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aperrywilliams · 4 years

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A Normal Conversation Ch16 (Spencer Reid x Maxine Brenner)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

Ch01 Ch02 Ch03 Ch04 Ch05 Ch06 Ch07 Ch08 Ch09 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15

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Summary: Spencer and Max couldn't see each other in eight days. Time passed slow until they could finally meet again.

Word Count: 4858

Rating: Mature. Fluff. Smut.

Warnings: Penetrative sex, cursing. Reference to sex in public place. Reference to failed/toxic relationships.

A/N: My babies are growing up in their relationship. I’m so proud. Well, this story has some things more before and after S15x10. But I think in that time I will finished it. If you, faithful readers want to see some specific stuff, let me know!

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Chapter 16: Cinema night

It wasn’t 2 days were 8 days team were stuck with the Houston case. The local police were not very cooperative and that complicated things. Despite the obstacles, there were arrests and no more deaths as could have happened. Around 4 in the afternoon they were landing in DC. They would make a short stop at the BAU and then home. It was Friday, so at least they wouldn't have to come back, they hoped, until Monday.

On the way to his apartment, Spencer texted Max. "I’m in DC. On my way to my place. Can we meet? We can go out. Cinema perhaps?” Max was leaving school when she got the message from Spencer. After reading it she replied. "I’m glad you're here! I’m leaving school. I like cinema. Are we meeting there?” They agreed to meet at the cinema to see a re-run of a thriller at 8:00 p.m.

Spencer was the first to arrive. He was waiting outside the cinema. It was not a cold night despite being early October. The weather was strange and difficult to predict at this time of year. Spencer had decided not to wear his coat and was sure he had made a good decision. With hands in his pockets, he looked among the people to see if Max was approaching from one side of the street. At one point he looked straight ahead and saw Max running to where he was. She had already seen him, so she didn’t wait for the light signal and benefit of the fact the vehicles were stopped to cross the street.

“That is quite reckless of you. You should have waited for the light signal…”. Spencer told her when she was already on his side of the street.

"Sorry. I’m so sorry. I was almost late. I wasn't going to wait… the signal… if all the cars were… stopped…” Max said trying to catch her breath. Spencer shook his head and winced.

"Are you ok?" he asked when he saw she was still breathing heavily.

"Yes, I only ran two blocks... but I'm fine" said Max, catching her breath.

"It looks like it would have been a marathon" said Spencer laughing.

"Don't make fun of me... my physical condition is not that good after all..."

"But you're already here. So it’s ok. Not big deal if we are a little late…”

"Spencer ... don't try to fool me. You hate being late for something” said Max.

"True. But seriously, it's not a significant thing ..." he said trying to reassure her.

"Okay. Better let's go. I can walk again”. Max said laughing as she start walking to the entrance. Spencer without moving from his place, he only took hands out of his pockets and with one he took one of Max's wrists who couldn't continue walking. "Spencer?" Max asked when she realized can’t move.

"I can't believe how disrespectful you are". Spencer said seriously.

"Excuse me?..." With the hand held Max's wrist, he pulled her toward him, causing her hands to rest on his chest as she looked up.

"You haven't even greeted me. We haven't seen each other in eight days and not even a 'hello'?…”. Spencer reproached. Max couldn't help but laugh as she realized Spencer angry’ s face was the same as a 10-year-old boy.

"I thought we were late...". Max couldn't finish speaking because her lips already had Spencer's on them. An intense kiss that reminded them of the days they hadn't seen each other. Max wanted to make up for her discourtesy and wrapping her arms around Spencer's neck tried to make the kiss last as long as possible. When they both needed to catch their breath, they pulled back just a little, supporting their foreheads and still hugging each other.

"Much better". Spencer said, giving Max a smile.

"Spencer, you don't know how much I missed you these days"

"Me too. And so you didn't want to greet me properly…”

"I thought you were unfavorable to public demonstrations..."

"True. But let's say there is not much public now" said Spencer chuckling.

Indeed, since all the people gathered outside the cinema had made their entrance before the movie time, so you could only see those who were moving from one place to another and who didn’t care what was happening in the theater entrance. Max was released for Spencer grip and took his hand to move into the cinema.

The movie had already started, so they walked down the dark hallway looking for seats at the top of the room. They sat quietly without releasing their hands. Max tried to focus on the movie. Spencer for his part could not stop looking at her especially in the moments when the lights of the film illuminated her face. He tried to focus on the movie, but couldn't help but release his hand to hug Max and draw her to him. He was grateful the seats in the room allowed the armrests could to be removed.

With her body close, every so often Reid buried his nose in Max hair, while his hand caressed her shoulder. Max was also quickly distracted. Feeling his body close was too pleasant a sensation to ignore. Halfway through the movie she gave up and didn't want to keep trying to pay attention. She raised her face to look at him and realized his eyes were fixed on her. She couldn't help but smile. With her hand took the collar of Reid shirt to attract him more. Without thinking twice, Spencer leaned in close enough for their lips to meet. Between the darkness of the cinema and the desire not to separate, they continued kissing boldly for a long time. Their lips parted only to kiss other parts of their respective faces, the chin, cheeks, neck, and lob ears.

"I see you're not very interested in the movie...". Spencer whispered in her ear.

"You are not either..."

"True. I can't help it…” he said as kissed her chin. Without meaning to, Max let out a groan. One of Reid's hands caressed her thighs while the other held Max head to keep her from pulling away. They were still passionately kissing.

"Have you ever done it in a movie theater?". Max whispered in his ear. Spencer's pupils widened upon hearing her.

"Done…? No… are you suggesting…?” Reid's voice grew more nervous but wanting.

"Believe me I would love to be this bold this minute... but I'd rather hold on until I have you in my bed and enjoy it better..." she whispered close to his ear. Spencer didn't know if that helped him more, because thinking about what they could be doing made him more eager than 30 seconds ago.

"It'll only be... 43 more minutes..." Spencer said, glancing at his watch.

"I guess you're counting the ride..."

"Of course I did…"

"Excellent".

When the film credits began to appear, they both got up to leave the theater. Spencer had his hands on Max's hips and didn't separate from them until they completely exited the theater and made it to where he had parked his car. Max leaned against the car on the passenger side, wrapping his arms around Spencer to pull him closer. He couldn't help but sink his mouth into her neck.

"Your place or mine?" Max asked in a whisper.

"Wherever you want... but don't tell me in the car, because it would be awkward and a little exhibitionist on our part". Max couldn't help but laugh.

"How you dare Dr. Reid!. We can leave that for another time. Okay, let's go to my place”. They managed to separate and each quickly got into the vehicle.

They both was laughing nervously along the trip. They looked furtively without saying anything. When they had to stop at a red light, Spencer snorted with anxiety. Max laughed as she noticed how Spencer was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. Not wanting to relieve him, on the contrary, every now and then she placed her hand on his leg, making his body tense on contact. In revenge, from time to time Reid did the same: he put his long fingers on Max's thigh. She surprised herself at how reactive she felt at his touch. They managed to get to the building after parking the car. They both went down and entered the building. Again Spencer's hands didn't come off Max's hips. They got into the elevator and as the doors closed Max couldn't take it anymore and surrounding Spencer's neck she began to kiss him in the most passionate and urgent way she could express.

"I think we should get to the apartment first". Spencer said as he buried his mouth on Max's neck.

"I don't know if I can take it...". Max said whispering in his ear. Her tone only made him shudder.

"Don't say that... I'm about to stop the elevator...". Spencer said pressing her closer to his body.

"Just one more floor...". Max said as Reid searched her lips even more urgently. The doors opened, almost without taking off they left the elevator to Max's apartment.

"And a hallway...". Spencer said as Max tugged on his tie until they reached the door.

"We are... here... wait a minute... damn keys!...". Max tried to open the door, but since her concentration was elsewhere, the task became more complex.

"Let me help..." Spencer said taking the keys and trying to open the door. Max was just concentrating on untying his tie. After one more try, he managed to turn the handle and open the door.

They finally managed to come into the apartment and Max jumped into the Spencer’s arms who held her while she hung on his neck and they found their needy mouths again. Spencer pushed her with the same weight against the door to close it. Max just let out a gasp in Spencer's mouth. She stood back just a second to speak.

"Room, now..." Max instructed.

"Immediately…". Without releasing her, he led her directly to the bedroom. Max slipped off Spencer's neck only to start helping him take off his clothes. He while doing the same with her. As they pulled the garments off their bodies they couldn't help but laugh and sigh at the same time. With no more clothes to peel off, they lay down on the bed to tangle themselves with their own arms that sought to caress everything they could from the other. The urgency of their kisses and caresses was not an impediment for them to be able to extend the foreplay as much as possible, which exponentially increased their excitement.

"Spencer... you don't know how I missed you these days...". Max sighed.

"Me too... I... I only thought about you... I thought about how it felt to be kissing you... touching your body... feeling you...". As Reid released those words, he managed to stamping kisses all over her body.

"I think... we should have skipped... the movie...". Max said with a nervous laugh.

"Late for that... now let's make up for time..."

It wasn't long before they were moving together in the same rhythm, letting out groaning and their own names. They kept looking at each other, despite the fact that with the passing of the minutes it was made more difficult by the electrifying waves of pleasure circulated through their bodies from head to toe. Spencer smirked as Max arched her back and pressed fingers and nails to his skin.

He felt sweat running down his forehead and face, but that was irrelevant, he just wanted to intensify the sensation of feeling her and hearing her moan saying his name. That was all mattered at the time. He needed to please her with everything he could, to show her how ecstatic she made him feel. Max, for her part, was lost in her own pleasure and how that man was managing to push her to the limit. Without sounding like an experienced lover, he knew exactly what to do to make her lose control. Reid had a precise rhythm and very skillful hands. With the right incentive, the two things could be combined very well, and Max was discovering it with the best delight she ever thought she had.

"Fuck Spencer... Oh yeah, baby, right there. More please… Spencer, harder…”

"Max, you feel so good. Do you like it?, tell me… I want to hear you… use your words…”

"Harder, faster. Spencer, you are fucking me so good baby. Please don't stop…”

When Max finally let herself be carried away by the impending orgasm that was pounding her body, she could feel her walls tighten and stimulate deeper moans in Spencer. That made her lose herself in her own pleasure that was almost immediately followed by him. When Spencer's spasms subsided, not parting with Max yet, he looked at her for a moment. He focused on her bright eyes, her lips, her chest rising and falling as she tried to regulate her breathing, on her disheveled hair, on her reddened cheeks.

"I could stay like this for a long time, just looking at you..." he said, searching her lips to capture an intense kiss as they both descended from the heights.

"If it wasn't because... you're going to cramp...". Max laughed, causing an involuntary spasm and moan in both reminding them that Spencer was still in her.

Reid pulled away from her and lay down on the side of bed, dropping his condom into the trash can next to the nightstand. Then he rolled onto his back and let out a deep breath. Max reached out to find him hug. She rested her head on his chest and began to caress him gently with her fingers. Spencer stroked Max hair and her bare shoulder. They were silent for a while, as they both calmed their breathing.

“I must say Dr. Reid you have pleasantly surprised me. You have a special talent for the love arts…”. Max said ceremoniously and let out a sigh. Spencer couldn't help but laugh.

"Good way to say sex with me is not that bad after all..." Spencer laughed.

"I didn't say that... I said you pleasantly surprised me, I didn't say I thought you were bad in bed. Don't put words in my mouth!”. Max claimed.

"Okay... I'm going to take your compliment to feed my diminished ego". Spencer said with an open laugh. Max patted his arm reprovingly. They were silent again for a moment. Max spoke again.

"Did I tell you that I love see you laughing?"

"Max... please... you will make me blush..."

"I mean it. I like to see you laughing… relaxed… enjoying the moment”

“Uhm… to tell the truth… this also amazes me. I didn't know I could feel so comfortable at times like these"

"Why you say that?"

"I don’t know. It may sound odd. But intimacy with another person has always seemed like a jump into the abyss and makes me extremely nervous. But… now I feel different… and… I like it” said Spencer while caressing Max's bare arm.

"Hearing you say that is like my head is saying exactly the same thing... but surely you would not believe me"

"Why should I not believe you?"

"I don’t know. It’s true I had a youth with certain excesses... and I have had several failed relationships... and very disastrous, by the way... but I’m not an extrovert spirit in essence". Max indicated.

"Are you telling me I think you’re a hippie?" Spencer asked laughing.

"Maybe…?"

"No. Your artistic spirit is not hippie style. You don't feel comfortable with that kind of freedom. You need structure in your life. At least the basic one. Although that doesn't stop you from experimenting within your limits…”. Spencer said as he kissed her on the forehead.

"Do you already profiled me?" Max asked curiously.

"No... no, I didn't mean to sound like that... sorry..."

"Yes, you did... come on, I want to hear it. Seriously, it's just real curiosity, it's not to reproach you for something” said Max.

"Do you really want me to tell you?" Spencer was hesitant to keep talking.

"Yes. Maybe I can learn something from myself”. Max said with a shrug.

"High expectations for my work, Miss Brenner ..."

"Just spit it out, buddy". Max said insistently.

"All right. Okay. If you are asking so nicely… It is no surprise you inherited a sensitive artistic side from your mother. You told me yourself. But your father always instilled in you and your sisters the sense of responsibility and plans. Michelle is the one who, due to her age and the things that happened to you over the years, became more operational and practical. Surely she has a structured career in science, such as engineering, or perhaps something more humanistic, but with defined canons, such as laws. You are the middle sister. You told me it was a conflict deciding what to do once you got out of high school. You are the one who has suffered the duality of your parents the most. For years you suppressed your rational side trying to follow your mother. You believed being free was about not setting goals for the future, you believed being free was letting things just happen. But you realized that was not with you either. Despite everything, you needed structure and, above all, plans. A life goal. As you grew up, you realized being with others was also a sense of responsibility for you. Possibly you saw yourself responsible for Eloise when Michelle left home. You’re overprotective with your younger sister as well as with your nephew. Maybe you want to make up for Michelle's void, but you too are naturally a caregiver. Your mother was also, although in a more intuitive and spontaneous way. It’s likely in some of your relationships you saw yourself acting more like a sympathetic mother than a woman who put her demands on the table. When the static overcame the initial impulse of something new and perhaps even forbidden, you no longer made sense to be with someone. At some point you realized you didn’t need anyone to complete yourself or achieve your purposes. You took charge of your life, even though there are times when you long to not have to make decisions… ”. Spencer stopped. Max was silent. With one of his hands, he scratched his forehead. Reid had the feeling he had spoken more than necessary and it had been a mistake. "Max, I'm so sorry... I shouldn't have said all this... clearly you know your life better than I do...". Spencer apologized.

"Wow... I could say you guessed almost everything... I'm amazed. You guys are really good…”. Max said laughing.

"What? Aren't you upset?"

"Of course not. Why should I be? I asked you to tell me what you saw. Only now I’ll have to be more careful with you”. Spencer relaxed and laughed too.

"When I do this outside of work... overall it ends up being a mess". Reid acknowledged.

“I believe you, it’s not easy to hear how you can become an open book for someone else. But, you know what?"

"What…?"

"I think I don't mind being one, as long as you are the only one reading it. Now take this responsibility and keep it a secret, ok?” Max winked him and laid her head on his chest. Spencer smiled as he held her against his body.

"Sure I will..." he replied, then kissed her on the head. They held each other for a while and were silent. They could hear how the street was slowly quieting down.

"Are you hungry? I'm going to make something to eat". Max said in a moment, separating from him to get out of bed.

"Yes actually. I hadn't noticed we didn't have eat… food” said Spencer grimacing.

"What kind of comment was that Dr. Reid?" Max said looking at him and chuckling while she put on a robe and tied it around her waist.

"I was wondering if there will be dessert later..." said Spencer looking at her from the bed.

"If you behave... there is a possibility" were Max's words before disappearing from the room on the way to the kitchen.

Spencer lay in bed for a while longer. From the bedroom he could hear Max taking things out of the pantry and the refrigerator. He began looking at his surroundings. The bedroom was not very spacious but it had a good distribution. Two night tables, one on each side of the bed. A closet arranged on the right wall of the room while just on the wall behind him was the window overlooked one of the alleys surrounded the building. That helped mitigate the noise from the main street on the opposite side of Max's apartment. There was a dresser on the left wall of the room. Reid could see there were many photographs on it arranged in framed collages. He got out of bed, pulling on her slacks and shirt, which he didn't want to button. Spencer walked to the dresser and peered closely at the photos. Several were from Max and his family. There was a big photo of her mom as well as Sammy when he was a baby. There was a photo of the three sisters for graduation that appeared to be of Michelle. Other photos of Max at the college, as well as others taken in landscapes that seemed to be part of Max's travels in different parts of the country. Looking at the photographs, he smiled. He could see many of the things he liked about her in those photographs: her smile, her energy to do many things, the love for her own family. If anything characterized her in those photos, it was the feeling of confidence and resolution that radiated on her face. That little woman who was able to fill the room without opening her mouth, only with her presence. Without realizing it, Spencer had become more distracted than he thought. When he heard his name from the kitchen, he left his thoughts and left the bedroom.

Max had made sandwiches and tea, which she arranged on the table. There was also a plate with cookies and jam. When she saw Spencer appear from the room she motioned for him to come over and sit down.

"It is not very elaborate, but at least we will not be hungry"

"Tea?"

"Yep ... it's not time for coffee, unless you want to stay up all night"

They sat down to eat. In that minute Spencer realized he was indeed hungry. Without nearly speaking he had already devoured his sandwich and half a cup of tea. Max was looking at him with a smile on her face. Spencer noticed it.

"What?... yes, I was hungry. But you barely touched your sandwich…”

"Yeah, apparently I wasn't too much hungry after all". Max said taking a sip of his tea.

"Max, is something wrong? Was it because of something I said a while ago?..."

"No, I mean… well... I’m am not reproaching any of that. It's just... I don't know. That kept me thinking about what you said about being 'maternal' in my relationships...”

“It doesn't necessarily have to be that way. They are only my appreciations without knowing any concrete fact. It can be completely different Max…”

"It just seems to be a fact. At least in some of the relationships I've had... and especially in the last one...". Max said with a sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it?... If you don't want to, that's fine...". Max winced, not knowing whether to keep talking or stop. After giving a sigh, she chose to continue talking.

Mike Davis. We dated for two years. That was true. It was also true that I focused a lot on our relationship and distanced myself a little from my family and friends. I really wanted it to work. When he asked me to move together, I didn’t hesitate. I moved with him 3 months after we met. That was fast. Come to think of it, I don't know why I was rushing into it so much. I think he wanted to make sure he would have me by his side, maybe that was it. I convinced myself I had to give him a chance. But of course, the only one who did the job’s part was me. Mike was a good guy, but he didn't know anything about what to do with his life. I guess I felt if I was important to him, he would try and if I helped him it might work. But then the discussions started. He was comfortable with me by his side, taking care of him, worrying of him, trying to please him. But what happened to me, or what I felt, was irrelevant to him. When we discussed that, he always told me I had met him like this and it was unfair for me to try to change him. That I was obtuse, that I wanted things my way, that I was selfish. Anyway... I came to believe it. I think that had me two years with him”.

"What made you decide to left him?" Spencer asked as he gripped his mug with both hands.

“Michelle. I mean, she always told me it wasn't worth being with a man like that. But I was in love... and of course, that generated another conflict between us. I hated to admit it, but she was right… again”. Max smiled lowering her gaze. Spencer took her hand and squeezed it gently. Max looked up at him.

"Hey... you got out of there. That's what matters. And you made the decision, and you did it because you realized it was necessary. Regardless of who encouraged you to do it” said Spencer, stroking her hand with his thumb.

"I did it. And it was a relief. I mean... of course, at first it hurt a lot, it was a very painful break. I cried a lot, but now that I think about it… I don't know if it was because I lost him… or because I felt I had failed again…”

"But you did your part... what else could you have done? You tried..."

"Of course I tried. But I didn't want to try any more. So I didn't want to put more effort into a relationship anymore. I was fed up, exhausted. I didn't want to date anyone anymore. Every time one of my friends or sisters placed me in front of a new guy, I did everything necessary to dismiss them immediately. Those poor men sure made all their efforts... but I didn't want to, it's that simple. And of course… if the invitation was for casual sex or one night stand, ok, I could handle it, but only that…”. Max sighed. Then she released Spencer's hand and stood up from the chair taking her and Spencer's mugs. "Do you want more tea?" Spencer shook his head negatively.

"No, I’m fine. Thank you"

"Okay, I'll get this up" Taking the mugs, she led them to the sink.

Max rested both hands on the edge of the sink and lowered her head in silence. Spencer didn't take his eyes off her the entire time. When Reid saw her leaning on her hands trying to stifle a sob, he stood up next to her. Placing his hands on Max shoulders, he made her turn to face him. One of his hands reached for her chin to lift it up and look her in the eye.

"Max, I know you are a strong woman. You don't have to prove it. Neither with me nor with anyone. Crying does not make you less powerful. You don't have to hide it… on the contrary, if that's what you feel, let it out…”. The tears Max was holding back began to flow. "That's it, let them out, you'll feel better later..." said Spencer.

Max buried her face in Reid chest, wrapping her arms around his torso, while he hugged her, caressing her back gently. After the sobs and tears left her body, she began to calm down and breathe calmer. At no point did Spencer stop stroking her so he noticed when her muscles relaxed and the sobs subsided.

"I told you that every time I tried to profile outside of work a disaster would happen" said Spencer, causing the desired effect on Max, who started to laugh.

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#spencer reid #maxine brenner #maxcer #spencer reid fanfiction #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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The Wife [22/?]

The Wife || Ch 22 ~ 4.4k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 C12 Ch13Ch14Ch15Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 Ch20 Ch21 ||FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: Hey, guys, sorry for the longer wait. Currently hyperfixating on Ineffable Husbands but I'm not leaving those babies right before the end point so no worries ;)

Upon Alice and Robyn’s arrival, Emma’s life seems to settle for the first time in what is in reality less than half a year but feels very much like a couple of lifetimes. It’s a peculiar feeling to associate with the girls who, more often than not, move like little pocket hurricanes through the house and leave traces of themselves like debris behind.

Emma expects, is almost familiar with, Alice’s uncontainable energy, the childlike capacity for wonder and the safety to be herself and even a bit wilder, a bit freer – somehow more than the self that she presents to most of the world. It’s all Killian’s presence boosted even further, made sweeter, by Robyn’s.

It’s this other young lady that has surprised Mrs Jones. Robyn is all propriety and politeness at first, somewhat quieter than the vague image Emma formed in her head based on Killian and Alice’s stories, somewhat more subdued – her hair always pulled back and her movements strong but contained, her blush fierce whenever Alice’s hand would brush against hers or Alice’s lips would peck her cheek in front of Emma and Killian.

In all fairness, Emma knows – knows from personal experience – that it makes perfect sense for Robyn to be a bit more reserved, a bit more cautious. It just isn’t what she expected. Which is probably for the best. Since it lasts all of a week.

A week and some gradually warmer weather is all it takes for Robyn to start cajoling Emma into trying her aim at one of the practice targets that Killian put up at the very back of the grounds for the girls. A week for Robyn to accept Emma’s offer to take Buttercup out for a ride with Jolly and Alice. A week for her to start coming down to breakfast with her hair in a state that makes Ruby groan in near pain. A week for her to settle hip to hip with Alice in the library and another to rest her head in Alice’s lap while they race each other over the identical copies of whatever book Killian has bought them last.

“You do know this is all on you, don’t you?”

Emma looks away from the dissolving clumps of cinnamon in her cocoa and picks both mugs, heading toward the door and inclining her head in an invitation for her husband to follow. She and Killian retiring to their bedroom before midnight is another development that has been, at least partially, brought on by the girls’ presence and their love for lazing around in the library late into the night. Emma has settled into that without too much protest as well.

“What is?” she asks on her way up the stairs and grins at the way Killian glances down the corridor, toward the library door – part guilt and part suspicion that Emma has decided only parents can imbue with quite so much fondness and frustration at the same time.

“This. The usurpation.”

Her laughter makes a little bit of cocoa slosh over the rim of one mug and she bites her lip and glances guiltily at the spot on the stairs but Killian waves a dismissive hand and urges her up the stairs. Emma likes to think she would have normally protested and made them stop and clean up but his urging takes the form of his hand fitting neatly under her bottom and almost lifting her toward the next rung so she feels decidedly overruled on this one.

“Usurpation?” she giggles again as Killian crowds her against their bedroom door for a moment before turning the handle.

“Aye. I’ve been going to bed at a time befitting a gentleman quite a bit older than myself for weeks now.”

“Ah, yes, because it is all peaceful rest that transpires in this room.”

Emma does so love the way she can still make her eloquent husband sputter with barely an allusion to bedroom activities.

“That is entirely beside the point, love. I adore my daughter and I’m absolutely delighted how at ease you have set Robyn. But frankly, a father is happy with the abstract knowledge of his daughter’s successful romance, not very concrete encounters with it.”

There is a barely restrained current of amusement under Killian’s words and Emma makes sure that he sees her eyeroll and her knowing look before she sets their mugs on the floor before the fireplace and sits down with her back to him.

Killian’s knees press under the small of her back as he lowers himself behind her and works his clever fingers beneath the laces of her dress.

Of course, he is not entirely unjustified in his indignation, however playful.

When the library was usurped, as he put it, they tried sequestering themselves in his study but Killian found the idea of spending his evenings where he spend the majority of his days understandably less than appealing. Any period longer than the time required for the manifestation of some hot chocolate in the kitchen earned them Granny’s vocal displeasure and, as soon as the world outside started thawing, the chances of them running into Alice and Robyn in the garden were just as good as stumbling on an intimate scene in the library. Alice maintains that her father built that swing in the back for her so really it is them who have been trespassing.

And Emma has to agree with Killian – she is overjoyed to see the girls happy and in love but the image of her step-daughter loosening a corset is not one she needs imprinted on her mind. So, their bedroom it is – the last stronghold that they haven’t happily relinquished control of.

“What do you mean I have set Robyn at ease?” she twists her head to look at Killian over her shoulder.

He gives her a look that says he can answer her immediately but instead takes his time to finish undoing her dress and run his fingers through her hair a few times even though it has been free and loose all day.

“I’m confident in the very amicable relationship I have with Robyn,” he starts eventually, when Emma turns around to face him and takes a sip of her drink. “But surely you realize that it is you who has made her feel comfortable and at home here, my queen.”

“I wouldn’t say— That is I have…”

She has been trying to do exactly that actually, she just never connected the desired result with her efforts.

“I think it was the horse,” Killian says with a light in his eyes that she suspects has much to do with her own expression of realization. “I’d never let her ride my horse.”

“You’d never let anyone ride Roger and thank god for that. He’d probably kill just about anyone else.”

Killian hums as if the idea has quite a bit of merit and he is perfectly alright with that. When he moves to kiss her, the vision of him astride his gorgeous and equally dangerous beast is not far from her mind.

*****

She is already naked, still kneeling in front of the fireplace but now with her husband pressed fully –intimately – against her back, his hand low on her stomach, holding her to him and upright and grounded – she is already half gone by the time the thought crosses her mind – of the possible consequences of this, of the desired consequences.

At first, Emma was almost afraid that it will spoil it, that the constant hope and expectation and wondering of maybe this time will erode some of the sheer enjoyment of making love to Killian. She thinks maybe it did, the first few days – not so much erode as strain, add a particular weight to the act, send vibrations of anticipation along the link between them. But it is rather difficult to anticipate anything else when she has Killian all around her, inside her. The answer of him outweighing any question of anything else.

And then, a couple of weeks after she convinced her husband that they should at least try, on a night when they came to bed late, after too much food and some wine, and came together with the minimal amount of movement and effort and removal of nightclothes required, Emma realized that if they never get there, if she never gets anything but this, it will be alright. It will be more than alright, it will be enough for her to be iridescently happy for the rest of her days.

And now, as Killian’s hand slips lower and she can feel the scratch of his hair and the cool points of his nipples against her back, as he whispers things that make her bite her lip and try to swallow down the tidal wave in her chest, she forgets there is any point to this other than chasing that hill that Killian has shown her how to climb and making him jump off with her.

*****

None of that can quite keep down the instinctive longing she feels when she holds Mary Margaret’s newborn son for the first time but it certainly helps her smile and coo at him in genuine delight instead of masked resentment.

He is healthy and lovely and Mary Margaret looks so splendid and relaxed that Emma has a hard time imagining Leo’s birth including anything but her friend smiling serenely and sighing happily as she coaxes her baby to join her into the world with just a few whispered words. It’s a preposterous image, of course, but the more Emma listens to Mary’s lilting voice and watches her cradle her baby, the more she cannot picture anything else. There is a vague thought at the back of her mind that, even if she were able to bring a child into the world, there is no way she is able to do it as gracefully and seemingly effortlessly as Mary Margaret.

So she spends all her joy in the Nolan’s picturesque home and she stares unseeingly out of the window on the ride back home and then, as soon as she sets foot on the stones leading to the house, she has another vision in her mind. One of her finally taking one of Robyn’s bows and shooting arrow after arrow at the target, each one sinking it with satisfying success, perfect execution, perfect control. She starts walking around the house before she has had time to scoff at herself.

And Robyn is exactly where Emma imagined she would be, alone like she imagined she would be. It fuels Emma’s fantasy.

“Emma!”

The girl smiles brightly at her. She stopped calling her Mrs Jones around the time she stopped glaring at Alice every time she tugged on Robyn’s braid to try and bring her cheek to Alice’s lips.

Emma’s dramatic response is to throw her hat to the damp grass, pulling a few hairs on the way and squaring her shoulders. She doesn’t ask, she just takes one of the bows Robyn is not using. Emma has always been good enough with her hands, she only needs to see something done once or twice to be able to replicate it almost exactly. This is probably the reason she actually manages to cock the arrow properly. The adrenaline in her veins and the vision in her mind’s eye is probably the reason she manages to pull her arm back, a tremble going down her spine as she lets the arrow fly.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, it should be anything but, when the arrow dives down and falls impotently to the grass before even reaching the target.

Some part of Emma hears Robyn make a sputtering, helpless sound but all the rest of her is focused on keeping her muscles from shaking off the bones of her arm as she pulls another arrow back and watches it sail far to the left.

“Emma, let me at least show—“

The third one she can’t even pull all the way back and it takes everything inside her not to throw the bow to the ground and stomp her foot like a petulant child.

Then Emma feels a pair of arms wrap around her and with a little twist, a strangled sound and a hum that almost manages to settle her trembling hands, half of her weight is no longer on her feet, her fingers grapple with unfamiliar fabric and her face is buried in blonde curls. For the next few minutes she just clings to Alice.

“First time around, I couldn’t even pull it all the way back.”

The words are warm against the side of Emma’s head, the levity inside them isn’t really forced and there is a thread of admiration running through them that Emma doesn’t deny herself from picking up.

“Oh, yes, I’m a natural.”

She feels the vibrations of her and Alice’s laughter undulate against each other and flow together.

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Robyn’s voice is tentative behind them and Emma lets one of her arms drop away from Alice so she can turn around and give her an apologetic smile. “It’s not really… an emotional sport.”

Emma manages to chuckle a little and nods.

“Maybe you can give me a proper lesson and demonstration. Tomorrow?”

Robyn’s smile is bright and excited and Alice’s hand tightens on Emma’s waist and Emma feels the little pockets of emptiness that tried to fit themselves into her heart filling again.

“I think papa was just going for a ride.”

Emma gives Alice a grateful smile and Robyn one last hopeful look.

“Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow. Go on before I make you gather the arrows you shot.”

She doesn’t feel all that childish when she runs off or perhaps she just doesn’t care.

*****

Killian has just swung into his saddle when she rounds the corner of the stables. She supposes the pinkness of her face, the labored breathing and her hair flying all over the place justifies the startled look on his face but she lifts her hand to stop him from getting off his horse and makes her way to him at a slightly more reasonable pace.

“Take me with you, my heart?”

She holds her hand towards him and doesn’t squirm or doubt when Killian looks her over with a raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes before he nods and helps her settle behind him. Roger makes a noise that seems to indicate that this is a one time thing that they are being allowed and then they are off.

They ride in silence until the house looks like she can put it in her pocket. Killian knows where she was, he offered to go with her, she thinks next time she will let him. But she doesn’t regret going alone now, she doesn’t even regret her display with the bow and arrows, she doesn’t regret anything at all as she presses her breasts firmly into Killian’s back, her hands into his sides and her nose into the hair on the back of his neck.

It’s so different from leaning into Alice’s softness and hanging onto a frame no bigger than her own but the certainty that they will hold her up and keep her until she grows warm and sure again is almost identical.

*****

They come back when the sun has almost completely disappeared, both starting to shiver a little from the early spring wind. The damp patches on his trousers hardly help, he has missed one leaf in Emma’s hair and quite a few little twigs that embedded themselves in her coat, so Killian squeezes her wrist and drags his wife up the stairs before anyone can catch sight of them. He will have to forsake the right to grumble and roll his eyes at Alice and Robyn if either sees them in this state. Though they might go easy on Emma today from what she told him – he squeezes her soft hand again and pulls her closer to his side as they rush into their room and start the process of making each other presentable again.

He watches her carefully still, trying to spot a certain rigidness in her shoulders or a tightening around her mouth but it’s all gone now. He runs his hand down her spine as she takes off his brace and kisses the corners of her lips while she tries to tame his hair, just to make sure.

