#like I know I’m not a man but I dress sort of boyishly because it’s just convenient and I’m pretty much sort of a girl but I don’t fully

[teethburger]

gender is so fucking confusing

[joonapeach]

Our Tales are Endless (That's Why I Tell Them) [MLB]

summary: Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It's a life she thinks she has always fit in.

And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can't help but wonder if there's something else she's missing.

also reposted on ao3

The man is here again and, Marinette notes, he's holding a tulip to his chest today. She can only laugh when she sees him standing outside the glass door of the boutique, looking like a lost stray waiting for an invitation to come in. When he meets her amused gaze, he quickly feigns confidence and gives a charming smile.

She rolls her eyes.

"The boutique is so busy," is the first thing he says when he comes to her at the counter. "For you, my lady," is always the second, with the flower of the day in an extended offering.

Marinette narrows her eyes at the pink petals of the single tulip. She scoffs but takes it from him with no hesitation, of course - the attention she’s been getting from him every few days is both flattering and entertaining in her scheduled life. But to his face, she simply says, "this again?"

"Of course. I picked it out especially for today."

"Really? And why is that?" Marinette asks. There's a smile playing on her lips.

He gives a smile right back. "Tulips symbolize unconditional love. I thought it'd be perfect for you today."

Marinette almost cocks an eyebrow, impressed. He's finally gotten a bit smoother with his lines - usually, she'd have to watch him stumble over meanings and words before adorably offering the flower of the day.

"I'm not ready for you to tell me you love me so early in the morning, Adrien."

He grins boyishly as if expecting that very response. "Oh, but it has nothing to do with me. Isn’t it your maman’s birthday today? The flower symbolizes your unconditional love for her,” he pauses. “But of course, if your first thought is of me with an unconditional love, I can’t complain-”

“Using my maman’s birthday as an excuse to give a flower of unconditional love… don’t think I can’t see right through you, Agreste.”

 “Guilty. But I should remind you.”

“I think I can go a few days without forgetting your professions of love,” Marinette giggles as she carefully sorts through some clothes on a rack.

“There’s no telling with you. You forgot I was your classmate for four years,” he states, leaning over the counter. “Until Alya showed you the yearbooks, you were certain you’d never seen me in your life before.”

“I told you, I was sorry about that!” Marinette huffs. The incident of meeting Adrien for the first time at twenty-five still baffles her. When she laid her eyes on him at Alya’s house party, he’d quickly imprinted in her mind like the image of a beautiful angel and she was certain she’d never seen such a handsome sight before.

Only, apparently, she had. Though no matter how much she strained her mind, she could never recall a single thing about him from her school days.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” Adrien laughs. “I don’t think I’m memorable enough.”

Marinette narrows her eyes at the boy. At times, she didn’t know if he was being solely modest or oblivious.

“Don’t you have a class to teach today?” she decides to ask.

He nods, lazily watching her organize dresses with his head in his palm. “I did. But they canceled it because of some gas leak by the Chemistry students.”

“That’s hardly fair. Your poor Physics students have to suffer a canceled class all because of someone else’s inconvenience?”

“Yup. Well, that’s just the way Paris is. Someone else’s minor inconvenience ruining everyone’s day,” he laughs before giving a furtive glance. “Back when we were in school, our classes were canceled every other day too.”

Marinette sighs, trying to conjure a memory in her head. Flashes come, of a classroom, of sitting next to Alya, of shouting at Chloe, of hanging out with Alix and Rose and Nino… but that's where it stops. Sometimes, Marinette thinks she’s really going crazy. If she tries hard enough, she can remember those years of her life between fourteen and twenty four but it never comes easy. It’s almost like a watercolor blur that passes by her eyes too fast to focus on a still image.

“Because of those… akumas, right?” she mumbles. 

“Yup,” Adrien answers. His eyes don’t leave her face when she pauses to recall small details. He’s always patient with her, unlike even Alya who sometimes gets tired of waiting for Marinette to catch up when she talks about old stories.

“How did we get anything done?” Marinette laughs, shaking her head.

“I have no idea either,” Adrien chuckles. “Those were some crazy few years of our lives.”

“Our lives? What about those poor superheroes you talk about every day? I can’t bear to think about how exhausting it must’ve been for them.”

Adrien laughs. “They enjoyed it, I’m sure of it.” He glances at his watch. “Come on, it’s your lunch break soon.”

“Adrien, there are still customers!” Marinette protests, glancing around the shop. Young women roam the small space, eagerly eyeing Marinette’s designs with awe. Marinette’s part-timer, Noelle, rushes between them to make sure they’re all satisfied. While she has it under control, Marinette still gets a thrill from watching customers secretly dote over her clothes.

Her life’s work exists in this little boutique, after all. She knows little outside of fabric and fashion but this world of hers is big enough to sink into forever. Though she sleeps elsewhere, this shop is where she feels like home is. She gets to watch Paris from her counter and be a small piece of the city.

“Noelle’s handling it,” Adrien argues with a pout. “I’ll buy you something nice! I can still use my model status and get us in that restaurant we were talking about last week.”

“You just can’t let go of your teenage model career,” Marinette sighs, putting down a hanger. “I hope you don’t bring it up to your students.”

“They bring it up to me first, actually,” he retorts. “And you know, you were a big fan of my modeling career back in the day.”

“Now I just know you’re trying to plant memories in my head,” Marinette cocks her head back to laugh. She grabs her purse from the counter and gives a quick wave to Noelle. “It won’t work, Adrien.”

“I’m being serious!” he whines, following after her as she walks to the glass door of the shop. “You had my posters!”

“Adrien, my memory isn’t that bad. I did nothing of that sort,” she shakes her head with a laugh. The two step out into the streets of Paris and instantly, their voices become small in the big city’s noise. Marinette smiles.

“This is so unfair,” Adrien grumbles under his breath. His steps slow down to match her pace and he pouts like a child. Marinette fights back a smile at how adorably familiar it feels. She’s really only known him for only a few months though, at moments like these, it wasn’t hard to believe she grew up next to him.

“Don’t sulk, come on,” she pinches his elbow through his dress shirt. “You can tell me one of your superhero stories now.”

Instantly, he brightens. “Aha! I knew you liked hearing them.”

“You’re a good storyteller, I’ll give that to you,” she says. “I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir would appreciate a die-hard fan like you carrying on their legacy like this. Except for the parts when you try to tell me they were in love. Somehow, that seems a little off.”

“I’m not lying! I’m certain they were,” he declares.

“Yeah, yeah, get on with it now.”

Adrien clears his throat dramatically and starts a new story. He takes care every time he visits her to never tell repeats. He tells the tales with flair and energy, a big smile on his face at the parts where she laughs and rolls her eyes. Marinette should be used to it by now, the company of this handsome teacher who becomes reduced to a goofy boy when he talks about his love for a bunch of superheroes.

But alas, she still hasn’t gotten used to it. In her routine of a perfect life, Adrien brings something new and makes Marinette wonder about the Paris she loves so dearly. Her Paris is small, peaceful, and beloved but in Adrien’s words, Paris becomes infinite.

Such is the power of stories, she supposes.

*

“What happened here?!” is what Adrien exclaims first when he sees Marinette after a week. “And this is for you, my lady,” he adds, holding a single violet between his fingertips.

“All sold out,” Marinette laughs in disbelief before plucking the flower from his grasp. “And what’s this?’

“All sold out?! How on Earth?” he blinks before glancing at the flower. “Oh and, it symbolizes modesty. For the most modest, talented designer I know.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. Normally, she rejects such heavy praise. Her shop is tiny and she’s a sole designer working at her own pace with small goals that she doesn’t try to see bigger than. But today, she feels almost worthy to hear such words.

Her shop is empty. Not just of people but clothes too. Not a single piece remains on the rack.

“Some celebrity wore an item of mine and fans and press came flooding in. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in the shop.”

Adrien’s eyes are bright. “Marinette, that’s amazing!”

She chuckles. “I know. I sold what I usually sell in weeks all in a morning,” she grins. “But it was also a bit scary. I mean, I’ve never had so many eyes on me.”

“Well, you should,” he retorts instantly. “You’re a born star. I think all of Paris would be in love with you if they knew you.”

“You’re a good talker, Adrien,” Marinette laughs. “Today’s my treat, by the way. Since there’s nothing to do till I get new pieces from the manufacturers, the shop is going to have to be closed and I’m thinking of taking the weekend off to stay with my parents.”

“You’ll be gone?” he frowns.

“For a weekend at most, don’t worry!” Marinette rolls her eyes. “That’s why I’m giving you my day. We can go anywhere and you can talk my ear off about anything you like.”

The mischievous smile Adrien gives only slightly alarms her. “Are you really giving me full reign over your life?”

“Something about the way you look makes me hesitant to comply,” she says with narrowed eyes. “But since I’ll be unavailable for a few days, I have no choice.”

Adrien continues grinning, seemingly bursting with energy with how he jumps up and down. “Great. I’m thinking shopping, walk by Seine, dinner, ice cream from Andre’s and ending the night by the tower.”

Marinette finds herself amused by the enthusiasm. Despite being twenty six, the same as her, Adrien always holds onto some kind of youthful zest to himself. Marinette can’t find herself getting enough of it, even when she has to always be the rational one when his vigor takes too far.

How does someone with such a colorful life like spending hours out of his convenience with someone like her? Marinette feels as though she pales in comparison to the interesting things she could tell him. There is only so much someone can hear about fabrics and a bakery-life youth.

“Marinette?” Adrien waves his hand in front of her face with a boyish smile. “We’re already behind schedule by like three items. Let’s go.”

She can shelve her thoughts about her boring life for later. If Adrien hasn’t complained yet about the quality of her companionship, she needn't worry about a problem that wasn’t confirmed. She remembers spending much of her teenage years doing that – about what problems she wasn’t sure – but she didn’t need a repeat.

“I already went ahead and invited Alya and Nino by the way,” he adds as they push out the door. The bell chimes and Marinette locks up. “I think they’re with some people already but I said we’ll join.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marinette says with a smile as they walk out. Her arm finds itself linking around Adrien’s in a swift motion, though Marinette doesn’t remember consenting to her body wanting to do that. Adrien says nothing and Marinette remarks again how natural it feels for her to be so comfortable around him. At times, she thinks her instincts know something she doesn’t. 

*

Adrien’s loud laugh mixes with Alya’s as the two put down a card. The table erupts into a groan. Juleka, beside Marinette, is especially disappointed.

“What happened to the truce?” she says, crossing her arms in a sulk.

“There’s no truce in Uno when it comes to these two,” Marinette sighs though she can’t beat the smile tugging at her cheeks. The two winners fight no urge in showing off their victory, with roaring laughters and smug comments. The sight should really upset Marinette more, rubbing salt into her loss, but she finds herself enjoying how gleefully the two celebrate. 

“You two should be banned from pairing,” Max heaves a long sigh as he puts his and Rose’s cards down defeatedly.

“Adrien’s the only one who gets the game,” Alya retorts with a high five angled his way. Adrien’s movements are slow as he raises his arm to reciprocate her gesture, a sure sign that the alcohol of the night was hitting him. Marinette quite likes the way Adrien is when he’s had a little to drink or when he’s around others. He’s unlike the man who appears in her shop, far more lax and unfocused on his words.

It’s a strange sight that even Marinette finds hard to explain to herself. There’s always a noticeable difference between the gentle, patient Adrien Marinette finds herself with and the easy-going, laid-back Adrien around friends from school or anyone who isn’t Marinette. It’s not something she’s worked up the courage to ask him about, but at times like these, it’s something that makes her wonder.

“You were never this mischievous in school, Adrien!” Rose says chirpily. Adrien laughs, rubbing the nape of his neck. The tie around his collar’s been loosened up throughout the night and his shirt sleeves are pulled back to his elbows. Marinette hasn’t gotten in the habit of seeing him with his teacher uniform so relaxed. Even when he visits her store, he’s always in pristine condition. She assumed it was his model upbringing.

But he looks different now, and she can’t stop staring at him. His smile is lazy, his hair’s been brushed through so many times by his fingers that it’s sweeping all over his face. The sight gives Marinette’s stomach a sinking feeling she can’t quite place.

“He’s become a whole new person since then,” Max grins. “Shed the model past behind.”

Admittedly, Marinette has searched up said model's past. A strong shudder of shock passed through her as she familiarized herself with eighteen year old Adrien Agreste. At that moment, she finally understood what Alya had meant about Marinette, how could you forget Adrien? 

Because really, how could she forget Adrien? How can she not remember sharing a space with a boy like this for years on end in school? It’s hard matching the young model to the man she was friends with today and at the most inconvenient of moments, Marinette finds her brain reminding her of that. She finds his flirtatious smiles from magazine covers appearing in her mind, his humble interviews repeating in her ears, his beautiful photoshoots plastered to her brain. 

“Wouldn’t suit a school teacher to pursue modeling forever,” Adrien simply answers with a shrug. Marinette doesn’t remember Adrien well, but she knows him well to know a practiced nonchalance behind the answer. Because Adrien Agreste didn’t just stop modeling to spare the hearts of young girls in Paris - he stopped modeling because he didn’t have to anymore.

With the death of his father came the death of his brand. And as per Alya’s recounts, with the death of his father came the last time many of them saw Adrien again for many years.

Marinette coughs in an attempt to divert attention. “Let’s stick to topics I remember,” she says teasingly and the others instantly burst into loud conversation. 

“Marinette, you must be faking it,” one of them says. 

Another interrupts with, “you really remember everyone but Adrien?!”

“That’s not true. She doesn’t remember some other memories too,” Alya corrects. “Marinette, do you remember the time we went to the wax museum in school?” Marinette shakes her head. “See!”

“Forget Adrien!” Nino interjects with animated surprise. “Marinette, I can’t believe you just woke up one day and forgot all about Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

At the mention of them, Marinette finds herself glancing at Adrien. It’s a natural response, really, given that he can’t ever stop talking about them, so much so that Marinette associates the two latex-wearing superheroes with him. But when Marinette’s eyes meet Adrien’s, she sees a strange wistful smile. 

He’s looking at her, but not really. His eyes are glazing right over her, as if he’s looking through her. Marinette is tempted to turn around as if behind her, she’ll find what’s pulling Adrien’s gaze. 

“Alya’s life was Ladybug too,” Juleka points out. “Up until the defeat of Hawkmoth, of course.”

Hawkmoth. The name sounds almost childish to Marinette each time she hears it, but to the others, it delivers chills. There’s a lifetime of worry attached to the name, much of which Marinette can hardly recall. That’s the gift of forgetting… she’s forgotten not only memories, but nightmares. 

The table becomes suddenly tense and Marinette feels partly responsible for driving the conversation to it. “I can’t remember them. But they sound great,” she tries to offer. 

It does little for anyone. “Oh, they were great. I miss Ladybug,” Alya sighs and slumps over a glass. “And I miss being a kid. It was the best part of my life, running after her. I was so passionate about reporting then.”

“I know what you mean,” Rose mumbles. “Life was so exciting even when I was scared… it just felt different especially when Ladybug was around. Did I tell you guys about the time I got the Pig Miraculous?”

“Yes, Rose!” A simultaneous answer comes from the table. Marinette is the only one to remain silent.

“We grew up so fast. I never imagined we would one day,” says Juleka. “Everyday was just getting by and saving each other.”

“There were a few close calls,” Nino points out. 

“A few’s putting it lightly,” Alya laughs. “I didn’t think I was going to graduate school without a day of peace. That, and seeing Marinette show up to anything on time.”

“I didn’t think I was going to graduate without Max finally trying to give up on his robots,” Nino snorts. “I need some money for the therapy I’m taking because of your failed robots threatening my life, by the way.”

“Well now, how much do you need?” Max pretends to sift through his wallet.

“Rob him well, Nino. Mr. Software Engineer’s got all the money we need,” Adrien laughs before having his neck wrapped with Alya’s forearm.

“Oh, yeah? This coming from France's highest paid model back in school?!” she scoffs. “You couldn’t spare a note then!”

“Hey! I didn’t control my money then.”

“No, but I did see you buy Nino a whole PlayStation for his birthday!”

“Alya dude, he missed my birthday! It was a forgiveness present! Ask Max… right, Max?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Max!”

“You didn’t defend me in front of Damocles when we broke the beaker in class!”

“You know perfectly well Alya got you on camera. There was no point in me or Adrien defending anyone!”

“Damn you Alya, and your reporter instinct.”

Marinette can’t describe the feeling that passes through her now, only that she hopes no one else ever has to feel it. All her best friends are here, and yet, they’re not. Or maybe, that’s not it. All her best friends are here, and she’s the one who’s not with them. 

There’s not a word she can bring herself to say that might make sense in their conversation. Everyone’s talking fast, exchanging anecdotes and inside jokes too quick for her to catch on and she can’t follow a single thing. This is her life and these are supposed to be her people.

But they aren’t at times like these. On occasions like this one, Marinette’s a floating body in Paris, belonging nowhere and everywhere all at once. Her mind’s left the cafe and it’s circling in the night sky, looking over pedestrians and cars, trying to find something hidden. Her eyes are peering into the streets and curves of the city. She’s listening to the sounds of what it means to jump in the sky at night, and she’s searching for something. 

Nowhere feels right in this city at all. No crevice of this place feels like home sometimes. Her shop is the safest haven, but even on the worst of nights, Marinette feels some itching urge inside her to burst through that door too and keep running.

What am I looking for? What’s out there for me?

“Marinette?” Her name arrives to her in a soft whisper and Marinette is jolted back to this moment. The cafe, the table, the smell of alcohol and the loud conversation.

She blinks. Adrien is peering at her with concern, a deep-set line decorating the space between his brows now. She hates to think of his worry being from her and quickly gives a smile.

“Are you alright?” he says.

She nods. “Just got stuffy there for a second.” 

His voice reduces to only being audible to her. “We can leave early, if you’d like.”

A rejection is already at the tip of Marinette’s tongue. Everyone was having so much fun, laughing and reminiscing, looking back on the youth they had. It isn’t fair for her to spoil that just because she couldn’t remember growing up as well as they did.

But a second glance at all her friends kills the rejection. The longer she stays here, the easier it’d be for her head to slip away somewhere else. She doesn’t want to be somewhere else right now. She wants to be here.

“Okay.”

That’s all it takes Adrien to give a comforting smile and get up from the table. Everyone protests, unwilling to part from him but he gives them a charming grin and promises to catch up again. Marinette doesn’t miss the way that everyone seems less enthusiastic about not wanting her to go, instead bidding her with a soft goodbye and pleas to take care. 

It makes her feel like no one understands what’s going on in her head at all. But when Adrien grabs her wrist and leaves for the door, Marinette feels slightly less alone.

*

“A daisy for you, my lady,” Adrien holds the plucked flower between his fingers. 

“Adrien! You just stole that from the flower shop!”

He grins with glee, sparing only a short look behind him to the closing shop. “They’ll hardly miss a single daisy!” he says before bursting into laughter. “Imagine if they do though. That’d be funny. A missing poster with this little guy!”

His steps are all over the place, his hair tangling itself by the second and Marinette fights a smile. “Hey Adrien?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you’re drunk, right?” she giggles. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize how drunk you were back at the cafe.”

Adrien’s arm wraps around a street lamp and he swings around it in a rather dramatic fashion. Marinette pauses and waits for him to finish, though she can’t deny she enjoys watching how smooth his movements are, despite being drunk. She thinks he’s going to fall each time from one messy step and yet, he always catches himself. 

How does a high school Physics teacher find himself with reflexes like that? 

“I’m not drunk. Only slightly tipsy, like every good Parisian out there,” he grins before tipping his head forward. “You’re not accepting my flower! Accept my flower, my lady.”

Everything Adrien does resembles something of a movie – one of the black and white ones, with rain and umbrellas and piano music. That’s what Marinette thinks when she looks at him now. It feels as though Marinette can take a few steps back and put him on a screen to watch him forever.

“How can I?” she smiles. “You didn’t tell me what it means.”

“Daisy… uh, daisy…” he stumbles. “I didn't prepare this one!”

Marinette laughs. “Are you sure that’s even a daisy?”

Adrien sighs. “I’m no good. I should return this to the shop. They’re probably looking for it.”

He lets go of the street lamp and swiftly jumps over a puddle on the ground. Marinette quickly reaches for his hand before he can maneuver himself any further. “Wait! I want it!”

“Really?”

“Of course,” she nods and reaches for his fingers. “I’m keeping it.”

Adrien blinks, staring at the missing flower in his hand. “What do you do with them?” he asks. “The flowers I give you.”

“I keep them safe. Don’t worry,” Marinette says. She intends to say more but a blinding light in the sky suddenly appears and trips her from composure. It peeks through the gaps of buildings and above their rooftops. 

“Oh. The Eiffel Tower lights,” Adrien mutters softly. Marinette glances up and sees the upper half of the triangle structure blink with fluttering white lights. They decorate the sky with a kind of magic Marinette isn’t used to seeing. After dusk, she’s usually back home or tucked away in her bed, not out prancing about in Paris.

Safe to say, the sight mesmerizes her. 

“So pretty,” she breathes out. Momentarily, she hears peace in her head. She feels her wandering mind of the night stop and pause here, to watch the lights. “Does this really happen every night?”

“Yes,” Adrien answers. “You don’t remember?”

She hates this question. She’s heard it so often now that she hates it so much. It taints every new wonder of her life for her. It taints the memory of gazing at Adrien for the first time and feeling bewitched. It taints her small, everyday thoughts about whether the top of Paris buildings really are that dirty or how it feels to fall from a height. For every wonder she voices aloud, she receives this as her answer.

“Remember what?” Marinette responds like clockwork.

Adrien shrugs. “Ah… I don’t know. Sorry. I don’t know what I expected you to remember,” he says. “You must hate this question.”

I do. “Did I see these lights a lot before when I was younger?”

Adrien’s expression seems to be caught between confusion and hesitation. “Yeah. Almost every night,” he says. “You loved them. You’d always try to get the best view.”

“Did I watch them with you?” Marinette frowns.

“Sometimes,” he nods with a smile. “I would be too busy looking at you when you did though.”

The words send a flush to Marinette’s cheeks. She tries to imagine her younger self with… Adrien’s younger self, and that makes matters worse. Model Adrien Agreste.

Her feelings towards Adrien don’t add up all the time but she understands this – both her, and her younger self, share a deep appreciation for the beauty that is this man. It makes Marinette shiver to her spine to think of how beautiful he must’ve looked when they stared at the Eiffel Tower together before. She wishes, more than anything, that she could remember how he did. 

“Why are you making that face?” Adrien says and cocks a brow.

“What face?”

“That- that one! Right there.”

Marinette quickly wipes any expression she can imagine off. She looks at him with a rehearsed coolness. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Adrien’s lips slowly curl into a grin before breaking into laughter. “You would do things like that back in school, you know?” he continues laughing with a wispy look in his eyes. “The very same expressions. I can never figure out what they mean.”

Marinette smiles as if she holds a clandestine secret to herself. “Nevermind that,” she says before turning back to the tower. “Tell me about the times we watched the lights together.”

Adrien pauses, humming in deliberation. “I’ll tell you something more interesting. One time, Ladybug and Chat Noir were up against this akumatized villain who was this thief who wanted to steal the Eiffel Tower.”

“Isn't that from a movie?”

“That guy wanted to steal a moon, Marinette!” Adrien answers, exasperated as Marinette laughs. “Anyway, he just wanted more than anything to have the Eiffel Tower all to himself. I assume he had his heart broken or broke some action figure, or something or the other. Who knows with these akumatized villains?”

“Hey, be nice to them! It wasn’t their fault.”

“Yeah, yeah. So he had this bag as his super power and he could just… stuff things into them! Imagine. He’d put the pouch by a building and it’d be sucked in, like a little souvenir. He was making his way to the Eiffel Tower, bit by bit, while stopping at every landmark on the way to suck it into his pouch.”

“What did he get?”

“Well, he managed to get the Arc de Triomphe, half of the shops on Champs Elysee, and get this – he was about to suck up all the Seine!”

Marinette gasps. “How could he do that?”

“He was trying to get the water out! At the last second, Ladybug pulled him out of there but the water overflowed the sidewalks,” he sighs. “But because of that, she wasn’t able to hold onto him. She sank with these waves of the river that started streaming down the path ways.”

Marinette’s eyes are big now. “He got away?!”

“Yep. The man bounced back easily and ran. He was on his way to the tower now, since he knew he wouldn’t have her on his tail – pun intended.”

“Where was Chat Noir in all this?”

“Well, he was waiting at the Eiffel Tower! You see, Ladybug and him had a plan. Chat Noir was going to cataclysm the tower to distract our villain so Ladybug would be able to capture him. But, that didn’t quite work. So instead, Chat Noir improvised,” Adrien takes a dramatic pause. Marinette knows he quite enjoys her investment in his stories, but doesn’t hide her anticipation. “The villain came running towards the bottom of the tower. Chat Noir saw him at the last second, and that magic pouch was opening. The tower was already slowly starting to suck into it…”

Marinette blinks early. "What?! So what did he do next? Did Chat Noir cataclysm the tower onto the city?!"

Adrien grins, satisfied by her reaction. "Nope. Even better. Ladybug appeared at that very second and quickly decided that she’d wrap her yo-yo around the Eiffel Tower before climbing it-"

"She climbed it?!" Marinette's mouth gapes wide open. "But that's so dangerous!"

"Well, she was used to that kind of thing. Don't you think you'd climb a tower if it risked the lives of civilians?"

At this, Marinette bursts out laughing. "I'm sure there's hundreds of people in Paris who'll climb a building, Adrien, but not me. Don't you see how clumsy I am?" she shook her head in amusement. "I would never do that kind of thing."

Adrien doesn't respond for a few beats too long and when Marinette turns to look at him, she catches a glimpse of pain. She blinks, quickly to capture the sight, but when she looks again, he's looking at her normally. The flash of his expression still disturbs her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he smiles, almost too quickly for Marinette to be convinced. "I was just suddenly thinking about work."

“Sobering up now?” she laughs. “Come on, finish the story!”

He takes a breath and continues, “yeah. It turned out his pouch was already so full from water and everything else that when Ladybug tugged on the tower with her yo-yo, it bounced him back on the ground. He ended up being caught.”

“That’s an anti-climatic ending!” Marinette remarks, though she’ll admit, she loved the story from start to end. “You lost your energy there.”

“Sorry. I remembered something I had to do for the students next week,” he says, rubbing his eyes with two fingers. His shoulders slump down as if it’s hard to even hold himself up now and his voice is low.

Marinette nods in understanding. "Ah... work. You know, I still don't understand why you're a Physics teacher. Don't you think you'd be great as a storyteller? With how creative and passionate you are about these old superheroes."

Adrien shrugs. "I don't know. Sometimes people don't end up doing what they're supposed to. I once knew a girl who wanted to save the world forever. Now, I don't know if that's something she's even thought twice about."

Marinette hums. "Well, saving the world forever sounds like a big commitment," she says. "Is she at least happy now with what she changed to do?"

When Marinette meets Adrien's eyes, he's already looking at her. It's one of those looks, the ones he gives when he thinks she isn't looking, where he only stares and stares straight at her as if searching for something. She wonders what it is he's looking so intently for. She doesn't know if she has the answers to any of the questions for the universe he's carrying with him.

"Yeah," Adrien finally answers. The smallest of smiles tugs at his lips but Marinette knows the look hasn't dissipated from his eyes. He's still somewhere far away from her, in his thoughts and burdens. But still, he lets her know he's with her by squeezing her hand. "I think she is."

*

Marinette’s childhood bedroom has remained unchanged since the day she moved out – a blessing, now that she hardly remembers what it was like to live here.

It’s through her childhood bedroom that Marinette rediscovers herself. Her last few visits have told her that she went to a lot of places with her friends back in school – from New York, to Shanghai, to London – and that she had a lot of packaged men’s items in gift wrapping and also that she used to really like a spotted red and black pattern in fashion. 

Of course, none of these things make sense to Marinette now. She takes in each fact and story about her younger self as if someone would take in stories of a stranger. But it nevertheless is fascinating to discover who she was. 

There are things that remain the same, and those are what give Marinette the most solace. She can see designs her teenage self did for a clothing boutique, a dream she always had. She can see drawings of baked goods, and collectible little toys, and bits and bobs of fabric stuffed into drawers. She laughs when she finds more evidence of how always design-obsessed she was. These aren’t memories she can’t recall but it’s fun to remember either way.

“Marinette,” her mother’s voice comes from below the bedroom floor panel. “Is that you?!”

“Yes, maman!”

Her parents' beaming faces pop up through the ground. Marinette can easily picture the same sight, just ten years younger. It seems that not only has her room remained unchanged but her parents too. 

This place is frozen in time, unmoving from who she was as a child. That’s what Alya always says – that everyone’s lives have changed, and the world has spun around completely, and yet in a little bakery by the corner of their old school, a piece of the past remains.

“Surprise!” Marinette grins.

“Oh honey. We weren’t expecting you,” her father says, pushing himself up to the floor. When he envelopes her into a hug, she’s hit with the smell of dough. It smells like home. 

“Well… the shop’s sold out!” she bursts into excitement. “I gave Noelle the days off while I re-design and I can restock.”

Her parents squeal higher than her. They clap their hands like children and give the most delighted of smiles. “Marinette! That’s incredible!”

“This calls for some fresh biscuits, coming right to you,” her father winks. “Our sold out designer needs some sugar for her redesigning!”

“That’d be great, actually,” Marinette smiles. 

“I cleaned out some of your things from the storage by the way. They’re all on the desk,” her mom adds. “Go through it when you have the time.”

“Already started on it!” Marinette nods and pushes back to her desk in the wheely chair. Her main goal is to leave this room with fresh new designs but everything she’s come up with so far on this desk only appears to her like a rehashed version of all that she’s sold. Her parents wish her luck and pop down to the bakery, leaving her to work.

Marinette spends hours on that childhood desk, though she finds nothing reasonable in any of her drafting. Being a designer and small business owner is a lot less like she imagined it to be when she sat on this table as a teen, she’s sure. Back then, designing clothes was just one of Marinette’s many activities of the day and she would find inspiration as she lived her life.

Now that designing clothes is all that Marinette has to do in her day, she has nothing else she can escape to. A hobby turned into a full-time career is a dream, but it isn’t so easy. It isn’t small bursts of inspiration and a fun activity. It’s long hours and creative slumps and the biggest part of who she is.

She sighs. “I’m getting nowhere,” she scribbles all over the paper she spent the last half hour on. This isn’t Marinette’s first creative block, though it is her most frustrating one yet. There’s nothing she can find to pick apart in her mind to put to the page or seek a spark from. 

Sometimes, when she tries really hard, she feels like she catches a string of inspiration. But when she tugs on that, it breaks apart. Something stops it from ever reaching her, like a block of hard metal wood or the force of the Earth in her brain. 

It’s like something is stopping me from digging deeper.

She wishes she could just give up and take a break – but she can’t do that now, not when it’s her job to churn out designs. Whether or not she wants to, she will have something by the end of today. 

It takes a few more attempts of back and forth for her to give up entirely for the night. Her wrist is aching, her eyes blurry and her head aches. I can’t do this, she groans as her head hits the desk. Beside her, in careful piles are folders and files that her mother had dug out from the storage of the apartment.

Her finger traces each one carefully. Some she recognizes, others are like unfamiliar memorabilia. The sight of so many collected books and folders from the years reminds her to dig out her current notebook. Her hand fishes through her handbag in haste, searching for something, while her other hand opens up to a page.

“Found it,” she mumbles as she fetches the plastic bag out. Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue is the daisy from last night. She removes it with practiced precision and gently presses it to the page, where dozens of flowers have been flattened and glued. “A new one to the collection,” she mutters with a soft smile.

She closes the book, ready to put it with the rest of her items. A sketchbook towards the bottom of the pile catches her attention, one that she’s never seen before. 

“My old sketchbook?” she wonders as her fingers reach for it, sandwiched between other items. A sudden curiosity comes to her and she imagines a gold mine of designs from her younger self inside the book. She wouldn’t plagiarize from her teenage imagination, of course not… but it wouldn’t hurt to look there for inspiration, would it?

The sketchbook has a black rim and white spots decorate the pink cover. Marinette unclasps the lock on the cover and opens up to the first page – a drawing of her old school.

“Wow,” she mutters to herself. It feels strange to look back at something that had once upon a time been a daily view for her. Each day seems long and yet, when Marinette turns around to see how much life she’s lived, it’s as though the time has sped by in a blink.

Carefully, she flips through the pages. There’s drawings of baked goods and animals, sketches of her friends, more spotted black and red patterns and she even finds some dresses. She gawks at each design in awe. She can’t even remember putting her pencil to paper to come up with these.

