#anyway read above the vaulted sky on ao3

[mercymaker]

another day another dumb decision to read above the vaulted sky before lunch another moment i'm crying into two folded sheets of toilet paper

[dragon-creates]

Just How Fast The Night Changes (Does it Ever Drive You Crazy?)

Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3

Read on AO3

Trigger warning, this chapter does describe panic attacks and flashbacks of childhood trauma so again, always feel free to skip this fic. Again, this was written and posted on ao3 before the Mario Movie came out. Other than that, enjoy and feel free to leave constructive criticism!

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Present

Well, this was fantastic.

One minute, Luigi was just doing his job, fixing the pipes at an abandoned factory with Mario, their business had taken off ever since…Anyways, he was there one minute and then the next he was being chased down by some type of dinosaur skeletons, before hiding in an abandoned castle, then being tied up by some hooded figures and dragged along to someone that they were calling ‘King Bowser’.

When Luigi finally had a moment to process everything, he was then met face to face with the most terrifying thing he had even seen. Sitting of a throne was some sort of reptilian beast, he was absolutely large with sharp teeth that would devour Luigi within seconds. Luigi gulped; he really did not want that to happen.

Once the hooded figures untied him, the king slowly descended down the steps of his throne and made his way towards the green clad man. Before Luigi could even think about running, a blue aura wrapped around him and pushed him towards the beast, who was much larger up close. From what the beast told him, he was King Bowser of the Koopas, he wanted to rule the world and apparently was also looking for his brother. He had pulled at his moustache hairs, demanding if Luigi know about his whereabouts, to which Luigi replied pathetically with Mario’s exact description thinking that he could throw this king of his brother’s track…then his moustache got ripped out.

He had screamed at the top of his lungs, stopping when the little men in red hoods dragged him down to the dungeon. And now he was here, in a cage hovering above lava, next to a star who couldn’t stop talking about death and no doubt was going to be interrogated about his brother again soon.

Despite this being a bizarre situation, Luigi wasn’t surprised that it happened to him. Out of the two brothers, of course it was going to be him to end up in some type of hellish land. Maybe he deserved it after everything he did. Who was he kidding, he did, he just hoped Mario was safe.

.........

Luigi couldn’t tell how long it had been, he couldn’t see the sky, so he had no way of knowing how much time had passed. All he knew that the guards had brought him a few meals and that he did sleep a couple of times, but that was it. He was about to fall asleep again when his cage shook and vaulted him up in front of a koopa guard.

He unlocked Luigi’s cage as the plumber nervously walked out. “Is this yours?” the guard asked as he flung a bag to the ground. It was Luigi’s plumbing tools! “How did you know this was mine?”

“I didn’t,” the guard said, “You just told me yourself.”

“Oh,” dammit Luigi, you and your stupid mouth.

“Follow me,” the guard ordered, turning on his heel and away from the dungeons, Luigi following. The less he was near that cage, the better.

While he was led hallway to hallway, Luigi took the time to observe his surroundings. The ground was a polished red marble covered with soft red carpet, and the hallways had beautiful matching wallpaper embroidered with gold. Despite his circumstances, the place was quite lovely.

Finally, they had arrived at some type of shower room. “This shower over here isn’t working,” the guard informed him, “Since those tools are made to deal with these sorts of things, you can work on this.”

“Uh, why me?” Luigi asked.

“You’re a plumber, right?” the guard queried.

“Well, yeah but-”

“That you have the abilities to fix these,” he finished, “If you do a good job of this, then we’ll find more work for you to do around the castle. Its better than being in that cell of yours, isn’t it?”

Was this Bowser’s idea of interrogation, get one of his soldiers to make Luigi due free labour? “Did your King tell you to do this?”

The guard was silent for a second, seeming as though he wasn’t expecting for that to be asked of him. “Get to work,” he replied bluntly and turned away as he kept watch of the door.

Luigi shrugged, whether Bowser ordered it or not, he was just glad to be out of that cage. The shower was an easy fix, despite this being a magical land it still had the same pipes as the ones in his home. He did look over his shoulder once in a while to check that the guard was still there, though as he checked one more time before he finished the pipe, he saw that guard was shyly waving at someone. He looked to the door and saw another koopa guard waving back with the same shyness before walking away. The soldier sighed longingly as the other departed, like he was in…oh.

“So, who was that?” Luigi asked.

The guard jumped and turned to Luigi, his face beet red. “I beg your pardon?!” they squawked.

“Sorry, sorry!” Luigi giggled, “It just seemed that you knew them, that was all.

“Th-they’re no one,” said the koopa, “Just one of my companions.”

“Well, they seem to really like you,” Luigi smiled.

“Y-you’re in no way shape or form to make those statements! Get back to work!” the koopa yelled.

“Of course,” Luigi sighed, “Sorry,” He went back to the pipe, just a few more adjustments and he was done. Why did he even do that? It wasn’t like he knew the koopa, why was he talking like they were friends? That was so stupid, just so stu-

“What gave you the indication that they like me?”

Luigi whipped round, “Come again?”

“You said that they might like me, right?” said the koopa, blushing, “If courting is the same back at your world, do you think they might like me back?”

Luigi wasn’t really an expert in relationships, that was more Mario’s thing. Every time he tried to for romance, it always ended up in embarrassment, heartbreak, or someone expecting more than he could ever give. But he was a romantic and did see how Mario wooed the ladies.

“Well, seeing as they reacted the same way you did when you waved at them, something tells me that you might have a chance with them,” said Luigi.

“Really?” asked the guard, “Do you think that’s possible.”

“I can’t say for certain,” Luigi told him, “But I have a feeling that you should give it a shot, and if it doesn’t go well, you can blame me.”

“I’ll…keep that in mind,” the koopa straightened him back, “Are you finished?”

“Yup,” Luigi nodded, “Should be right as rain now.”

He turned the knob and just as he predicted, water came out of the head and onto the ground. “Perfect,” said the koopa, “Now that you’ve proven yourself, I suppose you-”

“What is the prisoner doing out of his cell?!” a loud voice rumbled throughout the ground, spooking the guard and Luigi.

“King Bowser!” the guard gasped and bowed as the king towered over him, “Forgive me your highness but I found tools belonging to the prisoner and found an opportunity to fix the showers. Forgive me my king, I should’ve informed you first, but my enthusiasm got the better of me.”

Bowser looked to the guard and then to Luigi. The man gulped, the king’s stare piercing right through him and making him sweat that he doubted was from the heat.

The king grumbled under his breath before turning to the guard. “You’re dismissed,” said Bowser, “But if you don’t inform me next time then there will be consequences, do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, your highness,” the guard agreed, “Shall I take the prisoner back to his cell?”

“No,” the king replied without hesitation, “I want to speak to him myself.”

Luigi felt like he was going to vomit, while he was glad the koopa didn’t get into trouble, he was definitely more worried about what was so important to the king that he wanted to speak alone with him.

The guard hurried out the room, giving Luigi one more glance before disappearing.

The king stared at Luigi, who in return tried to hold his gaze. While the king still looked abnormal to the plumber, there was something else to him that Luigi couldn’t explain, something that gave him a sense of warmth despite how startled he felt at the moment.

“So,” the king finally spoke, making Luigi jump, “You managed to fix the pipes,”

“Y-yes,” damn his stutter, “Y-your g-guard just w-wanted it f-fixed.”

“I see,” the king mused, looking at the pipes, “What else can you do?”

Oh, no one else asked Luigi that before, expect for Mario. All anyone really expected from him was plumbing or as a gateway to his brother, but that was fine, it was like Luigi had anything of value to offer like his brother, he wasn’t brave or outgoing or-

“Are you going to make me wait all day?” Bowser growled.

Luigi nearly jumped three feet into the air, “O-of course not! I-I-I-…. I can bake!”

“…you can bake?” the king raised an eyebrow.

Honestly, that was the first thing Luigi can think of. He felt embarrassed it out loud now, Mario always told him about how much he loved Luigi’s baking, but it never meant everyone else did, especially terrifying royalty.

“I see,” Bowser hummed as a smile curved on his lips, however it wasn’t full of malice or cruelty, more like amusement or curiosity. “Follow me,”

Since the king bigger than Luigi, really big, his steps were much larger, so Luigi had to run in order to keep up with him. It seemed that the king had noticed this however and stopped abruptly, making Luigi skid to a stop and slamming into the king’s leg. Now it was his turn to turn red as the king looked down at him. Luigi thought that he was going to be eaten until Bowser scooped him up and carried him with one arm. If it wasn’t for the situation at hand, this was almost quite nice, he kind of missed being held.

They had passed a dining hall with a long table with a massive chair at the end, presumably for Bowser, and the king led Luigi into a kitchen. He gently placed Luigi into the floor as Luigi looked around. “Since you proven that you can be useful, you can bake for myself and the other inhabitants in this castle,” Bowser announced.

“R-really?” Luigi asked, someone actually wanted him to bake?

Your baking is amazing weegee, you need to let others see that!

No, no! Spike’s right, it’s dumb. Besides, they’re not even that good anyway.

“Make something while I’m gone and I’ll try it when I’m back,” said Bowser, “Just to make sure it’s edible.”

“O-oh,” Luigi fidgeted with his hands a little bit, “S-sure.”

The king huffed and turned to go out the door but stopped and turned to Luigi one more time, “Make sure you don’t burn the place down Greenie.”

As soon as he left and Luigi was left alone, all he could do was think about what he could possibly make. What would the king even like? Chocolate cake, apple pie, cookies? Luigi rubbed a hand down his face, he had to focus, maybe he could start somewhere simple. In the end he gathered up the ingredients and assembled a fluffy vanilla sponge cake, complete with a delicious buttercream frosting.

The king came back into the kitchen as Luigi finished piping the frosting. “Looks nice,” he murmured.

“Oh, you think?”

“First we need to make sure it tastes good as well,” said Bowser, grabbing a knife and cut a slice for himself and lifted it onto a plate.

Luigi held his breath as the king took a bite. Bowser paused mid-bite, his eyes widening. Oh no, he hated it, Mario was wrong he was a terrible baker, he should’ve listened to Spike and now he was going to be roasted alive and never see his brother again, all because he baked a stupid cake!

“This is amazing,” Bowser finally replied.

“W-what?” Luigi needed to hear that again, did the koopa king like his cake?

“This is the best thing I ever tasted!” The king beamed, taking another bite, “Its incredible, how did you learn to bake this this?!”

Luigi couldn’t believe it, someone liked…no…loved his baking. No one ever wanted to try his baking before, Spike had always told his that he shouldn’t bother with something so ‘mundane’ but yet here he was, standing in front of someone loved his simple dish. “Thank you,” Luigi whispered.

Bowser looked at him again, as Luigi’s eyes filled with so much joy and happiness that even he started to feel a bit affected by it. Bowser cleared his throat, “Since you’ll be helping out a bit more often there no point in sending you back to the dungeon. I’ll tell Kamek to set up your living quarters, while you wait the kitchen is free for you to use.”

Bowser turned and walked out the kitchen, cake in hand, leaving Luigi alone. Well, not fully alone, another guard was stationed outside the kitchen. Luigi didn’t focus on that though, instead he ran on the spot and squealed excitedly, what else could he make!? Oh, maybe he could make snickerdoodle cookies, Mario always…Mario. Was he betraying his brother by doing this for someone who wanted to destroy him? He was being stupid again, his brother was being hunted down by the king and all Luigi could focus on was making pretty cakes for that king, so fucking stupid!

Luigi sighed, getting out the ingredients anyway, he didn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side, but he also didn’t want to betray Mario. Snickerdoodle it is, after all, no one here would know…right?

.........

Crack!

Boom!

“Mama!”

Crack!

“She didn’t deserve to die that night! It should’ve been you! Why wasn’t it you?!”

Luigi awoke with a cold sweat, another nightmare. He still had nightmares of that night when his parents died, but now his uncle had made his way into them as well. He could still remember the kicks, the punches, but most of all, he could never forget what he said the day when he finally left him.

His heart began beating faster as another ripple of sweat rolled down his face. He started panting heavier and heavier. He deserved to feel like this, he should’ve died that night, he was supposed to die that night, he wished he died that night, why didn’t he die that night?!

He was so wrapped up in his mind that he didn’t notice that light flicking on and a hand gripping his as another rubbed his back. “Breathe,” an old yet wise voice told him. Luigi found himself squeezing the hand and he looked around the room, eyes finally landing on a koopa with a blue robe and glasses. That was the one that did the magic on him, when he first met Bowser.

“Breathe,” he told Luigi again, “In for one, two three for and out, two, three, four.”

Luigi tried to repeat the breathing as best he could, even when he fumbled a little bit the koopa was incredibly patient and soothed him while they continued the breathing. Luigi felt his breathing become steadier, the koopa gently placed a glass of water into his hands, still rubbing his back as Luigi gulped down the water. He placed the glass on the dresser next to his bed as he rubbed sleep away from his eyes.

“How did you know I was having a panic attack?” Luigi asked.

“My job is to make sure that everyone in the castle is taken care of,” the koopa explained, “Including prisoners.”

Luigi slowly nodded, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry dear boy,” the koopa explained, “Perhaps its better if I introduced myself, I am Kamek, and you are Luigi, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Luigi blinked.

Kamek hummed, “If you’re comfortable, would you mind telling me what triggered this panic attack?”

“Just a dumb nightmare,” Luigi mumbled.

“Dumb or not if it made you react this way then there is something worth discussing,” said Kamek, “And even if it isn’t worth it, I do believe a discussion may help relieve some of the tension that’s there.”

“W-well,” Luigi looked to his sheets, back to Kamek and back down again, “I was having a nightmare about the night my parents died and…how my uncle told me that I should’ve died instead of my mom.”

Kamek’s face fell slightly “Oh.”

“But it’s fine, I have nightmares all the time and this happens a lot, I’m used to it,” Luigi tried to plaster a fake smile, but it doesn’t seem to fool the old koopa.

“I don’t think this is something you should be used to dear boy,” Kamek said, “Whoever informed you that this is something you should normalise is frankly very wrong.”

“I appreciate the concern but really, I’m fine!” Luigi’s smile was beginning to falter, “I’m fine, it’s fine, I’m fine…I…”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his fake grin finally faltered. He bit his lip, trying to stifle his sniffles, but when Kamek wrapped his arms around him - in a familiar familial like that Mario would do for him – a loud cry tore from his throat as Kamek gently rocked him, shushing him as sobs wracked the small man’s body.

As his cries calmed down to whimpers, Luigi could fell sleep creep up on him again. Kamek laid the man back down onto his pillows and used the sleeves oh his robe to wipe away the remaining tears. With a wave of his wand, he refilled the glass of water on Luigi’s bedside and quietly made his way of the room.

When he shut the door with the upmost gentleness, he was met face to face with Bowser. “What happened?” the king queried softly, Kamek swore he heard concern with laced with his tone.

“A nightmare, although unfortunately for him, it seemed to be the ones where he's forced to relive the most tragic memories,” Kamek explained, his heart sinking a little as he recalled how Luigi stared up at him, like a frightened child.

“I see,” Bowser pondered, “He did seem a bit more nervous that the other prisoners.”

“You would be a fool not to notice,” Kamek nodded, “I fear that this poor boy might’ve been hurt in his past. Really, really hurt.”

Bowser’s eyes suddenly hardened, the only other family member that he knew that the man had was his brother, if was the one who did this to him-

“I can tell where your mind is,” Kamek spoke up, “Don’t go rushing into assumptions, from what our spies have told us I have a feeling that his brother isn’t behind that boy’s fears. I understand that you want to win this war, but I heavily suggest that you don’t do it at that boy’s expense. From what I’ve seen, he’s gone through enough.”

“What! Of course not!” Bowser bellowed, “Of course I want to win but I’m not sick enough to ever do that do someone!”

“Good,” Kamek nodded and smiled at his surrogate son, “And I hope you stick by that.” With that, Kamek made his way down the hall, leaving Bowser alone.

A million thoughts were rushing through the king’s head. What happened to the green man that made him react to a nightmare like that? Who was the one who made him react like that? His brother better hope he wasn’t the one who did, otherwise taking him down would be more deadly than he intended. Wait a minute, why was he thinking about the plumber this way? Sure, he felt bad for him but surely not to this extent, right? However, as he imagined those eyes, how they nearly filled with tears after he complimented his cake, and the excited squeals he heard once he left the kitchen, no one ever really gave that to him before, didn’t they? He knew that from this moment on that no one else was going to take that happiness away from the plumber ever again. He would make sure of it.

.........

Luigi awoke the next morning, feeling completely drained from the night before. It was to be expected though, it happened every time when he had nightmares. He stretched and swung his feet over the side of the bed and tucked his feet into the slippers on the floor. He felt quite flattered that Kamek had went out of his way to make him pyjamas and footwear his size, even though it was mostly done with magic, he still felt flattered.

There was a knock at the door and the koopa guard that guided him to the shower rooms the other day entered the room. “King Bowser requests your presence for breakfast,” said the guard.

“Oh, did he say why?��� Luigi asked, curious as to why the king wanted a prisoner to join him.

“He only informed me to take you to breakfast,” the koopa replied, “Please follow me.”

The koopa turned and walked out, Luigi following behind. The walk so far was silent, both not really knowing what to say since the king found out that the guard disobeyed him, he just hoped that Bowser wasn’t too hard on the koopa afterwards.

“S-so,” The koopa finally spoke up, “I took your advice the other day and…we both plan on sitting with each other during lunch later.”

“Really?!” a massive grin broke onto Luigi’s face, “That’s amazing!”

“I just, well, I wanted to thank you,” the koopa nervously rubbed the back of his neck, “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to ask them.”

Luigi’s steps faltered slightly before keeping back up with the guard again. He didn’t really think that his advice would help someone, all he wanted was to help someone with their own romantic plights but for someone to be happy with his help, it was a new feeling to experience on its own. “You’re welcome,” Luigi smiled, “If it’s alright, would you like to tell me your name?”

The koopa turned to him, looking up and down before finally answering, “Sam…my name is Sam.”

“It’s nice to mee you Sam,” Luigi replied, “I’m Luigi, oh wait, you already knew that.”

“Yeah, I did…we’ve arrived,” Sam stated, the two finally stopping at the dining hall. Sam opened the door for Luigi, where King Bowser and a smaller version of him were waiting, seated at the top of the table. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Thank you,” Luigi nodded, “Oh and one more thing!”

The koopa looked back one more time.

“Good luck with lunch later!” Luigi gave him a thumbs up.

Sam smiled a little bit, before shutting the door, leaving Luigi with the king and the small koopa that looked remarkably similar to the larger koopa. He was going to take a set at the opposite end of the table, away from the two, when the king suddenly said, “No, no, you’ll be eating beside me.”

Sit beside him? Why? Was this another interrogation? Did he want Luigi closer to him in order to scare him enough to get the information that he needed on Mario? Or maybe Kamek told him about the nightmare he had last night and wanted to punish him for it?! Great, his nightmares managed to upset the king and now he was going to get angry for him, why can’t he just deal with his nightmares like a normal person!

“Hey, Greenie, can you hear me?” Bowser’s voice broke him out of his internal rambling, “You’re gonna be sitting next to me and Junior.”

“J-Junior?” Luigi said aloud, was that the name of the smaller koopa?

“My son,” Bowser said proudly, ruffling the hair on top of the young boy’s head, “Hurry up, you’re gonna like what we have in store for you.”

Luigi nervously made his way up to the chair beside Bowser, across from Junior. Maybe it would be alright? Surely, he wouldn’t do anything brash in front of his child? As soon as he sat down the king pushed in his seat with ease, Luigi nearly blushed at the sudden closeness.

“I hope you’re hungry, cause I’ll bet that you’ve never had anything like this before!” Bowser boasted and a crowd of goombas wearing little chef hats poured into the room, while balancing trays on top of their heads before setting them down on the table.  Luigi’s mouth watered when they lifted the lids off, revealing many kinds of different breakfast foods. From pancakes to waffles, pouched to fried eggs and bacon to the many colours of fruits. There was more trays but the hunger that Luigi felt was starting to overpower him.

“Alright! I’m starving!” the young koopa cheered when the goombas left, immediately scooping up a portion of food from each tray and piling it onto his plate.

“Oh Junior, careful!” Bowser chuckled as his son started to make a mess with the butters and jams, he put on his meal, “I apologise, we were waiting for you to arrive before we could eat.”

Luigi paused for a moment and looked up towards the king, “Waiting for me? Why?”

“Well, Kamek told me about how you had trouble sleeping last night,” Bowser began to explain, sheepishly looking down at his plate, “And while I do want information about your brother, I don’t want you to feel like how you were that night. I’m not that much of a monster. So, I hoped that having breakfast with us could help you out a little bit.”

“You did this…for me?” Luigi’s heart fluttered a bit.

Bowser blushed, the little man was making those eyes again, those beautiful mesmerising eyes. He cleared his throat and smirked, leaning on his arm and he moved a bit closer to the plumber, “Yeah, why? Is it not enough for you little man?”

Luigi’s face had turned into the exact shade of a ripe tomato, covering in with his hands as he sank into his chair. “No, no its fantastic and I’m really glad that you had me in my mind while planning this!” he muffled into his hands.

“Your friend is strange Papa,” Junior stated, munching on some pancakes.

“Junior-”

“It’s fine,” Luigi uncovered his face, the heat slowly leaving his cheeks, “Yeah, I get that sometimes.”

“Oh…are you the red guy’s brother?” Junior asked, “Papa is planning on fighting him soon,”

Bowser froze. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have Junior here, but he didn’t want his son to feel excluded from eating with him, he hardly spent enough time with him due to the war with the mushroom kingdom.

Luigi sighed, not at the boy’s question, but rather at the acknowledgement that yes, he was here for one reason and one reason only, knowledge about his brother. “Yes, I am,” Luigi nodded.

Junior seemed to have realised the error in his words, looking down at his food with guilt, “Sorry, sometimes I’m not that great with my words.”

“That’s okay,” Luigi gave the boy a reassuring smile, “I’m not good with my words either. In fact, when I was a kid, I had a really bad stutter whenever I spoke.”

“You did?” The kid looked up at him.

“Yeah, I still get it sometimes when I’m nervous but not as much as I did back then,” Luigi admitted, “But you’re pretty brave about speaking your mind, that’s something that I still struggle to do.”

“You think?!” Junior marvelled at the man’s words, his little tail wagging behind him.

“Yeah!” Luigi grinned back.

Bowser smiled at the two, it was nice that Junior was able to make a companion during all of this. Sometimes Bowser felt guilty about having his son here, instead of keeping him back home with his friends, but he didn’t want to take any risks with Junior’s safety, he never knew who could be lurking. Yet when he saw how Luigi interacted with his child, how he spoke with his son instead of down to him, nothing else filled with chest with the pride that he felt at that moment at seeing how happy the moustached man treated his boy.

“So, you plan on eating soon Greenie?” Bowser joked, interrupting the conversation.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Luigi giggled, taking a waffle and covering it with some powdered sugar before taking a bite, humming at the taste, “This is really good, thank you.”

He was making the eyes again, but this time instead of brushing it away, Bowser returned the soft look with one of his own, “You’re welcome.”

.........

A few days after the breakfast with Bowser and Junior, Luigi had formed his own little routine at the castle. He would wake up, join the king and prince for breakfast (as well as lunch and dinner), do a bit of baking with Sam as his assigned guard, if there was some plumbing to be done then he would immediately take up the job, spend a little bit of time with Junior the two of them played before Bowser joined them, maybe have a bit of quiet time, a stroll with Bowser before getting ready for bed. Though he did have those expected nightmares, Kamek immediately rushed in to help him through it until he was able to fall back to sleep.

However, there was one day when that routine was rudely interrupted. Luigi was just taking some cookies out of the oven as Sam watched, curious as to how Luigi’s delicious treats were made, until another koopa guard burst through the door of the kitchen with a worried look on his face. “The boos have gone rogue!” he shouted, “Take the prisoner and keep him in this room until they’re detained.”

Sam nodded, pushing Luigi in front of him as they made their way to his bedroom. “Wait, what’s going on?” Luigi started to panic.

“Have you ever noticed those ghosts floating round the castle sometimes?” Sam inquired.

Luigi nodded; he remembered those creatures whenever he was being led throughout the castle. He also remembered how they all looked at him with disdain, like dirt on a pair of shoes.

“Well, they only go against us if their king commands it,” Sam told him.

Luigi raised an eyebrow, “But I thought Bowser was their king.”

“Bowser’s just borrowing them, their true leader is King Boo. I’m not sure why he’s doing this, but we need to keep this place on lockdown until we’re able to handle the situation,” Sam responded, finally reaching Luigi’s room and led the man inside, “Wait here until I get back.”

Sam shut the door behind him, leaving Luigi alone. His stomach churned while his hands kept making fists, in order to help calm the rise of anxiety building within him. He was going to lay and try the breathing exercises that Kamek taught him when he heard a scream from outside. Rushing to the window, he saw Junior running from a group of boos, taunting the poor child.

“Look at how pathetic he is!”

“He knows that he’s just an unlovable bastard!”

“It’s a good thing his parents are dead, who would want a miserable sack of shit like this!”

If Luigi was able to recognize anything, it was a bully. He knows the types of targets they go for, small, scared, weak. That was how he always found himself being chased by those who saw those traits in him, and now, those boos could see in the child that they were harassing. He couldn’t stand up for himself back then, but here, now, he could try for Junior.

He knew that the window was locked (he tried to open it before, but it wouldn’t budge) so taking a chair next to a vanity and threw it towards the window. Glass shattered into millions of little pieces, spraying across the floor. Luigi looked over the edge, trying to estimate how to get down. Thinking quickly, he pulled off the curtains and grabbed the bedsheets, tying the together into a makeshift rope and tied one end to the leg of his bed. He grabbed a wrench from his tool bag, sliding it into his overalls and carefully scaled down the hot wall, mindful of the lava pouring next to him.

Finally, he reached the ground, scanning the area until he found the young koopa trying to back away from the boos.

Luigi began running, running faster than he ever did in his life, faster than he did when he ran away from Wario and Waluigi. His only focus was helping that young boy and though he felt nothing but dread every time he saw those boos, Junior’s safety was his top priority.

As soon he reached them, he raised the wrench and slammed it against one of the ghosts, knocking it off balance and sending it flying backwards. Taking the opportunity while he had it, Luigi picked up Junior, placing him on his hip before running away again. He only got a few feet before the boos stopped him in his tracks. Luigi counted four as they circled around him and Junior, his protective grip tightened on the boy as he held his wrench out in front of him. “S-stay back!”

“Aww, look here fellas!” one of the boos jeered, “Little Bowser Junior’s found himself a little bodyguard!”

A second boo cackled, “He looks like someone picked a twig out of the woods!”

Luigi gulped, he would not let those words get to him, not when Junior needed him. “G-go a-away!” he yelled, “I-I’m n-not a-afraid o-of y-you!”

“W-w-what w-was t-that?” The third boo imitated the man’s stutter, “I c-couldn’t h-hear t-that!”

The fourth boo roared with laughter, the other three joining in. Luigi didn’t know if this was confidence or cowardice, but he lifted his wrench again and slammed it against the third boo’s face. “G-get o-out o-of m-my w-way!”

All four boos eyes darkened, creeping closer towards the man and koopa.” You shouldn’t have done that,” the first boo growled.

Luigi placed Junior down behind him, “R-run J-Junior, g-go f-find y-your d-ad!”

“What about you?” Junior wailed, his legs shaking.

Luigi heart panged for the poor boy, “D-don’t w-worry a-about-t m-me, j-just-t r-run!”

Junior glanced to the boos, then back to Luigi and nodded, turning on his heel and running as fast as he could towards the castle. The boos attempted to follow Junior again, but Luigi hit them with his wrench again. “L-leave h-him-m o-out o-of-f t-this!”

“Oh, is that how you wanna play then?” the second boo cooed, sarcasm dripping from its done, “Fine, you’re all ours,”

The next thing he knew, his wrench out slapped out of his hand. His raised his fist in an attempt to defend himself, but the boos knocked him to the ground before a could get a hit in, his head hitting a rock behind him. His head started pounding, and he could feel something warm dripping from his hair.

The boys started their attack, kicking him in the stomach, punching him repeatedly, screaming in his face. It kept going on and on to the point Luigi could feel it all blending together.

Punch

Kick

Crack!

“Mama!”

Punch

Kick

“Papa!”

Crack!

The rubble falling on top of him.

Punch

He couldn’t move.

Kick

Crack!

“Someone like you was born to take a beating.”

Punch

Kick

“Every second of your existence made my life a fucking hell!”

Crack!

“She didn’t deserve to die that night! It should’ve been you! Why wasn’t it you?!”

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

A roar pierced through the air, making the boos stop. Luigi couldn’t open his eyes, two swollen from the boos attacks and his ears were ringing a bit. What he did hear were the cries of the boos, loud thuds the something warm, like fire. The cries of the boos stopped, then the thuds were coming towards him, and a warm hand cupped the back of his head.

“Luigi, can you hear me?”

He was getting quite tired.

“Talk to me Luigi, please!”

Surely, he could close his eyes for a bit.

“Luigi, try to focus on me!”

Yeah, just for a bit.

“Luigi!”

.

.

.

Bowser nearly tore up the place when he saw that his son was missing, if anyone was going to touch one hair on his head, he was going to tear them apart. The relief he felt when he saw his son run to him was unlike anything he ever felt before, but panic rose again when he saw his son crying, and when asked all he could manage to say between tears was, “Luigi…boos...help!”

He kept him with Kamek, took a few guard with him and stormed out of the castle. His stomach sank when he saw Luigi, bleeding and helpless to the boos attack.

All he could see was red, he could barely remember what he did to the boos, only that whatever he did made them cower in front of the koopa king.

Once they were taken away, Bowser immediately ran towards the bleeding man, begging for him to hang on as he slipped in unconsciousness, before carrying him back into the castle.

Kamek and Junior gasped when they saw Luigi, Junior had burst into tears again while Kamek waved his wand and transported them into Bowser’s chambers. Kamek had recommended Bowser to take Junior, help him calm down while he focused on healing Luigi. While Bowser was hesitant with leaving him there, he knew Kamek was right, he wouldn’t be able to help Luigi enough if the room as too crowed and Junior desperately needed comfort.

He scooped up his son and walked out the room, sparing one last glance at the injured plumber before Kamek shut the door.

Bowser carried Junior to his room, cradling him and humming lullabies to him until the child had cried himself to sleep. He stayed with him for a few more minutes, then wrapped his blanket around him and tucked him into bed. He quietly closed the door behind him and made his way back to his own chambers.

Once he entered, Luigi was covered in bandages, from his head to his arms and across his chest, his eyes were swollen shut and bruised, his lip split and his chest was heaving heavily with laboured breath. “I did the most I could with my magic,” Kamek informed Bowser, “What he needs now is rest and for his own strength to help heal the rest of him.”

“Thank you Kamek,” Bowser whispered, not wanting to wake Luigi, “I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Kamek asked, “I’m happy to stay and watch him, go get some rest my king.”

“No, its fine,” Bowser told him, “If his brother’s coming for him, it’s my responsibility to keep Greenie here in one piece.”

Kamek hummed, analysing the king for a moment, “Alright, just make sure to inform me if he’s getting worse.”

“Will do Kamek,” Bowser nodded.

When Kamek left the room, Bowser circled round the bed and gently climbed onto the other side, laying down gently next to Luigi and curled his tail around him. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, placing on of his fingers atop of the man’s small hand, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Bowser took comfort in the fact that the man was still breathing, he listened to the soft breaths and let them lull him to sleep, hopefully in the morning the man’s health would progress a little bit.

.

.

.

Luigi stirred a little bit, his head pounding when he tried to open his eyes and his limbs were screaming in agony. His eyes scanned the room he as in, the small differences within it making him wonder if he wasn’t in his room anymore, it was confirmed when his eyes landed on the king laying next to him, snoring softly. He couldn’t move, not only due to his bruised body but at the fact that he was in the king’s room, sleeping in the king’s bed and was right next to him in close proximity.

He was about to open his mouth to speak when…

Crack!

No…no, no, no, no, no, please don’t let this happen right now!

Boom!

He turned his eyes towards the window and sure enough, there was a storm right outside.

Crack!

Please no, he can’t do this, not right now!

Boom!

He was in the rubble again, he wanted to scream for Mario, Mario, where’s Mario! He wanted to get out, please help him get out, he couldn’t breathe! It hurts, it hurts so much please help!

“Breathe Luigi,”

He felt his upper body being lifted and placed against some pillows in a seated position.

He just wanted to move, to see if his Mama and Papa were okay!

A large hand encased his own, “Breath in two, three, four and out two, three, four.”

Let him breathe! Let him breathe! Let him…

“In two, three, four and out, two, three, four.”

He did was the voice told him, his breathing, while shaking, was trying to copy the voice’s.

“You’re doing great, just keep going,” said the voice again, deep, commanding yet so gentle.

Luigi’s vision came back into focus, a noticed that a lamp was turned on, he was in the king’s room and was still next to Bowser as well. It was still storming outside, he hated storms, he hated thinking about-

Crack!

Luigi yelped, trembling from head to toe.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the voice murmured softly, stroking the man’s hands, “I’m here, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

He looked up…Bowser. Bowser helped him out of that panic attack, he was being so patient, especially with the one thing that Luigi hated most. Tears welled up in his eyes, how could someone be so kind, so comforting, so-

Boom!

Luigi jumped again, this time, Bowser had wrapped him up into a hug, a safe warm hug. The damns broke and Luigi let out the ugliest sobs he ever made in his life, tears no doubt were staining his face and was making a mess. But the king wasn’t put off by it, instead, he pulled Luigi in tighter.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” the king rocked him, “Give your pain to me, I can handle it.”

Luigi let out another cry at his words, weeping for what seemed to be hours, yet the king never loosened his protective hold, both of them falling asleep in each other’s arms.

.........

Two weeks had passed since then, Bowser had let Luigi heal in his chambers, even after Luigi said that he could go back into his room when his window was replaced (despite not really wanting to internally.) But the king had insisted, saying that he wanted to make up for what happened to him. And so, the king helped him with his meals if his arms were a bit too weak, he listened as Luigi gushed about baking and his other hobbies (he learnt that the plumber also liked to do some gardening in his spare time), he would let Junior see him, the child apologizing profusely and Luigi telling him that he didn’t need to before the two would start coloring together, Bowser watching with fondness, and with everything else the two of them would just talk about anything and fall asleep together cuddled up on the same bed.

Soon, Luigi found the strength to walk again, and Bowser had suggested that the two take a stroll together, to help Luigi get used to his legs again. They were just strolling past the gardens, Luigi letting his fingers graze the flowers and he mumbled about each type that he saw. All of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks, making Bowser worry a bit. Was he still sore? Did he need to rest for a minute?

“I wanted to thank you for all that you did for me,” Luigi nervously gripped his wrist with his left hand, “You’ve treated me with nothing but kindness for these past few days, more than anyone ever did in my entire life.”

“Well, you deserve it,” Bowser grinned, “You’re kind to my people, Junior and Kamek adore you and you’re all around an amazing person. I hope that you can see that yourself one day.”

Luigi blushed, taking a few more steps towards the king and looked up at the king.

He was looking at him with those eyes again, only this time there was something a bit deeper, something that made Bowser’s insides turn into goo. He placed Luigi into his arms, the man gasping a little as he stared at the king. Bowser’s eyes flickered to Luigi’s lips, his eyes, then his lips again. Luigi leaned in with Bowser meeting him halfway as their lips were gently pressed together. Bowser lifted his other hand to cup Luigi’s cheek as their kiss deepened a little bit more.

They pulled away, their hearts beating loudly as they shared a giggle together.

“No one’s ever kissed me like that before,” Luigi admitted.

“Their loss,” Bowser tucked a brown lock of hair out of Luigi’s face, “They have no idea what they’re missing.”

Luigi squirmed slightly, making Bowser chuckled as he leaned in for another kiss. Luigi was about to do the same when a moment of clarity hit him and pressed his fingers against Bowser’s lips. “Wait!”

Bowser froze, his eyes inspecting Luigi for any damage, “What happened, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine it’s just…” Luigi sighed, fidgeting with his fingers, “You still want to rule the world, don’t you?”

Realisation dawned on Bowser, letting out a sad grumble as he looked away from Luigi, “Yes.”

“And you’re still after my brother, aren’t you?” Luigi asked.

Bowser nodded numbly as he placed Luigi onto the ground.

“I wish we could have this,” Luigi reassured him, “I wish that we could hold each other, bake together, have fun with Junior, sleep in the same bed, share kisses…love each other. But if there’s one thing I can’t do, it’s betray Mario. Ever since I’ve been here, you and everyone else here have been helping me realise that I have more worth than I could ever possibly think that I would have. But although I’m starting to see it now, Mario was the first one who truly saw me for me, I just never fully believed him until now. So as much as I want this, I am never, ever going against my brother, I can’t do that…I’m sorry.”

Bowser let his head drop, of course it wasn’t going to be that simple, but it wasn’t Luigi’s fault, it would never be Luigi’s fault. He suddenly found himself wishing that he didn’t start this war, he wished that he didn’t desire the stars to complete his mission, he wished that he met Luigi within another context that didn’t force him to choose.

Bowser didn’t want to become someone else that was going to hurt Luigi…and he wouldn’t. “I’m going to have my guards drop you near the borders of the mushroom kingdom. Mario will be there.”

“W-what?” Luigi gasped, his head snapping up, the force of it making it ache a little bit.

“I shouldn’t have kept you hear longer than I did,” Bowser admitted, “I won’t make you choose between your brother or me, and I certainly won’t keep you here against your own will. I want you to love me, selflessly and unconditionally, without feeling guilty for it, and I know you can’t do it like this. Sam will take you to the border, tell one of the residents of the kingdom that you’re a brother of Mario, surely, they’ll take you to him.”

Luigi’s breath hitched…he was free, he was going to see Mario again, he…he was going to leave Bowser. He felt conflicted, he loved Bowser, but he also knew he was right, if they wanted to love each other, it couldn’t be like this. “And you won’t follow me?”

“I don’t plan on breaking your trust any time soon,” Bowser told him, taking Luigi’s hand into his own, “You deserve to put your faith into someone without them tearing it apart, I won’t do that to you, not now, not ever.” He kissed the top of Luigi’s hand and pressed his forehead against his.

“I will never forget you,” said Luigi.

“Neither will I,” Bowser agreed. They stayed like that for a few more second before pulling away.

They held hands as Bowser led him into the throne room, Sam waiting with some more guards. Bowser gave the koopa his instructions, the guard seeming dazzled for a moment before saluting his king. A bag with essentials for his journey was then given to Luigi from Kamek, as well as a drawing from Junior that featured the child, Luigi and Bowser, with messing handwriting at the bottom of the page saying.

‘My Family’

Luigi let a tear slip from his eye, wiping it away and he gave everyone a final goodbye, sharing one more glance with Bowser before making his way with Sam for his journey to the mushroom kingdom.

As soon as the heard the castle doors slam shut, Bowser turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to prevent tears from leaking out. He felt Kamek’s hand on his arm and looked down at him.

“For what it’s worth your majesty,” he started, “I have never been more proud of you in this moment.”

Bowser smiled and looked back to where Luigi once stood. Maybe one day, once this battle was over, he could see him again. He didn’t care if he would win or lose, as long as he got to see those eyes again, that mattered to him more than anything.

[chatonne-rousse]

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her.  ILY, my friend!  

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (11)

(aaaaaah thank you guys so much for all of the replies in the last one! I get so giddy reading them! Anyway, here’s chapter 11 of New Girl on the Block. I hope you all enjoy and please feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)

Ch.1 / Ch.10 / Ch.12  (Ao3)

Chapter 11: Aw~ You Really Do Care

Gentle breezes that swayed this way and that were always known for creating calming atmospheres. They blew through the wisps of your hair like a sweet kiss from nature and quietly stole your troubles from the deep sigh that you’d let out from finally getting fresh air. They weren’t supposed to harshly wrap around your limbs and torso, condemning you to a make-shift cage that was built to keep you paralyzed as you were carried through the air by a magical, maniacal, part-time villain. And this, Marinette decided, was going to be reason number forty-seven for why she hated Hawkmoth. He ruined the little things. Not only was she going to scowl at every autumn breeze from this moment on due to bitter memories, she was also reminded that she can’t even have a small lunch with friends between classes without getting blasted across the street. With all of the akumas centering around Dupont, she had hoped that her chances of getting ambushed would decrease, but that was apparently too much to ask for.

She’ll give Hawkmoth credit on one account, though: this was the first time she’d gotten caught up in an akuma while in civilian form since she transferred schools. Nevertheless, one time is still one too many, especially when this was bound to happen again sooner or later.

Marinette thrashed against Whirlwind’s hold, and although she didn’t put too much effort into it for the sake of subtlety, she could tell they weren’t going to budge. She needed to find another way to get down that wouldn’t alarm or anger the akuma. Maybe she could convince Whirlwind to get on the ground somehow.. But she already seemed on edge. What if she got aggressive? These akumas were never reasonable, and Marinette couldn’t turn her head to see if Felix and the others were out of range yet. 

Marinette held back a groan. Why did there have to be so many obstacles!

“I’m not seeing any ‘company buildings’.” Whirlwind remarked, frowning as she scanned over the city rooftops. “Where did you say they were again?”

“It’s- uhm -” Marinette faltered. She hadn’t expected to be addressed once they started moving. “It’s on the other side of town. If I remember correctly. You should be able to find one if you fly Northeast from here.”

Whirlwind perked up. “Oh, good! I must say, I’m quite impressed with your navigation skills. I barely know what ‘Northeast’ is, myself.”

Marinette forced a smile in response. The akuma wouldn’t think so highly of her if they knew that she was only pointing them in the opposite direction of the café. 

They started moving again, the fresh surge of wind almost making it difficult to breathe as they rushed over the rooftops. It reminded Marinette of the time she had to fight Santa Clause while standing on top of his weird, gizmo sleigh, except this time she didn’t have Tikki’s magic to protect her. 

Her eyes flicked to the streets below, a part of her wondering what would happen if she fell, another part of her wondering if that’s what she’d have to resort to to get out of this mess. 

Come on, Marinette, think! She told herself. Come up with an excuse! Something to get you on the ground. The company is.. Unground? You need to.. Go to the bathroom? Get your phone? You’re-

“Airsick!” She gasped. “I’m getting airsick!”