It’s mostly habit that makes Killian peak into the library when they make their way back downstairs and he does a double take when he finds it empty. They exchange a disbelieving look but make quick work of spreading themselves over the pillows left in front of the fire. The look Granny gives them upon entering the room makes it quite clear that she still hasn’t decided who is the most immature individual living under this roof.

“Supper will be another hour, seeing as the Misses decided to take a bath.”

Killian honestly has no idea what possesses him to arrange his features the way he does or say what he does – no idea other than the warmth of the fire and Emma’s head on his thigh where she has buried her nose in a novel she has been trying to snatch from Alice for a week, no idea but wanting to see Granny put her hands on her hips and huff and storm out.

“Ah, that is quite alright. Perhaps, in the meantime, you can bring us some of those biscuits Ruby was making earlier.”

Granny doesn’t disappoint him.

*****

Killian Jones has spent a likely disconcerting amount of his 40 years of life on the floor.

When he was young, the day the summer firmly turned the tide and the heat overpowered even the night coldness, he would sneak a blanket from under his mother’s nose and go to sleep on the still warm grass outside, trying to read words in the stars until his eyes betrayed him. He doesn’t count those years on the grass.

When he was in the Navy, few things rankled more than sharing space with men that were as far from the title of a “gentleman” as one could get and yet, space on a ship was scarce and sharing it was not really a question of preference and sensibility, so he would trudge up from the crew’s quarters and find himself a square of planks that looked almost as fine as the bunks below them and try to remember what stories he used to read in the stars when he was young. He doesn’t count those years on the planks.

When he returned from sea, the concept of earth under his feet at all times seemed preposterous and yet, the sight and feel of chairs and settees seemed even more so, and when he could get away with it – meaning not around Liam or anyone they did business with and not around any ladies (not until Milah) who felt it an offence to be in the company of someone so queer about such a simple matter as sitting – he would much rather sit on the floor than on any furniture designed for that express purpose. He doesn’t count those years on the floor.

When Alice was born, with all her quick little limbs and her devious little mind, with her innocent baby face and all her ideas defying gravity and logic, he found it much sounder to spread his papers and books on the carpet around her, to keep pen and paper and baby all within the reach of his hands – not to mention, how much better he could delight in exactly those devious little tricks of hers when they were sharing almost the same height and surface. He doesn’t count those years on the carpet.

When they came back from the war, it was Liam who would grab two pillows and throw them before the fireplace whenever Killian stayed over after dinner dragged on too long or the rum kept flowing a bit too late, and Killian never quite figured out if his brother did it for him or for himself and perhaps he was reluctant to ask because it was the best sleep he got for the first couple of years after and perhaps because, whoever it was for, they both needed it. He does count those years in front of the fire.

When he got married, nothing felt quite right – not taking her arm when they walked down the street, not introducing her as the mistress of the house to staff and guests alike, not sharing a table with her on the occasion when he slept in too late or got lured into the dining room around supper, not raising a child with her – to whatever degree what she did could be called raising anything, rather than bringing down things that Alice had cultivated herself or Killian had carefully, secretly, nurtured, and certainly not sharing a bed with her, so he was rather glad for all the practice he’d had of sleeping on grass and planks and carpets alike so that, when he couldn’t stomach the thought of lying down beside her and couldn’t escape the room altogether, the floor felt like no big sacrifice. He does count those years on the floor.

When Milah was gone for honour and Eloise was gone because the world had decided to finally let him breathe a little and Alice was gone because he loved her too much, he had all the rooms and beds and linen that one could wish for and that, most likely, was why every other week he would still find himself sleeping on the floor before the fireplace – not with his brother because his brother had grown up and then he’d healed and then he’d found love that he could keep – thinking that maybe the following night he would take a blanket and sneak out into the back garden and see if there has been anything new written in the stars. He does count those lonely years on his own.

Now he remembers the last time he slept on the floor. A month ago? A bit more? They hadn’t made love on the floor the way they had a number of times before, hadn’t even taken more than one pillow and the throw from the armchair a couple of feet away. They hadn’t meant to stay there that long at all and then, the next thing Killian was aware of was the sunshine hitting his face at an unusual angle and his back feeling stiff beneath him and his neck doubly so, and then he opened his eyes to see his bedroom ceiling from a point that he hadn’t in a while, since some weeks before Emma first set foot in the house, with the woman in question, lying on his chest, her arm wrapped uselessly around the only pillow that neither of them seemed to have used and snoring lightly in a way that made him want to laugh and wake her with kisses to the back of her neck all in the same breath. He does count that morning.

All in all, his time lying on the floor has vastly improved as of late but this – this is by far his favourite. So he tries to catalogue and store away all the details – the soft depths of the pillow under his head, the scratch of the carpet under his right elbow where Emma rolled up his sleeve as he was preparing drinks; the smell of chocolate and cardamom tea and something stronger that he and Robyn spiced their respective beverages with; the quiet, random popping of the logs in the fireplace and the faintest traces of smoke in the warm air; the texture of the book he keeps splayed open with his fingers and the light rasp of the page under his thumb; the feel of Emma’s toes digging into his shoulder as they all lie in a circle of their own making, their shoes lined perfectly under the table.

It feels like a scene from a children’s book, he would bet it looks like one as well. He feels his skin itch from the joy of it.

“Now, how does this work exactly, darling?” he tries to introduce some reluctance into his tone but is afraid it comes out just painfully fond.

“You read a page and then I read the next and then Robyn reads the next and then Emma reads the next and then it’s you again.”

“Right. Splendid. But what precisely is the purpose of this orchestrated reading?”

“The purpose is that we all read at the same speed and I do not find out that Beth is going to die because Emma gasped in horror ten pages ahead.”

Killian tilts his head back to watch in amusement as his wife’s face floods with color.

“And I reckon it would be rather nice, don’t you?”

He drops his chin to his chest so he can now catch his daughter who has propped herself on his knee, her eyes bright and wide and so earnest that he can’t do anything but agree.

Before the night is through, the book makes ten full turns around their circle, passing from hand to hand, sighs and grumbles and indignant exclamations when it is dropped and the page lost, but mostly the pleasant change of tone and tempo as they take their turns and experience the story together.

Killian doesn’t know when he falls asleep – it might have been Alice’s too gentle voice or Robyn’s somewhat unadorned reading or perhaps the calming sound of Emma’s tones that his mind associates with safety and rest. He imagines she went to pass him the book, keeping her ring finger carefully marking the page, only to not find his hand waiting to receive it. He imagines Alice rolled her eyes and made a comment and Robyn shushed her and urged her up with a squeeze of her ankle and Emma marked the page and shuffled closer to him. He is quite certain about that last one because he wakes up on the floor, to the fire almost dying and the girls long in bed, with Emma’s front pressed against his side, her fingers running absent-mindedly though his hair and her breath teasing his throat.

He most certainly counts this one.

*****

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antiquechampagne · 5 years

Text

Beastly Kingdom - CH13 - Line’em Up

A shaft of orange light cut across Liz’s face, waking her up just as she had fallen asleep. She was tempted to grumble, but silently slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Oswald on the other side. After she freshened up as much as she could, Liz poked her head in Louis’s room. He still lay on his threadbare and stained mattress. The rusted bedframe creaking lightly as he shifted in his sleep. She took this rare peaceful moment and drank it in silently.

A hand lightly touched her shoulder. Her body tensed to attack, but she realized it was just Oswald. She wasn’t sure how he had snuck up on her so silently, then she remembered he had a few special tricks up his sleeve. He gave a little squeeze.

“That’s not the smartest idea, sneaking up on me like that.” She chided as she turned to face him. She smiled, noticing he had only clothed his lower half. “Unless you want to lose a few more teeth.”

Oswald smiled carelessly before a more serious expression darkened his glowing features. “He’ll be fine.”

“I know.” Liz couldn’t help but glance back. “But I should go before he wakes up. If he sees me, he might get upset. I don’t want him to be a handful for you.”

“He’s a sweet kid, but he’s not the one I worry about. Are you going to be able to leave if he won’t let you go?”

That rang a bit too true for Liz. She dramatically put her hand over her heart. “You wound me, sir!” Oswald shook his head. Before he could clap back, Liz gave him a quick and passionate kiss.

“And that is a thank you for last night… well, I guess another thank you. I’m off to war. I’ll bring you back something fun!” With that, Liz slipped off to join in the last-minute preparations before their forces started filtering out into the wasteland.

They had been sending small plainclothes groups to set up camps and safehouses in the nearby city for nearly a week, hiding the build up around the airport. Stealthily moving a giant glowing deathclaw and her blazing white and gold power armor was not an option. Liz was shipping out with the last remnants of her forces, including the gang leaders and their heavy guns just before the big offensive. Gage was slated to stay behind with a skeleton crew to keep Nuka-World running in their absence.

“Fuck’em up, Boss.” Gage nodded to Liz as she scanned over the nearly silent Nuka-World one last time.

“Don’t raise too much hell while I’m gone! Those townies can’t hold their liquor like a raider!”

“Shit, ain’t that the truth!”

They traveled slower that Liz would have liked. The arrived later than planned at the temporary command center in an abandoned school. Liz was tempted to send Mama to the nearby racetrack. It would be easier to hide her behind the stands, but she decided against it. Even though it was now full of her forces, some might spook and bolt being so close to such a threatening creature. Instead, she told Mama to stay behind the building and guard her power armor.

Heading inside, she was greeted by a scene of a bustling headquarters packed to the gills with people running here and there. Nearly all of them were wearing some version of a stupid tricorn hat. It nearly made her chuckle.

Liz and her entourage were quickly spotted and directed to a courtyard. The General was directing a few underlings with last minute orders.

“Glad you could make it. I thought I was going to have to start the party without you.” Nate arched his eyebrow. He was wearing a dark blue overcoat with stars sewn on the collars. He grabbed his own tricorn hat and put it on.

“Yeah, well, Mama needed a break… you try telling a deathclaw to hold it until we get there.” Nate almost smiled. “But now that we’re here, is everything progressing like we planned?”

Nate bent back down over the table with a crude map in the middle of the courtyard. “Everyone is in place; the artillery is awaiting my signal. What about your people?”

“This last group has the big guns… a little more than a dozen missile launchers and the bastards that love’em. The rest are chomping at the bit to get a piece of Brotherhood flesh, all we have to do is release the hounds.” Liz made a bit of a show of looking around. “And here I thought I would finally get to meet that Preston Garvey I’ve heard so much about. So, where is your second in command?”

Nate’s eyebrows knit ever so slightly. “He’s back at the Castle, keeping things running.” He glared back at her. “I don’t see Gage riding your coattails.”

“Touché,” Liz conceded. “But I will be insisting my underbosses work with your crew to coordinate and focus our strikes. They will be in charge of my people during the assault.”

“What are you going to be doing, then?”

“I didn’t wax my armor this morning for nothing. If I don’t get a few new scars from this little war you have staged, how can I call myself a proper Overboss?”

Nate shook his head. “Of course, you are suicidal…”

Liz punched her fist on the table with enough force to topple a few coffee mugs. The room went suddenly cold. More than one hand went to unclip a sidearm.

“I don’t send my guys into any place where I won’t go myself. What coward stays behind while sending others to die?”

The General and Overboss locked eyes. Nate broke away first.

“We don’t have time for this.” He huffed. “There’ll be enough of a blood bath for everyone, especially if we delay even more.”

“Agreed.” Liz turned to leave. “Rain hellfire down on the bastards and cover our asses. We’ll have them shitting their pants in no time.”

Mason followed her back to her armor, leaving Mags to coordinate placing the final assets among the entrenched Minutemen and Nuka-World troops. The plan was to get the missile launchers in place before the artillery landed to add an additional punch to their opening number. After that, she and Mama would lead the shock troop in and try and punch a hole in the wall. The first goal was to bring down the Brotherhood airship, everything apart from that was just frosting on the cake, as far as she was concerned.

After getting in her armor, the silent minutes stretched on for what felt like hours. Mama perked up and snorted, her head cocked to the side moments before Liz heard the telltale whoosh of an incoming projectile. For a split second, the Liz thought she heard the blare of an air raid siren before she pushed the ghost of a memory out of her head. She didn’t have time rehash a 200-year-old flashback right now.

The first dozen shells hit a mix of the perimeter wall guarding the airport, as well as the building proper. A few even managed to hit the Prydwen itself, one taking off a front observation deck and another damaging the support struts holding the tail in place. As the alarm was raised, a hail of missiles from the surrounding landscape exploded in of burst orange fire.

Liz slapped Mama on a meaty leg, then let out an adrenaline-fueled howl as she launched into a run down the barren space between her and the wall topped with Brotherhood knights. Roused by her cry, Mason’s Pack followed suit, popping up from behind every crumbling wall and rock to rush alongside their Overboss. Mama bellowed out her own deafening roar, the shockwave knocking out several nearby school windows before she sprinted to keep up.

The well-trained soldiers of the Brotherhood quickly recovered, scrambling to cover the advancing forces with return fire while extracting those unlucky enough to be in the blast radius of the first attack. Liz smiled as dozens of laser beams bounced ineffectively off her armor.

Come and shoot at the big bad bouncing raider, she thought as she raised her twin miniguns, keep wasting your ammo on me, dumbasses. Started firing as she ran, getting ever closer to the wall. She laughed, peppering bullets in wide swaths, causing the knights and scribes to duck for cover. The air around her rang with ballistics from both Pack semiautomatics and the slow thrum of Minutemen laser muskets.

A few yards down the wall, a dull gray power armor landed with a thud, its immense weight sending stone and debris flying in every direction. Liz turned, her eyes alight with a devilish fire. Pull themselves up, Liz saw the armored knight brandishing a powered super sledge, rockets blazing.

“Bring it, you rusty metal twat!” Her attacker sprinted, hurtling towards her with the deadly sledge raised. The knight was hit with a full barrage of 5mm rounds, but it barely slowed. However, it was enough for Liz to follow the super sledge’s trajectory. As the knight brought the sledge down, she sidestepped, the head catching nothing but empty air. The knight quickly recovered, pivoted and tried to use their moment to get out of arms reach. It wasn’t fast enough to avoid a blast from Liz’s trusty flamethrowers that were still mounted on her wrists aimed at the knight’s head. Liz snickered as she heard the voice inside roar in frustration.

Unfortunately, with her attention focused on the threat in front of her, Liz missed the telltale sound of an incoming vertibird. She soon found herself the target of a hail of machine gun fire as they strafed by in a close arch. Her HUD started to blink and squawk annoyingly as the bullets started to break through her armor. Frustrated, Liz turned and returned concentrated fire, forcing the aircraft to break off and retreat momentarily, one it’s rotary engines beginning to smoke.

The knight, recovered, took advantage of the distraction, leaping and smashing the rocket powered lead into Liz’s turned back. Many more indicators turned red and blinked anxiously.

“EAT SHIT!” Liz raged and leapt onto the knight’s power armor, knocking them prone. Her armored fingers digging under the heat-deformed helmet and pulled. The metal groaned and gave. As soon as she could see something soft inside, she stuck the barrel of her flamethrower in and released enough hellfire to smell melting rubber and bubbling flesh inside her enclosed helmet.

Panting, she stood up, her hands still warm even with the internal heat shielding taking the brunt of the blowback from the flamethrowers. What worried her more was a single message that blinked angrily in her peripheral vision.

FUSION CORE BREACH IMMINENT The flashing was growing more urgent as she watched.

God damn it! She swore to herself. She just got this armor just how she wanted it. Fucking vertibird.

With a few seconds to decide, she knew what she was going to do. She sprinted to the closed gate. The reinforced metal and concrete were just barely scratched by the artillery and missiles that had missed their marks. Liz was betting a little nuclear fueled explosion could help crack that nut. She parked her armor right in the middle of the gate and pushed the button to open the back hatch… but all she heard was the grinding of gears and the pinging of shots hitting her armor.

“Fuck it!” she growled as she slammed the button again, the flashing warning so fast it was nearly solid. The hatch hitched and twitched. Using all her strength, Liz shoved her shoulders against the misbehaving mechanism. With a metallic pop, it gave all at once. Liz spilled awkwardly onto the crumbling pavement. Without any though, she righted herself and ran for the first cover just as the fusion core erupted. A wall of heat, radiation and shrapnel blasted her. Even though her ears rang, Liz thanked her stars that not only was she impervious to the radiation, but that she had reinforced her grease monkey suit with ballistic weave. Peeking over the pile of rubble, she cursed. While the gate had been breached, there was only enough of a clearance for their forces to file in single file.

Guess those Brotherhood bastards knew how to build shit. Liz grabbed a smoke grenade from a pouch and pulled the pin. One more hit should do it, of those Minutemen bastards can actually hit it this time. She threw it at the ground in front of the smoldering wreckage of her armor. A flash of color next to her caught her attention. It was a Pack member. They returned fire, covering her as she sat. She was disappointed it wasn’t Mason, but it gave her a moment to catch her breath.

Liz still couldn’t hear anything, but she tried as best she could to impress upon her underling that artillery was incoming before putting her fingers in the corners in her mouth and attempting to whistling as loud as she could. Mama answered her call, appearing like a giant bloody glowing angel out of the chaos.

With one swift move, Liz grabbed onto Mama’s armor and hauled herself onto her back. She fit perfectly into the saddle slipped in between Mama’s jutting dorsal spikes. Liz spurred her mount away from the front. The handful of few small arms she had stashed strategically among Mama’s armor wasn’t going to cut it. She needed something with a bigger punch. A helmet might be nice, too. No need for some pimply scribe to get lucky with a headshot. She was looking for some nearby peon she could pull rank on when she heard something that took her by complete surprise.

“I AM LIBERTY PRIME. I AM… AMERICA.”

#beastly kingdom #fan fiction #fanfic #fallout #liz rosa #ao3 #Ghoul #nuka world #brotherhood of steel #battle

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do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them · 5 years

Text

Til the End of the Night / Ch13: In which the getting-to-the-castle plan doesn't go as... uh... planned

Previous / Masterpost / Next

Summary: No one is a morning person and Roman has regrets.

Warnings: injury/getting knocked out

AO3

Roman didn’t sleep that night nearly as much as he should have, a mixture of excitement and worry keeping him restless- they were so close! He hadn’t seen the witch in a while, which was good. More gloating was not what he needed just now. When the first bit of sunlight finally appeared, he decided he wasn’t going to get any more sleep than he already had. He rose and hurried to the mirror, wanting to be ready as soon as the others could talk again.

In the little makeshift campsite, Logan woke up first, and turned to his bag to get ready for the day. He blinked when he opened it- that wasn’t how he remembered organizing his things last night… Oh well, he’d been tired. After putting everything back the way he liked it and making himself look a bit less like he’d slept on the ground at the edge of a forest, he glanced at the sunrise, realized how early it still was and pulled out some of his tools. He’d had an idea last night while falling asleep, and it was the perfect project to pass the time until he could… slightly more reasonably expect the others to get up.

When he finished the final touches, a little under an hour later, he decided it was time to wake them. That turned out to be a more difficult task than he expected. Virgil seemed to be already awake, just reluctant to move- hopefully he’d been woken by the noise of Logan moving around, and not unable to sleep all night. He complained a fair bit, but Logan reminded him that the sooner he got up, the sooner they could retrieve Roman and go home. Strangely enough, it was a lot harder to get Patton moving. He was usually all energy when he woke up, but when Logan went and nudged him, he whined and pulled his cloak up over his head with a pout. He refused to move until Logan tried to pull the ‘blanket’ off him. Then he sat up quickly, pulling it back around himself and nearly hissing.

“...You have been spending too much time with Virgil.”

Patton blinked, processing what he’d just done, and laughed at himself. “Sorry, Lo! I guess I’m just a bit tired, still. Maybe I can take a catnap later.” He gestured vaguely at the cloak, just in case Logan had forgotten what his outfit looked like overnight.

Logan sighed. It was too early for puns. “I doubt it, unfortunately. We’re most likely going to be walking all day if we intend to reach the castle.” Patton slumped a little at the thought. Logan didn’t think much of it, as he’d already turned around again, opening his bag. “Virgil?”

“Hm?” Virgil was not awake enough for words yet.

“I have something for you.” He held out a necklace- a round glass pendant with designs etched into it, hanging from a chain. Virgil took it carefully and looked up at him.

“Uh… thanks?”

“It’s not just a piece of jewelry,” Logan explained a bit impatiently. “It will… well, assuming I made it correctly, it should allow you to become invisible if you channel your magic into it.”

“Oh.” He slipped it over his head, tucking the pendant under his layers of robes, and gave Logan a quick smile. “Thanks.” It would probably be best to hold off on figuring out how to use it until he wasn’t half asleep. He wouldn’t want to accidentally break it… or blow himself up.

While Virgil went to help Patton get himself together, Logan re-closed the clasp on his bag and walked to the edge of the trees. Hopefully in the light of day, he’d get a better look at what lay ahead.

Roman watched with growing impatience as his friends slowly, so painfully slowly, got up and prepared to set out. At this rate there wouldn’t be time for them to call him again, not if they wanted to get anywhere before it got dark again.

“Hurry up,” he told the mirror under his breath, despite knowing they couldn’t hear him any more than he could hear them. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”

The door creaked behind him. He spun around, eyes wide, dismissing the image with a panicked gesture.

“Rude! Just because you’re keeping me prisoner doesn’t mean you can barge in without knocking!”

The Dragon Witch walked toward him slowly, shaking her head. “A rescue party, really? You know there’s no one in this kingdom who can even hope to defeat me… especially with you out of the way.”

So much for the element of surprise. “Don’t underestimate them,” he said defensively, with much more confidence than he felt. “They’re… stronger than they look.”

She tapped the mirror to turn it back on and laughed. “Oh, yes, I’m very intimidated. My dear, overly-optimistic Prince, did you really think this was going to work?”

Roman merely gave her a defiant glare. It was too early in the morning, and he’d had too little sleep, to think of good comebacks. Especially when he was very aware he’d just ruined his entire plan out of impatience.

“No fun this morning, I see,” she hummed. “Oh well, I’ll get plenty of entertainment from… taking care of this little issue. Say, you must be awfully bored in here, too- why don’t you turn that mirror back on and watch?”

The witch waved a hand and re-activated it, and when Roman tried to turn it off again out of spite, he found himself unable to. He turned back to face her, nails digging into his palms as he resisted the urge to attack her. It was a tempting idea, but he knew she’d just freeze him in place again.

“You will be defeated, witch,” he shouted after her as she walked out. “Just wait!”

She only laughed, locking the door behind her.

Logan looked over the horizon. Let’s see, they needed to go that way- in fact, he could see the castle in the distance. He could also see the fields which lay between it and them- deceptively peaceful-looking, but apparently fraught with danger in actuality- in which they would probably have difficulty not losing Patton every time he saw a butterfly.

Speaking of whom, he was finally up and moving. He and Virgil came up to join Logan, standing on either side of him. Patton hummed and leaned his head against the taller side’s shoulder, admiring the last of the sunrise. Logan decided not to say anything about that on the grounds that he was clearly still tired.

“There’s a path over there,” he began to explain, since he didn’t trust them to have actually been listening last night, “which would take us directly to the castle. However, I think we should stay off it as much as possible since, if you recall, Roman advised us as to the danger of-”

A shadow fell over the group.

“Get down!”

Before Logan could actually process what Virgil was yelling about, all three of them were on the ground and there was a sound like a small explosion. He raised his head cautiously. A massive dragon- the witch?- was hovering above them. What little remained of Virgil’s attempt at a shield was dissolving away in front of him, and both Virgil and Patton appeared to be unconscious. They must have been knocked out before the shield could expand enough to cover anything more than the center of the group, where Logan was standing, he thought, feeling oddly calm about the whole situation. He looked up and began to reach for his bag, although he had no idea what he could possibly do. As it turned out, it didn’t matter.

The dragon huffed, seeming amused, then came down a little closer and flicked his head almost gently with a huge claw. Logan crumpled instantly, and the Dragon Witch scooped him up along with the other two. So much for that rescue attempt. Although…

She took a closer look at the humans in her grasp. Maybe at least one of these “heroes” would prove more interesting than she’d thought.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #my post #my writing #til the end of the night

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calliecat93 · 5 years

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RWBY V6 CH13 (Season Finale) Review: Our Way

Well... we made it guys. RWBY Volume 6 Chapter 13. The grand finale. It feels like we just began, but still like it was so long ago. It's been one Hell of a ride. Train crashes, traumatic flashbacks via blue genie ladies, Zombie Grimm, confirmed lesbians, mechas, a VERY satisfying villain death, and now a kaiju. It's been quite a journey, and now it's time to bring it to a close. Can our heroes save the day? Can they catch their dreams together and keep rising like the moon? For the final time this volume, lets find out.

Overview

We begin... not in Argus. No, we're in some kind of forest area where we see a Mistral airship arrive. Turns out it got snatched by Neo, who they FINALLY gave a new outfit. It looks really good! She's not the only one as Cinder makes her appearance... and not gonna lie, she's pretty damn hot. She's very pleased with how things are going, especially when Neo uses her power to mask the ship as an Atlas ship. Which will make their infiltration of Atlas all the easier. As she climbs aboard, Cinder comments on how sometime ago, someone asked her if she believed in destiny. If you all recall, she replied yes... and she's happy to say that she still does. Haha... I can't wait for this to be the equivalent of Adam's “It's time I get what I deserved” line for when Ruby kicks your sorry ass! Seriously, I gave the middle finger to this scene. Screw you Cinder.

Okay, back to Argus! Cordovan is furious, repeatedly putting the blame on Ruby and the team for causing all of this. Blake and Yang rejoin the group as Weiss points out that they just took out the one thing that can stand a chance against the Leviathan. Everyone boards the ship as the Atlas Military fight the Grimm off, even activating a hard light shield around the city. Cordovan continues her rantings as her men call for her help. Blake tearfully apologizes to everyone as the ship takes flight, blaming herself as if Adam hadn't interfered, they'd have gotten out with no issues. Yang tells her to not blame herself and Ruby telling her that all that matters is that she's safe. The two even have a cute little hug! Aww!

Maria points out that with the military occupied, this is THE perfect chance to get by and continue to Atlas. But of course by doing so, they leave the chance of the Grimm killing everyone in Argus. Ruby opens her mouth, clearly about to refuse... but her teammates reply first. All three refuse to run. They are Huntresses, and they will fight until the bitter end to protect everyone. Maria seems pleased by this, but things are still not good as the Leviathan's fire breath tears straight through the shields. If it breaks through all of them, then Argus is as good as destroyed. Therefore, Ruby knows what she has to do. She calls out to Atlas' forces, telling them that she is a Huntress and that she can weaken it. How? Well... remember Maria's comments about Ruby needing a trial by fire to train her Silver Eyes? Well my friends, the trial has come.

Maria starts to comment on how she didn't mean like this, but Ruby isn't hearing it. She was able to use the Eyes at Beacon and at Brunswick, so she believes that she can do this. The Argus base, due to the ship being deemed hostile, refuse to aid them. So what does Ruby do? Decide that they'll do ti themselves. With Ren and Jaune keeping the ship masked, the plan is to get before the Leviathan and for Ruby to Silver Eyes blast it. It' a good plan... but by the time they get there, the Leviathan has charged up another attack. They're forced to pull back and both Jaune and Ren's already weakened Auras break. With no one sure of what to do now, Ruby looks to Weiss, a new plan formed.

As Yang and Nora shoot at the Leviathan to keep ti distracted, Weiss summons the Queen Lancer. Ruby hops on, telling herself that she can do this as she flies before the Leviathan. She closes her eyes, even throwing out her earpiece when Yang tries to reach out to her, and begins to think back through her memories. She thinks of the ones she loves like her father, her teammates, her friends, Penny... all the memories that make her feel happy and the urge to protect. But as she does, the darker memories begin to fill her mind. Seeing Jaune's broken state in V4, Yang's broken state at the end of V3, the sight of Yang in the V3 finale. And of course the deaths of both Pyrrha and Penny. All of these BTW use these 2D manga-style images. I honestly would have preferred they just use clips or stills of these moments... but they still look nice. But with the reminder of those dark moments, Ruby's concentration breaks. The Leviathan takes notice of her, and it prepares to attack.

Realizing that she is in trouble, Ruby takes notice of the Lamp. In panic, she calls out Jinn's name. Time freezes aside from herself, and she apologizes for she does not have a question to ask. She needed the time freezing power of Jinn's summoning to buy herself time. Jinn knows this, and decides to grant a pass on her summoning, but she will not allow so again. She DOES however compliment Ruby on her cleverness. With extra time now bought, Ruby again closes her eyes and remembers. This time, she is smiling in confidence as she remembers all the happy moments from the past volumes. Time begins to move again as she remembers those she loves, her team, JNPR, Qrow, Oscar, even Maria. It all culminates to a vision of one person in particular in the only Maya-animated shot of this flashback. We sees a white-cloaked woman standing at a familiar cliff-side, red and white rose petals flying around her as she turns around. Yes everyone, we have finally gotten our first glimpse of Ruby's mother, Summer Rose. With that and all of these thoughts in her mind and a new song titled Indomitable playing, Ruby unleashes the power of her Silver Eyes. With one massive blast,t he Leviathan is turned to stone. The Argus citizens cheer as Ruby can take in a sigh of relief... well, almost.

The Leviathan begins to break free of the stone, bringing Ruby back to panic. But not for long as Cordovan takes over, having dis-attached the broken arm and uses the other one to create a drill and truly destroy the Leviathan. She opens the cockpit to face Ruby personally, who thanks her and apologizes for her and her friend's actions. But, to my shock, Cordovan says that her forces can handle the remaining Grimm and that it's unlikely that anyone will take notice of one ship leaving in her report. Yes everyone, Cordovan is finally allowing Ruby and the gang to take the ship and go on to Atlas. Ruby smiles and rejoins the others as they head off.

Night falls and they have enough fuel to make it to Atlas. Qrow compliments Ruby as he gets his flask... before lowering his arm and telling her to not scare him like that again. He earns a hug from Ruby for that! As she walks off, Maria compliments Qrow on his efforts. While Qrow feels guilty for essentially causing so many issues, Maria points out that he still helped when the time came, and that was good. Qrow seems to be genuinely happy hearing this, complimenting Maria and how it was great to see the Grimm Reaper in action. With the others, Weiss apologizes to Blake for what she had to endure, but is glad that Yang was there to help her. Yang takes Blake's hand, saying that they were there for each other. It seems that the Bumblebee pair's relationship is restored... and may now be canon if Renora is anything to go by XD

Everyone turns to Ruby, Ren pointing out all the crazy but awesome stuff she did. Embarrassed, Ruby points out how Oscar managed to make a successful crash landing. Except... eh didn't. Oscar reveals that during the crash, eh got help... from Ozpin. While he didn't take control, he DID calm Oscar down and guide him on landing before vanishing again. Yang asks if he had been watching them this whole time, but Oscar isn't for sure. Guess we'll leave that open ended for now as Qrow tells them to come over and check out the view of Atlas. We get our first look, and... damn it looks AMAZING. You guys ever seen the Hayao Miyazaki film Castle in the Sky? Think that! There's only... one issue. There's an entire air armada guarding the city, as though awaiting an attack. Control welcomes the ship home, and cue the credits!

But of course, there's one more scene to talk about. First, the credit song Nevermore is AMAZING! It is very much a “Fuck you Adam: song and both Casey and a guest singer named Adrienne Cowan absolutely KILLED it. After hat though, we have of course the stinger. We see Emerald enter the meeting room, the windows still broken and the table still turned over. She sees Mercury and gets ready to apologize for Chapter 9... but sees that he is looking horrified. In a mirror to how the Mistral storyline began in Volume 4, Emerald looks out and is also horrified. Why? Salem is summoning an army of... those gorilla Grimm I can't remember the name of. But that's not all. With her powers, she gives them all wings. You know... kinda like those flying monkeys from that movie that also has a witch and a wizard named Oz. Hazel walks in, referring to an old saying “If you want something done right, do it yourself”. Salem continues to summon her Grimm as Volume 6 truly comes to an end.

Review

So... what did I think of the finale? Well.. give me a second. Taking in a deep breath... okay, here it goes: AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

I LOVED IT!!!

Okay, we have a lot to go through, so lets get through the small stuff first. First, the stinger scares me. It's a great bookend, calling back to when the Mistral arc began so it's only appropriate that it end with Emerald and Mercury one more looking on in horror at the Grimm pools. Salem is clearly no longer fooling around and is taking matters into her own hands. It's great Wizard of Oz reference... that makes me very concerned about both Ruby and Oscar since IDK which one is meant to be Dorothy in this case, but still I AM CONCERNED. It's a very good way to end things and to leave us in anticipation for the next volume. Same for the beginning with Neo and Cinder, which again Cinder can go to Hell. But it was a nice scene and they look great in their new outfits. Hopefully this signals that RWBY will also get some new ones! Come on RT, GIVE THEM COATS AT LEAST!

Okay, let us talk about Ruby now. Dear God, RUBY. I've said this several times now, but she has been SO GOOD in this volume. Clearly CRWBY listened to the critiques about the last volume because they've just been killing it with her. This was, of course, the biggest moment for her. Ruby has truly grown and stepped up. She lead when everyone else gave up, she remained committed to the task despite all the doubt and uncertainty, and she did everything in her power to fight back and accomplish her goal. This is, by far, her greatest moment since beheading the Nevermore in V1. She chooses to fight, even when Argus refuses to aide her. She faces the Leviathan head on. She actually remembers about the Silver Eyes and uses what Maria has told her to turn the Grimm to stone. Yeah it didn't work fully, showing that she still has a long way to go to mastering her power, but she still pulled it off and the clever use of Jinn to buy herself time to regain herself was an AWESOME move. And Jinn let her get away with it! Nice!