There’s dresses with flowy skirts, ones with corset tops, a few experimental designs with all sorts of cuts and fitting. No one design is the same. Anything Marinette’s put to the page reveals a new idea, as if she was just brimming with them. I was so creative.

Her eyes pause on them as if she’s reading the design. How could she come up with this? Usually, creatives should find their past work mediocre and their most present creations as masterpieces. Marinette sees the opposite. Her past work shows a life lived, a masterpiece skilled in experimenting and innovation. She almost feels ashamed for what she’s selling now – bland designs that can hardly compare.

I should try something like this again, she thinks to herself at each design. She picks out the parts she likes most, thinking of how to bring them to her most current designs. Her fingers keep flipping through the book, desperate to find more and more of her old work. Her hands freeze as the designs stop appearing from a certain page.

“What is this?” she murmurs, scanning through the next few pages. There’s no more designs now. It’s all the same thing over and over again. She bursts out laughing.

There are doodles of a boy dressed in all black. He crouches on balconies and hangs from railings in backgrounds of a dark night’s sky. The only colors on the pages that he appears on are the green of his eyes, and the gold of the bell around his neck. 

Marinette frowns. This character is unfamiliar to her, and doesn’t appear in any of the earlier pages of her sketchbook. Though, from the moment he’s on one page, it seems as though every page is now about him.

“Who are you?” Marinette’s eyes narrow. On one page, she finally sees it.

Sitting atop messy blonde hair are two… ears? They poke out like horns and Marinette peers at the peculiar sight. A long belt wraps around the boy’s legs.

Oh. You’re a cat.

Her eyes can’t get enough of the drawings. Each one is carefully drawn and colored in, some with watercolor paint while other with color pencils. The settings of each are different too. She’s drawn him sitting with a sunset, laying atop the Eiffel Tower, posing on a bridge.

In some, Marinette’s drawn him with a smile, and in others, he’s focused and looks out away. It isn’t till she comes across a drawing of him fighting a monster that Marinette realizes who has been filling her childhood sketchbook.

“Chat Noir?” she calls out, as if this mysterious superhero would answer from the pages. Her voice shakes and her hand trembles as she flips the page. This time, air sharply leaves her lungs in a gasp.

Chat Noir is sitting on the balcony outside Marinette’s room, his legs comfortably sprawled on the ledge. His eyes glint with mischief and Marinette can tell the care with which this image was drawn. She rubs her finger and feels the page worn out, as if she’d drawn over and over and erased a hundred times to get this particular mouth correct. 

“So this is what you look like,” Marinette whispers to herself. She’s searched his photos up many times, though each time she looked away, his face would disappear from her mind instantly. Trying to hold onto him was like trying to hold onto a gust of wind. She would think she had it and it would be gone in an instant.

And so, each time she looks at Chat Noir, it’s like looking at him for the first time. Though, seeing Chat Noir in her notebooks feels oddly different to seeing photos of him on the Internet. The drawings imprint in her mind and Marinette wonders… why did she draw him so much?

Where did these images of him come from to her? Marinette knows herself and she knows she’s never enjoyed drawing people that much, always opting more for scenery and faceless figures wearing designs. There’s always something about trying to capture someone’s eyes, the curve of their lips, the shape of their nose, that Marinette finds too tedious. It takes too much love and attention to put someone to page.

But Chat Noir is on her pages, and not just a few times. He fills a book of pages.

Marinette gulps and her head spins as though she’s jumping up and down in her room. Did she imagine this boy on her balcony? Or was she drawing from memory?

No, it couldn’t be from memory. This is surely all Marinette’s imagination… Why would a superhero from her childhood be sitting on her balcony? 

“Ah,” she exhales in a breath. “My head is killing me.”

She pushes the notebook away and climbs to her bed. Each movement feels like it’s taking an eon, like her body is battling an invisible force against her. It takes only a few seconds for her to fall asleep after that and remember nothing from the rest of the night.

But when she wakes in the morning, she is certain that she remembers wishing that Chat Noir were still here, prancing around the city, so that she could see him again. 

*

“What’s got you so distracted today?” is the first thing Adrien says the next week, followed by “a sunflower, for how much I adore you.”

“I’m not distracted,” Marinette blinks through a haze. Her hand is lingering on a hanger and she’s incredibly slow this morning. It’s the worst morning for her to not be in top shape, considering she has boxes of items from the manufacturers to put on the shelves. 

Adrien glances around. “Where’s Noelle?”

“I told her to take a break and come back later. I didn’t feel well enough to unbox all this,” Marinette sighs. She reaches for the sunflower and holds the stem carefully. “Thank you.”

“Are you sick? Too much sugar with the Dupain-Chengs?”

She laughs. “I’m sure you’re jealous.”

“Oh, I am. You get to go home and visit a bakery,” Adrien scoffs. “Some of us have it too good in life.”

“Adrien, you were a teen model.”

“Irrelevant,” he rolls his eyes. “So, you’re sick?”

“No, silly,” Marinette laughs at Adrien feigning a dramatic covering of his mouth. “I’m perfectly fine. The weekend was great and my parents… well, you know they are.”

“Force-feeding the most delicious things ever?” Adrien drops his head. “Sorry to hear about that.”

Marinette hums with a smile, turning back to the hanger on the shelf. She’s not being entirely honest though, not with herself nor with Adrien. The weekend was great but it was not without some strange revelation that has shaken up Marinette’s life.

It shouldn’t matter now what Marinette was as a child – what things she drew, what things she had interest in. It’s been years since she was that young for it to really matter.

And yet, when Marinette finds herself losing herself in some task, she’s jolted back to thinking about it like a sharp zap to her body. She sees the drawing come to life in her mind, each time a little bit more real than the last. It’s becoming hard to tell how much of the image she’s seeing is from the drawings and how much of it is becoming a reality… a memory of sorts.

Even now, as she’s away from her purse at the shop counter, her fingers are itching to go back. She wants to rip open her purse, pull out the sketchbook and flip through the drawings again. Bewitched is the word she could use to describe herself right now.

Adrien begins talking about his day and how work went for him. Marinette can only half listen, coherently understanding snippets of the stories while nodding through whatever she couldn’t. She thinks she’s doing a pretty good job at fooling him till he finally says, “Marinette, you’re not listening, are you?”

“Hm? What? I am!”

Adrien smiles, almost pitifully. “Was your weekend really okay?”

Marinette presses her lips. “It was… fine. I don’t really have that many new designs and I feel like a failure because going back home made me realize that… my work was so much better before?” she says. “I was so creative, I had so much life and I was pulling ideas out of everywhere. Coming to terms with that is a bit hard. That and…” she pauses.

“And?”

She plasters a smile. “And realizing some strange things about my childhood self,” she says in a light tone. She wants to tell Adrien, but she needs him to make it easier for her.

“Oh really?” Adrien grins. “Like your obsessive crush on me?”

“Not quite… I think- I think I had a crush on Chat Noir when I was a teenager,” she says, quickly forcing a laugh to make the words feel easy. “I can’t remember anything about liking him but… yeah. Teenage me had a thing for black cats and leather jumpsuits. Who would’ve thought, right?”

Marinette says every word with an air of nonchalance, as if learning the very existence of this love she had for a boy she never remembered meeting was something of a joke. It’s not. It’s been tearing at her all night and all morning but she can’t bring herself to tell Adrien how serious it is.

When she looks at him, it doesn’t look like she has to.

Adrien’s pale and unmoving. She almost wonders if she’d said something completely different by his solemn expression.

“Adrien, what’s wrong?”

He swallows, glancing around the shop. “What… what made you think that? That you liked Chat Noir?”

She can see through the forced smile he’s giving and she wonders if he can see through her forced casualness. “Well… I found some old sketchbooks. I haven’t found any inspiration for designs lately so I thought I’d try to see what stuff I used to like and… he was all over the pages,” she laughs. “Every few pages, I used to sketch him. Sitting on rooftops, hanging off the Eiffel Tower, even on the balcony of my parents’ bakery.”

“You drew him?” his eyes narrow, almost accusingly. “You hate drawing people.”

Marinette can say nothing to say that. She gives a resigned shrug and exhales a chuckle. Speaking the words out loud has not made anything easier. If anything, they seem to make things worse… Adrien isn’t taking the news so well.

His hands tremble, his eyes alternate between a wide stare and rapid blinking. Marinette even notices his lip quiver, a strange reaction to what she considers to be a laughable story for others. If Alya had been the one Marinette told this to, she’s sure her friend would mock her for eternity. In fact, that’s how she expected anyone of her friends to take to the reveal.

Adrien is an outlier. His response heightens the caving feeling of Marinette’s lungs. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she lies. “He was a celebrity. I’m sure I’m not the only one who had an embarrassing celebrity crush on a boy I never spoke a word to.”

Those aren’t the correct words to say, Marinette instantly realizes. Adrien winces and his hands tighten into fists. Marinette isn’t sure if she’s imagining it, but Adrien seems further away now. He’s taking a few steps back. 

“I have to leave,” his words come out in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Adrien-”

He doesn’t wait to hear it. When the bell above the door rings after he paces out, away from her, Marinette is left alone in the shop to wonder what just happened in a few moments alone. Now, with not another soul nor even a single dress in the empty shop, Marinette feels as though her being here is wrong. For the first time, she thinks this is not where she should be at all. 

*

The taste of the air on the ground is different to the taste of the air up in the sky.

Down on the ground, when you run, your lungs pant and desperately try to catch something to breathe. Up above, on building rooftops and floating through the sky, the air is neverending. You never have to fight for a moment to breathe.

This is why Adrien has always preferred being above to on the ground. For when he was Chat Noir, he never had this aching feeling tearing his body apart as he ran away from anything. No, being Chat Noir was freeing. Being Chat Noir was a dream.

As he runs now, pain throbs at his chest and Adrien can’t breathe. His greatest wish is to be Chat Noir again, just to stop how unpleasant it is to run from Marinette. But he can’t do that. It’s been years since he’s seen the world through the eyes of Chat Noir, and the world has seen Chat Noir.

His human body has limitations and he falls to the dirty ground of Paris, feeling his palms collide with the pavement. He cries out loudly, screeching in pain as he can’t find it in himself to run further away. Few onlookers on the street watch Adrien with great interest.

His existence has always felt like a jail. When he was younger, he was gawked at and probed, as his father’s prodigy. Adrien didn’t have a single ounce of himself just for himself. His one salvation came through a life as Chat Noir, but even that was not without its imprisonment. He was to remain under a mask, never revealing his true self, even when it could kill him to do so. Even when his father had to die at his own hands, he could take off the mask.

And when he finally could, he discovered that living without the mask was not the rescue he was hoping for. So much time had elapsed since Adrien had become Chat Noir, so much of his life’s experiences and self invested in Chat Noir, that he could not be one without the other. 

Of course, there was a way to make this easier, once. There was someone who could get him through understanding how to live.

But there’s no one now. Adrien is without family, without Plagg, without Ladybug.

“Adrien?” a worried voice cries out. “Oh my God, Adrien!”

Adrien sees a paper bag of items drop to the ground. His head is cradled by someone but Adrien sees a blurry image of the person holding him. The face blends together like watercolor but his eyes are drawn to the ears. Red and black spotted earrings.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Noelle.”

Her face comes to his vision. Noelle’s hair falls over his face and she quickly tucks it behind her ear. The earrings stand out on her like a bright color on a blank canvas. When Adrien saw Ladybug wear them, they never seemed to draw his attention but with Noelle, he supposes it’s her blonde hair that makes them pop out. Whenever he teases her about it, she protests and promises that she will be sure to dye her hair once her mother allows and she’s an adult.

“Adrien,” she frowns in concern. Her hand wraps around his shoulder and helps him rise from the ground. She looks at him with so much worry but all Adrien can focus on are the red earrings that remind him of his suffering. "Did you have a bad day again?"

There are no words, Adrien thinks, in any language that can come close to explaining the pain in his chest. The pain of falling so irrevocably in love with someone and having them snatched so fiercely out of your hands that it burns where you once touched them and it stings when you see them smile. There is no pain to compare to this. Losing his Ladybug isn't like losing a friend or a family member. It feels like a part of Adrien is no longer with him.

"Noelle," he cries. "Noelle."

He feels her hand press lightly against his neck. This scene is nothing new to her, and so she is able to listen to him sob and never judge him for it. While there’s no one who can understand Adrien’s pain, she is the only one who can listen to it.

"It'll never be the same again," he mumbles. “She will never remember me.”

“I know, Adrien. I know,” she says soothingly. “But that doesn’t mean your relationship now is any less special.”

Adrien shakes with his tears. She’s said this countless times but it never helps, despite her best efforts. She’s been kind enough to tell him to be patient and to make his best with the situation, but Adrien is feeling his resolve slip away day by day.

“Ladybugs get to live a life of luck and fortune,” he says. “And the black cats are doomed to misery wherever they go.”

Noelle shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

Adrien gives her a desolate look. “It is,” he says. “Marinette forgot me and one day, you will forget me too. Then, I’ll go to the guardian after you to console me, and she’ll forget me too. And once she forgets me, it’ll only be a matter of time till there’s someone new who too will toss me aside.”

Noelle says nothing. Her hand doesn’t cease to stop stroking Adrien’s hair, despite her lip quivering. She’s so young, only a few years older than him when he started this job, and she’s already been introduced to the pain that magic can cause. Adrien wishes he could take it all away. More times than not, he’s been tempted.

He’s been tempted to crush his ring into those earrings and wish for it to end. The world could continue, only without his suffering. He didn’t deserve to be the only one here fated to live an imprisoned life of misery.

But those thoughts are the reason he no longer wears his ring. Instead, his ring is kept safe away from him with Noelle, and Adrien is forced to continue this trivial existence.  

“Ladybugs get to live a life of luck and fortune,” he repeats quietly. “And the black cats are doomed to misery wherever they go.”

*

It’s a while until Marinette sees Adrien again.

On the days he’s not here, she gets close to crazy, calling all their friends to ask about him, leaving him messages, walking by flower shops to see him. 

The sinking feeling that started the moment he left her shop has not ended. It’s spiraling and Marinette is falling deeper and deeper into some kind of existential dread. The nights are impossible to find sleep in because Marinette’s body feels agitated by some kind of forgotten task.

Her shop hardly provides her the comfort she needs anymore. On her strangest moments, she feels the urge to burst and run out, climb a building, fly through the city. Delusions overtake her on her weakest moments.

Adrien arrives outside as Marinette is closing her shop. She sees him stand outside the door and he looks straight back at her, but never enters. Finally, she comes outside, hearing the bell of her door chime as she locks the door.

She speaks first today. “I was starting to think you’d never come again.”

Adrien doesn’t look… like Adrien. Sunken circles have set below his eyes, he’s missed a few days of shaving and his hair is messy. “I’m sorry I ran out that day,” he says and offers the flower of the day – a lily. “For you.”

She takes the flower, mumbling a thank you but she can’t draw her eyes away from him. “Adrien, what happened to you?”

“I… I got a bit overwhelmed. I’m sorry,” he mutters before signaling to the street. “I can walk you home?”

Marinette gives a weak smile. “I feel like I should be walking you home.”

At that, he laughs and Marinette feels like ease has returned to her in a simple second. Ever since he disappeared, so much of her had gone with him – even in the small exchanges they had everyday, Marinette thinks that Adrien has some hold on a part of her. 

It’s always been that way, she realizes. In the parts of her life that she can’t remember, she’s been told by every one of her friends that she’s always loved Adrien. That when he would have a new shoot, she would be the most excited. That when he lost his dad, she was the first to cry on his behalf. That when he was gone for some time, she hurt more than anything.

Those feelings are numb now, mostly because Marinette can’t even remember herself doing any of those things. But it doesn’t matter… because in this life she lives that she can remember, she still loves Adrien. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks as they begin walking. He doesn’t even ask before taking her bags from her hand to carry them.

The words he wants to say don’t come out instantly. He hesitates for a while, glancing at her back and forth. Eventually, he speaks. “I want to tell you a story.”

“Hm?” Marinette’s stomach sinks. She doesn’t really want to hear about Chat Noir, not right now. “Another Ladybug story?”

“No. It’s not,” he begins. “There was a boy once, and he lived in the most beautiful castle in the land. There were painted windows, big rooms, and all sorts of entertainment inside this castle. Anything you want could be found inside. But still, this boy wasn’t happy.”

Marinette listens, though it’s the last thing she wants to do right now. “Why?”

“Well, he could never get out! Because everything he needed or wanted was inside, his father never thought he needed to leave the castle. His school could come to this home, his playground could be there, friends – if he did make any – could come over. Why would he need to go outside?”

Marinette frowns. “To live?”

Adrien nods sharply. “Exactly. The boy, despite everything he had, still wanted to leave to live. Curiosity is such a cunning thing and it can change lives. So the boy, driven by this curiosity, kept searching for ways to leave. Nothing really worked, he was still under heavy control and surveillance but one day… he found a way to leave. It appeared like a miracle.”

“What was it?”

“Something he never expected. It was a ring. But not just any ring… this ring came with a powerful friend, one that could turn him into something else that could leap through windows and climb buildings. It was magic.”

Marinette blinks. The strange feeling in her worsens.

“And, as he had it, once he started to get out, so did something else. There were fire-breathing dragons and overgrown crocodiles and sorcerous magicians all about the land. Outside was nothing like the boy imagined and yet…” Adrien pauses. “He liked it. Outside was not safe, or clean, or even pretty to look at but it had a charm. He even met someone like him on the outside.”

“A girl?” Marinette gave a chuckle.

Adrien smiles. “The most beautiful and brave girl there was out there. She also had a powerful friend, you see, but she had earrings – not a ring. When she had those on, she could swing between tall buildings and conjure things out of thin air. When she had those red and black spot earrings on, there was nothing she couldn’t do.”

“Red and black spotted?” her words were barely above a whisper.

Adrien watches her carefully. “Yes. Together, the boy and girl decided they’d become a team. They would restore everything to peace, until there was nothing left to fix. When that day would come, they would rest but until then, they would keep fighting. Everyone loved them dearly.”

“And it was a happy ending,” Marinette mumbles. A discomfort is traveling through her body, swirling around in her stomach, pumping her veins, heating her neck. 

“Oh no. Not at all,” Adrien says. “A happy ending for everyone who got to enjoy the safety and peace the boy and girl brought, but for the boy and girl, it was a terrible ending. They spent years sacrificing their life, because someone had to do it and the world chose them, but the reward they reaped were punishments. For the boy… well, all the evil dragons and crocodiles and magicians that were being sent to the land were from his father.”

Marinette’s winces and her gaze pivots to Adrien. “What?” 

He stares at her, unmoving. “He had been fighting his father all these years. Even as a boy or even as something else, it was always his father. And so, while the world rejoiced that the terrible man was gone, the boy was left an orphan but he could never grieve. This was the punishment for the rest of his life.”

“Why does he need to be punished?” Marinette argues, heat flashing across her cheeks. “He was the good guy!”

“That’s just the way the story goes,” Adrien shrugs. “As for the girl… she became sick after a while. She had stopped being a girl and only became something else, all to keep fighting, and while she grew as the land’s savior, she never got to be that girl again. And so, she ended up forgetting that she was the savior, in hopes to live as a girl again.”

“She forgot she saved everyone?” Marinette says slowly.

“Yes. And that was her punishment… or maybe it was really a reward? It’s hard to tell,” Adrien says. “She lived as a girl again and forgot all that she did. A part of her life is gone.” Adrien looks at Marinette intently, with a question hidden behind a casual smile. “What do you think, Marinette? Is it a punishment, or a reward?” 

Marinette stumbles, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t… I don’t know. She didn’t get to live out the reward she really deserved so it’s a punishment but… maybe it isn’t. I don’t know,” she swallows, turning to walk again. “Is that the end of the story? If so, I hate it.”

Adrien laughs. “It isn’t the happiest one I’ve told, I know. The boy and girl, after everything, didn’t get the happiness they should’ve gotten… but the people loved them. They didn’t know a thing of this despairful ending the boy and girl got, but they loved their story. That out of a hopeless place emerged two of the most incredible miracles the land had seen,” he says. “So they told this story over and over again, to anyone who would listen. They promised to tell their kids and write it down in history books, pay homage through statues and remember the fights. Today, they call it the tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Marinette stops in her tracks. She looks at Adrien with contempt and laughs, “so it was another Ladybug and Chat Noir story. You lied.”

He shakes his head and his smile is caught somewhere between peace and sorrow. “No. It wasn’t. This story was about that boy and girl, the ones who had to become Ladybug and Chat Noir. But they were people too, and this was a story about them.”

She shrugs. “Is it not the same?”

“Do you really think so?” he asks. “You don’t think that the boy and girl from this story sound completely unalike the other stories I told you?”

Marinette hardly understands the message Adrien is trying to make, just that whenever she thinks too deeply about Chat Noir, her body begins to ache with an intensity she can’t bring herself to understand. “They do. I feel very sorry for them.”

Adrien only nods. “I’m sure they’re making do. With whatever life they have now.”

“After giving it all up to fighting,” Marinette mumbles. “Are they still living?”

“They are,” he confirms. “They’re humans after all. That’s what we’re all made to do. You live, no matter what you’re faced with, no matter if it feels wrong to. Even if a life feels incomplete, you live it, don’t you?”

His words spread an uncomfortable pounding across her mind. Did she mention that to Adrien? She doesn’t remember telling Adrien anything about feeling something amiss from time to time, feeling out of her environment, despite being in her own home. 

A painful tug is starting now, at the back of her neck. It’s as though Marinette’s body is failing on her, the more she stays on the ground now. What is she straining her body so deeply with that she feels this way?

“I’m sure they’ll find happiness. We’re all bound to,” Marinette makes herself say through the discomfort.

“I wonder about that too,” he answers. “A lot more than I can admit. I’m always thinking about it.”

“And? What have you deduced from that thinking?”

“Well, that if it’s something I care about so much that I can’t exist without thinking about it, then I need to know. For my sake.”

It’s starting to feel like there is something climbing up Marinette’s spine, on the back of her neck. She slips her fingers behind her shirt, feeling around but nothing is there. The crawling feeling changes to a sting. Her own body is malfunctioning on her.

“So?” she breathes out.

Adrien’s hand reaches out and wraps around Marinette’s. Thankful for the warmth of another person, Marinette clings on and squeezes as she rests her weight on him.

“Have you found happiness, Marinette?”

Marinette frowns and smiles in confusion. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Are you happy? Do you feel like everything is right now, with the way it is?”

Marinette blinks. “I… Adrien, you are still drunk, aren’t you?” she laughs. “You’re confusing me today. On another day, I would love this but I’m… not feeling well today,” she says before reaching up to gently brush the hair on his nape. The world spins for a second when she does and Marinette feels as though she’s becoming delirious by each passing second. When she looks at Adrien, it almost feels like she’s looking at something out of a page of her sketchbook. 

“Are you happy?” he mutters. 

Marinette holds tightly onto him. “I am happy you’re okay, Adrien. It was unbearable for me when you weren’t around and I really thought you didn’t want to see me anymore, because I was boring or… weird, or something. I don’t know. But thank you. For coming back to me. If I am happy, it’s because of you.”

This is the closest they’ve ever been, the most forward Marinette has ever been able to find herself while speaking to him. She doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she doesn’t need to know. 

They stand in silence for a long while and Adrien smiles. He repeats her name over again, barely a whisper and Marinette isn’t sure what to make of the moment – only that it feels like something she should remember. Or rather, it feels like there is something to remember for this moment.

“Marinette,” he says, suddenly serious. “The people in my stories. They're us."

In the busy street of Paris, Marinette feels her heart stop briefly, for a slow moment. It’s as though something heavy pulls her chest and she's worried she'll sink to the ground if she doesn't force herself to breathe.

She's ready to laugh, a snarky response prepared on her tongue for Adrien but when she looks at him, she stills. His eyes aren't bright and flirtatious, like the eyes of the boy who brings her a flower every morning or offers a love confession at every corner but... they look like the eyes of someone who's hurting.

Though he hides it, Marinette sees him hesitate, as if there's so much more he wants to say. But she's still stuck, thinking about his eyes. Was Adrien always in so much pain around her? She'd never even noticed.

She takes a step back, and the ache returns sharply. “What are you saying?”

Adrien pleads with his eyes and Marinette feels almost afraid at the desperation his gaze speaks. “I’m the boy who is still grieving, Marinette,” he whispers. “And you are the girl trying to live as a girl again.”

He buries his head in his hands and Marinette watches as the most confident and cool man she knows turns into something else entirely.

“Adrien, what are you–” a cry of pain fills the street. It takes Marinette a second to realize it came from her as her ears ring and a sharp stab feels like it’s delivered to her head.

“Marinette?” Adrien grabs her in concern. “You’re hurting… oh my God, you’re hurting,” he mutters in disbelief. “You’re trying to remember. Tikki told me it can be like this-”

“Adrien, you’re spewing nonsense,” Marinette barks out. She doesn’t mean to sound so harsh but her body feels as though it’s at war with herself. What kind of sickness is this?

He shakes his head. “No, I’m- I’m sorry,” he holds onto Marinette tightly to stop her from falling.

Marinette can’t explain what’s going through her. Immense pain works itself through her, in the form of sadness. An aching despair fills Marinette’s stomach and images drift through her mind, memories she doesn’t remember ever experiencing.

My mind is playing tricks on me.

She sees Adrien’s face under the rain, his hand holding out an umbrella. She tastes the wind of the sky hit her as she swings through a city. She hears a high pitched voice, begging for sweet treats from inside her purse. She smells the city burning, unlike any terror she’s ever seen in Paris. She speaks the words… spots on.

It’s all so scary and so… frightening. Marinette is paralyzing with shock in each moment that passes.

“Adrien,” Marinette cries out. “What is happening?”

Adrien looks petrified as he clings to Marinette. She’s never seen him so distressed. “Your mind is trying to fight,” his voice comes to Marinette like a sound hidden in loud background noise. “Marinette, please be careful-”

She isn’t sure what he says next. She remembers nothing of anything, only that her body spun as she lost control and collapsed.

*

“Hey kitty,” she starts off that night. “You think the city still needs us?”

His eyes widen. “What do you mean?”

“Well… it’s been a few years that we’ve been out of school and stopped Hawkmoth,” she says, not missing the way Chat still winces at the mention of their old enemy. “Apart from regular day pickpocketing and the occasional crime, there’s not much for us to do anymore.”

Chat pauses. “Yeah but… aren’t Ladybug and Chat Noir meant to be forever?”

“I mean, of course. They can’t just cease to exist but it’s been a few years now without any real supernatural danger. Sometimes, it feels like being Ladybug is more decorative than it is useful now.”

Chat scoffs. “Ladybug decorative? The Ladybug?” he says. “The one who saved not just Paris as a whole, but millions of people?”

Ladybug laughs. He always has the tendency to dramatize. “That was back then. I’m talking about now,” she says. “We were always so caught up trying to survive that we never really had time to think about what a superhero should do after. When the danger existed, it seemed like it existed forever.”

Chat hums in understanding. Even now, while they have this conversation in the dead of the night, Paris is quiet – apart from drunk men on the street and unnecessary honking. Even the flickering lights of tonight’s Eiffel Tower feel different. In the past, they would have to keep a keen ear to the sound of danger, but now, the city is holding itself together. Everyone has become an everyday superhero for themselves.

“Never really had time to think about a superhero retirement,” he says, kicking his legs back and forth while sitting on the ledge. “There was a time when we were the most important people in the city. Feels like we’re washed up celebrities at times, like… a teen star, you know?”

Ladybug frowns with amusement at the comparison. “A teen star?”

He shrugs. “It was the first thing that came to my mind! You get my point.”

Ladybug nods. She gets it more than anything. Just like how Adrien Agreste was the fixation of the city at one point, so was she – as Ladybug. Ladybug and Chat Noir were the most in-demand people in the city, with how much danger was lurking. But just like how her dear Adrien bid goodbye to his celebrity status as an adult… Ladybug wonders.

“So where’s this coming from?” Chat says.

“My whole world has been half Ladybug’s. At times, I was living this life more than I was living my other one, just because that was what the situation needed,” she mumbles. A heavy weight sits on her chest, stirring with every word. “But it doesn’t need to be this way forever. Not for me, at least?”

Chat’s brows furrow. “What are you saying?”

Ladybug takes a deep breath. “I’m not just Ladybug. I’m the Guardian. Even when I’m not in this suit, I’m still in it… at least to all the kwamis back home. I’m always living for the miraculous. I thought I’d be living my own life by now, you know… earning money, working on other things. I can’t do that,” she pours her heart out and Chat understands now.

His expression is so distraught that Ladybug can’t bear to look at it. The weight of her words falls on him like a crash and his lips tighten into a thin line. It takes a while for him to speak again, but when he does, it feels like all of Paris stops just for his one question.

“You don’t want to be Ladybug anymore, do you?” 

Ladybug swallows. She’s been grieving for weeks now, as if she would be losing someone dear to her and not a part of herself. But delivering this news to Chat Noir, a boy who has known her since before she came to know herself… it’s been the hardest preparation.

“There is a life waiting for me outside the miraculouses,” she attempts to say bravely. “I want to give that life a chance.”

Fear dawns upon Chat like it’s the only thing he knows now. “Okay but… my lady, you renouncing your position doesn’t mean the same thing for me, as it does for you,” his voice quivers. “If you renounce your position, it means you would…”

Chat can’t bear to continue. Ladybug hates the way guilt eats her up now, after she’s spent a long time in turmoil with herself.

“I know.”

It sets Chat off the edge. Ladybug knew it would, and she can’t blame him for the tears that appear, for the frantic and loud pleading he begins, for the desperation.

“Don’t… don’t leave me,” he blinks. “No, no- you can’t-” he pauses and Ladybug feels her heart sink at the terror in his shaking fingers as he runs them through his hair. “You can’t just leave me, Ladybug, after ten fucking years. You can’t just make this decision and- and forget about me!”

“I’m sorry, chaton,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes well up with more tears each second that passes. “I’ll be alone. I’ll be alone without you. This… this means so much to me. Please, don’t forget me.”

Ladybug thinks her body is numb, but she sees her hands tremble. “Oh kitty,” she whispers. “This was an amazing time of my life. You were the best part of some of my worst days. Don’t…” she trails off. Chat Noir is an increasing mess and Ladybug can’t bring herself to say to not make this harder for her.

“You have to give me something,” his eyes soften pleadingly. “It’s been ten years and I don’t ask for your love or even your friendship anymore but… but these small moments we meet. It’s all I have.”

“That’s not true, Chat. You have a life outside of being Chat Noir, just like I have one outside of being Ladybug. You have so much.”

He stares and she feels the minute pass slowly. “It’s not enough. I don’t have anything in my life. But I do in this one,” he says. “You.”

“I’m sorry, Chat.”

“Please, I know it’s hard being the guardian but… please. Please, my lady,” his voice trembles. “Let me have one thing. Your company every few nights… just to talk. Please give that to me,” he takes her hand and presses it to his forehead. “Whatever you have trouble with, I’ll help you. I can take care of some of the Miraculouses and I can… I can help you financially! My civilian self, he has… more money than he could ever need. I can give you that and you can let me worry about these small things and… and I don’t even need to know your name for it! I can do it anonymously. You can just tell me when you need anything and-”

“Chat Noir. Please.”

The way she says his name is a threat. She needs him to understand, she’s made her decision and she’s made it for herself. This is the only thing she can give herself after ten long years of being behind a mask. I deserve some salvation.

He quiets immediately. He protests no more but his chest heaves loudly in the silent night. Though he tries to hold back sobs, Ladybug hears each one clear. Be strong, my kitty.

Neither trusts themselves to say anything more so for a long while, they sit in this irreparable stillness. Goodbye is only one word long but Ladybug thinks it feels like it takes all the time off her lips to say. How can one begin to say goodbye to ten years of their life?

Ladybug isn’t sure what’s waiting for her on the other side. She isn’t sure the extent to which she’ll find herself wiped, but she knows she won’t know herself – her Ladybug self. She won’t know that there was once a Chat Noir nor a Hawkmoth or that a brave girl began fighting at fifteen all for this. She won’t know, not till someone takes the time to tell her that Paris had superheroes once, and they were the most spectacular thing this city’s ever seen.

How will everyone take to the news, she wonders? Would it be Alya, who tells her about Ladybug – shocked, that her best friend of so long just woke up erased? Her parents? How would she learn again, of who she once was?

And who would she be, after all this? This is the question that’s kept Ladybug awake too many nights. Not even Tikki can answer her when she asks.

“I don’t know, Marinette,” her usual voice came with no energy. “It depends on how much of yourself you put into Ladybug.”

“What if it was all of it?” Marinette answered fearfully. “Who would I be then?”

“Then… a blank slate?”