In hindsight, she probably should have thought the excuse through before blurting out her imaginary nausea- how would she escape once Whirlwind brought her to ground? Would she make another excuse to go inside? How would Marinette be able to slip away to go transform if she made it that far? -but it had a decent effect. Whirlwind immediately stopped, causing the winds behind them to burst forward. Marinette briefly wondered how fast they’d been going to create such a force when coming to an abrupt halt.

“What was that?” Whirlwind asked. “I couldn’t hear you over my winds.”

Marinette hesitated. This was her chance to change the excuse if she wanted to. Should she stick with her airsick story or change it? What would she change it to? Should she just wait for another opportunity to arise? But what if this was her only chance to escape?

“I-”

Before she could utter a word about landing, a silver staff flew past her, smacking Whirlwind right in the stomach. The akuma let out a yelp of surprise and pain as she was launched backwards, and the winds curling around Marinette’s arms and legs lost their holds. That might have been ideal.. had she not been dangling over five stories high in the air. 

A scream ripped itself from Marinette’s lungs as she plummeted towards the ground, her arms flailing for support that simply wasn’t there. All coherent thoughts spiraled out of control as the deafening winds rushed around her. This wasn’t part of the plan. She needed to stop falling- she needed to grab something. Were there people in the street? Were there cars below her? What was she going to land on? How close was the ground? Was she going to survive the hit? What was going to happen if she couldn’t help fight the akuma?

Ice cold terror gripped her pounding heart, and she shimmied in the air to look for witnesses should she transform. What other choice did she have? She couldn’t allow herself to die. The Ladybug miraculous was too important.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, helping her panic with more “what if”s but giving her no solutions. What if someone saw her? What if Whirlwind saw her, giving Hawkmoth her identity? What if she hit the ground before she fully had time to transform? Everything was happening so slowly yet so fast all at once. Time was crawling as her mind raced, but in the blink of an eye, the grey strip that was the road grew five times as wide as it was before in her teary, blurred vision, and Marinette knew her time was running out. She needed to do something, and she needed to do it now.

“Tikki, spots-”

A grunt cut her off as she landed in a pair of leather-clad arms. They pulled her closer to the chest of her savior, who flashed her an all too familiar smirk. 

“Don’t worry, Miss.” Chat Noir said, hopping across a few cars while he carried her to safety. “I’ve got y- wait.”

His pace slowed, though not by much considering the circumstances, and he stared down at her with wide eyes. “Marinette?”

Although her mind was reeling from almost- you know -falling to her death, she wrapped her arms around his neck, a relieved smile spreading onto her lips. “Chat Noir. Right on time, as always.”

“I- What are you doing here? And why is your face all red?” He asked, bewildered. She didn’t blame him. It’d been a while since they saw each other on the battlefield, let alone in a place so far from her house or school with her face the color of a cherry tomato.

“I was having lunch with my friends, and there was a small accident in Chemistry class earlier.” She explained, glancing over Chat’s shoulder to make sure the akuma wasn’t following them. Aside from a few car alarms and faint police sirens, it was quiet. Whirlwind must have a slow recovery time. That was going to come in handy later.

Chat Noir stopped in a random alleyway and carefully set her back down on her own two feet. “You mean the friends from your new school?”

Marinette wobbled a bit and placed a firm hand on his shoulder to regain balance. Now that she wasn’t in imminent danger, the shock and adrenaline in her body seemed to be wearing off. It left her heart racing and her body shaking, but she’d fallen enough times to know that it would pass in a few minutes as well. (And wasn’t it sad that she could say that?)

“Those would be the ones.” She replied after a few deep breaths. “We got attacked as we were leaving, and I went to lure Whirlwind away from everyone. I didn’t count on her picking me up to leave.”

Chat Noir frowned, offering a soft rub on the back to help her relax. “I appreciate your tenacity, Princess, but you could’ve gotten seriously hurt! You need to leave the rescuing to us heroes.”

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Felix had said the same thing back at the café, neither of them realizing the horrible irony that she was one of the heroes. Sometimes she just wanted to expose her identity to Paris simply so she could do her job as Ladybug in peace without any resistance. 

“Anyway, I actually wanted to ask you about your new school.” Chat Noir remarked, bringing her from her mullings.

Marinette gave him a questioning look. Wasn’t he supposed to be fighting the akuma right now? Whirlwind wasn’t going to stay down forever. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand, dang it! Or at least leave her alone so she could transform and tell him to focus as Ladybug!

“Where did you go, you mangy cat!” The akuma roared in the distance. “Come out and face me like a proper hero!”

Aaaand she’s up now. Marinette mentally sighed. It was going to be hard knocking her down again. With her winds protecting her, an ambush will be the only way to get close, and she’ll be expecting that now. Maybe she can find another way to get the folder-fan thing. (That’s what she assumed to be the akumatized object, anyway.)

“Woops,” Chat Noir muttered, his gaze flicking towards the sky. Woops would be right.

“That’s my queue to go.” He said, offering her another quick smile before taking out his staff. “Stay safe, Princess!”

His staff extended, which vaulted him into the air, and he disappeared onto the rooftops above, out of sight. 

Finally, Marinette thought. She was starting to wonder if he’d ever leave.

“Marinette!” As soon as the coast was clear, Tikki zipped out of her purse, flying around her holder with a worried look. “Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, did you? That was too close!”

“I’m fine, Tikki.” Marinette assured with a soft smile. “See? I’m not even shaking anymore. I just hope we can defeat this akuma before next class period. You know how much Felix hates being late.”

Tikki giggled. “I think he’ll understand being a little late today.”

Marinette chuckled. “Tikki, spots on!”

Magic wrapped around her skin in a flash of bright light, creating her signature red and black-spotted costume. A smile graced her lips at the surge of power that washed over her body, and she threw her yo-yo towards the top of the rooftop. Now she was ready to face Whirlwind.

Her yo-yo pulled her onto the rooftop that Chat Noir stepped onto moments prior, but by the time she got up there, he was already blocks away and fighting against Whirlwind as best he could on his own. It.. wasn’t going well, but that served him right for wasting time while the akuma was vulnerable.

Nevertheless, Ladybug threw out her yo-yo again to swing in their direction. She still had to protect Paris, after all, and if she waited any longer, she might be fighting Whirlwind alone while trying not to look Chat Noir’s civilian self in the eyes. 

Hopefully she was underestimating him, because it only took half a swing for something else to stop her in her tracks. 

It was a cry. But not just any cry. Someone was calling out her name.

Her civilian name.

Ladybug’s arms flailed around as she stumbled onto another rooftop, and she looked to the streets below for the source. There should only be about four other people- aside from Chat -who knew her civilian self was in that area, and that fact had her begging that she’d heard something wrong. 

She should have known that she’d never be that lucky, though, despite her powers literally being based around life and luck. It took less than a second for her to spot a blonde boy in dark clothing running through the streets where she’d initially fallen as Marinette, and in all honesty.. she was stunned to see him. Not because she truly thought that the universe would be convenient for once, but because.. it was Felix. Not Claude or Allegra or Allan, who she’d certainly expected to be crazy enough to follow after her, but Felix. 

Felix who makes a point of avoiding people as much as possible because he supposedly hates them.

Felix who would usually rather stay home than go anywhere with the group at any time because he claims they are torture to be around.

Felix who had looked too terrified to even move right before she lured the akuma away from the café.

He was there, and he was searching for her. Not only that, he was desperately searching for her. Moving the debris that he could, looking through car windows, calling out her name multiple times- he was doing everything in his power to find her. And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t extremely touched by the sight. Felix has helped her so much over the past month, but she’d always assumed that that was done out of the kindness of his own heart, not because he liked her, especially with how often he griped and grumbled about the trio dragging him to their group hangouts. Seeing him so worried now, though.. It almost made her smile despite herself. 

He really did care about them, didn’t he?

Ladybug shook her head and swung down to the street he was on. Whirlwind probably wouldn’t try to harm him purposely, but that didn’t mean the loose debris from the fight a few blocks down would magically avoid hitting him. She needed to get him to safety before the akuma realized that her second opponent had arrived.

“Sir, it’s not safe here.” She said as she landed behind him. “You need to come with me.”

Felix jumped out of his skin and whirled around. His expression was coated with terror and frustration, once again throwing Ladybug off. She’d never seen him this frantic before. 

“Oh, thank goodness.” He said after realizing who she was. “Please, I need your help. My friend- her name’s Marinette. She tried to lure the akuma to help us and got kidnapped! I tried to follow them, but they moved too fast. And then I saw her fall and-”

Recounting the events put him in a fresh state of panic, and he ran a hand through his hair as he scanned the streets once again. 

“I understand,” She replied softly, placing a hand on his shoulder to hopefully calm him down, “but I need to remain calm for me, okay? We’re going to clear the area, and then I’ll do everything in my power to find her.”

Felix’s gaze snapped to hers. “What? No, I don’t think you understand. She fell! She might be suffocating under the debris or critically injured in an alleyway or on a rooftop somewhere! We can’t just leave!”

Ladybug held back a smile towards his concern, as that would be wildly inappropriate at the moment, and reached down to pick him up. “I’m sure she would appreciate the sentiment, sir, but you being here makes our jobs harder. Please let us handle this. I’m sure she’s perfectly safe somewhere.”

“What are you-” Felix gasped as she scooped him up bridal style, and the mix of sheer outrage and bafflement that exploded onto his features once he realized what was happening made her wish that she had a camera. 

“Put me down this instant!” He demanded, scrambling in her hold. “I need to find Marinette!”

“We’ll do that,” Ladybug promised, “just as soon as I get you somewhere safe.”

Jumping over cars and weaving through alleyways, she managed to carry Felix a good few blocks away within five or ten minutes. He was strangely light for being so tall. Even as he continued to squirm in her grasp, she had no trouble lifting him to a sheltered and secluded area. 

“This is ridiculous!” Felix hissed, throwing himself off of her when she finally allowed him to do so. “What kind of hero ignores a person in need! Aren’t you supposed to save those injured by the akuma? Marinette could be out there dead while I’m perfectly fine, yet you waste time taking me somewhere I don’t want to go! Have some common sense and prioritize! Listen to what I’m telling you!”

Ladybug pursed her lips to avoid a sigh. If it weren’t for the fact that plenty of other people who were just like this made her job way more difficult than it already was, she would probably be laughing a bit towards the irony of his claims. “Sir, every life is a priority to us-”

A scream echoed in the distance, one that abruptly grew louder as the source grew nearer. Ladybug shifted into a fighting stance, but by the time she pulled out her yo-yo to use as a weapon, a blur of black was flying right past them. 

It landed hard in a dumpster near the end of the alleyway, a deep groan erupting from the surprise visitor a moment later. That fall clearly hadn’t been pleasant for whoever got thrown, and Ladybug had a pretty good idea of who that person was. Not many people got thrown around by akumas on a near-weekly basis.

“You okay, Chat?” She asked, putting away her yo-yo as she moved forward to help him up.

Her partner eyed her through a pained, squinted gaze while he rubbed the back of his head. “..My lady? When did you get here?”

She offered a smile and helped him sit up as she answered, “Only a few minutes ago. I was helping a civilian get to safety.”

Chat’s gaze slid to the spot over her shoulder, where she assumed Felix was standing, and a frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re here too?”

The question was more of muttered, but she heard it all the same, her eyebrows knitting together. What did he mean ‘too’? Did they know each other?

“I’m looking for my friend.” Felix spoke up, jumping at the opportunity to recruit another hero. It was probably for a good thing, since she didn’t want to think too much on who Chat did or didn’t know personally. “She was taken captive by the akuma while trying to protect us and fell from the air about twenty minutes ago. Have you seen her?”

Chat’s eyes widened, confusion and surprise swirling onto his features. Ladybug, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why. Her alter ego had told him that she risked her life to save her friends. Minor surprise should have been the only reaction he had to that question. 

“Wait..” Her partner said with furrowed eyebrows. “Was this girl’s name Marinette?”

Felix straightened, hope rising to his silver eyes. “You know her?”

“I put her in an alleyway a few blocks from here.” Chat Noir answered, gesturing in the general direction. “She was a bit shaken up, but otherwise fine. How do you-”

“No time for chit-chat.” Ladybug interrupted. She wasn’t going to get trapped in another one of Chat Noir’s spiraling conversations. “We kind of have an akuma to take care of.”

Chat Noir pushed himself out of the dumpster, and although he looked reluctant to drop the subject, he nodded. “Right. I’m ready when you are.”

Ladybug gave a satisfied nod and turned back to Felix. 

“I know you’re worried for your friend,” She said, “but she’s safe. So I would greatly appreciate it if you went and hid until all of this was over. If you don’t, it’ll only make defeating Whirlwind harder.”

Felix frowned, clearly not on board with the idea, but he agreed anyway. “I’ll.. go back to the café. My other friends should be there waiting for us.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Felix spun on his heel and started off in the opposite direction of Whirlwind, to her relief. With him out of the way, taking down Hawkmoth’s newest pawn should be a piece of cake.

“You ready, Chat?” 

Her partner didn’t respond, drawing her gaze over to him. He was staring at Felix with a quiet frown, watching the blonde walk away. Why did he look so troubled by the sight of the blond?

“Chat?”

This time his ears twitched, and he turned back to Ladybug with a questioning gaze. “Huh? Sorry, I got.. distracted.”

Ladybug tilted her head to the side slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay? You looked upset.”

Chat waved off the comment, plastering on a smile. “Nah, you know me, My Lady. I’m perfect, as always.”

She frowned. “If you’re sure.. I think I have a plan to beat the akuma. Are you ready?”

“You know I am.”

“Good. Then get ready to be the distraction.” She replied, quickly throwing her yo-yo into the air. “Lucky Charm!”

~~~~~~

Adrien ran through the Parisian streets, following the tip of their school building to find his way back. That akuma took longer than he thought it would. By the time he got back to class, it’d probably be over. 

So much for gaining more free time to go see Marinette. He thought, sparing a glance down the alleyway that he’d dropped her in as Chat Noir. It was empty now, as one would expect. LB’s miraculous ladybugs would have brought her back to where she was before the fight started. Even so, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It was the first time he’d seen her in almost two weeks as Adrien or Chat Noir, and possibly his only chance to talk to her for a long while. Tardiness at Dupont was pardoned when they got attacked by the akuma directly, but running off to video- or even capture -it wasn’t permitted. When Father saw his disciplinary marks, Adrien’s already tight schedule would no doubt coil around him even further. 

Adrien paused to catch his breath- running to school was so much easier as Chat Noir -and scanned the street for Alya. They needed to regroup before he got back to class or it might be suspicious on his part, since he specifically said that he was going to keep Alya safe. (Note to self: never use Alya as an excuse again.)

“Alya!” He called out. “Can you hear me?”

He’d wanted to go find that café that the blond guy from Rosemary mentioned, just to see if he could at least spot Marinette and maybe even catch her as Adrien, but Whirlwind ended up taking all of his free time. It was admittedly frustrating, being so close yet so far when it came to talking with her. They lived in the same city, for Pete’s sake! He should be able to drive over to her house and say hi without any struggle at all!

Speaking of which, what was with that blond guy? He totally lied about Marinette attending Rosemary! Unless they hadn’t met yet when Adrien first visited.. but that didn’t make any sense. He visited after Marinette said that she had her new friends come to her house, the same friends that were with her at the café. Meaning the blond guy. 

Adrien could give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was an honest mistake. Perhaps that guy really hadn’t met Marinette yet and she was referring to other friends that they were with. It did sound like she had a whole group now. Besides, why would the guy lie for no reason? People don’t usually do that. 

Either way, Adrien knew which school Marinette was at now, and that was all that mattered. His plan to go apologize could finally be put into action.

“Adrien?” 

A faint reply caught his attention, and Adrien glanced up to see Alya wandering around at the end of the street. 

“Is that you?” She asked, looking around for him as well.

Adrien put on a smile and waved his hand as he approached her. “Yeah, it’s me! Where did you go? I couldn’t find you!”

“I was trying to get a shot of the akuma, but by the time I got here, the fight was practically over!” She answered, spotting him a second later and moving to meet him halfway. “Where did you go? You disappeared in, like, the first five minutes! How did you get down here so fast?”

“Oh, uh..” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, nervousness crawling onto his features. He probably should have come up with an excuse for his absence before he tracked Alya down. “I decided to take a shortcut. I guess I should have told you?”

Alya scrunched up her nose. “A shortcut? I don’t remember any shortcuts around here.. Well, I’m sure there will be other chances to film akumas. It just stinks that I didn’t get to record the hostage situation. Did you happen to see who that was? It looked like a girl from where I was standing.”

“Sorry, Al.” Adrien said, offering a sheepish look. Chat Noir might know it was Marinette who fell, but he did not. “I got there after the hostage was rescued.”

Alya clicked her tongue, displeased. “Drat. Did you see anything interesting while you were out there?”

Define interesting. Adrien thought to himself. Finding Marinette and the blond who was looking for her in the same battle had been extremely interesting to him, but he doubted Alya would feel the same way. 

“She had a pretty cool costume.” He recounted as they started their way back to the school together. “It was all blue with a white cloak and this weird, spinning, white skirt thing. She also used a white and dark blue folder as a fan to control the wind. That ended up being the akumatized object, if I remember correctly-”

“Oh, hang on.” Alya cut in, switching to the memo on her phone. “Let me write this down for the blog. I got some of the footage, but it was grainy at best because of the distance. These details are great to add to it. Did you see anything else?”

Adrien thought over what he could tell her and what he should keep secret. Would he be able to know what the lucky charm was if he was watching from a random alleyway or behind a car?

“Not really.” He answered. Giving more information at this point might not end well for him if his lady followed the blog. She was too clever not to put things like that together. “You’re not going to name-drop me on the blog, are you?”

Alya shook her head. “No, no, you know I keep my sources a secret. It would lead other reporters to my scoops.”

“Right.” Adrien replied, relieved. Not only would name-dropping compromise his personal tips, it would also give people the opportunity to look for him through news footage and other things. He didn’t want anyone disproving the excuses that he’d given to Alya about his whereabouts. “That makes sense.”

Once she jotted down Adrien’s comments, Alya pulled out her phone to rewatch the footage. Although the image was being jostled around a bit from walking, he could still see how utterly grainy the video was. He could barely tell who was who, and he was one of the people who actually fought in the battle. The only reason he knew it was Ladybug snatching the akumatized object at the end was because she was the only one who had red pixels. 

“I would have just shot the scene without zooming in,” Alya said as she put the phone away, “but doing that made everyone look like specks. I hope Lila can clean it up for me.”

Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t know Lila edited videos.”

“Oh, she doesn’t.” Alya smiled. “She has an uncle who’s this big-time movie editor.”

Ah. Another famous uncle. He wondered if that was the same uncle who was supposed to be an incredible actor or the one that owned a humongous plaza. Gosh, did Lila even have any uncles in real life?

“You think he’s going to have time to do it?” He asked.

“Maybe not, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?” 

Adrien shrugged. No, it couldn’t hurt. At least not until Lila promises to get it to her uncle and then never gives the video back. How many false promises has she made now? There was the one where she said that she would get a gig for Nino, one to Alex about getting her this special, glow-in-the-dark spray paint, one to Max about getting some high-tech chip for Markov- She’d promised so many things that he couldn’t even remember most of them now! How long until those words buried her alive? How long until his classmates actually started demanding the fruits from her supposed labor? Were they just going to wait on her to deliver for the rest of their lives? 

Adrien heaved a small sigh. He would make them see reason eventually. He would.

But first he needed to pay another visit to Rosemary.

~~~~~~

Marinette pushed herself to go faster as she weaved through the different alleyways that led back to the café. Her legs were already aching from the fight that Whirlwind had dragged out, but she imagined the pain to be minor in comparison to how worried sick her friends probably were at this point. As a civilian, she should have made it back to the café about twenty minutes ago, give or take. If it weren’t for the multiple calls and messages asking if she was okay and her frantic responses that “yes, I’m fine, but please stay put till I get there”, then the group would probably be searching the streets for her right now. She would have stayed transformed to get back, but the fight drained all of Tikki’s energy. Marinette was lucky to have found an alleyway to even hide in before she de-transformed. 

Come on, come on, She thought, her gaze flicking left and right. I know it was around here somewhere- oh!

Marinette lit up at the sight of the café. She could see the group standing in front of it, huddled together and looking around to try and spot her. Felix was a step or two behind the trio with a deep frown on his lips and his arms crossed against his chest. His fingers tapped rapidly against his bicep, giving way to his nervousness towards her absence, and he glanced from side to side along with the others. His franticness from earlier appeared to be contained now, but still very much there. 

“Guys!” She called out, breaking into another sprint despite her body’s protest. She was going to have to grab an ice pack or two once she got home.

The group’s attention immediately snapped to her, and the trio practically sank to the ground with relief.

“Marinette!”

“Where have you been?!”

“We’ve been worried sick-”

They collided into her with a group hug, each sniffing and blubbering about not being able to find her. Claude was out right crying into her shoulder.

Marinette hugged them all back and apologized profusely, the guilt from upsetting them to this point twisting sharply through her stomach and heart. She couldn’t bear to see them this way, and the fact that this was inevitably going to happen again only made it worse. 

“I’m so sorry for making you worry.” She said, wiping away a tear of her own. “When Chat Noir save me, I was told to stay put till the fight was over, and-”

“No, don’t apologize.” Allegra interrupted with a watery smile. “We’re just happy you’re safe.”

A scoff brought their attention up to Felix, who was now standing next to them. 

“Don’t apologize?” He repeated, glaring at the other three in disbelief. “She almost got herself killed! Are we supposed to encourage that behavior?”

“She was trying to protect us.” Allan defended. “She was only doing what she thought was right.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Felix countered. “She was reckless and idiotic! There were a million other ways to make it out of there safely without getting yourself kidnapped.”

“Hey, lay off!” Claude yelled, sounding surprisingly angry. “She’s been through a lot today already, so just leave her alone!”

“So, you’re willing to just let this slide?” Felix asked, growing agitated himself. “You’re telling me that as long as she dies out of the ‘goodness of her heart’, then it’s fine?”

“She didn’t die!”

“But she could have!” He shot back. “Doesn’t that bother any of you? What if the heroes didn’t get there in time? What if Whirlwind decided she didn’t care for civilians anymore before they even arrived? What would have happened if the miraculous cure couldn’t bring her back for some reason? There were too many variables that she didn’t know about and she went anyway. That’s not something that should be praised!”

Allegra shot him a glare. “Felix-”

“No.” Marinette interrupted, putting a hand on Allegra’s shoulder as the girl trailed off. “No, he’s right. I wasn’t thinking properly, and I jumped in with a plan that half-formed at best and didn’t look for other options until it was too late. I thought I was running out of time and panicked, but that’s no excuse.”

Marinette stepped forward, and Felix quietly stared at her in response. His eyebrows were still furrowed, the grief of the situation reflecting in his silvery blue eyes. She understood why he was angry and upset. She understood why he had that desperate look in his eyes as he tried to explain his displeasure towards her behavior. Felix was the only one to see her fall, after all. The only one to know how close to death she actually was. Seeing Chat Noir sacrifice himself over and over again helped her know exactly what that felt like.

She wanted to pull him into a hug, to tell him that everything was okay now and that she was okay now, but touch wasn’t exactly his thing. So she settled for something she knew was alright and lightly grabbed his hand.

“I really am sorry.” She apologized again. “I promise I’ll be more careful next time.”

Felix’s gaze softened slightly, and he shocked her by lightly squeezing her hand back. “I’d rather there not be a next time.”

Marinette offered a small, sheepish smile, knowing she couldn’t make that promise. She had too many responsibilities as Ladybug to stay away from akumas completely, but she could try to avoid them as a civilian. For his sake and the others’.

Allegra placed a gentle hand on Marinette’s back. “We should head back to the school. They don’t really give us lee-way for being late.”

“Well, they should today since we kind of got attacked,” Allan spoke up, “but I don’t quote me on that. Also, I’m calling my turn on driving Marinette.”

Allegra and Claude put a hand to their chests and gasped, both knowing that Allan hadn’t called a turn yet which made him automatically win. Marinette caught a smirk twitching onto Felix’s lips due to this fact, and she smiled with him, mainly because it was nice seeing him relax again.

“Oh no!” Claude said defiantly. “If you’re taking Marinette, then I’m gonna be riding with you too!”

“Same here!” Allegra agreed. “I’m not leaving her side until the teachers are forcing us to for our next classes.”

Marinette let out a small chuckle. “Is there enough room for that?”

“There is now.” 

Allan snorted. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Our cars are pretty big.”

“Are you going to be riding with us too, Felix?” Allegra asked, glancing at the blond.

Felix’s hand tightened slightly around Marinette’s, but he shook his head. “No, I.. I think I’m gonna drive back alone.”

Claude frowned. “Seriously? After that whole rant you made two seconds ago?”

“Aw, let him be.” Allan said, waving off Claude’s comment. “It’s just more Marinette for us, right?”

Although the frown remained, the brunette made a half-shrug. “I guess that’s true..”

“Cool.” Allegra smiled. “Then I call the seat next to Marinette!”

“What!” Claude scoffed, whirling back to Allegra. “You can’t do that!”

“I just did.”

“Technically,” Allan cut in, “I should get to sit next to her, since I’m the one driving her.”

Allegra and Claude both shot him a glare, bringing out a giggle from Marinette. They did not seem to appreciate Allan’s accurate logic. 

Her gaze shifted to Felix, who was silently watching the trio bicker. His expression was neutral again, composed, but the way he continued to hold onto her hand told her that he wasn’t quite alright yet.

“So..” She said, almost awkwardly. Should she try to make him feel better? “I guess I’ll.. see you at school?”

Felix’s eyes flicked to her, and she mentally slapped herself for even speaking. “See you at school”? What kind of dull question was that?

“Yes.” He answered. The response was shorter than usual, but she’d try not to overthink it, since the last hour has been a long one for all of them. That’s probably why he decided to drive back alone in the first place. 

Allegra cut into the conversation by looping her arm with Marinette’s and pulling her towards Allan’s. The movement was quick and sudden, and it caused her hand to slip out of Felix’s in the process. She glanced down at her palm, curious at the sense of emptiness that immediately swept over it. It was as though she hadn’t been ready to let go herself. 

Marinette looked back to Felix to see if he felt it too, but his back was already turned to her as he walked back to his own car.

Huh. 

Maybe it was just her. 

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything  @magnificentcrapposts  @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester

[pricemarshfield]

for candia

Written for Day 1 of @acocweek​: Fluff + Theobald. Read on AO3 here.

Theobald, as always, is the first awake.

Things are different than they used to be, of course. He wakes up with a marauder curled into his side murmuring violent nothings in her sleep and a licorice snake biting his hand affectionately, rather than alone. The guards are made up of a mix of Tartguard and North-Gumbian Knights and Saccharina's collection of nobodies that Theo has yet to corral into training. Saccharina lets him sit at her side during every meeting--encourages it, actually, wonders aloud about round tables and councils and more democratic processes of enacting law in front of visiting dignitaries who stare at her staff with wonderment and fear.

There's also still a tangible air of mourning around the place, too. One of the Tartguard started wailing when he saw Princess for the first time, and they'll be repairing the damage to the castle for years.

But what a job to supervise all of this!

"Limey," Theo says with a nod to his new second-in-command, who salutes. "What news do we have for the day?"

"Nothing much, sir," says Limey. "Her Majesty the Queen Saccharina continues to insist we don't need to salute her, but we've maintained proper etiquette anyway."

"Fantastic," Theo says. "Continue on."

"There is one thing," Limey says, and his tone is more confused than nervous, so he doesn't reach for the battle pop. "All of the left shoes in the barracks disappeared overnight."

"...what?"

"All of the left shoes in the barracks disappeared overnight, sir," Limey says. "No one saw anything, and while that's not an especially expensive thing to replace, it is worrying that someone was able to slip past our defenses."

Ordinarily, Theo would be incredibly worried about someone who could sneak into the barracks and out without being spotted, especially carrying what must have been dozens of shoes. But he hears a familiar snort from somewhere above him. When he looks up, no one's there, but that's to be expected. She's good.

"I'll retrieve those shoes posthaste, Limey," Theobald says. "Tell the men not to worry."

"They're not, mostly," Limey says, but Theo's already wandered off, holding his arm out so Princess can keep an eye out, too. She doesn't seem to be especially invested, snoozing on his arm and hissing when he tries to lower it.

"Ruby," Theo calls. "I know you're nearby. Come on."

No response, no sound of footsteps, no flickering shadows. This'll take the big guns.

---

"Ruby did what?" Saccharina says, lounging on her throne, and bursts into a fit of giggles.

"My Queen," Theo says, a familiar headache already forming behind his eyes. "This is serious."

"Sure, yeah," Saccharina says. "All the left shoes in the barracks? Even Jon Bon's? Oh, that's gross. Wait, is everyone just hopping around? Also, just call me Saccharina."

"My Queen Saccharina," he says, and she frowns at him, fiddling with a small magical trinket she'd found somewhere in the castle. "The morale of the men is important. We were able to take the castle without heavy losses, but not without losses entirely."

"Hm." The Queen stands up, shakes her head when he automatically moves to kneel. "She is the Imperial Princess now, and I don't think pranks are gonna hurt morale. Tell whoever's in charge of it that I authorize new shoes to be bought. I've got this whole treasury now, anyway, what else would I do with it?"

Theo takes a deep breath. "I think--" Saccharina waits, raising a brow at Theo's pause. He doesn't normally get this far. "I think that Ruby should probably apologize. And return the shoes."

Saccharina's mischievous smile looks a lot like her sister's. "Sure. And you can tell her that if you can find her."

There's a sudden laugh from behind him, and when Theo swings his head around, he sees only the back of the throne room.

He sighs. In for a long day, apparently.

---

The Imperial Princess Ruby of House Rocks doesn't have tutors here. She's on vacation, officially and in practice. Well-deserved after the war, of course, even if Theo doesn't understand the appeal of a week or month or two without structure. He'd have thought, after everything, that pranks were beneath her, that perhaps she'd even take an active role in governance!

Instead, Ruby seems to have decided Saccharina's challenge for Theo to find her cannot go unmet.

He hasn't seen her all day, even though the Bulb is high in the sky, but the impact of her actions is everywhere. Frosting along the floors that he slipped on, causing a Tartguard pile-up. Little bursts of sparks set to trigger when he opens doors and windows that startle him enough that Princess bites him. The worst offender is when he turns down a hallway only to see piles and piles of shoes, because when he gets back, they're all gone. The other Knights of North-Gumbia, to their credit, are completely understanding.

"The princesses were always fond of japes, weren't they, sir?" Limey asks. Princess hisses and curls around his neck in what he thinks is an affectionate gesture.

"They were," Theo says. Once, he'd woken up, sat up, and stretched only to get a tray of whipped cream directly to the face. Jet and Ruby hadn't been half as good at stealthing away as Ruby is now, but it'd taken him long enough to wipe it off his face that he'd only seen Jet glance back and snort with laughter.

Nothing had happened. Caramelinda had been visiting House Meringue for a family wedding and Amethar had found it hysterical. They had apologized in their own way, after--no escape attempts for an entire fortnight.

He shakes himself of his nostalgia with the help of Princess biting his ear, and as he gently untangles her from his helmet, he says, "Right. Well, keep the search up. She can't hide from us forever."

---

Two days, six hours, and roughly thirty minutes after he makes that statement, he's not so sure. No one's admitted to seeing Ruby, though Saccharina's eyes had sparkled with mirth and kept glancing up to a corner behind him as if daring him to break court etiquette and check. He's checked the secret passages he knows, he's enlisted the help of the marauders (Swifty had only threatened to stab him once during the conversation, so he thinks they're genuinely looking), he's used every spell he knows and considered looking up new ones.

New pranks pop up around the castle, of course. A few meeps let loose in the hallways, frightening a visiting dignitary. Flooding one of the kitchens with cola. Cushions that make it sound like you're farting on every chair except the throne.

"Ruby seems to be sparing you from her onslaught," Theo says to the Queen, watching as Annabelle Cheddar stares at herself in one of the room's mirrors, hair turned a bright Candian purple.

"Yeah," Saccharina says with a wide smile. "She is! It's really cool! I've never had anyone comfortable enough around me who cared me enough to do pranks without me being the target!"

Theo, not knowing how to respond to that, is incredibly thankful for the sixth prank of the day: an explosion of scraps of paper that covers every inch of the room. The paper seems to be mostly made up of old letters from the other nations. They're important, and them being destroyed is terrible, and they will have words about it later, but he can't bring himself to mind too much right now.

Because with all the paper everywhere, he sees the little breeze she makes in her escape, and the direction she runs in after.

---

If he chases after her now, he'll lose her, and who knows if he'll ever get another lucky break like that again. So he waits. Endures waking up covered in Fructeran vino, deals with diplomats' outrage at not being greeted by the Imperial Princess herself, keeps checking secret passages in entirely different parts of the castle just to throw her off the trail. He doesn't say anything to anyone about it, because he's not especially good at deception.

The final prank: a veritable army of chocolate frogs released while Saccharina holds court. It explains why she's been holding back laughter the entire time, but that's a problem for later. For now, he sprints across the room, vaulting over one of the Tartguard, and heads in the direction he'd seen her run before.

There's a few secret passageways this way, but he's checked those. When he reaches a dead end, he looks around, thinks--casts knock on the wall. Sure enough, it pushes open, and on the other side is Ruby Rocks, mouth open in shock.

"Ruby!" Theo calls.

"Damn it," she says. "How'd you even--it doesn't matter."

"You have many things to apologize for, your Imperial Highness," Theo says, walking over to try and pick her up and carry her back to the throne room. She could escape, probably, but it's at least a start.

"That's not true!" Ruby says. "I've been helping a ton of people."

"What, people who needed specifically left shoes? Annabelle secretly asked you to dye her hair purple?" Ruby snorts. "See! Come on, Princess."

"No, seriously," Ruby says. "Look, I did this because it's funny, but it's bringing the mood up around here! Morale!"

Theo blinks at her. "What? Stealing people's things? Ruining their day?"

"Pranks," Ruby says with a nod. "Look. Pay attention to the way people are acting and talking about all of it. I'll be back here in a few hours if you still wanna try and get me grounded."

"Your sister's not going to ground you," Theo says, and Ruby grins up at him.

It's definitely a trick. He's fallen for similar tricks before. He shouldn't this time.

"If you're not back here," Theo says, and Ruby laughs, half-tackles him in a hug, runs past him, and jumps out a window. He doesn't hear a thud or yelp of pain, so he assumes it's probably fine.

He hadn't even thought to check outside, had he? Hopefully, she'll keep her word and he won't have to. Not much else to do now that she's already escaped.

---

When he walks back to the throne room, Saccharina's holding a chocolate frog with a look of fascination and disgust, Primsy's already got one in a box that she's attempting to feed sugar-grass, and Liam is visibly holding himself back from target practice, hands twitching towards his crossbow.

"I must say," he overhears one of the Tartguard say as he takes his place by Saccharina's left side. (Gooey's at the right, still. Had very, very easily won that argument.) "While these pranks are quite improper, you can't deny they're incredibly humorous!"

"Good sir!" says another Tartguard, and one of the marauders behind him rolls her eyes, but has a smile on her face too. "I have to say, I agree. It was nice to have a bit of liveliness around here!"

One of the Fructeran diplomats is upset, but soothed easily after his partner reminds him that he can tell this story before the Imperial Court, always so focused on adventures. The Dairy Islanders seem more excited to avoid courtly talk than anything. One Meatlander is holding a chocolate frog with a look that can only be described as adoring, even as it shits in his hand.

All-in-all, the atmosphere of the room is rather...jovial. Not at all like the quiet mournfulness of the first week of their reign. There's still the holes in some of the walls from their siege, and there's still the palpable loss of the chancellor and the princess, but people seem happy. People are laughing.

When he goes back to the secret passageway--opened apparently by twisting a statue of Sapphria so that she's facing the window--Ruby's there, shifting on her feet.

"You do have to return the shoes," Theo says, and Ruby's shoulders slump. "But--"

"Yes!" Ruby says. "I knew you'd get it. Well, I hoped you'd get it. Gooey's mellowed you out."

"I--that's--we're not talking about Gooey," Theo blusters. "The shoes need to go back."

Ruby snorts. "I did that so we'd get new shoes. Dad told me all about trench foot."

"What?" Theo says. "That's not even a little bit of an appropriate topic for conversation. Especially at court. If you'd just go to your lessons--"

"I don't even have lessons here," Ruby says, and he's so distracted by responding to that with an emphatic 'you should' that he doesn't notice the tray of whipped cream until it's already in his face.

"Bye, Theo!" Ruby calls, already dashing away from him.

He sighs. "Bye, Ruby."

[dhwty-writes]

Dreams

Merry Christmas, everyone! This is my contribution for the @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo on tumblr.

My thanks also go to @contemplativepancakes, who betaed this fic for me. Thank you for your patience while I was still writing this <3 You guys should also definitely go check out her work, I love it to pieces!

Anyways, I shouldn't bore you too much. Let me just say one last thing: I think this is the most well thought-out piece of fiction I have written in my entire life. I have weighed every words of this five times at least. I hope you guys like it.

Have fun reading!

Summary: Geralt takes on a contract to investigate some spectral activity in a haunted ruin. As it happens, he disturbs the residence of a powerful being, that traps his soul in a nefarious netherworld. Jaskier, local bard with no sense of self preservation, does the obvious and follows him, trying to parse information from talking plants and braving unspeakable horrors in order to bargain for his witcher's soul. If only that were as easy as it sounded.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: Rated T. Canon-typical violence

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

It was a serene and sunny day when the witcher scaled the hill to the abandoned mansion. It shouldn't have been, by any rights; neither day nor sunshine quite set the scene for a monster hunter to come slay to his prey. Alas, Weather does what they want rather than what they should—most of the time they are too busy laughing at humans they catch by surprise, to notice another one of their storms escaping anyways— and neither of that is to set a picturesque scene for a murder to take place.

Well, not necessarily a murder; that might, admittedly, be a bit crass. An eviction, rather, though the witcher did know yet that was what he was about to do. He simply marched up there, convinced that he would do some light reconnaissance and then return to the bard he had left behind. He was so adamant in his conviction, even, that he simply couldn't imagine anything else.

Geralt of Rivia slid from his saddle and pat Roach on the side of her neck. "Good girl," he muttered as he tied her reins to the withered remains of a tree on a field of dried grass. 

He stepped back to retrieve his sword from her saddle and heard the telltale sign of a dried-up flower crushed beneath his boot. Geralt lifted it. It was a dandelion. He cursed internally. Were he a superstitious man, he might’ve thought it a bad sign. He wasn’t, though, so he knew it to be a bad sign.

Nothing good ever came from places where not even weeds could stubbornly cling to life. It usually meant that nothing would stay alive—or dead— for very long either. He'd have to be fast. 'A quick look around and I can go back to Jaskier,' he promised himself, the only silver lining on the horizon of this shitty day. 

With a grunt he went to the road that led towards the ruin looming up above him, taking in every detail of his surroundings. The tree Roach was tied to seemed to have belonged to a grove, considering how systematically the husks of the trees were arranged. 'Like gnarled fingers trying to reach for the sky.'

Geralt huffed. Jaskier was rubbing off on him again. The collapsed stone wall lining it was another strong indicator that once there had been someone tending to the woods. 'A cemetery?' he wondered. It might be a strong start...

He stepped past the large erratic to his left to vault over the crumbling wall. He had barely taken two steps when a dark shadow fell over him. He looked up to see the sun inching closer and closer to the horizon. A shiver ran down Geralt's back. ‘So late already?’ He had barely set out an hour ago, he was sure of it. And yet— something moved to his right and his medallion vibrated. “Fuck,” he cursed. He didn’t like this at all. 

Still, he had come here for a reason, so he turned away from the deserted grove and headed to the ruin. It wasn’t a large ruin, by any means, barely three walls standing. The first floor was completely decayed, so he didn’t have to check that, at least. In less than an hour he’d be done. 

That didn’t alleviate the uneasy feeling in the slightest. With each step it seemed like the temperatures dropped further. By the time he reached the facade his breaths were visible in white clouds, mingling with the fog drifting up from the ground. The weather was changing entirely too fast for his liking.

Slowly, Geralt stepped over the threshold into the broken mansion. He kept his eyes on the fog the whole time. The tendrils were thicker now, larger than any snake he'd ever seen as they slithered across the rotten floor. 'I should turn around,' he thought. He knew he should turn around. Still, he kept moving further into the mist.

A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. His head snapped around. One of the wisps rose above the ground, twisting and twirling to a melody he couldn't hear. "The fuck," Geralt grunted and reached for his sword. 

He regretted taking the contract already. It was a fool's errand, and he had known it to be. But coin was scarce these days and he had to make do. Even if it meant investigating haunted ruins that made his medallion nearly jump off his chest.

The shrill sound of rusty door-hinges made him twirl around. He was met with an inscrutable wall of fog. "Shit." His sword was in his hand before he could even think about it. A gentle gust of wind swept through the ruin, as if the air itself around him heaved a breath of relief. 'I have to get out of here.'

He turned towards where he had entered and bolted; not quite running, but almost. He hit the wall face-first. "Fuck!" he cursed, holding his bleeding nose.

An all-too-familiar laugh rang through the silence. "Fuckin' idiot!"

"Lambert?" he groaned as he raised his hands to set his own nose. It hurt like a bitch.

"Who else, you bastard?" his arsehole brother answered.

"Where are you?" Geralt wanted to know, feeling blindly for his sword. 'Fuck.' Why had he dropped it? It had been stupid to drop it. He knew better than that. He was a witcher, for fuck’s sake.

"Right behind you!" Lambert laughed again. He was probably within a punchable distance.

Geralt found the grip of his sword and whirled around, coming face to face with... fog. Nothing but fog. "Lambert?" he asked, desperately. No answer. "Lambert!" He waved his hand, a futile attempt to disperse the mist, and squinted, as if that would do anything. Of course, it didn't.

There is something to be said about the eyesight of mortals, and that is that every single one of them possesses a truly despicable one. So, it shouldn't come as a surprise that when the witcher blinked and tried to focus his vision, he did not see anything he hadn't seen before; which was nothing at all.

A quiet groan rippled through the dark, and Geralt stumbled forward before he even knew what he was doing. "Eskel," he gasped desperately, trying to follow the ragged breathing. He’d know that sound everywhere, he had heard it far too often already. "Eskel, where are you, I'm coming," he promised, while the maddening mantra of 'I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't.' kept fluttering through his head. He knew exactly what he would find, Eskel with his face slashed open, bleeding and barely breathing. 'I can't do it again, I can't, I can't, I can't.'