The entire scene was just great. The flashbacks, while I again would have preferred actual footage or stills, still looked really nice. You could feel how Ruby felt, trying and at first uncertain before the dark memories come back. Then she tries again, much more confident, and uses the memory of her loved ones to unleash her power all on her own, Not out of trauma or fear. Not form Maria needing to guide her. No, she did it all on her own volition. Ruby is no longer that same naive girl form Volume 1 who asked Glynda for an autograph cause she was a Huntress. No, now SHE is the Huntress. She recognizes her responsibility. No longer is it a young girl's naive fantasy, but her sacred duty, and she WILL carry it out. And it wasn't only Ruby. Her teammates, who went to Beacon for personal reasons over the duty and were having serious doubts to their commitment, immideatly refuse to run and to fight on with zero hesitation. These kids have grown so much, and I couldn't be prouder.

I think my only issue is... well, Cordovan. While there is truth in her blaming the kids, she escalated it to unnecessary lengths with the mecha and refused to listen. And she gets away with it. She also takes a 180 on her attitude, which just feels unsatisfying. I mean I'm glad that she let them through, but she receives zero comeuppance for her actions and attitude. It wasn't enough to deter form the finale, but it DID leave me annoyed.

So guys, after one Hell of a journey, the team have made it to Atlas. Which as I said, it looks stunning. There is of course reason to worry since Ironwood's paranoia seems to have gotten worst, but at least they're being allowed in. So... what happens now? Hard to say. There's a ton of possibilities. Hopefully some new outfits, as I said. There's the Winter Maiden, Ironwood's state, potential STRQ stuff, and probably some consequences to this volume since they don't have Ozpin to talk Ironwood down now. With Cinder and Neo on their way, as well as Watts and Tyrian, we've got plenty of worry for our heroes. And of course, there's Penny's father and the Schnee family. A lot of things are coming up I imagine. But all for another time. For now, everyone made it safe and sound. And as a familiar song once stated “that's all that matters somehow.”

Final Thoughts

I don't think I need to emphasize how much I loved this chapter. Think I did that plenty. It was a great wrap-up to what I can now call my favorite volume of the series. I have one more review to do, a full RWBY Volume 6 review. After that, aside form any Character Shorts or stuff that comes out, I'll be done with RWBY until the Fall. So I will see you all in the season review, and thank you all for reading!

#rwby #rwby6 #rwby reviews #callie reviews

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themostcleverandwittyname · 6 years

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Curiosity Saved the Cat

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

(Jumin x MC)(Saeran x MC)

Summary:

MC is fairly happy after Jumin proposes to her, however, her curiosity leads her to contact the hacker that started it all.

Chapter 3: Coffee and Cookies

Chapter 3 on AO3

Multitasking was a skill that Myung had considered one of her best. She was currently holding two cups of coffee and a bag of treats, balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder, and attempting to punch in the key code for the apartment door. Nearly letting her phone slip, she used her elbow to open and push the door open. Everything was so perfectly balanced and held secure in her arms that she was certain she wouldn’t drop anything. She had gotten there early so that she wouldn’t be taken by surprise and perhaps organize her thoughts before she began to hire the hacker.

Of course, nothing ever goes as planned and the brunette leaped from her skin when she turned to see something sitting at the dining room table. A squeak escaped her throat and her phone and the take out bag hit the floor.

“Fuckin’...ass” She muttered to herself, truly the pinnacle of her eloquent speech. The best first impression she could have hoped for. She bent down to pick up her device and the bag, painfully aware that the figure was staring at her. She held her phone in her hand and set everything down onto the mahogany table, trying to avoid looking at the person who sat silently.

“Oh, I just left the cafe. I’ll let you go now. Have a good day at work and I’ll see you later.” Myung stated quickly to her fiance, now freely holding the phone to her ear, “ Love ya, bye” She hung up quickly hoping to avoid arousing Jumin’s suspicions that she was hiding something from him. It probably wasn’t the best idea to abruptly hang up like that.

She now allowed herself to fully take in the appearance of the mysterious hacker. Dyed curly pink and white hair framed the man’s face. Misty green eyes peeked from behind a black mask that concealed the lower half of his face. His attire gave off a dangerous vibe, leather jacket falling off one shoulder to reveal a tattoo with a simplistic design. It reminded her of tribal tattoos that she had researched in art school. He had a bold red tank top and a humorously large spiked leather cuff on his arm. She would have been amused if the situation was different and if she wasn’t really frightened and nervous. He had a threatening aura that made her feel extremely vulnerable. His eyes never left her and he waited patiently for her to begin talking to him. He seemed to be rather relaxed as his slouched posture indicated.

Myung eased down into the chair never taking her eyes off of the man before her, anticipating some kind of malicious action if she looked away. After taking a seat and staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, she cleared her throat trying to organize herself.

“I brought you coffee.” she spoke finally, breaking the silence and attempting to alleviate the tension, “The one that has a blue marker on the top is yours and the one with the red marker is mine.” she tried not to let her voice show that she was terrified. She had to act bold and confident to show him that she could handle the situation. She couldn’t allow him to think she was vulnerable.

His gaze shifted down and he studied the two cups of coffee on the table, small wafts of steam steadily rising up and dissipating into the air. The scent of the coffee only slightly overpowered the musty smell of the unused apartment.

“What if I want the one with the red lid? Would you give it to me?” Instant goosebumps. The voice modulator that she assumed he was wearing in his mask caught her off guard. She tried to register what he had said through the altered voice. It resembled nails on a chalkboard and the screams of a hundred burning orphans. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Myung did not like it. The man asked this, she realized, because he thought that she was trying to trick him into drinking something harmful. She, in fact, was doing this to prevent any slight of hand drugs being put into her drink.

“Um...It doesn’t matter what color really. They’re just there for cautionary measures. I’ve watched too many movies to be unwise about drinks.” She nervously laughed to herself. He reached his arm out to grab the coffee. He pulled it to him and studied the red lid before as if he had never had coffee.

“Oh, and if you don’t mind me asking,” she began, “...could you maybe take that mask off? I would rather see my new client’s face.” the brunette made herself smile. “Before I forget, I also have cookies here to eat with your coffee.” Myung gestured to the take-out bag. The man laughed through the mask, the sound not doing anything to help her nerves. What was funny? The hacker leaned forward out of his relaxed position and he now felt twice as threatening. His long fingers reached up to remove the fabric from his face, pulling it down around his neck. His lips were curled into a grin creating small dimples on his cheeks. He was familiar in a strange way. Like deja vu, she felt as though she had seen him before.

“Does the mask really scare you? Or were you really excited to see my face?” He asked in his natural voice, punctuating his sentence in a chuckle. Was he flirting or just further trying to make her uncomfortable. She went with the latter.

“Ha, um, you just can’t drink coffee with that mask on.” she noticed the untouched coffee and tried to mess with him just as he was with her. She wasn’t going to let him make her even more nervous. “God, don’t let it get cold. I nearly fell trying not to drop that in the hallway.” The man hesitantly took a sip of the coffee. She hoped he liked the caramel in the bottom of the cup because it cost her extra.

“I have to give it to you, you’re a clever girl for color coding the lids. You don’t trust me, do you?” Myung shrugged in response to this. He raised his eyebrows and then asked, “Why did you think you can hire me if you don’t trust me?” Fair point. She may as well have just told him that she was desperate and he was the only other chance she had, but her response was not very specific. She wanted to see how he responded in order to gauge how much to offer him and if he would help her like she hoped.

“Ya know, people will do anything for money.” she said nonchalantly. He took another sip of the coffee and eyed the cookie bag.

“What exactly are you wanting to hire me for? Are you done with the lies of the RFA?” His dull eyes pierced hers, bitterness seeping into his tone. He had guessed it.

“Yes… well, not exactly the RFA as a whole. I want to know what two of the members are hiding from the rest and I thought that you would be perfect for helping me uncover it.” she slid him the bag of cookies and gave a sarcastic smile “What do ya say? I can offer you any amount.” Again, he burst out into a fit of laughs. Bitter, knowing laughs as if he knew something she didn’t. As if he was expecting this.

“Let me guess the members? Luciel and that dreaded V?” Bingo! She was surprised that he knew who she was talking about. She slowly nodded and he gave her a proud smile. “What if I told you that I don’t want money to help you?” he drew out his words, adding emphasis. What did he mean? So all of this is over a grudge?

“If you don’t want money, then what do you want?” she asked cautiously, fearing the answer. She took a sip of her coffee to calm her nerves. He leaned forward over the table, lifting from his seat slightly and balancing on his arms. His serious expression and his focus had trained on her and it made her want to shrink back.

“What I want is way more precious than money. I want enlightenment for everyone, for you. You’re too nice and clever a girl to be among liars like the RFA. If you come with me, I’ll tell you all that you need to know and you’ll be free of the RFA and finally be happy.” He gave a toothy grin and tilted his head slightly. This was wrong. Did he think she was completely against the RFA?

“I...I actually don’t want to leave the RFA. I want to know these things to make the RFA better. Besides, Jumin is in the RFA and I don’t want to disappoint him with leaving. It’ll be kinda hard to do that anyways.” she stated, trying to get the facts straight before he started getting the wrong idea. He narrowed his eyes and his grin vanished sending chills up her back.

“What I want to give you is better than the RFA. I want to take you to the Magenta. Don’t you get it?” He almost growled, obviously angry with her previous answer. The Magenta? Was it some sort of amusement park?

“Why not just tell me what you know? That would be better for me.” she offered, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not going with you anywhere. I don’t trust you.” She was honest and noticed a flash of anger in his misty eyes.

“It’s sad to hear that. I want you to trust me, I really do. What choice do I have?” he asked a mock question, standing up. He offered his hand over the table and his other hand was in his jacket pocket.

“I’ll tell you what I know anyways. Deal?” He smiled, his eyes crinkling up. Finally, he gets it. This may not be so bad after all. She stood and moved the chair back slightly.

“Ah, I’m glad you’re helping me anyways. Thank you,” She beamed, happy for the agreement. She shook his hand firmly, however, his grip was way more tight than her own.

Before she had realized the mistake she had made, he yanked her arm forcefully. The force of the pull lurched her over the small table and closer to him. In the chaos, she had not even felt the needle pierce her skin and she only registered what had occurred when she saw the hand that had been in his jacket pocket holding an empty syringe. She was completely appalled and was at a loss on how to react to what had unfolded.

He released the grip on her hand and she stumbled back speechless, her hand finding its way to her neck. They both focused on each other, waiting for the other to act. They both stayed like that until a familiar ringtone sounded in the breathy silence. She felt her heart start to beat again and her muscles began to grow numb. Stay calm, this was her chance. Don’t pass out. She quickly grabbed the phone and had milliseconds to read the caller ID before the deranged man snatched phone away. He threw it across the living room and it landed with a thud but wasn’t silenced. With her only means of contact gone and her time running out before whatever was in that syringe began to work, Myung panicked.

She froze. She froze in shock, fright, anger; she didn’t really know or understand. All she could understand was that her breathing became labored and she felt as if she was falling.

She was falling.

The man caught her in her fall, jerking her wrist painfully to keep her from hitting the ground. Her mind slowed and her thoughts blurred. She felt as though the world around her was fizzing as if the air was static on a radio station. Her senses faded as the last thing she felt was arms lifting her.

“Rest well. You’ll be in paradise when you wake up.”

The last thing that she felt before everything went away was regret. Regret that she will have left Jumin to wonder what happened. To wonder if she had left him and why...

Why she had not answered his phone call.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

#mystic messenger #mysme #mystic messenger fanfiction #saeran choi #jumin han #jumin fanfic #saeran fanfic #saeran x mc #jumin x mc

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pcyheartgirlx · 6 years

Text

In The Bleak Midwinter [CH17]

Genre ;; Angst/Smut/Fluff/Romance

Pairing ;; Chanyeol x Reader x Seokjin

Word Count ;; 6k

Summary ;; “We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.”

You own a multi-billion dollar company, servicing the biggest names in kpop, in more ways than one. Under the name “Starlight Catering”, you, your best friends, Damon and Maya, and your hundreds of workers provide stress relief for idols.

You have partially retired, not because you didn’t want to, but because Chanyeol was your muse. He was all that you had time for and all you needed. Until Jin came along.

So what happens when you mix fire and ice?

You get smoke and all the lines are blurred.

A/N ;; I apologize in advance for the lack of smut and how short this chapter is buttttttt there are somethings that need to happen and they’re happening ;) have funnnn.

[PLAYLIST] [BACKSTORY] [PROLOGUE] [CH1] [CH2] [CH3] [CH4] [CH5] [CH6] [CH7] [CH8] [CH9] [CH10] [CH11] [CH12] [CH13] [CH14] [CH15] [CH16] [CH17] [CH18]

“May I please speak to Lee Sooman?” You said frantically into the phone, running your fingers through your hair as you paced back and forth in the living room.

“I’m afraid he’s not in right now, can I tak--”

“Where is he?” you balled your hand in a fist around a few strands if hair, wanting to pull it out but obviously, deciding against it.

“He’s in a meeting, m’am.”

“With who?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. But I can take a message if--”

You couldn’t run around with circles anymore. You looked down at the cracked screen and hung up, throwing the already broken phone across the room in anger just as Jin did. It was already broken so who gives a fuck. But as it landed you just realized that Chanyeol might see the 20 times you tried calling him. And if he called you back, he might not be able to reach you. You ran to phone and kneeled on the floor as you picked up.

Great.

What was a large crack turned into a mosaic art piece. Still, you were able to see the screen, as you pulled up Chanyeol’s name from your address book you ignored the sharp pains on your finger. Even though there was a reddish stain on your phone, you put it up to your face, taking your bloodied finger to the sink as you heard the phone ring.

Come on pick up, you thought to yourself as you ran your hand under water, washing off the blood that was gushing from your fingers.

“Hey (Y/N),” you heard Kyungsoo’s voice fill your ear as you turned the water off.

“Kyungsoo! Hey! Where is Chanyeol?”

“He uh...he stepped out not to long after he hung up with you. Well, not with you but you know…” You inhaled deeply, taking a piece of paper towel and applying pressure to your cuts.

“That guy is a fuckin jerk! I’m surprised someone as sweet as Tae gets along with him,” Baekhyun chimed in. You furrowed your eyebrows as you weren’t expecting to hear his voice.

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Jongin’s voice followed your question.

“Wait how many of you are there?”

“Just us three,” Kyungsoo replied softly.

“Well, do you know where he went? I called to apologize…” You said with sincerity. There was a silence from the three men on the other line.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kyungsoo admitted, breaking the silence.

“Yea. Chanyeol was pissed. He just got up and left without saying a word,” Baekhyun added. The pain in your fingers was now being dulled because the heaviness in your chest started to eat away at you.

“Maybe if she talks to him, he’ll feel better,” Jongin said sweetly. You smiled a bit. He was always the one that was rooting not only for you and Chanyeol, but he was rooting for you. “I mean this wasn’t entirely her fault and we know that. You guys heard her. She kept telling Jin to stop.” You guys heard her? Oh no…

“Wait...did you guys...hear the whole thing?”

“Well….yea,” You could hear the awkwardness in Kyungsoo’s voice. Hell, you could feel the awkwardness in the room and you weren’t even there.

“This is a little embarrassing, huh?” Baekhyun chuckled nervously, trying to cut the tension in the conversation.

“Baek, Kyungsoo, Nini, I’m so sorry. That just...I feel terrible and--”

“It’s okay, (Y/N),” Kyungsoo interjected and you were thankful for that. You could feel the sob that was itching to come out. Embarrassed wasn’t the word. Humiliated didn’t do this feeling justice.

“We understand more than anyone that life can be complicated sometimes,” Baekhyun comforted sweetly.

“(Y/N), just do us one favor. Please,” Jongin begged. You bit your lip and shook your head as if they were there to see it.

“Anything.”

“Trust Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo said instantly.

“He loves you so much, (Y/N),” Baekhyun’s voice became louder as you could hear him shifting closer to the phone. “Hyung has been a man obsessed these past few weeks.”

“Obsessed? With what?” You questioned. Cocking your head to the side at Baekhyun’s statement.

“Obsessed with your future together,” Jongin’s voice was gentle and doting. Much different from Baekhyun’s lively pitch.

“And that’s all we can say,” that lively pitch added.

“That’s not fair!” you pouted. You could hear chuckling on the other end. It was just like them to laugh at your expense.

“I think I might know where he is,” Kyungsoo tried changing the subject. You knew that Baekhyun and Jongin were easy to weasel information out of but not while Kyungsoo was there.

“Me too. I think it’d be better if I went,” Jongin said calmly, causing Baekhyun to let out a hearty laugh.

“Right! Like Kyungsoo well let you console his very best friend. We all know I--”

“You know you might be right,” Kyungsoo said, agreeing with Jongin as he cut Baekhyun off.

“Wha...but...hey! This is favoritism! If I knew that all I had to do was sleep with Kyungsoo to get him to let me do what I want I would have--”

“Uh...not to be annoying but I’m still here,” you interrupted before Baekhyun and Kyungsoo got into another one of their playful debates.

“Oh right. Hang on,” Jongin said before you heard a loud rustling coming from the other line. It wasn’t just the blood that was still running down your fingers that made your palms moist. Your hands became clammy because you had no idea what you wanted to say. What could you say anyway? He was probably thinking the worst. And who can blame him really? It wasn’t like you had ever given him a reason not to. Your head shot up as you heard a mixture of Jongin and Chanyeol’s voices being exchanged in conversation. It wasn’t long before you heard one final rustle and you swallowed hard, preparing for whatever Chanyeol needed to say to you.

“What do you want?” Chanyeol snapped as he sniffled into the phone. The heaviness in your chest became too much for you to bear and the sound of Chanyeol’s broken voice was the last thing you needed to hear before you felt your heart starting to split.

“My baby boy…” your tone was gentle, almost like a whisper you had trouble straining out. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what? About the way he spoke to me? Because I know you’re not sorry for being with him,” his words were fierce, taking you down every notch you ever put yourself on. You did this to him. You broke him.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” your voice was trembling, hoping he could feel the shame in your tone. “And...I’m sorry it’s becoming a pattern.”

“Yea well, I’m sorry too,” he scoffed.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry I fell in love with you.”

“I deserved that,” you said shakily swallowing the lump in your throat that threatened to break loose. “Do you really mean that?”

There was a lingering silence before he uttered “No”.

“Let me make this up to you somehow. We can go to the zoo. I’ll rent the park for a day and--”

“Where are you?” his voice was unapologetic as he cut you off.

“I’m home, why?”

“He was in the apartment?” Chanyeol snarled.

“I didn’t invite him...but yea,” you tried to defend yourself but you knew it was to no avail. Chanyeol just let out an exasperated sigh and you could almost see him massaging the bridge of his nose in stress.

“I can’t even leave the country for a few days, (Y/N). This is making me lose my mind.”

“I know...I know. But it’ll be over soon.”

“I want it to be over now.”

“I can’t just break his heart like that, Chanyeol. I know you don’t know him but--”

“Really, (Y/N)?” his voice started rising as you defended Jin. You admit it wasn’t the smartest thing but you were hoping he would understand. “You’re not okay with breaking his heart but you’re okay with breaking mine?”

“I never said that!”

“You know what, fuck you!”

“Chanyeol!”

“I’m tired of ‘I’m sorry’ and I’m tired of not being good enough…”

“Don’t even think that way, that’s just nonsense. Chanyeol I know you’re upset but...hello? Chanyeol? Are you there?” You pulled the phone away from your face to see that he had ended the call. “UGH!” At this point, you really didn’t give a fuck anymore. You threw your phone again, letting it land where ever it may. The clatter of the phone landing to the ground made it hard for you to hear the door opening.

“Hey gi--Bitch why are you bleeding?!” Damon said frantically as he ran over to you. You shook your head and choked back tears.

“It’s my fault.”

“Honey…” Damon said taking you into an embrace. “If it makes you feel better, some guy in a van almost ran me over because he was driving like a maniac. He kind of looked like Jin now that I think about it.”

“Damon,” you said before you started to sob. “I fucked up…”

“What happened?”

X-x-x

“Well shit,” Damon sighed as he leaned back on the couch, absorbing everything you had just told him while he handed you a tissue. “That was a foul move on Jin’s part.” You nodded and blew your nose, letting more tears stream down your face. “Maybe I can talk to Sehun to see if he can knock some sense into Chanyeol. I mean this wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“But it is Damon,” you said as you felt another sob creeping up. “If I just walked out of his room and gone into Yoongi’s. If I just cut Chanyeol off the minute he told me he was falling for me. I’m not going to choose either of them and here they are, arguing over me like there’s hope for either one of them. I have to stop this. I--”

“(Y/N), listen,” Damon interjected as he saw your face contort, letting that sob out after all. “I know you say you aren’t going to choose either of them. And I’m going to support anything you do” He leaned in and put a hand on your thigh. “Even though I think you deserve at least to find happiness in one of them. But Lord knows you won’t listen to me.”

“Damon, get to the point.”

“Ugh fine...New Years is coming up. And if you need a new beginning, now is the time to start. Get your final hoorahs of 2017 and walk into 2018 a new woman.”

“After New Years? I don’t know if I can wait that lo--”

“It’s only a few days shit Just stick it out, hoe. I have a good feeling about this. Plus, New Year, New You. No more falling in love. No more men. Just Starlight, and us...if that’s what you really want.”

“Us?”

“Me and Maya, stupid. I know you guys are still mad at each other but she’ll come around. And you, just breathe,” as he said this, he put a hand on your back and shifted in his seat so he was facing you. “We can get through this.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you said as you gripped onto the cushions of the couch.

“Probably die,” he chuckled, bringing a smile to your face. “Come on. Let’s order some pizza and talk about our next Starlight event before you go to Jin’s.”

“What about the article?”

“Oh yea!” Damon chimed as he took his phone out. “Watch this.” You both waited a bit as he dialed a number and it rang. “Sophie! Darling! How are you?....Oh that’s good to hear, babygirl and how are kids?...aw that’s adorable!...Listen, Soph. I was wondering if you could tell me where I might be able to reach Mr. Sooman...I know I know but do you think you can just do this for me?...Just this once?...Oh really? Thanks for the tid bit. Yes! Definitely, let’s do lunch. Okay...okay...bye bye....bye!”

“How did you--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Damon shrugged and started tapping his phone. “She told me that she couldn’t tell me where he was but to check Naver. So that’s what I’m doing and…” his voice trailed off as he squinted at the screen. You started to shake your knee impatiently as you watched him.

“And…? What’s going on?”

“Here,” he gave you his phone and you read the article.

Nation’s Boyfriend turned Nation’s CEO? The new title added to Park Chanyeol’s resume and the newest addition to SM behind it all.

Last night, Chanyeol was seen leaving Jihwaya restaurant with the newest addition to SM’s business advisory directors. (Y/N), the owner and CEO of Starlight catering the most prestigious party planning company in the music platform. A source says Chanyeol is planning to buy a company with hopes that it will thrive internationally.

“I think he will be successful in his plans. It helps that he has a team with people like (Y/N) to help him to the top,” the source disclosed with us. We asked him about the dating rumors that have been circulating and Lee Sooman, CEO of SM Entertainment, was quick to make a statement.

“His schedule doesn’t allow it unfortunately,” Sooman says regretfully. “In addition to that, I don’t believe he is worried about relationships right now. The only love Chanyeol has is the love for his work and for EXO-L’s of course.”

No word from Chanyeol yet as he has arrived in Japan to continue ElyXiOn #4 for the holidays. More will be added once we are updated.

“Wow, he really did fix the article.”

“You see!” Damon assured as he took the phone away from you. “All that worrying you do. I swear.”

“Well…”

“Well nothing,” he said sticking his tongue out. “I’m ordering this damn pizza now. You need it more than you know.”

After the pizza came, the both of you scarfed it down like you hadn’t eaten a damn day in your life. You both sat there with your full bellies poking out through your shirts and wanting to take the nap of the century. Still, you had somewhere to be so you pushed yourself off the couch and got ready for night with Jin. Damon assisted you, helping you find an outfit sexy enough to make him eat his heart out. When the both of you settled on an outfit, he handed you the keys to his car, knowing that if he didn’t Jin would drive you home and you needed to lay low after this fiasco with Dispatch.

“Thank you, Damon. You’re the best,” you said as you hugged him.

“We been knew,” He chuckled confidently as he pulled out. “Now go get your back blown out.”

X-x-x

As you walked out of the car and down the street, you thought about how tonight was going to go. You hadn’t been to the BigHit dorms in a while and you were excited to see the boys. To ease your tension, you thought about Jimin’s smiling face as you walked in and Tae sweetly running up to you and hugging you. Passing by the empty concierge desk, Yoongi came to mind and Hobi’s toothy grin. Jungkook and Namjoon’s way of using dry humor to make you laugh was something you definitely needed. You weren’t sure if Jin was still in a foul mood but you hoped things were just as you had left it.

When you got to their dorm, you knocked as you always did. It was rather quiet and it worried you a bit. Not that you didn’t want to see Jin alone but you were hoping that you could spend some time with the members. To your surprise, Namjoon opened the door looking down at you with a serious look on his face.

“Namjoon! Hey! May I come in?” You said sweetly, hoping this will break his stoic expression. It did, but not by much.

“Yea! Come in,” he said as he moved to the side as you stepped in.

“Where’s Jin?” You asked watching him close the door. He cleared his throat before he motioned you to walk with him.

“He’s not here...him and the guys went out for a second.”

“Ahhh, I see.” It looked like he wanted to say something to you but you brushed it off as you made your way into their kitchen, sitting down at the round table. A soft smile played on your face as you ran your fingers along the wood, reminising on your first ‘date’ with Jin and how amazing his spaghetti tasted. “I’ll just wait here then.”

“That’s actually perfect,” Namjoon agreed as he sat down next to you. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” You questioned curiously as you faced him. He swallowed hard before he leaned his elbow on the table.

“Well...you and Jin are getting pretty serious, correct?”

“I suppose you can say that.”

“You suppose?” Namjoon cocked an eyebrow at your statement. You bit your lip and sighed.

“What’s with this question?”

“Well,” he began, figeting a little nervously. “I never thought I would have to have this talk with anyone but if you and Jin are going to start dating there are things you need to know. Like that BTS always comes first and--”

“Joonie...did Jin tell you me and him were dating?”

“Well...no.”

“Then no offense but maybe we should have this conversation if we cross that bridge.”

“And I understand that (Y/N). I really do. But Jin disappeared today without telling us. We were all scared and worried and it turns out he was with you. Now, I know it wasn’t your fault but we tried calling you and your phone was off,” you thought about Namjoon’s words and then realized that Jin had turned your phone off because Chanyeol kept calling. You shook your head and decided not to tell Namjoon about it, not sure if Jin disclosed what happened or not. You were determined to find out.

“I’m so sorry about that. What did Jin say when he got back?”

“I’m assuming you guys fought and made up. He was in a shitty mood and came back like nothing happened. He actually told me that you were having problems with your phone…”

“So what’s this all about then?”

“I just want you to know that we all love you, truly. And if you love us, next time just...give us a call if Jin shows up angry like that.” He knew.

“How do you know he was angry?” you asked curiously.

“Because Jin doesn’t just up and leave like that unless something happened. And he doesn’t pick up if phone if he’s angry. We thought we did something, honestly.”

“No...no it was all me,” the shame in your voice was apparent. Namjoon put a hand on your shoulder and shook you lightly.

“Hey…” you looked up at him and saw him grinning at you comfortingly. “I know those feelings make you do stupid thing and the situation you’re in is fucked. But you’re doing the best you can with what is given to you. Just give Jin a chance to prove himself,” he leaned back and crossed his arms. “He’s defintely worth it...not saying Chanyeol isn’t but--”

“No I get it…” An awkward silence fell upon you too. He looked away and sighed.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure anything, Joon.” You reassured him while he stood up straight and gazed at you almost quizzically.

“What’s your relationship with Chanyeol like? What I mean to say is I’ve seen how Jin talks about you. And he talks a lot,” Namjoon smiled a bit and shook his head. “Always about the time he spends with you…including the...you know,” you giggled as his cheeks started to turn a shade of red but he continued. “Anyway...my question is...well…” Namjoon was having a difficult time trying to come up with the most delicate words to articulate his curiosity. You knew what he wanted to ask so you just smiled and shrugged.

“Why am I with Chanyeol still if Jin treats me like a princess?” Namjoon’s eyes widened and he scratched the back of his head.

“That isn’t exactly how I wanted to put it,” he chuckled nervously, studying your expressions to find an indication of your mind state. But you weren’t angry nor were you uncomfortable. It was a reasonable question and being that the relationship these boys had was like family, he was genuinely curious. Not for himself but for his hyung.

“You want the long version or the short version?” you said interlacing your fingers on your lap.Namjoon leaned foward toward you and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Whichever one you feel like telling.” You cleared your throat at his statement and adjusted yourself in your seat.

“Well, Chanyeol helped me get out of a really bad relationship--”

“With Jiyong, right?”

“What?” Cocking your head back, you let a look of perplexity show. Namjoon just shrugged and grinned a bit.

“You didn’t think I was going to let my group get involved with a company and not do my research?” He scoffed confidently before he continued, resting his elbows on his lap and he leaned forward. “You and Jiyong started the company. I heard from a few people you two were engaged.” It was like someone was gripping at your throat, squeezing so the air couldn’t get out. It had been a while since you heard that name and it wasn’t like you weren’t okay with that. Hearing Jiyong’s name always left you shaken and unnerved. In an instant there was a mental projector that switched on. Scenes of Jiyong flashed in your mind. Images of his hands running though your body as you straddled him to driving fast down the high way with him, doing lines on the dashboard, laying in the tub with him filled with money on the first night you two scored big with Starlight. But the scenes changed to a darker tone. It was those scenes that you hated the most. The way he threw you around when you angered him, the way he screamed in your face and called you nothing as his hands wrapped around your throat. All the times you saw him turn into a monster...watching people die at his hands. Watching people die at your hands. Sometimes and actually alot of the time, you blamed him. He brought this back with you guys. The things you hated found their way here because Jiyong got off on it. But then, you thought you were cursed. The violence that you wanted to get away from followed you back. It was like no matter what you were destined to kill...just like your family intented to. But then you met Chanyeol…

“Yes, Jiyong was my fiance. And I had very fond memories of him...but the bad outweighed the good and Chanyeol helped me realized that,” you sighed as you leaned back, letting thoughts of Chanyeol invade the projector. You smiled to yourself a bit and Namjoon noticed. “He treated me like I was a person. A real woman. He helped me heal from that. Jiyong did a lot of damage, Namjoon. Things he did…”

“I can imagine,” Namjoon cut you off, with a softness in his voice. “I heard about...his problem. The coke…”

“Yes well...hey, does Jin know about Jiyong?” You never told him before, just because you felt it was inappropriate and the conversation you were having now with Namjoon is not one you wanted to have with Jin.

“I haven’t told him. And I think it’s best if you did...on your own terms of course. But anyway, we were talking about Chanyeol,” You nodded and felt a sense of relief as he motioned for you to continue.

“Chanyeol is...lively. His energy is incredible and when he feels emotions, he feels them with every fiber of his being. He’s charming and there’s never a dull moment with him. At first things were just all about lust and then it blossomed into passion. He’s always been there to make sure nothing would ever hurt me again. He...he protects me a lot.” The words almost put you in a trance. The security you felt in his arms was nothing you could ever articulate. How you melted at his touch and the reassurance he gave you was blissful. Namjoon studied the look on your face and brought a hand up to his chin.

“I get it now.”

“You do?”

“Yea. Chanyeol showed you love. True love. And something like that isn’t something you can throw away. But…” his voice trailed off as he looked at you, watching the serenity leave you demeanor.

“But?”

“Well, Jin can do all that and more, (Y/N). I’m not you and I can’t feel what you feel. But speaking on his behalf, he’s head over heels for you. I’m going to let you in on something,” he smiled as he looked at his hands then back at you. “There’s nothing stopping Jin when he’s determined.” Even though you let a smile play across your face, trying to assure Namjoon that his words weren’t going unheard, you felt absolutely broken. After the holidays, you told yourself. This will all be over.

As his text tone pinged in his pocket, Namjoon took it out and examined the screen, grinning widely before he looked at you. “They’re almost here,” he said as he got up. “Which means you need to put this on and so do I.” As he said this, he jogged away hurriedly and came back with two knitted pull overs. “Here,” he quirked as he threw one to you and laughed as it fell over your face. You pulled it off you and examined the most ugliest Christmas sweater you had ever seen. A small detail made you smile though. Instead of Santa riding a sleigh, it was that cutest white alpaca in the world, RJ.

“What’s this?” You chuckled as you started to pull it over you. “It’s cute!”

“This,” Namjoon grunted as he poked his head out of the sweater. “Is your first and hopefully many more Bangtan Christmas.”

x-x-x

He sighed as he leaned against the wall, looking down at his phone as he ran his fingers through his hair. Thinking about how he ached and the way he shivered as his sweaty body against the cold air in the garage. It was worth it though. What seemed like endless practice would all pay off. Not just for him and the other 3 men he was to share the stage with, but for the fans. For VIP. They needed this more than he did. It pained him to think about the day he dreaded for so long. Enlistment day was right around the corner...and he just couldn’t grasp that idea.