A blank slate. Ladybug isn’t sure if that’s who she wants to be on the other side. She is still Marinette, after all and she needs to be Marinette. She needs to be Marinette, so that she can still make dresses with care and that she can love everyone in her life as usual – Papa, Maman, Alya, Nino, Juleka, Luka… Adrien.

She needs to love them, just as she does now. She can’t lose that, because that would be losing far too much. She needs to still love hearing Alya rant about the smallest thing of the day, needs to still love Nino’s nonchalant attitude to anything that comes his way, needs to still love Adrien’s kind heart.

Who knows? Maybe without all this Ladybug… maybe she can love Adrien again, the way she once wanted to. Yes, that sounds nice. On the other side, she will hold onto Adrien and love him again. 

Chat’s sob escapes his lips and the sound hurts like a knife to Ladybug’s chest. When she looks at him, she thinks about how there’s so many different kinds of first loves out there – unrequited first loves, mistaken first loves, painful first loves… but never what Chat Noir will become to her. Never forgotten first loves.

You were my first love, she wants to confess. It was always you.

But she can’t. Not now, not when it hardly matters. Not when tomorrow, she plans to hand over this life to a new girl, one she sees herself in, and move to being only Marinette. Marinette never loved Chat Noir, never thought once about saving the world, never experienced heartbreak on the top of a rooftop. Marinette has only ever liked Adrien Agreste and plans to confess to him in due time, has only ever wanted to save her own world and has only ever experienced heartbreak over celebrities.

“Have you chosen a new Guardian?” he asks finally, trying to keep from crying.

“Yes. I’m sure she will seek you out first,” Ladybug answers. “She’s young. Be gentle with her.”

“I hope you chose well,” he mumbles.

Ladybug nods. “I hope she is good to you.”

“Will that even matter to you?”

“It matters to me now,” Ladybug’s eyes fall. He says nothing and the silence returns.

This can’t be the end, even she thinks. Ten years of friendships, millions of moments of partnership, hundreds of seconds of something more… it can’t amount to only this. Ladybug wishes more than anything that there was a more seamless way to keep Chat Noir all to herself, without having to lose so much in the process.

But these are the cards she’s been dealt. There’s no way for a Ladybug like her to have a life for herself without having to burn her precious past. 

She turns to look at Chat Noir. Usually, on nights like these when he’s exceptionally handsome, she’s busy committing him to memory. She hates to think of how there’s no reason to do it anymore. Her hand reaches gently over to his arm and he looks up.

“I’ll give you something,” she smiles softly. “It’s not what you want but… I think you’ll like it.”

He’s frozen with hurt etched so deeply in his eyes that Ladybug is only grateful that she can forget this sight of him when she gives up being the guardian. It’s not a look she wants to ever remember, not if she wants to live without guilt.

“My name. I’m giving you my name,” Ladybug says when he doesn’t answer. Her words register slowly to him and suddenly, his eyes widen. “You can come find me in my civilian life, if you want. Don’t tell me that you’re Chat or that I was Ladybug but just… you can come find me and I can keep you company. Every few nights, just like you asked,” she finishes with a cheeky smile.

There’s still shock in his expression.

“Chat?”

He blinks. “I can… I can come to you?”

Ladybug swallows. “Yes. But you can’t tell me anything. You’re a stranger, okay?”

His face crumples and he takes a few seconds to answer. “Our memories together,” he croaks. “You won’t know a thing. You won’t know how special you are to me or how we…”

Ladybug has to glance away to hide the way his words tear a hole in her heart. “We can… we can start over. You can come find me and make your way into my life,” she smiles though it stings. “You can tell me stories. I probably won’t know a thing about Chat Noir and Ladybug, you can tell me all about them and we can be friends.”

“But you won’t remember that you were my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, Chat.”

They sit in silence for the rest of the night and she hears him cry this time. He tries to bargain again and when she consoles him, he only sobs more. Truth be told, Marinette wants to cry too. She wants to cry and scream at how unfair the world could be to a fourteen-year-old girl who didn’t know a thing about anything before she had to become a hero.

And now, she has to break her own heart.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she says.

He glances at her. “What about her?”

“The daughter of a baker, an aspiring designer with a little boutique and… for a little while, Paris’ superhero, alongside the world’s best partner. Marinette,” she says with a smile. “I’m giving you my name.”

His breath hitches and his eyes widen. “Marinette…” he whispers.

It’s a sin how beautiful it sounds from his lips, after ten years of secrecy and companionship. Marinette hopes the person she’ll become from tomorrow loves the way he says her name as much as she does in this moment.

“Oh my God, Marinette,” he buries his face in his hands. “Marinette… I love you. I love you. I’ve only ever loved you and now… Marinette,” his voice breaks in the end.

Marinette presses her nails into her palm to stop herself from becoming desperate at him calling for her. She wants to tell him that she loves him too, that she’s only ever loved him, and despite whatever fleeting admiration her teenage self felt for a classmate, that it’s only ever been him.

Instead, all she can do is offer a clenched fist in a childish gesture.

“Come and find me, kitty,”

*

Marinette wakes up crying. 

The sadness she wakes up with is one that hurts her to the core. For a while, she drifts in and out of sleep and unable to grasp reality. 

She doesn’t know how long this goes on for. Time doesn’t make sense in the state she finds herself in. Dreams come to her vividly, so vivid that she can mistake them for reality, but not vivid enough that she can forget that she’s living through something her mind created. 

And… she feels everything. Marinette didn’t know how many emotions a person could feel - how many she could once feel - until she goes through this ordeal. The last two years of her life have been simply like a tester of life. What Marinette feels in her dreams are extreme ends of euphoria and anguish. 

It becomes hard to tolerate and so, she understands why she can’t bring herself to move even a finger sometimes. Everything falls to her body. 

The worst parts of the dreams she lived through were that while she would watch one from start to end, the second it elapsed — she would already feel herself forgetting it. It was a fight with her own self, to hold onto something that her own strength was taking from her. 

In between some dreams, she hears voices interrupt her trance. She hears a crying man, she just collapsed, Noelle, she isn’t waking up; she hears a young girl, they will help us with this and I closed the shop for her; she hears a squeaky voice, similar to a child’s, and a much deeper one squabble between themselves; she hears her parents. 

But she can’t say a thing to anyone. In the moments of consciousness she does have, Marinette only finds herself wishing to do one thing – to reach over, pull out her sketchbook and look at those pictures of Chat Noir again.

It’s a repeated cycle of this, and her body batters with each time. Marinette sees a dream, she feels it like it were the first time, she wakes up forgetting and she plunges into a new dream again. Answers come to her in them on stolen memories from her days in school and missing gaps of life. Marinette doesn’t want to part from this. 

Most of all, she doesn’t want to part from feeling in love as she once did. She didn’t know she had it in herself to love so deeply and yet, in her memories, she’s that way.

I don’t want to forget.

After a particularly strong vision of herself with a black spotted little bug, Marinette gains her usual partial consciousness again. She only has a few minutes before she’ll drag herself back into trying to remember that thing… what did it call itself? Tikki?

“Marinette,” a deep voice speaks to her. “Marinette!”

The sensation of a tight grip on her hand comes suddenly. Marinette wills herself to try and respond, though the most she can endure is opening her eyes slowly.

“Marinette,” the boy cries. “Please wake up.”

Blond hair falls over his eyes in a tangled mess. He clings onto Marinette dearly, like she’s made of something that could slip away through his fingers. 

“Chat Noir,” Marinette tries to speak. She thinks she’s called out for him but when the boy barely budges, Marinette realizes she’s only spoken the name aloud to herself in her mind.

“Just give up, Marinette. I’m begging you,” he says. “Wake up.”

She doesn’t think she hears anything else from the conversation. The boy continues to cry, and can make out the shape of his body resigned over hers. The scene is almost familiar to her… the sound of these sobs is becoming clearer to her.

She’s remembering. She remembers these sobs on a rooftop, but she remembers them in other places too – in a tunnel, in school, in places she didn’t think she’s ever been. 

But as soon as the memories flood, so does the pain. Marinette is fighting her body again. 

Remembering you, she thinks to him, is killing me.

It’s killing her, she slowly realizes. It’s killing her to discover parts of herself that she hid but Marinette can’t let go. Why did I want to forget all this?

To uncover this, Marinette finds herself constantly going back to her dreams. She never wanted to forget, she understands this, so why did she make herself? 

The answer reveals itself in blurry visions at the end of dreams – her younger self crying in bed after a particularly hard day, where she missed Alya’s graduation while handling a crisis for Nooroo; her parents sitting alone at a dinner table with a full course meal prepared, only for her to arrive close to midnight from a villain fight that ruined the night; a job interview for her dream job missed by taking care of Tikki, for which Tikki apologized furiously but Marinette simply smiled and said, “it’s okay, Tikki! I always wanted to run my own boutique anyway.”

It’s not only one or two occurrences of things like these. It’s Marinette’s whole life, on a reel – from her fourteen year old self to her twenty four year old self. Her whole life passed by like this, in quiet moments of disappointment.

She understands now. She loved this life, but it was destroying her. She never wanted to forget this life, but she couldn’t give it up without erasing it. She never wanted to lose herself but she wanted some peace.

It’s the most unfair luck in the world, Marinette thinks, to give her such a beautiful life and make her hurt for living it. I didn’t deserve this.

This was not the life she should’ve been given. She should’ve been rewarded, for all she sacrificed. She should’ve been celebrated and granted every wish she wanted. She should’ve exchanged her old life for one that could honor it, not forget it.

I won’t forget, she screams to a void in her head. I won’t forget. I won’t give up my life anymore.

And so Marinette fights. She fights harder than she ever did, she fights for her life. She fights for all the missed occasions and birthdays she couldn’t celebrate as Marinette, she fights for all the battles she couldn’t win as Ladybug. She fights for the life she had to give up just to be able to choose. She fights because someone is waiting for her.

She does her hardest to overcome the ache that’s paralyzed her to a floating consciousness. I will wake up, she repeats to herself, and I will remember every dream of mine.

It’s a mantra she doesn’t quit saying. With each part of her body she conquers, the stinging feeling dissipates. From her fingers to her elbows, she regains control, though it isn’t easy. 

She’s tiring like nothing else. For a few moments, she even worries whether she’s destroying herself just to cling onto her memories. Trying to wake up with them is like pulling a weight by a net up a hill. She feels the scalding burn of the wires on her fingers and the weight tears on her muscles like paper, but she doesn’t give up.

She will be selfish this time. She will take this one thing for herself – a self-rewarded gift of sorts. No one thanked her enough for the years she gave for this city, but she doesn’t need that thank you. 

Just let me wake up, with all my memories. Please.

“Marinette?”

For a second, Marinette thinks she’s traveled back in time. The voice that calls her name is one she heard in her dreams, waking up every morning as a teenager. The same voice that pulled her out of her groggy state and dragged her to school.

“Tikki?”

Her voice shakes as she says the name. Though it’s only been two years since she’s said goodbye to her, it feels instead like a lifetime apart. 

Tikki screams in joy, flying over her head in haste. “You remember me?!” she cries out. “You remember me! Marinette, do you really-”

“Yes,” Marinette laughs hoarsely. Her hands go to push herself up the bed, but she’s considerably weaker than she remembers. She lands back on the bed with a painful thump.

“Be careful!” she frets before blinking widely. “How can this happen? You remember me and you’re not…”

“Dead?” Marinette offers. “I felt like I was getting there.”

“That’s the magic of our kwamis. It’s impossible to break the barrier,” Tikki frowns. “Marinette, how could you do it?”

Marinette swallows. How did she do it? Did she really even do it?

She’s holding her mind in tact, though she was close to losing it. If she tries, she thinks she can recall any memory to her head though it is blurrier than she thinks it was in her sleep. 

“I fought it,” she says with a disbelief. “I begged and I fought. I remember everything… not the way a normal person would but I remember,” she laughs in relief. “Oh, Tikki. I’m so happy to see you again.”

Tikki flies to her cheek and brushes herself against it. Tikki is unchanged from her memories, but Marinette feels a difference to the way things were from what she remembers. 

“Noelle was worried sick. We’ve been keeping watch this whole time,” she says. “It’s been two weeks without you, in case you were wondering. We’ve been keeping you alive.”

Marinette blinks. “How am I alive?”

“You said so yourself, you fought, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to remember and wake up.”

“It must’ve not been that much of a jump for you to remember. Maybe you always knew, deep down,” Tikki answers. “That, and you being like no other Ladybug I’ve ever seen, Marinette. Don’t let Noelle hear that.”

Marinette flushes. Did she always know, deep down?

She thinks back to the last two years. Staring out at Paris, through a shop, she never thought once about Ladybug… until she did. Until every day of her life, she learnt a little bit about Ladybug and her partner. 

She blinks. Her saving grace was in a story.

“Where’s Adrien?” she says suddenly.

Tikki glances at Marinette in surprise. “Adrien? He’s at home, he’s come by a few times but it got a bit hard for him to watch you like this-”

“I need to see him now,” Marinette gasps. Weakness brings her body back to the bed but she tries her hardest to move in haste.

“Marinette, it can wait! You need to get checked by-”

“I know, Tikki,” Marinette answers. She looks at Tikki with a sincere glance and nothing more needs to be said for her companion of ten years to understand. “I know.”

“Oh, Marinette,” Tikki’s head falls. “I should’ve told you, I know I should’ve!”

Marinette strokes her head with a finger. “Don’t say that. I was so naive to never see it before,” she laughs. “It took me to forget him to even know him.”

Big teardrops fall from Tikki’s eyes. “You should see him. He’s been a mess since you’ve arrived here,” she says, looking around Marinette’s room. Marinette can see packets of medicine lying around, wet towels on the desk, and flowers fill her usually empty apartment. 

“I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

When Marinette leaves, she runs. She feels the wind slap her cheeks and her muscles tire with each movement, but she doesn’t stop. She runs, like she once remembers, through the streets and the curves of the city. She stops for only a few moments, by stalls in the city, by familiar faces and it’s euphoric.

The city is alive and it’s never been this way for the years she was forgetting herself. Marinette speeds through it as if she were once again Ladybug.

All those stories of a brave girl on these streets were her. It was her who brought peace here and she deserves to celebrate that. 

With a beaming smile, and her chest heaving, she arrives at Adrien's apartment doorstep. She’s never come here before, always too fearful of overstepping a boundary for a man she couldn’t remember. But now, she knocks with an urgency of ten years.

Adrien’s voice comes muffled through the door, a coming! shouted out and it squeezes at Marinette’s heart. She forgot this voice once.

His steps become louder and louder, and then he opens the door. And Marinette finds herself face to face with the life she’s worked so hard to remember.

“Adrien,” she mumbles, already feeling the tears pricking at her eyes. 

“Ma-Marinette,” Adrien breathes. His hands tremble with shock and he blinks. His face has gone white. “You’re… you woke up?”

Marinette nods with a smile. “Hi, kitty.”

Here they are, years older since they first became two superheroes and yet, when Marinette looks at him… she still sees her childhood. She sees herself in Adrien. 

She watches as his face crumples into a sob and he mutters under his breath, my lady over and over again. It’s like resuming a conversation that last ended two years ago. No time has passed at all and yet, it has.  

“I’m sorry,” her voice breaks with the apology. “I didn’t want to forget.”

Adrien shakes with a sadness he has never shown the Marinette of the last two years. “How are you… how do you remember?”

“I fought. I took back my decision.”

“I thought I forced you to remember,” he says. “I was going crazy. I thought I killed you, Marinette. You chose to forget and I put those memories back in your mind with stories and… and just by existing.”

Marinette shook her head. “Don’t say that. Please.”

“You didn’t want to be Ladybug anymore,” he says quietly.

She nods. “I thought I didn’t but removing Ladybug from who I am… it numbed me to everything,” she says. “I can’t forget that part of myself… or you.”

Marinette feels her heart slice with every cry of Adrien’s. For this is not just Adrien, but her best friend of her childhood – this is Chat Noir. 

It doesn’t take either of them to be in their suits to see each other for who they are – Ladybug and Chat Noir. They might never wear the mask again but to Marinette, this will always be her Chat Noir.

And she would always be Ladybug. There would be no part of her that could give up Ladybug, even if she wanted to, even if she had to. Even if she wouldn’t be today’s Ladybug, she was still a Ladybug of some time. 

“We deserved so much better,” Marinette says in a hushed voice. “We deserved a better ending for our stories.”

“We did. We were only fourteen,” he laughs despondently. “I thought there would be something better for us down the line than having to live like this.”

“We should make that something better,” she gives a small smile. “I won’t let my memories be taken from me and you shouldn’t let your rightful pain be taken from you. Let’s live happily now, Chat Noir.”

Twenty six now, and Marinette’s life flashes in her mind. She’s been fighting and looking all this time for some escape from the fate she’s been given, the unique predicament that no one but one other soul in this world can understand. But she doesn’t need to fight anymore. There is a way for Ladybug and Chat Noir to live again, without despair at the end of their tale.

He nods and smiles. “Okay,” he says firmly. “So, what now, my lady?”

Adrien blinks, with so much innocence and quiet happiness, that Marinette finds herself transported to the first time she saw him outside her shop after forgetting him. The boy that day too looked like a lost kitten, arriving to her unsteadily. Only there’s no reason for him to seem lost now – there would be only happiness in the new path they would tread together from here.

“It’s a new day,” she says softly. “There’s so many stories you can still tell me.”

His smile softens, as if he can’t believe the words. “You already know all of them now.”

Marinette holds his hand carefully with hers. She’s standing in uncharted territory now, something unfamiliar. “I want to hear them anyway,” she says with a grin. “A story each time you see me, that was the deal, wasn’t it?”

He laughs and squeezes her hand tightly. There’s so much Marinette needs to understand about the pain that he went through, and the choices she made. Her world is bigger now than a dress shop and a calm life, but she sticks to what she knows, just so she can get through it, second by second.

And so, she does the only thing she knows what to do upon being with Adrien – she offers a flower. 

*

ending note: something i regularly think about in regards to the show set-up is how absolutely depressing marinette and adrien's futures are. we have adrien whose father is hawkmoth and marinette who has to lose her memory if she wants to give up being the guardian. their whole lives are sacrificed for the cause of the city, and i respect them so much for that. but my heart also hurts for them, and how happy they deserve to be. hope you guys enjoyed my little exploration on post hawkmoth life, and choosing happiness through making their own fate.

[angelmavmurdock]

The Boy Next Door

WARNINGS: SMUT, ORAL (fem+mal), DIRTY TALK, PRAISE, CHOKING, THIGH RIDING, MENTIONS OF DRUGS.

inexperienced!reader x stoner!tom

(inspired by Ginny and Georgia)

The new house was a lot bigger than our last house. But of course that's due to my mother marrying a man 30 years older than her who owns some workout company. She's a gold digger is what I'm trying to say. Ever since I can remember, whatever guy she was dating dictated where we would live, where my brother and I would go to school, what I'd wear, how I'd act and even what friends I had. Or, lack there of. Always being the 'new girl' was beginning to get exhausting so I never really had friends. If I gained any friends then I knew that we'd get close then I'd move and we'd stay in touch for about a month before they move on and forget about me.

y/n. Always the new girl.

"y/n would you help us, please?" Mum asked in an annoyed tone, brushing past me with a box in her hands.

I rolled my eyes and sighed, walking to the car and beginning to lift stuff out and into the house. It was a huge driveway - unnecessarily large - and everyone on the street was the same. Everyone in the town was the same. It was a rich, suburban area. No place I hadn't seen before but we definitely didn't belong. My Mum just shapeshifted into whoever she thought Greg would want. Greg being my 'step-dad'. He's 63. My Mum is 33. How is that even allowed.

We unloaded everything from the cars and waited on the trucks arriving with everything else. Cameron and I scuffed our shoes as we strolled through the huge house, taking in everything and familiarising ourselves with our new home.

"I'm so glad I'm not at school anymore because being in a class with snobby assholes like these people would be shit." Cameron said, crossing his arms as he gestured to the family across the road.

I walked over to him and watched too. A family of 5 - two girls, one boy, Mum and a Dad - were dressed rather nicely in dresses and suits. They came out of their house and waltzed to their Tesla nonchalantly with their noses in the air. The eldest girl looked around my age. She would probably be in some of my classes.

"I'm not looking forward to Monday." I groaned.

We stood in comfortable silence, watching the Tesla inquisitively as it drove off with the family inside.

"Trucks arrived!" Mum called from the front door.

We both shared our sibling look with one another then walked back out with reluctance. Mum was standing in the middle of the driveway with her hands on her hips, watching as Greg approached the van and signed some forms off. Cameron and I walked down and stood either side of her. She grinned and wrapped her arms around us, rubbing both our backs simultaneously.

"I've got a good feeling about this, guys." She took a deep breath.

"At least someone does." I remarked.

She ignored the comment and we watched Greg do practically nothing. I mean he was basically an ancient artefact.

"I've heard your new school is wonderful. The pass grade levels are insanely good and there's a lot of people there to befriend." Mum spoke positively.

"My last 6 schools also had a lot of people to befriend but of course, I always lose them because we move so bloody much." I clenched my jaw.

"Well...this time it's different."

I scoffed, "You always say that."

"I swear this time!"

"And that!"

"y/n I don't know what you want me to do. Greg is a great guy who is supporting us fully! I mean, look at this place! Surely you can't be mad we're living here." Mum shook her head, removing her arm from my waist.

"I'd rather live in a box with just you two than live in a huge house with some random guy in a town I hate." I argued then stormed away dramatically up the driveway.

I got into the house and slammed the door, grabbing the banister and stomping up the flight of stairs. There was one flight then a landing then another flight. This house was too bloody big.

I finally found what was meant to be my new room and slammed that door shut. Just for good measure. I huffed and sighed as I leaned my back against the white, wooden door.

The room was stark white and empty, only a bay window to give some character. I might hate Greg and my mother and this whole situation but I loved this bay window. I snaked in between the boxes and suitcases and sat on the wooden ledge. I kicked my shoes off before sitting my feet up and watching outside. My room faced the front of the house so I could see the movers offloading furniture and boxes off while Greg stood helplessly.

I groaned and leaned my head back, closing my eyes, just wanting to crawl into a shell and hide.

A slam of a car door forced my eyelids open and I jumped slightly.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

I heard a woman's voice from outside. I looked outside curiously, scanning the street with my eyes to find where the noise was coming from. It finally caught my eye and I had to sit up and switch sides of the window to look properly.

A red-headed woman and a curly headed boy were standing in the driveway.

Our next door neighbours apparently.

The boy was around my age, maybe a little older. He stumbled a little as he walked up the drive, his mother - I think - watching from behind her car door.

"I'm going to bed!" He shouted back.

"Not now you're not, you have to talk to me, Thomas!" She shouted, slamming her own car door.

Thomas.

He hung his head on his shoulders, "I need to sleep, mum."

"Well I just had to bail you out of jail for marijuana possession and use so you better talk to me."

Oof, I thought. He was a stoner. A criminal basically. But he was attractive from what you could see. Dark brown curly hair, tall enough, a sharp jawline, a good body from where I was sitting and a good style too - a hoodie with a denim jacket and jeans. But he was my neighbour. And a stoner.

"Mum can we just talk later?" He pleaded, running a hand through his hair.

"Tom we will talk about this right now." She said sternly.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning his back to her and walking away. I watched him with a slight smile. He really was attractive.

"Thomas Holland you get back here right now!" His mother shouted.

"When I'm not on drugs, I'll talk." He stated.

His mother stuttered then just grunted in annoyance, allowing him to go inside.

I kept my eyes on him, my smile still on my face as he started to walk into his house. He suddenly turned his head with a confused expression then looked up. Straight at me through my window.

I froze in shock, eyes widening, mouth parting. He slowly smirked and nodded his head at me before going inside.

I sunk off the window ledge in humiliation, snaking to the floor and mumbling how stupid I was and how embarrassing that was.

"y/n! Come meet your neighbour!" Mum shouted up.

My ears perked up then I leaped up to look out the bay window. The boy next door's mum was standing outside, chatting to my mum.

-

I hardly learned anything talking to his mum. Her name was Nikki Holland, she had a husband named Dominic who was a comedian and a writer. She was a photographer. Along with Tom - the oldest - she had three other sons: twins named Harry and Sam and then Paddy who was a good bit younger. I can't remember the exact age. My mum had nosily asked her about Tom and that was the only part I listened to.

"He's 18,"

"Dropped out of school last year,"

"Says he wants to be an actor,"

"Oh today? He got in trouble from the police about...you know what, that isn't important."

"You look so young to be a mother to a teenager. How old are you?"

"And you're 18, too?" "Still in school?" "What do you want to do?" "Ah, smart girl."

The conversation was brief and slightly awkward. She was clearly stressed about Tom and his situation so I slid out of the engagement pretty fast and escaped up to my room.

During the entirety of the weird conversation, the movers had put my bed, mattress and desk into my room. It felt a lot more homier.

-

It was the next night and I had finished dinner and immediately gone upstairs. I was not participating in any sort of 'family time'. I sat down on my bed and scrolled through my phone aimlessly.

A thump outside drew my attention away and I looked to my right at the regular window which faced our neighbours house.

I sat up and squinted to see out into the dark. It was Tom. He was halfway out his window.

I didn't even realise our windows faced each other. And here he was, one leg out the window and his other following on. He had thrown a backpack down which caused the dull thump on the grass - which I only assume contains weed - and now he was escaping his house.

I got out of bed and walked to the glass, peeking out to see what he was doing.

He climbed impressively down the wall and jumped the last few metres, landing in a Spider-Man like pose. Admirable, I thought as he picked up his back pack and slid a skateboard out from a bush. He brushed it off then slotted it under his armpit.

He was sporting a black t-shirt with a dog-tag necklace and some distressed deep blue jeans with a denim jacket over top and a baseball cap placed on backwards that sat on top of his curly head of hair.

He looked around in case he was going to get caught then looked up. Directly at me. Again.

This time I didn't shy away. I just made a gesture and mouthed 'what the fuck?' then he laughed to himself and looked back up at me.

'Don't be so nosy, neighbour', he mouthed.

I squinted and shook my head in disapproval. He just smirked boyishly then walked to his driveway where he flipped his skateboard and skated off into the night.

I gulped and sat back on my bed, feeling my heart rate slow back down.

But curiosity filled my brain.

Where was he going?

-

Just as Sunday night came around, I had finished decorating my room. My pictures and paintings hung on the wall, along with some mirrors to fill the blank space of the white walls. My bed was cosy and was filled with throw blankets, fluffy sheets and way too many pillows. My desk was organised and my laptop sat atop the white surface, making it look a lot more professional than I had anticipated.

I had turned my bay window into a reading nook. A few blankets lay on the ledge and a couple pillows too, along with my current read.

I had seen Tom sneak out a few nights ago but I tried to stay away from the regular window, only ever sitting on the bay one because I couldn't see Toms room from there.

However, it didn't shield me from him completely.

I would see him outside in their front garden playing games with his brothers and sometimes I'd watch them from just over the top of my book. The way he played with their dog was cute. I had gathered her name was Tessa and I knew she was a staffy because we used to have one. He'd throw balls or sticks for her and sometimes she'd clamber on top of him with excitement. He'd dodge her licks but still clap her because she was excited after all.

Every once in a while he'd catch me looking down at him or I'd catch him looking up at me. Whenever it happened, it seemed as if everyone and everything disappeared. Like it was just us. Tunnel view. But then one of us would look away or stick the middle finger up or mouth 'fuck off'. Our unusual and silent rivalry was the closest thing to a friend I'd had in years.

But now, Mum, Greg and Cameron were going out to a nice dinner to celebrate the first week of living here. I thought it was an incredibly stupid idea so I decided to stay home alone and eat pizza.

They all left and Cameron immediately texted me.

Cammando: I hate you for leaving me

y/n: your fault not mine :)

I didn't really know what to do. I walked around the house and asked Alexa to play some songs but I couldn't be bothered dancing. I wasn't really in a dancing mood.

I just gave up and went back upstairs into my room. My windows were still open so before I got changed I went to close them and put down the blinds. I closed the bay window and then I went to the next one.

I looked straight ahead into Toms room and my jaw dropped.

He was hopping and hyping himself up in front of a punch bag...shirtless with gloves on. I watched as he punched the bag skilfully, moving his feet as if it was a choreographed routine. His damp curly hair hung onto his forehead and I could see glimpses of airpods in his ears. His back muscles tightened and flexed as he threw punches.

He moved around the bag and now I could see the front of him. He had a very visible six pack. I definitely didn't expect that from the stoner boy next door. If I thought he was attractive before...now I don't even know what I would call him.

Otherworldly, perhaps?

He suddenly looked up and I gasped, turning and slamming my back against the wall next to the window, wincing at the pain. Hopefully he didn't see me...

It was creepy to be staring at him. I shouldn't have done it.

I peeked back and he was back to beating the poor punch bag.

God, he was so hot.

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and ears, burning with lust. I gulped and looked away, closing the blind to stop myself from looking anymore.

I got changed into shorts and a burgundy Cambridge University jumper that used to belong to my Dad. He gave it to me the first time he properly left for a while and I still have it even though I see him more often.

I hopped downstairs and played some music while I sorted the pizza and chips out to eat.

I sat and ate while listening to music. Once I was finished, I cleaned everything up then went back upstairs into my room, shutting the door behind me and jumping onto my bed.

I scrolled through tiktok aimlessly, just filling the time before it was an acceptable hour to go to bed as a teenager.

I switched apps to Instagram when I lay on my side, my back facing my windows. I scrolled through for a while but a certain picture caught my eye.

I had to blink a few times to really look.

It was my so called 'best friend' who I hadn't talked to since I moved twice after befriending her and my ex-boyfriend. My ex. My only boyfriend I've ever had. My first kiss, my first date...my first time. My only time. We only had sex twice. Three if you count foreplay but I faked it. Actually I faked it all of the times. He was never good at it and I had no idea how to go about telling him because to be honest, I had no idea what to do either.

But my ex-best friend and my ex-boyfriend? She didn't even tell me. She didn't even think to ask me.

They were dressed nicely and holding each other's waists. It looked a little awkward but most of those pictures are because they are being taken by parents.

I looked through the comments.

OMG! Hot couple alert! You two are the cutest just marry already yall are too happy it's been the best year of my life baby

"WHAT?!" I exclaimed, sitting up sharply.

They had been together for a YEAR.

"Ugh!" I groaned and threw my phone across my room, hearing it basically break against the wooden floor.

"Rough night?" A voice spoke from my window.

I screamed, jumping with fear and successfully landing my ass on the floor.

I panicked and grabbed the first thing I could use as a weapon. A glass of water. It would have to do.

I quickly flung the water at the intruder, "WHAT THE FUCK, GET OUT!" I screamed, my eyes closed tightly in fear.

I heard the water splash over them but they still came in. I just threw the glass at them. It thumped against them dully and then crashed onto the floor.

"Ouch."

I slowly opened one eye and looked up at the figure who had just entered my room.

It was Tom.

He was in a grey t-shirt and black basketball shorts with a baseball cap placed on backwards, a backpack thrown over his shoulder.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING CLIMBING INTO MY ROOM?!" I shouted, standing up.

He was taller than me by a few inches but we were basically at eye level.

"I was clearly looking for some company but you then threw water over me and then a literal glass." He spoke calmly, wiping a hand over his wet face.

"How the hell are you being so calm about this?! You just intruded into my home!" I exclaimed.

"Well, darling, I have a thing called weed. It's great for calming you down. You clearly need some." He slung his bag around and went to open it.

"W-what? No, I'm not smoking weed!"

He sighed and slung his bag back, "Well, why are you being so uptight about this I just wanted to say hello." He smiled boyishly.

I licked my teeth in annoyance. He was so fucking attractive but he was so fucking annoying and I didn't even know him.

"You need to get out. I didn't invite you in here so you are not welcome." I stated, crossing my arms.

"Okay, yes. But also- my mother nearly just caught me sneaking out so it's a cover if she comes round here."

"Why would she come here?" I asked.

"Because she's a mad woman who hates me having a life apparently."

"You're an 18 year old who sneaks out of the house to smoke weed. I wouldn't call that a life." I remarked.

He smirked, "You know what, I like you."

He sat his bag down then started to walk slowly around my room, inspecting my pictures and decorations intricately.

I stuttered, not knowing how to react to this whole situation.

"I'm sorry, what the hell are you doing?" I asked, brows furrowed.

"You're quite an interesting person, I must say."

I sighed and shook my head at the ceiling.

"Ah, this makes sense." He picked up one of my camera's.

I scoffed, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sat it down and picked up the next one, shrugging with a smug smirk.

"You like looking at things."

I gulped, red rushing to my cheeks.

"Clearly very beautiful things." He said, referring to my pictures on the walls.

