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caffeineivore · 5 years

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R/J for BAMF

Because @apsaraqueen is responsible for like 90% of the R/J I write anyway so, you know?

Spiritverse, R/J, possibly rated PG13

FINALLY leaving for home now, how about you?

I suppose you wouldn’t want any company on the trip back? You HAVE been burning the midnight oil, hmm?

Oh, very literally, yes. But I’ll see you at the bridge in a bit!

The texts had started earlier that day, when she had first arrived at her Grandfather’s. Jareth had been in Manhattan, finalizing the project that he’d been working on, moving a Stone-Hewn from atop a crumbling church slated for demolition. He’d asked for her help-- her lineage was an old and established one in the city-- and it had been in her grandfather’s name that a new and quite-elegant-looking statue of a knight on a rearing steed had been donated to Central Park and installed in a shady corner. The Iele, Linden Thorne, had thanked him profusely, then kept vigil after he’d left, awaiting the moment her knight would awaken in his new home. Undoubtedly, she was just as eager to see her beloved as he was to see his.

That thought put a grin that he was quite certain was both obvious and wry on his face.

Ember walks briskly but gracefully, dark coat and dark skirts and dark hair, but today, perhaps in honour of the Imbolc celebration, there is a silk scarf tied at a jaunty angle on her neck, cardinal-red with a milk-white fringe. She looks up and smiles when she catches sight of him, and reaches out a slim hand, which he uses to pull her close.

The wind swirls her midnight hair around the both of them, and he pulls away after a too-brief moment of breathing in the scent of snowfall and scrying smoke and sandalwood. “You smell good.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, but then laughs softly even as her fingers twine with his. “I’ve spent the vast majority of this evening making candles for Imbolc. Lots of essential oils and herbs involved in the process, you know?”

She tells him of the traditional rites-- the weaving of crosses from the rushes, the making and lighting of spell candles, the feast to honour the goddess Brighid and entreat the gods for a mild spring. The bridge is not crowded at this late hour, and so they take their time crossing it, all the bright lights of Manhattan glistening in the background against an inky sky.

“I love crossing the bridge at this hour, when it’s not full of people rushing from one place to another,” Ember pauses and glances back at the city skyline. “It’s sometimes a bit trying to be around a bunch of people who are all in a hurry and have a great deal on their minds.”

Jareth can imagine that well enough; anyone with even a touch of the empath or the clairvoyant would likely find crowds tiresome, and his wise woman has more than her share of those gifts. But neither would she expect pity-- Ember was nothing if not conscientious, and certainly ascribed to the notion that with great power came great responsibility. But he would see her smile again, if he could arrange it. “I will admit, one of my first times crossing the bridge was at the hour of quarter-of-four in the morning, alongside my kin. It was utterly deserted. And I may have climbed to the very top, ‘for the hell of it’, as they say.” At the look she shoots him, he grins. “’Tis not so different from climbing a tree. If anything, because of the building materials and the cables, it’s actually sturdier.”

Much to his gratification, this declaration does elicit a faint giggle out of her. “And what did your friends have to say about that, if I may be so bold as to ask?” She’d met Aeson and Aelene perhaps two weeks ago, when they’d planned out the moving of the Stone-Hewn over dinner and drinks, and though he’d endured a bit of gentle teasing from both of them, Jareth was quite certain that his friends had liked her well enough.

He affects a preternaturally solemn expression. “Well, certainly, Aelene scolded me for sporting around excessively. And I’m quite sure I would have taken her more seriously if it weren’t for the fact that she herself has been known to cross town by rooftops rather than streets if the traffic is extra heavy. To be fair, we’ve all been guilty. Especially during rush-hour.”

The giggle becomes a full-on laugh. “Show-off.” She swats him lightly on the arm, but for all that, he’s pleased to see the merriment twinkling in her violet eyes. “I can’t judge, though. Grandfather amused himself last week by putting a faint levitation charm on his neighbour’s welcome mat. Not enough of one to cause any true alarm, but just enough to give the fellow the sensation of taking a step up for a few seconds even when he remained on level ground. That man’s got two months before April Fool’s Day and I don’t even want to contemplate what types of shenanigans he may get up to then.”

It’s a few minutes to midnight by the time they reach Jane’s Carousel on the other side of the bridge, and with a delightfully mischievous smile, Ember gives his hand a tug towards the unlit structure. “Come on!” A snap of her fingers and it comes to life, lights winking on and horses spinning slowly in a circle. She doesn’t spell on the music, though, likely in consideration of anyone who might be sleeping in hearing range.

Her skirts are slightly too long to suit sitting astride on even a carousel horse, but Ember perches gracefully enough on the back of a dappled grey like a Regency-era lady on side-saddle. Half-enchanted, half-amused, he stands at her side as the carousel makes its circuit, one hand steady at the small of her back. She has one hand wrapped around the pole attached to the horse, but with an airy wave of the other, the air fills with rainbowy soap bubbles and glittery red firework sparks. Her eyes meet his as the carousel slows and gradually comes to a stop, and he thinks for a moment he can see a hint of the sweet, intrepid little girl she might have been, sometime in the distant past, before she’d understood the portent of her gifts.

“I have never actually ridden this carousel before,” she says as she steps off the colourful structure, its lights fading behind the two of them. “I was grown up by the time it was built, of course. But life’s hardly worth living if one can’t trade off several hours of duty for a few moments of frivolity once in a great while, hmm?” A wry smile crosses her lovely lips. “I daresay I haven’t, perhaps, engaged in as much merry-making as my grandfather is wont to do nowadays. But every so often...”

He can’t quite resist the temptation to kiss her mouth, curved as it is in a smile, but keeps it gentle and brief. She glances at him through a fringe of sooty eyelashes as they make their way down the street. “I think I remember this street-- your friend Angela brought me to your place after I met her.”

“So she did,” Jareth nods. “She invited the both of you up for wine and sympathy after the ordeal of that evening. I suppose I could repeat that invitation.”

She had not been there since that day Angela had brought her-- indeed, it had always seemed more appropriate to see her safely home after meeting with her than bringing her to his place. But when he unlocks the doors, she looks around with avid interest. His loft is rather less luxurious than hers, but airy and spacious, with vaulted ceilings and buffed wooden floors.

“It’s interesting how one can get a fairly true idea of another’s nature by visiting their home.” Ember accepts a glass of wine from him and takes a slow sip even as she makes herself comfortable. “Pale walls and plentiful greenery, windows that let in natural light. You display your bows and knives within easy reach, but elegantly so, not in a threatening way.” There is an intricately cast Medieval diptych in bronze on one wall-- love and war. On another is a Salish wall hanging. Over the mantel is a striking black-and-white photograph of the Manhattan skyline. “I can see where you’ve been, through the art you’ve collected. Perhaps even a bit of friends you might have made along the way.” Setting down her empty glass, she stands, pulling something out of her pocket, and beckons him to follow as she walks towards the mantel.

“It’s a Brighid’s cross and a candle for your hearth, such as it is,” Ember ties on the little rush-woven amulet to a nail. The candle is pale beeswax flecked with the mossy green of herbs, and when she lights it, the scent is redolent with something sweet and slightly herbacious. “Basil and blackberry for love and protection. Blessed be, Jareth Sylvane.” Reaching up, she lays her hands gently on his face, pulls him down for a kiss.

Ember the witch, with her tarot cards and her rune stones. Ember the warrior, running to Angela’s aid against an armed mugger, dashing across Central Park to find a child before she drowned. Ember the woman-- thoughtful, quietly strong-willed and surprisingly sweet at the oddest moments, multi-faceted and fascinating and so beautiful sometimes that his heart ached with it. “I have all the love and protection I need wherever and whenever I am with you,” he tells her softly as he draws back far enough to look into her eyes, blue to violet. Those words are not ones that his kind ever bandy about lightly, but somehow, saying them to her is as easy as breathing.

Her expression is soft as this late, quiet hour and solemn as his unspoken vow. The Ælf-kine lack a bit of humanity’s curiosity and evanescent interest in others, and to profess love for another is not only a statement of regard but of intent and eternal fidelity. She knows it, too, and stands back just far enough to take his hands in hers. Her fingers are warm and the crackle of power vibrates against his skin like static electricity, and though she whispers them, he hears every word of her promise in return in the incantation as the candle burns to its base in a flickering ball of golden light.

“By candleflame’s light I vow to thee-- Faithful as the tides of the moonlit sea, The shelter of my living heart is thine, May all thy joys and sorrows be as mine.”

She lets her breath escape with that last word on a soft exhale, then smiles tremulously up at him. “An’ as I will it, so mote it be.” The spell undoubtedly carries great power, but it doesn’t feel heavy or portentous at all, and simply fills the air with a comforting warmth. He can’t resist drawing her close again, but now when she presses her lips to his, there’s a frission of heat and sweetness stronger and far more profound. He’d certainly been aware of her beauty before-- the graceful balance of her features, the low harmony of her voice, but it’s a different, more primal awareness now, as though his very nerves and veins tingle with the way the scent of her skin warms the closer her holds her, the way her lips taste like cabernet sauvignon and chamomile tea. Her fingers trace a pattern-- probably a rune of protection, knowing his love’s careful heart, down his nape, then slide down to his back to brush against bare skin underneath the hem of his sweater. His breath catches even as he traces the shape of her jaw, the length of her neck with his lips. Her head tilts back on a moan, and those beautiful eyes, fiery-dark now as the edge of twilight, meet his.

“Jareth, please tell me you have a bed in here somewhere.”