His head shot up as he saw a black van roll into the garage and pull in front of him.

“Finally,” he mumbled to himself as he walked toward the car. As the door opened, his face dropped.

“Get in,” a man said, holding a gun out infront of him. Jiyong wanted to run but it wasn’t just one barrel of a revolver but 3 others that stared him in the face. He swallowed hard as he walked toward the car and sat in the back. The minute he sat down, the world darkened as he felt a hood being placed over his head.

“Is this necessary?” he growled as he felt a pair of hands tying his own behind his back.

“Very,” a voice said, he felt the car move forward and his heart dropped, knowing exactly who’s doing this was and why this was happening.

(Y/N)

It was her fault. This was all because of her. He should have just left her to rot. He should have never fell for that American charm. Those curves that got him dizzy just thinking about how his hands run up and down them. The smell of her perfume still made him sick and sometimes, he laid there and thought about how they were. Her memory made his stomach churn and his heart burn in fury. Now, he just accepted his fate. Tears wanted to roll down his face as he felt two pairs of hands pull him out of the car, dragging him in whatever direction they pushed him in.

“Where are we going?” Jiyong spat, struggling to break free from the grasps of the men who dragged him. No answer. He struggled a bit more and grunted.

“Let me fucking go.” But his word went unnoticed as he felt the cold air disappear behind him. He was inside now. Somewhere, still not knowing where the fuck somewhere was. Suddenly, he felt himself getting shoved into a seat. As they pulled the hood off him, he looked around him frantically.

It looked like an abandoned warehouse, there was a shitty little table in front of him that separated him from the enemy.

There he was. Standing there with 3 men behind him and 3 men around himself, a total of 7 guns pointed at him. Jiyong just laughed at he looked at his enemy.

“You finally found me. Did you kill your sister yet?” He spat as he looked at the man up and down. The man leaned in, placing his hands on the table as Jiyong got a better look at his face.

“Listen to me and you listen to me good because I aint fucking repeating myself.”

“Fuck you,” Jiyong snarled as he tried to stand from his seat only to be brought back down by the men behind him.

“That’s not very nice considering I was going to be your brother in law,” the man chuckled cooly. In a blink of an eye, he grabbed the table and flung it to the side, letting the bang startled Jiyong in his seat.

“Oh, that was so scary, Dominic. Is that how you used to scare (Y/N) when you all were babies? Flipping tables and dry ass humo--AH!” Jiyong was interrupted by the collision of Dominic’s fist in his stomach. Jiyong doubled over and coughed as the wind was knocked out of him. But the men at his side grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him back to a straight poster.

“That little business you and my disgrace of a sister started...It’s over,” Dominic seethed as he walked towards Jiyong.

“Good for you. What does that have to do with me?” Dominic towered over him and smirked.

“Everything…” he turned on his heel and started pacing back and forth in front of a bound Jiyong, who was glaring at him. “You see, we have it all set up already. We know where she lives, who she stays with, who she’s fucking. Shit, we even infiltrated the most important night of her career.”

“Yea, I heard she made a fortune at the Gayo. I guess you didn’t do as well you hoped,” Jiyong sneered. One of the goons gripped the handle of his gun as he pointed it at Jiyong still. Dominic just put his hand up and exchanged words with him in Italian, Jiyong trying desperately to decipher their words.

“Ah well you know my sister. Resilient and stupid. She spent the whole night with these two idiots...she actually thinks she loves them. You’re living proof of the fact that she will do anything for love. Absolutely anything,” Dominic laughed at the thought then shook his head. Jiyong grew tired of Dominic’s antics and tried to break free from the ropes that bound his hands behind him. He sighed in fury as he looked up at the Italian.

“What do you want from me, you fucking wop?” One of the hench men grabbed Jiyong forcibly, bringing his revolver to him temple.

“Let me off him, boss. We don’t need him. We can do this ourselves.”

“Smettila! Non ci sporchiame le mani qui, capito?” Dominic bellowed as he watched his 6 henchmen cower at his beckoning. The man didn’t lower his weapon but it was no longer making contact with Jiyong’s forehead. Dominic toyed with his gun as if to instill fear into Jiyong. Although Jiyong didn’t show it, it was working.

“Expose her business. Publicly. No one will want to do business with her. Even if she clears her image,” Jiyong pursed his lips as Giovanni spoke, rolling his eyes at his plan.

“So you ruin her business and pit the two guys she’s fucking against her. That’s your master plan? I thought the mafia was this powerful fuckin force. Now you guys are crashing bake sales…” Dominic needed to show Jiyong he wasn’t playing. He brought his gun up and started to inch closer to him until he felt the cool metal against his forehead. “Okay, Okay. I’m listening but can you just put the gun down? Shit…”

“This is a big bake sale. Starlight goes down, she becomes vulnerable. We come in. Take her back to America. And my father….well...he’ll deal with her,” Dominic just smiled devilishly as he never took the gun off Jiyong. Jiyong swallowed hard. Even when he was staring into the face of death, he didn’t care. Everything in this life he ever thought had meaning walked out on him. Not even the coke kept him happy anymore.

“Why should I help you guys? I hate her with all my guts. But I don’t want her to die. And I think I hate you guys more,” Dominic smiled at his statement, taking Jiyong aback. He removed the gun from his forehead and stuck it back in his holster. He started pacing again, crossing his arms and cupping his chin.

“Well that’s where you have a choice!” He stopped in front of Jiyong and eyed him as he shifted in his seat as if he was trying to escape. This amused Dominic. Where was he going to go when he had 6 guns pointing at him? “You can die now or you can die at the hands of a misfired rifle when you enlist. The choice is yours if you don’t want to help.”

It didn’t seem like much of a choice for Jiyong. Granted he hated his life, but he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want (Y/N) to die either. For now, he would have to agree to this plan and think of a way to warn (Y/N).

“So is there a script you want me to read or? Where am I doing this?” Jiyong agreed reluctantly, causing Dominic’s smile to go unphased. He shook his head and stopped pacing.

“We’ll let her have her holiday. My nonna would be turning in her grave if she knew we were doing business so close to christmas. So after the holidays, you will make a statement. Live on IG or Cockcow or whatever social media platform you Asians use out here.”

“Cockcow. That’s cute,” Jiyong rolled his eyes and sighed. He didn’t want to seem like he was so eager to help so he added a few sarcastic comments to play this new part. “You guys are crazy. Can’t I just tell a reporter or something?” His words didn’t go as well perceived as he hoped. The seven men around him drew their weapons closer to him, the clinking of metal filled the room as did the nervous tension that Jiyong omitted. “Alright, alright. You Italians love airing your dirty laundry out there don’t you?” Dominic lowered his gaze at him and started to inch closer to him. He put the barrel of his gun under Jiyong’s chin and got a kick of out the sheer look of panic that washed over him as he did so.

“January 2nd...or we’ll come looking for you…” Dominic smirked at him, looking at the men next to Jiyong as he swatted his hand towards the tied up man. “Take him away.”

Jiyong sighed as the world got dark around him again, letting a single tear break from his eye as the hood tied around his neck.

What the fuck did this bitch get me into?

A/N ;; to be continued...

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swanslieutenant · 6 years

Text

If the Stars Align - Chapter XIII

Summary: The Musketeers AU. Danger lurks around every corner in the French court and as a Musketeer in service of the royal family, Killian’s duty is to protect them from any and all threats. As his relationship with Queen Emma develops into something more than just friendship, threats against the queen escalate and put everything they hold dear into jeopardy.

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Chapter warning: Some more violence in this one.

Art by @hook-and-star-ink , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12

AO3: ch13

The funeral takes place three days later. It’s a quiet affair, hosted in a local church with few guests. When the king learned of Captain Humbert’s death, he wanted to host a lavish funeral, with full military honours, but that wasn’t something the captain would have wanted. He was a simple man, honourable and loyal, and he would have wanted a quiet, dignified service instead of one full of people he’d never met.

At the church, squashed between a sniffling Will and a stony David in one of the pews, Killian is numb to everything around him. Lancelot’s eulogy and the priest’s words wash over him, an incoherent hum drowned out by the words on repeat in his mind.

This is my fault.

None of the other Musketeers have said anything of the sort, but he knows they’re thinking it. In the three days since Captain Humbert’s death, Killian can count on one hand the amount of times someone has made eye contact with him or said anything not related to their work duties. And, honestly, he can’t blame them – the words the Musketeers aren’t saying are the same words he’s been asking himself for three days.

Why didn’t you let Robin kill Regina?

Captain Humbert would be alive if you did.

Robin blames you.

Killian hasn’t seen Robin since Captain Humbert’s death, but he knows that one is the truest of them all. Will mentioned briefly that he’s staying at La Lune, too upset to be anywhere near the barracks right now, not with Captain Humbert’s belongings still there, not when three days ago, he was alive and well.

David and Will suddenly get to their feet beside him, others rising behind them, and the small church fills with a low, conversational hum. The priest must’ve finished the sermon, dismissing the mourners, and Killian gets to his feet too. Though the other Musketeers remain at the front of the church, talking quietly to the priest, Killian follows the crowd as they all shuffle to the back of the church, desperately needing some fresh air.

In the last row of pews, three women remain seated as the rest of the church files out. They are all dressed the same, black veils over their heads, simple black gowns with not a drop of ornamentation. No one pays them any attention, thinking them other mourners, but Killian pauses beside them – he would recognize that golden hair anywhere, even hidden under veil.

“You didn’t have to come, Your Majesty.”

“Of course I did,” Emma replies, gaze over his shoulder on the closed casket at the front of the church, her voice solemn and quiet. “Captain Humbert was a loyal soldier, one who died in my service. I had to come and pay my respects.”

She glances to him, and though Killian thinks he’s kept his emotions pretty well hidden under a stony face, he knows instantly he hasn’t fooled her. She leans forward, resting a hand on his arm, squeezing his arm.

“Are you alright?”

“’Course.”

She frowns, unconvinced, but Killian is spared a further lie because Lancelot arrives at his side, bowing slightly at Emma when he realizes it’s her.

“We’re going out to the gravesite now.”

Killian and Lancelot return to the front of the church to help David and Will carry out the casket while Emma and her two ladies exit the church. The weight of the coffin is heavy, but nothing compared to the weight of the guilt, and he relishes the ache he feels in his just-healed chest wound as he shifts his weight.

He almost falters as he steps out of the church, his gaze focusing in on the freshly dug grave across the small cemetery. There’s a small crowd there, and they part as they bring the casket down the slope, lowering it with ropes into the ground.

The priest steps forward to speak once more, but his words are meaningless; Captain Humbert can’t hear the praises and compliments, can’t chuckle at the funny anecdotes, can’t do anything anymore.

And it’s all Killian’s fault.

The crowd starts to shift away, murmuring quietly to each other, but Killian doesn’t move. David notices, and claps him on the back, squeezing his shoulder.

“We’ll be at the barracks. When you’re ready.”

He nods numbly, staring at the gave and wishing, wishing he’d been the one shot by Regina instead, if only to not feel this enormous guilt and regret weighing him down like an anchor.

“He was a good man.”

The voice startles him out of his daze and he realizes Emma is there beside him, staring sadly at the grave. They’re the only two remaining in the cemetery now, even Emma’s ladies gone, their only company the sweetly singing robins in the nearby willow trees.

Killian nods and swallows deeply. “Aye. He was.”

He allows her to turn him away from the grave a few minutes later, and with no one else around and her veil still covering her features, she links her arm with his, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

She leads them away from the grave, the pair of them walking in silence. It’s not until they’ve reached the small path on the outskirts of the cemetery that Killian speaks, the words spilling out of him like wind forced from his lungs from a sucker punch.

“It’s my fault.”

“It is not your fault –” Emma counters immediately, but now that he’s started talking, the words keep coming, a relentless downpour.

“It is. I stopped Robin from killing Regina and she turned right around and shot Captain Humbert. If I hadn’t stopped Robin, if I had just let him shoot her, then the captain would still be alive.”

Emma moves to stand opposite him, bracing her hands on his arms. “That’s because you are a good man too, Killian. Captain Humbert would be proud of you. You showed her mercy by not letting Robin kill her. It��s not your fault she’s a monster.”

“I didn’t do it for her,” he grinds out, shaking his head; he won’t let her try and talk him out of this. “I did it – I did it because we needed answers, and because ... because as much as he hates her, Robin couldn’t have lived with himself if he killed her. And now because of that, Captain Humbert is lying in the cold ground and it’s my fault.”

Emma rests her hand on his upper arm, squeezing his arm tightly. “Then you did it for your friend, Killian. And that is what good men do.”

He just shakes his head. He’s not a good man, not at all. He’s standing there, feet from the fresh grave with Emma, the Queen of France, who could die just like Captain Humbert because of him.

In the chaos and mind-numbing pain of the last week, Cardinal Gold’s dark comment and darker eyes had drifted to the back of his mind, ever present but lurking on the edge of his conscious. And now, with a moment of privacy and silence, he tells Emma what he heard.

She listens with narrowed eyes, and doesn’t say anything for a few moments when he’s done talking. Then she shakes her head, her grip tightening on his arm, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“I don’t know if Gold does suspect something from what you’ve said, but he doesn’t scare me. He’s never scared me. We’ll just have to be more careful when he’s around from now on, okay?”

“Emma, it’s becoming too dangerous –”

Her eyes flash, and she barrels right over him. “I don’t care what Gold thinks he knows or doesn’t. I’m not losing you, Killian. My whole life has been one of order and performing the wishes of everyone else, and I haven’t felt like myself in a long time … not until a good man treated me like I was just a normal woman.”

She steps forward, pulling the veil up and over her head, and cups his face in her hands. He wonders if he’s ever noticed how green her eyes really are, how they sparkle like gems in the sunlight.

“I love you, Killian.”

He stares back at her, stunned. Then he surges forward, capturing her lips with his, and she wraps her arms around his neck. He can taste salt on her lips, and he’s not sure if its her tears or his. He holds her around the waist, pulling her closer, both of them holding each as close as possible, as if they’re each the others’ lifeline, as if no one else in the world matters. Gold, the king, Death himself – they and their threats fall away, and it’s just Emma and Killian, time standing still around them.

He closes his eyes again when they break apart finally, leaning his forehead against hers and savouring this precious moment.

“I love you too.”

In light of Captain Humbert’s death, Lancelot is named the new captain of the Musketeers. There’s normally a ceremony of great pomp and circumstance, held at the Louvre itself, but this time the transition of power is quiet, the mantle passed on too soon and no cause for celebration.

A week after the funeral, Lancelot summons Killian, David, Will, and Robin to the office. Robin finally returned to the barracks a few days ago, eyes bloodshot and face thin, and he’s been quiet since, keeping to himself and talking to no one. In fact, the Musketeers have hardly said anything to each other at all, each grieving in their own way, and when Lancelot summons them, Killian assumes this meeting is going to be about how they’ll all have to move forward and leave their grief behind.

He and David are the last to arrive to the office, and Killian pauses in the doorway, taking in the room, feeling like he’s been punched in the gut. The office is full of Captain Humbert’s things – his jacket, his boots, his personal effects – and the sight of all of it, abandoned and left behind, makes Killian want to run in the opposite direction.

David nudges him forward and into the room, and Killian swallows those feelings away. Robin and Will are already seated, staring at the floor, and once they’re all seated, Lancelot begins. With seriousness dripping from his voice, he explains that everyone needs to trust each other, especially in the light of what has happened. Everyone needs to stop blaming themselves – here he glances pointedly to Robin and Killian – and focus on who really is responsible.

Regina.

The door to the office edges open, revealing a nervous recruit, and he steps into the room.

“Sir –”

“Not now,” Lancelot says shortly, frowning at the interruption. “I asked not to be interrupted.”

The young man doesn’t move. “I know, but sir – this is an emergency. It’s – it’s her. She’s here.”

Killian has no idea who he means, but he takes in the young man’s clenched fists, teeth gritted together in anger, and he realizes only one person could cause such a reaction.

The others all come to the same conclusion, and everyone shoots to their feet, out the door in seconds and clambering over each other to look down into the courtyard from their place on the second level of the barracks.

Standing there, the recruits giving her a wide berth, with a sublime smile and dressed as if she should be attending a royal ball instead of a grieving soldiers’ barracks, is Regina.

Will lets out a roar of anger, and shoves the others out of his way.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

He jumps down the steps two at a time, hand already drawing his pistol. Killian is the closest behind him, and sees Will raise the pistol, but he doesn’t move to stop him – he saved this woman once already, and look where that got them.

David must sense Killian’s inaction, because he leaps ahead, grabbing Will’s arms and pulling him backs.

“Don’t kill her, Will,” he says, shooting Regina a deadly glare as he holds Will back. “We’re not murderers like her.”

Lancelot and Robin join them in the courtyard, the Musketeers fanning out in a line to face her. Robin stands stiffly, his eyes betraying nothing but a cold hatred as he surveys his estranged wife.

On her part, Regina surveys them all with a smirk, but Killian notices she’s missing her usual oomph. She lifts her hands up in surrender, and says, coolly, “There’s no need for violence, gentlemen. I come in peace.”

“You don’t know the meaning of peace,” Will snarls, pulling hard at David’s arms.

Regina levels a cold glare at him, and lifts her chin with a touch of defiance. “I know you all hate me, and you have every right to. But you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”

“There’s nothing you can say,” Killian says, starting to feeling sick at her casual entrance into their barracks, as if she has no care in the world the man she killed used to live upstairs. “You’ve done enough.”

Her jaw tightens. “Be that as it may, you’ll want to hear this.”

Lancelot crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. “What is it?”

She shakes her head, eyes flickering over Killian for a moment, and he really feels sick now.

“In private.”

It’s a tense walk back up to the office, and this time it’s almost harder for Killian to enter, to see Regina where Captain Humbert once lived. The others don’t seem to notice, and Will snaps, “Get on with it” the moment the door swings shut behind Robin.

Regina levels another cool, unimpressed glance at Will before her eyes flick to Killian. The bad feeling magnifies, cold and terrible and –

“The Cardinal knows there is something between you and the queen.”

The floor drops out from under him.

No, no –

He leans against the doorframe, winded. Robin’s eyes burn a hole through him, while the other three Musketeers stare at Killian, totally bewildered.

“What are you on about?” David demands. “The Cardinal knows about what?”

Killian doesn’t say anything. He can’t focus on thinking of a way to explain this to them, when all he can think about now is what he’s done, what he’s done to Emma, what this will do to the both of them.

Robin sighs angrily when it becomes apparent Killian won’t be saying anything. He too ignores the others, and glares at Regina.

“How do you know that?”

But before she can answer, Lancelot holds up a hand. “Wait – wait, there – there is something between you and the queen?”

Killian manages a nod, and the Musketeers gape at him. Lancelot looks like he’s been stunned after a brutal blow, David’s eyes are wide, and Will’s jaw drops open.

“You and the queen? The queen? Mate –”

“Now’s not the time to worry about your comrade’s bedroom affairs,” Regina snaps. “The cardinal knows and he’s going to use it against her. He’s going to arrest Jones and try to execute Queen Emma because of the affair.”

Execute.

Oh God –

“But how do you know that?” Robin asks again. He straightens abruptly then, realization dawning in his eyes. “It was him, wasn’t it? He’s the one who hired you to try to kill Queen Emma.”

The Musketeers turn their attention away from Killian, the room falling deathly quiet as they stare at Regina. She sighs, looking uncomfortable, and nods.

“Yes, it was him.”

“Why?” Lancelot demands. “Why would Cardinal Gold want her dead?”

Regina shrugs, as if it’s obvious. “He wants to be the pope.”

No one says anything, confusion settling over them, and Will lets out a barked laugh.

“Am I the only one not seeing any logic here? How is killing our queen gonna make Gold the pope?”

Regina waves her hand impatiently. “I know you lot are soldiers, but think for a moment about politics, okay? The Italians have their candidate for the next pope already, so to become pope, Gold would need the support of the Spanish cardinals. They won’t support him while the French queen is a Protestant, and well, they want one of their princesses as queen instead. If Queen Emma wasn’t around anymore ...”

“I don’t understand,” David says into the silence lingering after Regina’s sentence. “If Gold needs Queen Emma out of the way to be pope, why not make the king divorce her? Kings have done that before, and Emma wouldn’t have to die.”

“You’ve been hit around the head too much, haven’t you?” Regina says, rolling her eyes as if David is the biggest fool alive. “Catholics can’t divorce, remember? Last time a king tried that, all of England left the Church. Just ask your friend Jones here.”

His heart skips a beat as the Musketeers all look over to him again. The last thing he needs right now is his English heritage dumped out in front of him too, something he doesn’t know how Regina could possibly know about either.

“What?”

Regina sighs, and shakes her head. “Forget about that for now. We’ve got more pressing matters, yes?”

Though their eyes linger on Killian for a moment, they look away and back to Regina.

“Even if what you’re saying is true, that this – this affair with Killian is true, the king will never kill the queen,” Lancelot says, stubbornly.

“The cardinal has more influence than you think,” Regina replies darkly. “Why do you think you lot weren’t allowed near the Louvre for weeks after my bandits failed at St. Meissa? And now this – he’ll say it will be an embarrassment to let her live or for the king to allow her crime to be so lightly punished. He’ll manipulate the king into killing her, no matter what that idiot of a monarch actually wants. He’ll tell him it’ll be more secure for the Dauphin’s future if his mother is gone and no longer able to influence him, or something of the sort. Trust me. He’s got it sorted out.”

The room is starting to feel overwhelmingly hot, and Killian sinks against the doorframe even more heavily.

He needs to talk to Emma right now.

“Why the bloody hell should we trust you?” Will snarls. “You’re the reason our captain is dead. What’s to say this ain’t a ploy to get us all and the queen to boot?”

She straightens, her eyes turning icy. “You can either believe me, or not, but if you don’t, both your queen and your friend will die.”

No one says anything for a long while. Killian’s about to just leave them all here, turn on his heel and head straight to the Louvre, when Robin speaks again, voice wary.

“If you’re wrong –”

“I’m not.”

“Why tell us?” Lancelot demands. “This seems out of character for you.”

She shifts, now looking distinctly uncomfortable, and she glances over to Killian, eyes unreadable. “You saved me at Saint-Eustache. Warning you about this makes us equal.”

Killian stares at her for a long moment, arms crossed and eyes dark. She meets his gaze evenly, and though revulsion rises in him – this woman has tried to kill Emma multiple times, succeeded in killing Captain Humbert and Monsieur Gillert, she didn’t have to warn him about this. And yet, here she is.

Forgiveness or anything of the sort is nowhere in sight, but he nods tightly, accepting her word; he can recognize good form when he sees it.

He pulls away from the doorway, hand dropping to the sword at his belt, and regards his fellow Musketeers with a tight jaw, determination etching itself into his posture.

“I have to tell Emma.”

Emma takes the news as well as can be expected. She listens in silence to Robin’s explanation of the events, eyes dark and serious, and when he’s done, looks over to Killian. He’s sure she must see the fear in his eyes before he can mask it, and she turns back to the others.

“Can you give us a moment, please?”

The Musketeers don’t move, David crossing his arms over his chest, Will and Lancelot raising their eyebrows and looking between Emma and Killian with pointed stares.

Emma’s eyes flash, and she drops her hands to hips. “A minute please, gentlemen.”

Her voice offers no chances for arguments, and they shoot Killian dark looks as they skulk reluctantly through the west doors. As soon as the door shuts, leaving Emma and Killian alone and with the sound echoing up through the large hall, words spill out from Killian, unbidden.

“I’m so sorry, Emma, I never meant for this to happen. I’ll send in my resignation before he does anything, get out of Paris as quick as I can.”

Emma shakes her head vehemently. “You’re not going to resign. If you leave in a rush, it’ll tell Gold he’s right.” She takes his hands, holding them tightly. “This – this is the worst-case scenario, but we’ll figure something out, together. Okay?”

She stands on her tip toes to wrap her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her and pressing a kiss against his cheek.

The east doors fling open, so suddenly that they spring apart as if jolted by lightning. Cardinal Gold strides into the hall, spreading his arms wide in exclamation, with a cohort of Red Guards filing in behind him.

“Well, isn’t this precious. Caught in the act.”

Emma steps in front of Killian, twisting to push him slightly behind her, but doesn’t release his hand.

“What do you want, Cardinal?”

“I’m not here for you, dearie,” he says loudly, and his eyes slide to Killian, dark and triumphant. “You, Killian Jones, are an English spy, sent here by the English king to undermine the stability of the French court, and as such, you are hereby charged with adultery and high treason, and are ordered executed three days hence.” He flicks his head to the Red Guards, and they step forward automatically. “Seize him.”

His heart stops, and Emma fully in front of now, raising one hand and standing to her full height as the Red Guards advance.

“I forbid you to touch him. Do so, and you yourself disobey your monarch and I will have you charged with treason.”

Even though these are Red Guards, loyal to no one but Gold, they do hesitate, staring uncertainly between her and Gold.

The cardinal sighs, annoyed. “I had hoped to avoid any unpleasantries, but you leave me no choice.” He withdraws a scroll from his cloak, unrolling it and reading aloud: “By order of His Majesty, the King of France, you, madame, are to be confined to your chambers until such time the king has determined what a suitable punishment for your crimes of adultery and treason.”

The floor drops out from Killian the second time that day, and Emma’s shoulders stiffen. Her grip on his hand tightens, and she doesn’t move from Killian’s side.

“Did you know your lover was an English spy, Your Majesty?” Gold asks, voice quiet. “No doubt your whispered pillow conversations are already the daily dinner talk of the English court. Or perhaps you’re a spy with him too? After all, heretics tend to group together.”

Emma doesn’t even flinch. “You are a liar, Cardinal. This is an order from you, not the king.”

Gold laughs a demented giggle, sending chills up the back of Killian’s neck at the sound. “You can look at the warrant, dearie. But I assure you the royal seal is there. Let’s not waste our time with any more stall tactics you have up your sleeves. I have been authorized to use any sort of force necessary to comply with the king’s wishes; shall we move up the traitor’s execution date to right now, or will you both come quietly?”

Again, neither Emma or Killian move. Killian looks around the room, judging how long it would take for him to grab Emma and run to the west doors across the hall before the Red Guards could shoot them, and almost as if Gold senses Killian’s thoughts, the cardinal stiffens and gestures his guards forward.

“Arrest them.”

This time, the guards obey, marching forward and grab them both by their arms. Killian is pulled roughly away, his hand ripped from Emma’s, and he thrashes against their grasp. Two more descend upon him, pulling him back so roughly he nearly falls to the ground.

Emma tries to break free of her guards too, stomping on their feet and twisting her body out of their hands, but they pull her back, holding her still as Gold steps forward.

“This is what happens to people who get in my way,” he says softly, his voice is as cold as if the Devil himself was speaking. “I’d stop fighting if I were you, Your Majesty. Lest you want him tortured before I kill him.”

Emma’s eyes turn hard and stony, and Gold’s lips edge up into a mockery of a smile as she stops pulling at the guards. Smirking he turns around and flicks his hand at the Red Guards.

“Get the rest of the Musketeers when they come in. None of them leave here except in chains, understood?”

Guards head towards the west doors, and by chance one of the doors opens a crack, David sticking his head into the room to see what is going on.

“Get out of here!” Killian screams; he can’t take everyone down with him too.

The guards holding him punch him hard in the stomach, and he buckles over in pain. When he looks up again, gasping and panting, the Red Guards are just wrenching the door open again, exiting the room to chase after the Musketeers.

“Now, now,” Gold says, anger flashing in his eyes. “That’s enough of that. Take these traitors away, him to the Bastille, the queen to her rooms. Now!”

Killian is winded from the punch, but he still pulls furiously at the guards holding him as they wrench him upright. One of them punches him again, this time across the face, and his head snaps backwards, his cheek exploding in pain.

“Stop!” Emma shouts.

She’s struggling with her own guards, but there’s no chance for either of them. Her guards pull her out towards one set of doors, Killian’s to another, and her shout of anger and his shout of her name are the last thing Killian hears before the guard punches him across the face again, the world going black and silent in an instant.

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #captain swan big bang #cs mc ff #fic: if the stars align #sorry in advance but also not sorry because pain and angst are my middle names

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overlycaffeinatedwarmage · 7 years

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RtS Chapter 13-16

Please excuse typos and weird mark ups. I types this all on my tablet since my work computer sucks.

Ch13 Cassie is trying to talk to the power. Asking is she can go back and change time to prevent the horror that happened on Dante’s drag that morning. All it does is send her visions of storms oceans. I love that the book title keeps coming up as a theme in this book. I’d never really noticed how much KC does that but it’s quiet often, especially since HtM. Anyway, Cassie doesn’t realize what help the battle is eventually going to get her and the power can’t or won’t tell her yet. But it’s quiet a bit as we find out. Poor girl always has to do things the hard way, but she doesn’t forget those hard won lessons.

Cassie likes to have her panic attacks and freak out sessions in the bathroom. To be fair it’s my favorite room too. It’s the only room the vampires give her some semblance of privacy, occasionally, though as Marco proves here it’s not 100% of the time. It makes me wonder if Cassie is an introvert or extrovert. I would guess extrovert or the constant people in her space would drive her even more crazy than it already does. That might be an interesting topic for discussion at some point. We do not get an epic Cassie bath this book! Is thus the first time? I’m kinda sad, I live for those!

Ch14 The whole Tarot deck gets involved with the warning this book. That’s new. “Armored warrior … canopy of stars … must unify …” Then we have the Chariot card pop out, but it lands neither regular or inverted. Cassie makes the choice to read it upright. She makes the choice to win this battle.

Caleb’s place the coffee/donut exchange cracked me up! Caleb snorted. “Not what you’d consider coffee. Not if you’ve been drinking that nuclearwaste John mainlines all day.” Cassie: “I don’t drink Pritkin’s coffee and he doesn’t eat my doughnuts. We have a deal.” “I’d hate to see the doughnut John would eat,” Caleb said.

Then the food scene, his version of food is vastly different from Pritkin’s. Kinda funny Cassie calls takeout actual food. Cassie, girl we gotta talk. I started out like you, now I’m more like Pritkin with food. Fml. I’m Pritkin.

They compare lonely lives, which is sad. But it also says that the jobs are somewhat complementary (hope for Casskin?). We find out that the mages took 22 mins to assemble and get to Dantes. Cassie lasted 19. Why didn’t part of the group come instead of everyone at once? That bugged me. The police don’t always show up at once, at least in shows. They get they as soon as they are available in small units if necessary.

Ch15 We are finally back to Wales with proto!Rosier. Cassie is so grossed out by him. On one hand it’s funny imagining the haughty demon lord brought so low, but on the other I have to wonder if Cassie is remembering when he tried to rape/kill her in EtN. He was in proto form then too.

Cassie thinking what she will do after saving Pritkin: “And warm sand instead of perpetual mud, and a soft chaise instead of more freaking tree roots, and a hot guy— Which one?” somebody asked.” I love this. According to KC Rosier was the one to ask. Aww, Cassie passes out and Rosier takes care of her again. I like that he is finally being nice to her even if it’s for his own gain more or less. Their relationship has grown and changed so much since this began. I love it.

Ch16 So much history here! We find out who Pritkin’s mother is! I’m amused that Cassie is frustrated with Rosier storytelling skills and that Rosier is frustrated with her interruptions. Cassie seems to be surrounded by people who want to give huge detailed histories of everything while she just wants the basic facts most of the time. Same thing happens with Fred and Jules at other times. I have a feeling there is a real life parallel with the publishing world trying to cut down on word count in here somewhere.

#cassie palmer #rts #karen chance #ride the storm

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findsarahh · 7 years

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As the Moon Rises

Chapter 16

Summary: Isera Lavellan has been sent to her twin brother Banreas Lavellan, the Inquisitor, at the urging of their mother with the command of assisting him. Events have been set into motion, the world is changing and there is history to uncover.

COMPLETED

Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4] [Ch5] [Ch6] [Ch7] [Ch8] [Ch9] [Ch10] [Ch11] [Ch12]

[Ch13] [Ch14] [Ch15] [Ch16]

Three times they entered into the eluvian from the Winter Palace. Each time Isera found a codex that she kept hidden from the others. The compulsion of the voices telling her to wait before sharing.

They had to travel underground and to an old, destroyed elven library. The library had been the hardest for Isera to leave. The Fade had been an integrated source for the library…so much had been lost. Isera collected as many books as she could. Old habits—taking from places of knowledge for her own gain.

“We must find the past to protect the future. Only then will we grow.” The echoes of her mother’s voice fill her head.

Banreas decided to inform the Arl Teagan and Cyril de Montfort of the threat. Isera is sitting with her daughters when Banreas comes into the room. His mark is getting worse and worse even if he plays off the pain.

Isera is struggling to keep the magic contained. She isn’t Solas who had been able to prevent the mark from consuming Banreas all those years ago.

Isera is sitting in a dayroom in the Winter Palace watching as the twins play with the servant. They turn when they hear the door open.

“Uncle!” The girls squeal as Banreas walks into the chamber. He forces a smile as he bends down to hug them. “Sora, Veira!” He replies, kissing them on the top of their heads. They begin to babbles as he looks at Isera.

“We are about to go through again. We are close to stopping the qunari. Will you come?” Banreas asks as he watches his nieces play together. Isera isn’t sure if she should go. She is worried that the qunari will come for those in the Winter Palace.

