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forehead-enthusiast · 3 years

Text

Checkmate

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, fluff but it gets slightly steamy at one point (still totally sfw)

Word Count: 6k

Summary: You and Haechan get engaged, because anything is better than the process of trying to get engaged. That being said, having a fiancé you hate isn’t that much better.

Author’s notes: remember me???????? I’m alive, yeah. I’m super proud of this fic, I think it’s my best ever, so please give it a read!!

Haechan inhaled the overwhelming scent of floral perfume, and barely managed to stifle a gag. His father arranged for him to meet more and more foreign princesses every week, and he wondered where the man even kept finding them. Were there even this many countries? The prince’s surroundings were beginning to blend into a blur of painted smiles and emotionless eyes. He cursed that stubborn old man in his mind, and questioned furiously why it was even so important that he find a bride any time soon. Still, no matter how much he despised it, he knew his father wouldn’t accept anything less.

He looked into the sea of lace gowns and resigned himself.

Maybe he’d just choose someone. Anyone. He smiled morosely, knowing all the women there were only after their shot at the throne anyway. They were here to use him, why shouldn’t he use them too? The apathetic thought left a bad taste on his tongue. Still, in his exhaustion at his circumstances, it seemed more and more reasonable the longer he considered it.

He searched throughout the crowd of giggling princesses, unable to distinguish between their faces.

One after another, they approached him, with candied smiles and words that were far too practiced. One after another, they convinced him a loveless marriage with someone half-decent was far preferable to enduring this a moment longer. One after another, they revealed themselves to be absolutely unbearable, and Haechan grew more and more desperate to find someone that didn’t make him want to throw himself off a balcony after three sentences.

You stood at the back of the crowd, prodded by impatient elbows and sneered at by women hiding their smirks behind fans. You rolled your eyes, unable to understand this need, this hunger to marry someone they’d never met. That was your problem, according to your parents. And your advisors. And your tutors. According to everyone, really. You’d been to so many different kingdoms, trying to seduce unfamiliar princes, but could never bring yourself to actually put any effort into it. The carriage that shipped you to each one was beginning to feel more like home than the castle you’d left.

You watched girl after girl leave the ballroom, looking thoroughly dejected. It was hard not to relish in their failure just a bit, but you dreaded whatever high standards this prince was going to judge you with. You had little to offer. Your background, your kingdom, your land- none could remotely compare to his. Your parents were completely insane to even think you had anything that would make you lucrative as a bride to him.

Maybe they’re hoping he’ll behead me. You chuckled.

Still, the crowd continued to thin, and you couldn’t put off meeting him forever. A few of the weaker-hearted girls nudged you forward, suddenly less eager to meet the sharp-tongued prince.

You sighed, and decided to get it over with.

Haechan rubbed at his temples, barely even looking at the girl who approached him now. He’d made up his mind to find a bride today, but his prospects weren’t looking so good. His eyes caught the hem of this princess’s dress. It was unadorned. He’d go so far as to call it plain. Many princesses were after his riches, but he’d never seen one that was so blatantly poor. Most at least tried to disguise their lack of wealth, so as to make them more desirable in terms of growing power. He half-chuckled, half-sighed. His gaze traced upward lazily, until it came across the first unsmiling face he’d seen all day. It shocked him so much that his hand dropped from his face, and he stood up instinctively.

“Your highness, thank you for allowing me to meet with you today-”

It was the most monotonous, disinterested introduction he’d ever heard, and his heart soared. You hadn’t even noticed he’d stood up. Incredible.

“Let’s get married.”

“I hope- excuse me?”

“Let’s get married. Can we go right now?” The question was directed to the attendant beside him, who sputtered at the prince’s sudden enthusiasm. No one, however, was more surprised at him than you. Your skirts were still clutched in your fists, your knees still bent in a curtsy. You couldn’t even manage to feel happy that he’d chosen you.

If anything, you felt angry.

He was rattling off instructions to his attendant about the wedding he’d already begun to plan, completely ignoring you. You hadn’t even responded to his proposal, if you could call his demand that. You tried to get in a polite word in time and time again, only for him to not even acknowledge you, until you got so sick of him talking you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“No!”

Finally, he turned to you.

“No?”

“I don’t want to marry you.” You ignored the consequences of your words, and avoided thinking about the awaiting rage of your parents.

The prince blinked.

Then he scoffed.

“Of course you do.”

You cocked an eyebrow, your expression not betraying how absolutely pissed those four words had made you. Instead, the first smile you’d shown him spread on your face. It was chillingly false, your eyes boring deep holes into his face as you sweetly replied:

“I’d burn down this castle before I married you, your highness. Good day.”

And with that, you turned and left the ballroom.

Haechan didn’t move for a few moments as he watched you stalk away, a picture of grace even in your anger. The women who remained and witnessed began to whisper, snapping him out of his shock. His head flicked around the room, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then, just as you vanished around a corner, he took off after you.

He’d been turned down. How? Why? He was rich. He was influential. You were neither. He felt a nagging pang of guilt, but suppressed it. You were poor. His proposal was a generous offer, for you and your kingdom. You were the one losing out by rejecting him. So why? Why was he the one chasing after you? He cursed under his breath as he caught sight of your back.

“You! Wait up!”

You heard him calling, but only sped up.

“I will call the guards if you don’t stop this instant! I-I command you to stop!”

You did. Then you turned on your heel, with a glare that would send armies fleeing, and stomped towards him much faster than he knew a princess could. He flinched as you were suddenly toe to toe with him, taller than he expected. You seemed smaller when he was sitting on his throne. You sneered at his reaction.

“Do you need your guards just to take care of one woman, little prince?”

He flushed, but you didn’t let him respond.

“You don’t even know my name. I’m not, ‘you.’ I don’t know why you want to marry me, but if you want me to agree, maybe learn that first.”

“You-” Haechan fumbled, unused to someone being blunt with him. He flared up, unable to think straight.

“You’re lucky to get an offer like this, you know.”

He saw the way your eyes widened in indignation, but kept digging his own grave as if he’d find treasure eventually.

“You won’t get an opportunity like this again. And, for your information, I only want to get married so I can finally be done with all,” he gestured towards the direction of the ballroom you’d both just left, “this.”

Despite your anger, his reason struck a chord within you. Not that that made your tone any less cutting.

“So I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re using me?”

“We’re royalty. We’re all getting used by someone, aren’t we?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and he could tell you didn’t find the idea all so repulsive. He pressed forward.

“You’re tired of it all too, aren’t you? Or do you want to keep getting shoved at princes? We’d both get our parents off our backs. It’s a good deal.”

It was frustrating, but your desire to stop meeting spoiled princes was beginning to outweigh your immense dislike of this one. And as much as you hated it, he was right when he said you wouldn’t get an offer as good as this one ever again. Maybe that’s why he chose you, you supposed. He knew you couldn’t afford to say no. (Not that that had stopped you.) It just angered you that he saw you as someone so desperate, so needy, so pitiful.

“...Fine.” You stuck out your hand in impersonal assent. “But. I don’t want to marry you.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“I’m not done, little prince.” He restrained his scowl and motioned for you to continue. “Let’s just get engaged. That’s enough reason to end all the marriage meetings, and then if it turns out I really just cannot stand you, we’ll call it off. Fine?”

“Fine.”

He shook your hand firmly.

Despite the way you both glared at each other, neither of you could deny how pleased you were with this arrangement.

While you sent word to your family, he went directly to his, who were thoroughly, almost obnoxiously happy that he’d found someone. He forced a grin and made up some lies about how he’d fallen for you at first sight. They weren’t exactly excited about your less than impressive background, but weren’t about to reject the only girl who’d managed to catch their discerning son’s eye.

Within a day, it was announced throughout all your fiancé’s kingdom that he’d found a woman to wed. You managed to laugh about how all the other princesses must be incredibly jealous of you at this moment, but couldn’t quite get over the fact that you were one foot into a lifelong commitment with the rudest man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. It was a troubling internal conflict. On one hand, he was the worst. On the other, the same could be said for just about every other prince you’d ever met. So really, it was an overall win that this one didn’t expect you to love or fawn over him.

At least, that’s what you repeated to yourself as you received the list of engagement events you were expected to attend alongside him.

“Do we really have to do this?” You groaned.

“Just shut up and smile, they’re about to see us.”

You reluctantly did as he said, forcing an exuberant grin onto an unwilling face. Your carriage turned into the courtyard, and crowds cheered wildly, as if they actually cared about your wellbeing in some way. You waved gently, relieved your upbringing was so ingrained within you that you could play your role without ceasing your fantasies of punching your fiancé in the face. As you reached your places of honor, Haechan offered a gallant hand to help you down, and you almost admired how well he played the part of a loving gentleman.

It was such a truly lovely banquet being thrown for you, it almost made you feel bad for lying. Haechan seemed to be thinking similarly, and, forgetting to be vindictive, leaned over to whisper jokingly in your ear.

“Poor fools actually think we’re in love.”

You laughed brightly without thinking. Both of you then remembered you hated each other, and stared at each other in shock before looking away sharply. You waved again, happy to be doing something that made sense to you. The hordes of celebrating nobles clapped and called out their congratulations again as soon as they saw you move, not wanting to get on the bad side of what they assumed was their future queen. That was a pretty nice feeling, and you accidentally smiled sincerely.

Haechan, still stunned by the sound of your real laugh, wasn’t prepared to see your real smile. His eyes widened. It was more beautiful than he expected, and didn’t threaten him with cavities the way every woman in his life’s did. If they were processed white sugar, you were honey with all the real sweetness in the world on your face. He hazily tried to remember when he last smiled genuinely. You turned to him with a gleam in your eye, and he took your hand before rationality could persuade him otherwise.

The smile dropped off your face, and your gaze flicked to your intertwined fingers, then to his expression, which seemed even more confused than yours somehow. He looked boyish and bashful, and you wondered if your haughty fiancé had a far more charming twin.

Lucky for Haechan, the crowd cheered yet louder at the sight of your supposed affection, and he tilted his head towards them as if to say, See, that's why. Normally, you wouldn't have believed it was part of his plan, but it was easier that way. You let him lift your entwined hands in some playfully bragging way, and rolled your eyes.

“Alright, so I get the bed.”

“That’s funny. No, I get the bed. It’s my kingdom!”

“You are not being very gentlemanly right now.”

“And you didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d enforce those kinds of antiquities.”

You scowled, and Haechan looked smug, which only intensified your frustration.

“Fine. Then let’s decide fairly, little prince.” You loved to call him that, just to see him pretend it didn’t irk him. “If I beat you in chess, I get the bed. And vice versa.”

“...Fine, small princ- annoying- um- pret- dum-”

You couldn’t help but grin at his attempts. “Nice try, but I’m not immature enough to be annoyed by a silly nickname.”

Your fiancé grimaced and got out the chess board.

Hours later, you were still playing the first game of chess.

“Y/n… Can we… Can we…” Haechan yawned enormously, which of course prompted you to as well. “Can we maybe… call a truce for tonight? It’s a big bed. We have to be up early for a garden party.”

You wanted to rejoice in his surrender, but your eyes were teary with exhaustion. Instead of the easy win you expected, you’d been in the longest game of your life. It seemed like you two were well matched for one another.

As opponents, of course.

“Fine… But just- just for tonight. We’ll play again tomorrow.”

And with that, you both crawled into the truly extravagant bed, falling asleep before your heads hit the pillows.

Many nights passed, with an unfinished chess game at the end of each. It grew into something of a habit, a nightly chess game, always accompanied by bickering, of course. Neither of you ever managed to truly best the other, with every game ending the way the first did. As they continued, the bickering smoothed into mocking conversations, and sometimes you weren’t even mocking each other, but a common enemy. You would never admit it, but the pair of you started laughing together more often than you did at each other these days.

On some fateful Tuesday, for the first time ever, you saw a clear move to checkmate. The king was unguarded. For the first time, he was vulnerable. It was glaringly obvious, and you snuck a glance at your opponent’s face to see if it was a trap, but were taken aback when you found him already staring at you. He didn’t look triumphant or concerned, but he somehow looked… nervous. Or maybe expectant? And then you realized. He was far too good a player to make an error like this one. He was offering you a choice, from one royal with too much pride to admit they enjoyed the other’s company to another. It would be easy to end this game right now, and banish him to the floor.

You chose another move, and the game continued.

“So what’s on the agenda tomorrow?” You asked, with a tone more befitting of a business partner than a fiancé. The two of you had gotten pretty used to the whole routine of feigning adoration, and typically planned cute moments to perform in advance.

Haechan looked over at you and sighed in a way that might have been more amused than exasperated.

“Would it kill you to sit like a lady?”

You looked down at yourself, eating a biscuit you’d pocketed from today’s lavish banquet, with your legs criss-crossed as you lounged on the bed in your nightgown. The white fabric was hiked up above your knees to accommodate the posture, and catching all the crumbs that fell.

“Aren’t I?”

Haechan couldn’t mask his amiable laugh at that. You felt strangely proud when you made him truly laugh. It was one of the few times his shoulders really relaxed, and he looked like the cheerful boy he might’ve been without the pressure of royalty on his back.

“So… what’s on the agenda?”

Haechan didn’t answer right away. He was still looking your direction but seemed zoned out.

“Haechan?”

He flinched, always shocked when you used his real name instead of a mocking nickname.

“W-what? Oh, we’ve got a ball.”

“Ugh… Boring. You better not leave me alone with all the gossiping hags.”

“Yeah, sure. Uh, for real, could you sit properly?”

“Whaaat, I’m comfy.”

“Seriously.”

That irked you. You were just sitting, and while you hadn’t fully realized it, Haechan was someone you'd grown comfortable being yourself around. You didn’t need another person in your life telling you the way you behaved was wrong, and against your will, you had begun to expect more from him. You felt something too close to heartbreak as you wondered if he was just another person who disapproved of you.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“It’s not a big deal, why can’t you?”

“Because you’re right. It’s not a big deal, so why do you seem to care so much?”

“Can you just do it?!”

“No! Didn’t you get on me for- for ‘enforcing those antiquities’ or whatever? Now you’ve got a problem with the way I sit or how I dress-”

“It’s not- it’s not like that!”

“Then what?!” You flared up at him further, as did he, but he seemed less angry and more... agitated. You laughed mockingly. “Whaaaat are you shy seeing my legs or something-”

“YES! They’re- they’re. Um. Well…” He looked at the floor, and you could’ve sworn you heard him whisper, “pretty,” before he flicked his head back up and stammered the marginally less embarrassing, “distracting.”

Your anger instantly dissolved when he confessed that, and you flushed in a way you didn’t know you could. You stared at the ground, tugging your nightgown gently down. You’d always hated being treated like a lady, but you’d never been treated like a woman, and you found you didn’t hate it quite as much. This might’ve been the first time in either of your lives that the two of you were ever actually lost for words. Neither could formulate some witty remark or snide comment, and you just boiled in the unfamiliar atmosphere neither of you sought to create.

“Uh,” Haechan broke the silence masterfully. “I-I think I’m going to turn in early.”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You might have climbed in bed early- no chess game for the first time in ages- but you both woke up exhausted. Four feet apart, two fiancés had stayed up late replaying the night in their minds and subsequently panicking.

“G-good morning.”

“Good morning.”

The day whirled by, with most of it being spent simply getting dressed for the evening ball. You spent most of the day slapping your face and reminding yourself of how you used to act around him, and when you heard a knock at your door, you were ready.

He told himself he was, but he wasn’t.

Haechan took a deep breath and let his gaze trail up from your skirt to your face, and he stiffened. He’d grown used to his fiancé looking beautiful in the luxurious dresses she wore daily- even though it stunned him more than he’d admit the first time. This dress was no different, no more extravagant, no, but the pink tinge on your cheeks was a beauty he couldn’t have imagined.

“You look… decent.”

He celebrated internally for managing to say something an unflustered him might have said, although some tiny part of himself wished he could pay you a compliment normally.

Your sigh slid into a laugh, and you found your rhythm in your rapport again.

“And you look just adorable, little prince.”

He glared, but was relieved to hear the dig. He offered you the crook of his elbow, and you clapped your hands to your cheeks once more before taking it. He flinched at the sharp sound, and observed your cheeks grow red again from the impact.

“Youch.”

“It’s not that bad, honestly. I’ve been doing it all day to wake myself up.”

Haechan hummed a response. He couldn’t form words; all his brainpower was focused on figuring out why that statement had just disappointed him so. As he rounded the corner towards the ballroom, though, he shook it from his mind.

You entered the ballroom to the usual thunderous applause. Haechan led you down the immaculate gold staircase, and you clung to his arm, the perfect image of a lovestruck princess. No one noticed you holding on a little tighter than usual tonight. The band struck up a song, and you took the hands of possibly the only person you'd ever considered a friend. He led you to the center of the floor and began to waltz. It was always a satisfying feeling to watch the crowds make way for you. You looked everywhere but at your partner, and aimlessly wondered if you’d even been in this ballroom before. Just when you thought you’d seen every room in the massive castle, you’d be led to a wing you didn’t even know existed. The idle thoughts occupied you, which was probably for the best, since it meant you didn’t notice the way Haechan was looking at you.

The dance ended, and you went separate ways to entertain people who made you feel like your brains were melting. Seriously, one day your mind was just going to leak out your ears and spill onto the polished floors. It was amazing how you could spend hours talking to one person night after night, but half an evening with these sycophants made you contemplate faking your own death.

Finally, your reprieve came in the form of an attendant, whispering in your ear that the crown prince was requesting your presence.

“So sorry ladies, my future husband and I are just inseparable.”

They gave you condescendingly knowing looks, their eyes practically screaming, Just wait a few more years, child, you’ll tire of each other. You had to turn away quickly so they didn’t catch you sneering at them. Whatever. You wouldn’t be with him in a few years anyway, you would have gone your separate ways by then.

Right?

Something about that thought didn’t feel right. Not even sad, just… not right. You thought rapidly as you let your attendant guide you. What was your original agreement? If I realize I… Wait… If I end up still hating him, then the engagement’s off? Those were the terms. Which meant, if you didn’t hate him, then inevitably you’d end up mar-

“Y/n!”

You looked up sharply, not realizing you’d crossed the ballroom already. However, even when looking forward, you didn’t see the person who’d just called your name. Your eyes flitted about, searching for the familiar face. You took a few steps in no particular direction, massively confused, and then suddenly terrified when a hand reached out from behind a curtain and pulled you to join its owner. Not the type to lose composure and scream, you clenched your jaw so tight it almost broke until you saw your fiancé's face shrouded in the shadows of the velvet drapes.

“What took you so long?”

His question wasn’t at all rude, as it once might’ve been. It was one of genuine relief to see you, as if you were his solace amongst all the fools at the ball. You met his eyes for maybe the first time this evening, and they were bright and warm and looked at you the way no one ever did. Like you mattered. Like he wanted you there. Not the facade you put on for everyone, he wanted the real you.

Oh God, I don’t hate him at all.

“Earth to y/n?” He chuckled as you snapped to attention. “Finally, you’re here. Is this the worst ball yet or what?”

“Yes! It’s seriously unbearable.”

“I knew you’d agree. By the way, have you still been slapping your face? You shouldn’t in front of guests, they’ll think you’re crazy.” He teased you over your red flush without giving it a second thought. You hadn’t touched your cheeks in hours. The realization only made you blush even more. He leaned in close, and you stood stock-still with surprise.

“Do you want to vanish for a while?”

“What?” The absurdity of the idea finally overwhelmed all other distractions from your mind. “How can we leave, we’re the guests of honor?”

“Please, nobody cares. They’re all busy trying to climb the social ladder anyway. Besides, we’ve got this great hiding spot.”

You stifled a laugh. “Yeah, squeezing between a window and some drapes is what I call ideal.”

“Hey, it’s got, like, enough room for us!”

That was a bit of hyperbole on Haechan’s part. You both barely fit in the narrow space, and you thanked the stars you hadn’t worn a larger hoop skirt tonight. Suddenly you were back to evading making eye contact again. A hush fell over you as you thought about how incorrect his statement just was, and you both grew acutely aware of how you couldn’t position yourselves in any way that would allow you to put some distance between your bodies. You cursed yourself for not postponing your life-shattering revelation about the man before you until after this little endeavor. Haechan’s mind raced as he saw the red on your skin remain even in the dim light.

You could only avoid each other’s gazes for so long.

He locked eyes with you, and you envisioned pieces moving across a board, your king running out of ways to escape its fate. There was only one end, and you were starting to love the idea of surrendering. You whispered harshly in the sarcastic way that felt comfortable to you, still too prideful to admit your defeat.

“So are you going to kiss me, or am I going to kiss you?”

Haechan answered by pressing a palm to the back of your neck and pulling you towards him perhaps too eagerly. A second later, you’d both pulled away, frantically looking around to see if anyone was peering in on you both. You relaxed when you confirmed no one has discovered you.

“This isn’t... a good time, Haechan.”

“I could not agree more. Way too risky.”

Neither of you waited a moment more to lunge towards each other again. His lips found yours roughly, his breath already ragged with overworked patience. You grabbed his lapels, no less desperate for this moment, your lipstick smearing onto him. Your fists crushed his boutonniere, and his fingers wove into your hair and ruined the curls. There was no party beyond the curtain. You and him were alone, both desperate to memorize the taste of each other, and nothing else mattered but that. His lips parted, and yours followed suit. His tongue just brushed your lower lip, and you felt a thrill run down your spine. Your arms wrapped around his neck unconsciously, trying to get closer to him than was possible, but nothing could stop you from trying. You caught his lip between your teeth, your instincts running wild, and you wondered how either of you had endured up until this point. Now that you’d gotten a taste of each other, it seemed almost impossible not to get addicted. He gripped your hair, his other arm wrapping around your waist and not letting go. It slid down to grab your thigh and wrap it around him, your dress’s layers barely inhibiting him. Every inch of you was so aware of where it made contact with him, and you hungered for more. All facades were shed. You were both just heat and teeth and desire, without a shred of nobility between the two of you. You’d never experienced anything so perfect.

The two of you finally parted, your lips wet and the rest of you looking disastrous. He pressed his lips to your cheek, getting your own lipstick on your face, and you pulled his palm up to kiss it over and over again. Too breathless to continue and too worked up to just stop, you let the clock tick by as you left soft kisses all over each other.

“What are we going to do?” You whispered, half concerned but half amused. Between sentences, you still found places on his face yet unkissed, and remedied them. “We can’t go back out looking like this.”

“What are you talking about? I look great.” You were both too elated to remember you should be worried about your predicament, but he did seem genuinely proud of the pink smears adorning his face and neck, the teeth marks framing his lips, the fierce creases in his lapels. He brushed his fingers on your cheekbones, and looked even prouder of the mess he’d made of you. It felt like a dream to be touching you like this. Even more unreal to know that he was the cause of your disheveled hair and your chapped lips. He may or may not have imagined a moment like this before, late at night when he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, but it was buried in the back of his mind and nowhere near as euphoric as this reality.

“No, but seriously, we can’t go out like this.”

“No yeah, for sure, you’re absolutely right.”

You managed to escape thanks to the tight-lipped attendant who’d led you to a curtain concealing a prince in the first place, but found yourselves rather tight-lipped too. Once you’d both washed off the lipstick and the teeth marks faded, you didn’t know how to face each other. You just crawled into bed and discreetly squirmed as you thought about all that had happened. What was more embarrassing, that you realized you might, maybe, possibly, have feelings for each other, or that the other person might know about them? It was already late when you turned out the lights, but you both stayed up longer, plagued by worries.

They must be so smug since I was all over them, I’m such an idiot.

God, I can’t believe how intense that was. What if they hated it? What if I was bad at it?

Did they only kiss me ‘cause of how much I was kissing them?

Are we like… friends? They probably don’t hate me, so…

That was really unbelievable.

I think I might really… feel something for them.

I hope they feel the way I do.

The hurricanes of concerns led to a restless night, and a mortifyingly awkward day afterward. You couldn’t even look at each other, let alone speak. Even the servants seemed to notice the tension, and you could hear them giggling when they’d disappear into the corridors. You tried to tell yourself that that was great, that it really sold your act as a couple of lovebirds, but that just embarrassed you all the more. Your fiancé was just as tormented, the blush that was sparking gossip reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.

Eventually, someone had to break the silence. If not with words, then with the slamming of a chess board down on the usual table. And that’s exactly what you did, not that who slept in the bed was something that still concerned either of you. No, now it was just routine, something you enjoyed and shared with each other, and something you were going to use to discuss your current feelings.

“C-come play, little prince.”

Even the nickname didn’t manage to get him to flare up. He walked over, still with the air of importance that was second nature to him, but his pounding heart almost echoed against his ribs. You set up your black pieces and he took the white. He moved a pawn towards you.

“So…”

“Yeah.” You slid a piece across the board. He nodded, his cheeks burning. You both knew what you had to say and what the other person was going to say, but that only made it all the more difficult to verbalize.

“I guess I don’t hate you. As much as I used to.” You said hurriedly, your voice forcibly steadied.

“Oh, what an honor.” Haechan’s snarky response was accompanied by a trembling hand moving a rook. He yelled at himself internally, and attempted to be as honest as he could. “I… suppose you’re not unbearable.” The biting words didn’t sting, nor did they flow the way they once did. It saddened both players, even though it had only been a day since you both had been without the banter of your best friend. Slowly, you started to regret the night before, the ecstatic memories being clouded with the fear that you might lose the most important person to you because of it.

“I-”

“Oh, sorry, you start-”

“No, you-”

“No-”

“Okay, fine!” You huffed, accepting the initiative. You pushed your rook straight forward. “I… have always hated the idea of getting married. Everything about it- the formalities, the responsibilities, the princes, ugh. Awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m not done, okay!” Pieces shuffled around the board as you tried to organize your thoughts. “If I… had to marry someone…” Your sentence trailed off, and Haechan leaned forward, ears itching to hear the conclusion. You stared at the board, and he steeled himself. It would’ve been a blow to his persistent pride if he just waited for you to say everything.

“I’m…” What did he need to say first? His mind blanked, and he just let the words fall from his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but remained fixed on the game. “For what?”

“For not listening to you. The first day we met. I didn’t… treat you the way I should’ve. I’m sorry for that. But I’m… also glad it happened. If I’d acted differently then maybe you wouldn’t be in front of me. That would be, uh, not ideal. But I’m sorry.”

“Um. Thanks. I’m glad it happened too. Otherwise we might still be pretending to be well-mannered in front of each other.” Haechan snickered, and you did too. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, and he could feel himself growing bolder. He moved his queen across the board, closing in on his target.

“Man, where would I be without my unladylike, insufferable fiancé?”

“Probably whining like a child to some other pitiful creature who deserves better.”

The clouds in your minds began to clear as you exchanged snarky remarks. It felt right- pretty words didn’t like to be forced from your lips. He smiled. You looked up, your line of sight lingering on the lips you knew well before finding his eyes. You left your king unguarded, ready for it to be captured.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind marrying you, little prince.”

“Do it then.”

You swept the unfinished game off the board, feeling like you’d won, and he met you in the middle. He kissed you, barely more composed than the night before, but you had no problem with that. The two of you smiled against each other’s lips, incredulous that somehow you had found someone to love, something you used to believe was impossible. Little bursts of laughter interrupted the kiss as giddiness took over.

“Didn’t I say something like I’d burn down this castle before I wed you?”

“Just let the wedding planner know,” Haechan sighed with joy as he gave in to the temptation of your lips again.

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dubsxreader · 3 years

Text

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

#shigaraki tomura x femaie!reader #shigaraki x reader #tw sucidal ideation #tw depression #tw manipulation

66 notes · View notes

horansqueen · 3 years

Text

Stuck With You - Chapter 18

Chapter 18: I Want You

🡪chapter 1 🡪chapter 2 🡪chapter 3 🡪chapter 4 🡪chapter 5 🡪chapter 6 🡪chapter 7 🡪chapter 8 🡪chapter 9 🡪chapter 10 🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

Any time I need to see your face I just close my eyes and I am taken to a place Where your crystal mind and magenta feelings taken shelter In the base of my spine, sweet like a chica cherry cola

I don't need to try and explain, I just hold on tight And if it happens again, I might move so slightly To the arms and the lips and the face and the human cannonball I need to, I want to

Come stand a little bit closer Breathe in and get a bit higher

Ooh, I want you I don't know if I need you But, ooh, I'd die to find out Ooh, I want you I don't know if I need you But, ooh, I'd die to find out

But a look, then a smell of perfume It's like I'm down on the floor And I don't know what I'm in for

click here to be on the update list

NIALL

My phone had been ringing and beeping constantly in the past hour. Every time I checked, though, it was a new call or message from Mandy and I was desperately trying to avoid talking to her. I knew I wouldn't be able to run away from her for too long but I was determined to at least try. I marked all her text messages as 'read' and got out of my car again, getting inside Lewis' apartment building for the second time on that day.