"No!" the high-pitched shriek made him halt in his stumbling, nearly doubling over. "Get out!"

"Yenna," he breathed. He vaguely realised that the world was spinning around him and fought the instinct to throw up.

"No, help!" she screamed again.

"Yennefer!" he shouted in response. "Where are you?"

A woeful giggle swept past him, one that might've belonged to a child or a giant or something else entirely.

"Did I not train you well?" a weak voice, that barely sounded like Vesemir, coughed. "Is your sword your only weapon?"

"N-no," he stammered and raised his trembling hand. He willed his fingers to bend; each movement was pure agony. After half an eternity his hand formed the sign of Aard and the fog dispersed.

Never in his life had he regretted anything more. "No-" he choked out weakly as his knees hit the blood-slick floor. "No!" He could barely comprehend what lay before him, only that they were dead dead dead, all of them, gone, dead, their blood soaking him to the bone.

"What happened?" he whispered, whimpered, wailed. There was an uncomfortable feeling coiling in his gut. It was something important, he knew. Something he should do. Somewhere he should go. Someone he still missed. But whatever it was, there was a thick fog clouding his mind that he could not see through. 

"You failed me," Yennefer answered, rising from her last resting-place. With each movement her broken bones popped back into place. But there was nothing to be done about her torn-up chest; nothing to be done about her empty eyes, picked clean by the crows long ago, full of accusations.

"And me," Eskel agreed, blood trickling from the gashes on his face. And his legs. And his arms. And his guts. There was not much to trickle left.

"And me," said Lambert's head where it lay inches from his torso. Two swords protruded from his body, one silver and one steel. They had stripped him naked save for the medallion around his neck, a snarling cat where there should have been a wolf.

"You failed all of us," Vesemir rasped, lying limp on his deathbed. After months of sickness and starvation, he could count every bone on his body. But it was the garrotte that had been his end.

"Who did this?" he gasped.

"You did," they answered in unison.

"Me?"

A shadow giggled and caressed his cheek. "Of course, you," a velvety voice answered. "It’s what you do. Butcher. Hunter. Priest. You brought war to my peace."

He groaned quietly, desperate to lean into the touch. When he did, he nearly toppled over. He caught himself inches from the ground. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. "Who are you?"

"Who am I? That answer's not yet due," the strange voice answered; wisps of fog danced, curled together, formed what might have been a body. "The real query is: who are you?"

"I-" He inhaled sharply as realisation hit him. "I'm- missing someone."

"Missing someone, are we?" The shadow giggled. "Pray tell, who might that be?"

He did not want to answer. He didn't. Still, he said: "Where's- Jaskier!" Fear closed its icy fist around his heart. True fear, that was paralyzing, numbing, horrible. He wanted to do something, wanted to— he didn’t know. His hands were shaking too much.  

"Geralt!" a bard’s piercing scream ripped through the eerie silence.

The sinister giggle rang again; a wisp of fog caressed his shoulder. Suddenly, there was light. So much light, it was overwhelming after the all-encompassing darkness of the fog. He screamed in pain, trying to avert his gaze, trying to flee— but he couldn’t. 

"There you are," a smile spread on what might’ve been the creature’s face as they bent down, their mouth dragging across the shell of his ear, "Geralt."

[roses-ruby]

Come home to me...Darling

Jimin x Female Reader

Ao3 Link

Part 1 of 2 (Part 2)

Genre: Cheating!AU, angst, soft vanilla smut , fluff

Warnings: Sex, Infidelity, Cursing, Sad

Word Count: 22,677

Summary: Jimin cheats and you try to make him stay. But whatever you do, it’s never enough.

A/N: YAAASSSSS, I’m done. This was originally supposed to be a one shot,,,but :),,,my brain,,,and hands,,,:),,,never know when to stop. My planning consisted of ‘Oh I could add this here’ or ‘Oh I could type more to this part’ and here we are 20k words later. Also plz let me know what you think.🥺 I need gratification babes🥺 Anyway, enjoy!

It was subtle really. Blink once and you’d miss it.

The first time Jimin cheated on you was two years into your marriage. An older lady, Jessica something – beautiful and elegant. You remember her as one of Jimin’s college professors, an intelligent woman who loved France and fine things. Running into her at a charity gala caught him by surprise, he seemed to forget your existence for the half hour they spent conversing. You couldn’t blame him, you were never the most interesting person, and she had all the wits on her side. Consequently, finding a text on his phone two weeks later that read ‘Last night was amazing, but it can’t happen again…’ caught you by surprise. He took a long relaxing shower as you gripped his left open phone and wept in your shared bedroom. After what felt like hours; he came out, wet hair sleeked back, a towel loosely hanging on his hips and gave you a tiny peck as you set up dinner.

It took you so long to recover. Softly becoming withdrawn and half of a living shell. Yet he continued to torture you with his endearing smile, his cheesy dialogues, and piercing stares until the memory faded away; the gala, the meeting, the text. Soon you were in his arms again, making sweet love to your first love. Drowning out the images of the text, convincing yourself you misunderstood, as you always do. Jimin is a difficult man to figure out after all. Even if it did happen, it’s over now – Jimin stayed with you and that’s what counts. Anyone else would have left your miserable self years ago, no?

And in the end that became your truth, no matter how hard your conscious tried to tell you otherwise when you laid awake in the middle of the night. But you wanted to save your marriage, so you left no stone unturned. You sank any rational thoughts and feelings – pushing them deep inside a hidden vault – never to float above the thin striped surface of your happiness. As long as Jimin comes home to you.

You never spoke of it.

The second time he was unfaithful was with his so-called best friend Mina about a year and a half later. His age, long curly hair and doe eyes – she was one of the guys. Preferring sweatpants over skirts and gaming over the salon, she easily befriended Jimin with similar interests. She was so different from you, so youthful and quirky. It happened repeatedly; with someone he’s known for so long…someone who knows you exist – and how much you love him. Dread settles in your stomach like a rock, as you thought this might be it, he’ll be taken away from you this time. And even though he came home every time, it still hurt more and more. How could you let this happen again? Why were you never good enough? Getting to the point where you could no longer tolerate the heartache you hesitantly confronted him about it one day. After he missed your anniversary date and came home with messy hair, ruffled clothes and a hint of a love bite, of course. No way for anyone to deny that…even if you tried.

Jimin came back to you a mess. He was careless. It was 5 in the morning and half the city was deep asleep. Holding you in a smothering back hug he cried and cried and cried. Rushed apologies fell from his lips as he soaked the back of your night dress with tears. Turning to face him, you cupped his jaw, wiping away the tears occupying his cheeks. Any curses you might have wanted to say to him fell away into the void, as you gently give him a hug. He’s trembling through his cries as he holds you back tighter than ever. Closing your own damp eyes, you try to calm your loud heart with his scent.

You look into the windows of his soul – he looks lost – scared almost, just like a little boy. Not the man you’ve grown accustomed to. Yet you wait for a response, opening your ears for him to repent, to apologize. Because that’s who Park Jimin is – he wouldn’t hurt anyone like this. This isn’t him.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry…*hic* I-It didn’t mean an-anything *hic*,” He barely made out a sentence

“Do you…love her?” You cringe as soon as you word out love. Never in your life had you been more afraid than in that moment, waiting for his response. Which took him a minute as he faced away from you, clenching his eyes shut. Trying to drown out the expression of agony on your face – all because of him.

“I…” Jimin opens his eyes, looking at the marbled floor of your cold apartment “It’s not that”

“Then why” You choke out, tears making their way down your face again and you grimace in embarrassment

“…I don’t know…I just-”

“Do you love me?”

You interrupt him, and he finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes. The shocked expression on his face morphs into pain; his silence becomes his answer.

Losing strength in your knees, you fall onto the floor wailing. Jimin’s quick on his feet and bends to your shaking torso. Tentative at first, he takes a second before he wraps his arms around you. You can feel him crying along – his tears soaking the skin of your cheek.

“I do!” He shouts making you jump in his arms “I do! I love you, I love you, I love you”

It was as if he was chanting to himself. Trying to persuade himself that he does, like he desired persuasion more than anything in that moment. But you were too blind to see it.

You hold onto him tightly, needing to feel his warmth through your freezing skin. Sniffles and hiccups fall through your mouth, and you have difficulty controlling your breath. Jimin’s never seen you cry like this; the last time might’ve been when you spoke about your mom 3 years ago. Telling him all the pain she’s put you through which made is blood boil. Now he’s the one responsible for every tear – every whimper that left you, he’s responsible for your broken state.

“I thought I lost you, that you weren’t coming back. That you would leave me for her”

“I’m glad you’re home, *sniff* Jimin…please always come home,” You speak through tears, your worthless body selfishly clinging onto his addictive heat, “…please don’t leave me”

“I won’t”

He pulls away from you. You see the tears staining his face, and you move your fingers to wipe them. To make him your perfect man again.

“I’m sorry …sorry…” he whispers, cutting through the calm of the bright room.

You look out the window of the colorless sky. The rain smacks against the glass in scolding, holding you awake in your otherwise inert body.

“I’ve never liked this place Jimin…let’s move away from here…let’s start over…Okay?

The look in your eye is so sincere – so desperate and Jimin can’t tell you no. He gives you a quick ‘Okay’ and you’re in each other’s arms again. Both searching for the missing sun on that stormy night.

Usually, after such a dramatic scene there’s a huge happy ending where every character gets some form of sedation and contentment. But sadly, that could never be the case with you. It had been three years since you both moved into the big city. Leaving your past behind is in no way easy, but you would have gone to the world’s end for Jimin. Besides, it wasn’t like you had much to stay for. All you’ve ever had was Jimin. It took a lot of love and patience, but these three years you felt your relationship grew stronger; better. That’s what you liked to believe.

You’d been married for six years now. Six wonderful years since he walked up to you one spring day in college, told you the professor had made you partners and gave you a smile you’d think only angels would be capable of. Not that you’d admit it, but you fell in love right in that moment between his ethereal features and the blossoms that danced in the wind outside the large window you sat next to. You knew about him, he was quite famous on campus. Park Jimin, the ladies’ man – someone who drove even men crazy – trapped on his presence. Everyone raved about Jimin, he was a topic in every third person’s conversation. A beautiful and charming man. It was a world far different from yours.

You grew up reserved and introverted. Growing up, you never had someone to call a friend. In elementary school, when kids were becoming socially productive and playing tag at recess, you were stiff and late to respond to any of your quick-witted classmates. In middle school, amongst blue eye shadow and girl’s getting their first piercings, you managed to win the science bowl and always had your head buried in a book.

Highschool came around and hormones ran amok, making all and sundry aggressive towards the other. Aside from a snide comment and a snicker directed at you, you never really had any run-ins with bullies. You blended in with the shadows, and no one knew or cared for your presence. Similarly, at home your mom was never around, but there were some lucky dates once every blue moon she’d have dinner with you. It would be something you made, you took refuge in your kitchen often and it brought you peace of mind. Even then, all she cared about was if you were keeping up your grades. And still, everyday you’d spend hours waiting on her to come home without her insight. She seldom did.

Throughout your years, you tried to understand her. Her husband, your dad, left her when she was 8th months pregnant with you. She was a career woman, and in a sense, you were her biggest misfortune. The cause of him abandoning her, the cause of her hitting the brake on her career. So, you never complained; manage to drown out the child begging for affection inside of you. Even when she couldn’t make it to your graduation ceremony, where you gave the valedictorian speech. Actually, you were glad she didn’t come, you weren’t the best at speeches and even some teachers were yawning as you spoke on the podium that day. It was dreadful, you stayed up all night to write those words, and no one gave it a second thought. Since then you preferred it, staying a meek secondary character.

Jimin was salutatorian of his own high school. He joked about how his homeroom teacher cried and made a big fuss the day he graduated. His parents were so proud of him, and he shed many tears saying farewells to his friends and colleagues. How embarrassing his speech was, how everyone laughed at his little mistakes. But you knew, the laughs directed around Jimin could never be malicious.

You smiled looking through his photo album in his college dorm, seeing Park Jimin look so happy through the plastic covers of the pictures. His head was on your lap and he held your waist by his arm, wanting nothing more but to be close to you. Glancing at him then back at the album made you realize, however, that a camera couldn’t capture the true exquisiteness of the way he stretches his lips or how polished his crescent eyes would actually become. Park Jimin was an unexplainable beauty and he graced your stiff-as-a-stick figure with his company, making alarms in your head flare at his honey scent.

You wish he could look that happy now.

The amorous twinkle in his eyes, one to make you smile for days, had fallen some time ago. No longer was his laughter in sync with yours, no longer did he caress you so softly when you fell deep into your subconscious – worried about whatever seems so trivial at this instant. His eyes focused more on his phone’s screen and his sweetly whispered confessions, just for you; a legend of the past.

Sitting across from him on the table, you watch as his figure, lost in his tiny mechanical device, smirks for the nth time. His long fingers drop the fork in his other hand, as he begins clacking at his screen, a hint of pink on the highs of his cheeks.

“Something funny?” You question, casually taking a bite of your ratatouille after

“Hm, what?” He looks up, a bit startled to see you in front of him. He completely forgot about your company, when you were just a foot away.

“Your phone,” You point at the man who seems a bit embarrassed – a bit afraid, “Want to share what’s going on”

It was a question you didn’t want a yes to.

“Nothing,” He waves his hand dismissively, “Jin’s just being an idiot”

He puts his phone face down by his plate, suddenly more interested in dinner. You watch carefully as he takes his first bite, a tiny portion of the sauce caught on his chin.

“How is it?” You question nervously

“Hmm, it’s nice” He says. Not bothering to look up, disregarding your presence yet again as he quickly tries to stuff the food down his throat

“O-oh, I’m glad”

It was his favorite dish. A night of a Disney film had made him enraptured with it, so much so that you made fun of him for tearing up at the end. The next day you had made him an exact replica of the dish, the perfectionist in you pinpointing it to an idealism only the original animator of the film could reach. And it was worth it, when his face lit up, when he exaggerated the taste through his facial expressions, when he gave you a million and one kisses that night. It was all worth it. One of your most fond memories. You came home early today and spent the whole day recreating it, taking time off from your busy schedule –   leaving your job to slave in the kitchen. Even making homemade baguette, which he didn’t even touch.

Hopeful that he’d return your efforts with gratitude, with laughter…with a kiss.

You wake up out of your thoughts when his chair screeches,

“Thanks for the food,” He smiles, picking up his phone and walking away, into your shared bedroom.

You were a slow eater, you weren’t surprised he left. But you recall the days he used to stay, watching you stuff your face even after he was done with his meal. It always made you complain, and he’d just laugh, telling you how cute you were when you ate. How he couldn’t get enough of that image. Oh, how is words made you blush in those days.

“They’re beautiful,” You sigh, holding your jaw with your palm and looking into the vast distance. In front of you laid thousands of blue bonnets, neatly apprehended by the fancy garden Jimin had brought you to.

“They’re nothing compared to you,” A sweet voice comes from behind you, instantly flustering you in your frilly overdressed toes.

You blush and turn away from the voice, who just laughs at your actions. God, you loved that laugh. It was airy, filled with spring’s purity. The floral winds pick up slightly in front of the balcony and you rub your arms to fight the chill. “Oh, baby,” He coos, encasing you in his arms and placing his head on your shoulder.

“Didn’t know late April could be this chilly,” mumbling, he peppers kisses into your neck. You let your head roll back onto him and part your lips.

The sun was starting to set, and the sky exhibited pink and peach splotches. You wanted to live like this forever; watching the world pass by in his arms. He had been yours for a year now, an unbelievable, amazing, loving, long year. It was dreamlike – Jimin’s eyes, his smile, his scent, his love. Sometimes you thought you would suddenly wake up and be alone in your bed again. That this fantasy would shatter and wouldn’t leave a trace of any shards.

He feels you stiffening in his arms and moves his head off your shoulder to look at you

“What’s wrong”

“I’m just thinking again,” you sigh, not making eye contact with him

“All you need to think about is me,” He pouts making you giggle

“I am thinking about you silly”

“So, you’re thinking bad things about me?”

You gasp dramatically, “I would never”

He starts poking your sides – still tightly holding you in place with one of his arms wrapped around your waist

“Then what, huh?” He questions in a mocking tone as you struggle and laugh in his grasp, “What were you thinking about me?”

“Oh haha – Sto – hahahah Jimin!” You finally grab onto his wrist. Catching your breath, you turn your face to him,

“I was thinking about how much I love you. And how I don’t want to be alone again”

Jimin’s smile disappears as he loosens his hold on you. You take the opportunity to twirl around and look him in his captivating doll eyes, “I don’t want to sleep alone ever again. My bed’s too cold”

He cups your face and searches for something in your eyes with his brows furrowed. You wonder if he found what he was looking for, but you wouldn’t know, the expression didn’t last long before he brought his million-dollar smile back.

“You won’t, I’ll always warm it up” He responds taming your wild heart, making you lean your face into his palm and close your eyes. You feel his lips on yours and you kiss him back with twice the fervor. Your tongues dance in the sunset as he trails the back of his index and middle finger down your back. His hand rests on your hips and he parts from you.

“I’ll also have no problem warming up my baby” He gives you a cocky smirk, letting his breath fan your face. You, like clockwork, turn crimson and struggle to maintain eye contact. Jimin lets out another airy laugh which makes you pucker.

“You’re mean,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. Again, he sits his head on your shoulder as your bodies mold together and block the spring breezes.

In bliss you close your eyes and breathe in the honey that symbolizes Jimin. Your lips were still wet, carrying his essence and drawing you in further. If this is a dream, you will make the most you could with it. You would make the most you could with Jimin. The smile on your face threatens to rip through your cheeks – but you couldn’t care less about the pain.

Opposite from you was Jimin, staring into the abyss of blue bonnets. But he didn’t encase a smile on his features this time – no. Instead his eyes were emotionless, his face expressionless as he leisurely patted your back in comfort through your embrace. There were no flowers in his vision, no scents in his senses, no winds near his skin. All he could do was watch that sun set, turn the once unadulterated horizon dark and bleary.

Spring had left his mind long ago.

Count your blessings they say.

Jimin woke up by the smell of pancakes. With his eyes shut, he took a few sniffs of the pleasant smell wafting through the bedroom. He opened his eyes when the door banged open,

“You’re up,” You smile, holding a tray of pancakes and glasses with orange juice.

He smiles and sits up, “Good morning”

“Good morning to you,” you reply setting down the tray in front of him and taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. His bed hair was making half of his bangs stick upwards off his forehead making you snort.

“Aww, babe,” He gasps at the food in front of him, sleepy eyes going wide, “You shouldn’t have!”

You giggle at him being so dramatic as you pick up a fork and cut off an edge of the pancake. Bringing it up to his face, he opens his mouth comically and you laugh again as he takes ahold of your wrist and shoves the bite into his mouth. He’d been leaving for work early and coming back late for the last three months, so you took the opportunity to wake up 2 hours before he leaves, just so you could catch him in bed with breakfast.

“My turn,” He says with a mouthful. Cutting up a large bite of his own, he puts it in front of your lips, “Ahhh~”

You mimic his words and open your mouth, laughs leaving you as Jimin tries to make it all fit.

“Is it good?” You ask him after you swallowed your piece, the juice having to help you along the way resting in your palm

“Of course, everything you make is so delicious,” He smirks, licking his lips seductively. Jimin throws his head back and laughs when you blush and avert your gaze

“Six years and you haven’t changed” Laughing, he grabs another bite of the fluffy cakes with his fork and you smile.

‘You have, though’ is what you want to say staring at him cheerily munch on his breakfast, but instead you choose to swallow down your words with another gulp of your juice.

“So, I’m still your sweet little kitten?” You question with a suggestive grin on your lips

He looks up at you and squints his eyes, “You want to be a kitten?” He asks, tilting his head to the side

There’s a sudden mix of embarrassment and confusion that rushes up your spine at his completely clueless expression, making you feel disoriented. “T-that’s…you used to call me kitten in college,” You reply, like it was the most obvious thing. Like it was something special.

His face finally lights up in recognition, “You remember that? Oh, honey that was forever ago,” He continues to focus on his pancakes, slightly chuckling at you

It was stupid really. Back in the days Jimin had countless other girls he flirted with, but he never called them anything but their birth name. So, you let kitten make you feel superior because he only ever gave you a nickname. Only you. And strangely, it also gave you a sense of belonging…to him. The first time he called you that, was the day Jimin had actually asked you to become his girlfriend. It was something you never expected even in your wildest dreams, you even remember the color underwear you wore that day. He used to say it was one of his warmest memories.

However, he seemed to be forgetting quite a lot about the past…your shared past. Almost as if he didn’t…You force yourself to snap out of it, the Jimin stuffing his face once again becoming visible to you. Shame fills you for thinking such terrible things about your husband. You weren’t an actual pet, you shouldn’t feel even slightly offended at his passive remark. There was something wrong with you…you needed to live in the now, with the Jimin that seemed so content in the moment. Forget the past already, you scold yourself, you left it behind for a reason.

It had been awhile but you were glad he was so happy. That you were making him so happy.

“Jimin,” You say delicately at the man putting on his dress shirt

“Hmm?” He turns around, making you nervous at the eye contact

“I’m going to be home early tonight; do you want to go out for dinner by the river?”

“Sorry,” He smiles, “I’m working late tonight”

“Oh” you say, not meaning to look so obviously dejected

“I’m sorry babe,” He comes towards you who’s standing by the bedside, your shoulders slumped in disappointment. Giving you a hug, he tells you about this stupid assignment his boss put him and his team on, how he’d rather spend time with you. That’s all it takes for you to melt into him and forget all about your discontentment. It’s been weeks since he last touched you, even gave you a moment in time to provide you with an explanation for his absence. You missed his warmth so much.

“It’s alright, I’ll finish up some overtime,” You tell him as he goes back to dressing himself up, tightening his silver Rolex on his wrist. You wonder if he heard you since he didn’t respond and left the room without a word.

Evening rolled around rather quickly that day, the sun rapidly making its way underneath the horizon. You were finishing up some last-minute touches on your report. Originally, it’d take someone 3 hours to finish this, but you finished it in half an hour. Sighing, you conclude you should just head home. Your couch was way more comfortable than this office chair, so might as well just wait for Jimin to get home again. He had told you not to disturb him at his work place unless you had a good reason to, and sadly you were out of excuses to go see him. Even if he was late, maybe tonight you both could catch up that show he loved or maybe he’d in the mood for something more intimate? It had been a while after all. Smiling to yourself you get up and make your way to your secretary.

“I’m done for the day Yura, you can go home if you’d like”

“Oh, thank you ma’am” She says smiling at you as you grab your coat. “Ma’am, did you get a chance to look at the new hires information I left on your desk”

“I didn’t yet, this board meeting is taking up most of my mind, I’ll take a look tomorrow” You reply, walking toward the glass doors leading to the elevators.

“Ma’am!” Your secretary of two years shouts when you’re about to open the door. She appears hesitant as you eye her with a questioning look, staring at the ground with furrowed brows. Shuffling on her feet, she tightens her closed fist making you concerned. There seemed to be something weighing her down.

She was a kind and bright girl, ready to do whatever you said. Sometimes you conjectured if she knew you a bit too well; as she would knock with coffee in her hand even before you had asked, or immediately made phone calls on your behalf the days the stress became too much for you. When she first joined your company, there was something about her eyes that reminded you of your childhood days. It made you secretly dote on her and promote her from her dull cubicle. Though, you weren’t the best at social cues. Each time you had a conversation with her, it would be directed back to work, even if you just wanted to have a casual lunch with her. You hated having social anxiety to the point of being afraid of your own secretary. Because of that, you never really knew anything about her, or any of the people you ever worked with. Other than a few names and birthdays. Just like high school, you had no one to call a friend.

Jimin, on the other hand, was the popular coworker. He had his colleagues wrapped around his fingers, they would be at his beck and call even on the weekends. It was magical really, it wasn’t like Jimin was anyone’s boss – more of a group leader and that somehow made him even more popular. Envy would overcome you, watching Jimin easily converse with someone he’d just met like he knew them for years. Both of Jimin and of the person who has your husband’s attention. That’s just how it was with Jimin, he knew what to say and when to say it. Not like you.

Even now, when you’re genuinely worried about the mysterious young woman, you don’t know how to correctly state your concern,

“Is everything alright, Yura?”

Seemingly snapping out of her thoughts, she gives you a wide-eyed glance,

“Umm…Yes! Everything’s fine. Umm…Please take an umbrella, it’s supposed to rain tonight…” She says before you watch her scurry off back to her desk

Thanks to Yura, you now had an excuse to see Jimin. Parking into the back lot of Jimin’s work place you grab the pizza you bought him and his team from his favorite restaurant, as well as an umbrella. You wanted to scold him because you always warned him to be careful and stay prepared, but instead he’d joke about how much of an organized worrywart you were. What if he were to get sick in the rain? His boss would kill him judging by how relentlessly he makes Jimin work. Taking a glimpse at the thundering sky, you rush inside the warm building to take the lift.

Broken.

Sighing you walk toward the stairs. Jimin’s office was on the 15th floor. Holding onto his pizza tight, you haste along the stairs, eagerly waiting to see his face. He’s probably so tired and knowing him he probably hasn’t eaten yet. You wonder if he’s even hydrated, you knew how hard Jimin could be on himself. Six years of marriage made you watch an insecure young man develop into a hard-working adult, who pushes his limits far too much for your liking. As you passed every floor, you could feel your knees become weak and a hint of sweat build along your forehead as your arms felt mildly sore from the edges of the pizza box. Breathing hard with each step, you worriedly hoped your make up was okay. You had redone your face in the bathroom of your building, wanting to please Jimin with your looks. Finally, you made it to the 15th floor, and walked into the hallway, trudging towards Jimin’s office on your tired feet.

Maybe you should’ve went home. Spend another cold night eating ramen in your kitchen. Watched the rain pour down in your empty apartment. Maybe you should’ve made something yourself, taken protection behind cooking like you did when life got lonely. Stayed up waiting for him in the afterhours again. Then maybe, just maybe your relationship wouldn’t have taken such a drastic turn. Maybe you could’ve stayed ignorantly blissful, with your gratified marriage of six years. Content with the fact that no matter how late, Jimin still managed to come home to you. You could’ve have continued to wordlessly live with that.

Whatever you could have done, you shouldn’t have come.

When you notice how silent it is on his floor, slight confusion fills you. Wasn’t his team supposed to be here working on an assignment? It felt like everyone had gone home already. As you reach his door, you freeze. The lights inside his office are so dim, they’re almost out. Has he gone home by now? You’re about to turn away when you hear a muffled noise from inside the room. Relief washes over you to know he’s still here, and you nudge the door open with your right arm.

You shouldn’t have come.

As soon as the door opens, the muffled voices are no longer stifled. Instead they come washing over you one after the other like the outside thunder…the moans that is.

You suck in a breath as you hear the all too familiar grunts and groans of your husband, and a feminine voice calling out to him

“Ji-Jimin – ah – Sir” the voice whines as a slapping sound become apparent in the air. They were easy to spot. Hiding behind a large plant next to his desk, you identify your husband holding someone against the large pillar in his room. Her body completely molded into his, and her long legs wrapped around his torso – tightly holding him close. Even through the leaves of the large plant, you could see his bulging muscles straining as he held onto her petite figure. You recognized her long blonde hair, it was the secretary he hired three months ago – the really sweet one who always gave you a bright smiled. Tina. It was such a strange feeling; standing there, watching your husband fuck into someone else up against the wall. You felt like an intruder.

The blinds of his window were shut, which almost makes you scoff out loud. But you tremble instead, looking down at the pizza in your arms. Amid your shaking, you hear the sound of tongues smacking together. When you look back up, you see him kiss her passionately, as she moans into his mouth. “Kitten,” You hear him growl. That’s when you had enough. Quickly you move away from the door as it wordlessly shut in front of you. The scene before you had gone from your eyes but was ingrained in your mind. It’s as if them having sex was seared inside your pupils. It takes you a moment to gather yourself, and before you know it, you’re sprinting into the stair case. The adrenaline making your flight downstairs easy as you carry the pizza box and umbrella out of the building.

It’s raining.

You navigate through the heavy rain to find your car, which was abruptly more difficult in the sudden darkness. When you reached your car, you barge in clumsily, throwing all the items in your hands onto the passenger side. After you slam the door shut; as the noise of the outside, wet world becomes lull, you realize how soaked you were. You watch the many raindrops litter your windshield, pouring like a drain reflecting your heart. Quietly you put your forehead on the steering wheel and try to block out the heavy beating of the rain and your heart.

You knew.

It was obvious wasn’t it. You knew he wasn’t really working overtime for the past two months. You knew he couldn’t possibly be texting Jin that much. You knew every time he averted his eyes, he was hiding something. Knew it was only a matter of time again.

He was clever, subtler than before; practically straining on the tip of his feet. He would shower before coming home, you could always smell the shampoo on his blow-dried hair. Instead of just staying too late, he now took business trips for a day or two, telling you in the sweetest voice he’d be home soon. He bought a second phone – in secret obviously – you would have never found out had it not been for the forgetful habit he had since college of leaving items in his coat pockets. You fell upon it while doing the laundry six days ago and a part of you wonders if he left it there on purpose. You were too scared to speak up about it.

You knew didn’t you.

So how can something you feel so mentally prepared for hurt so bad? Why are you shaking so hard that you have to hold yourself together with both of your arms – wrap them around yourself like a shield. Why are you crying – your tears in rhythm with the heavens above? Every time you close your eyes, you see the corrupt image of your husband and his lover, melting their sinful desires into one. Why is it killing you to know the truth? Were you grasping on to the smallest thread – the smallest hope that Park Jimin wouldn’t hurt you; that he wouldn’t leave you when your own mother left you? How foolish.

You realize the heavy truth of Jimin’s past affairs. Conjuring a vague idea of what and who he might be doing things to – that he should only be doing with you - and visually experiencing the reality your husband pounding into another woman is beyond nauseating. You felt so dirty by what you saw, so disgusted in your own body. Angry beyond despair, you wanted to tear off your skin. This woman you embodied, not worth loving by her own man, was worth nothing. The pandora box had opened.

“Mm – ah” you choke through your tears as the pain in your chest travels through your body like fatal poison, twisting around in your gut like a blade. All your hidden insecurities swim towards the surface, drowning you in your sorrow. Why would it be different this time? Why would someone love you? You recall your mother telling you something discreetly similar on your wedding day. That woman, that wise, wise woman – haunted by her own past. She was right.

Of course, this would happen, just look at you. What’s special about you? Tina walks with her head high, speaks with passion, is young and full of life. You’re practically a hag by now. He looked more satisfied in that moment then he’s ever looked at you, even at your best. Your cries become broken, your voice failing you every few seconds. Someone as bright as Park Jimin could never love someone as dim as you. He called her kitten, she’s his sweet kitten now.

You’re glad your illusion’s shattered. The moments you’ve doubted every happy second in your life, was a prediction of the future – this future. Nights you’ve laid awake while Jimin was snoring next to you, contemplating the sincerity of his actions, if he’ll really ever be content to be with you. All your questions are answered. And you feel like laughing at yourself really. Did you really believe someone as unworthy as you deserved happiness?

Hours pass by before you become too numb to feel the ache. Looking at the rain clouds, you marvel if the universe is trying to share your pain. It’s eerily familiar, this scene. Just like 3 years ago with Mina. You smile bitterly, how awful that you could never escape this fate no matter where you run off to. Even though you shouldn’t, you glance at Jimin’s office window. Still shut tightly and hidden away from you. You wonder if they’re still going at it…if your husband is still making love with her as passionately as he did with you on your first night. Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes and you use that as a signal to clean your puffy eyes and drive home through the storm.

Jimin comes home around 2 in the morning. It was dark when he enters the house and he wonders if you’ve actually gone to sleep this time. It’s a good thing, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with you tonight. Whistling silently, he puts his keys on the counter, coordinating through the shadows by memory. It was raining so hard, he was worried about getting home. Thankfully Tina lent him an umbrella. As he’s taking off his coat, a strong burst of lightning startles him and he notices your silhouette sitting by a sofa chair near the window.

“You’re up?” He asks, confused as to why you’re sitting there in the dark, facing away from his view. You don’t say anything as you let thunder answer for you. Jimin sighs, “Babe, I told you not to stay up for me, haven’t I?”

When you don’t answer again, he walks over to the light switch and turns it on, squinting a bit at the now bright living room. That’s when he regards the boxes on the table.

“You bought pizza?” He asks, walking up to the dining room table, “…It’s soaked”

He looks at your motionless figure, perplexed by your silence.

“Baby…is everything okay?”

Jimin stays noiseless. Why’re you acting so strange he thinks, unnerved by your certain sullenness. He knows that generally, you aren’t very talkative, you aren’t bold or assertive, but after six years of marriage he can tell you always say what needs to be said. You’re honest and empathetic towards people, which is why they gravitate to you so easily. It’s why he married you. Today is the first day in years he can’t figure you out.

“…I…bought pizza on my way home,” You speak up slowly, your hoarse voice making you wince and cough, “But the rain caught me by surprise”

“It’s ruined,” Jimin states, as a matter of fact, picking up the edge of the soggy pizza box with his finger

“It’s ruined,” You answer back

In the reticence of the large room, Jimin captures an umbrella next to the boxes on the table. He’s even more confused now as to why you didn’t use the object, seeing as how wet it was, leading him to believe you had it on you. Of course, you would have one on you, little miss perfectionist. Almost everything you did was smart and logical, he could never catch up to you who could never make a mistake. So then, why didn’t you use the umbrella, he speculates.

His thoughts are interrupted by your voice sounding directly behind him.

“I bought it for you”

He turns to look at you; a bit wide-eyed and startled. He takes in your wet form, from the water slowly dripping out of the ends of your hair to the drenched coat you hadn’t removed off your body – even though you were shivering. The hair on his arms raise in alert as he takes a step back from your sad state,

“I bought it for you…” You say silently, not an emotion on your face

“…Are you sad that it’s ruined for me?” He says walking toward you

“…Yes”

“Oh Hon,” He hugs you and you harden at impact. You want to push him away and yell at him, tell him that it’s all worthless. Instead you stand there, tearing up in his arms, drenching his shirt with your tresses. You wanted to be loved by him so bad. You needed Jimin more than you needed to breathe and you would do whatever it takes to make him love you. Even if that means that he’ll have someone else in his life, even if you might be discarded tomorrow – as long as he comes home to you, you’ll continue to love Jimin. That moment, as he holds you to him while patting your hair, you let tears fall onto his shoulder feeling completely abandoned.

“I already ate, it’s alright”

Jimin had made you feel foolishly special.

“You’re so cute” Jimin laughs, holding your face in his palms as your puffy red face pouts and your tiny hands push away at his shoulder

“I-I’m telling you, I don’t know” You huff, prying at his strong hands.

“Well then, I’ll tell you the answer, but only if you ask nicely” He breathes into your face and you freeze from his proximity. He was always like this. So flirtatious, it made your knees buckle, so touchy, it made flames burn inside you for hours. You tell yourself he was only joking, to not mistaken his friendly nature as something distinct just for you. It made your heart throb, watching him giggle with other girls this way, whispering in their ear’s words meant only for them. It was how you knew you’d never mean anything to him, not like he meant to you.

You weren’t dating, although a few people who didn’t know you existed a few months ago came up to you and asked often. It hurt you in a way, the confusion in their faces as they studied you for a second. As if you knew why Jimin was so attached to you; why he came looking for you after each one of his classes, why he ran up to you every time he saw you in the hallway, or why he was so insistent on making time for you two to hang out despite his legions of pals to keep him company instead. The presentation with him was long from over, you had gotten an A, as usual. Yet he still continued to connect with you, leaving you muddled. You both became friendly rather quickly, and you fell in love even faster. It wasn’t like Jimin had any competition.

It also hurt to answer them with your memorized reply,

“We aren’t together. He is just…a friend”

You wished you could keep Jimin all to yourself, but you recognized that was such a selfish and irresponsible way of thinking.

It was quite despicable how smitten you were for him, swooning at the smallest wave of his hand. You wonder if he noticed, but actually, you’re certain he did. The way he’d smile at you every time you gave him the exact reaction he wanted. You wouldn’t know it, but he craved your responses. Having someone become so vulnerable with just a twitch of his eye was in a word – addictive. He loved having you so weak, so pliable…and he was the molder. He was a god to you, and he could never have enough of your hypnotized gaze.

“Please” You whisper in tiny tone which had him breaking out of his thoughts. Being pinned to a wall in your dorm room on a Friday night wasn’t what you had planned when Jimin offered to drop you off today, but here you were. Jimin had somehow managed to sneak into your doorway, weaseling his self onto your bed and asking you tons of weird questions.

“Alright baby,” You clench your eyes shut as he breathes into your ear, “If you were to be an animal – any animal – you’d be my own sweet little kitten” He purrs for an extra effect as you have to force your mouth shut before a moan slips out

“Jimin,” You mumble, practically falling onto his embrace; questioning why he did this stuff to you, as he pets your head gently. Nonetheless you’d have to remember, he was like this with everyone, you weren’t special to him. It made your gut clench with unspoken desire, but it was the truth. You were just a reactive pet to him, nothing more.

“There, there, my cute, sweet, tiny little kitten”

For the past 2 weeks, you’d been avoiding Jimin as much as you could. Not that you wanted to, but what you felt you had to. Your body was screaming at you – screeching through your ears to find Jimin – find his warmth, his love. But it was futile. It was as if he was your only source of vitality; a forbidden fruit you shouldn’t touch.

In return, you were a ghost with a physical body. You became demurer – more passive, almost like were waiting to completely disappear. Anything Jimin asked would be answered with a one- or two-word reply, you stopped hugging and kissing him all together, going as far as to avoid touches he’d initiate. Touches you used to crave more than air. Working was out of the question; your energy was depleted and even simple tasks like washing your hands was problematic. There were large bags under your eyes and the bones of your cheeks begun to stick out because you weren’t eating. You weren’t sleeping either, insomnia had taken control of your nights and you’d lay there listening to yourself berate you for driving Jimin away. Sometimes you’d take sleeping pills…sometimes you wish you could take them all.

You wonder if Jimin noticed. There were times when he was leaving for work or ‘hanging out with Jin’ that you catch a glimpse of his eyes, a ring of remorse surrounding his irises. Even so, he never acted upon it. He tries to make small talk at dinner these days, as an attempt to pacify you supposedly. Since that night he saw you drenched, he stares at your sunken face for a bit too long, when he thinks you aren’t paying attention. If you were in any other circumstance, you would have laughed at his effort. The reality though, is that you were losing a grip on life, wanting to fade away…you weren’t sure why Jimin stayed. You don’t know why he bothered, by now he knows he could do anything he wanted and would get away with it. Because you love him too much, because he’s all you have.

You took a month off from work. Your boss was stunned, her best employee who didn’t even take sick days suddenly taking a whole month? But she didn’t question it, she knew how hard of a worker you were and if you were doing this then there must be an important reason. She would even go as far as saying you were the most valuable employee; always on time, always going above and beyond, it’s why she made you a manager when you were just 5 months into your job. Work was a constant priority for you, you didn’t want to give it up either. It was a large cause in you and Jimin growing apart, in your opinion. Taking all those extra shifts and staying late made you near perfect at what you did. And you loved it – took pride in your job. But if your boss told you no, you were ready to quit, even having a resignation letter already typed up. Thankfully she had a soft spot for you.

No one was more shocked than Jimin however. He questioned you about it over and over. It seemed like you were a Rubik’s cube he was trying to solve. None of his prying methods worked, and it took him three days…three days to give up pestering you. Ask if you were doing okay. You thought you were worth more to him than that.

But recent events reminded you that you meant nothing to him. Nothing.

Waking up in the mornings was one of the hardest things you had to do. Jimin had already left for work and the house felt as empty as usual. You didn’t want to get up, you had no reason to. Any vigor you had last week felt spent; dissipating into thin air with such insignificance.

Now that you weren’t busy with some form of work for the first time in seven or eight years, you took note of how small your world was. All you would do is go to work or come home and wait for Jimin. You really didn’t have any friends, there wasn’t anyone you could talk to, opting to staying in bed and staring off into space. Into a parallel universe where you weren’t so pathetic, and your husband didn’t hate your guts.

Again, you wake up in the middle of the night. For the past few days you’ve been having the same nightmare. Jimin’s stone cold face turning away from you who’d on the ground in a black void. You call out to him at the top of your lungs – stretching your hand as far as it could go – but it’s no use, he’s walking away from you and up to someone faceless woman…maybe Tina. When you wake up, you’re drenched in sweat and tears, and there’s an ache inside your heart. The same one when you caught Jimin with his professor, with his best friend…with his secretary. And suddenly you’re replaying that horrid scene.

You’re in that dim room again, the dry leaves of that plant are still cutting through your view. Your husband is moaning as he thrusts into Tina’s tight pussy. She’s chanting his name over and over and you start crying at your own imagination. A strumming makes way through your body as you place a hand over your mouth to keep your voice quiet, so you don’t disturb Jimin. You’ll never be as good as her, your brain screams. Even if you can keep him during the day, you’ll never be able to satisfy him at night. Look at you, he didn’t even try to touch you tonight. He doesn’t want you. Tina’s tall and slender, beautiful curves and a gentle demeanor. You’re stale and old. Why have you when he can have the pretty new thing? He’s probably thinking of her the whole time he spends with you.

This night you peeked at Jimin’s sleeping figure. His back slowly tenses as he breathes in and out. You didn’t want to wake him, you really didn’t, but you needed his love so bad right now. Maybe it was the pills you took encouraging you to wrap your arms around his waist.

Maybe it was the darkness of the bedroom making you lean into him, push your face up against his back.

He stirs in his sleep and you feel your heart beating faster.

“Jimin” You whisper, feeling up on his body to placate your heart. To tell it that he’s right here, in your arms. He hasn’t gone away. “Jimin”

“Mm…not tonight,” Jimin says in a groggy voice, removing your arms from his torso, “I’m tired,” You sense slight irritation in his tone and move away from him. If he took a second to turn around, he would have seen the absolute devastation on your face.

He didn’t even try to see if you were okay, he just… fell back asleep without a word. You didn’t want sex…when have you ever wanted sex?! All you wanted him to do was to hold you and console you. Pacify you to sleep, like he used to when you first told him about your mom…or when you had a bad day at work. You didn’t want sex…you just wanted your husband, your most trusted friend, your first love.

