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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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To the Light of Day || Solo

TIMING: Early morning, after the destruction of Constance

SUMMARY: Morgan tries to lay her pain to rest.

CONTAINS: brief mentions of parental abuse

The snow was coming down hard enough to bury White Crest as Morgan walked home from the outskirts. The sirens had quieted and the Christmas lights all switched out. The only sign it was morning came from the ring of church bells as a midnight service let out and oblivious churchgoers turtled out to the parking lot in their puffy coats. From where she stood, Morgan could see the flicker of Advent candles, the Christian bastardization of her Yule log. Morgan watched a pimply twelve year old snuff them out one by one until the last of the faithful left and the door shut for the night. She walked behind the straggling flock, head bowed against the snow as it fell harder. She wanted to imagine what being a part of them would be like, just one of the humans, lighting a candle against her fear and praying en masse to a big nice dad in the sky who would whisper while you slept that everything was okay and for your own good, just you wait and see. But Morgan had never known anything close, and she didn’t deserve much of an escape right now, did she?

When she was little, Morgan spent Yule with her parents gathered around a row of three tapers nested into a log holder, one for each of them to burn all night and day. Her mother lit the candles because Morgan ‘didn’t do it right’. Her dad picked out the prayers from the family grimoires or wrote something more personalized to the family on his own. And Morgan agonized over whether she should wish for snow or a new friend or a pony. They were together and apart keeping this sweet, wonderful secret winter holiday from all the boisterous Christmasers. The room never erupted with the sound of their poetry recitations, the songs her parents picked to honor the day changed from year to year, so she never grew a familiar, cuddly attachment to any tunes except for the verses of ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ they stole for themselves. When Yule became just Morgan and Ruth, the candlelight seemed dimmer, their voices barely rose at all, and her dad’s old prayers rang hollow without his intentions to power them. The darkness of the longest night grew heavy in a primeval way that reminded Morgan that the first Yuletides were made to make sure the sun wouldn’t abandon humanity for good. It was the kind of dark that you could drown in, the kind that broke your shoulders to strain against. Morgan felt that old, cruel weight of the night wrapping around her now as she walked. She didn’t have a yule candle log for herself this year. After dying and the various breakdowns that followed, merrymaking and yuletide seemed like more of a pipe dream. And peace, after what she’d done? Morgan scoffed bitterly at the thought.

“It’s not about the candles, pumpkin,” Ruth’s voice said. On their first solstice without her dad, Ruth had fumbled their last match, and it was too icy to run to the 24-hour pharmacy for more. Morgan fretted so hard conjuring up a fire to replace it, she’d scorched the candles and ruined their old log. Ruth grabbed her hands before she could do anything else. “It’s still Yuletide. The sun is still coming back.”

“But it’s not the same! What’s the point of the ritual if we can’t even get one stupid candle going to pretend like this is going to get better!”

Morgan couldn’t remember what her mother had said to that. She only knew that afterwards she’d left the room and cried, missing her dad and the kind of life where you didn’t hold your breath for the next crisis and just did things. At sunrise she went out to the window to watch the return of the light and found her mother in the backyard, praying in a stone circle she’d cast the mundane way, reciting the charge of the Goddess...

Morgan trudged through downtown until she came across Al’s. Half the rainbow lights strung around the awning were burnt out, and the inside was dead except for the lonely old man Morgan always saw in the corner. The old TV in the upper corner was switched to one of those fireplace broadcasts, where the flames never dimmed and the lights shined on glass baubles just right. Morgan couldn’t help but stop and watch. It wasn’t the best picture quality; what billows and whispers she imagined coming from the flames were more from her memories of better, brighter fires. But it was the first fire Morgan had seen all season, and it brought tears to her eyes.

Could you wish on a yule log if it was fake? Was it an affront to the ancestors or the spirits if you paid homage through pixels? Morgan laughed hopelessly. The spirits she knew had been pretty clear about what they wanted her to do, and after tonight, wishing on a crappy TV probably ranked really low on the list. What would she wish for anyway? A fucking do-over? Morgan pressed her fingers to the frosted glass, staring as hard into the screen as possible. “I’d do it all different if I could,” she whispered. “If anyone could just tell me how to make it stop hurting without passing it off to other people or--fuck, killing random nobodies who never did anything. If I could just know how we’re supposed to…” Morgan quieted and shut her eyes, realizing that for all intents and purposes, she was talking to herself. She had lied, threatened, stolen, maimed, and killed for her pain. And here she still was, carrying it like a growth in her chest she couldn’t excise. What do I do? If someone could just tell me what to do, tell me how this stops. I don’t care what else I have to do as long as we can all stop hurting...

But the universe didn’t speak to you in words, it didn’t speak at all. It just worked. It moved. Energy cycled through you and around you and sometimes if you were lucky and alive, you could move it back. But it’s not about the light, pumpkin, Ruth said again. Morgan reached for her in her mind, to that soggy, miserable Yule and the purple sunrise that came after, and the words her mother had said to the reborn sun.

To thou who thinkest to seek Me, know that thy seeking and yearning shall avail thee not unless thou knowest the Mystery: if that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.

“Fuck,” Morgan whispered. Could it be that simple? Was that something she was allowed after death? She opened her eyes. The TV had been switched to some Christmas cartoon, but that didn’t matter. Morgan resumed her walk, swift and purposeful in a way it hadn’t been before. She didn’t stop until she made it to the cemetery on the East End, where the weeds were always a little too tall and the stones a little grubby with moss. Morgan played the words in her head on herself, burning with longing.

She was dead, her nerves were smothered in death, she couldn’t grow or age or shift along the wheel of life the way the living did, but she grew a new hand for every one she lost. Her body frayed and sagged closer to the earth it could never rest in when she got hungry, but maybe that wasn’t a mark of betrayal. Maybe it was a reminder from the earth, a hand on her hand, a bridge between the flow of the world and the place where she dwelled in between. Maybe it was a rope to keep her connected. Maybe the dead could still pray. She had come back this far, hadn’t she? She’d done it wrong and twisted and broken all over again, but she could walk and burst through the rickety gate and carry herself to the highest mound in the place and brush back the snow gathering over the graves. She had enough sense to be sorry and scared. She had enough of her self to wonder.

Morgan cleared the snow away until there was a body sized patch of brown grass to lay in. She fell face forward and dug her hands in deep. Please… If I am still a part of you, please…

The ground was hard with death, but the deeper Morgan dug her hands in, the softer it grew. Layer by layer, into that place where life only slept, like the day during the long night. Was that her? A night, a season, moving slowly until her sense of light came again?

If that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.

Let me, Morgan whispered in her heart, the words no longer a question. I need you to let me. And I need you to take this. She crawled up to her knees and dug her nails into the fabric of her sweater. She worried at the threads, thinking of the memories that had twisted around her heart every time she’d had a chance to let Constance leave this plane for good and said no. Yelling at the paramedics while her dad was wheeled away, her mother’s nails cutting moons into her neck and shoulder as she dragged her down the hall, the pole in her stomach and how her head flashed with pain every time she tried to move, the coffins lowered into the ground, the phone calls unanswered, the weeks lost to laying in bed because there was no point in getting up when it was all going to get ripped away again, the loneliness, the sting of every lost friend and broken hope… Morgan pulled on herself, shuddering as she let the hurt cut her on the way out, as sharp as if they’d been made fresh. In her mind, she made them into one braided cord, plain and riddled with knots and kinks in the fibres. She pulled, letting the other awful little things stick and tangle into it. When she could think of nothing else she pulled again, feeling the claws at the end of the hurt clinging to her.

Let me give this to you for safe-keeping, she silently asked the earth. Take this in lieu of my body. Let it decay in its own good time and nourish something else. Because it’s going to take me away from you and myself and everything I love. I trust you not to use this for any ill. You have held me up this far, and you will hold me further still, my dear, old Earth. Even Morgan’s wildest imagination and most desperate devotion couldn’t unhook every cord binding her to her hurt, but some of them gave, root and all, and fell into the ground. She piled the dirt she’d loosed over the spot her mind’s eye conjured the fallen cords. There was nothing to forgive, because the earth didn’t weigh value like that, only poison and barbs that needed to be worked out. Only healing for the holes the cords had left in her, rest for the girls she’d been and was no longer, and courage for the woman she wanted to be from now on. Someone who touched others with understanding before spite, who guarded the world against her hurt, who stood up for as many people as possible and not just her friends, who was kind and soft and forgave as much as her soul could bear it. Someone who could mourn and atone for the hurt she spread instead of brushing it off. Someone her past selves could be proud of and mystified by. As day follows night and spring follows winter, keep me steady until I find my own light.

“So may it be,” she said, promising herself even more than the ground at her feet. By the time Morgan finished, the dark had washed away to a pale gray. Through the veil of snow clouds, Morgan was sure she saw a white silhouette of the newly turned sun.

#to the light of day #wr solo #wr chatzy #wickedswriting

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out-of-jams · 5 years

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Stranger Things || Chapter 01 || kth

Part of my Bangtan Netflix series!

Summary: When your younger brother, Jungkook, goes missing, you have no other choice but to reunite your old friend group to find him. But with government conspiracies, supernatural happenings, and a mysterious boy named V, things won’t be as easy as you’d hoped.

Word Count: 7.4k.

Warnings/Genre: Thriller. Mystery. Fluff. Angst. Friends to lovers. Smut. Supernatural. High School au. Explicit language.

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

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Chapter 01: The Vanishing of Jeon Jungkook

“No, no, no! Go left!”

A shout accompanied by the sounds of gunshots filled the dark living room. And soft, blue light illuminated the space around the television showing two pixelated characters rushing across the screen.

“We went left last time and died. So no, we’re going right this time!” High pitched, eerie music flowed out of the speakers on the television box. And the click-click-click of fingers tilting joysticks and mashing buttons lingered in the tense, anxious atmosphere.

“We only died last time because you go us killed.” The voice was male: not quite deep, yet not high either, it fell somewhere in the middle.

“Don’t you dare blame that on me, Jungkook! You’re the one who didn’t listen when I told you to hide.” A feminine voice this time was followed by a grunt of irritation. “We’re going right.”

“Whatever.” With an annoyed click of his tongue, Jungkook leaned forward on the ugly, plaid printed couch and braced his elbows on his knees.

An Atari game controller was clutched tightly in his slender hands, fingers tilting the joystick and mashing the single button blindly. His brow was pinched in concentration and his lips were slightly parted, two prominant front teeth visable even in the near darkness. Though his mouth-breathing tendancy was most likely drying his mouth out more than helping him to actually focus.

On screen, both of your characters rushed through the room they’d just cleared of enemies and turned right at the end of the corridor. Jungkook’s character, a pixelated mass of orange, followed reluctantly behind yours as they both reached the door at the end of the hall.

“Maybe we should actually go in with a strategy this time--or not.” With a roll of your eyes, you huffed and leaned forward to unconsiously mimic your brother’s posture.

The stench of pizza grease from the empty boxes on the coffee table filtered through your nose as you grabbed up your half-drank bottle of coke. Carbonation was sweet on your tungue as light from the loading screen reflected in the pupils of your narrowed eyes. Your heart was beating so fast due to the game that you were almost positive Jungkook could hear it.

“We gotta beat it this time. I’m tired of replaying the same level over and over.” Jungkook licked at his lips, leaning forward more intensly the split second the game finished loading and dropped both of your characters into the boss battle. “Let’s get this bread.”

“The hell does that even mean?” Your question was rhetorical, attention captured by the battle music that suddenly burst from the television’s tiny speakers.

The screen zoomed in to show a blotch of green that looked more like a small plant than anything else. But as the music started to hit its cresendo, the plant slowly transformed into a humanoid like plant man with sharp teeth, claw-like fingers and no eyes. Right underneath its wiggling, twitching animated body was the word: Demogorgon.

“Here we go!” With a nod of determination, Jungkook’s fingers tightened on his joystick. “We’re gonna win this time.”

It took all of sixy seconds for both of your characters to die in a violent explosion of pixelated smoke and flames. The screen zoomed in to show the demogorgon wriggling victoriously and the game over music could barely be heard over the screams of both you and Jungkook.

“Dude!” You dropped your controller to the couch in annoyance and turned to glare over at your brother. “I told you to hide again and you still didn’t listen. And now we’re dead. Again.”

Jungkook just threw his head back and sunk lower in his seat. Even in the barely lit room you could see him tonguing his cheek in irritation. “Let’s take a break.”

You hummed, “Snack break?”

That seemed to perk him right up. Just the mention of food could light a fire under Jungkook’s ass quicker than your mother when she yelled. Until he glanced down at the table and deflated. “We’re out, though. I think we ate everything.”

You grimaced at the mess littered all over the coffee table. Empty containers of snacks and glass soda bottles covered every inch of the wooden surface. You and Jungkook had been gaming literally all day. Ever since he stumbled in earlier that morning with a brand new Atari clutched in his hands. Apparently he’d been lucky enough to borrow it from one of the boys down the street. And he’d busted into your room at 10 AM sharp to wake you up from your Sunday morning nap to goad you into playing.

Furtunately, your mother had left to visit her sister in Florida on Friday. Something about your aunt getting a divorce and your mother needing to comfort her. Or whatever. Not that it really bothered you to be left home alone with your younger brother for however long it took to console your grieving aunt. Because that just meant that you could do whatever the hell you wanted.

Like stay up late on a school night.

“Now what?” You questioned through a yawn, taking a second to glance at the clock on the VCR. 11:24 PM.

Jungkook was already standing with his arms stretched overhead to relieve his stiff muscles. “I’ll run out and get some more.”

“It’s late, Kook.” Your words seemed to have no effect on the sixteen year old boy because he’s already crossed the room to the front door.

Jungkook’s fingers fumbled with his shoes as he slipped them on, the hood of his black AC/DC hoodie flopping forward onto his head. Looking up as he tied his laces, he sent you a reasurring smile. His doe-eyed stare and large two front teeth gave him an aura of innocence that could make even the grumpy old man across the street soften like putty.

“Don’t worry, the store is just three streets down. I’ll take my bike and be there in like, fifteen minutes.” There it was again, that flash of bunny teeth as he stood up fully.

You groaned and threw your head back in defeat. “Fine. But hurry up.”

Jungkook grinned in victory, his dark eyes scrunching up into half-moons. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Better be.” Your words were punctuated by the slamming of the front door. Jungkook never learned how to shut doors with appropriate force.

Now the only sound in the house came from the game over still flashing on the television screen. You took a moment to eye it before flipping the remote into your hands and hitting the mute button. The living room plunged into silence as you streched out across the couch and threw an arm over your eyes. You’d just take a short nap while Jungkook was out in order to regain your strength to beat the game.

Yeah, just a short nap.

Jungkook should have been scared by the darkness creeping at the edge of the light beam from the flashlight attached to the front of his bike. He should have been frightened at the sheer fact that the streets of his neighborhood were completely empty. But he wasn’t.

The quiet offered him solace in a way that most things couldn’t. Sure, Jungkook was loud at times, but he also liked the comfort of his own company. Of the sound of crickets chirping in the trees lining the road he biked down. It mixed with the flap-flap-flap of the baseball card still stuck in-between the spokes of his rear bike wheel. And the crinkle of the plastic bag hanging from the left handle bar so low that it occasionally brushed against his thigh.

Jungkook’s breath came out in pants as his legs pedaled hard enough to carry him up the steep hill. He was almost home, only two streets away when the street lamps overhead started to dim. That wasn’t unusual. The powerlines in town were finicky, afterall.

Though it wasn’t until he passed underneath one that the bulb blinked one, twice, three times, before blowing out completely. And that wouldn’t have caused panic to rise in his chest if it weren’t for the fact that every single street lamp went out at the same time. And if it weren’t for the flashlight on the front of his bike, Jungkook would’ve been veiled inside a curtain of absolute darkness.

“What the..?” The words slipped from his mouth and filled the quiet street with a sense of foreboding. Jungkook didn’t know what was happening. But what he did know was that his instincts were screaming at him to get the hell out of dodge.

He pedaled faster, trying his best to ignore his heartbeat thrumming in his eardrums. And he would have succeeded if the flashlight on his bike didn’t start to flicker too. Jungkook glanced down, reaching out a hand to tap against the plastic lens in hopes of keeping it alive.

It blinked once more in a final threat before stilling and he let out a breath of relief.

And looked up just in time to see the silhouette of something-something-something standing in the middle of the empty road.

Jungkook startled so badly that he jerked the handlebars to the right sharply, sending him veering straight into a ditch on the side of the road. The front tire of his bike caught and the momentum flipped Junkook through the air in a dizzying whirlwhind. He hit the hard packed ground with a thud, grass tickling the now exposed skin of his arms. But he didn’t have time to register the pain.

Because he heard it, intermingled with the tick-tick-tick of the abandoned bike wheels spinning round and round.

A growling hiss pierced through the foilage of the trees around him, seemingly coming from anyhere and everywhere all at once. Jungkook stumbled to his feet, the knees of his jeans catching on a fallen branch and tearing. But he didn’t have time to process that either.

Through the darkness he could just make out a figure standing a few feet away, hunched over in the shadows.

Jungkook’s shoes slid across the dirt as he cut to the right and burst through the trees without a second thought. He could barely see more than five feet ahead, eyes blown wide to let in as much light as possible. As his footfalls pounded the earth, Jungkook’s beath left his body in loud exhales that he did his best to silence.

A quick glance behind him showed nothing. He couldn’t see whether or not whatever the hell that thing was, was following him. But just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean that it wasn’t.

It took only a minute of reckless running for the familiar sourroundings to register in Jungkook’s mind. The town of Hawkins, Indiana was a rural area, filled with more trees than people. And the woods served as a maze for any who weren’t familiar with its paths. But Jungkook had lived there all his life, therefore he knew the darkened outline high up in the branches was there way before he reached the base of the tree.

He didn’t take a moment to pause, to catch his breath before he jumped, hands flying overhead to grab onto the wooden ladder. It didn’t reach all the way to the ground, having been broken off years ago. But luckily, Jungkook was tall.

His fingers wrapped around the splintered wood and he heaved himself upwards. The bottoms of his shoes slammed against the rungs of the makeshift ladder as he ascended further into the tree. Within seconds, the palm of his hand pushed against a catch in the wood above and he threw the trapdoor upwards. It gave way without a fight and Jungkook swung himself inside with adrenaline pumping vicioulsy through his veins.

The floor of the treehouse creaked underfoot as he quickly shut the door and locked it with the rusted metal latch. If Jungkook thought it was dark outside, it was even darker inside the cramped space. His hands shot out, palms forward, as he shuffled along blindly. Fingers shaking, Jungkook managed to grab onto the thin string dangling in the center of the room. And with a sharp tug, the lightbulb overhead came to life.

It was just as he remembered inside.

The air was stale from the lack of filtration, but Jungkook paid no mind as he stumbled over to one of the glass windows. Though his foot caught on the edge of a stool and almost sent him topling over. “Shit!”

Jungkook hit the wall palms first and he could feel the splinters enter his skin. But he brushed off the stinging pain and pressed his face against the glass window so close that it started to fog from his panicked breath. His eyes scanned the ground outside with a quickness only born from fear. At first he saw nothing, only his own face reflected back at him.

Until, there!

A silhouette amongst the shadows.

It stood there, unmoving, just staring at him like he was staring at it.

Until it wasn’t.

The sole lightbulb in the room flickered with familiarity as Jungkook pushed as far away from the window as possible. His stood in the center of the room turning rapidly, neck straining to glance out all four windows on each wall at once. It was then that he heard it again.

Whispered growls that caressed his eardrums with a silent promise.

Jungkook’s chest tightened. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Bump-bump. His heart pounded against his ribcage as the light overhead blinked once, twice.

Bump-bump. Three times. Bump-bump. A shadow brushed past the window pane to his right.

Bump-bump. Metal sliding against metal as the latch slowly unlocked.

Bump-bump. The light blew out. Bump-bump.

It was inside.

Jungkook turned slowly, scream caught somewhere halfway up his throat. Bump-bump.

The light flickered back on.