"I'm just honoured I'm one of them."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, "You wish you were."

"Oh but I am, aren't I?" He challenged, sitting my camera down.

I licked my back teeth and watched with heavy breath as he paced towards me slowly.

"I've never taken a picture of you before." I said matter-of-factly.

"You might not have but you definitely love a good stare, don't you?" He asked, his left eyebrow quirked cockily.

I noticed the unusualness of it and then looked into his dark, dilated eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I said quietly.

He laughed lowly, "So you weren't staring at me earlier when I was working out?"

I stuttered as we came face to face.

"You're stubborn but I feel like I know you," He placed his fingers under my chin, tracing up my jaw and to my ear where he tucked some of my hair behind.

"Because I've been looking at you, too." He whispered.

I practically melted and a whimper left my mouth, eyes rolling back.

He chuckled, "Already needy for me I see."

I looked up at him as his thumb swiped over my lips.

This whole situation was insane. I didn't even know how we got here. I didn't know how to feel, either. I had never been turned on like this before.

He slowly pushed his thumb into my mouth and I moaned around it, tasting his skin.

"Good girl." He praised, taking his thumb out and replacing it with his tongue.

I moaned again, feeling his lips on mine. His hands gripped my waist and I tangled my fingers into his hair.

He tasted of weed but I didn't mind it at all. He pushed me backwards until I hit the wall next to my bed. He gripped my hips tightly and I kept my hands in his hair. He must have gone for a shower since his workout because he smelled fresh and clean and his hair was damp.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. I was kissing a stranger. Who climbed into my room.

"Wait-" He pulled away briefly.

"Is your family home?" He asked.

"No, they're out all night." I answered breathlessly.

He smirked, "Good."

He suddenly lifted me up and I squealed, automatically wrapping my legs around his taut torso.

His tongue slipped between my lips again and I welcomed it. He lay me down on my bed and started to kiss down to my jaw and my neck.

I gasped and tugged his hair when he started kissing a certain spot on my skin. He got the message that I liked it and started licking and sucking on it. I arched my back slightly, moaning as he worked his tongue and lips on my skin.

He left the spot on my neck but kissed over my skin as he started to lift my jumper up. Panic and nerves suddenly settled in and I grabbed his hands, stopping his movements.

"You alright?" He asked breathlessly.

I swallowed, "I uh...I've never-"

His eyes widened, "You're a virgin?"

"No, no. I've had sex it just...it just wasn't that great." I bit my lip nervously.

He encased my lips in his and I relaxed to his touch.

"Do you want to?" He asked against my lips.

"Yes, fuck yes." I practically moaned into his mouth.

"I just need you to guide me through it." I said in between kisses.

He pulled away, "I can do that." He smiled.

He started to lift my jumper off and this time I let him. I sat up and he removed it, throwing it off the bed. He admired the pink bralette I was wearing and immediately pressed his lips and tongue to the valley of my breasts. He nipped and sucked on my skin and I moaned as he palmed one of my boobs while leaving marks on the other.

He came back up and kissed me again but flipped us over so I was now on top. He sat up and shuffled back against my headboard and pulled me onto his lap.

He brushed my hair off my shoulders and cupped my chin, taking me in.

"D'you wanna try riding my thigh?" He asked lowly.

I gulped, "S-sure."

He smirked and I straddled his left thigh, holding his shoulders.

"Just rock your hips back and forwa-"

"Fuck," I moaned, the rubbing of the different materials causing my core to clench.

"Does that feel good?" He asked, his breath fanning over my face.

His hands rested on my hips and he helped my movements.

"Feels so good." I moaned.

"Yeah? You like riding my thigh?" He prompted, his hands making me speed up.

I fisted the material of his shirt in my hands as my mouth fell agape with pleasure.

"Riding my thigh like such a good girl." He praised.

"Fuck!" I hung my head back, his words going straight to my core.

He chuckled cockily, "D'you like when I call you that? Huh?"

I nodded, too flustered with these new senses of pleasure to speak.

His hand travelled up into my hair and tugged on it by my roots. A louder moan than I would have liked escaped my lips.

"I asked you a question, answer me." He said sternly.

"Fuck! Yes, I love it when you call me that." I answered pathetically.

"Good girl." He praised, letting go of my hair and rocking my hips on him.

I felt an immense amount of pleasure build up and it felt as if something was going to snap in me.

"Oh shit, I- fuck!" I furrowed my brows in concentration and confusion.

"R'you gonna cum, darling?" He asked, almost shocked.

"I don't- fuck - know!" I moaned, feeling the knot inside my stomach about to snap.

But before that could even happen I was being flipped back onto my back and Tom was ripping off my shorts and panties, diving in between my legs with lust.

His hands held my thighs and brought me closer to him. His lips attached to my clit and sucked, giving me a whole new feeling.

"Oh, fuck! Yes! Yes!" I moaned shamelessly, tugging his hair and fisting the bedsheets.

"Go on, darling. Cum in my mouth for me. Taste so good. Please, love."

The mixture between his words and his nicknames for me and the fact his mouth was working wonders on my core completely sent me over the edge: an experience I had never had before.

"Holy shit! Tom! Yes!" I subconsciously tightened my thighs around his head and my hands practically pushed him completely onto me.

He continued riding me through my high until I unclenched my thigh and he pulled away slowly.

I lay breathless and in a state of shock and euphoria at the same time.

"You okay?" He asked soothingly, rubbing his hand over my bare thigh as he came up to kiss me.

"Yeah I've...I've never-"

"You've never came before?" Tom asked, baffled by me.

"Nope..."

He kept his eyes on me but slipped a hand down to my core again. I bucked my hips against his hand with a gasp as he moved his fingers in circles over my core.

"You've never even touched yourself?" He asked lowly.

I bit my lip and shook my head.

"You're so wet for me, darling, fuck." He cursed.

He suddenly dipped a finger into my core and I moaned. He curled it up and I gripped his arm tightly.

"What d'you want?" He asked.

"I want you, Tom, please." I bit my lip.

He smiled and sat back, his hand coming away from my clit, leaving me feeling empty. He shed his shirt and I finally got to look at his chiselled torso up close. He then slid his shorts and boxers off and my jaw dropped at the sight of him.

He was semi-hard but he was already bigger than my ex. A lot bigger.

He pumped his member in his hand, "You sure about this?"

I stuttered, completely distracted by his actions than his words.

"What? You like the look of it? Hmm? Wanna suck me off?" He asked, his hand cupping my chin and sliding his thumb into my mouth again.

I moaned at his words and nodded.

"You want to suck me off, darling? You sure?" He asked, removing his thumb.

"Yes, fuck Tom, I wanna suck you off." I moaned.

"Good girl." He praised.

We switched positions so he was sitting against the headboard and now I was in between his legs.

"I don't know how to..." I said shakily.

"You're okay," He gathered my hair up in his hands.

"Do whatever feels natural and I'll tell you if it's good, yeah?"

I nodded and gulped, moving my mouth closer to his member. I pumped him in my hand a few times and I could almost feel him harden right there. I had done this part before, at least.

I lowered my mouth onto him, swirling my tongue around his lip. He hissed slightly and gripped my hair tighter. I slowly let my mouth down on him and came back up.

"That's it, good girl." He praised.

I moaned and continued bobbing my head slowly on him, finding a rhythm. I held his thigh for support as I got faster, easing into it.

"Fuck, darling, feels so good." He groaned.

The taste of him in my mouth was amazing, pre cum already escaping onto my tongue.

I slackened my jaw and took as much of him as I could then pumped the rest in my hand.

"Holy shit! Fuck!" He held my head there and thrusted up.

His member hit the back of my throat but I didn't mind it at all. He made sure I was okay then did it again. And again. And again. Until he was continuously throat fucking me. I enjoyed it, surprisingly. The obscene sounds my mouth was making was not only making Tom more aroused, but also me.

I felt some drool drip down from my mouth onto my chin and even onto his lower stomach but I didn't care.

"Fuck, love those pretty little sounds coming from your throat, baby." He groaned.

I moaned, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Such a good girl."

But then he pulled me off of him. I looked at him in confusion but he flipped me onto my back sooner than I could say anything.

"Need to be in you before I cum, princess." He said, kissing me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth.

"Ready?" He asked.

I felt his tip brush up and down my folds. I gripped his arms and nodded, closing my eyes to concentrate.

"Hey, look at me." He said.

I looked up into his gorgeous chocolate eyes.

"Breathe in," He instructed.

I did as he said.

"And out."

As I breathed out, he pushed into me slowly.

I moaned and arched my back at the feeling of him inside of me. His technique worked.

"You okay?" He asked caringly.

I nodded, biting my lip.

"You can move."

He started thrusting slowly in and out of me, my arousal making it a lot easier for him to move.

"So fuckin' tight, darling." He cursed.

I wrapped my thighs around his waist and he bottomed me out.

"Yes!" I moaned, my back arching so our chests were touching.

"Does that feel good?" He asked.

I hummed, "Faster, please."

He smirked, "As you wish."

His thrusts got gradually faster and my mouth hung open in a silent moan. He brushed past my g-spot with every movement and I scraped his back with my finger nails.

"So fucking good," I gasped.

He sped his thrusts completely and his head fell into the crook of my neck, leaving sloppy kisses on my skin.

"So big! Yes!" I moaned pornographically as he perfectly met my g-spot.

He reached a hand down and started rubbing my clit in skilful circles. I screamed out in overwhelming pleasure as I felt the now familiar feeling come back in my stomach.

"So good for me, darling. Been such a good girl. You gonna cum?" Tom whispered his praises into my ear.

"So close! Oh my god!" I curled my toes and dug my fingernails into his back.

"Come on darling. Feel so good around my cock. Feel so fucking good. You're a fucking angel, y/n. Fuck." He moaned.

I rolled my eyes back at his words. God his words.

"I'm gonna cum!" I squealed, eyes squeezing shut.

"Look at me when you cum, love."

I could hardly hear his voice anymore as I felt my second high approaching.

"I said-"

I gasped as I felt his hand around my throat, pressing the sides of my neck, activating some unknown pleasure button.

"Look at me when you cum all over my fucking cock." He grunted, his dark, dilated eyes staring into mine.

I kept my eyes on him as my high began to wash over me. His thrusts kept the same pace but his fingers moved faster, spurring my orgasm along.

"Yes! Fuck, feels so- yes!" I moaned.

I was extremely loud, I'm surprised the police hadn't come knocking asking about it.

My high seemed to be everlasting. Tom began to pull out but I kept my legs wrapped around him.

"Want you to cum in me, Tom. Please." I begged.

"You sure?" He asked, holding his orgasm back.

"Yes! Please! Need your cum in me." I moaned seductively against his lips.

"Fuck- so good for me- yes!"

I felt as he stilled in me, and as his cum painted my walls. His face contorted in levels of pleasure as he finished and I was finally coming down from my own high.

He pulled out after a second and collapsed next to me.

We both lay together, not saying a word, just listening to each other's breathing calm.

After a minute or two, he turned to face me.

"That- was so fucking good." He laughed.

"It was." I smiled back.

He reached a hand over to my face and brushed my hair behind my ear. I softened into his touch and hummed.

But that bliss was broken quickly.

"Hello?! We're home!"

I gasped, shooting up on my bed.

"Is that your mum?!" Tom whisper shouted.

"Yes! You need to go like now!" I whispered back.

He scurried off the bed and into his boxers and clothes, shakily putting on his shirt and attempting to put his shoes on quickly but leaving them untied.

I grabbed his backpack and handed it to him.

"Thank you," He smiled, taking it from me and heading for the window again.

He swung a leg out but then hesitated.

"Oh and uh-"

He held his hand out.

"I'm Tom, by the way." He grinned.

I smiled, shaking his hand.

"I'm y/n. Nice to meet you, neighbour."

"Nice to meet you, too." He winked, before climbing out the window, down the wall and back into his own house.

Nice to meet you indeed.

-

A/N: this is written for my amazing friend Caitlin and it's her birthday today! and she gave me all the details for this piece so i hope you guys enjoyed!

[irishseeeker]

a/n: this is a canon fic I wrote when I should be studying, as per. hope you enjoy!

Summary:  Five times Kate takes care of a reluctant Anthony & one time he lets her.

one.

It was strange for Kate to wake up before Anthony. Anthony was usually awake a good half hour before Kate was every morning, usually dressed before she opened her eyes. He always waited for her to eat breakfast, but this morning he was oddly quiet.

“Good morning,” She whispered, rolling over in his arms, her nose brushing his. She leaned in to kiss him after she heard him make a small noise, her eyes still half closed. They could have a bit of fun before they really had to get up for the day.

He sneezed in her face.

Kate screamed, jumping slightly back from her husband as she wiped her face with their bedsheet. That certainly was a mood killer.

“I’m sorry Kate,” Anthony murmured, groaning slightly as he attempted to sit up.

Kate turned to look at her husband properly and her mouth opened slightly as she properly took him in. He did not look like Anthony at all. “Oh Anthony,” said Kate, putting her weight on her two arms on either side of him as she sat carefully on top of him to inspect him closer. “You look terrible.”

“Charming, my dear wife,” replied Anthony, not looking impressed at her comment whatsoever. It was true, though. He had little colour in his face, dark bags were under his eyes and his nose looked painfully red. He was sniffling with every breath.

“You have a fever,” Kate lay her hand on his forehead, which was scorching under her palm. “Your nose is red, and you look pale. You are ill, and you need to rest.”

“I do not have time to rest," Anthony insisted, shaking his head in protest. His schedule was full for the day, with endless tasks to do and people to visit. "I am fine, Kate.”

“May I remind you it is a sin to lie, dear husband?” Kate raised an eyebrow at him. “Especially to one’s wife, who can see right through her husband’s rather pathetic attempts at lying.”

He scoffed, and it turned into a slight whimper as strikes of pain ran through his throat. His head felt rather heavy.

“I am fine,” He said rather sharply, his jaw clenched as he attempted to stand up.

“You are the most stubborn man in London!” Kate exclaimed, her hands on her hips as she pushed him back down. “Get in the bed, now.”

Anthony glared at her, and although he would never admit it, he would not defy his wife when she was cross with him. “I’m not a child, Kate,” He said, mimicking her stern tone.

“I vowed to be by your side in sickness and in health. It is a wife’s duty to take care of her husband,” Kate reminded him, laying a cool tea cloth on his burning forehead. “I’m calling for the doctor.”

Anthony continued to object. “Kate, there is no need-”

“Anthony,” Kate said sternly, but her expression was the opposite to her tone-she looked concerned, and her soft hand cupped his cheek. “Please. For me?”

“Fine,” He grumbled, feeling his eyes close as Kate slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But I am not sick.”

He then proceeded to sneeze and nearly cough a lung up. Kate just stared at him with her eyebrow raised slightly. “Of course you are not.”

Anthony’s cough and cold had lasted about a week and he was not the ideal patient. The doctor was not impressed with his reluctance to be examined and smart remarks. Anthony continuously moaned and complained, protested when Kate forced him to take the medicine the doctor had prescribed.

She threatened to play the flute for him while he was confined to his bed if he did not take the medicine and it was quite the convincing tactic, he never objected to his medicine again. Well, he moaned, but he still took it.

She didn’t leave his side all week, cancelling any of her planned activities or meetings with friends.

“I had cook prepare your favourite,” said Kate, placing the tray carefully on her side of the bed as she sat beside him, the bowl of vegetable soup in her hand. “Open up.”

Anthony grumbled. “Kate, I am not a child.”

“Open,” She interrupted him, holding the spoon in front of his mouth. “You need to eat. I can sit here all day until this bowl is empty.”

He reluctantly opened his mouth and she fed him the rest of the soup. She even pretended to feed him and pulled back the spoon at the last second, as if she was playing a game with a child, which he did not find funny whatsoever. Kate, however, cried tears of laughter.

Anthony had never been a great sleeper and it had always made Kate worry. He was usually awake when she woke up and sometimes looked like he had not slept at all some nights. She knew he had been like this for a very long time, anxiety keeping him awake and it had improved somewhat since they married but it was not a problem fixed overnight.

However, he had slept most of the week, confined to bed, and it hurt her how unwell and exhausted he must be for him to sleep so easily. However, she loved to watch him sleep. She was quite content to watch him for hours, her fingers slowly rubbing his back or combing through his hair to relax him.

“Are you staring at me?” He murmured, his voice startling her slightly as she looked down at his face, which was peering up at her as he rested on her chest.

“Of course,” She replied, twirling one of his chestnut locks around her finger. “I could stare at you forever.”

He met her halfway for a kiss, smiling softly against her lips as he pushed himself up slightly and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. “I am incredibly handsome.”

She snorted, pulling the sheet over them. “Do you feel better?” She asked, tilting her head up slightly to look at him. She loved lying like this, practically on top of him.

“Very much so,” He murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, twisting her in his arms so she was now straddling him. “So much so, I am feeling very energetic.”

“Oh?” She pushed her hips down towards his, and she felt giddy that she could feel how excited he was. It had been a long week. “Do you have any ideas of what we could do?”

“Oh Mrs. Bridgerton,” He replied, gleeful and grinning, certainly feeling his usual himself again as he unbuttoned her dress. “I have an idea or two.”

His idea did not involve talking, the first, second or the third time, but it did involve a lot of fun.

two.

Kate was half-asleep in bed. Her evening had been oddly quiet, as Anthony had gone to the club with his brothers for the night. He had been reluctant to go but Kate had insisted he should, his time at the club with his brothers had been very limited over the last few months. She proposed he could spend the evening listening to her practice the flute instead and he quickly went on his way, winking at her as she scowled. She heard a crash and some loud footsteps and she presumed Anthony was home.

She sat up in bed, frowning slightly as she listened to further unusual noises approaching their bedroom. The candles were still lit as Kate had not wanted Anthony to arrive back in darkness.

The man in question opened their door. Kate took one look at him, an amused smile breaking out on her face. She had not seen Anthony drunk many times but each time was as glorious as the next. “You’re drunk, Lord Bridgerton.” Anthony stumbled further into the room, grinning boyishly at her as he attempted to take off his cravat.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world Kate,” He said, his voice slurring slightly but still giddy. “I know that for a fact as I can see two of you.”

Kate laughed, a girlish laugh that made everything inside him light up. “Come here,” She climbed out of bed, guiding his stumbling figure to the edge of the bed where he lay back with a plop, laughing. She did not get to see this side of him often, this gleeful, boyish side of him. “Let us get these off, shall we?” Kate said, kneeling down to pull her husband's black boots off his feet, struggling slightly until they popped off and she nearly fell back.

“Are you trying to seduce me, dear wife?” Anthony’s voice slightly slurred as he spoke, and the smirk on his face was cheeky and made Kate blush. He never failed to make Kate blush.

“Am I not always, my lord?” She pulled him up, which was a slight struggle as he was heavy, but he made it easier when he sat up. She pulled off his crumbled cravat, and began to unbutton his shirt. “I like it when you call me my lord,” He mumbled, pushing his chin up as he looked at her. “It does something to me.”

“You always used to insist I call you Anthony, once we were sort of acquaintances,” She reminded him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

“That’s because the people I love call me Anthony and I was a fool in love, I just did not know it yet,” He leaned forward to kiss her and she giggled against his lips, tasting the bourbon and she slowly pulled away. “I do not oppose an occasional my lord every once in a while.” “Well, my lord,” She pushed at his chest slightly, prompting him to move back towards the headboard and lie down. “I shall keep that in mind.” “Mmm,” He murmured, his eyelids already closing as he fell into a deep sleep. Kate fixed his pillows just as he liked them, pulling the sheets up to the top of his chest.

“I love you,” She whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she began to hear light snores, and she rolled her eyes as she got off the bed. She poured him a glass of water, leaving it on his side of the bed. He would need it in the morning.

The following afternoon, Anthony Bridgerton was in pain. When he was fully awake, all he could do was groan.

“Good morning,” Kate practically sung at her husband, who groaned in response. She had been awake for hours, as it was nearly the afternoon, but she had spent the morning reading her book waiting for her husband to wake up. She would not miss this moment.

“Please shut the curtains,” He managed to grunt. “And leave me to wither away.”

“So dramatic,” Kate said, rolling her eyes as she looked up from her book to smile at him. "How are you feeling?

“Like death. What time is it?” Anthony murmured, lifting his head off his pillow and feeling the world shift slightly. He felt ill. Extremely ill.

Kate took a moment before she replied. “It’s the afternoon.”

“Oh fuck,” Anthony tried not to swear in front of his wife, it was highly improper, but he really was fucked. He had appointments all morning and afternoon that he already missed and would be late for.

“I have cancelled all your appointments, all easily rescheduled,” Kate spoke over him so he would not interrupt. “What you need to do is to relax and eat something when you think you are up for it. Do not argue with me, Anthony.” He was prepared to argue with his wife, but he did not have the energy and his pounding head could not muster the effort.

“Was I a nuisance?” He asked instead, opening his arms towards Kate, who abandoned her book quite quickly to fall into them.

“You are never a nuisance,” Kate replied, pressing a kiss under his chin. “You were highly amusing.”

“I was?”

“You were. You were extremely logical,” He could hear the teasing edge in her tone. “You mentioned how I am smarter than you. How I am the greatest wife. How you should always listen to me-”

Anthony snorted. “I must have been drunker than I thought.”

She whacked him with a pillow, and he gasped before tackling her on their bed, until she stopped fighting. “I love you,” He said into her hair, after they had called a ceasefire, before pulling back to kiss her softly.

“I love you too,” She murmured against his lips, “But you smell like a brewery darling. I rang for the maids to run you a bath, it will make you feel much better. Come on.”

“Lie against me,” She instructed him as they both climbed into the bath. She picked up the cloth and slowly rubbed it over his skin. The bubbles fizzed against his chest before dissolving in the water, wiping any dirt away. He lay against her chest, defeated as his dehydrated muscles ached in the warm better.

“I am not the young man I once was,” He grumbled, sighing with content as Kate’s fingers lightly massaged his hair, the strands twisting around her fingers. “I will never drink again.” Kate snorted loudly against his back which made him reach back to tickle her until she squealed.

“Did you have fun?” Anthony nodded, smiling to himself as he thought back to the night before with his brothers and Simon. It was an incredible night, one of the fondest he had had in ages. He had not laughed or drank that much in a while. “I did.” “Good,” Kate replied, playing with his fingers and threading them through her own.

“I love when you have fun. You need to have more of it. You deserve it.”

He turned his head around so their faces were a few inches apart, and he rested his forehead against hers. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“I shall never tire of hearing it,” She whispered against his lips, dropping the cloth as he moved backwards in the bath and pulled her onto his lap.

“I love you,” His hands squeezed her bum, which made her hips move against his. “I love you,” He whispered against her earlobe, his teeth nibbling it.

“I love you,” His lips trailed kisses down towards her breasts, taking them in his hands and slowly massaging them, before he replaced his hands with his tongue.

“I love you so much,” She murmured back, her voice wavering slightly as his teeth caught her nipple. “But I must insist we move to the bed, now.”

Without another word, he carefully stood up and took her hands, delicately stepping out of the bath. He picked her up and deposited her on the bed, both of them laughing, and there wasn’t another word spoken for a while.

“Feeling better?” She teased as they lay on the bed panting a while later, their chests rising and falling as they caught their breath.

“Much better,” He murmured against her neck, pressing a soft kiss under her ear as his hand traced patterns on her stomach. “You are the perfect antidote, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

three.

“Are you coming to bed?” He smiled softly as he looked at his wife in the doorway to his office, dressed in her nightgown. It was tighter than usual, her bump had grown significantly in the last six months. Kate complained regularly that she was massive, but Anthony absolutely adored it. He adored her.

She stepped inside and close the door behind her, and he could sense an argument coming. “Let me help.”

He was right.

“Kate, you need your rest,” He replied, shaking his head. “You are carrying our child-“

She crossed her arms across her chest, which now rested on her bump, as she strode towards him. “Anthony-”

“No. It is not a wife’s job to do her husband’s duties-”

“Oh, do you ever stop talking?” Kate hushed him, walking towards him and dragging one of the chair’s in front of his desk to beside him. “You have been cooped up in here all week working extremely hard. You have hardly slept. Besides, I struggle to sleep without you and I keep getting kicked awake by your child.”

He could not help but smile at her, feeling the stress fade away slightly at her mere presence as he leaned toward her in amusement. “My child?”

“It’s your child when it is keeping me awake and treating me as if I am a ball to be kicked,” She grumbled, blinking up at him before moving onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands instinctively wrapped around her, one hand cradling her bump.

“Please let me help?” She murmured, her fingertip traced the edge of his jaw as she brought her lips softly to his. “Please?”

“Kate,” He murmured, feeling his willpower fade as her lips moved towards his neck. “Please?” She whispered, feeling daring enough to leave a small red mark on his neck that would show in the morning.

“Fine,” He succumbed, rolling his eyes in irritation as the minx climbed off his lap and sat on her chair, looking very satisfied with herself. “Take this list of names of tenants, and those balances, and write beside them if they have been paid or are outstanding,” He explained, pointing towards the list of tenants and the relevant documentation. It was one of the simpler tasks that took a tedious amount of time, and one she would be able to do.

“Make sure it’s legible,” Anthony reminded her, smirking at her slightly. Her penmanship was something to be desired.

“I am going to pretend I did not hear that,” She looked at him from the corner of her eye, her mouth flat, but it quickly turned into a smile that matched his. He opened his mouth to retort and she put her hand up, a serious expression on her face.

“Please do not disturb me. I am trying to work.” God, he loved this woman.

They worked in a comfortable silence for a few hours, both of them scribbling away through the mountains of paper and his ledgers. Eventually, once it struck midnight, Anthony insisted they finish for the night. He felt a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a considerable amount of work had been completed. He carried her upstairs, which Kate insisted was ridiculous but laughed the entire way until he lay her on the bed once they reached their bedchamber. Once they were in bed, Kate lay against his chest as his arms wrapped around her, resting on her bump.

“Kate?”

“Mm?” Kate responded, her eyes half closed as she began to doze off into a comfortable sleep.

“Thank you.”

She wiggled slightly until she faced him, her protruding stomach was beginning to make simple movements quite difficult. She turned her head to look at him, sleep forgotten as her fingers reaching to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Of course. It is a wife’s duty to take care of her husband. Even if one’s husband is too stubborn to ask for help occasionally.”

“And I believe it is a husband’s duty to take care of his wife?” He murmured, his lips making their way down her jawline.

“I believe so,” She whispered, closing her eyes as his hands began to push up her nightdress. “A happy wife is a happy life.”

“I could not agree more, Mrs. Bridgerton,” He replied, before he stopped talking and focused on the more important task at hand between her legs.

four.

“What is wrong?” Kate stared at her husband as he undressed for the night on his side of the bed. He had been unusually quiet all evening since he had returned home from his mother’s house. Anthony did not meet Kate’s eyes as he spoke, which was his giveaway. He could never look her in the eyes when he was upset or something was amiss. “Why would something be wrong?” Kate frowned at her husband, moving towards him to take his hand in hers. “We have been married how long? I know every single look and expression on your face. Talk to me.”

“Mother and I had an argument about Hyacinth’s debut to society,” He said, breaking his facade quite quickly as he let out a deep sigh. “Hyacinth got involved and it was not pleasant.”

Kate did not interrupt as he continued to speak, she just squeezed his hand.

“I think she should wait another year before she enters society, she does not. I proposed eighteen was an appropriate age to enter society, they both disagreed. Mother said I was acting foolish and it escalated from there, ending with Hyacinth declaring she despised me.” Kate bit her lip, shaking her head as she took his hand in hers. “She did not mean that. She was cross and she did not think about what she was saying. She adores you.” “I know,” He murmured, the words still echoing in his head and stinging. “I do not understand the rush. She is still a child.”

“I know darling,” She whispered softly, pushing herself up against the headboard so she could wrap her arms around his head and lay it against her chest. “I think she will always be a child in your eyes. But she has grown up now and she is ready.”

“I’m not,” His fingers played with Kates, his voice slightly hoarse as he stared at nothing.

It broke Kate’s heart, truthfully. Kate felt quite helpless, until an idea popped into her head. “I know what will make you feel better.”

Mary, their youngest of barely two months, slept in a crib at the end of their bed. She had been a surprise, a major surprise, since it had been seven years since Charlotte had been born. Kate knew there was a reason she had become pregnant again and she knew it was something to do with the loss of her own mother, Mary, just over a year ago. No one could ever replace Mary, Kate’s Mary, but a new baby had helped fill that gaping loss in Kate’s life when she had to say goodbye to her mother. When Anthony had whispered Mary into Kate’s ear, minutes after baby Mary was born, Kate had sobbed for a while. She may not know her grandmother but Kate would make sure she knew all about her, and so would Anthony, and that was all that mattered.

They had a nurse, but Anthony had been insistent that all four of their children slept in their room at night while they were infants. Particularly Mary, who had been born early and small. The birth had not been pleasant, and it would definitely be their last. Anthony had only relaxed in the last month or so, not spending most of the night checking Mary was breathing every ten minutes. Kate crawled to the end of the bed and reached into the crib, carefully picking up their sleeping baby. She had barely any hair, but the wisps were a chestnut colour just like Anthony. She had Kate’s nose and Anthony’s smile, which she had begun to show them only last week when Anthony had tickled her while they were laying outside on a blanket with the children on a sunny day.

When Kate looked at her baby, her gorgeous little baby, all she saw was her own mother, Mary. It didn’t make sense, but it just did and was such a comfort to Kate.

It was a risk to wake a sleeping baby, as it could turn into a screaming baby, but Mary seemed to sleep through anything. If it made Anthony feel better, it was worth the risk.

Mary was a very relaxed baby, rarely fussy or upset. She was an angel compared to their previous three, particularly Charlotte, who had kept the whole of Bridgerton house awake for a year.

“There we go,” Kate said softly, carefully laying Mary on his chest. “The perfect remedy.”

Anthony immediately shifted slightly, wrapping his arms carefully around Mary and ensuring she was comfortable on his chest. Mary had refused to sleep anywhere but against her mother or her father’s chest the first month of her life and it was a habit they had only managed to break recently. He leaned down carefully, inhaling that sweet baby smell, probably the purest smell in the world and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“Charlotte will probably be in here later tonight, begging to come in,” Kate murmured, referring to their youngest’s antics of sneaking past her nurse and conning her way into her parents bed. They had little willpower to refuse her. “I wonder what the reason will be tonight, a monster or a ghost?”

Anthony chuckled, shifting his arms around his youngest and resting his cheek against her small head. “She has quite the flair for the dramatics.” “I wonder where she got that from?” Kate teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I do hope you are not insinuating I am dramatic, Kate. I am a perfectly rational man,” He said, turning to smirk at her, a little light sparkling in his eyes. She could see he was feeling a bit better. “It is simply everyone else who is irrational.”

“Most definitely,” Kate said, mockingly nodding in agreement as they grinned at each other. “It is a good thing I find delusion quite charming.”

Anthony, the Viscount of Bridgerton, stuck his tongue out at her.

“I do wish they would stop growing,” Anthony murmured, his fingertips lightly moving up and down Mary’s back. It was one of Kate’s favourite things, watching Anthony with their children. He was so loving, so caring and he adored them with every part of him. He made it so easy to fall in love with him everyday. “Me too,” She murmured in agreement, watching her daughter’s back rise up and down softly as she slept. “Maybe Mary will grace us with our wish. She could stay this small and adorable forever.”

“Possibly,” replied Anthony, his voice nearly a whisper as he carefully shifted himself upwards, Mary curled against his chest. “I have an alternative proposal.”

“Enlighten me,” Kate said, raising an eyebrow at her husband as she carefully held Mary’s small hand between her thumb and index finger.

“They simply shall never get married and we shall stay in Bridgerton house together forever,” Anthony tilted his head slightly, giving Kate a stern look as she was already laughing at him. “I cannot fathom anyone worthy of our children.”

“I presume that is how most people feel about their children and ours are especially wonderful,” She replied, not wanting to tease him too much as Anthony was feeling fragile. “It is a lovely thought and as much as I wish we could keep them this small and ours forever, life must go on. There is no point worrying about the future, we must enjoy the present.”

“I shall need to be sedated for Charlotte’s debut,” Anthony murmured, knowing his wife was right. Of course she was right, Kate was always right. It was quite the nuisance. He did not know what he had done to deserve to have a family as perfect as his, but he needed to enjoy it and let his family enjoy it. Including his sister who was a few miles away quite furious with him.

“We shall all need a drink during Charlotte’s debut,” Kate said, laughing softly at her husband as she kissed the worried lines on his forehead. It was considered improper for women to drink but they would all let that rule slide. “I love her to death, but that child is something else. Quite like her aunt, don’t you think?”

