentic. Bucky would bring home fresh fruits, and you’d scoop up some sort of mismatched thing at a local shop. None of your spoons or forks matched.

It was perfect.

—

“Hey, Buck?”

“Mm?” He slowly opens his eyes to look at you from where his head rests in your lap.

“We never celebrated your birthday,” you say, upset. In the whirlwind of your adventures, you hadn’t thought to ask Bucky when his birthday was. You had shared a small cake on the balcony of a villa in Morocco for yours just a few months prior, and you feel silly for not putting it together sooner.

Bucky bites his lip, fingers fidgeting with the hand you lay on his chest. “Truthfully doll? I don’t really know when it is. I think… May? Or March? One of those two, I’m pretty sure.”

You stop yourself from crying. He’s told you things that you had wanted the answers to, even though you weren’t so sure you did afterward. The horrors, the trauma, all the fucked up things that Bucky survived — he was able to recite it all like it was a movie he’d seen or a book he read, like they didn’t happen to him. You know that it’s his way of distancing himself from the terrible things they’d inflicted on him, but it hurt to know you couldn’t help him in any way.

Even still, when you think you’ve heard the worst possible things, every so often a small, innocent statement still breaks your heart. How do you erase someone’s identity so much so that they don’t know their name or their birthday.

Did Bucky remember any of his birthdays? What had Bucky’s family done to celebrate? What was his favourite kind of birthday cake?

“We missed it,” you say at last, voice cracking even if you weren’t crying. Yet. “And I never got you a gift!

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky instantly says, propping himself up to come face-to-face with you. “It’s just a day, like any other, ain’t it? Besides, I already feel ancient.”

You let out a small, huffed laugh. He genuinely didn’t seem concerned, though you suppose that happens when you’re ninety years old in the body of someone in their thirties. “But…”

“And,” Bucky interrupts, closing in. “I got the best gift of all, right ‘ere.”

He distracts you momentarily, and you think about how unfair it is that even after all this time, you melt for his kisses all the same. It takes a second to recover, sure, but you haven’t forgotten.

“We still have catching up to do. I’m going to make you a cake!” You decide. “Maybe a fresh fruit one, we can go to the market together tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky concedes, a grin starting to form as his fingers trail up your side.. “Now come here, I’ve thought of something else I want.”

#bucky x reader #hold onto me #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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britishchick09 · 5 days

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rewrite eristine saw the eiffel tower from the rooftop 135 years ago today! :D

A late spring breeze ruffled Christine Daaé's hair as she gazed up at the Apollo's Lyre statue. She and her best friend, Erik Carrière-Destler, were on Palais Garnier's rooftop. Night was just beginning to fall over Paris.

“Do you see it?” Erik asked.

"Huh?" Christine asked, her gaze slightly lowering to look at her tall companion.

Erik pointed to the world beyond the opera house. "Out there."

Christine walked along the rooftop's huge zinc tiles. She and Erik sat on one in the middle as she looked past the hundreds of Haussmann buildings. Because she was nearsighted, she had to squint to see anything past them.

It's times like this where I wish I had glasses! she thought.

"Oh, there it is!" she suddenly exclaimed.

Erik held up a pair of golden brass and pearl binoculars. He followed her finger.

“Yep. There it is,” he confirmed. “La Madeleine.”

Christine frowned. “Wait, what?”

“You know, the church named after my mother.”

Christine gave him a playful look.

“Alright,” Erik said through a sigh. “I know it’s not named after her and I know you’re not talking about the building that’s nowhere near where you're pointing. But you have to admit, the green roof makes it recognizable,” He looked through the binoculars again. “Oh, now there’s a recognizable sight! La Tour Eiffel. I can’t believe it’s finally finished.”

“It’s been finished since March,” Christine reminded him. "Remember when we heard that loud boom outside?"

“And I panicked because I thought it was a gunshot, but it was just fireworks. O- Only the press was allowed inside that day. They had to take the stairs of doom... which took over an hour! And I thought the many stairs leading to the water cellar was rough!” Erik adjusted the focus on the binoculars. “How can stairs fit in there?”

“Maybe if you gave me the binoculars, I’d be able to tell! You should have brought another pair.”

“I only had enough time to steal one,” Erik handed the binoculars to Christine. “One that belongs to you.”

“Thank you.” Christine said with a smile.

She raised the binoculars to her eyes. Now she could see the Eiffel Tower clearly. The dark red metal structure stood tall- very tall- amongst the Haussmann buildings.

I can only imagine how the tower must look in person! she thought in amazement.

“When we made our first trips up here, only the legs and the triangle were done.” Erik recalled.

“The triangle? I don’t see one.”

“Isn’t that space below the pole a triangle?”

“It doesn’t end at a tip.”

“Alright, it’s a squared off triangle.”

Christine chuckled. "It's very unique, that's for sure. I hope we'll get to see it soon."

It was May sixth, the first day of the Exposition Universelle. France was hosting the World's Fair this year in honor of the Revolution's centennial. The Eiffel Tower, which was now the tallest building in the world, was the exposition's main attraction.

"Can you imagine how big the crowds were today?" Erik shivered. "No thanks! I'll wait until long after the Exposition is over. Maybe… a hundred and thirty-five years will do it."

"I hope we'll go before 2024," Christine said. "The fair will only be around for a few months!"

"We'll go on my birthday, then," Erik smirked. "My hundred sixty-sixth birthday."

Just after Christine rolled her eyes, she spotted a light in the distance.

"Oh, it's starting!" she exclaimed.

Red, blue and white lights shone from a beacon on the very top of the tower. They danced around the structure, making it shine in the moonlight.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Erik asked softly.

"Oui," Christine agreed, resting his head against his shoulder. "It certainly is."

#the beginning of the new rewrite short story! :D #it's definitely shaping up to be the coolest one so far! ;)#rewrite eristine mention this year!!! :o #and they love the eiffel tower already! :)#i can't say the same for the rest of paris...#especially a certain guy! :o #we'll just have to wait and see if some of them change their minds! ;)#poto rewritten

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 years

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In The Game of Love ~ 17

IN THE GAME OF LOVE MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,380ish

Summary: The group figures out where to go next.

Notes: I was going to add some angst into this chapter. But I decided to give y’all at least one more chapter of fluff before the angst.

John, Simza, and Y/N were currently sitting in a cafe near the Eiffel Tower, waiting for Sherlock. He had told them he needed to do something, muttering something about Moriarty, and told them where to meet. The trio was getting more nervous with each passing second.

“He’s twenty minutes late,” Y/N muttered, fingers nervously tapping against the table they were sitting at.

“He must come soon,” Simza said, watching the police officers around. “I don’t have any papers.”

“And Y/N and I are both foreigners,” John added.

“This climate is exactly what my father wants,” Y/N said.

Sherlock suddenly appeared at the table with a tray of food. He cleared his throat to gain the trio’s attention. “The omelet fines herbes was divine…” he said, sitting down beside Y/N. He had a napkin bucket into his coat. “…but they spared every expense on the tea. Now shall we compare moods, or consider what we know? Last night’s bombing was clearly meant to look like Germany’s retaliation for Strasbourg. However, the bomb was also meant to conceal the murder of just one man. The man killed by the gunshot was none other than Alfred Meinhard.”

John exhaled sharply. Simza looked to him for an answer as to who the man was. “He makes guns,” John explained. “Big guns.”

“Moriarty was always trying to get into Meinhard’s business,” Y/N said.

“Only days ago, a large share of his company was bought by an unknown investor,” Sherlock added.

“And I guess he finally did it.”

“The clues point in one direction, but to avoid repeating last night’s debacle, I was obliged to collect more sufficient data, hence my tardiness.”

Sherlock then went on to explain how he disguised himself as a patron at the hotel Moriarty was staying at and a bellhop. How he tried to get something off of Moriarty but was unable to. Luckily, Moriarty found time to indulge his little habit.

“His habit of feeding that urban species, the feral pigeon,” Sherlock said. John reached over and ripped off what was left of Sherlock’s disguise on his face. “So, there are seven mainline railways stations in Paris. But taking 10 minutes to get to the Jardin des Tuileries, where the largest concentration of the winged vermin may be found, reduces there to one, the Gare du Nord. Where he will be just in time to catch the 11:04 train to Berlin. It makes several stops along the way. One of which is—“

“Heilbronn,” John and Y/N interrupted together.

“Exactly where we must go.”

“Where Meinhard’s factory is,” John explained.

“It’s Moriarty’s factor now,” Y/N said.