He does, and he seldom makes use of it, but now he lifts her up in his arms, ascends the shallow steps which lead upstairs. Even with his fleet-footedness, the trek up is slow, as they stop every few steps to kiss, to touch warm skin with fingers that quiver with wonder. He lands on his back on the white sheets and tugs her down over him, neither of them quite so graceful now, and fills his hands with fragrant skeins of her raven hair even as her own fingers fiddle with the fastenings of his clothes.

It’s much later that he watches the sky lighten from black to indigo just as the sun is about to rise. Next to him, Ember sleeps soundly, dark hair spilled over white shoulders. Through the course of the night, she’d shifted to take over more than half the bed, and it’s certainly a different experience resting with another body lying half-sprawled over one’s own, warm and supple with breaths that tickled his skin.

And yet, those few half-wakeful, half-dreaming hours, feeling her heartbeat soft and steady against his own flesh, lulled by the scent of her hair and the faint sounds of her breathing, were the greatest rest he’d ever known.

#R/J #senshi/shitennou #apsaraqueen #fanfiction #fanfic #sailor moon

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dramayeoja · 6 years

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Goblin ❣︎ 도깨비

Kim Shin, an undefeated war general, is ultimately killed by a jealous young king named Wang Yeo. After death, Shin is revived by the gods—but his revival is by no means miraculous. He becomes a 도깨비 (dokkaebi, goblin), and is cursed. He will have to pay for all the lives he took in battle by living alone in immortality, witnessing everyone he's ever loved, die. Remaining lodged in his chest is the very sword that killed him. There is only person who can see that sword, and draw from his heart so that he can finally rest in peace: his bride... whom he's yet to meet.

Things get spoilery under the cut—you've been warned! ;)

Chipper, yeah? Haha so, right off the bat, the premises of Goblin remind me of like, a much more morbid version of the legend of King Arthur. You know, a man draws a sword from stone to prove himself the greatest king in all of Britain? Yeah. Just to be clear: this is a good thing (imo). Like, I personally think this is just such a cool idea for a drama 😍

Let's jump right in. I'm gonna be honest and say that, at first, I felt a little turned off at the female lead, Eun Tak, being nineteen (in the beginning of the show), meanwhile the male lead, Shin, is 900+ years old (but physically looks to be in his thirties). It just... rubbed me weird. But hey, the Twilight series (both the books and the movies) is exactly the same—high school girl, century-old man, bananas yet somehow romantic storyline... And I loved me some Twilight as a young adult. So I mean, I have no right to judge, really. Plus, Eun Tak soon turns twenty anyway. So that's an improvement I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️ We follow her character into her late twenties, nearly thirty. So things are definitely fine by then haha! 👍

Don't let that previous bit make you think I didn't enjoy Goblin—I LOVED it. That detail is just a lil funky to me, is all. Back during my Twilight obsession days, I was nearly twenty myself, and the thought of being pursued by an older man was exciting. Hell, I mean, it still is! But now that I'm two years shy of my 30th Birthday, I feel differently sometimes. I think, LAWD get that girl away from that man, she too young for him LOL. I am definitely getting old... Enough about Twilight now, apologies! I'm only using it for the sake of conveying similarities seen in Goblin 🙏 Let's talk cast!

Kim Go Eun as Ji Eun Tak and Gong Yoo as Kim Shin

Eun Tak is a bubbly young woman with limitless energy! While still in her mother's womb, Mama Ji was involved in a hit-and-run incident which, sadly, took her life. During Mama Ji's dying moments, she prayed to anyone above that her child's life be spared. Sat on a rooftop from afar, beer in hand (lol), Shin hears her prayers, as he is a god of sorts. He appears before Mama Ji, and shows mercy to her unborn baby. Eun Tak grows up with the ability to see/speak to ghosts. Said ghosts tell her constantly that she is the goblin's bride. How do they know? A strange birthmark on the back of Eun Tak's neck tips them off. Eun Tak unfortunately was taken in by her abusive bitch of an aunt, who jabs Eun Tak every chance she gets. Her cousins are assholes. Eun Tak's aunt really only keeps her around in hopes of collecting Mama Ji's savings (intended for Eun Tak) one day. Sad, right? I mean, isn't Eun Tak being born without her mother enough as it is? Life can be so cruel 😔

Lee Dong Wook as Grim Reaper/Reaper/Wang Yeo

This is Grim Reaper (or Reaper for short), portrayed by the handsome Lee Dong Wook. His character is just this strange, not at all tech-savvy man with a constant deadpan facial expression. Said facial expression provokes so many giggles during funny moments, and drives home the longing and desperation during sad times. We learn quite a ways in that he, in his previous life (again, just in case: spoiler), was Wang Yeo G A S P ! The young king that is essentially responsible for Shin's death, as well as all the misdeeds that were done to Shin's family. Again, this is something I don't want to spoil. Well, more, anyway 😆 You gotta see it!

Yoo In Na as Kim Sun/Sunny

Kim Sun, or simply, Sunny (she loves to spell her name for people lol, S-U-N-N-Y!) is the second female lead. Yoo In Na is so gorgeous that one look at her makes you feel like such a potato hahhah. 🥔 This fact about her beauty bleeds over into the show itself—every time another character meets Sunny, the camera does this slow motion pan into her lmao. She really is that pretty! Sunny's personality comes across so odd at first... Having watched all of the episodes now, I feel the intention of Goblin's creators was to make her seem like a soul searching for something it has lost in a previous life. idk if that makes sense, but yeah. She has this way about her, like she's disconnected from others, and is sifting through the haziness to find this thing she feels she's lost.

Yook Sungjae (my BtoB bias 😍) as Yoo Deok Hwa

Sungjaeeee ahhhh 💘💘💘 I had to gush, sorry! Hehe. Meet Deok Hwa: unofficial nephew of Shin. Deok Hwa is a third-generation chaebol (heir to a family-owned corporation) and spoiled man-child, always seeking his credit card hahaha 🤣 But I love him so much. Between Gong Yoo, Lee Dong Wook, and BtoB Sungjae? Man, I'm dying over here! Deok Hwa's true identity is revealed later in the show, which if you haven't seen it yet, I won't spoil it. Just watch. But his ending sucked. Like where did he go? Everyone else's endings got tied up neatly except for his. What gives, man? 🤔 Edit: I was actually reading an online conversation about what happened to Deok Hwa online—someone jokingly said he was reincarnated as BtoB Sungjae LOL 💯

Other various comments

AMAZING OST 😍😍😍

Good pace, episodes drag at times. A little confusing in the beginning, but you get there eventually. Maybe this is just me though, viewers who are a little more keen than I will likely catch on sooner ;) My mom was a little confused as well, and actually said at one point, "This should be called the 'what-the-hell-is-going-on' show," hahaha. Like I said though, we quickly moved on from this, and loved all the things. There are actually, I think, three (?) specials that were made to aid viewers in making sure they understand the complex events and relationships clearly. I haven't watched them yet, but want to!

Quite repetitive tbh, as there are unnecessary flashbacks often. Probably for two reasons: the obvious of reminding you what's what, but also to create suspense. Typical duration of most tvN dramas seems to be about 16 episodes, so it's possible these flashbacks and things are, for lack of a better word, filler. I don't know how rigid or lax tvN is about having a drama set at 16 eps, but I get the idea this is their preference. Seeing as so many of their programs on average last that long, I feel this must be what they want. Such has the potential to affect the writing, either positively or negatively.

A continuation of the previous bullet: I think Goblin's creators oversimplified the plot at times. I'm unsure if this is due to possible pressures to meet a specific requirement(s), or what. I'd rather forgo ALL restrictions and let creativity flow, let the story be told without pressure to fill a specific amount of time, etc. but TV production is weird. And contracts are weird. tvN might not to blame for these issues, could simply be that storytelling isn't always easy, man. I'm a writer myself, it's hard! I'M being redundant now lmfao! Anyway, yeah ~

Absolutely LOVED all the scenes that were filmed on location in beautiful Québec City, Canada 🍁 Tall, romantic trees, the fall foliage, historic buildings... sigh. Now all I need is Gong Yoo chasing me and we're all set! ;D

In addition to Shin being revived, my crush on Gong Yoo has been revived as well LOL. He fine 🔥 A classic K drama crush, can't go wrong with GY👌

Gong Yoo is always stellar at doing kiseu (kiss) scenes, and in Goblin, he does not disappoint. He really goes at it 🙈 which is preferred vs. the typical person kissing a stone statue that you see so often. He even did a lift kiss with Kim Go Eun that was reminiscent of THEE Coffee Prince kiss he did with actress Yoon Eun Hye! 😍

I never saw it coming, how the sword would wind up being removed from Shin's chest. I worried what the writers were going to do, how would they approach this, and just wow. The way things turned out is such a relief. It also told me that Shin's love for Eun Tak is true. I mean, I didn't need that scene to occur for me to know that, rather it just adds extra oomph that yes, Shin really does love Eun Tak. He didn't want her to suffer knowing she was responsible for his "death," so he thought quick and used her hands WITH his hands asdfghjkl. How dumb (bc noooo now you're gonna die) and amazing he is at the same time 💜

I love how Shin made his way back to Eun Tak after passing away, it was such a powerful scene. I could really feel his struggle, and kept yelling at my TV for him to stand up lol!

Devastated that Eun Tak died 😭 I really thought as many times as she'd cheated death before, she would somehow continue cheating death again and again for the rest of her days. But no... What a selfless person, Ji Eun Tak. Her being reincarnated as Park So Min gave me some closure. Not the closure I wanted, but closure.