And Jungkook was gone.

Sunlight broke through the thin curtains hanging above the living room window, drifting across your face to shine right on your closed eyelids. A groan left your drool stained mouth, hand flying up in an attempt to beat back the light by sheer force of will.

With a sigh, your eyes squinted open and the memories of the night before rushed in. It was a surprise that you were still on the couch, seeing as how Jungkook should have woken you up by how unessicarily loud he usually was. Especially after having gone out of his way last night to be on snack retrieval duty. There was no way that he’d pass up on an opportunity to wake you up by beaming a pack of doritos right at your face.

You wiped at the dry drool on your chin and threw an uninterested glance at the clock on the VCR. 9:45 AM.

It took a moment for the importance of the time to register in your sleep clouded brain. But when it did--

“Shit! I’m late for school.” You flew off the couch, one bare foot landing on a depleted, crumpled box of Dunkaroos. Just looking at it twisted your stomach. How you and Jungkook managed to clear out your whole pantry of snacks in one day was sad.

Ignoring the mess on the coffee table, you scrambled out of the room and flew up the stairs. Your clothes fell in a heap on the floor the second the door to your room closed and you raced over to your closet. Blindly, you picked out an outfit for the day and threw it on while simultaniously attempting to brush the knots out of your hair.

Teeth brushed and Love’s Baby Soft perfume spritzed, you raced down the hall to Jungkook’s closed bedroom door. You didn’t bother to knock, instead just sending up a short prayer that he was decent before throwing the door open. It hit the wall with a crack that made you flinch. But you paid it no mind as you glared at the messy, unmade, empty bed.

That jerk went to school without you!

“I’m gonna kill him.” You growled and turned to run back down the stairs, socked feet sliding against the linoleum floor and almost carrying you past the foyer.

Skidding to a stop, you slipped on your shoes, grabbed your house keys and backpack, and flew out the front door.

The second the lock weaved through the front tire of your bike clicked into place, you hurried through the front doors of the school. Luckily (or unluckily), the halls were empty. So the obnoxious sqeaking of your shoes was heard by no one as you apprached the closed door to your English class.

With a grimace painting your face, you turned down the door handle and slipped in the classroom.

“Ah, Ms Jeon, how wonderful of you to finally decide to grace us with your presence.”

The sarcastic words from your teacher halted your steps mid-stride as all eyes in the room turned to you. You should have been embarassed at the way you’d been caught red-handed trying to slink into the room unoticed. But all you could do was give a hasty “sorry” and retreat to your empty desk in the back. Too bad your teacher wouldn’t let you go without a fight.

“First your brother, and now you? Do I need to make a phone call to your mother?”

Your hands stilled on the zipper of your half-open backpack as your head snapped up in surprised confusion. “My brother?”

The teacher merely raised an eyebrow and gave you a look over the rim of her square specticals. Her mouth was pinched in annoyance, stray wisps of hair escaping the sharp confines of her tight bun. “Yes, your brother. He wasn’t here for homeroom this morning. Any particular reason why?”

“He wasn’t here?” All you could do was pathetically repeat her words like some kind of human sized parrot. But you weren’t paying attention to the snickers from your classmates. No, you were too busy trying to stave off the feeling of dread that sunk low in your stomach.

“Need I repeat myself all day, Ms Jeon?” Your teacher rolled her eyes in exhasperation, though you were sure there must have been some annoyance in there too.

Mind clouding in barely concealed worry, you leaned forward, chest digging into the cold desk. “Jungkook didn’t show up this morning at all?”

Oh yeah, that was definitally annoyance. “Enough of this back-and-forth. Now, either pay attention or go to the principal’s office.”

Your back hit the chair. Maybe Jungkook decided to ditch homeroom? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you tried to ignore the unease that drifted through your veins like poison.

It was loud. A cacaphony of voices belonging to students as they all tried to speak over one another at once. And it was crowded, the room filled with the unmistakable stench of high school cafeteria food.

Plastic luch tray held between your hands, you slipped between lunch tables full of students until you reached the back of the room. It hit the surface of the table along with your backpack as you tossed them down and effectively scared the absolute crap out of Park Jimin. His head snapped up from where he’d been filling out his homework for his next class, startled.

“Y/n?” Your name slipped from his plush pink lips in a voice that you could only call hypnotic. Jimin dropped the pencil in his hand and ran his fingers through his soft blond hair. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen my brother?” You cut straight to the chase and leaned forward to brace yourself on your elbows, lunch forgotton.

It’d been hours and you still hadn’t managed to catch even a single glance of your brother in the hallways. Usually you’d see each other at least three times before lunch. Hawkins High wasn’t a big school after all.

“Jungkook?” Jimin licked his lips and dipped a tater tot in ketchup until it was more tomato than potato. He may as well have just dipped a spoon in.

“No. Santa Clause.” You rolled your eyes and reached out to steal one of his tots, ignoring his ‘hey, you have your own!’ “Yes, Jungkook. You see him?”

Park Jimin looked confused. “No. Should I have?”

Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline as your gaze caught his warm brown eyes. Jimin had been a part of your childhood friend group. And while everyone else had grown apart throughout the years, you, Jimin, and Jungkook stayed together. Even though he was only a few months younger, you still looked at Jimin as another little brother of sorts.

“What do you mean, should you have?” That feeling of dread was back. Not that it’d really gone away in the first place. “You and Jungkook both have photography class in the mornings. Was he there?”

Jimin still looked confused as he ran a hand through his hair once again in a nervous habit that he’d never seemed able to kick. “No. Why? Is he sick or something?”

“You didn’t see him? At all?” You knew you were starting to sound like a broken record, but you couldn’t help it. Something was wrong. You just didn’t know what.

“No?”

He stilled at the sudden serious expression that overtook your face. And Jimin’s brows knit together as he leaned forward across the table. “What’s wrong, Y/n?”

Your mouth opened and closed while you fumbled, not quite sure how to phrase what you were thinking without sounding like you were going crazy. Eyes flickering around at your surroundings, you leaned closer to Jimin and ignored the sweet scent of the cologne you knew he stole from his dad.

“Look...I,” You paused before shaking your head. “I think something’s wrong. Jungkook left late last night and never came back.”

Jimin’s lips parted in surprise. “What--”

“I don’t have time to explain, but I have a really bad feeling, okay?” Voice hushed, you waited until Jimin nodded his head before you leaned back, mind made up. “I’m going to go to the police station and report him as a missing person.”

“Y/n.” Jimin reached out to cover one of your hands on the table. He hesitated for a moment, likely in preparation for what he was about to say. “Maybe he’s just skipping school or something. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

You were shaking your head before he even finished his last sentence. “No, Jimin. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

The sound of your chair scraping across the floor drowned out whatever it was that Jimin said in response. Reaching across the table, you scooped up your backpack and flung it over your shoulder. “Look, I’m going to the cops. Let me know if you see him, okay?”

“Wait, Y/n!” Jimin’s shout followed you all the way out of the cafeteria doors.

“I’ve been waiting here for over an hour, Mr. Hopper.”

Detective Sejin Hopper looked up at you from over the top of the typewriter on his cluttered desk. His dark eyes were narrowed behind the round lenses of his eyeglasses in a way that should have stopped the words from leaving your mouth. But not even the intimidating aura of Hawkins’ lead detective could stop you at that point.

“Couldn’t you, I don’t know.” You were sure that the heels of your converse were wearing a hole into the rug of his office, but you didn’t care. Hand waving through the air, you muttered, “Work a little faster?”

Hopper simply raised his eyebrows at you. The man was tall and bulky and filled the space in his office without even trying. He leaned back in his rolling chair, the springs protesting with age. “Shouldn’t you be in school, kid?”

Your feet foze and you stared down at him incrediously, hands on hips. “My brother is missing!”

With a sigh, Hopped pushed the typewritter aside and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “Look kid, he’s probably just playing hookie--”

“No.” You interrupted with a shake of your head, ignoring the irritation that flashed in his eyes. “He wouldn’t do that without at least telling me first.”

“You never know.” He simply shrugged. “Maybe he got a girlfriend or something and just didn’t want to come clean to his older sister out of embarassment. Happened to me when I was about his age. Then again, I did date my older sister’s best friend, so that may have had something to do with it.”

You threw your hands up in exhasperation. “My brother doesn’t have a girlfriend! He can’t even talk to girls without, like, throwing up!”

“You sure it’s girls he’s into, then? Maybe he got a boyfriend and that’s why he didn’t want to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your jaw was hanging open at the sheer audacity of what just came from Detective Hopper’s mouth. “I know why you’re not taking me seriously right now, but please, I’m not pulling another prank on you this time. My brother is gone and I don’t know what else to do.”

Hopper paused, letting the silence in the room fester for a moment before he let out a deep, bone weary sigh. “What about your dad?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question that had absolutely nothing to do with the situation. “What about him?”

His voice softened from the harsh way he’d been speaking to you before. “Listen kid, ninety-nine percent of the time if a kid from a divorced home goes missing, they’re with their other parent.”

A scoff left you before you could think to stop it. “Jungkook hates our dad. There’s no way he would just up and leave in the middle of the night and travel to another state to see him. That doesn’t even make sense!”

Hopper opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “What about the other one percent?”

“The what?”

“You said ninety-nine percent. What about the other one percent?”

“Kid.” Hopper leaned forward against his desk once more, making sure to hold your wide-eyed stare with his serious one. “This is Hawkins. Do you know how many years I’ve been working here? Do you want to know the worst thing that’s ever happened? It was when an owl attacked Jackson Wang’s head, because it thought his hair was a nest.”

You pressed the tip of your tongue against the inside of your cheek in pure rage. Bending down, you scopped up your backpack that you’d abandoned on the floor and threw it over your shoulder. “You know what? I’ll find him myself. Thanks for all your help, Detective.”

He tried calling out to you, but you ignored him in favor of slamming the door to his office hard enough to rattle the stupid action figurines on the shelf perched above his head.

It was dusk by the time you made it to the treehouse.

If you were being honest with yourself, you were getting desperate because you knew for certain that Jungkook hadn’t been there in years. In fact, neither had you. But you’d searched everywhere, had gone to every single one of your brother’s usual haunts. And you’d tried to call your aunt, but the number listed for her landline was out of service. Typical. You’d even stopped by your house every hour just to check in case he’d decided to finally show his face.

But he hadn’t.

And now you were forced to do the one thing that you’d sworn you’d never do again.

Staring up at the treehouse high up in the branches, your eyes narrowed on the light shining through the window facing towards you. Which would have been suspicious enough if it weren’t for the trap door on the bottom of the structure hanging wide open. The only people who knew about the treehouse were you, your brother, and the rest of your abandoned friend group. And you didn’t think that any of them would bother going back to it.

Except maybe Jimin, but you knew he always hated going to the treehouse by himself. “It’s creepy out there.” He’d say. “You wouldn’t catch me dead out there by myself.”

It was quiet in the middle of the woods. Too quiet.

The only sound came from the leaves crunching underfoot as you trudged up to the ladder broken off halfway down the tree. You eyed it, bottom lip caught in your teeth as you tried to strategize how to best reach it. Until finally, with a sigh, you grabbed onto the lowest tree branch and started to climb.

You hated heights. Always had and always would. And as your shoes dug into the rungs of the ladder, you tried your best not to let the sense of vertigo overtake you.

“Hello?” You shouted into the open hatch, not quite confident enough in it being empty to go through it yet. But when all you got in return was silence, you lifted yourself up the rest of the way and climbed inside.

It was exactly as you remembered. Just with more dust.

Every single surface, from the half-rotten stools to the wooden box that’d been used as a makeshift table, to the faded pictures and posters tacked onto the walls, were covered in layers of dust. A wave of nostalgia hit you in a way that you were completely unprepared for. It’d been a while.

The sound of your shoes tapping on the floor reached your ears as you made your way over to a partially opened box in the far corner. It was buried underneath what was once a white sheet, but was now grey with age and dirt. Dust spread into the air as you ripped it off and your hands came up to shield your nose from the onslaught.

Dropping to the floor, you ignored the cold press of wood on your exposed kneecaps. Luckily it was still spring, so you didn’t have to worry about the cold weather just yet. But the opened tabs of the cardboard box was cold to the touch.

Inside, you dug through all of the items that’d been abandoned, untouched by time, until you reached what lay at the bottom. With careful hands, you extracted a heavy, black and grey hand radio and cradled it between your fingers. You wiped off the dirt with the bottom of your shirt, lips pulled up into a small, wistful smile.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. I wonder if you still work.” Taking a deep breath, you let your thumb hover over the “on” switch. You hadn’t used it in years. Not since you’d dropped it into the box that fateful day, never to be seen again.

“Now’s not the time to reminisce, Y/n.” You shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the memories that threatened to drown you in nostalgia. A shaky exhale, and then you pressed the button.

It took a moment too long in which you lost hope, before the radio sputtered to life with static. The “on” light lit up a bright red and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Luckily, the settings were still set to exactly where they’d been before. Although it wasn’t like you didn’t still have them memorized.

“Okay.” You murmured, voice trembling. Not because you were afraid per se, but because you didn’t even know if they’d answer. You fingers pressed the “talk” button and held it down.

“Guys?” Hesitating, you cleared your throat before speaking again. “I don’t know if you’re listening. Or if you even still have one of these things. But um...I hope you do. Because I’m calling a code red.”

You paused. “I need you. Wherever you are.”

The silence inside the treehouse was stifling. And the sun had long gone down, leaving you to sit under the light of a single lightbulb.

You didn’t know why you were still there. Still waiting despite the numerous hours that’d passed you by. Maybe it was a sliver of hope that you dared to hold on to that kept you rooted to the floor, cross-legged and leaning back against one of the walls. Whatever it was, you were running out of time.

To find your brother, to figure out what the hell was going on, to formulate a plan. But, you supposed, there was no better way to brainstorm than being left on your own for hours on end. Which was why your backpack lay open, discarded somewhere beside you as your attention lay focused on the papers scattered across the floor.

Jungkook had left your house at appoximately 11:26 PM. It would take him about fifteen minutes to bike his way down to the store. Add in another five or so minutes to purchase snacks and exit the store. And then another fifteen minutes to bike home.

That left a window of thirty-five minutes total for him to go missing. Which meant that he had to have dissappeared somewhere between 11:26 PM and 12:01 AM.

You’d already paid the convinience store a visit earlier in the afternoon, only to have them inform you that the person who’d been on shift last night was on vacation. And they’d refused to give out the phone number of where their employee was staying. Typical. Convienent.

Suspect.

There was--

The sound of voices hit your eardums and you paused with your pencil hovered above a sheet of paper. Leaning forward in a useless attempt at hearing better, your ears strained to listen over the noise of crickets.

“--knows.”

You knew that voice. Would recognize it even though it’d been years since you last held a conversation. Your bare legs scratched against the floor as you scrambled to your feet, hands already brushing the back of your shorts to rid yourself of any possible dirt. The voices were getting louder. As well as the accompanying footsteps

“--be good.” That was definitely Namjoon’s raspy voice. “Had to ditch practice for this.”

“I’m sure it is.” Hoseok’s low vocal fry.

“How the hell are we supposed to get up there?” Yoongi’s deep, lazy drawl.

The pencil fell from your hand at the sound of someone scrambling up the treehouse ladder. You’d closed the door not too long after entering, though you’d made sure to keep it unlatched just in case.

“Can I get a leg up?” Jimin.

“Aren’t you supposed to grow taller as you age?” Seokjin’s windshield wiper laugh. God, it’d been so long since you’d heard it. “Or have you not been drinking your milk?”

You could hear Jimin scoff through the floorboards. “I’m lactose intollerant. You know this.”

Before you could make a sound, the trapdoor swung upwards and in popped a familiar head of red hair. Golden skin and cherub cheekbones: Hoseok. He jerked a little in surprise at seeing you standing there, but then the tiny dimples between the corner of his lips and the edge of his cheeks came out of hiding with a smile.

“Hey, Y/n.” He greeted you casually, like you’d seen each other less than an hour ago. Like he hadn’t abandoned the rest of you the second he landed a spot on the school dance team. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” Namjoon’s voice interrupted before you could speak past the lump in your throat. “Now move before I fall down this stupid thing.”

“Sorry.” With a chuckle, Hoseok climbed the rest of the way inside, followed by the even brighter red hair of Namjoon. You would have thought they’d planned having the same colored hair, but based on the sheer fact that they hadn’t hung out in years, it was an accident.

“Y/n.” Namjoon jerked his head in a stiff nod.

As he emerged from the door, you noticed that he was wearing Hawkins High’s varsity football uniform. Like he’d rushed right over from practice. While he both acted and dressed differently than what he used to, Namjoon was still all deep dimples and plump lips and intelligent eyes.

Not all things were possible to change, afterall.

“Namjoon.” You crossed your arms across your chest and flashed Hoseok a quick, closed mouth smile. “Hoseok.”

Next to pop their way into the treehouse was Jimin, who stepped to your side with arms already outstretched to envelop you a hug of greeting. His familiar scent washed over you and you felt your tense muscles relax just a little. “Any luck?”

Jimin pulled back at the shake of your head to shoot you a sad smile. “We’ll find him, I’m sure.”

“Find who?”

Your head shot up as Seokjin entered with Yoongi trailing close behind. The eldest stood tall, his broad shoulders taking up more space than they used to. Seokjin wasn’t even in high school anymore. He’d graduated just last year, but still stayed in Hawkins to attend the community college in the next town over. Most likely so he could help take care of his mother since he his father died a few years back.

A flash of blue caught your attention when Yoongi stepped out from behind the taller man. His once blond locks had been dyed a vibrant shade of cotton candy blue. And you would have raised an eyebrow at him if it weren’t for the sheer fact that Yoongi was known for not giving a shit about other people’s opinions.

You’d been close once. So close that you used to know every single detail about his life. From the way he dreamed about moving to New York City to study music. Or that he hated pineapple on pizza. Or that he used to harbor the biggest crush on Hoseok.

But now he was a stranger.

They all were.

Except Jimin, but that was beside the point.

“Why are we here?” Namjoon spoke up over the tense silence lingering in the air. The treehouse was cramped now, filled to the brim with bodies that once used to fit together so easily.

Seokjin nodded slowly, eyes finding yours as he brushed a strand of dark hair off of his tanned forehead. “Good question.”

All attention was on you and you almost wilted under their heavy stares. “I’m surprised you came, to be honest.”

Yoongi shifted in place, a look of something that you weren’t quite quick enough to catch flashing in his feline-like eyes. With hands stuffed into the front pouch of his hoodie, he sucked in air through his teeth in a habit that used to bring you comfort. “You called a code red.”

You had to actively stop the corners of your mouth from twitching up into a smile. “Yeah, I did. Still surprised that you even heard the call though.”

“Namjoon was the only one who did, actually.” Jimin nodded his head at a now uncomfortable looking football player. “He came and grabbed the rest of us. That’s why we took so long to get here.”

Namjoon just shrugged one shoulder casually, like it was no big deal. “Mom was making me go through all of my old stuff before practice. So it was pure luck that I happened to be doing it at the same time you radioed in.”

“Convienent.” Hoseok raised an eyebrow at the other artificial redhead, who just gave another shrug in response.

“We’re getting away from the point here.” Seokjin took control of the conversation. “Why are we here?”

A pause filled the small space as everyone turned to you yet again. Jimin’s body heat sinking into your side from where he stood right beside you filled you with a confidence that you wouldn’t normally possess.

“Jungkook is missing.”

“Missing.” Yoongi stated, head tilting to the side and hair shifting to expose the pale skin of his forehead.

You nodded. “Yes. Missing.”

From his place standing across from you, Namjoon crossed his arms. “Explain.”

“Well, he left late last night to get some snacks at around 11:26.” Your tongue wet your lips as you mentally prepared for them to call you crazy. “And never came back.”

“Did you go to the police?” The question came from Seokjin as he knit his brows with what looked like worry, but you couldn’t be too sure. He was good at acting, afterall.

“I tried.” You fidgeted nervously with the necklace dangling from your neck, fingers twisting it to-and-fro anxiously.