I felt nervous and I was not sure why, but I kept twisted the insides of my jeans pockets as the elevator moved up. My heart skipped a beat when I glanced at the spot where Devon and I kissed but I swallowed my feelings and quickly walked out of the elevator. It didn't take long for Lewis to open the door and when I walked in, I noticed he had cleaned up everything. I was impressed, especially when I remembered the mess we had made, but I didn't mention it.

"You know you don't have to come visit many times a day, mate." Lewis pointed out before his lips curled. "No need for me to get used to your ass in this apartment, your girlfriend messaged me and said it was too expensive for her."

I wanted to point out that she was not my girlfriend and never would be but the words got stuck in my throat and I decided it was better to ignore it and not fuel the fire. I took my hands off my pockets and passed one in my hair with a sigh.

"Look, Devon really needs a place to stay."

"I thought you'd be happy to keep her with you in your room." Lewis wondered with a frown.

I took a seat on the other couch, close to him and shook my head. "She wants out, okay." I explained, shaking my head slightly before sighing again and leaning my back on the couch. "I mean, she really wants to leave."

Lewis stared at me, frowning slightly more, and finally moved his upper body closer. "That's how much you love her?" he asked in a soft tone, making me shrug. "Enough to let her go?"

"Don't say stupid things."

"No, you say stupid things, Horan." he added a bit louder. "Instead to love her enough to let her go, why don't you love her enough to be honest with her? I've seen the way she's been looking at you. She's literally waiting for you to make a move."

"I've hurt her enough already okay?" I replied a bit rudely. "She wants out and if that's what she wants then that's what she'll get."

This time, Lewis didn't answer but he rolled his eyes at me, letting his back fall on the couch. "You're a fookin' idiot."

"Thanks, I know."

"You let one girl fuck you up, and then you fuck the others. Nice move." he replied again with sarcasm.

"Fine, sue me!" I let out, now getting angry. "I'm just here to ask you to send her a message again, and tell her you'll charge her half of the rent you proposed first."

Lewis raised his eyebrows at me, blinking a few times. I knew he was getting annoyed but I didn't care. "Why would I do that?"

"I'll pay you the other half." I explained, closing my eyes. "But you can't tell her! Ever."

My friend stared at me and I knew he wanted to add something about the girl that broke my heart and fucked me up to the point where I rejected any form of romantic love, but he didn't and I felt grateful for that. It's not like I was not aware that it was not a normal thing. I knew people fell in love, fucked up other people, hurt them, got their heart broken... and started all over again. Most people had this urge and this need to love and be loved, knowing they could get hurt but hoping they won't. I didn't have that need, because I felt like the happy times were not worth the pain. I couldn't lie and say Devon didn't make all my principles falter, but I was trying hard not to do to anything about it, despite how bad I was craving it... how bad I was craving her.

"Propose her a ride to school every morning." Lewis finally said, taking me out of my thoughts. I blinked a few times and frowned before shaking my head. "Seriously, do it." he continued. "If you do that, I'm good with you paying half the rent and not telling her."

I stared at him for a few seconds before looking down. I liked the idea but I was not sure she'd agree to it. I also was pretty convinced it was a bad idea. How could I stop feeling all these things for her if I spent time with her every single day? Anyway, the reason she wanted to move out of our room was because she didn't want to be around me anymore, and picking her up for school every week days sounded counterproductive.

"Why does it matter so much to you?" I finally asked, looking up at him as he got up but totally resigned to do what he asked me to do.

"Because even if you pretend the opposite, it really matters to you." Lewis confessed, making something stir in my stomach. "So, we have a deal?"

I got up too, glancing at the hand he was holding out before looking up in his eyes. I would never tell him, but if Devon agreed to let me give her a ride to school every morning, it would make my heart lighter. As much as I hated to admit it, I took so many decisions with my heart recently that there was no doubt I'd end up in deep shit very soon. Did the fact that Devon was about to move out make me change my mind? Would it turn me into the pathetic human being I was whenever she was near? The same one I used to be around my ex girlfriend right before and even after she broke my heart?

"Deal." I just let out firmly, grabbing his hand and shaking it hard once before letting it go.

"I want my money every saturday and you're the one driving here to give it to me, making it your problem."

"Ever heard of bank transfers?" I asked with a scoff.

"I want it cash."

I knew he just wanted me to come over and I understood why but I was too mentally exhausted to argue and maybe it would also give me the chance to see Devon. I should run away from here and break all the deals I had made with Lewis but I couldn't. I was tired to fight, I was tired to repress everything I was feeling in hope it would disappear.

"Okay, but you don't ask for the money in front of Devon."

"Who do you think I am? An idiot?"

I chuckled but rolled my eyes before nodding, grateful for what he was doing. It was tough to push away someone who made me feel so many things. It felt like every fiber of my body, everyone around me, and even fate and destiny made it impossible for me to stay far from Devon. I knew deep down that I couldn't stay physically away from her forever. It felt like my own body was going to rot or die if she'd stay far, and I knew it was a stupid example but those were the only words I could come up with. Perhaps it was not really that. Perhaps it was just that my heart would stop beating, but either way, I was not ready to let go. Not completely.

I wanted to thank Lewis for everything but just as I was about to, someone knocked at the door, making me jump slightly. I moved away to let Lewis pass but when I heard the voice on the other side, I felt my heart jump in my chest.

"Lewis, are you there?" Mandy's voice let out in a soft tone. "I forgot something last night!"

I placed my hand on Lewis' chest as he walked past me and looked up in his eyes, shaking my head. "I'm not here." I mouthed, making him frown and throw his hands up.

"You're gonna have to face her at some point, right now is perfect." he replied in a whisper, walking up to the door and opening it before I could think of something else to do or a good place to hide.

As soon as her eyes met mine, I pushed my hands in my pockets and her face lighted up.

"Niall, hey, tried to reach you all day!"

"Yea, sorry my.. phone was on silent." I lied, sending her a small smile. "I was about to call you back as soon as I left."

"I just feel very lonely today." she pointed out, sending me puppy eyes as she took a step closer, putting her hand on my chest. "Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?"

My eyes roamed on her face for a few seconds as she gripped my shirt. I knew looking at her should make me feel something, but nothing happened. It was not because I was used to her, or because I had had too much sex encounters with her, no. It was simply because I felt nothing for her and probably never felt anything except lust. The fact that i didn't feel any desire for her anymore was a shock and my lips parted as I blinked a few times.

"I'm busy... tonight." I cleared my throat and took a step back, turning to Lewis to hug him lightly and tell him goodbye. I could feel Mandy's eyes on my back and it suddenly made me feel uncomfortable. When I turned back to her, she raised her eyebrows and I smiled. "Do you need a ride?"

"Yea, thank you! Let me just grab my bra really quick."

I frowned, turning to Lewis who just shrugged as Mandy disappeared in the hall only to reappear a minute of two later as she pushed her bra in her purse. I didn't ask because I didn't want to know and as we left, I glanced at Lewis' phone and moved my chin in its direction. He just nodded and I followed Mandy to the elevator.

I watched as she leaned against the wall in the exact same spot Devon and I had kissed but closed my eyes as images invaded my brain, appearing behind my eyelids like a movie I could never get tired of.

"Are you okay, Niall?"

I got out of my thoughts, trying to push away the thoughts in my head where Devon was straddling me and I was kissing her lips gently after a claustrophobia crisis, to turn to Mandy. "Yea, I'm good."

We walked together until my car and I drove in silence. She put her feet up on the dashboard and I felt my lips curl into a small grimace at how annoyed it made me but when I parked, I turned to her with a serious face.

"Look, Mandy, I think we need a break."

"A break?" she let out before chucking. "Niall, we're not dating."

"I know I just.. I can't do this anymore."

She tilted her head to lean it on the bench before turning her body slightly my way. She sighed low and a sad smile appeared on her lips before she licked them. For some stupid reason, it made me think of Devon. Again.

"It's because of that girl, right?"

"No." I lied, shrugging both shoulders and looking away, making Mandy laugh.

"I didn't even name her and you knew who I was talking about." she pointed out, making me grimace again. "It's okay, Niall, I see how you two look at each other. I didn't think she was your type but hey," she shrugged. "I get it."

I stared at her for a few more seconds, just trying to process what she was saying and when I frowned, she started laughing, rolling her eyes.

"Don't make this face! What did you expect?" she asked, an amused smile spread on her lips. "It's not like I was in love with you or anything!"

Without waiting, she got out of my car and I finally did the same. We walked together near the building and when we were about to part, I turned to her and sent her an uncomfortable smile.

"So... bye?"

She laughed again, shaking her head, and took a step closer. "I'm really gonna miss your ass." she let out, pinching it and making me tense immediately. She got on her tiptoe and pressed her mouth on mine, taking me my surprise, before taking a step back and raising her eyebrows. "Bye!"

I stood there, motionless, a sensation of relief washing over me as some of the stress I wasn't even aware I had disappeared suddenly. I pushed my hands in my pockets and when I turned back to get inside, I noticed Devon not so far from me, staring at me. My lips parted and my heart dropped when I realized she had seen what had just happened with Mandy and I was tempted to tell her it was not what she was thinking but instead, I swallowed my words as she walked closer.

"Your friend Lewis messaged me." she explained, glancing in Mandy's direction before looking back in my eyes.

I looked down at her, my eyes roaming on her face and lingering a bit too long on her lips. Why couldn't I get her off my mind? Why was it so tough for me not to grab her and kiss her right here and right now?

I started thinking about my ex girlfriend and the feelings I had whenever she was near, and it made me realize how different the two emotions were. The way I loved my ex girlfriend was needy, pathetic and ugly. The way I would do anything she wanted just because I was scared she would leave, the way she made me jealous on purpose, or simply did anything she wanted without caring if it would hurt me. I fell in love with someone who used me and it was for that same person that I had given up on love. Even now, after months of her breaking my heart, she still had an impact on me. She was still controlling me without even knowing. I was letting what she did to me ruin my life and I had no idea how to get out of it.

"Oh yea?"

"Mmhm, he said he cut the rent in half, and I think I can afford it."

"Alright." I just said, sending her a small smile.

"You don't seem surprised." she asked with a frown, tilting her head.

"No I mean, I know Lewis, he's cool." I shrugged, sending her a sincerely smile that she slowly sent back.

The way Devon made me feel was different. She made me feel good in a way I was not sure I understood yet. I could relate to her, and even if she didn't talk much about herself, she still let me in, somehow, by allowing me to look at her art and tell her how it made me feel. She allowed me to kiss her whenever I wanted and push her away after, as if she was always ready to give me a chance... a chance that I never had the guts to take. I was just realizing that maybe I was wrong and she was leaving.

"Oh, by the way, one of my friends has a mattress he doesn't need, so if you're interested, I can bring it to Lewis' apartment this week?"

Her eyebrows raised and her lips curled on the right. "Really?"

"Mmhm, oh, and since you don't have a car, I propose a ride to school every morning, how's that?"

This time though, she shook her head. "No, I can't accept that."

"Come on, I drive near there every morning anyway for breakfast, so it's all good."

It was not a complete lie but it was not the whole truth either, but I didn't care.

"No really, I can't."

"So you can accept Lewis cutting half the price of the rent, and a mattress from a guy you don't know, but when it comes to accepting my rides to school, it's too much?" I asked jokingly, a bigger smile on my face.

It made her chuckle and roll her eyes. "Fine!" she gave in, making my heart jump in my chest. "But let me pay you, okay?"

"Okay, but I decide the price." I explained, taking an other step closer. Her body was so close to mine now that if I moved, It could brush against hers. "I want that painting."

"My.. my painting? The one I wanted to throw away?"

"Mmhm," I admitted, nodding gently. "I want you to sign it, and give it to me. In exchange, you get rides and breakfast every mornings of the week."

She shook her head slightly, still smiling, and brought her shoulders up, near her cheeks. It was so endearing I almost kissed her right there.

"Niall, this painting is horrible. It'll never be worth anything."

"Deal?" I asked, ignoring her short rant.

Her traits softened and I brought my hand up, running my thumb on her cheek gently. I didn't know why I was doing that, I didn't know why I felt the need to touch her. All I knew was that feeling her skin against mine brought in me a feeling I was trying so hard to suppress, and I immediately felt the need to write a song. I let my arm fall back on my side, realizing she was not smiling anymore. Her lips were parted and she just nodded very slowly.

I suddenly got scared of everything this could imply. Would I just close off again and hurt her? I knew it was a possibility. I knew I could wake up in the morning realizing my mistake and turning into the cold hearted man I was with her only a few days ago. What would happen, then?

"Okay." she whispered. "Deal."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan au #niall horan college au #niall horan enemies to lovers #niall horan uni au #my fanfics #swy

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.18

Impostor

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?) Word count: 3690

Summary: Natasha is showing a bit of tough love, ‘Nat’ is on a shaky ground and Tony is being mature. Seriously, I mean it, this isn’t a joke, Tony actually can be an adult. See for yourself.

Warnings: mentions of amnesia and death, swearing, light angst and--

Story masterlist

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Despite Steve’s initial protests, you started cleaning up while he was still trying to sooth his supersoldier appetite.

You weren’t finished yet when irritated Natasha Romanoff paced into the room.

“Come on, Rogers. I get the situation you found yourself in, I really do, but try to be smart next time,” she hissed and seemed ready to yank him to his feet by his ear.

If she hadn’t look so intimidating, you might even laugh. Steve had the decency to look guilty and you quickly realized this was about him denying the director his wishes.

‘Smart’ though? Meaning?

“Sorry, Romanoff.”

“Don’t you ‘sorry’ me and think for a second! I have two SHIELD agents downstairs, keeping them from coming up here only by telling them I’ll bring you down there in my teeth if I have to!”

Your blood turned to ice. That was much more serious than Steve had led on. What the hell?!

Steve shot the fellow agent an angry look, his teeth clenched, clearly about to snap back at her – he never got a chance.

“You’re coming with me. Do you really want them to sniff around here? I have nothing to worry about, but you might want to sort things out before Fury finds out what’s going on and tries to stick his nose into it,” Natasha stated flatly and the glare she sent his way spoke volumes. Also, the flicker of her gaze towards you during her speech was everything but inconspicuous.

You gulped in fright and resisted the urge to take a step back despite the murderous glare being aimed at Steve.

“Stop scaring the shit out of people!” Steve hissed, rising to his feet and protectively standing in front of you.

Natasha sighed and eased her terrifying manners; the switch to a friendly demeanour was almost too sharp to wrap your head around.

“Sorry. You know I’m not afraid of him. I know you aren’t either. But think, Steve. Do you want Fury to find out right now and have him on your ass – hers, more importantly, because she’s the one who rose from the death – or do you want… more time with this very charming lady, who happens to be your soulmate?” she bargained and threw a wink at you over Steve’s shoulder. What was this, a fucking wink day? And how was she switching between her moods so quickly?

“I know which I would prefer,” she added softly and smiled at you.

Her gentleness surprised you just like when she had led you to Steve’s room only several hours ago – really, only hours had it been? – and more so, her authenticity. This was a side she was willing to show her friends – for some reason, to you as well – and the strict uncompromising agent was her everyday mask.

Steve let out an indistinct sound that told you he admitted to himself she was right and that he resigned, though very much unwillingly.

You forced yourself to gather some courage and plastered a smile on your face as he turned to face you.

“If this is just about me, don’t worry about it. Go.”

Thee lamely covered hurt at you sending him away tugged at your heart, but if you were being honest, you maybe needed time to think and Steve being away could help.

“I’ll still be here. I promise,” you assured him and just like yesterday, he seemed calmer after that. Yet, there was still something that had him frowning as if he was being torn in half, having an itch he wanted to scratch, but was afraid of revealing to you where it was.

You exchanged a look with Natasha and took a calculated guess when you saw her eyes turning compassionate. You finally understood why you had found him in the chair by your bed this morning – it was closer to you. Definitely close enough to cover you in case any kind of shit went down.

“And I’ll be fine here. There’s no safer place in New York, right?”

The thumbs-up from the Natasha was subtle, but you still noticed it. Jackpot. If it wasn’t so sad that Steve was terrified for your safety, you might even cheer. In this case, not so much.

Steve’s eyes found yours, boring into them as if looking for the last remnants of anything that would keep him in the Tower. He must have found none, because he nodded softly. Your smile grew more honest.

“Okay. Alright. If you don’t mind. I promise I’ll try to be quick,” he declared at which Natasha cleared her throat.

“Because you can totally tell the World Security Council to suck it up…”

…what? Did Steve nearly refuse such an important meeting (it sounded pretty important, okay) for you? Thank God for Natasha Romanoff. You weren’t sure your conscience could live with that…

“You did,” Steve threw over his shoulder swiftly and that caused both yours and hers lips to twitch. Yeah, she seemed like the type. “Jarvis, does she still have the authorisation to walk the Tower without limitations?”

“She does now again, Steve,” the AI announced and you only then realized he was talking about you. Oh.

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have just-“ you blurted out and was cut off by his eyebrow arching.

“-sit in the same room all day?”

Point taken. “…yes. If necessary.”

“Well, it’s not,” he exclaimed and pressed the lightest of kisses to your temple. “Let’s get going so we can be back.”

With that, the agent and the captain took off, while you were left there standing, dumbfounded. Your face was burning hot, the warmth focused into one particular place where Steve’s lips brushed your skin.

As you automatically reached for Steve’s plate to clean it as well, you wondered if he did it on purpose or if it was something he did automatically.

Either way, the recovery from the shock and the pleasant feeling the gesture left in your chest kept you busy for the next half an hour.

And suddenly you knew it wasn’t thinking what you needed to do, no. You had to talk to someone. And you knew exactly who.

“Uhm… Jarvis? Can I ask you something?”

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When the AI opened the door for you, you came to face Mr. Stark’s backside. Admittedly, it wasn’t the worst view you could be offered, though Steve’s would have been more impressive; yes, you had noticed, that man was impossible not to ogle. More importantly than the view being acceptable, you’d rather spoke to the man eye to eye. Which was rather difficult seeing as he was partially buried in… a robotic suit with shiny colours of red and gold?

A superhero suit, you realized. Right. Because you were momentarily accommodated with superheroes.

“Uhm, Mr. Stark?” you addressed him warily, not wanting him to-

A clank sounded as his head snapped up, its back colliding with a platter of metal above it with deadly precision. Your hand shot up to your mouth to cover it before you could embarrass yourself by the squeal coming out of it.

“Goddammit!” he cursed loudly, making you wince in compassion as he rubbed the injured spot on his head, turning around. ”Who- oh. Oh. Hey, kid.”

“Why is everyone calling me that?” you complained, remembering Dean’s set of nicknames involving exactly this. Then you grimaced as he abruptly let his hand fall to show you he was in fact not hurting. He even grinned, an expression of emotion you believed only with hesitance. “Also, sorry.”

“I’ll live,” he waved it of before answering your rhetorical question. ”It’s ‘cause we’re old and respectable. Does Cap call you that too? ‘Cause that might be a bit weird.”

“Uhm… no…?”

“Oh, good, I was getting worried,” he hummed light-heartedly and then went to a container on his right, pulling out an icepack to place over his wound after all. He gestured towards a swivel chair politely. You shook your head. “What’s on your mind?”

“The… uhm, the Jarvis told me I wouldn’t be interrupting…” you pointed vaguely at the ceiling, suddenly realizing this was a bad idea. Probably. Not to mention Mr. Stark was apparently in a middle of something, so… “Clearly, I am. Sorry, I’ll just-“

“Nope! Stay right here! And it’s Jarvis without the… ‘the’. You didn’t answer the question.”

He took the seat since you seemed uninterested in it and tilted his head with one corner of his lips raised.

“I… I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. And… I’d like to ask you something, but it might be a bit strange?”

He removed the icepack with a chuckle, tossing it carelessly to the middle of his workspace. “Kid, for all we know, you were brought back from death by an angel who spilled your memories on your way from Heaven. There’s no such thing as ‘strange’ these days. Kinky might weird me out – maybe –, but strange? Nah.”

Kinky? Really? You were so not about to talk sex with this man. His jokes were slowly putting you at ease a little though, despite what you had come here to ask.

“Right. I… uhm… I just wanted to ask… uh, what am I like? Or… she was, I mean.”

The man frowned at you, sitting upright instead of basically lying in the chair.

“You still are. Her, I mean,” he mimicked you. “Why would you ask me that? Why not Cap? Or is he only bragging about himself?”

“No! No. Steve’s… very helpful.”

“Oh. Good for him. ‘Cause being narcissistic is my jam, not his, he’s more like ‘I’m just a kid from Brooklyn’ kind of guy,” he impersonated Steve with his chin stuck out, while his voice fell an octave. The corners of your lips twitched. “Then again, he’s a hundred-year-old man and me, on the other hand, I’m slightly younger, a genius, a billionaire and overall perfect.”

That drew a chuckle from you – you simply couldn’t hold it back anymore. This man was a clown. But he was also speaking very bluntly, which was why you had chosen him to be your source of information. You liked his demeanour; he reminded you of Dean. You had a feeling that you might have been the teasing kind of friend with him. She had been. Whatever.

“I bet,” you humoured him and he squinted at you playfully.

“Correct answer. You want an opinion of someone who isn’t smitten by you,” he stated confidently and you felt the blush instantly colouring your cheeks as his choice of words.

“Smitten is not… uhm-“

“Kid, he is definitely smitten. He was and still is, or is again, whatever floats your boat,” he smirked and leaned his elbows onto his thighs. “Not that I can blame him. You’re easy on the eyes, ridiculously good to him and for him, because you are the same breed of a creepy romantic, you can keep up with my and Clint’s verbal combat, because clearly you were born with the sass gene, and believe it or not, you showed quite early on that you had guts and quite steely nerves, which is something Steve’s girl desperately needs.”

You blinked in surprise at such long speech. You had no idea what to say to that shower of compliments, having a bit of a problem to believe it was you he just described. So you focused on the safest topic.

“Steve?”

“What about him?” Mr. Stark asked, confused.

“This is the first time you called him ‘Steve’, not ‘Cap’,” you elaborated, only to earn an almost tired sigh.

“Well, obviously. Cap has a stick up his ass and jumps out of planes to save the day. It’s mostly Steve who’s a little shit and doesn’t use parachute for the said jump.” I beg your pardon? Steve is doing what? “And he’s always Steve first to you, Steve with the job of being Cap.”

That quickly distracted you from the stunts Steve was apparently pulling on missions of saving the world. You could imagine that – seeing Steve as a regular person, no matter how unique he was. You had a hunch he appreciated that too.

“Oh, I didn’t mention that before? That you were the first civilian he bothered to drop the bullshit superhero persona with? Demolished the walls keeping his little precious heart, that’s actually too big for his own good, safe and never rebuilt them? My bad, so I’m telling you now. And he’s willing to bend the rules for you. I never saw him leave a meeting early until you showed up.”

He gestured wildly with his hands as he drew metaphorical walls in the air and made them crumble down and then his fingers curled with his thumbs straightened, connected to create a heart from his hands.

Your own heart swelled in your chest a little. Could it really be true? Could Steve have been honest with you? And… could you be that person for him?

You had no idea what to say. Or do, for that matter and the man huffed exasperatedly.

“Look… I’m not great at this, okay? That’s why I built robots, not humans.”

“Jarvis seems human enough,” you quipped, taking care to leave out the ‘the’ this time.

“Thank you, miss,” the AI quickly chimed in.

Of course, he was listening now too. You hoped he wasn’t recording or something, because this was a very private conversation you wouldn’t want anyone to see and hear. Especially not Steve.

“That’s because he has a human template. He was a servant at my house when I was a kid. Great guy. deserved to be immortalized.”

That little piece of private information in exchange of opening yourself to him about your insecurities and worries was highly appreciated. Your next confession was the only thing that kept you from smiling at Mr. Stark gratefully.

“I… I think I’m hurting him by being here,” you whispered the darkest secret and Stark’s eyebrows got nearly lost in his hairline with how swiftly they jumped.

“You? Hurting Steve?” he repeated incredulously and you worried your teeth over your lower lip, curling into yourself, averting his intense glare bashfully.

“Hurting him and his reputation on top of that. And his job…. I don’t remember him. I can’t and I hate it, because I met him only yesterday and it would be ridiculously easy to fall in love with him, but how can I? How can I be that person to him, when he’s in love with someone I don’t know anymore?”

“First – if this is about his job, about Fury mostly, screw that. Focus on what’s important here. Him,” he emphasized, rising from his seat to stand face to face with you – which he did, because he wasn’t as tall as Steve.

You opened your mouth to oppose him that Steve’s job was sure as hell important – to Steve and to the world – but you never got the chance as Stark raised his index finger warningly.

“Uh-uh. I talk, you listen. You’re asking me how? Duh. Meet him again. Know yourself again. I told you – so far, you seem to be the same. But even if you’re not…” he mused, shaking his head with his jaw clenched. “Cap- Steve’s been at the bottom, okay? If you think you’re hurting him by being here in any form different than a literal ghost haunting his ass-- he’s… you’re not hurting him is all I’m saying, okay? So what, you might order different toppings on your pizza or like a different shampoo, show up here wearing a lumberjack shirt, whatever. But this…” He tapped approximately on your soulmarks, oblivious to how much his words had affected you so far. Which was a lot. “…means something. It means everything. To you, to him, to you together.”

“You… you didn’t seem to believe that too much yesterday. Now you do? So what, we’re okay and we’re going to be, because fate said so?”

Your question might have sounded sceptical, but on the inside, that was another matter entirely. What Stark had told you was already worming its way through your brain, very effectively.

Could this, whatever this was, be better than you not being here at all? You had thought so, but Steve’s interaction with the director, the carefully guarded pain being his kind eyes… it made you doubt. You hadn’t meant for it to sound like you wanted to flee, because you didn’t, but… your overloaded mind was getting the best of you.

And Tony Stark was apparently having none of it, because he made a face and shrugged.

“I don’t know who said so. It could be fate, it could be God, it could be the fairies for all I care. The thing is, you believe in that, don’t you? That the soulmark means something and that there was a reason for you to meet him again, exactly like that.”

You had no counterargument since he hit the nail on the head, so you remained silent. He charmed a lop-sided smile singing of victory.

“That’s what I thought,” he exclaimed, satisfied with himself. Then, his face softened a bit. “And that’s fine. You thought that before, which is my point. You’re still you. You might not have concrete memories, but I think everything about you does. It feels like it sometimes, doesn’t it? Weird things, things you shouldn’t feel, things you shouldn’t know, but you do.”

Your heart positively stopped as you recalled the familiarity of Steve’s face, the comfort of his embrace, the warmth in your chest that shouldn’t be there, not so shortly after meeting him.

“How… how do you know that?” you whispered, voice barely audible but still very much shaky.

“I didn’t. I took a wild guess. Looks like it was a good one.”

You huffed a short laugh, unable to comprehend how this man even existed, brisk and arrogant at first sight, but very much intelligent, funny and wise.

“Yeah. Looks like it…” you mused with an absent smile remaining. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

His arms went around you a bit awkwardly and for a very short moment, but they did, a pat on your left shoulder following. He withdrew quickly then, his hands stuck into the pockets of his jeans.

“Let’s never speak of this conversation again, alright, kid?” You nodded obediently, glad he wanted to keep this under wraps. “And stop calling me Mr. Stark. It’s Tony. Leave that mister shit for bedroom games or whatever.”

You shook your head incredulously as you recognized the moment you should distance yourself and leave him work. “Whatever you say, Tony. I owe you one.”

“Ha! You wish. It’s like a thousand. No, three thousand!”

“You’re rich enough not to dwell on such petty debt,” you called back at him and even without seeing his face, you were able to tell he was smirking.

“Oh, am I? How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t. Took a wild guess!”

A chuckle walked you out of the door instead of the man himself.

“See? Still the sassy queen!”

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You wandered the Tower then, visiting the rooftop even and taking in the marvellous view. When you spread your arms to feel the wind better, you felt a ghost of fingers trace your skin, nothing concrete, just a whisper of a touch. You smiled sadly, wondering if it was a memory trying to fight its way out of the knot in your brain Castiel had mentioned when he had first attempted to figure out what was wrong with you and possibly fix it – which he had failed.