“Unfortunately, due to the bombing, the crossing between France and Germany is to be closed,” Sherlock informed. “I’m afraid our pursuit is over unless we can happen upon a comrade, who knows their way around borders.” John, Sherlock, and Y/N eyed Simza.

~~~

Simza got Joh, Y/N, and Sherlock looking more like gypsies before letting them into some woods.

“Too English,” Simza told John as she took his hat and replaced it with the one on her head.

“However, you do make a fantastic gypsy,” Sherlock complimented John. He leaned over to Y/N’s ear. “Not as fantastic as you though, my dear.” Y/N rolled her eyes and walked up to the line of horses awaiting them.

“Certainly smell like a fantastic gypsy,” John complained.

“Now, now, no need to be demeaning.”

“It is a nice scarf,” Simza’s friend, Tamas, from the other night said, coming up to them. He held out the scarf he had taken from John.

“No, no, too English,” John said. “It’ll suit you more.”

As the came to the horses, Sherlock reached out and took Y/N’s hand. She could tell that he was tense. Her brows furrowed as she glanced over at him. He had a straight face.

“Black one is yours,” Simza told John. “Gray one is mine. The brown one is Y/N’s. And this is for you.” Sherlock’s hand gripped Y/N’s tighter.

“Um… hmmm. Right,” Sherlock hummed. “Where are the wagons?”

“The wagon is too slow. Can’t you ride?”

“It’s not that he can’t ride,” John answered. “How is it you put it, Holmes?”

“They’re dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle,” Sherlock responded. “Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?”

Y/N bit back a scoff. “Sherlock, you’re scared of horses?” She questioned.

“I’m—It’s not—“ The feeling of Y/N’s lips against his cheek stopped his stammering.

“It’s okay. I like knowing that the great detective has a fear.”

“Hmm. I shall require a bicycle, thank you very much. It’s 1891. Could’ve chartered a balloon.”

Sherlock released Y/N’s hand and walked away. Simza turned towards John and Y/N.

“How can we make this more manageable?” John asked.

Y/N sighed slightly and turned to glance back at Sherlock. “I think I have an idea,” she said. “Just get yourselves situated and I’ll deal with Holmes.”

John gave Y/N a nod before she headed over to Sherlock. He was facing away from the group, smoking a pipe.

“Have you come to tell me that a balloon or a bike is on its way?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” Y/N replied. “I’ve come to tell you that the fastest way to Germany right now is by horse. And we need to get there quickly.”

“I understand that. But I will not get there on a horse.”

“Sherlock, you have no other option.” He sighed slightly, reached out, and took one of his hands. “Would you feel better if you rode with me?” She began rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. “I know I would.”

Sherlock took his pipe out of his mouth with his free hand. He glanced passed Y/N at the horses. He really didn’t enjoy the idea of riding those beasts, but if he had a chance to have his arms around Y/N. It would be completely worth it.

“And you would be in control of the thing?” Sherlock wondered.

“Yes,” she smiled, “you would have to ride behind me. Would that be okay?”

“My dear,” he pulled her in, “I don’t think you understand what that would do to me.” His face was right in front of hers, almost teasingly so.

She inhaled sharply, her body itching to be closer to Sherlock. To be touching… skin to skin. “I think I have any idea…”

His lips quirked up slightly. “Hmm.” Sherlock leaned in and kissed Y/N softly.

“We’ve got to go,” Y/N said against Sherlock’s lips.

“Yes, we do.” He kissed her again.

Y/N smiled as she pulled back, still holding his hand. “Let’s go meet the horse.” Y/N squeezed his hand as she led him to the horse. “Here,” she changed her grip on his hand so that she was holding his wrist. She guided his reluctant hand onto the horse. He kept his hand in one place. “You know, horses can sense fear.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Sure.” She nodded, unbelieving. “Now, are you going to help me on or do I need to help you?”

Sherlock put his pipe in his mouth and his hands quickly found Y/N’s hips. She inhaled sharply at the way her body was reaching to his hands on her kips. He lifted her up and allowed her to get situated on the horse before putting his pipe away and timidly getting on behind her. Sherlock’s arms snaked around Y/N’s waist as she took the reins. Y/N bit her lip at the sensation of Sherlock up against her, holding her close. Sherlock could tell what the closeness was doing to Y/N, it was doing similar things to him as well. He leaned forward and put his mouth near her ear.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

“It’s… fine,” she breathed out. “Perfectly fine.”

“Let’s head out!” Simza ordered the group.

Y/N signaled for her horse to move and followed behind John. As soon as the horse began moving, Sherlock’s grip tightened around her.

“You sure you’re not scared?” She teased.

“Not with you with me, darling,” he replied.

next chapter >

Taglist Information

IN THE GAME OF LOVE TAGLIST:

@rubberduckyqueen

@utterly-in-like

@iowaladynerd

@lov3vivian

@underoostarks

@cevans-winchester

@yaskna

@zmarie108 (won’t link)

@thicficbich1

@arioneway

@steverogerswifesblog (won’t link)

@fyreball66

@ccbsrms

@the-fangirl-diaries

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes 2009 #Sherlock Holmes fanfiction #RDJ Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes A Game Of Shadows #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #rdj!sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x female!reader #rdj!sherlock holmes x fem!reader #sherlock holmes imagine #rdj sherlock holmes imagine #rdj!sherlock holmes imagine #ritchie holmes #ritchieverse #Robert Downey jr x reader #RDJ!sherlock holmes #rdj x reader

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marauderundercover · 2 years

Text

A Guide to Love and Coffee in the City of Crime: Ch. 4

Heroes

AO3

Marinette sticks her tongue out in concentration, trying to calm her spiking frustration. Trying to knit a sweater with a clunky cast on her right hand was annoying. But she’d started the project two weeks ago, and was determined to finally finish it. If only because she had finally moved into her Gotham apartment and thought the Sirens themed sweater would be nice to wear on a chilly night. Apparently the other exchange students lived with a host family. But after several sets of forms, and meetings with her uncle and aunt (who were only half an hour away), the school had agreed to let her live in an apartment by herself. She honestly thought that the deciding factor wasn’t the plethora of forms her parents had signed, or the meetings with Lois and Clark. No, she was pretty sure the deciding factor was when Jagged had popped in and talked to the school. So it goes. Just as Marinette finishes up the last couple of stitches, the akuma alarm on her phone blares. Jumping slightly, she reads over the information on the alert. Repeat akumatization- Sandboy. Marinette frowns, before she remembers the time difference. Right.

“Tikki?” Marinette calls, jumping up, looking around for her friend.

“Ready, Marinette.” They say with a grin. Marinette smiles and portals to Paris. Sprinting across the rooftops, she double checks her yoyo to make sure she’s going the right way. She comes to a halt in front of her best friend, grinning widely.

“Hey M’Lady.” He says, bowing with a flourish.

“Hey Kitty Cat.” She says, giving an equally obnoxious bow. He laughs, before his face settles into something more serious.

“Saw the alert, but I haven’t seen any sign of Sandboy. Just the nightmares he’s leaving behind, and-” Chat pauses, wincing. “They’re much worse, M’Lady.” Of course they were. The first time there had been an akuma like Sandboy, the horrors of Paris’ situation hadn’t sunk in. There hadn’t been any mass deaths at that point, but now…now there had been too many. Far too many.

“No!” A shrill scream, one filled with heartbreak and anguish, catches Marinette’s attention and she runs towards it, all of her inhibitions disappearing as she sprints towards her mother’s frantic screaming. She skids to a stop several feet away as she sees her own limp form on the ground. Marinette winces at the visible gunshot wound in her head. She hadn’t lost sight in battle like that in a long time, but hearing her mother scream like that? It overrode everything else. Taking a steadying breath, she grounds herself again.

“You okay?” Chat asks, landing softly beside her. She sighs.

“Yeah I just- we can talk later. Let's go find Sandboy.” She says. Chat nods with a sad smile. Time to fight the nightmares.

---

Sitting at the top of the Eiffel Tower with her best friend by her side, Marinette tugs her knees up to her chest and lays her head on Adrien’s shoulder. Their reveal had been incredibly anti-climactic, but it had helped them sort through their feelings (or lack thereof). Honestly, it really was just a matter of time before they both accidentally chose the same alley to detransform.

“She hasn’t told me to my face, but I know she’s upset that I’m in Gotham.” Marinette says softly, her words almost getting lost in the wind. She knew that her maman didn’t agree. That she, like Clark, thought Gotham was far too dangerous. But Marinette knew that she could handle it. And it’s not like she was going to live there forever. She just had to do something to increase her chances of talking to the Batclan. After all, they were a team of vigilante detectives. She needed their help. They had to unmask Hawkmoth soon. She was tired. Adrien was tired. Paris was tired.

“Do you ever wish you could just explain it to her?” He asks softly. She shakes her head immediately.

“No. I couldn’t. I love my parents, but I don’t think they’d take this well. Our entire family is normal, we thrive off of that.” Marinette sighs. Normal, except for the slightly odd Kent side. But even then, she was pretty sure they didn’t do anything as crazy as dressing up in a suit to fight crime. She frowns slightly. Okay, maybe she shouldn’t think too much into that.

“I get that. I don’t-” He pauses, and Marinette glances at him out of the corner of her eye- wincing at the pained look on his face. “I could never tell my father about any of this. Or anything I actually enjoy. Nothing that says who I really am.” He says sadly. Marinette frowns, reaching over and squeezing his hand. Despite being in a relationship with Luka for almost a year and a half, he hadn’t told his dad. But since he was now seventeen, his dad had started pressuring him to ‘find a girl’ so that they could promote the brand more. She knew it was something that had been weighing heavily on him for awhile, and she just wished she could do something to help him. Unfortunately, Agreste's lawyers were good and her lawyer had yet to find a way to break Adrien out of his contract (the only thing keeping him modeling, and, on the same foot, in ‘need’ of a girlfriend).

“Wish you could’ve come with me to Gotham so that you could’ve had a break.” Marinette says. His face brightens slightly, a smirk on his face.

“Hey, you still need to tell me about that Tim guy. Is he good enough for my best friend?” Adrien asks, wiggling his eyebrows. She laughs. It was nice, sitting with her best friend.

---

Wrapped up in her new Sirens sweater, a travel cup of coffee, and her sketch book in hand, Marinette climbs up the fire escape to sit on the roof. She’d sat on the tower with Adrien for hours, but while it was nearing four am back in Paris, it was only ten in Gotham. Which meant she still had plenty of time to design and think. Humming softly, she starts working on a sketch for Jagged’s new tour jacket. She was a little slower than usual, and it was messy because of the cast, but she couldn’t just stop designing til it came off. Not only did she have her business to think of, but she also knew that she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else if she pushed away her creative whims for any period of time. Every time he started a new tour, she made him a new jacket. This one had a faux leather base (the only type of leather Jagged would wear) and she planned on incorporating elements from the new album cover throughout the design. Sometimes, it still shocked her how far she had come. From Eiffel tower sunglasses and an album cover, to exclusive designer for both Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. She’d also done commissions for several other celebrities. Every time she got a request, she felt giddy. It didn’t even feel real at times. A couple of soft thuds immediately yanks her from her thoughts. Snapping her attention up, she relaxes slightly as she recognizes one of the figures.

“Hello again, M. Red Hood.” She says with a small smile. Glancing at the other vigilante, she tilts her head as she thinks. And who was- “Nice to meet you, Red Robin.” She says with a small wave. He returns the wave before he focuses in on her sweater. Frowning, she glances at Red Hood and quirks an eyebrow. He shrugs.

“Ignore him, kiddo. What’re you doing on a roof this late?” He asks, crossing his arms. She can’t see his face, but she’s certain he’s giving her some variation of a Concerned Dad Look™. Marinette frowns, pulling out her phone to double check the time. Almost midnight. She winces.

“In my defense, I came up here at like, ten.” She says.

“That’s not better.” Red Hood says with a scoff.

“Is that an MDC original?” Red Robin asks suddenly. Marinette blinks.

“What?” She asks. He points to her sweater.

“The sweater. Is it an MDC? I remember they posted a teaser picture of it on their Instagram a couple weeks ago.” He says. Her eyes widen slightly for a moment. Red Robin followed her on Instagram? Was he a fan?

“Uh, yeah, sorry I just didn’t realize anyone would recognize it.” She says. He grins widely.

“Well I’m kind of a fan. Not only do they make some really cool stuff, but I like looking into the mystery of their identity.” Red Robin says. “I would never expose it, or anything, obviously I understand secret identities. I just like looking into all of the different theories.” Marinette grins.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty cool part.” She admits.

“Do you know who they are?” He asks. Marinette weighs her options. She didn’t really like lying to people. She tried to only lie about her secret identity stuff. On the one hand, this would link her too closely to MDC for comfort. But on the other hand, how else would she be able to explain getting a commission from one of the most elusive designers of the last three years? Sighing, she nods slowly.

“Yes, but I really can’t-”

“No! I mean- sorry, I don’t want you to tell me. If I figure it out, I want to be the one to do it.” He says. Marinette grins, nodding.

“If you two are quite done with your flirting, I think the pixie over here needs to go back inside. Maybe get some sleep?” Red Hood suggests. Marinette rolls her eyes, sticking her tongue out at the man while she tries (and fails) not to see the blush on Red Robin’s face. She couldn’t get a crush on him, not when she really liked Tim. She’d feel awful.

“You’re worse than my cousin Conner. I swear. Ever since I came to Gotham, he’s been the ultimate mom friend. Actually, I think he’s worse than my actual mom, sometimes.” Marinette whispers the last part, furrowing her eyebrows. He’d technically banned her from coffee after ten. That, obviously, wasn’t working out for him. Hopefully though, his mom senses wouldn’t tingle and alert him of her coffee intake over the past couple of days. She’d never live it down.

“C’mon kid, I’m just looking out for you. And I’m sure your cousin is too. Gotham’s dangerous as hell.” Red Hood says, his voice slightly gentler. Marinette sighs, but stands up and collects her stuff.

“Fine. But just because I’m pretty sure that, despite not even being anywhere near here, Conner will suddenly show up and drag me off to bed if I don’t go now.” She says. Stranger things had happened.

Story tag list (open): @timari-month-event

Permanent tag list (open): @stainedglassm @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @crazylittlemunchkin @buttercupsbitch @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #maribat fanfiction #maribat tim drake #maribat marinette dupain cheng #timari #timinette #maribat red hood #maribat red robin #maribat adrien agreste #maribat chat noir #maribat conner kent #maribat january #timari january

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criminalminds4days · 3 years

Text

Let Him Go (S.R.)

Hello Friends!!

I am doing finals so I decided the best choice for me was to write a long Spencer Reid Fanfiction. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: None, except mentions of murder, and violence. Swear words.

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

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” The words came out before she could think them through. She knew exactly what he needed because she wanted it too, but she just couldn’t say it, it frightened her.

“Really? You don’t know what to say?” He scoffed, ready to give up all hope. “I love you; I’ve loved you for years… I am ready to spend the rest of my life with you, but I need to know if that is something that’s ever gonna happen. I can’t keep going like this, I am done playing games, I am done going in a circle.” He was hurt, his brown eyes reflected it perfectly, the tears that threaten to escape him almost made her break.

Almost.

“I can’t give you what you want.” It was true, and it wasn’t because she didn’t want to, of course, she wanted to grow old with him, wake up next to him every single day, but the fear that engulfed her, of one day him realizing he could do much better and walking up and leaving, that was enough to ground her.

She wasn’t ready. She repeated to herself, hoping one day it would be believable.