You were right. You could never satisfy Jimin…so he didn’t even try to find it from you. He went to someone he knew could give it to him. Turning away from him you muffle your tears into your pillow.

In that cold bedroom, too lonely for your state of mind, too small to fit your insecurities, too fragile to hold you together, you realize the adult human heart is capable of shattering twice in one week.

You felt everything at once. The darkness of the silent chamber, the cold air contrast to his warm skin, the shivers in your spine from his fleeting touches. You took it all in. The sweat dripping through the rails of his skin, the mountains in his muscles, the flavor of his sultry voice. It was the formation of a galaxy, tearing you apart and putting you together.

The kisses he trails along your chest – his plush lips lax against the bumps on your skin leaving their marks of fire with sugar like attention. It left you in a moaning, quivering chaos. Your fingers ache to touch him, to rest themselves amongst his silky strands, shaking ever so softly. Yet your arms lay immobile on your sides.

Satisfied with tasting you he moves up using his muscled arms – he’s so gentle in handling you, like you were fragile glass. You look him in his scarlet eyes – violet spots tainting your vision.

His smile sinks as he takes in your face, angling his head and cupping your cheek.

“Why are you crying?” He asks

You didn’t take notice, letting out a tiny wheeze at his baritone. You had felt the tears, riding the curve of your cheekbones, settling onto the pillow beside your head – but you payed it no mind. More concerned with the glimmer of the angel perched above you. Even then, you bring up your nimble fingers to stroke them in amazement, as if you don’t see the culprit right before you. When your fingers crash into his hand, you take ahold of it, bringing to you lips to worship the man pining you into the bed.

“I…I love you” You choke out, drenched in the anxiety of your brain’s venom – persistently pulling you back to a somber reality. “I’m scared”

His eyes begin to match the room’s shade, his fist clench the sheets. A sensation lit deep within you, a realization of your angel’s call.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll be gentle. I’ll make you feel so good, don’t worry”

He bends over to you, molding your lips together. You take him in without a complaint, your tongues dance around – the etiquette of personal space banished into the light. You gasp in his mouth as he slides into you, holding onto his arm with your small palm.

He lets out a groan once he’s completely seethed in your nectar. His face scrunches, eyebrows pushed together and eyes clenched as you arch your back at his intrusion; your face but a mere reflection. So slow, does he take himself back out with the expulsion of a breath, leaving in only the head as you whine in complaint and clench around him.

But he shushes you back up with his tongue, pushing into you once again afterward. His pace is steady; comforting like a serenade to the spring flowers. You try to control your breathing, but it’s useless as he moves inside you, hugging your frame with his large arms.

“You’re such a good kitten – fuck – better than anyone”

The silk sheets move under your body like tidal waves, while Jimin embodies the moon. A perfect balance of power, you’ve never felt so right until this – until the wetness between your thighs no longer embarrasses you. Instead you welcome it, twisting your own leg with one of Jimin’s so he could get deeper within you, light his fire beneath your soul.

“Mm–  ahhh, baby you feel so good, so perfect,” He sighs in your ear, trying to keep control of his movements. He doesn’t want to break you, he could never imagine being rough with you like he has been with countless nameless girls.

But he can’t help making his pace a bit faster when you whimper into the air – your speech like honey – pushing his repressed aggression forward.

“Jimin…Ah Jimin…. Jimin…I-…”

“Shhh…” he shushes your desperate call, rubbing your head with his hand.

“Mm- I’m cumming” You cry out in a tiny voice, so helpless and frightened it makes his heart ache. Your ears were ringing, and your womanhood was already sensitive from Jimin’s hour long ministrations; you were going to explode any second.

“Come baby, it’s all right, come for me my good girl” He arcs his hand until his fingers are in contact with your bud, painting loops on your most delicate area. You can no longer stop the sobs from spilling out of your mouth.

It was just that small push in his tone that undid the knot chained inside you as you hold onto his back with your nails digging into his holy skin. Words of affection fell from your lips, jaw lax at his girth.

A couple more thrusts and whines from you has him over the edge, spilling into you with his head thrown back, mouth ajar from your tightness.

When he finally remembers how to breathe again, he collapses off you, and pulls you into his chest.

It feels as if he ran a marathon as his heavy breaths catch up to him one after the other. When has he ever cum this hard with anyone else, and that too with nothing but pure vanilla? Glancing at your figure, he finds you on the verge of fainting, clutching onto him as if your life depended on it. He smiles, moving the hair sticking to you away from your face.

“Jimin,” You mumble, half of your conscious already in dreamland

“Hmm?” He asks, intrigued by your exhausted state. You’re usually so proper, so level headed, it’s always amusing to see you become like this all because of him. You’re his amusing kitten.

“I love you”

You fell asleep before you heard his answer.

It was a night like any other. You were waiting for Jimin to come home so you could take your sleeping pills and waste away to another morning. He hadn’t come home yet, and the clock was striking 1:30 AM. The cruel part of your mind was out in full force today, repeating every time he told you he loved you, just to be with someone else. Curling into a fetal position and shutting your eyes tight, you try to drown out the sound of you yelling at yourself.

Instead your mind decides to take you there again, in that place where this all started. The dim room, the closed blinds. Your husband and his lover. This time though, you’re on the other side of that pillar. There’s no plant blocking your view, no door to escape out of; just you, your husband and the girl he’s fucking against the pillar.

You stand there, frozen at the obscene image. It felt so real, so close you could almost touch it.

“S-sir” She moans in delight, Jimin hitting a particular spot that has her mewling. Is this how it’s like every night…on those business trips? This is who your husband is when he’s not around your presence. So lively and full of passion.

Suddenly, they both look at you, who’s trembling in tears that fell without your knowledge. They glare into your eyes, Jimin still thrusting into her, as she moans out your husband’s name. Then they laugh. Your eyes widen, and you take a step back, away from their menacing stare. Loud, sinister laughs echo off the walls of the compact office, you put your hands above your ears but it’s no use. Mina and Jessica stand before you, both with equally menacing expressions and they’re all laughing. You’re falling into an endless void of Jimin’s words, his laughter screeching inside your eardrums, yelling out a band of hidden insecurities.

“You’re nothing”

“– Worthless”

“You don’t even have a friend”

“Who would love you”

“– So boring I want to take my eyes out”  

“She doesn’t act dead in bed”

“I only married you because I pitied you”

“No!” You sit up with a blood curling scream. A dream you pant…just a dream. You clutch at your heart as sobs escape your throat. Taking a peek at the clock reveals it’s 2:45 AM. Shaking in your bed, you move about and whisper to yourself. It was just a dream, wasn’t it? Trying to calm down, you hush yourself until all you could hear was the subtle whirr of the air conditioning.

“Jimin?” You call out, wondering if he’s out there in the far darkness

No answer. Why wasn’t he home yet? Even in his careless cheating days he always came home by 2, so where the hell was he today?

Getting up from the bed, you shiver slightly in your sleeveless nightgown. You walk into the living room and turn on the light as you eye it inside and out, trying to find signs of another body. Picking up your cellphone, you click his contact on speed dial. Tsk, voice mail, what did you expect. You throw your phone across the room as sadness fills your bones and you pull on your hair in frustration.

You can’t be in here. Everything reminds you of Jimin. The couch you both cuddled on for movie marathons, the kitchen you spent hours in preparing food to make him smile, the foyer you danced waltz to every night in the first month of your move. You felt sick – suffocated in the reminder of Jimin’s absence.

Grabbing your coat, you leave your apartment to find the elevator. The top floor had a terrace like rooftop practically made for late night loners. As the elevator doors ding open, you walk onto the cold pavement of the dark flat roof. You walk up to the edge of the building, blocked by a wide cement wall reaching up to your waist. You observe the loud city, the bustling cars, the honking and yelling, police sirens in the distance. It was so far away, yet everything felt so adjacent. Carefully you nudge your leg over the wall, one after the other. Then you take a moment and sit down on the space, legs dangling over the ledge. Beneath your feet was stunning scenery that could turn into a nightmare with just the slightest wrong move.

In that moment you don’t care though, softly kicking your feet up and down. For a few short moments, everything felt like it was alright. You forgot how horrid your life really is. A mother who discarded your presence, a father who left without a goodbye, no friend in sight, so much work made for a fruitless cause, and a husband who never loved you. It was when you were so caught up in a day dream so tragic; that falling off hundreds of feet seemed so rewarding. Why were you so worthless? Why were you nothing? A dangerous view settles inside your head. If you were to jump this instance, would Jimin be sad? Would he ever let out as many tears as you shed?

Would he hold you for the last time and tell you that he loved you all along?

“Please don’t do somethin’ rash”

Comes a voice behind you in the shadows, startling you out of your daze. Your wide eyes turn to look at the perpetrator of the worried tone. There, a few feet away from you on the roof stands a middle-aged man with the bud of a cigarette on the corner of his lips. His brows are furrowed in concentration and his stance is defensive, ready to hold onto you lest you took a leap into the light below.

“I-I wasn’t going to,” You stutter. It was true, you weren’t. Maybe you pondered on the subject a tad, but you really weren’t. Not tonight.

“Oh, thank god,” he physically deflates, running a hand through his wavy black hair. “Sorry, you just seemed to be swimmin’ in sadness, my mistake”

Reaching into his trousers’ pocket, he reveals a green Bic lighter

“You mind?” He directs at you.

You shake your head, a bit hesitant to speak to a complete stranger – stiffening up when he come close to your ledge – standing right next to you. He was around Jimin’s height, cat-like features prominent on his pale moon skin.

“My name’s Yoongi” He reaches his hand out towards you. It takes you a moment, staring at his hand and then his face, until you’re shaking his hand and giving him your name.

“That’s a pretty name,” He smiles, puffing out a gust out smoke, “So, what’s a young lady like you doing out here all alone?”

At another moment of your life, maybe you would have ignored his question. Maybe you would have lied. However, this time – you don’t recall what it was that caused you to tear up, to let a silent sob escape your lips. To tell this man you don’t know about your problems,

“My…husband,” You sniffle slightly, inaudibly whispering the second word as if it was a curse

“Hmm?” He questions, not quite catching what you said which make you clear your throat

“My husband,” you start again, “He’s not home yet”

There’s a part of you that hopes he understands without you having to say anything else, and another part that screams at you for being so brazen – so careless.

It seems like he understood though as you hear him murmur a small, seemingly sympathetic scoff

“I see…I wouldn’t have thought a guy like him would do that…he looks so bright and honest” He pauses to take a whiff of his cigarette before he continues “Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover”

“You know of him?” You ask cautiously

“I know of you both! I live on the floor above ya’ll and he’s greeted me in the lobby a few times. And you’re the busy little lady that comes back from work around the same time I leave for it! I pass you on the elevator all the time.”

You rack your brain trying to think of the times you saw him, if you’ve ever seen him. Nothing really comes to mind unsurprisingly, you’re not really a people’s person. Instead you opt to pull your beige coat tighter around you, due to the early morning chill making its way up your bare legs into your spine

He glances at you in deep thought and chuckles, “Don’t think too hard, I don’t really have the most memorable face”

His easy-going nature made you smile. You were glad he was pleasant instead of a creep.

“What kind of work do you do?” You find yourself asking him

Reaching into his coat’s pocket he brings out a compact white business card and hands it to you. You carefully examine the card with the help of the city’s lights while he speaks up

“I run a night club near downtown. Cypher road, ever heard of it?”

You shake your head at him

“Actually, I’ve seen your husband there a few times”

At the mention of Jimin, your eyes widen. You looked like a kicked puppy and he quickly scrambles to fix his statement-

“Don’t worry! He was only there a few times with his male buddies, nothin’ bad I swear! They ain’t do nothin’ but drink and act like fools”

You giggle at him as he waves his hands in the air in desperation. Seeing that you’ve calmed yourself through his antics makes him giggle as well. He puts out his cigarette on the ledge’s concrete, breathing out the last puff before speaking,

“I was married once too ya’know”

“Once?” You question

“He died… stage 4 pancreatic cancer” He replies monotonal, a distant gaze in his eyes  

“Oh…I’m sorry”

“It’s fine, shit happens” He gives you a grin which makes your heart churn, “But the thing about him – about marriage that I’ve learned is the happy moments stand out no matter how bitter the reality actually was.”

He flicks the burned-out cigarette forward with his thumb and index finger. It falls away into the abyss underneath.

“Even 5 years later, I still remember him laughin at a dumb joke I made or not lettin my hand goes during horror movies. Ya’know the sweet stuff. I’m rarely reminded of the difficulties we went through because of his disease – how much it hurt when he shut everyone…when he shut me out”

He closes his eyelids and you wipe tears lingering in your own. It was strange how him sharing his pain made you feel a bit better about your own.

“What I’m tryin to say is, the torture I went through the first year after his death, I survived that. Agonizing thoughts of him not bein with me, not holdin him to sleep changed into me appreciatin the time we had together. And I had to do that alone – without him, even if there was a period where I felt that I couldn’t live a second if he was gone. Time moves forward and it heals all.”

“No pain lasts forever”

You silently listen to him and reflect about your own marriage. One day…would you be able to forgive Jimin…survive without him? Would he be able to survive without you?

“…All I’m sayin is that you deserve better”

Deserve better? You? You’ve never thought of it like that. Wasn’t it Jimin who deserved better? That’s what you always clinched. From the first time he cheated on you, to now. And no one ever told you any different…until this moment. In these past six years, or even since you were a child, did you ever think about just yourself? About how you felt? Did Jimin?

“You should come there too someday, it’s a real nice place, Cypher Road. A bit loud but overall nice” Yoongi interrupts your thoughts, pointing at his card with his silver ring encrusted pinky finger

Taking a breath, you look at the card and then to the city buildings. How long have you lived in this city without evening going to a park let alone a nightclub? Crowds and noise weren’t really your thing, you’d rather spend a Saturday night curled up with Jimin on your sofa listening to Dean Martin records. Though, you look back at the card in your hand, it’s not like that’ll happen again anytime soon. Jimin had always been everything you wanted, but for a second as you sit there, you feel as if you’ve missed out on so much. Guilt follows you soon after for feeling that way.

Would Jimin like it if you went there? If you…were to be that person…someone who was more outgoing, curt or sexy. If you wore revealing clothes or painted your nails every week. Would Jimin like you then? Would he make love to you again?

It was absurd to even think about…but just maybe? Desperation reeked out of your heart like toxic gas – your insides twisting as you hold on to the card tighter. You felt so pathetic

Your shocked out of your trance by a hand lightly touching your shoulder,

“Don’t fret too much, it’s all good,” Yoongi gives you a friendly smile, “Come only if you want to, I ain’t forcing you”

You watch him leave back into the building and you turn to the bright metropolis in front of you again. What are you thinking? You laugh at yourself, at your imprudent behavior. Why would dressing differently make Jimin like you? You’d still be boring old you, it’s not like getting great grades in school made your mom love you or your dad come back.

The problem is just you, just this bad fortune you were cursed with. No one would ever love you.

Deciding to call it a night, you hop onto the rooftop’s pavement and make your way towards the elevators again. Before entering, you take one last look at the beautiful metropolis; the ambience you’ve never got to enjoy. Bright light and endless chatter, a strangely serene completing puzzle piece to the large earth. You take a glance at the starless night sky and the vanishing moon, before entering into the warm building.

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the astonished eyes of Park Jimin. He has both his and your phone in his hands, holding them up as if he was inspecting them. Subtly, you slip the card into your coat pocket, before hanging it by the rack next to the doorway

You awkwardly stand there for a moment before he asks you,

“Where were you? I tried calling you and I found this behind the dining table” He points your phone at you, his voice sounding worried

You recall how you had thrown your phone into a wall out of anger and haste, which makes you sigh as you close the door and walk up to Jimin.

“I was taking a breath of fresh air…on the rooftop”

“At this time of night?” He gives you an indescribable stare

Anger swells up in your chest at his tone, and before you could help it you’re bitterly mumbling out an answer

“It’s not like you were god knows where at this time of night”

You could tell you’re both shocked by your reply – or more so the annoyance in your words. Jimin stands there a bit, trying to read your expression. Why was that so hard for him these days?

“Sorry babe…I fell asleep…in the office” He tries reaching out to you, but you take a step back to avoid him.

Just like a while ago, you feel nauseous. It was amazing really…how easily he lied to you as if it was nothing. As if you couldn’t smell the perfume on his clothes. You feel tears crawl up your eye sockets but you breathe in and try to keep your emotion at bay,

“It’s fine, let’s just get to sleep” you say, passing him by before he could say another word. You miss the gloomy gaze in Jimin’s pupils, staring longingly at the outline of your back.

The door thumps open with a sudden gust of wind. Your eyes fly to the two bodies sticking together in the entrance.

“Oh. Thank god, Mina! I was so worried,” Running up to them, you promptly place your hand on Jimin’s chest, who’s giggling and limping hanging onto said woman’s shoulder

The woman chuckles as she adjusts the taller man, letting him lean more towards you. “Your husband here doesn’t know when to quit, even though I win every time”

Jimin looks up and makes eye contact with you, giving you his dazzling million-dollar smile, “My lovely ___~”, he stretches the syllable of your name at the end

You sigh as Mina lets him go completely and he now clings onto you, heavy alcohol compressing his natural scent. He always came back like this after a night at Vertigo’s, the prestige club at the other side of town. Carefully gathering him in your arms, you walk with him into the bedroom, taking cautious steps. In return, he noses your neck while cooing your name, making it difficult to keep your balance steady.

After you’ve gently laid him in bed, you take off his shoes. Undoing his pants, you slide them off as he fusses around like a child. It would make you smile usually, Jimin’s adorable state, if this scene hadn’t been done for the hundredth time this year. You were tired of him going to unknown faraway places to party and drink, while he missed plans you two had made around the corner. He would always apologize though, tell you how he just needed a way to release stress from his job.

It was always a habit for him, he never seemed to like any of his bosses, all of them relentlessly working him to the bone. Which in turn made him grouchy and tired. Jimin never bad mouthed anyone, therefore you knew it had to be serious.

And so, you sympathized with him; started to forgive more and say less. Pretty soon he was going out every night, his female companion always having to trudge him home. When you set his pants and shoes aside, you move to his button up, removing each button quickly as he quietly stares at you – heavy breathing in your face.

He grabs your wrist suddenly, once you’re halfway through and it makes you glance up at him. His eyes are heavy and dark, pupils dilated, and plush lips parted. Staring at you through heavy lids, he slowly feels over the skin on your wrist with his fingers, making you shiver. Jimin was a beautiful man indeed. Who wouldn’t forgive such an angelic face?

As much as you wanted to fall into the chasm that were his eyes, you knew this wasn’t the proper time. He was drunk after all, so you shook of his hand relentingly and finished unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling the covers up on him, you watched as his eyes fluttered shut with fondness. You gather the shirt in your arms, turning to the doorway when you freeze.

Something had moved…away from the bedroom’s entrance. It looked like someone’s head. The only person here other than you both was Mina. She couldn’t have been spying into your bedroom…could she?

Shaking off what you saw as a mistake, you walked into the living room. Mina was sitting on the couch opposite from you, seeming a bit apprehensive.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes, you know Jimin. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep after drinking”

She gives you a half-hearted laugh as you set down Jimin’s shirt on a chair. Mina sat a few feet away, but you were barely able to make out her facial expression. The vague lighting of the living room had always been a pet peeve of Jimin’s. He always found something to complain about around the house, because he always wanted to live in a luxurious apartment in an upper north city, unlike you. You loved this place and this city. They provided you with the sense of familiar comfort, like Jimin did. You couldn’t imagine parting with the city where you met the love of your life.

As Mina starts recalling the story of how she won their drinking game this time, you fondle with his shirt. Your body aching to go lie down with him already.

It’s when you noticed it.

“Lipstick…”

“What?”

“There’s lipstick on the collar,” You say, picking up the edge of his shirt with your index finger. A small bright red stain rested on his off-white shirt. Your heart started to beat faster.

“O-Oh…T-that was me,” Mina answers, immediately shooting up from her spot

You glance at her, “You?”

“Guilty,” She says awkwardly, “Jimin gets really fussy on my shoulder and we accidently bump into each other all the time”

At her explanation, you collapse inside your head – relived. For a second, you were beginning to wonder if Jimin’s recent distance was due to another Jessica. No, that was only a one-time thing you remind yourself. Jimin wouldn’t do that to you. Letting out a breath, you send a smile at Mina’s direction. The girl appeared to be sweating in her heels.

“Mina, thank you so much for always taking such good care of him. I don’t know what I would do without you”

She stretches her lips at you, “N-no problem. He’s my friend”

“Do you want something to drink? Something to sober you up maybe?” You question her. Moving your body in line with the kitchen

“No!” She shouts, quickly stepping her way to the entrance, “I always love your food, but I-I should leave, it’s getting late”

“Are you sure?” You furrow your brows, “Why don’t you stay the night?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I really should head out”

“Alright, be careful” You smile, walking up to her

She stares at you for a minute. It looks like there’s something she wants to say. You tilt your head at her.

“_-___ I-”

You stay silent, waiting for her to finish her sentence. But instead she chokes up, tears swelling in her doll eyes as she quivers in her spot. It makes you bothered, your lips pulled into a straight line. You are about to open your mouth when-

“Nothing, good night,” Turning around, she hastily pulls the door open

“Wait are you o-”

“Yup, good night” She doesn’t give you time to finish before she slams the door shut. Leaving you with your mouth somewhat ajar.

That was strange, you think. Mina and you had a friendly relationship. You wouldn’t go as far as to say you both were friends, she didn’t seem to prefer your company when Jimin wasn’t around. But you were fine with that, you liked her because Jimin liked her, trusted her because he did. Although, you were a bit jealous about how comfortable Jimin was with her. It just comes with friendship, you concluded you wouldn’t understand. In the end, you play it off as another misunderstanding like when you were in the bedroom.

You were really disorganized that night, just having had a long day at work and then staying up late for Jimin. You were probably really out of it.

Not even noticing that she wasn’t wearing red lipstick.

A couple of days past since that night, you were busy reading emails Yura sent you in the wake of your absence. You missed it, honestly. Dealing with numbers and graphs, presenting said graphs you spent the whole night perfecting, the results of your hard work being admired; being complimented. If you think back on it, you’ve always needed the approval of someone authoritative – someone above you. At first it was your mother, and now it’s your boss, the CEO of your company. You’ve never had anything you wanted to do out of passion or because it actually made you happy. The last time was six years ago, at the altar with Jimin. But your job was still better than this. It was better than being stuck at home, behind the most confining 4 walls – all by yourself. Enslaved by no one but your own mind. This place was once your sanctuary, the one you wanted to come back to, the one once filled with Jimin.

There were hours, sometimes days, that you would spend zoning out. All of your daydreams consisted of wondering what Jimin and Tina were doing together. Were they on a date? Perhaps they were making love in his office or a motel or Tina’s or anywhere they could. It was thoughts like these that drove you insane, until you were nothing but an empty shell. Crying didn’t help anymore, you ceased that a while ago. Food was tasteless, the bright sun no longer made your sentiments yearn. There was no want in your heart left; abandoned by its owner.

There was no love either.

As you open Yura’s last email, you stumble upon a sentence that raises your brows. ‘Company X merger with south district nightclub.’ You think back on a few nights ago, on that terrace at 3 in the morning with that stranger named Yoongi. Moving your eyes off your laptop, you look around your silent living room. It was Saturday night and you were alone…you and Jimin hadn’t even spoken to each other for the last two days. Since your rude behavior a few days ago, Jimin had been tip toeing around you a lot more. Not even trying to come home at 2 anymore, sometimes he’d spend the whole night away. He didn’t even make eye contact at the dinner table, yet alone make conversation. You might as well have been alone all 24 hours of a day.

“I’ve seen him there a few times”

Closing your laptop, you get up from your sofa chair and make your way to the coat rack. You pull out the small card Yoongi had given you and look at the club’s address. Taking a quick peek at the clock, you conclude you’ll be back home in 2 hours if the traffic is good. If…you were actually going to do this…

Like you weren’t in control of your body, your feet drag themselves to your room and into your closet. Your possessed frame wasn’t corresponding with your brain who kept repeating how bad of an idea this was. Picking out an old dress, one from your more youthful days, you do a light set of make-up and brush through your hair. You grab your purse and remember your phone this time, throwing it into the clutch with the club card and some cash. Everything was completed so quick, your mind didn’t have time to process anything until you blankly stood in the doorway, waiting to move again.

You’re really going to do this. You haven’t been to a club in…well you never went to a club. Back in the days, you heard about Mina and Jimin going to clubs together; she would joke about how she’s there to keep an eye on Jimin – make certain he’s not flirting with some other girls. How ironic. Shaking, you slowly turn the door knob in your vacant apartment, opening the door and cringing at the loud creek. Take a deep breath you tell yourself, before you’re leaving out the door in a quick paced motion, only one thought swimming across your mind.

You deserve better

You know how they say some places feel like a whole different world? Well yeah, this is what they were referring to. The dark neon lights moving about like lasers, the overly loud, heart pounding music; and so many warm, wet bodies suffocating your presence. So this is what a club is, you gather. Taking in the loud electronic drums pumping in your head, you almost couldn’t think straight. Everything was large and spread out, yet you still felt overcrowded and overwhelmed. Shuffling on your feet, you stood there awkwardly by the bar staring at one of the bar stools. The thought of casually walking up and sitting down was causing you unease.

Eventually, you gathered the nerve to do so. Looking around, you weren’t sure what you were so worried for, no one seemed to have said anything. There was really not much to do but glance about. The bar tender seemed busy with other customers. Quite young-looking girls, which made you a tad iffy. By the way the man was eyeing them, he also thought they looked too young to be in here. You looked away once he asked them for an I.D., and a man next to them laughed loudly, telling him to let the girls have fun.

The booths were situated across the room from you, and you heard a lot of bottles popping and celebratory shouts from their direction making you smile. There was a second balcony floor above the booths. A lot of people were there as well, but the atmosphere felt more serious up there…more fancy. On the first floor, right behind the bar was the dance floor where more than half the crowd was located. Some of the dances made you blush and turn away…it was astonishing that’d they do those certain movements in front of so many spectators. You couldn’t even imagine doing these things with Jimin alone…although maybe you kind of wanted to. Not having the courage to look at the couple practically humping a few feet from you, you decided to just observe your lap.

You spot your wedding ring reflecting off the neon green laser lights. A gold band around your finger, delicately engraved with Jimin’s name. It had a large diamond, shaped like a heart as the centerpiece. Again, you’re reminded of the enigma that is Park Jimin. There was no way you could escape him, even here, everyone’s favorite place to hide from the world for a night or two. He basically owned you, body and soul– refusing to hand it back over no matter how much you wordlessly pleaded.

It infuriated you.

Hesitant at first, you move your hand to carefully slide off the ring. Strange, you think holding it up to the lights of the bar in front of you. You thought it’d make you feel worse, but no…it was liberating? Tonight, there’s not much you want to think about…especially not your feelings. Tonight, you want to run away with the outcasted mass, reflect about nothing as you passage through space and time continuum without having to live it. So, without giving it another thought, you open up your clutch and throw the ring inside.

And so, you sat, tapping at your thighs through the see-through satin of the bottom of your dress.

“Hey there, sweesh cheeks” A guy’s gaudy voice shouts in your direction over the music. It’s him, the man laughing at those girls from before. He’s moved closer. “Never seen you before? *Hic* What brings you around here, huhsh?”

You weren’t one to judge someone at first glance, but he had the most obnoxious smell coming from him, which made you stay mute if not a bit disgusted. He had long greasy hair, tied in a ponytail and the beginnings of a patchy beard. It looked like he hadn’t showered in days.

“I’m Daniel by the way” he shoots you a wink

He wore a cross pendant around his neckline, earrings decorating both of his ears. He tried to faintly move closer to you, his scent neighboring you. The last thing you wanted to do was be impolite, but the man was slimy, smelling of mold and cheap, over the top body spray. Alcohol littered his breath and his pupils were a bit off. As he sits down next to you – too close for comfort – you subtly turn your head away, not wanting another whiff of him. You were honestly regretting ever setting foot outside your house.

“Heeeeyyyy” He moves his face even closer to you making you scrunch your nose and slightly move off the bar stool. Daniel takes notice to that and doesn’t seemed too pleased about it. It was then that he grabs your arm and starts raising his voice, “Don’t be sush a bish, I’m jush trying to talk,” he slurs

You try to pull your arm away but he just pulls it tighter “Stop…go away” you say to him, trying to sound courageous but your voice failing you miserably. He smirks at your frightened behavior and you want to throw up. Before he could do anything else you watch as he gets pulled away from you and off of the bar stool next to you as a woman starts screaming in his face

“She told you to stop, didn’t she? Scram you little shit”

She throws him towards the right, where he loses his balance and trips on his own leg. Scrambling to get up, he runs away into the dancing mob. The woman takes a seat next to you after scooting the stool away from your side. She doesn’t bother to look at you as she shouts for a shot. In retrospect, you gape at her in awe; from her short stature to her elongated plastic nails and high pony tail all held together by her tight blue dress. When she catches you gawking at her she raises a brow,

“Is there a problem?”

“N-o No!” You say, flustered at her actually speaking to you, “Thank you for what you did”

“Don’t worry about it. The guy was a creep, he had it coming” The bartender places a shot in front of her which she immediately downs and begins fishing through her purse.

When you notice she was taking out cash to pay, you intervene “It’s on me!” You shout quickly grabbing a 10 from your purse

“Hey, you don’t have to –

“It’s alright. Thanks again” You smile as you put out the bill for her. She pauses for a second and just stares at you, making you slightly nervous.

“What’s your name?” She asks, giving you a once over

“___” You answer back, cowering a bit under her gaze

“Well ___,” She smiles, “I’m Irene, me and my girls are in that booth over there, care to join us?”

It was as if someone turned back time to your high school days. In all your years of living, no one had asked you to join them except Jimin. Now that it happened, here you were about to ruin it by looking like a fish out of the water. Your nerves are on high, and you feel yourself getting extremely warm as she continues to stare at you, a bit confused by your silence. By the adrenaline running through you from the sudden events and Jimin flashing through your mind; there was only one answer lingering your lips. An answer that surprised even you.

“Yes”

The night goes by in a blur

One second you were being pulled into a booth with extremely pretty young ladies, and they’re introducing themselves. Joy, Chae, Riri …some other people you don’t recall. Everyone was so nice, and they were really loud…but in a fun way. You hated noise, but their shouting and laughing was heartening for some reason. It matched with the vibe of the vibrant club. Suddenly you were chugging the bottle someone had pushed into your hand. All you’ve ever had were some wines and rose’s with Jimin, and now you’re unexpectedly gulping down a bottle of Bacardi. Cheers surround you the more you drink, the lighter your head feels, the freer your body moves. Nothing was registering in your mind, which concerned you a bit because you always had control over what you did – over all your movements.

You’re sure you were pushed onto the dance floor…or were you? Wait, you couldn’t dance, you were gonna embarrass yourself! But your worries seemed so trivial while you watched all the carefree figures around you; you decided to follow the other girls, observing their fluid movements and becoming encouraged. You swung your hips and spun around the dance floor to whatever noise was blaring through the speakers, permitting it to take control of your body.

Someone crashed into you on what you thought was an accident, until their hands found a way to your hips and they pulled you unto their sturdy chest. They grind themselves on you, and you’re too drunk to care letting them sway you how they want. Your hair was sticking to your forehead and you plop your head back onto their shoulder. It’s been so long since you had this much riveting human contact. They were warming you up, you could feel the flexing muscles in their arms smothering you and they had such a pleasant incense…like honey. Goosebumps rise onto your skin.

“You smeelll…soo nicee” You giggle in a slurred speech as you feel them breathe into your ear

“You’re so fucking sexy babe,” You moan at their deep voice, something inside you stirring at their foul language as he tightens his hold on your waist. Then there are even more gaps in your memory, but you remember being reluctantly pulled away as Irene dragged you away to the entrance. She asks for your address a few times as you mumble in your drunken state and then she throws you in a cab.

“Get home safe, I’ll call you” Was the last thing you heard her say before the driver pulls away from the club.

Now you’re inside your complex’s hallway, trying to find your apartment door. You’re wobbling around in your heels – trying to find your flat number – humming a loud song you didn’t know you knew. When you find what seemed like the right number, you cheer and run up to it, jumping in place as you get your keys from your clutch. The last thing you remember was opening the door of your apartment and being greeted by Jimin’s angry face.

_

Your eyes flutter open. You stare at a spotty white ceiling while you adjust to the light of the familiar room. There was a strange numbness in your body making you feel on edge while you try to fully grasp your consciousness. Slowly you sit up using your arms, immediately regretting it as a strike of pain shoots inside your head. Hissing you grab onto your forehead and bend your body forward, resting your elbows on your thighs. You felt terribly sick.

“Fun night?” A voice suddenly cuts through the room

You look up and see Jimin standing a few feet away from the bed with his arms crossed. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips curled down in a prominent frown. You didn’t quite register what he said so you just let out a small ‘huh?’

“I said it looks like you had fun last night, seeing how you were out till 3 in the morning”

3? Wait…you left at 10 pm…so five hours? You were out for five hours!? How is that possible. God, you never leave the house and the one time you do, you can’t even properly account for the time. You didn’t have any second to reminisce about last night’s events as Jimin burns a hole through you, not noticing that you’re as shocked as he was. He couldn’t put it into words how mortified he is…he’s known you for 8 years and you NEVER came home late from an unknown place; drunk and untamed. How could someone just change like that? You’ve been acting weird ever since the day he came home to find you soaked. Going out to unknown places, coming home later than him. With another man’s cologne lingering your body. He tightens his fists.

“I called you fifty times…did you forget your phone again?”

You take note of the irritation in his voice which has a flame of rage opening inside you. Instead you opt to search for your clutch. Finding it on the dresser next to you, you take out your phone and open it to see 14 missed calls – making you wince.

“Sorry, my bag wasn’t around me” You mutter, running your hands through your messy hair. You were still wearing yesterdays clothes and you felt icky, and you needed to shower so you throw the cover off of you and get ready to get up

“Where were you?” He questions

There it was, that tone in his voice again. You look up to see him glaring at you, so you glare back

“Why do you care?” You spit, “Did I ask where you were?”

He’s startled by your behavior and decreases his heavy stance. You get off the bed and push your way past him without another glance as he stands there questioning himself of what just happened.

Could she…no…it couldn’t be…

He then stares at your clutch haphazardly thrown on the bed. Maybe, he thinks, there are some answers in there.

The following Monday you decide to start work again. Calling your boss to notify her, who was elated at your return. You sit at your desk completing a spreadsheet, a tiny feeling of contentment in your bones. Since Saturday, Irene has called you to ask if you got home in one piece. One thing led to another and you ended up having dinner at her house. Good thing too, since you knew Jimin wouldn’t be home so you would have just skipped eating again. She was a year older than you, single and very proud of so and worked real estate.

Irene could tell straight away that you weren’t the clubbing type. As if the way you responded to the rude man wasn’t enough, you made her worry by stumbling across the dance floor like a fawn. Or as she put it so kindly, easy prey. She invited you over because she wanted you to loosen up, not knowing how effortlessly impressionable you’d end up being. She explained to you that she thought you were originally from a more rural area, like she was. When she first moved into the city, she was also quite naive to the boisterous and progressive city ways. You didn’t know how to tell her you’d been living in big cities your whole life…you just…don’t get out much. Either way, you were immensely grateful she had watched over you and sent you home.

The night’s events to you are in complete distortion – turns out your brain was not prepared for such a large consumption of alcohol in an hour. Irene tells you things that you have absolutely no recollection of that has you hiding your face behind your fingers. Apparently, you tried to tear off your clothes because they were too warm? You kept singing a sad love song out loud on the dance floor? Also, you were shamelessly grinding on the hottest guy she’s ever seen? There was no way you did any of that…is there? If there was, then there’s no way you’re going back there again…and that was okay with you. At least one good thing came out of it.

It made no sense to you, but somehow you think she wanted to be your friend. Why would a fun, amazing person like her want to be your friend? You were on edge the whole time at her apartment, thinking there was a catch coming and she was about to laugh in your face. But the only laughing she did was after making cheesy jokes as she set down Risotto in front of you. Funnily enough you laughed along…you forgot you could do that recently. The Risotto was also the best you had in a long time, and you were blown away by her cooking skills. It was as if food had become tasteless in the past month.

After 26 years, you finally have someone to call a friend.

As you type in the last set of numbers on your spreadsheet, you smile. After work you agreed to grab pizza together and you felt like an excited kid going to a sleep over. Maybe you should drop by the rooftop again tonight, you’ve been wanting to thank Yoongi for finding you a friend…and you also really want to see him again, for some reason. You were tapping your foot amongst the floor and whistling to yourself when you heard a knock on the door.

“Come in” you singsong. Yura steps into your office and hands you a printout you ordered.

“Ma’am” She calls you who’s examining the client memo, making you respond with a ‘hmm,’ “Is it alright if I leave early today? My therapist ran into a small problem and now my appointment is an hour earlier”

You immediately stop reading the paper and look up at her in surprise.

“Is everything alright?” You question carefully. Had you missed out on so much? But Yura looks as fine as usual…why would she need a therapist?

To your surprise she lets out a chuckle at your shocked face “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve had a therapist for a few years now, It’s nothing new”

“Oh...” You recoil, “I’m sorry I didn’t know”

“It’s alright, it’s sort of an open secret,” She says cheerily, as if she was expecting your reaction

“You can leave early” You smile, awkwardly trying to get back to what you were doing

“Thank you” she says walking towards the door. As she’s about to pull it open, she spins to face you, “Umm…You know Ma’am…” She starts making you look up at her

“I usually don’t get the best reactions when I tell people I’m in therapy but in honesty, therapy isn’t a bad word.”

“I know” You smile at her, you hope she didn’t think you had any prejudice against her because of so

“Then would you get offended if I told you that you should find a therapist”

At her words a hint of exasperation builds up on you. What did she mean by that? You’re about to open your mouth and tell her off when you realize that this is exactly what she was talking about. You just told her that it’s okay to be in therapy, but get mad when she recommends something that’s been helping her to you? Humans are so hypocritical aren’t they. Like how they say they’ll love you forever and then go find comfort in someone else; or how they say they understand, when clearly, they have so much to learn. You look away, ashamed

As if knowing exactly what you were thinking, she sighs “Thought so…My own parents” She pauses, looking at the floor with a hint of sadness, “They tell people that I haven’t been the same since grandma passed away, or try to make other excuses for why I try and seek professional help. I guess they desperately want to make me look like a sane person in front of people,”

“Yura…” You feel something caught in your throat. She’d been your secretary for 2 years now and you didn’t know the first thing about her.

“And it’s true” She meets your eyes again, “That I was really sad when my grandma died, I was really so reckless, and I wanted help. But that’s not what therapy is all about. Even though now, my life is back in shape, I have an amazing boyfriend, a wonderful job, and a great boss” She beams at you as you hide a blush,

“I need someone to talk to sometimes…someone to just listen to me rant without judgement and help get my thoughts in order. It helps me process my emotions in a heathy, productive manner and I’m glad I’m in therapy trying to better myself, rather than hiding behind a fake mask of strength, pretending that everything is – and always will be alright. Or thinking that being tough means holding the whole world on your shoulders by yourself for some reason. Sometimes everything will not be aright and the world won’t fit in your shoulders and that’s fine…I’ll learn to deal with, the best way I can…my therapist and I.” She walks up to your desk and puts down a folded piece of paper, and walks back to the door.

She takes a breath, it felt like she just took a huge burden off her shoulder by telling you this, “Ma’am…you work harder than anyone in this building, all my coworkers talk about it all the time, we all admire you”

Staring at her in shock, you have to force yourself to blink so you don’t come off as crazy. You always assumed your colleagues at the company thought of you as an overworking recluse, you never could’ve imagined anyone but your boss appreciating you, much less admiring.

“I’m recommending her to you because I know you stress about your job often. I’m right in the next room and the doors are literally made of glass,” She chuckles. “She’s great and you deserve the best. Please give her a call if you have time and thank you again for letting me leave early”

With that she walks out of your office and leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You stare at the piece of paper on your desk for a moment, before reaching over and picking it up. When you unfold it, you find a name and number written in black ink. It seemed sort of crumpled, and old and it makes you wonder if she’s been holding onto this for a while. The see-through door in your office gave anyone outside a pretty clear view of you at your desk. She probably saw you running your hands through your hair, frowning and huffing and wanted to help you out. But she was mistaken about one thing. It wasn’t because of work that you were stressed…it was because of your husband, Park Jimin…and you don’t know if you’re ready to talk to anyone about something so private – so dear to you yet. Huffing, you shove the number into your purse and turn back to the memo to continue reading.

It was Jimin’s day off today, and you were surprised to wake up see him lounging at home. Half of you thought you were still dreaming. You stare at him lying on the couch in his sweats from your bedroom’s doorway, wondering why he didn’t leave to hang out with ‘Jin’ already. He did come home pissed yesterday…that might have something to do with this. Did he have a fight with his mistress perhaps? Jimin looks up from the book he was reading and gives you a smile that has you weak in the knees.

“Awake sleepyhead?”

“Why’re you here?” The words fall out faster than you could stop them. You see him frown at your reaction.

“Can’t I be at my own house?”

“…You usually aren’t,” You mutter as he squints his eyes to see if he heard you correctly. Not waiting for a response, you immediately head to the kitchen to grab yourself a cup of coffee. Pouring the black brew into your baby blue mug; you sniff the rejuvenating scent and let the warmth of the cup spread through your palms, resting in your joints. Smiling to yourself, you turn around to grab some creamer and end up almost dropping the mug out of your hands in shock.

Jimin had swiftly moved from the living room to stand behind you, quietly watching you like a hawk. His presence oddly threatening.

“Yes?” You question him, strangely uncomfortable at his penetrating gaze. Hand in his pockets, he moves closer to you as you move back, becoming trapped between him and the stove.

“What’s up with you these days?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper

“W-what do you m-mean?”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

What? Isn’t that what you should be asking? Your face morphs into confusion at his accusatory tone.

“W…hat?”

“Where’s your ring?”

Pointing at your hand he narrows his eyes at you. You give him a weird face with your mouth agape before registering what he just said, which makes you hold up your hand to inspect it.

“…”

“So, where is it?” He crosses his arms warily

You rack through your brain, trying to recall where you put it or when you lost it. How long have you gone without noticing? You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find an answer through your faulty memories. Just then Jimin reaches into his sweat’s pocket an pulls out the golden, diamond studded jewel, holding it up a few inches from his face.