Kate didn’t wait for Anthony’s response. “Hyacinth is a force to be reckoned with. The men of society will not know what is coming,” Kate was trying to make light of the situation to make him feel better, but she knew how difficult it was for him. “She will be controlling them all in a matter of hours. I know it is hard for you, but I promise it will be alright. We still have a long time to go with these four.”

“I know you are right,” He murmured, gulping slightly as he seemed to hold Mary tighter. “It is a frightening thought, her not needing me anymore. Ever since father’s death, they have all needed me. However, in recent times she was the only one I had left. She is Hyacinth. I cannot explain it but she has always been different. She has always needed me and now she is gone.”

“Darling,” She said softly, putting her finger under his chin to tilt it towards her. “Do we not have a Bridgerton here everyday to see you? To see us? There will not be a day that goes by that does not involve one of your siblings, or me, or the children needing you.” “Everyone needs you darling, you are the heart of this very family,” She leaned forward to brush her lips against his.

“What also is important is what you need. That is everyone’s priority as well. It is my number one priority. If you need time to process this and feel sad, that is perfectly okay. Also, everyone does not always need something from you Anthony. They just want you,” Her thumb was making small circles against his cheek as she leaned forward, inches between their lips. “We all adore you. You need to be cared for too and to let people take care of you.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Anthony said against her lips, kissing her as passionately as he could with a baby asleep on his chest.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” She replied as they broke apart, and she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before resting her nose against his. “We belong together, Lord Bridgerton.”

He smiled at her as she snuggled into his side, her hand covering his on their daughter’s back as they watched their youngest sleep. Whatever would come, he would always have Kate beside him. “Forever and Always.”

five.

The thick stubble had grown on Anthony’s cheek over the past two weeks since he had injured his hand while fencing. An accident had led to a deep cut across the palm of his hand. It was a painful and inconvenient injury and Anthony Bridgerton did not like to be inconvenienced. As for the stubble, Kate found it quite attractive but Anthony, who preferred a clean shave, had begun to find it rather itchy and irritating.

“Kate?” She heard Anthony’s voice call from the bathroom.

“Mm?” Kate was lying on their bed, distracted by the latest Jane Austen novel. It was the talk of London society at the moment and Kate couldn’t put it down. She was ready before her husband for a change for Daphne and Simon’s ball tonight, a rare occasion but always an entertaining one. The children were already in bed so Kate could enjoy her book as Anthony shaved before they departed.

“Would you shave me?”

That was enough to make Kate put her book down. She was not sure if she had heard correctly. Anthony rarely asked directly for help, Kate normally intervened or just knew what to do when it came to her husband, but this time he was willingly asking for it.

“I’ll be right there, sweetheart.” Kate had begged Anthony to let her shave him on a few occasions, out of curiosity and amusement, but he had never given in. She had married the most wonderful man in the world but definitely the most stubborn. A man who would view asking someone for help, including his wife, as the last resort. Anthony was a problem solver, including his own.

She called for a bowl of hot water, soap and some towels and one of the maids brought the supplies within a few minutes.

She walked into their bathroom to find a disgruntled Anthony sitting on the edge of the bath, the razor blade and a towel lying abandoned in the sink. Kate put her finger in the bowl of water he had summoned a while ago, and it was cold. He must have been failing at shaving for a while and she had been too busy with her book to notice.

“Come sit on the bed,” She extended her hand toward his uninjured one, pressing a kiss to it before he threaded his fingers through her own. She could not resist the smile on her face as he obediently sat on the edge of their bed. She put the towel around his neckline to avoid getting his shirt wet, and lightly brushed the water and soap onto his face.

“Do you know what you are doing?” asked Anthony, looking amused as he placed his hands on the back of her thighs. She was standing in between his legs, probably not the smartest idea considering it usually led to certain activities and would distract them from the task at hand.

“Of course. Stay very still,” She said slowly, taking his chin in her hand as she pushed his head slightly so his left cheek was facing her. She wet his cheek again with soap and water, then slowly dragged the blade down his cheek.

“It is amusing to me how much you are enjoying this,” He murmured, a small smirk playing on his lips as she tapped the blade against the edge of the bowl. She felt his fingers lightly tap against the back of her thigh and she gulped.

“Anthony,” She said sternly, removing her hand from his face to lightly tap his wandering hands on her thighs. “Stop distracting me.”

Anthony lightly chuckled, but she could see that look in her eye. She knew that look and she loved that look. It had led to four children and a lot of fun. “You do have a blade against my cheek, dearest. My life is more at risk than yours.”

Kate, the Viscountess of Bridgerton, stuck her tongue out at him.

She removed the blade from his cheek to clean it in the water and as she turned around, he kissed her. She giggled and protested against his lips but as his tongue slipped into her mouth, she lost any control she had. Her face was now covered in soap and was partially wet.

“Anthony,” She whined as they eventually broke apart, but her tone had nothing but adoration in it as she pretended to scowl at him. “I was ready for the ball.”

“You will always be the most beautiful woman in any room,” He replied, smiling innocently at her as he reached up and wiped the remnants of soap off her face. “You ask too much of me if I am meant to sit here and not kiss you. I am only a man, Kate.”

She kissed him again briefly, just because. “You are too smart for your own good. Now, I am nearly done. Hush and let me finish.” She chose to straddle him this time, both her knees on either side of him. What was she to do, not torture her husband when she had the perfect opportunity? His hands were back on her thighs as she straddled him, concentrating carefully on the task at hand. She could count the faint freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks, the ones she had counted a million times and she loved how they darkened in the summer.

“There we go,” She said softly after a few minutes, wiping his clear cheeks with a cloth. There was not a cut or blood in sight. “Perfect.”

He carefully took the blade out of her hand, putting it down on the chair at the foot of the bed before flipping her around so she was underneath him. He leaned towards her, stopping when there was a few inches between them before he spoke. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I love taking care of you,” She replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her, their lips brushing a few times. “Are you not going to inspect my work?”

“There is no need,” He murmured against her lips, his hands working on the buttons of her dress and there was nothing in Kate that could make her stop him, even if they would be late to Daphne’s ball. “I trust you.”

Kate had been his wife for many years, she knew this man inside out, including his demons. Moments like this were precious when Anthony willingly let her help him and take care of him, as he always felt like he was the person who should be doing that. Her incredible husband rarely thought of himself and it broke her heart that he did not think a lot of himself at all. She vowed she would spend every day reminding him how incredible he was.

“You are so very handsome,” She murmured, placing her hands carefully on his cheeks as they both gazed at each other. His words made her flutter inside, her stomach feeling warm and ticklish, a feeling Anthony was the sole cause of, no matter how many years later. “An absolutely wonderful man. I do not think I tell you how much I love you enough. I absolutely adore you.”

“You only do it several times a day,” He teased her, pressing a soft kiss against her lips. “You do tell me enough, although I will never tire of hearing it. I love you so much. I do not think words do my love for you justice, but I love you.”

“You know,” Her lips began to trail kisses across his jaw, as her hands moved down towards his breeches. “I think Daphne will forgive us if we are slightly late.”

Anthony pulled back to grin at her, a delighted expression on his face. “She will forgive us for being half an hour late. It could be considered fashionable.”

Kate smirked back at him, feeling him pulling down her dress. “I was thinking an hour.”

“Oh Mrs. Bridgerton,” Anthony pulled Kate’s dress off completely and she squealed, losing her ability to speak as his lips began to trail their way down her stomach. “I could not agree more.”

[roboticonography]

Fic Preview: Except Perhaps in Spring

Dear @formerlyir,

I’m your Secret Santa! I’ve so enjoyed getting to know you in 2020, and I look forward to many more chats and Snippets Mondays. I guess now you know why I was so cagey with you about what I was working on for the exchange! ;)

It’s been a lot of fun working on a story just for you, but December has been an eventful month for me, and in the end it got away from me a little. So here’s a taste of your story, “Except Perhaps in Spring.” I hope you have as much fun reading it as I’ve had writing it.

Happy New Year!

=======

As she would maintain for many years afterwards, Peggy hadn’t wanted to go to the pub in the first place.

It wasn’t that she disapproved of such amusements. She liked a stiff drink as much as the next field agent (though not, perhaps, as much as Colonel Phillips, who kept a bottle of bourbon at the back of his middle desk drawer for “medicinal purposes”).

And she appreciated that the boys from the 107th invited her along on their madcap outings—not out of a misguided sense of chivalry, or some crack-brained scheme to charm her out of her knickers, but because they genuinely enjoyed her company.

Along with their fearless leader, the three biggest troublemakers of the group were in London for one night to accept an award on behalf of the 107th. Dugan, Barnes, and Morita had been invited to accompany Steve to the award ceremony, but not to any of the PR opportunities that followed. While Steve spent his afternoon posing for pictures with various elected officials, his boys would spend theirs loitering around the SSR’s London headquarters, trying to convince Peggy to come out on the town with them that night.

Peggy was in no mood.

It had been raining in sheets all day, and her umbrella had already given out on the walk in. The cavernous underground war room was freezing: everyone was wearing scarves and gloves at their stations. 

Peggy’s office—little more than an alcove with a door, really—had sprung a leak during the night, which meant she’d arrived that morning to find a stack of finished paperwork completely drenched. Aside from shoving her desk against the wall and putting a rubbish bin under the steady drip, there wasn’t much to be done.

Thanks to some especially severe belt-tightening, there was no comfort to be had even in a hot drink: the coffee was dismal sludge, the tea in the communal bucket had been stewed to within an inch of its life, and there was, naturally, no milk or sugar to be found anywhere on the premises.

Peggy had spent most of her day hunched over her typewriter, re-typing a twelve-page report that Colonel Phillips would undoubtedly skim for two seconds before it would disappear into the SSR’s vast storehouse of files, never to be seen again.

So when the invitations started, Peggy’s polite-but-firm no, thank you was already locked and loaded, and her aim was true.

She hadn’t counted on the boys being either bored or bold enough to try their luck again as a trio, wedging themselves into her office three abreast, with Dugan as the filling in the sandwich.

“I said no, gentlemen.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard this song before,” said Dugan, grinning. 

“Me too,” chimed in Barnes. “‘Her lips said no, but her eyes said—’”

“On your bike,” said Peggy curtly.

“She’ll change her tune when we tell her who’s coming,” said Dugan. “Won’t she, boys?”

His companions gave solemn nods.

“Yep,” said Morita, drawing the word out. “She’ll come around pretty quick when she hears that we convinced him.”

Peggy glared at each of them in turn. 

“All right,” she said at last. “Who is it?”

“Me, of course,” said Howard, shoving his way in between Morita and Dugan. “See? I told you she’d be excited.”

“Thrilled,” Peggy deadpanned.

“I think she thought we meant someone else,” said Barnes.

“Someone taller,” Dugan agreed.

Howard feigned indignance. “Taller, maybe, but I can guarantee I’m a better dancer. Did you know there’s a leak in your ceiling?” he added helpfully.

“Right. All of you, out.”

The unholy barbershop quartet reluctantly took its leave.

It wasn’t the first time they’d implied that there was something between her and Steve. She didn’t appreciate them doing it in earshot of her office colleagues, though she was certain there must be talk already: Steve’s last visit to HQ had ended in a legendary bust-up between them, after she’d interrupted him with Private Lorraine, mid-embrace.

She wasn’t only angry that he’d kissed someone else. She was angry that he’d kissed a woman he barely knew, after he’d made himself out to be a different sort of man. She’d felt foolish for believing him, for liking him, when he’d told her he was waiting for the right partner.

She was angry that he’d had the nerve, afterwards, to try and brush it aside, pretending it hadn’t meant anything. If a kiss like that didn’t mean anything, how many others had there been? And how many more would there be while they were apart?

(And, though she’d never admit it, she was angry that Steve appeared to be a decent kisser.)

Then, to add insult to injury, he’d brought up Howard’s one-sided flirting—as though she had any control over the invitations and innuendo men chose to pitch at her day after day, as casually and aimlessly as they dropped their litter in the street.

If that was all it took to drive Steve into the arms of another woman, then perhaps it was best that they remained separated by the English Channel for the time being.

*

Peggy applied herself to her work, ignoring any further overtures. As much as she appreciated the inclusion, she didn’t want to spend her evening sitting in a smoky pub, drinking cheap beer and bellowing herself hoarse. She wanted a warm bath and a warm bed. There was only one person she was interested in inviting to join her in either, and even if she hadn’t still been a bit cross with him, the chance of her seeing him at all on this brief visit grew more remote with every hour that passed. His itinerary included supper with Senator Brandt at his hotel, and was liable to be a late night—the senator’s aide had also arranged for a room for Steve at the hotel, presumably to avoid cutting their evening short.

She was grateful Steve would have a chance to get a decent meal and a good night’s sleep while he was in London, even if it meant she wouldn’t get to see his preposterously good-looking face in person. She knew from the dispatches that he was doing gruelling work, and that he often passed up opportunities for respite so that other men could take leave.

By six, it seemed as though the boys from the 107th had all cleared off at last, along with the rest of the office. Peggy slipped into the women’s locker room to change clothes. Transit to and from home in uniform for women was allowed, but not precisely encouraged—and the uniform had a way of making a person more approachable, which was the very last thing Peggy wanted just now. 

She quickly tidied her hair, and reapplied her lipstick and a small dab of eau de toilette, before donning her trusty navy shirtwaist dress. It was slightly threadbare at the cuffs and collar, but still serviceable, and a decent fit, even if it wasn’t as stylish as one might wish for. Peggy knew that plain outfits were a small sacrifice for such a worthy cause—but she still longed for the day when she could have a new dress every season, with features and embellishments, in colours so rich her mouth watered at the thought.

Daydreams of pleated skirts and pockets carried her all the way back to her desk, where she collected her hat and gloves, and tried to revive her sad umbrella. If her office ceiling was any indication, it was still pouring outside, but she knew better than to risk bad luck opening the thing indoors.

Just as she’d started to don her Mackintosh, she heard Barnes’s customary “shave-and-a-haircut” knock on the open door behind her.

She didn’t bother turning around. “For the last time, sod off!” She didn’t often use that kind of language in a professional setting, but if they weren’t going to accept a polite refusal, then—

“Yes, ma’am,” said a familiar voice.

She spun on her heel.

Steve was leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. His dress uniform jacket was tucked under his arm, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His tie had come loose, his collar unbuttoned, and his hair was mussed, tumbling boyishly over his brow. 

He looked, in short, half-undone and entirely ravishing.

All of the sensible reasons she had for keeping her distance suddenly seemed small and remote in comparison.

“Steve,” she said, unnecessarily. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The warm smile he gave her suggested that he hadn’t taken her dismissal personally, at least.

Peggy had imagined this exact scenario an embarrassing number of times: the two of them, in the office after hours, all alone. The fantasies ranged from fairly chaste (teasing, light flirting, an innocent kiss or two) to positively filthy (Steve’s hands roaming her body, his mouth open and demanding against hers).

Looking at him now, her preference was decidedly for the latter option.

Oblivious to the turn her thoughts had taken, Steve asked, “Rough day?”

“Not really, not—” Not anymore, she wanted to say, but clamped her mouth shut just in time. “I didn’t know you were coming in.”

“I’m not here—not officially. I was just gonna leave this on your desk.” 

He jiggled a small brown paper packet at her. It took her a moment to recognize it as the portion of sugar from a ration box.

“How on earth did you manage to hang onto that?”

“We’re still getting it in the K-rats. And I like to save mine for a rainy day.”

“It certainly is that,” she conceded, glancing up at the ceiling. “Are you sure you won’t miss it?”

A different sort of man, a smooth operator, would have taken the opportunity to feed her a line: not as much as I’ll miss you, or, how about you just owe me something sweet? But Steve just shrugged, and tucked the packet gently under the corner of her desk blotter.

Peggy was both touched and exasperated.

She knew that in combat, even with no experience, he could be confident, creative, and quick-thinking. He was almost certainly capable of applying that approach in other situations too. But he hadn’t—at least, not with her.

She wanted one romantic overture from him. Just one. A single, unmistakable gesture, something that couldn’t possibly be attributed to kindness or friendship or sheer accident. 

She felt she deserved at least that.

Still, he’d come halfway across town, to bring her less than an ounce of sugar that he’d probably gone hungry to save. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it counted for something.

And so she smiled, and thanked him, adding, “I’m glad I was here to accept it in person.”

“Me too.”

“I thought you had supper with the senator and his cronies.”

“I told him I had an early start tomorrow. I think he got enough of my time.” His tone made it plain that he would rather have spent his day getting shot at by HYDRA. “I told the guys they ought to ask you to come out with us tonight. I’m sorry they bothered you.”

“No, it’s fine—I mean, yes, they did, but—” Being half-in and half-out of her coat meant that instead of breezily waving his apology aside, she wound up flapping her sleeve at him, ineffectually.

Obligingly, Steve stepped closer, and held her coat up by the collar.

“Oh,” said Peggy, letting him slip the coat over her shoulders. “Thank you.”

It was a simple gesture, one any kind person would make, and Steve was nothing if not kind. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to be racing, she told herself sternly.

His hand still held her collar; she turned, drawing the circle of his arm around her shoulders, as though they were about to dance.

Up close, she could see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose, the speck of a mole on his cheek. Details that the artists who depicted Captain America always seemed to miss, slight imperfections that belonged only to Steve Rogers. She was strangely tempted to brush her fingertips over them, to prove that they were real, that he was real. 

His eyes were wide, his gaze clear blue and bottomless, and she suddenly felt in danger of drowning.

A hard pellet of water hit her cheek, making her jump.

“Don’t tell me it’s raining in here, too,” said Steve, glancing up at the ceiling with his hand outstretched.

“It’s London in March,” she observed, stepping out of the line of fire. “It’s raining everywhere.” She emphasized the point by buttoning her coat and hooking her umbrella over her arm.

“Can I walk you to the train?” His look was hopeful. 

“Actually,” she said, against her better judgement, “I think I will come for a drink, after all.”

Steve beamed. “Swell.”

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

[regrettablewritings]

Maybe the gift rule, the bringing lunch, and the taking care on sick days for Poe?

Captain Dreamsicle it is!

Takes care of on sick days: Both of you, though Poe gets a bit more in by comparison . . . Poe is a man of many traits: He is sweet, hard-working, a little gung-ho but altogether just plain passionate. He’s also a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to his own health. The moment you so much as hint that you might be coming down with something, this man is on your case. You can’t even sniffle around him before he’s right in front of you, those big, brown eyes of his filled with almost puppyish worry. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice gentle yet heavy with concern. He places a hand to your forehead, searching for any excessive heat. “You don’t think you picked anything up, do you? I know your bunk mate just came back from a recon mission --” And so begins the Resistance pilot’s transformation into a mother hen, however annoying as it may be. He can’t force you to stay in bed, especially if the infirmary insists that it’s just a slight head cold (at most), but he’s definitely going to keep an eye on you whenever he can: He has subordinates working close by you report back to him, sending him messages on his tablets as to whether or not you seem particularly light-headed or drowsy. He requests the droids’ assistance in making sure you stay in bed just so long enough that you get a confirmed eight hours. He makes sure your plate has only ever so slightly the bittest more of rations when it’s time for you to eat. (If you make any comment on this, he eagerly ushers you along, commenting on oh look at that lucky you! You don’t see the nod of thanks he gives to the person on ration duty, but you know they’re in cahoots.) And once he gets promoted to general, you can just forget about it! . . . But the moment Poe sniffles, it’s like he’s done a 180 on the matter: To him, Poe Dameron can’t get sick. And if he does, well, he can work it off. So many people depend on him now more than ever, and he can’t let them down by taking some down time just to fight off a common cold. Besides . . . doctors are a little scary. It may take some convincing (and fussing), but eventually, he does give in -- to a degree. Really, if you can convince him to lie in bed with you while he reads over plans and maps, it’s a win. Because you’ll inevitably massage his curls until he drifts off into a much needed sleep. He pretends to be frustrated that you let him sleep in the next day, but the truth is he greatly appreciates it in the long run.

Brings the other lunch at work: You swear that ever since he got promoted to general, Poe’s self-care has taken a hit: He’s up at all hours, he’s running around like crazy, and he keeps skipping out on meals, insisting that he’ll eat later! At first, you were very understanding of it: He did, after all, just jump ahead into way more responsibilities than he’d previously had as just a captain. Sure, he’d been trained for it, but that didn’t make the reality of what it was that much easier. You did your part where you could: Delivering messages, sitting in with him on meetings to take notes on anything that might be of use to him later, making sure BB-8 kept out of trouble . . . But really! Did the man seriously think he could get away with his third straight day of skipping lunch!? You had never been a particularly intimidating person but as you stormed across the base, expression stern as you carried a small tin case in your hands, everyone knew to stay out of your way. You sure wish you’d kept that same amount of confidence when you stormed into his designated workspace. Thankfully, he wasn’t in the middle of talking with somebody, but he was definitely in the middle of something. But you tried not to care about that: Instead, you found yourself focusing on how your beloved looked. He didn’t look sickly, and you’d certainly seen him in a worse state. But there were clear, tiny traces of him lacking proper or consistent nutrition. And rest. Nevertheless, he wore that boyishly cute grin when he looked up from his tablets and saw you. “Oh, hey!” he said, as though there weren’t threats of shadows developing beneath his eyes. He leaned back in his seat ever so slightly. “What brings you to this neck of my woods?” You bit your lip. Remain stern, you told yourself. Be gentle and loving, but make it clear you’re not going to mess around. “Castion told me he didn’t see you in the mess hall earlier. Or for lunch for that matter. So I’m here to deliver your rations,” you lifted up the tin container just a bit higher for him to take note. He nodded. “Thank you, hon. You can put it right there--” he nodded at a corner of his tech-cluttered desk-- “and I’ll get to it in a bit.” He then returned his attention back to the holo-map in front of him. You fought to release an exasperated sigh. “No,” you decided upon instead. You watched as the general blinked before looking back up at you. “Huh?” “I said no,” you informed, a bit more assertive than before. “You always say you’ll ‘get to it’ but according to BB, you ever really do. You take maybe, like, three or four bites and then you’re done. And that’s if you can be bothered to eat it even four hours after receiving it!” You could see Poe gently scowl. How rude: Ratted out by his own droid. He tried again, “Honey, I promise to you: I’ll eat it within the hour. All of it. Heart crossed and hope to --” He paused. “Get Force-blasted by Rey. Again. This time, on purpose.” You hummed. That was a fair proposition to make. But neh, you weren’t buying it. “Oh, I know you will,” you responded, walking towards the desk. And then around it, until you stood next to Poe. You didn’t set the container down. “Because I’m going to stay and make sure you do.” You threw in a cloyingly sweet smile. Poe returned with a smile of his own, albeit one much less composed and far more wobbly. Oh, boy. “Uh . . . Don’t you have something else to get a handle on, sweetie?” “Nope!” said, popping your ‘p’. A beat of silence. Poe eyed the tin. “But . . . I’ve got a lot of stuff to focus on, babe . . . I can’t exactly take the time out to just --” “For the Maker’s sake, Poe! I know you have a lot to do, but that’s no reason to keep skipping out on food. That’s frankly even more of a reason to eat when you can -- you’re not going to be of any help if you’re just a pile of bones, you know!” This time, it was Poe’s turn to do the lip-biting. You had a point . . . You continued, “Look, I know the rations aren’t that great, but you gotta eat something. In fact . . .” You popped the lid off. “How about a feed you?” “I’m not a baby, (Y/N) --” “No, but you’re being reluctant like a toddler. And in any case, if I feed you then at least you can keep your hands busy doing whatever it is you insist you need to do instead of actually putting nourishment in your body. Capiche?” Did he have any real say? No, not really. By this point, after all the ones he’d grown up around and encountered in the Resistance, Poe had learned when to fold in the face of a woman on a mission. Besides, underneath the resigned demeanor, he rather appreciated the gesture. You didn’t have to do this; you were just as important as he was to the Resistance as far as he was concerned. Yet, you were spending your time, making sure he was operating better than he thought he already was. And doing that? It made the disgustingly bland protein glob you spoon-fed him ever so slightly more palatable. Well, almost.

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas: (Since Christmas apparently doesn’t exactly exist in the Star Wars universe as we know it, I’m keeping a more modern setting in mind.) Every year, you would make Poe look you in the eye and promise that he wouldn’t go overboard with the gift-giving. You two weren’t exactly hurting for money, it just didn’t seem to make much sense to go and splurge on something that the two of you both couldn’t benefit from equally (a pool, a tv, a roomba, and so on). At least, to you it didn’t. Which was why every year, you reminded your significant other of this and hoped he would keep a lid on it. And every year, Poe would find some sort of loophole to squeeze himself through, or just plain break the rule, offering only the most sheepish of smiles when the reveal inevitably arrived. Though, if you were “lucky”, you’d be regaled the story of how he found whatever that year’s big splurge was and how he knew from the moment he saw it that it “had to be yours”. Which was how you wound up with a limited edition makeup set. And a gorgeous cocktail dress. And a diamond-and-pearl earrings and necklace set. And tickets to the touring version of that musical you’d always dreamed of seeing. And so much more. And every year, you’d be somewhat upset about it, but only a little bit: You’d learned long ago that none of this was done out of malice or to humiliate you by making whatever you gave him appear lackluster or bought on the cheap. This was simply how Poe was: He was a go big or go home type of fella and it only made sense that this type of mindset would carry over into how he showed you his love for you. To Poe, you deserved to be showered in gifts, and he made it his goal every year to shower you with the best of the best. There just wasn’t a price that could be put on surprising you or making you smile (well, on the inside, because on the outside you were weakly chiding about how he once again broke the rule). And you couldn’t fault him for being your loving, passionate Poe. Besides it wasn’t as though every year, he didn’t also gift you with a painfully ugly Christmas sweater to match his. 

Thank you for asking!! Hope I did okay . . .

[tintinwrites]

first time | First Order!Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: Nobody asked for this but here I am with a sequel to ‘first commander’ I wrote this forever ago and kept it a secret!! This boy might be a series of one-shots idek you guys

Rating: M

Warning: Smut. Naughty words. Oral (briefly M receiving and then female receiving to orgasm). Brief Daddy kink. Rough-ish sex. Poe isn’t the best guy but he ok. Orgasm denial?

Word count: 2,285, apparently!!

Summary: You decide to sleep with the commander of the First Order’s toughest fleet seeing as you’re lonely and he’s the only person there who’s nice to you, and he seems more unique than he does genuinely evil like you’d been told.

First Commander

GIF credit: I have no idea, but it’s not mine.

                                            -------------------------

He'd laughed when he mentioned that fucking him might earn you a few privileges.

Not because he was kidding about it, but explained that you didn't have to, that it was merely a generous offer rather than a threatening demand.

You were pretty sure you said something about how you'd spit in his face if he ever entertained the thought again, your own mind briefly wondering what it would be like to sleep with someone like him.

He was very attractive and very much a member of the First Order, even if he was much more carefree and you might say friendly than the others.

Still evil, you thought.

Less evil when you'd been there for a few weeks and he was the only one who didn't sneer at you when entering your cell, the only one who didn't threaten to beat or kill you if you didn't give him information.

He was nice about wanting information and he would sneak in sweet-sand cookies and he was probably only tricking you and—

You were lonely, okay? That was your reason for batting your eyelashes at him, for letting him cuff you for show as he walked you to his quarters.

The reason why you were about to sleep with a First Order commander.

He'd been surprised when you propositioned him, but he didn't hesitate to accept.

You'd been surprised when he kissed you like a typical lover, but you didn't hesitate to kiss him back.

"Take off your clothes," he murmured, nudging his nose against your cheek for you to turn your head and give him access to your neck.

"Why don't you take them off?"

"If I do, you're not gonna have anything to wear."

You might have wanted him to tear your clothes and leave you with nothing were it not for the fact that you would be naked for anyone in the First Order to see; Poe insisted you get a weekly shower and fresh underwear as being dirty wouldn't encourage you to offer any information, but no one was doing your laundry and your clothes were grimy.

Maybe you could mention it when he was desperate to cum, earn the privilege of having new or even clean clothes.

Were you really considering using sex to have clean clothes to wear?

It was pitiful and rather immoral, and you wouldn't be telling anyone in the Resistance if you ever went home.

When.

The First Order would let you go or you would escape someday.

If you fucked Poe—

You weren't going to pleasure him enough to have him let you go; you were doing this to be less lonely in the sterile environment that was this base.

He was apparently impatient while you were lost in your thoughts, and you gasped as he tore open the front of your shirt.

Your brow furrowed in slight anger and he simply shrugged.

"You were taking a long time. If we have fun, I might give you one of my shirts to wear."

"I'd smell like you."

A neutral statement, not sure whether you were pleased or annoyed.

He smelled pretty good, but his inflated ego didn't need to know about that.

You slapped his hands when he reached for your pants and paused in case he retaliated with a slap to your face like one would expect of a member of the dark side.

He didn't. You unfastened your pants and took them off, folding them neatly to the amusement of the man watching you set them on a table.

It was when you turned around and saw the mirth in his eyes darken, raking over your form, that you were maybe slightly nervous.

Your bra covered the majority of your breasts and the standard underwear covered your upper thighs, but you felt naked under the starving gaze of your enemy.

Was he your enemy?

"All of your clothes. I want to see what's mine." His voice was soft and lustful.

"I am not yours."

"You belong to me for right now."

"Yeah, whatever."

You were pretending that you weren't wet, forcing your hands not to shake as you took off your bra and your knees not to sway as you stepped out of your underwear.

Was he still dressed as some sort of power move? You being entirely naked while he was allowed to wear the same amount of clothes he always did.

"Undress me." If it was possible for someone to literally sound like sex, he did.

You might have wittily asked why you were doing all the work, but you decided to take off his shirt.

His torso was smooth, maybe a battle scar here or there. You lowered his pants and saw his underwear was the same as yours, tight around certain parts that you didn't have.

Parts that were bigger than you expected.

Not big in the way that you wanted to seal your legs shut, but enough that you were sure it was going to stretch you.

"Use your teeth."

"What?"

"Use your fucking teeth to take it off."

"Okay. Fine."

He sounded more desperate than demanding and you moved down to your knees, carefully taking the waistband of his underwear in your teeth and dragging them down.

His cock sprung up next to your face; you flinched away with his underwear around his thighs, looking up at him with wide eyes.

The breathless laugh was much gentler than the way his hand wound into your hair, pulling you close to where your face was nearly pressed against him. "You ever sucked dick?"

You hadn't, most of your sexual experiences having been brief moments to relieve stress.

"I only want you to do it for a second, okay?" It was confusing that he could be rough one moment and gentle the next, out of place for the First Order, like he was dark with a little light around the edges or maybe light with a little darkness around the edges.

"I've never..."

"I know, baby. It's okay. I want to be the first one."

"Oh. Alright."

He rubbed his tip across your lips then pushed forward experimentally, moaning at the way your mouth opened for him naturally.

About half of him fit in your mouth when you realized it was harder to breathe, and you looked up at him panicked.

You whimpered as he thrust once, then inhaled deeply the moment he pulled away from you.

You thought you might have liked it if you had been the one to do it, to sit over him and run your tongue anywhere you wanted, but it was your first time and it was slightly awkward.

Were you seriously considering how much you'd like sucking him off with some practice?

He was kicking off his boots and pushing his pants and underwear the rest of the way down, nodding somewhere behind him. "Get on the bed."

You did, laying against his pillow and finding that he seemed a lot bigger than you when he knelt between your legs, practically towering above you.

While you kind of enjoyed it, wasn't he shorter when he was standing?

"Poe—" A finger on your lips silenced you, eyeing him in confusion.

"You call me Commander."

"What?"

"I can also answer to sir, Mr. Dameron, and Daddy."

"I am not calling you Daddy."

"Why'd your pupils dilate when you said it?"

"—not calling you Daddy."

He smiled, moving down and kissing along your hips. His head dipped between your legs and he knew you hadn't done that either as your lower half lifted off the bed with one lick from his tongue.

You moved to grab onto his hair during a particularly hard suck on your clit and he grabbed your wrist firmly enough that you knew he could break it if he wanted to.

Would he want to?

"Don't touch my hair," he snapped, somewhat unconvincingly, like someone used to touch his hair and he had loved it, but now it hurt.

You were a little sad if you were being honest, wondering what he might look like with boyishly mussed up hair rather than the perfectly coiffed curls he had.

But when he set your arm at your side on the mattress and looked at you, you kept it there.

He dived back in, licking and sucking at your clit while he moved to push a finger into your entrance, pumping it in and out slowly.

His mouth was wet and the entire act was really filthy, and you had never approached an orgasm this fast in your life.

"Oh, fuck, Commander— right there, yes!" His finger stroked a spot inside of you that made your toes actually curl.

And as the room was starting to spin, he stopped licking you and his finger stilled inside of you, not reaching the spot you needed.