“Then I guess that settles it.” His voice broke, knowing full well what this meant for them, “I can’t keep doing this and you can. We are simply not at the age where it’s for fun. I need stability, I need a partner who knows what they want in a relationship and that is obviously not you.” A sole tear left his face, hiding underneath his chin. “I really wish it was.” He mumbled as he left the room. There it was, the image she feared so much, caused solely by her actions, it was better now than later, she reminded herself but that did not make the heartbreak any less painful.

Spencer Reid, her colleague, friend, and for the past three years, her lover. They had met in 2005, after she had joined the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, quickly bonding over their shared love for books, despite her hatred of some of the classics, as they were often referred to. Soon enough, those brown eyes, that awkward smile, and his tall figure had become engraved in her brain to the point in which she could no longer ignore it. She kissed him and that was the best decision she had ever made.

For three years they had been happy, and it seemed to everybody that soon enough they would be engaged, married, and with kids. When the conversation of this possible future arose between them, she couldn’t help but panic, leading to their current situation. He had left her, and she regretted every minute she didn’t run after him. She was going to run after him, she really was but as soon as her hand touched the doorknob she stopped herself.

Fear.

It was stupid, she knew it was, but it was paralyzing her in place, preventing her from ever reaching for that happy family she hoped to have with him one day.

Years went by, her regret never subsiding.

Why was she there?

It was clear this was a mistake; she knew it was. He was getting married and she simply sat there, wishing it was her who he smiled at, who he was gonna have a family with. Nonetheless, there she was, watching the man she loved get married, while she remembered that day, five years ago, in which she let him go. She smiled at the couple and congratulated them. She toasted, danced, smiled, laughed, and joked all while her heart was being torn to pieces at the sight of the happy newlyweds. That was the moment she decided she couldn’t stay. The offer she had been considering finally making sense. It was time to leave the BAU, time to leave the heartbreak, and time to leave Spencer Reid for good. She hoped the woman he was marrying would be horrible, that she could hate her, but Maeve Donovan was anything but. She was a kind soul, smart beyond reason, with all truthfulness, she could just see how she made Spencer happy and that was enough to eradicate all hope for hate.

Starting over was painful, saying goodbye was painful, but it was necessary. When he asked what prompted her decision she said, “I think I need to take the next step in my life.” He nodded and wished her nothing but the best and she smiled, not wanting to tell him she felt she had already lost it. When she arrived at her new office in Paris, she couldn’t properly appreciate the fact that her dream home was now her actual home. Her room growing up had been filled with Eiffel towers, and by the age of twelve, she was fluent in the language of the city of love. Granted, it helped that her parents both spoke English and Spanish, so learning French was a breeze.

She began work and soon found herself so immersed in it, she didn’t realize there was a life she left behind, there were friends she had not contacted in years. It wasn’t until she saw Emily Prentiss and heard what happened that she realized just how much she had forgotten when she decided to leave. She allowed her old coworker to take her out of her comfort zone and soon enough she found herself dating a tall dark-haired man named Liam Gardner, that happened to work as an undercover agent, just like her. Was there something about dating coworkers that got to her? She laughed at the suggestion.

It had been a year since she had dated this man when he asked her, she was in the same position she had been almost a decade ago and the regret of that night, and how strongly she felt for the man in front of her, made her answer different. It made her realize he couldn’t lose him like she had lost Spencer. “Yes, I do want to marry you.” She found herself saying, and for once, her life was on track.

She wasn’t terrified, and that was her first mistake. She figured it out on their first anniversary, as she patiently waited for him at their favorite restaurant, the Eiffel Tower shining in the distance, and the diamond ring that never left her hand, unless she was within a job, reflected the lights of the establishment.

“Excuse moi, mademoiselle?” A man had approached her, and her gut told her something was wrong. Her husband had infiltrated an organization that sold kids around the world, he hated the idea more than anything, but didn’t give a second thought to the offer, he loved children and would do anything to make sure more kids were safe. He had been organizing a raid that would tear down the whole system two days ago and he would be home just in time for their anniversary. But something went wrong, the operation was messier than they expected, and he was caught in the crossfire.

He died a hero.

People reminded her, but that didn’t mean much when the man she loved was buried six feet under. Once again, she experienced the loss she was so afraid of, and once again he reminded herself how this was what she was destined for, and she was a fool to think otherwise.

How long had it been? A year since he passed? She wasn’t quite sure, but she couldn’t bring herself to take the ring off. Her phone rang and she almost didn’t recognize the voice on the other side “Hey, It’s me JJ.” Jennifer Jareau, one of her ex-coworkers spoke on the other side. She didn’t have much of a long history with JJ, but that was partly because of her history with Spencer, who happened to be the blonde woman on the other side of the phone’s best friend. Despite their estrangement, after the woman said “We need you” she immediately accepted and grabbed her bag, buying the first plane tickets available to her, letting Emily know where she was going. Once she was on the plane she realized she did not even know why she had been summoned by her old team.

“Catch me up.” Were the first words that she said to the people in front of her.

She wanted to say hello and maybe even hug them, but as soon as she saw them she knew she had to get down to business.

His voice came out so broken, so hurt that she couldn’t help but want to hug him how she used to. It had been almost five years since she last saw him, but underneath his longer hair, and his very visible facial hair and his overwhelmingly sad eyes, was the man she once loved. “It’s Maeve, she’s been kidnapped.” That phrase returned her to the present. “You are the best when it comes to stalker cases and I can’t even make a coherent thought, please help us.” She nodded, as if they didn’t already know she would do anything in her power for any of them, but especially the brunette.

She forced herself to not draw parallels between his situation and the night she lost her husband, but it was impossible not to, especially when she knew that everything was lost. They entered the warehouse after they heard the gunshot, to find them at odds. Spencer begging to take Maeve’s place and the woman holding his wife hostage questioning how much he was willing to give up for her. Too late she realized what was going to happen, too late did she aim and shoot, too late to change any outcome but the one in front of their eyes. Her shot was wasted, landing on the wall directly behind the woman who now laid on the floor, covered in her and Reid’s wife's blood, both of them gone. She couldn’t bear to look at him, knowing she couldn’t stop her, knowing it was her fault Spencer’s wife was dead.

She couldn’t say goodbye and she couldn’t look him in the eye every again, so she sent a simple text to Hotch:

I got a case, I had to leave. Tell Reid I am really sorry.

That was it, no goodbye, no see you guys later, no hugs, and no catching up. She should have stayed home, she shouldn’t have gone knowing what she causes, once again she was reminded of the luck she carried around, affecting those she loved.

“It is not your fault!” Emily said.

“Of course it is, they needed me. Spencer and Maeve needed me, and I failed them.” She couldn’t stop the tears for much longer, but she tried.

“No, you didn’t you did everything you could.”

“Did I? Did I really? Because that’s what I tell myself every time I look at this ring and remember sitting in a restaurant wondering why he’s not there while he was dead. That’s what I told myself when I fired my gun too late to stop the woman even though I knew exactly what she was going to do.”

“Stop it! Stop blaming yourself for things you cannot control!” Emily stood from her chair, the frustration clear in her eyes. “I will not watch the closest friend I have throw a self-pity party when she knows full well these things are not something that our luck creates. There are sick people in this world, and you can’t keep blaming yourself for any of it! I will not allow you to!” After that, the woman left and the tears fell.

It had been at least three weeks since that discussion, Emily and she had made up but her friend had to go into hiding once again, knowing full well that the level of exposure she had because of their friendship could put her in danger, making her yet another person she couldn’t help. There was a knock at the door, and she presumed it was the woman mentioned, excited she opened the door to be faced with a tall brown-haired man with sad brown eyes and a satchel that she knew too well.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Hotch made me take time off, and I didn’t want to be alone… I didn’t know where to go and I just… I ended up here.”

“Oh.”

“Can I come in?”

She questioned it for a moment, not sure how she could deny him anything but also afraid of how her guilt would get the best of her. “Sure.” She said finally and moved, letting Spencer Reid enter her home like she had done so many times before, and yet this time it felt different. Her house was never the same after her husband was gone, their pictures still stayed, some in the coffee table and bookshelf, one of their wedding pictures in their room and album upon album he had made for their home once they had moved in together. Her new home gave a different feeling than her small impersonal apartment in Washington D.C. that had no pictures and barely enough evidence that someone lived there. She knew if it were up to her, the house would be the same, but Liam made sure this house felt like home. Now that he was gone it felt hollow and cold, not something she thought Spencer needed in his current state. “I am sorry I didn’t go to the funeral. I had to come back.” She absurdly excused herself.

“It’s okay, I understand.” There was a silence that engulfed them as she offered him a seat in her living room. “I don’t blame you.” He clarified and she nodded, not sure how that made her feel. “I also don’t think you should blame yourself.”

“Please stop, don’t profile me right now.” That gained a laugh from him, as he raised his hands in surrender. As he looked around realization hit her. He had no idea she was married, or that Emily Prentiss was, in fact, alive. She quickly texted her telling her friend that the man was in the city and to be careful. She knew it was probably safe, that she was already long gone but she couldn't be too cautious.

“You texting your…?” He looked at her hand, noticing the ring for the first time and she fought the urge to hide it. It somehow felt like a betrayal to him, her getting married after telling him that wasn’t something she was ready for. “Did you have that when you went to D.C.?”

“Yes.” She answered quicker than she hoped. “I’ve had it for a couple of years.” He nodded as if contemplating and analyzing her answer. “And I was not texting my husband, just a friend from work.”

“Oh.” He looked at her as if asking for permission before speaking. “Is he at work?” She shook her head no. “I didn’t interrupt you guys or anything, right? That would be so embarrassing… I can’t believe I didn’t even consider… I am so sorry I-“

“Spencer.” She stopped his rambling; she took a deep breath before she continued. “My husband, Liam, is not here.” She explained. Part of her didn’t want to talk about it, he had enough heartache of his own, but she felt compelled to. She never could hide anything from the genius. “He died in a raid about a year ago.” She said as her hand instinctively moved to her ring.

“I am so sorry.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“I-“ He paused for a moment, looking for something else to say, but then what he really wanted to know escaped his thoughts. “Does it get better?”

“I want to say yes. I want to tell you one day you stop missing them and it seems like the sun shines as bright again, but I haven’t gotten there.” A sad smile played on her lips. “I can’t even get myself to take his close out of the closet.”

“Yeah, I can’t look at her parents in the eye.”

“I haven’t spoken to his mother since the funeral.”

“We were trying to have kids.”

That was enough to break the mental boundaries she had. Despite how wrong she knew it was she hugged him, tight, hoping he understood that she wanted him to be okay, that he had her on his side even if that meant nothing to him.

“Sometimes, talking about them helps.” She said once she let go of him, his hand now in between hers. “I didn’t really get to know Maeve; I would love to hear about her.”

And so they sat there, sharing the stories of yet another loss love, the irony never lost on her. The one person she relied on to talk about Liam, the one person to fully understand how she felt was no other than her first love. She let aside the guilt and accepted the comfort and help he provided, even after he went back to Washington, and she remained in France. They still talked, almost daily. Letters, emails—despite him hating emails—and calls. Soon enough it was like they never lost touch like their past relationship never was and they were two friends who lost the person they loved and found comfort within each other.

And after two years she realized that her heart raced every time her phone rang, a tad of guilt for the idea of falling for the brunette while she still wore the wedding ring her late husband had given her. She considered putting it away, she considered telling Spencer what she was feeling once again but the fear stopped her. She couldn’t ruin something so important, she couldn’t sabotage their friendship, but she knew what it was like to be loved by Spencer Reid, and boy did she want to feel that way again. It took her weeks to decide what she was going to do, but before she had a chance to execute her plan, her keeping of Emily’s secret came back to haunt her.

“You knew?!”

“She came to Paris, and she found me.”

“And you never thought to mention it?”

“Emily was long gone into hiding when you and I reconnected.”

“That is not an excuse.”

“It wasn’t my place Spencer.”

“It never is your place, is it?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, just that with you I always know what I am getting into, but I am always stupid enough to fall for it. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.”

“I wasn’t the one who looked for you!” She spat, trying to hide the effect his words had on her. “Do not make this my fault!”

“I’m not.” His voice was harsh, like that day it all went wrong for the first time. “It’s my fault. For trusting you, for thinking we could be friends. I should know better than to trust a liar.”

“Fuck you, Spencer!”

“Right back at ya!”

And with that, the two years of their rekindling were gone, and once again she watched Spencer Reid walk out of her life. Once again faced with the decision of letting him go or stopping him. As her finger hovered over the call button she froze, this time not by fear, but anger. She understood, he lost his wife and friend, he mourned their death for one of them to suddenly come back to life? It wasn’t fair to him, but it wasn’t her fault! Spencer couldn’t blame her for Emily needing to hide from them, for Emily asking JJ, Hotch, and her to keep it a secret.

I heard the conversation; I’ll talk to him.-Emily

She got ready for bed and pushed aside the feeling of guilt that wished to overwhelm her. This time it wasn’t her fault, she knew it, but she couldn’t help but wish he knew that as well. Instead, she simply responded to the message and turned off her phone.

Don’t bother, it’s not worth the trouble. Love you Em!

Doctor Spencer Reid was a force much too big for her heart and mind to handle. As much as she wished he could stop having such a big influence in her life, she highly doubted that would ever happen, so the least she could do was try and forget their conversation.

Despite her previous determination, she still hoped he would call, say that he was sorry and he didn’t mean those things then she could simply accept his apology, apologize for her language and everything would go back to normal. But as the days turned to weeks and those to months she decided she couldn’t be at this crossroad waiting for him anymore. She could either let him go for good or finally step up and speak to him. The idea of never speaking to him, never hearing him laugh or seeing him smile again, never saying his name, or hearing hers out of his mouth was too much for her to simply move on. She loved Spencer Reid, maybe a part of her always would. She couldn’t let herself stay put while he moved on, not again. They were no longer two twenty-seven-year-olds who had their life ahead of them.

