was in desperate need of some serotonin today, so here's some quick post-reveal bed-sharing
Words: 1K+
Summary:
Marinette wakes up to a bump in the night. It’s her boyfriend (and not in the way you’d think).
Thump.
The sound tore Marinette from her sleep. She shot straight up in bed, frantically scanning the area for danger. With a start, she realized she wasn’t in her room. Memories were returning slowly as she recalled deciding with Adrien to spend the night at his for once, both too tired after the long day to trek the extra few blocks to hers.
She gasped— Adrien. Her hand patted down the area to her immediate left, seeking his warmth where she was used to finding it. A steady rhythm from her heart beat against her rib cage as she turned to see his side of the bed empty.
“Oof,” a soft sigh breathed from the floor.
Marinette was leaning over the edge in a flash, finding her boyfriend rubbing his eyes as he slowly sat up.
“Adrien!” she gasped. “What happened? What are you doing?”
His eyes flickered to hers, bright even in the dark, and he chuckled. “I think” —his hand moved to massage his side, low by his hip— “it was a well-timed kick to my side.”
Her heart dropped in her chest. “What?”
He laughed again, pulling himself back onto the bed and taking her into his arms. “What kind of dream were you having, Buginette?” he asked. “Must have been pretty intense.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, pushing against his chest so she could continue looking into his face. Mirth danced through his green eyes. “Are you implying that I kicked you out of the bed?” she asked disbelievingly. “Why are you so calm about it?”
“Oh. It’s not the first time.”
“What?”
Adrien shrugged. “Well, usually, when we’re at your place, I just kinda end up pushed against the wall? The loft has that nice built-in baby gate, lucky for me. This is the first time I’ve actually fallen out.”
Her jaw dropped open. This was mortifying information to receive in the middle of the night. “Adrien,” she said sternly, taking his shoulders in her hands and staring intensely into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me I kick you every night?”
“It’s not every night,” he replied dismissively. She gave him a look. “Okay, it is most nights, but still! Not every night!”
“I don’t care how often it is!” She shook his shoulders, his body pliantly rocking back and forth with her movements. “Why wouldn’t you tell me so I can stop? I must be ruining your sleep!”
“I don’t mind.” He smiled, the picture of innocence. “I think it’s cute.”
Marinette wanted to growl, but she knew it wouldn’t be nearly as intimidating as she wanted it to with the red she could feel all over her face. She groaned, dragging her hands down her cheeks until the skin stretched. “What’s wrong with you?”
Again, Adrien gathered her in his arms, this time with Marinette accepting the embrace. She curled up against his chest as she felt him press a delicate kiss to the crown of her head. “It’s an honor to be your punching bag,” he joked.
“Adrien,” she groaned, thunking her head against his shoulder, “shut up.”
“Sorry.”
“Wait, no, that makes me feel worse,” she hastened to say. “I need to apologize to you! I’m sorry.”
He chuckled again, his warm breath tickling her forehead as it passed through her hair. “Like I said, I really, really don’t mind.”
“Why don’t you mind?” She pouted, tilting her head up to look at him. “Doesn’t it wake you up?”
“Sometimes, yeah, but–” He sighed as he seemed to look for the right words. His mouth tilted in a half-smile. “I like knowing you’re still there with me.”
All the embarrassment drained out of her as she noticed his tone change. “Do you think I would go somewhere?”
“Technically, no,” he answered honestly, “but sometimes… in the back of my mind…”
She frowned. “You get anxious.”
He took in a breath. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Marinette wrapped her arms around his midsection, pressing her face into his worn cotton t-shirt. He smelled of citrus and the fresh linen scent of her Maman’s favorite laundry detergent, making her smile. He smelled of home.
“I’d never leave you, Adrien,” she murmured.
“I know.”
“Especially not in the middle of the night.”
He laughed. “I know.” His arms tightened around her as he laid their bodies back down against the pillows. “We’re a package deal. A bonded pair.”