Your orgasm started fading and you looked at him half-bemused and half-angry. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Maybe you should call me Daddy."

"Like hell."

He kissed your folds, purposely ignoring where you wanted his lips, his finger teasing inside you as it hardly offered any friction.

It had your orgasm frozen in time, desperate but needing more.

"It's not like I'm forcing you to do something you don't want to do. You secretly like it."

"I don't like it!"

"Come on, sweetheart."

"No way."

He nudged your clit lightly with his nose, his eyes on yours. "Come on. Beg Daddy."

Your cunt squeezed his finger at his teasing words and he grinned knowingly, and you mumbled the words in defeat.

"Sorry, I couldn't really hear that well."

"Please, Daddy."

"Look at me when you say it." His words were sharp and you moved your gaze from where it was trained on the wall.

"Please, Daddy?"

He curled his finger and sucked hard on your swollen clit, and you came immediately, clenching hard and crying out with a buck of your hips.

He licked you until you whimpered with too much stimulation, gently pushing his face away from you.

You stared at him in a daze, your cunt still contracting slightly while he put his finger up to your mouth.

You shook your head and he shrugged, sucking his finger clean.

"Move on your hands and knees, when you think you can take my cock."

"Yes."

Why all you said was yes, you pretended not to really know.

But it was that you wanted it more than you'd wanted to sleep with him already, that you were turned on again as you rolled onto your hands and knees.

His palm slid on your back, arching it to put your ass in the air for him.

Then his cock was pressing against you, his tip pushing into you a couple of times until your little whines turned to much more pleasured moans and he was able to thrust into you.

You were right when you thought he would stretch you out and it almost hurt, but you loved it.

You'd never been this satisfyingly full.

He let you adjust for a moment and then started a fast pace against you, his huffs and moans like music you might hear in a cantina.

That would be a very questionable cantina that was more of a brothel.

"Oh, kriff," he gasped, leaning over you and crowding your space, practically suffocating you in a way you found turned you on all the more.

"Yes, Commander, like that..." You turned your head and he panted hard against your jaw, kissing along the line.

He kissed down to the side of your neck and bit you hard there, sure to leave bruised teeth marks.

Again, again; encouraged by your moans, how much you loved the pain mixing with the pleasure between your legs, which he silently noted.

Your orgasm and how wet you were made sliding in and out of you easy, and Poe was sure he could come already from your tight warmth, but he was going to be sure you came again.

And if your begging was any indication, words forming together in your desperation, you would be coming again very quickly.

Commander, Daddy, sir, master...

He wasn't fond of that last one, but the other ones had him driving into you even harder.

Poe decided that his favorite sensation ever was your cunt clenching around him, your hips pushing back as they sought out the friction for your climax.

Biting into your shoulder, he buried his cock as much as he could and spilled inside you with a string of filthy pet names that you didn't think you'd heard.

You were somewhere deep in your mind, sated by two orgasms, when you realized he didn't pull out.

"What did you do?! I've been here too long for my birth control to be up to date!" Your panicked squeaks didn't seem to be noticed as he pulled away, staring between your legs.

"Mine is. The cum dripping down your pussy ain't making any babies."

You squirmed at his crude words, turning to face him and then stepping out of the bed, walking to where your stun cuffs were forgotten on the floor.

His hands grabbed onto your waist, pulling you into the bed next to him.

"You can stay tonight."

"I can?"

"Have a comfy bed instead of sleeping on the floor."

"Thank you."

You weren't sure whether you should have laid close to him or stayed on the edge of the bed, but he pulled you against him with his cock nestled against your ass.

He hummed into your hair quietly. "It's gonna be fun sending the Resistance a holo of me letting them know their best pilot calls me Daddy."

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 19 ~Lallybroch Part 1~

Claire was sat on the pew in Abercorn Parish Church waiting for Jamie to sort out the papers for their nuptials. She was wearing a simple pleated cream dress belted at the high waist with matching heels, bought earlier in the day. It was merely two days ago when they were talking about marriage, and she didn't wholly believe that it would be possible to arrange everything in such a short time. The Scottish law required twenty-nine days of notice to be submitted to the registrar before a legal wedding can take place, and somehow, Jamie was able to circumvent the rules. With the help of his lawyers and connections, the paper works and licenses were expedited when he called in past favours owed.

"How did you manage that?" Claire had asked, not fully understanding how much influence Jamie wielded in Scotland.

Jamie, extremely reticent about his charity work, hesitantly and shyly explained that he had helped the Hamlet of Abercorn restore its parish church and its other causes in the past. And in return for his generosity, they were turning a blind eye on the procedural requirements and red tape.

Still, it was hard to believe that she was actually getting married, considering the circumstances how they had met. What she had thought was a fleeting romance and attraction at the start, had turned into a roller coaster ride of mixed emotions, soul searching and introspection all within a short time. She had known men like Jamie before, men who have women falling at their feet and women at their disposal lured by their charm. After Frank died, she had guarded her heart in pursuit of her medical career, her life navigated with control, discipline and restraint, and she thought she had everything in grip until she met Jamie. Although not to be characterised as naive in the matter of the hearts, Claire was under the notion that sleeping with Jamie would have ended her fascination and draw towards him. She thought she could play the same game what Claire perceived Jamie was playing without getting hurt, safe in the knowledge that she was confident and open-minded when it came to love affairs. But the opposite had occurred and never in her life had she expected to fall hard for him. So it was astounding to believe that a man like him could love her in return, let alone wanting wholeheartedly to marry and start a family with her.

Looking now at her engagement ring, she couldn't help but smile at the memory it stirred. It was a simple amber stone, set on a plain white gold band, and it had belonged to Jamie's mother. Ever since Jamie had slipped it onto her finger, she hadn't been able to remove it no matter how much lubricants and soap she used. It wasn't as if her fingers were swollen, but the ring had remained stuck. Jamie had joked that his deceased mother must have insisted on her wearing it and that it was a sign of her approval. Well, it must be the case, she had thought because it looked more than ever, brilliant on the day of their wedding.

"Sassenach, are ye ready? We're about to be married," Jamie said softly. Claire hadn't heard him approach, so engrossed she was in her thoughts. Kneeling beside her, next to the pew, he smiled tenderly, his sky-blue eyes translucent as the light from the window touched his face. Although still bruised, Jamie looked achingly handsome with his three days bristles and longish hair, the golden-red locks curling at the nape of his neck. He wore a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt, forgoing a tie. "Looking forward to being Mrs Fraser?" he grinned boyishly, raising her hand to his lips.

Claire's heart swelled, and her eyes glistened, as she felt the sting at the back of her eyes began to burn. Instead of answering, she leaned forward to kiss him gently, afraid if she spoke, tears of joy would spill.

"Sassenach, ye ken when we get back to Inverness, we can have another wedding if ye want. A grander one. I know this isn't..."

"Ssshh...Jamie, this is perfect," Claire smiled as she put a hand on the side of his face. "Just the two of us. Maybe we can have a small party for close friends when we get back...I'll be more than happy with that."

Pulling Claire to her feet, he gathered her into his arms, to hold her tight. "Ye're a very unusual woman, Sassenach," Jamie murmured in her ears. "I want to give ye so much, deck ye in jewels and place the world at yer feet, but ye'll no' have any of it. Ye only need to tell me what yer heart desires..."

"I have you, Jamie, that's all I've ever wanted." She then stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

..........

The wedding ceremony lasted fifteen minutes. With the church's caretakers as witnesses, they had exchanged vows from their hearts, a lone tear escaping Jamie's eye as he smiled broadly, like a child receiving all his Christmases' presents wrapped into one.

"Weel, hul-loh there, Mrs Fraser," he said, giving her a lopsided grin after the priest announced he may kiss the bride. 

Jamie kissed Claire long and thorough, almost forgetting that the witnesses and the priest were still there and Jamie had to be gently reminded with a slight tap on the shoulder that there were still papers to be signed.

After everything was signed and sealed, they left the parish church and headed for Queensferry for some celebratory macaroons and herbal tea at a local cafe. They weren't far from Lallybroch, but they wanted this special moment for themselves away from people they know and away from big crowds who might recognise Jamie. Although they felt slightly guilty for not telling their friends and family about their impromptu wedding, they couldn't stop grinning as they tucked into their sweet treats. Claire hadn't wanted any fuss, and knowing her luck after the last few weeks', she thought it would be best to stay away from people who might know them, at least until after the wedding.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Jamie, I'm going to get fat before your very eyes if I continue to eat like this. I feel like eating for three instead of two," Claire remarked in between popping her fourth macaroon into her mouth and sipping her fennel tea. "I just can't stop eating anything sugary."

Jamie laughed and looked lovingly at his new bride. He wasn't overly concerned about her change in eating habits, simply because he was too happy beyond words. "Dinna fash Sassenach. As soon as we're back in Inverness, I'll start cooking for us some healthy meals. We're on holiday, and importantly, the baby seems to have an appetite. That must be good, aye?"

"I guess so...it must be a good thing my body has all the hallmarks of a healthy pregnancy, but I don't know how a fetus could have so much appetite. At this stage, our child is about this big," Claire explained, as she showed Jamie with her thumb and finger how big the embryo was. "The fetus is about the size of a pea."

To her amusement, Jamie had been surprised at this revelation and Claire couldn't wait to see his future reactions and responses as she progressed into the later stages of pregnancy. He had read so much about this subject from the internet and books given by Geillis, but Claire knew, no amount of reading will prepare him for fatherhood. 

"Sassenach, are ye ready to go and see Lallybroch and meet my family?" Jamie said as he reached out to squeeze her hand after Claire polished off both their plates

She nodded with a slight hint of a frown. "I hope she'll like me, Jamie. She's your only family, and I'm really looking forward to having a sister. I've grown up wishing I had a sibling, especially when uncle Lamb and I were isolated from civilisation. I was always surrounded by adults growing up, so I've never really had anyone near my age."

"Dinna fash Sassenach. If she dinna like ye, remember, ye're married to me and not to her. Besides I'm quite sure she will love ye like her own...weel... after she's done lambasting me for all my misgivings these last few weeks," Jamie reassured but cringed at the thought of what's to come when Jenny finally gets her chance to harangue him in person.

..........

The drive to Lallybroch from Queensferry was a short one; nevertheless, picturesque and charming. It was quintessential Scottish countryside with open fields full of wildflowers in bloom and mounds of green hills in the background. The lands they passed were dotted with ancient manors and castles, and working farmhouses and Claire couldn't help but think of Frank. He had loved Scotland, and the history that shaped the country, and they had often visited ancient sites before they were married many years ago. Thinking back now, her times and marriage to Frank seemed like from another lifetime.

Jamie slowed down as they drove through a small unpaved road, lined with wooden palisades that led to a grand grey-stoned manor house. The stone building was surrounded by trees; there were oak, hawthorn, juniper, elder, and a few wild cherry trees scattered about. On the far side, away from the residence, was a paddock with three horses grazing in the field, and as she opened the window to breathe the fresh air, she could hear dogs barking from afar. She couldn't see the front of the house, but instead there was an arched-entrance that led to what she presumed was a front courtyard.

"Welcome to Broch Tuarach, Mrs Fraser," Jamie announced smirking in amusement, seeing her face looking in awe at his childhood home as they approached nearer to the driveway.

"Oh my, Jamie...your family home is grand! It's like a bloody castle if you don't mind me saying so. You could fit in three families there," Claire gushed, not taking her eyes away from the looming manor.

Jamie chuckled. "Aye, that it is, but at the rate, Jenny and Ian are breeding, they will need all the rooms in the house. They have four children at the moment, and my uncle had informed me, another one is on the way."

"Wot?" Claire's hand automatically went to her stomach, silently praying that their own child would be safe and healthy. "Your brother-in-law must be a hard-working man to have so many children and maintain such a large home."

Jamie smiled. He couldn't wait to see Ian. He was like a brother to him even before he married his sister, and he was his childhood best friend.

As they finally stopped, Jamie reached out and squeezed Claire's hand. "Ye ready, Sassenach? Mind ye, my sister...she is a tad feisty with a mouth like an army sergeant, but really, her heart is pure gold once ye get to know her," Jamie cautioned as he braced himself to introduce his new bride.

Claire simply nodded, itching to see the grounds of Lallybroch and meet Jamie's family.

As they stepped out from the van, Claire heard children squealing and shouting, and little feet running towards them.

"Uncle Jamie! Uncle Jamie!" A small boy with brown hair about the age of seven or eight threw himself at Jamie who picked him up and twirled him around laughing. "We missed ye loads, and I heard ma saying to da that ye're a clot-heid and a coof."

"Sssh...ye better no' let yer ma hear ye say such things or she'll wash yer mouth with lye," Jamie gently admonished, laughing as he hugged his nephew. Turning to Claire, he introduced the bairn. "Sassenach, this is wee Jamie. He was named after me, and I'm his godfather. Wee Jamie, meet yer auntie Claire."

The wee boy warily extended his hand, squinting his eyes as he looked up to her. "Hallo auntie Claire."

"Nice to meet you, wee Jamie," Claire smiled as she got down to her knees, eyeing the other shy little ones behind the boy who were waiting for their turn to be greeted by their uncle. "And are they your sisters and brother? Can you please introduce them to me," she coaxed.

One by one, the children came forth and introduced themselves shyly, with an amused Jamie looking on. She learned the eldest girl was Margaret, maybe around five or six, then came Katherine, who was four and a toddler learning to walk, Michael.

"Jamie, me lad!" It was a man's voice. As she stood up to take a better look, the children suddenly scurrying away to inform their ma of Uncle Jamie's arrival in high shrill voices, wee Michael tottering behind his siblings. Claire presumed he was Ian and noticed immediately that he had a prosthetic right leg. He had a kind smiling face, and like wee Jamie, he had dark brown hair.

"Ian!" Jamie hugged his brother-in-law, laughing and slapping his back good-naturedly. "Good to see ye, pal! Come meet my wife, Claire."

Ian still smiling, raised an eyebrow at Jamie before stepping forward to squeeze Claire warmly in an embrace. "Och, the lady in red!" Ian grinned much to Claire and Jamie's mild discomfort as they both remembered that calamitous evening at the ball. "I've read all about ye Claire in the tabloids - what did it exactly say...mmm let's see...the Sassenach that stole Jamie's heart, but I never read anything about a wedding. I'm quite sure that would have been impossible to miss." Ian turned to Jamie for some answers.

"Och, we only got married today. Ah ken Jenny won't be too pleased to hear that part, her only wee brother marrying so..."

"James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser!! At last, the prodigal son has returned!" interrupted a woman's high-pitched voice, not sounding very friendly at all.

They all turned around, and Claire observed a very petite woman stomping determinedly towards them.  It's Jenny!   She had the same blue eyes as Jamie, but her face was more delicate and porcelain-like, and she didn't inherit her brother's height -  she must be around five feet tall!  Jenny was wearing a plaid shirt over loose linen pants that were folded at the bottom hem, and it was evident that she was expecting a child. Her head was covered with a straw hat, and Claire saw wisps of black hair that was tied back in a knot, escaping.  

Jenny dropped the wicker basket that was hitched to her waist, sending the freshly harvested potatoes rolling to the ground. Then she pulled her garden gloves from her hands one by one, angrily, throwing them aside. Not noticing Claire, she walked towards her brother, her one arm ready to slap his left ear, but Jamie was quick to duck as if he knew already what to expect. 

"Jenny, what the fuck!"

"Aye, ye wee prick...what the fuck!" Jenny screamed, one hand on her hip and the other waving about madly. "Why did ye not answer my calls, eh? Yer head is so stuffed deep in yer arse ye have forgotten about yer family. The fucking paparazzi were all over our grounds nosing aroond looking for ye and scaring yer nephews and nieces off their wits. Ye have nae care in the world but yersel', so engrossed in yer own shit. I told ye countless times, I dinna want paparazzi hanging aboot here...this is our home, and we have our lives...and what's this on the newspaper I hear..."

"Jenny, please," Jamie gritted his teeth, trying to suppress his mounting anger and the urge to shake Jenny. Claire could see rigid cords forming on Jamie's neck as he glared down at his wee older sister. "Will ye button it for a minute till I introduce ye to my wife."

Jenny spun her small frame around towards Claire's direction, noticing her presence for the first time and then quickly turned back to Jamie. "Yer wife? Ach, ye married a Sassenach...aye, I heard all about ye chasing a Sassenach in Inverness," Jenny suddenly turned to Claire, and in a milder tone, she apologised, "Nae offence, lass." Then turning back to Jamie, she continued her rant. "Ye dinna think to include yer family...yer only family with yer happy news? Me...us worried sick...those newspaper people sneaking aboot like wolves..."

Jamie has had enough and pulled Jenny towards the house, half dragging her, his grip digging into the flesh of her arm, leaving Ian and Claire to stare in wonder as the siblings continued their screaming matches. As they disappeared through the large entrance door, Claire turned to face a smiling Ian.

"Claire, dinna fash about those two...it's always the same when they don't see each other for a long time. They'll scream and shout until they tire and eventually hug and make-up. Ye canna get between the Frasers when both are in that state..."

Claire smiled weakly, not quite sure what to say. Jamie did say his sister was feisty, but that was more than feisty. The woman was raving mad! "Well, I hope we're not intruding your peace here. It seems so tranquil until we arrived..."

Ian laughed. "No, not at all. It may sound weird to ye, but hardly anything ever happens around here so this with Jenny and Jamie is a welcome respite from the peace and tranquillity."

"But the children...and all that screaming..."

"Ach, we have a nanny, Lizzie. She kens what Jamie and Jenny are like. I'm quite sure Lizzie has already lead the bairns away to the back garden, and the walls are thick...I dinna think the wee ones will hear," Ian assured her as he guided her near the opened entrance door. 

Claire expected to still hear screaming as they stood near the steps, but it was eerily silent. "I hope they haven't killed each other. It sounds too quiet in there."

Ian laughed. "No...that will be them done now. They're probably apologising to one another right this very minute. Anyway, I hope ye and Jamie will be staying long. I'm pretty sure Jenny is looking forward to getting to know the newest member of the family."

Claire was unsure about staying after witnessing Jenny's wild rant, but before she could reply, her sister-in-law suddenly burst out of the door, running down the steps towards her. "Claire!" Jenny beamed, both her hands on Claire's shoulder, before pulling her for a surprise hug, as if the incident earlier never happened. "Welcome to the family. I'm so glad to have a sister...I've always wanted one since I was a bairn."

Wide-eyed and shocked, she could only stand there and return Jenny's hug, indecisively at first, not quite sure what to make of her sister-in-law's sudden change of demeanour. Then, Claire saw a grinning Jamie leaning on the entrance doorway. "Welcome home Sassenach...welcome to Broch Taurach."

[makeste]

BnHA Bonus Diversion: Horikoshi’s Sketches

of all the things I could have spent time writing a post about on my morning off, it ended up being this. but in my defense, Horikoshi’s sketches are actually amazing and this was kind of overdue.

so! as you may know, Horikoshi Kouhei frequently gets bored and doodle-y and is then kind enough to share the resulting drawings with us. sketchy boi. but not sketchy like that. though he did invent Mineta so maybe a little. 

anyway, because he’s so disgustingly talented, these pictures are usually amazing. and there are a lot of them. when I finally got around to doing this post, I ran a search for “Horikoshi sketches” and it turned out there was a whole wiki page dedicated just to them (god bless whoever is running the BnHA wiki, they do such a good job). and, well...

two hundred and eighty-eight. you may recognize this as being nearly fifty more than the current number of chapters. this would mean he’s releasing at least one sketch a week and has been doing so for the past five years! fortunately (for me, who has to do a recap of all these), this number is slightly misleading, as this page apparently includes some of the character sketches he did for the volume omakes. so I don’t have to go through 300 sketches omfg. but still, there are a lot! so I’ll just go through them and post my favorites and see how many we can get through in this post I guess.

these are all in alphabetical order according to their file names on the wiki, and like I said, I’m not doing all of them, just the ones that catch my eye the most. which is still a ton of them. honestly we’re about to find out whether tumblr text posts have image limits. (ETA: the limit does not exist!)

right off the bat we are getting off to a great start! love me the ladies of class 1-A. these girls are all so, so valid. I love how Deku is there too and his hair is transforming into a tree or something.

this is a sketch from chapter 10. this cat I guess just came up to them and they were like “...” and the cat was like “...” and long story short they’ve been like this now for a whole hour. meanwhile Aizawa is wondering where his cat has gone.

why are they dressed like it’s world war I. ??

holy fuck this cat. did it eat the other cat. anyway do you guys think Momo and Todoroki were walking to school together because that’s some cute shit omg. we know there is a cat that hangs out around Shouto’s house, so he’s probably good at playing with stray cats, and they probably really like him because he is calm and kind.

holy shit.

oh my god I need Tsuyu’s siblings to come visit the dorms at U.A. and play with Eri!! now.

posting this one because it’s cute, but also because it notably has nothing at all to do with the actual chapter 120. but that’s okay.

what, and I mean this sincerely, the fuck.

are they making chocolate?? you know, canonically we haven’t actually had a Valentine’s Day yet in the series, and now I’m really hoping we get a little mini plot. things that would happen:

every single girl makes chocolate for Todoroki and he just accepts it very politely and obliviously.

they actually make enough chocolate for everyone (except Mineta. and honestly they would have, except they know how that’s gonna go down, and no. Tsuyu really would have made you some pity chocolate dawg, but you brought this on yourself). but don’t end up giving it to everyone. specifically several of them thought better about giving some to Bakugou after seeing him react to the first unlucky person to give him some (y’all know that song I THREW IT ON THE GROUND by the Lonely Island? I’m sure you can understand my meaning here). and also Jirou gets way too flustered about giving some to Kaminari and chickens out. she gives it to Momo instead. hmmMMMM.

Satou also makes chocolate for everyone, EVEN BAKUGOU, and it’s delicious. no one is throwing his chocolate on the ground.

Aoyama makes chocolate for Deku because!!  ☆ ☆ WE ARE FRIENDS, MON AMI  ☆  ☆  ☆ oui oui baguette.

I love everything about this, but especially Ochako’s face. she’s just like. sincerely trying to figure out exactly where she went wrong.

excuse the fuck out of me but DID HORIKOSHI SERIOUSLY HINT AT THE FUCKING A-BAND A WHOLE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY CHAPTERS BEFORE IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED. omfg. “what a cute AU!” “yes... AU,” Horikoshi agrees, nodding to himself. although after giving it some thought, he made the wise decision to switch Kaminari and Bakugou’s instruments. because we all know Bakugou was born to play the drums.

NO!!! VIDEO GAMES!!! IN CLASS!!!!!!!! [does a fucking aerial while emitting furious little huffs and bitchslapping Kirishima in the face]

I can’t figure out what’s going on in this picture. it appears to be baseball, except that Bakugou doesn’t have a bat. which I guess is the joke?? because his quirk is so strong he doesn’t need the fucking bat? except that I feel like that would result in either a broken arm or a blown-up baseball. idk this would make more sense with him as the pitcher.

“we really do love this AU, Horikoshi-sensei.” “yes... AU.”

this time it’s Shouji on the drums. I get that we all want to see Bakugou shred guitar, but it feels like he was just postponing the inevitable.

a full 85 chapters before he actually did this in the manga. god he really does enjoy foreshadowing with these things. I need to start paying more attention to these.

I have no words.

actually I do have words, and they are, “is that a fucking toothbrush.”

also is it just me or does he look, like, really swole in this pic. like, this is what the scarf has been hiding the whole time?? here we all thought he was a beanpole who subsisted off of energy bars and plain rice, but like. nope.

:) showing that there’s no hard feelings about the whole shooting-you-in-the-fucking-face thing. All Might is squeezing his hand awfully tightly, though.

all of them are so good-looking when they’re not trying. and then they open their mouths.

I am pained that there hasn’t at least been a karaoke chapter in one of the light novels yet, guys. pained. I NEED THIS.

holy fuck Todoroki. what are you, a mermaid?? I feel like this is a result of a prank gone wrong. like the other guys were sick of the girls always pining after him, and so they tried rubbing a balloon on his head in an effort to make him look ridiculous, only IT BACKFIRED COMPLETELY. shit.

fuck me I love this. of course Kami blowdries his hair and puts a ridiculous amount of effort into achieving the same kind of boyishly tousled look Todoroki is JUST NATURALLY BORN WITH. some things in life just aren’t fair. also lmao Deku.

oh my god. how are they all so cute. this was from episode 12 btw. you’re welcome for saving your life All Might.

I don’t have the slightest idea wtf is going on here but omg.

this was for episode 16 of the anime, a.k.a. the obstacle course episode of the Sports Festival arc in season 2. I can’t read what they’re saying, but I’ll tell you what, I know Bakugou is being a rude little shit and I’m here for it.

SHINSOUUUUUU. this was for episode 20. his one and only appearance in the anime so far. he knows he’s here for a good time not a long time.

lmao. my headcanon is that Monoma actually ended up losing after this, but somehow still managed to be smug about it.

lmaoooo. Kacchan refusing to even acknowledge that this is a thing that is happening for some reason.

HAWKS DID YOU REALLY KILL THIS MAN. COME ON OUT HERE I JUST WANT TO TALK.

I feel like taming Deku’s hair is arguably even more of a feat than taming Bakugou’s. meanwhile Iida looks 90% the same. and Todoroki is. well. just goes to show that this look is not for just anyone.

I have never in my life seen Katsuki so full on just done with life. like he is so fucking over this shit. he’s just rolled over and accepted it. I have never seen Bakugou fucking Katsuki just sigh and be all, “you know what, this might as well happen.” not until this moment. wow.

you guys I’m crying.

is it just me or do the little matroyshka dolls actually look like little nun Jeanists. though the hair swoosh is going the wrong way. Monomas, maybe.

HOLY SHIT I LOVE THIS? my god, how useful would Shouji’s quirk be for this sort of thing. and Shouto looks so surprised (on like, a Todoroki scale) to have actually caught something. oh my god. so fucking cute. c’mere you. someone needs a hair ruffle.

I feel like this is how Tokoyami would want to be remembered. yes I know he’s not dead.

oh my god. so I’ve seen this one floating around on tumblr, but like. ffff. it’s my favorite ever. they are. so. fucking. cute. both looking up to All Might. and then the contrast between their innocent happy faces and their shocked and worried expressions watching All Might at Kamino. god it fucking destroys me. all four of these kids need hugs goddammit. the older ones because they’re heartbroken, and the little bubbas just because they’re so stinkin’ cute omfg.

I LOVE HER AND I’M NOT SORRY. please Horikoshi give me more Bakufam in this upcoming arc. who do I have to bribe or threaten.

STRANGER DANGER omg. Toga no. that’s not nice.

Horikoshi what did my heart ever do to you for you to treat it like this.

villain Iida from episode 7 holy fuck I’m dying.

here come the New Year’s sketches! I’ve been looking forward to these. Kacchan photo strategy: never look directly at the camera.

I wonder which animal year 2016 was. rooster, probably.

fucking look at Todoroki fucking Shouto stuffing his face yet again. can you stop chewing for one fucking second. we’re trying to take a picture you slob.

the year is 2018. Horikoshi Kouhei attempts to draw a dog, because it’s the year of the fucking dog. it does not go well. panicked, he takes the All Might he’s already started drawing, and for some reason attempts to turn it into another dog. it goes even worse. now he’s really starting to sweat. “oh shit,” he whispers, drawing Deku upside-down in his unrest. “oh fuck.” finally he just draws Bakugou shouting the words HAPPY NEW YEAR in giant letters across the screen, hoping that’ll be enough to distract everyone from all the rest of it. it is not.

oh my god. thank you so much to everyone who went to SDCC and made him so happy. this is the purest thing I’ve ever seen. also loving Bakugou tolerating the shit out of All Might leaning on him omg. I’m so fucking weak for this as always.

this is Horikoshi’s most recent sketch! lookit, he’s so happy with the toy him omg. it actually is really badass.

league of dorks. I love Toga’s face. and how Horikoshi clearly put more effort into drawing Tomura’s Face Hand than the entire rest of the picture.

I don’t understand a single element of this. wow. also this is twice now that Horikoshi has drawn the fucking Predator in these sketches. just pointing that out. of all the films to make multiple references to. what’s going on here. and is Mineta playing the fucking little sister in Totoro. am I losing my fucking mind.

this was for the season 3 premiere. I love how Bakugou and Deku are wrestling for control of the screen. but he knows better than to touch Mineta I guess.

Iida and Ochako are the only two reacting appropriately here. Bakugou just looks concerned. to be fair I guess that’s appropriate too. but Deku is all “fuck YEAH All Might you go ahead and SMASH YOUR FACE RIGHT THROUGH THAT MONITOR” and I feel like his blanket approval of all his mentor’s actions has finally gone too far.

this just goes to show you that even a very simple sketch concept can pay off dividends if you play your cards right. good job Horikoshi.

he could run faster if he just pulled his fucking pants up. does anyone have any brain cells to spare for my son here. please he needs them. I don’t know what he thinks a belt is actually for...?

hello this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and also is Kirishima doing the kage bunshin pose from Naruto or.

sob Aizawa I’m dead. I fucking love how Mineta is like HE’S CLEARLY FINE IT WAS A FLOP as though Kirishima is not literally covered in fucking grape balls. something else I also love is that Katsuki is number 10 and Deku is number 11. even in a soccer match he can’t stand to be lower then his rival sob. also Ochako is straight up about to rip off Mina’s head jesus christ girl run.

there aren’t even words for how much I ship this. just emotions. omg.

this is one of those pictures that keeps getting more wtf the longer you stare at it. naturally your eyes are drawn to Todoroki’s reindeer antlers first. by contrast, Ochako looks relatively normal, even with the odd pose. but then you notice Deku’s Christmas tree hair. from there your eyes are drawn down to his strange lack of a shirt. and then, finally, you spot him. Tokoyami. you wonder if the mangaka has finally gone too far. you’re still not sure.

for once it’s not Todoroki who’s leaping into action with his mouth full. never one to back down from a challenge, Bakugou has picked the absolute least practical food to consume whilst in the middle of battling. I can barely eat spaghetti without making a mess when I’m not throwing down. I’m not sure what a good food to eat while throwing down would be, but maybe something more portable, like a calzone.

I feel drawn to him the same way one might be drawn to a stray cat, even though you’re pretty sure the cat is really wary of people and will probably try to claw or bite you if you get too close. I would like to pat him on the head, but he might try to blow me up. eh, worth it.

look at the Baku Protection Squad trying to do some fucking Abbey Road thing. damn you can really see how short Tokoyami is in this. also Bakugou buys pants that are at least three sizes too big I s2g.

and that’s it! anyways, this was fun as heck. I’ve bookmarked Horikoshi’s Twitter now so I can keep up with the new sketches as they’re released. this is fucking great, and a whole new bonus to being caught up with the manga that I haven’t been appreciating until now. fucking love it.

[igotthatggukgguk]

low fidelity → jjk pt.2

pairing → fratboy!jungkook, fem reader, fratboy!taehyung genre → college!au, fratboy!au, fluff, comedy, smut in the future? warning/s → MATURE CONTENT ( SCOOT AWAY LITTLE CHILD)

You seriously didn't remember what happened between you and Nancy that she managed to successfully convince you to attend the party at Beta Tau Sigma, because you are starting to regret it. Really regret it.

It was friday night and you were wearing a backless black dress that displayed your flawless bare posterior. Well, of course not on your own accords. Your prior choice of clothing was a pair of black tights and a baggy sweatshirt but Nancy couldn't stop rambling about how you look like an unfuckable dry nun so she pulled out the sluttiest possible outfit in her wardrobe for you to wear.

"Nance, this thing isn't doing me justice. It literally covers nothing." You whined while pulling the low neckline up to cover your chest as the both of you made your way to the entrance of the frat house. Nancy was a bit plumper than you were so the dress was a bit loose around the boob area but you were a lot taller than her so the hemline that was supposed to reach your mid-thigh, stopped just below your ass.

"Good." She giggled.

There were people from other sororities and frats too. Like, well-known people. Literally. You saw YouTubers, instafamous even new actors. As usual, BTS never failed to maintain their title as the best party host in the history of LAU.

Once you two were at the door, you were met with two freshmen which you assume were the designated bouncers of the night.

"Hello, ladies." The shorter one greeted.

"Hi, we're with Yoongi."

"Alright, miss. Might as well get a little comfortable. It's gonna be wild in there." He said as he handed use two cans of beer.

"Thanks." You smiled half-heartedly in return.

Oh boy, the boy wasn't kidding when he said it would be wild. The party was feral. When Yoongi invited Nancy, he might've forgotten to mention that it was going to be a foam party. Loud EDM music was blaring at the maximum volume and the lights inside were dim and purplish. People were doing all sorts of things. Dancing, drinking, talking and doing god knows what. A few brothers were situated on the second floor, splashing more foams on top of the party crowd. They seemed like they were having the time of their life when they succesfully poured the foams on the targeted group of hot girls as they shriek sheepishly.