But the fear struck again, she couldn’t lose him too. She couldn’t sit in a restaurant waiting for him just to be greeted by the news that he was no longer in this world. She couldn’t build a home with someone when she had barely taken down all of Liam’s things from their closet. She couldn’t, but part of her wanted to build something with the doctor. That same part of her that screamed at her to follow him the first time. This time she decided to listen to it. She painfully removed the ring in her hand and placed it in the top box, all full of the memories of the man she intended to spend her life with, hoping he would understand. She let a couple of tears fall, knowing that he would always hold a place in her heart, and she made her way to the US. If this backfired and she ended up heartbroken, she could always return to her empty home in Paris. When had reality gotten so dark that she would seek Paris as a place of emptiness? A place to ignore her broken heart until it mended? Life had a funny way of making the things we wished for a twisted reality.

She sighed as she prepared herself to walk up the stairs. She had reached out to JJ, who had given her his address. It was the same place he used to have, as apparently after his wife’s passing he had sold their house. How did he gather the strength to let go of something as meaningful as the home he shared with Maeve? She would never know, but she was proud he continued to try living his life. She knocked and the door opened soon after his gaze confused, and this feeling later replaced by embarrassment.

“Hello, Spencer.” Her mouth was dry, the speech she had prepared long forgotten, fear running through her veins telling her to simply forget all this and run. Return to France and pretend the man in front of her never existed. “Can we talk?” She said as she noticed he hadn’t said a word.

“Yes, um, yeah… come in.” He moved and she did as she was told. “Listen, I was trying to work up the courage to call you, I am sorry I spoke to you like that.” He began as soon as he closed the door.

“Did you mean it?”

“What I said to you that day? No, never!”

“It had to come from somewhere, did it not?”

“Yes, it came from a part of that felt betrayed.” He looked around his apartment, avoiding to meet her gaze. “The more you spoke about him, the more I felt like what we had didn’t mean anything to you, and when I found out you knew about Prentiss, it made me angry but that was because I was already mad at you, I just couldn’t bring myself to accept why.”

“Why are you angry with me?” She asked. “Because I know why I am angry with you. I’m angry because you broke my heart twice, even though I played as much of a part as you the first time. I’m angry because you waltzed right back into my life and turned it upside down. I am so angry that I can’t seem to move on and leave you behind like I wanted to when I left for Paris. I am angry that you are the reason I was finally able to take my ring off.” His eyes drifted to her hand, the mark of the band clear, but no ring in sight. “So, tell me, Spencer Reid, how did I make you angry?”

“You…” He raised his eyes, finally meeting hers, and forced the words out. “I am mad because you moved on. I am angry because you left me and didn’t look back. I am angry because I wanted a family with you and you simply decided to make one with someone else.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I am mad because you made me hurt for you, and when I finally found someone I wanted to spend my life with, someone who loved me… She was taken from me and the only person I could talk to about it was you. I am angry because you made sure none of us even knew of Liam and then you spent hours talking about how he made you smile, and he made you happy. I am angry at you because you knew how much grief I had and still you did not tell me about Emily, I am angry because I still love you, despite all this. Because if you told me right now you wanted to be with me I would fly to Paris and never let you go again.”

“I feel guilty for loving you.”

“I feel guilty for loving you too.”

“I should have stopped you; I should have told you I was scared, but I wanted a family. I was ready, but I was scared someday someone would make you realize you could do better than me.” She sighed, the tears now leaving her eyes. “Now I am scared one day I will be at a table, on our anniversary waiting for you and someone will take you from me. I’m scared the grief I feel for Liam will consume me and I won’t be able to love you.”

“I am scared that my grief won’t let me love you either.” He gulped, approaching her for the first time and he laid his hands softly on her shoulder, tears now made both their faces wet. “I can’t walk away from you again. If Maeve taught me anything about love is that you fight for it, to the bitter end. You do not give up on it.” She sobbed, and his grip tightened in a reassuring gesture. “It doesn’t have to be today, nor tomorrow. We do not need to rush; we can take our time.”

“What if I’m too broken?”

“You aren’t. You're hurt, your heart was broken, but if it can be broken, that means it still works.”

“Spencer, I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want you to leave again.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Good.”

That was all she needed, the confirmation that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. The fear subsided, the anger fell, and she embraced him, as tight as she could, and smiled as she felt him embrace her. One did not need to be a genius to know it would take time, grief and heartache take time, but both of them knew that it would get better. It always did.

As she laid beside him, in their new home, she couldn’t help but question how much time she had, how long it would be before fate, or destiny, or whoever was out there would decide to take him from her. This time, though, she didn’t let it get to her. She was married to Dr. Spencer Reid, and they were about to be parents. She smiled at the thought and got out of bed ready for the day that would change their lives forever. It had been almost five years since they spoke again, both grieving the loss of their first spouse. It had taken them three of those five years to decide to move forward and just last year they had sworn to love and protect each other in front of their friends and family. She sighed, contently. She felt her life back on track, as she returned to the BAU shortly after their engagement, selling her Paris house and opting to buy a more modest summer home. She had returned Liam’s clothing to her mother, and even some pictures, while others were in their attic. She did not mean to hide him or push him aside, but both she and Spencer decided it was best to keep them close without letting them become an obstacle in their lives together. Maeve and Liam had shown both of them how to love, how to fight for the person you want to spend your life with, and when it was okay to let go, and that was something neither of them would ever forget.

“Ready?” Her husband asked as she grabbed her car keys.

“As ready as they come, Dr. Reid.”

“What do you think it will be, a boy or a girl?” He joked.

“Very funny.” They held hands as she drove to the building, nerves, and excitement building up. Soon enough they were at no more than thirty seconds of being parents of two beautiful kids.

“I do have to say, it is rare for a couple who is already expecting to want and adopt. What made you do this?”

He looked at you, a smile full of pride and love clear on his face, knowing the answer to this question. “There are so many kids that need a home, and love. I figured if my husband and I can offer both, why not do it? Any kid deserves two loving parents and whether I gave birth to them or not shouldn’t matter.” The woman smiled at the couple.

Her two-month belly was barely barely showing, but the agency knew about it already. It was true they had decided to adopt before she found out she was expecting, but that didn’t change their plans, it simply meant another baby would join the family. The two kids, a brother, and sister about eleven and twelve joined the adults. Their nerves and fear obvious in their expression. She couldn’t help but want to hug them and never let go.

“Are you guys our new mom and dad?” The girl asked, her brother frowning at the thought.

“We are not here to replace your mom and dad.” She assured them, the frown on the boy disappearing. “We would love it for you guys to live with us, we want to take care of you if that is something you guys would like."

After a long conversation with the children and them accepting to live with the couple they made their way home, Spencer rambling about statistics on videogames as a way to excuse his lack of skill. She laughed at the sight and couldn’t help but feel complete. She smiled and turned for a second to look at him before returning her eyes to the road. “Fourteen, almost fifteen.” She mumbled to herself. Spencer looked at her with confusion. “That’s how long we’ve known each other. That’s how long I’ve dreamed of this day but was too afraid to fight for it.”

“Do you want the exact time?” He questioned.

“No. It will make me feel old.” They both laughed.

Soon they arrived in their home, their children next to them and they showed them their rooms. After having dinner together and making sure the kids felt comfortable and at home they returned to their bed and laid there, her head on his chest and his hand on her lower back. “I love you; you know that?”

“I know, and I love you too.” He left a soft kiss on her hairline.

They heard small steps and a knock, he stood and turned on the lights before opening the door, the girl in the door had fear written all over her face and her brother was behind her. “Megan doesn’t like to sleep in the dark.” He noted.

“I don’t like to sleep alone.” She corrected. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course sweetie!” Spencer picked her up and placed her on the bed next to her, as she moved to make space.

“Do you want to sleep with us too Dylan?” She asked the boy. He was reluctant but ultimately nodded running up to the bed and laying in between his sister and her. Spencer turned off the light. All four slept together, not once letting go of each other. It felt right, exactly where they needed to be.

The memory of the day she let him go still came from time to time, but her fear that he would leave her never did. She loved Spencer Reid, her colleague, friend, companion, husband. She loved him and he loved her. And now, now they had a family, the past made them who they were, but it didn’t have to define who they could become.

#spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #cm #spencer reid fanfiction

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charlesxcarmichael · 4 years

Text

v.s. Jill’s Bullet

@brokenspy

Fulcrum. Oh, this could not be happening. How hadn’t she seen this coming? Sure, she’d been a little distracted, what with getting shot, and realising they needed to run away before they were arrested for treason — but did she really think this would be the beginning of a normal life? He still had the Intersect in his head, and no matter where they went, there was a chance of him flashing on something — but Fulcrum agents? Here, now? This was very, very bad.

Her weapons had been ditched long before they’d gotten on the plane; she knew she couldn’t take any of her firearms on a flight without checking them first, and she wasn’t about to arouse any sort of suspicion, when they were trying to get away undetected. She was unarmed, and considering the slow healing of the gunshot wound she was still sporting, she didn’t think she’d be able to last too many rounds in a physical fight, either.

How did they find us?

It didn’t matter. They couldn’t show any signs of panic, they needed to continue to act normal, and get out of there as soon as they could. Her heart was hammering in her chest, as she realized just how defenseless they were here. Sarah thought she could just run; that she was good enough at that to avoid getting caught or detected, but apparently she’d been wrong. She was going to need to get her hands on a gun somehow, somewhere, as quickly as possible. Would there even be time for that? Could they get away?

“We need to leave,” she said under her breath, trying to keep her demeanor as calm as possible. There would be no kissing at the top of the Eiffel Tower, and though this was potentially a life or death situation, she still felt a little guilty for ripping that opportunity away from him. It was a shame, but it would be far, far worse if they were captured now. “Act like everything is fine. We’re just walking past. If they follow — we run.”

This was so far from fine. He cast a glance up the Eiffel Tower, the sweet anticipation that he’d been feeling turning sour at the idea of this place he’d been dreaming of for as long as he could remember becoming tainted by the abrupt end of everything they’d planned. The lives they were supposed to live together, starting with a kiss at the very top of the tower. In a way, Fulcrum had chosen a good place. There were people everywhere, to provide cover, but what would they see when they were all staring up at the tower?

And she was following. Chuck’s hand tightened on Sarah’s hand as he tensed to run, but then - Chuck blinked until the lingering disorientation of the Flash had subsided. Up ahead was another one. His head was starting to hurt. “I think they planned for us making a run for it.” For once, they needed to be seen. They needed everyone to be looking. Spies operated in the shadows, he’d learned that much. Good guys or bad, no spy worth his or her salt was ever keen on making a scene. In the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, who was looking at anything else?

“Take off your ring,“ Chuck said, “I have a plan. It’s a terrible plan, and you’re going to hate it, but it’s a plan.“ His plan extended only so far as drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity down to them, getting eyes on them so that Fulcrum couldn’t make a move. After that... After that... His eyes set one a restaurant across the street, the sort that looked like it served ample amounts of alcohol. It was France, of course they had alcohol. Well, wine. Exactly the sort of place a newly engaged man might invite the onlookers to share a drink with him and his bride-to-be. Small, crowded, easy to slip away from in the confusion of a supposed celebration. Okay... Okay, it might just work.

It was a perfect spot. The tower rose up into the sky right beside them. Chuck slipped off the ring he’d been wearing on his own finger as ‘Mr. Herbert’ and touched a hand to his pocket to make sure he hadn’t put his wallet into one of the bags before tossing them down, regretfully, by a trash can. Toothbrushes could be replaced, but he wasn’t keen on being stuck in Paris without a cent to their fake names.

He cast one last glance between the Fulcrum agents closing in on them, took Sarah’s hand, and dropped down to one knee. Out of the corner of his eye, he was the singer come to an abrupt halt and cast a questioning glance over at her partner. And it had worked, gazes were drifting downwards from the tower, people tapping each other’s arms to direct their attention to what they probably thought seemed a very romantic moment. In another life, one without spies and secrets, it might have been. “Sarah, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Preferably outside of a Fulcrum holding cell. So, will you marry me?”

#brokenspy #brokenspy: Gravitron AU #brokenspy: Jill's Bullet

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apollosbitches · 3 years

Text

A TELEVISION SET

-tuned to a DOCUMENTARY. As an old fashioned World GLOBE rotates in a sea of clouds, the EIFFEL TOWER slowly comes into view over the horizon, dwarfing FRANCE underneath it.

T.V. NARRATOR Although each of the world’s

countries would like to dispute this fact, we French know the truth; the best food in the World is made in France. The best food in France is made in Paris, and the best food in Paris, some say, is made by Chef Auguste Gusteau.

We see images of GUSTEAU: cooking, signing his cookbook, in front of his famous restaurant. Gusteau is in his early forties, but his massive girth makes him look older.

T.V. NARRATOR (CONT’D) Gusteau’s restaurant is the toast

of Paris, booked five months in advance, and his dazzling ascent to the top of Fine French Cuisine has made his competitors envious. He is the youngest Chef ever to achieve a five star rating. Chef Gusteau’s cookbook “Anyone Can Cook!” has climbed to the top of the best- seller list. But not everyone celebrates its success.

A tall, gaunt, severe-looking MAN with fish-belly white skin appears on the TV screen. SUPER: ANTON EGO-FOOD CRITIC”. Beneath that, in italics, is his moniker: The Grim Eater.

EGO

Amusing title, “Anyone Can Cook”.

What’s even more amusing is that Gusteau actually seems to believe it. I, on the other hand, take cooking seriously and no-- I don’t think “anyone” can do it...

TITLES (OVER BLACK):

The SOUND of wind rattling barren branches...

WALT DISNEY PICTURES PRESENTS A PIXAR FILM

...and we FADE IN to reveal:

FRENCH COUNTRYSIDE - LATE AFTERNOON

A light rain falls on a SMALL FARMHOUSE. The last remaining dead leaves tremble in the gusts. The quiet is shattered by a LOUD GUNSHOT that lights up the inside of the cottage. CAMERA pushes down and in toward a single window.

RATATOUILLE

#shitpost

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junipersgarden · 4 years

Text

metanoia 1. | Recover

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

SUMMARY: 8 months later from Tony’s funeral and the promise Peter and you made, where do you two stand now?

WORD COUNT: 4119 words

WARNINGS: N/A?

a/n: i did not expect this to blow up so quickly so thank you all sm!! ill be updating every Friday/ re uploading from Wattpad and converting it to here!! hope you enjoy this chapter and ill see you next Friday ; )

[NOT MY GIF]

...

8 Months Later...

...

"I have a plan. Okay. First, I sit next to Y/N on the flight."

"Mhm."

"Second, I'm gonna buy a dual head phone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time."

"Okay."

"Three, when we go to Venice; Venice is super famous for making stuff out of glass right?"

"True."