The relationship between Shin and Reaper is ADORABLE. Whenever they interact with each other, they just have this great dialogue. Shin pings, Reaper pongs, Reaper pings, Shin pongs. It's great 😄 I still laugh about the slow-mo scene of them returning from the market with green onions HAHAHA 😂

I love Sunny & Reaper ~ However, their history as Kim Sun & Wang Yeo in their past lives is so very sad. I don't even know where to start RE: my feelings on this 💔 imo, their ending kinda sucked. I just wasn't satisfied with them having had this complicated, tragic story, only to be reincarnated in this fashion that I ultimately found to be just... idk, disappointing 😩 Again, closure, but not the closure I wanted.

I thought Reaper, the other grim reapers, the name cards, the depiction of what happens immediately following death with the brewing of the tea, the afterlife, etc. was all very creative. We really don't know what awaits us when our time comes—it's interesting to wonder if it's anything like it is in Goblin 🍵

Can't stop thinking about Goblin, even though I'm now watching Thirty but Seventeen & Mr. Sunshine! I'm emotionally cheating lol halp.

Photo credits: tvN & AsianWiki

Yo yo! I'm sorry I took so long to watch + write up this review! It's been a long couple of weeks for me, I wasn't always able to watch when I wanted. It was maddening 😆 But I have finally watched, and feel like the most accomplished person on the planet hahaha. xoxo 💜

#goblin #도깨비 #asian dramas #korean dramas #tvn

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miraculousturtle · 7 years

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to you, i thee wed (chapter ten)

They didn’t know they were marrying each other until the bride got to the altar. And then panic ensued. Married at First Sight AU.

(AO3//FF.net)

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

WC: 8.5K

Paris is dark by the time they make it home, the airport chilly, but not as frosty as the Faroe Islands. Remnants of magic grab at his clothes, tendrils tugging him somewhere cozy and safe. But bright lights and no stars in the sky remind him that he’s home again and that’s both exciting and terrifying.

(Like free from tall buildings and jumping out of planes and leaping over rooftops and—)

He cranes his neck back and tries to close his eyes, take in this moment of bustling life on the tarmac but winces. Adrien hisses in pain though, the side of his head still a dull ache.

Last night only flashes in bits and pieces towards in the early morning hours. Marinette’s soft body against his, the less than chaste kisses on an icy sidewalk. Laughter sounding through the air as they made their way upstairs.

It blurs when he hits the bed, the last of his memories of Marinette’s mouth against his, of blue eyes and pink lights and—

Dreams of Ladybug bathed in lamplight.

He rolls his eyes, his heart caught up in the past and in the present, an old love that’s gentle like a flame and...something new he doesn’t know how to name. It is brighter and warmer though, the promise more than great, hope washing over him like an ocean’s wave.

“Goddamn it,” he whines, “please remind me to never drink again, okay?”

Marinette’s face twists for a moment in sympathy and she gingerly rubs his back.“Yeah, wouldn’t want you to, um, fall again.”

She’s cute. Her midnight hair loosely frames her face, mussed slightly from sleeping on the plane. Even with chapped lips, she’s imperfectly gorgeous. Effortless and real. And in some ways, his.

“Yeah. No kidding. God, I just remember laying down in bed with you and nada. Besides waking up to this splitting headache.”

She tangles her fingers with his. “I know, you told me.” A nervous smile awkwardly paints her features, spread a little too tight and thin.

Adrien decides to focus on the now instead of the then. None of this is Marinette’s fault, he knows. He just...got stupid and fell and this is his reward: to have a sore noggin with a bruise spreading under his hairline.

He lets out a yawn, “I know, I know. You’ve been listening to me complain all day about it, but yeah, it’s been a long day anyway.”

The wind whips at her grey coat as she gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. “I don’t mind listening to you complain though. Not about...this at least...or anything really. Complain away!”

Despite the poor lighting, Adrien swears he can see a healthy rose dust her cheeks. Marinette’s heart is stitched into her sleeve whether she knows it or not. She’s a cautious girl in theory, but in application, he’s only met a few that are so brave. His wife leads much more with her heart that he thinks she’d care to admit.

Adrien shrugs, enjoying the warmth from her hand. “Nah, I think I’m okay for now. I’m just cranky from the flight. Not even the longest one, but the short ones always make me a little green around the gills.”

“Ah yes, I’ve married quite the world traveler. How soon I have forgotten,” she says with a coy grin.

Lights reflect off her eyes like a starry sky, gleaming bright pinpricks of color. He stares a moment longer than he should. Her smile becomes shy, like moonlight through curtained bedroom windows. He never knew that night could be so soft and kind.

Adrien wraps an arm around her, breaking eye contact. He hugs Marinette close to his body, enjoying the small gasp she emits. “You’re just jealous of my passport. I saw you eyeing it.”

Marinette chuckles, with a playful accusatory tone. “It just has a billion stamps, Adrien! A billion! I’ve only had a few since I rarely leave France, let alone the EU.”

He beams at the envy, the unspoken praise his spouse gives him and the awe in her voice.

“Good thing I didn’t get any stamps this week or that would really suck for you,” he teases. “But it’s okay. We can get more together. That should be fun, right?”

Her reply hangs in the air, shifting the atmosphere to something heavier. Marinette’s fingers curl into his coat, at the spot between his shoulder blades. “...are you sure?”

Her voice is a small, a low thing that could easily be caught on a chilly breeze. These are the moments where Adrien can see the purple outline of his wife’s anxiety, the obscurity in the unknown. Unsurety clouds her brave spirit.

Adrien blinks. “Marinette!” he says. “Of course I’m sure. I married you, didn’t I? Who else am I supposed to travel with?”

“I don’t know. Nino?” she wonders, her foot scuffing the ground.

He bumps into her shoulder. “Nino is an awful flight companion. He also snores.”

Marinette finally relaxes, her body less tense. Her mind travels far away though, no response to his retort. A dreamy haze envelops her form.

She gets like that sometimes, he learns. Like at the hill overlooking the water, he felt when he saw her there, that she would fade away if he spoke. She’s a shadow out of the corner of his eye. If he turns too quick, she won’t remain.

“Marinette?”

Her gaze settles back on him, clarity registering. “Oh yeah, I was just thinking.”

Adrien takes a step closer, rubbing his thumb where he thinks her heart would be on her sleeve. “About?”

She can be skittish too, his new wife. It’s best to sometimes step lightly and speak in a low voice. Almost cat-like, he thinks, much to his amusement.

“Where are we gonna sleep tonight? I mean, we don’t have a place that’s...ours, you know. I know that we’re supposed to start house hunting tomorrow.”

Adrien chews on that bit of information for a bit and tries to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, you live all away across the city and...I don’t know...don’t. So, um, you see, uh, if you don’t mind, we can sleep at mine tonight?” he babbles. “And, uh, tomorrow, we could...always head over to yours?”

He inwardly cringes at himself. Just. Wow.

(This is what he gets though. Applying as the start of a joke and then actually getting married to a wonderful person. How in the hell is he supposed to measure up? Just. He’s. Yeah.)

Marinette shuffles her foot for a moment before slightly grinning, easing the erratic beating of Adrien’s heart. “That should be fine, I think. Do you have any PJs for me though?”

Adrien stares at his wife for a moment and tries not to swallow, anticipation sizzling under his skin. “We’ll manage something.”

Marinette blinks for a second and tugs him to the re-entry area. “Oh my god, Adrien. I don’t even want to know where your mind is going,” she says, humor warm in her voice.

It takes a moment for him to reply, mock annoyance coming out as he grips her hand harder. “Hey!”

His wife laughs and pulls him with more force this time, the cool air fanning their faces as they tease and bicker with each other. He still feels caught in a dream, the faint looming doom that he might wake up and none of this was real lurking at the back of his mind. He chooses to ignore it.

It doesn’t take long for them to be verified as French citizens. Once through immigration, they make it through to baggage claim easy enough. It’s warm, this feeling of not being alone.

When was the last time he took a trip for fun? Let alone with family?

(Adrien remembers the flight to New York. The somber silence that rested between his father and him remained almost impenetrable as they flew across the Atlantic. A suffocating end to lives they both promise they would never revisit. Not as long as they had each other.)

At baggage claim, they are surprised by happy faces.

Holding up a big sign that says: Welcome home Mr. and Mrs. Agreste are Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng. Marinette screams with glee and lets go of Adrien’s hand instantly, making her way to her parents with an extra bounce in her step.

“What you doing here?” she says as she launches herself into her father’s arm.

“Surprise, Angel!”

Adrien watches from the side. Plagg looks up from his big coat pocket and offers a rare soft smile and pats his knuckles. Adrien curls his finger under his chin, rubbing the point with affection.

Family is an “us versus them” thing sometimes, an invisible wall of where he feels like he’s on the outside looking in, a relationship that he’s not—

(meant to have, he wants to say)

—but Mr. Dupain-Cheng looks over the top of Marinette’s head. He surges forward, curls a large arm over his shoulders and wraps him up too, memories of when he was a child springing forth as his father used to do the same. The warmth hits him automatically, cracking the glass and the world becomes snugger as his wife slips an arm around his waist, a point to follow because it’s like the world...the world is more than it was before two seconds ago. More—loving and kind and—he didn’t think that could be possible.

“Tom, you’re crushing your new son-in-law,” Mrs. Dupain-Cheng says, laughter in her voice as she tugs husband away.

