#actually crying and banging on my screen because he’s not real and we’re not married and he’s not in love with me and we’re not both gay

[prac-ticalproblems]

I am psychotic, and this is where I will be delusional about my wife. (A 40+ year old man)

(my url is what it is bc i want him to solve me.)

[fortuositywritings]

I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 4

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Summary: You try to be friends with Wanda. Frankly, you could try a little harder. (Ice cream date, but it’s not really a date, but like it is but it’s not)

PS: There are like three swear words, mentions of exercise, and you eat a lot of pancakes but that’s cause you’re hungry. It’s not a problem. Also, if you are actually athletic, are fit, or like to exercise, you aren’t and you don’t. Not in this house.

You wake up the next morning with a sore neck. As you sit up, you see Nat standing beside the couch looking at you over her coffee cup scaring the life out of you. 

“So, how’d you sleep?” she asks.

“Like a princess,” you sarcastically reply. Stretching, you hear your body popping in all different places. Maybe you will take Pietro up on his offer.

“I know what will help. Some exercise. Get ready. We’re going on a hike.”

You finally take in Nat’s appearance and see her sporting the attire for a hike. 

You groan. “You say hike, but I know you really mean running at an incline.”

“Come on. Don’t be a baby. Exercise is good for you. When’s the last time you got any?”

You want to make a joke because of how she worded it, but your mischievous smile gives you away.

“Exercise, Y/N. When’s the last time you got any exercise,” she clarifies.

“The last time you asked me that.”

“A year ago?” 

“And my body is still sore. Ask me again in a few months,” you go to lie down again but she throws a couch cushion at your head. “Okay, okay. Jeez, woman. I’m up.”

When you return from your hike, you are heaving. You don’t ever really think about how unfit you are, which makes sense when you don’t spare 5 minutes to do any kind of exercise, but a hike with Nat will surely remind you. You are sweating buckets and just want to pass out when you enter the house. Everyone is awake presumably having breakfast. You can smell the pancakes from the living room. Your stomach growls. You want to eat but even chewing sounds like too exhausting at the moment. You just want to knock out. You head over to your sleeping quarters for the week, but before you collapse on the couch, your cousin says, “I don’t want any sweat on my couch, Y/N.”

“Ugh,” you complain but comply and go to take a shower. There is no warm water. You assume all the guests had probably had their turn while you were out. You don’t mind it too much. The cold water wakes you up and you feel refreshed. Soon you are sitting with everyone else making plans for the day, but unlike everyone else at the table you are scarfing down pancake after pancake, hardly chewing between each swallow. The conversation dies down as everyone starts to look your way. You’d be embarrassed at your table manners but honestly you’re too famished to care. 

“Woah, slow your roll there, Y/N. Where was this energy on our hike?” You hear Nat’s voice come up behind you. You don’t bother looking at her, showing her the middle finger behind your back so the kids won’t see. She chuckles as she sits on the empty seat beside you. 

“You might be faster than me,” Pietro comments.

“You know it’s not gentleman-like commenting on the way a woman eats,” you answer, mouth full and all. 

“It’s also not lady-like to speak with your mouth full of food,” Laura reprimands you.

“Cooper doesn’t care. Right, Cooper?” you turn to the kid in question still chewing on your food.

He answers you with a mouth full of food as well, “Right!”

Your cousin sighs as you reach over to give Cooper a fist bump. Wanda laughs at the interaction from beside Cooper. You give her a quick wink before settling back in your seat. She just rolls her eyes.

They all go back to their conversation and you go back to eating your delicious pancakes in peace. Once you are satisfied, you sink back in your chair letting out a happy sigh.

“Are you sure you don’t want another one? You hardly ate anything, Y/N,” Nat sarcastically says.

You roll your eyes in good nature. “Honestly, I do want another one but my stomach might explode. I’m going to be dreaming of these pancakes tonight. I’d wed whoever made these bad boys but sorry, cousin,” you turn to Laura, “you’ve got a husband and kids, and I just can’t tear a family apart.”

“Also, she’s your cousin,” Nat emphasizes.

“Obviously that was implied, Natasha,” you say her full name obnoxiously.

“I’d love to take all the credit, but Wanda actually made breakfast. So if you’re marrying anyone for the pancakes, it’s Wanda,” Laura says. 

“You hear that, Wanda? I’m going to make an honest woman out of you.” You wiggled your eyebrows her way.

“If anything, it’s the other way around, Y/N,” your cousin teases.

“Don’t egg Y/N on, Laura,” Clint quips.

“But then who is going to make me pancakes like these, Barton?” You pout.

“I can,” Pietro pipes up. “I’ll even bring them to you for breakfast in bed.” He winks as Nat and Clint wrinkle their noses in distaste and Wanda stifles a laugh.

“What?” Pietro asks his sister.

“Pietro, you can’t boil an egg.”

“Yes, I can. I can make many things. I even helped you with this breakfast,” Pietro insists.

Everyone watches the siblings squabble in amusement, especially when Wanda turns to you to stage whisper, “He burnt two pancakes.”

“I did not!”

“Ask Peter. He had one,” Wanda says in turn. Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“It was a little crunchy,” Peter says after much hesitation. Sam pats his shoulder, shaking his head. “Poor kid. No one should have to eat crunchy pancakes.”

After breakfast the kids decide they want to play basketball with the hoop Clint had placed over the barn doors. You break into teams of 3. It’s you, Lila, and Peter versus Sam, Cooper, and Pietro. Nat and Wanda sit on the sidelines watching and cheering. Your team is not doing so great. If it wasn’t for Peter pulling the team, you would cry in embarrassment. The guys on the opposing team start to get cocky. Sam rubbing the score in your team’s face, Cooper repeating whatever Sam says, and Pietro begins making flirty remarks about teaching you one on one and so on. You want to ignore his remarks but you kind of also want to wipe the smirk off his face. You do just that a few minutes later when you finally make a shot after Peter screens him allowing you to shoot. You look to see if Wanda saw but frown when you notice she’s not there anymore. You play for a few more minutes but you are quickly getting tired.

Laura comes up beside Nat and yells over to you, “Y/N, I need you to run to the store for me.”

“Oh, thank god.” You sigh in relief as you go over to your cousin and take the list she holds out to you. “Nat, sub me in?”

“Gladly.” She walks confidently over to take your place. You hear Sam and Pietro whine behind you when they realize Nat is playing in your place.

You chuckle as you read the list. “Are we having hamburgers tonight?”

“Gosh, you really were not paying attention while eating those pancakes. Clint wants to grill tonight.”

“Can you blame me? I’m getting that pancake recipe,” you say with complete determination. “Speaking of, have you seen Wanda?”

“Y/N.” Your cousin gives you a look.

“What?” You say innocently, knowing exactly what that look means.

“Clint told me about that little talk he and Nat had with you.”

“So, what now? I can’t be her friend?” you scoff.

“Friend. Mhmm, sure,” she laughs in disbelief and shakes her head. Why does no one in this damn house believe you?

“Mhmm,” you repeat as you are walking back to the house.

“Check the guest room,” Laura says last minute. Well, at least your cousin’s got your back. You give her a thumbs up in thanks.

Sure enough, Wanda is in the guest bedroom. She’s sitting in bed with a book in her hand. You softly knock on the door. She looks up, notices it’s you, frowns, and goes back to reading. You tilt your head wondering what has her in a mood. Is she back to thinking about her ex? Maybe you can help distract her as a good friend would do.

You walk over to the bed before deciding to sit in front of her cross-legged, elbows on knees, chin on the palm of one hand. “Whatcha got there?”

“A book. Ever heard of one?” she replies without bothering to look up.

Sheesh. “Oh, my god. Is it real? Can I, like, touch it? I’ve always heard about books but I’ve never seen one in person,” you say sarcastically, hoping to get some positive reaction from her. You see a slight upturn on the corner of her lips before it disappears. Though it was miniscule, it was a step forward no less. You sit there for a minute staring at her and thinking of how to proceed. You don’t want to worsen her mood with one of your dumb jokes.

Wanda can feel your eyes searching for some kind of sign from her. She gives up trying to read her book, having been repeating the same paragraph over and over again. She puts the book down and huffs. “Can I help you?” 

“Actually, you can,” you say. “I’m going into town to get some stuff for the hamburgers and I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Maybe you are simply confusing Wanda’s boredom for an unpleasant attitude. 

“Didn’t you ask Piet? There’s no way he refused going with you.”

 Or not. 

Her sardonic tone is not lost on you. So, it’s about the brother and not the ex. You want to scream. This is why you have the twin rule. Though you want to bang your head on a wall for not listening to your own rules, you keep your composure as you stand to leave the room. Before you go, you tell Wanda, “I haven’t asked Pietro. I thought of you first, but if you’re not feeling it, I’m sure he would say yes like you say.”

You turn and head out to the hallway dejectedly, but you perk up when you hear Wanda stop you. “Wait! Let me put on my shoes.”

You wait for her in the hallway, smiling to yourself in part because you would not have to spend hours with Pietro’s constant advances but mostly because you got to spend time with Wanda without supervision. You are a grown ass adult, eh, not really, but legally you were an adult. You don’t need to be supervised. It’s not like you needed someone to watch you else you throw yourself at Wanda. Sure, you like to tease here and there but it’s not bothersome. Is it? Oh, god, were you annoying Wanda?

Those thoughts are quickly dispelled when Wanda meets you with a smile. “Ready.”

No, Wanda wouldn’t have agreed to go with you if you were really a bother. You’re sure of it.

It’s a 20 minute ride into town. With Wanda’s mood having done a full 180, you find yourself enjoying your time with her as she recounts a slight hiccup on Steve’s behalf on a mission. Soon enough you are driving up the main street looking for a parking spot. Luckily you find a spot not too far from the store. You head inside and grab a cart. You and Wanda wander around the aisles looking for what you need. Wanda takes over cart duty when you keep bumping into things because you’re distracted with either looking over the list or looking over at her. You say a quick hello to a few people you recognize.

“Well aren’t you popular,” Wanda comments as you both turn into the frozen food aisle to look for hamburger patties. 

“Yeah, that’s not always a good thing,” you say when you spot a woman you know in the same aisle. You move to walk real close behind Wanda, trying to hide your face. 

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks when she feels your forehead resting between her shoulder blades.

“Shhh, just keep walking,” you command without any explanation. Your really sad attempt at hiding was all for naught when you hear your name.

“Y/N? Is that you?” 

You take a deep breath, plaster a fake smile, and leave Wanda’s space. “Hi, Mrs. Townsend. How’s it going?”

“I thought that was you. You can’t hide from me, you know. Not that you were ever any good at it,” she says knowingly. You cringe at the memory of her finding you in her daughter’s closet. This woman disliked you from start to finish, which made sense given that her daughter had broken up with her boyfriend for you only for you to break things off a few weeks later.

“Yeah, I know,” you smile sheepishly. She looks over your shoulder at Wanda. She looks curious but not in the best way.  “And who is this?”

Wanda introduces herself with a polite smile. “Hello, I’m Wanda. Pleasure to meet you.”

“You look familiar. Have we met before?” Mrs. Townsend asks.

“No, I guess I just have that face,” Wanda responds with no hesitation having practiced that line so many times on missions. Mrs. Townsend’s stare weighs heavy and Wanda begins to feel uncomfortable.

“A very pretty one at that. Y/N sure knows how to pick them. Is that an accent I hear? Where are you from, dear?” Mrs. Townsend asks, with faux intrigue. Now you’re uncomfortable too. 

You know you shouldn’t speak for Wanda but you don’t want to subject her to be in this woman’s presence any longer. “Actually, she’s just a friend visiting from New York. She and a few others are staying with Laura. And actually, she’s expecting us to return soon. So, have a good day, Mrs. Townsend. Come on, Wanda. Let’s go.”

You lead Wanda away by pulling the cart behind you. When you’re nearly clear of the aisle, Wanda stops and reminds you that you never got the patties. You tell her to go ahead and get in line to pay while you go back for the patties, them being the last thing to get from the list. Mrs. Townsend is still in the aisle now talking on the phone very displeased. “Yes, she was right here and with another girl-” she cuts herself off when you’re in her vision reaching to get what you need. 

You give her a sarcastic smile. As you pass by her for the last time, you smirk and lean in to say, “Tell Abby I say hi.” Then you wink, leaving Mrs. Townsend very angry, and head over to the checkout area where Wanda is waiting. Wanda doesn’t say anything other than “Well, she was lovely” to which you laughed. Apart from that, she stays quiet at the checkout and as you put the items in the car. Before she has a chance to open the door to get in the passenger seat, you stand in front of the door blocking the handle. 

“Hey,” you begin, but Wanda is looking at her shoes, her hands fiddling with the rings on her fingers. You take her hand to shake her arm in an attempt to get her to look up. “Look at me.” 

You wish you hadn’t asked that of her because when she does look at you, it tears you apart. If you did not think your presence was needed more here, you could storm right back into that store and give Mrs. Townsend a piece of your mind. 

“Mrs. Townsend is an asshole. You should never take what an asshole says to heart cause it’s all shit,” you say in all seriousness. Wanda giggles and raises her free hand to rub her face. You pull it away from her face. Holding both her hands you continue, “She’s just a grumpy lady holding a grudge over something I did like two years ago. It’s nothing to do with you and all to do with me. So don’t listen to anything she says, okay?”

It takes a moment but she finally nods. “There we are.” You pull her into a hug, one she accepts easily, hoping to give further comfort. You can’t help but think how nice it is to hold her, moreso, when she hugs you tighter. 

“So, she was lying when she said I was pretty?” Wanda tries to joke, adopting your method of lightening the mood.

“Oh, absolutely,” you answer. She quickly pulls back from your hold but you don’t let her go too far, holding onto her elbows. “Cause you are breathtakingly gorgeous,” you finish.

She smiles and a blush takes over her face. You decide to add, “In fact, I can’t even breathe right now standing so close to your beauty.” You dramatically gasp for air making Wanda laugh and smack you. 

“Ow, if this is how you Avenger women treat your adoring fans, I’d hate to see how you take down the bad guys.”

“Oh, so you’re a fan?” Wanda asks adorning a sly smile.

“Mhmm, since day one.”

“Is that so? Because from what I remember you called me Crimson Witch just yesterday,” she teases you.

“And I stand by what I said,” you respond. You cut her off when she opens her mouth to argue. “But if I have offended you, let me make it up to you.”

She narrows her eyes, looking at you skeptically as if you were up to no good making you want to laugh. “How?” She asks warily.

You lean into her space once more to say, “I know a place.” You wink and without allowing her to respond, you take her hand dragging her along behind you. “Come on.” 

Your destination is just two blocks away. Wanda speeds up to walk beside you but she never lets your hand go. Not that you mind it in the least. You stop her when you arrive and reluctantly let her hand go to make a grandiose gesture with your arms. “Ta-Da!”

“An ice-cream shop?” she asks you, clearly unimpressed.

“Not just any ice-cream shop. The Ice Cream Shop!” You can’t help but say enthusiastically. Wanda on the other hand does not look enthused. You can’t believe she’s not excited for ice cream. “Oh, come on, Wanda. Don’t tell me you don’t like ice cream. The only excuse I’ll take is that you’re lactose intolerant or vegan. Just don’t tell me you prefer frozen yogurt. Oh, god. You do, don’t you?” You gasp dramatically, your hand clutching your chest. 

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes in a light hearted manner at your antics. “You’ve made your point. Just open the door.”

“Bossy,” you laugh, but do as she wishes though you make a show out of opening the door. You bow and motion for her to enter as you hold the door open. “After you, m’lady.”

She sighs. Passing through the door, she mumbles, “I could be in bed reading right now.”

“Ah, but then you would’ve missed the opportunity to hang out with someone as cool as me,” you say as you and Wanda go to stand behind the group of teenage girls ordering their ice cream.

“Oh, are they meeting us after? Do you think they’ll buy me frozen yogurt?” she retorts, amusement shining through her eyes. You generally find quick witted remarks annoying. Mostly because you’ve always been surrounded by smart-alecks all your life. Your cousin is one. Then she married one who had one as a best friend. Somehow, you find the same quality in Wanda kind of attractive. Oh god. This can’t be happening.

“Quit being so grumpy. You’re gonna thank me when you try it. It’s only the best there is.”

“You should listen to her, but hey, I may be a little biased,” the woman working at the counter backs you up. The teenage girls are long gone.

“Thank you, Tanya,” you reply, stepping forward to the middle aged woman you know to be the owner of the shop. She was actually the one to give you your first job at this very same ice cream shop. Maybe you were also a little biased. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be in town so early, Y/N.”

“Well, I just missed you so much, I couldn’t wait to get here,” you explain.

“Uh, huh. I’m sure that’s it.” Her voice is full of disbelief. You laugh.

“Actually, I got here yesterday. I wanted to come earlier to help out Laura now that she’s phwwt,” you whistle and make a belly bump gesture like it’s a scandalous secret.

“She’s married and this is baby number three, Y/N. You can say pregnant,” your old boss laughs.

“But that’s no fun,” you pout.

“And who is this little thing?” She turns to Wanda, who timidly smiles still two steps behind you.

“Come on, I don’t bite, hun.” Tanya gives her a sincere smile, one much different from Mrs. Townsend’s. Wanda slowly approaches after you wave her over encouragingly. When she is close enough, you hold her forearm to introduce her to Tanya, trying to ease her nerves. It seems to work. You feel her relax and lean into your side as she says, “Hi, I’m Wanda.” 

“Pleasure to meet you dear. I’m Tanya. See, no need to be shy.”

“She’s not usually like this as far as I can tell. She’s actually quite chatty. Sometimes I don’t know how to get her to stop talking,” you joke. Wanda scoffs and bumps your hip with hers.

“Whenever Y/N begins to annoy you, just put on some earphones and hide them with your hair. It works wonders. She can talk to herself for hours,” your old boss advises Wanda.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Hey!” You interject. “Tanya, where is your loyalty? So quick to team up against me.”

Wanda giggles beside you. You turn your head to playfully glare at her, missing the way Tanya smiles at the interaction in front of her. 

“So how’d you two meet? I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before, Wanda.”

“She’s a friend and um, coworker of Clint and Natasha. She’s here for the week.” You hope Tanya didn’t catch your little hiccup there. However, you miss the implication of her question. Tanya tries to remember who Nat is.

“Natasha. Is she the intimidating red head always wearing tight jeans?” You and Wanda laugh. You affirm with a finger to your nose. “Didn’t you date her sister?”

You let go of Wanda’s arm to throw your head into your hands. “Ugh, how could you possibly know that?”

“Small town. Word gets around fast. People are probably already talking about you two, especially when you’ve got someone as beautiful as Wanda with you.”

Wanda blushes at the insinuation. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you tell Tanya. 

Tanya raises an eyebrow, “You mean, you’re not dating?”

“Please, Wanda here is way out of my league. I mean, funny, polite, pleasant, and gorgeous. Maybe even a little pretentious. I caught her reading a book… for fun. Who does that? Ow!” Wanda smacks your arm and Tanya laughs. “Did I mention violent?”

The bell above the entrance door chimes informing you three that other customers are coming in. “Okay, so what can I get you?” Tanya asks, moving this along.

“I’d like two scoops of rainbow sherbert on a cone, please.”

“And for you, hun?” Tanya asks Wanda after handing you your cone. 

“Um, may I have two scoops of strawberry, please?”

“Of course, you’d get red,” you taunt.

“Here you are.” Tanya hands Wanda her cone. You take out a ten dollar bill from your pocket to pay but Tanya won’t have it. “My treat, ladies.” 

“But this is sort of an apology cone I promised Wanda,” you try again.

“Y/N! Apologizing with a three dollar ice cream cone is not a real apology. You can do better.”

“It’s like you read my mind, Tanya,” Wanda says. You want to laugh at the irony.

“It wasn’t for anything serious,” you try to argue.

“Whatever it was, you can treat her to something nicer,” Tanya reprimands you.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“The fair is in town. Take her to that. Now shoo, I’ve got customers waiting. Nice meeting you, Wanda,” she says.

“You too. Thanks.”

You exit first, holding the door open for Wanda without thinking about it. She smiles and loops her arm through yours as you both head back to the car at a leisurely pace. You look to see if Wanda likes her ice cream. There is no doubt about it as she begins to hum in happiness. You want to say something like “ I told you so” but she warns you before you have the chance to open your mouth. “Don’t.”

You smirk and turn to your ice cream. You try to savour it, but you demolish that ice cream. You pout when you see it all gone. Wanda still has half of hers.

“Quit being so grumpy,” she says, throwing your words from earlier back at your face. “Here, you can have some of mine.”

She lifts her cone to your mouth. You happily go to take a bite when Wanda shoves the rest of her cone in your face. It wasn’t much but you can smell the damn strawberry ice cream as it drips from your nose. You’re too shocked to move for a minute. She laughs as you try to process what just happened. You hear the shutter noise of a camera. You see Wanda holding her phone up. That snaps you out of your daze. Wanda takes off running the second she sees the look that settles on your face. She doesn’t have to be a telepath to know what that look means. You chase after her. 

She gets to the car before you but can’t open the door. She turns around, hands out in front of her body which is shaking from nervous laughter. “Wait, Y/N. I’m sor-”

You pull her into a hug and shove your ice cream riddled nose to her neck smearing the strawberry flavored dessert on her. “Stop, okay. I’m sorry. Stop, that tickles!” She bursts out laughing. You take pity and let her go, but your feet stay planted where they are. You both quickly sober up when you see how close you are. You feel the tension from yesterday return. You know what you want to do but you know you shouldn’t. Wanda is not making it easy looking at you the same way. Before either of you make a decision, your phone rings ruining whatever that was. You awkwardly clear your throat and back away. You give Wanda a smile before reaching for your phone. You answer it without looking at the name of whoever is calling. It’s Laura asking if you are on your way. You tell her you’ll be there soon. 

You unlock the car and open the passenger door for Wanda. She gives you a quiet thanks. The drive to the house is awkward to say the least, a total contrast to the ride into town. The music in the background does nothing to alleviate your discomfort. In fact, you think it might have made it worse. 

You let out a little sigh of relief once the barn enters your line of sight. Wanda on the other hand can’t take it anymore. She turns off the radio and turns to you expectantly. You take a deep breath knowing what was coming. Having a feeling this conversation could get loud, you slow down the car to a stop before you could pull up to the barn. You’d rather not let anyone overhear knowing how nosy they all are.

“What was that back there?”

“You started it, shoving the ice cream in my face.” You play naive.

“Don’t do that.”

You don’t know why you thought you could get away with lying to her when you know she can literally read minds.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to. I did. I do.”

“Well, I do too,” Wanda says.

“You do?” you ask. You don’t know why you sound so shocked. You had a gut feeling already, but it surprises you hearing her say it aloud anyway.

“You know I do. So what’s the problem?”

The problem is you can’t. The problem is you promised Nat, Clint, and yourself you wouldn’t. The problem is what Nat said at dinner struck a chord with you. Sure she could have been a little nicer about it and maybe not say it in front of everybody, but she was right nonetheless. The problem is your habit of touch and go, the one you never wanted to admit you had, only hurts people. You are the problem and you‘ve decided to fix it, starting with Wanda. You won’t allow yourself the chance to break Wanda’s heart. You don’t think she deserves that.

“You don’t get to decide what I deserve. Neither does Nat. Neither does Clint. I get to make that decision for myself. If I put it all on the line and end up heartbroken, then that’s on me. I make that choice.”

You nod, “You’re right. That is your choice and I can respect that. But it’s also my choice to decide I can’t be the one to break your heart. Can you respect that?”

A heavy silence settles in the car, but you have said all you needed to say so you wait for Wanda to respond. When she realizes your mind is set, she nods. After another minute of silence, she asks, “What now, then?”

“Cliché, but friends?” you suggest. When Wanda scoffs in disbelief, you have to ask, “What?”

“You and me?” Wanda asks as if for clarification.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else in the car. Yes, Wanda. You and me.”

“Have you ever been just friends with anyone before?” Wanda asks, placing no kind of faith in your ability to maintain platonic relationships.

“Are you asking if I can keep it in my pants? Not to bruise your ego, but I can be in a room with you without wanting to jump your bones, Maximoff. I have plenty of strictly platonic friends. Like... Nat.”

She laughs at the choice you made for an example. “That’s only because Natasha doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“So, what you’re saying is this friendship won’t work because you can’t keep it in your pants?” you counter and watch with amusement Wanda’s face flush and her try to defend herself.

“N-no,” she stutters weakly.

“Great,” you say cheerily. “It’s settled then. We can be friends.”

“There are rules though,” Wanda warns you as you start driving toward the house again.

“Already? Had I known this friendship came with terms and conditions, I might have never suggested it. Fine, lay them on me.”

“No more flirting with my brother.”

“I have never flirted with your-” you start to deny, but when she gives you a knowing look you quickly agree. “Okay, but if he’s putting in all the work, who am I to keep him from living out his dreams?” You jest. She punches your arm.