"So I'm going to buy her a white gardenia necklace because it's a really pretty flower and... because... well-"

"Is it because of the-?"

"Because of its meaning yeah. Step 4 is when we're in Paris, I'm going to take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace and 5, I'm gonna tell her how I feel. And 6, hopefully she tells me she feels the same way."

"And don't forget Step 7."

"Step 7?" Peter questions and clicks the top of his pen to write down Step 7, ears perked to listen to Ned.

"Don't do any of that."

Peter lets out an annoyed and frustrated sigh as Ned gave him a look that expressed 'what? what did i do?'

"Why?"

"Because we're gonna be bachelors in Europe Peter!"

"Ned."

"Look, I may not know much, but I do know Europeans love Americans."

Peter had little belief in Ned's statement that he scrunched up his face and looked at Ned.

"Really?"

"-And more than half of them are women!" Ned exclaims to make his point.

"...Sure but, I really like Y/N man. She's awesome, she's super funny like in a kind of dork way, and whenever she looks at me I feel like- she's coming over don't say anything!" Peter quickly shuts himself up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Don't say anything!" Is the only thing you hear as you walked up to Peter and Ned's table.

"Sup guys? You excited for the science trip?" You greet them, rocking your body with a smile planted on your face, your assignment folder occupying your hands. Technically you got up from your, F/N's and MJ's table so you could photo copy your guy's group project but you heard Peter and Ned rambling about Europe and thought you could start up a conversation.

"Hey! Uh, yeah! We're just talking about the trip."

"Yeah and Peter's Plan." Ned confidently slides in the conversation.

Peter's Plan?

You stop moving and shift yourself to Peter, averting your eyes so yours meet his.

"...You have a plan? For what?" You nervously smile and laugh at him, playing with your bracelet on your wrist. The bracelet was silver but held a black cross (similar to a crucifix) in the middle of it.

"I- I don't have a plan." Peter mumbles, fiddling with his pen and looking at you with anxious eyes.

"No he's just gonna collect tiny statues while we're travelling to other countries." Ned blurts out and you can see he exchanged a look to Peter.

"I didn't know you liked-" You stopped speaking immediately, your response lost in your mind, something else distracting you.

You looked past Peter's head and your eyes meet with the dozens of drawings and tributes to Iron Man, to Tony and his sacrifice.

It seemed like yesterday you were on the battlefield, when you found out Peter was Spider-Man and all of those emotions and memories swept and flooded your mind in a tidal wave.

You can feel the whole room spinning even though your feet were planted on the ground, the voices of Peter and Ned fading as the sobs of Peter replaced them and Tony's dying breath.

It's been 8 months and you thought you had finally moved on from all the grief and suffering, the sleepless nights full of insidious nightmares and the suffocating feeling that came from all those panic attacks.

"You can rest now..."

"Did you photo copy it?" Someone asks and you whirl yourself around suddenly and possibly too fast, loosing balance and landing into someone's arms. F/N.

"Oh shoot sorry F/N I was talking to Ned and Peter about Europe and got side tracked?"

"It's okay! I was just checking since MJ was sorta getting antsy since she wanted it to all be done before you guys leave tomorrow." F/N beams at you, still holding you up.

"I-I'll go do it now-"

"Y/L/N, did you firstly ask me and secondly get a hall pass?" Ms. Warren spoke up and alarmed you. She was sitting at her desk and was staring at the 4 of you.

"N-No Ms. Warren..."

"I'll go!" Peter shot straight up from his seat. Ned shook his head and F/N laughed at his eagerness.

"No Parker you've got work to do. Y/L/N, Davis can take you."

Davis... Brad Davis?

Just on cue, Brad lifted his head up from being preoccupied at his desk and sent you a friendly smile and wave. He stood up immediately and from his demeanor, seemed over the top that the teacher asked him to escort you to the printers. He looked so familiar but no matter how heard you tried, you couldn't conjure where you'd seen him from.

Brad walked over to you and was still smiling from before so you nicely smiled back. Brad offered you to go first so you walked to Ms. Warren's desk and grabbed the huge hall pass with Brad trailing after you.

"We won't be long Ms. Warren!" Brad yelled out as he closed the classroom door.

You shot F/N a look that said 'okay guess i go and also what just happened?' and F/N shrugged back with no explanation and return back to MJ. You saw Peter looking at you as you left and saw him sigh heavily and immediately get back to his work. I hope Peter's okay.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The cold, crisp breeze whirled through the dim lit streets of Queens as you walked back home; the streets were always alive at night with people hurrying from one place to another, lights shine brightly, beaming against tall, towering buildings and billboards, apartments until rooftops could reach the sky. New York was always cold in the night and what lurked in the darkness was even colder. Robberies, assaults and muggings were a regular sighting in alleyways but with yourself as Saviour and Peter as Spider-Man, the number has been decreasing over time thanks to the both of you. School was weird today with the whole Peter and Ned thing and especially with Brad. He was nice taking you to the printers but he kept asking way to many questions about you and you caught him staring a couple of times... weird.

You gripped your coat tightly around you, wrapping it as much as you could around your body to fight the wind, shivers being sent down your spine. Your mind had been blurry lately; balancing the lifestyle of school, social life and duties into one while trying to properly rest and to be there whenever anyone needed you was a struggle; the biggest fear you had was if you just took one, innocent day off that'd you regret it for the rest of your life. You also found it hard to escape your thoughts, insecurities and nightmares whenever you'd zoned out or even closed your eyes for a second. Despite it all you had your anchors though; the people who were holding you down from losing yourself from all the madness happening. You slip out a smile at the thought of those special individuals; friends that you put above anything or anyone else. Peter, Ned and even Michelle were all you had and all you were relying on to help you back up.

"Help! Someone!" A stranger cries into the night, pleading for a saviour, followed by the sound of gunshots and glass shattering.

Show time.

Reacting instantly, you check for your surroundings before fleeing into the shadows of a lonesome alley and with a single flick of your bracelet, it lets of a white glow, letting you know its activated.

"Hello Ms. L/N, how may I assist you tonight?"

"You know the drill ARIS: suit up."

"Right away Y/N."

On command, the familiar cool and sensational feeling of the nano tech being released from your bracelet began spreading all across your body; you loved the feeling of your suit coming alive just by wishing it, AI on the ready and that the suit was also with you, being a part of you.

As you relished in the moment your suit was fully on your body, you rushed out of the alleyway, concealing your true identity under your mask, prepared to fight, you begin to follow the cries of the citizen in need.

You felt your heart beat and pace fasten, senses heightened and the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

A shift in your vision changes as you feel your pupils fill fully black and steady themselves with your mask lenses, you exert all your energy into a singular jump and successfully land on the rooftop.

"ARIS, scan for location of activity."

"The distress signal appeared from 21st Street."

Ahhh, classic bank robbery.

"Okay ARIS, are all systems ready to go?"

"Affirmative. Initiating heads up display and initializing flight power."

You roll your head back and crack your knuckles, jumping up and down on the spot, ready for take off.

Nodding your head, you extend your arms out and feel the palms opening up and see the infinite blue glow from your thrustsers and feel the energy spreading and going to the soles of your suit.

Staring down the run way of the roof, you start walking before speeding up into a full sprint, running across the abandoned roof top. Steps quickening, you can see the end of the roof nearing with each step you take; you're going to jump. Before you know it you've leapt off the roof and it feels like time has stopped and you're floating on nothing; it's only you, the sky and the city's blurred noises and lights.

"Flight power fully restored." ARIS states, crashing and hauling you back into reality.

The euphoria of you floating has started to turn into the immense awareness that you are plummeting straight down with such speed to the lively streets and roads of New York below.

Extending your arms and legs, you point them into the direction of 21st Street and hear the whirring of your suit taking control and then, you're off. You're flying, just like Tony did, in the late night sky of New York City to stop a robbery.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Positioning yourself, your eyes meet with the victim in front of you; the typical situation.

"Hey."

The criminals all stop with their actions and immediately turn their heads to you. The hostages look up at you with hope and desperate, tears of fear and joy being to stream from their eyes.

"Looks like you forgot your credit cards huh fellas?"

2 out of the 4 robbers stand up and you took the chance to fire an energy blast, distracting them you slide on your knees towards the captives.

"Go! Go!" You beckon as you freed them from their constraints, they hurried out of the door shouting 'thank you's' and praises for your service and gratitude.

Getting up from the ground quickly, you turn around and see the 2 robbers running toward you.

You spring off the floor, back onto your feet and observe your surroundings; the 2 robbers are still sprinting towards you. You ball your fists and stance yourself ready to fight.

"Guys, guys, guys! You can either return back the money and nothing happens or we can do this the annoying and hard way."

One of the robbers racing towards you pulls back their gun and you hear a gunshot and feel a little ting and flick on your suit; the robber was really dumb enough to shoot you and your bulletproof suit.

"Well, guess you chose the hard way."

The 2 robbers still at full speed rush towards you but before they can even touch you, you step to the side and they loose control and crash into the wall.

"Ooooh! That's at least gotta leave a bruise.' You mock them.

You dart towards the fallen robbers, dizzy and dazed from the impact. You hit your right wrist twice on your suit and it opens up and greets you with what you were looking for; your trusty tool and invention of electric rope. The rope appeared as a blue wire with white sparks that shot out of it and you used it to tie up criminals and lets say if they were to hesitate or make a runner, they'd get a bit of a shock.

Grabbing the 1st and 2nd robber's hands, you wrap the wire around them both so they are both stuck together and unable to escape.

2 down, 2 to go.

The other 2 robbers that were still looting money had stopped since they'd heard the crash and the groaning of pain from the one's you'd taken on.

One robber stands up and places his fingers in his mouth and whistles.

You tilt your head in confusion but see that 3 more step out from the remaining safes.

"Aww brought more of your friends for me? How sweet..."

They all attack you at once, bullets ricochet off you and bounce back, flying back at them.

In unison they all duck down behind a counter from the bullets and curse out profanities and you take the opportunity to dash forward and leap onto the counter and land in front of them.

They all jump to their feet and a robber steps in front of you and tries to land a hit. You grab their arm and twist it and they let off a howl of anguish, you tasered him with your bracelet and flipping and throwing him to the floor.

Another takes his place and goes to hit you but one from behind tackles you and pins your arms, locking them in a firm and harsh grip.

Even through the suit, you can feel sharp fingernails attempting to latch and pierce you.

The guy in front of you clutches a solid grasp on both of your shoulders, forcefully yanks you down into his knee and hits your stomach. Already you can feel a bruise forming on your lower abdomen.

Jesus this one will be hard to cover...

You groan at the extensive, burning sensation building, your skin becoming tender and aching from the hit. The guy holding your arms down is tightening his grip and

"Given up huh Saviour?" The robber in front of you spits.

"T-that's the thing...." You let out a breathless chuckle, "I'm only getting started."

The robbers stare at each other and back before laughing furiously at you, the rest approaching you with guns.

What the robbers were thinking is that they'd won; they had successfully robbed Queens County Saving Bank and had taken down one of Queen's own superheroes. You on the other hand, had plans and knew perfectly well how criminal's minds worked; allow them to think they've won, they'll loose all focus and control on the situation, so you'd gotten them in the spot you wanted them: busy getting ready to celebrate a fake victory and not realizing the black smoke manifesting around them.

"As I said, I'm just getting started." A smirk lies on your covered face as you look deeply into the taunting robber's eyes full of bewilderment and fear.

The black smoke begins flurrying around your body finds it way around the robber's hands, instantly making him let go you. You lunge forward and punch the one in front of you with full power, he stumbles back and falls to the ground defeated. You then sharply turn and kick the other in the face.

The two out of the three still left go to attack you but you raise your arm in defense and send a gust of smoke flying to them. They stagger back and remain frozen as the smoke curls around and drags them to the ground. You rush over and deploy more of your rope onto the two and wrap it tightly around them, restraining them to the one place.

The last robber you spot is kneeling on the ground, trembling slightly with fear and piling as much money possible into one bag, trying to make a clean getaway.

Slowly and antagonistically, you make your way over to him and stand there, staring at him and waiting for him to notice. So busy and frantically he continues filling the bag he doesn't take care of his surroundings or even the cries of his comrades.

"I'll take that thank you." You cleanly snatch the bag and kick him to the ground with your heel.

He lands flat on his chest, hands out to the side you grab them and wrap them around once more.

People emerge from hiding and cry out cheers of joy and appreciation, a few giving you a pat on the shoulder, hugging you and the occasional asking for photos. The sound of police sirens ring in the distance, signaling its time to go. Waving your goodbyes, you turn to flee the scene but you hear and notice the vibration of a tap being played on your suit. You pivot back around and see one of the bank accountant's smiling frailly at you, evidently anxious and nervous in your presence.

"T-thank you so much Saviour, how ever can we repay you?" The accountant's eyes full of tears and lost distress begged.

"You don't need too; this is my job. Saving people's lives is what I do." You reply to the accountant, taking off into the night.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"You did quite an excellent job tonight might I say so myself Y/N."

"Why thank you my Another, Rather, Intelligent System."

"Was that perhaps what you call, a flex?"

"...Yes ARIS, that was a flex." You mumble with a hint of embarrassment.

Currently soaring in the air with another criminal taken down, the fresh and cool wind rattles against you. Patrols were always 'relaxing' in a sense to you; gliding around the city and if your AI or you come to the attention of any law breaking activity, you swoop in (literally) and handle it. At times, you would bump into now and then into Spider-Man and the two of you mixed with your skills, would work together as a dynamic duo to take down the enemy. Queens loved and adored the both of you as individuals but as partners as well. Before knowing Peter was Spider-Man, there was a bit of tension and jealously and bickering from both of you: 'Dibs I had him first!' 'No, you know I patrol this area!' arguments occurred so many times that even the Avengers were pulled into it.

"I apologize for interrupting your thinking but it seems to be you have approximately 3 missed calls from your mother and from Pepper Potts accordingly."

Missed calls from Mum is bad but wait- Pepper called?

"W-when did they call ARIS? Any voicemails?"

"Your mother called to say to be home earlier from 'study group' to prepare for Europe tomorrow and that not to miss dinner again... which you did and Ms. Potts left nothing for you."

"C-can you auto text Mum that study group when longer than expected and that Y/F/N's offered dinner so I stayed and that I'll be home soon?"

"Already on it and for Pepper?"

"Don't text her anything."

"Text sent."

Pepper? The Pepper Potts? It's been 8 months; what does she want and is that Peter?

Drifting down from the air, you land quietly behind a wall and crouch down behind it, peering out carefully and you see Peter in his Iron Spider suit, eyes red and wet with tears as he stares at a piece of graffiti.

What's so bad about- oh.

The piece of artwork was of Tony; no wonder he was so distraught.

"You okay Spider-Man?"

"Y-yeah, I j-just c-crashed into a w-wall?" His voice high pitched, obviously lying.