Tom laughs, boisterously and full of heart. “It’s tradition, my dear. Father-in-laws have to smother new son-in-laws.”

Sabine gives him a pointed look, raising a brow, completely unimpressed. “Just because my father was crazy, doesn’t mean that you have to go and—and—” she fumbles before looking at her daughter. “Marinette, what’s the word you used to say when you were a teenager and liked all that Japanese stuff?”

Marinette colors pink and Adrien can barely contain an unattractive laugh. He answers instead, feeling like he’s finding wondrous new ground with his wife. “I think you’re trying to say glomp.”

“Yes! That’s it!” his mother-in-law says with a snap of her fingers. Scolding her husband, she juts a finger at him. “You can’t just go and glomp the poor boy, Tom!”

Out of the corner of Adrien’s eye, Marinette cringes and covers her eyes. Under her breath, he hears her, “Why me?”

Adrien wraps an arm around her shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. “You were a weeb,” he sing-songs.

Marinette peeks from her fingers and glares. “Shush you. I remember Nino telling me about your weeb phase.”

Adrien shrugs. “What phase? I’m still a weeb, through and through.”

“Oh my god,” she groans before her parents turn their attention back to them.

“Anyway,” Mr. Dupain-Cheng says loudly while looking at his wife. “As I was saying, it’s tradition and welcome back and we’re here to take you home.”

“But dad, we live all over the city.”

Her mother laughs. “Not your homes, our home! At the bakery! With lots of warm food and a good place to sleep.”

“But—” Marinette says, looking up at Adrien sheepishly. “We were, um—maybe…”

Oh, she looks so shy. A part of him inwardly wants to decline, wants to spend time alone with his new wife; however, looking at his in-laws, they are eagerly waiting to hear their reply.

Adrien decides then and there, giving his wife a quick squeeze while saying goodbye to alone time.

“Sounds good, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng. Thank you. We’re kinda tired anyway.”

His mother-in-law smiles and throws her arms around them much like how her husband did. “No! Thank you, sweetheart. And you can call me Sabine.”

“And Tom is fine for me, son,”

(Oh god, son. No one has called him that in a long, long, long time.)

Sabine and Tom are off to get the car, leaving Marinette and Adrien alone surrounded by many busy and honking taxis. With her parents finally out of sight, Adrien releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The night air seeps into his lungs with a chill.

Beside him, Marinette laughs. “Sorry. They’re a bit overwhelming, huh?”

Adrien warms his hands with his mouth and nods. “I didn’t realize—,” he starts, yawning again, “that I would be getting a real family too out of this experiment.”

Marinette hums in agreement. “I know, from the way the doctors were telling me, it seems like families are a bit more distant, but maybe because my family knows you and they’re just more excited about it than others.”

“Oh yes,” he teases. “I bet they’re just cackling on how you got to marry your girlhood crush.”

(He will never tire of that, of the sweetness that melts his heart. His wife loved him once—and that is...wow.)

(Adrien remembers always looking at her back, how tall she would stand and laugh with her friends. Marinette both timid and bold, creative and daring, quiet and loud. A paradox only noticeable if you saw her shift between situations. Shy and awkward with him, quirky and funny with Nino, driven and sweet with Alya.)

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Seriously, you’re never, ever going to let that go, are you?”

“What proper husband would I be if I didn’t constantly seek ways for you to stroke my ego?”

Marinette gives him a flippant response. “Oh, I’ll show you stroking.”

Adrien stills, breathing ceasing to be a function. “What?”

Marinette huffs, absentmindedly repeating herself. “I said, I’ll show you strok—” before her face twists with mortification. “Oh my god! Um, no—not like that—but like—well, maybe?”

“Maybe!?”

“I don’t know, maybe?!” she squeals. “Maybe later? Don’t ask me these things,” she whines.

“Maybe what?” Tom says.

In horror, both Marinette and Adrien snap, “Nothing!”

Sabine looks at them then at her husband. “Oh, oh dear, honey—this is definitely something we don’t want to know.”

“Maman!”

Tom throws a thumb, grinning wildly. “Anyhoo, car’s this way kiddos. Please leave all marital embarrassment on your honeymoon and come back to reality. Right this way.”

“Papa!”

The trip to Marinette’s house is pleasant. Idle chitchat as her parents ask about the honeymoon and all of the mishaps. From incorrect flights to big breakfasts on a hidden gem of an island. It boggles the mind, they say. Even slightly soap opera dramatic, but—well, what about their marriage isn’t a soap opera?

Tom drives the car around the back of the bakery and pulls into their garage. It strikes Adrien then, as the door is lowering itself behind them at this is really happening. He’s spending the night at his in-laws with his new wife and it’s a bit—exciting.

He stifles a large yawn behind his hand when Marinette catches his eye and gestures towards the house door. Looking at her father, she pleads. “Papa, please tell me there’s food.”

The trunk pops open with a satisfying click. Tom chuckles as he lifts both suitcases, a smirk in his voice. “Darling, did you hear that? Our child asked us if there’s food.”

Sabine ushers everyone inside, her fingers brushing against the mid of his back. Smiling from ear to ear, she shrugs. “It’s like she thinks we don’t live in a bakery.”

Marinette huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway! We’re going up to my room!”

They both kick off their shoes by the back door and Adrien takes a moment to admire the way the family lines their shoes together. Nice and neat. It’s adorable. He places his pair of shoes a smidge closer to his wife’s.

Marinette laces her fingers between his. “Ever since they got the floor redone, they’re very anal about scuffs on it.”

Adrien knocks into her shoulder. “It’s not a problem. Makes sense. I personally don’t wear my shoes inside for the same reason. I hate the mess.”

“Adrien, don’t listen to her,” Tom calls. “We’re a very Chinese household! I was born there, you know!”

He turns at the sound of the voice, unsure exactly where Tom could be. Marinette shakes her head as her mother’s laughter rings somewhere not too far away.

“Don’t humor him. He already thinks he’s a very funny man.”

“He kinda is a funny man.”

Mariette sends him a mock glare, mirth clinging to her voice. “Don’t!”

With that, she drags him up the stairs two at a time into the main living room. Adrien smiles broadly all the way. It’s a dream, he thinks, it has to be a dream made of good things as she looks back at her eyes sparkle with mischief. She leads him up the slight ladder and pushes her floorboard open. It’s almost like entering a different realm, the way the moment vibrates with magic.

Or as if the time-traveled and they’re both teenagers again.

It’s still completely pink, Adrien realizes when he enters and Marinette flicks on a light. It’s neater though, more mature. Stocks of fabric hang everywhere in a corner, taking up most of the room. Mannequins display work in progress pieces for various gowns and outfits. He’s instantly reminded of his father’s studio.

(A cramped office with swaths of fabric in every direction. Beads in containers and a singular mannequin with brown stains. An old lamp with a bright bulb sways overhead.)

“I use this place a lot for storage or when I design wedding dresses,” she says.

Her words interrupt his thoughts, his fingers admiring the embroidery on a satin gown.

Adrien turns to her. “You design wedding dresses besides for your own wedding?”

She rubs the sleep out of her eye. “Sometimes. On commission. I design a lot of things though.”

“Yeah, enough for your own shop and it’s doing—?” he asks.

Marinette wears a bemused smile, idly folding wayward fabric scattered on a nearby table. “Well. It’s doing surprisingly well. I get asked to do a lot of fashion shows and I even have three of my own employees.”

“Wow. How did you manage that?”

Marinette coughs. Her hands still as she folds another piece of fabric for a second, before ruffling it all up and starting over. “Um. Your dad actually. He—so many scholarships and things...I won a lot of them…”

(I am the future, Adrien. And to be the future, you have to help people along the way.)

Serendipity and happenstance pull at this moment, tug at him and want him to notice. Point out the alignment of how too much is happening at once. That his tremulous past is converging with his present in paving something new.

Pride warms his heart, but the edges remain brittle from ghosts he doesn’t want to name. He doesn’t show her the duality of his conflicting emotions in his praise.

“That’s amazing, Marinette!” Adrien pulls her into a tight and affection hug. “He would have been so happy! God, he loved those scholarship things!”

Her laughter buries into his shirt, over his heart, and helps chase away the cold that tries to come forth. She’s quickly becoming—

(—all that he needs, his heart wants to say, but it won’t. Not yet.)

Marinette peers up at him, her blue eyes sparkling gems. “Did he now?”

Adrien leans back and cups her face. “Yes. Yes, he did. He wanted talent to matter, not connections. God, wow, Marinette. You’re spectacular!”

He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, her cheeks warm in his hands.

“...thank you,” she blinks, stunned for a moment before looking down bashfully.

Adrien swallows and releases his wife, sticking his hands in his pocket. However, before he turns away, he doesn’t miss how her fingers go to her forehead, coupled with a small beaming smile.

The room falls oddly silent before Marinette blurts out. “Why become a professor? Why not work for your father’s company?”

Adrien finds her own chaise and sits on it, patting for her to follow. “Well, a lot of things.”

Maybe because he’s told the story so many times or maybe because there’s a lot of good things in his life and those good things outweigh the bad. Like when his dad helped her become an amazing designer from far, far away. Like his wife being amazing.

He starts as his fingers curl around her hand. “I’ve always liked science. Always. I mean, yeah, I was a good model, but science. Now that’s the stuff,” he says fondly. “When my dad and I left France after high school and moved to New York, I started taking heavy English classes and fell in love with school again. It was a good move for us, to be happy, you know?”

(Happiness is subjective, he thinks. Happiness never meant the same thing for the two of them.)