Jimin’s hand came up to rest on your shoulder comfortingly. “And?”

All you could do was scoff. “Detective Hopper basically told me to fuck off.”

Out of the corner of your eye, every single eyebrow raised to the ceiling. A huff of laughter passed Hoseok’s lips. “She cusses now. You guys hear that?”

You sent him the nastiest glare you could muster and watched as his eyes widened in surprise. “You’d know that if you cared enough to stick around.”

Hoseok’s flinch was impossible to go unnoticed. But you didn’t care if he was hurt by your comment because there were more important matters at hand.

“So you need our help to look for him?” Yoongi’s voice softened around the hard edge he normally carried. And at your nod, his hand lifted to finger one of his pierced earlobes in thought. “What about your mom?”

“On vacation in Florida and I have no way to reach her.” You sighed. “The phone number she left us was a dud.”

Namjoon hummed, lips pursed as he racked his brain. “Well maybe if we--”

Crack!

All seven of you jumped at the loud echo of a tree branch snapping.

“What was that?” Hoseok’s voice was hushed as he took an unconsious step closer towards the center of the circle.

“An animal?” Jimin was equally as quiet. “It could have--”

Crack!

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think that’s an animal.”

Your own eyes widened at the statement. “Jungkook!”

“Wait, Y/n. It might not be him.” Seokjin’s warning went unheard as you rushed to the still open hatch.

“Or it could be.”

The protests from all six men followed you down the ladder and all the way to the ground. Though they weren’t too far behind you. You turned on your heel to search the darkness around you, looking for Jungkook’s long black hair. Or his tall frame. Or his wide shoulders. Anything.

A hand clamping down on your shoulder tore a scream of surprise from your throat. Your head snapped around to greet the sharp jawline of Hoseok’s profile. His narrowed eyes were fixed past you on something that you couldn’t see. “What is that?”

You turned to look at what he was pointing at, everyone else stepping closer to do the same. At first you didn’t see it, couldn’t make out anything at all. Until, there! A flash of silver caught your eye.

“Hello?” Seokjin’s obnoxiously loud voice boomed across the tiny clearing and echoed far bayond the treeline.

“Don’t call it over here, idiot!” Hoseok hissed through his teeth, fingers unconsiously tightening their hold on your shoulder.

But his warning came too late. Because whetever was out there hidden in the darkness of the trees came closer. And if you strained your ears, you could just barely make out the sound of footfalls brushing against the grass.

“What the…” Jimin’s voice came from your other side, but you were too busy focused on whatever that thing was to care. “Wait…I think that’s a person.”

A beam of light flashed from Namjoon’s hand, temporarily startling everyone at the sudden appearance of a flashlight. At least he’d been smart enough to grab it. And shine it right in the eyes of the being that emerged from the shadows like a wraith. Hoseok’s high-pitched scream threatened to deafen you, but you couldn’t look away.

Because standing on the other side of the clearing was a boy, a stranger. Everyone knew everyone in Hawkins and you would have remembered seeing him around. Never would you have forgotten a face that breathtakingly beautiful. With golden skin and large brown eyes, he stared at the seven of you like he’d never seen another human being before.

Wavy silver hair framed his face, and his lips--the top a perfect cupid’s bow--were slightly parted in something that you couldn’t discern. But it wasn’t just his entrancing face or slim build that caught your attention. No, it was the dried blood stained on the front of his sunshine yellow, oversized dirty t-shirt.

“Who the hell are you?”

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #bts fic #jungkook #jungkook fic #taehyung #taehyung fic #jimin #jimin fic #namjoon #namjoon fic #hoseok #hoseok fic #yoongi #yoongi fic #seokjin #seokjin fic #ficswithluv

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virmillion · 5 years

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Logan hisses gently as he pulls the bowl of popcorn from the microwave, setting it on the counter as fast as he can manage to shake the burning feeling from his fingers. “Popcorn’s done!”

“Great, now come pick a stupid show already, so I don’t feel like I’ve wasted my Friday,” Virgil calls back. Remembering to check his pride this time, Logan scoops up the bowl with two objectively safer napkins and peers around the corner of the kitchen wall.

Virgil’s head just barely peeks over the top of the couch, a tuft of pale purple hair sticking out opposite the rest. Beyond him is a daunting list of movies and shows scrolling beneath the Netflix logo. A fifteen second trailer loops for the movie Wreck-It Ralph, but Virgil stubbornly refuses to press play. The tuft of hair vanishes as Virgil leans forward and clears off a space on the table for the popcorn bowl.

“Careful, ’s hot,” Logan warns, dropping the bowl on the open spot.

“Noted.” Virgil, after acknowledging Logan’s words (which really ought to be heeded), proceeds to completely ignore them in favor of grabbing more than a fair fistful and popping the whole mess in his mouth. “Ha her he hah king?”

“You want to run that by me one more time?”

Virgil swallows around the lump of butter and grain with a grimace. “What’re we watching?”

“Great question. No more scary movies, you’re cut off from those, but that’s about our only parameter.”

“Puh- leez, it’s not my fault you couldn’t get to sleep last week. You’re the one that kept me up with nervous texts, ’member? I would’ve expected you to be grown up enough to survive watching Nightmare on Elm Street . Guess I was wrong, if laser tag was anything to go off of.”

“Laser tag was barely two months ago, and already you’re having delusions about my lacking bravery?”

“Hey, hey, you’re the astronaut in training here. I’m not the one with explicit and express intent to fly a hundred hours of pilot-in-command aircrafts before I turn twenty-seven.”

“A thousand hours, or three years of related professional experience. And if I want to break any records, it has to be before I’m twenty-six. Try to pay more attention when I lecture you about my internship next time.”

“I have to endure a next time?”

Logan shoots Virgil a pointed look, the effect of which is lost to the popcorn kernel lodged between his right molars. He prods at it with his tongue.

“In my defense,” Virgil continues, “this is pretty much the longest a relationship of mine has ever lasted.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Logan isn’t quite sure where all this bravado came from, but it’s doing wonders for keeping his voice even, so he won’t jinx it by digging deeper right now.

“It’s faster to say ‘relationship’ than ‘that dorky guy who hangs out at my apartment every Friday night to make fun of movies because we have nothing better to do as self-respecting adults,’ but I’ll gladly switch to that absurd and overly expository title if you prefer.”

A pout tries to crawl onto Logan’s face, which he promptly ignores. “Point taken. Did you pick a movie yet, or are you just that obsessed with watching a pixelated handyman smile on your television screen?”

“Neither. There’s no good bad movies left on here, so at this point, we’re better off watching something one of us has already seen—”

“Out of the question.”

“—watching nothing—”

“No thank you.”

“—or binging a series show.”

This gives Logan a moment’s pause. “That could work.”

“Right, because watching half an hour of an unending show every week without fail is how I want to spend my next three years’ worth of Fridays.”

“Well, why not?”

“What would we even watch? There’s, like, no serializations that normal people haven’t seen. Everybody’s watched The Office —”

“I haven’t.”

“— Brooklyn 99 —”

“I haven’t.”

“—and Parks and Rec .”

“I haven’t.”

Virgil slams the remote gown on the couch and gapes at Logan. “You haven’t seen Parks and Rec? ”

“Have you even been listening to a single word out of my mouth?”

“You are an absolute monster. You disgust me. We’re through, no more movie nights. I can’t hang out with someone whose true colors are so monochromatic.” Logan is not entirely certain whether Virgil is kidding at this point. “I’m kidding.” Logan is not entirely certain whether Virgil is about to add the caveat ‘mostly’ to that statement.

After an uncomfortably long silence wherein Logan looks absolutely anywhere that isn’t Virgil, the speakers proudly announce the sound of Leslie Knope introducing herself to a small child playing in a sandbox. “This isn’t very funny,” Logan murmurs. “I mean, what child would say they were having a moderate amount of fun and somewhat enjoying themselves to a stranger? I suppose I might if prompted, but still.”

“Shut up ,” Virgil hisses, “this part is hilarious, stop talking. ”

“Ha ha,” Logan says dryly. “I love watching drunks hide in swirly slides. Ha.”

“Shut up. ” This command is accompanied by Virgil swatting at Logan’s shoulder.”

“Well, hey, can’t we skip the theme song?” Logan is almost hoping he’ll say no, just so these movie nights can be that much longer. Series show nights, now.

“Nope, out of the question. Skipping the intro is cheating and an act of cowardice to the nth degree. Be quiet and enjoy the upbeat music.”

A few weeks later, Logan finds himself enjoying watching the theme song. Maybe it has something to do with how they’re sharing one bowl of popcorn, their fingers brushing against each other every so often, rather than Virgil hogging the whole thing for himself. Maybe it’s how their knuckles linger when they reach in at the same time, neither pulling away instantly, but neither vocalizing what’s happening. Maybe it’s how, when Virgil is distracted by people assuming Leslie is dating Ann, he absently lets their fingers link together loosely, too intentional to be a thoughtless mistake. When the scene shifts to some guy named Anthony waving, they both yank their hands away from each other. Logan swears he can feel his nerve endings burning.

Upon the premiere of season two, the distance between them has closed ever so slightly. Rather than being at opposite ends of a three cushion couch, Virgil leans on one armrest and Logan arranges himself on the next cushion over. And if Logan’s fingers wander over to Virgil’s when Leslie marries the two gay penguins (despite the popcorn being well out of reach on the table), and if they hold on long after the credits for the episode have passed, well, that’s nobody’s business but their own, isn’t it?

When the Galentine’s day episode rolls around, Logan has abandoned all pretenses of slowly inching closer, instead taking Virgil’s hand as soon as they’re both seated with their respective mugs. Both cheap water steepings from a broken keurig, of course, but at least they’re enjoying them together. Well, enduring, enjoying, same difference.

“Hey, that’s what you said the first time we went to the museum together!” Logan exclaims, watching the sweater swap moment between April and Andy. Okay, so he doesn’t really exclaim it, per se, so much as say it suddenly and without warning—it’d be rather difficult to literally exclaim it, what with his head resting heavy on Virgil’s shoulder and all.

“Oh, right, on our first date, you mean?”

“Our first what?”

For those of you keeping track at home, yes, Logan has managed to go about six months without realizing that their first date was, in fact, a date.

By the time Chris asks Tom and Jerry to come up with a new logo for the department, Logan is literally sitting in Virgil’s lap with an arm slung around his shoulders. You might liken the position to that of a koala, but then again, Logan didn’t ask you. Full disclosure, they started watching more than one episode a week somewhere along the line, but this was spurred in some part by the need for background noise while they packed everything Virgil owned into a small mountain of cardboard boxes.

“Something to celebrate the occasion?” Logan asks tentatively, holding up a bottle of champagne. This kitchen certainly looks much nicer than the last one, but the leniency of adding paint to these walls was a buffer Logan had sorely missed at Virgil’s old place.

“If you want,” Virgil replies, craning his head over the back of the couch. “But you’re paying damages if you spill it all over my clean floors.”

“Well, duh, I’m paying half the rent, of course I’d fund repairs.” Logan holds back what more he wants to mention, still wary of the sore spot surrounding Virgil’s careers.

“In that case, plop your butt down on the couch we need to replace—speaking of which, we need to figure out a day to descend on IKEA for some upgrades.” Virgil pats his lap and gestures toward the screen—longer and thinner, purchased with some of the funds they’d pooled from their respective savings when picking a place together. “Now, c’mon, we’re about to see the squad go to London. I know you’re all about the architecture over there, aren’t you?”

“As if you even need to ask.” Logan grins, plopping himself down on top of Virgil and whistling along with the theme song.

Living together, unsurprisingly, does wonders for powering through the last couple seasons at a much more efficient pace. In what seems like the blink of an eye, Logan is watching the futures of the main squad playing out as they do one last project, and it’s not a stretch to say he’s holding back tears. As the credits fade to black and The Office pops up as a recommendation to watch next, Logan lifts a hand to his cheek and is baffled to find it come away wet.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Virgil murmurs, slipping an arm around Logan’s back and rubbing circles on his arm. “This is the worst part, I know. You’ve never been this attached to fictional characters before, huh?” Logan hiccoughs. “Yeah, I got you, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Between shuddering breaths that aren’t quite laughs, Logan manages to get out, “It’s like the end of an era. I don’t know, I mean, it’s really over.”

“Oh, I know, sweetie,” Virgil mumbles, pressing his lips against Logan’s hair. “It just means moving on, and I’ll be here for you through it all.” Slowly but surely, Logan’s hiccoughs turn into giggles as the ridiculousness of the situation dawns on him. Why should he be getting so emotional over the end of some tv show? He literally went into this knowing the series would have a finale. He says as much to Virgil.

“True, but we sank a couple years into this tradition. You’re allowed to mourn a tradition, even if you think it’s silly. There’s no rules for what you can or can’t grieve, and even if you lie to yourself enough to believe there are, I’ll be here to help you through it.”

“First off, you can’t spell believe without ‘lie,’ and second, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, hon. What would you get out of dealing with nonsense emotions?”

“Besides knowing I get to wake up every morning to see your face?” Virgil pretends to ponder this for a moment, only breaking into a grin when Logan elbows him in the side—not intentionally, mind you. It’s more of an effort to bury his nose in Virgil’s neck, but unfortunately for Logan, Virgil is ticklish right around there. He laughs loudly and announces, “I want the moon.”

“The moon?”

“The moon, spaceman.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll bring you the moon. Is that all?”

“One more thing.”

“One more thing besides the moon, you mean?”

“Well, yeah, you have to know how much the moon costs.”

“How much does the moon cost?”

“The stars.”

“The stars?”

“It’ll cost you the stars.”

Logan shakes his head and smiles, wrapping Virgil in a tight hug and drying his eyes against his boyfriend’s sleeve. His words are no doubt muffled, near unintelligible, but he’s sure Virgil can make it out well enough. “Okay, love. I’ll bring you the moon.”

#labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm

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elles-choices · 6 years

Text

As Long As You Are With Me… (Mr. Sinclaire x MC)

A/N: The last chapter of Desire and Decorum threw me into a blue funk. I don’t think the ending of a book has ever upset me this much... a feeling I believe many can relate. For days I wasn’t able to write anything, even editing my last post took me ages. Looking for a way to cope with that ending, with a glas of wine in my hand and “Consequences” by Camila Cabello on a loop, I wrote this story.

Summary: Clara cannot bare the thought of marrying Duke Richards. Her heart aches for what was done to her and Mr. Sinclaire. Looking for a last moment with him, she leaves her home and everything behind. Will they find a way back to each other?

Pairing: Mr. Sincaire x MC (Clara)

Words: about 2350

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Choices by Pixel Berry

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Clara sits on a bench in the gardens of Mr. Sinclaire’s townhouse. She looks at the back of his London home, every and each light is turned off — she has spent the last 30 minutes knocking desperately at his door, however, there was no answer to her pray. ‚He is not home‘, she thinks ‚Or maybe he just do not want to see me‘. She would never blame him for that, if this was to be the truth. Yes… she was as much as a victim of Duke Richard’s dirty game as Sinclaire’s. However, she was sympathetic to his pain. The Duke had taken everything from him — first, his wife and now the love of his life… ‚how could I blame him for hating me?‘, she thought.

She lays down on that same bench, holding a letter to her heart. Crying without making a sound, as if the vacuum left in her heart would stop it. She thinks about everything that has gone down that night. So many questions in her mind — how could her grandmother do this to her? How could the gentry not hear she shouting at the top of her lungs that she has never agreed to such commitment? Now, none of this matters. She had felt Sinclaire’s love and passion for her that night, and at the same night she had lost him… now she is engaged to that horrible devil and it is all because of her…

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She opens her eyes slowing, trying to make sense of the world around her. Clara looks across the room and recognises a painting on a cabinet — her father gave it to her a few days upon her arrival in Edgewater, it shows a beautiful scenery and the church on a hill, where he married her mother. After his death, she promised herself to keep it by her side as a reminder that they are always with her. Realising that she is in her bedroom, she tries to get up, however, a familiar voice stops her „Pray, do not! You have fainted of excitement, my dear granddaughter. Your fiancé brought us home, he could not stay though — we do not want the gossipmongers talking about his presence in this house so late at the night“.

„Mr. Sinclaire was here?“, Clara looks at her grandmother confused, suppressing every small remembrance of her betrothal to the Duke.

The Dowager Countess frowns „Do not be silly, Clara! I am talking about Duke Richards, the man you are going to marry!“, she stands up - her head still spinning and she feels her grandmother reaching for her hand „Listen, I know that there was something going on between you and Mr. Sinclaire, however, this ends now. Have I made myself clear?“.

Clara stares at the Dowager Countess, her voice is calm but her eyes express her anger „Forget it, Lady Grandmother! I am most definitely not going to marry that man!“, she turns her back to the old woman and reaches for her bag resting on the cabinet. She opens it and sees Mr. Sinclaire’s pocket watch — she knows, she has to leave this house.

As she starts packing a few changes of clothes in a dress bag, she hears her grandmother „What are you talking about? And how dare you talk to your grandmother like that? Where are your manners, young lady?“, the Dowager Countess shouts at her furiously.

„My manners?“, Clara asks angrily, „My manners I left on the floor of the Duke’s ballroom, where you destroyed my life and every chance of happiness I have ever had, Lady Grandmother!“, she shouts back „Do you want me to marry that man? The same man that tried to assault me sexually in front of this very house? Right out there, in front of the stables on the day I got news that my father was dying…?“, the Dowager Countess looks at her confused by her words „and do you know who came to my rescue? Mr. Sinclaire… if he had not found me, I…“, she pauses overwhelmed with the memory of that day „I love him and there is nothing you can do to stop me from doing so… there is nothing you can do to make me marry that scum either! If I am not marrying Ernest, I will never get married“, she closes her eyes trying to control her rage.

The Dowager Countess tries to hold her hands, however, Clara steps back „Child, what kind of non sense are you talking about?“, her voice softens.

„I am not lying, nor is it a funny tale. This is the truth… the cruel and unbearable truth… that man threatened to destroy my reputation, sharing information of things that have never happened between us — bastards are hot-blooded he said, no one would believe my words agains his. And you, grandmother, sold me out for his title“, Clara packs a few of her jewelleries and the painting in her bag and sits at a small desk in her room, writing a few lines on a paper whilst saying: „I renounce Edgewater and every title and privileges attached to its possession. My father told me in his death bed that he would never want me to marry for convenience, that I should have the happy life and love he was denied. My happiness is with Mr. Sinclaire. If you want to marry me to that monster, you may as well kill me right now — and if you do not understand that, understand this, I am not yours to give“, before her grandmother can respond, she stands up and leaves the room running for her life. All she had in mind was Mr. Sinclaire.

-------------------

Clara brushes away her tears and stands up. The sun is coming out and she knew, she had to leave London as fast as she could. She folds her letter and places Mr. Sinclaire’s pocket watch in it.

She makes her way to his front yard, placing the letter at his door steps. She could not shake the feeling that this was Good-Bye — she may never see him again and maybe it was for the best. She walks a few steps and glances shortly at his townhouse, leaving her dreams of a happy life with him behind.

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Mr. Sinclaire was broken inside. He could not believe that once again that man had managed to hurt him… this time much worse than the time with Roselyn. He had no more tears to cry — he had to see the woman he loved getting engaged to that rascal in his mother’s dress, holding his fathers pocket watch. He knew Clara had nothing to do with what happened, however, from now on she would be unreachable for him — the Duke will make sure of it. He spent the night walking through the streets of London, trying to think straight… trying to forget that night. Heading to bed was not an option as he would not be able to sleep.

On his way home, he sees a figure leaving his townhouse — it is her! She heads to the opposite direction and he considers running after her, however, he knows he should let her go ‚why prolonging something that is hopeless?‘, he thinks. Heading to the door, he sees something on the floor. He opens the letter, finding his father’s pocket watch in it — he closes his eyes in excruciating pain. ‚If only I had proposed to her a week earlier…‘, he thinks. ‚If I was not so afraid of my feeling for her. This would never have happened‘, he sits on the floor and reads her words.