"Uh huh... mind if I sit?"

"O-oh uh... no! No, you can sit!"

Giggling at Peter's awkwardness, you slide next to him and take a seat. You knew something was wrong by the way he was breathing and that his eyes were wet and red but how do you bring it up?

"So..."

"So...?"

"H-how is everything Spidey?" God that was awful.

"T-things could be s-so much better... just, the whole Blip thing is, it's getting to me."

"Blip?"

"The Blip? W-where the alien guy on Titan s-snapped his fingers and e-everyone d-disappeared?"

"Wait that's called the Blip?"

"Well that's what everyone is calling it."

"It sounds better than something to do with a maniac murdering half of the Earth's population... plus it's easy to say and remember."

And for the first time in a long time, you actually heard Spider-Man and Peter laugh. It was more of a sad and dry chuckle but, at least it was something.

"I'm assuming you didn't hear about 21st Street then?"

"21st Street what now?"

"Just now there was a robbery; apparently some of uhhh, what's his name? The macho, pacho penguin looking guy? Sends out his henchmen to do all the dirty work?"

"K-Kingpin?"

"Yeah! Pretty sure that's the one! But, really? Kingpin? Sounds really dumb; reminds me of bowling or something instead of an evil business man."

"His head does look like a bowling ball..." Peter murmured quietly.

You smiled brightly and threw your head back as you laughed; that's the Peter and Spider-Man I know.

From his mask, you could tell he was smiling since the corner of his mouth was showing the little peaks from out of it.

Your and his laughter began to die down you two just stayed silence and looked up into the cloudless sky.

"It's beautiful isn't it?"

"It really is... makes my night."

"And mine as well, I mean besides your company." Spider-Man, well more like Peter coughed, trying to cover up what he said.

"T-thank you though.. this was a nice chat Saviour. Not to alarm you or anything, but I'm not gonna be here much longer-"

"W-woah, what the hell do you mean-"

"N-no! Sorry, I worded that wrong don't panic! What I meant to say is I'm not going to be here because, I'm going on vacation."

Parker I swear...

You lightly hit his shoulder and let out a breath of relief. "Don't scare me like that! I did not need that!"

"S-sorry! B-but yeah... I'm going on vacation.. can you handle Queens without me?"

"I already do. Besides, there's always the other Avengers who can."

"Y-yeah... the Avengers... a-anyways Saviour, I-I'm gonna go now. I'll s-see you soon?"

"See ya Spidey and don't go crashing into any walls!"

"When did I- oh."

"Ratted yourself out. Bye Spideyyyyy!" You call out and wave as you watch him swing away and make tracks home yourself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"I dunno how I did it, but I snuck back in ARIS."

"Well, your mother is asleep-"

"Shhh lemme have this!"

"... Congratulations Y/N."

"Thank you ARIS-"

"Even though I do not condone this behaviour."

Rolling your eyes, you shrug your body and switch your bracelet and your suit slowly peels away from your body, the nano- tech shrinking so it all fits inside the bracelet. You stretch your body but wince from your stomach. Cautiously, you lift your shirt and see the enormous bruise left on you from the robber and his knee.

Bye, bye crop tops...

Plopping yourself on your bed, you lie down and sigh in exhaustion. Closing your eyes slowly, you feel yourself falling to asleep. Until the chime of your best friend's ringtone plays from your phone which causes you to lurch up and open your phone to look at the text.

from: F/N ✌️

yeah.... i'm really sorry that I can't go to Europe...

from: you

i get it, it's totally fine! your family needs you.

don't feel bad trust me it's all g.

from: F/N ✌️

...if you say so dude. just, have a great time,

take photos and promise to text me when you can?

from: you

you know I will 😤

from: F/N ✌️

kk. well, I better go. it's late and unlike you, people have school tomorrow.

from: you

haha, very funny... well, goodnight nub > : (

from: F/N ✌️

see ya geek : P

Reaching over you place your phone back on the charger and look at the ceiling and sigh.

New York has been chaotic since the Snap- Blip. The Blip. And the amount of crimes has only doubled since before then and everything with school and my friends, Ned, MJ, F/N and Peter and oh god...

Hopefully Europe gives me a break.

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

TAG LIST !! < 3

@eridanuswave

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chatsanova · 4 years

Text

Have Another Go At It and Hope For More Than Change: Ch 1

I’ve been sitting on this AU for a while and quarantine as left me more than enough time to write so here so trauma and angst ML fic. There’s some time fuckery, and swearing, as well as major character deaths (think Infinity War here)

AO3

“Cat Noir get back!” Chaos fills Paris as akuma victims attack from all sides.

“I’m not leaving you, my lady!” Bee, Rena, and Carapace have all fallen. It was just the two of them, with no options left.

“Noir, I’m not asking!” Hawkmoth and Paon, now a lot more powerful than the months before, attacked on both fronts, Le Paon causing large and terrifying creatures from the nightmares of people passed out on the streets. Ladybug lost her yo-yo to the reincarnated Jack-ady, Cat Noir’s staff broken in half by Dark Blade. They both had used through their Miraculous. Cataclysm barely effective, the Lucky Charm postponed the inevitable. They were surrounded by past villains, new and old. Some of them seemed to hold a grudge from the last time they were defeated. These were citizens of Paris that Ladybug had failed. She should have known it wasn’t enough to just capture akumas. She should have gone to the source. She should have been proactive. This was her fault.

“Fall back!” Cat screams but Ladybug’s thoughts drive her to hesitate and in a rumbling of the streets Stoneheart picks up Ladybug crushing her body down hard. She screams in pain and passes out in his hand.

“LADYBUG!” tears spill down his cheeks as he scrambles for some semblance of a plan. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Today was supposed to be normal.

The booming voice of Hawkmoth shakes the streets, “CAT NOIR, I’VE CAPTURED LADYBUG. I HAVE HER MIRACULOUS. GIVE UP YOURS AND I WILL GRANT YOU YOUR LIFE.”

Cat Noir collapses on the ground, holding back dry heaving sobs. Stoneheart releases Ladybug in front of Hawkmoth, her body drops like a sack of bricks. He can hear the thud. Hawkmoth reaches down. Cat Noir is stuck. Body heavy, tired. He can’t move, solidified to the ground as if he is part of it. He needs to save her. She’s hurt, she’s...about to be revealed. He has to… save her. He rises from the ground.

“I have to say, Cat Noir,” Hawkmoth drags out his words, as if he has all the time in the world, “You... are... loyal. Bring him to me.”

Someone, he doesn’t know who, lifts Cat Noir off the ground to drop him off at Hawkmoth’s feet. He buckles once more, pathetically. His knees are weak, and every muscle in his body shakes from exhaustion. Hawkmoth leans over and removes an earring from Ladybug’s ear. “No,” he attempts to scream, but his voice cracks instead. He wants to close his eyes, for her sake, but it’s too late. Her transformation slips off as Hawkmoth removes the second earring. Marinette. He thought about how he would react to this many nights before. What his reaction might be to seeing who his lady is. Would they see each other and have sudden epiphanies about how much they loved each other and celebrate with a dance atop the Eiffel Tower or the Notre Dame Cathedral? Together they could do anything. A joyful celebration of mutual love and respect seems so far away it might as well be a different universe. He sobs. He sees everything that she is. He loves her and didn’t save her. He didn’t stop this. He never ever wanted it to be this way. Quickly, pushing the hurt from his mind, he remembers where is his: on his knees in front of Hawkmoth. His sobs turn to anger.

“I can see it in you, Cat Noir. You’d do anything for her.” He’s tired and stiff, but can still retort with, “Including kill you.” If Ladybug and Cat Noir were balanced, and Ladybug was gone, what was he capable of?

“Bold words from someone who can barely stand. But you are missing the point. You and I, we are the same.” Ah yes, that thing villains love to do: pretend they are heroes after taking over the entire city of Paris.

“Don’t you ever compare me to you.” he spits at Hawkmoth’s feet.

“I would also do anything for the woman I love. That’s what this is all for. I lost my wife, and I intend to get her back.”

Then Le Paon walks out rolling a woman in a glass tube out onto the roof where they stand, then walks away again. Apparently she has better things to do. When he sees the encased woman, Cat Noir’s heart plummets. If it was possible to feel worse, kneeling next to Marinette’s limp body, he did. His mother. His mother is in that tube. My wife. Cat Noir retches.

“With the powers of the Ladybug’s and Cat Noir’s miraculous, I can bring her back to me. Nothing else matters. Nothing.”

“Not even your son?”

“What?”

“Tell me Hawkmoth, where is your son right now?”

Hawkmoth looks around, confused, “Who said anything about a son?”

“I did,” Cat Noir stands once more, leaning on the building if only to try to remove the sick, bitter feeling in his stomach. He replaces it with rages. Through gritted teeth, he says, “That’s Emelie Agreste. Which makes you Gabriel. Which makes me your son. Am I going too fast?”

“No, it’s not- it’s not possible!”

“Then where’s your son, Gabriel?” The blood drains from the villain’s face. The darkness in Adrien, the one the was almost required for someone to be Cat Noir, the miraculous of destruction, shows itself in the moments that he has lost everything, “Did you lose him in the chaos?” With the upper hand, he makes the choice to walk closer to Hawkmoth, “No, I think you lost him a long time ago. Yeah, around the same you lost her,” Adrien points finger roughly at his mother, “When we lost her. But no, there’s no we. There never was, was there, dad?” he spit the word so hard Gabriel looked stricken. Not a word, a bullet. “Now looks at this bitter irony, huh? Neither even realized it. HA! We never realized we were living under the same fucking roof as our sworn enemy!” he laughs in a scary, hysterical way that turns into a coughing fit, which causes a huge pang of pain throughout his body. Hawkmoth, stupid fucking Hawkmoth, stands there with a dumb look on his face.

“Adrien,” the word hurts him, “you can help me. You can help me bring your mother back. Just give me your miraculous!”

“Fuck you.”

“Adrien, I can fix everything! I can fix your mother! I can fix us! I can fix the whole world! Just give m--”

“Fuck. You. You’re delusional. You always have been! I thought it was some form of protection like you wanted to save me or something. But obviously it’s just so I wouldn’t stand in your way. Let’s send Adrien to this stupid charity event! Or this fucking photoshoot! Let’s keep him from the outside world completely and totally, that will keep him out of my hair! You are so stupid. You are so fucking dumb. And I WAS THE ONE STOPPING YOU! THE WHOLE TIME! HAHAHA. You wanted me out of your hair! HAHAHA” As his laughter crescendoed so did the pain. “Adrien, if you don’t give it to me, I will take it from you.”

The crazed smile on Cat Noir’s face drops suddenly, “Go for it. You ripped everything I love away, what’s one more, right? I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of giving it to you, you better kill me first. Rip it off my cold dead hand. Kill your son to bring back your wife. Go for it, asshole.” Le Paon appears again, “That can be arranged,” and Adrien hears a gunshot. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrien woke up in a comfy bed in a large room.

The first thought that crossed his mind was “Am I dead?” No, wait. Of course not. Why did he think that? There was a dream. A weird dream.

“Adrien, mon cher, wake up you’re going to be late for school!” a woman’s voice comes from behind the door.

“Oui, oui, mère, Je suis réveillé.” For a moment the word “mère” feels weird on his tongue, but that quickly passes. He dresses in his normal clothes and goes downstairs to find his mother and father sitting at the table with a plate of tartine waiting for him. Once again, something feels off, only for a moment. Maybe it was that dream? There was a sudden surge of hate and bitterness toward his father before pushing it away. It would be strange to feel angry for something his father did in a dream.

“You’d better hurry, darling, Gorilla’s waiting outside.”

“Yeah, I’d better go. Love you!”

A chorus of nonchalant I love you’s follow him out the door.

“Good morning, Gorilla, how are you today.”

“Monsieur Adrien, are you okay?”

“Of course, I am, why would you think otherwise?”

“Well, monsieur, you’re crying.” Adrien reaches up to his cheek to find wet trails down his face. How could he be crying? “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s almost, well, happy?”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re in such a good mood!”

“Right…” Adrien looked at his hand, perplexed by the wetness from tears he didn’t even realize he had. _______________

The feeling of wrongness followed Adrien all day. He didn’t know where it came from, but his stomach was just a little wobbly. His friends were there, Alya, Nino, Chloe. They talked in the hallway. Chloe had had a very weird dream and started on a tangent, “And this butterfly just comes up and possesses me…” Nino looked oddly interested, odd only because he’s never had any interest in Chloe’s weird tangents before.

But before he could dwell too long on Chloe’s dream, Marinette walked in. She was just AURATING with wrong. Everything about her. There was nothing different that he could see, her dark, black hair fell down to lay on her shoulders, she wore a black v-neck t-shirt, black ripped jeans with a blue jean jacket. Her lips tinted red. Beautiful as always, but still, something felt off. He was sort of getting sick of this feeling, but then he noticed to look on Alya’s face, who was looking straight at Marinette.

“You feel it too.” He interrupted Chloe.

“What?” Alya snapped out of her daze to look at Adrien’s concerned face.

“The feeling. It’s been following me all day,” Adrien ignored Chloe’s offended face at being ignored, but Alya’s eyes widened, in confusion or fear, Adrien didn’t know.

“What feeling, dude?” Nino pulled himself away from his own thoughts.

“The feeling of complete and utter wrong.”

“Like reverse deja-vu.” Alya said suddenly, “Like something should feel familiar but doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you guys listen to me at all? That’s what I’m saying! This butterfly thing didn’t feel like a dream! It felt like a memory,” Chloe added, “That’s impossible, right?”

Nino looked down and said, “I think what’s more impossible is I had the same dream.”

They all turned to look at him.

“Ok, so what the hell is going on?” Adrien tried to reel himself in. It’s one thing to have a weird dream and a weird feeling, it’s an entirely different thing to have his friends experience the exact same thing.

“It’s probably a coincidence,” Nino said, “maybe we were watching the same YouTube video or some shit, the YouTube algorithms do that now.”

“Yeah, could be, or maybe that doesn’t make any sense at all.” Chloe thwacked his arm.

“Alya, did you have that dream?” Nino asked.

“I had one a little different. There was no purple butterfly but there was an arrow followed by a huge hateful feeling. It still felt weird though. What about you Adrien?”

“I did have a dream, I just… ugh, I don’t remember it as well. I just remember my father and the feeling of betrayal and a girl…I think she was dead, or unconscious or something,” He ran his fingers through his hair, “I just don’t remember it, but it sucked.”

“So we all had major crap dreams. What does that mean?” Chloe leaned against a locker, inspecting a fingernail.

“Well,” Alya considered, “Maybe let’s focus on the wrong feeling. We feel it more in different places, yeah? What feels wrong?”

“My entire house feels off,” Adrien thought about his big house, his mom, his father, the chorus of I love you’s. It felt nice. It felt happy. It felt wrong. As crappy as that was, his big happy house with the happy family felt so wrong it gave him vertigo.

“The news. Ladybug feels wrong.”

“Lady..bug?”

“Yeah, she was wreaking havoc all over again.” Yep, that definitely felt wrong.

“What feels the most wrong?”

“Marinette.” Alya’s eyes grew distant. The four of them collectively turned to Marinette, Who was talking to Kim as they entered the classroom. The pit in Adrien’s stomach got bigger and emptier.

“Adrien? Are you okay?” Nino glanced over at him. This wasn’t the first time he’s been asked that today, but it felt so much worse than earlier. This was heartbreak. Love and loss. It went away as suddenly as it came, but Nino had caught it, “You’re crying.”

So he was. The first time had been of joy, but this was a wave of brokenness. He needed to find out what the hell was going on.

“I hate this. I hate this guessing game. Why do we feel like this? WHAT. IS. GOING. ON.” he slung his backpack over his shoulder and marched inside the classroom and slammed his hand in front Marinette. She barely looked up at him. Wrong.

“Blondie.”

“Do you feel it?” Now she looked up.

“What?”

“Do you feel what we feel?”

“Are you crazy?” He felt a little crazy, but goddamn this day was the thing doing it. Marinette was the one doing it. She looked at him straight in the eye.

“The feeling that something...is wrong.”

“HA!” The laugh was bitter, “No, Adrien, I don’t feel what you’re feeling.” She rolled her eyes. Wrong.

“Um, Adrien, maybe not.” Alya pulled his arm away from the desk.

“Yeah, maybe cut her some slack.” Nino’s eyes looked sympathetic. Even Chloe looked like she just saw Adrien kick a puppy. They pulled him into the hallway.