“Alright, new rule! No more hitting me.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

You were beginning to see the rules to this friendship were not going to be in your favor.

_____________________________________________________________________

So, I lied when I said this was going to be most likely 5 chapters. It turns out I really like dialogue. I'm hoping max is 8 chapters.

Your assignment in preparation for the next chapter: pick a nice outfit cause you're going to the county fair.

Extra Credit: Name the county. (I'm prob going to pick one from the comments)

taglist: @madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemessis @myperfectlovepoem @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder

[duskholland]

Die For You | Mob!Tom Holland

summary ↠ tom’s got a secret: you want to know what it is, he’s desperate to keep you in the dark. unfortunately for him, secrets have the habit of coming to light eventually - sometimes in the worst way possible. word count ↠ 7.6k warnings ↠ a slightly steamy kiss, mob themes including: kidnapping, knife violence, depictions of injury (nothing horrendous tho -- I am a wimp), blood, cursing. a/n ↠ do not fear, no one actually dies in this! title is for dramatic effect. if I’m being honest, this entire fic was just...so unbelievably self-indulgent I can’t believe I allowed myself to write it. I shoved all my favourite parts of the mob au into it and loved every single second. it’s crazy and intense but I hope that you like it! I’m aware I promised smut and I’ve not really been delivering, but I’m intending to make up for that by making the next few mob fics smutshots... you’ve been warned.  ***this is part of my mob!Tom series – a collection of oneshots set within the same universe. you don’t need to read the other parts for this to make sense. if you have any concepts or ideas for mob!Tom that you’d like me to write about in the future, please let me know! :)

[masterlist]

Tom’s lips are soft and chapped, and they move against yours like your mouths were designed to be together.

He’s got a hand in your hair, the other perched on your hip, and you feel him everywhere as he presses his mouth to yours, over and over. Your fingers fist at his warm, brown curls as you urge him closer, moaning softly into his mouth as his teeth drag across your lower lip, keeping you nice and open for him. The scent of his rich, musky cologne sets your mind spinning, and all you can really bare to think about is him. Tom with his hands pulling perfectly at your hair, Tom with his fingers wandering up and down your sides, Tom with his bulge pressing against your crotch. Everything about him is utterly overwhelming in just the right way, and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck, m’love, you’re so pretty like this.” His voice is low and husky as he speaks against your lips. “So perfect, making all those lovely noises.” His fingers shift over your side, tentatively beginning to skim lower and lower. When he reaches your core, he slips his hand between your leg and cups your heat with his firm touch. You whine softly and buck your hips down to feel him. “Mm, pretty girl, I think-”

Ring. Ring.

You jump at the sudden sound of Tom’s ringtone as it breaks across the room, shaking you from the moment. It feels like you’ve just been hit in the face with a bucket of icy water as Tom’s hand disappears from between your legs and finds his back pocket instead. You watch as his eyebrows furrow into an expression of irritation and he declines the call immediately.

“Sorry, love,” Tom says, a little sheepish. His thin pink lips curve back into a smirk as he moves to straddle you again, only for you to press a hand to his chest, halting him.

“Who was that?” You ask, your mind now clear of the lust that had been hanging over it like fog.

Tom grimaces. “No one,” he says, voice a little clipped. He bites at his lower lip. “Now, why don’t we-”

His phone rings again, and you sigh loudly as you shift on the bed. This always happens.

In the two months you’ve known Tom, something always seems to disrupt the mood: like the time you’d spent all evening cooking for him, just for him to walk out after a measly twenty minutes due to a ‘work commitment’, or a time just like this when things had been getting heated on your sofa up until the moment Tom’s phone had buzzed and he’d practically sprinted from your flat. To say it’s annoying would be an understatement: it’s utterly infuriating.

“Do you need to go?” You ask him flatly. You can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into your words as you stare up at your bedroom ceiling, a pout curling across your disgruntled lips.

Tom takes a few moments to reply, his eyes still flitting across the screen of his phone. “No,” he says absently. “Just an issue with some, uh, contracts. It’s fine.” He reaches down to take your hand, but you pull your fingers away from him and cross your arms over your chest instead. “Love?”

You continue to stare at the ceiling. “Why won’t you tell me what your job is?” You ask, voice echoing the words you’ve been asking him for weeks.

Tom’s groan is full of frustration, and the tone makes you bristle. “Darling, we’ve talked about this before-”

“No, we haven’t.” You sit up to face him, pulling your knees to your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. The bed creaks as Tom turns to meet your gaze, and you feel yourself soften as you look at the face of the man you’ve grown so fond of. “Your idea of ‘talking’ seems to be one-sided, and involves you withholding all information. That’s not usually how a discussion works, Tom.” You sigh sadly, resting your chin on your knees as you stare at him helplessly. “I’m starting to get the feeling that you don’t trust me.”

The irritation in his eyes softens down, and Tom reaches out to settle a hand on your cheek. He tugs at his lower lip with his teeth as he looks at you, gentle fingertips padding over your cheekbone. “I trust you, love,” he assures you slowly. “There are just some things that you’re better off not knowing.”

“But why do you get to be the judge of that?” You shift and his hand falls away from your face. “It’s getting difficult to keep doing this with you, Tom,” you find yourself muttering.

“What do you mean?”

You decide to stand up. Pacing is the only way to alleviate some of the nervous energy rattling against your ribcage. “My friends ask me what you look like, and I’ve got no photos to show them. You don’t have social media, you don’t let me take photos of you… Shit, Tom, I don’t even know your last name!” Your voice picks up and you turn to look at him to see he’s also standing up now, his face a shade darker. “Why the fuck won’t you tell me your last name?”

“I’ve already told you, Y/N, I can’t tell you.” Tom’s brown eyes glint as his mouth curves around your name disdainfully. “Why can’t you just accept that?”

You fall to a stop in front of him. Swallowing nervously as you meet his eyes, you find that the stare you share is so different to how it usually is. Gone is the affection he normally looks at you with, replaced by something a lot more bitter. It makes you feel cold.

“It’s not easy to date a ghost, Tom,” you say. “Am I so wrong for wanting to know who I’m getting into bed with?” He opens his mouth to speak, but you grab his hands and continue to talk. “I know that you have a gun. I’ve seen it. And I don’t care. I can handle the truth, just tell me what it is. Tell me who you are.”

It’s all the dodged questions, and the shady behaviour. The rolls of cash he has stuffed in his pocket and the collection of knuckledusters that lie in his briefcase. His reluctance to share himself with you has finally worn you down, because you’ve told him everything there is to know about you, yet he hasn’t even shared his surname. It’s unbalanced and unfair, and it seems it’s all about to come crashing down.

When Tom stays quiet, you let his hands fall away from yours again. Your fingers clench into fists as you stare at his face, his beautiful features tainted with guilt.

“Is this… Is this relationship even real?” You ask, speaking the thoughts you’ve been trying to dissuade for weeks. “Do you actually even care about me? Am I- Am I just a side piece?” Your mouth falls open as a horrifying image fills your mind. “Are you married? Is that why you won’t tell me anything-”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, shut up!” He snaps. Tom runs his hands through his hair, the face of his watch catching the light as he stares at you so angrily it makes your chest heave. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A horrible silence falls between you. Neither of you dare to speak, and you find your nails digging painfully into the palms of your hands as you try to keep your cool. You don’t know if you want to yell or cry, but you do know that you’ve never seen him quite like this: nostrils flared, eyes narrowed and focused, mouth twisted into a deep, guttural frown. He looks so different to Tom - soft, charming, caring, Tom - that it makes your stomach turn.

“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?” You ask finally, your voice quiet. You let your hands drop to your side as you finally meet his eyes. The way his gaze shifts away guiltily tells you all you need to know. “Then you should leave.”

“Y/N, love, I’m sorry-”

“No, you’re not.” You sigh. “If you were sorry, you’d tell me the truth. But we both know you never will, so we’re only kidding ourselves. What’s the point in having the same conversation over and over again? This isn’t fair.” You give him a pained smile. “I think you should leave.”

Tom looks like he wants to argue with you. His mouth keeps opening and closing, the veins in his neck standing out angrily against his skin. A hot flush lines his cheeks, and you think he’s going to continue to yell at you, but he just turns, picks up his phone, and then backs away towards the door. Your heart falls in your chest, and you find yourself wishing he’d fight back.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, I really am sorry.” He pauses by the doorframe, his eyes pained and his posture drawn in. “Will I ever see you again?”

You catch your lower lip between your teeth, mind spinning blearily. He looks like himself again, his brown hair soft and messy over his forehead, and his eyes watching you with adoration spread across his brown irises. You want nothing more than to give in and run into his embrace, but you know you can’t. So instead, you cross your arms over your chest and say bravely, “Only if you decide to tell me the truth.”

Tom’s sad smile makes your heart splinter.

“Bye, love.”

And then he slips from your room, and you’re left standing, frozen, until you hear the front door slam shut. The loud, clattering bang makes you gasp, and with an inhalation of air, you feel your mind catch up. Tears prick at your eyes as you fall back onto your bed, burying your face in a pillow that smells a little too much like him, and you hold it close as if it's the only thing keeping you afloat.

[-----]

It’s hard to accept that it’s over, even as the truth glares obviously at you.

You spend the evening curled up in bed, trying not to cry as your mind tortures you with a highlight reel of your relationship with Tom - if you could even call it a relationship. Things between you were never official, yet another reason you’d had to doubt him. Every time you’d suggested that you could take things a step further, he’d always changed the subject, or muttered something about labels being obsolete. He was always doing that - qualming your concerns with short words, or kisses. It seemed Tom would rather ignore problems than acknowledge their existence, and that was infuriating.

But fuck. For all the bad parts, there’d been a thousand good. You stayed awake thinking about the time he’d turned up unannounced with a bouquet of roses and a lazy smile on his face, and another time, a few weeks ago, when he’d procured a new set of acrylic paints for you to mess around with and you’d spent a peaceful morning together as you captured him on canvas. His jokes and sarcastic remarks spin around your brain like a laugh track, following you into your dreams when you finally manage to sleep.

It’s hard. You call off sick to work for the week, and it’s only after a few days that you feel strong enough to properly get up. You’ve had breakups before, but nothing’s hurt like this. Nothing drives the dagger into your heart and slowly slits away at your valves like knowing Tom doesn’t trust you.

After four days of moping, you force yourself out of bed. Your shower spits scalding water all along your body, but it washes away all traces of him, and you feel better as you pull on your messy painting dungarees. You wrap your painting apron around your front and walk out into your living room, your eyes falling to the canvas that sits in between your sofa and the tv. It’s the rough outline you’d made of Tom, and the sight drives a hard wedge into your chest, so you decide to make a few alterations to it.

With a loose grin on your face, you pick up your paints and your palette and begin to mix together a few of the shades. You work until you get a deep, rich red, and dab your paintbrush through it, coating the tip. You bring your hand in the air, but you waver as you go to draw some devil horns above his head.

Before you can decide if your heartbreak is poignant enough to warrant destroying your canvas, you hear a loud knock at your door. With a sigh, you put your palette down and slip your palette knife into the side pocket of your dirty overalls, not really caring that you smear paint all along them.

Not thinking to check the peephole, you wrench your front door open with a frown, fully expecting to see one of your friends there.

Shock shoots through you as you make eye contact with a man wearing a balaclava, and it twists into paralysing fear as you feel someone pin your arms to your back. Before you can scream, the man in front of you presses a wet cloth to your mouth. You try to fight it, but you gasp for air, and as you inhale the strong chemicals, your eyes droop shut and your mind turns black.

[-----]

Your head throbs, and the pain is so pronounced that it makes you groan, only for the sound to come out muffled. Confused, you slowly blink your eyes open, only to find yourself squinting as the room blearily comes into focus. You feel lost for a few moments, completely relaxed until you remember with horror the events from before. You try to jump up from the chair you’re in, but you feel your arms and legs bound down tightly, and the struggle makes the coarse ropes burn against your skin.

Fuck.

“Ahh, sleeping beauty wakes.” You snap your head around, eyes falling to a few figures who stand together by the door. The room you’re in seems to be a bedroom. The curtains are shut so you’ve no idea what time it is, but the rumbling in your stomach suggests you’ve been out for at least a few hours, and that thought is terrifying. You find yourself shaking as a man walks to you, his green eyes cruel and piercing. He’s in a crisp whit shirt, golden dice cufflinks hanging off the cuffs.  “We’re going to have a bit of a discussion with you, Y/N.”

You gulp, your throat dry and aching. “Who are you? How do you know who I am?”

As you wait on an answer, you become very aware of the pounding in your head. Specifically, a throbbing on the left side of your head, near your temple. Your skin feels cooler and heavier, and you wonder if it hurts so much because you’ve been hit by something sharp.

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” the man says. He drags a chair in front of you and sits in it backwards, his arms curling around the back of it as he stares at you. His teeth are chipped and grimy, and he’s got his hair buzzed back. The scariest part of him has to be the way he’s eyeing you like he hates you. “Answer my questions and nothing bad will happen to you. If not, I’ll make you talk. Wouldn’t want another punch to the face, would you, pet?”

Your lips curl into a disgusted frown as you stare at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You squirm in the chair, pulling helplessly at your bonds. “Let me go, dickhead.”

He just laughs at you, and the sound makes you feel enraged, but you try to stay calm. You count another four men standing off in the side of the room, and you know you’re helpless at the moment. What is it they say..? Cooperate with your captors until you earn their trust? You’re not sure, but you know you can’t fight back properly. Not yet.

“We’ve spotted you with one of our associates,” the man tells you. “Tom Holland.”

Tom Holland. You almost want to laugh. Of course this is how you learn Tom’s surname.

“I… Know him,” you say, seeing no point in lying.

“Where is he keeping his latest shipment?”

Your eyebrows pull together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, love. You know something.” The man reaches out and presses his hand over the wound on the side of your head, and you gasp as pain prickles across your forehead. “Tell me.”

“I promise you, I don’t know anything about a shipment,” you stammer out, blinking quickly. “I don’t even know what he does!”

The man looks back and exchanges a stare with one of his goonies. “What’s the nature of your relationship with him?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat and take a deep breath. “We, uh, we just slept together,” you lie. “I was only with him for a night.” You hope with every part of you that they’ve only spotted you together once. “I don’t know anything about him, I swear.”

The man laughs coldly. “Bad choice of one night stand, girl,” he tells you. He stands from the chair and paces in front of you, cracking his knuckles. “Would you say that he’s fond of you?”

You gape, mind spinning as you try to think up an angle. “Uh, n-no,” you say, “He probably doesn’t even remember who I am. So… So, you should just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone what’s happened. I swear.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not letting you go,” he says, the words like a punch to your gut. “We’ve seen him leave your place on several occasions. If you aren’t in business with him, you’re shagging him, which means you’re important to him. So…” He runs a finger over your face, and you try to bite him, but he dodges and chuckles. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to be a very useful asset.”

“What are you even talking about?”

The man procures a knife, and the sight of the glinting blade makes you feel nauseous. You remain absolutely still as the runs the sharp edge over the side of your cheek, nicking a shallow line across your skin. A tight gasp escapes you as you feel drops of blood drip down your face, and your eyes settle on the way the deep hued drops soak into the front of your painting apron.

“Tom’s a proud man. If he sees us roughing you up, he’ll give us what we want.” The man puts the knife away and brings up his phone. You barely register what he’s doing until the flash goes off and he’s chuckling away to himself, his expression alight with a devilish menace. “Stay here. Don’t try anything,” he warns you. “If you try to run, that will only make this a lot harder for you, love.”

You don’t say a word as he walks out of the room, taking the other men with him. The door swings shut, and you’re left alone, tied up and helpless.

You’re determined not to cry. It won’t serve you any use, and you need your eyes and mind clear if you’re going to figure out what you’re doing. Even if the plan is to somehow lure Tom to this place, how can you rely on that? What if he doesn’t turn up, and the man returns to beat you up? The thought makes you shiver.

Biting at your lower lip, you crane your neck around and try to look for anything that could aid your escape. You seem to be sitting in the centre of a bedroom, but unhelpfully, most of the surfaces are bare. The bed is stripped and some of the drawers of the dresser lay open and empty. You sit back and try to pull at your bound hands, twisting and moving desperately, but they’re stuck. As you slump forward, ready to give up, your hand brushes over the top pocket of your overalls and you gasp.

Your palette knife.

With a determined grimace on your face, you wriggle your hands down and manage to get a few fingers into your deep pocket. A triumphant smirk finds your mouth as you feel the knife and carefully manoeuvre it into your hands. The blunt blade glints as you see it, and you quickly begin to saw away at your ropes.

It’s a long, torturous process. The knife is designed for painting, not cutting, and so you have to chisel away at the bounds and gradually unwind the rope strands. As you work, you let your mind wander, thoughts drifting back to him:

Tom.

You hate that you understand now, why he hadn’t wanted you to become involved with his life. He must’ve known that being involved with him might lead to a situation such as this. But you’re furious, because you’re still here, being held hostage, regardless of his decision to walk away. The situation is almost laughable - of course it’s just your luck that the guy you’ve been dating is involved in some shady stuff - shipments? You presume the man was referring to drugs. Is Tom some kind of drug lord? You have no idea, but you’re damned sure you’re going to find out.

“Bingo,” you mutter to yourself. You feel the rope that holds your hands together behind your back slip away. Swiftly, you tend to the rest of the ropes that keep you down, a sigh of relief passing through you as you’re able to stand up and stretch out your muscles. A sense of disconcerting dizziness passes over you and your fingers drift up to your head, your touch tender as you feel a bloody bump around your temple. As you wince, you drag your eyes around the room.

There’s a vase sitting over by the bed, and it immediately catches your attention. In terms of things that can be used in your defence, it appears to be your best bet, so you pick it up and creep towards the door. Luckily for you, there’s a peephole embedded in the wood, so you lean up and glance through it. Beyond your room, there’s a wide corridor. Several other doors frame against the dark walls, and you decide you must be on the second storey of this house, and that the other rooms are bedrooms. There’s one man standing outside your room, his gaze fixed firmly on his phone, but beyond that, there’s no one.

A brutal debate takes place inside your head. You know it might be brash to leave your room, with no real plan of what you’ll do, but you’re a little delirious. Your head hurts and your stomach aches and your skin prickles from where you’d been cut. So you find your hand stretching out and twisting open the door before you can really fathom it, and then you’re faced with a surprised guard.

You act on adrenaline. Summoning all your strength, you smash the vase down across his head. It’s so sudden that he has no time to protect himself, and there’s a sickening crunch as he goes down. Thankfully there’s a carpet lining the floor, and it muffles the pottery and the sound of his large body falling down.

You stare at his unconscious body for a moment, heart racing. “Shit,” you mutter. You hadn’t thought this through.

Glancing down the corridor, you decide you need to hide him. If anyone comes to check on you, the sight of an unconscious body is going to be a dead give away. So you grab him by his ankles and pull him back into your room, wincing as you take in his bloody face. He’s still breathing, but he’s out cold, and you’d feel bad, if he hadn’t clearly been involved in your kidnapping plot.

You shove some of the bits of pottery into the bedroom and then return to the corridor, eyes widening gleefully as you see his phone laying there, waiting for you, still unlocked. With trembling fingers, you find the messages app and start to look for anything useful.

Rob: keep her in there. they’re coming.

You exit the messages as your heart races. Tom is on his way? You don’t know how to feel other than relieved, but then you feel annoyed that you find comfort in him, because you’re still so fucking angry about everything.

Releasing a steadying breath, you open up google maps and try to figure out where you are. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think, but you study your pinned location and see you’re in the outskirts of London, tucked away in a residential neighbourhood about an hour from where you live. Maybe if you manage to break out of the house, you’ll be able to find some neighbours who can take you in.

A new message flashes up at the top of the screen as you’re inspecting the map.

Rob: change of plans, boss wants her moving for future use. coming back up to get her.

You startle, fumbling with the phone immediately. Heavy footsteps drift down the corridor, coming from the staircase at the end.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter.

Change of plans: avoid getting recaptured and stay put until Tom can get you out…

You take off down the corridor and run through a large, heavy door. Much to your relief, you find a set of wide steps beyond it and you tiptoe downstairs, coming out into a kitchen. The room is vast and dark and, most importantly, it’s empty, and you dart around the counter to pick up a big knife.

You feel more secure now you’ve got a weapon, though your stomach twists at the thought of having to use it. You’ve had a bit of self defence training, courtesy of your job back in the sketchy casino in Soho, but nothing that could compare to a bunch of angry, henchmen.

And fuck, they’re angry. You can hear them yelling and shouting already, the hard sounds echoing through the house. It doesn’t just come from above you. You can hear movement nearby, and it’s enough to have you running again. Your search for a hiding place takes you through a few more doors and into what seems to be a study. You don’t think — you see a large cupboard and you jump into it, pulling the doors shut behind you.

It’s like a little sanctuary, inside the large cupboard. There are a few suit jackets and a collection of shoes covering the bottom, but there’s enough room for you to stand there comfortably, vibrating from nerves. Your hands are clammy and you stifle a yelp as the knife threatens to slip through your fingers, but you manage to catch it and hold it close to your chest.

You don’t know how long you’re in there, but it’s long enough to have you feeling really unwell. It’s hot and stuffy, and the fact you haven’t eaten is really starting to catch up with the injury on your head. You begin to wonder how much longer you can take it when the sound of someone entering the room disrupts your thoughts. You freeze immediately.

You’re completely in the dark, but you listen intently as the person storms around the room. You hear them flip the desk, and kick around the chair, and then the footsteps come towards your cupboard. In a fit of blinding nerves, you drop the knife. It clatters on the floor and as you scramble to snatch it up, you know that you’re fucked.

The cupboard doors are wrenched open, and it’s someone you don’t recognise. Like everyone else you’ve encountered, the man is dressed in all black. His deep eyes flood with relief as he sees you.

“Thank fuck, boss was losing his mind,” he announces, reaching out towards you. But you point the knife at his chest with shaking hands and he pauses, eyes widening as he chuckles. “I’m not here to hurt you, Y/N. I’m here to rescue you.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to believe that?!” You exclaim incredulously, waggling the knife at him. The man raises his palms, his expression shifting into surprise, but then he backs up slowly, the tip of your knife drifting to his chest.

“I’m Tuwaine,” he tells you, his eyes skittering across your face carefully. “I work for Tom. I’m not going to hurt you, but we need to go now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

You know he’s getting irritated, but that just serves to fuel your suspicions. You don’t know if you’re capable of overpowering him, but you know you like your chances a lot more with your knife pressed into him than you do leaving the room with him, undefended.

“Y/N, I’m telling you, we don’t have much time-“

“I don’t care!” You’re breathing through your nostrils now, your vision a little blurry and your throat dry and uncomfortable. “Listen, Tuwaine, I have no fucking idea who the hell you are, but if you think I’m about to let you-“

“What the fuck is going on in here?!”

A third voice joins the mix, and you spin around to see a familiar figure in the doorway: Harrison, one of Tom’s friends. You’ve met him a few times — you trust him. The cold light held in his piercing blue eyes fades as he looks between you, Tuwaine, and the knife you have pointed at his chest. As he runs a hand through his curls, sweaty and matted, his expression shifts into one of understanding.

Tuwaine speaks up, voice quieter. “She won’t let me take her out. Thinks I’m gonna kill her, or something.”

Harrison clicks his tongue. “We’re here to help you, Y/N,” he says. He makes strides across the room and plucks the knife from your hand before you can process it. “Are you good to go?”

You nod quickly. “Will one of you tell me what’s going on?” You say, a little calmer now that you know you’re no longer alone.

“Later.” Harrison reaches down for your hand, linking your fingers with his. “Be alert. It’s still dangerous out here, even with us here to help protect you.”

The lump in your throat is still there, stubborn even when you swallow. “Okay,” you say. 

Tuwaine covers your front as Harrison lingers behind you, the two men moving around you as they take you back through the house. You feel helpless as you watch the scenes of fighting around you, men fighting one another, bodies on the floor. Harrison continues to hold you hand, even when you’re scared, even when he’s fighting, his grip firm and unwavering. 

Eventually you reach outside, and as the stuffy air of the mansion is exchanged with the fresh breeze of the garden, you find yourself unsteady on your feet. 

“Where’s Tom?” You manage, voice thick. Your head aches, and as Harrison drops your hand, you start to feel sick. Now that you’re safe, the full weight of your experience catches up to you. 

"Y/N, Y/N-- are you good?” Harrison moves closer again, his face disappearing as black and white dots begin to fuzz across your vision. You hear the sound of a scuffle, coming from the front of the mansion, but the noises fade too, absorbed into your delirium. 

Harrison’s arms find your waist and he holds you up as you try to slow your breathing. You can feel the concern in their gazes, but you think you’ll be able to push through, until…

“Oh my god, Y/N, darling.” Your dizzy gaze dips up and settles onto Tom. His fists are bloody and his hair’s a mess and he’s got bruises forming on his face, but he’s looking at you like you’re the injured one, and that’s enough to push you over the edge.