To the man I will forever love,

I am deeply sorry for breaking your heart. Be assured that I had nothing to do with what happened — my Grandmother conspired with Duke Richards against me… against us. I hope you do not hate me, however, I would not blame you if you did.

I want you to know, I am not going to marry him. I renounced Edgewater tonight, my father’s last wishes was for me to be happy… happy with you, Ernest. My love for you is pure and runs deep and I could never endure seeing you and not having you by my side… I would rather die than marry him.

I want you to know that I am leaving England in the morning. I know if I stayed, Duke Richards would not cease his attempts to hurt you through me and I could never allow that. My mother was French, I learned the language from a young age and it will help me to get by in France. I am planing on riding to Dover and taking a ship to Calais — from there I will head south to Paris. I will look for a job in the city, maybe work as a tutor, teaching children the English language.

Pray, do not worry about me. I had to see you, I had to give your pocket watch back. Although it hurts right now, I know one day you will find someone that will love you as much as I do… do not close your heart to her, allow yourself to be loved because you are a great man and you deserve all the good things, my Ernest. I wish, I could be her... I wish I could give you what you deserve, however, I will be happy knowing you have found happiness.

I love you and I always will!

Forever yours,

Clara

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Clara stops a few houses away, leaning against the gates of another property. Her head is spinning again — she has not eaten since leaving Edgewater. She falls to the floor feeling her life leaving her slowly as she tries to hold on, however, there is nothing to look for anymore.

Suddenly she feels hands picking her up. She opens her eyes and sees him, Mr. Sinclaire: „What are you doing? I have to go“, her voice is weak, she looks pale in her face.

„You are not going anywhere, Clara“, holding her close, he takes her back to his townhouse. Putting her down only on the couch in the parlour. „What were you thinking leaving like this? Why have you not waited for me?“, she hears his worry in his voice „Do you know what could have happened if another man had found you in a state you cannot defend yourself?“, he asks.

„Do you think I care?“, she starts to cry again.

„You clearly do not“, his voice softens as he walks over to her „However, I do!“. He caresses her cheeks „I found your letter…“. She looks into his eyes and feels his pain.

Clara brushes her tears away, she knows if she stay a minute longer, she will not be able to leave him „I have to go now, Ernest. I have to leave before my grandmother sends a search party for me“, she stands up ready to departure when he grabs her hand, looking down.

„You know that I cannot let you go… not now… not ever“, he whispers. He moves his head up, looking at her. It is taking him everything to not fall apart.

„We know he will never let you have me. I have to leave and you have to let me go…“, Mr. Sinclaire stands up and faces her, cupping her cheeks.

„There has to be another way. The journey to France is too dangerous for a young Lady to go alone… so many things could happen and I would not be there to protect you. I could not live with myself if something happened to you“, he rests his forehead on hers and she smells his musky scent, wishing she could stay like this forever. „Marry me…“, she hears these words and looks at him confused.

„You know my grandmother would never agree…“, before she ends her sentence, he says:

„Marry me, Clara. Today… let’s elope just like your parents did. Once we are married they will never be able to part us… pray, marry… me…“, he close his eyes as tears run down his face. He tries to hold on to his last hope of keeping her, almost begging her to stay.

Clara lowers her head shaking it continuously. „I cannot… He will try to destroy you… he will come for you and he will not rest until he has taken everything you have. I can never let it happen!“, it pains her to say it.

„He already tried, twice and I am still here, however if you go… only if you leave, he will achieve his goal. I am not afraid of him, he cannot touch me and once you are my wife, he will not be able to touch you either. I do not care if he destroys my reputation… as long as you are with me, as long as we are together“, Mr. Sinclaire raises her chin, so her eyes meet his and slowly he closes the distance between their lips, stopping a few inches away „Marry me, Clara for I love you… I cannot lose you again…“.

She holds him tight, crying touched by his love for her. They did not deserve this… two hearts aching, being set apart by power games. „Yes, I will marry you for I love you too“, she whispers. His lips find hers in a passionate kiss and for the first time since the Duke’s ball, he feels like he can finally breath. All the pain he had felt that night starts to dissipate as his hands roam her body trying to make sure that he is not dreaming. His lips longing for hers as the drowing man longs for air.

He knows she is right, the Duke will try as hard as he can to get back at him, however, he could not care less — for Clara was all he cared about. She lays her head on his chest and he holds her tight. He will never give her up, he will never let her go and no one will stand in the way of their happiness — Mr. Sinclaire will make sure of it.

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Tag List D&D: Would You Like To Be Tagged On My Desire & Decorum Fanfics?

Tag List D&D

@gardeningourmet @the-writerly-night-owl @aclockworkapricot @distinguishedsaladoperawinner

@hopefulmoonobject @catlady0911 @classychoicesaworld @weaving-in-words

@give-me-ernest-sinclaire @unenchantedbutterflysword @mindlesschicca

@hellospunkiebrewster @magnificentbananacalzonellama @claramillstakenalready

@ety151 @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @fanfictionrecommendations-com

@snickette @3pawandme @drakewalkerfantasy @indiacater

@melodyofgraves @a-new-hope-van-dyne @llamasgrl @andromedasinclaire

@endlessly-searching-for-you @choicesyouplayandmore @alittlebitbethany @naffeesaa @marrieumpty @shmupster

#playchoices #d&d #mr sinclaire #mr sinclaire x mc #ernest sinclaire #ernest x mc #fanfic #fanfiction #desire & decorum #desire and decorum #lovestory

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amuletrebel · 6 years

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The Boyfriend Phenomenon

The Boyfriend Phenomenon states when a girl starts dating a boy who emphasizes all the best and attractive qualities about her, other males start to take notice of her attractiveness as well.

When Marinette hurried her way to school, the last thing she expected to see was Luka Couffaine himself. He was leaning against the wall right next to the doors with his eyes closed, seemingly meditating. Marinette couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped her. The second time they met was much like the first. But when she saw those teal eyes open and focus on her, her heart immediately did summersaults.

“Hey Marinette,” the guitarist greeted her with a boyish smile.

The young designer blushed and shifted on one foot. “H-h-hey Luka! How’s day going? I-I mean how hanging? No, I mean! …Hi.”

Luka smiled and chuckled softly. “Funny as always.” Marinette’s blush darkened with the compliment. “So listen, I got these tickets to the next Jagged Stone concert happening at the Eiffel Tower this Saturday.” He dipped his hand into the back pocket of his ripped jeans and pulled out two tickets, each decorated with the Rock Giant Logo on them. “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me? Like a date?”

In that moment all the blood rushed to Marinette’s face that she was worried all the pressure would make her head pop. But she quickly shook herself out of her shock in fear that her silence would be taken as a rejection. The blunette rapidly nodded her head—she tried to play it down some so she wouldn’t look like a bobblehead—and took one of the tickets. “Y-yeah! Amazing that sound! I m-mean, that sounds amazing! I’d love to do you! GO! I’d love to go with you!”

“Awesome, so it’s a date,” Luka romantically said, taking Marinette’s delicate hand and pulling it up to his lips and then placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “I’ll come by your house around 6. Sound good?”

“Sounds great…” Marinette dreamily replied, the soft pink on her cheeks still present.

“See you then,” the blue-haired boy said and walked away, giving what Marinette could swear was a smoldering gaze before disappearing from sight.

Marinette smiled softly down at the ticket and held it to her chest for a moment. Then she put in it her pocket and sped off to class. Meanwhile, neither of them noticed the young blonde not too far away from the scene. He was scratching at his chest like there was an itch he couldn’t get rid of or a pain he couldn’t soothe.

Marinette nervously played with her pigtails when Luka and his mom came around to get her Saturday evening. She smiled when she saw the van that Anarka Couffaine loved to steer almost as much as her house boat. It was definitely a creative mess, with Victory spray-painted across the left side of the vehicle in a curly font that gave off a very pirate vibe. From Juleka’s stories, she helped paint the scenery of the ocean that was on the van too. And just like the outside, the inside screamed Anarka. There weren’t any food scraps or anything like that, but there were old drawings, random toys from Juleka’s younger days, and even Luka’s skateboard lounging on the front passenger seat.

Marinette shot up, almost hitting her head on the ceiling, when Luka’s fingers brushed against hers not long after she laid her hand between them on the car seat. She slowly relaxed and moved her hand closer. Maybe…this wasn’t so bad. Maybe what she said about her and Adrien being like compass and statue was true. She wasn’t the one who drove Adrien crazy in the way she wanted to. He saw her as a friend. But Luka…Luka obviously showed interest. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked her out to this concert…right? Perhaps it was time the compass pointed in a new direction…

When they got to the Eiffel Tower, Marinette was confused when Luka passed so many rows of seats, his hand holding her as he guided to the very front. The young designer gawked and double-checked her ticket only for her jaw to fall in shock. How the heck did Luka score front row seats?! And yet, there they were, hand in hand, as Jagged Stone entered the stage with the smoke machine blasting to make the entrance grander. Marinette relaxed with a smile, getting pumped up from listening to Jagged Stone’s music from up close. Yes, she experienced it once with all her friends after dealing with Pixelator but reminding herself that this was a date made the experience feel newer. She peeked at the blue-haired boy from under her eyelashes and gasped when she saw he was looking at her with an intense expression.

“I really like you Marinette!” Luka yelled over the rock music. “Will you go out with me?”

“I-I thought that’s w-what this was!” Marinette yelled back, blushing crimson.

Luka chuckled with a hand to his mouth and shook his head. “I meant on more dates!”

Marinette smiled softly, the resolve she previous made clear. It was time to put her feelings for Adrien on the backburner and be the friend to him that he could lean on. “I’d love to! This was the best date I’ve ever been on!” Well, okay, the Evillustrator was more like a fake date and the movies with Adrien that one time was more hiding out than a date since he didn’t invite her. So there weren’t many date to compare to, thus the bar not being set very high…until now.

When the concert ended, and Mrs. Anarka drove them back to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, Luka opened the door for Marinette and helped her out of the van. He smiled as she looped her arm around his when he offered it and led her to the door.

“I had a fun time,” the guitarist suddenly said.

“Y-yeah, me too,” Marinette stuttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a shy smile.

“I wanted to ask again before I left.” Luka took Marinette’s hands in his and stared into her bluebell eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend, Marinette?”

“M-m-me?!” Marinette’s face turned the reddest shade it has ever been as she heard those five very important words. Honestly, she always thought she’d be hearing them from Adrien’s mouth. She was so in shock that she blurted out the dumbest thing that popped into her head. “Why?”

“You’re an amazing girl, Marinette. You’re unbelievably brave. You alerted Ladybug when we were captured by Captain Hardrock; you basically saved us. You’re also funny. And you’re beautiful, especially when you’re blushing like right now. So…what do you say Marinette?”

The young designer’s eyes pricked with tears. But Luka didn’t think he upset her based on the happy grin that spread across her lips. No one besides Alya and her parents ever told her these things. But this was a situation of romantic interest. She hadn’t known Luka for very long, but he had seen all her best qualities in that small window of time, and he was attracted to them.

“Yes,” Marinette answered, her tears never falling as Luka wiped them away with his thumb.

Adrien thought he was sick at first. His heart was beating faster than normal and his head was starting it hurt. It all started when he saw Marinette talking to Luka, which his hand holding hers. Adrien had only met Luka once, but he was pretty cool. So why did it feel like both his brain and heart were gonna explode because Luka was in so close a proximity to his pigtailed friend? It only got worse when the blue-haired guitarist planted a kiss on the back on Marinette’s hand and she blushed. That was a Chat Noir thing! Only Chat could kiss Marinette’s hand! The blonde scratched at his chest, feeling a burning sensation bubble up. He itched at it, hoping it would disappear, but it didn’t.

The burning only escalated in the time leading up to the weekend. Marinette had a lost in thought expression on her face as she doodled in her notebook. The blush he saw on her face would return whenever Luka came around for Juleka or to say hi to everyone, especially Marinette. Over the weekend, Adrien had a sense of restlessness wash over him unlike anything he ever felt before. For whatever reason, Marinette kept popping to the forefront of his mind. Was he concerned about her? Why? It was just Luka… Just Luka… Adrien suddenly jerked his leg forward in a kicking motion but ended up stubbing his toe against the wall and biting back the yelp of pain. What the heck was going on with him?

Marinette was a smart girl; and sweet, and funny, and a natural born leader. The young model shook his head. The point he was so vehemently tried to make to himself was that Marinette has proven herself to be a good judge of character and would always be nice to anyone who was equally nice back. He shouldn’t let her interacting with Luka get to him like it was. To let out his unknown frustration, Adrien ended up doing anything to relieve aggression; slamming his fingers against the piano keys to create a dark tone that very much contrasted his sunshine personality, wadding up piece of paper and shooting them into the trash can, and furiously playing foosball against himself. The weekend couldn’t be over sooner.

Monday morning was the worst day of them all. He had arrived the school on time, the itch in his chest still present but he had grown a little numb to it. He greeted Nino at the stairs as per usual and the two walked into the main area. Class wasn’t beginning for another 20 minutes, so the two friends decided to hang out on the steps.

Suddenly, Adrien heard a familiar giggle that had his head shooting up and searching around the room. Nino didn’t seem to notice as he was looking down and browsing the music on his phone. The blonde’s lips turned up into a smile as he spotted the familiar pigtails bouncing as the girl attached to them giggled at something. The world seemed a little brighter, that beam of light highlighting Marinette like she was an angel sent from above. But that glorious feeling immediately plummeted to the Earth’s core as she saw who she was giggling with; the infamous Luka Couffaine. What made it even worse was Marinette had her arm looped around Luka’s as the two smiled at each other. The horror-ridden cherry on top of the nightmare sundae was when Luka leaned down and kissed Marinette’s cheek, and she blushed!

Adrien was at a loss for words. Luckily, his friend wasn’t. The blonde tapped Nino’s shoulder and pointed to the entrance. Regaining his voice, he asked, “Um, what’s that?”

Nino was very aware of Marinette’s crush on Adrien. He also heard the detailed news from Alya who heard from Marinette what transpired over the weekend. The DJ also knew of Adrien’s “she’s a good friend” line and his lack of romantic interest (at least on the surface) towards the pigtailed girl. Maybe this ordeal was a good thing.

“Marinette and Luka?” Nino asked, to which Adrien nodded. “Luka asked Marinette out this weekend. Looks like it went well.”

Adrien’s mind drove itself into a crashing realization and plots of murder using a guitar. Oh my god, I’m jealous of Luka…because he’s dating Marinette.

#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #lukanette #jealousy #cute dates #story time

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shadowtsukiyo · 7 years

Text

LadyNoir July: Prompt: New Look/Costume Alterations Game Master

LadyNoir

Rated: T-M for violence

Prompt: New Look/Costume Alterations

LadyNoir

Game Master

“Fucking Hawkmoth, and his damn akuma and whomever pissed off the Dungeons and Dragon’s game master!” Came a growl from Ladybug, Chat making a noise in agreement.

Was her hair wet? Chat’s eyes narrowed in on the pigtails that hung heavy, messier than usual. They seemed like she just came from a shower.

Things between the two had been tense since Chat’s unusual burst of anger. He knew he messed but, and he regretted it terribly.

The strain on the two put them in a bad situation, yet this Akuma who changed all of Paris into a game of Dungeons and Dragons, or whatever this game was?

“We need more teammates.” Ladybug sighed and Chat stilled slightly.

“What?!” He felt offended. Did she want to get rid of him? Had he messed up that—

“I was in the bath when he did this. If I wasn’t so worried you’d get hurt, I’d had actually finished up rather than leaving my tub full and yanking on the first thing from my closet.”

Chat opened his mouth before letting it click shut, his cheeks beginning to burn.

“I… uh… sorry?” He… hadn’t expected that.

A voice drew the attention of everyone in the area. Pairs had been turned into the game arena. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, the two teen heroes were on their way to defeat the Game Master…. But they won’t get to me.”

In the middle of airs, a form began appearing—almost pixelated until it was clear. Both heroes paled as it turned solid and roared.

“You’ll have to get past my guard dog.”

An Orc—green, almost grotesque looking with a large club in one hand, slapping it into the other.

“Oh… fuck me sideways.” Ladybug hissed under her breath.

Chat opened his mouth—

“Don’t even say it!” She hissed.

—and proceeded to close it once more. He wasn’t going to test her right now.

Ladybug glanced around. “You go high, I go low?” She glanced to her yoyo and to the large legs of the monster. She was frustrated and she knew she wasn’t getting back to that bath because she knew she and Chat needed to have a chat.

Inwardly, she groaned. She was spending way too much time with him.

“Got it, M’lady!” He grinned before pausing. “After this, I think we should talk.”

“We will. I promise.” In a brief moment, she wanted to pull him by his bell and press a kiss to his lips for luck. No! She was still upset with him over that stunt he pulled!

Chat noticed her hesitation but offered her a smile to calm her nerves, whether it was from their argument or the monster... Likely the latter, this was one of the largest creatures they had to fight, but it had been Max in his game inspired machine. Which they had gotten one in return.

“Hold off on the Lucky Charm, we don’t know what he has up his sleeves.” Chat said softly before he took off, using his baton to get up onto the roofs.

She set her jaw when he moved away to go after the monster the Akuma created and began running along the ground.

As far as she knew they had to just knock the monster off his feet before they’d have a chance to go after the Game Master. They couldn’t risk either of them using their special abilities. Lucky Charm and Cataclysm needed to be reserved for the actual Akuma or if it got too dangerous. With his ability to summon and manipulate the creatures in the area he was in.

Chat extended his baton, moving to attack as he heard the whisper of her yoyo cutting through the air—assuming that it hit its destination by wrapping around.

“My Orc, get Chat Noir!” the voice hissed through the air. The creature’s eyes were lively—the Game Master could see through the Orc’s eyes!

This voice caught the attention of both heroes, especially as the Orc suddenly twisted. His arm swinging as his body twisted, feet catching the string of Ladybug’s yoyo.

The monster stumbled, but not before he swung his club towards the black clad, green eyed hero.

“CHAT!” Ladybug’s voice pierced the air as she abandoned the fight, even as the Orc fell to the ground. Her ears rang with the sickening thud of the club hitting her partner.

They didn’t know the true limits of their suits. They had no idea what their bodies could take in the suits outside some abnormal force.

By the time she reached him, he was a heap on the ground. His eyes were shut and while she didn’t see anything outside of an abnormally angled leg—she still worried. It was what she didn’t see that scared her.

Her body moved to cover his carefully, hovering as her fingers touched his cheek. “Chat…” tears flooded her eyes, “please wake up.”

Her hand caressed his cheek, the gentle caress caused his eyes twitch, however they did not open even as a weak groan escaped him.

The ravenette let out a sob in relief, her fingers brushing his hair form his face.

A gentle buzz echoed in the back of her mind. Tikki. She rarely communicated when they were transformed—it took too much energy and caused too much mental chaos. Right now, it was a sense of clarity.

“He’s okay, Marinette. I can sense Plagg… He’s hurt, bad. You need to finish this.”

Blue eyes slid to the monster, he was yanking and pulling at the yoyo that had been abandoned. The beast was getting to his feet the best he could. She hadn’t even noticed shaking of the beast collapsing over and over until he realized the yoyo hadn’t broken apart under his force.

“I got it… I just... I don’t have my yoyo…”

“I know. Marinette, it’s time you have the offensive suit. It’s your turn to protect Chat.”

“Yes.” The woman nodded slowly as she stood tall, keeping herself positioned between Chat and the Orc.

A pink glow illuminated Ladybug. This made the creature roar at the bright light that hurt his eyes.

When the glow vanished, Ladybug had a new suit. Her outfit consisted of a skin tight black material, yet her body was wrapped in a red and black spotted armor. A breast plate was fit snugly against her chest and down along her abdomen to protect vital organs, yet the openings along the side left enough room for her to maneuver and twist around. The armor continues once it hit her pelvis at a thick black belt with a rounded ladybug-esque buckle, slipping down to cover her outer thighs until it reached some strong boots, her arms decorated in a similar manner with her shoulders and the outer edges of her arm reaching a set of black gloves with a silver band on each wrist.