“I was about 21 at the time and I got my acceptance letter to NYU and well—my dad—he passed away,” Adrien says, swallowing over the lump that wants to form.

He won’t cry this time. He’s cried too many times before so he refuses to do so now. Refuses.

He blinks once and finds his voice again. “So, like, he was controlling the company overseas and when he passed, I decided to do it. But running a company is hard,” he emphasizes. “Six months of sleepless night plus grief and let me tell you, I don’t have a strong business sense,” he laughs, “I just...don’t. So, I made Natalie the CEO and we moved me to the position of the owner. She gets to make the hard calls and all I’m required to do is help pick new designs. I do a get a lot of the final say so with our fashion trends which is a bit fun.”

(Marinette patiently listens, doesn’t mind his rambling, doesn’t mind the emotion that leaks into his voice as he talks about his father. Her fingers only tighten around his in solidarity and in comfort.)

“Really?”

“Yeah, which is part of the reason I’m relaunching a lot of my dad’s older products from the start of his career.”

“Ah, I noticed that,” she says softly. She rests her head on his shoulder. “It’s been so refreshing to see all his old pieces! I really loved the re-release of some of his printed graphic pants. The one with triangles or the one with palm trees. They’re so sleek now, the cut much more modern.”

Adrien preens at the praise. “That may have been my personal suggestion. The new cut on the pants.”

Marinette happily sighs. “Oh, you know, I never thought I would have gotten a husband who was into fashion, but I’m so glad I did.”

“Well,” he starts. “I’m just happy to have you.”

They sit side by side for a breath, capturing the moment and enjoying that comes with it. Downstairs, his in-laws hobble around and their joyous laughter comes muffled through the floorboards. Adrien wonders briefly where Plagg has disappeared to, the black cat hiding somewhere in his wife’s old bedroom.

Marinette lifts her head and places her hand face to move him in her direction. Her fingers warm the apple of his cheek. “No, I’m the lucky one,” she whispers leaning closer. “Truly. You’re amazing.”

She kisses him lightly on the mouth and Adrien sighs into the kiss. It’s so easy to kiss her, so wonderful. His palm slides up her spine, her body melding closer to him as she grins with pleasure.

Her nails scrape the collar of his shirt and Adrien begins to push her down an—

There’s a knock at Marinette’s trap door, revealing Sabine as both Marinette and Adrien spring apart.

She grins at them, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Dinner’s ready kiddos.”

Marinette smooths her hair and clears her throat. “Kay.”

His wife gets up and stretches her back, rolling her neck from side to side. Looking over her shoulder, she extends her hand. “Ready?”

“I’ll meet you in a second. Gonna run to the bathroom first.”

Marinette nods. “Sounds good,” she says as she makes her way downstairs.

Adrien waits for the trapdoor to click. “The coast is clear, Plagg.”

Plagg zips out and yawns. “Thank god. I was too warm. This is why I hate when you wear sweatshirts. They make me extra sleepy.”

Adrien rolls his eyes. “Well, if you promise not to get caught, when I head downstairs, you can go sleep in my bag. And well,” he pauses. “I think I’m going to have to tell Marinette about you much sooner than I intended.”

Plagg stops stretching his body and narrows his eyes at Adrien. “What brought this up?”

“Mostly that I can’t keep you scrunched up all the time? I hate doing that to you?”

Plagg looks thoughtful for a moment before smirking. “You know I love to exploit your kindness.”

Adrien rolls his eyes and makes his way downstairs. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon O God of Destruction and Chaos.”

“Don’t yeah, yeah, me!” Plagg starts. “I—I want my own cell phone!”

Adrien stops and turns back. “A cell phone? Why?”

Plagg crosses his arms. “Well, other kwamis get cell phones! I should get one too!”

“Other? Kwamis?”

“Yeah. L—,” he starts to say, but clamps his mouth instead. “Just! Other kwamies have cell phones and awesome data plans and I want to watch TV shows and stuff. And maybe text and call my friends.”

Adrien’s brows furrow together before he shakes his head, lifting the trap door. “I—look, okay. We’ll talk about this. I don’t see why not, but yeah. I’m too tired and hungry to figure out the logistics, but yeah. Sure, whatever. I’ll buy you a cell phone with an awesome data plan.”

Plagg preens before zipping away into the shadows, swelling pride in every movement as he flies out of Adrien’s sight.

Going down the stairs, Adrien admires the photos that line the wall and sit on the bookcase. Dozens of family photos everywhere. From school pictures to family vacations to portraits. And much to his surprise, there’s a snapshot including all four of them. They all look very—happy.

Hearing his name pulls him out of his reprieve and he joins his new family at their breakfast nook. The clinking of bowls and silverware echo. Heat insulates the kitchen as warm spices fragrant the air. Set up neatly on their breakfast nook are little dishes with sliced red meats and vegetables. In the center, a large pot sits on a burner and Marinette squeals with delight as she bounces to her chosen spot by the window.

"Really? Hotpot and fried lotus root too? Is that pickled eggplant and...kimchi?"

Tom rubs his nose and beams. "Well, yeah. It’s easy and your mom has been on a bit Korean kick lately. You keep recommending those dramas to her!"

Marinette giggles. “My friend has really good taste so I trust totally trust her when she says one is good.”

Sabine turns to Adrien and guides him to sit next to her daughter. "I hope you don't mind. It's one of Marinette's favorites. The broth is pork bone and I didn’t make it spicy."

Adrien smiles. "No, it's fine. I love spices. And hot pot is always good."

"Oh, that reminds me! Marinette used to be so amazed that you spoke Chinese! My uncle was really fond of you when you came helped translate when the two of you were in school."

At the mention of Uncle Wang, he laughs."Yeah. I'm still nearly fluent. I try to keep up with it if I can."

"See, Mari. I told you'd marry a smart man one day," Tom jibes, pointing his fingers in her direction.

The rice cooker next to Marinette dings and automatically she pops it, adding a starchy scent to the aroma of the kitchen. She takes the plastic paddle and starts to pile rice into a well-loved matching set of bowls.

Marinette rolls her eyes, sarcasm dripping with every word. "Ah yes. You knew this would exactly happen."

(He doesn’t ignore how she serves him, edges into his personal space and places a bowl of rice in front of him. Naturally banters with her father as she feeds the people she loves mos and Adrien happens to be apart of that too.)

"Well..." Tom side-eyes, smirking his wife with mischief.

"Papa!"

Sabine heaves a great sigh and lightly smacks her husband. "This is why she doesn't want to come home all the time, Tom. You always tease her." As she places onions, pumpkin, and small mushrooms in the pot, she looks to Adrien, giving him a defeated look. "Adrien, please, don't let my husband scare you away. I need you to bring my Angel home to me."

He grins, nudging her shoulder. "No worries, ma'am. I'm sure we can have weekly dinners, huh, Marinette.”

She scoffs, cracking a few eggs and letting them disappear underneath the broth’s surface, much to Adrien’s fascination. "Adrien, don't let my parents fool you. I'm here several times a week at all different hours. They're just upset because they only had me and now they have no one else to smother."

"Well, excuse us, my love, if we love to smother our dear daughter," Tom pouts, placing a generous heap of kimchi on Sabine’s plate. "We just love you."

"Papa, I love you too,” she says, adding some red meat into the pot. “But we all know that I'm here all the time and that is apparently not enough."

"We just miss being able to bother you, that's all."

"You bother me fine. All the time. Every day!"

Adrien laughs, enjoying the togetherness as he takes a bite of lotus root. "Well, I'm free for both bothering and smothering, if you must. Gives a chance for my wife to have a break."

(It’s different—the lotus root. Pretty when sliced revealing a flower. Almost chalky like water chestnuts, but better because it’s fried and crispy. He doesn’t really like water chestnuts anyway.)

"You hear that, Sabine. The boy wants us to smother him. He's perfect." Turning towards his daughter, pouring beer into four glasses. "Divorce or no at the end of this experiment thing, I'm adopting him now."

Marinette sighs and steals a piece of pickled eggplant Tom was eyeing. "Papa. I don't know why you're always so dramatic. You're such a drama queen."

Adrien relishes in the closeness between Marinette and her family as he picks meat and vegetables out of the pot to eat. He finds a nice piece of meat and shyly places it atop Marinette’s rice, hoping she doesn’t mind.

(The surprised smile she sends his way proves that she doesn’t.)

Her father frowns for a moment, before quickly grabbing a piece of pumpkin."Ah, my love, but the best men for you are men like your papa. We are romantic and I'm sure Adrien is the romantic sort, yes, son?"

Adrien slurps his broth a little too quickly and burns his throat. He coughs as he settles his ceramic spoon on the side of his bowl. "I guess you can say that. I'm more cheesy if anything."

Tom blinks before breaking out in boisterous laughter. "Marinette loves cheese! It's her favorite danish! And fondue is her other favorite. As well as smelly cheese."

The new information strikes him oddly funny. Because of irony and things related to cosmic little gods. "Of course," he snorts. "Good to know."

Marinette shrugs, fishing out a hard-boiled egg from the soup. "What? I'm a lover of all things salty. And cheese is God's gift to man."

"Marinette, when in doubt, you still can't survive off cheese," Sabine says, warmth in her voice as she chews on kimchi.

"No, Maman, I can't survive off sweets. I've tried."

“Well, here, darling. Have some more onions so you can grow big and strong.”

“Mother. I’m twenty-six years old.”