Finally, Isera takes a deep breath. “They are safe here. I will come.” She tells him as she stands up. It pains her to leave them with such a large threat. Isera turns to the elven girl. “Perhaps the girls need more friends to play with?” Isera offers.

The servant looks up. “Of course, my Lady. I will send for our favorites. They have such a way with the young ones.” Isera smiles as she walks towards the twins.

She pulls them closer to her. “Maeme will be back soon.” Isera whispers to them as she leans to kiss them. The twins grin up at her as the turn to chase after the nugs. Isera takes a deep breath, holding back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Isera nods to herself as she turns and walks out of the room, her children’s laughter filling her ears.

---

They had reached the stronghold that the qunari are using. Isera climbed up the tower to see if there is anything else for them. She sees another mural with a note tacked to it:

…believed to be a self-portrait of Fen’harel.

Isera stares at it. “No…” she mutters in disbelief. Everything begins to make sense in her mind from the codex she had discovered to their time together. She gasps out as she places her hand over her chest. Hidden beneath her armor is the jawbone necklace he used to wear. He feels closer than ever before.

Banreas is calling for her, asking if she found anything.

Isera shakes her head. “No, sorry.” She lies. “There is nothing else here. Let’s move further.” Isera stares at the mural once more. She can’t tell Banreas. Her chest hurts and her head is spinning, but the voice confirm her fears.

They freed the dragon that the Viddasala but still have to fight a qunari mage that broke free of his chains and high on the potion called Dragon’s Breathe. Banreas’s mark is unstable and keeps discharging magical energy that impacts everyone with its bursts.

Isera has been trying to dodge the discharge as much as she could while still trying to protect Banreas from the damage. They are near exhaustion when Isera realizes the only way to defeat the Saarebas is to use the magic to consume the beast by the Fade.

Isera rushes up behind her brother, grabbing his hand as she supports his weight against her body. She uses her magic to manipulate the mark, causing the Fade to rip open in the Saarebas.

Isera feels the heat of the magic on her skin as she brings her barrier close to her brother. Her hand burns with pain as if her flesh is being engulfed in flame as Banreas collapses onto the floor, the mark slowly draining him of his life.

“We have to go.” Isera doesn’t skip a beat, forcibly pulling him up. “We have to save him.” She begs. He gives her a confused through the droopy exhausted eyes.

“Isera.” Banreas groans as he pulls himself up. She helps him walk to the eluvian. “Please…” she whispers as they cross over. The mirror seals itself behind them.

“What is going on…?” He chokes out as Isera practically drags her brother up the hill.

She can hear his voice. Solas. She pulls Banreas along, trying to contain the magic that is building up in his hand. She can see him. She watches as he turns the Viddasala into stone without looking at behind him.

Banreas makes it a few more steps before completely collapsing with exhaustion. The mark sparks sending stream of lights down his forearms. Isera tries again to control the mark, grunting in pain in her attempts.

Solas turns, walks to them and with the clench of his fist the mark stops sparking. Isera clutches her brother has he passes out from pain and exhaustion.

Solas kneels beside her. “He will wake in a few minutes.” He tells her. “I suspect you have questions.” He looks at them a gentle smile on his face.

Isera grips onto Banreas in fear and relief. “I know…” she whispers as she stares into his eyes. “You are Fen’harel. You are the Dread Wolf.” Her voice is hard and confidence, but she feels herself shaking.

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Well done.” He gives her a sad smile. “I was Solas first, Fen’harel came later. An insult that I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies…” He gives a slight chuckle. “Not unlike the Inquisitor, I suppose.” He glances down at Banreas.

Isera shakes her head. “The Dalish…they were wrong.” She softly cries. “The tales of you are wrong. Solas, you are a hero.” Isera says.

He looks at with pain. “Those are fragments to give me more credit than I ever deserved.”

Isera tries to ignore the feeling of betrayal in her heart. “If you had just told me…” She whispers. If she is honest with herself, she doesn’t know how she would have reacted to him revealing his true identity to her. She doesn’t know if she would have believed him.

He looks down, eyes full of pain and sorrow. “Then you would carry the same burden I do.”

“I want to…ma ghilana, vhenan.” Isera cries as she grabs his wrist. Her children—their children flash before her eyes as she refuses to let go of his gauntlet.

He looks into her eyes. “I wish it could, vhenan.” He whispers as he wraps his free hand over hers.

Banreas groans, shifting in the lap of his sister. He looks up at them still dazed. He pulls himself onto his kneels. “What happened?” he asks as he stares down at the mark. It is stable, for now.

“Solas is the Dread Wolf, brother.” She whispers as she pulls her hand away from Solas, linking it with her brothers. She blinks back the tears.

Banreas looks at Solas in confusion. Solas confirms what Isera told him and begins to describe his world and his role in it. He is the one that created the Veil, locking away the false gods, and destroying the elves as he knew them. His new goal was to remove the Veil and to return things to what was.

Solas stands, walking away from the twins.

Banreas glances at Isera, his eyes are drooping with exhaustion and annoyance. “Of course, you had children with Fen’harel.” He sharply remarks with sarcasm. He brushes the dirt off of his hands.

Isera shrieks and out of instinct slaps Banreas in the back of the head.

Solas whips around his eyes wide. “What? Children?” Isera can read his face—shock, fear, concern…happiness?

Isera stares at him with wide-eyed. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands are cold and skin is hot with fear and anxiety. “Y-yes.” She murmurs out. He wordlessly stares at her. “I tried to find you…to tell you…” She whispers as she pulls herself to her feet her body is shaking with every movement.

The mirror behind him ripples and a figure steps out. Isera cranes her head to look past Solas not expecting another visitor. Is he planning on killing us tonight and brought reinforcements? Isera thinks.

The figure saunters closer. “It has been too long since I have seen you both.” The voice is sweet.

Isera gasps as she stares into the blue-golden eyes of their--“Mother?” Banreas looks at her. Their mother looks years younger than he remembers.

Eludysia smiles. “Hello, my son.” She stops walking, a few steps in front Solas.

Isera remembers her mother a small woman, wise beyond her years. When Isera left her in Rivain Eludysia was older, hunched over from years of studying tomes. Her hands were soft and boney from years of grinding herbs. Her curly, kinky hair had been turning gray at the temples—she used to joke that the gray strands were knowledge that were filling the strands of her hair.

The woman before her stands tall with a statuesque frame, shoulder pulled back with pride, dark, curly hair falling past her shoulders to her lower back. Her blue-golden eyes sparkling with knowledge and glee. Adorn on her head is an enchanted dragon’s skull.

Solas steps to the side. His head bent slightly, guarded at her approach.

What? There is a chorus of confusion from Solas, Isera, and Banreas.

Eludysia continues smiles enjoying the attention and confusion of her presence. She turns toward Solas. “You have always been prideful, Dread Wolf. So arrogant that you did not sense the old blood flowing through their veins.” She teases with the information he did not uncover.

Solas scowls.

Isera shakes her head. “Old blood? You are lying.” Isera accuses her mother. “That is not possible. I would remember. We would remember.” She looks at Banreas, who is still on his knees and weak is just as confused as her.

Eludysia sighs as she looks at Isera with pain. “You were five when the Veil was ripping our world apart.” She begins to explain. “I took us into a deep slumber as the Veil began to come. Your memory is fragmented.” Eludysia looks at Solas.

Isera shakes her head in denial. “If what you are saying is true, then Banreas would be a mage and we would be immortal.” She challenges Eludysia, trying to reason and logic.

Eludysia frowns. “You are immortal. You are still connected to the Fade, Isera,” she states, then frowning. “Part of your power is locked behind the Veil.” She hums. “It would have been better if you had been the one to bare the mark. ‘Twas never meant for a mortal.”

Eludysia looks towards Banreas. “Your lack of magical ability and immortality is my fault, my son.” She claims. “Banreas, you were not blessed with the same gift as your sister. I was injured and dying. I did not possess…” her voice breaks. “…The energy that it to protects us during our slumber—I’m sorry.”

Eludysia sighs before glaring at the Dread Wolf. “Did you not share with her the ability she has? Or were you too daft to make that connection as well?” Eludysia accuses him.

Solas pulls back, staring at Eludysia with interest. “She’s an i've'an'amelan, a protector of the Fade?” Solas asks in surprise and disbelief. “That is impossible. They…did not survive.” He pauses. “I concluded that the separation between the two worlds caused their mind’s to collapse. They were integrity more a part of the Fade, arguably, than most.”

Eludysia shrugs at him. “The ones who did going to uthenera did survive, Dread Wolf.” She scoffs. “Isera is untrained, of course. Their father was the best of them. He died trying to stop the horror you caused.” She continuous to glare at him still jaded from the memory. “If you just waited—asked for help…” She sighs shaking her head at the memory.

Solas bows his head at the memory attached to the accusation.

Eludysia looks around, recomposing herself. “I predicted we would need as many i've'an'amelan when we would wake to restore what once was.” Eludysia informs Solas before looking at Isera. “Surely, your memories have slowly been coming back since interacting with the circlet?” Eludysia points to it, sitting on top of Isera’s head.

“How do you know about that?” Isera asks, fiddling with the circlet. Isera does not want to believe her.

Eludysia laughs, her hands setting on her hips as she cocks her head to the side. “Child, how do you think the Inquisition agent’s found it? It was mine. I am a high priestess to Mythal.”

Isera blinks before covering her face with her hands. She is overwhelmed with discovering that the father of her children is Fen’harel, her mother is apparently a high priest for Mythal, and they are elvhen—one of the ancients.

Eludysia turns away from Solas, approaches her children with arms open and smile on her face. “Children, I want you to come with us.” Eludysia asks. “You are one of us. You need to help.”

Solas reacts negatively, his eyes narrow and grimacing at the idea, but does not say anything. He silently fumes as he watches Eludysia.

Banreas project a boisterous laugh at the obscure idea. “I am not one of you.” He declares, his voice weak. “This is my world. There are other ways to restore what was lost, but not…not that.” Banreas offers through gritted teeth. Isera can see the mark throbbing. Time is running out.

Isera shakes her head, declining the offer. “Your plan to restore your world could effectively kill my children and I will not leave my children.” Isera announces.

Eludysia frowns, eyebrows raising in surprise unaware of the recent offspring. “You…had children?” She sounds confused and hurt. Eludysia sighs before nodding in understanding, but there is a glimmer of disappointment in her eyes.

Solas sighs with force. “This is my fight.” He declares. “You should be worried about your Inquisition. You halted a qunari forces. With luck, you will have a few years of peace.” He begins to explain his role in Inquisition and impact that resulted in the qunari thinking that the Inquisition was working for him.

“Do you want to know how I discovered the qunari plot? The plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep? My spies in the Inquisition tripped over their spies in the Inquisition. The elven guard who intercepted the servant with the Gatlok barrel? Mine.”

“And you now control all of the eluvian?” Banreas asks filled with impatience.

“Yes. Do you remember Briala from Halamshiral? She controlled them for a time. The qunari stumbled upon this area independently.” Solas tells them.

Isera recalls the offer for Briala of the elven fortress in the Dales. Suddenly, Isera feels thankful that she accepted that offer when she did.

Banreas lifts his arm. “And this anchor? It is getting worse.” Banreas asks as the mark begins oozing magic.

Solas frowns. “I know, my friend.” Solas whispers, his voice full of dread. “And we are running out of time.”

The mark begins to flare send bolts of magic out and up his arm. Banreas grunts as he is dragged along the ground by the mark. “The mark was never meant for a mortal and will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the change to save you…at least for now.” Solas leans down to him. Isera stands back, watching them.

“Solas, var lath ver suledin, ma vehnan!” Isera calls, repeating again what she said earlier. as she rushes towards him, latching onto his arm. Solas looks down in pain and sorrow, but does not answer.

Banreas cries out in pain as the mark begins to react again. Solas’s eyes glow as the mark and Banreas’ hand begin to disappear piece by piece as the Fade reabsorbs the magic.

Solas steps closer to Isera, his hand brushing hair out of her face. “My love…” he whispers as he leans in to kiss her. “I am sorry.” He leans his head onto her forehead as she begins silently crying.

Solas tries to pulls away from her, but Isera fights him at first. “They need you.” She whispers as he gives her one more sorrowful, regretful glance. He still does not answer her.

She reluctantly releases his arm as he walks away. He does not look back. He waits by the mirror, his shoulder pulled back and stiff, as he waits Eludysia to join him.

Eludysia looks at her children the palms of her hands open to them. “I am proud of you, both. You’ve done the People proud.” She smiles as she turns to join Solas at the eluvian.

Isera watches they into the eluvian. Her heart feels like it is being ripped from her chest as the mirror fades to gray and inactive. She controls the impulse to try to follow them.

---

Banreas called an end to the Inquisition that night. He dropped the ridiculously large text onto the ground before leaving the room. The act cause quite a stir among the nobility. Isera quickly navigates to Briala, who is standing away from the discourse.

Briala eyes her with surprise. “We must meet, sooner than expected.” Isera looks towards her before glancing back at the court. Briala smiles knowingly as she turns to depart.

The Inquisition members had returned to Skyhold and immediately began downsize despite the lateness of their arrival.

Isera is holding Sora, who is asleep on her chest. Veira is still awake as Isera leads them back to the clinic. She is exhausted. The clinic is empty when she arrives. Isera locks the clinic door before turning to head upstairs. She spots aged books on her potion desk that are not hers and nothing the Inquisition has within its walls.

Isera stares at the books with suspicion before pulling Veira. “Come, Veira.” Isera urges. She helps her daughter up the steps. Her heart is pounding in her chest as she recalls the eluvian in the prayer room.

“Vehnan…”

Isera freezes as she stares at Solas from the second step of her on top of stairs. He is standing in her quarters in his simple beige, cotton shirt and green pants that he used to wear. He looks afraid and unsure, unlike before where he dawned glittering armor fitting of Fen’harel. He is Solas here.

He glances down, almost ashamed. His hands fidget nervously. “I had to see them…” He whispers. He does not know if he should be here. Would she attack him?

Isera nods. She is unsure of what to do. She is scared as much as he is. Her fear is that he will take them from her.

Isera takes a deep breath, ignoring the fear that makes her insecure and slowly makes her way over to him. “This is Veira.” She tells him as she pulls the toddler forward to greet him.

“Hello…” his voice is soft as he kneels to see her better.

Veira’s auburn hair is short and messy from the trip back to Skyhold. Her shirt is stain from the treats she had during the trip. Isera hadn’t bothered changing them in the rush to leave the Winter Palace. Veira glances up at her mother before pointing at him. “Daede?” she asks.

Solas his eyes wide in surprise as he glances up to Isera. He hesitates to answer.

“Yes, ma vehnan. Daede.” Isera confirms as she lets go of Veira’s hand.

Solas opens his arms to her and Veira rushes into his arms. Isera had told them stories of their father. The elven apostate who came to help the Inquisition. The man who helped save their Uncle. The man who was so passionate about the elven and their history that he would tell them stories one day.

Solas picks up Veira who begins playing with his cheeks, babbling in her own language. “And what is her name?” He asks motioning to Sora. He hesitantly steps closer to them.

“Sora.” Isera smiles. “She’s like you. She likes to sleep a lot.” Isera jokes as she turns to sit on the bed. She motions him to sit next to her with Veira. She looks at him. “I tried to find you. To tell you. I would never keep them from you…” She whispers as tears fall down her face.

She never thought she would see him again, let alone see him with their children. He is finally meeting them. Her heart is painfully full--she loves him so much.

“I know, vhenan.” He replies as tears fall from his eyes. He holds Veira close. He wraps his other arm around Isera. “I know.” He kisses her temple before leaning his head against hers.

Isera enjoys feeling him next to her once more, his musky scent and sound of his breathing. “I won’t stop you from seeing them. Not even now.” She tells him.

And she wouldn’t. Isera grew up without her father and she wants their girls to know him.

They sit against the headboard of the bed with their sleeping children as the moon rises. Solas moves to lay Veira in the bed. Isera follows him, placing Sora down. Both toddlers are in a deep sleep.

Solas turns to her, reaching for her. “I must go.” He tells her. As he wraps his arms around her shoulders. Isera can feel the stress radiating from his body.

Isera nods as she wipes the tears onto his sleeves. “Be careful,” she whispers. He pauses, grabbing her hand.

“For them. I will try.” He transforms into a small black bird with blue eyes and flies out of the window.

NOTES:

Hi guys! I hoped you like this story! I have an idea for a sequel, if y’all are interested in! Here is the summary and snippet of what I’m think of:

Summary: With the Inquisition now disbanded, Isera sets her goals on stopping Solas by showing him a different way to change the world. The former Inquisitor, Banreas, has taken a smaller role to defeat Solas, if necessary, with little interest in other political affairs. Isera, with new found political influence, is using her power to collate elven associates who seek to better the elves without destroying the world. But will they be successful?

Snippet:

It has been over two years since her discovery of Solas’s true identity. Isera sent ravens to every Dalish Clan she could remember. Leliana gave her contacts of elven associates and Varric said he “knew of people” that could be helpful. Of those elven members within the Inquisition, if they hadn’t already disappeared, Isera called upon them to come with her. Almost all of them agreed.

Briala met her at the entrance of the Citadelle du Corbeau, the old fortress that housed the Empress’s troops during the height of the civil war in the Exalted Plains. While the Veil is not torn here, it is weak.

“We are waiting on the contacts.” Isera informs the Marquise as they sit on their harts at the gate.

Briala turns to look at her. “Do you know who it is?”

Isera nods. “I know of one. She gave up everything to discover the old ways. And the other is a formidable warrior with strange abilities, I hear. Associates of the Viscount in Kirkwall.”

#solavellan #solas x lavellan #solas x oc #solavellan fic #solavellan hell #solas x inquisitor #dragon age solas #Solas #vir writes

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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THE WIFE [20/?]

The Wife || Ch 20 ~ 6.6k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 C12 Ch13Ch14 Ch15 Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 || FF.NET&AO3

A/N: 1. It’s only referenced but Rumpel/Rumbelle fans might not enjoy some things 2. Mentions of hunting and trophies, nothing graphic

Breakfast at Captain Nemo’s home is an unnecessary lavish affair. Emma wonders if the man bothers with so many different beverages, fruits, pastries and meats even when he is eating on his own. She is almost certain that he does. The captain does everything with certain aplomb that she finds both amusing and, on occasion, a tad exasperating. Judging by Killian’s face, none of it is out of the ordinary so she just tries to acclimate herself to the best of her abilities.

The task becomes somewhat easier when the men close themselves inside Captain Nemo’s study to discuss the business that brought them here in the first place and leave Emma to her own devices. Much as she would’ve liked to have Killian’s company, she is far from bored.

If their home has touches of a ship’s interior about it, Captain Nemo’s makes her feel like she has been plunged into the very depths of the ocean. Emma doesn’t care much for all the stuffed animals and sea creatures that are present in almost every room – she touches a boar’s tusk but can’t make herself put her hand on its brittle fur and eyes the long fish that line the walls with morbid interest.

The different stones and shells are much more pleasing to her eye and cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. She recognizes a few from Killian’s collection on the mantle in his—their bedroom, but Captain Nemo’s haul is much larger and more meticulous. When she picks up an oval grey stone that she has no fear of dropping or damaging, Emma discovers the writing underneath. Too curious to be cautious, she gently turns one of the seashells over and discovers a black inscription in blocky letters on the smooth white surface inside it. It takes her another minute to realize they are ordered alphabetically and her laugh echoes a little off the high ceiling.

But it’s the paintings and maps that truly take her breath away. The ones depicting the depths of the ocean manage to conjure up a ball of awe and unrest deep in her belly and she finds that she can’t stare at the almost black blues and greens that hang in the drawing-room without starting to imagine all sorts of creature lurking within them.

There is a world map in the captain’s sprawling library that takes up almost at entire wall and that’s the one Killian finds her sitting on the floor in front of, her legs crossed and her skirts spread all around her. She can’t help but smile at the way he drops to his knees and carefully rearranges the fabric so that he can sit beside her without trampling on her gown.

She turns around and cups his chin in her hand, bringing his mouth to hers.

“Did all go well?”

He nods against her, his nose brushing her cheek as he kisses her one more time before pulling away.

“Our dear host has declared that, if my naval skills were as good as my business touch, I would’ve never made it past a midshipman’s post.”

In the absence of anyone else, Emma sees no reason to restrain her eyeroll but Killian continues with a smile.

“I pointed out that I do not make a habit of coming into a man’s home to eat his food and drink his whiskey and then try to cheat him out of his money. On the whole, I believe he was left thirsty for some good old-fashioned bargaining and squabbling,” Killian sighs with regret that his twinkling eyes tell her he doesn’t feel in the least. “If it were Liam who entered that room with him, you wouldn’t have seen either of them until dawn broke out tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s just one more reason to be glad you’re not Liam,” Emma says and pushes lightly on his thigh so his legs open further, encasing her between them.

“I thought you liked my brother, love,” he says with a teasing grin even as his hand slips over her waist, the corset preventing her from properly feeling the touch, much to Emma’s disappointment.

“I do. I just like you better.”

She kisses his neck above the cravat he doesn’t bother with at home and grins in satisfaction when Killian tugs her closer sharply. Perhaps the floor of his dear friend’s library is not the best place for her to be reaching for her husband’s ass – their position also rather limits her success, which is, frankly, the part Emma is more upset about.

They woke up too late to do anything but get dressed and hurry down to breakfast this morning and she has tried not to obsess over their conversation the night before all day but she needs this. She needs the confirmation of coming together to know that she has truly alleviate Killian’s fears. Truthfully, she needs it to be certain that none of her own will resurface as well.

“I hope that will still be the case after I disclose what I agreed to in order to placate the old man.”

“Please tell me you’re not moving in the room across the hall.”

She feels his neck vibrate with his laughter and bites down lightly, cautious to not leave a mark and only slightly irritated that she has to make that concession.

“Eventually, you will have to let that go, my queen.”

“Eventually.”

“But, no. I am still permitted to spend the night in my wife’s arms,” Killian says and she hums in approval. “As long as I spend the afternoon in the forest.”

“In the forest?”

She pulls back to look at him in confusion.

“Aye, Nemo will have me hunting my own dinner apparently, so much for hospitality,” he jests lightly. “The man loves his sport and I promised to indulge him in recompense for making him such a fair deal on the stock.”

She would roll her eyes again, if she wasn’t so busy trying not to pout. She was saving the explorations of the grounds for when Killian was free to go with her but she tries to tell herself that it makes perfect sense that his friend would want to spend more time with him.

Unsurprisingly, he picks up on her unvoiced disappointment.

“I could still refuse him, say I—“

“No, no,” she tugs and smooths his cravat back into place, realizing that she’s left a small pink mark anyway and feeling her cheeks heat. “Don’t do that. You should go, enjoy yourself.”

“Hunting has never been my chosen pastime, but Nemo has promised that we shall just try for some birds. It’s too cold to go too deep into the forest regardless.”

That doesn’t sound as dangerous and gruesome as the picture the trophies painted in her head earlier and Emma chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her that the idea in her head is preposterous but then again—

“Emma.”

Killian’s thumb pulls lightly on her lip, saving it from getting bloodied by her teeth.

“May I come?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m sorry, that’s— Forget I said—“

“You want to come hunting with us?”

“It’s stupid, forget it.”

“Have you ever gone hunting before?”

She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“No. As I said, it’s stup—“

“Love, stop saying it’s stupid,” Killian’s voice sounds just exasperated enough that her eyes snap to him in surprise – she realizes her request was obtuse but she didn’t think he would be annoyed by it. “What’s so stupid about it? There’s a first time for everything.”

Emma blinks and lets her hands drop back to her lap.

“Nemo doesn’t like having any servants around when he hunts. It will be just the three of us. He knows I was always better with a sword than a gun, I hardly think he would expect much of the outing.”

“You don’t think he would mind?”

“I don’t think he would say so even if he does,” Killian’s eyebrows fly across his forehead. “I think he finds you a little intimidating.”

Emma shakes her head in dismay, even though it matches what the captain himself told her.

“That’s just ridiculous.”

Killian hums and pulls her closer again, his hand reaching for her shoulders, working the tension gathered there.

“I don’t know about that.”

She looks at him in surprise.

“Were you ever intimidated by me?”

“I—“ Killian huffs a half-laugh and her eyes widen. “I wasn’t intimidated, per se. I just… I thought it would be rather hard to win your favour.”

“And then I fell so easily for your charms,” she sighs in faux disappointment and tries not to smile at Killian’s laughter.

“I would not phrase it like that, though, yes, I was prepared to have to prove myself to you.”

She frowns a little and finally twists around so they’re fully face to face, her hands coming up to frame his face.

“I didn’t need you to prove anything. I just needed to get to know you.”

Killian swallows audibly.

“And then?”

She smiles, her eyes flying over his face.

“That’s when the falling happened.”

The door opens exactly as Killian’s tongue slides over her lips and both of them pull back so quickly that Emma has to put her hands behind her so she doesn’t fall on her back.

“Oh,” the maid that just came in blushes in three different shades of pink and turns a little to the side, staring out of the window. “Captain Jones, Captain Nemo wanted to know if you’d like to have tea before you leave for your hunt.”

“Yes, of course,” Killian tries to cough the huskiness out of his voice but if the maid’s brand new shade of pink is any indication, he is not doing too well.

He rises with as much dignity as he can muster and hurries to give Emma a hand, helping her to her feet and, much to the servant’s further embarrassment and dismay, bending down to smooth out and arrange her skirts.

The girl seems to realize that she can run away now that she has received an answer and, even though her back is already turned, Emma is sure that her face is pinched when Killian stops her.

“Could you let the captain know that my wife would be joining us?”

“For tea? Yes, of cour—“

“No, no, for the hunt later.”

“Oh.”

Emma resists the urge to hide her face in Killian’s shoulder and tell him that it’s fine and he doesn’t have to bring her along but his hand settles comfortably on her waist, just a bit lower than it would’ve if anyone could see and she decides she would rather scandalize Captain Nemo’s staff than spend the whole afternoon away from him.

“Of course, I would inform the captain.”

“Thank you,” Killian’s smile is perfectly polite and composed, contrasting strongly with the way his fingers squeeze her in silent promise.

*****

Astride one of Nemo’s beautiful golden mares, among the vivid greenery that makes her eyes shine even brighter, Emma looks the very picture of the goddess Artemis. The wide-eyed girl that asked him to pick a gun for her minutes ago is nowhere to be seen as she spurs her horse forward and grins widely at him as the wind ruffles the hair streaming from under her hat.

They race each other for a few minutes – laughing and disorderly like a pair of children let outside after a long punishment and their host dutifully takes on the role of the exasperated governing figure, trying to get them in line. Nemo might be an excellent shot but Killian likes to think that he is the better rider. That fact that his wife whispers something about him astride a horse – that she has no business even thinking while they’re outside and in company – doesn’t hurt his confidence either.

But it’s the sight of Emma later, trying to aim at the target he sets her, that makes this outside and in public exercise so damn difficult. The way she scrunches up her nose and pokes her tongue out as he adjusts her arm is simply precious but it’s the way she pulls her shoulders back and raises her head – her neck long and slender even under the scarf he made her wear, that makes him forget most of everything that isn’t related to the image of her astride him rather than the horse she sits on.

Inconvenient as it is at this precise moment, the sensation is absolutely exhilarating. For nearly two decades, Killian has had precious little interest in knowing a woman the way he is getting to know Emma. When the notion that she wanted more than just his name and protection first introduced itself to him, he thought long and hard exactly how well he could please her with such intimacy having become so foreign to him.

It’s only the last couple of months that have made him realize that there are more than just Emma’s desires simmering between them. With certain exceptions, where he was helpless to resists her attentions, he has done his best to focus on her needs and wants when taking her to bed. Being conscious of the risks of losing control and getting her with child also put a limit of sorts to his indulgence.

Now, with her expressed desire – her assurance – that it is a limit they should do away with, with the way she holds the reins in one hand and the gun he helped her select in the other, Killian finds his own yearning running wild beside their horses.

They haven’t actually shot at anything yet, which Killian is perfectly content with – he has always preferred meeting men in battle than hunting animals for sport, but Emma is doing well enough with her practicing shots and even better with handling her weapon with care so that he feels confident they won’t have an accident on their hands.

Nemo seems to agree, if he is willing to start joking about the matter.

“I used to know a man – a sour-faced fellow, don’t think I ever heard him laugh, even when he was well into his cups – who would never take any of his wives hunting.”

“How many did he have?” Emma turns back to the captain with interest and even Killian finds himself confused for a moment.

“Five, if I’m not missing any, which I very well might be. Practically every time I returned home there will be a new Mrs Gold at the neighbouring estate.”

“Oh, that gentleman,” Killian says, aware that his tone implies that he considered the man anything but a gentleman.

“Aye,” Nemo says but his grin falls away as he catches sight of what Killian presumes is now his own very sour face. “Ah, I forgot you had some… entanglement there.”

Killian can feel Emma’s curious gaze on the side of his face but he is surprised to find the dull but deep throb in his chest that used to accompany that particular “entanglement” almost completely absent. He turns to look at his wife with an ease that he doesn’t need to fake, when he can feel the air thicken with her interest and Nemo’s discomfort.

“A long time ago I was engaged to one of those many wives.”

He sees the moment the pieces connect in Emma’s mind and her eyes widen a little – it’s not surprise so much as a question and he is glad to be able to answer it with a reassuring half-smile.

“One of the luckier ones,” Nemo supplies, obviously having decided that Killian doesn’t mind the topic enough for him to drop his story. “She ran away.”

“What happened to the others?” Emma asks with a furrowed brow and Killian starts to doubt the entertaining factor of the tale.

“Two died in childbirth and Mrs Belle Gold is now a cheerful widow and still the mistress of Darkstone. The other one... Well…” Nemo clears his throat and seems to regret starting on this path as well. “It’s somewhat uncertain. It was reported as an accident but many believe the lady took her own life.”

“And you associated with that man?”

Killian can’t really blame Emma for the indignation in her voice but he comes to his friend’s defence. Even he and Liam found themselves in a hunting party with Mr Gold once.

“The man was a snake when it came to the way he acquired his lands and treated his tenants but he was cleared of all other suspicions.”

Emma doesn’t seem placated but she shakes her head and composes her expression.

“Well, from the little you’ve said I’m not surprised he wouldn’t allow his wives to hunt.”

“And why is that, Mrs Jones?” Nemo asks with some of his humour returning.

“Why, he obviously didn’t think it was their place. Probably fancied they wouldn’t know which way to hold a gun.”

She doesn’t say it scornfully and Killian remembers her own hesitance to request coming along just hours ago but there is a note of impatience in her tone nonetheless – an indignation that she might think unreasonable but feels regardless. By all means, Killian shouldn’t like that but he does. He silently marks the occasion for the next time she asks him how anyone could think her intimidating.

Nemo just grins widely.

“Quite the opposite. He was afraid they would know just which way to hold it and turn it on him.”

“Oh.”

“Load of good that did him.”

Emma tilts her head in obvious confusion.

“He got mauled by a bear,” Nemo says breezily and seems almost amused by the way Emma’s eyes widen and her hand flies to her mouth.

“My God.”

“Are you trying to scare my wife, old man?”

“Not at all, you know there aren’t any bears for miles. Just keeping her entertained.”

Killian shakes his head and urges his horse between Emma and Nemo’s, catching her eyes and trying to bring some levity back into the day.

“You should be very flattered, love, tis not one or two men who would rather avoid arming their wives and riding into the dark forest with them.”

She continues the stare at him for a couple of seconds before her eyes roll toward the grey sky above them and she huffs.

“My, I must be doing something terribly wrong, if you think I want you dead.”

Killian urges his horse as close to hers as possible and leans over to speak directly into her ear.

“I gave you the best gun, didn’t I?”

*****

Her head connects with the door with a solid sound.

“Forgive me, love,” he mumbles into her hair but continues worrying a sizeable mark behind her ear as his hand tries to rid her of her hunting jacket.

“I’m not sure I could, if you stop.”

Killian groans and drops his own forehead to the wood above her shoulder even as his hips press harder into her through the much less layered gown that she was riding in. He bends his knees so he can get his hand under it.

He has been dying to have her since she swung her leg over her horse but is pleasantly surprised to find Emma as wet as he is hard.

“Don’t, I’m almost—“

He pushes two of his fingers inside her with ease and the only reason he hears the noise she makes is that she buries it in his face as she bites at his jaw and her hands slip down his back and below his breeches with startling speed. He teases her for a moment and is just about to pull his hand away and rid them both of their clothes when there is knock on the door they are still very intimately pressed against.

“Mrs Jones? Your bath is ready.”

He doesn’t have a hand with which to catch her head before it hits the door again.

“Mrs Jones?”

Thankfully her groan of frustration is silent, though he can feel the hum of it over her whole skin.

“Bloody hell. Tell her you’ll go to supper dirty.”

“Killian,” she hisses and then calls out that she will be there in a minute.

He can’t do what he planned to in a minute but he still manages to do something in five.

*****

In hindsight, Emma should have realized that Captain Nemo wouldn’t bring up a man that both he and Killian clearly disliked for no reason at all, she just never could’ve imagined that the reason would be Mrs Belle Gold’s presence at dinner that night. So Emma is going to choose surprise as justification for the tightness in her chest as she watches Mrs Gold beam at her husband.