Her suit had not been the only change weapons had also changed. Attached to the belt was several rounded items. Taking a quick glance, she noticed each one was similar to grenades she had seen in action movies. Each one was themed after a different species of ladybug. She had a total of six, three on each side.

“You only get to use them once, you need to make them count. Tear gas, sleeping gas, a powerful flash bang, a smoke screen, an acid bomb, and an explosive.”

Marinette paled a little at the last two: Acid and explosives? What did Tikki expect she’d do?

“Mild Explosive.” Tikki corrected in her head.

Her head turned and she frowned before she set her jaw and turned back to the large monster. Tikki knew she’d do anything to protect Chat.

Anything.

Her fingers went to her belt, grasping a rounded shape. In the back of her mind she heard Tikki breathe out. “Flash bang.”

Her eyes caught the bright yellow coloring, it was decorated in small, symmetrical black spots. Each item represented a breed of Ladybug.

Her lips pursed. This monster wasn’t smart—just strong. If she could blind him, possibly she’d blind the Game Master. It was likely the young male was watching her through the eyes of his summon.

Her feet began moving before she could doubt herself.

Her body was moving swifter, similar to the nature she noticed Chat had moved. Her suit, while thicker than the other suit, advanced her physical strength, speed, and stamina.

Her eyes slid to the ground between the Orc’s legs. Her yoyo laid on the stone, useless and unraveled. She needed to get it.

She counted off the distance in her head. She had ten feet left before she’d throw it.

Seven feet…

Five feet…

Three…

One.

With a sharp twist, she twisted the black cap off and threw it. The yellow ladybug print flash bang rolled before bursting. She wanted to shut her eyes, yet the moment it left her hand, her mask shifted on her face.

Lips parted in awe. Thick lenses covered her eyes. The high collar of her suit seemed to spread until a mask covered her face and connected with her mask.

“Marinette, you don’t have long! Go!”

Tikki’s voice broke her from her awe after the science fiction like costume alteration took place. The magic in the lenses allowed her to see through the bright flash and she ran. Sliding on her feet she scooped up the yoyo and threw it once more. It circled around cement posts that came up from the ground—usually used to stop cars from riding up onto the sidewalk. She knew they wouldn’t hold his weight if he tried to break through, so she moved quickly.

Once she was sure it was snug, she had it pulled taunt as a tripwire. She was alone and had one shot. If he came across the prone form of Chat…

She shook her head, trying to shake off her worry. She’d never let that happen!

With a probing hand, she ran her fingers over the remaining five items at her waist.

She was memorizing the way Tikki read them off. From left to right: Explosive, Tear Gas, Smoke Screen. Flash Bang, Sleeping Gas, Acid Bomb.

She snagged the Explosive; a black item with two red spots on either side, pretty, yet fitting. With a twist and throw, the explosive went behind the Orc that was roaring and rubbing at his eyes, fist still clutching at his Club, causing it to swing haphazardly in the air.

The Explosive startled it, and the Game Master.

“What are you doing!?” The voice echoed through the air as the monster tried to run away from the bomb that exploded behind him. His body jerked forward and feet caught the string of her yoyo.

The crash shook the earth below her. This time with no distractions, she actually noticed it. Nealry losing her balance as the concrete posts groaned and cracked before the massive body crashed into the ground. Club flying through the air to crash.

When the creature was unable to pick himself up, desperately grasping at air to get the club, she realized like the akumatized items, the monsters needed their own items. After a minute of grasping, the green flesh began to fall apart in pixels—no they weren’t pixels but dice!

Thousands upon thousands of green dice began falling from the body until they were spilled out over the ground.

When the debris cleared, her mask and the lenses began shifting back to normal. She almost wanted to pout, it had been amazing, yet she had more important matters...

“No! NO! NO! NO! NO! It isn’t fair! Hawkmoth, this isn’t fair!” Ladybug wanted to snicker, she could practically see the villain jumping up and down and stomping his feet while his voice echoed through the city like a loud speaker.

The male was still out of it, likely still in pain. When her fingers brushed his cheek to cradle his face, green eyes fluttered open. Dilated pupils looked to her, unfocused and his hand moved to her wrist.

“M-m’lady?” His voice was quiet, yet the sound of his own voice made him wince. The tantrum flooding the air made his body shudder with pain as it acted like a jackhammer in his skull.

“Shhh… I’m here. Let’s move you somewhere safe.” Her voice was a whisper, soft and quiet causing him to practically melt at her care and caution.

“Let me help… I don’t want you fight—…”

She held a finger to his lips, “No, Minou. Not this time. I need you safe… I could have lost you… and you’re still hurt.” Slowly, she moved to pull his arm over her shoulders, pulling him to his feet. It took a few attempts, but soon he was able to get his footing.

They were moving out of the area, she needed to get him somewhere safe.

“…Your suit changed?” He blinked rapidly, as if he was trying to make a filter vanish before his eyes.

“Yes. I’ll explain everything.” She noticed his suit had changed too. She’d have to ask Tikki later, the Kwami went silent in the back of her mind.

His changes were subtle, silver lining peeking through outlining shapes of muscles. Armor, like hers, just hidden. Her hands felt something solid, at first, she thought it was just him. She wasn’t going to lie, and she wasn’t that oblivious to think he hadn’t gained more muscle mass and firmer since she first met him. She realized it was form fitting armor like her own. Contorted to the shape of his body.

She had moved him to an alleyway, setting him against a wall. She was kneeling next to him. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

His hand moved to take hers, “M’lady….” He moved to hold her hand to his cheek. “You probably don’t need it, but good luck.”

She faltered, remembering her thought before the fight. How she wanted to kiss him for good luck.

Her other hand moved to his other cheek, cupping them both, having him look at her. “For luck…” She whispered and closed the gap between them. Her lips pressed to his gently.

He was shocked, but kissed her back. He wasn’t too sure at this point that he hadn’t died. Every dream was coming true in this moment. If it wasn’t for the pain he felt when he tried to draw her into his lap, he would have truly thought he was in heaven.

“Non.” She scolded lightly, tapping his nose when their lips parted. “I have an akuma to cleanse. You need to stop straining yourself.”

His eyes watched her, his lips parted as he watched her get up. He wanted to follow. He didn’t want to risk that being their first and last kiss!

“Stay, Chat… I’ll be back.”

“Famous last words, M��lady.” His tone was different. He had faith in her, but now her leaving felt all the more real and it hurt.

“I can’t lose. I have too much to lose… and I’m not going to lose you… and you won’t lose me.” She paused to give him a smile and a light wink, trying to calm his nerves despite her own, before she took off.

His face was red, but his lips tilted up into a smile.

Ladybug had that same determined look when she left him to go after The Game Master as she had they day she defied Hawkmoth on the Eiffel Tower for everyone to see.

The poor kid was screwed.

Psst... I know this is late.

Here to make up for it: It’s on AO3 too

This Growing Feeling...

Buy me a coffee?

#Lady Noir #LadyNoir #ladybug #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #LadyNoir Fanfic #LadyNoir Fanfiction #ladynoir july #ladynoir July 2k17 #ladynoirjuly2k17 #this growing feeling...

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their-destinys-writer · 7 years

Text

Caged - Chapter 9

Rated: Teen

Chapter: 9/?

Word Count: 9,380

Ao3 / FFnet / Wattpad

Caged Chapter 9 - Just a Friend

Marinette kicked the air as hard as she could. If she could get the cable to budge just a little higher on one of her sides, she could get out.

But alas, she was not successful.

“Marinette!” Chat Noir managed to call, before he had to leap away from the green beam coming from Damage Control. In the process, he grabbed his baton from the ground, extending it once again to block the new incoming attacks.

“This is all your fault, foolish cat,” the akuma accused.

“My fault?” Chat responded, incredulous. “Newsflash, Miss Control, you invited me to your show, withholding information. Isn’t that what they call fabricating a story?”

“You know very well what you did,” she insisted, stepping closer to the cat-themed hero. This forced him to take steps back towards the exit of the room. Chat glanced at the pig-tailed girl hanging from the metal beam of the ceiling with a pained expression.

“I’ll come back for you, Princess!” he called out to her.

“Wait, what?!” Marinette kicked nothingness a few times.

“Ladybug will come soon!” And with those last words, Chat Noir blocked a few more beams from the akumatized reporter and ran out, Damage Control on his heels.

“Chat Noir, come back here!” But it was no use. He was gone. He moved the fight to where she wouldn’t get accidently hurt. She knew that was the reason he did it. Yet it still didn’t change the fact that she was left alone, a cable tied around her arms and stomach, unable to escape to transform.

Well this is just great, she inwardly groaned. She was about to call out her tiny magical partner for help, when quiet steps coming from where Chat had just left resounded. The girl narrowed her eyes towards the sound, until at last, her mother scurried inside the room.

“Maman!” Marinette called, her legs kicking the air again. Sabine looked around until she found her daughter hanging of a metal beam.

“Sweetie!” she exclaimed, already looking for the other end of the cable.

“Where’s Alya?” Marinette’s gaze kept shifting around the room, looking for her redheaded friend. Sabine stopped in front of a large black box and grimaced, slowly turning to her off-spring.

“Well…”

“Mrs. Cheng, where did you go?!” a strange modulated voice came from a nearby hallway.

Marinette gasped.

With her hands outstretched and a heavily pixelated face came Alya, tripping on every cable scattered around the floor.

“Alya, I told you to wait for me,” Sabine scolded the teen as she reached out to her and led them to the large equipment box.

“Marinette’s in trouble, I can’t just wait around,” Alya flailed her arms around, hitting her hand on the large box in the process. She hissed and started rubbing it. Sabine rolled her eyes before focusing her attention on the box’s handle, to which the cable was attached to. After a hard look, she grabbed Alya’s hands and placed them around the rubber rope.

“Alya, I’m gonna need you to hold that very tight,” she instructed. The redhead hummed and nodded in agreement, as Sabine started undoing the knot. Once free, the weight fell on Alya’s hands, making her stumble, to the point that Sabine had to grab her by the waist and Marinette yelped, now several feet lower.

Please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me, please don’t drop me, Marinette prayed, already having enough of falling-on-her-butt the last few days. Prayers that were answered as Alya and Sabine slowly descended her from the ceiling.

“What’s going on?” the designer asked, as the other two started undoing the cable around her arms.

“She’s attacked half the reporters in the building,” responded Alya in that strange, altered voice. “She’s hitting anyone she think’s responsible for the mess you’re in.”

“I don’t get it. Why did she hit you?” Marinette frowned.

“Why do you think?” the redhead crossed her arms.

Marinette blinked. Of course: Alya was a large reason this whole mess happened. First, she gave Marinette the name of The Girl Who Saved Chat Noir. Then, she filmed the second rescue. And finally, she was the one to set up the interview with Nadja. Wait… Is this all her fault?

She shook her head. Like Alya had said before: if she had known Marinette and Chat Noir were friends, she would have been more careful, and even cover for her. The designer was sure Alya would never do anything to hurt her. At least, not intentionally. It was just a streak of bad coincidences.

Besides, Alya was already doing everything in her power to correct it.

“You girls need to hide,” Sabine said, starting to usher them into a hallway. “It’s dangerous out here.”

“What about you?” Marinette turned to her mother, just as the woman led them into a dressing room.

“I can’t sit and do nothing,” she responded. “I may be upset with Nadja, but I still care for her.”

Marinette’s eyes softened. It was exactly what she would have done, Ladybug or not. With one last glimpse, Sabine closed the door, leaving the two teens on their own. Marinette kept staring at it, until she heard an irritated growl behind her.

“This sucks,” Alya was saying as her best friend turned to look at her. She was holding her phone as close as possible to her face, but didn’t seem to have much success in deciphering the pixelated images. “I couldn’t record the fight even if I wanted to.”

The fight.

Chat Noir.

He was fighting alone.

Damn it! She may not be trapped up a ceiling anymore, but was now in a small dressing room with Alya. Who would notice if she suddenly transformed into Ladybug, even with all the pixels. Marinette looked around the room, while the reporter continued to grumble about her situation. At last, the designer’s eyes landed on a small closet.

Perfect to shove her friend into.

“I hear something!” Marinette suddenly gasped.

“What?! What is it?” Alya took a bracing stance.

“We need to get in the closet!” Alya asked what was wrong, again, but Marinette started pushing the redhead into the nearby closet. Once she got her friend in it, despite her protests, she closed it and slid a nearby hair brush between the handles.

“Sorry,” Marinette whispered, wincing. Walking away from the rattling doors due to Alya’s punches, the designer opened her pouch.

“Don’t worry, Marinette,” Tikki zipped out of the pink purse. “She’ll be safe now.”

“I know,” the girl sighed. Almost immediately, a determined look invaded her face. “Tikki, transform me!”

A moment later, she was Ladybug. Immediately, she used her yo-yo to beat one of the corners of an air vent loose. She jumped and grabbed the loose piece of metal to pull it down. At last, out of the way, she jumped and pulled herself up into the air duct. After a few turns here and there, she crawled out of another vent, landing her close to where she had been hanging some time ago.

She followed noises coming from a nearby studio, planning what would be the perfect unexpected entrance. Outside the room, she took a deep breath, and burst through the door. Before she could even utter a word, though, Chat Noir crashed with her, with a loud ‘oof’.

Ladybug groaned under the weight of her partner. So much for being the one to make the surprise entrance.

“Sorry,” Chat Noir said through clenched teeth. “Didn’t mean to drop by like this.”

Ladybug groaned. Why did he always have such bad timing with his puns?

“Less punning, more getting up,” she demanded with a strained voice. Quickly, her partner helped her up.

“Don’t worry, My Lady,” he lifted a hand. “I have managed to keep the akuma at bay.”

As if to contradict him, a green beam shot between them, the two barely dodging it, by leaping backwards.

“Welcome to the studio, Ladybug,” greeted Damage Control with a menacing tone. “Rumor has it, Hawkmoth wants your miraculous. Care to comment?”

“In fact I do,” Ladybug responded with a smirk. “I would like him to know he’s not getting it.”

“How tragic.” The akuma shot another beam that the girl easily defected with her spinning yo-yo. A few more were thrown at both superheroes, which they managed to block all and accidentally made one bounce off a silver object in the studio.

“Chat, go high!” Ladybug yelled. With an ‘okie dokie’ and a two-finger salute, Chat Noir extended his baton to the ceiling and landed on the black, metal beams. This was enough to distract the villain. The spotted heroine swiftly swung her weapon to Damage Control’s hand, trying to grip what she was sure was the akumatized object.

Unfortunately, Damage Control noticed in time, and managed to tighten her grip on the microphone with both hands. The two pulled, while Chat landed back on the ground, slowly approaching the scene. The villain gasped when she saw him get closer.

Without warning, she stepped forward to grab another part of the string, making Ladybug stumble backwards at the loss of leverage. With the new momentum, the akuma pulled with enough force that sent the heroine flying directly to Chat Noir. Their bodies crashed against the wall behind them, leaving them in a mess of limbs, much like earlier.

When Ladybug lifted her head, Damage Control had already untangled her hands.

“Give me your miraculous, and I promise you won’t end up in the evening news,” she warned. Ladybug scowled.

“I don’t know about you, My Lady, but I’m not willing to give up my freedom of speech,” Chat quipped. Ladybug groaned. He really has the worst timings for his jokes. She was about to retort, when a short figure stood between them and Damage Control.

“Nadja, stop this,” Sabine pleaded with a firm tone. “This isn’t you. Don’t do this.”

“I have to!” the villain retorted. “I have to protect Marinette. And our friendship.”

Although Ladybug couldn’t see her face, she could tell her mother had been taken aback. She had no idea how this happened, but now she was sure that her civilian self’s growing bad reputation was a large part of the reason she got akumatized.

The thought was enough to push the heroine to her feet and call on her Lucky Charm. From a swirl of ladybugs appeared a flat, circular object.

“What is this?”

“It’s a light reflector,” Chat Noir responded almost immediately, joining his partner. “We use those at work all the time.”

“You have a job?” Ladybug asked without thinking. It wasn’t common for Chat to reveal somewhat personal information to Ladybug.

“Of course,” he shrugged. He then leaned towards her, arms crossed. “How do think I can afford my good looks?” He wiggled his eyebrows. Ladybug almost chocked at the gesture, but pushed him away with a finger on his nose, nonetheless.

“N-not the time, chaton,” she stuttered. She wasn’t sure why, but her heart started beating erratically. Maybe I’m just embarrassed, she reasoned. Yeah, that’s it. It makes sense that he has a job. I mean, he did say he’s famous outside the mask. Yeah, that was a dumb question. That’s why I’m embarrassed.

But something about that explanation didn’t feel right. A feeling she was starting to find annoying. It felt like she was lying to herself. But that couldn’t be it. It made no sense. It also made no sense why her cheeks were starting to feel warm.

“So what’s the plan?” Chat asked after rubbing his nose. Ladybug used the distraction to shake her head and focus on the job at hand. Her eyes scanned the studio, noticing the other two light reflectors in a well-lit stage. One of which had reflected Damage Control’s beam earlier.

Simple.

“Chat!” she called on her partner. “I’m gonna need you to lead the akuma over there.” She pointed at the stage. Chat Noir nodded before making his way to the villain. In the meantime, Ladybug ran, moving around the light reflectors. When everything was in place, she gave a loud whistle.

On cue, Chat Noir leaped backwards, landing beside Ladybug.

“For a reporter, you’re very bad at keeping your sources,” Chat Noir mocked. “Can’t even get your target audience.”

Biting into the bait, Damage Control shot a beam to the heroes. The two instantly dodged to opposing sides. Ladybug, on her part, rolled to the spotted light reflector, just in time for the beam that had been bouncing from reflector to reflector to reach hers. The green beam shot directly to the villain’s microphone, destroying it.

As per usual, Ladybug caught the black butterfly in her yo-yo and purified it, followed by restoring everyone’s faces to their normal state.

“Bien joué!” Ladybug and Chat Noir fist bumped. The spotted heroine opened her mouth to bid her partner goodbye, but…

“Ladybug!” someone called out from behind them. Ladybug turned to be met by the same paparazzi from earlier: the one behind the costume rack. “Ladybug, are you and Chat Noir in a relationship?”

It felt like every single drop of blood she had rushed to her face.

“Are we what?!”

“We’ve received information that Chat Noir is in love with you. Care to comment?”

Ladybug stood wide-eyed. In love?! That’s not what I said! This paparazzi in particular was already starting to piss her off. What was worse, he seemed to have less of a filter now that she was Ladybug. Her expression turned into a deep scowl.

“An akuma just attacked the studio you work in, and that’s what you get out of it?!” she almost yelled. She could feel her patience abandon her completely, tired of this awful week that seemed to have no end. “Whatever is up between me and Chat, or Marinette and Chat, or Marinette and Adrien, is none of any of you people’s business.” At this point, she started poking the man’s chest. “Stop getting in people’s business. And don’t ever dare ask that again. Got it?!”

The man stared at the heroine in disbelief. But Ladybug didn’t care. The more crap happened to her, the less she cared for keeping her cool. She turned on her heels to walk away, but froze when she noticed Chat Noir petrified, gawking at her. It was then that it occurred to her that she wasn’t supposed to know about his crush on her. He didn’t know he had already confessed by accident a while ago. To him, the paparazzi had just confessed for him.

And she was the one who made it happen. Even if it hadn’t been intentional.

Ugh, I can’t believe I dragged myself into this. That’s like if Chat were Adrien and he was the one who said his own name in Nadja’s interview.

…

Heh, yeah right. Like Adrien would be careless enough to do that.

She cleared her throat.

“Chat Noir?” she called cautiously, taking a few steps towards him. He didn’t move, but she could have sworn she saw the exact moment saliva went down his throat. “Chat?” she tried again.

Chat made a loud, clearing noise from his throat. “Yeah,” he squeaked, forcing him to clear his throat again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorta… I don’t know.”

Ladybug bit her lip. She couldn’t even imagine the embarrassment her partner was feeling at that moment.