“Where did yo-”

“I found it,” He practically growls, “In your clutch from Saturday night, remember that?”

“What were you doing going through my stuff?! I don’t recall going through your things even afte-” You yell defensively.

But he ignores you and pulls out something else from his sweats, “And what’s this, huh? Why’re you going to cypher road of all places without telling me?! Coming back at 3 in the morning?! Who was the guy with the nice cologne by the way?!”

It was the card Yoongi gave you.

It’s not that you and Jimin hadn’t had fights before – just like any other married couple, you did. Usually it ended with you conceding, meekly apologizing before things got too out of hand. So, when your ears turn fiery red and you feel yourself apply pressure to your teeth and clench your fists, you receive a crashing realization. The first time in ages he concerns himself with your whereabouts, and it’s only to accuse you of something so revolting? Blame your flare of anger on the only sip of coffee you had and the stingy fresh morning air. Blame it on Jimin himself never feeling the need to tell you where he was headed – not the truth anyway.

“IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU!”

…

There was a deafening silence that followed your outburst as your husband stood there stunned. He took a step back, he’s not sure why…you weren’t in any way a threat to Park Jimin…were you? His shy, small wife would never raise her voice at him. Would never make him feel that he was the one in the wrong.

You let out a shaky exhale, loosening your grip on the mug and setting it on the marble top. You run a hand through your hair in frustration, securing it above your temple.

“For years…I had no one. You knew that…and you told me it was okay – that you’d be my everything” Closing your eyes, you try to process your thoughts rationally, “Yet you went out…You continued to move forward with the world, and I was constantly left behind. And I said it was okay – I made excuses to myself that you were the more outgoing one, that it was only natural – that it was okay that you went to clubs and missed dinner dates and forgot my birthday. But in reality, I was lonely Jimin…Always.”

“Did you ever even notice? Or were you too busy celebrating the fact that your wife would destroy herself from the inside out, just for you?”

It took everything within you to make your words comprehensible. You were struggling to hold back tears looking at him. His face seemed worried and upset, but maybe it could just be an act you tell yourself. It’s not like you actually knew Jimin now did you? It wasn’t that you were proud of what you did that night, no one should be coming home drunk at 3 AM, it’s dangerous and unhealthy. But did he ever think that if he were at home, maybe you wouldn’t have gone to an unknown location in the first place? If he were at home, maybe he could have gone with you and brought you home like a husband does? You wouldn’t have had to stumble back drunk if it wasn’t for him. He didn’t know anything about you, no matter how much he acted like he did.

“I don’t think you’ve ever noticed…or cared. So, excuse me if I do the same.”

Snatching the ring from him you shove it back on to your finger in front of his face.

“There, happy now?”

When he doesn’t say anything you clear your throat, picking up your mug, “For the record, I’m not doing anything unfaithful. I’m not-”

You.

Stopping yourself from finishing that sentence, you take a deep breath and walking past him. You didn’t wait for his response, if he has any, not wanting to stand in the suffocating atmosphere of the kitchen any longer. Before leaving the kitchen, you shout back over your shoulder,

“I’m going out today, I need to meet a friend”

You take off before he can give you an answer.

“Then we can add the caption over in this section”

Jimin watches you while you work through the graphic of the presentation, already having zoned out from what you were saying a long time ago. It’s funny to him how interesting he started to find you this past week. When his professor first told him you were his partner, he thought the man was mistaken, having never even heard of your name in class. That was rare for him, the most beloved guy in college, friends with literally anyone that breathed. Even the campus’ squirrels adored him.

From then on it was routine. Walking up to you, giving his ‘angelic’ smile, watching you fall for him hard. Contrary to what most edgy Hollywood films might tell you, popularity is actually an amazing feeling. He loved having people whipped for him, how their eyes lit up when he entered a room, how he could take their breath away by simply running his fingers through his hair.

He treasured this power.

A certain part he noticed about his social circle was their need to become important in his life. They wanted to be noticed by him, they wanted his recognition, they wanted to be his special someone. And it made him laugh really, I mean he was flattered but it was also a bit pathetic. They’d try many things; playing hard to get, seducing him into bed, even stalking him around campus. He felt sad for such folks, imagine having such futile ambition.

Then again, it was as if there was a silent understanding amongst most people. Jimin couldn’t be theirs, which definitely means he couldn’t be anyone else’s. They were satisfied because it wasn’t just them and their miserable shortcomings, but rather Jimin who didn’t want to belong to anyone. And who wouldn’t respect precious Jimin’s wishes? How hilarious, he wanted to sneer at them for even thinking they could know anything about him.

Jimin never felt guilty for feeling this way, it’s not like he was hurting anyone’s emotional state by being a disrespectful person. He never begged for the attention, never forced anyone to love him, it wasn’t on him if they couldn’t discern rationality. It was a give and take relationship after all; people gave him the attention he desired, and he gave people a sense of superiority just by being connected to him.

But you were different somehow. It was obvious you liked him right when he came up to you, the expression on your face was nothing short of a deer in headlights. Yet the more time he spent with you, the more you just…worked. Normal people might not think anything of it, pass you off as some hard-working nerd that would get them a good grade, but to him it was bewildering. You just didn’t care about his attention, you didn’t ask him for more than you had to, and you never even looked his way in class.

He didn’t think you were faking it, you didn’t look like the type of girl, one he’s encountered many times before. No one in his circle or even outside of it seemed to know of your existence. The stuff he cherished – held onto dearly, none of it appeared to matter to you. Large amounts of friends, dedicated followers worshipping the ground he walked on, not even your parent’s unconditional love. Such peculiar behavior intrigued him into studying you. It almost felt like you’d rather live in the shadows. A concept so foreign and bizarre to him.

A certain desire invoked in him that day, observing you who was ranting apologies about an error you made in the screen. It was as if the weight of the world shifted, a sudden awareness on his surroundings – on you. For the past week you both have been working together, he’s been nice and cooperative as he usually is. There’s a semblance of distance in the form of an invisible line, both based on the terms of unfamiliarity and politeness.

However…what if he were to cross that line and give you the one thing so many individuals craved. The thing people have practically begged him for so long with their obsessive eyes, their inaudible whines as he leaves their presence, or when he as them pinned beneath him at his mercy. What if he were to give you what he knows some girls in his classes would kill each other over.

Scooching his chair closer to yours he rests his jaw in his palm. You stop talking and stare at him with wide eyes, he could see you gulp as he smiles your way. The nepenthes rafflesiana emit a honey scent to lure their prey. He sets his plan into action by tenderly blowing on a stray hair in your face, his expression morphing into one that should be kept only for the bedroom. Noticing the cause of his actions, you quickly remove the strand in a frenzy. Jimin giggles at your panic, and he notes that he’s genuinely laughing compared to the memorized charming laugh he has for most people.

Moving so that the tip of his nose was nearly touching your cheek he stretches his lips,

“You were saying?”

What if he were to give you his special attention?

“First of all, if I ever meet him, I’m going to cut off his ba-”

“Irene!” you shout, quickly cover her mouth with your palm. She huffs, removing the obstacle on her face with a deadpanned expression

“Secondly, I really don’t know why you’re still with him as far as I can tell, you seem to be completely over him”

You look down at the hardwood table below you, the curtains of your eyes strain in concentration. Irene sighs, knowing the expression on your face to be all too similar.

She had stumbled upon your secrets by accident one night. You were embarrassed yet overjoyed to say that you and her linking up had become routine. One evening, you were at her place cooking together and you ended up burning your thumb. All she did was fret over you and dip your finger under cool running water and the next thing she knows the faucet isn’t the only thing leaking. Her small act of compassion made you burst into ugly, roaring tears. She was rightfully very freaked out, but also immensely worried. It was as if you hadn’t been shown any amount of human kindness in years. After spending minutes calming you down, she finally probed you enough for you to spill the beans.

Irene was beyond livid. You watched her jaw set with each word you spoke. Actually, you’re pretty sure she called him every name in the book and then some. The outburst was short-lived, and you were afraid it would make her act different towards you. But she didn’t, if anything, she was kinder than before. A sympathetic glint in her eyes each time you broke down.

Since then, she’s been your confidant anytime you feel the overwhelming urge of despair.

“You still love him?” she asks, quieter than before. Staying silent, you listen in on the small chatter and distance cars around you. You sat right outside of a vintage café. The weather was nice, the generous café offering a view of beautiful blue clematises draped along the margins of the stone building. Above you, stood the striped canopy connected to the establishment, allowing in the gentlest of the sun rays to glow up your rosy tea.

“I love him…I want him…”

“And why is that?”

“…Because I need him”

“For?”

“I don’t know…” You close your eyes in frustration. Frustration at your puzzling emotions.

“Well I do,” Irene takes a sip of her brew “You need him because you think he’s the only one who can love you and therefore make you feel whole”

You look up at her in surprise. Something about what she said resonated with you…how have you never noticed before?

“Listen,” Irene says, clacking down her cup, “I can’t tell you how to live your life or who to not love. But I can tell you the person you do need to start loving.”

She takes a moment to stare at you in your eyes, and you capture the sincerity in her irises. Heat rises up to your face, never having seen this much care in someone else for you. It made you tear up.

“Yourself”

“…Myself?”

“Yes, think about it. You worked hard in school because of your mom. You work hard at your job for your boss. And you worked hard in your relationship for Jimin. What have you ever done for yourself?”

Contemplating Irene’s words, you try to think. What had you done for yourself? You weren’t even sure you had a hobby…all of your interests were things Jimin seemed to fawn over.

…Who were you?

“All right, how about this. In your life, other than Jimin, is there something you like to do? Something that genuinely brings you joy, not because of another person, but just for yourself”

“I-”

Reminiscing through your dull past, you didn’t find anything but study books, grade marks and pencils. Lonely nights and lost dreams, a broken heart and repeated hesitance. Swallowed words, an indistinct confession of love, the sound of a keyboard, bitter coffee…and Jimin…and…

“Cooking”

“Hmm?”

“I like…” squinting your eyes, you reflect hard, “yeah…I like cooking.” You say smiling, proud of yourself for some reason.

“I like cooking”

Irene grins widely at you showing her perfect set of teeth, “I like cooking too. You know I always wanted to own my own restaur-”

But then her expression falls, and worry fills her eyes,

“Why are you crying?”

“Huh?” You bring your fingers up to meet with your wet cheeks. Confused and disoriented, you quickly grab the napkins on your table and wipe away your tears as Irene’s shocked face only turns worse, “Sorry, I – I don’t, I…”

Taking a deep breath, you speak up again, “I didn’t know I liked anything,” this time letting the tears of happiness fall on their own accord.

“Oh, honey,” Irene gets up from her chair and moves to your side, engulfing your upper body with her arms, “You deserve so much better”

There was that word again. You weren’t sure what it meant completely quite yet. Only a fragment of its definition registering into your head as the other half felt cover by a large sheet – a locked object waiting for you to find the key. Maybe unlocking the answer would take a bit more time, but you knew one thing for certain.

You were starting to believe it.

Barging into your home, you heave a sigh with your back against the front door. It was a long day and Irene’s impromptu shopping trip didn’t help. She made you pick up half the store’s items. Even going as far as to secretly purchase any item you felt insecure or shy about herself and stash it inside your bags. You couldn’t even count how many bags you were carrying, as well as the amount of ‘sexy’ dresses Irene made you buy. Honestly, you thought half of them were lingerie. Throwing off your heels you make your way into your bed room.

You fling the bags next to your bed and jump onto the springy mattress. It was so comforting, you almost moaned as the foam molded into the shape of your back. Your eyes were shut delicately, and you were about to fade away, which is why you didn’t hear the bare footsteps making their way across your floorboards and the slight dip on the edge of the bed.

“Baby?”

You flutter your eyes open at the familiar voice of your husband, turning your head to see him sitting by your side. He puts his hand over yours and squeezes it softly.

“Long day?” He asks cautiously

You nod wordlessly

Looking over at your bags he lets out a chuckle. “Looks like you had fun…” He looks back at you, “I’m glad.”

Smiling at him you hold his hand back, letting your freshly manicured nails kindly scratch his palm. You felt remorse for blowing up at him this morning. All you want to do with Jimin is have a normal conversation – confront him without acting so aggressively. Spewing irrational nonsense that would get your relationship nowhere. It’s the least you could do for someone you loved.

His hand starts moving along your arms slowly, then rests on your shoulder. He moves closer to you, until his face is hovering yours. Lips parted, his breath fans your face.

“It’s been a while” He says lowly, gradually leaning in further and further

He kisses you; tenderly at first, moving his hand up to cup your cheek. You let him in, not having tasted Jimin for far too long. Your tongues move in harmony, faces adjusting to get better angles inside the wet caverns. He moves his thumb along your cheek, his other hand travelling up your leg and you hum into his mouth. Shivers run up your skin as he rubs the inside of your thigh. It was when you accidently bite his tongue that he lets out a growl.

You recognized that sound.

It was the growl he made when he was fucking Tina.

Your eyes flash open in an instant, feeling like someone threw cold water all over you. His touches no longer causing butterflies, instead making the rising queasiness in your stomach worse. His scent was no longer soothing, and his tongue no longer welcomed.

“Mm-No-mm” You pry at his chest until he comes off you. Sitting up immediately, you wipe your lips, an uninvited sensation crawling over you. You stare at Jimin who’s breathing heavily. Flushed face and blown pupils, staring at you in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” He asks

“I…I don’t want this,” You say, still wiping at your mouth, trying to make the dreadful feeling go away. You feel small when he grunts and looks away from you, running a hand through his hair in irritation. He stays still for a moment, burning a hole into the ground as you bring your knees to your chest.

“Then what” You glance at him as he speaks, “What do you want”

Holding yourself tighter at his hardened stare, you try to talk. But you’re unable to form the actual words

“I-I…I don’t…I”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” He screams making you flinch, getting up from your side. “WHAT IS IT, HUH? WHY DON’T YOU EVER SAY ANYTHING?”

“I don’t know!” You yell back upset, tears blurring your vision

Snarling in anger, he runs his palm over his face.

“So, you just take a month off of work, stop talking to me, start taking these damn sleeping pills, go out to places with people I never met, yell at me when I do show concern, and now you don’t want me to touch you?”

“At least tell me what’s going on, please, tell me what you want,” Coming up to your face, he pleads with you. His eyes appeared half crazed and exhausted, it frightened you. It reminded you of your own when he first started distancing himself from you.

It was surreal to you, watching him get angry at you treating him how he treats you. Should you have been this angry since the start? Would that have made him feel as guilty as you’re feeling right now? All these hypotheticals were starting to bore. You knew exactly what you wanted from Jimin, you were just scared of the consequences of voicing what you desired. At that moment however, none of those consequences mattered…

“I want you…to be honest…” Breaking your silence, you stare at him dead in the face

“…what?”

“Be honest Jimin…stop pretending with me all the fucking time.”

Jimin looks taken aback as he watches you, trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. You’ve always been difficult to read…always.

“You think…after spending eight years with you, you’d learn the decency to tell you me the truth. Have I ever asked you for anything else? It could be the least you could do for me. Isn’t it, Jimin?”

You wait for him to say something, pushing through the exhaustion of your soul. “Why did you do it, Jimin…why did you choose to do it…to me?”

Jimin is a smart man. He knows what you’re implying, knows what this could mean for him…for you. You know…you had caught him. It would finally explain so many things plaguing his mind. Yet at this point he’d rather not have answers at all. His suspicion was solidified by the discomfort under your eyes. So lost and broken, an incomplete passion.

He racks his brain to speak, to refute, but instead he stays mum and helpless. There seems to be an invisible line you both can’t cross – aren’t willing to cross. Strange really, how the world turns, just to come back to where it was. If the female grasshopper bites the head off the male grasshopper after mating…who’s to blame? The female for being so heartlessly cruel or the male, for knowingly falling so hard it led him to his own demise? Maybe neither. Maybe they were both just caught in their own fate, helplessly watching as the world was turning without their consent.

You both stay there, quietly staring at one another.

A loss for words doesn’t cover it, you both were purposely letting the time pass by with nothing to disturb the environment. It was as if you both – in that time frame – you both were simultaneously recollecting the same thing. The first meeting, the first date, the first kiss, the first time. That one afternoon when Jimin took you to the park and he ended up getting swarmed into a pond by whiteflies because of his lime green shirt and he told you he loved you for the first time when you pulled him out. Or when you bought him matching mochi keychains when he kept losing his keys, and he wore it on display everywhere even when his friends teased him.

How every time you cooked something, he wolfed it up giving you a million genuine compliments and it made your eyes shine like Christmas lights. He’d make sure to peck your face several times throughout the day and peck you more if you blush, his favorite color displayed on your cheeks. You’d pretend to sleep through your alarm, so he’d wake you up by whispering in your ear. He would save chocolate strawberries at parties, even when he was drunk, just so he could bring them home for you. Just small, trivial things that grow irreplaceable down the road.

When you had to deal with all of his absences without a complaint, as long as Jimin would still smile at you with his crescent shaped eyes in the mornings.

When there was a time Jimin realized that he couldn’t live without you, so he ran away without you knowing.

They wonder what their relationship would’ve been if they met at the right time; a better time. When the world stopped moving for them, so they could see the other in balance instead of motion. Therefore, never feeling like the other was fleeting.

But they never will, they met when they met and did what they did. Their sins were written in stone, never to be erased.

And that’s just the case with them.

Jimin turns and leaves without the room without another word. You lie back down on the mattress lifelessly, wishing for the day to be over.

[authenticcadence18]

“Do You Trust Me?” Chapter 2/Conclusion

HEYYYY GUYS. Back in February, I wrote a few fics for @lovesquarefluffweek, including one called “Do You Trust Me?” that was based on a few of my favorite scenes in Aladdin and ended on a bit of a cliffhanger 😅

I am pleased to tell you that I have FINALLY finished the second and final part of this fic! (I wanted to finish it in time for Ladrien June, but alas...t’was not meant to be). I’d highly recommend reading Chapter One before moving on to this one, if you haven’t already. 

I want to thank the amazing @youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal for beta reading/proofreading this piece and the lovely @macaronsforchat for motivating me to finish it once and for all! Y’all ROCK!!

AO3

....

Adrien never tired of feeling wind dance though his hair as he vaulted across Paris as Chat Noir. There was a confidence involved with every burst of air, an assuredness that he COULD be his own person and ensure his own freedom, at least for a little while.

He’d leapt over rooftops and soared high above the city more times than he could count. He loved it--how could he not??--but it was normal to him by now. He’d grown used to it.

…...but Adrien would never grow used to soaring over Paris in the arms of his Lady.

Seeing the city from Ladybug’s perspective took Adrien’s breath away….which was a little embarrassing, considering he’d seen all these landmarks from above dozens, if not hundreds of times, AND typically accompanied by Ladybug herself.

But being gathered in her arms as she swung across the city? Untransformed and completely dependent on her for safety?

It was just an extension of the trust he felt for her as Chat…..and it was invigorating.

….especially considering he became more and more certain who lay beneath her mask with every leap she took.

...

Marinette was observant.

Perhaps a little too observant when it came to Adrien. (At least according to Alya, anyway).

But Alya didn’t notice the things Marinette did.

Such as the way Adrien had slowly been deflating over the past week.  

She sensed it in the smiles that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

In the snippets of overheard phone calls in which Adrien looked pained and the person on the other line--presumably his father or Nathalie--sounded angry.

And in the way he looked just as sad as Alya--if not more so--when Nino didn’t show up for school for multiple days due to a bout with the flu.

By Friday, Marinette ached to ask Adrien what was wrong because she just KNEW something had to be wrong. So she did.

He didn’t say much. Just a hasty, “Oh, I’m alright! Just a bit tired, that’s all...I’ve had a busy week.”

Marinette didn’t believe him for a minute. She wanted to help him so badly, but wasn’t sure how…

And then she realized.

Perhaps it would be difficult to help him as Marinette…..but Ladybug would have an easier time at it.

….

After a half hour or so of exploring the city, Ladybug swung unto a nearby rooftop and gently set Adrien down before reeling in her yo-yo.

“This spot has a great view of the river,” she explained, sitting down and gesturing for Adrien to follow suit.

Adrien did just that, heart still racing from the exhilaration of the ride (and from the close proximity to his lady, of course).

“Would you like a macaron?” Ladybug asked, revealing a small paper bag tucked away beside a chimney. She retrieved a cookie from the bag and offered it to Adrien with a warm smile.

Adrien accepted the gift and took a bite. His breath caught as the familiar flavor dissolved over his tongue. “Is this passionfruit flavored?”

Ladybug nodded (perhaps a bit smugly).

“That’s my favorite!! How did you know?”

She shrugged with a coy grin. “A hero never reveals her secrets.”

...only one other person had ever offered Adrien a passionfruit macaron.

And she just so happened to be the same person who’d recently helped Adrien escape a rooftop similar to the one he and Ladybug were seated on now.

Marinette.

Adrien bit his lip, stealing a glance at his Lady—at....Marinette?—as she gazed at the stars and nibbled on a macaron.

He’d never spent this much time with her without a miraculous—unless, of course, she and Marinette were indeed the same person.

He was 90% sure of her identity this point…the passionfruit macarons she’d brought him only contributed more puzzle pieces to the final image that had been growing in his mind ever since she’d reached out to him earlier in the night....but the remaining 10% insisted it couldn’t be true, that it would be too good to be true, that Ladybug would be ANGRY with him if it were true so he might as well try to forget about the possibility and move on with his life.

Still, if his Lady really WAS Marinette, he couldn’t just keep it a secret from her. He had to tell her the truth.

And if she wasn’t? If the uncanny similarities between the two of them that sent his heart racing were just coincidences?

No harm done then.

(There wasn’t a pang in Adrien’s chest at that thought. No way.)

….

"...so....do you want to talk about it?"

Adrien's pulse skyrocketed.

"What? Huh?? Talk about what??"

Did she know?

Did she know he knew??

Ladybug cocked her head at him, seemingly puzzled.

"About whatever's bothering you. We don't have to, if you don't want to. I just thought it might help."

Adrien let out a relieved sigh.

"Oh! That."

He supposed the "sorry I figured out your secret identity, but in my defense, it was only because you’re just so amazingly wonderful" conversation could wait a bit longer.

"Well, I mean....”

What harm was there in telling Ladybug...in telling Marinette...what was bothering him?

She was a superhero. She was probably as good at keeping secrets as he was.

"My father....well, I haven't really seen much of him this week....and I wonder if it's because he doesn't really want to see ME. I see Nathalie, my father's assistant, all the time...but this week she's just been acting like him. Cold. Only seeming to notice the things I do wrong.”

A dark scowl passed over Ladybug’s face.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my father!!" Adrien insisted as he caught a glimpse of the storm clouds brewing in Ladybug’s eyes.

"It's just....this week he's being less supportive than usual. Yeah, that's it. And then, one of my best friends has been absent from school for the past few days because he's sick. Usually I'm able to talk to him about this stuff and he makes it easier, but now I can't even visit him....and I don't want to text him about it, because what if my Father or Nathalie take my phone and find out?? They'd be so disappointed in me... And I already feel bad enough for telling Nino about some of my problems...I didn't want to burden any of my other friends with them..."

A wave of sadness and clarity rolled over Ladybug's shoulders at that final statement. No wonder Adrien hadn't gone into any specifics with her at school.

".....I probably shouldn't be telling you this…” Adrien muttered after a few seconds of contemplation, gazing down to the ground below. “You already have the weight of the world on your shoulders, you don't need my personal problems added to the mix...I’m sorry…..”

"Adrien.”

The sharpness in Ladybug’s tone snapped Adrien out of his lonesome stupor.

Ladybug placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“Listen to me....you are NOT a burden. And you are NOT in the wrong for wishing your father and Nathalie treated you differently.”

Adrien knew that. Deep down, somewhere, he knew it, even if it was hard to believe.

It still felt good to hear Ladybug say it though.

But she wasn’t done.

"...you are so loved, Adrien.

You are loved in ways and to lengths you don't even realize, in ways you can’t even IMAGINE.  I guess the main reason I brought you out here tonight was so I could tell you that."

".....how could you know that?" Adrien breathed softly.

"Oh...a bug has her ways...." Ladybug replied with a gentle smile. "And you trust me, don't you, Adrien? You know I’m telling the truth.”

That sealed the deal. It was official.

Ladybug was in fact Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

And suddenly, Adrien didn’t want to keep this knowledge to himself any longer.

“You know, I’ve also been having a bit of trouble with school,” Adrien said, trying to conceal a wobble in his voice. “You know that reading assignment Ms. Bustier assigned us to analyze this weekend? I just don’t understand it.”

“Wait, really?” Marinette asked, cocking an eyebrow.  “I didn’t think it was too bad. Maybe I can help you with it before Monday.”

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat.

A wave of nausea struck Marinette as her brain caught up to her tongue. She slammed on her breaks...but the car ahead of her was already hit.

“.......uh. I mean…….”

Oh no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. This WASN’T REAL. Adrien could NOT know she was his classmate.

It was okay. She could fix this. Ladybug could fix this.

“I mean, I Alya told me all about the reading assignment earlier today!!!! We talk sometimes because of her Ladyblog, that’s all….”

She made the mistake of glancing at Adrien...and any remaining words fizzled out on her tongue...because he was gazing at her as if she’d hung all the stars in the sky.

There was a softness...an assuredness in his gaze unlike anything Marinette had ever known.

Adrien had never looked at her—with or without her mask—like this before.

Luka had never looked at her like this.

Even Chat Noir, with all his pining and devotion and declarations of love, had never looked at her like this..

Adrien’s eyes seemed to capture her entire being. He saw all of her...he looked like he’d spent a lifetime searching for his other half and had finally found it in her.

“....it’s you,” he whispered softly. Reverently.

“Marinette.”

The logical part of Marinette screamed for her to DENY and ESCAPE before it was too late.

……..but the corner of her heart that had never quite given up on Adrien refused to settle for

that.

“I….okay…..I’m Marinette...” she breathed.

Adrien’s eyes shone. “I knew it.”

“But….but...but how did you know?” Marinette asked.

“Uh….” Adrien hesitated. He couldn’t really explain how he’d figured it out without compromising his own identity...and would Marinette want him to do that?

Fortunately, he was spared from facing this predicament for the time being because Marinette was talking again.

“I mean, I’ve barely been the guardian for a month! I thought I was being so CAREFUL, but somehow you figured it out and if YOU figured it out, what if someone ELSE figured it out?? Oh GOSH I am a HORRIBLE guardian and everyone probably knows my secret identity now and this is SO BAD--” “Woah, slow down!!” Adrien interjected with a chuckle, taking Marinette’s hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You are definitely NOT a horrible guardian. You’re the most amazing person ever!! You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. And no one else knows! Don’t worry: your secret is safe with me.”

Marinette gazed at him, a blush glowing faintly on her cheeks and the hint of a smile gracing her face.

Perhaps Adrien knowing her identity wouldn’t be so bad. She WAS the guardian now, after all, and had more responsibilities than ever. He could help keep her secret, maybe even help her come up with excuses if she needed to leave school more often.

….but Chat Noir would be disappointed when she told him Adrien Agreste had figured out her identity before he learned it for himself.

Wait.

Chat Noir.

Suddenly, Marinette remembered icy blue eyes bearing the grief of a hundred restless, lonely nights boring into her.

Oh no.

Oh NO.

“Oh no, no, NO, Adrien, you CAN’T know who I am, this is so bad, this is so bad, the last time this happened….oh gosh, oh no--”

Adrien’s face blanched as Ladybug--Marinette--his lady began to shake.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Please don’t cry, it’ll be okay, I won’t tell anyone, I promise…..”

Adrien was sitting closer to her now, rubbing circles into her back in an attempt to calm her down and unable to comprehend why his lady was so distraught when she’d seemed alright just a minute ago.

Normally, Marinette would have been over the moon to be so close to Adrien.

But the thought of poor Chat Noir all alone in a barren Paris was too horrible to be chased away by Adrien’s close proximity.

“It’s all my fault…..” Marinette wept. “I’m a horrible Ladybug...I can’t even keep my identity a secret and now Chat Noir will suffer for it….”

Adrien stiffened. What did Chat Noir have to do with any of this?

“You are NOT a horrible Ladybug, Marinette….” Adrien assured her. “It’s not your fault that I found out your identity, honestly! Why is this so bad?”

Was HE the problem? Did Marinette already know his identity? Was she disappointed?

Marinette bit her lip, straining to hold back tears that threatened to continue falling.

“...the last time you found out my identity, Chat Noir was akumatized….” she sniffled.

Adrien’s stomach plummeted. “Wait, what? What do you mean? What last time? And I--er--I never saw any footage of Chat Noir as an akuma! I mean, unless you count Copycat, which I don’t.”

Adrien wished he could forget THAT day.

“You’re right, he hasn’t been akumatized…” Marinette agreed. “...not anymore, anyway.”

Shadows of an abandoned city haunted Marinette’s eyes as she gazed out over Paris. Adrien couldn’t see what she was seeing...and yet he shuddered .

“But in an alternate timeline…” Marinette whispered. “...you found out my identity. And somehow it led to Chat Noir finding out my identity….which led to him being akumatized.”

An alternate timeline? A faint shudder glided along Adrien’s shoulders, phantoms of a life he never lived chilling him to the bone.

“But….but how? I only figured out your identity today,” Adrien replied.

“It wasn’t always this way….do you remember the beret I brought you from your fanclub in Brazil?”

“Yeah! I love that beret! But that was a while ago...what does that have to do with this?”

Ladybug bit her lip. “Well….that beret was actually from me. Marinette. I meant to give it to you as Marinette, but you weren’t home...so I left it in your room as Ladybug. In the original timeline, I signed my name on the card and bugged out without being seen...or at least that’s what I thought. But then Bunnix grabbed me and brought me to the future that mistake led to...a future where Chat Noir had been akumatized and...and bad things happened.

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you Adrien, I do!! But somehow, you learning my secret identity led to Chat’s akumatization….”

Adrien considered his next words carefully. If he’d been akumatized for knowing Ladybug’s identity in the past--or, well, in the future--he had to tell her the truth about his own identity.

Maybe doing so would prevent anything bad from happening this time around.

“Well, I’m not sure why Chat Noir would have gotten akumatized...but I think I know how he was able to figure out your identity….” he said thoughtfully.

“What? How??”

“Well, Chat and I both have a similar...perspective on things…” Adrien said slowly. “...you could say that, if I figured out your identity, Chat would too.”

“but...but...you mean you told him?” Marinette asked incredulously. “I don’t understand.”

Adrien bit his lip before continuing. “Well, when two beautiful girls, one with a mask and one without, ask you to trust them twice in the same week, it’s hard NOT to see behind the second girl’s mask and find the first girl beneath.”

Ladybug’s eyes narrowed, the gears in her head turning. “But...I barely talked to you as Marinette last week...the only other person I asked to trust me is….”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Chat.”

A roguish glint twinkled in Adrien’s eye.

“We should hang out like this more often, m’lady.”

….

“Oh my gosh. Ohhh my gosh. Oh my GOSH OH MY GOSH.”

Marinette was hyperventilating, looking around in every direction but at Adrien, as if searching for some sort of clarity in the vast city sprawling below them.

“You’re Chat Noir. You’re CHAT NOIR. YOU’VE BEEN CHAT NOIR ALL THIS TIME OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH it all makes SENSE but it also DOESN’T OH GOSH.”

“Are...are you upset?” Adrien dared to ask as Marinette paused to take a few breaths. “I know you wanted us to keep our identities a secret, but--” “Upset?” Marinette let out a strained laugh. “No, no, I’m not upset. I just….all this time...two of the people I care about more than anything in the world...they’ve been the same person. It’s just...I...it’s a lot to process…”

“Believe me.” Adrien squeezed her hand gently. “I know the feeling.

“Do you want me to transform? Would that make you feel more comfortable with...all this?”

“No, no!!” Marinette stuttered, gesturing about. “I mean! If you want to transform, that’s fine! But if you don’t want to, that’s fine too! Whatever you want to do...anything is fine.”

Her gaze was still distant. She wouldn’t look at him.

“...are you thinking about the future?” Adrien asked, trying to ignore the pit of dread slowly forming in his gut.

“....maybe….” Marinette replied softly. She clenched her eyes shut, as if to chase away the images haunting her mind.

“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe we can figure out how I got akumatized back then, figure out how to keep it from happening again.”

“No…” Marinette took a deep breath. “I think it might be best if I took you home. I don’t want your father discovering you’ve been gone for so long, considering how he’s been treating you this week.

“Or, you know, if you’d rather transform and go home yourself, that’s alright too! I just...I think I need more time to think about all this. Before we figure out how things are going to work from here.”

“Will I need to give my miraculous back?”

Marinette finally looked at him at that.

“Are you kidding? No one can be my partner but you, Chaton. You’re irreplaceable. You know that.”

She caressed his palm with the tip of her thumb.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

For a few seconds, Marinette and Adrien sat in silence...Marinette finding the partner she’d grown to depend on and care for so much in the features of the boy she’d loved from the day they met, and Adrien seeing beyond the mask of his lady for the girl who’d been there for him since they shared an umbrella on a fateful rainy day.

Adrien broke the silence with a whispered request.

“...do you mind taking me home? I think Plagg is asleep in my jacket, and I’d hate to wake him.”

“...I’d be happy to.”

…..

It was our love that did this to the world, m’lady.

The words echoed in Ladybug’s head like a warning siren as she soared over Paris, their volume only amplified by the proximity of the boy she cradled in her free arm.

Chat Noir loved her.

ADRIEN loved her.

And that love had destroyed their world.

Learning the identity of her partner brought many of the walls Marinette had constructed around her feelings crashing down. She now understood just how deeply she cared for Chat Noir...understood why the feelings lingering beneath the surface of her subconscious felt right, even though she loved Adrien so much already.

Those feelings were one and the same. And now?

They were stronger and ever.

But new walls were already sprouting to take the place of the old ones.

Because now, loving Adrien--AND loving Chat--meant risking everything.

Paris.

The world.

And above all….Adrien himself.

Marinette never wanted him to suffer the heartache and devastation his alternate counterpart had. How could she confess her feelings to him when she knew the horrible outcome that could follow it? That had ALREADY followed it?

Maybe Bunnix wouldn’t be able to save them this time.

She couldn’t reveal her feelings. Not yet, anyway.

It wasn’t safe.

….

“Thank you for tonight, Mari...uh...Ladybug...I feel better than I have in a long time.”

A smile tugged at Marinette’s lips as she swung to a stop at Adrien’s window and helped her partner climb inside. She remained outside, still held taut by her yo-yo string. “I’m glad I was able to help...even if YOU took our discussion in a direction I never would have expected.”

Adrien smirked. “Cats have a way of bringing things out of the bag.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a grin. “So I’ve learned.”

“You know, speaking of our discussion....” Adrien leaned out over the railing until he was looking up at Ladybug as she dangled a few feet above him. “Hearing you say how loved I am as Ladybug reminded me of how compassionate and caring you are as Marinette, which was more or less definitive proof that you ARE Marinette, you know?

“But...even if that was a very ‘Marinette’ thing of you to say...I can’t help but wonder who you were referring to. Who could love me that much?”

“Uhh, uhhhh…..”

Marinette was blushing and CURSING herself for blushing because this was a matter of literal life-and-death but she just couldn’t help it. She’d been relying on the elusiveness of her identity to conceal the fact she was talking about her own love for Adrien as Ladybug, but now that they knew each other’s identities, that elusiveness had been nullified...and she’d basically admitted her feelings to Adrien already.  

“Our friends!” she finally stuttered, doing her best to sound casual.

“Our friends love you! And our teachers! And myself, of course, because of COURSE I love you! Er, as my friend! Just like Alya loves you! Or Nino!”

Adrien couldn’t help but smile at her rambling explanation, even if the words themselves weren’t quite what he was hoping for. There was the Marinette he knew and...well…

He didn’t allow his mind to finish that statement.

“That’s what I figured!” he replied with a smile. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, anyway, I should probably head home…” Marinette said, already envisioning flopping on her bed and shrieking at Tikki for a couple of hours. “I still have some studying to do.”

“I guess I’ll see you at school on Monday,” Adrien replied. “Or maybe for patrol before then?”

“Maybe!” Marinette replied with a smile. “And Adrien…

“If you ever need to escape or just, you know, sneak out and hang out with our friends...just let me know. Ladybug is always willing to protect an unsuspecting akuma target or potential akuma victim by stealing him away for a few hours.”

There was a hint of truth in the latter part of that statement that didn’t really resonate with Marinette until it left her tongue. Adrien, fortunately, didn’t seem to pick up on it at all, as his face was beaming.

“I’ll definitely take you up on that, m’lady.”

“Good. Well, uh...bug out, I guess!”

Marinette tugged on the yo-yo string, prepared to make her exit as gracefully as possible.

...but her yo-yo apparently had other plans tonight.

Perhaps by chance, perhaps by luck, or perhaps by divine kwami intervention, Ladybug’s yo-yo did not send her shooting into the sky as it normally did. Rather, it sent her barreling downward.

Not too far downward, fortunately.

Just far enough to crash into Adrien’s lips with her own.

The first few seconds were a kaleidoscope of emotions and feelings and sensations because THEY HADN’T DISCUSSED THEIR FEELINGS and this would make things AWKWARD and ADRIEN DIDN’T THINK MARINETTE LIKED HIM THAT WAY AT ALL and MARINETTE COULDN’T LET ADRIEN KNOW JUST HOW MUCH SHE CARED because THE WORLD WAS AT STAKE.

...but the softness of Adrien’s lips against hers rapidly tore down the walls Marinette had hastily constructed barely an hour ago.

He loved her.

She loved him.

Maybe their situation was complicated, sure, but...they loved each other.

Maybe the world was at stake...but it had always been the two of them against the world, hadn’t it?

Adrien’s first instinct was to go rigid as Marinette melted into the kiss. She didn’t like him, right? She just wanted to be friends, right?? This couldn’t be happening...right??? But as Ladybug gently cradled his face with her hand, Adrien realized he might have been wrong about all that.

It would have been quite a sight for the papers and blogs. Paris’s favorite hero and their favorite star, tenderly expressing their love for one another under a moonlit sky.

But Lady Luck was on their side tonight...the streets of Paris were quiet.

This moment was theirs and theirs alone.

….

“...so...I think I understand who you were referring to earlier….” Adrien whispered, eyes wide.

“You know….when you said I was loved in ways I couldn’t even imagine….”

Marinette’s eyes twinkled as she brushed a lock of golden hair behind his ear and leaned in to press a kiss against his cheek.

“You always were a smart kitty.”

The rational part of Marinette’s brain reminded her of why she’d been so adamant not to let this happen in the first place, and she flinched.

“We can talk more about...this...on patrol…” she said, “but for now...let’s just agree to keep everything between us, okay?”

Perhaps in the other timeline, she and Adrien had dated publicly, which led to Hawkmoth discovering their identities, Marinette reasoned. Keeping their feelings for one-another a secret might allow them to be together while also protecting themselves.

“Whatever you say, m’lady,” Adrien replied dreamily.

He didn’t need the world to know how lucky he felt to love and be loved by such an amazing girl.

All that mattered was that he knew.

“Goodnight, my beautiful princess…” he whispered.

Marinette blushed, the warmth of their kiss still lingering on her lips and the joy of finally, FINALLY expressing her feelings to Adrien bringing tears to her eyes.

They’d find a way to make this work.

They WERE Ladybug and Chat Noir, after all.

“Sleep well, my prince.”

...

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I hope it was worth the wait!! :)

[nerdypanda3126]

MariChat May Day 2 - Bell

Chat Noir offers to take Marinette home

Read on Ao3

Chat Noir was out for a run. Just some fresh air before he had to get home and finish his homework. He paused on a rooftop near Notre Dame to watch the sunset. This was his favorite time of day, right before the sun sank over the horizon. The sky was smeared with pinks and purples and blues, the lights were just starting to come on all over the city, and there was an ease in the air, like a sigh of relief right before the night falls.

He couldn’t help but glance over to Marinette’s balcony. It was part of his routine now. He never went there anymore, but he liked to picture her leaning over her balcony railing and smiling at something she was thinking about. He liked to picture her happy and in love, her heartbreak eased and her crush requited. Like his would never be. He looked back to Notre Dame just as the light faded. He should be getting back.

But as he turned to start his loop home, he caught sight of Marinette’s pigtails under the lamplight in the park next to the school. Surely he could spare a few more minutes. He redirected himself midswing.

Marinette didn’t look up when he perched on the streetlight above her. She was absorbed in whatever she was working on, her pencil moving across the page hurriedly. She was writing something. Their homework, maybe? But she didn’t have a textbook near her. It looked more like a diary. As he watched, she straightened up to stretch, sighing deeply. She looked around and seemed to notice that the light had changed. She started to pack up her pencils in the bag she always had on her hip. Maybe he could offer to help her home? He perked up at the thought. It would be chivalrous of him to at least offer, right? After all, it was getting dark.

With his objective in mind, he slid down the streetlight smoothly, landing next to her and twirling his tail for effect. She still hadn’t noticed him. Quick, come up with a smooth line.

"Feline inspired by the night air, princess?"

She jumped, spinning around on the bench to look at him, and holding a hand to her heart. When she saw it was him, she let her breath out in a huff.

“Someone needs to put a bell on you,” she muttered, arranging the half-moon shaped journal in her bag and clasping it shut.

He smirked, even though she wasn’t looking. “Already been done, I’m afraid.” He flicked the bell at his throat and it jingled softly. She turned to look at him again, narrowing her eyes at the bell in question.

“Well it didn’t work,” she stood and clutched at the strap of her bag. “You scared me. What are you doing here, anyways?”

"Meowch, princess,” he put on his most wounded expression and covered his heart with his hand. “And here I was going to offer you an escort home, superhero style.” He unlatched his baton from his back to spin it over his knuckles. She turned her head to gauge the distance home, and looked back at him.

“I do need to be getting home.”

He offered his hand to her and was rewarded by a soft smile as she took it. He placed it on his shoulder and she brought her other hand up around the back of his neck.

"Hang on tight, okay?"

She nodded before she hid her face into his shoulder and he extended his baton to get them up to the rooftops, using one arm to hold her to him around her lower back. She fit so snugly against him. It made him reluctant to swing her up to carry her so he could start running.

"So why were you out in the park so late?" He asked, more to fill the silence than anything. It was probably just because he was running that his heart was pounding, that's all it was.

"I just needed a breath of fresh air." Her grip tightened around his neck, and she nuzzled closer, barely jingling his bell as his collar flexed. It definitely wasn't conscious when he flexed his biceps around her. It was just to soften the blow of that land, he told himself.