Sabine scoops more things out of the pot and puts more side dishes on her plate. “Well, you’re not twenty-seven yet. So, still growing.” She pauses for a moment and then puts more food on Adrien’s plate. “And some for my new son-in-law too!”

Adrien blushes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

Tom takes a swig of his beer, some of the foam caught in his mustache. "Should've just been a baker like her mama and papa, but no! Had to be a fashion designer," Tom mutters. "Did you know that my daughter is a fantastic wedding cake decorator. She could have joined the family business, but she decided to go follow her own dream." He picks at his meat before shoving some rice into his mouth.

Sabine takes a sip of her beer and gazes fondly at her husband. "But she's following her own dream just like her father, right, dear? Because if I remember correctly, your father wanted you to take over mortuary."

He grumbles, his fingers tapping the condensation on his glass. "So? Running a bakery and running a funeral parlor are two different things! And my father came around to my bakery."

Marinette giggles and reaches across the table to lay her hand atop her father’s. "Yes, but Papa, you've always supported me and fashion."

To that, Tom gives a small smile and pats her hand. "I know, my love, I'm just being playful.”

Marinette flicks his hand, her expression changing lightening quick into a scowl. “Well, stop being playful then and eat your dinner!”

"Goodness," Tom says, faking a sniffle. "What a bossy and mean daughter I have. All I want...is to love you..."

(Across the table, Sabine shakes her head with fondness, giving Adrien a look that states that both father and daughter are always like this.

He swallows the bubbling happiness that rises in his chest, wanting to almost cry for something he can’t explain. Maybe for all the good things.)

Marinette groans and puts her hand on Adrien's shoulder. "Look here, Papa. I've given you a son. A son up for your constant smothering and dad jokes."

Adrien looks him straight in the eye with an affirmative nod. "I do love dad jokes, sir. I need a daily dose along with puns."

Tom perks up and grins like a madman. "Puns? You love puns too?"

Sabine stage whispers towards her daughter. "Look what you've done. I've been training him not to do that."

Marinette whines and wiggles in her seat. "I'm sorry, Maman. I've unleashed the apocalypse."

Sabine sighs. "All I wanted was to spend a nice evening with my daughter and new son-in-law, and yet my ham of a husband and child have made my life very difficult."

"Oh, but my darling, if I didn't make your life difficult, you would have left me long ago. For some dashing bad boy."

"You were supposed to be my dashing bad boy. Do you remember how we first met?

Tom looks to Adrien as Marinette blissfully sighs and rests her head on Adrien’s shoulder. “This is such a good story,” she whispers. “You’ll like it.”

Adrien nods and wraps an arm around Marinette for a quick squeeze, intent on listening.

"So, I first met Sabine when I was in my early twenties and at this fancy bar in London,” Tom starts, with a twinkle in his eye. “We were both on holiday apparently. But, there's this pretty girl and she's wearing this pretty dress, completely stunning. It was a bright red dress and her hair was long and framed her face,” he says fondly as he grabs his wife’s hand.

"Either way!” he continues. “I never got around to learning English, really. Just never suited me much, but I didn't let that stop me! Couldn’t really when there was this gorgeous girl and my mates were all chatting up other ladies anyway and this other man was eyeing the same pretty girl I was!.”

Adrien chuckles at that, Tom’s expression so annoyed at reminiscing the past. He wonders if he’ll feel the same in the future—tell his story to someone with such expression.

Sabine chimes in, playfully rolling her eyes. "So, I see this cool looking man come up to me and my friends. He's super tall of course, and just as big-shouldered, wearing this leather jacket. Now, I had recently broken off an engagement to someone. So my cousin convinced our parents to let us and some girl friends go across the Channel and I was out on the town to flirt a bit and maybe dance.

"And Tom used to look far more menacing looking back then. He's always been a sweetheart, but with his slicked back hair and dark clothes, he could have been a mobster. Anyway, this supposed bad boy comes up to me and I assume asks me if I want a drink in English, but I don't speak English. I speak French and Chinese.”

“But I didn’t know that, you know! Had no clue!” Tom interjects. "So, Sabine and I speak in broken English at the bar talking about the weather and it was awkward because I already said all the words I knew! But then! But then, she mutters some French under her breath and I was like--wait, I speak French! And the rest is history."

"Well, no, not history,” Sabine sighs happily. “More like a new beginning, but I forgot to give you my number and address and we didn't meet again until a year later in culinary school when you asked me about pies. However, I only started taking you seriously when one of my relatives passed and I ended up in your family's funeral parlor."

Marinette turns her head to whisper in Adrien’s ear. Her breath fans his neck and he wants to shiver. “The infamous funeral parlor my father refused to inherit,” she says, laughing quietly.

Sabine catches his attention again, wearing a bittersweet smile. "It was my favorite cousin. She was very sick, but when I told her about the man, the one I met in London, she always told me that she would help me find him. And she did, in a way, because we met in culinary school because she thought I should open my own bakery. When I told her I found him, she told me I was going to marry him. She was right about that too."

Tom nods, just as wistful. “Marie was right about a lot of things.”

Sabine grins up at her husband before locking eyes with Adrien. “But yes, that’s how Tom and I met, honey. That’s our love story.”

"Wow. That’s...some love story," Adrien says slowly, unable to form a more coherent sentence.

Marinette giggles. "You have no idea. These two are like romance novel constantly. I love it."

Adrien opens his mouth to reply when Tom cuts in. "No, you don't! You tell us all the time how gross we are. Like a baby."

"But I'm your baby, Papa. And it is gross sometimes. You two are ridiculous."

"We are your ridiculous then."

"More like ridonkulous."

And Adrien doesn't know why that strikes him funny, maybe a way to ease the tension of being with such a warm and loving family. They love each other and argue over silly things, but he remembers love like this once too, a long, long time ago.

Between his mother and father before everything went wrong.

And yet, Adrien lets out a snort, a kind of laugh that he definitely categorizes as his most ugly: the kind of sound that tickles your throat because you got too much air going up your nose and it becomes a half sneeze, a choke, and a whine. A bit mucusy too as some spit went down the wrong way. It only happens at the worst of times.

Like now, when all three members of the Dupain-Cheng house snap their attention to him and Tom's face washes with panic. He shoots from his seat as Adrien reaches for a glass of water and wraps his two bear arms around him to perform a Heimlich maneuver.

Expect when Tom's hands fist too hard under Adrien's ribcage, trying to expel something that isn't there.

"C'mon, son! I got you! Let's get that out," Tom grunts.

Adrien makes another choking sound, this time from being punched in the gut one too many times.

Marinette scrambles to her father's side. "Dad! Dad! You're hurting him!"

"He's choking, Marinette!"

Adrien is finally able to tap Tom's hand, trying to get him to stop. Tom lets go as if he was burned and Adrien falls to the ground.

Marinette rushes to him and touches his face. "Adrien, are you okay? Oh God!"

Through all of the chaos, Sabine sighs and grabs her cell phone. "112? Hi, so my husband tried performing a Heimlich maneuver on my new son-in-law, but I think he caused more damage than good...no, no. He actually wasn't choking—just had an awful laugh...."

Heart monitors beep out of sync, the air chilling her to the bones as the doctor scribbles notes on a clipboard. He’s pinned two x-rays up on a board, illuminating Adrien’s ribs. Nothing is broken. Thank goodness.

The doctor tears a note from his pad, the sound ripping through the air as he glances at her husband. His lips twitch. "Well, at least your father-in-law tried to save you. Mine isn’t as kind."

Adrien weakly laughs a stunned breath before grimacing. "Yeah, that’s good at least. I guess he likes me?"

The doctor smirks. “It’ll make Christmas go smoother. Trust me.” Looking at Marinette, the doctor gives her a prescription. "I gave him some painkillers earlier, but you can pick those up in the morning for him. He's to have bed rest and take it easy. Luckily, there was only some minor bruising to his abdomen area. My nurse will give you a numbing ointment at the desk and you can pick up a full size over the counter as well tomorrow."

"Thank you, doctor,” she says, gently taking the paper from him. “I hope you continue having an easy night.”

He nods. "Anytime, Mrs. Agreste. And believe me, me too! Must be a blue moon out tonight! Either way, good night to the both of you, and remember, take it easy!"

The doctor shuts the curtains behind him, closing the pair off from the rest of the ward. Marinette awkwardly smiles at her husband, her fingers digging into the material of sweater. "I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry."

Adrien shakes his head, happily experasted. "Marinette. It’s fine. I’m okay!"

"Uh, but my father indirectly assaulted you! And he’s my father and oh my goodness, does this mean I participated in indirect spousal abuse?!"

Adrien eases himself off the examining table, hissing. "Please, don't make me laugh. I hurt."

Marinette darts to his side. "I’m being serious, Adrien," she pouts. “I don’t like you injured.”

Mostly by my family. Whoops.

"Yeah, I'm starting to think that you Dupain-Chengs are a bit of the unlucky sort."

Marinette chuckles. "If only. C'mon, let's go back to my parents. My dad will most likely feed you until you’re nice and round."

“Mmmmm. Breakfast.”

“Not until tomorrow, you silly goose.”

Adrien wraps his arms around her and they make their way to the car. He playfully swats her on the shoulder. “I’m a cat for your information.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle. “Ah, yes. My apologies Mr. Kitty.”

His body is warm like his voice as they hobble down the halls together. “That’s Husband Kitty to you.”