“That’s not how I wanted you to find out,” he suddenly blurted out. Ladybug took a large breath. With a quick glance at the paparazzi, she grabbed the cat-themed hero by the wrist and dragged him away from the unwelcomed onlooker. Once they were out of earshot, she turned to look at him straight in the eyes.

“Chat—”

Beep beep.

A hand automatically went for one of her earrings. Heck of a timing, she internally grumbled.

“It’s okay, Ladybug,” Chat Noir interrupted her thoughts. “We don’t have to talk about it. You have to go.”

She hesitated. Although she wasn’t sure what she could say to him, it felt wrong not saying anything, or doing anything.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, like he could read her mind. “There’ll be time.”

Ladybug sighed. “Could you care for the victim?”

“Of course,” he nodded. Ladybug gave him an appreciative smile. It amazed her how, even though one of his biggest secrets had been outed, he didn’t treat her any differently. He was just as considerate as always. Overwhelmed with gratefulness, Ladybug grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a fierce hug.

For a moment, Chat was frozen. Very slowly, he returned the gesture. Ladybug couldn’t help but frown. It felt…different. Different from what she was used to. Lately, he returned her hugs without hesitation. She even dared to kiss him on the cheek, and he never seemed uncomfortable.

Of course, that had been as Marinette…

Oh.

The second it hit her, she pulled away, her cheeks quickly becoming red with embarrassment. A bodily reaction that was starting to get on her nerves.

“I-I’ll see ya,” she squeaked, accompanied by a shaky wave.

And she ran.

Ladybug reached the air duct from where she came from and quickly made her way back to the dressing room. Just as she was lowering herself, her transformation gave away, making her land as Marinette. Tikki, on her part, landed on her chosen’s shoulder. Marinette silently gestured the kwami to be quiet, as she opened her purse. Without uttering a word, the little being hid inside.

A quick scan of the room confirmed that Alya was still locked in the closet, much to her relief.

“Somebody there?” came her muffled voice from behind the doors, no longer altered. Marinette held back a snort as she gave her friend freedom. The first thing Alya did was pounce on the pig-tailed girl.

“I’m so glad you’re safe!” she cried. “I thought something happened to you!”

“I’m fine,” Marinette comforted. “It was a false alarm.”

Alya pulled away, but kept her hold on the designer’s shoulders.

“You need to stop scaring me during akuma attacks,” she pleaded. Marinette could only give her a sad smile and a promise that she would try. A promise that could barely be kept due to the circumstances. But Alya didn’t know that.

After making sure the Miraculous Cure worked properly, the two walked out of the dressing room, headed to where Chat Noir was comforting Nadja. That was, if glaring at the reporter could be called comforting. What is up with him lately? She wondered, remembering how he almost lost his cool with Charline.

It was then that she noticed her mother was also there, with a similar expression. Now her, she could understand. Their friendship had just taken a hard hit.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she got closer.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Sabine scolded Nadja.

“Maman…” Marinette warned he mother, reminding her that the reporter was as much a victim as they were.

“I’m sorry Marinette, and I’m sorry Sabine,” Nadja spoke with a choked voice, but keeping her eyes on the two. “I should’ve never taken advantage of our friendship for ratings. It was not only wrong, but selfish of me. I should’ve thought about the consequences. I should’ve done my job ethically, and I promise I will never do it again.”

“You realize this is not easy to forgive,” Sabine said, coldly. “I know you got akumatized for your guilt, but I just don’t think that’s enough.”

“I understand,” Nadja softly nodded. “You were right earlier. I sold my soul, and for what? I betrayed you, I betrayed your daughter…” she sighed. “If you let me, I will do everything in my power to fix this. I could give her the interview she deserves.”

“I don’t know” the short woman hesitated. “She’s… She’s the light of my life.”

“I know. I would feel the same if it were Manon. Which is way I can’t let Marinette’s name continue to be dragged through the mud,” the reporter’s tone became firmer. “I would treat her the way I should’ve the first time. I would interview as the hero that she is, and not as the love interest of a superhero. I promise.”

Sabine hesitated. Marinette waited anxiously. Despite going through a lot due to that interview, she didn’t want their friendship to end because of a stupid mistake.

“Alright,” the woman concluded. “But I want to be there this time.”

“Of course,” Nadja assured. There was a moment of silence between the two. The reporter sighed and started to turn away, but was stopped by a sudden embrace from her short friend.

“Don’t ever again give me a reason to want to kick your butt,” Sabine whispered. The reporter couldn’t help but smile. As they pulled away, Nadja glanced at Marinette, who gave her an enthusiastic nod with a soft smile. Making a comment about Manon being in her office alone for too long, and a quick wave, Nadja left the room.

“Well, that was something,” Marinette commented, turning her attention to her partner. But her smile faded when she realized how tense he was. “Hey, Chat, are you okay?”

“Ladybug hugged me,” Chat blurted out suddenly. Marinette frowned. His hands were fiddling with each other, and… Is it just me, or is he shaking? She blinked. Yeap, definitely shaking.

“Oookay,” she drawled, unsure of what emotion she should have. “That’s…nice.”

It was weird.

The silence was not as comfortable as it usually was. It felt like something was being left unsaid, but she couldn’t pin point what it was. What was more, despite her answer, he still seemed shaken, for some reason. It’s like he had just admitted a terrible deed he committed. Why would he think that was a bad thing? Shouldn’t he be happy? Ladybug freaking hugged him.

Wait, she stopped her thoughts. Isn’t that giving him false hope? What am I doing?!

“Adrien held me by the waist yesterday!” The words came out like vomit. She said the first thing that came to mind that could squash that hope. Yet… He has no clue I’m Ladybug.

Even so, it seemed to do the trick.

“Oh,” he whispered, his body finally becoming still. “Uh… boy getting a little handsy?”

He cringed. Yet, it made her laugh at how awkward the sentence came out. So much so, it released some of the tension between them.

“Don’t worry, chaton. He was only trying to stop me from beating up Chloé into a bloody pulp.”

“Heh, yeah,” he released a laugh, but quickly tensed back up. “Wait, why would I be worried?”

Well, that didn’t last.

“Um, well, some guy groping me without my permission?” That was the reason. Right?

Chat gasped and his eyes widened, a clawed hand flying to his mouth.

“I-I’m sorry,” he sputtered, the little bit of his showing skin turning a deep shade of scarlet. “I didn’t think about that. I-I—”

“Hey, i-it’s fine,” she sputtered back. Ugh, what is up with us? Since when are we this awkward?

It was those questions which finally managed to calm her down. Why were they being awkward? This was ridiculous. He’s my friend, I can act like a normal person with him.

“He didn’t actually grope me,” she spoke with more resolve. “He just held me by the waist, no biggie. I-I don’t even know why I brought that up anymore.”

“R-right,” Chat stuttered. Wait, what? “I-I should get going.”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” she responded, still processing the fact the her terribly flirty partner was stuttering. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the thought, and raised a fist, ready to be bumped. “See ya later?”

Chat Noir stared at her hand, some of the redness finally fading from his face. Slowly, a soft smile spread over his lips. Cheerfully closing his eyes, he bumped her fist.

“I’ll see ya, Mari.” Marinette gasped. It had been a while since Chat had used that other nickname. And for some reason, it felt different now. She searched his eyes for a moment, since they were now staring at her with the most tender look she had ever seen. She wasn’t exactly sure about what she was trying to find, but it felt important.

Before she managed to get any answers, though, he pulled away. With a two-finger salute, the leather-clad hero bid her goodbye and left the scene. Marinette felt in a trance as she watched him go. It still felt like something very important was left unsaid, but couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Alya, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Sabine asked with a teasing tone from Marinette’s left.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Cheng. What are you thinking?” Came Alya’s voice from her right.

“I’m thinking Marinette’s room is getting a makeover.”

Marinette’s face contorted, right before she whirled around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Neither responded immediately, too busy snickering under their breaths. Alya was the first to settle.

“Yeah, she’ll probably be needing new posters,” another snort escaped the redhead’s lips, while Sabine covered her own mouth.

“What do you mean—” but the designer cut her words short, catching on to what they were trying to say. They’re not serious, are they? She thought, incredulous. They couldn’t possibly be implying that…

“You two have no idea what you’re talking about,” she crossed her arms and huffed, scrunching her nose. Her mother and her best friend exchanged looks, holding their giggles. Sabine shook her head, prompting Alya to take a deep breath to control herself.

“Come on,” Sabine said. “We need to get Alya home. It’s pretty late.”

Marinette huffed one more time, but followed her mother nonetheless, her best friend on her side. She knew they were just teasing. It didn’t change the fact that the suggestion was preposterous. Her and Chat Noir? As if.

He was just a friend. Nothing more.

After running through the rooftops for half an hour, in an attempt to clear his head, Chat Noir quietly slipped into his room in the Agreste mansion and released his transformation. Plagg instantly started complaining about keeping the transformation for so long, and in a patrol night to boot, but Adrien barely listened. He was leaning against his large windows, deep in thought.

His heart was still racing, and it had little to do with the extra thirty minutes running around Paris. Despite his attempts, it did little to stop him from thinking about the events of the day.

Ladybug knew. She knew about his feelings for her. Yet, for some reason, it was stressing. He thought he would be happy if she ever found out, but instead, he wished she had never known. And he had no idea why he was feeling that way.

Why did it feel like he had betrayed Marinette somehow? It didn’t make any sense.

It was not like he couldn’t have several close friends at the same time. In fact, he’d never even felt that way when it came to Nino. So why was it different with Marinette? Granted, she knew him differently than his bespectacled friend, but even so…

But why wasn’t it the other way around? Shouldn’t he feel guilty for sharing much more with Marinette than Ladybug? Well, to be fair, it was easier to spend time with his classmate who lived right next to their school than the superheroine who only showed up during akuma attacks and patrols. Patrols for which they took turns, to not overexert themselves.

“Ugh, just tell me what’s eating ya,” Plagg suddenly snapped. Adrien blinked as he looked at the little being cradling a piece of his precious camembert.

“What?” he mumbled, confused.

“You’ve been sulking on that window frame since we got here. It’s annoying,” the kwami whined. Adrien was about to deny it, but ultimately decided it was pointless lying to his obligatory roommate. Who knows: he had his moments of helpful advice.

“I’m… confused,” he released, finally. Plagg nodded, signaling he was listening. So, the boy continued. “I feel…guilty…for some reason. Like I betrayed Marinette for hugging Ladybug and letting her know about my feelings. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Plagg blinked. His frown disappeared, and was replaced with a knowing smirk that showed his tiny fangs.

“Ooohhh,” he drawled, like all his questions had just been answered. Which only bewildered Adrien even more.

“Whatta you mean ‘ooohhhh’? What is that supposed to mean?” But the only response he got was a loud cackle from the black being. Adrien crossed his arms. “And here I thought you may actually be of some help. What was I thinking?”

For a whole minute, the laughing didn’t stop. The blond already had half his mind made up on pulling on the kwami’s tail, when Plagg flew up to his nose.

“I saw this coming from day one, and you just blatantly denied it. Who’s talking nonsense now?” he managed to get out between snickers.

“What are you talking about?” Adrien demanded. Plagg popped the chunk of cheese into his mouth, quickly swallowing.

“She’s just a friend,” Plagg imitated air quotes as best as he could, given the little nubs he had for hands. “I knew you’d end up falling for her one day.”

Adrien could have sworn he felt a short-circuit occur in his brain. He had to have heard wrong.

“Plagg, I’ve had feelings for Ladybug since the beginning, you know that.” The stubborn part of his brain took charge.

“Ugh, you really are dense,” the kwami slapped a paw to his forehead. “I’m not talking about Ladybug.”

Nope, he definitely heard right.

“You’re crazy,” Adrien waved a hand dismissively and started towards his desk.

“Ha! You wish,” Plagg followed his charge. “You’ve been talking about her none-stop since you found out she likes you. You even cancelled on Nino a few times just to go hang out with her.”

Adrien stopped on his tracks. He turned on his heels to face the little god, but couldn’t find the right words to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Yeeesss?” Plagg teased, his smirk still in place.

“I don’t like her that way!” the blond blurted out. “And I have not cancelled on Nino for her. I just… happened to have plans already.”

“With Marinette.”

“Well—!” Adrien tried to retort, but his mind went blank. Plagg obviously didn’t know what he was talking about. Marinette was his friend. There was a perfectly good explanation for cancelling on Nino. And he finally found it: “Superheroes don’t have a fixed schedule!”

He blurted it out with victory, thinking it was enough proof that Plagg was dead wrong.

“I can go out with Nino whenever I want, but I can’t see Marinette whenever, you know? A-and it’s not like Marinette is in her home all the time, a-and I only see her right before patrol—”

“Hours before patrol,” Plagg corrected. Adrien stared. Looking at the kwami, he realized none of his words seemed to be convincing him. Which was annoying.

“You know what?” the blond pointed a finger at Plagg, who responded with a bored what, before Adrien continued. “I’m gonna make plans with Nino for Saturday. Right now.”

Without waiting for a response, he sunk down to his desk chair and started checking his phone, only to see three missed calls and seven text messages, all from Nino. Adrien cringed. Maybe he had abandoned his friend a little. Now the guilt was starting to manifest inside him. Without missing a beat, the blond called his bespectacled friend. It only took two rings for it to be answered.

“Dude! Where have you been?!” Adrien distanced the phone away from his ear. Nino could be very loud sometimes.

“Hey Nino,” he responded, already used to his friend’s exaggerated antics.

“Have you watched iTV today?” Adrien cringed again. He already had a pretty good idea what the DJ was about to gush about. He didn’t watch it, he freaking lived it!

“No, why, whassup?”

“Marichat is what’s up!” Nino responded. Adrien frowned.

“Mariwhat?”

“Marinette and Chat Noir’s shipname!”

“ShipWHAT?!” Adrien chocked.

“It’s been all over the Internet!” Nino exclaimed, oblivious to his friend’s distress. “Except the Ladyblog. Alya hasn’t opened the forums since yesterday. But everywhere else, people are posting gifs and photos of the two. You’ve got mad competition, dude.”

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” Adrien grumbled under his breath. It took Nino asking ‘what’ for the blond to realize he said it out loud. He shook his head. “Nino, he’s not my competition. There’s no competition. Marinette and I are just friends.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” the DJ retorted.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Adrien demanded for the second time that night. From the other side of the line, his best friend snorted.

“Dude, you could not be more obvious!” he barked. “First you got all awkward with her, then you rescued her from the reporters, then you were crazy red when you pulled her from Chloé, I mean, I’ve never seen you seek her out so much.”

“We’ve just… gotten closer,” the model feebly responded.

“Hmm, sure,” Nino drawled. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Adrien spoke again.

“Are you free on Saturday?”

Just like that, Adrien planned his entire weekend, as means to prove to Plagg he didn’t care he saw Marinette or not. But also, to make up for leaving his friend in the dust for a while. Perhaps he could see the designer another time. Maybe at lunch next day.

Yeah. That could work.

Running through a horde of reporters to get to school was already becoming a routine for Marinette. It wasn’t much of a change, since she always ran to school anyway, but now it was like an obstacle course. What was more, the number seemed to have doubled after the previous night’s new discovery.

Everyone wanted to know her feelings on Chat’s love for Ladybug. Couldn’t get more ridiculous than that.

At least Marinette was starting to get a handle on how to get past them. This morning she managed to stumble through the large doors without throwing herself in the school. Even so, she was still late for class. Thankfully, Miss Bustier was understanding of her situation, and her classmates were polite enough to not whisper behind her back, unlike most other students in the school.

At midday, the bell rang, signaling it was time for lunch. Marinette saved her tablet in her bag, and placed it on her desk, waiting for Alya to finish talking to Nino.

“Hey.” She looked up, and her bluebells locked on those familiar spring green eyes of Adrien. “How you doing?”

She gulped. “H-hey, Adrien. I’m alright. Uh… you?”

The boy shrugged, hand tightly holding to his bag. “The press hasn’t seemed that interested in me, for some reason.”

“Oh. That’s—” but her words were cut off by the sound of falling books and papers behind the golden boy. A very flustered Nathaniel shuffled down to the ground, trying to pick everything up as quickly as possible. On instinct, Marinette left her chair to help him out.

“Here you go,” Marinette offered the last book with a warm smile. An action that made the boy’s cheeks become as red as his hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, so low, Marinette nearly missed it. A tentative hand reached out, but then hesitated. He visibly gulped before he spoke. “Uh, I wanted to tell you something, Marinette.”

Marinette’s head tilted to the side. The boy gulped again.

“I-I just w-wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry about me,” he got out through stutters. But the words only accentuated the girl’s confusion, so he continued. “I-I don’t have a crush on you anymore.”

THUNK

The book Marinette had been holding was now back on the floor, and her hands clapped to her mouth. Panic started rising in her. She needed to correct the situation!

“I-I-I’m so sorry!” she sputtered. “I didn’t think about how I would be putting you on the spot, talking about you when you were akumatized, and about your crush, and that I never actually told you what happened, and how—”

“It’s okay,” the artist spoke softly, picking up his book and standing straight. “I just wanted to let you know.”

“O-okay,” Marinette lamely responded, as she got up to his level. She started biting her lip for a moment, trying to decide whether to keep talking or not, to which her brain so kindly responded with a yes. “So you moved on?”

Nathaniel shrugged, tightening his grip on the books over his chest.

“T-that’s good.” God, this is so awkward! “Who?” Shut up, Marinette!

But the boy didn’t respond, simply pulling more into himself, his cheeks turning scarlet once again. Without another word, he rushed past her, out of the classroom. Marinette stared after him, slightly worried. Her concerns were cut short, though, by a chuckle coming from her side.

“Are you sure he’s over you?” Adrien was now resting against her desk. Marinette opened her mouth to respond, but was once again cut off.

“He’s over her,” a steely voice responded for her. The two turned to see Lila standing where Nathaniel had been just moments ago. “I’ve seen him draw Ladybug nonstop. Says he would’ve been a goner without her, whatever that means.”

A low groan ushered through Marinette’s lips. Well, at least that’s just a celebrity crush, she comforted herself. It was less complicated that way.

“Do you have plans for lunch, Marinette?” the Italian bluntly asked. The designer blinked at the exchange student. Since when were they friends?

“Actually,” Adrien took a step forward, “I was hoping to ask the same thing.”

Wait, what?

“We could all go together, if you want,” Lila responded with the sweetest voice she could muster, slowly blinking.

“I don’t know how I feel about that. Our last outing was pretty disastrous,” the blond retorted.

“I’m sure Ladybug won’t be there to ruin it this time.”

Never mind, Nathaniel, this is awkward.

“Hey, that’s a little unfair. She apologized for that.”

Wait, how does he know that?

“It doesn’t change the fact that she humiliated me.”

“Please, stop,” this time, Marinette spoke out loud.

“She made a mistake. She may be a superhero, but she’s still human.”

“A very mean human.”

“Guys,” Marinette pleaded, stepping between them with raised arms. The two looked at the designer between them for a moment, before glaring at each other.

“She’s having lunch with me,” Adrien declared with finality, grabbing one of the designer’s wrist.

“No, she’s coming with me,” Lila grabbed her other wrist and pulled, making Marinette stumble.

“Try again,” The hand that had been on his bag strap grabbed Marinette’s bicep and pulled, making her stumble again.

“Gladly,” Lila’s arms snaked around Marinette’s other arm and pulled, making it painful this time.

“Guys!”

“Stop hogging my friend!” Alya stepped up to the struggling trio, fists clenched on her sides and closely followed by Nino. “You’re gonna break her arms.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Marinette breathed as the other two slowly let go of her.

“What’s going on?” Nino adjusted his headphones around his neck, to listen to the conversation better. “Why’s everyone fighting over Marinette?”

“Good question,” Marinette groaned, miserably. She had never had people fight over her. She could understand Lila: she was lonely ever since the Volpina fiasco. But since when had Adrien been so adamant about hanging out with her? Not that it was bad, but it was weird as heck.