You didn’t blame him. Truth was, you didn’t know who to blame; not Castiel, not Steve and you had enough reason to know it wasn’t exactly your fault either. When you spread your arms again, the sensation didn’t return. So you left the open space, perhaps in search of the similar feeling throughout the Tower.

After Jarvis nudging you to take something from the fridge at least to imitate lunch, you met Clint again. You only nodded in a greeting at the man from the morning and continued your route. He didn’t engage, sensing you needed an alone time – which you did. Ever since the talk with Tony, a smile never quite left your lips, no matter how small.

You didn’t know what time it was when Jarvis addressed you again, polite as always, to tell you Steve was back. You felt your face light up and headed the direction you believed was his room.

You never ended up in a rather open hallway leading to it, stopping in your tracks when you heard a sudden rustle of fabric behind you. You spun on your heels only to meet an unfamiliar face of a woman, watching you with interest. A creepy interest, the kind of an examining glare that made you shiver.

You would swear you could feel the air crackle when her lips curled up slightly. Hair stood at the back of your neck and you fought a tremble. There was something powerful about the woman and you didn’t know whether it was safer not to move anymore or try to take a run for it. Since your feet took roots in the ground, staying still it was.

“Hi,” she breathed and it felt like she stole the air right from your lungs only to say the one word.

“Who... who are you?” you queried shakily, something in you screaming to kneel in front of the woman who carried an immense power; how you knew that, you couldn’t tell.

When you didn’t listen to the instinct to submit to her, it was only due to the numbing horror as she took a step closer.

“Oh, do not fear me. I’m just here to fix what my brother obviously didn’t think through. Close your eyes,” she requested almost gently, but you couldn’t. You were afraid that if you did, you would never open them again.

And while you didn’t remember what it felt like to die, you sure as hell didn’t want to relive it.

When you didn’t obey, the woman sighed.

The very next second, you swiftly turned your face away, shading your eyes the second the sharp glow hit you.

You screamed at the burning sensation suddenly coursing your veins, lighting up every cell in your body, setting it on fire. Tears prickled in your eyes, running down your cheeks, leaving a burning trail like acid in their wake.

And then there was nothing. ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 19

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*runs and hides*

To distract you: wasn’t that a lovely moment with Tony? O:-)

64 notes · View notes

theladylovingcrow · 4 years

Text

Don't Go Away Mad (Please Actually Talk To Me About the Issue) 💜 Sanny 💜

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Deviantart and Wattpad, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow - writing/art Tumblr, @insannywestan - Sanny shipping Tumblr

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner

Length: about 1.7k

Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, communication issues, cuddling and snuggling, sharing a bed, getting together, fluff

Summary: They'd slept together so many times - but this was different. It would have been different starting last night, if a misunderstanding hadn't made Danny kick himself to the couch... but that didn't matter now.

Author's Notes: This is cheesy angst, I won't deny it. Fucking relationship miscommunication. Also, I just realized that cuddling is definitely a theme in my stories... I guess since I spend a lot of my writing process in bed or wishing for someone to cuddle with... yeah ok bye imma go hug a pillow

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Sam yawned and stretched, flinging his limbs out to the other half of the morning dawn-lit bed. Danny stood in the doorway, watching him warily, but not fully masking his examinations - or detailed cataloging for appreciation, rather - either.

"Um...morning, Sammy." He bit out, voice soft and a bit hesitant, as if hiding something. "How'd you sleep? Is that bed comfy?"

"You'd know it is if you'd bothered to sleep in it." Danny nearly shivered at the coldness in Sam's voice. "Why didn't you come to bed yesterday? I left you room," he snapped, waving a hand lazily in the air over the green flannel sheets.

There was indeed an empty half of the bed that Sam had dutifully not slept on, so that Danny would have had a space to slip into when he was supposed to get in. But he hadn't made a peep nor an appearance all night. By three in the morning, Sam accepted that he was going to be left alone and confused for the night. By his waking a mere few hours later, he was not only confused, but pissed off. What had he done? Why was he getting the cold treatment? Why was Danny breaking up the good thing they had had going - slow, tentative, silent, but moving steadily forward to something he thought they both wanted?

"Well, I didn't think you'd appreciate me sleeping in the same bed as you. I slept on the couch."

"Dude, what are you talking about, what is this?" Sam scoffed. "We've slept together so many times! I don't mind at all. Why on Earth would you ruin your back on the couch?" He said - almost yelled, but held himself back - brazen in his hurt and anger, not bothering to speak delicately about this... thing like they usually did.

Danny grimaced. "Oh, well I, I thought you were really mad at me... aren't you?"

"What?" Sam asked again, sitting up. Danny looked away as the blankets pooled around his bare hips, shuffling his feet still in the doorway. "No, I'm not mad at you, or, at least, I wasn't yesterday. Why would you think that?"

Danny shrugged and looked down. "I dunno, I just- it seemed like you were upset yesterday, and I guessed it had something to do with me because you were being a bit...cranky and standoffish, you kept telling me to go do things that were away from you, and your answers were always short when I tried to talk. I figured you'd want the bed to yourself, and you certainly wouldn't want to see me anymore for awhile."

Sam sighed, anger gone and guilt replacing it, patting the space next to him. Danny hesitantly sat down, keeping as much distance between his butt and Sam's body as he could without falling off of the bed.

"So, your solution was to assume you needed to give me space, and you put yourself through discomfort so you wouldn't upset me further?"

Danny nodded timidly, still not looking at Sam. His best friend frowned, putting a hand on his shoulder - but Danny stiffened up, back ramrod straight and eyes staring to the doorway.

"Danny!" Sam gasped, quiet but passionate. He wiggled over in the bed, wrapping all of his limbs around him. "That was incredibly sweet of you, but please, please don't ever do it again."

Danny's head turned towards Sam a fraction, his shoulders loosening almost imperceptibly. Sam moved his hand down from Danny's shoulder to his chest, resting it over his beating heart. The bare skin, still undressed in the early morning, was clammy and slightly sweaty, as if Danny was quietly anxious about more than Sam simply being cranky with him the day before.

"'M not mad, Danya," Sam whispered into the skin on his shoulder, the old nickname stirring a noticeable attention that his other words might not have reached.

"Sure you are, you're mad at me right now."

His voice was quiet; not gentle or even upset, but resigned. It broke Sam's heart that he had somehow given the impression that he was angry at Danny, and that he had causes him this much grief. His earlier questions reflected onto himself: what had he done to break what they had slowly been building?

"Danny, listen to me: I was NOT angry at you yesterday. I was in a bad mood, but you didn't cause it. You're my best friend, and I love you, I never intended to hurt you so bad, didn't even know I was hurting you at all."

"You promise me," Danny asked, his need for a final answer clear, "You promise me that you're not mad?"

He was pulled all the way onto the bed by Sam's skinny arms grabbing at him. He huffed and complied, worming under the covers so that he could cuddle up with Sam like he apparently wanted.

Sam layed a hand on his bicep and looked him in the eyes. "I'm so, so sorry I was in a bitchy mood yesterday, and if I took it out on you without realizing it. But, you absolutely weren't the cause," he said softly. "I don't know what it was that got me so pissed off, but it wasn't you. I was actually really looking forward to going to bed..." he trailed off, the unstated 'with you' self evident.

"Oh... I- oh," Danny whispered, relief and shame at jumping to conclusions without asking Sam coursing through him. "So I didn't need to sleep on the couch?"

"No, no," Sam shook his head, imploring Danny to fully believe him. "You didn't do a single thing wrong, it was me who should have told you what was going on with me, and I should have seen that you were upset, too."

"Yeah, maybe you should've, but I'm sorry, too. I should have just asked. I really don't know why I didn't, honestly," he chuckled, "you'd think that, by now, we'd be experts in communication."

"Nah, we're mind readers!"

They both laughed, grinning at each other a little easier now. Danny wrapped his arms around Sam while he giggled and squirmed against him, cracking up at his own comment.

"I didn't realize you forgot your pajamas," Danny said, squeezing Sam's bare thigh in between his thicker, sweatpants covered ones. A hand lightly swatted at Sam's ass, feeling the extent of his "forgotten pajamas" that was pressed up against Danny.

"I was waiting for you. I don't need clothes to keep me warm when I have you."

"Well, I guess I could keep you warm. But what about when you're actually mad at me, for reals?"

Sam made a decision, not ready to let this confusion happen again - he much preferred Danny teasing him while they cuddled.

"From now on, I don't care how mad we actually are at each other, we still sleep in the same bed. I think waking up in the morning to your face right next to me would alleviate most anger, anyways. Don't go to the couch again."

"I won't." Danny sniffed, tilted his head back on the pillow a little to look Sam in his dark eyes. "What about when we aren't mad at each other?"

Sam looked contemplative. After a minute he turned his gaze away from the corner of the room back to Danny, catching his eyes. "We sleep in the same bed."

He sounded confident, but the slight twitch of his left brow was a signal Sam knew Danny knew meant that he was going out on a limb. Sam was suggesting a crossing of lines they had never verbally, and rarely ever consciously, dared to acknowledge. Danny closed his eyes and nodded, resting his forehead against Sam's, feeling the soft breaths that escaped his lips brushing against his own.

The transaction was done, the arrangement agreed upon. Namely: they were now going to be sleeping together - and they both knew that meant literally and also literally - on a regular basis. It was nice to finally acknowledge what they'd both been silently contemplating and tentatively testing out; relieving, even, to have a rule to ground it. They were friends, best friends, during the day, and they would enjoy each other's company immensely. And when nighttime came, they would get in bed together and enjoy each other there, too, in a newer way.

"This could have been arranged a long time ago."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "but where's the fun in good partner communication? I don't know about you, but I like going to bed angsty and separate from you much better."

The laughter died down and they remained cuddled up, pressed tight against each other, everything forgiven. Danny worked his knuckles up and down Sam's narrow back, working into wiry muscles and bumpy knobs of bone. He circled around the sharp point of a shoulder blade, then the other, feeling out every nuance of Sam's body as if he was trying to learn it as well as his.

Sam ran his hand up Danny's own back, feeling the larger muscle mass subtly shift on his frame - a frame that was probably half a foot wider than Sam's. It covered him, shielded him from anything beyond their world and let him rest his own body on it.

"I seriously have no idea how you fit on that couch. Is your back really okay?"

Danny sighed, confessed, "My right side does kind of hurt, and my shoulders are pretty tense. I had to sleep on my side all hunched up so that I wouldn't fall off the second I relaxed."

"You're such an idiot," Sam murmered, giving the aformented areas a firm rub with his warm hands.

Danny worked his other arm the rest of the way under Sam's torso, grabbing at the small of his back not to pull him close - they were as snug against each other as they could be - but to assure himself, and Sam, that he wasn't going to give up possession of him, ever. He pressed a kiss to Sam's temple, then slowly dragged his lips down to Sam's lips. It was a soft, damp kiss, their first when completely lucid.

Sam broke away with a smile, giving Danny a final kiss before turning his face down, tucking it under Danny's chin. Their pulses slowed and matched as the sun rose, wrapped up in their first of many beds they would truly, actually share.

----------

@satans-helper @okietrish @lazingonsunday @bigthighsandstupidguys @karrotkate @oblvions @lantern-inthenight @mountainofthesunn @ryetheruler

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im-fairly-whitty · 5 years

Text

The Way You Keep Me Guessing: Coco Teacher!AU

[Arc 1]

Arc 2: [Together] [A Talk] [The Visit] [Time]

Chapter 5: Shot

Ernesto waited all night.

In the first hours he had raged, storming around the apartment after Hector left, wondering if he should charge out after him and knock some sense into him.

A little before midnight he’d taken the tequila out of the cupboard, had been so close to using it to wash away the dark swarm of thoughts in his head. But had put it back. He’d sworn a long time ago that he’d never use alcohol to medicate himself.

For the next few hours he sat at the kitchen table, the only light on in the apartment shining above him as he tallied up all the reasons that this could not be allowed to happen. He tried to think of something else, tried opening his laptop to work on something else only to be met by the sight of his unfinished disaster of a song. Because he wasn’t good enough to write it.

Sometime around four in the morning Ernesto quietly got up from the table to get the bottle of tequila again.

The sun rose as morning came, but when Miguel came in around nine in the morning, dropped off by some friend’s mother apparently, the apartment still felt dark. Ernesto only glowered silently from the table, and Miguel quietly ducked into his room without a word.

Which was fine.

Miguel wasn’t the one to blame.

It was ten twenty-six when Hector came in through the front door. Ernesto knew because his watch was propped up on the table in front of him, along with a half empty bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. One well used already, one waiting empty on the tabletop between him and Hector.

Ernesto’s arms were folded and he leaned back slightly in his chair as he watched the front door’s handle fumble for a moment, then quietly swing open as Hector ducked inside. His hair was a mess, he was wearing an old university t-shirt Ernesto hadn’t seen in months, and was carrying his shoes in his hand.

The warm starry smile on his face evaporated as soon as he was inside though, as if he could feel the heavy darkness in the apartment too. He looked at Ernesto, his expression hardening.

“Morning.” Hector said, looking around evasively, dropping his shoes by the door, “Is Miguel home yet?”

“He came home about an hour ago.” Ernesto said, his voice a careful balance of complete emotionlessness, “It’s a good thing I was here to let him in.”

“I, ah, I wasn’t planning on being gone all night.” Hector said, a ghost of a smile passing across his face before he looked back at Ernesto, “Sorry.”

“It’s time to talk.” Ernesto said, sitting up and folding his arms on the table-top.

“Not right now,” Hector said, looking away and scruffing a hand through his hair, “I’m gonna go hop in the shower, I-”

“Now, Hector.” Ernesto commanded, pointing to the other chair.

“Ernesto, I really don’t-”

“You said we would talk when you got back.” Ernesto said icily, “And now you’re back. So, sit. Down.”

For a moment it looked like Hector might refuse, but Ernesto pushed every ounce of command he could into his stare, gradually eating away at Hector’s flippant attitude.

“What?” Hector asked, shoving his hands into his pockets with a flat stare, his head ever so slightly tilted forward.

Hector might be getting overconfident in himself lately, but that didn't change the fact that the two of them rarely got in fights. Hector didn’t know how to stand his ground if Ernesto didn’t take it easy on him or if he couldn’t run away. Something Ernesto could use to his advantage.

And Ernesto was going to use everything to his advantage.

“Have a seat.” Ernesto said, his voice losing a bit of its edge at seeing Hector already defensive instead of just brushing him off.

“I don’t have to-”

Ernesto put the edge back in his stare, cutting Hector off without a word. Hector silently took a seat across from Ernesto, sitting on the edge of his chair.

“Look, if this is about rent then I’m really sorry okay?” Hector started, “I’ve just been really busy and-”

“Did she say yes?” Ernesto asked, his voice back in his careful emotionless balance.

Hector was quiet for a moment, looking like he was trying to find a trap in the question. “Yes.” he said, “We’re keeping the engagement a secret until after the adoption papers are through though, so please don’t tell anyone, not even Miguel. And you can hate me all you want Ernesto, but I’ve made up my mind, so-”

Ernesto chuckled a little, his smile cutting off Hector mid sentence.

“I could never hate you, Teto.” Ernesto said, unfolding his arms and reaching for the bottle, pouring some in both shot glasses, “Congratulations.”

“I...thought you were angry about it?” Hector said warily, folding his arms defensively as he watched Ernesto pour.

“Marriage is a really big decision hermano,” Ernesto said, keeping his smile from becoming too strong, just the right amount to be convincingly cheerfully resigned, “and you know that I’m always there for you, even when you do things that seem crazy. We’re both adults Hector, we can make our own choices. Here.”

Hector watched Ernesto slide the shot glass across to him.

“It’s really early for tequila.” Hector said, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

But Ernesto could see his defenses starting to come down, unsure how to sustain themselves in the face of supportive cheerfulness. Good.

“Well if your t-shirt is anything to judge by you’ve had a busy night.” Ernesto said, putting on a wry grin, “Besides, we should have a little celebration, especially if no one is going to know for so long.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be too long,” Hector said, finally smiling a little too as he took his glass, “if everything goes well we’ll hear back from the agency in a few weeks.”

“Well hopefully you scored enough points on that lady’s clipboard to pass,” Ernesto said cheerfully, sipping his drink, “you’ve sure got a lot to live up to next to your primo Berto, but I’m sure you did well. So why the hush? Whose idea was it this time?”

There was the tiniest hesitation before Hector answered, but Ernesto was watching for it. If Ernesto had laid out a laundry list of all the reasons the adoption could or should fail Hector would have closed off, it was much better to let Hector’s imagination do it for him.

“It, uh, it was both of our idea.” Hector said, blinking as his smile returned. He picked up the shot glass, “We think it’s better if the focus is all on Miguel right now so everyone isn’t worried about a wedding too, one thing at a time. It’s not like last time, this time we both agreed.”

“We both agreed as in she convinced you? Or we both agreed as in you both actually agreed?” Ernesto said, keeping his voice light and teasing as he took another sip. Hector would, of course, say it was the latter.

“We both actually agreed.” Hector said, rolling his eyes with a smile. Right on cue.

“Good, because the first time you dated was a complete disaster.” Ernesto said, chuckling, “You sure she isn’t going to dump you again if you mess up like last time? She’s a sharp woman, very decisive when she’s had enough.”

“Ha ha.” Hector said, but his joking flat little smile was more uneasy than it should have been as he knocked back his shot. He set the empty glass back down on the table. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure this time, I’m not going to mess up, it’s different this time.”

“Well good.” Ernesto said, reaching over and refilling Hector’s glass, “What’s different this time?”

“Oh, well, this time?” Hector said, pulling the refilled glass toward him on the table without the slightest protest, looking at it instead of Ernesto. “Well, we’re a lot more comfortable this time, we’ve taken it a lot slower. Well, maybe not slower, I mean it’s still only been a few months, but it just feels better this time you know?”

“Ah love, such a fickle thing.” Ernesto said, smiling as he rested his chin in one hand, “Really though, I’m honestly impressed you landed someone like her, especially after it ended so...dramatically last time, I really thought it was going to be just like all the other girls. I’m glad she’s not just using you for makeout sessions anymore, that’s not what real love is about right?”

Hector said nothing, only smiling as he knocked back his second shot, avoiding answering. Ernesto did catch him glancing at his t-shirt though.

“So why does she love you anyway?” Ernesto asked, still keeping his voice casual.

“Oh, well...” Hector looked at his empty glass, tapping it on the table top.

Ernesto raised his eyebrows, letting the silence draw out uncomfortably.

He had to keep from smiling to himself at landing such a blow. If Ernesto had asked Hector why he loved Imelda he knew Hector could go on for years with his sappy chattering. But while Hector could always see the good in others, usually when they didn’t deserve it in the slightest, he could never seem to imagine what good things others might see in himself. Sometimes this was infuriating, but at this exact moment it was exactly the kind of leverage Ernesto needed.

And after thoroughly seeding his imagination with his own failings, something that was almost too easy, Hector would really be questioning why he deserved his lady love after all. No matter that she was a manipulative witch who’d already destroyed him once, no matter that marrying her would mean trapping himself in an unfulfilling life, would mean abandoning both of their dreams and saddling himself with an entire family in a matter of months.

None of that would matter to Hector until it was too late to save him, but if he realized how unsuitable he was...

“I know she really loves helping to take care of Miguel.” Hector said, still looking at his empty glass, “She’s so amazing with him, I couldn’t have done any of this without her.”

Ernesto reached over to refill the glass for a third time. It wasn’t something he could rely on, but it sure didn’t hurt that a buzzed Hector was a more compliant Hector. Especially since Hector was using the drink to avoid his questions, meaning he was starting to slip.

“Oh come on, that’s cheating.” Ernesto smiled, “The thing she loves about you is Miguel? Really Hector, I know you’re a mess but there’s got to be something else. And remember, physical affection doesn’t count.”

“I mean, I don’t know.” Hector said, shrugging and looking away, “I’m just glad she does, I don’t think about it too much I guess.”

“Well I guess that’s fair,” Ernesto said, nodding, “I mean at least you know she isn’t marrying you for your money, not when she earns more than you.” he chuckled, “Which I guess means you won’t have to worry about paying the rent anymore with her taking care of everything.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Hector said, smiling with the kind of smile that means you aren't actually smiling.

“So are you going to make her quit her job, or are you going to be the one to stay home and make her support the family?” Ernesto asked, his cheerful attitude still present, but flatlining in energy.

“What?” Hector said, furrowing his brows.

“You know, when kids start coming along.” Ernesto said, emptying his glass, “I mean she’s such a career woman I can’t imagine her being happy staying home with a baby and Miguel too, but I know you’d get stir crazy having to quit your job. I mean, plus you’re supposed to be the man of the house, but with her pulling in the better paycheck than you I guess it would make sense for you to turn in your man-card to help out.”

“We haven’t talked about that kind of thing yet.” Hector said, starting to sound a little stiff, “But I’ll do whatever Imelda prefers.”

“Good,” Ernesto said nodding and leaning back in his chair, “I mean that’s how you two have survived this long right? Once you stop having an opinion on anything right? And goodness, it’s a good thing Miguel came along to lure her back if that’s the only thing keeping her here.” He leaned forward, “That really was a stroke of luck if you think about it, do you think she’d ever have taken you back if Miguel hadn’t showed up? Can you imagine what would happen if the adoption fell through? It’s a good thing you’ve got that in the bag, right? She might get bored with you again.”

“Ernesto. Stop it.” Hector said, glaring at him, but his glare lacked heat, and he was still fiddling with the shotglass, his grip getting tight.

“Stop what?” Ernesto asked innocently.

“Stop...this.” Hector said, “Stop trying to make me second guess myself.”

“Wait, you’re having second thoughts?” Ernesto said, pulling on a worried look, “But you just proposed to her last night, weren’t you sure you were good for her before doing something like that?”

“Of course I was!” Hector snapped.

Ernesto inwardly smiled grimly at Hector’s use of past tense. He just might be able to save him yet.

“Well then what’s your problem?” Ernesto asked, still looking concerned, “Hector if you’re having doubts that’s serious.”

“I’m not having doubts.” Hector said, rubbing his nose, “Everything’s going to be fine, the adoption’s going to go through and then, I don’t know, I’ll get a second job or something to help support us. If she wants, I guess. It doesn’t matter, we’ll make it work, she won’t be unhappy.”

“Well you’ve given up on music so it’ll have to be something other than that.” Ernesto said with a theatrical huff.

“What? No I haven’t, what are you talking about?” Hector said irritably, folding his arms.

“You haven’t done a single thing for the channel in months, Hector.” Ernesto said, folding his arms, “Not a single song, not a single video or even a warm-up, and you’ve ignored me whenever I’ve tried to bring it up. You’re losing your grip if you really think you’ve been on top of anything the last few months. No music, no rent, no help around the apartment, you’ve been too busy and upset to even talk to me Hector, it’s been awful.

“You’re letting your real life slide away, everything you’ve worked for. I know you get like this sometimes so I’ve been trying to work double time to keep it from coming back and crushing you when you resurface, but I’m getting tired Hector, I need your help again to keep things going. You’re throwing everything away without realizing it and letting everything slip out of balance like you always do, but it’s scaring me how far you’re going this time. You’re going to end up really hurting people if you don’t check yourself before you go too far with promises you won’t be able to keep.”

“It’s...I’m not...” Hector swallowed, searching for words. His nervous grip on the still full glass looked tight enough to shatter it, “I’m not trying to, I’m trying to help! I just want to help them both, I want to love them both!”

“This isn’t about you,” Ernesto said, leaning forward, “haven’t you thought about how much better a life Miguel would have with a real, stable family? You want it so badly you’re trying to pull Imelda in too fast just to give Miguel two “parents.” But then you’re ignoring how much you’re stiffing Imelda by flustering her into marriage when you know she’s only here because of Miguel, who is her student. But you want it so badly that you’re throwing away your best friend to do it! You probably think I’m the bad guy here, you probably think I’m being pushy and controlling when I’ve only been trying to help you not fail while you’re off getting tangled up in what you want. But you can’t do this forever Hector! You have to think of others, not just yourself!”

“I’m not just thinking of myself!” Hector cried, standing and still gripping the glass, a little bit of the drink spilling over the edge, “I’m trying to do what’s right for all of us!”

“So you know that you’re the best possible parent that Miguel could have?” Ernesto said, standing too, but keeping his voice from becoming angry. Let Hector feel like the out of control emotional one.

“I’m what Miguel needs.” Hector said. But his voice was shaking.

“And you know that you’re the best possible man for Imelda? The husband who can provide for her and lead a family for her?” Ernesto asked, not having to fake the disbelief in his voice, “Hector you didn’t even have a father growing up! How can you possibly think you’re capable of this?”

It was a low blow. A very very low blow, but Ernesto couldn’t hold back now, not when Hector was starting to visibly crumble.

“Hector, I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep pushing me away like this.” Ernesto said, taking a deep breath as he went in for the kill, he could topple this whole house of cards at once, right now, he could tell, “If you’re going to really help Imelda and Miguel you’ve got to-”

They both jumped as a smart rapping knock sounded through the apartment.

They both looked to the front door, stunned. Ernesto held back a growl as the rapping came again, louder this time. Whoever it was had completely scattered the focus Ernesto had worked so hard to build up, he was going to have to build it all over again now.

“Should I...?” Hector asked, looking a little shaky and unsure as he looked to Ernesto.

“Ignore it.” Ernesto said, some of his anger seeping into his voice. Whoever it was couldn’t possibly be as important as this conversation, and if it was the ice queen she would have let herself in already.

The knocking came again.

“There’s someone at the door!” Miguel called, coming into the room and crossing to the front door, looking at both adults with childish exasperation at their incompetence, “Why aren’t you answering it?”

“Leave it, Miguel.” Ernesto said, but he was too late.

Miguel deftly unlocked the door and swung it open mid-knock, revealing a tall woman in heels. She wore a low cut leopard print dress and clutched a shiny black purse, smiling widely.

Ernesto felt like he’d been shot, actually stumbling back a step.

Of all the people in Mexico, in the entire world, this was the one person he’d been sure he’d never have to see again for the rest of his life. He looked at Hector in a panic, but Hector was already staring at her open-mouthed, like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck.

The woman smiled at Miguel, then locked her eyes on Hector with a grin.

“Mijo! It’s been so long!” Mariana Rivera said.

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

Dear reader, you have now reached to end of the second arc. Welcome to the third and final arc of teacher!au.

Slush has the next chapter, so be looking for that and buckle your seatbelts.

- Wit

#teacher!au #coco #shot

91 notes · View notes

rosetowersfanfic · 6 years

Text

Wonder Boy

Just something that spiralled from me picturing Donald’s and Storkules’ first meeting being similar to Hercules and Meg’s.

Storkules rushed through the forest towards the sounds of battle. Ithaquack often had fights break out between the various - and generally pretty violent - immortals and creatures.

Depending on what was going on and why they were fighting, Storkules was either going to break up the fight or join in. It was usually both.

The demi-god smiled to himself. There was nothing that got the blood pumping like a glorious battle, except perhaps regaling to others the events of the battle in the most dramatic way possible.

Storkules came to a halt at a shallow river to quite a sight. The fight he’d heard only had two combatants, both of whom were closely matched; this was surprising since one was a full sized centaur and the other was a small, clearly angry duck.

Said duck, however, was also very good at channeling that anger into skilled combat, allowing him to keep up with the centaur’s brute strength. Water was splashed about, droplets catching the sunlight as the pair were focused only on each other; Storkules watched, unnoticed.

He was unable to take his eyes off the small duck’s movements, entranced by the quick and aggressive maneuvers as though he were watching a dance.

“Back off, ya big palooka!” The duck snapped, dodging the centaur’s grasp and kicking him in the left foreleg.

The centaur wobbled slightly and grunted, but righted himself easily and put on a cruel smile.

“Aw, c’mon,” he went for the duck again, this time managing to grab him and hold him tightly in his fist. “Just one little kiss. I gotcha outta that ravine, didn’t I?”

He held the duck up to his face with a leer. Storkules finally snapped out of his stupor and ran up to them.

“Excuse me, sir!” Storkules called out, hands on his hips in a heroic stance.

“Perhaps you should put the young gentleman down.”

The centaur glared at the demi-god; the duck rolled his eyes.

“Aw phooey. Look Wonder Boy, I’ve got this so scram.”

Storkules blinked, taken back. “Uh, sorry but are you not a duck in distress.”

The duck, who was trying to push himself out of the centaur’s grasp, quacked at him irritably.

“I’m a duck! I’m in distress! I’m fine, have a nice day!”

Storkules drew his sword. “W-well clearly you’re too close to the situation to fully grasp the danger you’re in and-” Storkules was interrupted by the centaur’s fist slamming into him, sending him somersaulting a few feet backwards and into the water.