The fact that Killian calls her “Belle” instead of “Mrs Gold” doesn’t escape her attention. The justification here is that he obviously held less than amiable feelings towards Gold and Mrs Gold was once upon a time a woman that he hoped would be Mrs Jones instead. That train of thought doesn’t reach nearly as reassuring of a destination as she hoped it would.

The fact that Belle looks absolutely resplendent in her golden gown as Captain Nemo helpfully points out also doesn’t escape her attention. No justification is needed. It is simply the truth.

Belle’s impeccable manners, her shining hair and perfect hourglass shape, her bright and clever eyes and the way she has a masterfully-worded opinion on every topic that Nemo introduces also makes an impression. On everyone in the room, she is sure.

It is her own silence and the frequency with which Emma lifts her wineglass to her lips to avoid the awkwardness of just sitting there that does escape her attention.

“Are you alright, love? You were very quiet through dinner.”

She allows Killian to take her arm and lead her into the drawing-room, leaning into him both to reassure herself of his presence beside her and to counteract the effects of the wine.

“Just tired.”

It’s not a lie but it also fails to mention that, unlike the previous night, Killian didn’t try to draw her into the conversation earlier, seeming perfectly content to sit back and admire Belle’s knowledge of books and architecture and the Fairy Islands apparently.

When glasses of Captain Nemo’s “above mediocre” whiskey – she supposes this was brought out in honour of Mrs Gold and cringes only a little at how bitter the thought is – are passed around, Emma knows she should refuse, a proper lady would refuse. A proper lady would excuse herself at the pretext of being exhausted after the hunt and retire for the night so nobody notices that she is already less than perfectly sober. No, no, a proper lady would never be anything but perfectly sober in the first place. Mary Margaret would never be anything but perfectly sober. Elsa might indulge herself but never in public.

The thought makes her throat feel tighter still and she takes a glass.

At some point she thinks she notices Killian’s confused and concerned eyes on her but what she certainly notices is the way Mrs Gold pulls him to the side when Captain Nemo somehow manages to engage Emma in conversation. She is not entirely certain what they are conversing about. Piano playing, she believes. She doesn’t play, of course, but she is certain that Mrs Gold does so beautifully – Mrs Gold whose hand is definitely on Killian’s arm and has been for a while now. Captain Nemo readily agrees and begs the woman in question to regale them with a performance. For a moment, Emma thinks she might be sick.

But the moment after that, Killian is kneeling by her chair.

“Emma? Would you like to retire for the night?”

Belle is playing and Captain Nemo looks for all the world like he has never heard anything better. She plays marvelously, of course. Emma doesn’t know what she is saying as she lurches to her feet.

“Yes, of course, I don’t want to be in the way.”

“You’re not—“

She thinks Killian was trying to take her hand but she starts moving toward the door before he can do so. She hears him making excuses behind her – she forgot to take leave of their host and his guest. Of course, she did.

When Killian catches up to her and sets his hand on the small of her back, she can’t make herself pull away.

“You don’t have to see me to my room.”

“I’m not seeing you to your room, love, I’m coming up with you.”

She turns on her heel and loses her balance a little. Killian’s left arm wraps around her waist and her chest is suddenly pressed to his. She looks down at herself. She doesn’t like the cut of the dress she is wearing, she doesn’t know why on earth she put it on. Likely because she liked it just fine before she came down to dinner and met the “resplendent” Mrs Gold.

“You don’t have to do that. You were enjoying yourself. Go back.”

“Emma,” Killian’s fingers settle under her chin and urge her head up. “I always had in mind for us to retire early. For a number of reasons. But now I have a slightly more pressing concern, namely the fact that you most certainly did not enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, you noticed that?”

Killian reels back as if she’d slapped him and his hand falls away from her face as she feels her features crumple.

“I’m sorry, I—“

It surges up from the back of her mind – the knowledge that Killian hasn’t done anything wrong, that he would never do anything to hurt or shame her. It’s not his fault that women smile at him in a way that she doesn’t like, or that they are more beautiful and more accomplished than her.

“No, I’m sorry,” Killian swallows and she feels the overwhelming urge to slap her hand over his mouth, to stop him from saying whatever it is he is about to say. “I got carried away in—“

He looks around, realizing that they are still in the hallway, the fact had escaped Emma’s attention as well.

“Please, let’s go upstairs.”

She nods and lets him lead her to their room, her body feeling a bit numb even as her head is buzzing incessantly. The sudden instability of the world around her is making it very hard for her to steel herself for whatever Killian has to say, still she tries to remind herself that she should not be angry or upset about anything that might have transpired before they were wed. Perhaps even— No, no, she doesn’t believe that and it’s not—

“Emma. Drink this.”

She blinks, surprised to find herself sitting on the edge of their bed. Killian is kneeling in front of her again and urging her to take a glass of water – the fire behind him makes his hair seem darker than usual but his eyes look older, troubled. The cool liquid makes her realize how thirsty she was.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“A little dizzy.”

“Have you ever been drunk before?”

The question is not accusatory but Emma finds herself blinking back tears suddenly.

“No,” her voice sounds small and choked and in the next second Killian is sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s alright. It will pass. You’ll get some rest and it will pass.”

She slips her arms around his waist and squeezes him hard, Killian just runs his hand up and down her back for a few moments, whispering words she can’t quite comprehend in her ear and Emma thinks she would’ve fallen asleep if the darkness didn’t swirl around every time she closed her eyes.

“Let’s get you into bed, alright?” Killian pulls back and moves around her and she feels him start working on the laces of her corset.

She lets him work in silence for a few minutes, while he loosens her corset and helps her out of her dress and takes off her shoes and her stockings. It’s when his hand slips into her hair – only half a dozen pins holding a few strands together while the rest of it she left down – that she feels something inside her pull and release. She turns in his arms and slips her hands into his hair, pulling him closer and slipping her tongue inside his mouth without preamble.

He is hers, he is in her bed, he is taking her clothes off, he is— pulling away.

“Stop. Emma, stop.”

It takes her longer than it should to peel her eyes open – his lips are very pink and kiss-swollen and she tries to capture them again but Killian pulls back and that’s when she realizes he is holding both of her hands in his own large one. He is holding her away from him.

“W-what?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Let’s just go to sleep and—“

“Why not?”

Her voice is a mix of angry confusion and something heartbreaking and the look on Killian’s face tells her he hears it too.

“Emma. Emma, I love you very much, but I’m not going to bed you when you are drunk.”

“I want you to!”

“No.”

“Why?!”

His brows furrow and the heartbreaking bit is in his eyes now. He sets her hands on her lap and gets off the bed, glancing at the door in hesitation. That gets through the haze in her head.

“Oh.”

Killian turns to her and she watches his shoulders relax at the realization on her face.

“I’m sorry.”

The moment she says it she feels something around her heart break off and she falls forward on the bed, burying her face in her hands as she cries. When she feels his arms around her again, she just shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, love. It’s alright, we’re alright.”

This time she lets him soothe her and undress her completely, slipping her nightgown on and tucking her into bed. She doesn’t try to kiss him again but she doesn’t let go of him either and, thankfully, Killian seems fine with that. She also can’t seem to stop saying how sorry she is – he is less fine with that but she is still mumbling apologies as she falls asleep in his arms.

*****

She wakes up feeling like she has slept the day away but it’s hard to tell with the curtains pulled closed. There is light, sneaking between the petals on the fabric but she can’t tell if it’s morning light or early afternoon. She is warm, can hear the crackling of the fire that is keeping the room at a temperature that makes the two blankets she is under too much, and her head feels fine but she is uncertain if that will still be the case once she lifts it from the pillow.

When she does, her eyes immediately land on Killian, sitting on the rug before the fire and using the perfectly comfortable armchair behind him as a backrest. Part of her feels guilty that he has stayed to watch over her but most of her is just glad that he is here.

She takes a moment to recall the night before and swallow her shame.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends,” her voice is rough and the words catch in her throat but they are audible enough that his head shoots up.

He gets up with a little grunt, rubbing at his knee, and goes to the table by the window. There is a tray of food but he just fills a glass of water from the decanter and Emma sits up, leaning against the headboard as he brings it to her. She drinks the whole thing and when she hands it back, he presses a kiss to her forehead that makes her squeeze her eyes shut.

“You didn’t embarrass me in front of anybody.”

“Of course, I did.”

“No. And I’d hoped you wouldn’t wake up just to keep apologizing.”

Killian sets the glass on the floor and settles on top of the covers, wrapping his left arm around her legs.

“I’m the one who should apologize.”

Emma frowns and goes to shake her head and that is certainly not her brightest idea. She feels Killian reach up to cup her cheek, stall the movement and comb her hair behind her ear before he drops his hand to take one of hers.

“I was so focused on my ridiculous ideas that I realized you were having a miserable time much too late.”

“I wasn’t—“ his look makes her swallow the lie. “I was just…”

She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand, she means to look into his eyes but that seems to be asking too much of herself so she addresses her question to his fingers.

“When were you— were you… together?”

“Pardon?”

She looks up and down again, catching a glimpse of Killian’s confused look.

“You and Belle.”

“Me and… Belle? Emma, why would you— Of course not. She was married when we— but that’s no matter, I’ve never— love, I am under the impression that Nemo has set his sights on the lass and, knowing them both, decided to promote the match.“

“Oh,” things shift and rearrange themselves in her head. “Oh.”

“Bloody hell, did you think—“

“Not now,” she says helplessly, the only accusation she is innocent of. “Just… she is very— she is quite lovely and you seemed very close and…”

“Christ.”

Killian lets go of her hand, wracking his fingers through his hair before he leans forward, his mouth stopping a breath away from hers.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

She’d laugh but her throat is rough and she still might cry and that will only waste time that he could be kissing her.

“Of course.”

His lips are gentle at first but then his hand wraps around the back of her neck and his tongue finds hers and that’s better. The idea that he is anything but hers seems preposterous when he is kissing her like this. Still her hands remain in her lap, her eyes half-open, and she doesn’t feel like she deserves to have him in this moment. But Killian kisses her long and thorough, his fingers digging into her neck where at least half of all the tension inside her body seems to have gathered.

“Emma,” he pulls back, kisses her shoulder and looks up – something almost indignant in his eyes. “How could you think I’d want anyone else when I have you?”

“I…“ she groans and finally lets herself reach for him, her nails digging into his forearms even through his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, stop saying that.”

“I—“ she swallows the apology and laughs mirthlessly at herself.

“I’ve never even looked at Belle that way,” he says earnestly and she tries to avert her eyes, ashamed that he has to say it at all but Killian presses his forehead to hers and it’s hard to hide behind the single strand of hair trapped between them. “No, sod Belle, I’ve never— Emma, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”

She feels her next breath cut short at that.

“Not even—“ she swallows the question quickly, chides herself for continuing to interrogate him when—

“Not even then,” Killian says calmly and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t. Don’t do that, love. I— I want you to know that. I want you to know I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you.”

It should be impossible for one sentence to fill and pierce her heart at the same time.

“I trust you too,” she means it with her whole being but the words come out more as a plea than a statement. “I swear, my heart, I—“

“I know. I know you do, love.”

“Can I say I’m sorry again?”

“No.”

“No?”

He kisses the tip of her nose and shakes his head.

“I love you,” she says instead.

“I know that as well,” he grins and she pinches his side, feeling the fog start to clear from her head as his face grows serious again and his knuckles stroke her cheek. “And I hope you know I wouldn’t love you more, if you played the piano brilliantly, and I wouldn’t love you less, if you couldn’t so much as get on a horse.”

Air rushes into her lungs much too fast and Emma is not surprised that he understands something she doesn’t even want to explain. She is also not surprised this is the moment she loses the battle with her tears.

“I don’t want you to ever doubt that, Emma.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” he says simply, honestly, and it just creates more tears for him to wipe away.

“It’s not your fault.”

It’s the most she can give him in this moment, little as it is – that the wreckage he is trying to salvage is not of his own making and he has just been doing so well that even she forgot how absolutely demolished some parts are.

Killian doesn’t seem terribly surprised, he doesn’t seem uncomfortable or disappointed, his eyes are full of love and sadness that make them seem even deeper than usual. He looks thoughtful for a moment, his head tilted to the side and studying her as his hand continues to comb her hair and wipe her cheeks.

“It’s like your drawings.”

“My drawings?”

He ducks his head for a moment but when he looks back at her, she feels like he’s pulled back the curtains and let the sun fully inside.

“Aye. The ones you leave everywhere at home.”

“Oh. I thought Mrs Lucas threw those away.”

“No. I have them.”

“You have them?” she can’t hide her surprise or the little hitch in her breathing, in her heart.

“Aye, I have them all. I love them all. And yet… it doesn’t matter if there will be one more or one less, all that— all that matters is that they are yours.”

She swallows heavily and feels her heart beat hard against her chest, trying to get to him. The knowledge that he loves her is still the most wonderful and overwhelming thing she has ever experienced, acquiring an understanding of why and how he loves her feels – much like him – like more than she deserves, and yet, she cannot help but listen and look at him and realize that nothing else could quite soothe her soul like this.

“What I’m trying to say – very badly,” he chuckles and she shakes her head, slips her hand up his side, caressing the scars there. “It’s that… there are a hundred things I love about you, Emma. I love each of them and yet, in the end, none of them truly matter. Only you matter. The entirety of you.”

She feels her mouth open a little but no sound comes out – she is unsure if she will ever be able to produce another sound that isn’t her soul sighing and her heart beating for Killian Jones and for him alone.

“Does that sound completely mad?” he chuckles again and it’s soft and nervous and this time she slips both arms around him and pulls until he is close enough to feel the heart that she has given him.

“No. I understand perfectly.”

He looks at her for a moment before his face breaks into the most beautiful smile – he presses it into her lips and she takes it happily.

*****

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sevdrag · 6 years

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dreamwidth update: Mobile Game Monday, on Tuesday

yyyyep, that's right, it's time for Mobile Game Mondays, that weekly series that doesn't know what day it is and doesn't quite care!

[FFBE] In Pulls: the 5% 5* draw has been acting up; I have scored myself Dark Knight Cecil, Elfreeda, and Awakened Rain! I am stoked for A-Rain, as he is supposed to be an amazing magic tank (I do have Mystea, who is grand, but supposedly A-Rain is better?). Elfreeda seems to be a TM generator rather than incredibly useful, although I'll still level her for funsies; DK Cecil is disliked on the Reddit, but if nothing else, he'll be grand for expeditions. I'm still considering pulls for Squall/Rinoa, and I have 3 days left, but I may end up accepting status quo and saving up some tickets again. I have like, 7. In Leveling: I awakened Wilhelm to 7*, and he's so pretty. NEED to run him in something boss for fun. Maxed A-Rain out immediately; working on Elfreeda and DKC. I'm still using all LB pots I get on HT Lid's Limit Break, but from there it will probably go to either A-Rain or Hot Dad Raegen. Considering taking Orlandeau or Lightning to 7*, but I'll probably wait a bit on that. In TMs: I finally got Frye's sword TM and Vanille's accessory TM, so I sit with my DW Fryevia at 585/899 ATK/MAG at the moment and still building. So pretty. Onion Knight has not dropped his TM yet because he is a dick and I hate him. Trying to get one of the Orochi's 40% ATK TMs now, along with Crowe; probably will focus on A-Rain after that. Have to figure out who else to add once OK gets his lazy ass off the team; I may try to work on TMs for some of the folks I am planning to 7* when they arrive. In Game: Still farming the MK VIII event; need a couple more things from it, and then I'll do the story event. After that I need to spend some extra time getting through plot Ch 2 before September!

[FFRK] I've taken a break from Magicites to wrap up all the Jump Starts (that dungeon ends tomorrow? evening? i think?) that I haven't done before they go away. Looks like I have 11 left to do so I'm gonna have to devote some time tonight XD. There are a ton of motes lying there are rewards, and (unlike fucking Torments) I actually enjoy the JS setup and strategy, so they're at least entertaining me as I plug on through. Haven't pulled on anything in a while, so I pulled on the XII banner; got a literal 1/11 dupe Ashe BSB. At least it's a shiny 7* now. Butts. That's never fun. I still have to do the August Crystal Tower, too. I'll get back to the 4* Magicites soon, but I'm going to try a different one. Realized today I have a pretty good Water team that might be a better place to start (also considering a pull on the Water banner because a Water Chain to top it off would be a definite win), or even a Fire team. I've temporarily lost the interest in a lot of this game, so I'd like to get myself hyped up on the next level of challenge, so that I can get back into enjoying it.

[LN] Working on the Ch13 suit (Magician of the Wild) to proceed in the story, and catching up in Princess too. The new event suits are cute, but it's just a roulette gatcha, so I'm not sure how much I'll spend diamonds on it. I'm still low on diamonds from whatever last crap I spent them on, lol. Focusing on farming the suit and getting through story again XD

how about y'all? what's having fun on your phone?

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#crossposted #dreamwidth

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sadrien · 7 years

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tangled ribbons, ch13: reverance

on Ao3 | on ffnet

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Wow. Ok, so, here we are. Before we start, a few things:

(this note is super super long so the full thing is on ao3!!!)

THIS is the inspiration for Mari’s solo. It’s more contemporary than I imagine but it gave me a jumping off point. THIS isn’t the inspiration for Adrien’s because I didn’t have one but it’s really amazing. THIS I’ve linked several times and again I had no real inspiration for the duet but I used this for a few reference points

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented and reblogged and left kudos! Thank you to everyone who created something for this fic because every time I saw anything in this tag I cried for hours. Thank you to readers who have been here since the beginning, who joined along the way, who jumped on now, and who will read in the future <3

Thank you to the @ml-network and @mlfanfiction for your endless support. For being such fantastic friends and providing me with so many laughs and so so much love. Thank you to @matchaball for listening to me ramble and for giving me your lovely thoughts. Thank you to @ladriened and @reyxa for promising to cry with me. Thank you Rey for inadvertently giving me this deadline. <3 Sorry it’s not a coffeeshop au, but I did my best. Happy birthday!! Thank you again to @zoenightstars, @chassecroise, @adastrabella, and @chatstronaut for being with me since the beginning.

And finally, thank you to @gabzilla-z. Thank you for inspiring me with your art because and thank you for supporting this fic <3 Without you, we wouldn’t be here

I hope you all enjoy~

Marinette carefully makes her way through the class of younger dancers who are milling about in the lobby while waiting for their costumes. One of the girls gasps, her eyes sparkling.

“You’re so pretty!” she coos, clapping her hands together.

Marinette thanks her and can barely keep the smile off her face as everyone else starts chiming in. Marinette turns pink as she ducks inside the studio, leaving the group to talk loudly and excitedly about their own costumes.

“Finally fight your way through your adoring fans?” Adrien jokes as he chaînés out of a turn. He spins to face Marinette and his eyes go wide in surprise.

Marinette bites her lip and glances to the mirror. She twists to see the back of the bodice, her heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of her chest.

“Do you like it?” Adrien asks. He walks over to her with a soft smile on his face.

Marinette laughs breathlessly. “Promise not to judge me if I just scream?”

“No judgement,” he promises. “How does it fit?”

She forces herself to focus on the feel of the costume. She twists left and right before doing port de bras forward and backward. She throws a quick double and then relaxes as much as possible. “I think that the bodice probably needs to be just a little bit more snug. But other than that, it fits really well.” Tiny alterations, nothing more. She could do them herself, but she has a feeling that the costume director would rather handle them. “You?”

Adrien studies himself in the mirror. “Honestly, the pants are a nice change. I’m kind tired of wearing white tights. And I’m always afraid that I’m going to ruin them.”

Marinette laughs. She moves back and forth so the skirt twists around her legs. “This might be the nicest thing I’ve ever worn,” she murmurs.

“You make everything look nice,” Adrien says honestly.

She feels her cheeks grow warm as she meets his eyes in the mirror. She pulls away her gaze to look at their costumes together, not thinking about what he just said. She appreciates that Tikki — and Plagg, but mostly Tikki — chose less lavish costumes for the duet. Marinette adores her costume for the production, a deep red traditional tutu with intricate designs and embroidery that reminds her vaguely of her own ladybug tutu, but she can’t help but love the simplicity of these costumes just as much. A simple white satin bodice with embroidered pink flowers and a thin skirt made of silky light pink fabric that reaches just below her knees. The flowers continue down the skirt getting darker and darker in color. Adrien’s shirt is light teal with loose sleeves that come together at the wrists and has stitching done in different shades of blues and greens.

They look like they belong together.

The thought makes her cheeks turn pinker. Anyway.

“Think it fits well enough for a test run?” Adrien asks. “Tikki and Plagg won’t be back for at least twenty minutes. They’re helping Nooroo and Trixx with the costumes for all of the younger groups.”

Marinette brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “You say twenty minutes, I say four years. Have you ever worked with a large group of thirteen year olds?”

“Uh…”

“Exactly,” she says. “They are never getting out of there.”

Adrien shrugs. “More time to ourselves then.”

Marinette yanks her mind out of the gutter as Adrien moves over to the stereos to turn on the music. She adjusts the placement of the skirt on her hips, trying to find the same spot were the costume director had told her her other tutus should rest.

She frowns as the music plays through the speakers. “This…is not our music.” She swears she’s heard this song somewhere before, but certainly not well enough to know why Adrien would choose it.

He smiles playfully and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “No, it’s not. But like you said, we have time.” He pulls her into closed position and starts waltzing her around the room. “Dancing through life,” he sings along softly, “skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth—”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Okay, I get it now.”

Adrien raises his eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t know this song?”

She shrugs. “I’ve heard it before?”

He stops spinning them. “I can’t believe you don’t know Wicked. I feel like we can’t be friends anymore.”

Marinette snorts. “Really?”

“Really. The duet is cancelled.”

“Are you saying I need to give back the costume?” she asks. “Because I really don’t want to.”

Adrien gives her a once over. “Duet is momentarily postponed,” he decides. “Because I can’t believe you don’t know Wicked.”

“I know Wicked!” Marinette protests. “I know some of Wicked.”

“Defying Gravity doesn’t count.”

“…I don’t know Wicked.”

He laughs lightly. “I know you don’t. I’ll have to bring you to see it sometime, then you’ll know it.”

“R-really?” she asks. That’s not just going out to coffee, that’s more. That’s a lot of money. That’s—

Adrien smiles. “It’s a date.”

Marinette’s breath catches in her throat as Adrien pulls them back into a waltz. She wonders if he realizes that he’s casually planned multiple dates for after this summer intensive is over. She wonders if he considers them actual dates. She wonders if it’s weird that she’s keeping count. He’s at six.

“You’re a nerd,” she says instead.

“For the time being, I’m your nerd,” Adrien says.

Marinette wishes she could get rid of the first part of that sentence.

Marinette hums in agreement whenever Alya pauses to breathe. She’s not exactly sure what Alya is ranting about at this exact moment, she’s trying to figure out the best way to get her ballet bun exactly where it needs to be. It’s been slipping in class after lots of turning and she needs it to not do that during the performance.

“…how I grew a ears and tail.”

Marinette frowns. “Excuse me?” she asks through a mouthful of bobby pins.

Alya raises her eyebrows. “I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

Marinette spits the bobby pins out on the counter. “I am paying attention.”

Alya scoffs. “Sure you are. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Marinette insists. “I’m just…distracted.”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows. “By a certain someone?”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “By my hair.” She thinks about Adrien a lot but he doesn’t take up all of her thoughts.

“Oh. Well…that’s less fun. Are you sure you’re not a little bit distracted by him?”

“Shut up,” Marinette mutters. “You know I am, you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

Alya snorts. “At least you’ve made progress. Let me tell you, for like the first half of the summer I actually wanted to scream. Like come on at least get his phone number.”

“Why are you so invested in my love life?”

“Because it’s more entertaining than most forms of media. And also because if I wasn’t so invested you wouldn’t even have Adrien’s number. I got that for you.”

Marinette examines her hair in the mirror. This might work. “I’m sure I would’ve been fine without your help.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Speaking of the bae—”

“He’s not my bae—”

“Not yet. I was just going to ask if he’s back yet or if he’s dancing himself into the ground in the studio.”

“He has additional solo work today with Plagg.”

“Aw it’s so sweet how you know each other’s schedules.”

Marinette takes a step away from the counter and does a single pirouette in the cramped space. Her hair feels fairly solid, but she’ll need to test it out in an actual studio space to be sure. “Of course I know his schedule,” she says. “We live together, it’s hard not to.”

“You’re so married,” Alya coos.

Marinette feels her face grow hot. “Shut up,” she mumbles, gathering up the bobby pins scattered around the sink.

“You so wish you were, though.”

“You remember that we’re teenagers, right?” Marinette asks.

Alya sighs dramatically. Marinette looks to the screen to see her resting in her chin in her hands. “You can be teenagers and still be hopelessly in love.” Alya raises an eyebrow.

“I kind of hate having you as a friend.”

“I know you do.” Alya blows a kiss at the screen. “And as much as I’d love to continue this truly thrilling one sided conversation—” Marinette rolls her eyes. “—I’ve got a shift in ten minutes and school debts that I have to start thinking about.”

Marinette groans. “Please don’t remind me of that.”

“Too late darling,” Alya singsongs. “We’re best friends, we’re stuck in this mess together. We suffer through this together.”

“Well that’s unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it. Text you later?”

Marinette hums in agreement as she starts tugging bobby pins from her hair.

“Let me know when the marshmallow gets home from practice, yeah?”

“Of course.” Marinette makes a face as she yanks out the hair elastics. “It’ll probably be pretty soon. He’s been gone for a while.”

“You dancers and your lack of chill,” Alya teases. “Love you lots, bye!”

“Bye!” Marinette shuts her laptop once Alya’s ended the call. She undoes the rest of her hair and dumps her hair stuff into her bag. She can organize it later, right now she’s just sort of wiped.

She curls up in the desk chair with her laptop once she’s put away all her dance stuff for tomorrow and has changed into pajamas. It’s not even that late, but there’s no way she’s leaving the room tonight. She finds a random movie on Netflix and plugs in her headphones, letting the movie fade to simple background noise as she doodles mindlessly in her sketchbook. Tonight, her sketches are less about the designs and more about the people, which is a rare event. She draws swooping arms and twisting bodies and movement fills the page. Marinette has never really been one for anatomy. Fashion sketches don’t require that type of precision and usually are inaccurate to actual proportions and body structure. It’s more about the clothes than the anatomy.

Marinette finds herself drawing motion, flowing from one person to the next, the designs dancing off the page.

She groans and puts her head down on the desk.

The sketches might look brilliant in the morning, but she needs a few hours away from dance. With the showcase only three days away, her mind has become consumed entirely by dance. She can’t get the instrumental music out of her head or her feet to do any other steps. She finds herself doing balancés down the hallway more often than usual and piques her way around empty rooms. She drags her steps into tendus and falls into tombés. She pas de bourrees when she can’t stay still and found herself doing the footwork for her solo when standing in line at Starbucks.

Adrien had given her an amused smile, dragging his toe in a small rond de jambe.

Marinette sighs and lifts her head from the desk. She’s going to miss this. The Starbucks runs and the crammed schedule. Late nights and pillow forts and Disney movies. Rose’s laugh when she finally perfects a combination and the way Nathanael lights up whenever he nails a turn. And Adrien. What won’t she miss about Adrien?

She turns her attention to the movie. She’s not entirely sure what’s happening. Something dramatic. Probably cheesy and cliche and romantic. Something Adrien would love.

Marinette misses home, but she’s going to miss this just as much.

Just as she’s getting invested in the characters, she swears they’re going to kiss as soon as they’re standing close enough together, the door swings open. She lifts her head from her knee to see Adrien standing in the doorway looking completely exhausted and worn down. She hits the spacebar to pause the movie and tugs out an earbud.

“Good rehearsal?” she asks.

Adrien drops his bag on the ground and leans against the door to close it. “I hate Plagg,” he murmurs. He runs a hand through his hair, immediately make a face of disgust. “Oh god.” His hair sticks up in all directions and Marinette knows the feeling of finishing a rehearsal and just feeling like a gross sweat rag.

She motions to the bathroom. “Shower. I can order food. Same as usual?”

“Please. Pajamas already?”

Marinette shrugs. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, that’s relatable.” Adrien pulls at his shirt and makes a face. “I’m going to join you.” He grabs his clothes and disappears into the bathroom.

Marinette hears the shower turn on and spins lazily in the desk chair as she orders food for them. She’s not exactly sure how she picked up Adrien’s order, she thinks she just heard it enough times to know it. Once she’s finished, she goes back to her movie because, frankly, she’s far more invested in it than she should be and she just really needs to know the outcome.

Once the food is ordered, she goes back to the movie. The characters kiss, finally, with swooping music and dramatic lighting and everything about it is perfect and romantic, from the clothing to the location to the actors’ hair. She was right, Adrien would love this movie and all its overdramatic goodness.

Marinette is scrolling through Netflix — she suddenly has an awful lot of recommended movies of a similar caliber to the one she just watched — when the food arrives. She pays quickly and puts Adrien’s food on his bed, returning to the desk. She eats slowly as she watches, amazed by the pure predictableness of the movie she’s chosen. She doesn’t really know why she chose it. The title was bland and she had the “plot twist” figured out as soon as she read the description but here she is, half invested in another bad movie.

How has this become her life?

A few minutes later, Adrien emerges from the bathroom, hair damp and still sticking up in all directions. He grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them on. “I’ll pay you back later,” he promises as he gets his own laptop and sits on the bed to eat.

Marinette waves him away. “It’s fine, I’ve got this one.”

“You sure?”

She nods. “Positive. You buy Starbucks all the time anyway.”

“If you’re totally sure.”

“I am.” To prove her point, and end the conversation, Marinette turns back to her movie.

She hears Adrien say ‘thank you’ over the fairly cliché dialogue and can’t help but smile.

—«·»—

“Hey, Mar?” Adrien asks suddenly.

She pulls out one of her earbuds, eyes trained on the action on her screen. “Yeah?”

“What do you think would happen if I bathed in Icy Hot?” he muses.

Marinette snorts and takes out the other earbud, pausing the movie. “You’d probably smell like mint for the rest of time. And it’d burn in places you do not want it to burn.”

He hums thoughtfully.

She narrows her eyes and glances over her shoulder to look at him suspiciously. “…why?”

“I’m not going to do it,” he promises. “I was just thinking about what I could do with all this Icy Hot. Since I have more than enough to last a lifetime.” He drops the Icy Hot he’s holding onto his bed, where it joins eight other tubes of Icy Hot.

Marinette stares at the pile of Icy Hot. She did not realize he had so much. “Nathalie?” she asks after a moment.

Adrien nods. “I can’t tell if she thinks I get injured more than I do or if she just doesn’t realize how little Icy Hot you need for like…your entire back.”

Marinette shoves away from the desk and spins the chair so she’s facing Adrien. She takes one of tubes. “I’m almost out.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but how long have you had that one thing of Icy Hot.”

Marinette taps the tube against her chin. “Maybe a year?”

Adrien gestures to all of the Icy Hot in front of him. “Exactly!”

“I think Nathalie just likes to be prepared,” Marinette says as she spins away to hide a smile. When she’d been getting ready to leave for the summer, her parents had gone overboard with buying things she might need. It was just how they showed her how much they were going to miss her and worry about her while she was gone. She tosses the Icy Hot onto her bag on the floor. “I’m sure someone in the studio needs Icy Hot, I’m sure if you asked around you could get rid of it all in seconds.”

“Nathalie likes to over prepare,” Adrien corrects.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

He looks down at his mountain of Icy Hot thoughtfully. “No, not really,” he murmurs.

“We can bring it to class tomorrow,” Marinette says. She wraps her earbuds around her finger. “It’ll be gone in the blink of an eye.”

Adrien gathers up the Icy Hots in his arms and dumps them into his bag. “Sounds like a plan,” he says with a smile. “Maybe I can pawn most of them off to Nathanael without him realizing.”

“If you just stuff them in his big when he isn’t looking. you might actually get away with it.”

“Christmas comes early.” He flops back on his bed.

“Icy Hot as the new stocking stuffer,” Marinette muses. “I don’t think it’s going to be replacing oranges any time soon.”

Adrien shrugs. “I tried my best. What are you doing, anyway?”

She glances to her computer. “Watching mediocre romcoms on Netflix.”

“Sounds like something I’d like.”

She smiles. “Probably. It’s all gross and emotional.”

Adrien gasps. “Hey! I am the perfect amount of gross and emotional.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Did you want to join me?”

“Not particularly,” Adrien admits. “You just seem…tense.”

Marinette stops playing with her earbuds. She had nearly forgotten all the fidgeting she was doing while watching. The movies were distracting enough, but she had needed to do something with her hands. She drops her earbuds into her lap. “Just a little stressed.”

Adrien scoots over and pats the bed next to him.

“Are we having a therapy session?” Marinette asks as she closes her laptop and gets up to join him.

“Only if you want to.” He opens his arms and she sighs before leaning into them, resting her head on his shoulder. He wraps her in a loose hug. “Is it the showcase?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ll be fine,” Adrien promises. “Besides, we’ve still got two days of rehearsal. That’s plenty of time to clean anything you think needs to be better.”

“Saturday’s really close,” Marinette murmurs.

“Yeah, but we’ve been training non stop for almost ten weeks.” He runs his hand over her hair. “We can’t get much better than we already are. It’s like a test. You know what you know, cramming the night before isn’t going to help much.”

She closes her eyes. “I guess you’re right.” She sinks into his embrace. “It doesn’t exactly feel real yet.”