It all catches up to you. The dehydration, starvation, exhaustion, and trauma. For the second time, your eyes fall shut and you pass out, the world slipping away into a deep, black blur.

[-----]

You drift in and out of consciousness for several hours. Each time you wake, it’s just for a brief moment, and then you’re pulled under again.

Through your restless slumber, you pick up on a few things. You’re fairly sure that there was a drip fixed to the back of your hand for a few hours, but it vanishes once you’ve had a bandage wrapped around your skull. You become aware of the presence of someone else, their touch tingling over your skin every once in a while. Their hands are gentle as they tangle with your fingers, and you find yourself relaxing in your sleep as you feel the light fluttering of lips passing over your forehead. You can smell the deep cedarwood scent, and you know it’s Tom, and you’re grateful for it - his presence like a soft, warm reminder that you aren’t alone.

When you finally wake up, you’re back in your bedroom. The curtains are closed, but a small gap allows a stream of bright light to drift into your room, causing you to screw up your gaze as you slowly sit up, looking around. Your fingers find your head, touching tenderly over your bandaged forehead and your face. You wince as you feel a line of stitches on your cheek.

Before you can get too caught up in your musings, your eyes catch sight of Tom, spread across your floor. He’s half naked, his chest bare and rising gently as he snores quietly, his lower half in a pair of grey joggers. His position looks awkward and uncomfortable, but the sight of him so gentle and unassuming brings a soft smile to your face.

“Tom?” You call out, wincing as you hear the scratchiness in your voice. He stirs immediately, brown eyes snapping open and finding yours as he scrambles to his feet. He’s hesitant to approach you, but you hold out a hand and breathe out a sigh of relief as he takes it.

“How do you feel?” Tom asks you, eyes darting all over your face. His expression is full of pain, as if it causes him agony to see you like this.

“Sore,” you admit. “Head hurts.” You pause, taking a moment to assess yourself. “I’m hungry.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Toast.” Tom brings your hand to his lips and kisses over your knuckles gently, meeting your gaze with his soft, guilty eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

Tom returns five minutes later with a tray laden with goods. He fluffs your pillows and helps you get comfortable as you start to eat the toast and drink some tea, but he’s awkwardly lingering by the door, and his expression is so tortured that you can’t quite take it.

“You can come and sit with me, you know,” you say, looking down at your toast.

“Are you sure?”

You look up to him, eyes assessing the deep bruises he’s got spread over one cheek. Your teeth find your lower lip and you pat the open spot beside you. “I’m not the only one who got hurt.” Something like a flinch passes across Tom’s face, but when your lips curl into an encouraging smile, he tenderly crosses the room. His body is warm as he slips beneath the duvet and sits beside you, his bare arm pressing against yours. It’s nice, to be so close again, but you can’t allow yourself to lean into it. Not yet. “You may as well start talking,” you say, your words soft. “You owe me an explanation.”

“How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

As you work your way through your pot of tea, Tom speaks. His voice is soft and soothing, but it clips around the edges as he gradually becomes more and more emotional. He tells you that he’s the leader of the London mob, and he’s fully immersed in that life. You listen as he recounts the night he became the leader - the night he watched his father die - and you watch as he chokes up and talks about how family is everything, and says he’d go to the ends of the earth to protect the people he loves. His eyes grow guilty as they trace across your face, and he tells you that the only reason you’d been accosted was because of him, and a disagreement between his mob and his rivals.

“-And they were right,” Tom finishes, “I’d have given them anything- anything to get you back safely, love.” One of his hands moves up as if to touch your bruised face, but he hesitates, eyes clouding with guilt. “I’m sorry we took so long to find you.”

As he reaches the end of it, you look at him, your gaze hard. His eyes are red and teary, and his grip on your hand is so strong that it hurts a little.

“You’re an idiot, y’know that?”

Tom’s chuckle is watery, but it sounds like heaven opening up. “Is that really all you have to say?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I have a lot I want to say to you.” You pause, turning your head to the side, and you press a small, soft kiss to his shoulder, gazing up at him with wide eyes. “At least I understand, now. Why you were always so sketchy.”

“Yeah.” Tom’s hand goes back to your uninjured cheek, and he finally lets his fingers slowly trail across your cheekbone. “I was not having an affair, things were just…”

“Complicated,” you supply. Your lips twitch into a smile as his thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch intoxicating. “I’m still angry,” you tell him.

“I know.” Tom’s thumb pauses its movements, resting on your lip as his eyes search yours deeply. “You shouldn’t have ever been dragged into this. I tried to keep you out of it, love, but I couldn’t stop myself coming back.” He hesitates, voice catching. His fingers lightly brush over your stitches and he winces. “I was selfish with my affection. It wasn’t fair to you, and I’m so, so sorry, darling.”

“I… think I understand,” you say, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You raise an eyebrow, staring at the man who continues to surprise you. “I’m in it now, though, Tom. They know who I am. They- they know that we’re involved.” Your eyes shift down, and Tom’s hand moves away from your face, leaving you feeling cold and alone. “How do I know this won’t happen again?”

His teeth find his lower lip thoughtfully. “If we move you, they shouldn’t be able to find you. I’ll- I’ll buy you a new flat, wherever you want, love. When they stop seeing us together, they’ll get the hint.” His eyes shift, downcast as he becomes extremely intrigued by the duvet. “I can get a security detail put on you. It might take a while, but hopefully you’ll be able to feel safe again.” His fingers fist at the sheets and you watch as the blood drains from his tense knuckles. “I will make sure you feel safe again.”

You bring a hand to his shoulder, your touch releasing some of the pressure he’s holding in his muscles. “Why will they stop seeing us together?”

“I guess I, uh, expect you to hate me,” Tom says quietly, picking out his words carefully. His eyes finally dip up to meet yours, his brown orbs floating with an appreciation that leaves you breathless. “Even now you know the truth, if you don’t want to see me again, I get it. Fuck, love, I don’t deserve to have you around. Not after everything I’ve put you through.”

You’re quiet for a few moments. Your hand moves from his shoulder and around to the back of his head, and you find comfort twirling your fingers through his soft strands. You admire his side profile, drinking in the familiar lines of the man who has brought more action into your life than anyone else, and your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I like you, Tom. I really like you.” Your mouth falls to his shoulder and you press a few gentle kisses over his skin. You peer up at him. “Will you be honest with me, from now on?”

He allows a small smile to stretch across his lips. “Of course.” He wraps an arm around you, trying to bring you closer. You move up, your aching muscles burning as you swing a leg over him and settle in his lap comfortably, hands both toying with his hair. You face him straight on, his gaze shifting over you, drinking you in, eyes wide and curious. “Are you sure?” He asks.

You shrug slightly. “You drive me crazy, Tom. I can’t think straight when I’m around you. But I know that- that I really like you, and I want to have you in my life, if you want that too.”

His mouth peppers a series of light, delicate kisses around your face, his hands soothing over your waist. You sigh into him, realising how badly you’d missed him - his touch, and his voice, and his heart.

“I feel things for you that I’ve never felt for anyone before, love. I’m not going to let that go. I’m not going to let you go. I would give you the world, if you asked.”

You grasp his cheeks, bringing him close so your nose presses to his. His eyes go a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh, the sound mixing with his chuckle beautifully. “I don’t need the world,” you tell him softly. “I just need you.”

His lips find yours, and it’s gentle, but intensely emotional. His mouth feels perfect to yours, even though his lips are chapped and he’s trembling, and you use your hands in his hair to keep him near. Tom’s hands dip down, settling into the curves of your hips like he’s done a thousand times before, and for a moment, nothing else really matters.

“Be mine,” he whispers against you, the words drifting into the air as he continues to kiss you, lips warm and soft. “Be my girlfriend.”

You smile against his lips. “I’d love to,” you mumble, “Tom Holland, my boyfriend. Sounds nice.”

He pulls you closer until you’re flush against him, your chests touching. His lips trail around your face, brushing over all the places that ache and replacing the pain with his love. His eyes reflect nothing but a soft warmth, and it makes you feel so safe, and protected, and peaceful that you decide it doesn’t matter what’s happened, or how things transpired, because now you’re here, holed up in his arms, and you know he’ll never let something like that happen again.

“My girlfriend,” he whispers, kissing at your ear. The words bring goosebumps to your skin as his mouth closes around your earlobe. “My,” kiss, “girlfriend,” kiss. Tom finds your lips, kissing you strongly, and you enjoy it. “Prettiest girl in the world, love.” His eyes sparkle like diamonds, and you feel a joyous heat tickle at your cheeks.

“To say you’re a mob boss, you’re very tender, Tom,” you say, a light lilt to your voice. You kiss his nose softly. “Love it, though.”

“Only with you,” he admits. When he kisses you, his teeth drag along your lower lip, and you whine softly into his mouth. “Can only be myself around you, darling.”

“Good job I’ll be sticking around for a while then, hm?”

“A very good job,” he agrees. Tom’s hands squeeze around your waist and he pulls you close, your heart beating happily in your chest as your head goes to rest against him. He hugs you near, grip firm and unmoving, and you let your eyes fall shut as you bask in his warmth. “Do you need anything else, angel?”

You bring your mouth up and press a line of kisses along Tom’s jaw. “Hold me?” He shuffles further down the mattress and welcomes you in as you wrap yourself around him, clinging to his familiar figure. His hands wander over your back, tracing small patterns to your body and tangling in your hair, and it feels like coming home.

“Sleep, pretty girl,” he instructs, pulling you closer. “I’ll be here.”

And you know he will. You know Tom will be here for as long as you need him, and you know that might mean he stays with you forever. The thought terrifies you, because it’s no easy feat to open yourself up so wholly like that, but it’s Tom, and you know you can take the risk, because it’s him, and he’s holding you so delicately that you know you have nothing to fear, anymore. You know that he’s truthful as he whispers sweet nothings into your hair, promising you the world, promising you everything he has, promising you his love.

“Night, Tom,” you mumble to his chest.

His lips pass over your forehead for a final, soothing time. “Night, m’love.”

[puckinghell]

The Plus One Pact | William Nylander | Part 4

Summary: Your ex is getting married, and you don’t have a date, which means the unavoidable “why don’t you have a boyfriend” question is about to haunt you for the rest of eternity. But then there’s Will, who could be the answer to all your problems. A simple business pact, no feelings involved: that won’t be hard for you, because you really don’t like him anyways. Except pacts were made to be broken… or something. Right?

Note: This is part 4. Click here for part 1 | part 2 | part 3

--

You don’t know how it happens.

Okay, you kinda do.

One night, you get a text from Will that’s just a screenshot of a very strongly worded email to a certain balloon company, and then three crying-from-laughter emojis.

Still not funny!!! you text back, and you expect not to hear from Will again until the wedding.

You’re wrong. When he texts you again the next day, asking how you work was, you figure it would be rude not to answer, and then when the phone rings late one night, you worry something is wrong, so you answer that, too.

“What was your day like?” Will’s voice is quiet and timid when he asks, and you take it you’re not gonna talk about that awful game they just had, so you talk to him about your day for an hour until his voice is lighter and he’s laughing again.

It starts happening more and more, and before you really realize it, it’s weird when you haven’t heard from Willy in a day.

To be truthful, it turns out Zach was right; as he usually is, which you would rather die than tell him. 

But Will is different when it’s just you two, and your favorite moments with him are when he calls after games and his voice is laced with sleep and you can nearly hear the smile through his voice when he asks you about your day. Everything about him is muted, then, but it feels real, and important, somehow.

You even learn to appreciate how annoyingly chipper he is, because sometimes you really do need someone to just laugh at your bad mood until it goes away.

You also learn that, like you expected on the plane to Calgary, Will keeps his head high but it’s mostly a facade. Comments get to him, especially when they’re about his hockey – “that’s the only thing I was supposed to be good at” he jokes one time, and you wanna hit him over the head with his hockey stick until he understands that that’s not true – and he takes everything personal, although he tries not to show it.

Everything you didn’t like about him, you find out, is something you either got wrong about him or learned to appreciate.

And there’s so much more to like about him, too.

One night, after a really bad day at work, you have a fight with your sister about Noah’s stupid wedding. 

“Why are you so against coming?” your sister says, a little too aggressive. “Surely you aren’t still in love with him? He’s happy with Betty, Y/N.” 

Of course you’re not still in love with Noah, but it hurts that she can’t just accept that you don’t wanna go. That she can’t take your side in this, even if she doesn’t know the full story. She should trust that you’re not being difficult for no reason.

And you can’t help yourself; it’s late and you know Will just got done with his game, and he’s all the way in Carolina but you call him anyway.

He answers almost immediately.

“Y/N?” he asks, and he sounds surprised. It’s to be expected, because he’s almost always the one calling you, but it stings a little, nonetheless.

“Uhm, hi.” You pause. “Is it… okay that I called?”

“Of course. Always.” Will sounds truthful, so you decide to take his word for it.There’s no more extra space in your brain to worry about that, as well. 

“Congrats on the game.”

“Thanks.” You hear Willy’s grin. “I’ve told Zachy we’re both very proud of him for that OT winner.” There’s an indignant huff next to him that sounds a lot like Zach and you figure they’re still on the bus, where Willy usually sits with Kappy or Zach.

It’s quiet, then Willy’s voice, treading very carefully: “Is something wrong? You don’t sound too happy.” There’s some stumbling and you can almost see how Willy must be elbowing Zach away from the phone, because Zach is basically an overprotective dad whenever he hears anyone isn’t doing well.

But Willy… Willy isn’t like that, but he sounds worried anyway, and he sounds gentle like he’s trying to calm you down, and suddenly you’re telling him everything: about the day you’ve had and your job that sucks and that you’re worried about the wedding and why can’t your family just trust you, for once, and what if this all isn’t worth it just to keep your family happy?

When you’re done, Willy’s voice is soothing. The background noise has disappeared. Maybe the bus has stopped.

“It’s worth it,” is what he says. “You know it’s worth it.”

You sigh. It’s annoying still that he’s usually right.

“I just don’t want to deal with it anymore.”

“And tonight you don’t have to.” There’s a sudden noise and then Will cursing. “Fuck, sorry, hold on, I’m trying to open this stupid hotel door…” More crashing and banging, and then Willy’s voice reappears. “Tonight you don’t have to deal with anything, okay? We can FaceTime and watch a movie together.”

And that… That actually sounds really nice, and like it doesn’t require any brain power which is good because you have none of that left anyway.

“Hey, what’s your favorite take out food?”

It’s such a random question, out of the blue, and when you tell him that, the blurry FaceTime screen can’t hide his eye roll.

“It’s just something friends are supposed to know about each other, now tell me.”

“Sushi when I’m feeling fancy,” you say, “or pizza when I need comfort food.”

You can’t even pretend to be that surprised when a massive pizza shows up at your door 30 minutes later.

You hate that it nearly brings tears to your eyes, but after the day you’ve had…

“Thank you, Willy,” you mumble, and there’s something soft to his look when he smiles at you.

“What are friends for?” he asks, and you realize you don’t even mind that he’s declared himself your friend, now.

A few weeks ago, you would’ve disputed it. But now, you find yourself kinda wishing it could be more.

--

What are friends for is apparently your motto now, and it’s all a little strange as you get into the car, your fanciest, most beautiful dress and highest heels on.

“You look great,” Zach says. He’s wearing a suit and his hair is slicked back, the way it always is when he’s really trying.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you reply, a little grumpily. “I hate team events.”

“I never did understand why.” Zach starts the car and backs out of your driveway. You’ve been told Alannah is going to the venue straight from work, and Willy had an appointment and couldn’t come get you, which is why you’re in the car with Zach, now.

“Because I don’t fit in there.” It’s the honest answer, but it’s obviously not the whole story. The whole story is that those events are filled with beautiful women, and you never feel quite up to par; like you snuck into a place you’re not welcome, not supposed to be welcome, either. But Zach wouldn’t get that. Willy wouldn’t get that either.

And you just couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough, not when he said: “But Y/N, it’s for charity.”

It would not matter to the charity, of course, if you didn’t come. But Willy had looked so hopeful, and then he’d pulled out the final card: “It’s gonna be way more fun with you there by my side.”

And now you’re wearing a dress appropriate for a charity gala, which means you’ve never felt more uncomfortable in anything in your life, and your feet already hurt from your heels, and this was such a bad idea, God.

“You know,” Zach says, and his tone tells you this conversation is going somewhere you don’t want it to go. “Willy doesn’t like these events either. It means a lot to him that you’re coming for support.”

You nearly roll your eyes. “Willy charmed the socks off every person at my boss’ wedding, Zachy. He really doesn’t need my support for these kinda things.”

Zach’s face stays stoic. “Yeah, but nobody at that wedding knew him.”

“So?” you frown. “That should only be a disadvantage, considering he’s William Nylander.”

Zach laughs, then. “Still haven’t figured it out, then? I’m disappointed in you, Y/N. I thought you were good at reading people.”

“Hey!” you react, offended. You are good at reading people. It’s one of the things you pride yourself on. “If you know it all so well, why don’t you just tell me?”

Zach sighs. “Willy doesn’t like these events anymore because he is William Nylander, as you say it, and that’s not really a popular name in Leafs territory, right now.”

And, oh.

That.

“I did realize he cares a lot more about what people think than I thought he did.” You pause. “More than he should, probably.”

“Definitely.” Zach’s face has that protective big brother vibe about it, again. You used to not understand, why he always looked like that when people were talking shit about Willy.

You get it, now.

“There’s always plenty more people telling him he’s great, than there are people sending him snarky looks,” Zach continues. “But he never really believes any compliments he gets, so that doesn’t help.”

Suddenly, you realize something.

You’ve never really… complimented Willy? Even when you realized he cared more than he let on, you still just assumed he knew how great he was. Sometimes, he kinda fishes for something – “Did you see my goal?” “How about my cooking abilities?” “I know how to pick a good movie, right?” – but you’d always laughed and chirped him for it.

“If your head gets any bigger, it’ll explode.”

And Willy is always complimenting you; he tells you you look great all the time, even when you decidedly dont’t, but he clearly remembered what you told him about Noah because that’s never the only thing he compliments you about.

He tells you how smart you are, “I like how good you are with animals”, how any food you make is the best thing he’s ever eaten, if only everyone was as lovely as you.

You feel guilty, now. If Willy is your friend, you’ve really not been doing such a good job at being his friend, too.

You’re fixing that tonight, you decide right then and there.

“I’ll make him believe it,” you tell Zach, and it comes out sounding vaguely threatening.

Zach laughs. “Thought you didn’t like him?”

“Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought he was,” you admit, and you don’t tell Zach how much you really, really do like Willy, but you think Zach kinda knows anyway. 

Will meets you at the door, where Alannah is also waiting for Zach. He smiles at you, eyes soft.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” He quickly presses his lips to your temple, which is a new development that you don’t really know how to handle.

But Will is a tactile guy, anyway, so you’re sure you shouldn’t read too much into it.

You see Zach’s raised eyebrow, and suddenly remember – fine, maybe you’d forgotten your objective for a second because Will looks really hot in that suit, but you’re back on track now.

“You look beautiful too, Will.”

Willy’s eyes widen and a flush creeps up on his cheek, but before he can answer you grab his hand and pull him into the building.

It’s a fancy, really expensive hotel, where the gala is being held. It’s filled to the brim with people, a few of which you recognize, most of which you don’t.

“That chandelier must be worth more than our entire house,” Alannah mutters, and you’re glad to see it’s affecting her too, although she’s been to these events many times.

Zach laughs. “With a puppy in the house, aren’t you glad we don’t have any furniture that costs more than our mortgage?”

“Do you want a drink?” Will’s lips are close enough to your ear to hear him over the noise of the crowd and the music in the background, and also close enough to feel his hot breath against your neck. It takes everything in you not to shiver.

Maybe you do need a drink. Or ten.

Willy and Zach go to get the drinks and Alannah leads you to where some of the other WAGs are. Steph is the only one you know and she hugs you as soon as she sees you coming, then introduces you to the rest.

“So, you’re with Will, huh?” she asks, eyebrows waggling.

You were expecting that question, but maybe not so soon into the evening.

“Uhm,” you cough, “not really. Just his plus one for tonight.”

“Sure,” Steph says, and she looks like she doesn’t believe you at all.News always travels fast in the WAGs group, and Alannah is looking a little guilty.

You find you don’t mind so much, that they think that you’re together. Although you really don’t wanna think about why you don’t mind. 

When Willy finds you, Kappy and his girlfriend are with him, and the four of you make your rounds throughout the room, talking to any sponsor that seems interested in a conversation. Mostly you just stand there while Willy talks, his hand on your back as if he’s scared you’re gonna run off.

“I always thought this would be a lot of work,” you mumble in Willy’s ear, when you’re between conversation partners. “But I really only have to stand here and look pretty.”

Willy grins. “Seems like it comes natural to you.”

Right. You kinda forgot about the compliments again.

You shrug, lean a little closer until you’re basically pressed into his side. It feels a little too right, maybe, how quickly Will’s arm wraps around your waist.

“You’re really good at talking to these people.” You’re talking pretty loudly, but you’re pretty sure Will is the only one that can hear you over the noise. “The second you open your mouth, people are so charmed by you. I think you could make anyone love you.”

Willy’s eyes flash to the floor, and they stay fixed there as he mumbles something that sounds a lot like another “uhm”.

His cheeks are flushed red, and you’re saved from having to deal with that as Auston appears, eyes wild and jaw tense.

“I’m being stalked,” he hisses. “This old white dude literally won’t leave me alone even for a second. He’s been following me around for an hour. Help.”

Willy bursts into giggles, which is probably not very helpful, and the betrayal on Auston’s face is enough to make you feel bad for him.

“Come on,” you say, grabbing his arm, “let’s go hide behind the bar.”

--

It’s easier than you thought it would be, to get through the evening. In fact, when Will asks you if you’re ready to go, you hadn’t even noticed it had become so late.

You say goodbye to the few people you know and gratefully accept Willy’s offer to drive you home.

The car ride is silent. It’s not awkward, but the air is heavy with something, and you curse yourself for all those times you wished Willy would just shut up, because now he has and you hate every second of it.

Did your compliments freak him out? Did he regret asking you to come?

“So,” Will finally says, as he stops in front of a traffic light. He’s not looking at you, keeping his gaze firmly on the road ahead of him. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Zach told me you don’t like these events,” you try, carefully. You’ve never had to pull something out of Will, force him to open up; he’s always just kinda done it, from the very moment you met him, shared parts of himself with you that you never had to search for.

For you, who’s never learned how to not keep something hidden, that was maybe the thing that unnerved you about him the most.

“I like doing things for charity,” Will answers, and you can tell he’s picking his words carefully. “But I don’t like people looking at me as if I’m some kinda disappointment who doesn’t belong there.”

“Have they ever said anything?”

“No.” Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and there’s a hint of sadness laced in it. “Not to my face, anyway. But I’m not stupid, you know.”

No, he’s not stupid. For all the conflicting thoughts you’ve had about him, you never thought he was stupid.

And you never thought he was a bad contract, either. It seems imperative, suddenly, that he knows that.

“Willy,” you say softly, and although his eyes are still on the road, you know he’s paying attention. “You can’t seriously believe that you’re anything but an amazing hockey player. You’re worth that contract and you’re worth the effort Dubas put into keeping you here. You’re so smart, and I know people don’t always see it but you work so hard, and Matts was so happy when you got back on his line because he knew you would be magic together.”

Will’s cheeks are red but this time, he’s not mumbling when he says: “I know I haven’t been playing as well as I can.”

“Stop,” you tell him, softly but forcefully. “Stop deflecting, stop dodging. Just take the compliment and believe me when I say you’re great at what you do.”

“That’s very nice of you,” he says, his voice a bit shaky, and that’s a different kind of deflecting but it’s still deflecting, and it’s hurting your heart.

“William Nylander,” you scold, and then you do what you’ve been wanting to do this entire evening and let yourself reach out and put a hand on his knee. “Just accept the compliment.”

Willy carefully reaches down to grab your hand, intertwines your fingers together as he lets both your hands rest on his thigh. He’s holding the steering wheel with one hand, but he’s driving pretty slowly and the roads are deserted, so you’re not too worried.

You’re more worried about the fact that he just doesn’t believe you.

“You’re a great hockey player,” you repeat, stubbornly. “And a great person.”

Finally Willy allows himself to smile, this small, rueful thing that sticks somewhere deep inside your chest, folds up next to your heart like it’s gonna stay there forever.

“Thank you,” he says, and maybe he still doesn’t really believe it but this is as far as you’re gonna get tonight and maybe that’s okay.

You’ve got time.

The car has reached your flat and Will parks it in your driveway. It’s quiet, and he hasn’t let go of your hand, and you kinda don’t want him to.

The night is over, probably.

But there’s still one thing you need to tell him, though. “It doesn’t matter, Will,” you say softly. “What those people think. It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” Willy agrees, and for the first time you can tell he believes it. “But it matters what you think.”

He finally turns to look at you and there’s so many emotions swirling in the deep blue of his eyes, but you can’t really put your finger on any of them. All you know is your heart is beating in your throat, and you really want to kiss him.