"Holy fuck, Y/N. I've never been to BTS' party before. I never thought it would be this lit!" Nancy exclaimed, gaping at the boisterous scene in front of her. "Oh look! there's Yoongi!" She gushed, pointing at the red-headed dude. It wasn't long until the man finally notices us and made his way closer.

"Nancy babe! Glad you could make it tonight! You even brought a friend. Hi, I'm Yoongi." He said, giving Nancy a chaste kiss not too long after.

"Yeah, heard a lot about you. I'm Y/N by the way." You smiled back. Yoongi was noticeably tipsy, that explains his overfriendliness when he pulled you into a side hug. He guided the two of you through the house and hung out a minute or two at the back porch. Soon, Nancy and you parted as she followed Yoongi somewhere else and you were left alone at the bench outside.

Thanks a lot Nancy. You were the one to drag me to this hell hole and now you're leaving me alone. Just my fucking luck.

You opened the can of beer from earlier and chugged down a big gulp, wrinkling your nose at the unfamiliar taste. When was the last time I've had alcohol? Yikes.

You took some time to scan the environment around you. People were dancing and grinding against each other. Intoxicated and very visibly horny. It seemed like most of the girls were aware of the theme since the majority of them wore bikinis and shorts. You could count with your fingers how many girls you've spotted wearing a dress. One girl from Kappa Zeta, Bae Irene and one girl from your own sorority, Jungah.

You were too engrossed with the scene in front of you to notice the presence next to you. "Y/N?"

You turned your head abruptly, eyes meeting a familiar pair of brown orbs. Oh shit.

"Is that really you? God, it's been years since I've last seen you here. I think the last time you came here was during freshman year and you were definitely not this hot. Damn." The boy chuckled, biting his lips.

"Yeah, I've been occupied with studies Taehyung. If you're not aware, that's the actual reason we go to college." You said, a tinge of sarcasm masking your sentence.

"Damn Y/N, you really know how to suck the fun out of things." You shrugged nonchalantly at the remark.

"Guess there's a reason why they call me 'fun sucker'."

Taehyung laughed boyishly.

You could feel his eyes raking your body intensely as if he was a dog and you were a piece of meat.

"Seriously though, you look hot tonight. I don't know if it's the makeup, the dress or just you, but it's working. I've had 4 brothers asking me about you." Really? You thought.

You blushed and playfully hit his arm. "Oh shut up, Tae. You're just trying to kiss my ass."

"Literally or hypothetically?" He joked.

You gasped at his innuendo looked at him in shock. Taehyung giggled, clearly amused with your reaction. He slinked an arm around your torso casually making you flinch. You looked at his face. Taehyung smirked down at you. Damn you, pretty boy. You marveled the sight of Taehyung in fornt of you, his short chestnut brown hair, his smug expression, and boy does he look good in black t-shirts.

"You're so pretty." He said. "Has any ever told you that, baby?" His voice dropped an octave lower. You stomach churned at the endearment. Taehyung used his other free hand to pull you closer to him as he pushes your body against a wall. His face was painfully near that you could even smell the alcohol in his breath, mixed with his cologne. That painfully familiar cologne.

Your heart was beating like crazy. It was going haywire but you were determined not to be lured into this trap. Again. But no matter what you do, Taehyung has this effect on you where he makes it hard for you to do things at your own consent. You were too stunned by him to do anything.

He leaned his face closer and closer to the point that your noses were touching. You stared into his eyes half-liddedly. You were sure he was going to kiss you until...

"Kim Taehyung!" A voice interrupted. You heaved a sigh of relief mentally. Thank god. Taehyung pulled back from you and rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by the intrusion. He looked at you one last time and ruffled your hair playfully.

"You should come here more often, babe. I've missed you so much." You just nodded.

"Oi, Kim Taehyung! Get your fucking ass over here." The same voice called again.

He looked at you for assurance. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and motioned him to go along.

"Move along, freak." He gave you a slight chuckle before walking away. You stared as he made his way closer and closer to whom you assumed was Park Jimin, a dance major. It's not like you stalked them or anything. It just happened that BTS is so popular because they literally have slept with almost every girl on campus, including you.

Jimin grabbed Taehyung by his neck playfully as he dragged him to the other side of the room where two girls were waiting and giggling. You decided not to stare anymore. The sight of Taehyung with someone else somehow still managed to leave a some sort burn in your heart.

You decided to grab some more alcohol so you made your way to the kitchen where you knew where they kept their drinks.Once you were there, you opened the cabinet in the corner and found the hidden stash of good alcohol. You took out a bottle of tequila and a glass shot from the counter.

"Hey, that's not allowed ma'am!" A voice interrupted. You startled and turned around to see who it was.

The guy was wearing an LAU shirt with denim button ups as a cardigan and a camera was around his neck. His has was messily pushed back revealing his handsome forehead and his brown eyes were piercing into yours. You swore you weren't drooling as he made his way closer to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know." You apologized.

He frowned in response just to laugh it off after. "You're not really thinking of drinking that all by yourself, are you?" He asked jokingly and you just smiled back. "Wanna have some drinks?" You invited. The boy nodded. "It would be rude to decline an offer from such a beautiful lady." He winked at you. You felt you cheeks heating and becoming hot as a flaming hot cheetos. You couldn't keep yourself from smiling.

"I'm Jungkook, by the way."

"Y/N"

"Oh, aren't you Taehyung's girlfriend?" He exclaimed. Your chest tightened at the mention of his name.

"Ex-gilfriend." You corrected, emphasizing the first word.

"Sorry to hear that, what happened between you two?"

"It's a long story."

Jungkook frowned at the tone of your voice.

"Wanna talk about it?" He suggested as he poured in some liquid in the shot glasses. You were a bit taken aback by his forwardness. You literally just met him for like 10 minutes and he's already asking you the details of your past relationship?

"I barely know you." You scoffed.

"That doesn't make me less of a good listener." He confided.

You deliberately nodded, agreeing with his response. "Well, if you insist."

You took a shot of the cheap tequila, a burning sensation flooding throat. Jungkook did the same, except he didn't looked bothered in the slightest.

You asked if there was somewhere more private where you could talk and he somehow took you to the balcony of his room.

"You share your room with that Jimin dude?" You asked at the sight of Jimin's picture at the side of the bed.

"Yeah, he's a cool guy. Totally pure when he first joined, look at him now." He exclaimed making you laugh.

"You're a bad influence."

"How am I a bad influence? I don't even do those type of things. If anybody were to be a bad influence, it would be Namjoon and his porn addiction." He added.

You chuckled and shook your head lightly in amusement. Jungkook slide the door open to access the balcony and the two of you settled on the bean bag that was placed on the floor.

"Spill the tea, sis." Jungkook said as he crossed both of his arms behind his head. Your eyes automatically focused on his biceps as he flexed his arms.

You shook your head to snap out of it. You couldn't believe the fact that you're telling this to a stranger. Heck, you've never even told Nancy about what happened between you and Taehyung. Well, I guess someone has to know. Who could be better than a stranger? Well, now that you've thought it through, Jungkook's not really a complete stranger. You've had your call of small encounters with him at school, you definitely recognise his face but you never got the chance to actually know him.

"Well, how do I start?"

•Freshman year in college•

You were on your way to a cafe nearby your campus to grab some light snacks before the next lecture starts.

You looked at your phone to check the time and realised that it was still kinda early so you decided to stop by and have some coffee and unwind for a bit.

The bell chimed as you walked into the cafe and the workers greeted you.

"I'd like an iced frappe and a scone. Do you think you could also pack me two ham sandwiches? Thank you."

"Yes miss, the total would be 12 dollars."

You were just about to take your wallet out when a hand appeared from behind and handed the money for you.

"It's okay, I'll pay." You wanted to decline the offer but as soon as you turned around to see the owner of the money, you froze. Gawking at the man like he was some type greek god. He was wearing a white button down his top two buttons were left undone, revealing his honey tan skin.

"I-It's okay! I can pay for my own food." You said, face flushed and stuttering.

"No, I insist. You can pay me back by going put with me though." You eyes went wide as saucers at the latter statement.

Am I hearing things here? Is he really asking me out?

"Princess? What do you say?" He confirmed your thoughts.

"Sure!" You beamed at him.

"Great, I'll pick you up at 7. You're from Chi Omega, right."

"Yeah, how'd you know?" You asked, grabbing the coffee and pastries before taking a seat at the nearest table, the boy doing the same.

"Well, don't be scared but I might've stalked you a little." He confessed.

The two of you talked for a while and you found out that his name was Kim Taehyung and he was an art major from the fraternity Beta Tau Sigma. You were a bit shocked when he said it because as a freshman, you knew BTS was the big deal. The jocks of college.

You went back to the campus and got to class just in time when Professor Jung entered with her big computer in hand.

Throughout the class, you had the focus level of a labouring cow. You couldn't stop thinking about him and you counted seconds before the lecture was over and rushed back to your sorority.

You kicked open the door of your shared room and squealed. "Nancy, nancy, nancy!!! Guess what? Kim Taehyung from Beta Tau Sigma just asked me out today!"

"No fucking way! You lucky bastard!"

Nancy was your best friend since high school. It so happened that she also applied to LAU to do fashion modelling. You were elated to have found out that she was going to be in the same sorority as you and even more so when the two of you became roommates.

____________________________________

It was 7 and you couldn't tame the butterflies in your tummy. You had chosen to wear a white halter top lace dress and nude sandals, paired with a natural makeup. Not gonna lie, you looked stunning in the outfit and you hoped he liked it too.

A few minutes later, a black BMW drove into the drive way and a man in a black leather jacket came out. Your stomach churned at the sight of Taehyung in the manly outfit with his hair pushed back messily, but in a good way that made him look so delectable.

The worst thing was, you were ovulating. That meant, everything he did was extra sexy and you couldn't contain yourself from having dirty thoughts about what you wanted to do with him.

" Wow y/n, you look stunning."

You giggled as he took in your appearance.

"You too."

Taehyung had taken you to a nightclub. Interesting choice of place, I know. You did have fun though and you drank so much that night, you were positive you passed out.

The next thing you knew, you woke up in a completely foreign room. You were wearing nothing but an oversized black t-shirt and you felt heat radiating from behind you and turned around to see Taehyung still soundly sleeping.

A sharp pain shot through your head as a reminder of last night's event. Crap.

"Taehyung, man. Have you seen my — woah." A boy clad in just his boxers came blasting into the room and grew speechless at the sight of you and Taehyung.

"It's not what you think!" You explained.

"Chill sister, it's college. You can do whatever you want."

Taehyung groaned from behind you. "Babe, you up already?"

"Yeah, thanks for last night Tae. It was seriously fun but I've got to get going. I have a class at 10." You said and kissed his forehead.

"You know what? I'm gonna go." The boxer boy exclaimed, clearly disturbed with the public display of affection.

"Hey Namjoon, put a sock on the door knob will ya?" Taehyung shouted as the boy made his way out and shut the door.

You're not that naive, you know what he meant when said it. You were confused.

"Gross!" Yes shouted but did so nonetheless.

Taehyung laughed at you baffled expression. You eyes bulged when he casually pushed you on your back and straddled you.

"You have a dirty mouth, baby." You squinted your eyes at him.

"You drove my nuts yesterday, whispering dirty things you wanted to do to me." He said in a hush tone, his lips subtly teasing your the side of your jaw.

Shit.Shit.Shit.Shit.Shit. I'm never gonna fucking drink anymore. You cupped your face in embarrassment.

"What did I say?" He chuckled at your cuteness and pried your fingers off of your face. Your lips parted in awe of his gorgeous face, his bed head made him even sexier.

"How about I show you instead? Just skip the class and I'll show you." With that, he took the opportunity of your parted lips to swoop you into an open-mouthed kiss, his hands pinning yours at the side of your head.

And that was it, you had your virginity taken by him. Kim Taehyung.

After the event took place, you started to spend more and more time with Taehyung and that also meant you spent more and more time at the beta tau sigma house until everybody there practically knew you.

After a few weeks, Taehyung asked you to be his girlfriend. For once, you thought everything was perfect. Every girl in your college would die to be in your place and Taehyung was the sweetest thing ever.

Or that's what you thought.

After half a year of dating, you found out that Taehyung had been cheating on you all along. He never actually stopped seeing other girls while he was with you. He treated you as a joke.

Heck, Taehyung never even bothered to say sorry or anything when you finally told him that you wanted to end the relationship. He didn't even bother.

From then onwards, you never really go out anymore. You stopped going to parties, you stopped hanging out with the popular kids and you never really tried dating again. All you did was focus on your studies and luckily Nancy was always there for you during the heartbreak fest.

Not gonna lie, it hurt like a bitch. But you moved on eventually. Of course it wasn't easy because you see him everyday at campus, but you forced yourself to be strong no matter how much it hurt.

But deep down, you really do still care about him. He was after all, your first. Your first boyfriend, the person to take your virginity, your first love.

"I'm sorry you had to through all that because of Taehyung. That prick is gonna get it, I swear."

Jungkook rubbed your back comfortingly. You smiled sweetly at him, appreciating his effort.

"Don't bother, Jungkook. I'm a fucking diamond, a mere fuckboy couldn't break me." You said playfully, balling your fists to prove your strength.

[thefudge]

Oneirataxia | a klonnie oneshot

written for Gothic Klonnie 2k18

Day 1 - Oneirataxia :the inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

There was a man. Of that much she was certain.

He stood on the edge of the clearing, right where the trees started to get thicker and the shadows played in the light. He was dressed in black, but he wasn’t wearing a suit. The devil was usually well-tailored, that’s what her Grams used to say, that’s how you recognized him. No, there was nothing formal about him. He looked like a passing traveler, except that he wasn’t purposeless. He wasn’t passing. 

Though the contours of his body shimmered in the afternoon sun, his eyes remained fixed on her and the spot next to the wooden swing where she had begun to crush some herbs. 

Bonnie wiped the sweat from her brow. It was unseasonably warm for the time of the month. One would almost think it was still summer. Should she call out to him, offer him some sweet tea? 

Maybe he didn’t dare approach because he knew the rumors, that this was a house of witches. 

Maybe he needed a favor from the witches.

No...no, he didn’t look helpless. He didn’t look in need of something.

And if Bonnie was honest, it spooked her, him standing there on the edge of their territory, waiting for nothing. 

She didn’t get the sense he was afraid. On the contrary. 

Well, Cousin Lucy was bound to return from town soon. Grams was resting upstairs. Bonnie wouldn’t disturb her for something like this. The poor woman needed her beauty sleep. 

Bonnie returned to her herbs, but she kept sneaking glances at the stranger. As the sun dragged its honeyed feet across the sky and dusk settled like kisses on the leaves, his outline became more and more uncertain. He began to meld with the blue shades around him, but he didn’t leave.

Bonnie had to squint to see him. 

She raised her hand halfheartedly, meaning to wave at him. But then she put it down quickly. There was something eerie about his face. The darker it got, the brighter his eyes became. Like two lanterns at the bottom of a lake. Not bright, but amber yellow. 

Bonnie shuddered. She got up and dusted her jeans. The air was cold now, but she had finished making the rune circle. All that was left now was to set it on fire. It was going to be her last autumn equinox before her eighteenth birthday. The initiation would happen in February. After that, she would be a witch in her own right. Grams had always said she didn’t look forward to the day. 

“Once you come of age, there will be consequences. The burdens of the Bennett coven will be yours. Along with its enemies.”

Enemy.

Bonnie gazed at the figure, barely perceptible now except for his eyes. 

Was this the first one then? The first enemy to come and greet her before her birthday? 

Bonnie would not be intimidated. She dropped her spade and started walking towards the edge of the clearing. 

The man in black shifted, turned back and forth like a lynx, stalking the perimeter. His gaze never left hers. The closer she got, the more Bonnie could see of him and it was... unsettling. He seemed young, but the furrows of his face looked like accumulations of time. His features were irregular, all askew, as if his face had been broken in several times. He had been put back together more than once. Still he was sort of boyishly handsome. Or he would be, if he didn’t scowl so much. 

Bonnie pulled at the heart-shaped amulet around her throat, the one Grams had given her for protection.

“Hello,” she said as she inched closer to the man. “Are you here for me?”

The figure stared her down, one corner of his mouth lifting in an unbecoming smirk. 

“I knew you’d come eventually.  Witches are always too curious for their own good.”

“You don’t scare me,” she let him know, folding her arms. “You can’t even get past the protection barrier around our land.” 

His smirk turned even uglier. “I don’t need to. You’ll take the final step, eventually.” 

Bonnie frowned. She looked back at the house. The lights were still out, so her Grams had not gotten up for tea yet. Lucy was still in town. 

“You’re contemplating it even now,” the man purred, trying to draw closer. “It would break the monotony, wouldn’t it?”

Bonnie looked down at herself. She wasn’t dressed for a meeting with the enemy. Her beat-up sneakers, frayed jeans and pink tank top did little in the way of armor. They didn’t make her look formidable, although the Bennetts all said she was a prodigy. 

Perhaps that was a good thing. The element of surprise. 

She noticed the man was staring at the point where her neck met the ridge of her collarbone. He didn’t seem to care what she was wearing.

Bonnie bit her lip. She called out her magic, pouring it down to her fingertips. 

He cocked his head, as if he could smell it. 

“I’m not eighteen yet. Why don’t you come back then?” 

The man grinned, revealing a pair of sharp canines. “I don’t have to come back, love. I’ll be here. Waiting. Days, weeks, months.” 

Bonnie frowned. “You can’t do that. You’ll go cold and hungry.” 

A curious expression flickered across the stranger’s face. He laughed. “Maybe you’ll bring me something to eat, once in a blue moon.” 

There were only a few inches between them now, but the barrier was still up and he couldn’t even reach out with his hand. 

A soft breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll let you starve.”

The man stared at her until she blushed. 

“You wouldn’t be so unkind, Bonnie.”

“How - how do you know my name?” 

He did not answer, only smiled.

Moments later, Lucy called her from the back porch.

“Who are you talking to?” 

“No one!” Bonnie shouted back. “I just thought I saw a squirrel.” 

"Well, don’t stand out there like that. Come inside, I’m about to make dinner.” 

Bonnie turned back to her would-be enemy. The man nodded his head towards the house. “Go on then. Go help your cousin. But make sure you save me some victuals.” 

Bonnie wanted to say more, to ask him questions, to find out who he was, but he stalked out of her sight and into the woods before she could open her mouth. He was faster than thought, almost.

Bonnie walked back to the house with a sense of disappointment, though her heart beat faster. Maybe she would put something aside for him at dinner.

When she walked into the kitchen, the warmth and ordinariness of the Bennett household made the man in black seem like a distant apparition, almost an unreality. 

Perhaps she had dreamt him up. She often got lost in her own fantasies.

Lucy pinched her arm. “Who is he?”

“What?” Bonnie asked, louder than intended. 

“The boy you’re clearly thinking about. Is it someone from school?” 

“Um, yeah. It’s - someone from school. He’s a bit older than me, actually.”

Lucy smiled. “I see. You’ve always liked a bit of danger.”

Bonnie stared out the window, watching the edge of the clearing, trying to make out his amber eyes. “Yes. I always have.” 

[greekowl87]

Fic: Beach Evening

It’s becoming a series I think. It’s encouraged to read the others but not required.  Tried and True - Midnight Blues

I don’t write much of the early seasons with MSR but this one takes place during ‘Little Green Men’ after their escape from Arichebo and before they get back to D.C. Just some early UST MSR. Sort of. Kind of. Let’s just call it early MSR.

I started this as a distraction in between writing my seminar papers and I am finishing this with a bout of insomnia induced anxieties concerning my seminar papers and my ability to write anything at all. I can’t make words.

Thanks for reading. Sorry for typos. No beta. Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder smiled as and mumbled a heavily accented 'gracias' as he took his change and grocery back from the bodega down from the crummy seaside hotel and he and Scully found themselves in. The air was still heavy with humidity but nothing like the dense jungle in Arecibo. The sea air had taken away some of it and it made him feel a bit less suffocated.  He walked the sidewalk and turned down an alley and took the stairs up to an aged three-story building. He nodded to the old man sitting at the front desk who was more interesting in the newspaper in front of him to pay attention to Mulder coming or going.

He knocked quickly on their door and called, "Scully, it's me. Are you decent?"

The blue door to the hotel room was pulled back and he saw his partner with her red hair tied back and wearing a white tank top. "Like that would stop you," she teased, "did you bring us dinner?"

He shrugged and replied, "It depends on what you call dinner." Mulder placed the bag on the small table that sat in the corner of their room. He took out a small box and opened it for her inspection. "Pinchos is what they are called."

"It's meat on a stick, Mulder. How very you."

"Don't condemn me so fast, Scully. I don't see a microwave or a McDonald's nearby." He could hear the teasing in her voice. "I got some bread to go with it and..." He paused for dramatic effect and pulled out the small bottle of rum. "Ta-da."

"Mulder!" She chuckled. "Really?"

"Why not? Let's go sit on the beach and watch the sunsets and eat our meat on a stick." He smiled boyishly at her. "Come on, Scully. You come all the way to Puerto Rico to save my ass, it's the least I can do to do to wine and dine my partner. It's better than a Watergate parking garage."

"Mulder," she sighed. "What happened to keeping a low profile? I told you that I was followed in D.C. and you are the one who insisted we take a boat back to Flordia."

"Come on, Scully, we've shared drinks before. You know I'm a good date. I'll behave."

Yes, that night, Scully thought. It went unspoken between them except for the small ‘thank you’ she had nervously given him the next morning she saw him and it was never mentioned again but she had noticed a shift in their dynamic and working partnership too, and like most things again, that went unspoken in between them too.

"Oh, come on, Scully," Mulder smiled encouragingly.

She sighed, deciding to indulge his little fantasy. "Fine," she conceded, "but only if it will shut you up for the rest of the night about playing coco cabana."

He gave a soft smile and cleverly decided to push his luck.

. . . .

On some stray beach blanket Mulder had produced, they sat eating their pinchos with two small paper cups filled with small amounts of Puerto Rican rum and a small bottle wrapped in a paper bag and coke bottle. "You know what this is missing," Scully mused, picking at the kebab stick. "Ice."

"You know, I never knew why they always served limes with rum and cokes or just call it for what it is, a cuba libre."

Scully felt the adrenaline wearing off and herself enjoying the companionable mood between them. The sunset was had just set to the slight left of them over the Atlantic sea. A rainbow of unearthly color painted the sky. The small, squashy waves were pounding the shore as high tide was rolling in and the tropical air felt refreshing since the first time since the plane had landed. "Not possible," she corrected, sipping the drink. She winced at the alcoholic burn. "The cuba libre was first thought to have in the Spanish-American war, which predates the distribution of Coca-Cola. However, in 1898, there was a variation of a drink known as a cuba libre that had water and brown sugar I believe."

Mulder just took a moment to stare at her, either impressed or questioning her insanity.

"I read a lot," she clarified as if trying to justify her answer.

"I wasn't thinking that. You really are smarter than me," he confessed with mock horror.

She let a bubbling giggle escape her chest as Mulder just grinned goofily. "Well, I have to be with the way you covered your trail. It was almost impossible to find you, Mr. Hale."

"Ah, so you know my secret identity, Mrs. Hale?" That was the first time he had said something like that but she did not know why it struck her differently. Mulder nodded back out to the ocean. "What made you come after me? We technically aren't partners."

"Maybe not in the eyes of the Bureau. I meant what I said back at the Watergate. I am worried about you. I know they have me stuck in Quantico teaching again and you stuck transcribing tapes for white collar, but I do worry. You only come to call when you need help busting a conspiracy wide open or me to save your ass."

"Well, we have proof this time, Scully, I'm positive," Mulder replied gazing back out into the ocean distantly. "It may not be the proof or answers to what happened to Samantha but it's something. The work can finally be validated. I just know it." He turned to Scully thoughtfully and squeezed her hand quickly in thanks. "And there's you."

There's me, she repeated to herself. Scully returned his gesture with a squeeze and small smile of her own. "What do you say we finish up and head back? Doesn't the boat leave before dawn tomorrow to go back to Miami and then from there we fly back to D.C?"

He nodded as he finished the last of his pincho. He wiped his hands on his jeans and nodded to their drinks. "We can finish up back and the room and watch some telenovelas. There's only one bed too, Scully." He waggled his eyebrows playfully and she scoffed in amusement.

"Sorry, the tropical island doesn't do it for me, Mulder. Sorry."

She gathered up the rest of their dinner as they trudged up the sandy beach and towards their ancient hotel. Mulder flicked on the fuzzy television as Scully headed towards the bathroom to clean up. He smiled as he shifted through the bookbag he had brought, grateful that Scully had bought him a change of clothes to wear. He slipped into a tank top and clean pair of jeans, not wanting to read more into the situation. There was only one queen bed in the room and no couch.

It had happened twice before, the whole one bed and the two of them sharing it trope where they had to share a bed on a case. Nothing had happened but after the nightmare on the Icy Cape and the moment of affirmation of their trust, other small things had started to happen instead which he tried to overlook. That went unspoken by them too. She appeared from the bathroom dressed in shorts and an oversized t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. "What side do you want, Mulder," she asked, peeling back the covers.

Nothing else to this, he reminded himself, but poor luck in accommodations.

"Um, the left side. I know you are partial to sleeping on the right side of the bed."

She smiled gratefully. "You can pick what's on the tv."

Scully slipped beneath the light covers as Mulder got in next to her. Completely platonic, he reminded himself as he watched her turn onto her side and was asleep within minutes thanks in part to the rum they had earlier that night. He remembered falling asleep late watching a baseball game. When he awoke later, as he typically did because of his insomnia, he had found at some point in the night, Scully and nestled her sleeping self comfortably against his side with an arm and leg snaked across him. He smiled slightly. They may have taken away the work, prevented him from finding the truth, but he now just realized he had Scully. He had still had Scully. He nuzzled her hair without thinking, taking in her scent and smiling. And probably for the millionth time, he silently thanked whatever unknown forces that had brought Scully into his life.

[onceuponanolicity]

Oliver and Felicity meet again after five years. 

The next chapter will be up in two weeks, due to Thanksgiving coming up here in the States next week. 

                                                                                                  Chapter 22

           Oliver Queen was a man on a mission. He needed to find someone, anyone, who might be able to recover data from the laptop in his hands. The one that he grabbed from Deadshot’s hotel room. Oliver made his way to the IT Department’s floor at QC. There had to be someone there that, even if they could not help him, might know where he could get what he needed. And he needed it immediately, if it was even at all possible, because Deadshot was sure to be going after another target soon.

           “Excuse me,” Oliver noticed a person who seemed to be in some sort of managerial position due to the way that he was treating some of the fellow employees. “I’m looking for IT support.”

           The man gave Oliver a once over before placing on a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I’m the IT Manager. How may I help you, Mr. Queen?”

           “I have this computer and I’m having some trouble getting the information off of it due to an accident I had recently,” Oliver explained indicating the laptop that lay under his arm.

           “Is it one from the company, Mr. Queen?”

           “No. It’s a personal one.”

           The man shook his head and waved Oliver back toward the elevators where he had come from, annoying the hell out of him. If the man had any clue Oliver could snap his neck in half, the man might have rethought his actions. “I’m sorry. Company policy states that I can only work on computers that are assigned to employees.”

           “But…” Oliver barely got another word in because the man walked away as if Oliver was no more important to the company than one of the interns. It was a good thing that Oliver had no desire to step into his father’s footsteps because the asshole who he just spoke to would be fired the first chance he had.

           “Psst.”

           Oliver sharply turned to the side and found an older woman leaning around a cubicle wall. “Hi.”

           “Hi,” she said back before waving him closer. When Oliver was close she indicated he should stop. Apparently, she did not want the manager to know she was talking to him. “There’s a door down the hall, labeled IT Department. There’s a woman there. Felicity can help you.”

           Oliver paused. “Felicity?”

           The woman nodded, but when the manager started to walk back, she turned and resumed whatever she was working on, ignoring Oliver completely. That left Oliver to stand there. She actually said Felicity. But there was no way it could be his Felicity. The chances were slim because for sure Tommy, or someone, would know that Felicity Smoak worked at Queen Consolidated. It had to be a coincidence, a rare one, but one nonetheless. One that Oliver was determined to put to rest. The woman had said Felicity was the one to see, so he was going to see her one way or another.

           Sneaking down the hall so that the manager did not see him, Oliver made his way to the door the woman told him about. He knocked once before turning the knob. Entering the room, it took him a moment to notice the blonde behind the desk. She sat there chewing on a red pen as she examined the book in front of her. But one thing was for sure, she was not his Felicity because this woman was blonde and well dressed, if not a bit frumpy with her style choices.

           Seeing that she still had not noticed he was there, Oliver decided to introduce himself. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”

           The blonde turned, her ponytail swinging as the pen was jerked out of her equally red lips. Seriously, despite the geeky, glasses exterior, Oliver thought she might actually be hot if she tried. But she was hot in a different way. The pen slammed on the table in front of her as blue fire shot up in his direction from her eyes. Familiar eyes.

           “Felicity?” Oliver was not sure how he squeaked even that out. His throat had constricted when he realized why those eyes were so familiar to him. Felicity Smoak, the girl he loved so long ago, the one that still haunted him, sat in front of him.

           She rose from her desk looking almost as overwhelmed by the situation as he felt. But she still maintained that edge of anger. She was definitely still holding the grudge over Sara, just like Laurel. “What do you want, Oliver?”

           “I…” Oliver still could not find the words that he had easily prepared. He was more interested in cataloguing every detail of how Felicity changed. The blonde hair masked the brunette that she used to be. The glasses were back. He had rarely seen her in a pair since she was a sophomore in high school. And the curves that blossomed beneath the pink dress shirt and knee length skirt were hard to hide, though it seemed like she tried. The kid he remembered had become a woman while he was gone. A gorgeous woman. “I… Could you help me?” Felicity stared down at the laptop that Oliver held out to her. “I asked around. I was told you were the person to see.”

           When she took the laptop from his hands, she looked it over and frowned up at him. “What happened to it?”

           “I was at my coffee shop and I spilled a latte on it.”

           Felicity glanced down that the laptop again before her eyes rose to his and she frowned. “Really?”

           “Yeah.”

           Her eyes hit his with the power of a freight train. She cocked her head and stared while she resumed her seat. Oliver had not felt so small in years. “’Cause these look like bullet holes.”

           Oliver tried to smile at her, the charming smile he used to get away with things. But it slowly became real. She was just too damn cute and forthright with her feelings and words. “My coffee shop is in a really bad neighborhood. If there’s anything that you can salvage from it, I would really appreciate it.”

           “Um-hmm.”

           Oliver stood there lost as to what to do next. Felicity Smoak was actually sitting in front of him for the first time in years and he had no idea how to proceed or what to say. Apparently, Tommy had no knowledge of the fact that Felicity was back in Starling or else he would have mentioned it. Oliver was pretty damn sure, Tommy would have definitely rubbed in the fact that Felicity was working at QC of all places.

           Felicity glanced up after plugging the laptop into her system. “Did you want me to call you when I’m finished or are you planning to stay?”

           “Call me.” Oliver jumped on that offer. There was something about Felicity asking to call him that made him even more frazzled. He needed to get the hell out of there and allow his brain to resume its normal function so that he could process what he needed to do from here out.

           “Your number?” Felicity picked up the red pen and held it and a sheet of paper out to him.

           Oliver quickly jotted down his cell phone number. When he handed it back, Felicity studied the numbers and nodded. He watched as she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a cell phone. Oliver just assumed that she was going to save the number on her phone. What he did not expect was his phone to ring inside his jacket pocket. Pulling it out, he noticed an unknown number.

           “That’s me,” Felicity said as she hung up. “Just so you know when I call.”

           “Okay.” Oliver stood there still momentarily unbalanced by his new discovery. Since his phone was still in his hand, Oliver snapped a picture of Felicity as she sat there. He would need it when he walked away to remind him that this had not all been just another dream. “Thanks. I… I’ll… Just be around.”

           “Yeah.” Felicity waved him away and buried her head behind her computer screen as her fingers began to fly over the keyboard. “I’ll call when I’m done. It may take a while.”

           Felicity deflated in her chair the second the door closed behind Oliver. What the frack just happened? A ghost from her past had made an appearance in her office. One that was more handsome than the original living soul she remembered.

           Oliver Queen, the one she used to know, was boyishly handsome. He had longer blonde hair that he tended to grip in his hand after scrubbing his face when he was upset. He was broad of shoulder and athletic. He was charming and sweet and drove her insane in a moment’s notice.