Her reply is a quiet giggle as she holds him closer. There’s an easiness with Adrien, she realizes. Almost as if they’ve danced this sequence before in a past life. They always revolved around each other in school, but she was never this comfortable, this calm, this—

(She’s reminded of rooftops and close fistfights where he’d pull her in close and keep her out of harm’s way. In a life where her fingers skimmed the sky and her best friend taught her to fly. Because once upon a time, a little ladybug and black cat were—)

Marinette snaps back to reality when the cabbie pulls up to the front of the bakery, displaying his fare for her to pay. She slips him a fifty euro bill and runs around to the other side to help Adrien out of the car.

“I got you.”

“Thanks, babe,” he says offhandedly.

(And Marinette prays to everything under the blinding sun that she can keep her focus.)

The climb upstairs to her bedroom is a more daunting task than she expected, but Adrien champions through it all, taking each step at a time despite that his face is always on the edge of crumbling. She silently promises that he just can’t get hurt again on her watch.

They enter her room with a mighty huff, her husband collapsing on her chaise.

"See? That was good step in the right direction," he says as he stares at the light scattered upon her ceiling.

With her hands on her knees, Marinette pushes herself upright. "I'll show you the right direction."

"Like you'll show me stroking?"

Marinette's mouth hangs open before snapping shut. Propped up on her chair, Adrien is more than pleased. He’s more than tired, but joyful as she straightens her posture. As she crosses the room, he only becomes happier.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"'Course not. That's what fantastic husbands do. Annoy their wives."

"Stop taking notes from my father," she sighs.

"I think I should take notes from your father," he says. "Your parents...wow, that's magic."

Marinette fondly smiles. "Yeah. They definitely have a one in a million kind of love. I really would love to have a marriage like theirs."

Adrien's eyes go downward. "We can try if you'd like. To have a marriage like that."

Her fingers brush his hair, sweeping his bangs out of his face. "That would be very nice. But how about we have our own marriage first and complete the experiment,” she replies. “Time is flying by so fast already and my head is spinning. I feel like we've been married for ages in a way, but at the same time, I barely know you. Like all the odds and ends of you."

A car honks outside, the moment stilling. "I think we were the lucky ones out of the experiment, Marinette,” he confesses, voice low. “I mean, to know each other, even a little bit, that puts us in a whole new category. We can take our time and I don't feel—very rushed at all, do you?"

Her fingers trace his jaw. "No. I don't. That's what I was a bit afraid of. That my new husband would want to have sex like...the night of...which would have been fun, but I'm glad we haven't yet. I feel...like we’re maybe more genuine this way..."

"Maybe because we see less of an expiration date," Adrien mumbles as she kisses the center of her palm.

"Maybe."

Marinette wraps her arms around him and rests her chin atop his head. She closes her eyes and enjoys the quiet that envelops the room. Like a piece of herself is settling into its new mold just right.

"Would you,” he starts, his breath warm through her shirt. “Would you be open...to having sex with me during the experiment?"

She stills for a moment and strokes his hair, letting the words flow from her with honesty. "I'm not against it. Let's just see where it takes us, okay? We're dating, but plus all the heavy commitment."

Adrien smiles against her shirt, almost over her heart. “I married such a smart woman.”

Marinette chuckles. “You know, some of my favorite romance novels have been the arranged marriage kind.”

“And why is that?” he asks, pulling back to peer at her. Adrien’s green eyes are jade in the low light. Luck and good things combined. “Are you saying you’re the reason we’re married.”

She shrugs. “Don’t think I’d go that far, but...there’s just something so beautiful about watching two people being open to love. Those were the best ones,” she says, caught up in dreams of romances she’s adored. “The ones where the couple opened up their hearts to the other since the day one.”

Warmth tickles her throat, sitting above her heart as she gazes down at the man she’s tied herself to by both chance and choice. Bliss permeates her skin and drowns her soul.

Adrien reaches up cups her cheek. “Is your heart open for me?”

She blushes, her heart hammering in her chest. “Is yours?”

His voice is a quiet whisper. “Yes.”

At his admission, her world closes in on this moment, her heart swelling in her chest, taking her very breath away. Affection leaves prickling goosebumps on her skin, coating her veins with utter captivation. Ever gently, she stands on her tiptoes and brushes her mouth against his, savoring the simplicity of them.

“Let’s get ready for bed and I’ll help put the cream on for you,” she whispers against his lips.

He wrinkles his nose. “What a kind wife I have.”

“Extremely kind,” she taps his nose.

Leading Adrien to her loft, she guides him to carefully sit on her bed, her heart twisting at his hiss of pain. Placing his pajama pants beside him, she pulls back the covers and then disappears to get changed.

When she comes back, his jeans are crumpled on the ground and his eyes find hers as she makes her way to her loft.

“What’s wrong?”

He plays with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t think...I can take this off by myself.”

“Oh. That,” she swallows, “does seem like it’d be hard.”

Adrien blinks, his mouth twitching. “Do you just...know what you just said?”

Marinette tilts her head to the side as she places a knee on the bed. It dips with her weight. “Not at all. I mean, this is what wives do. Sometimes. Undress their spouse?”

“Oh my god,” Adrien says under his breath. “You’re so unknowingly funny, but don’t make me laugh. Please.”

“Unknowingly?”

Adrien nods and winces as he lifts his arms in the air.“You have no clue how funny you are.”

“...I’m funny?”

“More than you’d know. Now, just...I feel like a child.”

Marinette suppresses a smirk and peels his shirt away. “You’re supposed to feel like a husband.”

(She doesn’t realize this, but her palm rests on his shoulder, burning him to his bones and—)

“Well,” he says, licking his lips. “If we continue down this course of undress, then, believe me, I’d feel like a husband.”

Her mouth feels dry. “Oh?”

He wears a small smile and a part of Marinette feels like for some reason it’s fragile. Like if he moves it one degree in any direction, he’d shatter, leaving her nothing but glass.

Adrien rests his hands on her hips and strokes up to her waist. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Adrien sighs, his hands holding her firmly. “But much as I want to continue and find out what exactly can happen, I’m going to use my upper head and say no.”

Marinette smiles and pecks his forehead. “Okay. One day?”

His voice is quiet, but full of promise. “Most definitely one day.”

DISCLAIMER: before someone tries to drag me for hot pot, one of my most favorite dishes in the world that i love to eat on a regular basis, look. this is how me, my fam, my host fams, my friends, my boyfriend, my everyone i fucking ever loved do shit. we have fun. it's communal soup. we like to take care of each and serve each other. please let me live and dream happy thoughts about my most favorite dishes in the world next to pho.

AND HI. I AM ALIVE.

Can you believe I've been working on this chapter for like 4 months? Because I was working on this chapter for four months.

Also, my life has like extra changed. Yay!

Thank you for everyone who has had well wishes for mom! She's doing great and is back at work. I, myself, too have a job. Long story short: be really mindful to who and what companies you think you are talking to on the internet kids because I almost lost my job totally because something seemed too good to be true.

EIther way, thank you for all the comments, likes, and reblogs! Everyone's love for this fic has def gotten me through some tough times. You guys are the best and just thank you for waiting. I love each and every one of you.

#anapost #text #drabble #adrienette #miraculous ladybug #miraculous: tales of ladybug and cat noir #ladynoir #omg #i updated this story #marriage au #hi #i know it's been like a hot fucking min #but here you go!!!

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androidtwin · 7 years

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Ok but low-key suicidal Tony. Like he's not actively trying to die but he's always willing to rush heading into danger, always just a bit slow to dodge hits, and eager to take them for someone else. Nobody even notices until Bucky and/or Rhodey come by

The Weight of Living

(TW: Suicidal behavior) Note: Hey anon, I know it’s been a long time since you prompt it this, inspiration had a bit of a leave of absence. So I hope it lives p to the hype and the wait. Kisses.

Old habits die hard -if they die at all,- and that’s why he notices. How Iron Man plays it fast and loose and reckless, how everybody yells and huff but say nothing that hasn’t been said before. Tony’s eyes are miles away, he’s not listening and after they’re done, he smirks and walks away; every word sliding off his back like old snakeskin.

Bucky notices how Tony rarely joins them for meals, or anything really; how he would dance and deceive Colonel Rhodes and how the War Machine would narrow his eyes like an old shrew as if he is trying to see beyond the smiles and the quips and the easy affection. Only when Rhodes visits do Tony looks there.

Something is coming and they all know it, it’s why they’re all in New York again. In the meantime, Bucky wanders throughout the place and trains; gets some more memories back and fights off his nightmares in the gym. Because old habits die hard -if you remember to kill them- does Bucky see the silhouette blending in the shadows.

Tony on the ledge of the rooftop, when he was supposed to be in medical after a crash with a tank. Tony shuffling closer and…

“Stark?” His heart lurches when Tony turns his face to him but doesn’t step away. “Stark, what the hell are you doing? Get back!“

No matter how enhanced he is, Bucky wouldn’t be able to catch him if he falls. Something in the back of his head tells him that from everything he’d observed so far, Tony would most likely jump.

“Stark! Get down from that ledge!” Tony doesn’t seem to hear him and Bucky won’t be fast enough. “You don’t wanna do this, man. Come back before you hurt yourself.”

Bucky doesn’t have the words, he doesn’t know how to help; old habits die hard and somewhere else he’s seen that slump of the shoulders and that faraway stare (a lifetime ago), not seeking the cold embrace but not shying away from it.

“Do you know The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Barnes?” Tony’s voice carries with the wind and dread pools in Bucky’s stomach as he inches forward. “I like to recite the last stanza of the first part, do you know how it goes?”