Adrien hums softly. “I get that. When do you think it might feel real?”

“Ten minutes before?” she offers.

He snorts. “That sounds like it’s pushing it.”

“I like to live life on the edge,” Marinette deadpans.

Adrien shifts and she can feel his nose pressing against her hair. She wonders if his mind is taking frantic notes of how they’re sitting, how they’re touching, how they’re breathing. She’s noting everything about this that she can— it’s going to be gone so soon.

Marinette’s not going to think about that.

She sighs and pulls away from Adrien just a little so she can see his face. “What do you want to do tonight?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Honestly, I was going to binge Disney channel movies.”

Marinette nods and scoots over to make herself more comfortable on the bed. “That sounds perfect to me.”

Marinette braces herself as she spins en pointe on the smooth, gray Marley floors. It’s been weeks since she danced on Marley and she’s forgotten the feeling.

She arches back and falls down from pointe with ease, gliding back to hide among the back row of dancers while a different row takes the front of the stage.

The theater the showcase will be held in is gorgeous. The large chandelier and the intricate designs along the walls of the stage make Marinette feel like she’s in a fairy tale. She can feel the music in her bones more than she could in the studio and it seems like ages since she’s had real stage lights on her, hot and blinding.

She ducks into the wings once the song has ended and Nooroo has given critiques, mostly about the spacing. She weaves through the dancers squeezed backstage and makes her way to the dressing rooms. The youngest dancers share large rooms, but as one of the eldest, Marinette has one of the small, offstage rooms. She only has to share with Rose, Sabrina, Aurore, and Chloé.

They’re dealing with that as well as they can. And by dealing, she means that her and Chloé aren’t speaking. In turn, Marinette and Sabrina aren’t speaking. Aurore is staying out of it and not speaking in general and Rose is being her sweetheart self and trying to fix it.

The most interaction Marinette and Chloé have had is when Chloé raised a judgemental eyebrow at Marinette’s solo costume. Yes, it’s much more simple than Chloé’s elaborate and sparkling costume, but Marinette thinks it fits the dance and she likes dancing in it. It’s just a white romantic tutu that falls just below her knees and a top that’s really nothing more than a white sports bra, but Marinette wouldn’t have anything else.

Marinette meets Chloé’s eyes in the mirror when Chloé enters the dressing room. Chloé scrunches up her nose and looks away while Marinette rolls her eyes and focuses on taking out her hair piece.

If they can survive this dress rehearsal, they can survive the performance.

Marinette gasps, arms shaking as she struggles to hold the last pose. The gentle notes of the next song on her playlist start up and it takes all the energy she has left in her not to collapse to the ground in a quivering heap.

“It’s beautiful,” Tikki says, her eyes sparkling. She clasps her hands together. “As near to perfection as it can be.”

Marinette drops pointe and sinks to the ground. She brushes away the sweaty bangs that have come loose and reminds herself to make sure they’re extra gelled for the performance.

If only she had danced this way a month ago.

If she had, maybe her jumps at the end wouldn’t be so weak. She’d put her all into the run, but she has no stamina left for the final bars.

She looks up to Tikki and places her hands on her head, taking measured breaths to try and slow her heartbeat. “R-really?”

Tikki joins her on the floor with a sparkling smile. “The best I’ve seen it,” she promises.

“If I’d done that a week ago it could be even better now,” Marinette murmurs.

Tikki tsks. “Hush, look at how brilliantly you just performed it! And with less than ten weeks to perfect it? Marinette, all I have to offer are little critiques and tips, there’s nothing drastic you could change to make this routine any better than it can be with the dancer you are right now.”

Marinette gives her a worried look. “What if I know I could be a better dancer?”

“If you came back to this dance in a year, you would dance a million times better than you just did. If I gave it to you a year ago, you would’ve given me a fraction of what you showed me today. You will keep improving with time, what’s important is that you show how good you are in this very moment. Which I know you can do. You’ve proven it to me time and time again.”

Marinette sighs and gives Tikki a small smile. She feels a little relieved and a little more relaxed but nothing anyone can say will release the anxiety in her chest. It’s going to haunt her until tomorrow night, when she steps onstage and shows the world what she can and can’t do. “Thank you,” she manages. “I… Sorry.”

Tikki shakes her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Pre-performance anxiety is nothing to scoff at, we all get it sometimes. Some worse than others.”

“You?” Marinette asks hesitantly.

“Plagg gets it worse,” Tikki whispers lowly. “He uses an awful lot of bravado to offset his nerves.”

Marinette raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Plagg?”

“Mhm.” Tikki nods. “It was a lot worse when we were kids, for the both of us. It’s something you get a little more adjusted to over time.”

Marinette thinks back to her first competition. At the time it’d been nerve wracking but she doesn’t think she really understood everything enough to be nearly this anxious. Her first solo though— that was another story entirely. She’d been an anxious mess. She was just lucky that her anxiety hadn’t transferred to her dance like she’d been so sure it was going to.

“Don’t stay in here too late,” Tikki says, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts. Tikki presses a kiss to Marinette’s forehead before she stands. “You need your rest.”

“Of course,” Marinette mumbles, still slightly stuck in the confines of her mind. It’s not until the door clicks shut behind Tikki that she can get out.

Marinette looks around the studio. Large and empty and blank. Like a canvas she could cover in art. Tikki had dimmed the lights slightly when she left. All that’s left is Marinette.

Marinette pulls herself off the floor. She runs her solo. She runs it without music playing aloud, but the notes float through her head, her internal metronome keeping the beat. She lets herself not care as much about the technical aspects of the pieces as she does when being watched. She lets herself sink into the music and just let go.

The boxes of her shoe hit the floor hard as she jumps and lands en pointe.

There’s something about practicing in a darkened, quiet studio that makes her bare her soul in a way that she usually doesn’t.

She finishes her solo and moves on to the duet.

This is harder. She can’t do any of the lifts. She has to imagine Adrien there as she ghosts through the steps, allowing herself to feel far more than she ever does during this dance. Because feeling more while dancing with Adrien can only end in heartbreak.

And yet, she’s never felt more while dancing than with him.

Marinette brushes the thoughts away as she throws herself into a grande jeté. She arches backward and bends her foot up to her head before straightening to land with a gentle ease. She spins as she runs out of the leap, twisting to an invisible partner that she keeps imaging stepping up behind her.

It’s easier to practice group dances on her own, where she’s not relying on another person’s support and existence for a performance. It’s a group dance, but she can do it on her own.

Marinette’s shoes are pinching her feet. She knows that if Tikki finds out how long she’s been en pointe, she’ll be chided relentlessly, or as relentlessly as Tikki can manage. Marinette just sighs and sinks against the barre. She slides down it and lets herself fall backward to hit the wall, dropping to the floor.

Sometimes, dancing makes her feel alive. Sometimes, she finishes and just feels empty.

Marinette unties her pointe shoes and pulls them off, wiggling her toes. She’ll stay off of her feet when she gets back to her room. But for now…

Marinette checks her phone. It’s only seven, not that late. Not late enough to warrant going back just yet. Classes had ended early so everyone could rest for tomorrow’s performance. And she will. She’s just not done here yet.

Marinette tucks away her pointe shoes. She’s at a loss, not exactly what to do next. She only knows that she’s not ready to leave the studio just yet. She stares herself down in the mirror. She looks exhausted and drained. She has better posture than she did at the beginning of the summer and stands with her chin raised with a sort of elegant ease she didn’t think she had before.

She looks different. Maybe not everything she learned had to do with dance.

If she listens closely, she can hear the strains of soft ballet music coming from the studio next to her. Suddenly, Marinette knows exactly what she has to do.

She tugs down her leotard and breathes.

She breathes away the anxieties and the stress and the nerves. She tugs on sweatpants and pulls her tights off her feet, rolling the top of her leotard down to her waist and rolling down the waistband of her tights to meet them. She pulls out a select few bobby pins and shakes down her bangs, pausing for a second before pulling out the elastic that holds her hair up in a bun.

Marinette studies herself in the mirror.

This is the Marinette she knows beyond anything else. Wearing baggy sweatpants and an old sports bra, hair back in a messy ponytail, exhausted and sweaty from dancing till her muscles gave out.

At times in the past ten weeks, she felt like she was losing this part of herself. But she hasn’t. She’s still right here. All of her. Ballerina Marinette, competitive dancer Marinette. She’s embraced the ballet part of herself more this summer than ever, but the rest of her is still here.

She feels sort of empty, but it’s not because of this. She doesn’t know what it is.

She looks away from herself and plugs in her phone. She doesn’t find a playlist so much as her fingers do, moving by with memory than anything else. She soaks in the pulsing bass and surprisingly soulful lyrics.

And she dances.

—«·»—

Marinette finds Adrien in his studio. Honestly, that hasn’t been a surprise for weeks, it’s just expected at this point. Unlike her, he’s still wrapped up in the world of ballet and it’s pristine, glittering lights and elegance.

At this point, she knows his routine as well as her own. She’s watched him struggle perfecting combinations and stumble through steps. She knows Plagg’s running commentary almost as well.

She inhales sharply and bites her lip as Adrien chaînés before launching himself into a butterfly jump. She remembers Adrien telling her how Plagg had demonstrated it with an easy grace before letting him have the floor. And then Adrien continued to mess it up again and again and again. The timing was wrong, he wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t rotating enough. Marinette had spent hours with him in the studio, working mostly on turning sequences while he tried to get this one jump down.

He’d pulled her aside, a grainy old video pulled up on his phone. They watched in amazement as Gabriel Agreste — the Gabriel Agreste, ballet legend and Adrien’s father, a fact that Marinette has never exactly gotten over — executed the butterfly jump flawlessly with unimaginable ease.

“I’m going to do it,” Adrien said with new determination in his eyes. “I’m going to do this and it is going to be perfect.”

Marinette hadn’t doubted him for a second. Even as he crashed to the floor.

Her heart is in her throat as he soars through the air for a single beat before landing gracefully on the floor and spinning to a kneel. She can’t keep the smile off her face. She’s seen him land it countless times at this point but that doesn’t stop her from feeling a surge of excitement and pride whenever he does.

She lets him finish the run of his routine before she makes her presence known. She knows how he gets during runs, lost in his own mind that it’s nearly impossible to break him out of it.

Adrien smiles at her from the corner across the room where he finishes his solo. “Good?” he asks through heavy breaths.

“Amazing,” Marinette corrects.

“You flatter me,” he insists. He runs his hand through his hair. “I stumbled going into the pas de chat.”

She shrugs. “That’s an easy fix. Just make sure your footing is more solid out of that turn next time.”

Adrien stretches out his arms. “One more run and I swear I’ll stop.”

“Want me to put on the music?”

“Yes please.”

Marinette restarts the song and leans against the wall as she watches Adrien melt into his solo. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of watching him dance. Watching videos on YouTube and Instagram had been one thing, seeing him dance in person is another experience entirely. Dancing with him…

The footwork into his pas de chat is perfect.

“Good?” she asks as the song comes to an end.

“Better.” Adrien joins her by the stereo. “Did you want to go home?”

Marinette shrugs. “It’s not even eight.” He checks the time. “No, it isn’t.” The corner of his lips lifts in a smirk as a familiar pop ballad starts. “Wanna dance?”

She smiles and puts down her bag. “I’d love to.”

—«·»—

Adrien turns off the stereo and lights in the studio as Marinette ducks behind the front desk. She picks up the cloth bag that remains, other is in her bag at her hip.

Marinette opens the bag and peaks inside, sighing softly as she looks at the shining pink pointe shoes inside. She closes the bag and holds it to her chest.

This is it.

Marinette wakes before the sun rises.

She stares at the ceiling for a very long time, too anxiety ridden to move. Competitions always leave her a little jittery. She doesn’t eat well on competition days and someone usually has to remind her to stay hydrated. Her emotions are high strung and on the surface. The stress leaves her tense until the music starts up when she’s onstage. And as soon as it ends, it’s right back the nauseating anxiety.

It’s exhausting, but she loves it.

At least her mind is fairly empty.

Her anxiety is shimmering, but it’s not at the forefront of her mind. It’s kind of just tugging at her gut. Mostly she just zones out. Her thoughts go nowhere in particular, flitting from topic to topic, too distracted and out of it to settle on anything.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been awake when Adrien says, “You up?”

“Hm?” Marinette turns her head to look to the other bed. She wishes they’d been able to move the beds together so they could be closer. The distance between her and Adrien feels awkward and wrong. Usually she’d rather squeeze onto Adrien’s bed with him, but they had to actually get a decent night’s rest with the showcase the next day

No, not the next day. The showcase is today.

“Been up for long?” Adrien murmurs.

Marinette rubs her eyes. “I have no idea. Wha’ time is it?”

“Um…” He squints as he checks his phone, momentarily blinded by the brightness of his screen. “Too early,” he grumbles, flopping back down on his pillow. He covers his eyes with his arm. “G’night.”

She can’t keep lying here.

Marinette sits up and runs her fingers through her hair. She winces as they get caught in knots. She didn’t want to have to deal with a tangled mess of a bedhead today. Whatever.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and flexes her toes before getting up and wandering around the room. She needs a purpose before she has to start getting ready for the showcase.

Adrien lifts his arm from his eyes. “Where are you going?”

Marinette gestures vaguely with her hands before kneeling down next to her bag. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Nowhere?” She finds a scrap of fabric and some thread. This works.

“You okay?”

“Restless.” She drops down on the foot of Adrien’s bed and curls her legs up under her. She threads the needle and starts mindlessly embroidering the scrap.

Adrien sits up. He yawns and squints at Marinette. She glances up from her work and gives him a half smile.

“I need sugar,” he mumbles.

“Before a performance?” Marinette asks. “I thought you’d be a health nut about this.”

“I want to be awake.” He ruffles his hair. “If I’m avoiding anything, it’s going to be caffeine.”

“Yeah probably don’t start drinking coffee today.”

Adrien slaps his cheeks a few times and then shakes his head, opening his eyes wide. “Right. I’m alive.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

He tries to hold back a yawn and fails. “Never mind.” He lays back down and covers his face with the pillow.

Marinette stabs at the fabric a few times. “I don’t like this,” she mutters.

“What?” Adrien asks, his voice muffled.

“This,” she says, gesturing to nothing. “I don’t like…this.”

He lifts the pillow to look at her. “Mari, I love you, but I’m not telepathic. I can’t read minds. This feeling, this day, this bed, this fabric, this weather, this air, this—” Marinette feins poking at his leg with the needle. He jerks away and curls up in a ball. “Sorry, sorry!”

She glares at him before she falls back into the spot next to him with a sigh. “I don’t know.” She holds the fabric up to the light. “This…feeling. I guess. Which is weird because I get competition anxiety and it doesn’t exactly feel like…this.”

Adrien uncurls and studies the fabric with her. “Does it feel worse? Better? Is it indescribable?”

“…indescribable,” she decides softly. “I just know it’s not the same.” She lowers the fabric and turns her head to look at him. “Do you feel it?”

He purses his lip and holds out a hand.

Marinette hesitates before putting her hand in his.

“Squeeze.”

She chews on her lip as she squeezes hard, knowing exactly what Adrien is doing.

“I feel it,” Adrien says after a moment. “Unfortunately, I can’t feel my hand anymore.”

Marinette can’t help herself, she laughs. She covers her eyes with her free arm and laughs and laughs and it’s not even that funny but she can’t stop laughing.

“Better?” Adrien asks when she’s breathing normally again. He gives her a crooked smile and squeezes her hand tight.

Marinette sticks her tongue out at him and squeezes his hand harder. “Sure.” She does, just a bit. Some of the pent up…feelings are gone now. It’s kind of unfair that Adrien always seems to know what to do when she never knows what to say to him.

Adrien studies their hands. “I’m not good with performance anxiety,” he murmurs.

She scoffs. “You seem fine to me.”

“Oh well, yeah. I’m sort of used to it at this point. I meant in other people. I’m not good with people.”

That’s a blatant lie. “You’re good with people,” Marinette insists.

Adrien shakes his head. “I am really really not. My role model growing up was Plagg.”

Marinette giggles. “Okay, fair point. You had Tikki too, though.”

“True. But still, I’m still figuring things out.” He kisses the back of her hand.

Her heart flutters. So am I, she thinks. “You wanted sugar?”

Adrien raises his eyes. “Starbucks?”

“Please.”

—«·»—

Marinette takes in the heavy coffee smell and the familiar background sounds of the Starbucks. She’s found that most Starbucks are similar in both aspects because of course they are, it’s a chain franchise. But this is different, because it’s her and Adrien’s Starbucks.

She swipes his drink to take a sip of it.

Adrien raises his eyebrows at her and takes her hot chocolate, muttering, “Fine then.”

“It’s hot,” she says as he goes to drink it.

He rolls his eyes and drinks it anyway.

She doesn’t bother hiding her smile when he makes a pained expression. Their phones vibrate on the table.

From: Nino To: the fellowship you up?

Adrien yawns as Marinette looks up from her phone.

From: cupcake queen ✌ / adrien’s gf / Marinette To: the fellowship Barely

She takes a picture of Adrien staring off into the distance looking half asleep and sends it in the groupchat. He looks down at his phone as it buzzes.

“Anything important?”

She shakes her head. “Nope,” she says innocently.

From: Nino To: the fellowship he looks ready to dance

From: the greatest person ever To: the fellowship i know ur dancers and ur super extra and have rehearsals but it is a saturday and i want to sleep so pls

Marinette rolls her eyes, but she can’t blame Alya. When Marinette had checked her phone this morning, there had been messages from Alya that were sent after two in the morning and the website Alya was insisting upon making had an entirely new navigation system.

From: Nino To: the fellowship my bad dude see you all tonight break a leg!!

From: the greatest person ever To: the fellowship ditto!

From: cupcake queen ✌ / adrien’s gf / Marinette To: the fellowship Thanks guys!! See you then <3

She frowns as she sips Adrien’s drink. She flips through her messages a few times. There has to be a way…

Her thumb freezes over Nino’s contact. Perfect.

From: adrien’s gf To: Nino Hey do you want to do me a favor??

From: Nino To: adrien’s gf sure my dude how can i help?

Adrien takes another sip of Marinette’s hot chocolate, apparently past the point of caring that it was too hot to drink. “What do you want to do until we have to be at the theater?” he asks.

From: adrien’s gf To: Nino Give me a minute and Ill explain

Marinette hums and puts her phone down. “I don’t know, what are we supposed to do with…sevenish hours?”

“Nap?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Alright not nap.” Adrien runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, usually on performance days I just lay around and stretch and watch TV. Try to eat healthy and make sure I don’t tire myself out beforehand.”

Marinette sips Adrien’s drink thoughtfully. “So…grocery shopping then binge watch something on Netflix.”

“Yup, that sounds pretty perfect.” Adrien puts Marinette’s hot chocolate down in front of her and takes his strawberry acai. “I think that’s yours.”

—«·»—

Adrien eats a bagel while he stretches his calves out against the wall. Marinette flips through Netflix before deciding on a sitcom they’ll both probably get way too invested in. She pulls out of her split once she presses play and twists into a backbend.

“I was going to ask if you were hungry, but I’m thinking now might not be the best time,” Adrien jokes.

She pulls her chin to her chest. “Yeah, maybe not,” she says, voice slightly strained from her position. “I am, but give me a minute?”

“Sure thing.”

Marinette straights her right leg up into the air and holds it before switching to the left. Then she drops onto her elbows and rocks back and forth a few times before she pops back up to her hands. She holds the bridge for a few seconds more before pulls herself up to standing.

“Show off,” Adrien mutters.

Marinette rolls her eyes and flicks her bangs out her eyes.

“Alright what do you want to eat? Healthy or healthier?”

“I’m thinking or,” she says, dropping down onto the bed.

“Or it is.” Adrien tosses her a box of granola bars. “Bon appétit.”

Marinette opens the box and pulls out two granola bars before throwing it back to him. “They’re going to date,” she says, nodding to the screen where two characters are sharing a not so subtle gaze.

“Before or after midseason?” he asks. “I’ll bet you the plum.”

She takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “Episode…seven.”

“Very exact.”

She shrugs. “Lucky number.”

“Fair enough.” Adrien sits down on the other bed and crosses his legs. “This is going to be terrible, isn’t it?”

Marinette nods. “Almost definitely.”

He gives her a half smile before leaning back against the pillows. “I look forward to it.”

—«·»—

Marinette tries to keep her mind focused solely on stretching.

It is not working.

Everyone else onstage seems to be fine, stretching on their own or with partners, listening to music, relaxing and enjoying the last few hours before the performance, running tricks and turns… She knows other people are feeling exactly what she is, but she can’t stop feeling incredibly alone. And also a little bit like she’s going to throw up.

Marinette closes her eyes and tries to focus mostly on her music. Usually before performances she likes to listen to the songs she’s dancing to, but she’s been listening to the dance playlist Alya made her since her and Adrien arrived at the theater.

She gets up mindlessly and follows the rest of the dancers off the stage when one of the teachers announces that select dances are going to do quick run throughs. When those dances are completed, the stage will be open for anyone to practice on if the space is there. They have three and a half hours until curtain and need to be dressed with hair and makeup complete half an hour before.

She finds herself sitting on the floor of her shared dressing room, surrounded by glittering costumes and makeup bags. The whole room smells like hairspray and anxiety. Lovely.

Chloé rolls her eyes and scoffs when she opens the dressing room door.

Marinette looks up at her with a flat expression. “Yes?”

Chloé grabs Marinette by the arm and hauls her to her feet. “Time to dance, princess,” she grumbles. “This isn’t flopping because of you.”

Marinette rolls her eyes and yanks her arm away, but follows Chloé out to the stage regardless. She wouldn’t stay back just to be petty. Besides, Chloé’s words don’t seem to hurt as much anymore. Not now that Chloé has gone past words. It’s almost as if Chloé has hurt her so bad in other ways that she no longer feels the little things any more.

Marinette joins Chloé centerstage and lets the music wash over her.

—«·»—

“Marinette, breathe.”

Marinette gasps, inhaling all the air she’d been keeping out. Adrien rubs his hands up and down her arms. She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. Breathing. Right. “You’re going to do fine,” he promises. “You’re going to go onstage and you’re going to dance beautifully. Brilliantly. You’re going to give it your all and everyone will be able to see it. And they’ll love you.”

She closes her eyes and nods a few times. She bites down on her lip to stop it from trembling but she can’t do anything about the fact that her eyes are watering up and oh god she’s going to throw up or pass out or something and she can’t do this she doesn’t—

“Hey, you’ll ruin your makeup,” Adrien teases softly.

Marinette forces a laugh. “Priorities,” she mutters.

“Definitely a priority, your makeup looks great and it took you forever.”

She takes a shaky breath before opening her eyes. “Adrien, I-I can’t—”

“You can.” He slides his hands down her arms to hold her hands. “Mar, you already have. And you did great.”

She glances over her shoulder to the stage where a small group is dancing. She had already been onstage. It had been a group dance. It had been fine. It had been…incredible. Probably should be considered life changing.

She feels numb. She feels like she’s going to fall over.

“It’s different,” she whispers.

“I know, but once you start dancing, you won’t even know they audience is there,” Adrien promises. He lifts their hands so their in line with her chest. “Squeeze.”

“I don’t want to break your hands,” she jokes weakly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Squeeze.”

Marinette takes a deep breath and squeezes his hands as hard as she can. She squeezes out the anxiety and the panic and all the negative thoughts her brain has spun up. She squeezes until her hands cramp. Then she let’s go.

“Better?” Adrien asks.

She shakes her head. Yes. No. Neither. Both. She just feels weird. Wrong. But she knows she needs to get out on that stage.

He pulls her into a tight hug. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” He presses a kiss to the top her of her head and she has to resist the urge to bury her face in his chest. She has makeup on. She’ll ruin both it and his costume.

“Ready?” Adrien ask as he pulls away.

Marinette nods. “Ready.”

“I’m going to go find a better spot to watch, but break a leg.” Adrien squeezes her hand before letting go and walking away.

Marinette stays turned away from the stage. She makes sure her skirt is smooth — not that it’ll matter in a few minutes — and tries to stay calm.

She’s fine. She really is fine.

“Hey, Marinette,” a voice says softly. Marinette turns to see Chloé nearly hidden in the folds of the curtains. Chloé wraps her arms around herself. “I just wanted to say…break a leg.”

Marinette blinks in surprise as Chloé looks away. She didn’t think—

She doesn’t have time to mentally do anything other than gratefully accept Chloé’s well wishes.

Marinette nods to Chloé, glancing towards the stage as the last notes of Aurore’s solo music waver. “Thank you,” she says sincerely before stepping into the wings.

Marinette slows her breathing. She closes her eyes and puts herself into the performance mindset, locking onto her solo and blocking out everything else, all thoughts, all emotions, all worries. She doesn’t process any of Aurore’s solo, she just notices the end and her cue to step out onto the stage.

At her cue, she gathers up her skirts in her arms and takes three steps out onto the stage. She lifts but the armful of tulle and buries her face in in. The fabric scratches her face but it keeps her from facing the reality of the dance.

The music starts and Marinette loses herself.

She drops the fabric and pushes it away, walking forward slowly before sinking into a rond de jambe and kicking a leg out to the side. She knows this routine better than almost any other routine she’s danced in her entire life. It’s probably one of the most accurate representations of herself that she’s ever had.

She slowly rises up en pointe and lets herself perform. She tries to hold on to what Tikki had told her one night when she had been working herself to death, feet bruising and bleeding and no happier with the routine than she had been four hours before when she started dancing. There had been something that Marinette had been missing and she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You’re cutting yourself off,” Tikki had said. “That’s no way to perform.”

Tikki had told her that dancing ballet doesn’t mean she has to cut herself off from the audience. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

Marinette knows she can’t match the skills of Chloé or even any of the other dancers here, who have had infinitely more training than her. But what she lacks in ability, she would make up in heart.

Every since she was little, she’s been told to leave her soul on the stage. She always did her best to do so, but it was sometimes a hard thing to understand. She could work her hardest physically, but never understood how you just left your soul.

The dance is halfway over before she’s even began.

Marinette can feel the slight panic bubbling up inside of her that always comes around this point. Because she hasn’t shown enough. She hasn’t danced enough, she hasn’t given her heart and soul in the way that she’s supposed to.

The panic starts dissipate with the next assemblé.

The years of performance and hours of rehearsal have made it easier for her to shove that panic away. Her confidence feels back and unwavering when she lifts up to pointe for a grande battement and this isn’t really a smiling dance but she’s having a hard time keeping a straight face because despite all the anxiety she can’t help but feel like she’s finally breathing and finally living.

There’s a reason she loves performance. Hopefully the expression on her face comes off as more wistful than happy. As she spins away from the audience for a beat, she schools her face into something more serious.

She doesn’t think much before throwing the triple pirouette. She grabs at her skirts in the fourth rotation, straightening her leg outward at a ninety degree angle before dropping to the floor and catching herself on her hands. She breathes deep as she arches backward before rolling to stand.

Tikki named the solo ‘Fly’. Marinette has never really been all that invested in naming her own dances. She has a hard time pinning down the dance into a name, or even just a sliver of the dance.

Ballet doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s not perfect. It’s like any other type of dance with it’s long hours and sweaty rehearsals. That perfection that Marinette once thought existed is impossible to reach but all she can do is jump higher and higher— and she can take flight.

She breathes deep before launching into the turning sequence spinning out of it into a calypso leap. She breathes slowly and smiles a little as she lands solidly and throws her skirt up down to float down around her.

She enjoys little moments like these in routines where she can take half a second to collect herself and breathe. She’s got the stamina for longer routines — she has to, especially having been an acro dancer — but a moment of peace is always nice.

Last leg, she thinks to herself as she kicks high. With barely any time in the dance left at all, she throws herself in completely— she’s allowed to collapse offstage. She scoops her arms and stretches as far as she can, pushing herself to her very limit. She’s overly aware of how hard the stage is below her feet when she lands her last jump.

Marinette pulls the front of her skirt up into her arms and buries her face into it as she walks backwards, dragging her feet in front of her against the floor. Her arms are shaking and it’s a good thing that her face is hidden from the audience as she gasps for air.

Someone in the audience cheers. People start clapping.

She retreats into the wings, clutching her skirts and trembling.

Dancers whisper ‘good job’ to her as they push into the wings for the next dance. She leans against the nearest stable thing — she thinks it’s a table but it’s dark and she’s drained and not entire sure — and catches her breath. She watches them dance through the wings, costumes sparkling under the lights.

Marinette gasps as she’s caught in someone’s arms and hugged tight.

“That was stunning, Mari,” Adrien murmurs into her hair. “You were stunning.” His voice is wavering.

“A-are—?” She pulls away and squints at him in the dark. “Are you crying?”

“Yes,” he says honestly. “Well, no, I’m just tearing up. Because makeup. If I weren’t going on in three numbers I would be full out crying.”

Marinette blinks away the tears welling up in her eyes and pulls Adrien into another tight hug. “Shut up,” she whispers.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” he says with a laugh. “The only time I’ve seen you dance better was with me.”

She scoffs and shoves him away, trying not to laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Adrien smiles brightly and she wonders if he knows how close to the truth he is. She never dances the same as she does when she dances with him.

“Where’s the best place to watch?” she asks quietly. She’s not missing out on his solo for the world.

He hold out his hand and she takes it without hesitation. “Come on,” he whispers, “I’ll show you.”

—«·»—

Marinette is squeezed between a few of the younger dancers in a small alcove that gives them an incredible view of the stage. It’s only accessible from a hallway backstage and is visible to very little of the audience, so Marinette can’t help but think whoever designed the theater must’ve known some of the cast and crew would be desperate to get a good look at what was happening while they were offstage.

Marinette’s breath catches in her throat when Adrien steps onto the stage.

It’s just not fair how handsome he is.

She’d seen him backstage with his hair slicked back in his all black costume and perfectly done makeup that showed off the fact that he had really incredible eyelashes. She’d seen him on Thursday in dress rehearsal, when his hair was a mess and his makeup was rushed but the costume fit just as well.

She hadn’t been able to see how he transformed when in front of an audience.

This is the Adrien Agreste she knows from videos and photoshoots. An untouchable dance legend from a family of ballet giants, all covered in a mask of gold and diamonds and perfection. She barely registers the music starting because she’s so mesmerized by Adrien.

He moves like water, his motions graceful and fluid. She sees his soul shine through him and this is what everyone means by leaving your soul behind you on the stage. Adrien has it figured out and he’s shattering himself to let the world see.

Is the rest of the world aware of what a gift they’ve been given?

She doesn’t hold her breath this time when he throws his butterfly. He lands it solidly and flows into the next move with no hesitation and she can see the video in her mind of his father doing it. She covers her mouth with her hand to hide her smile.

Watching Adrien has always been worth it. It’s always been breathtaking and jaw dropping. Watching him work so hard to get to what he performs is even better.

Marinette doesn’t clap when the dance ends and Adrien hits his final pose, she runs.

She wiggles out from between the other dancers and bursts out of the alcove, darting out of the way of a few dancers on their way to watch. The boxes of her shoes hit the floor loudly as she runs, but she doesn’t care so long as she stays upright and moving.

She slows as she reaches backstage, crashing right into Adrien as he moves toward his dressing room.

He grabs her around the waist to keep her from falling and she catches herself with her hands on his chest.

“Hi,” he whispers with a crooked smile.

Her heart is beating a million times a minute and she can’t stop herself from laughing breathlessly. “Hi.”

“Good?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Perfect,” she insists. She cups his face in her hands and presses their foreheads together. “Perfect.”

Adrien closes his eyes and smiles. “So, good?”

She shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous. Yes. Very good.”

He glances back on the stage. “You should get ready for your next dance,” he murmurs, stepping away. “You’ll need to be lined up in a few numbers.”

Marinette sighs. She would’ve been fine with standing here forever. “See you here for the duet?” They’ve both got dances before it, but they won’t be able to talk between any of them aside from a quick hushed ‘break a leg’ or ‘good job’.

Adrien nods. “See you then.”

She ducks past him and into the dressing room, thinking about how much she’d rather be in his arms than pulling on tights and changing her makeup.

Aurore finishes tying her shoes as Marinette opens the door and jumps to her feet, brushing past Marinette and whispering a hushed thank you as she rushes to join the rest of her small group on the other side of the stage. Marinette closes the door softly behind her and leans against the dressing room table and starts unlacing her shoes.

Chloé glances at her from where she stands in the corner getting ready for her own solo, draped in gold and gemstones. They hold eye contact for a moment before Chloé breaks it to fit another bobby pin in her hair. Marinette sighs and ignores her as she pulls off her costume to get ready for her next dance. She sits down on the floor to pull on her tights — it was weird not wearing tights with pointe shoes for her solo, but she thinks she liked it — and carefully checks them for runs before she pulls on the flowing dress. She steps out of the way as she reaches for her makeup box to let Chloé out of the room. She closes her eyes as her fingers wrap tightly around her lipstick. “Chloé,” she says, her voice sudden and incredibly loud.

Chloé tenses and moves her hand away from the doorknob. She looks over her shoulder at Marinette. “Yes?”

Marinette takes her in for a moment. Chloé sparkles and shines and looks like a painting. Empty. Flat. Marinette would give anything to have the technical background that Chloé has, if she’s being honest. Chloé does have a one up on her in that aspect. But Marinette would never want to be alone as Chloé seems to be. She gives Chloé the best and most honest smile she can manage. “Break a leg, you’re going to do great.”