           But, this Oliver… This one was different. His smile almost seemed forced in the beginning, like he had forgotten how until the real thing appeared. He was stoic and an enigma of contradictions. He stood in front of her more muscled and chiseled than ever before. It was like the island carved him out of stone. In more ways than one.

           There was an edge to him that made her shrink away despite her anger. It was like he was caged inside his own skin. There was something about him that screamed that he was hiding how he really felt. That he had grown up in ways that the rest of them would never truly understand. Of course, that might happen to anyone who had been shipwrecked on a deserted island, but Felicity had her doubts.

           Throwing her glasses on the desk in front of her, Felicity rubbed her eyes before coming forward to rest her head on her desk. Only it encountered the laptop that Oliver had given her. Placing her glasses back on, Felicity picked up her red pen and inserted it within one of the holes that littered the laptop.

           Coffee, my ass. There was not one single stain or watermark on the entire device. In fact, despite the deep gaping holes, the laptop seemed like it had been in pretty good condition. Which was in her favor. However, the depth of the holes severed some of the components. She would have to figure out a way to work around them and still extrapolate the data from the mainframe.

           While it was in her job description to help recover computers, Felicity was not quite sure she wanted to fix this one. Even if the puzzle as to how to get the information out was fascinating. Because all of that meant one thing. She would have to call Oliver back to her office and see him again and she was not quite sure she was ready for that. But, with one last glance at the laptop, Felicity knew that her days of hiding were officially over. She might as well face the piper. Even if that meant that she had to deal with Oliver Queen twice in the same day.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

           Oliver needed a drink. No, he needed to get rip roaring drunk. That was not possible. Stuffing his duffel bag into a trash can, Oliver straightened his tie. Right now, he had to catch a killer, not think about the fact that Felicity sat next to him for a good twenty minutes as they went over what was on Deadshot’s laptop.

           Oliver was not sure why he was so bothered by that. Felicity seemed indifferent to his presence when he returned to her office. They could have been strangers for all the deference she showed him. Nothing more than the son of the boss. And that bugged him even more. They had a past. A history. One that she instead chose to ignore. One that he could not forget.

           Oliver scolded himself. His attention had to be focused and if he thought about his interaction with Felicity it would not be. He had to compartmentalize. Push aside his feelings for Felicity while he dealt with the most immediate threat. He needed to be the vigilante right here, right now. Felicity had nothing to do with that.

           Gazing around the room from the balcony, Oliver watched Warren Patel being arrested. At least his tip had been taken care of in spite of Detective Lance’s distaste for the vigilante and all he stood for. That was one good thing to happen. Maybe Oliver’s luck was changing. Now, all he had to do was find out where the killer would be.

           Oliver descended the stairs and ran into Detective Lance. Speaking of compartmentalizing his past.

           “Don’t you scrub up nice,” Lance said snidely.

           “Here to support my family,” Oliver responded hoping that Lance would fall for it.

           “Yeah, me too. God help me.”

           Oliver glanced over at the older man who had made an impact on him in his younger years. “Thank you.”

           Detective Lance only snorted and walked away.

           Well, that went well. Not. Spotting Diggle, Oliver walked over to the man he was slowly beginning to see as an equal. John was a good man and Oliver was half tempted to ask the man to join in on his mission. But the trust was not there yet. “Digg. Got your eyes open?”

           “That’s what I’m here for, sir,” John said in his usual manner that stated he was annoyed by Oliver. “That and for answering patronizing questions.”

           Oliver scanned the room as he stood near the larger man. So far, there had not been any sign anything was going to happen. Oliver could only hope that was true, but he was doubtful. “This guy is out of time. If he’s going to do something, it’s going to happen before the auction.”

           “Sir?” Digg looked over at him, his brow furled in spite of his still neutral expression.

           “I heard the story on the radio,” Oliver defended, cursing himself inwardly. He really needed to pay attention to what he was saying. This thing with Felicity was still messing with his head.

           Oliver decided to make his escape before Diggle could question him further. Maybe he needed to check up on his family. But first, a talk with Walter, who had the possibility of being a target.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

           Fiddling with an arrow, Oliver sat in front of a blank computer screen waiting for Diggle to wake up. Unfortunately, that left Oliver with plenty of time to think. These days he was much more comfortable with action than downtime such as this.

           And that left his mind to concentrate on the one thing he had been putting off all night long. Felicity Smoak. Questions surrounded every thought. Why was she back in Starling City? Why was she working at QC as nothing more than a simple IT girl when she had to have much bigger prospects out of college? When had she come back? Why had she not told anyone? Why and when had she changed her appearance so drastically? That last one completely threw Oliver for a loop. He had actually liked the Goth look on her, if not the attitude that seemed to derive from the people she hung out with during it. Not that Oliver wasn’t fond of the new Felicity. No, if fact, Oliver was quite fond of the way she looked earlier. Too fond, if his body’s reaction to the memory was anything to go by.

           There was one main question that floated around, wrapping around all the rest. What was Oliver going to do now that he knew she was here? Avoiding her would probably be the best choice. But, even now, Oliver’s fingers itched to reach for his phone for no other reason than to see the most recent picture he had of her. To call and hear her voice as he once almost had back in Hong Kong.

           However, there was one main thing that lingered. Felicity had been brilliant at retrieving the data that Oliver seriously doubted could be recovered from Deadshot’s laptop. Even Anatoly had not known anyone who could manage such a task. Oliver knew he might need her again. And he could trust her. At least the old her. Only, could he manage to be around her and not wish for more? Because already that pain in his chest lingered at the thought that he might lose her again. If it took just casual meetings to keep her in his life, he’d be more than willing to take it. At least he would see her. Hear her voice. But he could never touch. Touching was personal and he could not get into that level of involvement with anyone. It meant that they might discover the secret he held within.

           Hearing a sound, Oliver turned in his chair. Digg was waking up from where Oliver had laid him on a medical table. “Hey.”

           “Oliver?” Digg stared at him confused as he began to sit up. He still held onto his wound that Oliver had done his best to see closed from the bullet wound that Deadshot had inflicted. Diggle’s eyes began to narrow and disgust lined his face. “You’re that vigilante.”

           Oliver rose in case he was need the catch the larger man who insisted on standing up. Diggle was vastly unsteady and could cause his wound to reopen if he went down the wrong way. Only Digg decided to take a swing at him, which Oliver easily avoided. “Easy, Digg. You were poisoned.”

           Digg took another swing as he mumbled, “Son of a bitch.”

           This time Digg stumbled and Oliver caught him, helping him into the chair that Oliver vacated earlier. “I could’ve taken you anywhere. I could have taken you home. I brought you here.”

           It was Oliver’s way of telling him he trusted him. Not many people had earned that trust over the years. But, as Diggle rose again, Oliver wondered if he had not bet wrongly. It seemed he had lost Diggle’s trust in the process.

           “You really did lose your mind on that island.”

           “Found a couple of things along the way.” And by what happened today, finding things seemed like a generalized theme for him.

           “Like what archery classes?”

           “Clarity,” Oliver told him simply. “Starling City is dying. It is being poisoned by a criminal elite who don’t care who they hurt. As long as they maintain their wealth and power.”

           Diggle crossed his arms, but Oliver noticed he did it in pain. “And what are you going to do? Take them all down by your lonesome?”

           “No.” Oliver pointed at the man in front of him. “No, I want you to help me. Special Forces out of Kandahar. Perfect. You’re a fellow soldier.”

           Diggle shook his head as if Oliver had said the stupidest thing he had ever heard. “Oliver, you’re not a soldier. You’re a criminal. And a murderer.”

           Oliver had no choice but to watch the man leave. He had been so sure that Diggle was the kind of guy who might help him. Not that Oliver could not do this on his own. It had been his original plan after all. But it was lonesome to not tell anyone his secret, who he really was. Not everyone could handle, or understand, the life that Oliver chose to live. Not even Anatoly understood, which was why he helped him go home. This monster that lay under Oliver’s exterior helped him survive five years of a hellish existence.

           Secrets tended to be harder for the bearer than for the ones sheltered from them. The monster that lived inside Oliver had to constantly be tempered down. It was the only way that he could protect his family and friends from the blackening shadows that penetrated his soul.

           Oliver could not taint the ones he loved and cared for with the darkness that ran through him. That was why he lived two separate lives. Only his life as Oliver Queen felt like a heavier mantle than the hood that he wore. There was only one time since his return that the cloak had felt lighter. It was inside Queen Consolidated when he faced the one woman he had thought about too often through the years. Felicity Smoak.

           She made his heart lighter. He didn’t feel the evil tugging at him dragging him down into its depths. It was eclipsed by the light she brought forth, even under her anger and indifference. But while he craved that light, he knew he should stay far away from her. He gave Laurel a warning to stay away from him. Oliver knew he should learn to listen to his own advice when it came to Felicity. Just the thought of living without her light left Oliver feeling bereft. Like he was finally succumbing to that very monster he believed he was.

OQFSOQFSOQFS

           Felicity flopped back on her couch mentally exhausted. Oliver Queen was not only alive, she saw him. And he saw her, making all the hiding she had done through the years for naught.

           She had purposefully avoided their friends, mutual or not, in fear that someone might draw her back into the open. Not that she had any belief that Oliver was alive. But because being back in his realm was something that she was not sure she could handle without her emotions rising up.

           Oliver Queen found her anyway, almost as soon as he returned. All because of a crazy shot up laptop. It was like something out of one of the sci-fi movies she was so fond of. But still almost as unbelievable. What was next? Real life aliens, people who could move things with their minds, or space ships that could travel in time?

           Shaking her head, Felicity reached for her pint of mint chip that sat in front of her already with a spoon inside and the television remote. She settled back and did the unthinkable and turned on the television with the thought to turn on the news that was about to come on at any moment. Only, it was already on with breaking news.

           Headlines ran across the screen as Felicity jumped up. The melted section of the ice cream sloshed over the side hitting the floor with a plop, while her spoon bounced off her foot, causing pain that she dismissed because her brain was still trying to process what was happening in front of her.

           The scene showed people standing around outside of the Exchange Building while police still searched inside and around the surrounding buildings. There had been a shooting. One person was dead, one in critical condition and several others injured. Warren Patel had been arrested earlier in connection to previous shootings.

           The Exchange Building. Warren Patel. Oliver Queen. The laptop.

           Was Oliver the killer? She had helped him get information off that computer with schematics of the Exchange Building. What did she really know about him anymore? Maybe he had been working with this Warren Patel guy. But then Oliver had said something about Floyd Lawton. Who was he and what did he have to do with all of this and Oliver?

           Felicity began to shake. This could not be real. Who had Oliver become when he was away? Did she have any clue? Frack!

           Unmindful of the mess at her feet, Felicity slipped down to the floor and cried for the boy that used to be. The one that she had once loved.

@almondblossomme @1106angel @sunshine0977 @lovethishealthylife @miriam1779

[bleedingcoffee42]

City of Gold- Part 2

Royai Week Prompt: Day 5: Letters

Title: City of Gold Part 2

Word Count: 2008

Rating: Teen.

Summary: A Mummy AU of sorts with a gun wielding adventurer and a gorgeous museum employee teaming up to find a lost city in the desert and maybe start the apocalypse in the process.    

AN:  Part 2 of this:  City of Gold: Part 1- Promise  .   

Xxxxxxxxx

“It would be my pleasure.”  Riza said and took his hand and they went to the dance floor as if they had planned this all along and they took up position for the waltz. It was then that she was able to get a good look at him, dressed in a classic tuxedo with his hair slicked back and a look of determination on his boyishly handsome face.  There were more than a few other women looking him over and a few men sizing him up, but what inpressed her most was that he looked like he belonged here.  This was a long way from that man hunched over his desk, straining to see by candlelight.   “Are you here to ask me about the map?”

Roy waited for the music to begin to cover their conversation and took the brief moment to look at how perfect she looked in that dress.  She looked just as comfortable in it as she did in the museum wearing black tactical gear.   As much as he liked the shoulder holster, he had to admit this was quite appealing as well.  She was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that, but he wasn't here for a date.  The music began and they began to move around the dance floor effortlessly, like they had practiced together instead of just met.   “Actually I'm here to ask why you burnt down my museum.”

Riza didn't mask her shock.  “What?”

Roy cocked an eyebrow, she seemed to be genuinely surprised.  He didn't saw anything, just continued to waltz with her and watch her expression for signs that she was lying.  

“That wasn't me.”  She said and looked him dead in the eye.  “I told you to forget you saw it. I told you it could get us all killed.”

“Well the only ones who knew I had that in my possession were you and my best friend.”  Roy said. “Anyone else who followed him from the bar that night after the poker game, besides you?  Perhaps someone who went to my apartment first to trash it?”

As much as she didn't want him involved, it appeared it was already too late.  Riza looked over his shoulder and scanned the crowd.  “I don't need to tell you about Xerses.”

“Tell me anyway.”  He said and watched her look around as they covered the dance floor.  She wasn't concerned with him, danger lurked elsewhere.   Suddenly he knew this wasn't going to be a simple answer, it wasn't going to be about who burnt down his museum but why.

“Xerses, the City of Gold.  An entire country's wealth and power resisting inside it's capitals walls.” She said.”Buried somewhere in the desert under the sands for all eternity for performing the taboo, an entire civilization vanished overnight.”

“And what taboo is that?”  Roy asked.   “Legend says it was for turning lead into gold....”

“This is no legend, Mr. Mustang.” Riza said and looked him in the eye.  “Xerses is real, I have been there.”

“Impossible.”  He said.  “Not that I doubt your skill, Miss Hawkeye, but I find it hard to believe that you have found the lost city and spend your time chasing down your father's losses at poker instead of using your riches for something like this gaudy hotel.  Unless this is actually you're elaborate party.”

“Xerses is nothing but sand and death, the city is not made of gold nor does it store it.”  She said and leaned in to whisper in his ear.  Her chest pressed into his and she had to get close enough to feel his hot breath on her neck to say, “The City of Gold refers to it's people, not it's wealth.”

He leaned in and brushed against her cheek with his own to whisper in her ear, “I don't believe you.”

She could feel her heart racing as they spun around the floor, locked in a close embrace.   “Then follow me.”

Roy let her lead and she waltzed them towards the server entrance.  As soon as the dance ended she stepped off the dance floor and pulled him towards the door, anyone looking would assume they were going somewhere private to get even closer than they had been.  Roy let her pull him down the hall, quick steps that made him wonder who she was worried about following them.  They weaved between wait staff and kitchen staff to get to the door that lead to the basement storage area, according to the sign posted on it.   He thought about going back to get Maes, but knew his best friend could handle himself if he had to.   He followed Riza down the stairs and around a corner to a storage room.  “Look this is interesting an all but...”

Riza kicked a vent cover off and bent down to pull a duffle bag out of it.  Apparently bending over in front of him was enough to shut him up.   Then she pulled out an envelope and handed it to him before dragging the bag over to somewhere she could go through it.   “Inside you will find letters, letters from a pair of brothers looking for their father named Van Hohenheim.”

Roy didn't understand what any of this had to do with Xerses, but he pulled the letters out anyway.  All had been addressed to a Van Hohenheim at military posts in various departments in Central HQ.   All had been stamped return to sender.   He opened them and saw a letter begging this Van Hohenheim to come home because his wife was ill.  He pulled out a picture and saw two kids and a woman.  

“The Xerses people were known for their unique golden hair and golden eyes.”  Riza explained and pulled a rolled blanket out of her bag and unraveled it, revealing a stash of guns.   “The people were why the city became known as the City of Gold.”

Roy glanced at the guns.   “Are you expecting someone?”

“Yes.”  Riza replied and strapped a holster around her thigh and placed a small revolver in it.  She continued her story.  “Xerses was destroyed not because of a failed experiment to turn lead into gold or an attacker raiding and destroying the city, but because they had dabbled in something far greater.   Xerses was a city of knowledge and science, not wealth in gold...wealth in knowledge.  It was that knowledge that lead them to try to dabble in things far beyond what man should have.   In an attempt to create a jewel more precious than anything they could mine, they turned the entire city into what alchemists call a transmutation circle.”

“I am familiar with the concept.” Roy said and looked at the photo again.  The boys had light colored eyes.   Curious now he handed her the letter, not understanding it's connection to any of this.  She took it and gave him a gun.  

“Do you know how to use that?”

“Yes.” He said and she rolled up her gun cache and stuffed it back in the bag and stood up.  

“Alchemy was their science.”  She said.  “Thus the only thing greater than gold would be the philosopher's stone.”

Roy nodded.  “And?”

“And they made one.”  She replied. “Using the city as a transmutation circle, using the souls within it to create one and using Van Hohenheim to activate it.   Xerses vanished overnight because he turned the populous into a stone.”

Roy was about to interrupt her, this whole story was ludicrous.

“Those two boys alerted the people within our government that Van Hohenheim is still alive. They know that if he is than he possesses something much more valuable than a city of gold.  I have friends in Central that seized those letters but I'm sure there were many more.  The boys are presistant and certainly would not have stopped at a few letters.”  Riza said. “My father's obsession was Xerses, he spent his life looking for that city and when we finally found it we found nothing.   Nothing.   No remains, nothing but ruins.   Then we found the inscriptions and he came home to decode them.   That was when he found out it was alchemy, which lead him to a town in the East called Resenbool where a man was trying to make a living teaching about this ancient science.   It's when we saw his golden hair and golden eyes and knew we had seen people just like that in murals on the walls of those ruins.”

Roy waited as she took a frustrated breath.  

“It's when we learned the true secret of Xerses from the man who destroyed it himself.”

“He'd have to be hundreds of years old.”  Roy scoffed.

“Immortality is what happens when you turn yourself into a philosopher's stone and are the vessel for thousands of lives.”  She said.  “My father refused to burn the map because he wanted to go back.  Alchemy became his new obsession because that science held more riches than any city could.   Unfortunately the letters triggered something we weren't counting on. My father is unable to let go of his life's work and couldn't simply destroy it.  So he used that little box he found at the ruins and put his map inside and tried to hide it.  That is how your museum was burnt down, that is why I need to protect you in addition to him and those two boys.”

“That's the most unbelievable thing I have ever heard and that is coming from an archaeologist.” Roy said.  She got close to him in that small closet and was once again p against his chest.  

“You saw the box, you opened it because you recognized the alchemic rune for fire.”  She said. “Which means that my father didn't just lose that box to your friend for safe keeping but because he knew you could figure it out. Your museum probably had resources in it that could help him with the alchemy in the ruins and since he couldn't bring the museum with him, he was going to try to take you with him instead.”

Roy noticed she sounded aggrevated. This also sounded like a sudden realization of a new development. “I'm assuming from the sound of your voice that your father hasn't been very honest with you about his work.”

“No.”  Riza said and studied his beautiful dark eyes that were fixated on her.   “Nor has he been honest with himself about the danger he's putting everyone in. Unfortanetely, he's never been very good about that.”

“Probably why you were so quick to burn his map, hmmm?”  Roy asked and she looked away.   He wasn't sold on any of this but he was intrigued.    

“If you want answers you can follow me.  If you want to help me save this country from a terrible destructive force this world has never seen the likes of, I could use your help.  You memorized the map and unfortunately we do need to go back to Xerses as that is where the Elric brothers are probably going and they have no idea what hell can be unleashed there.   Unfortunately they learned their father's lessons well and may be able to activate that circle again.”  She said and stepped into the hall to see who followed them.  “Did your friend follow us or not? I need someone to carry that duffle bag.”

Roy leaned out into the hall.  “Maes?”

“Yo.”

“Want to save the world?”  Roy asked.  Not quite sure how else to summarize this information.

“If it helps you get the girl, sure!” Maes said and materialized with a few knives he picked up in the kitchen.   He put them on a service cart and came over to where they were standing.  He smiled when he saw it was a storage closet and before he could make a remark about anything, Roy slammed a duffle bag into his chest.

[charmscale]

A Demon’s Lust Chapter 5

Saban

“You will be on your best behavior tonight,” Anita ordered me, trying not to move her lips as a maid carefully applied her makeup. “Understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” I replied in the appropriate subservient tone. And I would be on my best behavior, too. The happier I kept Anita, the more likely she was to reward me with a feeding.

She really did look lovely tonight. Not as delicious as when she was naked, of course, but quite lovely, in an aesthetic sort of way. Her long, flowing dark blue dress, clinched tight at her usually nonexistent waist, was dotted with magical lights, giving the impression of a night sky covered in stars. Her figure, usually boyishly flat, now had curves, thanks to the careful artifice of whalebone and fabric. A small, magically lit tiara graced a hairstyle it had taken an hour with a hairdresser and some careful magic to achieve, and a glittering necklace pointed to the suggestion of breasts and lit delicate shoulder blades. Sparkling high heels were barely visible below the waterfall of skirt. Even her face, usually vaguely draconic in appearance, looked ladylike thanks to the heavy application of makeup. Her green eyes peered imperiously out from under magically lengthened eyelashes and a set of artfully disarrayed brown curls.

Marian opened the door. Her dress was spring green, and a bit more revealing, mostly, I suspected, because it actually had something to reveal. Her hair and dress were covered in flowers, charmed not to wilt or fade, and several enchanted butterflies flew lazy circles around her. Her hair looked like she’d just gotten out of bed, a style, I suspected, that had taken even longer than Anita’s to achieve. I could definitely sense a lot of magic holding it in place.

I myself was wearing my usual tight black leather armor, today with the addition of a stylized sword I had been told not to use and a ridiculously rakish black hat. I sighed. Mortals. So concerned with appearances.

The wizard behind the lights adorning my mistress, the flowers, the butterflies, the more subtle hair magics, and various small illusions peered in behind Marian. His name, I remembered, was Antoni. He was wearing purple and gold. “Almost ready?” he asked, nervously wringing his hands. “Bianca, please tell me you are not using that shade of eyeshadow.” He bustled over to my mistress, shooing the maid away, and delicately wiped away the offending blue makeup.Then he began to apply something dark brown. “Much better,” he said with satisfaction. “We are presenting my daughter at court this evening; we all must look our best. Thank you, again, for everything you have done for my little girl.”

“Dad,” Marian sighed. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“Of course you’re not, precious,” said a voice from out in the hall. A women entered the room, and looked Anita and I critically up and down. “I don’t see why the demon can’t wear something more stylish. Also, she,” the woman gestured to my mistress, “should be showing more cleavage.”

“She hasn’t got any, dearest,” explained Antoni. “And the demon should look impressive, not stylish.”

The woman huffed. “He could be impressive and stylish at the same time. Also, what is wrong with illusory cleavage?”

“I think they look fine, Mom,” Marian said. “And you know Dad can’t ever get the bounce right.”

Before the woman could reply, Antita, eyeshadow finished, stood. “Lady Daya. A pleasure to see you. It’s been, what, a year, since I saw you and Journeyman Wizard Antoni last?”

Lady Daya smiled. “Longer than that, Apprentice Wizard Anita. Sorry for my poor manners.”

“Not at all, my Lady,” said Anita. “This is a trying time, after all. Your daughter’s future is at stake.”

Not to mention her life, I thought. But to mention that would be rude.

“Yes, very trying,” replied the Lady. “I have been quite distraught.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, careful not to smudge her makeup. The pair of doves perched in her hair cooed. I wondered how they were kept from crapping all over her fake blond hairstyle. That would be tricky magic.

As the polite discourse continued, they moved out of the room. Anita ordered me to follow. I did so, staying the prescribed two paces behind her.

When we entered the ballroom, I was nearly overwhelmed by the lights, music, and color, not to mention the various spells about the room. Charmed animals were apparently all the rage with the ladies this season. One woman wore a long rodent of some kind draped around her shoulders. Another led a bear on a slender golden leash. And the charms on the animals were only the most obvious of the spells. I saw mage lights, and heatless flames. Illusions of all sorts concealed and altered. Protective spells were in evidence as well. Even the food was spelled, probably to keep it from spoiling, or, in some cases, melting, though who could tell with mortals. And in the center of all the magic and hubbub, wearing the most impressive set of protective spells I had ever seen, was the king.

I followed as my mistress, Marian, and Marian’s parents made their way over to the throne where King Hector lounged, eating a large turkey leg and drinking a cup of wine. As we approached, his jester said something to make him laugh.

“Your majesty,” Lady Daya said, curtsying. My mistress curtsied as well, as did her friend. Antoni bowed.

“Bow, demon,” Anita ordered in a whisper. I complied, not fighting the compulsion, but bending as little as possible all the same.

“This is my daugher, Apprentice Wizard Marian, and Apprentice Wizard Anita,” Lady Daya continued. “And you know my husband, of course, Journeyman Wizard Antoni.”

“Who’s the young man?” King Hector asked, giving the group a cursory once over.

“The demon Saban, your majesty,” answered Anita. “My familiar.”

“Ah,” said the king, looking back at his fool. The man did a trick, and the king laughed and clapped. “Can he hunt? Or do any tricks?”

“He does what I tell him to, your majesty,” replied my mistress. “I’m sure he’d make an excellent hunter. He has keen senses, and is skilled in combat.”

“Oh, good,” said the king distractedly as another group approached him. “Carry on, then. Enjoy the ball!”

As my mistress's group walked away from the drunken fool of a king, Anita asked Lady Daya, “Why didn’t you bring up the special dispensation?”

“It doesn’t do to rush things. We have time,” the Lady responded.

“Besides, he was drunk. He would have forgotten it by the end of the ball,” Antoni said. “He’s usually drunk,” he added glumly.

My mistress sighed. “I suppose we just circulate, then?”

“And dance, and make merry,” said Lady Daya. “Enjoy yourselves, like the king said.”

“But be careful not to muss your dresses or smudge your makeup!” added Antoni.

Then Lady Daya spotted someone she knew, and led her husband away to talk to them, leaving my mistress with myself and Marian. For a while the two hung out together, talking to various nobles of their age and daintily nibbling on delicacies. Then Anita spotted something.

“Is that Lord Umbron?” she asked Marian.

Marian giggled, and the noble ladies she had been talking to tittered. “I believe it is. You should go talk to him!” she said.

Anita hesitated. “I thought he went to his family’s estates.”

“He came back,” one of the noble ladies offered. “About a month ago. Go talk to him!”

“Yeah, go get him!” Marian chimed in. The other nobles offered various encouragements, some slightly suggestive. I growled, low in my throat. I wasn’t sure why.

Anita smiled. “You’re right. I should. It was nice talking to you all.” And with that, she headed off towards Lord Umbron.

A few minutes later I watched, unsure what to do, as Lord Umbron made out with my mistress on an empty balcony. Their lips were pressed together, and spread wide open. His hand wormed its way between their tightly pressed bodies to cup one of her breasts. I growled. He had no right! Why wasn’t she stopping him?

Anita pulled back. “Stop that,” she ordered, abruptly silencing me. I bared my teeth, unable to make any noise. My eyes glowed red.

“Is he jealous?” the young lord asked incredulously.

“No, he just tends to get like this sometime,” she lied. “I’ve got to go. Meet me later, in my rooms?”

The bastard smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Anita towed me back towards her rooms. I fought her orders, snarling when I was able, and glaring when I wasn’t.

She shoved me into her room, and slammed the door. Instantly I was on her, pinning her to the door, pressing my lips to hers, and trying to capture her hands before-

I was abruptly pushed backwards by an invisible force. Anita clenched her fist, and I doubled over in pain. “Let me go!” I managed to snarl through clenched teeth.

“No,” my mistress said. “Turn around, and put your hands behind your back, or the pain gets worse.” I turned, and presented my hands. She cuffed them, and my ankles, tightening the chain until I would not be able to walk, and could just barely stay balanced. Then she released me from the agony.

I snarled, fought the chains, and fell over. With the shackles so tight, I was unable to get myself upright again. I lay there on the floor, feeling foolish. Humiliated. Betrayed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Anita snapped. “You just tried to feed without my permission, you growled at Lord Umbron-”

“You just barely met him!” I snarled. “You just met him, and you’re kissing him, and letting him feel you up!”

She sighed. “For one, I did not just barely meet him. He is a former lover of mine. For another,” she said, clenching her fist again, making me whimper. “My sex life is not your personal property. You should be grateful I allow you to feed the way you do, not jealous of the men in my life. Is that clear?” She released me.

I stayed silent. Why was I so angry? She had to feed me every day, as she’d promised, or I’d not longer be bound to obey her. And this Lord Umbron wouldn’t stop her from feeding me the way I now preferred. So why did I want so desperately to rip out and devour his still beating heart? Was this… Jealousy? What did I have to be jealous of?

If Lord Umbron were a demon, this would make sense. A demon might feed, stealing from my source of magic. But he was no demon.

It would also make sense, in a way, if Lord Umbron were a threat to Anita’s safety. I was now determined to keep her alive, in order to keep her for myself. But he was a simpering courtier, and not in any way a threat. So why did I feel so…

“I said, is that clear?” Anita asked.

“Yes, mistress,” I murmured. But it was not clear at all.

Anita

I loosened the chains around my demon’s ankles, allowing him to walk. Then I led him to Marian’s room. She had just gotten back, and was in the process of getting ready for bed.

“Mind if I leave the demon in your room for the night?” I asked. Saban growled softly. “Stop that,” I ordered. “We just discussed this. No growling.” The demon stopped, but didn’t look happy about it.

“Sure. Just make sure to gag him so he doesn’t keep me up all night,” said Marian. “I take it things went well between you and Lord Umbron?” She smiled.

I grinned back. “Oh, yeah. He’s coming to my room later this evening.”

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” Marian enthused. “Go get ready! Need to borrow any lingerie?”

I laughed. “Like anything you own would fit me.”

She giggled. “You may have a point. Now, go!”

I went. Back in my room, it took me awhile to get out of the dress and all the underclothes required to look good at a formal gathering. Then I had to carefully wash off the makeup, which, if left on, would just smudge, and undo my hairstyle, which wouldn’t hold up during any strenuous activity anyways. I left on the necklace, for now, anyways, and fished some lacy panties out of my bags. I sighed. Most of my racier dresses and lingerie had been left at Rowan Castle, so this would have to do.

There was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” I asked, heart pounding.

“It’s me. Umbron. May I come in?”

I hurriedly arranged myself on the bed, trying to look relaxed, and, at the same time, sexy. “Yes, you may.”

Lord Umbron opened the door. He looked me up and down, and smiled. “Anita. You look gorgeous. Good enough to eat.”

I stood, trying to look graceful as he closed the door behind himself, and then I knelt and began to undo his pants. As he took off his vest and shirt, I took his cock in my mouth, as deep as I could without gagging. He sighed, and leaned forward, pushing it just a little bit deeper. I gagged and pulled back.

“Sorry,” he apologized. I shrugged. No point in trying to talk with my mouth full.

As I licked and sucked his dick, it grew hard, filling my mouth. I looked up at Umbron. He smiled down at me, eyes half closed. Then he pushed me off his erection, pulled me to my feet, and led me to the bed, kicking off his pants and shoes as he went. I lay down, and he knelt between my legs, pulling my panties down to expose my already damp pussy. “Wish you’d shave it,” he commented. “Or at least trim it short. I hate getting hair in my mouth.” Before I could reply, he pulled my pussy lips apart, grimaced, and began to lick.

For some reason I thought of Saban, and how he seemed to love the task of licking me. Lord Umbron was just doing what was necessary to get me ready to fuck, but Saban really liked it. Of course, that was because he was feeding, but I remembered this morning, how he took a long, deep breath before beginning, as if to savor the smell. Would Saban enjoy it almost as much, I wondered, if he didn’t feed?

Lord Umbron pulled away with a relieved sigh. “Looks like you’re ready,” he said. “Mind if I’m on top?”

“Not at all,” I answered, smiling in anticipation.

I moaned as he slid into me, spreading my pussy wide. Not a thick as Saban, but then, a shapeshifter could choose his dick shape. I pressed my lips to Umbron’s neck, licking it. He shivered. “Keep doing that,” he murmured. “Keep going.”

I pressed myself upward, the best I could, while he pushed himself down into me. We pulled apart, slightly, and then came together again. As we established a rhythm, I licked his neck harder, and gripped his ass in my hands to press him down harder into me.

Umbron gripped my chin and pulled me away from his neck to kiss me. His tongue darted into my mouth, touching the tip of my tongue. I moaned in delight, and tried to wrap my tongue around his. One of his hands began to play with one of my nipples, and I shivered. And, all the while, he kept pounding me, first picking up his pace, and then slowing, and then speeding up again.

I came first, and, as I whimpered and spasmed, he came, shooting his load into my pussy. Then we lay there for a moment, panting. He rolled off to lay beside me. “That was wonderful,” he said. I nodded, but couldn’t help thinking of how hard Saban could make me cum.

“Mind if I spend the night?” Umbron asked.

“Not at all,” I answered, and we settled down to sleep.