The centaur approached him with a chuckle.

“Had enough pretty boy.”

Storkules sat upright and tried to process the situation, and suddenly realised he’d dropped his sword.

“Gah! My sword! C’mon, c’mon, a hero’s only as good as his sword!” He held his weapon in triumph for a few seconds before realising he’d grabbed a fish.

The centaur laughed hard and loud at the mistake, making him idle for a few crucial seconds.

The duck face palmed. “Use your head, ya dummy!”

Storkules grinned. “Not a bad idea…”

Storkules rushed forwards, headfirst into the centaur’s gut, shoving him backwards and making him lose his grip on the duck. Said duck splashed inelegantly into the water with a squawk.

He spluttered and thrashed around until Storkules picked him up.

“Ah, sorry,” Storkules set him on a low branch that reached out over the river.

“That was dumb.”

The duck glared at him. “Yeah!”

They were both startled by grunting and saw the centaur getting back on his feet.

“Ah, one moment.” Storkules ran back to the centaur, already drawing back his fist. By the time the centaur had gotten to his hooves and turned to the demi-god, he only got a quick look before he saw stars as Storkules’ fist hit his face, easily launching him into the sky.

“Yes, a new personal record! Did you see that-” he turned back to the branch and realised the duck and hopped off and gotten back to shore; he was now in the process of trying to wring out his hat.

Storkules was struck dumb by him again, haloed by the sunlight reflecting off the water and casting a sparkling, golden glow on his wet feathers.

“Uh,” Storkules cleared his throat as he struggled with his words. “Are you alright, Mister-”

“Duck. Donald Duck,” he replied curtly, now focused on wringing out the hem of his shirt. “You can call me Donald.”

He then turned to face Storkules, hands on his hips in a challenging pose. “So, Wonder Boy, ya got a name to go with the muscles?”

Storkules blinked and stammered awkwardly, caught off guard by Donald’s boldness.

“W-well- it’s- uh- I’m-”

Donald rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, and people call me inarticulate.”

“S-storkules! My name is Storkules.”

Donald raised a brow. “Wait, Storkules? The demi-god? Son of Zeus? Legendary hero?”

Storkules nodded. Donald took a good look at him, from top to bottom.

“Huh, I always pictured you as a redhead. Well, I guess we found the right place. This is Ithaquack, right?”

Storkules nodded again.

Donald huffed and started to walk off. “Welp, better find my sister and uncle. Who knows what kinda trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.”

Storkules scrambled after him. “Perhaps I should accompany you! I know this island like the back of my hand, and I could never forgive myself if I allowed some other foul being to attack you!”

Donald rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. They’ll have probably started a fight by the time we find them, so I guess some more help couldn’t hurt.”

Storkules grinned. “Excellent! Say, how did you find Ithaquack? Most mortals don’t even know of it.”

“My uncle isn’t most mortals. We flew here in my sister’s plane and hit a storm. We had to bail out and got separated. I got stuck in a ravine cause I was tied up in my parachute,” he grimaced.

Storkkules frowned. “That explains how you got involved with, well…”

Donald rolled his eyes. “The pinhead with hooves? He got me out and wanted a reward. Guess he’s just one of those immortals who thinks “no” means “yes” and “eat rocks” means “take me, I’m yours”.” Donald punctuated the last statement by getting up in Storkules’ face and batting his eyelashes.

“Probably just as well Uncle Scrooge wasn’t there, all you did was punch that creep to the other end of the island. Last time some demon flirted with Della he threw salt at it.”

Storkules nodded along with him. Okay, more names. He had a sister named Della and an uncle called-

“Wait, Scrooge, as in THE Scrooge McDuck!”

Donald sighed. “You’ve heard of him?”

“From my uncle, Lord Hades. McDuck has managed to dodge death so many times we’re not even sure if he’s mortal anymore. I mean, others have had a good run, many far older than your uncle. But they generally live quieter lives or try harder to avoid danger.”

Storkules found a large boulder to climb onto and struck a pose.

“He is a legend in the Underworld! He’s fought with the most dangerous creatures imaginable, gone to places no mortal can even conceive, you must feel so blessed to have him as an uncle- hey! Where are you going!”

“To find him before he finally gets himself sent to the Underworld. You coming?” Storkules ran to catch him up.

“My apologies, Donald. I understand your worries, Ithaquack has many dangers and it would be best to find your family soon.” He went quiet as a worrying thought came to mind.

“So, your uncle doesn’t approve of you dating?”

Donald rubbed the back of his head. “Well, it’s mainly when some creep bugs us that he gets involved. Mortal or not, he usually jumps to our rescue,” he rolled his eyes. “Despite the fact that we’re adults now, but what can ya do?”

Storkules mulled over Donald’s answer for a moment. “So, what if you were to consent to a relationship with… uh, I dunno, an angel, a gorgon, a demi-god… purely hypothetical of course!”

Donald raised a brow at Storkules, who was now sweating profusely, and shrugged.

“Well, my sister had that fling with a dryad (can’t remember her name actually), but I’ve only been in relationships with mortals.”

Storkules deflated. “O-oh, uh, but would you ever consider a non-mortal?”

“Eh, to be honest, you guys are kinda complicated. Weird old traditions, crazy families. Not to mention you’re gonna outlive me,” he shrugged again. “It was why Della and the dryad didn’t work out. No offence, but dating a god can get really weird.”

Storkules nodded. “I suppose I can understand. My existence is rather complicated; family dinners with Aunt Hera are still incredibly awkward.”

Donald chuckled nervously. “Uh yeah, I guess it would be. To be fair I kinda get why people want to date you guys.” They stopped at a long log blocking their path, which Donald calmly hopped onto. “The fancy gifts, the cool stuff you can show us, plus your basically gonna be hot forever,” he continued, turning to gesture at Storkules on the last point.

The two stared at each other for a moment as they both processed what Donald just said.

Donald’s face suddenly turned red.

“Gah! I-I mean in general and uh-” Donald lost his footing and fell to the other side of the log with a thud.

“Are you alright?” Storkules asked, looking over the log.

Donald stared up with an expression of resignation. “It’s fine, I only hurt my dignity. Don’t worry, I’m pretty used to it.”

All of the sudden they heard shouting.

“Curse me kilts!”

“Bring it on, ugly!”

Donald stood up and dusted himself off.

“That was my family!” He ran in the direction of the voices.

“It sounds like they’re on the beach!” Storkules ran after Donald with a grin.

A potential relationship with a handsome duck with warrior blood and an opportunity to impress said duck’s family by helping them fight an attacker. This was definitely better than beating his personal record.

#ducktales #storkulesxdonald #storkules #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #della duck

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dejnar · 6 years

Text

Secret Santa Marinette Style™

I am so sorry @buttercupandwestley that I failed to upload this even near the holidays. It’s too late and it does not match the mood anymore but I hope you still like it! Oh my god I hope so bad that you like it. Like I said earlier it escalated. It got completely out of control. You will see what I mean.

If you don’t like to read long texts on Tumblr I uploaded this on fanfiction.net too.

Christmas is over but... Happy New Year! 🎉 I wish you good luck and that everything you wish for comes true ❤️ You are a cutie and it was a joy to regularly visit your blog 😊

That’s my contribution to the @miraculousladybug-ss , thank you guys for setting this up!

Last day of October

“Do you remember how I told you about my mom being that happy about my sibling’s grades that she got way too high-spirited and granted them a wish and that, and I quote, ‘they could wish for whatever they want no matter what it is’?” “Yeah, I remember. Part of the reason your mom was that overwhelmed was the fact that your grades were pretty bad because of all the time you spent on the Ladyblog, wasn’t it?” Marinette grinned whimsically at her counterpart. “That’s not the point Marinette!” Alya pouted and folded her arms. Yet she couldn’t keep her acting up too long since she longed to break the news. “Anyway, listen to me instead of teasing me!” She lightly hit Marinette’s shoulder as she giggled. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to offend you. What did you want to tell me?” Feeling quite noble Alya continued. “Well, since this fateful day my parents and I lived in a constant fear of what could possibly come up to us. What can I say, they finally decided what they wish for.” That was kind of a turn of events for Marinette because she witnessed the two girls had debates going on for hours about it. “Wow, I thought those little monsters would never come to an understanding. So what do they want?” Curiously she looked at Alya who kept silent clearly punishing her for her previous chaffing. “Come on, tell me already! What is it? The table tennis table? Or, my personal favorite, the trampoline?” Marinette begged to know and willing to finally proclaim Alya gave her a resigned look. “Neither. Somehow they came up with another, completely new and different idea.” She sighed. “They want a cat.” Adrien’s head literally popped out of nowhere. “So it’s true!” Surprised Marinette blinked at her crush who suddenly stood beside her. “Your family is bringing an unbelievably cute kitten to your house at that very moment!” Shorttaken Alya looked at him in confusion. “Not exactly. My siblings are too young and my parents and I too busy to care for a little kitten with a lot of needs. They’re adopting a cat that’s already grown a little.” “Still adorable” Adrien’s eyes began to glisten with joy. After getting over his cuteness, which took her nearly twenty seconds, Marinette pointed at him. “How does he know?” Alya shrugged. “Nino I guess.” In indignant disbelief Marinette looked at her. “Wait, you told Nino before you told me?” Alya rolled her eyes at her best friend when she answered. “Sure, duh. You were gone throughout all of lunch, remember?” Beginning to blush Marinette sheepishly lowered her head and remembered the akuma attack she fought down with Chat Noir earlier “Uhm… You’re right. Sorry?” With a smirk Alya waved it off. “Don’t sweat it girl. Hey, you guys wanna hang out next week to get to know our newest family member? I think she needs some time to acclimatize before she meets so many people but it should be fine in a few days if you’re cautious.” Loving the idea Marinette began to smile brightly. “You betcha! Adrien, do you wa-” as she turned to face him she had to laugh at the view she gained. Obviously overjoyed Adrien was nodding aggressively, face slightly red. “Who could say no to a kitten?” Nino asked as he joined the scene and patted his best friend’s back. “Calm down man or you may pass out because of anticipation.” “Kitty!” was all Adrien managed to blurt out through his compressed lips causing his friends to bubble over with laughter. The bell rang and they headed to class, the other three still amused while Adrien blushed embarrassed. After school Nino and Alya had to leave right away for whatever reason they didn’t want to reveal so Marinette ended up waiting for his drive home next to Adrien. Frozen she rapidly thought about any topic to talk about to distract herself from just staring at him. But Adrien forestalled her smiling dreamingly at a point in the distance that wasn’t really there. “I bet Alya rushed home to see her cat.” “You’re really that excited over a random cat of a classmate?” Marinette asked him astonished and he looked down timidly. “Yeah… Well, as you know I was homeschooled and never had many friends besides Chloé. I wanted a pet since forever and cats have always been my favorite. But obviously my father didn’t approve. It’s kind of a childhood dream coming true even if it’s for someone else. You know what I mean?” He laughed nervously but Marinette’s genuine smile banished all of his bashfulness. “Yes, I think I understand. I have to say that I really admire it that you’re happy for Ella and Etta instead of getting jealous and being cruel.” He couldn’t help but blush over such an unexpected compliment especially because it was about his character for once. “Thanks, Marinette. You know” he beamed at her “I’m super glad we’re friends.” Now it was Marinette who blushed. Before she could respond a shining car drove around the corner and Adrien waved his goodbye at her. “See you tomorrow!” She looked down the road still after the car was long gone.

First week of November

“Ok guys, I need to talk to you after school. All of you.” Surprised at Marinette’s serious greeting instead of her usual warm hugs her friends looked at her. “Something’s up girl?” Alya asked worried but Marinette shook her head. “After school!” she repeated and headed to class without any other word. “Damn, did we do something?” Nino looked at Marinette’s back in concern. “She was alright just yesterday” Adrien replied thoughtful. “What did you say to her when we were gone?” punching his arm Alya threw an angry glare at him. “Ouch! Nothing! …I guess.” His assailant just bristled with anger in response and followed Marinette to class. “Dude I hope you didn’t screw up too bad” Nino said while putting one hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t even do anything!” Adrien cried in despair but Nino just gave him a pitying look. “Maybe that’s the problem.” And with that Adrien stood in the halls alone, no idea what he possibly could have done to cause such a situation.

Turned out they were just messing with him. After the bell rang to free the students into a beautiful autumn afternoon Adrien stepped out of the school building and spotted Marinette who looked perfectly happy. Relieved he headed towards her and the other two who also seemed pretty glad it wasn’t a severe situation. Buzzing with anticipation Marinette jigged in front of her three closest friends. “It is November guys!” she finally squealed with glee and a thrilled beam on her lips. “It certainly is” Alya agreed smiling fondly. Every time Marinette got so excited over something Alya loved her even more than usually. Her overwhelming joy also infected the two boys standing next to them although they had no idea what caused Marinette to reach that level of enthusiasm. “Man you must have some great plans to get that hooked about a month like any other” Nino whistled impressed. “It’s not a month like any other!” Marinette disagreed indignantly as if he just insulted her. “It’s the month before December!” she stated stamping her foot. “Riiiight…” he tilted his head and mystifyingly narrowed his eyes. Adrien laughed. “Could you please bring back the overjoyed Mari? I have to say I liked her way more than huffy Mari to be honest.” Carefully he reached out his hand to open the fist Marinette clenched without noticing it. “Sure” was everything she was able to mumble into her scarf glad that she could hide her blush behind it too. Nino and Alya exchanged a knowing look. “Back to business!” she continued in a cheerful tone again since she managed to regain her voice shortly after Adrien let go of her hand. “What I wanted to say is that it’s Secret Santa time!” Adrien’s eyes promptly began to glisten, causing Marinette’s heart to jump. He also liked one of her favorite things in the world! Nino’s face brightened up immediately too and Alya clapped her hands in delight. “That’s a great idea Marinette! But… I’ve never done such a thing. How exactly does it work?” ashamed Adrien looked down to the ground where he drew circles with the tip of his toes. “Well, normal groups of people draw a partner by lot in December and buy them a present for Christmas.” Alya explained to Adrien showing him that he had no reason to be embarrassed. “But I guess Secret Santa in Marinette Style™ is quiet different?” she added questioningly looking at her best friend. “You’re absolutely right!” she grinned back. “We all get our so called giftee assigned at the beginning of November - means today, right here and now - so that we have enough time since Secret Santa Marinette Style™ is a little more complex and has some strict rules!” “I am kind of afraid” Nino confessed playfully frightened but Marinette just laughed it off. “Don’t be! Actually it’s pretty simple. You’re supposed to make four gifts instead of just one, secretly delivering them one by one every week of December. The fourth one is ought to be opened on Christmas Eve, obviously. And most importantly, every gift has to be self-made!” Adrien’s eyes widened “How am I supposed to do that?” Marinette’s smile grew even bigger though nobody would have guessed that something like this would be possible. “We have some cute Christmas angels who are willing to assist us!” She waved at someone behind Adrien’s back and as he turned around he saw Rose waving back while Juleka took her hand and dragged her towards the group. “Hey guys!” Rose chirped happily not letting go of Juleka’s hand even though they already reached their destiny. “We’ll help you deliver your presents!” “Yeah. Just hand us the gifts every week and we’ll make sure they’ll end up with the right human” Juleka explained with a smile on her face. While Nino and Alya were performing some sort of cute jig together, Adrien looked at the two girls in front of him in concern. “And you’re ok with that? I mean, like, helping us but not participating yourself?” “Sure! I had to experience a lot of Secret Santa rounds already. I’m kinda glad I don’t have to do it again this year” Juleka sighed and he would have sworn he saw her shiver a little at the words ‘Secret Santa’. “That’s true!” Rose nodded in agreement still smiling brighter than the sun. “Juleka is everything I need anyway.” The world suddenly seemed to freeze. Alya and Nino immediately stopped in their tracks, Adrien and Marinette stood thunderstruck and everyone’s glances flew between Rose and Juleka and their still touching hands. “Oops. Dropped it” Rose laughed nervously while Juleka hid her face behind her black gloved hands. Before the silence could grow uncomfortable Alya pointed her finger at Marinette with a triumphal smile on her face and declared “Told ya!” Marinette giggled with joy. “This day is getting better and better!” Raising her hands to Juleka’s shoulders Rose sheepishly smiled at her classmates “I guess we’ll leave now or Juleka will melt on the spot. Please keep it to yourselves!” “Of course we’ll still be your errand girls though” Juleka mumbled as Rose pushed her towards the school building. “Nice!” Nino simply stated watching them leave and then turned back to Marinette as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. “Is that everything we need to know?” Before she answered to her friend she made sure through eye contact that Alya felt the same urge to freak out about what they just witnessed later. “Nope, you don’t even know the best part yet!” She went silent for a moment to raise the tension. Looking into her friend’s eyes told her that it worked. “In the end you have to guess who your Secret Santa is and deluge them with all the love you have!” she bounced like an excited toddler causing her pigtails to bounce. Alya chuckled as she put an arm around her shoulders. “Typical Marinette. Being the love spreading cutie she has always been.” “Sh! The drawing begins at this very moment!” Marinette hurried to say to hide her flattered embarrassment. The attempt failed. “As you wish” Alya tousled her hair before letting go with an affectionate smile on her face. Marinette smiled back with still a slight blush on her cheeks. “Nino, gimme your hat!” Marinette reached out towards him. “Of course Your Highness.” Nino handed her his red cap while making a bow, she curtsied with a giggle and took it. Reflexively she inspected it from every possible angle. “By the way, you should definitely exchange this with a beanie to avoid catching a cold” Marinette warned Nino but he just shrugged. “Nah. I have my headphones keeping my ears warm, I’m fine. Thanks for worrying though.” “I hope that’s true” suspiciously she glanced at him but decided to leave it there. Rather than starting a discussion about her friend’s valuable health she threw the four sheets with their names on them she prepared earlier into his hat. “Ladies first” Marinette said as she held it up to Nino. “Very funny” he rolled his eyes while reaching out his hand but at his comment Marinette pulled the hat back down. “Tz, if you don’t want to go first I won’t make you do it!” Instead she handed it to Alya who grinned and grabbed the first slip of paper. “Whoops, gained myself” she said apologetically and put the paper back into the hat. “Try again!” Marinette encouraged her nearly smacking the hat into her face. Amused Alya took a step back, chose a new one and rolled her eyes at it the moment she read it. “Seriously? Again?” The other three laughed as Alya tried again. A sigh of relieve escaped her lips as she gladly smiled at the name. “Got one!” victoriously she waved with her piece of paper. “Great! In that case I’m giving Nino the opportunity to draw next!” Turning back to him again she smirked at an impatient Nino. “You’re too kind!” Sincerely delighted he took his turn and scanned the name then nodded perfectly satisfied “Nice.” Slowly Marinette turned to the remaining participant trying very hard not to blush too intensely. “Ok. Adrien it‘s finally your…” Before she could finish her sentence Adrien gently pushed the hat towards her. “You go first, Mari. It was your idea and you put so much effort into it, you should at least have a choice.” His kind smile made her legs shaky and useless. She shyly smiled back at him as she chose one of the last two names. Nino. Wondering if she should be relieved or disappointed over the fact that it wasn’t showing Adrien’s name was quickly replaced by tons of present ideas for the upcoming musician. “Okay then! It’s my turn!” Curious Adrien grabbed at the last name. For a brief moment Marinette was afraid that he still could have ended up with his own name and they all had to try again but as he unfolded the small white paper he began to smile widely. “Sweet! This is going to be so great.” Sheepishly Nino coughed and looked at them with an apologetic expression. “Sorry guys but I have to leave now since I have to discuss our new physics project with Kim. Wish me luck he doesn’t turn it into a dare. See ya!” He waved at them as he ran away and Alya caught him clenching his fist and cutting a caper. Her buzzing phone interrupted her smiling shake of the head. “Mom? Hey, what’s up?” She quickly turned to Marinette and Adrien “Sorry guys, I’ll be right back!” With that she took a few steps away from them. Meanwhile Adrien worked up all his courage and hesitantly approached Marinette. This could be his only chance if he didn’t want to confess his weakness to all of them. “Uhm, Marinette?” he tapped her on the shoulder so she would face him. “Yes Adrien?” she turned around and looked up to him. The unprepared sight of his dreamingly green eyes made her heart skip some beats. “You know… When I asked how I was supposed ‘to do that’” he drew quotation marks into the air in front of her face “I didn’t mean the secret delivery thing but the rule that everything has to be self-made. I guess… I’m pretty bad at those things.” Nervously he turned his look away and scratched the back of his head. Marinette’s eyes widened. You stupid little goopy mess!, she thought to herself wanting to slap herself. Making Adrien feel incapable and uncomfortable was the last thing she intended. “Oh! I’m so sorry! Sometimes I kind of forget that not all people do the same stuff as I do” she laughed awkwardly and lapsed into babbling. “Guess I kind of threw you in at the deep end, huh? But don’t worry. Until you don’t tell me who it is I will help you and teach you a thing or two about handicrafts if you want me to and I’m convinced you’re better at it than you think! And I’m certain we will find another conclusion for you I mean it should be fun for all of us after all, right? Right, of course. Uhm, what I want to say is your Secret Santa, whoever it might be, can, and will!, be glad about the fact that they-” Adrien laughed a pure laugh that calmed Marinette down a little and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty, no need to get nervous about this. I’d like to take your offer to help me if I need it which, let’s be honest about this, won’t take too long I guess. Thank you Mari, I actually feel a lot better now!” She returned his warm smile although she had no idea how her absurd chattiness would help anyone. Eventually Adrien looked down at his watch. “Unfortunately I have to leave now too but it looks like Alya finished talking to her mother. See you tomorrow! Bye Alya!” “Bye Adrien” Alya waved at him as she passed him on her way back to Marinette. “You were that excited over this whole Secret Santa thing that it even distracted you from acting weird and awkward in front of Adrien. It must truly be a Christmas miracle!” she gasped excessively. “You are a horrible person, Alya Césaire” Marinette laughed but at the same time linked arms with her best friend. “But seriously” Alya smiled and nudged Marinette’s shoulder with her own “I’m proud of you.”

For the next few days Marinette was caught in a relentless battle against her own self. Of course she could just change the rules entirely so Adrien wouldn’t have to struggle too much with the crafting and allow him to buy everything instead. But then it wouldn’t be Secret Santa Marinette Style™ anymore and if her parents drummed one lesson into their daughter it was that “amazing girls like you should never and under no circumstances change for a boy who simply couldn’t handle their brilliance”. Thus changing the rules wasn’t an option. Another voice in her head tried to seduce her to take advantage of the situation and spend as much time with Adrien as possible under the pretext to show him a thing or two about handicraft work. Marinette had to admit that she liked that idea a little too much but knowing herself she would just lose control over herself and screw both of her purposes – resisting the impulse to encroach on Adrien’s projects (in that case it wouldn’t be Secret Santa Marinette Style™ in Adrien Style anymore) and, even more importantly, acting like a decent human being around him. So what should I do?! Marinette groaned and tore her hair. “Seriously Marinette, you have to stop to treat yourself like a sinner for wanting to spend time with Adrien” Alya shook her head at Marinette’s inner conflict. She may not have said anything for a little while but Alya knew exactly what was going on behind those bangs. “So I’m not a terrible person for considering exploiting Adrien’s lack of knowledge?” Marinette, by now a picture of misery lying on her desk, mumbled into the crook of her arm. “Get a grip on your unnecessary feeling of guilt, girl! May I remind you that Adrien Agreste himself suggested that you should teach him that stuff? In fact I would go as far as to say that he asked for your help and it would be very cold-hearted of you to refuse his request.” Slowly Marinette straightened up and Alya smirked proudly at herself. “If you put it that way I have to help Adrien…” Pondering Marinette stared at a poster on her wall, straight into a pair of enchanting green eyes. “Exactly.” While patting her best friend on the shoulder Alya decided to get a pastry from the bakery below as a reward for another good deed she just performed.

Second week of November

“Ok guys, new rule!” Marinette opened the Emergency Secret Santa Meeting with her friends at lunch with a determined smack on the table. Adrien looked at her in absolute horror while Nino next to him squealed and stared up to her, frightened. “Even more rules?” Laughing Marinette quickly calmed them down. “Don’t worry it actually makes it kind of easier: Everyone gets a joker! That means I allow you to buy one of the presents instead of crafting it.” She winked at Adrien who gave her a thankful glance. “Obviously I’m not going to make use of said rule” she continued and playfully threw her hair over her shoulder. “That’s a point of honor.” “Guess I’m not as honorably as you, I’ll definitely buy something. Thanks Mari! That makes it easier for me to deliver the best presents out of this group.” Confident as always Alya put an arm around Marinette’s shoulders and looked at the boys with a challenging smirk on her lips. “What about you guys? What do your egos say?” A resoluted expression appeared on Nino’s face as he answered completely serious: “I will do this on my own! I know I can make it!” He ended in an epic pose with a clenched fist. Impressed Adrien clapped him on the shoulder while the girls suppressed their giggles. With a resigned smile Adrien looked at Marinette. “I guess I’ll desperately need that joker. Thanks for changing the rules for us I know how much you liked your original idea.” As always when Adrien directly addressed her Marinette flushed and started to stutter a little. “Oh, uhm… no worries! It will be fun. I-I mean, it will be a lot of fun anyways!” Gladly Adrien smiled at her and her knees weakened. “I’m happy to hear that! I’ll do my very best for you guys.” Before Marinette could respond something to that cute statement Alya cut in. “Hate to interrupt but I have to go. And I’ll take Nino with me, just because I can.” Surprised by the unexpected grip around his arm and the enormous force behind it Nino defenselessly followed Alya out of the room. Sheepishly Adrien smiled at Marinette and scratched the back of his head. “So… do you still agree with helping me out here? Otherwise I have to pay you to grant me three more jokers.” Nervously he laughed since it was only partly meant as a joke. But Marinette’s genuine smile calmed him down immediately. “Sure I will, I always keep my word” she responded with a kind smile and gained an even softer smile from her counterpart. “I never expected anything different.” “Besides” she nudged his shoulder with her own, “I can’t allow you to mistreat Secret Santa Marinette Style™ like this.” His laugh warmed her whole body, giving her the confirmation that it was worth the effort to act like a sane person around him. “With that being settled would you meet up with me tomorrow to brainstorm a little? I really don’t want to screw this so… I guess it’s best to get down to it as soon as possible.” Marinette could only smile entranced by how sweet he was. “Sure! I’ll think about something easy to show you.” As a reward she gained a happy smile. “Thank you so much Mari! I have to go get my books before class but we’ll see each other tomorrow at my place at the latest!” Not even waiting for her response he waved at her as he left the room, leaving behind a startled Marinette. She would visit Adrien’s house. The house that also happened to be the home of Gabriel Agreste. If it wouldn’t have been for Max who asked her why she was just standing in the middle of the room staring at the door she would have been late for class once again.

On the same day Marinette headed to her favorite store to get some materials she needed for the presents she came up with and to get something for Adrien to practice with. It was a beautiful clear autumn day and on her way she appreciated the colorful trees and enjoyable breezes. Just as she was about to reach the store she closed her eyes to inhale one of those breezes and immediately bumped into someone. “Oh god, excuse me, I wasn’t…” The words died on her lips as she looked into a pair of amused, green eyes. “Princesses don’t need to apologize” Chat Noir said before giving her a kiss on the hand. “Not even if they’re clumsy.” Perplexed by the unexpected encounter with her partner Marinette looked up to him in silence for a few seconds before she finally managed to say something. “Chat Noir, what are you doing here? Is there a needle-swinging akuma or anything?” she jested, too surprised to realize that Chat began to nervously fidget. “Uhm, a friend of mine recommended the shop to me since I needed something to… do heroic things. But what are you doing here? I thought princesses have servants to handle those things for them. Don’t tell me…” he gasped. “You’re not a real princess?!” Marinette rolled her eyes but giggled. Maybe she would have been suspicious of his behavior if she wouldn’t have been that confused herself so she only ascribed it to his usual weirdness. “I’m fine on my own, thank you. Also, if your friend recommended this shop they must have a pretty good taste! I like that one very much too.” “I’m sure the sense of taste of such a charming princess is the furry best” he winked. “I would love to let you tell me how great I am while ignoring your horrible puns further but I actually have to hurry, my parents are waiting for me to help with the bakery. Good luck with those mysterious heroic things you have to do” Marinette excused herself with a playful smile. “I will definitely overcat every difficulty to secure you a save kingdom!” he assured her with a flirtatious grin. “Told you your puns are horrible” Laughing she walked past him into the store. When she was gone Chat Noir sighed loudly and leaned against a lantern next to him. Why didn’t he think of the possibility he could meet Marinette when he decided to go to the store she mentioned to him earlier? Maybe he was overreacting but it could have been a hint to her when she saw him there as Chat Noir at the same day. Not that he had much of a choice. He knew very well that his father would not let him go to buy fabrics, of all things. He would tell him that he could get him anything, only the best of the best of course. And also he would hire someone to create the gifts for Adrien. Since there was nothing he could do about it he hoped Marinette wouldn’t think about the reason why he was there and headed home.