But Willy still looks a little sad, and you have a feeling there’s something he’s not saying.

“I told you I think you’re great,“ you tell him, and it’s the truth.

“But you didn’t, before.” Will hesitates. “I told you I’m not stupid. I know when people find me annoying.” He shrugs. “I get it. I know I can be too much.”

And God, there’s so much hurt in that, so much pain and yet understanding, and you can tell he truly believes that, and you would do anything to take that away from him.

Anything.

So.

“I didn’t like you,” you admit, but when Will goes to pull back his hand, you simply hold on tighter. “I was wrong. I didn’t know you, and I was wrong. Now I know you. And I like you.” You inhale, pause. “I like you so much I don’t really know what to do with myself, sometimes.”

It’s quiet. You can nearly see the wheels turning in Willy’s head as he searches your face for something; something to tell him you’re not being truthful, maybe, that it doesn’t mean what he thinks it does.

If that’s what he’s looking for, he won’t find it. 

Then he drops your hand, jumps out of the car and slams the door.

Disappointment and hurt washes over you; you knew you had to try, had to put your heart out there, but it hurts that it’s smashed into pieces like that. Clearly you read it wrong, clearly you still don’t know how to tell what Willy’s feeling.

Except then your door opens, and Willy is holding out his hand.

“Come on,” he says, and his voice sounds… fond? You don’t know exactly what to think about it, but he doesn’t sound angry, or upset.

Against better judgement, you grab his hand and get out of the car.

“I have to tell you something,” Will says. And, there’s no way that he’s doing what you think he’s doing, but his hands are suddenly traveling up, one reaching to cup your cheek, the other settling on your waist. His eyes are staring into yours intently, and they’re twinkling but it’s not the same mischievous twinkle you’re used to seeing.

“I really like you, too,” Willy says, and he leans in and presses his lips against yours.

For a split second, you stand there, not quite knowing what just happened, but then his hand tightens on your hip and you realize that this is real, this is happening, and Will’s kissing you.

So you kiss back. You let your body lean heavy against the car, place your hands on his biceps and pull him closer, until his chest is flush against yours. The kiss deepens, and you swear you can feel your heartbeat synching up with his.

The night is dark, and quiet, and it rains a little, but you feel none of it.

All you feel is Will, surrounding you, and everything is beautiful and exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

[themattress]

Rewatch: My Bride is a Mermaid Ep 25 - 26

Woah. Shit got real in these final two episodes!

Episode 25: The Family Game

The start of the episode reveals that Akeno and her superior have been getting their orders from Lord Yoshio Minamoto, a mer-noble who has a fearful grip on the mer-government and can use it for his own benefit...in this case, to break up Sun and Nagasumi so that he can take Sun for his bride. But because his government subordinates have failed to deliver, this spoiled frat boy is stepping in personally with a scheme to make sure he gets what he wants. 

Akeno is to seize on a moment of friction between Sun and Nagasumi to invite the whole Seto Gang to his palace, allegedly for a party full of important merpeople. That moment comes when a basic argument over Nagasumi putting his socks in the laundry while they’re inside-out escalates to the point where Nagsumi and Sun have to confront the fact that their engagement is based on coercion: it was the only way either of them could stay alive. This creates a new emotional distance between the two, especially when Nagasumi stubbornly refuses to apologize. And then....Sun and her family disappears from his life entirely.

While we know that it’s due to Yoshio’s invitation, Nagasumi doesn’t. The whole montage where he goes to various locations he and Sun have been together in the past only to find her absent now, culminating when he enters her empty room and breaks down crying, apologizing to Sun and begging her to come back...damn, that was powerful. The last two episodes already amped up the emotional sincerity, and these two just run with it, with the actual jokes being few and far between when compared to the drama, which intensifies once Yoshio’s so-called party is revealed to be a trap and all of the Setos are knocked out.

Kai and Lunar manage to find out what’s going on, with Lunar’s horrified reaction and her description of how many girls have gone missing while attending Yoshio’s “parties” selling the fear of the situation, while also being heartwarming in how her immediate response is “Sun is in danger!” and dashing off with Kai to mount a rescue. She loves her rival so much. And speaking of rivals who care, Kai doesn’t hesitate in seeking to include Nagasumi in the rescue mission, with his response to Nagasumi’s later vow to go out and get Sun back being “Those are the exact words I’ve been waiting to hear!” Like I said in the last post, Kai has truly grown into a more honorable person (as has Chimp, who is helping him as always).

And if all of that wasn’t heartwarming enough, Nagasumi’s vow only comes after he gets encouragement from Mawari, who tells him that he needs to be honest with his feelings and act upon them, to not give up on his true love. It is also hinted again that Mawari is well aware of the whole mermaid factor at play, but says nothing out of love and respect for everyone. Mawari Zenigata truly cannot have her praises sung loud enough, she is just that awesome.

The ending montage gets you ridiculously pumped to go straight into the next, and final, episode, with the music playing being the most epic the show has ever had as it plays over shots of every character in the show in their current positions. Let’s end this with a bang!

Episode 26: The Place You Go Home To 

Right off the bat, we’re ending it with several bangs, as Kai’s submarine must navigate a minefield set up to defend Yoshio’s undersea lair. The awesomeness kicks in immediately when Lunar uses her siren scream to decimate the mines, declaring “I’m the songstress of the Edomae! DON’T UNDERESTIMATE ME!” She, Kai and Nagasumi will stop at nothing to get Sun back, and their true love of her is contrasted perfectly by Yoshio’s repulsive lust. In the manga, Yoshio was a very different character and his desire for Sun had more to do with a religious factor and a hunger for power. But the anime version of him is the most vile kind of guy possible: a sociopathic frat boy who sees women as objects whom he mind-wipes with a magical artifact before having his way with them and grooming them into his loyal slaves. He is a misogynistic rapist and a person with power who gleefully abuses it, and it makes him the most loathsome character in the show without question. You really want to see him go down.

Once the heroes invade Yoshio’s lair, they are met with an army of guards who clash with the army of Mikawa Conglomerate workers Kai brought along. Lunar assists with her song of war, which again turns things into a bloodbath but one that Nagasumi can easily slip away from to reach Yoshio. Yoshio sends Akeno to face him, since her swordsman’s code says that she cannot disobey a mer-noble’s orders. But ever since she discovered the truth about how Yoshio “woos” the women he lusts after and that he intends the same for Sun, Akeno has been struggling to keep to this code, and it only takes Nagasumi reminding her about the reason she first became a swordsman to get her to switch sides and fight alongside him.

Yoshio unleashes both his trio of giant pet eels and his entire fraternity, but then we get a sequence of awesomeness upon awesomeness as everyone comes in to get a badass moment. First it’s Gozaburo and the rest of the Seto Gang, a moment that concludes when Gozaburo knocks down an eel and, seeing the fierce determination Nagasumi has to save Sun, tells him “you’re a Seto now” and throws him a yakuza jacket as he urges him to go rescue his daughter. Then it’s Lunar, Kai and Chimp catching up, with Lunar using a siren scream to blow the frat away and an injured Kai (supported by his faithful Chimp) also urging Nagasumi to go save Sun. Then it’s an injured Akeno using the nature of the Morning Star blade to her advantage and having Ren (who is the one supporting Akeno because Ren is a fucking goddess among women) use her siren scream on it, which magnifies it enough to knock down another eel. And then it’s, out of nowhere, Papa fucking Edomae (still in the schoolgirl outfit because he’s grown comfy in it) dropping from the sky and taking out the last eel, then tag-teaming with his daughter to take on the reconvening frat. It’s just amazing, and it leads into the climax of the episode when Nagasumi finally reaches the room where Sun is being held and confronts Yoshio, who is ready to kill him with his superior merman strength.

Nagasumi stands no chance against Yoshio in a straight 1-on-1 fight, but he doesn’t care, all he cares about is snapping Sun out of her trance. Yoshio brags that nothing can accomplish that, but Nagasumi pours out all of his feelings for Sun, shouting how he loves her and can’t imagine ever living without her. This does it, and with her mind restored, Sun verbally eviscerates Yoshio for being the pathetic third-rate scum that he is. Full of misogynistic rage and toxic masculinity, Yoshio aims to shoot Sun dead, but Nagasumi takes the bullet. And yet he is unharmed, because just being with Sun, simply standing by her side as lovers and as equals, fills him with unlimited power - the Power of Love! With Sun now intentionally directing her love as energy to power Nagsumi up, Yoshio gets the beatdown he deserves.

As awesome as this is, I still have one minor quibble about translation issues in this scene. Sun’s altered catchphrase comes back to bite the show’s butt when Nagasumi tells Yoshio what it is that makes a real man - in Japanese, it’s ninkyo, aka chivalry, which is displayed on screen as text when he says this. But in the dub, it’s “Honor Among Thieves”. Huh!? So all real men must be thieves? Things get more absurd when Nagasumi gives Yoshio his final beatdown, the text of the Japanese title Seto No Hanayome appears with each punch for some reason, and I guess that reason got lost in translation because we instead get Yoshio screaming “My! Bride is! A! MERMAAAAAAAID!” to get the same effect of a title drop in this moment. There is no reason in context why he would say this, as he had already given up on Sun as a bride and had attempted to kill her, so it just ends up as a huge “WTF!?” moment.

Anyway, Yoshio is defeated and his true form is exposed: a lowly catfish. All of the fear he inspired and thus the power he had is instantaneously gone with this revelation, allowing Akeno’s superior to legally indict him for his crimes. Nagsumi finally apologizes to Sun for the argument and says that from now on he wants their engagement to be something they chose for themselves. And so, taking out the ring he got her in episode 2, he asks Sun if she’ll marry him. Of course Sun says “Yes”, and as the original ED credits song plays, they embrace.

There’s a gag scene before the credits of life returning to normal except for Nagasumi now insisting on remaining in “buff mode” which makes all the routine interactions with the other characters more ridiculous, but after the credits we get a still-frame of Sun and Nagasumi’s earlier embrace, so for all intents and purposes that’s the note this show ends on: two kids from two different worlds who, against all the many, many obstacles, found true love together.

There’s one more post about the series to go, but my experience of actually rewatching the show is over with. And let me tell you - it’s been a great revisiting that I do not at all regret.

[thesamesandwicheveryday]

5.

After a day of incredible pressure and its different pains, one after the other, follows at least one or two hours of what I can only describe as a kind of ritualistic stateliness; I’m currently working on my posture and self-restraint sitting upright in a computer chair, and whilst there are a good three or four inches between my back and the back of the chair, I’d say enough room for a cushion, I am not utilising a cushion, because I am working on myself, and if I can sit like this as if a cushion were really there, then I’ll have the grace and elegance of a dancer, and not only will I have the grace and elegance of a dancer, but I’ll have the restraint of a monk, and I will learn to find gratification in the simplest of ways, like once every 90 minutes when I feel gratified by just leaning back. In this spirit I’ve got a bottle of Riesling open, but I’m only drinking one glass per half an hour. There’s Mavrodaphne in the cupboard, but that’s more a me-and-Will drink, we’ve got a joke about it now, we even text about the Mavrodaphne. The last time he mentioned it I texted him back saying “Mavrodaph’ me” and he texted back that he laughed aloud, and I really think when someone takes the time to say “I actually laughed out loud” instead of “lol”, they truly must mean it. And there’s probably something in that, some profound key to understanding sincerity and humanity, but I’m not going to go into that now, not with the day I’ve had. No, I can leave that kind of heavy thinking for another day; that’s a Wednesday kind of a task. My first pain was planning a Monday lie-in yet waking up inexplicably at 8am after a missed call from a number I didn’t recognise that didn’t leave a text nor answer the phone when I called back but did in fact leave a voicemail though I can’t access those because it’s 2018 and leaving voicemails is disgusting. I don’t know if the cultural hatred of Mondays has become a superficial preset in all adult humans or if it really is as bad a day as we all think it is, because I don’t have a nine-to-five nor a structured work schedule and I hate Mondays, but the call waking me up and me just knowing I was waking up into a Monday prevented me from falling back asleep again. I try not to be superstitious so I’d be interested in learning the metric factors of how precisely one measures a “bad day”, why Monday is the worst. Why not Thursday? Tuesday’s a bum-note. I’ve never been hugely keen on Saturdays. I digress.

After my rude awakening I walked from my bedroom to the living room naked as the blinds were all shut and I’m a really naked person. There are low beams in my living room, these charming, great slabs of thick branch supporting the roof, and whilst they’re certainly characterful, I have to be aware of them all the time or else I’ll bang my head, like I did today, naked, gripping my head with my right hand, dropping my phone on the hard floor in doing so, not breaking the screen at all but there’s a scuff now in the corner that I can only challenge myself to stop thinking about. I tried calling Will a first time, and I got his voicemail: “Hi, this is Will, looks like I’m busy, if it’s an emergency call 999, they’ll be better qualified to deal with it than me”. Hilarious, Will, but I just banged my head on my roof beam and fell over like a naked Buster fucking Keaton, I have no time for your jokes and your japes right now. I tried a second time, then after my morning coffee a third, but still Hi this is Will, Hi this is Will, Hi this is Will. Eventually, as I was forcing myself to eat a bowl of muesli for the sake of health and also hating myself, he texted me: “Can’t talk now, Esther’s come over, had a fight with her mum or something, crying a lot, you know how she gets. Lemme give you a bell when I’m about. W. -X” And this had several flaws. Let’s start from the end and work our ways back. “W.-X” — why is he signing off like that, still, after four massive years of knowing me? Why does Will always have to end texts like he’s closing a deal? Just close me off with the initial and a kiss and — much worse — a full stop between the two? Distanced once more with that, let’s be honest, quite egregious dash? Is he proving some kind of point about being that crucial whole decade older than me, that self-righteous kind of, “oh look at me I love grammar” bollocks, that kind of “I don’t use Face-tube” or “I saw something on the interwebs” humour that the middle-aged employ to indicate superiority? Is that what that is? Because I’ve always wondered it and today I really had to think about it, and I figure it’s because he’s spending the day with Esther who’s always been that bit more Will’s brood, another late-30s horse-girl, another Oxon (that’s the name they give to people who graduated from Oxford and that’s something I have to fucking know), you know I think the only reason he married her in the first place is because it looked good on paper, he’s as good as told me that to be frank, and yeah maybe she is crying today and maybe she’s had a fight with her mum but that’s Will’s job how? Esther, sweetheart, darling, it’s over — and Will’s got the decree absolute to prove it, honey, sweetheart. And because of a fight with her mother? Everyone fights with their mother, I do nothing but fight with my mother but you don’t see me saying to Will “oh Will please can you come over and hold me? My mum still doesn’t love me and doesn’t even respect me”, do you? No you don’t, no matter how true that is, because Will’s not my dad. HE’S NOT YOUR DAD, ESTHER. 

And “can’t talk now”? Can’t, or won’t? Why would he write that like I’m placing some mad demand on him when I so very clearly am not? So many times we call each-other and there’s a dead end and it’s always something really innocuous that neither one of us feels the need to explain, we’re not married, and even if we were — the point is, he really felt like he had to say “can’t talk now”, like he’s really frazzled by me at 9am, and I even wonder if that’s for Esther’s benefit, like if she looks through his phone again she’ll see he’s at least been a little cold to me, and she’d love that wouldn’t she. Oh, but Esther’s sad again and so the world must spin off its axis because she’s sad again, Esther’s come off her Prozac, Esther’s cat’s got diabetes, Esther’s troubled by world news, Esther’s accidentally lost weight and now needs new clothes. I thought this whole Esther saga was over, I thought she'd get the hint that once you’ve put legal proceedings into action to separate yourself from someone, the message would hit home loud and clear, but no. Esther needs new brake-lights on her car. Esther’s tripped on an avocado skin and fallen down a haunted well. Esther’s been possessed by the great and powerful Beleth and needs a lift home from the exorcist’s bungalow. He’ll call me when he’s free, capital-double-you-dot-dash-capital-ex. And you’d think I’d get my sandwich and that would make me feel better? Well that's what I thought, too. Eventually I got dressed into the first t-shirt and jeans I saw lolling outside the clothes hamper and got out of my flat as quickly as I could, hoping to save the day before it fell into utter ruin and developed the ability to cause me real harm. The walk from my flat to the market is only a short one and is even shorter angry. I felt as if when I got through the door of the place I suddenly slipped outside of myself, but unable to look back in I instead disappeared, and when I returned back into my host body, I was looking at my reflection in the glass display of vanilla slices at my sandwich stall. I looked flushed. I looked hungry. I was ravenous and needed to see a friendly face. Of course today was the day they let just whoever walks into the market serve sandwiches, it seems, because I was met with a smiling boy-child, with biro scribbled onto his hands. He had mid-brown hair coming down about one inch above his shoulders, I’d say he was into day 10 of not washing it, the kind of bleary eyes that seem used to glasses and look unsettlingly beady when unframed, an unremarkable nose and an offensively weak chin, and whilst it sounds as if I’m describing a hapless teenager with great insensitivity you may in fact be relieved to learn my utter contempt here is directed toward a whole adult human who, if I were to conservatively guess, would be somewhere around the 27 years old marker. 27 years old and an untucked, short-sleeved, blue cotton dress shirt, like some bizarre attempt at formality, what was he, on his way to an interview for a different job or something? Judging by the outfit, a job as a white plastic patio furniture salesman? I wish I'd seen his shoes, they might have saved him, but as he stood, six foot tall before me, his bottom half was hidden behind the counter, so I had to assume he was wearing tan Caterpillar boots with striped yellow and black laces, and on that probably quite correct assumption, I hated him. He asked me my sandwich order and I told him, pretending to be shy to mask my escalating rage, and he threw the thing together like it just didn't matter, and when he asked me why he hadn't seen me round here before I don’t know how I found the strength to sweetly reply, “I just moved, yeah, used to live in Manchester but I’ve always fancied myself as a country mouse” with a smile, so convincingly he introduced himself as Greg and started suggesting local pubs to me, especially the Golden Lion because “you look cool, and they do a lot of cool nights there”. Cool, cool, cool, Greg, thanks for the tip, Greg. I asked him, “I come here every now and then for my lunch and haven't seen you before either?”, and he told me he's helping is mother out who’s at home in bed, sick. I told him that was really sweet of him and he crumpled in on himself slightly and said “nah”, as he limply placed the white, paper sandwich bag onto the counter, because I didn’t want him putting it directly into my hands and therefore did not offer my hands out. I waved goodbye after wrapping the conversation up with false platitudes, and thought again about the Caterpillar boots he might have been wearing, and thought about the beam in my living room, and thought about how many steps I would have to climb up to get back home and eat my sandwich. I made it to the top of my 39 stairs and into my flat without spontaneously combusting, and I sat behind my living room door with my knees up to my chest eating my sandwich which was, predictably, not that great. The onions this time were on the very top layer, the ham beneath those, then the lettuce underneath the ham, then the tomatoes, then the bread, like the whole thing was upside down. I thought about flipping the sandwich upside down to salvage this terrible situation into a bearable one but then the rounded-top half of the bun would be on the bottom, the flat half on the top, and I wasn't about to start creating my own problems. So I ate it, and it was fine. Which would be fine, but I’m not one to settle for fine. Today’s just been really hard. So here I'm sat with my Riesling and my good posture, looking at the long shadow my straight torso makes on the wall by the light of my reading lamp, and I just tried to call Will again, watching the shadow turn angular with my elbow’s movements like an old, German expressionist movie, but this time it went straight to voicemail and immediately I received a text saying: “Can I call you later?”. Will has turned his auto-reply on, and is no longer taking calls today. I’m breaking into the Mavrodaphne, and I'm going to apportion 14 cashew nuts for myself but first I will lean back for a good, long while. I won't call Will again. It’s really none of my business. My head just hurts from the knock from earlier, and I didn't like my sandwich at all, really. 

[asagimeta]

Am I the only one who feels like queer acceptance has taken a step back in television? Or at the very least in sitcoms? Because I just... I think about the really popular sitcoms from the 90s and early 2000s vs now and it feels weirdly reversed? Freinds actually had regularly recurring lesbians who were not fetishized plus several gay charectors who came and went, including Chandler's dad who was gay AND a drag queen, Roseanne had regular gay charectors, a regular bisexual, and even introduced the concept of an older gay woman plus several of gay, lesbian, and bi charectors along the way, even Golden Girls had recurring queer themes including a recurring charector who was most likely trans or at the absolute least someone with a non-binary gender

And ofcourse there are the Big Guns like Ellen and Willl & Grace

None of the LGBTQ+ charectors in these shows were fetishized or bashed or criticized or used as jokes, at the very MOST Roseanne questioned Nancy's flip-flopping sexuality for a time because Nancy herself didn't know how to define what she was, and Sophia was seen as being clearly uncomfortable with her son being feminine and wile this was used as a punchline through parts of the show it was actually resolved in a DEEPLY respectfull and emotional way (I can't speak for Will & Grace because I actually never saw it but it's pretty clear that it represented decently from what I know of it)

Hell, even Seinfeld- wich never brought in any lasting or recurring queer charectors- handled the subject of non-straight sexualities with a level of respect that I don't see handled in current shows, noteably by saying "Not that there's anything wrong with that" whenever Jerry or George was suggested as being gay and even with Jerry questioning why someone didn't think he was romantically involved with a gay freind at one point, versus the severe "OH MY GOD NO NO NO NO" reaction presented in alot of modern sitcoms today

Then you have today's sitcoms wich have a running theme of queer-baiting as a joke without actually having many, if any at all, queer charectors

Admittedly I don't watch many modern sitcoms because I don't appreciate the brand of humor but I've seen a few and none of them seem to have or respect queer charectors

The Big Bang Theory has an asexual as a main charector who is largely sex-repulsed wich is GREAT... but that's it, and any hints of homosexual interaction on the show is always a punchline, from one time when Sheldon accidentally got a guy's phone number when he was trying to get a date for Penny to- ugh- the constant queer-baiting of Raj and Howard, and the even more constant feminization and very stereotyped "effiminate gay" behavior of Raj only to be constantly told he's straight, even now that Howard is married there's still the very frequent baiting of Raj and Howard being in love with eachother played as a punchline, Raj being feminine is always played as a punchline, and it's all done pretty disrespectfully... TBBT has alot of problems with representation and what it considers humor (my biggest constantly comes from the way Howard treats women and how women are usually portrayed as the wrong-doers in the situation) but that's another story, for a show that's constantly hailed as being "this generation's Freinds" it's pretty sad how massively different the queer rep is

Mike & Molly has two recurring gay charectors wich is fair, not great but fair, M&M has a pretty small cast of recurring charectors- though the size of the mains is pretty much the same as any sitcom- but once again we have the issue of baiting with Mike and Carl- especially with Carl, who does it much, much more than Mike does, and I'm not saying that the older sitcoms like Freinds never had baiting moments (Chandler is a pretty prime example, episodes like The Nap Partners are a good example too) but the difference is that Freinds actually had several queer charectors AND when they *did* make sexuality a punchline it wasn't frequent and wasn't usually that offensive, M&M however only has very very occassional  ACTUAL gay representation and the joke of Carl acting romantic with men is played up really often

How I Met Your Mother is not something I really watched alot of, but I caught probably most of the episodes one summer when I had it on as background noise and I don't recall any recurring queer charectors from it, they didn't bait to my knowledge- wich is good in a basic decency kind of way- but I don't recall there being any queer charectors that stuck around- if any at all

As I said, I don't watch alot of sitcoms, and I do acknowledge that there are some like The Real O'Neals (wich was just cancelled) that don't fit this bill- though weather or not their representation was considered respectfull I guess is something only someone who's seen the show could say- but I can't think of any others that come to mind wich have presented a queer charector in their advertising and I just... find that so weird....

It's often been said that we're starting to slide back in terms of progression, with things like political crap going out of control, hate crimes escalating, and representation being either stagnant or even going down... and I just find it so weird that twenty years ago queer representation it sitcoms was actually not bad, shows like Roseanne and Freinds presented it as a very normal part of society- regardless of using sexuality as a punchline or not- and shows like Ellen and The Golden Girls went a step above by making a point of showing acceptance of queer people in a more dramatic tone, but these days you're lucky to see a queer person in the background of a popular sitcom or avoid sexuality being used as a big joke

Ofcourse there are parts of TV where representation is getting better- RuPaul's Drag Race is more popular and mainstream than ever and continues to pile up awards, shows like How To Get Away With Murder have a decent number of queer charectors and makes it VERY well known that anyone could get their gay on at any given time wile also bringing up legitimate queer issues (outside of the usual homophobia) like safe sex, depicting aspects of the relationship other than just flirting and sex, and discrimination within the queer community, you have shows like Supergirl wich depict a main relationship- one of only TWO main relationships at that- as a queer couple who both had very different exepriences as queer people and who have fights about small things and cuddle and cry and you know... do the exact same stuff that the straight couples do, and the hugely popular mainstream shows like The Walking Dead and Once Upon A Time even have queer charectors now- there may not be many of them and they may often get shafted to the side but TWD in particular has introduced a total of six, if I remember correctly, and as the most popular show currently on TV that's actually a pretty huge deal, Hannibal has several queer charectors including BOTH mains who are not "gay men" but "men who are gay"- the story revolves around a cannibalistic serial killer who just so happens to have romantic attraction to the male detective and vice versa, wich is incredible really, hell even cartoons are starting to get with the program, Paranorman introduced the first openly gay charector in a kid's movie a few years ago and Ever After High had an ON-SCREEN KISS between two girls who are largely hinted to be "destined" for eachother, so progression IS out there and growing- thank God- but sitcoms seem to be oddly left out of this and I have no idea why

It's weird, is all I'm saying

[pandabearlikes]

Temporary Affairs

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17  

Chapter o9.  Chicken Feet  

  “When you said you were going to make a scene, I didn’t know you were actually going to faint,” Jongin laughed through the phone. 