“I just don’t see why I can’t hang out with her for just one day,” Lila sneered, crossing her arms. “You guys have had her the entire school year.”

“Well, we don’t think she needs new friends,” Alya retorted, to which Marinette cringed. Never mind. You’re no help, Alya.

“I don’t think you’re the one who gets to decide that. Right, Marinette?”

The pig-tailed girl froze. She could feel the blood draining from her face as Alya, Adrien, Nino and Lila pointed their gazes at her. Despite being in all kinds of crazy scenarios these past few weeks, Marinette hadn’t felt more on the spot than she did now. So much so, that all she could do was laugh nervously.

“You’re not serious, are you?!” Alya snapped.

“Dude, that’s a terrible idea!” Nino followed instantly.

“Marinette, you can’t,” Adrien added.

All the while Lila gave a triumphant smirk. Which prompted a resounding “NO!” from the other three.

Marinette squeaked. In a surge of panic, she grabbed her bag and rapidly started backing out of the classroom.

“W-we don’t really have to decide anything today, do we?” she sputtered, still taking steps backwards to the room’s exit. “Maybe we could just calmly think about it, and maybe next time deci—OOF!”

“Marinette!” the four called in unison the second a tall figured crashed with the small girl on the hallway, spreading a mess of books and limbs on the floor. Marinette sat up and rubbed her shoulder, while the figure next to her was shaking his head. The other four quickly started fuming over her wellbeing, lifting her from the ground.

“It’s fine guys,” she brushed them away, turning her attention to the stranger. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” the blond boy assured her, rising to his feet. Marinette rushed to lightly hold him by the arm as he dusted off his clothes. With one last headshake, he straightened up, locking green eyes with her. He blinked.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he said in a soft, monotone voice. Marinette was taken aback for a moment, and let go of him.

“Do I know you?” she couldn’t help but ask. It seemed to have snapped the boy out of whatever daze he had gotten into, because he curtly shook his head and started to pick up his books. Marinette promptly helped him, but something kept nagging on the back of her mind. Something about this boy…

“Here you go.” She handed the last of his books. The boy nodded, but remained still for a moment, staring at her. They stood there, until he silently cleared his throat, finally looking away.

“Good day, Princess,” he whispered, and walked away from her.

Marinette could have sworn her heart stopped. Princess. He called me Princess. There’s only one guy who calls me…

A gasp escaped her lips. She turned on her heels and stared at the fading figure of the boy. Of… Chat Noir?

“What was that all about?” Nino uttered, barely managing to ground Marinette.

“A weirdo, if you ask me,” Lila provided.

“Nobody asked you,” Alya retorted through clenched teeth.

The three teens started squabbling, all the while not noticing Marinette’s dazed look and Adrien’s deep scowl.

Adrien had kept his word about not seeing Marinette on Saturday. Instead, he left a note on her balcony saying he’d been busy. Which he had been. He actually had a great time with Nino. A good reminder of why he had considered visiting him as Chat Noir, too, at the beginning.

Even so, he had to admit that he missed Marinette. He wished he could hang out with both at the same time, without having to choose. But that was only possible if she knew he was Adrien, and that was just not going to happen. So instead, he waited until Tuesday, as usual.

Chat stared from far away. He wasn’t sure why he was still standing there, looking from a distance. Something felt… different. He could come up with ideas, but he refused to believe that was it. Yet there was one thought that kept circling his brain as he looked at her: there was something mesmerizing about her standing on the balcony, staring off into the sunset. Something that gave him peace.

Chat Noir took a deep breath, making sure a brown paper bag he brought was well attached to his belt, and jumped across, landing on the railing. Marinette’s gaze snapped up to him, surprised, but pleased, from the looks of it.

“Hey,” he whispered. Marinette gave him on of the softest smile he had ever seen come from her.

“Hey,” she responded.

“Were you expecting me?” he couldn’t help but ask, to which she simply shrugged.

“Think I haven’t noticed your schedule of Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays?” she spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. A wide grin spread over his lips, as his cat ears perked up.

“So you noticed?” He hopped down to the ground to stand next to her. “Anything else you noticed?” He playfully elbowed her arm, wiggling his eyebrows. Marinette rolled her eyes and shook her head, but a smile painted her lips.

“I am not feeding your ego,” she declared, but the amusement was clear in her voice. Chat smirked.

“Poor Princess, doesn’t know she has already fed it without knowing it,” he feigned pity, dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Marinette squinted. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

“Well,” he started, bringing his hand down to his chin, “rumor has it you think I’m… oh, how was it?” He smirked. “Handsome in an obvious kind of way?”

Marinette’s face contorted, an eye twitching. It was hard to tell with the setting sun, but he was almost certain her cheeks had become pink.

“Where do you keep getting your information?!”

He laughed. Never would he have thought teasing Marinette could be this fun. A thought that now warmed his heart.

“I told you,” he chuckled. “I have my sources.”

Marinette groaned under her breath. “Well, I also said that you’re goofy and ridiculous, so don’t get your hopes too high.”

“Irrelevant,” he perked up. “You think my good looks are obvious.”

Without even thinking it, he started flexing, to which Marinette responded with a groan, and her head landing with a thunk on the railing. Oh yeah, this is fun.

“How are we friends,” Marinette grumbled, her head still hiding between her arms.

“You know your life is better with me in it,” he responded, without missing a beat. Marinette turned her head to look at him, a mix of irritation and fondness in her bluebells.

“More like complicated,” she sighed. A sliver of fear started creeping up from the pit of Chat’s stomach. That wasn’t bad, right?

“I hope that’s a good complicated,” he cleared his throat. He felt he had enough confidence with Marinette already to know she didn’t mean it that way, but a part of him couldn’t help but worry a little about the possibility of her starting to dislike him. Especially after everything that’s happened.

She raised her brows, almost as if she were reading everything he was thinking. Once again, a soft smile curled her lips as she playfully elbowed his arm, much like he did earlier.

“Surprisingly, yeah,” she whispered. Chat gave her one of his trademark toothy grins in response.

“So,” she continued, “can I ask about the bag, or should I wait for you to bring it up?” Marinette jerked her head towards the paper bag snugged under Chat’s belt. He gulped, but gave her an overenthusiastic smile. He cleared his throat, for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

“Well, I was gonna wait a few days for it, but I couldn’t help myself,” he spoke as he removed the bag from his belt. This is really stupid, he thought as he hesitated for a moment, a claw tapping the bottom of the bag underneath. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I kinda wanted to commemorate our friendship, so…” He trailed off as he offered the bag to Marinette, a blush starting to creep up his ears.

Marinette’s brows furrowed while she carefully grabbed the bag. Slowly, she opened it, peering inside. Chat held his breath. This is really, really stupid.

With much less care, Marinette shoved her hand inside the bag, taking out a plastic spray bottle. One commonly used to water plants.

“Watering cans are old fashioned,” Chat blurted out as he stared at Marinette’s bewildered look. “I figured you would like something a bit more modern. And less painful,” he added with a grimace. But the girl kept staring, so he continued. “Exactly four weeks ago, you threw a watering can at me, and I got to know a side of you I didn’t know existed. It was painful, but it was worth it. I know it hasn’t been a full month yet, but I really wanted to give it to you.”

Marinette kept staring, stunned. A reaction that was starting to make him nervous.

“I-I know things have been… messy for a good portion of our friendship,” he started rambling, “but I’m glad it was with you. I mean, I would’ve preferred no mess, but there is a mess, and I’m justgladI’mgoingthroughthismesswithyou.”

Chat Noir (nor Adrien for that matter) was not one to usually mess up his words, but this was one exception he had never realized he was capable of. This was probably one of, if not the dumbest thing he’d ever done. And was then deeply questioning why he had been so sure of it earlier.

A snort distracted him out of his thoughts. The blue-haired girl started laughing before him, in the most carefree way he had ever heard.

“You weren’t lying when you said you don’t have many friends, were you?” her laughs became more subdued, and a hint of sadness sprinkled over it.

“This is really stupid,” he finally voiced his thoughts, cat-ears drooping. “I should’ve gotten you something better, like jewelry or a videogame, or maybe—”

“Chat,” Marinette placed a hand on his forearm, giving him that shinning beam of hers. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Really?” Marinette nodded.

“It’s the most thoughtful gift you could’ve come up with,” she placed the bag aside to the patio chair on her balcony, and tightened her grip on the spray bottle. “And to be completely honest, I’m glad I hit you with my watering can, too.”

The toothy grin was back with a vengeance. Strangely, that was probably one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him. Marinette hesitated for a moment, but before Chat could ask what was wrong, the girl slowly snaked her arms under his, embracing him in a warm hug. This was something he was already starting to get used to. By instinct, he reciprocated, placing his cheek on her head.

Huh. Never noticed her shampoo smells like flowers. It was a scent that reminded him of springtime, when the flowers were blooming, giving color to what had been colorless for winter. A time that gave him a sense of new beginnings, of growth. It also reminded him of the tiny little bugs that would flutter in that time. Like ladybugs.

“Chat.”

“Hmm?”

Marinette pulled away. Chat Noir tried not to feel too disappointed with the lack of flowery smell going up his nostrils. Wait—

“Uhh,” Marinette shifted from foot to foot. The blond did his best to get his head out of the tiny garden residing on the girl’s head, trying to encourage her to say whatever she wanted to say. Marinette took a deep breath. “I’m curious about something, but I don’t wanna make you say something you shouldn’t. In fact, you don’t have to answer, e-even though it’s not that revealing, but I-I don’t know how you would feel about it, if it’s too personal, or not, or—”

“Marinette,” Chat stopped her. He lightly squeezed her biceps, accompanied by a soft smile. “Just ask.”

The girl exhaled and nodded. “Okay…” Slowly, she lifted her gaze. For some reason, Chat’s heart accelerated. Was something exciting about to happen? And why could he feel a combination of excitement and anxiousness crawling its way through his body? “Chat,” Marinette started, making his heart speed up even more, “have we met, outside of your mask?”

If it weren’t for the fact that Chat Noir could still feel himself blink, he could have sworn he had a heart attack right there and then. Why was she asking that? Did she know? Oh no, she knows. Wait. No. That couldn’t be it. He’d never given himself away. Or was she asking because she wanted to know his identity? But why would she want to know his identity? Now? She’d always been so respectful about it.

“Y-you don’t have to—”

“Why are you asking me that?” Chat Noir cut in. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized his hands were back at his sides, and a tension had begun to grow on his shoulders. At the same time, Marinette was holding the spray bottle tightly against her chest.

“I’m just curious,” she quietly responded. “Like I said: you don’t have to answer. Much less if it reveals too much about your identity. I know it’s important to keep it secret, especially now that we’re in a media disaster. I’m just… curious.”

The boy couldn’t help but feel conflicted. A part of him wanted to say yes, that they met a long time ago. That the first day they met, she probably hated his guts. That she more than knew him, she was in love with him.

But the other part of him could hear Plagg and Ladybug scolding him for revealing his identity to a civilian, who was already starting to become a constant target for akumas. The part that knew it was too dangerous for her to know the truth. That the best he could do for her was say that no, they did not know each other.

But he couldn’t find it in his heart to blatantly lie to her, so he responded with one word: “Maybe.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, as she inhaled a deep breath. Her grip on the spray bottle slightly shifted. Her lips parted.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “That’s, uh… that’s interesting… Cool. I guess.”

“Wait,” Chat frowned, “you think you know who I am?”

“No!” Marinette squeaked once again. Then cringed. “Maybe? I don’t know, I-I could be wrong.”

The girl turned away to look at the setting sun, which was almost completely gone. This was probably the latest Chat had ever stayed over. Meaning he should also go on patrol very soon. But this had just gotten interesting.

“So, the Princess believes she has found her knight,” he teased, a smirk curling his lips. “And who may this lucky guy be?”

“I don’t know, Chat,” she spoke with a firmer tone now. “I have some suspicions, but I’m not going to act on them. I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it, for some reason.”

Chat Noir found it hard to gulp. Ugh, what is up with me?! Why do I keep feeling like I’m about to throw up my heart? He took a deep breath to try and distract himself. With little success.

“Do you want to know?” he asked, slowly. Marinette scoffed.

“Whether I want to or not is not what matters,” she sighed. “I guess I just never thought you could be so close, yet so far.”

They became silent. It had never occurred to Chat how blindsided Marinette was in their friendship. He knew so much more of her than she did of him. And even when he tried to correct that, something always got in the way, whether it was Chloé, Hawkmoth or, most recently, Lila.

“But it’s fine.” The boy’s cat-ears perked up as his friend continued. “Maybe someday.”

Marinette was looking at him again, smiling like the shinning sun. A star that warmed him, especially his cheeks.

“Maybe someday,” he echoed her. “Who knows. I’ll probably be who you least expect.”

“I doubt it,” Marinette snorted. Chat snickered, but said no more.

He stayed a few minutes more, enough for the designer to inform him of coming interviews that week. All in the hopes that, this time, they would not be taken by surprise. By the time Char Noir leaped off the railing of her balcony, the sun had completely set. But he didn’t mind. It was worth it, just to spend more time with one of his best friends.

Friend. Nothing more.

#Caged ML #ML fanfic #Marichat #their-destinys-writer #Ladybug #Chat Noir #Marinette #Adrien #ao3 #ffnet #wattpad #Chapter 9 #Post

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baguettetime · 8 years

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Fall Harder

pairing: Rygo (Skylar Spence x Madeon)

rating: PG??? (don’t read it w/ur parents though)

length: 1777 words

uhhh my friends and i have been all over this ship since the tour happened last January. here’s today’s writing. i hope you guys can dig this pairing if you don’t already ship it???

either way, it’s a great pairing. they’re cute. enjoy!

Click to read on AO3.

Ryan DeRobertis knows he falls in love far too easily. It’s a fact that makes him feel too vulnerable, but it is a truth he needs to accept whether he likes it or not. By now, it’s happened more times than he can count. He falls headfirst for any person that shows him the right type of affection, loves too hard in return, ends up hurt in the end. It sometimes makes Ryan think he’s too soft, the way he lets people in without them having to work for it. He falls out of love just as easily as he falls in, feels his lovers lose interest in him, decides to end it before he gets hurt again.

He swears it won’t happen again. Swears he won’t let anyone in unless they make an effort, makes a pact with himself to avoid falling for his future friends. His relationship with Love is a complicated one to say the least. Caught between two extremes, loving too much or not at all, it’s a tumultuous back and forth motion. Constant ups and downs in his mood reflect easily in his behavior, some of which becomes rash and impulsive. It scares people away, makes them lose patience with him. He ends up brokenhearted and alone, time and time again. Yeah, it sucks, but it makes for good songwriting.

When Ryan gets news of the tour, learns he’s opening as main support for Madeon, he vows he won’t let it happen. Not this time. Months ahead of the actual tour, he swears it won’t happen the way it has on previous tours. He won’t end up pining or crying alone in his bed late at night. He can’t let it happen. He won’t allow himself to fall.

The start of the new year brings the Pixel Empire tour with it. It brings a mixture of giddy excitement to Ryan when he remembers he’s the only supporting act officially listed on the bill. It pushes him to want to do his best. He wants to make a good impression on Hugo as well as the sold out crowds he knows are scheduled every night.

The west coast dates start just past the middle of January. The tour takes off to a seemingly rocky start, too. Ryan is often unsure of himself when in front of the crowds he knows he has to face each night, crowds which he feels might not receive him with as much eagerness as they do Hugo. He feels his voice crack sometimes, a reminder from the mild winter chill as it takes its toll on the region while they tour through it. He beats himself up for it late at night while the bus moves them from city to city, but occasionally he comes off the stage while feeling extremely insecure.

Every night, as Ryan comes back into the green room after his set, Hugo without fail greets him with a hug, a smile, a sparkle in his eyes, and something sweet along the lines of, “Ryan, that was amazing !” It’s a quite pleasant reminder to Ryan that he is, in fact, only one man and not a very perfect one, at that.

Ryan swears to himself daily that he won’t get attached like he did on tours before this. Swears he won’t let platonic affection and, in this case, French mannerisms sway his decision or the way he feels. Hugo makes it intensely difficult from the moment they meet, though. The way they meet in person leaves a lasting impression. Hugo takes Ryan’s hand, kisses him on both cheeks before they have a chance to really spark a conversation. Hugo makes it so difficult when they’re both up late, sleep deprived, delirious, and half drunk. So much harder when Hugo greets him every afternoon when they both emerge from their bunks. It gets complicated when Ryan feels the warmth creep up on his cheeks and ears after seeing that warm, radiant smile as soon as they awake. Even more complicated when they acquire an acoustic guitar Hugo proceeds to customize with his code alphabet while Ryan holds it steady in his own lap.

Ryan swears he won’t fall, but the ache in his chest warns him only a quarter of the way into the tour. It’s a true challenge when they sit pressed close together in the corner of a space they’re more than free to occupy, a challenge when Ryan plays the guitar softly and feels the hum of Hugo singing quietly as they lean on against one another. It’s worse when they take the late night acoustic sessions a step further. Take it to the people waiting long after the show is over and Hugo’s got his eyes on Ryan the entire time they play songs about longing and romance.

It’s an incredibly odd feeling to fall so suddenly. He knows he shouldn’t let himself fall like this. Knows the tour is only a month long and each day seems to fly by already. He can’t help it, though. Can’t help the way his heart speeds against his rib cage every time Hugo smiles, warm and happy, when Hugo looks directly at him and sings as they are completely alone. Can’t help but feel that maybe they’re both falling instead of just him for once.

One month into the year and halfway into the tour, Ryan DeRobertis is so sure that this is the best thing to ever happen to him. He knows this is the highlight of his life thus far and he’s not exactly sure why yet. He knows it’s too early in the year to tell, but there’s enough reason for him to firmly believe that nothing else will come close to this. No words can describe the way Ryan feels about it, but he knows the time on this tour has somehow put Ryan at ease, in a calm state of mind extremely rare to him before this. He doesn’t mind the feeling in his chest so much anymore, but maybe it’s because he’s grown used to it by now.

The night before Ryan’s birthday is a hotel night in San Antonio. They have two separate rooms, one next door to the other and it’s pointless that their teams to have booked them this way when they know Hugo and Ryan will end up in the same one. They boys are sleepy, tired of traveling, but Hugo insists they should stay up at least late enough to celebrate Ryan’s 23rd birthday.

Without a second thought, Ryan accepts and together they sit on one of the beds in their now shared hotel room with a bottle of vodka and several cans of Red Bull. They don’t even realize it’s past midnight until it’s half an hour past and they have enough alcohol in their systems to leave them with flushed faces and heavy tongues.

Ryan strums the strings of the acoustic guitar, the chords under his fingers form from muscle memory of playing them every night. Hugo hums along, places the melody where it should be. He clears his throat and laughs before he joins Ryan for the chorus, “You’ve got me under your spell. Baby, I couldn’t fall harder…”

Their voices are soft and nearly masked by the sound of the guitar, but still they carry the melody together. Ryan sits cross legged on the bed and hunches over slightly as he plays. He holds the guitar against his body before he decides to lie down flat on his back. Hugo joins him soon after, lies on his front, props his head up, rests his chin in the palm of his hand. He watches Ryan closely in quiet admiration, laughs along when Ryan loses the song on the fretboard.

Ryan chuckles, covers his face with both hands, and groans, “Sorry! I messed that up.”

Hugo exhales with a sheepish grin, “How drunk are you?”

Ryan glances at the clock on the bedside drawer, “More drunk than I should be at 23 years old.”

Ryan rolls over, faces Hugo as Hugo speaks matter of factly, “It could be much worse. You’re fine.”

Ryan drags his hand down the side of his face with a goofy smile, “You think so?”

Hugo nods, comes close enough that Ryan can smell the alcohol on his breath, “Mmhm. Happy Birthday.”

Ryan’s heartbeat returns to his ears so suddenly it momentarily deafens him. He can feel the heat creeping up on his face again and he’s not sure whether it’s the alcohol or the fact that Hugo’s suddenly close enough to kiss. Ryan tries to avoid eye contact as they lie there, but it’s impossible when they’re so close like this. He laughs nervously, intends to say thanks in return, but Hugo’s lips are on his before he can fully process it.