The next evening Marinette heard a muffled sound from above her and got a little worried. Quietly she opened her window and slowly peered out on her balcony but what she found there soothed her instantly. “Chat Noir! What are you doing here?” For a moment she was afraid that he somehow figured her out but looking at the nervous, guilty looking boy in front of her she knew he had to be there for another reason. “I came to apologize” he answered hesitantly. “I was quite a flirt yesterday and I wanted to make it up to you. You deserve a proper conversation at least.” A soft smile appeared on Marinette’s lips due to his unexpected kindness. He was a good one after all. “But you don’t even know me. How do you know that I deserve your effort?” she walked up to him with a curious expression. “Let’s say I’m pretty good with assessing someone’s character” he answered smiling and his tensed body began to relax. “So, what brought you to the store?” he asked as if he didn’t know too well. But her shining eyes and the devotion in her voice was totally worth to hear the whole explanation of Secret Santa Marinette Style™ again while hardly getting a chance to speak on his side. “…and that’s how it works! I am so excited I can barely wait for December to begin!” Chat couldn’t help but laugh warm-heartedly. Of course he knew how passionate she was about her project before but he once again witnessed her charming cuteness and once again it completely enchanted him. “You really are the incarnated Christmas spirit, aren’t you? I have to admit that your words kind of move me and I would love to hear more but unfortunately I have to leave. Keep it real, Princess.” Slightly he bowed and giggling Marinette followed suit. “It was very nice having you here, minou.” Surprised by the warm feeling Marinette’s words caused inside of him he jumped over her balustrade. “The pleasure is all mine. See you soon, Marinette.” While she watched him leave over the nearby roofs Marinette realized something. Usually, as Ladybug, she didn’t get that emotional around Chat Noir but today, as Marinette, all her thoughts bubbled out of her without interruption. And it felt right and save with him. No matter what happened, no matter how bad things would be, she could always count on her partner, her friend, and that meant the world to her. With a knowing smile Tikki watched the two of them saying goodbye.

Third week of November

“This gift from god is the most precious creature I have ever seen in my entire minor existence.” “You say that every time you see a ca-““SHE IS!” Adrien was holding Totoro, apparently Ella and Etta were huge Ghibli fans and didn’t care for the sex of their cat, right in front of his face so their noses touched. Nino imagined seeing the same eyes-squinted grinning expression on both his best friend’s and the cat’s face. Every now and then Adrien let out a squeal of joy while snuggling with the British shorthair silver tabby. Marinette was sure she would never see anything that pure and innocent in her whole life ever again. “Can you even imagine the drama if Totoro would have disliked Adrien?” Alya was watching the boys with crossed arms. A shiver went down her spine as Marinette considered that scenario. “Don’t even think about something as terrible as that! I guess it would have completely wrecked his will to live.” She sighed, relieved that they hadn’t had to try to prevent Adrien from drowning in his own desperate tears. “Quite possibly” Alya laughed, nudged Marinette’s shoulder with her own and began to smirk. “You should join the cuddling. Maybe Adrien will end up nuzzling your nose somehow.” In no time Marinette’s face turned flame red, too baffled to stop Alya from pushing her towards the carpet the boys kneeled on. Well, Nino kneeled. Adrien had ended up lying on the ground, Totoro climbing over his chest like it was a part of Mount Everest instead of the body of a model. An affectionate smile replaced the blush of embarrassment on her face and she gathered the courage to sit down next to Nino. “I didn’t even get the chance to pet her” he grumbled jealously. The moment the three of them had entered Alya’s home Totoro had run up to Adrien straightaway, rubbing her head against his legs and meowing in delight. Clearly there was something to Adrien that somehow connected them but Marinette had no idea what it could be. They captivated each other on the spot. Marinette understood Nino’s grudge too well. But Adrien didn’t even realize how grumpy his friends were. “Don’t you think cats are the greatest?” Happily he smiled up to the cat on his chest. “I like turtles” Nino answered deadpanned. “Foxes are definitely the best!” Alya jumped in as she joined her friends serving cookies. Marinette held her hand in front of her mouth and giggled joyfully. She was thankful to whoever blessed her with those quirky, wonderful friends. “What is your favorite animal, Mari?” Adrien asked, averting his eyes from Totoro for the first time this afternoon and smiled at her for a little moment before turning back to the cat. Still counts, Marinette thought proudly before answering. “I like all kinds of animals it’s hard to chose just one…” “She loves every single creature on this earth, our lovely Marinette” Alya chuckled and put an arm around her best friend. “When it comes to favorite earth-creatures those present have a good chance” she responded laughing. At the end of the day Marinette had another entry on her mental list of terrific gatherings with her best friends.

After an exhausting day full of lectures about being late to class and nearly falling asleep during dinner Marinette allowed herself to take a break on her balcony. As she admired the sight in front of her she spotted a fast shadow approaching. “You again” she said surprised when Chat Noir landed in front of her and bowed. “The path of faith brought me here once again, Princess. Your speech from last week inspired me and I want to learn from the furry best how to Christmas” he explained with an eager smile. “How to… what?” Uncomprehending Marinette tried to understand what Chat was talking about. “Since a flawless hero like me has to live a life in isolation I never experienced Christmas like you described it to me. Would you mind to…” Suddenly he became timid and Marinette was taken aback due to the fact that she never saw him like that before. “…show me to enjoy Christmas the way you do?” The coy and begging smile on his face could just as well belong to a five-year-old. It was impossible to say no to that. Everyone was talking about puppy eyes but no one ever gave warning of kitten eyes! “I’d be honored to pass on my legacy. Even though it’s not that hard, you simply devote yourself to something you like that delectate others too. In my case it’s crafting gifts for my friends and family and I’ll help you find that something for you too but, for my sake, no puns” Marinette imposed her one and only condition. “I thought this was meant to be a time of fun and joy!” Chat protested, causing a cheerful laugh of his newfound master. “Yes, you’re right but since both of us are meant to have fun…” “You think my pawns are hilarious, don’t even try to deny it.” “…let’s try to find something different that both of us will enjoy. Is there anything else you like?” Without a second thought Chat revealed the thing he was already thinking about all day: “I love Totoro.” Panicking over the realization of what he just said he already made up an excuse about how he met Alya’s siblings and their cat but Marinette’s eyes began to shine and she excitedly jumped up and down in front of him. “Really? You do? That’s great! If you want to we can watch it right now!” Chat Noir blinked at her, uncomprehending. Until now he had thought the girls came up with the name for their cat on their own and he had no idea what she was talking about but since it seemed to be a suitable opportunity to keep his identity a secret he tried to play along as best as he could. “Yeah sure, it’s great!” Marinette squealed and looked at him curiously. “What’s your favorite part?” “Uhm… uh… I don’t know… That’s a tough question. Maybe… everything?” Laughing she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her window. “We’ll watch it right now so you can decide what you like best about it!” After 86 minutes of laughter and tears of joy Chat not only got the origin of his favorite cat’s name but also craved for more Ghibli films. Since Marinette was perfectly fine with that they ended up in a Ghibli marathon all night.

Last week of November

“Father, my friend Marinette is with me to work on a project together!” Adrien called up the stairs into an empty hallway. To Marinette’s surprise Gabriel Agreste appeared just seconds later and her heart stopped for a second at the sight of her greatest idol who even addressed her directly. “Hello Miss…” “Dupain-Cheng” she blurted out tensed. “Hello Miss Dupain-Cheng. I don’t understand what is withholding my son from studying with my assistant Natalie as usual but I guess as long as it is for school I can accept it.” Adrien didn’t feel the need to correct his father who once nodded his head at them and then disappeared into the hallway as fast as he came. Normally Marinette would have been worried about putting Adrien in trouble but she barely realized what his father had said because she was too overwhelmed by the impressive mansion and its noble furniture. Even though they had planned to meet at his place before Adrien had to postpone their meeting due to extra fencing lessons and all the built-up excitement flooded Marinette at once. “You’re coming?” with an amused smile Adrien startled her out of her thoughts and she saw that he was already halfway up the stairs. “Oh, uhm, sure…” she mumbled embarrassed and hurried up the stairs behind him. Once they settled on Adrien’s comfortable couch he gave her an eager look. “I am ready to learn!” he stated, triggering tension and happiness in Marinette at the same time. “Well… I never taught anyone so don’t expect too much, ok? I don’t want to disappoint you” she responded carefully but Adrien’s expression stayed as cheerful. “I’m certain you won’t. Let’s try this out together! What do you think is a simple thing even I can handle?” Relieved Marinette smiled at him and relaxed, starting to bloom while talking about her passion. “It shouldn’t be a problem for you to modify already existing objects to your heart’s content and it may not sound like it but it’s fun! You can live out your creativity very easily. To begin with something appropriate…” gleefully babbling Marinette scrabbled through her bag until she finally found what she was looking for and proudly handed Adrien a simple white picture frame and a… gun? Adrien’s eyes widen in shock and as soon as she understood where his fright was coming from she uncontrollably started to laugh. “That’s… That’s just a hot glue gun! You never saw one? When it comes to handicrafts it is your very best friend!” Embarrassed Adrien looked to the ground. “In that case I’m going to call it Nino” he tried to distract her from his slip-up, gladly realizing that it worked perfectly. Greatly bushing thanks to his sweet words as always Marinette hurried to continue. “In that case take Nino and some decorations I brought you’d like to stick to the frame. Of course you can paint it previously too but it would be a waste of time to wait for the color to dry so we’ll directly start with the glue.” Gently he interrupted her. “I think that spending time with friends is never a waste of time but I get what you mean. Go on, that’s very promising and encouraging!” That cuteness again. If he would go on like that he would end up accidentally killing her. Marinette had to clear her throat before continuing her explanation. “I have to offer… beads of all kind, glitter, colorful buttons, feathers, small bells and… a lot of other things in fact.” They laughed together and Marinette felt that she grew more and more comfortable and relaxed around him. All in all she slowly but surely grew a little more confident around him. At the end of the afternoon Adrien knew the basics of crafting and Marinette made her way home extremely happy and proud of herself, promoted by a set date for another crafting session.

“I’m curious Chat.” Prying Marinette advanced towards him. Once again she found herself next to the hero of Paris who grew a habit of visiting her regularly. “Someone’s being a nosy princess” he teased, provoking Marinette to playful huffy crossing her arms. “I only got one question minou. Don’t act like such a jerk!” His smirk softened and turned into a genuine smile “You know you can ask me anything, Mari.” Ignoring the light blush on her cheeks she smiled back. “What… Uhm, what would you like to be if you weren’t a superhero?” Chat looked at her in surprise. He didn’t know what he had expected but it certainly wasn’t a question like that. “Hmmm…” He scratched his chin and narrowed his eyes. “No idea?” laughing Marinette nudged his shoulder with her own and Chat began to laugh too “In fact I’m 100% sure what I want to be but it’s kind of embarrassing.” “What is it?” Marinette asked encouraging, excited for his answer. “A pokemon trainer.” “A… pokemon trainer?” “Yes. Absolutely. No other option.” Marinette blinked in disbelief and Chat got worried that he unsettled her with his nerdy confession. After a few seconds she finally began to beam. “It suits you, minou.” “It does?” he was visibly delighted and relieved. “Yeah, I mean it. Out there looking for adventures and caring for your friends, I can even see it in front of my inner eye.” “You don’t think it’s weird and… awkward?” he asked to reassure and Marinette gave him her ‘Are you serious?’-look. “Chat, I just outed myself as the biggest Ghibli fan there is so, no, that’s not awkward at all. Never be ashamed of the things you love. They make you who you are and I like who you are.” Pondering silence fell upon them. A warm feeling filled Chat’s chest. Rarely someone took his dreams serious, especially his childish ones. But Marinette seemed to understand him and he added it to the reasons why he cherished her. “So” Marinette crossed her legs, leaned even closer to him and looked at him as curious as ever “Which one is your favorite pokemon?” He didn’t even need a second to think about his answer. “Easy. It’s Eevee.” A complacent grin appeared on her lips since she had expected that answer. “Ah, I guess your favorite eeveelution is Umbreon then?” “Purrfectly right my Princess. You seem to understand me incredibly well, I truly appreciate that. But you still have to tell me what’s yours.” Marinette’s face turned bright red. “Mi- mine?” “Of course” Chat laughed. “You obviously know pokemon pretty well. You can’t hide your inner nerd from that super Cat with super vision! Tell me, you have to give me the chance to make a guess too.” Sighing she squared her shoulders and looked straight into his attentive green eyes. “Skitty.” An amused twitch played around the corners of his mouth. “Seriously, that pink little fur ball? You got to be skitten me.” “Shut up you moron” Marinette had to laugh that hard she nearly fell off her chair. “Besides, I guessed right.” “Yeah, sure you did.” “I did!” They spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing a lot without realizing that he started to call her ‘my princess’. But Tikki did.

First week of December

On the first day of December four nicely wrapped little presents were sitting on the desks of Adrien, Nino, Alya and Marinette. The whole class caught a Christmassy spirit as they saw them while walking into class. Marinette hurried to her desk smiling but stopped as she heard a high-pitched squeal from behind her. She turned around to look at Alya wonderingly but Alya herself stared to another direction. As she followed her gaze Marinette realized who the real origin of the sound was. Nino stood in front of his present, hands pressed to his mouth and almost crying. “But… You didn’t even open it yet.” Adrien put his present back down to the table that he had already grabbed excitedly too so that he could try to calm his best friend down. “It’s so beautiful” he whispered but opened the soft package impatiently. Inside was a self knitted orange and blue striped bobble hat with some sort of flaps on the left and right. Confused he inspected the holes and his eyes widened as soon as he realized they were meant for his headphones. “The one who did this must be a genius” he exhaled impressed. Alya raised an eyebrow at him since he didn’t instantly realize who his Secret Santa was but decided to concentrate on her own gift instead of scolding him for being an idiot. Without further ado she ripped the paper apart and opened the box inside it. Brightly smiling she inspected a piece of paper with a photo and some personal information of her on it. “Wow, this is great, my own journalist pass! I’m officially important now!” she proudly concluded and pinned the badge to her blouse. “I’ll wear that every day so if Ladybug crosses my way she may think I’m worth giving a personal interview to! It’s the perfect plan!” Marinette giggled and Adrien felt a little proud of his idea while opening his own poorly wrapped present. Confused he looked at a chaotic basket with a little awry patchwork blanket inside of it. “What is this…?” he wondered and Nino next to him tried to act as innocent as possible. “Maybeee… it will make sense once you have all presents?” Adrien’s face brightened up without thinking about the fact that Nino more or less revealed himself as his Secret Santa. “It sure will! That makes the whole thing even more thrilling!” Proudly Nino beamed and Marinette had to suppress a laugh while opening her own small present. Inside she found a short ribbon with two pendants on it: a small green paw and a little ladybug. Excitedly she attached it to her phone and held it up to the others. “Look what I got! It’s great!” Nino gave her a thumbs-up and Adrien opened his mouth to congratulate her but was stopped by Madame Bustier’s voice filling the room: “Good morning, children! Let’s start today’s class!” During the whole lesson all of them inspected their gift further and waited for the break to come to brag and discuss about them. And they did. Marinette walked in on Alya and Nino who headed to the cafeteria before her and they seemed to have a serious conversation. She wanted to leave already but then she heard Nino saying her name. “…but also, Marinette!” “Hey, did you call for me?” she joined them but froze as soon as she saw the pale, wide-eyed Nino. “Woah, hold on, what’s going on here?” Alya waved it off and smirked. “Nino’s having a crisis.” “I mean, like” he continued without even realizing Marinette had arrived “she suggested I need a warmer hat but she was talking about a beanie not a bobble hat. So someone else could have used that as an inspiration for my gift. BUT there’s a high chance that it indeed is her! Alya help me I’m going insane.” He was sweating. “Stop torturing yourself, Nino! This is meant to be fun! You still have three weeks to figure your Secret Santa out and you will even get more clues. Relax, you’re not supposed to know it by now.” “But Alya said…” “Alya does not know everything even though she likes to act like it” Marinette interrupted him for his own sake and he already relaxed while Alya next to him stuck her tongue out at her who blew her a kiss. At that moment Adrien came up to them with a huge smile on his face. “Hey guys, are you as excited as I am? I can’t wait for next week!” For the rest of the break they happily chatted with each other, Alya kept chaffing Nino causing Marinette to laugh adorably and Adrien realized something. Throughout the whole Secret Santa event and its preparations he grew closer to Marinette with every day and she finally came over her shyness around him. Of course he had already cherished her but now he experienced how truly pleasant her presence and friendship was. And even though he got to spend more time with her it still wasn’t enough. Luckily for him there was Chat Noir. At the same day Marinette heavy heartedly came to a conclusion too. The more time she spent with Adrien she discovered that she truly admired his presence, as a friend. She had a crush on him for over two years now and he hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in her so what could possibly happen to change his platonic feelings towards her? Maybe she should work on that ‘just friends’-thing to be able to spend more, less awkward, time with him.

To her own surprise and joy Alya’s plan of catching Ladybug’s attention worked out. Since the rules of Secret Santa Marinette Style ™ forbade it to give a present to any other than your giftee Marinette made a plan to rejoice her by admiring her newest achievement. “That badge is pretty cool!” Ladybug gave Alya an accretive look who proudly smiled at her heroine. She puffed up her chest and presented a badge that read ‘VIB – Very Important Blogger’. It looked objectively real. “Isn’t it? A friend of mine made it for me but I don’t know who it was yet. Secret Santa, you know?” She leaned in and whispered as if the following were top secret information. “I guess it’s my best friend though. It seems she made another present too but I just can’t imagine that the boys in the group are… creative enough to be capable of something like that to say the least.” Chat tried very hard to keep a straight face. Aside from needing to keep his identity a secret he didn’t know if he should be insulted about what Alya just said or if he should be proud about the fact that she thought Marinette’s gifted hands created the thing that was actually made by him. Thinking of Marinette… He wanted to visit her again this evening.

Still musing about her feelings towards Adrien and her resolution to let go of them Marinette stood on her balcony and admired the scenery in front of her. Somewhere along the line her thoughts wandered off to the wonderful moments she had spent there during the last few weeks and how suddenly the person who accompanied her ever since sneaked a way into her life. Making excuses about not knowing “How to Christmas” he joined her on a regular basis as she was working on Christmas presents for her loved ones. Yet again Tikki tried to talk to her about her feelings towards Chat Noir but Marinette wasn’t ready to face the inconvenient truth about the conflict she was in as Ladybug. Maybe it would have been different if she had to work on gifts for Adrien. Maybe it was led by her decision to come over him. Or maybe Adrien hadn’t had the slightest part to play in this. No matter what it was, Marinette fell for Chat. “Princess! I’m here to wish you a happy Christmas Month!” Chat greeted her, startling her out of her thoughts. Nevertheless a bright beam appeared on her face because she was more than happy to see him. Amazed that his words had such a positive impact on her Chat couldn’t help but smile happily as well since her beam was quite infectious. “The same to you, minou! Good to see you” hearing her own affectionate tone she advised herself to pull herself together. Relieved that Chat seemed to not analyze her words she relaxed. “You missed my clawver puns, didn’t you? I knew it, you long for my catchy jokes and my tailent to make you laugh” he blathered and instantly wanted to slap himself. Snap out of it Agreste, it’s just Marinette! No need to be nervous. But the scolding didn’t help at all, his heart beat rapidly against his chest and under his gloves his hands were sweating despite the chill weather. To his surprise Marinette laughed instead of shaking her head annoyed yet amused like he expected her to. “You are terrible, you know that? I would rather call your puns pawful to be honest. Maybe I should look for a new furend to spend my evenings with” teasingly she smirked at him while his eyes widened in disbelief. “Did you just… Did you made…? For me?” An excited smile and a suppressed squeal found their way to Chat’s lips. Even though she intended to do something nice for him she didn’t expect him to get that happy about only two horrible puns. Not that she wanted to complain. His reaction was adorable. “Consider it an early Christmas present” she laughed while motioning at him to enter her room. “It’s the best gift you could have pawsibly made me, Purriii-” She pushed him into her room. “Enough is enough” she said before following him. But secretly she thought to herself that she could get used to that silly, loveable kitty curling up on her bed. And he didn’t want to leave it anytime soon either.

Second week of December

“Fancy!” Alya stated as she immediately put on the orange mask she found inside the sparkling box she just opened. Marinette inspected it impressed too. She recognized the mask from her favorite store she recommended to Adrien and was quite proud of how he customized it. The painting wasn’t perfectly symmetrical but it still looked pretty good. Deciding that she sufficiently examined her student’s work she finally opened her own present. Silently she stared at the photo inside her hands. Everyone knew that she loved Alya with all of her heart but this present freaked her out. Shocked she looked at a photo of herself standing in front of the Eiffel Tower right next to Chat Noir and… herself. She blinked. Alya had photoshopped the two heroes of Paris into a photo of Marinette she took a few weeks ago. Gawking at the picture she was afraid that she was unable to pretend that she liked it even a bit. She just looked at her face and her face and it gave her goose bumps over her whole body. Apparently she couldn’t believe that Alya spent so much time editing the photo and still didn’t recognize her. Or did she?! Warily she looked at her best friend. “I can’t remember that ever happened” she nervously said to her friend. “I know that you met Chat Noir but did you ever meet Ladybug?” Alya asked without really paying attention while looking at her mask through her selfie camera. “Maybe one day you will really stand next to our heroine” she winked and Marinette wasn’t sure if she should be offended that her best friend still hadn’t get it even though she must have spent hours with Marinette’s face next to Marinette’s face but she was too glad to even care. It was nothing to make believe her relieved happiness was thanks to the present. She wrapped her arms around Alya’s neck. “Thank you so much!” “Who said it’s from me?” Alya shrugged but smirked at her. In front of them Nino barely could hold back the tears as he looked at the poster with a logo Marinette had designed just for him. Behind a graphic of Nino’s headphones a red vinyl shimmered due to the color she had used. The picture was surrounded by a quote of him she had always liked very much: ‘All I need is friends, family and music!’ Next to him Adrien inspected some ugly grey felt shaped like mice. At the sight Alya wrinkled her nose and Marinette began to feel bad for him but Adrien seemed to be perfectly happy with it. “I have no idea what’s going on but I still love it” he said cheerfully and everyone was impressed by his unconditional trust and love he had for his friends.

Later that day Marinette once again found Chat Noir on her balcony and invited him in on condition of no puns for at least that evening. Grudgingly he agreed but both of knew that he wouldn’t stick to his word but it didn’t matter because they also knew that Marinette didn’t mean it. In consequence of him spending a lot of time inside of her room over the past few weeks Chat straightaway recognized the new frame on Marinette’s desk. In school he hadn’t had the chance to look at it so he inspected the picture interested and ended up genuinely confused. “I can’t remember that this ever happened?” he said, scratching the back of his head. He wouldn’t forget about saving Marinette and taking a picture afterwards, would he? Guilt built up inside of him but it vanished as soon as Marinette began to laugh. “That’s just what I was thinking! But a friend of mine made it, it’s photoshopped.” Chat smirked and took his chance to show off a little. “I guess I could arrange something to actually take a picture like that.” Marinette laughed it off nervously because no matter how incredible his powers were he definitely couldn’t arrange that. “Nah, I already spend more than enough time with you and I met Ladybug a few times so I think I can live with that one.” “You’re lying.” Afraid Marinette looked up to him. Did he figure it out at least? But he just wiggled his eyebrows. “One could never spend enough time with me.” “Please shut up” Marinette laughed relieved and loaded the cheesiest Christmas movie she could find into her computer: Love Actually. Today Chat would learn about the sentimental feeling of Christmas.

“I am ready for something more difficult!” Adrien announced as soon as he was standing inside of Marinette’s room, his posters long gone. Unsure she motioned him to sit down on her second chair. “Are you sure? It’s only two more weeks until Christmas.” With a motivated grin on his face Adrien nodded and settled down next to her. “I learned from the very best and I’m certain I can try something more complicated! But not too hard please” he backtracked and Marinette giggled quietly. Then she had a sudden inspiration. “I have the perfect idea!” she said, hurried to her cupboard and rummaged through it for a while. Suddenly she threw a pair of fluffy socks at him that he managed to catch before it hit his face. “Socks?” he asked wondering as Marinette came back to her desk with her sewing box. “Yes, socks! It’s quite easy to sew a plushie with a sock. Let me show you…” Delighted Adrien watched her as she transformed the sock into the head of a black cat. Firstly she drew the shape of a cat on the sock and then sewed the outline. After that she cut it out, turned the inside out and stuffed it with some fiberfill until it looked squashy and cute. He had to admit that it indeed seemed to be easy but Adrien had the presumption that it would be harder for him as it was for her. Throughout the whole process he kept asking her questions and he intently watched every step as she showed him how to backstitch. “It may not work perfectly the first time you try to do it but a pair is made out of two socks for a reason” she winked and giggled cheerfully and if anyone would see Adrien’s affectionate smile they would instantly know what kind of feelings he developed for her. Tikki nearly had a breakdown. Unfortunately he had to leave for Chinese lessons but maybe it wouldn’t take long for a certain superhero to visit Marinette. On his way home Adrien bought 6 pairs of socks.

Third week of December

Deep in thought Adrien inspected the present he found inside the little box that lied on his desk that day. “What’s that? A bracelet? A keychain?” He narrowed his eyes and intensely tried to solve the mystery. “Maybe you’ll get it once you get your last present?” Nino next to him said, unsuccessfully trying to not sound too suspicious again. “I guess…” Adrien answered barely paying attention to him. There was another person barely paying attention to the whole scene: Marinette. She looked at the nicely decorated sketchbook inside her hands. It was red, had green paws and black dots all over it and some glittering highlights. A pink Logo said ‘Marinette’s greatest ideas’. Tearing up she quietly stared at it for straight 5 minutes while Alya watched her happily smiling. Since it was clear that her best friend loved her present Alya decided it was time to wrap up her own gift. She squealed as she held some kind of lasso in her hands. “I’m a true superhero now too!” Excited she shook Marinette before she posed epically in front of the class. In the meantime Nino had another breakdown. “But I need to wear my glasses! All your work goes to waste!” he cried out in agony, dramatically holding the spectacle case he got up to the sky. Before anyone could try to calm him down he made up his mind. “You know what? Whoever you are, your effort will be appreciated!” He took off his gasses and put them inside the case. “I will not be able to see anything today but that’s totally worth it!” He stood up again and tried to sit back down on his seat but the whole class watched him nearly falling over the backrest. Hurryingly Adrien stood up to guard his best friend to his seat. “Thanks man” Nino said and blinked, looking slightly past him. “You should really put your glasses back o-“ “No! My Secret Santa will be appreciated!” Marinette giggled. Of course she was a little worried about him but Nino was too dorky and adorable to be serious about that and she was sure Adrien would take good care of him.

“You’re a Marinette-Elf! A Marielf!” Chat Noir said excitedly, inspecting her hat, skirt and shoes while circling her. “I’ll definitely hold on to that nickname” he decided, ignoring her disapproving snort. She had known it would be a mistake to show herself to him like that but she was really proud of her design and for some reason she wanted to present it to him. “Where did you buy it?” Chat asked after his 5th round around her. “Excuse me?” she revolted with her hands on her hips. “Where did you get the costume? I would love to dress up with you” he admitted sheepishly but she was too offended to realize how sweet he was. “Chat, I made it myself” she clarified deadpanned. Wide-eyed he circled her another 5 times and inspected it even more precisely. “Oh my god Princess, I am so sorry! Marinette, that’s impressive! It looks professional and it is really well sewn. Of course I knew you’re good but why didn’t you tell me that you are a genius?” Actually Marinette wanted to tease him and ask him why he had thought so poorly of her but his admiration embarrassed her and she proudly flushed as he stepped extremely close to her to look at the pattern she stitched on her collar. Her breath caught with his face just a few inches away from her own and he slowly looked up as he realized how near her face was, how closer her lips were. For a few seconds they got caught up in each other’s eyes and while Chat noticed that the clear blue of Marinette’s had a calming influence on him she decided that the vivid green she lost herself in was from now on her uncontested favorite color. Eventually Chat shrunk back from her as if he just burned his hands on her body. In fact it exactly felt like that. Heat crept through his whole body from where he touched Marinette despite his gloves and he began to laugh nervously. “Well, Princess… ha… uhm, what do you want to t-teach me today?” he stammered, feeling like an awkward idiot who saw a beautiful girl for the first time in his entire life. “Wearing ridiculous costumes” she exhaled still paralyzed staring at him. The situation and the emotions that unexpectedly flooded him were too much for him so he followed his cat instincts and did the only thing he was able to manage at this moment: running away. “In that case I already passed my lesson for today, didn’t I? That comes in handy because I forgot I… I need to be somewhere. See you soon!” And with that, he was gone. For way too long Marinette kept staring at the spot where Chat stood before, only one frightening thought screaming at her: She had a helpless crush on Chat Noir.