“Exactly,” she huffed. Leaning up on one arm, she poked him in the chest. “But you really should have told me I was kicking you in my sleep. I feel like a jerk.”
“A cute jerk.”
“Stop calling it cute!”
He waggled his eyebrows as he grinned at her. “It’s not my fault that everything you do is cute.”
She growled frustratedly. She wanted to be angry, but instead she pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re so annoying.”
“Annoying and cute?”
Rolling her eyes, she leaned back onto his chest. “Yes,” she huffed.
Adrien laughed again, the sound reverberating in her eardrum. She loved the quiet moments like this where she could hear everything— his laugh, his breaths, his heart beating in his chest. The arm wrapped around his middle tugged him closer, and in response he squeezed her tighter against him.
“Seriously,” she mumbled, “wake me up next time. I don’t want to kick you out of bed.”
“It’s really not a big deal,” he whispered back. She opened her mouth in protest, but he spoke again before she could, “Sometimes it’s just a little nudge. Like this:” His foot connected with her shin under the blankets, gently pushing against her with featherlight pressure.
“Oh.”
“See? Nothing.”
“But–”
“And the kicking,” he interrupted, knowing exactly what she was going to say, as always, “I don’t mind, because I can always tell when you’re having a dream. And I like knowing that.” His thumb was brushing over the exposed skin on her shoulder, lulling her back towards sleep.
Against the siren song, she shook her head. “Still, if you ever want to wake me up– even just to talk, I want you to wake me up,” she whispered.
“Now, I know that’s sleep-Marinette talking.”
She would have rolled her eyes if she thought he could see it. “Ha ha,” she said sarcastically. “I mean it. I’d gladly lose a couple hours’ sleep for you.” She turned her head to press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Especially knowing you would for me.”
“I would. Anytime.”
“I know.”
“Okay,” he mumbled into her hair, his lips brushing her scalp, “I’ll try not to let you attack me inexorably again.” She heard him breathe deeply, his chest expanding beneath her head.
“You’re lucky I’m so tired right now, kitty cat,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut.
“Yeah, I really am. I love you."
"Love you too..." she managed before sleep pulled her back in, warm in Adrien’s arms.
555 notes
·
View notes
“the southern raiders” is such a crazy (good) episode for so many reasons but the fact that it subtly reframes katara’s entire relationship to kya’s death is incredible. throughout the course of the show, you hear katara state that the fire nation killed her mother. but at no point, until she confronts yon rha, does she tell anyone why they killed her mother.
they killed kya because of her existence. kya died for her. it wasn’t just a senseless act of brutal violence, it was a targeted and deliberate act of systematic persecution. katara doesn’t just survive her as her daughter, she survives her as the sacrifice made in her name. she doesn’t just wear kya’s necklace as a memento, an heirloom passed down across generations as a testament to the courage of the women in her family (although yes, the fact that it was originally kanna’s is of course also hugely significant). that necklace is a reminder of what her mother gave up to protect her. it is the physical reminder she wears so that she can properly honor her memory every day.
even when she messes up, loses control or makes the wrong call, she is always acting in the name of what she believes is right. injustice shaped her, and her guilt and knowledge that she survived against impossible odds out of pure love wills her to act in the name of love at all times, to reproduce that love and that heroism and that unshakeable courage to do what’s right even when it seems impossible.
katara’s determination and hope is never not sensical, and never not inspirational, but in the eleventh hour of the series, we learn something shocking yet simultaneously unsurprising about the formative trauma that defines her. another layer is added to her grief and her driving motivation. it’s not just that she’s the only one who can carry on her people’s heritage. it’s not just that she is a victim of genocide and demands justice for the perpetrators of these grievous sins. it’s not just that she wants joy, adventure, friendship, strength, and revolution. her mother died for her. katara is only alive because the person she loves most in the world is dead. and she cannot let her death have been in vain.
1K notes
·
View notes