  “You made me faint, Oppa!  Man up and take responsibility,” you replied, thrashing your legs around in bed. 

  “That was hilarious,” he continued to laugh.

  “It was mortifying!  It’s going to be all over the newspapers in the morning!” you whined, only making him laugh louder. 

  “Oppaaaaaaaa,” you wailed. 

  “Go to bed,” he said and you could still hear hints of chuckling. 

  “I am in bed,” you spoke, pouting. 

  “Then go to sleep.  I’ll pick you up in the morning,” Jongin said.

  “By morning you really mean afternoon, right?” you asked and he succumbed to another fit of laughter.  Were you really that funny?

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.  Good night,” he said.

  “Good night,” you replied and hung up. 

  You rolled around bed, in your pjs, trying so very hard to fall asleep but insomnia was taking you captive.  Why did he kiss you?  He probably didn’t hear me tell him to kiss me on the cheek.  I mean, the crowd was pretty loud.  But the thumping of your heart told you otherwise.  Pabo.  Jongin, Pabo!  But his lips were so soft and sexy and sweet and…NO ________ah, staph.  Staph.    

  Despite not getting an ounce of sleep, you got up from bed completely energized.  Giddily, you dug through your wardrobe to pick the prettiest and cutest dress of the bunch.  You slipped on the mint green flowy dress and braided your hair so it looked like a cascading waterfall.  As you bid your mother farewell, you threw on some tall stilettos.  You know…just in case you wanted to kiss him, you didn’t have to tiptoe.

  The moment you walked out of the house, Jongin was already there, leaning against his car with crossed arms.  Oh you, stop looking so handsome. #^$T##%^%^ 

  As always, he opened the passenger door for you and you got in. 

“So, what’s the occasion?  Why are you so dressed up?” he asked, amused. 

  Oh, just a date with the world’s most handsome man a.k.a. my fiancé.  Biotches, step aside.

  “Oh, nothing.  I just felt like it,” you half-lied, “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see…” he teased and you pouted. 

  Now that you finally observed, Jongin was quite dressed down today compared to his regular suit and tie.  He had on a gray sweater and his hair appeared soft, his bangs covering his forehead.  I still want to run my fingers through it. 

  While you were busy gawking at him, he had already parked the car.

  “_______ah, we’re here.  You can stop staring at me now,” Jongin said, turning off the engine of the car. 

  Omg.  You hid your face behind your hair.  Laughing, he got out of the car and opened the door for you to get out.  With a face of puzzlement, you looked around to guess where your destination was.  The area was populated with street stalls and small cafés.  You turned to him questionably.  He slipped his hand into yours and pulled you to follow him.  And even though your stilettos allowed you to see Jongin from a new height, they were starting to hurt like crazy.  You hid your grimace from your fiancé. 

  He stopped in front of a fried chicken stall. 

  “Here?” you asked.

  “Yep,” he replied, pulling out a seat for you to sit on. 

  The waiters were very friendly and generous.  They laughed and talked with the two of you, even offering to gift you guys extra wings.  Your gaze fell on Jongin as he smiled genuinely at the waiter’s words.  Unknowingly, you found yourself grinning as well. 

  “Does your girlfriend not like you eating fried chicken?” you asked him while gobbling down a wing.

  “I don’t know.  Do you not like me eating fried chicken?” he replied also digging into his meal. 

  “No.  I love fried chicken,” you responded, confused.

  “Then why did you ask me?” he spoke with food in his mouth. 

“Because I thought she must not like it so that’s why you brought me here.  You know, since I apparently have a diet of a child,” you answered. 

  He laughed, “I’m glad you’re actually admitting it”. 

  You pouted and pointed at your attire, “But I’m starting to regret wearing this”.  

  “Nah, you look beautiful as always,” he casually complimented.  Argh.  You flirt, you don’t understand the feels I get when you say things like this. 

  Staring at him, you sighed and placed your unfinished chicken back onto the plate.  He probably doesn’t even see you as a girl because he’s treating you like some guy friend, eating fried chicken with him while watching a football game.  Jongin would never do that in front of his little girlfriend. 

  “Are you full already?” he asked.

  You nodded and pushed your plate over to him.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you mumbled. 

  At the bathroom, you immediately took your shoes off.  A streak of red lined your Achilles heel.  You touched it and instantly winced in pain.  What a great way to add salt to my wound. 

  “What’s the point?  We’re not real anyway,” you said to your reflection in the mirror. 

  Cinderella will have to wake up one day and give back her Prince Charming to another girl. 

  Sluggishly, you walked back out to reunite with your fiancé.  You discovered him with two plates of bones as he rubbed his stomach in satisfaction.

  “Let’s go, I’m done,” he said.

  You waited patiently as he went into the bathroom to wash his oily hands.  A teenage girl walked passed and stopped in front of you.

  “Hey, are you _______ _______?” she asked. 

  “Mmhm…” you replied.

  “Omgosh, your fiancé is so hot,” she confessed. 

  You clenched your fist under the table. 

  Faking a smile, you replied, “Thanks, I’ll tell him you said that”. 

  “You guys don’t match at all.  He should marry someone prettier,” she quipped. 

Omg, what did this little biotch just say?  You clawed at the bottom of the table to prevent yourself from clawing at her face. 

  “That’s good to know,” you tried to calmly reply. 

  Just as you were about to explode, Jongin returned from his bathroom break.  You watched helplessly as the fangirl rubbed her hands all over your fiancé.  Dammit, biotch.  I haven’t even touched those places before, how dare you.  You narrowed your eyes as Jongin semi-flirted with her. 

  Angry, you grabbed your purse and headed out.  You threw on a pair of sunglasses and stalked off, ignoring the painful sensation of your heels getting sliced more and more with every step you took.  Warm liquid dripped down your shaded eyes and you roughly wiped them away with your hands.  You don’t even understand why you were so upset.  It’s not like she said anything but the truth. 

  “_________ah!” Jongin called, chasing after you. 

  As soon as he caught up, he grabbed you by the arm.  You flung him off angrily. 

  “Hey, hey.  Why are you so angry?” he asked. 

  You don’t respond.   

  “Why do you have sunglasses on?  It’s winter,” he questioned, laughing at your fashion sense. 

  You ignored him again, running over to the street corner to hail a taxi. 

  “Hey.  What’s wrong?” Jongin asked, his tone desperate. 

  He slammed the taxi door shut and waved for the driver to leave.  Still, you ignored him, walking over to another street corner.  Suddenly, he scooped you off your feet and threw you over his shoulder.  You thrashed around childishly but he doesn’t let you down until he was at his car.  Gently, he placed you down onto the passenger seat. 

  “Wait for me right here,” he said and ran off. 

  You crossed your arms and cried in the car.  Why were you crying?  You had no idea why you were crying but you were.  Angrily, you kicked the car seat and buried your face into your inner elbow. 

  Jongin returned with a plastic bag in his hand.  He took the contents out and threw the rest into the backseat.  You stubbornly continued to ignore him, until he lifted your leg onto his lap.  Gently, he took off your heels.  You hissed and finally looked up.  In his hands was a box of bandages.  Leaning down to your feet, he blew on your cut a few times before sealing it with a band-aid.  He patted his lap and you obediently lifted your other leg for him to examine. 

  “Don’t ever wear those shoes ever again.  I’m going to bring them home and burn them,” he said angrily as he wrapped up the other cut. 

  You let out a soft giggle.  Jongin looked up at you, relieved that you were happier. 

  “Then how am I supposed to walk?” you asked, sniffling back your tears. 

  “I’ll carry you,” he immediately responded.

  Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you burst out in a fit of laughter, already forgetting why you were mad in the first place.    

            a/n: I can imagine you guys narrowing your eyes at the screen and thinking, “The longer she writes about them being fluffy and lovey-dovey that means the obstacle is going to be super angsty”.  (╯ಊ╰) MUHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA maybe…maybe not  #trollchenpossessed

  Soo glad you guys liked the last chapter :D It’s my favorite along with a few of the later ones hehe. 

[sadrien]

tangled ribbons, ch13: reverance

on Ao3 | on ffnet

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Wow. Ok, so, here we are. Before we start, a few things:

(this note is super super long so the full thing is on ao3!!!) 

THIS is the inspiration for Mari’s solo. It’s more contemporary than I imagine but it gave me a jumping off point. THIS isn’t the inspiration for Adrien’s because I didn’t have one but it’s really amazing. THIS I’ve linked several times and again I had no real inspiration for the duet but I used this for a few reference points 

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented and reblogged and left kudos! Thank you to everyone who created something for this fic because every time I saw anything in this tag I cried for hours. Thank you to readers who have been here since the beginning, who joined along the way, who jumped on now, and who will read in the future <3 

Thank you to the @ml-network​ and @mlfanfiction​ for your endless support. For being such fantastic friends and providing me with so many laughs and so so much love. Thank you to @matchaball​ for listening to me ramble and for giving me your lovely thoughts. Thank you to @ladriened​ and @reyxa​ for promising to cry with me. Thank you Rey for inadvertently giving me this deadline. <3 Sorry it’s not a coffeeshop au, but I did my best. Happy birthday!! Thank you again to @zoenightstars​, @chassecroise​, @adastrabella​, and @chatstronaut​ for being with me since the beginning. 

And finally, thank you to @gabzilla-z​. Thank you for inspiring me with your art because and thank you for supporting this fic <3 Without you, we wouldn’t be here 

I hope you all enjoy~

Marinette carefully makes her way through the class of younger dancers who are milling about in the lobby while waiting for their costumes. One of the girls gasps, her eyes sparkling.

“You’re so pretty!” she coos, clapping her hands together.

Marinette thanks her and can barely keep the smile off her face as everyone else starts chiming in. Marinette turns pink as she ducks inside the studio, leaving the group to talk loudly and excitedly about their own costumes.

“Finally fight your way through your adoring fans?” Adrien jokes as he chaînés out of a turn. He spins to face Marinette and his eyes go wide in surprise.

Marinette bites her lip and glances to the mirror. She twists to see the back of the bodice, her heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of her chest.

“Do you like it?” Adrien asks. He walks over to her with a soft smile on his face.

Marinette laughs breathlessly. “Promise not to judge me if I just scream?”

“No judgement,” he promises. “How does it fit?”

She forces herself to focus on the feel of the costume. She twists left and right before doing port de bras forward and backward. She throws a quick double and then relaxes as much as possible. “I think that the bodice probably needs to be just a little bit more snug. But other than that, it fits really well.” Tiny alterations, nothing more. She could do them herself, but she has a feeling that the costume director would rather handle them. “You?”

Adrien studies himself in the mirror. “Honestly, the pants are a nice change. I’m kind tired of wearing white tights. And I’m always afraid that I’m going to ruin them.”

Marinette laughs. She moves back and forth so the skirt twists around her legs. “This might be the nicest thing I’ve ever worn,” she murmurs.

“You make everything look nice,” Adrien says honestly.

She feels her cheeks grow warm as she meets his eyes in the mirror. She pulls away her gaze to look at their costumes together, not thinking about what he just said. She appreciates that Tikki — and Plagg, but mostly Tikki — chose less lavish costumes for the duet. Marinette adores her costume for the production, a deep red traditional tutu with intricate designs and embroidery that reminds her vaguely of her own ladybug tutu, but she can’t help but love the simplicity of these costumes just as much. A simple white satin bodice with embroidered pink flowers and a thin skirt made of silky light pink fabric that reaches just below her knees. The flowers continue down the skirt getting darker and darker in color. Adrien’s shirt is light teal with loose sleeves that come together at the wrists and has stitching done in different shades of blues and greens.

They look like they belong together.

The thought makes her cheeks turn pinker. Anyway.

“Think it fits well enough for a test run?” Adrien asks. “Tikki and Plagg won’t be back for at least twenty minutes. They’re helping Nooroo and Trixx with the costumes for all of the younger groups.”

Marinette brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “You say twenty minutes, I say four years. Have you ever worked with a large group of thirteen year olds?”

“Uh…”

“Exactly,” she says. “They are never getting out of there.”

Adrien shrugs. “More time to ourselves then.”   

Marinette yanks her mind out of the gutter as Adrien moves over to the stereos to turn on the music. She adjusts the placement of the skirt on her hips, trying to find the same spot were the costume director had told her her other tutus should rest.

She frowns as the music plays through the speakers. “This…is not our music.” She swears she’s heard this song somewhere before, but certainly not well enough to know why Adrien would choose it.

He smiles playfully and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “No, it’s not. But like you said, we have time.” He pulls her into closed position and starts waltzing her around the room. “Dancing through life,” he sings along softly, “skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth—”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Okay, I get it now.”

Adrien raises his eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t know this song?”

She shrugs. “I’ve heard it before?”

He stops spinning them. “I can’t believe you don’t know Wicked. I feel like we can’t be friends anymore.”

Marinette snorts. “Really?”

“Really. The duet is cancelled.”

“Are you saying I need to give back the costume?” she asks. “Because I really don’t want to.”

Adrien gives her a once over. “Duet is momentarily postponed,” he decides. “Because I can’t believe you don’t know Wicked.”

“I know Wicked!” Marinette protests. “I know some of Wicked.”

“Defying Gravity doesn’t count.”

“…I don’t know Wicked.”

He laughs lightly. “I know you don’t. I’ll have to bring you to see it sometime, then you’ll know it.”

“R-really?” she asks. That’s not just going out to coffee, that’s more. That’s a lot of money. That’s—

Adrien smiles. “It’s a date.”

Marinette’s breath catches in her throat as Adrien pulls them back into a waltz. She wonders if he realizes that he’s casually planned multiple dates for after this summer intensive is over. She wonders if he considers them actual dates. She wonders if it’s weird that she’s keeping count. He’s at six.

“You’re a nerd,” she says instead.

“For the time being, I’m your nerd,” Adrien says.

Marinette wishes she could get rid of the first part of that sentence.

Marinette hums in agreement whenever Alya pauses to breathe. She’s not exactly sure what Alya is ranting about at this exact moment, she’s trying to figure out the best way to get her ballet bun exactly where it needs to be. It’s been slipping in class after lots of turning and she needs it to not do that during the performance.

“…how I grew a ears and tail.”

Marinette frowns. “Excuse me?” she asks through a mouthful of bobby pins.

Alya raises her eyebrows. “I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

Marinette spits the bobby pins out on the counter. “I am paying attention.”

Alya scoffs. “Sure you are. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Marinette insists. “I’m just…distracted.”

Alya wiggles her eyebrows. “By a certain someone?”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “By my hair.” She thinks about Adrien a lot but he doesn’t take up all of her thoughts.

“Oh. Well…that’s less fun. Are you sure you’re not a little bit distracted by him?”

“Shut up,” Marinette mutters. “You know I am, you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

Alya snorts. “At least you’ve made progress. Let me tell you, for like the first half of the summer I actually wanted to scream. Like come on at least get his phone number.”

“Why are you so invested in my love life?”

“Because it’s more entertaining than most forms of media. And also because if I wasn’t so invested you wouldn’t even have Adrien’s number. I got that for you.”

Marinette examines her hair in the mirror. This might work. “I’m sure I would’ve been fine without your help.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Speaking of the bae—”

“He’s not my bae—”

“Not yet. I was just going to ask if he’s back yet or if he’s dancing himself into the ground in the studio.”

“He has additional solo work today with Plagg.”

“Aw it’s so sweet how you know each other’s schedules.”

Marinette takes a step away from the counter and does a single pirouette in the cramped space. Her hair feels fairly solid, but she’ll need to test it out in an actual studio space to be sure. “Of course I know his schedule,” she says. “We live together, it’s hard not to.”

“You’re so married,” Alya coos.

Marinette feels her face grow hot. “Shut up,” she mumbles, gathering up the bobby pins scattered around the sink.

“You so wish you were, though.”

“You remember that we’re teenagers, right?” Marinette asks.

Alya sighs dramatically. Marinette looks to the screen to see her resting in her chin in her hands. “You can be teenagers and still be hopelessly in love.” Alya raises an eyebrow.

“I kind of hate having you as a friend.”

“I know you do.” Alya blows a kiss at the screen. “And as much as I’d love to continue this truly thrilling one sided conversation—” Marinette rolls her eyes. “—I’ve got a shift in ten minutes and school debts that I have to start thinking about.”

Marinette groans. “Please don’t remind me of that.”

“Too late darling,” Alya singsongs. “We’re best friends, we’re stuck in this mess together. We suffer through this together.”

“Well that’s unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it. Text you later?”

Marinette hums in agreement as she starts tugging bobby pins from her hair.

“Let me know when the marshmallow gets home from practice, yeah?”

“Of course.” Marinette makes a face as she yanks out the hair elastics. “It’ll probably be pretty soon. He’s been gone for a while.”

“You dancers and your lack of chill,” Alya teases. “Love you lots, bye!”

“Bye!” Marinette shuts her laptop once Alya’s ended the call. She undoes the rest of her hair and dumps her hair stuff into her bag. She can organize it later, right now she’s just sort of wiped.

She curls up in the desk chair with her laptop once she’s put away all her dance stuff for tomorrow and has changed into pajamas. It’s not even that late, but there’s no way she’s leaving the room tonight. She finds a random movie on Netflix and plugs in her headphones, letting the movie fade to simple background noise as she doodles mindlessly in her sketchbook. Tonight, her sketches are less about the designs and more about the people, which is a rare event. She draws swooping arms and twisting bodies and movement fills the page. Marinette has never really been one for anatomy. Fashion sketches don’t require that type of precision and usually are inaccurate to actual proportions and body structure. It’s more about the clothes than the anatomy.

Marinette finds herself drawing motion, flowing from one person to the next, the designs dancing off the page.

She groans and puts her head down on the desk.

The sketches might look brilliant in the morning, but she needs a few hours away from dance. With the showcase only three days away, her mind has become consumed entirely by dance. She can’t get the instrumental music out of her head or her feet to do any other steps. She finds herself doing balancés down the hallway more often than usual and piques her way around empty rooms. She drags her steps into tendus and falls into tombés. She pas de bourrees when she can’t stay still and found herself doing the footwork for her solo when standing in line at Starbucks.

Adrien had given her an amused smile, dragging his toe in a small rond de jambe.

Marinette sighs and lifts her head from the desk. She’s going to miss this. The Starbucks runs and the crammed schedule. Late nights and pillow forts and Disney movies. Rose’s laugh when she finally perfects a combination and the way Nathanael lights up whenever he nails a turn. And Adrien. What won’t she miss about Adrien?

She turns her attention to the movie. She’s not entirely sure what’s happening. Something dramatic. Probably cheesy and cliche and romantic. Something Adrien would love.

Marinette misses home, but she’s going to miss this just as much.

Just as she’s getting invested in the characters, she swears they’re going to kiss as soon as they’re standing close enough together, the door swings open. She lifts her head from her knee to see Adrien standing in the doorway looking completely exhausted and worn down. She hits the spacebar to pause the movie and tugs out an earbud.

“Good rehearsal?” she asks.

Adrien drops his bag on the ground and leans against the door to close it. “I hate Plagg,” he murmurs. He runs a hand through his hair, immediately make a face of disgust. “Oh god.” His hair sticks up in all directions and Marinette knows the feeling of finishing a rehearsal and just feeling like a gross sweat rag.

She motions to the bathroom. “Shower. I can order food. Same as usual?”

“Please. Pajamas already?”

Marinette shrugs. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, that’s relatable.” Adrien pulls at his shirt and makes a face. “I’m going to join you.” He grabs his clothes and disappears into the bathroom.

Marinette hears the shower turn on and spins lazily in the desk chair as she orders food for them. She’s not exactly sure how she picked up Adrien’s order, she thinks she just heard it enough times to know it. Once she’s finished, she goes back to her movie because, frankly, she’s far more invested in it than she should be and she just really needs to know the outcome.

Once the food is ordered, she goes back to the movie. The characters kiss, finally, with swooping music and dramatic lighting and everything about it is perfect and romantic, from the clothing to the location to the actors’ hair. She was right, Adrien would love this movie and all its overdramatic goodness.

Marinette is scrolling through Netflix — she suddenly has an awful lot of recommended movies of a similar caliber to the one she just watched — when the food arrives. She pays quickly and puts Adrien’s food on his bed, returning to the desk. She eats slowly as she watches, amazed by the pure predictableness of the movie she’s chosen. She doesn’t really know why she chose it. The title was bland and she had the “plot twist” figured out as soon as she read the description but here she is, half invested in another bad movie.

How has this become her life?

A few minutes later, Adrien emerges from the bathroom, hair damp and still sticking up in all directions. He grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them on. “I’ll pay you back later,” he promises as he gets his own laptop and sits on the bed to eat.

Marinette waves him away. “It’s fine, I’ve got this one.”

“You sure?”

She nods. “Positive. You buy Starbucks all the time anyway.”

“If you’re totally sure.”

“I am.” To prove her point, and end the conversation, Marinette turns back to her movie.

She hears Adrien say ‘thank you’ over the fairly cliché dialogue and can’t help but smile.

—«·»—

“Hey, Mar?” Adrien asks suddenly.

She pulls out one of her earbuds, eyes trained on the action on her screen. “Yeah?”

“What do you think would happen if I bathed in Icy Hot?” he muses.

Marinette snorts and takes out the other earbud, pausing the movie. “You’d probably smell like mint for the rest of time. And it’d burn in places you do not want it to burn.”

He hums thoughtfully.

She narrows her eyes and glances over her shoulder to look at him suspiciously. “…why?”

“I’m not going to do it,” he promises. “I was just thinking about what I could do with all this Icy Hot. Since I have more than enough to last a lifetime.” He drops the Icy Hot he’s holding onto his bed, where it joins eight other tubes of Icy Hot.

Marinette stares at the pile of Icy Hot. She did not realize he had so much. “Nathalie?” she asks after a moment.

Adrien nods. “I can’t tell if she thinks I get injured more than I do or if she just doesn’t realize how little Icy Hot you need for like…your entire back.”

Marinette shoves away from the desk and spins the chair so she’s facing Adrien. She takes one of tubes. “I’m almost out.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but how long have you had that one thing of Icy Hot.”

Marinette taps the tube against her chin. “Maybe a year?”

Adrien gestures to all of the Icy Hot in front of him. “Exactly!”

“I think Nathalie just likes to be prepared,” Marinette says as she spins away to hide a smile. When she’d been getting ready to leave for the summer, her parents had gone overboard with buying things she might need. It was just how they showed her how much they were going to miss her and worry about her while she was gone. She tosses the Icy Hot onto her bag on the floor. “I’m sure someone in the studio needs Icy Hot, I’m sure if you asked around you could get rid of it all in seconds.”

“Nathalie likes to over prepare,” Adrien corrects.  

“Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

He looks down at his mountain of Icy Hot thoughtfully. “No, not really,” he murmurs.

“We can bring it to class tomorrow,” Marinette says. She wraps her earbuds around her finger. “It’ll be gone in the blink of an eye.”

Adrien gathers up the Icy Hots in his arms and dumps them into his bag. “Sounds like a plan,” he says with a smile. “Maybe I can pawn most of them off to Nathanael without him realizing.”

“If you just stuff them in his big when he isn’t looking. you might actually get away with it.”

“Christmas comes early.” He flops back on his bed.

“Icy Hot as the new stocking stuffer,” Marinette muses. “I don’t think it’s going to be replacing oranges any time soon.”

Adrien shrugs. “I tried my best. What are you doing, anyway?”

She glances to her computer. “Watching mediocre romcoms on Netflix.”

“Sounds like something I’d like.”

She smiles. “Probably. It’s all gross and emotional.”

Adrien gasps. “Hey! I am the perfect amount of gross and emotional.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Did you want to join me?”

“Not particularly,” Adrien admits. “You just seem…tense.”

Marinette stops playing with her earbuds. She had nearly forgotten all the fidgeting she was doing while watching. The movies were distracting enough, but she had needed to do something with her hands. She drops her earbuds into her lap. “Just a little stressed.”

Adrien scoots over and pats the bed next to him.

“Are we having a therapy session?” Marinette asks as she closes her laptop and gets up to join him.