"Same here."

"Fresh air can't be that hard to come by as a superhero."

"You'd be surprised," he grumbled. She pulled away to look at him, but he set his jaw and kept his eyes forward. He had to set her down again to readjust so he could helicopter down, extending his baton at just the right time to vault them both up to her balcony.

He perched on her railing as she slid away from him, touching her toes down first. She lingered for just a moment before unclasping her hands from around his neck. It was enough for him to glimpse the stars reflected in her eyes.

The fairy lights strung behind her gave her an ethereal glow. When she smiled up at him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, it made him lose his balance momentarily and he leaned on his baton to support himself.

“Thanks for getting me home, Chat.” She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her hips, rocking forward onto her toes before falling back again. He got her home, and now he should go.

But then a look crossed her face. It took him a minute to place it until he realized it was the same look he pictured her having whenever he thought about her. A soft blush on her cheeks, her face tilted up to the sky, a happy glow in her eyes.

His heel slipped forward, and he just barely managed to catch himself with his hands behind his back on the railing, his bell jangling noisily and his baton clattering to the ground. Marinette panicked and reached forward at the same time to help him, grabbing onto the bell in her haste. But with his momentum and her pulling him forward, he stumbled into her, their faces inches apart. He pulled his hands in to rest on her hips to steady them both.

They both paused, trying to process what just happened. When their eyes met again, they both chuckled nervously. It sparked a memory for him of the other time he held her as they danced at Chloe’s party. The blush that bloomed across her cheeks was the same then as it was now.

An idea struck him and he took Marinette’s hand from around his bell to spin her once before kneeling down to brush his lips against her knuckles. This time he had nothing to blame for his pounding heart, other than his everyday Ladybug was standing in front of him, and she wasn’t pulling her hand out of his grasp.

He scooped up his baton and stood a step or two back, clearing his throat. She hadn’t moved, still staring at the spot where he had been kneeling.

“I’d better be getting home, myself.” He finally managed to say. “I hope we bump into each other again,” he admitted before giving her a two finger salute and vaulting himself over her railing. But he would have to wait on a ledge below her to stop his knees from shaking before he could go anywhere.

From somewhere above him, he heard Marinette stammer a belated goodbye, and that seemed familiar to him, too.    

***

@marichatmay

[angelofrainfrogs]

(You’re A) Sky Full of Stars

Fandoms: Good Omens

Description: A night of stars, memories, and an angel finding another way to express her love to the demon she cares for.

Rating: K+

Genre: Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274096

This story was written for @freyjawriter24 during the 2020 Ineffable Wives Fic Exchange. Check out the collection here: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wivesexchange2020

Cause you're a sky, you're a sky full of stars Such a heavenly view You're such a heavenly view

-“Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay

***

“Crowley, what are you doing outside in this weather?! You’re getting absolutely soaked!”

Aziraphale’s voice cut through the torrential downpour thanks to a minor ethereal nudge, but Crowley didn’t seem to hear. The demon was facing the sky, rain pelting her face but miraculously missing her eyes as she gazed up at the dark clouds.

“Oh, honestly,” Aziraphale huffed, then grabbed an umbrella from the stand next to the sliding glass door and stepped out into the rain herself. She walked quickly over to Crowley and touched her elbow, lifting the umbrella over the demon’s head. Only when Crowley’s view was obscured did she finally acknowledge the angel at her side.

“Ah… Aziraphale.” A soft, almost dreamy smile crossed the demon’s face, still dripping with rainwater. “What are you doing out here?”

“Saving you from having to miracle yourself free of a cold,” Aziraphale responded, lightly tugging Crowley’s arm. “Come inside, love, let’s get you warmed up by the fire.”

“I was trying to see the stars,” Crowley said slowly, allowing herself to be pulled into the quaint cottage.

“Tonight?” Aziraphale frowned, shutting the door and successfully cutting them off from the dismal weather outside. Her frown deepened as rainwater soaked the rug, dripping off Crowley’s now slightly shivering form. She suppressed a sigh and gently guided Crowley towards the living room. “How about we get you into some dry clothes, and you can tell me why exactly you wanted to stare up at the sky on a night you knew was going to be raining like mad, hmm?”

“Yeah… sure,” Crowley responded, still dazed. Once they’d gotten into the living room, they came to a stop and Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Would you rather I miracle you a new outfit, or would you like to get changed the old-fashioned way?” the angel asked. She had a feeling Crowley would prefer to use the quicker route, but they both had agreed long ago never to use miracles on each other without asking, no matter what the occasion—they could never be sure what an accidental overdose of ethereal or occult power would do.

Crowley shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Well, we’ll have to use one anyway to get this water off the rug, so we might as well be consistent.” Aziraphale snapped, and soon Crowley’s rain-soaked jeans and Queen t-shirt were replaced with a pair of black sleep shorts and an equally black tank-top. Before Crowley could say thank you, Aziraphale snapped again and the demon was wrapped in a baggy, tan jumper. Instinctively, Crowley snuggled into the jumper with a smile, surrounded by her angel’s comforting scent.

“Oh, my sweet love,” Aziraphale breathed, melting at the sight, and gave Crowley a soft kiss on the cheek. Crowley’s smile widened and Aziraphale was relieved to see the familiar light in the demon’s eyes.

“Sorry about that, Angel,” Crowley apologized, gently grasping one of Aziraphale’s hands and rubbing soothing circles over the back of it. “I didn’t mean to worry you; just got wrapped up in my head again, is all.”

“So I noticed,” Aziraphale replied, though there was no bite to the words. Returning the pressure of Crowley’s hand, she led her over to the couch and sat, with Crowley automatically perching next to her. Aziraphale smiled and patted her chest, which Crowley promptly fell onto face-first.

“I love you,” the demon said softly, voice muffled, and Aziraphale laughed.

“I love you, too, dear,” she replied, running her fingers through Crowley’s shock of red hair, slightly poofy from the miracle-dry. The demon wore it shoulder-length these days, its texture never able to fully decide between wavy or curly. It hadn’t taken long for the pair of supernatural beings to realize that they both enjoyed the sensation of playing with Crowley’s hair, whether by styling it into ostentatious fashions or simply running tender fingers through it, as Aziraphale was currently doing.

“…There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight,” Crowley said after a while, shifting so that she could be heard more clearly. Aziraphale’s hand paused briefly, wondering where this conversation was leading. “I… like to watch them—the showers.”

“I see,” the angel responded, deciding it best to let Crowley explain in her own time. She resumed stroking the demon’s hair, and Crowley sighed into the touch.

“Yeah, I dunno, it… makes me sentimental, I guess, looking up at the sky. ‘Specially when there’s big cosmic events happening, like meteor showers.” Crowley let out a dull laugh. “When I look at the stars I helped hang, I can sometimes remember what it felt like Up There. I mean, you know, when it was good.”

Crowley paused, sparing a glance at Aziraphale, who chose not to comment on her choice of wording. After the events of the failed Apocalypse, Aziraphale had come to realize that Heaven’s definition of “good” didn’t necessarily line up with her own, nor with what it had been at the Beginning, back when most concepts were nothing more than a vague passing thought.

“Go on, love,” the angel prompted, and Crowley nodded and focused back on the ground.

“Right, so… nighttime reminds me of back then. Hanging the stars in the sky, making special patterns for others to discover later—those are some of my best memories from Up There.” She gave a sad smile. “And I know that meteors aren’t actually stars, just bits of space rock, but they light up just a brightly when they fall. And when I see them falling, it… well, it sometimes makes me think of… other things, too.”

Crowley broke off as Aziraphale let out a small noise, realizing the implications of what the demon was trying to say. She held Crowley tighter, pressing them closer together and hoping that Crowley could feel her love through the embrace. She knew that the demon’s ability to feel love wasn’t nearly as strong as hers, but it was certainly there, despite how much Crowley grumbled in denial. Her plan seemed to work, for Crowley nuzzled closer and let out a sigh that was definitely not shaky in the slightest.

“I’m fine, really,” the demon said resolutely, trying to discreetly dab at her eyes with an oversized sleeve.

“Crowley, it’s alright,” Aziraphale soothed, pushing gently so Crowley sat up and faced her. The demon looked every which way but directly at Aziraphale until the angel touched her cheek and softly guided her gaze to where it should be. An unfathomable depth of kindness, coupled with another emotion that Crowley couldn’t totally identify, shone in Aziraphale’s eyes. “You have every right to feel the way you do. I’m… I’m so sorry—”

“Oh no, I don’t think so!” Crowley snapped, pressing a finger to Aziraphale’s lips. The angel’s eyebrows raised in astonishment but Crowley paid this no mind. “Don’t start getting sappy on me, Angel, and don’t you dare even think about trying to apologize for what happened. That was eons ago and you had absolutely nothing to do with it. We’ve already been over this, remember?”

Aziraphale pouted, but stayed silent. Crowley nodded and slowly removed her hand, only to gently cup the angel’s cheek, mirroring Aziraphale’s gesture from moments ago.

“Look, I just get a bit melancholy sometimes,” she went on. “I promise you, I’m fine. Like I said, sometimes I just think too much.”

“I believe you’re thinking just the right amount,” Aziraphale said with a soft smile. “But I understand. And I’ll respect your wish and drop the subject.”

Crowley grinned back at her. “Thanks, Angel.”

“Of course, dearheart.”

The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence, Crowley’s thumb occasionally running over Aziraphale’s cheekbone. They stared into each other’s eyes, becoming lost in the moment, and soon Crowley felt herself leaning forward in anticipation of a sweet, angelic kiss. Suddenly Aziraphale gasped and clapped her hands together, making Crowley reel back.

“What?!” the demon yelped, startled.

“I’ve just had a wonderful idea!” Aziraphale exclaimed, standing up. She pulled Crowley to her feet, a huge smile lighting up her face. “I’ve been saying that this room could use some more light anyway, so this would be just the thing…”

“For Satan’s sake, Angel, we had a moment going on there… Care to fill me in on your intrusive thoughts?” Crowley asked, trailing after Aziraphale as she began to walk around the cozy living room, gazing up at the vaulted wooden ceiling. After a moment, Aziraphale nodded to herself and then spun to face Crowley, her eyes sparkling.

“I was thinking that since this is a time in our lives for new beginnings, maybe you would like to make some new memories tonight. Not to replace any old ones, mind you, but to add to them.”

“I’m… still not quite following.” Crowley tilted her head questioningly, eyebrows furrowed.

Aziraphale chuckled and held out a hand, palm-up. She snapped her fingers and a small, golden sphere appeared, floating just above her hand. A soft light emitted from the center of the object, obscured by a swirling layer of gaseous substance that shimmered and shifted by some internal force. Crowley stared at it, slack-jawed.

“Is that…,” she began, reaching out tentatively, then flinching back as if the golden ball would burn her.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied softly, noting Crowley’s wide eyes and not wanting to spook the demon any further. “It’s a star. Well, as close to one as I could get; you are the expert, after all, so you may need to help me with the others to make sure they look right. Oh, and it’s just a mock-up, of course; we can’t have the real thing in this tiny cottage, unfortunately.”

“Aziraphale, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“I was hoping that, maybe, you would like to help me hang them?”

Crowley’s brow furrowed again, confused. “In here?”

“Well, unless you’d rather hang them in the greenhouse; you do so love your plants, and I bet some of them would enjoy more light than this cloudy countryside can give them.”

There was a beat of silence. Crowley’s eyes suddenly filled with moisture, and for a terrible moment Aziraphale thought that she was going to burst into tears. Piercing anxiety at misjudging Crowley’s reaction began creeping up the angel’s spine, but that was soon quashed when Crowley pulled her into a crippling hug. She had just enough time to throw the star into the air, where it floated up to rest at the highest point on the ceiling.

“How did I get so lucky?” Crowley murmured into Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel laughed, pulling her closer, and Crowley could feel the smile against her cheek.

“I should be the one asking that question,” Aziraphale responded. Crowley shifted, standing up straight to face her angel and gently grasping her hands. Aziraphale’s grin was absolutely blinding, overcoming all other lights in the room.

At this passing thought, Crowley raised her head and gazed at the little star hovering by the ceiling. She hummed thoughtfully and lifted one hand, pointing to a spot a slightly to the left. The star followed her unspoken command, settling comfortably into place, and Crowley grinned.

“Alright, Angel,” Crowley said, glancing at Aziraphale, who was watching her with an expression of absolute adoration. Crowley focused on her hand, now palm-up, unsuccessfully fighting the blush on her face. “Let’s make some stars.”

“Gladly, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, smiling wider at her love’s embarrassment at such open affection. She snapped and another ball of starlight appeared in Crowley’s hand, this one smaller than the first. Crowley looked towards the ceiling again, plotting out the entirety of the sky they were about to create. When she found the perfect location, she threw the star into the air and it floated up, landing exactly where intended.

Crowley met Aziraphale’s gaze again and laughed, giddy with excitement. Another set of starts were miracled, and Crowley directed their placement, already beginning the tail end of a constellation.

A few hours later, the pair had settled back onto the couch, a book in Aziraphale’s hand and a tired demon in her lap. Aziraphale’s free hand traced lazy circles on Crowley’s back, occasionally running through the demon’s hair, both of them content underneath a private starry sky that they could truly call their own.  

[yamayamawrites]

Castaway AU - Coming Later This Winter!

Hey friends! If you’ve been following me for a while you probably know/have heard that I’m working on another big fic to rival Mr. Loverman (which you can find here on ao3 if you haven’t read it yet, it’s 20 chapters and ~103K completed). And as a special treat for all of you who follow me on here, I wanted to share a sneak peek of what’s to come! I’m super excited about this one guys, I have a beta reader and everything (she’s the best, an absolute gem)!! 

But first, I need to tell you what it’s about. Izuku is a famous photographer/social media celebrity, just returned home from yet another trip abroad. He decides to take his sailboat out for a trip to get some final photos and top off his portfolio for the month, but he ends up falling asleep on his boat. What happens when he wakes up on the shore of a secluded island with a strange man shaking him awake?

(Please forgive me, I haven’t touched up the summary just yet.)

Anyways, if you’re interested in reading a sneak peek of the first chapter, please click the ‘read more’ option below!

June 30, 06:48am

It’s hard not to feel some sort of rush, being awake this early.

Izuku has always been a morning person, and even more so in the summertime, when the sun wakes with him. Like today! The sun is up just moments after he is, peeking out from the shroud of ocean it hid behind. Izuku is home today, his second night home after his latest trip (he’d gone to Norway, and of course taken photos of everything). He recovered from his jet lag – yesterday he slept in until nine in the morning and was disgusted with himself – and has his swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian tee on before the sun can even cast a glare on his floor.

He lives in Horiuchi, a small town with a beautiful beach. His apartment is small – mostly because he spends so little time in his actual apartment that it’s more of a postcard address than anything. It has a single bedroom, a kitchen with a dining table crammed in its center, and a living space about big enough for Izuku’s couch and a wall-mounted television. And even then, Izuku often ends up vaulting the couch to get through.

But the balcony is beautiful, outstretching over his view of Morito Coast. The apartment isn’t as costly as some of the others with worse views, probably in part because this isn’t a vacation town but also because nobody wants to live in the shoebox Izuku lives in. Before him, there hadn’t been an inhabitant in the apartment in well over six months, and they gave Izuku a pretty hefty discount on the place even though Izuku said he’d take it full price.

Izuku throws back the curtains to his balcony door (after vaulting his couch), allows the sunlight to wash over the ground. He opens the balcony door wide, the fresh sea air pouring into his apartment, the cool wash of the last remnants of summer night coming through. It almost makes him shiver, and it does push his rowdy curls into even more awkward angles than before, but he opens his arms anyway to the fresh air.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture, as he always does on mornings he’s home. Though he isn’t around much in the summer, the photos of the sun rising over Morito Coast always seem to be more popular than the rest, and Izuku supposes he will never truly know why. He does suspect, though, that it’s because the view is just so perfect.

He nearly forgets to eat breakfast before he starts his live stream, seats himself out on the balcony in his little lawn chair and enjoys the wash of the summer sun slowly creeping up his bare legs. “Good morning!” he calls to the phone, waves to the camera as he’s joined by tens of thousands of people to watch his live stream. He constantly has to remind himself that not all of his fans are located in Japan – because if they were, he’d be more than surprised at how many people jump on at seven in the morning to watch him stream just talking through his day plans.

“Today I’ll be going off Morito Coast on my sailboat!” he announces brightly. He’s had this on the calendar since he was back in Norway. His sailboat is nothing special, barely large enough for three people comfortably, but he hasn’t had a chance to sail since he left almost three weeks ago and he’s anxious to get back out on the water. A few comments roll in telling him he should try surfing one of these days; he laughs it off and takes a note in the back of his brain to call Ochaco next week and have her teach him the basics.

It’s a normal stream, for the most part. Comments roll through, Izuku answers questions that reappear when he can and apologizes for the missed questions when he can’t. It’s shorter than most, and perhaps that is the most out-of-the-ordinary part of it, but otherwise it isn’t anything noteworthy.

So, then, how does it become his last?

08:16am

The sun is hot, now. On the brink of July is when summer becomes sweltering, enough even that it almost deters Izuku away from the heat. Truthfully, it’s why he went up to Norway – it’s much more temperate up there, less direct sunlight to try and inflict Izuku with skin cancer. He lathers up the sunscreen, though, and heads down to the beach – perhaps a ten-minute walk – in his flip flops, his Hawaiian shirt (now buttoned, but only twice), and his dark green swim trunks.

A few of the locals are already on the beach, and they wave to Izuku, shout good-mornings and ask how he’s doing out of courtesy. Izuku recognizes Ivanka, a retired Russian woman who lives in the next apartment building over. Her Japanese is stilted, but she likes Izuku because Izuku knows Russian. (And English, Chinese, Spanish, Italian, and a touch of French.) He recognizes the twin girls from downstairs, Kamiko and Hana, putting together a sandcastle with their mother, Rin, off to the side reading a book. Izuku’s sailboat is further down the beach, closer to the jagged rocks protruding from the water, roped there tightly to keep it from straying too far. Still, he has to yank it to shore by the rope, an activity that might have been impossible when he was scrawnier, but now barely makes him break a sweat.

The boat’s name is S.S. All Might, a silly name perhaps, but Izuku doesn’t care. He’s named after Izuku’s favorite comic book character from when he was a child, a man he always looked up to because he saved everyone with a smile. And though comic book heroes don’t exist, Izuku has vowed to make a hero of himself as best he can in this modern age, by making people smile with his goofy tourist-y photos and livestreams and videos. And though he probably should be past the comic book stage of his life by now, he keeps All Might’s spirit buried in his heart, and All Might’s vintage comic book collection buried in his closet.

He unties the anchoring rope and pushes off from the rocks. It takes a little bit to get past the waves trying to push Izuku back to shore, but they aren’t too rowdy yet today, and for that he’s thankful. Out on the water there’s a decent breeze, and it brings with it a spray of seawater that tames the bubbling heat on Izuku’s skin. As he catches a drift his boat takes off, out to sea, while he pulls the sail taut the best way he knows.

Though it probably isn’t the safest place for his cell phone, Izuku pulls it out of his swimsuit trunk pocket and captures a photo of the sun’s steady ascent past the water. There is a full separation now of the sun and the water, but it still refracts brightly on the water below, makes for a stunning stock image that will likely be the source of Izuku’s rent money this month. Perhaps next month, too. He doesn’t too much care about that, though; he flips the camera to selfie mode and holds it up, peace-signing with the sail in the corner and the sun behind him. His skin looks much tanner than he is in this angle, and his freckled shoulders are hidden underneath his Hawaiian shirt, but he plans to post it anyway – when he’s back somewhere with a cell tower, that is.

Izuku has sailed the space past Morito Coast many times. It isn’t a huge expanse of water, but it’s enough to feel like an adventure. It’s not too vast that Izuku gets lost, but vast enough that he can if he tries. But today, the wind carries him further, and he lets it. He lets it because he has a cooler secured to the floor, complete with four bottles of water and a few sandwiches in case he decides to stay out on the water longer than he’s expecting. And there’s more sunscreen, a portable charger for his phone, a change of clothes being kept dry below deck. What could another mile past his normal stopping point do?

The sunlight can only be kept at bay for so long by the spray of seawater, and Izuku is beginning to feel the heat going to his head. The sun is higher in the sky now, and Izuku can tell without even checking his phone that it’s nearing noon, with the sun beating directly onto him, thrumming like a drum. He can feel every pulse of his heart. His first three water bottles are gone and he’s nursing his fourth. Still, he smiles lazily. This is where he’s meant to be – underneath the sun. He sits on the deck of his sailboat and pulls his phone from his swim trunks again, snaps a few photos of himself with the sun hot overhead. His freckles are well-visible, and his Hawaiian shirt has been tossed aside in the heat, so his shoulders and chest (also dotted with freckles) are visible. He stretches out on the deck and holds the phone above, snapping a picture of himself lying on the sailboat deck. His abs look more defined than ever, considering the sunlight above is casting rather harsh shadows from this angle.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, and he will kick himself every day for doing it, but he closes his eyes, lets the warm summer sun be his blanket as he takes a cat nap on the deck. He’s even so bold as to dip one of his legs off the edge of the boat and into the water, like kicking his foot out from underneath a blanket in the summer when it gets too hot. And he sleeps, he sleeps through the sunlight drawing behind a cloud, and reappearing only to be drawn away again, by angry gray storm clouds that he hadn’t expected today. But when has he ever been one to check the weather?

[ineffable-writer]

I spent Christmas Eve writing about Crowley and Aziraphale on a date in Edinburgh so.

Crowley forces Aziraphale to go to the Christmas Markets and Aziraphale drags Crowley to the Dome. There’s partridge and candy floss. 

Read it here on AO3 or below the break! There are two more of these, (first and second) and I’m tagging these #PlaceWithoutPlot now since it’s apparently going to be a regular thing.

Sketch Written After a Very Good Lunch

“Must we? They’re the worst place, always put out the Christmas menu in October—”

“Yes, well. It’s the twenty-fourth, you can no longer complain that it’s not the Christmas season. Anyway, I made a reservation.”

“Miracling up a table for two doesn’t count.”

“No, no, a real reservation. Over the telephone, back when we planned this.”

They were one of hundreds of couples in the Edinburgh Christmas Market, and Aziraphale was making a show of it. He’d tucked his arm and cheek alike into Crowley while they walked. What was next, ducking into a close and—no, Crowley stopped the thought. That sounded quite nice, actually. But there was no longer a ticking clock, and neither of them felt the need to move quickly. A tryst in the close couldn’t hold a candle to bickering with Aziraphale over evening plans.

The Christmas Markets were most impressive at night, when the lights could contrast against the darkness, but they weren’t really here to enjoy themselves. Aziraphale had booked lunch reservations at The Dome and this was Crowley’s revenge. If they were going to do the couple-y Christmas experience, they were doing the entire experience, and the demon had always liked the markets anyway. The festival was crowded, playing tacky commercialized music and causing cavities in small children for months on end. From November through January, it ground out low-grade evil through Edinburgh, like the darkness and rain weren’t enough.

But this blessed angel.

Crowley should have known better. Edinburgh was one of Aziraphale’s long-term projects, after all. A city of poets and philosophers. Crowley should have known that Aziraphale would flit about the markets like the literal angel he was, nibbling on candy floss and pretzels. It wasn’t good food—it was festival food, cheap and campy—but it smelled incredible, and Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind. The screaming children around them turned into laughing children, the lovers’ quarrels into lovers’ embraces, the exhausted vendors’ scowls into relaxed shoulders and a little relief in comfortable shoes. People actually enjoyed the Ferris wheel. Crowley should have complained about the unbalanced miracling again, but it was like the angel couldn’t help himself.

And, if he were honest, Crowley didn’t mind watching. They wandered through the stalls, and Aziraphale bought an ornament for the tree in the bookshop. Crowley convinced him to go on a ride—just the merry-go-round, but it was one more than he’d expected—and they both lamented the fact that the one year they’d attended, the markets had decided to do away with the ice skating rink. By noon, they were leaning against the fence by the Walter Scott Monument as Crowley stole bits of Aziraphale’s candy floss and watching the giant swing ride. It lifted people above the monument, high above the city, and it was nothing less than a miracle that no one had thrown up on the spire yet.

“All right, you’ve got me,” said Crowley. “This was a good idea.”

“This was your idea,” said Aziraphale.

“Not the markets. The trip. Seeing ‘em.” The angel beamed. He leaned into Crowley’s arm again, cuddling against the leather jacket. It was like a breath of fresh air after six thousand years in a stale room: Crowley could breathe easier with Aziraphale there, on his arm, eating overpriced candy floss and watching young parents try to navigate a pram through the festival. “We won.”

“We won.” Aziraphale straightened up again, sniffed. “Although, to be honest, it was really our incompetence that saved—”

“Oh, hush up.” Neither of them could help laughing. “When’s our reservation?”

 It was for one-thirty, and they arrived at one-twenty-nine. The Dome was well-known for its Christmas displays, right off the top: the face of the building was now decorated in garlands (massive ones, wrapped like snakes around the grand pillars) and wreaths in every window and panel of the façade. Inside, Aziraphale was instantly (and Crowley secretly) charmed by the festivity. More garlands along the stairwells that led up to other rooms. White trees on the landings, and in the concierge area, accenting the marble floors.

Above them, Christmas trees hung suspended, illuminated by festive lights and capped at the trunk with silver-wrapped presents. They spun in the air, lazy and magical, shining with the season.

They were right in the middle of the Grill Room, which Aziraphale had almost been hoping to avoid.

Not that it was a problem: the main hall was absolutely spectacular. The room was naturally beautiful, a circular bar surrounded by the dining area and black marble columns. The floor was a delicate mosaic, the ceiling a painted plaster vault set with tiled windows. At Christmastime, a massive tree—a full story tall—had been placed above the central bar, covered in lights and baubles. It shifted through colors: red, purple, blue, gold, white. Garlands had been wrapped around the columns. Lights and poinsettias and nutcrackers were strewn through the room. It was, in Aziraphale’s opinion, just on the right side of too much. Any more and it would be tacky, but any less and it wouldn’t be magic.

But, well, it was bright, and loud, and just a touch too much for them.

Aziraphale didn’t say anything. Crowley was the one who pulled aside a waiter and asked if there was a spot free in the Club Room instead.

Wood-paneled. Still festive—trees surrounded with nutcrackers topped the divider between booths—but the massive built-in bookshelf against one wall may as well have been a sign that this was more their scene. Crowley sprawled into his chair and Aziraphale perused the menu—small plates here, not a full lunch, but they didn’t need a full lunch anyway. The angel ordered partridge and a leek roll, and the spread of Scottish cheeses when they had a moment, and Crowley found himself watching and smiling.

Aziraphale noticed, and Crowley didn’t stop. Instead he took the angel’s hand on the table, and Aziraphale squeezed.

“We’re being quite open about this today, aren’t we?”

It was the first time either of them had actually mentioned their newfound casual affection. Not that they’d been holding back; it simply hadn’t needed to be voiced. They were in the same place, here. For once. For the first time in six thousand years.

“Eh,” said Crowley, which meant yes, they were, and wasn’t that nice.

“Thank you for indulging me. I know this has all been rather silly.”

“Neh,” said Crowley, which meant, no, it wasn’t silly, and he was enjoying himself.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nyah,” said Crowley, which meant he’d sooner beg Gabriel for his wings back than talk about his feelings.

Aziraphale laughed, and he drew Crowley’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. Right there, in broad daylight, in front of a dozen nutcrackers and Christmas trees and their full-sleeve-tattoo, handlebar-mustachioed waiter. Crowley didn’t make any noise at all, just smiled, his eyes meeting the angel’s like coins against a clear sky.

When the food came he stole a few bites of Aziraphale’s partridge.

[letmeringabell]

Legends Never Die - Chapter 1

Lately, I’ve been consuming a lot of Mortal Kombat content (Especially Erron Black and Kabal ones). So I thought that I should contribute in some way to the fandom, because you just gotta be the change you see in the world sometimes.

My OC’s name in this, is Vanessa. Basically, this is an Erron x F!OC fic, where the OC is a field medic, and Kotal wants to have friendly relations with Earthrealm by calling Special Forces for a field trip. 

I’m sorry for a slow first chapter, but sometimes you gotta lay down the framework, the same way you lay down a table mat before you eat to avoid making a mess. God, I’m so hungry.

Anyway, enjoy! I’ll include a link to the AO3 fic, or you can just search for it with the same name. 

Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806688/chapters/49453874

- 

“And thus, Kotal Kahn has agreed to receive Special Forces’ Entourage as a sign of trust and cooperation between Outworld and Earthrealm.”

She hears General Blade’s voice boom throughout the hall, the entire fleet pays close attention to their leading officer-in command.

“This delegation will be led by Commander Cage. I, myself and Johnny will stay behind to watch over things here, just to make sure Earthrealm is kept in check. Take this as an opportunity to further sharpen your skills and reflexes. Don’t ever let your guard down, you never know what danger finds you in Outworld.”

There is no sugar-coating with General Blade, but it is apt for the situation.

General Blade continues on with her announcements; The time and place for the Delegation to assemble, the necessary and optional squadrons needed, and a briefing in Outworld Etiquette and Propriety later in the evening. The General ends the meeting, and dismisses everyone early to allow for preparation and packing. Every soldier needs to be fully ready; Their physical fitness at their peak, and iron-clad mental fortitude to persevere through the unknown days ahead.

Despite the warnings and precautions, the allure of danger and mysticality still has everyone whispering excitedly, or worriedly. She can’t tell at this point, because all sorts of whispers seem to drown out any distinction between the two.

What would they be doing there? What would they see in Outworld? What does Kotal Kahn want with Special Forces? Is Outworld coffee stronger than Earthrealm? Better yet, does Outworld actually have coffee?

She doesn’t stay long for the excitement nor dread that has everyone rapt in their conversation. She sees Jacqui and Cassie in the distance, and calls out to them eagerly. There are more pressing and urgent matters on hand, and she has a tendency to procrastinate.

-

“And here I thought packing my stuff would take the longest,” Cassie grumbles as she hoists another box to the corner of the room.

Jacqui is busy going through her extensive vault of books; Any journal, document, or research paper that would be useful goes in the box while others, would collect dust on the large shelf during their 6-month stay in Outworld. Jacqui is impressed by the sheer volume of reading material in the office, but silently hopes that this is the last of it. The whole sifting and sorting process is wearing her spirits down, and she feels the impending migraine pulsing at the back of her head.

“Don’t worry gals, I have come with gifts,” She comes in with a tray of hot coffee in hand, and immediately, the girls lighten up.

“God, I needed a break from all these books!”

“And I need a break from all this heavy lifting. We’ve gotta KonMari your office when we get back, Van,” Cassie says, taking the offered coffee with a tired hand and a soft thank you.

“We’re almost done, actually. All that’s left is the books, and after that, we can start moving my stuff onto the trolleys.”

“Thank God! If I have to sit through another ‘Cardio’, ‘Surgery’ and ‘Benign’, I’ll go nuts and throw the books through the roof. Why do you need so much books anyway? Most of the information is in the Special Forces Database.”

She shrugs carelessly, “Some of them are very old tomes and medical journals that are not online, and I prefer having paperback anyway. Makes jotting and scribbling little notes easier.”

“What ever you say, Doc,” Cassie holds her hands up in defeat, “Just make sure you pack for all sun and no rain, because Outworld is hot as hell.”

“No kidding. I almost got a heat stroke, and Outworld’s bedside manners aren’t exactly… up to par,” Jacqui’s grimace at the recollection is evidence enough that Outworld weather is not to be trifled with. Although, it does sound like the perfect weather to have ice cream and brownies, and every other dessert on the chilled spectrum.

Her glance moves beyond the window, into the outside world, and finally, settles at the sunset sky – The splashes of purple, pink and orange washes the sky in vivid technicolor, and it leaves her feeling some kind of way; Like she would never come to see the sunset sky the same way ever again. It is somewhat unsettling, yet, she doesn’t feel her skin prickle at the thought. Maybe it’s just her nerves or paranoia flaring up.

All of them finish packing her things up, and unloaded the boxes onto the designated trolleys. At least, she’s packed her stuff early and if she ever needed to pack more, she could just add to the load.

Cassie is the first to initiate the conversation, “So, Jacqui, Van, where do you wanna eat? We’ve got 2 whole days before we make a move, so we might as well start satisfying every craving known to man now.”

“Should we make a head start on sushi, then?” Nothing could’ve been any better.

-

Outworld is every bit as hot and dry as Jacqui and Cassie had described it to be, and she is thankful for their advice; Her medical outfit is light and loose, allowing for easier movement and a reprieve from the searing heat. She wonders whether everyone else is suffering in the heat, and if they’re cursing their decision to come to Outworld—Whether the allure of ‘I’ve been to Outworld and survived its hell’ had been worth the attraction in the first place.

Although, it is not her place to doubt the Special Forces. All of them had been trained for extreme climates and situation, and this delegation is no different. Cassie is front and center, with Jacqui at her side as her right-hand man. Everyone has their guns lock and loaded, and a contingency plan had been formed prior to their arrival should anything go wrong.

She catches a glimpse of 3 figures in the distance, and she can only guess who they are: Kotal Kahn, Kitana and Jade. They had rolled out the red carpet treatment, coming to greet the delegation themselves. The air surrounding the Force tenses in anticipation as they near the Kahns—Everyone’s standing a little straighter, and the grip on their guns tighten ever so slightly.

“Welcome to Outworld, fellow Earthrealmers,” His welcome had been loud and clear, “We hope that you enjoy whatever Outworld has to offer, and do not worry, we have prepared food and accommodation for your stay here.”

The Imperial Army had descended upon the Special Forces, (and to their relief) started helping them with their equipment and luggage. Immediately, everyone was up in arms, trying to work and sort through all the different boxes and luggage, making sure they don’t accidentally end up in the trash or some other unsavory place. She’s never went dumpster diving in Earthrealm, and she’s not going to start the habit in Outworld.

The Imperial Guard guided her through the Palace halls, and like any person with new experiences, she observed her surroundings; Talltalltall ceilings overshadowing longlonglong hallways, the pillars stand strong with their embellishments of royal red and gold, and there are windows interspersed to grant the Palace inhabitant a splendid view of the City from above. All in all, this Palace is bigger than any castle she’s seen back home.

The infirmary is nothing out of the ordinary – Cabinets filled with medical equipment and solutions, the beds are adjacent to the wall and there are people filing in out and out of the room. Her office is neat and tidy—Tables, bookshelves, and other assorted furniture had already been moved in for her comfort. I could get used to this, she mused to herself. Her office back home wasn’t this big nor spacious. It wasn’t cramped either, but one could always upgrade to bigger spaces once in a while.

There is a garden outside of her office, and its splendor can be admired from the infirmary. The spread of green stretches as far as the eye can see, yet there are fragments of oranges, reds and white that makes the garden all the more surreal. She spots the row of unknown plants in one corner of the garden, and wonders if there are herbs planted here for easy access. Maybe, she’ll ask some of the other doctors for help.

“Miss Vanessa,” The guard brings her out from her daydream, and speak of the devil, “I would like to introduce to you the Palace Doctors. They will be here to assist you should you need it.”

“Thank you, but I think I would be needing their help more than they mine.”

“Don’t be so modest, Miss Vanessa. We could all stand to learn from each other,” One of the Doctors joked, and before she knew it, she was being huddled by all these strangers. She was relieved to be welcomed so warmly, the fear of being an outcast had been an idle thought playing in the back of her head for the past few days.

The routine in the infirmary had been simple; 2 off-days, make sure that the medicine cabinet is always stocked, all rounds must be completed on schedule, paperwork must be filed, and other things she was already doing back at Earthrealm. She is reassured by the fact, that there is something that she is used to doing and it makes adjusting to life on Outworld a little easier.

Clack!

The sound of heavy footsteps against the marble floor had everyone’s breath held, there had been some sort of frenzy; Some frantic urgency that had caused them to file out of the room like a deer out of headlights. She was… confused? Confounded? What? She had walked to the doorway to find the reason for the commotion, and true enough, there had been a man at the center of it all.

Deadly—Had been the first word that came to mind. Gore and glory seem to go hand-in-hand because he shows up bloodied and slightly haggard (with mud trailing behind him, to her annoyance), yet his mere presence is enough to command everyone’s respect, is enough to have people whisper in awe and alarm at the sight of him.

He is tall—He towers over some of doctors crowding him, and even she can see that his physique is packing serious amount of muscle under all that clothing. He is dark – The tufts of brown can be seen in his sideburns, and he has a slight tan from all his days of yeehaw-ing around. Is he handsome? Hard to tell considering he has the bottom half of his face obscured with a mask.

He looks at her, and it makes her stand a little straighter. His eyes are intense, and it scares her how deeply he’s staring into her, but she still can’t look away-- Something in her tells her, forces her to hold his gaze.  It feels like forever since they’ve been staring at each other, but finally, something in his eyes change, and he subtly tips his hat off to her. Whether it is a sign of respect or acknowledgement, she doesn’t know.

But she breaks their staring contest, turns around and shuts the door behind her.

 -

1868 words

[frostedpuffs]

breathe—

breathe— Summary: Adrien had always been fond of Marinette. That was a truth he held close to his heart. When he nearly meets his fate on an otherwise peaceful autumn afternoon, his world is thrown into typhoon of muddled thoughts and vague memories. Though questions burn at his mind as he lies awake, one particular detail stays constant: a familiar face in the crowd that's been by his side every step of the way. It's a long road to recovery. But with his partner close, what's there to be afraid of? Rated: T+ Pairing(s): Adrien/Marinette

Chapter 1/2 Word count: 9,219 Also read on: ao3

He'd heard the screams before the pain even made itself known. Then it was quick, making no haste as it assaulted his body as if he'd fallen six stories and lost any ounce of breath that remained his chest.

A noise rang out—deafening to his ears—and then he was on the ground, collapsed on the surface of a stage where thousands of fans caught well more than a glimpse of what had transpired. Their faces twisted in horror and mouths were agape with their accompanying shrieks.

Panic. Panic. Panic.

A friend in the crowd. Burning—hot, wet pain in his chest and a deep red staining his hands—

then nothing.

He slept.

Everything was fuzzy.

A desolate blackness filled Adrien's vision as faint murmurs danced by his ears. His head pounded as if his brain had melted to mush. Any coherent thought had long slipped out the door, and as he tried to move—to sit up or even find the strength to open his eyes—Adrien cursed the sluggish nerves that left his body feeling like a still, lifeless form wherever he lay.

But he wasn't lifeless. He was very much alive. At least… He was pretty sure he was.

Where was he? Home?

No, no… That couldn't be right. The bed was far too uncomfortable to be his own, and there were too many voices just out of intelligible earshot. He heard his name once or twice though it was faint—the voices barely recognizable—and he could have sworn he felt someone touching his hands…

Oh.

Someone was crying.

As he listened, he noticed that the voice belonged to a girl. And not just any girl—a friend of his. His partner. He would know her anywhere.

Why was she crying? Was that her hand enveloping his own?

Oh, how he wished he could make her smile…

It's okay, he thought, so desperately wishing he could speak or even squeeze her hand. I'm fine, Ladybug.

It was too tiresome to stay awake after that.

Continue reading on ao3 or under the cut! ↓

He'd been shot.

That was what Adrien had heard from the passing whispers in the hall, anyway.

It had been sudden—quick and excruciating—but he barely remembered a thing. Well, except for the blinding, searing pain that had exploded in his chest, of course.

But that felt like forever ago.

All he could think about was that he was wrapped up in some uncomfortable bandages and his head was absolutely pounding. The sheets underneath his body were cold and sleek against his skin. He shivered as a gust of cool air chilled the room.

Adrien didn't feel like opening his eyes. That could wait; most things could. At the moment he focused solely on the sounds of people conversing somewhere and the gentle pitter-patter of heeled shoes on tile floor.

This didn't sound like home.

He wouldn't be surprised if he weren't in his bed. He had been nearly killed, apparently, and that did warrant time spent away from home… Right?

But still… It didn't mean he wanted to be nestled in some strange, bright room where the light shone through his closed eyelids.

He groaned. Pain shot up his spine as he adjusted his position. A cry rose from his throat, his brain jolting awake from the electricity that burned at his insides. With a wince he blinked open his eyes, the heaviness that dragged at them causing him to shut them the second sunlight filtered into his vision, the sudden burst of yellow rays sending a headache to pierce his skull.

Teeth gritting, Adrien sighed as he found himself slipping back into darkness. There were still voices outside, quiet and calm, mumbling about something that sounded as if it was of great importance. His name came up a few times, as well as the words "lucky" and "healing", which didn't do anything to clear his muddled thoughts. Truthfully, he was confused.

There was a terrible dry feeling in his mouth. His tongue felt like cotton as he ran it over his teeth. Licking his lips, Adrien wheezed, his voice nothing more than a cracked whisper as he pleaded for someone to bring him some water.

Nobody came.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

For the first time in his life, Adrien wished he were home.

He woke up again the next day to the sound of someone saying his name.

Still, it was hard to find the energy to open his eyes. Though from the lack of light penetrating his eyelids, he assumed the sun had already set.

"Adrien's doing better," someone said, their voice soft yet ultimately unfeeling. "The authorities are continuing their search for the shooter, but it's been days and there's still no sign of the culprit."

Another voice joined in, higher in pitch. They spoke with such emotion in their tone. "And what about his father?"

The first voice—one Adrien assumed belonged to a female—answered, "Gabriel's been… Drawn back. He hasn't left his room much. Hasn't visited." The woman sighed. "I'm afraid he's in shock. It's like he's pretending this whole thing hasn't even happened. Having this occur during Fashion Week of all times definitely doesn't help the situation in the slightest."

So, his father hadn't visited him once. If Adrien could've mustered the strength to move, he would have scowled—perhaps even cried. Though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Gabriel was never one to openly show his feelings. Not even when Adrien needed him to.

(Hell, especially when he needed him to.)

He swallowed thickly. His throat felt tight with the urge to sob.

"He hasn't even visited his own son?" the other voice asked, aghast. It was another woman, though she sounded far more kind. "What kind of father doesn't visit their own child in the hospital after he's been shot in the chest? That's despicable. Why, if it were my daughter in that bed, I'd—"

"We're well aware of what you'd do, Madame Cheng," the first woman sniffed. "But as Gabriel's assistant I must ask you to refrain from throwing insults. He's doing the best he can right now, especially considering Paris Fashion Week had to be cancelled due to this… Mishap. This whole thing has turned the event into a mess."