“Maybe approaching Marinette like that after what happened to her parents isn't such a good idea, Adrien.”

“Her... parents?”

All three of them narrowed their eyes and furrowed their eyebrows in concern.

Alya started slowly, “Ladybug was involved with an attack on the Dupain-Cheng bakery.” Chloe pulled the news article up on her phone and showed him.

Oh right, Adrien didn’t remember until he did, if that made any sense, Marinette’s parents died 3 months ago.

Wrong. Wrong, so very wrong. The feeling made his tongue swell and his stomach into a pit. As Alya said it, her face twisted.

“Adrien, why do you seem more affected by it?” Nino mused, “You seem to “remember” less, you know? What else do you not remember?”

“How the hell am I supposed to answer th-” Adrien was cut off by a rumbling through the floor, “What was that?” The rumbling turned into straight-up shaking. Then the sound. It was deafening. Everyone in the class started screaming at once. There was screaming from outside. The rumbling lasted for what seemed like minutes and then trickled to a stop. Chloe frantically searched her phone but it didn’t take long to find out what had happened; she gasped at her phone, horrified. “Chlo?” The phone fell from her grasp and she buckled, “Chloe?” Alya and Nino rushed to her aide asking if she was okay, but she burst into tears. It wasn’t until Adrien picked up her now shattered phone that he saw what she was looking at: A live feed of the news played faintly from the speakers as the famous Parisian Hotel Chloe called home collapsed.“Oh my god.”

Chloe wailed from the floor as the rest of the class asked what happened, they must have seen the horror on Adrien’s face as everyone continued to panic.

“Adrien, what’s going on?”

“What happened?”

“Was it Ladybug?”

Adrien took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, “Le Grand Paris collapsed.” Alya’s face went slack.

“WHAT?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN COLLAPSED?”

“WHAT COULD HAVE DONE THAT?”

Everyone seemed to have questions that already had an answer, it was Ladybug, obviously, she had caused the building to collapse but it was Marinette who asked the question that really needed asking: “How many people were inside?”

She looked distantly on the floor, numb from the events that had already happened in her life. This world, the wrong world that it was, was a war zone. Ladybug vs Paris. And Ladybug was winning.

The class went quiet, the only sounds heard came from Chloe on the ground, fetal position, dry sobbing, her voice scratched all the ears in the room. Adrien looked at his phone for more headlines only to see the same thing:

“SUPERVILLAIN STRIKES AGAIN AT LE GRAND PARIS”

“INVESTIGATION ON THE COLLAPSE OF PARIS HOTEL, IS LADYBUG INVOLVED?”

“WILL LADYBUG’S REIGN OF TERROR EVER END???”

“THE MAYOR OF PARIS, ANDRE BOURGEOIS AND WIFE CONFIRMED DEAD ON THE SCENE”

Marinette stood, the only one to seem to have her wits about her, and moved to Chloe.

“Hey, Chloe, come here.” She wrapped her arms around the blonde, who reciprocated. She let her cry. They had hated each other for years and years, but now was not the time for past rivalries. It hadn’t been since Mari’s parents… Well, there were far more important things. Far worse things.

Alya stood too, “Adrien...does it say anything about the other survivors?”

“It’s all too new, they… they only started investigating.”

“There’s no investigating to be done. It’s Ladybug. It has to be.” Alya clenched her fists. Nino put his hand on her shoulder.

“Well, yeah, but unless you can capture a supervillain there doesn’t seem to be a lot we can do.”

“WHERE IS THE GODDAMN TEACHER?” Alya slammed her fist on a nearby desk, “Aren’t there supposed to be some fucking adults here? Why are we dealing with this by OURSELVES?” It was a good question. They were in a room a 16-17 year olds, this was a national tragedy. Where was everyone?

At that, the class seemed to come out of their stupor and went to work. Max started setting up a live feed of the news on the projector, Kim and Alix ran to other classrooms to check if they were alright. No teachers there either, turns out. The rest got on their phones to see if their loved ones were ok. Adrien finally called his dad.

“Dad? Are you and mom okay?”

“We’re fine, are you with Chloe? Is she okay?”

“No, she’s not, but we are helping her.”

“Okay. Adrien, your mom says to stay inside, it’s a war zone out there, alright?” Adrien glanced out the window, debris and ash flooded the sky.

“Yeah, we’ll stay here.”

“Good, love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad.” Adrien didn’t have time to dwell on the foreign feeling from the conversation. Suddenly the feeling in the pit of his stomach had virtually nothing to do with his dad and entirely to do with Ladybug. More students gathered in their classroom and Max’s live feed came onto the screen.

“Updates from Le Grand Paris, officials are pulling survivors from the wreckage, but so far only a few of the hundreds in the hotel seem to be alive. Among the dead, the mayor of Paris and his wife Andre and Andrey Bourgeois, rockstar Jagged Stone and many many more. Among the survivors are most of the kitchen staff, who had been in kitchens in the basement during the collapse.” Alya tried to hold in her relief, especially surrounded by so much tragedy, but hearing her mom is likely alive was the best news she received all day. “It is advised the people in Paris, especially within 4 miles of the hotel stay inside for the time being. The air is currently not safe to breathe due to ash and debris.”

After a few hours of painstaking waiting, Adrien decided to do something, it wasn’t the right time or place, but it seemed as though there was no other option, “Nino, Alya, Chloe, Marinette. Can I please talk to you in the hallway?”

Chloe had stopped sobbing a little while ago, too exhausted for more tears. Now she looked distant and numb, like Marinette had when the Le Grande Paris collapsed.

“Chloe, actually, if you don’t want to be a part of this--”

“Don’t, Agreste…” she threw her hand up to stop him from suggesting that she should be anywhere other than right here and stood, “Now more than ever, I know that something is very wrong. We need to fix it. And that starts with her,” Chloe pointed a thumb at Marinette.

“What? What does that mean?”

“Come on,” Adrien put his hand out to help Marinette off the floor. She’d been sitting with Chloe the whole time. She didn’t accept his hand, and stood herself.

“I don’t know what you guys think I’m responsible for but I’m not. Please just leave me out of it.” Marinette didn’t really look him in the eye, and futzed with her bangs.

“Mari, please.” The nickname made her squint at him, but his face was so pleading and panicked that she relented pretty quickly. He wasn’t alone in his resolve to look for a solution, a real solution that apparently no one else in Paris had, and all the people that did were crushed under Le Grand Paris.

Marinette followed Adrien out of the room to find Alya, Nino, and Chloe suddenly hush their conversation.

“Alright, what are you talking about?” Marinette crossed her arms.

“At most, solutions, at least, answers.” Nino shrugged.

“What makes you think I have them?”

“What all had weirdly eerie dreams last night, very similar to each other.” Adrien was talking softly, tiptoeing around her and possibly Chloe, like they were fragile. It pissed Mari off. Mari had come to realize Chloe as one of the strongest people she knew, bookended by these past few hours and right this second. She had lost her parents, and while surely still grieving, pushes for answers and solutions. She wasn’t fragile, not ever.

“Listen, Agreste, I didn’t have a dream last night, or the night before, or the night before that. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Honestly, Marinette, neither do I."

#tw major character death #tw #ml #miraculous ladybug #tw death #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #chloe bourgeois #tw trauma #tw parent death #ml fic #ml fic have another go at it

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p-artsypants · 5 years

Text

Longest Night (4)

Ao3 | FF.net

Then it came time for patrol. And here, dear reader, is where it all goes wrong.

A fall evening, not long after sunset, cool winds, but not unpleasant. Ladybug and Chat Noir were doing their weekly rounds. Looking for any sign of Hawkmoth or an Akuma. But so far, nothing ‘super’ had been seen.

Ladybug arrived at the Eiffel Tower first, having left 15 minutes ahead of time out of restlessness.

Still, Chat was late, and she made sure to mention it as he landed next to her with a ‘thwump’.

“You’re late, Kitty.”

“My apologies, it’s so rude to keep a lady waiting.”

“You better have a good excuse.”

“But of course!” He smiled. “Caught a pickpocket on the way here. Walked him to the police station and had him turn over his wallets. They’re taking it from there.”

“Good Kitty!” She praised, scratching under his chin.

He relished in it. “What about you? You…you don’t look so hot. You feeling okay?”

She shook her head. “I feel fine Chat. Just…just a bad day. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure?”

She offered a smile. “Maybe after patrol, if I’m feeling like it.”

“Okay. You can talk to me about anything, My Lady. I don’t judge.”

“I know. It’s just…its fresh. And I don’t want to cry anymore.”

His ears flattened to his head. “Oh…”

She sighed, trying to breach a new topic. “ugh, I haven’t seen a thing. I haven’t even seen any angry couples fighting.”

“We could fight?” He offered.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Very funny.”

“I thought it was!”

“Give it up Chat, you’re going to win me the day pigs fly.”

“Be careful what you wish for. You never know, Hawkmoth might make a flying pig Akuma.”

She hummed. “You know, that wouldn’t be the weirdest Akuma he’s made.”

Chat laughed, “besides, there’s nothing wrong with being a little flirty, right?”

“As long as it’s not in the middle of a fight.” She reprimanded.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Of course, of course.”

She offered a smile. “Well, I’m going to check the docks first. Been catching a few drug deals happening down there.”

“Good idea. I’ll double back on Barbes Boulevard. Just to double check.”

“Call me if you need backup.”

“Likewise, Bug. Be safe.”

“You know I will.” She blew him a kiss and leapt away towards the Seine.

The docks were never really a civilian hotspot. People rarely even went there in the day, unless they worked there. So at night, it was safe to assume anyone there was up to no good.

So of course, when Ladybug saw headlights shining in an alleyway, she knew something was up. She crept over, and watched from the rooftop.

There were several men, most in expensive suits. One with a white suit that Marinette could already tell was so luxurious, her father couldn’t afford it with two years profits at the bakery.

The man himself was huge, reminding her of Kingpin from the Spider-Man comics Alya had in her bathroom. He stood in front of the head lights, his shadow cast against the ground and to the wall somehow bigger than his associates.

About five men, including this rich one, were facing a young man, in a classic showdown.

The large man spoke, his voice ricocheting off the wall and settling in her stomach with nausea. “I gave you a month. That’s more time than I’ve ever given anyone before. I saw promise in you. I took you in.”

“Eddy, please—“ The younger man begged. Ladybug couldn’t see his face, but she could hear his panic.

The man grunted.

“M-Mr. Savauge. You gotta understand! I was doing great! I made all of it back, with interest! But-but my buddy double crossed me! He took all of it. But I know where he’s going! If you give me just a little more time—“

Ladybug took out her compact and silently sent her coordinates to Chat.

“Charles...” the man, this Mr. Savauge drawled out. “This was your last chance. I warned you in the beginning. You’re just not made for dealing. Not dealing cards, not dealing drugs...but I will get my money from you. And I know...just what to do. Got plenty of rich old bitches looking for companions.”

“No...no please sir! I don’t want to do that! I got a girl! I can’t do that to her!”

“No girls huh? That’s fine, got lots of bull queers too. They’d love that cute little ass of yours.”

“No! No please!!”

Mr. Savauge laughed, a sick sound that made Ladybug curl her lips in disgust. “I’m just kidding, Charles. You’re too ugly to be a prostitute.”

The other men laughed.

Mr. Savauge held up a fist, silencing them. “You know Charles, it’s surprisingly easy to get information on people these days. Especially for someone like me. I know everything! I even know who Hawkmoth is!”

Ladybug gripped her yo-yo. She would be confronting this man, one way or another.

“So you know, trying to hide you and your wife’s life insurance policy from me? It ain’t gonna cut it.”

“No...please not my wife!”

“I’m not gonna touch your wife. That is, as long as she complies. You’re worth more dead than alive to me, Charles. And I much as I liked your spunk, I’m going to have to make a decision based on business.”

There was some clicking noises as the man’s goons withdrew guns.

“Nothing personal, kid.”

Ladybug leapt, her yo-yo spinning to create a shield, as she landed in between Charles and the fire.

“Hold it!” Mr. Savauge called out.

The gunfire ceased, and Ladybug stopped spinning her yo-yo. But she was still on defense, ready to start again at a moment’s notice.

From this perspective, the man was just a silhouette against the light. LED headlights, super bright, made her squint.

“Why, if it ain’t the cutesy little bug girl. What’re you doing here, kid? Don’t you got a moth to catch?”

She answered calmly, her voice a pitch deeper than usual. “I happened to be in the area. I overheard you mention you know who Hawkmoth is.”

He barked out a laugh. “It’s an expression! Come on, no one knows who that psychopath is.”

But Ladybug still didn’t budge. She fixed her glare on him.

“Oh, you really got that menacing look down! If you weren’t an actual child, I might be scared!” He chuckled. “But I’m being honest Ladybug. I don’t know who Mothman is. Don’t know, don’t care. Now move along, this doesn’t concern you.”

“I promised to protect Paris, and that’s what I’ll do.”

The man winced, “man, superhero types are just no joke. Fine, have it your way, Bug. Open fire.”

Ladybug spun her yo-yo frantically as a hail of bullets came raining down on her and Charles. She felt his hands on her back, and knew he was trying to hide behind her.

“Distract them for me, okay?” He said into her ear.

“Wait! Don’t!”

But it was too late. Charles tried to run. He only made it a single step out from her shield, before being shot several times in the chest. He didn’t even scream. Just stopped, collapsed onto his knees, and fell flat on the ground.

“No!” Her line fell slack for a moment and a bullet whizzed just passed her cheek, leaving a burning sensation just below the mask line and a ringing in her ears. She snapped back to attention quickly, and avoided any other nasty blows. The gunfire was suppressive and her arms were getting tired.

Her saving grace came from her partner arriving, coming up behind the goons and taking them out quickly, before they could turn to shoot.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t try.

Chat weaved in between them, not standing still and always staying close enough to be a risk of them shooting each other.

Ladybug took the opportunity to also take out a goon, who had been distracted. A clear shot with her yo-yo to the back of the head, and the gun fire ceased.

Mr. Savauge had wisely ducked down during the fight, and right as he returned to his feet, he found himself tied up in a yo-yo line.

“End of the road, scum.”

“Scum? Me? Do you even know who I am?” He laughed. “Who am I kidding, of course you don’t.”

Chat stood opposite Ladybug, effectively cutting off the exit should he try to escape. Not that he would be able to break his bonds though.

“I don’t care who you are. A young man is dead because of you. I will make sure you go to prison for your crimes.”

The man laughed. “That’s real cute bug. Real cute. But here’s the thing, I’m Edward Savauge. I can buy and sell you. I know every dirty secret of every cop and politician in Europe. You try to do anything to me, and I promise you’ll suffer instead.”

Her line grew tighter.

“I’ll give you to the count of three to let me go...1...”

“Don’t listen to him, my lady. He’s full of hot air.”

“2...”

Ladybug didn’t waver. She didn’t even consider it.

“...3...we’re enemies now, Ladybug. You’re going to regret that for the rest of your short life.”

“Get in line.”

Neither party said another word until the police arrived. Ladybug explained the situation, but there was little to explain, considering the guns and body on the ground.

Mr. Savauge was taken away without a word.

After all was done, now long after midnight, the heroes returned to the rooftops.

“My lady, you’re bleeding.”

“I know, I can feel it. Must have been a bullet.”

“Who was that guy?”

“Some gangster drug lord pimp. I don’t know. A bad dude.”

“Well, he’s going to prison.”

“...I hope.”

“You hope? There was a body on the ground with gunshot wounds, and a whole bunch of guns! There’s no way!”

“Something he said bothered me. About knowing everyone’s secrets. He even claimed to know Hawkmoth’s identity.”

“...you don’t think he knows ours?”

“I don’t know, Kitty. But I’d stay on your toes.”

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “You should go see Master Fu about that cut. Then maybe come up with an excuse when people ask what happened.”

“I’m really clumsy in my normal life, I’ll just say I tripped and hit a corner of my table.”

“Perfect! Next time I see you, I’ll be sure to give you a little kiss to make it better.”

“You’d infect it.”

“Rude.”