“I don’t remember much, no.” Good God! What could he say if Tony pitched himself off his fucking Tower? ‘I didn’t remember some old timey poetry, sorry Stevie.’ Maybe… he just has to make the guy talk? “Care to share with the amnesiac?”

There was a bark of laughter, the genuine kind; apparently Stark have been faking even that. Tony turned his face to the starless heavens. “Ok, Barnes. It goes like this:

‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!

From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—

Why look'st thou so?‘—With my cross-bow” Bucky was so close now, just a few feet more. That’s when Tony finally pivoted around. It took a second for Bucky to realize he’d been played. Tony opened his arms like a wingless Icarus and his voice thundered, “I shot the ALBATROSS.”

“Tony, NO!” Despair kept him immobile, his mouth opened in a rictus of horror and pain, that was it; the impotence of watching Tony leap into the abyss below with no way of bringing him back. Of failing, of…

Oh god! His eyes were still fixed on the empty spot when the Iron Man suit whizzed by, the sound of repulsors startling him into breathing again. Bucky sagged in relief and waited until his limbs stopped shaking.

He was gonna fucking kill him. He was! He didn’t care about being pardoned, he was gonna end Tony Fucking Stark. He…

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, UH?” Bucky couldn’t give two shits and a blind penguin about getting in Stark’s face or the volume of his voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Tony just stood there, against the glass with his eyes zeroed on Bucky’s. “You asked.”

That threw him off, “What?”

“About the Ancient Mariner.”

Bucky spluttered, enraged and confused and fucking scared witless. “That’s not how the fucking poem goes, Stark!”

Tony cocked his head a little as if he was the one confused by Bucky’s behavior. “Well it does, when you’re the albatross, does it not?” He narrowed his eyes then and shook Bucky off. Until then, Bucky hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten. “Besides, why are you getting your long johns in a twist?”

“Wh-why?!”

“Yeah, why? Why do you even care?” Tony slipped away then and Bucky couldn’t help but ponder.

In the morning, Bucky had decided he needed no reason to care, he just did.

“Going somewhere, Buck?” Steve’s voice was jovial and friendly, it warmed him like a hug. But he wasn’t about to spill his guts over the breakfast table.

“Stark’s workshop.” He was carrying a tray with food and a fresh pot of coffee. Stark wasn’t gonna waste away on his watch. Fucking asshole.

“Sta- Want me to go with you?” Steve asked as he stood; like his frame could be a wall of protection; cute but unnecessary.

“Is he rabid or something?” Bucky quipped and Steve took a step back. They avoided Stark just as much as he avoided them but Steve was their leader and he hasn’t seen. “I can take of him, Stevie. Go hen, Wilson or something.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later you little punk.”

There had been a tiff over ‘shop access when he moved into the Tower, apparently, now it was above their level of clearance and nobody like to ask the required permission. Bucky didn’t mind, much less if he’d to ask FRIDAY. “Morning, little lady.”

“Morning, Mr. Barnable.”

“Still won’t call me by my name, I see.” Bucky like the AI, she had no qualms about treating him like any other person and pranking him if she felt like it. It was nice. “I was wondering if you’d allow me to see your boss?”

“Whatever for?” There was a warning in her synthesized voice, Bucky heeded it.

“Well, he sucks at taking care of himself and I brought him food.”

“Boss’ security is my priority, are you alluding I’m bad at my job?” Was she, could computers hiss?

“He was playing Russian Roulette at the top of the Tower last night, you tell me.” Bucky wasn’t trying to antagonize her but she needed to understand the urgency of the matter.

“I don’t have arms, so I’m doing my best without violating protocol,” FRIDAY said, could programs get tired?

“Let me try then,” Bucky search one of her cameras, lifting the tray like a peace offering, “I’m just trying to feed him.”

“Very well,” She ceded as the doors unlocked. “Remember, I’m watching you.”

“Wouldn’t forget it.” He marched in before she had time to rescind. Tony looked like a steampunk bastard in the middle of his shop. In the harsh fluorescent lights, his skin looked ashen marred with grease. As if he was wasting away. “Stark.”

“FRIDAY, intruder alert.” He mumbled but remained hunched over whatever he was working on.

“Boss.”

“Breakfast’s here,” Bucky announced.

“Not hungry, bye bye.” Tony still didn’t face him. Bucky felt the surge of anger and fear; fresh and ugly and terrifying.

The servos shifted as he found a table for the tray. God, he wanted to pull his hair; this asshole. This tired, miserable asshole. “I didn’t really ask if you were hungry, Stark.”

“I’m not, so you can go away.”

“Or, I can call your friend and let him know what you’ve been doing when everyone sleeps.” That was a low blow and uncalled for but he was running out of options and no one else seemed to care. Tony froze and his shoulders bunched up.

“Don’t- Don’t bring Rhodey into this.” There was a catch there. “I can take care of myself just fine. I don-”

“You threw yourself from the top of the Tower, Tony!” Bucky promised himself he wouldn’t lose his temper, he swore he was gonna be calm. This wasn’t calm. He took a deep breath and tried again. “You think nobody noticed but I did. I notice how you’re not really here and how fast you fly towards danger, how you hardly eat and how sometimes you let that beard get out of control.”

Bucky waited, even when the silence was suffocating, perhaps he’d said too much. Perhaps…

“That’s very stalkerish behavior. It’s creepy.”

“I brought you a whole pot of black coffee.” He offered because maybe Tony was right, not that Bucky cared much, not if it kept Tony alive.

“Should have opened with that,” Tony said and finally moved towards the food. Bucky sat back and watched.

Things didn’t get better and Bucky didn’t say anything; he did cover Tony’s back in the field, sniping things and clipping goons before Tony could catapult himself into danger. He brought at least one meal to the shop every day and made sure FRIDAY had a take-out order ready when Tony was out of his reach. He’d watch closely but sometimes Tony would slip away and jump off the roof.

Bucky hated those days; he would stick to Tony and glower at anyone trying to say something.

“Could you fucking stop?”

“Some days I’m the albatross,” Tony said not looking at Bucky. “Most days, I’m the Mariner.”

Bucky read the fucking poem. He hated the fucking romantics but found himself connecting with Coleridge. With the penance that had to be paid, the albatross around his neck, the fucking weight of living. He understood it, lived through it, still does.

That doesn’t stop him from trying to bring Tony ashore.

It’s weeks later, so many days upon days upon days when it happens. Tony was having a good week, needed little prompting to eat and left the lab, talked about some upgrade for the Spider-kid of his, even played some of that loud music he was fond of, he’d smiled at Bucky and thanked him for the food and coffee.

So, of course, the Thing they’ve been preparing for attacked then and Bucky was too far away to catch Tony. Tony who compared himself to a dead bird and looked more like a myth.

“You want to fall? Then fall!” Thanos pitched Tony from the sky and he looked like a star aflame. Bucky could do nothing but scream.

“Tony!” He roars and fear is pumping through his veins because this had been a good week and Tony had smiled and FRIDAY called him ‘Mr. Barnes’ and it had been a good week, fuck!

“Bucky, stop!”

“Tony!” The world stops, as he runs and tries to reach before Tony plummets. Tony never reached the ground before. He was meant for the skies, he couldn’t…

Like some ethereal being, Tony is surrounded in light. Suspended above the ground, Bucky is mesmerized by the image and on the other side is a woman whose face shifts between flesh and bone. Bucky feels heavier than ever but even in that feeling of swimming through molasses, he hears it. “Get Stark, get him!”

Bucky narrows his eyes at the woman and moves, drops the weaponry and runs as if his life depended on it, maybe it does. Because Tony smiled and she didn’t get to win now. He launches and grabs Tony with his metal arm, the bubble breaks and everything starts to move in real time again.

Bucky slumps with Tony half on his lap, half off; he cares very little about blood circulation at the moment. “Tony? Tony, hey dollface talk to me.” He begs but the suit is dead, nothing but a metal coffin and he is terrified. “Tony, please. Don’t do this now. Tony?”

“Allow me.” She’s right there, just like in the poem. Dead and alive, powerfully sublime but she can’t have him. Bucky snarls. “You have plucked him from my grasp, Soldier. I won’t take him, not yet.”

The armor falls back as if she had melted it with nothing but a thought. Bucky stared in fascination, his eyes on Tony; flesh hand over his chest, trying to feel a pulse.

“Go on. It’s not every day that Love beats Death.”

“I-”

“Icarus loved the Sun too much, this one had nothing but an empty sky. Show him the map of stars you’ve crafted in his name. Call him home.”

Bucky’s heart thumped wildly in his ribcage. What if Tony chose to leave all the same? What then? “Tony? Sweetheart, please. Come on, are you really gonna let that purple blob become the protagonist? Tony, darling. Please, for me?”

He was getting desperate, he knew. Bucky buried his face in the crook of Tony’s neck and fought to breathe. He caught him, he was there. He loved him and it still wasn’t-

“Don’t tell Rhodey.”

Bucky pulled back, eyes awash with tears and couldn’t stop the sobbing laughter. Hugging him tighter, because he fucking could. “How about we kick this guy’s ass. Then, when we get home, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Tony’s eyes lighted up and smile. “You should have lead with that…darling.”

Bucky denies blushing when Tony kissed his cheek, he swears he wasn’t. Death is not a reliable witness anyhow. It’s hard to kill old habits if you do it by yourself.

So, Bucky Barnes takes Tony Stark’s hand and they go kick some Titan butt. They have a coffee date, after all.

#anon!#androidtwin answers #winteriron #Tony Stark #Bucky Barnes #TW: suicidal behaviour #tw: self destruction #(antwin writes)

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