Madame Cheng…? Why did that name sound so familiar?

Adrien tried to speak up, but his voice fizzled and died in his chest. If only it wasn't so hard to open his eyes…

Madame Cheng huffed. "Is that all you and Gabriel care about? Fashion week? Look, I'm sorry to break it to you, but his one and only child nearly died. You were there. His father was there, my daughter was there. We all saw it. In fact—" her voice became louder, causing Adrien's head to ache, "—you can tell Gabriel that if it hadn't been for Marinette, his son would be dead right now, no thanks to him. What kind of father just stands there while his son is bleeding out on a stage in front of him—"

"You and your family have done enough," spat the first woman. "I must ask you to leave the room now, Madame Cheng, as you're causing a scene. You might wake the boy with your outbursts."

Wake him? But he was already awake.

Madame Cheng's voice cracked as she continued. "That boy is your boss' only son! His child. My daughter saved his life—not you, Nathalie, and certainly not his father. I came here to see if he was okay. What are you here for? To see him wake up and get out of bed like everything is fine? For him to be ready to go back to modelling on a stage where he was nearly murdered? What kind of a family are you?"

"This is none of your concern—"

"I'm just worried about Adrien!" Madame Cheng cried. "You treat him like he's—he's a prop to be played with, not a teenager! He deserves to be loved, Nathalie, not ignored while he's recovering from an attempted homicide. This is negligence—"

"You need to leave. This does not involve you."

"It does involve me when my daughter is at home crying her eyes out because her friend almost died and his own father acts like he doesn't even care!"

Adrien groaned, the increase in volume of the two women's voices causing his headache to assault him from the back of his neck. He hissed as he moved his arm; a needle poked at his skin from the inside. "Can you both please stop yelling?" he pleaded, raspy voice barely above a whisper. "It hurts."

Stunned silence was his reply.

He drifted off again after that.

He was flying.

Dashing across the city rooftops, he soared with his baton, spinning his wrists in a circular motion that was perfect for vaulting him into the sky. He twirled, the night's breeze flowing like salty summer air through his hair as it left memories of sunsets on his skin. The atmosphere was warm and easy, and as his metal-tipped boots skidded across the slick panels of Parisian apartments, he slipped—but he wasn't afraid.

No, he could never be. Not when he was transformed. Not when he was free.

His baton caught him in an alleyway, poised perfectly between two walls. He dropped feet-first onto the pavement below, dusting off his hands before springing himself back into the starlight. The moon's familiar weight settled on his shoulders, and it was with a grin on his face that Adrien took her for a ride, black tail whipping behind him as a reminder that he was home.

The city at night was his home.

Claws tracing down the well-worn brick of an aged building, Adrien took a moment to pause. He needn't catch his breath. No, he wasn't tired, but he wanted to simply allow himself a minute of stillness—of peace.

The brick was rough against his back. Adrien could feel his hair brushing the surface as he rested his head.

"Taking a nap on duty?"

Ladybug's voice was like honey to his ears. The sound was sweet as his eyes met hers, and that gorgeous blue he'd seen in all of his dreams shone like stars. It was—no, she was captivating, her black tresses dancing in the late night breeze as she carded her fingers through the strands. She'd forgone the twin ponytails and instead let it flow free. It was a gorgeous sight to behold.

Adrien's fingers tingled with the desire to brush her fringe out of her face.

He wanted to reply to her. He wanted to. But his voice wasn't in his chest tonight, as his heart was beating far too loudly for him to muster the strength to respond. Instead, Adrien scooted closer as she placed herself next to him, black-dotted suit matching the dark color of his own. Her skin smelled of cinnamon as he pressed his cheek against her shoulder.

"I'll always be with you," he wanted to say. "I love you."

But his lips were frozen, and suddenly he was on the ground with his gaze trained toward the sky. His chest burned wetly. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Adrien pulled his clawed hands back in terror as he noticed they were covered in blood.

His own blood, he realized, his stomach churning sickly at the gushing hole in his chest as red-stained tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Adrien," Ladybug cried, her face pale in terror. Her lips trembled as she screamed, "Get up! You have to get up! You have to be okay. Please!"

She was fading. Her face glitched like pixels in a corrupted computer program, and as she lifted her bare hands, her face—void of any mask—was blurred. But the choked sound of her sobs was unmistaken.

"Adrien," she bawled, voice full of despair. It was agony to his ears. "Please, please don't die."

His eyes snapped open.

With a throat like sandpaper, he looked around. The room he was in was small and empty save for himself, and it smelled of chemicals and cleaner. It was the same hospital room he'd been in for the last couple of days, he assumed. However, this was the first time he'd actually been able to see it.

His body hurt with every breath. Who knew breathing could be so painful?

Adrien could feel the dampness of tears on his cheeks. With a sigh so heavy it caused his chest to ache, he shuddered, trying to rid the memory of the horror his dream had presented him as a figure entered his room.

He didn't look up. No, no… That took too much energy. His eyes stayed fixed on the window. Through the barely-parted curtains, the Eiffel Tower glimmered in the far distance, and the city shone on, ignorant to the fact that Adrien was here in the hospital, aching and burning as if he'd just jumped out of a moving car on the freeway.

He pondered whether or not the citizens were missing their Chat Noir.

"Evening, honey," a woman's voice said, soft and welcoming. "It's nice to see you alert."

The feeling of sickness from his nightmare still haunted his mind. "Hi," Adrien said. He weakly turned his head to face whoever had entered.

It was a nurse. Clad in seafoam green scrubs, she was a younger woman—on the heavier side—with curly red hair and freckles to match. She approached him gently, and Adrien allowed her to check his vitals without a fuss. Her perfume had the faint scent of something floral, and her touch was soothing, even as she helped him sit up and removed the bandages around his chest and back.

He hissed, wincing as the cool air of the room came in contact with his flesh. He resisted the urge to look at the damage that had been done to his body. Adrien didn't want to see that—to see what had hit him when he couldn't save himself.

A medicinal ointment was applied to both the wound sites and the old bandages were replaced with fresh ones. Adrien sighed in relief as his muscles relaxed.

The nurse pulled the blankets back over his body. "How are you feeling, Adrien?" she asked.

Adrien swallowed. "I'm sore," he rasped. "And thirsty."

"I'll get you some water."

His nurse left the room, returning not more than a minute or two later and handing him a paper cup filled with cool, refreshing water. Adrien gulped it down gratefully.

It was quiet. Not awkward, but… Quiet.

"What happened to me?" Adrien found himself asking. He knew, but he wanted clarity. He wanted facts.

After a pause the nurse wrote something on the whiteboard that hung on the wall near the door and faced him with a gentle smile. "You were shot, hon. Bullet went in one end and out the other. Shattered a rib bone and fractured three of them. But you're okay now. Doing good. You're healing up well."

"Okay," was all he could say.

"You're one lucky kid," she said. "We're very happy to see you alert."

"Me too," he said.

"Do you need anything?" the nurse questioned, opening the curtains by the window—she must have noticed him looking outside. There was a motherly lilt to her tone as she asked, "Fresh blankets? Painkillers?"

Shaking his head, Adrien watched the city lights twinkle just out of reach. "No, thank you."

She bid him goodnight after that.

Adrien lay in silence. He wanted to move, to get up and go outside, but… All there was left to do was sleep.

But that sounded so boring. All he'd done these past few days was sleep his life away. He wanted to be out, racing through the misty rooftops of the city with his Lady by his side, grabbing a soda from the local corner store and downing it as they took a break to converse. He wanted to be next to her—to brush his gloved fingers along her own, to see her smile and laugh, and to hear her voice in his ears as she told him that she missed him and that everything was going to be fine while he recovered.

He couldn't, though. The hospital window didn't open, and he was stuck to the bed with an IV in his arm and a tube in his chest. No doubt the staff would become frantic upon finding him missing if he tried to escape. And though he knew the feeling of his transformation around his body would fill him with energy, he would still be too weak to run, much less jump across three meter gaps over alleyways.

If only he could call her—ease her nerves a little bit. No doubt Ladybug noticed him missing by now. If there had been any akuma attacks while he was out of it…

Adrien shook his head. He didn't want to think about it.

"Plagg?" he whispered, having just felt the tiny god's presence since he'd first woken. "There's no way I can leave, huh?"

The short fuzz of his kwami's fur grazed the side of his arm as Plagg poked his head out from underneath the blanket. His eyes, which were normally so bright and green with mirth, looked dull, and for the first time since he'd met him, Adrien could tell that his companion carried centuries of life on his shoulders.

"No," the kwami said. His voice was worn as his gaze fell. "You need to stay. Please. You're being taken care of here."

A sigh blew from Adrien's nose. "I just want Ladybug to know I'm okay."

Plagg opened his mouth to speak, but backtracked as his thoughts began to muddle. Silence formed a gap between them before he regarded Adrien with a stoic expression. His tail brushed against the sheets as his eyes flicked to the other side of the bed, voice cryptic as he said, "She knows."

"Yeah?" Adrien asked. Though Plagg's mannerisms were a bit strange, he breathed a sigh of relief, unsure of how that information had been delivered to her but happy nonetheless. "I'm glad to hear it."

With a twitch of his whiskers, Plagg flitted up to rest on top of his shoulder. His tail curled around his paws as he situated himself in a comfortable position and nuzzled the side of Adrien's neck, eyes drooping closed. "You're going to be just fine," Plagg said. "I promise, Adrien."

"I know," Adrien replied. He scratched the top of his kwami's head as the corners of his lips curled into a grin. "But I don't think I'm the one that needs to hear that, right?"

Plagg said nothing. Instead, he pressed his muzzle against his chosen's skin, tiny body quivering as a weakened purr rose from his throat. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to wake himself from an awful nightmare that had somehow formed into reality. Plagg looked so tired for such a small being—as if he held eons of weight in his heart, memories of previous Chat Noirs he'd seen live and perish in the past, and it became clear to him that not too long ago, Plagg had been preparing to lose one more.

Cupping the kwami into his hands, Adrien held him to his face. He pressed his cheek against the cat's forehead. "It's okay," he whispered, reassuring his friend. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?"

"Okay," was all Plagg could say.

There were marigolds on his bedside table.

Marigolds, roses, and gifts adorned the wooden surface, notes piling on top of brightly colored packages and balloons floating in the corner of the room near the window. A Ladybug plushie sat propped on the chair in the corner next to a giant stuffed cat, which held a heart in its paws that read: "Love mew!"

On the windowsill were folded blankets. Rays of sunlight filtered in through the glass, bathing the dull-colored hospital room in radiant warmth. A wheelchair waited patiently in the corner. As Adrien looked up, his vision a little bleary, he could see that the television was on, but it showed only static.

Weakly he reached a trembling hand for the remote. His head was still throbbing.

He couldn't muster the strength to grasp it.

Allowing his arm to fall flat against the cushion of his sheets, Adrien sighed, his eyes burning from overuse. He was still so tired, and he didn't even know why! All he'd been doing for the past—what, week?—was sleeping, and he was so, so done with lying around all day having people talk about him. He wanted to get up, stretch his legs, and- and…

He wanted to talk to someone to rid the lonely pit that had settled in the bottom of his stomach.

The scent of food passing by in the hallway drifted into his room. Breathing in, he caught the smell of something buttery and sweet, his stomach responding in kind to the tantalizing aroma.

It reminded him of Marinette.

Marinette… Madame Cheng had said something about her the other night. Whatever it was, he couldn't remember. His head was such a mess right now that even the slightest puzzling thought caused his skull to pound.

He reached for the remote again. It slipped out of his shaking hand and clattered on the floor, the wire it was attached to dangling off of the side of the bed.

"Damn it," Adrien said, a knot forming in his throat.

Everything sucked. He was about to give up and go back to sleep when the door to his room creaked open, and the blessed smell of pastries greeted him like a hug as three familiar faces stepped into his line of sight.

He felt Plagg nudge against his arm from underneath the blanket. It was a small comfort in his world of soreness.

"Adrien," Nino said, approaching his bed with a wide grin. "You're awake! Finally." His arms connected around Adrien's shoulders, who gasped as a sudden bolt of pain shot through his chest. "Ah, shit. I'm sorry, dude. I shouldn't have—"

Alya laughed behind her hand. She walked towards him with warmth in her gaze. "Nino, the guy just narrowly escaped death. Don't try to kill him so soon."

"I'm sorry!" Nino whimpered. "It's just the last time we saw him he was in ICU, and now he's awake and I—"

"Nino," Adrien breathed, his dry lips curling upward into a smile. "Oh, man, I'm so glad to see you guys, you have no idea."

His throat burned as he spoke, but he didn't care. He was just happy to see his friends again.

"And we're glad to see you breathing, sunshine," Alya said, hands on her hips as she cocked her head to the side. Her eyes scanned his body up and down, eyebrows furrowed in concern and red hair pulled back into a ponytail. "It's a relief. We all thought you were a goner that day. Why, if it hadn't been for Marinette—"

Nino nudged her in the side with his elbow. Her glasses slipped down her nose as she regarded him with an annoyed expression.

Marinette?

Someone else had said it, now. Marinette had saved him? How?

Mind full of fuzz, Adrien asked, "What about Marinette?"

The girl in question stepped out from behind the pair, feet shuffling on the tile floor and eyes glued on her shoes. Her black hair was loose from its hold rather than tied in her usual pigtails. She was quiet. Her eyes didn't meet his as Alya gave her a gentle nudge forward, encouraging her with a whisper Adrien couldn't hear.

Marinette approached him with a paper bag in her hands, the top of it wrinkled from how tightly it was held in her grasp. Its logo was familiar: two golden wheat leaves decorating the front of the bag with a matching T&S symbol in the center. The aroma of freshly baked something filled his nostrils, and as he lifted a shaking hand to open it, he was met with the overpowering scent of two chocolate croissants, his mouth watering at just the sight alone.

Was he allowed to eat this in the hospital?

Ah, who cares. It was from Marinette—he'd eat her parents' home-baked treats even if he were on his deathbed.

(Which… He essentially had been, right?)

"Thank you," he breathed, lips curling up into a smile so wide that his cheeks hurt. He looked up with the hope of meeting her gaze, but…

Marinette wasn't looking at him.

In fact she'd barely even acknowledged him. Her eyes were trained downcast on the floor, mouth sealed tightly shut as if she had nothing to say.

Adrien's heart sank. He tore his attention away from his friend.

Wounded from her cold behavior, he looked to Alya and Nino, who only glanced away. An awkward air hit the group like a truck—it was almost as if there was some sort of elephant in the room his friends refused to recognize.

"Did I... Miss something?" he asked. His voice shook as he spoke. "What's wrong?"

The room felt stiff.

Nino adjusted his hat as he regarded him with a confused raise of his brow. "You mean… You don't remember?"

Adrien swallowed. Raising a croissant to his lips, he shook his head. "Remember what?"

Silence washed over them like a bucket of iced water. Frustrated, Adrien bit into his snack with a scowl. He wasn't dead, damn it. Why did his best friends feel the need to keep a secret from him? If something went wrong, he wanted to know—even if it was devastating. If he'd lost the ability to walk, he wanted to know. If he was infected, or- or was to become a zombie, he wanted to know!

The truth would hurt less than his friends withholding important information from him, as if he needed any sort of protection… He was Chat Noir for crying out loud—he'd heard worse things.

Marinette spoke up. "He doesn't know," she whispered. Her eyes met his for a fleeting moment before she turned her head away, hands gripping at the bottom of her shirt and panicked gaze shooting to Alya. "Oh, my god. He doesn't remember! I thought for sure he would have—"

"Remember what?" he snapped. Marinette flinched. Remorse instantly set in as the words left his mouth, and he watched his friend wilt from his aggressive tone. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching out to her with a feeble hand as she backed away from his touch. "I didn't mean to yell at you, Marinette. I'm just really lost right now. What's going on? What don't I remember? Why won't anyone tell me anything?"

He shouldn't have been so cross with her. His crankiness from waking up in a hospital bed with confusion clouding his mind was no excuse to snap at her, especially when she'd been acting so drawn back. As Marinette shook her head and backed out of the room, however, he sighed, knowing full well that she hadn't deserved to be at the forefront of his frustration.

Jerking upward to race after her (despite the little strength that remained in his legs), Adrien yelped as the IV in his arm snagged at his skin and the tube protruding from his chest was jostled, his sudden movement causing a hiss to rise from his lips as a sharp pain seared in his insides. "Wait, Marinette!" he called, voice cracking. Nino rushed over to guide him back into his bed, Alya shaking her head right behind him.

"Dude, you have to stay here," Nino said. "What the heck are you thinking?"

"I don't care," Adrien responded. "Alya, please go after Marinette and tell her I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to yell at her. I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Alya shushed him with a gentle press of her hands to his shoulders. Her tone was soft as she said, "It's okay, Adrien. She understands. Marinette's just… A little on edge right now, that's all."

A whine escaped his throat. "Why?"

Sharing a look, Alya and Nino sighed in unison.

"It's not really our place to tell you," Nino reasoned. "I would, but… That'd be unfair to 'Nette, you know? It's her business, not ours."

That was understandable. But still… Didn't mean Adrien wasn't aggravated with the whole situation. He'd just woken up sober for the second time in—what, a week or more?—and he was still out of the loop of the full story of what exactly had happened to him.

"I just want answers," Adrien mumbled. He chewed on his croissant bitterly.

Alya placed a hand on his bedside. "We know. But there are some answers that aren't our place to give you."

"Marinette just needs time," Nino said. He plopped down in the leather chair in the corner and sighed, adjusting his glasses and looking out the window, mind busy with muddled thoughts and emotions. "Look. What happened to you messed everyone up. We all thought you were dead. It was—" he had to pause to pinch the bridge of his nose as his voice started to crack, "—it was scary. You were fine one minute, up on stage and doing your model stuff that you do, and then all of a sudden there was a loud noise and we just…"

Nino shuddered. Alya approached him with a clouded gaze, her arm winding around his side as she consoled him. Clearing her throat, she continued, "You were shot on stage, Adrien. All of our classmates were there. We—we all saw it. Saw you. You just collapsed and there was so much blood and oh, god…"

Adrien felt sick. Stomach churning, the croissant tumbled down his chest and onto his lap, where his trembling hands picked it up and placed it back in the brown paper bag Marinette had gifted him just minutes before. His breath was coming in quick, short gasps, and he- he- he…

He couldn't believe it. Everyone—everyone had seen him get- get shot, on stage in public, and here he was still alive, in a hospital room with flowers and gifts and knowing well enough that the damn thing was probably being broadcasted on every news station in the city. Everyone he knew had seen him get shot. Everyone.

Including Alya, Nino and—

...Marinette.

Marinette had seen him get shot and he'd yelled at her.

Tears began to flood his vision. Sniffling at the congestion in his nostrils, Adrien placed the bag of pastries on the bedside table, his chest burning with the reminder that someone had shot him with the intent to kill. And yet here he was, conscious and breathing…

But he'd barely been.

If he'd been shot right in the chest, how had he survived…? His luck wasn't that good.

The only person with luck that prosperous was- was…

Was Ladybug.

Why did it feel weird to think about her…?

"Are you okay?" came Nino's voice, quietly concerned.

Adrien could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't know how to answer that question.

The back of his hand was wet as he wiped his eyes. He met the gaze of his friends as he said, "I want to apologize to Marinette."

The room felt thick. Sharing a look, Alya and Nino frowned, the pair regarding him with a pained expression—one that revealed that while they wanted him to speak with her as well, they both knew now wasn't the right time.

Adrien sighed. "Thank you both for visiting," he said. "But… Right now, I just need some time to think."

Taking the hint, his friends' expressions wilted with hurt for a passing moment before they nodded.

Alya wrapped him a light hug. "Okay, sunshine. You take all the time you need. We'll come back tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah," Nino said. He patted Adrien's hand. "We'll visit every day if you need, man. I know it probably gets lonely here. And, hey… If it's worth anything…"

"...We're proud of you," Alya finished. "You're stronger than anyone thought, Adrien. You're your own superhero."

His sight was watery as tears filled his vision once again. "I don't deserve friends like you guys."

"Oh, yes, you do," Nino said. "We'll see you again soon. Promise."

They waved as they left, shutting the door behind them.

He was alone again after that.

Three more days passed.

In two he would have been at the hospital for two weeks.

Adrien found out from Nino that he had gone through surgery to repair his shattered rib. He was in ICU for three days before he'd become lucid and had been relocated to a room on the eighth floor, where he was currently recovering.

It hurt to move around most of the time. Breathing wasn't a challenge, but it was painful.

He wasn't allowed to lie back. Due to the injuries to his ribs, he had to sit up straight all day and all night, though he was allowed to get up and walk around every once and a while to get the strength back in his muscles. For the most part, he stayed put in bed. However, even the slightest amount of movement caused a searing pain to clutch at his insides, and he wanted to avoid the discomfort in any way possible.

Unlike the tube and IV, the stitches in his chest and back would stay until his bullet wounds had healed. A nurse came in twice a day to help him with breathing exercises that were supposed to assist in the healing of his ribs.

Adrien didn't like to look at himself whenever he had the chance to. His skin was mottled with blue and yellow from the bruising, and the injuries were a nasty sight to behold. It was just unpleasant.

He sighed, eyes glued to the city that sat just outside his window. The sunrise was particularly pretty this morning. By the mist on the window he could tell the air outside was cool and that the fall season was nearly in full swing.

As he pulled his blanket up higher, Adrien wondered what time his friends were going to drop by. Before school? During lunch? Maybe sometime in the evening.?

It didn't matter to him. So long as he got to see their faces, he was happy.

Nino and Alya made sure they visited each day. They brought him gifts and food, fresh blankets, his favorite movies from home, as well as a few books and magazines to flip through in case he got too bored. They talked and joked and filled him in on what he was missing in school, going on about dramatic events Chloé had pulled or what Akuma had tried (and failed) to seize the Miraculous that day.

They hadn't once mentioned Chat Noir's disappearance.

No matter—Adrien was just glad to hear that Ladybug was doing alright on her own.

(But he'd never really had any doubts.)

Nino and Alya's daily presence was a welcome sight to his weary eyes. Marinette, well…

She hadn't visited again.

Adrien frowned. No use dwelling on thoughts that made him sad.

For the most part, Adrien was okay. He wasn't happy, but he was okay. Alive. Breathing. Bruised, broken, and injured, but fine.

He'd be fine.

The hospital had a garden.

It was charming. It adorned the outdoor terrace of the sixth floor, which overlooked his home city as it bathed in the warmth of autumn sunshine.

There was a fountain in the center while perfectly landscaped flower beds lined the hedges around the walls, which vines greedily climbed like they were poised on an invisible ladder. Various benches were situated around the display. A rose bush grew pleasantly along white lattice next to a magnolia tree, and as Adrien approached the outer walls, he was just tall enough to peek over the edge of their painted concrete surface.

The height was a familiar comfort to him. Clouds trailed lazily in the sky above him, which was so blue and bright, and as a cool breeze blew through his hair, he breathed in deeply, relishing the feeling of being outdoors for the first time in two weeks.

He was thankful that his friends had brought him a pair of personal pajamas from home so he could walk around without being embarrassed. That ugly open-backed hospital gown had really started to get on his nerves.

Adrien smiled. The atmosphere outside was calming. He felt like a cat in a patch of sunlight—so comfortable and full of warmth that he didn't ever want to go back indoors. No, not back to that same old bed and stupid TV that never played anything interesting with that thin hospital gown on… He wanted to be here, outdoors where the air was cool and he could taste the air of his city—his home—up on the rooftops where he belonged.

No more IVs in his arm or a clear tube in his chest, and certainly no more being woken up four or five times in the night to be checked on... Just clean, fresh air, outside of the hospital with no sterile walls to contain him.

"Adrien!"

Oh, great.

"There you are," said Nino, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He gave himself a moment to pause before approaching him with a hand connecting to his shoulder, using the other to fix his hat as it fell in his face. "Dude, you can't just go wandering off like that. You're hurt."

Adrien sighed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm fine," he said, giving his friend a reassuring smile. "See? I can stand up and walk around."

Exasperated, Nino fumbled to find his words. "B-but you didn't ask anyone if you could—"

"I don't want to be here anymore," he said, gazing wistfully at the Eiffel Tower which sat tauntingly in the distance. "I want to get out of that stuffy room and go out somewhere. I'm tired of being cooped up. You know I don't like being forced to stay indoors—"

"Oh, my god." Alya placed her hands on Adrien's shoulders as she approached him. "You idiot, what were you thinking?"

Adrien walked away from the pair, wincing as he sat at one of the benches. A hand instinctively connected to his back as pain burned at his skin. He rubbed at the soreness under his shirt lightly. "I was thinking that I couldn't stand to sit in that room anymore," he replied, swallowing the whimper that wanted to escape his lips. "With that freezing cold air conditioning. I'm happy out here. This is where I want to be."

Nino and Alya sighed in unison.

"We're just worried about you," Nino said. He sat next to him and removed his glasses, polishing a lens on his shirt before replacing them on his face. "I don't know how this stuff works. I've never known anyone who's been shot before. I mean, you were in ICU nearly two weeks ago and now you're up and walking around, it's… Weird. You're healing really fast."

"Was I hurt all that bad to begin with?" asked Adrien, though he knew the answer. "I mean, both my nurse and doctor told me that the bullet went right back out my body and didn't touch any organs, so…"

"But it got your bones," Alya added.

Adrien shrugged. "I'm okay. In pain, tired and a little out of it, but okay. I'll be going home in a few days, no doubt."

Both of his friends shared an uncomfortable glance.

"Well, if you're sure…" Nino said.

"I'm sure."

The sun was just beginning to set. Hints of gold began to paint the outer edges of clouds, and in the distance a soft gradient of pink was rising into the air. A flock of pigeons cooed as they soared above the terrace; Adrien envied their freedom.

He leaned into Nino's side and breathed out a sigh. With a comforting hand Nino rubbed his shoulder, careful not to touch him anywhere he'd been hurt.

"It'll be alright, Adrien," Alya said. She sat on Nino's other side, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at her injured friend. "Cheer up."

"I feel gross," Adrien said. "I want to brush my hair and take a proper shower and go home. I'm tired of being here with people breathing down my neck. I'm used to that in my normal life, I just wish I could go out as Ch—" he swallowed. "As myself."

Nino gave him a light hug with his one arm. "You will," he said. "You will."

The hospital staff retrieved him after that, gently reminding him that it wasn't advisable to walk off without informing anyone and led him back to his room where his nurse was waiting to administer his pain medication and to help him back into bed.

Nino and Alya's visit lasted through dinner. The hospital food was bland, as it had been throughout his entire stay, and as he sat up at the rolling side table, Adrien began to feel a familiar soreness creep up his spine. His two friends secretly stashed a bag of Marinette's pastries behind his pillow for later consumption and Adrien thanked them as they left, having to return to home since the hours were ticking by and it was starting to get late.

He hugged them each, though their contact was light due to his injuries. Lying back in bed after his plate had been cleared helped the discomfort ease.

It was late. Adrien could hear the murmur outside begin to die down. Pulling his blanket over his body, he felt Plagg press against his side just as the day's weariness caught up with him and caused his eyes to droop with the weight of exhaustion.

His thoughts were swimming, however, as it hit him with a bitter realization that a particular friend had been missing from his group's visit that afternoon.

Marinette hadn't come. Again.

And that was a thought that hurt him more than any other. Though he couldn't exactly place why, it was futile to ignore the way his heart ached in his chest.

A nap was welcome to his weary mind. He slept until the sun had long past set, waking with a dry mouth and groggy thoughts before he forced himself out of bed for a cup of water and to use the toilet. Adrien's body twinged with pain and his thoughts buzzed with depressing reminders that he felt defeated.

It didn't feel good to sit and be weak without a means to escape. He felt sad—anxious—with the desire to run out to the garden and transform burning at his gut. Adrien had never gone so long without transforming before…

The need to feel the wind whipping at his sides was almost nauseating. He wanted to get up, to run around and jump and swing from roof to roof with Ladybug by his side and his worries long forgotten, the shadow of his partner enveloping his own as she swung across the skyline at the grace of her yo-yo...

He didn't want to be here anymore. It sucked.

Adrien knew he wasn't some feeble kid who needed constant rest. He was strong enough to go out for just ten minutes, right?

Yeah. Ten minutes as Chat was all he needed.

"Hey, Plagg," he whispered to his pillow. "You wanna—?"

"Adrien?"

He yelped.

Throwing himself back against his bed, Adrien froze, gazing doe-eyed at the thin figure in the doorway. Her silhouette was a bit skewed from the lights of the hall, but as she shut the door behind herself and approached his bedside, Adrien sighed in relief at the sight of Marinette.

Well. Alright. Better late than never.

"H-hey," he breathed, swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat. He wasn't sure why he was feeling awkward in her presence, but the anxiety nagging at his gut refused to leave him in peace. With a brief glance to the clock, he asked, "What are you doing here? It's…" he squinted at the time, "...past midnight."

Marinette rolled on the balls of her feet. "I know," she said.

"Visiting hours are over."

"I know."

Puzzled, Adrien sat up, hissing as he hovered a hand over his torso. "How… How did you get in here?"

"Th-that's not important," Marinette said, effectively dismissing his question. She rubbed at her arm, eyes rising from the floor to meet his own. "How are you feeling?"

After looking her up and down, Adrien said, "You're in pajamas."

Marinette's cheeks reddened as she pulled on her sleep shirt self consciously. "I know." Clasping her hands behind her back, she said, "You, um, didn't answer my question."

"Oh." He pointed to the entrance wound on his chest. "I'm okay. Still kind of in pain."

She stepped forward to sit with him, but hesitated as he regarded her with a confused raise of his brow, instead opting to place herself on the leather chair adjacent to his bed with her legs crossed atop the cushion. "Sorry," she said, voice quiet—as if she was embarrassed that she had even thought to sit by his side.

Adrien felt his stomach burn with irritation. Not at Marinette, no, never—but at himself.

"No, it's okay," he said. He scoot over with a pat on the mattress in invitation. "You can sit."

With a clearing of her throat, Marinette stayed put. "Are you healing up well?"

Oof. The awkward air in this room was so thick that it almost hard to breathe.

Adrien glanced toward the spot he'd been expecting his friend to occupy and nodded. His hair, which was shaggy due to its recently unkempt nature, swayed in front of his eyes as he moved. He combed his bangs out of his face with a quick brush of his hand. "Yeah, I'm… I'm okay. The wound doesn't look as gross as it did a few days ago. So I think that's a plus, though it was kind of weird having a hole in my body. I felt like a doughnut."

He chuckled at that last part, but Marinette was quiet. Really quiet...

"Are you… Okay?" he asked. She wasn't looking at him. "You seem off."

Marinette simply shook her head and presented him with a faux smile. "You don't know what really happened that day, do you?"

His grin immediately fell. Throat becoming dry, Adrien swallowed. "...No." His voice was raspy as he asked, "What really happened, then?"

She opened her mouth to speak. A sound came out, something small and tired, but then she shut her lips and frowned, her blue eyes (which were normally full of light and joy and laughter) dulling like a gray cloud pregnant with rain.

And that's when he was able to get a decent look at her.

Her sclera was reddened around the edges as if she'd been crying for hours (perhaps even days) on end. The bags that hung underneath her eyes were heavy, and her skin—the skin that always looked so soft and clear—was pale. Marinette appeared small, thin like a victim who'd witnessed a gruesome event, and it was… Strange to see her looking such a way when Adrien knew her as the girl who wore confidence with pride, whose hair shone like starlight and whose demeanor was strong, positive, and self-assured.

Marinette looked broken.

And that—that was a painful sight to see.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, hurriedly removing herself from the chair and wrapping her arms around her body. "I should go. You need your rest and I—"

She was almost out the door.

Please, please don't leave, Adrien begged internally, watching as his friend curled her fingers around the handle, his heart leaping into his throat and stomach bubbling uncomfortably from the words that were lost in its pit.

"W-wait, Mari," he pleaded, forcing his weakened legs to carry him to her side, where he grasped her delicate hand within his own and squeezed it tight. "Please. You don't have to go. Just… Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

With her back turned to him, she was silent. The room was still. A shudder rose up Adrien's spine.

A snivel broke through the ice of silence, Marinette's shoulders trembling as tears began to drip from her cheeks and onto the tile floor. She whimpered, her hand slipping from its grasp on the door handle and body curling in on itself as she cried, her quiet weeping escalating into heavy sobs by the time Adrien had enveloped her in his arms.

He gripped her with every ounce of strength he had left. Her tears leaked through the cotton fabric of his pajamas, but Adrien didn't care. Marinette needed him. Marinette was crying—desperately crying—and her happiness was the most important factor. Rubbing a hand up and down her back, he ignored the pain he felt at the contact to his chest and whispered reassuring words against her fringe as his cheek rested on the top of her head.

"It's okay," he told her—he promised. "It's alright. Everything is going to be okay now. I'm safe, see? I'm alive."

Marinette's voice shook. "But you weren't."

Not pausing his ministrations, Adrien frowned, tightening their embrace. "I know I wasn't safe, but I am now, right? I'm—"

"No, Adrien," she said. "You were dying. I-If I hadn't swooped in a-and—"

She was getting hysterical. Whatever had happened that day didn't matter at the moment—all Marinette needed right now was to be held and comforted, and damn it, that's what Adrien was going to do.

He might have been physically injured, but Marinette had some deep internal wounds that needed healing.

Adrien held her tight in his hold even as he led her to sit on the bed by his side. "Hey," he soothed, voice gentle and calm. "Hey. It's okay… It's alright, Marinette. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You've got me."

"I've got you," she said, voice cracked from the exhaustion of her tears, which had faded from wracking sobs to a gentle, dejected whimper. "Y-Yeah. I do."

He said nothing after that.

Marinette appeared to have no intentions of leaving that night. Though they weren't speaking, they hadn't separated their contact. At some point they'd moved to lie back on the mattress. Adrien wasn't exactly sure how they'd managed that—and he also didn't recall how he'd ended up with an arm snaked around his friend's waist, whose head had apparently found a perfect pillow on his left shoulder.

It was quiet for a while. The white noise of the TV in the background filled the otherwise stagnant air, and the muffled voices outside the door slipped out of his mind as exhaustion weighed down his eyes.

He'd nearly fallen asleep when Marinette murmured, "I'm sorry I've been acting weird."

Adrien's eyelids groggily lifted. "It's okay," he said, voice thick with sleep. He went to meet her gaze, but she wasn't looking at him. "I mean, if I'd witnessed anything like you did, I wouldn't be doing so good either."

Her eyes shifted to him. She looked so tired… Why wasn't she sleeping?

"I… I want to tell you what really happened," she said. "But I—I can't. Not now, at least."

Adrien cocked his head to the side. "Why are you afraid? I can handle it. Hey, if I can live through being shot in the chest, then I—"

"Stop making jokes about it," Marinette said curtly. "It's not funny, Adrien. And I'm not afraid, it's just… It's a lot. I know something I shouldn't know and it's only made me more worried about you. And I know you can take care of yourself but it still… I still want to make sure you're okay."

….Know something I don't?

His brain was beginning to wrack with what he hoped she hadn't figured out, because it was near impossible she could have… Though, he had no recollection of what had happened to him when he'd been shot, so it wasn't entirely implausible…

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Marinette shook her head. A small smile graced her lips. "I think you need to focus on getting better first before I tell you anything. And I should probably get going... Let you rest. I can always come back tomorrow."

She shuffled her position and made to get up, but Adrien felt something painful pull at his heart at the thought of her departure. With a shake of his head he placed a hand over her own, trailing her fingers as she brushed her palm over the sheets. He said nothing—made no move to force her. But he knew what he wanted, and he knew what she needed.

The look in his eyes was all it took to convince her. She was back by his side in an instant, and within minutes they had crawled underneath the covers and simply held each other—the best they could with his fractured ribs, anyway—and that was all that mattered in the world.

Adrien was drawn to her. He always had been.

No, he didn't have any explanation as to why… But he didn't care. Marinette was warm and he felt safe.

For the first time in two weeks, Adrien felt content.

It didn't take long for her to doze off.

The TV played in the background. Adrien watched with little interest, mostly using it as a distraction to help ease him into sleep, but just as his eyes began to finally fall to a state of peace he heard his name.

The voice wasn't coming from outside. No—the television that hung innocently in the corner of the wall was the culprit, its blue lights flashing like lightning in the dull room.

He watched the screen.

Within two seconds he wished he hadn't.

There it was, the footage of his shooting. A clip an innocent bystander had filmed was displayed on the channel, most likely having been recording to catch a glimpse of himself as he strolled down the runway in one of his father's signature designs, and then—

Bam.

Screams of terror erupted in the audience. The news station cut out the gruesome footage, as this was old news by now, probably only being covered as overnight filler—but it still caused a sinking, sickly feeling to begin to pool within his gut.

He'd intended to look away. He had.

But he saw Marinette on the screen.

A clip showed her bursting through the audience, her face stark white and eyes flooded with tears of horror as she rushed to his side and lifted him in her arms. There was blood on her clothes—his blood—staining the white of her T-shirt until she uttered two words that were deafened by the panic of the crowd, yet the movement of her lips was unmistakable.

"Spots on."

And then Ladybug was standing in her place, carrying him off over the crowd and into the distance before the video cut to black.

[spartanguard]

savage garden, 5/?

Summary: Killian Jones was, by far, the worst, weakest, most ineffectual Dark One ever. (According to the Darkness, at least.) And he was fine with that. He was just a slave, a deckhand—what use did he have of dark magic? And even less want. But the Darkness has vowed to firmly get him under its grasp, one of these days. He finds respite in a beautiful secluded garden—and the amazing woman he eventually meets there. The question remains, though: is it—is she—enough to keep him out of the dark completely? One can only hope…

5.9k | rated T | AO3 | part 1 | part 2 (art) | part 3 | part 4

A/N: HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS TO THE AMAZING, INCOMPARABLE @optomisticgirl!!!! I know you’ve probably already read this chapter but I had to dedicate this update to you—not only for all your help on this story, but for constantly letting me bounce ideas off of you, letting me vent, and being an all-around amazing person and friend. I LOVE YOU, B!!!!

also, the title for this chapter comes from “Gunning Down Romance” by, you guessed it, Savage Garden. and this chapter actually is longer! hope y’all like it!

chapter 5:  I don't think I can keep this monster in

Love is a weakness, you know.

“Maybe; maybe not.”

She’s not worth it—all this effort. Just take what she can give us and move on.

“I make my own decisions, thank you very much.”

For now.

He hated how ominously they said that, but there wasn’t much of anything else for him to focus on during the three-day journey to the castle. The one perk to not needing rest was that he could travel through the night, cutting down the time it took to get there, but that meant no respite from the Darkness and its incessant taunts. He’d packed a book to try to read as he went, but after falling over three sets of tree roots, that idea was abandoned. (He didn’t remember there being so many last time; had it really been that long since his last trek to the castle?)

Also, he wasn’t sure it was love—not yet. He’d only truly made her acquaintance a few weeks ago; it seemed too soon to be tossing that word around, especially given her opinion on the matter. He couldn’t deny the affection he felt for her, which grew each time they met, but it was so different from the only other time he’d been in love that he wasn’t sure it was the same feeling.

His relationship with Milah had been odd, he knew in hindsight, but it was real. He needed someone to look out for him; she needed someone soft and gentle in contrast to her sharp edges. Despite what the crew might have thought him capable of, they did lead a passionate physical relationship as much as they did a supportive emotional one. She was the first person to see him as more than a slave; he was the first to treat her like a lady and more than just a housewife.

It had taken time for their relationship to develop, as most do. It wasn’t the grand, sweeping tales he read about, but how many are, really?

With Emma, it was nothing like that. They were kindred souls, certainly, and he couldn’t explain how or why he was so drawn to her. But he’d changed so much since Milah—or, rather, the Darkness has changed him. Was he even capable of love anymore?

What do you need that for when you have all the power you could ever want?

“Bugger off,” he muttered, carefully stepping over yet another protruding root.

“Well, that’s rude, considering I hadn’t even said anything.”

He froze in place at the unfamiliar female voice, eyes scanning in every direction for its source and finding nothing. He turned around, but still only heard the heavy swish of his leather jacket around his legs. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” The Darkness covered up the fear in his voice, but he still felt it.

“Up here,” the voice said again, sounding annoyed.

His eyes jumped toward it, and hovering above his head was a woman—a very tiny one, with equally miniature wings keeping her aloft. “You’re a fairy,” he gasped.

“Yeah, what of it?” She darted closer to him, nearly in his face—close enough for him to notice her tiny green dress and blonde hair. “Planning on taking my power, too?”

He was taken aback, and blinked a few times in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

A bright light flashed, and suddenly, the little woman wasn’t so little—she looked no different than the average woman, though still on the short side; even with her hair piled on top of her head and the heels on her boots, she couldn’t get past Killian’s nose.

“Don’t play coy with me, Dark One,” she threatened, pressing the tip of her green wand under his chin. “We know you’ve been spending time with Emma. What else could the Dark One want with the Savior but to take her magic and corrupt her to save his own arse?”

Glad someone gets it. If only you did, too.

He ignored that, choosing to respond to the fairy instead. “I don’t want to hurt Emma at all; I only want to help her—I promise you.”

“Yeah, right. The Dark One never does anything for free. What is your price going to be—her magic? Her heart?” She let her wand drift down to his chest, hovering over where his organ was probably decaying. Then she leaned in, and her voice dropped. “Or something even more vile?”

A defensive rage was building inside—how dare she assume the worst of him? “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, fairy, but I can assure you—none of it’s true. I’m not like the other Dark Ones; surely, you can see that, given that this is my first encounter with any of your kind in the century I’ve held the title.”

The fairy clenched her jaw as she glared; he had her there. “You may think you have her best interests in mind, but I’ve seen how darkness can corrupt. I’m watching you. You better be careful.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.” He hoped she heard the sincerity in his admission.

Her expression did soften a bit, but not much; from the way Emma had described them, he had no clue the sprites could be so menacing.

“Just don’t fuck it up,” she cautioned, then disappeared into a cloud of green glitter.

He coughed a bit, some of the glitter getting in his mouth and the rest clinging to his jacket (and refusing to brush off). But, given that there was no other sight of the fairy or any others like her, he set off again.

Annoying little things, aren’t they? Pretty good on toast, though.