“Only if you want to.” He opens his arms and she sighs before leaning into them, resting her head on his shoulder. He wraps her in a loose hug. “Is it the showcase?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ll be fine,” Adrien promises. “Besides, we’ve still got two days of rehearsal. That’s plenty of time to clean anything you think needs to be better.”

“Saturday’s really close,” Marinette murmurs.

“Yeah, but we’ve been training non stop for almost ten weeks.” He runs his hand over her hair. “We can’t get much better than we already are. It’s like a test. You know what you know, cramming the night before isn’t going to help much.”

She closes her eyes. “I guess you’re right.” She sinks into his embrace. “It doesn’t exactly feel real yet.”

Adrien hums softly. “I get that. When do you think it might feel real?”

“Ten minutes before?” she offers.

He snorts. “That sounds like it’s pushing it.”

“I like to live life on the edge,” Marinette deadpans.

Adrien shifts and she can feel his nose pressing against her hair. She wonders if his mind is taking frantic notes of how they’re sitting, how they’re touching, how they’re breathing. She’s noting everything about this that she can— it’s going to be gone so soon.

Marinette’s not going to think about that.

She sighs and pulls away from Adrien just a little so she can see his face. “What do you want to do tonight?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Honestly, I was going to binge Disney channel movies.”

Marinette nods and scoots over to make herself more comfortable on the bed. “That sounds perfect to me.”

Marinette braces herself as she spins en pointe on the smooth, gray Marley floors. It’s been weeks since she danced on Marley and she’s forgotten the feeling.

She arches back and falls down from pointe with ease, gliding back to hide among the back row of dancers while a different row takes the front of the stage.

The theater the showcase will be held in is gorgeous. The large chandelier and the intricate designs along the walls of the stage make Marinette feel like she’s in a fairy tale. She can feel the music in her bones more than she could in the studio and it seems like ages since she’s had real stage lights on her, hot and blinding.

She ducks into the wings once the song has ended and Nooroo has given critiques, mostly about the spacing. She weaves through the dancers squeezed backstage and makes her way to the dressing rooms. The youngest dancers share large rooms, but as one of the eldest, Marinette has one of the small, offstage rooms. She only has to share with Rose, Sabrina, Aurore, and Chloé.

They’re dealing with that as well as they can. And by dealing, she means that her and Chloé aren’t speaking. In turn, Marinette and Sabrina aren’t speaking. Aurore is staying out of it and not speaking in general and Rose is being her sweetheart self and trying to fix it.

The most interaction Marinette and Chloé have had is when Chloé raised a judgemental eyebrow at Marinette’s solo costume. Yes, it’s much more simple than Chloé’s elaborate and sparkling costume, but Marinette thinks it fits the dance and she likes dancing in it. It’s just a white romantic tutu that falls just below her knees and a top that’s really nothing more than a white sports bra, but Marinette wouldn’t have anything else.

Marinette meets Chloé’s eyes in the mirror when Chloé enters the dressing room. Chloé scrunches up her nose and looks away while Marinette rolls her eyes and focuses on taking out her hair piece.

If they can survive this dress rehearsal, they can survive the performance.

Marinette gasps, arms shaking as she struggles to hold the last pose. The gentle notes of the next song on her playlist start up and it takes all the energy she has left in her not to collapse to the ground in a quivering heap.

“It’s beautiful,” Tikki says, her eyes sparkling. She clasps her hands together. “As near to perfection as it can be.”

Marinette drops pointe and sinks to the ground. She brushes away the sweaty bangs that have come loose and reminds herself to make sure they’re extra gelled for the performance.

If only she had danced this way a month ago.

If she had, maybe her jumps at the end wouldn’t be so weak. She’d put her all into the run, but she has no stamina left for the final bars.

She looks up to Tikki and places her hands on her head, taking measured breaths to try and slow her heartbeat. “R-really?”

Tikki joins her on the floor with a sparkling smile. “The best I’ve seen it,” she promises.

“If I’d done that a week ago it could be even better now,” Marinette murmurs.

Tikki tsks. “Hush, look at how brilliantly you just performed it! And with less than ten weeks to perfect it? Marinette, all I have to offer are little critiques and tips, there’s nothing drastic you could change to make this routine any better than it can be with the dancer you are right now.”

Marinette gives her a worried look. “What if I know I could be a better dancer?”

“If you came back to this dance in a year, you would dance a million times better than you just did. If I gave it to you a year ago, you would’ve given me a fraction of what you showed me today. You will keep improving with time, what’s important is that you show how good you are in this very moment. Which I know you can do. You’ve proven it to me time and time again.”

Marinette sighs and gives Tikki a small smile. She feels a little relieved and a little more relaxed but nothing anyone can say will release the anxiety in her chest. It’s going to haunt her until tomorrow night, when she steps onstage and shows the world what she can and can’t do. “Thank you,” she manages. “I… Sorry.”  

Tikki shakes her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Pre-performance anxiety is nothing to scoff at, we all get it sometimes. Some worse than others.”

“You?” Marinette asks hesitantly.

“Plagg gets it worse,” Tikki whispers lowly. “He uses an awful lot of bravado to offset his nerves.”

Marinette raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Plagg?”

“Mhm.” Tikki nods. “It was a lot worse when we were kids, for the both of us. It’s something you get a little more adjusted to over time.”

Marinette thinks back to her first competition. At the time it’d been nerve wracking but she doesn’t think she really understood everything enough to be nearly this anxious. Her first solo though— that was another story entirely. She’d been an anxious mess. She was just lucky that her anxiety hadn’t transferred to her dance like she’d been so sure it was going to.

“Don’t stay in here too late,” Tikki says, snapping Marinette out of her thoughts. Tikki presses a kiss to Marinette’s forehead before she stands. “You need your rest.”

“Of course,” Marinette mumbles, still slightly stuck in the confines of her mind. It’s not until the door clicks shut behind Tikki that she can get out.

Marinette looks around the studio. Large and empty and blank. Like a canvas she could cover in art. Tikki had dimmed the lights slightly when she left. All that’s left is Marinette.

Marinette pulls herself off the floor. She runs her solo. She runs it without music playing aloud, but the notes float through her head, her internal metronome keeping the beat. She lets herself not care as much about the technical aspects of the pieces as she does when being watched. She lets herself sink into the music and just let go.

The boxes of her shoe hit the floor hard as she jumps and lands en pointe.

There’s something about practicing in a darkened, quiet studio that makes her bare her soul in a way that she usually doesn’t.

She finishes her solo and moves on to the duet.

This is harder. She can’t do any of the lifts. She has to imagine Adrien there as she ghosts through the steps, allowing herself to feel far more than she ever does during this dance. Because feeling more while dancing with Adrien can only end in heartbreak.

And yet, she’s never felt more while dancing than with him.

Marinette brushes the thoughts away as she throws herself into a grande jeté. She arches backward and bends her foot up to her head before straightening to land with a gentle ease. She spins as she runs out of the leap, twisting to an invisible partner that she keeps imaging stepping up behind her.

It’s easier to practice group dances on her own, where she’s not relying on another person’s support and existence for a performance. It’s a group dance, but she can do it on her own.

Marinette’s shoes are pinching her feet. She knows that if Tikki finds out how long she’s been en pointe, she’ll be chided relentlessly, or as relentlessly as Tikki can manage. Marinette just sighs and sinks against the barre. She slides down it and lets herself fall backward to hit the wall, dropping to the floor.

Sometimes, dancing makes her feel alive. Sometimes, she finishes and just feels empty.

Marinette unties her pointe shoes and pulls them off, wiggling her toes. She’ll stay off of her feet when she gets back to her room. But for now…

Marinette checks her phone. It’s only seven, not that late. Not late enough to warrant going back just yet. Classes had ended early so everyone could rest for tomorrow’s performance. And she will. She’s just not done here yet.

Marinette tucks away her pointe shoes. She’s at a loss, not exactly what to do next. She only knows that she’s not ready to leave the studio just yet. She stares herself down in the mirror. She looks exhausted and drained. She has better posture than she did at the beginning of the summer and stands with her chin raised with a sort of elegant ease she didn’t think she had before.

She looks different. Maybe not everything she learned had to do with dance.

If she listens closely, she can hear the strains of soft ballet music coming from the studio next to her. Suddenly, Marinette knows exactly what she has to do.

She tugs down her leotard and breathes.

She breathes away the anxieties and the stress and the nerves. She tugs on sweatpants and pulls her tights off her feet, rolling the top of her leotard down to her waist and rolling down the waistband of her tights to meet them. She pulls out a select few bobby pins and shakes down her bangs, pausing for a second before pulling out the elastic that holds her hair up in a bun.

Marinette studies herself in the mirror.

This is the Marinette she knows beyond anything else. Wearing baggy sweatpants and an old sports bra, hair back in a messy ponytail, exhausted and sweaty from dancing till her muscles gave out.

At times in the past ten weeks, she felt like she was losing this part of herself. But she hasn’t. She’s still right here. All of her. Ballerina Marinette, competitive dancer Marinette. She’s embraced the ballet part of herself more this summer than ever, but the rest of her is still here.

She feels sort of empty, but it’s not because of this. She doesn’t know what it is.

She looks away from herself and plugs in her phone. She doesn’t find a playlist so much as her fingers do, moving by with memory than anything else. She soaks in the pulsing bass and surprisingly soulful lyrics.

And she dances.

—«·»—

Marinette finds Adrien in his studio. Honestly, that hasn’t been a surprise for weeks, it’s just expected at this point. Unlike her, he’s still wrapped up in the world of ballet and it���s pristine, glittering lights and elegance.

At this point, she knows his routine as well as her own. She’s watched him struggle perfecting combinations and stumble through steps. She knows Plagg’s running commentary almost as well.

She inhales sharply and bites her lip as Adrien chaînés before launching himself into a butterfly jump. She remembers Adrien telling her how Plagg had demonstrated it with an easy grace before letting him have the floor. And then Adrien continued to mess it up again and again and again. The timing was wrong, he wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t rotating enough. Marinette had spent hours with him in the studio, working mostly on turning sequences while he tried to get this one jump down.

He’d pulled her aside, a grainy old video pulled up on his phone. They watched in amazement as Gabriel Agreste — the Gabriel Agreste, ballet legend and Adrien’s father, a fact that Marinette has never exactly gotten over — executed the butterfly jump flawlessly with unimaginable ease.

“I’m going to do it,” Adrien said with new determination in his eyes. “I’m going to do this and it is going to be perfect.”

Marinette hadn’t doubted him for a second. Even as he crashed to the floor.

Her heart is in her throat as he soars through the air for a single beat before landing gracefully on the floor and spinning to a kneel. She can’t keep the smile off her face. She’s seen him land it countless times at this point but that doesn’t stop her from feeling a surge of excitement and pride whenever he does.

She lets him finish the run of his routine before she makes her presence known. She knows how he gets during runs, lost in his own mind that it’s nearly impossible to break him out of it.

Adrien smiles at her from the corner across the room where he finishes his solo. “Good?” he asks through heavy breaths.

“Amazing,” Marinette corrects.

“You flatter me,” he insists. He runs his hand through his hair. “I stumbled going into the pas de chat.”

She shrugs. “That’s an easy fix. Just make sure your footing is more solid out of that turn next time.”

Adrien stretches out his arms. “One more run and I swear I’ll stop.”

“Want me to put on the music?”

“Yes please.”

Marinette restarts the song and leans against the wall as she watches Adrien melt into his solo. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of watching him dance. Watching videos on YouTube and Instagram had been one thing, seeing him dance in person is another experience entirely. Dancing with him…

The footwork into his pas de chat is perfect.

“Good?” she asks as the song comes to an end.

“Better.” Adrien joins her by the stereo. “Did you want to go home?”

Marinette shrugs. “It’s not even eight.” He checks the time. “No, it isn’t.” The corner of his lips lifts in a smirk as a familiar pop ballad starts. “Wanna dance?”

She smiles and puts down her bag. “I’d love to.”

—«·»—

Adrien turns off the stereo and lights in the studio as Marinette ducks behind the front desk. She picks up the cloth bag that remains, other is in her bag at her hip.

Marinette opens the bag and peaks inside, sighing softly as she looks at the shining pink pointe shoes inside. She closes the bag and holds it to her chest.

This is it.

Marinette wakes before the sun rises.

She stares at the ceiling for a very long time, too anxiety ridden to move. Competitions always leave her a little jittery. She doesn’t eat well on competition days and someone usually has to remind her to stay hydrated. Her emotions are high strung and on the surface. The stress leaves her tense until the music starts up when she’s onstage. And as soon as it ends, it’s right back the nauseating anxiety.

It’s exhausting, but she loves it.

At least her mind is fairly empty.

Her anxiety is shimmering, but it’s not at the forefront of her mind. It’s kind of just tugging at her gut. Mostly she just zones out. Her thoughts go nowhere in particular, flitting from topic to topic, too distracted and out of it to settle on anything.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been awake when Adrien says, “You up?”

“Hm?” Marinette turns her head to look to the other bed. She wishes they’d been able to move the beds together so they could be closer. The distance between her and Adrien feels awkward and wrong. Usually she’d rather squeeze onto Adrien’s bed with him, but they had to actually get a decent night’s rest with the showcase the next day

No, not the next day. The showcase is today.

“Been up for long?” Adrien murmurs.

Marinette rubs her eyes. “I have no idea. Wha’ time is it?”

“Um…” He squints as he checks his phone, momentarily blinded by the brightness of his screen. “Too early,” he grumbles, flopping back down on his pillow. He covers his eyes with his arm. “G’night.”

She can’t keep lying here.

Marinette sits up and runs her fingers through her hair. She winces as they get caught in knots. She didn’t want to have to deal with a tangled mess of a bedhead today. Whatever.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed and flexes her toes before getting up and wandering around the room. She needs a purpose before she has to start getting ready for the showcase.  

Adrien lifts his arm from his eyes. “Where are you going?”

Marinette gestures vaguely with her hands before kneeling down next to her bag. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Nowhere?” She finds a scrap of fabric and some thread. This works.

“You okay?”

“Restless.” She drops down on the foot of Adrien’s bed and curls her legs up under her. She threads the needle and starts mindlessly embroidering the scrap.

Adrien sits up. He yawns and squints at Marinette. She glances up from her work and gives him a half smile.

“I need sugar,” he mumbles.

“Before a performance?” Marinette asks. “I thought you’d be a health nut about this.”

“I want to be awake.” He ruffles his hair. “If I’m avoiding anything, it’s going to be caffeine.”

“Yeah probably don’t start drinking coffee today.”

Adrien slaps his cheeks a few times and then shakes his head, opening his eyes wide. “Right. I’m alive.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

He tries to hold back a yawn and fails. “Never mind.” He lays back down and covers his face with the pillow.

Marinette stabs at the fabric a few times. “I don’t like this,” she mutters.

“What?” Adrien asks, his voice muffled.

“This,” she says, gesturing to nothing. “I don’t like…this.”

He lifts the pillow to look at her. “Mari, I love you, but I’m not telepathic. I can’t read minds. This feeling, this day, this bed, this fabric, this weather, this air, this—” Marinette feins poking at his leg with the needle. He jerks away and curls up in a ball. “Sorry, sorry!”

She glares at him before she falls back into the spot next to him with a sigh. “I don’t know.” She holds the fabric up to the light. “This…feeling. I guess. Which is weird because I get competition anxiety and it doesn’t exactly feel like…this.”

Adrien uncurls and studies the fabric with her. “Does it feel worse? Better? Is it indescribable?”

“…indescribable,” she decides softly. “I just know it’s not the same.” She lowers the fabric and turns her head to look at him. “Do you feel it?”

He purses his lip and holds out a hand.

Marinette hesitates before putting her hand in his.  

“Squeeze.”

She chews on her lip as she squeezes hard, knowing exactly what Adrien is doing.

“I feel it,” Adrien says after a moment. “Unfortunately, I can’t feel my hand anymore.”

Marinette can’t help herself, she laughs. She covers her eyes with her free arm and laughs and laughs and it’s not even that funny but she can’t stop laughing.

“Better?” Adrien asks when she’s breathing normally again. He gives her a crooked smile and squeezes her hand tight.

Marinette sticks her tongue out at him and squeezes his hand harder. “Sure.” She does, just a bit. Some of the pent up…feelings are gone now. It’s kind of unfair that Adrien always seems to know what to do when she never knows what to say to him.

Adrien studies their hands. “I’m not good with performance anxiety,” he murmurs.

She scoffs. “You seem fine to me.”

“Oh well, yeah. I’m sort of used to it at this point. I meant in other people. I’m not good with people.”

That’s a blatant lie. “You’re good with people,” Marinette insists.

Adrien shakes his head. “I am really really not. My role model growing up was Plagg.”

Marinette giggles. “Okay, fair point. You had Tikki too, though.”

“True. But still, I’m still figuring things out.” He kisses the back of her hand.

Her heart flutters. So am I, she thinks. “You wanted sugar?”

Adrien raises his eyes. “Starbucks?”

“Please.”

—«·»—

Marinette takes in the heavy coffee smell and the familiar background sounds of the Starbucks. She’s found that most Starbucks are similar in both aspects because of course they are, it’s a chain franchise. But this is different, because it’s her and Adrien’s Starbucks.

She swipes his drink to take a sip of it.

Adrien raises his eyebrows at her and takes her hot chocolate, muttering, “Fine then.”

“It’s hot,” she says as he goes to drink it.

He rolls his eyes and drinks it anyway.

She doesn’t bother hiding her smile when he makes a pained expression. Their phones vibrate on the table.

From: Nino To: the fellowship      you up?

Adrien yawns as Marinette looks up from her phone.

From: cupcake queen ✌ / adrien’s gf / Marinette To: the fellowship      Barely

She takes a picture of Adrien staring off into the distance looking half asleep and sends it in the groupchat. He looks down at his phone as it buzzes.

“Anything important?”

She shakes her head. “Nope,” she says innocently.

From: Nino To: the fellowship      he looks ready to dance

From: the greatest person ever To: the fellowship      i know ur dancers      and ur super extra      and have rehearsals      but it is a saturday      and i want to sleep      so pls

Marinette rolls her eyes, but she can’t blame Alya. When Marinette had checked her phone this morning, there had been messages from Alya that were sent after two in the morning and the website Alya was insisting upon making had an entirely new navigation system.

From: Nino To: the fellowship      my bad dude      see you all tonight      break a leg!!

From: the greatest person ever To: the fellowship      ditto!

From: cupcake queen ✌ / adrien’s gf / Marinette To: the fellowship      Thanks guys!! See you then <3

She frowns as she sips Adrien’s drink. She flips through her messages a few times. There has to be a way…

Her thumb freezes over Nino’s contact. Perfect.

From: adrien’s gf To: Nino      Hey do you want to do me a favor??

From: Nino To: adrien’s gf      sure my dude      how can i help?

Adrien takes another sip of Marinette’s hot chocolate, apparently past the point of caring that it was too hot to drink. “What do you want to do until we have to be at the theater?” he asks.

From: adrien’s gf To: Nino      Give me a minute and Ill explain

Marinette hums and puts her phone down. “I don’t know, what are we supposed to do with…sevenish hours?”

“Nap?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Alright not nap.” Adrien runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, usually on performance days I just lay around and stretch and watch TV. Try to eat healthy and make sure I don’t tire myself out beforehand.”

Marinette sips Adrien’s drink thoughtfully. “So…grocery shopping then binge watch something on Netflix.”

“Yup, that sounds pretty perfect.” Adrien puts Marinette’s hot chocolate down in front of her and takes his strawberry acai. “I think that’s yours.”

—«·»—

Adrien eats a bagel while he stretches his calves out against the wall. Marinette flips through Netflix before deciding on a sitcom they’ll both probably get way too invested in. She pulls out of her split once she presses play and twists into a backbend.

“I was going to ask if you were hungry, but I’m thinking now might not be the best time,” Adrien jokes.

She pulls her chin to her chest. “Yeah, maybe not,” she says, voice slightly strained from her position. “I am, but give me a minute?”

“Sure thing.”

Marinette straights her right leg up into the air and holds it before switching to the left. Then she drops onto her elbows and rocks back and forth a few times before she pops back up to her hands. She holds the bridge for a few seconds more before pulls herself up to standing.

“Show off,” Adrien mutters.

Marinette rolls her eyes and flicks her bangs out her eyes.

“Alright what do you want to eat? Healthy or healthier?”

“I’m thinking or,” she says, dropping down onto the bed.

“Or it is.” Adrien tosses her a box of granola bars. “Bon appétit.”

Marinette opens the box and pulls out two granola bars before throwing it back to him. “They’re going to date,” she says, nodding to the screen where two characters are sharing a not so subtle gaze.

“Before or after midseason?” he asks. “I’ll bet you the plum.”

She takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “Episode…seven.”

“Very exact.”

She shrugs. “Lucky number.”

“Fair enough.” Adrien sits down on the other bed and crosses his legs. “This is going to be terrible, isn’t it?”

Marinette nods. “Almost definitely.”

He gives her a half smile before leaning back against the pillows. “I look forward to it.”

—«·»—

Marinette tries to keep her mind focused solely on stretching.

It is not working.

Everyone else onstage seems to be fine, stretching on their own or with partners, listening to music, relaxing and enjoying the last few hours before the performance, running tricks and turns… She knows other people are feeling exactly what she is, but she can’t stop feeling incredibly alone. And also a little bit like she’s going to throw up.

Marinette closes her eyes and tries to focus mostly on her music. Usually before performances she likes to listen to the songs she’s dancing to, but she’s been listening to the dance playlist Alya made her since her and Adrien arrived at the theater.

She gets up mindlessly and follows the rest of the dancers off the stage when one of the teachers announces that select dances are going to do quick run throughs. When those dances are completed, the stage will be open for anyone to practice on if the space is there. They have three and a half hours until curtain and need to be dressed with hair and makeup complete half an hour before.

She finds herself sitting on the floor of her shared dressing room, surrounded by glittering costumes and makeup bags. The whole room smells like hairspray and anxiety. Lovely.

Chloé rolls her eyes and scoffs when she opens the dressing room door.

Marinette looks up at her with a flat expression. “Yes?”

Chloé grabs Marinette by the arm and hauls her to her feet. “Time to dance, princess,” she grumbles. “This isn’t flopping because of you.”

Marinette rolls her eyes and yanks her arm away, but follows Chloé out to the stage regardless. She wouldn’t stay back just to be petty. Besides, Chloé’s words don’t seem to hurt as much anymore. Not now that Chloé has gone past words. It’s almost as if Chloé has hurt her so bad in other ways that she no longer feels the little things any more.

Marinette joins Chloé centerstage and lets the music wash over her.

—«·»—

“Marinette, breathe.”

Marinette gasps, inhaling all the air she’d been keeping out. Adrien rubs his hands up and down her arms. She takes a shuddering breath and closes her eyes. Breathing. Right. “You’re going to do fine,” he promises. “You’re going to go onstage and you’re going to dance beautifully. Brilliantly. You’re going to give it your all and everyone will be able to see it. And they’ll love you.”

She closes her eyes and nods a few times. She bites down on her lip to stop it from trembling but she can’t do anything about the fact that her eyes are watering up and oh god she’s going to throw up or pass out or something and she can’t do this she doesn’t— 

“Hey, you’ll ruin your makeup,” Adrien teases softly.

Marinette forces a laugh. “Priorities,” she mutters.

“Definitely a priority, your makeup looks great and it took you forever.”

She takes a shaky breath before opening her eyes. “Adrien, I-I can’t—”

“You can.” He slides his hands down her arms to hold her hands. “Mar, you already have. And you did great.”

She glances over her shoulder to the stage where a small group is dancing. She had already been onstage. It had been a group dance. It had been fine. It had been…incredible. Probably should be considered life changing.

She feels numb. She feels like she’s going to fall over.

“It’s different,” she whispers.

“I know, but once you start dancing, you won’t even know they audience is there,” Adrien promises. He lifts their hands so their in line with her chest. “Squeeze.”

“I don’t want to break your hands,” she jokes weakly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Squeeze.”

Marinette takes a deep breath and squeezes his hands as hard as she can. She squeezes out the anxiety and the panic and all the negative thoughts her brain has spun up. She squeezes until her hands cramp. Then she let’s go.

“Better?” Adrien asks.

She shakes her head. Yes. No. Neither. Both. She just feels weird. Wrong. But she knows she needs to get out on that stage.

He pulls her into a tight hug. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” He presses a kiss to the top her of her head and she has to resist the urge to bury her face in his chest. She has makeup on. She’ll ruin both it and his costume.

“Ready?” Adrien ask as he pulls away.

Marinette nods. “Ready.”

“I’m going to go find a better spot to watch, but break a leg.” Adrien squeezes her hand before letting go and walking away.

Marinette stays turned away from the stage. She makes sure her skirt is smooth — not that it’ll matter in a few minutes — and tries to stay calm.

She’s fine. She really is fine.

“Hey, Marinette,” a voice says softly. Marinette turns to see Chloé nearly hidden in the folds of the curtains. Chloé wraps her arms around herself. “I just wanted to say…break a leg.”