His pulse sounds like thunder, but he still hears the accidental strum of the guitar strings when Hugo carefully takes the instrument from his hands and sets it aside. Hugo climbs onto Ryan and straddles him, much too agile for someone that just polished off an entire bottle of vodka with him.

Ryan’s breaths are too quick, too loud for his own taste, and Hugo doesn’t make it any better. Hugo’s lips are hot when they brush against his, still slick from drinking, breath still sweet with Red Bull and candy from earlier. Ryan doesn’t know what to do with his hands, but the moment is too tempting, too heated to be afraid. Hugo closes the space between their mouths, gives Ryan a tentative kiss, only soft enough for their lips to click when they separate. Ryan slowly allows his hands to roam, one rests on Hugo’s lower back, attempts to be respectful. The other hand goes to the back of Hugo’s neck, tangles its fingers into his long curly hair, begs Hugo to come closer for another kiss.

Hugo draws a shaky breath when Ryan pulls him down a little and Ryan can feel it right against his mouth.

“Can I kiss you again?” Hugo whispers and the feeling sends a tingling sensation through Ryan’s whole body.

Ryan nods too quickly, desperate under Hugo, before he replies, “Please.”

Hugo’s lips come in contact with his again and this time it’s slower, but just as hot as the previous one. Long, passionate, the kiss leaves Ryan breathless. Hugo pulls away, nips and tugs at Ryan’s lower lip in between a series of kisses.

Ryan giggles a breathy, “Happy birthday, me…” before he pulls Hugo back down for more.

And for a moment, it doesn’t matter to Ryan that he let himself fall this time.

#rygo #lux writes #i am having so much fun but i suffered so much writing this #trading creams

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furilia · 7 years

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SimpleHuman Mirrors Changed My Makeup Game!

New Post has been published on https://www.furilia.com/simplehuman-mirrors-changed-my-makeup-game/

SimpleHuman Mirrors Changed My Makeup Game!

I don’t really consider myself “brand loyal” at all. Simply put, I really love to try new products (which is probably why I became a beauty blogger!). I might find something awesome, but then I’m immediately ready to try something new. So that being said, it’s kind of a big deal when I find a brand to be loyal to. When it comes to beauty mirrors and trash cans (yeah I said trash cans – we’ll get to that in a minute), I am loyal to SimpleHuman.

Just a note: this post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I bought a large SimpleHuman trash can for my kitchen about 4 or 5 years ago. SimpleHuman sent me the Wide View Pro mirror to review a year or so ago, which started my obsession with the brand. And recently, they sent over the 8 Inch Round Pro mirror along with the small step can trash can for me to review for you guys.

I’ve tried many lighted makeup mirrors, but nothing comes close to SimpleHuman mirrors. I’m not going to lie – these babies aren’t cheap, but they are completely worth saving up for. The default light setting is the best I’ve found to mimic daylight. It’s very bright, and it’s not too yellow or too harsh like other mirrors I’ve tried. They say it’s 600 lux and has a color rendering index of 90. I have no idea what that means, but it must be good, because the lighting is perfect! The light comes on automatically when you put your face near the sensor and shuts off automatically (you can use the app to determine how long it stays on – or you can even set a timer to keep it on for a specified length of time.

Speaking of the app, it’s not something I really use often. I find the default lighting setting works just fine for me. But if you want to get fancy, you can use the app to mimic a cloudy day, restaurant lighting or even candlelight. There are a few options, and then you can create your own by simply taking a photo. It automatically detects the light settings in your office, coffee shop, or wherever you want, and saves it. That way you can see exactly how your makeup will look in those places.

There’s a rechargeable cord, so you can keep the SimpleHuman mirrors on your vanity or in your bathroom cord-free. One charge lasts about 3-4 weeks, depending on how often you use it.

The SimpleHuman Sensor Mirror Wide View Pro is my baby. It’s HUGE! I keep my vanity in my living room because the lighting is good there (and we have a small place). Most people that walk into the living room think it’s a computer monitor until they get closer and see the lights come on. It looks pretty darn cool. Everyone who comes over is impressed – even the guys! When I first got it (in 2016), I didn’t have a vanity, so I didn’t have anywhere to put it. Now that I do, it’s seriously heaven-sent.

Previously I was doing my makeup under VERY yellow bathroom light. One day my friend came over to get ready for an event, and she was like, “How can you possibly see what your makeup looks like in here?” I realized she was right, and my foundation was not even close to matching my skin tone. How did I operate as a beauty blogger for so many years without realizing this? I was embarrassed! So, I bought a vanity and took my SimpleHuman mirror out of storage. My makeup game has VASTLY improved since then, and I can never go back to yellow bathroom light. I can even do my makeup at night and get great non-yellow light.

It has a 1x magnification (so basically NO magnification) but comes with a small magnetic 10x magnification mirror that you can attach to the mirror surface. This is my only problem with the mirror – the 10x magnification is only useful for super close-up things like tweezing hairs, and it only sticks in certain places on the mirror. It would be nice if you could flip it for a 5x magnification, or perhaps if the side panels were 5x.

It’s also got a great warranty. I’ve had mine for some time, and at one point it pooped out. I couldn’t get it to charge or turn on. I contacted customer service and they sent me a new cord to see if that was the problem. That didn’t help, so they sent me a return label for the mirror, and sent me a brand new one – no questions asked!

Recently, I got my hands on the SimpleHuman 8 Inch Mirror Pro. The base mirror has 5x magnification and the removable magnetic stick-on mirror has 10x. Why did I need another mirror? Well, I needed one for close-up work. I’m not getting any younger, and neither are my eyes. Although the Wide View Pro is great, it doesn’t have 5x magnification, and it doesn’t angle as much as I’d like. I thought if I got a mirror that I could look DOWN into, I’d have an easier time creating a cat eye, or putting on false lashes. Boy was I right about that! Previously I had been applying liquid liner straight on, not being able to see what I was doing all that well, and just hoping for the best! Now I can really see what I’m doing.

And not only that, because the higher magnification on this one is easier to use, I realized that I need to be better about plucking wayward facial hairs! Oh man – the things I suddenly realized! As a beauty blogger, I often take closeup photos of my face (which makes every single hair seem HUGE), and this has helped immensely. So, if you need a mirror for close-up things, this is THE one. But please note that it doesn’t have a regular (1x) option, so you still need a the Wide View Pro (or any regular mirror) to see your whole face at once.

This mirror is also smaller and more portable, so it’s easier for me to bring it into the bathroom or wherever I need it. It comes in brushed stainless steel or rose gold. I got the brushed steel to match my other mirror.

And last but not least, let me tell you about the SimpleHuman trash cans! My fiancé, Gregg, and I are on a kick to improve our home as much as possible this year. Nothing is too small. Anything that makes our home look nicer, or makes life easier in some way, is welcome.

As I mentioned, we already have a large SimpleHuman trash can in the kitchen, so I was happy to get a smaller version for the bathroom. You may think it’s weird to get excited about trash cans, but when you have a good one, it makes life so much easier! Both of the trash cans I have are step cans, but SimpleHuman also makes automated sensor cans that open with your voice or a wave of your hand (I may upgrade to those one day).

I got the 10L Profile Step Can for my bathroom, because we have VERY limited space, and I needed something small to fit between the wall and the toilet. The SimpleHuman garbage can has a lid that closes slowly and completely silently after you open it, so no more BANGING sounds in the middle of the night if Gregg or I get up to use the bathroom! It comes with a removable inner bucket so you don’t see the garbage bag hanging out. You can use a recycled grocery bag or you can use SimpleHuman’s R Custom Fit Liners to get a perfect fit. It looks so much nicer than the old one we had, and the brushed steel is fingerprint-proof so you won’t see smudges all over it.

Everything I’ve tried from SimpleHuman has been amazing, so I’m really excited to try more of their products out. Anything that looks nice and makes my life easier is a huge win in my book!

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elles-choices · 6 years

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Chapter 4: Here Comes The Bride (MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

Book: Desire & Decorum

Summary: Their wedding day has arrived. Mr. Sinclaire cannot wait to see his wife to be. Clara cannot wait to become his wife. Will everything go according to plan?

Pairing: Mr. Sincaire x MC (Clara)

Words: about 2650

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Choices by Pixel Berry

Note: This mini series called “Marrying you” is about the final preparations for MC and Mr. Sinclaire’s wedding, their wedding day and night and their honeymoon… I hope you guys enjoy it :) Thank you for stopping by.

--------------------

Chapter 1: The Last Fitting (Marrying You, MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

Chapter 2: Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue (Marrying you, MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

Chapter 3: The “S” Question (Marrying You - MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

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Clara’s life has changed completely since the death of her mother. One moment she was struggling, knowing that she was loosing the most important person in her life and she would be alone in the world; the next, she was being told not only that her father was alive, also that he was an Earl.

In the same day she left her childhood home to move into Edgewater, she was introduced to him — the man she is a few moments away from marrying. After everything she had gone through with her stepmother, becoming the Countess of Edgewater was the biggest honour she could ever achieve - some thought. To her though, the best was still to come for nothing compares to becoming Mrs. Ernest Sinclaire.

———————————

Clara watches carefully her image in the mirror. Although she had seen herself in her wedding gown before, this Wednesday morning everything looks more magical for her wedding day has finally arrived.

She hears a knock on the door and soon the Dowager Countess entered her room. „Dear, the carriage is ready to take us to the church“, she inspects Clara’s hair, pulled back into a messy braid embellished with tiny little white jasmine blossoms and secured with Briar’s blue ribbon. She smiles by the sight of Clara, „You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen, Clara“.

Clara turns to her grandmother and hugs her tightly. „Would you help me with my wedding charms, Lady Grandmother?“, the Dowager Countess looks into her big green eyes and smiles as Clara hands her the diamond bandeau tiara, she giftet her not long ago.

„The things with tiaras, dear, is that they tend to move around“, she looks in her bag for something, „Ha! Pray, take a seat… your great-grandmother taught me this trick. All you need is a needle and almost invisible treads“, she looks carefully at what she is doing, while Clara wonders if this will really work. „Perfect! Pray, move your head quickly from one side to another“, Clara does as asked and her grandmother smiles satisfied with her work, attaching her veil to her hair. „So, what are the other charms?“.

„Mr. Parsons borrowed me her pearl bracelet, it is beautiful, is it not?“, her grandmother smiles and nods putting it on her delicate wrist. Then, Clara turns to her dressing table, where Mr. Sinclaire’s gift lies waiting for this day, „This one is from Mr. Sinclaire. I have not seen it yet…“, she opens the beautiful wooden case to find a diamond encrusted collier with a huge emerald in the center of the pendant, matching her engagement ring. „Oh, Ernest…“, she smiles touched by how thoughtful he was.

The Dowager Countess is amazed by the sight of it. „My dear, this collier is beautiful! Mr. Sinclaire has a quite exquisite taste — Well, I should not be surprised since he is marrying my granddaughter“, smiling to Clara, she takes it from its case and gently places it around her granddaughter’s neck, fastening it on the side. „Now all you need is a lucky sixpence in your shoe and we can head to Church.“, she hands it to her granddaughter and they leave her dressing room.

————————————

On Clara’s arrival, she could hear the bells of the church ringing, a sign that the wedding was going to start very soon. She looks at Annabelle, Briar and Miss Sutton, each one wearing white as participants of the bridal party and she smiles with teary eyes „Do not start crying, Clara or you will make us all cry and puffy eyes is not a look we wanna wear today!“, Annabelle hugs her friend, then brushes away a couple of tears from Clara’s face. She gives her a reassuring squeeze of the hand and gives her the bridal bouquet —a mix of wild flowers and white roses; Mr. Sinclaire had picked them from his garden the day prior to the wedding. „Much better…Are you ready?“, Annabelle smiles and Clara nods, leaving the carriage and heading to the vestibule of the church, where Mr. Sinclaire and his groomsmen were waiting.

Mr. Sinclaire seems very tense — he paces from one side to the other looking constantly at his pocket watch. His best friend, James Banks, one of the groomsmen, smiles and lays a hand on his shoulder, „I do not think I have ever seen you this nervous, my friend. I believe there is still time to run away“, he whispers jokingly. Suddenly he looks at the door excited „Or not… Your bride is already here. And may I say, you are a very lucky man, Ernest“. Mr. Sinclaire turns slowly to the doors of the church and as he sees Clara entering, he feels as if his heart stood still for a moment. Their eyes lock and she smiles as he heads to her. He is completely bewitched by her beauty, nervous like a school boy trying to talk for the first time with the girl he fancies.

„I… hmm… There are no words that could describe your beauty today, Lady Clara“, he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles never taking his eyes off her.

She lowers her glance shyly, „You looking dashing as always, Mr. Sinclaire“. He is wearing a navy blue frock coat with a white waistcoat, a folded cravat and grey trousers. Mr. Sinclaire rises her chin up, so their eyes meet again and tries to lift the veil of her face for a short moment, when he hears the Dowager Countess clearing her throat.

„I believe this is not the proper time for that, Mr. Sinclaire. And if you want to get married today, I recommend you get in line, so the procession can enter the church“, Mr. Sinclaire blushes self-conscious of all eyes looking at him.

He looks at his bride and whispers, „I love you, sweetheart“, before leaving to take his place in line.

---------------------

Close friends and a few distant relatives of both parties were already waiting for the ceremony to commence. The first groomsman, his best friend, entered with Annabelle, the first bridesmaid. The others followed together with flower girls and ring bearer. Mr. Sinclaire walks down the aisle together with the Dowager Countess upon his arm. Clara had decided to do this walk alone as a sign of her grieving -- she was still sad that her parents were not there, however, she could feel their presence somehow and this brought her some comfort.

Upon her arrival at the altar, she hands Annabelle the bouquet, then, takes her place upon the left of Mr. Sinclaire, in front of Bishop Monroe — her Grandmother standing by her right side. Mr. Sinclaire lifts her veil seeing her clearly for the first time today. He caresses her cheeks with his thumbs quickly, a gesture she really appreciates.

„Dear Beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation to witness and celebrate the union of Mr. Ernest Sinclaire and Lady Clara, Countess of Edgewater in holy matrimony. With love and commitment, they have decided to join together as husband and wife. At this moment, I would like to share a passage from the holy book with you:

‚Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and can understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have faith, that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I give all I possess to the poor, and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’

These two persons present come now to be joined, therefore if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully join together, let him now speak or else here after forever hold his peace“, after a long second of silence, Bishop Monroe smiles, „After reviewing that there were no impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, I do now ask: Ernest Alexander wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness, and in health? And forsaking all other, keep thee only to her, so long as you both shall live“.

Mr. Sinclaire looks at Clara and smiles: „I will“.

„Clara Marie, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love, honour, and keep him, in sickness, and in health? And forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?“

She smiles at Mr. Sinclaire: „I will“

Bishop Monroe looks at the Dowager Countess „Who giveth this woman to be married unto this man?“, and she gives Clara’s hand to him, who hands it to Mr. Sinclaire.

Mr. Sinclaire looks into Claras eyes, smiling and repeats Bishop Monroe words, "I, Ernest Alexander, take thee, Clara Marie, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance: And thereto I plight thee my troth“.

Clara hold his gaze whilst Mr. Sinclaire caresses her knuckles: „I, Clara Marie, take thee, Ernest Alexander, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forth, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love, and cherish, till death us depart, according to God's holy ordinance: And thereto I give thee my troth“.

Bishop Monroe blesses the ring -- Mr. Sinclaire takes her hand in his and repeats after the Bishop: „With this ring I thee wed: with my body I thee worship: and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.“, he puts the ring on her finger and kisses it. After a last prayer, the Bishop joining their hands together declaires: „Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. Forasmuch as Ernest and Clara have consented in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands: I pronounce that they be man and wife together“. Annabelle hands Clara her wedding bouquet, lifts her gown’s train and Mr. Sinclaire, Clara and two witnesses follows the Bishop to the vestry to enter the marriage lines into the parish register book.

Mr. Sinclaire signs proudly his name and Clara giggles as she signs her new name for the first time: Clara, Countess of Edgewater, Mrs. Ernest Sinclaire. As they leave the vestry, Mr. Sinclaire escorts Clara outside the Church and into his carriage.

In the minute their carriage takes off to Edgewater, Mr. Sinclaire sits by Clara’s sides and without any other word he kisses her passionately, something he wished he could have done as soon as he laid eyes on her this morning. His hand cups her face, her hands caressing his strong arms — it was a special kiss, the first as husband and wife. It was fiery and demanding, there was nothing holding Mr. Sinclaire back anymore — she was his and he was hers. His lips leave hers and he looks intensely into her eyes „Mrs. Sinclaire… there is so many things I wish I could have told you this morning, however, the most important of all, I want you to know how blessed I am for having you as my wife. I cannot wait to start my life with you… to tell you everyday how beautiful you are and how I appreciate everything you do. I cannot imagine another day without you by my side, Clara“, before she can say anything he presses his warm lips against hers once again.

——————————

Upon arriving in Edgewater they head to Clara’s room for a moment alone whilst their guests arrive from the church for the traditional wedding breakfast. Clara shuts the door behind her and smiles, „I do not think you have ever been to my chambers, Ernest“, she walks to him and brushes her lips against his cheeks, „Would you please free me from this veil?“, she turnes around allowing him to take a look at it.

„I cannot say I have...“, he does as she asked, then lowers his lips to her neck, kissing his way to her shoulder. His hands pulls her towards him, „You look stunning... I know better than starting something I cannot finish, however, you are irresistible, my Lady“, his hands moving from her waist to her thighs. His touch sends a shiver down her spine.

Clara turns around, she crosses her arms behind his neck and pulls him closer, „You have been able to resist me for the past seven months, what are a few more hours of waiting?“, she caresses his cheeks.

„Eternity…“, he chuckles, „However, we only have a breakfast to attend to, some socialising to do and in the afternoon I will not be going home alone. I will hold on to this thought!“. He kisses her gently „Will you dance with me, love?“, his eyes are sparkling and his smile is broad.

Clara giggles and blushes „Mr. Sinclaire, I thought you hated these kind of activities. Also, there is no music we could dance to“, she lays her head on his chest, her hands holding him.

„I would not say that I hate it, I just do not enjoy it as much as the others. However, I would enjoy it with you… here… right now. We do not need music, we have each other and that is all we need“, he lays his hands protectively around her. She looks up to him and he gazes upon her. For a while, they move their bodies slowly in a rhythm only they know. He twirls her around, dipping her, then he leans forward, staring at her big green eyes. Clara feels her heart skip a beat, her face turning to a light shade of pink as he closes the distance between their lips, kissing her for a second and then pulling her back up. „I would love to forever dance with you, my love, however we should go and celebrate with our guests“, Clara nods and they leave the room.

——————————

The weather is so lovely that tables were setup outside. Into the afternoon, after receiving congratulations, having a lavish breakfast with their guests, cutting and boxing the wedding cake for the attendants, Mr. Sinclaire takes Clara to her new home: Ledford Park.

He stands with Clara and Briar in front of Clara’s chambers: „Miss Daly, would you please give me a minute alone with Mrs. Sinclaire?“, Briar nods and Mr. Sinclaire guides Clara into her new room. After shutting the door behind him he holds both of her hands in his: „Before I leave you alone with Miss Daly, is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything you would like to do today? Ride somewhere, for example?“, he kisses one of her hands.

„Thank you, Ernest. However, the weather is changing and it will soon rain. I would rather spend sometime alone with you…“, she blushes looking at the floor.

Mr. Sinclaire smiles and kisses her cheek gently, whispering: „There is nothing else I would rather do, love“, his strong arms surround her into a gentle hug, „I will light the fire in our marital chamber’s fireplace before I go freshen up. This door will take you to our room“, he points to the dark wood door with golden knob behind Clara and kisses her forehead „I love you!“, he heads out throwing one last glance at her before leaving.

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Marrying you: Chapter 5: “Ever Thine, Ever Mine” (NSFW — MC x Mr. Sinclaire)

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