He groaned, but then tuned out as the Darkness ranted about the fairies, instead mulling over something else she’d said: Emma was the Savior, whatever that meant. It must have something to do with the destiny she’d mentioned, though he had no idea why the fairy thought he’d want to pull her away from that. He didn’t even know what it was. He just wanted to help her get her parents back; and if she could help free him of his own curse, then that would just be an extra benefit. And if not, then he’d take as much of her company as she granted.

Finally, after three days of ceaseless walking, the air cooled and the sky grew gray and cloudy. Even the forest seemed to lose its color as the Dark Castle loomed into view, all black stone and dangerous edges meant to keep mortals out and its own sick magic in. The Vault wasn’t far from here, but Killian hadn’t been there since he first emerged from its depths, and he was fine with it staying that way.

The gates were secure on the other side of the stone bridge that led to the castle entrance; the moat was murky and stagnant, with fishbones floating on the surface and a general sludgy appearance that always turned his stomach. He didn’t pause in front of the gate, like most would—there was no guard to open it, anyways (though Killian had made sure to bury the bones he found in the tower long ago). Instead, the air shimmered as he approached and the gate dissolved, letting him walk through, and then solidified again after he passed.

Every inch of his body buzzed once he was inside the walls. The constant chorus of voices got louder, singing with the dark magic that was humming within him. No matter how many times he came here, he never got used to it, and if he hadn’t gotten so good at keeping himself away from the edge of the void, just being here would send him over it.

The tall wooden doors opened slowly at his approach, and the long-dormant torches that lined the great hall lit on their own. The entire keep was still filled with shadows, but the torches helped a bit.

They lit the way to the library—the only place in the castle he liked, even if he’d done his best to move the more innocuous tomes out of it and into his home. It wasn’t as light and airy as the one he’d built, but it had the same slightly musty smell of pages and bindings that he enjoyed.

Many of the shelves had large empty spaces where he’d relocated their contents, but in the back was a set of shelves behind glass doors that he’d never touched: the books on magic. The hinges should have been rusty and the doors covered in dust, but they’d been just as preserved as the rest of the library, and under the extra protection of another layer of magical locks that only he could open. Sometimes he wondered which Dark One cast that enchantment, but the less he thought about the history of the curse, the better.

That goes all the way back to Nimue, FYI. As do most of those books. Just so you know.

“Thanks,” he said emotionlessly, too worried about what came next to really listen. He had to assume temptation like he’d never faced before lay behind those glass doors. “Here goes,” he muttered to himself, needing to hear the motivation out loud, and he stepped forward to pull open the cabinet.

Whatever he expected to happen—didn’t. Nothing did, actually. He expected...well, he wasn’t sure, but something—perhaps bats flying out or the screaming of the undead. It was rather anticlimactic.

They didn’t look much different than the other books; their fabric covers came in varying colors and the gold leaf on the spines was in mostly good shape. The smell was fairly similar, too. But he was still wary.

Hesitantly, he reached toward a book on the second shelf, promisingly titled Curses.

No, that’s not the one you want.

“It’s not?” He really didn’t want to muck this up.

Well, maybe; it is a good one. But there’s so many others you can have fun with, too!

“I’m not here to have fun.”

Are you sure? Because this one here—a narrow blue book on the top shelf began to rattle in place—this one can show you how to control the weather. Imagine that, being able to control storms?

The memory began to play in his head:

He remembered the storm clearly; even docked, the ship was tossed from side to side by the churning waves and lashing winds. He was eternally grateful the captain had decided to stay in port rather than attempt an early start on their next job—no sailor was good enough to stay afloat in this violent squall. He could only hope and pray that Liam’s ship was nowhere near, and since there was no chance of him sleeping on his rocking hammock, spent the whole night praying for his brother’s safety.

News the next morning proved it was all for nought; a pair of wave-beaten sailors washed ashore the next morning along with the remnants of a ship, the Jewel of the Realm—where Liam was a midshipman. Those two were the only survivors.

“No,” Killian barked. “That’s not why—“

Oooh, or there’s this one! This time, a thick tome near the floor began to slide out. This one has the cure for every disease.

He closed his eyes this time, but he could still see it behind his lids:

The wracking coughs that rattled his mother’s bones shook him equally to his core. He may have still been a wee lad, but he knew what that sound meant, and it was nothing good. Nor was the wheezing, raspy way she was breathing, or the cloth she kept bringing to her mouth and taking away with more red spots on it. If there was a cure, it was far out of the family’s budget.

“Killian, my sweet boy,” she told him, her voice straining even to whisper. “I love you so much; keep your good heart—always.”

“I love you, too, Mama,” he sobbed, as another violent attack of coughing took hold and then—worse—stopped, and her with it.

He was wiping a tear from his eye as the Darkness continued its cruel game.

No, no, no—this is it. A red book fell from the middle shelf, falling open to a page with a hand-drawn border of hearts. This one can make anyone fall in love with you.

“No,” he gasped.

The scene the Darkness played was hazy and smudged, but he could see himself and Emma, arm in arm in the garden with smiles on their faces—but something was off, like the grins were forced.

It morphed to them touching, kissing, caressing in an indeterminate state of dress. But everything was too dark, too heavy—too obviously an illusion.

He didn’t want to see any further. He didn’t want that at all—if it wasn’t real, it wasn’t right. “That’s enough,” he commanded, and the vision dissolved.

Suit yourself.

The Darkness went uncharacteristically silent as he moved through the books, searching as quickly as possible for anything that might help, including the first book. There were some written in foreign languages and others so old that the ink was faded, but he did find a handful that held potential. Hopefully, Emma knew enough more about these kinds of things than he did to make sense of it.

All told, he was probably only there for an hour or so—much less time than the days it took to get there, but the shorter his visit, the better. As quickly as he’d arrived, he just as hastily closed the cabinets and left the library.

He was nearly out the door when something in another room grabbed his attention, prickling that built-in magic detector he’d eventually gotten used to. It was like...someone was there.

Given that he’d never explored the castle—the magic had always led him right to the library—he had no idea what lay behind the doors he was now pushing open. More torches lit inside as he did, but it was still dank and musty, and he could see the thick drapes that covered the far wall. And one was moving.

“Who goes there?” He called out in a warning tone. How on earth did an intruder get in? And how would he face them?

Trespassing equals murder—that’s how you handle them.

Killian doubted he had that in him, but still approached the shifting curtain. Once he was close enough, he prayed he had the element of surprise on his side as he yanked it back, revealing—nothing. Again. Perhaps he’d read too many gothic novels over the years.

All that he uncovered was a window, partly open and likely by the strong winds coming off the cliffs. There were no scuffs or other marks of a forced entry or escape, and even if there were, the potential thief likely would have perished on the rocks several hundred meters below, or drowned in the crashing waves—which were not unlike the violent sea at his home. Clearly, the ocean had it out for the Darkness in all places.

With the crisis averted, Killian latched the window and replaced the drape over it, then began to leave again.

Until something on the other end of the room caught his eye—something sparkling. Several somethings, actually. As he neared, it appeared to be a jewel case, with all sorts of baubles on display—tiaras, necklaces, broaches, even some unfinished opal still running through rock.

Really? All we had to do to get your attention was put something shiny in front of you? Goodness, you really are a child.

But what really caught his eye was a large pendant centered in front. It’s setting was square-ish, with metal rays streaming away from the stone—which by itself was impressive, almost too large to wear. But it was a clear, pure color, and perfectly cut to reflect both that fact and any beam of light.

Thinking of a gift for your girlfriend?

“No,” he immediately replied, blush rising on his cheeks like he was a schoolboy with a crush.

No? Just imagine how stunning that would look on her neck—how she’d grin at you in response; maybe even more.

He wouldn’t expect that, but Emma did deserve something as beautiful as she was. She’d once mentioned having to sell family heirlooms to get by; maybe this could make up for that. “Am I allowed to?”

Of course; it’s your castle, so it’s your stuff. Go ahead—take it.

The case unlocked with a tiny click as he carefully pulled it open. The gem was calling to him now, begging to be picked up and taken somewhere else, somewhere it’d be appreciated. He wrapped his hand around it and lifted it out.

But his extra sense went off immediately, his instincts sounding alarms—this item was drenched in black magic. His veins burned as he held it, until he couldn’t hold on any longer and threw it back in the case, slamming the door shut so hard he feared the glass would shatter.

“What kind of bloody trick is this?” He yelled in the silence.

The Darkness just cackled in glee.

“You led me here on purpose, didn’t you? What, to trick me into hurting her?”

Guilty.

Enough; he’d had enough of this dark castle and it’s cold walls and bloody magic. He waved his hand and transported back to the forest.

Funny that you hate this, until it’s useful.

“I don’t care,” he seethed.

Yes you do. And the sooner you admit it, the easier it’ll be.

Things fell eerily quiet as he marched towards home, but keeping a brisk pace helped him calm his racing heart. But the sun had fallen from noon high to sunset by the time he reached any semblance of peace, and the stars were bright overhead when he finally relaxed.

The sad truth of it was that he’d been relying on the Darkness far more than he cared to admit—not just what happened in the castle, but so many times over the past century. He’d taken it for granted that he healed from injury and never fell ill, and that he had all the time in the world in front of him to pursue whatever he wanted. He thought he’d spent most of his time fighting the Darkness’s advances—but had he really? Or had he just been accepting it more and more as time went on?

Early the next morning, he stopped at a spring for a drink of water that he really didn’t need, but the cool water was refreshing down his throat and on his face. He sat hunched over the small pond for a long moment afterward, watching as the rippling water relaxed to its previous still state.

When it did, he was faced with his reflection—but not the one he wanted. Rumpelstiltskin was staring back at him again. His leathery face wore that creepy grin, and there was a knowing look in his eyes that Killian found far too upsetting. Worse, it was what he fully expected to find mirrored back, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Oh, you know...you’ve always known, dearie,” Rumple taunted.

Briefly, anger flared in Killian and he slammed his hook into the water, disrupting the image, and he stormed back off, nearly forgetting the sack of books in his haste to get away.

He headed back to grab them, pulling the sack up to his shoulder with a jerk, and then turned to continue on his way—but nearly ran straight into someone.

“I saw all that, you know.” The green fairy was standing in front of him.

He sighed and hung his head. “Of course you did.”

“Hey—I just wanted to tell you that I believe you, okay?” There was still a hint of annoyance in her tone, but he could tell she was being sincere. “Honestly, I’m not sure I could have said no to that temptation. I don’t know what all it is you’re going through, but...I’m on your side.”

He looked up, surprised. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “There’s not a whole lot I can do to help you—fairy dust and dark magic don’t exactly work well together—but I can see how hard you’re working, and I know your heart is in the right place with Emma. So, if you need another ally, you’ve got one.”

He blinked and swallowed a few times; a complete stranger was supporting him? Frankly, he was suffering from emotional whiplash after his revelations from what had happened at the castle and now this, so if he got a little teary, that was why.

“That means more than you know.”

“No, I do,” she said with a slight smirk. “Believe it or not, I’m older than you.”

He snorted a bit at that. “What, are you my fairy godmother or something?”

“If I was, I’d have done a piss-poor job of things. Don’t let the past dictate your future, mkay?”

“I can try.”

“Good.” She reached out to squeeze his arm through the leather of his jacket; he felt his magic react a bit at the contact, but not violently—that must be what she’d been talking about. “Oh, and I almost forgot—the name’s Tinkerbelle.”

“Killian.”

“I know,” she said with a wink. “Take care, Killian—and take care of Emma.”

“I plan to.”

“She does, too.” Again, he was blushing; it still amazed him that he could, as old as he was. “G’bye!” And with a flash, she was tiny again and flitting away.

He was truly at odds with himself now. The fact that a fairy had put her trust in him meant he must be doing something right, but he could still feel the darkness humming in his veins, only amplified by her presence. There was really only one solution: he needed to get back to the garden, as quickly as possible.

He’d never walked quite so fast in his life as he did over the next day, sprinting through trees and over streams until the familiar walls of the garden came into view that evening. Despite days in the forest, he felt like a drowning man finally coming up for air, so he took several long, deep gulps, eyes closed to savor the feeling.

“Killian!” His eyes flew open at Emma’s address. “I had no idea you’d be back this fast.” She was kneeling in one of the flower beds, work gloves on and a spade and trowel nearby, as she sat in front of a patch of freshly turned soil. “Come here! I want to show you something.”

“Of course.” He hurried over to her while she stripped off her gloves, and when he got closer, she cupped her hands over the dirt.

“Okay, watch.” Nothing happened at first, but then those dancing balls of light that comprised her magic began to twirl in the air before burrowing in the earth. Almost immediately, tiny green shoots popped up, and continued growing rapidly into a small, wide-leafed shrub; Emma guided the growth with the movement of her hands, magically pulling it up and bringing it to life.

Killian saw the buds on the plant sprout and then bloom in a matter of seconds, revealing dense, rose-like blossoms of bright pink petals all over it that released a light, sweet scent.

“It’s a middlemist,” she explained, wiping her hands on her trousers once it was done. “Alright, now, take off your glove,” Emma instructed, standing up next to him. “And then pick one.”

“What?” What was she thinking—did she want him to destroy it, after she’d just brought it to life? “Emma, you know what’ll happen; I don’t—I couldn’t—”

“Okay, okay—calm down,” she told him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I just want to try something; I tried to place a protection spell on it. Middlemist are extremely rare and have magical properties, so I thought if maybe I amplified them, then you could touch it without killing it.”

He was honestly speechless—she’d created this incredible thing of beauty...for of him? That didn’t seem possible, or right, and yet—here it was. He looked down at it, if only because he couldn’t take any more of her hopeful, proud expression without either crying or doing something equally rash and emotional. The plant appeared to be glowing; everything in the garden had its own sort of incandescence as a result of Emma’s magic, but this one was positively luminous. He could feel the still-sparking blackness in his veins react as he stood by it.

“Go on,” Emma encouraged, giving him a supportive squeeze.

Well, if she thought he could, then he could at least try. Wordlessly, he complied with her request, bringing his hand to his mouth and tugging the leather glove off his fingers with his teeth before pocketing it. He knelt by the bush cautiously, and then reached toward it. But even inches away, he could see the reaction in the veins of his trembling hand and pulled back.

“I don’t want to harm it,” he said quietly.

Well, I do, the Darkness complained.

“Here, then.” Emma bent down next to him and grabbed a stem, pulling until it was broken off. Then she turned to him and held the bloom out. “Try this?”

He swallowed and prepared for disappointment. Gingerly, he reached a finger out and brushed an outermost petal. It was velvety soft under his touch and—to his shock—didn’t wither away. He gasped in disbelief.

“Told ya,” Emma said, smirking, green eyes alight.

A slow smile was taking over his face, he could feel, as he took the stem from her. And nothing happened. He brought it to his nose to inhale, the petals tickling his nose and making him grin. When he pulled it back, he noticed that the blossom had wilted a little, but nothing compared to what usually happened.

“Thank you, Emma—thank you so much. It’s...amazing. You’re amazing”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but her cheeks resembled the middlemist in color. “It’s nothing; I’m just glad I could do this for you, especially after you went to all the trouble to help me. I should be thanking you.”

Yes she should, snarled the Darkness. And more!

“No, it’s fine,” Killian said, though he wasn’t really sure who he was replying to. But he picked up the sack of books, careful not to crush the flower still in his hand, and held it out to Emma. “I just hope there’s something useful in there.”

Her arm gave out a bit at the heft of the bag when she took it from him, so she set it on a nearby bench and looked in. “Wow,” she raved, pulling out the top one. “I’ve never seen books like this.”

Poor thing, so deprived—now she’ll get to see what real magic is like!

“Be careful,” Killian warned as she started to open the cover. She halted at his voice, then looked at him, confused. “Just...those have been in the dark castle for a long, long time; I don’t know what’s hidden in them.”

“I will,” she answered solemnly. “And don’t forget—I know how to feel for the worst of it. This one feels...okay,” she assessed, and then opened the cover.

A warm breeze came through the garden as she did, blowing dust off one of the first pages. It began to swirl in the air, dancing in a spiral and then spreading out as it took a form. But Emma didn’t notice it. Killian didn’t doubt in her powers, but whatever this was, it was invisible to her.

And a moment later, he realized why, as the dust took the shape and visage of Rumpelstiltskin. “Oh, it’s so nice to be free of your head,” he hissed.

Killian wanted to tell it to go away, to leave them alone, but he didn’t want to alarm Emma.

“And why not? Afraid your precious princess will think you’re crazy and cast you away?” The phantom drew closer; it wasn’t entirely corporeal—Killian could see through it—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying and real. “She won’t fall in love with you then, will she?”

“Stop it,” he said as quietly as he could muster.

“Killian, did you say something?” Emma asked from behind him, but he didn’t move from his place between her and the ghost.

“Oh, looks like it’s too late for that, then,” Rumple tutted. “May as well seal the deal, then. What’s your price going to be?”

Price? What price?

“All magic comes with one,” the specter explained in a low voice. “She needs to pay.”

“No. I won’t do it,” Killian bit back.

“Is someone there?” Emma’s hand was on Killian’s shoulder and she was peering around him, at what he assumed was empty space to her.

“If you don’t make her pay one,” the former Dark One started, sauntering closer, “we will.”

“Leave it alone.”

“Killian, is everything okay?” Emma sounded worried now, and the lights in the garden began to flicker—but he couldn’t tell if it was in reaction to her magic or his. There was definitely a growing static charge between them, though.

The image of the reptilian man was fading, but his voice was not. “Alright then—you leave me no choice.” And then he burst back into dust.

This time, the tiny dust storm was much more direct, and barreled straight for Killian, hitting him in the chest. Everything around him grew dark and dusky as he buckled over, and then it felt like he was a passenger in his own body, watching as it stood straight and turned to Emma.

“All magic comes with a price,” he said, but it wasn’t quite his voice—it was lower, more sinister, and he could see Emma’s eyes widen in fright.

“Killian? Are you alright?”

“Perfectly fine, love,” he leered. “Best I’ve ever been, actually—and you can make things even better.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, darling,” he purred. “Just making sure fair’s fair. You have what you need; now it’s my turn.”

“Your turn?” Emma was getting angry and backing away from him—and rightly so. He wanted to tell her to run far, far away. “I thought that’s what the middlemist was for.”

“Is that all your parents’ lives are worth to you?” He stepped back into her space, relishing in the mixture of fear and confusion on her face.

“Killian, what is happening? Talk to me.” Her tone was soft and she placed her hands on his shoulders, worry etched in the furrow of her brow. Her eyes were darting between his, looking for something; he hated to think what she was finding.

A thump-thump sounded in his ears, louder than almost anything else, and his eyes followed the sound to Emma’s chest. Her heart! Her heart would be the perfect price, the Darkness called from within, and he felt his hand start to move of its own volition.

“Uh, eyes up here, buddy.” Emma’s tone was annoyed but her expression said she was still confused. “Hey—where did you go?”

“I’m right here.” Inside, he was screaming it, even though the Darkness said it as seductively as possible.

She placed a hand on his cheek, and for a moment, the world cleared as he leaned into her palm; he hadn’t felt that kind of caress in so, so long. His hand was still reaching toward her heart, but he was able to wrest away just enough control to grab her forearm where it rested on his chest, anchoring himself to her in the only way he could find in the moment.

His vision darkened again almost immediately, and the electric tension that had been building began to spark at their point of contact. His hand burned and Emma winced, but he couldn’t let go—the Darkness was enjoying itself too much, and Killian couldn’t tell where its euphoria ended and his own disgust started.

Until, finally, the mounting pressure exploded, sending them both flying away from each other. Killian was thrown against one of the walls, falling in a heap into a thorny rose bush that scratched at the exposed skin of his face and chest.

He couldn’t be worried about himself, though, and as soon as he had even a modicum of his senses back, he jumped out of the now-dead bush to check on Emma: as he could see all too clearly now, she’d landed in an adjacent flower bed, thankfully not far from where they’d been standing, and was sitting up, a hand pressed to the back of her head.

“Emma, are you—” he started, but the frightened, wide-eyed look she gave him when he spoke made him stop. Instinctively, she put her hand between them, and he could see the glow of her magic in her palm ready to strike at him if needed.

It was just like when that little boy stared at him in terror all those years ago, but worse: this was the one person who hadn’t run from or left him in his life, and now the Darkness had turned even her against him. How had he let that happen? Or was his own control over this malevolence waning?

Regardless, it meant one thing: he needed to leave—now.

“My…my sincerest apologies,” he told her as his heart broke again. “Goodbye.”

He let the magic carry him home because he couldn’t take the fear on her face anymore.

The balcony beckoned as soon as he arrived. He could still feel and see the inky black magic pulsing in his veins and had a rage building in his core, though he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Haven’t you done enough already?” he shouted into the night. “You’ve taken everything from me; why her, too?”

To remind you.

“Remind me? Of what? How you killed the only other woman I’ve ever loved? How everyone else has abandoned me?”

Precisely. You don’t need anyone; why would you...when you have us?

“I hate you.”

Keep telling yourself that.

His anger finally found an outlet in the window behind him; he smashed his hook through it and watched as the shards of glass fell, jagged and sharp, on the wood floor inside. But before they could completely clatter, they paused midair and reversed their trajectory, piecing themselves back together until the pane was whole and seamless again.

He stared at it in confusion for a long moment until he realized his hand was outstretched toward it, fingers moving as he fixed the window without thought.

“What the hell?”

Don’t look at us; that was all you.

The crashing waves below him were the perfect noise to that revelation. “I—I didn’t; I couldn’t—”

Oh, but you did.

“That’s impossible.”

Clearly, it’s not. For someone who hates this so much, you’re really coming to rely on it, aren’t you?

“No.”

Suit yourself. But we certainly won’t complain when you give in.

With a yell, he destroyed the window again. It took conscious effort, but he made sure it stayed that way before he headed inside.

On the floor, withered but still pink, was the middlemist bloom—a perfect, beautiful, depressing symbol of his life right now.

The Darkness had more than an edge over him. What the hell was he going to do?

thank you for reading! And go send B some birthday love!!! tagging some other lovelies: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @killianmesmalls @distant-rose @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @welllpthisishappening @nfbagelperson @the-captains-ayebrows @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @wyntereyez @lfh1962 @bmbbcs4evr @therooksshiningknight

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Lisa, I'm killing our boy... Okokokokokokokok please tell me Trevor comes to visit every month or so to make sure Broody Mc. Blondie doesn't get too bored and that he enters the estate by loudly insulting him because it's the only kind of interaction trevor is any good at let's be honest. Alucard shouts right back at him and tosses him some tools and planks to help him rebuild the Belmont estate. That's how it goes right

See, you say “happy ending” but I say “I have some things toget OFF MY CHEST” and, well, you came to me, so…no.  That is nothow it goes.  Also this racked up to like 4k pretty quick so here, also on AO3.

Adrian is restoring the castle.

Both castles, he supposes—he’s strong, and he has all thetime in the world.  He pays for materialsout of Dracula’s vault and does not seek help. No one dares approach the strange and twisted castle above ground, andso below, like Belmont said.  Adrian hasa shrewd suspicion, when he bothers to think about it, that the incineratedruins of the Belmont manor grounds have been left untouched out of a fear thatthey might be cursed.

He’s glad, in a grim and distant way, that he pushed Belmontand Sypha to leave.  This is…this is tooraw, too aching, to have anyone near him while he faces what used to be hishome.

Adrian starts with the bare minimum.  The doors of both castle and hold have to berepaired, to prevent the elements from doing the work of destruction in amatter of weeks.  He can’t restore the Enochiansigil on the trapdoor of the hold—he would need a magician for that, and forall that Adrian is a linguist and a polymath the likes of which most humanscould never hope to match, his natural gift for magic is middling at best andlargely untrained—but a large granite slab does almost as well.  He hefts it into place and fits it over theopening, seals it with wax so that it will hold out wind and rain while hedeals with Dracula’s castle.

Adrian repairs the door of the castle.

Then he walks into the great library and stands in themiddle of the room, looking at the wreck, for seven hours.

Some of the books knocked from their shelves have been putback in place.  He did that, the very nextnight after they took the castle and he killed—

It had been something mindless and small, familiar from alifetime of loving the tidy order of alphabetized authors.  Adrian had picked up the books that hadfallen with the great impact of his back hitting the shelves, when he wasthrown into them, and slipped them back between their neighbors where they belonged.  Where the shelves were fragmented beyond use,he had stacked the books among the rubble on the floor, neat piles with thespines facing outward.  He had notbothered to move the broken glass or the splintered wood, nor done anything todeal with the scorched and melted hole in the wall.  Only the books.  

Adrian realizes, dimly, that the sun is setting through thewindow, the near-painful white light of day fading to something softer, lesslikely to make his eyes burn and his head ache.

Adrian leaves the library untouched.

Adrian—Alucard, hetells himself, murmurs it under his breath when he’s working, whispers it untilit loses all meaning, tries to carve it into his tongue and burn it into hisblood like silver, like holy water, like a ward—Alucard doesn’t have to hunt. He needs blood, but Dracula’s stores do more than pay for repairs.  He drinks from the preserved supply of bloodkept against a disaster, or a long period away from people, and eats from thefood stores that remain untouched by the vampires who lived here.  Some, the fresh fruit and vegetables, arelargely spoiled.  Most of the rest isfine.  There’s even flour, and yeast, ifAlucard had it in himself to spend the effort on bread.

If anyone else were here, someone else who needed food, ahuman or two, maybe, he might try.  

Alucard does not make bread.

The library and much of the other areas ruined in the finalbattle—the observatory, the laboratory, the wing of living quarters—are toohaunted for Alucard to bear.  He choosesthe deeper reaches of the castle instead, where the work is simple and directand miserably straight-forward.  He tearsout bloodied carpeting in the entrance hall and pulls down the throne roomalmost entirely, excises the forgemasters’ workshops like a gangrenous limb,dismantles guest quarters and burns a bonfire behind the castle taller than heis, for days on end.  

He destroys the night creatures still caged in the castleand burns their bones, burns the beds used by Dracula’s allies and the tablesused for their war councils, cracks open the Belmont Hold and burns the bodiesthere, burns bloodied carpet and broken wood. Alucard considers burning the books he finds there that are too damagedto be legible, but he sets them aside to evaluate later.  Perhaps he can decipher what is left andtranscribe them.  Perhaps Belmont knowswhat was inside.  Perhaps—

Alucard runs out of things to burn, eventually.   There was little to rebuild in the lowerreaches of the castle in the first place, and now he has reduced what there wasto empty rooms, a labyrinth of gutted dungeons and bare stone.  He scrubs the floor with his own hands andwith telekinesis and with lye so pure it makes him retch until he cannotjustify it anymore.  He retreats to theentrance hall, and then outside of the castle, where the ground is scarred andblack from the bonfire, and sits down with his back to the castle and his kneespulled up to his chest.

It’s dark out—he’s been working night and day without muchregard for what time it is.  He’s notsure how long it’s been since—since, but the air has gone cold and bitterrather than the sweet crisp bite of autumn he remembers from Gresit.  There’s snow on the ground.  He observes these things and forgets to allowthem to affect him, because vampires, even half-human vampires, do not sufferfrom the cold the way a mortal would.  Hesits behind Dracula’s castle—his castle, now, Alucard’s castle—in shirtsleevesand lets frost accumulate in his hair.

Alucard can’t sleep. There’s irony there, he thinks, in his moments where things like ironyand humor are achievable.  He slept for ayear and was more than ready to sleep again, to escape this world that Draculahad made and sleep until he was found, until he was needed, until Gresit felldown and destroyed his vault and everything inside.  Whatever came first.

Now he can’t sleep at all.

Where would he sleep, anyway?  He’s avoided thinking about this questionsince he sat in his father’s study—in Dracula’s study and cried until hecouldn’t anymore, curled up in the sturdy oak chair that he had hiddenunderneath as a child.  He had set someof the room to rights before he broke down, steadied the chair and set hismother’s portrait on the mantle, but he had fled as soon as he could trust hislegs to carry him.  Once, his father’s—Dracula, damn him, Dracula’s study hadbeen a place of warmth and comfort.  Itmeant that his family was together, when there was a fire in the hearth and thesoft sound of a quill tip writing, and Alucard had slept there often when hewas restless as a boy.

He hasn’t been back to the study since he fled the ghoststhat lingered there.  Nor the ruinedlibrary, where he used to creep after his mother put him to bed, so that hecould read late into the night.  Hehasn’t dared the observatory, nor her laboratory.  Dracula’s private library was in nearly aspoor repair as the main one, with the distance mirror shattered on the floor,but even if it had been pristine, it made the scar on Alucard’s chestache.  

His parents’ rooms, he didn’t enter even to check theircondition.  His own—

And he couldn’t feel at ease closing his eyes in the lowerreaches, where the burning taste of forgemaster magic lingered and his mindwhispered dark warnings about the dangers that lurked in the corners.  Now, of course, he’s rendered them more orless unlivable for a vampire until the astringent, insistent reek of the lyeairs out.

So.  Where does hesleep?

Alucard sits on the ground, back pressed to the wall of thecastle behind him, and lets the question chase itself around in his mind untilthe sky lightens.  When he finally stirs,snow drifts from his shoulders and hair.

He holds his hand out, palm up, and watches flakesaccumulate in his palm. They melt more slowly on his skin than on humanskin—than on his mother’s.  She loved thesnow, had taken him out on a balcony the first winter after he was born andcuddled him close, her warm cheek pressed to his and his hand, small andchildish, wrapped around the end of her braid as they watched the snow fall onthe mountains.

“Water is the only material in the world that naturallyoccurs as a solid, a liquid, and a gas, Adrian,” she had whispered, like shewas sharing a secret.  “Here, lupul mic, like this,” she said, andtipped her head back, sticking her tongue out. Alucard had done the same, turning his face up toward the grey cloudsoverhead, and had laughed, stretching his hands up toward the sky as the coldflakes landed on his tongue.  His motherhad laughed too, spinning the two of them around on the balcony until she wasdizzy and he was clinging to her jacket, and then…

And then his father had come to find them, had found themsitting on the balcony with Alucard in his mother’s lap, both of them rumpledand flushed and grinning.  He hadlaughed, had crouched down to ask what they were doing, and his mother hadcaught the fearsome master vampire Vlad Dracula Tepes by the collar and draggedhim down by main force to kiss him with her cold lips.  They had gone inside, finally, when hismother’s ears and fingertips were so cold she swore they had gone numb, and shehad put a cup of warm spiced milk in Alucard’s hands to match her own and theyhad sipped at it while his father read to them beside the fire, and it had beenso good—

Something hot strikes Alucard’s skin, shocking, almostscalding.  He may not feel the cold likea mortal would, but his skin has grown chill, almost deathly so, and the waterburns.  He raises his fingers to his face,presses his hand over his eyes as if to force the tears back, and a high, thinsound escapes through his teeth, like the whine of a wolf wounded by an arrow.  He feels a little like it, like there’ssomething barbed and terrible lodged in his chest that he’s been trying tooutpace, and sitting here has finally let it dig through his bones to tear opena lung.  That’s what Alucard imaginesthis feels like—gasping airlessly while tears fall down his face, as if he’sdrowning in his own lungs, grief filling the empty spaces like blood.

This is the third time Alucard has cried for his family.  

The first was when he returned to his mother’s home in apanic—he missed her by a matter of hours, because Alucard is too human toteleport any respectable distance and had to run home on foot when he heardrumors of a witch from Lupu.  He had pacedthrough the ruins of his mother’s home, marking the rooms and doors in his mindto prove to himself that it had really been hers.  Here, his mother’s kitchen; here, his parents’bedroom; here, his own room; here, her laboratory.  He had dashed the tears away without athought and run, flat out, toward Targoviste, and arrived just in time to seehis mother die.

Then he hadn’t allowed himself to shed another tear untilDracula was dead.

Now, crying hurts,makes his ribs ache, makes his head spin. Alucard closes a fist into his shirt, over the sharpest point of pain inhis chest, where a child is calling hopelessly for his parents to come back tohim, and lets his hair fall forward to hide his face.

Eventually, Alucard runs out of tears.  No one can cry forever.

Alucard wipes his eyes. Alucard stands up.

There are still repairs to be done.

The hold is less damaged than the castle—Belmont killed mostof the invaders in the first chamber, kept them from reaching the holdproper.  But the damage to the entrance shaftis extensive, the stairs smashed to kindling in places and ripped whole fromtheir moorings in others.

Alucard solves the first and most obvious problem by thesimple expedient of affixing a strong pulley to the top of the open column.  He can get himself in and out without trouble,but he’s not interested in testing the exact limits of his telekinesis in sucha high-stakes manner as lowering heavy construction materials down a hundredfoot shaft with him at the bottom.  

Then Alucard tries his hand at carpentry.

All things being equal, he’s not bad at it.  He dares the ghosts in the castle to findbooks in his mother’s study, her endless curiosity teaching him new things evennow as he repairs the shattered staircase. The stairs aren’t as fine as their predecessors, but they’re smooth andclean and sturdy, and he figures that the Belmonts would probably be all rightwith it.  Even if they wouldn’t—well, it’shis hold now, isn’t it?  If he decidesthat it needs pretty stairs, he’ll redo them.

The thought is equal parts encouraging and deeplyterrifying.  Encouraging, because in themoments where Alucard is still, trying to close his eyes for a moment, hedreads finishing the restoration of the Belmont Hold.  When he finishes here, there will be nothing leftbut his family’s own wing of the castle, no excuse not to repair the libraryand the laboratory, nothing keeping him away from his parents’ chambers and thelittle room where he grew up and killed—

Terrifying, because for the first time in his life, Alucardlooks forward at eternity and sees a long and lonely blank.  There is no one here.  Even if his mother hadlived a human life and died of old age—unlikely, in Alucard’s opinion, Draculawould never have allowed it—he would have had company.  Family. His father, who lovedhim.  Now he has an empty, hauntedcastle, and the last legacy of a family wiped out of history.  If Alucard rebuilds the stairs of the BelmontHold twenty times, at least it will be something to do to fill that endlesstime.

Alucard tries not to think about it too much.

When he finishes the stairs, Alucard turns to the rest ofthe hold.  He sets the painting of theBelmont ancestor back on the wall.  Hepulls rubble out of the places where the walls are damaged.  He returns the books they pulled down intheir frantic research back to their shelves, and begins trying to transcribethe ones that have been damaged.  Helearns the index inside out, expands it. He grins a little, for the first time in…a while, at the memory ofBelmont’s affront over his criticism of it.

It’s been—months, probably, since Belmont and Sypha left.  Alucard isn’t sure.  It’s even harder to track time in the holdthan in the depths of the castle.  Hedoes know that he hasn’t talked to anyone in almost as long, except for a fewpassing exchanges with the merchants who sold him the stores of wood and stone thathe needed.  He doesn’t talk much now,except for the occasional flood of cursing when something goes wrong in therepairs.  He doesn’t even murmur his own nameanymore.  Alucard comes easily now.

His mother would be so disappointed.

Alucard is restoring the Belmont Hold, and he is notthinking about his mother, or his father, or his eternity.  

He is not.

The hold is beautiful, and deep, and quiet, and kind—even toAlucard, who is trespassing on the legacy of those who might have hunted him,given the chance.  He sleeps a littlemore, here, an hour or two of restless dozing at a time snatched while he’slying on the floor or the top of a shelf or on a table, filled with uneasydreams.  He thinks he could be at peacehere, if the world left him alone.

He understands, a little bit, the world Dracula craved.  The silence. There is nothing that Alucard wants more than to close his eyes andsleep forever, and the hold, sometimes, seems like it would let him.

Alucard comes to the end of the restorations in the hold.  It takes longer than he’d first expected—he’sbeen doing makework, he can admit it, restitching old pages back into bindingand moving books that have been misplaced back to their proper shelves just todraw it out—but not as long as he’d hoped.

The last step is the granite slab.  It’s the same size and weight as the previousone, as best as Alucard can estimate, and smooth on top, ready to be engravedwith the Enochian seal.  Alucard hasseveral diagrams of the seal, drawn from his memory and checked against whatbooks he could find on the subject, and in theory, he should be able to engraveit and be done.

Alucard doesn’t engrave the seal.  He’s still not a magician, he tellshimself.  If there’s another step hedoesn’t know of, something left out of the books or lost over time, he couldcarve the seal and render the stone useless. He’ll look into it later.

Besides, no one comes near the castle.  The hold is as protected as it’s likely toget.

Some part of Alucard wonders if he can find a way to contactSypha.  She would know how to seal thehold.  Belmont might be with her—would heapprove of Alucard’s repairs?  He’s thelast of his line, it’s only right that he know what’s happened to his family’shold.  Maybe the two of them—

Alucard breaks off the thought as crisply as snapping a neck,and leaves the granite slab over the entrance.

It is spring.  Heknows this because the weeds taking over the ruin of Belmont Manor are greenand lively, putting out flowers.  Thesunlight is bright and cheerful, the air sweet with the promise of rain, warmenough that Alucard’s plain dress of shirt and breeches wouldn’t mark him asstrange.  It’s…beautiful.

Alucard stands in front of the castle, hands spread and facetipped up to the sun, eyes closed to against the brilliance, for a long time.  He has always loved sunlight, even though it’soften too bright for his eyes, he remembers, and the memory is strange and alittle foreign, as if remembering a story told to him by someone else a longtime ago.  But it’s his, his own story,his own memory, and as he stands there in the sunlight, feeling the warmth sinkinto his bones like so little sinks into a vampire’s bones, it clicks back intoplace, a stone pressed back into a wall he’d thought was mostly torn down.

He is—so glad to be half human, Alucard thinks abruptly, asa breeze whips around him and vanishes into the ruins.  He would hate to have never felt sunlight onhis face.  

The sun begins to set, and Alucard goes back into thecastle.

It’s time to face the upper rooms.

Over the last uncertain number of months, Alucard has done morework than a team of humans could have achieved in years, but when he steps intothe ruins of Dracula’s private library, the enormity of the work he has aheadof him hits him like a tidal wave.  Itleaves him breathless—there’s so much to do here, even just in this room, whichis less damaged than some.  He had thoughtthat starting here might be easier, the way it was easier to tear apart the lowerreaches, where there was more evidence of the monster Dracula than there was ofAlucard’s father.

This room is ruined, but in the way of a room willfullywrecked by someone in a rage, or a haze of grief, rather than the collateraldestruction the main library or the observatory faced.  The smashed distance mirror is far from theonly thing scattered in pieces—books and quills, glass beakers and vials, evena writing desk, have all faced Dracula and failed to withstand his wrath.  The icosahedron that used to govern thecastle’s movement is as shattered as the engine, planes melted together at oddangles and lying on the floor.  Alucardhasn’t even bothered to try and repair the engine yet, hasn’t even reallydecided if it’s worth repairing.  There’snowhere he wants to go, after all.

Alucard lights the lamps and looks around the room,breathing slow and careful, as if inhaling too sharply might send his fragile controlof himself spinning.  The shelves aremostly intact, at least, and he can probably repair the damaged ones easilyenough.  The desk is a lost cause, he’llhave to build up a bonfire again.  Mostof the books are more or less intact, and—

And there’s a spray of blood, smeared across the wall besidethe door as if someone had tried to scrub it away while it was drying but hadn’tcleaned it properly.  It smells old, morethan a year, and it has a distinct signature to it.  Unique, even. Neither the sweet promise of human blood nor the electric crackle ofvampire blood—somewhere in between.

Alucard retches, and it’s probably for the best that he hasn’teaten anything more substantial than donated blood in a while.  There’s nothing to bring up.  

He locks Dracula’s library behind him.

It’s a bad start and sets a bad precedent for hisprogress.  These rooms are haunted, true,by the memory of better times, but Alucard drifts from one chamber to anotherlike he’s the only ghost in this castle. He remembers this feeling from that first day, a sort of perfect numbhelplessness as he rights chairs and straightens pictures, lingering over them,but doesn’t move a finger to take steps toward real repairs.  He trails his fingers over his mother’s books,over Dracula’s telescope, over the door to his parents’ room.  He still hasn’t dared to go inside.  

Alucard passes through the halls of the castle with lessimpact than a strong breeze and—and he’s tired,a sort of soul-deep exhaustion that drives him on instinct to the door he leastwants to see.

At the end of all this, of Dracula’s war on the world, ofhistory’s longest and most disastrous suicide, Alucard is a little boy alone ina vast castle, and all he wants is to sleep, and so here he is, sitting on hischildhood bed without much memory of having walked there.

The room has suffered for the winter with a shattered window,but not as much as Alucard might have expected. The eave, and the fact that the broken window is one of those set intothe wall, have conspired to protect it from most of the elements.  The wallpaper is peeling, and many of thedrawings tacked to the desk and wall have been shredded or suffered waterdamage, but the portrait of the three of them is unharmed, and other than theblack and ashy stain on the carpet and the broken bedpost, there’s little else disturbed.

The ceiling is still painted with constellations—it’s full darkoutside, probably even getting on toward morning a bit, but Alucard can stillsee them when he leans back to lie down on the bed.  He’s too tall for it now, lying at an anglewith his legs bent at the knee and his feet on the floor.  His father had painted the stars for him, asa surprise for his first naming day, a mishmash of constellations that Alucardliked best arranged without concern for the reality of the night sky.

“If it’s the stars you wish to see,” Alucard says to theceiling, remembering what his father said, “look out your window.”  Art isfor us, Dracula had murmured, and Alucard had rested his head against hisfather’s shoulder, so that he could better hear the rumble of the deep voice inhis chest, like distant thunder.

It’s been some time since Alucard slept here regularly—firsthe stayed in Lupu, then he traveled, and then, of course, he fled to Gresit.  Still, though, the bed is made up with softsheets and a warm blanket, the pillow placed as if he might come back to it atany moment, and it smells familiar and soothing, the smell that meant love andcomfort for most of his life.

He is so tired, Alucard thinks as he stares up at theceiling.  The painted stars swim beforehis eyes, the periphery feathered with grey, and focusing his vision makes asharp, subtle pain lance through his temples. He hasn’t slept well in so long. Today was probably his least productive day in months, idled away in thesunlight and the night spent wandering the dark halls of the castle, but theexhaustion is hitting him hard and fast, like he’s been in free fall all thistime repairing the castle and hold and now he’s finally reaching the bottom.

The thought comes to him like it’s being whispered bysomeone else—maybe he can sleep here. Maybe, if he closes his eyes here, he can sleep until he wakes up better, without the ache in his chestand the weight in his bones.  Maybe he cansleep until he wakes up to his mother’s face, his father’s affection.

Maybe he can sleep until he wakes up in a world wherevampires don’t exist.

It’s a hopeless wish, but Alucard shuts his eyes anyway.

As the sky begins to turn grey, Adrian Tepes fallsasleep.