Marinette blinks in surprise as Chloé looks away. She didn’t think—

She doesn’t have time to mentally do anything other than gratefully accept Chloé’s well wishes.  

Marinette nods to Chloé, glancing towards the stage as the last notes of Aurore’s solo music waver. “Thank you,” she says sincerely before stepping into the wings.

Marinette slows her breathing. She closes her eyes and puts herself into the performance mindset, locking onto her solo and blocking out everything else, all thoughts, all emotions, all worries. She doesn’t process any of Aurore’s solo, she just notices the end and her cue to step out onto the stage.

At her cue, she gathers up her skirts in her arms and takes three steps out onto the stage. She lifts but the armful of tulle and buries her face in in. The fabric scratches her face but it keeps her from facing the reality of the dance.  

The music starts and Marinette loses herself.

She drops the fabric and pushes it away, walking forward slowly before sinking into a rond de jambe and kicking a leg out to the side. She knows this routine better than almost any other routine she’s danced in her entire life. It’s probably one of the most accurate representations of herself that she’s ever had.

She slowly rises up en pointe and lets herself perform. She tries to hold on to what Tikki had told her one night when she had been working herself to death, feet bruising and bleeding and no happier with the routine than she had been four hours before when she started dancing. There had been something that Marinette had been missing and she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You’re cutting yourself off,” Tikki had said. “That’s no way to perform.”

Tikki had told her that dancing ballet doesn’t mean she has to cut herself off from the audience. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

Marinette knows she can’t match the skills of Chloé or even any of the other dancers here, who have had infinitely more training than her. But what she lacks in ability, she would make up in heart.

Every since she was little, she’s been told to leave her soul on the stage. She always did her best to do so, but it was sometimes a hard thing to understand. She could work her hardest physically, but never understood how you just left your soul.

The dance is halfway over before she’s even began.

Marinette can feel the slight panic bubbling up inside of her that always comes around this point. Because she hasn’t shown enough. She hasn’t danced enough, she hasn’t given her heart and soul in the way that she’s supposed to.

The panic starts dissipate with the next assemblé.

The years of performance and hours of rehearsal have made it easier for her to shove that panic away. Her confidence feels back and unwavering when she lifts up to pointe for a grande battement and this isn’t really a smiling dance but she’s having a hard time keeping a straight face because despite all the anxiety she can’t help but feel like she’s finally breathing and finally living.

There’s a reason she loves performance. Hopefully the expression on her face comes off as more wistful than happy. As she spins away from the audience for a beat, she schools her face into something more serious.

She doesn’t think much before throwing the triple pirouette. She grabs at her skirts in the fourth rotation, straightening her leg outward at a ninety degree angle before dropping to the floor and catching herself on her hands. She breathes deep as she arches backward before rolling to stand.  

Tikki named the solo ‘Fly’. Marinette has never really been all that invested in naming her own dances. She has a hard time pinning down the dance into a name, or even just a sliver of the dance.

Ballet doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s not perfect. It’s like any other type of dance with it’s long hours and sweaty rehearsals. That perfection that Marinette once thought existed is impossible to reach but all she can do is jump higher and higher— and she can take flight.

She breathes deep before launching into the turning sequence spinning out of it into a calypso leap. She breathes slowly and smiles a little as she lands solidly and throws her skirt up down to float down around her.

She enjoys little moments like these in routines where she can take half a second to collect herself and breathe. She’s got the stamina for longer routines — she has to, especially having been an acro dancer — but a moment of peace is always nice.

Last leg, she thinks to herself as she kicks high. With barely any time in the dance left at all, she throws herself in completely— she’s allowed to collapse offstage. She scoops her arms and stretches as far as she can, pushing herself to her very limit. She’s overly aware of how hard the stage is below her feet when she lands her last jump.

Marinette pulls the front of her skirt up into her arms and buries her face into it as she walks backwards, dragging her feet in front of her against the floor. Her arms are shaking and it’s a good thing that her face is hidden from the audience as she gasps for air.

Someone in the audience cheers. People start clapping.

She retreats into the wings, clutching her skirts and trembling.

Dancers whisper ‘good job’ to her as they push into the wings for the next dance. She leans against the nearest stable thing — she thinks it’s a table but it’s dark and she’s drained and not entire sure — and catches her breath. She watches them dance through the wings, costumes sparkling under the lights.

Marinette gasps as she’s caught in someone’s arms and hugged tight.

“That was stunning, Mari,” Adrien murmurs into her hair. “You were stunning.” His voice is wavering.

“A-are—?” She pulls away and squints at him in the dark. “Are you crying?”

“Yes,” he says honestly. “Well, no, I’m just tearing up. Because makeup. If I weren’t going on in three numbers I would be full out crying.”

Marinette blinks away the tears welling up in her eyes and pulls Adrien into another tight hug. “Shut up,” she whispers.

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” he says with a laugh. “The only time I’ve seen you dance better was with me.”

She scoffs and shoves him away, trying not to laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Adrien smiles brightly and she wonders if he knows how close to the truth he is. She never dances the same as she does when she dances with him.

“Where’s the best place to watch?” she asks quietly. She’s not missing out on his solo for the world.

He hold out his hand and she takes it without hesitation. “Come on,” he whispers, “I’ll show you.”

—«·»—

Marinette is squeezed between a few of the younger dancers in a small alcove that gives them an incredible view of the stage. It’s only accessible from a hallway backstage and is visible to very little of the audience, so Marinette can’t help but think whoever designed the theater must’ve known some of the cast and crew would be desperate to get a good look at what was happening while they were offstage.

Marinette’s breath catches in her throat when Adrien steps onto the stage.

It’s just not fair how handsome he is.

She’d seen him backstage with his hair slicked back in his all black costume and perfectly done makeup that showed off the fact that he had really incredible eyelashes. She’d seen him on Thursday in dress rehearsal, when his hair was a mess and his makeup was rushed but the costume fit just as well.

She hadn’t been able to see how he transformed when in front of an audience.

This is the Adrien Agreste she knows from videos and photoshoots. An untouchable dance legend from a family of ballet giants, all covered in a mask of gold and diamonds and perfection. She barely registers the music starting because she’s so mesmerized by Adrien.

He moves like water, his motions graceful and fluid. She sees his soul shine through him and this is what everyone means by leaving your soul behind you on the stage. Adrien has it figured out and he’s shattering himself to let the world see.

Is the rest of the world aware of what a gift they’ve been given?

She doesn’t hold her breath this time when he throws his butterfly. He lands it solidly and flows into the next move with no hesitation and she can see the video in her mind of his father doing it. She covers her mouth with her hand to hide her smile.

Watching Adrien has always been worth it. It’s always been breathtaking and jaw dropping. Watching him work so hard to get to what he performs is even better.  

Marinette doesn’t clap when the dance ends and Adrien hits his final pose, she runs.

She wiggles out from between the other dancers and bursts out of the alcove, darting out of the way of a few dancers on their way to watch. The boxes of her shoes hit the floor loudly as she runs, but she doesn’t care so long as she stays upright and moving.

She slows as she reaches backstage, crashing right into Adrien as he moves toward his dressing room.

He grabs her around the waist to keep her from falling and she catches herself with her hands on his chest.

“Hi,” he whispers with a crooked smile.

Her heart is beating a million times a minute and she can’t stop herself from laughing breathlessly. “Hi.”

“Good?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Perfect,” she insists. She cups his face in her hands and presses their foreheads together. “Perfect.”

Adrien closes his eyes and smiles. “So, good?”

She shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous. Yes. Very good.”

He glances back on the stage. “You should get ready for your next dance,” he murmurs, stepping away. “You’ll need to be lined up in a few numbers.”

Marinette sighs. She would’ve been fine with standing here forever. “See you here for the duet?” They’ve both got dances before it, but they won’t be able to talk between any of them aside from a quick hushed ‘break a leg’ or ‘good job’.

Adrien nods. “See you then.”

She ducks past him and into the dressing room, thinking about how much she’d rather be in his arms than pulling on tights and changing her makeup.

Aurore finishes tying her shoes as Marinette opens the door and jumps to her feet, brushing past Marinette and whispering a hushed thank you as she rushes to join the rest of her small group on the other side of the stage. Marinette closes the door softly behind her and leans against the dressing room table and starts unlacing her shoes.

Chloé glances at her from where she stands in the corner getting ready for her own solo, draped in gold and gemstones. They hold eye contact for a moment before Chloé breaks it to fit another bobby pin in her hair. Marinette sighs and ignores her as she pulls off her costume to get ready for her next dance. She sits down on the floor to pull on her tights — it was weird not wearing tights with pointe shoes for her solo, but she thinks she liked it — and carefully checks them for runs before she pulls on the flowing dress. She steps out of the way as she reaches for her makeup box to let Chloé out of the room. She closes her eyes as her fingers wrap tightly around her lipstick. “Chloé,” she says, her voice sudden and incredibly loud.

Chloé tenses and moves her hand away from the doorknob. She looks over her shoulder at Marinette. “Yes?”

Marinette takes her in for a moment. Chloé sparkles and shines and looks like a painting. Empty. Flat. Marinette would give anything to have the technical background that Chloé has, if she’s being honest. Chloé does have a one up on her in that aspect. But Marinette would never want to be alone as Chloé seems to be. She gives Chloé the best and most honest smile she can manage. “Break a leg, you’re going to do great.”

Chloé returns the smile and Marinette thinks there might be a chance that it’s less perfectly crafted than usual. “Thanks,” Chloé says as she opens the dressing room door. Music flows in and the silence between them no longer feels so empty and strange. She looks like she might have something more to say, but Sabrina appears and drags her off to get ready. She looks back at Marinette and gives her another half smile.

It’s enough for now.

—«·»—

Marinette rolls out her ankles while she waits for Adrien. The anxiety is starting to bubble up in her chest, but it’s nothing like before her solo. Now she has the majority of her dances under her belt. She knows what the stage feels like beneath her feet for a real performance. She knows the heat of the lights and the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. And she knows Adrien.

“Sorry that took so long,” he whispers to her as he lifts his foot into passé before grabbing the arch of his foot and pulling his leg up to touch his ear.

“You did great,” she murmurs. She holds out a fist to him and he fist bumps it with his free hand. “We have two numbers.”

“Sounds good.”

Marinette does a backbend by the wall and is careful not to slip in her pointe shoes. Adrien offers her his hand and pulls her up to stand. They practice their trickiest lift once more when they have the space and then wait impatiently in the wings. At least, Marinette is impatient. She keeps her eyes off of the dancers onstage and focuses on the music in her head.

She looks up in surprise when Adrien takes her hand and squeezes it softly. He gives her a smile and mouths ‘break a leg’. They move further into the wings as the dancers onstage take their final pose.

She takes a shaky breath and nods. ‘You too’. She lets go of his hand and lets him step out before her when they’re cued. When he turns to face her, she steps out of the wings. The stare at each other until the music starts and Marinette melts into Adrien’s touch.

Marinette thinks that dancing with Adrien is the same as the feeling that the poets are always trying describe. The one songwriters sing about, what artists try to capture in their creations. It’s this indescribable feeling of right. She’s never danced with any person or any group that makes her feel this way. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone that makes her feel this way.

Even as they move away from each other for separate parts of the dance, she knows his presence and his aura and knows his choreography so well she can see it in her mind. She knows the exact moment that they touch again, her skin tingling.

The lift is tricky, it’s scary. It had taken weeks for them to get it without spotting and even longer for them to do it consistently every single time. Her breath hitches when they start it, but she meets Adrien’s eyes and hears him say in her mind, ‘I won’t let you fall’. This time, the lift is as easy as breathing.

Her skirt wraps around her legs as she turns in the familiar way she knows from practice, fluttering around her before settling as there’s a pause in the choreography for her to breathe. She turns her head and keeps her neck long, seeing Adrien center stage as he leaps into the air and flies.

She takes a deep breath before plunging back into the dance, feeling the music deep in her bones as she lets it flow through her. Adrien’s hand is firm on her waist as he guides her into a simpler lift. Adrien smiles softly at her as they hold eye contact throughout it, and Marinette can’t help but smile back. She remembers one rehearsal where Plagg had shouted at them mid routine to feel the connection between them. She had instantly turned into a stuttering mess as Adrien blushed bright red.

The connection feels electric and she embraces it in full.

Whenever Marinette watched Tikki and Plagg perform this choreography, she always thought there was something genius about the way they’d set it up. The first half of the dance is very individual and could almost be done as a solo. Marinette had done it as a solo, several times, in fact. She would turn on the music when alone and practice the first half on her own, needing no support from Adrien at all after the first two counts of eight.

But in the second half, it’s almost impossible to separate the two dancers. Like they’d become so tangled together that they were one person.

Marinette had always chalked it up to genius choreography.

As she arabesques away from Adrien and he reaches for her, one of the few moments of separation in the second half, she feels a pang in her chest and there’s a spark of realization as he pulls her back into his arms.

This dance would almost certainly fall to pieces without chemistry.

She holds her epiphany close to her heart for the last few counts of eight, wrapping herself in the familiar warmth of this dance, this choreography, this music She hadn’t realized how much she cherished it until this very moment, and it’s about to be gone.

Every dance is unique, it’ll never feel exactly like this again.

She barely notices the music coming to a close, focused completely on the steps and the performance. She knows the feeling of Adrien’s arm holding her steady and the strain of her muscles as she arches backward as far as she can, stretching herself to her limit.

The music ends and the world of this specific duet starts to fade away. She doesn’t know whether or not she should mourn.

Marinette meets Adrien’s eyes, breathless. He smiles down at her, dazzling and bright. His arm is tight around her waist and she can’t catch her breath. And it’s only partially because of the dancing.

The mascara makes his eyelashes incredibly long and his eyes seem so much greener under these hot stage lights. Each blemish and freckle is hidden by a layer of concealer, foundation, and powder. His eyebrows seem almost too dark, his features too perfect.

Her heart shudders when she realizes that she knows every line of his face. Even when they’ve all been erased and redrawn, she knows exactly what he should look like under that mask.

Applause. People are applauding. Adrien pulls her upright and she lowers down from pointe. He holds her hand as she curtsies, her heart in her throat, she can barely keep from laughing as it all bubbles up inside of her. She holds her right arm out as he bows. Then he takes her hand again and they bow once more before running off the stage. It takes all her control to run like a proper ballerina and not burst into a sprint.

What she wouldn’t give to be able to run through the streets of Paris laughing and holding Adrien’s hand right now.

Marinette can’t stop smiling as people congratulate them and Adrien weaves them through the crowd backstage. She thinks she thanks people, but she’s too caught up in the excitement and adrenaline to be truly present and grounded.

Adrien shuts the dressing room door behind them. She’s glad the room is empty because her emotions are threatening to overflow and she doesn’t know if she wants anyone but Adrien to see her turn into an mess. He turns to look at Marinette and she starts laughing. She laughs because she has no other way to let out all of this emotion. She throws her arms around his neck. “We did it!”

Adrien laughs as he hugs back her tightly, leaning backwards and lifting her feet off the ground. “We did it!” He spins them around once in the cramped dressing room before putting her down. Adrien smiles at her with sparkling eyes. The green of grass and leaves and life and everything that Marinette has ever wanted. Adrien is everything she’s ever wanted, all she’ll ever want.

The box of her shoes hit the floor and pull her back to reality.

A reality without Adrien Agreste is not what she wants. A reality where Adrien Agreste isn’t a major part of her day isn’t want she wants. Her ideal reality has Adrien Agreste as a constant, unwavering presence in her life. Someone she can love and who will love her in return. Who she can buy far too much Starbucks with and complain about rehearsal with and stay up until sunrise with. Somehow, in a single summer, Adrien has become someone that she always wants in her life. Someone she never wants to let go of. Ideally, she won’t have to.

Ideally—

Marinette doesn’t have to imagine some ideal situation. It’s right there, right in front of her, just a few inches away with a soft smile and bright green eyes.

This isn’t some cosmic story that’s written in the stars. It’s real, it’s tangible, and she has control over it. She has her feet on the ground and her arms around Adrien’s neck. He’s looking at her like she’s the sun and how she’s looking at him can’t be much different than that.

He’s the sun. He’s the moon and the stars and everything inbetween.

To hell with ideal, she wants reality.

Marinette realizes how small of a distance a few inches really is as she pulls Adrien down towards her and presses her lips firmly against his.

In the grand scheme of things, a few inches is nothing.

It doesn’t even take half a moment for Adrien to be kissing her back and Marinette can barely process the kiss because her mind is mostly a whirlwind of adrenaline and ‘oh my god I kissed him’.

Adrien deepens the kiss and their noses bump and she doesn’t care. All that Marinette knows is that his lips are soft and his hands are tight around her waist and she feels like she’s flying. She breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against Adrien’s, ready to touch the ground.

“Your makeup…” Adrien whispers.

Marinette opens her eyes. His eyes are closer than ever, green and welcoming and loving. “I had to fix it anyway,” she murmurs. Her next dance demands lighter lipstick. Her gaze drops to Adrien’s lips, she’s already aching to kiss him again. She laughs softly when she sees the lipstick smear on his lips. She moves her arms from around his neck and brushes her thumb against the lipstick mark. “You have some lipstick—”

Adrien leans into the touch as her hand cups his cheek. He turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand and the butterflies in Marinette’s stomach flutter in a way they never have before. “I needed to fix mine too.”

“Okay,” she says softly, not trusting her voice.

“I’ll see you for the production,” Adrien says and there’s no way she can wait that long. He seems to be thinking the same thing, because he leans forward and kisses her again, soft and slow.

Marinette keeps her eyes closed when he pulls away, only opening them when she hears the dressing room door open and close behind her.

Her legs feel like jello and her heart feels like it’s about to burst. She leans against the table and brushes her fingers against her lips. She would say that it was just the adrenaline or just that she kissed him first and he kissed her back as a reflex or out of courtesy or some other ridiculous excuse that her mind would dip into for an explanation.

But Adrien had kissed her.

He’d kissed her and he’d smiled at her and he’d kissed her.

Marinette buries her face in her hands as her cheeks burn. One of her dressing roommates will be back soon and it’d probably be best if she wasn’t an emotional disaster when they came in, but she can’t stop smiling and she’s fairly certain she’s redder than her production costume.

She lifts her head from her hands and takes a deep breath. That happened. That happened. She sees herself in the mirror already blushing again.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she starts getting ready for her next dance. She wipes off the smeared lipstick with a makeup wipe and carefully reapplies foundation where she wiped it away before taking out the lighter lipliner and lipstick. It was just a kiss, she shouldn’t be getting so worked up about a kiss. Two kisses. From Adrien.

She caps the lipstick and puts it away before staring herself down in the mirror. She’s going to get through the rest of this showcase without overthinking this. She can overthink later.

When Rose opens the door to the dressing room, Marinette helps her with her quick change with a smile, but the butterflies are still fluttering in her stomach.

—«·»—

“Don’t screw this up,” Chloé mutters as they wait squished in the wings to go on for the production. With every dancer in the intensive making an appearance of some sort, it’s a bit cramped. Chloé raises a perfect eyebrow at Marinette. “Got it?”

Marinette shoots Chloé a half hearted glare. She knows Chloé means it, Marinette is as good as dead if she screws this up, but they’ve reached some sort of incredibly uneasy truce and she’s not going to fight it if they only have this one dance left. “I won’t if you don’t,” she says, testing the waters.

Chloé smirks, something dark in her eyes. More like competition than anger. It’s a look Marinette doesn’t think she’s seen before. “Good.”

The music starts with the youngest dancers onstage and Chloé steps out right on cue. She’s no longer the worst part of Marinette’s summer or even an incredibly talented dancer with a mean streak that could kill. She’s just another dancer, contributing the same as any other dancer on the stage.

Marinette locks eyes with Adrien, who’s in the wing directly across the stage from her. He nods at her before he preps for a chaîné and leaps onstage.

One last dance.

Marinette closes her eyes and preps for her turn. The music swells and she spins up en pointe, leg bent back in attitude. She smiles to the audience as she arches away from them and falls into her role as perfectly as she can. She only has a few minutes left to show what she can do.

—«·»—

Marinette gets so caught up in the whirlwind of bows and backstage that she almost forgets to breathe. She doesn’t even get to go back to her dressing room, the crowd of dancers just moves her to the audience in full costume and pointe shoes.

She breaks away from the tide by the entrance to backstage, hearing shouts of congratulations from loved ones as dancers found them. She smiles to herself and hangs back for a moment, waiting for the crowd to thin out a little.

“Hey, kid.” Marinette turns around to see Plagg leaning against the wall. Tikki is standing next to him, absolutely beaming, and Wayzz is there, much to her surprise. Plagg pushes himself off the wall and sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s dressed nice for once, she’s pretty sure Tikki had something to do with that, and smirks before saying, “You did good.”

Marinette’s smile grows and she ducks her head. “Thanks.”

Tikki hurries forward and wraps Marinette up in a tight hug, albeit slightly awkward because of Marinette’s tutu. “Magical, Marinette,” Tikki says as she pulls away. “There isn’t a single person who wasn’t enchanted.”

Marinette doesn’t even know how to respond other than to laugh breathlessly and hug back when Tikki squeezes her in another hug.

Wayzz fiddles with his tie and gives Marinette a lopsided smile. “Maybe you just needed the right pair of shoes.”

Tikki gives him an offended look as Plagg laughs. Tikki rolls her eyes as she turns back to Marinette. “Those two,” she mutters. Marinette bites back a laugh. “Go,” Tikki says, motioning to the doors. “Go see your family, I’m sure they’ll want to congratulate you.”

Marinette takes a step towards the doors and a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says. It’s not enough, for any of them, but it’s all she has at the moment.

Tikki smiles, eyes sparkling with tears, “Thank you. Now go!”

Marinette opens the doors and is immediately swept up into a million conversations. People tell her how good she was and how much they enjoyed her performance as she weaves through the crowd and she smiles and nods and thanks them but can hardly processing all of the attention. Marinette doesn’t notice Alya until Alya throws her arms around her, hugging her tight and crying.

Marinette blinks in surprise. “Uh…” She pats Alya’s back and looks up to Nino, who waves. “Hey, Nino.”

“Hey! You killed it, dude. Super awesome.” He fits bumps her before putting a hand on Alya’s shoulder. “Al, you’re crying on her costume.”

Alya pulls away from Marinette and wipes away her tears. “You…” She points a finger at Marinette. Marinette tries to remember if she’s done something wrong before Alya smiles. “You swore you’d tell me if you got a solo!”

Oh. “Well… I wanted it to be a surprise,” Marinette admits.

“Was it!” Alya whacks Nino’s arm. “He wouldn’t let us see any programs! I should’ve known something was up.” She hugs Marinette again, even tighter. “You’re the worst. I hate you. You did so good and I love you so much.”

Marinette hugs back and mouths ‘thank you’ to Nino. He winks and gives her a thumbs up. His eyes light up as he sees something over Marinette’s shoulder. “Dude!”

Adrien stumbles backward as Nino launches himself at him. “Whoa!”

“Someone new to cry on,” Alya says before letting Marinette out of her death grip and latching onto Adrien and Nino instead.

Adrien gives Marinette an awkward smile before Nino grabs Marinette and pulls her into the middle of the hug. She finds herself squished between Nino and Adrien, her face pressed against Adrien’s shoulder. She tenses and looks up at him, smiling awkwardly.

He returns the smile, his cheeks turning pink.

“You two did so good,” Alya says. “It’s not fair. Gorgeous and talented? Leave something for the rest of us.

“True that,” Nino agrees. He’s as stuck in this hug as Adrien and Marinette are. Marinette isn’t exactly sure how Alya is holding them all in. Nino wriggles an arm free and ruffles Adrien’s hair. “One of your best, bro. You’ve never looked better.”

Marinette bites back a laugh. The gel in Adrien’s hair means that it’s staying a ruffled mess. Nino smirks and ruffles it again, messing it up even more.

“Is our Marinette in there someone?”

Marinette gasps and ducks out from Alya’s arms and runs right into her father’s. “Maman! Papa!” Being wrapped up in their arms feels safe and warm and like home— her father still smells like freshly baked bread, so that’s definitely helping.

“You were beautiful, ma chérie,” Sabine says as she pulls away. “I’ve never seen you dance like that before.”

Marinette hugs Sabine again. “Thank you, Maman, I loved it.” Speaking of loved… “You’ve already met, Nino, right?”

“He hid the programs from us,” Tom says, raising an eyebrow.

Nino rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just doing a friend a favor.”

Marinette shakes her head. “Anyway, this is Adrien.”

Alya tugs Adrien forward. He lifts a hand in an awkward greeting. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Sabine says with a bright smile.

Marinette groans and buries her face in her hands. She forgot about that. “Maman please.”

“You have?” Adrien asks in surprise.

Nino snorts.

“You did great,” Tom says, putting a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Your father should be proud.”

Adrien barely nods, staring at Tom almost in awe. Marinette wants to wrap him up in a hug and tell him that this is what family is supposed to be like.