Marinette couldn’t stand it any longer, she needed to talk to someone about her confusing feelings. Too late she realized that Alya may not have been the best choice. “He’s just a flirt.” “He is not!” “You are the one dating him after all” Alya smirked at Marinette who rolled her eyes. “I am not.” Alya shrugged “But you want to. And in that case you totally have a crush on said flirt.” “I told you he is not a flirt! He tries his best to be a gentleca- man. A gentleman.” Oh no. There was no way Alya would ever let go of what she just said. Unsurprisingly her best friend’s eyes widened, her mouth fell open and her ‘I don’t really care’-attitude was gone within a single second. “Were you just about to say gentlecat? Are you freaking kidding me, Marinette?” Bright red Marinette avoided eye contact and fumbled at her purse with Tikki inside of it. Come to think of it she should have rather talked to her in the first place. “I didn’t… I wasn’t… Seriously that was not what I was going to say!” Finally Alya managed to regain her composure and shot Marinette a knowing grin. “Whatever you say girl. Oh, for your interest, you didn’t even deny that you have a thing for Chat Noir at all.” With a resigned sigh Marinette slid down her chair. “I don’t have the power to do that. Please give me a break.” Laughing Alya patted her best friend’s head to at least comfort her a little. Neither of them noticed Adrien sitting in his chair as straight as a post. He had heard everything. For the last few days two strong feelings accompanied him on every step he took: the urge to confess his affection towards Marinette and the painful dread of being rejected by her. Nevertheless at that very moment he made the decision to tell Marinette how deeply he felt for her. Persuading himself that as Chat Noir he could deal with it if she dismissed him and that he could try harder as Adrien gave him all the courage he needed.

Last week of December

This week no one found a present on their desk, the friends had agreed to get to the finally on Christmas Day. A little disappointed the rest of the class compelled them to report every present to them since they witnessed the whole thing from the beginning and wanted to know how it ended too. Except for Chloé of course. On the last day of school Rose handed every single classmate a little personalized Christmas card while Mylène served various cookies and Kim refused the bet that he wouldn’t miss a single one of them. Marinette loved the team spirit of her class and knew for sure that she would miss them dearly throughout vacation but she was too excited to feel sad. Alya, Nino and Marinette planned to meet on Christmas Day to deliver the last gifts and even though Adrien wasn’t sure if his father would let him go he assured his friends that he would somehow find a way. That statement worried his friends more than it eased them but they couldn’t change his mind so they decided to just enjoy the holidays.

“Come out already!” Marinette hid out of sight of her window. So far she was not ready to face Chat Noir after what happened the week before, she needed more time to figure her feelings out. “Tikki, what should I do? He knows I’m home but I… I can’t talk to him!” With an understanding smile her Kwami snuggled up to her. “I get that it’s hard Marinette but you don’t want to be as shy around Chat as you were around Adrien, do you? Is it worth to-“ “Princess! Please, I have to tell… show you something!” “Gosh, he’s stubborn. What did you want to say?” slightly annoyed Marinette faced Tikki again. “It’s just that I’m concerned that you’ll be unhappy about-“ “I know that you can hear me Marielf. It’s urgent, come on!” Questioningly Tikki looked at her. “You don’t want to go see him? Not at all?” Conflicted Marinette began to waffle. “It’s not like I’m completely aga-“ “I am freezing, you know?” Eventually an upset moan escaped Marinette’s lips and she tucked a blanket around her shoulders as she rushed furiously towards her balcony. “Chat, I swear to god I’m gonna…” She popped her head out of the window but froze in her tracks as she saw Chat’s face right in front of hers. Suspiciously she looked up and there it was, fatefully hanging above them: a mistletoe. “Woops” Chat whispered. “Guess we have to do it since it’s a very strict Christmas rule and I just learned that you have to stick to those.” He already leaned in but Marinette grabbed the green branch and threw it away. “I’m not going to kiss you because of such a stupid thing!” Seeing his deeply pained expression made her say the next sentence earlier than she had planned to. “I’m going to kiss you because I want to” she corrected under her breath, quickly wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her. Both of them felt the smile on the others lips as they finally met gently. It was a cute, soft kiss but it was all they could ever wish for.

Christmas Day

Adrien spent the next day with his head up in the clouds. All day long he felt the memory of her kiss on his lips, thought about the enchanting blue of her eyes and heard her laugh in his ears. Never before had he experienced such a fuzzy, tickling feeling and he knew that this had to be love. But his high spirit got dumped just a few hours after his first kiss. “Adrien.” His father looked down at him and Adrien was afraid of what he had to say. It was a rare occasion that his father spoke to him personally instead of delivering news through Nathalie except for when they were dining together. If he was completely honest to himself Adrien already knew what his father had to say but he fought back the disappointment and instead kept his hope alive until his father continued. “I have to excuse myself this evening. A… situation appeared and I have a lot of work to do. I’m aware it is the second year we have to miss your mother and I genuinely regret this unfortunate situation.” Adrien gulped. Don’t cry. “But we’ll still have dinner together. Just… a little earlier. I’ll spend Christmas with my son nevertheless”, his father added quickly as he saw his son trying to hide how deeply hurt he was. Even Gabriel Agreste couldn’t let his son feel so bad on Christmas so he reluctantly made a decision and sighed. “You may even spend the evening with your friends. Just be back home in time.” After that showing of emotions he left immediately and Adrien was too overwhelmed to stop him. He knew exactly where he wanted to spend his Christmas Eve. Or rather: With whom.

Dinner with his father was unexpectedly amusing and light-hearted. Obviously his father tried his very best to make it up to his son that he would not be able to spend Christmas Eve with him by trying to even joke around a little. Of course he wasn’t funny at all but Adrien appreciated the effort he made. Maybe the unexpected meeting his father had to participate in was the best thing that could have happened, Adrien couldn’t remember of when he had so much fun with his father before so it didn’t matter if it was Christmas Eve or Christmas Noon. In addition he was super excited to meet his friends and especially Marinette later. He had never spent a holiday with friends before and the anticipation flooded through his body with every heartbeat.

Christmas at the Dupain-Chengs was the purest thing Adrien ever experienced. The love they had for each other was sensible in every word they spoke and every gesture they made. There was not a single moment anyone seemed stressed, annoyed left alone angry. Even when Tom forgot to get the dough for his Bûche de Noël out of the oven in time due to a video game he and Adrien lost against Marinette he laughed about it full-heartedly. Now Adrien knew where all the warm feelings Marinette had to spread were coming from. This little flat near Notre Dame was filled with more affection on only one evening than the mansion Adrien called home had been since his mother disappeared. He truly felt like he was part of the family. Knowing that the comfy homey feeling he felt in every inch of his body wouldn’t last he enjoyed it to the fullest. After all it was impossible anyway to not be extremely happy spending the whole time right next to Marinette. “You haven’t opened your present yet, Adrien!” Sabine complained and handed him a nicely wrapped round package. “My what now?” Adrien asked bewildered and Sabine giggled nearly as cute as her daughter did. “You’re our guest and we like having you here! Of course we prepared a little something for you.” Adrien couldn’t believe it. The evening got even better. “But… I asked if I could spend the night here just three hours ago. How could you find me a present in that time?” Heavy-weighted Tom placed his hands on Adrien’s shoulders. “It’s nothing big but we want you to feel truly welcome here. Open it already!” Marinette’s encouraging smile sealed the deal. Excited Adrien ribbed the paper apart and held a little jar in his hands. Inside of it were cookies and if that wasn’t enough he realized they were shaped like cats as soon as he wanted to try one. “Oh my, thank you so much! That’s incredible nice of you but I don’t think I can eat them. They’re adorable.” Tom proudly put an arm around his wife as she gladly smiled about the fact that Adrien liked his present while Marinette threw her arms around him. His heart stopped. “In that case I’m going to make you more cookies in any shape you want!” she laughed and Adrien wanted to tell her so badly how cute she was but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell her that he was the one she kissed just yesterday and that he wanted to do exactly that right now. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he was Chat Noir and that he was the one who loved her. But not a single sound made it over his lips. Fortunately the bell rang at that very moment. “Alya and Nino are finally here!” Marinette cheerfully sprinted towards the door, leaving Adrien alone with his complicated thoughts. A few moments later Nino startled him out of his thoughts. “Dude, you’re coming?” Quickly Adrien followed his friend to Marinette’s room where she and Alya were already chatting cheerfully. It seemed like they were talking about Totoro but Adrien was too distracted to even realize that. “Okay I can’t take it anymore you need to open your present right now! You know I’m your Secret Santa anyway.” Eventually Alya handed Marinette an oversized present. Gasping she took it hesitantly. “Oh my god Alya, what’s that?” “You know the thing is you have to open it” laughing Alya pushed it towards her and slowly Marinette unwrapped the gift. It was a huge framed screenshot that threw the bold headline ‘THE GREAT MARINETTE BLOG!’ to its reader’s faces. Some of Marinette’s designs were spread over the page and Alya wrote down a list of things ‘Everyone has to love about Marinette Dupain-Cheng’. In the middle was another headline above a photo of them: ‘Does she have the best friend in the world or what?’ “She does!” Marinette squealed and threw herself into Alya’s arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! This will definitely get a special place on my wall. I love it! I love everything! I love you!” “You’re next!” Regardless of the cuddling going on Nino passed a package to Adrien. Realizing that it wasn’t official yet that Adrien was his giftee Nino got afraid he screw the whole gift exchange and made up a pity excuse. “I… uhm, I found it over there… It had your name on it… so I guess… it’s from your Secret Santa?” The gift did not even have a name tag on it but Adrien was too excited to notice and quickly opened the present. “What is that even supposed to be?” Alya crocked an eyebrow at the… thing in his hands. “It’s a cat!” he answered without missing a beat. “… a cat?” “Yeah, sure! It is obviously a cat.” “Obviously!” Nino emphasized Adrien’s statement. He was holding a stuffed black sock, two corks glued to each side, two buttons poorly sewn to what Alya considered the front as it seemed slightly thicker than the rest of the ‘body’ and some loosen strains of wool were tucked to it at the other end. It did not have ears though. Obviously Nino could have used Marinette’s help too. “Moreover it is a gorgeous little kitty” Adrien added. And he meant it. “Adrien, please tell me you didn’t draw your own name and kept quiet to not cause us any trouble and please tell me you were not making these crappy gifts for yourself.” “Crappy?!” An offended yell escaped Nino’s lips. “They’re made with love! … Wait, I just revealed myself. Now he knows that his Secret Santa is neither Marinette nor you. It’s obvious now, I screwed up everything!” “It’s already been obvious, babe.” “No!” “Yes. It’s been as obvious as your Secret Santa since the very moment you opened your first present.” “No, it wasn’t!” “Nino, I can’t even knit. And I guess neither can Adrien.” “Maybe I was in the misconception of believing that both of you loved me enough to learn it for my sake.” “Nino, you can’t be serious. Since it’s obvious that I am Marinette’s Secret Santa yours could only be Mari herself or Adrien and you cannot convince me that anyone would assume that Adrien is capable of creating the gifts you got! No offense” she added with a short glance to Adrien. “None taken” he laughed. “People are full of surprises, Alya! I believe that everyone has an unexpected hidden talent inside of them. Also I got that excited that I couldn’t think straight” he added quietly. “Yeah, that’s obvious” Alya answered after a victorious laugh. “I get it now!” Adrien suddenly interrupted her. “A basket, cat toys and a collar! You made sure that I would be able to secure a comfy home for my new kitty friend and that it has everything it needs! You’re at least as precious as this little boy right here” Proud and happy Adrien beamed at his best friend. “Aw, man!” Nino clenched one hand to his chest and started to tear up while Adrien put an arm around his shoulders. “These guys…” Alya shook her head while Marinette giggled next to her. Before Nino could start to cry Marinette decided to step in. “Do you want your gift now too?” “YES!” he said a little too loud without hesitation so she handed it to him. Within seconds Nino opened it and revealed a fictile trophy that looked like a Grammy Award. “Best musician in any universe and all dimensions - ever” Nino read out loud and looked at Marinette, tearing up again. “Dude. How can you expect me to act all stoic while all of you are being cute as hell?!” He threw his hands up in despair before putting his glasses down to dab his eyes with the tissue Alya offered him. Coughing slightly Adrien took out the last Secret Santa present of the year. “So it really is you” Alya whistled impressed as she reached out to take it and started to unwrap it. Adrien flushed a little, scratched the back of his neck embarrassed and avoided her eyes but smiled brightly due to her surprised gasp. “I did everything on my own! But I had great help when it comes to instructions” he smiled at Marinette who would have been proud of him if the plush Alya was currently holding wouldn’t have been a Kwami. It was possible that he miserably failed the proportions of an actual fox or he did very well at Kwami proportions. “It’s a side kick!” Adrien explained unsure why Marinette looked so shocked. “Isn’t it time to go back to your families?” Marinette heard herself saying while her thoughts circled around one question. “Unfortunately yes. It got kinda late so I have to leave… But we’ll see each other tomorrow, right?” Alya asked with a hopeful smile. “Of course! Say Merry Christmas to your family for me, would you?” While the girls hugged each other Nino faced Adrien who was still worried about Marinette’s reaction. “Man, I’m still kinda sad that you’re spending this big day with her family instead of mine but I get it that it’s too crowded at my place with the whole family for you. Save some Christmassy happiness for me, would you?” “Of course” Adrien laughed and for a moment he thought that he was only overreacting but as soon as Nino and Alya were out of the door Marinette expression got serious and she dragged him back to her room. “How did you come up with the sidekick?” she asked as innocently as possible. Surprised he looked at her. “What do you mean? You showed me how to easily sew plush toys with socks and that’s exactly what I did” he explained, wondering what she wanted to hear. “Yeah but… why did you chose these proportions? It looked… quirky.” “Oh… well I guess that’s all I was capable of” he tried to laugh it off. When he decided to sew Alya a Kwami he was sure no one would get suspicious since they had no idea what Kwamis were much less what they looked like. “Yeah, makes sense” Marinette answered without a trace of amusement in her voice. Nervously Adrien tried to withstand her observing look but he failed and his eyes darted to his bag where he assumed Plagg being asleep as usual. “Ha!” Marinette blurted out and sprinted to the bag to rip it open. Helplessly Adrien reached out his hand in an attempt to stop her but he could only watch her, now paralyzed. Even though she already expected it she stared at the black cat-like Kwami inside bewildered. It yawned. “Hey kiddo, why did youuuuuuuuuu…” It’s already huge eyes widened even more as it saw Marinette. “Too late now to act like a doll, isn’t it?” With a resigned sigh he flew up to be on eye-level with her. “Hello Marinette. My name is…” “Plagg. I know. Tikki mentioned you before.” Plagg’s jaw dropped open while Adrien finally overcame his state of shock and hurried towards them and grabbed Plagg, laughing nervously. “Hahaha, Marinette that’s kind of embarrassing, you found my… You know that’s just a toy that… Wait. Who’s Tikki?” ‘And how does she know about Kwamis, Plagg in particular?’ he added mentally. The situation freaked him out, he had no idea what was happening. Already opening her mouth Marinette intended to explain but she was stopped by a red flash that dashed towards Plagg from a hidden corner of her room. It happened too fast for Plagg to elude so he got caught up in a tight hug from Tikki, her voice even higher pitched than usual. For the first time since he met him Adrien heard something like a giggle from Plagg as he snuggled up to his red companion. Adrien didn’t know which fact bewildered him more: Marinette holding a Kwami or Plagg being delighted at shown affection towards him. And then it hit him. “Wait… wait. Waitwaitwait. That would mean that you… you are…” “Yes, Chat.” “You are… You are… I mean it would mean that you are…” “Chaton!” “But… You are- wait! You are…” “Tikki, I hate to interrupt your reunion but spots on for the sake of that adorable dork.” Dumbfounded Adrien stared at Marinette. Ladybug. Who was Marinette. She waited for him to react in any way but he just stood there, frozen. For more than 40 seconds and Marinette got nervous. “Minou? Could you say something?” “Howcanyoubesocalmrightnow?” he squealed. “I guess I kind of hoped it was you…?” she admitted quietly and sheepishly looked down. Finally Adrien moved and walked up to her. She looked up to him. “I couldn’t have wished for this in my wildest dreams” Adrien whispered under his breath, took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Oh my… I’m so happy right now.” Smiling Marinette nuzzled his nose with her own and Adrien happily leaned in to touch foreheads. Neither of them realized how long they were standing there but suddenly Marinette drew back. “Oh wait, I got a present for you!” Excitedly Marinette rummaged through her drawer while Adrien watched her delighted. “You were not allowed to prepare a gift for me. It’s an official rule of Secret Santa Marinette Style ™, remember?” “I didn’t know it was you, remember?” she responded, slightly annoyed. “Oh yeah. I guess you didn’t break a rule. But I did!” he beamed brightly at her and proudly handed her a small package wrapped in pink at the same time Marinette gave him a small box in light green. “You dishonored my baby!” she yelled and threw her present at him. As he caught the soft piece he walked over to her and put his arms around her. “I wanted to make you something special. And Chat Noir did not participate so… It’s absolutely fine.” “I guess” she answered trying to hide her smile but Adrien cupped her face and kissed her again. “Now open it!” he said excitedly and she began to laugh. Since she really wanted to know what it was she ripped the paper apart. “Oh my god! This is… open yours.” “We are meant for each other. That’s the purrfect purresent, Purrincess” Adrien whispered into her ear and Marinette had to fight the urge to slap and to kiss him at the same time. “You’re not even in costume right now” she complained and he grinned roguishly grinned at her. “You have to deal with the Chat Noir inside of me all the time now.” She leaned towards him and smirked. “I guess I can only just live with that.” And with that she decided to give in to the urge to kiss her silly cat. “But… you know Umbrion’s details aren’t green but ye-“ “It’s shiny, ok?” she interrupted him. “And I mean… Do you really think Skitty looks like this?” she held up the sock plush he made for her. He smirked. “But you still love it.” She beamed at him. “I do indeed.”

“Merry Christmas, my Lady.” “Merry Christmas, my love.”

You did it! It’s over! I am still sorry and I still hope you like it! You’re great!

(also thanks to @midnight1217 and @reyawoodelf because without them this wouldn’t have come to an end and I would have been completely lost)

#miraculous fanfiction #mlss2017 #mlss 2017 gift #too long #i still suck at tagging

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (29/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: The theme of this chapter? Everyone is mad at Killian. Possibly no one more than Killian himself. But...with mimosas! That’ll make sense. I promise. As always I can’t thank you guys enough for reading all my words (of which there have just been a questionable amount of this week) and @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan are the absolute best. Hanging out on Ao3, FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“Arthur, if you break the whiteboard again they’re not going to give you another one.” “Shut the fuck up, Jones.” Killian glanced towards Robin, certain there’d be a smile on his face or at least something that resembled amusement in his eyes and there weren't either of those things – there was just frustration, the kind that almost rivaled Arthur’s in the middle of the Calgary visitor’s locker room.

Huh. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Robin had been quiet on the flight up, but so had Killian, mind racing with everything Emma had said – and maybe not said – in the alley outside the bar and they’d barely had time for much more than a quick bye when the fans left and they had two different flights to catch. He’d stared out the window of the plane, phone held loosely in his hand and tried to figure out exactly what to say.

He couldn’t come up with anything to say.

And he wasn’t really supposed to use his phone.

He texted Emma when they landed and fired off the first fact he could remember about Calgary – it’s Canada’s sunniest city and, of course, it was cloudy when Killian woke up the next day. Figured.

She texted back when they landed in New York, but there was no fact about the Flames and no update on the weather at home.

“We’re winning,” Killian pointed out, nodding towards the TV screen in the corner of the locker room and Arthur’s eyes, somehow, got even more narrow, tiny little slits of emotion that probably would have made him laugh if he weren’t his own mess of off-ice emotion as well.

And just like the distinct lack of sun in Canada’s sunniest city, grabbing a quick, two-goal lead in the first period of the first game after the All-Star break felt a bit like some sort of colossal joke. If Emma didn’t text back, if Emma thought it was better to listen to a good offer if he got one, Killian wasn’t certain anything else really mattered.

Melodramatic idiot.

“A two-goal lead is the most dangerous lead in all of hockey, Jones,” Arthur snapped, throwing his whiteboard marker at Killian for good measure.

“Jeez, Arthur,” Robin muttered and that might have been the first time he’d spoken all day. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer.” Will laughed or scoffed or made some sort of noise in the back of the room and Arthur turned his wrath on the recently-returned defenseman. “Something to add, Scarlet?” Arthur asked. “You’re even lucky to be on the ice. You know I thought about pulling you off your shift in that period?” “He’s barely got one leg,” Killian argued, throwing Will a supportive glance. Scarlet didn’t look impressed. And Killian wondered when he’d managed to offend him as well. “And he’s already blocked, like, four shots.” “Hurt like hell,” Will added, pressing the heel of his hand into his thigh like that, somehow, proved his point.

“He only blocked three shots,” Arthur said, but his voice lacked some of the bite it had at the start of intermission and he wasn’t clutching the whiteboard quite as hard anymore. His knuckles almost looked normal.

“Ah, well, he’s trying his best,” Killian laughed. Will’s expression didn’t change. Robin didn’t say anything.

Fuck.

They knew about the trade. Or the lack of a trade. He wasn’t going to leave New York. Maybe. If the Rangers would resign him.

The Rangers were totally going to resign him.

“I want faster line changes,” Arthur continued, ignoring whatever attempts at humor Killian was failing to hit. “And quicker moves up the ice and less turnovers in the neutral zone. If any of you turn the puck over in the goddamn neutral zone again, I’ll make you skate blue-to-blue sprints until you can’t even stand up.” No one said anything.

“Get back on the ice,” Arthur said and it sounded a bit like a command.

The box score claimed they finished with double-digit turnovers in the neutral zone and they gave up the two-goal lead in the opening minutes of the third period and Arthur had pulled Jefferson, but only after he snapped another whiteboard in half. They won anyway, still firmly cemented in that first Wild Card spot, and no one said anything to Killian when he walked into the locker room – second star with a distinctly silent cell phone sitting in his visitor’s locker.

“Jones,” Arthur shouted and Killian felt his head snap up automatically, eyes going wide when he saw the look on the man’s face.

He didn’t look angry. He looked disappointed.

Jesus Christ.

“Go,” Robin said, nodding towards the far end of the locker room. “We’ll save you some food.”

Will hummed in the back of his throat, fingers moving over the screen of his phone – which had barely stopped buzzing since Killian walked towards them.

“Yeah, ok, thanks,” Killian mumbled, hand in his hair and knot in his stomach and he should have texted more facts about Calgary. Or maybe apologized. Definitely apologized.

He moved across the locker room slowly, measured steps so he didn’t actually trip over the skates he still hadn’t taken off and Phillip glanced up when he moved past him. Disappointment – it was more disappointment and Killian had never quite felt like he did in that moment, like he’d, somehow, let down an entire NHL team.

He needed to get home.

He wouldn’t be home for another week.

“What’s going on, Arthur?” Killian asked when he came up in front in front of him. “We won the game.” Arthur didn’t say anything, just pushed a crumpled up and slightly-out-of-date sports section into Killian’s chest. He groaned, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and he didn’t need it – he’d probably memorized every single line of the entire goddamn story at this point.

And he still couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand why Gold had been quoted or what he was talking about when Killian was one-hundred percent certain no one from the entire Los Angeles Kings organization would even glance his direction.

He also might have texted Regina when they landed in Calgary, just to make sure. She’d called him every single variation of idiot that the English language allowed and after several lines of text message begging had, finally, told him in no unquestionable terms that the Kings were probably the last team in the league that would want to sign him next season.

“None of it’s true,” Killian said, flipping his wrist back towards Arthur as he tried to hand the paper back to him.

“Oh, I know,” Arthur answered. “If you don’t think I’ve been telling front office to offer you max since the start of the season then you’re even more stupid than you look.” “A charmer as always.” Arthur shrugged, crumpling the entire Los Angeles Times sports section in one hand and tossing it over his shoulder into a well-placed trash can. “Did you practice that?”

“I did play sports at one point, you know, I’ve got reflexes or something.” “Did you call me over here just to prove that?” Arthur laughed, arms crossed over his chest again and his tie was hanging loose around his neck – like he’d been tugging on it for the better part of the night. “No,” he said. “I didn’t, but feel free to be impressed.” Killian narrowed his eyes and Arthur didn’t say anything else. He tried not to look as frustrated as he was – he should have grabbed his phone. “I’d really like to shower at some point before we leave, Arthur, so if this conversation has a point…”

“Of course it’s got a point, Jones,” Arthur said irritably. “I want to sign you. The team wants to sign you and while I try to pay as little attention to your life off the ice as possible, I’m pretty sure your girlfriend wants you to sign too. So what I’m getting at is you should probably make sure your team realizes all of that – especially the guys on your line.” Killian glanced over his shoulder – Will sprawled out one of the benches, phone held above his head as he continued to answer Belle’s worried texts and Robin pressed into the far corner, phone propped against his ear – and neither one of them looked up when he turned towards them.

“You’re good on the ice, Jones,” Arthur continued, tone brisk and gruff as Killian snapped his head back around. “As good as we could get when we’re trying to make some sort of Cup run with our jobs on the line. And I’d want you on any team I coach, but you should tell your line what you’re doing. Scarlet had to stop Locksley from killing you during warmups.” Killian sighed and traced along one of the scars on the back of his hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“Oh, I know you’re not, at least in theory. But those guys don’t. Talk to them and stop turning the puck over in the neutral zone. I don’t need any more postgame questions about you falling back into some kind of scoring skid. I’ve already got enough to worry about with Locksley’s drought and Scarlet’s leg.” “Yeah, ok,” Killian said, not quite sure what else he could contribute to this conversation.

“And take a shower, you look like shit.”

He did as instructed and things almost felt ok when he got on the plane, until Robin actually offered him the armrest in between the seats like that was something he normally did, instead of just throwing his forearm onto whatever material armrests were made of.

Plastic?

It was probably plastic.

“Nah,” Killian muttered. “You can have it.” “Ok,” Robin said and Killian wished he wasn’t actually sitting next to the window because it felt a bit like he was stuck.

“Will you guys shut up,” Will hissed from the other side of the aisle, leaning over a visibly perturbed Ariel. “Some of us are kind of exhausted.”

“God, Scarlet,” Ariel sighed, pushing against his shoulder and slapping at his jacket for good measure. “Will you get off me? You’re going to hurt yourself.” “Leaning over you is not going to somehow hurt my leg, A. And there’s no way you haven’t already gone through every possible test that I could have hurt my leg tonight. I am fine.” “Ok, first of all, we didn’t go through every test and you were the one who came to me complaining about how much your leg hurt as soon as you got off the ice.” “What?” Will snapped, sitting up and someone from the other end of the plane actually shushed him. “That’s not even remotely what happened,” he hissed, not quite reaching the appropriate level of whispering for a team flight from Calgary to Vancouver at some point after midnight.

“Will you shut up,” Robin muttered, but he sounded a bit like he did when he was disciplining Roland and Will’s jaw audibly snapped shut. Ariel looked a little pleased with herself. “Some of us are actually exhausted and didn’t get much sleep over the weekend.”

“Oh,” Will laughed, leaning back across Ariel. She used both of her fists to punch against his back. “What exactly was going on in LA, Locksley?”

Killian rolled his eyes and sighed when Robin glared across the aisle – Ariel’s punches coming just a bit harder and more frequently than they probably should have considering Will had only just been cleared to start skating again.

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Killian said, practically growling out the words from his window seat.

That talk about how he wanted to stay in New York and how he was going stay in New York and how dedicated he was to the team was going really well. He should probably apologize to them too.