“Maybe some day, kitten.” She said, looking at the ground. The police cars were long gone, and the other car was powered off. In the dark of the night, the blood stain from the young man was impossible to see. Still, in her mind, she could see it. She could hear the sound of his breath coming up short, since it didn’t even get the chance to scream.

“My lady?”

“I saw a man die today. I could have saved him, but he darted out from behind me.”

“He would have died regardless,” Chat reminded her gently. “You did your best, and that’s all that matters.”

She didn’t respond, just kept looking to the ground.

“You wanna talk about what was bothering you earlier?”

She shook her head. “That seems so…so minor now. My crush found out I liked him, I mean, I told him, but I was forced into it. There was a bunch of other shitty things, too. But that’s the main thing.”

“I’m so sorry, Bug.”

“It’s…it’s not a big deal anymore. We talked, and we’re good. So I just…” Tears started rolling down her bloody cheeks. “I’m scared.”

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. “It’s going to be okay, Bug.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Cat intuition.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Well, it is now.” He nuzzled his nose in her hair. “Look, the guy in the suit? He’s full of hot air. We’re both wearing masks, and no one knows who we are. People have been trying for years. He was just trying to psych you out.”

Ladybug swallowed thickly. “If that’s what you think…”

“I know so. You were right to be so diligent about our secret identities. This will blow over. Trust me.”

“I guess I have no choice.” She chuckled. “Now I got to go, my face hurts.”

He warmly brushed his hand over her arm. “I’ll catch you later Bug.”

—

Later that night, Marinette laid awake in bed. It was nearing 4 in the morning, and she just couldn’t sleep.

Who could, seeing what she had seen? Hearing what she heard?

The pain in her face was numbed by some ointment that Fu had applied, so that was one less thing to bother her.

She’d been in the superhero business a long time now. She’d seen plenty of awful things. Most of them were fixed with a ‘Miraculous Ladybug’.

But she couldn’t bring that young man back.

He didn’t deserve that. Even if he was a drug dealer, even if he was doing something he shouldn’t, he didn’t deserve that. And neither did his wife, who would probably have to give that life insurance money over for her own safety.

Life was so much easier when all she had to do worry about was her grades and her crush on Adrien. Even an akuma was nothing compared to hard crime.

Akumas could be fixed. Things could go back to normal. But this stuff was dirty and awful. She wondered if this is how it felt to be part of the police.

She wondered if Chat was wide awake too. Probably not, he hadn’t seen Charles get shot after all.

“Tikki,” Marinette spoke.

“Hmm?”

“What have other Ladybug’s done, in times like this…when they knew they could have saved someone, but didn’t?”

Tikki pondered the question. “Well, it was hard at first. But eventually, they just had to just used to it. Joan cried nights on end. Her time was the hardest I think.”

“I…I don’t want to ‘get used to it’.”

“You don’t have to be callus. Just…know that it’s something that comes with the job. Charles still would have died if you hadn’t intervened. But you tried, and that’s what matters, just like Chat said. You also got that man arrested, and justice will be served.”

“Hopefully.”

“Yes, hopefully.”

Silence reigned for a little longer. “Tikki, I’m scared.”

“Of Savauge?”

“Yeah…Paris is a big city with a lot of people and cameras…It would be pretty lucky if no one ever saw me.”

“Even if they did, it wouldn’t be likely that they’d identify you. I wouldn’t worry, Marinette.”

“…I can’t help it.”

Tikki floated down to lay against her skull and gently petted her hair. “I know. Humans are such anxious creatures.”

“I bet you’ve seen much worse in your life, huh?”

“I’ve seen horrible things. But what happened tonight was traumatic and I don’t expect you to just get over it. So I’ll be here to comfort you in the meantime.”

“Thanks Tikki.”

“Now try to get some sleep. You have school tomorrow.”

Marinette sighed. “I have school in a few hours…maybe I can get a nap in.”

#longest night #fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #ml #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #tikki

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kclenhartnovels · 6 years

Text

The Perks of Being Dead

[Part two, after Fledgling Assignments. More to come after this.]

Fletcher watched the angel for seven more days before he made another move.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He watched Merrick for one full day as he followed Abby through her routine. She went to her graduate classes, went to her part-time job at a shipping company, made dinner, called her friends and begged for advice. Should she should move on, or try to get back together with her boyfriend? (“Honey, move on. He was a nasty fuck and he put his hands on you,” Merrick said next to her ear, as if she could hear him.) One day was enough to know what kind of target this angel was. Foul-mouthed and concerned, shadowing her with a commentary for just about everything, moving with the ease of one used to multi-tasking. He would extend a wing to catch an item wobbling on a high shelf, all while leaning over to whisper into her ear, telling jokes to make her smile, even if she didn't know the reason why.

Fletcher procrastinated making his move.

Day two was spent knocking around Alexandria and getting used to moving through the earth as something not quite of it. It was amazing to be able to stand in the middle of the sidewalk and watch the humans move around him. They had no idea he was there, but they automatically avoided anything more than a brush by. Even those texting, eyes firmly fixed on their screens, would abruptly swerve without thought. If he extended his leathery wings, people would trip over the edge of the sidewalk, stepping into the gutter to pass by. Locked doors and windows were bypassed with a puff of smoke and a thought, and soon he didn't even need to think about it. He explored people's houses, listened to conversations, and stole food just to get the taste of it again. He never remembered seeing such a variety of fruit available. He spent six hours in a grocery store.

Day three, four, five, and six, he went everywhere he could think he had wanted to see as a child. New York City, the statue of liberty. He could remember his grandfather talking about Ellis Island. Their last name had gotten misspelled. His grandfather never forgave the clerks. San Francisco, and the Golden Gate Bridge. He sat on one of the rails and watched an angel pull a man back from the edge, whispering, begging in his ear to wait another day. The angel looked much more like what Fletcher expected—golden hair and baby-faced, fluffy white wings aching for a set of claws to bloody them. A target. Fletcher left him alone. Instead, he went to Paris. The Eiffel Tower was much less impressive than it had been in photographs. He ate in a Parisian cafe, practicing making himself appear both visible and human. The waiter asked if he was an actor. Fletcher finally changed his clothes after that.

On day seven, he went home. Not back to hell, of course, but to Chicago.

The streets still felt like home, even with the changes nearly one hundred years brought about. Storefronts that had been their speakeasies were now towering hotels and advertisement-covered liquor stores. He couldn't believe the variety of liquors on display, bold as a new day. On the street where he had watched the taxi riots, cars hummed back and forth freely. A group of men marched with signs, protesting the taxi unions not allowing Uber into the area.

Some things never changed.

He walked through the zoo, then along the lake. His feet took him into a neighborhood of old brownstones, and he breathed in the scent of the city. He was twenty years old again, following after a cop who, despite being on their payroll, was threatening to expose where their latest shipment of moonshine was entering the city. Fletcher cornered him in an alley, shoving him against the wall and breathing threats into his ear. His memory was fuzzy as to how everything happened, but within half an hour he had his hands under the cop's shirt, and the man's lips were around his ear. He could remember feeling the pressure of the wrap around his chest, the fear and the exhilaration. He couldn't remember the cop's name, but he remembered the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his hands, the promise that the moonshine would make it freely into the city, if Fletcher would go home with him.

He remembered when that man broke his promise. He couldn't remember the cop's name, but he remembered the smell of gunpowder and fear, the cool of the pistol's grip against his palm, and the splatter of blood as he fulfilled his duty to his crew. He remembered shaking his boss's hand afterwards.

Fletcher walked the city even as the sun sank low against the concrete and glass. The city had changed, but he found home there when the moon rose and litter scattered the alleyways. Footsteps slapped the concrete, panting breaths loud enough to make him turn. A kid no older than eighteen ran towards him, holding a bag and a handgun against his chest, panic obvious in the whites of his eyes. He was followed closely by two men not many years his elders, swearing and panting, one of them sporting a bleeding lip. The kid made a sharp turn into an alley, caught his foot on the edge of a broken dumpster, and went sprawling onto the ground, the bag tumbling alongside of him, though the gun was still held firmly in his hand.

“Where do you think you're going, you little shit?” one of the older men challenged, stopping at the mouth of the alley. “You think you can steal from us and get away with it?”

The kid rolled onto his back, scrambling backwards. He said nothing, but raised the gun in two shaking hands.

“You think you've got the balls to pull that trigger? Go ahead.” The thug leaned down, picking up rusted pipe near the edge of the dumpster and swinging it one-handed. “We'll see how many pieces of you we leave to crawl home.”

Fletcher crouched beside the kid, and closed his hands around the gun. “Hold the grip like this,” he whispered, his eyes on the larger boys. “And keep both of your eyes open. Sight along the barrel, squeeze the trigger, and by the time you feel the kick, you should hear them fall.”

The sound of two gunshots echoed between the glass and concrete. Fletcher stood, leaving the kid to grab his bag once more, stumble to his feet, and run out of the alley before anyone came to investigate the noise. The demon took a pack of cigarettes from one of the downed boys before blood began to soak into it, and felt a familiar warmth in his chest. His wings twitched, and he took a long drag on the cigarette after lighting it with a flicker of flame from his palm.

“Well shit, fledgling. I was starting to wonder if you'd earned your wings for nothing,” Razi greeted, appearing next to him to steal his cigarette. “You like being the little demon on the shoulder?”

Fletcher startled, but did his best to hide it, pulling out another cigarette instead. “I was just going for a walk.”

“Uh huh. You've been walking for a week now, kiddo. Find your footing yet? The boss is looking for an update on you. Should I tell him we let you out too soon?”

“No,” he insisted, blowing out smoke through his nose. “But I'm not one of the hellhounds. I'm not going to rip into this angel all teeth and claws. I need a weapon. I need a gun.”

Razi laughed so hard he choked. “You'll be a hellhound if Adem tells you to be one,” he warned, but he was grinning. “But fair enough. Fledgling wants a gun to take down his angel? Make sure you don't get any bloodstains on the new coat.” He tugged at Fletcher's jacket. “I dig the new look. Much less Al Capone, much more Wall Street wolverine. You might get there yet.” He looked him up and down again. “I'll meet you back at the guardian's hovel tomorrow morning, with your gun. But you'd better come back with feathers after that. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Red and blue lights reflected on the glass store fronts. Razi disappeared, leaving Fletcher standing alone beside the two bodies. His ears still rang from the sound of gunfire, and he leaned against the alley's brick wall, watching the uniformed officers come running over with guns drawn, speaking into radios and quick to rope off the area. Only when the starlight began to fade, and the first gray wisps of dawn threaded the horizon did Fletcher move. He left behind Chicago to the chilly morning, returning at last to the shadow of the oak in Abby's front yard.

“I have to ask,” Fletcher greeted when he heard Razi's step, “do demons sleep? I've been going non-stop for a week now, and I'm not tired.”

“One of the perks of being dead,” he laughed. “You don't need sleep, don't need food or drink, but if you want them, you can have them. Makes filling your diary a bit easier, huh? Makes you wonder why people are so resistant to death. If only they knew what was waiting afterwards, maybe they'd be jumping in front of a lot more buses. Though, I'm sure not every soul in hell would agree.”

“I'm not sure I would have agreed a week ago,” Fletcher countered. “I met plenty of souls that had been down there a lot longer than me waiting to get their wings.”

“Well, some nuts are harder to crack. It's not like we can give every village idiot free reign to run the earth. Too many rules to follow.”

“You haven't exactly told me any rules I need to follow.”

“Cosmic rules,” Razi corrected. “Only thing you need to follow are orders.” He pulled a revolver from an inner coat pocket, and offered it Fletcher. “You know, one day you're gonna have to learn to use your hands to get bloody. This might not take an angel down all the way, but it should slow him enough to get your claws in.”

Fletcher took the gun with a smile, running his fingers over the grip as if caressing an old lover. It was a beautiful little piece, clean and cool, the grip decorated with marks that looked like the slashes of claws. “Do any other demons use things like this?” he asked, but Razi had already left, leaving him to the oak tree and his new lover.

The front door to the house opened, and Abby came bustling out like a whirlwind, coat half-on and keys held in her teeth. She juggled her phone and her purse, cursing around her keys and trying to get her left shoe over her heel as she walked. Merrick shadowed her, holding out his hands as if offering to carry something.

“You know, if you got up when I told you, at your first alarm, you wouldn't have this problem. Can't you stop for a moment and—”

The sharp report of the revolver broke the morning air. Merrick felt the bullet whiz past his feathers, and he stopped in his tracks. Abby climbed into her car with her arms still full of her belongings, oblivious to the fight happening just beyond her senses.

The angel turned to face Fletcher. “I didn't think you'd be back.”

Fletcher led with the revolver as he stepped forward. “I wasn't very sporting last time, now was I? My boss wants to meet you. I thought you should get a proper introduction.”

Merrick looked to the car that was starting to back down the driveway, then back to Fletcher. “What kind of a demon carries a gun?”

“The kind that didn't have to miss when he shot the first time,” he snapped, stopping just out of Merrick's reach, gun still pointed at the angel's chest. “We're taking a little trip together.”

“Shoot me, then. I'm not going anywhere with you, much less to your boss. You're one of Adem's crew, aren't you? I'm not about to have my wings above his mantle.”

Fletcher's arm remained steady, but his finger feathered the trigger. How dare the angel just stand there, refusing to run, refusing to fight, refusing to cooperate? How dare he just stand there, just...daring him to shoot. The nose of the revolver wobbled, then dipped down towards the grass at last. “If I kill you, your wings end up in the same place, angel.”

“If you kill me,” Merrick agreed, focusing his eyes over Fletcher's left shoulder.

The shift was enough to get the demon's attention, and it was nothing other than reflex that saved his life. He threw himself to the side as a curved blade whistled the air, digging into the dirt where he had been standing a moment prior. A female angel yanked the blade free, her white wings covered in small black dots arranged in neat rows. She came after Fletcher again as the demon scrambled backwards. He fired, the bullet ripping through one of her spotted wings, sending a few bloody feathers flying. He snatched the feathers from the ground, then disappeared in a cloud of black smoke as the blade whistled for his head once more.

“Thank you, Eztli,” Merrick breathed, putting a hand to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating. “Are you okay?”

She extended her bleeding wing curiously, poking her fingers through the singed hole. “What kind of a cowardly demon carries a gun?” she laughed. “Adem must be getting pretty desperate.”

“I don't know about that,” Merrick said, looking to the pale threads of smoke left behind. “I have a feeling I haven't seen the last of him.”

“Well, you see him again, and you call me. I won't miss next time,” she promised, wiping the blood from her fingers. “You know I'm always looking to add another spot to the record.” With one last smile and the flutter of feathers, she disappeared.

Across the street, Razi lit a cigarette from behind the hood of a towering black SUV. Adem had ordered the kid to get a handful of feathers, and lo and behold the demon delivered. But Razi saw a much more ambitious opportunity as he watched Merrick look up and down the street, then take wing to chase after his charge on her way to work. A rare, profitable opportunity. Wait until Adem heard this one.

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