Alya clears her throat. “Speaking of fathers…”

Adrien tenses, eyes wide.

She elbows him lightly. “Nathalie said she’d meet you in your dressing room before the closing speech thing. I’m not sure how she knows where that is—”

“She’s scary, that’s how,” Nino interrupts. “That women knows all.”

Alya rolls her eyes. “Anyway, she asked me to let you know.”

A look crosses over Adrien’s face. “I’ll see you for the close,” he murmurs to Marinette, squeezing her hand as he passes by. She looks over her shoulder to watch him disappear into the crowd of families and dancers.

“He seems like a good kid,” Tom says.

Marinette finds the floor fascinating.

“A good kid…” Alya murmurs. “Be right back.” She darts into the crowd and and is quickly swallowed by it.

“Should we be concerned?” Nino asks Marinette.

She nods. “Very.”

—«·»—

Sabrina is leaving the dressing room as Marinette heads back to get changed. She loves her costume, but the bodice is starting to dig into her sides and she’d love to go to close of the intensive in comfortable sweatpants.

“You did great, by the way,” Sabrina says breathlessly, catching Marinette by surprise. “Like, really really good.”

“Oh, thank you. You did too, your small group was incredible.”

Sabrina turns pink. “It was nothing. Oh! Chloé is in there so,” she shrugs before heading toward the stage door.

Marinette nods slowly before opening the dressing room door.

She’s surprised by how quickly it’s been cleared out. She’d seen Aurore as she had been wandering around looking for her parents and friends and Aurore had somehow managed to pack everything up and change before getting swept up by the excitement. Rose looks up from her makeup case and smiles brightly, hanging her costume bags over her arm before she leaves the room.

And then there were two.

Marinette shakes her hair out of the bun but kept in in a ponytail. It’s awkward enough, curled stiff with hairspray, and taking it down would just be worse. She’d rather wait until she could wash all the gunk out of her hair before trying to take out anything else. She pulled off her fake eyelashes and trashed them before scrubbing the rest of the makeup off her face with far too many makeup wipes. She sat on the floor as she carefully untied her pointe shoes. Despite only having used them in this one showcase, they were broken in to a point close to ruin. She remembers Tikki joking about how ballerinas go through pointe shoes like they were made of paper. Tikki wasn’t wrong.

Marinette sighs in relief when she finally gets out of her costume and into sweats. She no longer feels like she has to be a perfect statue of elegance. She can slouch. Thank god.

“We have to go,” Chloé says suddenly.

Marinette looks up from where she’s organizing her makeup. “Oh.”

Chloé tosses her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. She has no idea how Chloé got it so perfect so fast. “Clean up later, they won’t wait for you.” Chloé throws open the door. “Sorry,” she says tightly, “by the way.” And then she’s vanished into the darkness of backstage, her heels clicking against the floor.

Marinette swallows before following her. Okay. In part, she’s relieved that she didn’t have to accept Chloé’s apology, because she doesn’t know if she’d be able to. On the other hand… She’ll deal with it if they have to work together again.

For now, she can let go.

—«·»—

The theater’s seats aren’t the most comfortable in the world, but Marinette’s feet hurt and her entire body aches, so it feels nice to just curl up and rest her head on Adrien’s shoulder as the teachers talk. He plays with her hair mindlessly as they talk about the summer and the showcase and everything everyone accomplished over ten weeks. She can feel a lump of emotion in her throat and she tries to swallow it back. If she starts crying, she’ll probably never stop.

Trixx motions to Wayzz and he steps foward, glasses and smile crooked. “You’re probably wondering why I’m up here,” he says, gesturing to the others and yes, Marinette was wondering that. “Really, I just have friends with connections.” Plagg snorts and Tikki shoots him a look. Wayzz shakes his head. “My name is Wayzz. I don’t teach, I’m not very good at that, but I do work in the shoe room for a ballet company. And I know ballet, I know it well.” He adjusts his glasses. “I’ve been lucky enough to see how some of you have progressed since you were first offered a place in the program, and the leaps and bounds you’ve all made— truly, truly inspiring.”

Marinette sits up, eyes wide.

“You okay?” Adrien whispers.

She nods wordlessly, staring at Wayzz. He’s still talking, but the words are no longer processing. He smiles and it’s like he’s smiling right at her. If she imagines him with his hair combed back and neat, wearing contacts instead of glasses, dressed in an out of place suit— 

“If you keep working as hard as you have, I have no doubt that you could all end up in a company like mine,” Wayzz says, “regardless of what opportunities you may or may not have had growing up. With the opportunity you were all given over the past ten weeks, you’ve all been able to truly shine.”

Marinette sinks back in her seat as Wayzz steps back and everyone applauds.

Adrien leans over. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Marinette promises, pulling her gaze away from Wayzz to focus on Plagg. “I thought I knew him from somewhere.” She remembers shaking his hand and thanking him calmly before calling Alya and screaming.

“Alright, kids.” Plagg steps forward to center stage. “I know you and your parents want to get out of here soon, so it’s a good thing I don’t do speeches.”

Adrien scoffs.

“But hey, you all crushed it tonight, so pat on the back for that. I told you the fondues would pay off.” There are scattered groans through the audience. Adrien is one of them. Plagg smirks. “I’m going to pass of my nostalgic mush to Tikki, seeing how that’s her thing, but keep fonduing, it’ll get you places eventually.”

Tikki clasps her hands together. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that it has been a true honor to teach you all. One of the greatest parts of teaching is being able to see your students grow and we have seen you grow into dancers that we may very well be sharing a stage with in the near future.

“Ten weeks isn’t long but at the same time, it’s impossibly long. It’s the blink of an eye and an entire summer. Tiny steps lead to big leaps, you just have to keep working. What you go back to tomorrow might not be this extreme; you may have shorter hours and fewer classes, but that doesn’t mean you should stop working as hard as you have been.

“Whether or not you choose to continue dancing, whether or not this is going to be part of your future, you learned a lot this summer, more than you may realize. You’ve made friends and you’ve made connections. You’re only on the brink of what you can truly do and achieve. And we are so thankful to have been able to help you find your way just a little bit more. A little guidance can go a long way and you should be proud of yourselves for how much you’ve learned, because we wouldn't have been able to help you if you didn’t want to learn.

“Take what you’ve learned this summer and apply it to the life you choose to lead, whatever that may mean for you. Some will take more than others. Maybe all you learned from this summer was that you’re a terrible roommate--” A few people laughed and others agreed. “--and while I doubt any of you learned so little, it’s still better than nothing. It got you out of the house didn’t it?”

Adrien hides his face in the crook of his arm to muffle his laugh.

“Dance is hard, ballet is hard. It takes so much work to make it look elegant and graceful and effortless. And despite how hard it is, you all did it wonderfully tonight. The performance you put on was magical and the talent that crossed this stage was unbelievable. You’ve all overcome so many boundaries — physical, mental, and otherwise — this summer and we are all so proud of you and what you’ve accomplished.

“If you’re leaving tonight, make sure you have everything you brought and stay safe on your way home. To those leaving tomorrow, we have to be out of the rooms by ten so they can clean. If you have any studio keys you have to return, both Plagg and I will be there until around eleven. We hope that you’ll consider joining us again next summer, so you can improve even more. And to those of you who are graduating this year, wherever you go, whatever path you may choose, we wish you the absolute best.”

 —«·»—

Marinette is packing up the last of her costumes when there’s a soft knock on the dressing room door. She zips up the costume bag as she says, “Come in!”

Tikki opens the door and smiles. “We’re on our way out.”

“Oh!” Marinette reaches for her makeup box. “Sorry for taking so long I can—”

“It’s fine,” Plagg interrupts. “Sheesh, breathe a little.”

Tikki holds out a key. Marinette hesitates before taking it. “All the lights are off but the stage ones and Adrien knows how those work, him and Plagg were fooling around with them after dress rehearsal.” She shoots Plagg a look, but he just shrugs. She rolls her eyes. “Just lock up and you can give us the key tomorrow with your studio key. Don’t worry about anything else, we have to be back here anyway to clean up some things and return the keys.”

“I can help before my train leaves,” Marinette says. “If you need it. With cleaning up and all that.”

Plagg closes her hand around the key. “We’ve got it. We get paid for stuff like this. You don’t.”

“Just make sure he gets home at a reasonable hour,” Tikki says, motioning behind her. “He’s on the stage. He always likes to have some time to himself after performances.”

Marinette squeezes the key, the edges of it biting into her skin. “Yeah, of course.”

Plagg smirks. “No funny business,” he says, draping an arm around Tikki’s shoulder.

Marinette flushes. “W-we— I—”

Tikki gives him a flat look. “Leave her alone, Plagg. You’re fine,” she promises Marinette. “Don’t stay too long. Sleep well.”

Marinette nods and watches them leave. It takes her a moment to collect herself and then another moment to collect all her things. She studies the now empty dressing room and wonders how not even an hour ago it was filled with costumes and people and life.

She shakes off the feeling and shuts the door behind her.

Marinette puts her stuff down and watches Adrien for a few minutes from the wings. He’s not dancing so much as just going through motions and wandering around the stage with a distant expression on his face. It takes her an almost embarrassingly long time to recognize that he’s mostly just moving through the variation from the Bluebird pas de deux. He drags his toe on the stage in a slow compass turn, freezing when he sees her in the wings.

She holds up the key. “Tikki told me to lock up when you finished.”

“Right,” Adrien says softly. “I’ll be done in a minute, just…” He finishes the turn and stands in third position for a long moment before doing a pas de cheval tombé. He preps for a pirouette and does an easy double.  

“We don’t have to leave now.” She puts the key down on top of her costume bags. “I can wait.” She toes off her shoes and joins him onstage. It’s strange feeling Marley under her bare feet again.

Adrien faces the audience head on. Marinette gazes out into the darkened rows and rows of empty seats. “It’s weird,” he says, “to think that this place was full of people an hour ago. And now it’s so empty and alone.”

“We’re here,” Marinette points out.

Adrien smiles at her. “We are, aren’t we?” His eyes widen. “Hold on.” He runs across the stage, disappearing into the wings.

An empty stage and theater is significantly lonelier and creepier if you’re by yourself, Marinette notes.

“Hey, Mari.” Adrien enters from the other side of the stage, holding something behind his back. “These are for you.” Marinette’s eyes go wide as he holds out a bouquet of red roses to her.

“Y-you didn’t have to,” she stutters as she takes them. Alya had told her flower language once, but she doesn’t remember any of it, she’s too focused on the fact that Adrien got her flowers. “You really didn’t.”

“I wanted to,” he promises. He blushes a little. “I wanted to thank you for…being you.”

She wants to protest that isn’t doing anything, certainly nothing to deserve flowers. Her parents always get her flowers after performances, they’ll sit on the counter in a vase until they start to wilt and then she’ll press them in a book to keep forever. She doesn’t think these are the same kind of post show flowers. “You should’ve told me, I would’ve gotten you flowers too. I didn’t get you anything.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You got me roses,” Marinette whispers.

“And you gave me friendship,” Adrien says honestly.

She resists the urge to hide her face in the roses. “That is so cheesy,” she mumbles.

“I’m a cheesy person,” he admits. “But you knew that. And…maybe, you wouldn’t mind going out on a cheesy date with a cheesy guy?”

Marinette lowers her flowers and stares at him. Her mind has gone almost completely blank, like some sort of factory reset. She has to run through the words a few times to make sure she actually heard him correctly. “Adrien Agreste that was the lamest way you could’ve asked me out,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady because she honestly thinks her legs are going to give out on her.  

He smiles goofily and shrugs. “Did you ever think I was cool?”

“About ten weeks ago I did.”

He laughs. “Is that a yes?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marinette smiles down at the flowers before rising up a on her toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Of course it’s a yes.” Adrien lights up like the sun and her heart flips. “To quote Alya, we were practically dating anyway.”

Adrien snorts. “Her too? Nino’s been bugging me about it for weeks.”

Careful of her roses, Marinette wraps her arms around Adrien’s neck. “I think they may have bonded over trying to get us together.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You think?”

She hums. Their noses brush as she tilts her head. “Maybe a little.”

“We should probably tell them at some point,” Adrien murmurs, just a breath away from her lips. “They probably have a party to throw. Bets to exchange.”

“They can wait.”

Marinette wakes up far too late.

For most people, it’s not late at all. Eight thirty on a Sunday morning? Back to bed. At home, Marinette is up as soon as her parents start baking. For the past few weeks, Marinette has gotten up whenever Adrien does and she doesn’t know if that boy knows what sleeping in even means.

It’s strange to find the bed next to her empty.

She sits up with a groan, aching all over and knowing that she needs to stretch before she gets on a train and sits for several hours but not really wanting to. The perfect day would actually be not moving period, but that’s not going to happen.

She gives herself a few minutes to wake up before she gets out of bed and pads to the bathroom, relieved to see that her hair is only a minor disaster and that there’s no makeup smudged all over her face. She did her best last night, but she still sometimes wakes up after competitions looking like a racoon. There’s only so much you can do to take makeup off once you’ve applied several pounds of it.

Adrien’s things have already been moved out of the room. Marinette packs at a fairly leisurely pace, listening to music on her phone and scrolling through notifications she’d missed last night. She has hours until she has to make her train, she’ll be fine.

She sits back on her heels and closes her eyes, remembering how Adrien’s lips felt against hers and kissing him until she was breathless. It’s kind of hard to believe that it’s not all a dream, but it also feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It’s a little bit of a struggle to get all of her things together, but she manages. She checks the room once more before shutting the door behind her and hearing the finalizing click.

Marinette returns her room key and drops her stuff off at the studio before making a quick Starbucks run. She needs something to eat that isn’t healthy and she’s pretty sure Adrien stole the rest of the granola bars anyway.

Tikki is sitting on the desk while Plagg spins lazy circles in the chair when Marinette returns with drinks. Tikki looks up from her phone with a smile. “Figured you’d be back soon.”

Plagg scoffs. “Like she was going to leave all her stuff here.”

Marinette puts down her hot chocolate and pulls out the keys to the studio and theater. “Thank you for…everything.”

Tikki grins brightly as she tosses the theater key to Plagg. “You’re welcome, and thank you too. You’re welcome to leave your stuff out here.”

Plagg nods toward the studios. “He’s in his usual room.”

“And we’ll be here as long as you’d like.” Tikki winks.

Marinette tucks her hair behind her ear and glances toward the door. “Right. I’m just going to…”

“Go be sappy teenagers!” Plagg says, shooing her away. “You’re making me sick.”

Tikki laughs as Marinette walks over to the studio door. “Like we weren’t sappy teenagers once,” Tikki teases.

Marinette knocks on the door softly before she opens it. She’s not really looking for a response, she knows she’s welcome, she’s more of giving a warning. Snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adrien is doing lazy pencil turns to gentle lyrical music when she opens the door. His face is red and his shirt is disheveled and there’s a pile of luggage in the corner by the stereo. He winks at her the next time he makes a rotation. He poses dramatically as she closes the door before meeting her halfway.

“You were up early,” Marinette says, holding out his drink. “And you were quiet.”

He smiles gratefully before taking it. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked exhausted last night.”

She shrugs and leans against the barre as he drinks, wrapping both her hands around her hot chocolate. “Performances wipe me out. It’s probably because I psych myself out so much beforehand.”

Adrien nods. “I used to do that too.”

“Got used to it?”

“Had to,” he points out. “If you have a performance every night for a week, you don’t have a chance to be tired. Mostly I just napped a lot until I was able to run on what’s essentially pure willpower.”

Marinette groans. “I like sleep too much for that.”

“Well, you can’t have dance, sleep, and a social life. You have to choose.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “You have a social life?”

Adrien sticks his tongue out at her as she lifts her cup to her mouth with raised eyebrows. “Um, excuse me, I have a girlfriend.”

Marinette feels a blush creeping up her cheeks. She tries to keep the butterflies in her stomach still, but it’s far far too new for her not to freak out just a little bit. “Is she pretty?” she asks playfully.

“Gorgeous,” Adrien says with twinkling eyes.

“Bet she’s a better dancer than you.”

“You’d be right.”

She gives him a flat look. “Okay, no. So not true.”

Adrien shakes he head. “No, I still can’t do a body roll right, so… I think you win this round.”

“I think you’re biased,” Marinette counters.

“Mm… Yeah, probably. But not in this case.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you love me anyway,” Adrien teases, putting down his drink next to the stereo. He reaches out to take Marinette’s.

“Yes. Yes I do,” she says as she passes her drink off, their hands brushing.

Adrien pauses, eyes wide. He smiles slowly. “Well that’s good. Because I love you too.”

Marinette covers her mouth with her hand to hide her own smile.

“Too soon?” he asks. He takes her other hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

“We haven’t even gone on a real date yet,” she points out.

Adrien hums thoughtfully. “Can we consider this our first date?” he asks, motioning to the room.

Marinette nods slowly. “Starbucks and dancing. The only two things we seem to do.”

“We also watch bad movies,” Adrien adds. “And Disney classics.”

“Three things then.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, two out of three seems pretty good. Sounds like a decent first date to me.” He offers Marinette his hand with a small bow. “What’d you think?”

She curtsies before taking it. “It sounds perfect.”

“Do you waltz, my Lady?” Adrien asks, pulling her into closed position. He starts waltzing before she can even answer.

“Not really, but you seem to waltz just fine, despite this song not being a waltz,” Marinette teases.

“You’re so picky.” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

“Mm, well, someone needs to teach you to count music. Can you not hear the downbeat?” she teases.

Adrien stares at her with glittering green eyes. “Will you help me find it?” he asks softly.

Marinette smiles before taking lead. “One,” she says with the next step. She moves out of closed position as she pulls Adrien in a slow circle, counting the downbeat aloud whenever they reach it. He sings along to the music softly, and she thinks that she could stay here forever in this empty studio with nothing but Adrien and gentle music. It doesn’t take long before they’re giggling and improvising poorly while holding hands, completely entangled in one another.

[katedoesfics]

Shadows of the Future | Chapter 22

The screaming was unlike anything he had ever heard before. He had seen, even heard, many terrible things in his life, but nothing compared to what he was hearing at that moment, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine the images that went along with the sounds. It was becoming damn near impossible to ignore it, try as he might. He tapped his pen on a listing in the paper, then pressed his lips together. He stuck the pen in the corner of his mouth.

“Do you think I could fake a resume enough to be an accountant?” He frowned. “That’s math, right?”

The screaming continued, however, and he got no response. He sighed, then dropped the pen and paper on the coffee table. He stood from the couch and turned in annoyance toward Uli who was seated at the kitchen table. Her mouth was open in horror as she stared at her laptop screen.

“What the fuck are you watching?” He moved to stand behind her, bending down to peer at the screen. It didn’t take him long to realize it was a birthing video, and he immediately recoiled in horror as the camera angle changed to something terrifying.

“She just got ripped from her V to her A!” Uli shouted, pointing at the screen.

“Why are you watching this?” Rusl sneered.

Uli put her hands on her face. “This baby is going to kill me.”

“It’s not going to kill you.”

“Look at her!”

“I’d rather not,” Rusl muttered.

“Look at the size of that thing!”

“That thing is a baby,” he reminded her.

“Uh-uh,” Uli said, shaking her head. “There’s no damn way that thing is coming out of my fucking vagina.”

“How else do you think it’s coming out?”

“It’s not coming out at all!” She stood abruptly. “I changed my mind! I’m not having no damn hero baby!”

Rusl frowned. “You know -”

She spun on her heels and jabbed a finger into his chest. “This is your fault!”

“How is this my fault?”

“You have the penis,” she hissed. “You just couldn’t stay off of me, could ya?”

“Well -”

“You just had to sow your seed and plant your spawn.”

“That’s nice.”

“You don’t give a shit!” She started to cry.

“I… what?”

“You don’t even like me!”

“Uli… we’re married.”

“You married a psycho!”

Rusl hesitated. “Yeah, I’m starting to think so.”

Uli fell against him and sobbed into his chest.

“Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know!”

Rusl sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I take full responsibility.” He pushed her away slightly and smiled. “How about chocolate?”

Uli sneered at him. “I’m not a child! I don’t want chocolate!”

“Ice cream?”

“I want a sandwich.”

Rusl nodded. “Okay,” he started. “That seems reasonable enough. What kind?”

“Peanut butter and banana.”

Rusl stared at her for a moment. “Excuse me?”

Uli raised a brow. “Did I stutter?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I thought you said something absolutely absurd like peanut butter and banana.”

Uli’s gaze narrowed on him.

“You’re for real?”

Her fists balled at her side. “Is there a problem?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“I cannot condone such a concoction. Who in their right mind would eat that?”

“I would,” she said fiercely. “My mother made it for me all the time when I was little.”

Rusl sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But only because you’re pregnant and I’m a little terrified of you.”

“Good,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m getting fat and I hate this.”

“But it will be worth it in the end.”

“It won’t.”

Rusl grinned as he prepped her snack. “I’m telling him you said that.”

Uli sat down once more. She closed the laptop and sighed. “I’m going to be a terrible mother.”

“You will be if you feed him this disgusting excuse of a meal.” Rusl set the sandwich down on the table for her. He sat across from her, watching as she took an eager bite, and he winced slightly. She made a sound of approval and smiled.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said as she chewed.

Rusl turned his gaze down to the table. “What do you think about moving to the city?”

She swallowed and hesitated, studying him. “Why?”

“We’ll be safer there,” Rusl started. “It’s warded. It makes sense to be there, especially once he’s born.”

“Or is it because you want to be closer to headquarters so you can try to sneak off on deployment again?”

“Do you really think anyone would let me?”

Uli shrugged and took another bite. “But my family is here. And you know my mother is sick.” She shook her head. “I have to stay here. I want to be here for them, and I want them here for me.”

“We won’t be safe here,” Rusl reminded her.

Uli hesitated between bites. “We’re warded,” she said. “And if they can ward us, they can ward him. They can ward us here in Faron or something.”

“Impa is the only one capable of that, and she’s barely able to keep the city warded.”

Uli frowned and her voice softened. “I don’t want to leave Faron,” she said. “Not yet. I need to be here. If my mother doesn’t get better… I can’t leave.”

Rusl sighed softly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Can we just take it a day at a time?” she asked. “We can always move after, can’t we?”

“I guess.”

Uli stood, finished with her meal. She smiled at Rusl. “Come on. Take me to my appointment. We’ve got a baby to meet.”

*****

“That’s a strong heartbeat,” the doctor said. He moved the device over Uli’s stomach and smiled at the screen. He pointed to it, indicating the heart.

Rusl stared at it wordlessly, and Uli grinned and babbled excitedly, though he wasn’t really listening.

“A boy?” she said. Her voice shook, but her grin remained. “Really?” She turned to Rusl excitedly. “A boy!”

Rusl bit his lip. He met her gaze and forced a smile. Uli recognized his demeanor immediately, and though her own smile wavered for a moment, she turned her attention back to the monitor and her excitement returned.

“Do you have any names in mind?” the doctor asked conversationally as he proceeded to clean the jelly off of her.

“Oh,” Uli started. “You know, I hadn’t really even thought about it yet.”

The doctor smiled at her. “Well, start thinking,” he said. “He’ll be here before you know it.” When he was finished, he dismissed himself, giving Uli and Rusl a chance to be alone.

Uli sighed loudly, blowing her bangs out of her face. She turned to Rusl and her grin returned. “A boy,” she repeated, and she laughed lightly. “Come on, Rusl, you’re having a son!”

Rusl stared at the frozen image of his unborn child on the screen. Suddenly, it was all real, just as it seemed the whole world had predicted. And he was in love. He loved that image on the screen so damn much. Inside of Uli, his son was growing. He was a living, breathing child that would come into the world in just five short months. And someday, he would save the world. And Rusl knew, as he had always known, that he would do anything to give his son the life he deserved. No matter what Hylia had in store for the hero, Rusl was ready to give his life to keep his son alive. Not for the sake of Hyrule, but simply because he was his son.

He felt Uli’s hand on his and he turned to her, meeting her gaze. “It was easier to pretend you were just getting fat,” he muttered.

Uli slapped his arm. “Ass!”

Rusl smiled sheepishly.

“Hero business aside,” she said softly. “Aren’t you a little excited?”

Rusl swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“You’re allowed to be, you know.”

Rusl’s lips pinched together. “So, you haven’t even thought of a name, yet?”

“Have you?”

“I guess not,” he admitted. He was too busy trying to pretend it was all a dream. “I guess he would need a hero-worthy name.”

Uli’s gaze narrowed. “And what kind of name would that be?”

“Probably like Rusl or something.” He grinned at her.

“Actually,” Uli started. “I did have a name in mind.”

Rusl met her gaze. “Yeah?”

Uli shrugged. “I was kinda thinking of naming him after my brother, Link. You know, if you wanted to, or something.”

Rusl smiled. “Link,” he repeated. “You think they’ll make movies about him or something? The Legend of Link?”

Uli considered this for a moment, then shook her head. “Nah,” she said. “That doesn’t sound like something that will sell.”