He should make a list.

That was Emma’s job.

There weren’t any postgame text messages – just the usual from Liam and Elsa and Anna – and nothing but silence from the one person he wanted. He would have even taken a jab about the turnovers in the neutral zone or his plus-minus rating and he’d scored again – six-game streak now – but it didn’t really seem to mean anything if there weren’t postgame text messages.

“Sure, Cap,” Will said after a few moments. “Aye aye or whatever.” Robin didn’t say anything else for the rest of the flight, but Killian knew he hadn’t fallen asleep – no telltale signs of snoring or his arm inevitably falling off the armrest. He didn’t even use the armrest, hands crossed over his league-required jacket, and eyes straight ahead and neither one of them got the sleep they could probably use.

They landed at some indeterminate time in the middle of the night, stars dotting the sky when they were ushered off the plane and onto a team bus and into the team hotel and no one said anything about that story in the Los Angeles Times.

Robin threw his bag into the corner of the room, stepping on the heels of his shoes as he moved and Killian resisted the urge to start yelling.

Or maybe apologize.

Definitely apologize.

He texted Emma instead – We’re here, Swan. No turbulence or anything. Smooth sailing. He groaned when he read what he wrote, nearly punching a hole in the screen of his phone as he tried to hit delete as quickly as possible.

Landed and in the hotel and you’re probably asleep, but let me know how today went when you wake up, ok? It went fine, better than, I’m sure.

No, that wasn’t good either. Killian sank onto the edge of the bed, only dimly aware that Robin was talking to him.

“You want first dibs at the sink, Cap, or you good for a second?” he asked.

“Hmmm?” Killian mumbled, glancing up at Robin and the very distinct bags under his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that with a visor blocking his face before. “No, no, I’m fine. I’ve uh…” He trailed off, pointing towards the phone and Robin just hummed in agreement.

“Ok, cool.”

He was gone half a moment later, sink running behind the closed door and Killian exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

We’re in Vancouver. No game until tomorrow, which, obviously, you know. We’ve got walk-throughs in the afternoon, but nothing later, so maybe we can talk then? Let me know how today went. I love you, Swan.

He sent it before he could delete the whole, stupid thing again, throwing the phone into the corner of the bed for good measure.

The knock came just half a second before Killian was certain he was about to fall asleep – he hadn’t even taken his shoes off yet – and he ran a hand over his face when he moved towards the door.

Will and Ariel didn’t even wait for him to open it completely before they walked in, matching looks of determination on their face and something that almost looked like a bottle...of orange juice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Killian asked, stepping out the way just quickly enough that he didn’t get run over by either one of them.

“Taking matters into our own hands,” Will answered and Ariel nodded behind him. She was holding champagne.

“And what matters are those, exactly?” “We’re going to get you and dad back together.” “What?” Ariel rolled her eyes. “Please, Cap, it’s like watching divorced parents. It’s just depressing. And we’re not dealing with a whole western swing of this nonsense, so we’re nipping this in the bud right now.”

Will nodded – as if that settled that – and Ariel made quick work of the champagne bottle. It unscrewed. “Where are your glasses?” Will asked. “There’s got to be glasses in here, right?” “Oh maybe we should have brought glasses with us,” Ariel mused, but Will brushed her off just as quickly.

“If they’re not on the desk, they’re probably in the bathroom,” Killian muttered, still a bit too stunned by whatever was happening in front of him to really put up much of a fight. It was almost three in the morning.

“Locksley,” Will shouted, kicking on the still-closed bathroom door. “Open up, we need glasses.” Robin swung the door open a second later, team-branded sweatpants and t-shirt on and a toothbrush still held in his hand. “What the fuck are you doing here? This isn’t your room.” “We’re parent-trapping you.”

“What?” Robin glanced towards Killian, eyes wide and he just shrugged in response.

“I have no idea what that even means,” he said.

“Mom and dad are fighting,” Ariel explained, squeezing past Robin to grab the hotel-provided cups sitting on the corner of the vanity. “And Scarlet and I have decided that’s completely unacceptable at this point in the season. So we come bearing alcohol and you two are going to talk out your problems.” “There’s nothing to talk about,” Robin muttered at the same time Killian asked “Where did you even find champagne?” “There’s a 24-hour liquor store up the block,” Ariel said. “Breaking curfew, Red?”

Ariel shrugged. “I’m not actually on the team. I don’t think Arthur can cut my shifts or anything. Also Scarlet knew where it was, so take that into account before you go passing judgement.”

“You guys have to get out of here,” Robin said, finally walking out of the bathroom and crashing onto his designated bed. “It’s the middle of the night.” “Not until we fix this,” Will argued. “It’s all weird when you guys are fighting. I don’t like it.” “Ah, well, if Scarlet doesn’t like it,” Killian muttered, earning a glare for his sarcasm. Ariel pushed a glass into his hand, eyebrows raised and a very particular look on her face – one that practically screamed you owe me.

“Shut up, Cap.” Will hooked his foot around the leg of the one chair in the room, sinking onto it as Ariel perched on the edge of the desk behind him. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Killian didn’t answer at first, tapping his finger against the top of the hastily-made mimosas and he’d barely had time to register that they’d made mimosas in the middle of the night, parent-trapping them in a hotel room in Vancouver.

It was kind of overwhelming.

And the idea of even the possibility of leaving this stupid team was suddenly so absurd Killian could hardly believed he’d entertained the thought to begin with.

“Killian,” Ariel muttered, kicking out one of her legs towards him. “Come on, was any of that story true?”

“No,” he said. There was barely any orange juice in this mimosa. That was probably for the best. “None of it.” “He was quoted.” “I know he was.” “How’d that happen?” “If I had an answer for you, Red, I’d tell you.” “Probably to screw you over for other teams,” Robin said softly and Killian nearly dropped his champagne-heavy mimosa.

“What?” Robin shrugged. “That’s the first thing I thought of, is that not the first thing you thought of?” “No,” Killian admitted. “That’s…” “Insane?” Will suggested and Robin just shrugged again.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s not like it’s totally out of the realm of possibility. I mean, think about it, he tells a huge newspaper that he wants Cap and how great Cap is and that they’re totally interested and teams think they don’t have a chance." “I don’t know,” Killian sighed. “Gina said there were a lot of other teams who were interested.” “How many other teams?” Ariel asked and if it weren’t the middle of the night Killian might have been offended by the note of surprise in her voice.

He took a drink before he answered. “A lot.” “That’s not very specific.” Killian held his hand up in the air, but didn’t actually start going down the list. Or the teams that weren’t on the list. “Us?” Ariel continued. “I thought you weren’t on the team, Red.” “Shut up. Did they counter yet?” “There’s not anything to counter. No one’s actually offered yet and they probably won’t until the deadline.”

“So we haven’t actually made a move yet?” Will asked, eyes darting to a frozen Robin. “That’s nuts.” “Well, to be fair,” Killian sighed. “I didn’t really make much of a move either. Or tell Gina to. I was...uh, pretty convinced I wasn’t coming back.” The entire room went silent, drinks held tightly in respective hands and eyes staring at feet and Killian chewed on the inside of his lip, guilt and disappointment and nerves mixing with cheap champagne in the pit of his stomach.

“Why, though?” Robin asked and it felt like hours since any of them had spoken.

Killian lifted his head, turning completely to meet Robin’s gaze. “Why did I think I wasn’t coming back?” He downed the rest of the champagne, squeezing his eyes closed when it landed like a rock. “A lot of reasons.” “Us?” Ariel asked softly and the boulder of alcohol moved until it felt like it was stuck in the back of his throat.

“It sounds awfully immature when you say it out loud like that,” Killian said. “I just, I don’t know, we were supposed to win last year and we didn’t and then…” “You went to Colorado,” Robin finished. His champagne was also gone – walkthrough was going to be interesting tomorrow. Or later that afternoon. It was three in the morning. “And they’ve got a backyard there.” “How could you possibly know that?” “You barely said two words about being out there when you got back. Scarlet and I knew something was up.” “Is that weird? Should I be concerned that that’s weird?” Robin actually laughed. “I don’t know, maybe. Is that where you wanted to go, though?” “Yeah,” Killian said and sitting up was actually proving to be a bit of a challenge when Ariel refilled his glass without even asking. “El and Liam weren’t pleased.” “They both knew?” Will exclaimed, practically leaping off the chair. “That’s bullshit, Cap.” “I’m not disagreeing with you.” “What’d they say?” Ariel asked. She was the only one without a refilled glass and Killian was half certain this whole thing had been her idea. He’d probably have to thank her at some point. If he ever remembered how to stand up or didn’t collapse from exhaustion on the ice the next morning.

“Exactly what you’d think,” Killian started. “There were threats of violence and punching me in the face, but I think they both knew it wasn’t actually going to happen.” “It’s not?” Will sputtered, gaze darting around the room like the reason for that was suddenly going to materialize out of thin air.

Ariel groaned, resting her empty glass on the desk behind her, and stared at Will in disbelief. “Are you really that dumb or just pretending?” “What?” “Emma,” Robin said, sounding as if he were explaining the most obvious thing in the world. It kind of was.

Will’s eyes widened as soon as the words were out of Robin’s mouth and Killian fell back onto the bed, the glass in his hand shaking just a bit when he moved. His phone hadn’t made a sound since he’d thrown it in the corner and, really, he hadn’t expected it to – it was six in the morning in New York – but he thought, maybe…

No.

There was no maybe. There was just him – messing up and messing this up and fuck the entire Los Angeles Times. And whoever showed Emma that story.

“What’d she say, Killian?” Ariel asked, sinking onto the mattress as well. He pulled his head up slightly, the overtired muscles in his neck protesting at the movement, and tried to shrug. It didn’t work.

“Nothing,” he said.

It wasn’t really a lie. He’d played the whole scene in the alley over and over in his head, felt every single syllable of every single word as keenly then as he had the night before and he was almost surprised he’d managed to skate, let alone put the puck in the back of the net when his mind was still in downtown Los Angeles.

He knew he should have told her before, but he’d changed his mind – she’d changed his mind – and it shouldn’t have even been a problem.

There shouldn’t have been a story.

The Rangers should have made a move by now. Or at least the start of a move. This champagne was horrible.

Ariel lifted her eyebrows skeptically and Robin made some sort of disbelieving noise before tapping his glass meaningfully at Will. “Fill up Cap’s too,” he added.

“If I drink any more of your shit champagne I’m not going to be able to lace up my skates tomorrow,” Killian muttered.

“See, that’s just wrong,” Will objected. “We go out of our way to parent-trap you and Locksley and then you insult our champagne. Pickings are slim at three in the morning, you know.” “Out of curiosity, in this situation which one of us is which parent?” “Does it matter?” “I guess not.” Robin laughed again – and it almost sounded genuine, the smile on his face not nearly as forced as the impassive looks he’d been shooting Killian for the better part of the last twenty-four hours. “Gina’s thinking about suing the Times,” he chuckled. “For defamation.” Will nearly fell off the chair and Killian downed his third glass of mimosa before he could even consider all the reasons he shouldn’t.

“I think it’s called something else in print,” Ariel pointed out.

“Libel,” Will added. “It’s libel in print. And Cap doesn’t even fit into that spectrum because he’s a public figure. They can write about whatever they want as long as it’s remotely feasible. And him going to LA is, apparently, remotely feasible.” “How could you possibly know that?” “Not all of us went pro after freshman year. Some of us have degrees.” They laughed and the tension in the room seemed to fly out a window that absolutely wasn’t open. That was, of course, until Robin asked another question.

“She really didn’t say anything?” he murmured. “I mean with Los Angeles and everything.”

If you get a good offer you should consider it.

The words were practically tattooed on the back of his eyelids this point, flashing in front of his face every time he blinked and he was a selfish bastard because he wanted everything all at once. He absolutely didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t get the game and Emma.

The world just didn’t work that way.

“No,” Killian repeated and the lie didn’t even sound remotely convincing. Ariel rested her hand on his leg, staring at him with so much sympathy he was certain it couldn’t actually be her.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. And probably better suited for Gina than me. She’s the one who talks to front office.” “She thinks it’s going to be fine,” Robbin added and Killian hadn’t expected that. “She finally gave up the truth last night after the story came out and, well, I was pissed at you for not telling any of us. Obviously. And then kind of mad at her for not telling me. Again, obviously. So she told me the truth and that you’d changed your mind.” “She didn’t tell you why?” “That one I figured out on my own. You noticed she tugs on the laces when she’s nervous?”

He shouldn't have had so much shitty champagne in such a short period of time because it wasn’t just sitting in his stomach or the back of his throat and Killian sat up before the room could actually start to spin.

He’d absolutely noticed.

And thought about that almost as much as the idea that Emma thought he should be looking at other teams.

“You should call her,” Ariel suggested.

“And say, what?” Will questioned, eyeing the now empty bottle of champagne critically. “I mean what’s he going to say that he hasn’t already?” “I don’t know. Tell her you love her an almost disgusting amount and she’s changed the whole world and you don’t know what you’d do without her.” “That’s laying it on a little thick isn’t it?” Robin cut in. “I mean that’s not really Cap’s style. He kind of broods.” “That’s just in front of us. Have you seen him look at Emma? He stares at her like she’s the center of the universe or something.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Killian muttered, words slurring just a bit and the room was spinning despite sitting up. Sitting up might have been a mistake. They drank a whole bottle of champagne in twenty minutes.

“And?” Ariel countered. “You look at Emma Swan like she’s the center of the universe. That’s just a fact.”

That was true. He did and she was and a slew of other sentimental nonsense that made a bit more sense several glasses of middle-of-the-night mimosa in. Killian could feel Robin’s stare on the side of his head and Ariel hadn’t actually moved her hand off his leg.

“Alright,” Robin announced and he was definitely the team dad. Killian tried not to laugh about that. “We’ve all made up, we’ve decided Killian is an idiot for even thinking about leaving New York and if he any of us get asked about his FA status, we just say we want him to come back here, agreed?”

Will and Ariel both nodded their head – which didn’t make much sense since no one was going to ask Ariel anything about his FA status, at least not in some sort of print or TV capacity – and she pulled her hand away from Killian’s leg to grab one of the pillows at the top of his bed.

“What are you doing?” Killian asked.

“If you think I’m walking back down the hallway to my room, you’ve got another thing coming. Come on, move over.”

Killian groaned, but that was as much of a fight as he was willing to put up, throwing another pillow in Will’s direction. Robin laughed again.

In the end, he found a spot on the floor, in between the two beds with promises from both Ariel and Robin that they wouldn’t actually step on him in the morning and Will stayed in the chair, mumbling something about not moving and it might have been the quickest Killian had fallen asleep – without Emma tucked against his side – in months.

He woke up before his phone – which was probably for the best since the three other people in the hotel room probably would have yelled if they heard his alarm before they had to – grabbing it from underneath the pillow he’d managed to commandeer the night before.

Well, a few hours before.

Killian had fallen asleep easily, but the champagne had been shitty and his head felt as if it was going to snap in half as soon as he opened his eyes to find no less than five text messages, two voicemails and one very wordy e-mail from Regina waiting for him.

He ignored the text messages and the voicemail – trying to also ignore whatever his stomach was doing at the sudden realization that there was nothing from Emma – and clicked on the e-mail. She’d sent that last and was clearly determined to make sure he knew she didn’t appreciate being ignored.

The actual coach of the Colorado Avalanche called me yesterday. On my phone. My cellphone. My actual cellphone. Not my work one. Don’t ask me how that happened, because I have no idea, but I just thought you should have some understanding of what I’m putting up with for you.

Because the actual coach of the Colorado Avalanche called my actual cellphone yesterday to ACTUALLY tell me how impressed he is with your game and that he thinks you can do a lot of good things in mountain air.

He used those words.

If that’s not enough to get you to want to stay as far away from the coach of the Colorado Avalanche then I don’t know what is. Anyway, they want to start throwing out some numbers and they’re serious – both in the idea of the number throwing and how big those numbers are. I don’t even know where Colorado is getting this kind of money.

I guess they’re willing to mortgage their entire team for you. Despite those garbage turnovers in the neutral zone last night. I hope Arthur yelled at you and then I hope Robin yelled at you too because he’s even more mad at you for all of this than I am.

And I, at least, get paid for it.

I need you to tell me what to say to Colorado. I tried to at least pretend like you were still interested in wasting your life with mountain air or whatever this coach was trying to sell me on, but if they come up with an even bigger number it might almost be something to consider. Maybe.

Also Ruby Lucas is going to kill you as soon as you get back to New York, so be prepared for that. - R

Killian read the message twice more before sighing softly and pushing off the floor. The door creaked slightly when he opened it, but it was still early and none of them moved when he pushed into the abandoned hallway, sinking onto the floor just outside the door.

He stared at his phone, eyes moving across the message again and his mind drifted back to the alley and Los Angeles and the way Emma’s eyes had ducked down when she’d tried to give him an out – If you get a good offer you should consider it.

The Avs would give him more than the Rangers could. He wasn’t front office, but he wasn’t an idiot either – no matter what Regina said.

He knew how cap space worked and what Robin had signed for last year and they’d probably want to get Phillip off his rookie deal if he kept setting up the rest of them the way he had been. There wasn’t that much money in New York.

There wasn’t that much money anywhere else in the league.

Killian sighed, resting his head against the wall as he tried to take a deep breath. But his lungs felt tight and his mouth was dry and he’d be willing to stay in New York for pennies now.

We.

She’d used the word we and he was holding onto that no matter what, even if she didn’t answer his text messages or offer up any unknown facts about the entire Vancouver Canucks organization.

He’d lied about plenty of things in the last few months – had lied about plenty of things even when plied with alcohol the night before – but he hadn’t lied about her and, well, Ariel was right. He absolutely looked at Emma like she was the center of the universe.

And his fingers were moving across his phone screen before he could stop himself, typing out a number he only vaguely realized he’d memorized weeks before.

It rang four times before it went to voicemail.

Hi, you’ve reached Emma Swan. I’m not here at the moment, but if you leave a message at the beep, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

“Swan,” Killian said, voice scratchy from sleep and shitty champagne. “I just...I know you’re swamped and you’ve probably got more meetings with Zelena today, but, well, I just, I wanted to talk to you. And this swing couldn’t have come at a worse time and I sleep like shit when you’re not here and I love you. More than anything. And, well, that’s it. Really. I love you. We’ve got walkthroughs, but I’ll be around….” The voicemail cut him off, asking if he was satisfied with his message and Killian hung up before he could even be tempted to delete it.

None of that had been a lie.

He hit reply on Regina’s e-mail, far too aware that he’d probably get more voicemails for responding to that and not her actual calls, thumb racing across the screen as he typed out his answer.

I’m not going Gina. Tell them that.

He tried not to think about it. Really. He did. It didn’t work very well – the weight of his silent phone and distinct lack of text messages practically making it all but impossible to move during walkthroughs and morning skate the next day.

Although that might have been the absolutely ridiculous amount of champagne he’d consumed in between games. Or maybe it was Robin’s constantly worried gaze, eyes lingering on Killian even after he’d skated to the other end of the ice and he could feel it even then, going through warmups in Vancouver without so much as anything from Emma.

And Killian wasn’t frustrated by that so much as he was disappointed in himself and how easily it had been to fuck everything up simply by trying to make sure he did the opposite.

Gina hadn’t responded to his e-mail, no update on on Colorado or New York or any of the dozen teams that, just a few weeks ago, had been willing to sign him well before the deadline.

It wasn’t just Robin staring at him either. Killian knew it would happen as soon as he got on the ice, was braced for the hit already, but that didn’t make him any less cautious when it came to lining up next to Humbert as soon as the puck dropped.

It didn’t make any of the hits hurt any less either – and there were a lot of them.

The first one made his breath catch, Humbert’s stick hitting just above the pads that covered his back and his shoulder blades, pushing Killian up against the boards in the corner of the zone. The second one hurt like hell – and got Humbert two minutes for slashing when the blade of his stick hit the one spot on Killian’s leg that didn’t have pads.

Humbert had been aiming for it. Killian didn’t blame him.

The third hit was absolutely going to leave a bruise, a cross-check that didn’t get called when Killian tried to move in front of the crease on a power play. Humbert didn’t stop hitting him, moving from his back down his thighs and then back up again for good measure, like he was trying to connect on a predetermined list of Killian’s less-padded body parts.

He probably was.

The whistle blew and Killian hadn’t even noticed that the puck had moved by his skate, finding its way past the Canucks goalie until the light when off and Humbert hit him again.

“Jesus Christ,” Killian sighed, spinning around so quickly he hit his own skates with ice. “Relax, I get the message.” Humbert shook his head and he was sweating, beads of moisture moving down his forehead towards the chin strap of his helmet and Killian nearly backed up under the force of his glare. “I honestly couldn’t care less,” Humbert hissed, knocking his stick against Killian’s ankle again.

“You’re going to get another penalty.” “Again. I don’t care.”

Killian groaned and one of the refs was blowing his whistle now, Phillip lingering just a few feet away by the faceoff circle. He tried to brush the rookie off, but that only seemed to draw him into the conversation.

“Everything ok, Cap?” Phillip asked, eyes falling on Humbert immediately. Humbert had, easily, five inches on Phillip.

“You got bodyguards now, Jones?” Humbert asked and the laughter in his voice made Killian’s grip tighten, eyes narrowing just a bit. “Where’s Scarlet? At least he’s got an almost threatening reputation.” “It’s fine, Rook,” Killian said. “Go change.” That one ref was still blowing his whistle shouting something that almost sounded like if you’re going to fight, go ahead and do it, there’s still a game here. Humbert lifted both his hands in the air, an unspoken challenge that Killian wasn’t particularly interested in.

“No,” Killian continued, shaking his head as he moved back towards his bench. “We’re not doing this. Back up Humbert.” “No, no, no,” Humbert argued quickly, tossing his stick to his side and the crowd actually ooooohed. Killian tried not to groan again. “We are absolutely doing this. Come on. Let’s go, you’ve got to take your gloves off, there are rules.” “I’m not fighting you, Humbert.” “Well, that’s too bad since I’m pretty certain I’m going to fight you.” He threw his gloves in the same direction as his stick and Killian closed his eyes, sighing softly – until he felt a fist collide with the side of his face. And then something kind of snapped. Fuck, that hurt.

Humbert had the front of his jersey in his hand, tugging on the laces until he pulled it away from Killian’s pads and he was actually shaking him, trying to get him off his skates before he could land another punch. Killian shook his right hand, glove falling onto the ice and the crowd, somehow, got louder.

His pulse thudded in his ears, or maybe that was just Humbert’s fist, and Killian felt his own fingers collide with a jaw, wincing slightly at the contact. He tried to avoid using his left hand – far too aware of what Ariel would say if he did – keeping it trained at his side and Humbert didn’t seem to care, simply intent on hitting Killian’s face as many times as possible before the refs intervened.

It took forever, far longer than any fight Killian had ever been involved in before and he landed a few more blows to Humbert’s chest before he heard the whistles and felt hands on the back of his jersey, tugging him towards the penalty box.

“Here,” the ref said, tossing Killian the one glove he’d managed to get off before the league official closed the door.

They both got five minutes and if Emma had been mad before, she was probably furious now – this seemed to decidedly fall into the realm of rescue. Killian slumped down slightly, earning a curious glance from the watcher in the box and even Humbert looked over at the sound.

“You alright?” he asked.

“You’re asking me that now? You just tried to take my head off.” “Nah, not really. It could have been a lot worse.” “Sure.” “I mean you’re not concussed or anything. And you absolutely deserved it. I saw the story.” “Everyone saw the story,” Killian muttered bitterly and Humbert chuckled softly under his breath. “I’m not going.” “Oh, I know that.” That caught him by surprise. He sat up a bit straighter, ignoring whatever the league guy was doing with his face, slightly scandalized that Killian and Humbert were talking in the middle of five-minute majors. “How?” Killian asked.

“Because you look at Emma like she’s the goddamn sun.”

They won again and Arthur didn’t actually break any whiteboards in another visitor’s locker room, but Killian had barely sat down, groaning softly to try and untie his laces before Ariel practically pulled him off the bench.

He hadn’t quite memorized the Canucks visitor’s locker room, but Ariel very clearly had a plan, muttering under her breath as she kept her hand trained on Killian’s back, pushing him down a short hallway and around a corner until he nearly collided with a table pressed up against the wall.

“Sit,” Ariel commanded, nodding towards the table and Killian hadn’t noticed she actually had a bag of ice in her other hand. She nearly threw the bag of ice at him, thrusting her hand forward, but she seemed to think twice before the bag collided with the bruise Killian was certain had blossomed just underneath his eye.

“It’s fine, Red,” he muttered. There was that word again.

“Sure it is. Did you know he was going to try and kill you?” “He didn’t.”

“Your face says otherwise.” She moved with a speed that almost impressed him, grabbing another roll of gauze and pushing his hand against his cheek until he hissed in air through his teeth, grimacing at the cold against the bruise. “Hand,” Ariel continued.

“Which one?” “Either one.” Killian held out his right hand and Ariel lifted one eyebrow, eyeing him critically, but she didn’t actually ask the question he knew she wanted to. He appreciated that. “He wasn’t trying to kill me,” Killian said. “You know that, right?” “Yeah,” Ariel admitted. “Still didn’t make it any less scary.” “You worried about me, Red?”

“No,” she said quickly, but she couldn’t quite look him in the eye either. “She ever call you back?” “Who?” “Killian!” He shook his head. “Nah, but she’s busy. She’s trying to save the game.” “I heard you did that. Got her a spot at the Piers.” “Who told you that?” “Gina. And told me that the Avs are ready to offer you a ridiculous amount of money to come out there. You tell El and Liam that?” “Gina needs to learn how to stop talking,” Killian said, shifting the ice against his cheek. God, this bruise was enormous.

“She’s worried too. And she didn’t tell Robin, that’s something.” “I guess,” he admitted. “And no, I didn’t tell El or Liam. I’m not going to Colorado. They don’t want me to go to Colorado.” “That’s not true at all.” Killian narrowed his eyes – as much as he could with a bag of ice pressed up against his face and Ariel groaned, tapping on his left hand once she’d finished wrapping up his right. “It’s not,” she said. “They just want you to be happy. And you are. Happier than I can remember seeing you ever.” The argument was on the tip of his tongue, the certainty that he’d messed up again and Emma hadn’t called back and Graham Humbert hitting him was nothing compared to what Ruby Lucas would do to him as soon as the team plane landed in New York next week.

He didn’t get a chance. His phone rang instead.

Emma.

He froze, eyes wide and ice practically pushing its way into his cheek painfully as he kept staring at his phone.

“God, Killian, answer her,” Ariel shouted. He nodded slowly, reaching out towards the phone and it kind of felt like he’d just drank another bottle of shitty champagne. Killian’s hand shook when he picked up the phone, far too aware of Ariel’s eyes on him and she muttered some excuse about checking on Will’s leg before she sprinted back towards the locker room.

“Swan?” he asked and his voice was shaking too.

“Hey,” she said softly, the sound of cars and maybe an ambulance in the background.

“Where are you? You’re not still at the Garden are you?” “It’s almost three in the morning here.” “That didn’t answer my question.” Emma laughed under her breath and he could nearly see the smile on her face. “No, I’m not. I almost left at a normal time actually.” “What’s normal in this situation?” “Before midnight.” “Swan.” “What? That’s an honest answer.” “Swan, what time?” “Like eight,” she said. “Eight thirty. Ish. I had to meet with Zelena to break down the schedule for everything at the Piers.” “Did that go alright?” Killian asked and Emma laughed again, humming in the back of her throat. A car honked and it was never that loud inside Mary Margaret’s loft. “Where are you, Swan? For real.” “I’m in the hallway.” “The hallway?” “It’s almost three in the morning,” she said again.

“Which would be a fair point if you were actually asleep,” Killian muttered, smiling in spite of himself when he heard Emma’s soft, frustrated sigh. He’d fallen back into rescue rather easily. “And you didn’t answer my question.” “Which one, there’s been so many.” “You’re the one who called me,” he pointed out, squeezing his eyes closed when he realized what he’d said. “That sounded worse than I wanted it to.” “No, no, I know what you meant.” “And?” “And what?” “And how did your meeting with Zelena go? Did Hopper give you the good rink?” She exhaled into the phone and Killian wondered if she’d been holding her breath too, his lungs were practically burning with the oxygen he was keeping in. “Zelena went fine,” Emma said. “She thinks the Piers are a good idea too.” “Do you?” “That’s another question.” “And one I’d love an answer to.” “Yeah,” Emma answered. “I do. It’s an incredible space and Hopper was more excited than just about anyone in the front office has been about any of it. He showed me your signed photos three different times.” “Jeez,” Killian sighed.