Chloé returns the smile and Marinette thinks there might be a chance that it’s less perfectly crafted than usual. “Thanks,” Chloé says as she opens the dressing room door. Music flows in and the silence between them no longer feels so empty and strange. She looks like she might have something more to say, but Sabrina appears and drags her off to get ready. She looks back at Marinette and gives her another half smile.

It’s enough for now.

—«·»—

Marinette rolls out her ankles while she waits for Adrien. The anxiety is starting to bubble up in her chest, but it’s nothing like before her solo. Now she has the majority of her dances under her belt. She knows what the stage feels like beneath her feet for a real performance. She knows the heat of the lights and the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. And she knows Adrien.

“Sorry that took so long,” he whispers to her as he lifts his foot into passé before grabbing the arch of his foot and pulling his leg up to touch his ear.

“You did great,” she murmurs. She holds out a fist to him and he fist bumps it with his free hand. “We have two numbers.”

“Sounds good.”

Marinette does a backbend by the wall and is careful not to slip in her pointe shoes. Adrien offers her his hand and pulls her up to stand. They practice their trickiest lift once more when they have the space and then wait impatiently in the wings. At least, Marinette is impatient. She keeps her eyes off of the dancers onstage and focuses on the music in her head.

She looks up in surprise when Adrien takes her hand and squeezes it softly. He gives her a smile and mouths ‘break a leg’. They move further into the wings as the dancers onstage take their final pose.

She takes a shaky breath and nods. ‘You too’. She lets go of his hand and lets him step out before her when they’re cued. When he turns to face her, she steps out of the wings. The stare at each other until the music starts and Marinette melts into Adrien’s touch.

Marinette thinks that dancing with Adrien is the same as the feeling that the poets are always trying describe. The one songwriters sing about, what artists try to capture in their creations. It’s this indescribable feeling of right. She’s never danced with any person or any group that makes her feel this way. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone that makes her feel this way.

Even as they move away from each other for separate parts of the dance, she knows his presence and his aura and knows his choreography so well she can see it in her mind. She knows the exact moment that they touch again, her skin tingling.

The lift is tricky, it’s scary. It had taken weeks for them to get it without spotting and even longer for them to do it consistently every single time. Her breath hitches when they start it, but she meets Adrien’s eyes and hears him say in her mind, ‘I won’t let you fall’. This time, the lift is as easy as breathing.

Her skirt wraps around her legs as she turns in the familiar way she knows from practice, fluttering around her before settling as there’s a pause in the choreography for her to breathe. She turns her head and keeps her neck long, seeing Adrien center stage as he leaps into the air and flies.

She takes a deep breath before plunging back into the dance, feeling the music deep in her bones as she lets it flow through her. Adrien’s hand is firm on her waist as he guides her into a simpler lift. Adrien smiles softly at her as they hold eye contact throughout it, and Marinette can’t help but smile back. She remembers one rehearsal where Plagg had shouted at them mid routine to feel the connection between them. She had instantly turned into a stuttering mess as Adrien blushed bright red.

The connection feels electric and she embraces it in full.

Whenever Marinette watched Tikki and Plagg perform this choreography, she always thought there was something genius about the way they’d set it up. The first half of the dance is very individual and could almost be done as a solo. Marinette had done it as a solo, several times, in fact. She would turn on the music when alone and practice the first half on her own, needing no support from Adrien at all after the first two counts of eight.

But in the second half, it’s almost impossible to separate the two dancers. Like they’d become so tangled together that they were one person.

Marinette had always chalked it up to genius choreography.

As she arabesques away from Adrien and he reaches for her, one of the few moments of separation in the second half, she feels a pang in her chest and there’s a spark of realization as he pulls her back into his arms.

This dance would almost certainly fall to pieces without chemistry.

She holds her epiphany close to her heart for the last few counts of eight, wrapping herself in the familiar warmth of this dance, this choreography, this music She hadn’t realized how much she cherished it until this very moment, and it’s about to be gone.

Every dance is unique, it’ll never feel exactly like this again.

She barely notices the music coming to a close, focused completely on the steps and the performance. She knows the feeling of Adrien’s arm holding her steady and the strain of her muscles as she arches backward as far as she can, stretching herself to her limit.

The music ends and the world of this specific duet starts to fade away. She doesn’t know whether or not she should mourn.

Marinette meets Adrien’s eyes, breathless. He smiles down at her, dazzling and bright. His arm is tight around her waist and she can’t catch her breath. And it’s only partially because of the dancing.

The mascara makes his eyelashes incredibly long and his eyes seem so much greener under these hot stage lights. Each blemish and freckle is hidden by a layer of concealer, foundation, and powder. His eyebrows seem almost too dark, his features too perfect.

Her heart shudders when she realizes that she knows every line of his face. Even when they’ve all been erased and redrawn, she knows exactly what he should look like under that mask.

Applause. People are applauding. Adrien pulls her upright and she lowers down from pointe. He holds her hand as she curtsies, her heart in her throat, she can barely keep from laughing as it all bubbles up inside of her. She holds her right arm out as he bows. Then he takes her hand again and they bow once more before running off the stage. It takes all her control to run like a proper ballerina and not burst into a sprint.

What she wouldn’t give to be able to run through the streets of Paris laughing and holding Adrien’s hand right now.

Marinette can’t stop smiling as people congratulate them and Adrien weaves them through the crowd backstage. She thinks she thanks people, but she’s too caught up in the excitement and adrenaline to be truly present and grounded.

Adrien shuts the dressing room door behind them. She’s glad the room is empty because her emotions are threatening to overflow and she doesn’t know if she wants anyone but Adrien to see her turn into an mess. He turns to look at Marinette and she starts laughing. She laughs because she has no other way to let out all of this emotion. She throws her arms around his neck. “We did it!”

Adrien laughs as he hugs back her tightly, leaning backwards and lifting her feet off the ground. “We did it!” He spins them around once in the cramped dressing room before putting her down. Adrien smiles at her with sparkling eyes. The green of grass and leaves and life and everything that Marinette has ever wanted. Adrien is everything she’s ever wanted, all she’ll ever want.

The box of her shoes hit the floor and pull her back to reality.

A reality without Adrien Agreste is not what she wants. A reality where Adrien Agreste isn’t a major part of her day isn’t want she wants. Her ideal reality has Adrien Agreste as a constant, unwavering presence in her life. Someone she can love and who will love her in return. Who she can buy far too much Starbucks with and complain about rehearsal with and stay up until sunrise with. Somehow, in a single summer, Adrien has become someone that she always wants in her life. Someone she never wants to let go of. Ideally, she won’t have to.

Ideally—

Marinette doesn’t have to imagine some ideal situation. It’s right there, right in front of her, just a few inches away with a soft smile and bright green eyes.

This isn’t some cosmic story that’s written in the stars. It’s real, it’s tangible, and she has control over it. She has her feet on the ground and her arms around Adrien’s neck. He’s looking at her like she’s the sun and how she’s looking at him can’t be much different than that.

He’s the sun. He’s the moon and the stars and everything inbetween.

To hell with ideal, she wants reality.

Marinette realizes how small of a distance a few inches really is as she pulls Adrien down towards her and presses her lips firmly against his.

In the grand scheme of things, a few inches is nothing.

It doesn’t even take half a moment for Adrien to be kissing her back and Marinette can barely process the kiss because her mind is mostly a whirlwind of adrenaline and ‘oh my god I kissed him’.

Adrien deepens the kiss and their noses bump and she doesn’t care. All that Marinette knows is that his lips are soft and his hands are tight around her waist and she feels like she’s flying. She breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against Adrien’s, ready to touch the ground.

“Your makeup…” Adrien whispers.

Marinette opens her eyes. His eyes are closer than ever, green and welcoming and loving. “I had to fix it anyway,” she murmurs. Her next dance demands lighter lipstick. Her gaze drops to Adrien’s lips, she’s already aching to kiss him again. She laughs softly when she sees the lipstick smear on his lips. She moves her arms from around his neck and brushes her thumb against the lipstick mark. “You have some lipstick—”

Adrien leans into the touch as her hand cups his cheek. He turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand and the butterflies in Marinette’s stomach flutter in a way they never have before. “I needed to fix mine too.”

“Okay,” she says softly, not trusting her voice.

“I’ll see you for the production,” Adrien says and there’s no way she can wait that long. He seems to be thinking the same thing, because he leans forward and kisses her again, soft and slow.

Marinette keeps her eyes closed when he pulls away, only opening them when she hears the dressing room door open and close behind her.

Her legs feel like jello and her heart feels like it’s about to burst. She leans against the table and brushes her fingers against her lips. She would say that it was just the adrenaline or just that she kissed him first and he kissed her back as a reflex or out of courtesy or some other ridiculous excuse that her mind would dip into for an explanation.

But Adrien had kissed her.

He’d kissed her and he’d smiled at her and he’d kissed her.

Marinette buries her face in her hands as her cheeks burn. One of her dressing roommates will be back soon and it’d probably be best if she wasn’t an emotional disaster when they came in, but she can’t stop smiling and she’s fairly certain she’s redder than her production costume.

She lifts her head from her hands and takes a deep breath. That happened. That happened. She sees herself in the mirror already blushing again.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she starts getting ready for her next dance. She wipes off the smeared lipstick with a makeup wipe and carefully reapplies foundation where she wiped it away before taking out the lighter lipliner and lipstick. It was just a kiss, she shouldn’t be getting so worked up about a kiss. Two kisses. From Adrien.

She caps the lipstick and puts it away before staring herself down in the mirror. She’s going to get through the rest of this showcase without overthinking this. She can overthink later.

When Rose opens the door to the dressing room, Marinette helps her with her quick change with a smile, but the butterflies are still fluttering in her stomach.

—«·»—

“Don’t screw this up,” Chloé mutters as they wait squished in the wings to go on for the production. With every dancer in the intensive making an appearance of some sort, it’s a bit cramped. Chloé raises a perfect eyebrow at Marinette. “Got it?”

Marinette shoots Chloé a half hearted glare. She knows Chloé means it, Marinette is as good as dead if she screws this up, but they’ve reached some sort of incredibly uneasy truce and she’s not going to fight it if they only have this one dance left. “I won’t if you don’t,” she says, testing the waters.

Chloé smirks, something dark in her eyes. More like competition than anger. It’s a look Marinette doesn’t think she’s seen before. “Good.”

The music starts with the youngest dancers onstage and Chloé steps out right on cue. She’s no longer the worst part of Marinette’s summer or even an incredibly talented dancer with a mean streak that could kill. She’s just another dancer, contributing the same as any other dancer on the stage.

Marinette locks eyes with Adrien, who’s in the wing directly across the stage from her. He nods at her before he preps for a chaîné and leaps onstage.

One last dance.

Marinette closes her eyes and preps for her turn. The music swells and she spins up en pointe, leg bent back in attitude. She smiles to the audience as she arches away from them and falls into her role as perfectly as she can. She only has a few minutes left to show what she can do.

—«·»—

Marinette gets so caught up in the whirlwind of bows and backstage that she almost forgets to breathe. She doesn’t even get to go back to her dressing room, the crowd of dancers just moves her to the audience in full costume and pointe shoes.

She breaks away from the tide by the entrance to backstage, hearing shouts of congratulations from loved ones as dancers found them. She smiles to herself and hangs back for a moment, waiting for the crowd to thin out a little.

“Hey, kid.” Marinette turns around to see Plagg leaning against the wall. Tikki is standing next to him, absolutely beaming, and Wayzz is there, much to her surprise. Plagg pushes himself off the wall and sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s dressed nice for once, she’s pretty sure Tikki had something to do with that, and smirks before saying, “You did good.”

Marinette’s smile grows and she ducks her head. “Thanks.”

Tikki hurries forward and wraps Marinette up in a tight hug, albeit slightly awkward because of Marinette’s tutu. “Magical, Marinette,” Tikki says as she pulls away. “There isn’t a single person who wasn’t enchanted.”

Marinette doesn’t even know how to respond other than to laugh breathlessly and hug back when Tikki squeezes her in another hug.

Wayzz fiddles with his tie and gives Marinette a lopsided smile. “Maybe you just needed the right pair of shoes.”

Tikki gives him an offended look as Plagg laughs. Tikki rolls her eyes as she turns back to Marinette. “Those two,” she mutters. Marinette bites back a laugh. “Go,” Tikki says, motioning to the doors. “Go see your family, I’m sure they’ll want to congratulate you.”

Marinette takes a step towards the doors and a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says. It’s not enough, for any of them, but it’s all she has at the moment.

Tikki smiles, eyes sparkling with tears, “Thank you. Now go!”

Marinette opens the doors and is immediately swept up into a million conversations. People tell her how good she was and how much they enjoyed her performance as she weaves through the crowd and she smiles and nods and thanks them but can hardly processing all of the attention. Marinette doesn’t notice Alya until Alya throws her arms around her, hugging her tight and crying.

Marinette blinks in surprise. “Uh…” She pats Alya’s back and looks up to Nino, who waves. “Hey, Nino.”

“Hey! You killed it, dude. Super awesome.” He fits bumps her before putting a hand on Alya’s shoulder. “Al, you’re crying on her costume.”

Alya pulls away from Marinette and wipes away her tears. “You…” She points a finger at Marinette. Marinette tries to remember if she’s done something wrong before Alya smiles. “You swore you’d tell me if you got a solo!”

Oh. “Well… I wanted it to be a surprise,” Marinette admits.

“Was it!” Alya whacks Nino’s arm. “He wouldn’t let us see any programs! I should’ve known something was up.” She hugs Marinette again, even tighter. “You’re the worst. I hate you. You did so good and I love you so much.”

Marinette hugs back and mouths ‘thank you’ to Nino. He winks and gives her a thumbs up. His eyes light up as he sees something over Marinette’s shoulder. “Dude!”

Adrien stumbles backward as Nino launches himself at him. “Whoa!”

“Someone new to cry on,” Alya says before letting Marinette out of her death grip and latching onto Adrien and Nino instead.

Adrien gives Marinette an awkward smile before Nino grabs Marinette and pulls her into the middle of the hug. She finds herself squished between Nino and Adrien, her face pressed against Adrien’s shoulder. She tenses and looks up at him, smiling awkwardly.

He returns the smile, his cheeks turning pink.

“You two did so good,” Alya says. “It’s not fair. Gorgeous and talented? Leave something for the rest of us.

“True that,” Nino agrees. He’s as stuck in this hug as Adrien and Marinette are. Marinette isn’t exactly sure how Alya is holding them all in. Nino wriggles an arm free and ruffles Adrien’s hair. “One of your best, bro. You’ve never looked better.”

Marinette bites back a laugh. The gel in Adrien’s hair means that it’s staying a ruffled mess. Nino smirks and ruffles it again, messing it up even more.

“Is our Marinette in there someone?”

Marinette gasps and ducks out from Alya’s arms and runs right into her father’s. “Maman! Papa!” Being wrapped up in their arms feels safe and warm and like home— her father still smells like freshly baked bread, so that’s definitely helping.

“You were beautiful, ma chérie,” Sabine says as she pulls away. “I’ve never seen you dance like that before.”

Marinette hugs Sabine again. “Thank you, Maman, I loved it.” Speaking of loved… “You’ve already met, Nino, right?”

“He hid the programs from us,” Tom says, raising an eyebrow.

Nino rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just doing a friend a favor.”

Marinette shakes her head. “Anyway, this is Adrien.”

Alya tugs Adrien forward. He lifts a hand in an awkward greeting. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Sabine says with a bright smile.

Marinette groans and buries her face in her hands. She forgot about that. “Maman please.”

“You have?” Adrien asks in surprise.

Nino snorts.

“You did great,” Tom says, putting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Your father should be proud.”

Adrien barely nods, staring at Tom almost in awe. Marinette wants to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that this is what family is supposed to be like.

Alya clears her throat. “Speaking of fathers…”

Adrien tenses, eyes wide.

She elbows him lightly. “Nathalie said she’d meet you in your dressing room before the closing speech thing. I’m not sure how she knows where that is—”

“She’s scary, that’s how,” Nino interrupts. “That women knows all.”

Alya rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she asked me to let you know.”

A look crosses over Adrien’s face. “I’ll see you for the close,” he murmurs to Marinette, squeezing her hand as he passes by. She looks over her shoulder to watch him disappear into the crowd of families and dancers.

“He seems like a good kid,” Tom says.

Marinette finds the floor fascinating.

“A good kid…” Alya murmurs. “Be right back.” She darts into the crowd and and is quickly swallowed by it.

“Should we be concerned?” Nino asks Marinette.

She nods. “Very.”

—«·»—

Sabrina is leaving the dressing room as Marinette heads back to get changed. She loves her costume, but the bodice is starting to dig into her sides and she’d love to go to close of the intensive in comfortable sweatpants.

“You did great, by the way,” Sabrina says breathlessly, catching Marinette by surprise. “Like, really really good.”

“Oh, thank you. You did too, your small group was incredible.”

Sabrina turns pink. “It was nothing. Oh! Chloé is in there so,” she shrugs before heading toward the stage door.

Marinette nods slowly before opening the dressing room door.

She’s surprised by how quickly it’s been cleared out. She’d seen Aurore as she had been wandering around looking for her parents and friends and Aurore had somehow managed to pack everything up and change before getting swept up by the excitement. Rose looks up from her makeup case and smiles brightly, hanging her costume bags over her arm before she leaves the room.

And then there were two.

Marinette shakes her hair out of the bun but kept in in a ponytail. It’s awkward enough, curled stiff with hairspray, and taking it down would just be worse. She’d rather wait until she could wash all the gunk out of her hair before trying to take out anything else. She pulled off her fake eyelashes and trashed them before scrubbing the rest of the makeup off her face with far too many makeup wipes. She sat on the floor as she carefully untied her pointe shoes. Despite only having used them in this one showcase, they were broken in to a point close to ruin. She remembers Tikki joking about how ballerinas go through pointe shoes like they were made of paper. Tikki wasn’t wrong.

Marinette sighs in relief when she finally gets out of her costume and into sweats. She no longer feels like she has to be a perfect statue of elegance. She can slouch. Thank god.

“We have to go,” Chloé says suddenly.

Marinette looks up from where she’s organizing her makeup. “Oh.”

Chloé tosses her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. She has no idea how Chloé got it so perfect so fast. “Clean up later, they won’t wait for you.” Chloé throws open the door. “Sorry,” she says tightly, “by the way.” And then she’s vanished into the darkness of backstage, her heels clicking against the floor.

Marinette swallows before following her. Okay. In part, she’s relieved that she didn’t have to accept Chloé’s apology, because she doesn’t know if she’d be able to. On the other hand… She’ll deal with it if they have to work together again.

For now, she can let go.

—«·»—

The theater’s seats aren’t the most comfortable in the world, but Marinette’s feet hurt and her entire body aches, so it feels nice to just curl up and rest her head on Adrien’s shoulder as the teachers talk. He plays with her hair mindlessly as they talk about the summer and the showcase and everything everyone accomplished over ten weeks. She can feel a lump of emotion in her throat and she tries to swallow it back. If she starts crying, she’ll probably never stop.

Trixx motions to Wayzz and he steps foward, glasses and smile crooked. “You’re probably wondering why I’m up here,” he says, gesturing to the others and yes, Marinette was wondering that. “Really, I just have friends with connections.” Plagg snorts and Tikki shoots him a look. Wayzz shakes his head. “My name is Wayzz. I don’t teach, I’m not very good at that, but I do work in the shoe room for a ballet company. And I know ballet, I know it well.” He adjusts his glasses. “I’ve been lucky enough to see how some of you have progressed since you were first offered a place in the program, and the leaps and bounds you’ve all made— truly, truly inspiring.”

Marinette sits up, eyes wide.

“You okay?” Adrien whispers.

She nods wordlessly, staring at Wayzz. He’s still talking, but the words are no longer processing. He smiles and it’s like he’s smiling right at her. If she imagines him with his hair combed back and neat, wearing contacts instead of glasses, dressed in an out of place suit—

“If you keep working as hard as you have, I have no doubt that you could all end up in a company like mine,” Wayzz says, “regardless of what opportunities you may or may not have had growing up. With the opportunity you were all given over the past ten weeks, you’ve all been able to truly shine.”

Marinette sinks back in her seat as Wayzz steps back and everyone applauds.

Adrien leans over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Marinette promises, pulling her gaze away from Wayzz to focus on Plagg. “I thought I knew him from somewhere.” She remembers shaking his hand and thanking him calmly before calling Alya and screaming.

“Alright, kids.” Plagg steps forward to center stage. “I know you and your parents want to get out of here soon, so it’s a good thing I don’t do speeches.”

Adrien scoffs.

“But hey, you all crushed it tonight, so pat on the back for that. I told you the fondues would pay off.” There are scattered groans through the audience. Adrien is one of them. Plagg smirks. “I’m going to pass of my nostalgic mush to Tikki, seeing how that’s her thing, but keep fonduing, it’ll get you places eventually.”

Tikki clasps her hands together. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that it has been a true honor to teach you all. One of the greatest parts of teaching is being able to see your students grow and we have seen you grow into dancers that we may very well be sharing a stage with in the near future.

“Ten weeks isn’t long but at the same time, it’s impossibly long. It’s the blink of an eye and an entire summer. Tiny steps lead to big leaps, you just have to keep working. What you go back to tomorrow might not be this extreme; you may have shorter hours and fewer classes, but that doesn’t mean you should stop working as hard as you have been.

“Whether or not you choose to continue dancing, whether or not this is going to be part of your future, you learned a lot this summer, more than you may realize. You’ve made friends and you’ve made connections. You’re only on the brink of what you can truly do and achieve. And we are so thankful to have been able to help you find your way just a little bit more. A little guidance can go a long way and you should be proud of yourselves for how much you’ve learned, because we wouldn't have been able to help you if you didn’t want to learn.

“Take what you’ve learned this summer and apply it to the life you choose to lead, whatever that may mean for you. Some will take more than others. Maybe all you learned from this summer was that you’re a terrible roommate--” A few people laughed and others agreed. “--and while I doubt any of you learned so little, it’s still better than nothing. It got you out of the house didn’t it?”

Adrien hides his face in the crook of his arm to muffle his laugh.

“Dance is hard, ballet is hard. It takes so much work to make it look elegant and graceful and effortless. And despite how hard it is, you all did it wonderfully tonight. The performance you put on was magical and the talent that crossed this stage was unbelievable. You’ve all overcome so many boundaries — physical, mental, and otherwise — this summer and we are all so proud of you and what you’ve accomplished.

“If you’re leaving tonight, make sure you have everything you brought and stay safe on your way home. To those leaving tomorrow, we have to be out of the rooms by ten so they can clean. If you have any studio keys you have to return, both Plagg and I will be there until around eleven. We hope that you’ll consider joining us again next summer, so you can improve even more. And to those of you who are graduating this year, wherever you go, whatever path you may choose, we wish you the absolute best.”

—«·»—

Marinette is packing up the last of her costumes when there’s a soft knock on the dressing room door. She zips up the costume bag as she says, “Come in!”

Tikki opens the door and smiles. “We’re on our way out.”

“Oh!” Marinette reaches for her makeup box. “Sorry for taking so long I can—”

“It’s fine,” Plagg interrupts. “Sheesh, breathe a little.”

Tikki holds out a key. Marinette hesitates before taking it. “All the lights are off but the stage ones and Adrien knows how those work, him and Plagg were fooling around with them after dress rehearsal.” She shoots Plagg a look, but he just shrugs. She rolls her eyes. “Just lock up and you can give us the key tomorrow with your studio key. Don’t worry about anything else, we have to be back here anyway to clean up some things and return the keys.”

“I can help before my train leaves,” Marinette says. “If you need it. With cleaning up and all that.”

Plagg closes her hand around the key. “We’ve got it. We get paid for stuff like this. You don’t.”

“Just make sure he gets home at a reasonable hour,” Tikki says, motioning behind her. “He’s on the stage. He always likes to have some time to himself after performances.”

Marinette squeezes the key, the edges of it biting into her skin. “Yeah, of course.”

Plagg smirks. “No funny business,” he says, draping an arm around Tikki’s shoulder.

Marinette flushes. “W-we— I—”

Tikki gives him a flat look. “Leave her alone, Plagg. You’re fine,” she promises Marinette. “Don’t stay too long. Sleep well.”

Marinette nods and watches them leave. It takes her a moment to collect herself and then another moment to collect all her things. She studies the now empty dressing room and wonders how not even an hour ago it was filled with costumes and people and life.

She shakes off the feeling and shuts the door behind her.

Marinette puts her stuff down and watches Adrien for a few minutes from the wings. He’s not dancing so much as just going through motions and wandering around the stage with a distant expression on his face. It takes her an almost embarrassingly long time to recognize that he’s mostly just moving through the variation from the Bluebird pas de deux. He drags his toe on the stage in a slow compass turn, freezing when he sees her in the wings.

She holds up the key. “Tikki told me to lock up when you finished.”

“Right,” Adrien says softly. “I’ll be done in a minute, just…” He finishes the turn and stands in third position for a long moment before doing a pas de cheval tombé. He preps for a pirouette and does an easy double.

“We don’t have to leave now.” She puts the key down on top of her costume bags. “I can wait.” She toes off her shoes and joins him onstage. It’s strange feeling Marley under her bare feet again.

Adrien faces the audience head on. Marinette gazes out into the darkened rows and rows of empty seats. “It’s weird,” he says, “to think that this place was full of people an hour ago. And now it’s so empty and alone.”

“We’re here,” Marinette points out.

Adrien smiles at her. “We are, aren’t we?” His eyes widen. “Hold on.” He runs across the stage, disappearing into the wings.

An empty stage and theater is significantly lonelier and creepier if you’re by yourself, Marinette notes.

“Hey, Mari.” Adrien enters from the other side of the stage, holding something behind his back. “These are for you.” Marinette’s eyes go wide as he holds out a bouquet of red roses to her.

“Y-you didn’t have to,” she stutters as she takes them. Alya had told her flower language once, but she doesn’t remember any of it, she’s too focused on the fact that Adrien got her flowers. “You really didn’t.”

“I wanted to,” he promises. He blushes a little. “I wanted to thank you for…being you.”

She wants to protest that isn’t doing anything, certainly nothing to deserve flowers. Her parents always get her flowers after performances, they’ll sit on the counter in a vase until they start to wilt and then she’ll press them in a book to keep forever. She doesn’t think these are the same kind of post show flowers. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve gotten you flowers too. I didn’t get you anything.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You got me roses,” Marinette whispers.

“And you gave me friendship,” Adrien says honestly.

She resists the urge to hide her face in the roses. “That is so cheesy,” she mumbles.

“I’m a cheesy person,” he admits. “But you knew that. And…maybe, you wouldn’t mind going out on a cheesy date with a cheesy guy?”

Marinette lowers her flowers and stares at him. Her mind has gone almost completely blank, like some sort of factory reset. She has to run through the words a few times to make sure she actually heard him correctly. “Adrien Agreste that was the lamest way you could’ve asked me out,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady because she honestly thinks her legs are going to give out on her.

He smiles goofily and shrugs. “Did you ever think I was cool?”

“About ten weeks ago I did.”

He laughs. “Is that a yes?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marinette smiles down at the flowers before rising up a on her toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Of course it’s a yes.” Adrien lights up like the sun and her heart flips. “To quote Alya, we were practically dating anyway.”

Adrien snorts. “Her too? Nino’s been bugging me about it for weeks.”

Careful of her roses, Marinette wraps her arms around Adrien’s neck. “I think they may have bonded over trying to get us together.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You think?”

She hums. Their noses brush as she tilts her head. “Maybe a little.”

“We should probably tell them at some point,” Adrien murmurs, just a breath away from her lips. “They probably have a party to throw. Bets to exchange.”

“They can wait.”

Marinette wakes up far too late.

For most people, it’s not late at all. Eight thirty on a Sunday morning? Back to bed. At home, Marinette is up as soon as her parents start baking. For the past few weeks, Marinette has gotten up whenever Adrien does and she doesn’t know if that boy knows what sleeping in even means.

It’s strange to find the bed next to her empty.

She sits up with a groan, aching all over and knowing that she needs to stretch before she gets on a train and sits for several hours but not really wanting to. The perfect day would actually be not moving period, but that’s not going to happen.

She gives herself a few minutes to wake up before she gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom, relieved to see that her hair is only a minor disaster and that there’s no makeup smudged all over her face. She did her best last night, but she still sometimes wakes up after competitions looking like a racoon. There’s only so much you can do to take makeup off once you’ve applied several pounds of it.

Adrien’s things have already been moved out of the room. Marinette packs at a fairly leisurely pace, listening to music on her phone and scrolling through notifications she’d missed last night. She has hours until she has to make her train, she’ll be fine.

She sits back on her heels and closes her eyes, remembering how Adrien’s lips felt against hers and kissing him until she was breathless. It’s kind of hard to believe that it’s not all a dream, but it also feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It’s a little bit of a struggle to get all of her things together, but she manages. She checks the room once more before shutting the door behind her and hearing the finalizing click.

Marinette returns her room key and drops her stuff off at the studio before making a quick Starbucks run. She needs something to eat that isn’t healthy and she’s pretty sure Adrien stole the rest of the granola bars anyway.

Tikki is sitting on the desk while Plagg spins lazy circles in the chair when Marinette returns with drinks. Tikki looks up from her phone with a smile. “Figured you’d be back soon.”

Plagg scoffs. “Like she was going to leave all her stuff here.”

Marinette puts down her hot chocolate and pulls out the keys to the studio and theater. “Thank you for…everything.”

Tikki grins brightly as she tosses the theater key to Plagg. “You’re welcome, and thank you too. You’re welcome to leave your stuff out here.”

Plagg nods toward the studios. “He’s in his usual room.”

“And we’ll be here as long as you’d like.” Tikki winks.

Marinette tucks her hair behind her ear and glances toward the door. “Right. I’m just going to…”

“Go be sappy teenagers!” Plagg says, shooing her away. “You’re making me sick.”

Tikki laughs as Marinette walks over to the studio door. “Like we weren’t sappy teenagers once,” Tikki teases.

Marinette knocks on the door softly before she opens it. She’s not really looking for a response, she knows she’s welcome, she’s more of giving a warning. Snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adrien is doing lazy pencil turns to gentle lyrical music when she opens the door. His face is red and his shirt is disheveled and there’s a pile of luggage in the corner by the stereo. He winks at her the next time he makes a rotation. He poses dramatically as she closes the door before meeting her halfway.

“You were up early,” Marinette says, holding out his drink. “And you were quiet.”

He smiles gratefully before taking it. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked exhausted last night.”

She shrugs and leans against the barre as he drinks, wrapping both her hands around her hot chocolate. “Performances wipe me out. It’s probably because I psych myself out so much beforehand.”

Adrien nods. “I used to do that too.”

“Got used to it?”

“Had to,” he points out. “If you have a performance every night for a week, you don’t have a chance to be tired. Mostly I just napped a lot until I was able to run on what’s essentially pure willpower.”

Marinette groans. “I like sleep too much for that.”

“Well, you can’t have dance, sleep, and a social life. You have to choose.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “You have a social life?”

Adrien sticks his tongue out at her as she lifts her cup to her mouth with raised eyebrows. “Um, excuse me, I have a girlfriend.”

Marinette feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. She tries to keep the butterflies in her stomach still, but it’s far far too new for her not to freak out just a little bit. “Is she pretty?” she asks playfully.

“Gorgeous,” Adrien says with twinkling eyes.

“Bet she’s a better dancer than you.”

“You’d be right.”

She gives him a flat look. “Okay, no. So not true.”

Adrien shakes he head. “No, I still can’t do a body roll right, so… I think you win this round.”

“I think you’re biased,” Marinette counters.

“Mm… Yeah, probably. But not in this case.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you love me anyway,” Adrien teases, putting down his drink next to the stereo. He reaches out to take Marinette’s.

“Yes. Yes I do,” she says as she passes her drink off, their hands brushing.

Adrien pauses, eyes wide. He smiles slowly. “Well that’s good. Because I love you too.”

Marinette covers her mouth with her hand to hide her own smile.

“Too soon?” he asks. He takes her other hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“We haven’t even gone on a real date yet,” she points out.

Adrien hums thoughtfully. “Can we consider this our first date?” he asks, motioning to the room.

Marinette nods slowly. “Starbucks and dancing. The only two things we seem to do.”

“We also watch bad movies,” Adrien adds. “And Disney classics.”

“Three things then.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, two out of three seems pretty good. Sounds like a decent first date to me.” He offers Marinette his hand with a small bow. “What’d you think?”

She curtsies before taking it. “It sounds perfect.”

“Do you waltz, my Lady?” Adrien asks, pulling her into closed position. He starts waltzing before she can even answer.

“Not really, but you seem to waltz just fine, despite this song not being a waltz,” Marinette teases.

“You’re so picky.” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

“Mm, well, someone needs to teach you to count music. Can you not hear the downbeat?” she teases.

Adrien stares at her with glittering green eyes. “Will you help me find it?” he asks softly.

Marinette smiles before taking lead. “One,” she says with the next step. She moves out of closed position as she pulls Adrien in a slow circle, counting the downbeat aloud whenever they reach it. He sings along to the music softly, and she thinks that she could stay here forever in this empty studio with nothing but Adrien and gentle music. It doesn’t take long before they’re giggling and improvising poorly while holding hands, completely entangled in one another.

#marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #tangled ribbons #my fics #the end :')

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