“It was nice. Bordering close to tooth-rottingly sweet.” “Is that why you called?” Emma made a noise, clicking her tongue and Killian pressed the ice against his cheek again. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

“That’s why,” Emma said.

“What was that, Swan?” “That’s why I called,” she explained and her voice didn’t shake, but he could hear the nerves there on the other side of a totally different country. “He shouldn’t have hit you. You didn’t want to fight him, I saw you shake your head.” “You watched the game?” He absolutely shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was.

“Of course. I...I watched the other night too. I just…” “I know, love,” Killian said, voice catching just before the nickname or the endearment or whatever they were calling it. Emma made a noise on the other end, a mix between a sigh and something that was very obviously disappointment.

“It was a good goal. Yesterday’s, I mean. Like a ridiculous shot, even with the turnovers in the neutral zone.” “You and Arthur should team up with your post-game speeches, Swan. He wasn’t very happy with the turnovers either.” “Good goal though and you totally screened on that power play, that’s why Phillip scored.” “Ah, it was a good shot.” “So self-deprecating. Seems a bit out of character” “No, Swan,” Killian argued. “Pretty par for the course if we’re being honest.” She made that disappointed noise again and Killian felt his grip loosen on the ice that, somehow, hadn’t started to melt yet. “Is your face ok though?” Emma asked. “And your hand?” “My face is fine if not just a bit purple and both of my hands are also fine. If not a little bruised as well.” “I’m sorry.” “For what?”

“This is my fault. Graham he...I mean he hated Neal and he couldn’t really beat him up and I didn't really even think about it…” “You shouldn’t have,” Killian said quickly, trying to erase that worry in her voice. “And you don’t. I’m fine. I knew it was going to happen before I got on the ice.” “Wait, what?” Fuck. Fuck and shit and then fuck again. The worry in Emma’s voice was gone, but it had been replaced by something else entirely – anger. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Humbert may or may not have suggested he was ready to defend your honor over the weekend,” Killian said quickly, trying to rush over the words as fast as possible.

“Are you kidding me?” “No.” “I don’t need him to do that.” “Trust me, Swan, no one is more aware of that than I am.” “Is that why you didn’t want to fight him?” “No,” Killian answered immediately. “I didn’t want to fight him because I knew he was right.”

The phone went dead or maybe she hung up on him and Killian wasn’t certain which one was worse – he pulled the phone away glancing down at the screen and neither one was right. She just hadn’t answered him.

“Swan,” he said cautiously. “Are you ok?” “Fine.” “Emma.” He could hear her breath catch and she must have stood up because the floor creaked loudly in the background. She was pacing. “Don’t do that,” she whispered.

“What?”

“You never call me that. I hate it.” Killian bit his lip and, well, if his whole face was going to be bruised he might as well cut up his lip too. He groaned when he slumped forward, the bruises he hadn’t actually seen on his back and his chest protesting at the movement.

He didn’t care.

“Ok,” he said, not sure he remembered another word in the entire English language.

And he’d called her Emma when he meant something, when he couldn’t linger in nicknames and sarcasm and the bravado that she’d seen through from the very beginning. Every single one of his internal organs clenched at the idea that it didn’t mean quite as much as he thought it had.

“You’re really ok?” Emma asked. He could hear her key in the lock. “Did Ariel look at your hand, yet?” “Is that why you called, Swan?”

“I was worried.” That should have helped – his organs should have returned to their normal and slightly healthier positions, but they didn’t. They stayed as clenched as ever, Emma’s voice not quite ringing honest even several thousand miles away.

Killian closed his eyes and shifted the ice again as Mary Margaret’s door closed behind Emma. “I’ve got to go,” she said.

“Yeah, sure, Swan.” “The Piers are really good. It’s a great view and enough space. We’re going to send out official announcements later this week.” “I’m glad.” “Right,” she said, clicking her teeth on the final letter.

“It’s late.” He was just telling her facts now. She’d told him it was almost three in the morning twice already. She knew what time it was. And he couldn’t remember a single conversation, even that first one in the back corner of Eric’s restaurant, that was quite as difficult as this one. Goddamn western swing.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to kiss Emma Swan.

He wanted a fucking contract extension.

“Also true,” Emma said, keeping her voice low with a presumably sleeping David and Mary Margaret just a few feet away. “You better go before Ariel attacks you in the middle of the Rogers.” “Already done. She was wrapping my hand when you called.” “You needed to get your hand wrapped?”

Killian was almost positive he didn’t mistake the change in tone, didn’t imagine the way her voice caught just a bit and maybe, maybe, he hadn’t messed this up completely. Hope was a strange feeling in the middle of the Rogers Arena.

Or it was until Emma spoke again.

She took a deep breath and she needed her own apartment if only because the couch in Mary Margaret’s was absolutely some sort of torture device, creaking loudly when Emma sat down. “I’ve got to go,” she said again.

“Ok,” Killian muttered.

“I’ll, um, safe flight to Edmonton.” “I’ll let you know when we land?” “You don’t have to do that. You’ll probably be busy.” “It’s ok, Swan. I want to.” “Whatever you want to do.” Killian sighed again and Ariel had reappeared at some point, something that looked a hell of a lot like pity in her expression. “I’ll talk to you later?” “Of course.” The line went dead and he didn’t throw his phone at the wall, which felt as much like a victory as the one he’d actually been a part of earlier that night.

“You ok?” Ariel asked, approaching him slowly and tugging the half-melted ice away from his cheek.

“Fine.”

She didn’t call him out for the lie it absolutely was and Killian didn’t argue when she wrapped up his left hand.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #will scarlet and ariel teaming up to get their parents back together is my favorite #and maybe scarlet instagram'ed it #and maybe arthur got pissed about it #and maybe emma saw that #maybe i'll write it #MAYBE

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starcitysirens · 7 years

Text

[fic] A Wednesday Evening in Late June

Title: A Wednesday Evening in Late June. Pairing: Sara Lance/ Rip Hunter Rating: PG Word Count: 1800 Summary: Reaction fic for 3x01. Six weeks after Rip disbands the Legends, Sara runs into him at a bar. Inspired by Sara's line in 3x01 about running into one of Rip's agents and stealing his entrance badge. This is a scenario where that agent is actually Rip himself. Notes: I'm sure writing a variation of this is required for every writer in the fandom. I couldn't resist. Special thanks to @teruel-a-witch for being my sounding board for this.

{read on ao3}

A Wednesday evening in late June, 2017, the shittiest bar in Star City. Beer-sticky counters and cracked peanut shells on the floor. A man sitting at the bar. In his clean, bureaucrat suit, he stands out as a thing that doesn’t belong.

An anachronism.

She’d recognized the back of his head as soon as she walked into the bar. That ridiculous haircut. The sell-out suit. It’s not enough for him that he took her ship, her job, her city, now he’s gotta show up in her bar, too. But she’ll be damned if she lets him keep it.

She mentally unfurls her laundry list of grievances, fully intending to make him hear every one of them. There's no magic time portal that can save his smug ass from her wrath this time. So she takes the empty seat to his right (and isn’t that ironic) and waits for him to notice her. When he turns, he looks at her through red-rimmed, tired eyes and there's no surprise there, just the somber, heavy resignation she's used to seeing him carry. Disappointment tempers her ire down to irritation.

He’s already drunk.

Back up. Rewind:

Around six o’clock on a Wednesday evening in late June, 2017, a man walks into a bar.

The place, a dive bar at street level with three apartments upstairs, smells like cheap booze and cigarettes. Four or five men, middle aged, are drinking at the bar. They are probably construction or maintenance workers, blue-collared, unlike the man who’s just walked in. But like him, they seek to drown themselves in cheap, bitter drink to postpone arriving home alone to face the scary emptiness. He flags the bartender, orders a scotch, and keep them coming, he says.

Tonight, he intends to forget.

Fast forward, three, four hours. A woman walks into a bar. She is angry and he is already drunk.

It’s been six weeks, but the sight of him still boils her blood, the betrayal burning like a fresh wound, and she wonders if he will ever stop getting under her skin.

It’s been six weeks, but really, it's been five long and lonely years and the sight of her, so alive in her anger, still leaves him dumb.

“Miss Lance,” he says. Her name feels heavy on his liquor soaked tongue. Yet inescapable.

“Rip,” she answers, intentionally despoiling him of any of his titles, bringing him down to her lowly civilian level. If looks could kill he’d fall over dead on the spot.

The air between them hums with all the things they haven't said. Their silence, negative space. If one squints just so her anger transforms into hurt, his dismissiveness into longing.

In front of them, on the TV above the bar, a teary woman talks to a reporter about the mystery blonde woman who saved her from an attacker. That woman is a hero, she says.

His lips quirk up in a sloppy smirk.

“Gee, I wonder who that was.”

“Screw you,” she says, resenting the sarcasm in his voice.

“Ah, there she is.” She’d managed to make it a whole three minutes without cursing him. He's impressed.

“ Was that something else I was supposed to give up on your decree? What do you want from me?”

“Well, you have to admit, you're not exactly being very subtle, miss Lance.”

Of course it would be about that.

“Are you afraid I might save the wrong person and upset your new friends at the Bureau? Are you afraid you might have to come after me?”

“They’re not my friends,” he slurs into his glass.

He figured it out eventually. That’s where he’d gone wrong with them, the Legends. He’d kept them at arm’s length when he thought of them as only tools in his arsenal against Vandal Savage. (Not her, though, she'd always managed to get under his skin.) And then, after, when willful duty bound them together, he watched them all grow closer, but the circle of friendship had been closed to him. No one to blame but himself really. He can't fault them. He'd never let them in.

He'd tried to let her in.

And she, well she’d thought they were friends, once. He'd seen the worst of her and he hadn't been afraid. He saved her life. He gave her purpose, he'd said I believe in you and the memory of it still steals the breath from her. But then he’d stabbed her in the back. She’d let him go that day because she thought he needed to find himself. That, she understood. But she thinks about the man who emerged from that portal in Los Angeles, standing tall and proud like she'd never seen him before and she wonders if they'd broken something in him when they broke time. If the real Rip is out there somewhere displaced in time. She’d gone to the ends of time trying to save him before, she'd do it again if it meant fixing this.

“I missed you, miss Lance.” He wouldn't be saying that if he were sober but he's waited five years to see her again and it doesn't matter that he's not supposed to be saying things like that.

“You don’t get to say that. Shut up,” she says. How dare he? How dare he say that when he’d been the one to walk away? And why does she care? Why does she allow him to continue to hurt her?

Why does she still crave his validation?

“How can you can sit here and tell me you missed me after what you did? To me?”

He flinches away from the volcanic heat of her hurt. He hadn't lied when he’d praised her leadership, hadn't faked his belief in her. Only, he'd looked around and found no room for him by her side. And so he walked away. How was he supposed to know things would unravel the way they did?

“I didn't do anything to you.” Liar. “This is so much bigger than your feelings, Sara. I’m trying to fix things.”

“What does that mean? Fix what?”

He doesn’t answer, he's said too much already. He swallows down his response with what's left in his glass. He feels the world tilt and sway around him.

He's too drunk to fight and she's too sober to keep it going. She's had enough of his secrets.

“I'm taking you home,” she says. “Where's your place?”

“That's classified.”

Sara huffs, resigned, “My place it is, then.”

Sara's place is small, just a studio with only the bare essentials: a bed, a table, two chairs. It feels like he takes up too much space just by standing there. She can't breathe.

What's she going to do with him now that he's here?

He’s here, in her space, unsteady on his feet, his eyes heavy and fixed on her face, his cold hand on her neck, thumb to the butterfly flutter of her pulse. He’d snuffed that out once. It still haunts him.

“I’m so sorry, Sara,” he says, slightly pressing his thumb down. “You died. I had to let you.”

Phantom pains stab in Sara’s side. She remembers how cold she’d been lying on the snow, blood pouring out of the wound he'd made on her body. His hand on her neck feels suddenly disquieting. But he goes on ...

“And your sister she was…”

Her heart seizes, her breath falters as she realizes what he’s talking about.

Three arrows to her chest. A tumble off a roof. Knowledge of a thing cannot impede it. He knows this, perhaps better than anyone.

“I wanted to tell her I understood because I’d also held my dead love in my arms that way. But I couldn’t. So, I lay flowers on your grave. Gardenias and rain lilies. And I would look at that date on the gravestone and remind myself it wasn’t forever. That your death had an expiration date and I would save you.”

He touches his forehead against hers, his scotch laden breath on her face.

“I changed time for you.”

“And you let her die.”

He’d killed her, too, and she forgave him, because she held herself responsible for his trauma. But for Laurel? She calls on that old rage just to get through tonight, Sara, just get through tonight. She pulls and pulls on the thread but the anger slips away from her grasp. How can she hold onto it when he’s staring at her with liquor hazed wet eyes, looking, for a moment, like the man who’d once absolved her and declared himself the monster instead?

Her own uncomfortable revelations threaten to come forth. She holds her tongue instead of saying: I used to hold your compass to my chest, hoping it would lead me to you. And I blame myself for what the Legion did to you. What's the point of baring herself to him? In the morning, he'll be gone again and it'll be as if this never happened.

The morning will take all truth from them.

“Sara,” he whispers, her name on his lips like benediction. “Please, forgive me my unworthiness.”

He might as well render her amnesiac with a flash of his machine.

She sets him down at the foot of her bed. She strips him of his suit jacket, letting him take care of the shirt buttons. She pushes his oxford shirt off his shoulders until he’s left in an undershirt and lets herself look, without the guilt this time.

It's been five—no, nearly seven—years and he is not a man in mourning anymore. And she could reach out and lay her hands upon the pale skin of his freckled shoulders, push him back and take them to that yet uncharted place between reverence and wrath. But she doesn’t because if he were to circle gentle hands around her wrists to stop her, she thinks she just might pierce the world with the steel of her hurt.

Come here, he says, curling on her bed like he's done it many times before. Like he belongs there. She takes off her boots and her jeans and settles on the bed beside him.

The narrow space between them might as well be a chasm.

“Someday, Sara,” he says, before he closes his eyes.

How perfectly mistimed their timing.

He reaches out toward her chest, and she holds her breath. His palm flattens over the space between her breasts, where her heart beats strong and steady.

Five years. And one of them with her dead.

Her hand curls over his.

In the morning, she’ll reclaim the anger and remind herself of the dangers of confusing energy with possibility. But for tonight, with his hand on her heart, she’ll embrace the sadness and let herself sink under the weight of what could have been.

#time canary #ripsara #sara lance #lot fic #rip hunter #sara x rip #nelly writes sometimes

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writings-andstuff · 7 years

Text

The Raid (Dean x Reader)

So here it is. Nothing special, just a lot of my thoughts on season 12 episode 14 put into what the reader tells Mary with a little bit of fluffy cuteness at the end.

Happy Reading!

Words: 3172

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: None

Excerpt: “Then why—”

“Because he’s not thinking rationally,” you said. “All Dean knows is that you weren’t there. Does it really matter why? And now he’s got you back, and, because he’s the ultimate family man, he thinks that everything is going to be okay. John isn’t here, but you are, and that’s good enough for him because now he doesn’t have to do it on his own. And then you go and do something like this. You tell me why he’s mad.”

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Mary looked as if she was backed against a wall. If you were being honest, you thought that maybe she deserved it. Maybe she deserved whatever Dean said to her.

“I’m doing this for you,” she said in her ‘I’m your mother’ voice. “I’m playing three decades of catch-up here.”

Dean shook his head, shoulders set and jaw clenched. “And we’re not? How do you think this has been for us? We’re your sons, and you’ve been gone. Our whole lives, you’ve been gone.”

You crossed your arms from where you stood behind Sam and shook your head. Not only were you disappointed, but you were also angry. The Brits had tortured Sam. One of them had almost beaten Dean to death, until Mary came in and saved the day.

Out of everyone, you thought, she should be the most angry. You knew that if anyone ever came after your hypothetical kids, they’d be dead. Period. No if ands or buts. Yet, here she was, working with the damn enemy.

“You said that you needed time,” Dean went on, pointing at her. “No, you said that you needed space.” He put his hands up. “So we gave you your space. But you didn’t need just space. No. You needed space from us.”

Dean shook his head and you did the same. Mary looked genuinely hurt, and there was part of you that thought, “Good.” Then there was the part of you that tended to sympathize with everyone that thought that maybe this was about more than just Mary working with the British Men of Letters.

The boys had spent their entire lives motherless, and that, of course, was of no fault to Mary. However, you still resented your dad for dying. It wasn’t his fault, but the irrational part of you thought, “How dare he die on me.” It was the same with Dean.

“That’s not true,” Mary said angrily, but her eyes were welling up with tears. You took a deep breath and Sam looked up at you quickly before looking back at his mother and Dean. “Dean, I’m trying—”

“How about for once,” Dean’s anger was beginning to boil over and you took a defensive step toward him, “you just try to be a mom!”

Mary let her voice drop to a softer tone. You could tell she was recognizing his anger and what was behind it. “I am your mother, but I am not just a mom. And you are not a child.”

You took a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. She wasn’t handling this right, and you could tell that Dean was going to either blow up, or walk away angrily. In fact, he did neither. He looked at her sadly, his voice dropping low again.

“I never was.”

There was a long pause where no one moved or breathed. The whole room seemed to just stop. The planet seemed to cease to spin for a moment before Dean spoke again.

“So between us and them—”

“It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, Mary, it is.”

Now, Dean was resigned. You could tell he’d made up his mind about her. She wasn’t the enemy anymore, she was just another hunter who had done him wrong. He was icing her out and every fiber of your being screamed that it was just wrong. Yes, she was in the wrong about this. But Dean just icing her out like this was not going to help.

Then you thought about it again. Maybe a little time apart for the two of them was a good thing. She had hurt Dean and Sam—and you for that matter—and it was going to take a while for the three of you to get back on track with her. Even longer for Dean.

But there was a nagging part of you that said that it was safer keeping Mary in the inner circle. She was a connection to the British Men of Letters, men who you wouldn’t trust with anything. Some part of you was sure that they were going to double-cross her to get to the boys. Maybe if you could get her on your side, she could be your mole.

You shook your head at your inner thoughts. That’s how you worked, you thought too far ahead. You were needed in the here and now, not in the however-many-months from now.

Mary let out a breath through her nose.

“And you’ve made your choice,” Dean said, all trace of anger gone. Sam looked up at her sadly, but you were looking at Dean. He pointed. “So there’s the door.”

With that, Dean turned, and left. Sam got up then too, not even looking at Mary.

“Sam...”

Sam lifted his eyes to her. “You should go.” He also turned and walked out.

Mary leaned on the table and heaved a great sigh. She flinched when she heard the first door slam, and flinched again when she heard the second one close a little less forcefully.

You kept your arms crossed but didn’t move and didn’t say anything. Honestly, you didn’t even know if she was aware that you were still here.

She was the mother of Dean Winchester, the man you were silently in love with, but that didn’t mean you wanted to impress her. In fact, it only meant that you wanted to yell at her on behalf of Dean. You also wanted to go into Dean’s room and just hold him. You wanted to do anything in your power to make him feel better.

But first, you had to make sure he was heard.

Mary spoke first.

“And you?”

You pulled your eyebrows together and shifted your folded arms. “What about me?”

She raised her eyes to you shamefully. “Are you going to say something too? You look like you have something to say.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “But it has nothing to do with me. I’m just disappointed. Dean is hurt. So is Sam. These are people who almost killed them—both of them. And now they find out that their mother, the one woman who they’ve spent their entire lives not knowing, but missing anyways, is in bed with the enemy.”

“They’re not the enemy.”

You shook your head and raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? Sam has a patch of burned skin on the side of his foot. That other agent broke Dean’s ribs and they’re still not healed properly.”

“I know that!” Mary said indignantly. “Don’t you think I know that? It was the work of a rogue agent.”

“And you believe that?”

“Do I have any reason not to?”

You blew air from your nose in a huff. “How about your two sons who, by the way, saved the freaking world several times. I think their judgement on the matter is pretty solid, especially because they’ve been double-crossed more times than any of us can count.”

Mary gave you the satisfaction of looking legitimately disappointed in herself for a brief moment before she was back to that wall of stubbornness. “We’re doing good work.”

“All bad guys think their cause is ‘good work’,” you said, using air quotes for ‘good work’. “This isn’t even about them. It’s about you. It’s about how you were gone for three decades and Dean had to pick up your damn slack.”

Mary set her jaw in a way that was very Winchester-like, and she straightened up. “I died. I was dead. How was I supposed to help that? How is that my fault?”

You softened your voice a little. “It’s not.”

“Then why—”

Mary wobbled a little as if an imaginary gust of wind had knocked her back and she blinked very quickly like she was trying to vanquish tears from her eyes. “That’s why?”

“That’s why,” you agreed. “You weren’t there, Mary. Dean doesn’t care why. He resented you for going away like that, even though it was nobody’s fault. He blamed you. And then you came back.”

There was a long pause where you waited for her to say something, and when she didn’t you began again.

“And Sam—”

Now you had her attention again and she looked back at you.

“Sam doesn’t remember you,” you said. “And I know that’s gotta hurt, but, believe it or not, it actually hurts worse when you can’t remember the person you miss.”

Mary frowned. “How do you miss someone you’ve never known?”

“It’s not that simple. You grow up with this one concept: mommy and daddy. The sun rises and sets on them because they gave you life. But when you lose one of them, even if you’re not born or too young to remember, it still hurts. Now it’s not mommy and daddy, it's just daddy or just mommy. Sometimes, it’s neither of them. And even if you’ve never met them, it hurts because of what you’ve lost. You’ve lost any time you could have spent with them making memories and using the words ‘mom’ and ‘dad’. Things normal people take for granted.”

Mary was staring at you wide eyed with her mouth open slightly. She let a tear slip down her cheek and when you stopped talking, she wiped it angrily and sniffed. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m very in-tuned to the feelings of other people.”

“Then you know why I’m doing this.”

You nodded once. “Because they’re helping you save the people you didn’t save while you were six feet under—all the people that Azazel killed after he killed you. But at what cost? Because right now, you’re losing your sons to guilt and a couple of know-it-all Brits.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, another tear slipping through her iron-clad wall of defenses—another Winchester trait. “I have to do this.”

You put your hands up. “Hey, if you have to, you have to. Just do me two favors: don’t die, and don’t work with the damn British. For the sake of your sons, at least.”

Mary shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Which one?”

“Either? Both. I can’t promise anything.”

You shook your head too, but in disappointment. “Then, I’m sorry, but I think it’s best that you leave.”

Mary gave a curt nod and turned to head toward the bedrooms. You turned and went the other way, heading toward Dean’s room to talk to him and see if he was okay.

The door was closed and locked when you got there and you knocked once. No answer. You knocked louder. Again, no answer, not even the sound of footsteps heading toward the door. He probably thought it was his mother, and he definitely wasn’t going to open the door.

“Dean,” you said softly. “It’s me. Please open the door. I know that you’re upset, but I need to know that you’re okay.”

There was a low grumble on the other side of the door, a creak, and then loud footsteps coming toward the door. The door didn’t click, though. He hadn’t unlocked it yet.

“What do you want?” he said angrily.

“I told you,” you took a deep breath. “I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” you disagreed. “You can’t lie to me.”

There was a long pause and then a sigh from the other side of the door. “She’s not with you, is she?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to try and play family-fixer,” Dean said. You frowned and scrunched up your eyebrows.

“You don’t mean that.”

Another long sigh. “No. I don’t.” There was a click and then footsteps retreating. You opened the door and closed it behind you. Dean was standing at the foot of his bed, hurt written all over his face, and a single tear line leading from one of his eyes.

You approached him carefully and wiped his cheek dry with your thumb. Surprisingly, he leaned his cheek into your hand and closed his eyes. You’d be lying if you said your heartbeat didn’t speed up a little bit at that.

Dean reached up and pulled your hand away from his face, looking down at you. He was still lightly gripping your wrist, but you weren’t going to tell him to let go. Silently, he wrapped his arms around you, and you did the same, breathing in the scent of Dean.

You held him like that for a while until he pulled away and sank down onto the end of the bed. You sat down next to him and looked up at him.

“I don’t get it,” he said finally, looking over at you sadly. “I mean—I just—”

“They hurt you,” you agreed. “I think that she’s using them to pay her penance.”

Dean frowned. “For what? What did she do wrong?”

You sighed. “She blames herself for what Azazel did—to Sam, to you, to everyone. They’re helping her save lives, and that’s all that she really cares about. Not how it gets done, just that it does.”

Dean shook his head. “But that makes no sense! It’s not like she made that asshat do everything he did to Sammy, and to those other people.”

“That’s something that you and her have in common,” you said. “You blame yourselves for things that aren’t your fault.”

Silence followed that statement, and you didn’t attempt to fill it. It wasn’t awkward silence, just heavy silence. Honestly, you had no idea what he was thinking or how exactly he was feeling, but that was okay. You’d talk if he wanted someone to talk to and you’d let him hold you if he needed someone to hold.

You put your hand on his arm and when he looked at you, you gave him a small smile. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure it will.”

He smiled a little too. “Is it ever?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes. The important thing is that you’re not alone. You’ve got me and Sammy and we’re both here for you—”

And then he kissed you. There was no preamble to it, no reason for it, except that maybe you were very close to him. Of course, you weren’t complaining and you kissed back.

Dean pulled away first, slightly breathless and smiling a little. Your cheeks were on fire, and your mouth hung open slightly. Closing your mouth, you searched for something to say. What could you say? You opened it and took a breath as if to say something, anything, but no sound came out and you closed it again.

“You look like a fish,” he said, smiling a little wider. “What were you gonna say?”

“Um,” you said intelligently. “What—” You cleared your throat. “You—what was that for?”

Dean chuckled softly. “Just you, being all protective. It’s kinda adorable.”

“I—”

“And you were right,” he added. “I’m not alone, and I never have been. But I don’t think that this is something a heart-to-heart with mommy dearest is gonna fix.”

You still couldn’t get over the fact that he had kissed you right in the middle of your speech. “You kissed me.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, sweetheart, have you been missing for the last four months, or did I just imagine the whole thing?”

“I mean, yeah, but,” you tripped over your words a little, “I was gearing up for a killer speech and you just—you just planted one on me. That’s unfair. I’m calling awesome speech rights.”

“You’re calling awesome speech rights?” Dean laughed. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

“We’re off topic,” you said, standing up so he couldn’t kiss you again and totally throw off your train of thought. “My point, before I was very rudely interrupted—”

“Oh so my kisses are rude now?”

You pointed at him. “No, but that’s not the point—the point is that Sam, Cas, and I, we’re here. And I think that, eventually, Mary will see what she’s doing and come back.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t think so, not this time. I mean, she’s working with the people who tortured my little brother to get to me.”

“I know,” you said softly. “I remember. But I don’t think she’s going to see that they’re bad people until they’re doing something against her specifically.”

“I don’t want it to get that far.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

Dean let out a long sigh and pulled you back to him, hugging around your waist. “I should go check on Sam.”

You nodded. “Yeah, okay.” You let him let go of you first, and then stood.

While he was waking to the door, you had another thought. Now would be a good time to tell him something you’ve been meaning to tell him for a really long time. You and Dean had been together for four months, but you didn’t have the courage to tell him how you felt about him yet.

Somehow, you found your voice as he was reaching for the door handle.

“Hey, Dean?”

He turned and looked at you with his eyebrows raised. Oh god, you couldn’t do it. You almost told him ‘never mind’ and left it there, but you were determined. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you began.

“Remember when Cas thought he was dying and his last thought was that he loved us?”

Dean frowned. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it. Why?”

“Well,” you wrung your hands. “I don’t want to wait until I’m dying to tell you this so—”

Looking very worried, Dean turned completely and walked back to you, kneeling down in front of you with his hands on your knees. “Hey, nobody’s dying.”

“I know, but I just,” you took another deep breath. “Dean Winchester, I’ve seen you go to hell and back, literally, and I’ve seen you dance around your feelings for me for years.”

Dean grinned. “Ditto, sweetheart.”

You laughed lightly. “You’ve saved the world—”

“We,” he corrected.

“We’ve saved the world, and, um, okay—I’m just gonna say it: I love you.”

Dean’s goofy grin drooped a little. For a moment, you were very scared, until he kissed you with everything he had. He didn’t have to say it back—you knew he wasn’t all that good with words and that he’d say it when he was more comfortable—but he did say it. He said it every day in the little touches and the goofy grins and the cups of coffee made just the way you like them, and you couldn’t ask for better.

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